#im not doing anything to her except not letting her use the oven and not letting her watch anything on tv because shes!!! not listening!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

megalony · 3 years

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Challenge

This is a murderer! Ben Hardy imagine that was requested by @azulawayne I hope you will all like it.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27

Murderer! Ben masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) and the kids decide to record Ben’s reaction when they test out the shut up tiktok challenge, all knowing that it won’t be pretty.

Enjoy.

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"Mum, can we do this to dad?"

"Do what, baby?"

A look of intrigue came across (Y/n)'s face as she moved to lean against the kitchen counter, resting her arm around Theo who was looking up at her with a sparkle in his eyes. The second eldest boy resembled his mother more than hia father in most aspects, he had (Y/n)'s tenderness and love, her eyes and nose and he had darker hair meaning he didn't resemble Ben as much.

The way that Theo asked to do something to Ben rather than for him made (Y/n) suspicious if Theo was wanting to play some sort of prank on Ben. All the boys liked to try and wind Ben up from time to time because it was a test, it was dangerous and daring.

Ben wasn't the kind of man or father that liked to be pranked or annoyed. He was a rather intimidating father to the boys despite how much they all loved him. Winding him up was a way for the boys to test his anger and see how he would react and how far they could push him before he snapped.

(Y/n) didn't like it when the boys got these ideas into their heads because she knew her husband. She knew how he would react and when he found out it was a prank he got very annoyed. Ben was a serious person, jokes weren't his kind of thing.

"It's a tiktok challenge, look."

Theo held his phone up so (Y/n) could see what he was referring to but when her eyes darted over the subtitles on the video and she watched the short clip, her teeth bit down on her lip.

(Y/n) very rarely played pranks on Ben, only when she was feeling very daring and playful or when she wanted to get back at him for something. Whenever the boys did pranks on Ben they didn't tell (Y/n) because they knew she wouldn't allow them to do it. But this specific challenge needed (Y/n) to be in on the prank.

The challenge Theo was referring to was the 'shut up challenge'. It was where someone would tell one of their parents to shut up and see how the other parent reacted. Of course, Theo needed (Y/n) to do this with him because both (Y/n) and Ben would react if they thought Theo was being serious in telling (Y/n) to shut up. He would never dream of being like that with his mum, he was too respectful and fearful of what would happen if he said something rude to her like his brother did.

This was the perfect kind of challenge to do on Ben and Theo knew it.

Ben was intoxicated by (Y/n) and that was clear to anyone who saw them together. He loved his wife more than anything so if any of the boys were disresectful to her then Ben would come down on them hard. He brought up the boys to be good and respectful and sort of the opposite of him and none of them liked going against their dad.

"Baby, I- I don't know about this, you know what your dad's like."

"Please? It'll be funny, you just have to tell him it's a joke." The pleading look in Theo's eyes and the smile on his lips made (Y/n) cave.

He was eight, he just wanted to mess around and (Y/n) didn't want to stop him from being a kid when things were hard for all of them. All the boys had to deal with constant moving houses, Ben coming home in the dead of night or early morning, seeing him cut up and with broken bones from fights and they all knew Ben's job wasn't a good one. It wasn't the most ideal situation for the boys but they were loved tremendously and they had everything they needed.

"Alright, he'll be home soon. But don't tell Charlie, this is just between you and me okay?"

"Yes! Thanks mum."

(Y/n) was okay with Theo doing this challenge but not Charlie.

The eldest child had a turbulent relationship with Ben at the best of times and this challenge would not go down well with Ben if it was Charlie doing it.

Charlie was eleven and he had anger issues he inherited from Ben, he was constantly battling with Ben about everything from doing his homework to going to school and simply going to bed. It didn't help that Charlie often took out his anger on (Y/n) because she was the parent that was around more. And when Ben found out he and Charlie clashed badly.

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"Alright buddy, let's go see your mum."

Ben kicked off his shoes in the hallway before making his way through the house to get to the kitchen where he could hear (Y/n) and the boys talking. He bounced Briar on his hip who was almost asleep already. Ben had just picked the three year old up from nursery on the way home from the club as (Y/n) had picked up their other three boys from school abut an hour earlier.

Ben took to rubbing his hand up and down Briar's back, soothing his youngest son since he seemed about ready for a nap. He could feel Briar very slowly tracing his finger over the tattoo at the back of Ben's neck.

The youngest boy had a fascination with Ben's tattoos and he hated it when Ben wore a shirt because it meant he couldn't see the tattoos. It made Ben laugh when Briar would run up to him when he came home, point at his shirt and demand he take it off. He was so used to Ben walking round the house in his jeans or boxers without a shirt and he loved drawing his fingers over Ben's designs.

When Ben headed into the kitchen he glanced his eyes around, seeing (Y/n) stood near the oven clearly starting to make something to eat. Charlie and Billy were sitting at the kitchen table near the back door playing a game and Theo was sitting at the island in the middle of the kitchen on his phone.

"Hey baby, did you have a good day? You okay honey?" (Y/n) smiled at Briar who was almost asleep in Ben's arms but had a lopsided grin on his features when he saw her. When her head tilted up towards Ben, (Y/n) felt her smile widening when his arm secured around her hips and he leaned down to kiss her. She could feel adrenaline starting to run riot in her stomach because she knew what was about to come and she didn't want to imagine Ben's reaction.

"Wasn't too bad, think this one's tired out though. You and the troop okay?" Ben rubbed his hand up and down (Y/n)'s back as he glanced his eyes back over at the boys.

They had four boys in total, Ben's little army and he loved that (Y/n) was the only girl in the house, surrounded by all of her boys.

"Yeah we're all good."

Ben leaned down to peck (Y/n)'s lips again before he bounced Briar on his hip and moved to the fridge. Whilst his back was turned to the rest of his family, (Y/n) locked her eyes with Theo who was nodding his head, trying not to figit in his seat from excitement. He knew all too well that Ben's reaction wouldn't be an amused or even a kind one but he was still anxious to see his father's reaction.

"Theo, you gonna come and help me do the veg for tea, please?" (Y/n) glanced her eyes over at Theo before she turned her attention to the casserole bubbling away on the stove. It was normal for one of the boys to help with cooking, they all took it in turns, except for Briar since he was only three.

"But I'm busy."

"No, baby it's your turn to help with tea so come on."

(Y/n) knew she had to put on her stern voice or else Ben wouldn't believe it, he would know something was up. The boys were brought up to be respectful and none of them dared go against the rules and chores was one of the rules. (Y/n) only worked part-time and Ben was at work most of the time so the boys had to help around the house. One of the things Ben always said to the boys was that (Y/n) was their mother not their maid and that always made the boys shiver and give in quickly. They didn't like to think of (Y/n) as a maid doing everything for them and always picking up after them and they all wanted to be like Ben.

They wanted to be charming and do everything they could for themselves.

"Mum I'm playing a game, I need to finish this level!" Theo tilted his head to the side as he whined his response, trying to make it believable because neither of his brothers knew he and (Y/n) were doing this challenge. He had his phone propped up against his glass and aimed at Ben so they could record his reaction.

Ben bit his lip and turned his head to look at his son over his shoulder whilst he handed a beaker to Briar who was almost asleep in his arms. Out of all the boys, it was usually Charlie who would complain and argue with either Ben or (Y/n), it was never Theo and Ben didn't like how he was being right now.

"You can finish it later buddy, go help your mum." Ben ticked his head to the side to motion for Theo to get up and go over to (Y/n) but Theo shook his head. Watching briefly as Ben moved to lean against the counter near to both (Y/n) and Theo.

"Theo you know the rules now come on-"

"Ughh no just shut up!"

Silence fell over the kitchen and all eyes immediately set on Ben as if he was the one who had had the outburst rather than Theo.

Both Charlie and Billy stopped their game to look over at Ben because they knew disrespecting (Y/n) was bad but telling her to shut up would almost definitely get their brother smacked and bollocked for that. Theo stared with a glimmer of fear in his eyes and a blank expression on his face as if he had just realised what he said. His eyes locked with Ben whose brows dropped near to his eyes and his teeth ground together with how tight his jaw was locked.

"What the Hell did you just say to your mother?!"

The words echoed round the kitchen but everyone jerked in their seats when Ben seemed to move faster than lightning. One moment he was stood near to (Y/n) and the next he was in front of Theo, pulling him from his seat by the scruff of his neck whilst still holding Briar against his hip.

"Ben-"

"You have some fucking nerve thinking you can talk to her like that and get away with it. I didn't bring any of you up to talk to your mother like shit." Ben's words were spoken in a seething tone through gritted teeth but it was his eyes that were unnerving Theo. His eyes were darker than their usual emerald green, they were almost black voids and his expression was stoic and blank which was even more worrisome.

Just as Ben went to pull Theo by his neck, presumably to drag him from the kitchen, Theo pushed against Ben's chest and (Y/n) reached over and wrapped herself around Ben's arm to stop him.

"Dad i-it's a joke."

"Ben leave him it's okay." (Y/n) tried to smile but she couldn't, all she could do was let the panic seep into her features whilst she managed to prize Ben's hand off their son. Her eyes briefly flitted to look at Briar and even though the three-year-old was clearly confused from the sudden raised voices, he wasn't panicked or unsettled.

"It's not okay the little bastard-"

"It was a joke! Baby, it was a challenge he wanted to see and record your reaction. He didn't mean it I swear, I knew what he was doing." (Y/n) pressed her lips to Ben's shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his upper bicep to try and calm him down. She watched the way his eyes narrowed and switched between her and Theo as Charlie and Billy watched in confusion and slight fear. They all knew Ben didn't like jokes, especially when they were on him because it meant he wasn't in control of the situation.

"What?" Ben's chest heaved as he kept his eyes focused on (Y/n), knowing if he looked at his son his temper would start to flare again if this was indeed a joke.

"A tiktok challenge, to see how parents react when you tell the other one to shut up. I- I knew you'd go mad since you love mum so much." Theo darted his eyes around the kitchen as he tried to stay calm. He'd gotten the exact reaction he was expecting and he was definitely going to upload it but he knew explaining it to Ben was going to be the hard part.

"I don't care if it was a challenge and your mum knew about it, you don't ever tell her to shut up not even for a joke. No more fucking jokes like that."

Ben swiped his hand against the back of Theo's head, not enough to actually hurt him but enough to shock him and get the message through that he couldn't do that. Ben didn't care if it was for a joke and that (Y/n) knew he was going to do it, he didn't want any of the boys telling her to shut up or being rude to her even for a joke. He wanted them all to respect (Y/n) as much as he did and telling her to shut up was something Ben wouldn't have any of them do.

Theo nodded before he disappeared over to where his brothers were playing at the table, taking his phone with him so he could edit the video he recorded.

"Sorry baby, he was desperate and it was meant as a joke."

(Y/n) tilted her head back to look up at Ben when his free arm circled around her waist and pulled her tight against his chest. She knew he wasn't angry or mardy with her but his expression showed she was going to pay for this later and it sent a spark of adrenaline running through her stomach.

"I don't do jokes."

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben x reader #dad! ben #murderer! ben #imagine

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midnightsnyx · 4 years

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Consequences - Matthew Tkachuk: epilogue

summary: you absolutely hate Matthew Tkachuk so it’s just your luck when you wind up pregnant with his child.

a/n: this is the end! i don’t even know where to start! i wanna say sorry real quick for how long its taken me to post the epilogue. i just wanted it to be as perfect as i could manage for you guys!

i want to thank every single person from the bottom of my heart who read this little series i wrote and took the time to like, reblog or send me a message! it truly means to world to me and i hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as i did writing it.

so thank you all, so, so, so much!

also, here is a poll that @hannahmb did up for me because im literally a grandma when it comes to some stuff and it’s ideas for the next series im going to write.

anyways i’ll stop rambling now lol

- allie

Epilogue

“Henry Eli Tkachuk!” You yell. “Get your little butt down here right now.”

The patter of tiny feet echos through the hallway and you watch your five-year-old slide into the kitchen, nearly crashing into the wall. He’s as clumsy as his father, which you didn’t think was possible.

He looks at you curiously, eyebrow raised and hands on his hips - the spitting image of Matt.

“Yes, mama?”

You point to a plate of cupcakes on the countertop. “There were twenty cupcakes here ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah.”

“There are only fifteen now.” You raise an eyebrow. “Do you know what that means?”

“That someone was hungry?”

“Henry.”

“Mama.”

“Who ate the cupcakes?”

He shrugs his shoulders and giggles before running off towards his bedroom. It’s possible that he ate them but there are seven other people in the house who could have. You can eliminate at least three, maybe four out of the seven which is why you find yourself calling out to your husband and his other half. Unlike Henry, Matt actually crashes into the wall when he comes running down the hallway. Though to be fair, you’re pretty certain that Brady pushed him.

“Yes, dear?”

“The cupcakes.” You raise an eyebrow, eyes darting between the two Tkachuk brothers standing in front of you. “Who ate them?”

“Not me,” Brady says, hands raised defensively.

“I didn’t either!” Matt says and you’re pretty sure that one of them is lying but then Johnny walks into the kitchen, two cupcakes in one of his hands, and is taking a bite out of another one.

“Dude, these are-”

“Johnny!” The three of you exclaim at the same time.

“What?” He mumbles around a mouthful. “They were just sitting there.”

“They are for Nell’s birthday!”

