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eddie-sweetheart · 3 years ago

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🏕 Camp Lovers Lake - Chapter Three 🏕

An Eddie Munson x Female Reader summer camp story. Set just before the beginning of season 3 of Stranger Things, with a few diversions from the original plot of the series.

🏕 Chapters List

Pairing and tropes • Eddie Munson x Female Reader - fluff, forced proximity, slightly slow burn, summer camp clichés ♥︎

Summary • June, 1985. Close to the city of Hawkins, Indiana, the placid waters of Lovers Lake stand as the perfect background for the homonymous summer camp, where you’re about to be a counselor for the last time before senior year and then, hopefully, college. Your brother Dustin Henderson won’t be with you this year, as he’s chosen to attend Camp Know Where until July - but with your best friend Robin Buckley at your side and the unexpected addition of Steve Harrington to your duo, the upcoming months seem to promise endless fun and exciting adventures nonetheless. However, as you get closer to Eddie Munson, resident metalhead and drug dealer who’s been forced by his uncle to work at Camp Lovers Lake after another missed graduation, your plans for the summer might have to go in a completely different direction.

Warnings • Cursing, possible mentions and/or depictions of violence, sexually suggestive language. Having no idea where this is going myself, you’ll need to be 18+ to read this fic just in case!

Chapter notes • I wish I was the one going on a hike with Eddie 🥲 I really hope you like this chapter and that this fic is giving the right vibes! Any idea, suggestion or feedback is appreciated as always :)

Chapter word count: 4.2k

🌹 Masterlist 🌹

“Good morning sunshine”

Your peaceful sleep is suddenly interrupted by something soft being thrown at your face, startling you into a confused daze. As you blink your eyes open, you realize it’s Robin’s pillow, which is now laying at your side while she’s staring at you, already fully dressed and with an equally amused and interrogative smile.

“Was that really necessary?” You mutter, attempting to turn around but failing miserably as another pillow hits the back of your head.

“Yes it was? Since you’re late and there are pancakes for breakfast today” Robin enthusiastically replies, moving away from the top bed to let you climb down with a groan.

“What took you so long last night by the way?” She asks while you start getting undressed, PJ shorts pooling down at your feet. “You got me stuck with Harrington for almost an hour”.

“I had a little incident” you reply, showing her your bandaged left middle finger as you slip into your camp t-shirt. “Also, Eddie Munson came by and I had to show him where we keep the booze”.

“Uhm, rude?” Robin exclaims at your gesture, fake shock in her voice turning genuine as soon as she hears Eddie’s name. “Wait, Munson? Aren’t we supposed to, like, avoid him? Do you remember what Steve said? Wait- did he have something to do with the incident? Did he hurt you?” She interrogates you, grabbing your hand to examine the damage.

You shrug with a smile at her concern. “Come on Robin, we just talked” you tell her, gently removing your hand from hers, “He’s not that bad either, you know. A bit weird, maybe, but he actually seems nice”.

“Mmmh” Robin hums, leaning on the wooden doorframe of the cabin, the early morning sun-rays drawing golden highlights on her dark blonde hair. “If you say so.”

“On another note, instead” you digress, pointing your unharmed finger at her, “did you tell Steve?”

Robin sighs, blushing a little. “Yes” she finally admits, “he was a little surprised at first, but he was actually very nice about it. And now he knows that we swing the same way - even if I suspect I will never beat him to Tammy Thompson” she says, rolling her eyes in defeat.

“Never say never, hotshot” You state, latching your arm under hers as you finally make your way out of the cabin and join the rest of the campers on their way to breakfast.

And, just like always, breakfast goes by way too fast. There’s barely time for your coffee to kick in and take you out of the lingering morning numbness before you have to pack your backpack and get the Group B kids ready for the early afternoon hike.

While you’re bringing your now empty tray back to the serving station in the dining room, Steve and Robin bickering behind you about the correct way to prepare pancake batter, you catch a glimpse of Eddie, who’s still sitting at the table with Gareth and another guy. As his gaze casually lifts up to meet yours, you tentatively offer a greeting smile, obtaining an acknowledging nod in exchange.

You and Robin briefly go back to your cabin to grab your stuff, the heat of the summer day already making you sweat. Just as you’ve closed the zip of the backpack and you’re finally ready to go, wondering how you’re going to manage a dozen prepubescent kids in the middle of the woods, Robin interrupts your train of thought with a hesitant cough.

“What?” You ask, your heart beating slightly faster than usual as soon as you notice her there’s something important I need to tell you expression.

“You’re with Group B today, right?” She begins, and you realize she’s going the long way round.

“Cut to the chase, Robin” you sigh, leaning back on the desk in front of the window, the chattering of the campers barely audible through the thick, slightly dirty glass.

Robin looks at you sideways. “Have you checked who’s been assigned to your group?”

You can’t help but let out a small laugh, relief unexpectedly filling your chest even if you don’t really know what you were expecting. “Look, Robin” you begin, “If you’re still worried about Munson, I can assure you that he’s-“

“I don’t mean him” Robin interrupts you, “I mean Patrick. He’s coming with you, together with Jenna”.

Your chest tightens a little. You haven’t properly checked the assignment list for the day - you just quickly looked for your name last night, not really worrying about the eventual company. And you now realize that maybe you should have.

You take a deep breath, nonetheless. You’re not going to let Patrick and his latest flirt ruin your day. “I appreciate the heads up and your concern” you tell Robin, squeezing her hand, “But I’m okay. I’m over it, for good - I promise. Plus, I’ll be in good company” you conclude with a wink, causing Robin to snort and smile at the same time.

— 🏕 —

“So” Eddie begins, finally breaking the slightly awkward silence that has accompanied you for the first ten minutes of the hike, “How’s your finger, Henderson?”

It didn’t take a long time for the sparse grove around the camp to turn into the thick forest that is surrounding you as you walk side by side. After a good twenty minutes of making sure that every kid in your group had their sandwich and snack packed and their boots tightly laced up, you finally started on the trail that encircled the lake, quickly leaving behind the loud chattering of camp to be surrounded by the soft rustling of leaves, the chirping sounds of wild birds and the distant trickling of one of the many streams flowing into the lake.

In an unspoken agreement, the group was led in the front by Patrick and Jenna, with whom you accurately made sure not to speak more than necessary; you and Eddie, instead, took your place at the back of the chaotic line of kids, keeping an eye on them as they make their way through the wild vegetation.

At first, you didn’t really know what to say to him - especially because you were so focused on ignoring the distant sound of Jenna’s annoying and forced laughs and Patrick’s ridiculous efforts to impress her. But, thankfully, Eddie has unknowingly found a way to distract you, even if he thinks he’s just looking for something to talk about.

“Doesn’t hurt much” you reply, your eyes stuck on the ground to watch your steps and avoid tripping on branches or roots. “The bleeding stopped quite quickly, so I didn’t bother telling the nurse this morning”.

“That’s good to hear” Eddie says with a nod and silence falls again between the two of you. At first it’s kind of weird, not talking. But then, the awkwardness turns into a sort of quiet and comfortable mutual understanding that lets you both enjoy the calming sounds of nature.

Eddie doesn’t strike you as the kind of person that enjoys being outside in the wilderness, but as you take a few quick glances at him you realize how he seems at ease with his surroundings, casually stroking the occasional leaf on a branch or lightly patting trees as you pass by them.

“You go on hikes often?” You ask, trying to make some small talk.

“Mmmh, nope” he replies, looking straight ahead at the trail before you, “but I don’t mind a change of scenery. It’s not that bad, being here in the woods - but I will never admit it, so you didn’t hear this from me, yeah?” He’s quick to add, finally turning towards you with an upside-down smile, dimples on full display on his cheeks.

“Promise I won’t rat you out” You laugh in response, returning his gaze.

He thanks you with a small bow, before going back to looking at the kids in front of you.

“I used to be outside a lot, actually, when I was their age” he adds with a nod in their direction, “very useful to work on my first D&D campaigns. And to avoid my parents’ fights”. He kind of blurts out this last piece of information and as his words linger in the warm summer air you suspect that maybe he regrets saying them.

“That sounds like a great way to pass the time” you observe, tiptoeing around his confession.

“Yeah, well, that was years ago anyways” Eddie states, one hand gesturing vaguely in the air as he suddenly turns more serious.

“I used to run away from… domestic altercations as well, you know?” You decide to tell him, the blurred, distant memory of you and Dustin’s father briefly appearing in your mind, “but I never made it farther than our backyard”.

Eddie scoffs, but as you glance sideways you notice that his smile is back.

“Oh, I see where you got that from then” he tells you jokingly, but you don’t get it straight away.

“What do you mean?” You ask, lifting your leg up as you try to climb over a fallen trunk that’s lying across the path. Eddie, who’s already past it, stops to wait for you, casually leaning against a tree on the side of the trail.

“You basically ran away last night” he states, a hint of amusement mixed with curiosity in his voice.

You stop halfway across your climbing, your legs on either side of the trail as you basically straddle the tree trunk.

“Did I?” You ask in genuine surprise.

Eddie shrugs. “Maybe I’m wrong. Or, maybe you were scared of being alone with the mean and dark metalhead slash drug dealer slash probable satanist” he adds, now clearly teasing you.

However, it’s not hard for you to spot the hint of self-deprecation in his words.

“That's quite a lot of titles for just one person” you carefully observe, finally catching up with him as you both start walking again.

“Well, what can I say - go big or go home” Eddie states, the trademark lilt in his voice making its comeback as you approach a turn in the path.

Since the brief pause you took to climb over the trunk made you lose sight of the kids for a moment, you expect to see them as soon as you turn around the corner - and you do see them, but they’re a bit farther away than you thought. But, closer to you on the trail, there’s a little boy sitting on the ground. As you and Eddie approach him, you both notice that he’s sniffling.

“Hey, Tim” you address him by his name as you get down on one knee to be on his level, Eddie standing behind you with a curious look on his face. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Tim tears up and shakes his head without uttering a single word. He’s a regular at camp and you know he’s had a few problems in the past with bullies - his parents always made sure to warn the director and ask him to keep an eye on him, even if it was supposed to be just a school-related issue. And, of course, the director made sure to warn all counselors as well, the camp policy contemplating zero tolerance for such behaviors. That's why your first thought is that, maybe, something of that kind has just happened.

“Tim” you address him again, softly placing one of your hands on his knee. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything. I promise you’re not in trouble, but I need to know why you’re upset so we can try to make it better”.

Tim finally looks up at you and nods slightly.

“That’s great. Thank you for trusting me” you continue, squeezing his knee as reassuringly as you can. “Now, did someone hurt you, or say something bad?”

Tim lets out a little sob, and nods again. “Peter Carver said…” he begins, but tears block the words in his throat. You give him some time to collect himself, and as he starts to speak again the rustling of the leaves on the ground behind you tells you Eddie is taking a step closer.

“Hey, you two” Patrick’s voice suddenly booms through the woods, “what’s taking you so long?”

You roll your eyes and Eddie turns towards him almost menacingly.

“Shut the hell up, will you?” He exclaims, causing Patrick’s gaze to darken as he starts walking towards you, all the kids eyes now turned to the three of you.

You stand up quickly and place yourself between Eddie and Patrick - the last thing that’s needed right now is a stupid scene, so you keep your cool as, for the first time in months, you address Patrick.

“Look, everything is fine” you begin, almost startling him. “We’re having a little chat with Tim, here. Why don’t you guys go ahead in the meantime? We’ll catch up with you in a minute”.

Patrick’s gaze goes back and forth between you, Eddie and Tim, but he doesn’t bother to reply - he simply nods and walks away, soon followed by an astonished Jenna and the rest of Group B.

Now that everything is quiet again, you take a deep breath and kneel back down to Tim. Eddie stands there, listening attentively.

“Sorry about that” you tell Tim with a smile. “What were you saying about Peter?”

The kid visibly gulps. “Peter said that if I talk to him again he’s going to lock me out of the cabin tonight, and Victor Creel will get me and kill me in the woods” he finally blurts out, tears streaming down his cheeks as he starts sobbing again.

You sigh. That was predictable, Peter being Jason Carver’s devilish little brother. You’re surely going to report this later to the camp director, but first you need to try and make Tim feel better so he can finish the hike and go back to camp - even if you have no idea who this Victor Creel might be.

“I see” you begin, looking at Tim straight in the eyes, “but I promise you there is nothing to be scared about. Peter will not lock you out and there is surely no boogeyman in the woods that will come for you. Just a few nice squirrels that want to climb trees and eat lots of nuts” you say, ruffling Tim’s hair and causing him to smile a little. “What about we finish this hike and once we’re back to camp we sneak into the kitchen and get you an extra piece of chocolate? Then I will make sure that Peter won’t bother you anymore. How does that sound?”

Tim seems almost convinced at first, but he still doesn’t move an inch from his seat, his eyes now back on the ground.

You slightly turn around to throw an eloquent glare at Eddie, silently asking him for some support. Eddie seems a little taken aback, but as he casually coughs he kneels down next to you.

“Look, kid” he finally says, his voice getting Tim’s attention. “Bullies are mean and scary. And they suck, I know. You could say they are like… trolls”

Tim looks at him in surprise as Eddie starts gesturing vaguely with his hands, while you look in amusement at his theatricals.

“Ugly, smelly trolls that live in dirty caves and come at you with a club in their chubby hands, screaming stupid words with growls and snarls” Eddie continues, interpreting each and every word with a different tone, making Tim giggle as he dries his tears. “But, when a troll comes your way, there is something you can do - do you know what Hobbits are?” He interrupts himself for a second until Tim shakes his head hesitantly.

Eddie drops his arms in defeat. “That’s not good, man. Lord of the Rings? Nothing?” He asks Tim, but as you elbow him in the side, he gets the cue and resumes his speech. “Well, Tim, Hobbits are little creatures with quite big feet - very similar to us, just smaller” he continues, “but they are brave, and smart. They know how to sneak around trolls, how to trick them with words or even how to fight them sometimes, even if they are scared. So, if a bully comes for you like a troll, be like a Hobbit - be smarter, wiser, and fight the hell -“

“Aaaand that’s all you need to do, Tim” you interrupt Eddie, before his lesson goes beyond what is appropriate to teach a kid, “always stand your ground and never respond to violence with violence” you underline, throwing an expressive side glance to a now innocently smiling Eddie. “Now, what about we get up and catch up with the others? I bet your friends are missing you” you finally ask the kid as you stand up again.

Tim seems definitely better, even if his eyes are still a little red from crying. He gets up and after flashing a quick grin at Eddie, he starts heading back to the group, which is now farther along the trail.

“Seems like it worked” you observe, as both you and Eddie resume walking as well. “He’s going to be the next Frodo Baggins now”.

Eddie’s face lightens up with the same excitement that you noticed last night at the mention of D&D.

“I was thinking more of Bilbo, but I wasn’t expecting you to know the reference” he says, the tilted smile back on his lips.

“You really must think I live under a stone or something” you joke, turning your head to look at him. “you know that The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings are quite well known, yeah?”

Eddie blushes slightly, and he drops his head a little to cover the redness of his cheeks with his wavy hair.

“Yeah, sure” he says, “it’s just… you don’t hear a lot of people talking about it at school or in general - and when they do, they usually make fun of it. As if it wasn’t better than throwing balls into laundry baskets or-”

You let out a heartfelt laugh, interrupting him mid-sentence. “God, I really need to introduce you to my brother and his friends”.

— 🏕 —

The rest of the hike goes by pretty smoothly, without further incidents. You all keep walking until you reach a clearing among the trees, where you decide to stop to eat your sandwiches and let the kids get some rest before heading back towards camp.

As you sit in the tall, luscious grass, you can’t help but enjoy your surroundings: the warm breeze rustling the leaves above you, the refreshing feeling of the trees’ shade protecting you from the early afternoon sun, the nearby creek offering its freezing waters as the perfect pick-me-up for your heated skin.

If it weren’t for the distant presence of Patrick and Jenna, who are occasionally throwing glances in your direction and muttering God knows what, it would truly be a perfect moment. But, thankfully, Eddie’s company is enough to keep you distracted and entertained.

You keep making small talk, exchanging opinions on books, on which you seem to have similar taste, and music - on which your preferences couldn’t be more diverse. You don’t have a strictly favorite genre, as your playlists can easily range from Abba to The Clash - while, predictably, he mostly listens to heavy metal, which you’ve never really dipped your feet into.

You also find out, much to your surprise, that he has a band.

“Corroded Coffin” he proudly states as the takes the last bite of his sandwich, his back leaning on a tree at the edge of the clearing, where you’re sitting.

“That’s actually a cool name. Very fitting” you observe, laying down in the grass in the sunlight. “So it’s you and…?”

“Well, there’s four of us” he replies, brushing a few crumbles off of his camp t-shirt, “Gareth’s in it, and Jeff too - I don’t know if you know him, but he’s at this damned camp as well”.

You nod uncertainly, supposing he’s the one Steve went on a hike and made “friends” with yesterday.

“We play at the Hideout sometimes” Eddie continues, his eyes closed as he enjoys the last few moments of rest. “Even if we have a crowd of about… five drunks”.

You giggle, the image of the late teens' band entertaining a small group of older bikers appearing in your mind. “I bet they’re very passionate fans” you state, and you kind of wonder how would it actually be to witness one of their concerts. Fun is what your mind comes up with.

“You, uhm.. you could come see us” Eddie tentatively proposes, opening one eye to look at you and catch your reaction. “It would be a nice change in the audience, y’know. Having someone who’s not older than 50”.

You didn’t expect the invite and you actually don’t know whether to take it seriously, but the idea is surprisingly appealing to you - so you opt for a “yeah, that’d be cool” that causes Eddie to flash you one of his dimply smiles.

Around four o’clock, everyone gets up and you get ready to head back to camp. The sun shines bright above the trees, casting glittering specks of light on the ground as its rays filter through the branches and leaves.

You and Eddie are talking a little less now - tiredness making you both more silent and absorbed in your thoughts. But you notice how, just like this morning, the silence is never uneasy or awkward: you’re unexpectedly okay with just enjoying each other’s company.

Your enthusiasm kicks back in once you notice that the camp’s cabins are now visible again through the trees in the distance. You’re already enjoying the feeling of a refreshing shower and the taste of the pizza that’s been promised for dinner by Mrs. Janet - when, suddenly, you lose your balance and find yourself face-first into the ground.

“Woah, Henderson, are you okay?” Eddie exclaims, rushing to your side to help you up. He offers you his hand and you absentmindedly take it - and just as your hand brushes with his and his heavy rings dig into your skin, a fluttering feeling rises up in your stomach - faint, but just strong enough for you to notice. It’s probably because you’re not used to people (guys) touching you anymore, you suppose.

“I’m fine, I think” you reply, still in surprise at your fall. As you struggle to your feet, you notice that you’ve tripped on a large root coming up from the ground; your eyes follow it back into the woods and you catch a glimpse of a… hole? A cave?

“What do you think that is?” You ask Eddie, pointing towards the hole in the ground that is half hidden by the vegetation.

Eddie squints his eyes to try and see better, but only ends up shaking his head, the chocolate brown of his hair catching golden stripes of late afternoon sunlight. “Wouldn’t know” he replies, his body already turning to catch up with everyone else on their way to camp, but he stops as soon as he notices you disappearing among the trees.

“Henderson! Wait” He exclaims, his voice rising by an octave as he sprints after you, his forehead barely avoiding a few lower branches as he curses.

In the meantime, you’ve reached the cavity, which you’ve suddenly decided to investigate because of two reasons. One, if there’s a cave or a deep hole, it could be dangerous for the kids, who sometimes may wander beyond the camp’s boundaries to play; two, because you’ve noticed a dark glimmer on the ground next to it and your curious nature won’t let you sleep tonight if you don’t put a name to it first.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Eddie says, panting, as you kneel on the ground next to the hole - which is not going straight downwards, but it's more like the edge of a man-sized cave on the side of a small hill.

“I’m looking” you tell Eddie. And you do look, which allows you to notice that the dark thing that was glimmering is, actually, a… black vine?

“I really wouldn’t do that” Eddie warns you as you stretch your hand towards the dark, shiny root. As soon as you touch it, a loud “Ew” escapes your mouth as a transparent, slimy substance that resembles some kind of resin sticks to your hand.

“Told ya” Eddie states, plain disgust appearing on his face as he takes a step back from you, now trying to remove the substance by wiping your hand on the grass.

“I think there’s more” you observe, getting closer to the entrance as you spot more black vines twisting inside. “What kind of plant is this? I’ve never seen anything like it before”.

As Eddie realizes that you’re getting closer to the cave, he rushes to your side and tugs at your shirt, yanking you back and away from it.

“Can you stop touching it?” He exclaims, catching you by surprise. “I have no idea what that shit is, but it surely doesn’t look good - it might be toxic, for christ’s sake!”

You let a small laugh escape you at his sudden alarm, lifting your hands up in surrender. “Okay, Munson, calm down” you tell him, getting up on your feet again. “I won’t touch it anymore”.

“Very good” Eddie finally states, one hand running through his hair, “Can we go back now? I really need a shower and you can rush to Mr. Smithson and tell him about your discovery here, ‘kay?”

“Okay, fine” you agree with a small smile as you both start walking back to the path in silence. This time, however, the silence is a bit less relaxed.

You furtively glance up at Eddie, who seems lost in his thoughts, and you finally decide to speak.

“It don’t think it was dangerous, you know?” You softly observe, somehow feeling a little guilty about… scaring him? Making him worry? Although you still can’t quite understand his reaction to the vines.

“It might not, or it might have been” Eddie replies, his hands deep in the pockets of his signature black jeans, “I learned the hard way that in real life it’s better not to take too many risks. Outside of D&D” he adds with a sigh, “I am no hero”.

You nod in understanding. “It’s actually very reasonable” you observe, taking a moment before asking the next question - which involves something you’re now kind of dying to know. “So, what is your character like? Is he a… how’s it called, a paladin?” You finally ask him.

Eddie smiles, turning towards you with a smug expression in his eyes. “I’m actually the Dungeon Master” he says. The awkward silence and his thoughtful look are now completely gone.

“Wow” you exclaim, slowing your pace as you walk down the last, slightly downhill section of the path, which is now running on the right side of the Lovers Lake. “That sounds cool, actually”.

“It is” Eddie confirms with a shrug, the smile never leaving his lips. Then he turns to you and this time he’s the one carrying a burning question. “If you played one adventure, what character would you like to be?”.

You blush a little, because you’ve actually thought about it once or twice, especially after hearing Dustin’s reports of his party’s campaigns - which led you to do some casual research on the characters’ races and classes. And you blush a little also because you perfectly understand that, for Eddie, this question might be quite relevant in order to have a more definite opinion of you - and, you have to admit to yourself, you actually want to make a good impression.

“I’m no expert” you begin, your gaze lingering on the glittering waters of Lovers Lake, the first cabins appearing on your right, “but I think I’d like to be a half-elf bard. Get the best of both worlds, you know - humans and elves, magic and music. And I’d love to be a princess of some kind, maybe from some fallen royal family or escaping an arranged marriage… Please don’t make fun of me” you exclaim after your explanation, the redness on your cheeks getting more intense by the second as you notice the upside-down smile on Eddie’s lips.

“That might actually be a nice idea for a cool back story” he friendly replies, instead, making you feel a bit relieved. “And I’ll let you in on a little secret, Henderson” he’s quick to add, “When I used to play as a character, I was a bard, too”.

Your smile is now matching his, and you suddenly realize that you’ve stopped walking as you’ve now reached his cabin. You look around to see if Steve's nearby so you can say hi, but he's nowhere to be seen.

“So” Eddie observes, eyes scanning the room through the window, “Seems like Harrington is still out, probably flirting with chicks or something. Perfect timing for me and my shower, though" he adds.

Then, he turns to you with two fingers on his forehead, mocking a military salute. "Guess I’ll see you later, then, Henderson”.

“Yeah, sure” you reply, your thumbs up as you turn back to make your way towards your cabin as well.

But first, something comes up in your mind. “Oh, and Munson” you suddenly say, making Eddie stop halfway through the door. “I didn’t, by the way”.

“Didn’t what?” Eddie asks as he turns to you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Run away” you specify with a small smile. “Last night, I mean”.

“Oh” Eddie replies, leaning against the wooden doorframe with a smirk as he recalls what he’s told you back in the woods. “That’s good to know, princess”.

When you enter your cabin and lock the door behind you, greeting Robin with a hug and listening to her as she recounts the day she’s spent trying to make some kids play volleyball without hurting themselves every other second, that princess is still echoing in your thoughts.

— 🏕 —

Hope you enjoyed this chapter :) Feedback is always welcome!

Taglist • @meaganjm @emwhite1 @juggernort @final-girllll @mermemerald @sarcasm-is-my-form-of-attack

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader #camp lovers lake #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic

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randynova · 3 years ago

Text

♡𝓜𝔂 𝓦𝓸𝓶𝓪𝓷♡

𝓖𝓾𝓷 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: 𝐴𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝐺𝑢𝑛 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑡𝑜 𝐺𝑜𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑠 ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒.

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔(𝑠):𝐹𝑒𝑚!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡(𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝)! 𝐺𝑢𝑛

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“Why couldn’t this have waited until another day?” Gun muttered, unbuttoning his shirt, letting it slide off his taut frame, and neatly folding it, placing it onto the roof of his car. He was glad he hadn't put his jacket on, having left it in his passenger seat. “I can’t dirty my clothes again, [Name] will be mad if I get blood on it.” He rolled his broad shoulders until they released a satisfying crack, his thick muscles bulging as he stretched his arms across his scarred chest. Gun peered at a nearby store, the digital clock displaying in big white numbers, ‘7:45 PM’. He groaned, his lips curling into a scowl whilst his arms fell to his side. He didn’t have enough time to deal with this.

“Hmm, and it’s almost time for our date. Fuck.” Gun whispered to himself. He clenched his fists, narrowing his eyes at the man across from him. He removed his shades and revealed his dark gaze, placing his favorite accessory to his side as well. “I’ll make this quick, Goo. I have more important places to be.”

Goo laughed, grinning in his spot as he balanced a pole in his hands. He rolled his eyes, arching a brow at his partner. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Gun, maybe if you didn’t spend all your time by [Name]’s side, we could have dealt with this matter much earlier. That girl has you wrapped around her pretty little finger, huh?”

“Shut it,” Gun said, already racing towards the blonde and thrusting his fist, knuckles colliding with metal. Upon the cold sensation meeting his skin, he wanted to absolutely kill Goo and rip him to shreds. This would take longer than he wanted, wasting his already precious, short time. He backed off, having a considerable distance between the two, stretching his fingers a few times before clenching them again. He growled, spitting venomously, “You just like picking fights.”

“You did too. Before you met her, y’know,” Goo tutted, waving his finger in the air. He scoffed, voice low, “Who would’ve thought? Gun going soft for a girl. Psh, pathetic. Never thought I’d live to see the day...” The blonde trailed off, his face becoming stoic, his mind wandering. You truly had to be someone exceptional if you managed to have a guy like Gun to fall for you. He always wondered who you were, how you looked like, what you did, but Gun had kept you a secret from the world of crime. He hid almost every known trace abou you and tied every loose end that implicated you existed. No one knew who you were and no one could find you — unless Gun allowed them to.

