#football is a fast paced world and in moments like these i hate it so much | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tommyspeakycap · 3 years ago

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I seen a Tik Tok of a girl and a guy with the guy leaving and saying I love you and the girl not saying it back - thought the guy had a similar accent to John stones. could I maybe request something like that please and thank you.

went searching for it to write this fic and I thought the same - he does sound a bit like John!!! also thank you for that - video made me howl!!

Say it Back

John had been a pretty private guy for most of your relationship. It was a well known fact that you two had been together for years, but any insight into your relationship was small, brief and rare. it was usually camera caught moments by paparazzi after games or tidbits in magazines when you were spotted outside together.

The only actual look people got into the two of you that weren’t shady hidden behind bush photographs that made you, John and anyone who stumbled across those articles majorly uncomfortable was through your instagram. You shared few and far between pictures of him. If he preferred to share only the football aspect of his life with the world, then that was for only John to decide. You were more than aware that most people only followed you because of him, but to be totally honest you couldn't have cared less.

You weren't a hugely private person when it came to many aspects of your life. It paid for you not to be. You met John at 22 in a very fast paced episode of you life where you were wrapping up a final year of uni and bouncing around just enjoying your life, sharing intimate stories at parties that broke the ice and made everybody cry with laughter. John actually admired that about you. The ability to turn absolutely everything no matter how potential personal, uncomfortable or awkward into a hysterically funny story.

He didn't at all feel forced out of his comfort zone with you, his opening up just came so natural as he observed how much people genuinely appreciated how open you were about things. John truly aspired to be a lot more like you.

Maybe that's why he was open to the cheeky tidbits that you had begun to share with the world through the opening of your tiktok account.

Lockdown had quite literally gotten you both knocked flat. You'd watching everything that was of interest and there was still no word that either of you would be able to return to 'working' anytime soon. You browsed through videos on your private account, the sound of your screeching laugh always a tell tale sign that John knew would precede his phone pinging only seconds later with that same video sent to him even if he was on the other end of the couch.

It had become so addictive and John wanted to hate it, but you had roped him in quicker than he cared to admit. It also gave you something to do when there was quite literally nothing else. New things to bake, new types of coffee to try, stupid things off amazon that give you a couple hours of amusement.

You filmed a couple of videos that had blown you up pretty much as soon as people realised it was your account, which was fair. Your instagram photo dumps were cute, but the insight that people got into your life through tiktok was something that reporters could only dream of managing to capture behind bushes in the street. It gave you and John a weird kind of boost, having full power of your own exposure.

He relaxed into it so cutely. Shyly suggesting he would actually like to be involved in the baking competition video you'd talked to him about earlier that week. Even if it wasn't his face, just his hands and the cakes that he made to challenge yours because even your face wasn't in it, it was just about your beautiful cakes and his terrible attempt at a Kermit the frog design. Everybody knew it was him, but people were hysterical in those comments and there was so little negativity that you both had fallen in love with the concept of sharing your life together on here.

Just insights into the love you shared, sweet little things like a day in your lockdown life, you filming him working out in the garden with the 'what a man' sound over the top or trying to learn the renegade together after teaching him how to make whipped coffee.

People just adored everything about you two, with such an obvious love for each other that could just be felt and seen so clearly. It was in him going for the weekly shop and bringing you home flowers every time or picking up something new he seen because it looks like the kind of thing you might like to try. In the way that he looks at you in those videos, even if he says few words and spends only seconds in the frame, his face always lights up with a smile when you walk into a room even if you are doing something sneaky behind the phone.

His laugh is genuinely so infectious, everybody just loves it and loves him and John actually feels - probably for the first time in along time - that like people actually like him. And you were in love with the fact the world was getting to see and know him as the John that you love with every inch of your being.

By far, the best tik tok idea you had stumbled across one was what you had spotted a few times on your trending pages and just had to try.

"Right, I'd better head off then before it gets busy eh?" John says he mulls around in the sitting room after putting his shoes on and moving around slowly to gather his keys, wallet and a hoodie from various locations in the house. You hum in acknowledgement, eyes not leaving the TV playing reruns of friends as you lie on the couch wrapped in a burrito blanket.

You flick your phone onto tiktok to film him discreetly. "Got the list? and a mask?" You call out to him as you open the app, hearing him pat down his pockets to ensure he has both stuffed into his trousers left hand pocket. He nods and walks over to you, now filming him in a way he won't notice at all.

You actually feel a bit guilty for what you're about to do when he leans down and presses a sweet, loving kiss on your temple and suggests you have nap while he's away because he knows you didn't sleep well last night.

"Bye babe, love you!" He yells from the door, your phone pointed over the back of the couch at the entrance of the living room where you can about see him loitering in the foyer of the house, hand on the front door as he waits to hear you shout back to him like you do every single time he leaves the house - even if just going out to get something from the car. "Bye!"

"Bye!" he repeats, "I love you." He echos, this time louder than the first time as he pauses again, leaning back slightly to listen closer as to make sure he wasn't just not hearing you. "Bye babe." You retort, covering your snort of laughter with a loud clear of your throat. John furrows his eyebrows tightly and closes the door over completely. "Oi! I said bye, I love you."

"I said bye, John!" You call back out to him casually, giving the appearance that you were playing around on your phone while you actually watch him plant his hands on his waist, keys jingling together at the motion as his shopping bag remains tucked under his armpit. John's face is utterly priceless, the picture of adorable confusion as he walks straight into the living room with gusto and pace. “What’re you doing?” You giggle slightly, trying to stifle the noise as he appears into your full vision in the doorway of the large living room where you sit up.

“I said; bye I love you.” He states emphatically, gesturing with his hands to you for you to speak with his eyebrows raised expectantly. “Bye baby.” You beam, waving him off and turning back to your phone.

“You’re in love with me,” he states confidently, something like a look of clear expectation on his face, “so why aren’t you saying it back?”

That’s when you burst out laughing, giggles hiccuping out of you as he stands there, hands out at his side waiting for you to say something else. “You’re insane, away you go,” you snort though giggles, an involuntary smile ticking on his lips only for a moment before his face straightens out again. “Only if you say it back.” He protests, crossing his arms back over his chest firmly,

You’ve just lost it now, folding yourself over as you wheeze in laughter. You don’t know exactly what you expected from him, but his protest and insistence wasn’t exactly it. “Lo…love you.” You wheeze, words broken by your breathless laughter as your phone wobbles around in your hands.

“Nah, not good enough mate.” He shakes his head, chucking his folded tesco shopping bag for life down onto the other couch as he walks around towards you. “Say it like you mean it.” He insists, a teasing glint in those blue eyes you know so well.

John walks right over to you now, the situation dawning on him the second you tilt your phone to capture his movements. “You’ve made me look a right clingy bastard!” He chuckles, that signature John laugh as he throws his head back and your whole world brightens just at the sound of it, your heart flooded with happiness all because of him. You stand up from the couch to meet him where he now stands right in front of you. You turn the camera to front facing and show you stood with your head resting on his chest as he wraps his arms around you. You tilt the camera up at him, capturing him pressing that sweet kiss down on top of your head. Then you tilt your head up, subsequently shattering the hearts of every person who would come to watch this video on their tik tok because that kiss that you peck onto his lips from your tip toes is still somehow so full of love from just a small gesture and his eyes are absolutely shining in adoration for you as you mumble a sweet, smiling “Love you baby.” against his chest.

He laughs slightly, a smile overtaking his lips as he flicks his eyes to the little red bar just about to run out of time along the bottom of the recording tik tok.

“Just as well, thought I’d have to remind you before I left.”

And the ever cheeky Barnsley boy sends a very telling wink to the camera as you blush furiously right in the time that video ends, just to let everyone know exactly what he means.

#john stones #john stones blurb #john stones imagines #john stones imagine #john stones x reader #england national team #england national team imagine #football #football blurb #football fic #footie fics #footballer fics

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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

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Cigarette Daydreams

Pairings: young Javier Peña x young f!reader

Inspiration: Cigarette Daydreams by Cage The Elephant

Summary: Javier drives all night in the rain, wondering what went wrong and where. How he lost you, the one woman he’d ever loved.

W/C: 5.4k

Warnings: language, talk of death, lots of talk of sexual content but nothing explicit, lots of angst, emotions are running high here, talk of poor mental health. this handles some heavy topics so please be warned. set in the 60s so there’s a really brief mention of being drafted.

A/N: So this is a song I like but it’s really emotional, as is this fic. I just wanted to explore what Javier would’ve been like when he was young. It’s not necessarily all in chronological order but I kind of think it makes sense... let me know if it doesn’t. thank you to all my friends/beta readers who helped me with this one, like @leonieb, @feelingmadclever, @theteddylupinexperience, and a bunch of others :)

Javier smoked his first cigarette with you. It would become a lifelong addiction: the cigarettes, that is. You, on the other hand, were a yearning he could never satisfy. An addiction is something you can feed; you can dull it by giving it exactly what it wants. Javier wanted you, still wants you desperately. The difference is that he cannot have you.

It’s been years since he last saw you. Since he last heard your enchanting laugh, smelled the warm scent of your hair product as he kissed the top of your head. He thinks about you all the goddamn time. What life would be like now if you hadn’t gone your own way. He misses you like hell, but he’s sure you’re off and married and conquering the world in your own way. He’s never tried to find out. He’s too scared it’s true.

Laredo was more of the place you told people you hailed from. The name was recognizable, easily: oh, you’re from the place where A&M’s other campus is located? Exactly, you’d respond, and it was much less of a hassle. In reality, you and Javier both grew up in a small community out in the farmlands near Laredo.

You’d grown up with him. Everyone in the town knew you, and they knew Javi equally as well. He was an interest of your community: from the day you took those standardized tests in second grade, everyone knew that Peñita was going places, but his temper held him back. His emotions consumed him.

He was blonde as a baby; you’d seen in photos, scattered around Chucho’s house. His hair gradually grew darker as he grew older, and your classmates all teased him. You didn’t remember a time where his hair was lighter than a dark blonde, being a child yourself. But it was an evolution that matched him, you had come to realize in your adult years.

Not only was he smart, he was a born athlete. Javier was always a bit smaller than the other boys, but damn was he quick. He could run and run and no one could match him. That’s what made him so successful in early football training. From the start, Chucho enrolled him in football, despite Alejandra’s weak protests. She gave in when she saw her baby in a helmet and massive shoulder pads, grinning at her with one front tooth.

You and Javier were not in the same circles as children. He played with the boys on the field, always the running back when they played football or the offense when they played soccer. He had a temper, though. If there was ever a scuffle on the soccer pitch, you could bet Javier was one of the fighters. You, on the other hand, sat in the shade of the elementary school building, reading book after book.

His mother was beautiful. She had long dark hair that smelled of something exotic and warm, and she had a smile with a dimple in one cheek. She brought treats to your class on his birthday, which was in November. She read books to your class on her assigned story days, Javier cuddled into her side. He adored her.

Alejandra Peña died when you were in sixth grade. You can remember the way the class was silent the next morning, Javier’s desk empty. You nearly threw up from the emotion when you heard that she was gone. Your eyes blurred with tears. The loss was inconceivable to your twelve-year-old brain.

You rode your bike past his house that night. There was a lamp on in the room you knew to be his. His silhouette paced back and forth through the small, second-floor bedroom. You didn’t know what you could do or say, and so you rode off through the neighborhood.

His hair grew even darker after that. What had been a dark blonde became a light brown as middle school progressed. His anger flared up. He would throw punches when the kid acting as referee made a call Javier deemed to be bullshit.

You were something different. Javier found you fascinating the first time you truly interacted, seated together for a class. You were fourteen then, his face just starting to grow a bit of dark hair on his jaw. You were absorbed by your books, hardly talking to anyone and even sneaking it under the table during lectures.

One day, he called your name to catch your attention. You didn’t notice it, lost in your own world. He snatched the book from your hands and slammed it on the table. “Hey. Princesa, we got work to do.”

You frowned. “Give it back, Peñita.”

“Only after we finish this assignment. I don’t want homework tonight.” He stuffed the book in his backpack and tossed you a pencil.

“I won’t do it until you give it back,” you bartered coolly, crossing your arms and sitting back in the chair. “And I have more willpower than you. That’s a fact.”

He glared at you for a moment, the both of you staring the other down. It lasted quite a while, more than you expected. Javier broke first, handing you your book and grumbling over the worksheet.

You became better partners after that. Javier even apologized for it two weeks later. You forgave him, and something about his smile made your heart flutter around in your ribcage.

That started the friendship. You’d walk together in the halls, chatting about your parents and sports and homework for the night. Then middle school became high school and things changed between you, even though nothing you did was different.

Javier had always been a good athlete. He became the first-string running back for the high school, leading them to state his freshman year. When you walked together in the halls now, there was an expectation from the others. Boys and girls only walked together if they were couples, and a star football player was a coveted date.

You’d explained that to him. “Javi, as much as I love you, and you know I do, people are gonna think we’re together. I don’t want you to have to deal with that,” you’d pleaded. “I’d be ruining your chances. I think it’s better if we walk separately now.”

Javier nodded. He had to play along. He couldn’t let you know that in the past few months, he’d begun to feel things for you he’d never felt before. He had dreams about you at night, the kind where he’d wake up to damp sheets. He’d noticed your body changing, and his changed too. He thought about you when he’d lie awake at night, his hand in his boxers. The hormones were beginning to pump through Javier’s blood in a way that may have never really ever stopped.

From then on, you’d walk alone in the hall. Your nose was buried in a book at first, navigating it alone. Then you’d made friends, and you’d talk with people as you slammed your locker shut. You’d give Javier a wave, leading him to be roughhoused by his teammates who took him in as one of their own.

You became different from him. You were known for being an artist and a writer. You embraced the loving spirit of the 60s’ culture and made warm oil paintings of fields and flowers, wrote poetry that won awards, and even wrote a collection of short stories. You weren’t a hippie, but you were artsy. Javi became a bit of a jock.

The pressure grew to be too much in the middle of Javier’s junior season. It was the end of fall. You were both 17. You’d stopped maintaining a friendship now, far from as close as you’d been in the earlier days. You waved at him in the hall and that was it. It changed when the stress of being an athlete pushed on Javier’s brain until it popped. He quit the team, spending his time after school in his bedroom at home. He no longer proudly wore the team’s t-shirts or his letter jacket.

You heard about it through rumors. You didn’t talk to Javier. He kept his head down in the halls now. There were dark circles under his eyes. He’d sit in the library for hours, forcing himself to cram knowledge into his brain. If he wouldn’t be going to college for football now, he figured, he’d better get smart fast.

You’d sat at a table across the library as you worked on your chemistry homework. You glanced up. Javier looked down. He’d been looking at you. You stared at him until he looked up again. “Can I sit with you?” You’d mouthed, and he nodded. A small smile graced his face.

Packing up your textbook and papers, you dragged a chair over. “Hi, Javi,” you said. Your voice was quiet and painfully soft.

He smiles a little. “Hey, princesa.”

It’s quiet for a moment, the both of you staring at your papers and pretending like you were working. You weren’t. “I missed you,” you finally admitted after the silence passed.

His heart skipped a beat. “I missed you too. Probably more than you missed me.”

You shook your head. “I was wrong. I liked walking with you in the halls. I miss that, I miss us,” you admit, your hand resting over his. He looked up at you with the big brown eyes you’ve always loved, and your smile softened. “Your hair is so dark now, Peñita.”

He nodded a little. “It just keeps going. I don’t know if it will ever stop.”

“You’re funny,” you chuckled and retracted your hand. “How have you been? I heard about the football thing.”

He sighed softly. “It was too much. Not me, not anymore. I hated it.”

“Who are you now, then?” You asked quietly.

He looked up at you. “I don’t know.”

You’d smiled. “I can help you find out.”

That’s how your friendship began again.

It wasn’t a friendship for long, not with how you noticed Javier had changed. His hair was that warm, dark, chocolate color, his nose finally fit his face, he’d grown stronger and leaner and taller. He’d acquired a different sense of confidence, a different posture and walk. But it was clear: he was still your Javi. The one who stole your book all those years ago.

You’d grown even more beautiful over your time apart, he noticed. You’d become self assured and confident too and it showed. You had a little mean streak, and Javier loved it more than life itself. He got a little weak at the knees when you’d tease him.

He’d become a social outcast, essentially abandoning his place in the social hierarchy that high schools provide. When you knocked on his door a few days later, Chucho answered, slightly confused. “Hello.”

“Hi,” you said, smiling apologetically. “I’m a friend of Javi’s, I’m here to study with him.”

The older man was a mirror of Javier many years from now. He had a strong nose too, and a worn face. It made lines when he’d smiled. “I didn’t know Javi had many friends anymore.”

You shrugged. “Well, I think you’re right. But… I’m here.”

Javi jogged down the stairs, frowning when he saw his father at the door. You came inside and studied and Javier couldn’t help but to beam at you. Studying wasn’t much of studying. As you’d sidetracked the work and started conversing, Javier leaned in as if he was going to kiss you. You stopped him, but kept his face close. “Not now, Javi. I want it to be perfect. But I do want to kiss you.”

He’d panicked when you’d stopped him, but your words reassured him, and he breathed a chuckle. “Sneak out with me tonight.”

You agreed.

12:30 A.M. rolled around. You pocketed a pack of your dad’s cigarettes and a lighter and rode your bike to the pond nearby.

Javier sat there waiting. He was wrapped in a leather jacket, jeans covering his long legs as he sat by the side of the pond. Crickets chirped and birds called and when he looked at you, your heart fell apart in your chest. It never really glued itself back together. Not even to this day.

You sat next to him, and he put an arm around your shoulders. You couldn’t wait any longer, and you leaned in and kissed him and he was absolutely perfect. His soft lips pressed back against yours, those hands buried themselves in your hair. You broke away a second later and both of you grinned at each other. It was only seconds more before he pulled you in for the second kiss you’d ever had in your life.

That night was not only Javier’s first kiss but the first time he smoked a cigarette. You pulled one thin stick from the pack and placed it between his lips, lighting the end.

He was a natural at it, unlike you, who’d tried before and choked and spluttered on the smoke. You were better at it now, able to handle yourself. He breathed in and out and passed it to you, and he looked so effortlessly cool and sexy and beautiful that you didn’t take a drag, you grabbed his face and kissed him again.

You were so many firsts for Javier. His first kiss, his first cigarette, his first fuck. You’d done it in the back of his truck, on a hot night where you parked in a field far from the town and rolled all of the windows down. You finally got to feel his strong body, got to feel his passion for you as he tugged on your lip with his teeth and pushed inside of you. It was sheer bliss for both of you, even if he never made you orgasm that night.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to figure that out. Javier was a natural, his hands wandering and feeling everything your body had to offer until they found just the right spot to make you cry his name into the hot Texas night. You snuck out with him often, smoked and fucked in his house when Chucho was gone, or by that pond.

You talked a lot after. You were the first he opened up to about his mother. He missed her like hell. He told you that he wanted to work in some kind of law enforcement. He thought drug enforcement might suit him. You opened up about your own trauma to him, and he held you as you cried into his body. He’d kissed your forehead and told you he promised that nothing would ever happen to you when he’s around, and it was completely believable because Javier was like some deity to you. He was strong and warm and loving and kind and beautiful and you thought, truly, that he could do no wrong.

He never betrayed that trust either. Javier was a wonderful boyfriend to you in the daylight hours too. You’d study together, go on bike rides or just drive around in his truck. You spent almost every weekend with him. Chucho adored you too, loved your humor and kindness and most of all, your love for his son. Your family didn’t like Javier much, so you simply avoided your house with him.

Javier was so proud when he first pulled up your driveway in his truck soon after you began again. He worked for the Villafañes down the road as a farmhand, a summertime assistant to the aging man who lived there. He saved his earnings all summer and split the cost with Chucho. He’d had it for 8 months and it had been on the verge of the junkyard the entire time.

It was a piece of shit, and you both knew it. It was a deep red, rusty and broken down. The shocks were terrible and made it bounce like a bull in a ring. It didn’t matter, because it was his.

He’d pick you up in that truck and drive all night. The two of you sang along to the radio, then would talk, then make out in the backseat and drive again. You loved Javier, and you admitted it quickly. He said it immediately after you.

People looked at you like you were crazy when you held Javier’s hands in the hall. Wasn’t he a mental case? Who would give up something like he had, and for no apparent reason? You didn’t give a shit, even if your friends told you Javier was no good. They didn’t know him, didn’t know that his middle name was Fernando and he hated it and that his mother’s favorite gem, ruby, was yours too, that Chucho told you Javi wanted to marry you someday or that Javier loved to nudge your neck with his nose after sex, both of you warm with the hot Texan air flowing through his open windows.

You told them they didn’t get it, and they said you were the one who didn’t. You’ve got everything going for you. Why risk it with the nut job?

Javier remained a pariah, an outcast, but you didn’t give a shit. You called out his name in the hall and waved, sat with him at lunch and laughed until you choked on the terrible school meal. You were loud and affectionate, and it brought Javi back from the fringes of high school society he’d been banished to.

Javier worked in fields and barns to earn money, building his muscles. You worked in customer service, building your restraint. Your town had opened a drive-in restaurant a few years before, complete with roller-skating waitresses. Being a skilled skater, you signed up.

It was fun, but a pain in the ass some days. Customer service was rarely enjoyable.

The highlight of the summer after your junior year was Javier pulling up to the restaurant every few days. “Peñita!” You’d squeal and put in an order for just what he always wanted- strawberry milkshake, double patty cheeseburger, large fries.

“Hey, Princesa,” he’d mumble back with a small smile, leaning in for a kiss. He looked like a Texan James Dean, white t-shirt cuffed and worn jeans. His dark hair was gelled back, though much of it fell loose from his long day of hauling crops for Don Villafañe. This coolness was contrasted by his shitty truck, dust caking the windows, and the fact that he was far from blonde now.

You’d fold your arms over his open window and kiss him, tripping over your skates in your excitement. He’d laugh and tease you, and he’d always give you the cherry off the top of his milkshake. You began telling your coworkers to put two cherries on top, so that he could have one too. He still gave both to you.

During your senior year, Javier gave you his class ring. It was large and bulky on your fingers, thinner than his, but it made you beam with pride as you walked through the halls. You’d cried when he gave it to you, promising he’d replace it with a diamond someday. You knew it would never last that long.

Senior year was uneventful. You went to prom with Javier, wearing a peach colored dress. Javier wore his father’s tuxedo with a tie to match your color. The photo was awkward but sweet, the two of you clearly in love. You graduated equally uneventfully, and the two of you spent the night in his truck, out in a field, promising sweet nothings through the sound of skin slapping skin. “Here’s to the class of ‘66,” Javier murmured into your neck.

You had big dreams, and Javier’s were far different. He planned on attending Texas A&M, not far away. You’d earned a fantastic scholarship at a small liberal arts college in Upstate New York. You both knew these things, but Javier seemed determined to make it work. He knew the two of you loved each other; shouldn’t that be enough?

You felt guilty the entire summer. You had anxiety attacks quite a bit, felt that you were leading Javier on. Then, another part of you thought, he must know. He must not believe you could pull off a long distance relationship with only letters and phone calls.

Javier passed the summer blissfully unaware. He was young and in love: he thought there was nothing that could go wrong. You still spent time together, more than you ever had, in fact. Something gnawed away at your insides as the time passed.

On the rare days neither of you worked, you’d find somewhere deserted and sit with your legs dangling from his tailgate. You’d nick liquor and cigarettes from your parents and share them, laughing and talking. Planning a future you knew wouldn’t come.

The day before you left, you spent the day with your boyfriend. You had a picnic dinner, complete with some stolen beers from Chucho’s refrigerator. You sat on a blanket in a nearby field, watching as the afternoon dwindled down to an orange-hazed sky.

As the sun set, tears formed in your eyes. “Javi?” You asked him softly, your voice cracking.

“What is it, princesa?” He returned, pulling you closer into his side. The tall grass swayed around you, and you bit your lip to stop from choking out a sob.

“I love you, Javier. And I always will.” But as you said the words, your actions said otherwise. You removed your class ring from your finger, placing it in his palm. “But, I think… I think we need to be our own people for a while. Maybe someday we’ll meet again. Maybe things will be different, but I’m going to New York and you’re staying here. Fuck, you could be drafted, and I-“

Javier stopped you, pulling away and looking at you in the face. His eyes showed his heartbreak. “I thought we were gonna get married, be together forever.”

You choked out a sob. “Javi, I want to. I do. But I can’t. I can’t live that kind of life.” You wanted to travel, to do things, to live freely and be whoever you wanted. Javier wanted to stay in Laredo and work in law enforcement. The two weren’t compatible.

“There’s nothing stopping you,” he begged, taking your hand in both of his. “Please, I’d move to New York with you, or you could go to A&M with me, please,” he asked, his eyes welling with tears. “You’re the love of my life, baby.”

You couldn’t look at him. The emotion was too much to bear. “Javier,” you whined and pulled your hand from his. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

His heartbroken stare makes you cry harder into your hands. You stood, ready to find your way to the road and walk home.

Javier caught you by the waist, then removed your hands from your face. “I-I understand. I do. But… kiss me one last time?”

You stared at him, tears staining your face and his cheeks equally damp. You nodded and Javier cupped your face, kissing you slowly and lovingly. It was tender and bittersweet. It was not the way you’d kiss him at the drive-in restaurant or in the back of his truck. It was not the way you’d sneak a kiss goodbye in front of Chucho. It was desperate. You both knew what it meant. Maybe that’s why it lasted so long.

You broke away and pressed your forehead to his before finding the dirt road and beginning the walk home. You needed to finish packing, and was getting dark. You didn’t dare to ask Javier to drive you home. You feared you might change your mind if you were around him a second longer.

Javier never saw you after that. It was partially serendipitous and partially out of effort.

When he returned home on winter break or for Thanksgiving, he contained himself to Chucho’s house, or he’d see one or two friends he still had. That was about it. If he knew you weren’t in town, he’d go out and have a good time. It would all go downhill if you were there, and he knew it, so he resigned himself to long nights with his father.

You wanted to see him again. You drove past his house many times when you were home from New York, seeing the light on in his old room again. Every time, you stopped just a little longer than you should have at the stop sign yards from his house. You contemplated pulling into the driveway and begging him to take you back. It never happened.

Once or twice, you even caught a glimpse of dark-chocolate hair through the front windows of the house. It made your heart stop and your eyes tear up.

You moved out of town when you graduated. You started a career near your college, far from your hometown that was almost considered Laredo. Your wish was fulfilled.

