#cleaning too and that’ll come out of my pocket and i guess that’s My fault for not taking care of him either | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

adarlingmess · 3 years ago

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Ugnayan

Summary:

Filipino word, noun: connection between persons, groups, countries, etc.

A collection of works detailing a manananggal clan’s relations with the Treses, and their allies.

II: Bad Habits

Summary: After disrupting one of House of Arko’s operations, one of the Kambal meets up with their informant.

Words: 4540

Characters: Basilio, Crispin, Sabina (OC), Alexandra Trese (mentioned only), Ammie (mentioned only), Reyna Manananggal (mentioned only), Dominic Villaceran (mentioned only), Mama Grande (mentioned only)

Relationships: Basilio/Original Female Character

Language: English, with a few Filipino words and phrases sprinkled in.

Rating: 16+

Warnings: Strong language, violence, mentions of abortion, references to human trafficking + sexual trafficking, sexual themes

Author’s Notes:

I am: back on my bullshit again

People were looking for a part 2 so have more Basilio x OC stuff. Spoiler warning for Verdugo: Takutan because this story heavily references its lore and events! The comics are known to be darker in tone, and so is this fic, so heed the warnings above. No Taglish version this time, Darling niyo pagod na 😩

This was supposed to be a simple job.

Get in, rough up House of Arko’s operation while Bossing is paying them a visit in their mansion, get out, and watch as Bossing confronts them about it at the next social gathering they’ll host.

But nothing was ever simple about the aswang, right?

Now there’s a huge one trying to eat Basilio alive.

“Damn it, Basilio. Your recklessness is a bad habit that’ll bite us in the ass later!” his older brother berates him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever! Now might be the right time to call for backup kuya,” he strains, attempting to pull the magubat’s jaw apart with his superhuman strength. His fingers slip from the drool and it almost bites his hands off.

Crispin’s busy with a horde of mailap, taking turns in taking pot shots from him in the shadows. “We should’ve taken a page from Carlos’ book and brought palm fronds. Who should we call?”

“What about Maliksi?” Basilio suggests.

“What’s one tikbalang to all these aswangs? We need something bigger, maybe a higante to take on that magubat!”

“Gago, a higante can’t get here as fast as a tikbalang!” Basilio snaps.

“Mas gago ka! What about that playmate of ours from when we were kids, y’know, the one that tipped Bossing off about this whole trafficking operation anyway? Think she can fly her way here?” Crispin growls, shooting down a mailap who was foolish enough to ambush the more cautious twin from above.

Ah, yes. Sabina.

Boyish, intimidating, hard to figure out- but still hot enough to flirt with, despite being aswang; that’s how Basilio would describe her. This Sab was a far cry from the Sabina Marie he once knew years ago, the one who used to wear an all-girl Catholic school uniform, shyly shared her snacks and books with him, and kissed him farewell when her mama told her she’ll not be coming with her to meetings with the lakan anymore.

A few days after they caught up with each other, she turned up at the Diabolical not too long ago with a flash drive for Alex’s eyes only. She didn’t even breathe a word to him, much less look at his direction, but Basilio could only surmise that it’s his fault.

“Sabina? Well, manananggals who follow the queen can shoot. It’s- ungh- worth the shot!” Basilio answers back, straining as he gets swatted to the side with one gigantic claw. “You make the call, my hands are full!”

“Give me your phone, I don’t have her Facespace.”

Basilio looks down from several feet, and gives his brother a sheepish smile. “Uhhh, okay, but she’s been seenzoning me.”

From behind his mask, Crispin frowns. “What did you do?”

“She might’ve seen me tagged in Ammie’s story when I was supposed to watch her gig. I got there when her set was ending, and she was pissed.”

Grumbling, Crispin takes his frustrations off on a mabangis charging towards him, a flurry of bullets raining upon its body. “What did Bossing say about getting personal with informants?”

“What? It’s Sab. She’s-”

“An aswang who might have an ulterior motive in helping us. Tangina Basilio, think with your head sometimes! The one between your shoulders!”

Distracted, Basilio failed to stop the jaws of the magubat from closing in on him. As quickly as his reflexes allow, he tosses his brother his phone.

“Just call already! Tell her it’s an emergency.”

The older Kambal flies up and extends his free hand to catch it. Crispin launches Basilio’s Facespace app and begins to search for their informant. He found her under the name Sab Evasco. Crispin pretended not to see the string of messages Basilio left for her, all left on read.

Her phone rings. One time. Two times. Three times. Crispin dials again. Twice. Thrice.

Someone picks up. He puts the call on the loudspeaker.

There’s someone strumming a guitar in the background, accompanied by a drumset’s cymbals. They come to a halt and Crispin hears a frustrated woman’s voice from the other end of the line.

“Ulol gago, fuck you Basilio, you can tell me if you’d rather go on Starbreaks coffee dates with a wind girl than watch me play. I’m a grown woman, I can handle a simple ‘no’. I’m not in the mood for your games! Now fuck off, I don’t want to hear from you. I have a gig to practice for.”

Basilio cringes as he listens to Sabina’s tirade. Crispin guns a charging mabangis down, and his mask dematerializes for a brief moment, just enough for him to mouth to his brother “Gago ka talaga.”

“Sabina, it’s Crispin. We could use some backup here. We’re being swarmed by aswang.”

The sound of a guitar being unceremoniously dropped and the mad shuffle to catch it can be heard from Sabina’s line, followed by quick footsteps. Sabina talks again, calmer this time. “What? Couldn’t Basilio get his own ass on the phone and tell me himself?”

With an exasperated expression, Crispin turns on the camera, and points the phone at Basilio, who’s caught between the magubat’s jaws. “He said you were ignoring him, and he can’t get on the phone right now, as you can see.”

The Kambal heard her fumbling with more equipment, which sounded like a guitar case being zipped up and carried. A brief argument with her bandmates follows, then Sabina talks again.

“I’ll be there. Stay on the line.”

Now they wait.

As much as Crispin wanted to help his little brother, his hands were full with the wave after wave of aswang coming after them. They’re relentless. This is their food supply the Kambal are cutting off, after all.

“Any luck with Sab?” Basilio asks, attempting to shoot the roof of the mabangis’ mouth.

The bullets barely penetrate the thick membrane. He’ll need to transform the Armas Infinitum into a more powerful weapon to lobotomize the gigantic aswang, but seeing how he’s separated from his twin, it’s impossible at the moment.

“She said she’s on the way. She’s still on the phone. Here!”

Crispin throws the phone back to Basilio, who catches it with one hand, while his other arm continues to struggle with the magubat trying to swallow him whole. He tucks it in his breast pocket, and he jumps near the row of the magubat’s front teeth, prying it open with both arms.

Through the aswangs’ growls, Basilio could faintly hear a woman cursing and the jingling of keys from the other side of the line.

“Hey Sab! It’s Basilio. Sorry again about missing your gig.”

“Shut up and hang tight. If I didn’t care for you at all...” Sabina snaps. Basilio could barely make out the words Sabina was saying due to the wind and sound of traffic. “I’m on my way.”

“Ngh, can’t you come any sooner? I heard that aswang intestines are nasty.” Basilio pauses, realizing his mistake. “No offense.”

“I said zip it. Isn’t it enough that I went out of hiding and agreed to be Trese’s informant? Now I have to be your backup too?”

“Working with Bossing has its risks. We made that clear, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.”

There’s more turbulence and wind from Sabina’s line. If Basilio guessed, she’s now flying to the scene. The Kambal’s struggle with the aswang continued until they heard their informant’s voice through the speakers again.

“Big bad war demigods can’t handle a single fucking magubat?” Sabina deadpans, the turbulence and noise no longer accompanying her voice. “Open the fucker’s mouth wide. Make sure he’s facing east.”

“Kuya! She’s in the area, help me pry the jaws open!” the younger Kambal shouts to his older brother, who dodges a leaping mailap and quickly flies up to his aid.

“What’s the plan?” Crispin asks, and Basilio shrugs.

“I don’t know, she just asked me to do it!”

Before Crispin could question Basilio, a shot rings throughout the building, and the magubat collapses. The Kambal let go of the heavy jaws and flew away, watching the near-twenty foot aswang crush a few of its regular-sized kind. Upon closer inspection, a bullet has torn its way through the roof of its mouth. It’s a clean shot. The magubat isn’t regenerating, much to the Kambal’s surprise.

It’s a pleasant surprise, nonetheless.

“That’s for trying to eat my brother,” Crispin spits, kicking the dead aswang’s head.

Soon, more of the aswang started dropping like flies, too. Razed by bullets from an unknown assailant, the House of Arko aswangs started to panic.

“Wait a minute, I know manananggals who follow the queen can shoot, but Sabina is a sniper? Do you know about this, Bas?” Crispin exclaims, tearing his eyes away from the dead magubat to face yet another wave of mabangis.

“No! Damn, she’s using special bullets too. Where’d she get those?” Basilio mutters. A mailap attempts an ambush attack, and before he could react, Basilio watches it get shot mid-air as it attempts to jump him.

“You’re mine,” Sabina hisses, her voice crackling through Basilio’s phone speaker, smooth through the static.

Her emphasis on the word “mine” made goosebumps ripple through Basilio’s arm.

“Hot. Could you say that again?”

What he got instead was a groan. “Fuck, don’t distract me Basilio. I’m not here for fun.”

“You seem to be having fun shooting House of Arko’s minions though.”

“Fair. You two better look for the hostages. I have a bone to pick with this lot.”

The Kambal looks at each other, and nods. Glass shatters as they fly out the building’s windows, to the upper floors. After taking care of the guards, they saw them. Men and women in cages, all naked, and herded like livestock.

“Please, help us,” one of them whimpers, crawling to the front of the cage and grabbing Crispin by the arm. She’s dirty, and her belly is swollen. Basilio turned on the lights and they saw it clear as day: most of these women are pregnant. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on.

House of Arko farms their food, breeding humans like livestock, and harvesting fetuses from them.

Sirens are blaring outside, both from police cars and ambulances, waiting for the hostages to be rescued.

All is well, or so they thought.

“Fuck!”

The cry came from their informant’s line.

“Everything alright?” Basilio asks her after fishing his phone out of his breast pocket.

“There are a few of them who found my vantage point. They’re heading towards my position.”

“Get out of there already, the hostages are secure.”

“They saw me. I can’t let them report back to Mama Grande and her sons that a manananggal is helping you. Suspicion would fall on my clan.”

Crispin nudges his younger brother. “I’ll handle the hostages and wait for Bossing. You make sure our informant’s alright.”

“Way ahead of you kuya,” Basilio replies, taking his guns out and flying out the window.

Under the pale moonlight and the city’s lights, Basilio spots a group of aswang scaling a dilapidated building east of him. On the rooftop, he sees it. Wings black as night, flattened against the concrete. Sabina lies prone and is aiming her scoped hunting rifle downwards, picking off the advancing horde one by one.

“Time to play.” The demigod rushes in and makes bullets rain on the hostiles.

He takes out a mabangis approaching their sniper from her blind spot. Those who didn’t die from being shot fell to their death, regeneration halted either by his or Sabina’s doing.

Basilio descends on the rooftop, and he walks his way towards the manananggal. His mask dematerialized, and the wind tousled his long hair. Just to be safe, he kept a pistol in one hand.

Across him, Sabina takes out her wireless earbuds and puts them away. Then, she slings her rifle on her shoulder, safety on. With her wings, she crawled towards his direction, like how a bat would move. Then, uses her wings’ sharp claws to plant herself on the concrete, a feat regular bats couldn’t do.

“Thanks for the help, Sab. About that gig…”

Before any more words could come out of his mouth, Sabina holds up her forefinger and presses it against his lips. “Shh. No more apologizing about the missed gig. Just make up for it. You owe me.”

Basilio nods, smiling at her. He watches as Sabina fishes out a box of cigarettes and a lighter from her vest. She’s wearing a black, long-sleeved polo shirt underneath it, and its sleeves are rolled up. Her shirt was unbuttoned just enough for him to catch a glimpse of lace peeking through. For all her boyish, edgy posturing, her choice of underclothes is girlier than what Basilio expected.

It almost makes him want to unwrap her like a Christmas present, but he’ll keep that thought to himself.

“Nice outfit. You were rehearsing in that?”

“We had a presentation for a class. No time to get changed. Now there’s a hole in the back, so I might as well wear this more often on future operations,” Sabina replies, placing a stick of Marlborough Reds between her lips.

“I’m in the mood for a smoke and maybe a chat,” she continues. “Join me?”

Basilio nods.

“How did you know about House of Arko’s human trafficking thing, anway?”

“Believe it or not, it was a hunch,” Sabina explains, black fingernails scratching the sparkwheel several times. “Ugh, fucking lighter dying on me again. I just had it refilled… must be the wind,” she growls.

Basilio couldn’t help but chuckle at her frustration. “A hunch?”

“Hmm… maybe hunch isn’t the right word. It’s an educated guess. Mama Grande loved serving boiled fetuses to her house guests, correct?”

Basilio nods, waiting for Sabina to continue her explanation.

“I suppose that it’s my place to judge if their mothers didn’t want to raise them… I’m a manananggal, for fuck’s sake. But there’s one red flag House of Arko failed to hide. From what I can tell, those fetuses are around five to eight months old.”

Sabina’s lighter finally lit up, and with a triumphant laugh, she lit her cigarette. Then, she carries on with her explanation.

“Most abortions happen during the first three months of pregnancy. It’s rare to see expecting parents get rid of them that late.”

“So? What does that have to do with the whole thing?”

“House of Arko serving older fetuses could mean one of two things: either all, and I mean all of the abortions they performed are from those who are truly in need of one that late, or they’re getting them from another source, possibly an illicit one. They don’t have the most benevolent reputation, so my intuition tells me it was the latter. So, I paid the place a visit and recorded what I could. I guess I should be thankful that your bossing found that blurry video trustworthy enough,” Sabina concluded, watching as the victims were clothed and herded into ambulances.

Dumbfounded, Basilio scratches his head. “Wow. Glad you’re on our side. How did you know that three month thing anyway?”

“Research and personal accounts.” Sabina’s response is clipped. Cold. Abrupt. It only raised more questions than answers.

“Personal accounts? You’ve met people who got them?”

There’s a flash of regret in Sabina’s eyes; regret that she opened her mouth and let him know more than needed. She cuts him off. “I can’t put my informants’ identities in jeopardy either now, can I?”

Per his older twin’s advice, Basilio’s finally using the head between his shoulders. “No offense, but you’re a manananggal. Y’know, known for eating babies? Hearing that from you is suspicious.”

“Yes, I am,” Sabina says through gritted teeth, glaring at him. “I can assure you, I’m following the accords and I’m not exploiting loopholes like what House of Arko is doing. I’ll reveal everything in due time.”

“Alright, keep your secrets. For now.”

A tense silence has befallen them.

“So- '' the manananggal blows a cloud of smoke away from Basilio, “-is this going to be a regular thing? Because if it is, I might finally quit smoking. Nicotine makes my hands shaky. Can’t risk accidentally shooting your ass.” She pauses, looking at him in jest. “ I’d rather do that intentionally.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Sabina Marie,” Basilio retorts, clutching his chest in mock pain.

They share a laugh over it, the mood lightening up.

Basilio looks in the distance, taking in the view of the cityscape. “Maybe you should quit. Singers shouldn’t be smoking in the first place.”

“The tar helps me belt out raspy screams, but yeah, you’re right,” Sabina chuckles.

“So, when is this next gig?”

“Next week. In Ilocos Norte. All the way up in House of Arko’s ancestral home.”

“Should I take that info to Bossing?”

“Yep. It’s open to the supernatural public anyway, so it's not like I’m giving you top secret info. Even the wind tribe is invited, despite their bad blood with my clan. Hopefully things won’t get physical. Most of my sisters are still bitter over how they blew us away when my mom- I mean, Inang Reyna decided to side against the Treses.”

So that explains some things.

“I dunno, maybe I should bring Ammie so I can watch the two of you in a catfight.”

Sabina elbows him in the chest, hard.

“Not funny at all, Basilio. I don’t even know her personally! It’s you I was pissed at.”

Now he grabs his chest in genuine pain as he croaks out an apology. “Sorry.”

“Whatever. Bring whoever the hell you want, just keep your distance from me when you decide to go. Even my father’s going to be there. I need to be on my best behavior.”

The demigod turns to their aswang informant, interest piqued. She’s divulging a lot of information. Perhaps he can sway her to spill more secrets.

“Didn’t know that the Reyna Manananggal had a king.”

“Oh, no. She’s not the type to share her power with a man.” Sabina pauses to take another hit of her cigarette. “I meant my biological father. Villaceran.”

Now that was unexpected.

“You drop bombshell after bombshell whenever we meet. Tomas Dominic Villaceran’s your old man?”

“Look at me. I’m almost the splitting image of the guy. If there’s one thing I’m grateful for, it’s inheriting his good looks.”

Basilio grins. “Can’t deny that. Most of the manananggal kuya Crispin and I encountered look...”

“Hideous, I know,” Sabina says outright. “You still haven’t seen that side of me, so don’t be too quick to judge my sisters.”

Basilio treads carefully, knowing that he might be prying on a sensitive subject. “So, about Villaceran…”

“I’d rather not talk about him. Our relationship is… strained.”

Giving her a sympathetic, understanding look, Basilio nods. “Right. Never mind.”

Another interval of silence passes between them. This time, it’s a little somber.

“So, does this party have a dress code?”

“Yeah. Filipiniana. Wear a barong. It’s one of those pretentious events that attempts to make House of Arko more appealing to the masses or whatever. Manipulative assholes.”

“You can just refuse to go, Sab.”

“I could, but being Trese’s mole among the aswang means I have to attend clan activities to supply more information. That also means attending every single party those Arko fucks throw.”

“You really hate House of Arko, huh?”

Looking towards his direction to meet his gaze, Sabina’s eyes are filled with a sea of emotions. Hatred, indignation, and something Basilio couldn’t quite place.

“Why wouldn’t I? Mama Grande raised boys who can’t take no for an answer. The Arko brothers have no respect for us manananggal. As if we weren’t fetishized enough in Manong Karma’s stupid aswang dating book...”

Sabina clears her throat and calms herself down. Bad blood between aswang clans could mean war. Basilio knows he should take that to the boss. His gears are turning tonight. He asks Sabina questions that could risk her support.

“Is that why you agreed to be an informant? You wanna bring House of Arko down? Then what, your clan will fill the space they’ll leave?”

“What? No, I have no desire for power, not like how Mama Grande or my own mother does anyway. My personal gripes with them aside, the House of Arko wants to ‘unite the aswang under one banner’ with no respect to the other clans’ autonomy and customs.”

“So you wanna protect your clan?”

“That’s one of the reasons, yes. Mama Grande’s been trying to play kumare with mom- I mean Inang Reyna-” This is the second time Sabina slipped and called her mom. She clears her throat and composes herself. “And I need to stop that. Inang Reyna already made the mistake of going against the Accords once. Allying with the House of Arko will ruin us further.”

Basilio leans in closer. “And what are your other reasons?”

Sabina looks at him for a few, quiet seconds, and looks away. “I’ll reveal them-”

“In due time. Yeah, yeah, I can take that as an answer. So, making you sing in that event is a result of them being magkumare?”

A defeated laugh bubbles from Sabina’s chest. “You got it.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t invite sirena to sing.”

Sabina rolls her eyes and tosses the butt of her expended cigarette on the concrete. Basilio took it upon himself to crush the embers under his heel, seeing how her lower half is hidden someplace else.

“Oh please, this is House of Arko we’re talking about, Bas. They believe aswang are superior. Letting them shine would take away the spotlight from the aswang. Mama Grande asked for me from Inang Reyna so they can gloat that even aswang can make better singers than the famed sirena. Ugh, I doubt my singing style even matches the performance they want from me.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of performance are they going for?” he asks her.

“Now that’s another secret. You have to show up to find out,” she hums in response.

Turning away from him, Sabina checks how many sticks are left in the box. Two. She takes one and lights it up.

“Screw it, I’m going cold turkey. I guess this will be my final box. Maybe for tonight. Maybe forever.”

“Then maybe you should stop with the stick you’re smoking and throw the last one away,” Basilio suggests.

“Are you mad? That’s a waste of money!”

“Still counting your blessings even with your mama’s wealth huh?”

“Old habits die hard.”

Sabina blows smoke away from Basilio’s direction. The wind made it waft to his face anyway, and she mumbles a quick apology. He shrugs it off. Not like the adverse effects of secondhand smoke affected him anyway. Hank smoked and was polite enough to turn away too, but Basilio can still smell it. He didn’t mind it. Still, Hank had told him and Crispin that it was a tough habit to break, so he never touched a cigarette.

Not until now.

Basilio takes the box from Sabina and picks up the last stick with his lips. Then, he inches closer to her.

Ironically, in an attempt to help an old friend quit her smoking habit, Basilio engages in it himself.

Little did he know, a new bad habit was forming between him and the little lady before him.

“I’ll make sure it won’t go to waste then. Light me.”

Sabina raises an eyebrow. “Just don’t start at all. Give it back.”

“One smoke isn’t going to get me hooked, princess.”

Brows knitted together, Sabina chastises him. “Take it from me, bad habits start with just one little taste, Bas.”

“One little taste never hurts anyone...”

“One little taste could leave you wanting for more.”

Basilio can feel himself getting hot under the collar. He’d never thought an aswang of all creatures could make him feel all bothered, yet there he was, getting turned on by her choice of words.

“Princess, are we still talking about cigarettes, or something else?”

Hearing his question, Sabina exhales sharply through her nose, cheeks dusted pink. “Maybe both. Whatever. Come here.”

Black fingernails scratched at the sparkwheel. Sparks were flying, but there was no flame. The cigarette remained unlit.

“Well, it looks like fate isn’t letting you smoke, so better just give me the damn cigarette back, Basilio.”

With a sly look, Basilio closes in on her, and presses the end of his cigarette to the embers at the end of hers, linking them together.

To his surprise, Sabina is neither backing away nor babbling defensively like she usually does whenever he gets close. Instead, she presses her chest to his, a challenging look in her half-lidded eyes. She wasn’t wearing her glasses like usual, giving Basilio an unobstructed view of her heated gaze. Was it bloodlust or desire? Either way, it got his blood pumping.

“You’re chattier than usual tonight,” Basilio comments. “Bolder too. I like that.”

In the form she’s in now, Sabina’s eyes glowed an eerie white, and aside from the wings sprouting from her back, little horns sprouted from her scalp, the root concealed by her crown of short, wavy hair. Basilio didn’t pay mind to her dangling guts, instead, his eyes were transfixed on that cute little lace bra again.

Through the layers of cloth between them, he can feel her heart beating. Basilio faintly remembers the taste of human and sigbin hearts.

Now, what does aswang heart taste like?

A dark part of his psyche- perhaps from being Datu Talagbusao’s son- wanted to tear it out of her chest and eat it to find out.

Basilio felt the urge to taste all the battles she fought through her blood, and possess her heart in a way no other person can.

The memory of seeing his father tasting his mother’s blood inserts itself in the present, and the fear of turning into the monster he was is enough for him to shake that thought away.

Basilio tries to focus on something else.

His eyes wander to Sabina’s mouth. He might’ve imagined something else between her dark lips, in place of the cigarette. Something bigger.

Something of his.

Sabina’s been pliable tonight. Perhaps he’ll push his luck with her one last time.

“So, any plans tonight, dear princess?”

“Unless you intend to treat me like one, don’t call me that.”

“I’m done with work, so if you want me to make good on that and make up for my mistake…”

Giggling, Sabina flies a few feet away from him. The black wings on her back are translucent against the pale moonlight. They almost looked like a dark shade of red.

“Go tell your brother about the information I gave you for now, then meet up with me afterwards. I hid my lower half in an alleyway behind that motel,” she tells him, pointing to the building’s direction.

“If you’re lucky, you’ll get to rearrange my guts. Literally and figuratively.” Sabina continues, a naughty smirk blooming on her lips.

Taken aback by the pun, Basilio laughs. “I didn’t think you were capable of dirty jokes.”

“You should know by now that I’m full of secrets and surprises.”

Grinning darkly, Basilio finishes the rest of his cigarette as he watches her fly away.

“And I’ll uncover them all, dear princess.”

Translations:

ulol - crazy; Filipino profanity

gago/gaga - foolish or stupid; Filipino profanity

tangina - contraction of putang ina, lit. whore mother. Used as an expression to express irritation, anger, or astonishment

Inang Reyna - lit. Queen Mother.

mare/kumare - derived from the Spanish word madre/comadre; kumare a reciprocal appellation for the godmother or for the child's mother. In a more modern and colloquial context, it’s used to refer to a female friend. Magkumare means women who are friends with each other.

Filipiniana - Philippine related book and non-book material

barong - also known as Barong Tagalog. An embroidered long-sleeved formal shirt for men and a national dress of the Philippines.

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multiverseoffandoms-blog · 4 years ago

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Infatuation // G.W pt.2

A/N: this is the second part to my George Weasley x reader series. It’s significantly longer than the first one — which you can find on my page (I’m working on updating the masterlist and links. I do all these on my phone, so there are some errors.

Warnings: build up to smut? Fluff, my poor writing skills. Pairing: Fred x female!Reader, George x female!Reader

Tag list: @pigwidgexn @xuckduck @is-it-really-a-secret @asluttybisexual

You couldn’t contain your amusement as you watched the twins, the pair of them encouraging cheers from their peers as they ran into the room, a vile each in their hands. They each ran around the room, collecting high fives and cheers from everyone present. Fred skipper over to you, smiling sweetly at you as he planted a kiss on your forehead. Behind him, you didn’t miss how George rolled his eyes at the two of you.

It had been close to a week since the incident, and if you were honest with yourself, you had to admit that you had been emotionally torn since. Once you left the library, you practically sprinted to the Gryffindor common room before locking yourself in the dorms for the rest of the afternoon. You had decided to tell Fred, and so you’d threw on an old sweater, before making your way to the Great Hall. You were late for dinner, and so expected to receive a few lingering stares from students.

As you had approached your table, ready to take your seat, you stopped abruptly when you noticed Fred.. laughing. Beside him, sat in your usual spot, was Angelina. She had positioned herself almost on top of him, her body meeting his side every time she giggled. You weren’t mad, how could you be? You and Fred weren’t even “official”, but to think that you were sat in your room worrying yourself about how he would feel about the incident with George, all the while he was down getting friendly with some chaser. At least you were going to tell him, he seemed like he had no intentions of letting you in on whatever he had going on.

Huffing out your annoyance, you straightened your back and held your head up, stalking towards the pair who hadn’t even noticed you. George had noticed though, and even as you stood a few students back, you could see him visibly tense at the sight of you. “Come off it Angelina, he’s not even that funny,” you snapped as you reached the pair, shoving yourself down between Fred and George. George’s arm bumped against yours due to the small space you had crammed yourself into, but your annoyance was far more greater than your infatuation with the twin right now. With your back to George, you set your eyes on Fred.

“I’m late, what — not even 10 minutes, and already you’re filling my position with knock off versions of myself? Harsh, Freddie. Even for you.” You were ware of how dramatic you sounded, but you had always been honest with Fred, and right then it honestly felt like he was betraying your trust. You reached across the table, scooping Ron’s cup from beside his plate before bringing it to your lips, sipping to calm your nerves.

“Hey!” “Not now Ron.”

Fred turned himself to you, his conversation with the girl beside him forgotten.