Goo found it so irritating how he was unable to know the girl who made such a notorious gangster go soft.

He only met you once and that was by pure sheer luck; dropping by unexpectedly at one of Gun's apartments, only to be met with the sight of you. Seeing how Gun reacted, he knew you were supposed to be kept hush-hush. But boy, did he have a field day the next time he saw the man.

Goo had to meet you again. Or at least, know you more.

Only when Gun’s fist connected with Goo’s face did the man snap out of his thoughts, the impact of such force throwing him a few feet backwards. He dug his feet into the floor, a high-pitched screech coming from his shoes as the rubber burned against the pavement. With his sleeve, Goo wiped his cheek, seeing a speck of blood staining his clothes. Goo chuckled, standing up straight with a grin, “If I can remember right, you told me you got Eli Jang in trouble for basically the same thing. What was her name again? Heather?”

Goo blocked the upcoming attack, his pole raised and crossed above his face. He pushed Gun back with an effortless swing of the pole. He tilted his head and scratched the back of his head with his free hand. “How is [Name] any different from Heather? What does she have on you?”

Gun twisted his neck gently until he heard a crack, looking back at Goo as he hissed with venom, “Nothing.”

“Let me think, let me think….” Goo hummed, racking his mind for any possibility that someone like Gun would stay with a woman longer than one night. His face lit up and he broke out into a wide grin, pointing a finger at Gun. “Aha! You got the poor girl knocked up, right?! See, I always tell you to wear protection! Just couldn’t keep it in your pants, hm? Shaaame.”

“Ugh, fuck no. I don’t want kids and neither does she. We made that clear at the beginning," Gun said with a sneer, annoyed beyond comprehension at Goo's antics.

“Awe, I really thought she held something over you. How about this: I’ll stop fighting you if you tell me why you’re still with such a pretty girl like [Name]? Deal?" Goo offered, slinging the pole onto his shoulder. His eyes darkened as he spat maliciously, knowing each word would wind and rile Gun's emotions. "She deserves better than a perverted gangster, you both know that.”

Gun stayed silent, the corners of his lips tugging down into a frown. Goo’s last words struck a chord in him, sending a pang through his heart upon hearing an insecurity he’ll never admit to. Of course. Everyone told you to stay away from a man like Gun. People kept telling you you will only get hurt in the end, that a better man will come along and sweep you off your feet if you just waited, or you could always do better than him. But you never listened. You stayed by his side, even when the whole world looked down on you two. Even for months, he tried convincing himself he felt nothing for you, but after a while, he finally accepted that someone managed to tear down his walls and enter his hollow, cold heart — you.

You were just a different kind of girl - no- a different kind of woman. A special woman he had the pleasure of meeting. One he wouldn’t dare let go of now that he has the privilege of calling you ‘mine’. And by any god out there, he won’t be a stupid fool to lose you.

Gun sighed. “I tell you and you’ll put this stupid fight behind us, right?”

Goo placed a hand over his chest, replying shortly, “You have my word.~”

“[Name] is just that special person you meet once in your life. One you know you can’t let go of because there isn’t another like her. Simple as that.”

“What?! Ugh, don’t be boring! Tell me more!”

“You asked why I stayed with her and I told you.”

“Yeah, but I expected a story, not some sad attempt at an old man’s wise words.”

A low guttural sound rumbled in Gun’s throat, his eye twitching. “Maybe when I’m in a better mood I’ll tell you, but if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with my woman.”

Goo groaned and tossed his pole to the side, rolling his eyes and grumbling, "Fiiine, but you owe me a story. "

"Whatever—damnit," Gun looked at the clock once again and his face contorted into one of pure irate. "I'm late."

'8:12 PM'

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

Your head rested on your hand, balancing a glass of wine between your fingers, twirling the cup as the liquid swished around. Your eyes were looking down on the glory of Gangdong, the shimmering, blinding lights of the city mesmerizing you. The city always looked beautiful at this time of night. You just wished you could enjoy it with the person you cherished. A sigh leaves your lips and you look away, eyes trailing to the other tables over the balcony.

The lingering eyes of many strange men didn't faze you anymore, the two burly boys surrounding your table always making them avert their gaze as fast as it landed. A courtesy of your boyfriend, who was at least thirteen minutes late, who insisted on you needing to be guarded at all times. You knew if he were here, no one would dare to even breathe in your direction, let alone glance.

The cool air pricked your skin and a shiver passed through your body, reminding you of where you were. For a man as smart as him, Gun tended to neglect keeping the season in mind when planning your dates. Nonetheless, you were happy he went out of his way to take you out on such a busy schedule.

You jumped in your seat, snapping out of your thoughts. A jacket was wrapped around your frame, warmth immediately enveloping you as the fabric made contact with your bare skin. You looked up and smiled.

Gun stood behind you, towering over your sitting form as he made sure you were nice and covered. His coat basically swallowed you whole. A small stuffed animal was tucked under his arm, it’s fluffy fur peeking out. He walked over to take his seat, pulling the chair out, and wasting no time to slip in. He waved to the guards and they nodded, beginning to clear the scene of people.

“Sorry I’m late, [Name],” Gun started, taking the stuffie out from underneath his arm and presenting it to you. Oh, how adorable. "I brought you a gift as an apology."

A small brown otter sat in his palms, barely taking up Gun's hands. It’s beady, plastic eyes looked straight at you, a little smile stitched onto its snout. A snort left you. The sight of such a well-dressed, intimidating man carrying such an adorable toy was amusing. "Really now? Just a cute toy, Gun?"

Gun sighed and sat up a bit from his chair, leaning over the table, and cupping your face as he planted a gentle kiss on your cheek. As quick as it started, Gun's lips left and he was seated once again. You pout. "Don't give me that look, [Name]. We can do more at home if you want but not here."

"It's not wrong to be disappointed in no kiss on the mouth after not seeing your boyfriend for such a long time. Don't you think I deserve it?"

Gun smirked, placing his shades on the table and taking your hand, intertwining your fingers together. He gave a light squeeze and you didn't miss a beat as you squeezed his coarse hand back. The way you pursed your lips and looked at him with such glossy, innocent eyes made his heart swell. With such a pretty, cute face, it was hard to say no to you. "Hmm, maybe. But Olly told me you crossed paths with Hostel A." Gun spoke, slipping his hands from yours and picking up his dinnerware, quickly cutting the savory meat into pieces. He didn't hesitate to put a piece up to your mouth, a hand underneath so as to not have the juice leak. "I was told you nearly broke the Uncles' bones and Big Daddy himself."

Your face scrunched up and you scoffed, shaking your head. You placed the stuffed animal to the side, petting it. "Figured those assholes wouldn’t tell you everything. The ‘uncles’ wouldn’t leave me alone and I thought Olly was another one of those bastards,” you snap, sitting back in your seat with a scowl. “How was I supposed to know he was trying to help when he dresses like that? I thought he was trying to assault me for God’s sake!”

Gun placed down his fork on his plate and his face twisted into one of fury, eyes turning cold and rigid as all the warmth disappeared whilst his lips curled back into a nasty frown. You almost thought his infamous scowl was directed towards you, but you knew better. You dear boyfriend wouldn't dare lay a single finger on you if it didn't bring you pleasure. "They what?"

You smiled softly, placing your hand over his as it clenched into a fist. With your small attempt at trying to soothe him by rubbing small circles, you spoke with a bit of hesitation, "Ah, yeah. They kept trying to get my number and wouldn't let me leave the booth I was in. I had no other choice than to use the training you taught me. Since I never met Olly, I really thought he was just another one of them and I reacted before thinking, making me attack him too."

Gun scoffed, shaking his head as he listened to your explanation with disbelief, every word fueling his rage of someone daring to hit on his woman. Every fiber in Gun's body screamed, wanting to feel their skin underneath his fists as he pounded them into oblivion. But the only thing stopping him was his date with you. For now, he'll put his anger aside to be with you and keep you happy. Who knows how long he'll be gone and when he'll see you again. The man has to make every second count.

Yet, he couldn’t let this go unpunished.

"Fuck." Gun leans closer to you and sits on the edge of his chair. Placing his hand over yours, he slips his fingers to grasp your palm, and lifts your hand to his lips, pressing tender kisses against your knuckles. His thumb grazing softly across your fingers and his eyes flutter shut. You couldn't help but stare in awe, never quite seeing him like this.

So careful with you, so gentle, you were surprised he wasn't seething in his seat and threatening to break their heads open. Gun opens his eyes and looks up at you, shaking in his seat. “I promise I’ll have those fuckers begging on their knees for your forgiveness. They should know better than to treat a woman with such rudeness and disrespect. Shit, I’ll go right now. I’ll beat them till-”

Your sweet laugh reaches his ears, cutting him off from his little speech. You lean in and pull in his hand to your lips, pressing a tender peck to his coarse knuckles. Gun felt his heart race and skip a beat at the sight, shock crossing his features. You look up, looking at your boyfriend with mirthful eyes. “As much fun as that sounds, I'd rather you stay here. Please? I want to spend as much time with you before you go back to work.”

The man stayed silent for a few seconds, taking in your words. He looked away, clicking his tongue before he broke out into a small smile, a blush blooming across his cheeks and the tip of his ears burning a bright red. “Of course, [Name]. Though, you could’ve just said you like spending time with me.”

Giggling, you lower your hands and shake your head. “Gun, of course I like spending time with you. You’re my favorite person and I love you after all.” Your voice said those three words with such fondness, it’s as if the man was in a dream.

If your words from before didn’t send Gun over the edge, your proclamation of love surely did now. He looked down, grinning like an idiot, showing a soft, bashful side he’s never revealed to anyone before. He swore his heart would jump out of his throat from how fast it was pounding against his ribcage. Gun grasped your hand tightly and sighed blissfully, Gently, he spoke, gazing at you with loving eyes, “I love you too.”

You smiled.

The tension in the air grew to be too much and both of you found it unbearable, wanting to do what both of you have been waiting for for weeks.

Both of you sat up and leaned over the table, closing the gap between you two as your lips interlocked, slipping together like if you were made for eachother. The kiss sparked and fed the fire both of you held in your hearts, burning brighter with every moment you spent at one another’s side. Gun couldn’t help but smile against your mouth.

As much as he hated being apart from you for so long, moments like these made the long hours worth it. If working so much meant he could provide for you, then he wouldn't mind doing it for the rest of his life if you had a roof over your head and a nice, warm meal at night.

Afterall, you were his woman.

And he loved you.

✦✦✦✦✦✦

©𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚊 || 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 || 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚜, 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚎𝚝𝚌. 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚌𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 .

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#lookism #lookism gun #lookism x reader #lookism imagine #lookism imagines #gun lookism #jong gun #jong gun x reader #lookism fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfiction x reader #fanfic #lookism fanfic #x reader #reader insert #reader #reader imagine #gun imagine #jong gun imagine

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syndxlla · 4 years ago

Text

Part nine of the More to Love series

Summary: Plans for the ball are in full swing, the concealment of your relationship with the knight dwindles and you make a deal with one another that leads to both of you learning a new and valuable skill

Word Count: 8.9k, NO USE OF ‘Y/N’

Warnings: SMUT (oral sex F receiving, fingering, multiple orgasms), swearing, mentions of wounds

Author’s Note: and we’re back to your regularly scheduled royalty and princesscore writings. this chapter is very chill honestly, but i still really enjoyed writing it! there’s also the introduction of THE DRESS. y’all this dress is insane you really aren’t ready i am OBSESSED with this dress.

Part eight

“Are you listening, Princess?” You hadn’t even realized you had zoned out. Your cheek was bright red from resting against your palm, and your eyes had glazed over with boredom. You hoped you didn’t look too uninterested, but considering the literal Queen of Mandalore looked down at you with folded arms and one arched eyebrow, you were less than confident that you looked engrossed in the conversation.

The Queen, Lady Reeves and yourself have been inside a yellow-themed parlor all morning discussing plans for the ball. Your Knight stood patiently by the door, overseeing the entire meeting. You wore a long sleeve dress that was too hot for the summer sun, which was slowly drying out the mud and puddles from then two-day long rainstorm that no one predicted. You spent the entire day yesterday pretending to rest from the exhausting day previous, but you were really hiding your arm from everyone else. You tried to argue with Koska that a long sleeve in the middle of summer would look for more suspicious than a simple bandage on your bicep, but she disagreed to say the least. The Knight stopped limping this morning, although you were convinced he was just faking it for good measure. If others knew he was injured, it could raise suspicion that you were too. You also think he didn’t want you to worry about him. The stab wound really wasn’t that deep, but you knew it had to have hurt more than he was showing. You thought he should take a few days off to rest his leg and to really spend time with his son, but he refused to.

You look up from your emotionless stare out the window, which showed the sea in the distance. The ocean was so different here compared to what it’s like in Corellia. There are sandy beaches and the water’s warm, whereas back home, it’s often frozen over, and is lined with rocky fjords and coves. You wanted to go down to one of those beaches soon if you could. They looked relaxing and much more intruiging than a wordy meeting that you stopped listening in on Lord knows when.

“Sorry, I just… zoned out for a minute.” You clear your throat, looking up at the ginger above you. You bat your eyelashes, trying do play off innocent and truthful. She shrugged, and turned around to pull something out of Koska’s hands.

“I was saying that now that we have the food and decor arranged for the ball, we can talk about the important things.” She says as she whips around for the big reveal that you weren’t expecting: iher arms was the most extravagant, fluffy gown you had ever seen. It was a soft rose gold, the skirt was huge and round, tulle pillowing out from the bodice which had clearly been hand-beaded by nimble fingers to have five-pedaled flowers with curly vines growing out of them. There was a soft sweet-heart neckline, the lace and beading of the bodice came up past the structure to overlap where your skin would be, The sleeves were off the shoulder, which was common for Mandalorian summer gowns. The skirt had a soft hint of sparkles and real diamonds had been sewn into the centers of each flower along the gown.

You perked up as you saw the ornament, your attention being drawn from the crashing waves of the ocean to the prettiest dress you had ever seen. You think you sighed, but you weren’t really sure. Dresses have always been a part of your life, designers from all over the world would send you their best sets, and it’s rare for you to wear the same gown more than once. This isn’t the first time you had been presented with a dress that costed more than some of the houses in the kingdom, but there was something different about it. It had a special glow to it, unlike anything you had ever seen.

“Her Radiance Ahsoka brought it, it’s a wedding gift from the Woodland elves.” Koska speaks up when she sees your reaction. Both her and the Queen were amused at your childlike awe. “That’s why it has that shimmer, they used silk spinners and gold.”

“I… I can’t accept this.” You wanted to, but you were desperately trying to be humble and calm in this situation. The dresses never meant that much to you, it’s just a piece of clothing. You have always been far more into the politics that came with royalty, not the fashion, so this was a first.

“Well of course you can.” The queen chuckled, “It would be rude not to.” You wished you could tell her that wearing such an extravagance would feel in vain because you did not feel affection towards the person you’ll be wearing it for. However, you supposed she was right, it would be rude to turn down a gift from the literal elves. You stand up from where you sat, walking over the dress that took your breath away. You wondered what the Knight thought of it, and you turn around to look at him. You know that he wouldn’t show any type of reaction over this thing, especially if the Queen is watching, but you wanted to show him that you were thinking of him. You smiled, raising your eyebrows to really show how beautiful you thought the gown was, you’ll get to talk about it with him later. This is the second time Koska see’s something like this between the two of you, and she first looks at you, and the knight, raising a sharp eyebrow.

You place your hand over the fabric, running your palm over it. You did nothing to deserve this, but you were honored that it’s yours. “It’s like a faerie’s dress.” You sigh. “It’s wonderful, when can I thank her Radiance?”

“She’s out and about, she usually meditates in the gardens on sunny days, I can retrieve her, if you’d like.” Koska speaks up.

“Oh that’s alright, I’ll find her eventually.” You smile.

“Interesting that you brought up the fae…” The Queen brings up, “Allow me to ask, it is your engagement ball, is there anything specific you would like to have incorporated?” A few days ago, you would have had no answer, because a few days ago there was nothing about Mandalore worth it to you. However, things have changed. You’ve spent sleepless nights thinking about the boy in the beskar armor, and you would give anything to dance with him at that ball. You knew damn well that if you asked nicely, and maybe gave him head in return, he would do almost anything you asked. He would happily dance with you alone in the room after the events of the night, although you weren’t even sure if he knew how to dance. You did want to waltz with him, but not in that way.

So, last night you stayed up late, laying on your back with the balcony doors just cracked open to let in the smell fo fresh rain and a cool breeze into the hot room, thinking about him. You especially thought about the soft skin of his thighs and the way he shuddered when you raked your fingernails down his abdomen. But you also thought about how you could dance with him at the ball, where everyone could see. You knew that you would be dancing with far more people than Korkie, it would be many people’s last (and only) chance to dance with you before you’re married, and so you’re expected to give everyone the opportunity and attention they desired. It wasn’t your favorite thing you’d have to do, especially considering you would be dancing with a number of complete strangers and total creeps of Viziers, Grand Dukes and old viscounts who would probably whisper dirty things in your ear. And that is part of why you wanted this one thing for yourself so badly.

Dancing with a mysterious stranger wouldn’t be a problem. You wanted to share your affection towards him, and you especially wanted him to see you in your true element of balls and parties and gowns and tiaras. You knew it was risky, especially considering you can hardly control yourself around him, who knows what the crowd may be whispering as you dreamily look up at him. But after having to move and change your entire life, marry a man you resent in a kingdom that goes against everything you’ve ever believed in, you owe yourself this one thing. Just this one.

However, dancing with a literal knight would be far too suspicious and obnoxious for the biggest event in the western part of the world. And you knew that he would never remove his helmet, even if his life depended on it. It would be no easy feat to convince him to do something like that in such little time, but that’s when you got the best idea to have possibly ever cross your mind.

When you were just a little girl, your nursery caretaker would sit you on her lap when you had droopy, tired eyes, and read you a story. You can’t remember what it was called, it’s been so long since you heard it, but it was your favorite. It was the tale of the masquerade ball where the young peasant girl fell in love with the handsome magician. You were always drawn into it, because you once hoped you would fall in love with a mysterious and handsome man, too.The point of the story was that she never saw his face, as they both had on extravagant swan masks covering their eyes. If everyone had their face covered, it wouldn’t look suspicious if he did, too. You knew it would be a big thing to ask, and he may not even agree to it if the Queen approves of the short-noticed theme, but you wanted to live at least one night as the young peasant girl.

“Yes, actually.” You began to reply, “I would love for my engagement ball to be a masquerade.” You made sure to add in the ‘my’ to reinstate that it is for you. The Queen stopped to consider what you asked, and Koska looked suprised. It’s rare for anyone to ask the Queen for something like that out flat. But, she was the one who brought it up.

The Queen made you wait in suspense for her answer, and every fiber of your being wanted to turn around and wink at the knight to let him know that you asked for him, but even you, the naive princess, knew that you needed to be more careful with sharing your memories with him when others are around. “I suppose we could arrange that.” She thinks out loud, and you can’t stop the smile that stretches across your face. The Queen really only agreed because she knew it would cause more buzz and conversation around her last event as Queen. Even you could see that, but if it meant you would get a chance to share the memory with your guard, it was worth it.

“Your Majesty, forgive me, but the ball is this weekend, I fear we will not have enough time to prepare for such a change in plans…” Koska spoke up.

“Well, not if we don’t have everyone in the palace working double time,” Both yours and Koska’s faces dropped, that is not what you wanted at all. “Every servant will be required to make ten masks before the ball on Saturday. Knights are exempt, obviously.” She placed the rose gold dress back in Koska’s arms. You immediately felt guilty.

“Oh that won’t be necessary, Your Majesty, I don’t want everyone to-“

“Oh nonsense,” She interrupted, “I love the masquerade idea, it will be grand. It will be the envy of Coruscant.” Was everything a battle for her? An endless contest of who’s the best between Mandalore and Coruscant? If everyone had extra work to do on top of their usual load, you would feel absolutely terrible, but there would be no changing the Queen’s mind. “As the head of the servants, you will oversee the masks, Lady Reeves.” Your face was in shock, pale and sick. Koska shot you an annoyed glare. You tried to respond with an apologetic smile, but the Queen was speaking up again, pacing as she spoke. “Of course we need the royals to stand out from everyone else, we’ll already have our gowns but the masks will make a difference too…” She thought out loud. “Koska I would like an owl mask as per usual, there will be gems incorporated as well I trust?”

“Yes, your Majesty.” She was not amused with her new task.

“As for our little Princess,” She was referring to you, but you couldn’t even listen out of guilt. Everything you tried in Mandalore somehow backfired on you. “Her dress is lovely, but her mask must also be the most extravagant in the room, after mine, of course. It would also be best if hers and my nephew’s matched, Yes?” Koska nodded, struggling to hold the heavy dress with her small stature. “Lovely, aren’t you just full of surprises, Your Highness?” The Queen smiled at you, and you forced a polite smile. “Now, excuse me, I have a designer to meet with to get as many feathers and adornments for masks as possible.” The redhead hastily exits the room, her high guard following her, leaving just you and Koska with your knight.

“What the fuck was that about?” Koska asked afterwards.

“I didn’t mean for any of the extra work to happen, I swear.” You defensively respond.

“You just love giving me a hard time, don’t you?” She asks.

“No- that not at all what-“

“Let her be, Koska.” Your knight steps into the conversation.

“Ugh you knights are so frustrating sometimes.” She rolls her eyes. “I mean, what is going on with you two?” She asks and your heart drops to your ass. Was it that obvious there was something more there? Your knight tensed up, too. “Yeah, I can see exactly what’s going on here. Would either of you like to explain?” She asks.

The two of you stood awkwardly like children who got caught stealing sweets from the kitchen. You wondered how you were going to get out of this one. Your entire world could come crashing down right now if you didn’t play this out correctly, and a thousand outcomes of this situation simultaneously played out in your head. Would she rat you out? Would it lead to your knights expulsion? Or would she keep it to herself? She seemed to have a history with your knight, although you didn’t know what that might be. Maybe she would be on your side, but you highly doubted it.

You blame yourself for all of this. You should have put a stop to all of this long ago, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. He has you tied around your finger, and you like it. You wondered what was going on through his mind, was he as nervous as you? He had to be, if not more worried about what would happen. Someone knowing about your secret relationship would only lead to you getting a tap on your knuckles and then they would try to hide it from society to keep your reputation clean, but it would be the end of his career and safety for him. You were selfish for this, and you knew it.

“What?” Is all your stupid mouth says. As if you hadn’t just had the most sporadic and stressful thought process of your entire life. After all that, the only thing you were able to come up with was “what?”. You thought your body might be shaking, but you weren’t totally sure. You wanted to look at the knight by your side, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Koska must have thought the same thing as you because after you just responded with an arrogant rhetorical question, her eyebrows raised like a mother angry with her teenage son. She scoffs, and walks to the other side of the parlor to place the gown down on a sofa. When her back was turned to you, you were somehow able to muster up the courage to look at the beskar-clad figure to your left. He didn’t look any different than, well, ever. Tall and broad and stoically looking ahead as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. But you knew better. He had to have had a similar thought process to your own. He never turned to look back at you, and that’s when the guilt really set in. This could have been prevented. It should have been prevented. You fiddle with your sleeve.

Koska comes back too soon, her arms folded over her chest and the same unamused look on her stupidly perfect face. “So, one of you better start talking now, or else I’m going to get impatient and go catch up with the Queen to do your chore.” She nods to you. Why was she doing this? What did she gain out of knowing any of this? It could be to protect Korkie, although you found that seriously hard to believe. From what you can tell, Koska could care less about the Mandalorian Prince.

You sigh out of embarrassment mostly, but know that you are the one who needs to speak up. This was your mistake, and so it was your responsibility to fix it. “This is all my fault,” You have to clear your throat after beginning because of how uncomfortably your words sit in your throat. “I take full responsibility for everything. Don’t blame him for anything.” You nod. He turns his head to look at you after you say this, and you wanted nothing more than to look back at him, but Koska had your gaze trapped.

“And what exactly do you mean by ‘everything’ and ‘anything’?” The lady-in-waiting asks.

You sigh again, knowing this was going to be hard to say. “I...allowed myself to be…” You carefully considered your word choice, “i-infatuated with the wrong man.” You finally get out. That was the first time you had said it in front of him, and only the second time you had said it outloud ever, the first being to the Elven Queen last week. “I shouldn’t have let it get so out of hand, but I fell under the spell of this Knight, and I don’t even know his name. I’ve never seen his face. In many ways, he’s a complete stranger to me.” You debated saying the next thing, but it just kind of spilled out, ‘A stranger who’s plagued my thoughts and actions since the day I got here.” It was hard for you to say, but there was something so liberating about saying it.

He never took his eyes off of you the entire time you spoke, but this time you were able to look back at him. Your eyes first looking down at the floor guiltily, and then they slowly make their way up his armor and to the visor on his helmet. You just looked there for a little bit while Koska processed what you were saying. You smiled genuinely at the knight, desperately trying to show him that everything you just said was true. For a moment, you weren’t sure if she was going to say anything at all, and the room fell silent.

“Well…” She begins, you can’t hear any disappointment in her tone yet, “You’re terrible at hiding it.” She sighs. Of all the things she could have said, you did not expect that.

“What?” You say like an absolute idiot for the second time. You look back at the woman.

“Look, I’ve known him for a long time.” She shakily breathes, looking at him, “We’ve actually been through a lot together.” He was still looking at you, “And honestly, Neither of us were ever cut out for the Royal life we’ve been living for a while now.” You wondered what she meant by that. “And to be frank, I could care less about your personal life.” She said to you about you, “But since he’s a friend, and you really don’t mean very much to me, no offense,”

“None taken.”

“I suppose I’ll just keep it to myself-“

The relief that overcame your body was unmatched. You can’t stop the grin that goes from ear to ear or the sigh of relief that danced on your lips and out of your lungs. You look over at him, who still hasn’t looked away from your face, but he sighs of relief, too. You see it in the way his armor shifts.

“-Under one condition.”

“Okay…”

“You have to start hiding it better, no more over the shoulder glances. Okay? This is me looking out for him.” She gestures to him with a nod. Was she really going to do this for you?

“No more glances, got it.” You repeat.

“There’s no telling what might happen to him if the wrong person finds out.” She clears her throat, and that statement scares you. You try not to let it take up too much of your thought. “And you have to act like nothing is different. You’re still engaged to the Prince and you’re still the future Queen-consort. I don’t give a damn about what happens behind closed doors, but when others are around you have to behave yourselves. This is me looking out for my kingdom, understood?”

“Understood.” You nod back, although you weren’t the biggest fan of that condition, you knew that was the price you had to pay to get what you wanted… well at least what you think you wanted. “You’re not going to tell the Queen?”

“If you do those things, she won’t hear a word about it.” Koska shrugs.

“And what about Korkie?”

“Stars, I cannot stand that boy. I don’t even talk to him.” She rolls her eyes and you chuckle. You’re happy you aren’t the only one who feels that way about the prince. “But I’m not going to cover or lie for you two, I’m not going to help you hide it or anything. Alright?”

“Of course.” You reply.

“Great. I have over five-hundered masks to make by Saturday, so I’ll be leaving now.” She finished and on her way out, she pushes the knight on the shoulder playfully.

The door closes.

