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twodimecastle · 3 years ago

Text

fifty bucks & six months.

spencer reid x gender neutral reader new relationship, secret keeping nonsense, 4.5k words, ao3 a/n; turns out i love writing texting fic but tumblr destroys the formatting rip

zero months.

You smile conspiratorially, extending a pinkie towards Spencer and he gives you a skeptical look.

“You know the odds of being found out immediately are-” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Astronomical, I know. I know. But don’t you think it’ll be fun to see how long we can push it?” you wheedle, not caring that your voice sounds more like begging than is strictly dignified because seeing the way Spencer’s nose crinkles in amusement at your heavy handed persuasion is too adorable to pass up. You scoot closer on the couch, tapping the end of his nose with your pinkie finger, letting him catch your hand between his as you continue “I think we’ve got a good shot at hiding it for a little while. It would be like a game.”

Spencer draws your captive hand to his lips, brushing them across your knuckles and watching fondly as you forge ahead in your campaign to persuade him, enjoying the show and the attention too much to tell you he’s already on board. Your eyes are shining with the prospect of the caper, and you’ve made no move to take your hand back from him, and Spencer’s pretty sure he’d be more than happy to sit with you in this moment forever. “I mean-” you go on, gesturing animatedly with your free hand, “you’re like-a really good liar when you want to be. And everyone else always forgets how good you are at it.”

He snorts at that and the sound makes you light up, eyes tracking the arch of his brows, the warmth in his soft brown eyes, memorising the way he looks like this; utterly unbothered, completely at ease. It might be your favourite version of him, but that race has always been a tight one with no clear winner in sight. You have lots of favourite versions of Spencer. Twisting your hand in his, you tangle your fingers together, savouring the way you feel his thumb glide delicately along your skin and the unhidden joy in his face at the simple show of affection.

Time to play your trump card.

“$50 says we can hide it from the whole group for at least six months. If everyone figures it out before then, you win. But if not everyone has worked it out by then, I win.”

The mischievous shine in your eyes is irresistible, and Spencer smiles, disentangling one of his hands from yours to extend his own pinky finger.

“You’re on.”

The words barely make it out of his mouth before you’re colliding with him, pressing your lips to his.

two months.

“So, how long has this whole thing been going on?” Derek’s question catches Spencer off guard, and, based on the way he can see you freeze in his peripheral vision, takes you by surprise as well. Sliding into the driver's seat of the SUV, Derek continues “I hope you didn’t think you were gonna be able to keep me in the dark for long, pretty boy. You should know better than that.”

Following mechanically after him, Spencer takes the passenger seat, trying to frame his next statement as carefully as possible as he hears your door close and the car start. “We were-going to tell you guys-” he begins uncomfortably, glancing back to you for support, but you look just as on edge as he feels. “We were just gonna-keep it to ourselves for a while-before telling Hotch and everything-” he tries again, the mounting tension levering his shoulders higher and higher with every passing moment, but then Derek just laughs, shaking his head.

“Hey, I’m happy for you, kid. For both of you.” He spares a look at you in the back seat through the rear view mirror, and you can feel the tension in your jaw relax, the furrows in your brow straightening out at the note of approval in Derek’s voice. “I’m glad you two finally figured it out,” he says, fondly, and you laugh.

“I bet Spence we could keep it from you guys at least six months,” you explain, reaching forwards through the centre console to link your pinky with Spencer’s, and the touch of your hand releases the last of the tension he had been harbouring as he covers your hand with the other one of his own. He knows Derek clocks the motion, filing it away in his mind somewhere, but he doesn’t care about the scrutiny so much right now. Not when your hand is so warm and comfortable in his.

Derek reaches for the dial on the radio and flicks through the channel, thinking about something, and as you watch, a slow mischievous smirk spreads across his face a moment later before he glances first at Spencer and then at you.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says to you, and Spencer can feel a familiar grin tugging at his own lips as he watches a plan take shape in his friend’s eyes. “I’m happy to sit on this information for a while for a cut of the winnings from whichever one of you comes out on top.” He snorts good naturedly as he continues “I have my own bet to win with Prentiss, so if you two help me win that one, I’ll cut you in too.”

“A quid pro quo of sorts,” Spencer says slowly, and he feels your fingers tighten around his, as you snort softly, and he knows instinctually you’re grinning the same way you always do when you’re winning a game. “I think we can do that.”

Derek grins, turning the music up as he nods, eyes on the road. “Then you two love birds have got yourselves a deal.”

two months and two weeks.

PG: youre not as slick as you think you are ;)

YN: ???

PG: ;))))))))) you should invest in some concealer for your work bag sweetness or tell the good doctor to pay more attention to whats visible in your work clothes

YN: oh my fucking god wait how do you even know thats how that happened

PG: im all knowing and all seeing im like the omnipotent goddess of the fbi

YN: derek blabbed

PG: he sang like a canary but also im an omnipotent goddess im also totally clued in on the whole bet situation with em so for the low low price of every single juicy detail about how this adorableness went down you can buy my silence :)

YN: im getting derek decaf coffee on all coffee runs from now on >:( traitors dont get caffeine

PG: darling sweet angel i need deets all of them like immediately

YN: >:( fine ok so. after that case down in georgia a few months ago? the weird one? with the creepy mother son thing?

PG: omg yuck pls dont remind me im here for the CUTENESS not the MURDER

YN: sorryyyyyyy anyway so spence was like being super weird about it all on the plane and whatever but he was doing that super annoying thing where he ignores it and says hes fine so everyone leaves him alone

PG: YEAH why does everyone here do that ALL THE TIME its SO annoyingggg

YN: ikr its insufferable and like super not subtle ANYWAY. spence was being weird and whatever and i just. refused to let him sulk on his own or whatever like i could tell there was something bothering him and so after work i insisted that we were gonna get like shitty diner food or whatever and watch a movie and he knows better than to say no to me

PG: smart boy

YN: so we got fries and milkshakes and then went back to his place to watch a movie and he was still like weird and silent and like brooding yknow? but whatever just figured hed talk about it when he was ready so i put on a movie and offered to make popcorn and then he was just staring at me and he looked so SAD and TIRED and i thought id done something wrong like the poor guy looked like he was gonna cry and i was panicking over fucking popcorn and then he says ‘why are you always so nice to me?’

PG: oh my god hes like if a sad victorian orphan was actually a triplicate phd holder

YN: i was SO thrown off i was like spencer. spencer were best friends. ive been forcing you to hang out with me for years now why do you THINK im being nice to you its bc i care about you asshole and then. like after another million years after letting me sweat it out over whether hes about to cry for like fucking years the asshole grabs my hand and says. i shit you not. ‘you know im in love with you, right?’ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PG: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YN: anyway hes my boyfriend now :’) dont tell anyone tho gotta win the bet

four months.

Lingering by the elevator, you glance around at the uncharacteristically silent office building, waiting for Spencer to leave the bullpen. The sound of his footfalls drawing nearer makes you smile and you mentally applaud yourself for suggesting the two of you remained behind after disembarking from the plane, taking advantage of the manufactured privacy to take the same car home, back to his apartment.

When he sees you waiting for him, he can’t help the soft fond smile that tugs at his face, as he reaches for your hand, sliding his fingers into yours with a gentle squeeze, the quiet of the building allowing him to indulge in the show of affection. You return the squeeze, leaning your head on his shoulder with a yawn and as he presses a fond kiss to your temple he’s rewarded by a sleepy hum of approval from you that sends a rush of quiet joy shooting through him.

“At least we won’t be sleeping in hotel beds again tonight,” you say, voice weary, and Spencer nods as he shuffles you into the elevator. The doors slide shut and the elevator starts to move and in the moment of absolute privacy, you steal a kiss, tilting your chin up to catch his lips with yours, revelling in the soft huff of surprise he lets out, even as he smiles against your mouth. Even after months, the simple act of kissing Spencer still feels new and thrilling somehow, like you can’t quite believe it’s something you’re allowed to do.

His nose brushes yours and he breathes “unless something big comes up, we get a sleep in tomorrow too,” and the way you beam at him sends his heart racing in his chest, unable to look away from the fondness shining in your eyes.

As the two of you exit the elevator and make your way through the Bureau car park, you tuck yourself against his side, wedging yourself under his arm with a happy sigh, eager to get yourself horizontal and asleep as fast as possible. Spencer brushes his lips against your temple again as the two of you close in on his car, almost free and clear of the office when a voice behind the two of you brings you up short.

“Reid?”

Spencer is reacting before his mind catches up, turning on his heel towards the sound of Hotch’s voice echoing through the parking lot, conscious of the incriminating way you’re still tucked against his side, even as his brain is rifling frantically through any possible excuses for the current circumstances.

“Hotch-” you step away from Spencer, cheeks flaming, not wanting to chance a look at him. “I-we-thought everyone else had gone home,” you trail off lamely, trying your hardest not to balk under Hotch’s ominously impassive scrutiny. A second passes, then another, and the short silence feels like months, or years even as the three of you stand locked in a stalemate.

“I take it the two of you would prefer to keep this under wraps?” He asks, finally, and it registers with Spencer, somewhat belatedly, that Hotch’s tone isn’t admonishing. It isn’t enough to dissipate the tension coiling in Spencer’s muscles just yet, but he spares a glance at you as he nods, and a moment later, Hotch gives the two of you a curt nod of his own. “I’ll tell you what,” he says, a shade of irony colouring his voice. “If you two fill out the paperwork for in-team relationships for me, I’ll keep it to myself. I understand privacy is hard to come by in our office.”

The words take a while to fully sink in, and you’re conscious that you’re standing there blinking and gaping at your boss like a bemused fish for a good few seconds before you’ve composed yourself enough to say “absolutely, sir. Of course. Thank you.”

Hotch nods again, heading towards his own car, and as he passes the two of you, a brief smile flashes across his face.

“Congratulations, you two. Get some sleep.”

four months and three weeks.

Spencer isn’t sure how late it is, but he knows you’re not asleep yet, the faint glow of your phone screen casting faint distorted shadows across his room as your free hand rests lightly on his chest. In the dark blue twilight of his room, the space feels undefined and dream like somehow, the line between his mind and his surroundings blurry or indistinct somehow, and as you huff out a near silent laugh at something on the screen in your hand, a thought rises to the surface of his thoughts like flotsam on an unwanted tide.

The more clinical part of his mind notes the autonomic response in his body, the way his heart lurches unpleasantly in his chest, heart rate rising with an influx of cortisol through his nervous system, automatically rifling through ways to control the anxiety response. Age old instinct surges forwards, starting to push his spiralling anxiety down out of sight so as not to bother you with it, but then your hand shifts infinitesimally on his chest, fingers curling in the soft fabric of his pyjama shirt, and for once his body is miles ahead of his brilliant mind, your name is leaving his lips before he’s really aware of it happening.

Your gaze flashes up from your phone at the sound of his voice, soft and hesitant, and you let the screen go dark as you set it down. You can feel Spencer’s heart hammering against his ribs under your palm, and your brows knit together in concern as you shift closer to his side, tracing gentle circles over his shirt with your fingertips, the repetitive motion intended to soothe, though you’re not sure if it’s for his benefit or yours.

“Yeah, baby?” You ask softly, working hard to keep the rising worry from your voice. After three years of friendship and almost six months of dating, you know him well enough to sense when his propensity for overthinking and catastrophizing is slipping out of his control. You can feel his chest rise as he inhales sharply, whatever he’s about to say cut off by second guessing, doing nothing to pacify your concern. “Spence? Is everything okay?” You ask again.

“This-bet-hiding our relationship-it’s-” he trails off, throat tight as he rolls onto his side, facing away from you, and smushing his face into the pillow, already wishing he hadn’t said anything. You’re the kindest person he’s ever met, but offering up this kind of raw insecurity feels like pulling teeth. Even if it’s you. Especially if it’s you. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to find out if you care about him enough to stay when his racing mind gets the better of him. The pillow muffles his voice as he says “never mind.”

You feel your own heart rate tic up in response to that, matching the wild beat of Spencer’s that you could feel under your palm only a second ago. “Baby, talk to me. What’s on your mind?”

He shakes his head, face still hidden in the pillow. “It’s stupid.”

He can feel the rush of your breath on his back as you sigh, and your voice is almost achingly patient as you say softly “it’s not stupid if it matters to you.” There’s a long pause, and you press yourself against his back, settling close and letting your hand slide over his side to rest on his chest, the heat of his skin sinking into yours even through his thin shirt. In spite of his height, he feels so small as you wrap yourself around him, drawing closer, trying to reassure him without yet knowing what he needs to be reassured of. “Spence?”

“Are you ashamed of-being with me? Is that why you want to hide it?” The words are almost whispered, the sound almost lost against his pillow and your heart sinks, plummeting faster and further than if you’d dropped it off the side of a skyscraper. You should’ve known he might worry about that, should have realised it might have felt that way. Remorse rises hot and bitter in your throat and you swallow it down, trying to steady your voice.

“Spencer. Sweetheart. No. Never. I could never be ashamed. I love you. I’m so sorry.” Your arms wrap more tightly around him and you bury your face against the crook of his neck, the tension you can feel in every inch of his body making you feel more cruel and short-sighted than you already do. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise it might feel like that. I could never be ashamed of being with you, Spence. You’re my favourite person.” He takes the kind of shaky, shallow breath that comes with trying not to cry and your heart breaks a little more as one of his hands slowly moves to cover yours where it rests against his chest, just over his heart.

As his hand rests over yours, his thumb strokes lightly along your knuckles, and he knows you know him well enough to notice the way his hand trembles, just a little, because then your hand is shifting against his, turning to clumsily tangle your fingers with his, holding tighter to him as he tries to collect himself, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath as his eyes squeeze shut. He can hear the contrition in your voice as you say softly “I’ve never really liked having people know everything about what’s going on in my life. And I love our friends but-something like this, that’s so-special? So new? I wanted to be able to keep it to just us for a while.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice comes out a little shaky, scarcely more than a whisper, and it’s more than you can take as you pull back and gently force him to roll over to face you. He’s not crying, but his eyes are glassy and you recognise the fight to keep the tears unshed in the tight set of his jaw and the hard line of his lips. Leaning on your elbow, you lift your free hand to gently smooth out the furrows of his brow, letting your fingers linger along the planes of his face.

“Why are you sorry,” you ask gently. “You don’t need to be sorry, baby. Not for talking to me about things that bother you. We can tell everyone else tomorrow, if you want? We can call off the bet. Derek will live. If he’s got a problem with it I’ll turn all his shirts into crop tops.”

He can tell the joke is a last bid attempt to make him smile, to ease his fear, and it works. In spite of the anxious weight in his chest that feels like it’s pressing him into the mattress, Spencer laughs weakly, meeting your eyes, and he watches as a relieved smile breaks across your face, releasing your lower lip from where you’d trapped it worriedly between your teeth. The unmitigated affection that floods into your eyes renders him momentarily breathless as he takes in the moment. You’re still here, still trying to take care of him. Just as kind and steadfast as ever.

“No,” he says eventually, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down on top of him like a living weighted blanket, letting your warmth chase the bulk of the tension from his body and luxuriating in the way you curl into him, one hand sliding into his hair. “We shouldn’t call off the bet. We still have to take Emily’s money, remember?”

Your sleepy laugh is the last thing he hears before his eyes close and the feel of your body wound around his lulls him to sleep.

five months.

SR: Can I talk to you about something?

DM: you dying or something? that’s a really fuckin ominous text to recieve out of the blue

SR: I’m not dying, why would that be what you assumed? I just have a question.

DM: just a figure of speech but what’s up?

SR: It’s about your bet with Emily. What’re the terms for it?

DM: wym?

SR: What exactly did you two make the bet about? What needs to happen in order for you to win the bet?

DM: does this count as collusion?

SR: Technically yes, but calling it collusion implies a certain degree of illegality.

DM: whatever anyway the terms i made with em were that you’d make some kind of move before your birthday but she reckoned you were gonna need some kind of near death experience to do anything about your crush why?

SR: I’m just making sure I have all the information.

DM: what’s going on pretty boy? you planning something?

SR: Maybe.

DM: not a helpful answer reid is everything good?

SR: Everything’s fine. We’re just figuring some stuff out. Nothing to worry about.

DM: is there something you’re not telling me?

SR: Don’t worry about it.

five months, three weeks and six days.

In the chaos that was the scramble from the briefing room to the jet, you haven’t yet had the chance to speak to Spencer about the outcome of his most recent thesis defence panel. By the time you’ve got a moment to breathe, the jet is underway, coasting across the country towards Montana, the whole team settled in for the six hour flight. You corner him in the tiny kitchen area of the jet as he’s making a mug of mediocre coffee, fingers tapping out an absent minded rhythm on the countertop as the coffee machine whirs, clearly not paying attention to anything outside of his head.

“Hey, boy genius.” He jumps, whirling around, eyes wide with surprise, and you smile fondly. “So?” You demand, and Spencer raises an eyebrow in confusion. You snort, rolling your eyes as you elaborate. “Your defence panel. Did it go okay?”

You’re shifting your weight and fidgeting restlessly with the belt loops on your pants and as he studies you for a moment, it occurs to Spencer that you’re nervous for him over this outcome. The thought brings an almost giddy smile to his face.

“You know this isn’t my first thesis defence panel, right?” He says mildly, deliberately burying the lede, enjoying the way you scowl in irritation too much to answer your question right away, too enamoured with this display of concern on his behalf.

“Don’t be difficult, Doctor Reid. It’s still a big deal.” He just shrugs noncommittally, and you huff, swatting his arm lightly. “So did it go well?” You ask again, eyes narrowing as you try to dissect his microexpressions, trying to discern the answer he seems determined to keep from you for yourself. A few seconds later, he relents.

“I can now add degree number six to my wall.” He confirms. Getting degrees doesn’t hold the same rush of pride for him now, the accomplishment feeling somewhat less exceptional as he acquires more of them, but the way your face lights up with pride for him reminds him how special the things he’s capable of can be. You’ve always made him feel like more than the sum of his parts somehow, like something infinitely more precious than he always assumed he is.

“I fucking knew it. That’s amazing, Spence,” you say, chest warm and full with pride and love, and his almost shy smile in return is enough to make a decision for you in a split second. Your hand dips into your back pocket, drawing something out, and you carefully hide it from view in your palm as Spencer tracks the motion curiously with his eyes.

Your eyes are shining with affection and something that looks like mischief and the way you’re smiling at him is more than enough to divert his attention as you step closer, just barely noticing as you slip something into his hand. You’re dangerously, distractingly close now, and he’s conscious, if somewhat distantly, that neither of you is concealed from the rest of the team, scant meters away in the seating area of the jet. But you’re smiling and close enough for him to feel your breath on his face and suddenly your lips are on his, and even after nearly seven months of being able to touch you like this, it’s enough to make him forget everything else as he melts into the contact, savouring the warmth of your skin and the faint smell of your shampoo.

You pull back a second later, the kiss over almost as soon as it started, but it’s enough to attract attention, and you can hear a belated ‘oh SHIT’ from Emily in the main cabin of the jet. In your peripheral vision, you can see money changing hands, your friends scrambling to react, but you don’t look at them, choosing to enjoy the bemused, affectionate look on Spencer’s face as his brain catches up to the events unfolding around the two of you.

“I was tired of keeping it a secret,” you say fondly, loud enough only for him to hear. “You win.”

Blinking in confusion, he finally tears his gaze away from yours, fingers uncurling to reveal the fifty dollar bill you had pressed into his palm right before you kissed him. The penny drops and he snorts with laughter, shaking his head in half hearted indignation as his other arm loops around you, pulling you in, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, hiding your face from the rest of the team as he kisses your temple, revelling in the way you wind yourself around him in response.

“I was gonna do this in like two days. I wanted you to win,” he murmurs against your hairline, and he can feel your faint laughter.

“Too bad, baby. I’m used to getting my way,” you say, pulling back to steal another quick kiss before peeling yourself out of his arms with a wink, turning to face the onslaught of ‘care to fucking explain that’ and ‘I fucking told you so’ from the rest of your friends, tugging him with you by your joined hands.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid/reader #reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #dr spencer reid #my writing #spencer reid fluff

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theweasleysredhair · 4 years ago

Text

I Wanna Be Yours [G.W.]

Character: George Weasley

Word Count: 6025

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: Love is complicated. Especially when the boy you love likes someone else. Or does he? [Based on the film Some Kind of Wonderful].

WARNING: brief mentions of alcohol and drinking

Tags: @gracemayhateyou @criminalyetminimal @firewhisky-kisses @obsessedwithrandomthings @angelinathebook @iprobablyshipit91 @potterverseimagine @slytherineheir @kpopgirlbtssvt @rexorangecouny @mytreec @hemmoporro @thisismysketchbook @acciotwinz @shadowsinger11 @aaannabbanana @lestersglitterglue @anyasthoughts @lxncelot @harrypotter289 @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @valwritesx @hufflrpuffforfred @cappsikle @kiwi-sloan @potter-redheads @pigwidgexn @twinkyjohnson @tinylumpiaa @locke-writes @user12345321 @wand3ringr0s3 @ickle-ronniekins @sehunasbitch @cryingforcrystalpepsi @kashishwrites @girl-next-door-writes @susceptible-but-siriusexual @crissdanvers @whizbangs-78 @heart-of-tempered-steel @oh-for-merlins-sake @heavenlymidnight @aylinw3asley @andineversawyoucoming | message or send an ask to be added/removed!

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: i am again naming my fics after arctic monkeys’ songs - fun fact this one is named after my favourite one of theirs, i’m considering having it for my wedding song bc it cute af

also yes i watched some kind of wonderful whilst writing this and cried. it’s not even a sad fic, i’m just emotional smh

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

“Y/n! Wait up!”

You span round on your heels, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen, “I said I’m fine, Fred! Okay? I’m fine. Absolutely fabulous, in fact.”

Fred stopped in front of you, a shimmer of pity in his brown eyes that made you feel even worse than you already did, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I-I’m sorry-“

“I know. I know, Freddie,” you replied, your voice quiet as you pressed your lips together, reaching out to grab his hands in yours, “It’s okay. It is, really. I just... I need to be alone.”

“But I- I just... it’s his loss, just so you know!” He pleaded, shaking his head at you, and swore under his breath at the sight of one of his closest friends in tears over his brother, “Merlin, he shouldn’t have given that to her- I shouldn’t have said anything-“

And that’s where your problem had started. Because a few weeks ago, you were, as you claimed, fine. Well, you had a few essays due and were having trouble finding the textbooks to help you write them, but that was all really.

How you wished you could steal a time turner and go back in time.

And yes, when this all started you knew that George had his heart taken by someone else. It’s not his fault, not really, that his whole plan, scheme, escapade turned into something that would completely crush your heart.

Affairs of the heart. That’s where this started. Because before a few days ago, you were unaware of your own feelings. Before a few days ago, you were unaware of any feelings towards him at all.

But that fateful moment - the one where you were sat with George in front of the fireplace, a half-drank bottle of firewhisky sitting between you, laughing and joking - was the one that changed everything.

You hadn’t even realised yourself, until Fred pointed it out to you the morning after, when he’d found you curled up by George’s side, empty firewhisky bottle laying on the floor in front of the couch, George’s arm around your waist, your face buried into his chest.

In Fred’s defence, he thought you knew. He thought you’d be aware of your own feelings.

How was he supposed to know that you didn’t know you were in love with his twin?

_________~*~_________

“This is the year I reckon,” George announced to you as he collapsed onto the sofa beside you, throwing his legs over your thighs as he rested his back against the arm of the couch, his arms resting behind his neck, “She’s finally single, first time since second year. Now’s my chance!”

You popped a Bertie’s Every Flavour Bean into your mouth and closed the book you weren’t really paying attention to, before dropping it on the table in front of the couch, “And how long have you liked her again?”

George blinked at the way you raised an eyebrow at him and sat up a little, “Since I found out she was single again.” At your pointed look, he shot you a grin, “Nah, since before the summer. Point is, I reckon I could really like this girl.”

“Poor love, having you snivelling around her all the time. I wonder how she’ll cope,” you grinned back, throwing one of the jelly beans at his head.

“Well you seem to cope just fine,” he retorted, batting another jelly bean away from his head.

“That’s just because I’m desensitised to you by now.”

“Is that so?” George asked with a raised eyebrow, a grin etched onto his face as he sat up properly, leaning a little closer to you. You turned your head to face him, meeting his stare as you nodded, “Course, how else would I have put up with you so long?”

He leant further forward and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, “Willingly, because you love me, stupid.”

You nudged him, making him laugh as he went back to lying down comfortably, “Yeah, yeah.”

You watched a few first years clamber through the portrait hole, laughing to each other as they made their way through the common room, an absent-minded smile gracing your lips as you recalled being the same in your first year with your friends.

“How do you reckon I should ask her out?” George’s voice brought you away from your reminiscing as you looked over at him, “She deserves something amazing, something no other guy will have thought of for her.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing this would be the topic of conversation for the rest of the evening, but nevertheless gestured for him to continue on. “I wanna go all out if she’s gonna turn out to be everything I’ve ever wanted in a girl,” George finished, a dreamy, faraway look crossing his features.

Reaching into the box of jelly beans, you grabbed a handful and threw them at him, ignoring his indignant “hey!” as you replied pointedly, “Don’t go mistaking paradise for a pair of long legs.”

Because truthfully, that was why a lot of guys were interested in Kiara. She was smart - being a Ravenclaw and all - surprisingly funny, and, as far as you knew, was really kind too. Not that this mattered to many of the boys in your year (and the years above and below), apparently, because she was also beautiful, with long, glossy brown hair, perfect doll-like features and, yes, long, lean legs.

“That’s not why I like her,” George insisted, grabbing one of the jelly beans that had fallen onto his lap and throwing it back at you, laughing as it hit you on the forehead. You playfully glared at him, rubbing your forehead in mock-hurt.

“Sure it’s not, stupid,” you replied, using his minor insult from before. “Ohhh, I’m the stupid one now, am I?” He scoffed, though the smile on his face told you he wasn’t offended in the slightest, “Now you’re in for it.”

He moved his legs off you and poked your sides, knowing you were ticklish, making you laugh out and push him away, “George, stop!”