“Y/n, hey! George told me you weren’t feeling too well and-and..” you waved off his excuses, passing Ron back his cup before reaching for a bread bun to add to your plate. “Honestly Freddie, I’m not concerned. Although, If I knew you would be so quick to change your mind on me, then perhaps I would of chosen a different brother to have my arrangement with.” You told him with a shrug, absentmindedly stabbing your fork into vegetables that sat in your plate.

Both George and Ron were shocked to hear you say what you did, the statement catching them both by surprise as they choked on their drinks, mixtures of saliva and beverage dripping from their lips as they raced to wipe theirselves clean. You laughed to yourself, reaching out and patting George on the back.

“You okay George?” You teased, smiling sweetly over your shoulder at Fred who seemed to be unbelievably annoyed by your confession. He held your stare for what felt like forever, an uncomfortable silence falling over your friends. After nearly a whole minute, Fred caved.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in your ear as he leans into you, kissing the corner of your mouth. You hmm’d in response, not fully letting the matter go but deciding to move on from it for the time. Conversation soon started back up, and soon it was like the disagreement didn’t even happen.

Under the table, you felt the small tremble of shaky fingers brushing against yours.

George.

Somewhere in your argument with Fred, you’d decided that you weren’t going to tell him about his brother, which was probably why you decided to link a few of your fingers with his instead of moving away. You could see his smile from the corner of your eye, but he bit his lip and dropped his head to hide his ever growing smirk.

“Ready Fred?” George asked his brother, the both of them leaving Hermione's side.

“Ready George!”

The two shook their viles, before linking their arms together. “Bottoms up!” The two boys pocketed their viles, cheering loudly with everyone when the potion didn’t reject from their bodies. You watched from beside Harry and Ron, your own shock apparent when they jumped over the age line. You clapped along with everyone else, cheering for them both as they tossed their parchment into the goblet.

Suddenly, a rumble sounded throughout the room, tall blue flames erupting from the fire, whirling around before smacking into Fred and George, throwing them out of the ring and across the floor. You laughed loudly, unable to contain yourself as you watched the hairs on their heads turn from orange to white, the two morphing into old men versions of theirselves.

You couldn’t think.

You couldn’t even breathe, as you doubled over into fits of laughter. Tears were streaming down your face as you watched the boys fight on the floor, their grey hair and beards flying wildly as they shoved each other. You had never seen something so hilariously funny. Sure, you had suspected that the consequences of the ageing potion would be great, but never would you of guessed that it would be this amusing!

“Get your brother, Ron.” You say, distracting him from his chants as he encouraged his older brothers to fight.

“C’mon y/n, really! You can’t honestly expect me to interrupt this?” While you did admit to Ron that it was absolutely hilarious, you warned him about how upset Molly would be, had her sons been expelled and no one stepped in to help.

“Bloody hell!” He groaned. The two of you excused yourselves through the crowd, while Harry did his best efforts to divert the students elsewhere, telling them that that’s enough entertainment for them today.

“Both of you, get up!” You called over their shouts, reaching down to grab Fred by his sleeve, yanking him backwards as best you could. Ron held out his arm, helping George to his feet. The two boys dusted off their robes, each one shooting daggers at the other.

“You two look ridiculous!” Ron laughed at his brothers, causing bickers of disapproval between the three. You sighed, rubbing your hands across your face. Honestly, how could Molly deal with these human headaches.

“In all fairness, I did tell you it would have repercussions George.” You say, covering your mouth when you met his eyes to stop your giggles. “So it’s really your own faults.” You shook your head, reaching out to toss his grey hair.

“Although, you do make a cute little old man.” You added, smiling sweetly as you watched George blush at your comment. He shook his head, scratching the back of his neck and giving a cough to clear his throat.

“Wait, you told y/n about the potion before you told me?” Asked Fred. He was frowning down at you, and you could practically hear the gears in his mind turning as if he were trying to run through every scenario on why you knew first.

George went to speak first, but you cut him off before he said something no one could take back.

‘Couldn’t have Fred knowing you were considering letting George between your legs,’ you thought - cursing to yourself.

“Yeah! I ran into him in the library the other week when I was looking for books for charms class. I wasn’t feeling well and that’s when he told you, and so you decided to try and replace me with Angelina,” you hoped that would be enough to shift Fred’s questioning eyes off his brother, and it was.

He groaned, slouching his shoulders as he pouted at you. “I thought we were past that!” You shook your head, laughing at his childlike behaviour.

“Not even close Freddie, come on — let’s go find Snape, I’m sure he’s got a potion that’ll fix up this disaster you got yourself into.” You shoved Fred towards the exit, but not before checking over your shoulder to see George mouth a quiet ‘thank you’ to you.

It took nearly two whole hours — and a lot of pleading with the potions professor — before Fred and George were back to their normal selves. Snape had lectured both boys, reminding them that if they had of paid more attention in class, they would of understood how to correctly make the potion they had attempted.

You decided to leave out the part that they had used the potion to try and cheat their way into the triwizard tournament, deciding that they’d already suffered enough.

Still, Snape gave them both a weeks worth of detention and another scoulding, before mixing up a rather stinky concoction to cure the boys of their sudden old age.

“Thanks again, for helping me.” Fred called from the bathroom joining off the boys dorm rooms. You were sprawled across his bed, head propped up on his pillows as you kicked your shoes off your feet, settling in comfortably.

He’d decided to have a quick shower, as if to try and scrub himself clean to make sure there were no more wrinkles or age spots littering his skin. You had spent majority of the time giggling at him, the imagine of his old body still fresh in your mind. He complained almost the whole time, but as soon as he started to see his features start to morph back to his own, his mood brightened.

Fred joined you back in his room, wearing nothing but a towel lowly around his hips. His hair was still damp, and the veins popping along his arms seemed to only become more prominent as he lifted his hand up to run it through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes. The movement caused small water droplets to fall from his hair, sliding slowly down across his chest and — relatively toned — stomach, before absorbing into the towel.

It was if suddenly you forgot what words were, your mind turning to mush as you stuttered over yourself, scrambling to sit upright. You watched wide eyed as he kept his back to you, reaching down to pull his draws open to retrieve a fresh uniform from inside. His back muscles twitched at his movements, and you were sure you had drool on your chin.

“Holy shit Freddie,” you called, shaking yourself out of your daze. You didn’t have to see his face to know he was smirking. He was cocky, there was no doubt about it. He spun on his heals, resting himself against the set of draws as he gripped the edges in his hands.

You wondered how his hands would feel, gripping your throat like that.

“Like what you see, do you sweetheart?” He teased, running his tongue along the front of his teeth. Fred was a flirt, the whole student body at hogwarts knew that. He spent more time flirting with you than either of you did doing anything together. And while you two hadn’t slept together, the two of you took advantage of the comfortable bond yous shared and did everything other. You weren’t a virgin, but you definitely didn’t go around giving it to whoever asked for it.

You decided to play with him, opting on not giving him full satisfaction of the effect he could have on you. You shrugged, giving him your own flirty smirk when you met his stare. “It’s alright, I guess.”

He raised a brow at you, tilting his head and analysing you while he stalked his way slowly over to you. Fred stopped beside his bed, where you sat patiently, anticipating what his next move would be. He reached out, gripping your jaw between his thumb and fingers before giving you a small pull upwards, signaling you up on your knees.

He kissed you harshly, almost possessively. Your mouth melted against his, your fight for the game suddenly gone as your tongue met his, his sweet taste filling your mouth each second he held you to him.

Fred pulled back, leaving you short breathed and flustered as he chuckled to himself, rubbing his thumb along your jaw. “Mhm, no one does it for you quite like me darling.” He stated, falling his body horizontally across his bed, his feet planted firmly on the floor.

You were astonished, he’d had it over you without even trying. Catching him by surprise, you moved forwards to bring yourself into his lap, straddling his waist. Fred held his composure, pushing himself up onto his elbows, the tips on his fingers brushing against your knees.

Just like George did..

“And is that what you think Freddie?” You asked sweetly, shifting your hips slightly to brush against his growing bulge. He groaned beneath you, falling his head back with a whimper. You tsk’d, pressing your hands to his chest as you kissed along his neck, nipping the skin there, leaving a trail to his ear.

“Do I do it for you? Or is that why you were hitting on Angelina?” You laughed in his ear, knowing that your accusations would annoy him. As if on que, he shot his arms up, wrapping a hand around your neck before pinning you down on the bed. He grinned down at you, shaking his head and leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

“You like her, don’t you?” You pushed. You slid your hands up to link behind his neck, playing with his long hair. “Guess I don’t do it for you, hey Freddie.” He rolled his eyes, finally, he was about to play your game.

“And so what if I like her to? It’s not like we’re together. We’re just messing around,” he told you. You knew it was true, it had been a mutual idea to not take your relationship to that level. Some lines can’t be crossed back over once you take that step, and you didnt want to lose a friendship over something that wouldn’t work.

‘George would work,’ you told yourself. In a sense you knew it was true. You had a connection with Fred, but your attraction and common interests with George made him a more compatible match.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone all soft on me now?” He asked, leaning down to bump his nose with yours. “I like what we have. We can keep doing it, I enjoy being the only one who can rile you up,” he slipped his hand underneath your top, fingertips tracing patterns over your stomach as they moved up your body.

His head fell to your neck, his lips leaving open mouthed kisses along you. Fred Weasley, the nerve of him to think he could get away with having you both. Like it wouldn’t be a completely selfish act to keep you to himself. You frowning, pulling his head up to brush your lips against his.

“I’ve got a secret,” you mumble, meeting your lips with his in a few sloppy kisses.

“Tell me, baby.” His voice was a whisper, eyes fluttering shut as he let his body enjoy the sensations of your mouth against his, your hands on him.

You moved your lips from his to his ear, the thrill of your confession stirring butterflies in your stomach.

“George actually does it for me.”

His movements froze, his body going stiff as he pulled back to look at you. You couldn’t recall a time you’d seen him look so blank, face vacant of any expression as his eyes bore into yours.

Perhaps that wasn’t the best idea..

The sun had begun to slowly drop for the night, the last remaining rays of sunshine trying to peak through the growing cluster of grey storm clouds that were quickly filling the sky. The rumble of the storm brewing bounced around the forests trees as a few stray raindrops fell from above, splattering theirselves against your hogwarts school sweater.

You smiled at the feeling, the rain being one of your most favourite things, before turning the tip of your wand upwards to cast a shield above you, the drops of rain reflecting off it in small spots of blue. The forest around you seemed to release a calming aroma, as if they were almost happy that they had been gifted with a storm.

You sat by a small abandoned dock by The Great Lake, still surrounded enough by trees and bushes to stay hidden if anyone was to wonder by, but out enough to be able to see all of hogwarts and its beauty. The raindrops fell peacefully into the lake, and you tilted your head in amusement as you watched the surface of the water ripple with the movements below it.

This was probably your most favourite place to come and be alone. Luna Lovegood had shown it to you in your forth year. She had sat with you after you received a rather upsetting letter from home, and told you that this was the most beautiful place to come for comfort.

She was right.

While you hadn’t seen many of the magical creatures that inhabited the lake — a few sea turtles here and there — there was one being that always seemed to make your visits interesting.

It’s eyes watched you from just below the waters surface, small bubbles bubbling around it as if it knew that made you laugh. The Giant Squid lifted one of its tentacles above itself to protrude just above the waters surface, and you laughed lightly at its demanding behaviour.

You reached down beside you, grabbing another bread roll before standing and throwing it out into the water. Your aim way off — an indicator on why you never made the quidditch team — but the lake monster stretched his limb to catch the bread before it hit the top of the water.

It was past cerfew, you knew as soon as you headed back to hogwarts you would be in all types of trouble with the headmaster. But after your argument with Fred, you couldn’t stand to be there for longer than you had to be.

Or really, not much of a fight at all. He hadn’t even spoken to you. You frowned as you remember how he moved away from you, like your hands had suddenly burnt his skin and he couldn’t stand it. He seemed to look right through you while he stood by the end of his bed, before he focused himself onto you.

“Get out,” he’d whispered to you, and you knew you had upset him. You tried to reason with him, moving to stand on your feet in front of him and place a hand on his chest, but he avoided your touch with two steps backwards, before barking at you to leave once more.

You shook the thought from your head, before sitting yourself down on the damp dock. Did you regret what you said? Absolutely not. Over the past week or so you had made time to analyse everything to do with George. From the pranks on each other in your second year, him carrying your books to each class for you in third, being the one who comforted you when you were sad, being the reason you laughed. He was possibly the greatest friend you ever had.

But, a small part of you had always wondered about more with George. Only recently had you let that idea bubble in your mind.

You loved Fred, you owed it to yourselves to give it a try to see if you’s were ‘the ones’ for each other. But you felt as though your bond with Fred in a way pushed you closer to your attention for George.

You loved Fred; but you weren’t in love with Fred.

“You’re more difficult to find than I expected,” you squealed, your fright scaring the squid to swim off as you jumped to your feet, spinning around to face George.

He stood by the bay, his head wrapped up in a beanie you were sure Molly sent him. He was wrapped in a cosy jumper, the same charm producing a shield from the tip of his wand to.

“Merlins beard George Weasley! You can’t just sneak up on people like that!” You scolded him, crossing your arms across your chest as you frowned at him.

He chuckled at you, taking a few steps up the dock to join you, leaving an arms length between the two of you. You forced your eyes off the ground, bringing them up to look over his face, allowing yourself a sad smile as you seen his awkward emotions.

“What are you doing out here George? How did you even know where I was?” You questioned, trying to shift some of the awkwardness settling between the two of you. You had never been awkward around George. Has Fred told him what you said? Had he told Fred about the stirring feelings you both shared?

George reached into his coat pocket, pulling out what looked like a map with a sheepish grin on his face.

The Marauder’s Map.

“I uh.. I borrowed it off Harry when I heard that no one had seen you all afternoon. Figured why not right? I’ve already got a weeks worth of detentions, why not add another week when we’re caught out past cerfew?” You couldn’t help but smile at him, his body relaxing as he realised you weren’t upset about him finding you.

The rain had settled, and you lowered your wand to shove it into your pocket, keeping your hands there as you kicked at some dirt on the dock.

You noticed George’s feet come into sight, and you allowed yourself a quick peak up at him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked. You shook your head, mumbling a ‘not particularly’ with a half shrug. Off behind you, you could hear the stirring splash of water, and so you linked your arm with George, pulling him to the edge of the dock.

“Wha-“ you smacked his chest, bringing your index finger up to your lips to tell him to be quiet. The two of you stood in a comfortable silence, both watching the wafers surface break open, to be met with the familiar eyes peeking back at you — and now George.

It was only small, and you were sure he thought he’d played it off smoothly, but you felt him take a step backwards at the sight of the giant squid. You turned to look over your shoulder at him while you linked your fingers with his, holding his hand to pull him back closer.

“It’s alright, he’s just curious.” You told him. Not many students had the pleasure of seeing the squid, he was a nervous thing who was frightened away by sudden movements. George swallowed his nerves before calming beside you, watching as the squid lifted one of its tentacles out of the water.

You extended your hand, giggling like a kid when he extended forward, placing some pebbles into your outstretched palm. He sunk back into the water, turning to look at George once more before spinning around and diving into the lakes dark depths.

“He likes to give gifts for the bread I give him,” you told him when you noticed that he was frowning at you curiously.

“So you’re friends with the lake monster.. wicked.” George laughed from beside you, and soon you joined him, shaking your head at the boy. He always had a way of making you smile, even when you felt low.

“I think Fred and I are done with it, whatever ‘it’ was,” you told him once the two of you fell back into silence. You could tell by the way his body stayed tense that he was unsure of his actions, his hand even hesitating before he placed it against the side of your face — rubbing your cheek tenderly.

His brown eyes scanned over your face, trying to look for any emotion that said you regretted it. You didn’t.

“I told him that it’s you,” your voice was barely above a whisper, your eyes anywhere but his as you felt the heat rising up your neck and tinting your cheeks. George inhaled quickly, a small grin threatening the corners of his mouth, but he composed himself and opted on pulling you into his chest.

You wound your arms around his waist, holding his body close to yours as you relaxed into his warm embrace. George tested his head in the top of yours, giving you a small peck for comfort.

It felt good to hug him, to tell him that you think you’d upset Fred, to feel okay as he held you against his chest. His racing heartbeat calmed you in a way, and you were sure he could feel yours that was beating just as fast. George pulled back from you, reaching down to cup your chin in between his thumb and pointer, tilting your head up to look into his eyes.

“Fred has always been.. attached, to what he enjoys. He might be upset now, but he cares about you and I know he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he stayed mad at you and denied you what you want.”

You chewed your lip between your teeth, holding his gaze. “And how do you know what I want George?”

He didn’t speak, instead sunk his head to mold his mouth against yours, his lips moving almost desperately against your own. Your reaction was instant, pushing yourself up onto your tippy toes while you knotted your hands in his red locks. Your teeth clashed against his as you pushed against his lips with the same force he was, a soft moan falling into his mouth as his tongue met yours.

He fit perfectly against you, it was beautiful.

George groaned, his hands squeezing yours sides and bunching your clothes in his hands, his cold fingers slipping under along your lower back to pull you impossibly closer to him. Your stomach was in butterflies as you slid one hand from the back of his neck, dancing it along his neck to place it against his chest.

You detached your lips from his, your breaths coming out in pants by his ear as he dropped his head to the crook of your neck, sucking and biting little marks all along your exposed skin. It didn’t take him long to find your sweet spot, sucking harshly just below your ear — surely leaving a mark — as he drank up your whimpers.

“G-George..” you whined. You knew you probably sounded pathetic, standing here begging for him.

“How do I know what you want, love?” He whispered into your ear, goosebumps erupting over your body. “Why don’t you tell me? Tell me what you want.”

You nearly turned to mush right then and there. In front of you, the usual shy boy that you were so interested in, was speaking to you in a way that had you rubbing your thighs together, the pool between your legs certainly soaking into your panties.

You pushed against his chest, causing him to take a step back from you. The daylight had nearly completely disappeared, so you strained to see his face, but you could tell he was confused by your actions.

“It’s you George.. it’s always been-“

“What are you two kids doing out here so late!”

You practically jumped into George’s arms with a scream, relaxing a bit when you felt him hold you tighter while he shifted you behind his body; one hand wrapped around you, and the other coming forward to draw his wand on who had interrupted the both of you.

It took a moment to adjust your eyes to the sudden light that was now surrounding you, but it didn’t take you long — with the help of Georges ‘lumos maxima’ charm — you soon realised that you’d been caught by Hagrid.

“On my life Hagrid, you scared me half to death!” You shouted, taking a step out from behind George, who had lowered his wand when he realised there was no immediate danger.

“You should think yourself lucky that it was me who found you. You know what sort of creatures lurk out here in the night!” His voice boomed, the light he held shining on his face to allow you to see his disappointment.

No actually, the mythical creatures had actually slipped your mind, and you were embarrassed that George had that effect on you to have you forgetting how dangerous it could be.

“We’re sorry Hagrid,” George spoke for you, his hand staying comfortably in yours. You watched Hagrid drop his eyes to your entwined hands, before shaking his head with a roll of his eyes.

“Well, best be getting you two back inside then.. before someone catches you. Come along.” You sighed, resting your forehead on George’s arm, allowing a quick laugh between the two of you. George extended his arm with a slight bowl, gesturing for you to lead the way.

“After you, m’lady.” He said with a wink.

218 notes · View notes

slipping-through-my-fingertips · 4 years ago

Note

Klaine it up! 2, 7, 12, 21, 50

Okay...I got this. PROMPTS FOUND HERE

2 - you accidentally sprayed them with yogurt when you open the lid the wrong way.

This was not Kurt Hummel’s first time opening yogurt but it might’ve well have been. He was sitting at a picnic table in Central Park on his lunch break from Vogue.com having just picked up a BLT, sweeten iced tea, and strawberry yogurt from his newfound favorite sandwich shop. It just happened to be two blocks down from the Vogue offices too.

After eating half a sandwich, he found himself watching three young girls practicing their hula-hooping skills. Of course, while entranced by the colorful swirls of plastic, Kurt grabbed his low-fat yogurt and pulled at the lid, and the minute he did another man was being dragged by his golden retriever over to Kurt’s table.

Before he could stop it, a splash of light pink yogurt was splattered across the front of a bright blue polo.

“Shit, I am so sorry,” they both said.

Kurt had a lap full of puppy and the man covered in yogurt.

“She’s really friendly and has a fondness for bacon,” the man said, gesturing to the sandwich. “And who can blame her.”

With that comment, Kurt pushed his meal away slightly. Out of reach of the dog’s mouth.

“I usually am way more careful with my food,” Kurt said.

The handsome man only laughed, “it’s no big deal, do you happen to have a napkin?”

“Oh yes!” Kurt reached into his bag to grab one.

“Thanks,” he said, “come here, Lacey.”

The puppy sat right at his side and waited. Kurt stood up to wipe the yogurt away while the man kept Lacey still.

“I can...” he started to say but Kurt was already pulling away having cleaned it up the best he could.

“Lacey and I also share a fondness for cute boys but I don’t suppose...” he trailed off, blushing.

Kurt still wasn’t used to being flirted with but this wasn’t small town, Ohio.

“And who can blame you,” Kurt replied, already grabbing a pen and paper from his bag to write on.

THE REST OF THE PROMPTS CAN BE FOUND BELOW THE CUT

7 - you both do the side-to-side dance when you try to pass them in the grocery store aisle

Kurt told his dad to pick up an extra heavy whipping cream three days ago when Burt asked if Kurt needed any other ingredients for Thanksgiving dessert. He told him.

“I only need 3 things: dark chocolate, heavy whipping cream, and almond extract.”

Burt had gotten everything but Kurt needed whipping cream for both the chocolate mousse itself and the whipped topping he planned to make. Now he was at the crowded grocery store one day prior to Thanksgiving. Exactly where he didn’t want to be.

Of course, every grocery store made you walk all the way to the back of the store for dairy products. I’ll just grab milk and eggs real quick, you think, then suddenly you have a cart full of snacks you didn’t need.

Kurt found the red and white carton fairly quick. He backed up and started to make his way to the self-checkout. Before he could think about the temptation of potato chips, he was stopped by another body.

They both stopped and shifted their feet to make way for the other. From right to left and back again for several seconds before both falling into pits of laughter. Kurt looked into deep hazel eyes that twinkled at him. He wondered how long he could do this dance just to stare at them some more.

“That’s my fault, I came around the corner too quick,” he said.

Not quick enough, Kurt thought, we could’ve fallen to the floor. You on top of me would be quite nice.

“No, it’s all me,” Kurt replied, “I should’ve been watching where I was going.”

He fumbles into his pocket for a business card. Isabel’s one-month anniversary gift.

“If you’re in town longer than tomorrow, I’d love to buy you some coffee as an apology,” Kurt said, handing the card over.

“Oh.” Kurt watched him scan the card, flipping it over in his hands. “I’d love to, Kurt.”

A shiver ran down his spine. Maybe he should thank his dad for forgetting the cream.

12 - you kick a ball and your shoe flies off, hitting them in the back of your head

Blaine used to hate having an older brother. Growing up, he felt constantly in competition with Cooper’s larger-than-life personality. Now that Cooper had settled down in LA with Lisa, his wife, and had two wonderful kids, having an older sibling didn’t seem too bad.

It was summer break, Blaine was free to leave the confines of his NYU dorm room. He was trying to get lost in the sunshine of California to forget he was about to start his final year of college. Time with his niece and nephew was sure to put any nervousness out of his head.

They were playing soccer in the park when it happened. It was bound to. Everyone in LA was hot. It was like the law.

Cute boys and Blaine’s non-existence coordination weren’t a good mix.

Blaine went to kick the ball and caught sight of a bicep. An unusually pale bicep. A rare sight in sunny Los Angles. Arms, Blaine fantasized, he’d love to see wrapped around him or possibly pushing his legs apart.

He was sure he tighten his laces. This is why Blaine Anderson didn’t wear sneakers. Missed the ball by an inch but the force of his kick sent something flying through the air directly towards the cute guy: a sneaker.

It happened so fast, Blaine heard the yell of surprise before realizing his sock was exposed. Once he realized what happened, he rushed over to the man.

“Fuck, I am so sorry,” Blaine said. “Can I do anything?”

“Well, an aspirin would be great,” the man teased.

Blaine sat in the grass and chuckled. Still extremely embarrassed.

“Not exactly the fairytale I always dreamed of.”

“Fairytale?” Blaine asked, scrunching up his nose in confusion.

“Cinderella,” he said, like it was obvious, “a lost shoe as it were.”

“I’m not Cinderella,” Blaine told him, “sorry to say. I’m more of a Blaine.”

“Kurt.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“I do believe this is yours,” Kurt said, handing over the shoe.

21 - Almost spilling a drink because you met their eyes and got distracted thinking how cute they are.

His dad always said pour your drinks yourself. Blaine became that friend who grabbed drinks for everyone for this reason exactly. He wasn’t sure what the occasion was exactly but his study buddy from his songwriting workshop invited him. It was at some loft in Bushwick but Blaine didn’t mind the adventure.

Until tonight he had no reason to venture to this part of the city.

“Blaine!” Elliott exclaimed, pushing a solo cup into his hand, “Drink up, karaoke at eleven!”

Then he disappeared into the crowd. Blaine headed straight for the kitchen and poured the toxic mixture down the sink. He found a new cup and started reading the labels of the bottles spread out across the counter. Mixers and any alcohol of your choice seemed to be available.

Rum and coke sounded good. He went into the fridge for a cold soda first. Blaine was happy the kitchen was empty he wasn’t quite ready to start making friends. As far as he knew, Elliott was the only friendly face here tonight.

He poured the rum in for some semblance of tracking his alcohol intake. The last time he got drunk, he dialed the professor he TA-ed for, who thankfully overlooked that incident. Blaine cracked open the coke and while he poured surveying the living room.

People were dancing to an upbeat pop song that Blaine strangely didn’t recognize and others were mingling in doorways or sat on scattered sofas and chairs chatting. He caught a pair of blue eyes in the crowd.

The man they were attached to was stunning. If he hadn’t blinked, Blaine could’ve mistaken him for a marble statue carved by the gods. They didn’t lose eye contact as he walked towards the kitchen. It wasn’t until the man stood on the other side of the counter that Blaine noticed his hand was covered in soda.

“Papers towels are behind you,” the man offers.

Blaine set the now empty can down and spun around for paper towels to clean up his mess.

Just great, he thought, make a fool out of yourself. That’ll score you some points.

He cleans up his hand before wiping down the puddle of bubbling coke on the counter.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he continues, “and this is my party so I like to know all my guests.”

“Your party?” Blaine stutters.

“It’s my birthday.”

“I’m Blaine,” he introduces. “Elliott invited me. We have a class together.”

“Oh, you’re Blaine. From songwriting workshop.”

“That’s me.”

Elliott’s obviously talked about him before to this man. This gorgeous, completely out of Blaine’s league man.

“God, he’s relentless,” he says. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Um, might I ask why? I can leave if there’s an issue.” Blaine knows when he isn’t welcome.

“No, no,” he replies, “don’t go. It’s just he’s been trying to set us up for months now.”

It all clicks.

“Oh god, you’re Kurt.”

“That’s me, the birthday boy. and you are Elliott’s idea of the best gift ever.”

Blaine blushes. “I don’t know if I can I've up to that but if I can have the next dance I can try.”