“Stars.” You clear your throat and turn to look at him, before you can say anything, though, he’s picking you up by the waist, throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of weightless flour, and carrying you over to the second sofa that isn’t taken up by a ridiculously large dress. You giggle when he does, blushing at his enthusiasm. You’re placed on your back and he kneels between your legs.

“You’re excited.” You chuckle and he hums in response. There isn’t very much room on the sofa but he makes his place. He then grabs the hem of your dress, pulling it up over first your thighs, then up past your hips, over the corset and up to your face. He covers your eyes with the skirt and it hides the cheesiest smile on your face. light still poured in from the fabric, but you weren’t able to see anything.

You then heard the sound of metal being placed on the floor next to you, and to your pleasant surprise, his lips and pressed tightly to yours through the fabric. The kiss obviously doesn’t make any contact, but you’ve learned that with the knight, it’s the thought that always counts. You’re smiling into the kiss like a dork, and you shudder when you feel his bare hands against your bare thighs. He pulls your legs open, and then pulls away from your separated kiss.

Your first moan comes when you feel his lips against your soft thighs. He licks up and down your right thigh first, his fingertips strong and faithful against the outer part of your legs. Your breathing hitches, and you hum with pleasure when he moves to your left thigh, taking the same amount of time to kiss, nibble and suck on your pillowy skin.

Then, before you can think any more about the heat and want in between your legs, he’s pulling down your petticoat painfully slow. You bite your lip, you knew where he was headed with this, and you were more than happy to welcome it. His index and middle finger run soft lines around your cunt, massaging the swollen and wet skin around your opening that only got wetter. Your clit begged for attention, but your arms were trapped under the position of the dress skirt, and you didn’t want to risk adjusting it in a way that would make him stop. You would have to patiently wait as he teased and prodded your lips, his free hand rubbing your thigh and occasionally making its way to firmly squeeze your ass cheek. Your breathing was needy and short as he took his time to get to know your core with the tips of his fingers, which were now wet and slick and making the friction smoother.

He then gently places a light kiss on your clit. It’s so soft that you’re only able to feel it because of how sensitive and hungry you are for that type of contact. You slightly finch when his lips touch the nerve, and you’re able to feel him smile against your skin. What you would give to see his face right now…. Then, before you can think any more, he’s licking a flat stripe up from the bottom of your cunt up to your clit where he flicks three times with the tip of his tongue. You gasp at the sensation, and try to suppress a moan. He then take his time to lick each separate lip of your sex, avoiding your actual opening but teasing in such an addictive way that you were willing to be patient for him.

The knight then finally wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, pulsing with his lips and flicking back and forth quickly with the tip of his tongue. You do moan this time, a broken cry falling off of your needy lips. It was a euphoric feeling unlike anything you’ve experienced before and you loved every moment of it. His arms wrap around your upper thighs, holding you in place around his head as he moves down to lap at your pussy lips. He moans at the taste of you, diving his tongue into your folds and prodding your sensitive clit with his nose.

You whine short and quietly as he does, biting your lip and bucking your hips every now and then as he took care of your sex. He must have gone down on you for close to ten minutes straight, never coming up for fresh air and never stopping the steady pace he had. You aren’t sure how you didn’t cum immediately at the feeling of his plump lips against your clit, but you also aren’t sure how you didn’t blackout from the sheer pleasure of the feeling. It was addictive, and it only got better after he pulled away to spit on your cunt. He spits onto your folds and then brings his fingers up again to start fingering you, sliding in his pointer finger with no resistance and slowly pumping it in and out. His mouth finds its way back to your slit, sucking on it as he fingers you. The sound was filthy, it filled the parlor with wet, obscene noises accompanied by breathy moans and gentle hums. Every time he hummed against your clit, your back arched from the added pleasure. The vibrating of it was pure euphoric, and you knew you were a sopping mess in between your thighs.

His chin was wet from spit and arousal and for one quick moment he pulled his wet mouth away from your core to kiss and rub the juices of your cunt on your thighs. He nibbles a few times on either thigh, marking each with a litter of purple and red hickeys. Before adding a second finger, he pulls his hand out to gently and playfully slap your cunt. He uses his wet hand to tap your core five or six times, each tap getting harder. You moan out at the feeling, and squeeze your legs together against the feeling in a horny attempt to get more pleasure from the moment.

“Huh, would you look at that?” He asks, his voice low and hungry and full of lust. It’s the first thing he’s said in a while, and the indulgence of the oral sex cause you to nearly forget how much you loved his rough voice. “Do you like it when I slap your cunt?” You whine in response. “With your words, Princess.”

“Yes, Sir.” You whine like a bitch. He chuckles and slaps it again, harder this time. You shudder at the feeling and feel your climax coming on. You want to delay it for as long as possible, but your thighs start to shake when he puts his mouth back in you and pushed both his index and middle finger into your opening, pumping and curling and twisting his wrist to make the most wonderful combination of finger-fucking you could of have imagined.

“I’m gonna cum.” You barely get out before your spine is burning and your stomach is flexing as you cum hard and long against his tongue and on his fingers. You cry out in broken, heavenly bliss, and look for something to grasp onto as you hit your high, but you can’t find anything, which leads to your sporadic back arches. You’re panting, and he doesn’t stop kissing against your core while you cum on his tongue. You bite your lip and swear you might make it bleed a little. His grip on your thighs tightens while he pulls you against his mouth, preventing you from pulling away from the addictive exhilaration that is his kiss.

He licks you through the entire orgasm, and then some after. You think you’re being over-stimulated but you never have been before, so you aren’t really sure. Just when you think he’s going to stop, he doesn’t and he just takes his sweet old time lapping against your core and slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you. You sharply breath in, your chest heaving against the dress and you desperately want to pull your dress down to see him and breath freshly again. The way he eats you out is so methodical, like he’s done it a thousand times (which wouldn’t necessarily surprise you), like it’s the only thing he’s ever eaten or the sweetest honey to ever grace his lips.

It begins to turn you on again, the pleasure shooting into your spine and down your littered thighs and melting against your clit. You can feel the gentle rub of his fingers against your thighs, stroking your skin as he takes you in. It’s heavenly and is the only thing you can think about. Your thoughts go numb and the only important thing in the entire world is the curly-haired boy at your expense.

You mutter and whisper swears, dirty words that aren’t meant to come out of a princess’ mouth but you can’t help it when you’re seeing white hot behind your eyes. He groans a few times too before his fingers speed back up to the pace they were at before you came the first time. Your dainty hands stroke lightly on your collar-bones as the pleasure fills your soul, licking your lips and trying to hold on for as long as possible before you cum again but you can already feel your second orgasm coming on. He uses a third finger to outline your lips, coating the tip in your slick and then slowly inserting the third and final finger into your cunt, helping you chase that final hit of release. The stretch is amazing, and you were surprised you were able to take it so well. This is when you realized that he’s been training you for something much bigger. The first time he fingered you wasn’t even any penetration, the second time was two fingers, just enough to stretch you that it hurt the right amount, and now this time, three fingers that felt amazing. You remembered the size of his cock, you knew it would be a challenge to take, but he was making sure you would be able to handle it and enjoy it as much as he will.

His focus goes from licking your clit to the fingers inside. He twists his wrist to make the curl and stretch your entrance. He collects the wetness and lets it make the glide and pump smoother. You’re so drenched and needy that the fluid is running out past his fingers and dripping onto the sofa cushion, staining it with your lust. He nips so slightly at your clit and just like that, your whole world comes crashing down. The orgasm is actually mind-numbing this time, and all you can do is moan and sob and claw at your own skin. Your scratch into your shoulders and collar-bone and it’s deliciously painful. Your thighs clamp against his head and he continues to finger you long and hard through the climax, cleaning your folds up as you cum against his tongue and fingers. You’re finally able to catch your breath, painting with droopy, lustful eyes but feeling completely fulfilled. He cleans up all the juices around your entrance, collecting the cum on his tongue and happily swallowing it down like it’s his last meal. You aren’t able to see it, but he then puts his fingers into his mouth, cleaning off the three that were knuckle-deep into your cunt. He groans at the taste, and wipes his mouth before planting one last, gentle kiss to the soft, angelic skin of the mound between your legs. You're so sensitive that the light kiss makes you flinch, and he chuckles at the involuntary reaction.

He puts his helmet back on and then pulls your dress skirt down to see your face. You’re surprised by the light initially, and you blink a few times to adjust to it. Your lungs fill with crisp air and you look at your favorite sight: the helm of the knight you think you’re falling in love with. You can’t stop the smile on your face. He chuckles and then readjusts your dress to cover you up better. He takes such good care of you. You see him freeze when he sees the scratch marks on your skin, and his bare hand softly runs over the red lines, outlining the marks. You blush at him, looking up at his expressionless face with a puppy-love look.

“Everytime I think it can’t get any better, you prove me wrong.” You sigh. Every orgasm has been better than the last.

“Just you wait.” You hear the smirk under the helmet and it causes butterflies to flutter in your tummy. You sigh, still catching your breath and you just take him in, looking up at how he’s propped up above you. He has hands on either side of your head and he’s just a brudding force of metal and sex and good kissing and caring about things that you didn’t even know you needed someone to care about. You probably look like a dork just smiling up at him but you don’t even care and now your hands are free to wrap around his neck and you just wish you could see his face and kiss it all over right now.

Your fingers lock behind his neck and the positioning of his armor and the way his head is bent makes it so you can just barely feel the skin of his neck. You move your index fingers up to look for the curls at the nape of his neck. You think you could sing out when you found the prize: some strands of dark, brown, thick hair hidden under the helmet. You twirl them around your fingers and that action alone is worth a million kisses. The feeling in your heart is second to none and you wished you could stay in this still moment forever.

“Did you mean what you said?” He speaks up in reference to what you told Koska about him.

“Every word of it.” You state, genuinely meaning it as you said it. He did respond but something told you he was smiling under all that armor. He sighs, and then lets his arms go weak so he’s falling onto you. You groan at the surprise and the sheer weight of both his broad body and the heavy armor on top. The air is pushed out of your lungs but at least he’s pressed into you, your hands still toying with his curly hair. You can hear him chuckle, and you wanted to freeze time.

“Someone’s gonna see us if we stay like this.” He mutters as you tilt your head to have it rest on top of his helmet.

“Then let them.”

He doesn’t reply to what you say, and you debate if it was even the right thing to say. When you’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted, it’s hard to grasp the concept that someone may not want the same thing. You’re selfish for not caring about his safety and status in these types of situations. He grunts as he pushes himself back up and stands again, leaving only you on the sofa.

“How’s the arm?”

“It’s fine.” You roll your eyes, you don’t want everyone to worry so much anymore.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You reply more forcefully this time, sitting up on the couch.

“Just making sure.”

“Yeah, yeah…” You sigh, and consider your next words, “I was wondering if I could ask you something.” You sit with your palms flat against the cushion, making aware of the wet spot on the fabric and smirking fondly at it.

“Anything, your Highness.” He nods.

“Well… I wondered if maybe I could teach you how to dance?” You were nervous about what his response may be.

“Oh Stars-“ He chuckles.

“What!?”

“I had a feeling that masquerade might have something to do with me.” He puts his hands on his hips like he’s scolding you but there’s a guilty part of you that you like about it.

“Well it isn’t just about you.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“...no.” He already knew you so well. He chuckles at your response. “So… what’s your answer?”

“Dancing isn't my style…”

“I don’t believe that.” You tilt your head. “Come on, it’s super easy and it would mean a lot to me.” You try convincing. He sighs and considers what you’re offering. “I can give you something in return…” You bite your lip, teasing. He chuckles just once.

“Alright-”

“What!? Really??” You stand up from excitement, you weren’t really expecting him to agree.

“But, only if you let me teach you something in return.” You nod in agreement, your hands coming to fold in your lap. You were expecting him to refer to something sexual, but his words prove you wrong, “I wanna teach you how to fight.”

“What?” Why would you ever need that?” It’s rare for royals to learn such a skill, especially princesses. You understood that it would be valuable, but you weren’t completely sure if you were up to the task.

“Well more than anything, I want to teach you how to defend yourself. So something like Keldabe doesn’t happen again.”

“Okay…” You were tentative to agree.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, “If it means I get to dance with you at the ball, I would be more than happy to learn.”

“Great. Let’s start then.” He takes a step back and holds his hand out for you to take.

“What?” You place your palm in his and he pulls you up off the couch, “right now?”

“Yes, c’mere.” You were nervous and honestly your legs were still weak from cumming twice, but you follow him as he begins to talk. “I’ll just teach you a few things and then you can teach me how to dance I guess.”

“Stop being a pill.” You tease.

“Only if you stop, too.” He teases right back at you which leads to a scoff from your lips. He ignores you. “When you're defending yourself, you always wanna protect your face, okay?”

“Protect my face, got it.” You repeat. He holds his arms up in front of his helmet, his hands fisted.

“Mimic my pose.” You roll your eyes but mirror him, holding your arms to guard your face. “See, is that so hard?”

“Shut up.”

“Yes ma’am.” He sarcastically replies. “You can’t do much if you can’t see, so that’s why you gotta protect your face. If you wore a helmet you wouldn’t need to do this.”

“But I would always be wearing a helmet…”

“It’s not so bad.” He shrugs.

“Something tells me that you don’t believe that.” You drop your arms from your face to say that, which was obviously a mistake, because instead of responding to your claim (which was probably right), he's jabbing his arm out towards your face. He’s not close enough to hit you but the quick and unexpected action is enough to startle you back. You lose your balance and fall down on the ground, wincing when you hit the ground and regretting agreeing to this. Your arms wrap into a frustrated position and you frown up at him. You look up at him surprised and a little pissed, and he just starts laughing. “What was that?”

“You let your guard down.” He says between laughs. He does hold his hand out for you to help you back up, and you take it to your own dismay. He hoists you up quickly, and you have to re-establish your balance.

“You are impossible.” You put your arms back over your face, ready to try again.

“You like it.”

“Are you gonna teach me or not?” He wasn't wrong but you figured you’d have to try and beat him at his own game.

“Are you gonna let me?”

“Just go.” You roll your eyes again.

“This will also protect your ribs. Can’t do much if the wind is knocked out of you, either.” He explains. “You also want to stand wide, it’ll help you keep your balance.” He kicks your feet out to be shoulder width which breaks every rule in the book of princess manners. “And prevent… falling on the floor.”

“This isn’t exactly easy to do in a corset, you know.” You argue.

“And dancing won’t be easy in armor but here we are.” He shrugs, and you suppose he’s right. Neither of you are cut out for the tasks at hand. “When fighting someone without armor, you’re gonna want to go for their face, their eyes are vulnerable and you can do real damage on their nose.”

“Okay….” You try to remember what he was saying, making a mental note for any future situations, although you’re still skeptical. “And what about someone with armor on?” You ask, trying not to show the smirk on your face.

“Well the guy in Keldabe did everything right, he found where the weak points of my armor was and attacked them-“

“So here?” You ask before reeling back your arm and swinging it as hard as you can into his shoulder where there was only chain mail. Your fist crashes into the metal, and you immediately regret it. “Shit!” You pull your hand back and look at your bright red knuckles, shaking your hand a few times as you try to brush the shock away.

“...Yeah, right there.” On the bright side, he seemed to be surprised by it enough that he made a little groan from the contact that turned you on way more than it should have. “But now you fucked up your hand.”

“You think?” You place the angry knuckles at your mouth, trying not to be too upset about the pain shooting through your hand.

“Punching chainmail is always gonna hurt, especially if you do it wrong… like that.”

“So how do I do it right!?” You’re determined now. No one has ever put you in your place, you’ve always gotten what you wanted, and you wanted to prove to him that you could do it.

“Why are you so eager to inflict pain on me?” He asks, you can hear the teasing in his tone but you can’t blame him for feeling that way. Perhaps you did come off a little anxious.

“I don’t know… I guess I just want to prove something to you.” You sigh, still pissed off by the pain in your hand. You’re so distracted by it that you hardly notice him walking towards you. His gentle and soft bare hands take your fist away from your mouth. You’re tentative at first, but let him take it in his hand, cupping it in between his and looking down at your red skin. You frown mostly out of frustration, but the pain is unlike anything you’ve experienced before. Princesses aren’t supposed to feel pain.

Before you can blink, he pulls his top hand away and takes it to lift up his helmet just above his lips. The angle makes it so you can’t see any of his face but you understand. He bends down and kisses your knuckles in the same fashion one would when greeting you, but this was so much more intimate. His lips were like satin against your skin and the butterflies in your stomach fly right back. The physical pain didn’t go away, but the anger around it did. Your heart softened and wished he would kiss your lips but he’s already pulling the beskar back over his jaw. You sigh from the gesture, he was so romantic and you don’t even think he’s trying to be. He’s just trying to be kind and patient with you and it’s doing something to your heart that you don’t know if you can handle anymore.

“So… how do you waltz?” He asks, his hand still holding onto yours. You smile and sheepishly look down at your feet. You were unsure of how to begin, but were happy he was willing to learn.

“Okay.” You smile, “Well, you first need to loosen up. Stop being so stiff.” He tilts his head like you’re speaking a foreign language. “Like this.” You press your hands down on his shoulder pauldrons, he tries to rest them but fails and you chuckle just a little. “Roll them back.” You explain and do it yourself, he attempts to follow, and actually is able to relax a little bit more this time. Knights are always so stiff, you think it will be good for him to relax every now and then. “Good, now this hand goes here…” You lift his right hand to rest on your waist and he immediately settles into it, already feeling more comfortable now that he is holding you. You place your left hand on his shoulder, pulling your bodies a little closer together. He wanted your torsos to be flush against one another, “No, we have to keep our distance so we have room to do the steps.” You explain.

“Well that’s no fun.” He sighs. You blush and giggle.

“If we get this done I promise you can hold me as long as you want.” You tilt your head trying to make a fair compromise.

“Fine.” He’ll take it.

“Great, now we hold these hands.” You take his left hand and hold it into yours. “That’s the basic position, I learned it as home position, got it?”

“Home position…?” He repeats.

“Mhm.” You nod, your faces are close and you would give anything to feel his breath against yours. “It’s important that we sort of… ‘glide’ like we bounce as we dance, it will make it prettier.” He was convinced you were always pretty no matter what you tried or did, but we guessed he would comply this time. Your voice goes quiet and soft, the mood immediately changing from teasing to harmonious. “And your feet… okay this is sort of complicated but your left foot will go forward as my right goes back-“ You keep looking down at the floor as you try to explain the steps but his gaze is on your face, hardly listening to what you're saying and only being engulfed in your face and the way you talked about doing something you loved. You were so beautiful and you didn’t even know it.

You must have been talking for a while without really listening to yourself because he was slowly pulling you into his torso and closing the space without you really noticing that you were inches closer than you were before. “-and then your left foot will slide to meet your right foot-“ the last word fades out as you slowly look back up to his face which was now up close to yours, your bodies pressed together and both of his hands on your hips, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your back. Your heart skips a beat and you forget how to breathe as you look up at him and it just felt… right.

Your hands lift from his pauldron to his helmet and you want to take it off so badly. You knew it was too fast still, and he would remove his helmet for you when he felt like he could. At least that’s what you hoped for. It should be his decision, no one else’s. But your hands are grazing the bottom of the beskar and everything feels so right. He’s so still and his breath is quiet and for just a moment you think he might let you and then-

The door knob is turning slowly and both of you are splitting away all too fast, trying to make enough space between the two of you so it didn’t look suspicious. You both scramble, trying to put yourselves back together. The still and perfect moment was entirely gone when Prince Korkie opened up the door into the parlor. You tried not to look too shocked when his stupid perfect hair and young face looked on you. The knight held his hands behind his back to hide the fact that they were bare and side-eyed the gloves on the sofa that laid by the wet stain on the cushion. He silently prayed that the Prince wouldn’t notice them.

“Ah, princess I was wondering where you were.” He looked between the two of you. He didn’t seem too suspicious, thank the stars.

“Korkie! What are you doing?” You awkwardly laugh. Your hands fold at waist level, and you fix your posture.

“Did… I walk in on something?” He asks and your whole body goes numb. You swallow and try not to pass out. The truth is yes, he did walk in on something very important to you, but here we are.

“Oh! No, we were just…” You search around the room looking for something to take the attention away from you and the knight, “Admiring the beautiful dress the Elves gave me!” You walk to the heavy, iridescent gown on the clean sofa, picking it up to show him. You smile desperately, hoping that would be enough.

“Ah yes! It is beautiful, isn’t it?” He nods, smiling. You sigh of relief when he falls for the bait. You set the dress back down.

“Can I do anything for you?” You ask,a king sure there was no attention on the knight being you.

“I… just wanted to spend a bit of time with you. My aunt informed me of the changes to the Ball. What a wonderful idea!”

“Why thank you.” You smile, taking a few steps towards him in a hopeless attempt to not seem so suspicious.

“Yes! I had just received the RSVPS from a number of the guests. Your parents, the twins of Naboo, the senator of Alderaan and Princess of Chandrila and I’m pleased to say that we’ve found no suspicion of any attack from Coruscant!” Stars, he talks a lot. You aren’t sure how he can have any more breath to talk. You were starting to decide that you liked the boys who were more reserved.

Well… one boy.

“Oh… Um, of course. That’s great news.” You nod and finish your walk towards him, suddenly hyper-aware of the fading scratches on your collar bone.

“Come with me, we should review the letters together.” You look back at the knight apologetically before walking into the hallway with the Prince. This isn’t exactly how you hoped your afternoon would go...

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Part ten

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nugnthopkns · 4 years ago

Text

whatcha say we just get away?

word count: 6.5k

warnings: explicit fem!reader, marriage, cursing, fleeting mention of future children, some kinda cheesy wedding tropes

recommended listening: side effects | jade bird

a/n: the idea of a big wedding scares the living daylights out of me so i wrote about eloping with tk :))

When Travis asks you to marry him, you think he’s joking.

The two of you are standing in the kitchen piecing together lunch. It’s a sunny Tuesday in Port Stanley, and Travis wants to take you out on the boat this afternoon.

“What if we got married?” he says casually, putting the finishing touches on his sandwich.

You shrug it off and continue chopping vegetables. “You’re hilarious. Got an upcoming audition with SNL?”

Travis doesn’t seem to like your response. He bumps your shoulder gently. “I’m serious.”

“This isn’t a joke?” you ask, setting down the knife and turning to face him. “You want to marry me?”

He nods and rests his hands on your hips. “I’m absolutely positive. Will you marry me?”

No words come from your open mouth. Not wanting him to think you’re saying no, you nod your head vigorously. Travis’s laugh echoes off the small kitchen, bringing you back to earth slightly. His right thumb rubs comforting circles on your hip bone. Overcome with love for Travis, you curl your arms around his neck and pull him down to meet your lips.

The kiss is passionate but incredibly soft. You both hold so much love for each other and do your best to convey it in the small gesture. Time passes you by, but you don’t mind. If you could kiss Travis forever you would. Eventually he pulls away for air but doesn’t let you go. Resting his forehead on yours he asks another question. “Is that a yes?”

You find your voice. “Of course you idiot!”

His smile lights up his entire face and it makes him look much too young to be betrothed. You suppose he is, that you both are – under twenty-five with your whole lives in front of you. However, you know that Travis is it for you. No one compliments you like he does, and no one ever will. Travis loves you wholly and without hesitation, and you hope he can see you feel the exact same way.

“Fuck,” Travis groans, and it makes you arch your brow. “I don’t have a ring,” he explains. “I didn’t think I’d get the balls to suggest it or that you would say yes.”

A laugh bubbles over your lips as you shake your head. “I could care less baby,” you insist. “We don’t need rings to show how much we love each other.”

The two of you stand in the kitchen a while longer, kissing languidly and basking in the deeper level of love that comes with devoting your lives to one another. Lunch is long forgotten as you get ready for your afternoon adventure, but you remember to grab it on your way out the door. The drive to the water is almost identical to every single other time, spent singing along to the radio and laughing at the terrible impressions Travis tries to orchestrate, except this time your smiles are brighter and the sideways glances are sweeter.

For being a beautiful day in a community of mostly retired people, the waters of Lake Erie are scarcely populated. The two of you essentially have the kilometres of coastline to yourselves, which feels like a sign from the universe to enjoy the newest honeymoon phase of your relationship. It’s so nice to spend an abundance of time with Travis in the summers, and it almost makes up for all the time you spend alone throughout the winter months. You let him navigate the boat wherever he wants, laying across one of the plush leather benches with your eyes closed. Occasionally, when Travis hits a wave a little too head on, water sprays gently over your face but you don’t mind. Truthfully, it offers a short respite from the heat of the sun’s rays.

While you lounge your mind begins to wander to what your wedding will look like. Large crowds have always made you uneasy – you aren’t like Travis in that regard, able to feel comfortable in whatever environment you may be placed in. The idea of a small wedding is nice, but the two of you know too many people and pointedly not inviting a large number of them fills you with anxiety. Feelings would get hurt, people upset they can’t fight for a minute of your big day, and you’ve heard horror stories about wedding guest lists ending friendships. You also know your mother will want to have input in almost every decision, from bridesmaids dresses to cake flavours, and that’s not something you’re sure you can handle. Suddenly marrying Travis is a lot scarier a concept.

You realize that these are ridiculous thoughts to be having. You got engaged less than three hours ago – there’s no reason for you to immediately start planning the event. For Christ’s sake, you don’t even have a ring yet. Regardless, your mind replays your fears on a constant loop. All you can do to quell the storm in your mind is sit and focus on the taut muscles of Travis’s shoulder blades.

“Now that we’re engaged you’re just going to ignore me?” Travis jokes, dropping the anchor and making his way over to you. He had pulled into a small bay, mostly out of view from the public and hard to find, so the two of you could swim and enjoy each other’s company in peace.

You shoot him a pointed look, and he immediately understands there’s something lying beneath the surface.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

It’s stupid to be stressing over thing so soon, but you can’t stop. You wonder if you’re even going to be able to go through with the wedding seeing you’re already so worked up about it. Travis kneels in front of you, hand on your knee as his eyes meet yours through two pairs of sunglasses. “No judgement here sweetheart. Say whatever’s on your mind.”

You know he’s being sincere. There’s never any judgement from Travis. No matter how dumb a statement or how terrible a fashion choice he never thinks any less of you. “I was just thinking, well overthinking, about the wedding,” you mumble. “And I know it’s stupid because we have nothing planned and don’t have rings but I can’t stop myself from stressing over it. I legitimately don’t know if I can plan a wedding.”

“That’s quite possibly the farthest thing from stupid,” he insists. “It’s a valid thing to be worried about. Honestly, I don’t know if I want to take the heat for not doing things the way others think they should be done. But we have so much time to figure everything out.” Travis pushes himself off the ground and slides into the seat beside you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and places a peck to the crown of your head.

“I think that’s part of the issue Trav. We won’t get married until next summer, which is fine, but I’m going to have so much time to overthink every single decision.”

Travis doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, he grasps your left hand in his and raises it to his lips. The kiss he presses to your ring finger, where the engagement ring would be if you had one, sends shivers down your spine. It’s a simple gesture, sweet and to the point, but it grounds you. No matter what happens, the two of you will face it together hand in hand.