Javier’s was too- well, only partially. He stayed in Laredo. He worked in law enforcement there for a while before he got picked to work with the DEA. It didn’t matter what kind of job he got. He didn’t have you, and that made him miserable.

You’d been the one to save him. Now he didn’t even know if you still had the same last name you did when he slipped his class ring onto your finger, when he murmured your full name and promised one day that he’d get you a gorgeous ruby and diamond band instead of that class ring and he’d change that last name to Peña.

Javier got a new truck recently. It’s nice. The first car he ever bought that wasn’t used, actually. It’s a deep red, the same color of his first car. Ruby, he named it.

He thinks about you all the goddamn time. Nothing could change that, not time or hookups. He sighs as he thinks about the years since you’ve seen him, while he drives around in the pouring rain. Why? How?

He never slept around in college, too lovesick and still hoping you’d call and want to meet with him, would want to rekindle what you’d had.

He forced himself to get moving after that. He had a few girlfriends when he worked for the Webb County Sheriff's Office. He even got serious with one.

Lorraine was beautiful and kind and funny. He loved the way she’d shotgun a beer and then kiss him, her lips tasting of the fermented liquid. She was a good time, a great partier. He asked her out and things went well, he supposed.

She wanted different things from Javier. He’d been starting to grow restless, wanting to leave Laredo. Lorraine, however, wanted to settle down. She wanted the whole thing: a big ranch-style, a fireplace in the living room, four or five babies with Javier’s brown eyes, running around and laughing.

As much as he wanted it, he couldn’t. He nodded along and played the game, telling her that he’d do that for her. He’d provide for her and give her all the kids he wanted. He’d be a good father and a great husband and everything would be good.

It was more to himself that he said those things. He wanted to believe they were true, really, but he had the feeling you’d had years ago. He wanted her, wanted such a calming life, but at the same time, he didn’t want it. He wanted to get out and do things and feared being fenced in.

He proposed to Lorraine. Got her a nice diamond ring and everything. She’d cried and kissed him and he’d forced himself to smile but it wasn’t genuine. At least she didn’t know that.

The wedding was planned. It was going to be a grand affair for the town, nearly everyone invited. Everyone was like family to the members of the town. Lorraine got an expensive, fluffy white dress and Javier bought a tuxedo.

The ceremony was supposed to start at 5:00. Everyone sat patiently as the clock ticked past it. They didn’t know a thing. They didn’t know Lorraine was pacing the church basement, her heart clenched in fear. No one had seen Javier. Not even the groomsmen.

Then it became 5:10, 5:30. At 5:45, Lorraine’s mother began to quietly tell the church that the ceremony wouldn’t be happening today. The disgruntled attendees left, wondering what happened.

Javier had ran. He drove out of Laredo, straight for Dallas. He wanted out. He’d left early in the morning, not even saying goodbye to his father. He was already on a plane to Washington D.C. when the bride realized she was no longer getting married today.

He got a job working for the DEA. They’d offered him one a few months ago, but he’d declined. He wanted to stay in Laredo with Lorraine, he’d bluffed. Things hit the fan when he began training for the new job.

He fucked every woman in sight. He didn’t care who they were: if they wanted him, he wanted them. He never stopped smoking, developed a love and almost dependence on whiskey. When he went to Colombia, he paid for his first ever escort.

It was what he deserved, he told himself. The one woman he’d ever loved left him. He had left the one person who ever gave a shit about him. Ruined her life and left her with a sense of anxiety whenever she was in that church’s basement as she remembered.

He doesn’t deserve attachment. He doesn’t deserve someone caring for him. That’s why he sleeps around. That’s why he’s left so many lovers in the dust.

Stop thinking about that, Javier tells himself. He whips a U-turn, opening the window and hanging a hand out of it. It forces himself to return to reality, to get out of his goddamn head and to not crash this new truck. The rain pelts his skin and he frowns. It never rains around Laredo, and it’s the one night he’s in town.

He pulls into the old drive-in restaurant, thinking back to the happy days. He can still see your baby-faced grin as you skated over to him, long legs pushing you along. He could nearly taste the strawberry milkshake on his tongue. It’s closed for the night, since it’s in the early hours of the morning now.

He jumps as a car pulls into the spot next to him. He looks down, knowing that whoever it is will likely recognize him. Everyone recognizes him around here. He’s not in the mood to talk.

“They’re closed,” a voice calls out from the other car, and Javier’s heart stops. He’d know that voice anywhere, even if it spoke a different language.

He looks up and his eyes meet yours for the first time in twenty years. They’re still just as beautiful, still glimmering. “Peñita,” you breathe out as it clicks in your mind.

He’s aged beautifully. His dark hair is neatly pushed back, though it’s a little shorter than he used to keep it. His face has lines now, heavy from the stress of his job. His eyes look weary and tired.

You get out of your car. Javier does the same. You look at him, standing there, with a new truck that’s the same color of his very first piece of shit pickup. “Nice truck,” you comment.

He smiles softly. “Thanks. It’s new.”

You walk around the front of your car, eyes wide in disbelief. There’s hurt on his face and you know you’re the cause of it. “Javier… I missed you.”

He looks down at you, now standing right in front of him. “I missed you more.”

You throw your arms around him and hug him tight. Your eyes water with tears as you squeeze him, wishing this moment would never end. He hugs you back, those arms still strong and protective.

He presses a soft kiss to your head. He mutters his nickname for you quietly. His voice is different now, huskier and deeper. It’s a beautiful sound. His lips are buried in your hair but you can hear it all the same. “Princesa.”

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javi peña #javi peña x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #Narcos #narcos fanfic #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic

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wy-van-sunshine · 3 years ago

Text

modern Wesper high school

Wylan

The red-haired boy opened his locker pretty annoyed, slamming the door against the metal: it was the end of the school year and, just as usual, it was time to prepare for the school prom, probably the most important event to students.

Wylan hated it from the deepest of his heart: he had never been popular and no one had ever asked him to go together. What he hated even more was to see all the happy couples around him and some guys who found the courage to ask their love interest out.

Why had none of that ever happened to him in four years? Yes, he was openly gay and he was a little bit shy, but he wasn’t that bad after all, was he? He knew in his school there were other guys interested in men like he was, so why was he never considered a choice?

With his cheeks red with anger, he threw some books in his locker to put an end to that day and go home already; before closing the door, though, he saw a paper falling down from it: before he could catch it, a girl (whom he hated from the deepest of his heart) next to him took it and opened it: “Hey sunshine, want to go to the prom with me?” She looked at him raising her brows, a stupid smile curving her mouth “Oooh, Van Eck has a date! I wonder who could make such a poor choice”

Wylan rolled his eyes and took the note from that hideous bitch who never gave him a break. When she finally walked away, he focused on those words he couldn’t really read and his eyes suddenly widened: wait, had he just been asked out? Him?

Wylan was incredulous: that couldn’t be true, there had to be some kind of mistake. Wrong locker, maybe? He’d never been called “sunshine” before, so that message was definitely not for him.

He raised his gaze and scanned the hallway, looking for someone staring at him, maybe waiting for his reaction: but the only eyes he met were those of the captain of the football team, and he definitely couldn’t be his secret admirer.

Jesper

What he did was crazy and rushed, but that was just Jesper: everything he did was instinct. He carried the football team on his shoulders and all a good captain could do was to always trust his heart, no matter what.

He had spotted a beautiful mess of red curls during his first science class at the beginning of the year, and he’d been obsessed with that smart guy ever since: he didn’t talk much, but when he answered to the professor everything about the way he talked was hypnothic to Jesper - his soft, shaky tone, all those difficult scientific words, everything.

Even though Jesper was very friendly with everyone, he had never found the right moment to approach that curious boy: he was always alone, but every time he looked so focused on his drawings, lost in his thoughts, and Jesper just didn’t feel allowed to enter his world.

But he had to put an end to it: after talking to his dearest friend Inej about his matters of heart, the girl had suggested that he ask the red-haired guy out at the prom. He’d liked the idea.

He didn’t know his name - damn his lack of any focus during the science lessons, no wonder he had terrible grades - so he decided to call him by the spontaneous nickname he’d found after the first week: sunshine, because that guy with his curls and his smile shone like no one else.

He was now looking at him from the distance, curious to see his reaction to his note: when their eyes met, Jesper noticed the guy’s cheeks were much pinker and he chuckled, in complete awe for such softness.

Inej next to him smiled and punched him on the shoulder: “Looking flirty already?”

Jesper did nothning but laugh, keeping his focus on the handsome boy across the hall.

Wylan

All his surprise for the note disappeared when he saw the captain and his friend laugh while looking at him: suddenly, Wylan felt so stupid.

Of course no one wanted to go out with him, had he really believed any of that were true?

He lowered his gaze and only then did he remember he was wearing a green jumper: oh God, not only did he feel stupid, he was actually looking stupid. He remembered his father’s words every time he wore that colour: “Green with your red hair? You’re going to look like a Christmas elf. What’s next, a bell bracelet?”

No wonder the captain and his friend were laughing at him, now: they’d tricked him with a fake love note and they’d found him with that ridiculous outfit. He wouldn’t be surprised if they even knew he couldn’t actually read.

The joke turned out even better than expected.

Wylan felt tears filling his eyes and, before he could do anything about it, they were falling down on his cheeks. He had only a few seconds to see the captain’s expression change before he turned and ran away, far from all that shit he couldn’t take anymore.

Jesper

What had happened?

Jesper was standing petrified, all his excitement gone. He was confused and also a little bit crushed because he’d never seen tears wet that beautiful face before.

“I don’t understand” he whispered, turning to Inej to look for some answers.

“I don’t know what happened” said the girl, perplexed just the same “But I do feel like this is a good moment for you to be there for him. You say he’s always alone, and I don’t know who wants to be alone while crying”

Jesper nodded and gave Inej a rapid kiss on the cheek before leaving her in order to follow the red curls running away from him. It wasn’t hard, after all he was an athlete, so he could easily keep the guy’s pace. He followed him until he entered the music room: Jesper took a few moments to be surprised about it, but then he approached the door to join him and hopefully talk to him.

He found him seated at the piano, playing a furious yet wonderful melody on the keys.

Narrator

Wylan could express his feelings mostly through music, so that was the first thing he looked for after the pain he’d felt that day: he was liberating his frustration, telling his secrets to the only one who would listen.

He felt observed, but he didn’t care: whoever was annoyed by how loud he was playing could make peace with it already, he wasn’t going to stop.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt”

Wylan froze: he knew that voice. He’d watched some games at his school and the captain’s voice was always the loudest, the clearest.

Why had he followed him? Wasn’t he happy enough with how he had made fun of him?

“Leave me alone” whispered Wylan, his voice still rough “Please”

Jesper cleared his throat and stepped forward: “I’d like to sit next to you, actually. May I?”

“You may not”

The captain chuckled: “Um... okay, I’ll stand here then. I’m Jesper Fahey, nice to meet you”

The red-haired guy sighed: “What do you want? You’ve already humiliated me beyond imagination, what else do you need?”

Jesper opened his mouth, schocked and speechless: he had humiliated him? How was it possible? He hadn’t done literally anything apart from writing him a note that was everything but humiliating. What was the redhead talking about?

“I... what?”

Wylan laughed, tears filling his eyes again: “Oh please, please don’t play fool with me. Asking the poor loser out fot the prom? Very funny, yes, I’m sure you had a heartfelt laugh with your friends”

Jesper tried to reply, but Wylan went on, his cheeks newly red and wet: “You know, I knew I was stupid, but not as much as to believe someone like you could actually be interested in me. Stupid Wylan, you idiot. Father’s so right about you, you’re such a delusion”

“Hey-”

“And you also found me wearing this stupid green jumper and- you know what, I’m taking this off. I’m already a loser to you, so what changes?”

Jesper put a hand on Wylan’s arm and stopped him, trying to look at him in the eyes.

“Wylan - did I understand right? - Wylan, stop for a second. What the hell are you talking about? And why shouldn’t you wear that jumper? I...” the captain laughed nervously “I am honestly so confused, but please listen to me”

The redhead froze at the sudden warmth of the captain’s hand on his arm: he dried his cheeks with his sleeve and sighed: “Just be fast, I really can’t do this today”

The captain cleared his throat: “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I think there’s been a huge misunderstanding” he smiled at Wylan “I really want to go to the prom with you”

Wylan’s eyes widened, his breath catched: was he serious?

“Is that so?”

Jesper laughed: “I’ve already asked you twice in less than an hour, what do you want, a formal request?”

“I...” the redhead was speechless, his mind was starting to ache trying to understand how any of that were possible. He was probably dreaming.

The captain pointed his hand to the free space next to Wylan: “While you take this life-changing decision, may I sit?”

Wylan gave him the faintest smile: “Yeah”

The captain sat and the redhead held his breath for some seconds: Jesper’s arm was muscled and strong against his thin one, his profile looked like a sculpture, his lips were the most perfect shape he’d ever seen, his skin was a beautiful light brown similar to that cappuccino he loved so much. When Wylan found the ability to breath again, the captain’s fresh scent made him drunk.

He was going to lose his mind, so he made his eyes look away before he did anything stupid.

Jesper felt Wylan’s tension through his arm against his, so he placed a hand on the piano and played a random key: “I’ve always been astonished by the power of this instrument, but I don’t think I’ll ever understand how to play it” he turned his head to Wylan “You were playing beautifully, I would’ve listened to you for hours”

Wylan shrugged: “It wasn’t a great performance, I was just letting some bad feelings out. I can do better. Besides, that’s not even my main instrument”

“Oh?” now Jesper was surprised: just how great could this guy’s talents be?

The redhead smiled and scrolled his head: “No, I play the flute. But here at school I can only use the piano, hygienic stuff, you know. I... I really needed to play some music just to feel better”

Jesper nodded: “Did you feel bad because of the note I left in your locker?”

“Well...” Wylan sighed “Kind of. It’s not your fault, though: at first I was surprised, then I saw you and you friend laugh and I panicked. I thought it was all just a mockery”

“Why would you think that?” asked the captain raising a brow.

Wylan laughed: “Are you kidding? You’re, like, the most popular person in the entire school, how could I believe you were actually asking me out?”

He wasn’t going to mention his dyslexia too. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. Besides, he was starting to think Jesper didn’t actually know about it.

“Well, for starters I should inform you that you’re very cute and that you shouldn’t blush for me saying that” Jesper restrained a smile looking at those pale cheeks get the darkest shade of red “And you should also know that Inej and I were laughing because we were so excited to see your reaction. I’ve had you stuck in my head for a while now, you know”

“You... you have?” Wylan could simply not believe it. There wasn’t any logic in any of that.

Yet, it was happening.

“Yeah”

“So... so is everything true? You really want to go out with me, of all guys?”

“Oh Christ, you’re a tough one, aren’t you?” asked Jesper rolling his eyes. He stood up, just to get down on one knee and take Wylan’s hands in his “Please, Wylan, for the last time, will you go to this godforsaken prom with me?”

The redhead laughed, incredulous, but at the same time trusting towards that handsome guy kneeling if front of him: “I think I will”

“Oh my- can’t you just say yes, for my heart’s sake?”

“Okay, yes! Yes I will!” conceded Wylan, now laughing so hard he couldn’t even remember he’d been crying just a few minutes before.

“Thank God. This was the toughest task of my life so far”

Jesper sat back next to Wylan, smiling and feeling wonderfully. The redhead looked at him for a while, then cleared his throat: “Would you mind if I...” he hesitated, unsure if he could already go that far.

“If you what?”

Wylan lowered his eyes and whispered: “... if I hugged you?”

Jesper smiled as he whispered back a faint “come here”, circling Wylan’s shoulders with his arm, pulling him towards his body and placing his other hand between his incredibly soft curls. They both closed their eyes, feeling well, in the right place.

“By the way” whispered Jesper, not moving the tiniest inch from their hug “I have no idea why you talked about your jumper, but for the record I think green looks wonderful on you”

Wylan smiled against the captain’s chest: “You do?”

“Yes. It makes your eyes and your hair look even more beautiful. As a matter of fact, you should wear green more often”

In response, Wylan held tighter to Jesper’s body: “I will, then”

#wesper #wesper fanfic #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #six of crows #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone

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musings-from-mars · 4 years ago

Note

More sugar rush striker au?

((I know this took forever to answer and I apology

If you don’t follow the sportball I am sorry for writing about soccer. If you do follow the sportball I am sorry for calling it soccer shfgjk))

~~~

There are a lot of cursed numbers in the world that evoke negative emotions. 13 is a common candidate, 666 if you’re particularly concerned about demons, 69 and 420 have their internet infamy. But for Nora, those could not possibly compare to the pure, distilled wrath she felt in her heart for a particular sequence of numbers that had been parroted by Coach Ozpin all practice:

5-4-1.

So, she could understand it a little bit. The current varsity team was basically overflowing with defenders, though none of them were particularly good, so, yeah, put an extra center-back out there. But...one forward? Just one?

For context, in seasons past, the Beacon High School Varsity Soccer Team would field a good ol’ 4-4-2: four defenders, four midfielders, and two forwards. For the previous two years, those two forwards had been Nora, and her teammate Ruby Rose. They got along just fine, not too concerned about one another since neither of them were ever in any danger of losing their status as starters. No one at Beacon was as fast or as skilled as them with the ball at their feet, and if Nora had to guess, 9 out of every 10 goals the team ever scored were either hers or Ruby’s. They did not exactly get along with each other, but if they were getting playing time and opportunities to score, they could be tolerant of one another.

But now, with this ingenious new formation Oz was implementing, that meant only one of them could start, while the other would spend most of the match sitting on the bench with the other substitutes. The thought of having to do that made Nora’s blood boil, and so there was only one option—outdo Ruby in every way imaginable. Stay late after practice, practice twice as much on the weekends, and get in Oz’s ear about making her the starter every week.

But she knew Ruby would be doing the same. If she knew anything about her, it was how determined she was to be the best. And yes, that meant being better than Nora. Especially better than Nora.

She was fine with that, of course. That would only motivate her even more.

“If we scored a goal, I scored it. If I didn’t score it, I assisted it. If I didn’t assist it, we never scored in the first place.”

Nora really wasn’t surprised to see Ruby here too. Of course she was going to start training after school twice as often, just like she was. Once Nora returned from refilling her water bottle at the water fountain down the hall, she reentered the locker room to see Ruby still in her practice attire. She wore a dark red shirt and white shorts, red socks over shinguards and bright red boots. Her medium length black-and-red hair was held back by a thin headband. She passed by Nora, leaving the locker room just as she was entering. She exchanged a look with her, but said nothing. The tension was so thick Nora could practically feel it lingering in the air around her. Fair enough, she thought. They didn’t need to talk to know what was going on—they were teammates, sure, but now they were rivals, two star players fighting for one starting spot.

It was an overcast and cool afternoon, and it would probably rain soon. Nora had no intentions of letting that stop her, though. They don’t call off matches for rain, so why should she call off practice? She was working on set pieces, setting up the yellow metal free kick dummies side-by-side to serve as a wall of defenders. Her and Ruby often split free kicking duties whenever a foul was called during games. It was a perfect starting point for trying to outdo her.

After she got the dummies set up, she looked across he field to the other end. She saw Ruby doing a dribbling course, orange cones strewn about. She moved so quick and precisely, and the ball followed her like it was magnetically attracted to her feet. She turned corners, doubled back, turned toward her goal and struck the ball. It bounced off the crossbar and rocketed up into the air. Ruby watched it reach it’s apex, and as it fell back down toward her, she leapt up, twisted herself in the air, and swung her upper body sideways, striking the ball with her forehead. Right into the inner side netting of the goal. A goalkeeper would’ve been helpless to save such a perfect header.

Ruby landed, and stood with her hands on her hips, as if admiring her work. Then she turned and looked over her shoulder towards Nora.

Nora realized then that she’d been staring for a while, and she looked away quickly, trying to act natural as she paced away from her own goal to practice her free kicks. Her face burned despite the cool faint mist that had begun to blow through the air as the storm clouds drew closer.

Nora thought back to when she was a kid, how she’d watch pro soccer on TV no matter who was playing. She could remember always picking out a player and watching them the entire match. Even if they were nowhere near the ball, if they were on screen, Nora watched them, studied the way they’d pick and choose their positioning, their pace, their runs. One day, she watched a women’s club match. She couldn’t remember anything about it, who the teams were or how significant the match was, except for the way the match ended. It was in the 90th minute, score tied at 2 all, and the player she’d been watching the entire time stood in the penalty box as a teammate took a corner kick, sent the ball her way, and she seemed to soar through the air like a superhero, literally head-and-shoulders above everyone else near her. She headed the ball with such force and accuracy that it shot into the upper corner of the goal. The goalkeeper didn’t even move, because the goal was practically scored the moment the star striker touched it.

To this day, Nora didn’t know who that player was. She had been seven years old at the time and didn’t get the chance to catch her name. But even all this time later, that one goal inspired her. Of the thousands of goals pro players score around the world every year, that single one was the reason why Nora was here on this pitch today. For that reason, she simply started calling it The Goal. It was that important to her.

And as she lined up to take her first practice free kick, she froze. She looked back over towards Ruby, who had resumed her dribbling drills.

When Ruby had headed the ball just now, it looked eerily similar to The Goal. Nora remembered, the woman who’d scored The Goal had black hair, her shirt was red. Nora was certain that she even wore a thin headband like Ruby’s.

Ruby had unknowingly recreated the singular formative moment of Nora’s football fanaticism, practically alone on a high school field. Like it was nothing. For no one to see…but her.

Nora hated this feeling, and she knew it all too well. Who was she kidding? Ruby had always been better, she’d always been the ace. And Nora knew this, because how could she be better than someone that she couldn’t help but look up to?

She shook her head and gritted herself, feebly trying to focus back on her training. She approached the ball set in front of her and struck it.

It bounced off a yellow dummy’s chest and rolled right back to her feet.

“…Fuck.”

~~~

Introducing the Sugar Rush Striker AU

#sugar rush striker au #rwby #sugar rush #ruby rose #nora valkyrie #drabbles

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hawkinsindiana · 5 years ago

Text

we’re safe now

ALMOST PARADISE: PART TWO - CHAPTER TWELVE OF FIFTEEN

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 3.3k

a/n: ahhh i’m sorry this is coming a week late! but i really appreciate everyone being patient while i sort out all the issue with my health. luckily, i’ll be able to post the next chapter next week so we’re back on schedule! again, i can’t thank you all enough for the support and overwhelming love i’ve received recently, so this is for you guys <3

masterlist

Almost two weeks have passed since that night. You’ve been counting the days like some twisted tally, unable to stop reminding yourself of the events that occurred. It bothers you to no end - why you can’t seem to get them out of your head.

The nightmare certainly isn’t helping you cope.

You can’t recall all of the details; you just remember how it felt when your body jolted, how your fingers rushed to grab the smooth grip of the pipe resting beneath your bed - until you realized it was only your subconscious mind playing tricks.

That shadow cast by your dresser wasn’t Billy Hargrove.

It’s only been five days, but sleep has eluded you ever since.

It seems that everyone’s already moved on. Their lives haven’t stopped or slowed down by what happened. Even Will’s adjusted well, or as well as can be expected. Every little bit of progress is like ten steps in the right direction for the Byers’ boy.

“Hey-” The eraser on the end of Steve’s pencil jabs you in the arm, bringing your scrambled thoughts back to reality - back to him.

“What d’you think about ten? A or D?”

Your eyes drift from Steve, sitting in the chair beside yours, to the worksheet on the table. You’d completely forgotten about it - the pen in your hand had been drawing circles absently onto the paper.

“I, uh-” You clear your throat, gaze bouncing between the four questions you managed to answer, “I didn’t get there yet.”

Steve scoffs as he leans over to take a look; he doesn’t believe a word of it. You always get through these faster than him. But when he realizes that you haven’t flipped to the second page, a touch of worry settles in his stomach.

“Jesus, Henderson. Where’s your head at?”

Steve asks it like it’s a joke. You don’t know if you appreciate or despise the delivery.

On one hand, you’re happy that he feels lighter than you do. Your troubled mind is thankful for the levity it desperately needs.

But then again, you don’t feel like you’re really here - you think you could just fall right through the floor, forever destined to drown in these emotions.

Dustin says that’s typical until the concussion wears off; but you’re not concerned about physical trauma.

You reply to Steve just as the bell rings, marking the end of the school day.

“Well, uh… the kids wanna get together tonight, but now that there’s so many of ‘em, Karen won’t let them hang at the Wheeler’s. Mike’s been on my ass to help find a spot.”

That’s not a lie - it has been on your mind. Mike has been bugging you about it, desperate to spend more time with El now that she’s returned. That’s cute and all, just as long as you’re not being dragged into it.

Steve’s brow creases before grabbing your bag from the back of your chair. He swings it over his shoulder, carrying his own books by his side; until your hand heals, you’re not going to have to lift a finger.

“Why can’t you just have it at your place?”

“Not enough room for them all to stay over,” You respond, “Max and Mike refuse to sleep on the floor. We only have one couch.”

As soon as the pair of you step out into the crowded corridor, your eyes catch the snide glances in your direction.

It didn’t take long before people started to figure out what happened.

The injuries that litter your faces were quickly connected to Billy’s split knuckles - which he’s been showing off proudly. To no one’s surprise, it sparked a whole array of rumors.

Don’t forget the shocking twist that Nancy Wheeler showed up to class with Jonathan Byers on her arm, prompting even more whispers and speculation. Needless to say, it’s been a rough couple of weeks at Hawkins High for you both.

But as soon as you’re free from the fluorescent lights and greeted with autumn’s crisp afternoon breeze, peace starts to settle in.

“They could hang out at my place.”

Steve’s comment causes you to spin around and stop in your tracks. Your confused expression meets his plain one; he simply shrugs, not acknowledging your reaction, “You know, if they wanted to.”

He continues on, brushing past you on his way towards the parking lot before you pick up the pace.

“Wait, seriously?” You question after coming to Steve’s side, baffled that he would offer such a thing, “You know that you don’t have to do that, right?”

Steve chuckles a bit, amused by your tone and the shock you radiate, “What, it’s not like anybody’s using it anyways. My parents won't get back until late Sunday night.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, Harrington?” You add after approaching the passenger’s side of his car, “They’re even worse when the world’s not at stake.”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle it,” Steve replies, tossing your belongings into the back seat. He shuts the door before opening yours. A touch of concern floods his mind, “Wait, you’re coming too right?”

You fold your arms over your chest; a small smirk curls your mouth upwards, “I thought you could handle it.”