Kurt nods. “I’d like that, Blaine. A lot.”

50 - getting paired up on an amusement park ride that requires even-numbered riders

All of Kurt’s friends hated rollercoasters. Rachel didn’t like heights, Elliott refused to do anything with loops, and Santana, well, she was too caught up in her new girlfriend to be bothered.

“I only wanna hear screaming tonight,” she told him.

So, Kurt waited in line himself. Some fun day at Coney Island this was turning out to be. He was so glad he was spending the day with friends. Kurt rolled his eyes.

The woman directing the ride gave Kurt his row number and moved down the line. Behind him someone tapped on his shoulder, Kurt turned around and found himself looking at a curly-haired man around his age.

“Guess we’re both odd men out then, I’m the single rider in my group today.”

“Oh, um, no, my friends were too chicken to even ride,” Kurt said.

“I’m really surprised Wes and David are good to go. They both hate being upside-down.”

Kurt smiled.

“I'm Blaine, by the way.”

“Kurt.”

The ride emptied out and Kurt crawled over to the far seat. They buckled themselves in and listened to the instructions to keep all body parts inside at all times. Then, the bar came down and the ride launched.

After the ride ended, Blaine and Kurt were chatting all the way down. Wes and David trailing behind them.

“That second loop really threw me,” Blaine was saying.

“I saw,” Kurt exclaimed, “I thought you were going to fall out of your seat.”

“Downfalls of being short and compact.”

When three more people joined their day at the park, no one questioned it.

#this was a lot at once but SO FUN #monica's inbox #my fics #klaine drabbles #meet cutes

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sunsetinmyvein · 4 years ago

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Reading ‘bout Yourself on a Plane

Requested by the ever talented @red---moon off the prompt list~

Flights weren’t really a high point in my life, ironically. The cruising part of the journey was fine, so were the cramped seats, hell, even the meals were okay. It was just the take-off and landing that sucked. Everything was just far too risky. All of the moving parts that had the chance of failing. I hated it with a burning passion. Which, in hindsight, maybe moving a plane’s journey away from home was a bad idea. I should’ve anticipated that regular visits home would become a part of my agenda. But I was going to grin and bear this for the sake of my mother’s birthday. It would be fine. I was sure it was going to be fine. Except that some dark-haired guy was blocking the way to my seat. He was currently kneeling on his own seat in the middle, talking to the three guys sat behind him.

“Excuse me,” I started, catching his attention. He looked at me in surprise. “I’ve got that window seat.” I said as I gestured to the seat to his right.

He glanced down at his seat, before quickly scrambling to his feet and moving to stand in the aisle. “Oh, sorry, sorry. Let me just-” He rambled as he shuffled past me. It was a mission to not be in his personal space with how close the person behind me was standing. Why were planes always so cramped?

“Thanks.” I smiled politely as I squeezed into my seat.

“My pleasure.” He grinned.

Once I had taken my seat, and tightened my belt to an uncomfortable degree, I finally felt like I could relax momentarily on this red-eye. But I was pretty quickly knocked out of my relaxation.

“Matty, did you grab the duty-free tequila?” I heard the voice behind my call out.

“No, I told Hann to grab it.” The man next to me replied.

“That never happened.” The voice scoffed.

The man, Matty, supposedly, was quick to jump back up in his seat to face the offending voice. “I definitely did! When they said over the announcements to pick up your purchases, I said to Hann ‘would you grab that for me?’ ” He said, waving his hands about for emphasis.

“You were sleeping against your suitcase and I had to kick you awake.” Someone else chimed in.

“Yes, and then I asked him to grab the tequila.” Matty said matter-of-factly.

“Are you telling me it’s still at the gate?” Yet another voice asked.

“Fuck sake, Matty.” Someone groaned.

“It’s your fault!” He shouted. A flight attendant who happened to be walking past gave him a threatening look, making him sit back down in his seat properly.

It looked like they were getting ready to close the doors. Some woman took the aisle seat on the left-hand side of Matty. They were closing the overhead compartments. We would be departing soon. I tried my best to keep my nerves under control.

“My apologies for them.” Matty said as he jabbed a thumb towards the three men sat behind us.

I looked at him for a moment, assessing the friendly smile on his face. “It’s fine.” I shrugged. “Why aren’t you sitting with your friends?”

“Because they only allow three to a row.” He said with a light laugh.

“Ah.” I nodded, feeling like a dumbass for even asking. That was what I got for being so distracted by worrying about when we’d take-off. “Sorry that you got stuck here instead of with them.” I added in an attempt to recover from my embarrassment.

“I’m not complaining.” He said with an amused smirk on his face. I was about to start cursing my luck for being stuck next to a sleaze for a ten-hour flight, but thankfully he clarified. “It’s been a long few months stuck with those guys, I wouldn’t mind some different company for a change.” He elaborated.

“Are you guys heading home?” I questioned in curiosity.

“Yeah. You?” He nodded eagerly as he began fiddling with the little air vents above his head.

“Sort of. It’s not home anymore, but I’m seeing some family.” I answered. He made a noise of acknowledgement in response as he finally seemed to get the air conditioning to the right level.

The doors were locked. The safety video was shown. The engine roared to life. And then we were suddenly in the air. I stared out the window to my right as the buildings got smaller and smaller beneath us. It was always a surreal sight to see. I could appreciate taking off for the beauty in the process, but my eyes were still glued to the wing of the plane to make sure all those little flaps moved like they were supposed to. I didn’t even notice how tightly I had been gripping my arm rest until I was pulled out of my thoughts.

“You want some chocolate raisins?” Matty asked as he lightly tapped my shoulder.

I looked across at him in surprise, before glancing down at the bag of chocolates he was holding out. “Don’t we get food on the flight?” I frowned in confusion. I hadn’t thought to bring extra food.

“Oh, yeah. But I wanted some snacks.” He explained as he shoved a few in his mouth.

“You want me to ask if they can warm them up for you, Matty?” The voice furthest away from me called out.

“Shut up, George.” He shouted back through gritted teeth.

“Huh?”

“Hard to explain. It’s a dumb joke. Ignore them.” He said with a dismissive hand wave.

On the plus side, my seat neighbour’s antics had distracted me until we hit cruising altitude. Once we were properly up in the sky, I could calm down. The lady on the aisle seat of our row had already fallen asleep. I wish I was able to achieve that sort of relaxation so quickly on a plane. But I could see the drinks cart coming by. Brilliant. Alcohol. Alcohol would calm me down more.

“Can I get you something to drink, sir?” The flight attendant asked as she pulled up next to us.

“What do you have in the way of red wine?” He asked as he eyed the cart.

“We have a pinot noir.” She answered. Matty stared at her expectantly, clearly waiting for her to continue, but that was their only option.

“I guess that’ll have to do.” He chuckled, before turning to me. “And?”

It took me a second to realise he was asking what I wanted. I hadn’t noticed while I had been so wound up about if I was going to die in take-off, but this Matty guy was quite the looker. The dark curls framed his face well and accentuated his features in the right ways. I was unsure if that made this flight better or worse. It was hard to be attractive on a long-haul trip. “Oh, uh, the same. Thanks.” I said to the flight attendant.

“Don’t forget your tiny plastic cup.” He quickly chimed in as he grabbed one of the dainty cups off of the cart. The attendant watched him in concern as he did so, but didn’t say anything while they grabbed the two miniature bottles of wine. I couldn’t help but laugh as he tried to pass the ridiculous plastic cup over like a full-sized glass of wine.

Food was thankfully not far behind the drinks. There were the standard options of something chicken based, some beef based or a vegetarian option. But the beef ragu pasta smelled too good to pass up. The plastic sectioned plates were always amusing to me. With the little individually packaged main, side, bread roll, butter, and tiny cup of dessert. It was, to be fair, pretty tasty.

“You want my tiny fruit cup?” Matty asked as he gently nudged my elbow with his. “I’ll trade it for your- I swear to god, Ross.” He shouted over the back of his seat, interrupting himself. “If you keep kicking my chair, I’m going to climb over this thing and start plucking your beard out hair by hair.”

“Well, stop reclining your seat so far when I’m trying to eat.” The man behind Matty shot back. He begrudgingly pulled his seat forward, muttering profanities to himself.

“I’ll trade it for your dinner roll.” The dark-haired man said, turning his attention back to me.

I shook my head in amusement. We were only one hour into this ten-hour flight from LA and it seemed like their squabbling was only likely to get worse. “Sure.” I said as I held the roll out to him.

“You guys seem to bicker a lot.” I noted as he placed his fruit cup on my tray.

He made a noise of agreement as he took a bite of bread, “That’s what happens when you’ve been friends since you were fourteen.” He agreed.

“God damn! That’s a long time.” I said in surprise.

“You’re telling me.” He huffed. “Nah, it’s alright. We’re like brothers. We just get on each other’s nerves after being cooped up together for so long.” I nodded in understanding.

The attendants were back around pretty quickly to collect meal trays and hand out the second round of drinks. I supposed that was why they gave small portions, to make sure they were consumed fast enough to clean up as soon as possible. The booze and the food were definitely starting to take effect. I felt like after this second tiny bottle of wine, I’d be drowsy enough to sleep. After tapping around on the touch screen in front of me a bit, the man next to me was eventually compelled to make his presence known again. I wasn’t complaining to have half-decent company next to me on such a long flight, so long as he didn’t keep me awake when I tried to sleep in half an hour.

“What are you watching?” He asked as he shuffled in his seat to face me better.

“I’m playing that dumb trivia game.” I sighed as I took a guess at an answer. Wrong. Who knows where the hell South Africa rates economically off the top of their head, though?

“Oh?” He sounded far more interested than this in-flight game warranted.

“The little trivia game that’s built into these things.” I replied as I nodded towards the screen. “I thought it might kill some time until I can sleep off the rest of the flight.”

“I’ll challenge you to see who can get the most points?” He offered.

I considered the suggestion for a moment, before shrugging, “Go on, then.”

“What do I get if I win?” He grinned with a devious look.

Looking around my tiny space, I tried to find something that could constitute a prize. Eventually I pulled out the in-flight magazine from the seat pocket. “This lovely magazine.” I deadpanned as I held it out like a game show host.

“Oh, wow. Exactly what I have always dreamed of owning.” Matty said, sarcasm lacing his tone as he held his hand against his heart.

“Alright,” He cracked his knuckles for emphasis, “let’s do this.”

“Me first?” I asked with an eyebrow raised. He gave a firm nod. The game was designed like Who Wants to Be a Millionaire – it would present you the question and give you four options to choose from. “What is a group of pheasants in flight called? A bouquet, a parliament, a murder or a flock.” I read off the screen.

“Well, a parliament is owls, a murder is crows-” He began listing off on his fingers.

“It’s a bouquet.” I interjected. Matty watched with interest as I tapped the answer, only to have the big tick appear on my screen to indicate I was correct.

“Lucky guess.” He mumbled as he loaded up his own game.

“One, zero.” I reminded him.

Matty loaded up his first question, running past the tutorial it forced you to sit through. “What band had the hit single Cho- let’s skip this one.” He quickly hit the skip button on the bottom of the screen.

“Why?” I asked with a frown.

“I don’t know the answer.” He said in a strange tone as the next question popped up. “How many football players should be on the field at the start of every match?” He asked, looking over at me as if he was waiting for me to answer.

“Don’t look at me, I’m not helping you.” I said as I threw my hands up.

“I don’t need help. Was just curious if you knew.” He said smugly. “It’s eleven.” The big tick agreed with him.

“Don’t get too cocky, there.” I warned him as he did a quiet little fist pump to himself.

“One all.”

I noticed that they were beginning to dim the lights in the cabin, they must have finished cleaning up the dinner service. “Who was the lead singer of Culture Club?” I asked, trying to speak a bit softer.

“Boy George.” Matty instantly responded.

“Thanks, know-it-all.” I laughed.

“Fuck, wait-” He quickly reached over to try and tap my screen and mess up my answer. But it was too late, I had already gotten it right. “Did you really not know that?” He asked, looking quite mad at himself for giving me the answer.

“Doesn’t matter, I got the point.” I dismissed with a shrug.

“That’s not fair.” He argued as he pulled a hand through his curls.

“Your turn.”

Matty grumbled to himself before reading his next question, “Which fashion brand made the ‘Genius Jeans’ that became part of the Guinness World Records?” He read aloud.

I eyed the fancy boots that he was wearing, and the bright red pants, paired with the thrift store looking t-shirt. He looked like one of those guys who was up to date with fashion. Not that I agreed with his choices. “Looking at your… long-haul outfit, I feel like you know the answer to that.” I noted.

“I do. It’s Gucci.” He nodded with a proud smile.

“Those can’t be comfortable for a flight.” I added as I tapped one of his boots with my shoe.

“It’s about the aesthetic.” He said with a serious look.

“You don’t need to look good for a ten-hour flight.” The last long-haul I’d been on, I was in my pyjamas. Thankfully I was at least wearing something respectable for this one, given my current seating arrangement.

“How else am I meant to impress pretty girls on the plane?” He said offhandedly as a passing flight attendant caught his attention.

“Hey, sorry,” Matty called out, trying to lean over the sleeping woman next to him and catch the attendant, “can we grab another two of these?” He said as he held up his, now empty, tiny bottle of red wine.

“Two?” I asked in confusion.

“You don’t want another?” He asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Sorry, I probably should’ve asked first.” He admitted sheepishly as he pulled a water bottle from his seat pocket.

“It’s just that I’m gonna have to keep asking you to get up so I can go to the bathroom.” I chuckled.

“You can get me-” A swift kick to the back of Matty’s chair, hard enough that I felt it too, cut him off. The water bottle that had been in his hand ended up knocking him in the face with the impact and then spilled water all down his shirt. “Ow!” He shouted as he jumped up in his seat and began swatting behind him. “Ross! Fuck off, you coffee table!” He complained before sitting back in his seat.

“What was that about?” I asked in amusement.

“Don’t worry about it.” He huffed. I noticed the lady on the other side of him try and roll over in her sleep. “Whose question is it?”

“Mine. Which planet has the highest gravity?” I asked, scanning over the answers. “Easy, Jupiter.” I grinned as I flashed him a smug look.

“Which bone are babies born without?” Matty asked. He let out a low noise, I assumed because he was thinking about his answer. “Surely the ones in their ears, or something? I don’t know what those are called, though.” He said as he looked over the answers.

“Nope.” I shook my head.

“Give me a hint.” He urged as leaned into my personal space. It was hard not to notice that he smelled nice. That wasn’t an easy feat to accomplish on a red-eye long-haul. I rolled my eyes, before tapping my knee. “Kneecaps!” He beamed as he hit the answer – probably with a bit too much force, for how much it knocked the seat in front.

“That was too easy. I should’ve been more discreet.” I said with a sigh.

“Your turn.”

“When was the first iPhone released?” I read off the screen. I took a stab at 2009, only to be hit with a giant cross. “Ah, 2007. I should’ve known that.” I reprimanded myself.

“Eyy! I’m up a point.” Matty cheered.

“Who is Green Lantern’s nemesis?” He asked. “Uh… hm…” He scratched as his soft curls with a frown. “I wanna use my phone a friend. Hann-” He started as he began climbing out of his seat.

I grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him back down into his chair. “No, that’s not allowed!” I hissed quietly, trying to keep it down given most people around us were now sleeping.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have any friends I can phone.” I pointed out.

“You’ve got me.” He offered with a smile.

“That doesn’t count, I’m trying to beat you.” I laughed lightly.

“It’s Kal-El.” I heard a voice quietly answer from behind me.

“Hey! Don’t help him!” I called out. Matty just laughed triumphantly.

“You gotta get this one to bring us back up to even.” He said, rubbing his hands together in what could only be described as glee at the fact he was in the lead. I waited patiently for the question to load up.

“Which song by Luis Fonsi and Daddy Yankee has the most views (of all time) on YouTube?” I read aloud.

“Despacito.” He answered straight away.

“That’s that song from those memes, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He answered with a nod.

“How do you know that?” I questioned as I tried my best not to laugh at his weird general knowledge.

“I’m on the internet too much.” He admitted, seemingly unphased by that.

“Why did you give me the answer?” I asked with a confused frown. He just shrugged.

We continued through the trivia game, the questions getting progressively more difficult and obscure. There was a bathroom and drinks break in the middle, just to keep our mental energy high. In the end, the score was seven to nine, in Matty’s favour. I just couldn’t compete with the number of strange facts crammed into his brain.

“Congratulations, Matty.” I said, reaching into my seat pocket. “You have earned yourself a copy of American Way.” I presented it to him as if it was the finest of prizes. He gasped quietly before taking it from my hands. And then, he stood up, and began his acceptance speech, much to my horror.

“I’d like to thank my parents, for playing trivial pursuit with me when I was young-” He started, holding his magazine proudly and feigning as if he was tearing up.

“Sit down.” I said through gritted teeth as I grabbed his arm and tried to pull him down. The lady on the other side of him was now wide awake, I flashed her an apologetic smile.

“But I haven’t finished my speech.” He pouted as he sat down. “You want another wine?”

“Nah, I’m pretty tired.” I declined. “I think it’s time to try and sleep off the remainder of this flight.” I declared.

“I suppose so.” He agreed.

The wine definitely did the trick to help me get to sleep faster. It felt like as soon as I leaned up against the window, I was out. But it also didn’t feel like a very satisfying rest, because it was all too soon that I was awoken by something tickling my nose. The sensation of it ended up invading my subconscious, resulting in my having a dream that a spider was on my nose. My eyes snapped open, only to see that it was, in fact, not a spider, but Matty’s hair. Somewhere through the flight, he had ended up leaning on my shoulder, and I was now subsequently leaning my head against his. His soft curls were as nice as they had looked earlier, and now that my nose was practically buried in them, the nice smell I had caught a whiff of earlier was amplified tenfold. I was too easily caught up in the comfort and warmth of how we were sitting, quickly dozing back off. The next time I awoke was when a patch of turbulence caused the plane to shudder.

I awoke with a start, and so did Matty. There was a dazed moment where I tried to remember where I was and who I was leaning against, before I remembered. “Oh, uh, sorry.” I said quietly, feeling my cheeks turning red as I shuffled away from him.

“It’s fine.” He mumbled, adjusting his worn t-shirt. I opened the window shutter, seeing that it was now well and truly daylight. The ground also looked a lot closer than what it had when I last checked.

“Are we… are we landing?” I asked apprehensively.

“We must be.” He yawned as he stretched his arms up above his head.

“Mmmm, great.” I squeaked out, the wave of anxiety hitting me like a cold bucket of water to the face.

Matty quickly noticed my distress. “What’s up?” He questioned.

“I just hate this part.” I confessed, gripping the arm rest of my seat tightly.

“What?” He asked in confusion.

“Landing.” I clarified. “I hate it.”

“Why?” We hit another patch of turbulence as the words left his mouth, and I felt my knuckles starting to turn white.

“It feels like the most likely time for something to go wrong.” I started to explain. “I just keep talking myself in circles. I keep imagining the worst and all of the potential things that could happen.” The more I spoke about it, the worst the thoughts got. Maybe I should’ve just kept quiet. Probably would’ve been easier if I hadn’t made any new friends on this flight that I had to discuss my fear of certain aspects of flying with. Could’ve just continued to suffer in silence like I usually did.

“Nothing’s gonna happen.” He tried to reassure me.

“You don’t know that.” I shot back.

I heard a soft sigh come from his direction, but my eyes were glued to the wing. “Do you trust me?” He asked.

“Should I?” I asked absent-mindedly.

My attention was dragged away from the wing of the plane as Matty pried my fingers off of the armrest and took my hand in his. I stared down at our hands for a second before looking up at him. “I have been on thousands of planes. This is much safer than you think.” He said softly.

“Thousands?” I asked in disbelief. Thousands was a lot.

“Yes.” He nodded. “You are more likely to be struck by lightning than die in a plane crash.”

“Is that true?” I questioned. I didn’t know enough about planes or lightning to dispute it.

“Even if we do crash, they have safety measures in place.” Normally that was the sort of thing that would wind me up more, but the calm tone in which he said it, and the comforting look on his face… for once I felt alright with this.

“Okay.” I resigned.

Matty’s hand thankfully didn’t receive the same treatment as what the armrest had on take-off – I was pretty sure that my nail imprints would stay in the hard foam for many a flight to come. When we were safely on the ground, I finally felt the worry start to dissipate. I reluctantly let go of Matty’s hand as I let out the breath I had been holding.

“Um, thanks. For that.” I said quietly to him as we taxied to the terminal.

“It’s fine.” He smiled as he ran his hand through his curls. They were a lot less neat not than what they had been when he first sat down. “Happy to help.”

As soon as we stopped moving, people were quick to unbuckle their seatbelts and start grabbing their carry-on from the overhead compartments. Matty’s friends sat behind us also readily pulled him into conversation about their plans now they had arrived. Between the other passengers, the four of them trying to sort themselves out, and me grabbing my own stuff, goodbyes were forgotten. I had to admit, a part of me wished it had ended differently. Matty seemed like a great guy. He had been good entertainment for what was set to be a boring flight, and he did a good job of calming me down when I was usually pretty inconsolable. I got the feeling there also might have been a bit of a vibe between us. But that could’ve been my mind playing tricks on me thanks to all the wine. However, it would’ve been nice to have at least traded numbers.

By the time I had made my way to the baggage collection area, I had accepted that I would have to forget my brief seat neighbour. It would be a fun memory to look back on during the flight home.

“Hey, hold on!” I heard a voice call as I grabbed my bag off the carousel. As I turned around, I saw a familiar mop of curls jogging my way with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Hi, Matty.” I grinned, unable to contain my excitement about seeing him again. He quickly swept me up in an unexpected hug. “What’s up?” I asked, trying to hide my blushing.

“Sorry that I didn’t get to say goodbye back there.” He apologised as he rocked onto the balls of his feet. “Look, I know you said that you were only here to visit family, but if you get some free time, feel free to hit me up for a drink.” He offered quickly as he handed me a slip of paper. I took it without a second thought.

“Maybe we can go find a pub quiz somewhere.” I suggested with a smirk.

He laughed loudly, and I noticed behind him the lady that had been sat on his left glaring in his direction at the sound, “I’d be keen for that.” He agreed.

“Speak to you soon, then.” I nodded.

“I look forward to it.”

#Matthew Healy x Reader #Matty Healy x Reader #Sunsetinmyvein #Sunsetinmyvein prompts #Sunsetinmyvein requests

56 notes · View notes

freewheelshippin · 4 years ago

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FIC: “be proud”

Let me indulge in the fantasy that I got to help, just a little bit, in making one of the only ballads on this earth I like. More “utapri characters that aren’t ranmaru” content than usual, especially Ai, since this is vaguely based on their Idol Songs album!

Content warnings include an allusion to home invasion, Ranmaru’s usual backstory things (i.e. dealing with debt), and some eating/meal scenes.

Ranmaru was surprised to receive the package, a fairly big box from someone he never expected to get mail from. Something in the pit of his stomach half-expected it to be everything he’d sent her, unused and returned to sender.

For a second, he thought he was right. It was a similar array of trinkets and colors as the merch she’d designed for his album, but it quickly became obvious this wasn’t his merch, but hers. Trinkets from her shop, like patches and pins, and one of those handmade prints she liked making on weird paper. Candies he didn’t recognize, some American snacks he did, a little box of something that looked homemade with a hand-scrawled label on it. At the bottom, a shirt, printed with a cleaned version of an album art draft he’d especially liked but the agency didn’t approve. Folded within it, a note, written in English on one side and clumsy Japanese on the other.

Yo, Kurosaki!

I know I already messaged you thanks for sending me my comp copies of everything, but I wanted to return the favor! You really didn’t have to go out of your way get it to me like that, much less pack in all the other shit you did. But I’m glad you did! It arrived on the day I got another rejection, one I was really hoping would pan out. I got back all the time I would’ve spent feeling sorry for myself and instead just wanted to try again. That’s kind of the message I got from the sound of your album, so I guess it’s appropriate!

Honestly, even if it was tough figuring things out sometimes, I had more fun on that job than any other one I can think of. You don’t have much to apologize for, I’ve survived way worse than some grumpy e-mails from a cool client, and you actually had pretty good feedback to offer. I think the end result was pretty metal. (Or well, rock, since it’s your shit, after all.)

If you’re cool with it, I think it’d be fun to keep sharing our work with one another, outside of just being a client and artist. Get some fresh perspectives, you know? You know where to message me if you think so, too.

-- M

P.S. You’re the first person to get this custom pick I got designed. Be grateful (LOL).

Taped to it, there was a pearlescent pick, red and black with white lettering. Ranmaru took it off, careful not to tear the paper, and ran his fingers over it. It wasn’t even close to the type he’d tolerate using if he wasn’t going to finger-pluck his bass.

He clasped it in his hand, pausing for a moment, before he let out a ‘hmph,’ equal parts amused, relieved, and a little bit giddy.

---------

“...Ranmaru,” Ai said, looking at him with those big saucer eyes. Sometimes Ranmaru felt like the guy never blinked, which made his curious once-overs scarier than he’d ever admit to.

“What,” he growled back.

“...according to every piece of data I know about you…” he started. He already didn’t like where this was going. “Nothing would point to you being the cell phone charm type.”

“So?!” he barked, frowning at Ai as he self-consciously stuffed his phone into his pocket. It buzzed from a message notification, as if on disastrous cue, making a plasticy noise as it rattled against the charm. “What’s your data know about the real heart of people, anyway,” he continued, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair.

“It hasn’t been wrong about anything yet.” Ai tilted his head. “Why do you have a charm all of a sudden?”

Because I saw she uses one of mine, Ranmaru answered frantically in his head, thinking back to the video chat they’d had where she showed it off. His hand was in his pocket, muffling his phone buzzing as more messages came in. He ran his fingers over the smooth pick, the subtle grooves where the letters were, the jagged hole he’d poked into it, the string that ran through it and knotted into a hole on his case. Because she told me about how much she liked it, so I wanted to return the favor.

“Why is this so goddamn important to you, Ai?” Ranmaru bristled. “Can’t we just get on with work already?”

Ai stared at him a moment longer before shrugging slightly. “I’m simply curious. What would motivate you to act against your usual protocol seems interesting. But if you won’t tell me, I suppose there’s no use prying, especially when we have work to be done.”

Ranmaru grunted back, leaning back to the table and looking over the notes. “We’re decided on what we wanna do for our duet, but we still have to decide on a direction for our solo songs on the album. Something that makes each of us stand out but doesn’t ruin the cohesiveness of the whole thing.”

“You should do something slow,” Ai said, after a moment of thought.

“Why should I?” Ai should know by now Ranmaru wasn’t about that sort of sound, especially when Ai already had the sad lullabies more than mastered. “Nothing about that’s very rock or wild. It won’t work with my image. Or do whatever that “gap” shit is that people like…”

“Really?” Ai looked at him again. “Ballads are an intrinsic part of rock music, and wouldn’t it be ideal for communicating feelings that aren’t as energetic as your usual work?”

“You should’ve just said power ballad in the first place,” Ranmaru grunted, but he had to admit it wasn’t a bad idea. “It’d work better with your usual style. And the duet, from how it’s going so far.” The biggest problem Ranmaru could think of was he couldn’t imagine what on earth he’d want to sing about in one.

“Then it’s decided,” Ai said decisively.

