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star-lemonade · 3 years ago

Text

Summer Rain

Astro Jinjin x f!Reader

Genre: smut, a bit of angst

CW: smut

Rating: R

Word count: 3 k

A/N: Not beta-ed. Little bit more angsty than my usual stuff but with a happy end ;)

Written for @whipped-kpop-creators event

“Let’s go to the beach.”

Jinwoo’s voice cut the deafening silence between you. The tone of his voice told you that he was insecure. Of course he was. You were still surprised that he had the audacity to ask you on a date after what he did, and now he asked to take you on a vacation? In the moment where you did not say anything the silence returned, amplified by the distant traffic and the conversations other people were having around you. The plastic table in front of the convenience store was really not the best date you had had.

“The beach?”

He nodded and stabbed at his noodles. The mostly full paper bowl was his excuse to not meet your eyes.

“My uncle has a small vacation home by the sea. Let’s go there next weekend.”

The last week had been the hottest week of this year. You had barely slept at night and you felt even more pissed at Jinwoo because of it. Jumping into the cold, salty water sounded like a dream. It had been ages since you had even seen the sea. Why not get something good out of a bad situation? You could just ignore him while you were at the beach. You sighed.

“Okay.”

A small smile followed the initial shock on Jinwoo’s face. You ate the last bites of your ramen.

“Awesome!”

Jinwoo beamed at you. His barely contained delight would have been cute at any other time. You stood up. Well tried to. The shorts you were wearing did not play well with the plastic chair and you stuck uncomfortably to it. You pushed it off and it felt back to the ground clattering.

“See you then. I will leave first.”

You did not care that much about anniversaries, but this was the first one. One year. Who would have thought you and Jinwoo would still be together? He was the friend of a former school classmate. The two had met at the company that they both worked at. Jinwoo smiled a lot. That is what had pulled you in in the first place.

When you had gone out for dates he always paid. It was so consistent that it was almost annoying.

“I have money too, you know?” You had half-jokingly said one occasion outside the restaurant. No need to have a scene inside with all people watching.

“I know and you can spend that on whatever you want. I want to spend mine on buying you the food you like.”

One time you actually managed to pay before he did. At the end of a meal he went to the bathroom and you seized the opportunity. You felt very accomplished afterwards. Jinwoo was surprised, but laughed at your mischievous grin.

“Jinwoo, it's our anniversary soon. You wanna go out?”

The message stayed on your phone unanswered for a day. Usually he texted back in a few hours. You began to wonder. Had something happened? Was he okay? You tried to go about your day as usual but you found your eyes wandering to your phone. No new messages.

“Everything okay?”

Maybe it was not the best thing you could do, but you just texted him again. This time you got an answer.

“Sorry, I was really busy at work and fell into bed afterwards. Yes, we can do something for our anniversary”

For the next few weeks you did not see or hear much from him. Your friend had told you that Jinwoo had been roped into a project by one of the high ups.

“I'm worried about you. You work too much :((”

You knew that the message would not get through to him. He was obsessed.

“I could get the promotion. Just a little longer.”

You did not believe that it would be done soon but it was not worth fighting over. After all you would see him in person soon. It would be easier to talk some sense into him when you were face to face.

On your anniversary you waited in front of the restaurant. The agreed upon time came and went. You called Jinwoo, but his phone was off. He had stood you up.

Friday afternoon had arrived and you had gotten off work early to pack. The weather forecast said warm temperatures were to be expected. So you packed shorts, a swimming suit and other light clothes. Sunscreen would also be important. A sunburn was the last thing you wanted to have right now. You suspected that Jinwoo would try to make it up to you with this vacation. After your anniversary he had apologized constantly, but you still felt hurt. Indeed it seemed more like this vacation would be a crossroads. Would you stay with Jinwoo or break up. Yes, you liked him a lot but he was so absent these days.

At 6 pm the door rang and you almost dropped the sun cream. You opened the door to shorts wearing Jinwoo. His smile greeted you from the hallway.

You took your bag and followed him to the car. Jinwoo had borrowed his brother’s car. In the trunk were some white plastic bags from the supermarket.

“I bought something to eat.”

Jinwoo smiled shyly. This trip was him trying to make it up to you for sure. You knew that, but you were not sure if you could forgive him. The day of fast paced working, trying to do as much as possible in the given time had left you exhausted. The sun warmed the car and with the sunglasses covering your eyes you fell asleep in the passenger seat. It felt as if only a minute had passed, when Jinwoo gently shook you awake.

“We are here. You can sleep in the house.”

It took you a moment to really arrive in the land of consciousness. The car was parked in a dirt driveway. Green grass covered the ground in front of the house. Jinwoo had already unloaded your bags and locked the car once you got out. The sun was still up and it was warm. You had expected to be able to smell the sea, but the air only carried the scent of freshly cut grass. The car was parked in the backyard of the house that was surrounded by other houses and gardens.

The house was smaller and bigger than you had imagined. It was a two story building but the floor area was not very big. On the inside the air was cool and you had the impression that the windows had not been opened in some time. Jinwoo gave you a tour of the house. The ground floor was the kitchen, the living room and a small bathroom. A door led into the garden that was basically a terrace with a narrow strip of grass in front of it. A fence separates the garden from the neighbors property. Upstairs were two bedrooms. The room Jinwoo had chosen as your room answered the question you had had about where the sea was. You could see the blue band on the ocean behind two rows of houses.

“It’s not exactly a beach house.”

“The beach is three minutes away on foot,” Jinwoo protested. He looked out the window at the sea over your shoulder.

“Do you want to go there?”

You looked at him, then at the water in the distance. It was getting late and the sun would set soon. You were a bit hungry already but the urge to see the big puddle was stronger.

“Yes, let’s go.”

The blue sky was obscured by clouds, when you left the house. A path lead between the houses down to the beach. You saw some people in the water and lying on the beach. As you got closer the smell of deep fried food caught your nose. A few restaurants and shops lined the promenade that separated the beach from the city. You turned right and walked along the cobbled promenade. Jinwoo walked beside you, not saying anything. In the distance you could see a few boats gliding on the sparkling water. Further towards the direction you were walking in was the harbor. A lot of smaller boats and yachts waited for their owners.

“I got the promotion.”

You tensed. As a good girlfriend you should be happy for him but you only managed a forced smile. Great, now he will be gone even more. I don’t want your money Jinwoo, I want you to spend time with me.

“But I got it under a condition.”

When you did not ask what the condition was, he just continued: “I asked for reduced hours.”

You stopped in the middle of the promenade and looked at him. He stopped too. The person who walked behind you almost crashed into you and cursed.

“Look, I’m sorry.”

Jinwoo took your hands. You met his eyes for the first time today. They were still the warm brown that you remembered. It reminded you of the good times you and Jinwoo had had together. He pressed his lips into a thin line before speaking again.

“I know, I wasn’t there for you enough. Forgive me. Please”

You did not know what you should say. If it was true that he had taken steps to spend more time outside work.. Your heart skipped a beat. His thumbs ran over the back of your hands. A gesture so soft, it made your anger melt away.

“I love you.”

The words hit you like a truck. He said it like he meant it. Indeed there was no doubt in your head that he meant it.

“Jinwoo…”

You wiggled your hands free and wrapped your arms around his neck. Your lips met in a desperate kiss. All your frustration with him and loneliness was released through it. Warm rain began to fall. The drops hit the dry ground, the tiled roofs and your head. You pulled back. A drop hit your neck and you started to move. Covering your head, you took off in the direction of the nearest restaurant and Jinwoo followed behind you.

The cozy restaurant was perfect for this evening. You laughed more than you had had in some time. The weight of your unresolved problems had been lifted off you and it felt like you had your Jinwoo back.

After you ate and drank it was time to return to the house. You said goodbye to the waiter and went to the door. Jinwoo froze in the doorway.

“We should have brought an umbrella.”

He said it in a matter of fact way. You looked out into the night where rain was still going strong. The air had cooled down, but it was still warm. The sun had completely disappeared behind the horizont and the only light came from a few streetlamps. You looked at Jinwoo and said:

“It's not far, we can run home and take a warm shower.”

Jinwoo smiled at you. You took his hand and began running. Your laughter and curses were swallowed by the white noise of the rain.

At the house you saw an umbrella standing next to the door as you took off your soaked shoes. Your clothes clung to your body, making it harder to move. You wanted nothing more than to take them off. You showered first in the small bathroom. The hot water warmed you up again and you were reluctant to leave. It just felt too good. Eventually you had mercy with Jinwoo who was still waiting for his turn.

You put on your light pjs and went to the bedroom. You found blankets and pillows in the closet and changed the sheets on the bed. The fresh sheets too smelled a bit like they had been in the closet for some time, but they would have to do. You lay down under the thin blanket. With the rain the house had cooled down and you felt the need to cover yourself for the night.

Jinwoo came back from the shower wearing only his underwear. He looked fantastic. You wanted to rest your head on his sculpted chest. It had been some time since you had seen him shirtless and he looked buffer than you remembered. He had always been one who liked going to the gym, so he had always looked fit, but now his arms and chest were bigger than before. If he saw you staring, he did not comment on it.

Jinwoo slipped under the blanket next to you, but he kept his distance. Lying on his side he rested his head on his arm. He studied your face and you stared back. His lips were full and soft looking. It had been a while since you had noticed how handsome Jinwoo was. You leaned closer.

“Do you need anything right now?”

His voice was soft and so were his eyes. You could not stop thinking about his chest and arms and abs. The desire was clouding your mind.

“Can I touch you?”

An amused smile appeared on his face, but he pushed the blanket down to expose his upper body. You ran your hands over his chest and your eyes followed. The curves and planes of his muscles were slowly driving you mad. How could anyone look this good?

You looked up and met Jinwoo’s warm eyes. He smirked, not even trying to appear modest. The effect he had on you was very obvious and Jinwoo loved it.

“I missed you.”

He said it like he meant it. His hand covered your hand on his chest. You thought you could feel his heart beating under it. Yes, you had missed your Jinwoo too. You nodded and whispered: “I missed you too.”

You leaned in and he met you halfway. The kiss made your insides churn. He had always been a good kisser, that had not changed. Imagining what his tongue could do between your legs, was getting you riled up. He pulled you closer until your bellies touched and you were flush against him. You swung a leg over his hips and his hand wandered from your waist to your thigh. He was getting hard under the thin fabric of his underwear. You rocked your hips against his and Jinwoo sighed into the kiss. Looks like he missed this too.

He broke the kiss and you almost whined. With an apologetic look on his face he untangled himself from you.

“Let me get the condoms. I’ll be right back, promise.”

The good thing was you got a good look at him again. But you also had a moment to think. He came back with a bunch of packages and slipped under the blanket again.

“I was worried about you.”

He froze and looked at you. It must have startled him.

“About me?”

You nodded and pouted a little.

“Yes. You worked way too much and I was worried and sad about that. Please take care of yourself.”

Your pent up frustration made your tone almost whiny. With sincerity you added: “I love you.”

Jinwoo reached up and caressed your cheek.

“I love you too. I’m sorry.”

You kissed and he pulled you closer. Being pressed against his hard body was exactly what you needed right now. It was the assurance that he was here and with you.

Your leg was draped over his hips and he reached between your bodies to align himself with your entrance. He gently pushed in, stretching you nicely. You moaned into the kiss. Him in you was just as good as you remembered. He did not move and you savored the intimacy of the moment.

“How do you want me today?”

Jinwoo whispered in your ear and sucked on your neck for emphasis.

“I ate too much for what i want.”

He chuckled and his breath tickled your skin.

“You ate a lot. Have you been starving?”

You lightly slapped him and pouted. It wasn’t even that much.

“It tasted good.”

He nodded in agreement. You thought about what would be nice right now. Some position that was intimate but did not require much moving.

“How about like this?”

You moved away until he slipped out and turned around. With his arm around you and his front pressed against your back it felt like the perfect position for the night. Jinwoo pushed in and it was just as good as you had hoped.

He kissed your shoulders and neck as he set a slow pace. The thrusts grazed your g spot from time to time, making you moan. You held his hand to your chest with fingers intertwined. His hot breath tickled your neck. It was heartbreakingly intimate to be with him like this. You kissed his fingers and he gasped without making a sound. His trusts came faster now, it was not the slow fuck from before. But you were ready for your release.

Jinwoo untangled his hand from your grip and reached between your legs. He circled your clit in time with his thrusts. By instinct you clenched around him, wanting to shut your legs close. It limited his motion on your clit, but he did all he could. Rubbing you faster as his thrusts speed up too. You gasped and moaned, moving your hips for more. Your whole body tensed in anticipation. The steady rhythm of Jinwoo’s thrusts faltered, but they were harder now, hitting inside you just right.

“A little more, please!”

It was more a whine than understandable words, but Jinwoo groaned and struggled for more controlled movements. You did not have to worry about anyone hearing you and a moment later you also did not care, if anyone did. Jinwoo let you ride out your orgasm with his fingers still pressed against your sensitive clit. You turned your head so you could see him over your shoulder. His hair stuck to his forehead, but he looked pleased. You planted a sloppy kiss on his lips.

“I think I need another shower.”

#AWhippedSummer #ksmutclub #wkcnet #noonasinnetwork #Astro smut #Astro Jinjin smut # jinjin x reader #Astro x reader #kpop x reader #Astro fanfic #Astro fics #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #star writing #request #queue for the lemonade stand

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vs-redemption · 4 years ago

Note

I got an idea for a Fatgum/Reader prompts (since he kinda underrated and I haven’t seen this idea used yet-).

How about one where Y/N is a petty criminal who is stopped by Fatgum but he still treats Y/N more kindly than others have to them and ends up motivating Y/N to choose a different path? Mayhaps a reunion after the incident, you’re choice 👉👈

From Cindy: Finding a way to do this request was interesting. I recruited my sister to brainstorm some ideas of how to make it flow properly and I think it turned out pretty good! I hope you think so too Anon!

Sunglasses (Fat Gum x Petty Thief! Reader)

Walking around the crowded streets of Osaka, you really should’ve felt more in your element. The huge outdoor market only opened a few times a year and you’d been looking forward to this day for weeks now. There were literally hundreds of stalls lined up in rows selling anything from homegrown vegetables, to handmade jewelry and clothing, to newly developed household gadgets and machines. Almost anything you could think of was sitting out in the open and ripe for the taking. All you had to do was stay casual as you walked by and swiped whatever you felt like right off the display tables. It was too easy. And maybe that was the problem. Having all the people and chaos going on around you just took all the fun out of it.

“Hey there!” One of the merchants smiles after making eye contact with you and beckons you over. “Could I interest you in new pair of sunglasses? We’re selling them at 40% off just for today!”

You pick a pair up off the table with one hand, looking it over to make sure they were really the name brand sunglasses they were being advertised as. It didn’t even really matter though if they were the real deal. 40% off was a great bargain if it was the genuine product, but 100% off was even better. The merchant watched your face closely as you examined the sunglasses, rambling on about the great selling points and completely unaware of your other hand sliding a second pair off the table and tucking them into your pocket.

“You know, these are really nice.” You admit while handing the first pair back to the man, “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to pass this time.”

“Fair enough,” the man nods, “if you change your mind you know where to find me!”

“Sure do!” you reply with a smile before turning and mixing back into the crowd. A few seconds later you let out an amused laugh while pulling the sunglasses out of your pocket and sliding them onto your face. Sometimes it still shocked you that you could pull stuff like that off right in front of people’s faces. You start looking around again and a food tent at the end of the road catches your eye. You walk inside over to the rack of freshly made containers filled with delicious smelling foods, wondering which one you should take. The older couple in charge were too busy rushing around to notice you as they tried to keep up with the amount of people coming in and out of their tent. You pick up a box filled with yakisoba noodles, tuck it under your arm and turn to walk away. You almost make it back onto the street when you feel the weight of a large hand on your shoulder. Glancing back, your heart drops into your stomach when you meet the eyes of a very large pro hero. “F-fat Gum?”

The man towered over you, and despite the friendly grin on his face, you couldn’t help but panic a bit. If he’d seen what you’d done, you weren’t sure what to do. Your brain started coming up with excuses about being so hungry you forgot to pay. It would be an easy fix to go back and get in line.

“Call me Taishiro!” the giant man chuckles, “Nice sunglasses, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you keep eye contact with him even though you were sure you were in trouble if he’d seen you take the sunglasses. You’d never been caught before, but you knew the punishment you’d be facing. You’d definitely have to pay a hefty fine for shoplifting, not to mention jail time if this guy wanted to be a jerk about it. It would go on your record and you’d probably lose your job.

“You forgot chopsticks,” his eyes slide down to the steaming container in your hands before gently leading you over to the line at the front counter. The elderly lady lights up when she sees the hero.

“Oh! Tai-kun! I wasn’t expecting to see you today! Do you want your usual?” She was already grabbing a box of takoyaki that had just come off the burner.

“Of course!” Fat Gum beams while fishing a wallet out from the inside the iconic hoodie he wore while doing hero work. “And my friend here is getting this yakisoba too.” He hands over some money and the lady quickly gets his change. When she comes back she winks and passes two big chocolate chip cookies over to the both of you with the chopsticks and napkins.

“On the house,” she covers her smile with a hand.

“That’s so sweet, thank you!” Fat Gum bows his head, “See you again soon! Take care!” Fat Gum’s hand finds your shoulder again and he leads you back out on the street. You look up at him, feeling confused and speechless. Were you in trouble or not? He obviously knew you’d taken the noodles since he ended up paying for them in the end. “That woman and her husband own a shop on my usual patrol route. I always stop there when I need a quick snack.”

“So?” You ask and the hero just shrugs, his expression finally turning serious.

“Maybe you can think of them the next time you feel like getting sticky fingers,” he points to the sunglasses that were still covering your eyes before smiling again. “Well, anyway, I hope you enjoy the rest of your day!” He gives you a wave before going back to strolling through the crowd, occasionally popping a hot takoyaki into his mouth.

You stand outside the food tent for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. You look down at the box of noodles and the cookie which were still warm in your hand. For some reason, Fat Gum had really let you go with barely even a warning. A sigh of relief escapes your lips. That could’ve been way worse. As you look for a place to sit and eat your noodles, you reflect on the hero’s kindness. You honestly couldn’t say why you’d chosen to try and steal noodles from an old couple anyway. It was ridiculous now that you thought about it. Admittedly, stealing the sunglasses was kind of pointless too. It wasn’t like you didn’t have sunglasses already.

Your thoughts led from one to the other until you started wondering how you’d ever gotten into the habit of committing petty thievery to begin with. Most of the time, the things you stole weren’t things you actually needed or even wanted. Was it just boredom? Did you just do it for the thrill? Truthfully, the answer was a mystery even to you. Perhaps there was a better way to channel those urges though. After all, the next time you got caught, the hero might not be so forgiving. You finish your food, savoring the taste of the free homemade cookie before leaving the market and heading home.

A few weeks later, you find yourself taking a trip into the city where Fat Gum usually did his patrols. You weren’t even really sure why you decided to go, but you felt a nervous excitement when you caught sight of the giant hero walking down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street as you. Before you could stop yourself, you were jogging across the street and waving to him.

“Fat Gum!” He looked over at the sound of his name, a smile already on his face. “Uh, hey, you might not remember me…”

“Sunglasses!” He chuckles before crossing his arms and tilting his head, “I thought I told you to call me Taishiro though.”

“Right,” you laugh awkwardly.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting you again so soon?” He asks, not a trace of judgement in his voice from what had happened last time.

“I just… never got the chance to thank you for the noodles,” you tell him lamely. “Or tell you my name.” You mumble your name and Fat Gum takes your hand into his and gives it a shake.

“Nice to meet you again!” He says pleasantly and an idea suddenly pops into your head.

“By any chance, is now a good time to stop for a snack?” You ask, hoping that you don’t sound crazy. “My treat this time.”

“That sounds great,” he agrees to the offer without a hint of hesitation. “We can visit my friend’s shop if you’d like. It’s just a couple blocks away.” You nod eagerly and skip after him when he starts to lead the way. You were excited to show the hero that it hadn’t been a mistake to give you a second chance. In fact, the thought of spending more time with him gave you more of a rush than any stolen good ever had.

#Taishiro Toyomitsu x reader #fatgum x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #taishiro toyomitsu #fatgum #fat gum #bnha #mha #Cindy's Writing

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theasstour · 4 years ago

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𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 | 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟏𝟎.𝟒𝐊 𝐍𝐁: 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞

A/N: IT’S FINALLY HERE 🐚🌊✨ Lightkeeper!Harry is here and I’m BEYOND excited to show you lot this concept I’ve been thinking about quite literally everyday for MONTHS now! I love this story with my entire heart, and I really hope it resonates with some of you and that you fall completely in love with lightkeeper!harry and ST like I have 🥺 Love you! Enjoy! x

Thursday, 11 June

The universe would always balance itself out, Y/N McKay was aware of this. She was aware that if she had faith and believed everything happens for a reason, it would make the tough times of her life easier to mentally handle. If she did good, the universe would work to give it back to her in some other form. However, that didn’t mean that when something dreadful did happen it wouldn’t affect her, and she wouldn’t feel hopeless. Because she did. Very much so.

Most of her life she had lived in a constant state of harmony. She was neither displeased nor satisfied with the life she was leading because it kept her out of trouble; it kept her safe. Her entire life she had lived in peace in Winchester, a fairly prissy town in the middle of Hampshire county in England. Her father owned a business of sorts, Y/N had never gotten the details of it or how he’d gotten where he was, but all she knew was he inherited it from his father and it was expected to be handed down generation after generation in the McKay family. However, Y/N was an only child and neither her mum nor her dad thought she’d be fit to run the business when the time came.