“Ellie’s birthday party is today?” He asks in confusion and you sigh, shaking your head. Why did you think it was a good idea to invite a bunch of constantly hungry hockey players to your three-year-olds party?

“Everyone, out.” You say, waving your hand dismissively. They all clear out with the exception of your husband who slowly walks towards you.

“Will you hit me if I touch you?” He jokes and you roll your eyes but let him wrap you in a warm hug. The two of you have come a long way, you’re the perfect epitome of enemies to lovers story but you wouldn’t change anything. Especially because of what you’ve gained along the journey.

“How’s the bun in the oven?” He asks and you pull away, raising an eyebrow.

“I hope you mean the baby and not Eleanor's birthday cake because I think it may have burned.”

His eyes widen and he rushes over to the oven, pulling the cake out. Luckily, you caught it in time and there’s only a little black on top that can be brushed off.

“Why didn’t you just order one from the store?” He asks, picking up a cupcake and taking a bite. You sigh, realizing that you’re going to have to make more due to the fact that everyone is eating them.

“Homemade cakes are the best.” You answer quietly and he just nods his head, not questioning the vagueness of your answer.

“Attention everyone! I found a wild child in the backyard!” Brady calls, walking in the kitchen with your toddler sitting on his shoulders. She’s laughing loudly, clinging onto his hair.

Curls as wild as Matt’s and eyes just as blue, Eleanor Ruth Tkachuk graced the world with her presence 3 years ago. After Henry, you weren’t sure you wanted more than one kid because life with just him and Matthew was absolutely perfect but you didn’t know that it could get even better until she arrived.

“There’s my princess!” Matt says, taking Nell from Brady. She happily goes with him, grabbing a hold of his hair too. You watch your husband wince but the look of pure love in his eyes when he looks at her isn’t like anything you’ve ever seen.

“Warrior Princess.” Brady corrects and Matthew nods seriously.

“Daddy, cake!” She squeals, pointing to the cupcakes and reaching towards them. Matthew spins around and starts walking away to get her attention off them. “Let’s go find nana.”

You watch the two of them walk outside, hand unconsciously resting on your belly. Baby number three was kind of an accident. You and Matt weren’t exactly trying for another but you weren’t doing anything to stop it. You both decided that if anything was meant to happen, it would. And it did, obviously but you weren’t surprised because you’re pretty sure Matt secretly wants an army of Tkachuk’s due to the number of times you’d had sex before you became pregnant again.

But it didn’t bother you, the idea of a bunch of mini you and Matt’s running around. It certainly wasn’t something you really envisioned in your future and you never realized how much you really wanted a family until after Matt.

“How’s Brady Jr.?”

You grin at Brady who’s leaning against the counter.

“Still not named Brady Jr.,” you say, starting to get the cake ready to be decorated. “But he’s doing great.”

Brady smiles and opens his mouth to say something but Chantal walks in the room, cutting him off.

“Honey, go help your father finish decorating.” She says, shooing him out of the room before starting to help you get the last of the food ready. The two of you work efficiently and in silence, something you’re used to when getting things done with Chantal’s help. You’ll never be able to thank her for everything she’s done for you since she came into your life. Being with Matt meant gaining an entire family who was the most tight-knit, caring, and encouraging family you’ve ever known.

They didn’t have to accept you as easily and quickly as they did and you’ll always be grateful for them.

. . .

Long after the birthday party settles down after the kids are asleep, Henry curled up with his head in your lap and Nell tucked in Matt’s arms, and all the adults sitting around the fire pit in the backyard, you take a minute to reflect on how much your life has changed in the last six years. Longer, if you count how long you’ve actually known Matt. You never would have guessed that this is where life would have led you, how crossing paths with Matt changed you as a person, and changed your entire world forever.

How you learned, loved, and gained so much in these past years.

How lucky you are.

“What are you thinking about?” Matt whispers, nudging you gently. You turn to look at him, his eyes warm and smile gentle.

“You. Us.”

“All good things, I hope?” He jokes and you smile, pulling him close so that you can kiss him softly.

“Always.”

#matthew tkachuk imagines #matthew tkachuk fanfiction #calgary flames imagines #calgary flames fanfiction #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #allies writing #consequences series #matthew tkachuk imagine

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nalgenewhore · 3 years

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storm

essar x lorcan, alternate canon au, domestic fluff, word count: 1556

Outside, the storm rages. The windows and cupboard doors rattle, the noise forcing tension to crawl up her spine. Essar sighs softly and turns over again, just as a clap of thunder erupts in the skies above. The female startles, immediately reaching for her bedmate.

As she stretches towards him, she hesitates, her eyes tracking over his slumbering face. He’s been so tired lately, what with all their preparations for the winter. She shouldn’t bother him, she thinks. With another sigh, Essar returns to her spot and tucks her hands beneath her pillow. She closes her eyes, but the flash of lightning is bright and they open a moment later.

She curses into her pillow, frowning in annoyance. Essar peeks out at her mate, who has hardly moved, except to rub the tip of his nose and wrinkle his brow. She turns her head and watches him, silent. Something in her chest calms as she continues staring at Lorcan, but she knows that sleep will still evade her. Carefully, the Fae gets up from her bed and pads across the mat-covered floor to the door of their bedroom.

Essar slips through the door and walks down the hall, Lorcan’s shirt falling to her mid-thighs. Her bright eyes trail over their cosy cabin, seeing the fire that glows in the coals of their fireplace. Before it, on a soft wolf pelt rug, her clothes are still laying rumpled from their… frenzy. A smirk pulls at her plump lips and Essar scurries into the kitchen, her body recalling his warmth. After her tea, she’ll curl up next to him and his presence will soothe her back to sleep.

The storm attempts to shake the house, but it doesn’t bother her as much anymore. Essar feeds kindling and larger pieces of wood into the oven, summoning her flame to set it alight. The heavy kettle is still halfway full, so she won’t need to fetch water for it. She puts it down on the metal surface and takes a mug down from the shelf.

She spins to the island counter, where they keep a collection of various everyday dried herbs to make their drinks. There’s a hand-sized mortar and pestle next to the collection. Essars plucks a small jar from the neat row and pries the cork off with an audible ‘pop’. She tilts it to the side, trying to determine how much of the tea blend is left.

A week or so ago, they traveled to the nearest village to stock up on supplies that were hard to come by, like specialty dried flowers and roots, dairy products like butter and a dozen pints of goat milk, eggs, flour, and sugar too. Their pantry is well stocked and Essar knows they don’t need to worry about starving over the colder months.

She takes a small linen bag and shakes some of the blend into it, then ties the drawstring closing shut and puts it in her cup. While she waits for the kettle to boil, Essar keeps her eye on the weather outside, watching it whip at their sheet-covered crops. A slight frown graces her brow. She doesn’t like to see their plants so abused.

It doesn’t take long for the kettle to boil. When its steam billows in the air, Essar lifts it off of the stove and carefully fills her cup a few centimetres beneath the rim. Then she lets it steep for a few moments as she hunts for the honey. She knows her love has hidden it somewhere. It’s a joking habit of theirs, wanting to keep the sticky-sweet treat all for themselves.

Essar finds the jar quickly and takes the teabag out. As she stirs in some honey, she hears steady footsteps tracking across the wood floor, made audible so that she isn’t scared moments later. Two big, tattoo-covered arms circle around her waist and his head comes down to rest his face in the crook of her shoulder. “Essar,” Lorcan grumbles, clearly displeased from waking up to an empty bed. He sniffs and presses his lips to the curve of her neck, his lips brushing against her, “S’matter, love?”

“Nothing,” she murmurs back, resting her free hand on his forearm. “Just can’t sleep. The storm.” Essar stirs in her honey and turns to look at him. Lorcan’s eyes are shut and she grins, leaning back against him. She loves the way his shoulders curl around her, protecting her.

He hums, “Why didn’t’cha wake me?”

“You… you were sleeping. And you’ve been working so hard lately.” Heat blooms across her crescent-shaped cheeks, knowing that he’ll think her reasons ridiculous. The male leaps at chances to comfort her and fuss over her. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

Lorcan gently nips at her soft brown skin, his elongated canines scratching harder than the others. “You could never bother me, Tangaroa.”

She smiles and turns her head to kiss his temple, “Alright, darling. Would you like some tea?”

He sighs through his nose and lifts his head, humming lowly. “No, s’alright. Just wondered where ya were.” Lorcan taps Essar’s hip so she’ll turn and she does, her tea cupped between both hands. Lovingly, with such care, he brushes her wavy hair back and kisses her forehead, “Is it the storm?” His mate has never taken well to them. Storms don’t frighten her, per se, they simply disrupt her sleep and are a tiresome, stress-inducing nuisance.

Essar nods, “Yes. Come sit with me.” She reaches behind her to take one of his hands and neatly spins out of his arms, leading him to their living room. They bypass the large couch in favour of the armchair. It’s a snug fit, what with Lorcan’s towering stature. Essar is not a small being either – the top of her head comes just past his chin. Her legs are across his lap, her backside on the cushion beside his left thigh. Lorcan rests a hand on her thigh and eases his other arm around her waist, his fingers splayed across her ribcage.

She laughs when she sees his eyelids drooping and kisses the bridge of his nose, “Tired, are we?”

He smiles softly and nods. Blinking hard a few times, Lorcan sits up straight and strokes his thumb over her side as Essar sips on her sweetened tea. “Gimme a sip,” he implores her, nudging his chin towards her mug.

Essar smirks and arches a brow up while she moves her drink away from him. “Thought you said you didn’t want any.”

His grin widens, showing her those dishy dimples that they both know she’s weak for. “Just a wee bit, my love.” She rolls her eyes and concedes, letting him have a taste. In thanks, Lorcan kisses the curve of her shoulder before resting his chin atop her head.

She nestles into him and clicks her tongue, “Ya big thug. Stealing your mate’s tea. How shameful.”

Lorcan huffs a laugh through his nose and winds his fingers through her hair, his neat nails scratching her scalp. Essar melts instantly, near purring as her eyes become hooded and gently slip shut. Unseen by her, the male smiles a pleased smile, pride sparking in his chest at the sight of the female he adores happy under his care. Her lashes flutter as she opens her eyes, staying curled where she is, and finishes her tea slowly.

He takes her empty mug and puts it on the end table, right next to a stack of books. “Feeling ready to sleep now?” Lorcan asks her softly, petting her hair gently. Essar hums and kisses the underside of his jaw.

“Yes, but… only if you… carry me,” she whispers, voice drowsy and sweet.

“Of course,” Lorcan tells her, hooking his arm beneath her knees and the other across her shoulders. He cradles her against his chest and stands smoothly, walking across the cabin. The storm seems to have lessened in its intensity, the strikes of lightning softer, the rolling of thunder gentler.

He bumps the door open with his hip and kicks it shut, remembering to not use full force. Essar is seconds away from true slumber, he can feel it as she becomes heavier and heavier in his arms, relaxing into him. He won’t do anything to jeopardise her rest.

The layered blankets and quilts on their bed are rumpled, pushed to the foot of the mattress. Lorcan sets Essar down and eases himself beside her. She makes a noise in the back of her throat and shifts closer to him as he pulls the covers over them.

Essar fits herself against him, stretching her arm across his waist and hitching her leg over his hip. Her head is rested against his chest. Lorcan runs his hand down her side and fits his hand in cradle above her hip, making the shirt she’s wearing bunch up. He rubs his thumb over her waist and she hums again, shifting so that her chest is cushioned against his.

He buries his face in her hair, smelling her gentle sea salt and tiare blossom scent. “I love you, Ess.”

More asleep than not, his mate mumbles an incomprehensible jumble of words, but he smiles all the same, knowing exactly what she’s saying. With all that I am, and with all that I ever will be.

<3<3<3

an: i realise i dont have a taglist for this so......im going to tag a couple people who i know appreciate essar n lorcan <3 let me know if u want to b added for future writings !

@sassyhobbits @hellasblessed @ladyverena

#essar x lorcan #essar #lorcan salvaterre #isa writes #nalgenewhore #also essar is tall because ! it's ! what ! she ! deserves !

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pettyprocrastination · 4 years

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Dinner for Three

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Valerie Lord x Black!Fem!Reader

OneShot: This is just a non-canon fic! This is basically placed AFTER the timelines of this fic, just a fun little side ficlet surrounding you and the lords after yall get together in celebration of Valentines day!

*If you want to read the rest of the fic so far here's a link to my masterlist where you can find Rip Out Our Seams & Stitch Us Together*

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: profanity, some groping going on and kissing. That's about it! Fluff and talking of self-worth.

Summary: It's Valentine's Day, you decide to treat Valerie to a nice homecooked dinner, Maxwell joins you when he returns home from work.

If the formatting is fucked im sorry tumblr fucked this like three times today im just trying to get it POSTED for you all.

Tag List: @captainsamwlsn @themarcusmoreno @cinewhore @thesadvampire @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @readsalot73 @holographic-carmen @honestlystop @thecrimsonsquire @phoenixhalliwell @that-chick212 @phantomnae @goldafterglow

If I forgot to tag you I'm so sorry please let me know!

Notes: BIG thank you to @ficsilike-reblogged who bought me a kofi! I know i was meant to do asomething shorter but i couldn't help myself! Also my usual big thanks for the ever lovely @teaofpeach for editing for me you are an absolute treat my dear ily <3

(i coudn't find any good lasagna gifs the TRAGEDY)

“What in God’s name are you wearing?”