The water is cold when you eventually get in, but it’s refreshing and allows you to relax. You do more floating than serious swimming, watching as Travis swims laps around the small area you’ve claimed as your own. “Can’t even take a break from training now that we’re engaged?” you ask, throwing him the same jab he gave hours ago.

“Gotta stay fit for the big day,” he pants, obviously tired from trying to up his endurance level. “Holy fuck, I’ve swam nearly three kilometres since we got in.”

You’re wickedly impressed and have half a mind to challenge him to keep going, to see how far he can go, but you can tell his energy is fading. Pretty soon he’ll be ready to fall asleep and you can’t drive the boat. Not wanting to be stuck on the lake overnight, you speak. “Let’s get you home there cowboy. I’ll drive once you park this damn boat.”

The rest of the night is quiet. Once back on dry land, you take control of the reins, jumping into the driver’s seat before Travis can protest. You stop to pick up dinner from a small pizzeria on the main street before continuing to the modest cottage you call home in the summer months. It’s all Travis can do to keep his eyes open on the ride home, and as soon as he finishes his pizza he’s asleep on the couch, head resting heavy in your lap.

You card your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at the scalp as you read your book. While you were in school you didn’t have much time to read for pleasure, so since graduating you’ve been trying to catch up. You graduated nearly two years ago and still haven’t made it through your to be read shelf, but it isn’t for lack of trying. It seems that new books constantly find a home there and the three books a months you average isn’t cutting it. Maybe one day when you retire you’ll be able to make a serious dent.

It’s silent while Travis sleeps, but you find it comforting. There’s nothing to distract you from the fictional world playing out on the pages, and you lose the anxieties you’ve felt simmering since thinking about your very distant wedding. When Travis wakes up an hour later you’ve finished your book and are staring at the ceiling.

“You could have gotten up to grab another,” Travis murmurs, voice laced with sleep.

You shrug. “Didn’t want to wake you. Plus I just wanted to think about some things, how I want to tackle the next year.”

Travis frowns, and you can tell he’s regretting asking the question because you’re so obviously worked up.

“I know what you’re thinking, babe,” you say to comfort him. “And you’re wrong. There’s nothing I want more in the world than to marry you. I just didn’t realize how hard it was going to be to do things without pissing off half the people we want to invite.”

You slowly peel away from him, holding out a hand and smiling when he takes it. The two of you retire to your bedroom, and get ready in silence. You know Travis is still mulling things over, and quite honestly, you are too. Preparing to get married, no matter how far away the day might be, is a lot. After brushing your teeth and washing your face you settle into Travis’s open arms, tracing over the tattoos that call his bicep home. Travis unwinds in his own way, twirling a lock of your hair around his index finger.

“What if we eloped?”

This question is as sudden as when he asked you to marry him in the first place. Your hand halts its actions immediately, moving to his chest so you can push yourself up to look at him. “You’re serious?”

He nods enthusiastically, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Dead serious. I know you’ve never wanted a big wedding,” he says. That much is true. You’ve never enjoyed being the center of attention, and the idea of more than twenty people watching your every move has you freaking out. “You’re so stressed already about pleasing everyone that I’m worried you won’t be able to enjoy it when the day actually comes. And to be quite frank, I could give less of a shit about the ceremony or reception. All I want to do is marry you because I love you. So let’s get rid of the things we think we have to do and just do it our own way.”

A single tear slides down your cheek. You can’t help it – you’re so relieved he’s willing to do whatever would make you the most comfortable, even if it means sacrificing something as important as a proper wedding. “That would be perfect.”

Travis kisses you for what might be the millionth time today but you do not care. His lips are soft against yours and make you feel safe and warm. Nothing goes too far as you’re both just enjoying the thought of such a special moment being between just the two of you.

“I was also thinking we could do it this week,” he says casually, as if no work has to go into this because you’re eloping.

You sit up immediately. “Pardon?” you ask shocked. “Trav, just because we aren’t going to have a wedding doesn’t mean we can just do it whenever we please. We need to get a marriage license and make an appointment at the courthouse.”

“It’s the middle of summer and we live in an area where the youngest people other than us are like fifty, I think things will come together pretty quickly.”

It’s hard for you to argue with his logic. Travis has a point – the chances of other people trying to get married in the next few days is very slim. The idea doesn’t sound horrible either, getting to marry the love of your life as soon as possible. You agree to look into things in the morning and fall asleep curled into Travis’s chest, his arms secure around you.

Wanting to get married within the week turns out not to be a problem. After Travis completes his morning workout the two of you travel the short distance to the courthouse to get a marriage license. It’s incredibly easy, each of you only needing to provide two pieces of identification, and while you’re there you pick a time slot for your civil service. You’ll be back at the building in two days, next time walking out as a married couple.

“See, it was so easy,” Travis says, bumping your hip with his own on the way back to the truck.

“Fuck off,” you grumble. No matter how hard you try you can’t find it within yourself to be mad at him. You’re incredibly excited, and are actually glad you don’t have to wait very long. It would have been a pain to wait a whole twelve months.

The next order of business in ‘planning’ your wedding is finding two witnesses. You would have had no problem asking Travis’s parents, but they’re currently on a vacation to the east coast. The idea of phoning your mother and asking her to book a flight to attend a wedding she didn’t get a say in makes you nauseous, so it’s completely out of the question. Port Stanley might be small, but you and Travis are only there a few months out of the year and don’t know anyone besides your next door neighbours. Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson are an adorable eldery couple you invite over for dinner every week.

Travis agrees that you should include them, and as soon as you get home the two of you are knocking on their door, pitcher of lemonade in hand.

“Oh hello dears,” Mrs. Stevenson coos. “This is such a nice surprise. Richard is out on the back patio, come join us.”

You smile at the older lady and follow her through the modest cottage. The walls are covered in photos from family trips and graduations – you hope one day you and Travis’s will look the same. Once in the backyard the four of you settle into comfortable conversation, sipping lemonade and enjoying the sunshine. Ever the hockey fan, Mr. Stevenson asks Travis about the upcoming season, and they chat while you rise to help bring snacks to the small table.

After a while, the conversations lull and Travis is able to bring up what you came over for. “Do you guys have any plans for Friday morning?” he asks casually, popping a slice of red pepper into his mouth.

“Not that I can think of,” Mr. Stevenson says. “Can you think of anything Dottie?”

His wife shakes her head. “Nothing comes to mind. What’s the matter?”

Suddenly you’re nervous, and entwine your fingers with Travis’s to ground yourself. He squeezes gently, a gesture of encouragement that has you able to find your voice. “We were wondering if you could do us a favour,” you begin, “And be the witnesses at our wedding? We have an appointment at the courthouse at eleven-thirty.”

It’s silent, and you’re petrified they’re going to say no. You turn to look at Travis, who looks just as apprehensive as you. His grip on your hand tightens and all you can do is wait for a response.

“We would be honoured,” they exclaim at the same time, and you let go of a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. It’s settled – you have all the components for the paperwork, which means you can legitimately and legally get married. You’re absolutely giddy.

The questions come then – when did Travis ask you, how are you going to tell your families, what does your ring look like – and when you quietly say that you don’t have one Mrs. Stevenson jumps out of her seat.

“Oh child, that simply won’t do!”

You’re quick to your own defence. “It’s truly fine Mrs. Stevenson –”

“You can just call me Dottie dear.”

“Dottie,” you say, her first name rolling uncomfortably off your tongue. It will definitely take some getting used to. “I told Trav I didn’t need a ring. Being married to him is enough.” You smile in his direction and Travis returns the look with ease.

Not caring, the elderly lady heads into the small cottage, saying she has something that would work perfectly. Mr. Stevenson rolls his eyes and apologizes for his wife’s antics, but you insist it’s okay. She returns a minute later with quite possibly the prettiest ring you’ve ever seen. Attached to a thin gold band is a deep green emerald. The stone isn’t obnoxiously large, possibly even on the smaller side, and is completely your style. No other gems accompany it, letting the emerald take center stage.

“Wow,” you breathe. “It’s stunning.”

Travis leans over your shoulder to get a look and lets out a short whistle. “Totally you babe,” he chimes in.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Mr. Steveson shouts in encouragement. “Put it on her young man!”

You let loose a laugh, and soon the others join in. Travis takes it at Dottie’s insistence and places it gingerly on your finger. It’s a perfect fit, and you can’t help but let a few tears escape. Your eyes meet Travis’s and you see he’s trying to hold back tears, but is failing miserably. Overcome with emotion, you lean forward and press your lips to his. The kiss is sweet, but still all-consuming. Travis’s hands reach up to cup your face, continuing the exchange for probably longer than appropriate in public. The Stevensons coo gently in the background, having a conversation between themselves about how adorable you both are. You don’t hear them though, too wrapped up in Travis and the fact that everything feels like it has fallen into place.

After having a small argument about whether or not you can actually accept the ring, at which both Stevensons insist you should keep it, you help set the table for dinner. The meal is quite enjoyable, and you clean up despite the protests from Dottie. Once everything is squared away you and Travis go to make your exit. You hadn’t meant to intrude on their night, but you’re glad you did. On your way out the door, Mr. Stevenson, who followed his wife in demanding you call him by his first name, slips a small bag into Travis’s hand.

“Found these in our jewelry box. I think you might want them,” he winks, smiling softly before shooing you off with a loving tone with a promise to see you on Friday.

Peaking inside the bag once inside the safety of your own home, you pull out two delicate gold bands, one that looks about your size and one that matches Travis’s. It’s clear they’re meant to be your wedding bands, and you’re once again overcome with emotion. What did you do to deserve such kind neighbours?

Your night, and the day that follows are quiet. For the most part you go about your normal routine, puttering around while waiting for Travis to finish his workout and a meeting he has with the Flyers front office. He packs a lunch while you answer a call from your boss, who has a question about when you’ll be returning to Philadelphia. She chats with you for a while, catching up on all your summer adventures. You make sure to conceal your enagement, not wanting all of Philly to fin out before your families. Though you love your boss, she’s not well known for keeping secrets. Once all your affairs are finished, the two of you lock the front door and head to the lake.

“Where you taking me today cowboy?” you giggle as Travis steers the boat out of the marina.

He tips his hat at the nickname and speaks slowly, trying to mimic a southern accent a la John Wayne. “Gotta keep it a surprise darlin’,” he drawls. A laugh punctuates his sentence, and Travis can’t keep the charade up any longer. “I actually don’t have a destination. Thought we could just cruise around.”

It’s a good enough plan for you, and you sit close by while the pair of you travel the coast. The sun glistens off the top of the calm water while you float and your eyes grow heavy for the warmth. You indulge them, allowing them to flutter shut.

“You’re literally the worst company ever,” Travis grumbles as soon as he notices your resting figure.

Not bothering to open your eyes you shoot him the finger. “Fuck off, you’re the one who wants to marry me.”

“Damn straight.”

Despite being ‘terrible company’, Travis doesn’t try too hard to get away from you. Eventually he anchors the boat in a small cove and the pair of you spend a few hours swimming and soaking up the sun’s rays. Just existing like this, with Travis, is enough to calm any nerves you might have about tomorrow. Though it will be a low-key affair and no one will be in attendance, getting married is a huge deal. You would be more alarmed if you didn’t have any anxieties.

It’s dusk when you secure the boat in its slip and hop in the truck to return home. The wind coming off the water sends shivers down your spine, though you do your best to hide it. Travis notices, however, and slips the hoodie he was sporting over shoulders.

“Thanks,” you murmur appreciatively. He doesn’t respond, just shoots you a wide grin.

The many hours spent in the sun have tired you out, and as soon as you’re inside you bolt towards the bed. You don’t even bother to change before slipping under the covers. When Travis appears in the room a few minutes later, he laughs at the sight of you with the duvet pulled up to your chin.

He lies directly on top of you, and you shift slightly to accommodate the added weight. The room is silent save for your breathing, and it’s peaceful. You’re looking forward to spending the rest of your life like this.

“We have to go brush our teeth,” Travis murmurs into the crook of your neck, punctuating his words with sweet kisses.

The noise that leaves your throat is one of strangled protest. “But I’m really comfy,” you groan. “Besides I can’t get up with you on top of me.”

“Touché.” He slowly separates his form from yours and extends a hand to help you up. “You still have to get up. I don’t want to marry someone with bad breath.”

You stick your tongue out at him in response, but grab his hand and allow him to drag you to the bathroom. What unfolds next is straight out of Bring It On. The two of you brush your teeth in silence, occasionally making faces at each other in the mirror. Travis grins at you, mouth full of toothpaste, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Stop laughing!” he shouts after spitting into the sink. Nimble fingers find your sides, and before you can process what’s happening he’s digging them into you.

In an attempt to squirm out of his grasp and run away, you miss the sink rather ungracefully. Toothpaste dots the bathroom counter, but it’s the least of your worries. It will take two seconds to clean up once Travis isn’t hellbent on tickling you to death. You break free of his hold and dart down the hall away from him.

Travis rolls his eyes before grabbing a cloth to wipe away the remains of your desperate getway. When he enters the bedroom again you’re grabbing a faded 67’s tshirt to pull over head. He waits until you’re finished before wrapping his arms around your middle, no intentions of acting childish this time. You lean into his touch and he rests his chin comfortably on your shoulder. The two of you stand there for a while, swaying gently and thinking about the morning. Eventually Travis breaks away, leaving you to finish getting ready for bed, but not before placing a kiss to the nape of your neck.

“I can’t believe we’re going to be married by lunchtime tomorrow,” you sigh as Travis climbs into bed beside you and flicks off the lamp on his bedside table.

“It’s fucking insane, eh?”

Your lips turn into a smile, because it is in fact insane. Two days ago you were content just being with Travis and now in less than fourteen hours you’ll be his wife. Although the change is sudden, it feels right – to no other person would you want to get married. Travis is it.

He shuffles closer to close the gap between you. His hand travels to your hair, twirling it around his finger, and you rest your head on his chest. Your eyes flutter shut but you make no attempt to keep them open. A long night of rest will be useful in helping to quell your nerves in the morning.

“Sweet dreams Trav,” you mumble into the darkness.

You swear you can hear the smile in his voice when he responds, “Night sweetheart.”

When you awake the next morning Travis’s arms are still tightly wrapped around you. You had assumed he’d be up earlier than normal, making sure to get a good run in before returning to get ready. Instead, his head is buried in your hair and he’s snoring softly. A quick glance at your alarm clock tells you it’s time to get up unless you want to run the risk of running late to your own wedding.

“Trav,” you whisper softly, rolling over in his grasp. “We’ve gotta get up.” When you don’t get a response, you lightly trace the outline of his nose and speak a little louder. “Babe, we’re going to be late if we don’t get our asses in gear.”

Travis shoots up at the mention of your wedding, clearly excited. “Good morning soon-to-be Mrs. Konecny,” he says before making a disgusted face. “Forget I ever said that. Totally not our style.”

You can’t help but giggle and agree. Cheesy gestures of affection have never really been your thing, and it feels strange to try it out now. You peck Travis’s cheek quickly before pushing off the covers and heading to the bathroom. After grabbing a towel from the small linen rack in the corner you turn the water on and undress. Travis walks by the open door and whistles, so you laugh and flip him off before letting yourself be enveloped by the water.

The steam helps to relieve the tension in your shoulders you didn’t know was there. You suppose it’s just natural for you to be slightly anxious – even though practically nothing can go wrong a thousand what-ifs float around your mind. Going about your typical shower routine helps calm you down and take your mind off things, and when you step out of the bathroom most of your nerves have been replaced with sheer excitement.

Not wanting to get into the white sundress you decided to wear until you’re practically out the door, you slip into lounge clothes and go to join Travis in the kitchen. He’s munching away on a bowl of cereal but slides a cup of coffee across the counter for you. It’s made just the way you like it, of course, and you offer a quick thanks. When you move around to the other side of the island to make a bagel, you bump your hip against his. It’s quiet in the room, both of you in your heads as you picture what it will be like to say ‘I do’, but it’s nice. You eat in silence, and then it’s Travis’s turn to shower while you clean up the few dishes that were dirtied during breakfast.

After everything is squared away you go to finish getting ready. It’s warm, over twenty-five degrees, so you decide to pull your hair into a simple updo to keep it out of your face. Though no one will be there to judge you, you still want to look the tiniest bit put together. Your makeup consists of sunscreen and lip balm, knowing that Travis wants to spend the afternoon on the water. Besides, it’s so hot you’d be uncomfortable in anything else. With nothing to do but sit and wait for Travis to be ready, you turn your attention to the ring on your left hand, soon to be accompanied by another.

The emerald glistens as you twist the ring from side to side and you make a mental note to once again thank Mrs. Stevenson for giving it to you. Your thoughts are disrupted by Travis asking you a question.

“Are you going to kill me if I wear shorts?”

“As long as they aren’t track shorts you’re fine,” you shrug. “It’s fucking hot out.”

He arches his brow. “So I can wear the camo ones?”

“If you really want to Trav.”

Travis does not, in fact, wear the camo ones, but a respectable khaki pair. He also rolls the sleeves of his button down up to try and combat the heat. It’s a good look, and you make sure to tell him so. The compliments return ten-fold and you can’t help but blush. Even after so many years together Travis still knows how to give you butterflies.

“Zip me up?” you ask, spinning around so your back is to him.

He nods and carefully tugs the zipper along your spine to secure the fabric. Once finished, Tavis rests his hands on your hips and turns you to face him. He rests his forehead against yours and looks at you with the most love filled expression you’ve ever seen.

“I love you,” he whispers.

You smile and press closer to him, mumbling against his lips. “I love you too.”

The kiss you share is soft and warm. Like so many others you’ve shared, it makes you feel whole. Kissing Travis is the one time you feel like you’re right where you’re supposed to be. Time seems to slow down, and truthfully you don’t know how long you spend kissing Travis in the middle of your bedroom. It’s long enough that you have to rush out the door, almost forgetting the rings in the shuffle.

Even though you insisted you had no problem driving the four of you to the courthouse, the Stevensons insist on taking their own vehicle. “We having some shopping to do,” Mr. Stevenson explains, “And you won’t want to hang two old folks just after getting married! It’s the time to be young and in love.”

You can’t convince them to join you in Travis’s truck no matter how hard you try. The two of you eventually let them have their way and wave as you back out of the driveway with them to follow you shortly. The drive is quiet, like so many other moments this morning, and the closer the clock gets to your appointment time, the antsier you get. You just want to get it over with and finally be married to Travis.

“Babe, you’re gonna wear a hole in the floorboard from bouncing your foot so much,” Travis laughs. His hand leaves the steering wheel to rest just above your knee, effectively stopping your movement.

“Just excited,” you say honestly. “And nervous.”

Travis’s thumb rubs comforting circles on your bare skin as he speaks. “Me too. But I know that no matter what everything will be perfect because I love you and you love me and that’s all that matters.”

Before you know it you’re pulling into a parking spot and waiting for your witnesses to arrive. They must have got caught at a red light because they join you a few minutes later. There’s still a bit of time until you’re set to face the judge, but the four of you head inside anyways. Your fingers are laced tightly with Travis’s and you practically cling to him but no one says anything. After alerting reception to your presence you pace the hallway outside the courtroom.

Nothing about this is traditional, but Dottie still ushers you away from your husband-to-be in order to give you a little pep talk. As you’re being ushered around the corner you see Mr. Stevenson doing something similar with Travis.

“Don’t worry about him dear, Richard will make sure he doesn’t flee. Though I know he’d never think about it,” she says. “He’s good for you, and you’re good for him.”

You smile at her statement. The two of you really are meant for each other. Dottie talks a bit more, hyping you up and giving you some advice for married life. You rejoin the boys just before the group is called.

“The Konecnys? Judge Holloway is ready for you.”

Butterflies flutter in your stomach upon hearing the name that will be yours in a matter of minutes. You all follow the official into the chamber and wait for further instruction.

“I do believe congratulations are in order,” the judge says. Applause comes from the Stevensons, and you press your face into Travis’s shoulder, embarrassed. “I’m Judge Holloway, and I’ll be performing the ceremony today. Before we get started, are there any objections?”

Both you and Travis shake your head. “No,” you enunciate in unison.

“Perfect. I just need the marriage license and then we’ll be good to go.”

Travis hands the official document over, and the judge does some preliminary signing to make the aftermath a bit easier. While you wait you can’t stop smiling at Travis – not that you’d rather be doing anything else. Since this is a justice of the peace ceremony no religious elements are included, which you’re thankful for. Neither you nor Travis had time to write your own vows but had agreed to share them privately at a later date. Everything happening in the present was strictly legal and made the process quite speedy.

“Alright, now that the technicalities are out of the way we can get to the fun stuff.”

The comment makes you laugh. Though hearing the legalities of marriage was slightly mind-numbing, you’d call everything that’s happened so far fun. Perhaps that’s only because you’re the one getting married.

“Y/N,” the judge says. “Do you accept Travis as your lawfully wedded spouse?”

“I do.” You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life.

Then it’s Travis’s turn, and he’s spitting the words out before the officiant can finish the sentence. “I do.”

Laughter bounces off the walls at his eagerness. You shake your head and remember to tease him about it later. He just shoots you a wink.

Judge Holloway looks into your small crowd. “I imagine one of you has the rings?”

Travis fishes around in his pocket and pulls out the drawstring back they’re being held in. The judge nods in approval. “Place the ring on the third finger of your partner’s left hand and repeat after me. This ring signifies my devotion to you, and shall serve as a reminder that I will cherish you forever.”

Both of you repeat the words, and both tear up when placing the rings. They flow freely down your cheeks, and Travis wipes them away with his thumb.

“I think I know what comes next,” he whispers to you.

Taking the opportunity to tease him a little bit, you nudge his shoulder. “Oh yeah? Think you’ve had enough practice?”

“Guess we’ll just have to find out.”

You turn your attention back to the judge, who speaks once again. “By the power vested in me by the Marriage Act, I do hereby pronounce Travis and Y/N to be married.”

Once again, applause rings out, and you can’t help but giggle against Travis’s lips as he pulls you in for a kiss to ‘seal the deal’. It’s earth-shattering, your first kiss as husband and wife, and you can’t help but deepen it by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him even closer. When you break apart neither of you can stop smiling.

Your party signs along the dotted line of the marriage certificate and you accept the well wishes of the judge before exiting the room. In the hallway the Stevensons envelope you both in a giant hug. “Thank you both for being here,” you say, voice watery. You haven’t stopped crying since you got to sign your last name as Konecny for the first time.

“We’re incredibly honoured you chose us,” Dottie exclaims, grasping your hands to let you know just how much it meant to her. Her husband nods in agreeance, and you say your goodbyes, promising to have them over for dinner in a few days. You watch their figures retreat out the courthouse doors, and then you’re alone with Travis.

He looks ethereal – the post wedding glow is something you know won’t go away any time soon. Though the whole thing was quite unconventional you wouldn’t change it for the world. Something about it is so distinctly you and Travis: the spontaneity of it all, how it happened on your own accord. You know you’ll receive an earful when you call your families to let them know of the change, but you don’t care. At no time will you ever be as happy as you are now.

Your fingers find his for possibly the hundredth time today but neither of you complain, so in love with each other you’re sure if any of his teammates were here Travis would be getting chirped into oblivion.

“What do you say Konecny? Want to get out of here?” he asks, punctuating the end of his statement with a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You’ve never heard him have a better suggestion. “Lead the way lover boy.”

❥❥❥

taglist: @jamiedrysdales @kiedhara @tortito @brokeninsidebutnobodyknows if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

#travis konecny imagine #travis konecny x reader #travis konecny fic #philadelphia flyers imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #cwrites

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cringelordlikesplaz · 3 years ago

Text

Strange to be an Eel

Turning into silly putty wasn't the strangest thing that had happened to him, honestly. It’s everything that happened after that which was weird.

"Please! I'm begging you, Jake bailed last minute and we don't have any replacements! This musical is our last chance. If this flops, we'll never be able to keep this place open!" She cried. 'She' being a short woman with desperate tears in her eyes and too many freckles.

Eel pulled his wrist out of her surprisingly strong grip. He shook his hand off and observed the woman in front of him. She looked stressed, tired, and a general mess. Her name tag read ‘Penny’.

"Well, Penny." He said curtly, "I got things to do. Better things to do than-"

"But you're the perfect fit! You're the right size, you already know all the lines-"

"Seeing a musical five times doesn't mean I've memorized-"

Penny snapped to attention and pointed her finger into the air dramatically. The imaginary audience located in the storeroom fell silent.

"And if I'm not here to save the day- Then as God as my witness, I'll be here to save the night!"

"-It's 'then as the gods as my witnesses'." Eel pointed out. Penny smiled smugly and Eel shook himself off.

"That doesn't prove anything. And it doesn't change the fact I can't go onstage!" Eel said.

"You'll be wearing makeup and goggles! A hat too! No one will be able to recognize you in costume!" Penny said, suddenly desperate again.

"No! I won't do it!" Eel said in response to her puppy eyes.

"Please! Please, Bruce Wayne's out there and if this goes well the PR will be fantastic!" She said, tears beginning to fall.

Eel looked up at the cracked ceiling and let out a long, long groan.

"I want 100 bucks." Eel said.

"Deal!" Penny said, the tears instantly evaporating.

Damn actors.

~~~

So, the musical rendition of the hit show 'The Grey Ghost' went pretty damn well, in Eel's opinion. He was skeptical at first, as anyone should be, but he had to admit it, Penny was right. He was an amazing Grey Ghost.

It helped that Eel had been a fan of the Grey Ghost since he was a boy, and it also maybe helped that he had snuck into the theater to see the practice runs of the play five times. He had thought he was being sneaky, but apparently theater kids could like, smell intruders. Fresh blood, if you would.

He hadn't known what would happen when he was cornered by a very manic little blond lady, but it ended up surprisingly well. He even got paid.

After he and the other actors had taken their bows or whatever, Eel snuck back to the storeroom. He pried off the grey suit- it was kinda itchy honestly- and began to dig around for his usual clothes.

He put his suit on. The nice one, that didn't pinch his shoulders and had all his crap in the pockets. He buttoned up the coat and pulled out his glasses. They were black and pretty slick, if he was honest with himself. Which he was. Occasionally.

The temples were wide and helped hide his eyes from the side. They hid his scar even better. They were sunglasses, unfortunately, not the best eyewear to have in Gotham, but he liked them. And that was enough for now.

They were also expensive as all hell. Some sort of designer brand. He would wear them till they broke for how much they cost him.

There was a knock on the door.

"I'm decent," Eel said.

Penny opened the door and held her clipboard to her chest excitedly. Her eyes sparkled.

"So." She said.

"So?" He asked.

"So! Y'know how Bruce Wayne was in the crowd tonight?" She asked.

"Yup," He said.

"He liked it! He liked it so much he wants to fund us!" She said, "And he wants to meet you."

Eel blinked. "He what?"

"He said your performance was incredible! He wants to meet you!"

"No."

"No?" She asked, her head cocked, "But you've got so much talent! He could get you a job, y'know."

"No. Just- no." Eel shook his head. He could just hear the sirens now. "I can't, Penny."

She seemed like she wanted to press him- like she did with getting him into the costume. But something on his face made her reconsider, apparently.

"Alright." She said, sighing, "I'll tell him you're not available."

"Thanks, pal." Eel said.

They stood awkwardly.

"I need to go." He said, pointing behind her to the door.

"I- okay." She said. Penny stepped aside and Eel left the storage room, Penny following behind. She led him to the backdoor.

"Um, thank you...?" She said as he stepped out into the alley.

"It's best if you don't know my name." Eel said.

"Will you be back?"

"Probably not." Eel said, "What with your success here tonight- I think there's going to be too much foot traffic around for a crook like me to be hidden."

She smiled softly, "You weren't very hidden in the first place."

"I'll have you know I've hidden from cops in more obvious spots."

"I think that says more about the GCPD than it does your skill," Penny said.

Eel huffed, mockingly offended.

"Later, miss." He said, turning to leave.

"Goodbye." She said.

Penny waved to his back and waited for him to slink into the shadows before she shut the door.

