#i become so deeply annoying when drunk that i should not be allowed to use my phone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harryimaginedstories · 5 years ago

Text

on your side

genre: au (while I don’t like the term ‘au-fic’ at all imagine the two characters are in college together and in their early twenties.) angst and some fluff as well.

about 5k words

it’s entirely different than anything I have ever published and I really love it. please let me know what you think and stay safe during these wild and often scary times.

read more here: my stories

photo: taken from instagram, previously taken by somebody from the movie AWC, which also inspired me (kinda) to even write this.

They started arguing pretty much the second the car door fell shut behind them and even ten traffic lights, countless of turns and getting honked at twice, didn’t stop their heated exchange of words. Harry’s hands held on to the seat tightly, an attempt not to touch her thigh like he normally would, while hers curled around the steering wheel until the white of her knuckles showed. It wasn’t uncommon for them to fight. They had never been one of those couples who didn’t call each other out on their bullshit or who tried hide anger when there was reason to feel it. However, this was the first time that they weren’t on their way home, where their argument could be settled in private. Instead, Harry and Y/N, both infuriated with each other, were on their way to a party. With one generous rotation of the wheel, Y/N parked Harry’s black car in the last free niche on the street of the frat house. The vehicle gave an unpleasant sound and Harry closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring. Before he got the chance to complain, Y/N swung open the door, stepped out and threw it shut hard enough to know it would set him off.

“Jesus fuck!” Harry shouted, opening the passenger door and stepping out, too.

She waited long enough to press ‘lock’ on the keys once he was out, then she walked away. With quick strides he caught up with her, and had he not been as angry as could be he would have probably felt hurt at her for not waiting up like she would have any other day. Walking next to her he turned to look at her profile, trying to catch her eyes, but she refused.

“Would you mind not taking your crazy out on my fucking car?”

“Oh, so you do care about that then. Good to know,” she snapped back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Y/N halted and so did he. They were standing on the pavement, one house away from where there could already be heard the dull sound of music blaring and a good meter of distance between them. Any other night they would be standing there, too. Only not to deliver a few more blows before pretending to be alright while their friends were around. On any other night, Harry would have taken advantage of the warm weather, by letting his hands roam across Y/N’s bare arms. She would have given him a kiss or two and made him a laugh at least as much. He would have reminded her for the fifth time (at least) that she looked beautiful. There wouldn’t be any distance between them, let alone one entire meter.

“There is one thing I’ve been hearing clearly through all of the bullshit you’ve said today,” Y/N hissed, her lips barely moving and her hands curling into tight fists by her side, “which is that you don’t give a fuck about me.”

“Oh my god.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his head falling back before snapping forward quickly, “You’re being such a lunatic!”

Wind picked up some of her hair and pushed the loose strands into her eyes, breaking the angry stare she’d held with him and for a moment, Harry could have sworn she appeared to be younger. Then she brushed the hair off with shaky hands and back she was, angry and exhausted.

“You’re a dick!” Y/N squealed,

“Well, clearly we could go on,” he snapped and rolled his eyes, “but our fucking friends are waiting for us so do you think you can manage to avoid me for the next few hours so we can at least settle this at home?”

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her cleavage which he had tried not to stare ever since she’d put on the blue dress. That damn dress. Focusing on it now it only irked him further. She knew how much he loved it when she wore this particular piece of clothing. It had spent the night on the floor of his bedroom or over the back of a chair often enough. He was certain she’d put it on specifically to spite him.

“Fine, let’s go. But since you’re unhappy with my parking,” Y/N stepped forward and reached up, pressing the hard metal of Harry’s car keys into his chest, “you get to be the designated driver tonight.”

Her fist lingered on the fabric of his black T-shirt. Feeling her touch him momentarily paused his thoughts. All anger was forgotten, as if the wind had picked it up, too, and carried it far away. Harry whimpered and her lips parted, their eyes connecting without any trace of hurt in them. Then his hand found hers and she dropped the set of keys into his palm, snapping them both out of their brief moment of peace.

“I don’t want to see you right now,” Y/N stuttered, blinking rapidly until her eyes turned darker again.

“Don’t come look for me later when you’re drunk and feeling sorry,” Harry replied, before he stepped around her and walked towards the frat building.

Y/N lost sight of him the second he stepped inside. Despite still feeling angry with him, she couldn’t stop herself from briefly wishing he wouldn’t have left her alone. She didn’t like being left alone at a party. Neither did he, for the matter, but she refused to feel guilty for sending him away. Y/N drew a shaky breath and stepped inside, instantly greeted by the smell of alcohol, smoke and pot. A big banner had been hung from one side of the hall to the other, wishing everybody a cheerful start to the new semester. Underneath mingled numerous students, all of which held drinks in their hands. Already Y/N recognized a few of them from some of her classes, she didn’t feel like talking to them however. To her luck she spotted a few friends of her in the first room she entered and was quickly greeted with hugs and kisses to her cheek.

Dena, a girl Y/N had grown close with through sharing an equal distain for their econ teacher, pressed a drink into her hand and smiled. “You look like you need at least two of these.”

Y/N smiled sadly. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well, you didn’t cheer in delight upon seeing us like you should have so,” said Clara, another friend Y/N had made whilst talking badly about her teacher.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.”

Dena nudged her. “Also, your boyfriend stormed past us earlier so we expected something was up.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Clara asked.

Y/N shook her head and took a long sip from her drink. It tasted of a mixture of beer and vodka, which on any other day she would have refused to drink. “I really don’t.”

“Great. Then let’s just cheer to us.”

The two girls raised their own cups and waited expectantly for Y/N to do the same. Dena grinned at her and cleared her throat.

“To us, the coming semester, which we will fucking ace. And-” she paused, looking at Y/N, “to knowing when to kick your boyfriend’s ass. Cheers!”

“Cheers.”

Harry stood by the unlit fire pit in the lounge area, where the chairs had been pushed aside to create a dance floor. A scowl was deeply etched onto his face and he had yet to smile genuinely. He blamed the alcohol he wasn’t allowed to consume for how poorly he was feeling, but he knew even if he had drowned his veins in liquor, it wouldn’t be until he’d feel her touch him that he would be in a better mood. He stood back watching with a few of his mates, who were all except one, very drunk, as some freshmen clumsily turned the dinner table into a bear pong station. Matt, the only sober one left, had tried to get him to talk about why his mood was so sour three times already, receiving no answer each time. Harry rolled his eyes upon feeling him nudge his shoulder again.

“Where’s your girl?”

Harry shrugged. “Don’t know.”

He’d been cursing her short height since turning around and looking for her in the crowded hallway thirty minutes ago. She’d slipped past him without him noticing, and while he was too proud to go look for her properly, it annoyed him that he wasn’t able to casually spot her whenever he scanned one of the many rooms that had been turned into a club. He especially didn’t like it since he knew that she was drinking. Blindly he felt for his phone in his pocket, ensuring for the tenth time that its volume was turned up. Should she call him, he wanted to be sure that he wouldn’t miss it.

“Didn’t she come with you?” Matt pressed on, either oblivious to Harry’s annoyance or simply indifferent to it.

“Doesn’t mean she can’t wander off on her own, does it?” Harry replied, his voice rough.

He’d never really liked Matt. Actually, he’d liked him a lot once. They’d even considered becoming roommates in their second year. He’d liked him, up until he’d gotten together with Y/N and noticed the gleam in Matt’s eyes the first time he’d introduced her to him. Their friendship dissolved fast after.

“I’m sure she can. She’s always been good at enjoying parties, hasn’t she?”

Harry didn’t reply. Once more his eyes scanned the room frantically, detecting every single face in hopes of recognizing the eyes to the one he loved.

“Dude!” Eric, a tall and broad looking bloke who’d just become team captain to the football team, stumbled into Harry’s side, knocking him back.

“Sorry! Shit,” Eric laughed, doubling over, revealing that he was clearly drunker than he should have been, “I’m sorry, mate. Wow, I need to lay off a little.”

“No kidding,” Harry replied, but smiled when Eric slung a heavy arm around his shoulders. The unmistakable smell of alcohol fanned over his face as Eric talked, and his nose scrunched up.

“You’ve been wearing a look as depressing as Matt’s sex life-”

“Hey, fuck you, Eric!” Matt snapped, unamused.

“-and I intend to fix that. C’mon.”

Harry didn’t fight it as the taller guy dragged him away, out of the lounge and into another room further down the hall. He certainly didn’t mind getting away form Matt. Regardless of them having been friends once, Matt was the last person he wanted to be around when he was having a rough time with Y/N. The smoke was thicker in this room and the music a little quieter. There were less people dancing and more sitting around on the couches and chairs. A few stood by the wall in small groups and some, the ones Eric was walking towards, were standing opposite a dart board. They cheered upon seeing the two guys approach, making more noise than anybody else in the room.

“You’re on my team and you’re gonna help me win, yeah? M’taking advantage of you being sober as a stone. Your aim is probably better than any of theirs.”

Harry laughed and nodded, accepting to be involved. “I’ll try my best.”

The first dart arrow was thrust into his hand by a guy named Kyle who appeared to be on the same team. Half an hour later and Eric was grinning from ear to ear, writing their leading score numbers onto a makeshift writing board that was really just the coffee table. Something the guys living in this house would be happy to find in the morning. Y/N watched him. Despite being intoxicated, or perhaps because of how intoxicated she was, she noticed every muscle of his back move each time he raised his arm. Her heart fluttered whenever he laughed and she felt a heat grow at the pit of her stomach whenever he leaned his head to the side, revealing the back of his neck to her. And above his neck was his ear, which hid a spot right under his hairline where he liked to be kissed. Y/N’s lips parted at the thought and her toes curled. He hadn’t noticed her when entering the room. She didn’t blame him though, since she’d successfully hid herself behind Dena and Eric’s big body also worked wonderfully as a shield. Despite anything she’d said before the party, she was immensely relieved to see him. The vodka-beer mixture which she’d learned had been invented by Clara, was disgusting but also got her drunk faster than she had expected. Or intended. Another round of cheers erupted as Harry scored another point for his team.

“Not fair. You won’t give them as much as a chance to win.”

A chill rushed down Harry’s back at the sound of the honey sweet female voice behind him, and Y/N, too, froze in place. Slender fingers touched Harry’s arm, caressing the skin despite being less than welcome to. Upon turning around he was met with Silja, who’s face wore a smile equally sweet as her sly voice. Though standing by the opposite wall, Y/N swore she could hear Silja as if she were standing next to her. She would always be able to detect her voice, especially if the words she spoke were directed to Harry.

Dena followed her friend’s gaze and raised her brows. “Haven’t seen her in a while. I thought she dropped out.”

“Would have been too nice,” Y/N growled.

She’d never actually talked to Silja herself and she surely didn’t intend to. Before getting together with him, Y/N had been mostly oblivious to who was genuinely interested in him and who she imagining to be. Only with Silja there had never been any doubt. Even before Harry had become hers, she’d felt a bitter taste collect in the middle of her tongue whenever the pretty brunette girl tried to talk to him. Once her claim on him had become justified, she disliked Silja and her upfront behaviour all the more.

“Hey, you know you don’t have to worry about her, right?” Dena said quietly, reading Y/N’s expression, “Harry has rejected her what, three times already? Even before he was with you. He’s not interested in her.”

“I know. I’m not worried about that,” Y/N said quickly, stepping around Dena to get a better look at her boyfriend and the girl that had yet to remove her hand from his arm, “I trust him.”

“Doesn’t make her less of a bitch,” Clara grumbled, also staring at them intently.

The three girls watched Harry turn to look at Silja. He gave her a tight lip smile before he stepped away to make room for the next player, conveniently shrugging off her hand in process. To their dismay, Silja followed him.

“I haven’t seen you this summer,” she complained in an uncomfortably high voice, that was laced with feigned displeasure, “Where were you hiding?”

Harry sighed, wishing Y/N would find him already, and rested his back against the wall. The last thing he needed for this party to become worse were the advances of the woman standing before him. “I wasn’t.”

Their summer had been great. They spent it looking for a flat to move into together. One weekend they’d taken the train out to the ocean and spent two days in a pretty bed and breakfast, where nothing distracted them from each other and everything, even their sheets, held the faint smell of sea salt. He wasn’t about to tell any of that to Silja though.

The girl pouted, smudging her lilac lipstick at the corners. “Didn’t you miss me at all? Not even a little bit?”

“No.”

She smiled. Her neck moved to the side as her eyes mustering him. “You and your attitude. I really missed that.”

Harry let his head fall back and for a moment Y/N forgot to eye the girl hitting on her boyfriend and instead stared at his throat. She longed to kiss him there, too. The darkened expression taking over his relaxed face quickly brought her attention back. Thinking about kissing him had made her miss the words Silja had said to upset him.

“You’re wasting your time missing me.”

At last, Silja’s smile dropped. “You’re still with her, then?”

“Yep,” he replied shortly.

“Fine,” Silja pushed the long brown locks off her shoulder and crossed her arms, “maybe if she fucked you right you wouldn’t be such an asshole all the time.”

“Fuck off, Silja,” Harry snapped, pushing himself off the wall to instantly tower over her.

“Harry! Your turn again, mate.”

Without giving her as much as a second look, Harry turned away and followed Eric’s call. Dena’s hand rested on Y/N’s shoulder, squeezing her gently whilst smiling at her. Y/N exhaled loudly and relaxed. She didn’t doubt Harry’s capability of getting rid of Silja. She’d also truly meant it when she’d said that she trusted him. But after their argument she wasn’t so sure that he didn’t want to receive some affection tonight, be it from anybody. While she would have hated it, simply entertaining Silja’s flirting wouldn’t have been cheating. A warm feeling overtook any worry left in her body upon watching him turn Silja away. He didn’t bother look at her again but walked back to his friends to resume the game, treating her like she wasn’t even there. He didn’t even give Silja the satisfaction of remaining angered by her words. Giving up her attempts, Silja walked away and left the room quickly, her cheeks slightly rosy in embarrassment.

“Remind me to kiss him later for that,” Y/N said, her voice holding more love for him than she would usually let on whilst angry.

Clara laughed. “So you’re not mad at him anymore.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me that I was or I might still be.”

“What were you two fighting about anyway?” Dena asked.

Y/N took another long sip from her drink, before remembering that she’d wanted to not drink any more for the night. Oh well.

“He didn’t come home last night. Without notifying me. He fell asleep at stupid Rick’s place and neither of them bothered shooting me a text or ringing me about it. I spent all night worried sick.”

Y/N’s expression hardened at the thought of waiting up for him. She’d paced around the living room of their new flat before settling on the couch, vowing to stay awake until he returned. She’d had half a mind not to call his mother or sister, not quite worried enough to ask them.

“I didn’t see him until an hour before coming here ‘cause I had to work today. So we didn’t have time to properly fight about it.”

“Didn’t he say he was sorry?”

“Sure he did, as well as stating that I was overreacting and not his mother.”

“Ugh, men,” Dena grumbled, then she changed the subject, “Let’s get refills in the kitchen!”

Harry got bored of the game after the fifth round, but stayed to play until the team he’d joined won by a margin. Then he politely excused himself from playing another round. Though she’d told him she didn’t want to see him, Harry really wanted to see Y/N and he figured over an hour of distance sufficed for her to calm down. Maybe she would even allow herself to be happy about him finding her. He strolled around the room, then went looking in the hall and finally searched the lounge. If only she were a little taller, he thought once more. All of sudden he heard a loud shout. It wasn’t one of the usual party hollers, it was one that held no joy at all. With swift strides Harry crossed the room, turned left in the hallway and entered the kitchen. This time he didn’t have to search to see her. Y/N was sitting on the counter, her legs dangling down and her hands curling around the stone surface. Across from her was the kitchen table on which all of the different liquor bottles had been placed. It was also where the single shout turned into several. A guy Harry hadn’t ever seen around campus before stood next to a broken bottle of vodka. His hand curled into a fist and his face was red. Opposite him stood Dena, a girl Harry barely knew beyond her being a friend of Y/N. Next to Dena was a guy named Dylan, his face painted with guilt and worry.

“You fucking broke my shit!” the stranger shouted.

Y/N flinched. It wasn’t Dena who’d pissed off the wrong guy, but Dylan who had tried to make a drink for them. She didn’t feel any less involved if the guy were to be shouting at her. The second the bottle had broken and the tall stranger exclaimed that it’d been his, Y/N had felt fear curse through her. She hated it. She hated how a man shouting was so scary that she froze in place. Just like she always did when afraid, her eyes began to search for Harry. Heavy like a wave and equally overwhelming was the relief when she saw him lingering in the doorway. Their eyes met. Y/N visibly relaxed. She could read the question in the look he was giving her and she eagerly nodded. There were so few people scattered around the small place, Harry had no trouble reaching the counter. Once in arms reach she held out her right hand, whimpering when his fingers slotted through hers and holding on tight. Any anger towards each other was forgotten the moment their skin touched. Y/N gave a determined pull until he stood next to where she was sitting, her legs touching his waist. Harry didn’t say anything, but he allowed her to let go of his hand to instead hold on to his shoulder. His own settled heavily on her thigh, relishing the feeling of her bare skin. He didn’t complain when her fingers curled tightly around the fabric of his shirt, nor did she mind how intimate it felt to have his hand on her naked thigh. His eyes quickly scanned her face, waiting for her nod, confirming that she was alright. Y/N smiled gently, relief mirroring in her eyes. Harry returned her smile. His heart clenching when he noticed the faint veil of alcohol before her eyes. Ever so slightly, their heads leaned towards each other, then his nose softly touched her forehead.

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” Dena said defensively, “and these bottles are for everybody to use.”

Harry shifted closer to Y/N but removed his nose form her hairline. Unwillingly he turned his attention back to where the argument grew. The stranger’s head, figuratively doubling in size by the minute, was red and looming over Dena like a balloon hovering in the sky. He had to admit it was impressive that Dena, equally short as Y/N, refused to back off.

“I wasn’t asking you! You and your friend better figure out how to replace my drink and you better do it fast!”

“Mate, lay off a bit, will ya? They didn’t do anything on purpose,” Harry interrupted, his voice calm and steady, “Why don’t you just grab one of the ten other bottles and leave ‘em alone?”

The stranger, slightly shorter than Harry, turned to look at them. Y/N tightened her hold on his shoulder. She was mentally preparing herself to jump off the counter and at the stranger’s throat instead, should he as much as try to pick a fight with Harry. Noticing her shift beside him, Harry’s hold on her intensified.

“Leave them alone?” the tall guy snapped, “that was twenty fucking quid he broke!”

“Bit embarrassing that you’re whining about twenty quid,” Harry said, wearing a smug grin, “and picking a fight like some kind of neanderthals who found out somebody’s pissed into his cave.”

Dena giggled and so did Y/N, along with some bystanders who’d gathered to watch. The bloke narrowed his eyes, first at Harry, then at the girl sitting beside him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Y/N interrupted him. “Quit looking at me and spare me any sexist bullshit you’re about to say.”

The guy rolled his eyes, then smiled. “You’re pretty for a bitch.”

Y/N’s hand yanked Harry back by his shoulder equally fast as he’d pushed off the counter to lunge forward and at the guy. The movement caused him to knock against the counter uncomfortably. She didn’t let go and didn’t move, despite Harry’s enraged breathing getting louder.

“Fuck you!” Harry shouted, eyes wide.

Anger oozed out of his pores and heat settled in the small kitchen. Calm and collected only a moment ago, he was all the more scarier now that he was enraged. Scary enough to make the stranger take back a step. Y/N loosened her hold on Harry’s shoulder, sliding her hand down to press against his back instead. She rubbed his spine gently, hoping to ease him by letting him know she was okay.

"You need to leave,” Y/N stated, her voice calm.

“Definitely,” Dena agreed, her eyes trained on her friend before finding Harry.

He didn’t return her gaze, his eyes remained on the tall blonde. They stayed put until the guy lowered his empty cup to the table, the movement slow and deliberate. He clearly didn’t want it to look like he was leaving because he was told to, so he took his time. But finally he turned away, before at last leaving the kitchen and hopefully the party all together.

Harry shuddered upon feeling Y/N’s nose against the shell of his ear. “I’m fine, Harry.”

“What a wanker.”

“A fucking wanker,” Y/N replied, her smile practically audible in her voice.

Harry turned around to face her, all of his attention returning to where it belonged: her. His eyes looked into hers intently, reading every answer to all of his unspoken questions.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Are you?”

He nodded. “Did he try anything before I came?”

“I noticed him about zero-point-five seconds before you arrived, Harry. I’m fine, I promise.”

Her hands gently took hold of his face. The fingers of her left hand traced along his jawline as tenderly as one would the rim of a glass in hopes of eliciting a sound. That’s how Harry sometimes felt when she touched him. Like she was being as tender as she could possibly fathom to be.

“Does that mean you’re gonna go back to being mad at me?” As he spoke, Harry moved closer. His hands rested on each side of her hips, allowing his body to get closer to hers as he leaned forward.

Y/N laughed and shook her head, their faces so close they almost touched. She enjoyed the warmth of his breath fanning against her throat.

“Are you? You were at least as pissed off as I was.”

He shrugged, then playfully nudged her nose with his. “No.”

“Then I think I’ll let it go, too,” she answered, faking to be coy, “For now, you still owe me an apology later.”

Harry laughed. “That’s fair. Promise to mean it this time, too.”

Her eyes narrowed. She took hold of his chin, holding him still so she could kiss him without giving him the chance to deepen it. The feeling of his mouth slotting with hers, be it as briefly as it was, ignited her like nothing else could. Any remaining worry was pulled from the corners in her body where it had hidden, and was thrown out not to return. Harry took over. All of the space inside her that could belong to an emotion, now belonged to him.

“I knew you didn’t mean it earlier,” she breathed accusingly against his lips.

“I meant it a little,” he said, curling his hand around her wrist to pull away the hold she’d taken and he kissed her a second time before she could complain.

Despite their desperation their teeth didn’t clash together, nor did their noses unintentionally bump. They’d kissed too many times not to blindly meet each other without missing. His tongue glided along her bottom lip, hers pushed his aside so it could trespass into his mouth. Frantic hands held on to her hips and her thigh, eager fingers remembered to be gentle as they settled on the back of his neck. Harry moaned and Y/N pulled away.

“Thank you,” she whispered, just enough space between them so she could speak.

Harry’s kisses trailed down from the corner of her mouth to her cheek and her jaw, his lips warm, wet and determined. He allowed one kiss to last a little longer, followed by a small lick to her earlobe.

As satisfied as could be as long as they weren’t alone, he raised his head to look at her again. “What for?”

“Being on my side even when we’re fighting.”

The smile gracing her features was so genuine he could have melted, just like her words were spoken with more love behind them than he could detect. He smiled and willingly moved his head to the side, so she could kiss below his ear. The heat in his belly grew and he let her know by squeezing her hips.

“Ditto.”

842 notes · View notes

random-french-girl · 4 years ago

Note

for the brotp game toni and rachel

also make sure to take care of yourself, drink water, allow yourself to rest <3 i hope your day gets better and that you have a good rest of august and year for that matter

Anon, you’re the sweetest, thank you and same to you <3

What in-jokes do they have with each other?

