#no matter what; summer road trips; even for just a couple weeks

[samarecharm]

Festival time

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Bluebird — Azriel x Reader — Part VIII

Hey! Sorry for the wait on this one, it’s a big one and took me longer than I anticipated! I haven’t had the chance to properly proofread so sorry for any mistakes! Hope you enjoy all the same 💕

Summary: Forced to go on the road with her father, Reader gets a rude awakening that starts to play on her mind. But Azriel’s not willing to let go so easily.

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Word count: 8.7k

Warnings: Pretty gruesome descriptions of violence and injury. Masturbation. Nsfw, 18+, minors dni!

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The curtains were drawn.

To superior fae sight, nothing lay behind them besides darkness. Not even the flickering of a candle.

Azriel waited. And waited, and waited. His eyes did not once stray from the window, and hope burned fierce in him that those curtains would suddenly part, that a beautiful human face would appear that made his heart race and his skin feel too taut on his bones.

The fabric didn’t even twitch.

He knew, after a couple of hours, that he would not be seeing his Bluebird tonight. He tried not to feel too disappointed as he flew back towards the wall, the comfort of the fae realm. Such was the nature of their…relationship. It was clandestine and risky, and sometimes things would come up. Sometimes, one or both of them would be unavailable.

But as he stripped off his leathers and fell into his huge bed, he couldn’t tear his thoughts from her. Thoughts of where she was, what she was doing, what had rendered her unavailable to meet — whether she was safe.

Too many thoughts like that would do him no good. Would only worsen this…this alien sensation, of needing her with him all the time. Needing to have her in sight. Needing to have her at all.

He could only pray to the Mother that the next week pedalled on fast.

That he’d see his Bluebird soon.

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It had been the most uncomfortable day of your life.

A monotonous day on horseback, one landscape blurring into another. The village you were travelling to seemed like worlds away — and the journey was only made worse by the sticky summer heat, and the fact that you rode with Devin, slotted between the tight press of his muscled thighs.

Still, you were unflinching in your resolve that while you may not have been able to wriggle out of sharing a horse with him, you weren’t going to talk to him, no matter how much he tried to ply you with conversation.

It was his fault you had to come on this trip in the first damn place.

You tried your hardest to while away the time by sinking into your thoughts. It seemed that with each hour that passed, those thoughts became more vibrant, more longing. Thoughts of you, Azriel, a wildflower meadow. The ability to just…be in each other’s arms.

The ability to kiss him. Touch him.

Those thoughts didn’t help at all. It was an effort to keep them at bay, lest you make the ride even more uncomfortable.

But eventually — thankfully — you and your father’s group had arrived in the target village, just as the sun had been setting. News of your father’s cause had spread wide enough that it seemed his presence was expected. And very much welcomed.

You’d been ushered into the village tavern and supplied with more food and drinks than any of you needed. The feast kept you occupied while your father was absent awhile, apparently visiting a few villagers he was familiar with. And when he’d returned, it was there, that evening, nestled at the very back of the old, crumbling building, that you’d watched your his passionate presentation.

You’d heard the words spoken numerous times, of course. To his friends, and to anyone at the Bluebird Inn who would listen. But this was more than just a speech. This was an entire damn performance.

And it surprised you, how uncomfortable it made you to watch.

For all your father was quiet, brooding, sometimes soft-spoken, he commanded the tavern with a voice louder than you’d ever heard come out of him. His cheeks had grown ruddier as his own words riled him up. Spittle accompanied the angered, venomous words that left his mouth.

And it was all you could do to watch, your dinner feeling leaden in your stomach as you listened to the words — listened to him reel off a list of people he, personally, had met, who had suffered at the hands of the fae. As he told the story of your mother’s brutal death, and the details formed a lump in your throat, never lessening in impact. As he presented his ideas, his plans, in a way that was so refined, so expert, that it almost had you considering that they were the best course of action.

But you knew Azriel. You knew Azriel. These faeries that your father raged about were not his brethren. Azriel himself would abhor their actions.

You repeated that to yourself in your head, like a chant. Azriel was not like them. Azriel was good. Azriel cared for you.

Two whole hours, you had to sit there and listen to your father talk about frightening creatures who stole babies from their bassinets, who brutalised young girls, who tore families apart. Two whole hours, and your muscles were stiff and aching. Your head throbbing. Your body and mind desperate for the oblivion of sleep. A respite away from the pang in your gut.

Azriel was not like them. Azriel was good. Azriel cared for you.

The sight of your father and his men traipsing around the room with rolls of parchment and gathering signatures was a relief — only because you knew this would soon be over.

You sighed softly to yourself, slumping back in your chair and absentmindedly rubbing a hand over your stomach. As though it would somehow ease the complicated feelings that twisted it so violently.

“Impactful.” The chair beside you was pulled out, and Devin lowered himself into it. “Don’t you think?”

You gave the slightest dip of your chin. Couldn’t deny that your father had a way with words.