“Take it back then, love. Say I’m the smartest wizard you know,” he grinned, continuing his minor tickling assault, making you move away from him so abruptly that you fell off the couch and onto the carpeted floor, bringing him down on top of you.

“Ouch- never! You are stupid, stupid!” You laughed, laying on the floor as you tried to catch your breath, George’s hands either side of your head, holding his weight up above you.

Both of your laughter faded a little and you found yourself staring into his brown eyes, his face barely centimetres from your own. You could have almost sworn that he started moving closer - though maybe it was your imagination - before he rolled away and lay beside you on the floor, his hand brushing yours.

“You’ll help me right?” He asked after a moment. You turned your head to look at him, taking in his side profile as he stared up at the ceiling.

“I’ll help you what?”

“Get a date with her,” he said as if it were obvious, turning his head to meet your gaze. You shot him a smile, “You’re George Weasley. You could get a date with anyone you wanted.”

“Just not you, right?” He turned onto his side, resting on his elbow as he looked down at you. You shook your head with a laugh, “Yeah well, I don’t count. I’m not just anyone.”

The smile he gave you made your heart beat a little faster, “You’re right about that.”

***

“All I’m saying is, is it such a bad idea if you just, I don’t know, asked her out simply? By using words? I really don’t think you need to wax poetic, or write her a bloody song to ask her out,” you shook your head in despair at the nerve-wracked boy sat across from you in the Great Hall.

“I can’t just ask her out,” George replied in a horrified voice, “What if she thinks I’ve not put enough effort into it and rejects me?”

“Trust me, Georgie, if she’s going to reject you, it won’t be because of the way you asked her out, I can guarantee that. It’ll be because you’re annoying, or because you smell, or, and I can’t stress this enough, because of your below-average skills in potions,” you laughed at his unimpressed look, taking the opportunity to grab a slice of toast off his plate.

“You’re supposed to be my best friend, you know,” he grumbled, waving his fork at you. “Yes,” you replied, “And as your best friend, I say to just ask her out. Look, joking aside, you’re a great guy, George. She’d be lucky to have you.”

He nodded, smiling gratefully at you as he reached forward and grabbed your hand to give it a squeeze, “Okay, I’ll trust you on this one. I’ll just... ask her out. How difficult could it be?”

Turns out, extremely difficult. You felt second hand embarrassment as you watched George head over to the Ravenclaw table, to where Kiara was sitting, wincing as he nearly dropped a goblet of pumpkin juice over her.

“Who’re you watching?” A voice said from beside you, making you jump. Fred laughed as you rolled your eyes at him, before replying, “For your information, I’m watching your brother ask Kiara on a date.”

“Wait, he’s asking another girl on a date?” Fred frowned, his eyes darting from George, who was currently speaking to Kiara, his cheeks reddening as she touched his shoulder and laughed, to your confused expression as you looked up at the older twin. “Yes?” You replied, bemused, “Why?”

“Does it not... bother you?” He asked gently. You laughed, “Why would it?”

And as you watched Kiara throw her arms around George’s neck, his hands coming to hold her waist, you swallowed thickly, before shaking your head at the odd feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Why would it bother you?

You forced a smile onto your face as George made his way back to his original seat, a smug grin adorning his features. “Well?” You asked, rather redundantly as you had seen the whole thing yourself.

“She said yes,” he replied excitedly, picking up his fork and popping some bacon into his mouth. “I told you!” You grinned at him, though you pushed your own plate away, no longer hungry.

“Attaboy, Georgie!” Fred congratulated his twin, “When’s the date?”

“This Saturday, at The Three Broomsticks,” the younger twin replied. You zoned out of the chatter on the table about this newest revelation, feeling your heart plummet at George’s words, though you couldn’t place your finger on why.

George was your best friend, you should be happy for him... right?

***

Saturday arrived quicker than you wanted, after a week of tedious lessons, and a bombardment of questions over what George should do on his date.

You watched him pull out two different jumpers, holding each one up at a time and looking at you expectedly. Tilting your head to the side, you pointed to the red one, “Was always my favourite one.”

“Red it is,” he nodded, throwing the other jumper onto his bed as he held the red jumper out to you for you to hold. Without warning, he pulled the t shirt he was currently wearing off, leaving his toned torso on show as he dropped said t shirt onto the floor and held his hand out for the jumper.

You handed it to him, gulping a little as you forced yourself not to stare at his abs. It was no secret the George was good looking - you’d always known it - but knowing and seeing were two different things. Being a Beater had done tremendous things to his body, you noted.

“Do you reckon I should bring her flowers?” George asked you, looking at you through the reflection of his mirror as he messed his hair up a little.

“Couldn’t hurt,” you shrugged, sending him a half-hearted smile as you grabbed your wand, muttering ‘orchideous’ and handing him the bouquet that was produced.

He thanked you, before taking a deep breath, “Well, what do you reckon?”

The smile that spread across your face this time was genuine, a soft look in your eye as you replied, “You look great, Georgie. Now go get her!”

He shot you one last grin, pressing a kiss to your forehead, before heading out of his dorm, leaving you alone. You picked up the t shirt he’d dropped, folding it and placing it at the end of his bed, before grabbing the jumper he’d discarded.

You took a breath before deciding to put the jumper on, relishing in the smell of George’s aftershave as you pulled it over your head, before rolling up the sleeves and heading out of the dorm.

***

“How many dates has it been now, three? Four?” You asked, wrapping your coat further around yourself as you trudged through the thick snow of Hogsmeade, passing by a couple of cute shops.

“The Yule Ball will be the fifth.”

You froze at the mention of the Ball. Somehow you’d assumed you’d be going with George - you didn’t even think about the fact that he’d have a girlfriend he could take, “Oh! So you um, asked Kiara to the Ball then?”

“Last night,” George bit his lip as he smiled, “Can’t wait!”

Your stomach clenched and mind raced, eyebrows furrowing as you realised you now had just under a week and half to find a date to the Ball - if anyone was still available, that was. You thought about every single eligible boy you knew of, wondering if you had the courage to even ask any of them, before you were pulled from your thoughts by George’s voice.

“I wanna buy her something for Christmas, what do you reckon?” George asked, picking at a strand coming off his woollen hat before placing it back onto his head.

“I don’t really know the girl,” you said truthfully, forcing yourself to stop thinking about George and Kiara dancing and him holding her all night, “I assume you’d have better judgment.”

He nodded over to a small shop on your left, one that you’d passed by many times but never had the chance to look in.

“The jewellery shop?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him. He grabbed your hand and pulled you over to the door, “Let’s just have a look, yeah?”

The bell chimed as you stepped inside and you instantly became enamoured with the little shop, rows of glass cases showing off sparkly pieces of jewellery and adornments. Most, you noticed quickly, were much too expensive for you - and by default, much too expensive for George, too.

“Are you sure about something from in here?” You asked, staring down at a ring adorned with sapphires, “These are pretty pricey.”

“They might be, but she deserves it. Besides, gotta prove I’m better than all the guys that want to date her, right?” George replied from across the shop.

“Georgie,” you looked over at him with a pointed look, “I can promise you are better than all the other guys.”

“No harm in making sure.”

You gave up arguing, knowing he wouldn’t listen anyway, your eyes taking in the beautiful products, before your focus was taken by a rather stunning necklace. Stepping over to it for a closer look, you breathed out in shock at the price, but nevertheless knew you were in love with the chain, a little pendant surrounded by crystals displayed at the centre.

“What’ve you seen?” George spoke, suddenly standing behind you and leaning over your shoulder.

You pointed at the necklace, “Someday, I’m gonna buy that one.”

George glanced down at the look on your face and grinned to himself, “Someday, I’ll buy that one for you.” You turned to look at him, shaking your head in amusement, “You need to choose something for your girlfriend before you start promising me presents.”

“What’s the fun in that?” George laughed as you both left the shop.

You sat beside George on the couch later that night, resting your head on his shoulder as you shared a bottle of firewhisky between you.

“It was not!” You screeched, your laugh echoing through the empty common room as you nudged the ginger boy, making him laugh along with you. “It absolutely was,” he insisted, grinning before taking a sip of the firewhisky, taking in the sight of you looking so happy, and realising your laugh was one of his favourite sounds, “You were the one who wanted to sneak food from the kitchens, so it was your fault we got caught!”

You shook your head, “It was you tripping into that metal armour. All that noise when the bloody head fell off.”

“You pushed me, stupid!” George scolded indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like a child.

“I shoved you,” you corrected, laughing as George playfully nudged you, causing you to nudge him back, and soon you were play fighting on the couch.

He, once again, was above you, almost pinning you to the couch as he looked down at you, and it was only then that you realised just how inebriated you both were, the empty firewhisky bottle having fallen onto the floor.

George’s tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, “You know I love you, right?”

You smiled softly up at him, arms around his neck as you nodded, somehow feeling like those words had more weight to them than usual. Leaning up to kiss his cheek, you replied, “Of course, Georgie.”

Morning arrived quickly, much to your dismay, and you were woken abruptly by the sound of heavy footsteps stomping down the stairs. You couldn’t bring yourself to move to see who it was, too comfortable with your head resting on George’s chest, his arm securely around your waist, but luckily for you, said culprit of the noise came right by your line of sight, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“Well what do we have here?” Fred cooed, rocking back and forth as he looked at you curled up in his twin’s arms. “Me and George falling asleep after drinking maybe a tad too much?” You replied as if it were obvious.

“You look awfully cosy,” he grinned, “But then, I suppose I would too if I was cuddling someone I was in love with.”

You felt like your heart stopped and you nearly choked on air, “Wait wait wait, someone I what?!”

“‘Someone I was in love with’?” Fred repeated slowly, narrowing his eyes at you, “You do know... right?”

At your blank expression, Fred raised an eyebrow, “You do know you’re in love with George... right?”

“I’m not in love with-“ You paused as you thought back over the years of your friendship. You’d never really thought about it before - never really had to. But you treated George differently to any other friend you had. No one could make you laugh like he could, or make you feel as protected and safe as he did. And no one ever made you feel like you were flying, like he did.

“Oh Godric... I’m in love with George!” You whisper-shouted, a hand coming to cover your mouth as the realisation dawned on you.

Fred nodded, “I didn’t know that you didn’t know.”

“That’s why you asked me if it bothered me when he asked out Kiara, isn’t it?” You suddenly realised, gulping harshly.

Fred nodded again, though a tad more hesitantly than before, “Hey, but listen- I really think he feels the same, if it makes you feel any better! He just doesn’t know it either.”

You moved out of George’s grasp and stood up, pressing your lips together as you looked at Fred, “He’s got a girlfriend, who he’s taking to the Yule Ball and who he adores and they’re probably gonna get married and have kids and I’m going to be alone forever!”

“Hey, that’s not- that won’t happen,” Fred replied, his gaze softening as he saw a tear fall down your cheek. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and stroking your back comfortingly.

“He loves you, I know it. And he knows it too. He just doesn’t know that he knows it.”

***

Ever since your realisation in the early morning, you’d tried your best to act normal around George. It wasn’t easy, and you felt that maybe you were being a little more distant than usual, however you quickly pushed that thought aside as you noticed George being equally - if not more - distant, sitting at the end of the table beside Fred, Kiara on his other side as he whispered things in her ear, making her laugh.

You felt a pang of hurt, one that got worse the longer you stared at them, watching as they kissed, as George stared at her lovingly, as he pushed her long, brown, stupidly perfect hair behind her ear and making her blush.

Sitting on the opposite side of the table, you made yourself look away, instead immersing yourself in the conversation Ron and Harry were having about the Yule Ball.

“This is mad, at this rate we’ll be the only ones in our year without dates!” Ron hissed at Harry as you were all sat in the Great Hall, supposedly studying. You hid a laugh as Snape walked past and pushed his head.

“Well, us and Neville,” he continued with a small laugh. Harry leant over to him, “Yeah but then again, he can take himself.”

“It might interest you to know that Neville has already got someone,” Hermione interrupted their laughing with a frown.

Ron sighed, catching your gaze as you laughed at him - which made him sigh again, “Now I’m really depressed.”

You observed from the other side of the table as Fred threw a piece of parchment over to his younger brother, winking at you when he noticed you watching, as Ron frowned at the words on the page.

Ron handed the parchment back, glancing around to avoid Snape and whispered, “Who are you going with then?”

Fred grabbed the parchment and crumpled it up into a ball, before throwing it at you, the paper bouncing off your shoulder. You looked down at the paper, before meeting Fred’s gaze with a raised eyebrow.

He grinned at you, before miming the Ball, nodding over at you. You rolled your eyes, glancing round for Snape before throwing the parchment back at him, hitting him square in the face and causing half the table to hid their faces as they laughed.

“Well?” He asked, seemingly unfazed by the parchment that was now resting at his feet.

“Yeah, go on then, I suppose,” you whispered, shaking your head at him as he winked at Ron. When all the attention went back to school work, you caught Fred’s gaze again and smiled thankfully.

He saluted playfully, making you laugh, neither one of you noticing George’s frown and clenched fists beside him.

***

You hadn’t seen much of George since Fred had asked you to the Ball, him being too busy spending practically all of his time with Kiara.

It hurt, you had to admit, that he was constantly choosing her over you. Though you assumed it was only natural, what with Kiara being his first proper girlfriend.

Didn’t mean it hurt any less. And the fact you were so used to having George to yourself didn’t help - sometimes turning to ask him something, and then realising he’s not there.

He’d moved seats in class to sit by Kiara, meaning in some classes you were sat with whoever happened to be her previous partner, which therefore meant you were forced to watch as the boy you loved flirted with another girl, his hands constantly on her waist, sneaking kisses when the professor wasn’t looking, and, more often than not, simply not even acknowledging your existence, not even saying a simple ‘hello’.

In other classes you were sat by Fred, who, by all accounts, was actually a pretty good partner, being able to make you laugh and distract you from the show that tore your heart every time you saw it.

In fact, Fred had pretty much mastered exactly how to make you laugh until you cried, his aim in most lessons now, as he hated how sad you were because of his twin.

You were both giggling in the back of the classroom at something he’d said when McGonagall had pointed it out, asking you both to “Please quieten down.”

You bit your lip to muffle your laughing as Fred looked down at you, just happy he could make his friend smile when he knew how much you were hurting.

Much to the dislike of a certain redhead towards the front of the room, who immediately frowned every time he heard your laugh, knowing he wasn’t the one causing it, but his older twin.

His twin who was taking you to the Yule Ball.

George clenched his jaw as he heard you whispering something to Fred, barely being able to focus on anything else.

He knew you and Fred were friends, but since when were you both that close?

***

By the time the Yule Ball arrived, you and George were barely speaking at all. You’d cried about it more times than you’d like to admit, but you had decided that tonight, at the Ball, you would make it a night to remember, not wanting to mope and ruin Fred’s night since he had asked you pretty much as a favour - despite the amount of times he’d insisted he wanted to ask you, you knew he fancied Angelina Johnson, and had things played out differently, you were sure she’d have been the one he’d thrown the parchment at in the hall that day, not you.

Either way, when you’d made your way down the steps to the Great Hall, your dress swirling around you, hair and makeup perfect, Fred made a huge deal of wolf-whistling and complimenting you.

“Well aren’t you bloody gorgeous,” he grinned, taking your hand and bringing it up to his lips to kiss the back of it, “I am one lucky guy.”

“You clean up pretty good too, Weasley,” you grinned, reaching up to straighten out his tie.

George scowled as he watched you with Fred, hating you being in such proximity to his brother, hands clenching and knuckles turning white as he watched Fred kiss the back of your hand. He had to force himself not to run over and shove Fred’s hands away from your waist, as he guided you off to the Hall. He was so distracted by firstly how stunning you looked, and secondly by how forward his brother was being, that he barely even noticed when Kiara had arrived by his side, until she nudged him a little and he forced out a smile.

He complimented the brunette girl, guiding her into the Hall as his hand reached into his pocket, brushing over a box to make sure it was still there.

Fred had been the perfect date all evening. He was a gentlemen - besides the occasional flirty comment - and insisted on staying by your side and dancing, even when you tried to usher him to ask Angelina to dance.

He was just about to give into your insistence with a laugh, when he noticed your expression changed as your attention was taken from him to whatever was going on behind him.

He cursed under his breath as he watched George hold out a small black box to Kiara, who had a huge smile on her face as she took the lid off. She pulled out a necklace, bringing George into a hug immediately, pressing kisses to his face.

Fred stood in front of your view of them, taking your hands in his, “Y/n... I’m sorry. He’s an idiot- he doesn’t know he’s got such a good thing, and wouldn’t know it if you punched him in the face - which, for the record, I think you should do.”

You wiped a stray tear from your eye, forcing yourself not to cry, “He gave her the necklace.”

“I know. I know, but he-“

“No Fred,” you interrupted gently, “He gave her the necklace. That necklace is one I saw when we were in Hogsmeade, and I said I wanted it. He-He even said he’d buy it for me one day! Not that I’d let him but- He bought it for her.”

Fred’s gaze softened, his heart breaking at the sight of your sad face, wrapping his arms around you and swaying a little to the music absent-mindedly.

“I’m sorry,” Fred whispered in your ear. You nodded, leaning against his shoulder, “Not your fault your brother is stupid.”

The song that was playing ended, and Fred grabbed your hand, leading you over to the table where the food and drinks were, pouring you a glass and offering it out to you. You took it gratefully, thanking him before taking a sip.

“Didn’t know you two were that close,” a voice came from behind you. A voice you knew well, one you could pick out anywhere. Fred reached out to squeeze your hand reassuringly, as you placed your glass down, nodding at him before turning around.

“Fred and I have always been good friends. I do have friends, other than you, you know. Which is a good job, considering you’ve been so distant with me,” you replied, focusing on keeping your voice level, rather than on the fact that he’d just given your necklace to his girlfriend.

George felt himself get angry as he noticed yours and Fred’s intertwined hands, swallowing harshly and shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

“You know I’ve been trying to impress Kiara, being in a relationship takes up time. Not that you’d know, but I thought you’d understand. Didn’t think you’d replace me that quickly,” George retaliated in the midst of his anger, only being able to focus on you and Fred, and how close you were.

“Replaced you?” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest, “You barely even say hello to me! So yes, I turned to a friend so I wasn’t alone. You’re the one who replaced me! And you gave her the necklace, George. The necklace you knew I wanted. You gave it to her.”

Not waiting for a response, you shot an apologetic glance towards Fred before rushing out of the Hall, suddenly needing some fresh air.

“Look what you did now!” Fred almost growled, before storming out after you, in an attempt to find you.

George took a shaky breath, cursing as he watched the two most important people to him leave.

“George?” A soft voice spoke from beside him.

“Kiara?”

The brunette girl smiled, pressing her lips together as she looked at the ginger, “I um... I think we should break up.”

George frowned, though he was surprised to find he didn’t feel too badly about what she’d said.

The girl held out a black box and placed it into George’s hands, “This should be hers. It’s more her style than mine, I think you know that too.”

The redhead hesitated, unsure of what to say in this situation, “Look, Kiara, I’m sorry-“

“She likes you,” Kiara interrupted him, grinning despite the situation.

“She doesn’t-“

“She does. And you like her. Now go find her.”

With one last hug, and another muttered apology, he nodded determinedly at her, and ran off in the direction of his brother and, he realised now, the girl he truly loved.

***

“Y/n! Wait up!”

You span round on your heels, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen, “I said I’m fine, Fred! Okay? I’m fine. Absolutely fabulous, in fact.”

Fred stopped in front of you, a shimmer of pity in his brown eyes that made you feel even worse than you already did, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I-I’m sorry-“

“It’s okay, I promise. It was always bound to happen right? I was always destined to fall for him, whilst he fell for her. Even if you hadn’t said anything, I would’ve realised. I’m- I’m so stupid, aren’t I? Falling for my best friend,” you let out a broken sob.

“You’re not stupid.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and you swallowed back another sob as you turned around slowly, your eyes catching George’s gaze.

He stood, hair messy as if he’d raked his hands through it a few too many times, tie askew and shirt almost untucked in his haste to run and find you. He felt his heart clench, knowing he was the one to make you feel like this, and stepped forward reaching a hand out towards you as you blinked back tears, allowing him to bring you into his arms as you finally let the tears fall.

You knew you shouldn’t, that you should leave to your dorm, but being in George’s arms had always made you feel safe, made you feel protected.

More tears fell as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, muttering over and over again how sorry he was. How he was a fool, a git, a complete idiot.

You finally calmed down a little, looking around the empty hallway, not being sure exactly when Fred had disappeared but thankful for the privacy.

You wiped away the last of your tears, cursing mentally as you realise your makeup would be a mess - if the state of George’s shirt was anything to go by.

“Kiara told me you like- I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” he breathed out, a hand cupping your cheek as you blinked up at him.

“Yeah well, you’re stupid. I always knew you were stupid,” you replied with a sad laugh.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked with a frown, his hands moving to hold your waist.

“You never asked. And then you-you got a girlfriend. What was I supposed to do?” You asked quietly.

“I’m in love with you,” George said suddenly, earnestly, genuinely as he held you against him.

“Not Kiara?”

He shook his head quickly, “She knew I liked you before I knew I liked you. Maybe I am stupid.”

“Maybe you are,” you let out a watery laugh, looking away from his gaze.

George suddenly reached into his pocket and brought out a familiar box, “This is yours. I don’t know what I was thinking, giving it to her. It’s yours - it’s always been yours.”

He opened the box, taking out the necklace you loved so much, and offering you a sheepish smile, “It’s not a good enough apology, I know. But I’m hoping it’s a start.”

He gently turned you around, placing the necklace around your neck, you shivering at the feel of his fingers brushing against your skin, before turning you back around to face him, this time much closer than before, his forehead resting against yours.

“So, and correct me if I’m wrong,” he spoke as he leant forward a little more, his lips almost touching yours, “Does this mean that I like you and you like me and we both don’t think of each other as friends?”

You nodded a little, offering him a soft smile, “I don’t want to be friends, George,” you whispered just as his lips brushed your own, “I wanna be yours.”

#george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley

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prettyboy-asmo · 4 years ago

Text

Obey me! boys with trans masc MC

Some headcanons about the brothers + Solomon and Diavolo with Trans Masc MC. it’s pretty self-indulgent. Obviously not everyone shares the same experiences with their identity. I took from my own experiences and feelings about things to write these.

TW: Mentions of transphobia (not detailed and not from any of the main characters)

Lucifer

It doesn’t actually come up for some time, not until you realize that you two are definitely getting closer to being intimate.

One night things start to get steamy and when you realize you have to force yourself to not run away. You’re still up and halfway across the room faster than Lucifer thought a human could move. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest, and you have to make yourself look Lucifer in the eyes.

He’s quick to apologize, thinking he made you uncomfortable- he’s honestly worried he’d hurt you or crossed your boundaries. You assure him that it’s nothing like that. You just need to explain something before things go further.

If you are nervous about telling him, he’ll wait patiently for you to say what you need to say. Reassures you that it changes nothing about how he feels about you. He only cares that you’re happy and comfortable.

“I’m glad you feel comfortable telling me. I know humans can hold some troubling views on the subject.” He’s never really understood a lot of the human hang ups on things like this, but he knows it’s a big deal for some to share the knowledge with others, it takes trust.

What he doesn’t say is how happy he is that you trust him that much (how proud he is,)

Will ask if there’s anything specific you need him to do/not do or anything that you might not have that you want or need. (ie: new binder if you haven’t had top surgery, do you want top surgery? He can make it happen.)

If you’re having a particularly bad time with dysphoria, he’ll straight up ask if there’s anything he can do to help.

He’ll also be sure to call you by your name, or specifically masculine terms

Someone misgenders you on purpose? He doesn’t hesitate to set them straight. No one’s foolish enough to do it again.

Mammon:

He finds out on accident. You’re changing when he barges in your room, saying something about being late for breakfast in his usual loud manner.

He freezes when he finally looks at you, Sees your binder or your scars but honestly it doesn’t really register bc holy shit his human is half dressed and standing in front of him and-poor boy is blushing so hard and is silent because he’s certain he’ll make a fool of himself.

It hadn’t occurred to you until he went quiet that he didn’t know already.

You finish getting dressed and his silence is worrying you at this point. You quietly ask him if he’d like for you to stop hanging around him

That manages to snap him out of his daze and he looks utterly confused. “Why would ya think that?” You try to explain that you’ve had people that have stopped speaking to you because you’re trans, or have even tried to tell you it’s wrong.

“They obviously don’t know anything,” He says, “You’re stuck with the Great Mammon, ya hear? I’m your first guy and you’re my man!” It’s not the first time he’s referred to you as his, but it’s the first time he’s used man instead of human. After that though, he starts doing it more and each time it makes you smile.

“That’s right, That’s my man!” “What took ya so long, man?”

If you’re having bad dysphoria he’s very vocal about calling you his man, reassuring you, and asking what you want in that moment. Stay in and just lay around? Sure. find a distraction? He can think of plenty.

He offers you some of his shirts and jackets. “They suit ya,” he insists, even if they’re big on you, “Gotta make sure my man is staying stylish!” (He won’t admit how happy it makes him to see you wearing his clothes, but you can tell anyways.)

Someone misgenders you to upset you? “What’d you just say to my man?” He’s angry and he’s not about to be quiet about it.

Leviathan:

You mention it off-handedly while discussing your favorite anime and manga.

You’d started talking about one that actually had pretty decent Trans rep, lamenting that it wasn’t more popular because of how much it meant to see someone like you-

Levi catches it immediately, but he doesn’t say anything about- It doesn’t change anything he feels anyway.

He does, however, take time to look for movies, tv shows, games, or anything you might both enjoy that has good Representation.

When you realize what he’s doing you can’t help but hug him tightly and kiss his cheek, and it makes him blush.”I’m glad you’re happy.”

Bad Dysphoria? He’ll drag you to his room to binge anime, play games, and watch movies. He knows the distraction helps.

You’re his Henry, and he’s gonna go the extra mile to make sure you’re comfortable, however he can.

If you use a binder and find you need a new one, he’s on top of it- He’ll offer to make one for you so he knows it’ll be the right size and it will be good quality.