“Well, you know… there are six of ‘em-”

“Relax!” You laugh, shoving Steve lightly. The action makes you realize that you hadn’t noticed how close he’d gotten - it makes your heart skip a beat. He mirrors your bright smile as you finish, “Of course I’ll be there. I’m not that cruel.”

—

One word. That’s all it took to convince them. Dustin, on the other hand, was on board with the idea as soon as you mentioned it.

The door chime rings once, then seven more times before Steve finally swings open the front door. He’s met with Max’s smug grin, pointer finger pressed against the doorbell.

Steve frowns when she doesn’t let up - the annoying sound still echoes through the house. Just as he’s about to tell her to quit it, Lucas slaps her hand away; the action earns him a prompt shove on the arm.

“I heard there was a pool,” Max says.

Her overnight pack is slung over her shoulder, sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose. The group is huddled onto the step, all carrying their belongings with them.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve steps back, pulling the door back with him, “Down the hall, take a left-”

“I’ll find it. Come on guys.”

The girl pushes forwards, with Lucas and Will pursuing closely behind her. Mike and El follow soon after - El’s hand is wrapped tightly around his elbow.

Steve starts to grow concerned when he doesn’t see you or your brother. Maybe you ditched him to go hang out with Hargrove.

He hates that he thought that. Of course you wouldn’t. It still bothers him though, why you said yes.

But then Steve hears your bickering cut through the chilly November breeze, and he can’t help the warmth that spreads through his chest.

“Here, take this-”

“No! I’m not carrying your shit!”

The corner of Steve’s mouth curls up at your tone. He hopes he gets used to your arguments - god knows he doesn’t want to lose either of you.

And then he thinks about what was admitted that night. That maybe things would be better if he realized how happy you make him.

That he’s happier when he’s with you than he was with Nancy.

That scares him. He doesn’t know why.

—

Max couldn’t get into the pool fast enough; she was still wearing one of her socks when she drove in. She quickly found out it wasn’t deep enough to do so.

“I still can’t believe you convinced Hop to let her come,” Steve mutters, approaching your side before passing you a can of Coke.

As much as you might wish it was something stronger, you’re not sure you’d like to be tipsy around any of the kids. Who knows what secrets could spill.

Steve gestures to El, who’s perfectly content just dipping her toes into the warm water; you taught her how to roll her jeans into tight, clean cuffs as to not get her clothes wet. She watches the others throw around a foam football, clapping anytime someone catches it successfully - which isn’t often.

You shrug a bit and gladly accept the drink, “As soon as he heard I would be there, he was fine with it. You know, I’m trustworthy.”

Steve’s standing a little too close - his arm brushes yours every few moments. Every touch has been amplified since you felt the undeniable electricity; any nudge or tap makes your heart rate pick up, no matter how small.

Steve doesn’t get to reply, Will’s pass just misses Mike’s hand; the ball bounces against the concrete before landing against the fence on the other side of the yard.

You sigh while sending a nasty glare to the boys, setting down your soda, “Wait, I’ve got it.”

Steve chuckles as you walk over, waving off their excuses and holding conversation; he can’t hear the banter over the radio that’s blasting the hits. And then something comes to mind, something you’d hate.

He kneels down next to El - her curls bounce as she turns her head to him. Steve keeps his voice low, eyes bouncing between you and the young girl, “I’ve got an idea.”

“Mike, you missed a perfectly good shot!” You say, siding with Will in the argument.

“Thank you!” He exclaims, “At least somebody notices talent around here.” He smiles when you send him a sly wink and a thumbs up.

Mike’s words stutter as he attempts to defend himself, “My-my hands are WET! We’re in a POOL! It’s not my fault!” He’s motioning wildly now, splashing water around as he speaks.

You start to approach the water’s edge, spinning the ball between your fingers as you answer, “Yeah, tell that to the other thirty times you miss-”

As soon as you come close enough to the pool, you’re pushed a few feet forward, limbs flailing rapidly in surprise. A wave cascades over the group as you land in the water, quickly drenching them and turning Dustin and Lucas into sputter messes; they can’t tell if they’re coughing or cackling.

Once your head comes up from the surface, Steve and El’s laughter grabs your attention. Steve offers his hand for a high-five, which she eagerly returns, “Nice job, kid - that was awesome!”

You brush your hair away from your face and begin blinking rapidly to rid it from your eyes, “You two are so gonna get it!”

“It was Steve’s idea,” El replies between giggles, to which the boy in question deflects the blame, “Wha- you’re the one who did it!”

“What the hell was that?!”

“Oh come on, that was funny!” Steve answers your outburst, relishing the moment that came before, “You should’ve seen the look on your face, Henderson. Absolutely priceless.”

The frown you have cracks a bit at his joy. It’s hard to not let his infectious happiness influence you. The water’s deep enough to come up to your chest as you wade over to the pair of them, “But now my clothes are all wet! These are my good jeans!”

Steve exhales, feeling a bit of guilt wash over him at your whining, “Alright fine. I’ll help you up, come here.”

But as soon as Steve’s fingers wrap around your bicep, yours tighten on his wrist - Dustin would recognize your mischievous expression anywhere.

“Wait, Steve-”

Your brother’s comment comes too late, because you’ve already yanked Steve in too. Another splash covers the kids; Lucas wipes water from his cheeks, “Oh, come on!”

“There. Now we’re even,” You add as Steve combs his hair back. It sticks up in chunks in random places, making your mouth curl up in a smirk.

“I guess I deserved that,” Steve coughs as he pulls his soaked sweater from his skin, before turning to you when a laugh bubbles from your throat.

“You should’ve seen your face, Harrington.”

There’s a pause before Steve responds. He’s overwhelmed by your actions, how that glint in your eyes makes his heart flutter, makes him speechless for the first time in a long time.

Instead he lunges, an arm wrapping loosely around your waist to pull you closer, only to splash more water in your face.

“You’re so dead!” You shout before pushing Steve back underneath the water, but his hold strengthens, pulling you down with him briefly before popping up again.

There’s a moment that occurs right after breaking the surface.

Your hand comes to rest on Steve’s shoulder, the fabric of his clothes twist in your fist as your gazes meet. Heat crawls up your neck when his palm slides over your back, and his focus is drawn to your lips.

God, he could kiss you right now.

But he’s still in love with Nancy. And nothing about this is fair to you.

Then the realization hits - the kids are still here.

“I’ll uh-“ Steve clears his throat, moving himself away as you drop your hand. When his touch finally leaves you, the exhale you were holding releases into the sky, suddenly expelled from your lungs.

Steve nods once, a somber manner about him, “I’ll find you something dry to wear.”

You swallow harshly as the feelings start to settle; your stomach aches. Turns out that things between you and Steve weren’t going as well as you thought they were.

Maybe what he said didn’t mean anything. Maybe he’s just confused. Maybe he’s just using you as a way to get over his heartache.

You feel like you could throw up.

You’re barely able to look at the kids, who are all staring silently in your direction, puzzled by what they just witnessed.

“If you guys need anything, I’ll be inside,” You say softly before hoisting yourself up on the metal ladder.

Lucas is the first to speak once you’ve retreated inside.

“Alright, please tell me we all saw that?”

—

You can’t sleep. Not that you’re surprised, you weren’t expecting to.

You just hate how this feels - uncertainty and fear don’t mix well inside your brain.

Even if everything is shitty, at least your relationship with Steve seemed to be better. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

But you can only lie here and listen to Max’s light snores for so long; you need some fresh air. Turns out, you’re not the only person with the same desire.

It’s your voice that draws Steve’s attention.

“You know, the last person out here alone got snatched up, Harrington.”

He can’t help the small smile that spreads over his face at the sight of you, standing there wrapped up in one of his mother’s expensive throws; the hood from his sweatshirt pops out a bit at the top, helping to keep you toasty.

“Oh yeah? You got a death wish, Henderson?”

You go silent for a moment, hesitating with your response - your exhausted brain can’t seem to come up with a reply. The mixture of the cool November air and the heat that rises from the pool washes over you in waves. It makes your body desperately wish that it could relax.

“No, no I don’t,” You finally reply, moving to sit down next to the water’s edge, “Not yet, anyways.”

Steve grows confused at your answer. It’s not at all what he expected you to say. He waits a few seconds, pondering his options before deciding to join you.

His skin tears slightly at the contact with the rough concrete, his eyes are cast towards the ground.

Your breathing begins to steady once Steve takes a seat by your side, leg pressed to yours. You feel better having him here - you don’t like being alone anymore.

“I can’t sleep either,” He says.

You don’t even have to mention it; he recognizes that look on your face, the desperation for a hint of rest. But he doesn’t know if that’s because he’s still reeling from the harrowing experiences, or if it’s because Nancy’s not there next to him anymore.

“Will went missing about half a block from here,” Steve continues, “It still freaks me out to think about that.”

“There’s a street light right outside my window,” You add, picking at a loose string on your pajama bottoms, “Nine times out of ten I think it’s that thing. And I know that there’s no way it could be...”

You sniffle after trailing off; Steve shifts his gaze to you, watching as you peer out over the calm and quiet landscape, “But that doesn’t stop my mind from imagining it.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. He wishes that he had known about this sooner. Maybe he could’ve helped you move on.

He wants to keep you talking. He hopes that would help you, but he doesn’t want to cross any boundaries.

That was never something he thought about before. But juggling with these new feelings about you has him reconsidering everything about your friendship. He doesn’t want to make anymore mistakes; you don’t deserve that.

“How are you holding up otherwise?” Steve asks.

Your brow furrows as you hold your hands in your lap, grimacing at the sight of your healing bones. There’s no wonder why you haven’t been able to adjust - a constant reminder is always in sight.

Your chest heaves as a warm breath expels into the air, “I just… I can’t get rid of that feeling.”

“Which one?” Steve’s eyes are now on your face, studying you softly. The lights from beneath the pool’s surface gloss over your features - it’s absolutely mesmerizing.

“I’m still so scared, Steve,” You gulp, gaze trained on the water ahead, “I’m so scared that something’s gonna happen again.”

“Eleven closed the gate,” He says, “We’re safe now.”

You shake your head slightly, pulling the blanket closer to your chilled frame, “That’s not what scares me.”

You don’t need to continue for Steve to understand. He can’t imagine what’s been running through your mind, although your behavior from the past few weeks is starting to make more sense.

A light dusting of purple and blue still covers your jawline. God, how he wishes he could wipe it all away, forget that ever happened, forget that it’s his fault you’re burdened with the memory of that night. He didn’t do enough.

Maybe if he had, you would have been spared.

“I’m terrified of what he did to you.”

Steve’s admission hangs in the air for a moment. He almost grows embarrassed of it, but being vulnerable doesn’t scare him as much as it did.

He’ll never be able to get that image out of his head. You, bruised and bloodied at Billy’s mercy - he sees it when he closes his eyes at night.

You don’t know what to feel at his words, you just know that it makes your heart race. You don’t think you’ve ever had someone say anything like that to you before.

Steve’s forehead creases when he feels your fingertips brush his knuckles, still tender from trying to beat Hargrove senseless.

He adjusts to intertwine your hands, feeling a sudden wave of relief come over him as your palms press together. Then, somehow you’re both inching even closer, head resting on his shoulder as it becomes painfully clear.

He knows why he was scared before. Because this, this feels real.

“It took me a while to get over her too,” You say, voice just above a whisper, “She has a way with people, you know.”

Steve doesn’t understand how you can make something sound both emotionally heavy and soft at the same time.

His lips are pressing a kiss to your temple soon after - reassurance that he’ll be here for you. You squeeze his hand tighter in response, closing your eyes as the anxiety dulls.

“Yeah, I know.”

—

taglist: @stevebabey / @mrs-skywalker / @hannarudick / @crazycookiecrumbles / @hellisateenageheather / @alewifex / @l0ve-0f-my-life / @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 / @daddystevee / @thecaptainsgingersnap / @let-the-imaginationflow / @asianravenpuff / @im-a-stranger-thing / @mikariell95 / @pilunb / @harringtherin / @royalestrellas / @ultrunning / @buggs177 / @poutfull / @yoheyyosup / @duchessdaisybat / @janieavalos / @sassisaluxury / @beththebubbly / @i-bitch-you-bitch / @captainstilinskis / @juliebean247 / @im-nada / @whatabeautifulsurrender / @rexorangecouny / @pass-me-jeez-it / @ahoy-scoops-troop / @halefirewarrior / @jointhehunt67 / @wallacetdog / @ketchuplukehemmo / @m-a-r-i-n-t-p / @fangirl485 / @emmegirl827 / @lookalivesunshine-x / @elite4cekalyma / @marjoherbo / @just-my-fandom / @idumpyourgrass / @alafolieee / @mochminnie / @phantomalchemist / @dustyblueboo / @alonewolfsblog / @ggclarissa / @hufflepuffing-all-day-long / @bippityboppitybabe

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#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #st fic #st imagine #almost paradise #my writing #my gif

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goldencuffs · 5 years ago

Note

I'M HORRIBLE AT PROMPTS. laurent trying to do something really nice for damen&it kind of goes to hell but damen loves him so much&can't quit loving on him for it all? or laurent goes to some university&everyone thinks he's gorgeous but he's kind of a bitch&when he tells them he has a boyfriend everyone is like yeah right then damen comes to pick him up, looking hotter than anyone has any right to be&laurent melts with him? i'll read literally anything you write, it could be a n y t h i n g

@marrieddorkss im so so so sorry this took so fucking long lmao my god. im a mess. hopefully you still like it?? and it isnt such a fucking disaster lol??

Summary: Laurent decides to do something nice for Damen – and then immediately regrets it.

When Laurent comes back from his last class of the day, it’s to find Damen standing outside his dorm room, wearing a nice, oversized tank top and fraying shorts. The duffle bag by his feet is packed full; Laurent can see the sides of it are lumpy.

“Hey.” Damen’s smile is pleasant. It transforms his face and makes him look younger, despite the stubble growing across his face.

Laurent smiles too. “Hello,” he says, and when he’s close enough, he rests his hands on Damen’s hips and goes on his tiptoes to kiss his nose.

Damen’s smile widens, the creases by his eyes deepening. He scans Laurent’s face intently. “I’m guessing that your presentation went well?”

“It went well,” Laurent says. He pauses. “Actually, it went very well. I managed to answer every single question at the end.”

Damen wraps his arms around Laurent’s shoulders in a tight squeeze. “Fuck yeah!” He cheers. His enthusiasm is genuine, and it makes Laurent’s face heat.

“It’s not that big of a deal – I’m sure there are other people who did way better.”

“Stop that,” says Damen. He kisses Laurent’s forehead. “You killed it; I know you did.”

Laurent doesn’t answer. He just tips his head up in a silent request. Damen’s smile softens around the edges, and then he leans down to kiss Laurent fully on his mouth.

The kiss heats up quickly, as usual. Damen licks inside his mouth with vigour, his hand moving down Laurent’s back to grip his ass. Laurent moans into it, tugging on the front of Damen’s shirt to pull him closer.

Damen’s cock is already hard; it presses up against the inside of Laurent’s thigh in a slow, teasing drag. Laurent shifts his own hips forward, his body tight with anticipation.

A door slams shut at the end of the corridor and Damen detaches himself from Laurent in a measured pace, realising at the same moment Laurent does, that they’re in a very open, public setting.

“Come inside,” Laurent tells him.

Damen squeezes his ass again. “Here?” His smirk is sharp and arrogant.

Laurent hates how much he likes it.

He doesn’t let Damen know that though; instead, he rolls his eyes and drags Damen inside to his dorm room. It’s far from its usual pristine condition; Laurent hasn’t made his bed in a week, his dirty clothes are in a pile by the door and his desk is overflowing with papers, textbooks and plastic wrappers from food he’s bought lately.

Laurent grimaces at the mess. Damen doesn’t seem to mind, or even acknowledge it; he flings himself onto the single bed with as much ease as he can, hauling his duffle bag up with him.

“What’s in there?” Laurent asks.

The duffle bag is an expensive, leather one. For years, it had sat alone and dusty in the Revere’s garage, until Laurent had gifted it to Damen over the summer. Now, it’s used constantly; Damen takes it with him to classes and football practice and is rarely seen without it. He takes good care of it too: he diligently cleans it once a week and keeps it stored in his closet, away from sunlight.

Damen waggles his eyebrows in response to Laurent’s question. He sits up again and opens it with an exaggerated amount of fanfare, slowly inching the zipper in small tugs.

It’s amusing; it shouldn’t be, but almost everything Damen does makes Laurent laugh. He likes that.

Inside the lining of the bag, the tag is visible. It used to simply read ‘Revere’, but someone – probably Nikandros – has added, with marker, an apostrophe and the word ‘bitch’, so the entire thing says: ‘Revere’s bitch’.

Laurent also likes that.

Laurent doesn’t focus too long on the tag. The contents of the bag are much more appealing: there’s an assortment of treats packed haphazardly inside. Laurent can see chip packets, chocolate, tubs of ice cream and a four pack of Krispy Kreme donuts.

Laurent taps the lid of one of the ice cream containers; it’s sea salt, his favourite. “Did you rob a grocery store? Is this your first step into the tantalising world of crime?”

Damen’s shrug is uncharacteristically shy. His fingers are still toying with the zipper, but he still manages to look Laurent in the eye as he says, “They’re for you. I figured – depending on how your presentation goes – they’d either be celebratory snacks or conciliatory ones.”

Laurent smiles. There’s a sudden, pressing warmth in his chest. “Really,” he says, touched.

Damen is still shy; it’s a strange yet endearing look on him.

Laurent’s smile doesn’t waver. He pushes the duffle bag a little, so it ends up against the wall, rather than between them. He crosses the now empty space, shifting closer to Damen until Laurent manages to straddle his lap, knees digging into the hard mattress below.

He presses a soft kiss to the corner of Damen’s mouth. He keeps his mouth there, against the stubble across Damen’s jaw, and says: “Thank you. I love how thoughtful you are.”

Damen swallows, eyes darkening. His hands rest on Laurent’s hips. His touch is deceptively light.

This time, Laurent initiates the kiss. He keeps it slow, the way he favours, and Damen lets him. His hands begin to wander over Laurent’s body; even when they’re not fucking, Laurent has come to learn that Damen likes to touch him constantly.

When Damen’s hands settle on Laurent’s ass once more, Laurent shifts his hips a little. Damen’s other hand drops to cup Laurent’s ass cheek.

Laurent’s gasp is a quiet sound; most of it is swallowed by Damen’s mouth.

They begin a slow, steady rut. It reminds Laurent of the first time they did this, a few months ago in a secluded booth in Route, the small club down the road from their campus.

Laurent didn’t know Damen too well at the time, but he was always petering around the Student Life office, where Laurent had been volunteering on and off throughout the semester. He wasn’t sure what Damen did there: sometimes he volunteered to help with administrative tasks, but mostly, from what Laurent saw, Damen seemed to just want to hang around him.

They formed a tentative, shallow relationship that consisted of very poor flirting on Laurent’s part and a lot of unprecedented confidence on Damen’s.

It was obvious to everyone how much Damen wanted to fuck Laurent; he always looked half crazed every time Laurent so much as looked at him. Laurent found that he didn’t exactly mind it; Damen was attractive, receiving his attention was heady, and it wasn’t as though Laurent was swimming in proposals.

So, when Damen had asked him to hang out at Route with him on a Saturday night, Laurent had said yes, fully expecting the outcome of the evening.

Still, Damen had seemed surprised when, after two drinks, Laurent climbed into his lap. Their first kiss had been relatively innocent: just a short, chaste peck. Then Laurent, spurred on by the alcohol, deepened it. Damen responded eagerly, pulling closer Laurent and licking into his mouth with a shocking amount of indecency.

After a while, he’d pulled back. His eyes had been so dark, and he’d gazed at Laurent with awe.

Laurent had said: “If you’re going to keep looking at me like that, you might as well just fuck me here.”

Damen had inhaled sharply; even with all the noise around them, Laurent still managed to hear it.

Twenty minutes later, Laurent had been pressed down into his mattress as Damen licked him open for his cock.

As he’d pushed into him for the first time, Damen panted into his ear, “Fuck, I don’t usually do this on a first date.”

Laurent had laughed.

Afterwards, Laurent had thought he wouldn’t see much of Damen anymore. He knew how one night stands worked. He suspected that now that Damen had been inside him – more than once, actually – he would stop loitering around the Student Life office.

That didn’t happen. Instead, Damen seemed more persistent to hang around Laurent. Laurent let it happen. By this point, he’d grown fond of Damen, the way someone might feel fond over a stray puppy that constantly showed up at their door.

Besides, as the weeks wore on, Laurent discovered that as well as being extremely sexually compatible, Damen and he were also compatible outside of bed; they became fast friends, much to the bemusement of everyone else.

It’s amazing how far they’ve come, Laurent thinks. He doesn’t think he’s been so comfortable with anyone in his entire life.

Now, in the silence of his bedroom, Damen’s lips drag across Laurent’s neck. Laurent shivers, fingers running over Damen’s shoulders. He’s careful as he tugs off Damen’s shirt. Damen’s chest is marvellous – it’s all sculpted pecs and hard planes. There’s a tattoo of a lion roaring on his right pec. It’s the most obnoxious thing Laurent has ever seen, and the first time Laurent had seen it, he’d licked it. He might’ve felt stupid about it at the time, but that feeling quickly evaporated when Damen’s hips stuttered, and he’d spilled his release inside Laurent.

Once Damen’s shirt comes off, the need to get naked becomes a priority for both of them. Damen rolls Laurent onto his back after Laurent takes off his own shirt, mouthing over his collarbone, his nipples, his bellybutton, and then his hipbone.

Laurent is quick to unbuckle his belt when Damen kisses the waistband of his jeans.

Damen is always meticulous in preparing him. It doesn’t matter if it’s been five minutes or five days since they last fucked, Damen never rushes. Laurent’s given up on trying to coax him to be faster.

Laurent’s knee jerks a little when Damen’s fingers, covered in cold lube, circle around his rim in sure strokes. Damen kisses the inside of his thigh, then the crease of his groin as Laurent pants. When his finger breaches Laurent, Laurent turns his head into the pillow, moaning against the silk fabric.

“Please,” he says quietly, and Damen groans, long and loud. He likes it when Laurent begs, a fact that makes Laurent flush.

Damen continues fingering him. The sounds are disgusting, wet and sloppy. Laurent doesn’t understand why he likes it so much.

Finally, finally, Damen pulls away. Laurent’s fingers twist the bedsheets in anticipation. He knows he’s flushed all over; he can feel the colour vining across the bridge of his nose and down his chest.

Damen’s cockhead drags down his crease. It makes Laurent delirious.

“Yeah?” says Damen. His hand grips the base of his cock and his eyes are fixed on Laurent, like he can’t bear to look away. Laurent knows the feeling; Damen looks so good like this.

“Yes,” says Laurent, in Veretian.

That makes Damen groan again. He only gets louder as he pushes into Laurent. Laurent’s eyes go cross eyed at the initial stretch. He loves this: the initial pain of Damen’s cock entering him.

“God, Laurent.” Damen grunts as he starts thrusting, biting down on the column of Laurent’s neck.

“Yeah, fuck me,” Laurent says. His hands slide down Damen’s sweaty back. “Harder – please, I need it.”

“Fuck,” Damen gasps as he complies. He lifts his head from the crook of Laurent’s shoulder and kisses him.

Laurent keens into it. He wraps his legs around Damen’s waist, murmuring encouragements in Veretian against Damen’s mouth.

Damen’s thrusts start to get shallow; his rhythm isn’t synced, but it still makes Laurent’s toes curl.

“Good?” Damen says. His biceps are straining with effort.

“You know it is,” Laurent says.

“I like the confirmation,” Damen says with that terrible smirk, and Laurent closes his eyes and lets himself take it.

Damen comes first. He’s loud when it happens; Laurent is sure his neighbours hate him.

His cock is straining against his stomach when Damen pulls out. Laurent flushes when he feels the wetness inside him, and he darkens further when Damen pulls his ass cheeks apart, watching in awe as his come dribbles out of Laurent’s hole.

“Don’t touch your cock,” says Damen.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Laurent arches his back when Damen’s mouth seals over his hole.

Damen slips his tongue in easily, licking into Laurent with enthusiasm. Laurent shakes under his grip. Damen’s stubble rubs against his skin, and Laurent knows it’s steadily pinkening.

He feels on edge. His cock is so hard it hurts. He pulls on Damen’s curls desperately, and Damen buries into him deeper.

Laurent’s mouth falls open. His quiet panting fills the room, joining the cacophony of sounds Damen’s mouth produces as he eats him out.

Laurent feels like crying. He almost asks Damen to stop because it’s too much, too much, too much.

Then Damen slows down to short, tiny licks. When he resurfaces, he gives Laurent a filthy wink. His chin is wet.

Laurent comes.

Every Thursday, Laurent and Damen have lunch at a small brunch place just outside campus. It’s usually packed, but Damen always manages to secure them a table. Laurent suspects this is because Damen has slept with one of the baristas. Damen has never explicitly denied this detail.

Today, their table is outside, along the gravel path leading to the campus gardens. The weather is nice; a rarity in Marlas, and Laurent enjoys the sunshine on his face.

Initially their weekly lunch meetings had been a habit borne out of practicality: last semester, one of the only days they could meet up was on Thursday mornings. After a good, thorough fuck, Damen always needed a cigarette, and Laurent always got hungry, so their solution was to head out to this particular brunch place.

Now, though, it’s become a fixed tradition between them. Damen also refers to it as their place – which Laurent still doesn’t quite understand.

Damen orders his usual – the everything breakfast – and Laurent, pleasantly reminded of this morning’s activities when he moves in his seat, decides to order the same thing.

Halfway through their meal, they’re interrupted by Nikandros, one of Damen’s teammates. Nikandros is wearing his letterman jacket, but he shrugs it off as he pulls up a seat at their table. He steals a chorizo sausage off of Laurent’s plate, despite Laurent’s protests.

Nikandros starts talking to Damen about the statistics of their latest game while Laurent finishes up his food. Once he’s done, he pulls out his pack of cigarettes. He manages to finish half of it; he offers Nikandros the rest. Nikandros eyes fall on the cigarette, then Laurent’s mouth, before he forcibly tears his eyes away and shakes his head.

He addresses Damen again, his voice slightly hoarse, “Hey! I just remembered – guess who I saw coming out the law library today?”

“Who?” Damen takes Laurent’s cigarette.

Nikandros pauses for dramatic effect. His smirk is not as attractive as Damen’s. “Lykaios.”

Damen drops his cigarette. He doesn’t pay it much mind; instead, he leans forward in his seat, eyes alight. “Wait – seriously? You’re not messing with me?”

