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nhlandotherimagines · 4 years ago

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One Thing- Cale Makar

@natbarzal @anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya @jonnytoews19

Here we go with blurb #3 of the Up All Night series! It’s mostly fluff, and quite a bit of pining :) Let me know what you think, and if you’d like to be tagged in any of the future blurbs in this series

I’ve also decided that instead of Wednesday’s, Fridays, and Sundays I’m just going to post one every other day :)

I’ve tried playin' it cool, but when I'm lookin' at you I can't ever be brave ‘cause you make my heart race

As you stand in Nate’s backyard, Cale catches your eye. He is leaning against the side of the deck, sunglasses sitting on the top of his head, and eyes crinkling as he laughs loudly at something Nate said to him. His laugh makes you smile to yourself. You haven’t been introduced to Cale yet, but Nate was positive the two of you would get along perfectly.

As if on cue, Nate yells out for you snapping you from your thoughts. As you look over, he motions for you to join them. Grabbing your drink from the table you’d been standing at, you make your way towards them. Nate smiles at you mischievously, and then turns to Cale.

“Makar, this is my friend Y/n. Y/n, this is Cale Makar.” Nate introduces the two of you, and you giggle lightly at the mock formality he forces into his voice.

“Nice to meet you Cale Makar.” You say his full name in a playful tone, sticking your hand out for him. Cale stares at it for a moment too long, before reaching out and shaking it.

“Hey, Um yeah you can just call me Cale. Or if you want you can call me Cale Makar. Or you can call me just Makar. I don’t care, call me whatever you want!” He rambles, and the more he speaks the redder his cheeks get. You smile at him, and can’t help but notice how adorable the tint on his cheeks is.

“Well Just Makar, you know you can stop shaking my hand now right?” You tease, glancing down to where he still grips your hand in his.

Cale sputters out an apology, dropping your hand immediately. Before you can even get another word in Cale awkwardly excuses himself, and you turn to Nate. He is standing next to you, eyes trained on the young defensemen, mouth slightly agape, and brows furrowed in confusion. “What the hell was that?” Nate asks, his voice laced with pure astonishment. You shrug, because you are also very confused.

Cale, however, was now trying to find a drink. He heard Nate talk about you everyday for the past week, but not once had he mention how absolutely stunning you were. Now Cale was sure he had completely embarrassed himself, and ruined any chance he may have had at befriending you.

Cale spends the rest of the party trying to build the confidence to speak to you again, so he can at least apologize for his previous behaviour. He even talks himself into it a few times, putting on a brave face, but as soon as his eyes fall on you again he chickens out.

Shot me out of the sky, you’re my kryptonite. You keep making me weak, frozen, and can't breathe

The next time you see Cale is at a bar after a big Avs win. As you walk towards the group, you notice how comfortable all of the boys look. “Win drunk” and surrounded by all of their friends, the boys are happy. Cale’s smile seems the biggest as he watches Kadri tell a very animated story, and you can’t help but smile too. You’re not sure what it is about Cale, but you’re drawn to him.

As you approach the table, Cale’s eyes find you first. He’s in the middle of saying something, but immediately stops. His face turns red, and he is frozen in place. Sure, he knows you’re good looking, but tonight in your band tee and leather jacket, he’s sure he’s never seen anyone look so effortlessly good.

“Sorry did I interrupt something?” You ask, embarrassed by the reaction. All eyes are on Cale as attempts to tell you that you hadn’t interrupted anything. His face is bright red now, and you feel kind of bad for him. Cale can’t seem to catch his breath, no one has ever made him feel this way.

Something's gotta give now 'cause I'm dying just to make you see that I need you here with me now 'cause you've got that one thing

“Makar why have you been so weird every time we hangout?” Nate asks as he finds the younger man in the kitchen of his apartment. Cale has been hiding in the kitchen for the last 10 minutes, wondering if he can even go back into the same room as you. He wants so bad to just be able to talk to you, but he can never seem to find the words.

Cale just shrugs, embarrassed that his friends are noticing his behaviour. “It’s Y/n isn’t it?” Nate smirks, nudging Cale playfully.

“I don’t know why I can’t just talk to her!” Cale groans, dropping his head and rubbing at the back of his neck in frustration. Nate just laughs, clapping his hand against Cale’s shoulder.

“You’ll get there, just stop thinking so hard. It’s painful to watch.” With that Nate leaves the younger man standing in his kitchen, joining the rest of the guests in his living room. Leaving Cale, once again with just his thoughts. Somethings gotta give.

So get out, get out, get out of my head, and fall into my arms instead

“What’s going on in that head of yours Just Makar?” You tease. You had slipped away from everyone else to get a drink, and maybe also to find Cale. His eyes snap to you, and he watches as you grab a glass from the cupboard next to him. The smile on your face when you turn to face him again makes his heart race.

“Just thinking.” He smiles, “How’s it going in there? No ones injured yet?”

“Surprisingly not yet!” You giggle, “But I’m sure it won’t be long.” You add, pouring a drink and then leaning against the counter beside Cale. You’re close enough that your shoulders are just barely touching, and immediately Cale gets flustered. He just wants to be able to throw his arm around your shoulder, and pull you into his side. He’s not even sure when those thoughts about you started, but all he knows is that he can’t get you out of his head.

I don't, I don't, don't know what it is, but I need that one thing, and you’ve got that one thing

As you stand over the stove in the kitchen, you hear a knock at your door. Glancing at the clock, you furrow your brows in confusion. Turning down the burner on the stove, you make your way to the door. As you pull it open you are even more confused as you see who stands on the other side.

“Hey, sorry to bother you, but um- could I come in?” Cale asks, a blush on his cheeks. You stare at him for a moment, mouth agape, still confused. He looks at you hopefully, and you realize you’ve yet to speak to him.

“Oh yeah, uh sure I’m just making dinner, would you like some?” You ask, pushing the door open to allow him in.

“Oh I’m sorry, I can- um I could come back later?” He is sputtering again, and looking everywhere but at you. You place a shaky hand on his bicep, hoping he can’t feel your sudden nervousness.

“It’s fine! There is enough for two if you’re hungry of course.” He smiles, and nods. You walk back into the kitchen, tending to the stove again. Cale leans against the counter offering to help, but you quickly turn him down telling him you’re almost done.

Cale watches you intently. You’re so focused on the task at hand, tongue poking out from your lips slightly in concentration. Cale is lost in you once again, he can’t place it but there is something different about you. You are so different than any person he’s ever met, and he can’t shake you from his mind.

He’s snapped from his thoughts, when you turn to him and speak. “So not to sound like I don’t enjoy your company or anything, but why are you here?” You ask, a small smirk tugging on your lips. Cale starts to panic, sure he practiced this conversation all day, but he’s not sure he’ll ever be ready.

“Well I’m-“ He sighs dropping his gaze to the floor. “I wanted to see you. The truth is I always do. I’m sorry I struggle talking to you, but I just think you’re so amazing and it’s intimidating. I don’t know exactly what it is about you, but I’ve been drawn to you since the moment we met. So I hope this isn’t too forward or too awkward, but I was wondering if you’d let me take you out sometime. On a date. Only if that’s something you’d want to do of course.”

Your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure he can heart it. When he lifts his eyes to yours again, you can see the hope in them. You don’t know it now, but you’re holding Cale’s heart in your hand, and you could easily break it with just a few words. Your mind has been made up about Cale since the moment you had seen him across Nate’s backyard. He was captivating, absolutely adorable, and a total gentleman.

The smile that breaks across your face as you nod, has a sigh escaping Cale’s body. His smile is even bigger than yours, even though you would have thought that was mpossible. “Well Just Makar,” you wink, and Cale groans at the stupid nickname. “How about we have dinner here tonight, count this as date number one. If tonight goes as well as I expect it will, then I will absolutely let you take me out.” You suggest, stepping closer to him. The two of you are about as close as two people can stand without touching, your eyes both begging the other to close the gap.

“Would it make me a bad date if I kissed you before the date actually starts?” Cale breathes out, leaning in impossibly closer.

“I think you’d be a bad date if you didn’t.” You try and tease back, but your voice is shaky and full of want. You don’t have time to really be embarrassed, because Cale is pressing his lips to yours.

You can feel Cale smile against your lips, and you can’t help but mirror the action. Who knows what will happen between the two of you? All you know is that there is something about Cale. He’s always on your mind, and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

#Up All Night- Series #Cale Makar fanfiction #cale makar x reader #cale makar #hockey #nhl #colorado avalanche #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fan fiction #hockey fanfic #nhl fan fiction #nhl fanfiction #nhl fanfic

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monsterywriting · 4 years ago

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Thenerius - pt 3

Masterlist

Word count: 4,581

AN: so i gave up on making this just 3 parts lol. will probably finish up in the next part. maybe. the last couple parts i posted weren’t showing up in the tags initially so fingers crossed this one does on the first try.

Alfore was nearly devoid of all life as your odd pair rode into town, the cold driving most residents indoors to the warmth of their hearths. Besides the occasional resident outside running errands and icebreaker ship crew, the streets were largely empty.

You were frankly jealous, your knitted wool coat thin with overuse and doing little to protect you from the cutting wind. However, the largest source of unease for you was the stares following you, only able to catch the subtlest hints of movement in windows whenever you would whip your head around to look.

It took you a minute to figure out why, but the reason was obvious once you thought about it.

Thenerius still led the way, a few feet in front of you despite the fact that he had no idea where you were headed. Even in a city filled with all kinds, purple skin and twisting horns stood out, and it was evident to anyone who caught a glimpse of his clothing what the nature of his occupation was.

Pirates weren’t rare in Alfore, but really only venturing here in the warmer months. There were hardly any normal sailors this time of year, much less the more criminal ones. And, despite their frequent visits to the port, pirates were by no means a welcome sight to the residents.

The city council had even imposed alcohol bans within city limits to try and discourage them from stopping here, the only reason The Deep was able to turn a profit as the port was a necessary stop for trade between the eastern and western hemispheres and too far away from any major kingdom for adequate protection, making for prime pickings for pillaging.

So of course Thenerius would be stared at, most average people resenting his presence. It made you antsy, paranoid someone would grow brave and decide to confront the lone pirate and his companion - you. But even as you feel nervous, Thenerius seems unfazed by the glares, sitting tall while on horseback.

“We’re turning here,” you scowl as your voice waivers, uncertain, as you try and get Thenerius’ attention.

You turned Horse down a narrow side road, now in front as Thenerius was forced to turn his own horse around.

“Where exactly are we going?” Thenerius asked after an innumerable amount of turns in the maze-like structure of the city, the sound of the water of the bay now audible with how close you were to the water.

“I am going to the doctor’s office to buy medicine for my mother,” you say, keeping your eyes trained on the street signs as you navigate.

“What, exactly, does your mother have?” Thenerius asks, his voice careful, though you’d been expecting the inevitable line of questioning.

“She fell ill with an unknown sickness a few years back,” you say, unable to maintain the usual bite in your tone you had for Thenerius when you thought back to those uncertain times, “Mr. Thistle wrote to me that it seemed I should prepare for a funeral, she had gotten that bad. They had to bring her to Alfore for treatment The doctors weren’t sure what it was, just that it wasn’t the consumption.

“By the time I arrived from the capital, she had recovered somewhat and insisted on going back home. The doctors couldn’t stop her, and they said it was just a matter of her body fighting it off, so she went back,” you finished, wincing once you realized just how much you revealed.

You hadn’t intended to say more than she was sick, but it had been like a dam had broke once you started speaking.

It felt… cathartic. To talk about what had happened. You couldn’t talk to your mother about it - it inevitably devolved into arguing about selling the cottage to move to Alfore. And though Mr. Thistle insisted that you could always come to him with any trouble, having a heart to heart with your prickly halfling godfather about how sick your mother and his best friend of decades was, was about as appealing as it seemed.

“What does the doctors say now?” Thenerius asked, seemingly unaffected by your rambled speech.

“I’ve been saving up for one to make a home visit, but it’s been almost a year since he last saw her.” You think back to how bewildered the doctor had been when he came to check on your mother after so long the last time and her condition hadn’t improved.

You find yourself glancing at Thenerius through your periphery. He was staring right at you. You quickly look away, not wanting to see the pity in his eyes.

“Actually, I’ve finally earned enough for the final payment, so I’ll also be giving him that today.” A small lie of omission. You would be able to make that final payment, as well as the next month’s supply of pills, but there wouldn’t be much leftover until you go back to work, and even then with only your base salary to last you the winter as the cold kept even more travelers from crossing its threshold, much less tipping ones.

Miraculously, Thenerius didn’t push the matter further. You’re grateful, finding that mulling over every answer to avoid oversharing exhausting. You find that word beginning to describe your state of being more and more lately.

The doctor’s office is a small storefront in a larger building, nestled in between a tavern and barber’s facing the choppy water of the bay, only a single cobblestone separating it from the drop-off.

After hopping off Horse and tying him to a post outside, you step inside. The doctor had no receptionist, so it was just a matter of being able to find him amongst the clutter of medical devices and books everywhere.

“It’s been a long time, child,” the doctor’s wizened face appeared from what you now realized was a desk underneath the mess, nearly giving you a heart attack, “Good news, I hope?”

“I have the final payment,” you smile, but it’s forced and awkward as you desperately wished you had good news to share. You give up on the smile and pull out your coin purse to hand over to him, “it’s all in there.”

“How is your mother?” He asks as he waves you into his office, clearing out a small section on his desk and flipping through papers until he somehow finds one particular one. He pulls out a pair of spectacles from his pocket, looking at the paper, shaking his head before putting it back and flips some more. He then begins the arduous process of counting your gold.

Dr. Inderpahl was old as dirt, to put it mildly. He was the doctor who delivered you and your mother before you. You’d believe it if someone told you he had some magical blood in him, keeping him alive much longer than a normal human. Though his body was ancient and senescent, and he hadn’t been able to perform a surgery in years as his hands had become gnarled with rheumatism, his mind was still sharp as a tack. So, though he counted every coin painfully slowly, he made no mistakes that would have further set back his progress.

“Yes, it’s all here,” he muses, crossing something off on the paper. At some point, Thenerius had found the two of you in the back room and both of you now stared expectantly at the doctor still scribbling away, “Okay. I’ll be seeing her in the spring.”

The relief you had been feeling burned away, your eyebrows furrowing as your mind refused to process what he said.

“What? No, Dr. Inderpahl, she needs a checkup as soon as possible. The payments- you said it was enough to close your practice for the day!”

“I’m sorry, child, but I’m afraid I’m unable to travel in the cold. I’m much older than I used to be, you know,” he said, struggling to rise from his seat in one go as though to prove his point, “and your mother’s condition remained largely the same the last time I went, correct? I’m afraid a house visit will have to wait.”

Your eyes sting, but you quickly grit your teeth and stand, nodding. With a trembling lip and small voice, you give a small “ok, thank you” and turn to leave.

Thenerius was leaning against the doorframe, his lip curled in disgust as he watched the doctor. He pushed off the wall, taking a step towards the oblivious old man futilely straightening a stack of papers. Sensing the danger in the look in his eye, his expression twisting into that familiar anger you’d only ever seen the one time before, you jump into action.

“I also need the medicine for the next month,” you say, stepping in front of Thenerius and stretching both hands back to keep him from moving forward. You do not want Dr. Inderpahl to be scared off before he can get you your mother’s medication - or worse, become unwilling to go out to your cottage to check on her, even if months later. Thenerius fortunately seems to get the hint, tense behind you but stilling.

“Of course,” Inderpahl muttered, finally noticing the pirate for the first time and eyeing him disapprovingly.

You pray he doesn’t ask about him, your mind already trying to think up an excuse as to why a pirate would be with you that wouldn’t come across as an intimidation tactic. You could say he was a stranger, but Thenerius may argue that assessment and that would look suspicious. Friend was too vague, partner may be taken as romantic which… with Thenerius right there, you refused to say.

Your whirring mind slows as Inderpahl finally looks away without a word, walking around the tiefling with no fear and back into the storefront, a large row of bookcases pushed against the far wall repurposed to hold various ingredients for medications.

Thenerius still doesn’t move, and you realize you’re gripping his sides tightly. You immediately drop your hands back to your side and step forward to put distance between you.

“Please, don’t do anything,” you hiss, about to follow after the doctor before Thenerius grabs your arm just above your elbow.

“He’s scamming you,” Thenerius seethed, “How much gold have you paid him so far? I can’t believe you’re going along-”

You break his hold on you, immediately rounding on the tiefling. You struggle to keep your voice low, but the outrage is evident, “He has helped my family for decades. He is the only doctor we can afford and the only one willing to even go all the way out to see her. You absolutely cannot ruin this by scaring him off or- or worse!”

When Inderpahl returned with an envelope of pills, you were afraid Thenerius would ignore your plea, but he fortunately kept his mouth shut. His expression, however, was a different story, glaring daggers at Inderpahl.

You thanked the doctor as you took the pills, elbowing Thenerius’ side to get him to move to the door.

He allows himself to be ushered by you out the door, though he lets the tips of his horns scrape the top of the doorframe (or you may not have given him enough time to duck completely). Either way, you make it outside with no bridges burned and everything you needed to do done.

“I suppose the apple does not fall far from the tree. If you’re anything like your parents, I’ll be seeing you two soon,” Inderpahl bids you farewell from the entrance.

You freeze, the meaning of the doctor’s words sinking in. It wasn’t malicious, and as you turned around the old man was smiling at you from the doorway.

Nodding dumbly - unsure of what else to say and hoping Thenerius didn’t ask questions - you shove Thenerius towards your waiting horses.

“What did he mean, like your parents?”

You suppose a nice, silent ride it was too much to ask of Thenerius. And, if it meant he could learn something so personal about you as your lineage, you held no doubt that he would jump at the chance. But, it had miraculously taken him until you reached the inner limits of Alfore to ask his question - a whole ten minutes, during which you lost track of his many attempts to speak up beforehand.

Not once had you ever affirmed aloud who the man was, first because everyone in your life already knew - more than you, in fact - and then because no one in your life knew. Once you went to the capital, everyone you met came from wealthy families, their fathers nobles and doctors and the like.

You weren’t necessarily jealous of that - you didn’t miss a man you never met. As far as you were concerned, you had no father. You were, however, upset at what his abandonment did to your mother. How she constantly worked, spreading herself so thin to provide for the two of you, to try and give you a better life while he was off fucking around at sea. Most of all, how she still loved him despite all that, refused to curse him for the scoundrel he was for leaving her.

Realizing Thenerius was still waiting on your response, you cleared your throat.

“My mother also used to work at The Deep and…” you trail off, the words feeling foreign and heavy sitting on your tongue, “My father was a pirate.”

“Was?” Thenerius asks, “What does he do now?”

You shrug, the edges of your mouth twisting downward, “Wouldn’t know. Never knew him.”

Thenerius is silent for a long time, seemingly sensing your souring mood but clearly wanting to say something.

“Your friend, at the tavern. She truly is worried about you,” Thenerius thankfully changes the subject, though not to one you feel like talking about any more than the topic of your parentage.

You sneak a peak over your shoulder at him, confused at the sudden change of subject. He’s staring at a spot on the back of his horse’s head, seemingly mulling over what he wanted to say.

“She says- you never accept anyone’s help, would rather say everything is fine and do things on your own. She asked me to check on you, even gave me your pay to give to you. She said they were all worried you’d ‘off yourself,’ I think it was. Not that day, just in general you… offing yourself.”

Putting aside the tiefling’s apparent penchant for exact quotes, as well as any mention of doing yourself in, you instead focus on the important bit of information shared in that entire rant.

“That was my gold?” You ask, pulling Horse’s reins to slow him down until you were riding next to Thenerius.

“Oh, yes, here,” he said, feeling up his coat, pulling out the small pouch and handing it over to you.

You glance down at it briefly, noting the small embroidered frog leaping off of a lily pad before stuffing it into your bodice, your brassiere holding it in place. You ignore Thenerius’ lingering stare.

“My offer still stands,” Thenerius finally spoke again and you wished he hadn’t.

“What offer?” You feign disinterest, hoping he’ll drop the subject but knowing better.

“Let me help around your farm. I’ll stay at The Deep but… just let me help you.”

You blink, your rapid-fire retort to a different response dying in your throat. You hadn’t been expecting that. You thought for sure he’d bring up the proposal again, using your obviously dire financial situation as incentive to marry him at least for convenience. You’re not sure what to say and the silence is only extending, threatening to seem as though you can’t turn down his offer.

“I can’t afford to pay you for that,” you finally manage before quickly adding, “and I won’t let you work for free. I’m not going to take advantage like that.”

You leave your final statement vague, but the point is clear. You don’t want to take advantage of his feelings for you, obviously much deeper than the initial infatuation you believed it to be. No matter how badly you may need the extra set of hands around the homestead, you simply could not bring yourself to agree to such a one-sided agreement, unable to give Thenerius what he truly wants. You almost wish it was the fleeting nightly obsession of drunken pirate, vanishing with the onset of the inevitable hangover and gone with the morning dew, dried out by the light of day.

Fortunately, Thenerius seems to recognize the finality of your decision and makes no further argument, following you wordlessly.

Rather than head straight back out of Alfore, you make a detour towards the market in the heart of the city, a block lined with stalls and shops in the old town square.

As you approach the center of Alfore, the city also grows more lively as people run their daily errands. Once the streets become crowded with stalls and people walking between them, you dismount from Horse and tie him to a post, trusting his surly attitude and the crowd to keep any would-be horse thieves at bay. Once you were certain he was secure, you grabbed the empty satchel hanging from the saddle and throw it over your shoulder.

“I’m going to go pick up an order,” you turn to Thenerius, holding up a hand to stop him from following you, “Alone. No pirates allowed.”

“But-” Thenerius began to protest, but you shook your head firmly.

“Her business, her rules. And you don’t exactly have the best disguise,” you gesture to the tiefling’s clothing, the most obvious pirate garb even a child would recognize and was already earning both of you a few stares, “Go… look around or something. Keep an eye on the horses. I’ll be done soon.”

With that, you leave Thenerius behind and head to the blacksmith’s.

Unfortunately, when you reach the street of your destination, there’s several crowds converging around it. Nearby stalls selling firewood and thick fabrics and pelts for winter clothing were of course at their busiest, and flanking the one place you needed to go.

With great difficulty and several sour looks directed your way when you squeezed in between people in lines, you finally reach the entrance of the small stone structure. As though to further mock your misfortune, a small piece of paper stuck in between two pieces of the wood making up the front door.

Of course the blacksmith would be away making a delivery when you arrive, you think with a brief flash of bitter annoyance, sitting on the step as you wait for her return.

By the time she does, the crowd on the street has largely dispersed, the stalls nearly completely sold out of their wares, and you were on the verge of freezing to death.