Someone misgenders you after being corrected? He checks on you first and asks if you want him to do something about it. If he finds out they did it Maliciously? He’s going to do something about that- reminding everyone in the process that he’s the third eldest (and third most powerful) for a reason.

Satan:

It comes up when you start spending more time with him- studying or getting book recommendations to pass your free time, You can tell when your interactions shift to something more.

He nods when you tell him, “And your pronouns are He/him, correct?”

Asks if there’s anything he should avoid doing, anything you don’t like to be called, He wants to know your boundaries then and there so he doesn’t overstep them.

He spends some time researching. He wants to make sure he understands as much as he can about you, including this- he doesn’t want to ask you directly what your experience in the human realm was, in case it brings up any unpleasant memories.

You notice the change in his reading list eventually and it makes you feel warm knowing that he’s doing it for you. You tell him if he does have any questions he can ask you.

He does ask you if you use a binder and if you’re binding safely.

He also asks if Dysphoria is something you struggle with. If you tell him it is, his line of questioning shifts to things he can possibly do to help you deal with it.

If it’s a really rough day and you admit you don’t want to really do anything, he’ll pick a book to read to you, just so you know he’s there for anything you need, even if it’s just quiet company.

He also becomes a little more vocal, calls you things like dashing or handsome.

If someone misgenders you with ill intent? He’s going to deal with it, and it’s not going to be pretty.

Asmodeus:

He invites you to his room to show you the new outfits he bought. He does it pretty much every time he goes shopping.

This time the first outfit he walks out includes a skirt. You already know Asmo doesn’t believe in gendered clothing, or adhering to any sort of ‘norm’ but it’s the first time you’ve seen it so obviously in person when it comes to his clothes.

“I wish I could wear something like that,” the words are out your mouth before you register them, and you flush even while Asmo giggles. He offers his closet to you and tells you to try something on.

Your hesitance must show, because he frowns a little, looking concerned. “I used to,” you admit, “But people kept telling me that I didn’t need to transition if I liked all that stuff anyways.”

He’s next to you in a second, hand tilting your chin to look at him, “Fuck those people,” he says seriously, “It’s a shame for a man to hide such a delightful body. It’s even worse for him to deny himself things he likes because of ignorant commentary.”

He ends up making suggestions on what to try on, starting with a simple skirt and shirt combo.

You stare at the mirror for a long time, turning occasionally to watch the way the skirt flares up slightly when you do. You catch Asmo smiling behind you in the reflection.

“Do you like it?” You catch his eyes in the reflection, nodding, “I missed the feeling. Thank you, Asmo.”

“Anything for someone as handsome as you,”

If you’re feeling really dysphoric he’ll try to pamper you- want him to brush your hair? Face masks? A relaxing bath? An entire spa day? New clothes? He wants you to feel good about yourself and he knows self care is the first step.

He loves to pick out clothes for you to wear, but he always explicitly asks what style you want, because he wants you to feel as good as you look in anything he picks for you.

If someone misgenders you maliciously or more than once, he’ll have plenty of words with them.

In fact, as it turns out many of his fans will also have words if they catch wind- Asmo loves posting pics with you on Devilgram and taking you to the Fall, so you’ve also become part of many of his fans' lives too.

Beelzebub:

You feel a little self-conscious surrounded by attractive demons- But Beel is a whole other level. He’s tall and solid muscle, and you're envious of it.

You know you could never keep up with his workouts, but you ask if you could join him anyways, and if he could give you some pointers on good workouts for specific goals. He agrees right away, more than happy to help.

It becomes a routine and you look forward to your shared workouts, even if it’s just you both doing your own thing, or Beel giving you pointers on your form or him asking you to record him so he can see how his own form looks.

You’re so comfortable around Beel, that during one of your afternoon workouts you pull your shirt over your head as you stop to take a break and even out your breathing.

“It’s not good to wear a binder while exercising for so long.” Beel’s concerned comment takes you off guard for a moment and you flush, unsure of what to say because he sounds so casual about it, and you aren’t really used to it.

You settle for “Sorry,” and quickly go to tug your shirt back on, but he shakes his head. “You don’t have to. Just rest while I finish up.”

“You’re doing this for you, right? No matter what, You’re a great guy, so don’t push yourself because other people expect it.” You’re surprised when he joins you after he’s done and it’s the first thing he says. You tell him it does help you feel better about yourself and you enjoy spending the time with him, doing something you both enjoy. And the smile he gives you is blinding.

If you’re having a bad time with Dysphoria he’ll ask what you want to do. Workout? Movie and Snacks? Do you need a distraction or do you want to just...be?

He’s well aware of the toxic masculinity that can be present in places like gyms and such. He’s never tolerated it, but there’s a new edge to him if he hears anyone saying something disrespectful or hateful.

If someone misgenders you, he makes his displeasure known but he focuses on making sure you aren’t upset. (Not many would dare risk making him angry anyways, as quiet as he is he’s still intimidating when he needs to be.)

Belphegor:

You don’t actually tell him. with how often you end up napping with him he just knows. He doesn’t even say anything about it- he doesn’t see the need to and neither do you.

He does say something the one time he catches you falling asleep in a binder. “You can’t sleep in that!” he wakes you up and makes you change- he tells you it’s important to have proper sleepwear, a lecture that might even rival one Lucifer's, as he himself begins to doze off.

After that he makes a point to check to make sure you aren’t wearing a binder before he cuddles up for a nap or for the night (Not that he admits it to you)

He likes to tease you, but he’s always hyper aware of his words. The last thing he wants to do is accidentally say something that might actually hurt you

He doesn’t tend to use overly gendered language with you in the first place, “You’re my nap buddy,” “You make a really nice pillow,” “I like it when you look flustered like that,”

But if he notices/ you tell him you’re struggling with dysphoria more than usual he’ll make the effort to use specifically masculine terms

He’s not the greatest with being open about his feelings but he’ll reassure you if that’s what you need

He doesn’t like seeing you struggling so he asks the best ways to help you feel better, even if he still teases you he’s doing his best to cheer you up or make you more comfortable.

If someone misgenders you on purpose he’s making sure you’re okay. He’ll be even more clingy than usual, glare at anyone he thinks looks at you wrong or he’ll simply drag you back home to laze around and cuddle (He tells you he’s tired and just wants to nap, but he really just wants to keep an eye on you in case it upset you more than you showed.)

He’ll have a discussion with whoever upset you later, anyways.

Solomon:

When you realize he’s way older than he looks you’re concerned that he’s gonna have some very archaic views about things.

Even as you grow closer to him, the thought nags at the back of your mind and it keeps you stuck at a distance despite his obvious flirting.

He notices, of course. “Am I making you uncomfortable? I can stop if you’d like,” It's a stark contrast to his usual teasing and mystic demeanor, and the serious expression on his face draws some courage from you.

You manage to tell him without stuttering, and then you flush when you tell him you weren’t sure he’d be okay with that. Saying it out loud makes you feel a little silly- all things considered.

He hums and tells you he understands, but that he doesn’t care in the sense that if you’re happy and true to yourself that’s what matters most. (It sounds suspiciously like something Asmo would say, but there’s sincerity in his voice and eyes.)

His flirting continues- when he passes you at RAD, when he invites you to study with him, even his messages, simple compliments like “You look rather handsome today,” or teasing “I’m so lucky to sit with the cutest boy in class,” but now that you aren’t worrying about other things, you can finally return his teasing.

If you’re having a hard time with dysphoria, he’ll ask if he can help. He’ll show up with snacks, movies, books, anything you want to do. He’ll even offer to ask Asmo for the needed supplies for a spa day, if he thinks that might help.

If someone misgenders you on purpose he’s gonna set them straight. He’s the most powerful sorcerer and he’s not going to let someone disrespect you like that

Diavolo:

When you arrive in the Devildom, you actually laugh. A few of the people (demons!) standing around you look concerned.

“I mean, plenty of people told me I’d go to hell but I don’t think this is what they meant.” There’s some surprised looks but no one mentions it past that, really.

But it does come up in one of your regular meetings with Diavolo, what had started out as short meetings to discuss how things were progressing during your stay had suddenly turned into hours of visiting over tea and Barbatos cooking.

He asks you what you meant when you’d said that. It wasn’t the first ‘personal’ question he asked you, and you didn’t see a reason not to explain. So you tell him all about your run ins with the wannabe preachers and ‘concerned’ Sunday school moms and the like and how you managed to offend them.

He looks curious and you tell him to feel free to ask you if he has a question. He has a few, mostly about if there’s anything making you uncomfortable he might not be aware of, or if there’s anything you need that you can’t get in the Devildom.

He’s genuinely concerned about not having thought about things like this when it comes to the exchange students, and asks if you’d help him make sure the program was improved and friendly towards all.

It warms your heart to see him so passionate and ready to learn in order to make others comfortable, so you agree without hesitation

Your visits with Diavolo grow in number after that though some of them remain just friendly visits, some are focused on the exchange program and some of them are far more intimate.

If you tell him you’re having a rough time with feeling dysphoric, he’ll Invite you over to visit and make sure you’re alright- and if you don’t feel like going out? He’ll come to you, a box of sweets from Barbatos and determined to find out if there’s anything he can do to help.

He’s all about reassurance, “You’re perfect, and I don’t lie, remember?”

Someone misgenders you intentionally or is just being transphobic in general? He’s quick to shut that down. He makes it known that he won’t tolerate any sort of hate speech or such behavior, and especially not towards you. No one is going to test Lord Diavolo on that, either.

#swd obey me #obey me #Trans masc MC #trans mc #om lucifer #om mammon #om leviathan #om satan #om asmodeus #om beelzebub #om belphegor #om solomon #om diavolo #Tw mention of transphobia #Obey me trans masc MC #obey me hc #headcanon #kinda self indulgent im just starving for content i can relate to

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ri-ahhh · 4 years ago

Note

what about drunk y/n bluntly saying all the things he wants to do to gray and he’s shocked bc she’s usually really shy. ( inspired by the first lines of pu$$y fairy by jhene) “ i like to suck when i’m drunk” “i like to fuck when i’m drunk”

Loud music thuds in every corner of the West Hollywood house you and Grayson walk into for a random party he had been invited to earlier that day. Ethan had chosen to stay at home, but you and Gray both needed to get out of the house, and while parties weren’t really his scene, socializing felt like a better alternative to Netflix tonight.

Grayson daps up his friend that’s throwing the party and introduces you to him. He seems nice enough, but you barely catch his name before he’s excusing himself to greet some other people that have just walked in.

You catch Grayson’s eye and lean close to shout in his ear so he can hear you over the YG song blasting through the speakers nearby. He smells even better this up close than he had in the car, clean and masculine with that woody undertone that’s just a permanent part of him now. “Do you see anyone else you know?”

He shakes his head, switching places with you so his mouth brushes your ear now. You’re sure he can feel the shiver his warm breath and too-close proximity elicits, but you’re glad it’s potentially dark enough for him not to see the goosebumps flaring across the skin left exposed by your simple bandeau top.

“Not yet!” he says, and his huge hand places itself on the small of your back as he lifts his head to inspect your surroundings. His long fingers radiate warmth and calm your nerves a bit as you also take in the features of the house you’re in. It’s big, but not a ridiculous mansion or anything, which makes you feel a little more comfortable about being somewhere that you know literally nobody else.

Until Grayson speaks again, that is. “Are you good by yourself long enough for me to go piss? I’ve been holding it since I got in the car.”

‘No!’ screams the petrified introvert inside you.

“Of course,” smiles the rational grown woman you pretend to be most of the time.

He grins back at you gratefully. “I’ll be like, five minutes tops,” he assures, moving his hand from your back to your hand and giving it a squeeze.

You cling to his fingers until they’re forced to drop away with the distance between you, and watch his broad body thread through a crowd of fellow partygoers as he follows the handwritten sign with an arrow labelled ‘bathroom -- you puke, you clean.’ It’s pathetic how much you miss his presence already, but it’s not like this is the first party you’ve ever been to; if there’s any safe place at a house party for the single person to go, it’s the kitchen.

You’ve only made it a handful of yards away from where Grayson left you when suddenly a large someone stumbles into you, his drink sloshing precariously in his solo cup.

“Woah!” he says, holding his drink up and away as he glances down at you, clearly tipsy. To your dismay, some of whatever is in his cup has spilled onto your jeans, but you try to just chalk it up as a party foul without getting too annoyed. “Sorry about that.”

“You’re good,” you offer with a polite smile, brushing off some of the droplets that cling to the denim stubbornly. At least now you have another excuse to get to the kitchen and preoccupy yourself with something until Grayson returns.

The guy blinks and looks you up and down unashamedly, and you fight not to roll your eyes. He can only be described as a Chad, looking every bit the frat daddy with his Supreme t-shirt, snapback backwards over his too-long hair, and alcohol-induced predatory gaze.

He offers you his hand, and out of instinct you take it, but instantly cringe at how clammy it is. Being too nice to douchebags is definitely one of your character flaws. “I’m Brad.”

You can’t help but laugh at the irony, because of course he is, but he must take it as a flirtatious giggle or something, because he smiles back at you. “What’s your name? I’ve never seen you at these things before.”

You tell him against your better judgement, and Brad does that thing where he pretends not to hear. He pulls you by the hand still clasped in his and brings you closer to him, as if to hear you better. This time, you can’t stop your annoyed eye-roll, telling him again with finality and pulling away quickly. If Grayson’s closeness that way made you shudder with desire, this guy makes you do it with disgust.

Really, you just want Grayson again. You need him.

You finally rip your hand out of his grasp and give him a tight smile. He starts to speak again, but you cut him off. “Well, it was nice to meet you. I’m gonna go find something to clean myself up with.”

Whether he’s just an idiot asshole or because of the alcohol flowing through him, Brad doesn’t take the hint. “Aw, beautiful, I said I’m sorry! Let me come with, and I’ll make you a drink to make up for it.”

“Dude, I literally just told you my name,” you say, unable to help yourself as this guy’s douche-meter hits record highs with that. “Thank you, but I’m good. Please leave me alone.”

You turn on the spot, but you can feel him following close behind. Luckily, the kitchen is only one room over, and even more in your favor, Grayson is already there, shining like the beautiful angel he is under the recessed lights.

He meets your eyes when you walk in, and you give him the bug-eyed ‘save me’ look that you hope translates to boy as well as it does to girl. He cocks an amused brow, but then his eyes fall behind you and see Brad trailing you like a lost, horny dog, and he frowns immediately.

“Hey,” he greets, opening his arms to you at once as soon as you wiggle through the other minglers between you. You fall into them and sigh in relief, so happy to see him that you stand on your tiptoes and plant a warm kiss to his stubbled cheek.

“Hey,” you return, pulling back and looking up at him with a smile. His eyes are still locked on Brad, who has stopped in his tracks but not walked away. “Brad here spilled some of his drink on me by accident but doesn’t seem to think I’m capable of cleaning up myself.”

“Nah, I was just gonna make you a drink, babe, remember?” he slurs, narrowing his beady blue eyes at Grayson, like there’s even an ounce of intimidation behind them.

Grayson scoffs, and shifts so he’s squared up with Brad. He keeps his arm slung over your shoulder to hold you against him protectively, and you hold onto the hand of that arm with one of yours while you wrap your other arm around his back. Both of you glare at him. “Okay Brad, first of all, don't fucking call her that. Second, what decade are you living in? What girl nowadays is gonna take a drink from a random, sketchy guy she doesn’t know? Walk away and leave us alone, please.”

“What, is she your girlfriend, bro?”

“Yeah, she is,” he retorts without hesitation. Your heart drops, and you look up at him with surprise. His jaw is set tight and it makes his profile even sexier than usual. “Go be creepy with your own friends now. And leave the other poor girls at this party alone.”

Grayson looks down at you and cups your cheek. This whole lie has caught you completely off-gaurd, but you’re catching on to what he’s doing. You nod nearly imperceptibly in consent, and Grayson dips down to capture your lips in his for the first time ever. They're warm, soft, pliant, and perfectly insistent against yours. If Grayson is capable of anything chaste, this is it, but there’s still a heat behind it you’re all-too familiar with. This isn’t a ploy kiss; there’s something there, and neither of you are able to stop now that you’ve started.

You trace the seam of his lips with your tongue to beg entry, and he opens willingly. His hand slips from your cheek to the back of your head, clutching a handful of your hair and tipping your head back to allow himself better access to your mouth as his tongue takes dominance, just how you imagined it would so many times late at night.

“Uh, Grayson?”

Both of you are startled apart, and jerk your heads to the female voice just a couple feet away that had interrupted you. Brad is gone, but a beautiful dark-skin girl with piercing eyes the color of cinnamon stands there with her arms crossed and a perfectly done brow arched high on her forehead. Clearly, you had interrupted them first.

“Nadia!” he exclaims in surprise, clearly having forgotten she was even there before he kissed you. His chest heaves as he fights to catch his breath and you blush when he swipes his thumb across a patch of your saliva clinging to his lower lip. “Sorry. I, uh --”

“You didn’t tell me you have a girlfriend.”

It hurts your heart to do it, but you look at Grayson and step away. Who knows how long he’s been talking to this girl before tonight; who are you to come between that right now?

“I’m sorry, I’m not his girlfriend. He was just helping me get rid of that gorilla that followed me in here. You know how some guys are. They respect a man’s ‘territory’ more than the girl just telling them no.”

Nadia’s pretty features soften some, and she sighs. “Yeah, tell me about it.” She looks at Grayson, standing there still somewhat sheepishly. “I have to go. Call me when you get...this sorted out.”

“I --”

“It’s okay, Gray. Trust me.” Her eyes linger back and forth over the two of you. “Figure it out, and call me.”

She leaves the two of you with a small but friendly smile that confuses you some. You heave out a sigh. The night has definitely taken a turn for the dramatic, that’s for sure.

You long for a stiff vodka soda to settle your mind, but there are too many external factors that make that a bad idea right now. You’re suddenly aware that there’s still many people in the kitchen, but they're all impervious to two random people making out next to them.

You snatch a couple cans of ginger ale off the huge collection of mixers on one of the countertops, and hand one to Grayson. He pops it open gratefully and chugs a huge swallow of it, burping into his hand. You can’t help but giggle, and take a more dainty sip of your own can. You still wish it had alcohol in it, but it’ll do.

It’s like he can read your mind, stuffing his free hand in his pocket. “You know, you can have a drink. I really don’t mind.”

You lean back against the counter and look up at him. He’s blushing, from embarrassment or arousal, you’re not sure. You know your heartbeat is still thumping in your panties at the lingering feel of his lips on yours and his hands trailing over your body. Something has inevitably shifted between the two of you, and Nadia was right: you need to figure it out.

You’re not the most outspoken person all the time, but if there’s one thing you hate more than putting yourself out there, it’s leaving heavy things up in the air. You take a deep breath and scoot a little closer to him.

“I know. I just...don’t trust myself to be even remotely tipsy around you right now.”

He looks at you, confused. “You don’t trust me?”

You suddenly remember his complete lack of experience with how alcohol can affect more than your motor movements and decision making. It’s endearing.

“I said I don’t trust myself,” you correct with a smile, reaching up to brush his flop of hair out of his eyes. “I liked that kiss. It made me want more.”

Grayson swallows. “Yeah?” he finally says, a little dumbly.

You giggle. “Yeah. Like, a lot more.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and he shuffles even closer so you’re pretty much trapped against the counter and his thick, muscular body. Despite the fact that you’d have a harder time escaping this than you did back in the living room with Brad, you feel more free and confident than ever.

“Like what?” he asks, setting his can down behind you, planting his hand on the edge of the counter next to your hip.

You smile and allow your hand to rest on one defined pec through his thin shirt. You can feel his heart beating strong and fast, matching your own. It gives you the courage to put it all out there.

“Like... take you to the car and suck your dick; like, have you fuck me once we get home.” You look up at him through your lashes, pleased to see him sufficiently flushed and flustered by your words. “Like, go on a date?”

Your fingers have trailed over the hard ridges of his abs and settled on the edge of his belt, tugging on it playfully. Grayson gasps and looks at you with wide eyes and a disbelieving smile as he snatches it away in his own, bringing your fingers to his lips. “Easy. Wow, I can’t decide which of those I want to do most.” He looks back a little and narrows his eyes. “Are you sure you’re not drunk.”

You laugh and shake your head, taking your hand out of his and wrapping it around the back of his neck. “Nope, that’s all you baby. But who says we can’t do all of those, tonight?”

Grayson smiles brightly, and interlaces your fingers. Your ginger ales get abandoned on the counter as he starts to drag you through the throngs of people. “Let’s fucking go.”

#not exactly the ask but this is what came out of it lol #grayson dolan #grayson dolan fic #ethan dolan #dolan twins #blurb #g blurb

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waywardxwords · 4 years ago

Text

Whole Again

Summary: When Crowley is holding your family hostage, you jump into gear to try to rescue them. You feel angry as Dean insists you need a plan before rushing in. Your feelings are overwhelming, especially when you realize why you’re feeling the way that you do. You just want to feel whole again.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,821

Warnings: Violence, blood, vomiting (not too detailed), severe sadness/despair, swearing, and fluffiness (bc I don’t know any other way lol)

The engine of your 1969 Mercury Cougar roared against the asphalt as you drove down some one-lane highway in the middle of some rural town in Kansas. You pressed your foot even further on the accelerator, not minding the speed limit. You didn’t care; there wasn’t enough time.

Your eyes watched the path in front of you, bathed in the light from your headlights. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed your cell phone screen light up—the buzz from it vibrating, slightly noticeable against the vinyl seat upholstery.

Without even looking at the ID, you knew who it was. You reached for the device and slid to answer—this was the fifth time he had called. He wasn’t going to stop until you obliged. “What?” You barked into the receiver of the phone.

“Y/N, listen to me,” Dean Winchester breathed into the phone. “You have to turn around. We need a plan. You can’t just barge in there.” You could tell he was doing everything he could to remain calm and collected; must be nice, you thought to yourself. He doesn’t have a horse in this race, so of course he wants to play it safe.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Dean,” you spat back. Your eyes blurred from the angry tears that had pooled there. You blinked—hard—to will them away. Instead, they escaped through the corners of your eyes and trailed down your face. You didn’t care.

“Dammit, Y/N,” all bets were off, and Dean had returned to his angsty, gruff self. “This is a trap, and you know it.”

“Do you really think I’m that stupid? Of course, it’s a trap, Dean! But what the hell am I supposed to do?! You tell me what you would do in this situation if it were Sam,” your words dripped with bitterness, but again—you didn’t care. The emotions in you ranged from anger to annoyance to disappointment—you had trusted him, and now you felt like a fool.

“Y/N…” he trailed off.

“Exactly. You can’t tell me, because you would be doing exactly what I’m doing,” there was a fierceness behind your words that Dean hadn’t heard before. “You made your choice to stay. And you know what? That’s fine; that’s on you. I don’t even care anymore,” you tried to make your voice sound strong and sure. You wanted him to believe every word, even though you knew there was no truth to it. You did care. You cared so much it hurt physically.

“So what are you gonna do, then? Just walk in there, guns blazing? Hope you can take out a few demons before Crowley puts you out of your misery?” If he had been hurt by the words you had said, he wasn’t showing it.

You blinked against the tears a few times; the grip of your left hand tightened on the steering wheel. “I’m going to give him the tablet.” You pulled the phone away from your face and quickly hit ‘End’ before tossing it back on the passenger seat beside you.

-----

You weren’t sure how long it had been, exactly. You couldn’t be sure how many times you had lost consciousness at this point, but it was certainly more than once. You blinked against the darkness; your hands still secured behind your back. The ropes were still tied firmly around your ankles, making it impossible for you to budge.

Eyes closed tightly, you tried to remember what had happened—how you had gotten here. You were certain you could’ve used the tablet as leverage. Crowley would accept the tablet and in return, he would release you and your family—unharmed, back to normal.

“Ah, she’s awake,” a bright light snapped on overhead—it blinded you for a moment. You blinked against it, aggressively squinting to make out Crowley and two men in suits. Your jaw tightened as you struggled against the ropes on your wrists. Bile crept from the pit of your stomach up towards your esophagus; it burned the base of your throat. “Morning, Sunshine.”

“Where are they?” You found your voice. You were disappointed by how weak it sounded. You had been hurt—you could feel the leftover gashes in your skin. Your face felt tight, so you knew there had to be dried blood there.

Crowley looked around the warehouse as he played dumb. “Who? Mummy and Daddy? Your baby sister?” He asked coyly. You grinded your teeth, your jaw ached from the pain. It wasn’t even the physical pain. The pain in your chest as you assumed the worst about your family.

“Y/N?” You heard a soft voice come from behind you. Crowley took six steps towards you and strongly lifted your chair to turn you towards the voices. There in front of you were three different racks, of sorts. You imagined these were like the racks in Hell—the racks that Dean had described in painful detail one night when you both had gotten carried away drinking.

On the first one, your father. His arms pulled back to each corner of the rack; his legs tied in the same fashion at the bottoms of the rack—spread out like an ‘X’. His head was down, and you knew he was unconscious. Blood dripped from his head—a pool of crimson red forming below him on the concrete floor. He had wounds all over his body. You couldn’t make out what was cut versus blood from other injuries.

On the second, your mother. She seemed to be awake, but barely. Her eyes were tiny slits—squinting towards you. You swallowed past the lump in your throat as you realized she was trying to determine if you were real or just a figment of her imagination. Blood caked her hair—it had already matted in places. Her body was leaning forward, pulling her away from the rack. Your eyes were drawn to her wrists, which were being cut by the cuffs around them as gravity pulled her body forward.

And then the third rack—the rack with your baby sister. She was only two years younger than you, but you still referred to her as your baby sister. She was the one who had called your name out. She, too, was strung up just like your parents. But her core muscles allowed her to hold herself up. You could tell she was terrified—the panic made her arms move and pull at the cuffs holding her against the rack. She writhed against the metal. It made the bile bubbling like boiling acid in your stomach unavoidable. In a quick motion, you leaned to your right and your entire body heaved.

Crowley looked down at the floor, a grimace pulled over his face. And in one quick motion, his hand slapped across your face. It was such a hard slap, you were certain you had the outline of a handprint in its wake. “You dumb bitch, you yakked on my shoes!”

