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foreverinthepagesofhistory · 1 year ago

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Was not even going to send this but I figured a sneak peek into the disastrous dinner would be enjoyed by you. Again please take the time you need to read. I hope your doing well and I loved your feedback on the last chapter! Peter may seem a bit different than how I painted him before, because we see many things through Alix eyes.(rose colored glasses) But many things will be revealed soon. This is just a sneak peek so it will not go into the actual dinner (it does get quite crazy) also I hope you do know that I absolutely love any content you put out! And at any time! Keep your schedule and do what makes you happy!

I’m being serious Peter! You cannot play around like a child! I would like my first impression to be remembered. And Not for the way my brother pokes fun” was Alix’s rant as the car drove to the prince pavilion. Peter only eyed his sister, his eyes watching her like a hawk. “Why do you care so much about what they think of you? You never use to care so much about what others thought of you” he spoke. A scowl on his features.

Alix sighed through her nose, turning to her brother whose blue eyes remained glued to the scenery outside. “ I care because I am in a relationship with their daughter Peter. I care because they are Leonor’s parents. I care because they matter to Leonor and frankly are the nicest people on earth. That’s why I care. And that’s why you are going to be on your best behavior. Right?”.

The pointed way Alix was speaking made Peter roll his eyes, “yes. I’ll be the perfect brother dear sister”. It was said so plainly , so without emotion that Alix halted. Ever since she had picked Peter up at the airport he had seemed off. His face set in a scowl, his voice brash and unkind. His demeanor had changed since she last saw him. He was no longer the well mannered twin, and Alix could feel the distance between them. The way Peter hadn’t even hugged her at the airport, even after she had hugged him.

“Alright I wasn’t going to bring this up but what’s with your attitude? Papa tells me you’re hanging out with your friends again? Is it the same friends from the gala?”.

At that Peter scoffed, eyes agitated, “for your information they were your friends too once upon a time. Or have you forgotten? Just like you forgot everything else? You…you leave and rush off and grovel at the first princess who will have you”. Alix could feel her eyes burning. Her Chest aching from the words. She Could feel that familiar sensation of anger and betrayal in her veins.

“I left because I needed to forge my own path. I cannot…no matter how hard it pains me to say, I cannot be by your side my whole Life. And as for my groveling…” her green jade eyes peered into her brothers, watching him sulk.

“You will not disrespect Leonor at all in front of me. Because if you do Peter…” the words were on the top of her tongue. Memories of being children and spending endless days with her brother. Laughing, giggling, always by each other side came in mind.

And she hated the way she couldn’t seem to let him go. The loyalty. Perhaps it had to do with them being born together. That close knit tight bond they shared.

But images of Leonor’s cotton blue eyes and soft oh so gentle smile filled her mind and the words were out before she could stop them.

“If I find that you disrespected Leonor or her family in any way..I will not hesitate to have you removed and put on a flight back home. With word sent to papa”

She didn’t miss the way her brothers eyes shot to her. So many emotions tangled in his icy eyes. Regret, grief, betrayal, but the one that most stood out was anger. Deep and abiding anger.

He struggled to speak. But once he did the way his words shook, like he had been impacted by them. Like his whole world shattered.

“You’d pick her over me? Her??? Some princess that won’t even marry you if you ask because we both know what her parliament will say? She says she loves you Alix but i guarantee you the minute someone else comes in the picture you’ll be discarded. And who will have to piece together your heart again? Oh…me”.

The energy in the car was beyond any fight she had ever encountered with her brother. This one hurt the most, stung like a thousand shards of glass. Because she knew her brother was gone. Replaced by this smug, angry, resentful boy.

Alix remained quiet for a minute, processing his words. “What happened to you while I was gone? You-you never use to speak to me like this?”.

Peter rolled his eyes as if the question was absurd. “I grew up Alix! Just as you have!”.

Alix’s voice rose higher, “this is growing up!!? Acting like a complete and utter disaster? Being cruel and disrespectful? Peter ! Papa taught us better than that! He taught us to be”

“The royals that we are? Listen here dear sister..you left me that day. You left me to fend for myself against…against those fools we call parliament! They look at me like I’m nothing but a child! Like a boy who doesn’t know any better! But I am the future king!! And what’s worse is that papa allows it!”.

“Papa allows it because you respond to nothing else!!”.

“Perhaps it would better if I were to reject to being king. It would work better wouldn’t it?”.

Alix scoffed, “you think that would fix the problem? Running away from it?”.

“Oh yes. I think it would work perfectly. Papa would get his heir worthy of the cause, I would no longer be forced to submit to the grey haired pin heads of parliament and you-“.

Alix could feel her stomach churn with peters burning stare. She knew what he was going to say even before he spoke them. “You would finally get the throne you so desperately wanted”.

There it was. The truth. The unsaid truth that neither of them had ever mentioned but both could feel.

Alix shook her head. “I don’t want it”. Resolve in her tone. “I- don’t want it”

Peter scoffed, “now you don’t! Now you don’t! Because you found your darling princess! We both know if I decided to leave..you would be forced into the position. And your fling or whatever you call your relationship with Leonor would end. Because heirs cannot marry heirs. And if you did you’d be breaking tradition that our ancestors followed for more than 700 years! And then you’d have to face the music! From both press!”.

Anger seemed to be the loudest emotion in Alix head. It roared loud and clear. Hurt him. Hurt him back like he did you.

But in the end she couldn’t. Not even if he had hated her.

The rest of the ride remained silent, Alix trying to holdback her tears and Peter refusing to apologize.

“If being here is such a pain for you then I will allow you to go. I invited you here because I missed my brother. But I-I see now that you-that you think differently of me. You needn’t be trapped here.”.

Peter watched as the princes pavilion came in view. The sniffles of his sister and he sighed, rubbing his eyes before speaking.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean anything I said I was just angry. I’ll be the perfect brother tonight for you. I’ll play the nice and humble heir, and- and I’ll be respectful to Leonor and her parents. After all papa loves them dearly. And you do too”.

“Actually I believe it would be best for all involved if you were to stay back”.

Alix didn’t miss the way her brother sputtered. “D-don’t you trust me Alix? Would I ever, ever hurt you?”.

Alix could feel her heart breaking, realization hitting her like a freight train. “That’s the problem Peter. I cannot trust you anymore. I advise you to go home.”

??? Thoughts?-🇪🇸

AAAAAAAAAAHHH OMG THIS IS BEAUTIFUL AND HEARTBREAKING AND SO SO AMAZING!!!! the writing quality of this piece >>>> 🤍💖😭🥹💔❤️‍🩹😍🥲

Like this is so sad for both parts. Alix relies on Peter to keep being heir and Peter relies on Alic to support him when all he has to do is gain some confidence and buck up at court. Like this is pure genius when it comes to writing angst!!!!

10/10 everything for this piece and it might be my new fav!!!! 🤍😭🥹🙏😍💔

#SO GOOD!#answered ask #leonalix #whispers of the crown #leonalix fic #Wotc

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eibhlean · 1 month ago

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Daily Writing Practice 2, Electric Boogaloo

I wasn't really feeling any prompts today, so instead have the first little excerpt from my newest short story. I like how it's starting out.

He was late. She could not abide tardiness, she prided herself on her persistent punctuality, and he was late. To the first date. By all accounts she should have written him off right then, but there was something about those warm brown eyes, the charming half-smile, the silliness. She stayed despite herself.

She won him over with a song, sung loudly and off-key. Her red hair glinted gold and copper and blue and purple in the tacky lights on the karaoke stage. Her eyes shone with enthusiasm and alcohol and she crooned into the mic some meant-to-be sexy torch song that mostly just made her look adorable as she tried a little too hard. She was too cheerful to be appropriately jazzy for the song, her smile unable to hide itself long enough for sex appeal. He was instantly in love.

He won her over with humor. He was happy, and his happy bubbled over into a deep need to make everyone else happy too. He wanted nothing more than to make the world smile. And so he told bad dad jokes at every opportunity, played little games to make her laugh, danced with her in the kitchen and chased her with pillows and made her giggle until her sides hurt and she forgot that all the bad things in her life had ever happened. And the laughter healed something that had been broken a very long time. She was in love.

It's impossible to say exactly when they moved in together. One day he came over and just never left. And from that point their love was ripped from the pages of a fairy tale or a rom-com. She baked for him, brought him breakfast in picnic baskets to be eaten on the bench outside his work. He left her love notes throughout the house, hidden in refrigerator drawers or behind the soup. Their wedding was exactly suited to them in every way, and all who witnessed knew that they loved each other deeply and truly and without hesitation. And that should have been happily ever after.

But life is not a fairy tale and does not end when the prince marries the princess. And sometimes that is exactly as it should be, for love is hard to come by and harder to hold and when you have it you should cherish it for as long as possible, past the wedding night and on to the grocery trips and the late night cuddles and the fights and the make-ups and the life that you can build together. And this is what our couple had, for a time. A marriage as designed by Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way. Their love was real, and deep, and able to withstand anything. Until it wasn't.

Because sometimes, too, it might have been better to stop at the wedding night, before the outside world breaks back in. No marriage exists in a bubble, and the partners are not the only members of said union. Parents-in-law, and bosses, and friends, and step-children, and neighbors all become part of your marriage too. Our couple was no exception, and lives, even the very best lives, are hard. There are bills to pay and pets to feed and children to clothe and so much to distract from just being each other being with each other.

He wanted so badly to provide for her. To give her the life he thought she wanted. To take her to beautiful places and to buy her beautiful things. So he left one day, to find his way. To find his vocation. He held her so tight and he promised her that he would return soon with a fortune, or at least the beginnings of one. And she held him so tight and she begged him not to go, for he was really all she needed in the world. He would not be swayed, so strong is the pull of desire that it feels more like need than the want it really is. Off he went, into the dark forest where anything could be lurking. She remained behind, holding on to the hope that was in his eyes as he walked away.

Forests contain within them the potential to be anything. A forest can be magical, a place of wildflowers and birdsongs and sunbeams that feels as though anything is possible and isn't that a wonderful thing. Or a forest can be dark and foreboding, a canopy that blocks the sun and haunts you with the fact that anything is possible and isn't that a frightening thing. This was the second kind of forest. The quiet was tangible, as thick as the mist that obscured weeping willows and yellow eyes that peer and assess. He didn't notice. He didn't see the dark shapes that prowled the fog, looking for dinner or something worse. He believed, and belief is a powerful thing. Belief starts wars and ends them. Belief brings people together and forces them apart. Belief makes you feel that everything you want is just around the corner if only you can get there. And he believed so hard, deep in his core, that he could change their lives if only he could find the right place, the right person, who would see in him all the things he could and should be. If only he had realized he'd already found that this story might be shorter.

He wandered the woods with a skip in his step, whistling a rhythmless song. The trees were not impressed, and they leaned in angrily, asking him to stop before someone caught his scent and came looking. Branches interlocked above him, hiding more and more of the sun. Trying to warn him that he should be careful. Careful what he asks for, careful who he asks. People have been too long separated from the wild places, though, and no longer have the instincts to know when something in the dark is watching. Cold blue eyes followed his travels, unseen and unfelt and unacknowledged. The scent of his desire was strong. An aphrodisiac designed to attract only things you should not attract. Desire is also a powerful thing, and there are things out in the world that feed on powerful things . They know how to use our wants against us. How to make the right promises, how to say the very nicest words. And when the trail began to change, leading not to the city but to somewhere so much worse, he didn't notice. He didn't see when his usual path made a sharp and previously impossible left turn, brambles and thistles and ferns moving themselves out of the way to allow him to pass, so subltly. He didn't notice as the woods morphed and transformed, becoming something else. Becoming somewhere else.

#writers on tumblr #writing #writblr

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byler-alarmist · 2 years ago

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OMG I have been wanting to talk about this (mentioned it on bylertwt a long time ago and then forgot lol)

It's incredibly suspicious to me that we never got to see the rest of that drive home!! Where Hop says he is going to "talk" and Mike is going to "listen".

Like OP said, we're supposed to assume that he just gave Mike a shovel talk about El, but I agree with OP....that's too simple and wouldn't be enough to make Mike "i don't care about authority" Wheeler do something he really wanted to do.

I want to preface this by saying I think Hopper knows what Mike is.

He spent S2 watching Mike devote his entire life to taking care of Will and worrying about him.

I believe he was even there in the shed scene to see Mike's beautiful, show-stopping monologue about how asking Will to be his friend was "the best thing he'd ever done".

Someone else made an incredible post about how Mike's anger at Hopper was not so much rage over not being able to see El for a year, but the fact that Will's life was in danger and El could possibly help, and Hopper knew this, yet still kept her hidden away.

During this breaking point of Mike's (maybe the only one?), Hopper understands exactly what Mike is talking about and tells him not to blame El (for the damage that has been done to Will while she was away).

Mike goes full unhinged and starts hitting Hopper and yelling until he finally collapses into tears in his arms, fully breaking down over everything, all his trauma and of course the stress he'd been under about Will.

Hopper holds him and lets him cry. Mike stands apart from El in the next group scene, and when she is about to try to kiss him goodbye, Hopper calls out to her and tells her it's time to go.

Now, I know we're supposed to interpret him as being just an overprotective dad, a theme that we're supposed to follow into S3.

However!!!

I think he's seen Mike pretty clearly over the course of S2. He has seen Mike's deep, abiding love for Will, and probably has guessed that Mike has feelings for Will.

When he interrupts El from kissing Mike, he's really trying to tell her "you're wasting your time with that one, kid."

So,.bringing us back to S3.

Hopper is deeply annoyed because Mike and El are somehow dating and kissing all the time, despite him doing his best to prevent El from trying to date Mike.

Now this is the interesting part that I think backs up this theory. He tells Joyce that there is something "weird" about the relationship.

Weird? What's weird about two.adolescent kids dating and kissing? He could have just said he didn't like it, but the fact that he called it "weird" and called Mike "smug" makes.me.think that Hop felt Mike was gay and smugly thinking he was fooling everyone by having a girlfriend.

I think Hopper was angriest at the potential of Mike using El, or hurting her with a relationship that was one-sided or fake.

And finally, the truck scene!

Not gonna lie, I don't like how aggressive they made Hopper, but most of all I know he didn't want El to get hurt and he thought Mike was hiding something, just like Mike yelled at Hopper for being a "stupid, disgusting, lying piece of shit" in S2.

And so when he says that he is going to talk and Mike will listen, and then he may "allow" him to date his daughter, and we don't get to see any of what he says all the rest of that drive home??? Suspicious.

I am 80% sure be made some kind of "I know what you are and you don't have to tell her, you don't have to tell any of your little friends, but you will not lead my daughter astray for some fake relationship because you can't be honest with her."

I doubt he threatened to out Mike, but who knows? Maybe he said he would tell El about Mike's feelings for Will. Or maybe he said he'd tell Joyce.

Either way whatever he said was enough to make the typically authority-ignoring Mike make bad excuses to avoid El.

Final note: I think at the end of S4, Hop can see that Mike is letting go of El and back to being focused on Will, just as Hop felt was the way it should be back in S2. Mike stays close by Will hugging his family and doesn't try to cling to El, and Hop sees this.

I think the reason we got such a long Mike and Hopper moment was because Hopper is recognizing that Mike is growing up and being more honest with himself.

If this is the follow-up to the truck conversation we didn't see, their expressions make a lot of sense. Mike silently acknowledges "you were right about me and El."

And Hopper silently says "you're a good kid and it's going to be okay."

Maybe just like Will got an "I know what you are and I love you no matter what and it's going to be okay" from Jonathan, Mike got one from Hopper!

Hopper Threatening Mike

Something that I think about all the time is what the heck Hopper threatened Mike with in the first episode of season 3.

Hopper tells Joyce he had to “improvise a little bit” when he tells her about the heart-to-heart. Well you know where else we see the word improvise pop up? When he mows down 4 Russians in the last episode. He literally kills 4 people, says “I’m improvising”, and then puts on a Russian uniform. Murray tries to handle the situation calmly at first but that lasts like 5 seconds, which is about how long it took Hopper to lose his patience with Mike while attempting the heart-to-heart.

According to Mike, Hopper didn’t threaten him with death so what else could be so bad? I don’t know but I think it has to do with Will. When Mike says the words “he threatened me,” the shot we see is of Will setting up the DnD board. This might not mean much on its own but then we have the Karen/Billy and Mike/El parallel.

The Pool Storage Parallel:

We get two scenes that happen in the pool storage room. The first one is Karen explaining to Billy why she didn’t meet him at the Motel pool. She tells him that she has a family and can’t do anything that would hurt them. What made her change her mind and not cheat? Seeing Ted sleeping on the couch with Holly. And what’s Ted wearing? A shirt that is stupidly similar to the one Will is wearing during his and Mike’s movie date.

The scene of Karen and Billy also comes directly after the scene in which Max tells El to dump Mike if he doesn’t explain himself. In the immediate next scene, we have Karen saying “I want to explain…” to Billy.

So explanations happen in the pool storage room. Just like his mom, Mike goes into the storage room to explain why he didn’t show up as planned. He tells El that Hopper made him lie, however he doesn’t say much more, just that he said they’re spending too much time together. This is a pretty garbage explanation though and we still don’t know exactly why Mike lied. Even Lucas questions why Mike did it.

If these parallels means what I think they do, Will is the “family” that Mike doesn’t want to hurt, and is the reason he had to lie. So what was the threat? I highly doubt it’s something as simple as Hopper threatening Mike with not letting him see El anymore if he doesn’t back off a bit cause 1. that wouldn’t work considering El has legit superpowers 2. that’s too basic of an explanation to warrant keeping the details of Mike and Hopper’s conversation a secret (they even remind you that we don’t know all the details when Hopper makes plans to tell Joyce about it at Enzo’s, which of course doesn’t end up happening) 3. they put way too much effort into the parallels for there not to be more there.

I don’t know exactly what I’m trying to imply. Maybe Hopper has witnessed the way Mike splits his time between El and Will and sees right through him. I mean he did witness the shed monologue and saw how disinterested Mike was in kissing El in season 2. Does he think Mike is using El?? I don’t know. I know Hop is just like Mike and wants El to himself but there’s just gotta be more here.

Would love to hear your thoughts! 😛

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justauthoring · 4 years ago

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ACTS OF INTIMACY.

Prompt: Five acts of intimacy between you and Harry -- because those are the moments that truly count.

Please don’t plagiarize my work! Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader Word Count:1,899

1. THE FIRST TIME YOU HOLD HANDS.

Harry and you had just started dating. And while you were a good two weeks into your relationship, things still felt a little... awkward.

For lack of better wording.

It was mainly because the two of you had started out as friends. Really good friends. There was no one like Harry, and while the statement seemed plainly obvious, it was true. So much so, that you’d never had a friend like Harry and while the feelings for him had always been there, it felt entirely foreign and strange to act upon them.

Really, it was just you that found it strange.