~~~

"Eel O'brian." A gruff voice called.

Eel grinned and craned his head around to look at a familiar face.

"Matches! Ol' pal, where've you been? It's been ages." Eel said.

Matches Malone slid into the seat next to him at the bar. The bartender wordlessly handed Matches a drink and Matches wordlessly slid a few bills over the counter.

Eel took a sip of his own drink- a cocktail.

"I've heard there's work around." Matches said, taking his match out of his mouth to take a sip of his drink. Whiskey probably.

"I mean, yeah-" Eel said, rolling the cherry around his glass for the hell of it, "But there's always work around."

"Hmm."

"Yeah yeah, I know what ya mean." Eel said, nodding. "You want the work that won't have you dressed up as a daisy and punched by a furry. I gotcha."

"Hmm."

"I miss the good 'ol days, Matches. Before all these folks in spandex came along and started going nuts all over town-" Eel paused, taking a sip of his cocktail, "-But I do got to admit it; the spandex is pretty hot."

"I need cash." Matches said, ever eloquent.

"Cheers to that!" Eel laughed. He downed the rest of his drink, swallowing the cherry.

"Where's the work?" Matches finally asked, and Eel's grin faltered. Always work and no play with this guy.

But Matches seemed to like him well enough, so Eel wouldn't hold it against him.

"So, new boss in the West part of town looking to hire some folks. I think they're hiding something pretty big, but we won't know that 'till we get there, won't we, Matches?" Eel said.

"Hmm."

"Yeah, me too buddy."

~~~

Things at the new job were getting crazy. Like, really really crazy. Like the type of crazy he spent a great amount of his time trying in vain to avoid. Super crazy.

Pun intended.

It started off fairly normal. By Gotham standards anyway. Looting places. Stealing. Scarin' the living daylights out of folks. Keeping out of the limelight.

But the boss turned out to be working for an even bigger boss- who had a penchant for monologuing- and Eel couldn't help the sinking feeling he had in his gut.

And then the boss- the small boss and not the bigger, monologuing boss- somehow kidnapped Batgirl of all people and decided to drown her. And he did it in this big glass chamber with a valve on the side.

He stood in front of it, glaring at each of his men accusingly.

He had each of them turn the valve, adding a few inches of water to the chamber, and taking few inches of air away from Batgirl. He was trying to root out a snitch. Or, as he put it, a bat.

Matches didn't even hesitate. Eel wished he had that guy's confidence.

But Eel? He wasn't a big fan of murder. It made him feel icky. It kept him awake at night. He already had enough insomnia, thank you very much.

And Batgirl- She was just a kid. A baby-faced teenager. Up close, she was no longer a force of nature fighting alongside a cryptid. She was a teenager up to her nose in water, her clothes torn and bloody.

Eel went last.

He put his hands on the valve and-

He couldn't do it.

He wouldn't.

A lot of things happened after that.

The boss (the small one) told the rest to shoot him down, and Eel had a half a second to view his terrible life before Matches tackled him to the floor.

The glass of the chamber broke and the room was suddenly flooded with a lot of water and one very mad vigilante. Then a window got busted in, even more glass flying, and then two Robins showed up- There was the young Robin who was grumpy and the other older Robin that wasn't Robin anymore but Eel couldn't really be bothered to remember his name at the moment.

There was fighting, gunfire, blood, and then there was glass in his hands-

And then Matches had somehow manifested them both outside and set Eel on his feet.

"You-" Eel spluttered, "You saved me!"

Matches looked at Eel. Eel looked at Matches. The street was quiet. Inside the building, it was not.

"Thank you." Eel said softly.

"...You cost me my payment." Matches said at last.

Eel's face fell.

"I just- She's just a kid, Matches. I ain't a monster." Eel said.

Matches shook his head and walked away, leaving Eel on the sidewalk with glass in his hands.

Guess he was wrong about Matches.

~~~

That day wasn't too bad, though. In the middle of the night he was woken up to a knock at his window. His fourth story window in his crappy apartment.

He opened his window and suddenly a basket was shoved into his arms. He fumbled with it for a second, his hands still raw. There was a blur of movement and Eel was left standing half-naked holding a- a gift basket?

He sorted through it- it had cash and cookies and bandages. It also had a plain white card. He opened it and raised a brow in surprise.

"Thanks for not drowning me!"

It was signed with a little bat drawn in the corner.

The cookies were delicious.

~~~

The safe was built into the wall. The safe itself wasn't too big, and the wall was only made of plaster. It would be a pain to lug the safe back to base though. And it would cost precious seconds to hack away at the wall to get the safe out-

There was really only one option. The bomb he had was small and wouldn't do much in terms of excavation- but it would absolutely open up that pesky Wayne-Tech lock.

"Alright guys, we need to get back-" Eel didn't hear anyone. He turned- "Guys?"

"It's been a while, O'brian." Batman said, surrounded by the unconscious bodies of his crime buddies. Well, not really buddies- you get the point.

"Batman! Hello! I don't think we've met," Eel said, swinging on his heel and turning to face his doom.

"No, we haven't. But when I didn't hear word from the police of any of your activity for a few months- well." Batman took a silent step closer. "One tends to worry."

"Oh? Me? Lil 'ol me? You shouldn't have." Eel batted his eyelashes, though the effect was diminished as he was wearing his shades.

"You plan these heists well." Batman said slowly, "You waited until the Riddler attacked to go for this safe. You got past the cameras without setting off the alarm. You tipped off the police of where you'd be- on the other side of town."

Eel tried to reach for the detonator on the bomb. If he could just- "You flatter me, Batman really, but I-"

"We could use a man like that on our side, O'brian." Batman said. "A smart man like you could do some real good in the world."

Eel laughed. That was the most wrong thing he'd ever heard. He laughed but it wasn't funny.

He pressed the button and the bomb started counting down from 10.

"I don't think so, Bats. I'm not the hero type." Eel said, and then tried to make a run for it. Batman caught him by the collar.

"It's not about types. There's good in you."

"I really wish I could stay and chat, but I gotta split." Eel said, slipping his arms out of his coat and breaking into a mad sprint.

The bomb let out a single shrieking beep before it detonated.

Eel didn't turn back to see what happened to Batman.

~~~

A deal went wrong. Unsurprising. They broke his leg. Unsurprising. He was alive. Surprising! Unfortunately, he was still very much crippled and bleeding out from somewhere.

He limped along the sidewalk at night, always a dumb thing to do. His vision was either going or the lighting in this city was getting worse by the moment. Given that he lived in Gotham, it was likely both.

He limped into a grassy part of the city- a park of some sort. He'd get caught soon. Or maybe he'd bleed out and die. He couldn't manifest the energy to care either way.

He flopped down onto the grass, for lack of any other bright ideas. He couldn't see the stars through the cloud cover. Tragic.

"Hey." A commanding voice called. He looked around until he spotted a scantily-clad woman. She was green and wearing leaves and had bright red hair and was looking at him like he was a pile of dead slugs.

Oh. Oh crap. Oh crap that's Poison Ivy.

Eel tried to shrink into the ground.

"Hiiiii Poison Ivy, how's the weather?" He asked. He tried to smile charmingly but it was most likely very strained and bloody.

"Why are you bleeding on my flowers?" She asked, a single brow raised.

"Haa, would you believe that blood makes a great fertilizer?" Eel said.

"It does." She said.

"Uh," Eel had lost too much blood for him to come up with a witty remark.

"Please don't kill me." He said.

"Greater men than you have begged for mercy. What makes you better?" She asked, head cocked.

"I can, uh," Eel panicked, "I can give you my grandma's recipe for caramel coffee."

Poison Ivy's other eyebrow raised.

They looked at each other for a moment.

Then, a shrill voice called from across the park.

"Ivy! Come on!! What are you even doing?!"

Eel was fairly certain he was hallucinating now. Blood loss and all that. Because Harley Quinn, wearing a football jersey and sweatpants, came running up to stand besides Poison Ivy.

"We're going to miss the game," Harley pouted, then took notice of Eel, "Who's that mess?"

"Someone who can make caramel coffee, apparently." Poison Ivy said, bemused.

"I like caramel." Harley said.

Poison Ivy shrugged, "We can keep him if you want."

"I also like coffee..." Harley tapped her chin in consideration, "Yeah we'll take him. Come on, Ivy!"

~~~

That was how he ended up getting high with Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy. His leg was propped up on a table, a bong was being passed around, the apparent football game played on the TV in front of them. They were in a greenhouse and the city’s lights shone through the glass almost magically. This was probably not what someone suffering from blood loss should be doing. Eel almost considered making a break for it.

But Poison Ivy was the Weed Queen of Gotham, and getting this stuff free? Too good to pass up.

Harely had seemingly forgotten about the promised coffee, but since they hadn’t killed him yet and gave him weed, Eel decided he'd write the recipe down for them before he left.

"I don't get why capes dress the way they do," Harely said, "I mean, rogues have the same problem but like, it's more noticeable with the heroes, y'know?"

"Like, the boob windows?" Ivy asked. Harley nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, yeah! The boob windows." Harely said, "Why do all the guys wear kevlar and body armor and the girls got to show off their tits?"

"Maybe the dudes should show off their tits too." Eel said.

Poison Ivy laughed and Harely nodded even more enthusiastically.

"Yeah! This guy gets it!"

"See, if I were to go running around in spandex-" Eel gestured to his very much not spandex coated body, "I'd show off my cleavage all the time."

"Men don't have cleavage," Ivy pointed out.

"Not with that attitude they don't." Harley said, "Say, Eel, if you ever get tits, come over so we can prove Ivy wrong."

Eel cackled, "Sure thing! And if I ever start wearing spandex as a hobby I'll make sure the V-neck plunges all the way down."

"You'd better!"

Ivy laughed and Eel was handed the bong again.

~~~

Eel wasn't even doing anything. He was in his apartment, minding his own business. Well actually he was trying to sleep but that wasn't going so well.

Then there was a tapping on his window. Feeling a sudden wash of deja-vu, Eel turned around. There was an otherworldly, haunting green glow coming from his window.

Pausing, and exercising a healthy amount of caution, walked over to the window.

A UFO hovered outside his window. A tiny one.

Eel rubbed his eyes.

The UFO bonked against the glass, seemingly wanting inside.

"uh," Eel said. Against every ounce of common sense, he opened the window.

The UFO flew inside his room, casting its light oddly through his home. There was a mechanical whir, and suddenly a robotic arm sprung out from the bottom of the ship.

"Uh," Eel said, regretting everything immediately.

The UFO then grabbed Eel by his good ankle, his other leg still in a cast for a few more weeks. He lost balance and hit his head on the floor. The small ship lifted him off the floor by his ankle, and then dragged him out the window. He tried to claw at the windowsill but the ship was too fast.

"UH,"

He dangled dangerously over what was at least a thirty foot drop. The UFO paid no mind to his panicked flailing, and instead began to go higher.

"OH GOD."

~~~

The small UFO took him to a bigger UFO, of course.

A small hole opened in the underside of the ship, and Eel was brought inside. The inside of an alien spaceship looked nearly identical to its outside, apparently. Weird and green.

The smaller ship finally dropped him off in a large circular room. He was set down gently on his back, but he still hissed in surprise. The metal floor was freezing and he was only in his shorts.

"Uh oh uh oh uh oh..." He muttered.

"Hello, human!" A cheery, buzzing voice greeted.

Eel looked around frantically and finally spotted a small, glowing blue light.

"Uh, hi?" He said to the light. The blue light bobbed up and down- excitedly?

"Human!" It said, "We are the-"

It said something that sounded eldritch to his human ears.

"-and we saw your performance!"

He blinked.

"...my what."

"On February 7th, approximately 11 months ago, you performed in the musical "The Grey Ghost Strikes Back!"." The light said. Several other colorful lights manifested around him.

"...uh huh."

"If you are wondering why you did not see us, the-" [REDACTED] "-in the crowd on the date of your performance, it is because we were not there."

"Ooohh kayyyy...."

"Batman recorded it and sent us a copy!"

Eel blinked. They were speaking alienese, he was certain of it.

"He also sent along with it 307 other forms of human entertainment as a welcome package to Earth!" It said, "And we must say, we really enjoyed your performance."

A red light, hovering just a little lower than the blue one, perked up.

"We especially enjoyed your performance in the third act, and would like to compliment your singing skills." The red light said.

"Thank you?" Eel said.

"If it is not too much trouble, human, we would like what is most commonly known to you as an 'autograph'." The blue light said.

"...alright."

~~~

The night started off odd, he'd admit it. But it wasn't bad. He signed some stuff. He didn't know what the things he signed were or what exactly he wrote with, but it hardly mattered. They asked him to sing a song from the musical- he did- and they somehow applauded him.

They gave him alien food, and he'd be damned if he didn't accept free food. Even if it was probably radioactive. It tasted like cotton candy. Again, not bad.

They told him a bit about their situation. Their home- somewhere on a different plane of existence- exploded. They were the last of their kind. Batman approached them, because he could do that apparently, and offered them a place on Earth.

"Our culture is based on entertainment. Each piece of what you call 'media' is like a fine work of art to us." They said.

"Oh, cool. So do you kidnap actors you like in other stuff?" Eel asked, trying to figure out the best way to consume the slime on a stick he'd been given. He decided there was no proper way to do that so he just decided to slurp it off.

"We would like to meet the actors and actresses in other media, but they usually just scream the whole time they are here. We gain the impression that they do not appreciate our hospitality." They said.

Eel shrugged, "I can't imagine why. You guys are great."

"You have taken this whole experience very well, comparatively."

"I mean- I'm a bit desensitized to weirdness." Eel said.

"Is this experience considered 'weird' to other humans?" They asked.

"Nah." Eel said, waving off their concern, and set his slime stick down, "Hey, I'd like to get home now. This has been fun and all, but it's kinda cold in here."

"Of course, human. We wish you fame and fortune for your future."

"Uh, you too?"

They dropped him off on the roof of his apartment building. The sun was beginning to rise. He made his way down the stairs, nearly naked and his leg still in a cast. He slept okay.

~~~

Eel was known for many things. He knew most, if not all, of those things were bad. Hell, all of the things he was known for would be bad to the common man. But to the common crook? Only most of those things would be considered bad.

Some of the things he was known for made him desirable.

He was a safecracker, he never got caught, he could make a good plan and stick to it. He was good at his job.

But Eel was not... valuable, per-say. He was a tool in most people's eyes. Something to be discarded when the job was done.

Eel knew this. Made his peace with it. He knew when he took this job that the guys he was working with didn't give two shits about him. But he needed their muscle for the security guards, and they needed his skill to crack the safe. They all needed the cash.

They walked into this big facility during a storm. Mr. Freeze was causing havoc in city hall again. The outer parts of the city didn't get the blizzard- they got the freezing rain.

The security guard appeared- he had a gun and he was willing to use it. If the folks he was working with were smart, which they weren't, they would have ran. Don't shoot back, don't have murder put onto your sentence along with theft and arson and everything else.

But they were stupid, and they shot blindly, and the guard shot Eel in the shoulder. And the bullet tore through his shoulder and into a container of something-

Another shot rang out, the guard fell.

There was a crack and suddenly Eel was soaked in something- it was bright and hot and it burned like the embers of Hell. He screamed, of course.

The people he was working with, his 'pals', stared at him for just a second.

"Eel-!"

"Eel doesn't have the cash, now run!"

Eel got up, and gave chase. His steps faltered and his vision swam.

He made it outside just in time to see them get into the car and book it.

"Adios, Eel!"

"You putrid punks!" He yelled, his hand clutching his shoulder. Everything burned. Everything throbbed. His pulse beat in his ears, the rain came down like knives, and the bullet hole poured blood like a faucet. But it was oddly thick- was it? The world kept wanting to wobble and spin.

The- the police. They'd be here soon. Maybe. Eventually. He needed to go.

He walked.

Down the street, down an alley, then another, then another, until the buildings began to spread out and trees and grass began to coat the land.

The rain was softer here. Warmer too. He climbed a shallow hill. Like climbing a mountain. His heart slammed the inside of his skull like a drum. There was a tree on the hill, its branches bare.

He collapsed beneath it.

He didn't have time to see if he could spot any stars before it all went black.

~~~

Eel's life had always, always been strange.

But it apparently that was just the beginning.

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beautifulletdownfics · 5 years ago

Text

The Nearness of You - A Harry Styles One Shot

A friends to lovers one shot feat. birthdays, pining and stolen purses.

Hello, please enjoy this fever dream fic that came to me a week ago and is now somehow 13.5k and gracing your eyeballs. I’ve never written a one-shot of this nature before and it was quite a refreshing distraction from my usual, long-form fics. Thank you to Anne @oh-honey-styles for the encouragement (bullying) and for posting the pic that inspired it all. To everyone else, read on x katey *Because this is quite lengthy, I’d recommend opening in a browser because the Tumblr app can be glitchy*

My masterlist Chat to me here

“When you're in my arms And I feel you so close to me All my wildest dreams came true” The Nearness of You, Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

You love the cold.

London in February isn't everybody's cup of tea, but you feel positively giddy walking down the icy Soho street in your new & Other Stories snow boots. The hard, black leather is already making your toes ache, and they're rubbing against the heel of your left foot, but they'll stretch to size, and you can tell these are going to be Your Signature Boots. The wind whips against your cheeks, red flushing them as you cross the laneway and push open the door to the chic little restaurant you've followed on Instagram for years but never had an excuse to try. Figures Harry chose it for tonight. Sometimes you wondered if the coincidences were a little too … Coincidental.

"Hi," you smile brightly to the maître d', "I'm uh … I'm here for the birthday? For Harry?"

Do I need to say his surname? You think to yourself.

"Can I have your name, please?" The suited man pulls a piece of paper out of the reservations book and waits for you to identify yourself. Your chest is rattling from the cold and the flurry of nerves you're all too familiar with ignoring.

"Y/N," you say your full name, taking in the dark floor of the restaurant, the flickering candles on the tables and lining the bar that takes up the entire left side of the room. The whole place is beautiful, just like you've double-tapped online; all deep reds and burgundies, vintage posters, and mismatched, dark wooden furniture. A jazz record plays just loudly enough to fuse the conversations at all the tables into one comfortable sound. It would make for a sexy place for a date, you decide, stolen touches under the table would feel thrilling and seductive.

The maître d' nods, you're on the list, "Back in the private dining room," he says, "Follow me this way."

You push your evening bag further up your shoulder and walk half the length of the bar, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. You catch the bartender watching you as you go, he's cute, and you give him an awkward little wave before calling out ahead of you.

"Sorry, excuse me," you get the attention of the man leading you through, "Can you point me to where I need to go? I'm going to get a drink to take in first if that's okay?"

"Just there," he points to the doorway at the back, next to the kitchen pass, "The curtain on the right."

Thanking him, you watch as he walks back to his station by the front door. You turn to the bar and rest your hands on the cool wood. They've stuck the pages together of old Little Golden Books for the drink menus, but you'll be ordering what you always get on birthdays, so don't take in the beverage options as you flip through The Tawny Scrawny Lion. You remember it from when you were a kid.

The bartender moves to stand in front of you, a gleam in his eyes and flirtatious smirk on his face, "Pretty good read, that one. You have to order a drink though, this isn't a library."

You laugh, he's laying it on a bit thick but probably just after the tip, "I was more a The Poky Little Puppy sort of girl."

He gives you a grin of approval, flipping a napkin up onto the bar in front of you, "What can I make for you?"

"I'll have two Old Fashioneds, please," you lean forward onto your elbows to give your feet a rest as he pulls up a second napkin and then two crystal, lowball glasses. "They're pretty," you comment without thinking.

"It's all about the glass," he confirms quickly, dropping brown sugar cubes into each one and then shaking bitters on top. Your eyes focus on the way the squares dissolve and fall in on themselves as he speaks again, "I'm Jack."

"Y/N," you give your name for the second time, throwing a brief smile his way, "I've never actually watched someone make these before."

Jack pauses and gives you a teasing look, "Do you want me to stop so you can get something to write this all down?"

You laugh and roll your eyes at him as he goes back to making the drinks. You're stalling. You know when you go through the curtain in the back there'll be a dozen people who're all dressed nicer than you, with more impressive jobs than you, who have funnier, more outrageous stories about the birthday boy than you. You'll need to stand awkwardly in the doorway for a few moments too long before Harry notices you, and then your greeting will be watched by all his cool, London friends.

You know better than to let any of that dull your shine—you really do—but you've had a rough few months, and if you're honest, you'd like your first time seeing Harry since the summer to be a little more low-key than this. So that's why you're wearing the new boots that hurt and might not suit the dress code because they're new and you feel good wearing them with this outfit. It feels a little special to be out celebrating Harry's (belated) birthday in a semi-new ensemble. You managed to fluke getting your hair and makeup just right, and yes, your legs do look pretty fantastic in these tights with the short, roll neck, knit dress, thank you very much.

"Here you go," Jack brings your attention back to him, you can smell the citrus twist in front of you, and the crystal glass deflects the light from the candles, "Can I put this on a tab for you? You're with the birthday?"

"I'll pay," you tell him, already digging for your card and holding it out to him.

"Oi!" You hear a very familiar voice call out from the far end of the bar, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you shiver, "What're you payin' for? What's she—don't take her money!"

You keep your arm out steadily to Jack and raise your eyebrows at him, "Take it," you urge him quickly, feeling him pluck it from your fingers just as you turn towards the voice you know so well.

That familiar Tom Ford cologne hits your nose just as Harry hurries up and deposits himself heavily against the bar, right up in your personal space. His broad frame blocks out the room to you, and he's lit softly in the dim light and looking radiant from within, as per usual. He's got his crazy eyes out—accusing you—and his eyebrows are pinched together slightly, but he looks good. Happy. Rested. Pleased to see you.

Harry's always pleased to see everyone, you tell yourself, Hold it together.

He pulls you into his chest for a hug. Your cheek presses just below his pecs, and you feel the way he's grown more defined since you last saw him. The material of his t-shirt is soft and smells clean. It's a tight squeeze he gives you, one that you resist reading into. Was it healthy for there to be so much comfort in a simple hug? Was your whole body allowed to tingle and fizz from the embrace of a friend? Was it pathetic to have been carrying around in your ribcage the same crush from when you were thirteen?

Affirmative. Without a doubt. Yes.

You haven't seen Harry since mid-September, the last time he was in London. Well, the last time he was in London and had time to see you. You're sure there were probably business trips, Christmas definitely. And going off Instagram, you think he might've flown into Manchester and spent a long weekend with Anne back in October, but if it was any of your business, it would've been your business. You needed to be grateful simply for what you got; intermittent texts about books he'd read or maybe a happy drunk voicemail if he thought of you at the right time. He sent an email at Christmas with a charitable contribution in your name instead of a gift.

"It's so good to see you," Harry says as he pulls away, all crinkled eyes and broad smiles. You don't know your grin has launched his heart into space and that despite having just gone to the bathroom, Harry feels due for a nervous wee. He thinks you look fucking gorgeous tonight. Knowing you've done your hair, and eyeliner, and picked that dress to come out and celebrate his birthday … It sends a jolt of desire straight to his groin—beauty blooms in front of his eyes in you.

Tell her, you idiot. Twenty-seven could be the year.

"Hi," you chirp at him happily and pick up one of the glasses in front of you, "I got you a drink."

Harry watches you fondly and then dramatically looks off to the side, lets out a little huff, "Typical Y/N, buying her own drink … You really think I wouldn't have one here for you?"

Nevertheless, he says a quiet thank you, takes the glass from you and deliberately sniffs it as if he's not sure what's inside or if he'll like it. You smack his arm lightly at the show and pick up your own glass, chinking it to the side of his and watching him over the rim as you both take your first sips. The familiar taste and view fill your tummy with gurgling happiness that sits high in your chest. He's dressed almost exactly how you expected him to be—smart, high-waisted dress pants and a printed t-shirt. You're glad you didn't go too formal, the restaurant is nice, but it's not Hatted or anything, not like the place he took you in LA that time, where you felt like the biggest idiot in the world for not realising beforehand, was properly fancy.

"Fuckin' delicious," he rumbles slowly, bringing you back to the cocktail, "A classic."

"Happy birthday," you tell Harry sweetly, thankful for what's likely to be your only quiet moment with him all night, "Sorry I couldn't make it to the LA party."

"Ah," Harry waves you off, "Your job's much too important here."

He means it. Harry's beyond proud of you. He's always telling people you work for the NHS, saving lives and keeping the country going. The party in LA was thrown together by some people at the last minute, and even though most of the friends he left in the backroom when he went to find the bathrooms a few moments ago were able to fly across for it, Harry's not the least bit put out by you not being able to. Would've been a big trip for you to do on your own and he knew there's no way you'd miss his London celebration. And you sent over a gift, which shouldn't have surprised him. His actual birthday was spent in LA, and that morning a parcel arrived from you—two new notebooks and a novel Harry read the back of and instantly knew he would love. It's what he read on the flight home to the UK.

Trust you to want him to have the gift on his birthday—go to all that trouble of packaging it and sending it over—when you were going to see him in London ten days later anyway. Harry could do worse than a friend like you.

"I just need a bit more notice than four da—

—Please," Harry's shaking his head at you, hating watching you apologise for something he really doesn't care about. "I'm glad you're here tonight," he tells you genuinely, fingers reaching out to brush your bangs away from your eyebrow briefly and—did the room just spin around you?—get a glimpse of the bronze sheen over your eyelids, "I haven't seen your new hair in person, looks lovely."

Lovely? he scolds himself, Lovely is a nice jam scone, lovely is a hug from mum …

"Oh," you coo, automatically sending your own fingers up to where Harry's had just been to reposition your newish bangs, "Thanks, still getting used to it, wanted to do it forever but wasn't brave enough to I guess."

"I like your natural hair colour, too," he continues slowly, eyes running over your whole head, "I mean, I loved how it used to be … But I like this a lot."

Shit, Harry's already failing to adhere to the strict series of pep talks he's given himself over the last couple of days. He's babbling, and he's probably just made you think he's not liked how you've had your hair for the previous twelve years. Is he buzzed from the cocktail or from the way your cheeks have gone a little pink since he touched you? His compliment made you squirm, and Harry wants to do it again and again until what he's feeling makes sense.

"Just, you know, feels like a throwback to the old days," he mumbles through another sip of the cocktail you both love, a glint appears in his eyes as he continues, "When you had Barbie overalls and would spend half a day plaiting your whole head in those tiny little rat tails."

Your mouth opens into a horrified O, and you let out a single laugh, "Rat tails? They were cool. And I was eleven when we met, I'd definitely already outgrown the Barbie overalls."

"Whatever you say," Harry smirks at you, signature dimples appearing on his cheeks, "I just remember those little beads from the ends of them ending up all over the bottom of the pool."