“Nothing personal, darling,” her mother had said when it was brought up during a dinner when Y/N was still in sixth form. “You just don’t have the brains for it.”

“What your mother means to say,” Y/N’s father went on. “You’re so intelligent in your own way, running the business won’t make you happy.”

They always called it that. The business. They never told her what it was about or explained when she asked questions about it. Not that she expected her dad to be a drug lord, but it would’ve been nice to be let in on something. It would’ve been nice to be given the opportunity to feel of enough importance to someone to know special things.

Y/N looked out the window of the train, the Cornish coast stretching out as far as the eye could see, the sun not yet hanging high enough on the sky to make it dreadful to walk outside in her black oversized smock dress. The book in her lap was still open, though she’d read the same page over and over and over again, not being able to concentrate for long enough to remember what happened at the top of the piece of paper. Everything was fuzzy and she had too much to think about; too much to consider.

The last 24 hours had been the worst of her life. Yesterday had turned everything upside down and she hated it. However, thinking the universe would balance itself out and work in her favour, she was also aware that the reason her life needed help to be smoothed out by higher powers in the first place, was because it was in imbalance. Something was off. Something had thrown it off. But she forced herself to stay hopeful, knowing that if she lost that little flicker of hope in what seemed like an endless night, it’d be next to impossible to find her way back to peacefulness.

She glanced down at the book in her lap and was about to start reading again, not liking it when she had to put the book away in the middle of a chapter. She wasn’t given the opportunity as the overhead speakers sounded their soft alarm, and next second, a woman was speaking.

“Next stop is St Ives. Doors will open on the right-hand side.”

The nerves Y/N had felt in the pit of her stomach came back again, this time with more intensity than the last few. Though she realised what she was doing that morning when she boarded her train for Reading, and then again when she stepped on the train for St Erth, and yet again when she sat down on the train towards St Ives, this time it felt worse than all those times before. This was it. She was here.

She had no idea why she chose St Ives out of all places in Cornwall – in the world even –, why here of all places? Even years later, she could never seem to remember the exact moment when she chose that coastal town, or why it had appealed to her at all. Maybe it was the fact that it had a beach, or that it wasn’t particularly populated, or that there was no way anyone she had ever known would be there. The most important part however, and maybe the only reason why she chose St Ives, was because it was far away from Winchester. It was far away from her family, from her ex, and everything she associated with that town and everyone living in it.

She put The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall away in her purse, slinging her purse over her head to rest across her chest before she reached up and took her old leather bag down from the overhead compartment. This was the only one she would risk bringing as it used to be her father’s back in the day, but he never used it anymore and wouldn’t suspect it being gone. Placing the strap on her shoulder, she walked off to the closest door, apologising when she jabbed someone with her bag on the way out.

Stepping off, Y/N instantly regretted wearing a long-sleeved dress. Though she was under the protection of the roof above the platform, the heat was still almost insufferable. It got her wondering if this was just a normal day in the very South of England or if it was an exceptionally hot one. She prayed for the latter.

She walked out of the station, staying in the cool shade for a few minutes longer as she typed in the address of the inn she was staying at. Not really knowing how public transit worked here yet, she didn’t want to risk taking the wrong bus or asking a tourist for directions to a place they’d never heard of. Instead, she put her EarPods in and went on her merry way. The second she stepped out into the sun, she was once again reminded of why she’d never wear that black dress again that summer.

The Roaming Crab Inn was on The Terrace, the road along the coast of St Ives, holding dozens of hotels and other places to stay during a visit. Y/N didn’t know why she’d chosen this exact inn, or how she’d even happened upon it. It might’ve had something to do with the picture of the old lady grinning from ear to ear on the inn’s website. A picture that was so lovely and so warm that, in the midst of everything Y/N was going through right then, it made her tear up.

She stepped into the inn, placing her sunglasses on the top of her head, and made sure her hair looked alright before walking a bit further inside. Cherry wooden panels lined the floors, walls, and ceiling, a reception desk in the same style attached to the wall to the right. Pictures of all kinds of people hung on the walls. Y/N suspected it might be locals as well as dear guests who had come and gone over the years. No lights were on as the sharp afternoon sun was sufficient in keeping the lobby just bright enough o that electricity wasn’t needed. Fake green vines hung along the ceiling and walls, as well as from different pots on the fireplace to the right that didn’t seem to be in use. Still, two old recliners stood beside it, tempting to sit down and drown in, to escape a turbulent life.

To the left was a staircase leading up to the other landings, and though Y/N hadn’t stepped foot on it yet, she already knew it creaked. This entire house seemed more like a cottage you’d find in the middle of the country, not on the coast of South England. She slowly started making her way over to the reception, and that was when she noticed the back door. Behind the desk was an old, white windowed door, a little smaller in height but a little wider in breadth than normal doors – like the entrance. It was open, leading the way out into a back garden that seemed to be both small and surrounded by the neighbouring houses on all sides. The wooden fence was covered in vines, flowers of all kinds poking out amongst them and on the ground around. The stone paved patio seemed to be old and uneven, there was a set of bistro metal chairs in all the colours of the rainbow along with a white table to match them.

A gang of old ladies sat around the table, chattering amongst themselves and occasionally laughing, all holding a different knitting project each. Y/N hated the thought of disturbing them, but she also just wanted to check in and go up to her room; maybe even go for a walk to take a look around the place she’d be in for the next few weeks.

She reached for the bell, hitting it lightly as to not make it sound urgent and intrusive. A small yelp was heard from the back garden and then the sound of the metal chair scraping against the stone patio. As she heard the footsteps get closer, Y/N glanced around, taking in the interior of the inn undisturbed one more. As someone appeared in the doorway and their eyes met, the old lady who stood there gave Y/N that warm smile of hers she’d seen online the night before.

“Hello, dear!” she chirped, placing her glasses on the bridge of her nose and walking over to the computer on her side of the desk. “How are you?”

“I’m good, thank you. And yourself?”

The old lady smiled, her eyes almost disappearing behind her high cheekbones. Her long white hair was fastened in a bun at the back of her head, the rest of her dressed in a pair of white trousers and a tunic with some bird print on it.

“I’m wonderful. What’s your name then, lovely?”

“Y/N McKay.”

“Ahh,” she said. “You’re the one who booked your stay last night.”

“That’s me, yeah,” Y/N chuckled, brushing some hair behind her ear.

“Till August 10th.”

“Yes.”

“Right then, Y/N,” the lady said, taking a key hanging from the wall beside her and taking her glasses off, smiling the entire time. “Let me show you to your room.”

The two walked up to the second floor, taking a right as they arrived and the inn-keeper unlocked the door. The innkeeper kept the door open for Y/N, letting her walk in first. Though the floor and ceiling were similar to the wooden panels of the lobby, the walls were white. Against the same wall that the door came to rest against stood an old blue dresser, and a fake flower in an elegant vase that seemed to be just one of the many flowers in the room. The double bed stood to the far left wall, white sheets covering it and looking so lush that it took everything in Y/N not to sprint over and throw herself onto it. There was a desk as well as a recliner, and a window on the opposite wall overlooking the ocean that was just about a minute’s walk from here.

“The bathroom is over there,” the innkeeper said, pointing at a door beside the staircase. “You share it with the other guests on the same floor as you, alright?”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Y/N admitted, genuinely meaning it as well. She didn’t see the problem with that in the least.

“I’m mostly downstairs or in the next house over, which is mine,” she continued. “So if there’s ever anything you think I could help you with, do pop by.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, my goodness,” she suddenly exclaimed, walking over to Y/N. “I’ve completely forgotten to introduce myself. I’m Bessie.” Bessie smiled at Y/N again, making the latter almost want to cry for the umpteenth time that day. “And I really hope you enjoy your stay here in St Ives.”

With that, the innkeeper left Y/N to herself. Y/N let her bag and purse fall to the floor before she dragged the chair by the desk over to the window. She opened it and just stared out across the beach and sea outside. Seagulls were howling overhead, waves were crashing against shore, and the familiar salty scent of the presence of the ocean lingered in the air constantly. It was like one of those trips she’d taken with her parents every summer, a new place every year, always by the coast. Her favourite might’ve been their vacation in Bali. It was gorgeous beyond comprehension, in a way no other place she’d ever been could come close to. But she was aware she’d never go on another trip with her parents again. Not after everything that happened the night before.

Now she couldn’t rely on them any longer. She was on her own. She had no idea what she was going to do, no idea what lay ahead of her. As she at on the chair looking out over St Ives, the town she’d spend her summer in, she realised she’d never felt more forlorn.

St Ives is a coastal town located in the very south-west of the southernmost county in England, Cornwall. It is known for its surf beaches – most well-known being Porthmeor – and its many art galleries and restaurants. Tate St Ives is a gallery at the seafront and has rotating modern art exhibitions, focusing primarily on British artists. The Barbara Hepworth Museum and Sculpture Garden is located in the modernist artist’s former studio, displaying her bronzes and other works.Y/N, having grown up in a fairly posh family with exquisite and particular taste, knew a thing or two about art.

She always had her purse on her, and in it she’d keep all the essentials for going out and about. Hand sanitiser, Kleenex, band-aids, pads, keys, a portable charger, and the book she was currently reading. The Well of Loneliness lay in her purse as she strolled around, a St Ives guide book in her hand that she’d bought at one of the local stores on what must’ve been their high street.

First and foremost, she wanted to do some sightseeing. She’d be here for a long time, so she might as well get acquainted with the town she’d stay in and learn its ins and outs. There is this part of St Ives called The Island, that isn’t at all an island, but it is just called that. The Island is the imposing headland that juts out into the seat from the spit of land that separates the harbour and Porthmeor beach – the most popular and most central beach in the town. In ancient times it was a promontory fort, but these days it’s probably better known as a location of the tiny chapel of St Nicholas. Walking to The Island, Y/N took in the incredible views of the ocean surrounding her, and the beach – The Townas - beside her that was cramped between The Island and Godrevy Point on the other side.

To her left was what looked to be Hellesveor Cliff, and at the very point of it, on the top of what must’ve been the most haunting cliff Y/N had ever seen, stood a lighthouse. Looking in her guide book, it didn’t say much about the lighthouse except the care of it had been passed down generation after generation by the family currently living there. It was at the very edge of St Ives, farther out than Godrevy Point. It made it so Porthmeor, St Ives, and The Townas were all guarded by these two points, the St Ives Lighthouse watching over its town and the far coast around.

Continuing on her walk, she strolled down the Down-a-long, which is the old, lower part of St Ives built on the narrow ridge of land that separated The Island to the rest of the town. This part of town is the archetypal image of St Ives with its jumble of cobble streets lined with whitewashed, old cottages, some seeming to fall apart and others in better condition. Y/N thought the street names were equally evocative and unique, some of her favourites being Salubrious Place, Teetotal Street, and The Digney. Though it said in her catalogue that fishermen used to live in the Down-a-long before, next to none lived there now as most of it was occupied by galleries, cafes, and little shows that one can shake a stick at. As she strolled through Fore Street, the main shopping street in St Ives, she walked by a vintage shop – Vintage Divine – and jotted it down on her phone.

All her life, Y/N had always loved everything vintage. She liked the thought of owning something that had once been part of someone else’s life, that had made them happy enough they wanted to hand it on and give someone else that same happiness they’d experienced. Though neither her mum, her dad, or her ex-boyfriend liked her obsession with vintage and stuff owned by others before her, their disinterest had never stopped her from going to markets or stores. However, she never bought anything unless she knew she could hide it. Now, she thought, that didn’t have to be a problem.

A few years back when she started to realise her obsession with old stuff, furniture, clothing, and books owned by others before her, she read an article online. The article had suggested that people are attracted to vintage pieces because they offer an escape. Wearing these garments, holding these ornaments, touching furniture from another time is a way to experience a different life. A life that isn’t your own and that was lived before hers or parallel to hers. Shopping vintage then created an exciting search for something special and creative, something a normal shopping trip could never give her. It was weird how much she was looking forward to going through that shop, Y/N realised, but she couldn’t wait to explore and take items home with her. Not that she expected she’d be welcomed home to Winchester anytime soon, but she chose not to think about that too much.

Fore Street was a narrow and cobblestone-clad street with people milling about trying to find a decent place for lunch. Stone cottages lined both sides of the street, either a neutral colour like white, a dull yellow, beige, light blue, or just plain, grey stone. Y/N enjoyed walking among these houses. It was a quiet town, peace seemed to be permanently settled between the cramped streets and tiny houses. Though Winchester wasn’t London with its tall buildings and never-ending bustle, St Ives was even smaller than her hometown, which made it that much more appealing to her. There was a sense of relaxation in the mere atmosphere around her that massaged the tension out of her shoulders and straightened her hunched back.

The door to the Seafood Café she was about to walk by burst open. A couple of people standing around jumped at the commotion, as did Y/N. Dressed in high-waisted loose fitted denim jeans, a white tee shirt tucked into them, a pair of orange worn down Vans, and brown curls in a dishevelled mess, the man who caused the ruckus didn’t seem to notice everyone’s attention being on him. He halted a bit as he came outside before he walked left. Y/N stopped moving, the sudden interruption in her peaceful stroll taking her off guard. The man suddenly started straight for Y/N, his head bent, eyes on the cobblestone before him. He didn’t seem to notice where he was going, not looking up in the direction he was heading. So, when he saw Y/N’s shadow, that’s when he glanced up. Their eyes met just a second before he managed to stop, preventing them from crashing into one another.

“Oh!” he erupted, voice crescendoing. He blinked twice, eyes settling on her for a few seconds before he said a quick, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I should’ve moved out of the way,” Y/N assured him, about to step to the side when she noticed his lips moving again. No words came out, though. She stood there for a few seconds, just watching his jaw and lips work, not seeming to find his words.

“Have a good day,” she went on, trying to step out of the way when the man blurted out, “Please, miss.”

She looked at him again, about to narrow her eyes when she saw a troubled expression on his face. His eyes were a little wide and he glanced over his shoulder before meeting her eyes again. The door to Seafood Café opened again, a woman and a younger girl stepping out.

“Please,” he repeated, voice low. “Go along.”

Y/N frowned. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll owe you my entire life if you just play along for a minute or two, yeah?”

She cocked her head some to the side. “I don’t know what you mean, sir. I should-“

“-I don’t usually do this- I mean, I never do, I’ve never done this before – ever -, but-but they think I have a girlfriend and I don’t. Please-“

“-Harry!”

The man – who Y/N could only assume to be Harry - turned around to face a tiny Filipina woman and an even smaller girl beside her, who looked to be no older than ten. The two looked Y/N over, eyes scanning her from head to toe. Y/N felt like she was under a magnifying glass.

But while they took her in, Y/N’s thoughts wandered to the words the man beside her had said only a few seconds earlier. “They think I have a girlfriend and I don’t.” Was he… was he saying what Y/N thought he was saying? She glanced at him, seeing him draw a shaky breath and meet her eyes, waiting for her to make the next move it seemed. Everything that had happened in the last minute confused her. She didn’t know this man, didn’t know what he’d told these two women or why. She was also well aware that by just walking away she wouldn’t need to worry about him any longer; his problems weren’t hers. This seemed messy, confusing, and a little risky.

Usually, she wouldn’t want any part of it. The Y/N she was yesterday wouldn’t have considered this. She would’ve looked at the man apologetically before excusing herself and walking off, leaving him to figure out whatever lie he’d told these two on his own. But Y/N had changed. Or… at least that’s what she wanted to believe… Fine, she wanted to change, and maybe this was a place to start.

Harry sighed, turning around to face the two he had tried to get away from, shoulders sinking as he met their eyes. The defeat was evident in his body language; he was about to give up and just tell them that he didn’t have a girlfriend. That’s what finally did it, seeing how it took absolutely everything out of him to tell them the following. “Jasmine, I’m sorry, I need to tell you-“

“-It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Y/N interrupted him, smiling as she stepped out from behind Harry. Though she had seriously considered helping him, it still surprised her when she actually heard the words coming out of her mouth. Her heart was beating about as fast as it had that morning when she’d left Hampshire.

Harry looked at her, mouth falling open, obviously shocked by her willingness to help him. It took him a few seconds to gather himself, but once he did, he looked back at the two they were trying to convince with a bright smile on his face.

“What did you have to tell me, Harry?” the older woman asked.

“That, uhh…” He looked at Y/N again before glancing at who she could only assume to be Jasmine. “Jessa, this is my girlfriend.”

Jasmine raised her eyebrows, eyes lighting up suddenly. The girl beside her stood there fidgeting with the hem of her top, looking Y/N up and down still.

“Hi,” Y/N said, stepping forward and reaching her hand out for Jasmine. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Jasmine said, a smile coming to rest on her round face as they let go of the others’ hand. “Harry, you said her name was unusual.”

“That… I-“ Harry stopped himself.

Y/N’s lips parted, unsure how to react to that.

“That’s why you didn’t want to tell us her name, since it was so unusual. Y/N isn’t unusual.”

Y/N chuckled a little, looking at Harry whose whole face was a shade of red she’d never seen before. He glanced around him, meeting her gaze before quickly looking to the ground, scratching at his neck.

“You thought my name was weird?” She was well aware Harry hadn’t known her name until that point, let alone had any time to form an opinion on it. But regardless, she found it funny how he’d refused to give them his pretend girlfriend’s name by telling them it was an unusual one, as if they’d laugh at it.

“I didn’t-“ Harry sighed. “It wasn’t like I was embarrassed I just…” He trailed off, motioning with his hands, but Y/N had no idea what that meant. She didn’t take it to heart, though, knowing it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with his cover-up story.

“He has such a way with words,” Jasmine said, clicking her tongue at him. “Anyway, I’m Jasmine, but just call me Jessa. Harry’s stepmother.”

“And I’m Grace.” The little one stepped forward, grinning from ear to ear. The small one had the same roundness to her face as the woman beside her, as well as the same flat nose and almond shaped eyes like Jessa’s. “Harry’s kept you a secret.”

“Gracie, I haven’t kept her a secret as much as I’ve kept her away,” Harry said. “You’re gonna scare her.”

“We won’t scare her!” Jessa exclaimed. “It’s your girlfriend, Harry! We will be nice.”

“Somehow doubt that.” Harry turned to Y/N, turning his back to his step mum and what must be his half-sister. “They like to interrogate, especially Jasmine.”

“You villainise us,” Jessa said, walking closer to them and taking Y/N’s hand between hers. It took her off guard and she almost pulled her hand away, the feel of someone’s skin voluntarily touching hers felt weird.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Harry continued, ignoring Jessa. There was an apology in his eyes that he didn’t voice. Or at least that’s what Y/N thought she saw anyway. “They’ll make it hard to enjoy yourself.”

Jessa reached over and pinched Harry’s exposed forearm. He flinched away from her, glaring as he stepped back a few paces.

“Now you’re being rude.”

“I don’t want you lot to make her uncomfortable with all your questions,” Harry said, a frown etched in his forehead. He hadn’t met Y/N’s eyes directly ever since they almost walked into one another. “Besides, she’s…” Harry’s eyes fell to the guide in Y/N’s hand. “She’s sightseeing.”

Y/N smiled at Jessa and Grace, showing them the small book she was carrying with her. “I’ve just been to the Island. The view from there is fantastic.”

“Harry, the view from the Island is nothing. Have you shown her yet?”

“Jessa, it’s… she’s just…”

Finally, he looked at her, not knowing what to say that would make his stepmother give it a rest. Y/N could understand why she asked so many questions, she was just eager to get to know someone who she thought was Harry’s new partner.

“I arrived this morning,” Y/N answered, smiling at Jasmine. “We haven’t had the time to meet up properly, so in the meantime I’ve just been walking around.”

“Where’s your luggage?”

“At the Inn. The Roaming Crab.”

Jessa’s eyes went wide, looking at Harry disapprovingly again. “She’s not even staying with you? What kind of boyfriend are you?”

“She could stay at our house,” Grace said, eyes on the space that separated Y/N and Harry before she met Y/N’s eyes.

“It’s not that… It’s not like that, I-“ Harry stopped himself, dragging his hand over his face that had been bright red ever since this whole spectacle started. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“Am I?” Jessa crossed her arms.

“Yes… I-“ Harry stuttered and though Y/N hadn’t known this man for very long, she could tell he found it hard to find his words in stressful situations.

“We didn’t want to overwhelm each other. We haven’t stayed together for a long period of time before, this would be the first, so I’m staying at the Inn so we won’t get tired of each other too quickly.” Y/N hoped she sounded confident and truthful; she wouldn’t want to blow this for Harry already. After all, she had no idea how long he’d need this pretend girlfriend lie for.

A frown appeared between Jasmine’s brows and it dawned on Y/N that she must’ve said something wrong just now. Panic rose to her chest, but Harry cleared his throat.

“Except for that trip to Exeter last month, but that was only a single weekend. Now she’s here for…” He narrowed his eyes, as if the answer was at the tip of his tongue but Y/N knew she was the only one with an answer to that.

“August 12th,” she said, Jessa letting go of a small squeal at the sound of it. “Dunno how many weeks that’ll be, but I’m-“

“-That’s fantastic! You need to come to Gracie’s birthday next weekend.”

Harry stuttered a little, Jessa’s enthusiasm making him nervous, Y/N thought. “Nanay-“

“-She’s going to love that, won’t you, Gracie?”

Grace nodded her head, grinning up at Y/N. “You can put pretty stuff on my eyelids.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows some and Jessa laughed. “Eyeshadow.”

“Oh! Well, I don’t have loads of that since I’m no good with make-up, but I do have nice jewellery.” Y/N picked at the one she was wearing just then, a gold necklace she’d gotten for her birthday the year before.