Your time spent with Harry felt the same it always had; and it was that that made it hard to ever make any sort of acts of intimacy. He tried, of course he did, and he was always so respectfully understanding of when you shied away. Because you couldn’t help it.

Your stomach would erupt into butterflies and your heart would start pounding madly against your chest, and you shy away, turning your head to tuck your chin into your neck and hide your blushing cheeks away from him. And he’d just chuckle, pull back, and make some silly comment to ease your nerves.

But then the two of you are walking that one fateful day, and the entire time your eyes haven’t stopped flickering to his hands. You love his hands. And the urge to hold them has never been quite this great. Your feelings for him are starting to get the better of you and, of course, make more sense, and you’re no longer so confused between the line of platonic and not.

The sudden urge is just suddenly too great.

You subtly step towards him. Harry barely notices. And then your eyes flicker lower once again, and you feel your chest tighten in nerves even though the act is so simple and you know, you just do, that Harry won’t mind one bit. But thoughts are always hard to ignore, and you can’t help the way your insecurities slip past your defenses.

And then, then, his hand twitches and suddenly your fingers are threading through his own.

The moment stills, your eyes flicker upwards, meeting his own bright green ones which have turned to you in surprise at the touch. However, he catches the look in your eyes and his face eases, every bit of surprise fading, and his lips curve upwards and his eyes twinkle and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen Harry this happy and it just warms your heart.

Knowing such a small act of holding his hands brought his this much joy.

He pulls your entwined hands towards his lips, pressing a kiss against the back of your own, and your stomach erupts in flutters.

After that, you always want to hold his hand.

And Harry doesn’t mind one bit.

2. YOU FORGOT YOUR PJ’S.

You’re spending the night at Harry’s.

It’s not the first time, but you’re definitely still getting accustomed to taking this next step in your guy’s relationship. You’ve been at his house plenty of times, you’ve even spent the night a time or two, but it’s a completely different thing going to his bedroom instead of the guest one and slipping under his covers instead of cold, strange ones.

Harry’s already in bed, waiting for you, when you realize you’ve forgotten a set of your own pajama’s.

You purse your lips in thought, frazzled, and you’re starting to wish you’d taken up Harry’s offer in just leaving some of your stuff at his place. He’d used the excuse ‘well, you’ll be spending a lot more time here anyway’ and he wasn’t entirely wrong.

Brushing back your hair, you slowly pull open the bathroom door, peeking your head into the bedroom. “Harry?” And his name leaves your lips in a soft, somewhat nervous whisper, finding his perched form on the bed already staring in your direction, as if he’d been waiting patiently (or maybe not so patiently) for you to come join him.

“Yeah, love?”

“I forgot some pajama’s.”

His eyes meet yours and his lips quirk into a smile. “You want to borrow a shirt of mine?” But before you even give him a proper answer, he’s standing up to grab you a shirt.

You purse your lips. “Only if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t, dove.” And there’s a pause, a moment of rustling in his closet, before he’s stepping towards you, a black shirt in hand. “Here.”

You accept it with a smile, excusing yourself for a moment more as you change quickly. When you step back out, in nothing more then Harry’s shirt now, Harry isn’t on the bed like you’d expected. You’re puzzled for a moment before a light gasp of surprise leaves your lips at the feeling of arms bounding round your middle.

You’re swept off your feet in a quick, simple stride, and you don’t land back on your feet, but instead your back, on Harry’s bed with him towering over you.

“You look dashing, darling.”

And your cheeks warm, scoffing at Harry. “I’m just wearing a shirt, Haz.”

“Yeah, but,” and his eyes lower, smiling. “It’s mine.”

“It’s definitely comfy.”

“Well,” and his voice is deep, husky, moving to roll over until he’s next to you. He, however, doesn’t hesitate to pull you flush against himself still, cuddling tightly to you. “You can borrow a shirt anytime.”

And now, you don’t need pajama’s because you one way or another, end up just wearing one of Harry’s shirts to bed.

3. HIS HANDS ON YOUR WAIST.

You’re reading a book when the music starts.

And you blink, eyes flickering upwards in confusion, having been under the impression that you’d been alone, before you find Harry stood before you. He’s got a goofy grin on his face, and he’s twirling around on his feet as he slowly but steadily makes his way towards you.

“Harry,” you laugh, shaking your head. “What’re you doing?”

He reaches you by then, taking your hand in his own as your book slides off your lap, landing on the floor with a soft thud as you’re swept up to your feet. Another giggle of confusion but amusement leaves your lips as he starts gently guiding you back with him, the grin never fading from his lips. “We,” he corrects, “are dancing.”

And then, you’re really swept off your feet as Harry pulls you flush against him with one simply tug, chest pressed against chest. His hands fall on your waist and you have no choice (though you’re not complaining) but to wrap your arms around his neck, laughing.

“Oh?” You question, raising a teasing brow. “I didn’t realize you were such an amazing dancer.”

“Haven’t you seen me perform on stage?”

He feigns hurt by your words and this time a loud, bellowed laugh leaves your lips as your head tilts back. Harry watches on with a fond grin, eyes softening with warmth as your laughter echoes about the room, masking the sound of the slow song he’d turned on for just a moment.

Harry could listen to you laugh for hours.

“When you’re not falling,” you shrug, “sure.”

“Hey!”

Shaking your head, your eyes crinkle with amusement. “So?”

And he blinks. “So?”

“Why’re we dancing?”

“What, can’t a boyfriend just want to slow dance with his girlfriend in the middle of their living room?”

You roll your eyes. “Sure he can.”

“Then,” he shrugs, tightening his grip on your waist. “That’s why.”

“Alrighty then,” you oblige, the grin never fading from your lips. “Spin me, Haz.”

And he’s all too quick to abide.

4. YOUR HEAD ON HIS SHOULDER.

You’d meant to have a movie marathon.

But somewhere along the way, maybe three, four hours in, your eyes had started to grow heavy and Harry’s comments started to lessen in between. His arm around your waist had slacked and your head kept tipping to the side as the urge to stay awake became harder and harder.

Eventually, and you’re not really exactly sure when, you finally lose the fight and your head falls against Harry’s shoulder, body relaxing. It’s a moment or two later, that Harry’s falls against your own, also asleep.

You awake at the credits rolling. You waking wakes Harry up. The both of you pull apart, blinking, confused for a moment, before your eyes turn to his.

“I think we fell asleep.”

You laugh gently at the grogginess of his voice, rubbing at your eyes. “I think we did too.”

A moment of pause echoes, you turn back to the tv. “I don’t even remember what movie we were watching.”

“Me neither,” Harry chuckles, pulling you closer. “I was out halfway through the second movie.”

“Was this three or four?”

“Four, I think.”

Another pause, your eyes drift to Harry. “We suck at all nighters.”

“And movie marathons.”

You laugh. “Should we head to bed?”

“As long as we cuddle.”

You stand, holding your hand out for Harry. “Well, of course,” you grin widely.

Because there’s not a night you two don’t cuddle.

5. EYES FROM THE CROWD.

It’s the first time you’ve been able to join him on tour.

You’re not sure whose more excited; you or him. He plans everything to a T. Making sure you have the best ‘seat’ available for his performance. He wants you to be able to see everything, ecstatic to perform for you, but he also wants to be able to see you amongst the crowd. He also wants to make sure you’re safe from the crowd.

Honestly, you think he goes a little above the beyond; but you don’t have the heart to tell him cause he’s just so excited.

And honestly, when the concert starts, you chide yourself on never having made more of an effort to join him on tour before. The entire night is magical. You’ve been to concerts before, but nothing beats the feeling of watching the man you love do what he loves; perform. His energy on stage in unbeatable and he seems to be on fire even more that night with you on crowd.

Your hearts warms and flutters and everything in between when he calls you out, dedicating a special song for you. Your favourite song of his.

He’s sung for you before. You’ve heard his songs before. But this is something you’ve never experienced, and Y/F/S just means something entirely different as you stare up at him, watching every little detailed of his lit-up, focused on face from your spot within the crowd. Watching the smile on his lips, watching the way his body moves to the beat, listening to how beautiful his voice sounds.

In disbelief that the song is just for you.

It feels like you’re in a dream.

And then his eyes meet yours and everything, everyone else seems to just fade away. The world goes crazy, the screams of the fans go away, and all you can hear is Harry, and all you can see is his eye staring back at you, full of love and warmth.

You never experienced something like it before.

Everything seems to just be said in his eyes, and no words need to be shared between either of you for the other to understand.

The moment is unlike any other.

Let me know what you thought?

#One Direction #One Direction imagine #One Direction x reader #Harry Styles #Harry Styles imagine #Harry Styles x reader #Harry imagine #Harry x reader #imagine #imagines #my fics

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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years ago

Text

Paloma, Part I

Series Masterlist - Part I - Part II

Word count: 4100+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Statesman!Frankie "Catfish" Morales, Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels, and "You" (OC cis/het female reader, Statesman research analyst, code name “Paloma”; age 26; reader is “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: fully legal age gap; curse words; references to M/F sex; lots of yearning; a little sprinkling of angst; American readers, please be warned that this piece features the absolutely filthy fantasy of Statesman paying off your student loans in full

You left Kentucky on a sunny June morning with a rolling suitcase, six cardboard boxes, and a heart full of golden light. You were ready for the new challenges of your promotion and the move to New York, but it was still hard to quell the little butterflies that insisted on dancing and twirling in your gut. Statesman HQ was like a beacon that had been calling to you for the last three years, and you were half-convinced that the promotion and the move were a daydream; something that would be snatched out of your hands if you thought about it too much.

It was strange to leave Kentucky, your home since you were four years old. You had been raised in a small town about an hour south of Louisville, and you hadn't had the opportunity to leave until college. Even then you didn't travel very far, just to a dorm room at the University of Louisville, going back to your hometown for every vacation instead of flying off to California or Europe like some of your more glamorous friends.

You had put your time to good use, though. You busted your ass and completed an accelerated program in Criminal Justice that earned you both a Bachelor's and a Master's in one go, with a minor in statistics and data science. The result was a deep and abiding love of research and analysis, with the burning desire to do good in the world.

---

The Friday morning of your graduation ceremony, you emerged from your apartment fresh-faced and giddy, ready to walk the stage and start the next phase: adult life in the "real world." You knew that your life was about to change, but as you juggled the garment bag with your cap and gown and tried to lock your door, you had no idea just how much. You heard a soft voice say your name behind you, and it made you jump and drop your purse, spilling the contents across your doorstep. You turned to see a woman of about 40, with flawless terra-cotta skin and an adorable mop of chestnut hair. Black horn-rimmed glasses framed bright, inquisitive eyes. She immediately bent to help you retrieve your belongings, stammering gentle apologies.

"I'm so sorry! Let me help you get your things. I didn't mean to scare you." She smiled sweetly at you and handed you back your sunglasses and lip gloss.

"No! It's fine, I'm sorry I'm so preoccupied." You lifted the garment bag by way of explanation. "Graduation day! Um, how can I help you?"

"You don't know me, but my name is Ginger. I work for an organization that recruits bright young minds like yours. It's a lot to explain, but if you're interested in a job interview next week, we'd love to talk with you." She handed you a creamy white business card with a Louisville address.

You frowned. "Statesman Distillery? I don't have any experience with alcohol production or marketing. I do data analysis and my degrees are in criminal justice."

"We know. We've been following your research and your schooling for a while." She gave you a mischievous smile, and it looked for all the world like she was hiding something fun behind it, something secretive and intriguing that made you want to know more.

"Please, just give me an hour of your time next week? When you have some time to pay us a visit, just call that number and ask for me. I'm really looking forward to chatting with you."

You thanked her and promised you would call, and then you tucked the card into your bag and forgot all about it for nearly a week. Graduation day was hectic, with lots of relatives visiting and interrogating you about your career plans, and the days afterward were spent attending parties and saying goodbye to friends who were scattering to far-flung places. After you had finished the last of your university-related errands like returning a few library books and picking up your official transcript, there wasn't much left to do except putter around your apartment and take a few days off before beginning a job search. Those student loans weren't going to pay themselves off.

You found Ginger's card in your purse on Wednesday morning and put it on the fridge with a magnet. On Thursday you were so hungover you didn't want to make any calls. On Friday you found yourself at loose ends with nothing planned, so you picked up the phone and dialed. When you reached the switchboard you gave your name and asked for Ginger, and they put you right through. She picked up after one ring, as if she had been waiting for your call.

"Hi! I'm so glad you called me! Can you come by today?" Ginger sounded genuinely excited to talk to you, not smarmy or fake like other corporate recruiters you had spoken with.

"Oh, uh, yeah. I mean, yes, thank you. Are you sure today's okay? I can come next week if that's better."

"No! Please come whenever you're ready. I'm really hoping you'll like what you see."

"Okay, will I need to dress up? Will I be meeting with anyone for an interview? Should I bring copies of my resume?" You wanted to make a good impression, but you weren't sure if this was just something the distillery did casually, like a winery tour, or if you would need to be ready for a formal interview.

"Nope! Just bring yourself! We already know everything we need to know about your qualifications."

"Ah... okay. I'm all yours. I'll see you in about an hour?"

"Perfect! I'll leave your name at the front gate with the guard. Just show them your ID and they'll wave you through."

You said your goodbyes and put the phone down. What kind of data analysis job was even available at a distillery? Market trends? Did they need a criminal justice major for tracking down rip-offs, like people counterfeiting their product? But wait, didn't the government do that kind of thing? The ATF? You shook your head clear of questions and hopped in the shower. You could ask Ginger all of your questions, since she seemed to be so happy to talk with you.

When you arrived at the Statesman Distillery an hour later, you were impressed at the size of the facility. Distilleries were pretty common in the state of Kentucky, with lots of little family companies sprinkled around. But Statesman rivaled the big names for sheer square footage.

Ginger met you in a conference room and offered you coffee, and then asked you to sign a non-disclosure agreement. You didn't think twice about it. NDAs were common in lots of industries, and you guessed that it had something to do with trade secrets, Statesman not wanting to leak information about their whiskey production details. When Ginger began the tour and you walked down a long hallway with multiple sparkling white laboratories behind thick glass, you found it unusual, but not alarming. Cleanrooms, maybe? Something to do with alcohol distillation formulas, probably.

When she ushered you into a large wood-paneled office and introduced you to Champ, the head of Statesman, you thought it was odd. Companies didn't normally introduce new college graduates to executives during tours. Based on the size of the organization, you thought you might meet the CEO or President once or twice a year, maybe at a holiday party or a company retreat. But he was friendly, and he seemed to have already heard of you; his eyebrows raised an inch at Ginger when she gave him your name. He also seemed far more interested in criminal justice and data analysis than you expected for a distillery executive, but you shook hands and answered all of his questions politely.

When Ginger asked you to step into an elevator and it dropped 10 floors, you started to wonder a little. When the doors opened and she walked you to a room with a huge bank of monitors, with screens showing all kinds of maps and security video feeds, you were downright confused. But when she revealed the cherry on top, the fact that Statesman was not in the business you thought they were? That was too shocking. You were sure she was joking. You turned behind you to look for hidden cameras, expecting a prank show host to come jumping out at you.

"This is a joke, right?"

Ginger smiled that sweet, warm smile at you. "No joke. We want you to join the Research Unit, working in the Data Analysis section. You would be keeping our agents safe, helping them make the best decisions possible. And in turn your work could save lives, hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands. What do you say?"

"I... uh... I still think you’re joking. I’ve never heard of anything like this. I… are you sure you want me?"

"Yes, if you're interested. We could use you on the team." She pushed a little slip of paper into your hand, and when you saw the annual salary that was listed, you almost fainted.

"Ginger, this is way too much. I just graduated and this is, like... this is a senior analyst's salary. I'd be able to pay off my student loans in like three years!"

"Actually, we would be paying your student loans off before you start work. If you have financial burdens hanging over your head you could be vulnerable to bribes or extortion attempts from foreign governments or bad actors. We want you clear before you start with us. Think of it as a signing bonus."

"Holy shit! Sorry, I mean... I... Jesus." You looked at her in confusion. "Y'all really want me?"

She smiled and nodded. "Yes, we really do."

"Okay, when do I start?"

And that had been it, your first "big girl" job out of college. You were welcomed warmly to the Statesman team, and you loved the fact that you did interesting work that had a real impact. The hardest part had been telling your friends and family the required cover story, saying you were doing market analysis until you could find a job in criminal justice somewhere. But since you were happy with your new job and it paid well, none of them pressured you to move on.

During your first two years with Statesman you climbed the ranks, earning promotions and new responsibilities that eventually put you in the seat of Assistant Director of Data Analysis. You had risen high enough in Statesman that your work required a code name, and you chose “Paloma,” a nod to your favorite grapefruit cocktail. You answered directly to the head of the Research Unit, and every report that your team produced was vital. You weren't wasting your talent in some corporate hole, enriching the CEO's salary at the expense of your sanity. You were saving lives, making a difference. Your reports had even been sent to the New York headquarters, where they used them as a model for operations.

And the job had brought you romance, too. One day not long after your promotion to Assistant Director, you were walking out of the conference room, so focused on your phone that you didn't see where you were going. You bumped into something large and solid in a denim shirt, and a pair of warm, calloused hands held your shoulders to steady you. You cursed softly to yourself and then looked up into the most gorgeous pair of brown eyes that you had ever seen. A man with patchy stubble and a well-worn baseball cap smiled at you, eyes crinkling with warmth.

"Whoa! Are you okay?" His eyes looked concerned as they searched your face. You looked at him with wonder. He was so, so beautiful. The smile dropped, and then his brows knitted together into a slight frown. "I said, are you okay?"

You realized you were staring with your mouth half open like some lovestruck teenager, and that an embarrassing amount of time had passed since you first met his eyes.

"Yes!" Your voice was louder than you intended. "Yes, I'm sorry. Sorry I bumped into you. I should have watched where I was going. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. Did I hurt you?"

"Ah, no. No, I'm fine. Sorry. Just distracted today."

"That's okay. Sorry I startled you." He smiled again and squeezed your upper arm.

You could have stayed there forever, leaning into his touch. He let go, much to your chagrin, and then went into the conference room. You made a note to ask someone who he was, to see if you could find out more about him. He wasn't being escorted by a staff member, so he was obviously part of the Statesman organization somehow. Someone would know who he was.

You went into the ladies room, running into Ginger at the sinks. "Oh, Paloma! I'm so glad I saw you. I need to steal your boss for an urgent matter. Can you run his 11:00 meeting in the conference room? I know it's last minute, but I'll buy you lunch later."

Your brain flickered out for a nanosecond. The 11:00 meeting? The conference room? The handsome man? You recovered your composure and smiled at Ginger. "Yeah, no problem at all. Tell him to drop his notes off in the conference room and I'll be there in just a moment."

Ginger smiled and punched your shoulder softly. "Thanks, Pal. I owe you one."