You smile at the memory. You remember duck diving with Gemma to collect all the beads so they could be put back into your hair the next day. Nearly drowning from laughing so hard at Harry and the other boys trying to stand on your backs in the water. Summers with Harry were always spent laughing. The local pool and skate park saw all your adventures. When Harry's dad moved in next door to your family after his parent's divorce, you and your brother hung off the fence, peering into the backyard to see if any toys or a trampoline might appear signally new kids next door. They didn't, and it wasn't until the summer when Harry and Gemma arrived for their holidays that you jumped the fence with ice lollies and offered yourself up as a new friend.

"Simpler times," you muse to yourself, looking up and catching the perplexed look Harry was giving you, "Spaced out a bit, sorry."

"I've missed my little weirdo," he grins at you affectionately, angling a little closer and levelling his head down to yours as he bit his lip and frowned, "Are you doing alright though?"

You let out a little sigh and avert your eyes to where Jack, the bartender, is busy making trays of drinks for different tables. Harry observes you carefully, a twinge of guilt forms for causing the sad look that's come over your face, but also for not having asked the question weeks ago. Gemma told him at Christmas, an off-handed comment about you being newly single. When he heard the evil gremlin in him was fucking relieved, just like he always was.

"I'm fine," you try a smile out and pull your lips up higher when you don't think Harry buys it, "Better. Had my crisis haircut and drank myself to tears with my work friends. Just a normal break up, really. M'getting used to them at this point."

A small, white lie.

Each breakup bruises you deeply. Talking about it afterwards fills you with a shame that makes you feel naked, like everyone else can see what's wrong with you but you. As though it's obvious why nobody's picked you yet. You don't ever want to talk about it afterwards, (especially not with Harry) don't want to draw attention to it. Prefer to let the disappointment and loneliness pool in your tummy and sit there heavily, weighing you down, waiting for the One Day someone spectacular might come along and be buoyant enough to float away with you.

You're looking for your forever. You want the cheesy romance, and the love, and marriage, and kids, and the whole stupid thing. You want to be wanted and loved and cherished. That's what you're ready for. You just can't find anyone who's ready for that with you. So, you date, have mediocre boyfriends who rarely make it to the first anniversary, then pick up the pieces and try again.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

"Well," Harry swallows, reaches out for your arm to make sure you look at him, "You look beautiful tonight. And it's his loss, he's clearly a monumental idiot."

You give Harry a noncommittal hum in response. Just as you're about to say something you shouldn't—get into details you bet Harry really isn't that interested in knowing—you catch the movement of someone appearing from the doorway behind Harry and then approaching you both.

"Harry, mate," you don't know the guy who's recognised Harry's back and is calling out for his attention now, "Thought you might've fallen in."

Harry snaps around quickly to the voice, blocking your view. You take another sip of your drink and pull in a deep breath. Not fitting into any of Harry' groups socially has its downfalls. If his sister wasn't around, you tended to have to make friends at anything Harry invites you to. You're not part of his Holmes Chapel crew or his LA friends, and you definitely don't fit into the London group. Over the years there have been faces you've come to find familiar, but you're still the singular, hanger-on friend from Harry's second childhood home.

Peering around Harry's shoulder, you catch the end of a look between the two guys you think alludes to this new friend gauging whether Harry needs rescuing from you. You briefly wish the ground would open and swallow you whole. You know that look well.

"Aiden, this is Y/N," Harry raises his arm and angles to pull you around in front of him.

You hold up your drink, awkwardly, "Hi."

Aiden gives you a hesitant smile, "Hello," then he raises his eyebrows at Harry, "Harry, you coming back in, mate?"

Harry bites his lip and chuckles, reading the look on his friend's face, "You're a prick, I don't need saving. Known Y/N since I was twelve, we were just catching up."

You feel yourself go bright red, and you're thankful for the forgiving lighting. This isn't the first time this exact scenario has happened to you. You've been on the receiving end of that uneasy look before—his friends checking if the girl who isn't there with anyone else is supposed to be there at all. Backstage at the O2, a member of Harry's security once hauled you to the tour manager's office to check your VIP credentials were legitimate. You'll take that story with you to the grave.

Aiden deflates slightly and waves a hand your way, "Shit, sorry, thought he'd been cornered by a fan again … I mean, a pretty fan to say the least but …" he coughs into his hand when Harry gives him a glare you don't see, "Great to meet you."

"No worries," you wave it off like it's nothing. The truth is your brain has short-circuited at Harry's palm resting on the small of your back, he's not moved it from when he first brought you forward. Friendly touches weren't strange between you, but this lingering, comforting hand is burning a hole in you tonight. You haven't been out and had anyone touch you since your breakup, and Harry is setting off all you nerve endings. You tilt your weight onto your other foot to pull back from him slightly, but Harry's hand travels with you. "We should go back, I might use the loo first though, is it that way?"

Harry watches you point in the direction of the bathroom, you're flustered and he really wishes he could tell Aiden to buzz off so he could just take another few minutes with you. Brief you on who was in the room you were about to go into. You wouldn't know any of them, and Harry always appreciated that you came to things on your own, particularly when you wouldn't know anyone aside from him once you got there. He should have invited his sister so you'd have a buddy. Or told you to bring a friend. Not a boyfriend, though.

He watches you take the final drag from your drink and put the glass down on top of the bar, "Thanks Jack, t' was dee-lish," you catch the attention of the bartender, throwing him a beaming grin. And Harry watches the way the guy's features light up at being called on by you. Envy rumbles in Harry's gut, he recognises the dumb smile and dopey nod of Barman Jack's head. Has felt it a hundred times himself when he's been on the receiving end of your quirky humour.

You walk away, and Harry feels Aiden watching him, "She's fit," he comments, trying to get a rise out of Harry, reading the room perfectly.

"Fuck you," Harry grunts at him.

Harry sits opposite you at the long table in the private dining room.

You nurse a glass of rosé and eat the food slowly, savouring it. You deliberated over the menu for a long time before settling on what to order, you've seen photos of most of the dishes online, but there were several new ones too. Harry goes off your recommendations but spends a lot of the dinner talking to the people sitting beside him. He knows if he tried talking to you right now, he'd just get lost in you, which is both rude for a birthday party and bound to be too conspicuous.

You insert yourself into a conversation with the girls sitting next to you and pretend you're good at making friends. They spend most of the meal talking about something that was on the telly the night before. You were on shift so missed it, but pretend to be interested or like you might've seen it—anything to not stick out like a sore thumb.

Harry watches you out the corner of his eye the whole time. You've shrugged off your jacket, and he recognises the gold necklace you've got around the collar of your dress, sitting over the black fabric on your chest. He's pretty sure it was a gift from Gemma a few years ago, you wear it all the time. Harry makes a note to get you something that compliments it for your birthday coming up. You're chatting to one of his mate's girlfriends and Lisa who's been on his publicity team for years. Those would've been the two he'd have introduced you to first as well. He can't stop watching the way your lips turn up every time something funny is said, or one of the girls makes eye contact with you. Watching you try with his other friends always makes Harry feel warm and giddy for some reason.

Fuck, he's missed you. And he berates himself for the fact he never seems to remember that until he sees you again. (It's strategic usually, his heart doesn't take your company well when he knows you're going home to someone else) You're so engaging and kind and unintentionally charming, and you always have time for him. Harry knows he's not an easy human to be friends with; he constantly ducks in and out and is never around for the big things, let alone being available to call on a random day to just hang out with. The friendship is always on his terms, and he knows it makes him a selfish prick. You definitely could've done with a call a couple of months back when you had your heart broken. Like always, he missed it, and by the time he was sending you a message about an episode of Midsomer Murders, he felt as though the moment to console you had passed, and Harry didn't want to draw attention to the fact he wasn't around for it.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?" His head snaps back around to the person next to him, thoughts still on you across the table. He agrees with whatever was said and does his best to catch up.

Harry's got to stop thinking about how you're single at the moment. He really does.

A few hours later, it's the girl sitting to your left, Lisa, who first mentions the idea of kicking on.

It's after dessert—after everyone sang happy birthday to Harry over a round of espresso martinis—and you're starting to think that if you leave now, you'll be home before midnight, which means the tube won't be too deserted to feel safe. You're also at a comfortable place to wake up without a hangover in the morning. Two cocktails and a glass of wine over dinner, because any more and you're scared you could say something stupid to the wrong (right) person.

Harry's face lights up, and he looks around the room, eager at the idea of going to a bar or two for more drinks. He's not been out in London for the longest time, and he's happily buzzed enough to not be too worried about running into people. Feels like this group of friends have gelled well together. How often does he get to have a night like this in London? Hardly ever.

"Yeah, let me sort out the tab and then we're good to go," Harry says, pushing his seat back from the table and standing up, his hands hunting his pockets for his wallet and phone, "I'll be right back."

When he goes, you decide now's as good a time as any to split. You pull your coat on and say goodbye to the friends you made over the meal. Lisa gives you her business cards as if speaking to you had been part of her job, you slip it straight into your coat pocket and can already picture it at the bottom of the garbage in your kitchen. You revisit the bathrooms, and when you come back out into the main restaurant area, Harry's still leaning against the front desk, chatting to the maître d' from earlier.

He feels your small hand land on his back and jolts upright at the contact, your gentle voice calling his name softly, "Harry, I'm going to head home."

He spins around, and you catch the fall of his face, "What? No … No. You're the one I want to hang out with the most," his bottom lip juts out and his brows furrow. "Y/N."

"Thanks a fuckin' lot, mate," you hear a male voice laugh at your back, they slip behind you and out into the chilly air, and Harry flips them the bird. You were pushed closer into his chest as they jostled past and he steadied you with his arms latched onto your forearms. Still watching outside, you see a cigarette lighter flare-up on the footpath and the end of an orange butt glow spectacularly in the night. When you glance back at Harry, he's not looking happy.

"Don't pout," you tell him lightly, you reach up and press the skin taut between his eyes smooth again, "Can't wrinkle that rockstar face of yours."

His face lights up, and his skin heats where you made contact, "You can't go yet."

"Harry," your features tangle into something like a grimace, "You'll have a better time without me. Everyone seems to be pretty tight—"

—Y/N," he gives you a final, pleading look, "Please come."

You make out like you're stomping your foot in defiance, "Fine."

"Score!" Harry cheers under his breath, shrugging his jacket up over his shoulders and saying a final round of thank yous to the staff. When you're out on the street at Harry's side somebody mentions the name of the next place and points the direction of it, Harry places a hand on your shoulder as you start to walk and leans down to your ear, "I just have one condition for you coming."

You pull back and look at him, "I don't think you get conditions when you've begged me to be here."

"A birthday condition then," he edits, pressing his lips together and smiling at you with his eyes, "You have to promise to do what I say before I ask it."

You narrow your eyes at him, "I suppose you only turn twenty-seven once. You can have a single wish from me."

Harry laughs and slips his fingers under the strap of your evening bag, "Give me this."

You think briefly he means to carry it for you, which is a strange thing for Harry to request. But then he unzips it in front of you and starts rifling around inside it, slipping your phone under his arm so he can move around the lipstick and tissues and emergency Galaxy bar to eventually pull out your small purse.

"Harry! What are you—

—Ah, ah!" He holds it all away from you and reminds you of the promise. "This is mine for the night," he says, slipping your purse into his coat pocket. "Otherwise you'll end up buying too many rounds."

You try to sneak your hand into the pocket after your wallet, "Don't be stupid. It's your birthday, I'll buy every round if I need to."

"Exactly my point," he steps away from you down the street, and you skip to be back at his side. He's stolen your money and your chocolate bar.

"Harry, give it back."

"Nope," he pops the 'p' and hands you back the bag, the Galaxy bar hanging from between his teeth, still in the packet, "You promised. Now hurry up and walk, and I might give you a bite of this. 'm freezing my balls off, we are not in LA anymore."

So that's how you end up in the next bar, your handbag a little lighter, squished into Harry's side with a pleasantly sour cocktail he paid for between your fingers. The booth is so far into the back wall you're not even really sure which direction the front door is anymore. Somehow, you've managed to sit ten people around a booth probably designed for six, but nobody seems to be bothered.

Your whole right side is on fire, though.

You can feel Harry from the top of your shoulder all the way to your ankle. His hip sits neatly next to yours, Harry's left elbow rests just above your right thigh, and your knees press together every time he gets excited when he speaks and unintentionally opens his legs up. If Harry's bothered by it there's no way you'd know, he's hardly looked at you since you all sat down, much less uttered a word of discomfort about the seating arrangements. Makes no sense really, when he seemed so desperate for you to stay out with them.

(Next to you Harry's felt like he was high most of the time, he's flashing in and out of the conversations around him. Because he can smell your perfume—Stella by Stella McCartney, he'd know that fragrance anywhere, you've been wearing it since you were seventeen—and you're warm and snug beside him. He feels completely insane. But he also feels inflated with a heart-crushing joy at having you so close. He's trying his best not to draw attention to it or to you because what he's always liked most about your friendship is that you're just his. God, he needs to do better at seeing you more often, talking more, being more. Each breath as he's touching you is like a crack of electricity through his chest that aches beautifully. Nobody else feels like this. Even when he's dated, what he's felt with them can't hold a candle to his boyhood crush on you.)

You sip your drink and laugh at the embarrassing story that's being told about Harry, oblivious to his torment. Oblivious to how Harry feels your forearm brush his leg and has the overwhelming desire to deposit his palm on your thigh and keep it there, probably forever.

It strikes you that the last time you saw Harry was before the current anecdote about him in Italy happened, and at the table, it's being spoken about as though it was ancient history. You wonder what historic classification your memory of thirteen-year-old Harry would get, that time he attempted to bleach his hair with lemon juice. He ended up with second-degree burns on his forehead from the acid reacting with the sun.

Or the time Gemma stayed in Holmes Chapel for the summer because she had her first boyfriend, and so you spent six weeks learning that maybe you'd been wrong about who your favourite Styles child was. Maybe the boy who, when you were eleven, didn't impress you much, suddenly at thirteen, demanded all your attention. Made that summer become the first where you considered your outfits and whether your mum sending you next door with homemade snacks made you look lame.

"… And of course, Harry can't walk away from a dance floor when he's on the tequila …" everyone around the table laughs. Harry peeks at you to make sure you are too, but he's not very good at it because you notice, a smile flares on your lips.

You're used to long periods of not seeing each other, it's how it's always been. Harry and Gemma spent the summers with their dad and then returned to Holmes Chapel for real life. Sometimes that's what it still felt like, as though each time you saw either of them you were acutely aware there was a foreign Real Life they would go back to without you.

Harry in particular. You were used to not seeing him for months on end, usually the whole school year. Just a few messages over MySpace and birthday cards, and then, when you were out of school, invites to parties Harry couldn't come to anymore—'I'm in Australia, how insane is that? Sorry, I'll miss your 18th …' or 'I can only stay until the 8th, could you maybe graduate a week earlier? ;)'—and emails every other month with a new mobile number for you to overwrite his contact in your phone with. You're not saying you feel hard done by in your friendship, you don't. It's just always very take-what-you-can-get with Harry.

"You've got your thinky eyes on," he's pivoted his whole body towards you, hips twisted in an entirely uncomfortable looking position. Harry's got his resting elbow on the table right next to where your hand holds your drink, and he's looking down at you with careful eyes, "Where are you?"

"The pool a dozen summers ago," you answer easily, pursing your lips together and running a knuckle along your hairline, "Thinking about your ah, burn incident."

Harry's face explodes in a grin, and his eyes roll up to the ceiling and then capture yours again, "For fuck's sake, you're never going to stop bringing that up, are you?"

"You were a horrible blonde," you remark quickly, "If you ever so much as blink in the direction of a packet of bleach you have to call me, okay? I'll have no issue telling you, categorically, you should never dye your hair."

"Categorically," Harry mimics you childishly, "Alright, I get it, you went to uni. No need to use words with fifty syllables to make me feel stupid."

You bring your glass up to your lips, "Come off it, Harry, you're ten times smarter than me."

His forehead raises, "You're the cleverest person I know. Don't make me call Gem to confirm it."

"Don't bring your sister into this, Harry," you deadpan.

He goes to reply but holds back, something unnamable travelling across his eyes as he watches you lick your lips after taking another sip of your drink. Harry's leaning a little closer than he might usually, and despite the fact he's a few drinks in he still smells only of Tom Ford and clean clothes. He's just about to ask you what you're doing the next day when he gets hit in the side of the head with a coaster.

"Hey," he cries out, pulling back from you and frowning around at the group trying to figure out who the culprit is," 'M the fucking birthday boy, watch it."

Lisa is the girl directly across from Harry and yourself, and she's is the one who threw it. She's giving Harry a coy smile and holds up her empty glass to him, a not so subtle request makes the drink in your hand feel like a concrete brick. Something dirty you don't like having. She's got captivating blue eyes and straight blonde hair—exactly Harry's usual type. Your heart sinks as he slides out of the booth next to you, laughing at her flirtatious request and taking a tally of who else wants a new drink.

"Y/N?" Your name is delicate on his lips, and it makes you want to cry. Why is it so easy for you to make things feel like they mean more with him?

You direct your smile his way, "I'm good, thanks."

His head tilts to one side, "You sure?"

"Positive," you nod, feeling your cheeks burn as everyone watches the exchange.

"Okay," Harry taps the table with the corner of his phone, "I'll be right back."

After a few moments, you sneak off to the bathroom, happy to see Harry's beaten you back from the bar when you return. He's sitting in your spot, deep in conversation with the person beside him who you recognise from the radio. Tentatively, you slip in next to him, careful not to touch him this time. Harry's got his hand casually resting on the table, turning your glass forty-five degrees one way and then back the other way as he speaks. You think about reaching over and pulling it out of his hand gently (you're losing your buzz, and Little Miss Bombshell across the table has made you feel silly and juvenile) but it looks to be an almost serious conversation, so you don't. With a smile plastered on your face, you look around the table, resisting the urge to pull out your phone to check if either of your flatmates has text you to meet up with them somewhere.

It's a delicious whiff of your perfume behind him that turns Harry's head. You're back from the bathroom, although nobody was able to confirm that's where you went when he got back from the bar and asked after you. Harry pushes your drink over and gives you a smile, taking note of the fresh layer of lipstick and messy oomph to your hair that perfectly shows off the new style and bangs.

Golden, he thinks, As always,

"Your new hair really does look beautiful," Harry tells you, the bar stilling around you as his face becomes all the world is for you at that moment, "Next time, don't wait for a dickhead to break your heart before doing something to make yourself feel good."

You swallow down the thickness in your throat, "Thanks, Harry."

Walking to the next bar, Harry can't stop himself from asking.

"What happened?"

You kick your foot out as you wait at a set of traffic lights, half the group ran to cross, but you, Harry and a couple of others were too slow, "What happened with what?"

Harry watches his breath fan out in front of his face, "With your ex, with …"

"Tim."

"Tim, yeah," he turns to look down at you, hands tucked into his coat pockets, "What happened with Tim?"

"Nothing really," you start strong, then shrug one shoulder as you think about it. It's safe to cross so you wait until you're stepping up over the gutter and onto the opposite footpath before you continue, "Probably a lot of little things but … Always felt like he thought I was asking for a bit too much. I guess in the end he just didn't like me all that much."

The way your voice drops kills Harry, he's not detecting self-deprecation but something far worse. He's detecting acceptance or acknowledgement or like you're confessing some truth that should have been obvious.

"Y/N," he stops walking and halts you as well, lets Adrian and Lisa walk around and out in front of you, "If he didn't like you very much then he's got some kind of chemical imbalance. I mean it, this guy's not worth a second of your heartache."

It's not like Harry's a dickhead about it, not like he thinks you should date people with more money or status or who are more impressive. A person isn't their job or what car they drive, he knows that. Harry's not about judging anyone, but you really do seem to date guys not worthy of you. He hasn't met many of them, but Harry knows this to be true because if they were worthy, you simply wouldn't be single right now. If you dated someone half-decent, there wouldn't be a chance in hell they'd let you go. You're beautiful and thoughtful and intelligent and funny—so funny—which means Harry knows without a doubt that this Tim guy was an absolute fuckwit.

"It's not necessarily about the guy," you start and Harry can hear the thick emotion in your voice, "Is it? It's about the idea. The disappointment is more about not getting the fairytale, not finding my person. Not getting the whole package everyone else seems to have found. I know Tim wasn't right—truth be told I didn't end up liking him very much either—doesn't stop me from being sad that I still haven't found it."

"'It'… That's what you're looking for?" Harry asks, eyes out front where the rest of the group are all stopped waiting at another set of traffic lights.

They're laughing and chatting loudly to other people on nights out, and hanging off street poles to get funny pictures. He doesn't want to catch up to them, not when the two of you are in the middle of this conversation that's making his heart race and his hands sweat. He starts taking smaller steps.

"Yeah," you breathe out, almost sounding ashamed of yourself, "Don't seem to be looking in the right places."

Look over here, Harry thinks.

"But I mean, each breakup I end up getting something out of it," you've flicked your positivity switch, "This time I got these boots and bangs," you kick out your foot and watch Harry take note of your footwear, "Last break up I got four houseplants and a new watch … It's not all bad. What about you?" you turn it back on Harry, "Are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

It's hard to tell with Harry. You either find out from his sister or sometimes, social media. Although that's all usually trash. Generally, when Harry's seeing someone, you'll hear it confirmed from Gemma, and the next time you see Harry, it'll be something you're assumed to know. You haven't seen Gemma since Christmas time though, for your annual festive get together, and she didn't mention anything. Tim had ended things with you a few days before, so that was the main topic of conversation.

"No," Harry confirms what you'd already deduced—and hoped—in your head, "Not for a while now."

"Got your eye on anyone?" You quiz faux cheekily, your smile a little too wide.

Yes, you, he says to himself as he looks at the side of your face.

You hope he's not got some girl in LA he's into. Just like you'd hoped his answer to the previous question. But the hope was silly, something that bloomed in your chest each time you saw him and died again before you were home in your bed, alone.

"I'll let you know," he says aloud.

You think you see something else there in his expression, but you know you can't have. Your mind is swirling, and you're feeling a tingling sensation all over that you know you shouldn't. It'll only leave you disappointed when you part ways tonight and don't see him for another few months. The tiny bits of maybe mores and perhaps are dangerous to things to cling on to now, they'll all turn into Nothings very quickly.

Someone steals his attention away from you when you get to the next street corner. Most of the group are gathered there, and you're not sure whether to believe it when Lisa says they missed the green man to cross the road because they were talking. She sides up to Harry and starts waving her hands around in an animated story about something or other. Harry crosses the street with her, and you give him up for the night.

But he's acutely aware of what's happened. Harry's not stupid—he's emotionally intelligent, and spent enough time with Lisa on nights out before—and he can see that she's deliberately pulled him aside. He likes her, quite a bit, but she doesn't make his insides flip, or his toes curl. She's firmly Just A Friend. Harry hasn't spent countless hours over the years thinking about her, lying to himself about how he's completely fine when she starts dating someone new. He's never thought about an alternative life, one where he stayed at school and went to uni and got a regular job and maybe (definitely) ended up with her.

He's imagined that life with you—more than once. More than a dozen times, if he's honest. For years now, Harry's bitten his tongue and smiled through the pain of not being able to have you. And sure, most of the time it's a dull ache, deep in the recess of his mind, that needs to be called on or conjured to really be felt, but it's always been there. He's always had an (Astronomical) Soft Spot For You. Ever since that summer you broke your arm falling off the back of the ramp at the skate park, and he first saw you cry. At fifteen he didn't know what the hollow but sharp pain through his heart was as he rushed to your side, but now he knows that was the first sign he didn't see you as just a mate. Would never again see you as just a mate.

And now, hearing you use the word 'it'. You say you're out there dating idiots trying to find it and Harry's just unwaveringly sure he that could be him. He wants to be it for you.

You've pulled out your phone and fallen behind, face pulled down as you type away furiously. Harry watches you out of the corner of his eye, half just to watch you and half to make sure you don't get separated entirely from the safety of the group.

"Y/N," he calls out, unable to keep up with Lisa's story and unwilling to try to tune back into it. She stops short, and annoyance flits across her face, but Harry still turns to you, still crosses his arms over his chest and gives you his best scolding look, "It's the oldest trick in the book," he goads you. Lisa sighs behind him, and he ignores it.

Your head slowly comes up and takes in Harry (and Lisa sulking behind him), "What is?"

"Fallin' behind so you can peek at my bum."

You point at the long coat Harry's wearing that goes to his knees, "Can't see half of you under that thing."

"Ah, ha!" He calls out, his pointer finger floating in the air right in front of your face, "So you've tried."

You shove his shoulder and step around him, trying like anything to act neutrally. You're aware Lisa is still watching on, and you're not used to your friendship with Harry being quite so carefully observed. You know your face has gone red and you're really not going to involve yourself in a pissing contest with her. It's not classy and certainly not your vibe.

As you walk away, boots clip up behind you, and Harry heavily drapes his arm right across your shoulders, pulls you into his side, "Was just teasin', love."

"I know," you respond quietly, not upset, not really.

"Though I might've made you sad," Harry continues solemnly, "Know you get embarrassed in front of people."

Your face cracks into a smile, "Opposite of you, hey, you're practically an exhibitionist."

He should flirt because you've led him to a pretty easy window into a dirty joke, but something has Harry hanging onto his regret, "I mean it, shouldn't tease you …Should be old enough to use my words, tell you what I think."

You've got no idea what he's on about, "Harry, the teasing was fine. Where's this bloody bar though?"

Up ahead, everyone's standing on the footpath in a clump. Harry can feel the next words on his lips but has to hold them in when his mates turn and see he's finally caught up. They're waiting a few minutes for a table, someone explains, then they'll be able to go in. Harry thinks how little he feels like another drink at another bar. A few people walk away from the group to share cigarettes. You're standing a little bit away, under the sign for the butcher next-door and kick your foot back against the wall like the slight movement might warm you up.

As he steps up to you, Harry watches you get distracted by the group of people spilling out of the bar you're all about to go into. He doesn't want to take advantage of knowing you're newly single also doesn't want to let this opportunity pass. You're always dating someone, or he is, or there's some other reason not to. There's always a reason to hold back from you and Harry refuses to believe it's the drinks he's had nudging him into this. Neither of you is drunk, he wouldn't even say he's tipsy anymore. Just warm and contemplative and less inhibited than usual.

"C' mere," he calls softly, the tips of his boots landing right in front of yours, your bodies a hands' width apart. He wants you closer.

"Harry—

He opens up his coat to you and when you don't move—your brain is busy short-circuiting—he acts for you and winds his arm around your shoulder to encase you in the warmth, "Get in," Harry says, "You're shivering."

You're shocked by the contact, at him being so close and inviting you in and then just taking you in his jacket. He's wrapped the lapels around both your bodies and forced you against his chest. He hums against you, but you're feeling incredibly awkward with your arms hitched up against your chest and pressed rigidly into his shoulders. You've not been in a hold like this before and certainly not with Harry.

He pulls back and digs around for your wrists, "You've gotta put them around me," he stretches his arms behind his back, taking yours with them and instructing you to really settle against him. "There, that's better," he wraps the jacket back around you, and the two of you stand like that—hearts pressed together, scents converging and your whole frame shaking against his—for what seems like far too long for it mean nothing. Right? Your thoughts ricocheted around inside his jacket and go nowhere, solve nothing in your mind.