Your eyes glazed over; you didn’t care about the pain, or the smell of the bile. You couldn’t get past the smell of blood, and the way your sister looked at you. “Y/N,” she repeated, this time she choked out a sob. “W-What’s happening?”

Before you could speak, Crowley moved towards her. “Your sister,” he started as he paced in front of her rack. “…let’s just say she has poor decision-making skills. She had a choice,” he glanced back at you as he continued. “And she chose a Moose and a Squirrel.”

Your sister looked confused, and you didn’t blame her. You closed your eyes and dropped your head, but only for a moment. Your memories began to come back. “Crowley, I gave you the tablet! What more do you want from me?” You sounded desperate, but you couldn’t help it.

In just a few swift steps, Crowley was back in front of you. The breeze from his speed made you blink as he held onto the armrests of your chair and leaned as close to your face as possible without touching. “I WANTED THE WINCHESTERS!” He screamed.

You couldn’t help but close your eyes again. “They aren’t coming!” You screamed back. “I told you, I came here alone.”

Crowley stepped back once more and it was then that you realized he had a blade in his hand. “And that’s why we’re here, puppet. That’s why we’re all here. Mummy, Daddy, little sister…”

Your eyes were glued to him as he walked slowly—so slowly, you felt like he could almost be moving backwards. It sounded so far away as you heard your sister scream. Was he really walking that slowly, or was your mind playing tricks on you? Your sister just kept screaming over and over again—blood curdling. You realized your eyes had glazed over again and you weren’t even seeing clearly. And that was when one of Crowley’s pawns put his hands on your head and turned it towards where Crowley stood in front of your sister.

You watched. He took the blade in his hand and drove it straight into her gut—her eyes were widened in horror, her mouth agape. Blood began to slowly flood her mouth and drip down to the floor. Her body was no longer able to hold her against the rack, and she fell forward—only caught by cuffs that wrapped her wrists and ankles.

“You can thank your big sis for that,” Crowley muttered loud enough for you to hear. In a swift movement, he twisted the blade completely until her head fell forward and you knew she was gone. He pulled the blade out and with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket, he wiped it down. “Are we having fun yet?” He turned back to you with an evil smile spread across his lips.

Your heart pounded so hard against the wall of your chest, you were certain it would thump right out of your body. But yet you wouldn’t scream. You couldn’t move. For the first time in a long time, there were no heroes. There was no saving.

One by one, Crowley made it down the line. Putting your family out of their misery. You winced with each slice—you believed something in you to be broken, as you couldn’t get out a reaction. But then you realized your face was wet, and you thought you could hear your own voice echoing off of the concrete walls of the warehouse. Maybe you were screaming, after all.

And finally, Crowley sauntered over to you. Your eyes felt heavy—like you were tired. You summed it up to a combination of the blood loss and watching your entire family be slaughtered while you sat there, unable to move.

You closed your eyes as he stood in front of you. You waited…would there be pain? Was there really a bright light? Would a Reaper come for you?

Crowley cleared his throat in front of you, causing you to open your eyes. “Here’s the deal, love,” he looked down into your eyes. “I’m going to let you sit here and stew in your own juices. I want you to feel the pain…just watching your family’s meat suits rot. And when the Winchesters inevitably show up, you tell them Crowley would like a word.” He whispered the last part so close to your ear it made the hair stand up on the back of your neck. With a snap of his fingers, he disappeared into thin air.

And so you sat there.

Screams fell from your lips, but there was no one around to hear. Your eyes were forced to look at the bodies—this blood was on you. Your family’s blood was on you. You couldn’t save them. You could pray to Cas, but you didn’t want to. You hoped more than anything you had ever hoped for before that your blood would seep out onto the concrete floor around you, and a Reaper would come for you. Maybe you’d get lucky and it would be Tessa. She seemed pleasant…for a Reaper, anyway.

You closed your eyes. It was better than the alternative.

-------

You blinked. Once, twice…three times. Voices, you heard voices again. You had come to accept that it was your mind playing tricks on you—hallucinations, you assumed. Probably from the blood loss.

“Hey, Y/N…you hear me?” Someone was in your face. Your hallucinations were…touching you? That didn’t seem right. Then again, you had never been on the edge of death before. So you guessed it could be possible. “Sammy, she’s waking up.”

The Winchesters? You were on the brink of death and your mind decided to hallucinate the Winchesters?

Your eyes were thin slits at this point—sunken in. Your hair was matted with blood, but you felt their hands on your face, your head, your torso. Someone—Sam, you thought—had his fingers working quickly on your wrists.

“Go…away…” you muttered in between raspy breaths. You tasted blood—you weren’t sure if it was from a strand of hair that had slipped in between your lips, or if you had internal bleeding that was making its way up your throat. You didn’t care.

“Y/N, stay with me, okay? We’re gonna get you out of here.” Dean said as he tried to keep eye contact with you. “Cas!” He practically growled. He looked up to the ceiling—waiting.

A bright light surrounded you in the room—standing before you was Cas, trench coat and all. Your eyes lulled back again, you anticipated to pass out once more. You felt arms around your middle and your head cradled in a shoulder—you knew that shoulder. It belonged to Dean.

“Fix her…please,” you felt the rumble in his chest as the words fell from his lips. You knew you weren’t lucid, but you could have sworn you sensed a hint of begging. The Dean Winchester you knew didn’t beg.

“Don’t,” even in your haze, the word slipped between your lips.

“Y/N,” Cas approached you carefully. His eyes moved over you as he assessed the damage. “If I do not heal you, you will die.”

You remained silent. Cas looked between you and Dean. “Cas!” Dean barked once more.

Within seconds, the light was brightening around you—blinding you. You squinted against it. You willed your body to writhe away from him and fall on the nearest blade. But it was too late.

The physical pain suddenly began to fade until it was gone. No open wounds, no more seeping blood. “Her injuries are healed,” Cas explained. “But it will take some time for her blood levels to normalize.” You noticed there was still ringing in your ears, and you felt a bit dizzy. But all things considered, it could have been so much worse. But that made your heart sink.

“Fuck you, Dean,” you muttered as you shoved with all the strength you had at his chest.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his eyes closed for a second. You moved to stand but felt lightheaded. In trying to find your way back to your seat, you almost fell. Dean caught you just before you hit the ground. “Alright, Speed Demon. Take it easy.” With one arm around your back, he dipped the other behind your knees as he lifted you bridal-style. “Dean Winchester, put me down right now,” you muttered through gritted teeth.

“I can throw you over my shoulder, if you want,” he smirked. The smirk…you wanted to slap it off of his face. It took everything in you not to.

“Put…me…down,” your teeth were so gritted now you thought they might break. “I’m not kidding, Dean.” You shoved at his chest and managed to wiggle from his grasp. He held his hands up in defeat. You slowly made your way to the exit of the building and realized it had started to rain.

The gravel was wet. You were thankful it was gravel, your shoes seemed to grip it a bit better. One slow step at a time, you passed the Impala and just kept walking. The darkness was overwhelming as you moved away from the yellow street light positioned just outside the warehouse and kept moving. You didn’t know where you were going. As soon as you hit grass, you fell to your knees. A bubble formed in the pit of your stomach; you felt it roll up your body until it rumbled out of your mouth as a sob.

Your face was wet—a mixture of tears and rain. You heard the gravel shift behind you and knew he was there. You closed your eyes and bowed your head, your knees soaking through from the wet grass.

He didn’t say anything, he just kneeled directly beside you. You saw his head duck as he tried to capture his thoughts.

“Y/N—” you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else.

“Shove it, Dean,” you cut him off, your words bitter. “Nothing you say…” you mumbled in between sobs. “…nothing you say can fix this.”

He cleared his throat. “I know that,” his voice was a little louder as the rain pelted down around you. The droplets bounced angrily off of the metal roof behind you. He stayed silent. The rain inspired you to pour everything out.

“If you and Sam had come with me,” you shook your head as the tears continued to fall. “It just…we could have stopped Crowley, Dean! We could have done it! Every, fucking hunt you find—I follow you blindly.” You didn’t mean for your words to sound as angry as they did; or maybe you meant every emotion behind them. You didn’t care. “Every time, Dean. I never ask any questions. I trust you and I go.”

Silence.

The only sound that filled your ears was the continued fall of the rain, and your heavy sobs. You managed to turn your head to look at him. You couldn’t be certain, but his face was covered with water—was he…crying?

You had never seen Dean Winchester cry, so you really didn’t know what to make of it. Before you could do or say anything, you felt a sadness in your heart. But it wasn’t from having witnessed your family be brutally murdered before your eyes…no, that was a feeling of despair; the worst pain you had ever felt in your life. This was sadness. Sadness for your friend—the man you had grown to care for, though he didn’t know it.

“Dean,” you started. You were mad at yourself—you were supposed to be pissed off at this man sitting next to you. You should have been seeing red. But you couldn’t. You had to make sure he was okay.

“Y/N, I am so…so sorry,” he breathed out as he wiped at his face. He tried to rid his face of the tears and the rain drops as they mixed together. “I thought that we had time. I thought we could…” he trailed off as you watched his eyes move over the strands of grass in front of you as he searched for the words. “…come up with a plan. I had no idea this would happen.”

Silence again, your eyes closed as more tears slipped through your eyelids. “Of course, you didn’t know,” you finally breathed out. Desperation set in as you realized this wasn’t Dean’s fault. You wanted someone to blame; you didn’t know what to do, what to say, where to go. “I don’t have anywhere to go anymore. My family is gone; I have no one.” The words fell from your lips as quickly as they entered your brain—you hadn’t even realized you were talking out loud until Dean moved on his knees until he was in front of you and his hands were on either side of your face.

You felt the calloused pads of his thumbs swipe under your burning eyes, his wrists moved to lift your gaze to meet his. “You have us, Y/N. You have…you have me,” he said so softly you weren’t sure you had heard him. “We will always be your family. Always, do you hear me?”

Your eyes scrunched closed as you cried. You brought your hands up to his and held on for dear life. You were grasping at anything at this point; it felt as though you were drowning.

“I can’t do this anymore, Dean,” you mumbled as you slowly opened your eyes to look at him—desperation.

He swallowed and nodded as he pulled his hands back. “I understand if you don’t want to stay with us,” he nodded, like he was trying to convince himself that he truly understood.

“No, Dean…this. Life, how am I supposed to even keep going?” Had you heard yourself speak this way a day ago, you would have been disgusted with yourself and how weak you sounded. But it was different now, and you didn’t care.

“Listen to me,” he reached for your face again—his eyes bore into yours. “It’s not easy, and I get that. The shitty part about life and what we do, is that we lose people. It happens way too often, and it never gets easier,” he said firmly. “But what you’re gonna do is come back to the bunker, get some rest and let us help you.”

The tears continued to fall—at this point, you had no idea how there were any tears left. But you were too tired and weak to fight him. Dean was too strong to fight when you were operating at one hundred percent; there was no way you could fight him now.

His eyes moved between yours as he studied your features. When he realized there was no longer resistance, he stood up from his spot on the grass and leaned down. He scooped you up into his arms—one arm behind your back and the other behind your knees. The exhaustion was overpowering as your head hit his shoulder and you closed your eyes. The rain continued to beat against your hot flesh.

Sam opened the passenger door to the Impala while Dean helped you sit up. He grabbed your keys and tossed them to Sam. After closing your door, he had a few words with Sam before getting in the driver��s side. There were no words; just the hum of the engine as Dean drove you back to the bunker.

-----

Back at the bunker, numbness had set in. You had always heard of the Stages of Grief, but you never imagined going through them.

You felt tears bubble again; dammit. You hated crying—everything about it. The emotion, in general, but then also the congestion, the swollen eyes, the overall puffiness in your face. Dean had you on the edge of the bed facing the wall of your room in the bunker, he had just kneeled down in front of you. His eyes looked over your face and you could tell: Dean Winchester was trying to fix you. But there was no fixing this unless he found away to reverse time or bring your family back.

“Hey,” he breathed. His thumb ran small circles over your denim covered knee. “Listen, I know you’re going through it right now…” he trailed off. “But you’ve gotta get out of those wet clothes. You’re cold, you gotta get changed.” You could tell his brain was picking each word so carefully, which wasn’t very Dean Winchester-esque.

You hadn’t realized you were cold until you noticed your body was physically shaking. “I don’t care.” You breathed.

“Dammit, Y/N,” he muttered and stood up. His jaw tightened as he tried to control his frustration. He rubbed his hand over his face as he paced around your bedroom, one hand in his jean’s pocket, the other over his mouth, resting on his chin.

“I’m too tired, Dean. I just…I can’t,” you begged the tears to stop falling, but your body wasn’t listening. He turned back to you and you could see the sadness wash over his features.

“Well, will you let me help you?” He asked, calmer now as he realized you were just mentally and physically done.

You shuddered at the thought, but this time it wasn’t from the chill of the air on your wet clothes. This was something much deeper; something that had developed months ago but you had worked so hard to push out of your heart. You didn’t have the will to fight it anymore. You nodded carefully, a small nod—but you had been sure he had seen it.

His eyes watched yours and he nodded; he moved towards the dresser and retrieved a pair of pajama pants and an over-sized hoodie. He brought them back to the bed and cleared his throat. You could tell he was trying to keep this as professional as possible—he just wanted to take care of you. Dean put his hand out in front of you and you carefully took it. He helped pull you to your feet so you were standing just in front of him.

“Arms up,” he whispered. You brought your arms up to about your shoulders and winced, a slight pain on your left side just under your breast. Concern covered his face as his forehead creased. “You alright?” He pulled up your shirt and identified the culprit—there was a pretty solid bruise just under your bra. “Dammit, Cas healed you…” he seemed worried.

“To be fair,” you breathed. “There were a lot of injuries to heal. One healing session might not have cut it.”

He nodded in agreement and carefully continued to help you pull off your shirt. You had forgotten that you would be standing in front of Dean with your bra fully visible. The thought made your cheeks flush with warmth as you avoided eye contact. He cleared his throat again—clearly a bit uncomfortable himself. He reached for your hoodie and slid the arms on first before pulling it over your head.

You managed a small smile as your head popped through the hole at the top of the hoodie. “Thanks, Dean.” Your words were soft, and for a moment he thought he didn’t hear you correctly.

“Don’t thank me…” his eyes moved between yours again. “I am just…Y/N, I’ll never stop being sorry.” You could see the pain in his eyes; the guilt.

“Dean, I had no right to blame you,” you shook your head. There they were again—the fucking tears. And that’s when it hit you; it all hit you square in the face. You had been so hurt when Dean wouldn’t go, because you trusted him blindly—because you loved him. You loved him, and you wanted him to love you—to trust you.

“You alright?” He watched your eyes as you contemplated all of this.

You nodded and swallowed past the lump in your throat. “I just…” you hesitated; you weren’t brave enough to confess your findings to Dean. But then again, your mind went back to your family…your loved ones. If you had learned anything tonight, it was that life is short and time is fast—and Dean had even been the one to say it; we lose people. You decided against your better judgment and just went for it. “I think I blamed you because I trusted you, and I wanted you to trust me.”

Dean had his hands on your face once more. “I do trust you, Y/N—”

You cut in before he could finish. “No, I know. But I realized I trust you so much because…because I love you.” Your eyes found his yet again. They darted quickly between his green orbs to try and get a sense for what he was thinking. But you couldn’t read him; you couldn’t tell what was happening in his brain. “And…and I wanted you to love me, too.” You prayed it didn’t sound as pathetic as it felt coming off of your lips; but, no regrets. You didn’t want to regret anything, not after tonight.

Without another word, his lips were on yours. They moved against you feverishly; it was as though he had yearned for this moment just as much as you had, if not more. One hand remained on your cheek, steadying you. The other moved to your hip and slipped under your hoodie, gently grasping onto the warm skin on your lower back to pull you closer.

He pulled back and you felt your chest heave as you came up for air. His eyes danced over yours again, this time reflecting a glint of…hope? Affection, maybe? Passion? You couldn’t be certain.

But then he licked his lips, his eyes traveled between your eyes and your now swollen lips. “I love you, too.” He murmured before his lips slowly caressed yours once more.

And in that moment, you felt whole again.

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

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I meant to finish this yesterday, but the episode last night about broke me in two and I couldn’t write. Please let me know your thoughts!! My reading requests are open (submit via the Ask Me! link on my page). Please re-blog, like, etc.! All mistakes made in this are my own, please don’t re-post anywhere off of Tumblr :)

xx S

#supernatural #supernatural one shot #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural ff #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn one shot #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester

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fizzypunks · 4 years ago

Text

its a date but its not a date

fandom: My Hero Academia/ Boku No Hero Academia word count: 3.8k/oneshot rating: t summary: hizashi takes shouta to a little festival and insists its not a date... just pure fluff bc <3

ship: Aizawa Shouta/ Hizashi Yamada | Erasermic

note: this reads better in AO3 because it keeps formatting for italics, which tumblr does not!

AO3

___

Yamada Hizashi wasn’t a timid person – it wasn’t even a quirk thing, it was just his nature, and it was something he was proud of. Sure, he’d been called loud and obnoxious, and some have been less than kind about his quirk when it’s gotten out of control. His quirk control wasn’t great for a very long time, but none of what he’d been called or heard had really changed the way he carries himself, and that includes his extroverted nature.

He was, however, a panicked person, when it came to matters of interest .

Love.

Whatever .

And, because love was the one thing that made him think twice about what he says, what he does or doesn’t do, that has landed him in the exact predicament that he’s facing right now.

Hizashi tapped his pen against his essay, the half filled pages of his stationary blurring together into a mass of lines and half-assed penmanship. He’d been staring at it for the past five minutes, when he’d given up on trying to ignore his annoying problem.

Shouta .

It’s been getting harder to ignore the stupid pull of something he’s recently identified as yearning that comes every time he thinks of his best friend. Stronger than any hurricane gale, it pulls in every thought he has until there are no more to be had. Just Shouta, and his messy hair, and the eyes he thinks are pretty despite always being so blood-shot.

Hizashi groans, faintly feeling heat spill across his cheeks. “God, why must I be so fucked?”

It’s not like he’s even asking him out on a date – no, he’s not bold enough to do that in their last year and semester of school– there’s no need for distractions like that right now, whatever outcome may or may not come from it…. no, he’s just asking to take Shouta to the Autumn festival at the park, because Shouta should do something fun and get out of his room and not explode from stress.

The poor guy has been spending all his time studying and stressing and sleeping even less , so of course Hizashi would want to help his friend out and get him to relax.

Yeah, that’s what it was – one friend asking another friend out because stress is bad.

That doesn’t change the nervous skip in his heart right now, as he sits at his desk and thinks about…

Hizashi groans again, tipping back in his chair and hooking his foot against the back of his desk so that he’s less likely to tumble. Theoretically, at least.

Why does it feel so significant right now? He’d asked Shouta to do countless things with him! He’d gotten him to agree to go to the movies a bunch of times, and to a party or two, and, most recently, he’d even been able to rope him into going to a karaoke club! He didn’t sing, they left earlier than he’d planned, but Shouta had fun!

Hizashi narrowed his eyes at the white ceiling and the ceiling fan that whirled past his vision, playing with the very edge of the wooden panel that kept him from tumbling onto his carpet.

This wasn’t supposed to mean anything, but somehow it did.

It felt like a declaration, no matter how he phrased it in his head, and he doesn’t understand the logic behind it.

Fine. Whatever! I’ll just ask, and be blunt, and do it right before I leave so there’s no room for thinking, and it’ll be okay!

Something like, “Hey, Shouta, let’s go to this festival! It’ll be so much fun! PLUS, I think you’ll look cute sharing cocoa with me!”

Hizashi’s eyes widened, his foot slipped in that one moment of lost focus, and he fell –

“ Fuck!”

It was a little too loud, bordering on quirk use, but he had other problems to think about beside that .

He rubbed the back of his head.

“Man…”

If he can’t even imagine it the right way… how was he supposed to actually ask? It would be pretty stupid to try when he knew he could act a little too carelessly and, potentially, damage the good friendship they had going on.It was probably better left un-asked.

Unsaid, un-asked, and out of mind.

It was most certainly not out of mind, that is clear.

Shouta is sitting across from him, half-mast eyes scanning the copy of his English text book in a way that looked a lot more performative than informative. Their booth was tucked more toward the back of the cafe, and it would normally be a bit more secluded and quiet, but midterms brought students from the woodwork and into any coffee-scented establishment, which their happened to be.

What great luck.

All around them was the sound of machines grinding coffee, books being shifted around, and light conversation in between bouts of half-silences – and a heavy vale of constant movement that proved to be less than ideal for studying, despite all the students trying to do just that .

It was to be expected this time of year, but it was still enough to bother Shouta. He concentrated better with silence, and he happened to be struggling a lot more on English than he does on his other subjects.

Hizashi, thankfully, understood the material enough for the both of them and then some, and already finished his homework – the papers in front of him were notes, ready to be explained the moment Shouta needed it, with hand-writing that was still pretty bad but…

For Shouta, he’d made an effort. The result was somewhat-legible scribbles lining the papers, and when he referenced it, Shouta didn’t have to ask too many questions about, “what is this right here?”

“I’m not going to pass.”

Hizashi turned his eyes to Shouta, like he hadn’t been trying to find a reason to look at him longer. He was wearing a big, thick red scarf, which his hair was somewhat tucked into. He didn’t look up, he just kept his eyes on his text book. His irises weren’t moving on the page.

“Oh man, don’t say that! How’d you think you’re gonna pass if you don’t believe in yourself?”

“It’s because I don’t believe in myself.”

Hizashi grabbed his warm cocoa and took a sip, if only to busy his hands with something . “Shouta! I don’t like this type of negativity!”

“Well, you’ve chosen the wrong friendship then.”

“Or, maybe, the right one!”

Shouta looked up, and Hizashi held his gaze. His eyes had been given a break over the past few days of written work, so the redness that often lined them was almost completely gone.

His skin looked soft too…

His hair, it was fluffy and cute, also..

“Hizashi?”

He’d been staring and not talking and he leaned back into his seat like a magnet to metal. He started laughing, holding his drink up to his face. “Well, maybe I can cheer you up! What are friends for, right? And maybe it will turn that attitude around, ya think?”

“You’re not making any sense?”

Hizashi hated that it was true but there’s no going back now – his mouth was ten steps ahead of him anyway, and not even he could stop it.

He smiled widely at Shouta. “I mean, maybe I’m here to make sure you don’t stress yourself out so much! You always do so much but never check yourself, and I’m here to fix that!”

Shouta huffed, head bobbing just a bit. Then he smirked and Hizashi had to concentrate on his breathing. “And how do you propose you’d do that?”

Oh, it was so easy – this was the opportunity the gods gave him after seeing him fall on his ass just a few days before.

Hizashi leaned forward, and set his elbows down on his notes, a hot cocoa between them. “One word. Festival .”

Shouta’s eyebrows quirked down just a bit, and he tilted his head to the side, his hair tilting with him. “Festival?”

“What do ya say? The park next to my neighborhood has one this weekend, and it’s free, and there’s food, and I really wanna go!”

Hizashi grew pink at the admission, fought against the urge to cover his mouth, but Shouta didn’t comment.

Then, a little surprisingly, instead of arguing or finding reasons why it wasn’t logical to take time away from studies so close to exams, he gave him a smile.

A small, intentional, Shouta smile. “Sure.”

Hizashi tried to not sound over-enthused – just nodded his head and almost squeezed his cup too hard. “Yes! I finally got you to agree to do something!”

“You always get me to do things.”

“Yes, and I did it again!”

Shouta rolled his eyes, and turned his attention back down to the English he’d never really understand.

Hizashi was certain he looked fine. He wasn’t sure if it was great , but it was probably fine, and whatever.

Beside, had many other things to worry about, that were a lot more important than whether or not his shirt matched his shoes. Like, for one, how he still couldn’t quite shake the feeling of significance .

It was back, that nagging intrusion into his thoughts that insisted that something was supposed to be different this time. As he looked over his outfit in his body mirror, pulling over his heavy, long jacket, he had to remind himself that there was nothing different about today. Even if he really, in his heart, wanted there to be something different.

Huh.

So maybe the difference was the amount of yearning – Hizashi sighed, thinking about his feelings last year and comparing them to now.

He huffed, a huge sigh finally making itself known.

Yeah, the feelings he had now were bigger and grander than they’d been last year and they threatened to take over his life if he let them…

Hizashi sighed, rubbed his hands over his face, and pushed his hair back only to reveal his pink, flustered expression to its fullest.

“Sweet lord, have mercy on me! I am an idiot with a crush!”

He collapsed onto his bed and waited out the last of the thirty minutes before Shouta was going to arrive at his door.

Shouta knocked, and Hizashi was already ready – his heart doing flips like he’d never experienced, but oddly enough, it didn’t feel bad. It felt exciting, and loving, and when he opened the door to the crisp autumn air, it felt like home .

Stop that!

Shouta, for all his questionable outfits, looked nice . And he always looked nice, but now he was wearing black boots, and brown khakis that somehow sort of matched Hizashi’s own, and a black tee underneath a black jacket.

He never went anywhere in the cold without a scarf, either, and today was no exception. A red variety was ceremoniously draped around his neck, loose enough to not be covering his face.

Hizashi tried not to beam, but felt the shape his eyes took at the other and knew it wasn’t working. “Ready?!” He asked, a little too loud.

“Yes… you said it was close, right? At the park?”

Hizashi nodded, stepping out and slipping his hand into a pocket to make sure he had his keys and wallet. Confirming quickly, he shut the door behind him, again, with a little too much enthusiasm.

He was buzzing . Some type of energy that he normally had built up in him, that he normally kept pretty good reins on, was taking over –

He was so excited, but, even more – he was just happy .

He looked to Shouta, and smiled, and then led the way down his steps and onto the quiet street. The sky was clear, save for some cloud further down on the horizon. The trees were starting to make themselves barren, and the smell of wood burning fires started to break out as soon as the sun hit its peak.

The neighborhood, secluded and at peace, was quiet, and Shouta walked beside him in comfort.

Hizashi never struggled to say anything, and now is no different – except it is, when he thinks he’ll say something dumb like “hey i like you so much, you make my world right, also I love you. ”

He can’t say that.

But he really, really wants to.