“Nah,” Nikandros shakes his head, looking pleased. “Asked her what she’s doing here, apparently she’s starting postgrad law this semester.” Nikandros pauses again. “Like you.”

“Wow.” Damen’s expression is brittle with disbelief. “What are the chances?”

“Seems like fate.”

“Who’s Lykaios?” Laurent asks.

“Oh,” says Damen. “She’s an old friend from when I still lived in Ios.”

“A friend,” says Nikandros. His expression is amused. “Oh, come on, you two were practically together.”

“That’s not true,” Damen says quickly. He casts Laurent a reassuring look. “It honestly isn’t.”

Laurent doesn’t understand why Damen is being so defensive; it’s not news to him that Damen has been with other people.

“You were pretty much in love with her, dude.” Nikandros picks a sausage off Damen’s plate this time.

“Oh,” Laurent says before he can help it. The statement takes him by surprise. One of the first things Damen had told him when they’d first started hooking up was: I don’t know what it’s like to be in love. In the stillness of the night, Damen had been vulnerable and open; it was the first time Laurent realised the person in his bed might be more multifaceted than he let on.

“No,” Damen gives Laurent another reassuring look. His foot presses against Laurent’s underneath the table. “I wasn’t.” His voice is firm. “There was a time I thought I was, but I was wrong.”

Nikandros clearly doesn’t believe him. He rolls his eyes and utters a small, “Whatever.”

Laurent pulls out another cigarette, thinking.

Later that night, Laurent is contemplative. It’s late: almost two in the morning and the rain outside is a welcome, soothing noise.

Laurent is so sore, he almost regrets the last round, as short as it was. It doesn’t keep him from draping himself over Damen’s chest, fingers lazily tracing over the tattoo on his pec.

Damen keeps running his fingers through Laurent’s sweat soaked hair, his fingernails gently scratching against his scalp. It’s so relaxing, Laurent feels like he could fall asleep like this. Practically, he knows he shouldn’t: there’s dry come on his stomach and between his thighs. He’s also sweaty, and Damen is too.

But instead of getting up, Laurent asks into the stillness of the night: “What is she like?”

Damen jerks a little; his eyes have been closed for a while now.

“Hm?”

“Lykaios,” Laurent says. “I want to know what she’s like.”

There’s a small pause. Damen shifts again. “Why?”

“I don’t know. It seemed like she means a lot to you – and I’m interested.”

“She meant a lot to me. As in, past tense.”

“It didn’t seem that way during lunch,” Laurent points out. He doesn’t know why Damen is being so evasive and why it’s bothering him so much. “You seemed excited to hear about her.”

“Well yeah,” Damen says. In the darkness, it’s hard to read his usually expressive face, but Laurent can still sense a growing tightness in Damen’s body. “But that’s only because it’s been a while since any of us have heard from her. She sort of disappeared after first year.”

Laurent pinches Damen’s bicep. “Tell me.”

Damen sighs. He rolls over, so Laurent is unfairly jostled aside. He turns on the lamp on the bedside table. As the room is washed in a dull yellow light, Laurent can see how matted Damen’s hair has become, as well as the fingernail indentations along his shoulders.

“There’s honestly not much to say,” Damen says. His voice is very quiet, mindful of the neighbouring dorm rooms. “We were family friends for years, and in my senior year I realised I liked her a lot – more than I thought I did. But she had a boyfriend, so I never did anything about it. And then she dumped him because she liked me, but this time I was seeing someone. So, in the end, nothing happened.”

“That’s it?” Laurent frowns. In his mind, he keeps replaying Damen’s reaction at lunch; surely, there must be more to the story. Damen huffs. It almost seems like he’s pouting. He pokes Laurent’s stomach, hard. “You’re being very annoying.”

Laurent swats his hand away. “Are you still in love with her?”

“I already told you I never was. I just thought I could be because I was a horny eighteen year old.”

That makes Laurent laugh. It’s an unintentional sound, but it makes Damen smile.

“I’m not interested in anyone but you,” Damen says, too sincerely. The words hang heavy in the air.

Laurent doesn’t know what to make of it – not just the words, but Damen’s tone as well. It makes his stomach clamp up. He thinks Damen is making a point about how attractive he finds Laurent; in bed, the subject of Laurent’s body is always a welcoming topic.

So, Laurent says, a little awkwardly, “Thank you.”

Damen snorts. He looks fond. He kisses Laurent, and Laurent gladly welcomes it.

It’s a slow, sensual kiss. Damen keeps mapping out Laurent’s body with his hands, fingertips tracing over the veins across Laurent’s wrist, his chest.

“Think you can go again?” Damen says against his mouth. Pressed to each other like this, Laurent can feel Damen’s erection. It’s hot, he thinks to himself, how Damen physically reacts to him, even when Laurent hasn’t done anything to particularly excite him.

He’s still sore, sweaty and gross, but Laurent says: “Yes.”

Laurent is late to his study session with Damen on Wednesday. They normally don’t study together; tonight is an exception. Damen is apparently tired of being cooped in his room alone as he pours over his essays.

Outside the study room, Laurent pauses. Through the clear glass, he can see Damen is already seated, textbooks placed carelessly over the wooden tabletop. But he’s not alone. There’s someone seated on the edge of the table, in the one corner free of Damen’s things.

It’s Lykaios. Laurent knows it must be; Damen’s face is exuberant, creased with warmth. His smile is filled with teeth, white and straight, and there’s a lingering softness there. Laurent’s chest clenches with a foreign feeling. He’s unsure what it is, but then deduces it must be relief at seeing Damen so happy.

Laurent almost turns back. He wants to give Damen and his not-quite ex-girlfriend time to catch up. The thought of intruding on them with his presence fills him with anxiety. But he remains rooted on the spot because, for some strange reason, the thought of leaving them alone also fills him with anxiety.

Luckily – or perhaps, unluckily; Laurent still hasn’t made up his mind – Damen spots him through the glass. His smile, now directed at Laurent, changes instantly; it dissolves into a steady kind of fondness. His eyes seem to shine brighter.

It completely baffles Laurent.

His chest tightens again; this time, it’s much more pleasant.

Laurent supposes he should enter now. Damen seems to have forgotten about Lykaios; his eyes remain on Laurent as Laurent fumbles with the doorknob and steps into the room.

“Hey,” he says. His smile – and voice – wobble. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Damen’s smile, impossibly, widens even more. Laurent’s gaze is helplessly drawn to it.

They stare at each other for a few moments longer than necessary until Damen seems to remember they’re not alone. He fumbles over the introductions, face flushed.

Lykaios is unbelievably gorgeous. Like most Akielons, she’s very tall; even wearing flats she’s a few inches taller than Laurent. Laurent tries not to be bitter about it. Her hair isn’t as blonde as Laurent’s, but it’s long and shiny. Her eyes are amazing; long lashed and an intriguing colour, somewhere between green and blue.

Standing next to Damen, the two of them look like a regal painting. They look good together. They complement each other.

Laurent – unexpectedly, painfully – feels inadequate.

Lykaios rounds the table and shakes Laurent’s hand with vigour. Her smile is kind and open; her enthusiasm is genuine. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Damen has managed to mention your name about a hundred times in the last half an hour.”

Damen flushes at that, suddenly busying himself with rearranging his textbooks.

Laurent smiles. He can feel the heat travel across his face. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting your study session.” Her voice is so sweet, Laurent thinks he could listen to her talk all day. “I was literally just walking past and saw Damen in here. I almost couldn’t believe it.” She turns to Damen and gives him in an assessing look. “It’s been what – six years?”

“Fuck off,” Damen says, with little heat. “I don’t want to be reminded of how old I am.”

Lykaios laughs at that. Her laugh is sweet too.

Laurent says, “You guys will probably see more of each other now. You’re in the same course, right?”

Lykaios beams. “Yep! Another weird coincidence.”

“Or fate,” Laurent points out.

Damen gives him a strange look. “Definitely just a coincidence.”

“Ah, who knows the mysterious ways of the universe,” says Lykaios. She gives Laurent a wink.

Laurent decides he likes her, despite the twisting in his gut.

It’s why he says: “Did you want to stay and study with us? We were also going to grab some dinner afterwards. You could join us for that too.”

Damen gives him another strange look; this one is brittle with disbelief.

Laurent ignores it. He keeps his eyes on Lykaios, who smiles at him.

“Thank you for the very kind offer, but I’ve already got plans tonight, I’m afraid.” She seems genuinely sorry, and it makes Laurent like her even more.

“Maybe next time,” Laurent says.

Damen frowns.

Lykaios doesn’t stay too long after that; she claims she needs to start getting ready for her night out. When she leaves, she kisses Damen’s cheek. Laurent bristles a little at that.

But his annoyance morphs into pleasantness when she hugs him goodbye – like Damen, she is very touchy, Laurent notices.

As soon as the door closes behind her, Damen kisses Laurent, hard and open mouthed. It’s a terrible kiss; Laurent isn’t expecting it, and he almost topples backwards with the force of it. Then he starts laughing, so Damen’s mouth mostly meets his teeth.

The second one is much, much better.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for the past ten minutes,” says Damen. “Next time, kissing first, and then we move on to having a conversation.”

“Shut up,” says Laurent. He pulls out his textbooks, trying not to laugh. After a few moments, he says, “She seems really nice. I can see why you liked her so much.”

He imagines Damen at eighteen, maybe a little naïve and cocky, completely enamoured by Lykaios’ sweetness.

Damen rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” He squints at Laurent. “You’re not still hung up on that are you?” His mouth deepens into a smirk. He waggles his eyebrows. “Need me to prove my loyalty, baby?”

Laurent flushes. It’s not the first time Damen has used that endearment – he mostly says it in bed – but it still catches Laurent off guard every time.

His mouth is suddenly very dry. The only thing he can manage to say is: “Shut up.” And then he gets to work, smiling into his shoulder when Damen’s foot wraps around his underneath the table.

Lykaios’ Instagram is an explosion of colour: she likes wearing a lot of red and green and purple. Her entire profile is filled with her travels, charity work, her friends, and some shots of her eyelids coated in glitter. The more Laurent scrolls, the more careful he is not to like anything.

There are plenty of pictures of her from high school; Damen is in most of them, fresh faced and youthful. It’s strange to look at: nothing about Damen is boyish, but these pictures prove otherwise.

Laurent comes across a photo of Lykaios and Damen from six years ago. In it, Damen has his arm around her waist while Lykaios rests her head on his shoulder.

The caption is: hbd to this guy aka my soulmate #finally18

Soulmate, Laurent thinks. His mouth purses.

Damen’s comment is the first comment. It reads: love u ly!

Laurent puts his phone down.

His thoughts come too fast: he starts to think of all the ways Damen and Lykaios fit together, how connected they seemed even after so much time apart. He thinks of how nice they looked together.

Then, Laurent starts thinking of all the nice things Damen has done for him over the last few months. The duffel bag full of his favourite snacks comes to mind, as does the time Damen took him to a fancy restaurant when Laurent had averaged a high distinction last semester. Damen had even driven him almost forty minutes to the dentist once, even though he had an assessment due in the afternoon.

Damen is always doing nice things for him, and Laurent realises, guiltily, that he’s never quite returned the favour. His own gestures have often been small and unnoteworthy; they’ve never possessed the grandeur of Damen’s actions.

Laurent knows exactly how to change that.

Laurent isn’t the most forthcoming person. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to gather enough courage to message Lykaios on Instagram. But once he makes it past his awkward introduction – hey this is laurent in case you don’t remember me – to which Lykaios had responded ofc i do silly!, their conversations are light and easy.

The more Laurent talks to her over the week, the more he’s convinced of his plan. Lykaios is everything Damen needs and vice versa. It’s crazy how similar their personalities are: they’re both incredibly sweet, intelligent and interested in almost all the same things, from okton to hiking.

The next week, Laurent invites Lykaios to his and Damen’s weekly lunch outing.

Damen smiles when he sees him. He doesn’t lose the smile on his face when he sees Lykaios, but his eyes snap to Laurent’s in confusion.

“This is a nice surprise,” he says, although his tone is dry.

Laurent pretends not to notice it. Lykaios kisses Damen’s cheek in greeting and Laurent scratches at his chest as he sits down.

Damen leans over the table to kiss him, but Laurent quickly picks out the menu and starts to read it, even though he’s practically memorised it by now. He doesn’t want Damen to kiss him now – especially in front of Lykaios – and ruin his plan before it’s had the chance to even formulate.

When he puts the menu back, Damen is openly frowning.

It disappears as Lykaios begins talking. The transformation is amazing; Damen is instantly captivated by her. Laurent swallows. This is good, he reminds himself.

Laurent waits about ten minutes. He’s started to notice that even though Damen is laughing along to all of Lykaios’ jokes, he’s still shooting Laurent glances every few seconds.

The question on his face is clear: why is she here?

Laurent plays with his phone for a while. He tries to make it look like he’s texting something important; he keeps his brows furrowed in concentration.

Laurent isn’t the best actor, but even he’s proud of himself as he lets out a small gasp.

“What is it?” says Damen, instantly alert.

“Nothing,” Laurent waves him off. “It’s just that I completely forgot I had a study session right now.” He stands up, grabs his bag. “I should go.”

“Wait –” Damen’s face pinches. “You’re leaving?”

“I’m sorry, but this is really important.” Laurent turns to Lykaios and smiles. “You two stay and have fun.”

“But –”

“Bye!” Laurent says it too enthusiastically, cutting Damen off. He walks out of the brunch place with hurried steps. He turns back at the end of the gravel path just to check if –

His chest tightens with pleasure – yes, pleasure, although he’s not sure why it doesn’t feel like it – when he sees his absence has made little disturbance. Damen and Lykaios are laughing together, mouths open in delight.

Over the next few days, Laurent organises more and more outings with Damen and Lykaios. Damen never seems to stop looking confused whenever Laurent invites Lykaios, but he also seems happy to see her, so Laurent counts it as a win. During each outing, Laurent manages to come up with a different excuse each time as to why he needed to leave early. Damen always looks disappointed. Laurent is weak for it; he can’t count how many times that look has almost made him stay, but he doesn’t, because it would be detrimental to his plan.

Laurent makes sure to text Damen whether or not he enjoyed his time with Lykaios. Damen’s responses are pretty much the same every time: Yes, but it would’ve been better if you were there too.

It frustrates Laurent. Damen isn’t supposed to still be thinking of him while he’s hanging out with his potential soulmate.

Lykaios is the first to grow suspicious. She confronts him at the next outing. They’re in an idyllic little bar in the city, with a cosy atmosphere. It’s a perfect date venue.

Damen heads to the bathroom, and Laurent stands up, ready to leave, when Lykaios stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Laurent,” she says. “Is there a reason you keep depriving us of your company?”

Laurent manages a sheepish smile. He wonders if he should say anything at all. Then, he decides he should: he feels like Lykaios would appreciate his directive.

Laurent plays with the little sugar packets on the table. “I’ve been trying to get you and Damen to spend more time together. Alone,” he adds, when he sees her confusion.

“Why?”

“Well…” Laurent hesitates; he’s just now beginning to realise how awkward this is. “I think you two would be good together…romantically.”

Lykaios raises her eyebrows.

Laurent continues, fingers still fidgeting. “It’s just…Damen mentioned how much you two liked each other a few years ago. And I think Damen still regards you very highly. Plus, you two are so alike – I just think it makes sense.”

Lykaios’ eyebrows don’t lower, but she casts a backward glance towards where Damen has disappeared to.

“I can’t say I haven’t thought about Damen and I…” she begins, and Laurent’s gut twists with…relief? Yes, he’s sure it’s relief. It’s a good – great – thing that Lykaios is interested in Damen. “But I thought –” Lykaios pauses for a few seconds. “I mean, I was under the impression that you and Damen were together.”

Laurent laughs, and then he realises she’s being serious. “You – no. We’re not. We’re friends.” Friends who spent a lot of time sleeping together, sure, but Laurent doesn’t think mentioning that now will do him any favours.

Lykaios’ face instantly changes. Her smile takes up her entire face; it’s stunning. She’s stunning.

Laurent shifts in his seat. He clears his throat. “So – you…you want to date him?”

She flushes, and it only makes her look more beautiful. “Like I said…I’ve definitely thought about it.”

“Oh – good. That’s awesome. Damen will be so happy.” He stands up. “So, I’ll leave you two alone?”

Lykaios nods. “Thank you, Laurent.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He turns around to leave. Everything in his body is screaming not to.

He keeps reminding himself that he’s doing something nice for Damen: that Damen will appreciate the fact that Laurent set him up with someone like Lykaios, a brilliant woman he has a past with. His mouth is dry, and Laurent’s palms are suddenly sweaty. Briefly, he wonders if this is always what happens when people do nice things for another. If it is…he might have to limit his niceness.

Laurent doesn’t mean to start ignoring Damen’s calls or texts. It just happens. He isn’t in the mood to listen to Damen go on about Lykaios; Laurent already knows she’s amazing.

He’s also confident that they’re dating now – or at least getting there. Lykaios posted a lot of snaps from the last night Laurent left them alone, and all of them had been of Damen smiling, drinking, smirking at the camera. They’d been there until three in the morning; Laurent knows because he’d stayed up until then, refreshing his Instagram feed to see any updates on Lykaios’ story.

What had they even been doing for so long anyway? Damen had called him until eleven, before he presumably gave up. Had Lykaios pulled a move on him? Had they gone back to Damen’s room, fucked on his bed? Had Damen thought of how he’d fucked Laurent on that same bed just last week? Or had he been so consumed by Lykaios and her pleasantness that Damen hadn’t even thought of Laurent?

Laurent had had the worst night of sleep.

And then a few nights ago, Nikandros had posted an image of the football team hanging around at his dorm room. (Laurent vaguely remembers being invited to that). In the photo, Laurent’s eyes had immediately been drawn to Damen in the corner, his head bent down as he said something to Lykaios, who had been smiling widely. It had looked very intimate. Laurent had turned his phone off when he saw it.

Alone in his room, Laurent lies on his bed, heart constricting. He should be happy for Damen. It’s frustrating him that he isn’t. And worst of all, he doesn’t know why.

He thinks it might be because he’s gotten so used to having Damen around all the time. If Damen starts seeing someone, then he’d obviously start spending less time with Laurent.

Laurent doesn’t want Damen to spend less time with him. If anything, they should be spending more time together. He only sees Damen about four times a week! That’s too little. Laurent should talk to Damen about that. He should tell him, Damen, even though you have a girlfriend now, I still want you to spend all your time with me, and I still want you to take me to fancy restaurants and then fuck me hard when we get home.

Horrified, Laurent rolls over and screams into his pillow.

A few hours later, while Laurent is trying to clean out his desk drawers, there’s a knock on the door. It’s a rapid set of knocks, loud and urgent.

Laurent frowns. He opens the door and his heart jumps when he sees Damen there, wearing a shirt Laurent had gifted him in the summer. Damen’s face is annoyed; it’s not an expression Laurent has seen often on Damen - and even rarely directed towards him.

Damen pushes past Laurent into the room. He takes up most of the space in it. Laurent’s heart still hasn’t calmed down.

“Tell me,” says Damen.

“What?”

“Tell me what I did wrong. I don’t like this passive aggressive bullshit.”

“What?” Laurent says again.

Damen crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You haven’t returned a single one of my calls or texts. You don’t want to hang out with me anymore. And I waited all night for you to show up to Nikandros’ and you didn’t.” When Laurent doesn’t say anything, he presses on. “Well? What did I do to piss you off?”

“I – nothing,” Laurent shakes his head, shocked. “I’m not mad at you.“

"Please,” Damen scoffs. “You -”

"I’m not,“ Laurent says. “I was just giving you some space.”

”Space. Why?“

"Well…” Laurent finds himself hesitating. “So you and Lykaios can spend more time together.”

“Why the fuck would I want to do that?”

“Um. She didn’t tell you?”

Damen’s eyes harden. His mouth presses into a tight line. “Can you please just give me a straight answer?”

“I’m – I’ve been trying to set you and Lykaios up.” Damen’s mouth drops open. Laurent quickly adds, “I talked to her about it and she said she’s been thinking of dating you too! So you know…” He trails off weakly.

There’s a sudden, pressing silence. It engulfs the small space of Laurent’s room.

In a very quiet, measured voice, Damen says, “What makes you think I would want to date Lykaios?”

“She really likes you Damen. And I think you two would be a good match. I mean – you’re so compatible.”

“No.” Damen’s voice is hard. “I meant: why the fuck do you think I would want to date Lykaios when I’m already dating you?”

Laurent’s eyes widen. His breath stutters in his chest. There’s a strange ringing in his ears. “We’re not dating.” His voice is too quiet; he can’t bring himself to repeat himself any louder.

Damen’s eyes bulge. It would be a comical expression if the atmosphere in the room wasn’t so deadly.

“Not. Dating.” Damen repeats between his teeth. “You – You really believe that?”

Damen’s mouth loosens around the edges. He looks like he’s received the worst news of his life.

“I –” Laurent fumbles with his words. The back of his neck prickles with discomfort. “We’re friends.”

“Is that what we are?” Damen scoffs. “My mistake, then.”

Laurent still feels wrongfooted. It’s almost like he’s not even experiencing this conversation, just watching himself have it.

“I don’t understand,” says Laurent. “I was just trying to do something nice for you. I thought it’d be good for you if you had a girlfriend like Lykaios.”

“For fuck’s sake, Laurent.” All of Damen’s anger melts away. His tone now is sullen. “I’ve literally been obsessed with you for the last six months – are you seriously just realising this now?”

“I’m –” Laurent swallows. “But you’ve never asked me out or called me your…boyfriend.” His tongue dries up around the world.

“I asked you out to Route all those months ago!” Damen says.

“No. You said: ‘do you want to go out with me to –’” Laurent cuts himself off. Now that he thinks about it, he’s sure that Damen did ask him out on a date. He’d also said, I don’t usually do this on a first date while they’d been in bed together, hadn’t he?

The realisation stumps Laurent.

“Oh,” he says.

Damen sits down on the edge of the bed, groaning. He buries his head in his hands. “Oh my god, Laurent. How can someone so smart be so stupid?”

Laurent supposes he should feel offended by that. He isn’t, though, because he genuinely feels stupid.

“You still didn’t make anything official.” Laurent says after a while.

Damen looks up. “Fuck you.” His eyebrows furrow. “What was stopping you from asking me?”

“Why would I say anything?! I thought you were only interested in fucking me!”

Damen groans again. He sounds like he’s dying. “If that were true, then why would I –” He gestures around the room. Laurent knows what he means. He thinks of all the…dates Damen has taken him on, all the gifts he’s been given, the fact that Damen doesn’t leave his side when they go to parties together.

Laurent closes his eyes. This is too much. He’s shocked by the anger that overtakes him – anger at himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been.”

Damen looks at him steadily. He gathers his thoughts. “Do you still think I should date Lykaios? Because you seem pretty invested in the idea and I –” Damen sighs. “I don’t want to – I don’t think I can be with you if you don’t feel the same as I do.”

“How do you feel about me?” Laurent asks softly.

Damen’s gaze is burning. Laurent is pinned beneath it. “Laurent, I love you.”

Laurent gasps. It’s a soft sound, but in the stillness of the room it rattles against the walls. His throat closes.

When a few silent moments pass, Damen sighs. He stands up, mouth drooping and fingers tense by his thighs. “Alright…That’s.” He stops. He gives Laurent a small nod. “I’ll just go then.”

Laurent blocks his path with a shrill, “Wait!”

Damen stops.

Laurent’s fingers twitch. He wants to touch Damen. But he knows he should – “I don’t want you to date Lykaios. I don’t even know what the fuck I was thinking, alright? You just – you seemed so into her Damen, and I thought it would be nice if I did you a favour and set you up with her because you’re always doing nice things for me but then I got so sad and angry and confused every time you were together and then I felt guilty for feeling those things and I just –”

“Okay, slow down,” Damen’s hands grip his shoulders.

Laurent shakes his head. His chest is bubbling with all these emotions he’s refused to acknowledge. “I don’t want you to date Lykaios,” he repeats. “I want you to date me.” He pauses. “Only me.”

Damen snorts. “Easy. I’ve already been doing that.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t know,” Laurent says. His throat is still tight with emotion.

“We’ll work on communicating better,” Damen says. He peers down at Laurent until their eyes meet. “I only want you, Laurent.”

Laurent collapses into Damen. He buries his head against Damen’s chest, weak in his relief. He even sniffles a little, something Damen thankfully ignores. “I only want you, too.”

Damen’s body loosens; he exhales and squeezes Laurent in his embrace. He kisses Laurent’s temple. “That makes me so happy.”

“Me too,” Laurent says.

Guiltily, he thinks of Lykaios. He remembers her excitement at the thought of being with Damen. Laurent needs to make it up to her, somehow, if she’ll let him. Maybe he could buy her flowers? Laurent has never bought flowers for anyone in his life, but he thinks Lykaios might like roses – unless that’s too romantic? Or maybe he could –

“Hey,” Damen says, interrupting his thought process.

Laurent looks up at him. Damen’s smile is radiant; it’s all white teeth and creased eyes. “Yeah?”

“Do me a favour.”

“Anything.”

Damen kisses him. Laurent smiles into it as his entire body fills with an unparalleled warmth. He’s not sure if he loves Damen back…but he’s confident he’s getting there.

Damen pulls back. He assesses Laurent with a stern frown. “Don’t ever do anything nice for me.”

Laurent huffs. He hides his face in Damen’s chest again. “Shut up.”

#captive prince #this is 7.5k lol i dont understand the concept of a drabble clearly #please lmk if read more doesnt work i dont want ppl to scroll through such a long post #@marrieddorks im very sorry for this lol #my fic #my writing

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aladygrieve · 4 years ago

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Merlin/Arthur Fic Rec

** - Favourite

FANDOM CLASSICS

Castle (The Rules by Which We Live) by kickflaw Word count: 16,200 Summary: Merlin knows that getting off fastest when he’s got some BDSM porno playing loud on the computer doesn’t mean he’d really like to be that bloke, gagged and bent over and bound. Right? Notes: Modern AU and the best BDSM I’ve ever read.

Destiny That Darkly Hides Us by Nympha_Alba Word count: 63,000 Summary: It’s 1913, the practice of homosexuality is unlawful, so is the practice of magic. When Arthur Pendragon and Merlin Emrys meet as Cambridge undergrads, they’re both hungry for a real and true connection without secrets. For a short time they believe they may have found it. But war breaks out and separates them, and it seems unlikely that they will meet again. After all, what are the odds? Notes: Includes reincarnation!