Over your shoulder, he sees the rest of the group have gone into the bar. He's not surprised none of them called out, Harry's angled you both away from the door and with his head ducked down against yours they probably (hopefully) missed you both there.

It's Harry's twenty-seventh birthday, and maybe that's made him sullen or introspective. Made him think about the passage of time and how another year has passed him by, yet here he stands in the same place as ever—wanting you. Wishing for more, or waiting for a moment that feels right, or hoping something will happen. With growing older comes a sense of regret and an acceptance that twenty-six has happened and anything he wanted to achieve by that age but didn't he never will. There's only the future. Only the things he can do. And the mix of all that with the cocktails has Harry feeling as though he has to act on this. Every birthday he thinks maybe by the next one the Somethings or the Maybes might have happened, and you won't be standing in front of him as just his friend.

"Always had a thing for you," Harry says, his chin resting against the crown of your head while his arms link around low on your back, holding you against him, "I've always liked you more than I should."

Oh god, you think, your chest freezing in place, I'm hallucinating.

"What?" Now your heart is really racing. Or maybe it's completely stopped, seized up and fallen out of your chest onto the salt-covered footpath.

His voice comes out evenly as he repeats himself, "Feels bigger than a crush, but I guess that's what it is … Since we were kids."

(Oh, how those words have been his best-kept secret for all these years but now, in less than two seconds, he's let go of them more easily than almost anything else he's ever done)

"Y/N?"

Harry thought he'd be scared. Thought this would be a moment of panic. Every time he's imagined this he's thought 'and I'd be absolutely shitting myself because what if she doesn't feel the same way?' but now that he's said it he's almost completely calm. The only reason he's worried is that he can feel how hard your heart is beating—even through the layers of clothing—and surely that quickly can't be good for your health.

You're speechless, and he leans back so he can see your face and, oh your eyes. Why on earth didn't he say it to your face, so he could be looking in your eyes? Watch his words project across your expression and settle into your mind.

You look worried, and Harry's transported back to that time he had you on FaceTime when he was somewhere on tour with One Direction. He was telling you about how management was going to let them fly friends out on tour, bring a little bit of home along and give the boys some needed space from each other. You were nodding along and so excited for him but sure Harry was talking about someone else, that this was just news and he'd called up to tell you how he was inviting the boys he went to school with in Cheshire or people he met through X-Factor. Of course I'm bringing out you and Gem, you idiot, he'd told you when you were surprised to get an invite, Who else did you think I was talking about?

He kind of loves watching the look on your face right now, the cogs turning in your head and wheels spinning, furiously trying to figure out what Harry means.

Why isn't he terrified of what you're about to say?

"Why … but you've… and I've…"

Your hands have moved to his hips so you can see him properly, and Harry's encouraged by the fact you haven't pulled away or pushed him off you. You're watching him with a puzzled look on your face and a burning heat across your cheeks.

He brings his forearms up to rest on your shoulders and smiles at you, "I wasn't brave enough to act on it … Guess I didn't want to fuck it up. Didn't want it to not work out. Couldn't stand you becoming an ex."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Right." You don't seem capable of more than one word at a time.

"You feel bad for yelling at me about the chocolate bar now, don't you?" Harry's narrowed his eyes playfully.

That does it.

Your eyes snap back up to his face from being fixated on staring at his neck, "Chocolate bar … No, what the fuck, Harry."

He laughs. A real laugh that comes from the base of his tummy and squeezes his eyes shut and crinkles his nose. His head falls back, and it's a deep, uninhibited laugh, "Don't stomp your new boots at me," he eventually says, crooking his head down to be almost pressing his forehead against yours. "You've been my favourite girl for years, I've always been a pansy idiot who didn't want to wreck the friendship."

"Oh, and now you don't mind wrecking it?" You bark back sarcastically, unsure why you're angry at him but you are.

"No," Harry says softly, moving through your emotional responses seamlessly, "I don't think it's going to wreck it, do you? Think twenty-seven has finally given me the balls to pursue it. To tell you how I feel. How I've always felt."

Your eyes instantly ball with hot tears you weren't prepared for, "You're an idiot."

"I am," he agrees readily, fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

"Why have you told me this now," your voice is small, unsure.

Harry frowns, now he's starting to panic, "Do you … Do you not feel the same? Or do you not think maybe you could?"

Oh, if only he could have been in your head every time you saw him these last few years. Heard you talk yourself down and away from anything more than platonic, from any thoughts that might elevate you in his eyes. You've spent all this time trying to convince yourself to believe you were nothing more than a friend to him, and now this.

"Harry, are you sure you—

—I'm sure," he insists quickly.

"I just—

—I'm sure."

You're suddenly very embarrassed by the conversation the two of you had earlier about your ex. The conversation where you basically told Harry you're incredibly desperate to settle down and find The One. He's so achingly cool, and you feel like a little tinned tomato, thin-skinned and persistently flustered.

Tinned tomato? Really? You berate yourself, Case in bloody point.

"Y/N"

You scratch roughly at your forehead and grimace at whatever thoughts are going through your mind, "I'm just …"

Harry brings one hand up to fix your bangs, carefully sweeping the hair back across your forehead evenly, letting the pads of his fingers dust over your skin, "I think if you didn't feel the same you'd have said No by now."

His words steal the air from your lungs, "Harry, you've just always …"

"I've always?"

"I never thought …"

The smile comes up over his face gently, "It's me, Y/N, please finish a sentence. I'd really like to kiss you, but you haven't yet said anything to imply you'd be open to that …"

You pull your lips together like a reflex you can't help, you've rarely let yourself fall that deep into imaging things with Harry, but your body reacts to his words in an instant, "Promise you're not kidding …"

"I promise I'm not kidding," Harry said sincerely. "I'd never kid around about this, Y/N."

You believe him, and ten seconds of bravery comes over you, "I was thirteen."

His eyes narrow slightly, trying to figure out what you mean, "Thirteen?"

"My thing for you," you continue quietly, heart racing as adrenaline swamps your legs, "Started the summer I turned thirteen."

Harry hears the slight shaking to your voice and almost misses what you've said. Then it hits him.

"Oh yeah?" He squints at you and pulls up his nose with a smile, a secret little smile that will never belong to anyone but the two of you. The Smile that happened just before Harry leant down and kissed you for the first time, pressed his warm lips against your cold ones and really breathed you in.

He holds it like that for a moment, your lips touching but not moving. Then his hands come up to cup your face, and Harry moves his mouth to one side, just a touch. You open up to him, and he has the brief thought that this is probably the Most Important Kiss Of His Life. His insides curl in on themselves as he gets completely lost in you. Completely lost in how perfect this moment feels and how much finally kissing you feels like a relief.

You can't believe this is happening. You're still tucked into Harry's coat—warm and safe—but now you're joined at the mouth, and Harry's a really really good kisser. He's got his thumbs pressed into your cheeks and his fingers laced through the hair around your ears. When his tongue first licks your bottom lip and then goes searching for yours, you don't think you've felt yourself flicker On so quickly. A soft moan escapes your lips, and Harry's kiss somehow becomes harder, his nose bumping yours where he'd been good at keeping things smooth until then. As quickly as it intensifies, Harry takes a slight step back and drags his mouth away from yours.

"Y/N," he breaths out your name, sealing your lips with one of his thumbs as he pulls back. Harry's taking stock of your face (hopefully) getting used to being this close to you. Noting the way your eyelashes kink out at an odd angle right at the corner of your eye, and the freckle that's so close to the edge of your mouth he's never noticed it before. Harry's can feel your heart has slowed down, and the expression on your face right now is content, but curious. He's also sure he can see fear under it all.

"Well," your voice shakes, because Harry's looking at you like you've only dreamed and now that you're here you're not really sure what happens next. You kissed Harry.

He clears his throat lightly and his hands both fall to hold either side of your neck, "There's no way I'm going back to not being able to do that whenever I want."

Then, he kisses you again. You feel yourself melt against him as Harry's chest presses back against yours. You link your arms around his waist, clutching the back of his shirt between your fingers as Harry leads the kiss with a hand on your neck and the other holding your chin carefully. You've picked up right where the last one let off, hungry and exploring and a little bit desperate (perhaps a lot desperate) to have more of each other.

But then his phone rings in his trousers pocket, right against your hip, and you jump away in surprise.

"Shit," Harry mutters, pulling the stupid machine out, cursing the universe, "Sorry … It's Aiden," he tells you with an eye-roll.

And then you're back to reality. Your drinks have all worn off, your feet ache, your ears are freezing, and you've just made out with one of your oldest, best friends. Shit.

"Oh," you take a hearty step back, hands slipping out from Harry's coat and your body bracing the full brunt of the cold night, "Yeah … That's—

—Aiden," Harry barks the name of his mate down the phone while at the same time hooking his free arm around the back of your neck and pulling you close again. He's not giving up touching you that easily, and he doesn't care, quite frankly, about giving you any room to start internalising or retreating from him, "No, we've gone to get some food … I'll see you during the week sometime. Tell everyone thanks for—Yes, I'm serious … I don't care, saw all you lot last week … I'm hanging up now. Bye."

You listened in on the conversation because it was really all you could do. Aiden was obviously inside the bar, and they were all wondering where Harry got to. We've gone to get some food, Harry told him, so they'd know he was with you. (You supposed he was hardly going to say, 'oh yeah we've been out the front making out') Bits and pieces of the other end of the conversation, you were able to pick up on, but not enough to truly know what was said. By the end of the call, Harry was smiling though, you could hear it in his voice.

His nose found the shell of your ear and Harry leant into you, "Come back to mine, or we can go to yours … Watch a movie, play Scrabble, anything … Just wanna be with you."

"It's two o'clock in the morning, Harry," you murmur, your mind struggling to make sense of what's just happened. You're outside a club in Soho held against Harry's chest with lips that know what he tastes like and a body that's on fire.

"I'm not tired," he shoots back, "Are you?"

"Well, no but—

—Great," Harry turns towards the road, takes a few steps to the curb (you trot along with him under his arm), as he flags down a black cab. "Mine or yours?"

His question is simple, he prompts you to answer by calling your name as he opens the door for you and gestures for you to hurry up and get in.

"Yours," you say.

Harry doesn't speak much in the cab, you figure it's about privacy. You hope it's about privacy. The thirty-minute drive out of the city and to his place feels much longer. Halfway through he reaches over for your hand and gives you a reassuring smile across the back seat. You thought the journey might make you sleepy, the sitting down in a warm car would bring the haze over your eyes and bring the long day to a close in your mind. But you could never feel sleepy with Harry's fingers playing with yours, or when he leans over and kisses your cheek for no reason at all.

At his house, Harry tells you to make yourself at home while he turns on the kettle for a cuppa. You kick your boots off in the hallway, and your feet start throbbing in relief as you follow his retreating form. It's certainly not the lusty, hurried entry you imagined you might have. Which only plants doubts in your mind about what's actually going on between the two of you.

"I'm just going to use the bathroom," you call out ahead of you, turning back to the stairs and taking yourself up to Harry's second storey.

Upstairs you don't take long. You're looking a little worse for wear—who wouldn't at 3am—but you're not really in the mood to try to fix yourself. Even if you did Harry would notice, and that felt like something you wanted to avoid. As you walk back to the landing, you wriggle your toes in your socks and happen to look back down the upstairs hallway. You've been in this house dozens of times before but this time feels different. It feels quiet and intimate somehow. Just as you're about to go down the first step, you see Harry's bedroom door is open on the opposite side of the stairs to the bathroom, and you notice something that makes you stop.

The book you got him for Christmas is sitting on his bedside table.

You're standing over it before you realise that your legs have started moving, looking at a picture of Anne, Gemma and Harry, a bottle of water and the book. You pick it up, the cover a little bent and the spine cracked to where he's read. Harry's using the birthday card you send along with the gift as a bookmark. The top of the familiar design sticking out the top of the pages, you can't even really remember what you wrote inside. Something generic probably. Platonic.

Happy birthday, old man! Have a wonderful day, sorry I can't be there in person. Love, Y/N.

The floorboard at the top of the stairs creaks and you turn around to Harry looking surprised to see you standing over his bed. He's got two cups of tea and a family-sized Dairy Milk bar under his arm. Something churns inside you, this was Harry as you'd always known him. Except now you looked at his lips and wondered why the hell you weren't kissing him.

"Oh, yeah, I've been reading that," Harry sees the book in your hands and walks towards you, "It's excellent, unsurprisingly."

A smile starts on your face, "You doubted my selection ability?"

"Never," he returns quickly and then raises his eyebrows at you, "Looking for anything else?"

You feel your cheeks heat and you drop the book back into its place, "No, sorry, I was coming down the stairs and saw … I'm sorry."

Harry passes you a tea, "It was really kind of you to send something over. Was fun having something to unwrap on the day."

"I'm glad," you smile and take a sip of the tea. It's sweet, and you screw up your face, "This is yours."

Harry watches you with a strange expression on his face as the two of you swap mugs. He's worrying his bottom lip, obviously weighing something up in his mind. You see it when he decides what he' going to do about it.

"I've got something I want to show you," he tells you finally, tilting his head back to the door. "Wanna come see?"

"What is it?" You ask automatically, but Harry's already walking out the door, and you have to hurry to catch up.

He leads you into his study, and you hover in the doorway as Harry sets his tea and the chocolate down on the desk. He pulls Bananagrams out of the draw and places it next to the mug.

"We're actually going to play Bananagrams?" You ask.

He looks back at you, "You'd prefer actual Scrabble?"

"I didn't know what you meant by—I guess I …"

Realisation dawns on his face, and he widens his eyes, "Oh, you thought it was a euphemism."

"No!" You snap back quickly, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks (for the record, yes, you thought 'a movie or Scrabble' was a thinly veiled way of Harry suggesting … something else), "No, I just … I just don't think I'll be able to spell words right now."

"I didn't think you were still tipsy" Harry states, shit-stirring.

"I'm not!" You squawk at him. "I'm… I' m—You kissed me!"

He grins, loving the fact he's driven you a little crazy, "Yeah. Want me to do it again?"

Harry's playing with you. He's teasing. And you know it but what you don't know is how he's so confidently jumped to it. Not when you feel like you've been left on the street outside the bar trying to figure out what the hell this means, and what's going to happen tomorrow when he stops looking at you like that. You don't like to think this whole night could've been him playing with you, you don't know Harry to be that cruel. But there's a tripwire in your mind you keep getting snared on.

It's Harry.

"C' mere," he reaches his hand down across the room between you both, "C' mere and kiss me again. You don't seem to be getting it."

"Getting it?" You're cut off by Harry taking two big steps toward you and then planting his lips on yours again.

His palms find your hips, and you hold him in the same spot. It takes a moment for the two of you to find a rhythm, and even then, you're too in your head. You're struggling to remember what little Harry's said about this whole thing. You know he said he had a crush on you and you've gotten the distinct impression he wasn't too fond of your ex. But for all you know Harry's been kissing his mates like this for years but just never gotten around to kissing you. You might've been next on the list. He's a friendly guy. Maybe a crush isn't what it used to be. Or maybe—

He pulls back from your lips with a huffy expression on his face, "Y/N," he says quietly, "I'm a man with an incredibly fragile ego, whatever you're worrying about is really getting in the way of kissing you."

"I'm just—

—Let me show you what I brought you in here for," he interrupts you, takes your hand and tugs you towards the window. Then, he puts a hand on each of your shoulders and directs your attention to the wall.

It's lined with record sale plaques for singles and albums over the years—double Platinums and Gold-Somethings. Harry watches you eyes run over them all, a proud but unsure look in your eye. You're not sure why he's showing them to you, he knows that. He hopes you're not intimidated by them, he's certainly not showing you to try to score any points. There's a sweeter gesture behind it. He points to one leaning against the wall, not hanging. He's got it resting on the bubble wrap it was sent over in.

Stepping up closer behind you, Harry rests his chin on your shoulder, "That one's for you."

"What?"

"I want you to have it, been saving it for you … If I ever got brave enough."

The question falls from your lips before you really think about it, "Why would you want me to have it …"

Harry waits to see if you'll let on you've figured it out, he thought it was pretty obvious really, but you've never been one to elevate yourself or assume, and Harry knows that about you. So, when you don't keep talking, he confirms it for you, "That song is about you."

You just blink, eyes on the framed plaque taking in the name of the song and hearing it in your head.

It's about me? You think you want to hear it, you need to Google the lyrics and make sure you have them right in your head. Harry wrote a song about you. Harry wrote that song about you.

"When … When did you write it?"

"You mean why?" Harry raises his head and steps to stand next to you, he observes your face carefully.

"No, I mean when." You're starring at it like the plaque might answer the question, "When did you write it?"

Harry runs a hand over his head as he thinks, "A few years back, after that time you came out to LA … Didn't record it until this year though …"

Harry watches your face expand in surprise and then crumple back down to confusion. You really don't get it. He's not sure how to make you in one night. He supposes he can't. So he trails his hand up the back of your arm and then around your back, tilting his head down and waiting to see if you'll pull away. When you don't, he kisses the corner of your mouth and then opens his wider to take you lips in his properly.

It's different to the kisses outside the bar, now that you're both out of your outer layers Harry can feel your body against his in ways he's only dreamed, and it's sending everything straight between his legs. Harry's hands explore your back and the curve of your hips, thumbs almost reaching the underside of your breasts but not quite. It's a little awkward when he senses you've felt him hardening between you. Usually, lust clouds that moment, and Harry doesn't mind intimate partners being acutely aware of how they're affecting him. But with you he's a little hesitant, he senses the awkwardness on your side. Friends don't feel those body parts on each other, friends don't… He almost groans when your mouth leaves his without warning.

You think he'll probably change his mind about all this.

"Have you changed your mind?" You ask, not able to stop it.

Confusion colours his features, and his lips smack together, like he's savouring tasting you, "Wha—

"About wanting to be kissing me," you clarify.

"What? No." Harry's eyebrows have shot up, and he's shaking his head, "I barely even started! Didn't I just say I wrote that song about you—why the hell would I—want to do more than just kiss you—You think I'm gonna change my mind?"

You shrug, "Maybe. I don't know."

"Well," he stands up straighter and pins you with his stare, "I'm not. I promise I'm not going to change my mind. And I promise I'll never make you feel like you're asking for too much. Ever."

"Now you're trying to make me cry," you say, hearing him repeat back to you the insecurity leftover from your conversation about your ex. You're half kidding with your words but also not. You believe him. You trust him.

Harry grimaces, sways your bodies together gently, "I really hate seeing you cry, could you not? I had other plans."

You sniff through a laugh as Harry wraps his arms around your middle tighter," What plans are those?"

"Well, I literally thought Scrabble," he tells you through a smile, trying his best to make you laugh, "But I'm open to whatever dirty things you were thinking as well."

"You'll win Scrabble."

So, Harry instructs you to bring your tea and your sore feet back into his bedroom. He gets you a fluffy pair of hiking socks and tells you to take yours off, and your tights, and get comfortable on the bed with him and the block of chocolate. You've polished off a family size together before, the sugar going straight to your heads and always leading to a giggly night of reminiscing and Almosts.

This time though, you only get halfway through the tea and Harry pushes the chocolate off the bed onto the floor in favour of you straddling his hips. It started with a stolen kiss against your temple, and then another on your cheek, and one close to your lips, and then you captured his face in your hands and really kissed him. Within a few moments, Harry was dragging you over to him. His hands settle on the swell of your backside as it sits against his thighs and your lips trace the line of his jaw. This was really happening. You'd really let him peel off your dress and flick off your bra. His shirt was somewhere with the forgotten snacks, and you seemed extremely eager to keep feeling his hardness pressed between your legs.

"I swear to god, I never dreamed this would happen," he murmurs, hissing when your hips pressed into his at a different angle, "Was sure I'd be going to your wedding one day, completely miserable and probably end up drunk and causing a scene. Embarrass you so badly you'd never want to see me again, and you'd just run away with your stupid husband."

You pull back and watch Harry ramble, your bare chest rising and falling against his, "You're a real glass half full kinda guy, aren't you?" you smile at him.

"I just," his eyes drop to your chest, nipples puckered for him, and he scrunches them shut then drops his forehead onto your sternum with a big sigh, "This is fucking unreal, and my brain is just struggling to comprehend—you're breathtaking, and I feel like my chest is gonna explode."

"It's also 4am, so there's always the potential your brain is just plain tired," your index finger is drawing circles on the back of his shoulder as Harry leans against you, you pause and run your hand over the back of his head, "Maybe we should sleep for a little … I'll be here when you wake up," you say in response to Harry squeezing his arms around your waist tightly as if you were going to disappear. Or worse, leave.

His indescribable green eyes find yours in the light from the bedroom lamps, "Will you let me hold you while you sleep?"

"Yeah," you nod, although somehow that question seems more intimate than the lack of clothes between you at the moment. You're distinctly less dressed than Harry, who's still got his trousers on, you're only covered by your underwear.

"We don't have to rush this, right? Got all the time in the world now," still, as he speaks his palms trail up your back and then down again, skimming the sides of your breasts, "Just don't wanna miss anything is all."

"I promise I'm incredibly boring in my sleep, won't miss anything," you tease, "Might be the only time you get any peace."

Harry tightens his forearms around your back and finds the soft skin below your ear with his lips—once, twice, three little kisses—"I feel pretty at peace right now, just having you here. Feels like I'm living a dream."

You don't reply for a moment, but you let your body rest against Harry's in a comfortable hug, your voice is quiet, "You really wrote me a song?"

"I did."

"I've always loved that song."

“Well, it's been yours all along."

"Nobody's ever written a song about me."

"I should hope not."

"Are you going to write another one?"

"Without a doubt."

Chat to me here

#OOOO SHIT what have i done #well #1dff #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles X reader #harry styles stories #harry styles imagines #harry fic

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waitimcomingtoo · 5 years ago

Text

Where We Start Again -3

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: how do you fake date someone you have real feelings for?

Series Masterlist and Regular Masterlist

Playlist by @tiny-friggin-human

The first thing Peter heard when he entered your apartment was shouting. You looked disappointed as you locked the door behind you and put your keys in a bowl next to door.

“Sorry. That’s my dad.” You apologized. “He claims using his “lawyer voice” is the only way he can get clients to listen.”

“It’s fine.” Peter assured you. “As long as he doesn’t use that voice on me.”

“Not unless your skirt is too short or you got a grade below a 90.” You said through a tight smile as you dropped your backpack on a kitchen stool. He uncomfortably shouldered his, unsure of if he should do the same.

“You can put your bag down. Put it next to mine so they can talk.” You raised your eyebrows suggestively. Peter shook his head as he laughed at your dumb joke and put his backpack on the stool next to yours.

“What are the gonna talk about?” He played along and you thought about it.

“Yours is probably telling my backpack about how scared he is since he heard your last five bags disappeared.” You whispered dramatically and Peter scoffed.

“I just lose them a lot, okay? I can’t believe you noticed that.” He mumbled. He did lose his backpack a lot when he had to ditch it for Spider-Man duties, he just never thought you’d notice that he always had a different bag.

“Sometimes I see things when I’m not applying lipgloss or brushing my hair.” You said through a big, fake smile and Peter got the hint.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He told you. “I know you do other things. Like paint, apparently.”

You looked at a small canvas hung on the wall together. It was a painting of squidward on a yellow background with your name at the bottom. You looked at it proudly and adjusted it so it wasn’t crooked.

“I hung that up there two years ago and my parents still haven’t noticed.” You laughed, but Peter didn’t find it very funny. “I think it’s kinda of pretty.”

“It’s lovely. You’ll have to make me one someday.” He said as he gazed at you. You seemed different now that you weren’t at school. You weren’t standing as straight and finally looked relaxed.

“You want me to paint a bunch of dicks on your ceiling?” You asked and he almost choked on his saliva.

“Why would you do that?” He asked in bewilderment.

“It was a Michelangelo joke, ciccino.” You said an unexpectedly authentic Italian accent.

“Oh. Um, pizza spaghetti spicy meatball to you too.” He muttered and you laughed loudly. He looked at you quizzically, never having heard you laugh like that before. It was never that loud or cheerful. You noticed his staring and covered your mouth in embarrassment.

“Sorry about that.” You said sheepishly and he shook his head.

“Don’t be.” He said softly. “It was nice to hear.”

“Come on. I’ll give you the rest of the tour.” You took Peters hand and lead him to a room at the end of the hall. “This is my bedroom. I’m sorry I don’t have Yoda on my sheets. I hope daisies will do.”

MJ’s words echoed in Peters mind when you didn’t let go of his hand. He blinked a few times as he looked around your room. He’d imagined what it might look like a few times, as he did with a most people. He was pretty sure Flash lived in a dirt hole outside of a SuperCuts. Whatever he imagined your room would look like, the reality was better. But as he looked closer, he noticed an absence of photos with friends or mementos from school. It was almost like your popularity started and ended on school property.

“Your sheets are fine. It’s smells like you in here.” He said without thinking. “Was that the creepiest thing I could’ve possibly said?”

“Nah. A boy in my Econ class told me he wanted to use my hair as a towel once. You’re gonna have to try harder to creep me out.” You let go of his hand and smoothed your skirt before sitting on your bed. Peter stood awkwardly near the door until he found the words to say. He didn’t want to take another step into your room at risk of ruining the wholesome atmosphere.

“Your hair looks soft and all, but I don’t think it’d be very absorbent.” He said finally and watched your face for a reaction.

“Right? Some people are so dumb.” You joked and he felt himself ease up. He took a few steps toward the center of your room and noticed a guitar leaning again your dresser.

“Do you play?” He asked curiously and you nodded. You got up and walked over to the guitar, fingering the strings as a soft melody played.

“A little. I can strum along time a few songs.” You told him. He joined you next to the guitar and touched the neck.

“Thats still something.” He assured you. “I didn’t know that about you.”

“Theres a lot you don’t know about me, Peter.” You quipped and stopped touching the strings.

“Good thing I love to learn.” He replied and you picked up the guitar.

“What’s your favorite song?” You asked and played him an energetic riff.

“You’re gonna laugh.” He hesitated to tell you.

“I would never laugh at you.” You promised.

“It’s Hey there Delilah. My mom used to sing it when she made dinner.” He admitted for the first time to another human being. He and Ned didn’t cover vulnerable topics, so he kept personal stuff to himself. It was hard to keep it in sometimes, but he never felt like he had another choice until now. I

“That’s a great song. She had good taste.” You said softly. You had heard about his parents passing from MJ when you asked her about the cute boy who sat at her lunch table a week earlier. You didn’t expect him to open about it so soon, but you were glad he did.

“Yeah, she did.” Peter agreed. He never expected to be talking about this with you, but it felt good to get off his chest.

“What was she like?” You wondered as you fingered the melody to Marry Me, Archie.

“Amazing. We used to do crossword puzzles together and she would finish hers before I read my second clue. And she always had something in the oven. It made the house really hot in the summer but my dad and I didn’t mind. We were happy as long as she was.” He reminisced. You listened intently to him as you played the song softly.

“What would she make?” You asked him.

“Pretty much everything.” He replied. “Her favorite was chocolate chip cookies. But from scratch, not a package.”