Grace’s smile didn’t fade one bit at that. In fact, it only seemed to get a little bigger at the sight of Y/N’s pretty necklace. The girl didn’t say anything, but she swayed from side to side, looking excitedly up at her brother’s supposed new girlfriend.

“You’re coming then?” Jessa asked, looking so happy she might burst, and it hurt Y/N that she probably wouldn’t.

“Jessa, we have barely had time to catch up, let her breathe,” Harry pleaded and Jessa waved her hands at them.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, Y/N. It’s just…” Jasmine’s eyes fell on Harry standing beside Y/N, her eyes glistening. “It’s just so nice to know Harry’s not alone anymore.”

“I’ve never been alone, nanay.”

Jessa shook her head, sighing heavily. “Alright, we’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. You’ll probably want some time to yourselves to just walk around. Has she been to the lighthouse, Harry? Take her there.”

Harry sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. “Nay-“

“-Fine, we’ll leave. It was so nice to finally meet you, Y/N.”

“You too, Jessa. And you, Grace.”

Grace gave a wave before Jessa took her hand and the two walked away, probably on their way home or whatever other plans they had. Y/N watched them for a few before turning to Harry. His blush had calmed down a little, but a bead of sweat had appeared at his cupid’s bow. If it was because of nerves or the weather, she did not know, but she was not about to ask him that.

Upon closer inspection and now that they didn’t have Harry’s stepmum and sister watching over them, Y/N could finally study the man she rescued for a total of five minutes. Green eyes that reminded her of the moors she’d spend time running through each summer, a slight stubble along his soft jawline, nose a little too big for his face, and a slight dimple in each cheek even though he wasn’t smiling fully yet. She wondered what they’d look like if he actually grinned.

“Hi,” she said, reaching her hand out. “Y/N.”

Harry chuckled softly, taking her hand, eyes staying on the place they were touching each other. “Harry.”

“I’m glad I could be of some help, Harry.”

A crooked smile reached his lips as his eyes fell to the ground and he stepped away, letting his hand fall to hit his thigh. He glanced up at her. “Thank you for that. They say they’re worried, but they’re really just nosey.”

Y/N grimaced a little, making a breathy laugh escape Harry’s lips. “Is your life more interesting than theirs?”

“Not in the least. I lead the most boring existence in the most boring town in the United Kingdom.”

She chuckled, reaching for her necklace. “Not sure you can claim that title, my life’s pretty up there as well.”

Harry tried to shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans, but the arms of his denim jacket wrapped around his waist were in the way. “Oh?”

“Blimey, I won’t keep you if you’ve got things to do. You look like a busy man.”

Harry stared at the watch on his wrist and bit his bottom lip, looking up at her through his thick set of dark eyelashes. “Yeah, I gotta be on my way actually.”

She gave him a smile, getting one in return.

“Listen, thank you so much for that. I just needed to get them off my back. You don’t actually have to come to Gracie’s birthday party, Jessa just loves when she gets to interrogate people. Her favourite sport is discussing gossip.”

Y/N laughed. “You burn a lot of calories doing that.”

Harry chuckled, scratching at his neck as his eyes fell to her neck and then shoulder. “Anyway, I don’t know how to repay you. If you’re here till August, I guess I’ll see you around.”

For some reason, Harry not really knowing what to say was funny to Y/N. It wasn’t like he owed her anything or the other way around. She’d just helped him out and now they could part ways. Easy as that.

“You don’t have to repay me, I’m glad I could help,” she smiled. “I’ll try and stay out of your way if I see you out and about. You know, to avoid the awkward conversation of telling them we’re not actually together.”

Harry’s lips tipped upward. “Right, thanks.”

“Now, since I’m talking to you,” she said, opening the catalogue again. “Where’s the Tate Gallery?”

Harry turned around, pointing up Fore Street from where they stood. “When you reach Bunkers Hill, you follow that all the way up to Back Road, then you just walk along The Digney and it’ll be on your right-hand side.”

“Thank you so much.”

“No, thank you. I… It was too much-“

“-I’m serious when I say I’m glad I could help, don’t worry about it.” She shot him one last smile before giving him a wave. “Bye, Harry.”

“Bye,” he said, giving her a short nod before she focused her attention back on her surroundings. She needed to catch the street names and get her walk to the Tate on the first try because she could really not be asked to walk back and whip her phone out. After all, Harry just helped her so it was going to be easy to just follow his navigation and get there.

As she strolled along the gallery and the rest of St Ives that day, she couldn’t help but think about that little encounter earlier. She wondered what happened after that, if Jessa and Grace demanded more information from Harry or if he told them how it was all a lie. Putting it all aside, she focused on her trip instead. She’d never meet that family again, but she really hoped everything worked out for them regardless. The last thing she needed was for this summer to be about anything but her and what she really wanted in life. She didn’t need distractions. Her whole life up until now had been a distraction.

Friday, 12 June

Being in south England and not taking advantage of the amazing beaches this part of the country offered, was maybe on the same wrongdoing scale as committing a serious crime. Y/N had gotten dressed that morning and headed straight downstairs to eat breakfast in the tiny dining hall of the Inn. It was positioned in what must’ve originally been the living room in the house, four tables placed in there with two chairs placed by each of them. The dining room had the same layout as the entrance to the Inn; wooden panels all over, flowers and plants everywhere along with pictures and candles to top it off.

When she walked downstairs, Bessie was quick to jump up from where she was sitting in her small back garden, meeting Y/N with a warm beam on her face. When Bessie asked Y/N if she’d like a meat, vegetarian, or vegan full English, Y/N startled herself by replying vegetarian. She hadn’t grown up vegetarian, but in all her life, she’d never had a purely vegetarian meal. So, instead of correcting herself, she let Bessie make her that vegetarian breakfast. The thought of eating something she hadn’t before didn’t make her anxious as she thought it would’ve, but she was rather excited about the whole thing.

Bessie came out with the tray, setting it down before Y/N and asked her if she would mind Bessie’s company. With a quick reply encouraging the old lady to sit down, Bessie ran – or walked as fast as her short legs could take her – outside and returned with her knitting. Y/N had been alone pretty much all day the day before nd she had anticipated being alone all day today as well, so she rather enjoyed Bessie’s company. She had never really envisioned this to be part of her trip to Cornwall – an old lady with her grey hair put neatly in a bun with two knitting needles holding it up, wearing a long bohemian dress and glasses perched on the end of her nose, talking her ear off and Y/N having an immense amount of fun in the process.

The sea and seagulls sounded from inside the Inn, but as Y/N put her bathing suit and summer dress on, on her way down towards the beach, the costal sounds only intensified. The salt in the air clung to her skin and the smell of seaweed got more prominent the closer she got to the ocean. She put her stuff down and brought The Well of Loneliness out again, wanting to finish the book that day because she really wanted to know how it all ended. She wasn’t sure how much time went by as she laid there, completely captivated by the world Radclyffe Hall had created within the book.

It wasn’t that Y/N particularly enjoyed the book. No, it wasn’t that. It was endlessly long and detailed, for absolutely no purpose. The writing wasn’t particularly memorable; one wouldn’t remember it for its evocative and imaginative characteristics, nor for Hall’s ability to tell instead of show. Over the years she’d studied English in college, Y/N knew that a writer should be able to balance those two out; show some, tell some. But that concept was lost on Hall. No, Y/N didn’t like The Well of Loneliness for its writing, not even the plot.

She liked the book because of the plea embedded in it. The plea for LGBT people to be treated as human; that they were normal and not a disease. Why did they have to be other? They didn’t choose this life so why were they to be punished for it by being treated differently? By being illegal? The Well of Loneliness was published around the same time Orlando by Virginia Woolf, who was one of Y/N’s favourite authors ever. Though these two books touched on similar themes of identity, where Orlando shrouded the issue of mysticism, The Well dared to discuss sexual identity openly. Y/N commended Radclyffe Hall for that.

However much Y/N sympathised with Hall and the main character, Stephen, she couldn’t help but laugh at the hypocrisy in the book. While it attempted to strive for acceptance of one minority, it also emanated an underlying attitude of snobbishness and chauvinism towards other minorities at the same time, which made no sense to Y/N. Then again, it was the 1920s, so she guessed she couldn’t really ask for anything else from a rich white person at the time.

Having finally finished the book, Y/N asked someone nearby if they could watch her things while she took a dip. There was a blonde bloke around her age and another bloke with blue hair, sitting not too far off, and when she asked if they could keep an eye on her stuff, they promised they would.

Y/N took her time swimming, trying to remember the last time she’d been on a beach where the public were allowed. It was odd seeing so many around her, but she liked it. She liked the sound of others around her. Silence was good, but in the disturbance of human noise was the reassurance of rescue. The promise that you might be lonely, but you are never alone.

Walking back up to her picnic blanket, Y/N thanked the two men before lying back down, soaking up the sun. She hadn’t been aware she’d already been at the beach for a few hours until she realised her stomach was rumbling. So, packing her stuff together and making sure her hair was somewhat dry, she walked around to see if there were any places she could sit down. The only place on Porthminster Beach was the café with the same name, and by the looks of it, it was completely full. Since Bessie had served Y/N some breakfast, she must have something for lunch as well.

Walking back the 5 minute to the hotel, Bessie jumped up from her place in the back garden, sitting back there with two other ladies and knitting like they’d done the day before.

“Hello, dear, you had a good trip to the beach?”

Y/N couldn’t help but feel completely at ease in this old woman’s company. “Yes, I did. A bit hungry, though, do you have something I could eat, possibly?”

“Of course! What do you fancy?”

“Oh, a toastie’s fine.”

“Vegetarian?”

For some reason, the fact Bessie remembered Y/N’s preference from this morning made her smile. “Yes,” she said without thinking.

“Right, just sit down and I’ll come by with your lunch, my lovely.”

“Thank you so much, Bessie.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Y/N sat down, bringing her phone out as she hadn’t checked it properly in a few hours. She wasn’t sure what she expected, to be fair. There was no one from home who would want to contact her, and if they were to, they would rather look around Winchester than call. In their minds, she couldn’t have run far. Regardless, the mere fact they hadn’t even called her made something inside her sink a little. It felt awful knowing how little she meant to them all along. So little that they wouldn’t even pick up the phone and save her a call or a text.

“Here, my dear,” Bessie said, putting down a tray before Y/N. “I’m gonna pop outside to my little knitting club, if that’s fine by you. Just come on out if you don’t have anything else to do after this, yeah?”

“Thank you so much,” Y/N said and Bessie smiled at her before she disappeared outside again.

Turning her attention to her food, Y/N started thinking about what she could do the rest of the day. She could walk some more around town, she’d seen bigger parts of it yesterday, but there were always corners of a town that needed discovering. Once she was about halfway through her toastie, hasty footsteps sounded from the lobby and a somewhat familiar figure appeared. He stopped a bit on his way towards the reception desk, as if he didn’t want to be a bother to Bessie of some kind by asking for assistance. Bessie appeared a few seconds later, grinning from ear to ear as usual.

“Hello, Harry love.”

“Hi, Bess. I…” he stopped himself, running his hands up and down the sides of his white and grey striped cotton-blend trousers, a navy blue tee shirt tucked into it and a pair of white Vans on his feet. “I just wanted to come check again.”

“For the third time.”

“Yeah, well…” He did a quick shrug. “I just wanted to check.”

“She’s here.” Bessie gestured to Harry’s right and when he looked that way, his eyes immediately found Y/N’s. She didn’t think she’d ever see him again. However, a summer in a small coastal town would make that very hard. She’d try her hardest to stay out of Harry’s way, as well as his family’s, so she wouldn’t make things awkward. She would have escaped to a town a little further south or on the other side of Cornwall, but she was settled in now and she’d already paid for her whole stay.

Though she’d promised to keep away from him to prevent any unpleasant situations, Harry hadn’t made her the same promise. And here he was. For some reason. He seemed both taken off guard to see her sitting there as well as relieved he’d finally caught her. A sigh left him, slumping his tense shoulders a little before he thanked Bessie quickly and walked to Y/N.

“Is it,” he started as he made his way over. “Is it okay if I sit down?”

Y/N nodded her head while swallowing, gesturing with her hand at the chair opposite hers. “Yes, go ahead,” she said when her mouth was free to.

“Cheers.” Harry sat down, slid a little closer to the table and rested his hands between his legs as he leaned back against the back of the chair.

The two fell into silence for a little while, Y/N watching as Harry’s eyes fixed on the small bouquet of flowers in the tiny vase placed in the middle of the round table. Yes, she loved company, but Harry’s had taken her a little by surprise and she was eager to know why he’d come looking for her. She didn’t want to try and draw a conclusion herself without hearing his reasoning first, knowing that whatever she came up with wouldn’t be correct anyway. Instead, she put her toastie back on her plate and focused her attention on Harry, who had yet to say anything. From the way he was biting the inside of his lip, she assumed he was mulling over the right thing to say. It didn’t seem to ever come when finally, he opened his mouth.

“First, I just want to say sorry for yesterday,” he said, meeting her eyes, but quickly looking to her shoulder. “It was proper daft. I was desperate and I panicked, and you were right there.” He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for putting you in that position.”

Y/N just gave him a smile. “You don’t have to apologise, I’m glad I could help.”

“And I appreciate you helping me out, I really do, but… here’s the thing…” He cleared his throat. “Jessa and Gracie are right about losing their minds of this.”

Y/N chuckled. “Oh?”

“Yeah, they called and texted all last night and this morning, saying how nice it was to meet you, that I need to bring you to Grace’s birthday next Saturday,” Harry said. “And it makes me wonder if it was even worth it yesterday. I still appreciate what you did, and this is all my fault, but I think…” He trailed off again, scratching at the back of his neck. “Look, I’m doing a naff job of explaining this.”

Sipping her juice, Y/N just smiled at him till she put her glass down. “Take your time.”

He took a deep breath. “Think I might tell them it’s all fake. I don’t have a partner and that’s fine.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, being single is fine.”

“Only thing that’s stopping me is the fact that Jasmine will be crushed. Ever since my dad died, she’s been so worried about me living alone in the lighthouse.”

There was so much to unpack in that sentence that Y/N felt herself retract a little, scanning his face for what the appropriate reaction to that would be. Harry must’ve noticed her silence so he glanced at her face, eyes going wide.

“Oh! Don’t feel like you-“

“-I’m sorry about your dad.”

“No, that’s okay, he hasn’t been with us for two years now,” Harry went on. “That was a real mood killer. Bringing up my dead father with someone I barely know.”

Y/N smiled. “Think you fake breaking up with me was a great mood killer before that was even brought up.”

Harry smiled a little at that, those deep dimples just barely gracing his cheeks. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” She wiped at her mouth with the napkin, brows slowly coming into a frown. “You said something about a lighthouse… do you live there?”

“In the lighthouse?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I’m the lighthouse keeper.”

Her frown deepened a little.

“What?”

“I didn’t think those existed anymore.”

“What, lighthouses?” Harry’s smile widened, amusement tracing his pink lips.

“No, lighthouse keepers.”

He shrugged. “Here’s a living, breathing example of one.”

She couldn’t help her laughter. “Fine, I take it back. I don’t really think about lighthouses enough to give their keepers much of a thought either.”

“Too bad.”

Y/N just shook her head some, noticing a slight redness to Harry’s cheeks that hadn’t been there a few seconds earlier. “You were saying about Jessa.”

“She’s worried about me living alone in the lighthouse. Says I’ll be lonely and that she thinks about me sitting up there crying my eyes out or summat.”

“Do you? Cry your eyes out?”

“No, I like having my own space. I like living there alone. She’s just being a protective stepmum, looking out for me and all that. Like, yes, I’m still sad Dad is dead, but it wasn’t like he lived with me in the lighthouse anyway. He lived with Jasmine and Grace.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “She doesn’t want you to be alone ‘cause she thinks you don’t want to be.”

“Exactly,” Harry said, pausing a bit before mumbling something that sounded like, “That’s why I’ve told them for a few months now that I have a girlfriend.”

She narrowed her eyes some.

“To get them off my back, innit? I don’t want them to think I’m miserable, ‘cause I’m not. But when I told them I had a girlfriend, they got so happy, yeah? I just tried to be as vague as possible, didn’t give them a name and they didn’t ask, assuming I wanted to keep her secret. Jessa hasn’t bugged me about this in weeks… Until yesterday.”

Y/N started piecing everything together. “That’s why you stormed out of the restaurant.”

He nodded. “And ran into you.”

Y/N couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “The idea of just telling them I was your fake girlfriend just fell into your head once you saw me?”

Harry chuckled and shifted his gaze away from her, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah. I never do stuff like that. I hate uncertainty, so trusting you yesterday when I didn’t know if you’d play along… well, it took five years of my life.”

She laughed. “If I hadn’t then the whole lie would’ve been obvious to Jessa and Grace.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help then,” Y/N said, really meaning it as well.

“Yeah, and thank you so much for doing so. It really helped me out… if you look away from Jasmine texting me five times today alone to organise a dinner with you and all of us.”

They both laughed a little at that and when Y/N glanced at Harry again, he was looking down at his hands in his lap. After a brief pause, he met her eyes again.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this, and thank you for helping me. I’ll tell them everything now, I don’t want you to have to hide while you’re here for two months.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

For the next few seconds, they looked at one another in silence. Y/N thought back to the moment she’d seen Harry, how it might’ve taken her a few seconds to catch on, but her main instinct had been to help him. She thought of the gratitude on Harry’s face when she played along, how she hoped he one day would find an actual girlfriend that would have just as big of an impact on Jessa and Grace as it seemed she herself had. She was about to tell Harry this when the sound of footsteps sounded from the lobby again.

A woman Bessie’s age walked in, a bag slung over her shoulder and sunglasses in her short black hair. As she stepped inside, she spotted Harry and Y/N sitting together and her mouth fell open, a grin coming to rest on her wrinkling face.

“Bessie, you didn’t tell me these two were going to be here,” the old woman said, walking into the dining area. Bessie stepped out from behind the wall that hid the reception desk from the dining hall. At that, Y/N’s stomach dropped. Bessie must’ve heard their entire conversation. By the look on Harry’s face, he was going through a similar near-death experience to the one Y/N was currently enduring.

“Hi, Mrs Rose,” Harry said, no one seemed to notice the slight tremor to his voice.

“Harry and his new girlfriend,” Mrs Rose said, looking between them. “You know, you lot are the talk of the town.”

“We are?” Harry asked, the surprise in his voice so evident it made the older women laugh.

“Yes, of course! Jasmine told everyone!” Mrs Rose continued, looking to Bessie who was already nodding her head.

“Not everyone, but she told her friends, and you know how people like to gossip around here, don’t you, Harry?” Bessie gave him a smile and Harry smiled back, though it did not reach his eyes. “Anyway, Florence, this is Y/N. Y/N, Florence.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Y/N said, grinning at Florence who stuck her hand out. The two shook hands as Florence beamed back at Y/N. “So, the whole town knows?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case,” Florence said, turning to Bessie who made a noise of agreement. “Jessa can talk about everything and anything for hours, but if her stepson gets a girlfriend? That’s the news of the century and she will not shut up.”

“How lovely,” Y/N said, not really knowing what else was appropriate in this setting as Harry hadn’t opened his mouth once to say anything.

“It’s a little less lonesome up in that lighthouse now, hm?”

“Oh, uhm…” Harry looked at Y/N and then back at Florence, his words having completely escaped him. Y/N was about to come to Harry’s rescue when Bessie took them both by surprise.

“They stayed here tonight,” Bessie explained and Florence looked at her with a furrow between her brows.

“Why on earth would they do that? Harry’s got a perfectly nice place by the lighthouse.”

“Who are we to question the decisions of our youth?” Bessie linked arms with Florence. “Let’s go outside, Flo dear. Leave the lovebirds to be by themselves.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs Rose,” Y/N called after them.

“And you, Y/N!”

The second the two ladies were out of sight, Harry and Y/N shared a wide-eyed look, both of their panic equal it seemed. Y/N took a sip of her juice, somehow thinking it would calm her down. It did not.

“Jasmine told everyone,” Harry said, voice a whisper so no one walking by or sitting in the back garden would hear them. “She told everyone.”

“She can’t have… right?”

“You underestimate Jessa. If she was kidnapped and put in a gag, she’d be able to talk through it and move her jaw and teeth in a way that would obliterate said gag.” Harry ran a hand over his face. “She’s very chatty.”

“You’ve painted a vivid picture.”

Harry sighed, leg bouncing and eyes distant as he seemed to be racking his brain for a solution to the situation they were finding themselves in. “I was gonna tell Jessa it was a lie. I was gonna tell-“

“-You still can.”

“But everyone knows now. It’ll be well embarrassing for us when we have to tell people on the street that ‘oh yeah, that ol’ thing, we only pretended to be a couple so people wouldn’t be all up in Harry’s business,’ I somehow don’t see that going down well.”

“Then there’s only one thing we can do?”

“What’s that?”

“We pretend to be a couple.”

He stared at her, his facial expression very neutral, and though Y/N didn’t know him well enough yet, she did think she could decipher when he was displeased and when he was not. He seemed to be mulling it over, wanting for her to elaborate before he made a final decision.

“Everyone knows, I’m leaving in August, we can just say we broke up when August comes around.”

Harry nodded, thinking for a moment before he asked, “What will people say when they see us separated on the street then? Like, we’re not seen together.”

“People need to spend some time apart; it’s exhausting to be around another person 24/7.”

Harry nodded again, contemplating their predicament. “There’s always a lot of parties around here during summer. You don’t have to tag along, but you might have to if Jessa’s gonna be there.”