You turned around at the shocked voice to see Valerie standing in the kitchen doorway, red painted lips dropped open.

You grinned and planted your hands on your hips with pride. “My Valentine’s Day outfit! You don’t like it?”

Her face fell flat as she looked you up and down; the main culprit of her disdain was the shirt you wore, buttoned neatly and covered in hearts. “Hon, you look like a cartoon character.”

You wiggled your brows. “A sexy cartoon character?”

“Remind me again why I love you?”

Hearing the word ‘love’ from Valerie Lord would never not send your heart into a frenzy. It had been months since the gala, since they had told you about their feelings with courage brought on my champagne and their own confessions to one another.

They finally had each other, why couldn't they have you as well?

Of course, that didn’t mean there wasn’t a… learning curve. When it came to the relationship, Valerie was bad at sharing her feelings. Sure, she’d say when she didn’t like somebody, or when she thought certain food tasted bad or when Maxwell’s new cologne smelled like rat shit. But she wouldn’t tell you when she was sad, insecure or felt like she wasn’t enough for the both of you.

Maxwell was too concerned with the outer view of the relationship, as he had been with Valerie since they got married. It was suspicious of course, for him to be seen leaving with a “mystery woman” without his wife around, so he took certain precautions. When out and about, he would take too much time fretting over the cameras and questions than you.

These precautions nearly cost them your relationship, their sweet girl who brought them together and showed them love and care and made them realize while they couldn't live without each other, they couldn’t live without you as well.

But now, they knew this. That you weren’t a fling who could be replaced. Your nimble fingers had stitched their beating hearts back together with a golden thread they wouldn’t dare untie from your own.

You turned away from the heiress and back to the stove as you stirred the red sauce in front of you.

“As abhorrent as that shirt is-” Her voice purred in your ear as her arms slid around your waist and pulled your back flush against her- “I love you in those jeans.”

You chuckled and kept your eyes on the task at hand as you slowly stirred. “As much of a compliment that is, Mrs. Lord, why don’t you keep those hands to yourself until I put this on the stove, alright?”

She hummed, contemplative before pressing her lips to the crook of your neck. “So mean to me baby.”

Her hands toyed with your belt loop, a painted nail hooking your shirt and slowly sliding it out from where it was tucked.

You sucked in a sharp breath. “Valerie.”

“What? Can’t I show my pretty baby some love on Valentines day?”

“Not while I’m cooking on a hot stove, little-miss-gropey.” A quick slap to her wrist with the wooden spoon made her yelp and yank her hands away from you.

“Bitch!”

You turned and pursed your lips. “Aww, poor baby, want me to kiss it better?”

She grumbled under her breath, taking in the splattered food on her wrist from the spoon before swiping her finger through it and bringing it to her mouth.

“Maybe you can kiss my ass instea- Oh, damn that’s good.”

Her eyes widened and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of such a high and mighty woman licking the back of her hand.

“Is that-”

“Basil?” She hummed at the taste. “I’m glad you enjoy it. It’s my father’s recipe.”

Valerie watched you as you cooked. Methodically adding each ingredient while humming along to the radio and swaying from side to side.

“You don’t talk about him much.”

Valerie knew you were different than her and Maxwell. Your childhood wasn’t full of flashing cameras, propping questions, and hiding tears behind fake smiles to reporters. When your father was brought up in conversation, you didn’t bristle or change the subject. You would smile.

She wasn’t jealous of that joy. That love you had from your family. She’s grateful for it, that amongst the struggles you had, there was also support and happiness.

“He doesn’t come up in conversation often.” Valerie’s hands once more wrapped around your waist, but simply settled at your hips. Her body was flush with your own and she let her head rest on your shoulder, gently swaying with you as you continued to cook.

“Tell me about him.”

She saw the small smile that graced your lips, mourning and grateful all at once as you spoke of him.

“He used to say that as people, we’re a collection of those around us. The ones we’ve loved. All their little mannerisms and tics become a part of who we are. And that we do the same for other people who love us.”

As you slowly set the pasta onto the bottom of the pan and began to layer the sauce, she wondered who you were an amalgamation of. Was the way you tilted your head back as you laughed from an old flame?

Was the way you sang and shook your hips from a best friend when you were young, who you wished had been more?

Were the soft kisses you press to the tip of their noses something given to you? Or an act of love learned by watching your parents?

Did you have anything of hers? Of Max’s?

Did they have anything of yours?

“I see it in you and Max, yanno.” You stepped back to open the oven and settle the pan on the top rack before shutting it. “You both do a lil’ nose scrunch when you get angry.”

“What?” She drew back from your body, unintentionally wrinkling her nose in the process. “We do not.”

You pulled her close to your body again. Your arms settled around her waist as you slowly moved side to side. You hummed along to the smooth voice of Grover Washington Jr. that danced from the radio and filled the large kitchen, empty except for the two of you.

“Sure do. You're also both very boujee-”

“Hey.”

“A touch temperamental-”

“I’ll give you that one but-"

“As well as emotionally constipated-”

“Excuse me?”

“And yet-” You hummed, letting your head drop forward to rest against hers, nose bumping against hers in a gentle caress- “I can’t help but love you both every damn day.”

Her blue eyes widened, before she groaned and shoved her face into your shirt.

“You fucking sap.” She lifted her head to yours and kissed you. The melody curled around you as she wrapped her arms around your neck and tugged you flush against her. A soft moan broke from her lips as you ran your hands over the plush skin of her ass.

You pulled away long enough to press a kiss to the tip of her nose, giggling when her face scrunched up in response. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Val."

Valerie Lord never thought she’d have this. This love and security. The ability to smile and kiss and dance on a Sunday night in the arms of a lover. She didn’t think she’d ever have a day where she felt love, a love she wasn’t afraid to admit.

Especially to two people.

The pair of you danced in silence, listening to the lyrics that serenaded the way you spun her and the laugh that bubbled up her chest her perfect, pinned, blonde curls came loose.

And darling when the morning comes

And I see the morning sun

I wanna be the one with you.

When Maxwell came home, he noticed how quiet the house was. No chatter or footsteps along the hardwood floors. He knew what day it was, of course he did. He wasn’t an idiot. Valentine’s Day wasn’t a special day with the Lords. It never had been.

But of course, that was before they met you.

Maxwell never saw that love with his parents. His mother was cold and cruel, and while his father was a good man, he knew he didn’t love her. He didn’t blame him for it. But now he felt it. The way his heart would hammer against his ribs so hard he wondered if you could hear him. The way all his stress and anger would melt away the moment Valerie’s hands held his face in a grasp like that used to carry a bird with a broken wing.

He didn’t think it was possible to love. To desire and need somebody as much as he did you two. Now he did, and he wouldn’t go back to a life without it for all the money and power in the world.

The sound of smooth sax caught his attention. Slowly, he set down his briefcase and followed the music until he found himself in front of the kitchen.

This. Maxwell thought as he watched the two of you, your eyes shut as you held one another in a close embrace as swayed. This is why he did it all.

The long hours, the greuling work and idiotic employees. If he could come home to this everyday, it’d all be worth it.

He leaned against the doorway, watching you two until your own eyes opened and met his.

“Happy to finally have you with us monopoly-man.”

He snorted at your lovingly crude nickname. “It was a long day at work.” Gone was the fake ‘apple-pie-and-picket-fence’ accent he forced himself to use at work when he spoke and you loved it. To see the real Maxwell was a privilege, one you would never take for granted.

“Every day at work is a long day for you.”

Before he could retort, his wife unwrapped her arms from you and walked over to her husband. Valerie cupped his face in her hand and led him to her lips with a soft moan. Maxwell melted into the kiss with ease, all thoughts of work and conference calls vanished into thin air as his wife’s fingers carded through his hair. She pulled away with a wet pop and ran a thumb over the smudged lipstick on his face.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, dear.”

Maxwell let his hand run over her bottom lip with a lazy smile. She was magnificent like this. Not preened or pinned or posed. She was messy and unkempt and happy. She never looked more breathtaking than in those moments.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey.”

Her eyes flicked over his crisp suit and her sweet smile was replaced with a groan.

“Son of a bitch you fuckers are matching!”

You shrieked with laughter while Valerie pointed an accusatory finger at the heart-covered tie that lay on her husband’s chest.

“You tacky traitor!”

You leaned over and pressed your lips to his cheek, his hand coming to rest at the small of your back.

“Aw don’t worry, Max. She’s just jealous she isn't matching with us.”

Valerie reared back. “I’ll be caught dead before I ever-”

“Alastair sent them to us.”

A moment of silence passed before she spoke again, more offended than annoyed.

“And he didn’t send one for me?”

Maxwell smirked at his wife, fishing out a small white box and presenting it to her.

“Our son knows his mother wouldn’t be caught dead in anything with gaudy patterns.” He opened the box and she took in the red heart earrings with a smile.

Which was ultimately ruined by you.

“Aw, he boujee just like his mama!”

Before either one could snap back at you, a small ding sounded through the kitchen and you moved quickly over to the oven.

“You know-” Maxwell spoke as he put the earrings on his wife with gentle hands- “We have a chef for a reason.”

You brought out the pan and set it onto the stove, taking in the savory smell with a proud smile.

“Well, fine then. Go get your cook to make you dinner if you want to complain.”

“Wait. Wait, no that not- that’s not what I meant- I’m starving, please.”

Valerie moved around her husband, taking a bottle of red wine and bumping his hip with hers. “Just set the table Maxwell, we both know how you can make it up to her later. It’s a special day after it all.”

Her husband loosened his tie and grinned at you in a way that made you think he wanted to eat you for dinner instead of the meal you prepared.

“Lovely idea, darling.”

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x oc #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord x you #valerie lord x reader #maxwell lord x valerie lord x reader #ROOSASUT #ww1984 #wonder women 1984 #fanfiction #max lord #maxwell lorenzano #tell me if i missed any tags lmao

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honeypirate · 4 years

Text

Thanksgiving Kisses

Aizawa x fyn

A/n: okay so I felt very inspired by fire force and mha so I wanted to write a character who’s quirk is like Sho’s adolla. I also thought it would be cool to have the readers hero name be Adolla.

Hero name: Adolla

Hero suit description: simple black body suit that goes to your ankles and wrists. Easy to move in and keeps you warmer so you can hold your time freeze longer. A belt that holds your katana on your back. Thigh high black combat boots that hold several throwing knives and a dagger.

Quirk info: readers special attack requires chilling the surrounding area to such a low temperature, it reduces the heat that causes the natural expansion of the universe, resulting in time passing more slowly for everything; the sole exception being the reader, who remains at normal speed. The only downside being you can’t hold it for too long or else you’ll freeze.

My change is that Reader can also transfer the body heat from attackers into making her attacks with a katana even more powerful.

I feel like I really like this version of reader. “Adolla” reader will probably be a reocurring character for my fics.

☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎

“It doesnt count if you’re already planning your defeat”

You’re in the training grounds, critiquing a student that you’re giving one on one lessons after school. He’s not even trying at this point and it’s starting to annoy you.

“If you’re not fighting like it’s your last fight you’re going to get no where. You’re already accepting that you’ll fail, so you’ll fail. How can you grow into the hero you need to be if you’re not even trying?” (Wow. I sound like Mr Aizawa) you think to yourself as the student gets mad and attacks.

You activate your quirk and take a few moments as the world cools, in your demension of silence, to really look at the student’s form as he came at you. His quirk was fire and he had a fireball headed right towards you as you walked up to him, he was getting faster you’d give him that. You lightly shove him back on his butt as you release your quirk. He falls back with a grunt. “You’re getting better, quicker. If you can learn to control your anger you’ll be a great hero” you say and help him back to his feet “that’s it for today” he bows and then leaves running away from you.

You picked up your black jacket from the ground and sigh. Your teaching outfit consisted of loose black combat pants tucked into black boots with a white tank top tucked in to your pants. You had your Katana slung across your back and didn’t feel like removing it to put on your jacket so you just threw it over your shoulder. You liked to show off the tattoos on your right arm, a half sleeve of flowers and butterflies from your mid forearm to your shoulder. But for more professional meetings you kept a jacket with you, it also helped keep you warm if you had to use your quirk for so long.

“You could go a little easier on him” you chuckled as you turned to the man in the doorway, walking towards him you say “I could but the world won’t go easy on him.” He smirks and when you’re right in front of him you touch his chest “I’m just teaching like I know you would Sir” you smile coyly and look up at him Through your lashes, he chuckles “I keep saying you don’t have to call me sir. We’re coworkers and you’re not even that much younger than me. Call me Aizawa. Or Shouta even” he says and you get even closer to him and whisper “I know you like it when I call you Sir” you wink and then laugh when he blushes. You pull back and smile innocently. “Shouta it is then” You would always mess with him and tease him, the only other person he’d let tease him was Present Mic, it made you feel special.

Shouta Aizawa and you were like two peas in a pod, cut from the same cloth, you understood him and he understood you perfectly. When working together or fighting together you can read each other like a book.