Okay, listen, i don’t know anything about sports, and obviously Rachel and Toni have had very different experiences, but I’m sure they eventually find out that they hated the same thing about locker rooms benches or the shower pressure at the gym, or that their coaches had very similar mannerisms, or something else that’s like an “only-athletes-will-understand” kind of joke. And then they become INSUFFERABLE ABOUT IT.

Are they the “I’ll pay this time if you pay next time”-type friends, or the “I’ll pay for my food and you’ll pay for yours”-type friends?

They ask for separate checks, unless previously agreed that one of them is inviting the other.

Who’s more prone to pranking, or otherwise messing with, the other?

Toni tries it, like, once, and then NEVER AGAIN, because Rachel’s revenge is brutal. (Which was Rachel’s goal all along. She loves Toni, but she loves her peace and quiet more.)

How do they text/message each other? Proper punctuation and capital letters, egregious overuse of emojis, mostly in meme format…?

Surprisingly, they both share a lot of memes and funny TikToks and stuff over texts. Like, more than you’d think.

Do they exchange jokey birthday presents, or deeply thought-out and meaningful presents? Or both?

They prefer to participate in group birthday gifts rather than having to come up with individual gifts. (Rachel is GREAT at making sure everybody contributes.)

They go on a road trip together. Who drives, who picks the music, who’s in charge of snacks?

Rachel drives. Rachel picks the music. Rachel is in charge of snacks. Toni sulks in the passenger seat the whole time, but has to admit that a) this is the most efficient road-trip she’s ever been on, b) Rachel has a great taste both in music and in snacks. (She tells Martha under a vow of secrecy. Martha definitely spills the beans to Rachel. Toni never hears the end of it.)

What do they think of each other’s family?

Rachel’s only interested in Toni being happy, so whatever Toni decides about her mom, she’ll support. She does tell Toni that she should give her mom a chance to prove herself. Toni is a bit intimidated/uncomfortable around Rachel’s parents - they’re well-off and smart, and a tad pretentious, even if they try to be nice. And obviously, Toni and Nora are friends.

Do they have any nicknames for each other?

They call each other by their last names when they’re annoyed at each other. But Toni also starts calling Rachel “Rach”, and Rachel feels weirdly emotional about it because only Nora used to call her that?

Who’d be the first to try and patch things up if they had a fight?

Toni, 100%.

One of their phones goes off in the middle of the night. Who’s calling whom, and why?

Rachel calls Toni in a rare moment of vulnerability, and they talk about stuff that’s been on her mind, and afterwards Rachel makes Toni promise not to say a WORD of this to anyone.

What’s their favourite funny story about something that happened to the two of them?

Honestly, I’m kind of blanking on that one. It would be sport-related though - like they agree to a dumb challenge, and they both fail spectacularly.

Would they do a joint cosplay? If so, who would they dress up as?

Absolutely not.

Do they have any TV shows that they watch together? Are there any shows they have wildly different opinions on?

They don’t really watch TV shows together, but they do watch sport games a lot. It’s actually one of their favorite things to do together, because nobody else in their friend group (except Martha and Dot, to a lesser extent) enjoys watching sport. The Olympics is a HUGE thing for them - they talk about it in advance, and reserve entire nights to watch their favorite competitions. Shelby, drily, starts referring to Rachel as “my girlfriend’s sport girlfriend”.

Which one is the “fight me” friend and which one is the one who tries to keep the peace and prevent their friend from punching a total stranger?

Toni usually. Though on certain occasions, Rachel WILL punch a stranger - and Toni does not stop her.

One of them comes up with an ill-advised but mostly harmless idea. Does the other one egg them on because they think it’ll be funny, or try and talk them out of it?

Rachel tries to talk Toni out of it, with limited success.

Who would win if they arm-wrestled?

Rachel, rip Toni’s dignity.

Who’s better at what type of video games, and how competitive are they when they play together?

They are SO competitive. And equally matched. This is a great source of conflict in their friendship. Rachel keeps a tally of her victories on the fridge.

One of them ends up in hospital for something serious but not life-threatening. What does the other bring along when they visit in order to cheer them up?

Rachel brings an entire bag full of things Toni loves - the right chips, her favorite drink, one of Shelby’s sweaters, her Nintendo Switch, books and comics - and then tactfully pretends not to notice the tears in Toni’s eyes.

How huggy are they?

Not at all, unless they’re drunk, in which case they’re the most touchy-feely friends you’ve ever seen. Nora’s phone is FILLED with compromising pictures.

What was the moment when they first realized that they’d become friends?

Being high on the island together. I think this is The Realization for a lot of the unsinkable eight friendships, tbh.

#toni shalifoe #rachel reid #toni x rachel #the wilds #random meta #anonymous

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letswrites · 4 years ago

Note

what about feeling homesickness and Calum comforting her?

thaxxx! i changed a bit, hope you like ❤

Home

He was standing in front of her house, it's was a fresh end of the afternoon in LA, with a cool wind and a pink-shaded sunset. He had a cigarette between his fingers in one hand and the other one was resting at his side after he knocked on the door. She opened and locked it with her key "night" he checked his iPhone '5:57 pm' "almost night. And you are gorgeous. As always" "thanks, you are too" she directed her gaze to the cigarette quickly, but not quickly as he dropped it onto the ground and stubbed his foot in it. She hated when he smoked. "thought you were going to quit" "I will" "yeah and I will fly away from this damn city" "what is wrong with LA?" "It isn't home" he knew she missed her hometown, Milwaukee, and he also knew she had duties in LA and she knew that too "babe..." "It's alright" she breathed deeply before look at her boyfriend and smile "thought we were going, huh?" "Yeah, sure, let's go" "let's go" he took her hand in his empty one and they walked to her car. She had a glowing conversible candy apple red 1966 Ford Mustang that Calum was never allowed to drive "why I cannot drive?" "You know why" "oh, come on. It's old shit, honey" "no! Almost kill me isn't 'old shit'" "was an accident and you just broke an ankle" "A leg" she sat on the driver's seat and he watched how good she looked in the sunset "hey!" She snapped her fingers "aren't you coming in?" "fuck! Sorry. it's your fault!" he jumped into the car and put on the seat belt "I will not apologize for you having a terrible sense of beauty" she had low self-esteem sometimes "my sense of beauty is perfect" he leaned closer and cupped her face "just as you" "you are perfect" she smiled and pulled his neck to a passionate kiss. A calm and warm, but passionate kiss "but, seriously babe, let me drive" "no!" she turned on the engine, adjusted the mirror and backed up the car from the driveway without taking her gaze from the mirrors "that's how you back up the car with safety" he groaned, throwing his head back "It happened once! And it was an accident" "I know, just recalling" she winked and made the way for the downtown.

Last year, before they started dating, she asked Calum to back the car out of the driveway, but he did it without looking in the mirrors, according to himself "who the fuck know the right side of pen drives?" and ran over her. Accidently, of course. For luck, she just broke a leg and he took care of her, and due it, they become closer. "You know, there're some bad things that happen for good reasons" "I thought we were done with this subject" he squeezed her right hand "if I haven't given all my attention to the damn pen drive and ran over you, maybe we'd not become closer as we did" "yeah... fine, I will let you drive" she parked the car left the driver's seat "move on, Cal!" he stood up and gave her a deep and quick kiss before sat down in the driver seat and squeeze the beige leather steering wheel "I love you" "love you too, but now I'm fucking dying to know where we're going" "you were driving and I have to know?!" "yes, Mr. driver" she teased, he giggled "fine. Know a place" "good".

They were on a road that she didn't recognize "Calum" "my name" he loved when she said his name "where are we going?" "It's a surprise" "oh no. Please, don't do this to me" "sorry, babe. I didn't make the rules" "which rules?" they laughed together "okay" she turned on the radio and tried to connect with some decent station "fuck" "you know you can use your pen drive, right?" she had taken the pen drive off the car "not with you in the wheel" you know, just for caution. he rolled his eyes and she finally connected with some Latin radio station

'Once de la noche y todavía no contesta'

'Un de la mañana y todavía no hay respuesta'

"Oh, no! No way!" "What?" "I am not bilingual like you" "and...?" "Not listening to something I do not understand" "so are you graduated in Korean now?" "No..."

'Cómo hacerte entender...'

he swallowed dryly a little "don't know what are you talking about" "no? What about that time you got drunk and sang out loud BTS's songs, huh?" "Only the English parts! Now just change it" "but it's Maluma!" he looked at her without blinking and pouted "fine" he smiled like a kid

'... eres muy bonita pa' llorar por el...'

She changed the radio station once more and found a random one

'Day to night to morning, keep with me in the moment

I’d let you had I known it, why don’t you say so?'

"You got to be kidding me" she giggled "I hate this song!" "I know" she kept laughing

'You got to keep me focused, you want it? Say so'

"Just turned it off" "oh, but I like it" Calum turned off the radio "no songs for you" "hey, that's my car! Spent lots of money on it" "But I am driving" "don't make me feel more regret than I already am" he laughed and leaned quickly to kiss her cheek "hey, Cal" "hum?" "I am bored" "you're acting like a fucking kid" "no. I am a fucking kid" "well, it's not a long ride. We'll be there soon" "where is 'there'?" "Nice try, nice try" she pouted and laid her head on the window so she could stargaze and think about how lucky she is to had been run over by the man driving at her side. She was so so in love with him.

Flashback:

Some friends had texted her. Bon Jovi was going to be in town and they have two tickets more. They gave it to her of course expecting she'd invite that guy she hanged out a few times, definitely her new crush. Calum. Such a beautiful name 'thanks Roy' he had introduced them. For some miracle, she got the guts to invite him.

[4:28pm]

'Be here at 6pm'

[5:17pm]

'Your place is so far from where I am now'

'You can drive my car'

'will be there in 40 minutes'

She grinned, shook her head lightly and blocked her phone to finish her makeup 'he will never desire me' she thought even knowing she will try to impress him anyways. Was 5:55pm when he arrived "I have exactly 2 minutes in advantage" "you made it, next time I will let you have a rest" "thanks" he pecked her cheek out of breath "are you ok?" "Yes, you are just breathtaking" he laughed "oh, I am not" "yes, you're. Always" she blushed "thanks" "you're welcome. Can I have a glass of water? The bus stop is far from here, you know?" "Yeah, sure come in". She gave him a glass of water and dropped on the sofa "thanks" "how can I refuse water for someone? Especially someone like you" he arched an eyebrown "someone like me?" "Yeah" "how is someone like me?" he dropped next to her "ridiculously healthy" "oh" he giggled "thanks. I really appreciate" "so, where were you?" "someone is interested in where I was" he teased, she rolled er eyes "you love annoy me, don't you?" "And you still have to ask? Anyhow, I was hanging with a friend" "'hanging with a friend' means banging with a girl?" "What?!" He started laughing "are you jealous or something?" "No..." She blushed "just trying to know you better" "so why are you blushing?" "I..." "Relax, I was with Luke. He is planning a trip to our home country with Ash and Mikey too. So we went out to lunch, but he lives far from here..." her body relaxed and she smiled "Australia is very nice" "is the best place in the world" "yeah, except the fact that is not Minnesota" he laughed "keep dreaming, kid" "I am two months older than you" "whatever, ms. jealousy" "'m not jealous!" "you looked so relieved when I said I was with Luke" "I didn't" "it's ok, I already admitted to myself that my love life is a joke anyways" "I bet it's not true" "trust me, it is" "thought you were the kind of guy that spent the night in 3 parties and in this 3 parties, hook up with at least 2 girls. At the same time" he laughed out loud "oh, honey, I used to be that guy, and now I am feeling very proud of myself" she giggled "why you are not that guy anymore?" He cleaned his throat "well, I met this lady, some months ago, and now all I do is think on her. I made out with someone a few days ago and couldn't finish the job, because was thinking on her" 'wow that hurted' "wow... You should be with this girl right now, not with me" he looked at her, 'unfreakingbelievable' "I literally made an hour and a half trajectory in 40 minutes to go in a concert just to be in your company cause' honestly I am not going to this concert because I want to see old Jon Bon Jovi sing 'bed of roses' and take ladies to Heaven..." she giggled "why do you think I did that?" "'Cause you're an idiot" he grinned "you are right, I should be with the my romantic interest" she frowned a little and they just stayed looking inside each other's eyes for a minute "I-I think we should go" it felt like he raped her with his gaze "are you ok?" "I dunno" "alright, tell me if you will need an ambulance" "okay" "so, where is that bad boy keys?" she chuckled "here" she gave to Calum the key "please, be careful" "my middle name is safety" "really? I thought was Tomas" "details, details". They were on the driveway ready to go when she saw Ginger, her cat, with the paw stuck in the water drainage grid "oh! wait a minute" she left the car "what's wrong?" "My cat. you can back the car while I help Ginger?" "no problem. Am I allowed to listen some music, too?" "Sure. The pen drive is in the glove compartment" "'kay". she ran to Ginger to help her little baby "my God, love, I am here" Calum grabbed the pen drive in the glove compartment and started back the car slowly without looking in the mirrors "well, it's done, Ginger. You are free now" she freed her cat that ran back to the roof. Calum was fighting with the pen drive's USB entrance "why I never put that shit on the right side?" and he forgot that he was backing the car. She turned to went back to the car or they would be late and all she could see was the car's trunk colliding with her hip. When he stopped the

car she was already on the floor. She definitely needed that ambulance now.

He took her to the hospital and then back to her place. He locked the front door and she dropped onto the sofa, now with a broken leg "that was the last time you drove my car" "you're sure?" he joined her on the sofa "you will need someone to help you during the next two weeks" "I have other friends..." "So we are still friends?" "Yes" "I am sorry for ran over you" "yeah, be mad with you will not change what happened" "it's because of this that I will be the one who will take care of you. Remember? My middle name is carefulness" "Wasn't safety?" "Is a long full name, see? Calum Safety-Careful Tomas Hood" "hum, I don't think so" they laughed "sorry, again" "stop apologizing and start looking for a driver costume" "I will not do that" "why not? Would be so sexy" she bit her bottom lip "you think?" "You are already sexy so..." "I'm" they laughed "okay, you don't need a costume, but I will need help in the shower, instead" "I will love to help you with the shower" "I was thinking in call Roy" "call Roy?!" he looked a little angry "you should see your face. And I am the jealous one here" "well, I just maybe, just very very maybe am into you" she smiled and blushed a little "I am into you too" "you are saying that only because do not get turned on by Jon Bon Jovi tonight" she laughed "And you are saying this only because you ran over my leg" he turned his grin to a line "No. I really mean it" "me too" she bit her bottom lip and he smiled again "but… unfortunately, you are not literally into me" "not for too long" soon the distance between them became minimum and in a blink of eye, they kissed. They kissed like already did that for years, like their lips met each other already before, even being the first time. Calum laid her back on the sofa and things started to get hotter, soon her Bon Jovi's tank top flew across the living room. She broke the kiss "what are you doing?" "I am trying to make up, because of the concert. Do you mind?" she smiled "you really know how to fix up the things" and they kissed again, now his black tee was off and...

"Honey, 're you alright?" Calum took her off the flashback "oh, yes. Was thinking in the first time we fucked" he laughed "so delicate" "sorry, the first time we 'made love'" "uh, that was bad" she laughed "thanks for ran over me, by the way" "only you for thanks the idiot that ran over you" "well, you are an idiot, but you are my idiot" "possessive" but he was hers and he loved that "oh, shut up" he laughed "so, was thinking in the week after your leg was better, huh?" "That wasn't the first time we fucked" "It was" "no, we fucked after you took me home in the night it happened" "no, no. I fucked you that night and I thought we had fucked, but three weeks later I discovered that I was wrong" "I am not..." "The way you move, babe, when you were with the broken leg wasn't sex with you, was sex for you" she laughed "It should be a compliment?" "Yes. And a good one" "well, in that case, thank you very much" she directed her gaze back to the sky and he looked at her, he was so in love

About 30 minutes later, Calum was taking the exit on the road to Santa Monica, she had read that in a sign. "Santa Monica!" "yup" "the pier?" "Yes" "oh, you know I love a pier, is…" "…so romantic" she laughed at him pretending to be her "but, we are not here specifically because of the pier" "so why?" "You will see" "please, stop. It's killing me" "oh, you're such a drama queen" he parked the car and turned off the engine "let's go". He tugged her to the amusement park "that's so exciting! what are we gonna do?" "fucking kid" she giggled "we'll play hockey" "what?!" he guided her to the Playland Arcade "that's..." she was confused that couldn't even talk "there's a lot..." "air hockey tables? yes" "but..." "Look, I know that do not have ice and is not real hockey, but I thought you'd enjoy" he rubbed the side of his neck "hockey remembers you home, right?" she had some water on her eyes and a true smile "I would like everything since it came from you" he smiled and flipped the disk "so, let's see if the Milwaukee girl still in flames" "you definitely know nothing about Winsconsin"

She won, of course "Badgers rocked your ass Aussie boy!" as she said, and they decided to rest on the pier, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her body "that was lovely" "me losing or your very kind comment about it?" she giggled "no. You remembered the air hockey here and tried to diminish my homesickness" "I understand how bad it is" "thank you" "no, thank you" "for what?" "To be with me, to love me, I was taking the wrong way before met you, you know?" "Well, shout out to Roy" "shout out to Roy" he repeated and they laughed "I was thinking in buy a ticket for you. To go home for a few days..." she looked into his eyes "what do you think?" "don't" she said smoothly "you sure? I have been saving money to paying the first tax to a car mortgage, but it can wait..." "No, Cal. Buy your car" "but you miss home" "yes, I miss it, but..." she cupped his face "I have you here and I realized... my home is you" he smiled and dipped to kiss her. She rested her head back on his shoulder and watched the moonlight reflecting in the ocean "and you are mine" he whispered against her hair. she smiled and enjoyed his company, she was so in love with him and he was so in love with her.

suggested playlist:

#anon #request #5sos imagine #calum hood blurbs #calum hood #calum 5sos #5sos fluff #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer imagine #calum hood imagine #calum hood fluff

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suburbanbeatnik · 4 years ago

Text

The short and very miserable life of Napoleon II, aka the Eaglet, aka Franz, Duke of Reichstadt: PART TWO

Although the beatings had ceased, Franz’s life continued in refined isolation until his fifteenth year, when his cousin Franz Karl married the beautiful and charming Sophie of Bavaria.

She was only six years older than he, a fine, pretty girl of sweet features and merry lips, with light chestnut brown hair arranged in great loops on her temples. She had done away with the stiff sumptuousness of her apartment at the Burg, and refurnished it in a more intimate atmosphere. In her salon, with its mahogany furniture covered in yellow velours and minus the usual gilding. Reichstadt would often come and sit beside her, looking through the pictures in her albums while she would paint, or play graceful Italian airs on her piano. And they would talk. She sided with him when things went wrong, pitied him, loved him. She was the only one to whom he could talk to with an open heart. Thanks to Sophie, in those troubled years of adolescence when the child is disappearing and the man is trying to find himself, he had at last found what had been refused him for so long: a friend. [Aubry pg 140]

Franz was growing into a handsome young man, with his mother’s blue eyes and blond curls, but his father’s striking bone structure and deep-set eyes, and the emotional Bonaparte temperament. Though he was robust and “glowing with health” as a baby, by the time he was an adolescent he became more frail. Doctors said he had a “scrofulous tendency,” which was 19th century medical gobbledygook for some sort of disorder connected with the lymphatic glands. It seems to me that this kid was isolated and beaten for years, and suffered from pretty severe depression— on top of that, he didn’t eat (Aubry records that he had “a poor appetite”). Throw in an inherited tendency from his mother to have lung trouble, I’m not surprised he struggled with illness going forwards.

Apart from Sophie, there was no one to really look out after him. She encouraged him, his interests, his passions, his keen desire to be a soldier, his love for his father and of France, helping undo all the years of Habsburg brainwashing. As the years passed, he even learned how his father’s executors were continually frustrated in trying to pass on the legacy his father had tried to leave to him. “They had been kept away, or driven away: or else the relics they had brought had been politely taken from them and stuffed away into strongboxes, thus cheating the son of the only material inheritance his father had left him. Who had so ordained? Metternich, none other!” [Aubry pg 154]

Metternich, the true ruler of this not-so-holy and not-so-Roman empire, was the one man who had schemed and plotted to keep Franz so isolated and alone. Metternich, and this is no exaggeration, hated every atom of Franz since he was a baby, and he never let Franz forget it. Franz was under police surveillance at all times: the Chancellor had the Corsican’s son in his grasp, and would not lose him. He wouldn’t even allow the young man contact with his own grandmother, Letizia, Madame Mère, now eighty years old and blind from cataracts. He wouldn’t even allow a single letter— a single sentence.

That statesman, who had a government for a soul, had made Austria a prison for him instead of the home it should have been! Metternich had been his father’s enemy; he was his enemy too, and always had been! The young man felt the hostility underneath the Chancellor’s icy courtesy, and he hated him. Altogether without basis in fact are those accounts of numerous conversations between Metternich and the Duke of Reichstadt during this period. Prokesch maintains that the Minister talked to the Prince just five times in seventeen years. Far from seeking to influence the Duke of Reichstadt during this period, Metternich avoided all contact with him. He hated him as he hated his father. The likeness to the Corsican which he found again in the young man’s features offended him like an insult. He could not bear the sight of that forehead, the sound of that voice. At a Court reception on the evening of the Duke’s eighteenth birthday, the Chancellor paid the obligatory compliments and turned away hastily. Those who spoke to him immediately afterwards found him more distant than usual. As soon as he could do so without attracting attention, he left the palace. [Aubry pg 162]

After years of being force-fed Austrian propaganda, Franz had started reading as much as he could about the greatness of Napoleon— obsessively reading Las Cases’ Memorial of St Helena, which he found on one of the top shelves of the library. Imagine his feelings when he read his father’s will for the first time, discovering what affects and relics were left to him, but which he would never see, thanks to Metternich’s machinations (and Louise’s clumsy attempts to lay claim to Napoleon’s inheritance, which had sabotaged the work of the executors in the first place, did not cease until 1837). Franz, fascinated with his father’s campaigns and personal history, threw himself into his studies. Through books, he vicariously experienced Lodi, Arcole, Marengo, the Pyramids, Jena, Austerlitz… He became drunk with the glory of the past. A spell had been cast, and Franz became determined to make his father proud of him. When one of his tutors began to lecture him on his father’s shortcomings, Franz replied impatiently:

“The actions of great men are not to be weighed with ordinary scales.” [Aubry pg 156]

Franz was slowly shedding the relationships of his childhood. When, upon Neipperg’s death in 1829, he had discovered his mother had contracted a morganatic marriage with the one-eyed Neipperg, he “felt deeply insulted and humiliated.” He was enraged enough to discover just that: of course, keep in mind he had no idea that she was sleeping with Neipperg and had given Franz two illegitimate half-siblings while his father was living with the rats on St. Helena. I doubt he would have ever talked to her again if that was the case. Even without knowing that, he withdrew, “his letters were less affectionate and he mentioned her name more rarely. She had been expected at Schoenbrunn for the summer. Her son learned with relief that she preferred to take a cure in Switzerland.” [Aubry pg 160]

Of course, Louise kept doing her thing, weeping for Neipperg over “gay dinner tables and at the opera,” being annoyed whenever the name of Napoleon reached her ears, and then finding “a substitute for the one-eyed general in the person of the Count de Bombelles, at first Grand Master of her Household, then her lover, and then finally her third husband.” [Aubry pg 161]

Meanwhile, for years Franz had struggled with depression. The July Revolution had happened, with the kind and comfortable Louis-Philippe installed on the throne, and even though the King of Rome was still a popular figure in France, with perhaps a chance to ascend the throne, Franz was still, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner. And the older he got, the more obvious this became. Suggestions to become a monarch in Poland or Greece were pushed asides by Metternich. Attempts by his uncles Lucien and Joseph to discuss Franz’s future with Metternich were completely blocked. All he wanted to do was to start his military career, and make himself useful, but he couldn’t even join his regiment, or even visit his mother in Italy. His health was floated as the reason why he should stay inactive, but Franz doubted this was the only reason. Bouts of rage alternated with deep sloughs of “sadness and tedium,” and he could barely summon the interest to hold a conversation. Not surprisingly, his mother lacked sympathy. In 1830, when Louise was summering in Baden, taking the waters, she “rebuked him for his apathy. She could not understand why her son could be ‘so little like other young people.’” [Aubry pg 181]

It grew worse a year later. Italy was on fire with the revolutionary activities of the Carbonari, and Louise had fled Parma in fear of her life. Franz pleaded with his grandfather to let him go rescue her, but Metternich intervened. Let the son of Napoleon, the King of Rome, go to Italy, where his father won his own fame? Of course not! Emperor Francis gave into Metternich, and poor Franz was left feeling torn between misery, fury and desperation. Even Prokesch, his best friend apart from Sophie—a major in the Viennese army, a loyal soldier, scholar and diplomat who had worked for Metternich, but had defied him on a few occasions-- couldn’t calm him.