“I don’t mind,” Y/N admitted, shrugging her shoulders some. “I don’t have anything to do all summer, anyway. Might as well be in a fake relationship with a bloke I barely know and help him all I can.”

This made a breathy chuckle leave Harry’s lips and he held her gaze some before having it fall to his folded hands. “Well…” he said, suddenly reaching his hand across the table. “I’m Harry Edward Styles.”

Y/N laughed but took Harry’s hand, shaking it lightly. “Pleased to meet you, Harry. I’m Y/N Bernadette Angelica McKay.”

Harry whistled under his breath. “Mouthful.”

“What happens when you’re brought up in a posh family.”

Harry smiled at that and sat back in his chair. “I guess… I-I guess we should talk about how we got together and all that.”

“Yeah, make a story so it sounds more believable.”

“It’ll help if we have the same story, yes.”

She couldn’t help her laughter again, but it was cut short as Harry’s phone in his pocket started ringing. He sighed, taking it out and looking at it before putting it back down.

“Look, I gotta go.”

“Oh.” Y/N, having thought they were going to plan their fake dating history, blinked in confusion when Harry stood from his chair and looked at her apologetically. “We’ll see each other at some point.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, walking off toward the back garden, calling Bessie’s name as he did. They exchanged some words Y/N couldn’t hear and Harry disappeared into the kitchen for a minute before resurfacing again. Standing in the lobby, he looked at Y/N through the doorway leading into the dining area, mouth opening and closing as he tried to come up with something to say.

She just gave him a smile, hoping he understood that she just wanted him to take his time. It took one more sigh and a little staring contest before Harry finally found his words.

“You know where to find me, my house is the very tall, pointy one on the outskirts of town.”

She chuckled, watching as he walked out of the front door and down the street. Y/N found her bag, putting it on her shoulder as she got her lunch tray and sat it in the kitchen as she’d done after her breakfast that morning. On her way upstairs, Y/N turned as she reached the front door that was left open to welcome guests. Stepping into the doorway, she looked out over St Ives.

Seagulls were still screaming overhead, the sound of people down by the beach hung in the air all throughout the day, it smelled of seafood and summer, and just beyond the small town, on a tiny hilltop and on the very tip of a cliff, stood a lighthouse. A white lighthouse that rose high above the whole coast around it, protecting everyone. Locals, foreigners, and sailors. And it was operated and taken care of by the bloke Y/N was going to spend her entire summer in a fake relationship with. It didn’t seem real, and yet, that was exactly what it was. She didn’t have Harry’s number and knew next to nothing about him, but – as he put it – he lived in the very tall, pointy house on the outskirts of town. It was impossible to miss it. She could find her way to him, even in the dark.

The lighthouse keeper, Y/N thought to herself as she took in the lighthouse again through the window of her room once she walked upstairs. I have to pretend to be in love with a lighthouse keeper. And somehow, Y/N realised when looking back on that particular summer, that wasn’t the weirdest thing that would happen to her in St Ives.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 2 August, 9PM GMT!

Huge thanks to my AMAZING beta readers! 🌊 @aileenacoustic 🌊 @bopbopstyles 🌊 @fromyourstrulyh 🌊 @harrys-creature 🌊 @honeydearly 🌊 @juliassgem 🌊 @summerfeelng 🌊 @sunflower--styles 🌊 @withallthelove-a 🌊

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thran-duils · 4 years ago

Text

Doll Me Up (P.6)

Title: Doll Me Up (Part Six) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark Mob!Tony Stark. On good days, you and Tony were a power couple. You, a perfect trophy wife with your hands in local charities to promote a wholesome image. Tony, business man but sullied with organized crime. He indulged in his illegal gambling, extortion, and political corruption. And he indulged in his escort business. Hell, that is where he had found you. You were a brat, and he loved a challenge. Words: 2.858 Warnings: Unhealthy relationships, smut, daddy kink, dom/sub, manipulation, death, violence, possessive behavior Author’s Note: Pepper is going to be mentioned not as a love interest. If that bothers you, please don’t read on!

Part Five || Part Seven || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Three months ago… (cont.)

Tony realized he had not seen Y/N for a while. They were at a good point to pause their playing, so he told them all to get refreshers and have a break. The escort girls were waiting on the men and one of them came up to Tony, all flirtatious smile, asking him if he wanted her to grab him something.

“No, dear. Thank you though. I need to go check on my lovely little wife.”

He sighed heavily walking inside, expecting to find Y/N sprawled out on their bed pouting or in a bubble bath since he had told her to go upstairs if she was going to be in a bad mood.

She was not on the bed, although the window was open, the curtain blowing lightly in the breeze. He frowned seeing she was not in their bedroom or their bathroom. Or in her closet.

Tony clicked the speaker system on the wall. “F.R.I.D.A.Y… what room is Y/N in?”

“Mrs. Stark left one hour, three minutes, and 38 seconds ago.”

“What?” Tony demanded. “What do you mean left?”

“Mrs. Stark took the BMW M8 Coupe.”

His eyes bugged out of his head. “She’s driving? She had like 5 drinks!” Tony shouted and realized he was shouting at his AI system and as he turned to charge out of the room, F.R.I.D.A.Y. answered.

“Yes, sir.”

He booked it down the stairs down towards the garage to where he could check the computer system to track where the car was. He was fuming but beneath the anger, was simmering worry. He did not want her to get into an accident. How the hell did she just leave without saying anything? How the hell did she think she was okay to drive?

Impatiently, he waited for the menu to load and he slapped the screen to click her car the second he was able to. His finger were tapping quickly on the desk as the map came up. He narrowed his eyes.

“Ocean Park?” he murmured, racking his brain. It clicked and he shook his head. She had a friend that lived there. The car was not moving, she must be at their house. He watched for another minute to make sure the car really did not move before he pushed away from the desk pissed off.

When he came back out onto the patio, he made a beeline for where his phone was on the poker table. He dialed her number, his other hand coming up to his hip. She did not answer, and he called back immediately. After the fourth in a row, he let out an aggravated noise, swearing under his breath. He turned around to go over to where his guys had migrated to around the pool, clutching his phone.

“Who is the most sober?” he demanded as he tore his sunglasses off to make sure they saw his eyes and how serious he was about his question.

Happy shook his head – not a surprise to Tony. It was his day off. Mikhail and Louis raised half hearted hands, looking confused.

“Stop drinking. I’m gonna need you to drive me.”

“What’s going on?” Happy asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Y/N decided to take a little joy drive. Fucking… she was definitely not sober. She left an hour ago. She’s down by the Santa Monica pier. Her friend. Name starts with a C.” Happy went to put his drink down and Tony wagged his finger, stalling his movement. “No, you enjoy the pool. Enjoy yourself. I’ll deal with it.” He pointed at Mikhail and Louis. “I wanna go in like a half hour to an hour. Is that gonna work?” They both nodded and Tony said, “Good. I’m gonna try to call her ass again. Little bitch is ignoring me.”

He turned away from them, dialing her number again. “Trying to wreck her fucking birthday present,” he muttered, thinking he had just bought her that car and how pissed he was gonna be if she did get into an accident with it.

<><><>

Tony came into the kitchen, fully dressed. He had not been in the bedroom when you woke up but F.R.I.D.A.Y. told you that he was down in his lab. You had decided to not bother him and instead gotten ready and come downstairs to make yourself a light breakfast. You had made him some eggs too just in case.

You told him as such when he came over to give you a kiss. He made a pleased hum and took a forkful to appease you. He moved away to pour a coffee, tossing a look over at you.

“Hmm, that’s a nice suit.”

You had chosen a bright yellow one, barely there.

“Just gonna get some sun since I can’t go anywhere yet,” you said, eyeing him. “Unless you wanna give me the new garage code…?”

“No,” Tony said almost immediately. “No car yet.”

It had been a week and a half since you had run off on him. Again. He had removed the bar of you going outside a couple days after he brought dinner home.

“I’m not gonna go anywhere that’s not around here. I just wanna drive.”

“That’s not something I can trust you with yet.”

You pushed away from the counter and came to stand in front of him. He stared at you, cocking an eyebrow before he took a sip of his coffee. He was just patiently waiting to see what you were going to do.

Without breaking eye contact, you sunk to your knees, pulling at his belt buckle. He did not fight you; you saw him try to hide a smirk as you pulled his dick out, beginning to stroke slowly. Your tongue flicked at his tip, his eyes locked on you.

Suddenly, he held a finger up to you, placing his coffee down on the counter. He took his phone out of his pocket, dialing a number. “Yeah, Terry?” He let out a small grunt as you took him fully to the base. He shot you a warning look and you merely gave him doe eyes, humming softly. He got out in a strangled voice, “I’m gonna be late to our Zoom. Probably by 15 minutes? Mhmm. Yep.”

You were an expert at getting him to come by now, knowing all the tricks that would send him to the moon. He came in your mouth, warm coating the back of your throat. Your head was pressed against the cabinet as he held you there, emptying himself, his head thrown back and groaning.

“Good girl,” he rasped, his fingers going lax on the sides of your head.

His cock fell from your lips and you wiped at your mouth.

Tony let out an amused laugh, “That was naughty of you, baby. Trying to manipulate me like that.”

You put him back in his pants, gently zipping him back up. As you did up his belt, you asked innocently, “Did it work?”

His hand came to cup underneath your jaw, tilting your head up. He shrugged, “Kind of. Have Mikhail take you wherever you wanna go. I’ll leave you some cash.”

It was better than nothing. You wanted to get away from the house.

“Thank you,” you said, remembering your manners.

<><><>

You got even better than driving down the road a few days later, making obscene noises as you rode Tony in his board room. The two of you had climbed on top of the long table and he was lying back, letting you ride his cock. Your eyes drifted over to the window, looking out over New York City. You were so high up. He had never taken you to NYC before and damn, was he showing you the sights with his view from Stark Tower.

It had started with a hand up your skirt the moment the door had closed behind the two of you.

Tony assured you that the room was soundproof, grinning devilishly at you as his fingers slipped past your underwear, toying at your sex.

“Daddy,” you had pouted, trying to get away from him. You wanted more of a tour of the building than just his office and this board room.

“Yes, princess?” he purred, his other hand come down on the table beside you, blocking you from moving that way. His hand caressing you pinched at your sex and you bucked back.

Your hand came up to his chest and you tugged at his collar. “What about the rest of the building?”

“Who cares about the rest of the building? That’s where the grunts work,” Tony said, his nose buried in your neck. He nipped at your shoulder, kissing softly.

“But they are important. Maybe I wanna meet them.”

Tony pulled away enough to look at you. He saw you were serious and he laughed amused, bordering on condescending. “Mhm, you don’t gotta worry about them. But, it’s cute of you to do so.”

He was back at your neck, leaving a wet trail of kisses. He coaxed you, his fingers pressing in. A low growl left his throat, “Imagine if I fucked you in front of the board as I gave a presentation?”

You had crawled up on the table at that, beckoning him to follow you and he had done so without hesitation. He had been more than willing to let you crawl on top, sinking down onto his length, the skirt of your summer dress spread out around the two of you. You egged him on as you hovered, letting him drive himself up into you. His eyes were swimming with determination and you drug your teeth across your bottom lip, not breaking eye contact, causing him to thrust harder at your lewd stare.

“You’re so sexy, baby,” he husked.

Perfect timing. You raised yourself up out of reach, empty of him, staring down.

Tony cocked his head slightly, his fingers digging into your thighs.

“Baby,” his voice rumbled low. “Don’t you go teasing me now.”

“I want to go to the Met.”

If his eyes could have rolled out of his head, they would have. “Jesus Christ. Really?”

He had refused you when you had asked on the jet over here, telling you it was boring. He had been though, and you had never been. You wanted to at least experience it.

You began to sink back down onto his cock again and his breath hitched before you pulled away again. His jaw set, frustration setting into his features.

“I wanna go!” you told him firmly.

“I told you—”

You started to swing your leg over to move away from him but his arm came swinging up to meet you, anticipating your movement. He dropped your momentum – it was weak, admittedly, because you were doing it more for show than anything, knowing you were going to get your way when he was this worked up. He would do anything to finish. His momentum though was not weak and your knee came slamming back down on the table.

“Ow!” you complained..

His other hand snaked around you, yanking you to him so your noses were almost touching.

“Princess, I’m telling you right now. You drag this out, I’m gonna put you – and you alone – right back on that jet without seeing anything other than this damn room.” You pouted again and he growled, “I’m fucking serious. Behave and I’ll take you to that stupid museum.”

“It’s not stupid—” you started to argue but quickly lined himself back up with his other hand and drove himself up into you roughly, cutting you off as you gasped.

Fine. If that is how he wanted to play.

You pushed away from his embrace, settling back. You took control of the rhythm, riding him again. His grin was wide, resting back down to let you fuck him. You closed your eyes, going quickly as broken husks of praise fell from his lips.

“Tony!”

The voice snapped you from your haze and you stopped midthrust, looking over your shoulder in shock and embarrassment. Pepper was standing there by the door, her head turned to avoid looking at the pair of you.

Tony’s fingers dug into your hips as he did a curl up to peer past you at Pepper.

“What?” he demanded annoyed that she was interrupting.

“Your 2 o’clock showed up early,” Pepper said in an even voice. How did she manage to be so calm and collected at a situation like this, you wondered.

“Well, make them wait. I’m obviously in the middle of something. If you would turn your head about 90 degrees you’d clearly see that, Pepper.”

“I’m good,” Pepper replied flatly. “I heard enough when I came in here.”

Tony snorted, lying back down. “Make his ass wait, like I said. I don’t bend to his schedule. I need to finish my ‘meditation’.” His hand smacked your ass roughly. “That means you. Relax me.”

Pepper rolled her eyes before turning and leaving the room. The door closed behind her and your eyes were still on the door before Tony gave a rough thrust. You whined, your head turned back to look at him.

“You heard the woman. We have an appointment that decided they needed to be up in my ass. Why even make an appointment if you’re not going to keep the time? Speed it up, princess, if you still wanna earn your reward.”

Moving again, you planted your hands on his chest. Your nails dug in and he hissed. “I’m gonna drain you, daddy.”

His smile was wicked, watching your breasts bounce. It did not take long after that for him to empty, holding you tightly in place as his cock twitched inside of you. He exhaled deeply, slapping your ass again, his hand lingering and caressing.

“Fuck that was good,” he breathed. “I think you earned your prize.”

<><><>

You sat in Tony’s office playing on your phone as he spoke business with the man. It was illegal, what they were talking about. The man was ignoring the fact you were in there; he must trust the fact that you were married to Tony that you were not going to leak anything. They spoke in hushed tones even though the door was closed. It was boring really and you were not catching much of the conversation.

When they stood up, shaking hands, you almost breathed a sigh of relief. You wanted to leave the office and go do some sightseeing. The two of them left you alone in the office and you sat in silence.

The door opened again and you looked up, expecting Tony but found Pepper walking in holding a file. She hesitated only for a second seeing you but moved on, placing the file on the desk.

“Hey, Pepper,” you said to her as she moved to leave the office. She stopped and turned, looking at you expectantly. “What would you suggest I do while I’m here? I’ve never been to the city before.”

“Does Tony not have an itinerary laid out?” You shook your head and she said, “That doesn’t sound like him.”

“He didn’t even wanna go to the Met. He told me it was boring.”

“I’m not surprised by that.”

Her eyes flicked to your stomach which was not missed by you. It would be a couple months before you were supposed to start showing but you knew she knew. The cat was definitely out of the bag by now.

“Obviously can’t do any drinking stuff,” you said, trying to remove the elephant in the room. “I’m just excited to be here though and wanna do some fun stuff. Especially now that I can go outside again.”

Pepper’s brow furrowed. “Why couldn’t you go outside..?”

You shrugged, “I was grounded.”

“Grounded.” She repeated the word, sounding a mixture of disbelief and confusion.”

“Tony didn’t like a decision I made.”

“You mean you running off to another state?”

So, that cat was also out of the bag.

Shrugging again, you said, “Yeah. That. That really made him mad.”

“I would think he was more worried than anything, Y/N.”

“He had someone beat up because they tried to let me have a place to stay for the night.” That seemed to surprise her. Hmm, something she did not know. “And then I got locked inside. So, like I said, if you have any places you really like around the city… I could use the pointers to make the most of this.”

Pepper was silent for a few moments before she said, “If you like architecture and history, I really like the St. Patrick’s Cathedral. I’m not Catholic myself but the building is beautiful. The SeaGlass Carousel is fun. And Mario’s has really good food.”

“Hmm,” you said in response. “Thanks!” You took out your phone and typed them in as you told her, “That’s helpful.”

“No problem. I do have to get back to work though,” Pepper told you.

You nodded, “I understand. Thanks again.”

She left the room and you smiled, hoping you had started to make a helpful friend.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21

Fic tags: @kvzctam, @farihafangirls, @teenageregression, @mrsnegan25, @lilacs-lavender, @agustdowney, @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay

#tony stark x reader #dark!tony stark #mob tony stark #dark tony stark #dark marvel fic #my shit

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selfwriting-sugarquills · 4 years ago

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70 Fred Weasley headcanons in celebration of 700 followers:

(plus an extra one, for the heck of it lmao)

You guys, thank you so much for 700 followers! I appreciate every single one of you and writing for the twins has been such a blast so far, much to the thanks of all of you <3

Find the 70 George Headcanons: Here

Fred has always been really good at sleight of hand stuff, as a kid, he could do card tricks with ease, steal baked goods from his mother’s kitchen and later on since his allowance wasn’t exactly anything to brag about, he’d steal sweets from honeydukes' on Hogsmeade trips, with the help of George, he’s not proud of it but in his defence, he was a stupid teenage boy at the time.

Fred is incredibly competitive and will hold onto anything you challenge him to for way longer than you might think. He’s definitely the type to “race you” anytime you’re headed to herbology, care against magical creatures or Hogsmeade together.

As the man himself said in the deathly hallows, Fred doesn’t like the idea of a big grandiose wedding ceremony, he’d prefer something more low-key and simple, where the focus is more on having fun and celebrating instead of neat seating plans and meticulously chosen decorations. Some flowers and booze will do, he’ll provide the fireworks - In essence, he only needs his S/O and the rest he couldn’t care less about.

George may be better at cooking, but Fred makes a damn good pancake and he will forever pride himself on that.

Fred is the more jealous, overprotective twin. He’s aware of this and tries his best not to let it go to his head but he can’t help it.

Fred snores, I’m pretty sure it’s canon that both twins snore, but Fred is louder and, as mentioned in my last headcanon post, a very heavy sleeper meaning it’s more difficult to get him to wake up so he can stop, your best shot is trying (and probably failing) to turn him over.

Fred is also a very restless sleeper, he’ll toss and turn, and occasionally dream about quidditch. I’m saying you might want to be aware that he might confuse you for a bludger in his sleep, don’t worry though, he’ll always apologise profusely and make it up to you with a lot of kisses (and maybe a bit more than that, if you’re keen ;))

Fred has an extensive caffeine addiction, which is unfortunate cause he’s quite hyper already but he can’t function properly until he gets his coffee in the morning, and then again in between lessons/at lunch and then again late in the afternoon. Sometimes, if he needed to write an essay that was due, he’d drink coffee at like nine pm. He knows he won’t be able to sleep because of it, please, Y/n, he’s accepted his fate.

I personally always imagined the twins as having ADHD, idk why it just fits their characters. Fred is for sure the more outwardly fidgety and intrusive, this gets less and less with age, as it does for a lot of ADHD people, his inability to focus remains the same though.

Fred loves being outside, he’s the first of the Weasley siblings to suggest a game of quidditch or just going outside for walks, hide and seek in the woods near their house. He absolutely loves taking his dates on walks in parks or at the beach and when he has kids he plays with them in their yard, building snowmen etc.

Fred probably suggests at some point that the whole family should go camping, and he’s actually really fun to camp with. He’ll tell the best scary stories by the campfire.

In regards to children, Fred wants a lot of kids. Like at least three but would be willing to have more if his s/o wants to. He just really likes the dynamic of a large family since that’s what he’s used to.

Fred’s favourite flavour of sweets is anything sour, the sourer the better, because of this he can handle it really well and he loves handing people some of his ridiculously sour candy and watching them squirm.

He also really likes spicy food, he’s a bit of a daredevil so don’t challenge him to eat anything because he will eat a whole chilli and nearly die.

You know he’d be really casual about it too, lol, like sweating and crying but just leaning on the counter like “*pant* what? hot? no not at all *deeeeep breath* I can ha-aw-rdly taste it!”

One thing about Fred is that he’s oddly squeamish, like seeing his brother’s ear blown off isn’t so bad (if you don’t take into account the emotional trauma that is), but a needle for a blood sample or a vaccine? oooh, he’s gonna need a big juice box and a cookie and his s/o’s hand to hold if he’s gonna make it through. He also has a thing about leeches. One time at Hogwarts they were mentioned in a lesson and he thought he was going to faint the entire time.

Fred’s broken five bones over the years, four are from quidditch: his left arm and two ribs, and then the other arm from trying to do an elaborate stunt on the stairs in the burrow and falling down two flights.

Fred loves to sing karaoke (because I cannot get that damn clip of James singing karaoke out of my head) though he particularly enjoys doing a very poor job on purpose.

Fred is such a good liar that on several occasions he’s given presentations in school and gotten good marks for them despite having bullshat his way through the entire thing.

Like seriously, he’s that guy in the group project who only looks at the slides like five minutes before the presentation and then just turns on a full charming newscaster voice on the professor to the point of them being genuinely convinced (albeit a little confused) that what Fred’s saying is true.

This is also why Fred loves playing card games like poker: he’s really good at bluffing.