You’re walking down the sidewalk with him now, heading back to the teachers dorm “Do you have any plans next week for Thanksgiving?” He asks you and you look at him with a look of shock “Shouta? do you remember my American holidays?” You ask and clutch at your heart “I’m so shocked and a little impressed.” He rolls his eyes and you laugh “I don’t have any plans. I was going to go to my parents place but they decided to go on a cruise so Im going to just stay here. I’m probably going to do some work and then cook dinner. Traditional thanksgiving dinner.” You clear your throat “I notoriously cook too much, do you wanna come?” He looks serious for a second before bumping his shoulder into yours “I’d love to. It sounds fun.” You smile at him suddenly excited “cool! You don’t think it’s weird if it’s just us right? I can invite other people but I’m just not as close with anyone else.::.” He laughs “don’t worry it’ll be fine. Not weird”

You’re bouncing with energy and excitement as you text your mom for recipes, he thinks it’s adorable as he quietly watches you in his peripheral vision. When you shove your phone into your pocket you get an idea “also Shouta?...do you happen to be good at cooking? Maybe you could come over early and help me?” You sound shy and looking at the ground “I can cook. And I’d love to help you” he says in his normal gruff voice, trying not to show how his heart fluttered and how he got excited to be around you in a setting outside of work.

You were at the dorms now and had to part ways “okay. So if we don’t have anything crazy happen with villains, you can just come over after classes are over and after you’re done with whatever work you have and we can cook and listen to music. It will be great!” You can’t help but hug him, smiling more when he hugs you back. “Thank you, Shouta. To be honest I was sad because this is my favorite holiday.” You pull back before you let yourself melt into him like you really wanted to. “You’re my hero” you say dramatically and he smiles and tucks your hair behind your ear. “I’m glad I can help”

You can’t help but activate your quirk for a few seconds, looking up at him, leaning softly into his touch.

You release your quirk and he looks confused for half a second, was your skin this cold when he first touched you? You smile up at him “I’m gonna go prepare. Thank you again. See you later” you hate leaving him. He’s like a magnet to you, you wanted to be around him always. So it was always hard to say goodbye.

He hated watching you go, always wanted to reach out and stop you, to pull you back to him and hold you tight. But he never did. He was always so afraid of having someone he loved, afraid they’d get hurt or targeted from villains. But with you it was different. He had no fears because you were by far the most powerful hero he knew. More powerful than All Might because of the fact that you could stop time. He’d have nothing to ever worry about with you, but still he held back. Overthought about it, anxiety bigger than he could handle right now.

As strong as you were, you enjoyed being low key. You never wanted to be the number one hero, you confessed to him one night walking home together, you wanted to help people not be in the spotlight. He was one of the few people who knew truly how your quirk worked and he’d always keep your secrets. You only wanted to help people like you wish someone could have helped your best friend when you were kids, who was caught in the crosshairs on the sidelines of the action. You used your quirk to focus on bystanders first then help with the villains. He adored that you were focused on doing good and not fame. Once you disappeared he shoved his hands into his pocket and went to his place.

The next day you went out and bought the groceries you would need. You were so excited you didn’t even mind carrying the heavy bags back home. “Y/n why didn’t you call me?” Aizawa appears behind you and takes some bags from your hands “Hey Shouta! I should have, you’re right! I didn’t expect it to be so much” you laugh and smile up at him as you distribute bags between you both. The way the sunlight hit you just then, you looked like an angel to him, like you had a real halo. “Next time. Promise?” He says and You laugh, warmed by how much he cares “Pinky promise!” You say and reach out linking your pinky with his around the bags you carried. That small action made him fall harder for you. The rest of the walk filled with easy conversation, he carried the groceries to your apartment before excusing himself to finish his original errands before running into you.

Before you knew it, Thanksgiving arrived! You prepped the night before making two pies, got up early to make your moms famous stuffing and stuffed the Turkey. Setting a reminder on your phone to come back and put it in the oven during lunch.

You wore socks that had turkeys on them and that was the only change to your appearance. You teach your classes and train your students before heading back to your place to flip the turkey and start prepping the other side dishes. You get home and kick off your shoes and setting your Katana on it’s shelf. You squeal excitedly as you look around your clean apartment and your small table in your dining room set up and decorated with nice plates and silverware as well as nice thanksgiving centerpieces you borrowed from home.

You flip the turkey and connect your phone to your surround sound speakers that play in the kitchen and living room, playing your favorite playlist which you mixed in holiday music to so it was a perfect mix.

While you’re in your room, changing into a red blouse tucked into a black cotton pencil skirt. Aizawa texted you to let you know he’s coming over now and you get a little nervous. You get done changing and do a little makeup before heading out and getting out ingredients and cutting boards, thankful to have busy work so you could do something with your hands. He knocks and you tell for him to come in.

“Hey Shouta. Thank you again for helping me” you smile and he nods “no problem. What do you need me to do?” You freeze the moment, he’s rolling up his sleeves and you take a good look at what he’s wearing. He actually dressed up nice for your two person party. A black button up shirt into black nice pants. He slicked his hair back into a low bun and had on socks with turkeys on them, your face flushes and you feel the cold make it’s way up your neck and back before you let the moment go and let your quirk go. You smile in embarrassment from your actions, glad he wasn’t looking at you to see the steam from your flushed cheeks and the ice. “Well the turkey needs anither hour or so, I’ve made a cheese ball and crackers for snacking in case you’re hungry. It’s what my mom used to do for us growing up”

He looks at your hands as you cut up an onion, your fingers expertly dicing. He loves your beautiful hands. Your voice brings him back to the moment. “Maybe you could make the sweet potato casserole. I have the recipe right here” you wash your hands and grab a note card from the top of the fridge. “I’m making the green bean casserole and then when we’re done the turkey will be done and we can bake them. Then after that I have cranberry sauce and bread dough to make into rolls.” He takes the note card and gets busy. You already boiled the potatoes so it wasn’t hard work, as you guys worked you talked and flirted. You stole many glances at him wishing you could reach out and kiss him. After he was done with the casserole he started making the cranberry sauce.

You finished the green bean casserole and then checked the turkey “it’s done! You grin at him and then say “can you get it out of the oven for me? It’s really heavy.” He smiles and nods “of course” he knows what you’re doing. Making him feel more manly with you, he knows your strength and this would be easy for you, but still he gets the hot pads and takes the turkey out of the oven and you easily pop in the casseroles quickly.

He sets the turkey on a towel on the counter, keeping the lid on so it would stay warm. He turns to you and you smile “thank you Shouta” you say quietly and before you realize you’ve reached out and tucked a stray strand of his hair behind his ear. You rest your hand on his cheek and gaze into his eyes.

He places a hand over yours on his cheek and his other hand on your waist pulling you close to him as he looks down at you. You look down at his lips then back to his eyes with a blush starting to reach your cheeks.

“HEYYYYOOO” Present Mic’s voice rang out through your apartment and you and Shouta quickly parted and busied yourselves with other things. “Hey! In the kitchen!” You call out. Shouta clears his throat and you look over at him and wink before Mic comes into the room

“hey Hizashi what’s up?!” You say excitedly and he matches the excitement “how come I wasn’t invited to the party?!” You laugh “I’m sorry I just. It was last minute and I assumed everyone was busy. You’re welcome to stay! And Hey I have an idea! While we wait for this stuff to bake we should put up my Christmas tree!”

Shouta should have groaned and hated this, should have rolled his eyes, but the way you lit up with excitement about putting up a tree made him happy. He smiled at you and nodded. “Sounds fun y/n” he said. Hizashi looked over at him with a furrowed brow “okay! I’ll go get it from my closet!” You wash tour hands and skip from the kitchen down the hall

“Aizawa!” Hizashi whisper yells when you’re gone “what?” He says gruffly “you sly dog. You like her!” He said and pushed Aizawa’s shoulder lightly to which Aizawa just huffed and left the kitchen.

You heard every word, your apartment carries sound so easy, Aizawa liked you! He didn’t deny it! He was trying to kiss you earlier! Amazing! You do a dance in the closet.

You realize you can’t reach the box you roll your stool from your vanity over into the closet and slowly climb on top of it, going slowly to keep your balance, once you had the box in your hand you smiled big and began to lower it to the ground but you lose your balance and the wheels of the stool rolled out from under you,

As you screamed in shock Aizawa ran and slid onto his knees catching you before you fell onto the ground “y/n!” He said looking down at you and you laugh “my hero” you say and reach up stroking his cheek.

Present Mic came running in but paused and kept quiet when he saw you both from the doorway. He decided to go back and check on the casseroles and nab some of that cheeseball he saw.

“You could have came and asked me for help” Aizawa said, still holding you to him as you stroke his cheek “and lose the oportunity to be held in your arms? Never” you say and brush your lips against his softly. You pull back after a second and just look into his eyes, a small smile on his lips as he looks back at you.

You kissed him. Your lips touched his. He wasn’t dreaming right? This is happening? Realistically it’s only been a minute since you kissed him, but it feels like his world has exploded into something beautiful. His heart is beating wild and he has butterflies in his stomach, you fit so perfectly in his arms. Your lips were so soft. Once he was sure he wasn’t dreaming his lips crashed into yours again. You melted into him, kissing him back with just as much fervor. He bites your bottom lip and takes advantage of the moment you gasp to deepen the kiss and stick his tongue into your mouth. You moaned into his mouth and pushed him down onto his back and straddled his hips. Your skirt riding up your thighs gave him the perfect view of your lace underwear when your head whipped up to the sound of the Alexa timer signaling the oven was done. “The food!”

You were on top of him one second and the next second you were gone. Activating your quirk to run into the kitchen, popping up right next to Present Mic with a mouthful of cheese and crackers which went flying from his mouth when he screamed at the top of his lungs when you just appeared out of nowhere.

He chokes on the rest of the food in his mouth, coughing with a hand on his knee, you say “Alexa stop please” as you take the casseroles out of the oven. “They look amazing!!” You squeal in excitement and turn around making eye contact with a very confused Aizawa.

“Sorry Shouta...” you whisper and try to contain your laughter. He just gives you a look that says you’ll continue that later when Hizashi leaves. “So I guess the Christmas tree is forgotten about...” Hizashi says when he finally swallows his mouth full. You pop the rolls in the oven and go get more plates to set out another spot.

When it’s time to eat you make sure they have drinks before you stand at the head of the table with a carving knife and fork in your hands you look at your friends here. You look at Aizawa the most, his expression was so kind and loving it brought happy excited tears to your eyes. “Thank you guys for coming. Aizawa for indulging me and Hizashi for showing up out of the blue. You don’t know how much this truly means to me. In my house thanksgiving has always been just a celebration of family and all of the blessings we have had through the years.” You clear your throat and laugh a little at the happy tears that spill from your eyes. Your friends are smiling at you and you continue with your speech “I am so thankful for you guys and to be able to be at this school in my dream job. you’re my friends and I’m happy to call you my family as well. Okay that’s enough of my tears” you laugh and take the napkin from the outstretched hand of Aizawa near you, dabbing your eyes to not mess up your makeup. “I’ll cut the turkey now and we can dish the rest!” The laughter and conversation ensued as your little table of two close friends began to eat and exclaim how delicious your cooking was.

After dinner was over, Aizawa and Hizashi helped you clear the table to set out the pies and whip cream and refill drinks, as they enjoyed dessert you excused yourself to the kitchen. Boxing up leftovers for them if they wanted to take some home.

“You’re something else y/n” you looked up from your last box up into the eyes of the man you were falling for “It’s my way of showing thanks to you guys for all the love I have felt tonight. We’ve all been through so much with each other, for each other, for this school. You guys are my family.” You smile back at him as you stack the boxes on the counter.

He takes your hand and pulls you back into the living room where they have have cleaned up and they’re and Present Mic is smiling wide and says “to y/n! For giving us such a wonderful night free of stress and full of delicious food!” Aizawa hands you a glass and lifts his own “to y/n!” He echos and you smile and can’t help the few tears that fall. “I’m so happy you both enjoyed yourseves.” You say and Aizawa pulls you into a side hug.

Aizawa helps you quickly do all the dishes and Present Mic takes it upon himself to put up your Christmas tree and string it with lights dramatically while singing a bad rendition of jingle bells to which he didn’t know all the words.

“So” you say with a cute laugh “about the uh,,, closet times” you giggle while rinsing a plate and placing it in a drying rack “the closet times. That’s what we’re calling it huh?” You laugh “yeah. That’s what we’re calling it. For now at least. Maybe later we can call it the moment you realized how amazing and wonderful I am and how you realized that was the moment you couldn’t live without me” you say with cocky humor and he turns off the water and finishes washing the last dish. He passes it to you and you rinse it and then take the towel he’s offering you to dry your hands on. “If we wanted to pin point that moment I’d say it was the second day I met you. The closet times was you moment I realized that I should have been kissing you all this time” you feel all giddy in your chest when he softly reaches out and takes you by your cheeks and kisses you again.

You pull back when you hear a whistle in the doorway and laugh when you see Present Mic in the doorway wagging his eyebrows and dancing. “Get outta here” Aizawa says with a little smile before he goes back to kissing you. You giggle against his lips and kiss him back. When he pulls back you tuck his loose hair again and say “nah I’m always gonna call it the closet times” you laugh when he gives you a look.

You take out the left over boxes and hand them to Hizashi as he makes his way out the door. “Thank you y/n. Tonight was just what I needed too” he kissed your cheek and then was gone.

When you turn back to look at Aizawa he’s already walking over to you. You have butterflies in your stomach as he pulls you to him and kisses you hard. “If you want to know the moment I fell in love with you that was the third day I knew you” he says and you laugh. If it was the time I beat your ass in front of your students then that’s the time I fell in love with you too” he laughs and nods “that exact moment I knew I had to have you” you kiss up his neck softly “I’m so thankful for you. And for your kisses” you whisper and he laughs “I’m thankful I finally have you in my arms. I can see why you love this holiday so much y/n. It’s one of my favorites now too” he kissed your forehead and you sighed, feeling like you finally had everything you needed in life.