He’s wanted to for years, and he’s almost said it more than once, and now he’s let the silence build around them…

Shouta often takes mercy on him, and so he did it again this time. Their pace was slow and there was a little bit of space between them, and he sighs. “This is really nice.”

Hizashi smiles, keeps his eyes on the road as it winds forward. “I’m glad you think so! We’ve stressed so much, it’s a good weekend getaway, don’t you think?”

Shouta laughs – it’s more of a chuckle, but it’s a laugh where Shouta is concerned. “Yeah, you’re right. I needed this, a lot, I think…”

They reach the corner, looking for cars that weren’t coming. The crest of trees a few blocks ahead could be seen above rooftops, and that’s where Hizashi fixes his gaze. “Me too,” he says softly, and leaves it at that because he’s always on the verge of too many words.

“You seem really… energized.”

Hizashi fumbles with his hands, pretending to warm them up and not like he’s nervous. “When am I not!”

Shouta hums, and it’s so deep and close that it makes Hizashi wish he could just…

But then Shouta reaches out, and grabs at the hands Hizashi is cradling in front of him, blunt and to the point. He takes Hizashi’s left hand and slots their fingers together in his right, and Hizashi knows he can feel the clamminess…

He looks back, sputtering, his heart erratic, “Shou – wha– I’m –”

Does he know this is messing with me?

And Shouta, in that calm, stupid way he always carries himself, smiles. “Maybe that’s what I’m here for.”

He squeezes their hands, and Hizashi must look confused because Shouta laughs.

“You always try to bring me up, so I think I can help bring you calm… You seem nervous, so,” he looked at their hands, swung them just a bit for emphasis. “Calm.”

Hizashi feels every bit of himself crumble, falls away like a cliff against a storm, and smiles because it’s all he can do. He blushes and he can feel how it spreads, and he doesn’t say anything because every sentence ends in I love you .

The festival was a pleasant and home-y affair, and after they’d gotten there, they’d learned that it was quite bigger than either of them anticipated. Though it was still a neighborhood one, hosted by the local families and park itself, it was still filled to every corner.

They’d gotten there during the peak of the sun, but it quickly descended as they wove in and out of the scattered foot traffic. The air was crisper where the lake sat in the center of the park, and the trees casted half shadows around the food and merchant vendors.

They were walking around for less than an hour before the lanterns and torches were starting to light around them.

Shouta still held Hizashi’s hand, and once he’d accepted the lovely fact, he’d loosened up enough to feel like his mouth wasn’t going to get him into trouble.

“Wow! Shou! Look!” He pointed out, across the deep blue lake, to the hovering lights that surrounded it.

Shouta hummed warmly. “It looks very nice.”

Hizashi was still smiling, still enamored by the lights as they floated out across his vision – the way the cool air from the dipping sun brushed against his skin and somehow made all the warmth in him that much warmer.

He quickly cast his eyes down to Shouta, and found him looking at him.

Hizashi’s ears burned and he looked away really fast, heart thumping deep in the cage of his chest.

Oh don’t you dare say it. Don’t you DARE.

“Um…” He said softly, intentionally because otherwise his quirk might get the best of him – he didn’t know if he was embarrassed by his enthusiasm, or by the way Shouta was watching him, but it all went away when Shouta tugged them along the side of the lake.

It’s a few more moments before Hizashi gathers up the right words to say – the ones that aren’t gushy and filled with emotions he’s certain Shouta wouldn’t reflect.

“So!” He starts, looking around now that they were near the cluster of food stands. The air was filled with burning wood, meat, sauce, alive with the sound of simmering and laughter. “Want food? My treat! We can’t walk away without trying everything at least once!”

“I didn’t know you were rich enough to do that.”

Hizashi chuckled. “I’m serious, though. Whatever you want!”

Hizashi ignored the eyes tilted his way, right before leading off to Hizashi’s right. Hizashi turns around enough to look at the little stand and it’s cloth menu.

It was a takoyaki shop, with different bao, and there was no line.

Hizashi smiled, and it was his turn to tug Shouta forward. He couldn’t really look at him, not just yet any way, but he could hear the light lilt in his voice when he ordered from the kind eyed older man at the register. Hizashi made his order quickly, and paid, and they walked away with various stacks of food.

It wasn’t even a question where they’d go, and they found a spot under a tree to sit with their food.

The grass was cut, and the little hill they sat on overlooked a great deal of the sprawling festival that surrounded them. Up here, the voices that surrounded them, the chatter, the laughter that Hizashi was not interested in, was duller – muted, and when Shouta hummed in hungry appreciation at his bao, it made his heart ache all the more.

He snuck a look to his right, graced by the mercy of Shouta closing his eyes. He’d just taken a bite, had unravelled most of his scarf to do so, and was now enjoying it for all it’s worth.

Hizashi’s eyes softened at the sight.

God.

And Shouta opened his eyes, in his direction like he just knew.

Hizashi looked down and took his bao. “This looks good! I should eat like this more.”

“You should take me to more festivals, too.”

Hizashi choked a bit – he recovered fast, and cast a glance toward Shouta. “Sure thing!”

This feeling...

Maybe this is what he had been feeling – the lead up to whatever moment this was. The way Shouta really took the time to look at him, not through him. Like he was paying attention.

Maybe…

Hizashi held his oversized bao in both hands and looked forward. It suddenly didn’t feel like such a bad idea to speak. To say whatever it was that he was going to say, because for Shouta, it would always be okay…

Didn’t make him feel any more at ease, not with the stupid thought in his head that maybe he was misreading whatever today was. Who knows, maybe Shouta always paid attention to him like this? And sure, the hands thing… that was new, but maybe Shouta just really likes holding hands but he needs to be comfortable with the person, and now after three years he’s finally comfortable with Hizashi?

If you’re gonna say something…

“Hey,” he started.

Say it now.

“I’m having a really good time.”

He doesn’t take his wide, blown-out eyes from the festival. It was dark enough that every lantern stood out like little stars, and the breeze was so nice…

“If you want… we can, um, do this again. I’ll find another festival, but I can’t guarantee it’ll be free this time, but I’ll try! And I’ll see if I can sneak in some home made food too so we can spend more money on like, cute stuff from the merchants. I saw this plush down there, actually, and it was a cat , so maybe –”

No, Hizashi wasn’t a timid person – but, still , it was probably for the best that Shouta was the first one to move. He grabbed Hizashi’s hand, urging it away from the bao so that he could hold it again.

He’d pulled his attention to the forefront, and his eyes to finally meet his, and he realized that Shouta had moved so much closer…

The dark of his eyes was so close, and he was smiling …

“You talk a lot when you’re nervous.”

There wasn’t a way to hide the flush, so Hizashi looked down, feeling too open. “I’m sorry…”

He couldn’t see his eyes, but he could see his smile. “I like it, though.”

“What about if I say I like you... Will you still like it?”

Please…!

Shouta didn’t leave him any time to doubt.

“It makes it a lot easier… for me to say I like you, too… yeah, I’d like it…”

Hizashi’s entire body was fireworks – explosions and exclamations and that same buzzing energy that gripped him every time he thought of Shouta. He grinned, and looked up to see Shouta was just as embarrassed and flustered as he was.

He’d normally have to look away, but he assumed he had permission now, and…

God you’re so pretty…

His eyes, his eyelashes, the way his eyes bend against his smile and how he’d never seen him smile like this before…

Hizashi abandoned the bao in his lap and pushed away the hair that framed his face, slowly, not sure if it was too much to hold his face –

“I’m – I’m sorry, can I?”

Shouta nodded. “And you can kiss me too, in case you weren’t sure…”

That was all the reason he needed.

He’d had so many reasons, so many countless reasons he loved him...

He cupped his jaw, still acutely aware of the way Shouta was still holding on to his hand in the grass –

It was cold, that was true, but right now he was warm with nerves and excitement and love , and he leaned in –

His breath, so warm –

His lips, so soft –

And neither of them were particularly experienced or daring, so after a few seconds when he finally parted their lips just a bit, they pulled away, just enough to speak.

“Mmm, you taste like bao,” he said, and then wished someone was there in his brain to stop whatever dumb shit was trying to get out.

Shouta just laughed. “So do you.”

The rest of their night was spent on that hill, kissing and talking and, eventually, finishing their food. When they finally left, Hizashi found that plush cat at the vendor near the entrance of the park and gave it to Shouta. Shouta blushed, and Hizashi glowed with comfortable warmth, glad that he can now get cute things for his boyfriend.

#erasermic #yamada hizashi #aizawa shouta #aizawa #writing #oneshot #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #long post #xpost #prompted for fluff and autumn...#my discord server is so nice ahhh #fluff

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sebastien-le-booker · 4 years ago

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I just finished reading six of crows, for the second time and despite the fact that i knew what was gonna happen, it still was a rollercoaster and my heart was broken and i cried and uuuuuuuuuuuurrrgrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgqhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

so, i decided to make a post with my favorite quotes and parts. again, english is not my first language, the book is not in english, so some of the quotes will be translated by me and google translate.

Also, i decided to post this again bc it doesn’t show up in the tags anymore and it kinda took me a while to edit this because of how “amazing” tumblr works...

"We'll be kings and queens Inej. Kings and queens"

“I’m going to get my money, Kaz vowed. And I’m going to get my girl”

Those 2 are probably my favorite and idk why but they are. the one with kings and queens just feels so full of hope and i loved how kaz said those words, i just absolutely love it.

and what got me at the second one, was the “I’m going to get my girl” Despite how difficult it is for him to admit his feelings for Inej, even to himself tbh, right now, nothing else matters but “his girl”. The money might matter, but i think that is more about the fact that he got screwed over and you don’t screw over Kaz, but it’s his girl that matters the most.

“Scheming face. Jesper whispered to Inej.

She nodded. ‘Definitely”

From the same category “Kaz and his scheming face”

“Kaz looked south toward Ketterdam’s harbors. The beginnings of an idea scratched at the back of his skull, an itch, the barest inkling. It wasn’t a plan, but it might be the start of one. He could see the shape it would take—impossible, absurd, and requiring a serious chunk of cash.

‘Scheming face,’ murmured Jesper.

‘Definitely,’ agreed Wylan.”

I love Jesper and Inej and now Wylan being familiar with Kaz scheming face, for me this is sort of like they paid enough attention to Kaz to know what some of his expressions mean and i love the part where it is described how an idea is starting to crawl inside Kaz head. I love it because it was mentioned a lot of the times how smart kaz is, and we see him talk about how he learnt all those tricks from the magicians and set up the plan for breaking into the ice court but now, it’s like we’re inside his brain and we slightly see how it works.

“Fine. But if Pekka Rollins kills us all, I’m going to get Wylan’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.”

“I’ll just hire Matthias’ ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.”

“My ghost won’t associate with your ghost. Matthias said primply, and then wondered if the sea air was rotting his brain”

“’When we get our money, you can burn kruge to keep you warm.’

‘I'm going to pay someone to burn my kruge for me.’

‘Why don't you pay someone else to pay someone to burn your kruge for you? That's what the big players do.’

‘Want me to tell you what real players do?’ Jesper said. ‘The pay someone to pay someone else to…’”

I love these scenes because they’re just sweet, casual moments between them and I’m wondering how many conversations like these did they have and how does a conversation like this sounds for an outsider dhsjldfjs

“’I’ll get us out. You know that.’

Tell me you know that. He needed her to say it. (...) He needed to know that she believed he could do this (...) He needed to know she believed in him.”

“He turned his head. They were sitting close together, their shoulders nearly touching. (...) he thought, What happens if i move closer?

‘I don’t want your prayers’ he said

‘What do you want, then?’

(...) a different reply roared to life inside him, loud, insistent, unwelcomed. You, Inej. You“

“Because I’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to you for two days”

“You okay? Inej asked and Kaz felt himself drawn toward her voice like water rolling down hill.”

“Kaz took her hand.

‘Inej, he said, his finger stroking her wrist. ‘If we don’t get out alive tonight, I want you to know that…’

Inej was waiting. She felt hope opening its wings inside of her, ready to fly if Kaz would push it with the right words (…). She lifted her hand and touched Kaz cheek. (…) Inej cupped his cheek in her palm.

‘If we don’t get out of here alive, I’ll die with no regrets, Kaz. Can you say the same thing?’

She could see it took every last bit of his terrible will for him to remain still beneath her touch. And yet, he did not pull away. She knew it was the best he could offer”

"He had felt horror and compulsion, but in spite of the chaos that had taken over them, he had also felt a desire that had remained imprinted in his soul, the hope that it would touch him again."

“’You shouldn’t make friends with crows.’

‘Why not?’

He’d looked up from his desk to answer, but whatever he’d been about to say had vanished on his tongue.

The sun was out for once, and Inej had turned her face to it. Her eyes were shut, her oil-black lashes fanned over her cheeks. The harbor wind had lifted her dark hair, and for a moment Kaz was a boy again, sure that there was magic in this world.

‘Why not?’ she’d repeated, eyes still closed.

He said the first thing that popped into his head. ‘They don’t have any manners.’

‘Neither do you, Kaz.’ She’d laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and got drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him.”

“Kaz seized her hand, keeping it on the railing. He didn’t look at her. ‘Stay,’ he said, his voice rough stone. ‘Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me.’

He took a breath. ‘I want you to stay. I want you to … I want you.’

‘You want me.’ She turned the words over. Gently, she squeezed his hand. ‘And how will you have me, Kaz?’

‘How will you have me?’ she repeated. ‘Fully clothed, gloves on, your head turned away so our lips can never touch?’

Speak, she begged silently. Give me a reason to stay. For all his selfishness and cruelty, Kaz was still the boy who had saved her. She wanted to believe he was worth saving, too.”

“But he could think only about Inej. Inej had to live. She must’ve escaped the Ice Court. And if she hadn’t, Kaz had to survive to save her”

All of these are all the moments they could have confessed their feelings for each other and some of the moments Kaz thought that Inej is the reason for which the sun still rises and there’s still some good left in the world. Poor boy is trying really hard sometimes but considering the things he’s been through it’s understandable that he doesn’t know how to say how he feels and that he’s probably afraid. But I also understand Inej and why she said “and how will you have me kaz? Fully clothed with your gloves on?” she wants more than what kaz can offer her at the moment but at the same time she also doesn’t exactly blame him and understands that it’s what he can right now.

Honestly, Kaz is “an idiot sandwich”, unable of showing appreciation like a functional person, but I think, the fact that he lets Inej into her office to feed the crows, or takes off his gloves and shirt when she’s around, it shows how much trust there is between them and understanding. I know they’re not perfect, but I love them both as individual characters and how they are together.

I love the hints to shadow and bone trilogy like:

“I could read to you if i had anything to read. There’s a Heartrender at the Little Palace who can recite epic poetry for hours. Then you’d wish you had died.”

We all know this is about Tolya, who I love very much and I love how everyone seems to be annoyed by his poems and makes them wanna die just so they won’t have to hear them, but that doesn’t stop him.

Or, how Nina says that people in Ravka are starting to question the existence of the saints and that maybe they were just some powerful Grisha bc look at Sankta Alina… she was no saint and she had the same thought about the saints after finding out that Sankt Ilya was just a Grisha.

“Toffee?

Her eyes slid away guilty. ‘Kaz said to pack what we needed for the journey. ‘A girl has to eat”

My girl considers toffee as being essentials and I couldn’t agree more with her. I’ll forever be grateful for having a character like Nina.

“I can tell you’ve never picked a pocket.’

‘And i can tell you’ve never given enough thought to your haircut. Kaz frowned and ran a self-conscious hand along the side of his head ‘There’s nothing wrong with my haircut that can’t be fixed by four million kruge”

Idk what I think it’s funnier, Nina picking up on Kaz hair or him being embarrassed by it. She knew how her words would affect kaz and she went for it

“Inej heard a grunt and then a loud whump as Nina hit the bottom of the shaft like a sack of laundry. Inej winced”

“ Jesper like a limber insect, Wylan in stops and starts, wiggling like a caterpillar trying to make its way out of a cocoon.”

Yeah, ok Inej, sorry not all of us are as good as you at landings and jumping from buildings and all of that… I love that both of these are from Inej pov because this is her thing and she notices

“We'll see what's in store for us tonight, Matthias thought. It's true that tricks are not my language, but I might learn them in the end. "

Uhm… is this the moment this boy started to accept that the Dregs are not That bad and being anything other than a Fjerdan and living your life slightly differently isn’t a crime? *growth*

“’And you're right. I have no right to judge you.’

‘Don't start doing this.’

‘What?’

‘Agree with me. It's a sure way to dying.’

‘I don't like the idea of killing people, either. I don't even like chemistry.’

‘What do you like?’

‘Music. Numbers. Equations. They're not like words. They ... they don't get mixed up.’

‘If only you could talk to girls in equations.’

There was a long silence, and then, eyes trained on the notch they'd created in the link, Wylan said, ‘Just girls?’

Jesper restrained a grin. ‘No. Not just girls.’ It really was a shame they were all probably going to die tonight.”

Two things, Jepser, honey, Wylan will start agreeing with you and it will not lead to anything bad but actually something beautiful called love and you will spend the rest of your lives together and will be happy and in love for the rest of time.

Second thing, I love the “what a shame we could die tonight cause you and I could have so much fun together, oh boy, you’ve got no idea, the things we could do”

“Had he just killed two of his kind? Jesper had only wanted to survive. He thought of tthe banner on the wall, all those strips of red, blue and purple. He felt dizzy and confused. He knew the others were counting on him. He had to move on. But he felt that he had left a part of him in the yard, something he had not even known was important to him, something impalpable like fog. "

This made me cry so hard because, yes, Jesper has problems, it’s obvious from the first moment he’s introduced, but I don’t think he’s entirely aware of his problems and if he is, he is avoiding them and I don’t think he actually tries to understand why he enjoys the things that he does. In this scene, tho he is actually affected by what’s happening, he is visibly shaken up. He is a lot of things and I think this is the moment that he actually understands what his power means, why the other Grisha are choosing to use their powers and fight against the people that want to hurt them for their powers and that simply choosing not to use his powers, deny that he’s a Grisha, maybe is not an option anymore.

#six of crows #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #nina zenik #wylan van eck #matthias helvar #soc mine

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shelbyfm · 5 years ago

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sorry this is late babes ! i got busier than i thought i was going to so without further ado i’ll put the cliff notes version of sy shelby’s starling existence under the cut and you know what to do from there ! 🖤 but if you’re gonna slide into my dms do it on scarlet bc that’s where i am on mobile !

jack gilinsky. cismale. he/his. ／ josiah shelby just pulled up blasting st tropez by post malone — that song is so them ! you know, for a twenty - four year old center fielder for the los angeles dodgers, i’ve heard they’re really -abrasive, but that they make up for it by being so +audacious. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say the creak of a well - worn leather glove, shotgunning another cheap beer just to feel alive, and the taste of copper on your tongue. here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble !

. ⊹ ┈ › 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒 .

NAME : josiah david shelby .

BREAKDOWN : josiah ( god supports , heals ) david ( beloved )

NICKNAMES : sy , jd , josie ( finn only tbh ) , shelbz , shel-bay , bay .

AGE : twenty - four .

BIRTHDAY : november twenty - third .

ZODIAC : scorpio & sagittarius cusp .

GENDER : male .

PRONOUNS : he / him .

NATIONALITY : american .

ETHNICITY : english , french , italian .

HOGWARTS HOUSE : hufflepuff .

MBTI : estp ( the persuader )

INSPIRATIONS : lucas scott ( one tree hill ) , adam parrish ( the raven cycle ) , nick miller ( new girl ) , ron swanson and andy dwyer ( parks & rec ) , adam groff ( sex education ) .

HOBBIES / SPECIAL SKILLS : baseball , procrastination , midnight snacks , getting the last word , saucy brow lifts , sleeping in , running away from his problems , hitting first and asking questions later , developing newer and more creative defense mechanisms .

VICES ; acerbic , brash , careless , cataclysmic , defiant , duplicitous , destructive , greedy , ignorant , meddlesome , narcissistic , obnoxious , provocative , reckless , selfish , troublesome , vain , volatile , wanton .

VIRTUES : athletic , challenging , charismatic , curious , debonair , forthright , fun - loving , intrepid , invulnerable , jocular , loves his sister so much he could die , loyal , passionate , playful , protective , witty .

PINTEREST : xx

˚ . ⊹ ┈ › 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 .

sy was born poorer than poor and spent his formative years watching his grandmother do her very best to keep the dust from coating everything in their ramshackle little trailer in oklahoma .

his mother wasn’t around much . after running away to chase after one band or another and coming home with her waistline significantly thickened , she didn’t much take to motherhood , not when running off to the nearest dive bar or casino to spend whatever meager paycheck she could scrounge up was just so tempting .

in fact , sy’s memories of her are often fleeting . she was a whirlwind of a woman , beautiful despite the hard life she led , but in and out the door too fast for him to ever really get to know her . and after some of his grandmother’s jewelry ended up in the pawn shop twenty miles up the road she didn’t come around the house anymore when she found the locks changed .

sy’s grandmother , affectionately known as nan , did her best to raise her grandson better than she had raised her daughter . though truth be told , the practice wasn’t much different , his mother had just been a bit of a bad seed .

religion and discipline were a staple and so every sunday found the pair walking to the church in their parish to give thanks and receive the blessing , a tradition that sy hasn’t kept up with since her death but i’m getting ahead of myself .

his nan made a modest living for where they lived , she wasn’t spoiling the boy but it was enough to put food on the table and get them to and from where they needed to go .

he had a few close friends in the neighborhood and they usually got together in the evenings to play whatever games they could , sometimes soccer with a ball that looked like you could put your foot through it , or basketball on the single hoop with no net that was somehow still standing in the local “ park ” . summers were spent walking down to the pond that passed for a swimming hole to get some sort of relief from the heat .

he picked up a job at one of the local motor shops to help with the bills , though his nan insisted he spend his time working on his schoolwork first . he’d still slip a portion of what he came home with into her purse when she wasn’t looking .

he played sports in school , their community doing what they could to scrounge up funds for a ramshackle team for each sport . he primarily ran track and cross country ( in a uniform that looked like it was straight out of an 80′s movie and felt like it too ) . he was a decent hurdler and the fact that he usually walked everywhere he needed to get gave his stamina a certain edge on the kids who were better off . but his true passion was baseball . sy could write poetry about the diamond , and most of the assignments he managed to turn in involved the sport somehow . ( he almost got caught cheating once when he turned in a paper that wasn’t about it but he’s always been lucky af )

their school team wasn’t anything special . they played with heart and had fun doing it but they were never going to make it to state with nothing short of a miracle even though it was clear sy ( and a couple of his buddies ) had the potential to be more than just has - beens who got stuck living in their hometown for the rest of their lives . during sy’s eighth grade year , his junior high team made a pretty valiant push and made it to the regional championship but they were simply out - spent by some of the other teams and came home disappointed .

someone must have recognized sy though , because a few weeks later a letter arrived from one of the elite baseball camps in the country stating that he had been sponsored to attend for the summer . his friends were excited for him and it was probably the best summer of his life , but tensions rapidly grew sour when he returned home , after all , none of them had been granted such an opportunity and they wondered what made him so special where they weren’t .

it certainly didn’t help that he got home and noticed their trailer was a little refurbished , they had a new ( ish ) television and a cable antenna on the roof without the pieces of foil sy had stuck to it at an attempt for better service . and then little gifts started to arrive here and there , new cleats , a better glove , all things with the sheen of wealth attached to them and all in the name of this new sponsor he seemed to have attracted . it didn’t go over well with his friends and he could see the jealous glint in their eyes which led sy to hide away the new treasures , or take them out back and absolutely destroy that gleam that came with new gear .

high school was not a time he wanted to spend ostracized , especially when everyone in town always looked back on it like it was the golden time of their youth before they settled down into the daily grind of adulthood . he was nothing short of angry and miserable , his loneliness that festered into rage finding a nice outlet in smashing his fists into the noses of whoever crossed his path or looked at him wrong .

it was around that time that a girl showed up on his doorstep , all knees and elbows and with a big smile insisting she was his sister . judging from the own sparkly state of her attire , sy managed to put two and two together as to just who his new sponsor was and promptly shut the door in her face . ( the fact that his mother had suddenly come out of the woodwork and ran into him around town on occasion to ask for money was another clue . she could sniff out money anywhere )

finnley buchanan was a revelation to him . persistent to the extent of climbing in through his window to press her point home until sy was forced to accept that this nonsense story she was spinning about his father and her mother had a certain ring of truth to it . he didn’t want a new family , he was content in his small town with his nan and his friends and everything would go back to normal just as soon as he tossed all his shiny new stuff in the trash .

his nan wasn’t having it , plain and simple . she wasn’t going to force him to reconcile with a father he had never known , but she certainly wasn’t going to allow him to pass up an opportunity to get out of their tiny little town . and so sy kept going to those baseball camps every year , and after keeping in touch with his new sister to a point where he was forced to accept the unlimited texting plan she forced upon him just so his nan would stop good naturedly grumbling about the amount of time he spent tying up their landline .

he’d spend a few weeks a year with her family , a holiday here and there , his eyes almost falling out of his eyes the first time he walked into a house with an honest to god foyer . he didn’t exactly see eye to eye with his new - found father and step mother and they didn’t seem to want to get to know him much beyond tossing money at a problem to solve it ( not that he allowed them to really know him )

he didn’t even accept their money for college , stubbornly insisting on getting in on his own merit . and thus shipped himself of to north carolina upon accepting a scholarship . the guitar skills he’d picked up in his lazy weeks spent with the buchanans and his classic good looks made him immensely popular which didn’t bode well for the state of his ego as we know it . between classes he managed to further perfect the art of binge drinking and beer pong and with his scholarship only covering tuition and board , he found himself employing his fists at night to earn some cash for incidentals . something that very nearly got him kicked out of school when he showed up to practice with a split lip and bruised knuckles a few times too many .

but luck was on his side and he was drafted after his sophomore year before they could start a more thorough investigation into his extra - extra - curriculars .

sy spent about a year working his way around the farm system of the minors while they tried to refine his issues before getting called up to play for the baltimore orioles . he played for them for about a year but after a run - in with one of the batting coaches that was rather hush hush he was unceremoniously traded to the los angeles dodgers .