You washed your hands in a trance. Oh lord, this was going to be interesting. You squared your shoulders and met your own eyes in the mirror. You looked exactly like you had this morning, just your normal self. Most of the time that was fine, but right now you wanted to be more glamorous, more devastating. You wanted to absolutely bewitch the handsome mystery man in the meeting. In the absence of some kind of last-minute emergency Hollywood makeup team, you would have to settle for a fresh application of lip balm and a quick scrub of your teeth with a damp paper towel. You flicked a stray eyebrow hair into place, sighed, and headed back to the conference room. Looks weren't important anyway, right? Statesman had hired you for your brain, not your face. And really, you were more interested in showing your boss that you could do well in your new role. So you banished your insecurities from your mind and breezed into the meeting.

"Good morning everyone." You studiously chose not to look at the handsome man you had run into, keeping your eyes on your notes for the time being. You were afraid that if you looked at him you wouldn't be able to tear your gaze away. "The Director has been called away for an urgent matter, so I'll be leading today’s operational planning meeting. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Paloma."

You risked a glance at the handsome stranger, relieved to see that his eyes were on his notepad and not on you. You let out a breath and found your stride, walking the group through the team's findings, the data, the implications, and the desired outcome for the mission. Agent Tequila asked a few cocky, half-assed questions, probing you for weaknesses. Normally that would have irritated you, but today it was a welcome focus that took your mind off the butterflies. You knocked Tequila back in place with a few well-chosen words, and then opened up the floor for questions.

The handsome man raised his hand, and your eyes fixed on how large and thick his fingers were. Oh God, this was torture. "Yes, Mr...?"

"Catfish. Um, can you tell me more about the extraction plan?"

"Yes, absolutely." You went over that phase of the mission, giving all the details your team had gathered about the terrain and the timing. When you were done, Catfish smiled at you, and your knees went weak at the sight of the dimple that appeared. No one else had questions, so you closed the meeting and stood to leave.

Suddenly there was a warm wall of denim at your elbow. "Hey, that was really detailed information. Thank you so much for walking me through everything."

You turned and smiled. "You're welcome. Glad I could help." You fumbled for something to say, trying to extend the conversation and keep him in your orbit for however long you could while everyone else filed out of the room.

"So, um, you go by 'Catfish.' Can I ask why? That's your code name, right? There's not some kind of hidden tragedy where that's the name your parents actually wrote on your birth certificate?"

He chuckled, throwing his head back. The expanse of his thick neck and bobbing Adam's apple did nothing to improve the butterflies. They only fluttered harder, rising higher in your chest.

"It's an old Army nickname, I was Special Forces about a million years ago. Now I'm here on the transport team. I'm a helicopter pilot. When we're not working you can just call me Frankie."

"Ah." You bit your lip and nodded. Why couldn't you think of something else to say? Fortunately, Frankie continued the conversation.

"And you're Paloma around here? I love that drink. Am I allowed to know your real name, or is that classified?"

You grinned and shook his hand, giving him your name. When it rolled off his lips in that deep voice it sounded like heaven to you. You didn't want anyone else to say your name ever again. Just him.

He leaned closer, like he was sharing a secret. “Can I ask you a question? Top secret.” He winked, and you nodded.

“Can I take you to lunch?”

Your heart dropped into your pelvis, and you gulped, hard. “Y-yes. Yes, that would be great. I’d love to.”

---

When Ginger found you in your office at 2:00 p.m. you were staring off into space, smiling blissfully.

“Hey, Paloma. Why did you blow me off for lunch? I came by at 12:30, I was going to take you out.”

“Oh! Oh my god, Ginger, I’m so sorry! I had a date.”

She raised her eyebrows at you, settling down in one of your visitors chairs. “A date?”

“No! Not a date. A, um…” You burst into husky giggles, and then confessed everything to her: the handsome man, the crinkles around his eyes, his dimples and his silly code name, the easy conversation over lunch, and the fact that he had scribbled his phone number down on a sticky note that was now burning a hole in your pocket. You felt like you were 12 again, confiding in your girlfriend about crushes and cute boys.

Ginger laughed and gave your hand a squeeze. “No wonder you forgot about me. I can’t compete with a handsome helicopter pilot!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Ginger. I really didn’t mean to forget.”

“No, it’s okay. But definitely call him this weekend and make a real date. I’ll want details when you take me out for an apology lunch on Monday.” She winked and left your office.

You sat back in your chair and tilted back to look at the ceiling while you considered it. Was it too soon to call him and make a date? Ugh, this was agony. You decided that going by conventional rules hadn’t really mattered to you at any point in your life until now, so why the hell not?

You took a deep breath, trying to puff up your confidence. When he answered the phone on the second ring, you dove right in. “Hi, Catfish? It’s Paloma. Listen, I had a really good time at lunch, and I’d like to see you this weekend if you’re free.”

---

On Monday, you had a whole lot to report to Ginger.

Frankie took you up for a sightseeing flight on your date, and you loved the way he controlled everything; making sure he warned you before any sudden movements, and checking that you weren’t getting airsick or anxious. When the rotors were stilled and you were back on the ground, Frankie reached over to help you unbuckle your harness. Something got stuck, and the agonizing extra seconds of feeling him jostle the strap near your hip made you bold. When it was finally free and he was about to pull his hand away, you grabbed his wrist. He looked at you, alarmed that something was wrong, and you crashed your lips against his, all teeth and tongue and wanting. Frankie was as good a kisser as he was a pilot, and you spent the rest of the date making out in his truck.

The next weekend, you found out that his warm, work-worn hands were also magic in the bedroom. Frankie was adept at tweaking your sensitive spots as gently as the little buttons and switches of the flight panel, bringing you to thrumming heights the same way he did his helicopter.

The rest of the summer passed in heady, humid days and nights like a dream. You loved Frankie’s easy sense of humor and his confidence in the cockpit. But Frankie was less confident about your relationship, voicing concerns about the decade-plus that separated your ages, and whether he was keeping you from dating men your own age. He made self-deprecating comments about being an “old man,” and you reassured him that there was no one you’d rather be with, no one who could sway your attention. You loved using your hands and arms and lips and tongue to reassure him, finding that he had his own sensitive spots that you could manipulate. You loved sending him to sleep with a smile on his face.

But as much as you and Frankie enjoyed the relationship, the nature of his work with the transportation team meant that he was never in town for very long. At the same time, your job was getting more complex, requiring late nights at the office that interfered with your time together. You refused to dwell too much on the fact that you were torn, that you loved your work as equally as you wanted to spend those nights with Frankie.

By the end of the summer, you both came to the realization that it was nobody’s fault, simply a case of poor circumstances, and you decided to end things and remain friends. In October Frankie left Statesman to take a job that relocated him to Florida. You were wistful, and you missed him, but at least it had been an amicable split. At least friends was something. And as sometimes happens even with the best of intentions, the time in between each phone call grew longer, and you eventually lost touch. Last you heard he was spending weekends with his old Army buddies who all lived nearby, and he had a new girlfriend. By February the ache was starting to subside, and by April you were nearly ready to date again.

In May, almost three years to the day after Ginger’s visit to your apartment had changed your life, you were offered the position to lead the Data Analysis team in New York. You jumped at the chance. Statesman located an apartment for you, and from the pictures you were already in love with it. Huge windows looked out over the city, and it was within walking distance of Statesman HQ. Your farewell party was bittersweet. Ginger offered to come visit you, and promised that New York would be everything you hoped it would be. Your team gave you such high praises that you joked that if that’s what it took to hear accolades, you would have left ages ago.

---

Your first few days in New York were spent acclimating to the Statesman HQ, and getting to know your neighborhood. It was strange to find that you could walk or take the subway for whatever you needed, compared to the Midwest where a car was required for everything. Your new team was welcoming, and you enjoyed your new duties immensely. Your first two weeks on the job passed in no time, and you went home every night feeling like you could fly.

And then you hit a wall, in the form of Jack Daniels, a.k.a. “Senior Agent Whiskey.” You knew him by reputation, of course. Ginger had filled you in on his exploits, his overbearing charm, his smarmy flirtations. You had seen him once or twice in passing when he had visited Champ’s office, but you hadn’t actually met him in person.

When you finally did, you almost asked for an immediate transfer back to Louisville. --- "Paloma" Series Masterlist Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

Tag list: @honeymandos @driedgreentomatoes @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @honestly-shite @anaaaispunk @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @nicolethered @dihra-vesa @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @anxiousandboujee

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #Statesman!Frankie Morales #Statesman!Frankie Morales x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack whiskey daniels

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labyrinth-runner · 5 years ago

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For the meet ugly, how about number 39 with Obikin? I can see it going either way, honestly

Lmao. Disclaimer: I’m not huge on Obikin, but I promised that I’d do any pairing that people sent me, and I am a woman of my word. I hope you like this Anonny, because this one’s for you :)

Prompt: I hired you to be a stripper at my friend’s bachelorette party and you happen to be the TA for my favorite class.

Padmé had the biggest grin on her face, “Oh, Ani, you shouldn’t have!”

Anakin tapped the party bus with pride. “Nothing but the best for my queen,” he chuckled. She was getting married in a week and he had completely forgotten to throw her a bachelorette party. As her Man of Honor, it was his duty, which is why they were going out on a Sunday night, the day before his fall classes started. It was the cheapest day he could book a party bus, and it was the only one he could find. Deep down, though, he knew he’d be feeling this tomorrow. He just hoped the hangover wouldn’t be too bad.

“Let’s get this party started!” Padmé exclaimed as she let her group of friends onto the bus. Anyone who saw them would know they were celebrating. Padmé had a crown on, and the rest of the gang wore shirts that said “Handmaiden” on them.

One by one, they made their way onto the party bus. Anakin chuckled at the gaudiness of it all. The music was thumping loudly, rainbow lights flashed and reflected off a disco-ball in the middle of the bus. At the back of the bus, there was a stripper pole. He had to struggle to contain his laughter when Padmé eyed the pole, turning back to him with a raised brow. He just shrugged.

The bus moved around the corner and a couple of streets away towards their first “destination,” or at least, towards where he had told Padmé they would be going. He had no intention of going there, because his surprise for her would be much better.

At a red light, they heard a knock on the door. The driver shot Anakin a look, and he returned it with a wink. The door opened and in walked a police officer in very tight clothes.

“What is going on in here?” the Officer asked. His face was hidden under the shadow of his hat’s brim and his own neatly kept auburn beard. His eyes could not be seen behind dark reflective glasses.

Padmé looked to Anakin with panic in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Officer, we’re just celebrating my bachelorette party.”

The Officer’s head swiveled as he looked at each and every one of them, his eyebrow quirking when he spotted Anakin, the only man among these women.

“Well, I’m afraid I’ll still have to fine you,” the Officer said matter-of-factly.

Padmé’s brow knitted in confusion. “What for?”

The Officer, Dick McCuff from his name tag, smirked. “For being too sexy,” he replied, ripping off his shirt and swinging it through the air.

“OH MY GOD, ANI GOT ME A STRIPPER!” Padmé exclaimed with realization. The girls all squealed at the sudden exposure of chest. Anakin couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Now, I need a volunteer, which one of you lovely ladies wants to take a walk on the wild side?” Officer McCuff asked as he swung a pair of handcuffs around his finger. “Maybe the bride?” he asked, looking at Padmé with a raised eyebrow.

“I think Ani wants this,” Padmé chuckled.

Anakin’s eyes widened with horror. He did not want to get handcuffed by a stripper... even if this one was very attractive and had a beard that he desperately wanted to know how it felt against his skin. No, he was just here to supervise his best friend so she could live our her wildest fantasies.

“Which of you is Ani?” The officer asked.

Anakin groaned as Padmé shoved him up. “That would be me.”

Officer McCuff pulled his sunglasses down a bit by the corner to look at him over the rims with a gorgeous pair of cerulean eyes. He looked him up and down with a quirked eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

Anakin looked back at Padmé who wore a ridiculous grin on her face. He shrugged, “What the queen says goes.”

“Alright,” McCuff replied, leading Anakin back to the stripper pole. He handcuffed Anakin so that his arms were behind his back, and his back was up against the pole. He winked before starting his routine.

Anakin swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat as the man ripped off his pants to reveal a bright blue speedo. Anakin looked up to the ceiling. Heaven help him.

The man started dancing to the music, rewarded by the hooting and hollering from the rest of the handmaidens who eagerly slipped various bills into the man’s speedo. He slowly turned back to Anakin, moving to grind against him. “Didn’t think I forgot about you, did you?” the man winked over his shoulder.

“Please just end me,” Anakin groaned, feeling an erection start to strain against his jeans. There was no way that McCuff didn’t feel that.

“Feels like you’d prefer a different kind of finish,” McCuff purred in his ear, leaning back so that his back was flush against Anakin’s chest.

Anakin sucked in a breath. “You... sure know what you’re doing.”

McCuff chuckled, “I’d hope so, otherwise I’d be ripping people off.”

“Officer...McCuff, was it?” Anakin asked.

“Mhm?” McCuff asked, his breath hot on Anakin’s skin. It was torture.

“I think I’d like-” Anakin started, but he was cut-off by the bus driver.

“Well, ladies and gentleman, we’ve arrived at the first stop on the bar crawl,” they said.

Anakin let out a sigh of relief mixed with a slight twinge of disappointment.

McCuff chuckled, smiling to himself as he released Anakin from the handcuffs. “Seems like you’ve made bail.”

Anakin gently rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had sat as the rest of his friends exited the bus leaving him with the stripper. He smirked as he reached into his wallet and pulled out a fifty, holding it between his middle and forefinger. “This should cover the fine.”

McCuff’s blue eyes widened at the tip.

Anakin chuckled, slipping it into the waistband of the man’s speedo. “Enjoy the rest of your night,” he told him as he walked off the bus.

The rest of Anakin’s night passed by in a blur of bars and booze. It was a wonder he even woke up the next morning, let alone made it into his 8 am class.

He slid into his seat as the professor and his TA walked in.

“Class, welcome to day one of ethics and morals. My name is Professor Windu and I’ll be teaching this class. If you have any questions or need extra help, don’t hesitate to reach out to me or my TA, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Professor Windu stated.

Anakin’s eyes flicked to the smartly dressed TA. Khakis, a button down and a sweater vest. Clearly conservative. Clearly boring. He sighed. His eyes flicked up to look at the man’s face and he almost had a heart attack.

The TA was staring back at him with a slight look of horror.

Anakin struggled to pay attention for the rest of the class. When they were finally dismissed he casually sidled up to the TA.

“Officer McCuff?” he asked dropping his voice low.

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened and he slapped his hand over Ani’s mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“See, most innocent people don’t clamp their hand over another person’s mouth if they don’t know what’s going on,” Ani shot back.

Kenobi sighed. “What do you want? An A? Because I don’t abide by blackmail, but I sincerely like assisting for this class.”

Anakin waved him off. “I don’t want an A unless I’ve earned it.”

“Then what do you want?” Obi-Wan asked suspiciously.

“A date.”

#50 days of fics #day 2 #obikin

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laurasauras-reads · 3 years ago

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Homestuck reread post 2

who gave you the right, sir, to look so fucking adorable??

okay, i've been immediately proven wrong on my interpretation for "bully", unless it's john doing the best with what he has, or if john himself is misinterpreting hussie's intentions. with something like homestuck, all of this is possible! but i think i was probably just wrong hahaha

"plz say yes" says the dude who definitely isn't going to play the game. he messaged john this immediately, like before he'd even looked out the window. (love.)

okay here's something i want to point out with regards to homestuck's chronology. dave calls rose "TT" here, because the reader hasn't been introduced to her yet and therefore doesn't know her name. the second that each kid has been given a name, their friends start using it. the reader's timeline matters more than any other one in homestuck. i started creating a homestuck timeline map, but oh my GOD it was impossible. maybe i'll finish it some time.

the point is, the trolls might have made this universe, but they don't matter until they're revealed to the reader. likewise, beforus really doesn't matter until it's revealed.

when the first page prompts us to name john because it's his 13th birthday, obviously he had a name before then. and that's not just me applying real world logic, we read dave's birthday letter that is addressed to "john", a letter that was written before john turned 13. because john was given his name by the readers and by the time we read that, we well and truly know his name is john.

okay okay so other things to comment on here.

i love dave's assumption that rose is flirting with him. she probably is, though the degree to which that's ironic is anyone's interpretation. what am i saying, she definitely is, we see them talking later. (take this as a sign that i will say shit like this regardless of ectobiological relations, but also this is just plain fact. no one, not dave and rose, not the readers, maybe not even hussie, knew that they were going to be related in the future.)

i also love john's deadpan statement of dave's attractiveness and dave's response. "thank you", it's just brilliant. beyond criticism!

okay idk what the image quality is gonna be like on this, but i want to appreciate the different kind abstrata that are available for the strife specibus. some highlights:

pizzactrkind

lampkind

glovekind

curlironkind

fncysntakind

fireextkind

i'm also glad to see "fankind" on there, because that's what i chose for my specibus. i do tai chi, the fan form is rad!

i love this writer, obviously. i like the fan theory that bro strider is the one who writes these, especially because if he's as like dirk as i think he is, this is entirely fabricated. this is a level of ironic bropinions that dirk could only aspire to

i can't believe i've waited this long to express my deep abiding love of dad egbert. why does he swear on egyptian tombs? why has he hung this picture up? i need to make him 500% more funny in all my fics going forward, because this is a man i want to love forever

okay maybe not, i forgot about the obscene number of jester/harlequin things in this house. i don't know how i forgot, but i did. i'm going to have to make dadbert 800% weirder in future fics, too

Sometimes at night you pray for burglars.

#hs reread #hs reread 2 #long post

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thrushpot · 5 years ago

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in utero

“So, remember those prompts... well, I got more for you. Need 13 and 31, have fun with those two. ;P” requested by @fortheloveofhargrove

#13: “I thought you were dead.”

#31: “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

warnings: ANGST

—

Billy clicked his tongue and sang along to some mindless catchy tune beneath his breath as he eyed the dark and lonely road ahead of him. The radio was playing something he’d never even heard of before, but he was in a mood so good, so rare that it didn’t even matter. Drives like these were his favorite, when the world would just shut the fuck up for a second and he could run away to fantasy land in peace without any unwelcome intrusions. His right foot eased the gas pedal further down, gradually accelerating in hopes to arrive at his destination early so he could surprise her once she’s off the plane. The blonde boy behind the wheel felt almost as if he’d gotten slapped in the face with nostalgia as he recalled the last conversation he’d had with her before leaving.

Goodbyes were a thing that were never not painful or unsettling. That all too familiar dread of not knowing whether it’ll be the last time he’d see her, hug her, hell; even fucking smell her. As if it happened only yesterday, the boy could still hear the girl’s soft weeping muffled in his chest, can practically feel the way her body moved up and down with each broken sob. It was difficult to see someone usually so fearless, so composed and put together, like some CIA agent from an action flick break down and curl into him for warmth and support. He let a couple (okay, maybe more than a couple) salty tears of his own fall as he held her in his lap.