“...Oi, Ai, when did I say I agreed to this?” The kind of thing he’d rather shape into a ballad instead of his usual, urging style was a complete mystery, which Ranmaru didn’t like the idea of committing to in a partner project and on a deadline, even if it was months away. But like hell he’d admit that to someone else in Quartet Night, much less Ai, who’d just give him “logical” suggestions Ranmaru already knew he’d hate.

“Was your reasoning not enough?” Ai tilted his head. Ranmaru met his eye. Something about the curiosity on that blank face felt less pointlessly prying this time. Now it was more like someone who just wanted to see something new.

Ranmaru couldn’t fault him for that. And he was due to challenge himself in this way, anyways.

“....Fine. Whatever. That means you can’t do your usual sentimental stuff. You should do something that’ll lift everyone up after the heaviness of the other songs.”

“That sounds logical,” Ai replied. His eyes moved to Ranmaru’s pocket as it buzzed once again, but quickly turned back as they brainstormed ideas.

--------

He wiped his eyes as he leaned back from the computer, surprised by how quickly and unbidden they came. He hastily tore up a strip of paper and hung it over the camera built into the laptop -- he knew it wasn’t on. This wasn’t a video call. But the idea of someone seeing him like this felt surreal and, frankly, too scary to confront right now.

They chatted a lot more, now. It’d been about half a year since they’d started talking outside of work. It wasn’t just occasionally sharing art and music with each other anymore, either, it was a big stew of ideas, inspiration. A lot of breaking down what they liked in all the albums they shared with one another, and how they wanted to integrate all that in their work. Her siphoning gear and singing tips off of him, while she broke down expressions and visual composition to a science to help him out with modelling. And amid all that, something easygoing. Complaining about work, about weird clients, about shitty train rides, but also the nice parts of their days, too.

He’d gotten short with her today, and she got frustrated with him. They argued -- for the first time since they’d tossed aside client-and-professional for friends-and-colleagues -- and it turned out she was as passionate a spitfire as he, assuming she got in the right mood.

And in the middle of all that furious typing, she paused.

M: You know, it’s kind of relieving to argue with you like this.

Ranmaru was so startled, he forgot the point he was making.

R: what the hell are you talking about?

M: oh, come on, we both know I’ve used diplomacy to handle your grouchiness before, and that worked fine enough then. But I just appreciate that I trust you enough to not take such a safe approach, for once, and the thing you’re most upset about is that I didn’t feel comfortable calling you out on your horseshit sooner.

Ranmaru didn’t have an answer for that as she typed on and off. He imagined if this were a verbal conversation, this would be the point where he’d just listen while she strung her thoughts together -- wordily, but getting to good enough of a point that it was worth letting her meander.

Instead, she cut right to a point he wasn’t expecting.

M: hey, I’m not taking back anything I said, but I probably should’ve asked sooner. Are you doing OK? You always get stuck in asshole mode for a reason. I don’t have classes to teach today, so you can bend my ear if you need to. even on voice chat, if you like, japanese or english.

An uncomfortable wave of relief washed over him. He hadn’t told her about it, but things were the kind of stressful that pushed his stoic approach to its limits. Too many deadlines at work. Too many people there talking, too few saying anything he gave a damn about. Money was tight this month -- the debt collectors suddenly hiked up what he owed, and they’d banged down his door to “tell” him that. And another shitty argument with Camus, after he “freed” all his bananas for some ridiculous flambe parfait he just had to have for lunch on a day when Ranmaru couldn’t afford any.

This was just how things were. Why was he upset about it now? He was beyond cursing how things had turned out for him. Making useless wishes when there wasn’t anything to do but work and survive until he didn’t have anything to lament.

M: alright that’s a suspiciously long amount of time between messages for you when you’re riled up. are you OK? It’s fine if you’re not, and it’s fine if you don’t wanna talk to me about it, but i’m here if you want. If something’s really eating at you, that’s more important than me being mad. (for now, anyway)

It felt surreal as he leaned back to the computer and felt his fingers find the keys as he started finding the right words.

R: it’s not a light subject R: and it’s not on you to deal with it M: LOL bro c’mon. M: I eat heavy for breakfast, and I said I’m here for you. M: lay it on me

He wiped his tears away with his sleeve. It’d been long enough since he’d cried that he didn’t even think about how it’d smudge his makeup and stain his clothes, but he didn’t especially care as he started to explain himself, the words coming out hesitantly until they coalesced into a small cascade of short, tight sentences, heavy with years of restrained sorrow he’d ignored so aggressively until now.

---------

Recording Haruhana went well. Ranmaru expected it to, somewhat. Ai’s cold problem-solving could be annoying, but they never got in the way of the heart of his vocals. Their voices blended into an interesting harmony, and the acoustic guitar bridged their styles into a bittersweet sound they slipped into easily enough that recording sessions went uneventfully.

“It does not surprise me, but.“ Ranmaru couldn’t bring himself to outright glower at Ai as they stopped recording and stepped away from the mics. “You’re very good at conjuring a strong, wistful image with your voice.”

“Then why do you look surprised…” he grunted back, loosening and lowering the mic for whoever had it next. “...You do it well, too, but we already knew that.”

“The heart of things you’re so obsessed with,” he said plainly. “It wouldn’t do if we couldn’t bring truth to the emotions we write about.”

Ranmaru hadn’t given much thought to why Ai’s songs were so lamenting and sad, for the most part. He’d acknowledged they were genuine, had a tone color that suited him right, and made the fans happy. Truthfully, he’d only thought of those songs in the context of work -- Ai was a rival and a colleague he respected enough to sing with and not want to lose to, so he’d only looked at his songs from that standpoint, too. But Ranmaru realized better, now, just how good Ai was at sharing sadness that wasn’t so heavy it dragged people down with it. Wistfulness that grasped forward towards something, like a greater understanding.

“How’s the ballad going?”

Ranmaru clicked his tongue. “How’s your synthpop bubblegum bullshit going?” he shot back.

“Well,” Ai replied, unfazed. “I have the chord progressions and kits mapped out.”

“Good for you, then,” he grunted back. Great. So Ai was making good progress while Ranmaru hadn’t made any.

“Are you struggling?”

“Isn’t that the point of a ballad?!” Hopefully Ai couldn’t argue with that and would leave him alone from there.

“Shouldn’t you defer to a composer or lyricist if you’re stuck?”

Ranmaru glared at Ai. “If it’s a ballad, I should write it myself, not leave it to someone who’s just gonna put words and music I don’t mean into my mouth.”

“Past data suggests you won’t back down about this,” Ai said smoothly, stacking the notes and papers they’d brought into the studio neatly. “I suppose I should wish you luck, in that case, and remind you this is my album, too, and it’s the fans who are most important.”

“I know that,” Ranmaru spat, long done fussing with the mic.

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

R: you hate ballads, right M: I sure do! :D R: why M: too slow for my tastes, sentimentality done like that isn’t my thing, don’t always feel genuine, you know R: that’s literally every problem i have with the big project at work right now M: oh no you have to make a ballad?? Like….poppy enough for shining agency and all that? Oh boy.... R: what’s your advice to making a ballad you don’t hate, then M: HMMMMMMMMMMMMM M: pass a kidney stone M: WAIT RANDY COME BACK I’LL HELP FOR REAL R: If you want to help why are you calling me randy?! M: suffering is the root of all good ballads. I’m helping R: can you at least remind me what the one ballad you like is M: oh, turn on your light M: judas priest M: it’s always judas priest R: so why don’t you hate it R: other than it’s judas priest M: oh, nothing big M: my first gf just made me a mixtape and confessed with it is all M: and that was my entry point into western metal M: sealing my fate forever as a queer metalhead and thereby forming the foundation of all my aesthetic, social, musical, and auditory sensibilities forevermore M: and some other stuff R: oh is that all “We are about to arrive at ____ station, please make your way to the doors if your stop is ____ station....”

R: what’s the other stuff M: oh dw about it M: it’s, you know, the stuff everyone brings to listening. the mushy baggage that lets ‘em connect with strangers. you know how it is

The train arrived right after that message went through, and he had to put his phone away over questioning her further. Recently, he’d felt more irritated with himself than usual. He knew he got this way when he felt he owed someone and hadn’t done his part to even the score.

He was kind of in the same camp as she when it came to slow songs. Rock was about energy, passion, an urging sense of power, and even if he could understand why those slower songs were important, it didn’t mean they had to always resonate with him. He thought about their exchange. She dropped art into their chats a lot because, as she insisted, it helped having a musician look at her work, instead of another illustrator. And he liked her perspective for the same reason -- more personal than a fan, but more refreshing than everyone else at the agency.

Really, it sounded like what made the ballad feel genuine was the context she could apply. It wasn’t just a song, but a personal gesture that singled her out from the millions of other people who’d hear the song and imagine it was for them.

Ranmaru frowned as he exited the train station. The solution to his ballad problem was simple, so obvious he felt stupid for overlooking it. If he expected people to connect to his music, he had to give people something to connect to. All he had to do was what he always did -- just go for what his heart told him to. No frills, no fancy trimmings, just something he wanted to honestly express.

He strung basslines in his head as he walked to his apartment. Let the music-making guide him, instead of demanding it follow rigid instructions. As he pushed the key into the lock, he caught the faint stain of his eyeliner on his sleeve.

Don’t look at me … while I dry my eyes....

His stomach lurched a little, but moreso he felt his body surge with the truth of the song he wanted to write. The same rush of a surging venue, somehow, but with the kind of wistfulness and earnest desire he appreciated in Ai’s work more now.

Tama had started to squeeze through the little crack in the door, investigating why Ranmaru had just stood there like an idiot for so long.

“...c’mon, you little dope,” Ranmaru said softly, surprised how breathy he needed to keep his voice to get past the tightness in his chest. He squatted down, scooped the soft little creature up, and walked straight to his workspace. He did the once-over his apartment he’d gotten in recent habit of, seeing if anything had been seized by the collectors while he was gone, before depositing Tama on a cat tree where Mike was sitting. He hummed a melody that was quickly taking shape, his hands barely keeping up as he grabbed a scrap of paper, scrawling notes as fast as his hands would let him.

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

Reiji looked up at Ranmaru in disbelief. Ranmaru scowled back.

“If you don’t want it,” he growled, reaching for the box he’d put in front of Reiji. “I’ll fucking take it back.”

“No! No no no, Ranran, I’m so grateful!” Reiji exclaimed, scrambling to slide it out of Ranmaru’s reach.

“Humph! If I didn’t know of your peasant tastes,” Camus started from across the table. “I’d just tell you you’re better off skipping this slop.”

“Oi!” Ranmaru pointed a spoon threateningly at Camus. “You don’t have to eat, asshole! You still owe me for ruining my bananas, and as far as I’m concerned this just means you owe me another meal!”

“You think your pauper’s tongue deserves the fineries I’d select, I see,” Camus said challengingly, tilting his head and crossing his legs. Ranmaru was a hair trigger away from just throwing the box with Camus’s portion right at him. Maybe it’d ruin that stupid suit and he’d learn to shut up.

“He-heeeey, Ranran, everything smells super good….I’m so excited to dig right in, but are those sauces I see?” Reiji interrupted. Ranmaru clenched his fist around the spoon as he turned his glower towards him.

He slammed the spoon down in front of Reiji. “Which sauce do you want, the spicy chili one or ketchup,” he managed through gritted teeth.

“O- ohhh, wow! So gourmet! We have options!” Reiji cheered, in that singsongy way he did when he was trying to smooth over disasters. “Ranran, I knew you could cook, but I never knew you were so talented! I wonder what’s in ---” Ranmaru was losing his patience, and he grabbed the bottle of homemade chili sauce, hovering it above Reiji’s portion. The bottle sputtered as the air escaped, and Ranmaru’s grip threatened to explode the whole thing right then and there. “ -- I’ll have just a little bit of the spicy one, haha…”

Ranmaru held his gaze a moment more before he focused back on the food, squeezing a reasonable amount onto Reiji’s portion. He opened the box with Camus’s, already dressed with a mountain of sweet chili sauce, stabbed the spoon into it, and slid it over.

“Is this omurice?” Ai asked. Ranmaru handed him his own box.

“Is the rice in the omelet?” he grunted. “It’s just a stuffed omelet you eat with rice.”

“Mm-mm! So good! I’ve never had spices quite like these! Is this a secret specialty dish you’ve been hoarding to yourself?”

Ranmaru, at this point, just wanted to sit down and eat. “No,” he grumbled, hoping they’d get the picture.

“I can’t recognize this preparation against any recipe I know of. Did you make it up yourself?”

“It’s one from a friend, alright? She sent me a bunch of chilis and herbs and I had to make something to use them all up. If you don’t like it, then you don’t have to eat it. Stop asking questions and let me eat!”

They ate quietly for a while, much to Ranmaru’s relief. Camus, of all people, was the one to end the silence.

“Kurosaki,” he said, taking an odd tone for a conversation with Ranmaru. “....You will share the recipe for this sauce immediately,” he said, an odd hush to his voice.

“And what if I don’t,” Ranmaru sneered back, feeling just a little smug. “You gonna pass out from a sugar crash and finally give me some peace?”

Before Camus finished his reply, Ranmaru took a bottle from his bag and tossed it at Camus, who disappointingly kept his composure through the surprise. “Maybe you’ll learn to eat some meat, now that you’ve got a way to slather it in sugar.”

The rest of Quartet Night all stopped again in surprise, the same way they did when Ranmaru said he’d made them all lunch for today. Their eyes burned on Ranmaru as he went back to his meal, and he tried very, very hard to not let it bother him.

“...Ranran, you’ve been acting different lately. Did you--”

“No,” he growled. “Whatever you think it is, no.”

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

M: oh dang M: wow dude M: i really don’t know what to say

Ranmaru stared at his phone in the dark, waiting as feedback from the other side of the world came in.

M: you fucking nailed it. I don’t know how you did it, like a week ago this wasn’t anything. M: now it’s a whole new side of you i don’t think your discography’s shown off yet M: the fans are gonna go apeshit

The rest of the song came to him in the kind of exciting, passionate fervor where his hands couldn’t keep up with the ideas. The melody followed the bassline very naturally, peppered in by flashes of lyrics that slowly built and reorganized themselves. And from there, more instrumentation became evident. What he had now was just enough to make the soul of the song clear, finished late tonight in the studio.

Already his head was filled with what more he could add, but they blended into blur of ideas he was too tired to separate.

M: can I confess something? I mean, i don’t know why I’m asking, you’re probably already asleep M: what you have here already made me cry a little bit M: i don’t know what you did, but you made a ballad that works so well. It really feels personal and so full of the soul everyone loves you for, but there’s something really sad and kind in there that makes my heart squeeze. M: and that’s even in the lyrics! (what i can understand of them, anyway haha) but you know how saccharine I find ballad lyrics most of the time!!! M: then again, it is you. I don’t think there’s anything you could ever make that would feel disingenuous lmao M: is it too late to ask if i can illustrate this album too....would Ai and the agency let me do that…. M: i can draw something that’s soft and rock as shit!!!! M: anyways M: you’re probably dead asleep but just know this: good work, dude. M: it really felt like you were saying something very heartfelt, even in this rough cut, and i think how personal that voice is is gonna make everyone feel such a feeling. M: it sure made me feel one!

He locked his phone, tearing himself away from the slow stream of messages coming in. He laid on his back, phone facedown in the blanket, as he stared up into the dark swallowing the room back up again. Every part of his body felt like it was on fire, burning to get back into the studio.

The lyrics weren’t complete yet. He wasn’t the poetic type, so it’s not as if he’d let himself overthink his words and lose their heart in too many revisions, but there were still blanks. The phrase that’d pull it all together, the words that summarized the message of the song, they still weren’t there, but he could feel himself getting closer.

It was about paying an unspoken debt, and it was about shame, but above all, it was about pride. In himself, for letting himself reach this point, and in someone else. That was the sort of connection he could sing himself to tears with, whether on the stage, the studio, or the clean, edited album, and for that, he was proud.

#iron maiden & rocka rolla #scribblings #it's been a while since i procrastinated shit i had to do with furious fic writing #and i've been some kind of feral lately over Be Proud like the song #so i guess this is where we're at lads

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hannitizer · 4 years ago

Text

To Have a Home Part 19

Summary: After Draco is found guilty of an attempted murder, he is sentenced to the Lupin’s house with hopes he’ll finally understand what it means to have a family. Only problem? Draco doesn’t want it.

A/N: Hey Y’all! Here’s part 19 to To Have a Home! I’m super excited that the story has gotten this far! Sorry for the infrequent posting; this school year is a lot, and there’s so much going on, but I didn’t want to leave the story hanging, so here we are. As always, I hope you all enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Abigail, are you keeping an eye on the cake?” Remus called from the living room, his eyes skimming through that week’s copy of The Daily Prophet.

“No, are you?” She called from the bedroom, where she was currently putting two braids in her hair.

“No, but it does smell like it’s burning…”

Abigail shot out of the bedroom, her long light blue sundress billowing out around her. “Then why aren’t you doing anything about it? Remus!” She pulled her wand out from the front pocket of her dress, spelling the oven door open and sending the chocolate cake to a cooling tray. “You could’ve helped.”

“But I knew you had it under control,” he mused, not looking up from his newspaper.

“You’d better be careful, Remus, or you’re not going to get any of it. Draco and I will eat all of it right in front of you and you can just watch.” She smirked. “We’ll see if you like it when I’m in control.”

“You really don’t have to bake me a cake,” Draco mumbled, pushing his face further into his plush wolf. “It’s not that important.”

“Oh, but it is!” said Abigail, getting to work on frosting the cake. She piped the light green mint frosting onto the top, making a swirling pattern. “You’re finally getting that boot off and we’re going to celebrate it!”

“Now we know that jumping out of windows is not the best thing to do, right?” Remus looked over the top of the newspaper, a smile forming across his face.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever.”

Remus set the newspaper down on the table. “What’re you reading there?”

“Oh, nothing.” He flipped the book closest to him over, but Remus grabbed it quickly.

“Charlotte’s Web, eh? It’s one of Abigail’s favorites.”

“You’re reading Charlotte’s Web?” Abigail perked up from behind her large cake. “Wilbur’s some pig, isn’t he? I used to read that book almost every day of my childhood. Then I discovered Little Women, and the game changed. Remus, what was your favorite?”

He thought about it for a moment, setting the book back by Draco. “Hmm… I think my favorite was The Hobbit when I was growing up. Something about the dwarfs and the dragon made it my favorite.”

Abigail smirked. “Of course the one with short people trying to get back their gold is your favorite.”

“This is coming from the person who was obsessed with a talking pig for most of their childhood.”

“But that’s not… you know what? Nevermind.” She put the icing down on the counter, licking some of the stray bits off her fingers. “Draco, what’s your favorite?”

“Well, I really like Little Women, but I don’t know if it’s my favorite.” But he did know. That was his favorite book he had ever laid his hands on. Whenever he was sad, he would pull it out from under the couch and just read. He’d read about Jo’s struggles to publish her book. He’d read about Amy and her relationship with Laurie. It made him feel safe and secure, like a friend that he could hold in both hands.

“Oh, sure, agree with Abigail,”Remus rolled his eyes, “that’ll help boost her ego.”

Abigail flung a bit of frosting at him, threatening to lay a silent spell on him. He held up his hands in mock defense.

She went back to setting up the table, spelling plates and forks and fresh fruit on the table. Draco spied the discarded newspaper on the table and he grabbed for it. Remus was faster, snatching it away before Draco was even close.

“But…”

“No Draco, you can’t read this.” Before Draco could protest any further, he threw it into the burning fireplace. It caught a flame immediately and burned to pieces, reduced to ashes.

“I want to know what’s going on out there! I want news that you won’t tell me.”

“There’s a reason that we don’t tell you Draco. Besides, you shouldn’t be worried about what’s happening out there. All you need to focus on is yourself.”

Draco was about to open his mouth to argue again, but Abigail came up from behind him, all smiles.

“I think it’s time for the boot to come off!”

Something about how excited Abigail was made Draco forget about the newspaper fiasco. He gripped his plush wolf hard as Abigail started to pull the straps loose on the boot. It came off fairly easily, but the skin underneath was incredibly dry.

“Hmm… we’ll have to put some lotion on that sometime.” Abigail said, mostly to herself. “Honey, can you grab me a warm washcloth?”

Remus didn’t get up from his seat, but he did pull his wand out of his pocket. Muttering accio under his breath, the washcloth came floating into the living room. He handed it to Abigail, who ran it over his ankle. Draco hissed a little under his breath.

“Is everything okay?” Abigail asked, confusion spread across his face.

“Yeah, it just feels different.” He said, looking down at his feet. His left ankle didn’t look too different from his other one; if anything, it was a little more swollen still. But since Abigail wasn’t worried, he decided he didn’t need to either.

“Okay,” Abigail finished up cleaning his ankle, “I’m going to move it around a little bit. It might feel tight, but that’s normal. If it hurts more than a feeling of tightness, tell me.”

Draco nodded his head. When she started to move it, Draco felt his jaw clench up. The tightening sensation came up on him, but it wasn’t necessarily painful. Just… different. A good different.

After a few minutes, Abigail stopped, straightening up as she dusted off the front of her dress.

“I think that’s good enough for today. We can keep doing those stretches so you’ll have the full range of your ankle again. But…” she looked over her shoulder at the table. “The cakes all the way over there, and I think Remus is done giving piggyback rides…”

“For forever.” He said, standing up to join his wife. “But if you say please, I’ll drag you.”

Draco laughed, bracing himself at the end of the couch. For over a month he’d dreamed of this moment. When he had his leg back. When he wasn’t at the will of Remus and Abigail anymore. He could move where he wanted to, when he wanted to for whatever reason he wanted to.

He felt the carpet with both of his feet, and very slowly, he pushed himself off the couch. He thought he was going to lose his balance, but at the last moment, he managed to find it. Taking in a deep breath, he took one step forward, and then the next. He felt a little pain, but it was enough to power through it. Abigail took to his side almost immediately, not close enough to touch him, but near enough to catch him if he were to fall.

Finally, Draco was at the table. Abigail gave a cry of joy, throwing her arms around him.

“Okay, thank you, Abigail, but please get off.” His voice was muffled under her.

Abigail took her time, messing up his hair as Remus cut the cake with a spell. All three quickly dug into the cake, not bothering with formalities. After Draco’s third slice, Abigail cut him off.

“No more, or you’re never going to sleep tonight.”

“Wow, Abigail, you sound just like my…” Draco didn’t finish the sentence. A silence fell over the group, no one knowing how to cut the silence.

“Well, um… What movie should we watch tonight?” Remus said, putting his fork down. “I was in the mood for something with a happy ending.”

“Is there any of those--Disney I think they’re called--Disney movies we haven’t watched yet?” Draco said, liking the way this conversation was going.

“I think there was a new one that came out last year that we haven’t watched yet… Hercules, if I’m not mistaken.” Abigail got up, walking over to their vast VHS collection. She ran her finger over a few titles, before pulling out the right one.

“Here it is! Or, if you want, we could watch Cinderella.” She pulled that one out too. “I know we haven’t watched that one either.”

“Yuck, Cinderella is a girl’s movie. I want to watch Hercules.”

“I guess that settles it then. Hercules it is!” Remus winked at Draco. “I didn’t want to watch Cinderella anyways.”

“Well, we can watch Hercules, but not because Cinderella is a girl’s movie. Cinderella is a wonderful movie. It’s about seeing someone for who they truly are, and I think that’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because you’re a girl.”

Remus laughed at Draco’s remark, which landed him a pillow to the face courtesy of Abigail.

“Whatever, boys, just get over here so we can watch this thing.”

And for a moment, they seemed like a normal family. A loving one. The ones without cracks or blemishes. One without faults and secrets.

But alas, moments are only that: moments.

Before anyone could move, the fireplace roared to life, fire spitting out in every direction. Abigail moved back quickly, and Remus went to bodyblock Draco.

Out of the fire was spat Isla, looking dazed and angry. Her head swiveled towards Draco, and she rushed towards him.

“What did he do to you?”

Draco wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re…”

“Your father, Draco. What did he do to you?”

#HP #HP Fandom #hp fanfic #hp imagine #Draco Malfoy #Draco needs a hug #draco imagine #Remus Lupin #remus imagine #lupin imagine #abigail #isla #lucius #to have a home #draco fluff #fluff

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fanficimagery · 6 years ago

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Imagine being a pseudo daughter to one of the most feared vampires in existence. Godric's needed elsewhere for an important meeting, so he's decided to leave you in the care of his eldest progeny that you haven't seen in many years.

Eric X Reader

The last you'd seen of Eric the Viking, he was sneering down at you and arguing with Godric about taking in a pet human at such a young age. Vampires, before they decided to come out of the coffin, had ransacked the halfway house your ex-addict of a mother was raising you in and you ended up being the sole survivor of that horrendous night. Not one vampire had expected to come across a child and a female vampire, Isabelle, took you back to her nest and presented you to the area Sheriff with fear in her eyes.

Godric, who'd been the Sheriff and the oldest being in the room, had taken in your blood splattered appearance and refused to have any more harm brought down upon you. You didn't know what it was that made Godric spare you that night so long ago, but you were grateful for it.

Now at the age of twenty-two, you're sitting pretty well for a human in a world where vampires had made themselves known. You were untouchable and many vampires hated the fact that Godric doted on a blood bag which is why you're about to be reintroduced to Godric's first Child that hated you so long ago in hopes that he had changed and would offer you some sort of protection.

Having forgone the long line in front of Fangtasia, Godric led you in through the back entrance and let himself into Eric's office. You took a seat on the edge of the leather couch, crossing one knee over the other and then clasping your hands over your top knee as you wait patiently.

It doesn't take long for the door to open again, the all too familiar Viking striding in. Only this time, his hair is shorter than you remember and you're not a little girl anymore. You can appreciate a good looking man and holy hell Eric the Viking is the hottest specimen you've ever laid eyes on. Godric lightly clears his throat and you quickly glance at him, tensing at his twinkling eyes. Fuck. He caught you checking out his progeny.

The statuesque female vampire entering behind Eric is vaguely familiar and her leering smile catapults her name to the forefront of your mind. "Pam," you muse. "Long time no see."

"Well, well. The little brat is all grown up. How delicious."

You wrinkle your nose at her, chuckling. Then glancing over at Eric, your grin falters. Remembering your manners, you bow your head in a show of respect. "Sheriff Northman."

His eyebrows raise slightly. "Y/N." He looks back over to Godric sitting in his chair and he takes a seat across from his own desk without making a fuss about it. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"A meeting's come up. I need someone to keep an eye over Y/N and our nest is not an option."

Silence. Complete and utter silence.

"What he means is that Stan's made one too many attempts on my life," you huff. "Apparently I can't be trusted to not antagonize him if Godric's not home."

With a deadpan expression, Godric says, "You threw glitter on him and called him Edward Cullen."

"For the last time, it was Isa's fault. She gave me too much to drink!"

"You were not of age to be drinking at the time of the incident."

"Don't be judgey," you then immediately frown.

Pam looks rather gleeful and Eric pained. He sighs, garnering your attention. "If you're to stay here, you're not going to sit on your ass. You will work."

"She's not getting on those poles of yours."

"Yeah. No," you agree with Godric. Meeting Eric's gaze, you say, "I can mix drinks. Do you have room for a bartender?"

Taking a moment, he eventually nods. "Our current bartender is not meant for social interactions. Chow will be glad to be able to get back to the books."

"Then it's settled." Godric takes his stand and Eric's quick to follow suit as to not disrespect his Maker. "I'll be back within a week."