˚ . ⊹ ┈ › 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 .

being a cusp baby, he kind of bounces back and forth between his moods . most of the time he’s all jokes and sarcasm . but catch him at the right time and he can be broody AF .

he is a lot smarter than he looks , but that’s an incredibly well kept secret because on the outside he is a Professional Idiot.

makes the worst decisions i have ever seen anyone make ever . highly impulsive and should never be allowed to give someone any sort of advice .

unless you’re asking what to put in your solo cup or if you’re craving a midnight snack . then he is 10 / 10 your guy .

he is incredibly loyal , so long as it serves his purpose . because at the end of the day he’s still an impulsive idiot and that devil on his shoulder made the angel tap out years ago .

bought his nan a new house with his signing bonus and sent her money to take care of her with what he had but since her death he’s doing his best to spend it on the dumbest shit possible and acting out in one way or another because he’s still a child .

tldr : he’s a piece of shit

˚ . ⊹ ┈ › 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 .

just going to add a little disclaimer that i am the biggest hoe for anything angsty and painful . i also love love love when people slide into my dms with a hc or two .

𝐞𝐱 - 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 ; for whatever reason there was a huge falling out and now things are just super awkward . half the time at parties they’re just on opposite sides of the room mean mugging each other until booze and tempers flare .

𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 ; these two were never supposed to be a thing . in fact , before this past summer they hardly ever spoke and when they did the discourse wasn’t exactly pleasant . but there’s a fine line between love and hate and all it took was a couple of drinks before the dynamic took a turn .

𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐬 ; i’d sell my soul for something that’s just angsty and messy . maybe they were at the point of saying the l word .

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ; all that sneaking around , taking the back doors in and out of places . meeting up in darkened corners 👌 👌 👌 that’s that shit i do like

𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 ; i’m such a sucker for a good bromance or two where the gc is just filled with memes and dragging each other up and down the wall . but at the end of the day they’re you’re boys and no one else can talk shit about them but you

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 ; a fwb here and there , the odd one night stand , someone who you just look at and want to punch them in the face for some inexplicable reason , an unrequited crush ( on either side )

#i think i just wrote the longest cliffs notes edition known to mankind #excess:intro

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rogah-wrote-gaga · 5 years ago

Text

the other one

chapter one: he’s not as he seems

pairing: roger taylor x reader, brian may x reader

wordcount: ~2.5k

summary: You'd only been following them because of Tim, you told yourself. It had nothing to do with a sexy blonde and a lovely astrophysicist, so why were you sticking with them, and not him? You knew full well that Tim had made his own decision when he left Smile, cutting off his relationship with you and the boys.

What you didn't know how far it would take you.

chapter summary: You didn’t want to head back to your dorm just yet, so you stayed at the bar, observing people quietly. It wasn’t until you were halfway through your second pint that you realised the drummer of Tim’s band had just sat down next to you. “Hey.” You turned to him in surprise; his voice was so unlike his singing in the band (to be fair, you had only ever heard him singing in falsetto). It was scratchy and gravelly, and you could see why girls were constantly falling at his feet. His eyes were the bluest you had ever seen, and his hair was a shining blonde. If he were a girl, he probably would’ve been exactly Tim’s type. “Hi.” He gulped down the rest of his drink and smiled; his teeth were even and white. “So, I saw you looking at me.” OR reader meets Roger and gets to know him.

warnings: none really, mentions of sex/ mild innuendo

a/n: so this is chapter one of my new slow burn series, the other one!! it was great fun to write and i hope you enjoy reading it just as much as i enjoyed writing it :) tagging @asupersonicwoman bc i know how much she loves roger and @sunshine112, @sunset-shimmer-may, @tuiaway, and @blamerogertaylor in the hopes that they might enjoy it(let me know if you want to carry on being tagged in any of my fics) ; any reblogs and comments are appreciated and let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

The pub was as busy as always. Sighing, you walked over to the bar, hopped up on a barstool, and ordered a pint of beer. Your first year of university had taken its toll on you: you came to this bar to relax. Up on the small deck that served as a stage was your best friend Tim, with two others who you didn’t know too well, performing as the band ‘Smile’.

You sipped your drink as Tim started to croon into the mic and focused your attention on the blond drummer. Tim had introduced you a few weeks back, and you couldn’t remember anything about him except that he always seemed to have a girl draped on his arm. The guitarist’s name was Brian, and he was in your Mathematics class. He was the smartest guy in the class when he bothered to turn up; you heard that Physics was his main passion, alongside making music. His hair was one giant ball of frizz as he bobbed about the stage, and you smiled to yourself, knowing that he had probably tried to brush out his curls.

The band finished playing “Earth” to a round of half-hearted applause, and Tim sauntered off the stage towards where you sat at the bar, ordering himself a pint in the process. “Hey, y/n, enjoy the show?” he grinned. “You only played one song. And it was boring.” You only said this because you knew it would annoy him; he was very proud of his work. “Well, you certainly looked like you enjoyed it.” Tim said this with a wink and a nod towards the drummer, who was making his way through the crowds that had suddenly appeared when he had left the stage. Rolling your eyes, you turned back to Tim, who was smiling obnoxiously at you. “Catch you later, y/n!”

You didn’t want to head back to your dorm just yet, so you stayed at the bar, observing people quietly. It wasn’t until you were halfway through your second pint that you realised the drummer of Tim’s band had just sat down next to you. “Hey.” You turned to him in surprise; his voice was so unlike his singing in the band (to be fair, you had only ever heard him singing in falsetto). It was scratchy and gravelly, and you could see why girls were constantly falling at his feet. His eyes were the bluest you had ever seen, and his hair was a shining blonde. If he were a girl, he probably would’ve been exactly Tim’s type. “Hi.” He gulped down the rest of his drink and smiled; his teeth were even and white. “So, I saw you looking at me.”

Great. He was one of those. You knew the type. Cocky, self-satisfied bastards who thought they could have their way with any girl they wanted. Hell, they probably did. “Who would want to look at you?” you muttered, staring at the dusty floorboards. The silence was what made you look up. The drummer was staring at you with an intensity you’d never experienced before. He seemed to notice you had looked up, and snapped out of it pretty quickly, shaking his head and stuttering, “Look, uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. My name’s Roger. Roger Taylor.”

He offered out a hand as he said this, looking away with what you recognised as embarrassment and perhaps even shame. “I’m y/n,” you said as you gripped his hand and shook it firmly. Roger reached under his shirt with one hand, rubbing a shoulder, still not looking at you.

“Yeah, I know. You’re Tim’s mate? We, uh, were introduced. A couple weeks back. You study Maths and Psychology, right? At Brian’s college, I think you said.” He was talking really fast, his eyes darting around, avoiding your gaze. You were surprised that he remembered so much about you and a little ashamed that you couldn’t remember a single thing about him. He suddenly seemed kind of shy, maybe even scared. “Yeah, that’s right. And you’re a… medical student?” you guessed, grimacing to yourself when Roger shook his head. “Dentistry,” he muttered. “And I absolutely hate it. But hey, gotta do what you gotta do to keep your parents happy, I guess.” He didn’t seem to be on the verge of continuing, so you asked him what he did in his spare time.

He perked up a bit at that, and seemed to partially revert back into his original, confident manner, his voicing raising pitch until he almost sounded like a girl. “Yeah, well, obviously I’m drumming in this band, and I absolutely love music, y’know, I’d want to do it all my life if I could. I like fiddling around with cars, too, absolutely love cars. But music is my main goal, I guess, used to play the guitar and even a bit of ukulele!” You laughed at that, trying to picture him strumming what you visualised as a very tiny guitar. “But then I tried out the drums, and not to boast or anything, but I was, and am, bloody brilliant. I just have this kind of knack for it.” In your mind, you agreed; he added a flair to Tim’s music with interesting rhythms and constantly wasted time twirling his drumsticks, still finding time to hit every beat perfectly. “But enough about me. What do you like to do?”

This surprised you. Most of the guys that had tried to hit on you (and there weren’t many) talked about themselves for hours then asked at the very end if you were u for a quick shag. This had led to your poor opinion on most men, except your brother, who was your brother, and Tim, because he was your best friend.

“Well, I like reading. And writing.” This was the most you’d ever been able to get out before whatever man you were currently entertaining passed out with boredom. You hesitated, but Roger gestured for you to go on, with what seemed like genuine interest. “And, uh, I was gonna take English Lit at uni, but there was this thing with my application…” And so it went. He let you talk for as long as you pleased, interjecting only to ask questions and even laughing at your terrible anecdotes. Then you carried on talking, about everything from his favourite colour to your taste in music. He insisted on paying for the next three rounds, by the end of which you were both slightly tipsy. “So, why d’you c’mere then? If you don’t like Tim?” You gestured around wildly, trying to think. “No, no, no, I do like Tim. But not, y’know, like that. You know what I mean. He’s just not… sexy.” Roger laughed. “Sexy?” “Oh, you know what I mean.” Roger waggled his eyebrows at you before continuing, “Am I sexy?” “Very,” you assured him with a laugh. And he was. So, when you leant forwards and kissed him, it didn’t feel forced at all.

Groaning, you sat up from your bed with a headache. You couldn’t remember having that much to drink last night and was surprised when you sat up in unfamiliar surroundings. All you could vaguely remember was stumbling towards a black cab before someone had grabbed you and snatched you away from it. You were also aware that you were definitely not in your dorm. You sat up in a whiz, knowing that if you were not in your dorm and none of your friends had been with you, you were probably kidnapped. “Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered as you scrambled your way out of bed. You were on the verge of hoisting yourself out of the 2nd floor window amidst your mini panic attack when someone walked in.

“Uh, hey. Wh-Why are you trying to climb out my window?” “Roger!” You ran towards him and collapsed into his arms. “I thought- I thought that-” Laughing, Roger stepped away from you. “You thought what? That I had kidnapped you? y/n, you were this close to getting run over by this random car.” You pushed his fingers away from where they were dangling in front of your face. “I was trying to hail a cab!” “That wasn’t a cab, it was just some black jeep with a middle aged man in it.” You shook your head, adamant that you hadn’t been that drunk, but the grin didn’t leave Roger’s face and you couldn’t think of any other way you could’ve ended up in his flat. “So you brought me here. Thanks.”

He stepped away again, turning his back to you and rubbing the back of his neck, as walked into what looked like a kitchen, mumbling, “It was no problem. Uh, would you like something to drink?” You raised your eyebrows, surprised at the sudden change in character. “No, thanks. Where exactly are we?” you asked, following him to where he now stood, leaning against the counter. You couldn’t help but notice that he only had a tiny pair of shorts on which barely covered his boxers, and an unbuttoned shirt, exposing his chest and small tummy. “In my flat. I’m staying here while I’m at uni; the rent’s cheap and the neighbours aren’t too loud.”

“No, I got that we were in your flat, but where is your flat located? Sorry, I sound like a stalker.” Roger gave you a weird look. “But you’re in my flat anyway. That doesn’t exactly make you a stalker. And we’re still in London, don’t worry, I haven’t carted you off to Land’s End just yet. Anyway, why are we standing around in the kitchen? I’ve got a very comfortable sofa, trust me.” You blushed slightly at the innuendo, and followed him through a small door that led into a fairly cramped living area, with a drum kit squished into one corner and stacks of vinyls, cd’s and books in another. In the middle against a wall was a two seater couch. You watched as Roger plonked himself on the sofa, gesturing for you to sit down next to him.

You sat down, and mentally noted the contact your thighs and arms made; you weren’t sure if it was normal, but you loved being touched by people. It didn’t even have to be sexual; you were so deprived of physical contact (Tim wasn’t a big hugger) that even a simple hug made you feel warm and happy. Roger seemed to notice how comfortable you were, and slipped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards him so that your head was resting on his chest. Your ear was pressed so close to his bare skin that you could hear his heart racing. Eyes closed, you sighed contentedly. “You comfortable there, y/n?” Roger’s breath was hot against your ear as you breathed in his scent. “Because we can always go and lie on the bed if you’d prefer.” That made you sit up pretty quick, blood thundering in your ears. “I’m not- I didn’t mean- I just thought, it might be more comfortable? I wasn’t trying to make you feel aw-” You held a finger to Roger’s lips so he would stop the unnecessary stuttering. “I’d like to.” “Y-You would?” Roger seemed genuinely amazed.

“Of course I would. Let’s go.” you said, jumping off the sofa and leading the way to the bedroom. You lay back down on the bed, snuggling into the cold sheets while Roger lay down next to you. It was hard to tell whether he wanted you or not; he lay there beside you, not moving an inch. “Rog? Are you alright?”

He closed his eyes and turned away from you. “I just- I’ve never done this before. I’ve never had sex, I’ve never had a blowie, I’d never even had a good snog before yesterday. And I know it sounds stupid, y/n, so goddamn stupid, but I-, I’m just… scared…” His voice trailed off as you sank into his back, grasping his middle and laying your head just below his neck. “Why are you scared, Rog?” you whispered, as gently as possible. He stiffened beside you, trying to escape from your grip. “Well...uh...I dunno, I guess, uh, maybe, it- it might hurt?” This was not what you expected; then again, everything that had happened with Roger so far had been unpredictable.

But your very first impression of him, before you’d even spoken to each other, was that he was probably a good lay, he oozed self-confidence, and that he could pull any girl he wanted. But it seems you’d only got two of those assumptions right; he certainly had girls swooning over him, but he hadn’t seem interested in any of them, and now he was lying here next you explaining why he was still a virgin. You’d guessed his age at being about 20 or so; he was still at uni, after all, just like you.

“Do you ever think about it?” He sighed, the frustration in his voice evident. “I think about it all the bloody time! An’ it’s not like I don’t want to, it's just, I don’t know how- an’ I don’t know when or where or just- I don’t know what to do! I know for a fact that you don’t lie around talking, but I just don’t have the experience, and that makes me think no-one wants to shag me. I don’t know if it’s because I’m bad at flirting or whatever, but-”

He trailed off again, and you pushed yourself up on one elbow to see that his eyes were still squeezed tightly shut, small drops of water forcing their way through.

“Oh, Roger, that doesn’t matter! You don’t need any experience. Surely you’ve seen the girls practically lining up for you. As long as you enjoy yourself when you do it, then that’s fine,” you said, squirming internally.

You weren’t good at comforting people; you had a tendency to miraculously disappear whenever someone needed your shoulder to cry on. But there was no way you could leave the beautiful sobbing mess by himself without mentally beating yourself up for at least a week. “I’m here for you, Rog; whether you want me as your first sexual encounter,” You tried to inject some provocativeness into your voice as you said this, trailing your hand up his thigh deliberately in an effort to make him laugh, “Or as your fellow struggling student who just wants to focus on the things they love.”

You could feel that Roger had calmed down by then; he was no longer shaking and the tears had stopped. You held him, gently, not wanting to pressure him. His breathing slowed in your arms, and you felt the slow tendrils of sleep pulling both of you under.

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astralshipper · 5 years ago

Text

alright i know no one knows who lette is but im gonna just. rewrite the whole lette and balur meet will scene from the first book and im adding my s/i bc... hell yeah, so if u wanna know abt how wren and lette meet, here’s a hastily put together fic!!

basially for backstory: Wren and Will grew up together. They live in a place ruled by dragons that tax the people to death. Will gets visited by the dragon’s guards and is told he didn’t pay his taxes, though he did, and they are going to take his farm and arrest him. He basically fucks everything up and the guards set fire to his farm, so he runs before they can kill him. this picks up there!

WARNINGS FOR VIOLENCE, DEATH, KINDA GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS??? IT’S A MEDIEVAL FANTASY FIGHT SCENE THERE R SWORDS AND DEATH IM SORRY!! also it’s gay

The sight of her childhood friend’s farm up in flames had Wren’s heart in her throat. Were she standing still, her hands would be quite visibly shaking, but she wasn’t standing still. She couldn’t stand still. Not yet. It wasn’t safe yet. Will wasn’t safe yet.

Her feet pounded rhythmically against the forest floor of Breccan Woods. She had caught a glimpse of the familiar mop of brown hair dashing into the tree cover in the flickering light of the blazing fire. Her best friend needed her help, and the poor farm boy surely wouldn’t be able to survive in these woods alone. Breccan Woods was gnarly after nightfall. Ogres, goblins, and every creature in between crept through the shadows in search of rogue passersby. Why he had decided this to be a good idea, she couldn’t understand.

Her eyes flickered up through the cover of the trees. Through the gaps flashing by, she caught sight of the familiar form soaring overhead in the pale moonlight. The young, loyal falcon kept a close eye on the farm boy as she had instructed him to, and now all Wren needed to do was follow the bird’s lead.

The night stretched on, and the woods seemed endless. At some point the cover became too much, and she lost sight of her feathered companion. She could only hope she was headed in the right direction, and that he was headed for the hills like she thought he was.

A steady rainfall soaked the already dangerously jagged path beneath her boots. Her clothes were soaked through, and she swore the cold had seeped through to her very bones. Everything seemed to be going downhill very quickly, which is why she felt such a rush of relief when the trees gave way to a towering wall of rock leading up into the mountains she knew so well. And who was that entering a newly opened cave entrance?

Wren’s eyes widened, and she pushed herself forward again, pushing back the cries of protest from her overexerted muscles. The falcon circling overhead dove towards his master and settled himself on her shoulder, his claws digging into the layers of leather and chainmail adorning her upper body. The woman scrambled towards the cave opening and practically collapsed inside, only to choke on the foul stench that reached her nose.

She forced back a gag at the odor of gods only know what, but she had no time to think over the possibilities, as mere moments later a familiar male voice let out a fearful shriek. Another high squeal followed just after, and it didn’t even have time to go silent before Wren’s sword was drawn and at the ready.

Torches began to light the cave, illuminating not only the ash covered face of Will, but also the snarling faces of a full horde of goblins. Her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. Of course. Of course Will had to choose the one gods hexed cave that was filled with goblins. She twirled the sword in her hand and took a step forward.

“Sorry,” Will’s shaking voice echoed off the walls. “Wrong cave, my one’s a few entrances down.”

Wren rolled her eyes, far too used to Will’s antics by now to linger on this for long. She took a few more bold steps forward to stand protectively in front of the quivering man. She held her sword out towards the goblins as they continued to make their way slowly towards the pair. “We’ll be off, then,” she insisted, more to the man behind her than the other creatures in the cave. She wasn’t entirely sure if Will was capable of moving, but she hoped that the reminder would be able to kick start his mobility.

She was wrong. A threatening, collective growl rumbled through the space, erupting from every little creature closing in. Wren held her free hand behind her back to push Will towards the mouth of the cave. The falcon on her shoulder screeched and flapped his wings in resistance to the threat toward his master.

An unfamiliar howl cut through the air, roaring from behind her rather than in front of her as she expected. A squeal of fright left Will’s lips as he threw his arms over his head and dropped to his knees. A large, burly blur darted past Wren and barreled into the horde. A beat of silence. All of this happened seemingly in the same second.

And then all hell broke loose.

Battle cries erupted from every side, and Wren wasted no time before rushing forward and slashing at an oncoming goblin with her blade. The large scaly creature that had joined them and started the attack wielded a hammer against the beings, swinging and smashing them to bits with a satisfied howl. Somewhere behind Wren, she registered another figure fighting, this one far smaller but easily just as deadly, it appeared. Each goblin attempting to escape the cave entrance met the end of this new contender’s blades, which were dual wielded in either hand.

A lull in the battle on Wren’s end allowed her to take a good look at this new what seemed to be an ally. Her grip on the hilt of her sword tightened until her knuckles turned white at the sight she was met with. There, in the entrance of the cave’s mouth, silhouetted an armor clad woman slicing away at the endless droves of goblins attempting to both flee and attack all at once. Fiery red tinted hair was swept up in a messy ponytail at the back of her head, and the shorter strands that had escaped the hair band stuck to her sweat slick skin. Angular facial features set into a snarl, and her eyes glinted with a type of fury Wren had never seen before. Yet the grace this woman fought with showed that her anger did little in terms of blinding her skill. It looked like more of a dance routine than a fight. This was not war, this was art. She stood at a shorter stature than Wren herself, which was surely saying something, but her size didn’t weaken her in any way. That much was clear through the steadily climbing death count she was racking up.

Wren found herself so enamored with the sight of this newcomer that she almost forgot about the fight she was partaking in. A goblin threw itself at her, and the falcon on her shoulder screeched in just enough time for her to spin on her heel and swing her blade through the air to slice the creature midair. She twirled out of the way so the lifeless body could fall to the rock floor instead of hitting her in the chest and soiling her clothes further than they already were.

The fight ended rather quickly with such skilled fighters on her side, and soon enough she allowed herself to collapse against the wall of the cave. Her sword clattered to the ground by her side.

The newcomers didn’t seem to feel as relieved with the end of the battle. Now that Wren could take in the woman’s companion, she felt her mind twist in confusion. She had never seen, nor even HEARD of a creature like this. He stood at about eight feet tall, covered in huge, tough scales that resembled body armor. He was nothing but muscle and blood lust as he looked down upon the victims of the previous slaughter. He and the woman looked to each other and gave a nonchalant shrug.

“See?” His rumbling voice boomed, far too loud for the enclosed space. “That is being more fun than baking.”

The woman scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Shut up and start looking for the purse,” she snapped before whirling around on her heels and jabbing a finger in Will’s direction. “You. Have you seen a purse?”

Will’s eyes widened almost comically. “M-me?” He stuttered.

“No, the other helpful bystander standing just behind you.”

“Well,” Will began with a furrowed brow, trying to take a not-so-sly look behind him in case she was being serious. “I wasn’t sure if you meant her!” He waved a hand in Wren’s direction across the cave, who simply raised an exhausted brow. She reached a hand up and wiped the sweat away from her forehead with the back of her hand.

“She pointed at you, not at me, dumb ass,” she growled out. Today had not gone according to plan, and the last thing she needed was her best friend to embarrass her in front of the most attractive girl she’d seen in a long while.

Speaking of the attractive woman, she cast an amused smirk in Wren’s direction, her eyes flickering up and down her appearance as if to size her up. Wren felt as though the woman could see through to her very soul, and she shuffled her feet on the rock floor with uncertainty. She wasn’t used to much attention, much less attention from a pretty girl. This was a bit overwhelming.

The telltale crack of bones snapping echoed through the cave as the lizard creature tossed two of the bodies of the goblins into the cave wall. They fell to the ground in a heap, and Wren couldn’t help but wince at the sight and sound.

The woman’s face softened ever so slightly, and she tilted her head the tiniest fraction. “Not how you spend your typical evening?”

Wren huffed in faux amusement. “Not even a typical day for us.” She nodded her head in Will’s direction.

The woman finally allowed herself to smile - a real smile, one that crinkled her eyes and brought to life a dimple on one of her cheeks. Wren’s stomach flipped at the sight. “I’m Lette,” she introduced herself, before nodding to the lizard man accompanying her. “That’s Balur.”

Will remained silent as he peered back and forth between the two newcomers. Wren, however, felt the need to speak up. “What is he?” She wondered aloud, in reference to the lizard creature, or Balur, as she now knew him to be.

It took less than a second for Lette to reply. “An obstinate idiot.”

Balur huffed as he shook another goblin in search of the missing purse and tossed the useless corpse into the growing pile. “You being flirting is not helping us find our purse any faster,” he grumbled, clearly used to the snide remarks by now.

Wren’s cheeks heated up at the insinuation, and she opened her mouth in an attempt to defend herself. She wanted to say that it wasn’t true, that she wasn’t flirting. It would be a lie, but she could still say it. Lette spoke up first. “At least my version of flirting is a little more sophisticated than whipping my britches off and proffering some coin,” she sneered.

Who says you would need to proffer any coin? Wren thought to herself, before immediately shaking her head to get rid of the thought. Not the time for that.

Lette, however, rounded on Will and jabbed a finger in his direction once again. “Get any ideas and I shall feed you your own testicles,” she warned. Will looked about ready to crumble into a pile of pure nervous energy, and he quickly nodded in understanding through the look of utter confusion in his eyes.

It seemed that this was now the time that Will decided he should speak up. “I’m Will,” he began. “I’m a farmer.”

Lette hummed in thought as she turned to Balur. “How about farming?” She suggested quite suddenly. “Working with your hands. Very physically demanding, farm work can be.”

Balur, however, did not seem so keen. “Bad for reflexes. Ruin muscle memory,” he replied, leaving no room for argument. Lette sighed heavily and shook her head in clear annoyance. She turned back to Wren.

“How about you? I highly doubt you’re a farmer with swordsmanship like that.” She nodded her head to the bloodied blade on the ground. “Plus, falcons don’t usually seem to be popular farm animals,” she mused.

Wren chuckled and shook her head. “I’m Wren. I’m a falconer, but I grew up in the bladesmithing business. Got a shop back in town my parents left me. Kinda meant I had to know how to handle any kind of blade out there, you know?”

The corner of Lette’s mouth quirked upwards in the ghost of a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, then, Wren. Maybe I could show you a thing or two sometime, yeah?” She punctuated her sentence with an incredibly obvious wink.

That was all she did before turning away and returning to her task of searching the goblins for the aforementioned purse. Wren was left gaping at the insinuation, her cheeks burning under the sudden attention.

Nice to meet you too, Lette. Very very very nice to meet you.

#Dragon Slaying Girlfriends #this is way longer than i meant it to be #im so sorry #i literally just took most of will's lines and gave them to wren oops!!#also i made it gayer #bc dammit lette is bi as fuck and leans towards women im TELLING U ITS TRUE ITS GOTTA BE #also sorry will but i am stealing ur woman shes mine now love my gf!!!#astra writes

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zarcake-writes · 6 years ago

Text

Not Alone Together

I finally got around to finishing this part. I’m not gonna put links to part 1 or 2 bc then this probably won’t show up in the tags. Hope you all enjoy! Especially that little surprise at the end.

Part 3

Warnings: none, slight spoilers in the beginning (maybe?)

The morning air was cold, and the mountains were foggy. The few travelers Arthur met were bundled up, and clearly regretting their decision to travel. Arthur would greet them, and they could barely manage a nod in his direction. Some of the travelers made comments about the cold and wished they were somewhere warm or they had whiskey.