Y/N had been an irreplaceable constant back in the glory days, her having never broken his trust nor the laundry list of promises she’d sworn once the heartache of his departure had blown over. It was foolish to think that even for a second he could get over the bitterness of starting all over again at some mundane public school. It was also just as foolish to think he could just forget about missing her as the weeks turned to months and the months added up to a year. But that was just another ploy the universe threw his way, seemingly enjoying Billy’s pain and suffering. Tonight though, tonight was gonna be different. He won’t let a single thing overshadow him any longer. He refused to listen to his inner tormentor deep down that laughed whenever he tried rationalizing how he would go about giving his confession, telling her his secret. As Billy goes over the script in his head, he clears his throat and adjusts the rear view mirror to himself as he practices his performance again. Real casual-like, he flashes a smile over at his reflection, pretending it’s her that’s watching.

“Y/N, lookin’ ah, looking good. Beautiful, actually. Know you already got a line of guys tellin’ you this every damn day, but I mean it when I say you somehow get prettier every time I see you. I really missed us hanging out, y’know? Takes me back to all those long nights, and uh... since I left I’ve been thinkin’ a lot...” he licks his lips and thinks back to the lines he’d gone over in his head like clockwork. His face twists into something more down and depressing, like whatever he’s trying to say will only burden their already troubled lives. “Too much, actually. I realize I’ve done almost nothing else worth my fucking time here except think of you whenever I feel shitty or, or like when everything is too much yet not enough. It’s been — been one of the only things I feel has real meaning to it for once, actually makes sense. ‘Cause you get me, and no one ever surprises me unless you do, and ah...” the blushing blonde shakes his head, a stray blonde curl falling to his forehead in the process of scolding himself with a swear before starting over.

“You know what? Fuck this. Let’s just go. We could just fuck off somewhere, go get a couple drinks, have a couple laughs, and... fuck. Shut up, you idiot. Don’t quote Die Hard on her for fuck sake,” he slaps his palm on his face, scoffing at his own stupidity before his eyes grew twice their size realizing how close the airport had become in the distance. He feels the same old doubt return right over his shoulder, and it smirks as if it’s being proven right; that telling her what he feels really is a horrible mistake. That it’s nothing but a rotten idea he’ll regret when she laughs in his face and turns around to fly right back to Santa Monica.

Billy’s heart is practically in his mouth by the time he pays for the ridiculously priced parking ticket and makes his way to the gate. His fucking leg somehow decides to grow a mind of its own, bouncing up and down with urgency while his teeth are occupied with chewing his fingernails down to the nub. He remembers when the roles were reversed once upon a time, when he was on the plane and she was the one agitated while sitting in the airport. Y/N still had that precious pink flush coating her cheeks when he was ready to board his flight, holding onto one of his biceps when she’d whispered something in his ear that had stuck with him:

”Don’t ever forget to remember me, okay?”

When Billy finally opens his eyes back up to the world around him, a herd of exhausted and enthusiastic travelers alike have exited the gate and met their loved ones with tired hugs and kisses. He rubs his pant leg to settle down while eagerly scoping the crowd for her hair or her face. When his wide eyes finally lands on her, the twang in his gut seeps back up to the surface, making Billy helplessly weak in the knees as he throws himself off the chair and into a pose ready for a warm welcome. He flails his arms in the air for her attention and calls out her name with repetition like a nuisance, both careless and unaware of the ruckus he’s stirred in front of all the annoyed families surrounding him. When Y/N had seen it was Billy that was screaming up a storm, her face cracks up into that same shit-eating grin he’s always known and loved then jogs over. The desperate pair reunite in the middle.

“I thought you were dead or something, asswipe! Why didn’t you ever write or call?” Y/N squealed in his arms as he picks her up and spins her around with sloppy grace. Billy bites his lower lip as he puts her down, his hands going down to cup her cheeks with tenderness, as if she were something to be cherished forever, and she is.

“Eh, some things are just better said face-to-face I guess,” he shrugged, giving her cheek a peck before bending over to pick her bags up and swing them effortlessly over his shoulder. As they bicker back and forth like the good old days while making their way to the dark busy parking lot, Billy can say with utter undeniable truth that he genuinely feels all is right with the world again.

—

“I can’t believe I’m even here right now and finally seeing this dump that stole my best friend with my own two eyes. I mean I got like eighty bucks to my name, little to no idea where I’ll stay, but I actually made it!” she hollered, playfully giving the blonde’s ass a painless smack. He reacted with a bashful jump and a laugh, struggling with her bags under pressure. “Can’t wait to see your car again ‘cause man I missed her. Old Martha still runnin’ smooth and pretty, I presume?”

Billy felt breathless as he set her luggage down to the pavement, reaching for his car keys to unlock the trunk before hauling them inside and slamming it closed. He stops to look back at her with a twinkle of mockery in his eye.

“So that’s what you named my car, huh? Martha?” he fact-checks, going over to the passengers side to open it for her, the chivalry he only abided by around her in particular coming back like it never left at all. Like they were still the same confused teenagers first meeting, getting into mischief just to busy their bland, empty agendas. She gives him a half-hearted shrug before explaining.

“Heard it’s good luck to name everything you own, amirite? Plus, you got no right making fun of that name. That’s my aunt’s name, ‘case you forgot stealing all her pot from her sock drawer and smoking it with me at school,” Y/N retorts with a finger pointed at him accusingly. The blonde behind the wheel let’s out a sarcastic ha ha at the memory, starting up the Camaro and backing out as the girl in the passenger’s side messes with the radio. The fond memories have flooded back almost uncontrollably; he can’t wait to make more, even if they only had tonight.

“In our defense that’s a shitty place to hide all that dope, alright? And uh, pretty sure that’s with boats. You name a boat and that gives you good luck. Not a car, you fuckin’ genius.”

Her face scrunches up in thought as if that’s the most mind-boggling thing she’s ever heard, and it ruins Billy with how fucking cluelessly perfect the facial expression is. He watches with intent as she snaps out of it in a hurry. “What you just said makes literally no sense, but I’ll ignore the ridicule and cut to the chase, Bilbo. What is it you’ve been up to without me or the beach? Gone insane yet?” she teased the last part in his ear, putting a hand on his right shoulder and giving it a squeeze. It takes Billy a moment to try and get used to how normal this really is, being touched by her, and he’d nearly forgotten that she’ll give any guy with a heartbeat the exact same treatment. Billy wasn’t an exception, and surely he wasn’t the first guy to get butterflies either.

With a clear of his throat, he throws back on his social mask for stability before shaking his head, the disbelief out in the open within his tone. “Are you fucking kidding, Smalls? ‘Course I did. What good is anywhere or anything when it doesn’t involve you or the goddamn beach?” Billy finished, finding his way onto the main road and putting the airport in his rear view. The driver thinks back two years prior and reminisced on all the adventures they had in Santa Monica before the inevitable happened. He fixed his hair absentmindedly (maybe even a little self-consciously) before reluctantly rambling on under his breath about what’s been ruined since he got taken away from paradise.

“Not a lot goes on ‘round here. Seriously. Place reaks like cowshit, haven’t met anyone worth my time. Max doesn’t seem to think so though, I guess. She’s even made more friends than me. Like... sure, I found this group of jackasses that worship me for knowin’ how to hold my booze, but I haven’t found anything like what we had. Not even close.” Billy swallows, looking back up to the rear view mirror like how he practiced on the way over. It isn’t the same, and he feels too vulnerable saying anything like that out loud with her sitting right fucking there. So he does what any man in the right mind would do, and reacts to his fear, his doubt. He backs down and changes the subject without looking in her direction to see her face. The boy faked a chuckle, an unconvincing one, then keeps his eyes on the road so he doesn’t fucking crash them.

“Tried to liven things up a little, but it’s so goddamn boring, y’know? So uh, anyway, that’s... yeah.”

It starts off sounding so pitiful, then it ends so fucking weak and pathetic. The blonde foolishly hoped and hoped, knowing he could do it, could put everything into English and say it. But he can’t. It gets stuck on his tongue, stuck like a gross aftertaste of something he can’t get rid of. It stings.

He feels his other leg not pressed on the gas physically twitch when the girl beside him puts a palm on his lap to soothe him of imaginary worries. Her eyes were practically scraping to get inside his soul and have it be her own place to call home when he merely glanced at her. It took an enormous amount of will power not giving in to the temptation, but he pulls it off by distracting himself with views of the dark road ahead.

“Yeah, also uh, my old man won’t know you came here for me. I made sure of it. We’ve got all night to catch up,” he ended on a high note, now finding himself grin at all the possibilities awaiting as the girl now has taken to copying him by eyeballing the lifeless scenery out the window that is Hawkins.

After a hasty moment, she hums to acknowledge him and follows it up with a soft, somewhat unsure murmur. “That’s good. Great, actually. I um, I got lots of shit to fill you in on, and I mean a lot, but... anyways, it’s not important. Fuck. Hey, there any places to eat ‘round here? I’m starving,” she finished with glee, deciding to ditch the mood-killing approach at telling him what had happened to her while he was gone.

The blonde hums as he threw a smile at the road, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in excitement, back in the groove. He had just overreacted, that’s all. Their evening didn’t have to depend on what she said back. He could tell her later on and be at peace whether or not she reciprocated his longing for more.

“Alright. Well uh, lucky for you, Smalls, I know just the right place for us. Get ready for the baddest burgers in this shit town, ‘kay?”

Y/N let out a snort after holding her breath a beat too long, shoving her partner’s shoulder before gluing her eyes to the road.

—

“... So then I’m running as fast as I possibly can to get outta there before this fat guy could catch me, he even threatened me with a goddamn gun. Surprisingly he was really fast, too, alright. Like — like The Flash fast. ‘Coulda almost beat ‘em too, but right after I’m rushing to hop this fence, I jump too high and lose my grip. The ground really knows how to whoop my ass,” Billy snorted as he incessantly raved about the shit pot he’d stirred. After trespassing private property not only on a school night, but also at four in the morning. “Oh, also landed right on the money maker,” he smirked, gesturing towards his face with a French fry covered in ketchup between his fingers. “I think I lost a tooth while I was at it, too.”

“Fucking A, Billy! Dude, to be fair, from the sound of it you really got what you deserved,” Y/N pointed out while marveling at his male idiocracy, a goofy scowl plastered on her face as she shook her head back and fourth. She dropped the napkin she’d crumbled up in her palms to her half-empty plate of a classic diner burger and the French fries that Billy had no shame in picking at. He nodded while looking like he was proud of the chaos he’d created, taking his partner’s Cherry-Vanilla Coke and slurping the remaining sip through the straw. He hadn’t had an appropriate moment to give telling her their situation another try, but he’s content with the comfortable familiarity of exchanging both horrific and grotesque stories in each other’s absence. It felt like slipping on an old pair of boots that still fit somehow, still felt good to wear and walk around in, and he wasn’t willing to unlace them or take them off quite yet.

“Yeah yeah, what goes around comes around. I know. Speaking of which, you uh, you got any news to tell me?” the boy asked suspiciously, recalling how their only topic of conversation all night had been solely regarding his whereabouts and only vague answers coming from her. “I know you weren’t up to any good either, Smalls. Pretty hard to deny, what with our reputations and all.” he grinned, pulling a nearly empty pack of Menthols and sticking one on his lip, signaling their waitress for the check with a hand gesture. Y/N’s face twists into something worrisome, brows knitted, lip bit, arms crossed like she wanted to disappear. She was hiding something.

The uneasiness doesn’t rest lightly on the boy’s shoulders at her expression, and thankfully their waitress has great timing and clears their table of their finished goods.

“Can we talk outside, maybe? Or, or just go— just go somewhere where we can —“

Billy scrambled to assure her that her wish was his command, breaking whatever unwelcome tension with a helpful hand on her shoulder. “Of course, Smalls. You don’t know where you’re staying tonight, right?”

A watery smile spreads on her small face, a slight shake of the head that says no, I’ve had no idea where the fuck to stay every night for months, dipshit.

“Look, I have a plan for you, okay? Got you money for a room at this motel not very far, I’ll take care of you.” he swore, unzipping his jacket and covering her back with it as the frosty air nipped their cheeks on the way outside. The moon glowed in the sky, acting like a night light for them as they approached Old Martha, cranking the heat in as soon as they were both safe inside.

The pair sit in silence, the boy unaware of what’s changed or made her stiffen up; the girl unaware of how she’ll confess something that only a select few know and have already judged.

“Now what— no, who the hell is it that made you this upset, huh?” he threatens to the unknown source of his best friend’s pain, already getting revved up to fly back home and settle this out with his fists. Their destinated motel only a mile away and seatbelts not even fastened.

“I’ve — I’ve been keeping something from you.”

Billy blinks stupidly and throws his hands off the steering wheel and in the air. Could this be it? Could it mean the same thing as him keeping something from her? Nothing is getting answered fast enough, and he’s so sick of waiting. “Okay? And what the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Y/N chews her bottom lip and rests her elbow on the door, her palm now gathering the dramatic beads of sweat from her forehead. “It means I’ve got a reputation; you know, I know, the whole fucking population of Santa Monica knows, Billy! You don’t need to act dumb, okay, it isn’t cute anymore.”

The driver squints in utter bewilderment, finally pushing the brake with impatience, making them bounce forward at the sudden stop. The Camaro sits outside the motel as droplets of rain grow heavier and louder as it pecks on the windows. It could almost drown out the feeling of intensity in the small space.

The blonde pinched the bridge of his nose like an irritated diva, pairing that with a seemingly apathetic eye roll. “I was only kidding back there about that shit. You know I don’t believe that nonsense about you... sleepin’ around or whatever, okay. I only believe you. I trust your word over those assholes and their tendency of spreading fucked up lies about any girl in school, ‘kay?”

Y/N felt on the brink of a drastic explosion, going as far as to open the window and sticking her head outside to feel the raindrops pool around her face, tickling her with its’ gentleness.

“Hey, get your head back in here. You’re gonna catch a cold, and then you’ll have to fly back home sick tomorrow, alright, so could we just cut the charade and talk like adults—” Billy’s reprimand was interrupted by Y/N’s surprising outburst.

“I don’t have a home anymore!” she screeched, yanking her head back inside and flipping her wet hair out of her face before crossing her arms stubbornly. “It was taken away from me. Got kicked out ‘cause of my reputation,” she trailed off as he turned his head to the side in concern mixed with confusion, his jaw wide enough to catch flies. Before spitting another useless question at her, he swallowed with unstoppable nerve and cautiously reached over to her door and roll the window back up.

“Smalls, I’m — I’m fucking sorry. So sorry. But right now all’s I wanna do is get you nice and dry. Cozy too, and in our own space with no one to bother us or... or even kick us out. I’m gonna get your bags, we’ll go fetch a room, and then continue this by then, okay?” he whispered, finding his fingers had gotten wet while delicately petting her damp locks. Her lips wiggled like she was gonna blow into tears any second, and he really hated the sight, but whoever was responsible in making her homeless was gonna be sorry they ever caused someone as close to Billy as she was so much pain.

The rain came down and soaked the blonde’s hair, color fading to a chestnut brown under the weather as he fumbled with his keys to get into the trunk as fast as possible. Her bags weren’t the lightest, but it must’ve been nearly all her belongings if she didn’t have a home anymore. They rested like rocks on his back and in his grasp as he gave Y/N the signal to hurry out as to not get any more drenched than her face had already become. Billy spits on the pavement before counting down from three on his fingers, and as soon as he got to one she was out and flailing in the rain with him, both eager to get warmth and shelter. Some giggles were even shared as they cringed feeling their clothes sticking to their bodies before finally making it inside.

The guy behind the counter wasn’t amused by their boisterous entrance, but they couldn’t find it in them to feel bad. After getting themselves a room key, they forced themselves to put a hault on their dispute for now, just like pressing the pause button on a TV remote; Billy rubbing her lower back in the elevator once he’d set her luggage down and Y/N leaning further into him as tears threatened to wilt out of her. Finding room 1408 thankfully wasn’t like a game of Where’s Waldo, and they’d both gotten comfortable quickly in the tidy space. The boy had set her things down as she fled to the restroom. He’d taken to counting all the shapes he could make out on the tacky wallpaper and got stopped at number fifty-eight. Y/N emerged from the bathroom much drier yet back in a similar state as before; frightened and uncomfortable. Taking action, he threw himself off the King sized bed and took her into his embrace.

“You’re safe with me, you do realize that, right?” he muttered, trying his hardest to keep it together like the broken girl in his arms. She trembled in a way that said she didn’t know she was safe, like she still felt wrong. In one swift movement, she shoved him backward and left him stumbling in ignorance and hurt, barely giving him a warning before she finally snapped.

“It’s true what those boys said about me, what I did with them. You would’ve known that by now if you had a goddamn brain instead of this... this giant heart of a puppy,” she cradled her head in guilt and shame for everything coming from her mouth, stepping back and avoiding his eyes all together. “I slept with the basketball team, the football team, even the fucking tennis club! You name it, I’ve fucked it. You know what’s crazy about this, other than the amount?” she asked rhetorically, her voice winding down to a broken whisper.

Billy feels his eyes well up and he doesn’t put energy into stopping it. There are veins bulging, flaming up in places he hadn’t even known he had. He recalls all the side eyed looks from the boys while he walked down the halls with her, when he’d ditch to smoke her aunt’s dope with her, or in class laughing with her. They weren’t ogling him because they thought they’d be a cute couple. They were laughing at him in silence because he was whipped for Santa Monica’s school skank.

“I don’t regret all of it; well, all but one. You, you remember Chris Hooker, he was your runner up? Chris fucking idolized you, Billy. He wanted to be like you so bad that... he thought one way of being like you was to get with me. And I let him after you left, I was so lonely that I’d do just about anything to cover up the shitstorm of losing you; and if that meant fucking this guy that always dressed like you and acted like you all the time— then so be it.” Y/N shrugged, trying to wipe the endless waterfall of tears as she watched Billy break too.

“You... you didn’t—“ he tried to deny, shaking his head and mimicking her by cradling his head in his hands as he walked in circles back and fourth, not believing anything he’s hearing. She sniffled and rubbed her nose with her sleeve before coming closer to him, looking him in the eye the first time since her confession begun.

“It happened, and I’ve never been this sorry about anything in my life, Billy. In fact, I even said sorry to him, ‘cause I couldn’t take care of it or even myself after he knocked me up and turned my life into this, this total hellhole—“

“You got kicked out because they found out,” Billy mumbles when he came to the realization, staring as if he were hypnotized by the painting of an angel hung up on the wall behind her. “They found out that you got pregnant, then you got rid of it... so they ended up punishing you.”

Y/N clung to him tighter before confirming with an uneasy nod, a sob escaping and tearing through her as she got red.

“I never named it, so I guess it didn’t bring good luck, remember?” she reminded him of their previous conversation when she first landed, stroking his arms up and down with tenderness. “You um, you missed a part of the story actually, a really important one.”