“You finally came by to pick up your order,” Yagiri said, sweeping you aside to unlock the forge door.

Yagiri was a half-gnome. Well-suited for the heat of the forge though perhaps not for the nippy winter air, evidenced by the sheer quantity of layers she’d wrapped herself in, looking more like a textile merchant’s inventory come alive.

“Yes, I’m sorry I’m so late,” you answer sheepishly, following her into the forge.

“I’d tell you I was going to sell everything off to the next customer who wanted them, but truthfully no one’s building anything this time of year,” she called out, pulling small boxes of iron bits onto her workstation, “Is there a particular reason you finally decided to come by?”

“Finally have time to use everything,” You reply, waiting awkwardly as she counted forty small nails, various hinges and pieces of wire mesh. Not entirely a lie. You have a week before your next shift, but you had plenty of opportunities to come down and at least pick up the order.

You apologize again as Yagiri hands your items to you, placing everything in your satchel and take care while rolling up the meshes.

Yagiri walks you to the door, both of you freezing as you step around her to see Thenerius standing across the street with both horses, dressed in more simple clothes and a wolfskin coat.

“He with you?” Yagiri grunts suspiciously and you wish you could deny it before Thenerius grins and waves at you, calling out your name.

“Yes, thanks again,” you murmur, quickly exiting the blacksmith’s and tugging Thenerius away from Yagiri’s watchful eye.

“I bought regular clothes,” Thenerius said proudly, showing off his new outfit to you.

You were definitely wrong. It wasn’t so much the clothing that made the pirate, but his overall demeanor; too carefree and wild to be anything else.

“I also got you one, too,” Thenerius held up another pelt coat, this one appearing to be from a bear based on the sheer size of it.

You balk, tempted to throw it on over your own but not wanting to encourage Thenerius’ affections, and there was no way you could pay him for it. Pelts were worth two months of your wages at The Deep. You had no idea how much a finished coat would be.

“I can’t pay you back-”

Thenerius grabs your arm before you can continue walking, “I have to insist. You’re going to get sick if you don’t wear something thicker, and then how will you work?”

You can’t argue with his logic, but can’t help but stiffen as he throws the coat over your shoulders and begins to tie it off down the front. As soon as he finishes, you step away and slither your arms through the sleeves.

“Better?” Thenerius chuckles, you practically swimming in the coat, “give me your bag, keep your hands in the pocket.”

You’re no longer shivering, so used to it at this point that you no longer noticed you it was so bad until you were finally able to stop and your muscles slightly sore where they’d been overworked.

You nod, silently handing over the satchel still clutched in your hand so you can stick your hands in the felt-lined pockets of the coat. With that, you lead the way through the labyrinthine streets to the section of vendors selling live creatures. You take your time looking at each vendor’s wares, smiling at the cute animals until you come across a stall with what you’re looking for.

You smile at the old woman manning the stall and her granddaughter sitting a short ways behind her, both snuggled comfortably in rabbit pelts, before turning your attention to the rabbits curled together in their cages.

“How much for the spotted buck and three solid does?” You ask, pointing out the each rabbit you’re referring to in their respective enclosures.

The old woman grins toothlessly back, holding up three fingers, “three silver pieces.”

You hesitate, not sure you’d have enough to take all four home today. You grab your coin purse from a pocket of your satchel and dig around for any silver, finding two and starting to count up the equivalent bronze when the old woman suddenly clucks a “thank you, sir.”

You look up in surprise to see Thenerius retracting his hand, the silver pieces disappearing into a pocket of her coat before you can even protest. You don’t know where where Thenerius was keeping his coins, much less how much he had. She picks up an empty cage and begins gathering your picks, each easily curling up into the crook of her arm when she grabs them.

“The gray one’s already pregnant. Two weeks left,” she whispers, winking at you as she hands the full cage over, continuing loud enough for Thenerius to hear, “Good luck for you and your husband.”

Your smile strains to remain plastered on your face, merely nodding in thanks so as to not cause a scene. You already feel the heat rising in your face, refusing to meet Thenerius’ gaze as you walk away from the market despite how deeply you could feel it boring into you.

The ride out of Alfore was mostly silent, you lost in thought and playing absentmindedly with one of the ties of your coat.

You think back to what Yagiri asked you. Why you were picking up your order now when it had been ready for weeks now. You had already made your decision, one you had spent the entire afternoon thinking about but was now unsure how to bring the topic up again.

“What did you buy from the blacksmith?” The question sounds nonchalant, but when you look over, Thenerius looks concerned as he looks at the satchel. You suppose Thenerius wouldn’t be very familiar with a blacksmith’s more mundane talents in metallurgy.

“Some things to build a hutch,” you reply, looking away.

“You’re building a hutch?” Thenerius asks incredulously.

“No, you are.” Is your brilliant retort, and you hope your burning face isn’t noticeable from where Thenerius is.

“I am?” It isn’t teasing, or negative, but actually sounds… hopeful. It’s almost enough to make you backpedal, tell Thenerius nevermind or that you somehow misspoke.

“I still can’t afford to pay you,” you say instead, swallowing a lump in your throat you think is your pride, “But you will be compensated with room and board.”

“Yes,” Thenerius agreed immediately, his mood obviously perking up, “but I’m going to pay rent.”

You are on the verge of arguing but soon think the better of it, “Twenty gold a month.”

Thenerius scoffs, “Why so low?”

“It’s five gold less than the rate at The Deep,” you shoot back, “or were you lying when you said you couldn’t afford a room there?”

“Yes, I did,” Thenerius admits immediately, surprising you with his shameless.

You feel the amusement begin to bubble up and before you can stop it, what you thought would be a small snort comes out an uncontrollable peal of laughter.

You bend forward, body shaking with the force of it, threatening to fall right off your horse’s back had you not had your feet securely in the stirrups.

Once you’re finally able to compose yourself with only the aftershocks of your giggling managing to escape, you realize Thenerius is beaming over at you.

“You’re still paying twenty,” you fail to put in the sternness you wanted in the words, to out of breath to sound firm.

Either way, Thenerius would no doubt change his tune about paying the extra gold after a few days of the work you planned to put him through. There was plenty of work you’d been holding off on doing yourself around the homestead, having planned on waiting until the weather warmed.

“Alright,” Thenerius agreed dreamily, or so you determine, a small kernel of gratification germinating within you at the thought of your ability to turn a sea-hardened pirate into a lovestruck fool.

Residual mirth, you tell yourself, forcing yourself to not read so deeply into things. Perhaps it was unwise - stupid, even - to invite the tiefling whose ultimate goal was your heart into your home for an indefinite stretch of time, but as you continued riding down the path, the sun finally making its presence known and still buzzing with your good mood, you can’t help but drown out your objections.

Besides, after a week you’d be occupied at the tavern and your daily interactions would undoubtedly be limited to the mornings when you returned from work.

part 4

#monster boyfriend #tiefling #exophilia #reader insert

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marvelfansince08love · 4 years ago

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Secret Love

Word Count: 1720

Pairing: Tammy x Female!Reader

Prompts “I can’t live...not without you” “Wait, say that again?” “How could you be so irresponsible?!”

Warning: Some mention of injuries, angst with happy ending.

A/N: For anon, thank you for sending in the request! Sorry for the slow posting I’ve had a hectic week and finally got to see my girlfriend after 14 weeks! I should be posting a lot more this coming week so enjoy! :)

Also Tammy’s husband is called Hank in this.. if you know you know. Since we don’t know what he’s called and what HER LAST NAME IS Lmao

Permanent Tags: @waitingfortheendtocome @natasha-danvers

Thank you @imnotasuperhero for reading over this, a diamond always💛

I do not own this gif! 🖤

Prompts 17,18,20

"Oh, my god! Y/N, what happened to your face?!" Tammy exclaims, her face distraught at the sight of your cut up lip and bruised face as you walk through the door of her suburban home. She races forward and tenderly reaches out to touch the hot skin making you flinch away from her touch before muttering.

"I'm fine Tam, the guy got lucky and managed one good hit. I'm okay," you reassure her while gently removing her weary hands away from your face. She wrenches her hand free from your grasp and paces angrily in front of you while the others awkwardly filter into the house and head towards the kitchen area, leaving you with the angry blonde in the hallway.

“What the hell happened?!” She exclaims hands placed on her hips, a worrying frown in place.

"Look me, Lou, Deb and Daph were out in a bar and some guys tried hitting on Debbie and Daphne, so Lou and I tried stepping in to get them to leave them alone. Turns out, some guys don't like being told to back off by a pair of "girls" and you know I bruise like a peach," you murmur, wincing slightly as the cut on your bottom lip rubs against your top lip as you speak.

"How could you be so irresponsible?!" She exasperated wearing a hole into the floor from her pacing. You watch as Tammy's big brown eyes scan every inch of you with worry making you squirm slightly under her tense gaze. Her eyes finally meet yours and soften at your lost puppy, doe-eyed look.

"Come on, let's get you seated in the living room and cleaned up, maybe get you some pain killers. Are you hurting elsewhere?" She asks softly, gently wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you close. You bask in her warm embrace for a moment, loving the close contact before stepping away slightly realising your place.

She's married Y/N, get over yourself.

She frowns confused at your quick retreat but focuses on getting you seated and grabbing ice from the kitchen. You hear low voices arguing between one another from the kitchen area making you grin softly, knowing that Tammy is probably scolding Debbie and Lou for bringing you back in this state. ‘Ever the mother hen of the group’ you smile to yourself.

A few moments later Tammy renters the room, alone.

"Where are the other two? You haven't sent them to their rooms, have you?" You tease trying to ease the tension, it seems to work a little as a small smile spreads across her face making your heart flutter at the sight.

God, she's beautiful.

"No, I've sent them to the bottom step so they can think about what they've done.” She jokes before continuing “I’ve sent them home actually. I’m sure I can take care of you by myself," She teases back before taking a seat on the leg rest in front of you and making quick work at cleaning your cut lip. She gently daps at the dried-up blood making you wince causing her to hush you softly.

"You were big enough to get into a fight, so you can brave me cleaning your lip." She chastised.

"Hey! I didn't just get 'into a fight' Tam. He started it, I was just defending Daph- "

She laughs out loud humorlessly and shakes her head interrupting your defence.

"Why am I not surprised that as soon as Daphne bloody Kluger is in a spec of trouble you come running in like the knight in shining armour. That guy could have seriously hurt you Y/N." she mutters, finishing up her work. You quickly take hold of her wrist stopping her from continuing. You lean back enough to meet her eyes as she tries to avoid your gaze.

"What do you mean by that, Tam? You just expected me to let them hit on her or worse? And by the way, I was defending her and Debbie, not just her." you retort, suddenly feeling angry at her accusation. You stand up abruptly making Tammy mimic your stance, confused at your sudden change in mood.

"Why do you care so much Tam? One minute you act like you don't give a shit about me and then all of a sudden you're like this overbearing jealous lover which I'm sure your husband loves by the way.” You pause for a breath, unable to help the following words. “Speaking of, your deadbeat husband shouldn't you be out on date night or something?" You grumble all too aware of the late-night phone calls you have been receiving from the blonde lately, complaining about his lack of interest in her and the kids, always out later than needing to be with a mysterious brunette. You’d sit and listen to her worries while reassuring her through truthful subtle words while secretly biting your tongue from saying what you really think of the asshole and that she could do so much better. You, more specifically.

“Trust me Tammy he’d be an idiot to cheat on you, you’re the best thing that guy has apart from your two beautiful children.”

“Thanks, Y/N. I appreciate you staying up and listening to me moan on,”

“Not the usual moaning I like to hear at 2am but I guess since it’s you,” you teased one late night, while lying in your king-size bed alone wishing to have the woman currently on the phone in bed with you.

You're brought back from your thoughts by a loud scoff.

“Oh, please Y/N. Stop being such a child!” She reprimanded making you gape at her in shock, pointing a finger to your chest.

“Me?! I'm a child! You're the one who’s acting like a jealous girlfriend right now. I mean Daphne? Really Tammy?” You dumbfounded.

“Of course, Daphne! Ever since you joined the team last year she’s been onto you like a dog in heat, I’m surprised you haven’t slept with her yet with the way you two look at each other. And now look at you, all bruised up for some airheaded brunette.” She spats an ugly frown in place.

“Again, I’ll ask why do you care so much?! And before you call her an airhead, remember she’s your friend too, Tammy. Besides, you’re still over here pretending to play happy families with a guy who couldn’t care less about you. So before you go judging me for my relations, think about your own first.” You retaliate instantly regretting your remark as you watch her worry her top lip while folding her arms across her chest, guarding herself. A deafening silence falls across the living room for a moment before Tammy speaks again, her voice low and trembly.

“Of course, I care about you, trust me... I care so fucking much about you. If anything bad had happened to you tonight I… I would have never forgiven myself. I’m sorry for going at Daphne like that… that was cruel of me. You mean so much to me Y/N, ever since we were introduced on that heist last year I knew there was something there between us that connected us, you know? You lit something inside of me that made me feel alive again. I haven’t felt like that since… for a long time.” Tammy rambles, stepping closer to you trying to reach for your hand making you step back needing the space.

“In case you have forgotten Tam, you're married and my single ass can do what the hell it wants but I choose not to go around sleeping with any woman especially my friends, Tam! Daphne and I are just friends nothing more nothing less.” You reassure, your voice trembling slightly feeling the truth boiling inside of you.

‘No woman compares to you,’ You secretly confess internally, huffing in frustration.

“Well, what if I don’t like those roles very much.” She whispers, her eyes filling with unushered tears and a small sad smile.

“What are you saying?” You ask dumbfounded.

“What I’m saying is, I’m sick of this pussyfooting around, these longing looks between us. I can’t stay in a loveless marriage anymore. Not when I’m so in love with you,” she cups your cheek. “Me and Hank, we… we’re getting a divorce Y/N, that’s why he isn’t here tonight. He moved out last week. I’m waiting on the papers,”

“Wait, say that again?” You demand quietly, needing to make sure you heard correctly. Your heart beats rapidly, hoping that you heard her right.

“Hank and I are getting a divor-”

“No, the other thing.” You rushed, needing to hear her say it again. A soft smile appears on her full lips.

“I’m in love with you Y/N. And if you’ll have me, I’d like to make something between us work. I don't care how long it takes, I… I just want you.” She vows.

Without a second thought, you launch forward just as she does. Lips clashing hard against one another as you cradle the sides of her head softly with both hands, wincing slightly from the aching pain on your bottom lip making her pull away slightly only for you to pull her closer needing to savour the moment. Her arms wrap tightly around your waist resting against your back. The feeling of those soft lips that taste of cherry chapstick makes your heart burst with love and passion for this wonderful human being that you’ve been secretly longing for all this time.

You both pull away simultaneously leaning your foreheads against one another as you both catch your breath, you laugh breathlessly finding this whole situation surreal.

“I can’t believe all this time and I-” Tammy hovers her slim finger against your lip carefully to hush you.

“Just promise me one thing?” She asks quietly.

“Anything,”

“Promise you won’t get into another fight like this again? I can’t live...not without you,” She teases towards the end but the seriousness behind those sparkling brown eyes speak differently, making you nod in acknowledgement placing a light kiss to her forehead.

“As long as I have you by my side Tam, you’ll never have to worry about that.” You promise.

With those secret love confessions said and done you seal that last promise with a kiss.

#sarah paulson x reader #tammy x reader #oceans 8 #lou miller #debbie ocean #tammy is an angel #but what is her surname #sarah paulson #prompt request #daphne kluger

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ettawritesnstudies · 4 years ago

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WIP influences tag

thanks @kittensartswriting and @siarven for the tag! I think the rules are just that you ramble about a few influences for your WIPs so I’m going to do this for The Laoche Chronicles as a whole, including both Storge and the main trilogy that I really need to name.

Life stuff!

Sometimes (a lot of the times) reality is stranger than any fiction I could come up with, and so one of my favorite things to do is take scary and relevant irl situations and then recontextualize them in a fantasy world to get a different POV (and give the characters dealing with them a happy ending). For example in Storge: what would a world look like where sexism and racism don’t really exist, but there’s serious systematic oppression based on magic and religion? How does a healthy vs unhealthy family deal with a crisis? how does a society get so polarized? For Laoche: I was sitting in Calc AP my senior year listening to my friends complain about the upcoming test when someone said “I’d kill to get into X program” and my first thought was “hmm. what if?”

This sort of stuff is the driving force behind the themes in all of my stories. No matter how fantastical it gets, it’ll always have that relatable basis in reality to ground readers in the story.

This is going to get long so there’s more under the cut...

Mythology and religion:

This should come as a surprise to absolutely no one given how many religions and variations on religions I worldbuild for this world but the way people understand the supernatural and approach concepts like faith and hope and a higher power fascinate me. Also a really weird thing that I’ve noticed reading modern literature as a devout Catholic (especially YA novels) is that it’s very commonly sterile and secular for some reason? I only realized this after going back to classics this year like Dracula and being surprised when characters write prayers into their diary entries. This shouldn’t have surprised me becasue that’s something I do, but after consuming so much modern media and then going back to it, I found myself weirdly missing how much faith was intrinsically baked into society back then, for better or for worse, because it adds a really interesting dimension to how characters view the world.

which leads into my next point...

The Sword and Serpent Series by Taylor Marshall and pretty much anything Hannah Heath has ever written (names are links to their books)

I don’t actually like Christian fiction like 90% of the time. A lot of it is written by writers from different protestant denominations which is fine, but sometimes the theology has me going ????, or the genres are just not my thing, and regardless of the denomination it all runs the risk of being really really preachy. (sorry, Narnia, that means you too). These two writers are outliers and I want to be like them when I grow up.

Hannah Heath is a scifi/fantasy/dystopian writer who actively goes out of her way to tell good stories that also happen to have a Christian theme so that they avoid that preacher pitfall, and her worldbuilding and prose are spectacular. She also tackles a lot of hard themes and is a huge disability advocate which is incredible! I haven’t read all of her works yet but I’m slowly working through them. Skys of Dripping Gold made me cry a few different times and it’s a novella.

Sword and Serpent is a trilogy historical fiction retelling of the St. George and the Dragon that ALSO deals with the political climate the Roman empire in 333AD and it’s FANTASTIC. There are saint cameos everywhere and if you know their stories it’s really cool to spot them even if you don’t recognize their period-accurate names, and it does a great job of showing how much the underground church relied on each other to survive. The character arcs and dynamics are amazing, the way it blends mythos and reality is amazing, and my (unfairly underrated imo) confirmation saint, Catherine of Alexandria, is a main character in the 2nd book so what more could you want??

Rangers Apprentice by John Flanagan and The Chronicles of Prydain by Lloyd Alexander

moreso for Laoche than Storge but these were my favorite book series in middle school when I first came up with the story and their general genre inspired a lot of what Laoche eventually would become. Grand adventures with epic final battles, a small band of heroes trying to save a kingdom becasue they have the knowledge of how, and earning the trust and help of other people through their heroic actions. Swords and magic and bows and knifes and cool capes/cloaks and horses and castles and all that good Fantastical Medieval Aesthetic stuff I absolutely ate up as a kid. Also Alexander’s mastery of voice with the different characters and Taran’s character arc and the platonic love and banter in RA have me dying every time every time I reread them. Good quality fun all around

The Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson

Didn’t influence me in time for Storge but now I’m rehauling everything in Laoche becasue I’m ~inspired~. I can’t speak to the extent to which it’ll influence me yet but I expect it’s going to be a LOT. Thanks Jana XD

Honorable Mentions:

J.R.R. Tolkien because what list of influences for a Catholic high fantasy author would be complete without him? This explains itself I think

Avatar the Last Airbender and everything about the way it handles themes and characterization. Also self explanatory because it’s the best

So many??? people here on writeblr! I am so inspired by everyone who is brave enough to put their writing out there and I have read stuff on here that’s better than published books. It would take too long to name everyone, but just assume that if you’re reading this and you got this far in the post I mean you.

A lot of classic literature? Not a direct influence per se but the writing style is something I want to emulate. Some of my favorites are The Count of Monte Christo, Dracula, A Tale of Two Cities, Frankenstien (sans Victor’s incessant whining), The Divine Comedy, A BUNCH of scifi stuff by Jules Verne and H.G. Wells I loved in middle school and need to reread, and Little Women.

movies and music should also probably go here but that’s a rant for a different day. I take more general vibes and aesthetics from those.

Tagging (no pressure though!): @andiwriteunderthemoon @abalonetea @inkwell-attitude @zielenbloesem

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chappedandfadedvds · 4 years ago

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Dec 30th, Wednesday 19:59

Goliath&In Your Likeness - Woodkid

Two first songs of Woodkid’s newest album, played back to back

No strong triggers apply in this one, I think. Nonetheless, the cancer is mentioned and it is still full of angst. So if you wish to skip at any point, the summary is at the end of this post.

__ __ __

„I didn’t mean to worry you.“

He had found his voice after minutes spent staring at the wooden surface of the table he sat at. There was a hot steaming cup of tea patiently waiting to be tasted. A kind gesture that fell flat against the sheer pain he felt, when he had no injury to show for. No one else had dared to speak as they all took their respectively seats around the table dressed in nothing but low burned candles. And his tea. The room was dim from the little lights reminding of christmas spend in laughter. Jens was thankful to be able to hide in the half-litted dark as his eyes flew across his friends’s faces.

„You don’t have to apologise.“ Senne had raised his voice first, before other’s were quick to follow. All of them reassuring, even if they couldn’t fathom why he had run out into the freezing cold. Jens wasn’t even sure on his reasons either. It all became a blur.

„It was a panic attack, not your fault.“ Of course Sander would know. Jens was sure, after Lucas, he probably was the best to understand him, given their late night conversation only two days ago.

„We were just really scared for you.“ Zoe said it like he hadn’t been scared for himself as well.

„What happened?“ The one question that weighed the heaviest on him, and perhaps was the most honest of them all, as eyes watched him carefully from all sides. He stiffened. Involuntary, but he couldn’t help himself, as Lucas began to gently brush his fingers up and down his back, while he edged his chair closer towards Jens. So close that the wooden frames clashed soundly against each other. Luca who had been so brave to ask in the first place, quickly backtracked. „If you don’t mind me asking. Sorry.“

His throat was incredibly sore. Perhaps from the crying, maybe from the gasping, definitely from the coughing on his way in. He wetted his dry lips, in an attempt to stop biting them til they bled. He shook his head, his gaze dropping back down towards the table.

„I should have told you a while ago.“

Jens really should have. Regret lingered in his heart, when he thought that this would have been easier, had they known month ago. But they would have treated him differently, right? They had to. If not, if his belief had been wrong, he had made himself suffer for nothing, right? All he wanted was a bit more time to be the Jens that his friends knew him to be.