Left alone with Eric and Pam, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from blurting something that would annoy the vampires. Seconds tick by and you lose the battle.

"Fair warning, I'm not putting electrical tape on my nipples. I keep up with Fangtasia online for Godric and I've seen what people wear out there."

Pam leers and Eric pinches the bridge of his nose. With a sigh, he says, "Pam will take you shopping. Wear something that'll attract the clientele, not put them off."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

The following night, Pam snaps pic after pic of your outfit. She's far too amused by the strategically messy buns on either side of your head and the leather bustier you'd chosen which bears small silver studs covering your breasts and down your sides. She immediately approved of the plaid mini-skirt and she paired it with a pair of black leather, knee-high boots. Your fingers were adorned with several silver rings, and the Crest necklace representing which nest you came from hanging around your neck had to be tucked inside your cleavage less you scare off the vampire customers.

"Oh man. I'm so glad Godric is not here," you laugh once you see the outfit put together, fixing your underwear in the mirror and then smoothing your skirt back down. "He'd glare at everyone who came up to the bar."

"So how exactly does that work when you wanna get laid if Godric glares off all the competition?"

You shrug. "Godric doesn't deny me my happiness. His claim on me isn't sexual."

"So you don't get to ride my Grandsire's dick?"

"What?!"

"Where's the fun in that?"

Snorting in laughter, your head then falls forward and you groan into the palms of your hands. "Jesus, Pam. No. Just no." Before she can come back with another crass remark, the bathroom door is swinging open and Eric's form looms in the doorway. You stare up at him, eyebrows raised. "Yes?"

He gaze drifts up and down your form before the corner of his lips twitch. "Cute."

"Ain't I?" You strike a pose and Pam snaps another pic. Whirling around, you point a threatening finger at her. "If you send that to Godric, I swear I won't send you any blackmail photos of Isa or Stan when I get back home."

Pouting, Pam pockets her phone. And just as you're about to turn back around, cold fingertips brush along the back of your left thigh. Whirling around, eyes wide, you slap at Eric's hands. "No touchy!"

This time it's Eric pouting though he seems confused about it. "I don't think I like this."

Pam snorts. "That's a first.”

"It's too short."

"That's the whole point," you groan. "Skin attracts both human and vampire. If you turn into Daddy Godric, I swear I'll scream. Let me live, Northman."

"Oh he wants to be Daddy all right. Just not in the sense you're thinking."

You frown at Pam's words and Eric glares at his progeny. "Not now, Pamela."

"Yes, Master," she drawls. Then winking at you, she reaches forward and boldly fixes your breasts in your bustier. "There. Now the girls are ready for work."

"They were ready before," you deadpan. "You just wanted to get your hands on the goods."

"I seized the only opportunity I was ever going to have. Now come on," she turns you back around and starts marching you towards the exit, "we open the doors in a couple of minutes."

- X - X - X -

Mixing drinks comes fairly easy to you and Eric seems impressed with how quick you keep up with the orders. Some humans make their interest in you known, but when they realize you aren't a vampire their interest is quick to dwindle. The vampires, however, expect you to fall at their feet and are annoyed when you won't meet their gaze straight on.

"Is everything okay here?" Pam drawls, perched on a bar stool that was empty just a split second before.

Looking across the bar, you quirk an eyebrow at the silently fuming vampire. "I'm not sure. Are we?"

"Yes," he grits out. "Just give me my True Blood."

Forcing a smile, you grab the heated bottle from behind the bar and slide it over. The vampire is quick to take his drink and disappears to go sulk in a darkened corner. "Even in death that asshole can't comprehend that no means no."

"Let me guess, he was on the verge of having a bitch fit because he couldn't glamour you?"

"Got it in one." Pam sat with you every half hour or so, she silently watching from her seat at the bar and making sure the vampires behaved themselves properly with you. The last thing anyone wanted was having a single hair on your head being damaged and word getting back to Godric. Silently cleaning a glass with a dish rag, you let your gaze roam until settling on a blonde human who sticks out like a sore thumb. "Hey, Pam? Who's that?" You ask, slightly gesturing towards the woman in question.

Pam barely glances in the direction you gestured to before huffing. "Sookie Stackhouse," she drawls. "Pretty little thing that currently holds Eric's affections."

"From the look of her companion, it appears she's already been Claimed."

"As if that'd stop Eric."

"Point." Every now and then you glance at the blonde female, not bothering to hide your curiosity or apparent dislike. "Why is she even here dressed like that? She's like a lamb being brought to the slaughter. The virginal sacrifice." Pam snorts, her blood red painted lips stretching into a smile. The blonde's dark haired companion turns to stare at you, glaring. "What? You know it's true," you say, uncaring that the male vampire can hear you. "She needs to be at Sunday Mass, not Fangtasia."

"Ladies," Eric greets. "How are we doing tonight?"

"Lovely," you muse. "I've just spotted the little treat Pam tells me you're rather infatuated with."

Eric pauses and then clears his expression of any emotion. "She's of no importance."

"Really?" You grin. "Does she know that? Because she's marching over here like a woman on a mission." Her blonde ponytail swings back and forth, and the white sundress with a cherry pattern is just too much. "Ugh. You can do so much better."

Just as she makes it to the bar where Eric is leaning against, you pick up a glass and start wiping it clear of smudges. Her voice is rather grating and it doesn't sit well with you at how disrespectful her tone is towards Eric, nor the fact that her vampire is letting her be so disrespectful to his Sheriff.

When the blonde practically makes a demand that Eric needs to look into some rogue vampire hanging around Bill's house, you share a look with Pam- your expression practically scoffing is this twat serious?

"Excuse me," the blonde huffs, suddenly slapping a hand atop the bar.

You give her your attention, one eyebrow raising. "Yes?"

"I don't like name calling."

"Okay?" You muse, brow furrowing.

"And I don't like the fact that you're calling me a- a-"

Your entire body tenses and your eyes narrow when her words click. "Sookie's a mind reader," Eric says.

"Eric!" Sookie then snaps, not happy he's sharing her secret.

Expression darkening, you glare at the blonde. "Excuse me, but I'd appreciate it if you don't read my fuckin' mind. Just because you can doesn't mean you should." Looking as if she's ready to defend her actions, you shut her down. "A person's thoughts are private for a reason. What you're doing is mind rape."

She gasps. "I would never!"

"Yeah? Then what would you call what you just did to me? Did I give you permission to peek behind the curtains? No. I didn't. So if you know what's good for you, stay out." And putting to use a mind barrier that a friend of Godric's nest told you of, you concentrate on shutters slamming down in your mind and mentally push at the vision of Sookie you conjure up in your mind's eye.

Sookie gasps in pain, grasping at her temples, and her vampire companion practically towers over the bar and snarls in a rage at you. There's a blur in front of you and suddenly Eric is pinning Bill to the far wall across the bar. Humans shriek in fear and the vampires are smart enough to move far away from the pissed off Sheriff. Pam starts clearing out the bar just as Sookie gets her bearings back, she stumbling over to defend her vampire boy toy.

"Retract your fangs before I yank them out with glee and wrap you up in silver until Y/N's vampire gets back to dole out his punishment."

"Eric, don't!" Sookie shouts, pushing at him. "Let Bill go."

Walking over to the struggling vampire within Eric's grasp, you say, "That's tame compared to what Godric would do. Are you sure you’re of his blood?" You tease. Eric frowns over his shoulder at you and you grin.

"Godric? Who's Godric?" Sookie asks. Bill, as if possible, pales under Eric's hand.

Grinning at Sookie, you reach for the chain around your neck and pull up on the Crest that settled beneath your bustier. When Godric's crest is visible, you say, "Your worst nightmare, little girl." Then dropping the necklace to leave it on display, your hands then find purchase on your hips as you give the blonde your best haughty expression. "Now leave and take your vampire with you. If I hear about you being disrespectful to Sheriff Northman ever again I'll make sure to fully submerge you into the vampire world since your pesky human brain can't seem to comprehend how to properly conduct yourself with your elders."

Entirely too gleeful looking, Eric releases Bill. The dark haired vampire stumbles aside, grabbing Sookie's hand within his own before he says, "I didn't know. My apologies."

Sookie looks entirely too affronted by his apology, but you manage a small dip of your head to show him an ounce of respect he doesn't even deserve at this point. "Don't let it happen again." And before Sookie can further offend anyone else, Bill leaves in a burst of speed with her in tow.

"You're entirely too adorable," Pam drawls. "No one has been able to shut Miss Stackhouse up like you."

"It wasn't my intention," you frown. "I was going to leave her alone, but I couldn't let her disrespect slide. If she's to live as a vampire's companion, then she must respect the laws as if she were a vampire herself."

"I was wrong about you," Eric muses. "You're a lot more fascinating for a human than I'd given you credit for."

"Yeah, yeah. Drinks are on you tonight, Sheriff. Your little mind reader put me in a bad mood."

Later that evening (technically it's very early the next morning) you're groaning awake and regretting every decision you made the previous night. After your run-in with the little half fae, you were left in a sour mood that was only made better by numbing your mind and putting on cozy pajamas. Eric had closed down the club and then gave you free reign of the bottles behind the bar, and Pam immediately took advantage. For a good hour or so, you completely forgot you had the tolerance of a human.

"Fuckity fucking hell," you utter as you curl in on yourself under the blanket. "Never again."

"Never?" You hear the Viking drawl from the darkness of your cocoon. "I must say you're particularly amusing when you can't handle your liquor. And quite the dancer. Such a shame Godric banned you from the poles."

"Oh god." Removing the blanket from your face, you blink against the lighting from above before focusing as best you can on Eric who's smiling at you. Actually smiling. "Please tell me no one else saw."

"I believe Pam took a video."

You cringe. "Pam is never to be in charge of the alcohol ever again. Never."

"Agreed. The two of you put quite the dent in my stock."

"Holy shit. How am I even still alive?" You groan and shift in bed, noticing for the first time that the sheets are really cold against your legs. Your bare legs. Frowning, you meet the blonde's gaze. "Eric?"

"Yes?"

"Where are my pants?"

He's slow to chuckle and his suddenly lust filled expression is one that makes you hold your breath. He was going to be the death of you. "Pam thought you'd be more comfortable without them."

"So you let her strip me!?"

"Would you rather it have been me?" He leers.

"..yes!" You surprise him. His smile falters and you groan again. "She totally copped a feel. I know it."

His surprise vanishes and he chuckles one last time before standing from the edge of the bed. "Pamela was on her best behavior. I promise you that."

"Yeah, yeah." You squirm to find a comfortable position. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm taking the night off."

"Noted," Eric says just before he exits the usually light-tight room. "Ginger will be by later with some food."

"A vampire after my own heart," you sleepily muse. "Food. Make it greasy."

With your eyes now closed, you don't see Eric hesitate at the door, staring and trying to figure out just when the hell he became fond of you.

The rest of the week passes with ease and you don't seem to have any more issues with Fangtasia's clientele. Eric insists you wear the Crest of your nest out in the open after the incident with Bill and the vampires seem intimidated at first, but warm up after seeing you serve the humans. The vampires then approach you with caution and a deep amount of respect, and then it's the humans who are confused and cautious of you. When the humans then figure out what your necklace means and see the way the vampires treat you, they make it their business to approach you and ask how to get into a nest of their own.

Pam became your saving grace, she scaring away the annoying humans so you were left alone to do work in peace. Eric also kept his gaze on you when he wasn't scanning his club and keeping an ear out for any illegal activity, and every time you caught his gaze you'd smirk and salute him with a shot. He usually only acknowledged your gesture when you grimaced after one too many shots and you flicked him off for laughing at your pain.

- X - X - X -

Eric's watching Y/N again, his gaze constantly being drawn to her throat when her head tilted back in a laugh. For the passed hour she's been speaking with a human female and from Eric heard it was a female who was from a nest herself. However, it was a newly formed nest and the human had just wanted to talk to someone else who'd been part of a nest longer than she had.

He's too preoccupied with his staring that he doesn't see, feel, or hear when Godric takes a seat next to him. The only reason he knows something is amiss is because the onslaught of amusement hits him hard. Startling, he glances to his left where Godric is perched on his own throne.

"Father," Eric greets calmly in his native tongue.

"Son." Godric's expression is unreadable to anyone looking in their direction, but Eric can feel his maker's amusement. Pam's too. "You care for her."

"Well she is Yours."

"No. This is different," Godric says. "You're fond of her. And not just because she's of our nest."

Seeing no use in lying, Eric agrees. "Yes."

"When I say Y/N is Mine, I only mean it protection wise. She is the sister I never had. A daughter." Eric glances at his maker once more, internally groaning when Godric flashes him a smile. "If you wish to pursue her, that is your choice. She can bear my Crest and have your Mark. I do not mind if it is you."

"She is a handful."

"Who's a handful?" Eric jerks in surprise at hearing his native tongue come from someone else, his right eyebrow raising when he sees Y/N standing there with a tray and three shots- two true blood and one tequila. "Don't look so surprised, Northman,” you then say, switching back to English. “Godric taught me when I was younger so I could tattle on the other vampires in our nest if they were dicks to me."

"Y/N," Godric greets. "You look well."

"I am well," you muse, passing him a shot. "My stay here has been.. interesting."

"I'll say," Eric then says, taking his shot from the tray. "Y/N not only verbally put Miss Stackhouse in her place, but she also made Bill Compton nearly wet himself because they were quite disrespectful to my status as Sheriff. It was precious."

With your own shot halfway to your mouth, you narrow your eyes. "Don't get me started again. Your little half-fae is still on my shit list."

"Not my half-fae," he's quick to rebuff. "Never was."

"But you wanted her to be."

Eric pauses before downing his shot, he grinning. "Is that jealously I sense?"

Coughing on your shot, you pound on your chest with a closed fist much to Godric's amusement. "N-No!"

Eric's too busy grinning and you're too busy glaring to see Godric's gaze darting between you two. Eventually, when you can't think of anything to say to sway Eric's smug-ness, you look to Godric. "How did your meeting go? Good I'm guessing since you're not in a foul mood."

"It went good, little one. In fact, it went really good."

Eric's eyes narrow. "What did you do?"

Switching back to Eric's native tongue, Godric tells him, "I gave up my position as the Dallas Sheriff."

"You did what?"

"Holy fuck. You actually did it?"

Eric's gaze then turns on you. "You knew he was going to?"

"I- I.. well, yeah."

"Do not be angry with her, my son. This has been on my mind for quite some time. I tired of Dallas and was looking to relocate."

"Relocate to where?"

"Here, of course."

You freeze in surprise, as does Eric. "Truly?"

"Truly."

You're slow to smile, but you smile nonetheless. "Does this mean I get to keep my job? I've grown quite fond of Fangtasia."

"Just Fangtasia?" Eric muses, eyes suddenly sparkling.

Your gaze cuts to him and against your will your cheeks burn under his stare. Knowing he's seen it and can probably smell the blood rushing to surface anyway, you make an excuse to suddenly flee. "I need to go tell Pam. S-She'll be happy."

Eric's chuckle follows you until you hop off the stage, you then making a beeline for the front door. As Pam scans I.D's, you tell her the good news and smother your laughter when her fangs click down and the front line of people waiting to get in all gasp. She's all too happy to get to spend more time with her Grandsire's favorite human.

With Ginger still manning the bar, you take the moment to go freshen up in the bathroom. But before you can even make it to the bathroom, you're being whisked away at vampire speed and you only get your bearings back when you're seated on a desk and have a blonde viking vampire standing between your knees.

"Eric?"

"Well, well, well."

You huff a laugh, leaning back from his towering presence. "What are you doing?"

"Is Fangtasia really the only thing you've grown fond of during your stay here?"

His hands which were settled on each knee slowly inch upward and you gulp. "Let me guess- Godric approved of you officially making a move?"

"Maybe."

"There's no maybe about it." You slowly grin, reaching up with your right hand and lightly trailing your fingertips along his jaw. "You've been eyeballing me all week, Sheriff. I was wondering who was going to break first."

"This isn't me breaking."

"No." You lean forward and reach up, your lips just barely grazing Eric's. "But you will," you murmur. Then sliding your hands down his chest and passed his abdomen, you grasp at his waist and push him back. Sliding off his desk and slipping underneath his arms, you chuckle as you saunter out of his office. "It's only a matter of time, Eric. Until then I got a bar to tend to."

Eric stares at his office door swinging shut, his tongue peeking out to catch the faint scent of you on his bottom lip. Slowly smirking, he says, "Only a matter of time indeed."

#fanficimagery #eric northman x reader #eric x reader #eric northman imagine #true blood imagine #eric northman #true blood #pam de beaufort #godric #imagine

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soundofseventeen · 5 years ago

Text

13 Days of Christmas (Yoon Jeonghan)

Hi! Not much to say but I hope you enjoyed Erin’s update! And this is one of my favorites that I wrote! I’ll see y’all tomorrow! gif credits to owners!

Word count: 2699

“There it is,” you said, gently placing your fingertips against the glass, “Jeonghan’s Christmas present.” It was neither grandiose nor revolutionary but you could guarantee that that record player would light up his face the moment he saw it and it was worth it. You could already picture him buying a table specifically for that and his little collection of records happily on the side. You felt the goosebumps making their way across your body hearing Jeonghan’s vocals as he sang along to his favorite songs.

Joshua, on the other hand, didn’t look too amazed. “It’s nice…Y/N, it’s really nice, but isn’t the price...a bit much?” He loved his friend, he really did but the thought of spending so much money on him was enough to haunt his daydreams. But then he figured that if ever found someone that would spend as many Christmases with him the way you and Jeonghan did, then maybe he’d understand. After all, you were already dating when he met Jeonghan, but he surprised himself when he saw he got along with you as well, being neighbors and all.

“Joshua...for Jeonghan, too much is never enough.”

“But when was the last time you bought something for yourself?”

You kicked your foot in the air to show him your kicks. “Uh, I bought these four months ago, remember?”

“Yes...I told you to either buy them or I would. You had to justify buying a new pair even though they had a hole on the toe.”

“Not everyone can inherit a family business, Mr. Show Off. Now, are you gonna help me wrap that thing when I get out of work?” You cleaned the prints with the sleeve of your sweater paw, ridding the smudge on the window. You tapped the pocket of the small zipper of your mini backpack, making sure you brought the money with you for the umpteenth time. All your tips and extra cash you had leftover went to the record player. And if the owners had a set schedule, you would’ve bought it and taken it home with you a long time ago.

“And when are you getting your camera? Don’t you miss taking photos?’

“I can always wait for my next birthday or when I’m not drowning in debt.” You remembered all the unopened film you had at home.

So why are you buying something this expensive for Jeonghan?”

“He deserves it. He’s been working so many hours lately and even though he’s dead tired, he still makes time for me. Honestly, that over there-” you pointed to the antique, “-is nothing to compared to everything he’s done.”

“And you don’t work enough hours?” He had never seen a couple like you and Jeonghan, so young and in love and always putting each other first. It sickened him sometimes and he usually had to be realistic for the both of you.

“Pfft, I’m pretty sure I’ve been slacking just to make sure I get by. That’s what happens when I decide to get sick..” you mumbled the last of your ranting so he wouldn’t hear you. Getting sick around this time of year hadn’t been an option and it still happened and it made you hate your immune system for making you suffer.

“Why not just move in with Jeonghan already to save costs? You’ve been together long enough.”

“I don’t think we’re ready for that yet,” you admitted. It’s not that the thought hadn’t crossed your mind before; it’s just that there were other things you wanted to do and get on your own before taking that next step.

“Okay so you spend all your money on him...and vice versa, you spend all your free time together, you pretty much spend weeks at each other’s places AND you’ve been together since the dawn of time...but no. Moving in together is too much of a commitment.”

“Oh hush before you make me late for work. Come on. I have annoying customers to attend to. Hopefully, they’ll be generous enough to leave me good tips.”

“‘Tis the season to be jolly,” he raised his coffee cup in a toast and sipped it.

“Isn’t she a beaut?” Jeonghan asked Seungcheol on his way to work. He sighed longingly at the Polaroid on display, wanting and wishing so desperately he’d be getting paid today just so could buy you your present right now.

“Very pretty,” he whistled. “I’m sure Y/N will love it.”

He nodded, still remembering the broken-hearted expression you had when you realized that you had forgotten it at the bus stop and he swore he’d buy you another one as soon as he could afford it. “I hope so. Y/N deserves all the good things in this world and I’ll try my hardest to make that happen.”

“You know I keep thinking that maybe one day you’ll realize that you’ll both be happy once you move in together.”

“We’ve talked about it but we’re not ready for that.”

“So you’re just gonna settle for buying yet another ridiculously expensive present.”

“Y/N needs this. Trust me.”

“And I need someone to help me pay rent because living alone sucks.”

“Didn’t Soonyoung have an opening available?”

“You really want me to have a stroke, huh? Last time he had Seungkwan over at his place...I had to help him scrape noodles off the ceiling.” He frowned. “And Minghao wasn’t pleased about the food stains on his book, so I had to give him my copy.”

“New plan, get into a relationship.”

“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to worry about all that shit.”

“I got lucky,” Jeonghan shrugged nonchalantly. He turned his attention back to the vintage camera. “That’ll prove it.” He had slowly been saving up for that Polaroid for you, stopping by weekly to give a downpayment, and with this week’s paycheck, you’d surely be getting it tonight.

“Man, you guys are gross,” Seungcheol gagged. “Making me feel lonely with my single ass. Let’s go, Romeo. Otherwise, the only thing you’ll be getting is a pink slip.”

“I really hate Soonyoung,” he grumbled. “He got to be one of Santa’s elves and I’m fucking Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer.”

“And I’m a cashier who has to hear sob stories and threats over discounts that aren’t included with the shit they’re buying.” Jeonghan wasn’t sure if the tears were real or not, but he couldn’t blame him either way.

You walked out of the bathroom, still wondering how the smell of coffee made its way into your street clothes. You stuffed your uniform into your backpack, grateful to be out earlier than expected but trying not to think about how you were gonna make extra money before the rent. Tips weren’t too bad but you felt a little guilty for hoping for more. You’d find a way to manage; you always did.

Your coworkers wished you a happy holiday, as well as thanking you for the gifts and then you went next door to wait for Joshua since he texted you that he’d be leaving soon. The secretaries at the law firm didn’t give you a second glance other than greeting you. They were used to seeing you by now so they let you wait there. Luckily, he hardly kept you waiting so you were back out before the door even closed. He chatted about the potential clients and the ones who stuck out to him. You didn’t know how many cups of coffee he drank on the way to the antique store, but he never seemed jittery. But you guessed it went to you since you were buzzing and speeding up and rushing him to get there faster. You finally left him about half a block away to run inside to get someone to help take the record player to the register to pay the owner.

However, when Joshua caught up to you, you were frantically digging through your backpack looking for the small zip-loc that had all your savings for it. “Where is it?” You dumped everything out on the counter, hoping it’d be mixed in with your uniform or your wallet or anywhere else. “Joshua,” I can’t find it.” You tried not to cry, thinking if you went back to the restaurant, it’d be there in your locker, waiting for you. “I’m sorry, can you just keep this on hold for me? I left my money in my locker at work. I’ll be back with it as soon as possible.”

“I’m sorry, but if someone else wants it, we might have to sell it to them,” the owner said apologetically.

“No, please. I have the money. It’s for my boyfriend. That’s his Christmas gift. I’ll be back in an hour, I promise.”

“What do you mean I’m not getting paid?” Jeonghan asked his boss in disbelief.

“No, you’re still getting paid...it’s just delayed a couple of days. And that’s my fault for not seeing that I was overdrafted from one of my payments sooner.”

“And all my coworkers?”

“Are in the same position as you. I-It’s out of my hands.”

��Can’t you just give it to me in cash, sir? It’s an emergency.”

“My daughter just deposited everything that we made today. Jeonghan, I’m truly sorry. How else can I make it up to you?”

“It’s fine. Forget it.” The rush of emotions left him conflicted as he drove home. He didn’t have a backup plan for something like this. He just assumed that after work today, he’d be able to buy you your Christmas gift with no problem. He was pissed that it didn’t happen like that. He knew that banks messed up all the time but he couldn’t believe his luck. He promised you the greatest gift in the world, and now would he provide that? He threw your towels in the washer, knowing you’d want to shower after you got back from visiting your friends at Mingyu’s place. He tidied the room a little, looked for your slippers and made sure he had some ramen in case you came home hungry.

He went back out to the living room, car keys in hand, when he laid his eyes on his records...his most prized collection. A lot of them he had been buying since he started earning his money, and some he got for a really good deal. He always promised himself that one day, he’d get himself one just to be able to play his music. And then when you crossed his mind, he pictured you with the Polaroid in your hands as you took the pictures and in one swift movement, picked up the records and headed out.

You never understood how Jeonghan managed to tangle himself up in you but you never complained about it. If anything, you welcomed it because it was just something you liked...unless it was scorching hot and his body heat radiated off of him. “Hannie,” you called him softly. “Hannie, wake up.”

“Five more minutes, my love,” he mumbled. “I’m tired.”

“But Hannie, it’s Christmas! I wanna make you breakfast.”

“Stay with meeeeeee.” He sleepily pressed his lips to your cheek, not quite processing your words.

“Come on. You can sleep in the living room.”

“Jagi, can you make me pancakes?”

“Yes, come on. And take your blanket too so you’ll stay warm.”

“Can we stay in our pjs too?”

“Go nuts.”

He didn’t need his blanket because as soon as he turned on the TV, he woke up and flipped through the channels excitedly, looking for anything that hinted at his childhood. He looked under the Christmas tree, only two presents, a sure sign that they’d gotten older. His heart clenched at seeing his gift to you, which now looked like nothing compared to the one you wrapped for him. He didn’t wanna dwell on that. It was Christmas, you were here with him again and it was perfect. Breakfast too. He loved hearing you humming in the kitchen, and making small talk. He met you on the table but you shook your head and went to the living room and sat on the floor. You patted the spot next to you and you watched the movie playing in silence. You looked like you were in a good mood, and he couldn’t complain. And then you mentioned opening presents and he felt the nerves turn icy in his veins.

“Okay. Do you want to open mine first or do you want me to start?” He didn’t give you the chance to speak since he handed you your and he waited.

You took your time unwrapping it, trying to figure out what he could’ve gotten you. “Is this what I think it is?” You finally decided to tear it open, and you tried not to cry. “It’s a...Polaroid,” you said quietly. You could feel the lump in your throat, touched at the fact that he got it for you. “Thank you.”

“I know it can’t replace your old one, but I know you missed taking photos. Here, why don’t you take one of me while I open yours?”

“I think I’d rather just capture the moment as is.” You leaned closer to him while he unwrapped his, nearly helping him because of your excitement.

“It’s a record player,” he said in the same voice you just used. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, I know how you’ve been dying for this and it’s what you deserve. Now, why don’t you put one of your favorite albums so I can hear your beautiful voice?”

He surprised you by taking your hands in his. “Y/N, do you know how happy you make me and how I’ll do anything to see you smile?” He kissed your hands when you nodded and continued. “Yesterday, I wasn’t able to get paid, so I had to sell my records to get your Polaroid.” He didn’t need to tell you that he had to stop at several places because many of the owners didn’t offer the prices he needed to buy it for you.

“Jeonghan, why?” he wiped away a tear that had fallen. Your heart broke at his sacrifice and you felt so selfish.

“Because I love you. Now start taking pictures and hang them up everywhere you can. Your photograph...why are you crying? Jagi, please don’t cry. You're more important to me than those. I can always buy more.”