The cold didn't bother Arthur; it hasn’t bothered him for eight years. However, he can remember a time when the biting cold left him wondering if he would die. The mention of the abandoned mining town called Colter still sent a chill down his spine, and his heart aches at the memory of those he lost. Memories of a family he once had, the people he would have died for, and the betrayal.

For a moment, Arthur wonders if things could have been different. Maybe if he hadn’t been so blind, he could have stopped everything bad from happening. Maybe he could have convinced Dutch to see where the poison in their camp was. Maybe he could have saved more people. Maybe… He shook his head and those thoughts stop. There’s no way to change the past, can only keep moving forward.

He continues through the mountains until he arrives at O’Creaugh’s Run. By then, it was mid-morning; most of the fog is gone and the sun is shining. The world is finally coming to life. Birds were singing and flying above Arthur, small animals ran through the underbrush, and the mountain sheep were on the move.

As he passes his neighbor’s house, Arthur saw she was outside fishing. She stood knee deep in the lake, her pants cuffed, and her back was to him, but he could hear her muttering to herself. Berry was behind her on the shore; his tail thumped against the ground, and his mouth hung open like a smile.

It’s been two weeks since Arthur had coffee with her, and he couldn’t get her out of his mind. They’ve had dinner together twice, and shared supplies, along with laughs and shy looks. When she expressed an interest in building a chicken coop, Arthur offered to take her into Annesburg for the supplies. He then built the coop for her and took her to Emerald Ranch to buy some chickens. She insisted he didn’t need to, but he insisted he wanted to help her.

“There she is,” Arthur greeted. She jumped and turned to him, a smile on her face. Berry let out a bark and trotted towards Arthur. Mud coats his paws, chest, and probably his stomach.

“Morning Arthur. You have a nice ride?”

“We did. My girl here had a bunch of energy this morning. We rode down to the plains. Thought she would enjoy running on flat terrain.” Arthur patted his horses’ neck.

“She’s beautiful. What’s her name?”

“Pearl. She’s an Arabian. Found her up near the Grizzlies some years back.”

“Breaking wild horses something, you enjoy, Arthur?”

“On occasion, I'm known for that. But she was so beautiful, I couldn’t resist. How’s the fishing going?”

“Oh, it’s ok. I think all the bigger ones are out in the middle of the lake, but I can only throw so far. Plus, Berry gets excited when I get a fish and goes for it before I can get it off the line. It either gets away or he steals it.” She shot a look at the dog, who was busy chewing on his mud-covered foot.

“Well, I have a boat, so how about I can take you out onto the water. You can get some bigger fish, and Berry won’t be there to steal them.”

“I don’t want to bother you, Arthur.”

“You ain’t bothering me. I’m offering."

She thought for a moment, then broke out into a wide smile. “Alright, then let’s go on the lake.”

“Great. Let me just tend to Pearl, and you get your supplies ready. Meet me by my dock.”

Arthur hurried to his side of the lake and hitched Pearl. He brushed and fed her, making sure to praise her. He grabbed his fishing pole and headed for his dock. She was already there, waiting for him, with that dazzling smile on her face. Berry sat at her feet, his tail wagging and his ears perked.

“Alright, ready to go?” Arthur asked.

“All ready. Berry, stay here.” The dog let out a huff but did what he was told.

Arthur smiled and got into his boat. He took her pole and placed it on the bottom with his, then reached out to help her in. When her small hand took, his Arthur didn't want to let her go.

She was shaky as she took a step into the boat, but Arthur held her steady. She gave him a nervous smile and sat down. When she was stable and comfortable, Arthur sat across from her and began rowing them out to the deeper part of the lake.

“A few years back, there was a huge Northern Pike out here. It was a struggle bringing that beast it.” Arthur brought the boat to a stop and put away the oars.

“Really?” She took her pole and started to bait her hook.

“Yeah. The man I was fishing with called it the Great Tyrant. He got pulled in by that monster. Damn fish tried taking a chunk out of him."

“Goodness. Bet he was glad when you brought the fish in.”

“He was, but I think he wanted to bring the fish in himself.”

They both fell into a comfortable silence. Despite his claim that he is a poor fisherman, Arthur managed to catch a couple fish. He kept one and tossed the second one back into the water. The one he kept was big enough for himself and another person to share. Maybe he should invite her over for dinner tonight. He will be leaving tomorrow, and it would be nice dining with her before his trip.

He turned to her and was about to speak, but his words got caught in his throat. The look on her face, the pure concentration, made his heart skip a beat. Her brows were furrowed and she was biting her bottom lip. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up to her elbows, revealing the tense muscles in her forearms. She was beautiful. The way the sun seemed to form a halo around her, he swore he was fishing with an angel.

The sudden pull on her line made Arthur jump, but she was ready and began to pull.

“Oh! Look at that! Pull the bastard in!” Arthur shouted.

“I’m gonna try. Fuck, this thing is huge.” She adjusted her stance and began to pull the opposite way the fish was swimming. When it would stop struggling, she began to reel him in.

“If you think you’re gonna get pulled in, tell me, and I’ll grab you.” Her response was a grunt.

The fight went on for what seemed like forever. Arthur could see the sweat run down her face and the tremble in her arms. There were moments it looked like she was going to give up and cut the line, but Arthur was quick to jump in and cheer her on. He liked to think his encouraging words helped, but he knew this fight was all her.

When she finally brought the fish close enough to the boat, Arthur leaned over the edge and pulled the beast into the boat. It was huge, not as big as the one he and Hamish had caught all those years ago, but it was on its way to becoming a monster.

“He’s huge,” she gasped. Her chest heaved and sweat ran down the side of her face.

“He is.”

“I feel bad that we're gonna kill him.”

“Well, if he stays in the lake, he’ll just get bigger and will start eating the smaller fish. Killing him will give them a chance to live.”

“True. Plus, that’s a lot of meat.”

“It is.”

“Alright, kill him. But make it quick.” Arthur nodded and finished the fish off. He wrapped it in paper and placed it on the bottom of the boat next to his.

“Ready to head back?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m tired and my hands hurt.” Blisters were forming on her palms, and one already popped. Blood ran down her hand and onto her pants.

“You should have stopped.” Arthur began rowing to his dock. The smell of her blood filled the air and made his hair stand on end. Blood usually unleashed a feral side of him, but her blood scared him.

“Oh, it’s just a few blisters Arthur, nothing too bad.”

“Doesn’t matter, you’re bleeding. When we dock, I’ll tend to your hands. I have a medical kit in my house.”

“You don’t need to, Arthur.”

“Sweetheart, I want to make sure you’re alright.” She gave him a shy smile and nodded her head.

Once Arthur docked, he helped her out of the boat and grabbed the fish. Berry was at her feet, his ears back and his eyes were wide. She spoke to the dog in a soft voice and followed Arthur into his house, Berry right behind them.

Inside his cabin, Arthur motioned for her to sit at his table. He set down the fish and cleaned his hands, then grabbed his medical kit.

He took her hands and examined the blisters. He was relieved when he saw only one of the blisters popped, but the smell of her blood made him uneasy. With a wet cloth, Arthur began wiping away the blood, making sure to be as gentle as he could. Every wince or hiss of pain from her, Arthur would apologize and whisper is a soft voice, “You’re doing great, girl. Almost done.”

When the blood was gone and her hand was clean, Arthur wrapped her hand. It was at this time Arthur realized how small her hands were compared to his. He knew her hands were smaller than his, but he now had the opportunity to study her hands. Her skin was rough and there were small scars on her knuckles, no doubt from gardening and hunting. Her nails were short but were cut neatly, and there was a bit of dirt beneath her nails.

When he was done wrapping her hands, he looked up at her and saw how close they were. There was a shy look on her face, and her face was flush. Her scent, a mixture of sweat and her usual sweet honeyed scent, made it hard to focus on anything else except her. There was a needy, hopeful look in her eyes that made his body hot. For a moment he was tempted to grab the back of her neck and pull her in for a kiss. But he didn't. He gave her a nod and released her hand, making a point to sit back in his chair.

“That should do it. Keep those hands clean so you don’t get an infection,” Arthur said. He stood up and put away his kit. He kept his back to her and made it look like he was busy. He hoped she couldn’t hear his pounding heart or see how red the back of his neck was.

“Course. Thank you, Arthur.”

“Not a problem. It’s my fault you got them anyways. Shouldn’t have pushed you to go fishing with me.”

“Oh Arthur, don’t say that.” Arthur heard her get up and walk towards him. Her fingers ran along his back, and a shiver shot through his body at the contact. “I enjoy spending time with you, whether we’re fishing or trying to build a chicken coop. Besides, blisters happen often.”

“I know.”

“Arthur?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“Want to have dinner together? I did catch a monster of a fish and I can’t eat it all by myself.”

Arthur let out a laugh and turned to face her fully. “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

“You were?” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Yes. Head on home and come back in a few hours. I’ll have dinner ready and everything.”

“I can help you cook.”

“You won’t be much help with your hands wrapped.” The way she looked down at her wrapped hands made him laugh. “Go on home, I’ll see you soon.”

“Alright, Arthur. Thank you.”

He walked her to the door and watched as she left with Berry at her side. She waved when she got home, he waved back and watched as she ducked into her house.

Several hours later, there was a knock-on Arthur’s door. He gave himself a look over before he got the door. The blue shirt he wore was new, she had helped him pick it out. He blushed when she said the color looked good on him and that it matched his eyes. His jeans were new as well; when she saw them on him, she blushed and squeaked that they looked on him. He smirked at her reaction and bought them. His boots and suspenders were old, but he only ever wore them a handful of times so they were still good condition. He had even cleaned his spurs for dinner.

When he opened the door, her smiling face was there to greet him. She wore a simple dress, something he’s only seen her in once before. There were flowers in her hair and a bottle of whiskey in her hands. Berry, who was now clean, sat next to her. His tail thumped against Arthur’s front porch and his mouth was open in a smile.

“Howdy. You look lovely,” Arthur said. He made a motion for her to enter and took the whiskey from her hands.

“Thank you, Arthur. I gotta say, you look very nice yourself. The blue looks good on you.” She gave him a soft pat his chest, and a sly wink. This woman is gonna be the death of him.

Dinner went exactly the way Arthur hoped it would. The food was good, her praise made Arthur warm inside. She laughed at the funny stories he told, making sure to leave out the gang-related parts. He listened when she told a story herself, whether it was funny or serious, he gave her his full attention. Berry sat in the corner, chewing on an old boot Arthur gave him or eating scraps of food.

When dinner was done, and the plates were cleaned, they sat in silence. Her eyes were heavy, but there was a content look on her face. Her yawn and the way she rubbed her eyes was the cutest thing Arthur's ever seen. He cleared his throat, getting her attention.

“Darlin, I’m gonna be leaving tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, where you going?” There was a sad tone in her voice that made Arthur's stomach twist.

“I’m gonna be out near Strawberry. I’m only gonna be gone for three to five days. I’m meeting a friend out there. He needs help with something.”

“Oh, well, I hope you have a safe trip.”

“I will. I’m leaving Buell behind. If you need to leave for any reason, take him. He knows you and will let you ride him.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine Arthur. But, thank you. I’ll keep an eye on him for you.”

“I appreciate it. Now, why don’t we have some of that whiskey?”

“About time you suggest it.”

It was several hours later and Arthur was carrying her home. She drank too much and walking was impossible for her. The only thing that was possible for her at the moment, was sleeping in his arms. He thought of just letting her sleep in his home, but her smell was almost overpowering. And with the full moon being only a day away, he worried he might shift earlier than expected. He did not want her to see that part of him.

She shifted in his arms, her hand grasped the collar of his shirt. She let out a heavy sigh, snuggled into his chest, and was back to snoring softly. He smiled down at her. The way she looked in the moonlight left him breathless. She is, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he’s ever met.

He pushed her front door open, inhaling to make sure there were no trespassers, then went inside. Berry ran pass Arthur and led the way to her room.

Her room was simple. There was a small bed, a side table, and a chest at the foot of her bed. There were several heavy coats hanging on the wall, and her rifle was partially hidden beneath her bed. Arthur was careful as he put her on the bed. He laid a blanket over her, making sure no parts of her were uncovered. Berry got on the bed and took his place at her feet.

Arthur sat on the edge of her bed and watched her. He knew he was being creepy, but he couldn’t resist. The flowers were gone from her hair; she had pulled them out earlier and given them to him. He reached out and, as careful as he could, brushed her hair out of her face.

How he wished he could stay with her. He wanted to crawl into the bed beside her and breath in her scent. He wanted to leave his scent around her room, he wanted it to linger on her skin. He wanted their scents to mingle and become one. Oh, how he wanted that. But he knew it would never happen, he could only want.

Before Arthur left, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead and ran his hand over her messy hair, picking out a stray flower and placing it down on the bedside table. She let out a mumble but made no move to show that she was awake. He smiled down at her one last time, gave Berry a pat on the head, and left the room.

As he shut her front door and headed home, he could feel something calling him back to her. The animalistic part of him was screaming to stay with her, to protect and love her. The human side of him, however, knew this was impossible. She wouldn't want to be with a monster, especially a monster like him. He did his best to ignore the pull and began his walk home.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 spoilers #i'm tagging spoilers just in case

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silvertip-studio · 6 years ago

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hi can u do a fic where theres a cute irish boy that works in a flower store and theres a rly hot muscular guy that works at a tattoo parlor with his sister next-door and they fall in love over mutual bonding over a certain flower (i like bell flowers)

Ok, this is actually Stryker bc she’s been bugging the hell out of me to finally post some of my OCs. So, here’s a random one-shot that I had written of two of my characters!!! Enjoy :)

Flowers made Ruairi happy. They were Mother Nature’s gift to the world, and were able to bring joy and life in even the darkest of places. Not only that, but there were millions of different variations of them, just like there were millions of different variations of people. It was the perfect system. His shop was brightly lit with large glass windows, and different flowers were scattered across the store. While it would appear disorganized to an outsider, he knew where every plant was and had clearly signed it so that shoppers could find what they were looking for.

Right next door to Ruairi’s shop was a very different store. It was a tattoo parlor. It had clean lines, and was perfectly organized. There was a station where two large, leather bound books of tattoo designs were clearly labeled, the walls had tattoo designs hung in cleanly cut, black frames, and there were tattoo chairs in the back or private rooms along the back wall. It was pristine, and Ruairi couldn’t help but say that he admired the organization every time he walked by to get to his car.

Of course, he had never gone in. No, he had no reason to go into a tattoo parlor, even if he admired the owners organization and the general aesthetic of the store. In fact, he had no idea who even owned the parlor, only that there was a super cute, or could he classify him as hot, tattoo artist that worked there everyday.

Ruairi was daydreaming about the brown haired, broad, muscular, blue eyed tattoo artist when his doorbell jingled, signaling the entrance of a customer. When he looked up he smiled brightly at the panicked looking man before him. He was in a pair of skinny jeans and a black t-shirt, his black hair was messy and unbrushed, and his green eyes were wide with fear.

“Hi, how can I help you today?” Ruairi grinned, glad that he never had to worry about getting flowers for a significant other since he owned the store, and since he didn’t have a boyfriend. However, he did sympathize with all of the poor souls who had come to his store in panic over the years.

“Uh, yeah, it’s my girlfriend’s birthday and her present isn’t coming for another two days, so I need something to give her!”

“Ok, does she like flowers? A specific type of flower, maybe?”

“No, not really. When we first started dating I got her flowers and she gave them to her mother.” The man sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“So, then why do you think getting her flowers is a good idea?”

“I don’t know. I’m desperate.” he ran a hand down his face. “She’s going to get home from work in a few hours, and I have nothing.”

“Lemme see what I can do.” Ruairi offered, then began wandering through the packed aisles of flowers. He scanned them, hoping to hear the customer that was trailing him make a noise of triumph when he saw one that his girlfriend might like. When he had walked the majority of his store with only one bouquet even slightly catching the customer’s eye, he turned to the man with a sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I have for someone who doesn’t like flowers.”

“Fuck.” his hands found residence in his hair and pulled. Ruairi watched helplessly as the man all but sank to his knees.

“Does she like tattoos? ‘Cause, there’s a parlor right next door.”

“I mean, yeah, but that’s her brother’s…and she works there. I can’t exactly go get a gift card for her when she already gets the family and employee discount.” he sighed.

“Have you asked her brother what kind of flowers she likes?”

“No, but I’m gonna now.” he turned and left the store without another word. Ruairi shook his head and laughed. It was always crazy watching what people did out of desperation. He was returning to his little counter when he heard his doorbell jingle again. When he turned, the breath was nearly knocked out of him. Beside the black haired man was the tattoo artist that Ruairi had been fawning over for the past year.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “I-I mean hi.” Ruairi raised his hand in a half wave and felt a hot blush rise on his pale, freckled cheeks.

“Hey,” the artist smiled, glancing over at his friend hesitantly before continuing, “I’m Ryan.”

“Oh, I’m Ruairi.” he stepped forward and extended his hand to Ryan, praying that his hands weren’t sweaty. Ryan’s grip was strong, and Ruairi could see the veins of his muscular hands. It was then that Ruairi realized that the tattoo artist wasn’t wearing a sweater, or sweatshirt, or flannel which he usual wore in and out of the shop. No, he was in nothing but a tank top. A tank top that showed off the thickly corded muscles of his arms, back, and shoulders, as well as the tattoos that decorated his upper arms and shoulders. God, how had Ruairi not seen his upper body before?

“Um, yeah, so I’m Matt, by the way.”

Ruairi quickly pulled his hand back from Ryan’s, looking over to Matt who, damn him, was smirking at the two flushed men. “Yeah, so, Ryan, you’re Matt’s girlfriend’s brother, so you should know her favorite type of flower, right?” The red-headed florist scratched at the back of his neck.

“Oh, well, she’s never really been a flower person. No matter what my mother tried, Erin never quite got flower fever, or whatever. No, she always hung out with my dad and I.” Ryan chuckled, his eyes glazing over a bit as he thought back to his childhood alongside his sister.

Ruairi hated to interrupt his reminiscing, but he figured he couldn’t stay away from his shop too long, so he pushed on, “Well, do you wanna walk around with me, and maybe see if I have anything that could possibly fit the bill?”

Ryan nodded, and the two began wandering the store, Matt trailing behind them. Occasionally, Ryan would point out a bouquet with a smile, but most of the time it was about a tattoo he had done and not about Erin. Despite these anecdotes being useless, Ruairi smiled at the brown haired man. It was interesting to learn about how their, oh so different, professions overlapped.

Ruairi was about to lose hope in their mission, when something seemed to catch Ryan’s eye. When he looked at the bouquet that Ryan was reaching for, he was pleased to see that the man had chosen his favorite flowers. So, he took the bellflowers from him, ignoring the way his heart fluttered when his fingers brushed Ryan’s. He quickly rung up and wrapped the flowers, handing them off to Matt with a smile. Then, he turned to Ryan, “So, why bellflowers?”

“Oh, my dad used to always buy them for our mom, and so they were always around the house. I’m hoping they’ll remind her of Dad the same way they remind me of him.” Ryan shrugged, looking at the purple flowers with a fond expression.

“Here, why don’t I throw in an extra bouquet for you? On the house.” Ruairi wasn’t sure where the idea had come from, but it felt like the right thing to say. He definitely knew it was the right thing to say when Ryan’s face lit up with a smile and color flooded his freckled cheeks.

“I couldn’t.” he waved the offer away.

“I insist.” Ruairi was already running off to get the bellflowers, returning through the crowded store to find Matt whispering in Ryan’s ear and laughing. He had to hold back his chuckle when Ryan slapped the taller man on the arm and hissed something back, which only made Matt laugh harder. “Here you go.” Ruairi quickly wrapped the flowers and held them out towards Ryan.

“Ok, but you’ve got a free tattoo whenever you want.”

“One bouquet of flowers is hardly worth the same as a tattoo!” Ruairi protested.

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to keep giving me flowers.” Ryan smiled, then dismissed himself. After all, he couldn’t leave his shop unattended for longer than he already had.

After that, it became typical to find Ryan stopping in at Ruairi’s flower shop to pick up a bouquet of bellflowers and talk for far too long. Each bouquet was proudly displayed on the front desk of his parlor for all to see, not that Ruairi knew since he never visited the tattoo parlor. At least he never visited until one day he barged in with a grand idea.

“I’m gonna take you up on that tattoo!”

Ryan’s head popped up from where he had been studying a drawing a client had sent him. He looked at Ruairi, stunned for a second, before a grin spread across his face. “Finally. What do you want to get?”

“Ok, first lemme explain, ‘cause you’re gonna think it’s weird.” Ruairi said. “They’ve been my favorite flowers for years, and it’s just coincidental that it—“

“What flower is it, Ruairi?”

“Bellflowers.” Ruairi said, flushing red, “They’ve been my favorite flowers since I was little because my favorite color was purple and I thought they looked like bells. I mean of course they look like bells, they’re bell-flowers.” the red-head spoke so fast that Ryan had to strain to keep up, only managing it because of his years listening to Erin speak impossibly fast. Although, the lingering Irish accent put a strain on even Ryan’s skilled ears.

“Hey, dude, it’s totally fine. First of all, I’m not going to judge you for liking flowers, for fucks sake you own a flower shop. Second of all, I noticed when I chose them for Erin that first day that you got really excited about them. So, I kinda already figured they were you favorite.” Ryan soothed, chuckling slightly at the dramatics of the Irish man.

“Oh, ok cool.”

“Also, we can be tattoo buddies!” Ryan laughed, leaving Ruairi to stare at him in confusion. Of course, Ryan picked up on this confusion and explained, “Look, I have a bellflower tattoo too.” He turned his head and moved some of his messy hair out of the way to reveal a small bellflower tattoo right behind his right ear.

Ruairi blushed, staring at the tattoo with a slack jaw. How had he never noticed the tattoo during any of Ryan’s many visits to the flower shop? “I don’t know. Isn’t that weird?”

“Nah, people have matching tattoos by accident all the time. So, what’s the difference?” Ryan waved him off, already standing from the desk and walking over to the leather-bound tattoo design books. “C’mon, I have a few bellflower designs in here from when I got this. Plus my sister, Erin, has one too, so there are a lot of different versions in here from our brainstorming sessions. Trust me, she just couldn’t quite ‘vibe’ with one.”

As he said this, a girl appeared from the back room. Her shoulder length brown hair was braided back, and she was wearing a barely buttoned red flannel and ripped skinny jeans, and her ears were decorated with glinting piercings. “Are you slandering me?”

“What!? Of course not.”

“I totally believe you.” she threw the towel she was holding at his head. Ryan caught it and glowered at her. Watching the sibling’s squabble reminded Ruairi of his sister, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the fond memories.

“What?” Ryan turned back to him.

“Nothing, you two just remind me of my sister and me.”

“Ah, so you know my struggle as well!” Ryan laughed, throwing the towel back at his sister.

“Struggle my ass!” Erin tossed the towel onto the desk, before joining them at the design books, “Since my loser big bro isn’t going to introduce me, I’m Erin,” she stuck her hand out for him to shake, and he couldn’t help but notice the vast array of rings decorating her fingers. He shook it, noting that she also had a firm grip.

“Ruairi.”

“Ah, flower shop dude, nice.”

“You know me?”

“Of course I know the guy who saved my boyfriend’s dumb ass.” Erin laughed, “Plus Ryan hasn’t—” she was cut off when Ryan jumped up and covered her mouth with his hand. The rest of her words were muffled into his hands. Ruairi looked between the siblings in confusion, positive that he was missing some key part of the conversation. When Ryan removed his hand from Erin’s mouth he hoped to be enlightened, but he was almost cast further into the darkness. “Fuck, ok. So, sensitive.” she poked her brother in the ribs with a teasing smile.

“What?” Ruairi finally asked.

“Oh, nothing, just that I of course know the guy who keeps giving my brother his favorite flowers!” Erin waved her hand at the bellflowers on the desk. Up until that point Ruairi hadn’t noticed the familiar flowers, and when he turned to see them proudly displayed, he gaped. He had never expected Ryan to actually put the flowers anywhere in his store, let alone front and center.

Ryan smacked his sister in the arm, but then turned to Ruairi with a smile. “I mean I told you they’re my favorite flower, and they give the shop a bit of color, so, yeah.” he said, turning away from the florist and scratching the back of his neck. When he turned back he said, “Anyway, let’s get back to your tattoo.”

“Ooh, he’s getting a tattoo?”

“Yeah, Erin, that’s why he’s here. What else would he be doing?”

“Well, he could’ve been visiting his—"

“Don’t you have a client to talk through tattoo care?” Ryan cut her off as he flushed red. Erin shrugged, but retreated back to the private room nonetheless. Both men stared after Erin, too scared to look back at each other considering the implications of Erin’s comments.

Finally, Ryan broke the silence. “So, bellflower designs. Of course, I’ve got my favorite design behind my ear, but my second favorite, is this one.” he flipped open one of the heavy books to a page that was covered in various pictures of bellflowers. For a second, he scanned the page, then pointed to one of them. It was two bellflowers with their stems overlapping and twisting together to form a heart. “I mean, we can change what the stems do if you want, but yeah.”

“No, no, I love it.”

“Ok, cool.” Ryan noted the design’s number in a notebook, “When do you want to get it done?”

“Oh, um, when are you free?”

“I could do it tomorrow evening, after closing, that way you don’t have to close early.”

“You-You’d do that for me?”

“Yeah of course,” Ryan hesitated, “you’re my friend.”

Ruairi didn’t quite know why, but his spirits drooped a little. However, when Ryan smiled at him, he felt them lift again.

“One, final, but really important question.”

“Shoot.”

“Where do you want it?” Ryan laughed when Ruairi’s mouth fell open. The florist hadn’t thought about that. So, he made a split second decision, and tried his best to pass it off as having been planned.

“On the inside of my forearm, I’m not totally sure which one though,” Ruairi extended his arms and turned them over so that he was baring the area to Ryan. He watched as Ryan shifted into artist mode, studying each arm and then thinking.

“I think I’d go with left arm.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Once they had discussed some of the details of Ruairi getting his first tattoo, Ruairi returned to his flower shop. However, he found it ridiculously hard to focus on caring for both his plants and his customers, instead daydreaming about the man who was going to give him his first tattoo tomorrow.