The blonde recoiled from his partner and scrubbed his arms in hysteria, feeling hopeless and weak and like all his doubt had fed to his brain was right. He wasn’t an exception. He wasn’t the good guy, he was just another guy going nuts for the same girl everybody else in their entire class ever did.

“Stop it! Stop hurting yourself, Billy, this is my fault. I should’ve told you sooner that—“

“What? What’s left to say now?”

“That I—“

”WHAT?” his fists were clenched and thick at his sides, the jealousy and the disgust overtaking him and fueling a fire that hadn’t started over night.

“That I love you!” she had shouted, both of them spiraling out of the devastating tornado of abandonment and lies, now joining together in the middle; mirroring their warm welcome at the airport just hours before. Billy’s fingers shoved her by her hips so that they were skin-to-skin as he finally went in for the kiss all the guys back home already knew but he himself had never gotten to experience. They were both gone, desperate for their touches and their actions to say everything they’d wanted to say. The apologies, the love, the hurt. She tasted lovely on his tongue, and he waited for the need to breathe to become nearly unbearable before even thinking of pulling away. Their mouths made a smacking sound as their lips left eachothers, making Billy let out a helpless, weak in the knees sounding moan.

“And to finish the missing part, um... I can’t keep kissing random strangers pretending that they’re you,” she whispers in his ear, bashfully coming back down from her tippy-toes right after giving a playful nibble to his ear and a warm kiss on the cheek. Billy thinks back to his alone time talking in the mirror, all the things he said and wrote down, practiced for this very moment. Like clockwork, he spouts the rehearsed lines out that felt like daggers holding inside.

“Smalls... since I’ve been gone, ah... all’s I’ve done is nearly nothing worth my time except, only except thinking of you when I feel like everything is a lot. And also like everything was never really enough. It’s like one of the only things I feel like has meaning to it for once. ‘Cause you get me, I get you. No one ever surprises me unless you do. And I fucking love you even more, Y/N, and I’d like to make you forget. Forget about those dicks, forget about your parents. You’re with me from here on out, you understand? Smalls?” he opens his eyes to see her doing that thing again, where she scrapes into his soul and nests inside, makes it a home for herself. It makes him melt in all the right and wrong ways imaginable.

“I understand.”

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #billy hargrove x you

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altumvidetur · 5 years ago

Text

MCU Daredevil: MattFoggy Fic Recs

MCU Fic Recs Masterpost

So, I was thinking about the coronavirus pandemic and what I could do to help people out. I’m isolated because I’m at higher risk, so I can’t really offer to go out for my elderly neighbors or my family… but I thought I could try to help keep people entertained.

Because I don’t have an AO3 account right now, I’ve been compiling fic recs for my own amusement for a year or so. And I thought – maybe that’s the time to share these with everyone? So everyone will have plenty of things to read while they have to stay at home, or even to escape anxiety a little bit if you’re forced to go out.

Of course, these cater to my own tastes, so you may find stuff you don’t like around here. I never include works in progress. The Mature and Explicit works will be in italic. I ask you to READ THE WORK’S TAGS before continuing, so you won’t find anything that makes you uncomfortable.

I didn’t actually watch season 3 of Daredevil, so my recs are all from before that. I still plan to watch, so please take that into account when interacting with this post!

Fitter. Happier. More Productive., by what_alchemy

Matt tries to let go. He's not too good at it.

through the bookcase, imagining a scene, by returnsandreturns

“He’s back,” Karen says, making Foggy jump and drop his armful of books. She winces and drops down immediately to help him pick them up.

“Matt?” Foggy asks. It’s an optimistic guess—there are a lot of guys who could be back, like the guy who sits in a study carrel and eats peanut butter out of a jar with his hands and Uncomfortable Religious Missionary Guy, who is actually three different guys.

“Yep,” she replies, nodding and widening her eyes when she grins. “He’s flirting with the circulation ladies, which means you’ve got just enough time to steal my shift at the reference desk before he gets there.”

The Constellation of Touch, by what_alchemy

Months after Fisk is put away, nothing's right between the partners at Nelson and Murdock. But Christmas is here, and Matt is still expected at the Nelson house.

you won’t get better till you’re worse, by annperkinsface

The road to forgiveness has a lot of vodka.

my name on your lips, by unnecessary

It starts when Matt and Marci have coffee. Then Foggy and Claire have coffee. Then Claire throws a Christmas party, and really, it isn't like Foggy means to keep almost confessing to Matt, but can anyone really blame him?

I Decided This, by patster223

“I’m contributing yet another lovely sign to our office,” Foggy says, brandishing the finished product with a flourish. Matt can’t see the sign, but he can probably sense the flourish, which is what matters. “It says, ‘It has been ‘0’ days since Matt made an idiotic decision.’”

“Doesn’t seem like it will inspire much trust from our clients.”

What the sign instead inspires: debates, understanding, a patented Murdock-level guilt trip, ice cream celebrations, a kiss, and perhaps even a way to finally move forward.

We Just Lost the Beat, by knight_tracer and lady_ragnell

Matt hears a lot in the city at night, sirens and crime--and the late-night radio show Foggy With a Chance, which sometimes runs a Daredevil Watch if he's been particularly active, but which mostly plays music. He probably shouldn't call in and request a song, but he does it anyway.

I’ll Most Likely Kill You in the Morning, by inkfingers_mcgee

Foggy and Matt never met at school. They cross paths for the first time while working opposite sides of a case, and Matt doesn't leave an impression beyond the superficial: a blind, pro-bono crusader who Foggy will feel really guilty about having to oppose in court one of these days. Seemed like a nice guy, but no one Foggy will worry about a week later.

He has more important things on his mind, like the masked vigilante who keeps cornering him in dark alleys to threaten him for information.

Touch Me, Don’t Feel Me, by fabella

Foggy struggles to navigate a casual sexual relationship with Matt after the events of season two. It's predictably complicated.

Hold Me Fast and Fear Me Not, by lady_ragnell

Something in New York has everyone walking around with iron in their pockets, and it seems like the vigilante they're calling the Devil of Hell's Kitchen is at the center of it all. Foggy knows how to steer clear of that kind of trouble, but when the Devil seeks him out, he ends up in the middle of it with him.

A Janet and Tam Lin AU.

jump, check parachute, by augustbird

Foggy Nelson: good at law, terrible at feelings.

Just Wanna Take Him Home, by lady_ragnell

Foggy mostly takes little old ladies to parties doing escort jobs, which he's fine with.

Getting hired to spend two hours hugging a lawyer is kind of a departure. He should have known it would all get complicated fast.

Daredevils Don’t Drink Decaf, by ChuckleVoodoos

“I really, really want to make a joke about bats and blindness. Will you punch me if I make a joke about bats and blindness?” Matt shakes his head, grinning. “Okay, so we’re Superspud and Blind-As-A-Batman.”

In which Foggy uses his law degree to peddle coffee to unsuspecting caffeine junkies, and Matt is his favorite customer. Who may or may not be Batman.

Say You’ll Still Be By My Side, by lady_ragnell

Bless me, Foggy, for I have sinned.

Eres Mi Grande Avocado, by ChuckleVoodoos

Matt's got this way of speaking in Spanish that's just a little different than his way of speaking in English. In English, all of Matt's words are carefully weighed and measured and cut like crystal. They're precious but planned. With Spanish, the words seem to fall like drops of liquid gold, hot and rich and wild, and it makes Foggy want to gather them to himself and finally be warm.

Gazelle, Lion, Gun, by ChuckleVoodoos

The Devil of Hell's Kitchen has got some competition. Sassy sharpshooters do not make good crime-fighting partners, except that they really do.

Dream Catcher, by ChuckleVoodoos

When Matt has nightmares, so does Foggy. Unfortunately, Matt has a lot of nightmares. Even when he's not asleep.

Or: Matt visits Foggy after the bombings, and it doesn't go well.

Red Cross, by ChuckleVoodoos

Foggy is perfectly happy being a law-abiding physician with a weakness for cupcakes.

No one else seems to understand this.

Rocky Horror Pancake Show, by ChuckleVoodoos

Foggy falls asleep at exactly 12:00 AM, and he’s making a wish. He wakes up at 12:00 AM too—twenty-four hours before he fell asleep.

"Let's do the time warp again!"

The Boxer-Puncher, by one_flying_ace

“Matt, you’re my best friend, but you’re a goddamn idiot sometimes. It’s not about you. I’m not training, I’m not looking to get in a ring or do what you do. I just wanted to know a little more.” He says it fiercely, strongly, right into Matt’s ear like that’ll get it through to him any easier. “It’s not like I’m any good at it,” he adds, which is probably a mistake.

His heartbeat definitely spikes on the lie, because Matt flinches.

if ever joy surrounds you (you have to let it), by KiaraSayre

"I mean, I did think that maybe vigilantism is actually good for you in terms of, like, self-actualization or whatever, but - have you been seeing a therapist or something? Good talks with your priest?"

(Or, it's weird how weird things aren't between Matt and Foggy. Particularly when they're talking about boners.)

That Spin I’m In, by Werelibrarian and poisonivory

"What does that mean?" Matt asks Strange.

"Well, that depends," Strange says, unfolding his legs and letting his feet touch the floor again. Matt gets the distinct impression Strange is hedging. "Are you currently suffering heartbreak?"

Matt very carefully doesn't think about Elektra. Or Karen. Or Foggy. "Let's leave my personal life out of this."

Strange clears his throat. "Yes, well, that option may no longer be on the table."

Matt really hates magic.

How Your Heart Pounds Inside Me, by poisonivory

Hiring a surrogate alpha is supposed to be the simplest way to get through a heat - and Matt doesn't want to risk his heart again, not after the last time. But nothing in Matt's life is ever simple, and when his surrogate turns up again to oppose both Matt Murdock, Attorney-at-Law and the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, it's more than just Matt's heart at risk.

Just Our Hands Clasped So Tight, by poisonivory

If there's one thing Foggy Nelson knows about Matt Murdock, it's how tactile he is.

Will You, by poisonivory

Foggy's always joking when he asks Matt to marry him. Matt's always serious when he says yes.

- OR -

Five proposals Foggy forgot, and one Matt makes sure he'll remember.

Stay In My Arms (If You Dare), by poisonivory

The Defenders are the most elite bodyguard agency in the world. When Wilson Fisk's personal attorney Foggy Nelson walks in looking for protection from a mysterious man in black, Matt Murdock is more than happy to take Mr. Nelson's safety in hand. But Nelson's guilt is hard to prove, and Matt may have gotten himself in too deep - especially once someone besides the man in black starts gunning for his client.

I Would Know You by Touch Alone, by unnecessary

It doesn’t matter if Matt has a soulmate, because if he does, it’s not Foggy.

Written for this prompt on the kink meme: “Foggy’s soulmate mark is raised birthmarks that read ‘Matt’ in Braille.”

...Aaaaaand a series within the Spider-Gwen universe:

The Lawyer All the Wickedness, by poisonivory

(Summary by me: in which Foggy is, at turns, angered, baffled and aroused by scumbag defense attorney Matt Murdock.)

#daredevil #mcu #mattfoggy #fic recs #matt murdock #foggy nelson #otp: avocados at law #please warn me if any links are broken #and reblog it if you can so more people will see it

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antihero-writings · 5 years ago

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What They Want to Believe Ch1--Tangled Varian and Quirin Fic (Full Chapter!)

Title: What They Want to Believe

Synopsis: Quirin has to find out what Varian did eventually.

(For all those who like Varian’s canon redemption, but who are looking for some more could-be-canon angst.)

Notes:

I know this idea has probably been done by someone, or perhaps many others...but I have yet to read them, and I've really wanted to write a Varian fic for a while, and this was something I thought would be really fun to expand upon (and I've really enjoyed writing it so far)!!

This chapter is supposed to take place immediately after S3 E1-2: Rapunzel's Return.

Chapter 1:

Varian breathes deep. The city air smells sweet. Sweeter now than it ever had. He forgot how much he missed the smell of flowers, and cupcakes, and new shoes.

“It’s lovely out here, isn’t it?” Rapunzel voices his thoughts, smiling at him.

“Beats being in a cell, I’ll give you that.” Varian tries to joke, to fight the lump rising in his throat. “Anything beats Andrew’s all-natural scent, that’s for sure.”

She tries to smile too.

He looks away. He isn’t quite sure how to act around her now. She had forgiven him; they’d saved the kingdom together, even. She hadn’t sent him back to his cell afterwards…not that they’d talked about it.

Should he pretend like it never happened? That he’s always been just another law-abiding citizen, just the alchemist in Old Corona, that kid who caused a lot of little—well, sometimes big—unintentional mishaps… not the villain who tried to overthrow the kingdom…even if it’s not true?

Or should they confront it, admit that he spent the last year in a cell, because he’d done terrible things—that he’d try to kill her, her friends and family?

But if they confronted it, admitted it…what would happen? Would that remind her of all the reasons not to trust him, all the reasons she should throw him back into that cell after all?

Something moves in the corner of his eye, and he turns to see Old Lady Crowley fluffing out a sheet, giving him the evil eye all the while.

She does that to everyone, he tells the thing that pangs inside him.

As they continue their stroll through the city streets, Varian notices she isn’t the only one with less-than-cordial looks for him.

Feldspar slams his door when they walk by.

…Maybe he had a shoe-related emergency?

There’s a woman who ducks into an alley with her baby, a kid who gasps and gets out of the way.

He turns again, and Monty is at their side. He is the first to actually speak;

“You know, you’ve got some nerve to show your face around here.”

Rapunzel taps her foot impatiently. “Well excuuuse me for wanting to—!”

“No—though I’ll admit it’s a shocker—not you;” he brandishes his frosting-clad spatula from her to Varian, “him.”—the alleged ‘him’s eyes widen—“Since when are you two all cookies-and-cream again? Didn’t he try to kill you?”

“‘Kill’ is a strong word,” Rapunzel tries to laugh, looking away, her smile twisting a little.

“What word would use for it?” he folds his arms over his chest.

“Umm…” Rapunzel flicks the frosting her off her dress. “Not ‘kill’ that’s for sure...More like uhh…” She turns to the alchemist, and he doesn’t dare return her gaze, for fear of what he’ll find there.

“I was just trying to save my dad—”

“So you didn’t send a monster into the city?” A woman calls.

“Uh, well,” he rubs the back of his neck, “that was more of a diversion really—”

“A diversion so you could kidnap the Queen!” this is the first raised voice, raised fist, coming from behind him.

He turns to see they’ve accumulated something of a crowd.

“Yeah!” another voice speaks from behind them, “How can you let someone like him still walk free?! People have been killed for less!”

“Hey, listen!” Rapunzel steps in front of him, “He may have made some misguided decisions, but he’s not some monster! We all make mistakes sometimes!”

“He may not be a monster, but what do you call the thing he sent into the city?!”

“And how do you explain the automatons?!”

“Or how he stole the sun flower!”

“From the royal vault no less!”

“Or how he hurt the captain?!”

“It could have been much worse!”

“What if he had killed someone?!”

“He needs to be punished!”

“Locked up!”

“He’s a traitor!”

“Yeah, a traitor!”

“Traitor!”

The accusations blend together into some sick smoothie of sound, a dull ringing fault-line.

The clouds are rolling in too grey, too fast. His whole world is turning monochrome.

“I can’t believe you let him go, after everything he did to you.” Eugene crosses his arms, glaring at him like he’s the wrong size nose on a wanted poster.

“Eugene!” Varian tries to move towards him, to plead with him, but he bumps into Lance, whose arms are folded, face set.

“Where do you think you’re going, little man?”

“I just—”

I need to think. I need to figure this out. To do something. I need to get out of here. I need to find my dad.

“Tch, you know, if it were me,” Cassandra leans against a building, her face half hidden in shadow—Where is she now? Why didn’t she come back with them?— “I’d leave him to rot with the rest of the criminals.”

“No, Cassie…”

—Something is wrong, something is wrong, they just don’t want to tell me—

But, worse than all this, another voice breaks through the throng.

“Varian…is all this true?”

And this voice doesn’t shout. Doesn’t accuse. Doesn’t scorn. It isn’t even angry, just…disappointed. So very disappointed.

“Dad…” the word falls pitifully to the stones, like a child who dropped his ice cream, and I will make you proud rings through his head like a death knell.

At first Varian doesn’t turn to face him, just stands there, staring at the ground, trying to formulate words that will explain what happened, without neutralizing his ‘I’m so proud of you’ that he had given earlier. But words aren’t like numbers, they don’t follow rules, they twist and writhe, and never do what they’re told. So he just stands there, words failing him, mouth hanging open like a creaky door.

Then he does lift his head, and Quirin isn’t incased in amber. He’s alive, out, and safe, but Varian almost selfishly wishes he was still in the amber, because then he wouldn’t have to bear this look in his father’s eyes, the look that makes him want to shrivel up like a worm in the sun.

Rapunzel. He has to get back to Rapunzel. Rapunzel won’t judge him. Won’t say he needs to be punished. She forgave him. She’ll explain everything to them. Rapunzel, Rapunzel give me your strength. Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your defense.

Having lost her in the crowd, he casts his gaze, like a fishing line, from one side to the other. He gets a bite; his eyes land upon her, between Xavier and a Pete, her back turned.

He runs to her.

“Rapunzel!” he calls, reaching out.

But the moment he touches her, a stain starts to spread along her hair, like it’s a squid he scared. But the ink spill doesn’t stop; like the best of plagues, it keeps spreading, until she’s nothing but a blotch on the world.

As the golden strands dim to black they break their bonds, becoming a living thing with tentacles and a bone to pick with the pirates who dared cross its waters.

She turns to him, and the ink has stained her gaze too; her eyes are nothing but caverns in the surface of her face now; a layer of the sea no one dares enter, for there are things with teeth down there.

“R-Rapunzel?” his voice isn’t so sure-footed, isn’t so certain it’s the right name.

She takes a step forward, her bare foot against the stones, and he takes a step back in this dance, because she doesn’t look like she’s going to defend him, in fact, if he didn’t know better, he’d think she was going to attack him too—

“Wither and decay” her voice is not the bright, not gentle, not kind. “End this destiny”

“Rapunzel—It’s me!” and now his voice is sure, pleading.

He continues backing up, trying to get away, but he’s bumps into a wall of people, and when he looks up at their leering faces, he sees that their eyes are black too.

That sends him recoiling back into the center of the circle with the moon-struck sundrop, who continues chanting;

“Break these Earthly chains”

She doesn’t belong to the sun anymore. She’s a thing of moon and shadow.

On “chains” her blackened hair, of its own accord, snaps around his arms and torso like he’s the offending ship, and it’ll bend him till he breaks.

“Rapunzel! Please!” he shouts, “It’s me, Varian! I-I’m your friend!” but the last three words are cracking gasps, because something is infecting his lungs; something very cold is reaching into the center of his chest, a living emptiness, sucking away, feeding off, all the light and life in him. His chest is stinging, aching, burning—

“And set the spirit free.”