His despair was palpable. He knew he would spend his entire life bound and trapped, with Metternich as his jailer.

The young man had sealed himself up in a silence that was almost complete, venting his feelings at the most in talks with Sophie and Prokesch, during which he expressed many severe judgments on members of the Imperial family. He loved Sophie and he had an affection for his grandfather, but he did not like the Empress, fond as she was of him. He thought the Archduke Ferdinand, heir-apparent and King of Hungary, was a ninny. [Editor’s note: Ferdinand was actually a brain-damaged hydrocephalic epileptic who couldn’t even consummate his own marriage with his wife Maria Anna, married in 1835.] He hated the Archduke Franz Karl, Sophie’s husband, calling him deceitful, mean and vulgar. Table conversations at the Hofburg were stupid, the Court life was cheap and in bad taste. Comparing himself with those pious, submissive and conceited Archudukes and those ugly, insipid Archduchesses, he felt himself of a superior race. He even said one day— and Prokesch recorded the words in his secret notes:

“If Josephine had been my mother, my father would not have gone to St. Helena, and I would not be languishing in Vienna. My mother certainly has a kind heart, but no backbone! She was not the wife my father deserved!”

And he added, burying his face in Prokesch’s hands:

“You do not respect her, do you?”

And Prokesch replied:

“She was what she could be. The woman your father deserved for a wife did not exist. But he chose her, and she is your mother…”

Reichstadt was now weeping, and a long silence followed. [Aubry pg 207]

And that was when he seriously began to think about escaping.

While the two began to consider exactly what they could do, Franz decided that he had had quite enough of the chaperonage of Count Dietrichstein, his head tutor. This was the man who whipped him when he was five, who thrashed him when he was ten, who drilled him for countless hours on his German and his Italian translations and all the minutiae of court etiquette. He claimed to be utterly devoted to the young prince. Maybe he was, in his own weird way. But Franz was spreading his wings (or at least attempting to— even when he was 20, his imperial grandpa was still prone to treating him like a child, forcing him to dine with him in austerity if his own personal dinner parties became, in Francis’s opinion, too extravagant). In addition to the sensible and devoted Prokesch, Franz had befriended a few other young men, rakes and dandies all, like Neipperg’s eldest son and the young Esterhazy. Franz was gorgeous, brooding, romantic, and with perfect manners, and the women were obsessed with him (a Polish nun who had never met him but only saw him from a distance once swore undying love, even writing letters to this effect).

There was one woman that Franz danced with at a masquerade ball, a certain Naudine Karolyi, black-haired, handsome and bold, and not only did they manage to dodge Metternich’s spies, but they exchanged a lot of letters. This was 1831, and he was 20. But Dietrichstein soon found out about the correspondence.

At any rate, he strode into the Duke’s room, began rummaging through his desk, and finding a drawer locked, commanded him to open it. Reichstadt did not dare refuse— he obeyed, and his governor saw before him a pile of letters from Esterhazy. He opened a few, ran through them, and turned around livid with anger:

“What?” he cried. “You have a love affair?”

“Yes,” replied the prince coolly. “You can see with whom.”

“Do you write to her directly?”

“No, sir.”

“Then through an intermediary? Someone I know?”

He was besides himself with rage and almost shouting. Other persons had just entered the room and stood looking on in surprise at the strange scene. Reichstadt begged the Count to calm himself.

“Come downstairs with me,” he whispered. “You shall have all the letters afterwards, I promise you.”

The Count mastered his anger and went down with him to the Emperor. On the return, the Duke scrupulously handed him the entire correspondence, and it was forthwith consigned to the flames. [Aubry, pg 212]

But this didn’t stop Dietrichstein from trying to intercept Franz’s personal letters. At one point he saw that Esterhazy called him “the old woman,” and Dietrichstein was “extremely hurt.” He tried everything he could to break up the friendship from that day on, but didn’t succeed, as Franz could be extremely stubborn and loyal to a fault.

The affair with Naudine didn’t go anywhere, but there were others— there was even a reputed bastard daughter who later called herself the Comtesse de la Pommiere— but no matter what happened, his heart belonged to Sophie.

* * *

I’m cutting this off here, because LONG POST IS LONG, but more angst and drama will be coming with the next post!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

#napoleon II #sophie of bavaria #franz duke of reichstadt #l'aiglon #eaglet #octave aubry #marie louise #napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #count dietrichstein #metternich #austria #habsburgs #prokesch #king of rome #this poor kid #fucking habsburgs jesus christ

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court-of-forever-undone · 4 years ago

Text

My Sister’s Love | Taryn POV

Chapter One

Summary: Taryn pieces together her memories of Cardan and Jude's early interactions as she reflects on how their relationship came to be and the events of the last year. As happy as she is for them, she can't help but feel jealous of the moments they share.

Tags: Taryn’s POV of Jurdan, Jealousy, Mild Angst

Read on AO3

The first time I saw Jude look at Cardan with anything other than pure revolt was the night of what was supposed to be Prince Dain’s coronation. From the corner of the room, I watched as Locke and Jude danced. That night, I was just thankful I would only have to bear watching the two together for a few more hours. Locke would speak to Madoc that evening and we would be engaged. Jude would hopefully come to understand. Guilt rose in my throat every time she smiled at him and silent envy boiled beneath my skin at every kiss they shared, but that night was different.

Jude was not smiling, in fact, her face was flushed with anger and she glared at him through squinted eyes, searching to find answers in his clever mask I became all too familiar with. My stomach flipped while I wondered if Locke was finally telling her the truth, but later I learned that was not the case.

When I finally tore my eyes from my sister and future husband, I noticed Cardan leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room. He was drinking deeply from a goblet while staring at the pair dancing. The intensity of his gaze made me uneasy like he was ready to pounce on them at any moment. I quickly looked away, turning my attention back to my sister’s face. I was too far away to hear, but from the shape of her mouth the conversation was unfriendly. I noticed Cardan walking over before either Jude or Locke did.

The youngest prince knew that I was the one actually dating Locke, so I couldn’t figure out why he still wanted to bother Jude. I thought maybe he would try to humiliate her for all of her useless acts of insubordination, but that didn’t seem to be his goal that night. The anger in his face was directed at Locke. The pair made unfriendly remarks to one another before Locke left. Once the Cardan looked down at Jude the hot anger dissipated, although he still didn’t look pleased.

I couldn’t help but notice how Jude physically relaxed after her initial shock of seeing Cardan, even in the arms of someone as evil as him. What could Locke have said to her that made Cardan’s company the preferable option? I never found out.

She still wore a scowl, but the angry flush from her face was replaced by a pink dusting across her cheeks. His gaze on her was softer than I had ever seen, not that Jude seemed to notice. I had wandered close enough to pick up on her annoyed tone.

Before I could decipher their conversation, Locke appeared at my side, breaking my attention on them. Cardan’s figure stood out in the swarm of bodies as he walked away shortly after. I slide between two guests looking for Jude only to find her standing still amongst dozens of dancers, looking dumbfounded as she watched the cruel prince leave. His head was dipped, but from where I stood, I saw a smile cracking up at the sides of his lips. Perhaps he had said something wicked to her after all.

With everything that happened that night, the mess of the coronation, Locke talking to Madoc, Jude and I almost dueling, I forgot about the insignificant interactions I witnessed. They hated each other and Jude was probably going to push her luck with him until we all regretted it. That didn’t matter then though; Locke was finally mine. While I had to share him with others, for the spice he talked about, I no longer had to worry about sharing with my sister and that was enough to keep me happy.

I should have realized how deep our secrets had grown as we had gotten older. After all, I had kept my relationship with Locke a secret. Yet, the night of Cardan’s coordination showed that I was not the only one keeping secrets.

Jude entered Hollow Hall with her arm interlocked with Cardans. He looked even more princely than normal in his cream colored attire. While Jude looked unsure at his side, her eyes kept darting around the room.

I couldn’t help but watch as they walked around the room drinking and talking with various court members. Whatever was making her nervous, I wasn’t sure Cardan was the source. The two even shared a few smiles, or at least what constitutes a smile for Jude.

Later, there was an explosion and I, unfortunately, found myself holding the blood crown. I was frozen with terror as I was caught between the desperate begs of my sisters and the violent threats from Prince Balekin. I could feel the heat of everyone’s stares and Balekin’s words echoed in my head which suddenly felt separate from my body. Jude appeared in front of me and took the crown from my hands.

I knew our relationship was strained after everything with Locke came to light, but nothing could have prepared me to watch as Vivi guided Oak forward and then declare Cardan the high king. It hurt to watch the scheme my family had all been in on come to be while I did not have the slightest clue what was happening. I was not surprised Jude didn't tell me, but Vivi kept me in the dark too. I only learned later that my little brother was the son of Prince Dain and Locke’s mother. Despite everything, I believed that there was still trust between us then, but Jude never trusted me again after that.

That night Cardan thanked Jude in front of the court. He announced, “And to Jude, who gave me a gift tonight. One that I plan to repay in kind.” He had a devilish grin on his face. One that reminded me of the power he wielded as the youngest prince, which was magnified tenfold now that he was the High King of Faerie.

I wondered if that was perhaps a threat, but after all, why would Cardan be angry at the person who made him king? The whole situation was incredibly confusing. They hated each other but somehow schemed together. Even though Jude later explained it was to protect Oak until he got older, I was still skeptical. Jude wouldn’t give one of her biggest enemies that kind of power unless there was more that I did not know.

Jude slipped to a corner of the room once Cardan started speaking to his new subjects. As the night went on she kept stealing glances his way, when she thought no one would notice. Of course, I did though. While she wore her best neutral face, after a particularly charming speech, it looked like the faintest smile crept onto her face. She looked proud, like her greatest scheme finally came to fruition.

In the months that Jude spent as seneschal to the High King, I was too focused on my upcoming wedding and adjusting to my new lifestyle to watch their interactions. Maybe if I had, I would not have been so shocked when Cardan kissed her in front of the entire throne room.

He had made a grandly foolish entrance, falling over the place appearing to have consumed entirely too much wine before coming. Jude tried to do damage control and get him to stop drinking anything else. It was painfully obvious how some court members were looking at the drunk boy king. I was not surprised by Cardan pulling my sister into his arms for a dance, but I was shocked when he pressed his lips to hers and she didn’t fight back.

Actually, for a moment she leaned into the kiss before pulling back suddenly. Cardan pouted for a fraction of a second before falling to the ground laughing. Jude’s face turned white as she must have realized Cardan was actually poisoned, not drunk as we all thought at the time. The pair made quite a scene when Jude tried to take him out of the hall. Cardan’s brother commanded Jude to stay, but Cardan wouldn’t let go of her. His knuckles had turned white from his tight grip around her waist. When they left, Balekin shook with anger. It wasn’t long before Madoc found me.

Even then, I did not believe that the pair were truly a couple. They had an arrangement. That much was obvious. I knew from listening to Locke that Cardan had some interest in Jude, which was something Locke enjoyed exploiting. But I knew Jude, at least I thought I did. All her choices were supposed to be a way to protect Oak until he could become king. On top of that, Jude always had high ambitions. Becoming the High King’s seneschal was as high as either of us could have ever imagined.

It was impossible to think that Jude was where she was based on her feelings for the High King, after all, he did try to drown us at one point and it was his fault Jude came home half-naked, recovering from the faerie fruits effects after the incident in class. To name only two examples of Cardan’s cruelty.

When Madoc came to me with the plan to seize control of the army, I had real doubts. The whole plan banked on Cardan not being able to refuse Jude, which seemed ridiculous. We grew up at school together. Cardan had been impossible as a prince, but now he was above everyone. It was impossible to think that Jude could demand half of the royal army for Madoc to independently control and he would just allow it. If she couldn’t tame his drinking or convince him to remove Locke as Master of Revels, then how would she demand this?

But still, the image of Cardan kissing Jude kept replaying in my mind. The way he acted around her was different from how I saw him act with anyone. His eyes lingered on her long after their interactions had ended. His actions around her gave Locke an unlimited supply of ammunition to antagonize him.

Whether or not she had actual control over him as Madoc claimed, Jude had to know that she had a powerful effect over him and was using it to her advantage. Why she wasn’t already using that power to help Madoc was beyond me.

I will always have conflicting feelings about Madoc, but I truly believed he always put our family first. Knowing what I did then, I didn’t regret my actions in the slightest. It was the right choice for our family.

As instructed by Madoc, I changed into Jude’s clothes and I slipped into her chambers where Cardan was barely conscious on the couch. When I entered the room, he didn’t even open his eyes. His arm was slumped over his face. His body was covered in sweat and there was a bucket nearby filled with an awful mixture of dirt and leaves.

“Jude? Is that you?” His voice was hoarse and barely audible from where I stood.

At first, I was afraid of getting too close, in case he noticed I was not Jude, but Jude and I had years of successful swaps and the people closest to us could barely tell if we switched places. A poisoned king was unlikely to know the difference.

“Yes. It is me.” I said and he waved me closer with his free hand. As I stood above the couch, he took my hand and tugged gently for me to sit next to him.

I obeyed and immediately regretted it. I doubt Jude would listen so willingly, but his hand remained in mine and I wondered if I misjudged their relationship. The act felt so soft and intimate.

Refocusing on the plan, I explained to him everything Madoc told me to say. For the first time, he looked at me and his over-dilated coal eyes opened wide. I was prepared to run out of the room, thinking he recognized me, but instead, he sighed and closed his eyes again, before nodding in agreement.

I may have overplayed my hand, but I leaned down to his ear and whispered, “Thank you, Cardan” before quickly running out from the room. The shiver that came over his body brought me more confusion as it confirmed my suspicion.

Cardan was clearly overcome with my sister, but how and when? Jude was defiant. She wanted to become a knight. How had she caught the attention of a prince, now king? Even now, as much as I wish her the best, I can’t help but feel frustrated. My plan was to marry well and be set for the rest of my life. Jude wanted knighthood and the short-life that brought. Yet somehow she managed to secure a marriage to the most powerful person in all of Faerieland, who also happened to be completely enamored with her. Of course, I did not learn about their marriage for almost a year.

Locke told me that faeries don’t love the same way mortals do. Mortals love one person, they show their love through acts and declarations, and prioritize trust and loyalty in the relationship. They think of each other often and need to feel close to one another. Fae relationships were much more relaxed and intertwined, he would say.

Locke kept our relationship open, inviting in strangers to add to the never ending story he was building. When we were not at a revel or in our bedroom, we saw very little of each other. As Master of Revels, he was constantly creating chaos and surprises. I was left to do whatever I pleased at the estate. The happiness in the arrangement quickly disintegrated, especially as I continued to question how faeries actually loved.

In the months of Jude’s exile, I watched Cardan’s mood sour to a new level. In some ways, he was worse than when we were in school. Locke occasionally brought me around to the extensive parties he was able to throw at the palace now that Jude was no longer around to curb the celebrations.

One day, Locke made a joke about Jude’s fragile mortality being tested in the mortal world to get a reaction from the High King and I thought Cardan might order Locke’s execution and carry it out with his own hands in the same breath.

Before Locke had a chance to realize the depth of his mistake, Cardan had sprung from his lounged position on the throne and his hands found their way around Locke’s throat. The copious amounts of wine I had drunk that night did nothing to curb the cold dread that filled my body. I watched helplessly as Cardan spat a reminder of how fragile his position within the court was.

When he did release his hands, Locke sat up coughing. His face red and purple from the lack of oxygen. The momentary relief I felt disappeared as Cardan’s words sent another chill down my back.

“The next time you speak a word about her, it will be your last spoken. Consider this time a mercy from your king.”

Cardan, likely more intoxicated than the rest of us, stumbled his way out of the room, grabbing a new pitcher of wine on his way out.

After that I tried to convince Locke to stop his scheming. I told him that one day his instigating would get him killed; little did I realize it would be me who killed him. Locke only frowned and told me that life without excitement was a useless existence.

I thought I loved him, but every conversation we had he seemed to put that love into question. Locke loved to remind me how different my mortal love was, but some days I wasn’t sure if what we had was love at all.

Vivi loved Heather. She was occasionally careless when it came to bringing Heather into faerie related situations, but their love seemed so natural and easy, like the romantic movies that I had watched at Heather’s apartment. Vivi never looked at another human or faerie after they started dating and in retrospect, I also don’t remember seeing Cardan take a single lover while Jude was in exile. Even after the most wild of revels when everyone seemed to be matched up with someone, or someones, by the break of dawn, Cardan could be found alone on his throne or retired to his chambers.

It was hard not to become bitter at my sisters’ relationships as time progressed, even if Jude’s was more complicated than I could have ever imagined. Cardan exiled her after all, so why he was moping around as if waiting for her to return was beyond my comprehension.

Regardless, here there were two faeries who were in love with mortal girls and they seemed to show it in very human ways. So why did Locke insist it was not the same for them?

I tried not to dwell on it. My future was secured. I had a home and protection. I didn’t think that there was more to seek besides that. If only Jude had made good on her promise to remove him from his position within the palace, then I think things would have been better. At least he wouldn’t have had more power to create his games.

Once I discovered I was pregnant I started secluding myself more and more within the estate. This caused Locke to become increasingly angry with me. He liked parading me around and then leaving me, and then returning again like his presence was a gift. If I wasn’t around he couldn’t play that game.

I still have nightmares of my bloodstained hands dragging his lifeless body to the water. The memory caused a deep ache in my chest. I am the one who killed him, yet I still somehow miss him.

No. It would be more truthful to say I miss the possibilities that died with him. The lies I told, the secrets I kept, the games I played, I endured it all and even risked my relationship with Jude for the promise of the future I wanted. I wanted to marry to secure my future, but I also wanted to marry for love. I wanted my husband to miss me and only have eyes for me in a crowded room. Someone who would protect me from pain, not instigate it.

But Locke was never going to be that person. I was foolish to believe in that fantasy for as long as I did. I had settled for a beautiful boy who loved games more than he would ever love me.

And my sister, my twin, found someone that looked at her like she was the sun after a century of darkness and she barely seemed to care.

#the folk of the air #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #taryn duarte #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jurdan #jurdan fanfic #tfota fanfic #vivi duarte #taryn and jude

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jaskierek · 5 years ago

Text

Temporary

Summary:

Everyone's always left Jaskier, he's come to expect it. After all, he was temporary, forgettable. Until Geralt comes back. Until Geralt seems bent on proving him wrong.

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Julian and his parents were never that close.

They weren’t really invested in him if he was being honest.

Well, maybe they were. They were invested in his academic grades and his ‘upbringing’, which for them consisted of learning how to hunt pheasants and which fork to use.

Other than that, Julian was pretty much left alone with no one but his nanny to keep him company. He liked her. She’d sing for him and tuck him in at night with a kiss.

When he was 7 he figured out that she was being paid to care for him so he closed himself off even to her, hiding behind his blinding smiles.

His father wasn’t gentle with him and Julian tended to get in trouble. How else would an ignored child get any sort of attention? Turns out that the Earl of Lettenhove was more invested in the dignity of the Lettenhove name than he was in ignoring his son. So Julian got what he wanted…in a way. It’s sickeningly clichéd, isn’t it?

Eventually his parents didn’t know what to do with him so they sent him off to boarding school.

Julian learned how to be charismatic, how to become popular among his peers and earn ‘friends’. All fleeting relationships, never lasting long, never slipping past his mask of smiles. Unfortunately, that did not stop him from getting into trouble, nor did it keep him interested in his studies.

He remembered one particular professor. He was a wizard with a cane. He knew exactly where to strike to make it the most painful. “No tears.” He used to say and Julian was forced to swallow them down. After a while he learned how to be an academic.

His love for poetry came as a surprise. He’d only started liking it when he was 19. It was also when he’d met the Countess de Stael. Once she’d stepped into his life, poetry had poured out of him. He’d forgo sleep in favour of letting the words slip onto the pages before him. She loved it at the time.

And then she left.

And so Julian had carried on with his studies, allowing his broken heart to write the most beautiful sonnets and ballads.

And then Julian had left. And he’d changed his name. He changed it to Jaskier. Buttercup. Beautiful, bright and yellow. Small, delicate and smooth to the touch.

Buttercup. A weed.

Loosen the soil, yank at its base and pull it out. More room for better things now.

He’d fallen into many beds during his travels. Men, women, neither. Sometimes it was the Countess de Stael herself. He remembered most of their names. And when he didn’t, it was because he’d been blackout drunk. And even then, he’d remember things like the touch of their skin or the colour of their hair.

None lasted long. Many didn’t care to learn his name. He wasn’t hurt. He hadn’t expected anything more.

He wrote beautiful songs. People didn’t care to listen. So he wrote what was popular. He wrote of monsters and heroes and kings. He knew nothing of monsters and heroes and kings. His songs were bad. He wasn’t paid much.

Then he’d met Geralt of Rivia. Witcher. Monster Hunter. Emotionally constipated. Self loathing. Kind. Generous. Asshole. Utter and absolute asshole.

The love of Jaskier’s life.

Geralt had never shown Jaskier much outward affection. Jaskier had hoped that he cared though. He’d hoped that he wasn’t dispensable, forgettable. The Witcher, for all of his grumpiness, had provided food, had let the bard sleep in occasionally, had let him talk for hours on end, had made sure he was always safe and healthy. He had once even nursed Jaskier back to health after a particularly malicious cold that had left him numb and with a raging fever. Jaskier could even make out the faint whisper of worry in the Witcher’s golden eyes.

Geralt had also inspired him to write in a way he hadn’t known possible. Suddenly, the lyrics and notes were pouring out of him again. His pockets filled with coin. His stomach filled with food. His fame spread. His music was respected. People’s desire for him had grown. He was wanted. But never in the way that he needed.