Everyone watched him as he pondered on what to say. Nothing would be good enough to explain his lies and secrecy. He didn’t minded so much about others, but entirely about Robbe. His best friend, who knew his mother for a decade. Who should have known. Who should had have the opportunity to come to terms with it at his own pace.

Jens looked back up, his eyes searching for Robbe’s, while a treacherous new sob dared to take over, but he tried to surpress it to manage the little words he could muster.

„Robbe...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tell you like this. I should have month ago. I should have back in the car. I’m so sorry. You are my best friend and I. I just. I didn’t.“ His messed up voice was tripping over itself, stuttering at all the wrong places, when he apparently handled to say more as he had expected of himself a second ago.

„It’s okay. Really. Nothing to be sorry for. We are just really worried. And we love you. You can just talk when you are comfortable, okay?“ Robbe interrupted him promptly, his tone full of sympathy. And pity, if one would have asked Jens.

He had to say something. He couldn’t take all of this into the new year. Not when his mom would disappear from his side too soon, and Lotte would replace all of his concious attention, always lingering in his perception. Lotte. He hadn’t even thought about her yet. He’d have to take her home to a house that no longer hold their mother. How was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to explain it to her?

How, when he couldn’t even begin to let his closest friends know.

„I recieved a call.“ He dully stated, his eyes darting towards nothingness in their group’s centre. Unfocused as his hands desperately grasped onto Lucas’s in his lap, who surely must had felt pained from the tight clasp of fingers. Yet his boyfriend remained stubbornly calm, when he only went to rest his head on Jens’s shoulder.

He should just give them the reason for his distraught reaction, caught in a panic. Out there it couldn’t hurt him as much as from within, he believed.

„My mom has cancer. She is dying.“ He tilted his head for a second of quiet contemplation. Jens spoke more to himself, to the air between them, than to any person unfortunate enough to have to listen to his whisper. „No, that’s not quite right, is it? She is already dead. Just breathing for a while longer, I think. But her doctor wants her in the hospital.That’s why she had called. To tell me that we’ve reached the end.“ He drew in a sharp breath, bruning his lungs. „We just lost.“

His voice died down, when it shouldn’t even had been considered a sound, so low, to only be audible as no one had moved nor spoken. There they were again, the familiar tears. How was it still possible to cry after all that? Wasn’t he dried up yet? He certainly felt the part, when his confession had reached it’s conclusion.

He also realised that he had just ruined their trip.

„Oh Jens.“ Jana breathed out before anyone else, her voice broken in a reflection of his own sorrow. Robbe swift to push himself up to his feet and rush to hug Jens tightly from Lucas’s opposite side. His boyfriend softly gasping, who hadn’t known about the call yet, but only clung to him stronger in return as the realisation settled. His arm who had only loosely covered his back, now wrapped around his middle.

„Since when?“ Yasmina asked. A steady voice of reason, now heavy from her own sadness. She still managed to possess the strenght in her words to reach him from the other end of the table.

„Since march.“ It barely came over his lips. How was it only nine month? It felt like an eternity. A life worth of lies to cover the inevitable. Another apology stuck on his tounge. He hadn’t had any excuses left.

„Fuck.“ Aaron cursed into the silence that settled between them, each one of them dwelled upon their own thoughts, remembering back towards the summer and fall, in which it hadn’t felt as dire as now in december.

„She recieved treatments and surgery, but...“ The failure to help his mom’s battle stood unspoken. Not needed when it was clearly written all over his surrendered expression.

„Dude. I’m so fucking sorry, for all the times I got mad at you for ghosting us. I. Shit.“ Moyo rambled rueful from his seat, swallowing down more words, that weren’t important enough to say out loud.

„Why didn’t you tell anyone?“ Aaron asked absentmindedly, Amber tearing up silently next to him, as he rubbed her arm.

„Lucas knew.“ Jens felt like the worst friend on this forsaken planet, for having confided in his boyfriend first. Lucas, who he knew for a fraction of the time he knew his friends. Did he betray their trust? Even if he made himself remember Robbe’s words from their kitchen talk weeks back, did it still feel terribly wrong at times. Just like it did now. He had kept such an immense part of his life deliberatly away from the people closest to him. He was a horrible person, an even worse friend.

„So what does that mean for you? I mean, are you going to move to your older sister or your father or something else? I have so many questions. Sorry.“ Milan’s questions tumbled from his lips unhindered. Jens knew he didn’t mean harm in asking, but it was such a grand subject, he unfortunately, or in actuality fortunately, already knew most answers to, he immediately felt exhausted.

„No, uhm, everythings settled. I own it all. I’ve made up my mind. And I’m going to raise Lotte myself.“

His friends were all stunned in a thick layer of complete silence, as their eyes were frozen solely on him.

He fidget restless on his chair, uncomfortable to be the single source of everyone’s unabated focus. Lucas lifted his head in order to face Jens for the first time since they had taken their seats. A worn out expression and a silent plea in the older boy’s eyes, enough for his boyfriend to understand.

„I think we are going to head to bed. We all can talk another time about this, right?“

Lucas undoubtedly was the best thing that had happened to him at the worst and most unlucky time in his still young life. Jens once more let himself be helped up to his feet and steadied by the younger boy’s arms. As he didn’t trusted his knees to not give in outright. They took the stairs, still without any kind of reaction of their friends left behind to their stupor. Only eyes watching on in silent contemplation. If they had stayed to discuss the bit of truth Jens had unveiled, he hadn’t heard it.

It was the first night without him being told a good night. Quite obvious that he wouldn’t have one.

He doubted his friends would find a restful sleep either.

And it was all his fault.

__ __ __ tagged: @odi-et-amo85, @tayspots summary:

Everyone gathers around the dining table. Jens finally confides in his friends and tells them that his mother is dying of cancer, as well as Lotte being left in his care. It is all very brief and undetailed. But the group is clearly taken aback and feels sorry for their friend. Lucas and him leave to go to bed, needing to be up early for their drive home. Jens feels guilty for ruining their trip.

#week 10 #wtfock #skam #vds #jens stoffels #lucas van der heijden #chapped and faded #angst #but he finally comes clean and opens up #which is a good thing as his friends can now understand and help

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olicitysecretsanta · 5 years ago

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Convergence

For @swiftletinthecloud

Hello! We have never met or spoken before, but I am so happy to have you as my giftee because now we have! I was so happy about your response to my anon ask about what kinds of fic you like, because so many of your interests are also mine. It was actually a problem because I had too many interesting ideas for fic that were inspired by your suggestions. Now I just have more fic to write, I guess.

Anyway, I decided to write this idea for you because it was the SHORTEST of all the ideas I had. You can see how well that turned out. What is below is 2 out of 3 total chapters. The last chapter still needs editing, so your gift will be fully complete when I post this to AO3. Until then, please enjoy these first two chapters of season 1 alternate canon!

Much love, @allimariexf

Title: Convergence

Warnings: No warnings apply

Relationship: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak

Tags: Arrow season 1, alternate canon AU, episode tag 1x21 (The Undertaking)

Chapter 1

Oliver Queen moved like a panther through the underground casino, a sleek and beautiful predator at home among the understated opulence. His eyes strayed around the room, a careless smirk masking his close assessment of the security.

Two pit bosses, a floorman, and six armed guards, two of which flanked a hallway that must lead to Dominic Alonzo’s office. If he was going to get in there, he needed to come up with a distraction.

His mind went back to the document he’d found saved on his computer. Like all the previous messages he’d gotten over the past seven months, it took the form of a simple text file, saved prominently on the desktop of his computer in the foundry.

December 12, 2012: Harold Backman deposits $2 million to Cayman Fidelity on behalf of Dominic Alonzo, known kidnapper.

Also December 12: Walter Steele goes missing.

Coincidence? I don’t think so.

I know I normally don’t agree with your “shoot first, ask questions later” policy, but I’m willing to give you a pass on Alonzo. He seems like just the kind of low-life someone would pay to kidnap Mr. Steele. How many arrows do you think you’d need to put in Alonzo before he gave up Mr. Steele’s location - probably a lot, right?

Never mind, forget I said that. Alonzo’s private records are offline - likely stored in his office in his base of operations, an underground casino with basically its own private army. Not the best odds, even for you. But I have a plan that doesn’t involve arrows or any other pointy objects, so sit tight and I’ll contact you tomorrow.

The corners of his lips lifted at the memory. The anonymous hacker who’d been helping him certainly had a way with words, and in their months together she’d often surprised him with her uncannily insightful observations. But if she honestly thought he’d sit back and wait when they finally had a solid lead on finding Walter, maybe she didn’t know him as well as he sometimes suspected. Not when Walter had been missing for almost five months and the likelihood of him being found alive decreased every day. Not with the recorded evidence John Diggle had collected that seemed to confirm his mother had something to do with Walter’s disappearance - and that it was all connected to the List.

Oliver was tired of waiting for answers. This was something he could do. It just so happened that this time, he needed a bespoke suit of Italian wool, rather than green leather in order to do it.

Eyes tracking the movement of the guards, Oliver positioned himself at a well-situated roulette table. Several wealthy patrons crowded around the dealer, including an elegant brunette who instantly met his gaze.

“You’re Oliver Queen,” she purred, reaching out with graceful fingers to draw him toward her. Slipping easily into the role, he let his eyes travel down her body as she trailed her hand down his arm.

Choosing not to answer with words, he winked and held out his dice for her to blow on. It was enough to maintain the part he was playing, and in another life he would have taken her up on the unspoken invitation written in every line of her body. But as his eyes slid down her lithe frame, he barely saw her. Instead, he was seeking something else, some spark of her.

Huli jing.

His anonymous hacker ally.

His thoughts turned to her, as they had increasingly done over the past several months. Who was she, in her normal life? Where was she, what was she doing? When he mingled among the residents of Starling City by day, could she be right next to him, without either of them realizing it? Like always, the possibility sent a thrill of excitement through him.

Part of him was acutely aware that it was futile, even ridiculous, to entertain those thoughts, but as long as they only existed on the fringes of his mind, he indulged them. His life was his mission, and there was no room for anything else, but there was no harm in letting his mind play with the idea of her in his downtime. Not when there was no chance they could ever meet. So when he put in his appearances at Verdant, when he met up with Thea at her favorite cafe, when he picked up his mom from Queen consolidated, he allowed himself to wonder. And if his eyes caught on long red hair, a charming smile, or a long length of exposed thigh, he’d mentally compare the woman in front of him with his mental picture of her. But none of them ever had her unique, undefinable spark. And somehow, by comparison, every woman he saw seemed somehow less because they were not her.

She had contacted him for the first time seven months ago, though “contacted” hardly felt like the right term. He’d arrived at the foundry and booted up his computer one night only to find the entire system had been upgraded, and simple text document saved to the desktop:

I’m truly stunned that no one managed to trace the redistribution of Adam Hunt’s funds back to you. No one else, I mean.

Now that I mention it, I’m even more surprised you managed to steal that $40 million in the first place. Your system looks like it’s from the 80s.

(And not the good part of the 80s, like Madonna and legwarmers, to be clear.) I maybe spruced things up a little bit while I was in there. Seeing a network that poorly set up hurts me in my soul. Seriously it was like you left a crying infant on my doorstep, except it was like a 30 year old baby and it wasn’t my doorstep, because I was the one who kind of broke into your house. But my point is, you have a severely neglected computer setup, and I guess my maternal instinct kicked in. So to speak.

Oliver had barely finished reading the note before he’d ransacked the bunker, searching for evidence of a breach. When he found none, he read the note several more times, seeking hidden clues as to what the infiltrator knew, what they wanted. The program he used to take Adam Hunt’s money was something he’d taken from ARGUS, and no one should have been able to track it. Deeply alarmed, he read the note again and again. Not until the sixth time did he finally consider the playful tone of the note might be sincere, and only then did it occur to him that there might not be a threat buried in the message at all.

He remained on heightened alert for several days after that, but only on principle. The improvements she’d made (and she was a she, he was sure) to his system made his ARGUS programs run faster, and while using compromised equipment was normally a risk he would never take, his gut told him there was no danger. For reasons he didn’t examine, he found himself rereading the note, until he had it memorized word for word.

When he didn’t hear from her for three weeks, he told himself the sense of disappointment he felt was only because lingering questions felt too much like unfinished business. Not because he was intrigued by the hacker. Not because her note had made him smile the way no one had since he’d returned from the island.

He was starting to think of the incident as an amusing, but ultimately harmless one-time stunt when one night, after an afternoon of failing to get data off of Floyd Lawton’s computer and an evening taking his frustration out on a slum lord, he returned to the foundry and discovered a large data dump open on his computer - along with another note.

Blueprints to the Exchange Building, where the Unidac Industries auction is scheduled to take place. Gonna be a pretty target-rich environment. For the person who is trying to eliminate bidders in the auction via assassination, I mean. Which, to be clear, someone IS trying to do, according to the SCPD’s unreleased records. Anyway, do with this information as you wish. (Not “as you wish,” as in code for “I love you.” Obviously, I don’t even know you. Though from the captured video footage of you, I can say with confidence that you can really wear a pair of leather pants. Anyway, speaking of Westley, the papers are calling you “the vigilante” or “the hood,” but maybe you should consider adopting Dread Pirate Roberts. A name that inspires fear, so that you don’t have to do so much arrowing in order to get your point across. You should consider it. Good luck with the auction.

Oliver huffed out his nose, struck by her abrupt topic changes and her particular, rambly way of putting things before it even occurred to him to wonder how she’d managed to pull any information off Lawton’s damaged laptop. Or question whether she had any ulterior motive in doing so.

It was unusual for him to trust anyone so quickly, especially someone he knew virtually nothing about. But somehow, he did, and when her tip about Lawton proved sound, he found he wasn’t surprised at all.

After that he began to seek out her help, adopting her habit of communicating via text document saved to his computer. With each tip she left him, she proved herself invaluable to bringing down another of the city’s worst offenders. He could tell that she was brave, fearless even, and before he knew it, they had developed a rapport. And while it wasn’t exactly a partnership, it worked.

If I’m the the Dread Pirate Roberts, who are you? He asked finally, against the advice of the inner voice that cautioned him that the more he knew about her, the harder it would be to one day give her up.

But in answer, all she said was, You can call me Huli jing.

The Dark Archer, Ted Gaynor, Count Vertigo, Ken Williams, and the list went on. The notes came more frequently, and Oliver found himself looking forward to them, the first thing he’d check for every night. Even having never been there, she filled the dark, dank foundry basement with a bright presence that was just as tangible as John Diggle’s reliable support.

What do you think keeps these bad guys up at night? Probably not worrying about that one time they accidentally stared at a man for two full minutes while they were busy trying to figure out what the Cylons’ plan really was. They said they had “a Plan,” like capital P PLAN, you know? Anyway, despite what that guy probably thought, I was NOT creeping on him. But to my point, now that I think of it these criminals probably just close their eyes and get a full 8 hours every night. Sometimes it really sucks to have a conscience.

As the months wore on, he learned that she wielded a formidable intelligence, a sharp sense of humor, an unerring sense of justice, and, somehow, an unshakeable confidence in his mission. In him. She became a voice in his head that he couldn’t tune out. And he found, more and more, that he didn’t want to.

Anyway, while I’m at it, did you ever think about not killing some of these thugs? Look, I get it - they’re taking shots at you and you’re just trying to stay alive, but on the other hand, they’re just hired guns and you’re…you know. You. All I’m saying is, with your aim - which I have seen evidence of, so please don’t start with the false modesty - you could just as easily be shooting these guys in the hand or leg or something, you know? Anyway. Just a thought.

Before he realized it, she had come to haunt his thoughts. When he was wrestling with a problem, he found himself playing out imaginary conversations with her, unerringly channeling her firm conviction and steady support.

He didn’t even know what she looked like, but he couldn’t get her out of his head. Sometimes he thought he was half in love with her. No; that was ridiculous. It was the fantasy, the not knowing, that fascinated him. The idea that she could be anyone. He told himself didn’t want to know who she really was, because there was no way the reality could live up to the fantasy he’d built up in his mind.

A rough voice, intentionally pitched to grab his attention, cut into his reverie. “Is that Oliver Queen?”

“No, couldn’t be,” came a loud, theatrical reply, drawing closer toward him.

“Why not?” the first voice asked from somewhere right behind him. Oliver turned his head to present the speakers with a careless smirk.

“Because Oliver Queen wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this,” the second man sneered, pressing a gun against his back.

The gun cocked. “Well then I guess he has a death wish.”

So much for blending in, he thought as they dragged him toward the back hallway.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Felicity stilled her frantic movements to free herself from the ties that were cutting into her wrists as the door abruptly opened and a man was pushed inside. She tried not to gape as her captor stepped in behind him and roughly zip-tied his hands behind his back, exactly as he had done to Felicity not ten minutes before.

Despite her situation, she couldn’t stop the flow of words that spilled out of her mouth when she saw who had joined her. “Oh, great. It’s you.” The newcomer whipped his head up and she locked gazes with a pair of striking blue eyes.

Strangely, the first thought that crossed her mind was that if she had known her curiosity about the hood was going to lead to crossing paths with Oliver Queen, she would never have tried to solve the mystery of Adam Hunt’s $40 million in the first place.

Though to be fair, her interest in the Hood pre-dated the article that mentioned Hunt’s missing money, so she couldn’t entirely blame her entanglement with the vigilante on her compulsive need to unravel knotty mysteries. And it wasn’t just the allure of a dark and brooding man who could pull off leather, either. Something about his single-minded dedication and passion, at the risk to his own freedom and safety, was simply irresistible.

It was curiosity that first led her to him. Maybe boredom. Her job was monotonous and unchallenging, something she’d sought out after her brief brush with hacktivism had backfired so spectacularly. When she first read about the Hood, she dismissed him as some whacko loose canon. But she followed the story - and the police reports - for lack of anything better to do. But when she read that Adam Hunt claimed the Hood had stolen $40 million, Felicity was intrigued. A crazy person couldn’t - wouldn’t - pull something like that off. So she hacked into Hunt’s accounts, following the trail back to a program that emptied the money and redistributed it to Hunt’s victims. It was shockingly easy, like following a flashing neon sign, and she was legitimately stunned that the police hadn’t managed to do the same. They also had no idea that the missing money had been returned to its rightful owners. On impulse, she erased the digital evidence.

She could have left it at that, but the mystery was too compelling. She told herself she just wanted to make sure she hadn’t just enabled a psycho or terrorist to do even more psychotic and terrifying things, but the truth was, the fact that he’d quietly returned Hunt’s victims’ money to them cast him in an entirely unexpected light. She needed to know more.

She found that his system was alarmingly, disturbingly unprotected. And primitive. Really, it wasn’t even tolerable for the tiny amount of poking around and passive monitoring that she planned to do. Which is why she discreetly updated speed and capacity as much as she could without added hardware, then added a few dozen security protocols, because anything less was begging the police to come find him.

Then she established several monitoring programs and alerts, and waited. Just a few weeks later, she got an alert that an unprotected device had been plugged in - a quick remote in revealed that it was one of those Tuff laptops, with a damaged system. It was clear that the Hood hadn’t been able to access the drive, but Felicity was curious, so she remotely cloned the data and opened it on her own system. When she discovered the blueprints of the Exchange Building on the drive, she remembered that the Unidac auction was shortly going to be held there, which naturally reminded her of recent news that one of bidders, James Holder of Holder Group, had recently been murdered. Which naturally then led to a little bit of unsanctioned poking around the SCPD’s internal files, and before she knew it the she found herself composing a message to the Hood before she’d even consciously decided to get involved.

After all, she didn’t actually want to be involved. She was just an IT girl, and she intended to keep a low profile. But the possibility that she could help prevent another murder weighed on her conscience, so she left a message pointing him in the right direction, hoping her suspicions were false.

When she heard about the shooting at the auction, she poured herself a glass of wine - well, a bottle, really - and gave herself a talk. It wasn’t that she wasn’t glad she’d helped prevent an even greater catastrophe, because she was. It was just that the reality of the situation finally hit her, and she was faced with a choice.

Get involved, take a stance, use her powers in the real world again? She’d been down this road, she’d seen what her interference was capable of. She’d played with fire and hadn’t just gotten burned; she’d burned down her entire world - and Cooper’s.

But the Hood wasn’t Cooper. He wasn’t innocent. He wasn’t naive to the forces he was playing with. She wasn’t sure what he was. He’d killed, and he would kill again, she was sure.

But as much as she couldn’t condone the killing, she also couldn’t ignore the good that he’d done, and she realized she already didn’t have a choice. Something was happening in her city, the signs were all around her, and choosing to do nothing would only make her complicit.

From then on, she kept tabs on the Hood’s activities, always leaving documents on his desktop explaining, briefly, what he needed to know. It wasn’t long until he began leaving notes of his own.

Through unspoken agreement, they never asked each other personal questions, but between the lines, she gained a sense of the man he was. Compassionate. Loyal. Selfless.

When Oliver Queen was arrested as the suspected Hood, Felicity instantly dismissed the idea. She knew about the arresting officer’s personal grudge against Oliver Queen, which explained why he pursued him like a dog with a bone. But Felicity knew it was impossible; she knew what kind of person Oliver Queen was, and there was no overlap with the kind of person the vigilante was.

Aside from that, she purposely avoided speculating about who the Hood could be. If she had wanted to know, she could have found out easily enough, but she didn’t want to know. She told herself it didn’t matter; that the work he was doing was what was important. She didn’t want to put a face to the hood, because then she would begin to worry about him.

More than she already did, that is. Despite not knowing his name, she felt a connection with him that sometimes felt stronger for their mutual anonymity. His notes were always brief, especially compared to hers, but she learned to read what he didn’t say. And when he was repeatedly crucified in the media while his quietly heroic actions went unnoticed, he never complained, never faltered in his mission. He never even acknowledged the subtle tones of praise layered into her notes. She would almost suspect him of being a robot if it weren’t for the clear passion that underscored every action.

So when Walter Steele gave her the notebook that turned out to be filled with names that correlated with the criminals the vigilante was confronting, she didn’t say anything. There was too much she still didn’t know about the notebook to risk jeopardizing their relationship over it. Because if there was one thing she did know, it was that she trusted him.

When Mr. Steele went missing, however, she had to break her silence. Without giving away details that could expose her own identity, she presented him with digital evidence of Moira Queen’s involvement of the events that likely got her husband kidnapped, and asked him for help.

Which was how she now found herself in this hideously decorated criminal lair staring into the supremely beautiful face of Oliver Queen.

Chapter 2

“Oh great. It’s you.”

Oliver looked up at the sarcastic words being spoken by a stunning blonde. Even as he was roughly manhandled, his hands being zip-tied behind his back, he couldn’t help but be a little offended at her tone. “Excuse me?” Beautiful women treating him like some kind of disease was something he’d never experienced before, and while he wasn’t the same person he used to be, he had to admit his ego took a hit.

