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jezebelblues · 2 months ago

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old records on the shelf | h.s

summary: y/n and harry are holed up in a record store due to inclement weather.

cw: unedited - none (?)

word count: approx 2.5k

super short blurb i wrote during lunch break

masterlist

The rain had been relentless all day. the kind of downpour that turns cities into rivers, umbrellas were useless and the sky never shifts from a slate grey gloom. the storm drains even started to clog ever so slightly, and the ground was just one big shallow puddle. Y/n ducked into the record store just in time as a roar of thunder boomed. Her clothes were damp despite her best efforts, drops of rain still clinging to her sweater and hair. The bell above the door chimed softly as she stepped inside, the warm, dimly lit space a stark contrast to the growing chaos outside.

The store was almost vacant, almost. it was a lofted, building, which allowed her eyes to drift up to a man standing on the second floor with his hoodie pulled over his head, looking at different records front to back. There was also a shorter old man who sat at the front desk, flipping through a quaint book after greeting Y/n with a smile. She hadn’t planned on staying long, but the rain had other ideas. The droplets pelted the glass a bit harder, and if it wasn’t the end of summer she’d assume it was sleet. She maneuvered around the dusty aisles, floorboards creaking with each step as her fingertips feathered across the different records sleeves. She had just moved into a studio after years of saving up for a move to New York, and she desperately wanted all her favorite vinyl albums littered about.

Not finding the genre she wanted labeled on the wooden shelves, she ventured up the spiral stairwell to the second floor, hand barely grasping the handrail. Her sneakers squelched against the metal, a sound she’s grown to hate. Gazing around, her eyes met an oddly familiar seafoam green pair. Their glance was fleeting, but she would recognize this man anywhere. Was she a gigantic fan? No, but she enjoyed his music - and it’s hard to not know who Harry Styles was; given his decade long reign in the spotlight. A baggy grey hoodie hung from his frame, stained with raindrops. his hoodie was pulled up over his head, but he wore a baseball cap underneath - most likely an effort to hide his face, maybe? The tattoo on his knee was visible, and his once pristine white vans were speckled with mud.

She had made a sharp right to the shelves beside her, breaking eye contact first. They were both hiding from the downpour, and she didn’t want to make the atmosphere even more unsettling by gawking. After all, he’s just a human. A low rumble of thunder bellowed, the windows fogging up from the heat inside. Y/n strolled through the aisle, wanting to dry off a bit and make a beeline straight out of the shop. She tried her very best to keep her eyes only on the items around her, but she couldn’t help but sneak a few glances at the brunette. He looked as stranded as she felt, pausing now and then to look out the rain streaked-windows before turning back to the shelves. The soft hum of jazz flowing through the speakers buzzes between the walls, a coziness settling in the air.

Another crack of thunder rattled the windows, and the shopkeeper looked up from his book, frowning at the droplets that pelted down harder. After a beat, he bends the corner of a page and closes the book, clearing his throat. He stepped out from behind the counter, craning his neck upward at the two who stood on the second floor. “Sorry, folks.” He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Closin’ up early. Weathers gettin’ worse, radio said subways flooded - complete mess out there. You can wait he for a while if ya like. Ain’t nobody getting anywhere in that storm.” He informed, his accent thick. “Let me know ‘fore I lock the door.”

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly as his words sunk in, nodding at the old man below them. He shot a slow glance back toward the girl on the other side of the room, trying to decipher if it was a smart decision or not. He looked for any inkling of her being a jittery bundle of nerves, a fan that could make being trapped a bit more claustrophobic. He’d like to think he was good at reading people, and when he found a gaze that seemed as uncertain as he was, he felt his shoulders relax. The city was grinding to a halt outside, and there was no escaping the storm outside. Y/n hesitated before crossing the room, standing next to a window that was closer to Harry than she was. She sighed quietly, her breath fogging the glass.

“Well,” Harry broke the silence, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Seems like we’re stuck.”

She turned her head toward him, managing a small smile. “Guess so.”

He shifted on his feet, glancing back down at the pile of records he’d been browsing. A lopsided grin formed his lips. “Could be worse. Least we got good music to keep us company.”

The shop owner muttered something about going to the back and disappeared, leaving Y/n and Harry by themselves. The jazz played on, mingling with the constant drumming of the rain. The dim lights overhead flickered briefly as the wind stared to pick up. “So,” Y/n paused, hoping conversation could distract her from the mess outside. “Looking for anything specific?” She asked as she took a soft step to continue down the aisle, fingers absentmindedly finding their way back to the spine of the albums.

Harry shrugged, following behind her, mirroring her slow pace. “Jus’ browning, really.” He mumbled, watching her fingers. “Thought I could wait out the rain, suppose not.” He let out a breathy chuckle, which earned a small glance from Y/n. “Are you big on vinyl?”

“A little.” She admitted, sneaking a peek of him through the corner of her eye. “I like coming here to clear my head.”

“Yeah?” His grin widened slightly as he leaned against the shelf behind them. “Sorry for takin’ your spot then.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. They gazed over the rows of shelves together, occasionally pulling out an album and showing their favorite artist. Harry shared small anecdotes about certain records that held sentiment. She would do the same, and she felt surprisingly comfortable in his presence despite the strangeness of their situation.

Harry found himself wandering toward a record player on the first floor toward the back, eyeing the old turntable. “Y’mind?” He asked, nodding toward the table as he held up an album she didn’t immediately recognize. Y/n shook her head, curious to what it sounded like. She watched as he carefully pulled the record from its sleeve, placing it on the turntable, his fingers brushing the edge of it with ease. There was a low crackle as the needle hit the grooves, followed by the smooth voice of Otis Redding.

A familiar melody filled the room while Harry leaned back against the counter, arms folded over his chest as he listened, a smile spread across his lips. “Not bad for a stormy night, eh?”

She laughed, nodding. “Could be worse.” She echoed, repeating his earlier words. The record continued to spin as the mood shifted into something quieter, Harry humming a line here and there. His voice was honey. They stood side by side, an unspoken understanding settling between them as they soaked in the moment.

Their hips would occasionally bump into each other if a beat of the song was repetitive enough, and goofy smiled pasted itself on both their lips each time. It felt easy, like the sun shone in the record store alone. “S’like time slowed down.” Harry mumbles, his voice smooth and quiet - almost harmonizing with the music.

She turned to look at him, eyebrows raising slighting in agreement. She hummed, nodding her head before gently bumping her hip into his again - which earned a smile from Harry. “City won’t let you catch your breath unless it forces you to.”

He laughed under his breath, absentmindedly fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. “Y’right. S’like everything moves so fast, but when it stops…” He paused, gesturing around them. “It’s kind of nice.”

Y/n’s gaze lingered on him for a moment. There was something calming about his presence, an easy charm that floated around him like an aura. They were just two strangers, trapped by circumstance.

The shop owner shuffled back in, glancing at the two of them before nodding in approval to the music playing. He didn’t say much - just grunted and went back to his book, leaving them to stay in their bubble a bit longer.

The fourth song on the album stated to fade into its end, and the girl tilted her head toward the records they browsed earlier. “What else have you got?” She asked playfully, her gaze gentle.

He grinned, eyes twinkling. “Plenty.” He paused, rummaging through the nearby stack, fingers moving swiftly as he flipped through the albums. He chuckled to himself as he pulled out a pink cover, Harry’s back front and center on it as he flipped it over to show her. His smile was contagious as he held up his first album next to his head, simple poking through. “Thoughts?”