People ignored him when he was with Geralt, their gaze slipping over him like water. He understood. It was hard to focus on a simple bard when a Witcher stood right beside him. And not just any Witcher. Geralt of Rivia. The White Wolf. A mass of muscles and sharp swords and white hair and amber eyes and gods, did Jaskier understand. He often found himself struggling to look away. And besides, he was used to not being seen, at least not being seen truly and wholly.

Then came the golden dragon and the witch and the mountain and -

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

It seemed to be a common wish for anyone who’d met him.

Some of his relationships lasted a night, maybe a week, a month, maybe a little more.

With Geralt it had been 20 years. He’d cleaned his wounds, he’d bathed him, he’d learned to understand his grunts and the minute twists of his lips, he’d loved him with all that he had. 20 years. He still wasn’t enough. Jaskier wished he could blame the Witcher. But he’d seen him be kind, he’d seen him be gentle, he’d seen him be careful with his words. Perhaps Jaskier simply wasn’t enough. Maybe he wasn’t enough to warrant care.

Dispensable, forgettable, temporary. Fun while it lasted but not enough to love.

While Jaskier was an idealist, he’d always considered himself to be realistic about his own assets. He was attractive, he had great eyes and a great smile, he was a good dancer, he could write a hell of a song.

There was not much else.

He was annoying, too excitable, too greedy, he was interesting up to a point. He talked too much. He was too cocky. He was useless in a fight. He had a tendency to fool around with married people. He was unlovable.

Ah, yes, and he was dramatic. Overly dramatic.

Jaskier looked at himself in the mirror and smiled, big and bright.

Buttercup.

Weed.

Temporary.

“If life could give me one blessing -”

The smile didn’t waver.

Geralt had found him half a year later performing at a rather respectable inn. He had been singing one of his new songs. It wasn’t about Geralt. None of his new songs were. Not for lack of material though, he found he could write about the Witcher endlessly. Jaskier had believed himself adept at swallowing down pain. He was proven wrong.

“What can I do for you, Witcher?” He’d asked with a grin, hoping Geralt wouldn’t see through it.

“Nothing, Jaskier. I want nothing from you.” He’d responded and the bard felt his chest clench at that. Perhaps this meeting had simply been an accident. Geralt didn’t want anything to do with him. He should have been used to it.

“Ah, well then,” Jaskier said, turning around, finding he couldn’t stand to look into those amber eyes any longer, “see you around, Geralt.”

“No - Jaskier, please, wait,” the bard had ground to a halt at that, looking over his shoulder to see a pained expression on that beautiful face, “I - I’ve been looking for you.”

So, yes, Geralt had found him and not accidentally. He had been looking for him.

Jaskier didn’t know what to do with that information.

“I want to apologise.”

The smile finally slipped.

“You…you want to apologise?”

“Yes.” Came the response. Short. Fast. Without any room for doubt.

“Why?”

Geralt looked almost incredulous, almost confused. “Because I said terrible things to you.”

Jaskier furrowed his brows.

“So?” He couldn’t help but ask, not maliciously but entirely curiously.

“‘So?’ What do you mean ‘so’? Jaskier, I said things to you that I didn’t mean, things that I couldn’t stand you believing. I - Jaskier, you - you were there and I was angry and I lashed out.”

A beat of silence.

“After the mountain, I - I tried to be alone and I couldn’t stand it. Even…even before - we’d spend weeks apart but I still never felt as alone as I did after I said…what I said and I - I didn’t mean it and then I went to find Yennefer,”

Ah, Jaskier was an idiot. Add that to the list of flaws. Of course he wasn’t the first one to be sought out by the Witcher. Why would he be?

“Must have been a fun reunion.” Jaskier said, trying to inject some genuine sounding mirth into his voice and the smile that had reappeared. Geralt looked away.

“It wasn’t like that. Although we care for each other, we realised that that wasn’t what we wanted.”

Despite himself, Jaskier’s chest still tightened painfully. Hearing - hell, even seeing - how truly and deeply they cared for each other… His smile didn’t waver.

“Sorry about that.” Was all he could think to say.

“Stop it.”

Jaskier blinked.

“Stop what?”

“That smile. That smile you do when you don’t really want to be smiling. I’ve known you for 20 years, bard, I know which smiles are genuine.” Geralt sounded frustrated. Almost pained.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“For fuck’s sake, Jaskier. I know I fucked up. I know I did and you deserve to be angry at me but don’t give me that smile. I hate it. I hate that smile.” The Witcher took a step closer and the bard finally let his smile slip. It wasn’t his only mask. Geralt seemed to realise this too, still looking displeased.

“What do you want from me, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, the amusement gone from his voice, but he managed to keep it levelled, not betraying the tiredness behind it.

“I don’t want anything from you, Jaskier,” he paused for a moment. “What I wanted to say was that I talked to Yennefer and she helped me realise that I don’t want a life without you.”

It would’ve sounded romantic if Jaskier wasn’t certain that Geralt would never think of him like that.

“So you do want something from me. You want me to travel with you again.”

Geralt winced and after a moment said, “yes”.

“You hurt me.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m - I’m trying to make up for it.”

Jaskier was weak. Add that to the list. He was so fucking weak.

“Okay.”

After that, Geralt would eye the bard warily for a while, as if expecting him to reveal himself as some sort of shapeshifter, a doppler maybe. But Jaskier knew that the Witcher would smell anything like that a mile away so he didn’t really know why he kept glancing at him over the campfire.

Other than that, it seemed like things were back to normal.

Everything forgiven, nothing forgotten. Unfortunately.

Jaskier pushed that out of his mind and returned to his rambles and Witcher-themed ballads. After all, Geralt had said he’d missed him. Surely that had meant the whole ‘Jaskier experience’, prattling and all.

The bard still didn’t know how to comprehend that information. No one had ever missed him in his life. At least, not that he knew of. Maybe they missed how he made them feel, like when the Countess would moan “gods, I missed this,” as he’d trail kisses up her thighs. So no, he didn’t know what Geralt wanted but it was strange. The Witcher smiled at him more, talked to him more. Every time they separated for a time, Geralt would greet him with a small smile. It made the bard’s heart do things and it wasn’t fair.

Perhaps this was a punishment from some god or another, maybe destiny herself or karma. Maybe it was Jaskier’s punishment to have to endure a love for a man who would never reciprocate it, all the while being subjected to that same man openly stating that, yes, he wanted Jaskier around.

A few months later, Geralt had kissed him.

It was after a battle with a Leshy, half wildcat, half bear, with fangs and claws like knives, sharp and long enough to sever a man in half. Jaskier had gotten very close to being that man before Geralt had yanked it back by its tail, swinging his sword as it whirled around in fury. After the fight, the Witcher had surged over to Jaskier, arm bleeding and eyes searching.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice gruff. His hands were running over the bard’s body, checking for injuries.

“No.” Jaskier managed to choke out, trying to ignore the feeling of Geralt’s hands skimming over his hips. “But you are. Let me check that arm.” He said, reaching for the Witcher’s bleeding bicep. A hand snapped up and grabbed his wrist, bringing it back down to his side.

“You got too close.” He rumbled, taking a step closer so that he was practically pressing the bard up against the tree behind him. Jaskier swallowed.

“I know. Sorry.” He let out a shaky breath as he noticed those golden eyes sliding down to his lips. Geralt growled and pressed their lips together, one hand behind Jaskier’s head, the other still gripping his wrist. Jaskier was quick to reciprocate, tangling his fingers in the Witcher’s snowy hair and opening his mouth willingly.

Their kiss was all tongues and teeth and sucking and biting. Their sex was much the same. Jaskier knew it was adrenaline and he knew it was just physical, but he couldn’t stop from smiling the next morning, for once waking before the other man. Geralt’s injured arm was wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, the wound already mostly healed. The bard found himself tracing the outline of Geralt’s cheekbone, his jawline, his thumb running over his lips. He had never known the Witcher to sleep so deeply that a touch would not wake him.

He didn’t know whether this was a one time thing but he was grateful it had happened. Even if he only got to taste the man once, he would find a way to make it be enough.

After a while, Jaskier got up and wet a small rag, cleaning himself before rinsing it and beginning to clean the Witcher, it was nothing he hadn’t already seen, some of it he’d even helped wash before. They were still sticky from the night before and they were nowhere near any lakes or rivers. Geralt woke to Jaskier running the cloth across his thigh.

“Sorry, I thought it would be nice to wake up not so icky.” The bard said, pulling his hand away.

Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s hand, “I like it.”

Jaskier smiled and looked away, missing the way his favourite pair of golden eyes lit up at the sight.

“Well, I’m not about to miss my chance at touching that body again.” He said with a whistle. Geralt laughed at that and pulled the bard down, pressing a kiss to his lips that threatened to burst Jaskier’s chest with affection.

The Witcher’s gaze was soft for the rest of the morning.

They’d fall into bed multiple times again. Sometimes it was rough and fast and adrenaline-hazed. Sometimes it was soft and gentle and it left Jaskier feeling heady, his head filling with sweet honey as Geralt’s fingers worked wonders.

It was hard for him not to get attached even more. He knew he shouldn’t. He wouldn’t allow himself to believe that Geralt cared for him romantically. He wouldn’t put his heart through that. Still, it was hard.

So one evening, when a particularly brave woman had chosen to flirt with the Witcher, all but offering herself up on a platter, Geralt had looked to Jaskier with a look in his eye.

“It’s okay, Geralt.” He’d reassured him from the seat across the table, he smiled and Geralt frowned before rejecting the woman bluntly. Jaskier felt a sigh of relief building in his throat as the woman sauntered away.

“What did you mean ‘it’s okay’?” Geralt asked, turning to him with stiff shoulders. Jaskier froze. Was he really going to make him say it aloud?

“I - I mean, it’s okay if you want to sleep with other people, you don’t have to worry about me.” You don’t have to worry about me trying to stop you, about me being hurt.

“What - Jaskier -,” The Witcher struggled for a moment before taking a breath, “is this just about sex for you?”

Jaskier definitely wasn’t expecting that.

“I…is it for you?” He asked. It was a coward’s response. Had he already put that on the list? Add cowardly to the list. Geralt was quiet and Jaskier could feel his heart beating in his throat as those amber eyes searched his.

“No.”

He thinks he might have misheard.

“What?”

“It’s not just about sex for me and if it is for you then we should stop.”

Jaskier’s mouth was open, trying to find a response. He knew what he wanted to say but a declaration of love was probably not what the Witcher wanted.

“I love you, Jaskier.” Geralt said, his face pinched.

Huh.

“I know you don’t want me like that,” Geralt continued, his gaze still on Jaskier’s, “you of all people have seen the worst of me and I wouldn’t blame you for not being able to stomach romance with a Witcher,” the way he said that word made his chest clench, “but I can’t keep doing this, Jaskier.”

Since when had Geralt ever been more eloquent than his bard?

“You think I don’t love you?” Jaskier’s voice came out quiet, hesitant, incredulous. Geralt’s eyes looked wary.

“You -“

“Geralt, how can I not fucking love you? I’ve spent 20 years loving you. Fuck - it - it hurts how much I love you.”

Because it did. Every time Geralt smiled at him or teased him or tied his hair back in the morning, it was like a blow to Jaskier’s chest, but he’d gotten good at swallowing pain, swallowing tears.

He could tell Geralt was still disbelieving and fuck - he knew that the man’s self-loathing ran deep and he couldn’t help himself from saying; “Geralt, you are the best man I’ve ever known and it frustrates me to no end that you don’t see it.”

Geralt was watching him, scanning his face, his eyes, looking for something.

“Then why - why do you hide yourself from me?” He asked, frustrated, “You - you do this smile that - it’s not you, it’s not your smile. There’s this look in your eyes sometimes. It’s like a wall and I hate that you need to hide from me.”

Jaskier’s hand shot out to grab Geralt’s, trying to comfort him. The Witcher had never been big on affection in public but he let his hand be taken by the bard.

“It’s not you, Geralt, I don’t blame you. It’s - it’s not love…what you feel for me.” Jaskier smiled sadly, his years of practice swallowing down tears being put to use. “It’s not love. You’ll get bored of me soon. I’m not permanent. I’m - I’m a fleeting fancy. And that’s okay.”

“You - I - what?” Geralt asked, looking so completely confused that it was almost comical. “Fuck. We’re not talking about this here.” He said, standing up and dragging Jaskier up through the inn and into their shared room. “Now,” the Witcher growled, whirling on the bard and grabbing him by his shirt, “what the fuck did you just say.”

Geralt didn’t scare Jaskier. He could never scare him, but the bard’s eyes were wide as he looked at Geralt’s furious expression.

“I - I don’t know how to say it, Geralt, I - no one’s ever wanted me before, not in a way that matters.” He managed to choke out, his vision turning blurry. Fuck, he thought he’d gotten good at swallowing down tears but Geralt had yet again proven him wrong.

“Who told you that?” He asked furiously.

“No one,” Jaskier responded, pushing Geralt away and scrubbing at his cheeks fiercely, “no one had to. I know, okay? I know.” The Witcher snarled.

“You know nothing, bard, if you don’t know that I love you.”

“Stop it, Geralt.”

“No.”

“I can’t do this if you’re just going to leave me.”

Jaskier froze and a silence passed. His breath was shaking from barely restrained tears.

“I can’t do this, Geralt,” he continued in a quiet voice, “not if you find someone better and leave me. I - I don’t know what I’d do. Everyone I’ve ever known has either left me or grown tired of me. It’s not a pattern that’s going to end with you. I - I don’t think I could take it if you left me again.”

Geralt’s gaze was soft, pitying. Jaskier was pitiful, add that to the list.

“I’ve known you for over 20 years and I have not grown tired.”

“What is 20 years to a Witcher? And even so, you did, you did grow tired of me.”

‘If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.’

“I didn’t grow tired of you. I grew tired of myself and my ability to fuck everything up.” Geralt said softly, “And I did, I fucked it up.”

“Geralt, it’s not love.”

“Stop saying that.”

“It’s not.”

Geralt snarled and pushed Jaskier up against the wall, leaning in close so that Jaskier had nowhere to look except for those golden eyes. Those disarmingly honest, golden eyes.

“Listen to me, Jaskier, I love you.”

Jaskier wouldn’t cry. He swallowed down a shaky breath.

“I’m irritating.”

“You are.”

“I talk too much.”

“You do. I like it.”

“I’m greedy.”

“You enjoy finery. It’s not the same.”

“I’m arrogant.”

“Clearly you’re not.”

“I can’t fight. I’m a coward.”

“You’re one of the bravest men I know. To the point of recklessness, it worries me.”

“It does?”

“It does.”

Geralt’s lips were grazing over his now, teasingly. Jaskier smiled, genuinely. Geralt smiled right back.

“You love me?” He asked, voice breaking.

“I do.”

And Jaskier cried, finally.

Jaskier cried and laughed and kissed Geralt. It was bad. It was wet and sloppy and he loved it. And Geralt loved it too. Because he loved him. Jaskier. He loved him.

Then Geralt had dragged him to bed, whispering praise into his skin as if hoping it would soak through him and settle in his bones. Jaskier had done the same because fuck, he was in love and it was dizzying.

“You know,” Jaskier began the next morning, earning a grunt from the Witcher laying under him, “I think last night was the longest I’ve ever heard you speak.” The chest beneath the bard’s head rumbled with a laugh.

“Fuck off.”

“I guess I just bring it out of you, Witcher.” Jaskier continued, grinning devilishly.

“I will kick you out of this bed, bard.”

“Please, I dare you to try and rip me off of you. I have melded my body onto yours.”

Geralt simply grumbled in response. It was a grumble of acceptance, Jaskier could tell. He could always tell.

They ran into Yennefer two months later and Jaskier found that he wasn’t concerned. He wasn’t worried Geralt would return to her. Partly because when she spotted them the first thing out of her mouth was;

“Finally. For Melitele’s sake, that took much too long.”

Geralt had looked at her with a pointedly unamused gaze which she’d returned with a wink.

Later, after they had helped her with a monster-slaying job so she could collect some sort of venom, the three had shared drinks.

“I take full credit for this, by the way.” She’d said, gesturing to the two of them and the arm wrapped around Jaskier’s waist.

“In what way is this your doing?” Jaskier had asked.

“I’m the one who told him to tell you how he felt.”

“Which he did months after he’d found me.”

“Is his lack of communication skills my fault?”

“If he didn’t do it when you told him to then it doesn’t count.”

“Fuck off, it counts.”

“It most certainly does not.”

Geralt took a sip of his ale as the two continued to bicker.

Not long after, Yennefer had decided to join them - “graced” them with her presence as she’d put it. Jaskier could tell that Geralt and the sorceress still cared for each other deeply. He couldn’t really talk though, he’d found himself caring for her as well. When she’d called him her “friend” he had practically glowed. Then Ciri had barrelled into their lives and their little circle had grown and gods, did he love that little girl.

“Where are your parents, Jaskier?” She had once asked as he was soothing her back to sleep after a nightmare. It was always Cintra burning, Jaskier ached for her. She was too young for all of this.

“I don’t know, honey, I haven’t spoken to them for years.”

“Why not?”

“We were never really a family.”

Ciri paused before smiling widely.

“But you have a family now.”

Jaskier smiled back, brushing the hair out of her face and listening to the sounds of Yennefer sleeping soundly and Geralt mumbling something to Roach.

“I do.”

#not sure im happy with this #my rambles #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geralt of rivia #geraskier #geraskier fic #geraskier fanfiction #angst #the witcher #the witcher fic #fanfic #fic written

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candychronicles · 5 years ago

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unrequited love, or not? // k. bakugou

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon who requested this, and thank you for being so patient!

CHARACTER PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,668

WARNINGS: mentions of being drunk, blood, mutual pining, dumb best friends

SYNOPSIS: you’ve been best friends since you could remember, but what if you wanted more?

the first day you met Bakugou Katsuki was on the first day of school, ever. you were bubbly, upbeat, someone who introduced yourself to everyone and made as many friends as possible. nothing could get you down, well, besides Bakugou. despite your best attempts, he was mean, sassy and definitely didn’t want to be your friend. for awhile, you resigned yourself to all your other friends, but the grumpy gremlin never left your brain.

over the following years, you slowly broke down the anger and superiority of his childhood, peeling back the layers to find a kid who wanted to save lives and be a hero, a kid who used his confidence to keep himself going against all odds. it wasn’t until your years at UA high that you really figured out who he was to you, but by then, things were too late, him being too focused on climbing to the top to even spare anything other than a friendly glance your way.

it wasn’t as if he ignored you. in some ways, that may have even been better, for you would’ve been able to push aside your feelings, but no, Bakugou was anything if not an attentive friend. he was one of the few people you trusted with your life, and vice versa. he came to you for everything, with everything, about everything, because you were his partner, his best friend. this closeness only complicated things, but you persevered, determined to be the greatest sidekick you could be to him.

your friendship wasn’t one that many people understood. while you were bright, extroverted, smiling brighter than the sun, moon and stars, he was grumpy, reserved, focused, but it worked. he called you annoying every day, and yet you two were inseparable, eating together, doing homework together, shopping, spending holidays together and taking selfies that, when you posted, he threatened to blow you up.

you watched as he blew every challenge out of the water, both literally and figuratively. from every challenge that came in high school, all of the death and destruction that you two fought together, coming out on top despite the pain, and continuing to help save people as he became a sensationalized pro hero practically overnight.

despite his constant successes, he wasn’t the number one pro hero, and until he achieved, and consistently maintained, his biggest goal of his life, there would be no other priorities in his life. you slowly watched, year after year, as he worked tirelessly, throwing away other opportunities in order to continue to pursue his goal. it wasn’t until you confronted him casually one day that your worst suspicions were confirmed.

“Katsuki, why haven’t you ever dated someone?” you questioned not so innocently one day, waiting with baited breath to hear his answer.

“Becoming the number one pro-hero has and always will be my number one priority,” he replied casually, shrugging his shoulders and continuing on with eating like he didn’t just shatter your heart into a million shards.

little did you know, his heart was also breaking, threatening to rip his chest open from the inside, suffocating and strong. he liked you, loved you, for longer than he could remember, but he was sure you didn’t feel the same way. he thought that every lingering touch, every suffocating hug, every time you called him when you were sad and drowning in tears, begging him to make you feel better, was just you being a best friend, nothing less and nothing more.

you became a bit more distant after that, nursing your hemorrhaging heart, attempting to fix it back up, using any stitch or glue that you could find so that you wouldn’t bleed out. this need to not hurt led you to a very drunk night with Mina and Jirou. it started off innocent enough, but as the night drug on and the alcohol tickled your veins, your blood began to thin and pour out of your mangled heart, and the tears followed soon after.

“why did i have to fall for him? he doesn’t love me, he never will. i’ll have to sit back and watch him continue on with his life, blissfully u-unaware that there is someone here who loves him so much that it hurts. i’m so dumb, so so dumb,” you rambled on, liquid pain streaming down your face as you cuddled a bottle of wine.

the girls tried to console you as best as they could, snuggling deeply into you and rubbing your hair, wiping the tears off your face and assuring you that you were loved, before you promptly passed out, the bottle of booze replaced with a pillow that you clutched tightly to your chest, attempting, even in your sleep, to fix the ache in your heart.

you awoke with a pounding headache and a steely resolve to distance yourself from your best friend even more than you already were. while you knew it would hurt, nothing could compare to the emptiness you felt standing next to him knowing he didn’t feel the same way. texts were replied to hours later, calls missed, and you once even pretended you weren’t home when he stopped by randomly to check up on you.

Bakugou didn’t know what he did wrong, and it was eating him alive. he texted, he called, he even tried to break down your door, knowing you were home, but you still barely responded, claiming you were busy. never in your combined friendship had you went this long without talking, even when you were truly mad at each other.

the lack of communication took a toll on Bakugou and he finally decided to confront Mina about it one day, despite not wanting to look desperate.

“why has she been avoiding me?” he asked the second she picked up the phone, not bothering to even say hi.

he heard a soft sigh on her end of the phone before she replied, “i’m not supposed to tell you.”

“bullshit. if she’s hurt, mentally or physically, she should be coming to me. i’m her fucking best friend.”

“and that’s the problem,” she replied cryptically.

“what the fuck is that supposed to mean? does she not want to be my friend anymore?”

“well, yes and no.”

he swore, at those four words, his heart stopped.

“if she doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore, then she needs to man up and tell me. i don’t have time to waste on cryptic shit. i’ve got more important things to do.”

“and that’s the problem!” she suddenly exploded, before replying more evenly, “all you care about is being the number one pro hero to even see what’s going on in front of your very eyes. someone cares about you very, very much, probably more than your shitty ass deserves, and you can’t even return those feelings because you can’t and won’t prioritize more than one thing in your life.”

Bakugou hung up on her after those words, immediately calling you, to no avail. he grabbed a jacket and some shoes and raced out of the door, heading towards your house with nerves of steel.

how stupid could i be? does she really feel the same way?

once he reached your house, he barged in, not even bothering to announce his presence as he headed towards the kitchen.

you appeared out of nowhere, alert and ready for anything, before relaxing your body, though there was still tension squaring your shoulders back.

“what the hell are you doing here?” you asked, confusion and a little bit of anger tinging your voice.

“do you love me?”

you quirked your head at him, face heating up in embarrassment, not sure how to respond.