She stared at him silently, eyes flashing with undisguised contempt, until after Dominic Alonzo’s minion had left the room.

“Oliver Queen?” she finally answered distastefully, tilting her head at him in an exaggerated motion, as if his name was explanation enough. “Entitled billionaire and general asshole?”

Her stomach swooped as his eyes searched her face. Disturbingly, and contrary to the cool attitude she was projecting, Felicity found his presence a little overwhelming, not quite matching the plastic and glossy picture presented by the tabloids. Rather than being some kind of smarmy Trust Fund Ken, in person he was exquisitely human. Felicity had always suspected she was immune to the appeal of a man in a suit, but on him, the tapered line from broad shoulder to narrow waist suggested an essential masculinity that awoke a deeply primal response she’d never experienced before. In contrast to the brutal strength of his body, his eyes were startlingly expressive; his chiseled jaw was complemented by soft, sensual lips. In short, he was utterly, unfairly beautiful in a way that affected her immediately, physically, and urgently.

“Wow, okay,” Oliver scoffed, unaware of her internal struggle. “Most people lead with ‘Are you okay, Mr. Queen?’ ‘How did you survive all those years alone, Mr. Queen?’ ‘What does it feel like to be the only survivor in an accident that killed your father, Mr. Queen?’” He spoke harshly, wielding the crude words like a club. While he usually found the subject too intrusive to mention to anyone, let alone complete strangers, something about this woman’s fiery disdain was really getting under his skin, and extreme measures were called for.

Felicity smiled insincerely, holding on to her irritation like a shield from the confusing wave of sympathy that, along with his sheer attractiveness, threatened to undo her. This man slept with his girlfriend’s sister, she firmly reminded herself. “Well, I’m sorry, but my concern didn’t really seem necessary, given the fact that you seem utterly unaffected by what you went through. I caught your appearance at the opening of Queen Consolidated’s Applied Sciences building,” she added witheringly. “You seemed perfectly okay. Or at least as okay as you ever were.”

Oliver crossed his arms, bothered by her words even though the image she described was the exact public persona he’d been purposefully crafting. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he couldn’t stand the idea that this woman found him so completely and vehemently offensive. Shaking his head, he tried a different tack. “Have we met before? Have I done something to offend you?” There was something compelling and almost familiar about her, but he was pretty sure he would remember if they’d met.

She scoffed dismissively. “No, definitely not.”

“Well, you sure have a lot of opinions about me for someone who doesn’t know me.” His eyes ran over her again, trying to figure out why she seemed so familiar. She was undeniably beautiful, with delicate features animated by a streak of passion that was not characteristic of the type of woman he’d have gone for before the island.

“Oh, I know all about you, Oliver Queen. If it’s on the internet, I can find it. Not -” her eyes flew to the ceiling as she turned pink, “not that I’ve looked into you!” Her sudden lack of composure was completely unexpected and disarming, and Oliver was intrigued and charmed by the new side of Felicity it revealed. And, if he was being honest, gratified by the suggestion that maybe she was not as immune to him as he originally thought. “It’s just that I work for your company,” she continued, straightening her shoulders and meeting his eyes again as sarcasm crept back into her tone, “and it’s a little hard to avoid hearing about all your little…adventures and mishaps.”

“Hmm,” he answered, covering the dismay he felt at hearing her refer to his past actions when he suddenly, illogically, wanted her to know that he wasn’t that person anymore. “You work for Queen Consolidated?”

“Yeah, I do.” She pinned him with a fierce look. “But don’t go getting any weird ideas. I don’t work for you.”

Felicity rolled her eyes to illustrate how distasteful she found that idea, and to cover up the effect his nearness was having on her. This was Oliver Queen, Frat Boy Extraordinaire, Professional Heartbreaker. She should not be flattered by any interest he showed to her. Anyway, he was probably just talking to her because there was no one else to talk to, as they were both literally imprisoned together. Speaking of, she needed to stop being distracted by Oliver Queen’s whole overwhelmingness, and start figuring out a way out of her handcuffs so she could carry out her plan to infiltrate Dominic Alonzo’s computer. She was lucky that when they caught her counting cards they brought her here, at least. Though she would have preferred that she hadn’t gotten caught at all, so she could have found her way here without the zip-tie cuffs, as she had planned. But dammit, she was new to this. She didn’t know anything about going undercover in an underground casino. As evidenced by the very great misfortune of finding herself trapped with Oliver Queen, of all people. Well, at least his presence solved one problem. “So anyway, how is it that Oliver Queen ends up handcuffed in the back of an underground casino?” she asked, deliberately toning down her attitude in the hopes that he’d prove cooperative.

“I could ask you the same thing, Miss…” he trailed off in question, a clear indication that she should fill in her name, as he tried to figure out how to respond.

The truth was certainly not an option. Even if he could trust her with his secret - and for some inexplicable reason, he did feel generally inclined to trust her - doing so would put her at risk. He couldn’t even tell her a half-truth. Sure, the whole city at this point knew that his step-father was missing, possibly kidnapped, probably dead, but there was no good reason why Oliver Queen would be investigating that. Or that he should have figured out that Alonzo was the person who had him kidnapped.

Felicity met his eyes warily, aware that she didn’t have an acceptable explanation for being there either, and they came to a silent agreement not to press each other for information. For now. “Felicity Smoak,” she supplied.

He smiled. She stared back, refusing to be charmed, even though she detected a hint of dimple.

Needing to get him to stop smiling at her, because she was much more susceptible than she wanted him to know, she hastened on, “It’s good that you’re here, actually, because you can help me.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows. “Help you?” Help her do what? He didn’t expect his co-hostage to have any sort of plan; rather, he was busy trying to figure out how he could convince her to stay calm, and possibly hide in a closet, while he dislocated his thumb, got out of the zip-ties, searched through the office, and then called the police to come rescue them.

It wasn’t an ideal plan; he considered all the variables, all the things that could go wrong. Getting made definitely hadn’t been part of his plan. He’d hoped to sneak in the back without being noticed, not get thrown there with the attention of Alonzo and his thugs. And Felicity proved an even bigger problem. While he could easily hold himself back and take a beating if necessary, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do the same if they threatened her; and if it came to a fight, he wasn’t sure how he was going to preserve his secret.

“Help me get out of these zip-ties,” Felicity answered, taking a deliberate step toward Oliver. Her heart was pounding at what she was about to suggest, but she schooled her expression to appear nonchalant, annoyed by the necessity, even. Not flustered. And definitely, definitely not turned on by the prospect. She took a deep breath. “I need you to get the knife out of my bra.”

Oliver blinked. No words could have been more unexpected coming from her mouth. “What?”

She rolled her eyes to distract from the fact that she was blushing. Eyes firmly locked on the ceiling, she elaborated, “There is a pocketknife in my bra and we can use it to cut our binds.”

Oliver stared at her in wonder, steadfastly ignoring the primal thrill that ran through him at her suggestion. It seemed he had severely underestimated Felicity Smoak. His mind was racing with questions, but the one that he blurted out was “Why do you have a pocketknife in your bra?”

“Mr. Queen!” she flared, exasperated nerves causing her to meet his gaze. “Do you want to get out of here or not?”

Oliver’s mind was suddenly reeling with images of what she was proposing. In an instinctual stalling tactic, he said the first words that came to him. “Mr. Queen was my father.”

Felicity gaped at him.

Oliver shook his head at himself, saying nothing as he attempted to get his head on straight. He considered her plan rationally. Aside from the question of why it was so important to Felicity that she get out of her cuffs, and the mystery of what she planned to do once she was free of them, the fact of the matter was that going along with her plan would free him to search the office without having to dislocate his thumb. Deciding to continue their no-questions truce, he nodded. “Okay. But…,” he trailed off, throat dry as he looked looking down into unexpectedly near wide blue eyes.

Felicity was pretty sure they were both imagining what he was about to do. “Yeah,” she exhaled, suddenly very aware of the cadence of his breaths, his intoxicatingly masculine scent. Throughout the course of their discussion, he had moved closer to her, and now his expressive eyes fixed on her, waiting. “You won’t be able to see what you’re doing, but if you’re standing, I can kneel behind you and you can kind of…feel around.”

Oliver’s eyes widened as she spoke, her matter-of-fact words making the situation more real. More shocking. It wasn’t that he hadn’t done more with women he’d known for less time in much less dire circumstances, but something about touching Felicity in these circumstances felt wrong, like a violation, and he suddenly, irrationally found himself wanting to get to know her first, and to tell her about himself, about the real him. He briefly reconsidered his original plan of dislocating his thumb.

Mortified by Oliver’s reaction to her words, Felicity tried to cut the tension. “I mean, I know it’s not ideal, but I figure it’s gotta be better than the alternative.”

Caught up, Oliver automatically asked, “What’s the alternative?”

Her eyes dropped involuntarily to his lips and she swayed a little toward him as she whispered, “Using your mouth.” But when her eyes flicked up to meet his, neither of them were laughing.

Oliver’s mouth fell open in surprise, his gaze dropping to the deep vee of her bodice, before dragging back up to her face. The action pulled him even closer toward her, and a rush of heat washed over him as he fully took her in for the first time. The red chiffon dress clung to her curves, outlining a deeply feminine, lush body. She was a study in contradictions, watching him through darkly-lashed eyes that were somehow both innocent and knowing; her face lightly dusted with freckles that contrasted alluringly with a sinfully soft mouth. She watched him with dilated pupils and parted lips, and his cock twitched in response.

But then reality crashed back in on him as she interrupted, “Not that I’m suggesting anything! I’m not coming on to you or anything.”

Oliver blinked, trying to regain control by reminding himself where they were and why. Catching her gaze, he nodded in an attempt to reassure her. Hoping that she didn’t pick up on just how affected he himself was.

Felicity took a deep, centering breath. It didn’t make any sense that Oliver Queen was having this effect on her. He was just some shallow billionaire, a douchebag womanizer. None of it made any sense. When he looked at her, it was like he saw her. And as much as she told herself it was impossible, it looked as if he wanted her. No. She had to be projecting. And she didn’t want him to want her, anyway. Sure, he was gorgeous. So, so masculine and touchable he smelled so good, with an essential manliness that was softened by those eyes…but no. He was still Oliver Queen, and the fact that she was so attracted to him only explained why so many women had given in to his appeal, despite the long list of reasons to avoid him. She might have judged those women in the past, but now she could not.

She squared her shoulders, trying to clear the attraction from her mind and prepare for what had to happen next. “So, okay?” She chanced a look in his direction, not quite meeting his eyes.

Oliver nodded, and Felicity took refuge in remembering her mission. After all, she was here to help the Hood, and she could not have her sudden weakness to very handsome men - or rather, one specific very handsome man - getting in the way of that.

“All right, just turn a little to your right,” she directed hoarsely, nodding encouragingly as he complied. “Okay, stop there. I’ll position myself so you should be able to locate the knife relatively easily.” She lowered herself to the ground behind him as she was speaking, her voice only slightly wavering with the awareness that Oliver Queen was about to feel her up. “It’s on the left side,” she rambled, masking her response to the feeling of his surprisingly rough fingers dipping below her bodice, carrying on as if this were normal, as if she were directing someone to the library, as if Oliver Queen’s very large hands weren’t currently sliding along the sides of her breasts…her words tapered off and she bit her bottom lip, concentrating on not moaning out loud because oh god, his fingers brushed against her nipple and her body responded as if he was tugging on a string tied directly to her thrumming core.

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, trying to be quick, methodical, and clinical, but he had felt enough breasts in his life to know that Felicity Smoak’s were a rarity. As much as he tried to stay on task,he found himself getting distracted, unable to stop the picture that drifted through his mind. Perfect breasts, not large, but extremely full; firm but very soft, with tight nipples that his fingertips couldn’t help brushing over repeatedly as he wedged his large hand into the tight space of her bodice. Tight, very sensitive nipples, he corrected unhelpfully, judging by the way she gasped softly in response to his inadvertent touches. As her voice trailed off, he remained aware of the soft catching of her breath, and even with his back to her, he he felt completely in tune with her, much more intimately than if they had only been having sex. Finally, his fingers touched upon warm metal, and even though the entire encounter lasted less than fifteen seconds, he was out of breath as he withdrew the pocketknife and turned to meet her eyes. His dick was rock hard, and the look she returned him said she was equally affected.

She was staring up at him, speechless, so he took the lead, flipping open the knife and directing her in a soft voice, “Turn around. I’ll cut your ties.”

Felicity nodded silently, turning so that they were back to back and trusting that he wouldn’t cut her as he twisted around to line her zip-ties up with the blade. “Okay,” he told her when the knife was in position, “try an up and down sawing motion,” and they easily and wordlessly fell into a rhythm that quickly parted the plastic around her wrists.

“Oh thank god,” she exhaled as her hands came free. She instantly started rubbing her wrists, then silently turned to take the knife.

Oliver felt her warm hand close around his wrists, steadying him as she positioned the blade against his ties. He took a steadying breath as she freed him. “I probably shouldn’t do this,” she commented, “since my plan is to maintain the illusion that we’re still tied up and that would be easier to do if you actually were still tied up, but I have to admit that I’ll feel safer if your hands are free.” With a final tug, the plastic came apart, but she didn’t release his hands immediately. Inexplicably, her words inflated him with a disproportionate sense of pride and purpose. He liked that she felt safe with him, that even without knowing his alternate identity, and despite her pre-existing opinion of Oliver Queen, she somehow trusted him. He was struck with an acute desire to be worthy of that trust, and a deep yearning to prove to her that it was not misplaced.

After a long moment, Felicity dropped his hands, taking large step backward in a move designed to decrease the tension. Truthfully, she was a little impressed by Oliver Queen. He was a lot more gentle, sensitive, and thoughtful than she would have thought. She had expected him to be obnoxious, entitled, and immature, the type of person who, finding himself in this situation, would either panic or make a joke of the whole thing. Either way, she’d have expected him to be throwing his money around trying to save himself, not quietly and calmly following her lead. And no way would she have predicted he was capable of being so respectful of her body. Probably more respectful of her body than she was being of his. Not that she had forced him to feel her up…but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t enjoyed it. Fleetingly, she wondered if it counted as sexual harassment to get turned on when a man was merely trying to locate a knife in your bra so you could escape a kidnapping situation.

For his part, Oliver’s admiration for Felicity was growing exponentially. She was much more resourceful and level headed than he would have expected anyone to be in her situation. From the moment she opened her mouth, she’d already proven herself smarter and more sensible than most people in his experience - she had a cautious, strategic manner that he was unused to in other people.

“So now what?” he asked, caught up in the intelligence in her eyes, the mystery of her presence. Even though he was the one with a plan and she was technically just an inconvenience, he momentarily set that aside because he just wanted to know. He wanted to know what she was planning to do. He wanted to know her. “You mentioned you have a plan, one that requires your hands be free,” he prodded, hoping she would fill in some pieces of the puzzle.

“That’s for me to know,” she countered playfully, holding his gaze as she reached into her bra, pulling something else out, “and you to find out.”

His eyes widened and dropped to her chest before snapping back up, unsure if she meant anything by it. Again, it was the last thing he expected. And again, it set his heart racing.

“Or, I mean, not to find out. There will be no finding out, from you. Just stay there and look pretty.” Her eyes grew rounder. “Not that you’re pretty, it’s just an expression. Just sit there.” She backed away until she ran into the desk, and then she dropped to the ground and started feeling around underneath it.

He watched her with amused eyes, interested in her actions and utterly captivated by her. “I’m not pretty?” he pressed, curious to know how she would react.

Her head popped up from the other side of the desk, sending him an exasperated look. “No! I mean, yes! Very pretty like, really very attractive, objectively speaking I mean, I’m not coming on to you. It’s science; you’re scientifically pretty.” Her head disappeared again beneath the desk.

Oliver stood up, drawn to her, until he was leaning over the desk looking down at her ass protruding from under the desk. “Scientifically pretty?”

Felicity visibly startled, then took a deep breath, then carefully, and with as much dignity as possible, crawled backwards and rose out from under the desk, smoothing down her hair. She arched her brow at him. “Don’t tell me you’re one of these anti-science climate change denier people.”

Oliver guffawed, unable to come up with a fitting response. She was unlike anyone he’d ever come across. Instead of answering, he watched as she sat herself at the desk and instantly penetrated the password protection, diving with singular focus directly into the files on Alonzo’s computer. “What are you doing?” he asked after a moment, fascinated by her actions. He knew time was precious, that he should be taking the opportunity to riffle through drawers, search filing cabinets, etc., but rather than pursue his mission, he couldn’t help but pull at the loose thread that was Felicity Smoak.

She lifted distracted eyes to him, giving the distinct impression that he had yanked her out of a very deep concentration, despite the fact that it had only been twenty seconds since she’d sat down. He expected her to crack another joke, but instead she blinked and said seriously, “It’s better you don’t know,” before returning her attention to the computer.

Surprised, Oliver slipped off the desk he’d been casually leaning against, the hair raising on the back of his neck; her words were like a warning, almost ominous. Who was she? Why was she here? What was she involved in? Habits shaped over the past five years forced him to question her motives: honest people rarely found themselves involved with guys like Dominic Alonzo; he had to consider that Felicity might not be as innocent as she seemed; he had to wonder if she might even be on the list. But as soon as the thought surfaced, he dismissed it. His five years away had also taught him to trust his instincts, and every single part of him was shouting at him to trust her.

“Okay,” she announced a few seconds later, “I need you to come here and keep an eye on this feed.”

Oliver stepped up beside her to where she was pointing at CCTV footage in a corner of the computer monitor. “What is that?”

“Security feed, showing the corridor just outside. This way we can know ahead of time if anyone’s coming.” Her eyes returned to the screen, where she was still methodically searching through the computer’s files.

“Felicity,” Oliver said firmly, coming to a decision even as his eyes obediently remained glued on the feed.

“Hmm?”

Oliver took a deep breath, his racing mind rapidly drawing conclusions that he couldn’t quite believe were true. But every objection he came up with was easily disproved; rather, every detail about her only seemed to confirm the picture that was forming in his mind.

Huli jing.

“Felicity,” he repeated, and this time the name felt familiar on his tongue, like he had been saying it his whole life, like he had been born to say it. “You need to tell me why you’re here.”

He knew. There was no denying it; when she spoke, it was with the voice he’d been hearing in his head for seven months. When she smiled, it was with the unique humor that had amused him like nothing else had been able to do since returning from the island. And when she looked at him, it was with eyes that perceived all the things he didn’t say. It was her. But he needed to hear her say it.

“Oliver, look,” she began, unexpectedly turning to meet his eyes. He was nearly flattened by the look of sincere regret and conviction in her eyes. “I’m sorry about before, what I said.”

His eyebrows draw together in confusion.

“When I said you hadn’t changed. I was wrong. The person the tabloids make you out to be - that’s not who you are. And I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

Oliver’s lips parted in surprise. “That’s not -”

“No, it is necessary,” she pressed, misunderstanding what he was going to say. “I made assumptions, and they were completely unfair.” Over his protests, she continued, “I don’t know what you did out there to piss off the casino bosses, but I’m really sorry you’re caught up in this. Please,” she emphasized, “just believe me when I tell you that the less you know, the safer you’ll be.” She reached out a hand but started to pull it back before it made contact with his chest, and he caught it between his own before she could fully withdraw.

“Felicity.” He fixed her with a steady, knowing look, and he heard her breath catch, and felt her pulse pick up under his fingers. “I need to ask you something.”

Felicity’s eyes widened at his sudden, inexplicable intensity and focus. She had no idea Oliver Queen was capable of such depth and sincerity. His large hands were cradling her, his thumb soothing over her wrist, and she had long ago surrendered to that penetrating look in his eyes. “What?” she breathed, not knowing what Oliver Queen could tell her that required so much intensity and passion, but suddenly very much wanting to find out.

His words were the last thing she expected to hear. “Are you here because of the Hood?”

Her stomach dropped. “What?”

Before he could respond, he caught sight of someone on the security feed walking up the hallway. “Someone’s coming!”

She turned to the feed, then instantly went to the computer and, with a blur of hands on the keyboard, logged off and put the monitor to sleep. There was no time for anything else, so without thinking any further, Oliver reached around her body, pressing her wrists together behind her in an approximation of being handcuffed, secured his own hands behind his back, then pressed his mouth to hers in an urgent kiss.

Felicity gasped in surprise, and he instinctively used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, coaxing her lips open, his tongue seeking hers. After a stunned moment, she responded with ardor, the passion exploding like a match to dry tinder.

Kissing her was like putting the last piece of the puzzle in place.

For seven months, he had been drawn to the woman with intriguingly contradictory parts: a dizzyingly sharp partner who amused and irritated and charmed and inspired him.

For seven months, the more space he allowed her in his mission, the wider the empty hole that only she could fill had become in his life. He hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge it, but meeting her face to face meant he could no longer deny how he felt about her. He had been drawn to her since he saw her, his body seeking any excuse to touch hers. Everything about her provoked and challenged and called to him; her passion, her intelligence, her humor, her bravery, and the glimpses of vulnerability.

She was the woman he’d been waiting for, and if the way she was responding to him was any indication, she’d been waiting for him too.

He bore down on her, covering her with his body, and it was everything he could do to keep his hands behind his back. The need to touch her is like electricity in his veins, and he forgot everything but the urgent need to be close to her.

“What’s going on?” The voice broke into the moment like a bucket of cold water.

Oliver’s lips released Felicity’s reluctantly, and she met his eyes as she pulled back. Her pupils were nearly black, her lips parted and swollen, and the sight sent a jolt through his body to his already throbbing dick.

“Oliver Queen, you really can’t control yourself, can you?” asked Dominic Alonzo, striding into the room. “I’d almost be impressed if you weren’t such a pain in my ass.”

Oliver glanced once more at Felicity, and the last thought he had before turning his attention to Alonzo was that she looked utterly shell-shocked.

…to be continued…

#arrow #olicity #olicity secret santa #goodbye olicity #submission

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winterisakiller · 5 years ago

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Rumor Has It...

Title: Rumor Has It...

One Shot: 1/1

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: fluff

Rating: All ages

Summary: With Betrayal a success in both London and New York, rumors of Tony award nominations spread. Tom Hiddleston, while flattered, refuses to let himself be led by it. But when the day the nominations are set to be announced arrives, Tom finds himself drawn into the tantalizing idea of ‘what if’ and with his girlfriend of a year by his side, waits with bated breath to see if rumor turns into fact.