“Jeonghan, I sold all my film to buy you this record player,” you admitted. “I lost the money I saved up for it and they were gonna give it to someone else. You love music so much and it was the first thing I thought of.”

To your surprise, he started laughing so hard his own tears started falling and then it was your turn to wipe them. “Baby, why would you do that for me?”

“Because I love you. More than anything, even my stupid hobby.”

He didn’t know what else to do, so he grabbed your face and placed kisses everywhere he could until he just held you close to him. He rested you close to his heart, content despite everything. “Man, we’re just a couple of fools, aren’t we?”

You didn’t answer him, the steady beating of his heart matching with yours. You still couldn’t believe that he loved you this much. And you loved him just as much. You’d already known that you were gonna spend the rest of your life with him, but this just solidified any doubts you may have had.

“Jagi?” He tried again.

“Hmm?”

“I know this is long overdue and we’ve only talked about this a couple of times, but would you just move in with me already? I don’t know if I can handle being apart from you much longer. It doesn’t to be right away-”

“How about after the new year?”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Jeonghan, after what you did for me...how can I say no? Besides, it took us long enough, right?’

“I love you...so fucking much.”

And I love you...just as fucking much,” you said, placing a soft kiss to his lips.

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hastalikhunts · 4 years ago

Photo

the first time hastalik ever showed clara a certain amount of kindness beyond words. likely towards the end of his first year aware of her presence in the coven’s compound.

feat: @clara-delaval

Hastalik had been away for two weeks on a mission, his mind exhausted from all that had happened. It was the first one he'd been on that involved being away for more than a few days and he was not coping very well, even eating breakfast with everyone else felt draining, so mid morning he abandoned the rest of the coven and snuck away. His rings knocked on the stone walls as he descended into the room that held the young vampire woman, the closest thing to an escape that he got. Without realising he was warning her of his arrival, subconsciously giving her a chance to prepare for him to walk in, wearing the exact same ensemble he wore daily.

The sound of someone approaching was an unfamiliar curtesy. Clara, by this point, was so used to the door swinging open with an alarming suddenness before she was wrenched out of her bed with an uncaring force no matter how hard she protested. This was why she was waiting in the furthest corner of the room to see what awaited her, nervous eyes poised on the door waiting for whoever might enter. Though he expression didn't give her away, there was a huge sense of relief when only one man materialized in the door frame. She couldn't explain why, but there was a undercurrent of relief when she recognized Hastalik's face. She would hardly call him an ally, but he had been somehow kinder than any other man in the coven.

Hastalik closed the door behind him, looking up and finding Clara at the corner of the room, her red hair falling around her face. For a moment he wondered if vampires needed to wash their hair, Clara always seemed clean and he knew there was no bathroom down here and she couldn't leave the room. "They shouldn't be here anytime soon," Hastalik told her simply. It seemed they drained her less when they'd had a vampire killed that they could obviously use the blood of, she probably had a day or two before they returned to her.

There was a wave of confusion that washed over the vampire when Hastalik didn't immediately make a move for her or speak. The small inkling of security she had felt when she realized it was him vanished when he closed the door, fully restoring the power dynamic to normal. "You're not--... They..." Clara seemed unable to figure out why he had come if he didn't have any use for her blood. "What are you doing here?"

Hastalik had never come down for her blood, he was still not technically privy to that information. He’d found Clara by accident and had only ever come down there to see if she was still alive. He kept waiting for them to kill her but they never did. Hastalik still didn’t understand it. If she was evil they needed to kill her. “You know why I’m here,” he scolded, frowning as he shoved his ringed fingers into his pockets. Though he wasn’t entirely there for that, at least not today. He couldn’t stop thinking of the vampires he’d killed, why had he had to kill them and yet Clara was down here?

She looked appropriately chastised when he scolded her, though she didn't look any less confused. Clara never really knew why he came down. When he did, he just spoke to her, and across all of their interactions she had not yet managed to put together some sort of a motive. With his hands in his pocket, she felt comfortable enough to slowly walk to the edge of the bed and sit there. "Is there something you need to say?" she asked, more or less trying to ask the man if there was something on his mind that had compelled him to come to her at that particular time.

Clara moved and he stepped back, though in the direction of the other side of the room than where he'd come from. So far she'd never hurt him, and had been very insistent that she wouldn't, but Hastalik wasn't afraid she'd hurt him, he was afraid she'd keep convincing him that she wouldn't. "Figured I was gone so long they may have finally killed you," Hastalik responded aggressively, wondering if she had noticed he'd been gone for a solid few weeks. "Wanted to see if they had a new blood bag down here for me to be amused by." His words were half hearted though, not quite as visceral as they had been when he first found her.

Clara noticed when he stepped back in reaction to her movement. She lifted her hands to show him her palms and moved more slowly, but there was a sadness behind her eyes that she couldn't quite shield. "I just want to sit is all," she said in a small voice, lowing her hands when she was seated. Part of her could understand why he was careful, but another part of her felt hurt over it. She still felt more human than vampire, but regardless she felt in most instances here she was treated like a monster. "Would you have been happy if there was?" she asked, looking up at him. Then, with a fake sense of sadness almost meant to tease him, "Are you getting bored of me?" She usually didn't joke with the man, but she noticed that much of the bite had left his voice and it made it feel safer to try and be more casual with him.

Talking with her was hard, vampires tended to spit in his face as he did their's, they'd call him witch names and he'd call them vampire insults back. Clara didn't, even when he called her names she never said any back, which only made things harder for Hastalik. The witch had never enjoyed being mean, or violent, but it was meant to be who he was. He definitely would not have been happy if another person was down there though, not only because for far Clara didn't indicate she deserved to die but because he didn't think he could stand knowing they went through vampires like Kleenex. "You're pretty boring," he said simply, though not exactly her fault when she had basically nothing to do. "I wouldn't have been happy."

Clara's expression flattened to look somewhat annoyed with him when he said she was boring, but then again how much excitement could one stir up in a plain room containing almost nothing. The expression was mostly for show, though. "I wasn't always so boring," she insisted vaguely. She chewed on her bottom lip and looked down at her lap when he said he would not have been happy to see she was gone, but she thought the both of them must know how realistic a possibility it was that some day the coven might become too careless to go too far. "Do you think someday I will be?" she asked quietly, not looking at him. "That I might... die here, and they just... replace me like it is nothing?"

"Probably not," he agreed of her insistence. Hastalik saw what the outside world had when he was on his trips and even he was boring in comparison to them. He didn't have a television, and his internet exposure was non-existent. The closest he got was video games and they were only ones his father allowed for him to play. Books were the same, curated by the coven. When he was on missions he would sometimes sneak them from stores, sometimes watch TV in truck stops, but it wasn't the same. "Maybe," Hastalik said, she was a female and she was certainly the only female he'd ever seen more than once. No doubt she couldn't make it. "If you've been down here as long as you say then maybe one day they'll just bleed you dry on accident, or on purpose because they need it. I've bled vampires before, takes some times but you can do it. Once your bled the only thing that'll bring you back is blood, we're not too keen on giving it." From what he could tell they fed Clara in small glasses of blood sporadically, she always looked beautiful but she never looked strong, least not physically. "You're nothing to us." Us. He didn't like saying he was a part of it but he was, he had to be, this was his family.

"I was never like the others, you know?" she said, a heavy sort of sadness in her voice. "I don't know how long it was after I was changed and someone--one of your brothers I guess--found me." Clara’s jaw became rigid again as her gaze drifted off and she tried not to let her sadness overcome her. "He said he knew what I was, and that I was alone. I just wanted to get back home and see my mother. He said he would help me." Hastalik almost certainly had to know the rest of the story. He said he would help her--and now she was here, had been for years. "If they asked you to collect my blood, could you do that?" she asked, looking at him. She didn't know he had bled some other, unfortunate vampire before. His next statement had her feeling stupid for asking it.

"I don't have any brothers," he answered, supposing she meant in the way he called the coven his family but Hastalik was quite insistent. Maybe they were his family but none of them were his brothers, none of them had come from his mother, goddess that Hastalik perceived her to be. Still her story burnt in his ears, he didn't want to hear what they'd done to get her here, the tricks they'd taught all of the coven members to be used on them. Vampires were emotional, just as they could be vicious they could be easily manipulated. "I would do anything my father asked me to do," Hastalik insisted, eyes looking into hers but falling away. His father frequently bled her and while Hastalik carried a lot of his features his father was never quite as soft. Even when Hastalik had insulted her he had never held the same deadness to his eyes that his father did. "Eventually."

"Oh," Clara said quietly, replaying her own words in her head trying to determine if it was the language she'd gotten wrong as a non-native speaker or if it was more a nuance of how the coven related to each other. "What should you call them then?.” “You haven't always," she responded, her brows knitting together. Perhaps all of the men always wore the same outfits, but ass a vampire there was more than one way to tell if a human was injured or bruised. "He has beaten you before, in anger over disobedience. Your scent, it changes when your body is recovering. It becomes... It, um." She struggled to find a way to describe it. "Your body is working harder so it smells more apparent? More pure?"

"Family but not brothers, they're not my mother's children or my father's, they're other coven members children," he informed her. He didn't like to talk about his mother, an image of her always on his person. He only knew what his father had said of her and it was very little. What would be most obvious to Clara however was that no women ever approached her, or were ever around. Whoever Hastalik's mother was she wasn't here. No doubt it didn't help bruises were pooled areas of blood beneath the skin, he'd never considered she might notice, or might assume it was his father and not the fact he went out and regularly took vampire's in. "My father knows what is best for the coven and for me. I just don't always see it right away," his eyes remained on her. One day he would see why Clara was down here and he would regret his betrayal in these moments, or he hoped as much. "But eventually I do. If he wanted me to bleed you he'd have a reason."

She nodded when he answered the question, but didn't comment further on the way members of the coven referred to one another. When he spoke of his father, Clara's eyes held a shred of empathy, maybe even pity. "Perhaps you see it differently, but not wrong,"she said softly. "He may not always be right either? It is in our nature to make mistakes." She was trying to plant a seed of doubt, though she worried it might just anger Hastalik. "Either way, you do not deserve to be treated cruelly for a wrong action." It worried her that he felt that there would always come a day when his morals aligned with those of his father, especially because he was the only one to ever show her a modicum of empathy. "I'd better not give him a reason then..."

"His words come from experience," but he was faltering in his resolve because Hastalik had never understood why his father wanted him to harm those in the coven. His father had always said that it was practice but if that was true why could he not practice on vampires? Why had he needed to practice his abilities over and over again on younger members within the coven. "Pain helps remember situations, so you won't make mistakes again," Hastalik said but he brushed his nose with his knuckles because he was getting emotional, a trait his father insisted came from his mother, and likely had. "Why wouldn't you want to? I mean, what's worse? Being down here for the rest of your existence or dying? You're a monster anyway, better to die." He wasn't trying to be cruel but genuinely believed what he was saying, because if she was good and vampires were bad, then maybe all she needed was an escape from the life she had.

"Can I tell you something that I want you to think about? A saying that is very important to us back in France?" she asked, nodding toward the other end of the bed and inviting him to sit if he so chose. She didn't recite the saying to him until he gave her permission, worried that she would just prove herself to be pushy or manipulative or whatever horrible thing he wanted to believe she was. "Pain is not the only way," she said quietly. For some, death might seem like the easier way out. But when she had been kidnapped by the coven it was when she was travelling home to visit her sick mother. Clara didn't know if her mother was still alive, but the hope of seeing her one more time was enough to make the suffering worthwhile and keep the hope of escape alive. "I barely lived before I was taken here," she said, shrugged her shoulders slightly. "The years in here would be worth the change of just one more day out in the real world."

Hastalik did not sit, keeping his tall looming figure where it was, though the gesture did stick in his mind, especially looking at the expression on her face as she made it, not commanding but soft. "It's not the only way, but it's our way," he said back quite instantly after before he held his breath a moment. "I'll think on it, but only if you say it in French." Her hope almost snapped Hastalik's resolve, but only almost. It was hard for him, to see such a beautiful face, and to hear her speak with such honesty and innocence all at once. He'd worshipped his mother from the moment he understood he lacked one, and as a byproduct he worshipped women, more so than others in the coven. Each had their own Greecian God they worshipped, Hastalik the only one among them that did his blessings and rituals to women. His father did not approve but his visions were enough to keep his father's displeasure at bay. Mostly he just didn't know what to say to her answer so moved to head for the door. "Perhaps you'll still be here when I return."

Clara wasn't surprised or hurt that Hastalik didn't sit. She chose not to argue with the our way statement he made. If she did, it might be perceived that she was trying to lead him to an alternate conclusion and being manipulative. Instead she nodded, when he requested the phrase in French. "L’habit ne fait pas le moine." she recited. "It means The clothing doesn't make the monk." She simply nodded at his statement, watching him make his exit.

#claradelaval

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writingonthemoon · 5 years ago

Text

Old Clothes Part 6

Masterlist

Word Count: 2846

Warnings: Mentions of death and survivors guilt

Author’s Note: God, guys, I feel so bad about this. I don’t even actually know when part 5 was posted, but no matter what, I feel awful. I lost my direction for the story for a little and I’ve been… struggling with some things recently. But I’m back. Don’t know how consistent I will be or how this is all going to play out, but I figure y’all are here to help a little with that. So, enjoy the first part of Old Clothes of 2020.

Old clothes would help you to stick out in a crowd. Seldom if the correct outfit was chosen, but there were always those instances. A single mistake, one misstep while dressing, and you’re outed, done for. But there were assurances one could take. The chest buried under the motley coats in the attic was always a good place to start, but one must be wary of their findings. Games of dress-up weren’t the same as hiding in plain sight. My mother burned the chest once I had found it.

Was I supposed to be in the attic that day? Yes, I was. But I wasn’t supposed to go beyond the wicker basket that held my mother’s sewing supplies. I’d seen something, though, something that was amiss in the dusty space. Rays of golden sunlight shone upon an old chest beneath the round window. Plumes of dust floated into the sun as old folds of fabrics fell to the ground at the cause of my curiosity. A lock caused my childish curse to come forth as my eyes laid sight upon the blockade. My gut commanded an attempt anyway, just to be sure.

The hinges cried with age as my fingers pried the lid away from the box. The contents were all mismatched and random, but all were surprising to me. None of these items should be with us. There were books and letters and keepsakes that were supposed to have been burned years prior. Ribbons from the old country were neatly rolled and placed in boxes along with the jewellery from generations ago. It was like a glimpse into times long before the Davenports became what they were.

My pockets sagged as an array of artefacts found their way inside. The steps of my mother sent my heart racing and I jumped away from the box. The lid slammed shut and my lungs sharply collapsed in a violent cough at the dusty cloud that filled the atmosphere. A lie was lost in a maze on the way to my lips and I was caught red-handed.

The scraping of the box on the floor still echoed from time to time, when my mind was at its quietest and there was no better time to ruin my false sense of security. My skin prickles with searing heat and during the summer, I can only hope for a rainstorm to cool the pain. She forced me to watch. Forced me to watch the consequences of another mistake I had made. All those ties back to our family, gone. The memories from my parents’ previous lives, gone. Everything and every one of the items still in there vanished into the night sky in flakes of ash. Except for the stowaways that were in my pillowcase.

My pocket held many small things. A crumpled sketch of London was dated back to 1743 when America was still a colony and pleased about it. My gran must’ve drawn it. She was always the artist of the family, so my father said. There were some stamps contained in a small coin purse that jingled as it swayed from side to side. They were from the Stamp Act and dated the day of the Boston Tea Party! Incredible detail was put into the small drawings. Tiny notebooks were chock-full of random notes and ideas and appointments and thoughts, different handwritings on each page muddling the narrative further.

The other pocket held one item that turned multitudinous. An ornate tiara lay resting in blue silk. When could that have been from? Why was it here? Pressed flowers were held between thin wax pages. Delicate strings of pearls twisted and curled among the contents. Stubs of charcoal were wrapped in tissue from burns before. I guess the charcoal tradition was older than I thought. And a golden ring, whose one side had been flattened and carved, was carefully stowed in a smaller box inside the first. Initials were worn away from decades of existence and I had no clue who this had come from. All I knew was that it was important.

I could feel a nervous and surprised energy radiate off of Sean. He’d heard of me already. Word travels fast between the boys, it seemed, “Huh, Odette?” He nodded slowly, lips pursed in thought. My hands found their way into my pockets and I twirled the ring around my finger, my mind mulling over the ancestors that it could’ve once belonged to. “Pretty name. That’s from that show or whatever with the birds and stuff, right?”

"Swan Lake?“ My tone was a mix of surprises. One that he forgot the name of the ballet and the second that he had even heard of it. "You know Swan Lake?”

"Now, don’t act oh so surprised, Miss Odette. We Newsies know ‘bout more than all youse people.“ He gestured to my outfit as if making the point I was wealthy in some way.

I floundered for a moment, my mouth opening and closing like a fish in the Fraser, "You’re right, I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge. My deepest apologies to you.”

"Nah, I understand where it’s comin’ from. Just don’t do it again, you here? Else you ain’t 'llowed here anymore.“ The tone he used was almost threatening, but I could tell by the slight upturn of the corners of his mouth that it was a joke.

I shrugged, a grin spreading across my face like butter on bread, "I suppose I should keep my belongs on my person for a quick getaway whenever I’m here. Just in case I cause a revolution.”

Spot took a step closer to me. The smell of rain and mud wafted off him and I could hear his breathing, “I wouldn’t doubt a lady like you causin’ trouble.”

"Well, I am British. That can cause quite a controversy when I voice my opinion on this country’s state of affairs, even if I grew up here.“ An exaggerated frown made its way to my face, "Though many of the crazy old men that run this country say a woman shouldn’t have those sorts of opinions.”

A voice from up the stairs startled me and I jumped, looking up to see a boy standing there, “You a reporta?” Almighty forces of the universe, the boy was practically naked! I know I was intruding on the home at night, but his undershirt looked as if it had been worn as his only shirt. Coordination between his suspenders and blue bandana weren’t helping his case either. And the way he eyed me, stared me down as if choosing how to fight me best.

Spot moved to stand between the boy and me, “Now, Myron, don’t be lookin’ for a fight.”

"No, Sean. It’s fine.“ I placed my hand on his shoulder and lightly applied pressure to move him, "He has every right to ask questions as the others do.” My gaze locked with Myron’s, the tension growing with an impending silence, “What does it matter to you if I’m a reporter or not, Myron? Unless you have something to hide, my presence shouldn’t bother you in the slightest.”

"So you are a reporta.“ The whites of his eyes flickered as they rolled and he mosied down the creaking steps. He was only the slightest bit taller than I was, but I was hardly intimidated. I had faced worse in much more stressful situations.

"No, you misunderstand. I said if I were a reporter, not that I am a reporter. I wasn’t quite clear though, so I can understand your confusion.”

"Ay, no, you said it don’t matter whether or not you a reporta. And I should only be bothered if I’m hidin’ somethin’.“ He stood before me, a dirty musk his cologne and arms crossed in defiance, "Now, I ain’t hidin’ nothin’, but I don’t much like reportas.”

"That’s a bold opinion of an entire career. Might I know why?“

"They’re never lookin’ out for the little guy. Never caring about anything but the story that’ll make their name get out into the world. An’ once they’re done with you, you’re dirt.” His face was in mine now, our noses just brushing, giving me a good look at his face. Dirt coated his face, filling crevasses created from scars. They were in strange patterns, the markings. And they were so pale too, his flesh like marbling. I looked into his eyes and saw my pain staring back at me. It was too much for such a short lifetime.

I raised my hand slowly, the sight of it in his peripheral causing a flinch as if I were to strike him across the face. My fingers lightly met his cheek, which was burning to my cold skin. He pressed into my palm, savouring the gentle human touch. “Oh, little darling, what did they do to you?”

His walls crumbled at my words, every emotion flowing over the rubble, “They’re gone 'cause a me. An’ those bums in their clean shirts and with all their money, they treated me like a criminal.” Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall at a moment’s notice, “I swear the fire wasn’t my fault, but I know that they were.”

"Why would it be your fault?“

Myron wiped at his eyes, hoping the tears would go away, but new ones replaced the old and started running down his face in a race to the ground, "I-I was stuck an’ they came back in for me. All I remember is being pulled from underneath the ceiling and her holding me as she moved me to the exit.” He sniffed as he stuttered and choked on his words, “But they-they didn’t come out after me. I swore I could see them through that door I was pushed outta. They was so close.”

"Who did you lose, little darling?“ Myron shook his head in response, knowing the words will only make his state worse, "Was it your parents?” He nodded vigorously, turning away from me. “It’s alright. It wasn’t your fault. It will never be your fault.”

"B-bu-but it was. It still is.“

"No. It was the fire, not you.” My hand came to rest on his shoulder and I turned him back to me. I gave him a soft, understanding smile, one I would’ve wished to have been presented to me when I was coming to terms with my losses. A little bit of pressure from my hand moved the fragile boy to the staircase, where I sat beside him with my arm around his shoulders. The boys around us watched on before I moved my head to send them away. The two didn’t question anything and left without words.

"Have you mourned?“ I asked out of the silence. I could feel his confusion at the idea, "I hadn’t mourned when I lost my family. I suppose I’m still avoiding it.” I stared at my shoes as I thought of all my adventures, all my distractions from the truth.

"You lost your folks?“

"Not just them. I lost my brother and sister too that day.”

"What happened? If you don’t mind.“

"Not at all. We moved a lot when I was younger, going from place to place, never settling for too long. During one of those moves, I got separated in the woods. I searched for hours and hours, all through the night and into the morning. All I could find was some of the family heirlooms scattered on the ground in a clearing. No sign of them or the rest of our belongings. They had just vanished.” I felt awful lying about my past to this boy, but it was difficult to explain the immortality when it’s to be a secret.

"Boy, that is awful.“ There was a sad chuckle as he spoke, which I returned as an agreement. "So, you’re an orphan like the lot of us and you’re still a reporta?” He turned his head and looked at me, some form of shock and respect on his sad face.

"I am not a reporter.“ I pulled my handkerchief from my pocket and dabbed cleaned the tears from his face. I wasn’t too attached to the fabric. I had stolen it from a man’s coat pocket when I 'accidentally’ fell into him while on the trolley. I swiftly left after the incident, escaping my mark and the fact I hadn’t paid for the transportation.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Press.”

I rolled my eyes at the boy, “My name is Odette.”

"Nah, Imma still call you Press. It’s your Newsie name. The lot of us have all got 'em. You should too.“

"Oh, I’m one of you now? Why’s that?”

"I dunno. Just feels like you get us. Understand our side an’ all. And, hey,“ I could feel his tough-guy façade being put back on, "Brooklyn is the best neighbourhood in all a New York. Who wouldn’t wanna be one of us?” Myron’s walls were back up, but I could feel that they were a little shorter, not as strong. That’s progress.

"I couldn’t think of anyone if you gave me all of Time to think.“ I laughed, bumping his shoulder. This kid, I don’t know what it was about him, but he felt like my own. He felt like my responsibility, almost as if I had adopted him.

"Exactly.”

"You should get to sleep. You’ve got a day and a half ahead of you.“ I motioned up the staircase with my head, indicating exactly what I meant.

"What about you?” He asked as I stood up, eyes following me.

I shrugged a little, looking into their common room of sorts, “I’m going to make sure everyone else is resting as well.” I looked back at him, “I guess I’m never not going to be a big sister.” A small giggle escaped me against my better judgement. I pressed a kiss to the boy’s slightly damp and dirty hair, ruffling it up before walking away from him. “Go sleep, Myron.”

"I’ll see you in the morning?“ The look of hope he gave me reminded me of my little Elijah and my heart hurt just a little. That was why he mattered all of a sudden. He was another version of my brother.

I nodded, "Bright and early.” He grinned at my response and ran up to the rooms as I went to herd the stragglers upstairs. Surprisingly, it was only Sean sitting by the fire, watching it with an intense stare. I stood and waited for him to acknowledge my presence. It only felt right since he was the leader.

"I ain’t never seen Myron cry, you know.“ Spot broke the silence. I moved to sit across from him as he continued, "Not when he first came here, not even when he gets hurt. Never. Then you show up, Odette,” his eyes met mine, the fire reflecting in his dark irises, “and it’s like he’s a whole other person. You can’t tell me that’s a coincidence, 'cause the way you handled that and acted like a mother to a kid you ain’t never met is suspicious. And I ain’t fond of suspicious people.”

"It’s a gift of mine, I suppose.“ I looked to the fire, faint images of my past projecting themselves on my mind’s eye, "When you’ve seen what I’ve seen and lost everything, you get good at recognizing it in others.” I met Sean’s gaze again, “And when you get good at seeing it, people get good at letting it out.”

"I dunno, you’re seventeen. How can you have had so much happen to you in those years?“

"How can there be so many Newsies like you all in such a small area? The world isn’t inherently good, Sean. I learnt that the hard way and all too early.” I leaned back and the two of us had a game of wills, a contest of resilience. For what felt like hours, we held one another’s gaze, waiting for the other to give in. “You should go to sleep, Sean. These kids are counting on you.”

"Some of them are counting on you too, now.“

"But you’ll stay with them,” I admitted, refusing to let any form of guilt creep up on me.

He nodded thoughtfully at my response before rising and moving silently to the stairs. I heard him stop for a moment, a pause in his thinking and planning. “Thank you, Odette. Thank you for helpin’ him.”

"He needed it. He deserved it.“ At my reply, he mounted the steps, leaving me to watch the fire die out the darkness from the streets outside slowly seeped into the dwelling. I was left with my inner-monologue as my eyelids grew heavy and my mind went blank in exhaustion. Sleep came after a futile attempt to stay awake. For only a few hours was I a willing casualty in the battle for rest. To others, it looked peaceful, how I slept. But the inner machinations of my mind always had other plans.

#finally #it be done #just enjoy this yall #old clothes

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stomachflu · 6 years ago

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hey, remember like a year ago when i was like “maybe i’ll write a second part to the story of how lynn and reed met if i feel like it?” well i’ve been struggling with

and i thought that i’d write something Just For Me to get me back in the swing of things.

VERY long stomach flu-oriented fic (planning for another few parts! this isn’t the last one!!), very self indulgent. warnings for mentions of scat, but nothing explicit. hope yall enjoy!

---

Lynn groaned as she felt her phone buzz in her back pocket, every muscle in her body aching as she twisted to grab it. It was nearly too much effort to switch the too-bright screen on, let alone read the message with watery eyes. The first one was, apparently, from an hour ago.

>Reed: hey did u make it back home ok

>Reed: lynn

>Reed: are you ok

Lynn closed her eyes, resting her head against the cool metal side of the bathroom stall. She’d traded numbers with Reed after they’d walked her to the clinic before heading to class, where she’d promised to text them that she was okay prior to receiving an official diagnosis of “godawful stomach flu” with the proposed cure of “wait it out, if you can’t keep water down after a few hours then come back for an IV“.

>Lynn: not rly

Her head swam and her hands were shaking, making it hard to compose a message. Reed was already typing a response to her last text.

>Lynn: my roommate’s apparently a germophobe? and she wont let me into the room unless I’m not gonna puke

>Lynn: so ive just been like camping out in the lounge & now I'm like chilling in the bathroom

>Lynn: not great but

She leaned back, exhaling shakily as the stall swam around her. Fuck. She was pretty sure that her fever was increasing as she leaned back over the toilet seat, holding her hair back with both hands as she gagged softly, opaque saliva falling from her lips. She couldn’t bring anything up still, despite the constant sloshing of her stomach being an ever-present reminder of how much there still was in there. When the wave of nausea finally passed, she had two new texts.