#mha #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #aizawa fanfiction #aizawa sensei #bnha shouta aizawa #mr aizawa #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa x you #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you

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datleggy · 4 years

Text

Prompt Fill Part 1/2

I can’t find the exact prompt (im a messy bih) but the gist of it was: Buck is sick and accidentally calls Bobby “dad” or Athena “mom”---I decided to do both.

It’s July now and it’s never been quite so scorching hot as it is the day Buck’s AC decides to break down. He tries to fix it, spends maybe two hours trying to get it to work again before realizing he’s got a higher chance of catching heat stroke than of getting the damn thing to turn on again.

He takes a nice cold shower and within minutes of stepping out of his tub he’s dry from the humidity in his loft. It sucks.

Buck goes to three different stores in the area looking for a new AC unit, only to find out each time they’re all out of stock--- “We can have the model you like shipped to your home or in store for pick up by Monday.” one of the employees tells him, not unkindly.

It’s the best he’s gonna’ get under the circumstances, but that’s also another three days without an air conditioner he’s going to have to suffer through. In the meanwhile he buys a couple of fans, one for his bedroom upstairs and one for the kitchen downstairs.

They don’t do much, except blow the hot air around, unfortunately.

He walks into work the next morning feeling like roadkill--and probably looking like it, too, because the Captain is ushering him to sit down almost immediately upon seeing the state of him. “You getting sick on me?” Bobby tilts Buck’s head up so he can get a better look. His normally bright eyes are glassy and there’s a faint blush of red across his cheeks.

Buck shakes his head, “No, I’m good, just tired.” he admits. “My AC finally kicked it yesterday---new one’s coming in a couple of days---but til then I gotta deal with the heat. Kept tossing and turning all night.” he sighs.

Bobby looks at him in wide eyed disbelief. “Buck, LA’s going through a heat wave right now, tonight we’re supposed to hit triple digits, there’s no way you’re staying in that apartment. We’ll drop by your place at the end of our shift, pack you some clothes and toiletries and you can stay with us until your new AC gets delivered. Sound good?”

It does sound good. Buck knows from experience that during the summers especially Athena cranks up the AC so that their home feels more like a winter wonderland than anything else. But.... “Well, I don’t wanna’ intrude.” He hedges. “I can always ask Maddie---”

“Maddie’s is a one bedroom and the last time you slept over there on her couch you complained about back pain for about a week, Buck. You know Athena and I don’t mind having you over. Plus, it’s a little lonely without the kids around. It’ll be nice, we can invite Michael over for dinner tonight, make a whole thing of it.” Harry is away at space camp for the next two weeks and May is doing a summer course for college credits until the end of the month.

Buck hesitates for only a few more seconds before ultimately agreeing to a weekend sleepover at the Grant-Nash household.

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

It’s late by the time they get off work.

Bobby’s looking forward to dinner with everyone later in the night. They drop by Buck’s loft to pick up a duffel bag and the pit stop only reaffirms Bobby’s decision to have the younger man stay over. The loft is brutally hot---stepping inside almost feels like being cooked in an oven.

Buck is exhausted when they reach home.

He wants to tell Bobby he’s too tired for dinner and a movie tonight; all he wants to do right this minute is take an ice cold bath and go straight to bed, but he can tell the Captain’s excited to sit down with everyone and Buck’s never been one to purposely ruin a good time for others.

“Suck it up.” he tells himself.

Dinner is amazing, as per usual. Buck forces himself to make conversation, forces a grin, eats as much as his stomach can stand at the moment, and is relieved when it’s time to just sit and watch the film Michael brought over.

“It’s a classic, Bobby, I can’t believe you haven’t seen any of the Lethal Weapon movies.”

Athena laughs and teases her husband. “Hey, maybe you and Michael can dress up as Murtaugh and Riggs for halloween this year.”

Bobby looks at the spry and often times reckless character on the screen and shakes his head. “Maybe if I were twenty years younger. Buck, I think you would be the better costume partner in this case.”

Michael turns to Buck, only to realize the kid has conked out for the night. “Well, would ya’ look at that. The old people outlasted the young.” he chuckles.

Athena arches her brow at her ex husband. “And who, pray tell, are you calling ‘old’?”

Bobby laughs, albeit quietly, so as not to wake his sleeping charge. “Makes sense, now that I think about it. Buck didn’t get much sleep last night, given the heat. And today’s shift wasn’t exactly a slow one.”

They’re only half way through the movie but decide to call it an early night, for Buck’s sake.

Athena walks Michael out to his car while Bobby goes to wake Buck so that he can change clothes and sleep on an actual bed. “Up and at em, kid, time for bed.” Bobby jostles him gently.

Buck whines softly but does stir, blinking sluggishly up at Bobby.

“Come on bud, can’t sleep on the couch, you’ll regret it in the morning, trust me.”

Buck is still half asleep when he says, “Don’t wanna’.” burying himself deeper into the cushions underneath him, stubbornly.

Bobby can’t help but smile at the sight. It’s familiar in a way that used to sting a lot more, but now brings a feeling of warmth, too. “I know, you’re comfortable, but I promise you’ll be a lot more comfortable on a bed, c’mon.” He pulls Buck up by the arms, and though Buck groans and whines, he does let himself be lead to the guestroom.

Buck took a quick shower before dinner, to wash away the grime of the day, which is one less thing he has to do before bed. Bobby can tell the kid’s beyond exhausted, so he lets him sit on the edge of the bed while he digs through Buck’s duffel bag for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. “Alright, here we are, change into these and you can--” Bobby sighs.

Of course Buck is curled up atop the sheets, already fast asleep, by the time he turns around.

“Buck,” Bobby leans over the bed and shakes him, but it’s no use. The fire Captain scoffs fondly and goes about untying Buck’s shoes and carefully taking them off his feet. The kid’s body isn’t even fully on top of the mattress, for goodness sake. One of his legs is still dangling off the side and his head doesn’t reach any of the pillows.

Bobby tries one last time to shake him awake, to make him readjust himself to a better sleeping position, but it’s for naught; Buck is knocked out. Bobby takes it upon himself to move Buck, dragging him up so that at least his entire body is on the bed now.

All the jostling to get him situated right finally does make Buck stir, and big glassy doe eyes blink up at Bobby. “Wha’ happened to the movie?” he mumbles incoherently.

Bobby shushes him. “Bedtime. Close your eyes. I’ll make those chocolate chip pancakes you like for breakfast tomorrow, yeah?”

Buck nods groggily, eyelids too heavy to stay open, even if he wanted them to. “’kay.”

Bobby squeezes his shoulder, just briefly. “Goodnight Buck.”

“G’night dad.” and just like that, Buck is asleep, face tucked into a pillow, his body curled into itself in a way that makes him look impossibly small.

Bobby swallows. Hard.

#911 fox #911 fic #bobby nash #evan buck buckley #athena grant #michael grant #prompt #fill #part 1/2

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ihaveissuesbutthatsokay · 3 years

Text

EREMIN URBAN FANTASY (I THINK???) AU!!!

WARNING : strong language, mention of blood, of a missing person, grief and mention of depression

The forest. That's what everyone called it. But It wasn't really a forest.

Not a normal one, anyway.

There was something inside. Something sinister. Everyone could feel it the moment they entered. You could feel it the moment you entered, the air suddenly getting colder, shivers forming up your skin, and feeling a burning hole behind your head where you swore you could feel something, someone, watching your every step, your every movement, your every breath.

You were known as the boy who seeked freedom.

People tried to venture into the forest. Dreaming of exploration, dreaming to see what awaited on the other side of the forest. That's why the town folks would prepare expeditions to go outside.

After all, being trapped in a small town with nothing but a wide forest to keep you company, that's not freedom. It was almost as if the forest wanted to keep you tight, too afraid to let go, too afraid to watch you wither away. But you wanted to go away. You hated this small town, this confined space.

No one came out alive in the forest.

That's why the town stopped entering the forest altogether. It was too dangerous. Too reckless. But you were the boy who seeked freedom. You wouldn't give up.

Why do you never give up, goddamnit!

You were reckless, naive, young. You thought the world bended at your own rules. You thought you and your friends, together, would be untouchable.

I was wrong.

That's right. You were wrong.

And that's why you will always hate yourself for dragging your friends into this mess. That's why you wished you weren't the boy who seeked freedom after all.

----

Armin couldn't sleep. Not that it was something unusual. He could barely sleep these past few years, with school work piling up, finals right around the corner, and generally just life being a complete shithole of a mess.

He had three unfinished assignments due tomorrow. And it was already 3 am. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't focus. He could feel his eyelids closing up by themselves, his hand loosening up on his pen, his head about to drop on his desk---

He sighed in defeat, and stood up from his chair more violently than it was necessary.

Coffee. He needed coffee.

He made a face,just thinking about drinking it. He hated the bitterness that crap had to offer, the sensation of his tongue being burned while he tried to chug it into one go, as he wanted to be done with it.

He hated it, but he needed it.

The caffeine kept him awake.

Mikasa would always chide him about this. At how unhealthy of a coping mechanism it was, to rely on a substance to keep him awake.

He still remembers how two years ago, exactly 4 months after the incident, how she would constantly tell him to stop drinking that burned bean water, probably very worried at the lack of sleep Armin clearly was not getting.

“You don't even like it.” She would frown.

Armin would laugh at the name Mikasa used to describe the coffee, avoiding the last statement. “Since when did you start calling it like that?”

Mikasa would frown again, knowing what he was doing. She didn't push him though. instead, she would just shake her head.

“Sleep.” She would say very seriously, while giving him a sideway glance. “You need sleep.”

Armin would look at her dead in the eyes, at the dark circles surrounding them, at the way she kept her body, the way her skin didn't have the same glow it used to have, her face hollower and emptier than it usually looked.

“So do you.” He would softly whisper in return. She would just shrug, and the conversation would always hit a dead end there. “Besides,” he would add, after a moment of silence, “I do like coffee. Now.”

“Oh.” She would say. Not convinced.

“Yeah.” He would answer. Trying to make the lie sound convincing. To whom, he didn't know. Mikasa or himself? Perhaps both.

“Okay.” She would respond. “That's good.” She would grip her red scarf thighter, a gesture Armin noticed she would always do when she was nervous, sad or upset, and from that, Armin knew that she didn't believe him at all. But neither of them commented on it. It was a comforting lie.

Now as he was standing alone in his small kitchen, still sleep deprived, not listening to Mikasa’s advice, with a cup of boiling hot coffee in his hand, moonlight reflecting on his windows, a single tear slipped down his eye. It trailed all down his cheek, slowly, until it plopped into the drink he was holding with shaky hands.

He missed him. A lot. God, he missed him so much.

He missed his smile, his eyes, his laugh, his everything. The way he would scream in excitement, the way he would always run at the high, high hill, always fist pumping into the air when he thought he won, only to get disappointed when he realized Mikasa was just letting him win on purpose.He missed the way he would get excited when his mom would bake him a new cake, the way he would always bring Armin a piece afterwards, eager to see his reactions while eating it.

“So?” He would ask, more close to a demand than a question, his tone full of youth excitement. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah!” He said, surprising himself. Not that Eren's mom was a bad cook, not at all. But the cake flavor was coffee, and he never saw the appeal to this grown ups drink. Strangely, however, he really enjoyed this one. Thinking back at it, maybe he was just forcing himself to like it, cause he wanted to see the boy smile widen. Maybe he just wanted to love everything Eren offered him. Maybe he was just a delusional kid with a crush. Who knows. It was too late to dwell on it now.

“Your mom is an awesome cook.” Armin commented, licking some frosting off his hands.

The boy gloated in pride. “She said she will help me learn how to bake if I behave.”

“I thought you weren't allowed to bake anymore,” Armin said, still chewing on the cake. “Last time we baked at your house, it was a bit of a disaster.” It wasn't as big of a disaster as they made it out to be. But they were childrens, and everything seemed a bigger deal than it was.

He huffed in response. “That wasn't my fault! It was the oven's fault…” he murmured. Armin laughed. “I dont think your mom agrees with that.”

The other boy shoved him playfully. “How was I supposed to know I can't just bake coffee beans?”

Armin sighed. “I told you it wasn't a good idea. You never listen.”

“Whatever.” He said, plopping his legs on Armin’s lap.

“Hey!” Armin yelped, the boy's dirty feets almost getting into Armins plate. “I'm still eating here.”

Eren laughed. After a bit, Armin joined in.

They laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

Armin's laugh never quite sounded the same after he was gone.

Neither did Mikasa’s for that matter. Probably the others too, but he lost contact with them, so he couldn't say for sure. They still all went to the same school, sure, but it was almost as if they were complete strangers, everyone collectively ignoring each other, in a desperate attempt to forget the incident. The only person he still talked to was Mikasa. And she, too, sometimes seemed so far away, like a mirage ready to dissolve right under his fingertips.

Armin was about to take a sip from his coffee. More like chugging it down in one go, but he froze right as the cup touched his lips.

His hands started to tremble, from fear or cold, he couldn't distinguish. Despite the heat of the beverage in his hand, he suddenly felt really cold. His arms shivered, his hands turning white as he clenched to his cup as if it could give him a sense of support. By gripping it too hard, some coffee splashed onto his hands, and he let out a hiss of pain. He put the coffee on the table, careful not to spill anymore.