“are you ignoring me because you love me and you don’t think that i love you back? are you so dumb to think that if you confessed to me right now, that i would reject you?”

your mouth gaped open and closed, unsure of how to take his questions, so you nodded meekly back, before responding, “you told me that being the number one pro hero was your number one priority-”

“my number one priority right now, sure, but that doesn’t mean you’re also not one of my priorities in my life. sometimes you’re even my number one. i don’t spend all my time with you, tell you everything, help you with everything, just because you’re just one of my ‘friends’. you’re my other half, you idiot. will you go out with me?”

your head cocked side to side, mouth still open, attempting to process his words, all the information that he had just thrown at you like it was nothing. he liked you? he wanted to go out with you?

“the question isn’t that hard. you also look like a fish. close your mouth and just tell me how you feel, how i know you feel now, so i can kiss your dumb face.”

at those teasing words, your face broke out in a smile before you rushed forward to capture his lips in your own, pouring all of that pent up pain and sadness into the kiss, allowing your heart to finally stitch together.

“you’re such an idiot. of course i like you, and of course i’ll date you. i’ve loved you for a long time, maybe even since you were a snotty nosed little brat, but not much has changed since then,” you teased, eyes twinkling in mischief.

“hey, just because you’re dating me doesn’t mean i still won’t kick your ass for being rude.”

“catch me if you can lover boy,” you called out, leaping away from him and into the kitchen laughing.

he shook his head, finally allowing himself a moment to breathe, feeling the heat rise into his cheeks and his blood pumping throughout his body, before he called out threateningly and began chasing after you around.

i’m in love with my best friend.

maybe being number one pro hero wasn’t the number one priority in his life anymore.

TAGS: @jojosmilktea @redbeanteax @softforshigi @katsuki-bakugous-lady @katsukisprincess @secondhand-trash

Want to be a part of my taglist? Message me!

#bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha

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yanara126-writing · 4 years ago

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The Adventures of Hildraed Dawnsbane - Fucking Morals and Damnit Fine (5/?)

Farmer, Pirate, Menace, Captain, Dawnsbane. Hildraed has many titles, she really could have lived well without Watcher.

Hildraed meets a certain chanter and is faced with the uncomfortable revelation that she might be making friends.

Read here or on Ao3. (3224 words)

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

The keep was… something. Something for sure. Even from a distance they could see the broken, rotting walls. How fitting. Certainly reflective of her mental state.

Mud stuck on her boots as she dragged them over the moist ground, not bothering to lift her feet. She could practically feel the elf boy’s disapproving glare. Well too bad for him, if she had suffer she’d at least look like it too, so nobody got any dumb expectations. Thankfully that message seemed to come across to her companions, because no one bothered her until they finally reached the outer walls.

Well, technically none of them bothered her then either, instead it was someone else, an island aumaua happily humming at a crumbling wall. Alright then. Sure there weren’t all that many fortresses in the Deadfire, but still this decaying pile of stones could hardly be that interesting.

“Fascinating brick wall, I’m sure.” Some distant part of her brain told her it probably wasn’t her greatest idea ever to immediately antagonize every random stranger just minding their own business, but she really, really didn’t give a shit right now. She winced at another painful pulse shooting through her head.

Fortunately the stranger didn’t seem to mind either way.

“Oh, it is! Or the wall itself maybe not, it is a very traditional build. But here look! An inscription! The builders most likely, signing their work. Isn’t it fascinating?” The aumaua was smiling at her now, his terrible sincerity completely frying Hildraed’s brain. That and the Rauataian accent. That was a bit unexpected.

Once again the stranger didn’t seem to mind her undoubtedly rude, mindless stare, for he didn’t even wait for an answer before continuing his excited babble.

“But the truly interesting part is in there." He points a piece of charcoal in his hand at the gates. "...and I haven't had much luck in reaching the keep itself. I hoped to find the master of this place - a man by the name of Maerwald - but it seems that he either holds his privacy most dear or else has been devoured by his houseguests.” Somehow, not even his with sharp teeth infested grin he seemed threatening. How could a humanoid shark look so cuddly? Oh wait, he probably expected an answer.

„Mjam. Old man, delicious.“ Oh well, not the worst thing she’d ever said. That opinion quickly changed when the stranger’s loud, bellowing laugh nearly made her go cross-eyed from the headache.

“For some fellows I’m sure! But personally I’d prefer a talk over making a meal of him. You see, I’ve travelled far and wide over Eora in search of the Tanvii ora Toha. You know it?” Unfortunately. Though she hadn’t encountered a ton of Rauataians (or at least not many willing to have a talk), there had been a few. And they tended to talk when drunk. Often unbidden and at length.

Okay that was a lie, Hildraed had always sucked up knowledge like a sponge, so of course she had interrogated everyone in reach for anything interesting or useable. Not that this guy needed to know that. Why had they been talking about that again? Oh yes. Wait what?

“Sure, sure. But why should it be here?” Still undeterred his grin grew even wider.

“Now that is the question isn’t it? I have no idea! But still the traces are leading me here. Unfortunately I haven’t had much luck breaching the defences, however unintentional they are.” For the first time during their conversation something other than rampant enthusiasm appeared on his face. If she hadn’t known better Hildraed might have called it sly. Oh who was she kidding, she didn’t know any better. “There must be some reason you’re here, is there not? I’m certain together we’ll have better chances to reach the fort than alone!” His eyes wandered over to the side. Oh yes, she wasn’t travelling alone. If she was forgetting this already the headache was slowly becoming more dangerous than annoying. Still very annoying though. “That is, if your companions don’t mind me joining.”

The elf boy did look miffed, but when did he not? And he didn’t seem inclined to deny the protection another party member would bring, so Hildraed counted him on board. She doubted the farmer would be an issue, but then again what did she know about these people. She turned around to him. And promptly did a double take at his dopey grin.

“’Long as you don’t try to hang me off a tree, I’m square.” Hildraed blinked. Perhaps it wasn’t actually her, perhaps people just talked to this man like that. And from the way he STILL grinned that was probably not farfetched.

“That I believe is a promise I can make. I don’t even think any of the trees left here would be able to hold you.” Yep, that settled it. Everyone else here was just as insane as her. How comforting. “Now to official introductions, my name is Kana. Kana Rua. At your service.” What followed was hat flourish that made Hildraed actually home sick. How come everyone had an awesome hat except her?

Introductions were quickly done away with (or so Hildraed thought, at this point she couldn’t be sure of anything), and they set off for the keep. The sooner they were inside the better.

Unfortunately the mentioned house guests apparently disagreed with that sentiment. As soon as they set foot into the courtyard they were set upon by multiple shades, followed by some phantoms, all of them very angry.

And at this point Hildraed was too. Her head was hurting like a bitch, nothing made sense in this damn place, and even the fucking wildlife wanted to skin her. She was tired. Oh so tired. But she was also absolutely livid.

The shades swarmed them, phantoms following up close and the banter died down. Swords slashed against strange, mist like flesh in an uncomfortably screeching noise, spells were muttered and let loose in stabbingly bright flashes of colours.

And Hildraed screamed. As soon as the creatures were within range she let loose howl so disharmonic it could barely be counted as a chant. The spirits, hanging dark and heavy in the air, almost seemed to screech along with her as they were pushed back, but they had no chance to compete with Hildraed’s pure rage. There was no one around anymore, just her and (soon to be) dead bastards.

Feet on moist earth, cool air of the evening brushing almost gently across her cheek, thuds in her ears, red in her eyes, heavy breath from her throat. Gravity pulling at her she fell into every swing, using momentum to rip her broadsword back up. A deadly dance accompanied by her furious chants. One she had danced and sung many, many times. One she had not actually wanted to dance and sing again.

And that cost her. She was tired, angry, frustrated. And also no longer used to solid ground as her dance floor. She stepped forward, swinging her sword upwards in anticipation of a wave that didn’t come. The sword went wide. The weight pulled her along, eyes wide as her balance tipped. Her breathed hitched, a second to long for the chorus, and her next verse slipped out of her grasp. The familiar sensation of an ended chant was just as horrifying as her fall. A lost chant was a lost life in battle, be it hers or her crew, most likely both.

Her back hit the ground with a heavy thump, her sword clanking right next to her, ripped aside with a well-trained reflex to not impale her. Not that it would do her much good anymore.

One more clank, this time from above her. A back to her, broad, and blond hair on the head above it. What?

Suddenly her head burned hot for a second, and the world was back in sharp focus. The farmer in front of her fending off the phantom she’d attempted to decapitate, from behind her a chant. Her chant. Well not anymore, now with a halfway clear head again she could feel that chant had not dissolved when she’d lost hold of it, instead someone else had picked it up and continued it. Somebody who sounded like they had shark teeth.

The light of a Minoletta spell stabbed her eyes for once she was glad for the headache it caused (strangely reduced now from before), as it finally triggered her fighting instincts again. She rolled over, carefully avoiding the sword (and getting grass stains all over herself for it) and dragged herself back up.

She allowed herself one glance backwards, which told her that indeed the newcomer was a chanter, and not a bad one at that, and also that she should most certainly remain on the front line with the farmer. The elf boy looked both determinedly terrified and very squishy, and though the sharkman could probably take a hit, there was no need to risk the chant breaking again.

Ripping her eyes away from the first chanter she’d seen in a long, long time, she heaved her sword back up and fell into a defensive position between their main fighter and the squishy wizard. Not a position she was used to, but she would manage.

The fight didn’t continue for much longer, as her companions had made short work of the spirits while she’d been in a bloodthirsty (smokethirsty? Aetherthirsty? Maybe ask the wizard later) rage. Few hits managed to get through to her, and though she would have been hard pressed to admit it, it was probably for the best. The voice from behind her was deeply distracting. He wasn’t singing her phrases anymore. Neither did he sound much like her. But she- she liked it. It was nice. Unfamiliar.

The last shadow disintegrated and a loud collective sigh moved through the group. The wizard was obviously very desperately trying not to hug his grimoire for comfort, the fighter was drenched in sweat like he’d been dropped into the sea, and the- the chanter’s hat was close to falling off, much like his by now wavering grin.

And they’d made it barely through the courtyard.

Fuck.

Hildraed was very tempted to just let herself fall into the giant, overgrown flowerbed next to them and wait for the ground to just swallow her. But then again, she’d lead a crew for too long to give in to that impulse. The close house it was then. The keep itself would definitely be infested, but perhaps, hopefully, the house had been spared this fate. They’d see. At the very least it couldn’t be too many in the enclosed space, and Hildraed really, really didn’t want to camp again. Or at least she didn’t want to camp outside in the cold anymore.

“Ladies, we’re trying our luck in the house.” Despite her desperate need to fall over again, she waited for the others to shuffle past her, in the elf’s case with a badly suppressed glower at her word choice. Which was indeed very funny and Hildraed could feel her lips twitch upwards. And though in other situations she would have relished in the mirth, perhaps right now wasn’t time for this. Sadly.

Thankfully, no one had any other objections (in fact she was almost sure the singing shark had found it funny.) and they made their way over to the house with only their general grumpiness as an obstacle.

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

The inside of the house was hardly comfortable, but Hildraed had slept in worse places. She certainly didn’t want to stay in this shithole, but it was acceptable for a night, if it would keep her out of the wind.

That was what she kept telling herself, continuously plucking out gravel from her ass and back, as she had made the grave mistake of attempting to lie down. Or more accurately, she had flopped down and immediately cursed herself. Loudly.

That in turn had made the elf into a blushing, stammering mess, and he’d fled into a corner digging his nose into a book. Which he had from… somewhere. Hildraed wasn’t quite sure where, but she wasn’t about to ask. Mostly because she was curious how long it would take him to admit that he was sitting on a sharp stone.

“Ow.” She grimaced and winced as she pulled out (probably) the last pebble. She hoped these weren’t like sand. Sand you’d find in the weirdest places days later. Much like companions apparently.

One of which had left to check out the stairs up and had yet to return. Strange noises were coming from the direction of hallway, but as none of them were growls or shouts, Hildraed was willing to ignore them. She didn’t know what the lonely farmer was doing in the back that would cause minor rockslides, and frankly she had no intention to find out.

A fire was lit in the middle of the room, next to the broken fountain. The structure might have been beautiful once, but now it was barely more than a heap of rubble. A shame really. Not that Hildraed cared. It wasn’t like the thing reminded her of the old church, the only impressive construction in her old village. It wasn’t like they’d had anything like it there, a small pool in which she’d played with the other children during her childhood. Nope, not at all.

With that thought she slumped down on the ground (carefully making sure to not repeat her mistake), her back to the structure, and poked the fire a bit. It crackled in front of her, warm and bright, while at the same time dousing the room in an ominous shadow, flames dancing on the walls in a constantly changing rhythm.

“Are you alright?” The voice sounded genuinely concerned, which surprised Hildraed more than the sudden words. She looked up through the flames, and her stupidly poetic with exhaustion brain tried to jumpstart another ramble at the sight of the aumaua’s changed skin colour. She was tempted to try and find a stick to beat her head with, but somehow, she didn’t think that would be very helpful. She sighed.

“Are any of us?” Another dumb thought she hadn’t wanted to voice. The crew didn’t need to know her own insecurities. Thankfully, the awkward silence was broken by another one of their companions.

“The stairs up are completely collapsed. Before anything from up there could attack us, it’d break its neck coming down.” Edér stepped out from the side room, rubbing his neck, rubble stuck all over his clothes and his hair. At least he hadn’t broken his neck. With whatever he was doing. Since his clothes only seemed dirty and not actually all that dishevelled though, she felt almost bad for her inner monologue’s implications. Only almost though, because obviously he’d still been dumb enough to crawl around there.

He flopped down next to them, giving Aloth and his book a cursory glance. Only to immediately grimace in regret again. Hildraed snorted.

An awkward silence followed. Hildraed stared into the flames. But really what should she say to these people? She didn’t know them, not really. She was just sitting in these fucking pebbles with them. Right? And why would she want to know them, knowing them brought responsibilities, knowing them would mean having to take care of them. She was done with that life, she didn’t have a crew anymore and didn’t want one. The fact that she had referred to them as such meant nothing. Old habits, nothing more.

“Would you sing with me?” What?

“What?” Hildraed blinked at- at- Kana. His name was Kana.

“Would you sing with me?” Nope, not any clearer, not even with his grin restored. “Your form in the fight was fascinating, and I would be honoured if you were to give me the opportunity of a chant with you.” He was looking at her over the fire with this shining, honest smile, and for a second Hildraed could feel her heart break. Gods be damned he was cute. He was a full grown man with the enthusiasm of a child. No she couldn’t keep looking at this, his excitement might actually melt her.

Unfortunately, for some reason, turning away didn’t help. On her other side sat- Edér. And though he wasn’t quite as high level excitement, he looked terribly derpy with his dusty face and clothes, and also intrigued at the concept of show. Which she was not giving. She wasn’t a fucking circus horse.

And the- Aloth, sitting across the room, doing a horrible job of subtly eyeing them with interest over his book would change nothing about it. Not even his embarrassing blush at having been spotted.

Oh who was she still trying to lie to. She had tried to keep her distance and had failed, now she might as well enjoy what she got out of it.

The self-revelation came and took the last bit of her adrenaline though. If she was going to give them a show, it would at least be an impressive one. She sighed, and for some reason it felt strangely liberating.

“Fine, boy, but not right now. First a nap. I couldn’t hit a note right now if I tried.” Now that was probably a lie, but she still wouldn’t be good. She almost didn’t dare look up, in fear that he had also mastered the sad puppy look, which might just be fatal for her conviction. Regrettably, her eyes drifted over on their own, and though he looked a little disappointed, Kana either couldn’t or didn’t want to utilize the sad puppy dog look. For Hildraed there were reasons to hope for both.

And while she was already looking at him, she couldn’t help but eye him.

“You know, you could bolster your chances for tomorrow by being my pillow for tonight.” He stared at her with surprise, and Hildraed wanted to bite herself. She was mushy enough, no need to make it worse! (And what if she’d made him uncomfortable now?)

The moment passed though, and his grin returned full force. Instead of giving a verbal answer he just opened his arms expectantly. Before he (or she) could come to their senses and realize just how stupidly mushy they were being, she turned to the side, putting her head on his thigh. (Which was exactly as comfortable as it looked.)

This however put her into the uncomfortable position of having to see Edér’s slightly jealous glances, and Aloth’s now more frequent shifting. She rolled her eyes.

“Fine, come here, bear, we don’t want anyone getting pneumonia here. And kid, please just come to the fire at least, there’s no need to skulk. And also pull that stone out of your bum, you’re proving nothing.”

Before she could see their reaction she turned into the other direction, entirely ignoring the shuffling behind and beside her. She didn’t care what they doing. Okay she did, but at least for now that was only her business.

Which is why she definitely didn’t ask: “How about a demonstration if you’re still so fit?”

Which is why she definitely didn’t feel vindicated at the excited answer.

Which is why she certainly didn’t fall asleep to the velvety tunes of a Rauataian hymn.

#Pillars of Eternity #writing #Kana Rua #Edér Teylecg #Aloth Corfisor #hildraed #cursing #fanfiction #making friends

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unsteadygalaxy · 4 years ago

Text

all is soft inside chapter 7

a miragehound multichapter fanfiction

Also posted on ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26475064/chapters/67350442

previous | next

7. i carry more than you see

A gloved hand meets smooth steel and pushes gently, opening the door. The hinges whine for a moment before going quiet. Bloodhound exits their apartment, locks the door behind them, and heads for the stairs to the roof.

They know they can very well take the elevator and avoid the extra strain, but a part of them needs the burn. They need the dull scorch in their chest to keep them going. To keep them sane. To remind them why they’re here. After all, it’s only a few flights from their floor to the roof. They can manage.

They pass Octavio’s apartment on their way, and they smile. Loud engine noises beat through the walls as Octavio plays yet another racing game. Bloodhound was sure his pursuit of speed and adrenaline would slow to a crawl one day, but certainly not yet.

Reaching the stairwell, they pull out their phone for a brief moment. It’s a simple thing, not at all fancy like those belonging to their fellow Legends, but it does the job. As usual, the screen is blank and wordless, showing only the time in white numbers against a blank background. For a moment they wish that someone would send them a message, but who do they know that would? They stuff the phone back into the pocket of their thick outer jacket and sigh, annoyed with themself.

As they ascend the stairs, the familiar ache in the lungs reminds them of the first time they’d tried to navigate a stairwell after the accident. The steep, sturdy staircase leading up to their room in the loft of Artur’s home became a behemoth, an impossible obstacle to overcome for so long. They had made it up halfway before their lungs screamed at them to stop. They’d collapsed onto the steps, weeping brokenly, and abandoned their attempt, opting to burrow into a pile of warm furs on the bottom floor instead. The coolant in their lungs had frozen and damaged some of their lung tissue, and the village medics told them they were extremely lucky to be alive. The respirator they had found proved to be an essential part of their life, and they had used many over the years since then.

Now, as they near the top, their lungs burn but they do not falter. They scale the last few steps with ease, inhaling deeply. The air that passes down their throat to their creaking lungs soothes each protesting corner and calms the heat that circulates inside. Bloodhound places a hand over their heart, willing it to slow, willing it to return to its normal rhythm.Their blood pumps hard, flowing throughout their body, filling them with a sense of satisfaction. It had been many, many years since the accident, but they still felt a quiet sense of pride and assurance when they could scale a flight of stairs.

Quite ironic, is it not? Bloodhound thinks. They risked their life every day, killing and hunting and killing again, but the most meaningful victory was standing at the top of a staircase, knowing they had made it. But why? Why did that matter so much, when their prowess as a hunter was so much more important? They push at the door to the roof and it swings open with a heavy creak.

A cold chill runs across their skin and they stuff their gloved hands into their pockets. Bloodhound breathes deeply, letting the cool air tickle their throat on the way down.

“Um…”

They jump, and turn to their left. To their surprise, Elliott stands there in the corner, holding a bottle of beer, and the energy around him is suspiciously sad and forlorn again. His eyes are gleaming dully, and Bloodhound realizes they have walked in on a very private moment.

“Elliott,” they say, their voice coming out much too high, even through the modulator. They clear their throat, and continue. “My apologies. I do not wish to interrupt you. I will leave, if that is what you desire.”

“No, no, it’s okay. Really.” Elliott’s voice is quiet and tight, like it was the last time they had found each other here. He sniffs, and Bloodhound averts their eyes as he turns away, a hand going to his face.

“If you are certain…” Bloodhound trails off, waiting for a response. Elliott gives none, so Bloodhound crosses over to him, but leaves a respectable distance between them.

Neither of them say anything for several minutes. Elliott occasionally takes a drink from his bottle, and soon drains it completely. It clinks as he sets it down on the ground. He sighs and leans against the balcony, propping himself up with his elbows. Bloodhound runs their fingers over the rough stone. They let their thoughts wander here and there, but they occasionally glance over at Elliott. His expression is far away and glassy, but not from alcohol- he doesn’t seem to be drunk.

“What troubles you, félagi?” they ask softly.

Elliott snorts, a short sound filled with derision and a surprising amount of venom. “What doesn’t trouble me?” he replies, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Seems like I can barely keep my head on straight these days.”

“What is it you need?” Bloodhound asks, and a strange desire to put their hand on his arm takes place under their sternum. They ignore it.

Elliott sighs heavily, and massages his temples. “I…” He breaks off, his voice giving out. His next words come out in a tangled, frustrated tumble. “I need to stop being such a useless mess in the Games, I need my mom to stop losing her goddamn mind, I need my dad to stop being such a dickhead, I need my brothers to come out of whatever fucking hiding hole they’re in and help me, goddammit-” His voice breaks again, and his jaw is set and trembling. The sudden surge of anger startles Bloodhound; he had not seemed to be quite so agitated when they arrived. His eyes shine again, and he shakes his head, staring at his hands.

Bloodhound moves as though they are in a dream, and before they know what they’re doing, they’re at his side. They touch his shoulder, and squeeze it gently. Elliott jumps, but relaxes into their touch. He stands straight for a few more moments, shaking slightly, then he groans. “God, I’m so pathetic, sorry,” he says, his voice constricted. “I can’t believe I’m actually crying right now. And in front of you, too. The last person I want to cry in front of.” He wipes his face angrily and shakes Bloodhound’s hand off as he walks away. His foot collides with the beer bottle, and it goes skittering across the floor, clinking faintly.

Their hand is cold as they bring it back to their side. Discomfort and rejection pool in their stomach, but they press it down, promising themself they will process it later. “You are neither useless nor pathetic, Elliott,” they assert. “Your emotions do not make you a lesser person. They make you strong.”

“Strong?” He laughs, and it hurts. “Strong? You’re kidding, right? You’re going to stand there and look at me and tell me I’m strong?” His words are scathing, and he glares at them, angry and in pain.

“Yes, Elliott, I am,” they shoot back. “Because despite your poor opinion of yourself, you are a worthy teammate. I quite enjoy fighting by your side.”