She couldn’t help but mirror his smile, recognizing the cover as his own. She feigned a confused look, eyebrows furrowed as she sent him a shrug. “Heard of him.”

He laughed, shaking his head and putting the album back down with the rest. “Looks like a wanker.” He smiled, accent thicker than before. He finally settled on Stevie Knicks, letting the needle settle over it and crackle into a song. The notes were soft, her rasp entrancing. “Dance with me?” His voice resembled cotton candy, an edge of anxiety to it.

She raised her eyebrows, smiling at him. “Do you even know my name?”

His lips press into a flat line as he pulled his hood down, adjusting the ballcap that sat on his curls. His cheeks flushed a shade of pink as he smiled, “Tell me your name.”

“Y/n”

The brunette rolled his sleeves up ever so slightly, stepping aside and extending his hand out to her. “Dance with me, Y/n.” Her name rolled effortlessly off his tongue, and a part of him hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he could say it. Her face scrunches, a mix of confusion and amusement as she places her hand into his much larger one. His movements are slow and calculated, pulling her close but not too close, swaying with the melancholic rhythm. She exhaled, soft and gentle, the tips of her shoes touching Harry’s as she inched closer. He smelt of lavender, and the rain on his hoodie only made the scent of laundry detergent radiate from him. It was quiet, comfortable and Harry swore he hadn’t felt so transfixed on someone so quick before.

“You ever get tired of it?” She thought out loud, leaning her head back a bit to fall into his gaze. It was delicate, and his features fluttered into an expression to urge her to continue. A stubble peppered the top of his lip, a crease in his forehead and a lock of hair dangling from the corner of his cap. He could be cut and molded from marble. “Of the attention, I mean.”

Harry blinked, his movements stalling as he thought about her question. He lowered his hand to her waist - barely. His touch was a whisper, fingertips only grazing the fabric of her sweater, his palm hovering over the curve of her hip. “It can be overwhelming.” He whispered, his breath a cold peppermint. He bit the inside of his lip as his eyes narrowed, taking in every line and angle of her pretty face. “But it’s worth it. ‘specially in-between the spotlight where I can enjoy moments like these.”

Y/n nodded, understanding the measure of his words. She parted her lips to speak, but Harry let out a small giggle, “The calm between the storms.”

She laughed, and Harry could hear her sincerity even though it was a bad joke altogether, but maybe that was the humor she found in it. Her fingers wriggled in his light grasp, brushing her hands up his arms to lazily wrap behind his neck. Goosebumps appeared on his skin, and he internally cursed at whatever God there was for letting the rain ease up. It faded into a drizzle, and the darkened sky started to lighten into a grey. A pang of disappointment hit them both as they realized the storm couldn’t last forever, and their bubble was meant to burst eventually. She slowly pealed herself from him, a sheepish grin on her lips as she looked back outside. For a moment, they stood there, locked in the reality that this was a fleeting moment - an unexpected connection - was about to slip away as easily as the droplets did. “Don’t think we’re stuck anymore.”

Harry nodded, a sigh falling from his lips as he removed the record from the turntable and placed it back into its sleeve, organizing the pile to sit neatly. He could hear the floor creak as she began to move, and his words fell from his lips before he could stop himself. “Do this again with me?”

Her heart skipped a beat, surprised and hopeful. She smiled, turning around to face him. His expression reminded her that of a schoolboy, and she couldn’t help but giggle. “Are you asking me out, Harry Styles?” Her voice held a lightness despite a familiar flutter in her belly.

He chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “If you’ll let me.” A smile spread upon his lips. “Maybe next time we can plan for better weather - though I won’t complain if it rains again.”

She felt a warmth spread through her, pins and needles in the tips of her fingers. “I’d like that.” She nodded, smile matching his.

He nodded toward the shopkeeper as they ambled out the door, holding the door open for the pretty girl behind him. His lip tucked between his teeth, the breeze light and airy as he pulled the hood over his head. “Um-“ He mumbled nervously, reaching his hand into his pocket and unlocking his phone. But Y/n already took one of his hands into hers, palm upward as she delved into her tote with the other hand, pulling out a pen that’s been in there for god knows how long. She scribbles her number onto his palm, ending it with a smiley face.

His hand still tingled, and his eyes crinkled from the smile he couldn’t wipe off. “What if it smudges?” He calls out, Y/n already beginning to walk the direction back to her apartment.

She turns, her grin almost as wide as Harry’s as she continues her trek, but backwards and slower than before. “You’ll know where to find me!”

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles concept #harry styles imagine #harry edward styles #harry styles fan

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ravencantwrite · 3 months ago

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Small things that Logan does for you

Logan x Chronically ill! Reader

Warnings: nothing really, just a lil fluffy hehe

Carries your bag for you

You are used to carrying your bag around with you after all it had almost everything you'd need— meds, pain relief patches, first aid material, or any other things that you'd need. But sometimes it does become a headache to take it everywhere. Holding on to your bag, or carrying your stuff around in a sling isn't really the most comfortable spot to be in really, considering the weight of the bag after everything you have to carry.

So when you try to pack less stuff than you usually do, Logan notices and immediately asks you if you don't need them anymore. "It's not that I don't need them, I'm just trying to take what I think I won't need today so that my bag won't be heavy", you tell him. He knows that your symptoms sometimes worsen suddenly and he is not willing to take the chance of going out with you and you not having everything that you need to help yourself.

"Pack everything that you need. Don't worry about how heavy it's going to be, I'll carry it for you", he tells you. And so he walks around with a little brown bag which obviously looks stuffed, hanging over his shoulders with a smile on his face, content at the fact that he was able to help you.

He packs your umbrella for you

Sometimes you tend to forget that your joints somehow predict the weather better than the weather report does. So when they start aching at first you blame it on overworking yourself, sleeping wrong, or anything else you can think of at the moment. The thought of the humidity in the air actually being the reason for your joint pain doesn't really occur to you.

It's only when you look out of the window from the class you were teaching at in the X Mansion that you see the grey clouds growing over the buildings, covering what was once a clear blue sky, that you realise the real cause of your joint pain. Your phone rings and it's Logan on the other end.

"Is it raining there yet? Because if it is, I packed your umbrella in your bag. Don't take too long and come back home after your shift."

He would always protect you in crowds

You can't always void crowds although you wish you could. People pushing against you, almost knocking you down accidentally wasn't really something that you look forward to. So when you're in a particularly very crowded elevator with Logan he makes sure to stand in a way that would let you have your space and would keep other people at a respectable distance so that when they move in or out of the elevator they don't accidentally hit you.

He would always try to get you to the side of the elevator so that you could hold onto the handrail and get that extra support that you would need while standing. And if that isn't enough, he would place his hand on your back, supporting you.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fluff #chronically ill reader #logan howlett x chronically ill reader #wolverine #x men #fluff #x men x reader #logan howlett fic #logan x you #wolverine x reader

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piscespetals · 2 months ago

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summary: in which sevika becomes your roommate. click here to view all parts.

content: gay pining, angst, thought spirals, fluff

word count: 4k

this is the final part. thank you so much for all your support! very sorry for the delay, I honestly had this sitting in my drafts on here for WEEKS y'all. this was supposed to have already been uploaded and silly me never logged back on to double check.

Chapter Five

When you wake, your muscles feel like jelly. You're hyper aware of the sheets underneath you—how warm they are. And how your duvet swaddles you just the right way…Your pillow smells good. Like coming home after a long day of work. Like Sevika.