Drastically Redefining Protocol by rageprufrock Word count: 46,000 WIP Summary:In which Prince Arthur meets Merlin and all hell promptly breaks loose. Notes: Modern AU in which Merlin is a chain-smoking med student and Arthur is the womanizing Prince of Wales. Includes several companion stories.

**The Student Prince by FayJay Word count: 145,200 Summary: A modern day Merlin AU set at the University of St Andrews, featuring teetotal kickboxers, secret wizards, magnificent bodyguards of various genders, irate fairies, imprisoned dragons, crumbling gothic architecture, arrogant princes, adorable engineering students, stolen gold, magical doorways, attempted assassination, drunken students, shaving foam fights, embarrassing mornings after, The Hammer Dance, duty, responsibility, friendship and true love… Notes: Because really, no rec list is complete without the novel-length jewel of the Merlin fandom. It’s plotty, beautifully written and perfectly in-character, and is especially dear to my heart now that I’ve actually visited St. Andrews. I highly recommend the podfic, as FayJay is an incredible reader.

REINCARNATION/FINALE-COMPLIANT

Hold My Heart Until it Beats by ingberry Word count: 1920 Summary: Arthur dies and waits for Albion to need him again. But most of all he waits for Merlin. Notes: Great use of the Arthur waits trope.

**Hopeless Wanderer by Magnolia822 Word count: 18,500 Summary: Merlin has been wandering the world for hundreds of years alone; one day a young blond man moves into the flat upstairs. But does Arthur remember? Notes: Still my all-time favourite reincarnation fic.

I Keep Going Over the World We Knew (Over and Over) by Mellacita Word count: 51,100 Summary: When Merlin Emrys is sent on a ‘round-the-world assignment, he begins remembering a life of magic, dragons, and kings. To make matters worse, a strange woman starts stalking him along the way. And that’s before he even meets Arthur Pendragon, whose answer to climate change is going to save the world. Because apparently just saving Britain won’t be enough this time around. Notes: Plotty and intricate and very, very cool.

Let Your Heart Hold Fast by Acavall Word count: 3000 Summary: Merlin waits for Arthur’s return, and the only way to hold on to his memories is to write them down. Over and over, again and again, as history marches by. Notes: Works interesting historical references into the reincarnation deal.

Never Let Me Go by LadyVader Word count: 3500 Summary: Merlin has walked the world for a long time waiting for his friends return. Notes: Great use of the rest of the characters.

Now I Will Unsettle the Ground Beneath You by nu_breed Word count: 42,300 Summary: Merlin’s dreams have always fuelled his art, but they’ve always been abstract and removed from reality. Soon after he meets Gwaine, he starts to see vivid images of a past full of death and magic and love for a King who was ripped from him. Things only escalate further when he spends a weekend in the country with Gwaine and meets his group of friends, which includes aristocrat and It Boy, Arthur Pendragon. Merlin soon realises that no matter how hard you try, one thing is certain, you can’t fuck with destiny. Notes: Merlin’s dating Gwaine but he and Arthur can’t keep their hands off each other. I love it.

Old Love, But in Shapes That Renew and Renew Forever by leopardwrites Word count: 3500 Summary: People accept that an old man might live alone. People understand that he might have lost the greatest love he has ever known. Notes: Fics that deal with old!Merlin are never not going to be gut-wrenching.

CANON ERA

A Bet by juxtapose Word count: 1100 Summary: In which the Knights stumble upon a private moment between the Prince and his manservant, Leon is uncomfortable, and Gwaine decides to make a bet. Notes: All the knights are fantastic in this one.

The Accidental Seduction by Ras Elased Word count: 9000 Summary: Arthur’s a bit dim and a prank goes horribly awry, but in the end this works out to the benefit of all involved. Notes: Almost unbearably adorable.

**Finding Home by riventhorn Word count: 7860 Summary: When Gaius retires, a new physician takes over, one that quickly kicks Merlin out of his room and takes it for himself, Arthur finds Merlin sleeping in the stables..and it’s winter. Notes: Good old-fashioned hurt/comfort with a dash of fluff. Probably my favourite canon-era fic.

**Fools of Us All by adelagia Word count: 11,100 Summary: Merlin accidentally makes everybody in Camelot fall in love with him. Everybody except Arthur, that is. Notes: Cute, funny and very in-character.

Freedom Hangs Like Heaven by derryere Word count: 9000 Summary: It’s happened five times and they don’t talk about it. Notes: The unresolved romantic tension will end you.

The Greater Bond by ravenflight21 Word count: 15,500 Summary: When Arthur is kidnapped by slavetraders, Merlin has only one option: to buy him. Playing Arthur’s master has its drawbacks – but it also has extraordinary compensations. Notes: Fabulous trope that also includes fancy dress. What more do you want?

**A Heavy Heart to Carry by ThursdayNext Word count: 12,561 Summary: When Merlin is captured and injured, Arthur must face up to his own feelings for his manservant as well as the many secrets he discovers are being kept from him. Notes: I think this might have been the first merthur fic I ever read. It’s Cold Outside by ionionie Word count: 2500 Summary: Merlin and Arthur get trapped in a cave on a freezing cold night. How do they stay warm? Notes: I’m such a sucker for this trope it’s actually sad.

**Meteorology by fayhe Word count: 4600 Summary: Character study with spot-on cameos from Uther, Morgana, Gaius and even Kilgarrah. Notes: Best Gen.

So That I Might Be Where You Areby cherrybina Word count: 4600 Summary: When a spell goes wrong, Merlin and Arthur are linked together in an unusual way, which leads to lots and lots of UST. Notes: Not kidding about the UST, which works surprisingly well. **Stars Above, Stones Below by Destina Word count: 46,800 Summary: After the disastrous end of his betrothal to Gwen and the regret of his offer to Princess Mithian, Arthur swears off finding a wife until he’s ready to wed. When Merlin offers himself to Arthur as bedmate, Arthur suggests they hand-fast in secret for a single year of mutual pleasure without obligation. As their year together unfolds, and secrets and betrayals unravel around them, Arthur and Merlin learn there is no such thing as uncomplicated pleasure. Everything they thought they knew can change in the span of a single year. Notes: Another one of my absolute favourites. Winterbloom by Shinybug Word count: 6200 Summary: Deep in the woods in the frozen heart of winter, a careless comment leads to a redefinition of Arthur’s relationship with his manservant. Notes: Emotionally-constipated boys shivering in the cold will always be one of my favourite things.

MODERN AU

A Change of Pace by kianspo Word count: 54,600 Summary: The one in which Arthur works in finances and his suits are various (two) shades of grey, Merlin works in advertisement and has no boundaries whatsoever, Morgana drinks rum, Mithian stages a coup, Agravaine is aggravating, and Elena’s house is amazing. Also, Andy Warhol is mentioned in vain, and Arthur and Merlin fall in love in Victorian era style. Notes: In which Arthur has a structured, ordered, boring life, until Merlin comes along.

This Silly ol’ Dance is Perfect for Two by SlantedKnitting Word count: 80,500 Summary: Arthur is young, gorgeous, talented, and captain of one of the best football teams in England; his life should be perfect. But he can’t keep a girlfriend for more than a few months, and it’s not just because he isn’t ready to settle down. When his most recent girlfriend dumps him, he has a rough night at the pub and has to be dragged home by his neighbour, Merlin. Merlin is an archivist, a Ph.D student, and he hates football almost as much as he hates Arthur. They both have their own reasons for not wanting to spend time with each other, but after that disastrous night, remaining silent neighbors doesn’t seem like much of an option anymore. Notes: Plotty and original. Wicked Game by winterstorm Word count: 42,400 Summary: Arthur’s the King of Camelot…nightclub. He can pick and choose who he wants, and he does – often – no promises and absolutely no repeats. The night he chooses Merlin might just be his undoing. Notes: Slight age difference.

#merthur #merlin/arthur #merlin #bbc merlin #fic recs #fanfiction #made rebloggable for your convenience

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dontmindthefangirling · 5 years ago

Text

The Heartbreak Prince {p.p.}

chapter 4

gif not mine - credit to owner (message me)

Bad Boy!Peter Parker x Reader AU

Summary: The heart is fragile. Easily broken, difficult to build back up, and Peter Parker knows that. Maybe his own heart is fractured and that’s why he goes around breaking others. Will you let him break yours?

Warnings: angst, angst, angst, enemies to lovers, suggestive conversations, language, underage drinking, violence, both reader and Peter are 18+

chapter 3 | series masterlist

You could hear the music coming from inside Flash’s house as you walked up the front steps with Betty and Ned. You were surprised the house wasn’t shaking with every beat of the bass. As soon as you stepped foot in the house, your senses were overcome with the smell of booze.

You could barely hear your own thoughts over the music, but you waded your way into the crowd.

“I need a drink,” Betty said over the music, leading you towards the bar that Flash had set up near the DJ station.

“Look who it is!” Flash yelled over the microphone. “Midtown’s newest and baddest attendee...(Y/N)!”

You whipped around to look at Flash, with wide eyes as suddenly all of the attention was on you.

“Let’s hear it for her, c’mon guys!” Flash edged on, earning cheers and applause. Your cheeks flushed, not used to this attention, but you just smiled sheepishly and grabbed one of the mixed drinks, taking a big swig.

“Wow, who knew I’d be friends with a celebrity?” Ned teased, nudging your arm with his elbow.

“Shut up,” you laughed, taking another sip. The fruity drink masked the effect of the vodka, but the effect was all the same. You felt it go right to your head, with a warm feeling tingling throughout your body with every sip.

Flash went back to mixing music, bumping to the beat while you hung out with Ned and Betty. Eventually, you met up with some of your newer friends that Ned and Betty had introduced you to, and you found yourself getting lost in the music, letting the alcohol consume you.

Halfway through the eighth song, you looked up and spotted Peter leaning against a wall with a red solo cup in his hand. He was by himself, but you were sure his goons weren’t far away. He was watching you, which immediately made you stop dancing, suddenly self-conscious. You thought you saw a small smirk tug at the corner of his lips, but it was probably just the alcohol.

“I’ll be back,” you said to Ned who was twirling Betty around.

You stalked over towards Peter, his eyes never leaving you as you got closer. He seemed amused when you approached him, a small glint of humor in his eyes. You really must have been drunk because you came over here with something in mind to say, but as soon as you were face to face, you couldn’t find your words.

Peter chuckled. “Is there something on my face?”

“What’s your deal?” you suddenly blurted out. “Sometimes you’re nice, and sometimes you’re a jerk.”

“Why do you care so much?” Peter asked, without any malice in his tone, but genuine curiosity.

In all honesty, you didn’t know why you cared so much. You didn’t know why your eyes were drawn to him in the hallways every time he walked by you, and you didn’t know why you wanted to pick his brain apart and find what made him tick. You didn’t know what it was, but it started since your first day at Midtown and you’d been hooked ever since.

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

Peter stared at you, with...was that admiration? Maybe it was the alcohol, but for once he didn’t look like he wanted to punch someone.

“Where are your friends?” you asked, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your drink.

Peter shrugged. “Probably with some girls.”

“And you’re not?”

“I’m with you, aren’t I?”

His words made your mouth go dry and your cheeks burn. You looked down at your Converse and shifted your weight, forcing yourself to not look vulnerable in front of him.

“Don’t be cheeky, Parker,” you spat. “You’d never have a chance with me.”

Peter smirked, humor in his eyes as he took a sip of his drink, never breaking his gaze from your own. You wanted to melt under his stare, but you stood your ground.

“Well isn’t this cute?” a voice sneered from behind you. Peter’s eyes instantly narrowed as you turned around and saw Jed Davenport standing behind you. His eyes went back and forth between you and Peter before he chuckled.

“Did she make you go soft, Parker?” Jed sneered. He took a step closer to you, and almost instinctively, Peter put his arm out and pushed you behind him.

“You shouldn’t be here, Jed,” Peter said.

“Why? I didn’t get suspended from parties. Just from school. Thanks to that bitch,” he spat, pointing at you.

“Hey-” you went to fight, but Peter’s arm held you back and you glared up at him.

“She broke my record for football. You know how many colleges were coming to see me play?” Jed continued.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have been a dick then,” Peter said calmly. You wondered how he was managing to stay so calm. You were fuming already.

“Fuck off, Parker,” Jed spat. “Just because your girlfriend died doesn’t give you an ‘I am holier than thou’ pass.”

“Don’t talk about her,” Peter growled, his sudden calm composure melting away. You stared at Peter’s back, slightly shocked. You knew that he and Ned had a mutual friend who passed away a year ago, but you didn’t know that she was Peter’s girlfriend. You couldn’t imagine how he was feeling.

Jed scoffed. “Whatever. She was a freak anyways.”

It was like everything was suddenly in slow motion as the music blurred in your eyes. The yelling was louder than any of the music as Peter lunged at Jed. It only took a millisecond for him to begin beating the crap of Jed, again, but this time you stepped in, not wanting the cops to get called and for Peter to get in actual legal trouble.

You grabbed his arm as he went back for another swing, pulling him away with all of your strength. By now, Flash was running over with some of Peter’s other friends, pulling Jed away. You managed to stop Peter before he did as much damage as back in gym class, but Jed was definitely going to have a bruise in the morning.

Peter was still shouting profanities at Jed as you dragged him away and pushed your way into the nearest empty room, shutting the door behind you. As soon as the door was shut, it was like the rest of the world’s noise shut off and all you could hear was Peter’s heavy breathing.

You turned and saw him pacing, tugging at his hair as tears rolled down his cheeks, dripping onto the bedroom floor. His face was red and his muscles were tense, and your heart broke for him.

“Peter,” you said, using his first name for once. You could still hear some of the commotion from outside as Flash was probably kicking Jed out of his house or calling the cops, but you tried to focus on calming down Peter.

“Peter, please, take a breath,” you encouraged, taking a cautious step towards him. He stopped pacing and looked up at you, letting his hands fall to his sides with an absolutely broken expression on his face. You inhaled sharply as you stepped closer, testing the waters to see how far he’d let you comfort him.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. He stared at you, his eyes glassy. “You need to breathe.”

Peter closed his eyes, a few tears running down his cheeks, as he inhaled deeply. You took his wrists gingerly and led him over to the bed, coaxing him to sit down. As soon as he was seated, he leaned forward on his knees and burying his face in his hands.

You gently rested your hand on his shoulder, feeling him breathe beneath your fingers.

“It’s okay,” you continued to whisper, over and over, hoping that that would bring him some sort of comfort. After a few minutes passed, and Peter’s breathing became more even, he sat up, and stared at the wall blankly. His eyes were still red and glossed over with tears, but he wasn’t hyperventilating anymore.

“It’s my fault she’s dead,” he said, his voice cracking and broken.

“Don’t say that,” you whispered. “It can’t be your fault.”

“But it is,” Peter cried, looking at you. “I wasn’t good enough, fast enough, and when-”

He stopped talking because if he continued talking he’d have to reveal his secret to you. That his enemies kidnapped MJ and Ned, his girlfriend and his best friend, because they wanted to get to him. To Spiderman. And by the time he showed up...she was already gone. He remembered kneeling over her lifeless body, cradling her in his arms as his sobs could be heard all over the city.

He had been so angry. So angry that he didn’t get there sooner. That he didn’t hide his identity better. Angry that Ned lived and MJ didn’t. As awful as that sounded and as awful as he hated himself for thinking it. He was just so so angry. So he turned on Ned, and everyone else around him because he blamed the world for taking MJ from him.

But your voice was so calm and soothing. It was gentle, and soft, and your hands were soft too, and he would never say it but just the one touch on his shoulder was enough to even his breaths. And you looked at him like he wasn’t a monster who let his girlfriend die and put his anger on the rest of the world. You looked at him like he was just Peter.

He looked at you, and saw your soft (E/C) eyes staring back at him. You didn’t press him for more information, but you continued to draw small circles on his shoulder, as an effort to keep him breathing.

“I just miss her,” he croaked, looking down at his lap.

“Of course you do,” you sighed. “I don’t blame you.”

Peter let out a sharp breath and ran a hand through his already messy hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly.

You looked at him, cocking your head to the side in confusion. “For what?”

“Just...y’know being an ass,” Peter shrugged. You looked down at your lap and nodded. You were starting to understand.

“Why don’t we go home?” you said after a few moments of silence. “This party isn’t that great.”

Peter chuckled lightly and nodded. “Please.”

You and Peter walked side-by-side in silence back to your shared apartment building. The sky was clear, with a bright moon looking down on both of you as you briskly walked, trying to avoid the cold. A breeze caused goosebumps to appear on your arm, and a shiver to run through your body. Peter stared at you for a moment, before he quickly slipped his jacket off and placed it on your shoulders.

“Oh you don’t need-”

“It’s fine. I’m wearing a long sleeve and you’re in a crop top,” Peter chuckled. You pursed your lips and gingerly slipped his jacket on. You weren’t expecting for him to smell like a mix of the ocean and vanilla, but those were the scents that rushed into your nose.

“Thanks,” you said softly. You continued your walk in silence until you reached your apartment building, both of your hurrying inside to escape the cold. As soon as you were inside, you handed the jacket back to Peter, despite his protests. He wouldn’t admit it, but he liked seeing you in his jacket.

“What floor?” Peter asked when you entered the elevator.

“Three.”

Peter pressed three and then five right after that.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” you asked as the elevator began to go up. Peter put his hands in his pockets and nodded.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I’ll be okay. Thanks.”

It was only two minutes after you shut your door to your apartment when you heard a soft knock. You had only taken your shoes off when you padded over to the door, looking through the peephole and seeing Peter standing in the hallway, his hands in his pockets still.

You opened your door, and Peter sighed.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” he said.

You smiled sadly and stepped to the side letting him in. “I figured.”

Peter walked in slowly, taking your apartment in. You were sure it wasn’t much different from his.

“My parents are out but we can watch a movie or something,” you offered, walking over to the kitchen to grab a bag of microwavable popcorn.

“That sounds nice,” Peter said softly. You weren’t sure if you were meant to hear that, but you smiled at him as you put the bag in the microwave before walking towards the living room.

“Are you a Disney fan?” you asked, switching on the TV.

“Yeah,” Peter almost whispered. You could tell he was still shaken up from earlier, and was probably still thinking about his dead girlfriend, so you tried to find something that would pull him from his dark thoughts. So you found one of your all time favorites, the Star Wars: Empire Strikes Back.

“You like Star Wars?” Peter asked, almost surprised as he looked towards you from the other end of the couch.

“Yeah, do you?”

“It’s my favorite movie series.”

You smiled. You weren’t exactly expecting that from him, he didn’t seem like the type to like Star Wars.

“Well then I picked a good one,” you chuckled. Peter smiled at you as the microwave finished popping the popcorn.

You got up from the couch to go grab it while Peter continued watching. When you came back over, you paused behind the couch, staring at Peter and taking him in completely. His cheeks were flushed and blotchy from crying, and his hair was a mess, but his eyes were glued to the screen, and you spotted a few freckles painted across his nose that you wondered if had always been there.

“Popcorn’s ready,” you said, breaking yourself from your trance and plopping down on the couch. You put the bowl between the two of you, and grabbed a blanket before tossing it to Peter.

“Oops,” you laughed when the blanket hit him in the face.

“Ow!” he whined, but you only laughed.

“Sorry,” you apologized with a grin as he peeked out from underneath the blanket. He narrowed his eyes at you, but you could see the humor behind them.

You and Peter continued to watch the movie in silence, Peter just happy to have some company and to be distracted by the movie. He was grateful you didn’t turn him away like you easily could’ve. Especially after how horribly he treated everyone around him.

About three-fourths through the movie, and two bowls of popcorn later, Peter glanced over, and saw you sleeping peacefully with your head on armrest of the couch. He found himself staring at your features, taking every single one of them in. He found a new distraction that wasn’t the movie and he liked it better. He smiled to himself, as a soft snore made its way from your lips.

He, as quietly as he could, placed the blanket he had over you completely, and shut the TV. He stealthily made his way out of your apartment and towards the stairs where he’d go up two flights to his own apartment. He didn’t know what time it was, but there was this warm fuzzy feeling in his heart after being with you that night.

And it terrified him.

chapter 5

taglist @justanothercynicalgenzkid // @ ilytomholland // @ star-holland // @ludiclove // @clipopex-writing // @imboredandneedwritingprompts // @futuremrspeterparkerholland // @someinsanefangirl // @tiny-friggin-human // @toms-irish-girl // @santa-feigh // @parkeret // @spidreling // @awokenfandoms // @wizliar // @ spiderbiteholland // @ baconlover001 // @ snowflakeamour // @geekofmanyforms // @spider-manholland //

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rubyroses222 · 9 months ago

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your post about bellingham was perfect. yes he had a bad game but one bad game in 9 months is pretty decent idk. just sucks that it had to be in such an important game, but every single player in the world goes through patches of good and bad form. haaland was awful, mbappe ghosted tonight … and they are regarded as 2 of the best in the world. it happens, jude will know more than anyone that he was bad and what he has to do next week. all he needs to do is find his rhythm again and the good form will return

this is my first anon ever, thank you so much 🤍

you’re absolutely right, every player has their ups and downs and in moments like these I hate the football world for it’s fast pace. Players are hyped to the moon and thrown under the bus within days of each other, by professional media but fans on socials are just as quick.

Mbappé and Haaland definitely had very bad games these past days, but I thought of one more reason why everyone is so agitated about Jude: technically it was his “first” real bad game for Madrid. Haaland however ghosted vs Arsenal before, for Mbappé I can’t remember a specific game there are definitely so big games he didn’t show up to before the one yesterday.

Jude knows better than anyone what he has to do, so completely agree with you. let’s just wait for the second game and hope he’s gonna give the Etihad a show.

#jude bellingham #real madrid #anon ask #let’s talk

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khaoticallykat · 5 years ago

Text

◇The Prince and The Punk◇

Paring: College AU!Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Summary: You and Ransom never seen eye to eye, during one class in high school you let him know how you really feel and from there it was pranks and bullying all on you. Until you finally went to college, forgetting all about Ransom until you happen to encounter him again, this time at his grandfather's, the famous novelist, Harlan Thrombey. With a research paper that needs to be done to make the grade, are you gonna put up with Ransom's shit?

Warnings: language, bullying.

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: omgggg this is my first time actually formatting a story for Tumblr and I just hope y'all like it. There's gonna be smut but that's wayyy later and maybe in a mini chapter. Thanks for reading 💖

Chapter 1. The Writing Writer

~Flashback~

You drummed your finger along the desk, pissed off and annoyed as you watch Ransom Drysdale, yes, him. The richest kid in school and the biggest piece of shit you've ever laid your eyes on. He was actually an alright guy, for the most part, but you you see beyond his pretty blonde hair, blue eyes and fake smile. He was made to look like an angel, one of those sculptures you see in Italy. He was flirting with your friend as all three of you sat at a table in science class, he has a girlfriend but almost every girl he flirted with, including you, but you harshly turned that off.

"Aw come on Lexi, you're so smart, just help me out?" He blinked his ocean blue eyes at her, she giggled and smiled, about to slide her paper over to him until you grabbed her hand.

"Lexi, don't you think Ransom should have been paying attention to the lesson rather than making goo goo eyes at you?" You asked, gritting your teeth.

"Aw Y/n, I can help him out, it's no big deal." She smiled, you loved her, you really did but even she was falling into the spell of Ransom.

"Yeah Y/n. She doesn't mind, but yet," he looked over at you, it sparked more a hatred in you, "yet you, seem to really mind me? What is it? You like me don't you? Want me all to yourself?"

You sighed, giving him a deadpan expression, "I rather eat razors and then shit them out, you're shitty and annoying and a fake." His smile dropped, Lexi covered her mouth, either in shock or to stifle a laugh. "You act like you're such a king here, having everyone bend to your whim but who are you really? You're a trust fund playboy and I really hope you don't breed, we already have enough shitheads like you in the world."

Everyone in the room was looking at you, clearly you weren't aware of your tone, even the teacher looked shocked.

But Ransom, deep down he should have hated you, but instead, he laughed. He laughed so loud and hard that his was was beet red and tears came down.

"Wow," he chuckled, catching his breath, "fuck you."

From then senior year was filled with Ransom knocking books out of your hand, spilling various liquids on you, thankfully it was tea, water or coffee, he even went as far as cling wrapping your car before homecoming started. You paid him no mind though, you were really good at that, ignoring him and going on about your day, your mom always said that children act out when they want attention and that was one thing you would never give him. He noticed just how much you really didn't care for him, it made him angry, he spent almost every day finding something to inconvenience you and you just brushed him off like dust.

He cornered you in a back room in the photo lab one day after school, you were cleaning up and helping out when the Jock pushed you in a closet, closing the door behind him.

"Oh great. My favorite person." You rolled your eyes, "get out of my way, I have stuff to do."

"You're not going anywhere," He growled, he smelled of sweat and dirt, he must have came from training. "You and I need to talk."

You sighed, shifting in the tight space that Ransom took up, "well I'm listening, but hurry up you stink."

"You're really good at ignoring me, just wondering how and why?"

"You mean how haven't I giving in to your antics? Because you're a child, you act like one and I don't pay attention to boys that act like children," You heard him punch the wall next to you, "just let it go Hugh, sometimes you can't get all the girls to suck you off."

You smirked and ducked under his arm, opening the closet door to see Ransom's two friends, Sam and James sitting on the desk across from the closet. They made eye contact with and quickly looked away, it was clear that they were uncomfortable with the situation. You packed your bag and left, leaving Ransom in the closet to deal with the fact that you just called him by his first name.

"You alright in there man? What'd she do, spit on ya?" James called from the desk.

Sam got up and dragged him out, "come on, don't let some chick ruin the rest of your senior year, after this, we got college girls to look at."

"You're right," Ransom laughed, "I can't fucking wait."

~Present~

After high school, you never saw Ransom, he was basically out of sight, out of mind. College was rolling around and you picked your major of psychology, you were lucky that the town had a college and it was easy to get into. You spent your first few months taking the classes required and studying, your teacher reminded you that the final paper was due months from now, to write a report on a literary author of the time. They assigned everyone an author, when your name came up, you got the author, Harlan Thrombey. The last name rung a bell in your head, but you couldn't tell why. Leaving class you notice many people were in the college colors. Right, football season. You saw some sororities gathered in the parking lot cheering, you didn't want to be part of any of them. You were almost to your car when you remembered why the last name Thrombey sounded so familiar.