“But why?” he asks, his voice becoming more emphatic. He’s pacing, his hands knotting in his voluminous hair. “Why, Bloodhound? Nothing about me has been strong lately. I lose it every time I hear my mom’s voice on the phone and she asks who she’s talking to. I’m her son. She should know me!” he gasps, anguish working its way across his face. “And my useless shithead of a dad d- des- abandons us just as soon as things get shitty, only to come crawling back the second he gets wind of his youngest son being in the Apex Games. Everyone knows the only thing he’s after is the money- he can’t be bothered to step back in and be an actual dad. He wasn’t even that great anyway.” Elliott trembles as he speaks, spitting out the words like they’re poison in his veins, left by the gaping maw of some unseen, ravenous creature.

“And then my glorious, wonderful, perfect brothers all ran off to join the fight when the war started. They all had something to prove, something to hold themselves up to. Dumbasses just wanted to be better than their dear old dad. They just left behind their kid brother to grow up alone and wonder where they’d gone.” His voice breaks again, and Bloodhound has to resist the sudden urge to gather him in their arms. He turns away, and they avert their eyes once more as he shakes.

Bloodhound waits, struggling and grasping to find the right thing to say. They feel different- exposed, or scrutinized, even. They had always been a sympathetic person, but it had been a very long time since they wanted to hold someone the way they wanted to hold Elliott.

“You are very well within your rights to feel scared and powerless,” Bloodhound soothes, trying to quiet their intrusive thoughts. “All of this is enough to make anyone deeply upset.”

“I don’t have time for this!” Elliott yells, waving his hands wildly. “I don’t have time to process all of this. I need to focus on the Games. It’s been weeks since I came out on top. Every damn time I get close, something goes wrong. I slip up, or I make a dumb decision, or I just sit there staring at you like a dumbass because you’re so—” He stops abruptly, eyes going wide, cheeks turning a brilliant shade of red. “...because you’re such a badass,” he finishes lamely, and he turns away.

Bloodhound remains quiet for a moment, mulling over the implications behind the unspoken words. What was he about to say? It certainly wasn’t “beautiful”— anyone would agree that Bloodhound’s chances of being attractive had splintered like their skin all those years ago. Perhaps it was “skilled”? But no, why would he stop himself from saying that? They close their eyes and push the question away, resolving to think about it another time.

“My success does not invalidate your worth as a person,” they reply. “Elliott, you are a smart man. You are capable and strong. But if you do not allow yourself to feel these things, they will haunt you forever.”

“And how exactly do you propose that I feel things, huh?” he asks, exasperated and impatient. “This shit sucks, and I’m trying to get rid of it, not keep it around!” He throws his hands in the air and strides away, still fuming.

Bloodhound sighs. Elliott was many things, but a patient man he was not.

“Vinur minn. Do you trust me?” they ask, both expecting and dreading his answer.

Elliott stops, and turns around just enough for Bloodhound to see the frustration in his eyes barely give way to something softer. Kinder. “I mean… yeah.”

“Come.”

Bloodhound turns away from the city lights and turbulent distractions, heading for the opposite side of the roof. They pick up a pair of cushions from the chairs there, and place them on the floor. The sun is sinking in the sky, and gives the far off trees a golden aura. Bloodhound wishes they could be running among them, feeling the day’s last rays of warmth drain from the world. But it does not matter. Elliott Witt has lost his light, and Bloodhound is here to help him find it again.

They settle onto one of the cushions, sitting cross-legged. Elliott has followed them, but he stares down at them, confused. “Uh… what are we doing, H- I mean, Bloodhound?”

“Please, take a seat,” Bloodhound says, gesturing to the pillow next to them. They pause, then begin to remove their gloves. The scarring is not as severe there, they think. But why are they rationalizing? Why are they worried? They trust Elliott not to tell anyone, and they trust him to not ask any ill-willed questions.They lay the gloves in their lap and weave their fingers together, bringing their hands to rest as Elliott settles on the pillow, still looking bewildered.

“Please take my hands,” they ask, their voice nigh a whisper. Elliott suddenly flushes, but extends his hands nonetheless. A spark of warmth ignites where the first contact is made- his middle finger graces their palm ever so softly- but it spreads and matures into something much more familiar, much more intimate. His hands are bitterly cold. Bloodhound wants to wrap his hands in theirs and hold them until they’re both warm. Part of them retreats and cringes when his fingers pass over their scars, but they resist the urge to draw back. Elliotts emotions are rattled enough, and he does not need any more rejection.

“Breathe with me.” Bloodhound inhales deeply, and Elliott follows suit, looking more and more at ease as time goes by. Air swirls into their lungs, expanding and filling their chest to a comfortable volume. The spaces between Bloodhound’s ribs stretch and extend as they pull their diaphragm down, drinking in the air like it’s a fine wine. Their gaze locks perfectly to Elliott’s, and even through the goggles, Elliott makes direct eye contact. His deep brown eyes are tired, and the bags under them look purple and dark. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, even though Bloodhound knew that couldn’t be the case. He had very nearly beat them yesterday, after all.

The two of them breathe in tandem for a few moments more, and Elliott’s energy progresses from a writhing roar to a light buzz. “Better?” Bloodhound asks.

“Yeah,” he replies. “How-”

“Trust me,” they implore.

He nods.

“When we focus on the breath of life, we are able to filter out the distractions,” Bloodhound says. Their thumbs tenderly caress Elliott’s fingers in a calming motion, pressing soft arcs into his skin. “Tell me, what do you feel when you think of your mother?”

Elliott’s face falls ever so slightly, but he recovers. “I guess… I guess I’m just really… sad,” he murmurs. “I feel… helpless. Powerless. If it was a person causing all of her problems, I would have taken care of it a long time ago, but… this is different.” He swallows hard. “I can’t fight this. Not with a gun or my fists, anyway.”

Bloodhound nods. “And how do you feel about your father?”

A spark of anger returns to Elliott’s eyes. He grunts in annoyance, deep in thought for a moment. “He pisses me off. I’d punch him right in the face if he were here now. It would serve him right.”

Bloodhound smiles. The thought of Elliott socking his father in the face seemed amusingly petulant, but they hope they are around to see it one day. “And your brothers?” they ask. “How do you feel about them?

A mix of emotions runs through Elliott’s visage- happiness, fear, despair. “I…” he starts. “I really don’t know. I don’t know how I should feel about them. They piss me off, but… they’re my brothers. I don’t even know if they’re still out there.” He releases Bloodhound’s hands and begins to fidget with his fingers in his lap.

“It is all right to have complicated feelings towards those that have hurt us,” Bloodhound remarks as they settle their own hands onto their knees. Their hands are warm and tingly where he had been touching them. “Our emotions come for us at different times. Some are more devastating than others. Some feel as though they will last forever, but some are fleeting. They can make us feel insignificant. Small, compared to their weight and power. But their gravity cannot consume us unless we allow it to.”

“How do I stop it?” Elliott asks, his voice small and uncertain. “How do I keep from getting sucked in?”

“The answer is simple,” they reply, and they almost smile anticipating his response. “You do not.”

Elliott’s brow furrows, and he gapes at them, open mouthed. Bloodhound wants to laugh, but they hold it back, grateful for their mask for the millionth time. They are not too sure about how he would respond to being laughed at a second time. “Uh… what?” he questions. “You’re telling me that in order to stay in control, I have to… let go of it?”

“Yes.”

“How the hell does that work?” Elliott asks, his tone slightly accusatory. He shifts his weight so that he is leaning back on the palms of his hands.

“Imagine you are in a spacecraft orbiting a planet,” Bloodhound instructs. They gesture with their hands as they speak, weaving their story into being. “Think of that planet as an emotion. It has its own pull, its own gravity. If you turn off the engines, you will be stuck in orbit. If you leave, you will never know whether or not that planet had something valuable for you to discover.”

“So, you’re saying…” Elliott pauses, comically confused. Finally, he sighs, and rubs his eyes tiredly. “What are you saying?”

“Our emotions are not inconveniences, Elliott,” Bloodhound says. “They are lessons in disguise, planets waiting to be explored. We do ourselves a disservice by pushing them away and ignoring them. If we are patient with ourselves, there is much to discover.”

Elliott considers this, his hands still fidgeting. “You’re essentially saying that I need to let myself feel,” he says. Then, the realization drops on him like a ton of bricks. “Oh. Ohhh. You- yeah. Of course. Duh.” He blushes red again, and buries his face in his hands.

“Yes,” Bloodhound replies, smiling fully now. “Allow yourself to experience the emotion. Instead of pushing it away, explore it. Travel alongside it, and take note of what you see. The way may be uncomfortable at times, but you are allowed to feel the pain you bear.”

Elliott remains buried in his hands for a long time, clearly deep in thought. When he emerges, Bloodhound notices that he seems calmer and more level-headed. He looks up at them and smiles, and a strange stilted feeling skips through Bloodhound��s chest. It was almost as if their heart had lost its rhythm for a moment.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, his face red. “I can be a stubborn idiot sometimes. Doesn’t do me any good.”

“We all have our moments of difficulty,” Bloodhound soothes. “But they do not make us less worthy of assistance.”

“Caustic would disagree with you,” Elliott scoffs.

“Caustic would be incorrect,” Bloodhound assures, a flash of annoyance flitting through them at the mention of Nox. “That andskoti would benefit from a great deal of assistance.”

Elliott laughs, and his smile alone is enough to break through the gloom that has been surrounding him all evening. “What does that mean, anyway?” he asks, shaking his head in amusement.

“It most closely means ‘devil’ or ‘demon’,” Bloodhound answers. “It is… unkind, but Doctor Nox is-”

“An asshole, yeah.”

“That is not quite the word I would pick, but yes.” Bloodhound chuckles. “He is.”

They fall quiet, content to sit with him in silence. He’s not even looking at them, but for some reason, it doesn’t matter. Just sitting here with him was enough to still Bloodhound’s thoughts and bring a peace to their soul they had long forgotten.

“And one more thing,” they say, remembering. “The outcome of a match does not lay entirely on your shoulders. The team must work together to bring about a victory.”

“Yeah, but my dumbassery certainly doesn’t help anything,” he grumbles, rolling his neck. Several cracks pop through the air, and he sighs. “I’m sure you never have trouble.”

“We all struggle in the Games,” they respond. “Myself included. Your idolization of me does not improve or indicate my skill level. I am mannlegur, just like you. Human.”

Elliott’s cheeks flush, and he shrugs. “I definitely don’t believe that,” he mutters.

Bloodhound rolls their eyes. They want to take him by the shoulders and hold him there until he stops devaluing himself. “Elliott, the Games are not for the faint of heart,” they assert. “If you were incapable, you would not have survived the first season.”

“You can say I’m a dumbass, you know,” Elliott says, running a hand through his hair and stretching.

“I do not wish to insult you.”

Elliott rolls his eyes, but smiles faintly. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“That is a shame, Elliott,” Bloodhound replies. “I would not consider you to be such.”

He is quiet for a few moments, deep in thought. “Then you’d be a r-rar- you’d be one of the few who didn’t.” He pushes back the sleeves of his sweater, and Bloodhound is momentarily captivated by his well-muscled arms. Something inside them freezes for a half second, then drops into their stomach, and they are very glad he cannot see their face.

“I am sorry you are feeling helpless,” they say, tearing their eyes away from his warm skin to look into his face. “That is a feeling I am familiar with. Please know that you are not alone.”

“I appreciate it.” Elliott smiles at them again, before getting to his feet and returning to the balcony. Bloodhound follows after putting the pillows back where they belong.

Several silent moments stretch out between the two of them. Bloodhound waits patiently, and gazes out over the busy city. The sun is just setting, and it leaks down past their view, painting the higher windows on the buildings around them in fiery orange. They used to wish they could catch the sun and suspend it right there forever, giving them all the time they needed to think and to grieve. But many years have passed since they were a child, and life does not see fit to slow down and allow them anything.

The last vestiges of the sun soon creep beyond the horizon, and a cold chill fills the air. Bloodhound is quite insulated beneath their thick jacket and woolen sweater, but Elliott begins to shiver, presumably because he is only wearing one layer of clothing.

“Yikes. This weather’s kinda crazy, huh?” he remarks, rolling his sleeves back down.

“I had hoped the seasons would delay their changing for a while longer,” they say, “but time waits for no one.” They’re already shrugging off their jacket before they fully register what they’re doing. “Here. Take this for the evening. I will leave you with your thoughts.” They hand their jacket to a bewildered Elliott, who takes it, unsure.

“Um, are you sure? You wear this thing all the time,” he asks, staring at them hard, his cheeks redder than ever.

“Quite. Leave it on my doorstep, and I will retrieve it in the morning.”

“Okay… if you’re sure.” He slides into the jacket with ease, and Bloodhound is pleased to find that it fits him perfectly. It complements his outfit well, and accentuates his features nicely. “What do you think?” he asks, and he does a slow twirl, examining his new look.

A strange leaping sensation in Bloodhound’s abdomen crackles through their body.

“It suits you,” they say, nodding in approval. Their eyes seem to be glued to his form, admiring his strength and the effort he put into his appearance. Finally, they break their gaze away, shake their head, and begin to move towards the door. “One more thing, Elliott.”

“Yeah?” His head pops up,

“Do not forget what I told you. You are-”

“‘Allowed to feel the pain I bear’, yeah, I got it,” he repeats, jokingly rolling his eyes. “Don’t you worry about me, Bloodhound, I’ll be just fine.” He gives them an exaggerated wink and a thumbs up, and they can’t help but smile.

“Have a good evening, Elliott,” they say, pulling the door open, making sure it would remain unlocked after they left.

“Thanks. You, too.”

When Bloodhound lays in bed that night, their fingers fidget with their hair, working it into twists and plaits and many stranded knots. Their thoughts wander, but always seem to arrive back at Elliott- Elliott smiling, Elliott laughing, even Elliott staring out over the balcony, his eyes shining. As they yank a brush through their hair, their chest pulses pleasantly with the memory of Elliott wrapped in their jacket, and they smile freely, openly, unobscured in the darkness of their room. Elliott Witt, they think. What a lovely person he is.

#apex legends #apex #miragehound #mirage apex #bloodhound apex #mirage apex legends #bloodhound apex legends #bloodhound #elliott witt #elliott witt apex legends #my writing #apex fanfiction #apex legends fanfiction

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fandom-necromancer · 5 years ago

Text

The right Choice

This was prompted by an amazing anon! I sprinkled a bit Connor/Chloe in there, I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900, Connor/Chloe

‘And how’s your brother doing?‘ Connor smiled at Chloe upon the question. It was a beautiful Sunday and the sun was shining bright and warm. They were sitting in the outside area of a café outfitted with comfy garden chairs and a lot of colourful potted flowers carefully arranged around the tables. ‘He’s doing just fine. Made quite a career with the FBI, really. I mean, he always says it’s because he was specifically made for that kind of job, but I’m not gonna lie, he is good at what he does.’ ‘And outside of work?’, Chloe asked, sipping thirium tea. ‘Yeah, I know I worried about him’, Connor laughed. ‘I mean, we live together, and he has me, but I don’t want that to be forever. I love him, but I also love you and I thought about your offer of moving in together. I think I don’t have to worry anymore.’ ‘Did he find someone?’ ‘He always says someone found him. I don’t know who it is, outside of that it’s a he and that he likes cats.’ Chloe chuckled. ‘Sounds like your worst nightmare.’ ‘Hey, I mean anyone with a pet proved they can take care of someone? I see it as a positive, but…’ ‘You’d rather his partner had a dog?’ Connor huffed. ‘I guess. I mean imagine family dinners… Hank with Sumo, our dog if we ever get one-‘ ‘When we get one’, Chloe stressed. ‘Okay, when we get one. And then there’s Nines with a cat. I mean what if we visit and they don’t like each other.’

‘If that’s your only problem with your brother’s choice, I think you’ll be fine’, she joked, watching the bees dance around the near flowers. ‘Hey, my brother has the most advanced CPU out there’, Connor answered. ‘No way he would make the wrong choice.’ Chloe nodded, and Connor smiled. They knew each other for quite a while now and still he couldn’t get his mind around how beautiful she was. And now with the sun shining bright on her hair and them being surrounded by colour… It was perfect. Until her LED changed to yellow and then red for half a turn. ‘Shit.’ Connor frowned at her looking up from her tea. ‘I’m so sorry, Con.’ ‘What happened? Is something wrong?’ ‘It’s Elijah. You know how he tries to get into the medical field? He’s a genius, but sometimes he is such a moron.’ She sighed deeply, rubbing her eyes. ‘He angered some of the board members – again - and well… I have to appease them again before all of this ends in disaster…’ ‘I’m sure you can do it’, Connor reassured her. ‘Do you need a lift?’ ‘That would be nice, thank you. I’m so sorry, I have been looking forward to spending this day with you.’ They stood up and paid and Connor hugged her. ‘There will be other days. Go safe humanity.’ ‘Ugh, if all of humanity relies on Elijah’s social skills, I think I’m gonna be sick’, she laughed. ‘I promise we will repeat this, Con, it was really nice.’ ‘Don’t worry’, he waved it off. ‘We will.’

He had driven Chloe over to Belle Isle and kissed her goodbye. He wished her good luck with work and drove back home, only a bit bummed out over the lost time. They would have more days to come after all and with no one quite sure how long an android could really live, there wasn’t much lost. He would just get home and spend some time with his brother. Actually, that could be nice too, now that he thought about it. It had been quite some time since they had last consciously done something together. He nodded at that thought as he parked the car in front of their house and walking over to the front door. He pushed off his shoes and put them neatly to the side, when he stopped. There was another pair of shoes right there that were neither Nines’ nor Connor’s own. Immediately he made the connection. His brother had known of him being out the whole day. Naturally he had invited his boyfriend over. Connor decided against announcing his presence as he didn’t want to make it awkward. He should just leave again, but curiosity had always been his weakness. So, he looked into the living room and froze. There on the couch… ‘What the fuck, Gavin!’

Nines had been giddy all day, hiding it successfully from his brother until he had left. Then he had begun notoriously cleaning the house until Gavin arrived. Nines had hugged him at the entrance and led him inside. ‘So your brother is out?’ ‘Yes, he has his own date today.’ ‘Nice.’ ‘Would you like a coffee?’ ‘Hey, you know me, Nines.’ They ventured to the kitchen and Gavin propped himself up on the counter next to the coffee machine, stealing kisses whenever Nines had to lean over to put filter, coffee and water inside their compartments. Not that the android particularly minded it. The opposite was more likely. As the machine worked, he stepped to the side and into Gavin’s space. He looped his arms around his back and smiled as he had to look up at the smug face. ‘Enjoying the view?’, Nines smirked. ‘A bit’, Gavin shrugged. ‘Although from down there I have a better view of your ass, to be honest.’ ‘Hmm, maybe’, the android hummed. ‘But then I couldn’t do this.’ He tightened his grip and lifted the human up effortlessly, who laughed in surprise. ‘Nines, you are being silly again.’ ‘Would you rather have me being serious?’, Nines asked. ‘I could read you your vitals and scold you for your eating habits, if you’d like.’ ‘Nah thank you. Not today.’ ‘Thought so.’

Nines walked them over to the living room. The time until the coffee was ready could be put to better use. He laid his human gently down on the couch and followed the movement to stay on top of him, keeping himself suspended on arms and knees not to crush Gavin with his weight. ‘Hey, I thought I would get my coffee first?’, Gavin joked. ‘You’ll get it, don’t you worry. I waited a week for this, give me a break, would you?’ ‘Fine’, Gavin chuckled, accepting the kiss all too eager himself. ‘Just… Is your brother really that weird about it?’ ‘No, he is fine with it. But I’d rather keep him out of this. Trust me, it would be… really awkward.’ ‘Alright. Then it’ll stay by you visiting me after work?’ ‘Don’t worry, he wants to move out soon anyways. It’s only a matter of time.’ ‘You’d better encourage him in every way you can think of’, Gavin smiled. ‘Because this? I want this twenty-four hours, all week long.’ ‘Me too’, Nines said from the heart and sat up to stand. His human grunted displeased and made grabby hands towards him. The android shook his head. ‘Hey, just getting you your coffee, we don’t have to rush. My brother said he wouldn’t be home before sundown.’ Gavin grumbled his reluctant allowance and sat up, watching the android walk towards the kitchen.

They spend most of the day sitting there together. Gavin had drunk his coffee and they had talked. About his cats about work, about Gavin’s increasingly annoying neighbours and more. They had cuddled and laughed. Later they cooked and made a mess of the kitchen, cleaned it again and retreated back on the sofa. Nines was holding the overly content human that had gotten sleepy from the food and listened to his heartbeat. It was so immensely calming, Nines found. He could easily get lost listening to it and as he knew they would be alone and were safe, he allowed it. He felt his own pump attune to it, the rotations of the pump syncing up with the rhythm. He would love to always have this around him, to be able to listen to his heart whenever he wanted, to hold him, to care for him, to share experiences. It was simply perfect, and he could stay like this until his-

‘What the fuck, Gavin!’

Gavin froze, Nines froze, time froze. Then he looked up. Connor was standing in the hallway. Why was he standing in the hallway? When had he arrived? Nines should have been able to hear his car, nevermind the door and his steps.

‘Connor?’, Gavin sounded similarly surprised. ‘The phck are you doing here?’ ‘What am I- I live here, you idiot!’ ‘Wait…’ Gavin had to pause for thoughts, so Nines took over: ‘Connor, why are you here already? I thought you would be with Chloe all day.’ ‘There was a problem over at Cyberlife and she had to leave earlier. Why is Gavin here?’ ‘Because I decided to invite my boyfriend over while you were gone’, Nines explained. ‘Wait, Nines, Connor is your brother?’

In all confusion that allowed both androids to look at the man dumbfounded. ‘We look the same, idiot!’, Connor said and Nines added: ‘And we are both RK-series.’ ‘Yeah, well, how should I know. I noticed you looked similar but how the hell am I supposed what androids define as related? I thought you decided that.’ ‘But-‘ ‘Nines, sorry, but I thought you were some random FBI android, how the hell should I have known?’ ‘Yeah, well, Connor is my brother, now you know.’

‘Good. Then you can explain to me why Gavin sits on our couch’, Connor demanded. ‘He is my boyfriend.’ ‘He is- How the hell did you even meet? And why… how… We are talking about Gavin Reed, the asshole of my precinct!’ ‘Wow, not polite’, Gavin complained, but was quickly silenced: ‘Says the one who held me at gunpoint!’ ‘Please… Connor, that is exactly why I haven’t told you who I was meeting…’, Nines spoke up, sounding pained. ‘We… Do you remember that FBI-mission that the DPD send a few officers for as backup?’ ‘Yes. I remember you had some problems.’ ‘Well, there I met Gavin. He was shot and I drove him to the hospital. I waited until after the surgery, mainly to get my jacket back and… Well. We met a few times after that.’

Connor stared at them both sitting on their couch. He had expected a lot of things. But he had never thought of his brother dating Gavin Reed. ‘Are you sure you want to do this, Nines’, he asked, knowing this was none of his business to interfere, however badly he wanted to. ‘Yes.’ ‘Fine, then I have to make a phone call, please excuse me’, Connor said, before leaving for the bedroom.

‘Connor? What happened?’, Chloe answered his distress call. ‘Chloe? I am ready to move in with you.’ ‘Really?’ ‘Yeah, scratch that, I have to move in with you as soon as possible!’

#Detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #Connor/Chloe #Connor dbh #RK800 #Chloe dbh #RT600 #i miss cafés #Wasn't often in them but by now I really miss them

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fifteenleads · 4 years ago

Text

seeds from the same watermelon

It started as a prank they both unwittingly played on each other, not expecting their other half to get the exact same idea at the exact same time.