Suddenly, there's movement behind you.

And that's when you realize it's her breath. It tickles the back of your neck, stutters momentarily while she shifts, then resumes. A chill runs down the slope of your back as you feel pressure around your waist, which happens to be her arm. She pulls you closer to her as if she's afraid of you getting up right then.

“Sev?”

But there's no answer. The only sound that echoes is a soft snore and grinding teeth.

You bite back a smile while your muscles relax, and you lean into the inviting embrace of the woman behind you.

“You’re staring,” Sevika mutters. Her eyes remain downcast as she dries off a freshly washed knife. You admire how strong she looks in that moment; how she’s handling such a thing with the utmost care.

Sevika standing there with a sparkling knife shouldn’t be an image that you welcome. Yet you do.

“Am I?” You mutter. Your lips barely part as you get lost at the sight of the woman before you.

She peers at you under the lids of her lashes, eyebrows raising with sparkling pools of grey.

“I don’t mind it.” She says quietly, almost sweetly. Her gaze readjusts quickly back to the task at hand–the knife–despite it already being completely dry. “I never do.”

Your eyes follow her slow and careful movements, towel in her right hand and utensil in her left. Your heart flutters.

Softly, you smile and manage only then to look away.

Alicia bends over, hand gripping the porch handrail as a tear trickles down her face. She’s laughing, which you usually don’t mind, but this time it’s at your expense.

“It’s not that funny,” You mumble, which only makes her laugh harder.

“Hun, it’s known to all of mankind,” Mel chimes in. “That you’re quite dramatic.”

“Am not!”

Another round of guffaws.

That’s when you glance towards Sevika, who’s relaxing in a rocking chair across from you. She somehow thought that today was the perfect day to tell Alicia and Mel about your waxing incident a few weeks back. Maybe you should find some sort of humor in it; after all, it turned out fine after an application of aloe vera.

But still.

It was embarrassing.

“What about the night I told you that I’d be moving in with Alicia?” Mel’s eyes shine from the distant memory. “You were hysterical.”

“Okay, now you’re overexaggerating.”

“Remember when you said that me moving out was the beginning of your end? That you were doomed to grow old and die alone in a nursing home–”

“Mel.”

“While Alicia and I had to explain to our kids what happened to their Aunt-”

“It was a rational fear.”

At this point, Alicia is struggling to breathe. She grips the sides of her ribs, eyes squinted shut and jaw slack from silent laughter. She crouches down to the floor, hands stabilizing themselves on the arm of Sevika’s rocking chair. You notice Sevika’s amusement seconds later; how she coughs fakely into her inner elbow while her forehead crinkles. Mel giggles when you playfully shove her.

“I hate you guys.”

For a split second, you peer at Sevika to find that she’s already regarding you. Her pupils are dilated and her full lips have stretched into a lazy grin. Her cupid’s bow looks exceptionally prominent, reminding you of how warm her mouth felt when pressed against you this morning.

She winks and manages to pull you from the memory.

Mel rolls her eyes, sending you a cheesy grin. “You love us.”

You open your mouth to object, but nothing comes out. You can’t fight it. Because Mel is right.

You do.

When you wake up, the first detail that you can pinpoint is the smell of something warm and sophisticated. Your eyes flutter.

“Careful.” The murmur is low. Gentle. Sevika. “You’ll wake her.”

“Sorry,” The distinct lilt of Mel’s voice. “Do you need help getting her into the car?”

Shifting, “No, it’s okay.”

Then there’s movement. Is it you? Is it Sevika? You’re too drowsy to be able to fully tell. You try to open your eyes, but the pull is too enticing.

“Thank you for always looking after her…” Mel’s voice draws closer. There’s the warmth of another body now, and a gust of Mel’s signature fruity perfume. You struggle to register the feeling of being smothered by two people. Is Sevika carrying you? “She may never tell you, but she appreciates you so much.”

Mel pulls away, squeezing your arms briefly. When you try to open your eyes, your vision can only make out the edge of a jawline that curves into a neck. Sevika’s neck.

Arms hold you with a strength you hadn’t thought possible. Fingers press into your skin when you shift your weight–or try to.

“We’ll be home soon,” Sevika says. Her voice has dipped down to an incredibly low volume, much closer to your ear than before. Her skin–at least, that’s what you think it is–brushes against your cheek for a few seconds. Lingering there before disappearing again. “Just rest.”

If you were fully awake, you’d probably be absolutely embarrassed by the thought of Sevika carrying you to the car. You must have fallen asleep after dinner, since your last memory is sitting around the fireplace with Sevika, Alicia and Mel.

But you’re too tired to feel embarrassed.

And you’re too comfortable.

There’s a hand that touches your shoulder, a gentle caress before it pulls away and then, “She looks exhausted,” Mel whispers.

Sevika hums. The voices begin to drift away again. You catch the end of a sentence, very specifically the words, “...Haven’t told her yet,” before you succumb to a restful sleep.

It’s only when your neck is sore from being craned, forehead resting against the cool glass of the passenger window, when your eyes flutter open. You see flashing lights and blurred buildings, and for a second, you're incredibly disoriented as you try to register the passing world. But then there's a hand that rests on your thigh, the slight caress from a thumb, before you're being gently squeezed.

“Almost home,” Sevika mutters.

You blink slowly and gaze at her side profile. There’s certain parts of her that are beautifully accentuated in the dark of the night. Her grey eyes glow as they shift from streetlights to traffic, always alert and ever-watchful. Her full lips move discreetly as she hums along to the car radio. There's something sweet that settles in your mouth then, a new flavor that you're not quite used to. After walking around the world with a bitter-aftertaste for so long, you almost convince yourself that anything else is wrong. But you know, deep down, it’s completely the opposite.

This couldn't be anymore right.

You're at a red light now and Sevika does not hesitate to flick through the radio channels, frowning in distaste at some of the songs. Your heart dances at the sight.

“Thank you,” You find yourself saying.

Her gaze remains on the radio and she allows the silence to be enveloped by a commercial before she replies. “For what?”

“Being you. And lovi–” You swallow thickly. “...caring for me.”

You can tell that melts through to her. Your words have found a way to pierce that shell of nonchalance she always carries. Her lashes flutter and you swear you hear the slightest hitch of her breath.

But then the light turns green, the car jolts forward and she glances back towards the road.

The moment passes and so does the rest of your courage.

You can’t seem to find your courage around Sevika anymore.

The next morning, you wake to the smell of bacon lingering in the air. A cloud of fatigue hangs over you whilst you make yourself presentable. Even after splashing ice cold water on your face–and brushing your teeth twice–you barely manage to keep your eyes open when you approach the kitchen.

Sevika stands at the island, dressed in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants. A few strands of hair sweep the sharp lines of her jaw as her gaze remains on the task in front of her. With deep concentration, she slices through a strawberry. Several pieces of said fruit sit in a bowl to her left.

It’s ridiculous that the mere sight of her is enough to wake up every atom in your body. Within seconds, your drowsiness has dissipated, and you stand before her with your teeth working into your bottom lip.

Her head snaps up upon your arrival, grey eyes alert before softening (a telltale sign that she was deep in thought) when they land on you.

“Strawberries?” Is all that you can say.

Her eyebrows fret together–lips parting, “They’re your favorite right?” She appraises your forehead, then your nose, before returning back to your eyes. “Or do you not like them anymore?”

She remembers.