He started feeling feverish, his head becoming a dizzying mess. He put a hand on the counter, for support. He felt like an invisible force was pushing his lungs, pushing until he couldn't breath, until he was coughing, and coughing, he needed air, he desperately needed air, but it was as if whatever was making him feel likethis, hated air, hated it with a burning passion, and it wanted to make Armin hate air as much as it did.

Armin felt like fainting. He probably was about to faint. He didn't know how it happened, but suddenly he was kneeling on the ground,

This is it. He thought miserably. I am going to die, today, alone, without even knowing if he is still alive, leaving Eren behind, leaving Mikasa behind, leaving everyone behind, because im a failure, and, and, and---

And then it stopped. His lungs could breathe again. He gasped, desperately trying to inhale as much air as possible, the burning in chest slowly fading away, even if his head still felt like someone was smashing a rock onto it.

But he could finally breathe again, and he could feel his pulse. He wasn't dead. He was alive. That's what mattered. He took another shaky breath, and used the chairs and the counter as support to stand up again. His legs were still shaking though, so instead of standing up, he opted to sit on the chair.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Those were the only thoughts going through his head, as he tried to sip his coffee again. That sensation, that feeling. There was no mistake. It was just like the incident two years ago, the same burning sensation, the same desperation to just give up, to do anything, anything, just so the pain could stop, the envy of being able to breathe---

“Ymir.”

The cup shattered on the ground, a sharp sound echoing through the empty hallways, coffee spilling everywhere. Armin didn't even notice. He was frozen in place, hand still raised, eyes still looking in front of him.

That voice. He couldn't make sense of anything. Except : That voice.

That voice. I know that voice. I would know that voice everywhere.

He turned around so quickly his chair went flying to the ground, glass splintering his bare feet from where the glass shattered. His eyes widened, tears spilling out of his ocean blue eyes like fountains.

“Eren?” He whispered. He took a step forward, hand reaching out, trying to touch him, hug him, kiss him, just feel him under his touch but---

His hands went right through him, as if...as if he wasn't real. A look of hurt and confusion shadowed Armin's face. “Ymir.” The man in front of him said again. He sounded monotone, no emotions, no feelings, no nothing. His face didn't seem like an open book anymore, his eyes not gleaming with millions' adventure.

“You have to find Ymir.”

“Eren.” That's all Armin could muster to utter, his voice shaking, his lips trembling. Was this a sick joke of his brain? The sleep deprivation finally kicking in? Making him almost pass out, and now hallucinate his missing-but-much-more-likely-his-long-lost-dead-best-friend?

“Listen to me, you have to listen to me, you need to find Ymir, or else, or else, or else.” He kept repeating the same sentence, as if he was a broken recorder. He closed his eyes, opened them again, closed them again. Armin took a step backwards. His mind was starting to creep him out.

“Eren, is that really you, please tell me I'm not hallucinating you.” He needed to ask, even if it was probably all fake, all his mind–

“Or else.” He closed his eyes again, muttered some stuff.

“Or else?” Armin whispered. “Eren, talk to me, please.”

“Ymir. Find. Ymir.”

With that, Eren started to fade again.

“Wait, no!” Armin didn't want him to leave, not right after he finally got to see him again. He didn't care this might all be his head. He didn't care this might all have to do with what happened three years ago, he didn't care, he just wanted his best friend back, he just wanted to be able to laugh and mess around, and talk about the future as if they both had a clue, he just wanted Eren back.

In his desperate attempt to reach him, Armin slipped on the spilled coffee; he could feel blood oozing from his feets, now from his hands, a stinging pain forming all around his skin. He didn't care, didn't notice. He struggled to get up again, and when he slipped again, he decided to crawl, not caring about the glass shatters on the floor, not caring about the pain, the stiffness of the floor, the red blood mixing with the brown coffee, he didn't care, he just needed to reach him, try again to touch him, maybe he imagined him fading under his touch, maybe it was a trick of the light, maybe he truly did come back, maybe, maybe, just maybe---

“Dont.” He whispered, more like a mix between a sob and a beg. “Don't go.”

“Armin–?” He sounded surprised, shocked, relieved, happy, nothing like the creepy expression and monotone voice he had before when he was muttering all those things, the same name over and over again, what was it again---he couldn't remember in the moment, the only thing in his mind was that he recognized him, he saw him and he knew who he was, and he said his name so gentle, so quietly, as if he was uttering a precious thing he didn't want to break–

“Eren.” Armin said, reaching his arms out, knowing, just knowing, he would reach his arm to, and they would hold hands, and everything would be fine again, he would have his best friend back–

But just as suddenly as he appeared, he disappeared.

And Armin couldn't do anything but curl up on the ground and cry, and cry, until his mind encircled him into a deep, unwanted sleep.

#eremin #snk eren #snk armin #snk mikasa #a sprinkle of eren/armin/mikasa #Historia #christa #ymir #ymir fritz #jean #sasha blouse #connie springer #armin mikasa friendship #angst #comfort #everyone needs a hug #it will get dark #inspired by a phone game #i like to make my reader suffer IM SORRY

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cordonian-literature · 4 years

Text

The Aftermath - Ch. 1

The Met

Summary: Riley and her husband take a visit to a museum while their kids have lessons

Word Count: ~2.0k

Warning: Mention of character death

*All characters belong to Pixelberry, except those that are unique to my story (I’ve also used some characters and fictional instances from Donna Tartt’s “The Goldfinch”*

Catch up here!

After giving Eleanor, Gabriel, and Theodore breakfast, Riley made her way to the kitchen of their New York penthouse and began making turkey sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies, for what she hoped could be for a picnic in Central Park in the late afternoon after the kids’ practices.

The sound of the mixer didn’t allow Riley to hear her husband walk into the kitchen. She feels his stiff arms around her waist and chuckles.

Kissing the back of her head, Theodore asks, “Making a treat for me?”

Riley laughs, removing herself from his grasp to preheat the oven on the other side of the kitchen. “For the kids.”

Theodore looks into the bowl. “Isn’t it a little early to be making dessert?”

“Actually,” Riley goes back and stops the mixer. “I thought we could go on a little picnic?” She looks at her husband thoughtfully. Bringing her attention back towards the cookies, she continues, “After Gabe’s soccer practice and Ella’s dance class, of course.”

“Of course,” he repeats. He watches her put the cookie dough in the fridge. “We should ask the kids.”

Riley turns, holding a piece of bread in her hands. “Do you think they might not want to go?”

“Nah, I’m sure they do.” He walks up to her and collects her in his arms. “But I had other plans for us today.”

A shy smile spreads across Riley’s face. “Which is?”

“A visit to the Met. They’ve a new exhibit.”

“With the kids?” she removes herself from his embrace with her free hand and goes back to making sandwiches.

“We can ask them to come with.”

“And if they don’t want to?”

Theodore laughs. Letting go of Riley, he goes into the fridge to grab an apple. “Gabe’s old enough to watch over Ella for a couple hours. We’ll bring them back dinner.”

Gabriel had just turned ten, and Eleanor was still many weeks away from turning eight. Even though her husband argued that they were old enough to be somewhat self sufficient, Riley still felt nervous leaving them alone.

Noticing the concern on her face, he suggests, “We could also just go during their practice times if that’ll make you feel better, babe.”

“Thanks, Theo,” she smiles, eyeing the apple. “I just... get worried sometimes. Especially for Gabe.”

Theo gives an understanding nod and takes a bite into his apple, but not before Riley notices the irritation on his face. After ten years, she no longer let it bother her, unless Theo’s annoyance of her and Liam’s son got excessive. She understood that it was difficult for Theo to raise a child that wasn’t his, especially when his wife made it very clear that she was still in love with the father of that child.

Even though Theo agreed to parent Gabriel with Riley, he was glad that they had their own daughter, Eleanor, so he could at least be a father to her in the ways that he wasn’t with Gabe.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that, right?” Riley turns to fully face him, wanting to keep her husband in a good mood, she tries to explain herself. “It’s just that I don’t want them to do anything foolish or—.”

“Riley. Babe,” Theodore looks at his wife, in her old, dark tank top and a worn pair of jeans. “I know. I worry about them, too. I wanna keep them safe, too.”

Riley smiles and gives her husband a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers. Turning back to the counter, she finishes making the sandwiches as Theo stands behind her, eating his apple. “I’ll leave these for lunch then, if we’re not going on the picnic. We can get Chinese for dinner, and maybe the cookies could be a snack for later today?” She looks at Theo, and he nods in silent agreement.

-------

Ella and I raced down towards the elevator, Mom and Dad trailing far behind us. We hold the “close doors” button and leave them on our floor as the elevator falls towards the lobby.

We tumble out, giggling, but Ella freezes and cries, “I forgot my water!” She starts throwing things out of her bag and onto the lobby floor. When Mom and Dad finally come out of the elevator, Mom starts laughing.

“Forgot this?” she holds out Ella’s bottle to her and helps her put everything back in her bag.

The four of us walk together towards the waiting limo. Once we’re inside, Mom and Dad turn to us.

“While you guys are at practice,” Dad begins, “Your mother and I will be seeing a new exhibit at the Met.”

“Ou, take pictures for me, please!” Ella requests.

“We’ll pick you up on time, promise,” Mom reassures, caressing my cheek. “You both have your phones on you, yes?”

Ella and I pat our pockets, signaling where we put our devices.

We reach the indoor soccer courts first. Mom gives me a quick kiss on my forehead and Dad gives me a pat on the back as I fumble out the door with my large bag. I wish Ella good luck during dance practice and head inside.

I played until I could barely breath. I skipped some of the water breaks, my body wanting to keep moving, so when everyone was hydrating themselves, I continued to dribble and chase after the ball. During the third water break, coach yells at me to “Sit the hell down!” so I relent and down my water in one breath. My parents are planning a trip to Italy next week, and I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t going to lose that much practice time; I was motivated to work ahead.

After practice, I wait in the lobby with some of my friends. We talk, but we’re not fully engrossed in the conversation: everyone either has their eyes glued to the doors or to their phones, waiting for their parents to give the signal that it was time to go home.

I turn on the ringer of my phone and sit back on the bench, waiting for my parents. Dad was usually the punctual one, but since they’d gone to visit a new exhibit, I guessed he wanted to spend a little more time there; Mom and Dad weren’t always free to be able to do things together.

I take a nap while I wait, but when I wake up, I realize that I’ve been waiting for almost half an hour. Ella’s session would end in a couple minutes, so I shoot her a text hoping that she would see it as soon as she got out.

Hey.

hi. r u guys on ur way?

No. Mom and Dad haven’t picked me up yet.

rlly? whats taking them so long?????

I’m going to check their location

She leaves me on read.

It says “loading” but then says unavailable. The Met has wifi right?

weird

Can you check, please?

yessir

After a few moments, she texts me back.

it says the same for me :(( im worried

Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s a reason

I sit in the lobby, trying to calm down Eleanor through text and wave goodbye to all my friends as their parents pick them up. After another half hour, the next set of lessons start for the older kids. The receptionist steals glances at me before finally saying, “Hey Gabriel, is your mom coming to pick you up today?”

“Um,” I look down at the phone in my hand, contemplating whether I should call one of my parents. “I’m not sure.”

“What about your dad?” she asks.

“No, they should be in the same place. They usually pick me up by now.”

“We have your grandmother as an emergency number. Want me to call her up and make sure everything’s alright?” she suggests. I want to say no, that there’s no reason to worry, but the sense of dread in my chest threatens to yield tears.

“Sure,” I allow.

My mother’s mother lives in Northern New Jersey and visits often, since it’s not too long of a train ride — she’d drive, but parking was difficult, and our reserved underground parking spots in the building was already filled with Dad’s cars. The receptionist introduces herself, then waves me over to talk on the phone.

“Hell-o!” Grandma greets. “How was practice? Everything okay?”

“Good. Yeah everything’s fine,” I say. “Practice ended almost an hour ago, but I’m still here. And Ella says that Mom and Dad haven’t picked her up, either.”

“Uh oh,” she says, and I can hear her face fall. “Do you want me to come pick you up? You both can stay with me tonight. Then we will call Mama and tell her you guys are alright. How does that sound?”

I give a sigh of relief. “Yes, please. I’ll tell Ella.”

“Okay, baby. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

I fill in my sister, but she doesn’t reply to my texts.

Twenty minutes later, I throw my bag into the trunk of Grandma’s Buick and slide into the back seat next to Ella. She stares at her lap, and I know she’s feeling the same amount of worry and confusion that I am.

When we reach Grandma’s small town, she asks us if we want dinner. When both of us say we’re not hungry, she still grabs us McDonald’s.

Mom and Dad don’t answer our calls. We even call Dad’s assistant, but she also says that she hasn’t heard from him.

We eat dinner quietly, with Grandma giving us encouraging kisses and pep talks while we talk about our practices. Afterwards, we go into the living room to quietly watch some Netflix while Grandma makes some apple pie. The smell of it baking in the oven makes me nostalgic for something unknown, and it reminds me of the cookies that Mom was making earlier today. I hear Ella sniffle, and turn to see her silently crying.

After desert, Grandma gives us some of Mom’s old baggy clothes to sleep in. Ella gets to sleep in Mom’s old room while I sleep in the guest room. My eyes burn from the amount of tears I held back today, and its almost painful to close them.