“Were they good?”

“They were so good.” He sighed happily. “She used to put extra chocolate chips on as the cooled down. I miss those cookies.”

You didn’t say anything but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. He knew you were listening, and that’s all that mattered. His eyes wandered to your bookshelf which was bare of books except for one.

“Charlottes Web?” He raised an eyebrow as he picked up the book and flipped through it.

“It’s my favorite book.” You told him. He was leaning a lot about you just from being in your room.

“Could’ve fooled me. It looks brand new.” He held it up for you to see.

“I only read it one time. When I was younger.” You shrugged and put the guitar down.

“But it’s your favorite?” He wondered.

“The ending makes me sad. I remember the story and how it made me feel, and that makes it my favorite.” You half smiled. “I just can’t read it anymore because-“

“It makes you sad.” He understood. “That’s cute.”

“You’re cute.” You nodded your head at him and blew him a kiss, like you were cat calling him. He looked away bashfully and brushed it off. “I’m serious. I really like this color on you.”

“So I’ve been told.” He mumbled shyly. “Thank you for the candy, by the way.”

“Well I had to pay you back for the gogurt.” You teased. “Should we get going?”

“Going?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

“To the mall. For a dress. Like we agreed.” You said slowly and he remembered why he was at your house in the first place.

“Right.” He nodded curtly. “Let’s go.”

“How’s this?” You opened the dressing room curtain and stepped out in a short maroon dress. Peters eyes lit up at the sight of you until he realized something.

“Isn’t that the same dress you just had on?” He asked.

“No. That was burgundy. This is maroon.” You said like it was obvious and it went right over Peters head.

“You look great.” He complimented, and he meant it.

“You said that about the last three.” You whined and looked at yourself in the mirror. You adjusted the dress nervously and decided you hated it.

“Yeah, but you do this crazy thing where you’re super pretty and look good in everything, so.” Peter shrugged and you bit back a smile.

“Peter Parker with the flirtatious banter. We love to see it.” You winked, something he was coming to see you did a lot, and went back into the dressing room. You came out a minute later in a long white dress.

“What do you think about this one?” You asked for his opinion as you smoothed the dress down.

“Oh my God. You look like Princess Leia when she - I’m gonna stop talking now.” He interrupted himself before he said something uncool.

“You don’t have to hide who you are from me, Peter. If you want to make a Star Trek reference, I want to hear it.” You folded your arms and admired the dress in the mirror.

“Okay.” He obeyed. “And it’s Star Wars. Star Trek is different.”

“Oh. Which one has the bunnies playing basketball?” You pursed your lips as you looked over your shoulder at the dress.

“That’s Space Jam.” He couldn’t even hide his attitude. “That’s not even-“

He cut himself off when he noticed the playful smile on your face.

“You’re messing with me.” He realized and you nodded.

“You’re cute when you’re riled up.” You shrugged a shoulder and disappeared back into the dressing room.

“How’s this?” You reappeared in a little black dress. It had a sheer layer over the mini skirt that was short in the front and longer in the back. You looked beautiful, to say the least. Like the person who designed the dress made it with you in mind. Peters eyes slowly trailed down the dress and a smile tugged at his lips.

“You know the scene in Mean Girls when Aaron sees the picture of Cady as a little girl on top of an elephant and smiles? And like, that happy song with guitars plays in the background?” He asked you and you looked confused.

“I think so, yeah.” You shrugged.

“That’s how that dress makes me feel.” He confessed and you tilted your head.

“Like I’m a child riding an elephant?”

“Like I’m seeing you for the first time.” He replied. “The real you, anyway. Again, not trying to sound like a stalker, but I’ve looked at you a lot over the last four years. But this feels like the first time I’ve ever really looked at you. You look - - you look happy.”

“Do I not normally look happy?” You asked quietly, turning to look at your face in the mirror.

“You have a sadness to you.” Peter admitted and your head whipped to him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be saying that.”

“No, it’s okay. No ones ever honest with me.” You were quiet for a moment following the confession. “What else do you see?”

“I see a really beautiful girl.” Peter answered honestly. He thought he was complimenting you, but you looked annoyed with the answer. He remembered what MJ said about you hating being watched and took that into consideration as he formulated his answer.

“I also see someone who’s smart and can solve a rubix cube in under a minute. I see someone who’s funny, but never at the expense of someone else. Someone who remembers your favorite candy and helps you glue a LEGO lamp together after school. And I see someone who would pretend to be my girlfriend to save me from a bully. That’s what I see.” Peter recited. You looked at him for a moment before taking a seat beside him. You looked like you were searching for the words to say, so Peter kept silent.

“We need to get you a tie to match my dress.” You said finally. You gave him a soft smile and took the hand that was gripping the arm of his chair. “Thank you.”

“For?” He wondered what he had done to warrant a thank you.

“For everything you said. No ones ever known me that well before. No one ever wanted to.” Your voice wavered and Peter thought he could see tears in your eyes.

“I’ve always wanted to.” He confessed. “And somehow, I’m getting the chance. I still worry that I’m gonna wake up and this will have all been a dream.”

“What?” Your expression changed from appreciative to annoyed too quickly for Peters liking. “Why?”

“Because girls like you don’t hang out with guys like me.” He shrugged like it was simply. You hastily got out of your chair and Peter feared he had said the wrong thing.

“Says who?” You asked sharply as you folded your arms. He was positive now he had said the wrong thing.

“Says everybody.” He said weakly.

“Fuck everybody.” You snapped and Peter jumped a little in his seat. “You are better company than anyone one of those sentient bratz dolls at my lunch table. I’ve had more fun with you these past two days than I have in four years with them. I don’t care what everybody says because I like hanging out with you. So I don’t want to hear anymore of this status talk. I’m just a person, Peter.”

“An extremely popular person. And your reputation would plummet if you were caught hanging out with an extremely unpopular person, like myself.” He tried to explain himself as he got out of his seat but it only made you angrier.

“Caught? Like I’m committing a crime just for being seen with you?” You laughed bitterly. “I don’t know who instilled in you that I’m some deity that no one can talk to, but it’s not true. I thought you understood that.” You said in disappointment before storming into the dressing room and swiping the curtain shut.

“Y/n- daisy wait. Wait.” He pressed himself against the doorframe and sighed. “I do understand that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on a pedestal like that. I know you’re just a person.”

He heard you sniffle behind the curtain and his heart broke when his worst fear had come to light.

He had made you cry.

“You don’t get it, Peter.” You said quietly through the curtain. “Everyone think I’m a stuck up snob or a perfect, plastic doll. And no one cares to get to know the truth. They just see what the want to see. I want them to see me the way you do.”

“Maybe they don’t deserve to see that. Daisy, you are this exceptionally phenomenal force of nature.” He promised as he tried to make amends. “You hold a power that their tiny minds could never understand. Forgive them. They’re slow.”

He smiled in relief when he heard a laugh from the other side of the curtain.

“Now that I have you laughing again, will you come out?” He pleaded.

“I’ll think about it.” You said after a beat of silence.

“For the record, I liked you from the first day of freshman year. Before you were popular.” He admitted to someone other than Ned for the first time.

“Didn’t my dad almost hit you with his car?” You asked as you opened the curtain just enough so he could see you.

“Yes.” He stuttered, surprised that his apology worked. “But I was jay walking so that’s on me. And as I waited for my heart to start beating again after nearly colliding with your dads Toyota Camry, I looked up and saw you crying.”

“I thought he killed you.” You defended your actions.

“But he didn’t.” Peter smiled easily. “And now we’re talking through a curtain because we’re fake dating and I can see your bra strap. What a wonderful world.”

You laughed loudly again, a laugh he was sure only he got to hear.

“Come in here.” You grabbed him by the shirt and tugged him into the dressing room. His knees weakened at the sight of you in just a bra and panties so he averted his eyes to the ceiling and counted to ten in his head.

“I don’t mean to worry you but I’m about to die, so do with that what you will.” Peter wheezed as he focused on the ceiling tiles.

“Relax. Just turn around.” You ordered and he obeyed. He turned around and tried to ignore the sounds of you getting dressed. “Okay. You can look now. You were saying?”

“I’m saying I liked you before you were the queen of Midtown Tech.” He repeated as he put his hands on your shoulders. “I liked you when you were just the girl who cried on the first day of school because her dad almost turned me into a skinny white boy pizza. I never thought I was gonna be good enough to talk to you. That’s why I’m worried I’m gonna wake up from this. Because it’s something I’ve wanted for so long.”

“You are good enough. You are so good enough.” You laughed sadly and stepped closer to him. “You’re the only one in this school who treats me like an actual person. I’m sorry I got defensive. It’s just because I’ve been wanting this for a long time too.”

“Tell you what.” Peter started. “You’re gonna buy that black dress and I’m gonna buy a tie to match. And I swear, I will never make you feel like this again. I never meant to make you cry, daisy. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” You said sincerely. “I don’t get those a lot.”

“Then you better start getting used to it because I make a lot of mistakes.” Peter joked and your body shook as you laughed.

“I look forward to what you can come up with.” You smiled softly.

“Come on. People are gonna think you’re jumping on my skeleton.” Peter said as he opened the curtain and walked out.

“Okay.” You followed him out. “Wait, what?”

Tag List 🏷

@a-villain-vying-for-attention @wendaiii @dorbiksbitch @t-monosapiens-h @badhollandfluff @thisisthebiplace @silteplaittais-toi @seasidecrowbar @spideygirl2003 @5-seconds-of-mendes @bitchylittleredhead @oh-whatabeautiful-parker @everydaymj @write-from-the-heart @blackpetalsmeandeath @electraheart-3174 @shawni-h @peterparkoure @sleepythighsweat @steebbb @traveleraroundsworld @averyfosterthoughts

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #peter parker x popular!reader #peter parker fake dating #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #iron man #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction

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panic-at-the-fiction · 4 years ago

Text

1973 pt 4

Summary: (y/n) life hasn’t been the same since the school closed down and neither has her father. But there seems to be a sign of hope of the man he used to be returning with this new mission.

Warnings: not a lot of Peter time

A/n: this chapter went to shit. Sorry it’s short but I wrote this whole long thing and was like no it’s too soon for that and then I had to rewrite it all and I wanted to get it out by Wednesday so yeah. I’ll release the next chapter in a few days with lots of one on one Peter time to make up for it. @whyiswhatahow @willalaufeyson @flowersfrom197o @neenieweenie @laic2299

I still can’t believe my father made me wait in the car. I’ve been out here for more than half an hour now with no word from anyone inside. What if it went wrong? What if they got caught? Or worse.

I’ve resorted to biting my nails to distract myself. I try and keep an eye out for any sign of them, but still nothing. I start to wonder if Peter was okay. Did he even make it through the elevators? I haven’t known him for very long and usually I would find a guy like him annoying. He’s arrogant, sarcastic and a typical class clown, but it all feels like a facade. I’ve caught a glimpse or two at what he feels inside. He’s shy, a little pessimistic and he’s faking most of his confidence but he shouldn’t have to. He has every right to be confident in himself.

I catch myself before I continue, I'm just rambling on and daydreaming about him at this point. I only met him this morning and now look at me. I'm helpless. I lay back in my seat and stare at the roof of the car for a while. This is not how I would’ve expected to spend my day.

I jump as all the car doors open and 5 men climb into the car. Hank climbs into the passenger seat while Charles opens the driver door and forces me to scoot over. Peter Eric and Logan all cram in the back. My dad quickly steps on the gas and gets us out of there but there’s no sign of anyone following us.

The car was silent, until Peter mistakenly decided to chirp up. “So how do y’all know each other?”

Charles tensed up and Hank only sighed. “That's a long story.”

“I guess the speedster is new then?” Eric asked.

“Only just met him today.” I add.

“Who are you then?”

Charles spoke up for me, “that’s my daughter (y/n).” He said flatly.

“Really? I haven’t seen you since you were a little girl. I remember you used to call me Uncle Eric.” He smiled.

“Well if I remember right you were the one who left us, but only after you paralyzed my father.” I replied sarcastically. I no longer had anything against Eric, truly I don’t. Just couldn’t help myself from saying it.

We weren’t far from the airport and the rest of the ride went by silently. I grabbed my stuff from the car and made my way toward the plane with everyone else. But Charles stretched his hand out to stop me. “Where do you think you're going?”

“The Paris peace accords with the rest of you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea (y/n). I don’t wanna be worrying about you the whole time.”

“Worrying about me?” I laugh “You four will kill each other before the plane lands without me. I’m coming with.”

“No you're not. I’m still your father and I need you to stay here and go home.” I look my father in the eyes, for a moment he truly looks like the man I used to see. He’s well dressed and clean, he’s sobered up, and he had the same kind of hope and passion behind his eyes that he had when he opened the school.

I wrap my arms around him in a hug, “Be safe then.”

“Always.” I step back and walk to stand by the car. Hank gives me a hug before he disappears on the plane. Eric smiles and nods, only telling me it was nice to see me again. Before my dad boards the plane he tosses the keys to Peter. “Here take the car Peter. Drop (y/n) off at the nearest train station and then return it please.”

“I can just drive myself.” I say defensively.

“You don’t have your licenses.”

“That’s only because you never took me to the DMV, not because I can’t drive.” We both laughed and smiled before he walked onto the plane.

I went to say goodbye to Logan before he left too but he stopped me and we walked off to the side.

“This might be it, kid”

“What do you mean?”

“Well if this goes right and we stop them I’ll go back to my time. At least a version of it.”

“Probably for the best, your big brother routine is starting to get annoying.”

He smiles. He points over behind me, “might wanna be careful with him since he’s driving. I’ve seen how he runs and I can’t guess there’s much difference.” I look where he’s pointing and see Peter leaning up against the car fiddling with the keys only to drop them and stumble to pick them up.

“See there you go acting like my big brother. Next thing you’ll know you’ll be saying stay away from the teenage boy he’s troublesome.” I laugh

“Nah, I don’t need to do that with Peter. He might be a teenage boy now but something tells me you two would work out.” Logan cocks a smile, “I mean where I come from you two are married.”

I can feel my jaw drop, “Wait! What happened to not spoiling my future?” I smack his arm a little bit.

He shrugs, “Futures gonna change anyways. Don’t take it all too seriously, kid. You can make your own destiny.” He patted my shoulder, “good luck (y/n).”

We walked back over to the plane and Logan waved goodbye as he boarded. I stepped back to where Peter was by the car.

“What was all that about?”

It took me a second to even meet his eye after hearing that. I pushed it all out of my head trying to focus on the now. I laugh a little, “Sorry but if I tell you I’ll have to kill you.”

He cocked a smile, “rude.” He walked over and got in the driver's seat. “Common, let's go.”

“Do you even know how to drive?”

“Of course I do!” He pulled out some sunglasses he had swiped from Logan and slid them on, “I was built for speed.” With that he cranked the engine and we were off.

#peter maximoff #peter maximof x reader #peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x you #peter x reader #peter x y/n #peter x you #x men fanfiction #x men x reader #quicksilver x y/n #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver x you #quicksilver

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halcyonstorm · 4 years ago

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Levi notices she looks lighter and happier and is glad shes getting used to the commander post but also notices shes getting distant and blames it on commander duties. He thinks do i miss her? Nah maybe its just habit. Buuut theeen. He then finds out about it one day during an after training drinking session with 104th at the same bar and his breath hitches in his throat. Hange all pretty in a dress very drunk laughing at something this guy said and the world stops around him. He doesnt understand what it makes him feel. He feels like shit. Terrible. He hates it. He wants to smack the guy's face but doenst understand why. 104th notices his sudden unease and follows the direction he's staring and see hange with a guy. Sasha and Armin sigh dreamily happy that hange found someone she likes and that 'this is the happiest ive ever seen her" Levi dies at that. What does that mean? He wasnt enough? What does this guy give her that he doesnt? Wait. Why does it matter why am I even comparing. She cares about me too. But not like that. He thinks. It gets confusing and he leaves in a rush leaving everyone else stunned. Except connie who laughs at how hange made him jealous. The rest is just levi childishly following hange around mocking her happiness and the guy, finding out WHY she likes him. But gets nothing the guys actually nice and cares about hange. He hates himself and accepts her happiness but falls for her even harder since now he knows what shes like when shes in love and he wants it to be him. He accepts that hes fallen for her with the help of a very drunk man next to him at the same bar to whom he spills his secret to. The story continues and pls can someone write this already before i kill myself daydreaming about it

hi anon! sorry it took me a while but I finally got around to writing this. thank you for suggesting the prompt! i hope you enjoy. you can read it below OR check it out here on Ao3.

Title: Get Your Shit Together, Levi!

WARNING: ANGST

note: this is gifted to @tundrainafrica. i hope this satisfies your angst cravings. i hope you enjoy as well <3

Levi and some members from the 104 went out to a bar one night. It was a warm, summer evening and the sun had just begun to set. They all had a long day training out in the field, and Connie somehow convinced Levi to go out with them. Perhaps it was because Connie batted his puppy-dog eyes at Levi in such a way where if Levi didn’t, he thought Connie would break down and cry. Besides, Levi had asked Hange and she declined stating she had other plans. The bar was hustling and bustling that evening. They sat in a booth: Levi, Sasha, Connie, and Armin. They all ordered food, Sasha ordering herself more food than she looks like she can eat. The kids talked amongst themselves. After all, who was going to talk to Levi? He was their superior, almost like their parent who disappeared for years before showing up unexpectedly, expecting the kids to take him back. Armin made some small talk with Levi, but no one knew much about Levi. They knew two things for sure: he loved to clean and he loved tea. He usually hated alcohol, but somehow managed to down an entire beer glass before receiving the food. He was exhausted from the day, as was everyone else.

Suddenly, a loud laugh caught his attention. It wasn’t just any laugh, but a familiar one. A laugh that sent shivers down his spine and his heart to throb hard in his chest. It was Hange Zoe’s laugh. Had he known she were going, he would’ve invited her to avoid the awkward socialization with his subordinates. He looked to where the sound was coming from and was shocked. Other plans, huh? She was sitting next to a dark skinned man with a buzzcut and a beer glass in one hand. He was laughing too. She was laughing at something he said. The sight of her took his breath away. She never wore a dress like that before, but tonight she wore an emerald green dress that went a bit past her knees, exposing her muscular calves. The neckline of the dress cut low, exposing her collarbones. Her hair was in a ponytail but was neater than usual. Was she on a date? The realization caused Levi to feel as if his heart was being squeezed by a fist that was wringing out all the blood from it. Squeezing it so tight Levi thought he was going to die for a brief moment. He rubbed his eyes and looked again to make sure he could believe what he saw. He could. There she was: Hange in her beautiful emerald dress, talking and laughing with the dark-skinned man. They were sitting across from one another at a table-for-two. Their faces were close to one another as they spoke and laughed, drinking glasses and glasses of wine. Why do I feel this way? He asked himself. But he knew why. This feeling was familiar. It happened a few times before, specifically with Hange. It happened when she gave Moblit all her attention, gushing over how competent he was as her assistant, and now. Seeing her face to face on a date with this man who was much more attractive than himself: honey brown eyes; aquiline nose; plump lips; big, strong hands; a deep voice; and most importantly, he was much taller than Levi. He saw her date place a hand on hers, making Levi’s rage fester even stronger. I’m gonna slap that man, he thought. Why was he touching her? And why does she not mind it?

Levi had been staring for a long time, longer than he thought, before Connie nudged him from across the table. He was clearly drunk.

“Leeeeeeeeeevi,” he slurred with a cheshire cat-like grin. “Gawking, are we?” Levi rolled his eyes, taking his beer glass from him.

“You’ve gotta stop drinking,” he ordered, finishing whatever was left of Connie’s beer.

“Are you looking at Hange?” Armin asked, turning his head left to look at Levi. Armin could tell right away that was what Levi was doing. He shook his head no.

“She looks soooooo happy!” Sasha chimed in, dreamily gazing at the couple. Levi felt his face contort into a wretched grimace.

“She does. I haven’t seen her look so happy in a while,” Armin added. He quickly regretted it though when Levi threw him a harsh glare. Armin looked through his glare after a moment. Levi had a look in his eyes that Armin never saw before: hurt. Levi was hurt. His eyebrows were knit together, expressing a look that one may give when they’re about to cry.

I am not enough for her.

Armin felt his heart strings tugged, hesitantly placing a comforting hand on Levi’s bicep. He knew how much he loved her, despite his harsh tone. Hange was the only one who truly understood Levi and his words. Armin was able to observe Levi with Hange one night.

It was a cool March evening and Hange was working hard that day. She had been cooped up in her office sorting through and reading stacks and stacks of papers. She never came out for a meal that entire day. He saw Levi knock on her door with a plate of food in one hand and a blanket folded over his arm. She didn’t respond, so Levi allowed himself in. The door was shut behind him, but Armin could hear him softly talking to her before leaving the office. She must’ve fallen asleep so Levi draped the blanket over her shoulders. He must’ve left the food on her desk. That was the moment Armin realized Levi loved Hange. He didn’t just love her. He adored her. Ever since that moment, Armin was able to decipher Levi’s words from his true feelings.

“Oooooooooooooh, is someone jealous?” Connie teased. Sasha slapped his arm. Levi felt like if he stayed any longer, he’d explode and say something he’d regret.

“Shut the fuck up,” Levi sneered, standing up to leave. He felt as if he should torture himself more and watch the happy couple, but he didn’t have the willpower to do so. He drank a bit too much than he would’ve liked, and the heat inside the bar was getting to a boiling point, and he felt sick to his stomach. He didn’t need to hear it from the 104 that he lost his chance with Hange. They called out for him, but he didn’t hear. The air outside was much cooler compared to the sweltering temperature of hundreds of bodies tightly packed in the small bar. He found a trash can nearby, barely making it before vomiting. The stomach acid and alcohol came spewing out of him. He smelt it in his nose each time he breathed. He spit into the trash can when he was done, starting to slowly walk back to the cabins.

A few days later, Levi goes back to that bar alone after another hard day training. He felt like the sun was draining him of his energy each time he dared to stay outside. He sat on a bar stool and ordered a beer. There was a man next to him of whom he didn’t recognize. He was a stocky older man who had short black hair and brown eyes. The man looked drunk, the type of drunk where you can remember half the shit that was going on. The man saw Levi’s face and did not recognize him which gave Levi an impulsive idea.

“Are you from out of town?” Levi asked the man. He gave Levi a small smile.

“Yes.”

Say no more, Levi thought. Suddenly, a few drinks in, he opened up the key on his heart and started spilling his emotions to this guy. A few tears came through. Levi was buzzed at this point, his words too jittery and his hands too shaky. The man to whom he spoke listened intently. Somehow, this man he met at the bar had this pleasant aura that Levi felt he could tell him anything.

“Sir,” The man said. “Why don’t you just talk to her? Talk to her like you’re talking to me. That is the only way you’ll find out her true intentions with her date.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“But it is. You know how much more peace there’d be in the world if people just talked things out?”

The man’s unrealistic statement somehow gave Levi some confidence. That confidence, however, quickly went out the window when he caught a glance of a messy brown mop of hair. It was Hange with that dark-skinned man again. She wore a black dress this time with a high collar, her arms exposed. God, she looked beautiful. Levi wished she could dress up for him like that. In that moment, hearing her beautiful laugh and seeing her beautiful smile, Levi realized he was in love with her.

“Ah… is that her?” The man asked, looking over his shoulder inconspicuously (unlike Levi who starred with no shame).

“Yes…”

“Find time to talk to her,” The man said. “You got this, man.” Before Levi went to say something to the man again, he was gone. He tried to watch her as she talked with the man. She was radiant. She had a look on her face that he couldn’t quite place. Was it… No. It couldn’t be. Her eyes were glowing, she was shining. Was she falling for this man?

He felt like he was gonna be sick again. He abruptly got up from his seat and headed to the bathroom. He pushed the stall door open, vomiting once again. His throat was still sore from the last time, so this time the acid ripped at his throat even more. Hot tears started to stream down his face. He wanted her so bad. He wanted to be the one to make her laugh and smile. He wanted to be the one she fell in love with, not him. His heart ached so bad it was attempting to jump out from his throat. What hurt the most is that the guy she was with was nice. Too fucking nice. He laughed at her jokes, didn’t complain when she rambled, made subtle touches that weren’t inappropriate, and he was tall. He placed a hand to his heart as if it’d help put it back together. He took a deep, quivering inhale before standing up, flushing the toilet, and going to the faucet. He splashed his face with some cold water. How can I expect her to like me if I can’t confess? He looked at himself in the mirror.

You look like shit, he told himself. He murmured a few words aloud: “I’m in love with you. I am in love with you. Hange, I love you. I love you, Hange. Please be with me.” He took in a deep breath, stronger than the last, before exiting. He bumped into a person when he left the stall but paid no mind to it. When he was about to leave, he noticed the man she was with was gone. Maybe he was the one he bumped into?

“Oi, Hange,” he said, walking to her table. She smiled softly when she saw him.

“Levi, what’re you doing here? I thought you hated liquor.”

“I can’t spend time at a bar?” he replied, leaning a hand on the table. Hange rolled her eyes playfully.

“You can do whatever you please,” She said, beginning to stand up.. “Now if you’ll-”

“Four-eyes,” he interrupted her. “You look…” She stared at him intently, waiting for his response. “Good.”

Her eyes lost their light. Did he upset her? Then Levi realized she wasn’t staring at him anymore, she was looking past his shoulder. At that moment, the dark-skinned man approached Hange from behind Levi. So I did bump into him earlier.

“Are you ready?” He asked her. His voice was deep and seductive. Levi wondered if they fucked yet.

“Just a moment,” Hange replied. “Thank you, Levi. Was that all you had to say?” He felt like an idiot. An absolute idiot.

“N...Yes,” he said, losing all the confidence he had built up. How could he compete with this man? Levi just wretched in the bathroom and looked as pale as a ghost. Hange placed her hand on his shoulder gently, which made Levi’s heart skip a beat.

“Have a good night, Levi. Get your rest.” She started walking past him with her date towards the exit.

“No…” he murmured, inaudible to Hange. Or so he thought. She froze in her spot as she heard him change his answer.

“Onyankapon, could you wait outside for me? Give us a moment,” She whispered to her date. He nodded, exiting the bar. Hange turned around to face Levi. They were standing within a comfortable distance from each other.

“Levi, what else did you have to say? It’s getting late, you know.”

“I miss you,” he admitted. Hange’s eyes widened at his direct statement, knowing he usually states the opposite. “I miss hanging out with you and being with you all the time. You’re with him now and that’s okay but I just wanted to tell you that I can be better for you. I can take you on dates that are more exciting than a bar. You said you always wanted to swim, we can do that… We can do whatever you want us to do. All I care about is being with you.”

Hange’s face flushed red. He never talked like this with her before. She could tell he was a bit desperate but that didn’t make him any less genuine. Her heart ached. She was not sure how to feel. She did love him, but that was a while ago. A little part of her would always love Levi, but she was falling for Onyankapon now.

“I’m so sorry, Levi,” she said, barely audible. “I’m sorry. I did feel that way for you a long time ago, but I don’t anymore. I wish you had told me sooner.”

#do NOT come for me #ANGST #DID I MENTION ANGST #levihan #this has angst if i didn't mention it already #levi x hange #levi x hanji #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #levihan angst #levihan brainrot #asks #ask

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