Your ears ring and for a split second, you’re convinced you’ll become a puddle on the floor.

Behind her, on the opposing countertop, sits a platter of bacon and prepared scrambled eggs.

It’s a simple gesture–but the emotions that said gesture ignites feel dangerous. Scary. All encompassing.

Lines of worry etch themself onto Sevika’s forehead as you struggle to respond.

You want to tell her. You need to tell her.

But how?

Is it not too soon? Will it scare her away?

To jump or not to jump is the true question that you find yourself wanting to answer. How do people take the plunge? Put their hearts on the line with a possibility of it being crushed?

“Is this too much?” She asks, voice much quieter now.

If you look close enough, you’d almost believe that there was a cloud of desperation swirling in Sevika’s grey irises. Your head shakes slightly as you try to recenter yourself.

There it is again–that ear ringing sensation that makes you want to jump into her arms while simultaneously collapsing onto the ground. The pull towards her–the one that’s always there–no matter how many times you try to wish it away.

You shake your head, only managing to croak, “I love strawberries,” with a pounding heart.

I love you.

“It’s not too much,” You add.

You could never be too much.

Sevika doesn’t move–doesn’t blink. Barely breathes.

Your lips part and she watches you with a patience that’s warm enough to console you even during the coldest winters. She’s waiting for you to say something more.

But you can’t.

You fucking can’t.

“Come here,” Her command is nothing more than a whisper.

Your mouth goes dry when you watch her set the knife back down on the chopping board. She side-steps, strawberries long forgotten, as her hands stretch for you.

It doesn’t take much effort for you to close the distance. Despite your tongue being tied, and despite that god-awful lump in the back of your throat, your body doesn’t hesitate in following her. It never will.

Her hands, as tender as they can be, cup the apple of your cheeks. “Are you sure this is okay?” Her breath fans your skin, nose nearly inches from yours as her head bows to meet your gaze head-on.

You nod, boneless and vulnerable.

“This is okay,” Is pretty much all that you can manage to respond. “More than okay.”

And that seems to be enough for her. Her shoulders relax and she dips down to meet you with a kiss.

You can feel the beads of perspiration dripping down the nape of your neck. Your chest heaves up and down as you step into the lobby, eyes immediately landing on two receptionists sitting at the front desk.

One of them sports auburn ringlets and hazel eyes. Small rectangular frames sit on the edge of her nose, and she’s dressed in all black with a large scale spider tattooed onto the front of her neck.

Two people sit in the lobby chairs positioned against one of the walls. One of them is deeply attuned to their smartphone. The other is asleep.

The receptionist with the spider tattoo, follows your movements with acute focus. You shoot her a lazy smile, slightly dazed from rushing two blocks and also stressed about the time.

Your eyes dart to the watch on your left wrist as you reach the receptionist desk.

4:17 PM.

You’re late.

“Hi,” You breathe, before taking a long gulp of water. Your purse is barely hanging off of your shoulder, chest heaving up and down as you struggle to breathe while simultaneously inhaling half of the contents in your hydroflask.

The woman stares at you tepidly, the corner of her mouth twitching as she blinks. That’s when you notice how striking her hazel eyes are, which happen to be coated with a thick layer of black eyeliner and mascara. Her name reads:

Sage

She/her

Sage’s coworker, a muscular brunette with a buzzcut and two industrial piercings, finally glances up from their book. Their name tag, much more shinier than Sage’s, reads:

Mav

He/him

Mav is friendlier, greeting you with a wide grin. Wrinkles appear around his eyes when he does so. “Hey! Are you here for an appointment?”

Your eyes dart to Sage, who is still appraising you with a harsh stare. She plays with the lanyard around her neck as her head slightly tilts.

You shift your weight nervously, “I’m actually visiting Sevika. Um,” You redirect your gaze back to Mav. “She’s my…” A heatwave flashes through you as you try to form a comprehensible sentence. “I’m uh, like, her…” God. This is awkward. “I was originally supposed to be here at 3:45? I don’t know if she told you. Um-”

“Oh!” A hint of recognition flashes across Mav’s face. His smile widens and his gaze travels to every detail of your face. “You're Sev’s girl? It’s nice to finally meet you! I swear to God, it’s been ages of us asking,” Mav pauses, glancing over to Sage for reassurance. “...About when we would finally see you. We were beginning to think that Sev has just been lying all this time. Or that the whole love triangle thing between you, her and Monica was just a big story she made up t-Ow!”

It almost looks as if Sage kicks Mav. Mav winces, reaching underneath the desk to check on–what you assume to be–his leg. His eyes narrow as he sends a side-long glare in Sage’s direction, but the deadpan woman ignores him.

Instead, Sage glances at you, humor dancing in the swirls of her hazel irises as she stands to her feet. “I'll let Sevika know you're here,” She murmurs.

“Thanks. I texted her a few times but she hasn't responded so I figured she’s probably busy with,” You clear your throat. “Tattooing and… stuff.”

One of Sage’s eyebrows quirk up in amusement. She doesn't say anything more, turning on her heels and rounding the corner that leads to another room. When you return your gaze back to Mav, he’s already nose-deep into his novel; your presence long forgotten.

A few minutes later, you hear footfalls echoing from the hallway. It sounds like multiple, which causes your shoulders to tense and back to straighten. Subconsciously, you wipe your palms against the denim of your jeans. A worn pair of black boots rounds the corner, clunking against the marble floors. Your eyes travel up the fitted dark-washed jeans and stop on Sevika’s exposed shoulders—thanks to her sleeves being cut off.

You aren’t able to get much ogling done before she speaks.

“I thought you weren’t gonna make it,” Her voice is low. A bit strained but laced with an undertone of satisfaction. Sage quietly trails behind, eyeing the two of you before sitting back down in her seat.

You aren’t quite sure how to greet Sevika; at least, not in public like this. Especially since you’re at her workplace. Surely, kissing would be inappropriate?

Thankfully, she doesn’t give you a chance to truly decide. Instead, her arm drapes over your shoulders as she pulls you into her side–a half hug, to your surprise–while something warm presses against your temple.

Her lips.

The kiss is too fleeting for you to register it at that moment. It’s only when she pulls away, squeezing your left shoulder and urging you to walk with her when the gesture dawns on you.

“Are you hungry?” Her lips brush against your right ear, voice low. “I ordered food. It got here a while ago though so we’ll most likely have to microwave it.”

Your skin is warm. Every inch of it.

Blinking through a daze, your head tilts in her direction as you nod. “That's fine with me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you still feel the heavy stare of Sage. You wait until you’re further away and out of sight from the receptionist desk when you add, “The woman…Sage? She’s kind of, uh, intense don't you think?”

Sevika doesn't necessarily laugh at your statement but her lips do stretch into a small grin as she exhales shakily. “Yeah, she is. Mostly nosy, is all. And she’s not really a people person—her apprenticeship starts here soon though. She’s one hell of an artist. So we’re keeping her at the front until then.”

You hum at the thought, Sage quickly fading from your brain as Sevika’s arm drops from your shoulders. Instead, you feel a loose grip around your waist–her fingers rest around the curve of your hip and gently urge you to move closer to her. The pair of you have long passed the piercing and tattoo stations, nearing the tail end of the building where a staircase leads to a second floor. Silently, she gestures for you to begin climbing.

Your eyebrows raise and you glance at her, “Up?” You ask, not bothering to mask your surprise. Your index finger motions towards the second floor.

“Where else?” She gives you a quizzical stare.