...

I wake to the smell of pancakes and a familiar rumble in the pit of my stomach. I brush my teeth, but don’t bother to fix my hair. Ella eats quietly on the island in the kitchen. I slide onto the seat next to her and watch Grandma start making another pancake.

“Good morning!” she says to me. “Could one of you please turn on the news in the living room?”

I allow Ella to keep eating and walk towards the little doorway that separates the living room from the kitchen. Turning on the news, I increase the volume. The image of police cars, ambulances, and firetrucks from a helicopter view flash on the screen while a female reporter narrates the incident.

“On the evening of May seventeenth, the Metropolitan Museum of Art was bombed by an unidentified group. Investigations are underway and the city has been closed off, including trains and bus routes into and out of the city, along with roads and bridges.

“Many dead bodies have been found, and many others are severely injured. CEO of Blaise Enterprises, Mister Theodore Blaise, has been found dead. The whereabouts of his wife, Riley Brooks, are unknown. Senator Nicolae Adebayo sustained serious injuries, as did many other persons.”

Ella’s screams drown out the sound of my heart thundering in my ears. Grandma rushes towards her and collects her off of the floor and into her arms. I stare at them, the reporters’ voices and the smell of the pancake burning melt into the background as I take a shaky breath and allow my tears to fall.

#the royal romance #cordonia #liam x mc #drakewalker #hanalee #maxwell beaumont #olivia nevrakis #choices trr #trr riley #riley brooks #liam rys #chocies fanfic #trr fanfic #trr fandom

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 6: Something Borrowed, Something Blue]

I’d like to give a very special shout out to @killer-queen-xo and the insightful prediction she left on Chapter 5 about Y/N and the camera...you were close! 😉

Chapter summary: Y/N breaks a promise; John gives a gift; Freddie has a request; Roger makes a scene.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, creepy male behavior.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

“Welcome!” Mary chimes as she opens the door for you, then her eyes flick down to the gift bag decorated with Santa hats and sprigs of holly. “Oh, love, we said positively no presents!”

“It’s just something small, I promise. Very inexpensive.”

“She’s here!” Freddie announces with a flourish of his hands, leaping up from the couch. The apartment he shares with Mary is tiny and very cluttered, and absolutely none of the decorations match. The walls are a collage of Bohemian tapestries and family photos and prints of Rococo-style paintings and magazine cutouts of articles about Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, The Beatles, Aretha Franklin, Elvis Presley, Queen. Freddie pecks you on both cheeks; Blue Christmas is drifting from the record player. You’re suddenly aware that the apartment is brimming with the scent of baking cookies. In the living room, Roger, Brian, and John are hanging strings of popcorn and paper ornaments on a short, rather scruffy Christmas tree. There is a vast array of presents scattered around the tree stand; all are small, with the exception of one large square box swathed in silver and sapphire wrapping paper.

“I see no one else respected the no presents rule either.”

“You Bostonians and your insatiable need to rebel,” Freddie quips, shooing you towards the tree.

“Y/N, look at this,” Chrissie says from where she and Veronica are sitting on the couch threading popcorn. She’s frowning and holding up a piece of paper cut into the shape of a Pontiac Firebird. “Will you please inform Roger that this is not Christmas themed?”

“Awww!” You grin as she hands it to you. He’s even drawn on a windshield, headlights, and a smiley face floating behind the steering wheel. “Let him hang it, Chris. It’s the only car he’s going to be able to afford for a long time.”

Roger bounds over and embraces you, nearly knocking you over. “This is why you’re my favorite American in the entire world. Possibly my favorite person period. The love of my life.” He takes the paper Firebird and impales it on an ornament hook, then combs through the tree branches for an ideal location.

Brian points heatedly at Roger. “If he gets to hang the damned Firebird then I get to hang my Saturn!”

“Look what you’ve done,” Chrissie tells you, but she’s smiling. She’s wearing a gorgeous green velvet dress and pieces of mistletoe weaved into her long dark hair. Veronica is beside her in a chunky red sweater and denim skirt, not particularly flashy yet festive nonetheless; she waves to you as she pushes pieces of popcorn one by one down the string. She’s wearing makeup tonight, which is unusual. Her lace-white cheeks are tinged with rouge, her slate-blue eyes rimmed by lavender shadow. Freddie and Mary are removing a sheet of cookies from the oven and quibbling over whether they’ve browned enough.

Roger gestures to the gift bag as you place it under the tree. “You better not have spent your own money on that.”

“Oh, tons. It’s diamonds and gold and a dash of overpriced modern art, just to spice things up.”

Roger growls theatrically in his high, raspy voice. Brian stands back and admires the tree as John loops a strand of multicolored Christmas lights around it.

“It’s actually very modest,” you assure Roger. “Not impressive at all. Chris helped.”

“You enabled this behavior?!” Freddie scolds Chrissie as he traverses the room with an overflowing plate of chocolate chip cookies.

She sips cheap red wine impishly and shrugs. “I know a girl in fashion school, I can get their extra yarn if I buy her a cup of tea and pretend to care about her disastrous love life.”

You smirk. “Disastrous love life? I’ve got one of those.”

“You knitted something for us?!” Roger shouts, delighted.

You wiggle your fingers in the air. “What can I say? I’m good with my hands.”

Roger groans. “Don’t tease me.”

“You certainly are,” Brian tells you. “That roadie who busted his forehead open got fixed up straightaway.”

“That was literally two stitches. Head wounds just bleed a lot, it looked way worse than it was.”

“Well,” Brian insists. “I was impressed.”

Freddie claps his hands, slick obsidian nail polish gleaming. “Ahhhh, I’m so excited! What have you made for me, love? Oh, I hope it’s a nice thong.”

“It’s probably not,” Chrissie says.

Mary pours you a glass of wine and glances around the room. “Does everyone have enough cookies? Drinks? Veronica, dear?”

“I suppose I could use a refill.” She passes Mary her glass and smiles as John sits beside her on the couch. You’ve never quite been able to figure out Veronica; she’s cordial yet removed, kind yet wary, extremely dogmatic in her Catholicism and yet simultaneously socializing with rock stars who are unmistakably living in sin. Her most redeeming quality, as far as you’ve observed, is her steadfast devotion to John...or, perhaps, to the life she’s envisioned they could build together. She rests her hand on John’s thigh and glances coolly at you as you pretend not to notice.

Mary returns with a fresh glass of wine for Veronica. “Alright. Should we start with you, Y/N?”

“What, for the gift exchange we all promised wasn’t happening?” You grin. “Sure, I’ll start.”

You open your Christmasy bag and start doling out small boxes. It’s December 23rd, and Queen is enjoying three weeks off for the holidays before the Sheer Heart Attack Tour resumes. The next show is in Columbus, Ohio—not exactly a cultural mecca, it’s true—followed by a scattering of stops across the continental United States. Half of you is thrilled, especially for the night the band will spend in Boston; the other part of you is dreading it. You don’t talk to Roger about what he does with groupies on tour—or what Brian does, or what Freddie does—and Rog doesn’t mention it around you either. He asks you to join him after every show, for dinner or drinks or clubbing; and you tell him no (though it’s never easy to) and try not to think about the apparent eventualities of stardom. Then Roger goes one way, and you go another.

“Let’s see, what do we have here...” Brian begins prying open his box with long careful fingers.

“You can’t judge me,” you plead. “I’ve only had the tour break to work on them, and I’m really not an expert knitter or anything, and I—”

“Oh, it’s lovely!” Freddie gushes, holding his black and white striped hat aloft for everyone to see. He pulls it on over his silky hair and turns to Mary. “What do you think? Am I dashing?”

She beams as she kisses him. “Overwhelmingly so.” And you think about how being on the road feels like one dimension, and being here in London another. Here, fidelity and domesticity; there, freedom from the familiar world and all its browbeating rules.

“Mittens!” Brian proclaims joyfully. They’re an olivey green, and just large enough for his hands. “They’re so comfy, feel these Chris...”

Roger whips his hat out of the box; it’s very fuzzy and a fiery red with flecks of burnt orange. “I’m obsessed! I adore it! I’ll never take it off!”

“I can’t believe you did all this,” John says. He’s sliding on his mittens, which are a soft greyish blue. “This must have taken you days.”

“It’s Christmas! You’re supposed to slave away for the people you love at Christmas. And you’ve all done so much for me, the scales will always be hopelessly lopsided, don’t you worry.”

“The color is beautiful,” Veronica observes as she touches John’s mittens, but perhaps guardedly.

“They match his eyes!” Freddie exclaims; and they do. “This is delightful, Nurse Nightingale. Truly. How can I ever repay you?”

A smile ripples across your face, full of serenity and relief. They really do like the presents. I didn’t stay up until 4 a.m. knitting for nothing. “The cookies and wine are more than sufficient. I’m so sorry I didn’t have time to make anything for the ladies, but hopefully your charming future husbands will share and there are chocolates in the bottom of the boxes for you—”

“Oh please,” Chrissie snaps. “You’ve already made the rest of us look thoughtless enough. Kindly shut up and drink your wine now. Thank you, obnoxious Bostonian.”

You laugh as Chrissie distributes her and Brian’s gifts for everyone. She decreed weeks ago that you’ll spend Christmas Eve and Day with her family in Dartford. You can help me keep Brian distracted and in good spirits, she’d told you. His father is livid about us living together without being married, and I’m petrified Bri will give himself another ulcer over it.

Inside the small boxes Chrissie passes out are fancy teabags that smell like pomegranate and peppermint. Freddie and Mary dispense pouches of little pink soaps shaped like dolphins and seashells. John and Veronica give everyone homemade candles, which are either ruby red or evergreen. Roger has picked out three novelty mugs: Led Zeppelin for Brian and Chrissie, cats for Freddie and Mary, and raining gold coins for John and Veronica.

“Well I hope that’s prophetic,” John jokes.

“I don’t get a mug?” You’re trying not to show it, but you are hurt that he forgot you.

“No, you don’t.” Roger rummages around under the tree and passes you the large square present wrapped in silver and blue paper. Chrissie and Mary whistle and clap.

“Oh, big spender!” Freddie chastises.

“Roger, no,” you breathe, horrified.

“Roger, yes!” He drums the coffee table eagerly. “Open it.”

“No real presents allowed! You don’t have the money—”

“Are we married?” Roger asks.

You blink at him. “What?”

“Are. We. Married?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Then you don’t get to tell me what to do with my very tiny sliver of earnings that the record company doesn’t steal.” He grins. “Now open it.”

Slowly, cautiously, you tear through the wrapping paper as the others hover on the edges of their seats. John is squinting suspiciously. Roger balls up his fists and presses them to his smiling lips. You open the top flaps of the box.

“No.”

“What is it?!” Mary begs. “The anticipation is agony!”

“Yeah, love of my life,” Roger taunts, his blue eyes luminous. “What is it?”

Carefully, you lift it out of the box. It’s brand new and shiny and perfect.

“A camera!” Freddie cries.

“A Canon F-1, to be precise,” Roger says. “And a manual too. For our aspiring wildlife photographer. Us feral musicians being the wildlife, of course.”

“Roger...” You reach for him instinctively, and he rushes over to wrap you in a hug. “Thank you so much. I don’t know why you would do this for me.”

He laughs. “Because you’re the best gift I ever got, Boston babe!”

“Let’s give it a try!” Freddie plucks the camera from your hands and begins loading film. “Alright, click this...press that...oh fuck, how do I do this?! Deaky, come over here. You can fix anything.”

“Sure thing, Fred.” John readies the camera in just a minute or two, no longer than it takes Mary to refill glasses and send around another plate of cookies. He looks a little ashen to you, a little stunned; but when you ask him if he’s okay, John just smiles and nods.

Freddie snaps photos of Brian and Chrissie as they snuggle on the couch, of John posing sheepishly in front of the Christmas tree, of Veronica waving as she nibbles a chocolate chip cookie, of Roger in his flame-colored hat. Then Roger makes sure you get your camera back, and it’s your turn to take the pictures. You sit beside the tree, the kaleidoscopic glow of Christmas lights speckling the walls like stars, and collect still frames of memories like catching lightning bugs in jars, like it’s July instead of December, like it’s the heart of a year instead of the end. After a while Freddie comes over to sit next to you, to toast wine glasses with you, to make fun of your flushed cheeks. Then he watches as you gaze at Roger from across the room. Rog is trying on Brian’s mittens and clapping his hands like a seal, grinning hugely, flashing his pointy little canine teeth. And despite all those oh-so-rational promises you’ve made to yourself, you begin to wonder.

“Don’t do it,” Freddie says quietly.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you sling back, pleasantly tipsy. And then: “Why not?”

“Because I like having you around. And if you do this, eventually you won’t be around anymore.”

When you’re finally exhausted enough to drag yourself away from them and catch a taxi, John follows you out into the hallway of the apartment building.

“I have one more gift for you.”

“John, no, absolutely not, I am thoroughly unworthy—”

“Stop.” He pulls a thin, rectangular item from behind his back. It takes you a moment to recognize it.

“Your notebook...?”

“I know it’s not wrapped.” He’s anxious, you realize, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I kept trying to work up the nerve, and I still wasn’t sure about it when we came over here, and now, well...here I am.” He gives the notebook to you, and you open it, and you gasp in awe.