Ransom Drysdale was on the back of a pickup cheering and laughing with other guys in their football jerseys, he soon forgot about you after high school. But through his dark, gold rim glasses, he saw you, the same as ever, he was really shocked to see that you even stayed in town, you were really smart, not that he would admit it. Stepping off the back of the pick up, he made his way towards you, you were walking at a fast pace, trying to get to your car before he could catch up and torment you. Ransom saw you get in your little grey Volkswagen and slam the door, locking it behind you. The engine stalled a few times before it finally came to life. Ransom was just getting to your car when you quickly pulled out, almost hitting him. You paid no attention to the speed until you reached the first green light off campus. Taking a deep breath, you looked in your rear view and chuckled, it was childish, but you were glad to get away.

Thankfully it was Friday and you wouldn't see him until Monday, throwing your bag on the floor, you sat at your desk fuming. If all places, why does Ransom Drysdale have to be in the same college as you? You opened your laptop and began looking up Harlan Thrombey, he thankfully had an email, writing out who you were, the nature of your email and a few other things, you clicked the 'send' button and waited.

Later that evening while you were reading, your phone pinged, showing you that there was an email from Harlan. He wrote back that he would be glad to have you over to study his work for your research paper and asked if you could come over Saturday. Doing a small dance of happiness in your room, you replied that you'll be there at noon.

The next morning you wore something that would look rather business casual, most of your clothing was on the darker side so it was easier to match items and stopped in town at the local donut shop before heading to Harlan's. Pulling up you saw a white BMW, the kind that was vintage, it probably ran better than your car double checking your bag once more for your notebook, tablet and charger, you locked your car and walked up to the brick manor. The place was absolutely gorgeous as you took a moment to wonder what the inside would look like. Suddenly two blurs came running up to you barking and sniffing, one was a black lab and the other a German shepherd. They both sat down and looked at the box of donuts you were carrying.

"Sorry, I didn't get anything for you," you frowned, slowly backing towards the steps, "maybe next time."

You rung the doorbell and waited, the dogs followed you and waited by you patiently with their tails wagging. A young woman opened the door, she looked about your age with dark brown hair and bright eyes, "you must be y/n," she smiled, the dogs rushing in almost knocking her over, "Harlan told me you were coming, I'm his nurse, Marta." She lead you into the house which wasn't bare in any area, there were decorations on covering the walls, either with paintings, books, it some strange artifacts. You followed her to the library where you saw Harlan, all grey hair but eyes were full of life.

"Ah, you must be Y/n," he said, turning his attention away from a man that sat in a chair, facing away from you, "I was just talking to my grandson about you, how he should be doing his homework but instead, he's talking of football and girls."

"It's nice to meet you mr. Thrombey," you smiled, walking over to him, "I brought donuts."

The man in the chair stood up, "I know that voice," he turned around, same damn smirk on his face like it was permanent, "ah, of course it's you, my favorite person."

God damned Ransom Drysdale.

You looked like a deer in head lights, "what the hell are you doing here?" You asked, taking a step back.

"Visiting my grandpa?" He said, "bring those donuts over here, I'm starving."

You thought it was a sick joke, but you can see it, the tiny resemblance between Ransom and Harlan. But here you are, trapped in a house with you high school bully. He made his way over to you and opened the box, he was still the same, no respect for personal space.

"I saw you yesterday, but you left," he took one of the chocolate covered ones, "me and you got a lot of catching up to do."

#knives out #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #kat writes #TP&TP #The Prince and The Punk

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dallas-owns-my-ass · 5 years ago

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Something You’ll Regret

Paring: Darry Curtis x Cousin! Reader

Summary: Reader gets jumped, and when the attacker says something about her mom (who died), she goes off on him almost killing him, and the only thing stopping her is Darry

Warnings: fighting, blades, mentions of death, attempted murder, cursing, minor assault

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

7 pm. What was I doing on a Sunday night at 7 pm walking on the streets? Is walking to my cousin’s house even a logical answer, considering it was a high crime area and I was alone? I��ve done worse. I heard the rumble of a car engine, looking over my shoulder out of habit. A blue mustang. That’s the second time it passed. I started to walk faster. It could simply just be a coincidence. Or they could be following me. I didn’t really feel like being jumped tonight, so why take the chance? The car continued to follow me. Shit. If anything happened, no one would be able to stop it. I was too far from the house for them to hear me scream for help. I didn’t even have my switchblade on me. I continued to walk with my head down, accelerating my pace even further. The car came to a stop, and they all got out, walking behind me. I scanned the floor looking for a pepsi bottle, or anything, to fight them off with, but I found nothing. Just my luck. The one time I decide to walk alone, I get followed by Socs, forget my switchblade, and there’s suddenly no trash lying out on the streets. They caught up, forming a circle around me.

“What’s a pretty girl like yourself doing out on the streets at night?” the one I presumed to be their leader questioned.

“Yeah, you should know better than to walk at night, by yourself” another one continued.

“You never know what could happen to you.” the leader said, getting uncomfortably close to me.

“You look like a screamer. It’d be such a shame for no one to hear your cries for help.”he almost whispered into my ear. He started to kiss my neck roughly. I threw him off me quickly, and punched him, hard.

“You’re going to regret that”

Within seconds they were all on top of me, punching, kicking, yelling. I tried my best to fight back, but I couldn’t. It was too much. I was never one to go down in a fight easily, but this time was different. There were five of them, and I was a little tipsy. The leader pinned me to the wall, but I kneed him in the crotch. Bad idea. He pulled out a switchblade and held it to my neck.

“You have a death wish, greaser?” he snarled.

“Maybe” He didn’t like that one that much.

“Watch your attitude with me. You forget I have the power to end your pathetic excuse for a life right now.” he pushed the blade deeper into my neck.

“It would be a shame for you to die right now. Your cousins and the scum you call friends would find you dead, bruised, and injured on the side of the road, just like your mother.”

It wasn’t really a secret of what happened to my mom. I was seven, we were in the car, a cop pulled us over, he shot her. He didn’t even blink an eye. No thought of the repercussions it would have, not that it would’ve effected him. It’s funny how something that only lasted three seconds can fuck up someone’s life entirely. It made news headlines. I’ve never been the same since then, and people have noticed, but not actually cared. Just was something to talk about I guess. But I was definitely not going to let this privileged, son of a bitch put dirt on my mother’s name. Not now, not ever.

I kneed him in his groin, roughly. He knelt down in pain, but reacted quickly. He took the blade that was on my neck and brought it down, cutting my leg deeply. I hissed out in pain, it burned as if the blade was on fire. I tackled him down onto the floor. We fought for dominance for a brief second, but I won due to the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I threw a punch at his jaw. I then threw another one, and continued to, the anger fueling me. I was about to knock this asshole out, not really caring if I killed him, but I felt a pair of large, strong arms pulling me off. I tried to fight back, but he overpowered me. I looked back, and realized it was Darry.

“Darry let me go. Now.” I demanded. I was going to let him get away. I was tired of taking shit from everyone. He didn’t listen, only tightened his grip. I struggled to escape his grasp, but found it impossible since he was a lot stronger than me. The Socs took this opportunity to run.

“Darry, stop. You’re letting him get away!” I continued to struggle against his grasp, which was probably going to result in several bruises on my arms.

“No Y/N, I’m not going to let you. I’m not going to let you do something you’ll regret.”

“Okay” I mumbled in defeat. There was no use fighting him anymore, I was tired, and the adrenaline started to wear off. And even though I hated to admit it, he was right.

He let go of me, but still held on to my arm, expecting me to run after them. But I didn’t. I unclenched my fist and realized I was holding his switchblade. I must’ve taken it from him during the fight. It all happened so fast... Eeh, it couldn’t hurt now.

“Hey, puto!” I called. The Socs turned to look at me.

“You forgot something!” I closed the blade and threw it at the back of his head. Clunk. I was surprised I didn’t miss, they were about a block away. Darry just chuckled.

“All that football I taught you must be paying off, huh?” he joked, ruffling my hair, teasing me.

“They hit you pretty bad didn’t they?”

“They got hit worse” I said, trying to go back to the joking conversation we were having a few seconds ago. I didn’t want to talk about what happened. I didn’t want to talk about how it happened, and I definitely didn’t want to talk about why it happened. We stopped walking, standing right outside the house. He put a hand on my shoulder, a concerned look in his eyes.

“In all seriousness, are you okay? I mean... what even happened? They didn’t hurt you too bad... I didn’t hurt you too bad” he mumbled the last part.

“Look Darry, I don’t really wanna talk about it right now. And I’m barely even hurt, really. You were just trying to protect me.” he pulled me into a hug.

“Don’t do that again, okay? You had me scared to death. You know I love you kid. You’re the closest thing to a little sister I’ve ever had, and I gotta look out for you. You know, after that thing happened with your mom, I have to. She would’ve wanted me to. And I’m always here for you. Always. Anything you need, you can come to me, and I’ll be there.” I felt a tear roll down my cheek. I wasn’t used to affection in general, especially not from Darry.

“Hey kid, don’t cry” he said wiping the tear off my cheek with his thumb.

“Thank you Darry.” There was so much more I wanted to say, but I couldn’t. All I could muster was some shitty apology.

“If you didn’t come.. I don’t know what would’ve happened. It’s just that... you know he just... he just started talking about my mom, and you know how I get. And I know it’s not an excuse or anything but I just.. I cant take it when people talk about her like that... how they make it seem like a joke or something.” At this point the tears were streaming down my face.

“I just miss her, you know. I miss her a lot.”

Darry pulled me into a tight hug. He rubbed my back trying to comfort me.

“I know Y/N, I know. It’ll get easier I promise. And you don’t gotta thank me for nothing. I only did what brothers are supposed to do.”

Brothers. That made me cry more. I don’t know why that hit me so hard. They always acted as they were my older brothers, but saying it aloud made it real. They were more than I could ever ask for in family, more than I deserved. They were all I needed to get by in this world. And in that moment, everything seemed to be okay. And that’s all that mattered.

More Like This

#darry curtis #the outsiders #curtis cousin #imagines #jumped #moonwalkwithuswriting

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serpentupemotions-blog · 6 years ago

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Guilt - Reader x Sweet Pea

(The gif isn’t mine, credit to the creator!)

This is based on the incredible request from @babbbiegirl : “Could you do another sweet pea × reader fan fic. Im not good at writing or anything but basically shes Archies baby sister and she sees the fight go down. She goes to the wyrm to apologize for her brothers actions and sees sweet pea and falls for him. Idk if thats good or not but it popped in my head.”

A/N: A couple things about this one. First, stuff that is in italics is dialogue directly from the show, I didn’t write that myself, those are quotes from Riverdale. Secondly, there will be a second part to this. Unfortunately, I have no freaking idea where I want to go with this. I have about six different starting points to a part two and I’ve been fretting over it for so long, so I decided to just put out part one since it’s done already.

Word Count: 3,897

You had been doing your very best to ignore Veronica and Archie yelling in the living room downstairs. At least someone else was there to do it this time. Maybe a different voice yelling at him about his idiotic plans of taking out the Black Hood would get it through to him that he was just a teenager with a vendetta, not a detective with police training. But the knocking on the door was enough to draw your attention from your book. Crawling off your bed you press pause on your speaker, so you could listen to what was going on downstairs. Archie wasn’t the only one who was shaken up by the Black Hood, living in a constant state of fear. But he was the one completely unravelling at the seams.

The lack of commotion both comforts you and sets off warning signals in your brain. Probability versus possibility. The counsellor you had been seeing since this Black Hood stuff started told you to always consider what’s probable versus what’s possible when something was making you anxious. Probability says it was a friend or a neighbor coming by to say hi. Possibility says it was an intruder and they attacked so fast Archie and Veronica didn’t even have an opportunity to fight back. But sometimes the possible was so pressing there was no way you could just settle on believing the probable had happened.

You push open your bedroom door, carefully moving through the hallway to the top of the stairs. When you glance around the corner you feel the tension in your body dissipate at the sight of the football team piling in through the door. They weren’t an immediate threat. But you still didn’t want them here, they had done enough in helping your brother form his crazy Red Circle vigilante group.

“What are they doing here?” you ask Veronica as she shuts the door, glancing over her shoulder to watch you walk down the stairs.

Rolling her eyes, she glances into the living room where Archie had gone with the team, “no idea.”

“Great,” you mutter, turning around and ascending the staircase again. You would hear about it later. You just didn’t want to be involved in it. At least if you weren’t involved you could plead ignorance.

Not long after you had settled back onto your bed with a novel, getting lost in a world full of other people with different problems to get your mind off of your own, you hear the sound of motorcycles. Not just a couple, the noise is loud enough to draw your mind out of a fantasy world and straight into a panicky reality. Tossing the book to the side you hurry to your window, watching a group of people parking their bikes in your driveway before heading towards your front door. Probability versus possibility might have been able to help your worries if you weren’t living in a town where the probable seemed barely possible and the possible was incredibly probable.

This time you had a reason to sneak through the hallway quietly, stopping at the top of the stairs and standing with your back pressed against the wall around the corner, listening intently.

“How stupid are you Northsiders? You really think you can come to my house, stick a gun in my face in front of my boys and there wouldn’t be any payback?” The voice is unfamiliar, and it sends waves of panic through your body like fire. Your legs feel shaky and your palms become clammy. Was he talking to Archie? Archie had been acting like an idiot lately, sure. But you couldn’t believe he had figured out how to get a gun and was using it to threaten people.

“You have crap timing, bro. Bulldogs eat Serpents for lunch,” Reggie’s voice is familiar to you and if you weren’t so terrified you may have rolled your eyes at how stupid he sounded. But his presence down there with Archie was oddly reassuring now. When had Archie gone to the Southside and threatened the Serpents with a gun? Sometimes you were sure your parents had mixed up your birthdates, that Archie had to have been the younger sibling. There was no way your older brother was dumb enough to be running around threatening gang members with firearms.

The conversation becomes a little more hushed and you try to make sense of what was happening without coming around the corner, exposing that you were there, that you were listening. It sounded like they were negotiating ground rules for a fight. Something about guns and knives, weapons. You wanted to run down there, yell at them that they were all being stupid. That everyone should just slow down and talk things through. But you couldn’t move, frozen with anxiety. You feel the nausea building in your stomach, pressure in your chest, your fingers were cold. You knew it was anxiety, knew it was a fight of flight reaction. You did neither though, you froze. Fight, flight, or freeze. Of the three, freeze had to be the most useless, to just let the threat get you without any defense.

The next thing you know you hear the door closing and it’s enough to break you from the spell of immobility that the fear had put on you.

“Veronica,” you call, turning around the corner and running down the stairs. Archie wouldn’t have let her go anywhere he thought might be dangerous, wouldn’t let her get hurt. “Is this really happening?”

She turns to you when you practically fly down the stairs, your hand clutching the railing the whole way. “How much did you hear?” she asks, pacing the length of the living room, ringing her hands anxiously.

“All of it,” you admit, leaning against the pillar of the railing at the bottom of the stairs, not trusting your shaking legs to not give out at any second. “Did Archie really…?”

“Have a gun?” Veronica finishes your question before nodding hesitantly as if she’s not sure she should be telling you.

“Oh my god,” you mutter to yourself, sinking down and sitting on the stairs, running your hands over your face.

Veronica walks over and joins you, sitting next to you on the stairs. What feels like forever passes, the two of you sitting on the stairs. There was a silent acknowledgment between you two, that you both knew what Archie was doing was stupid and dangerous. You both cared so much about him, didn’t want him to get hurt because he felt like he needed to put his life in danger to make up for your dad getting shot.

“I have to do something.” Veronica suddenly stands up and walks towards the door. You watch in shock as she pulls her jacket on.

“You can’t,” you tell her, shaking your head. What did she think she was going to do? Single-handedly take out a group of Southside Serpents?

“Yes, I can. I have to.” She opens her purse and slowly pulls a gun out, your eyes widening in fear.

“Have you all lost your minds?” You pull yourself up off the stairs, still using the railing for support. “Where did you even get that? Why do you have it?”

“It’s Archie’s,” she tells you, hand already on the front door handle.

“That doesn’t make it better, what are you going to do with that?”

“I’m not going to shoot anyone, Y/N, calm down. Just stay here, okay?”

You reluctantly nod in response, sitting back on the stairs as she takes off into the stormy night. Sitting in the house all alone you suddenly felt so small, so unable to do anything. You hated it, hated feeling so insignificant. Archie was out risking his life because of his—admittedly misguided—attempts at helping the people he cared about. You wished you could be like that, so selflessly caring for the people you loved. Only, a version that wasn’t putting many people’s lives at risk in the process.

The sound of a gun firing makes you fly from where you were sitting, no longer feeling the need to hold onto the railing. Your body was now filled with adrenaline, raging through your veins and turning you into that person who you were wishing you could be only moments before. When all you can think about it the possibility that someone you cared about might be bleeding out in the streets the fear that made you freeze moments before had now vanished.

You place your hand on the door handle of the front door just moments before it’s shoved open, making you stumble backwards. Archie steps through the door, soaking wet, hand clutching his torso in pain but otherwise seemingly fine.

“Everyone is going to be fine,” Veronica assures you, reading the terror in your face clearly.

Within seconds your concern is transformed into anger, realizing that Archie was nothing more than a little bruised. “What the fuck? I can’t fucking believe you, Archie. You’re such a fucking idiot, when did you get a gun? Why did you think that was a good fucking idea?” your words were shocking even to yourself. You were normally fairly quiet, rarely swore, people perceived you as sweet and innocent. But anyone hearing you for the first time now would never believe any of that.

Archie is stunned, staring at you blankly. “I’m going to take him upstairs, Y/N,” Veronica says protectively. She was still in concerned mode, wanting to care for him. You wanted to take a swing at him yourself, for putting himself in danger the way he had, for bringing a gun into the house, for threatening to kill someone. But you weren’t a fighter, you ran, or you froze or sometimes, when you were feeling brave, you tried to talk things out.

You nod and wait until they had disappeared up the stairs before turning to the closet in the hallway, yanking your rain jacket free from its hanger and pulling on a pair of shoes. Now was your chance, to selflessly protect your brother. You needed to use the bravery your adrenaline had afforded you to apologize for your stupid brother and hope the Serpents might leave him alone. It was a long shot, but you couldn’t sit around and do nothing anymore.

The walk to the only place you knew to find Serpents was longer than you had expected, especially with the rain pouring down on you in heavy sheets. But eventually you find yourself standing in front of the Whyte Wyrm, eyes wide in fear, legs frozen once again. You couldn’t let it do this to you, the fear. You couldn’t let it stop you again. So, you muster every ounce of courage left in your trembling body and march up to the door with a fake confidence, pushing it open and stepping inside before you could stop again.

Swallowing hard you realize the Wyrm was not as busy as you had anticipated, and it seemed almost everyone in the bar was now staring at you. Maybe you shouldn’t have pushed the door open with quite as much fake courage, but at least this meant you didn’t have to ask for attention.

“What are you doing here?” a man calls from where he was sitting a few feet away from you at the bar, a half-empty beer sitting in front of him. He was eyeing you up suspiciously before rising from his seat. There was nothing about you that fit into this bar, you screamed outsider and that was clearly putting this man on edge. “Get out,” he commands.

“I just-,”

“I said, get out,” he barks. Every last bit of confidence you had disappears as you jump at the sound of his loud, deep voice, recoiling till your back hits the door.

“I’m sorry,” you squeak out, “I just wanted to come and say I’m sorry for what my brother did,” you add, your hand already on the door, ready to flee.

“Are you Archie Andrews’ sister?”

The voice is familiar to you this time, not a reassuring familiarity, but familiar, nonetheless. Forcing yourself to look in the direction of the sound your eyes meet those of a tall teenager, hair wet with rain and a dark bruise forming around his left eye. All you can manage to do is nod.

“He know you’re here?”

This time you shake your head, immediately wishing you hadn’t done that. Of course, you should have said yes. Like how you never tell someone you don’t know that you’re home alone, it makes you vulnerable.

“You should go,” the guy tells you and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. He wasn’t going to get mad at you? Yell or lash out? You had prepared yourself for the worst, expecting that perhaps you would be leaving with a black eye of your own.

“I really am sorry, for what he did,” you tell him, turning towards the door and opening it a bit, the sound of rain pouring on the concrete filling your ears.

“You walked all the way here just to say that?”

Turning back around the door falls shut behind you. “I guess so,” you shrug.

“Why?” His stare feels piercing and you wished he would look away from you, the intensity making you incredibly nervous.

“Because what my brother did was wrong,” you tell him, nervously yanking on your sleeves to cover your freezing, rain dampened hand. “Unless you did shoot my dad, which I’m pretty sure you didn’t, he shouldn’t have threatened you, especially not with a gun. He’s not handling what happened to our dad well, but that’s not an excuse. This never should have happened.” You gesture towards his eye, surrounded by a painful looking bruise, “you shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

He eventually looks away from you, seeming to process what you had said. But the lack of attention from him only makes you realize that the rest of the bar was still watching you closely, including the man who had yelled at you to leave.

“I’m gonna go,” you mutter, turning to look back at the boy with the bruised eye. “I’m sorry, I hope that heals quickly.”

When you’re back outside you feel warmth on your cold cheeks, tears rolling down from your eyes. You knew that this was beyond messed up and it felt like everything was just catching up to you now. You didn’t know what more you could do. You had forced your apologies onto a group of people who didn’t look like they wanted it. The walk back to your house feels surprisingly short. It seemed like you didn’t have enough time to think, to try and figure out what you were going to do from here.

“Jughead, hey,” you say into your phone, standing in front of Southside High the very next day.

“Hey, Y/N. What’s going on?” Jughead questions and you can make out the sounds of a high school hallway through the phone, chatter, laughter, slamming lockers.

“I’m at your school.” Growing up as Archie’s younger sister you had also hung out with Jughead a lot, him being around the house so much it was inevitable. Even when Archie was going through the typical ‘I’m too cool for my younger sister’ phase, Jughead was always still nice, always still willing to talk to you. It’s not like you were much younger than him or Archie, less than a full year. Just enough to be in different grades.

“What? Why?”

“I’m not totally sure,” you admit. You had looked up the Southside schedule and got on a bus to get you there for lunch. “I want to talk to you about what happened last night,” you tell him, as an excuse for being there.

“Last night? You mean when Dilton was jumped?” there’s a pause before he continues, “where are you? I’m coming to meet you.”

“Dilton was what?” Probability says that Dilton was not jumped after also partaking in a fight last night. Possibility says this town was messed up enough that maybe that actually did happen. “Out front.”

“Dilton was jumped by a bunch of Serpents, stabbed in the leg or something, I didn’t get all the details. Sounds like he’s going to be fine though.”

“That doesn’t make sense-,” you hang up the phone when you see Jughead approaching. “That doesn’t make sense, Jug.”

“I don’t think you should be here,” Jughead says worriedly.

“Well I am, so whatever,” you state. “Are you friends with any of the Serpents?”

“Acquaintances might be more fitting. Why are you here? What’s going on?”

“Can you just show me around or something?” you ask, glancing around the parking lot. You couldn’t believe you had gone this far out of your way in hopes of seeing the guy from the bar again. You had managed to convince yourself it was to check on him. As if a black eye could suddenly get so much worse overnight.

“Thinking of transferring?” Jughead jokes before reluctantly agreeing to show you around. The tour is short, the school rather unexciting and severely lacking in a certain tall, injured boy you had wanted to see so badly. Eventually Jughead pushes a door open, letting you step outside ahead of him. “So, you know I’m in a relationship, right? This older brother’s best friend thing is cute, but it’s not going to happen,” Jughead teases.

“Shut up,” you laugh, shoving him. “I would never want to date you.”

“Way to bruise a guy’s ego. But I’m just going to believe you have a crush on me until you tell me why you’re here,” Jughead says with a chuckle.

“Like I said, to talk about last night,” you lie, walking out of the school beside him. “Wait,” you comment, placing your arm in front of Jughead to stop him from going any further. Your eyes were locked on the picnic table across the outdoor yard, the now familiar guy was leaning over it with a friend, looking down at some papers. “Do you know him?”

“Who?” Jughead asks in confusion, scanning the yard.

“Him,” you nod towards the table and Jughead follows your stare.

“Fangs or Sweet Pea? Yeah, I know them,” Jughead tells you and continues walking towards the table. “Why?”

You hesitate, “well last night-,”

“No!” Jughead suddenly grabs your arm and turns you to face him, “please don’t tell me you slept with one of them, Y/N,” his voice is hushed as he stares down at you, and thankfully so, since you two would be close enough for them to hear you talking at a regular volume, if they were paying attention.

“What?” you exclaim, “no, after the fight.”

“What fight?”

“He doesn’t know about it,” the familiar voice calls and you look over before glancing back at Jughead.

“What don’t I know? That Dilton Doiley said he was stabbed and that a bunch of you guys jumped him?” Jughead asks, walking up to the picnic table with you trailing along behind him.

“The idiot stabbed himself with his own knife,” the shorter guy chimes in, but you can barely peel your eyes off the taller one.

“And we didn’t jump him. There was a fight. Bulldogs versus Serpents. And you see this?” his voice is very evidently angry. You watch him gesture towards his eye, which did look much worse than it had the night before. “Your boy Andrews gave it to me just before his girlfriend shot a gun into the air.”

You zone out a little when you hear him say that is was Archie who gave him the black eye. All of it on the grand scheme was caused by Archie, the whole fight. But knowing he was actually the one who gave him the black eye, that made it so much worse.

You feel his eyes on you and you have an overwhelming desire to say something, do something, anything to make him like you. You could feel the residual hate for Archie rubbing off on you and you wanted to distance yourself from Archie.

“Come on,” he mutters to the guy beside him, nudging his arm before turning and starting to walk away.

“Wait,” you barely croak out and to your surprise he seemed to hear you, glancing back over his shoulder at you.

“What?” he asks, not angrily, but not gently either.

You shake your head, not knowing what to say to him. Because, ‘I just don’t want you to go’ was not an adequate answer. “I didn’t know Archie was the one who hit you,” you comment, taking a couple steps towards him.

“Y/N,” Jughead’s voice is low from behind you, warning you not to get involved. He didn’t realize you already had done just that.

“You don’t have to apologize for him again, he’s old enough to pick his fights, he’s old enough to apologize for them if he feels sorry.”

You glance back at Jughead who’s watching you with curiosity and concern. The boy with the black eye follows your lapse in attention, noticing Jughead’s staring as well.