>Reed: >:o!

>Reed: youre in the new dorm right

>Lynn: whats up

>Reed: ok I know i’m just some rando you met today but if you wanna crash on my couch or smth its gotta be more comfy than the lounge at 4am

>Reed: i promise i’m not a serial killer tho

Lynn groaned as she stood up, limping out of the bathroom and ignoring the disgusted looks of girls at the sinks -- she’d been gagging in that stall for at least twenty minutes -- only to find that some other couple had sat down on the couch she’d planned to sleep on. There were a few chairs, all hard wood, and she sat down in one of them as she wrote a response, trying hard to control her tears. She was just overemotional from fever, that was all. She hugged her stomach, rocking back and forth as she typed.

>Lynn: actually that would be great if that's ok w you

>Reed: great! ill be at yr dorm in like 15min, where should I meet you?

Lynn’s stomach lurched, and she ran out of the lounge again, falling to her knees for the fourth time that day. Just like every other time, she retched wetly, gagging and spitting wads of cloudy bile into the toilet, unable to bring up anything significant.

She managed to type out the word bathroom in-between heaves, and it seemed like no time had passed at all before there was a sharp knock on the door, then the creak of hinges opening.

“Lynn? You in there?”

She could only groan, but managed to unlock the stall door and stumble towards Reed, who grabbed her arm immediately, supporting her. “Woah, you’re not lookin’ so hot.”

The two of them were getting some very dirty looks from the other occupants of the bathroom, so Lynn tried to stumble towards the door, unable to get very far without leaning on Reed. “Not... Not feeling so hot either,” she said, pressing her free hand to her stomach.

“No shit, you’re burning up.” Reed pressed a hand to Lynn’s forehead, pulling it back in mock shock. “My car’s just in the parking lot, do you think you can walk there?”

Lynn hummed, trying not to open her mouth. Reed let her lean against them as she stumbled down the hall. She braced herself for the chill of the cold November air as they walked outside, but with Reed’s arm around her, she barely felt the cold.

“I’m just down the street,” Reed said, guiding her to what was apparently their car, “but I figured you wouldn’t wanna walk.”

Lynn swallowed back bile. “At this point, I don’t even... I don’t even care if you’re a serial killer, I just wanna lie down.”

“I think we can make that work.”

Holy shit, Reed was strong as hell, Lynn mused feverishly, leaning nearly all her weight on them as they transitioned her into the car with one fluid motion. They even buckled her seat belt for her, making some soft noise when she moaned in pain as the strap touched her stomach.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna head to urgent care?” Reed asked. “They might be better than the student health center, and you’re really not looking good.”

Lynn shook her head, a dizzying motion that took more energy than she had. “Nah... I just wanna rest.”

“If you say so.” There was that worried note in their voice again, and Lynn leaned her head against the seat as the car lurched into motion, and so did her stomach. “I think there’s some trash bags in the glove compartment if you need ‘em. I’ll try to drive safe, but this thing? Is kind of a beater. You should see what it’s like on ice, though.”

Lynn made a small noise of acknowledgment, wincing as they bumped over mounds of slush. Saliva pooled under her tongue, and she swallowed hard. Not here, she thought. God, please not in front of Reed. Her throat burned with acid, and she gripped her stomach tightly, one hand covering her mouth. Just as her tongue lifted with a strong gag, a plastic bag was shoved into her lap. Gratefully, she buried her head in it.

“You’re okay, just get it up,” she heard Reed say, and then, “Oh, god,” as hot, foamy bile splashed into the bag, followed by a series of gurgling burps. “You’re really not feeling well, huh?”

She shook her head miserably, spitting into the bag and eventually wiping away a thick strand of mucus on the edge of the plastic before twisting it shut in disgust. “God. No. My stomach hurts so bad.”

“Do you need to get out for a sec? Being in the car probably can’t help.”

“Maybe.” Her throat still felt tight, and she tried to force a burp as she fumbled with the car door, only to end up barely scrambling to undo her seatbelt in time as she retched again and again, mucus falling in a steaming pile in the snow. Stomach finally empty for now, she belched emptily, a cloud of condensation forming as she did so.

Lynn vaguely became aware that someone was rubbing her back, and when she turned, Reed was holding her steady. “Ready to go?” they asked.

Lynn scrubbed at her watering eyes. “Yeah, she said weakly as they helped her back into the car. “God, this must be so gross for you.”

Reed shrugged as they put the key in the ignition. “Eh. I’ve got a strong stomach. Not really easily grossed out, you know? Besides, you're sick, so it’s not like it’s your fault. Someone’s gotta help you”

---

She managed to make it to Reed’s apartment without vomiting, though they did have to pull over several times so that she could take deep breaths out of the open window. Their apartment was several flights up, and they’d grimaced before slinging an arm around her shoulders, supporting most of her weight without even asking. Lynn didn’t even bother to protest -- they practically carried her up the stairs, but all she could care about was the fact that they were warm against her freezing skin.

“Okay!” Reed said, fumbling with the keys. “It’s not much, but at least I have a couch.”

Their apartment was small and cramped. The door opened onto a living room of sorts, with two faded couches forming a L-shape across from a TV. A slightly torn rug sat underneath a coffee table piled high with books and takeout boxes, and Reed rushed to clear it off, leaving Lynn standing by the front door, weaving back and forth.

There was a wall with an entryway seperating what Lynn assumed to the the kitchen area to her right, with another door closer to the entryway. On the left wall, close to where the couch sat, was a second door that was partially open. From the mess inside, she could guess it was Reed’s bedroom.

“C’mon in,” Reed said, gesturing to the couch. “Um, sit down, maybe? You look like you’re gonna die. Do you have any -- God, your roommate really kicked you out with nothing, huh? I was gonna ask if you wanted to change into, like, pajamas or anything, but you don’t even have a coat on.”

“Um,” Lynn said, still hovering awkwardly. “Yeah. She really didn’t want me to infect her.”

“Cool, cool. She’s an asshole.”

“Um --”

“No worries, I probably have something that’ll fit you.” Lynn very much doubted that, given that Reed had a good foot on her. “Do you need anything else? Like, food, we should probably make sure that you eat at some point? And I think that I might have some fever reducers somewhere around here --”

Lynn’s stomach cramped harshly. “Um,” she interrupted them, a note of urgency in her voice. “Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

“’Course! It’s that door--” Reed pointed to the closed door near the entrance Lynn had noticed earlier. “-- right there. Um, do you need help?”

Her guts churned again, and she managed a wan grimace. “I think I’ll be okay.”

Much to Lynn’s relief, their bathroom was almost shockingly clean. Her stomach still felt sore and achy after she’d finished expelling its contents from the other end; her nausea was fading for now, but the tightness in her throat and gnawing feeling in her stomach told her that she was far from done with this illness. She stumbled out of the bathroom, rubbing her aching stomach and nearly tripped over a pile of clothes on the floor.

“Those are for you,” Reed called from somewhere in the depths of the apartment. “Try ‘em on!”

Lynn retreated back into the bathroom, yanking her shirt off. The sweatpants Reed had provided just fit if the drawstring was pulled all the way, and their hoodie was a very loose fit, but the fuzzy inside felt wonderful against her sore stomach.

She sank down onto the larger of the two couches, which Reed had lined with sheets and stacked blankets on while she was gone. She pulled one up to her shoulders as Reed emerged from the kitchen area, carrying a mug of something steaming in one hand and a thermometer in the other.

“Hey,” they said. “Do me a favor and open wide, ‘kay? You’re not looking too hot, and I wanna know how worried I should be.”

“’s just the flu,” Lynn said weakly, but allowed Reed to slip the thermometer under her tongue. It beeped an agonizing minute later, and Reed winced at the number.

“102.3. That’s... not good,” they said. “I think that you should really rethink urgent care.”

Lynn groaned. “’M fine, really. Just need to rest.”

“Okay,” Reed said. “That’s fine, but I’m gonna need you to drink something first, okay? We’re gonna need you to keep some fluids down if you don’t wanna land in the emergency room.”

“‘Kay.” Lynn accepted a sip of the mug that Reed pressed into her hands. It was some kind of green tea, and it actually tasted... pretty good? “Thanks,” she whispered, her throat sore from fever and vomiting.

“No prob, dude,” Reed said, taking the mug from her hands. “Get some rest, okay?”

Lynn nodded, already drifting off into sleep.

---

She was vaguely aware of being woken on and off through the next few hours, Reed coaxing her to sip ice water or take her temperature before letting her slip back into feverish dreams. When she finally fought her way back to consciousness, the room was dark. The digital clock glowing on the coffee table read 8pm. She’d texted Reed to get her at... what was it, 2?

Groggy, head spinning, Lynn sat up. She felt awful, overheated and sweaty. She could just make out the shape of Reed’s body around the corner at the kitchen table, the glow of their phone illuminating the outline of their face. As if on instinct, they turned to face her.

“Hey,” they said, scooting their chair back. “You okay if I turn some lights on?”

Lynn nodded, then, remembering that it was dark as shit, said, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Cool.” They turned on a lamp beside the couch, sitting at the end, near her feet. “How’re ya feeling? Your fever is still pretty high, d’ya think you could keep down some soup?”

Food? Ugh. Lynn made a face, but Reed pressed on. “C’mon, you need something in your stomach. Like, not just water, but actual nutrition, or you’ll just get sicker.”

Her stomach felt vaguely queasy, but Lynn shrugged. “I’ll try.”

“Great! I’ll warm some up for you.”

She dozed as the microwave ran and then beeped, and then Reed helped her sit up against the pillows with the bowl of soup in her lap. Her stomach gurgled as she ate, but seemed to accept the first swallow, so she did her best. She’d managed about three-quarters of the bowl when her stomach gurgled ominously, and she set it down.

“I don’t think I can eat anymore.”

“Okay, no problem,” Reed said. “Mind if I take your temperature again?”

Lynn shrugged noncommittally, and they whipped out the thermometer. She was glad when it beeped -- the whole time she was sitting up she’d been shaking with chills, and she quickly buried herself back under the blankets, swallowing a queasy burp.

They didn’t read out the temperature this time, just sighed. “If I leave you with some water, will you drink it? The most important thing right now is to keep hydrated.”

“Um. Sure.” Reed pushed forward a glass of water, and Lynn smiled shakily, but didn’t drink it. “I just don’t wanna puke again, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it. You must feel awful,” Reed said, and Lynn laughed hoarsely.

“That’s an understatement.”

“I get it. But you gotta drink something. You’ll feel worse if you don’t.”

Lynn hesitantly picked up the glass -- it felt too heavy in her shaking hand -- and cautiously took a small sip, and then another. To distract herself from the uneasy feeling in her belly, she asked, “Can I ask a personal question?”

“That depends... how personal are we talking? ‘Cause if we’re gonna get in there with the questions, you gotta buy me dinner first.” Reed wiggled their eyebrows, and Lynn felt a warmth that had nothing to do with fever run down her spine.

“Um. Why are you doing this?”

“What, talking to you? ‘Cause I’m bored, and there’s nothing on TV. I mean, if you want me to shut up, I can?”

“No! Like, taking care of a sick stranger you’ve never met. Like, gross sick.”

“Eh.” Reed shoved their hands in their pockets, looking away. “It’s what I would’ve wanted someone to do for me.”

There might have been a story there, but Reed looked a little down, so Lynn decided not to press. “Well. In that case, thank you. It’s appreciated.” Her stomach gurgled again, going from uneasy to actively nauseous in half a second. “Shit -” she gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth and throwing off the blankets.

Reed jumped up, maybe to help her, but she was already unsteadily standing, the cold air a shock to her system after staying under the blankets for so long. “Hmmmk!” she gagged, saliva flooding her mouth as she wobbled towards the bathroom as fast as her weak body would let her.

She didn’t make it.

Lynn was just in the threshold of the bathroom when her stomach lurched, squeezing as she heaved again, and she lost it, vomiting into her palm and all over the floor. The sink was closer than the toilet, so she lurched over to it, barely making it over the counter before undigested soup came flooding up her throat, forming a foaming mess in the basin. She heaved again, drawing in a ragged breath before she felt a large, calming hand on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry!” she sobbed, tears running down her face. “I didn’t mean to -- I didn’t know I was gonna be sick, and I tried to get to the bathroom, I really tried --”

“Hey,” Reed said. “Hey. Lynn. Dude. It’s okay. That was kind of my fault anyways.”

“It’s not! I puked all over your floor, and in your sink --” The liquid was slowly draining now, but chunks of undigested noodles and chicken and vegetables were clogging the drain. God, what had she done? "I’ll clean it up, I promise!”

“You don’t have to worry about that, I got it,” they said softly. “Don’t make yourself more upset, you’ll get --” They sighed a little as she burped over the basin again, bringing up a torrent of chunky liquid. “--Sick.”

“Sorry,” Lynn managed when she was done dry-heaving. All that would come up was airy burps.

“Again,” Reed said, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have forced you to eat or drink when you weren’t ready for it, and I definitely should’ve given you a trash can or something.” They shrugged. “Nothing that can’t be cleaned, so. Lesson learned.”

Reed guided Lynn over to sit on the closed toilet seat. “Sit here for me while I clean this up, okay? Just let me know if you start feeling bad again.”

Lynn took in a shaky breath. “Okay.”

Her stomach was cramping hard again, and she wrapped both arms around it, hunched over. Through a haze of fever, she watched as Reed, wearing a pair of dish gloves, scrubbed the sink and mopped the floor. Then, once the bathroom smelled of soap and disinfectant, they wet a washcloth with warm water and crouched down so they were eye level with her.

“Hey. I’m gonna clean you up a bit, okay?” Lynn nodded miserably, sweaty hair sticking to her face. She felt awful, shaking with chills and fever alternately, head swimming.

Reed gently wiped her face with the cloth, then her arms and hands. They re-folded it and rinsed it again, wringing it out and draping it against the back of her neck. She nearly gasped when it touched her skin. They’d used cool water this time, and it felt wonderful.

“There we go,” they said. “I bet you’re probably wanting a toothbrush or some mouthwash.”

God, she did feel gross. “Yeah,” Lynn croaked. “That’d be nice.”

“Cool, okay, good. Just stay here for a sec while I go grab some from the closet, okay?”

“Where else would I go?” Lynn’s eyes grew heavy. Sure, she had other places to go, but for now, she was glad to be right here.

#emetophilia #emeto #my fic

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verai-marcel · 6 years ago

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Invitation Only (RDR2 Fanfic, 18+ ONLY)

Summary: It’s been 5 months since the incident in the interrogation room. Arthur hasn’t left your mind for a minute, and when he gets out early on good behavior, he leaves you his phone number. Do you call him so he makes good on his promise to show you a real good time? Or do you forget about him and live a normal life once more?

Author’s Notes: Y’all asked for a sequel to Submit to Release, and I decided it was a good idea. Diving a bit more into the Dominant/submissive stuff.

Tags: Medium Honor Arthur, D/s, spanking, bondage, rough sex, modern AU

Find it on AO3 here.

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

It had been 5 months since Arthur seduced you in the interrogation room, 5 months of heated sessions wherever he could find a moment alone with you. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen the ceiling and the floor of every closet in this place. And yet somehow, neither of you had been caught. Arthur had always come prepared with a cover story, telling you exactly what to say if someone found the two of you. Usually it involved you playing a victim, and though you didn't like it, you knew it was the most believable excuse.

Fortunately, no one ever found out; if you two got caught, you’d lose your job, but Arthur would have it worse; he’d be thrown into solitary and any good points he may have racked up would be discarded. You didn’t want that for him; you had started to care, which you knew was a huge no-no. But you kept your poker face on, and as far as you could tell, no one could tell that you favored him over any of the other prisoners.

When the higher-ups told you to prepare Arthur for release, you felt conflicted. On one hand, you were glad he was leaving; he was distracting, and you were pretty sure that other prisoners who had been somewhat difficult for you to control before were suddenly cowed. You didn't like the idea of someone protecting you behind your back. On the other hand, you were sad because every time the two of you managed to sneak away, the sex was explosive and amazing. You had never been so well fucked in your life. It was as if he knew exactly what you needed, and though you weren't a docile flower, with Arthur you found yourself just doing whatever he wanted, and it was always satisfying.

“Hi,” you said casually as you opened up his cell that afternoon to tell him the news.

He said your name softly as he sat up. He had been lying on his cot, reading a book.

“Apparently you're being released tomorrow on good behavior.”

Arthur smiled at you. “Guess no one knows about my extracurriculars.”

You suppressed a smile, opting to just ignore his comment. “Someone else will come by to process you, but I just wanted to let you know first.”

He nodded and flipped to the back of his book, tearing off part of a page. “Here. Write down the number I'm about to tell you.”

Raising an eyebrow, you did as asked.

“Lookin’ forward to hearin’ from ya.”

You blinked at him and just slipped the paper into your pocket. You weren't expecting this. You wanted to throw the paper away and get back to a normal life, without the amazingly good, but very inappropriate sex.

However, as Arthur watched you mulling over this, he reminded you of what he had told you that first time in the interrogation room.

“I promised you a real good time, didn't I?”

Without saying anything else, you backed away, closed his cell, and left quickly, your mind overwhelmed with the possibilities.

***

A week came and went. Then another. And soon it was the middle of the third week after Arthur was gone, and you were feeling restless. You would come back from work, tired and grumpy, and flop into bed, touching yourself furiously to the thoughts of big, strong arms wrapped around you, memories of how hard he fucked your brains out spurring you to a subpar climax.

It was never enough. You always felt incomplete; something was missing, and you hesitated to admit what that something was. Feeling terribly unsatisfied, you often tossed and turned in your sleep. After one too many restless nights, you snapped at someone at work, and came home feeling terrible. Slouching onto your couch, you looked at your phone, pulling out the piece of paper that Arthur had given you from your wallet. You smiled when you noticed the words on the page.

...later on he will understand how some men so loved her, that they did dare much for her sake.

You smiled; the final words from Dracula, speaking of Mina Harker. Early on, you had casually mentioned that she was an underappreciated heroine, and how you hated her depiction in modern movies. You were touched that he actually remembered.

Sighing, you punched in his phone number and hovered over the call button. Did you really miss him that much?

You quickly deleted the number. Staring at your phone for a few more minutes, you opened the Messages app and typed in his number there.

Hi.

You hit send and put your phone down, getting up to make some dinner.

A second later, your phone rang. Jumping in surprise, you stared at the number in disbelief.

Fuck it. You hit the answer button.

“Missed you,” his deep voice sounding so good to you at this moment. “What took you so long?”

“I… had to think about it,” you answered.

“And if you went by impulse?”

“...I would’ve called you right away,” you admitted, much to your chagrin.

He laughed softly, the sound making you heat up with desire. “You free tonight?”

You were. In fact, tomorrow was your day off, so you could play around all night.

Wait, were you serious about hooking up with a former prisoner?

“Yeah, I’m free tonight,” you said before you questioned yourself further.

“Can I come over?”

Your silence went on long enough that Arthur had to speak again. “Why don’t you pick me up? You can blindfold me so I don’t know where you live. Would that make you feel safer?”

You nodded, but realized he couldn’t see you. ‘Y-yes, that’ll work.”

He told you where and when to pick him up. You had some time, so you showered and cleaned your apartment up a little bit before leaving. You lived in a one-bedroom; there was a small living space to the left, with a couch against the wall next to the door and a TV against the opposite wall. The kitchen took up the far right side of the space, with barely enough space for a small table & two chairs, up against the wall beneath the window that was next to the front door. In between the TV space and the kitchen was a small hallway, with a door to the right that opened to the bathroom, while straight ahead was your bedroom, which was really just a glorified closet; you barely could fit your queen size bed in there.

You threw on a T-shirt and some yoga pants over some sexy underwear, then cleaned up what you could in ten minutes. Then you headed to your car, feeling excited. But while driving, you questioned yourself, wondering if you were making a wise decision, or if you were just following your damn hormones. But as you drove up to the parking lot of the park across town and saw him leaning against a tree, his arms crossed, showing off his biceps, looking so damn good in a T-shirt and jeans, you dropped all your inhibitions. You wanted him to take you so hard that you couldn’t think anymore.

Arthur saw your car and walked over. Your eyes followed the sway in his gait, and you suddenly grew impatient, wanting him with an intensity you could not ignore. Getting into the passenger seat and putting his backpack at his feet, he looked at you expectantly.

“Blindfold?”

Crap. You forgot.

“I got one,” he said, reaching into his backpack and pulled out a black bandana. He blindfolded himself, and you tested him by waving your hands in front of him several times. It looked like he was really unable to see. You drove around in a zig zag for a few blocks anyway, just to be safe.

It occured to you that in the morning, unless you drove him back home blindfolded as well, he could figure out where you lived. Or he could just take out his phone and save the location in his Maps app.

“You know, don’t worry about the blindfold,” you finally said. “Your phone will probably save the location automatically anyway.”

Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out a flip phone. “Mine’s not that fancy.”

You almost ran a red light, as flabbergasted as you were when he pulled out that old relic. Who in this day and age still had a flip phone?

Shaking your head in disbelief, you just drove home, wondering about the sanity of what you were about to do. You glanced over at him as he sat back in the passenger seat; he was clean-shaven, his hair shorter than it was when he was in prison. There was a small smile on his face, like a man who knew he would get some tonight, and you couldn’t fault him for that.

***

“We’re here. You can take the blindfold off.”

He took it off and stuffed it back in his backpack. You eyed the pack for a second, wondering what else was in there. Was he intending to stay the night? You weren’t against the idea, but it seemed pretty arrogant to assume as much.

Who were you kidding. Of course you were going to let him stay.

Following you through the underground parking lot to the stairwell, Arthur was quiet except for the solid thud of his boots behind you. As you climbed to the third floor, you glanced over your shoulder; he was surveying his surroundings, his eyes darting to the walls, the ceiling, and then back to you, where he caught your eyes and smiled reassuringly. You smiled back, nervous, and turned your head forward again, rounding the corner to your apartment. You stuffed the key into the lock and jiggled the handle slightly as you always had to, but with your hands shaking slightly, you couldn’t get it opened.

“Let me,” Arthur said softly, stepping up from behind you. His presence was overwhelming as his hands wrapped gently around yours. He took the key from your hand, and as if by magic, he shifted the key in the lock in just the right way. He turned the handle and your door opened with no effort at all.

You looked up at him, remembered that he had been in prison for burglary, and let out a shuddering breath. “You… you’re good at that.”

“I’m good at opening all kinds of things,” he said with a smirk. You turned away from him quickly and practically ran inside, with him following right behind you and locking the door. He looked around your apartment.

“Shouldn’t you get your landlord to fix the lock?” he asked as he took his boots off at the door like you did. You shrugged as you threw your hoodie jacket onto the couch.

“He doesn’t care unless it’s fully broken,” you groused, going into the kitchen to get a glass of water. “You want anything to drink?”

“Y’got any whiskey?”

You made a face. “Nope, sorry. I got one last IPA in the fridge.”

It was Arthur’s turn to make a face. “I’ll pass.”

You shrugged and turned your back on him to drink your water over the sink. You needed a moment to think. To breathe. What were you doing?

The sounds of Arthur padding over and stopping behind you distracted you from your inner turmoil. He touched your shoulders, leaning down to kiss the back of your neck. You breathed in shakily, and Arthur took your glass of water and chugged the rest before putting the glass in the sink. You turned in his arms.

“Ar… Arthur?”

He held your chin, his thumb stroking your lower lip. “I need to know somethin’.”

“What?” you whispered.

“Do you trust me?”

You scoffed. You barely knew him. But as he kept running sensual circles on your skin with his thumb, staring at you with his almost turquoise eyes, you so desperately wanted to trust him.

“If I do anything that you don’t want, just say ‘cherries’, and I’ll stop immediately.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is… is that my safe word?” You were peripherally aware of BDSM, what with a certain trashy book becoming a popular trashy movie that your friends wouldn’t stop talking about, greatly to your annoyance. But the idea of this man dominating you, making you do whatever he said, jolted pleasure straight to your core.

He nodded. Arthur had never given you a safe word before. He just knew what to do, never crossed any lines, just made you feel good and wanted. The fact that he gave you a way to stop him meant that he was going to push your limits tonight.

You looked at him, hesitant.

“You must trust me a little bit. You invited me here.”

You looked away, unable to disagree.

Arthur gently turned your head back to face him. “Kiss me.”

You leaned forward and closed your eyes as you kissed him. He held your face with both hands and kissed you back passionately, and you fell into his rhythm, letting him drink you as he started to move backwards away from the kitchen and towards your room. As soon as he stepped through the door, he picked you up and fell on top of you on your bed, making sure to keep most of his weight from crushing you directly. His lips moved from yours to travel down your neck, stopping to kiss your collarbone before he looked up at you.

“Did you miss me?” he asked as he stood back up and took off his shirt. You nodded, speechless as you looked at his body; he was all muscles and scars, the sight of him heating you up like nothing else. You reached for him, but he grabbed your wrists and placed them above your head.

“No touching unless I say so,” he commanded.

You nodded.

He stared down at you, waiting.

“Yes, Sir,” you finally said.

“That's my girl.” Rewarding you with a soft kiss on your forehead, he started to lift your shirt up, his hands caressing the soft curves of your belly, up to your breasts, wrapped in a sexy black lace bra.

“This for me?” he asked, leaning over to lightly bite your nipple through the fabric. You shuddered at his playful nips on your skin, and when he lifted the bra over your breasts so he could palm them, playing with your nipples with thumb and forefingers, you nearly reached for him again.

“Looks like I need to tie ya up,” he rumbled. Leaving the bed, he went to his backpack and pulled out a long black rope. It looked silky and soft, but you still looked at it dubiously. He placed it on the pillow next to your head, opting to lift you up into his lap as he sat back. Straddling his legs, you could feel his hard bulge straining against his jeans, and you ground against him, wanting him inside of you.

“Let’s get these off,” he said as he pulled your shirt and bra off. He lay you back down and pulled off your yoga pants, stopping to admire the black lace thong you had chosen to wear. Keeping his eyes on your, he bent over you, taking the lace in his teeth and pulling it down just far enough to reveal your wet center. He caressed your belly, then trailed his hand down until he was circling your clit, teasing you.

“Fuck, just touch me,” you demanded.

Arthur’s eyes darkened as he took his hand off you and flipped you over onto your stomach. A quick slap to your ass made you yelp.

“I make the demands here,” he growled. “You just do as I say.” He shoved two fingers inside of you, curling them inside you. “So wet already, my sweet girl. Do you need me?”

Swallowing your pride, you gave him the answer he wanted to hear. It was an answer you wanted to give. “Yes, Sir, I need you. Need you inside me. Please,” you begged.

You felt Arthur climb over you as he grabbed the rope and wrapped it around your wrists, then tied you to the headboard. You heard him unzip his jeans, and felt him resting his cock on the curve of your ass as he caressed and massaged your back and shoulders, turning you into a relaxed pile of jelly.

So while you were bonelessly lying there, he jerked his hips and shoved his cock inside you.

“Oh god!” you yelled, surprised by his sudden intrusion.

“You wanted this,” he growled as he wrapped his hand around your neck and started taking you, taking his time to make sure each stroke was hitting you as deeply as possible.

“I missed ya, sweetheart,” he said in a low voice as he fucked you into your bed. “Missed the sound of you taking my cock so good.”