Authors Notes/Warnings: I received the above ask towards the end of last month and at first thought of tackling this with Tom and Rosie but the more I thought about the idea the more I realized it fit so perfectly with Tom and my newest OFC, Cath (whom you will be officially meeting in ‘Get Better’ a sequel to my three part story ‘Brave Face’ which will start posting on August 1st). So this story takes place after the events of Get Better and while I feel odd about technically showing my hand with this, I love the story this ask brought about and I hope you enjoy it to. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do.

Tag list: @theheartofpenelope @tinchentitri @blacksuitofdoom @noplacelikehome77 @nonsensicalobsessions @messy-insomniac-bookgirl

Tom had woken far earlier than he’d meant to that morning and from a sleep that hadn’t been as restful as he’d hoped. Filming had gone much later than intended the night before and he’d finally stumbled into bed at quarter past one in the morning. A glance at the clock on the bedside table had told him it was just pushing eight. He groaned and rolled back over onto his stomach, willing sleep to claim him once more. But a half an hour of tossing and turning proved that notion fruitless.

He’d pushed himself out of bed and padded down the stairs, Bobby close on his heels. The spaniel weaved excitedly around his legs as Tom wandered into the kitchen. “Okay, okay,” he yawned, heading towards the back garden door. “Go do your business and I’ll have your breakfast ready when you’re done.” Bobby sprinted out into the back garden, yipping at the birds and squirrels. Tom poured kibble into the porcelain dog bowl and set about making himself a cup of coffee. Ten minutes later Bobby scrambled back in the opened door and attacked his meal with gusto. Tom simply shook his head and sipped his steaming mug of coffee.

Coffee finished Tom found himself climbing the stairs once more and heading back into the bedroom. He should start getting himself ready for the day, he had a few hours left to kill before Cath would arrive for their weekly lunch date. It was nice, he’d found, having a simple routine in place. It gave him something to look forward to, a reminder of how they’d started. And any other day he’d be whistling as he picked up his clothing, looking forward to a few hours with the woman who’d come to mean the world to him. But there was a quiet layer of unease floating over him. Must be the lack of sleep, he reasoned with himself as he paced before the closet door. Though if he were being honest, he’d been feeling off the past week. He stopped as a realization hit him. The nominations come out today.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. He needed to get out of the house and try to clear his mind. He took a deep breath, nodding to himself before tossing on his running gear, grabbing Bobby’s lead, and taking them both on a much needed run. Bobby had been gloriously excited at the prospect, jumping around Tom’s feet as they made their way out the front door, nearly causing his master to trip several times before he was able to right himself, a string of curses echoing off the walls of the main hall. Wouldn’t that be hysterical, death by excited dog? Tom shook his head and pulled the door closed behind them both.

Headphones in, Tom lead them both down the relatively empty sidewalks of his neighborhood. It was late enough that the morning rush had all but cleared, which Tom had been grateful for. In his current state he was quite likely to run into a hapless commuter that found their way into his path.

He was being utterly ridiculous and he’d known it; letting his nerves get the better of him because of this, the chance that he might have just the slightest chance of actually getting a nomination. There was nothing set in stone, simply rumor and word of mouth but god if it were true? He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around it. He was frankly afraid to think it for fear of jinxing the matter, as stupid and silly as the notion was.

When he’d taken the role of Robert in Betrayal nearly a year past, he had looked forward to the challenge of the role; to playing a man of dubious morals caught in a situation that effected so many lives not just his own. He’d been thrilled with the idea of a limited run, of being able to be back on stage and giving it his all night after night. Of being able to sleep in his own bed. The show’s initial success had been an unexpected, but deeply longed for, delight. They had always hoped the show would do well, but life in the West End was tricky and audiences could be fickle at the best of times. Many a great show had utterly failed to take off and there had been every chance that Betrayal could have been one of them.

Getting to work with Zawe and Charlie had been a dream. They were just as engaged and dedicated as he was; he’d known Charlie for years and had always wanted the chance to work with him. Zawe had been great fun to work with during both the Pinter celebration and the Tolstoy vs Dickens battle. They were both magnificent in the craft and they’d been wonderful to play off of. Despite the show’s heavy nature, and his own personal experiences with the subject matter, Tom could honestly say the initial three month run had been some of the most fun he’d had in years.

And then the call had come, asking if he would be interesting in reviving his role alongside Charlie and Zawe, this time in New York and on Broadway. It was surreal, almost like a dream, and he had hardly believed it at first. His agent had needed to explain it, twice, before he’d actually been able to comprehend just what was being offered let alone agree. Cath had been the first person he called, knowing without a doubt that she would understand both his joy and his fear. And she had been ecstatic, beaming with pride for both him and for the production that she’d played a small role herself in bringing to life.

He’d ramble on to her about his excitement and his worry. He talked about how absolutely elated he was to get the chance to work on Broadway, how he couldn’t believe they had done so well as to warrant such a thing, his fear that the show might not translate as well with American audiences, and his very real worry that four plus months apart would do them more harm than good especially when what they had was so new. And Cath, to her credit, had let him do so, offering him her quiet support and encouragement. He was talented, they all were; this was a wonderful opportunity regardless of how it panned out in the end and, most of all, this was a part of his job, she understood that and she trusted him. Her faith in him had warmed his heart in ways he couldn’t quite put to words.

And the show had done well. Far better than he had dared to dream it would. Audiences and critics alike seemed taken with the production. He’d been positively giddy opening night; the show had gone off without a hitch, they had all been completely on point, and, best of all, Cath had surprised him by flying in. She hadn’t told him she was coming, and with her work picking up back home in London, he’d not expected her to be able to get away especially not this early on. But there she had been in the front row, beaming with pride and Tom had barely been able to contain his excitement when he’d caught sight of her.

He’d pulled her into his arms when he’d finally been able to find her backstage, kissing her soundly, not caring who saw them. While they had kept their relationship relatively quiet, Tom had no intention of hiding her or what she meant to him. They’d gone out to celebrate; joining his cast mates for drinks before making excuses and heading off to take in a late dinner. She only had that night; her flight back to Heathrow had been scheduled for the next afternoon, her latest production couldn’t spare her for more than a day and a night. So it was with reluctance, late the next morning, that he’d seen her to the cab that would whisk her to the airport and from there back to London.

Tom had been exhausted by the end of the run; physically drained and more than ready to head home, but so very grateful for the chance he’d been given. He’d have a few weeks grace once there before pre-production was set to begin on the Loki series and he’d been very much looking forward to spending time with friends and family. To insulating himself in the people who mattered and forgetting the outside world for as long as he was able.

When the buzz started about potential awards surrounding the New York run of Betrayal, Tom had paid them little mind. Such talk was typical and usually didn’t add up to anything in the long run. Especially as early on as the initial talk had been. But the talk kept happening and slowly Tom found himself thinking about the possibility with more frequency and more definition. It would be frankly amazing to get such recognition, a dream, but he had learned better than to take it as granted; he’d seen and experienced far too much in his career so far to ever do such a thing.

Cath had been his voice of reason through it all and had done her utmost best to keep him focused on the present, though he knew she was just as anxious as he was to see if it would actually happen. Much of his time had been spent on set, working with the various directors and writers to make the most of his next foray as the God of Mischief. Filming in and around London had been a godsend, though there had always been the distinct possibility of location shooting if needed for later episodes.

Being close to home was wonderful and he knew he was spoiled by it. He’d made the effort to spend time with the friends he normally wouldn’t be able to see for months if not years at a time. He’d also spent as much time as he could with Cath; they’d taken to walks around the park with Bobby followed by dinner whenever they could. And Tuesday afternoons meeting for lunch, a habit they’d carried over from start of their relationship; when they’d cautiously extended the branch of friendship while dancing around the fact there was so much more between them. Things with Cath had taken to moving at a much slower rate than he’d done in previous relationships, cautious and steady, and for that he was exceedingly grateful. Tom was taking his time with Cath, wanting to make things work, needing to do it right this time. He’d gone through too much to risk repeating any of his past mistakes. Not when this time he thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d found the right person.

Tom was a sweating but slightly calmer mess by the time he and Bobby had made it back home at quarter past eleven. He’d let Bobby loose once he’d closed the front door then taken the stairs two at a time, shedding his running clothes as he went. He rushed a shower, knowing Cath was due to arrive shortly. Dressed in dark jeans and a clean black t-shirt, he padded back downstairs and worked to throw together the lunch he’d planned. He’d been ambitious the day before, spending half of his free morning roasting a chicken and preparing various vegetables, all then combined into what he’d hoped were passable pot pies. All he’d left to do was pop them into the oven and hope for the best.

As the baked, Tom busied himself tossing together a quick salad and dodging Bobby’s questing nose; the spaniel lived for Tom dropping bits of food and was always on guard for potential yummy surprises. By the time the buzzer on the front gate had gone off, announcing Cath’s arrival, Tom had the table in the dining room set and Bobby shut firmly in the back garden, mainly to save Cath from his frenzied excitement at her arrival. Tom’s nerves had come back in full swing as he buzzed her in and made his way to the front door.

Cath greeted him with a quick kiss before pulling back and studying his face. “Whatever happens, you’ve done remarkably well and I am proud of you.” She reached up and brushed an errant curl behind his ear.

A broad grin broke across his features at both her words and her touch. “How is it you always know what to say?” Tom queried with a soft laugh, as he ushered her inside.

She shrugged out of her jacket, hanging it on the coatrack by the door, and rested her bag in its usual place on the hallway table. “Years of practice,” she joked. “And listening to the drivel my brother has said. Apparently his choice of profession has rubbed off on me in ways.”

Tom smiled at her before pulling her tightly against him and kissing the top of her head. He loved the way she fit so perfectly against him; her head coming to the middle his chest. He couldn’t adequately count the numbers of times he’d held her like this and just how much such a simple thing had come to mean.

“So where is that delightful dog of yours?” Cath murmured into his chest before pulling back and glancing around the hall. Usually by this point Bobby would be barking at their heels demanding his own special greeting from the woman in Tom’s arms.

Tom laughed in earnest at her actions and her words. “I see how it is now. You only like me for my dog.” Cath shrugged, smiling up at him, and they both broke into another round of laughter. “Bobby’s out back,” he told her once they’d calmed. “He’s been particularly underfoot the past few days. Driving me around the bend.”

“Poor baby.” She leaned up and kissed him lightly. “I’ll just go pop out and say hello shall I?” She pulled out of Tom’s embrace and pattered down the hallway towards the back garden door.

He shook his head and followed quickly behind muttering, “It’s always the bloody dog.”

Once Bobby had his ears firmly scratched and had given Cath his requisite excited kisses, the two of them made their way back inside with Bobby at their heels. Tom had made a valiant attempt to send the spaniel back but Cath had quickly stepped in, pleading his case, and Tom acquiesced with only a small amount of reluctance. Bobby trotted alongside his champion, looking back at Tom with what he could only described as a triumphant grin.

Bobby had taken his place, standing guard between Tom and Cath as they settled in the dining room, ever watchful for any dropped morsel. Tom pretended not to notice Cath slipping Bobby a piece of chicken and she offered him the same curtesy when he’d done the same ten minutes later much to the spaniel’s delight. They chatted amicably as they ate about their comings and goings during the past week; Cath had recently started working a new production in the West End and therefore had endless stories to share, most of which had Tom in hysterics. He, in turn, talked about his filming and about the next few projects he’d been tossing around. A few in and around London and a few farther abroad.

Tom had just stood, preparing to pop into the kitchen to grab the pudding he’d readied the night before when he felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket. He froze, causing Cath to stare up at him in momentary confusion. “Tom?”

He shook himself out of his head and pulled the phone from his pocket. His eyes widened as he took in the text from his agent that lit up his screen. ‘Congrats, Tom! Knew you would get it.’ Followed by a screen capture. ‘2020 Tony Nominees for Best Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role in a Play: Tom Hiddleston for Betrayal’.

“Oh…Oh my god.”

Tom dropped back into his seat with soft thud, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry; could barely think.

Concern flashed in Cath’s green eyes and she stood quickly, coming to stand beside him. “Tom? Tom what is it?”

Wordlessly he held out his mobile towards Cath, his hand shaking. She took it was a steady hand and read it silently to herself. He watched as her eyes widened and her mouth popped open in a silent ‘o’ of surprise. “Oh my god.” She dropped the phone onto the table, mouth splitting into a massive grin, as she turned to face him. “Oh. My. God! Tom, this is fantastic!”

“I just…I…How…” he spluttered, failing completely at trying to find words to express himself. “This is real right?” He raised his eyes towards hers, a pleading look in them. “This isn’t some god awful prank?” He felt stupid even voicing such a thought but couldn’t seem to help himself.

Cath shook her head, beaming at him. “No, it’s not. Tom you got the nomination. This is…I am so incredibly proud of you.” She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly to her small frame. After a few moments he wrapped his own arms around her, returning her embrace.

“I can’t believe it. I mean, I’d hoped…because you always hope, right? I just never…” Tom trailed off, laughing softly. Beside them on the table, his mobile had begun to vibrate away. He pulled back enough to steal a quick glance at it; far too many texts to count flashed across the brightly lit screen.

“Quite the popular fellow there, Thomas,” Cath quipped, leaning in to place a quick kiss on the tip of his nose.

Tom chuckled and pulled her firmly into his lap, pulling an unexpected whoop of surprise from her lips. “Occupational hazard, my dear.”

Cath laughed and swatted him lightly on the chest. He rubbed the spot and murmured a soft oath in protest which earned him a quirked eyebrow. “Watch it.”

He leaned in and kissed her firmly. “Never.”

“Typical,” Cath breathed with a sigh, “man earns himself a Tony nomination and it goes straight to his head.”

Tom dropped his head back and let out a long, loud laugh.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x oc #tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddleston x orignal character #Tom and Cath #get better fic

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jerkbitchidjitassbutt · 6 years ago

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What If I Told You (4)

Characters: Jensen x Reader; Jared Padalecki; SPN Cast members

Summary: You and Jensen have been the closest of friends for years after meeting on the set of SPN, but what will happen when you and Jensen have a kissing scene?

Warnings: Cursing; divorce; break up; angst-ish at times, but mostly fluff.

I consider this an AU, as Jensen is divorced from an unnamed ex in this fic. This is completely a work of fiction, and I wouldn’t want his reality to be any different, this is purely for entertainment.

A/n: Here it is!! The kiss! But... This is not the last part!!!! There will be more. This is just the beginning *evil wink*

Read previous parts here! Or check out my Masterlist here!

“Dean? What’s going on? You’re scaring me.” You confessed, widening your eyes as you took a few steps forward.

“Look, I don’t know how to tell you this...” He began, placing his body in front of yours. “I—Sam and I aren’t supposed to be here... We were brought here by something. We’re from a different world, where we live in an underground bunker and hunt monsters for a living.”

You let out a short snicker, thinking he was starting some sort of joke before you took in the sincerity of his eyes, effectively shutting your mouth as he pursed his lips. “What are you talking about, Dean?” you asked, growing nervous at his exploits. This was your Dean, the man you’d been with for 7 years; through college and adulthood, single life and married. “Are you on something? Seriously? Are you drunk? Wh—what are you even talking about?” you stammered.

When he exhaled heavily, frustrated, you continued, pacing and running your fingers through your hair, “I mean, I knew you were acting different the last few days, but this is going a bit too far. If you’re trying to play some sort of trick on me, I’m not enjoying it, okay?”

“Its not a trick, sweetheart.” He said softly, pain evident in his features. He was in a world without monsters, without loss, and with you, but he couldn’t stay. His eyes glazed slightly when you backed away from him as he stepped closer, a fear and panic in your gaze. “I’d never do anything to hurt you, I swear. Not the you here or the one back home. And trust me, I’d never lie to you about something like this.” you blinked up at him, trying to decide if the man you love had literally gone insane as he rambled, “God knows its hard for me to say this... But Sam and I have to go back; we have to go back to you and our life there. Its important. We’re important there.” he said, a slightly bitter tone on the edge of his voice.

“But you’re important here too, Dean!” you exclaimed.

He nodded slowly, placing his hands on your shoulders, “I know this doesn't make sense to you, and I’m honestly not sure what’s going to happen here when we leave, but I need you to do something, okay? This is very important and I wouldn’t make you do this if it weren’t absolutely necessary, alright?”

Your nerves were palpable in your stance and the slight mist of your eyes, but you nodded anyways.

“I need you to destroy your grandfather’s pocket watch.”

“What?” you breathed in shock, “Dean, that's all I have left of—“

“I know. Really, I do. I’m so sorry, but you have to do it or something bad could happen… to me. And to the rest of our family.”

You looked at him wearily, but conceded.

He moved closer, his glorious bowlegs carrying him swiftly towards you, narrowing the distance between you to only a few inches. “But listen, Y/c/n…There’s something I need to tell you though; something I could never tell you before, in my other life, because—well, because I’m not brave enough…” he paused, reaching to brush a stray wisp of hair behind your ear.

You tried to concentrate on maintaining your character’s façade, which was sort of easy since you were supposed to be a mixture of scared and desolate, but you couldn’t help the quiver that shook through you when his fingertip traced your jaw, a ragged breath fleeing your lips.

Shit, that’s not in the script.

If Jensen noticed, he didn’t let on. A fleeting emotion swept through his gaze as he swallowed thickly, moving his arm to slide sensually around your waist as his hand cradled your cheek.

“I need to tell you how much you mean to me. I—“ he choked. “I love you. I always have, from the day that we met. I don’t dare cross this line in my real life, but I don’t know that I’ll get another chance to tell you. I love you, Y/n. I’ve always loved you.”

You knew you were supposed to speak. You’re next line hung from your tongue but went unspoken; instead, all you could manage was a strangled incoherent word, your mouth slightly parted as you gazed into your best friend’s eyes, speechless.

Jensen felt his chest tighten as he held you and felt the smoothness of your skin beneath his fingertips. The scene was supposed to progress. You were supposed to deliver another line, calling him crazy and backing away from him before he spun you towards him and planted a kiss to your lips passionately.

The script actually said passionately. Damn those writers.

You weren’t backing away, though. Your y/e/c eyes were boring into his as your chest heaved with your shallow breaths. He could easily seal his lips with yours; trace every curve of your mouth with his. His whole body begged for it, and when your eyes left his to glance at his lips, he unconsciously ran his tongue along his plump lower lip.

Your heart pounded furiously, screaming for the man in front of you. The feeling of being in his arms tore your soul into a million pieces, and when he licked his lips a flash of heat coursed through your body.

To top it off, he wasn’t backing away either. If anything, he closed the distance between the two of you further, tightening his hold around you.

Jensen waited for you to move. When you didn’t, he softly ran his thumb along the curved edge of your mouth. Slowly, torturously, he leaned down and gently grazed your lips with his.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you carefully kissed him in return. After a feather lite touch, he pulled back, keeping a strong hold of you but searching your eyes, almost desperately asking for permission.

A quick, barely noticeable nod was exchanged between the two of you before he was pressing himself against you, gripping the back of your neck with fervor as he snaked his hand into your hair. He kissed you with more need, but tenderly, allowing you to feel the strength and softness of his build as you held him to your body.

Jensen’s tongue ran across your lower lip, opening you to him as you gasped into his mouth, the warmth of him flooding your senses as you grasped his shirt in your fists. His hand traveled along the hem of your sweatshirt, lifting it slightly to press his palm into the small of your back, creating chills as the heat sunk into your skin.

Suddenly, you both pulled away slightly, chests heaving in sync.

Still in each other’s embrace, faces mere inches from each other, neither of you spoke for a moment but slowly studied one another. Jensen’s large hand remained twisted in your locks when he took in your features, the flush of your skin and your kiss-swollen lips made his head swim in fog.

His eyes shone with an emotion you couldn’t place as he tried to decipher his next move. He could continue; sweep you into his arms and trace your curves with his hands—silently confess what he’d been denying existed deep within him for fear of loosing your friendship.

You breathed a thin breath, and released your hold on the tails of his shirt, still relishing in the feeling of the fabric against your skin. His freckles danced in the dim light of your small apartment, but they couldn’t hide the shadow of rosiness that was splayed beneath them.

Speaking finally, your voice hoarse and shy, you stuttered, “I, um… I think that works—for the scene.”

Unmoving, he replied, “Yeah.” a gruffness present in his voice that made your knees go weak. “I think your right.”

.......

It wasn’t until later that night, lying awake in bed, that you’d realize that it has been your name that left his lips earlier that day.

A/n 2: I received an anon ask when I was looking for fic ideas(see below) for a Jensen x actress!reader fic a while ago, but recently got hit with a spark of inspiration. This is based off of the song “What if I Said” by Anita Cochran and Steve Wariner and will be a short mini-series. Thanks to @our-jensen-ackles-love for being my bets, and my favorite. Also there is a wife mentioned, but I purposefully left this person nameless as to not insinuate anything for Jensen’s real life.

Anonymous said: Hi! Just saw your post about looking for fic ideas. I’ve had this idea that I really like where reader is an actor on Supernatural and is friends with Jensen. They have a scene where they have to kiss or even just have to be right up in each other’s space and it makes them realize they like each other. It’s probably a common thing to write about, but I thought I’d ask anyway. Thanks!

Tagging: (this is my experimentation with my new tag list - if you don’t see your name here and have asked to be added to one of these lists, please send me an ask and I’ll get it fixed.)

What If I Told You:

@pretty-fortune @jamielea81

Forevers:

@akshi8278 @acortez82 @atc74 @berrygutz @blackcherrywhiskey@caitsymichelle13 @daydreamingintheimpalareturns @deanssweetheart23 @deanwinchesterswitch @destielshipper88 @empyreanwritings @gh0stgurl @heyitscam99 @iopenthegates @jackburtonsays @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @jfrank1048 @jotink78 @maddiepants @mrswhozeewhatsis @nerdstackular @nerdysandwichqueen @okay-okay18 @our-jensen-ackles-love @samsgirl93 @sandlee44 @spnbaby-67 @tardis-is-mine @winchester-writes @xtina2191

If you would like to be tagged in my work, please read this and send me an ask!

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lululawrence · 6 years ago

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lululawrence’s February 2019 Fic List

Click here for previous months’ fic lists

It has officially been a year of my making monthly fic lists and I’m so happy I decided to start doing this. I have so much fun sharing what I’ve been reading and how much I’ve enjoyed it. I’m so glad to keep going with it and hope you like it too! This month I continued my catch up on the Tomlinshaw exchange but also started reading a lot of fics I’d been holding out on for awhile. So, without further ado, here are the awesome fics that rocked my world this month!

play the game by @candybarrnerd / icarusinflight This one was sexy and filthy and I just...don’t have much more to say hahahahaha It’s Tomlinshaw and reading it had me pretty much dropped right into Nick’s emotions and I loved it.