This is more than just heartache. Decay is eating at his body, corroding it away like acid.

And the alchemist can do nothing but watch as the black eats him alive; his lungs collapsing in on themselves, like his breath was built on sand—(but it feels like he’s breathing too much)—gripping his heart, digging in like needles—(but it feels like it’s beating too fast)—wrapping around his hands, his feet and unraveling them into strings of lifeless flesh.

He reaches out with breathless voice and lifeless hands to the only person whose voice never raised throughout this affair, who never insulted him, whose gaze has not been doused in moonless night, the one for whom all this was done:

“Dad! Dad help me!” The words are swallowed by the black in his throat.

Quirin turns away.

And as it devours him—

There’s a ceiling above him, a bed below him, a nightlight made of glowing tubes beside him.

He’s still alive—a little too alive; sitting bolt upright in bed, breath heavy and gasping on his chest, sweat dripping down his face, beneath his clothes, as if he really was in some epic sea battle, still able to taste the end of those last words on awake lips.

It takes a moment for reality to tie its strings around him, pull him back to the ground again, for his breath to deepen, and his mind to clear. For him to realize that this is, in fact, his room, not a city road, or a cell, and he is a fourteen-year-old-boy again; an alchemist, a son, a friend, a kid…not a villain, a criminal, or a prisoner. Not anymore.

He grimaces, bringing his knees up and hugging them, burying his face in them, like he always did when these sorts of things plagued him in his cell, and he had no dad to run to. He has his dad back to run to now…but he can’t go to him, not anymore, not about this.

Maybe he isn’t anymore, but he was once; all the things the dreamified versions of his friends accused him of were true. …And his half awake brain wonders if they really thought those things, beneath it all.

He had hoped, if and when he was free from prison, and better yet, forgiven, that he would be free of these villainous dreams too.

Ruddiger chitters from the bed beside him, pawing at his hand.

He must have hoped the nightmares would stop too.

“I’m okay, Ruddiger,” he says softly. “I just—”

Is he?

Because it isn’t over. Not really. Not enough.

He had his father back, yes. He was out of prison. Yes. And Rapunzel had forgiven him, and, as, it seemed, did the rest of her gang—(“Where’s Cass?” He’d asked once all the kingdom-saving was over, and he’d scanned the group, and found an empty slot in the lineup. Eugene said they’d tell him later, when everything was more settled…and Varian didn’t much like the sound of that)—Yes. But that didn’t mean everyone else did.

It didn’t mean the King and Queen did. When their memories were restored, what would they think? What would they do when they saw the kid who kidnapped the Queen, tried to kill their citizens and princess, who they’d locked up, running about? What could he say?

Oh, hi, remember me? You know, the kid who kidnapped you and threatened your daughter? The one who sent a monster and a bunch of automatons to cause havoc to your kingdom, and endanger the lives of your subjects? Yeah, that’s me. It’s all good now. Would you like a cookie?

They didn’t come into the kingdom, or the dungeon, often, so they weren’t liable to notice right away when their memories did return…but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t. And when they did…what if they didn’t believe Rapunzel, or him? What if they sent him back to that cell? Would he have to spend the rest of his days sitting with Andrew and his equally-all-natural-scented cronies? Would he grow up with three walls and some bars for a teacher? Never to use alchemy again, never to see his dad again, never to eat a good meal, or smell the flowers, or kiss a girl…

And then there was the question using the back of his mind as a chew toy: What will dad think?

Varian would do everything in his power to hide it—sweep the subject under beds and rugs and opportunely-placed cabinets—but he was bound to clean up eventually.

And… what would Quirin do then? Would he look at him as he had in the dream? Would he take back the ‘I’m proud of you’ that Varian did all those horrible things just to hear? Would he hate him? Punish him? Kick him out? Send him back to that cell himself?

Of course he will. How could he ever be proud of you after he learns everything you’ve done? His mind taunts.

He had said as much to Rapunzel. “If he knew all the things I’d done, well he’d be ashamed.”

With nothing but walls, bars, and a bunch of separatists for company, he had rehearsed the words he’d say to her so many times in his head. It started with ‘I don’t need your help Princess!’ to ‘Rapunzel I…Well, it doesn’t matter.’ then ‘I…I didn’t mean it, you know that, right?’ then after a few more drafts it became something full of tears and—‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry Rapunzel…I didn’t mean to hurt you, I didn’t mean to hurt anybody…I just wanted to make my dad proud, but I know he won’t be anymore, I know he won’t, I know, I’m such an idiot, I know, I know—‘ And finally it was what he had actually said—with his heart hammering in his throat.

Her acceptance of his words, of him, had been sheer relief. Saving the kingdom never felt so good.

Yet at the same time, that idea that Quirin would be ashamed hadn’t changed just because Rapunzel had forgiven him. Just because his father was out of the amber, and Varian was out of prison, didn’t mean everything he’d done to get his father out, everything that had got him into prison, was erased. He was still going to learn all the things his screw-up-of-a-son did.

It was bad enough when his experiments failed. When Dad walked in to see acid steaming on the walls, and burns on his son’s forearms. He knew how all-too-often his dad was a having a perfectly pleasant, normal, non-stress-inducing day, when he heard explosions coming from his son’s room.

And having to tell him was almost always worse. Having to tell him how he may or may not have set the Goslicks prized chicken on fire, and well needless to say it wasn’t going to be so prized anymore… How they’d have to stay with friends for three to five days, because the gas steaming from the lab wasn’t exactly the intended effect...Or why the town’s water supply mysteriously found itself pink and tasting of croissants…Standing there with his insides writhing, awaiting his punishment, or simply having to live with the look of disappointment on his face, was always worse than how it felt to actually make the mistake.

This was more than a few accidental side effects. This was something he did on purpose. Something he actually deserved to be punished for, not just with a reprimand, or a time out, or spanking from his father, but with actual prison time from the king.

Which would be worse? Dad finding out somehow…or the thought of having to tell him himself?

How would that even go anyways?

“Well dad, while you were in the amber I…did some stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah, stuff…” and he’d cough the next few words into his sleeve “crimes, acts of treason...whatever you wanna call it. You know that sundrop flower everyone always talks about? I may or may not have uhh borrowed it.”

“Borrowed?”

“Borrowed, stolen, let’s not go into semantics here.”

“Wait,” he’d wave his hands and put one on his forehead, “You’re not actually telling me you stole from the king—” And he’d stand, all menacing.

“Yeah, you might wanna stay sitting down for this,”—Varian would look away, backing up, rubbing the back of his neck nervously—“it’s a long story, and not exactly the standing-up kind.”

“Varian—” He wouldn’t sit down, in fact he’d keep marching towards him.

“I-I thought it would help you b-break out of the amber.”Varian would stumble in both words and action, and the thought of meeting his eyes would be pure torture. “I-I thought I could if I could just get my hands on the sundrop I could—”—and he’s speaking too fast, too loud now— “I could…I-I thought…I just…”—and then, the next second too slow, too soft—“I thought…” And then the words would trail off, excuses falling limp and lifeless in his mouth as the truth caught up with him.

Even in his rehearsal he couldn’t finish the idea. Couldn’t let his father get a word in edgewise, because if he did…

Either option sounded like an evil mastermind’s best torture plan. Yeah, no matter how many times Quirin taught him it was best to tell the truth, he would never bring himself to say that to him.

His father’s pride was all that mattered, the thought of losing it…

He throws his legs over the side of the bed, letting the static in his eyes scatter before standing. He glances out the window at the navy sky injected with orange, but morningless still.

He grabs his goggles and apron, Ruddiger at his his heels as he heads downstairs to his lab, doing what he always does when he stressed…well, when he’s in any mood really: alchemy.

It was strange to see this place without the amber. It golden tower had become a permanent decoration, a reminder of how alchemy had failed him, how he had failed his father… a sort of dark promise.

He and Rapunzel hit reset…yet he couldn’t return to how things were before the storm so easily as she could.

He pulls on his gloves and goggles, his thoughts still churning.

When Dad found out…would he send him back to prison? The people of Corona could shout all they wanted, but they didn’t have the authority to send him back there.

But his dad…He could punish him, could turn him in. Varian forgot what it was, but he had once taken one of Quirin’s things and tried to experiment on it…and he quite clearly remembered sitting outside in the rain without dinner that night. What would he do when he learned he’d kidnapped the Queen, sent a monster after the citizens, and automatons after his friends? Dads should punish their kids when they steal cookies, much less kidnap queens and threaten princesses. They should teach their kids to rescue princesses from towers, and damsels in distress, without accepting so much as a kiss as payment, and always abide by, and uphold, the law.

His eyes fall upon a book on his desk.

It was funny really. Varian loved the tales of Flynn Rider; this hero who always defeated the villains and saved the day.

And here he was, the bad guy. Just like the ones who Flynn had to use his wit and sword skills to defeat.

The baddies’ motives always seemed so ridiculous in the past; taking over the world, leveling cities for the sake of scorned love, destroying kingdoms for the sake of a grudge…

The beaker he’s holding slips from his grasp. Ruddiger catches it with his tail before it hits the ground.

“Thanks buddy,” he takes it back from him.

He holds up the beaker his reflection distorted in the glass.

The villain.

The word burns like bile at the back of his brain.

The thought of his dad seeing him like that, not just with disappointment in his eyes, but as a criminal, a traitor, a villain, for all the things he did to save him…

“Varian—”

Varian gasps, fumbling again, but this time he manages to catch it, “Dad! Hey!” he sets the beaker down, turning to him, “Hi! It’s good—good to see you! Good morning!”

Quirin smiles as he walks into the lab, yawning and stretching. “I feel like I’ve been asleep for years.”

“Well, to be fair, you, uhh, almost have.” Varian pulls his goggles onto his head.

“How long was I out for, again?”

“Uhh…ehh I don’t know, I mean, it’s all kind of a blur—”

—He tries not to think of tallymarks on prison walls—

His father grunts in response, walking around the lab, looking at all the writings on these walls. The same ones left over from all those months long ago—those months when he would do anything to get him out—collecting dust, and the new ones for the Saporians. Varian sidesteps over to the worst ones, hiding them behind his back.

“You discover any new elements while I was out?” he asks, half-jokingly.

“Oh…uhh…” he rubs the back of his neck, chuckling nervously, “N-Nah. I was kinda…uhh…preoccupied…”

Quirin’s expression shifts, the smile fading. He steps up to his son—who stares at him, and for a second, something fearful in Varian wonders if he’s onto him—but then Quirin leans forward and wraps him into a bone-cracking hug.

Varian’s eyes widen in surprise, but he lifts his arms and returns the gesture, squeezing tightly, smiling.

This was the thing he missed most; not the smell of flowers and cupcakes, not good food, or alchemy, not even Rapunzel’s everlasting smiles….his dad’s hugs.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Quirin sighs, “That must have been very difficult for you,” Quirin murmurs into his ear, “having to make it all on your own.”—Varian’s eyes widen again, but this time it doesn’t turn into a smile— “I’m so sorry you had to go through that…And I’m so proud that you made it through.” He brushes his hand through his hair.

When he releases him, Varian looks from his father to ground, smiling sheepishly, brushing the hair from his eyes, unsure what to say.

“I’m here if you ever want to talk about anything.”

“Oh—Yeah—Thanks—Well—”

“Of course—” Quirin clarifies, “you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’m just saying, I’m here if you ever do.”

“Thanks.” He tries to smile.

There’s an awkward pause, then Quirin turns to leave, “I’ll let you get back to it—”

“Wait, dad,” Varian grabs his arm, “I was thinking…maybe we could spend some time together today? You know, like a father-son-day…thing?”

“I’d love to, Varian,” he puts his hand on his cheek, “but…as I have been, uhh, out of commission, for a long time, I really must get back to my duties. You know, become reacquainted with the town and what’s going on.”

“Oh…Oh! Yeah, right, of course. Psh,” he waves his hand, “It wasn’t that big a deal anyways.”

“You’re welcome to come along, if you like.”

Varian contemplates it. From experience these sorts of trips around town were pretty boring; mostly discussing how well crops were growing, and if anybody needed help repairing their house and whatnot, and Varian’s alchemical solutions were more often than not brushed aside...But he does want to spend time with his dad, not to mention the fact that there would probably be a number of things in town still in need of repairing, whose circumstances Varian wouldn’t exactly want explained to his dad…

“Sure, I’d love to.”

“Wonderful.” He smiles.

“I’ll meet you out there in just a minute.”

Quirin nods, making his way up the stairs.

Varian turns to clean up his work station but does so too quickly, accidentally knocking the beaker to the ground at last, it shattering with a puff of blue smoke, the contents spilling out, his hand hanging uselessly in the air, reaching towards it.

Ruddiger bounds over to it to help clean up. After they finish, the raccoon sits on his back legs, cocking his head to the side, chittering worriedly.

“It’s okay, buddy.” He smiles.

The Raccoon still looks worried.

“I’m okay.”

…Is he?

29 notes · View notes

yoonseoksoftie · 5 years ago

Text

catching feelings.

› pairing: min yoongi x reader › word count: 2.8k › tags: idol!yoongi | fluff | angst | best friends to lovers › summary: ❝ falling in love? amazing. falling in love with your childhood best friend? not so much. ❞ › a/n: i found this draft in my docs and i decided to finished it, hope you guys like it! feedback is welcomed!

You poke at the noodles encased inside the white cardboard box with your chopsticks, gathering a hefty amount before shoving them in your mouth, savoring the taste of the greasy food with every bite of your teeth. Your best friend sits in front of you, clad in an oversized black hoodie and matching sweatpants, gazing at your not so cute stuffed noodle cheeks.

After receiving an email informing that your afternoon classes had been canceled, you texted Yoongi at the speed of light. He replied instantly to meet him at his studio after dance practice was over, which is why you are sitting cross-legged on the bare floor, surrounded by takeout boxes, a bottle of wine, and an ongoing episode of The Peaky Blinders.

“Can I help you?” you mumble around a mouthful of noodles, eyebrow raised, after you feel him look at you for a second longer than normal. His laser-like eyes turn your face a cherry color.

He only chuckles, returning to his rice whilst shaking his head, a semblance of a smile adorning his lips, like he is in on a joke you are not a part of. He fishes out a few pieces of meat and places them in your cup with his chopsticks.

“Eat up,” he motions.

“I will,” you assert, taking a few pieces of spiced chicken from a separate takeout dish and placing it on his rice bowl. “If you do too.”

Lately, you’ve noticed, everything you do with Yoongi has become a tit for tat game. He isn’t an aware participant but you’re an avid player. You’ve become fixated with every gesture he makes, too unsure if it’s something more or him simply being himself. Every time he takes a step, you move forward to meet him. It makes you wonder when you forgot Yoongi was your best friend since you were in elementary and before he became the renowned rapper, Suga.

How quickly you’ve forgotten that you promised to stay best friends forever. The promise seems to slip your mind every time he is around, which is usually most of the time. A simple touch, such as his hand on your knee has all different type of forbidden thoughts rushing through your head. Thoughts that a best friend shouldn’t, under no circumstances, have for her best friend. The worst part of it all is that Yoongi does not show any sign of feeling that way towards you.

Hand holding, late-night drives, napping together, everything is completely platonic and it is driving you mad because these are things that you could easily do in the past with no lingering thoughts of hidden meaning.

The both of you even made a pact on Christmas Eve to be each other's soulmates—which could be considered romantic if you hadn’t sealed the promise with friendship bracelets. The subject of expanding your friendship beyond anything platonic has never surfaced and you don’t know how to bring it up without confessing your undying love for him.

You sigh and stab a piece of meat through the center with your chopsticks, munching on it forcefully.

“Wow,” Yoongi lets out, an amused smile dancing on his lips. “What that poor cow ever do to you besides provide you with nutritional value?”

You level him a playful glare and stab a bigger piece of meat before downing it with even more strength, opting for a jokeful evasion to hide the friendship ending truth.

He laughs at your wrathful antics and digs into his chicken.

You fall into a comfortable silence and enjoy Thomas Shelby’s bad decision-making skills for a couple of minutes before he speaks once more, “Penny for your thoughts?”

His soft and curious words make the already alert alarms in your head ring with ferocity. Penny for your thoughts? He could pay you his entire bank account and you’d still remain silent. But, it is part of your game and you can’t refuse unless you want to come off as suspicious.

As children, when either one of you wanted to talk about something but didn’t have the guts to put it into words, you would play the penny for your thoughts game. The game allowed the two of you to have full transparency, without repercussions. At first, it was a simple game, nothing too serious.

But later, Yoongi set a ground-rule.

“All thoughts must be honest,” he conferred, raising his pointer finger in front of his slender chest. “Specifics are not a must given that it’s a safe space, but honesty is the one and only rule. Failure to abide by this rule will result in friendship termination.”

You had laughed when he first mentioned it, but shook his lissom hand in agreement regardless and obeyed the rule diligently.

Until now.

You make a gesture to show that you’ll answer his question once you are done chewing and quickly think of a way to best word your response without letting him know the truth.

“Hmm,” you pucker your lips and pretend to be in deep thoughts before slowly easing out a bit of the truth. “I want to change an aspect of my life but, I am afraid of doing so because I don’t think I can face the consequences if my… change is not successful.”

“Oh?” Yoongi’s brows rise in curiosity. “What is it that you want to change?”

His words are both a reassurance and a concern.

A reassurance because his curiosity proves that he is unaware of your feelings and a concern because he may not have any romantic feelings for you and you might have to resort to lying.

You weight your options.

Oh, the Shakespearean tragedy of it all, to confess or not to confess.

There are many alternatives for how this can turn out. Maybe he’ll understand where your feelings are coming from, and he’ll know that you mean no harm. Years of knowing someone and sharing life-altering experiences with them have a tendency of changing the way your heart reacts to them.

But understanding and accepting are two very different things.

Emotions are very complex, they sneak up into your heart and if they are not explained correctly they have the potential of endangering years of precious friendship with no regard as to how you might feel about it.

It was never your goal to fall in love with your best friend. All you ever wanted was to watch him succeed and create fun and memorable moments with him but the lines between friendship and romance somehow got blurry and you found yourself treading on very dangerous territory.

You don’t trust yourself enough to speak, so you opt for a sip of wine and pretend to pay attention to Polly scolding the Shelby brothers for the nth time.

Yoongi cocks his head to the side and you can feel the heat of his stare as he analyzes every inch of your face. You busy yourself with your food, finding the colorful mixture of vegetables inside the different bowls completely fascinating. Who would’ve thought vegetables could be so interesting.

“Hey,” He lets out softly, “look at me, sweetheart.”

His words have you tipping over the edge.

The past few months have been the most difficult of your life, and the waterfall in your eyes is pushing against your eyelids but you ram up walls around them to prevent the tears from leaking. You don’t look at him, focusing your eyes everywhere but on him. A familiar warmth spreads through your ankle and you’re too weak to fight against it. Yoongi’s hand is wrapped around your ankle and he’s unfolding your leg, placing your foot on his lap.