You suppose it was a bit silly to think that the pair of you would be anywhere else. It’s not like it’s sanitary or professional to be lounging around the tattoo stations, especially if you’re eating food soon.

It was early this morning when Sevika proposed the idea of having a meal together. She mentioned that it could be at her job, since you haven’t seen the inside of her building (and it’s also geographically convenient since her tattoo shop is closer to home than your office).

The moment you heard the words food and tattoo shop, you immediately said yes. Spending more time together has especially been on your mind lately (and you’ve always had a nagging desire to see this side of her).

However, you hadn’t actually thought through the logistics of the plan. Not until now.

“Will it be too taxing for you? I’m sorry–I didn’t even realize–” She points in the direction you just came from. “...The elevators are in the lobby. We can walk back if you want. Are you hurting badly?”

What?

Oh.

The car accident.

You were sore from time to time, but not as bad as before. Quickly, you grab her hand and begin to climb the stairs. “No, actually–” You struggle to hide your smile. “...I’m okay with taking the stairs.”

You lead the way, with the help of a few directions from her.

Sevika’s office is heavily decorated with all things that describe her. Hundreds of sketches are pinned to a wall while three signed basketball jerseys are hung up on another. There's an incense burning, per usual, when the pair of you walk into the room. A window is slightly propped open and gives you a perfect view of the city. Art clippings and photographs are sprawled across the desk, and a tall lamp is positioned in the corner of the room. To your right is a couch, with a folded blanket and what looks like-

Your head whips back at her. “Chinese takeout?”

Sevika still stands by the door threshold, balancing her weight against it as she rests her hands in her pockets. “Your favorite.” A small smile falls upon her lips.

You don’t know what to say. Thankfully, she continues talking. “I don’t have a TV though. So we’ll have to do without one of your romcoms.” She motions her head behind you. “I hope the window is enough entertainment.”

You laugh and make your way towards the couch. “This is perfect.”

Today is perfect.

She is perfect.

But the feelings are too powerful for you to allow yourself to linger on them. Instead, you make a beeline for the couch, opening up the takeout bag and retrieving one of the containers. You’re well aware of Sevika’s presence–the waft of her cologne and muted thuds of her boots. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her grab the takeout bag, sitting down in place of it before placing the bag on a coffee table that's a foot away.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, mouth full of egg fried rice and skin buzzing. If you were to scoot father right, your leg would press against hers.

But you don’t.

A few beats pass before, “Is everything okay?” She mutters. Her voice is low.

That’s when you force your head to lift, meeting her eyes for a fews seconds. She remains calm. Steady. Her expression is clear–gaze never leaving you.

“You’ve been distant for a little while now,” She pauses, lips parting. You can tell she’s thinking deeply about what to say and how to say it. “...For the last week or so. And I just want to make sure it’s not because of anything I’ve done or–”

“No.” Your eyes are widening. “You haven’t done anything at all. You’ve been good to me, Sev.” Blinking rapidly, you refocus back on the food in front of you. “I have no complaints. I’m happy with you.”

Hesitation. Then, “Are you sure?”

And when you catch wind of her face again, you notice that she’s sporting an expression of genuine curiosity. A hint of quiet longing also seems to be staring back at you, and it’s apparent that she's truly–completely–surprised. Have you not been obvious about how much you care for her? Is there really a chance that she thinks differently?

A wave of courage greets you and you decide, right then, that you have to stop denying yourself.

You deserve to take a hold of this–to firmly grasp this time with her–no matter how badly you want to listen to the fear that is nagging in the back of your mind.

You deserve to let yourself fully enjoy this–to fully enjoy her.

And she deserves that too.

“I love you,” You say it as faithfully as you can, because damned if you don’t surely sounds worse than damned if you do. Your hands are shaking, but you don’t allow yourself to think twice because you’ve already said it. You can’t take it back. “God, I love you.” It’s becoming harder to see her. Your line of vision is blurry and your throat hurts. “Sorry I-” You swallow deeply. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you, or even if I should. I don’t want to scare you off. I know it’s soon and we’re still trying to figure this out but…” You’re at a loss for words, shrugging as you try to contemplate what else to say.

She grabs your hands, tugging you towards her.

“I…” The sound of her exhaling softly is all you can hear. She tries to speak again, “You…” But her voice trails off again.

“I know you’ve expressed to me how you feel and I know this is a lot considering your divorce, then Monica and now me. I want to be with you and I want to give you everything I can, even if that includes taking things slow.” You wet your lips and that’s when you taste tears. You’re crying. “Whatever you need...I’ll be that. I don’t mind. I’ve just been trying to process it all. How I feel for you–it only seems to grow stronger each day. My love for you…” You shake your head, trying to recollect yourself. “...Becoming distant…Making you worry–that wasn’t what I intended.”

She lets go of your hands. Air leaves your lungs when you feel her coming closer…closer…closer. Her mouth is hot, pressing against yours without any hesitation. That feeling alone makes your muscles turn to mush. But then she deepens it, leaning further into you as if none of this is enough. The urgency she exudes, combined with the swiftness of her tongue, makes you feel as if you’re running out of time….like kissing you is the most dire thing she could be doing right now.

She wraps her arms around you completely and you allow your body to relax.

All you can think about is her. Her lips and her taste and her smell and her hair.

All you can think about is how much you loved her when you were inside of her last night, and how much you loved her when her arms were wrapped around you this morning. How much you loved her even when the two of you bickered over the broken tea kettle last week, and how much you still love her right now.

And that love, you're completely sure, will just keep growing and growing and growing…

You need her, in every aspect. You believe that you’ll always need her.

The tip of her nose brushes your cheek, then grazes against it when she tilts her head in the opposite direction. You feel yourself arching when her hands slide to the small of your back. Your fingers dig into her hair and tug at her scalp. Her quiet hum of satisfaction falls directly into your mouth, chest pressed against yours, body sliding in between your legs.

The salt of your tears fall onto your tongue, but she doesn't seem to mind. When she pulls away, gasping for air, her arms tighten around you even more. Her lips are swollen, eyes misting over as they stare back at you, and forehead merely inches from yours, “Don't you get it?” She whispers. “I'm yours,” Her voice strains with desperation. “You could never scare me away by telling me this. Ever.”

“And if it isn’t obvious already,” She adds, nose brushing against your cheek. She leaves a trail of her burning touch as she inhales deeply; breathing you in. Your eyes flutter shut and the feeling of her lips pressing against your neck causes your breath to hitch. “I love,” And she pulls away to kiss your other side, “Love,” You shiver when she practically drags her face against yours before halting your anticipation with a tender peck against your lips. “...Love you. More than you’ll ever know.”

And you’re kissing her again, still needing more, but this time allowing yourself to have it. At this point, you’re pretty sure cartoon birds are circling above your head. You’ve never felt so blissed out and completely flustered at the same time. This moment is full of mirth, and promises, and undeniable love.

This is what it means to be alive.

Sevika is smiling now, laughing when you press into her for more, more, more. You’ll always want more of her and more of everything with her.

“Take me home?” You whisper.

She’s laughing again, eyes misting over, but doesn't miss a beat standing up.

She understands. She feels it too.

Grabbing your hand, she manages to collect the food and her keys in one sweep. “Okay,” She answers, seemingly happy to grant you such a wish.

With your chest aching something fierce, you follow her without question.

You love her.

And she loves you back.

Tomorrow, you’ll wake up and spend your morning eating toast and drinking tea, loving each other just the same.