Speaking of poker-face, he’s really quite good at teasing in public (if you’re into that sort of thing *wink*) because no matter the dirty deeds he might get up to under a table, his face remains as regular as always (safe for a little smirk to his lover every now and then)

Fred always wanted to learn an instrument, he thought it’d make him cooler when he was a teenager, as an adult, he just really wants to recreate that clip of the trombone-playing dad with the sunglasses, or maybe serenade some cows with jazz or something.

Fred was never a big fan of the uniform thing, so he always tried to make it his own, whether that be tying the tie differently, or having his sleeves rolled up; it’s not much but you gotta take what you can get when you’re literally dressed the same as everyone else.

Fred might make fun of his dad’s interest in muggle things but secretly he loves it too. He has spent a lot of hours in the shed with Arthur, assuring everyone that it was just to have some quality time with his dad but he would still pay close attention when Arthur explained things to him.

Fred had a whole business of selling candy from Honeydukes’ and joke products from Zonko’s to second and first years before he and George started dabbling with their own products, he could get you a butterbeer too but it’ll cost you an extra three galleons.

Fred really likes glitter, George has a thing for lace, anything that glitters on his s/o makes Fred weak. If you want to get your way just put on some glittery eyeshadow or lipgloss and watch him spin.

Since he loves things that glitter and gleam he loves buying his s/o jewellery, he loves seeing them wearing them as little tokens of their relationship.

Did someone say slight possession kink? oops not me

Fred is incredible with numbers, this is pretty much canon and has been explored but I’m just amazed at this boy’s wit AND intellect. I have a slight headcanon that if he ever goes on a proper first date with someone where a bill is involved, he impresses his date by calculating the tip after just a glance.

Even if Fred has a longstanding reputation of not caring about school, when he has kids he does want to help them with any coursework over the summer and Christmas breaks, he’ll even study up on his old books just to be able to help out in any classes he didn’t take/didn’t pay attention in.

Fred would, in general, be an amazing father. He’s goofy and playful most of the time, though he’s serious and incredibly caring whenever his kids are in a bad mood or have problems. He knows that he’s not the most outwardly emotional of the twins but he makes sure his kids know they can always talk to him about anything.

Fred is incredibly messy. His room is usually a cry for help and he only cleans it when it gets to the point where it distracts him from focusing on work.

No worries though, his S/O doesn’t have to do all the housework for him, he’ll do it. He just needs to be reminded that he needs to every once in a while.

Fred has a really bad temper, he doesn’t know where he gets it from but he tends to get angry easier than George, though Fred is better at letting it out so it doesn’t continue to bother him.

His bad temper does mean that he used to brawl more with siblings as a kid, and it wasn’t unusual to see him with scrapes and bruises as a kid, much to Molly’s dismay. Fred didn’t mind though, he thought it made him look tough.

Fred is more likely to get caught sneaking around because of his brash nature, he tends to forget just how quiet you have to be to avoid Mrs Norris in the corridors.

Fred is certainly not an early bird but his favourite time of day is, in fact, the morning when the sun’s coming up. He only knows this because of Wood’s ridiculously early quidditch practices but there’s something about the way the world looks when it’s bathed in soft golden light that just hits different to Fred.

Fred is a great team player, as much as he seems like he’s more selfish than George, if it’s regarding a team activity (like quidditch or a battle of sorts) he’ll completely lose all focus on himself and only try to ensure other’s safety and victory. This is also why he plays as a beater, he’s not afraid of getting hit at all when he’s focused on getting the bludgers away from his teammates.

So if his s/o ever needs it, he’ll be there to help with anything: Needs to take a day off from work to take care of his sick s/o? no problem. Needs to stay up with his small child because his s/o is exhausted and needs rest? On it. Something as small as carrying groceries or books, making a cup of tea when the other is busy or doing the dishes is all on the list of things that Fred will happily do for his s/o, and often without having to be asked, he’ll just do it.

Fred’s boggart is seeing his family members and/or his s/o hurt beyond what he can save. Essentially his worst fear is being helpless when he needs it most.

One of those times was when George lost his ear. The first night when George was lying practically unconscious on the couch with blood everywhere was the worst night of Fred’s life, he truly felt so anxious and helpless and angry that he vomited and ended up passing out next to the couch after staying up till sunrise watching his brother like a hawk.

He didn’t just sleepwalk when he was younger, he also often experienced nightmares, it’s only George, Molly and Arthur who remembers anything about this.

They got less and less the older he got and he assumed that he’d never be bothered by them again until after the second wizarding war and the battle of Hogwarts.

I don’t like to headcanon that he dies cause he didn’t and that’s final lol. I do, however, headcanon that Fred still gets hurt, since everyone in the explosion beside him seemed to sustain minor injuries, I just think that to even out with George losing his ear, he hurts his leg and needs a lot of retraining/a walking stick. I think that’d be a more fair/unfair ending for Fred who’s always full of energy having to have to adjust to living slowly for a little while (not permanently, I couldn’t do that to my boy).

The boy has anxiety sometimes, ok. (just let me project for a second)

He didn’t know how much tension he usually holds in his body until he drank alcohol for the first time and felt his entire body loosen up and was like “huh this is new.”

He doesn’t use alcohol to deal with it though, he prefers just talking to George about whenever he feels is stressing him out and that helps. A massage from his s/o to loosen him up doesn’t hurt either.

Fred prefers to talk to his dad about his problems more than he prefers to talk to Molly, generally.

His favourite body parts on his s/o: Shoulders, hips, hands.

He loves to kiss, just in general, but he also loves kissing his s/o’s nose, forehead, neck, shoulder, etc. as little gestures of affection.

He def. has a bit of a size kink, he loves being taller than his s/o.

If Fred could have any pet he wanted, he’d probably want a dog, the bigger the better. He doesn’t think he has the time for a pet though.

It was his idea to start breeding pygmy puffs, it’s the closest he’ll get to having a pet.

I don’t know why but I feel like when Fred and his s/o are expecting and his s/o goes into labour he just panics. loses it, drops the binkie as we say in Denmark: Freaks the fuck out, if you will. He’s definitely the pacing and wringing his hands together type, though he probably tries his best to keep himself composed and chill during the whole thing whilst simultaneously hyperventilating.

Fred doesn’t cry often but he sure as hell wept with pride when he held all his kids for the first time.

Despite the notion that the twins often slip in a joke version of a sweet treat or something similar amongst the snacks at parties, Fred is strongly against tampering with drinks. He knows the connotations it holds and he doesn’t want anyone to be afraid they’d put something in it. If he wants you to test out their truth serum or a love potion, he’ll just ask you flat out and if you don’t want to, he’s not going to continue asking.

Most of the detentions Fred has gotten from Snape come from times he’s spoken back to him when Snape’s been giving another student a rough time. He doesn’t regret it one bit.

If you ask Fred what his proudest accomplishment is, he’ll probably say that it’s having had enough restraint to not punch Umbridge in the face every time he saw her.

On the note of Umbridge. It wasn’t her detentions with him that got his blood boiling, it was when she punished little kids (a la Nigel) for doing practically nothing, he understands that to an extent and by comparison, setting off a bunch of fireworks inside a building would harbour a harsher punishment, but making twelve-year-olds bleed for running in the halls or playing music or just doing things that twelve-year-olds will inevitably do, is something Fred doesn’t understand. That year pretty much any kid younger than him, or anyone who was too afraid to stand up for themselves, became Fred and George’s little siblings, and they’re very protective older brothers. Umbridge can vouch for that.

He struggles with a lot of insecurity in his relationships, he always puts on a front of being extra funny and outgoing when he’s in a new relationship because he’s secretly afraid that the way he is isn’t good enough and that eventually, his s/o will see through him and leave because they don’t like the softer, more serious side of him.

Fred is the godfather of all of George’s kids but is also the godparent of Hugo, Lily and Lucy.

Fred loves business meetings, he sees them as a good challenge to practice his smooth talk.

Fred spent his first salary from the shop on the most expensive bottle of champagne he could find and a new suit.

Fred tried to get into whiskey, feeling like it’d make him a cool business owner type of man, so, with his second salary, he went out and bought a fancy-schmancy bottle of whiskey and the whole getup with a bottle and some cool glasses, and then invited Lee over to try it with him and George.

They did not like it. Fred thought it tasted like what he imagined gasoline tastes like so they mostly used it as decorations, not having the heart to mix it with something.

Fred doesn’t necessarily like PDA, it depends on what you mean. He likes being secretive. Pulling his s/o into an empty classroom, nook, hallway, secret pathway etc where anyone could wander in at any time and snogging her senseless is one of his favourite things to do.

Fred knows how good he looks in his quidditch uniform and will absolutely use it against his s/o. (they’re gonna get spicy from here on so read with caution if you're in public)

Fred prefers giving more than receiving oral.

He has a lot of energy, did you not think that would rub off (no pun intended) on his sex drive? He can go pretty much any time and place, and typically last at least two rounds.

Also, his favourite position is having you on top. Okay, I'm gonna stop now.

#selfwriting-sugarquills 700 follower celebration #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley headcanons #fred weasley fanfiction #weasley twins #weasley twins headcanons #hp headcanon #harry potter headcanon

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stillebesat · 4 years ago

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Meeting Virgil (5x1) -First Time

December Drabbles Day 16 Sanders Shorts: Remy Sanders Sides: Virgil Blurb: A Special Delivery Prequel. -Five times Remy tried to give Virgil a child and the one time he succeeded. Inspiration: @book-of-charlie asked: What did Virgil mean by "the last 5 times?" Fic Type: STORK!AU, Winged!Remy Fic Warnings: Bad Parenting implications, Injury, Hitting Taglist in Reblog.

The baby girl stirred in Remy’s arms just as the bright lights of good old NYC came into view. “Shh. Shh, little one.” He soothed, brushing her tiny cheek with a single finger, leaving the faintest of traces of dark green dust behind that would ensure that she would drift back into whatever dreams a newborn could have. “We’re almost there.”

It had been a long night of flying for the both of them, though Remy had been doing all the work with his wings, having flown over three major storm cells in his cross country journey from West Coast to East.

You couldn’t argue with the Parent Line though.

Remy glanced to the brightly glowing purple ribbon of light he’d chosen to follow out of the half dozen that had been presented to him when he’d taken the baby girl from the hot car she’d purposely been left in and tilted his wings, adjusting his flight path to take him deeper into the city.

Always choose the brightest. That was what he’d been told to do when multiple ribbons appeared in his vision. Not that any of the choices were bad per se, but the brighter the colored ribbon, the more easily the parents could integrate the child into their lives and that was what was needed. A smooth transition.

Far smoother than most of the others. Remy let out a low whistle, wings fluttering as his weaving through the city led him to one of the skyscrapers that housed the richer millionaire type of people. “Well look who lucked out.” He mumbled, pushing his sunglasses onto his head as he landed gracefully on a balcony halfway up the south side.

A richy. That was...different. Usually the fools were too obsessed over making money and buying their next fancy jet or island to want to deal with children, especially newborns. It just didn’t...fit.

Remy frowned, adjusting the baby in his arms, his wings curling around them to block out the wind so she wouldn’t get cold as he double checked that the purple ribbon was leading him inside.

It was.

“Huh.” The word left his lips involuntarily as he moved to the sliding glass door, the latch unlocking at his touch so he could slip inside the darkened room. Maybe she wasn’t going to the millionaire but to their maid or butler instead. That would make far more sens--

WHAM.

Remy staggered as something cold and definitely made of heavy metal hit the side of his face. His sunglasses flew off, landing somewhere to his left as he whirled to the source, wing raising in time to block the frying pan swinging again for his head. “WATCH THE BABY!” He screeched at his unknown assailant as he desperately tried to blink the stars from his eyes.

Geez. And he’d thought seeing stars was a myth.

The shadowy figure froze. “Lights.” A man said in a low voice.

Remy hissed, ducking his aching head as the room flooded with light, blinding him. His wings automatically folded in over him to protect his poor eyes, but also so he could check on the baby girl.

If this idiot had harmed her---

But no. The tightness in his chest eased to see her still sleeping soundly. Good. The dust had helped to keep her asleep despite the noise.

He looked up, wings pulling back as he straightened to glare at the man in a black hoodie with dark eyeshadow under his eyes like a freaking raccoon standing before him with a frying pan held in his hands. “Geez Rapunzel. You’re lucky you didn’t hurt her!”

The man bared his teeth, a hiss coming from his lips, though his grey storm colored eyes anxiously checked the bundle in Remy’s arms. “What sort of idiot brings a baby to a break-in?” He demanded.

Remy scoffed, taking a slow step backwards to get out of range of the ‘weapon,’ holding his charge protectively. “Gurl! Me? Break in--out of the two of us--” He gestured with one wing to his brown leather jacket and jeans, wondering why no one else had come to investigate the commotion yet. “Which of us looks more like a robber? Cus it certainly ain’t me, Sugarbee.”

The man glanced down to his clothes and smirked before he surged forward, pressing the edge of the frying pan against Remy’s throat before he could blink. “I’m the one who lives here, Flynn Rider.” He growled, stormy eyes glittering. “I can dress however the blazes I want and no freaking glowing green-eyed Angel is going to tell me how to dress.”

Angel?

Remy froze, swallowing as the cold metal pressed against his throat. Impossible. Adults shouldn’t be able to-- “You can see my wings?” He asked carefully, ignoring the comment about his eyes. He already knew people were offset by the metallic quality they held, but it came with being a S.T.O.R.K. along with the wings.

“Well…yah?” The man frowned, grey eyes flicking to them, the baby and then back to Remy himself. “I mean you’re no Mothman, that’s for sure, they're more polite.”

No Mothman? The man spoke like he’d met one. That wasn’t--they didn’t exist! It shou--who was this guy?! His wings spread out, puffing up. “But that’s---you shouldn’t!”

The man raised his eyebrows, taking a step back. “Why shouldn’t I be able to see them? They’re rather hard to miss.” He gestured to the wings with his makeshift weapon. “All white and huge.”

“Because you’re not---” Remy cut off, abruptly realizing where exactly the purple ribbon in the room led. “Oh Jiminy Crickets.” He breathed as he made the connection. “You are.” It still didn’t explain how his wings were visible to this guy, but--

The man tensed, fingers going white on the handle. “I’m what?”

Remy relaxed, wings snapping shut. It was unusual, yes, but there were no other ribbons drifting through the apartment. Meaning that the Emo Nightmare before him was the only person here. A single father. Unusual, but not uncommon. “You ever hear of a S.T.O.R.K?” He asked, moving a step closer, brushing the sleeping baby girl’s cheek with a finger.

“The regular bird, or the legends about how babies--” The man inhaled sharply, going pale as the frying pan slipped from his fingers to clatter to the floor.

Remy smirked. Looked like Rapunzel could piece the puzzle together on his own. “Still wondering why I’m here in your apartment with a baby?”

If anything the soon-to-be Father got paler, stumbling back a step. “I can’t!” His voice cracked.

Yah, Remy had heard similar exclamations with other deliveries he’d made. “Of course you can.” He said, carefully holding the little girl out to him. He wouldn’t be here if the young man wouldn’t be a good Dad. “You already have a Father’s protective instinct down.”

If he didn’t end up with half his face black and blue in the morning, Remy would be very surprised. “You’ll be fine.”

“But she’s a tiny baby! What if I hurt--no.” The young man violently shook his head, vaulting over the back of the black couch to put a blockade between him and Remy, crossing his arms in front of him as a feeble blockade. “No. No, I can’t take her! I’m not a good dad. I won’t be--I can’t!”

Denial too was to be expected. It isn’t always easy to comprehend that you’re suddenly a parent. Though no new Dad had reacted quite like this before. “You’ll be fine.” Remy soothed. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise. I don’t make mistakes.” No S.T.O.R.K. did. “Here.” Again he held her out. “Just hold her and you’ll see.”

The familial bond could only be made once the parents, or in this case, parent held the child in his arms. Not before. But once he did. Flynn Rider here would be fine. He’d be a great Dad.

Edgelord shuddered, closing his eyes as he turned away, arms crossed tightly against his chest. “No. Please. No. I can’t. I can’t. I CAN’T! She deserves better. Please.”

Please.

The purple ribbon fizzled out, vanishing before Remy’s eyes only for a bright pink ribbon to suddenly flash into view, leading out and away from the apartment.

What the what?! Remy pulled the child close to his chest, rocking her as she stirred, whimpering in her sleep. The ribbon had just--that had never happened before! EVER. Once a S.T.O.R.K. chose a ribbon, then the child would go to that family. No question. And now--suddenly--Remy swallowed, slowly shaking his head, his wings half spreading, fluttering in his confusion.

He didn’t get it. But if the man felt that strongly, so strongly to change the ribbon’s color--

”Alright. Hey. Hey. Gurl, it’s alright. You don’t have to say yes.” It was unusual. Actually, all of this was just plain weird. No one ever refused a S.T.O.R.K. once they were chosen. “I can take her to another.”

The man refused to turn around. “Then do it.” He choked out. “Go.”

Remy frowned, but didn’t argue, scooping up his sunglasses as he moved to the open balcony door. He needed to get the baby girl to this family of this new glowing pink parent line before the sun rose.

Still, he paused on the threshold, looking over his shoulder to the man in black. “I do stand by what I said though.” He slipped outside, spreading his wings. “You will make a great Dad.” He called as he took a running leap, jumping off the balcony to soar up into the night sky, following the new ribbon’s trail northeast towards Boston.

Remy set his jaw, holding the babe close to his chest as he climbed. He just needed to find the right child to prove it.

To Be Continued Second Time

#Meeting Virgil #STORK AU #December Drabbles #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Remy #Virgil #Sleep #Anxiety #Winged!Remy #bad parenting implications tw #hitting tw #injury tw #December Day 16

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anobscurename · 4 years ago

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ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART XV — masterlist

concept: the three times chris comforted you, and the times you returned the favour. the slowest of slow burns, the angstiest of all angst. part sixteen of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 3,8k

warnings: drinking, so much fluff, heartbreaking angst

author's note: this one, guys, gals, and non-binary pals, is for @fangirlovestuff because it's her BIRTHDAY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABYYYY (and i'm sorry in advance). the songs are linked, so if you don't know them, you can check 'em out :)

In your ten months of knowing him, Chris had always known how to cheer you up, irregardless of how big or small the issue was.

You would even go so far as to call him a master of distraction – because by the end of the day, you wouldn't even have known you'd cried at all.

You could recall three times he had been there for you, and the two times you returned the favour.

The first time he had seen you cry – about three months into your living situation – he had been by your side immediately, pulling you flush against his body. He held you in his big arms for the longest time, and just waited the sobs out.

He wasn't the type of person to press, and he knew you'd tell him what was wrong if you wanted.

Instead, he asked you what you wanted.

You were lightheaded and cry‐drunk, so it took a moment to come back to yourself. "Huh?"

"Do you want to be quiet or loud?"

"I just..." You struggled to find words that didn't make you sound needy, but you found none. "I don't want to be alone."

"That's out of the question," he smiled knowingly. "So, what will it be, {your last name}? Quiet or loud?"

He had a twinkle in his eye, one that suggested his question delved deeper than the words implied.

"Quiet."

And then he was pulling you up off the couch and out the door in total disregard of your chosen attire.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"Chris, I'm literally in my pyjamas–"

But he was already opening the garage, the creaks of the gears overshadowing your weak protests.

"You're wearing pants this time," he winked at you. "So we have that going for us."

And then you were in the car, location still a mystery.

Any attempts to get a modicum information was shut down with a simple "it's a surprise."

"Why can't you tell me?"

"Because then it wouldn't be a surprise."

And you were glad he hadn't told you, because soon, you were pulling up outside a place you hadn't been to since you were a kid and going on school trips. You'd never been to any L.A. ones, having moved there only half a year ago. But the way your whole body immediately was overcome with such calm...

It was like you had been hoping to come here since you'd woken up that morning, and had received the news of your grandfather's admittance to the hospital earlier that night.

But there was no way for Chris to have known that your grandfather had taken you to the aquarium when you were young, telling you about all the fish, helping you make up increasingly bizarre backstories for them.

He just knew you had to leave the house, and go somewhere quiet.

And it was a weekday, so the chances of kids screaming and running through the aquarium hallways were slim to none.

So while you walked in the tinted blue light, eyes scanning over information plaques and watching the multi-coloured aquatic animals lazily drift past the glass panes in a comfortable silence, you reached out to give his wrist a gentle squeeze.

His hands had been sitting in his pockets, giving you your space, but hovering close enough to you to let you know you weren't alone.

"Thank you," you croaked out softly.

When you turned your head to look at him, he had been looking at you, a smile of heartwarming endearance on his face.

If you hadn't been so consumed by the exhibits, you'd have known that he hadn't taken his eyes off you the entire time, and you'd have known he also hadn't stopped smiling. Smiling at you, seeing just how happy you were, even though your eyes were still watery and worry was still thick in your throat.

He slid his hand out of his pocket easily to lace your fingers together, loose enough for you to pull away if you had wanted, but tight enough for you to know that he had no intention of letting go first.

But you didn't pull away, instead strengthening the intwining grasp.

And so you continued, walking through the aquarium in that comfortable silence. And at some point along the way, you found laughter again, pointing out the ugliest fish and saying it was him, only to have him gasp in mock surprise.

"My God, you're such a flirt," he'd say.

And then he'd point out the most beautiful fish he could find.

"That's you."

——————

The second time was a week later.

It was your grandfather again, but the issue had been more serious than any one of your family members initially believed.

You didn't cry this time, but Chris could sense the immeasurable sadness in your posture, the way you sat on the couch, staring blankly ahead.