“I know I don’t have to apologize for him,” you say, looking up at him nervously. Him simply staring at you was enough to make your heart race with nerves. “I know he won’t say it, he won’t say sorry to you, I don’t think he ever will. Archie’s too proud too apologize. But that doesn’t mean I can’t say sorry. I should have realized sooner how far Archie had spiraled, I should have done something to stop him, before everything got so bad.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets, glancing over at his friend and leaving you staring at him in silence. “Look, nothing that has happened is your fault. Don’t take the blame for this. Your brother may be out of control, but you went through the exact same shit as he did and you’re not running around waving guns at people. You don’t have anything to apologize for so just let this go, let your brother feel guilty about this, not you,” he leans closer to you as he talks, like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear what he’s saying. His words are rushed, reassuring in meaning, casual tone. “See you around, Northsider,” he comments, his eyes lingering a moment longer before turning around and continuing away with his friend.

After watching him leave you return to Jughead, spending a fair amount of time convincing him that everything was fine and normal. You manage to get away without admitting you had gone to the Wyrm the night before.

“Well I should go then, the bus leaves in ten minutes.” You begin to turn around before suddenly turning back to Jughead. “What, um, what was his name?”

Jughead looks at you curiously, realizing what you were asking but not knowing why exactly. “Sweet Pea.”

You simply nod in response, turning around and leaving this time. Sweet Pea. You look down at the ground as you walk, a smile plastered on your lips. This was dangerous. Even being on the Southside after what went down the night before held a certain level of physical threat. But it wasn’t that kind of danger you were worried about. It was the emotional mess you were getting yourself in that worried you.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! If anyone reads this and wants to discuss what I should do for part two please message me, I’m in desperate need of opinions about it.

Tags: @gruffle1 @sweetpeasbabydoll

#riverdale #riverdale fanfic #riverdale fanfiction #sweet pea #sweet pea fanfic #sweet pea fanfiction #sweet pea riverdale #riverdale sweet pea #riverdale x reader #riverdale x you #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x you #southside serpents #riverdale serpents #fanfic #fanfiction #archie andrews #jughead jones

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sailorfate · 5 years ago

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Beware of the Nemphians (Horror Story)

My sister Justice is an animal science major and her 2 best friends were assisting her with her research on animal behavior. When they went to Olympic National Park to investigate why the animals around the area are migrating away from the park so quickly, they soon find the answer. This is all the information I was able to acquire from her journal.

“Hm. Do I want to wear my hair in a low pony, 2 buns, 2 buns at the top with the rest out, 1 bun, or maybe-“

“Oh my God, Justice. If you don’t decide already. You’re not even going anywhere today. Don’t you have to decide what you’re going to do your research on by tomorrow anyway?” Shayla rudely said as she laid on my bed scrolling through Instagram.

As I wet my hair with my spray bottle, applied gel to the front and brushed my hair into a low pony, I turned around from my mirror to face Shay and responded with, “Actually, I plan on taking selfies.”

Now that I think about it, I do need to get started on this research. It’s not really mandatory, but it sure would look good on my resume. Shay and Damion (my other best friend), wanted to tag along to gain experience, too.

“Okay, you’re right. I do need to think about where to go for this research. Now, I was thinking about going to Death Valley to see how the different wild life there interact with one another.”

“Well, for one, we live in D.C., and that’s too far, and secondly, it’s where Charles Manson was arrested. NO MA’AM. I don’t need none of those evil energies around me. NEXT.” Shay dramatically said as she made a shooing away gesture with both hands.

“Um, maybe I heard it wrong, but I thought he died.”

“He did. But I don’t want his spirit following me back to my dorm. NO MA’AM.”

“Oh, here you go with this supernatural bull. Please, not today, Shay. No more conspiracy theories, okay?” I responded getting a bit annoyed. I hate when people start talking like they have top secret information on things they never seen first hand. I love Shay to death, but sometimes I wonder what she do on her free time.

“Okay. Okay. Geez. No more. I promise. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Shay responded in a teasing tone.

“I’m not scared, you nincompoop. Why would I be scared of something that doesn’t exist? Anyway, I think I’m going to research why so many animals are migrating away so quickly from Olympic National Park. Some researchers say they’ve never seen anything like it.”

Shay stoop up and started pacing. She didn’t say a thing. I normally expect some insane response from her, but I’m honestly shoc-

Before I could finish my thought, the spirit of delusional inevitably possessed Shay’s tongue and she blurted out, “Ugh! Sorry! I can’t hold it any longer. Now I heard that-“

Oh dear God. I knew it was coming.

“Uh uh! Stop right there!” I said stopping her mid sentence.

“But-“

“Nope! Keep it in the forums! You don’t have to come, you know.”

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m leaving your gullible ass alone. Plus, I can tidy up my journalism skills.”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you? Damion was coming to be the camera man. You know, to “tidy up” his videography skills.” Dammit, self. Stop smiling like a school girl.

Shay started to smile like the Grinch and said, “Oooooh you sneaky little devil.”

“Yeah, I think it’s time for you to go. See you later, girl.” I said as I gently pushed her back toward the door.

“What did I sa-“

Before she could finish the question, I slammed the door in her face.

“You damn scaredy cat! He’s not going to wait forever you know!!” she yelled outside my door.

“Yeah. Yeah. Tell it to the “boogeyman” under your bed. See you tomorrow, big mouth”. I yelled back as I walked toward my cluttered desk. God, my life is a mess. When did I get this messy? Guess I’ll straighten up a bit.

After I organized the clutter, I texted Damion to tell him about the plan.

It was finally October 12th, 2018. I decided to blow dry my hair and just wear it in a pony so it won’t get in the way. I put on a basic olive green top, a blue jean jacket and jeans that’s the same color, and an old pair of white tennis shoes. After I packed my brown satchel with a small magnifying glass, a tape recorder, binoculars, pens and pencils, a travel sized water bottle, and a notebook, I went to the Starbucks around the corner to meet with Shay and Damion.

“Damn, how did y’all get here that fast?! AND y’all ordered without me?” I said in a slightly higher pitched tone.

Shay looked at me up and down and then looked back at her phone and responded with, “Look here, black NANCY DREW....you were supposed to be here 35 minutes ago.”

“Well, let’s not get technical.” I wittingly said.

After looking at their outfits, I seen that Shay had on her Howard Uni sweat shirt, blue jeans, and red vans. Damion had on a Howard Uni burgundy snap back, his black Howard Uni tee, a burgundy bomber jacket, black jeans, old pair of white Nike’s, and his Canon Vixia camera around his neck that I got him for Christmas last year. It’s not my fault I’m the only one with fashion sense in this group that don’t just wear school merch.

“Are y’all done yet? Cus I’m tryna get my detective on. I’m kind of excited!” Damion said while getting up to stretch.

Shay and I just shook our heads and headed toward the door.

“What? Y’all know I don’t have a life outside of football.” He said as he followed us. “And anime.” He quietly continued, as if people were listening.

After we hopped in my 2016 Jeep Wrangler, we were on our way to Olympic National Park.

We finally arrived and as soon as we got out of the car, we immediately smelled something that wasn’t quite right. It was the scent of death. That’s the only way I could put it. The smell of rotten flesh. I scoped the area with my binoculars to get an idea as to what can explain this god awful smell. Not an animal in sight. Only thing visible were the few stars and the full moon that illuminated the sky, and the branches of the 100ft maple tree. As I looked a little further, I noticed a black, tarry like substance that I haven’t seen before. Everything in me told me to turn back, but the science side of me told me to investigate.

As I started walking toward the track that the substance left behind, I heard Shay yell, “Justice, have you lost your damn mind?!”

I turned around and responded with, “What are you talking about!? I came here to see what’s been happening with these animals and this substance just might give me a clue.”

“Justice, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Shay. I mean, you don’t know if it’s airborne or what.” Damion said with a worried look on his face.

I shifted my gaze back and forth to Damion and Shay and told them, “Look, you guys. I understand if you don’t want to help, but I’m going. So, give me the camera and the extra notebook.”

As I began walking their direction to collect the items, Shay sighed and said, “No. No. We’ll help.”

“Oui? Shay, when did you start speaking French, because I’m sure you didn’t just say “we”. You know, the word that means more than one person is involved.”

“Damion!” Shay said as she hit him on his arm.

“What? I was just playing. Kinda. Sorta. Not really. But I’ll go. Just for 10 minutes, and I’m dragging both of y’all out.”

“You guys really don’t have to. I’ll go and be quic-“

“Girl, shut the hell up before I change my mind!” Shay exclaimed as she started walking ahead.

“Yeah, what she said”. Damion said as he began walking toward me. “And Shay. I need to tell you something after we get back. It’s been on my mind for a while.” He continued as he walked ahead of me.

Tell me something? What does that mean? Could it be that-. No, Justice. Get a hold of yourself. Worry about that later. Now, you need to focus on the agenda at hand.

“Damn! Can y’all slow asses move any slower?! COME ON!” Shay impatiently yelled out.

When Damion and I got to her, the three of us continued down the trail. “Damion, are you recording?” I asked as I turned around to kneel down to get a closer look at the substance.

“Yeah. I got you. Is your head getting bigger, or is it just the camera adding 15 pounds?” Damion said while he bust into laughter.

“This is not the time for jokes. What the hell is this?” I said in disgust as I poked it with my pencil. It was the black, tarry substance again. It’s not uncommon to find weird kind of colors in a place like this, but the texture of it is what got me perplexed. I pulled out my magnifying glass and noticed that it was something moving inside. Like tiny particles that I shouldn’t be able to detect with the naked eye. I’ve never seen anything like it. What the hell is going on?

“Shay, can you write this down? I’m a bit busy at the moment.” Silence. Pure silence. She normally would say something snarky, but it was just...silence. I rose up from my kneeled position and turned around. “Shay?!” I yelled as I noticed that she wasn’t there. Damion turned around and started yelling her name too. “Did you even see her walk anywhere?!” I asked as I began to panic. “No. No, I didn’t hear a thing!”

As we both continued to shout her name, I reached into my bag for my binoculars.

“I’m getting worried, Justice. It isn’t like her to wander off at a place like this alone.” Damion said as he paced back and forth. “I know! I know! I’m going to see if I can see her with these!” I frantically responded. As I was scoping the area, all I seen was the regular terrain. Trees, moss, and more trees. Then I looked up a bit further to my right in the direction where the full moon was, and saw something up in the tree. I immediately fell to my knees.

“Justice! What’s wrong? What happened?!” What did you see?!” I know Damion was talking, but it was as if the world around me simultaneously stopped at the same time, and the only thing I could see was my best friend, Shay, getting her head decapitated and her skin being ripped clean off her body by a demon-alien like creature. It looked kind of like that thing from Jeepers Creepers, but uglier without wings. About 7 feet tall. Its gnarled fingers were at least 20 inches and they were all the same size. The finger nails were razor sharp, narrow and were about 10 inches. The only thing I could hear was my accelerated heartbeat that sounded like it would combust any minute.

I tried to put the binoculars down, but I couldnt move a muscle. I used every fiber of my being to make any sort of movement. Couldn’t even move my tongue to speak. My breathing is getting shallower by the minute. It’s as if that thing is controlling me somehow. Or maybe it’s my body’s natural response to danger. There was another demon like alien behind the one that just mutilated my best friend. I’m not sure how I just thought that so nonchalantly. Is this what they call ‘shock’? The second creature spotted me and smiled while putting its finger against its lips in a shushing gesture. It then mouthed some words and touched its throat with the other hand. Within a blink of an eye, they both disappeared into some type of portal with Shay’s remains. In that moment I was able to get up on my feet.

“JUSTICE!! JUSTICE! JUSTICE!!” Damion shouted as I rose to my feet. “I’ve been shouting your name and shaking you for the past 3 or so minutes!!”

3 minutes. It’s been 3 minutes.

As I turned around to face him, I emotionlessly said, “She’s dead. It killed her. She’s gone.” When I started to walk pass him, I heard him say, “What Justice?! I can’t hear you! Why are you mouthing words?”

I stopped dead in my tracks. Mouthing words? What is he talking about? I turned around and yelled at him, “SHE’S DEAD. SHE’S GONE. THE CREATURE KILLED HER! I KNOW IT SOUNDS CRAZY, BUT WE HAVE TO GO!!”

“Justice, what are you saying?!?! Stop playing around, and use your voice! We still have to find Shay!” Damion responded with seriousness in his voice.

Use my voice? Wait. That thing! I-I-It did something to my voice somehow! I know it did. God, I sound like one of the crazies off the internet, but I know what I saw! I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not cra-

“Justice!” Damion exclaimed, bringing me out of my thoughts.

I immediately pulled out my notebook and wrote “She’s dead!! Shay!! This thing skinned her! And took her head!” I know it was damn near un-readable with the way I was shaking as I was writing, but I had to try. I showed it to Damion and he responded in confusion with, “What the hell are you talking about?! Why are you saying these things? How do you know she’s dead?”

As I was about to write my response, Damion eyes nearly bulged out his sockets, and he pushed me out the way as he seen the creature appear out of nowhere behind me. The 7 foot beast smiled from ear to ear and flashed its razor sharp teeth. It was at least a hundred. No. Hundreds. The thing then began to break out into a malicious laugh. It’s as if that abomination wanted that to happen. Within a blink of an eye, it took Damion into the portal.

“DAMION!!!!!!!!!!!! DAMIOOOOON!!!!!! YOU UGLY BASTARD. BRING HIM BACK!!!!!! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS!!!!!!!!!!” As I yelled his name like a raging banshee over and over, I seen a portal open about 10 ft from me, and one of the creatures came out with Damion.

“Damion! You’re aliv-“

“JUSTICE RUN! RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN, AND DONT TURN BACK NO MATTER WHAT!!!!” Damion screamed as he coughed up blood.

“BUT-“

“JUST GO!”

As I reluctantly turned my back and began running, I heard Damion yell at the top of his lungs, “JUSTICE, I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I LOVE YO-

My body wanted to run, but my heart told me to stop when I heard those words, and when I did, the only sound I was able to hear was my best friend, the man that I always loved, head fall onto the ground and the sound of his skin being ripped off.

I assume the sound of my voice fully came back when the 2 creatures went into the portal with Damion’s remains because the screams that I let out were so ear-piercing, that the few animals who were still in the area somewhere hiding started to run from fear. The only thing I was able to say was, “It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault” in a trance like state. I said that until I tired myself and the last thing I remember is me passing out.

That was the last thing my sister, Justice, wrote in her journal. Her unconscious body was found by a couple of joggers who were passing by and they immediately took her to the hospital. For the past day, she would randomly wake up and yell, “THEY KILLED THEM. THEY’RE GONE. THE CREATURES. THE ALIENS!” After being interrogated by police, they determined that she needed mental evaluation the more she talked about creatures, aliens, portals, and decapitated, skinless bodies. They searched the area, but wasn’t able to even find a trace of blood.

During my sister’s week stay at the mental hospital, she begged me to read the journal the last day I saw her. I knew she was working on something because every time I came to visit her, it was as if her fingers were moving at lightning speed. That’s all she would do. Write. I always told her to stop making up things like this if she ever wanted to get out of this hospital. But for some reason, on the last day I saw her, I decided to take the journal.

Later on that day, out of curiosity, I read a few pages and ended up reading the whole thing. I didn’t know what to think of it. It was all lies, right? The next day, I checked my mailbox and saw an envelope with no name on it. As soon as I read it, something in me told me to drive as fast as I can to the hospital.

When I arrived, one of the nurses told me they went to check on her, and they found her hanging lifeless like she’s been dead for days, even though they just seen her 30 minutes ago. The stench alone was enough to wake a mummy. The nurse told me she clutched the crucifix around her neck, and walked a little further in to grab the paper on the floor that was near the bed. It read:

“They’ll take your love

They’ll cause you pain

They’ll make sure that you’ll never sleep again

You’ll go insane

You’ll lose your mind

The ‘what if’s’ will keep you up at night

It doesn’t matter if youre not alone

They will still catch you and no one will know

No one will believe you

No one will care

All they will do is lock you up in here

You don’t know when you’ll be next

Or when a friend will end up dead

You just won’t know until.

But all you really need to know

Is that they’re real “

I let out a blood curdling scream and was escorted out from scaring the patients. I looked back at the mysterious letter that I received in my mailbox that read:

“This is all I know: They’re an ancient demon-alien hybrid that come from a planet 50 light years away called Nemphus. They’re a species known as Nemphians. It’s a certain ritual they have to do every 100 years to please their god, Zeranus. The ritual requires a full moon, blood from a hell hound being smeared around the area (the black substance), a group of 3, the head and skin of 2 human victims, and the battered, damaged soul of the other person (witness) in the group who were close to the victims. The witness always end up killing theirself due to the psychological torment and the isolation they endure from people not believing them. Once the witness kill their self, the Nemphian who killed the ones they loved, takes their soul, which rapidly age their corpse.

Having everything in the right place at the right time is tricky, so they keep track of full moons and look out for a group of 3 by themselves in an area outside. Preferably with a lot of trees. They track potential human victims through a form of mini portals called ‘The Looker’ that’s invisible to the naked eye.

Nemphian abilities: They can open portals from one place to another, ranging in size. Super strength. Can do certain spells and summonings. Can manipulate sound. “

The letter also had ancient copies of text and cases of missing people that goes back every 100 years. I then connected the dots and immediately knew what my sister meant. The journal. The poem. Now this mysterious letter. So, my sister was telling the truth. What is going on? All of this can’t be a coincidence. I think I’m actually starting to believe this stuff. If only I knew who sent the letter.

#mine #horror #horror story #halloween #scary #scary story #scary stories #fiction #reddit

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rogers-metaphor · 6 years ago

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Lessons in Falling in Love: Chapter Ten

Permanent warning/disclaimer: this will be a story that contains smut, will have cursing, and other themes like these. So, if you’re under the age of 18, please skip this story. Also, everything in this story is completely fictional and not based on real life!!!!!!!! It’s for dramatic and entertainment purposes only.

A/N: Thank you to everyone that has read, commented, reblogged, or liked my story. It means the world to me! This chapter was a tough one for me to write, I love to hear your questions and comments and theories on what will happen next! ALSO I keep forgetting to make a tag list, so if you want to be on it, please let me know!!!

previous chapters: One, Two, Three , Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine

my masterlist

It’s about an hour later, when Joe sent her text he was here and needed help bringing in supplies. She weighed her options. He hadn’t seen Selene. He had no idea what she witnessed. She felt like she’d throw up, and she felt her chest burn. She had some choices to make.

She was afraid to see him, afraid to look him in the eyes. The ones she trusted and felt comfort in. She wasn’t sure she could even bring herself to do it. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her chest burned up through her throat. She made her way through the house absentmindedly, her thoughts almost clouding her vision as she made her way toward the door.

Then she saw him. He greeted her with an unknowing smile, like nothing was wrong, and it made her sick to look at him. She gulped back the lump burning her throat as she approached him, her eyes burning through him. She wanted to yell and scream and hit something. She searched her mind for what to say, but everything was jumbled. A mouthful of everything she was feeling left her speechless.

His smile slowly fell from his eyes down to his lips, he looked at her with concern. She felt strangled, as she looked at him. Her breathing audibly hitched, as she struggled to breathe normally.

“Hey… what’s wrong?” he asks, quietly.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” she asks, and she can’t keep her eyes from tearing up any longer. They stung and glazed over without her being able to swallow the feeling.

She hoped at the very least he’d confess. She hoped he’d understand that he was caught. That she knew what he had been hiding from her. She waits for the words to come from his lips, but they don’t.

“Baby… what are you talking about?” he asks, and he moves toward her. She flinches away from his touch, her stomach begins to churn. His actions and faux-clueless act is making her feel sick. She can feel some tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Who… Who was she?” she asks, her voice breaking as she asks the question that began to slowly eat away at her. She couldn’t hold back her own failing act any longer.

Again his facial expression changes, visibly she can see him go from confused down to realization. Maybe guilt. His mouth falls open as his eyes drop, but nothing comes out. His own eyes start to tint red, with something looming behind them, maybe guilt but she can’t bring herself to believe that. He doesn’t answer her, not fast enough.

“Answer me.” she says, her tone low and demanding, being able to hold back her own impatience. “Answer me.” she demands, and he flinches at her harsh demanding tone. One she never used with him. One he’s only heard when someone cut her off in traffic while running late, or when her favorite football team was losing due to unfair calls by referees.

“I was going to tell you… after I broke up with her… I swear I can explain.” he tries but fumbles around his words, his hands reaching out for her.

“Considerate.” she tries to keep her composure, but her tears have already been flowing at a steady pace down her cheeks. He reaches for her again but she snaps away from him. Hearing him confirm what she already knew hurts, like a bullet through her heart. Even though she knew, the confirmation felt like being hit by a truck. She doesn’t even know what to say.

“I was with her when I met you. I never meant for it to happen. I just met you and it felt right. It felt better than I’d ever felt before... and I never planned it but I fell in love with you, and realized I didn’t love her.” his words are flowing out quickly.

“None of what your saying helps, you know that right?” she snaps. “None of it changed the way I feel about you right now.”

“I was going to do it. I was trying to find the right time… She’s been away, teaching abroad, I didn’t want to do it over the phone...” she laughs, because she doesn’t know how else to manage the way she’s feeling, it’s to much at once.

“Perfect.” she says through gritted teeth. “Very considerate of her feelings, Joe. You’re a really great guy for that.” His eyes snapped up to her and her harsh words.

“I’ll do it right now. I’ll go back home and do it right now.” A few tears are falling down his cheeks, and she scoffs at him. Anger beginning to swell in her stomach and burning up through her esophagus. She felt like she’d breathe fire, she felt like she wanted to hit him. She clenched her fists by her sides.

“I hate you.” she snaps, “I hate you and I want you gone.”

“You don’t mean that.” he says, his own strong voice faltering. “I love you. I am in love with you.” he’s trying to reach for her, but her eyes are low and filled with tears she can’t contain anymore.

“Don’t.” she shutters, a sob. “Don’t lie to me anymore. Everything you said to me, is bullshit.” she raises her voice. Her head beginning to pound, she couldn’t control the sobs that built up, pouring out of her mouth. She couldn’t keep her composure any longer, her breathing becoming rapid and uneven as she cried, she couldn’t look at him, but could feel him coming closer. “Don’t.” she whimpers out.

“I’m so sorry.” he said, through a hoarse voice. He didn’t heed her warning, and for a moment she let him wrap his arms around her. For a moment she felt like maybe he was sorry, maybe he did love her and everything could be fixed and patched. Like she could erase the truth that had been covered in lies. His lies. Like she could just forgive him and move on and be happy with Joe. Like she always dreamed of.

But it wasn’t realistic.

In reality Selene felt disgusted with him. Disgusted with his arms around her, and his lies. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. Couldn’t figure out what was genuine, or if anything he ever did or said was genuine. Every little thing he did was being over-analyzed, replayed, and it all hurt. She wanted to feel comforted by this gesture. He always made her feel better with his words or the way he wrapped his arms around her, but it wasn’t possible anymore.

She pushed him away, firmly.

“You disgust me.” she says through tears and gritted teeth. “How long has she been back?” she asks.

“Beginning of december.”

“When you stopped wanting to touch me.” she recalls, “And that thing you had to do… And that phone call… that I answered.” He looks embarrassed.

“I- felt guilty.” he sighed, “I always felt guilty.”

“I told you that we could have stopped everything and you said you didn’t want to. I’m glad you feel guilty about hurting her.” she scoffs.

“No, I felt guilty because I knew I was lying to you… The woman I love.” she rolls her eyes at his words. Each one feels physically heavy.

“And your family?” she asks. “Did they know? Was this all a giant joke on me?”

“They thought I broke up with her a while ago.”

“Good to know I'm not the only person you lied to.” she said through a shaken breath. “I never want to see you again.”

“I will go home right now and tell her it’s over… just give me another chance.” he begs. “I will tell you anything else you want to know. Please.”

“Go.” she sobs, broken. “Go away. It hurts to look at you.” He moves toward her again, his hands finding the sides of her face. Her red eyes smeared with makeup find his tearing eyes.

“I’m still Joe. I’m still me. The only thing i lies about was her. I promise you. I love you. I fucked up. I never wanted to hurt you.” She can’t find anymore words to say to him, she just cries.

She knows she has to let him go. She has to take the last 6 months and throw them in the garbage. Every kiss and touch and moment. His fingertips don’t feel familiar anymore. The palm of his hand against her cheek doesn’t feel comforting. It’s painful.

And seeing him cry. It hurt her to see that. And it made her despise him.

“Stop” she begs, “Stop it.” she sobs.

Nova is the one that finds them, her own body burning up with anger.

“Get the fuck away from her!” she yelled, Gwil quickly flying out behind her as she charged at him. “You have no fucking right to be here, to touch her!” Joe flinched back away from Selene, looking at nova with fear in his eyes. If Gwil hadn’t wrapped his arms around her she might have hit him. Gwil pulled her back as she tried to break free from his grip, her eyes glaring holes through Joe. It looks could kill he would have dropped dead.

“Please, Nova. Let me talk to her. I love her.” Joe tries, through gritted teeth. His eyes also have tears running out of them.

“You are a liar, Joe Mazzello!” Nova yelled at him. Again he’s flinching at her words, falling back.

Nova only calmed to turn toward her friend. Running her small hands over her arms trying to see if she’s okay. She pulls her friend toward the house, only turning back to glare at a crying Joe.

And Gwilym.

Gwil was in a tough situation. His hand moving over his lips trying to weigh his options. He wanted to comfort Joe, who had become his friend. His good friend, one of his best. And Selene had been like family to him. Like his sister. He inhaled and exhaled deeply.

He slowly moved toward Joe, his hand coming down on his shoulder gently. He felt a little betrayed himself.

“I’m sorry, mate. See you around.” he sighed before following the girls inside. Leaving Joe standing on the sidewalk crying and alone.

Selene felt as if she was in a bubble. Her brain wasn’t processing anything fast enough. She could hear people talking but they sounded like they were so far away. Even Nova yelling at Gwil about Joe. She couldn’t process the words. She pulled herself out of Nova’s arms and made her way to her room in a haze.

She could feel her phone vibrating wildly and tossed her phone to the side, finally crawling into bed. Her arms cradling her pillow as she sobbed into it, the feeling of fire returning to her body. She felt like she was overheating and couldn’t move.

She lay alone for a while, she didn’t know how long. She measured it by the sound of the party, getting louder and louder outside of her room. Her room that stayed dark and grew cold. She had never felt so removed from everything. Her tears had finally stopped, but her chest still ached and felt empty.

At some point Nova came in, asking her if she wanted food. No response was made, Selene seemed a million miles away. Nova felt the pang or hurt as she watched Selene stare off into nowhere. She had never seen her shut down like this. She was just numb now.

It was some time later when her door opened again, the music creeping in and being shut off. She shuddered at the sound of the door shutting. She didn’t bother to move, just listening to the unfamiliar footsteps that made their way to the lamp beside her bed. The light burning her sensitive eyes. She looked up to him as he appeared in front of her.