Leave Your Mark On Me by @fullonlarrie / FullOnLarrie OMG okay so like. Omega Harry who doesn’t even think he’s interested in alphas quick bonds with Alpha Louis because otherwise he can’t get the job he wants. But there’s a massive twist! And then feelings! And realizations! And pining! And flirting! And it just grows so perfectly and I loved it very much a lot. I can’t even find the right words and I think I finished it a week ago as of writing this little thing but yeah. It’s amazing.

Owner of a Lonely Heart by @shiftylinguini / shiftylinguini It’s a kind of Tomlinshaw rash marriage in vegas kind of fic but also not? There’s so many more feelings to it than something as simple as that. But it’s defo strangers to lovers and honestly the non-cameo Liam makes might very well be my favorite part of it as well as the Neil/Niall fiasco just because it plays out SO PERFECTLY with Nick and Louis. hahahahaha Gosh this fic is hysterical and soft and painful and just so many things. It is a perfect little fic. I love love loved it.

oh, i just want you to come with me by @hiatusniall / weddingbells I’ll be honest hahahaha the bit with the sprinklers had me wanting to cry a little because I was just imagining everything being ruined BUT the bookends were beautiful and the pain and the miscommunication cause, let’s be real, Tomlinshaw would never just have easy and straightforward and good communication. They’d have to fight it out and be stupid boys first, and this really captures that. It was a super fun read, I really enjoyed it!

Come and Get Your Love by @rsadelle / rsadelle A five times Tomlinshaw Fic! Featuring awesome dads Nick and Louis! This was so sweet and soft and cute and there was a twist I wasn’t expecting! And little interludes that just added even more to what was already incredible. It was such a fun read, I adored it.

dead set on a getaway by EmmyLouWho EmmyLouWho strikes again! Seriously, their fics are ALWAYS gold. I don’t know how they do it. This time features Tomlinshaw in a BOOK STORE. OOOOOMMMMGGGGGG!!! And the way it all finally comes together is adorable and perfect. And Gemma is hysterical hehehe Gosh such a fun and fluffy fic.

happiness hits like a train on a track by leighbot New dad Louis meets his neighbors Harry and Liam and Lirry are fucking adorable, okay? And they try to play matchmaker and it all goes horribly wrong and is so funny and yet bad BUT THEN! Nick to the rescue! For real, in the same ways the previous set ups had been all wrong, Nick is so right and I LOVED IT. Also, Louis’ relationship with Penny’s mother is so fucking cute too. I just can’t handle it. I loved this one too.

Say It With Flowers by @reminiscingintherain / reminiscingintherain Back to Larry! For a bit, anyway hahaha Roni took the most hilarious prompt and made Louis so awkward and angry and forthright it was incredible. Meanwhile Harry’s just confused and yet it somehow all comes together and I so so so enjoyed reading this! It was the perfect read after a long day. hehe

The Sleepover by @homosociallyyours / homosociallyyours THIS GIRL DIRECTION FICLET IS THE MOST ADORABLE PERFECTION EVER?! It’s so pure! So soft! So sweet! Gosh I loved it very much a lot.

Charity Ficlets and Tumblr Drabbles by @becomeawendybird / QuickedWeen This collection of ficlets has such gems! Merm Louis, a magical curse au, AND a prompt I gave her that essentially takes Rachmaninoff and Stravinsky in Old Hollywood and makes them Harry and Louis. It’s all AMAZING and I LOVE IT.

One Touch Is Never Enough by @fullonlarrie / FullOnLarrie Werewolf Louis goes to get a massage and things do not go as planned. Gosh I was cackling at this so much, it’s so great. A super funny, super ridiculous read haha

London Rain by @writsgrimmyblog / Writcraft Basically canon compliant Tomlinshaw where Louis wants to finally explore possibilities with boys and takes to online dating to try it. Gosh this fic is such a great read. There was a lot of emotion and parts that made me laugh out loud, it was absolutely fab.

Brave Love by @angelichl / angelichl And they were roommates!!! For real, though. They were. And there’s SO MUCH PINING and omgosh it’s so beautiful and soft and sweet and Harry and Louis are just so precious in this, okay? It’s so so so amazing. A great valentine’s day read.

hold on for one more day by @disgruntledkittenface / disgruntledkittenface This fic had me rolling but also so worried and I might have cried just a little bit, but seriously the Tomlinshaw banter was so great and so were the soft feels! The careful watching after each other and there’s a part where Grimmy is just so worried and scared and Louis is so so so soft and sweet and I’ll leave it at that. so good.

time stopped then sped so fast by sarcasticfluentry I went through the Grouis tag on AO3 and found very few fics. I loved them all, and they’re coming now, hahaha This is...basically Greg James/Louis Tomlinson porn lollll most of them are, tbh. It’s got panties though hehehe and if size difference is a kink for you, then this definitely has that for ya. An oldie but a goodie!

Let me be your good night by @conscious--ramblings / Conscious_ramblings I apparently read this ages ago when it first was published and I don’t remember it which seems impossible I don’t know how that happened?!?! This is Harry/Louis, but they go to a swinger party and Greg and Nick get added into the mix. It’s such a great read, though, because Harry and Louis are exclusive and never really considered adding more into their relationship, but this night changes some things and the way Sheena goes through the emotions of it all is so beautiful. And hot. Like damn hot. So. If that’s your jam, I would defo recommend this one.

sugar, butter, flour by EmmyLouWho After two incredibly smutty fics, have an entirely pure and smut free goodie from emmylouwho! hehe It’s a Nailed It AU and is SO GOOD. It’s so funny the way Harry, Zayn, and Niall are all depicted and the way it all plays out had me giggling the entire way through. A super cute, super fun read.

Like An Anthem In My Heart by @goodmorningtoyouuniverse / GMTYUniverse This fic, y’all. I love footie fics, but I’m also super picky about them because I love footie myself. This one was written so so so well in all aspects, but the football aspects had me screaming in excitement in a football chat. It was sooooo good and it involves a forced outing and how it was all handled and it was so believable and beautiful and the emotions and the relationships and the cameos of real players and people had me flipping out in a good way and I just. It was so great. One of my favs of the month, easily.

Taste Too Good by sarcasticfluentry Okay this one is more PWP basically, but it’s kinda...well, it’s Grouis, but it’s also...Tomlinshames. Is that the ship name for Nick/Greg/Louis? It is now. lol Anyway, this fic was a lovely little read and the switching in POV gave you a little insight on everyone’s feelings and thoughts throughout so yeah. haha

'cause i like it dark and low by sarcasticfluentry What can I say? More filthy, filthy Grouis PWP. lollll But it was good! haha

The Post-War BP by @jaerie / jaerie As per usual, Jenna comes in and just takes A/B/O and makes it an entirely different beast. I have no idea how her brain works, but I’d love to see inside it hahaha This is a fic where it kind of holds to the more traditional omegas stay home, have children, etc but in this world an alpha is required to be a part of the relationship in order for an alpha to have a chance at being produced. Add in a war where alphas were shipped off to fight and not many returned, and suddenly a Breeding Plan is introduced. This fic is somewhat dark, quite twisted in parts, and does involve some unsavory content, so please beware of tags. I ADORED it though.

Tell Me Your Secrets by @dimpled-halo / dimpled_halo This was for the Popularry fest, which I’m doing horribly at keeping up with. It was based on the film For a Good Time Call and I’d never heard of that until I read this, but now I wanna watch it! haha Harry and Louis are pseudo enemies to friends to lovers as they move into an apartment together and start a sex line and It’s...amazing. hahaha Such a great fic!

And that’s it for this month! Happy reading, and don’t forget to leave the authors kudos and nice comments!!

#mine #february 2019 fic list #fic list #my fic rec #fic rec #28th appreciation #fic writer appreciation

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thelastblueheart · 6 years ago

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I love you like rlb

THIS IS NOT MINE!!! This was originally posted by tolieawake but has since been deleted. I was able to get my hands on it and have shared it since it is a fandom classic. Please credit them as the writer!

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I love you like rlb has become a well-known, accepted and valuable component of American vernacular. The meaning of the letters ‘rlb’ is unknown, but is uniformly considered to be a statement of a great romantic love, commitment and sacrifice.

In which Tony goes insane trying to figure out why that phrase affects the Cap so much, Bucky teases the press, and Steve and Bucky love each other like rlb.

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I love you like rlb The first time he saw it, Steve stopped dead in his tracks and stared. Tony, who was walking and talking and gesticulating wildly all at the same time (the way that Tony does), didn't notice at first. When he did, he frowned, spun on his heel and headed back to where Steve was standing. “You okay, Cap?” he asked, tugging his sunglasses just far enough down his nose that he could peer at Steve over them. “Fine,” Steve mumbled, but he couldn't quite tear his eyes away. He was staring at the large glass window of the shop beside him or, rather, he was staring through the window at the brightly coloured t-shirt hanging on the mannequin. It was a vivid shade of blue, with yellow swirls crossing it, and white text proudly displayed across the chest. I love you like rlb it proclaimed proudly. “What?” Tony asked, “you never seen that saying before?” Steve swallowed, but didn't answer. Behind the mannequin was a rack of t-shirts, in various colours and patterns, all proclaiming the same thing – I love you like rlb. “I -” Steve started, before stopping to clear his throat. “Do you know what it means?” he asked. “Uh, it's just a saying, Cap,” Tony replied. “You know, like LOL or Got Milk? Roses are red. A prominent part of our popular culture that people use without really thinking about it.” He shrugged. “I don't think anyone knows where it comes from, or what the 'rlb' means – but everyone just takes it to mean, you know, like a declaration of love or something. Lots of love. Lots and lots of love.” He frowned. “I gave Pepper an I love you like rlb bracelet once. Real fancy, solid gold, she wears it occasionally.” He paused his rapid-fire rambling long enough to stare at Steve. “You sure you okay, Cap? 'Cos you look like you seen a ghost or something.” Tony paused. “You haven't seen a ghost, have you?” “No, no, it's just...” Steve let his voice trail off, hands tilted out to the side as he shrugged helplessly. How could he possibly explain it. “I don't know if it's related,” he said, “but some of the guys used to say that, during the war.” “Huh,” Tony said. He turned to look in the window at the t-shirts. “I mean, I know the saying's been around for a long time. One of those things that no-one is quite sure where it started or who said it first.” “Dernier,” Steve muttered. “What?” Shaking his head, Steve took a step away from the display, visibly pulling himself together. “Nothing,” he said. Shoving his hands into his pockets (to stop the shaking he wouldn't admit to), he turned and headed back down the street. “Don't we have somewhere to be?” he asked. - “JARVIS,” Steve said, standing in the middle of his floor of Avengers Tower (because Tony was ridiculous like that about giving them all things), “can you do some research for me, please?” “Certainly, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS replied smoothly. “What would you like me to research?” “I... I saw something today,” Steve said, “while I was out with Tony. He said that it was just a common saying, but...” letting his voice trail off he sighed, scrubbing one hand through his hair. “Sorry, I'm not explaining this right.” “Perhaps you could start with the saying?” JARVIS suggested. “Right, yes, of course.” Taking a deep breath, Steve forced the words – words he'd thought he'd never hear again, through his lips. “I love you like rlb,” he said. His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. There was a stinging in the backs of his eyes, but he resolutely ignored it. “That is a common saying,” JARVIS informed him with a thoughtful hum. “What is it that you would like to know about it?” “Does anyone know where it comes from?” Steve asked. “Tony said no, but, well, I thought maybe it's just not well-known? Or, does anyone know when it started? What it means?” “One moment, please,” JARVIS requested, before making another humming sound. Steve knew it was the sound JARVIS made to let him know he was thinking – or rather, running searches and collating information. Stumbling backwards, Steve let himself fall down onto his couch, grabbing the nearest cushion and almost ripping it apart as he held it tightly, hands clenching in the fabric. “While there does not appear to be any documented origin for the saying,” JARVIS said calmly, his smoothly modulated voice helping to calm Steve, “it is generally attributed as a saying which emerged among American troops during World War II. Returning soldiers brought the saying back to American soil with them. This origin in the War leant a certain romantic slant to the saying, which has persisted to this day. “Interestingly, french troops also carried the saying home to France after the war, which suggests that it was well-known enough that it transferred between Allied troops. Or was known to the resistance. It is also used fairly extensively in all Allied countries, but most prominently in America. “In 1951, it made its first appearance on merchandising – as a small engraving on pendants, which were sold by the Goldman Jewelry company. Stark Industries was involved in the design of the pendants.” Steve sucked a sharp breath in. “Since then,” JARVIS continued, “the phrase has appeared on various items of merchandise continually through the years; although the merchandise itself has changed, the phrase has never fallen out of use. It has been accepted as part of the current American and French vernacular, and appears in numerous romantic comedies, romance novels, and cards, as well as on items of clothing, jewelry, plaques and also tattoos. “The meaning of the letters 'rlb' is unknown, but is uniformly considered to be a statement of a great romantic love, commitment and sacrifice.” Pushing his fist against his mouth, Steve bit at his knuckles, trying to choke down the sob rising in his throat. “In the 1980s,” JARVIS continued, “the phrase was picked up by a number of gay rights campaigners and has since been used proudly by the community. However, evidence suggests that even before that time, and certainly since, it has been used as a phrase to express love between partners, without reference to their sexual orientation. “As there has never been a documented point of origin for the phrase, companies have been able to create merchandise freely, and therefore, at this current time, there is a proliferation of merchandising available. “Despite its unknown origins, and the lack of clarity around its exact meaning, I love you like rlb has become a well-known, accepted and valuable component of American vernacular. I am sorry that I am unable to provide you with the exact meaning of the letters rlb or of a more precise origin.” Sucking in a deep breath, Steve leant back against the couch, blinking rapidly. “It's okay,” he said, ignoring the way his voice cracked once more. “Thanks, JARVIS.” “You are welcome, Captain. If I may, you appear to be experiencing some distress. Would you like me to alert Mr Stark? Or perhaps one of the other inhabitants of the Tower? Miss Potts is currently upstairs and has finished work for the day.” “No,” Steve said, shaking his head. “No, I'm fine. I'll be fine. I just -” Getting up, he stumbled towards his bedroom, shaking lightly and half-tripping over his feet. JARVIS made a concerned sound before falling silent. - The next day, Steve pulled out some jeans, a baseball cap, hoodie and sunglasses, and braved the craziness of 21st century shopping in order to buy a few things. The watch with the engraving on the back went on his wrist. The sweatpants and t-shirt were shoved into a bag, to become his sleeping clothes. The fake dog-tags – well, he got them to add one with a simple string of numbers on it (32557) – and then slung them around his neck, letting them fall down beside his own, real, dog-tags. It wasn't much, wasn't nearly enough, but somehow, it made him feel better. - The fight with the Winter Soldier was nothing like anything Steve had encountered so far in this new century. The Soldier fought hard and fast and with an edge to his movements, despite the precision and grace and obvious training, that made Steve think of back alleys in Brooklyn. His team were yelling on the comm, Hawkeye hissing because neither Steve nor the Soldier would stand still long enough for him to safely take a shot. Iron Man was circling overhead, the Hulk standing nearby and looking ready to smash given half a chance. Widow was racing towards their position, ready to enter the fray. Thor cheered them both on as brave warriors. Then the Soldier grabbed at Steve, and somehow, during the fight, his helmet had been knocked off and the top of his uniform torn just enough that the Soldier's fingers closed over the chain around his neck, tugging and twisting. Steve ducked and rolled to prevent strangulation, even as he snapped his arm out, desperate to grab his dog-tags back. The Soldier froze, gaze fixated on the tags dangling from his hand, eyes widening and punching the breath from Steve's lungs even as his brain scrabbled to find a reason for his reaction. “Cap?” Hawkeye called. “I have a shot.” “Wait,” Steve said. He glanced down at the tags, noticing that the Soldier had grabbed his fake ones, and his eyes were fixed on that phrase. The saying. I love you like rlb Slowly, the Soldier raised his eyes to Steve's. “What?” he asked. His voice was muffled beneath his mask, and Steve found himself stepping forward, reaching out to gently remove the mask. His heart was pounding in his chest and he lost his breath as soon as the mask came away. There were tears in his eyes (he ignored them), and his heart was pounding (faster than he ever remembered it being since the serum). “Bucky,” he whispered. Slowly Bucky (because those were Bucky's eyes, even as they struggled against confusion and the blank stare of the Soldier) formed the words. “I love you like rlb,” he said. - “I'm just saying,” Tony said, “it's a little strange. First, Cap freaks out about the saying when he sees it on some t-shirts, and now the Winter Soldier – the Winter Soldier! - uses it to somehow break the insane amounts of brainwashing he was under.” Clint shrugged. “They say it originated in the war somewhere,” he said. “Maybe Cap was there when it first started.” “And the Soldier?” Tony asked. “We were.” The team turned to see Steve step into the room. His hair was still wet from his shower, and his eyes were suspiciously red and bright. There was a cautious hope in his eyes that made them realise just how withdrawn he'd been. Steve nodded towards the observation window they were all arrayed in front of. On the other side, the Winter Soldier sat at a table, staring down at the dog-tags still clutched in his fist. His hair hung over his face, so they couldn't see it clearly, but he'd been suspiciously quiet and compliant since he had been taken into custody. “We?” Bruce asked, eyes darting over Steve, assessing him. Steve gave him a tight smile. “We,” he repeated. He nodded towards the Soldier. “His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He's my best friend. He -” Steve cut himself off, taking a breath and swallowing. Then he shrugged. “We were there the first time Dernier said it – I don't think he meant for us to hear, but we did.” His gaze turned un-focused, looking off somewhere they couldn't see. - “Are you insane?” Dum Dum hissed, staring at Dernier through the rain. He scowled. “You know what you're risking.” Dernier shrugged, glancing over his own shoulder at where Gabe was sitting under the flap of their tent. “I know,” he agreed. “And I wouldn't risk it for just anything, but I love him like rlb.” “Rlb?” Bucky asked, stepping up beside Steve and frowning through the rain. “What are they talking about?” Steve shrugged, shaking his head. “I'm not sure,” he said, brow furrowed. - Shoving his meager supplies into a pack, Steve slung it up onto his shoulder, turning to face his men. “I don't expect you to follow me,” he said, “but I do ask that you don't try to stop me.” “What's going on?” Falsworth asked, stepping into the tent and glancing around at them. “What do you think?” Morita asked, “we got another rlb situation.” Steve blinked. “What?” he asked, before shaking his head. “Never mind. The rendezvous is in two hours, north-east from here. Get to the pick-up point and -” “No offense, Cap,” Falsworth interrupted, “but we're not going to the rendezvous.” “No chance,” Dum Dum agreed. “You're going after Barnes. So are we.” Steve shook his head. “I can't ask you to -” “You're not asking, we're offering,” Gabe said, pushing himself to his feet. Around them, the others nodded. - They trooped into base camp six days later, covered in mud, tired, hungry, but with Barnes by their sides (well, by Steve's side). Phillips took one look at them, before shaking his head. “Rlb?” he asked. “Rlb,” Falsworth agreed with a nod. - “You got a girl back home?” Steve paused, glancing over at the small huddle of soldiers, grouped around a fire and sharing stories. “Yeah,” one of the others replied. He pulled a worn photo out of his pocket, holding it out to show the others. “This here is my gal,” he replied. “Prettiest gal around.” “Nice sweetheart,” another soldier commented. He shook his head. “Nah, not just a sweetheart,” he said. “This is the gal I'm gonna marry, I love her like rlb.” The others nodded, smiling understandingly. - “Hey Steve,” Bucky murmured, shifting so that his face was smushed against Steve's neck, where they lay in their tent. “Mmm,” Steve agreed. A wicked smile curved Bucky's lips against Steve's skin. “I love you like rlb,” he said. Rolling his eyes – and his body – Steve turned so that he could look at Bucky. “Really, Buck?” he asked. Bucky just grinned back at him. “What?” he asked. “Haven't you figured out what it stands for yet?” “'Course I have,” Steve replied. “They're not as subtle as they think.” Bucky huffed a laugh. “But you coulda just said 'I love you',” Steve continued. “Coulda,” Bucky agreed. “But I like this better. You know, I heard some soldiers use it earlier today, like it's something special, something more than just 'I love you'. I like that.” “You would,” Steve agreed. Reaching out, he traced his hand over Bucky's forehead, his nose, his cheek. Bucky turned his head, pressing a kiss against Steve's palm. “I love you like rlb, Buck,” Steve said. - “And this is the common floor,” Tony proclaimed, spreading his arms wide and spinning around as he indicated the area they had just stepped into. Behind him, Bucky (because he was all Bucky now, no more Winter Soldier), stared around and gave a low whistle. “Would you look at that,” he said, turning to grin at Steve. “You've been hanging with the rich kids.” Smiling (he hadn't stopped smiling since Bucky had first hugged him, pulling Steve close in the tiny cell they had him in, pressing his lips to Steve's neck and mouthing those words against his skin I love you like rlb), Steve gave a small shrug. “Just one rich kid,” he said. “But a very rich one.” “That's right,” Tony agreed. “So, if you need anything, just let me know. If I don't have it already, I'm pretty sure I can get it for you.” “Got any I love you like rlb t-shirts?” Bucky asked, casting a sly grin at Steve. Tony gaped at him. “What?” he asked, before stopping and shaking his head. “No, don't tell me, I don't want to know,” he said (even though he did really want to know). “JARVIS, please order Barnes some t-shirts.” “Certainly, Sir,” JARVIS agreed easily. - Bucky tended to wear his I love you like rlb t-shirts around the Tower – whenever he wasn't in uniform, he could be found lounging around in one of the shirts. Steve would always give him a soft smile when he saw the shirts, and Tony was fairly sure that was at least half the reason they had basically become Barnes' signature wardrobe. So it wasn't that surprising when he wore one to his first press interview. At least, it wasn't surprising to the Avengers (even if it was driving Tony crazy that Barnes refused to tell him just why he liked the shirts so much), even if it did surprise the press. “Sergeant Barnes,” a reporter asked. “I notice you're wearing a t-shirt with the popular phrase I love you like rlb emblazoned across it. I was just wondering, was this a particular choice? Does it have any significant meaning for you?” Bucky blinked, staring back at the reporter, before turning to look at Steve. “They don't know?” he asked, sounding slightly incredulous (but with that underlying hint of humour that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing and that his incredulity was all part of some crazy plan he had – Tony still couldn't quite believe the things that guy could talk Cap into when his voice took on that edge). “Bucky,” Steve sighed, with a roll of his eyes, but he made no move to stop him. Turning back to the reporters, Bucky smiled sweetly at them. “Sure it means something to me,” he said. “I mean, I was surprised that anyone even remembered this crazy saying.” He gave a small shrug. “I think it was Gabe as first used it,” he said. “Dernier,” Steve softly corrected him. “Right,” Bucky agreed with a laugh, “Dernier.” “Are you telling us,” the reporter asked, eyes wide, “that you know of the first instance of this iconic phrase being used?” “Sure,” Bucky said. “At least, I know it was the guys as first started using it. Not sure if I heard the very first time they said it – it wasn't something they used to say in front of Steve or I, at first.” “Why not?” Bucky laughed again. “Because it was about us,” he replied with a grin. “They didn't want us to know they'd caught on.” Another shrug. “Thought they were being so clever, so subtle.” He shook his head with a fond smile. “Dernier said it about Gabe.” “Jacques Dernier and Gabe Jones,” a reporter asked, “who, years after the war, confirmed that they had been in a romantic relationship since the war?” “And during,” Bucky agreed easily. “And yeah, Dernier said he loved Gabe 'like rlb'. They used it all the time – well, not necessarily the whole 'I love you like rlb', but 'rlb'. Like it was some super secret code they'd made up. Steve's about to do something stupid 'cos I got cut off from the guys again, it's an 'rlb situation'. Explaining to Phillips why we were late to a rendezvous, 'sorry General, but rlb, you know?'” Next to them, Tony was gaping – he was a genius, okay, so he'd figured it out. “And the rlb,” the first reporter asked, leaning forward, “what does that stand for?” Bucky laughed. “Rogers loves Barnes, of course,” he said. - There was a violent and prolific reaction to Bucky's statement. Tony claimed they'd broken the Internet (Steve was fairly sure that was impossible, but he let Tony think he'd convinced them of it), and for a while, none of the reporters were interested in anything else. But, when it came down to it, things were no different. Bucky wore his t-shirts around the Tower, and would lie next to Steve at night, mouthing the words into his skin. Somehow, the fact that this, of everything they'd done and said, of all the history that had been written about them, that this was the thing that lasted and thrived the most – it made Bucky grin. “I always said we had a love like one of those epic romances,” he told Steve fondly. Steve snorted. “You did not,” he replied, “you said I was a punk and that you'd better stick by me 'cos otherwise I'd get myself killed.” Bucky shrugged. “That, too,” he agreed easily. Then he grinned, bright and brilliant, the kind of grin that chased away the lingering shadows of his pain and guilt for a moment. “Still, we're like, the definition of romantic love in this century,” he said. “That's gotta count for something.” “I don't know about that,” Steve replied, “but I do know I love you.” “Like rlb?” Bucky asked. “Sure,” Steve agreed with a laugh, “I love you like rlb. Now sit still, Jerk, I'm trying to draw you.”