He came to stand in front of you, and gently knelt down so your eyes would focus on his. Everything about his stature screamed concern as he caressed the hair away from your face.

"Quiet or loud?" He had asked so softly, so simply.

"Loud."

He helped you up, careful with your fragile state. He walked you to your room, into the bathroom, and left you to take a calming shower by yourself.

When you'd gotten out, gotten ready for whatever surprise excursion was next – dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans, scuffed sneakers on your feet but Chris would claim you looked prettier than he'd ever seen you – Chris was waiting for you by the front door.

You knew better than to ask him where he was taking you this time. And honestly, you were too drained to even muster the words.

You wanted loud, to drown out the misery.

And you got what you wanted.

Chris had taken you to a local pop-up carnival, and in spite of the cloudy weather mirroring your emotion, threatening rain, it was filled with screaming kids and the sounds of joy.

"They come by once every six months," he explained while you waited in the line to enter. "I wanted to take you under different circumstances, but..."

"It's wonderful," you assured him, although your tone didn't sound like it.

He paid your entrance fees – buying a large roll of game tickets for the both of you – and with his hand ghosting over the small of your back, he guided you inside.

Your smile first came when you were on the ferris wheel, and it didn't fade until you were back home, saying good night.

You had spent the whole afternoon there, and even most of the evening, until around ten, when they had begun to take down the stalls and unpitch their tents.

"I'm totally going to crush you at this," you had grinned at him at some game or another. And you did, but only because he wasn't entirely focused on the game, but watching you.

He would tell himself later, as he lay in bed, the reason he couldn't take his eyes off you was because he had wanted to make sure you were alright, and having a good time. But that was a half truth. The full truth was simply because he couldn't stop looking at that smile he loved so much, on the girl he loved more.

A sense of pride would swell in his chest at the very thought of him having played a part in your happiness.

And so you did absolutely crush him. But only because he'd been distracted, and, if truth be told, because he let you.

You held your prize – a hilariously massive teddy bear, drowning you in its fluff – with both arms, laughingly taunting him for his loss, which had got him a much smaller bear (a participation trophy at best) which he carried in one hand.

You had also gone to the circus they had there, your teddy bear seated beside the two of you, taking up a whole seat by itself. You marvelled at the trapeze artists, the charisma of the ringleader, the fire juggler from Prussia, and even found it in yourself to giggle a little at the clowns who you thought you'd be irreparably prejudiced against since you watched Stephen King's It.

And if you were to now scroll back in your camera roll, you would find the hundreds of pictures you had taken together in the hall of mirrors, and the beautiful twinkling lights of the distant city that sparkled like their own constellation from your view at the top of the wheel.

But you wouldn't scroll back now.

Not now.

———————

The third time had just been a bad day.

Nothing set it off, but you'd woken feeling like trash, and it really didn't sit well with you.

It had been post kiss, post Vegas, in that week Chris had returned, and he could feel it the second you stepped into the kitchen.

His usual morning greeting of "good morning, Sleeping Beauty" fell short on his lips.

"Both," you said to him, already knowing the question he was going to ask.

You had managed to get yourself dressed that day, thinking that that one step into productivity would pull you out of your slump. It hadn't. So you told him "both," and he immediately complied.

Setting the mug down, coffee unfinished, he grabbed his keys off the counter. He called for Dodger, and you were in the car again.

This time, you already knew where you were going. It wasn't a difficult puzzle to solve, especially with Dodger there with you.

And your suspicions were confirmed when he pulled up to a remote beach, a hidden gem that only locals would know about.

And in the secluded bay, you walked alongside each other, Dodger prancing ecstatically into the water and darting across the sand.

You watched him greet other dogs, tail wagging. You encountered very few people, giving them a greeting smile in passing.

It really was the perfect mixture of both – serene in the best way possible, ocean waves loud in their crash on the shore.

Chris made no effort to hide his gaze on you this time, aside from a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose, obscuring his eyes.

"Why are you wearing those?" You chuckled.

"What?"

"You're wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. Did it not come with instructions or something?"

"Oh, that," he grinned. "I wear the cap for the aesthetic, sunglasses for the disguise."

You had to reach up on your tippytoes to do what you did next – which, if you were so inclined, could be referred to as theft in the court of law.

You easily snatched the cap off his head, and, dancing out of his reach, put it on. It was a size too big, and dipped into your eyes, making him laugh through the stern demeanor he was jokingly putting on.

"Give that back," he warned. "You're ruining the aesthetic."

You repeated him mockingly, and then he was chasing you down the beach, your squeals of delight interrupting the peace and grabbing Dodger's attention.

You weren't being chased down by one Evans anymore, but two, and hoping to find sanctuary, you made your way into the water.

The sea lapped eagerly at your knees, stray droplets clawing to soak into the frayed denim of your shorts.

Chris had been wearing jeans – not exactly intending for a beach day that morning – and you'd hoped that would be enough to halt the attack.

"If you think that some water is gonna stop me from righting this injustice," he began, equally as out of breath as you were. He had been holding himself back from outright catching up to you, and you knew that – Chris was the epitome of fitness. What did you expect? To outrun Captain America? – "nay, this crime, then you are dead wrong."

"I'm in international waters!" You called back, flicking the peak of his cap teasingly. "I'm out of your jurisdiction!"

"Fuck jurisdiction!" He yelled out, and then he was wading towards you.

Water slowed both of you as you tried to keep out of his grasp, but he had the benefit of being naturally quicker. He had you in a bearhug, trapping your body against his as you struggled to break free.

"Give it back," he playfully growled into your ear.

"Never! You'll never take me alive!" You fought the words out through your laughter.

And then Dodger was there too, all but pushing you over into the shallows of the shore.

You both lay there, allowing yourselves to be drenched, through and through, Dodger licking your faces excitedly.

And as the laughter slowly subsided and the cold the breeze introduced to your wet forms finally registered, you both got up.

"Alright, have your stupid hat back," you sighed, moving to take it off.

He captured your hand in a lightning quick grip, stilling your movements. "Keep it," he smiled. "Looks better on you anyways."

You smiled back sarcastically, rolling your eyes, before pushing him back down onto the sand playfully. "All this?! All this for me to keep it?!"

He propped himself up on his elbows to peer up at you, sunglasses knocked askew.

"Dodger, as my head torturer," you said to the exhilarated mountain of a dog. "I command you to execute this man."

———————

It was hard to watch a strong man crumble, and there were days when that happened, too.

It was the day of Dodger's operation – a hip surgery, nothing too life threatening – but Chris, with all his quick wit and charming smiles, was a shell of himself.

Of course, you were worried too. But Chris needed you more than you needed him, and so, in the mournful silence of the waiting room, you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He flinched a little at the sudden contact, but didn't pull away.

"Quiet or loud?"

In all definitions of the word – in the hour he had been in that waiting room, leg bouncing – he never thought he could hate quiet as much as he did now.

"Loud."

It took some effort to tug him to his feet, his body sluggish with worry. But he was up, and you were guiding him to the door, leaving your number with the vet secretary for any updates.

You didn't want Chris to be worrying and checking his phone every five seconds, because you knew how that dread felt. No, he needed a distraction.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

You had never understood why Chris enjoyed doing that to you, never telling you where he was going to take you, but with the thrill of him not knowing, you got it. Spontaneity ran in his veins, and he didn't press like you so often did in the past.

You had been in L.A. long enough to find your own little secret spots, and to know exactly where you were without much guidance.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you didn't really know where you were taking him until your legs had absentmindedly taken you to an old vintage diner you knew had once been the talk of the town – filled to the brim with hipsters – before once again slipping into obscurity.

It was late into the night, but the diner was open 24/7, and you knew Chris hadn't eaten in a while.

When the bell jangled upon your entry, the waiters jolted, having taken to sitting down in the vacancy of their restaurant.

A few customers lingered here and there, club goers drunkenly scarfing down fries to try and sober up a little before hitting the next party and insomniacs downing their third cup of coffee that hour.

But for the most part it was empty, and, unfortunately, quiet.

"You here for karaoke night?" A bubblegum popping waitress asked. It really felt like the cliché, but it weirdly added to the charm. She stood, perched on the rubber stop of her roller skates, waiting for your response.

"Oh, hell yes we are," you grinned.

She took you to a table situated in front of a makeshift stage, a jukebox-karaoke machine hybrid standing proudly to one side.

Chris sat down, anxiety still heavy in his bones. You quickly ordered – two burgers, and a milkshake to share – before you were shedding your jacket and making your way on stage.

You didn't care about making a fool of yourself. The only thing you cared about was seeing Chris smile again, and in that moment, you'd do almost anything to make that happen.

You hummed in thought as you perused the songs available to you. You didn't expect much from the collection, given that the whole vibe of the diner was 50's through to early 90's. A total pocket dimension in time.

A song caught your eye and you grinned, selecting it immediately. Chris didn't want quiet – and you were going to be the loudest bitch here.

You could hear the whir of the machine as it came to life and you made your way to the vintage microphone. It crackled and whined when you pulled it closer to yourself.

You had caught the eye of the sobering-but-still-quite-drunk party animals, and they had come over to investigate.

"Sorry," you winced, voice booming on the mic. "This song goes out to my good friend Chris."

And then the music started to play, and he groaned. He knew the song decently enough, it having been one of your most replayed disco bops of the week.

"This is Sunny, by Boney M," you said over the intro. "Hope you enjoy."

And then you started to sing, intentionally bad at first to wheedle that cry strained laugh from Chris, and then finishing off in that voice he knew you had.

Every time the song mentioned "Sunny," you'd look directly at him, giving him an exaggerated wink. And at "I love you," you'd point at him, smile growing on your face as you danced ridiculously with the mic.

He was laughing, whole body shaking at how over-the-top you were being.

And when the song wrapped, you whooped into the mic, feedback squealing. "Thank you, everybody!" you panted.

The club goers applauded, screaming their drunken praises.

"YES, QUEEN!"

"YOU GO, BABY!"

"FUCK YES!"

"BEYONCÉ WHO?!"

That last one earned some shocked gasps and scolding. "Woah, dude. Too far."

"Thank you, thank you," you grinned, feeling alive. You could see the laughter starting to fade from Chris again, and so you moved to put on another song.

"This one," you whispered into the mic, "is a duet. So, please. Good friend Chris, wouldst thou riseth to the occasion?"

He shook his head, cheeks flushing at being called out.

"Oh, come on," you whined, the music already beginning to play out the intro. "For me?"

He narrowed his eyes at you, already smilingly weighing the pros and cons of his embarrassment. You batted your lashes. "I know you can sing, Evans. Don't start this shy shit now."

"COME ON, CHRIS!"

"YEAH, COME ON CHRIS!"

"Give the people what they want," you wiggled your brows.

He shrugged, muttering "fuck it," and reluctantly rising from his seat, he hopped on stage with one jump.

"You were working as a waitress at a cocktail bar, when I met you," he started singing flatly, eyes on yours, letting you know how much he didn't want to be up there. You arched a brow, pushing him let loose.

Slowly, with the encouragement of your smile, and the cheers from the drunk, he lost himself in the performance of "Don't You Want Me" by The Human League, even taking to dancing at your part of the duet.

And that's how you spent the rest of your waiting period – singing bad karaoke, shovelling food into your mouths between songs, and returning the favour of cheering on the clubbers when they had resolved to stay and sing because they decided the best time they were probably going to have that night was in that stuffy little diner on a street they probably would've walked right past on a regular day.

And when your phone rang for Dodger, you paid your bill, leaving a hefty tip in apology to the staff for having to endure your wailing. You said your goodbyes to your newfound friends of the night.

And Dodger was fine when you took him home.

And Chris was smiling again.

———————

You couldn't bare to dwell on the second time you took it upon yourself to cheer up Chris Evans, because the fact of the matter was, that just reminiscing about those other four had you muffling sobs all over again.

You thought about that day – the road back from Vegas, pulling off to Route 66, taking him to the food truck park – and the alcohol you urgently gulped down did nothing to numb you.

You had often looked back on those memories fondly. But now it was a gaping hole in your chest.

You were sitting on the balcony, overlooking the beach. In the distance, under moonlight, you saw a couple walking hand-in-hand, and you knew it was them.

"Thought I'd find you out here," a familiar voice said. It wasn't Chris', and that had you swigging another shot from the near empty bottle in your lap. "You holding up okay?"

"Ask me again in a month," you stated blankly. You hadn't even moved to address the newcomer, nor had you shifted over to make room for him. He sat all the same. "If you want to put a number to how long it takes to move on, ask Chris. The answer is a month."

It had taken a month for him to move from you to Lily. But it wasn't exactly like any of you had made your feelings and intentions known, aside from a kiss that you had claimed you'd been drunk for, and a confirmation of friendship.

If you let yourself think about it too long – which you had, on more than one occasion, this one specifically – it was your fault.

Sebastian reached over and gently pried the bottle from your iron grip. He looked at how much was left, surprised. And still, you gazed numbly ahead.

"This is how day one looks, huh?" He attempted a joke. Even he knew it fell flat, and instead took a sip to ease himself.

"The alcohol content in that bottle is directly proportionate to how many fucks I have left to give," you shrugged, voice monotonous.

"How much more are you going to put yourself through before you've had enough?"

"I've had enough," you sighed. "But I'll probably suffer a little more."

"You have more strength than I do, then."

His sympathetic arm wrapped around you, and you melted into his side, the comfort another person brought acting as a placebo salve to the pain. Like an ice pack on a shattered femur.

And you realised why you were so sad. Those memories meant nothing to you now.

They had lost their meaning because he wasn't there with you, on this roof, asking you that question when you needed it asked the most. Quiet or loud.

He wasn't there, and the taste of whiskey was chased away by ash.

#dina writes #dina cries #chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans/you #chris evans fluff #chris evans/reader #chris evans angst

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everettlance · 3 years ago

Text

A LIVING DEATH // SELF-PARA

The flashbacks don’t take long to start. For a person who’s been transplanted into a new body, it becomes increasingly difficult to tell what’s real and what isn’t. He isn’t real because he can’t be real. The laws of possibility state strictly that the dead remain dead, and yet, here he is. The dead, walking through an empty home.

His new house is for him and him only. His parents and several siblings meet him at the train station when he gets home but he refuses to speak to any of them.

He can’t listen to what they have to say. He doesn’t want to hear it, whatever empty words they might have for him, or worse, if they have love.

No one is allowed in. Maverick is not allowed in, not even allowed to talk to him. He walks past Agatha’s empty house, the lights darkened. He often finds himself in Orpheus’s bed, discovering his new body, discovering that the only thing approaching pleasure is in the carnal. Nights slip by. His old weed dealer is happy to see him.

The first flashback is in his cavernous bedroom, which he learns is cold in the winters. It feels like the bitter mountaintop, and suddenly the covers are not simply cotton, but rather, a blanket of snow, and before him is Seraphina: Take care of yourself Everett, and I’ll catch you in the next lifetime, okay?

How? His voice is an echo and is begging. It is raw, he is raw. He’s not sure if he’s speaking aloud or not, but no one is here to confirm. How do I take care of myself, Sera, how?

She is trapped and so is he. She beneath the boulder, he beneath the memory of it. He knows he isn’t here but he doesn’t know how to get out; his heart pounds his ribcage as if begging to escape it.

Sera doesn’t tell him how to take care of himself. She doesn’t tell him how to run away. She doesn’t say anything but tells him, over and over: Even Crash Justice can’t muscle his way through this one.

And what if he can’t?

Hours spent paralyzed beneath the memories. It’s Seraphina, then it’s Marino, falling from the ferris wheel. It’s Margot, torn to shreds by the wolves. It’s Burly, slicing at his face — the scar recreates itself every time he looks at himself in the mirror, not a memory but a present happening. It’s Memphis’s silent begging. It’s Agatha:

You better fucking win.

I did it, he says, on his knees like he’s praying in his room, the bathroom, the living room, the kitchen, I did it. Now what?

No one will tell him. None of the ghosts know the answer because none of them lived.

Sloane and Tommy visit him together and he kills them both again. And again. And again. It becomes more difficult to discern reality from unreality. He tries to write things down: I am here, I am real, I am Everett Lance and I won the Hunger Games.

But it isn’t true.

He is Everett Lance and he lost the Hunger Games.

Both things cannot be true.

They are.

On the outside of the house is latticework up which vines crawl. It’s easy to grip, easier to fall from, and the first time he tries it, escaping the memory of Memphis, who lays dying on the beach in his bedroom, he nearly falls. He catches himself on a pipe, but in the moment where freefall felt certain, Memphis disappears. The sand is gone. Only he is here. Moments later, he’s on the roof.

He knows that he is losing it. The roof doesn’t care. He lays flat and looks at the stars. He looks at the tattoo on his arm and traces the waves with his fingers. This is how he knows he is a person, even if he doesn’t know who that person is.

Maverick leaves for Seven. It’s better this way.

There’s a thunderstorm one afternoon. The lightning sends him in two directions at once: he is in the forest, holding Delta’s body as she dies, and he is in the middle of a town, watching the sky spin.

Whose memories entrap him?

He climbs onto the roof, away from the bodies that pile in his room. The lattice is slippery and he nearly falls twice, three times. The roof is slippery. No one comes to stop him. He doesn’t die. He’s lucky.

The stylist comes and asks if he’s more loyal to the red or blue team, and which he’d like to wear on his Victory Tour.

He tells her to put him in black.

He goes for long runs. He drinks himself to sleep. He lets himself cry. Nothing helps. Only the roof, slippery, steep, his weight and himself clinging to the shingles, can quiet the other tributes and drown out the Arenas.

He goes hiking, blazing his own trail. He finds steep cliffs and sits on the edges. He wonders about falling. He doesn’t. He goes to the shooting range, hits the first target and drops the gun.

Never again.

Life moves both forwards and backwards at a dizzying pace. He ignores texts, calls. The Peacekeeping Academy wants to make a hero of him but he’s read what they said when he died. They dismissed him, said he was a traitor for volunteering.

He is a traitor but he’s not sure to whom.

Spring begins, though he will never again trust the seasons.

The day he leaves for the Victory Tour, District Two is shrouded in cold weather, common for this time of year, but when he arrives in District Twelve, warmth is beginning in the upper reaches of Panem.

It’s an honor to be here today…

In Twelve, no one stands on the podium before Margot’s photo. He doesn’t know who or what to look at and the ringing in his ears is his own panic. He speaks quickly. He doesn’t succumb to the memory of Margot’s death, though he can feel the dirt in his hands as he digs.

I’m so privileged to have been chosen out of so many tributes to come back for the Quell…

In Eleven, the weather is even warmer. Trees blossom but there are no green leaves or pink flowers in the square where the stage is set up. Apple’s face looks at him from the projection, but as in Twelve, no one stands before it. It was only her, the only tribute from her District chosen to return. He had told her he hadn’t wanted to kill. It feels like a lie now.

My love for Panem kept me going through the Arena…

In Eight, there are more faces: Marino, Nikita, Franklin, Jeannie. The four of them stare at him and he tries to avoid eye contact. For a moment he can’t tell if they’re real or not. Or if they were ever real. The cards: he reads from the speech he’s been given. Nikita and Franklin have no family present, but Hunter Twill stands in front of Jeannie’s picture in sunglasses, shooting him a thumbs up. In the recap, he saw Jeannie explode, but couldn’t see her face. He wishes he could have seen it. Could have buried her like he’d buried Delta and Margot. It was a dignity that she deserved but would never get. And Nikita, stronger than him, smarter than him — should she be here right now instead of him? Should they all? 39 Victors rather than him, it feels like more than a fair trade. And Marino’s family, he knows they’re looking at him. He knows that Margot is not the only guilty one. He’s the only one remaining to bear the burden. It’s too heavy. In Eight, he stumbles, stutters, the world tilts and he sees stars — the speech is cut short, he is brought off the stage, excuses are made for him that he doesn’t deserve. His new body is checked over, questioned: are you alright? Do you feel alright? They think it’s because he’s a clone, and he doesn’t know how to say it’s because of everything else they’ve done to him.

Even though it was difficult, the trials that the Gamemakers set us were always fair…

In Seven, Alder and Maverick are there. Maverick tries to talk to him but he doesn’t want to speak. He has been given no cards to tell him how to face his old best friend. Alder leaves him be which feels like more mercy than he deserves. Burly’s family stands tall and proud; they glare at him. He can’t look, he can’t look. He leaves Seven as quickly as he can.

Panem has always been strong through trying times, whether or not the trials we face are fair...

In Six, he walks onto the stage and is immediately in the woods of the Arena. Sloane is on the ground to his left, Tommy to his right. There is blood all over his hands, all over his notecards. Amphora’s family, her smiling face, she looks so happy. How could she be happy here in the Arena? Tommy’s family stands in front of his picture; a wolf, decaying like him, prowls in front of them. Hadn’t he mentioned a mother? He feels sick. He forces himself to look because he doesn’t want to be a coward. He adds one thing into his speech:

I’m sorry.

On the way to Four, he makes a request. As the train rumbles towards the ocean, preparations are made. One wish can be granted, surely, for the Victor of the Quarter Quell, the boy on whom the Capitol is leaning to bring peace. When he gets onstage, Delta’s face is one of four. The Dunes are there, he recognizes them by the family resemblance, and thinks of Mako in the Capitol, happy. The Blues pull his attention, though, and he sees immediately that she gets her red hair from her family. They do not look at him unkindly, and after the speech, for the first time, he lingers. He tells them he thought it would be nice; to remember her. That he wishes she would have been brought back. That she deserved the Victory. She deserves to be remembered. Above him, lightning flashes but he digs fingernails into palms and forces himself to remain here, in the present; it’s what they deserve.