There’ll be days where you two will hang photos that haven’t been taken yet, loving each other just the same.

You’ll spend more dinners together, more holidays, and weekends and years–loving each other just the same.

Your new life, the one you have been so afraid to accept ever since Mel moved out, is waiting for you with the door wide open.

Now is when you decide to take the leap forward, hand in hand with Sevika; promising yourself that you’ll never look back.

#au writing #piscespetals writing #sevika x reader #fanfic #sevika #arcane au #arcane netflix #fluff #i have a ton of drabbles of these two from outside of this mini series timeline that i want to upload #bye to roommate!sevika for now!#i really want to write a few sevika fics in the arcane universe for a while #au writing is extremely difficult sometimes

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starchaserwrites · 10 months ago

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@jegulus-microfic / february 8: headphones / word count: 363

James usually climbs the steps to the entrance of the old library as fast as his 84 years allow, he used to be able to run up them two at a time with ease, but things change with age. However, considering that today is a special day, he takes his time to climb the stairs slowly and caress the handrail that has seen him come and go countless times.

Once inside, he heads straight for the place he has claimed as his own approximately 62 years ago: the poetry section. Oh, but it would be a lie to say that he has had exclusive ownership of it all this time, as only six months ago he was rarely there alone.

James takes a minute to contemplate the large number of poetry books of which he has read practically all while sitting at the table closest to the large window, where "the light bounces and seems to come from you, mon soleil" as a certain person used to tell him. Then he walks the next thirty steps to what has become the most important corner of probably the whole world for James over the last few months. The spines of the books on that shelf are unique and unmistakable. Next to it, there is a table with green headphones that sits just below the hanging portrait of a man with the most beautiful grey eyes James has ever seen in his long life.

Smiling, he warmly looks at the picture for a long moment before finally sitting down and putting on the green headphones that have become so familiar. When he turns on the player and the voice he loves so much begins to recite the poems he’s heard whispered in his ears so passionately countless times, he can't stop the tears from welling up his eyes. Covering his face with his forearms, he leans over the table and sobs.

Today would have been their 58th anniversary.

The poems continue to be read by a soothing voice.

And it is there, beneath the frame engraved "Regulus Potter, 1941 - 2023" and surrounded by the things his star loved most, that James Potter closes his eyes.

#I love to cry first thing in the morning :)#jegulus #regulus black #james potter #james x regulus #starchaser #sunseeker #marauders #jegulus microfic #len writes

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vixenpen · 5 months ago

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Rapper’s Delight Hobie X Black Fem Reader (1970s coded)

This is for my biggest fan @kyankyannnn

This is what a Black girl from the Bronx talks like @ohsanghoe and @kyankyannnn since it was so confusing before! 😂 anyway, this was HELLA fun to write! Hope y’all enjoy 😉

You gazed around at the brick faces of Camden’s shops and the graffiti peppering random surfaces with awe and fondness.

This was your first time in Hobie’s hometown, and it felt at once familiar and foreign. From the grey and brown square buildings to the peeling, painted signs adorning their façades, the neighborhood was so distinctly working class; you half expected to see a hotdog vendor or a bodega.

“Y’alright, America?”Hobie asked, quietly. His large hand rested on your arm.

“Oh! Yeah, I’m cool.” You replied.

“Not scared yet are ya?” Smiley, the dimpled bassist of Hobie’s band asked. His signature toothy grin lit up his medium brown face.

“Not at all,” you laughed. “Feels like home.”

“Let’s see if you’re still singin’ that tune when we take you to The Sub.” Silas, the perpetually stoned drummer, added.

Despite its name, The Sub, was in fact not a late night spot to get sandwiches. According to Hobie it was one part basement club, one part speakeasy. Not unlike the warehouses the DJs threw dance parties in back in your hometown of the Bronx New York.

It was beyond trippy having another spider friend in the same timeline as you. The Spiderverse often either felt vast and disconnected or—whenever you were in the spider society— claustrophobic and overwhelming. So it was a major relief when you’d met Hobie, aka Spider Punk, another spider from Earth-138. The two of you had immediately hit it off being the same age, nineteen, and major music lovers.

The punk scene was practically non-existent in the Boogie Down Bronx and the same was true of the brand new hip-hop/rap scene of your home. But you were curious to see how these London cats got down, so when Hobie had invited you to Camden for an extended stay, you’d enthusiastically agreed. Hopefully New York could behave itself for a few weeks while you were gone.

Being that you weren’t a full time member of the spider society, Hobie had mopped some tech to make you a watch giving you the opportunity to transport to his place with the press of a button.

As you and the band headed to The Sub, you took note of the rest of the crowd, who were mostly dressed similarly to Hobie and his bandmates. Ripped skinny jeans, leather vests studded with silver spikes, chunky stainless steel jewelry and so much spiked up hair you were almost certain you could see a trail of hair spray and pomade in the air. There were a few people who were more casual in band tee’s or Jean vests, but you in your sparkly bell bottoms and matching top certainly stood out. Especially with your bouncy afro compared to the—mostly white—girls with their immobile Mohawks.

The Sub was actually a record store called: ‘Subwoofer Record Shop.’ It was closed to the public, but a trail of punks were all rounding the side of the building to the alleyway.

“Man, I’m psyched for tonight!” Smiley enthused. “Y/n, you gotta be front row and center cheerin’ us on, yeah?”

“I gotta be front row and center to see around these people’s hair.” You joked.

“Hey, that fro a’yours ain’t exactly flat, innit?” Hobie grinned, tweaking a tight curl near your ear. The motion made your cheeks burn.

“Picked to perfection.” You countered, playfully, ignoring the way your heart revved.

The boys led you down a flight of crumbling, concrete stairs where a handrail wrapped in multicolored Christmas lights and a surprisingly bright street lamp led the way. At the base, grungy looking characters in black leather clothes and heavy eyeliner smoked and chatted in tight circles. Their scary expressions immediately brightened when they saw Hobie and his crew.

“Oi, dickheads! ‘Ow the ‘ell are ya!” A tall, rail thin guy with an electric blue mohawk exclaimed, slapping hands with the band as they crowded the floor by the doorway.

“Ah, ya know! Nother day nother disaster.” Hobie greeted him.

“Right ‘bout that, mate.” The blue haired guy chuckled. “Oi, Si? Ya still on earth with us?” His accent made the ‘th’ sound like an ‘f.’

“Always an never.” Silas waved a joint between his ringed fingers. You had no idea when or where he’d gotten it.

“Can’t wait to hear you blokes blow the house down t’night.” A girl with fire red hair that matched her kilt exclaimed.

“S’gonna be one helluva a show, that’s for sure!” Smiley replied.

“See you all in there.”

The exchange had been so snappy you’d gotten whiplash just listening to it. The boys let themselves in with Hobie holding the door for you, a soft smile on his face.

“Welcome to The Sub, America.”

You gawked around the shockingly huge room. It had a black floor, a wall to wall stocked bar, darts at the far end and an elevated stage at the other. The walls were decorated with band posters advertising past and future shows. Some had been ripped off, others looked freshly tacked on. A wall of records hung from a shimmering curtain behind said stage and a gaggle of musicians were tuning up in a discordant symphony of riffs and scales. Colorful stage lights bathed them in hues of red, blue, and purple.

“Holy shit.” You marveled.

“Pretty cool for a group of weirdos, right?” Hobie whispered beside you. You could hear the casual excitement in his voice— clearly pleased at your reaction.