“Talk to me, love.”

When you fail to answer, he takes your big toe between his thumb and index finger and pulls on it, his touch burning you despite the thick material of your sock standing in between his hand and your skin.

“Talk to me,” he moves on to your next finger, pulling on it before uttering softly, “Let me help you.”

You only manage to shake your head, words failing you. The frown on his brow and the deep concern pooling inside his chocolate eyes are killing you. You’re an idiot. There’s a lump in your throat and you’re afraid it will be the end for you. You had one job, and that was to be the best best friend he could ever have, instead, you broke that promise and potentially ruined your friendship.

“We’ve been the best of friends for years,” he muses, he’s stopped pulling on your toes and is now running his thumbs along the sole of your foot. “You know me like the back of your hand and I know you inside and out. There’s nothing you could ever say that would sway my opinion of you, you know that, right?”

His words are a double-edged sword.

“I know,” you offer quietly. “I would never hide anything from you on purpose.”

“Yet, here we are,” he sighs. “You know I’m going to find out soon enough, right?”

You groan and throw your head back, letting it rest on the edge of his couch.

“Why can’t you pretend for one second that you don’t know me that all?”

He shakes his head, eyes serious. “And give up the privilege of knowing you? Not an option, sweetheart.”

You’re about to burst and he’s the only one that you can run to and confide in but doing so will ruin over five years of friendship and you don’t think you can afford to do that. Losing him will be like losing an extension of yourself. He’s been with you for so long, you don’t think you can function without him.

“It’s your turn, penny for your thoughts.”

You’re bluffing and he knows it but he humors you.

“Is it really my turn?”

You nod.

“Very well,” he says. “I’m thinking, that your Spiderman socks are so incredibly sexy, I’m having a hard time keeping it together.”

You kick him and try to free your leg from his torturing grasp.

He laughs and tightens his grip.

God, you love him. You love how easy it is to be around him. Everything is so effortless when he’s around. You slump against the couch.

“C’mon,” you whine. “I’m serious.”

“Me too.”

You laugh again, “Yoongi.”

A moment of silence passes between the two of you before he speaks. His words are serious and gentle like he’s trying to get a wounded animal to trust him. “I think I know what’s going on.”

The laughter dies in your throat.

You look at your foot and then at the door. Making a break for it would be too hard, he’ll catch you before you even stand up. He squeezes your foot and you know he’s already caught up to your plan. You don’t have much of a choice but to stay and face the consequences.

“You do?” you mumble softly, playing with your fingers.

You can’t bear to look at him, not when you’ve fucked up your entire friendship.

He hums and it is a solitary sound. That small sound sets your nerves on edge because you know that hum. You’ve heard it plenty of times before, when you’re playing a game and he figures out how to beat you, when you’re playing a trick on him and he catches up on your mischief, when you say you won’t buy him a gift for his birthday if he keeps annoying you.

It’s his knowing hum.

You can’t believe you were stupid enough to think he would never find out. Stupid enough to believe you could hide from the person that knows you the best in the world.

The tears begin spelling before you can even piece the letters together to form a proper apology.

“I—I’m so sorry,” you blurt out. “I n—never meant for this to hap—”

Your apology is interrupted by the rustling of paper bags and the dragging of cardboard. When you look up, you find Yoongi sitting right in front you and you forget how to breathe. He takes your hands in his and places a gentle kiss over your knuckles.

Yeah, you’ve definitely forgotten how to breathe.

“The rule of honesty has been broken,” he begins, his eyes are pensive and the pads of his finger wipe your tears away. “And by law, I have to terminate this friendship.”

The pieces of your heart that were hanging from their hinges are now completely shattered, and it is all your fault. The look in his eyes is too much to bear so you close your eyes, deciding you will take his last words to you as a coward.

“I’ve lied to you and for that I am sorry.”

Your eyes snap open.

Lying? Sorry? What has he been lying about? What is he sorry for? His words do not make sense to you, it’s as if he’s trying to solve a literary question with a math equation. The world is moving too fast and you’re behind, unable to catch up.

“W—what?”

He’s looking down at your joint hands.

“I had no idea my silence was causing you so much pain,” he’s frowning now, eyes burning, he licks his lips. “I’m so sorry sweetheart, had I known I would have spoken earlier.”

All you can manage to do is stare. At his eyes, his lips, his nose, his hands.

“If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I would gladly like to begin a new kind of relationship with you.”

Your heart is raising, your blood is pumping at one hundred miles per hour, and your body is on fire. His words are like a broken record player inside your mind. Your love for him is tunneling through you, digging holes in your heart and filling them up with memories of him.

A new kind of relationship, could he mean—? No, that can’t be.

“Yoongi—”

He shakes his head, silently asking you to let him speak.

“You have been my best friend for a very long time. You were with me on the day I auditioned for BigHit and you have been by my side ever since, never once giving up on me. And I know I can be a hardass sometimes but—” he shakes his head and chuckles. “What I’m trying to say is that I love you and that you’re my best friend, my partner in crime and in life. The best damn thing that has happened to me.”

He stops, takes a deep breath, and looks you in the eye.

“I’m in love with you. I have been in love with you for a very long time and I have denied the feeling in my heart because I was too afraid to lose you and I thought I was doing you a favor by not telling you but now I see that you’ve been hurting because of my mistake and I—”

“You’re in love with me?”

The sky is falling and you’re waiting for it to land over your head because there is no way he just said what you think he said. Your best friend just admitted to being in love with you.

He nods, his cheeks are a light pink and he’s biting the inside of his cheek.

You lurch forward and wrap your arms around him. Without a second thought, he pulls you onto his lap and grabs onto your hips, pressing you against him until you’re chest to chest.

“You’re such an idiot Min Yoongi,” you poke his side, smiling. “But it’s okay because I’m an idiot too, I guess you can say we’re a pair of idiots.”

“Say it,” he cradles one of your cheeks in his big hand, running his thumb over your bottom lip.

You press a kiss to the pad of his thumb before saying, “I’m in love with you, Min Yoongi.”

He closes his eyes and presses his forehead to yours.

“One more time, sweetheart.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“Let me kiss you,” he begs, his eyes are locked on yours and you’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

You nod, feeling brave.

He angles your face with his large hand and you see his eyes flutter shut before he is pressing his soft lips to yours. You run your hands through his hair, feeling the soft locks in between your fingers. His lips mold with yours and you move at the same pace, exploring each other's mouths in peace. The kiss is gentle and slow but there is no uncertainty. You don’t think you’ve ever been kissed like this before.

He tastes of red wine and Yoongi, what an awfully good combination.

You pull away from each other slowly and he's smiling. The biggest gummy smile you have ever seen envelops his entire face and you’ve never been more enamored by it.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he fixes a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, his eyes are bright and he’s glowing. “I’m in love with my best friend and she’s in love with me.”

You nestle your face against his shoulder. “God, you’re such an idiot.”

“Maybe, but I’m your idiot.”

184 notes · View notes

hes-writer · 6 years ago

Text

A Cheat IV (alt ending)

An alternate ending to A Cheat series where they end up together.

Summary: Harry regrets his actions and Y/N forgives

Warnings: slight angst, fluff

Word count: 1.5k

Based on: a happy ending for Harry and y/n!!

@ynm1505 @imamahems4life

After a few months of separation from the one and only Harry Styles, did Y/N ever move on from him? Yes and no. She was slowly coming out of the shell that Harry catapulted her into because of his self-destructing actions but was also more cautious of anything and everything. Each person she meets had to pass her hierarchal exam where she observed if that person was worth Y/N sharing her past with. Having a relationship with a pop star certainly abided more people her way, most of them being fake and only mean to use her to get closer to Harry. Even when he wasn’t around anymore, he was still influencing her to act on things with him in mind.

And no, she wasn’t getting over him because it was more of like a seesaw progress, she kept going back and forth between being over him and missing him too much that she really doesn’t consider herself to be over over, you know? She has gone on dates after him, there were some really great guys out there and she felt a connection between maybe two guys, but there wasn’t any sparkle—at least not the one she and Harry had. Although she felt excited going on a date with Alan from time to time, she didn’t exactly feel as thrilled as she was with Harry. She didn’t feel exhilarated with anybody else (thus far) and she was agitated at herself. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t seem to get him out of her thoughts. Just seeing an apron reminded her of him and how he ‘used to be a baker’. Y/N was annoyed.

Speaking of Alan, he had admitted his feelings for Y/N a while back adding on that it was okay if she didn’t feel the same. After all, it was worth a shot. And trust her, she strained her beliefs to tell herself that maybe she could like Alan, see him in a different way other than a best friend type of thing. She’s still trying her absolute hardest and Alan understood that. Feelings don’t just change in an instant –even though it was more than six months since that happened. She scolds herself sometimes when she’s alone because Alan is such a good guy and he’s perfect for her, but she can’t seem to give her heart away—because Harry still has it.

So they’ve been exclusive for a few weeks, Y/N was testing the waters, going deeper and deeper to see how far she can go before she cowers back in complete abandonment of a new relationship. Her heart was light, she had forgiven Harry for cheating on her. She was personally really really happy and maybe it’s got to do with the fact that she hasn’t seen him face-to-face ever since, but it’s almost as if she has put it behind her. Y/N was rejuvenating herself, as silly as it sounds, in the best way she knew how. That was by throwing away all the negativity and only focusing on the positive. Y/N didn’t like cheaters but she also wasn’t very fond of holding grudges. She believes that people could change with time and six months is a long time for Harry to reflect on his past.

—–

Alan and Y/N decided to go grocery shopping to bake some cupcakes. At times, there were some paparazzi who still deem her important that they felt the need to photograph her whereabouts, even though she’ll probably end up on a postage-sized column on the paper. Not to put herself down, but she was an ordinary girl and she wasn’t dating Harry anymore so she didn’t understand why they still correlated her to him.

“Okay so I just ran out of flour so I’m gonna get that,” Y/N hums as she directs Alan what to get. “I’ll get the dry ingredients and you can get the icing, eggs, vanilla, all the sweet stuff, yeah?”

“Yup! I got it, holler at me if you need me to reach something from the top shelf,” He winks at Y/N knowing that standing on her tippy toes wasn’t enough to grab the bag of powder.

She slaps his arm slightly, amused at his joke and playing offended because of his height shaming.

“Pffft, watch me do this on my own,”

He rolls his eyes before walking away, clutching his stomach from laughing too much.

——

“Baking powder, check. Baking soda, check. Icing sugar, check. Ooh, flour!” She gasps, halting. She can’t believe that she almost forgot the flour.

There was only one thing that stood between her and delicious cupcake making and that was the shelf. She could see the yellow bag towering over her, tilting a bit as if to tease her for not having enough height to reach it. She huffs, going on her tiptoes even though she knows she won’t even come close.

Y/N stresses to put her hands on her hips, mouth opening to do a small whisper-shout for Alan but before she could, a gruff voice comes to her aid.

“Need help?”

She turns around, mouth dropping open in surprise. She had to grasp the shopping cart handles to steady herself from a heart attack she felt upon seeing her ex-boyfriend, Harry.

“Oh, hi! Yes, please,” she feels herself do an awkward wave, giggling uncomfortably.

He slowly walks over to where she was reaching for the flour. His large hand easily grabs hold of the item, handing it to her.

“Here ya’ go,” Harry delivers her a charming smile and she swore her heart just melted.

Funnily enough, this wasn’t how she pictured seeing Harry again. And this wasn’t how she imagined feeling. It was like seeing an old friend after a long time; relived and joyful to see them glowing. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ears, looking down at the tips of her shoes, unsure of what to say to him.

“I’ve missed you. Can we tal–,” Harry begins.

“I didn’t hear any hollering so I’m guessing you got it all by yourself, little Y/N,” Alan strolls over to her isle, not noticing Harry’s figure and gives a light rub on her head messing up her hair. She pouts at him, mentally counting the items in his arms to see if he got everything.

“No, no–uh, Harry helped me,” She gestures towards Harry, fingers attaching themselves to the back of her neck.

Harry gives a polite wave and a nod, Alan shifts his glance towards him lips set firmly in a thin line.

“Ahh, Styles what are you doing here?”

Harry lifts his cart; “I’m shopping,”

There was a silence between the three, Y/N not knowing what to say.

“Actually, Y/N can I talk to you?” Harry questions her, hoping that she’d let him. Y/N nods, but Alan stays planted on the spot beside her. “Alone?”

She turns to Alan whispering something in his ear and he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.

“You sure?” Alan looks deeply into her eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort. She nods again.

Harry raises his brow and Y/N nods to signal that she was ready when he was. He starts walking towards a different aisle, expecting Y/N to follow him. Just before she could take a step, Alan calls her name softly, vulnerable.

“You still love him don’t you?”

Y/N tries to stall her answer but inevitably nods. He deserves to know the truth, even when it hurts. Alan sighs.

“Yes, I do. I’m sorry, Al”

“It’s okay, Y/N. You can’t control your feelings,” He pats her shoulder, seeing Harry stop and turn around when he realized that Y/N wasn’t following him from his peripherals. “Besides, I met a girl,”

Y/N gasps, pushing his chest lightly. “What! Why didn’t you tell me you goof,”

Alan laughs at her excitement, nudging her hip with his. “I’ll tell you all about her later. But for now, Prince Charming looks pissed at me for keeping you,” He winks at Y/N.

“Thank you, Alan” She gets engulfed by his long arms, feeling murmur something in her hair.

“Go tell him you love him,”

Y/N jogs over to Harry with a smile but he doesn’t look too happy. He pays for his four items quickly before walking over to the parking lot area near his car.

“How long have you guys been dating?”

“Wha-? Alan and I are not together,” Harry’s eyes widen at the misconception he’d conjured up.

“Oh…”

There was a pregnant pause before Y/N decided to shoot her shot. She takes a deep breath, telling herself that it’s okay if he didn’t feel the same.

“I still love you, Harry.” She bites her lip, looking nervous into his green eyes while his only stared back at her without saying anything.

“Wait I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s fine you kno–-hmph”

Her lips were clamped shut with Harry’s plump ones. Hands finding her waist and pulling her body impossibly closer to his. It was a short kiss but enough to show each other how they felt.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

#harry #harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #angst

370 notes · View notes

icarus-imagines · 6 years ago

Text

Hermione Granger X Female!Hufflepuff!Reader

Could you do a hermione granger x female hufflepuff reader?

Word Count: 3,053

~Her Freckles Taste Like Cinnamon~

“Hermione, stop it…”

Hermione, despite being told what to do, even though the voice was soft spoken, in fact, did not ‘stop it’. She continued on, her quill that held a pretty raven colored feather, swishing quickly back and forth with the quick movements of her well-trained hand. Words of deep and dark black ink stained the beigish/brown parchment, leaving her handwriting of concentrated hard work in its wake. This only seems to aggravate the one who had spoken up however, you, to the point they had to devise another way to get Gryffindor Granger to stop her actions.

With a swift jerk of your hand, you snatched up the quill that had once been placed in her pretty little hands. While it could have been classified as a very rude thing to do, it was the only way to get her attention. Because when she was focused on something all the other things behind her would wash away and become a blur in her peripheral vision of sight.

Holding the quill in your hands you pulled it farther away from her when she tried to reach forward to take hold of it once again. Her usual warm gingerbread eyes glare intensely into your own (E/c) with such a ferocity that you could only conclude that whatever she was going through truly was of more importance than mere homework. How troubled inside she could be, yet on the outside look like the same girl people believed her to be.

“Please, give it back,” Hermione whisper-yelled with desperation. If it was not for the fact you were both in the library you wondered what she would have done instead. “I need it.”

“You say you need this,” you start, silently pulling a chair and sitting beside her, “but you don’t seek what you truly need.”

She stares at you perplexed for a few moments before retracting her hand to ball into her lap as a small sign of defeat. While you were an ordinary Hufflepuff girl you talked like a Ravenclaw. Your words were somehow like writing poetry when they spilled from your lips. All people who knew you would all agree that even if you had called someone an atrocious and nasty name it would still sound like bell chimes on the porch of a cozy house. Everything you said was a lullaby, on that Hermione needed more than she knew. With her rough exterior, she needed someone to calm her thoughts and insecurities.

Oh, how she needed you more than life itself yet even she herself didn’t know it.

With a small sigh, she momentarily forgot about the mass of books, both open and stacked, on the table along with the long winding parchment paper for an essay due next week, to instead look at you. Her dark and nicely bushy hair brushed over her shoulder when she swirled her head to look at you. Those eyes of earthquakes stopped their assault and focused on you. Just you. And nothing else that was raging on inside.

“What is it that I need?” she sighed a bit. She may have not looked like she was enjoying this conversation, but deep down inside she was. She was glad you noticed her very very subtle change in her demeanor today. You, besides maybe Harry and Ron, knew what truly went on in that impressive brain of hers.

“A shoulder to cry on,” you replied simply, standing up for a second to scoot your chair closer to you. Both your bare legs touched each other, due to the short skirt, and you could feel her skin heating against your already.

Her eyes widened a bit in what you perceived as not only shock and confusion but startlement and fright. “W-What?” her words wavered into a stutter that you knew she would be internally cursing herself with.

“Hermione,” you said sweetly like that of cajolement as not to anger her or even worse, scare her off. “As your girlfriend, there are rules I must abide by, you know.”

Her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, but her cheekbones dusting with a delectable pink from your word of ‘girlfriend’. While gay-marriage and all that followed under the umbrella term was allowed, but it was still a touchy subject to those who did not like the act. Hermione’s parents were one of the few getting used to the idea, so having their own daughter have these tendencies and likes was still confusing. Since she was taught at such a young age to believe certain ideals, it still made her flustered when the topic came up.

She loved you with every fiber in her being. The taboo rule of being a same-sex couple just made her feel like she wasn’t abiding by the laws for which they had been placed for more than a few decades. It was like a dessert she could never eat even though her mouth was telling her to devour it. You were that dessert, that caramel filled chocolate that made her not care about rules or peoples judgment.

But sometimes...it did get to her.

“Rules,” she asked slowly, trying to figure out what you meant. “What rules?”

You reached over and gingerly took her hand in yours. Overall, her hand was smooth and like a girl’s was supposed to be, but on her fingertips, there were tenuous bumps from calluses. All the years she had spent writing, flipping pages from books, conjuring up potions to help her friend group called the ‘Golden Trio’. One might find it unladylike, to have rough hands, even though hers were still quite nice. But you found it utterly fascinating.

How she had been through so much in such a short amount of time. To think she was a normal schoolgirl in England, but now a student under the tutelage of wizards in a school of magic in Scotland. She had progressed so far, done so many things. You idolize her even before she knew of your name. Before she even knew you, a poetic Hufflepuff, even existed. To be her significant other was like a dream come true and you never wanted it to end.