“You can tell me to go… if you want.” Ben’s voice spoke deep as always but soft. Like she would shatter if he wasn’t careful. “Just thought you could use the company. Don’t have to speak to me at all, really.” He shrugs. Her eyes fell at the look of pity he shot her.

He sits on the edge of her bed, his eyes looking around at her room half illuminated. She watched as they scanned the area, his pouty lips smirking at something he seen. She watched as his eyes came all the way back to her, and she looked away, again.

“I’m really sorry.” he says, his voice barely over a whisper now. His eyes stay on her, she can feel them. She can only think about how her chest seems to be empty and on fire. “I was with a girl for nearly 10 years.” he leans back and her eyes are back on him. “She- cheated on me and I thought it was the end of the world.” he sighed, letting out a slight chuckle.

“Please tell me that your heart doesn’t feel broken anymore… I can’t bear to hear I’ll feel like…” she sniffles her voice breaking. “this, forever.”

Her eyes watering again, she felt embarrassed in front of Ben. She barely knew him. He was a friend of a friend and here he was, in her room on one of the biggest party nights of the year. Watching her sulk and cry. She rubbed at her eyes, thinking about it. He smiles a warm smile and looks away from her, to her makeup desk, and he quickly moves toward it. He grabs her makeup wipes and moves back to her.

“The good news is,” he gets closer leaning toward her, “I don’t have to lie to you, when I say, it won’t last forever.” His hand gently comes up to wipe at her swollen eyes, covered in black from running mascara and smudged eyeliner. She sniffles bringing herself to sit up, as he wipes away makeup mixed with tears.

“You have really great friends. They’re going to help tremendously.” he says quietly.

“I know.” she sniffles, choking out a sob that she can’t stop. “It just fucking hurts.” He sighs, his eyes dropping, he moves his hands to the sides of her face.

“I wish you didn’t have to feel this.” he says quietly, before bringing her into his chest. She hugs him tightly because she needs it, but can’t help but feel embarrassed and guilty.

“Why are you here, why aren’t you out there celebrating?” she attempts to sway the conversation, pulling away from him.

“I could care less about the party. I came here for one reason anyway.” he chuckles, his eyes falling to hers. “I know you need a friend right now. I also know Nova wants to be in here, but I told her that I’d take care of it since Gwil needs help hosting.” she smiles weakly, but appreciates it.

“I don’t have much to talk about. You’ll have much more fun out there.”

“That’s fine. I’ll sit here until you fall asleep.” he shrugs, and she reaches her hand out to him. He takes it and gives it a squeeze.

They sit in silence for a little while, until she starts to doze off. She manages some last words to him.

“Happy New Year, Ben.” she whispers in a broken voice, before she lets sleep consume her.

Tag list: @omgellenlouise @hellysthings @justapurrcat @endlesslydead @hardcoredisneynerd @laurenn-nicoleee @asiachekov106 @babebenhardy

#joe mazzello #ben hardy #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello smut #joe mazzello hc #joe mazzello angst #borhap boys

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homebody-nobody · 6 years ago

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We pair one, right? How about...uhh... "People lie all the time" and, uh... "real smooth, tripping over air" Not sure if that's what you meant and kind of late to the party but there you go

Hi hello I am a trash blogger who had finals… and then ADHD. I’m assuming this a prompt which like !!! thank you !!! I never get sent these !!! Since you didn’t send me a pairing and my blog Is The Way It Is I’m assuming you’re a bellarke fan or at least tolerant of said pairing so that’s what you’re gonna get

Bellamy doesn’t really do parties. It’s not because he doesn’t have a lot of friends (okay, so he has like, three) but he tells himself it’s because he hates the crowds, the noise and the sweat from a mob of unruly drunken bodies. Also, he never gets invited to them. So it’s pretty normal that he’s sitting in his apartment on a Friday night, alone and tuning out the noise from upstairs. The room glows softly, all three sets of his fairy lights and his desk lamp on to keep the night at bay. Sitting on his messily made bed with its ancient, pilling dark green comforter, he holds his guitar on his lap, making a smudged mess of a piece of notebook paper as he strums a chord progression and tries to put his raspy voice over it.

His phone starts to buzz relentlessly just as he’s figuring out the chorus, and he curses as he digs through his nest of pillows and blankets he’s created. When he finds it – directly under his left knee – the name on the screen drops a stone down his throat. It’s Clarke. In a panic, he jumps off his bed and stands in the middle of the room. After pacing a few times, he picks up.

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“Hey,” he breathes, and even though she’s not in the room, every sense is trained on what he can read of her reaction through the phone. His vision blurs, his hearing dulling until it’s just her voice, her breathing on the other end. They haven’t spoken in over six months, since their relationship ended, bloody and loud, at the beginning of the previous semester. She’d come back from the summer different, stony and just as impenetrable as she had been when they first met as bullheaded, impetuous underclassmen. They fought, but it was beyond the usual teasing and bickering. She never told him what happened. She shoved him away so violently, slammed all her walls down so fast he never really understood what he’d done wrong.

“Bellamy?” her voice cracks on his name, and he hears the tears, thick in her throat. “I didn’t mean – Oh God, I’m sorry, I –” her breath gasps and quakes in her chest. “I was just –”

“Clarke, breathe,” he says, fighting to keep his voice even, to not let his own growing panic show through. “Take a breath, princess, you can do it.” The nickname slips out softly, a habit he never got past, and she squeaks on a sharp inhale. “Breathe with me, sweetheart, come on.” He squeezes his eyes shut, so tightly the world turns to stars, and leans his forehead against his door, one fist opening and closing, the other hand white-knuckled around his phone. His own breaths are shaky still, but hers finally slow to match. Flexing his hand against the door, he listens to Clarke’s shuddering breaths, and all he wants to do is find her, hold her, get so close he can’t tell his limbs from hers, let her fall asleep, safe in his arms.

But he’s not allowed that, anymore. She left, and for all he wishes, he doesn’t think she’s coming back to him. “Can you come over?” she sniffles. It’s a weak and searching question, and she seems reluctant to even ask it.

He pauses, remembering the last time they were in the same room, the hurled insults and the crackling tension. “Do you… think that’s a good idea?” he asks, and he’s hopeful, too, but cautious. Scared, like she is.

“I –” she coughs and sniffles again, “I don’t care,” she huffs out on a sob. “I need you, Bellamy,” She cries for a moment more and he’s caught, frozen, logic and desire at war in his chest. Then, she says the word that breaks him, the word that always will. “Please.”

It works. It always does. “I’m on my way,” he says, and it’s an exhale, a relief. It’s been half a year, but he still feels her absence as if it was fresh, like her voice on the other end of the line has ripped off the bandage over a festering wound. He tries not to think as he walks the few blocks downtown to her apartment. She lives in the complex in the center of downtown in their small college city, with the pool on the rooftop and the huge LED screens that plays the football games on Saturdays. It was a source of tension when they first met, what with Bellamy’s particular relationship to wealth. But then he got to know her, how sarcastic and hardworking and hilarious she was. How fiercely loyal and confident and determined.

He fell in love with her. It was inevitable; they were two cosmic bodies orbiting each other, pulling one another in, a collision course destined to end in fire and destruction. But it was a gorgeous supernova while it lasted, red and golden and orange flashing in the darkness, light and fire, passion and flame. And then, like everything, it died. And he never knew why. He’s not sure how this is going to go, as he walks. He’s hopeful, as he always is. A life like his has taught him that as long as there’s still breath in his lungs, there’s hope. But he thought he knew Clarke, knew how her brain worked, how she thought and what she wanted. He understands humans, for the most part. Clarke used to tell him he was “good at people,” sometimes as a compliment, sometimes because she was being belligerent.

But he lost her. She pushed him away, far enough that he couldn’t see her anymore, couldn’t reach out and hold her when she needed him, couldn’t feel her warmth in the cold. Stepping up to the buzzer, Bellamy reaches out his hand, and falters. Every piece of advice Octavia’s ever given to him echoes through his mind, her unyielding criticism of everything Clarke had done, everything Octavia had blamed her for. But then he remembers his sister’s eyes, green and sharp as winter, desperate to prove herself, and push through anyone who gets in her way. Bellamy, with Clarke’s help, had begun to discover the ways his sister used him, how he had settled back into a secondary character in his own life. Octavia hated Clarke for that, and Bellamy hated himself for ever listening to her. He rings the buzzer.

Clarke responds immediately, the door to the lobby clicking open. Hood up, hands planted firmly in his pockets, he’s not eager to meet the eyes of Sterling, the kid at the desk, or anyone he might know hanging out in the ground floor lounge. He recognizes the voices of Harper and Monroe over by the pool table; praying they don’t recognize him, he scratches the back of his head through his hoodie, using his arm to block his face. It doesn’t work, and Monroe calls his name, he turns, and their face lights up at the sight of him. “Bellamy!” they call, “hey!”

He turns, slowly, his mind filtering through a thousand different responses and finding none. “Hey… dude,” he responds, and then physically flinches. Knowing he looks wrecked, his eyes stay on his shoes.

Monroe’s cheerful expression slides off their face, replaced by a fleeting look of concern, immediately followed by understanding. Harper opens her mouth, but they nudge her in the ribs without looking. “Tell Clarke I hope she’s okay,” is all they say, before tugging on Harper’s elbow and directing her attention forcibly back to the game. Bellamy has some idea that they know something about the reason Clarke was crying on the phone, and that nags at him.

He hates not being the first to know everything, anymore. Telling secrets was something Clarke was never good at; she struggled with every aspect of sharing her feelings, and Bellamy was the same. They were a grumpy, sometimes malaligned pair, but they fit, somehow. They were each other’s confidants, steady points, rocks in a frothing river. She has someone else for that now – maybe more than one person. That hurts most of all, that he’s become insignificant. But, she did call. So maybe he still is her secret keeper. Monroe keys him into the elevator vestibule, so Clarke doesn’t have to come down and let him in.

However, since he already rang the buzzer, she’s in the hall when the elevator opens, her keys in her hand. “How did you –” she starts, just as he says “I ran into –” She laughs, a half-made, awkward thing, and it hangs. Stepping out of the elevator, Bellamy notices the tear tracks on her face, the salt collecting in her eyelashes, her cheeks, bloated and red. It’s only second nature to step forward and cradle her face, his thumb sweeping over her cheekbone. She starts, when he touches her, and he freezes, but it’s only for a moment before she leans into his hand. “Clarke…” he says, and it’s a whisper, a breath, the fall of a crumbling wall, the dissolution of a half-made barrier.

Rushing forward, she stumbles and crashes into his chest, tripping over her own feet. Her keys jangle behind his back, her face buried in his shoulder. His arms pause, hanging in the air for a moment before they clasp around her, his palms flat against her back. He can feel the warmth of her skin through her thin t-shirt, and her lips find their familiar place on his shoulder. It feels right, to have her back in his arms, to feel her breath and her pulse matching up to his.

“Real smooth,” he grumbles to diffuse the emotional weight of the moment before it overflows, “Tripping over air.” He attempts nonchalance, but his heart thunders in his chest and his stomach is somewhere at the base of his throat.

She chuckles, watery and soft against his skin. “Shut up.” Finally pulling away, Clarke swipes under her eyes with the cuffs of her white sweatshirt. Bellamy realizes with a jolt that it’s his, from his high school lacrosse team. She already looks different, even after only a few months. Her hair is shorter, cropped short around her chin, and there’s a shock of hot pink in the bottom three inches on one side, like she’d dyed it a long time ago and already and started growing it out. The sight chips a little deeper in the widening cavern in his chest.

Turning and obviously expecting him to follow, Clarke heads towards her apartment. Once she’s around the first corner, Bellamy releases the breath he was holding, heavy and loud in the concrete hallway. It echoes louder than he anticipated; it feels like all the anxiety it contained settles in his hair and on his shoulders, and he resists the urge to shake it off. He settles for pulling his fingers through his hair before setting off after her. Clarke gives him a small smile when he catches up, and his stupid heart drops to his feet. Even with the tear tracks and the blotchy red face, she’s gorgeous. She’s ruined him – he won’t find anyone more beautiful than her.

Unlocking the door, Clarke sniffs before saying “Excuse the mess. It’s been a rough – while.” Her space was usually fairly messy anyway, since she was both incredibly busy and wildly forgetful. But the scene they walk into looks like a bomb has gone off. Jackets and sweatshirts are on every surface of the living area, a stack of half-finished canvases sat next to the TV, and the dropcloth and easel look like they’ve been in the middle of the floor for over a month. Dust is thick on her bookshelf, and there’s a stack of dishes in the sink.

Bellamy feels a little sick and frustrated with himself. Because she lives without a roommate, there is no one around to monitor her, to pick her up and drag her out of the house when she is isolating herself and hibernating like a bear. When they were together, he usually took over that role; reminding her to eat, to switch the laundry, to not live like a hermit raised in a barn. Six months was too long to go without checking in. Part of him feels responsible for the place she’s in.

Ignoring all of it, Clarke beelines for her bedroom. The bed, for some odd reason, is made, even though the floor is a thick carpet of t-shirts and tops. She clambers up on it and pulls a large stuffed deer into her lap, wrapping her arms around it and clinging to it for dear life. Her watery blue eyes watch him as he stood in the doorway, taking in the scene, his heart breaking even farther with each second. He didn’t realize it had gotten this bad. He should have been around to make sure it didn’t.

She watches his face, and she still knows every line, every twitch and glimmer that gives away Bellamy’s every emotion. He’s shattering in slow motion, hairline crack by hairline crack, and it’s her that’s doing it to him – seeing her in this state. And she’s watching him blame himself; it’s in the pucker of his eyebrows and the shift of his cheeks. The lump rises in her throat again, and she chokes back tears with an apology. “I’m sorry, Bellamy,” she sobs, and then drops her forehead against the stuffed animal. “I’m so sorry.”

Bellamy steps on a pile of t-shirts and sinks down on the bed next to her, already hushing and comforting in his soft, deep voice. “It’s alright, it’s alright” he repeats, pushing the head of the deer aside so that she looks up at him. He’d gotten for her for their first – and only – valentine’s day together, because he’s a stereotypical cheesy romantic and for some reason, deer are Clarke’s favorite animal. “Hey, look at me. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she says, shaking her head, looking at him. The sudden closeness almost hurts. After six months – half an entire year – of barely hearing from her, seeing her only at parties and events, and now they’re alone in her bedroom, sitting on her bed, and she’s filling up the space with her eyes and her voice and her smell, and it’s almost too much. Clarke takes a deep, shaky breath, and moves the deer from her lap, turning to face him. Sitting criss-cross so they’re knee-to-knee, she takes his hands, and focuses on them as she speaks. “It’s not, because –” and her voice breaks, and he’s so glad she’s touching him, finally, so he can hold her hands tighter, give her some solid ground to stand on. “Because I hurt you, and I never told you why.”

“Clarke,” he breathes, “We don’t have to do this now.” He smooths the hair off her forehead and he wants so badly to pull her into his chest and let her cry. He wants to let his touch shut out everything, make it just the two of them again, together against the world.

But she doesn’t fall into him, just sniffles and wipes at her eyes again. Taking another deep breath, she seems to be preparing herself for something. “No,” she says, “We do, because –” another shuddering sigh. “Because I lied to you.”

This one hits him in the chest, scooping away at the hollow already there. Bellamy and Clarke didn’t start their relationship well; there was a lot of screaming, and then light hearted banter, and even when they were together they fought and teased and bickered – but there was never any lies. “About –” he stammers, “about what?”

She drops her eyes, and he watches her struggle with what she’s about to say, watches her start to raise her walls again, and then pause, remembering who she’s with. Fidgeting, she adjusts her grip on his hands a few times before she begins. “When we –” She catches herself. “After I –” she tries once more before finally settling “at the end of that summer, I – I left. And I told you it was because I thought we – that we’d run our course and that I –” she chokes on her next words, “that I didn’t love you anymore.” her eyes start to fill. “And that was a lie. God, it was a lie.”

Confused doesn’t even begin to cover where Bellamy’s at right now. Part of him is elated, that she hadn’t randomly fallen out of love with him, but he’s terrified of the possibilities of her lie. Maybe it really was something heinous, something he would never be able to forgive her for… although, he’s not entirely sure that’s possible. “What was it?” he asks. “What did – what did you lie about?”

Clarke pauses and sighs once more. “Do you remember my cousin Madi?” Bellamy nods slowly, not entirely sure where this is going. He’d met Madi at a few of Clarke’s family events. Thanksgiving, Christmas, things like that. Since his mother was dead and he’d stopped answering his sister’s calls, Clarke’s family had become his. Madi was a cute kid, fourteen and full of energy, ready to grow up, but not quite there yet. She hero-worshipped the both of them, but they didn’t mind. She was fun to hang out with, and pretty funny, and loved all the same old-school nickelodeon cartoons they’d grown up with. Bellamy’s stomach drops at the foreboding tone in Clarke’s voice. “She was diagnosed with some kind of rare blood disease at the end of last summer.” She says, all in a rush, like it’s a relief to get it off her chest.

“She got hurt, and her blood was almost black, and I was babysitting her and I had to take her to the hospital and she got put on permanent oxygen and then things just –” Clarke chokes on the words, her eyes filling with tears. “They only got worse from there, and now –” her tears are flowing now, collecting and dripping off her chin, but she just keeps talking, like she’s been holding on to it for too long and it all just needs to come out. “Her mom just called like half an hour ago and she’s in this experimental surgery and they don’t know if she’ll pull through and she’s halfway across the country in Polis and I’m stuck here, and I can’t – I don’t know what to do and I just —” she dissolves into too-quick breaths and sobs, and finally, Bellamy pulls her into his chest. Her face falling against his shoulder, she curls up into his lap, crying, ugly and loud against his neck. It hurts him, to feel her shaking in his arms, to know there’s nothing he can do but hold her, keep his arms as a boundary around the pain, so it can’t get any worse, so it can’t grow beyond something she can control.

When she tires herself out, her breath evening as the tears subside, she laces her fingers around his shoulder and pulls herself closer. “I’m sorry,” she whispers again. She’s torn down and flagging, just so tired. She wants to lay down, to have Bellamy hold her so close she can’t tell where she ends and he begins. She wants to close her eyes and stop existing, just for a while. She wants to forget.

Bellamy lifts her chin off his shoulder and pulls away slightly, enough to look her in the eyes. “If it’s forgiveness you need,” he says, brushing a piece of hair away from her eyes with his thumb. “You’re forgiven, okay?” His heart hammers in his throat, but he means it, every word. There are a thousand other emotions storming around in his chest; grief, for Madi, sadness and empathy for Clarke, and yes, a little bit of anger, too – at the unfairness of Madi’s condition, even at Clarke, for not letting him help – but she’s here, and she needs him, and he’ll do anything, to protect her.

She bites her bottom lip, unable to pull her eyes from Bellamy’s, deep and brown, looking warm and genuine, feeling like home. “But I lied,” she whispers. She knows how much Bellamy values honesty, how he grew up surrounded by lies and treachery and sneaking around, and how he needs people to be upfront with him. She knows how hard this cut, her deceiving him. And as much as it makes sense, as much as she’s justified it these past six months, she hates herself for it, too.

“Clarke,” he says, in a whisper, his voice cracking on the single syllable of her name. And that’s how she knows he’s sincere. It’s the same way he says her name at the end of every fight, the same way he says it when he gives in to every emotion, when he buckles under every burden he makes himself carry. His eyes start to well with tears, and he shakes his head, just the slightest, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It’s him saying don’t be naive, don’t think I would ever hold this against you. So much in this small gesture. “People lie all the time.”

There isn’t anything left to say. She rests her hands on either side of his face, brushing her thumbs against his cheekbones, and rests her forehead against his – a question. Breathing ragged, hands trembling, Bellamy pulls her lips to his. A kiss, so simple – but an answer, a promise, a second chance, all the same. A whimper of relief creeps up the back of Clarke’s throat and – like so many times before – they fall into each other. It’s not perfect; they’re both a little teary and a little desperate, but they find their home in each other, and it feels like the first time all over again. It’s slow and sweet; she falls, and he catches her, again and again.

When she finally pulls away, lips tingling, skin aflame, he nudges her nose with his. She almost laughs. That’s Bellamy’s move, something small that he doesn’t even realize he does. Something comforting; a reminder that he’s still here, present in the moment, all the way with her. “Will you stay?” she asks, smaller than a whisper.

“Of course,” is all he says. It’s late already, and they’re both exhausted, so – after a few minutes more of Bellamy holding her – they separate. Clarke is already in her pajamas. Bellamy pulls off his shirt, and she tosses him a pair of his sweatpants without looking at him, her face red. He chuckles. “I’ve been looking for these.”

“Shut up,” she mumbles, hiding under the covers.

He turns off the light and climbs up behind her, his arm sliding around her waist, solid and strong. She closes her eyes and turns over, nuzzling into his chest. They lay in the dark for a while, Bellamy dozing, dragging his fingertips up and down her spine, Clarke trying to sleep, but with a white-knuckle grip on her phone, willing it to ring. The night wears on; eventually, Bellamy drops off, but Clarke stays awake, breathing him in, trying to find comfort in the circle of his arms, pacing her breaths to his even ones, lightly tracing her fingers over his face in the moonlight that filters through the curtains. She whispers apologies to him, over and over again – not just for lying, but for leaving, for not explaining, for cutting and running right when she needed him most. She knows he can’t hear her, that he wouldn’t want to, wouldn’t let her blame herself, but it makes her feel better.

At five, just as the sky is beginning to lighten, her phone rings. It had slipped between the two of them in the middle of the night, and the vibrating wakes Bellamy as well. Clarke rockets upright and answers it, her other hand clutched in her short blonde hair. Sitting up, Bellamy rubs a hand up and down her spine, attempting to hide the anxiety clawing at his chest. He has to be strong, for her. Her half of the conversation is just “yeah”s and “okay”s and finally, a “thank you. I love you, keep me posted.” She hangs up, and then turns and throws her arms around his neck. “She’s stable. She’s gonna be okay.”

Bellamy holds on tight, feeling her press her smile against his shoulder, where her lips always find their way, where they belong. He lets out his own sigh of relief. “Thank God,” he sighs. Madi had started to take the place of Octavia in his heart, in terms of brotherly affection, and he had his own worry for her. “Oh thank fucking christ.” And then suddenly, they’re both laughing.

She pulls away, puts her hands on his face like she had the night before. “She’s gonna be okay,”

She laughs, and her smile is almost blinding. Clarke is his sunlight, his hope in the dark, and every time she smiles, he’s reminded of it. Her laugh is disbelieving, but bubbling and radiant. She stands up on her knees, her hands on his shoulders, his on her waist. “Oh my god!” she says, like it’s finally sinking in, “She’s really gonna be okay!” She tries to jump up and down on her knees, but only succeeds in destabilizing herself and falling onto Bellamy, pushing him backwards onto the bed.

He lets out a yell of fake indignation and rolls over, running his fingers up and down her sides with ruthless tickles. She squirms and shouts, still laughing, and as the sun creeps up over the buildings, they forget the past six months. In this moment, they never broke. They never spent too much time alone, thinking of the other. Clarke never pushed him away. Bellamy never let her. In this moment, there is only the early morning sun, and their impossible laughter, and the small victory of temporary relief.

Finally, when Clarke is breathless and tears are starting to leak from her eyes, Bellamy stops the torture and leans in to kiss her, long and deep. She tangles her fingers in his hair and can’t stop smiling against his lips, as these last hours have brought her more happiness than she could have ever imagined. She wraps her legs around his waist and tries to pull him closer, but he pulls away. “Wait –” he says. With his hair impossibly messy like that, his lips shining and his cheeks flush, it’s the last thing she wants to do, but she stops. His eyes are wild, and she can tell he wants this as much as she does, but something is (barely) holding him back. “Why did you call me?” They both knew there were several other people she could have called, people that definitely would not have brought even more emotional baggage to the table.

Her heart jumps to the base of her throat, a blush rising in her cheeks. It’s stupid, and embarrassing, and she hides her nervous chuckle in his shoulder. “It’s stupid,” she says. He rolls off her (unfortunately), and settles next to her on his side.

“Tell me,” he urges, holding her hand when she places it over his heart.

She focuses on her palm against his bare chest, the heat of him, the contrast of their skin. “Remember when we met at that like – peer mentor thing, and you had to give us all your phone number?” Bellamy nods, remembering the day they met. Clarke was a new freshman, Bellamy a sophomore who had somehow landed a position as a peer mentor for Arcadia University’s honors program ‘freshman experience.’ His contempt for the position had been obvious, and none of his students had liked him, and vice versa. The ‘mentor feedback’ forms from that year ensured it was a one-time gig for him. It wasn’t until he and Clarke met at a party several months later that they discovered they actually liked each other. “Well, I uh…” a smile tugs at one corner of her mouth, and she taps her fingertips against his chest. “I put you in my phone as ‘raging asshole.’”

He barks out a laugh, and she hurries to correct the situation, her hands fluttering as he curls forward with the force of his surprise. “I changed it when we started dating!” she insists. He shakes his head, waving her off, gesturing for her to continue her story. “Well, after we, uh –” she doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to hear her say it. “Well, after, I changed it back. And then, last night, I was trying to call Raven, and I hit your number instead.”

“So… it was an accident?” he asks, wondering why he feels disappointed.

“I guess,” she says. But then; “But you picked up the phone, and I realized – it was you, I wanted here. It was you I needed.” He surges forward to kiss her again, and when she pulls him closer, he doesn’t stop.

After, when they’re laying skin-to-skin and the morning has taken over the room, Clarke looks up at Bellamy from where she’s laying on his chest. Soft golden light filters through the curtains and falls across his relaxed, pensive face, setting his bronze skin aglow, turning his deep brown eyes into liquid amber. His fingers are drawing absent patterns across her skin, and she’s sated and safe and happy. “Bellamy?” she asks, easy, but still worried at the answer.

“Yeah?” he responds, adjusting his position so he can look her in the eyes.

It almost stops her heart, that this beautiful man can be so good, and come back to her again. “Do you –” she pauses to heave a deep breath. “Do you think you could love me again?”

His face softens, and he brings a hand up to pull her chin up, giving her a sweet, slow kiss. “Don’t you know?” he says, “I never stopped.”

#bellarke #bellarke fic #the 100 #the 100 fic #bellarke au #bellarke modern au #bellarke college au #the 100 modern au #the 100 college au #answered #prompt fill #anon #thank you so much for the prompt very sorry it took so long

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