“Dynamight!” You exclaimed.

“C’mon, let’s grab a seat up front.” Smiley suggested.

Being that mosh pits weren’t uncommon in the space, “up front” actually meant at the end of the bar closest to the stage. The space surrounding the stage, was clear of tables and chairs in case of moshing.

The band on stage currently began playing and you were immediately impressed with their sound. They were a tight unit.

“Who are these cats?” You asked, Hobie.

“The singer’s name is Chris and the drummer is Byron.” He replied.

“I mean what’s the name of their band?”

“Oh, they ain’t a band, love. Chris sings folk music and Byron usually plays keyboard with a jazz quartet.”

Your head swiveled toward Hobie.

“You mean they’re not a band? And they sound that good together?”

“The drummer’s a bit slow on the pickup, but they’re all solid.” Hobie shrugged, swiveling in his stool until his knees kissed yours.

“Ok, Mr. Musical Savant.” You mocked a posh accent. “But you have to admit, they’re pretty tight together.”

“No doubt, but they won’t compare to our sound.” Hobie replied matter of factly.

“Ohh? Big talk, Slim Jim.” You smirked, giving his shoulder a gentle punch.

“Yeah,” Hobie’s hazel eyes danced with amusement as he fixed you with his humorous half smile. The one that secretly made your heart race. “With the flavor to match.” He winked.

You thought you’d melt off the stool. Your mind raced as you tried to conjure up a response, but before you could Smiley interrupted.

“Oi, when you kids’re done whispering sweet nothin’s, the stage is clear.”

The pair of you swung your head in Smiley’s direction. You could swear you saw a bashful, almost embarrassed expression flash across Hobie’s chiseled features, but he was smirking in a blink.

“Sure, sure.” He replied, standing along with his bandmates. Before he made the short trek to the stage he turned to you. “Be right back, yeah? Dun let any creeps try an pull one over on ya.”

“London,” your voice lowered as you leaned forward on the stool. “You took the girl outta the Bronx not the other way around.”

Now it was Hobie’s turn to look stunned. He scanned your face and seemed about to say something before Silas tugged him away.

“Let’s go, Romeo!” The stoned bassist quipped.

You giggled as Hobie shrugged.

“Don’t talk to strangers, y/n.” He playfully warned.

As the band climbed on stage a piercing wolf whistle sounded in the crowd along with a loud smattering of applause. It was clear Hobie’s band were well known amongst this crowd.

“Ri’,” Hobie chuckled. “Look, we got a friend here, yeah? She came all the way from America so you blokes better make us look good!”

“Even if we suck!” Silas added, sitting down at the drum set.

The crowd laughed. So did you, a fond smile lingering on your lips.

With that introduction out of the way, the boys began tuning up. Immediately, you noticed a different between their sound check and the slapdash ensemble that’d gone before them. You sat up, admiring your friend bathed in hues of blue and purple that seemed to caress his high cheekbones and emanate from his deeply melanated skin. The sight was enough to make a flush rise up your neck. You crossed your legs and propped your chin on your fist. The boys started out the gate swinging with a piercing guitar riff that hyped the crowd, followed by Silas’ bombastic drums.

The crowd went crazy, and you lowered the drink you’d gotten in awe. Wow, so this was what Hobie got up to in those unpermitted shows? Back where you were from, there were black rockstars, certainly. Jimi Hendrix, Betty Davis, Prince, but you only knew a couple cats who played rock like Hobie. Bad Brains and a little band out of Detroit called Death.

Still, you couldn’t deny, the band’s sound was tight. Loud, but tight. Hobie’s fingers were flying. The rest of the band was amazing too, but you couldn’t take your eyes off your fellow comrade. You’d never seen him so in the zone. His expression was relaxed, but his entire body was locked into what he was doing. His head bobbed with the rhythm of his guitar.

“Woowoooo!” You whooped, bouncing in your seat. The cheering got Hobie’s attention and he glanced at you with a smile.

When the band was done, the room practically shook with applause and cheering. You jumped from the stool to join the noise.

“Jeez, how’re you blokes gonna act when we really start playin’?” Smiley joked, making the crowd laugh.

Hobie lifted the hem of his shirt to dab his forehead, and you could have sworn you heard the entire female demographic of the audience swoon. Not that you weren’t one of them.

“Ri’,” Hobie spoke up, “but I wanna introduce our girl. A friend of ours who came all the way from America to visit.”

“Gwen!” Someone shouted.

You snickered. You almost forgot Gwen hung out with Hobie on a regular basis.

“No, not Gwen.” Hobie chuckled. “This is another friend. She’s in the music scene too.”

I am????

You thought.

“An’ I think she should come up here an’ join us, how bout you lot?”

The crowd cheered again. Your eyes widened.

What. The. Fuck?!

No way were you going up in front of this crowd. Everyone in there looked like they could kill you with their bare hands. Was Hobie crazy?

You sank down in your seat, but Hobie gestured to you broadly.

“Y/n, come up’ere. You know we ain’t gonna let ya off the hook.”

You looked around as if trying to find who he could be talking about, but all heavily made up eyes were on you as the punk crowd cheered you on.

“Yeah, c’mon y/n!”

“Be a sport!”

“Show us how they do it in America!”

Then the crowd began chanting your name. A thousand British accents practically singing “y/n, y/n, y/n!”

You could only gawk at Hobie whose pierced brow was quirked as he smiled slyly at you.

‘Come on’ he mouthed, holding out a ringed hand.

‘Seriously?’ You shot back?

‘Seriously.’ Hobie confirmed.

You prayed the moment would pass, but with everyone cheering you on and Hobie smiling gallantly at you like some knight in shining armor, you didn’t think you were getting out of this one. So with a quick ‘Ima kill you,’ to Hobie, you downed the rest of your drink and slid off the stool.

The applause got louder as you joined the band on stage, grabbing Hobie’s hand.

“Wow, umm, ok.” You chuckled nervously. “Look, I’m not from here, so my music probably isn’t gonna be you guys’ speed.”

“Try us!” Someone shouted from the crowd.

Alright. You would. You turned to Hobie with a half baked idea in mind. Time to bring a little Boogie Down to Camden.

“Yall know Rapper’s Delight?” You asked the boys.

All three members scoffed, almost offended at the notion that they didn’t.

“Yeah, love, we know Rapper’s Delight.” Hobie replied.

“You lead the way, y/n, we got ya covered.” Smiley winked.

“Alright, I guess ima kick yall something outta my hometown. Cool?”

The crowd responded favorably. You turned to the band, heart hammering nervously, and nodded.

Silas counted the band in.

“One.. two… one, two, three!”

Silas picked it up with the drums and Smiley quickly came in with the bass. Hobie was last.

God you were nervous, but man, the beat was way too funky to stay still so you bounced along. And when the beat gave way you started with the unmistakable intro of: “I said a hip hop the hippy the hippy to the hip hip hop and ya don’t stop the rock—“

But instead of biting Sugar Hill’s flow completely you decided to freestyle like the cats back home.

Now I know that you know that you ain’t eva heard this befo’, but layback and relax and let me kick you this flow.

Cuz in the boogie down, groove comes naturally to us and if you wanna be down and get down wit’ me now, you need proper influence. Boogie down B-town is where it really be happenin’ and I’m deliverin’ from Bronx and straight into Camden.

“Oooohhh!” The crowd chanted.

You laughed through your freestyle. Surprised by how much fun you were having. The crowd was jamming and the band was grooving right along with you. By the time the dance break came along, everyone was grooving along with you.