The Blues invite him into their house. It is small and comfortable. They offer to show him her room but he doesn’t want to see, not yet. He says this: Not yet. Maybe I’ll come back. They thank him for protecting her and sticking by her side. In their home for the first time in months he feels like he’s real. He apologizes for not being able to save her and cries.

We are better as a united nation than we are as individual parts, and I was better in the Arena with my allies than I was alone.

In Three, he finds Seraphina’s parents. She’d asked him to tell them she loved him and he won’t break a promise, even if his hands are shaking. Even if his lunch threatens to make a reappearance as he faces, directly, the parents of the girl he killed. The McCabes are kind, though, understanding; they just want to know what he and their daughter spoke about and did. They haven’t seen her in ten years, never expected to get her back. He tells them about swimming in the pool, eating the last cookie and facing her wrath. It feels nice to have a good story to tell.

The relationship between the Districts and the Capitol is one of peace, mutual protection, and balance.

In One, many faces, many families, look back at him from the crowd. He is tired, his body is exhausted and the travel has worn him out. Throughout the trip he has been tested, they’ve taken blood draws and measured his heart rate, had him undergo various physical examinations to be sure that all is well. They want to make sure, they say, that the stress doesn’t wear him out in this new body. He thinks it’s funny and laughs, but they don’t seem to get what’s so humorous about it. Diana’s face; she had offered him mercy, hadn’t hurt him though she could have. In front of Mandi’s face is a crowded podium; she was right about having a big family. There are so many people who love her; his knees threaten to buckle under the weight of all that grief, but he holds it together on the stage. He’s getting good at pretending.

It’s one I am proud to be a part of as your new reigning Victor of the Quarter Quell.

He returns home last, and even though many of the Districts saw warmer temperatures, it’s snowing when he walks onto the stage to give his speech one last time, this time to his home. Before him are the faces of Lionel, Agatha, and Isabela. Only Isa has people standing before hers, her family. The snow falling — he wonders if the Arena is broken, because it’s supposed to be springtime now — doesn’t deter the crowds. The District is proud of their Victor, proud to have brought it home for the Quell and the second time in a year. Cain is there, Orpheus is there, Trixie’s there, he’s the only one who feels like he’s missing. Where is he? Where is this person they’re celebrating?

The speech is not his. It’s bad, cliche, and it feels sour in his mouth. In the other Districts, they hated it; a few people even booed, though they were swiftly punished for it. In Two, though, he sees people nodding. He sees hands over hearts. He feels sick. Sick in this place that made him. Sick with the altitude of the heights they’ve lifted him to.

Afterwards he is only allowed one night at home before he has to go to the Capitol for the ball. In the empty house, they are all speaking. Carlos, Travela, Memphis, Marino, Burly, Sloane, Seraphina, and Tommy. Their fingers press against the wallpaper, they want to get out, but they can’t any more than he can. Agatha is stuck telling him, over and over, to win. He’d better fucking win.

Why? he asks, but she never has a good answer for him.

He climbs up onto the roof. He looks at the stars and tries to place himself in the universe.

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bird-in-a-cage · 4 years ago

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Just a Prick

Sally Gibson’s house parties were legendary. Her parents were high in city council, so their house was more of a sprawling estate. An olympic sized pool and a hot tub in the backyard, a patio with a fire pit. A basement rec room with a pool table, a proper darts board, three couches for people to fall into with their significant others and make out in the corners, somewhere where it was quieter. The music still could be heard thumping through the ceiling from the living room where some very expensive speakers were housed, attached to a record player that never stopped and just surrounded by bodies, pressed together but not through lack of space. Bedrooms gradually being occupied upstairs. Empty and full cups on every surface, left abandoned for one reason or another.

Her halloween parties were something else entirely. It’s as if her parents knew that every year it was a rawkus affair so just left for the whole weekend. High school kids from other towns would turn up for the fun.

Maybe all the extra bodies were why Steve had crammed him and Billy into a small downstairs bathroom, one of two downstairs bathrooms, and slid up to sit on the sink with his eyes closed as Billy held a block of ice to his earlobe. They’d both been drinking, a lot. Had challenged each other at the keg outside, Steve thinking maybe he’d have the upper hand again thanks to Billy’s desire to come dressed as Rob Halford. Completely in leather and chains that looked far too tight to breathe in, let alone be held upside down over a keg. It was a very good look.

Steve was wrong. But he still had fun trying to win.

He held the ice when Billy gestured too, watched as he drunkenly fumbled for his lighter, taking a safety pin from his pocket to split open and heat up. Steve shuffled on the edge of the sink, trying to keep his head straight even though the room was starting to spin slightly. He kicked his bare feet off the cabinet. He remembered coming in shoes. He also remembered coming as Ferris Buller, but over the night it had changed more into that scene in Risky Business when he’d fallen into the pool up to his waist and had to change into shorts from the gym bag in the trunk of his car that didn’t really show from under the now long shirt.

No one seemed to even notice, let alone mind. Especially Billy, who had just called him ‘Legs’ all night.

The idea of Steve getting his ear pierced had started about an hour beforehand, when they were both in the kitchen, making drinks with whatever was left from emptying bottles. Two cups of straight bad ideas. He’d been stood against the counter, lazily flicking Billy’s earring like a cat with a piece of yarn while the blonde became bartender for them both.

“Did that hurt?”

Billy turned his head to look at him, glassy eyes hidden behind a stolen pair of sunglasses from someone . He didn’t speak, just pinched Steve’s lobe hard with his nails, hard enough to make the taller boy hiss and buckle his whole body to one side.

“Did’that?”

Even though it hurt, the idea was planted. It seemed like a great idea! Billy’s costume had a few pins stabbed into it and Steve could easily get a real earring in the morning so the hole didn’t close over. What could go wrong?

Billy had the sunglasses pushed into his hair, blinking hard to focus straight as he moved Steve’s hand to move the ice and pinched the lobe for the second time that evening.

“Anythin’?”

Steve beamed and shook his head like a proud child, fingers fiddling with a cork they’d picked up from somewhere. Someone had probably broken into the sealed off wine cellar. No Halloween party next year. “Totally numb!”

Billy grinned back, all teeth but no usual bite, and flicked his zippo open to start heating up the needle. If Steve had been even a little more of sound mind, he probably would have seen how much of a terrible idea this was. Especially when Billy had stumbled over nothing even getting into the bathroom and the three times it took the both of them to lock the door for some privacy. But, swinging his feet either side of Billy’s frame so that his ankles were hitting off the cabinet doors with dull thuds, this was a great idea. He pressed the ice cube that was melting over his fingers to the chosen lobe again when it started to feel not as cold.

“Last chance to back out legs .” Billy’s eyes flickered with the flame. They’d had the sense to turn the light on but he was holding it close to his face to concentrate on what was in his hands. Steve reached out to rub the leather cuff around his wrist with affection. It was warm and slick. Maybe sweat, probably spilled booze. The needle was starting to glow orange, then white.

“Hit me with it!” Steve grinned, eyes lidded with just the sheer effort to keep them open anymore. Billy rolled his eyes and moved more swiftly than he had for hours, in one fluid movement batting Steve’s hand away, taking the cork to put up behind the lobe, and stabbed the red hot needle through the flesh.

Steve yelped once, before biting his lip hard. Maybe his ear hadn’t been as numb as he thought. Billy moved the cork from where it had been stabbed, temporarily attached, rubbing Steve’s bare leg, shushing him softly.

“Don’t want folks thinkin’ I killed ya or somethin’ princess.”

Steve stared up at the ceiling and blinked back tears that hadn’t already fallen to the collar of his shirt. “Fuck that smarts!”

“I did warn ya it’d hurt!” Billy smiled, kissed one of the tear tracks on Steve’s cheek before clipping the safety pin together, completing the act. “There. Done.”

Steve had dropped the ice cube onto the floor in shock, it was melting into a small puddle by the toilet. He turned to look at the result in the mirror behind him, rolled and angled his head up, couldn’t help but grin. Yeah it looked sore and a little inflamed, but it looked cool , and there wasn’t a lot of blood if any at all. “You’ve done this before.”

Billy shrugged through the mirror. “How you think I got mine?” He had to stop Steve from trying to touch his new accessory. It jutted out at a strange angle that wasn’t up or down or even sideways. Definitely diagonal. Perpendicular with his slender neck.

It was kinda cool for a home job.

“This is gonna hurt like shit in the mornin’ huh?” Steve chuckled, wobbling his head to see if he could get it to move since he wasn’t allowed to touch. Billy’s reflection nodded. He was watching rather intently.

“You got no idea amigo.”

Steve turned back just in time for Billy to cup his cheek, his wide hand thumbing softly over the bone. His eyes were just that shade darker, and that couldn’t be blamed on the drink. Steve reached out and grabbed the collar of his leather jacket, pulled him closer for a sloppy kiss. Full of tongue and feeling but not much restraint. Steve’s ankles hooked around Billy’s thighs like it was no big deal.

“You do look real fuckin’ hot with that thin’ baby,” Billy dralled, hand slipping to Steve’s jaw, thumb now ghosting over his lips.

“Yeah?” Steve playfully bit it, flicked his tongue over the rough tip. It made Billy’s eyes go even darker. Made Steve forget about his throbbing earlobe for a moment. His own hands shifted slightly, fingers working their way under the collar of the jacket to rub at sweaty bare skin.

“Yeah. Look like a bad bitch now suga’.”

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle a little, but mean every word of his question, even if his brain was swimming under a multitude of influences. “Bad enough we should head upstairs?”

Billy moved his closer still, lips tucked next to Steve’s good ear, warm breath ghosting over the shell, making the taller boy shiver. “Bad enough I’mma make you scream for different reasons.”

Oh . Oh now that sounded like fun.

#harringrove #billy x steve #steve harrington #billy hargrove #my writings #also on my ao3 #unsafe piercing practices

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angryhausfrau-writes · 3 years ago

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I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 19 - In Which Jack and Charles Secure Planning Permission and Max Micromanages

Mary had liked several of Charles's photographs of Jack and the workroom and the half-finished fashions enough to post them to Instagram. And she'd liked the photograph of Charles all decked out in silk and countless jewels enough to use it as the title page for a more formal press announcement of the upcoming fashion show. The word “DECADENCE” is emblazoned across a glossy version of the picture in a stark, masculine font.

And then, in slightly smaller font underneath: Jack Rackham – Fall/Winter 2009.

His name. His name. Not quite in lights, but there, for everyone to see. For everyone to know that he is the one who did this. That these accomplishments are his.

Not that he did it all himself, of course. Mary's role is obvious. Christine is indispensable. And it's Charles's face on the cover of his press release.

The may have called Charles his muse as a joke. It seems like the sort of thing a flamboyant fashion designer would call his favorite booty call. Just the right side of pretentiously obfuscating for the older guard who might not be ready for the party boy persona they've both adopted.

But the honest truth is that Jack's come to rely on Charles in a way he hadn't quite expected for this con.

It's not exactly in Chaz's wheelhouse, is the thing. But he's worked hard to learn skills outside bashing skulls, just as Anne has.

Not that he doesn't do plenty of that as well. And gotten some good information out of it. But he's more than the street thug he'd been for so long. And Jack can't say he misses those days – not when the days they have now are so much easier.

So much less full of fear and strife and poverty.

It's almost like an extended holiday, the way they live now. All getting to pretend they're rich and soft and genteel. Getting to walk among the special, the exalted, the beautiful people. The ones with titles and money and pedigree. The ones with names that mean something.

Well now Jack's name means something too.

And not through an accident of birth. Through cleverness and planning. Through luck, of course, but also through plain hard work. Something those gilded, pampered elite would never understand.

Charles has been given a slight reprieve in lugging armoires around. The old Hennessy house has been emptied of all the furniture, finally, and Mary's light rigs have all been installed. All the walls repainted and all the pictures of grand empty rooms taken.

But then Max sees the reaction the upper crust have to those pictures. All the ruined grandeur on display, just to be knocked over to make way for progress, for new ways of making money – they fucking love it, the rich brainless investment fuckers.

So now Max wants to take advantage of that greed she's awoken in the elitist twits in thousand pound suites. That desire for wealth, for faded grandeur, for a past of riches and glory and conquest. But brought into the future. Brought into the now. So they can pretend England isn't just some pretentious backwater with delusions of grandeur, with visions of glory (that was never all that glorious) long past.

So Mary decides, yeah, it would be a fucking great idea to do a little promotional photo shoot of all the models for Jack's fashion show in the house, before it gets demolished. Jewel bright clothes, sparkling gems, enough gold to sink a fucking warship, all juxtaposed – that'd been the word she'd used - all fucking juxtaposed against the backdrop of the ruined townhouse.

So Jack'd worked like a fiend to get the clothes ready. And Charles's break is over.

Now he gets to lug around garment bags and makeup trunks and jewelry chests and even more light rigs – all to be placed precisely where Mary dictates, and moved with the changing light or her changing whims. All that shit's fucking heavy. And Anne's no help this time because she's been set to wrangling all the models and making sure they're properly primped and preened and posed for the photos. All under Max and Mary's watchful eyes.

Cuz Max has apparently decided that she wants to have her hand in things personally.

Not that she hadn't kept things well in hand with Jack's other fashion show – finding the models, organizing the behind the scenes contracts. Setting Idelle up with Featherstone.

But now she's actually telling Mary how she wants the pictures to look. Or more specifically, that she wants some big fancy painting in all the shots. Not the whole paining, though. Just pieces of it. Enough to tantalize, to excite, but not to show the goods.

There's even a picture where the models are holding it at the front of the shot, but it's covered by a lacy black cloth, all except for one corner, which pokes out like a whore's ankle in some repressed 1700s pin up.

Charles thinks the whole thing's fucking unnecessary. Who gives a shit if there's a painting showing too much or too little in the shot? Why does he have to be the one to move it over and over again – sometimes millimeter by fucking millimeter – until Max deems it just right? He's got other things to do with his day, thank you very fucking much.

Like pretending to be Jack's ditsy muscular boytoy, and all the hours in the gym and gossiping by the pool that takes to maintain. He better get another fucking break when all this shit is over.

With investors sniffing at Max's skirts like rabid jackals, ready to rip each other apart for a chance at the Hennessy townhouse, Jack broaches the topic of planning permission to Councilor Featherstone. And he does it over dinner in a private room at a restaurant where the esteemed councilor could never have gotten a reservation – and especially not on such short notice. Because for all that he has power. For all that he attends all the right clubs – the same clubs Jack himself attends. Well, the councilor's a bit of a social outcast. A bit of a dud in the personality department.

Whereas Jack is all glib charm and meaningless flirtation. Jack knows how to play the sort of high society games that result in the private table on nearly no notice that the councilor is currently enjoying.

What is it they say? Always come to the negotiating table with the outcome already certain? Well, Jack's doing his damnedest to stack the deck in his favor. And if a little show of how well connected he is, how much more he belongs in this world of high-society fops and casual displays of obscene wealth, is what it takes to get Max her planning permission, then Jack will wine and dine Featherstone at the goddamn Ritz if he has to.

Although the slightly less-upscale, though no less entrenched in British upper-class hegemony, restaurant he's chosen for tonight seems to be doing the trick well enough. Councilor Featherstone is looking around with ill disguised awe.

If he were slightly more uncouth, Jack imagines his jaw would be actually agape at all the gilt and velvet and fine linens and sparkling crystal. As it is, it's more than obvious Jack has introduced him to a style of dining out that he's never experienced before. Perfect.

The entire point of this little excursion is to underline to Councilor Featherstone what a... fruitful... relationship they can have. All Jack's connections and wealth at the councilor's fingertips – and all he needs to do is pass the occasional planning permission for a project that otherwise may have languished in limbo for years. And to that end, Charles is doing his considerable best to bring the conversation around to where Jack needs it to go, namely planning permission for the Hennessy house.

A conversation that demonstrates that Charles has become considerably more subtle than Jack ever believed him capable of.

And perhaps that is an oversight on Jack's own part. Him never deigning to look past Charles's rough and unpolished exterior to hidden – really very well hidden – depths. Known for a straightforward style of smash and grab, Charles has really developed a mind for strategy of late. And something of a silver tongue, though it doesn't come close to rivaling Jack's own.

At any rate, Jack appreciates his efforts. Lord Hamilton may have been willing to come right out and ask for little favors, so assured of his power and his place in the London hierarchy he would eschew subtlety entirely - but there's such a thing as being too forward.

Jack finds that method rather gauche. And the last thing he wishes to be is gauche.

Plus, Jack would rather have the councilor's regard – his friendship, even if it is a tad one-sided – than his fear purchased compliance. Because fear may breed deference in the short term, but it leads to chafing at the yoke in the long run. And Councilor Featherstone didn't get to where he is today by being a complete pushover.

So Charles is sitting in this opulent private dining room, as the councilor sips champagne and enjoys expensive hors d'oeuvres, chatting to Idelle about a spa he went to with some of his “friends” from the health club. Which isn't even a lie. Charles had in fact attended a quote girls day unquote at an upscale spa courtesy of one of the women who lounges poolside and looks over her designer sunglasses at the tanned skin Charles is so very unconcerned with putting on display.

The fact that it was a nude spa may have had something to do with Charles being invited. But it sounds as if Charles had a nice enough time. Or at least he's talking it up to Idelle, who makes suitable sounds of impressed jealousy as the story unfolds. Commenting that she'd rather like to be taken to something like that – perhaps on a date?

Personally, Jack would pay enormous amounts of money to not see Featherstone in the alltogether – but Idelle is a consummate professional and lets no sign of displeasure at the idea show. Maybe Max ought to consider giving her a raise. Jack resolves to raise the issue once planning permission has been secured. Speaking of -

“The only thing,” Charles says, voice measured to ensure that Councilor Featherstone is paying the utmost attention. “The only thing I didn't particularly care for was how crowded the spa was.”

“Indeed,” Jack butts in, “that hardly sounds relaxing. Being surrounded by all the teeming masses.”

“Oh, the actual spa part was lovely. So relaxing after a long, hectic week...”

Jack can see Councilor Featherstone's scoffing disbelief that Charles could have anything resembling a hectic week – his schedule filled with nothing more than lounging in various decorous poses on various expensive surfaces, as far as the councilor is aware. But he has some long, hectic weeks at work...

“But as soon as you're back in the more public areas, all that work at relaxing and destressing – gone!”

“Oh, how terrible!” Idelle exclaims with just the right amount of dramatic disbelief.

“And it was supposed to be one of the more exclusive spa packages as well. You think money would go a bit further nowadays, is all,” Charles finishes. And now all that's left to do is set up the pitch...

Right on cue, Idelle chimes in with, “Too bad there isn't a more private spa. Someplace intimate.” The last is directed at Featherstone, who's blushing and looks primed for the sell.

“Funny you should mention that,” Jack says causally – but not too casually. That's the key. They have to think you're playing them a little so they won't look too deeply at how you're actually playing them. “I happen to have a friend who's looking to start up a little boutique hotel spa. You know where the Hennessy townhouse is?”

The councilor nods, although Jack doubts he was ever actually invited there.

“Well, my friend got it for a song. They were looking to move to warmer climes, you know. And she got an excellent deal for the whole package – house and furniture and everything. Which turned out to be a good thing! The whole place was falling apart, if you can believe. Just completely structurally unsound.” Jack says the last part as if it's the most boring thing in the world.

“So anyway, she's looking to rebuild. Plenty of investors already lined up around the block, of course. And there's mixed zoning, you know. And she doesn't exactly need yet another house to sit empty and eat up heating costs. Plus the cleaning service – you know how much they'll gauge you.”

Pretending that the councilor has a maid service – when Jack knows for certain he doesn't, which is why he doesn't entertain at home much – is another stab at just how different he is from the upper crust.

“Yes, of course,” Councilor Featherstone responds. “They'll take an arm and a leg.”

“So she came on the idea of the hotel and spa. For the country set, or celebrities, or whoever wants a little privacy when visiting the city.” Rich men with mistresses. Government officials with less than acceptable girlfriends. Whoever.

“That sounds lovely,” Idelle chimes in. “Perhaps we might do a spa day there sometime, dear.”

“Oh. Oh I don't know,” the councilor responds, obviously thinking of the enormous price tag attached to something like that.

“We could do a double date,” Charles gushes. “Oh, Idelle! What an excellent idea!”

“Oh, I'm certain I could arrange something like that,” Jack is quick to assure the increasingly panicked looking councilor. “Given that the proposal comes from a close personal friend. I imagine I can talk her into pulling a few strings with whoever purchases the building so we get first crack at it.”

A delicate pause. Calculated to be just enough to let the councilor experience euphoric relief that his problem has been solved - that Jack has been the one to solve it – before bringing it all crashing down.

“Of course, that's assuming the project moves forward any time in the next decade. You of all people know what London real estate is like.”

“You said the lot was zoned for mixed use?” Featherstone asks desperately. He's so close to giving Idelle her heart's desire of the current moment and he can see it slipping away.

Jack nods.

He's not even lying. There are several businesses on that street dating to just after the Great London Fire that necessitate the designation. Plus one unbearably posh cupcake bakery charging upwards of a tenner for a single cupcake.

“Well, then it should be no problem. I can even take a look at everything personally - just to make sure it's all in order, of course.”

“Oh, darling!” Idelle exclaims rapturously. “Would you?”

“Of course, dear. Anything for you.”

Perfect.

Charles grins at Jack, wolflike. And then steers the conversation to other idle gossip about the rich and famous.

Best not to let the councilor dwell too long on what just happened.