You moaned in response, lifting your ass up so he could get in deeper. You had really missed this, his hands stroking you and holding you down as he took his pleasure from you, using your body like he owned it.

“Took so long to call me,” he growled, sounding a bit more intimidating than normal. It sent a thrill through you. “Disobedient girls need to be punished, don’t you think?”

“Yes Sir,” you breathed.

He pulled away to slap your ass again, and with each squeak and groan you made, it spurred him on, slapping you harder in different places, until you felt your skin heat and burn with a hot, painful pleasure that only he could give.

“You learn your lesson?” he demanded.

“Yes!” you almost yelled.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling you back. Leaning over you, he gripped your jaw and turned your head towards him. He kissed you hard, bruising your lips and forcing his tongue into your mouth.

“Yes, what?” he snarled.

“Yes Sir!”

“Good girl.”

Whenever he said that to you, in that deep gravelly voice of his, your body felt a zing of happiness, and you knew it was dangerous, to be this intoxicated by one man’s voice, one man’s words. But at the moment, you wanted nothing more than to be utterly possessed, and yielded your body to him completely.

And he took it, ramming himself inside of you over and over again, pulling out just long enough to flip you onto your back and bend your legs back so he could hover over you and watch as you lost yourself. He reached down and toyed with your clit, bringing you to the brink before pulling his hand away. You screamed in frustration, so close to completion, but hyper-sensitive as he continued to fuck you.

“You wanna come, sweet girl?”

“Yes, please, please let me come,” you sobbed.

“Your beggin’ sounds so delicious,” he rumbled. “Touch yourself, show me your face when you come.”

You quickly reached down and fingered your clit as he kept pounding into you, his hands grabbing and squeezing your breasts. Looking up into his eyes, your climax slammed into you, your breath stolen by the intensity. You hadn’t felt this good in weeks, and you rode out that feeling for as long as you could, until your long moan had subsided and you were trying to catch your breath.

Arthur still rocked inside of you, so turned on by watching you. His eyes were hooded as he fell upon you, not bothering to keep his weight off you as he crushed you beneath his large body, his hips continuing to pump into you.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you come,” he gasped into your ear. “Beg for me again,” he demanded.

You begged for him to come inside you, begged him to use you as his cock sleeve, begged him in the dirtiest way you knew. And it worked wonders, because he came hard, moaning your name and filling you up with his pent up seed; it was so much you felt it slip outside of you even before he finished coming.

Arthur let out a satisfied sigh, reaching up to untie you. He kissed each of your wrists before pulling you into his arms, stroking your hair.

“Darlin’,” he mumbled against your forehead. You looked up at him and he graced you with a sexy smile.

“Were… were you waiting for me?” you asked.

Arthur smiled. “Of course. Wanted to fill you up real good.” He pulled you closer and whispered into your ear. “So you know you’re mine.”

You shivered at his possessiveness. This addiction was dangerous. You barely knew the man, but you wanted him in your bed every night. You wanted to spend more time with him. You were starting to think you might want him a little too much.

Arthur seemed to sense the change in your mindset. He tipped your chin up so he could look you in the eyes. “Speak your mind, sweet girl.”

Unable to disobey, you spoke the truth. “I’m not normally like this. I don’t know how to reconcile the normal me and the me that just wants to do everything you say.” Your eyes widened at your own confession. This put you in a position of weakness and you hated it.

Arthur smiled at you and took your hands in his. “You're a strong woman. And you have desires that contradict that, but that’s okay. I'm more than willin’ to give you anything you need, just tell me.”

“Why? We barely know each other.”

He held your hand to his lips. “We know each other just fine. Because you trust me with your body every time we meet.” He kissed your fingers, one by one, as he gazed at you tenderly. “And I treasure your trust in me.”

You just about cried. He was too much, saying all the right things to soothe your heart.

“Besides,” he added, “you’re the one who’s really got the power. My job is to make sure you’re happy and safe.”

You noticed the glimmer of something in his eyes, something more than just affection. Your brain started putting pieces together, of all your interactions, of all your couplings. As he held you close, rubbing your back and making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, you came up with a theory, that you thought might have been crazy, if he hadn’t said that last thing to you.

Arthur might be a Dom. And you suspected he wanted you to be his sub.

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

End Notes: This is purely self-indulgent; I wanted hot, rough sex followed by soft tender aftercare, but now I think this is becoming a bigger story. Also I HC Arthur as a whiskey and lager kind of guy. No IPAs for him. And finally, as I do, this Arthur is probably staying as medium honor, kind of like the chaotic neutral alignment in Dungeons and Dragons.

@lilouonigiri, this is all your fault, you started this with your original request... now it’s a thing.

#arthur morgan #arthur x reader #modern AU #modern arthur morgan #writing #fanfic #lemon fanfic #nsft #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic

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walkerismychoice · 6 years ago

Text

No One’s Fault

Book: The Elementalists

Pairing: Beckett X MC (Zoe Flynn)

Raiting: PG-13 with some Mature/Suggestive language at the end

A/N: This fic re-tells Chapter 11 through Beckett’s eyes. All dialogue is copied from the chapter. As per the chapter, Beckett is talking to Atlas in the beginning, but she is named as Zoe due to it being Beckett’s point of view and not knowing otherwise.

Word Count: 2934

Tag List: @tabithacarlisle @ritachacha @thatspicegirlssong @darley1101 @flyawayboo@confessionsofabrokegirl@flowerpowell @itsstillnotwhatyouthink@jimmypagesandbrianmayshair@tmarie82 @choiceswreckedme @enmchoices @regina-and-happiness @christopher-powell @blackcatkita@debramcg1106 @lizeboredom @boneandfur

“Well, that’s it. Zoe’s not anywhere on campus... That mirror must have taken her somewhere else entirely,” Shreya says with a look of defeat on her face.

“The way the glass shattered, I’ve never seen anything like it... “ Beckett racks his brain, searching for some sort of clue. He is trying, and failing miserably to not let his feelings about Zoe get in the way, but he's worried sick, and it is affecting his ability to think rationally.

They walk back into Zoe and Shreya’s suite, hoping to sit down and come up with a plan to find answers, but as they walk in she’s there. He’s so relieved to see her, but still something seems off.

Shreya’s jaw drops. “Zoe?! Where have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere!

Zoe freezes, momentarily speechless. “Y-Yes, I am Zoe. Your friend.” An awkward smile crosses her face.

“What happened to your hair?” Zeph asks in disbelief. Her hair is shorter now and white. Nothing like the flowing brown waves Beckett ran his fingers through not long before.

“Uh, ha! That’s so funny... you. That’s just like..you. Always cracking jokes,” Zoe replies almost nervously, and it’s so unlike her. Beckett could see this type of behavior coming from himself, being socially awkward and afraid of saying the wrong thing, but not Zoe. Zoe always seems so confident and self-assured.

Zeph chuckles. “Well she recognizes my comedic genius, so she must be alright.”

Beckett stops himself from rolling his eyes at Zeph. If he didn’t like the others, especially Zoe, so much, he wouldn’t hang around to hear more cutting remarks from Zeph. “Never mind all that. Where have you been? The mirror room was completely destroyed and you were just gone!”

“Yeah, where did that mirror take you?” Shreya questions. “We looked all over campus!”

“It... It took me to Penn Square. I don’t know what went wrong, but it dropped me right into a dumpster. I tried the spell to clean off, but something went wrong and it turned my hair all white. Guess I’ll have to have Swan fix it tomorrow.”

Okay, that seems plausible, Beckett thinks, and he knows it’s an easy fix. “Oh, no need. That’s just a simple transmutation spell. I can quite easily--

“You touch my hair, my hair, and I’ll punch the eyebrows off of your face,” Zoe snarls and the room is stunned into silence. Beckett knows he wasn’t initially warm and friendly with her, but he’s opened up to her more now than anyone else here. They’ve kissed, more than once, and she seemed really into him. Either he totally misread the situation, or something happened to her when she went through that mirror.

Zoe's faces softens slightly. “Sorry, I’ve had a really rough day. I’d like to just go to bed.”

Shreya frowns. “Oh. Well, of course. We’re just..glad your’e safe. I guess we should all go to bed, hm?”

“Thanks. All of you.” Zoe’s voice is somber and somewhat hollow, and Beckett just can’t shake the pit in his stomach.

Everyone starts to leave, but Beckett turns back. He looks her over, and he’s certain she doesn’t fail to notice the concern on his face. He places a hand on her shoulder and she goes stiff. “You..." He wants to wrap her in his arms - for her to melt into his touch - and to tell her how happy he is that she’s back, but something stops him. “You have no idea how troublesome you are!” His tone comes out harsher than he means it to.

“Hey!” Zoe snaps back, and he doesn't completely fault her for it.

"Just going and disappearing like that! Worrying all your friends! It was completely thoughtless of you and...and" He relaxes his shoulders and exhales deeply. "And I'm really glad you're okay." He wants to say more, but coming from him she should know what this admission means. He pulls her in for a hug and she doesn't sink into him like he'd hoped, but he reasons she's been through quite the trauma, and he would probably be just as on edge himself.

"Thanks." Is all she says before he releases her an short time later. Beckett wants to talk more and make sure she's really okay. He opens his mouth to ask, but then thinks better of it and stalks away, still with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Beckett gets halfway down the hallway before he realizes he can't leave Zoe like this. He turns back knocks on the door to the suite's common room but nobody hears him. He bangs harder to ensure the sound will carry. Thankfully it's Zoe, and, not Shreya who answers the door.

"Beckett?"

"Hello. Hi. It's...me again." Idiot obviously she knows it's you.

"I can see that." Zoe replies coolly, but there's a hint of a smile on her face.

She's already seems much warmer and at ease than she was just a minute ago, and it finally dawns on him that her hair is back to its normal color and length. "You fixed your hair."

"Yeah...it just...turned itself back?" He's not quite sure if she's telling him or asking him. Either way, with the change back to her typical appearance, her spirit seems to have returned as well.

Zoe looks him up and down, and he fidgets with his hands in his pockets, suddenly self-conscious of his rumpled appearance. "I'm... I just wanted to make sure you were okay, I..." He decides their's no sense in holding back and trying to play strong anymore. "I'm at a loss here. When you vanished, I felt like I should have been able to do more, and I couldn't, and I-" He shakily runs a hand through his hair, letting the full weight of his worry hit him for the first time.

"Beckett, it's no ones fault." Zoe tries to reassure him. "And I'm fine, see?"

He let's out a weak laugh, trying to convince himself just as much as Zoe that he knows everything is fine now, but he doubts it is convincing. "I know it's late, but...do you want to talk? Just for a little while. I know you said you're okay, but I feel like I have to make sure."

Zoe sighs. "Now really isn't the best time."

Disappointed, Beckett is about to give up and go back to his room when he notices the cuts and scrapes all over Zoe's exposed skin. "You're hurt. I can help with that! I know a spell that'll remove the shards of glass quite painlessly." He's desperate to do something to help, as well as to find any reason to spend more time with her.

"It's fine," she tries to play it off like it's less painful than he fears it is. "I'll just go to the nurse tomorrow.

"But...I can help you." He pleads. "I have to help. Please, Zoe." He can't forgive himself for failing to protect her in the first place and will do any to make up for it.

"Sure, I could use the help. Let's talk out here, okay?"

He's relieved when she agrees and tries not to be disappointed that she didn't invite him into her room. She's hurt and probably shaken up, so he tells himself it would be selfish to expect anything from her, yet he still can’t seem to turn off his attraction to her any time she comes in close proximity.

Beckett follows her to the couch and sits down. Acutely aware of his disheveled appearance, he attempt to smooth out his blazer and laughs at how pitiful he must look. “I must look like a complete mess. Bet it’s pretty funny seeing always-put-together Beckett Harrington off his game."

"Beckett, you look just fine. Maybe a little sadder than normal. A little more rumpled. But I wouldn't say you are falling apart or anything," Zoe assures him. Not cute, hot, or any of the other compliments she normally gives that make him blush, just fine and not falling apart. It's better than her saying he looks awful he supposes, but maybe she's just being nice. "And it's anything but funny to me," she continues. "More... depressing than anything really."

"Gee, thanks," he quips. So he looks rumpled and sad and it's making her depressed. Not quite the effect he'd hoped his presence would have on her.

"Sorry. I just mean... it's hard seeing you so upset!" She reaches over and takes his had in hers.

Beckett looks up to meet her gaze, and it stirs something inside him, causing him to look away sheepishly. He doesn't know if he'll ever get over the way she looks at him.

I'm actually really surprised that you were so concerned considering how much you tried to hate me," she says with a smirk.

He knows she must be teasing after all the conversations they've had since, but he feels the need to reassure her anyhow. "I don't hate you, Zoe." He finds the courage to meet her gaze directly without backing down and squeezes her hand tightly. "I admit that when I first heard about you I was jealous. More so when I realized your formal training was quite lacking. And I lashed out. I worked so hard to be the best and it didn't matter. I thought with you attending, I'd have no chance of being top of the class."

Zoe' smile falters. "Beckett, I never meant to make you feel that way."

Again he's trying to cheer her up, and he fears he's only making things worse. "Of course you didn't... You were my first friend here. You took me in when no one else would. And the thought of something happening to you when I could have stopped it..."

"What do you mean you could have stopped it?" Zoe interjects.

Maybe he's said too much. "I...I've been practicing some advanced magicks. There had to have been some spell, some part of my knowledge that I could have used. But when it comes down to it, I just stood there, weak." He balls his fist and feels heat rise in his face, angry with himself for not rising to the occasion when it counted the most.

"Beckett..." He can see his own torment reflected on her face before she closes the distance between them and hugs his shoulders tightly. He shivers beneath her touch, his face nestled into the crook of her neck. "There's nothing wrong with freezing up. It all happened so fast. You would have needed the quickest reflexes on earth."

Beckett's heart flutters in his chest as he snakes an arm around Zoe's waist, holding her close, inhaling the smell of her floral shampoo before looking back up at her. "How do you know I don't have them? I am vastly superior to the majority of the world's population." He tries to keep a straight face until she laughs and then he cracks too.

"Aaaand, there's the Beckett Harrington I know." Zoe pulls back to look in his eyes and he wonders if she notices that he's teared up. "You can't blame this all on yourself," she tells him, indicating he's not hiding anything from her. "First of all, there's no way you could have known what would happen. And second of all, we were all there. No one else had any idea what to do either.

Beckett frowns and sighs. No one else studies as hard as he does. No one else is in love with her like he is. He thinks these things but doesn't dare say them. "Still. I said I'd help, so at least let me take a look at you."

Zoe spins around in a circle to humor him. "See? Totally fine." Beckett gently lifts her arm and plucks a piece of glass from the skin near her elbow. Zoe's eyes go wide. "Wow, I didn't even realize that was there."

"Probably because of the adrenaline," he explains. "It looks as though that's the worst of it, thank goodness." He holds his hand up and it begins to glow a metallic tint, but he's frustrated as it fades away. "Shoot, just give me a second." The glow in his hand flickers intensely, but still nothing happens. "Come on Beckett you worthless-"

"Beckett!" Zoe scolds.

"I'm sorry. I've...I've done this spell a million times. I just cant... it won't." He averts her gaze, his hands balling up against his knees, and he's feeling nothing but weak and useless, unable to help Zoe in any way.

"It's okay. Don't be so hard on yourself. You can do this. I know you can. Just think about me. You want to help me, right? So stop thinking about your own faults, and focus on that.”

Shit. He's been so worried about needing to be the hero, he's letting his own insecurities get in the way of helping Zoe. "I didn't mean to make it all about me, I-"

"You're doing it again," Zoe points out. He cracks a smile and shakes his head but says no more "There you go, you're starting to relax. Take a deep breath," she instructs.

"Fine, fine." He raises his hands again, and they tremble with nerves. He inhales deeply and let's it out, his palms glowing warmly. "Now we're getting somewhere." He passes his hands over her arms and takes satisfaction as the pieces of glass slip out, Zoe not showing the slightest hint of pain. "There. You'll have to go to the nurse to get a salve for the cuts, but that takes care of the glass at least."

Zoe smiles. "Thanks, Doc. So I'm good as new?"

"I don't know, maybe I should double check to make sure," he suggests half serious, and half just looking for an excuse to get close to her, his success giving him a newfound confidence. He inspects her arms up and down, lightly tracing her veins as goosebumps form beneath his touch. "Hmm, no serious damage there." Seeing the way his touch affects her, he grows bolder. He circles around and leans his head in close, Zoe twitching as his breath tickles the hair at the base of her neck. He trails a finger slowly down her spine.

"Beckett..." She breathes.

"What? Does it hurt?" He wonders if he's found a sore spot or if it's maybe something else.

"N- No..." she stammers and he knows he's got her where he wants her now.

"Look, there's a little bruise right..here." He grazes his lips on the side of her neck to kiss it and make it better. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her tight to him. He swears her knees wobble, and had he not been holding her, she’d be falling straight too the floor. If only they were in the privacy of Zoe's room. "Better?" He asks with a sly grin.

"I'm certainly not complaining." She turns around, and his satisfied smirk transforms into a genuine smile, relieved to have Zoe safe and happy in his arms. "What about you though? Feeling better?"

Her words are a reminder of all the ways he failed her tonight, and he keeps the smile painted on his face despite his disappointment in himself. "Yeah, yeah, I think so." He tries to remind himself that all is good now. He glances over to the clock on the mantel and his eyes go wide. "Oh, wow. It's so late. I'm such a dolt. You must be exhausted, and here I am complaining about my feelings."

It's fine, really. After everything that's happened today, I'm not sure I would have been able to fall asleep anyway. But if you want to make it up to me, why don't you give me a goodnight kiss?" Zoe asks coyly. "It will help me sleep better."

"I don't need a reason to kiss you, Zoe." The truth is he'd kiss her anytime, anywhere, so long as she asked. His smiles down at Zoe, his thumb grazing her cheek before he leans in to press his lips to hers. He hugs her tightly to his chest, never wishing to risk letting her out of his grasp again for fear she'll disappear.

"Zoe..." he whimpers before tracing his tongue along her lower lip. She responds to his nonverbal request, parting her lips to grant him access to her sweet mouth. He waits until he's completely out of breath to break the kiss.

Zoe laughs as they both gasp for air. "Great, now I'll never get to sleep."

"I'm sure after the day you've had, you'll have no trouble," he says and is thankful for not blurting out his true thoughts - that he's imagining she'll slip into bed and touch herself while she's thinking of him. He's also grateful that his cheeks are already flushed with arousal, for he'd certainly be blushing otherwise at the idea of it and knowing he'll be doing the same back in his room while thinking of her.

Beckett cups her cheeks, eyes lingering on her face until he presses a kiss to her forehead and finally, reluctantly lets her go. Seconds pass and neither one makes a move, the only sound the crackling fireplace. "I'll let you get your rest, but... I want to tell you that.." He hesitates, feeling vulnerable about letting the true depth of his feelings be known. "I'm just... I'm really happy you're still here."

Her soft expression mirrors his own. "Yeah, me too." And with that Beckett takes his leave, relieved and content that she feels the same.

#playchoices fanfic #the elementalists #beckett x mc #beckett harrington #my fic

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piratekane · 6 years ago

Text

A Vanessa-Noah centered short, featuring the absolute murder of storm-related metaphors (for which I apologize).

every storm (runs out of rain)

Noah slinks around the pub with a black cloud over his head. His footsteps sound like claps of thunder and his eyes are lightning every time they cut over to her.

She’s always been afraid of storms.

She’s older now, though. She used to hide under the bed, a flashlight and a book pulling her into another world of sunshine and summer showers that left only rainbows.

Noah leaves black, scarred trees; doors booming as he exits rooms.

Now, when she’s hiding from storms, she sits in the pub, hands wrapped around a cold cup of tea, Charity’s smile her only anchor.

“He’s a teenage boy, babe,” Charity whispers at night. Vanessa can hear it coming, the slow rumble building at the end of the hall. “Moody as a cow.” She rolls over, her weight settling warm against Vanessa’s hips, her arms on either side of Vanessa’s head. “He’ll come ‘round.”

The rumble becomes a roar.

“Course he will,” she tells Charity, not believing it for a minute. “Course he will.”

“Bit gross,” Noah grumbles.

Vanessa looks up, eyes wide in surprise. “What’s that?”

Noah jerks his head towards the magazine she’s holding. Lightning cuts through the living room. She’s been consuming them lately, the anticipation of getting her suspension lifted running through her like a live-wire. Pearl picked her up a new one when she went into Hotten and she hasn’t put it down yet.

“That... cow whatsit.”

Vanessa closes the magazine, her thumb keeping her place. There’s a cow stomach on the back - and ad for a new feed company. She nods slowly. “A stomach,” she tells him.

He shrugs his shoulder carelessly and Vanessa heads the windows shake.

“Gross.”

She wants to argue with him. A cow’s stomach is fascinating. But there’s a flash of light there in the corner of his eyes and she can feel herself shrinking into the corner of the couch. So she folds the magazine over and goes back to reading her article on horse tracking in the 21st century.

When he leaves the room, she lets out the breath she was holding and tries not to feel the lightning licking at her feet.

Charity has her own kind of storms, subdued with age and Vanessa’s steadfast support.

“You said you’d stop meddling,” Vanessa reminds her.

Charity throws her arms up into the air. “Well, I lied!”

Vanessa sighs and pushes her hair back. “He’s a grown man. He doesn’t need you-“

“He’s my son.” Charity’s shoulders pull back and Vanessa can see the regret building in her eyes, but Charity pushes on. “An’ I get to decide what I do with him. Not you.”

Vanessa exhales a slow, steady stream of air and it ripples between them. “Fine,” she says tightly. “You decide, then.” She picks up her phone and shoves it into the pocket of the hoodie she’s wearing - something with Dingle painted across the back of it.

Charity straightens up, eyes narrowing into thin slits of confusion. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Vanessa ignores her, pulling on the first pair of clean weeklies she finds. “I need to clear my head,” she finally says.

Charity moves in front of her, a wall of fog she can’t get past. “You’re going nowhere.”

“Charity-“

Charity shakes her head sharply and a lamp flickers. “No. The last time you left, you got yourself stabbed.”

Vanessa scoffs. “Right. An’ that was my fault.”

“Well actually babe, it was.” Charity looks away. “Right. Stay right where you are. You want... space, then fine. I’ve got to get back behind the bar anyway.” The door slams behind her and thunder claps in her ears.

The living room door opens just as quickly and the air goes out of the room.

“What’ve you done?” Noah asks, his voice rumbling.

Vanessa feels her shoulders tighten and she takes a measured breath, counting the seconds between the thunder to see how close the storm is. “It’s nothing, Noah.”

1, 2

“Mum is going on like a mad woman.” Noah moves into her line of sight, windswept hair in his eyes.

Vanessa sighs. “Course she is.”

Noah’s feet thus against the carpet and Vanessa keeps counting.

“Sent me back here to make sure you don’t leave.”

The tension knotting in her stomach loosens. “I’m going nowhere.”

“But you want to,” Noah accuses.

“No,” Vanessa says softly. “But sometimes, your mum is-“

“Too much,” Noah challenges. Something grumbles low in the distance. The storm is six steps away now, coming closer. “That’s it, yeah?”

The air feels humid, a threatening stickiness that seeps in through her clothes.

“No,” Vanessa repeats. “She’s not. But she’s not always right, either.”

Lightning flashes as Noah narrows his eyes. “So you think she’s-“

“Noah,” she says sharply. She’s not little and hiding under the bed anymore. She has her own thunder now, her own storm that rages when Charity is standing in someone else’s, trapped. The world spins around her, debris coming closer while Charity shrinks away from it, and Vanessa burns to get to her.

Noah’s forehead wrinkles like an angry sea crashing against the shore. “You can’t-“

“I can. An’ I will,” she adds. “We’re going to be a family and you just... you have to deal with that.”

The tide goes out in his eyes and floods back in again. “You won’t last. They never do.”

“I will.” Vanessa straightens. She’s always been a strong swimmer. She lets her voice soften. “I know you think I won’t and I know why you think it.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

1, 2, 3, and the thunder rumbles again as Noah steps closer.

“I know you’re afraid.” Vanessa stares into the eye of his storm, unblinking. “I know you don’t think there’s space for both of us here, with her.” She breathes in, most building in her eyes. “But there is. There always will be. As long as you want there to be.”

She steps back and the mist thickens to a fog, grey and sweeping across the room. He blinks and there’s a cold winter storm in his sharp breaths.

“Just remember that, yeah?”

Noah says nothing and Vanessa heads for the stairs, rain at her heels and forked lightning cutting through the darkness.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

Noah presses against the bar in a fury.

Vanessa hardly jumps now, when he thunders by. She’s always braced, always listening for the next threatening rumble.

“You think you do, but you don’t,” he continues. “You think you’re the first to-“

“That’s it, isn’t it,” Vanessa says aloud, turning to face him. She pauses, his gaze roiling before it settles. “I’m not the first.”

“There’s been loads of blokes before you. And there’ll be loads after you.” He sneers like hail coming down from the sky, stinging her. “There’ve been other people who want me to call them Dad and I won’t call you Mum.”

That’s it, Vanessa knows. He’s got nothing left to give, no space for her to have inside of him. He’s a boat with holes left by other people and the water is rushing in on him all the time. The thunder can keep it at bay, but not for long.

“You don’t have to,” she says gently.

“Good,” he says sharply. “‘Cause I won’t.”

Vanessa eyes him carefully. “If you don’t...” She takes a deep breath, steadying herself with one hand against the bar. “If you don’t have space for me in here?” She taps two fingers to his chest, just above his heart. Her fingertips spark where they land. “Then that’s okay, Noah.”

“I don’t need your permission,” he growls after a minute. He’s retreating like an unfinished storm that’ll swell later and rain for days.

“Course you don’t,” she says to the back of his head as he charges out of the room, a messy squall of swirling sleet.

Noah slips up to her side and Vanessa shifts, trying to move away from his sparks before she catches fire.

“Talked to mum,” he mutters softly.

She curbs the smile building on her face. He’s subdued, his head angled towards her. But Vanessa knows how storms work, how they trick you into feeling safe before they consume you mercilessly.

“She reckons I’m being daft.” He reaches for the orange juice she’s drinking and swallows a mouthful. “Thinking you’ll go.”

“I don’t want to take up any more space,” she tells him. “And if you don’t have it, if you don’t have it, well. That’ll be alright.”

Noah sighs heavily and a warm cloud drifts over her shoulders. “People leave, yeah?” He sighs again. “And sometimes they take... they’re still in there.” He taps two fingers agains this chest. “I’ve not got much left, do I?”

Vanessa scans the ceiling for dark, hovering clouds but there’re none. “Your mum tell you that?” she guesses.

Noah rolls his eyes. “Won’t stop touching my face, either. Says I’m getting my head out of me-“ He stops at the look on her face. “Reckon that’s your doing.”

“Might be,” she admits. “Might be she’s always been that way, though. And now she’s just figuring out how to say it.”

“She loves you.” He says it with surprise, as if he’s just seeing it, just understanding it.

“I love her.” Vanessa touches the stone on the ring she’s wearing. She watches the way his eyes clear.

He smiles like a soft summer rain falling from sunny skies. “Yeah, alright.”

“Yeah,” Vanessa says softly. “Alright.”

#vanity #charity x vanessa #vanessa woodfield #noah dingle #charity dingle #i have murdered the word storm and i apologize

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