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dcarhcarts · 6 years ago

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This.....is the 1000th post on this blog, and I definitely waited until that could be true to post it, and that’s honestly? Very fitting. Seriously, you guys are a m a z i n g and I have literally never done a milestone before so I can’t tell you what it’s supposed to look like?? But we’ve somehow Miraculously (tm) managed to reach 100 followers and - anyway, this is going to be me very unprofessionally gushing about everyone because....I love you all and you’re all amazing aaaaaa. I’m??? Literally so blessed to have made friends and write with all of you. Y’all with multiple blogs, I’m only tagging once so I don’t spam your feed ok? And - as usual, this is going to get Long, because everything I do gets Long apparently. I tried to do it chronologically but IDK how well it worked oops.

THE LOVES OF MY LIFE, THE SUN IN MY EYES, MY MOON AND STARS

@ccrrupticn / D!!!! you are?? literally the reason I made this blog?? Without you, this thing would n o t mcfreaking exist omg!! You’re such an amazing writer (seriously, you manage so many muses and you give them all such distinct voices??? witchcraft???) and also so ???ridiculously kind! I love gushing to you about our Kids and you’re honestly A Saint (tm) for dealing with all of my blog construction/life related breakdowns, my crazy crossover headcanons and crashing into your inbox rambling about musicals <3 I miss talking to you so hmu whenever you come back if you want!!

@personnages / Lynna!! You’re like an Actual Angel. I think you were the first person!! who talked to me?? And You were So Nice and Welcoming that you literally soothed half of my fears coming into rpc like immediately?? You basically helped me figure out how diminutives work and you’re responsible for me adding at least 3 of my muses and I cannot tell you how much I love you and every time you pop onto my dash/feed/discord/etc, it just makes me happy inside <3 Definitely 100000% will follow you to every blog (if you’ll have me lmao) regardless of fandom!! i’m super excited about all of our ship/friendship roulettes and you’re just an absolute joy to talk to.

@nikolacvnas / LYDIA goodness you are a W O N D E R. Probably the best? Historically based blog I’ve ever encountered, and definitely one of my favorite parts of the Anastasia rpc!! The care and research and attention to detail that goes into your portrayals are a s t o n i s h i n g? Your Tatya is divine, your Maria is So Lovely and I Cry For Joy that you write Dima honestly. I’d been eyeing your blog for a little bit before I made my own - and I was honestly a little scared of you when we started cause you are a GODDESS and I am a potato, but then we talked??? and you’re hilarious and a ridiculously kind person and I love you? And of course, I love your dog (the cutest in the universe).

@mythostold / LESLIE~ Different blog, same story~ Man, I’ve been following you since maybe day two of this blog being active? No matter which fandom you end up in and which muse you write, you have such!! good!!! takes!!! For one, I love reading your meta posts??? Like you’re just so incredibly passionate about your muses?? And your writing style is so good aaaaaaa it’s so atmospheric. And on top of all of that - you’re??? such a sweet and incredible??? person??? And I love talking to you boo <3

@lifeawoke / NAT BBYSWEET <3 <3 <3 I have told the story of how I did a victory dance when you followed me to d e a t h probably but it’s t r u e your writing is amazing and your blog is amazing and y o u are amazing! You are the Natasha to my Sonya, and literally every time you send me a musing I’m like immediate-goofy-grin-heart-eyes???? It’s honestly a crime we don’t have more threads but like you’re an absolute joy to talk to and meme with and I adore you/your portrayal of beautiful bratty Natasha even if she drives my Sonya up the wall <3 You are Definitely the Funny Mutual lololol I crack up so much talking to you <3

@valianceearned / CARP you’re an amazing person/writer and holy h e c k am I impressed by your OCs!! They’re all so well thought out and developed? Your bios are so detailed and so much love and care is put into all of your characters. And your writing is so Lovely and it’s also very aesthetically lovely like holy heck the amount of work you put into both the content and the formatting? I am agog, I am aghast!!

@gearsandlevers / Callie!!!!! YOU ROUND ALL THE CORNERS I STRAIGHTEN THE CURVES!! love your kids so much. Your Violet is a delightfully clever and likeable kid, your Evan might have literally walked off the stage two seconds ago, and you’ve put so much thought into your cinnabon stoner Henry. Your dialogue is amazing and I love our headcanon sessions lobbing ideas back and forth with you!!

@spareisms / HEY MAGGIE GUESS WHAT YOU’RE WORTH MELTING FOR!! You’re like the sweetest person alive??? How are you an Actual Real Life Disney Princess?? Your Anna is so well characterized and multi layered and I love how she an be so flawed but so brave and just how human she is. I’m very excited for your Anne Shirley too!! You’re a great writer (and a super sweet person aaaa) and I love you!!

@gcneralvaganov / Deanna, I have just one question: How? Have we only known each other for like 2 months???? It feels like my dash would literally be incomplete without you?? You play such deeply complex and incredibly flawed muses with such a great depth of respect and humanity. I love all of our AUs (we.....probably have a dozen by now), our long fix-canon tangents, and....look the inevitable conclusion to this whole thing is that we should....basically just write Anastasia tbh??? You’re incredibly funny and kind and talented and I’m so glad I yeeted myself into your IMs that first time 2 months ago! I love you, I love your muses, (Dima and Anya love their Dumb Boyfriend), and I love writing with you!

@ncvaflows / ALEXA YOU ABSOLUTE LEGEND YOU. You??? Unlocked Ultimate AU Mode Ro and it’s like I c a n ‘ t stop?? First off, I cannot believe we literally own the same books and like the same barbie movies. How are we not literally the same person?? (Maybe w e ’ r e Anneliese and Erika lmao). Honestly from day 1 you’ve been so welcoming and lovely and I’m so glad we crashed into each other’s IMs yelling at top volume about random ya lit/movies/aus!! I adore literally all of your OCs (is everyone a b s o l u t e l y sure they’re not canon??? hmmmmm a Mystery)???? In the words of Li Shang, “You WRITE GOOD????” Anyway you’re amazing and I love you <3

WHILE IT’S DEFINITELY MY FAULT FOR BEING AN ANXIOUS BEAN WE REALLY NEED TO TALK MORE OFTEN CAUSE I LOVE YOU

@curtainrisen / Rebekah, dude, you’re a wonder. Your muses??? So diverse, and your voices for them? Super on the nose and amazing. I love your Helene and how human she is, and I really gotta toss more of my kids at you (Super excited for Duke!!). You’re real chill to meme with and I love talking/writing with you!!

@heartlosttravelers / Tor!! I love that you stan Raoul de Chagny So Hard ( the pure cinnamon roll boy deserves it honestly) and you’re super cool and great to talk to! All your muses are a m a z i n g and I always love the read when you pop up on my dash!

@damerusse / Marie!! You’re hella chill. Your memes???? 10000000% actually legendary. Meming with you cracks me The Heck Up. Lily is forever the puppy dealer, that is all, thank you, gnight. Ok for real though - your Lily is pretty Legendary too and you really got all that Spark and Fire right down. You’re amazing, and I love stalking your threads on my dash!

@lionhvrted / Fortune, my buddy my pal, we really be Out Here making Jane Austen plots even m o r e rom-com. Like. How did we manage that??? We might be literally magical lmao. We don’t have a ton of stuff going on at the moment but I love our dumb pining kids and I love the justice and humanity you give to your Caroline, and Fitzy loves his (future) wife.

@guvernantka / P R U E I already love our Exasperated Big Sis / Annoying Lil Sis / LITERALLY WHO EVEN ARE YOU YOU SMELLY DUMBASS LIL BRO IN LAW dynamic. You have the Best Sense of Humor (tm) and I’m always catching you when it’s like 12 in the morning here so I’m always cracking up silently in bed trying not to wake my roommies up.

@anastcsie / I LOVE OUR ANGRY SMOL AND DIRTY TOL YOUNG-BUT-OLD MARRIED COUPLE AND THEIR OLDEST DAUGHTER NAMED MARIA ALREADY. I love your Anya and how feisty and fiery she is (Dima, needless to say, loves his wife) and I love how chill (and hilarious!!) you are as a person. We do have a tendency to turn into angst monsters 24/7 but honestly that’s half the fun!!

@asundrop / Polly!!!! ok so I know we haven’t really done anything w/ Raps (yet muahaha) BUT b o y was I hella excited when I found someone willing to yell about CDrama with me??? Thank you for being the Eternally Stoic/Always Annoyed Ancient God to my Tiny Dumb Fox Princess?? I love them and I love you (you’re hella cool) so there!

@moretreasurewithin / KAAAATE goodness it’s only been a couple of days but I’m So Comfortable talking to you already? You’re just honestly really amazingly kind and I love screaming about Anastasia with you. We gotta get more going but I love your Dima and Maria Already (tm) and I love your sense of humor (here’s to torturing Dima with ties!!) and I can’t wait to get to know you better!

@annastrxng / AAAA somehow I managed to chat with you and then?? We never got anything going and it’s definitely mostly my fault cause of that High Anxiety (and also the fact that I got Immediately Busy) but you are literally So Nice and The Most Understanding and super great to talk to!! I hope we get something going in the future!!

@soulcrossed / ROSE we have the same name I keep forgetting this lmao BUT ANYWAY. All your muses?? Amazing. You gotta throw more of them at me. Your Sophie?? Are you Actually Diana Wynn Jones in disguise?? I love our crazy au/headcanon sessions and I love/hate that you’re The Worst Enabler and I’m inevitably going to end up with the other two Hatter sisters on this blog lmao.

I HAVEN’T TALKED TO YOU TON YET BUT HI!!! YOU SEEM CHILL!!

@alonecour / @steeledstark / @professor-of-predators / @sclskinn / @dulcettc / @volaticoux / @frxncaise / @argelfrasterr / @i-wrote-myway / @zharptiitsa / @villainsfall / @anyaromanovarp / @agoodandloyalrussian / @aliquisinter

AND EVERY ONE OF Y’ALL AMAZING PEOPLE OUT THERE I’M ADMIRING SILENTLY FROM AFAR EVEN NOW BECAUSE I CHICKENED OUT OF TAGGING YOU LAST MINUTE CAUSE WHAT IF YOU’RE LIKE “LMAO WHO IS THIS WEIRDO TAGGING ME??” (p.s. this is 100000% permission to slide into my IMs/like a plotting call/etc. I honestly think y’all are hella cool and probably love you already)

#follow forever #( milestone )#( ooc ) ✵ ~ CHANDELIERS AND CAVIAR ~ /#((................you know i made more friends than i thought i would coming into rpc as an anxious smol))#((I LOVE YOU ALL YOU'RE ALL AMAZING))#((thanks for putting up w/ me & my Super Anxious Self))#((ok i'm just gonna post this before i forget and reblog something and miss the 1000th post))

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sirius-archive · 6 years ago

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Chaos Theory Pt. 2

Pairing: Cedric x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, alcoholism and drug usage (mentioned), low key violence?

Word Count: 4644

A/N: okie dokie chapter two here we go! first, i want to thank everyone who has commented/reblogged/messaged me about Chaos Theory and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know via my inbox. To all my friends in AO3 town, thank you also for your support. Another note: I will be away over the next two weeks so I won’t be able to post the next chapter of Chaos Theory until then. However, when I do get back, I’ll post the next two chapters.

Chapter Two:

There is something pleasantly sweet about Cedric Diggory’s smile.

It’s gentle and unassuming; a perfect display of pearly-white teeth framed by soft, kissable lips. Sometimes, it reaches his eyes and gives off a warm radiance that you could bask in for an eternity. Sometimes, it tickles the corners of his lips in a subtle display of sincerity. But it always, always, has an effect on you that you can’t exactly describe.

You’re not sure if it’s because you’re drunk on adrenaline from the Quidditch World Cup or you’re just being sentimental, but you feel as though you’ve drowned a cauldron of amortentia and the potion bubbles frantically inside your stomach whenever Cedric so much as glances your way.

Your eyes can’t help but drift over to him like you’re a compass and he’s true north. At the moment, he’s laughing and chatting animatedly with the rest of your friends, but there are secret moments shared between the two of you where your gazes clash and linger with a sense of longing. You can’t help but wonder if it will always be like this; stealing glances at each other from across the room but neither of you taking the first step.

You hope that one day, you’ll be brave enough to break the pattern.

You decide to try and distract yourself by trying to soak up the moment. Most of the Weasley clan bar Mr. Weasley are gathered around a large fire and joined by Fred and George’s friend, Lee Jordan. The host, Cedric, sits between Bill Weasley and Harry, who looks a little tense around the shoulders. You’re about to get up and join them but your brother, Luke, playfully jabs you with his elbow and nods in the direction of your gaze.

“Like something you see over there?” His voice is teasing and condescending and the knowing smirk that goes with it jolts the itch on the inside of your wrist to life. You resist the temptation to scratch it, instead choosing to narrow your eyes on your brother.

“No. I was simply…observing the campfire.”

“Were you now?”

“Yes.”

Luke shakes his head, amused by your obvious attempt at a lie, “You’re lying.”

The irritation begs to be scratch, practically pleading for you to peel the skin back and plunge your nails into the flesh.

“No I’m not.”

Luke sighs in mock disappointment, “You truly are a terrible liar. I thought I taught you better…”

You work your jaw, “Might I remind you that you crashed our party because all of your friends are drunk and high, and you didn’t want to spend the night alone?”

Luke shrugs, his grin lopsided, “What can I say? They’re all lightweights...amateurs. And don’t change the subject.”

He wags a finger at you in the same way a scolding parent might, and you bat it away with a sigh. You roll your eyes at him and throw your arms up in surrender. Luke pumps a fist into the air and grins triumphantly.

“Why are you serpents always so perceptive?” You grumble, scowling at your brother.

“It’s a curse,” he chortles and shrugs, “Besides, that’s what future lawyers like me do; we perceive things and stick our noses where they don’t belong.”

You give a very loud snort, “That’s presuming you’re actually smarter than you look.”

Luke clutches his chest in mock offence, “That’s a low blow, even for you.”

You shrug through nonchalance, though you can feel Cedric’s eyes on you again and you have to fight every single cell in your mortal body not to look or you might as well turn into a pillar of salt.

“He’s looking at you right now, y’know,” Luke playfully nudges your shoulder with his own, “What are you going to say to him?”

“I...” you pause, realizing you’re at a loss for words, “...I don’t know–? I mean, what can I say, really. He’s him and I’m me and we both have responsibilities...especially since this is his last year and–”

“–wait, what are you talking about?” Luke interjects, brows knitted together in confusion.

You give him a quizzical look “It’s Cedric’s last year...”

Luke studies you for a long time, a familiar expression filling out his features. It’s the same look he wears when he’s piecing a puzzle together, or if he’s deciding whether something is genuine. You can almost see the wheels and cogs hissing and turning in his head, like you’ve peeled back his scalp and peered into his skull, watching the electrical currents scuttle along the network of synapses in his brain.

“Who–who did you think I was talking about?” You ask, slowly, in a voice filled with caution. Luke’s lips quirk into a smile, flashing a row of pearly-white teeth.

“Well–”

“-Luke, buddy, where’ve you been?” A slurred voice booms through the air, it’s owner emerging from the shadows shortly after. Caleb Jin stumbles into view, a crooked smile spread across his lips, “We’ve been looking everywhere for bro...”

He stops, realizing that Luke isn’t alone. For the first time since he’s arrived, he’s noticed you and your friends, and he gives a teasing, sarcastic salute.

“Ah, finally nice to meet the pretty one,” he winks and tries to smirk. It’s as appealing as a limp piece of celery. “Now all I have to do is meet the other three and I’ve met the whole set…”

“He must be pretty wasted if he’s referring to Hermione, Ron, Harry and I like we’re collectable chocolate frog cards,” you note, watching as Caleb begins to unbuckle his belt.

Luke winces, “Yeah…though I’m 66.6% sure he’s being serious.”

“What?” you bleat and Luke shakes his head.

“I’d...better make sure he gets back to his tent safely...” he murmurs, rising from his seat, “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

You nod at your older brother and watch as he waves goodnight to everyone and saunters up to Jacob, slinging an arm across Caleb’s shoulders to support him.

“Bye, pretty one,” Caleb waves at you hopefully. You wave back and hear him cheering in the distance.

“I think I’ll go to bed,” you announce as you turn back to your friends, “Thanks for tonight…”

“Already?” Harry asks, somewhat disappointed in your decision to leave, “It’s barely ten o’clock.”

“Still, I better go. We’ve got a long trip tomorrow.”

“I think I’ll come, too,” says Hermione, climbing to her feet and walking toward you.

“Oh, come off it, Hermione, you’re probably going to go and read or do nerdy stuff like study,” Fred flaps a hand at her dismissively.

“And what’s wrong with that?” she snaps, hands planted on her hips.

“We should take you back to bed as well, Gin,” Bill interrupts, rising from his spot in the grass. Ginny folds her arms across her chest indignantly.

“But I’m not tired!” she moans, and Bill narrows his eyes on her.

“It’s late, Ginny. We’ve all got to get up early to make it back home in time for breakfast.”

Ginny turns to Charlie, pleading him with an imploring look. Charlie grimaces, as though he’s fighting the urge to concede to her wishes, “Bill’s right, Gin.”

“I thought you were supposed to be the fun brother,” Ginny grumbles as she stands, pushing her hair off her glowering face.

“Hey!” Fred and George exclaim in unison and Ginny waves a hand at them.

“I’ll walk you guys back,” Cedric springs to his feet.

“No need,” you blurt, your hurried response embarrassingly shrill.

“Oh, but I insist.” Cedric smiles, and the way it curls transfigures your spine into a strand of spaghetti. Your mouth flaps open to protest, but Hermione interjects before you can say anything more.

“That would be nice,” she smiles graciously, but the way it pinches the corners of her lips suggests that she’s scheming. You narrow your eyes on her suspiciously, and she shrugs innocently. Ginny stomps over to you and Hermione and Cedric leads you away from the campfire.

“It’s been a really lovely night,” Hermione smiles as the three of you stroll toward the Weasleys’ tent.

“It has,” Cedric agrees with another gracious smile (Curse him), “The game was thrilling and the company…” He glances shyly at you, “…well, I don’t think I would have enjoyed it very much without you.”

You notice Hermione and Ginny exchange a look and by the way Hermione’s shoulders tremble, you suspect they’re stifling giggles.

“Well I’m certainly glad I came,” you say, fighting back the warmth in your cheeks.

Cedric’s eyes linger on you for a moment, dancing between your eyes and your lips, “As am I.”

Does he want to–?

“Well it’s certainly made me realize why the boys love Quidditch so much,” Hermione admits, and you can hear a faint teasing tone in her voice, “It’s all rather thrilling, isn’t it?”

“Thrilling indeed,” Cedric remarks, “Never thought the Weasley Twins would predict the outcome of the game.”

“They’re smarter than they look,” you joke, “Though I think they learned their lesson.”

Cedric raises a brow, “And that is?”

“Never make deals with the devil.”

“Or someone just as trustworthy as they are,” Hermione adds, “Which is not trustworthy at all.”

A gentle laugh trickles from Cedric’s lips and curls in the air, “I suppose they had that coming.”

The conversation soon steers toward the upcoming year. You and Ginny exchanged a pained look, but before you can change the subject, Hermione has launched into a lecture about what she’s anticipating the most.

As she rambles, Cedric’s hand grazes against yours, long fingers reaching out tentatively to tickle the skin of your hand. Your heart floats in your chest as though someone had untied the arteries and veins attached to it and set it free. You imagine it drifting around like a helium balloon after it’s string have been snipped; lighter than air, ascending into the milky white clouds of heaven.

Eventually, you arrive at the tent. Ginny bids Cedric a curt ‘goodnight’ before marching into the tent. Hermione turns to you wearing a smile of her own.

“Well, Good night,” she smirks suggestively, her eyes flicking toward you and Cedric before she disappears into the tent. You and Cedric loiter in the awkward silence, wondering who will break it first.

“I really did mean it when I said that I was happy you came,” Cedric finally says, smiling, and you realize with a delighted thrill that it was more than just a compliment. It was genuine.

You chew your bottom lip, biting down on a goofy grin, “And I had no reason to doubt you.”

Cedric studies you for a long moment like he’s trying to draw the edges of your face on the canvas in his mind. His tongue darts out to slide across the cushion of his bottom lip and you wonder if he knows how handsome he is when he does that or if he can hear the blood rushing through your veins at the sight of it.