Inside are sketches from Rome: the concert, the temples, the museum, the beach on that cool breezy afternoon, and, best of all, the people you shared the city with. You and Roger laughing in front of a statue of Perseus. Brian and Chrissie contemplating ruins. Freddie hunched over a piano, his dexterous hands stretched across the keys. And you sitting in that sweltering, fire-lit corner of the Italian restaurant, smiling from behind a glass bottle of Coke. You trace your fingertips over your own face; it’s blissful and peaceful and beautiful in a way that you’ve never seen yourself. “John...”

“Because, you know, you said that you wanted to document the tour so you could remember it all, and I figured...since you didn’t have a camera...maybe this would be better than nothing.”

“It’s a lot better than nothing, John. It’s incredible.”

“They’ll do for now. You won’t need drawings anymore,” he notes, somewhat mournfully. “You can put them on your refrigerator until you have photos to replace them with.”

You shake your head, still staring. “The way you captured my face...”

He shrugs, smiling crookedly. “I just borrowed it.”

“Thank you.” You climb onto your tiptoes and wrap your arms around the back of his neck. He’s warm and gentle; his fluffy hair tickles the sensitive undersides of your wrists.

“Happy Christmas,” he whispers to you; happy, not merry, like a true Englishman. And he’s right. You can’t remember a time you’ve been happier.

~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rings like a scream, like shattering glass. It wrenches you out of that fogged, heavy precursor to sleep and your hand fumbles from beneath the covers to grab the receiver. The cord bounces clumsily against your nightstand and nudges the blush-colored conch shell that lives there.

“Hello...?”

“Darling, there’s an emergency.”

You bolt upright in bed. “What happened? Are you okay? Is the band—?”

“There’s going to be a party on New Year’s Eve and you have to come.”

You groan and fall back into the embankment of pillows. “Fred, that’s not an emergency. Jesus christ. I thought someone died.”

“Then you should be overwhelmed with gratitude for your friends’ continued existence and delighted to join us!”

You glance at the calendar tacked to your wall. “That’s tomorrow, right?”

Freddie scoffs. “Of course it’s tomorrow! Some bloke from the record company is hosting and I need a date. Makes me more marketable or something. Mary can’t come, she’s got the flu. So you’ll have to take one for the team and play the adoring paramour. Shouldn’t be too heavy a lift. I’ve been informed that I’m very adorable.”

“Make Roger do it.”

There’s an edge to Freddie’s voice when he speaks. “They aren’t quite that progressive, dear.”

“I’m really more of a museums and restaurants person than a getting coerced into socializing with strangers person, if I’m being completely honest with you.”

“You’ll survive,” he replies brusquely. “Chrissie and Brian will be there. You’ll have fellow boring people to hide in a corner and eat biscuits with and discuss planetary movements or whatever the fuck.”

“Great. Roger and John are coming too?”

“Not Deaky. He already has plans with Veronica’s family and can’t weasel out of them. It’s not like he would schmooze anyone anyway.”

“Oh.” That disappoints you, more than you thought it could. “Maybe I have plans I can’t weasel out of, ever think of that?”

Now Freddie sounds amused. “You don’t.”

“How do you know?”

He laughs. “Because there’s no one you love in London more than us.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The paramour ruse doesn’t go very well; within twelve minutes Freddie has abandoned you and is guzzling martinis with Elton John and some record company guys you don’t recognize, pointy party hats on their heads and silver balloons bobbing against the ceiling. It’s not 1975 yet, but it will be soon. The mansion is decked with suits and ballgowns and expensive-looking vases perched precariously on end tables. Elegant white columns rim the vast living room. You, Brian, Chrissie, and Roger are chatting nervously by a massive punch bowl carved in ice, swiping appetizers off the waiters’ trays and trying not to break anything.

“I feel completely useless,” you say, nodding to Freddie.

Chrissie chuckles. “I think he just wanted you to be here. He thinks you’re good luck, you know. All our fates turned around when you showed up.”

Roger points at you with his punch glass. “Your people specialize in witchcraft, don’t they?”

“Oh, so close. That’s Salem, about thirty minutes up the road. No witches in Boston.”

“Hmm. Sounds like something a secret witch would say.”

You brandish your hand through the air. “I summon more mini crab cakes.”

The others glance around. “It didn’t work,” Chrissie observes sadly.

Brian sips his punch, which is bubbling and a vivid red. “Maybe you have to invoke Satan first. I saw a toy poodle on the couch you could sacrifice.”

“Yes, yes,” Roger agrees. “Just toss it in the oven and see if anyone notices.”

You throw your head back and laugh. “Now that would make a fantastic impression.”

Roger grabs your empty glass, plops it on a passing waiter’s tray, and takes your hands in his. They’re rough and strong, and they feel a little too good. “Alright, are you going to dance with me now?”

“Roger...”

“Don’t harass her,” Chrissie warns. “She’s here, she’s working on conjuring more snacks, she’s under no obligation to dance with you on top of all that.”

He frowns at you, those intense blue eyes bright beneath shagging bangs. “Really?”

You smile, reaching up to straighten the collar of his sparking rainbow jacket. “If you’re still interested in 1975, you can ask me then.”

“Yes ma’am.” He grins triumphantly at Chrissie, and she smirks back. “Can someone kindly tell me what that clock over on the mantle says? Obviously I can’t see that far.”

“11:19,” Brian says.

“Fantastic. I’ll be back.” He winks at you, then looks to Brian. “Stay with her, will you?”

“Sure.”

Roger lights a cigarette and saunters away, smoke drifting around him. Several young women—escorts or daughters of producers or soon-to-be-ex-girlfriends of musicians—descend upon him and start asking about Killer Queen. Roger is radiant when he replies, enchanting, wearing charisma like a snake’s skin, climbing ever onwards up the rungs of the social ladder; and you think about how there’s Home Roger and Tour Roger—though he felt like home in Boston, and though he feels so distant now—and how any woman who chooses him will have to spend her life watching him devour other people’s love from across the room, from across the world.

“Be careful,” Chrissie tells you softly.

“He won’t be back at midnight.” You pour yourself a fresh glass of punch, avoiding her eyes, hiding your disappointment...or, embarrassingly and infinitely worse, perhaps your hope. “They’ve been staring at him all night. And he’s noticed.”

“Oh, honey...” Chrissie rubs your bare shoulder, not knowing what else to say.

“It’s fine,” you tell her. And you plan to drink until it feels like it is.

Some guitarist from Genesis appears to introduce himself to Brian, and Bri leaps into a fevered discussion of how much he admires the band’s work and how he built his Red Special and the merits of guitar techniques that sound like Russian or Japanese to you. Before you know it, the mysterious Genesis man is hauling Brian off to present him to someone equally important. Chrissie shoots a worried glimpse at you as she follows Bri away.

“Go!” you insist, forcing a smile. Just abandon me in this super intimidating mansion full of rich important strangers and breakable museum artifacts, that’s totally cool.

“We’ll be back in five minutes, I swear.”

You wave cheerfully. “Take your time!” You peer at the clock. Thirty minutes until midnight.

As you’re dishing yourself yet another glass of punch, a man in a posh white suit approaches from the other side of the table. “Are you hiding from people as well?”

“Not too successfully, apparently.”

He recoils and raises his eyebrows. “My apologies. Want me to disappear?”

You almost say yes—it wobbles on your lips like an unsteady toddler—then you reconsider. He’s tall and blond and polished; he looks a bit like Roger from an alternate universe where Rog went to boarding school and plays polo. More significantly, he could be someone important, someone the band needs, someone you don’t want to offend. “No, I’m sorry, that was so impolite. Please forgive me. My judgment is quite impaired, that’s my excuse, I blame the punch. Also I’m a New Englander and thus inclined to be uncooperative towards Brits.”

He laughs, a full genuine laugh; and it feels like a victory. See? I’m clever, I’m charming. Anyone would be lucky to have me. “I’m Eric.”

“Y/N.”

“It’s a resounding pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” He gestures towards the open area on the floor where buzzed men and giggling women are tripping over each other. “There’s no way I could interest you in that, is there?”

You ponder it, nursing your fourth punch. You aren’t much of a dancer, that’s true; and this handsome stranger of a man isn’t Roger. But he might be able to get your mind off him.

You sling back the rest of your punch and slam the glass down onto the table. “Okay. But only because there’s an Eagles record on.”

“Deal.”

He follows you to the dance floor, weaves his fingers through yours, sways easily with the music. Eric tells you that he’s from up north, in the Lake District; his family owns an estate that used to be the seat of an earldom or something. He describes endless emerald hills and castles and horse farms until your mind starts to swim, until the effects of the punch and scant appetizers roll over you like a wave.

“Okay,” you announce dreamily. “Thank you so much, Eric. This has been lovely. But I have to go sit down now.”

“Oh come on, one more song!”

“I’m flattered, but I have to pass. Maybe after midnight...” You move to pull your hands away, but he doesn’t let go. His fingers are locked with yours. You try again. Eric’s still smiling, but his eyes have gone flinty. Oh no. You look around for Freddie or Brian, both of whom have vanished.

“One more, come on,” he presses. “I insist.”

“Eric, I’m really dizzy—”

“Don’t be rude. We’re having such a nice time, aren’t we?”

“Please let go of me.” You try to keep your voice level, try not to offend him. Everyone around you on the dance floor is laughing and drinking and smoking, not paying any attention at all.

“Look, you said you’d dance, so that’s what we’re doing. Am I suddenly not good enough for you?”

“Seriously, you need to let go.” You try to tug your hands away. Your heart is racing, blood rushing in your ears. The room is listing to the right, now the left. You realize that Eric is gradually leading you away from the center of the room and towards a quiet hallway. I can’t let this guy get me alone. I’m weak and I’m drunk, and I don’t know what he’ll do to me. You struggle harder, more visibly. His grip on your hands tightens. “Let go, Eric, let go of me!”

“Calm down, bloody hell lady, I’m just trying to—”

And then Eric is ripped away from you and his face smashed with vicious force into the nearest column. You scream, your hands covering your gaping mouth; the room goes silent. Eric crumples to the floor, unconscious. Blood pours from his broken nose and litters his white suit with crimson blotches and smears. Droplets drip crawlingly down the column. Roger stands over Eric, shirt completely unbuttoned, jacket rumpled, shadows of lipstick peppering his neck and chest. He wipes his own palms on his rainbow jacket, scowling, disgusted. Then he turns to you.

“Ready to go?”

“Roger, I...” You gaze in shock down at Eric. I hope he’s not dead. That might make things awkward with the record company. “I-I-I’m so sorry,” you manage finally. “I’m sorry, Roger, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything—”

“No, I’m ready to go.” He lays his hand on the small of your back and guides you towards the front door, grabbing both of your coats off the rack. “Let’s go.”

“Okay.” And relief floods through you. Okay.

Brian pushes his way out of the stunned crowd as Roger swings the door open. Frigid air skates over your cheeks. “Rog, what happened?!”

Roger glares savagely. “When I tell you to stay with someone, you fucking stay with them.” And then he steps with you out into the bitterly cold, nearly-January night.

“It’s not his fault,” you explain as you and Roger hurry down the sidewalk, your words spinning mist into the air. “Some guy from Genesis showed up and you know how Bri is about them, and I told him and Chris to go, please don’t be mad—”

“Are you alright?” He’s scrutinizing you closely; you can still see the rosy lipstick stains on his skin as you pass beneath each streetlight.

“I’m fine, I’m completely fine. Please don’t be mad.”

He narrows his eyes. “Well obviously I’m not mad at you, babe.”

“Oh god, I hope this doesn’t hurt the band. I don’t know who that guy was with. You broke his nose, you know.”

“Good.”

You shake your head, trying to chase away those ghosts of lipstick and the girls who left them there. I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him. “I know you were busy, I know the party was important, I know I ruined midnight for you—”

“You didn’t ruin it. We still have a few more minutes. We’ll duck into a pub somewhere and have a pint to welcome in the new year, it’ll be grand. Maybe get you some food. You look like you could use it.”

“I just...” You bury your numb, shaking hands in your coat pockets and brace yourself against the cold. “You left the girls. Left the party. I just don’t understand why you would do that.”

“Are you serious? Obviously I’m going to drop everything if you need me. I’m always going to do that.” He pulls his fiery red, hand-knit hat out of his coat pocket and slips it over your wild, windswept hair. “You’re still on my list, you know.”

You sigh. “You’re a smart man, Roger Taylor, but that’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“What,” he says, a tad bitingly. “Because I can’t promise you a picket fence and precisely two well-mannered, unremarkable children and a golden retriever? You’re right, I’m not going to promise you that. Because that’s not who I am. That’s not who you are either, by the way. But I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage. And isn’t that what this was all about for you anyway?”

And that stops you, here in the cold dark heart of London, here beneath a cascading streetlight on the opening page of 1975. Because Roger’s right.

He takes your left hand and lifts it to his lips, and you know exactly what he’s going to do even before he oh-so-feather-lightly bites your goosebumped knuckles. “Look, forget about it. Don’t worry. Don’t freak yourself out. We’ll get a drink, we’ll watch the fireworks, and then I’ll walk you home. No questions, no answers. You just let me know if you ever change your mind, okay?”

You watch Roger, his cheeks ruddy from the wind, halos of streetlights reflected in his eyes. And you echo: “Okay.”

#queen fanfic #queen fic #roger taylor fic #roger taylor x reader #but you can never leave fic #but you can never leave series #but you can never leave #queen #fanfic

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