In hindsight, Osamu should have realized as much when he’d bumped into Chuuya in the hundred-yen shop that day, clutching the same pair of joke glasses he had his eye on before ducking away from view. To say he’d been caught off-guard on receiving the exact thing he’d bought for the gift exchange event was pretty much right, loathe as he is to admit it.

He didn’t know whether the chibi’s snickering behind his back should have annoyed him or not, but he let it slide, like all other things. It wasn’t worth his attention in the long run.

This inside joke they shared extended to a few more occasions throughout the years— birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, and other random times, for no other reason than they both felt like it. Paydays, obviously. Some Wednesdays, just because. Every May 3rd, too, to commemorate victories that came with a price. It was how Chuuya mourned his men, and Osamu is only willing enough to acknowledge that.

Unpacking his sparse belongings now in his new dorm brings those memories back, and the sight of the assortment of oddities he’d accumulated over the months and couldn’t bear to throw away, makes him hit the nearest, dingiest alleyway bar in the city that same night. While Osamu had promised to never drown himself in his sorrows again, he wants to be numb, just for tonight.

He is offered a glass of pink liquid by the grumpy bartender who judges him a little too early than is polite. The light taste of fruit lingers on his lips and tongue like too-long summer afternoons that go on for days on end, before the full force of the alcohol hits him like a thunderstorm in the night. Nobody pays him any mind, but a small box of pull-up tissues appears beside his empty glass— an unexpected kindness, really, for someone with too little tact for his job.

Osamu spends his first paycheck from the Agency on a bottle of new watermelon wine, and has it delivered to an address he has long-memorized by heart. An imported version of it appears on the Agency’s doorstep a few weeks later, and he finds himself in muffled laughter as Yosano swipes it off the table at once and excitedly takes a swig for herself.

Their tradition continues thus for a few tentative months that extend into years, like an unspoken agreement that needs no discussion— must merit no discussion, lest the discreet understanding between them is lost and their fragile connection is severed. “No one must know,” Osamu warns in an elaborate code he sends with a scented candle for next Wednesday. The note that comes back with the exact same item but with a different price tag is written simply in bold words: “Dumbass.”

At one point, Atsushi marvels at the growing collection of souvenirs that line the shelves of his dorm room: a tacky snow globe, a faded fart cushion, a figurine made out of used staples, some obscure idol’s cheer towel, and rolls and rolls of bandages, among others. The empty bottle of wine hidden behind them all still smells faintly of summers past, and no one else knows how Osamu deeply relishes every night the musty but sickly-sweet scent it has now become.

Christmas Eve this year is a little warmer than usual, though it doesn’t stop the children (and man-children) from lamenting the late arrival of snow for the week. Everyone is dismissed early for the day to keep them from being insufferable, but it only makes them wonder if Kunikida has finally managed to get a date for the holidays, for once.

Osamu excuses himself at exactly five o’clock, making his way to the outskirts of the city before throngs of couples fill the streets at night. A simple postcard not unlike the one he had just mailed yesterday is in his breast pocket, bearing only an address he knows by heart, written in a scratchy penmanship dearest to him by far.

He makes it to his appointment just in time, but Chuuya scowls at him at the entrance, anyway. “You’re late, mackerel.”

A typical admonishment by the only voice that warms his heart like no other. “You’re early, slug.”

They ride the elevator to the rooftop and climb the ladder up the old water tank. The 360-degree cityscape is a gradient of orange to red to purple to deep blue, and the thin December air still carries the warmth of July’s summer, though they are both quick to realize that the surface they chose to sit on is made of thick, insulating material.

Chuuya presses a tall, chilled can to Osamu’s cheek. “Drink.” A crack of a smile forms there, and it's the only sight he needs to see.

He does as he is told, savoring the malty yet refreshing taste of the watermelon beer as it goes down his parched throat. His partner has already swiped his offering of a no-doubt inferior version of the same beverage, downing the entire thing much faster than he would a regular glass of water. He pays the price for it, of course, with consecutive, choked coughs and colorful expletives that describe well enough how disgusting that drink was.

Osamu only laughs heartily at his expense for it. “You reap what you sow.”

“Shut up,” Chuuya snaps, opening a second one anyway. This time, they clink their cans together in a toast before chugging those down, too.

They quietly finish the two six-packs they brought between them over the next couple of hours, just like that. Chuuya is normally more boisterous when drunk, while Osamu is the more moody, quiet one, but they often manage to meet in the middle and temper each other’s behavior, like twin peas in a pod.

Maybe calling them seeds from the same watermelon would be more apt, considering their unexpected shared newfound taste for it— when fermented and bottled or canned, anyway.

“Hey, Chuuya,” Osamu languidly whispers into his ear, as they lie together to watch the moving stars, the warmth from the alcohol protecting them from the now-chilling night air. “I think I know what to get you for Christmas next year. What do you want engraved on it?”

He gets a weak but sensible slap to his face for it. “Not a chance, dumbass.” Chuuya’s always been the more reasonable one between them both, despite having instigated that prank all those years ago. But then again, it was Osamu who allowed it to go on for as long as it has now.

So he only smiles at this, patiently awaiting for his partner to come around— and he does. “Today’s date.”

“This day, this hour, this minute?”

“This day, this hour, this minute— wait, what are you making me say?!” The sudden jolt of surprise as Chuuya sits back upright immediately loses its momentum, and Osamu rolls over to cushion his fall. He holds the struggling chibi close to himself, relishing with every deep inhale the sweat and the must and the sickly-sweet fruit breath he’s come to love.

“Got you,” he doesn’t say for now, but he swears to do so, this time next year. Until then, the next few gift exchanges between them will be more fun, to say the least.

For EK. Merry Christmas!

#bungou stray dogs #soukoku #skk #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #holiday sentiments #gift exchange #fluff

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evakuality · 5 years ago

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Basorexia, Davenzi🌸

Dear anon, I’m sorry this has taken so long. Writing hasn’t been easy for me lately, but here it is finally. It’s not quite what I originally imagined when I got this prompt, and it’s quite a bit longer than I thought it would be, but I hope you enjoy it!

It happens more often than it probably should, the desire to just grab Matteo, haul him in and kiss him senseless. It’s something of a problem, if David is honest with himself. Not that he likes to be. Honest, that is. Because the deeply sensible part of him says that he should stay aloof, hold himself apart and stay the fuck away from this boy. But that part of him has always been a little bit of a helpless romantic, and it thrilled to whatever it sensed in Matteo and allowed the much more reckless part to emerge. The part that really does want to kiss Matteo, and doesn’t much care about the parts that have a degree of self preservation.

The first time it had happened, that urge to pull Matteo in and kiss him, David had been taken aback and it had made him tetchy and aloof. Matteo had invited him to smoke with him rather than going into the room where all the Abi prank planning was going on. His excuse had been terrible. Something about holding hands and “if you’re into that,” with a heavy suggestion that being ‘into that’ was not a good thing, and David had been captivated by the surety in his voice. Not to mention that this was the boy who’d knocked him off kilter just a few days earlier by doing nothing more than passing him in the hallway. David should have known then that he was playing a dangerous game. But no. He’d had to go and fall into those eyes and follow Matteo like the already-besotted little idiot he was.

And then … well, then Matteo had the plain audacity to show a vulnerable side. He’d leaned his head against the wall and sighed as he blew smoke out and shared some of the things that seemed to matter most to him. That’s when the damn feeling had swept over David, pummeling him over and over and around and around and he’d wanted. Wanted to touch, wanted to hold, wanted to kiss and kiss and kiss. So he’d pulled himself back, tried to push the overwhelming feelings away, but it hadn’t worked and he’d unfortunately ended up falling deeper and deeper into this thing he was feeling. Then she’d come along. Sara. And she’d kissed Matteo, just a small one, gentle and a little possessive. And David had been consumed with jealousy. Because he’d wanted that. He’d wanted to do the kissing.

That should have been the end of it. David should have known to stay the fuck away just like he’d already told himself. But he couldn’t. Matteo wouldn’t let him; Matteo had turned up in David’s orbit far too often for him to be able to listen to his rational side. And every time they met, that feeling had welled up again. The urge to kiss and kiss and never let go. In corridor after corridor. On a bus. At various points all over the school. And no matter how much David had told himself he should stay away, no matter how often he’d claimed that all he wanted was a couple of friendships that lasted just long enough to get him through the rest of the year. No matter how much any of that had intruded, David could never make himself do what he had to do when Matteo was there. Not even Sara. One of the people who’d first befriended him. He couldn’t do this to her, shouldn’t do this to her. And yet, every time David had seen Matteo those feelings would sweep in again and take him over and there he’d been again, a helpless mess, putty in the hands of someone who didn’t even really know the power he had.

There were parts of David that had tried to keep him on the right track, that had tried to make him use his damn brain when he was in the same space as Matteo. Parts of him that had told him he should just avoid him if this was going to keep happening. But that was never easy, not when Matteo would approach him with that open, wide eyed look on his face. Not when Matteo was making it obvious that whatever had started happening meant something to him. Not when Matteo had said things like, “I’m having a party” and it had been clear that when he said David could come if he wanted to, he’d really meant he wanted David to come. And David had never been able to deny him when he was right there in front of him. That had always been the curse of Matteo’s stupid vulnerable face and his fragility, of the way he’d looked when he’d opened to David and relaxed as they’d talked and made and ate revolting sandwiches. The way that had stuck in David’s mind and made him want even more than before.

So that all means he’s here, in Matteo’s own home, music thumping around him as he has his arm wrapped around Laura for support and his eyes are drifting towards Matteo more often than he ever really intends. In the middle of the party, Sara’s a messy drunk, bouncing from person to person with Leonie a grim, annoyed chaperone following her as she slops her way around the room. Matteo’s not near her, which makes very little sense to David when they’re supposedly together. He’s standing by the walls, looking awkward and ill at ease in his own home. And it takes all of David’s willpower to stay somewhere as far from Matteo as he can, to not go over and soothe that look off his face, because this isn’t the Matteo David remembers from a week ago and it feels wrong that he’s like this here.

Laura’s eyes are constantly on him, though, and her smile holds a hint of amusement as she watches David. It’s enough to enable him to keep his distance. Her knowing looks and pointed smirks are a small pinpoint in the evening, enough to ground David. Enough to keep him away from the one person he really wants to wrap himself up in, the person it’s becoming increasingly hard to stay away from because all David wants is to draw him into their own bubble again. The person he wants to drown in, to have the rights to kiss the way Sara had, small and quiet and possessive. The person he really should be resisting.

But then Laura goes to talk to Matteo and David can see the small confusion on his face as he looks at her, and he has to tear his eyes away in case she’s saying something embarrassing. Because he knows all the stupid things he’s poured out to her over the last couple of weeks, and he knows the sort of things she could be saying in her usual direct way. Not that she would, surely. Not to someone she doesn’t know, not even to embarrass her brother.

By the time David looks back, Matteo’s gone. Laura returns to his side, with just a small smirk and a, “he seems nice enough,” in response to David’s querying eyebrow. It’s infuriating. She’s infuriating. But worse is the loss of Matteo’s presence as the party winds its way to a close. Sara disappears, the guys David most often sees with Matteo yell some stuff through what must be his door, and then once they’re gone there’s no-one left. Just him and Laura and the guy who must be the flatmate.

Laura grins at David, saying she’s heading home now, and the flatmate offers to escort her down the stairs and point her in the direction of the right bus. They turn to David, but he can’t bring himself to leave. It’s stupid, the dumbest thing he could probably do, and yet he’s concerned. Matteo disappeared so quickly, and it disrupted all David’s plans for the evening, the things he wanted and the things he might have been able to convince himself to do. So he mutters something about wanting to tidy up, references the mess he’d left last time, and gets a very considering look from the flatmate. They both shrug, though, and he’s left alone in the kitchen, choosing to deal with whatever is going on in here rather than thinking about the much bigger mess that is the rest of the space. Besides, this keeps him out of Matteo’s way and as much as David wants to make something happen, wants to dive into the kiss he’s been thinking about for the last few weeks, he’s also still got a small amount of self preservation left, and that keeps him here safely away from the temptation of Matteo’s door.

He’s not sure what he’s even doing here. Matteo isn’t likely to emerge, the boys made that obvious when they left, and David wonders why the hell he’s doing this to himself. Why he’s letting the desire that swamps him have control of his actions like this. It’s the vulnerability, he thinks viciously as he shakes the leftover beer out of a couple of bottles. It’s the part of Matteo that calls to the same part of David, the one that won’t let him off the hook. It’s crept in under his skin and every time he sees it he can’t help but want to soothe it away. Kiss it away. Basorexia, he thinks to himself irrelevantly, dragging a dim recognition of the word’s meaning out of his memory. The overwhelming desire to kiss. The thing that’s getting him into trouble in this time when he was supposed to be keeping himself aloof and distanced.

There’s a soft rustle in the doorway and David turns to see Matteo standing there. And it’s there again, the vulnerability and the fragility. He seems surprised to see David there, but even as obviously tired as confused as he is Matteo still does something to David. He makes something twist uneasily in his stomach, he makes him want again. The urge to kiss is rising, swamping every sensible thought in David’s head. He gets through some small banal small talk, and then Matteo is right there next to him.

In the dim light his hair shines and the stripes on his cheeks add something to the overall impression, they soften the planes of his face, make him look younger, less sure of himself even than he has done recently. And there’s something in his eyes, something soft and lonely. Something that calls to the same lonely thing in David. And even though he knows this is stupid, even though he berates himself even while he does it, even though he’s sure this is the stupidest, scariest thing he ever could imagine … David thinks fuck it. He wants to kiss, he wants to know what it’s like, he wants to stop pushing it down as if it’s something to be ashamed of. So he lets the feelings out finally, lets it all show on his face when he turns to Matteo and says a few words. A few words that tip him over into everything he’s feeling, a few words that let him want for real. A few words that finally allow him to admit the building up of the desire to kiss and kiss and never let go.

“You look good today.”

#druck #og druck #my fic stuff #my ask stuff #my prompt stuff #Anonymous

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axwalker · 5 years ago

Text

You’ll never walk alone

Wszystkiego najlepszego z okazji urodzin !!!!

I said it before in my previous post (here), but I’ll say it one million times again:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! You’re one of my closest friends here and I love you so so so much!!

I know we’re living a hard, difficult world right now, but I hope you can find a way to enjoy your Birthday the way you deserve it!

Warnings: SMUT (that I know of, but I’m sure someone who’s really motivated can find something else 🤷🏽‍♀️.)

A/N: This is an AU but it takes place somewhere during the social season.

I hope this covers everything you were asking for. It has a slow burn, your favorite soccer team and a bit of Dublin because I know how much you were looking forward to go. DON’T WORRY, YOU’LL GO BEFORE YOU KNOW IT!

Word count: Euh… (coughs nervously) You asked for a slow burn so 7,000 words… `

PERMATAG: @burnsoslow @pedudley @mskaneko

Thank you to to the beautiful birthday girl ( @mskaneko ) for the beautiful edit in the mood board. To @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore for beta reading, and to @pedudley for reading and for the incredible mood board that closes this fic.

Alexis snuck out of the palace and called an Uber that took her to the local Irish pub in less than fifteen minutes.

The bar was a cozy place with large wooden panels, solid counters and Irish music.

She was about to sit on one of the stools when she felt someone’s eyes behind her, staring at her. She turned her head and there he was, Drake Walker sitting in a booth with a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. He raised his glass towards her, trying to ignore the fact that his heart had skipped a beat when he had seen her.

After ordering a pint, she sat next to him with her usual perky attitude. “What are you doing out of you cabin in the woods, Walker?”

He squinted at her “The real question is what are you doing here, O’Brien? Out of the palace without a guard.”

She shrugged. “I wanted to watch the match, and I’m staying. You can take me back to the palace as soon as Barcelona kicks Liverpool’s ass”

God, she was exasperating. “Of course, you would be a Barcelona’s fanatic.”

“You mean the best club in the world?” She took off her leather jacket, she was wearing the famous blue and scarlet Barcelona’s shirt.

He growled. “You can’t sit with me wearing that.”

She gave him a flirtatious look. “Would you prefer if I took it off?”

Sometimes, he swore she was actively trying to torture him. He took her chin with his fingers fixing his piercing eyes on hers.

“You don’t want to play that game with me, O’Brien.” He said in a hoarse voice.

She swallowed hard, her heart beating furiously in her chest. When he finally tore his eyes away from her, she took a long sip of beer.

After a few silent minutes, she spoke. “I can’t believe you’re actually rooting for Liverpool. They haven’t won a Champions league in thirteen years.”

He growled. “I’m so sure we’re beating Barcelona tonight, that I bought tickets for the second leg.”

She sat on the booth cross-legged hugging a cushion. “You seem awfully confident that your team, a team that hasn’t win in ages, is going to beat the best team there is.” She gave him a confident smile. “Want to bet?”

“The best team…?” He shook his head. “What do you want to bet?”

“If Barcelona wins tonight, you give me your semi-final tickets.”

He raised his hands shocked. “Are you crazy, do you know how much I paid for those tickets?”

She reached for his arm and squeezed it with a fake empathic expression on her face. “Don’t worry, Drake if I were rooting for such losers, I wouldn’t want to bet the tickets either.”

He considered her proposal for a minute, well aware that she was provoking him on purpose, but he just couldn’t back out when she was challenging him. “I’m in, but if you lose you have to get me tickets for next year’s matches. All the matches.” He saw her stunned expression, so he added irritated. “You’ll be queen next year O’Brien, it’d be easy for you to get them.”

She didn’t know why but it really bothered her that he would assume she was going to accept Liam’s proposal. She reached for his hand anyway. “Deal, Walker.”

For the next two hours they sat next to each other, drinking and bickering playfully. In the halftime he challenged her to a game of darts, she wasn’t bad at all, and she certainly looked extremely cute when she concentrated but he beat her easily, reaching 501 points in ten minutes.

However, at the end of the second half of the match, he was seriously pissed, not only he had lost his precious semi-final tickets, but he also had to put up with her cocky attitude while she celebrated Barcelona’s victory.

After a while of singing and cheering with a group of Spaniards, she came back to the table, ecstatic, and extended her hand towards him pointing at her palm. “The tickets, Walker.”

He groaned “Do you think I carry them with me all the time, O’Brien? I’ll give them to you at the palace.”

She laughed truly enjoying her victory. “So grumpy! I didn’t know you were such a sore loser, Drake. I’ll go get another pint. What are you drinking?”

He rolled his eyes. “Dalmore, fifteen years. Just tell them to put it on my tab. I come here often.”

She mimicked a fake surprise. “That’s so shocking!”

He laughed in spite of himself. She added playfully. “And Dalmore, eh? Being a veterinarian definitely pays.”

He smirked shrugging “I don’t need much, O’Brien, but I definitely need good whiskey. How do you know Dalmore?”

“My grandpa loved whiskey. Especially that one.” Her eyes watered thinking about her grandfather but she shook her head to chase the tears.

Drake saw her eyes and his heart tightened; he raised his hand to stroke her cheek, but squeezed her shoulder instead, pouring his eyes into hers to make her feel comforted without words.

It worked because she gave him a small smile, he had rolled his sleeves, so she rubbed his forearm with her fingers softly, almost tenderly, making him crazy. Why did she have to make it so fucking difficult being close to her? He stood up.

“We better leave, Obrien. It’s late and tomorrow we have to travel to Applewood.”

She didn’t want the night to end. For a minute she allowed herself to think about the life she would have had with Drake if they were a couple, if she had met him alone. If she hadn’t been so stupid to be blindsided by Liam’s charm, but when he abruptly stood up, she understood. He didn’t feel the same about her. She had to forget her stupid crush and move on.

They drove back in silence, both of them embarrassed, both of them hurt and filled with unspoken feelings.

The next day, Alexis felt much better. She had drunk too much the previous night and the alcohol had put crazy ideas in her head. It was clear that Drake only saw her as an annoying friend, so she would do the same.

Liam was different, even if the little spark that had initiated at the Statue of Liberty hadn’t become the fire she was hoping for, he was there for her. He had been clear about his feelings for her. Maybe love wasn’t the crazy passion she thought. Maybe love was calm, peaceful and reliable.

Or maybe she just needed to think for a few days, put some distance between her and that stupid competition. She thought about the football tickets she had won. She was definitely going to that semi-final, Drake, Liam and royal court be damned.

She knew Liam would be having breakfast in the main hall, so she went looking for him. She entered the hall and stopped in her tracks. Liam was having breakfast, but he wasn’t alone.

She cleared her throat. “Hi guys!”

Liam’s face lit up seeing her. “Lady Alexis. Good morning.”

Drake gestured a quick hello with his hand and turned back to reading his paper.

Mr. Polite as usual. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you, Li. I want to leave the court for a few days. I’m going to England for the semi-finals of the Champions league”

Liam stopped eating and looked at her puzzled. “That’s in two weeks from now, Alexis. The coronation is in less than three weeks. I would’ve expected that you wanted to be here.”

“Yes! Of course, Li. It’s only for a couple days. England is four hours away. I just want to watch the match. It’s… important for me”

Liam was uncomfortable, he didn’t want her to leave. Even if he couldn’t tell her yet, he had decided he was going to choose her as his queen. And her place was there with him not at some dumb football competition. “Where did you even get the tickets?”

Drake took his head out of the paper. “we made a bet and she won them from me.”

Liam grinned “I told you Liverpool was going to lose, Drake. You have to pick a winner’s team.” He turned to Alexis, speaking to her in a soft voice. “As a suitor and especially as the woman I care about, I-.”

Drake stood up so fast, he almost spilled his coffee. “I don’t think I should be part of this conversation.”

Liam raised his hand. “Actually, Drake, yes. Stay. I was going to say that I care very deeply about you, Alexis. I can’t let you go alone because you’re a member of the royal court, you’ll need protection. Unfortunately, I can’t spare any guards right now, but if Drake accepts, he can go with you. He has trained with Bastien plenty of times and can assure your protection.”

Drake couldn’t allow that. Last night, he had barely slept thinking about her. Two days abroad and he’d go crazy. “I can’t. I have a lot of things planned for that week, Li. I’m sorry.”

Liam squinted at him, puzzled. “You were going to go to the semi-finals anyway, that’s why you bought the tickets.”

Fuck! “Yes, but as Alexis won them, I made new appointments.” He was a terrible liar.

Alexis saw through it. “I don’t need a glorified, grumpy baby-sitter, Liam. Thank you very much.”

“I’m sorry, Alexis, but you’re under the crown’s protection until the end of the Social season. I can’t let you go without a guard; it would be terribly irresponsible from me.” He had made up his mind, and she had to start to get used to the fact that a future queen had responsibilities and responded to him.

Alexis was fuming, she was seriously considering quitting her role as a suitor when Drake spoke seeing how much she wanted to go. “It’s fine, I’ll go with her.” He smirked at her “In exchange of the other ticket.”

Liam started to regret his offer. “I really think it’s better if you stay here, lady Alexis.”

She shook her head. She was going to go, no matter what and as she didn’t need the second ticket anyway, she accepted, strangely happy. “The second ticket is yours, Drake! I have to go get ready to bake an apple pie for the competition.” Before leaving the room, she turned to grin at Drake. “And thank you.” He felt his heart warming up with her smile.