“You know, it’s nice to see you smiling again,” he finally says.

A wave of embarrassment drenches you in an uncomfortable warmth that burns beneath your cheeks as you recall the last time you saw Cedric. You remember the heat of the day; the air hot and sticky and sweetly perfumed with the scent of salt and butterbeer. Imaginary tears ghost over the rosy-pink skin of your cheeks and stain your lips with salt. Your hand moves to wipe tears that aren’t there.

“Yes I–I never did thank you for…what you said. So…thank you.” You stumble for words, your cheeks practically aching from all the bashful smiles.

“No need to thank me,” he smiles, “I’m just glad that you’re doing better.”

More awkward silence, filled only with the distant, drunken cheers of the Irish wafting over the campsite like a bad smell. You and Cedric shift awkwardly in the moment, eyes darting everywhere in a shy dance of will I? should I? before you shatter the moment with a quick nod.

“I should probably start writing my article,” you blurt, tucking a stray ribbon of hair behind your ear.

“Already?” Cedric asks, brows raised, “Talk about commitment…”

“What can I say?” you shrug, smiling, “Sleep when you’re dead, right?”

“I wish my teammates were as passionate about Quidditch as you are about writing,” Cedric says, eyes roving over you in awe. “Well, I guess this is goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You turn quickly and move to retreat into your tent but your feet stop in their tracks, hesitating outside the folds. And, before you realise what you’re doing before you can even talk yourself out of it, you’re spinning on your heel and turning toward Cedric, reaching up and planting a tender kiss on his cheek. It’s decidedly chaste since it doesn’t seem appropriate to snog Cedric yet, but the warmth of his smooth skin against your lips is rather intoxicating, and there is a moment where you want to move a few inches over to kiss his lips but you don’t.

It leaves more of an impression than you expected, and you watch as a bright pink hue stains the exact spot where your lips had made contact with his cheek, the colour blossoming like wildflowers in the spring. It’s an adorable boyish look, and you admire for the millionth time how handsome he is, even in the low light. Even when bashful and unprepared and surprised.

Cedric beams, and it looks like he’s swallowed the sun. “Well, er – see you in the morning?”

You nod, biting your lip as Cedric begins to walk backwards as though he can’t peel his eyes away from you, his expression fixed as though he’s in a trance. He stumbles unceremoniously into a tent and issues out a string of mumbled apologies, making you giggle.

Yeah, you think, your fingers moving to brush across your lips, the warmth of his cheek still ghosting over them, excitement bubbling up inside of you and bursting like a balloon filled with liquid sunlight, See you in the morning.

***

You’re not sure when you fell asleep exactly. Between working on your article for the school newsletter and the almost dreamlike night you had experienced with Cedric, it was a wonder you even slept at all. But your sleep is broken by two trembling hands shaking you awake, and you emerge from the cloudy greyness of sleep to find Hermione’s face looming over you.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“We have to get Mr Weasley,” Hermione whispers, her voice low, “We have to get out of here!”

“Why?” you ask, but then a scream pierces the air like the high-pitched shriek of shattering glass, and the heavy thrum of what sounds like a crowd of people tripping over themselves fills your ears.

Hermione gestures toward the tent’s folds, “Have a look for yourself.”

Yanking your nightgown off the bedpost, you wrap it around your pyjamas and poke your head out of the tent, your eyes widening in horror.

The campsite has been thrust into a world of pandemonium. Screams of terror cloud the air like a fog as stampede witches and wizards clamber past, retreating into the surrounding forest for safety. A large crowd of hooded wizards chases them into the wood, laughing and hooting as various bursts of light streak through the air like bullets. The air is thick and heavy with smoke and dust, rubble smouldering and tents burning.

Perhaps the worst part of it all is the four figures twisting and turning mid-air as though suspended by imaginary strings. The hooded wizards are puppeteering them into grotesque positions. Two of the figures are children.

Somehow, you don’t think you’re going to see Cedric in the morning.

You clamp a hand over your mouth as you watch the scene unfold.

“How cruel do you have to be to prey on children,” Ginny mutters darkly, gripping her wand tightly, “We have to help them.”

“No,” you snip, grasping Ginny’s wrist and yanking her back, “Us three against a crowd of wizards? Ginny, we’ll die. We have to be strategic about this…”

You release your grasp on Ginny and she turns to Hermione, whose brows are furrowed in thought. “(Y/N)’s right. The proper authorities will be here soon. They’re trained to do this sort of stuff.”

Fire rages in the dark depths of her chocolate-brown eyes and she forces out a sharp huff as though she were breathing plumes of smoke, “Well we can’t just let them torture those muggles!”

“There’s nothing else we can do,” Hermione says, composedly, “If we try to help them, we will all die.”

Ginny’s mouth twists into a thin frown like she wants to argue the point but doesn’t. Instead, she concedes with a curt nod of her head. Guilt twinges in your chest.

“For what it’s worth, you really are a force to be reckoned with,” you remark, giving her a half-hearted smile. Ginny beams proudly, “Just…remember to choose your battles wisely.”

Ginny perks up at that, straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders. Hermione glances at you furtively, a warm smile tugging the corners of her lips. The touching scene is interrupted by Mr Weasley as he bursts through the tent’s entrance, eyes wide and voice tainted with an unnerving tone of panic.

“Good, you’re up,” He notes, eyes darting between the three of you, “We need to leave. Now.”

The three of you follow Mr Weasley out of the tent and spot Ron and Harry standing close by, both of them just as horrified as you are. You rush up to Harry, and a warm feeling of relief sinks into your skin.

“Bil, Charlie. Take them into the forest and wait for me there. I’m going to see what I can do to help.”

Bill and Charlie nod as Mr Weasley hurries off. They lead the group of you toward the forest, and as you reach the fringe of the woods, you and the others turn back to watch the scene. A group of Ministry members have their wands drawn out and directed at the group, attempt to diffuse the situation with words, though it doesn’t seem like they’re achieving much at all.

You bite your lip, eyes scanning the crowds for Luke, praying to every known god that he is safe. You don’t think you could lose him, too.

“We should keep moving...” Ron murmurs to you and you nod. Hermione gently pats your shoulder, massaging into the tense muscles.

“He’s going to be okay,” she whispers, as though she had read your thoughts, “I saw one of his mates earlier. He’s probably with them...”

“Yeah, you’re right. He’ll be fine. He can take care of himself,” you say, trying to convince yourself that it’s true. Hermione takes your hand and leads you into the Forrest.

The four of you walk in a tense silence, listening to the worried murmurs and distant screams filling the air around you. The shadows of the night cloud around you like ravenous demons as you walk further into the woods, but you keep your hand in Hermione’s as she leads you deeper and deeper.

Your thoughts sprint through the events of the night, anxiety churning inside of you and awakening the itch on your wrist. What if Luke got hurt in all the commotion? Where is Cedric? Is Mr Weasley going to be okay?

Hermione squeezes your hand, as though she can read your thoughts. Behind you, Ron yelps in pain. You stop abruptly, Harry very nearly crashing into you.

“Ah, shit.” He mumbles and you squint at the forest floor, only just making out Ron’s lanky figure.

“What happened?” Hermione asks, anxiously, blinking through the darkness, “Where are you? Oh, this is stupid, Lumos.”

A narrow beam of light pours from the tip of her wand, lighting up the winding path. Ron lies, sprawled, on the floor, dry leaves and dirt sprinkled in his hair. You swallow the urge to laugh and help him to his feet.

“I tripped on a tree root,” Ron mutters, angrily. He dusts the dirt from his knees and Hermione picks the twigs from his hair.

“Well, with feet that size I suppose it’d be hard not to,” an oily voice drawls from behind you and rage surges through your veins like rivers of lava.

Draco Malfoy leans against a tree, his demeanour visibly taunting. He’s calm and composed, radiating the same, ugly energy that usually reeks off of him. You narrow your eyes on him and speak without thinking.

“Well you know what they say about wizards with big feet,” you glance at his feet and raise a brow, “And yours look kind of small.”

Ron snorts.

Draco’s nostrils flare.

In all honesty, you have no idea how big Draco’s feet are, but you’re satisfied with the look of offence and disdain that crosses Draco’s face.

“What’s that?” Draco cups his ear, “I can’t hear you from all the way down there.”

Ron steps forward protectively, “Fuck off, Malfoy.”

“Language, Weasley,” Malfoy drawls, his pale eyes glittering maliciously, “Or do you have to eat slugs again for you to finally learn your lesson?”

“What do you want?” Harry snarls.

“I’m just trying to find a good seat,” Malfoy shrugs, lazily, “Though you’ll probably want to hide the mudblood.”

“Shut your mouth, Malfoy!” Ron shouts, “Or I’ll have to do it for you.”

“That is the second time you’ve threatened to do so today,” Malfoy sneers, “Yet here I am.”

“Oh this is so pathetic,” Hermione snaps, “Let’s go.”

“The only thing that is pathetic here is you, Granger,” Draco spits, eyes narrowing like a snake eying its prey, “If you ask me, you should be out there with the muggles they’re torturing.”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry snaps, “You’re only saying that because you feel threatened by her superiority.”

A cold, metallic laugh splits through the air, lacking amusement and warmth, “Please Potter, who are you trying to impress with these two charity cases? Your parents? Because we all know how that’s going to work out.”

“Alright, this has gone far enough,” Hermione says, composedly, “Let’s go.”

“What’s going on here?” says a familiar voice, and relief fills you up like sea water.

Luke steps into the light of Hermione’s wand, and you launch yourself into his arms. He returns the hug, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer, breathing into your hair. You hold him close, clinging onto him like you might crumble. He’s okay. Everything will be okay.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you murmur, eyes wet with unshed tears, “I can’t lose you, too.”

“You wouldn’t know what to do without me,” Luke teases, untangling himself from your embrace. His smile is loose but genuine.

Draco straightens, his casual demeanour shifting immediately. He’s nothing but talk, especially when a teacher or someone with authority arrives. And Luke is that person right now; a Slytherin prefect with an impeccable reputation.

“Draco,” Luke regards him with a simple nod, “I’ll see you at school.”

Draco nods wordlessly. As Luke and your friends move to walk deeper into the woods, you turn to Draco and stare at him curiously.

“What made you so cold and dead on the inside, Draco?” you ask, and Draco’s face falls. For once, he can’t come back with a retort, and you leave him staring into the darkness, completely speechless.

***

The walk home from the Quidditch World Cup somehow feels longer than the journey there.

You all walk in silence, too tired to even string a proper sentence together. You sluggishly trail down the road, exhaustion slowing you down as though it had hooked a rope around your waist and was yanking you back. You rub your eyes, stomach growling, limbs heavy as your mind sprints through the events of the long, chaotic night.

Through all of it, the Dark Mark still haunts your thoughts like it’s still looming over you like some sort of cruel god of pandemonium. The return of the Death Eaters has everyone on edge, as though their all denying a simple yet terrifying truth.

Fortunately, you had caught up with Cedric before you left. He promised to send an owl as soon as he arrived home. You would have liked to chat with him for longer if it weren’t for Fred and George, who tried to lure him into buying one of their ‘experimental candies.’

Harry gravitates toward you, his expression unreadable, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you sigh through the lie, “Just tired. You?”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugs, “So…how did you meet Cedric…?”

The sound of his name jolts through you, and you suddenly feel more awake. “Oh, well, we met last year and we just…clicked.”

“Clicked, huh?” Harry echoes, though his voice has a slight edge to it, “That’s…good.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Nice of him to walk you back to the tent, too.”

Your brows knit together as you study Harry’s expression, “Where are you going with this?”

“Nowhere,” Harry snaps, his voice cracking sharply like a whip, “I’m just saying it was nice of him to walk you back…”

“Well, he didn’t just walk me back.”

“I know–”

“¬–and why bring this up after the night we’ve just had?”

“Because–”

“–Because what?”

“You’re not giving me a chance to answer!”

“Well if you’d just hurry up and spit it out–”

“Would you two shut it? We’re nearly there!” Ginny interrupts, pointing into the distance. Ron and Hermione stare at you like they’re cataloguing your every move. They tear their eyes away and exchange a glance.

If you were less tired, you would have questioned them. Instead, you ignore them and turn back to Harry. He isn’t paying attention anymore, his mouth twisted into a frown as he glares at the Burrow. You can tell by his expression that he doesn’t want to talk anymore, and you cross your arms, deciding it’s better not to.

Picking up your pace, you catch up with Fred and George and the three of you chat lightly as you slowly approach the Burrow. It’s faint, but you think you hear a grumbled protest from behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to find Ron, Hermione and Harry arguing quietly amongst themselves.

What are they up to?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a relieved Mrs Weasley, who rushes up to the group of you and throws herself into Mr Weasley’s arms.

“Oh thank goodness you’re alright,” she mutters, squeezing him tight. A copy of this morning’s Daily Prophet falls from her grasp, slightly screwed from where she had been gripping it. You pick it up and flatten it out while Mrs Weasley pulls her children into a bear hug.

SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP the headline reads in large, bold letters. An image of the Dark Mark floats beside it, and a twinge of fear plucks the centre of your chest as the memory of last night flashes in front of your eyes. Shudders rattle your spine.

“This isn’t good…” you murmur.

“Well, obviously,” Harry grumbles from behind you, his tone dripping with sardonic venom, and you jump, slightly startled. He stands behind you, reading over your shoulder, and he’s close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath fanning across the nape of your neck. A different type of chill shoots through you like electricity.

“Lets – er – go in and have breakfast…” Ron suggests, glancing uneasily at Hermione. Harry grits his jaw and shakes his head, snatching the Daily Prophet out of your grip. He marches inside with Ron on his heel, but Hermione lingers behind.

“What has gotten into him?” you snip, and Hermione gives you a strange look, as though she knows more than what she’s letting on.

“We’re all just a little bit tired and hungry,” she sighs, patting a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “But don’t worry about it for now. Come on, let’s have something to eat.”

Don’t worry about it for now, you mentally repeat as you follow her inside, that’s easier said than done.

***

Chapter three will be released soon.

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abnormalpsychology · 6 years ago

Text

The Bully (part one)

[HAPPY VALENTINES DAY EVERYONE! Ya boi is excited bc I’m uploading my first-ever fanfic!! @joshua-rush-fanpage I hope you like it! This is part of the Valentines Day Friendom Gift Exchange. I wrote quite a lot more than I expected to, so the tag #myfanfic on here will be where you can find the rest uploaded later today. Sorry about the spacing errors— I originally wrote this in a google doc and Tumblr was being weird when I tried to fix them. I really really hope you like it! The first part is utter shit as a warning but it gets better!!! Hopefully I write more stuff soon, but here’s a little GHC to warm your hearts for now. I can’t believe I’m leaving a long, shitty, Wattpad-ass Author’s Note for the whole world to see but here we fuckin’ are. I also did not think I was the Soulmate AU type, but ALSO here we fuckin’ are. Meme mutuals please don’t think I’m lame I PROMISE IM COOL UwU. Have a lovely day even if you don’t read anything besides my ramblings. Thanks for making a community where I feel brave enough to finally post some writing I’ve worked hard on. I’m very grateful. <3 @swingsetboys Thanks so much for arranging this.]

Kids normally started thinking about their soulmates and deciphering their marks once they got their first crush, but Cyrus Goodman was different. He’d been worried about love all of his life, and the more he thought, the less sense it made. Trusting fate was generally put forward as the best way to deal with soulmate-related issues, at least before you met them, but Cyrus was finding that trusting fate was remarkably more difficult than all of the online articles and books in his parents’ offices made it sound. He wondered sometimes if he maybe was the universe’s first-ever mistake, a legendarily big screw-up, and this was a concern that was difficult to express without simultaneously concerning everyone else around him.

Cyrus’ mark was in what he had decided was the worst possible place it could be— his back. Two solid pitch-black handprints were indented into his skin so he had to twist around in the mirror to even glimpse the peculiar birthmark, like a two-year-old’s art project smushed across his skin or a crude frat party drawing etched on during a hangover was supposed represent his hope for the future and the person he was supposed to love more than anything. He’d always felt weird about it. The question that was tied most to it, the great white whale, the million-dollar-Jeopardy one, was what the situation could possibly be that would cause the mark to light up, to fill with color, when it made contact with his future spouse’s skin.

They’re gonna... push me? It was still, after years of contemplation and stomachaches, the best theory he had. The first way the person he was supposed to find eternal happiness with was by them trying to hurt him. That sure didn’t sound like love to him.

How would he make them angry? What would he do wrong?

The thought was his shadow, and the more he thought about it, the more confused he was. He didn’t want to make them angry, though! He wanted the person he was destined to spend the rest of his days with to like him right off the bat. He wanted the happy ending that everyone got.

“It’s fate,” Buffy had said and shrugged at their final summer sleepover before seventh grade began. “I mean, you can’t do anything to change it, Cy. I’m pretty sure you can’t fool the system by covering it with a tattoo. Since you always try to be as nice as possible anyway, I think you’re doing all you can.”

“Yeah.” He squinted. Maybe I’m just not good enough at being nice.

Buffy rolled her eyes, seeing through his words. “Cyrus. You really need to stop forgetting how cool you are. It’s annoying.”

“Thanks, Buffy, I just hope my soulmate understands my annoying… ness.”

“That was a joke—“

He gasped, shooting up with wide eyes. “What if I annoy them too much and that’s why they push me? What if I’m the one who ruins it?”

“Cyrus, I’m fairly certain that you would never be destined to spend your life with a total jerk. You may be weird, but that’s why soulmates love us, dummy. That’s why we love you.”

The two exchanged a smile, and Buffy reached around to squeeze his hand with her comforting smile.

“You’ll know when you see them anyway, because that’s like the whole thing. So… I don’t know. Maybe the push will be an accident or something. If it helps, I’ll personally remove the toenails if anyone who messes with you.”

“Well, I think,” Andi interjected like the voice of God from above, staring at the pair from her position of power on Cyrus’ couch. “You should stop worrying about something completely inevitable. It’s coming, like it or not.”

The boy let out a yelp and rubbed furiously at the goosebumps blooming on his skinny arms. “You didn’t have to phrase it like that, Andi!”

“Seriously,” Buffy agreed, eyes wide and unfocused. “Yikes.”

“It shouldn’t be scary. You two should really trust yourselves more. Future us will all make good decisions, I’m sure of it. Mostly. Probably.”

She leaned over to look down at her two best friends, reduced to frightened messes at the thought of someone who loved them, and deeply did not understand.

“I trust future Andi, at least. You two are weird.”

She stuck a bookmark made of old newspapers into the John Green book she was skimming, one of Bex’s favorites. She’d explained earlier about how since her older sister would be coming to visit her for the first time in practically forever, she had better know something about what she liked. Although from her various annoyed growls that echoed from above every once in a while, her friends could tell Andi’s tastes maybe differed from the latter’s.

“Real life isn’t that dramatic! Certainly isn’t as dramatic as this Augustus”—she gesticulated to the paperback copy—“thinks it is! What’s even going on in this book?”

She wrinkled her nose in disgust, setting the book down by the lamp.

“Yeah, whatever.” Buffy turned to look doubtfully over her left shoulder at her other best friend, from the spot on the calming maroon carpet where Cyrus was French-braiding her curls. “If you think all this soulmate crap will be totally drama-free, all relaxation and games, Andi, you’re kidding yourself. And it’s middle school.”

“You might want to rethink your position here,” agreed Cyrus, twirling a lock dastardly between his fingers.

A beeping sound came from the kitchen as butter filled the warm air, clashing with the rosy scent of the aromatherapy stuff Celia insisted on spraying everywhere before anyone else entered the house, even though it was just Buffy and Cyrus. They’re very well-behaved, Andi would always say, even though one was now swatting like a kitten at the other. True friendship.

“Stop that! Grow your own facial hair so you can stop using mine!”

“Low blow,” Andi commented.

“Never!” He fell backwards onto the carpet with a grunt as she attacked him with her fringe scarf, smacking her opponent with swift malice. Andi got up to go get their popcorn from the microwave, hopping easily over the destructive swarm of thrashing limbs on her floor.

The two broke apart, close to the door now. Like wrestlers, the kids sprinted to either corner of the room.

“Every time! This is why I don’t let you braid my hair, Cyrus!”

“You underestimate me! Now I have a secret weapon!”

A shadow rushed forward and cackled menacingly, a beautifully stitched pillow in shades of pink and red held aloft to decimate his friend.

“No! Bad Cyrus!” Andi scolded from the kitchen. “I made that for Bex!”

“This isn’t a Western!” Buffy yelled, hands up in surrender. “You aren’t going to tie Andi to the train tracks, no more!”

Cyrus pouted mutely, savoring the power, then conceded mercifully. “Ohhh-kay.”

“Maybe that’s why your soulmate will push you,” Buffy laughed. “You attack them, viciously, in a war of pillows.”

His face fell again, the weight of worry and insecurities returning instantly.

“Dammit.” Buffy sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Maybe I will... I’d demolish them, anyway.”

The three collapsed onto the couch together once Andi returned, mutely chewing their popcorn, their feathery Cold War forgotten. They could still hear cicadas outside. It didn’t quite feel like school yet, and something about that made the night seem more important, more meaningful, and made them all the more grateful for the other people who they felt like they could tell anything.

“Soulmates are weird to think about, though,” Andi added. “I mean, it’s not something you can teach in school or anything. How one person is made for another. I think it’s pretty crazy. Although I bet Augustus and Hazel would disagree.”

“Yeah, love’s simple until you think about— like— what if they die before you meet them?” Cyrus said, the years’ worth of anxiety seeping into his words. “Assuming it isn’t a fate thing. What if you’re the first one to prove it wrong? Or… you don’t know if you like that type of person?”

“Well,” Buffy chimed in, shrugging. “I mean, people always do, so…”

The trio fell quiet.

“Like soulmates or not, we can agree the marks are freaky as hell?”

“Absolutely.”

“At least you don’t have your mark in as weird a place as me.”

“Buffs, yours is on your hand. That’s not that weird.” Cyrus reached over her back to lightly touch the white splash of color across her right palm, and she jerked it away fast as if she was scared of it going off like a bomb. “High-fives happen all the time.”

“I know, but why would future me let anyone touch my hand? That’s not allowed!” She shivered dramatically. “Ugh. Can you imagine me all… stupid and love-struck? That would be remarkably awful.”

“Middle school,” Cyrus said, nodding sagely. “It changes all who experience it.”

“Well,” Andi whispered, suddenly solemn. “I guess we’ll find out if it changes us too.”

“Guess we gotta trust that the Future Good Hair Trio will make good choices. Soulmates or otherwise.”

The three looked around.

“At least we’ll have each other. No matter who comes, we’ll at least have each other.”

#andi mack fanfic #my fanfic #andi mack #andi mack gift exchange

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