“Well,” you began, your right hand, which was not occupied with her own, tapping on your chin in thought, “wouldn’t you think it was my duty to always make you happy?”

A sideways smile appeared on her face and while she tried to make it look real, it was obviously fake. She knew you probably knew this too, you knew everything about her. “But I am happy,” she tried to persuade you to think so. “Why would you think I am anything else but happy?”

Your face turns from playful to serious in the span of five seconds after she utters those words. “I know you're not happy. It’s quite easy to tell even though your best friends Harry and Ron might not figure it out.”

Her small smile disappears and she wears a frown that makes your insides twist. “Yes, you’re...you're right,” she confirms your deductions, breaking under the pressure of keeping her mask on in front of you. “I haven’t been myself lately and I am more than sure you already know why.”

You get closer to her, your shoulder brushing against her, and even though the clothes covering your bodies separate you two, you swear you can feel the heated skin beneath meeting your own. “Yes, but I can’t really understand why, “ you begin, but quickly try to explain yourself. “I mean I do. I understand just how much he can get on your nerves and drag you down, but…,” you look into her eyes, you orbs small spheres of fire, “I cannot begin to imagine someone like you losing to someone like Malfoy.”

You see the disgust evident on her face when you say his last name, but your words seem to calm her down. They offer her solace and shelter. To know you believe in her and everything she does is more than incredible. Others believe in her too, but your faith in her is selfless. Unconditional love and affection beyond measure.

“He is just that type of person,” she says through her gritted teeth. While the majority of the feelings he inflicted on her to have was that of anger, some of it was sadness. You knew it wasn’t just an inkling in the back of your mind for she continued one. “I used to think boys were amazing, but the older I get the more I feel repulsed.”

“Some boys are good and some are bad. You just need to find the ones who make you feel happy, make you feel like you could conquer the world,” you laugh a little thinking about the Chosen One Harry and the goofy Weasley Is Our King. Your laugh seems to brighten her mood, a genuine smile flitting across her features.

The small, almost undetectable freckles upon her cheeks glow in the low light. They look like sprinkles of bright golden dust, powered on her face to make her look otherworldly. You can’t but lean in. Lean in closer to that very face and softly peck a chaste kiss upon it. An odd thought pops in your head for a second, wondering if you would be able to take those sprinkled freckles and convert them onto your lips.

She smells of spicy cinnamon, such a feisty seasoning, you thought. If they did stick to my lips, which is impossible, would they taste of cinnamon?

As you lean back and open your eyes, you are welcomed with the amusing expression she now sports. With a face the color of summer cherries and gingerbread eyes sparkling with something unknown, you can only think of the million things running through her mind. But before you could question it, she surprises in one of the ways you never thought she would do.

She kisses you.

Her lips are soft and you taste a small, yet still significant, amount of peach from the plump extremities of flesh. Hidden in a more isolated part of the library, she had gained the courage to act upon your flirtation attitude and actions. Replying to her move, you lean into her, a tilt of your head giving you more access to be one with you to a more fulfilling extent.

Her hands come up to clutch at you yellow and black Hufflepuff attire. The cotton of the sweater underneath the traditional robes shift against her hands, almost enticing her to go under, but she stays put. There needs to be no more progress beside this, for this is all she needs. This is close enough for her even though there could be more progression.

Your own hands slid up from her elbows to her shoulders and finally to her head. With one hand, you stick it behind the adjoined meeting place of her neck and the bottom of her skull, while the other comes to cup of her cheek. Both your hands are full with her hot skin, her big hair, and you know then this is all you want from life.

Sooner than either of you wish, you both part in favor of more than needed oxygen. As you inhale air to keep yourselves alive, you still stay close, her darker toned bangs brushing your forehead. You can feel her warm breath wafting over your face, the heat doing nothing to quell the flush you now have obtained yourself. Inhaling a bit you smell the strong scent of cinnamon wafting off of her body. You love the smell. Her own natural scent she carries with her wherever she roams.

Her cute lips are parted in an almost provocative way. Looking at them makes you want to snatch them up again however you do not. Instead, your (E/c) orbs shift from her lips to her eyes. Despite thinking of them to have their pupils full-blown and wide, they are the opposite. They are shiny, gleaming with pure love. No lust, is in them. This fact drives your insides wild knowing this attraction you feel for each other is not some fling. It is here. And it is here to stay.

“You astound me,” you whisper soothingly, feeling the edge of sleep catching you. Or was it lovesickness in disguise, perhaps?

“That is supposed to be my line,” she smiles, a more than adorable giggle flitting past her lips at your compliment to her.

You both giggle together as you untangle yourselves, life becoming the reality once again after indulging into a moment of tranquility. As she fixes her hair, though you doubt anybody would notice, you help stack the open books into neat piles on the wooden desk. Curling up her parchment into her school bag, making sure it is secure and won’t fall out, you push in your chair with a smile.

She looks at her leather school bag hanging from your shoulder, but you quickly wave it off. “I’ve got it,” you tell her.

She grins, her mood somehow brightening the whole room. To know she is thankful for your help makes you all the much more content. Black school shoes click-clacking just quiet enough to not make a big ruckus. You casually grab her arm, linking it with yours, and make it back to your respective common rooms together.

Though she insisted on leading you back, her chivalry shining through, you lead her first to her own Gryffindor common room. You wanted to not only see her off but to make sure she doesn’t have to walk alone after having to go to your much farther away Hufflepuff House common room. What kind of girlfriend would you be if you did that?

Standing idly outside of the common room, far enough from the Fat Lady so she will not overhear your conversations, you give Hermione back her bag. “Thank you,” she speaks, clutching her leather school bag tightly.

“What for?” you chide playfully.

“Helping me,” she replies quickly. “Reminding me that other people's views and opinions cannot dictate what I do with my life. How I lead my life, though it may ‘hurt’ others, should be one that makes me happy. Makes me joyful in everything I do.”

Her words melt your heart, and as she moves forward to put a stray strand of (H/c) hair behind your ear you find yourself replying back. “I want you to live a life a life you do not regret,” you say, though it could have a twinge of sadness peaking through.

She reacted quickly with, “Of course I won’t! With you by my side I know life will be more than worth living.”

“That makes me more than glad you hear you say that,” you murmur.

She smiles at you as a small goodbye and turns to head towards the Fat Lady. She only reaches about three steps before you tug her sleeve back. With a quick movement as she turns to look at you in bewilderment and confusion, you kiss her on the lips. You savor the taste of the peach and the heat of it all. Being swift, before she can do anything about it, you leave her lips and take a kitten lick of her heated cheek.

For a moment she forgets it will soon be past curfew and lets out a tiny shriek. “H-hey! What-What was that for!?”

“An experiment,” you say. “I wanted to figure something out.”

“I swear, all Hufflepuffs are completely lucid,” she sighs as you wipe her cheek clean of anything wet. “Well, did you figure it out?”

You give her a cheeky grin, laughing. “Yes, I now know for sure.”

She looks as if she wants to question you about it, but she lets it go, opting to leave you be. When you were like this she knew it was best to let you complete it without a word of disruption. “Whatever you say, (Y/n),” she bids you goodnight, walking back to the Fat Lady who seems to be giggling from the school love affair situation. “See you at breakfast.”

You wave to her as she disappears behind the painting and is engulfed into the Gryffindor common room. Smiling to yourself you turn on your heels and retreat to your own common room. With (E/c) orbs and flushes (S/c) flushed from the events that have occurred today you know sleep may be harder to come by tonight.

You don’t mind it in the least though. You had helped you fierce girlfriends realize that there are up and downs to living you must conquer. Whether you had a helping hand or none at all, you can get through things. It may be a hard winding road or it might be a straight road off into the horizon. Either way, you would be able to get over it.

Malfoy may not understand this right now, but hopefully, he would soon. Hopefully, he would learn picking on someone because of their blood is something that won't fix your own problems. Healing internally helps with healing externally. You kept in your prays the wish for him to understand this. Whether it starts tomorrow or in the years to come. To see Malfoy grow up and right his wrongs were one thing you desperately wanted to live to see.

Hermione was your inner and external struggle too. That girl with sharp words like a lion’s claws and the combined mind of a revolutionist was your weakness and your strength. A Gryffindor with a Hufflepuff. Such an unusual pair. A strong one though, when fitting bravery and patience together.

You did learn something overall, albeit it was small and probably useless. Yet it made your heart soar to the skies for some unfathomable reason only you yourself would truly know. And may it be an imaginary conclusion or true fact you concluded it was all you needed to know about her.

Her freckles taste like cinnamon...

~The End~

#x reader #oneshot #imagine #drabble #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #hermione granger x female reader #hermione granger x hufflepuff reader #hermione granger x female hufflepuff reader #female reader #hufflepuff reader #female hufflepuff reader #hp #harry potter universe #harry potter

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dastardlydutchvanderlinde · 6 years ago

Note

Hosea. Dutch. Gayness. Angst. Pls ❤️

I love you for sending this. This is based on a video I saw @vandermatthews reblogged https://vandermatthews.tumblr.com/post/180245422063

“Next time I’ll slit your throat myself.”

The venom in Hosea’s voice wasn’t something that was heard often insidecamp. Everyone forgot sometimes that this was the man who had first ran withDutch, the only man with the backbone to reign him in. It made sense there wasdarkness to Hosea, but Arthur had never really gotten used to seeing it.

Sean stuttered. He was the one holding the rifle but there was noquestion over who would wind up bleeding out if it came to it.

Hosea snarled as he released Sean, pushing the man almost off his feet.He starts to march away, only to spot Arthur, “He’s useless that big sack ofturd.”

“Mhm, I know that.” Arthur responds, mostly because if he didn’t agreewith Hosea that anger would be taken out on him.

Sean staggers, finding his footing. “I’m- I’m- I’m sorry!” He callsafter Hosea, but the man has already stormed away.

“Wouldn’t waste your breath.” Arthur says, adjusting in his saddle. “Youand him ain’t ever gonna be friends.”

“What I ever do to him eh?” Sean says, straightening out his shirt sleeves.

Arthur chuckled. “It ain’t what you did to him.”

Sean look at him, exasperated. “Now what the fuck’s that supposed tomean?”

Hosea liked everyone in camp well enough, but Sean? There was asignificant frostiness there. There was also one detail about Sean thateveryone else in the camp lacked.

“You tried to kill Dutch, idiot.” Arthur says, like it’s the mostobvious thing in the world.

Sean throws his hands up in the air. “Aye, and the bloody bastardforgave me not ten seconds later! Come on Arthur, I’m not the only person herewho’s had a go am I?”

Arthur shrugs. “Guess you could count Kieran as an O’Driscoll, but thenthat still ain’t Dutch specifically. They want to kill us all.”

“God damn it. Why’s Hosea all up in arms about it still anyway, that wasages ago! All in the past!” Sean says, kicking at the dust.

There was a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why Hosea still heldthat particular grudge, but if Sean was too dense to see it Arthur wasn’t goingto open his eyes. “Clearly Hosea don’t see it like that.”

Sean snorts. “Clearly.”

Arthur sighs, gently pushing his horse to move. He had actually been onhis way out. “Look, if I were you I’d give him a wide berth. Just don’t speakto him if you can help it. In fact, just don’t speak.”

“Very funny Arthur, you’re a funny guy!” Sean grumbled. “Where you offto anyway?”

“No business of yours.” Arthur shouts over his shoulder, disappearinginto the night.

Sean sits himself back down on the tree, vowing to stay awake this time.The camp is fairly quiet, especially now everyone had heard Hosea’s outburst.He’d headed off towards the partially hidden scout campfire and by the soundsof it the rest of the camp had gone in the opposite direction.

Lenny had been sat in the quiet of the scout campfire, but one quicklook at Hosea approaching had him standing within seconds.

“You okay?” Lenny asks the older man, shoving his pack of cards backinto his pocket.

Hosea waved a hand. “Sure. I just, need a minute.”

Lenny hesitated, but he’d been within earshot of the little incidentwith Sean. “You… you sounded pretty pissed back there.”

Hosea sighs heavily, taking a seat by the fire on one of the logs.“Well, I can’t say I was happy to find that shit stain asleep on watch.”

“Went off on him like he’d killed the dog.” Lenny says, and he doesn’trealise how close his made up scenario was to the real reason behind Hosea’shatred.

It takes every ounce of his self control not to react with violence tothe simple conversation. Lenny didn’t know, he was just trying to be nice toHosea.

Visibly biting his tongue, Hosea tilts his head down to stare at theflames. “If you don’t mind, Lenny. I’d rather be alone.”

Lenny is backing up before the request has even finished leaving hislips. He knew you didn’t poke an angry snake with a stick if you didn’t want toget bitten. “Of course, Mr Matthews. I’ll keep everyone away for you.”

“Thanks Lenny. You’re a good kid.” Hosea said, the tiredness he feltseeping into his voice.

Lenny disappeared, heading for the safety of camp.

Hosea had half an hour before his peace was disturbed, and half an hourwas not long enough to cool off.

The footsteps are ones he knows well, which was the only reason Hosea didn’tthrow anything at the approaching man.

“Lenny said you were out here.” Dutch breaks the silence, standingacross the other side of the fire.

Hosea always liked looking at Dutch in orange light, but he can’t lookat him now. If he looked at him now he’d be marching back to where Sean was nodoubt asleep again and shooting the kid without hesitation.

When Hosea doesn’t respond or look at him, Dutch starts to move,circling around the fire until he was behind his oldest friend.

“Will you ever forgive that poor boy?” Dutch teases, standing too closebehind him.

Hosea sighs heavily, not in the mood for taking that particularsituation in any lighthearted manner. Dutch never took his dislike for Seanseriously. He wasn’t sure if it was to try and diffuse Hosea’s hatred or if hegenuinely didn’t think it was a big deal but it did nothing to sooth the venomin Hosea’s veins. He considered humouring the question and answering, but itwasn’t something that came easily to him. Forgiveness sure, he could forgive alot, but forgetting? Hosea would never forget how damn close he had been tolosing Dutch forever.

There’s a weight on his shoulder, and Hosea shifts until his back ispressed against Dutch. Dutch kneads his fingers along tense muscles, his thumbtracing a line up Hosea’s neck. He starts on both shoulders, and Hosea suddenlyfinds himself relaxing, all the tension being eased away.

“He was just a kid, Hosea. No harm, no foul.” Dutch mutters, nevertaking his eyes off the man in front of him. He should be keeping a look outfor any nosey camp members, but after the chewing out Sean got and with Lennyacting as a warning, he doubts anyone would try to get within sight ofHosea.

“Not the point, Dutch.” Hosea says, and he tilts his head back, restingagainst the solid warmth Dutch’s body provided. He didn’t need the reminderthat Dutch was alive and well, but… well. Maybe he did.

Every time he looked at Sean all Hosea could see was the barrel of arifle pressed against Dutch’s temple. He’ll never be able to wipe the coldfeeling that had exploded into his chest, the way time had stood still as Dutchmet his eyes and Hosea had known he was saying goodbye. That he had wanted hislast moments to be with Hosea.

He’d never not see that when he looked at Sean.

“He nearly killed you.” Hosea whispered to the fire burning in front ofhim, unsure if Dutch would even hear him.

The hands rubbing at his shoulders disappear, and then Dutch is in frontof him, kneeling in the dirt so they were eye to eye.

“Look at me.” Dutch demanded, and even on his knees he was always theone to be obeyed. Hosea lifts his head, meeting Dutch’s gaze.

He moves a hand, grasping Hosea’s jaw to make sure he wouldn’t lookaway. “He didn’t kill me. I’m still here. We’re okay. We are all gonna beokay.”

“I can’t just forget it, Dutch. When you-“ Hosea cuts himself off,clenching his jaw in Dutch’s grip.

Dutch sighs, and his hand slips around to the back of Hosea’s neck,pulling them in close. “I know. It’s just, folk notice things now. The biggerthe gang gets the more observant they become. Please, please make an effort tobe civil with Sean. I ain’t asking for you to like him, or pretend to.”

Easier said than done. Hosea can’t control the rage that burns up insidehim when he comes into contact with the idiot. “I’ll do my best to avoid him.That’s all I can promise.”

Dutch just smiles and stares at him. It’s the kind of look that isusually reserved for when they’re totally alone, the open affection the man haswritten across his expression is something that could easily get them bothkilled.

“That’s all I ask.” Dutch says, stroking at the soft hair at the back ofHosea’s neck.

Usually he’d jump through hoops trying to do what Dutch asked, but thistime, this time Hosea wasn’t sure if it was a request he could abide by.

Dutch nods, and starts to let go of Hosea to back up out of his space.

Hosea snaps a hand out, his fingers closing around Dutch’s wrist andstopping him from pulling away.

There’s silence for a moment, the pair of them unwilling to pullapart.

“I can’t-“ Hosea breaks off, taking a deep shuddering breath. It kept replayingthrough his head. He could picture it like it was happening now. The smell ofsawdust and freshly cut wood, money bags heavy on his shoulder, Dutch’s handsfrozen halfway up and his rings glinting in the sunlight. The barrel of the gunleft an indent against his skin, red and angry. Hosea can still see the fear inDutch’s eyes, and he can still imagine what it would have been like if Sean hadpulled the trigger.

Dutch is waiting for him to finish, patiently rubbing gentle circlesagainst his thigh with the hand that wasn’t threaded through Hosea’s hair.

“I can’t stop seeing it. You, and the gun, and I knew Dutch. I knew youthought you were never gonna see me again.” Hosea whispers to the dark.

“Stay with me tonight.” Dutch says softly.

Hosea realises they’re so close now that he can feel Dutch’s breath, andhe can’t bring himself to pull away.

“We can’t.” Hosea hates it, but they can’t. The camp was too quiet, tooclose. They couldn’t risk it.

Dutch doesn’t see it that way. “To hell with everyone. Stay withme.”

Hosea knows he should refuse, but even as the words start to form in hismind, the second Dutch’s lips touch his he knows it’s a lost argument.

Dutch kisses like his life depends on it, intense and needy, and he cannever keep his hands to himself. Before Hosea knows it they’re pressed chest tochest, with Dutch still kneeling between Hosea’s legs. If anyone saw them therewould be no way to explain it. But, with that empty look of fear on Dutch’sface still present in Hosea’s mind, he can’t stop.

“You’d best never leave me.” Hosea growls as they break apart, clingingto Dutch’s waistcoat in a bid to make sure they didn’t topple off the log.

Dutch smiles, and he trails kisses along Hosea’s jaw, down his throat.“I’ll try make sure you go first, old man.”

Hosea chuckles, and he lets Dutch nip at his skin. “It’s a deal.”

Dutch laughs, pulling back. “Glad that’s settled. Now, come with me so Ican show you how alive we both are.”

That was a request Hosea had no intentions of refusing.

#writing prompts #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #vandermatthews #dutch/hosea #sean maguire #leNNY #arthur morgan #red dead redemption #rdr #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2

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