After breakfast, Drake went to the stables. He needed a good day of intense work to forget the stupidest deal he had ever accepted.

It was already difficult to be around her and pretend to be only her friend when they were surrounded by the other suitors and the madness of the social season. Now, he was going to have her all for himself for two days. He shook his head at his own stupidity. She wasn’t there for him and she never would be. She was there vying for Liam’s hand. Liam, his best friend the king. The same man offering her a whole kingdom.

The truth was that Drake had never been jealous of Liam before. He had a good life, a life he enjoyed. He was passionate about his job and excelled at it. He was free to go fishing, hiking or drink a whiskey in a pub whenever he wanted. It was a life that he had been able to choose for himself unlike Liam who would have to lead the imposed life of a king. So, no, he had never been jealous of his best friend before Alexis O’Brien had arrived in the court. And now, every time Liam so much as looked at her, he wanted to punch him in the face. He definitely shouldn’t have accepted to take her to Liverpool.

Shaking his head, he put on his white coat and his rubber boots and went to check up on Mirabelle.

The next few days he tried to avoid her as much as he could, he had convinced himself that he only needed a little distance, a little space and whatever he was feeling, would naturally go away and they would be able to go together to Liverpool as friends.

A few nights before leaving, he saw her coming out of the palace and walk towards the maze only dressed in a big sweater and some sort of pajama shorts. He debated with himself, but in an impulse, he decided to go after her, just to make sure she was fine.

When he approached the center of the maze, he saw her, and his heart tugged. She was sitting on a bench with her knees up, her head buried in them, clearly crying. He sat next to her, and silently rubbed her back, soothing her. Slowly her sobs stopped, he leaned towards her and cupped her face turning her face to him.

“Do you want to talk about it, Lexie?”

Her heart jumped in her chest. He had never called her anything else besides O’Brien before. She knew she could open up to him. “My grandfather, Noah, died exactly one year ago of a heart attack. I really miss him.”

“I’m sorry, O’Brien” his heart broke seeing her so sad “Come here.” He opened his arms and she snuggled against him.

“He and granny practically raised me. He arrived in the States when he was twenty-two years old, but he never lost his accent” She smiled. “He used to call me his little ‘stor’. It means treasure in Irish... He’s …was the bravest man, I’ve ever met.”

He smiled down at her and brushed her cheek with his thumb to wipe a falling tear. “And most importantly he loved Dalmore whiskey.”

She laughed through her tears. “Yes, almost as much as he loved granny. His dream was to come back to Dublin with me and show me Trinity College where he went to school. He said that I would love the library there.” She brushed another tear. “I’m sorry, I’m such a mess.”

“Shh, I got you, it’s okay. It’s okay, O’Brien” He hugged her tighter “You never have to apologize to me for how you feel.” He had never held her so closely. Her cherry scent was intoxicating, “I always be here for you. I promise.”

She looked at him hurt. “Like you had been these past weeks?”

He shook his head. “I’m just giving you and Liam some space, O’Brien. We’re only friends and he deserves you”

She stood up trembling with fury. “I’m not a fucking prize either of you gets because you deserve it. Don’t you want to be with me?” He didn’t answer, so she insisted. “I think you feel something for me, Drake.” She waited for an answer that never came, he couldn’t tell her anything without betraying his best friend, plus, she was sad and confused and he wasn’t going to take advantage of it. “Got it. See you at the plane. Good night.” She stormed out leaving Drake more confused than ever.

Three days later, they were ready to leave for Liverpool, Liam had insisted in lending them his private plane so they could come back directly after the match. He wanted her back fast. Drake had required to leave for Liverpool one day earlier because he had business to attend at Kentwood stables, one of Liam’s horse dealers in England.

Alexis installed herself in one of the leather seats when she saw Drake talk to the pilot.

“What was that about, Drake?”

He shrugged “I have no idea what you’re talking about, O’Brien.” He took out a deck of cards from his bag. “Poker?” He wiggled his eyebrows adorably.

She grinned mischievously. “If you don’t mind losing.”

He observed her expression and smirked, she seemed relaxed and happy as he hadn’t seen in her for a long time.

They played the whole flight to Liverpool, teasing each other, Drake was great at poker, but Alexis used to play all the time in college, so they won two games each.

He smiled cockily. “Don’t worry, O’Brien. I’ll beat you later, I was just warming up”

She rolled her eyes playfully “Yeah, suuure.”

When they got off the plane, she saw Drake talking to the pilot again. She waited with her bag for a car to pick them up from the private tarmac, but Drake shook his head.

“Come on, O’Brien. We need to catch a bus to go to the city center.”

She was happy to do something normal for once, but it was unusual. “No car to pick us up?”

He beamed, he didn’t do it often but when he did he looked so handsome it actually made her knees weak. “Not today, come on”

She followed him through the terminal, not paying much attention. When they exited the building, she turned her head and saw a big sign on the top the airport:

“Welcome to Dublin”

She stopped in her tracks, incapable to move for a second. Drake stood next to her waiting for her reaction.

When she finally spoke, she had a small lump in her throat. “How did you do? I- d” Without thinking about it, she threw her arms around his neck pulling him for a hug. He pulled her against him too, allowing himself to enjoy a few seconds of closeness with her, inhaling her shampoo, feeling her against him. When she pulled away her eyes were brighter than usual “Thank you Drake.”

His raised his hands. “Hey, I have entirely selfish motives. A friend told me about this distillery where they supposedly have great whiskey.”

They went to the B&B where Drake had booked two rooms, a cozy, small place called The Blackrock. It was perfect, the lobby was full of books with a lit fireplace and the lady at the reception was warm and kind.

Before leaving, Alexis decided to change her clothes, she had woken up too early and had lazily thrown a pair of jeans and Converses on.

It was a sunny day in May, but they were in Dublin and it was relatively cold. She decided to wear a red, short sweater dress with a V neck, a pair of tights and her Doc Martens. She put on some black eyeliner, a touch of gloss, and sprayed her Lost Cherry perfume, on her wrists and neck. She felt giddy and nervous to spend the day with him. After a last look in the mirror she took her leather jacket and went downstairs.

She waited at the lobby sitting next to the fireplace, Drake had told her that he needed to make some calls to the Veterinary clinic at the Palace. It made her smile how much he loved his job. How much he cared about it.

Drake saw her as soon as he came down the stairs but waited for her to see him, before announcing himself. At the risk of sounding like a stalker, he wanted to watch her for a few seconds, he spent so much time trying to hide whatever it was she stirred up in him that he never let himself just admire her. She was incredibly beautiful, but it was the energy she irradiated that made his heart stop every time he looked at her. He shook his head; he was quickly approaching a very dangerous territory.

He cleared his throat “I see you’re warming up by the fire.”

She grinned. A true smile, just for him. “I was waiting for you, but I’m ready to go. Do you have anything planned?”

He gave her a conspiratorial smile. “I have some things in mind. Do you trust me?”

She couldn’t help the earnest look in her eyes, when she answered. “Totally.”

They decided to walk, it was a long stroll, but they wanted to make the most of their time there. She pulled her camera out of her huge handbag and took pictures of everything she could. She loved the vibe of the city open and colorful. Everyone seemed relaxed and stress free. Even Drake. She succeeded to take two shots of him when he wasn’t looking.

He knew he only had two days with her. He was trying really hard to keep his thoughts at bay but just the way she looked at everything and the joy she transpired while they explored the city was enough to make him forget his good resolutions.

He remembered the conversation he had had with Liam the day before. They had been drinking at his office when Liam had suddenly told him that he regretted having authorized the trip.

“What do you mean?

“I thought you were my friend, and maybe you still are, but I saw you in the maze last night, Drake. You were holding her.” Seeing that his friend was about to talk, he raised his hand “Just remember who she belongs to.”

Drake felt a rush of anger, his fists immediately balling. “She doesn’t belong to anyone, Liam. She can do whatever she wants. Last night she was sad, that’s all.”

“It may be, but just in case, remember that she’s here for me. She deserves the world, she deserves to be a queen, Drake. My queen.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Liam was right, she deserved the world and more, so he’d have to settle with being his friend.

They had been walking more than an hour, when they saw an imposing grey building. She screamed with excitement, recognizing it immediately. Her grandfather had showed her hundreds of pictures of it while he talked about his younger years in Dublin.

He was touched to see her eyes watering at its sight but didn’t dare to do anything else but stroke her cheek with the back of his hand.

“Aww, O’Brien. Come on, let’s see that library”

They were both amazed as soon as they entered the famous Long Room. It was majestic. The sight was imposing, high wooden ceilings and walls, millions of ancient books covering the shelves, and infinite rows of marble busts honoring the greatest writers and philosophers of history.

They looked together for Jonathan Swift, Noah’s favorite writer, while Alexis told him anecdotes of her childhood, and how he used to read her ‘Gulliver’s travels’ before bed. She seemed nostalgic but happy to remember him.

“He was a great man, O’Brien. And even if I didn’t know him, I’m sure he would be very proud of you.”

She sighed. “I don’t know… I think he definitely would’ve disapproved of the idea of me competing for a prince’s hand.”

Drake looked at her intently trying to figure out how she felt about it, he knew she was in love with Liam, but at the same time he couldn’t deny that there was something else going on between the two of them, something undefined and powerful.

After seeing the Book of Kells, they spent the rest of the day exploring the city. They took pictures next to Molly Malone, ordered a Fish and chips at Presto’s, and got lost in the Jaime’s Joyce museum.

Alexis bought a colorful painting portraying the famous Dublin doors, and Drake got his wish of visiting the Roe & Coe Distillery where he felt like a little boy in a candy store. It was a perfect day. Both of them yearned for it to last, but neither of them took a step towards the other.

They want out of the distillery slightly drunk, laughing like crazy. “Last stop ‘The workman’s bar’, O’Brien. Maxwell recommended it.” He grinned, she had never seen him so happy, so relaxed. What she’do to kiss those dimples. “I’m dying to show you the Temple Bar area. Come on!” He added when he saw she was lost in her thoughts.

The pub was packed, they had trouble finding a table but after a few minutes they found one close to the stage.

He asked for their drinks, two double whiskeys. She gulped hers.

“Easy O’Brien, this is not a competition” He beamed, again, she was almost getting used to it.

She looked at him with fire in her eyes. “I can do whatever I want tonight. And I want to drink. Oh, I know! Let’s play a drinking game!” She beamed.

“You want to play a drinking game, against me O’Brien?” He arched his brows “Are you sure?”

She gave him a devilishly smile, just what he needed to go insane. “I’m not playing, Walker, I’m winning”

He chuckled “You’re such a cocky ass. Let’s see that” His phone rang, it was the clinic. “Just a sec, O’Brien. I’ll take this outside.”

When he came back, he saw her talking with one of the guys from the table next to hers. He cut the distance between them as fast as he could. When the guy saw Drake sit next to her clearly angry, he babbled a quick good night and left as fast as he could.

She witnessed his behavior extremely annoyed. He had been clear, he only wanted to be her friend. So why did he behave like that?

“What the fuck, Drake? Why are you so angry?” The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Are you jealous?”

He was tired too, tired of wanting her so badly, tired of months watching her from the distance, tired of pretending he felt nothing for her, when he couldn’t think about anything else. He fixed his eyes on her. “Like crazy.”

She leaned to kiss him, but Liam was in there, present between the two of them. He cupped her face. “We can’t O’Brien. You love him, I know that.”

She shook her head. How was it possible that someone that knew her so perfectly well, that could almost see through her soul was so incapable of reading her true feelings. “Forget it, Drake. It’s fine.”

He heard the hurt in her voice and started to wonder if maybe, only maybe, she felt…something for him.

They sat in silence until someone stood up on the stage and began to sing ‘Hey, Jude’ with a voice way off key.

“Fucking Maxwell, he recommeneded a karaoke bar!” He groaned but after a few more seconds of the singer torturing The Beatles they burst into laughs easing the tension. They played several games and talked about their childhoods and years of college. After several singers, the host of the evening called Alexis’s name.

She chuckled at his puzzled expression. “I wrote my name in the list when I went to the bathroom.” She stood up and went to the stage.

For the hundredth time that day, his mouth went dry just looking at her. She was so incredibly sexy that he couldn’t think straight. The red of her dress illuminated her face, making her black eyes darker, her full lips irresistible. The dress wasn’t tight but it was short so he could admire her long legs and thanks to the V neck, part of her cleavage. He was sure no one at that pub had seen anyone more beautiful or sexy than her. He smirked when the song started. She had chosen Marvin Gaye by Charlie Puth.

She began to slowly sway her hips with the rhythm of the song and started singing. He shook his head; Not only was she softly dancing, which was enough to push him over the edge, but he had heard her sing before and knew he was doomed. She had a low voice, sultry, soft. Like a moan.

We got this king size to ourselves

Don't have to share with no one else Don't keep your secrets to yourself It's karma sutra show and tell

She was slowly moving her hips and looking at him fixedly as she sang. He stared back, his black eyes looking at her so intently she felt like she was going to combust. He leaned against his seat, with the tumbler in his hand, licking his lips, savoring the moment as much as she was, letting his eyes tell her all the things he wanted to do to her.

You got to give it up to me

I'm screaming mercy, mercy please Just like they say it in the song Until the dawn, let's Marvin Gaye and get it on

She had chosen that song on purpose. Every time he heard her sing for mercy, he felt a twitch in his pants. Every time she moved her hips asking him to get lost with her until dawn, he was tempted to go on stage, take her and fuck her right there in the bathroom.

The applause took him out of his trance. He saw her approaching the table where they were seated. Fuck, he didn’t give a damn anymore, he wanted her, painfully, agonizingly. He left the money for the drinks on the table and intercepted her on her way to the table. He gripped her hand and led her outside. He had called an Uber but they had to wait for it. Except that Drake couldn’t wait another moment, he pressed her against the first wall he found and leaned towards her; whispering in her ear. “What are you doing, O’Brien? I told you not to play those games with me.”

She smiled biting her lip, and then shrugged “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He growled burying his nose in her neck, softly smelling her cherry scent; making her shiver “Fuck! You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

Her heart couldn’t have beat faster. She felt like it was going to go out of her chest.

He fixed his eyes on her “If you want to scream for mercy, Lexie” He brushed her neck with his fingers, as his other hand stroked the small of her back and he kissed her earlobe. “I’ll make you scream all night.”

She was physically incapable to form words, so she nodded. A nod. All it took was soft movement of her head and hell broke loose. He placed his hand on her back and pulled her against him crashing his mouth with hers, caressing her face. He nipped her lips and let his hands wander through her body, desperate, impatient.

They arrived at her room fifteen minutes later, after a painfully long Uber ride.

She tried to open the door, but Drake was behind her, his arm around her waist, his lips on the nape of his neck. “Drake, god!”

Finally, she opened the door, and they almost stumbled inside. He was still behind her, still ravaging her neck. He took her by her waist and in easy movement turned her face to him kissing her lips again. They were better than he had imagined, with a sweet taste, soft and tender at his contact. He scooped her in his arms and took her to the bed. He stopped for a second to look at her. His goddess, gorgeous, with swollen lips and messy hair.

He smiled down on her “Are you sure you want this, O’Brien?” She nodded, lost in the sandalwood.

“I didn’t hear anything, Lexie”

“Yes, I’m sure” she panted.

He locked eyes with her as he put a strand of hair behind her ear “You better be, because if I make you mine tonight, I’ll never let you go again.” She nodded again, grabbing the back of his head to crash their lips again.

They took each other's clothes in desperate movements. “Fuck, Alexis you’re so damn gorgeous.”

He grabbed her from her waist and sat on the edge of the bed with her on his lap. She straddled him as his passionate kisses made her crazy. She threw her head back giving him full access to her breasts that he cupped kissing the spot where her jaw and neck connected, his thumbs slowly teasing her hard nipples. She moaned loudly.

“Drake, please”

Drake smiled against her neck “Are you asking for mercy, Lexie?” His question was joined by the movement of his right hand wandering through her body producing jolts of electricity everywhere he touched her, until he finally reached her core. He stroked her skin enjoying how soft she was, before circling the little nub inside of her with his thumb.

Drake growled “Fuck, Lexie, you’re so wet for me” He kept teasing her, touching everything bit of skin around her clit.

“God, Drake, you’re driving me crazy, please…” Drake’s finger suddenly entering her, not letting her finish.

“Is this what you want, Lexie?” He whispered to her ear. She nodded lazily too excited to answer. “Come for me” He slid another finger inside making her writhe against him, her breaths becoming shorter, and shorter as she clung to Drake’s back.

“Drake, I…I god Drake fuck!” She screamed when a powerful wave of heat ran across her body leaving her wasted.

Drake steadied her with his arms, stroking her back. He kissed the top of her head giving her time to recover.

“Fuck me, Drake”

He buried his mouth in her hair. “I told you I was going to make you scream for mercy.” He positioned himself with the tip of his dick rubbing her center “Look at me, O’Brien. I want to see your pretty face as I enter you”

She gasped and locked her eyes with him, her hands around his neck, his gaze piercing hers, as he entered her slowly, giving her time to adjust to him.

He growled again biting her shoulder. “Damn, Lexie you feel incredible baby, so fucking tight”

Drake didn’t know at what moment, but the energy of the room had shifted. He felt much more than a powerful lust for her. He wanted to have her, all of her, forever. They rocked their hips at the same pace, slowly at first but sooner increasing speed staring at each other as their movements became more passionate. He kissed her lips deeply, lost in her. They both felt a connection like neither of them had experienced before. He hit her spot several times making her moan his name over and over again. Without taking his eyes off of her, he stroked her clit as they both reached a point of no return.

“Drake!” She screamed his name yet again, as her muscles compressed around him. Feeling her come screaming his name pushed him over the edge, and he filled her completely.

They fell down on the bed, spent. He pulled her close to him and kissed her front.

“Are you staying?” His heart tugged at the vulnerability of her soft voice.

“If you want me to stay, O’Brien. I’ll never leave again.” She smiled against his chest as they both drifted to sleep, only to woke up a few hours later and made love again.

The morning light woke her up. He was hugging her tightly against him, with his chin on her shoulder, his breath in her ear. She had never felt safer or happier before, until a horrible thought crept into her head. What if he didn’t want her anymore? What if he decided again that she belonged with Liam?

She felt him move behind her. Maybe she should be casual about it, but she had no idea of how she would be able to do that. There was nothing casual about the way they had made love the night before. The expression was cheesy but it fit perfectly. The connection between them was deep and explosive.

His raspy voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Hi.”

She turned to face him and her heart skipped a beat when she saw his smile and the soft expression on his eyes. “Hi.”

Lucky. That was how Drake had felt that morning when he had opened his eyes. Like the luckiest bastard in the world. She was cuddled against him, bare and exposed to him, he could hear her soft breaths, smell her delicate scent. After all the reservations he had had, and the torment of thinking she loved Liam, he was elated to be with her that morning. He didn’t doubt anymore, not after the way she had given herself to him the previous night. He felt she was awake and whispered a soft hi in her ear. When she turned to him, he couldn’t control himself much longer. He had to make her his again.

After spending the morning making love, they took a shower together and got ready for Liverpool. Neither of them dared to talk about the future, unwilling to break their little bubble with practical matters or with Liam’s name.

They took the Ferry at Holyhead and arrived at Liverpool at 6:20, just in time to grab a little something to eat and go to Anfield Stadium.

The atmosphere was intense. Liverpool’s and Barca’s flags flooded the streets, mixed with chants in English and Spanish everywhere. It was electric.

Once at their gate, they had to wait in line to enter because security was checking people’s bags. Drake turned to watch Alexis’s face, she was almost jumping with exhilaration and a warm feeling spread all over his chest. He smiled to himself, never in his wildest dreams he could’ve anticipated coming there with her. He moved behind her and looped his arms around her waist protectively, there were too many people, too much excitement, she could easily get hurt.

They located their seats and Drake left to get a couple of drinks. He shook his head amused when he came back, she had taken her jumper off revealing her Barca’s shirt, a blue spot in a sea of red.

“Do you have a death wish, O’Brien?” He chuckled.

“It’s not my fault I have good taste” She shrugged.

“Come here” He cupped her face and kissed her softly, seriously considering the idea of skipping the match and taking her to a hotel room in Liverpool. “You have no idea how much I want you all time, Lexie.”

She smiled and kissed him too, overwhelmed by all the things she was feeling.

“Have you ever come to a Liverpool’s match before?”

She shook her head no. “It’s the first time.”

“Prepare yourself, everybody talks about the emotions of Liverpool's supporters, but it’s really something else when you see it in person.”

She opened her big eyes wide. “Are you telling me that the dark and brooding Drake Walker is capable of enjoying displays of emotion?”

He chuckled. “You’re a pain in the ass, O’Brien. You know that, don’t you?” He pushed aside the hair from her face and kissed her.

He was right; Liverpool supporter’s emotions were all over the place. They sang their hymn wholeheartedly, but it was when the first notes of ‘You’ll never walk alone’ played on the speakers that goosebumps appeared all over her arms. Every single person around her was singing passionately, pouring all their hearts on the song. One single voice for more than forty thousand supporters cheering for the players entering the field.

“Ready to lose, Walker?”

“Lose? Prepare for the greatest come back in the history of football, O’Brien”

She laughed cockily. “Love your optimist side, Drake. We’re three points ahead”

The referee blew the whistle announcing the beginning of the game.

Drake and Alexis were equally excited yelling instructions at their respective teams in a mix of English and Spanish.

At the seventh minute, Drake yelled emphatically as Origi scored the first goal. "Yes! Let's go!”

Alexis was fuming screaming in Spanish to the goalkeeper. “¡Pinche Stergen! ¡Muévete carajo!”.

He couldn’t believe how adorable she looked when she was that angry. He teased her in the hope to infuriate her even more. “That’s one, O’Brien, we have at least three more to go.” He said matter-of-factly, clearly enjoying the fire in her eyes.

The rest of the first half-time passed uneventfully, with no more goals of either team.

“You’re not so cocky now, are you, Walker?”

He groaned. “We still have a second time to go, O’Brien, don’t count your chickens just yet”

She smiled cockily, only a miracle could save Liverpool at that point. However, sixteen minutes after the whistle for the second time, the miracle happened when Wijnaldum scored two goals in a two-minute interval.

Twenty-three minutes later Origi nailed the final nail in the coffin scoring an historical goal, eliminating Barcelona from the competition.

Alexis screamed furiously at Stergen, Piqué and the rest of the team. Drake stopped his celebration for a minute to watch her as she jumped on her seat screaming. Her energy was exciting, contagious. There in the middle of a football match after the most incredible night of his life, he realized something he knew for a long time now, but that he hadn’t dared to accept before. He grabbed her by her waist taking her down off of her seat. She used the momentum to straddle him and kiss his lips passionately, as his hands wandered along her back sending electricity everywhere. When he parted, he cupped her face, an earnest look in his chocolate eyes.

“I love you, Lexie. I’m completely crazy about you”

God, she loved him so much that his words touched her profoundly. She cleared her throat and fixed her dark eyes on him. “I love you too, Drake. With everything in me.”

He crashed her mouth with hers again in the middle of the cheers and ovations of the Liverpool supporters.

“We’re definitely not going back to Cordonia tonight.”