#black sails #charles vane/jack rackham #anne bonny/max #i travel troubled oceans #chapter 19

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dcemeadcwes · 4 years ago

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( cisfemale | she/her | madison bailey ) —— isn’t that DORCAS MEADOWES? yeah that is them, sitting there at the SLYTHERIN table with those other SIXTH years. when sybill looks into that crystal ball of hers, she sees spirited debates, worn out converse, half smoked cigarettes, breaking curfew, distressed jean jackets, messy buns, black coffee, avoiding family functions, and sunglasses to hide a hangover. anyway i’ve heard they’re pretty FREEWHEELING, HIGH-MINDED, and PUGNACIOUS. apparently they’re FOR THE LIGHT and PUREBLOOD but i’m sure that’s not related.

hey hi hello how ya doin. i’m baz and this is my chaotic, pain in the ass dorcas.

here is her pinterest and stats page. i’ll eventually get a full bio and her wanted connections up, but this is what i have for you for now!

abuse mentions tw! nothing graphic, but they’re in there!

born february 13th, 1960 in bristol, england.

which means: aquarius sun, leo moon, sagittarius rising. do with this what you will.

her parents are geoffery and aida meadowes. they’re not wealthy or the most elite within the pureblood community, but they’re extremely proud of their lineage - something dorcas never really understood.

because they weren’t the most elite, aida worked ten times as hard to make it appear as if they were. it was a major point of contention for doe’s mother that they weren’t as well known or respected as she thought they ought to have been.

when dorcas showed no interest in pureblood society and began asking the wrong questions in front of her mother’s friends, she quickly learned how unacceptable that was.

more often than not dorcas and her mother would end up getting into screaming matches after social gatherings - aida insisting that dorcas was intentionally embarrassing her & trying ruin the family name, while doe argued that the opinions of others shouldn’t matter as long as they were good people with kind hearts.

it was then that she realized her mother and the people she surrounded them with were far more interested in the purity of their world rather than the integrity of it.

from that point on, the meadowes home was a war zone. with her father traveling for work more often than now, there was no buffer between dorcas and her mother. hateful insults were hurled across the table at breakfast, by noon dorcas was a blood traitor and lucky her mother didn’t disown her, kicking her out of their home. every time dorcas left her room was a new attack on how she failed her family as a daughter and was an embarrassment to the wizarding world as a whole.

this became the norm for dorcas, which made adjusting to life at hogwarts quite easy when she was sorted into slytherin. those who didn’t already know her by name, quickly came to find she wasn’t they stereotypical slytherin. she may have been cunning and ambitious, but she hardly subscribed to their elitist views when it came to blood status.

it took a while, but dorcas eventually found other like-minded students - both in her house and others.

in the five years since she came to hogwarts, dorcas has garnered quite the reputation. wicked intelligent with a sharp tongue, dorcas has proved herself as someone who isn’t afraid to get their hands dirty, both in the classroom and outside it.

when dorcas heard about ‘for the light’, it was a no brainer. she’d already been vocal about her disdain for those who thought their blood status made them better than others and was clear about how she thought the ones behind the recent attacks and deaths should be dealt with.

with her birthday right around the corner, dorcas was thrilled when dumbledore came to her about joining the order and, just like with ‘for the light’, she agreed without a second thought. she was counting down the days until she turned seventeen and could officially join.

personality

dorcas is a biiiiig softie, but because of the way she grew up, she’s got this hard, prickly exterior. once you break through it, though? all the love. all of it. you’ll have a friend for life and the most outrageous adventure buddy.

sarcastic af and she’s vicious if you wrong her or the people she loves. if there’s anything she got from her mother, it’s her temper.

insanely competitive, even over the smallest things. it’s why she loves quidditch so much. dorcas isn’t the most graceful loser, but she tries.

will tell you, with her whole chest, that she doesn’t give a fuck what you think about her. she doesn’t live to impress or please anyone but herself. if she does care what you think, you’ll never hear it from her mouth, but she will work just the tiniest bit harder to make sure she makes a good impression.

when it comes to flirting and dating, she puts on a good front and talks a lot of shit, but baby girl is not super experienced and has only been in a handful of relationships. she may hide it, but dorcas definitely goes into full panic mode whenever someone she finds attractive flirts with her or shows any kind of affection. she’s also pansexual, so please feel free to send my girl into full gay panic mode. lmfao.

wanted dynamics

these will eventually expand and make it to a page on doe’s blog, but for now !!!

former friends! people she knew before coming to hogwarts? before she really started to push against her pureblood roots. they could have had their falling out either before or after they started school! i’m not picky & we can talk details, but we love the angst!!

chosen family! also love the lil gang of misfits that chose each other as family trope. give me all of that. these would be the people who’ve broken through doe’s prickliness and gets all the soft!doe. any one who gets the shitty family, come at me. shared trauma? here for it.

exes/flings! any and all genders! this is suuuper open, so if you think our babes may have potential for a past or potential for something in the future, slide in these dms!

loathe entirely! please give doe someone to fight. just pure, unabashed hatred. again, not picky on the details! we can flesh it out in the dms!!

honestly, if you made it this far, bless you! lol. i’m so pumped to finally start plotting and writing with y’all!

#petrificus.intro #intro.#this took me too long #and it's a mess???#but it's something #pls love us #xoxox #abuse tw #trauma tw

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elevenharringtons · 5 years ago

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Babysitting El pt. 1

Pairing: None (but leading into a bit of Steve x Reader)

Summary: Hopper, exasperated by having to deal with monsters invading Hawkins and having a teenage girl, has asked you to come babysit while he investigates for the night. Max shows up (unannounced, to you at least) and proposes a mall day to cheer everyone up. However, things don’t go as planned, and you find yourself an accomplice to Mike and El’s breakup.

Warnings: Profanity

Word Count: 3.3k

This is a two-parter! This part is based on El and Max’s shopping trip. It’s not exact, considering El was the one to seek Max out, but nonetheless, you’ll read some familiar scenarios. Just some good ol’ girl time and bonding over stupid boys. Part Two should be out sooner rather than later, considering all the time that has suddenly found itself on my doorstep. Stay safe out there, y’all.

***UPDATE: There will be a taglist for the second part, so if you’d like to be on it, let me know!

“I’ll be there.”

“If that Wheeler kid shows up here one more time-“

“Calm down! She’s a young woman now, she’s doing what she’s supposed to be doing” you say, twirling the yellowed telephone cable between your fingers. This is the third time this week that your uncle has called you upset that El was dating the second youngest Wheeler. Hopper hadn’t necessarily been on good terms with Mike, considering he found ways around Hopper’s rules, especially rules that were crafted for Eleven’s safety. Grumbling ensues on the other line.

“What time are you going to be here?”

“8 o’clock,” you reply almost confidently.

“Sharp?”

“8 o’clock...ish?” Hopper was good at seeing through your facades. Your mother was a pro at being fashionably late to things, a habit that you’re not too happy that you picked up. “You know it takes at least 15 minutes to get back to Hawkins, and then at least another 20 to remember which turn into the woods I have to take to find your cabin-“

“Save it. Just...promise me you’ll take care of this?” Hopper pleaded. You could hear someone rapping on the door in the background and assumed it was Mike trying to get back in to see El.

“I’ll do what I can. Bye, Uncle Hop.” You hear indistinct chatter on the line before it cuts to a dial tone and chuckle to yourself, continuing to pack a small overnight bag full of clothes and other essentials needed to ‘babysit’ Eleven. Hopper had to deal with a special assignment that you had specifically chosen not to ask him about, knowing it must be a continuation of the strange events that kept happening in Hawkins the past two years. Your mission was to stay with El until Hopper returned, however, now that El was a teenager, that was no easy task. Boys, best friends, and fighting intergalactic monsters had El in more directions than you remember when you were her age. Then again, you didn’t have to deal with the intergalactic monster part.

The morning drive wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be. Surprisingly, you remembered exactly where to turn into the woods to find Hopper’s cabin. The ground was wet from a rain storm the night before as you tried your best to maneuver your mom’s old Buick through the slippery terrain. El was standing outside on Hopper’s porch, her eyes lighting up for a quick second before diminishing again. She turned and headed back inside the cabin before you had the chance to get out of the car. Hopper met you at the door.

“What’s her deal?” You ask, closing the car door and moving to the trunk to grab your backpack.

“I, uh, may have had a hand in that,” Hopper replied.

“What’d you do”

“Joyce told me to have a talk with her and Mike, but instead, I told Mike that his grandmother was sick and that he should go be with her instead of with El,” Hopper couldn’t meet your stare. You laughed out loud.

“Seriously, Uncle Hop?”

“She doesn’t know!”

“And what made you think that was a good idea? What advice did Joyce give you that made you do that? Couldn’t have been that bad, it’s Joyce!” You’re leaning against the car door, arms crossed over your chest. You weren’t letting your uncle off that easy before he left you with a moody teenager.

“She just said to set some ground rules, to talk to them,”

“The three inch rule?” You quip.

“Well, El doesn’t always adhere to the three inch rule, that’s why I had to do something about it,” Hopper replied.

“So telling Mike Wheeler that his grandmother was sick even though she isn’t is how you’re handling this?”

“Why do you think you’re here?”

“Oh, so I’m the diffusion? She needs to be a teenager, Uncle Hop! Explore! Kiss a guy! Kiss a girl if she wants to! Fall in love! Get her heart broken! You were a teenager once, weren’t you?” You say. Out of the corner of your eye, El reappeared on the porch.

“Y/N?”

“Hi, El!” You smile and wave as El does the same. Hopper runs his hand over his face before leading you to the cabin. He grumbles under his breath as you walk.

“Look, just make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid. No one can find her out here, it’s dangerous.”

“I’ve got it under control, Hopper. She won’t leave my sight,” You assure him as you walk up the stairs to wrap El in a hug. Hopper watched as the both of you headed inside the cabin before starting his truck up and driving away.

“So, Hopper has you on some…guidelines, huh?” You say once the door is closed, taking in the cabin. It wasn’t as messy as you would have guessed it to be, definitely not like the lake house that you had practically grown up in. You put your bag down on Hopper’s armchair before leaning against the couch, watching El as she paced around.

“Guidelines?” She asked.

“Oh, um, rules. Like how he won’t let you out past a certain hour?”

“Or how he doesn’t let Mike over,” El nervously played with her hands. She was still pacing, clearly worried that Mike had abandoned her.

“Hey,” you say softly. “He doesn’t hate Mike, you know? He just…isn’t ready for you to grow up yet.” El was trying to take in what you were saying, but a knock was at the door causing the both of you to jump. El looks to you for permission to open the door, which you grant. She gets up and crosses to the door, standing on tip toes to peer into the peephole.

“It’s Max,” El says, almost disappointed.

“You can let her in,” you say. The door swings open to reveal the fiery red head, who doesn’t stay outside long.

“Lucas dropped all of our plans today for some family thing he forgot last minute,” she says. “So I told him that we were on a break.”

“A break?” El asks.

“Yeah. Like not a break up but you want to break up? Kind of?” Max says. You stare wide eyed at the two of them.

“I’m sorry, you told Lucas you wanted to take a break because he had to do something with his family?” You ask.

“Look, he pulls this last minute shit all the time. He’s probably at home playing with his stupid walkie talkie or at Mike’s. It’s better to take a minute to show him that I’m mad by taking a break than to dump his ass altogether,” she plops herself into Hopper’s armchair and right on top of your stuff without missing a beat. El sits stiffly beside you on the couch.

“Mike’s grandmother is sick, so he’s probably not at Mike’s,” you say, trying to go along with Hopper’s false narrative as truthfully as you could. Max rolls her eyes.

“Sounds like some last minute bullshit to me.”

“Last minute,” El says thoughtfully. “Mike didn’t call this morning.”

“Then dump his ass,” Max says matter-of-factly. “He keeps you on the line way too much for you to keep putting up with that.”

“I don’t think it’s Mike’s fault,” you say under your breath. Max doesn’t hear you.

“Dump his ass?” El questions.

“He’s obviously hiding something from you. Don’t put up with it,” Max shrugs.

“Nobody’s dumping anyone. Look, you can’t just break someone’s heart because they can’t do something with you,” you say. You may not have a lot of experience in the dating department, but you also could recognize human mistakes from lies. Plus, you had your uncle’s fake storyline standing over your shoulder, so it was best that El not make any hasty decisions.

“I’m just saying, El, you could do a lot better,” Max says. “In the meantime, though, we should give you a makeover and show him what he’s missing. Let’s go to the mall!”

“Whoa, El’s not allowed out. You know that,” you say, standing now between El and Max’s line of vision.

“Hopper’s not here is he? Plus, you’re here. Nothing bad can happen if you’re with us,” Max retorts. She had a point. Having an adult around two teenagers in a mall cramped their style, automatically making them less of a target to the bad guys. Right?

“Technically, I’m not supposed to have you here,” you reply. Max rolled her eyes.

“Y/N, can we please go to the mall?” El asks. Her shimmering brown eyes are enough to make you cave. She knew just how to push your buttons.

“Fine,” you say, “but you guys can’t leave my sight.”

“Deal,” Max and El say together as they race outside to your car.

“I said don’t leave my sight!” You yell, running after them. How bad could this be?

**********

Two hours later and you’ve become the stereotypical pack-mule “boyfriend” to your two teenaged counterparts. Max had insisted El buy a new wardrobe to make Mike jealous, so her muddied shoes and ragged plaid shirt were stuffed in a tiny bag from The Gap while Max made El try on several brightly colored combos. Then, El wanted Glamour Shots, so you watched as her and Max put on oversized pearls and lavish feathered hats, posing ridiculously for the camera. You’d bought each of them a keychain sized version of their favorite picture, adding another bag to your hand. Max had careened into JC Penney without your knowledge, taking El with her through the winding racks of aerobics wear and puffy jacket vests. You managed to find them, though, because Max was trying on bright red sunglasses in the mirrors right next to the entrance.

“What did I tell you about running off?” You say. Before Max could protest, El had walked out in a black romper with neon shapes plastered all over it. She was stumbling around on two inch heels, her stark white socks making it obvious that she’d never worn anything else besides sneakers. However, the smile on her face distracted you from the fact that she could fall and break her ankle at any moment. She stopped to pose in the mirror before turning to you.

“What do you think, Y/N?”

“I think it’s a winner. You look beautiful, El,” you say, her grin growing wider. Chastising them for running off could be saved until later. Or until something actually~ happened.

“That’ll show those stupid boys not to mess with you!” Max exclaimed.

“Maybe not in those heels, though,” you say, choosing to ignore Max’s comment. Not that you were doubling back on your whole “give Mike another chance” mantra, just that you didn’t want to ruin El’s confidence. You motion for Max to help you get the heels off of El before slipping her new Nikes back on her feet.

“Can I wear this out instead?” El asks.

“And ditch those cute yellow suspenders?” You quip.

“Come on, Y/N!” Max joined in. “What’s another bag? Another swipe of the old Visa?”

“This is the last time I bring you out shopping,” you sigh, watching as the two girls squealed, jumping up and down like they were front row at a concert. Max agrees to gather El’s other outfit from the dressing room while you take El to the register to pay. Then, you’re off again into the bustle of the Starcourt Mall. As you’re walking out, though, you spy Mike and Lucas, along with Will Byers, stepping out of a jewelry store in a heated discussion. Max and El giggled beside you, blissfully unaware that you had just caught both of their “men” doing the exact opposite of what they should be. You silently curse Mike for being this stupid. You careen then girls onto the down escalator.

“Where are we going?” Max asks.

“I saw a food court downstairs. Figured we’d go refuel for a little bit,” you say, not entirely sure the girls would fall for it.

“Oooo, can we get ice cream?” Max replied.

Mission accomplished.

That was until you had taken your eye off them for two seconds after looking at the time on the big yellow clock in the center of the food court. Max had taken El by the hand and bounded down the escalator, into the sailor themed eatery, Scoops Ahoy. You pushed through a group of teenagers balancing ice cream cones, finding the two girls receiving ice cream from a brunette boy in a ridiculous bright blue uniform. You couldn’t shake the familiarity of his face, like something you had seen in dreams. It wasn’t until you were inside of the shop, shivering from the slight temperature change, and smelling the sweetness of the treats before the name had come to you.

“Thanks, Steve!” Max said as she and El grabbed a strawberry and vanilla cone from the boy’s hands, blissfully unaware of your presence as they enjoyed their treats.

Steve Harrington. A name you hadn’t heard since you were in grade school. You remember him being the troublemaker, the one who had stolen your new pack of crayons when you weren’t looking and the one who was every teacher’s nightmare. But you also remembered him being the sweetheart. The boy who stood up for you when Tommy H was making fun of your bangs in second grade. The boy who tried to kiss you on the cheek by the swings when no one was looking. The last time you saw Steve Harrington was when your parents’ moving van was careening carefully down Main Street as you all were moving cities once you completed fifth grade. Steve was riding his bike, stopping in front of Melvald’s General Store before locking it to a rack and walking inside. Since then, Steve had become a memory, someone who would appear every once in a while as a nameless face in a dream.

You stood speechless at the counter, his back turned to you as he cleaned the ice cream scoops before meeting his next customer. There was no way he was going to remember you, your mind was racing. Years of never even thinking of him and here you were a nervous wreck. And for what? Shaking thoughts from your head, you reached into your bag to pull out three dollars for the girls’ dessert. The sound of change clanging on the counter caused him to turn. Shit.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. They come here all the time.”

You looked up to meet his brown eyes, hands still nervously reaching for the change that had fallen out of your hands. You watched as something in his mind clicked.

“Y/N?”

“That’s me,” you reply, shoving the money back into your bag, trying to avoid an awkward conversation that probably neither of you wanted. “Sorry that they ran in here like that.”

“Jesus, how long has it been? What brings you to town?” Guess he wanted an awkward conversation.

“Oh, my uncle, he, uh, wanted me to come watch El for him while he figures out…you know, normal Hawkins police stuff.” God, why are you like this??

“How long are you here?” Steve asked, catching you completely off guard.

“I mean, I only packed an overnight bag,” you say.

“Oh, cool,” Steve replies. The spark that was in his eyes when you’d first connected had vanished.

“But, uh, Hopper never said when he was coming back, so, maybe the weekend?” You tell him, watching the corner of his mouth curl into a smile.

“Would you maybe want to catch up sometime? Like, tonight after I get off?” Steve asks. You could feel your cheeks getting hot. It was your turn to smile now. Instinct struck, though, as you turned away from him and noticed El and Max were gone from the place that they were sitting not too long ago.

“Uh, yeah, sure. I have to…go. Because the girls are…yeah. I’ll come here tonight,” you ramble as you rush out the front towards the escalator.

“See you…later,” Steve called after you. You waved a hand as you bounded up the escalator past several angry mall-goers. You couldn’t even process that you were having a “date” with someone that you hadn’t seen since elementary school, someone that you subconsciously always thought about. If you couldn’t find El, though, it would be your ass. You could already hear Hopper yelling at you at length over the phone when you spot Max’s slender frame standing out front with a melting ice cream cone in her hand. She was watching something, hopefully something to do with El, but you couldn’t figure out why Max wasn’t standing right next to El. Then it hit you.

El found Mike.

You pushed through the front door as quietly as one could push through a heavy glass door. Max’s expression went from supportive to nervous wreck once she had laid eyes on you. The “why did you run out of my sight you dumb idiots” conversation could wait a few minutes. You heard Mike trying to come up with a good excuse as to why he was out at the mall with his friends when El’s quiet voice cut through the palpable tension.

“I dump your ass.”

Max chuckled, mouth agape in surprise. You tried to keep your composure, especially considering you had told the girls not to just dump the boys over “nothing”, but you were proud of El for sticking up for herself. Mike, Lucas, and Will were stoic as El turned dramatically, hair bouncing, arm linking with Max. You heard the boys mumble to themselves as you ushered the girls away from the mall and into your car. In the rearview mirror, you watched as Max gave El a high five, offering to switch ice cream cones with her.

“Don’t think I haven’t forgot that you all ran away from me,” you half-smile. Their faces fell. “I’m not mad.” You scramble to say, just to bring that little bit of happiness back to them.

“Look, we got ice cream and then caught two lying ass boys. It’s not our fault that we fell behind flirting with the sailor boy,” Max said under her breath, taking a bite of El’s ice cream. Your cheeks grew hotter than they were in Scoops Ahoy.

“I wasn’t flirting…”

“Oh, please, I had to sit through weeks of watching El flirt with Mike. I think I know what flirting is,” Max said.

“How did you even-“

“We were sitting in a booth practically behind you. Then El saw Mike and I had to chase after her. You’re welcome, by the way. I should get some of the money that Hopper is giving you for watching her.”

“First of all, I’m not getting paid. Second, thanks, I guess?” You shake your head. “Plus, my love life is not something we should be discussing right now. Didn’t you both just dump your boyfriends?”

“Boys are stupid,” El said matter-of-factly. She wasn’t wrong. Max gave El another high five as they switched ice cream cones again.

“So are you going on a date with Harrington or not?” Max asked.

“Yes, but-“

“Great! I’ll spend the night, and El and I will help you get ready,” she said. El nodded in response, too enticed by her ice cream to give verbal recognition.

“I thought you were against boys?” By now, you had turned down the pathway to Hopper’s cabin. You put the car in park, turning to look at the two girls in the back seat.

“Those boys. Helping you nab Harrington is a different story.” Max said, grabbing her JC Penney bag and bounding out of the car. You helped El carry all of her belongings into the cabin before plopping it into Hopper’s armchair.

“Makeover?” El asked once everyone was inside and settled.

“Oh, yeah,” Max replied. They each took your hands and led you to the bathroom.

What were you about to get into?

#stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington x reader #elmax #eleven #max mayfield #stranger things 3 #stranger things season 3 #stranger things imagines

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