With an outro you thanked the crowd and were practically drowned out by their applause.

You slotted the mic back onto the stand only to be scooped into a hug by Hobie who spun you around. You laughed.

“That was amazing, y/n!” He exclaimed.

The rest of the boys joined you turning it into a group hug.

“Still wanna kill me?” Hobie asked.

“Yes!” You tried to glare at him, but your smile was too big. “But you made me sound good so I guess I’ll let you off the hook.”

Hobie laughed.

“I’ll take it.”

#Hobie #hobie brown #soundcloud #hobie is from the 70s please stop forgetting that #across the spiderverse #hobie x reader #hobie x black!reader #x black fem reader #black fanfic writer #x black reader #x black y/n #fanfiction #vixenpen is back and yall are welcome for jt #Spotify

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rvnwtch · 11 months ago

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Here’s something I whipped up this morning about Fenn and the Vestige meeting up again! It’s 1.2k and I don’t know if I’ll turn it into something longer on AO3 one day or not but I’ve been having trouble writing longer stories atm so I figured I’d post this here for now instead of hogging it to myself:

The city spread out below the Vestige. People selling their wares at the market. Children screaming and playing. It was nice. It was calm. They were leaning against one of the handrails that decorated the roads around them.

“The last time I saw you, you looked very different.” A soft voice said next to the Vestige.

Vestige spun on their heel, feeling as though their breath had caught in their throat. “Fennorian?” They asked with wide eyes.

It was true. After the defeat of the Grey Host, when the Vestige and the Ravenwatch parted ways… Things had changed. Lyris and Sai Sahan said their goodbyes and the Vestige was left all alone again.

They’d traveled for a while, got into some more trouble and then when things calmed down again they finally had time to get their hair fixed up. They’d replaced all of their busted armor and made sure to eat enough food now that they weren’t worried sick about the fate of the world every other minute. They’re sure their face had filled back out some.

Vestige blinked at the High Elf vampire. He smiled serenely at the Vestige. Figuring they should say something they said, “I hope that’s a compliment.”

Fennorian’s smile stretched wider and he turned to look out at the city below them. “It was. You look… good.” He said hesitantly. Then he dragged his eyes back to the Vestige. “How have you been? I heard you ran into Gwendis in Belkarth a while ago.”

Ah yes… that had been quite some time ago, hadn’t it? “I’m… I’m alright.” Vestige said avoiding his eyes. “It was a very quick conversation. She was busy and I was working through some stuff.” They tried to play off their shaky tone.

Remembering that conversation with Gwendis always made the Vestige frown. The last Vestige had heard everyone was miserable from Verandis’s absence… but most of all Fennorian.

“How are you?” They asked carefully turning to Fennorian.

He seemed to catch on to the way the Vestige had tried to play off his question. But he said nothing of it. “I’m doing good. More than happy to cross paths with you, of course.”

A pleased feeling warmed its way through Vestige’s chest, even as they tried to stop it. They probably shouldn’t get too get close to him again. It would just hurt when they went separate ways once more. Vestige had developed feelings for Fennorian during their time together fighting the Grey Host. And it had hurt when they separated.

“I missed you.” The Vestige said. It came out much more venerable than they would have cared for, but there was no taking it back now. They weren’t even sure they wanted to take it back.

Fennorian blinked, something like mild surprise coloring his face. “I missed you too.” He took a step closer to them. “Have you been keeping busy?”

Butterflies swarmed the Vestige’s stomach, wanting them to keep their mouth shut, begging them not to embarrass themselves. But the Vestige had a hard time taking orders, even from themself sometimes.

“Yeah. Stopped a few bandits here and there… I went back to Markarth recently actually.” Vestige said, swallowing. Fennorian tilted his head in interest so the Vestige continued. “Like I said. I missed you… a lot. So I went back to the Stonekeep and sat outside until the guards got tired of me and kicked me out.”

A beat of silence passed. Then another and another. Fennorian was so quiet, Vestige wondered if they had crossed a line. When they turned to look at him, Fennorian was studying them closely, his face carefully blank.

What was he thinking?

“If you missed me why did you go to the Reach?” He asked slowly, his lips curling up a bit in confusion.

Vestige looked away again shrugging. “It’s the last place we saw each other. It just reminded me of you.” They twisted their fingers and hastily added, “and your sisters!” It didn’t sound convincing to the Vestige either.

Fennorian leaned against the railing next to the Vestige. He was so close their arms were almost touching. “If you missed me that badly, you know you could have visited Ravenwatch Castle right?” There was something in his tone, like he was trying not to say something else entirely. Then he huffed and said, “Did… did we do something that made you not feel welcome?”

Vestige thought back to the day in the Orrery. The way Gwendis and had screamed at the Vestige. The pain in Adusa’s eyes. The way Fennorian barely held himself together trying not to crumble.

They couldn’t go back. They couldn’t save Verandis… and they couldn’t go back to the castle. It would have been a constant reminder to the Vestige that they couldn’t save him. And a reminder for the others that he was gone.

“No.” The Vestige said. They didn’t elaborate.

Fennorian chanced letting their elbows brush. Vestige’s eyes flicked down to their arms. “Why didn’t you come see me then?” He asked.

“I was afraid.” They shrugged.

“You never have to be afraid to come see us.” Fennorian said.

Again they let the conversation taper off. After a few minutes of silence, only the sounds of the bustling city between them, Vestige wondered if he would leave. Then he would be gone and the Vestige would have to miss him all over again.

“What?” Fennorian asked sitting up a bit straighter. His eyes wandered the streets below in the direction the Vestige had been looking. “Did you see something?”

Turning to Fennorian they raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

Looking flustered Fennorian said, “Ah, I… heard your heart speed up. I hope you can excuse me, I try not to listen but-”

Vestige interrupted him with a short laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, Fenn. I swear! I just- We’re a really good team aren’t we? Nothing could slip by us.” They watched their feet shuffling on the ground.

“I was just thinking…” they started hesitantly. They took a deep breath gathering their nerves. “How long are you in town for? I’ll be sad again if this interaction of ours is brief.”

“Sad again?” Fennorian blinked. Another beat of silence passed and he said,“I’m chasing a vampire clan nearby. I expect I’ll be here for a few more days at least. Maybe longer.”

Vestige curled their toes trying not to invite themself into his mission. “Is it a tough case?” They asked carefully.

Fennorian hummed. “Not particularly. However, I was thinking of writing to the Ravenwatch and asking Adusa to meet up with me for the final infiltration of the lair.” He look at the Vestige purposefully. “But if you’re interested…”

“Yes.” Vestige agreed instantly.

The scholar leaned the rest of his arm against the Vestige’s. “I have to say, I’m glad you agreed so quickly. I wasn’t looking forward to interrupting Adusa. And the two of us spending some more time together would be quite enjoyable.”

Vestige tried not to blush but they knew they were failing when Fennorian’s breath caught in his throat. “Sounds like a plan.” They leaned a little into where their arms touched.

It was nice, having this to look forward to. Being able to work with Fennorian again might breathe more purpose into their work. The Vestige had been bored without him. Taking easy jobs here and there. Not resting, never resting, but they certainly weren’t taking on jobs as hard as the Grey Host anymore.

“Well then. Shall we get to work?”

#Fennorian Ravenwatch #eso #Greymoor #more like #post Greymoor #elder scrolls online #Fenn tag #Fennorian #TESO

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