**********

Ruairi closed down the flower shop in a hurry. He’d spent the whole day in excited anticipation of the evening. When he walked into the tattoo parlor, he was grinning so hard that his cheeks were aching. However, the tattoo artist was nowhere in sight. “Ryan?” It took a few seconds, but Ryan suddenly emerged from a back room that Ruairi had never realized was there.

“Ah! My favorite client!” Ryan smiled brightly at the Irishman, and waved him over to one of the chairs in the back of the shop. It was already set up for Ryan to give him the tattoo. Ruairi seated himself in the chair and discarded his sweater so that he was in nothing but his t-shirt, arm resting on the armrest. Ryan cleaned off the inside of his forearm with disinfectant. “You ready?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Good to hear.” Ryan brought the needle to Ruairi’s skin and started the long, painful process. Immediately, Ruairi had to grit his teeth against the searing pain lacing through his arm. When he glanced up at Ryan’s face he was immediately comforted. His tongue was sticking through his teeth and his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. Ruairi couldn’t help but find it endearing. “We can talk if that makes it easier. A lot of people like to talk.”

“Ok, yeah.” Ruairi agreed. However, what he didn’t expect was for them to end up playing twenty questions. He didn’t expect to learn that Ryan’s first kiss was a boy named Alex in freshman year of high school, nor did he expect to tell Ryan that his first kiss was with a boy named Derek in his sophomore year of high school.

When Ryan finished the tattoo, Ruairi still had one question that he was dying to ask. So, once Ryan walked him through taking care of the fresh tattoo, he asked. “Can I see your tattoos?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished he could take them back.

“Yeah, sure.” Ryan said with a smile, and Ruairi was immediately comforted. “Can I ask why?”

“Oh,” Ruairi blanched, “I don’t know, I was just curious. Just, I don’t know, I’ve never really seen them all and I’m…I don’t know.”

“Whoa, hey, don’t worry, I totally get it. When I got my first tattoo I was super curious about other people’s tattoos too.” Ryan gave him a reassuring smile then pulled his t-shirt over his head. Now, Ruairi could see so much more of Ryan than he had been able to see when he wore the tank top, and Ruairi knew he’d made a mistake in asking. Especially as he stared at the wolf head on Ryan’s left shoulder, then the mountain range on his back, and then the three patterned bands circling his right bicep.

“Wow.”

“You like?” Ryan looked over his shoulder at Ruairi, who was still staring at his tattoos. He smiled, proud to see the awestruck look on Ruairi’s face. When Ruairi saw Ryan smiling at him he nodded, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Do you want to see some of my other ones?”

“You have more?”

“Hell yeah.” Ryan laughed, turning to face Ruairi and lifting up his left arm to reveal four hearts forming a four leaf clover on his ribs. Then, he lowered his arm and turned it over to reveal a tree that appeared to grow from the inside of his wrist up his forearm. Ruairi couldn’t hold back any longer and reached out his hand, lightly touching the tree. His fingers traced up the trunk and then the branches of the tree. He realized what he was doing and was about to pull his hand away when he felt Ryan’s fingers wrap around his wrist.

“I-I’m sorry, I got distracted and—“

“No, no, it’s perfectly ok, Ruairi,” Ryan whispered, keeping Ruairi’s fingers pressed to his tattoo. Ruairi instinctually stepped closer, head still bent down to look at where his fingers were tracing the tattoo. Suddenly, Ryan’s hand was no longer holding his wrist, but tilting his head up to look at him. Then, Ryan’s lips were pressed to his and Ryan’s hand was in his hair, pulling Ruairi down into the kiss. Ryan pulled away from him, eyes still closed and breaths coming in pants. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.“

“No, Ryan, I’m—it’s…fuck it,” Ruairi surged forward, one hand on Ryan’s cheek as he bent back down to kiss the tattoo artist. His other hand moved up Ryan’s arm to his bare back, pulling him flush against his chest and deepening the kiss. With the reassurance that Ruairi shared his feelings, Ryan pushed Ruairi against the wall of the parlor. Ryan’s hands shifted from Ruairi’s hair to his shoulders, holding him against the wall as his mouth shifted to Ruairi’s jaw, then neck. “Mm, Ryan, fuck,” his hand had moved into Ryan’s hair and he tugged on the strands when Ryan nipped at the sensitive skin of his pulse point, “Not here.”

Ryan finally pulled away from Ruairi just enough to speak, “What?” he asked, resting his head against Ruairi’s collarbone and nuzzling his nose against the base of Ruairi’s throat.

“Come over to my place. We can have dinner, and continue this more comfortably.” Ruairi breathed, pressing a gentle kiss to Ryan’s cheek and trailing his hand down to rest loosely against the side of Ryan’s neck. After a few seconds, Ryan nodded.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Ryan pulled away, then went up on his tiptoes to place a quick, chaste kiss on Ruairi’s lips. Then, he grabbed Ruairi’s hand and dragged him out of the tattoo parlor to Ruairi’s waiting car.

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

“Somebody got laid!” Erin sung leaning over the front desk of the parlor as Ryan walked in, fifteen minutes late.

“What are you talking about?” Ryan scowled at her.

“Oh, c’mon, you guys weren’t even subtle.” Erin came around to the front of the desk, standing in her brother’s path, “The shirt you forgot in the heat of the moment,” she held up the shirt he had abandoned the night before, “And, oh, what’s this?” she pushed the hood of what she guessed was Ruairi’s sweatshirt off of his head, “Hickeys! You and Ruairi sure had a fun night.”

“Shut the fuck up, Erin.”

“Seriously? Ryan, if you’re going to have a make-out session in the shop at least have the decency to own up to it, or delete the security footage!” she cackled, dancing away from his attempt to smack her.

“Shut up, it’s none of your business.” Ryan grumbled. At that moment Ruairi walked into the parlor, a fresh bouquet of bellflowers in his hand. Erin hid a smirk behind her hand as Ruairi came up behind Ryan, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I got you fresh flowers, love.”

Ryan blushed, shooting a glare at Erin before turning to face his new boyfriend. “Thanks, babe.” he took the flowers and swapped them out for the old ones that had still been in the vase. When he turned back around, he found that Erin had approached Ruairi.

“So,” Erin started, and Ryan dreaded whatever she was about to ask, “can I see the tattoo?” Ryan sighed with relief and Erin was already looking excitedly at the part of Ruairi’s arm that was covered in a bandage.

“Oh, yeah. Ryan did an amazing job!” Ruairi grinned, peeling away the bandage to expose the fresh looking tattoo to Erin. She smiled, taking in every aspect of the tattoo, from the intricate petals all the way to the heart that the stems formed.

“I love it! And look, we’re tattoo buddies!” She pulled off her purple flannel to show him the ring of bellflowers that circled her bicep. Ruairi noted that, like her brother, she was cut. Erin also had tattoos decorating her arms and shoulders, and he saw the edge of a tattoo peeking out from the back of her racerback. “Ryan, you’re the odd one out!”

“What? But he has a bellflower tattoo too.” Ruairi protested.

“Yeah, but not one on his arm like us!”

“Wow, if it means so much to you, Erin, I can get one on my arm.” Ryan sighed, leaning back against the front desk. “Where would you like me to get it?”

“Ooh, you’re letting me do this!” Erin was shocked, but she quickly transitioned into smiling with glee at her brother, “Sit down! I’m doing this now.”

“Erin, what about actual clients?”

“We don’t have any appointments for a couple of hours!” she argued, “Don’t worry, Ryan, it’s gonna be great!” Erin tugged on his arm, attempting to drag him back to one of the chairs. He resisted, raising his eyebrows at her.

“I think I’ll leave you two to it.” Ruairi began to back away towards the exit, “I have to actually open up my own shop.” he smiled and gave them a half wave.

“Wait!” Ryan broke away from Erin and raced after Ruairi, grabbing his hand and pulling him into his chest. He pressed a quick kiss to Ruairi’s lips, then mumbled against them, “Have lunch with me?”

“Of course.” Ruairi smiled, gave Ryan one last kiss, then left the parlor.

“I ship it.” Erin cooed as soon as the door shut behind Ruairi.

“Fuck off.”

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seasaltmemories · 6 years ago

Note

celica alm cooking fluff plssssssssss

Celica’s calves burned from the walk up the stairs to her apartment. She had told herself she should exercise more and taking the stairs instead of the elevator was an easy first step, but after a long day of working late, her body was regretting that decision. As soon as let herself in, she kicked her heels off to the side, and peeled off the rest of her sweaty clothing until she was down to her underwear. After running across the city and back in the hot sun, all she wanted to do was take a shower and then collapse into bed. Tomorrow was going to be just as strenuous, so there was no need to drag today out any longer, even if that phone-call still hung in her mind.

However, before she could make it to the bathroom, she noticed the tv in the living room was still on. As she went to turn it off she found Alm asleep on the couch. Strange, he wasn’t the type watch much tv and doze off. Figuring he’d prefer to sleep in his own bed, she nudged him gently.

“Mmhm?” Alm groaned as he lifted his head. “Celica?”

“It’s me,” Up close, she noticed the stains lining his t-shirt and a glob of something smattered across the bridge of his nose. Knowing him, Gray and the rest of the gang must have dragged him into something stupid, but that would be a story to hear another day. “You should wash up and get to bed.”

Slowly he began to sit up, stretching his limbs out like he was a cat. “What time is it?”

“11:00pm. Don’t worry, I’m gonna be joining you soon.”

Immediately his head snapped towards her, suddenly alert and lively. “Ah! Good then I didn’t miss it! Follow me!” Before she could protest, he had already grabbed her hand and dragged her to the kitchen. “Ta da!” With a flourish he flicked the light-switch. “Happy Birthday!”

Sitting on the counter was a plastic cake container with a note proclaiming the same cheery message. If it had been any other day she would at least appreciate the effort, but after everything that had happened, she couldn’t mask her disappointment.

“Alm...we talked about this.” It had been bad enough having to spoil Mae and Boey’s attempt at a surprise lunch date. “I just don’t really have the time for--” She tried to search for the right words, but ended up coming up blank. “--that.” She gestured at the container.

Alm ran a hand through his hair “I know you didn’t want to celebrate, but I thought something simpler could help make the festivities go down a bit easier. So what if it isn’t a birthday cake, just one I happened to make this afternoon? We can save it for tomorrow if you’re really too tired.”

In the light she could see it was flour that had gotten all over his clothes and face. Considering the evening out together he had originally planned, Alm really was trying to meet her on her level. It wasn’t like she disliked her birthday, but with her polling and research running her more ragged than usual on top of the other normal stresses of life, she felt as if she physically couldn’t relax, that if left doing nothing for too long she would snap and lash out at those just wanting to help her and ruin everything.

Without warning, her stomach let loose a loud growl. When she did the math in her head, she realized she hadn’t had any food since her quick lunch at 3.

“I guess one slice wouldn’t hurt.”

Alm’s smile was so bright, she thought it might blind her in that moment. “Sounds great! One slice coming up!” With a flourish he removed the top...

...and revealed the saddest cake she had ever seen. She hadn’t expected any homemade effort to be professional quality, but what frosting had managed to stay on the cake seemed to double its height. The poor thing couldn’t even stand up straight.

She couldn’t help. Immediately she broke in an ugly laugh, so hard she buried her face in her hands in an attempt to keep some measure of dignity.

“Hey! I worked very hard on it!” Alm scowled, but he couldn’t hide the flush slowly creeping up his neck.

“I know you did, honey. I appreciate it, truly,” She leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “What matters the most is that it tastes good.”

Back in highschool, when imagining the grand and ambitious life she’d have once she left home, Celica hadn’t picture herself eating an ugly slice of cake in her underwear at midnight. But as Alm and she ate (it actually turned out to taste pretty decent) something in her slowly began to still. Ugh, somehow she always managed to forget just how much slowing down helped her, even when every bone in her body screamed not to. Funny how humans were like that. Repeating the same mistakes over and over again. Really she was a pro at it. But instead of beating herself over it, she tried to focus on the way Alm’s thumb skimmed over her knuckles. It was harder to lose her head with him anchoring her.

When they both finished, Alm moved to put the cake up, but before he could leave, she squeezed his hand.

“Hmm?” He raised an eyebrow. With the way that flour was still caked across the bridge of his nose, she couldn’t help but smile and lean forward to wipe it off.

“Dad texted me today.”

Alm muttered something under his breath, yet from the way his grip tighten around her she knew more or less what he said.

“I thought you had blocked that bastard’s number?”

“And changed mine since the last time he pulled this stunt.” Celica massaged the side of her temple with her free hand. “But he must have been using his latest girlfriend’s phone bc I didn’t recognize the number and thought it might be one of the priests I’ve scheduled to interview. And once I started reading....it was like a train-wreck, couldn’t look away no matter how much I wanted to.”

“What’d he say?”

“The same old about not being sure about how much time he has left,” She sighed as she pulled at a loose string. It always felt like she pouring salt in an exposed wound right after she thought it had closed. “And he tried to worm his way into getting an invitation to the wedding.”

Alm let go of his hand to cup her face, his thumb stroking her cheek gently. “Cel...don’t feel like you have to forgive him just it’s what you’re “supposed” to do. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice your special day for other people’s happiness. Least of all, his.”

“Oh the guilt is definitely there, but I feel like I’m handling it better,” Despite her light pitch the bitterness steeped through all the same. “Rather it feels like I have no choice. If he was able to get my number he can probably figure out where its gonna be and invite myself. I feel tied to being his daughter no matter what I do.”

Alm bit his lip--a common habit for when he was frustrated. One one hand it was touching to see him emphasize so much with her, but on the other she hated making him suffer.

“I called my therapist about it. When I get around to my next session we’ll be ready to tackle it.”

“Doesn’t make me want to try and fix everything any less,” Alm pulled away, fists clenching and unclenching. This was an old song and dance for them, yet that didn’t ease the pain a bit. “You know I’m always willing to do whatever I can.”

“And I love you for that.” It was Celica’s turn to stroke his arm. Truly even this meant the world to her. “It doesn’t help that he offered to cover expenses. Almost makes me want to tolerate him just so that money isn’t stuck sitting in his trust funds and--”

“--Celica, I would never ask that of you.” Green eyes bore into her soul. “I feel awful that you’ve had to be working yourself to death for me, but I promise once I pass the bar exam, things will get easier for both of us.”

She took that moment to study Alm closely, to really observe the man she would dedicate herself to in the matter of a few months and the worry that lined his face. My my in moments like this she could trace out the boy she first met, who had been doing his damnest to befriend the lonely, rich girl.

“Look at us--” Celica gestured from her underwear, to the cake, then to the rest of the apartment, at a lost of what to say. “--just...tripping over each to see who can do the most for the other. I thought it was my job to overthink things.”

“We’re both the professional types,” Alm ran a hand through his hair. “Professional disasters for now but one day we might get prompted on up to professional mess.”

“It will be quite exciting won’t it?” Celica laughed. The memories swarmed before her eyes, of the two of them sharing their dreams during homecoming, imagining the world that would wait for them once they left their small town. They had managed to survive high school together and even made it through undergrad all while thousands of miles apart. The fact they made it this far would have blown her fourteen year-old mind.

“Hey, don’t worry about saving the world, Superman.” This time she pressed a kiss to his nose. “Just be my Clark Kent.” Even with no clear solution to her father, the wedding, or tomorrow’s long hours, her shoulders still as if some of the weight had been lifted.

“Eh not sure if I can ever give up on the world,” From the faraway look in his eye, he must have been reliving the past just like her. “but you think it’s ok for now?”

The same tired side of her was ready to insist everything was fine, that she had to rush to bed so she could rush all tomorrow again. However its tiredness seemed to have drained even her own weariness.

“Can we cuddle for a bit?” She felt like a teen voicing such a desire. “We’ve been out of sync with our schedule for a while now, and I’ve really missed it.”

Without another word, Alm wrapped her in his arms. As Celica rested her head against his heart, she knew that everything they’ve been through would have all been worth it just to have this moment.

A.N. Idk if I know how to fluff anymore, so some hurt/comfort as much as it got away from the prompt I am just happy to finish something

#fire emblem echoes #celicalm #celica fire emblem #alm fire emblem #fe echoes #my lame writing #otp: I'll send a storm to capture your heart and bring you home #ships and deserts and swamps oh my #celica #alm #Anonymous

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80srichie · 7 years ago

Text

just a bet

HEY HI WADDUP

so this is based LOOSELY on will and emma from the scream tv series. if you havent seen it, that doesnt matter bc like.... its not important

ANYWAY

THEY ARE SENIORS IN THIS

THAT MEANS THEY ARE 18!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PLEASE DONT ATTACK ME FOR THIS BC THE ACTORS HAVE NO RELATION TO THE CHARACTER IM WRITING K THX

there won’t be nsfw but there are MENTIONS of it sooooo

YEAH

anyway enjoy ily all

summary: beverly bets richie he can’t get with the new kid, eddie, in under three months. richie disagrees

pairing: richie and eddie

words: 1870

part two, three, four, five, six

Everyone at Derry High School knew of the senior Richie Tozier. No matter who they were, what social group they were apart of, they all knew of the trashmouth. Every girl swooned over him and every gay (and possibly ‘not’ gay) guy would beg for his number. He was the ‘It’ guy in his high school and even the other high schools in the Derry school district. It was common knowledge that Richie was bi. Some people said it was fake and that he said it for more attention, but his real friends knew it wasn’t bullshit at all.

Richie strode into the school building that Monday morning, casually sliding off his sunglasses and hooking them in his shirt. People in the hallways snuck glances at him, some even saying hello to him politely as he passed. He nodded in response, flashing them a smile. Richie approached his locker and opened it with ease, getting his few textbooks out. Despite being a ‘jock’, he still cared about his grades.

“Hey, Rich, did you hear about the new kid?” Beverly asked casually, making her presence known. She leaned against the navy blue lockers, a small smile playing on her lips.

“I have not, what’s so important about the new kid?” Richie asked, closing his locker. Beverly pushed herself up and started to walk down the hallway with him. “Well, I have to give him the tour today. I saw him in the office. He’s cute and gay.” She chuckled, hooking her thumbs in the belt loops of her overalls.

“Now, now, Bev. How do you know this poor guy is gay?” Richie asked, shoving his hands in his jean pockets.

“He’s wearing the shortest pair of shorts I’ve ever seen, Richie. I’m serious they’re shorter than some of the ones the girls here wear.”

Richie scoffed. “Don’t make assumptions, Marsh. Do I look gay to you?”

Beverly stopped him from walking and narrowed her eyes at him, pretending to study him. “Yes.”

Richie rolled his eyes, shoving her off of him playfully. “Fuck off.” His tone sounded mad, but the smile on his face said otherwise.

The two arrived into their first period of the day, English. Beverly sat in the seat across from Richie, Stan and Bill joining them mere moments later. Beverly was mentioning to the other two guys about the new kid when she gasped quietly. “Richie, I have a bet for you.”

“Oh, do you?” Richie asked, glancing up at her through his glasses.

“I bet you can’t get with the new kid and sleep with him in under three months.”

She said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. She had a smug smile plastered on her face.

Richie narrowed his eyes at her. “And what do I get if I do?”

“The satisfaction of completing a bet and keeping your ‘never says no to a bet’ reputation.” She responded, smirking.

Richie huffed, leaning back in his chair. “Fine. If I do, however, you have to make out with Bill.”

“Hey, I didn’t agree to th-that.” Bill frowned.

“Who said you had a choice, Big Bill?” Richie grinned.

Eddie Kaspbrak didn’t want to move to Derry. He really didn’t. After his parents got divorced, his mother decided the best way of dealing with her problem was to move back to her hometown. Eddie had to leave his friends back in Michigan but his mom never gave him a choice. He never had a say in which parent he lived with when he got to see his dad, but he dealt with it. Every time he brought up the subject, his mother shut him down and insisted she was the ‘better parent’ for him. Eddie despised the thought of starting over in a new school nearly halfway through his senior year.

Eddie sat in the main office, glancing around at the various colorful posters strewn about the room’s walls. “Eddie Kaspbrak.”

His head snapped up at the sound of his name, making eye contact with a girl. She had short, fiery red hair and bright blue eyes. “Hi. I’m Beverly.” The girl- Beverly- held out her hand. Eddie stood and shook it, proceeding to grab his backpack and throw it over his shoulder.

“I’m assuming you’re giving my tour?” Eddie asked.

Beverly made a noise of agreement, tilting her head towards the main office exit door. “C’mon shortstack. Time’s a-wastin'.”

Eddie listened as Beverly explained where all his classes were, what staircases to use, and even where to sit at lunch. She finally stopped in front of a classroom, looking to Eddie. “You should be in 2nd period, Chemistry. Good luck.” Beverly walked off and down a staircase, giving him a wave as she disappeared around the corner.

Eddie let out a breath, slowly turning the handle and pushing open the classroom door. Every head in the room turned to look at him as he walked in and he instantly felt nervous.

“Ah, you must be the new student. Eddie, is it?” The professor asked. Eddie nodded. The teacher pointed to a table in the back corner of the room. “You’re in luck. We assigned new project partners today so you haven’t missed anything. You’ll be partnered with Mr. Tozier.”

Eddie glanced over to find a (cute) boy sitting alone at a table. He smiled at Eddie, waving him over. Eddie walked over, sitting down on the empty stool next to the boy.

He grinned. “Hey, I’m Richie.” The boy- Richie- said, using his pointer finger to push up the glasses on his nose. “And you’re Eddie.” Eddie nodded. “That’s me.”

“So, Eds, why’d you move to Derry?” Richie asked, leaning dangerously far back on the stool.

“My parents got divorced and my mom grew up here. If I had a choice, I would’ve stayed in Michigan. And don’t call me that. My name is Eddie.”

“Whatever ya say, Eds.” He said, winking before sitting on the stool properly. Eddie felt himself blush.

Richie sat in the plastic lunch table chair, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Beverly attempt to braid Stan’s curly hair. Bill glanced over at the entrance to the cafeteria and nudged Richie.

“Hey, it’s the new kid.”

Richie glanced over and smiled, watching as Eddie found an empty table and sat down. “Should I ask him to my game?”

Beverly chuckled. “Of course. Three months starting now, Tozier!”

Eddie held a plastic tray in his hands, trying to figure out what lunch table to sit at. He looked around the room before spotting an empty table. He walked over and sat down, starting to pick at the ‘food’ he was given.

“Hey, Eds!”

Eddie nearly jumped out of his seat. “Jesus, Richie.” He mumbled, looking over at him.

Richie had a smirk on his face. “I scare ya?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, stabbing his plastic fork into the disgusting excuse for green beans. People had warned him about Richie all day, more or less saying ‘do not fall for him.’

“So, Eds… You are gonna come to my soccer game after school.” Richie said, leaning back in the chair and smiling.

Eddie raised his eyebrow. “I am?”

Richie nodded, reaching over and eating a fry from his lunch. “You are!”

Eddie frowned smacked his hand away from his food. “Is this your way of trying to help me fit in? Because I’ve heard about you and I’m not interested.”

“Heard about me how?”

“The fact that you lead everyone around you on.”

Richie fake gasped, placing a hand over his heart. “I am offended, Eds! You think I’m a slut?” Well, I was with your mom last night-”

Eddie rolled his eyes once more. “If I go to your game, will you shut up?”

Richie grinned. “Only for now. See you then, cutie.” He got up, shooting Eddie a wink before walking back over to his friends.

Eddie was blushing like mad and silently cursed at himself. He didn’t like Richie, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Eddie sat uncomfortably in the stands, annoyed at how loud and obnoxious the students around him were being. He tried to watch the game, but to be completely honest, he didn’t know what was going on. All he knew was Derry High was winning.

Richie was sitting on the sidelines beside Stan. “Did he really show?” Stan asked doubtfully. “I don’t think he would.”

“Oh, yeah?” Richie retorted. “Top right corner of the far right stand. Blue hoodie.”

Stan’s eyes gazed across the crowd before spotting Eddie sitting amongst the rambunctious teenagers. He chuckled, using his mouth to pop open the mouthpiece of his water bottle. “Nice job, Tozier. Think you can do it?”

“Of course I can, Stanley. Do you know how easy it is? He blushed because I winked. I’ve got this in the bag.” Richie responded, standing and walking closer to the substitute flag so he could go in for Bill.

Eddie watched the game the best he could, trying to keep his eyes on Richie. That’s why he was even here, after all. The large clock said there were 2 minutes remaining in the game. Someone on the team had gotten the ball to Richie, but someone on the other team tripped him. The ref blew the whistle, calling for a direct free kick. Richie placed the ball near the goal where the ref told him to. He took a few steps back, before running and kicking the ball, scoring their team a goal. His team surrounded him as the stands cheered. Derry had won and Richie had scored the winning goal.

Eddie made his way out of the stands, leaning against the side of them. He was texting his mother to tell her he was on his way home. As he started to walk away, he heard a voice call out his name. Eddie turned on his heel to find Richie jogging toward him.

Eddie made a face at the amount of dirt and sweat that was on him. “You look disgusting.”

“Not as disgusting as me and your mom last night,” Richie smirked. Eddie rolled his eyes, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

“You’re gross and I’m leaving,” Eddie said, starting to walk away.

“Not before going out to get ice cream with me,” Richie called. Eddie stopped walking and turned back around.

“What?”

“You and me, ice cream. What more explanation do you want?”

“Who said I was going with you?”

“I did!”

“It seems like I never seem to have a choice with you, do I?”

“No. No, you don’t. Stay here, I’m going to go change and shower unless you wanna join me.” Richie winked.

“You’re gross and I hate you,” Eddie responded as Richie walked away. Eddie tried to ignore the blush that he felt growing on his face at a mere wink. He couldn’t like Richie. He couldn’t- and wouldn’t.

But he did.

HEY HELLO

i really like this idea so PART TWO??? LEMME KNOW

also you can ask to be on the perma taglist or just the taglist for this fic i can do both

masterlist

part two??/ask to be on taglist

thank you for reading <3

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#reddie #richie tozier #richie x eddie #richie and eddie #stan uris #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #it 2017 #it #it movie #jack dylan grazer #jaeden lieberher #finn wolfhard #wyatt oleff

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