Devin pursed his lips, his eyes skating over you. “We have a long ride home, Y/N. Are you going to ignore me the whole way back, too?”

“Yes,” you hissed. “Because you had no right to talk to my father on my behalf.”

He folded his arms, appearing unflinching and unbothered by what he’d done. You may have thought he was in the wrong, but he certainly didn’t.

“I did so out of concern for you,” he replied. “Because what you said about the fae was wrong. None of them are good. The sooner you see that, the better.”

You bit inside of your cheek, simply to prevent yourself from arguing. But gods, you wanted to contest the statement. You wished you could tell him that you had cold, hard, beautiful evidence that he was wrong.

But doing so would only make things worse for you.

So you merely folded your own arms, and focused your gaze on the men weaving in and out of tables, gathering signatures, clapping supporters on the back and parting with well wishes. You stared and stared until the sight of them blurred.

And then Devin said, “You haven’t been yourself recently.”

You whipped your head around to look at him — gape at him. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

“I know you were acting shifty as fuck the night I came to check on you during the Summer Festival. You couldn’t get rid of me quick enough. I’d be forgiven for thinking you had someone there with you.”

“Who would I possibly have at my house?” you narrowed your eyes. “I’m not allowed to make friends, to form connections.”

His gaze softened. “I’m your friend.”

It wasn’t that long ago that you’d fantasised about him being more than that. He’d seemed so incredible, so gallant — a young man who could sweep you off your feet, and protect you while he guarded an entire village. You’d wondered if there was ever any likelihood of him being drawn to you, instead of one of the many other beautiful girls within proximity. You’d wanted to impress him.

Now, you just wanted him out of your fucking sight before you said something that would land you in more shit.

“You—”

The tavern’s front door flung open, hard enough to slam against the wall, abruptly severing your sentence.

All fell still and silent as every face looked up to take in the man who entered. Hair ripped from the knot at the back of his neck, and he was drenched in sweat, clothes rumpled and—

And saturated with blood.

There was a beat, and then everyone who crowded the small space appeared to collectively clock what they were seeing. A wave of gasps rippled through the room like a breeze.

“I—” the man’s eyes immediately landed on your father, as though it were him he searched for. “I tried to do something, but I was too late. I couldn’t—”

“What has happened?” Your father strode forward.

“I was too late,” he repeated. “I…I think you need to see this.”

Just like that, every member of your group was readying themselves to leave — to throw themselves straight into the unknown. Devin, too, rose.

But your father was wrenching round to face them, shaking his head. “I’ll take only a couple of you with me. The rest of you should stay here until I send word,” he angled himself towards your table. “Devin, Y/N — you’ll join me.”

“Me?” Your eyes widened. Granted, you didn’t know what, exactly, you’d be facing, but one look at the blood-drenched man at the entrance told you it was bad. You didn’t know nearly enough about fighting, or defending, or healing—

“Yes.” Your father’s tone brooked no room for argument. “You.”

There was no chance to protest as you were yanked out of your seat by Devin and pulled along with him while your father headed out of the door. Your heart raced in your chest as Devin helped you up onto his horse, and you were lurched into action.

All you could think was that you wished — so badly wished — to be back in the safety of the Bluebird Inn. And Azriel’s arms.

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You didn’t travel far. A few dirty, dusty roads brought you straight to a house that was mostly unassuming, no different to the houses in your village.

But the similarities stopped at the first scream that ripped through the night and had you violently flinching, had the horses panicking.

Devin dismounted with ease and promptly lifted you off, setting you on your feet at the exact same moment another scream sounded, thinning out into a strangled sob.

“Come.” Your father beckoned to you as Devin made quick work of tying the horses up.

But you couldn’t get your feet to move. You stayed firmly rooted to the spot as you shook your head. “I can’t go in there.”

“You can and you will,” he beckoned again. “Don’t let me down.”

With him in front of you and Devin now at your back, you felt you had no choice but to follow. The man that had burst into the tavern held the front door open, increasing the volume of what now seemed to be wailing sobs.

“I’ve heard of your cause,” he said quietly as your father stepped in first. “Which is why I think you should see this. So you can report back firsthand to the Queens.”

The entryway was just light enough to catch the incline of your father’s head. He said nothing as you were led through—

You stopped dead in the doorway of what seemed to be a dining room. So abruptly that Devin’s front collided with your back.

“Her name is — was — Dahlia.” The man inched towards the table, balling his fists at his sides. “She was only fourteen years old.”

“What happened?” Those two little words came from you — and you didn’t even realise it.

Because lying motionless on the table was the body of a young girl — from what you could make out beneath the injuries that covered her skin, anyway.

Her pallor was such a deathly white that you knew she was long gone. Her clothes were dirty, ripped…by what looked like claws. Chunks of flesh had been gouged out, her throat cut—

Your ears were ringing too loudly for you to think. But as your heart beat at a gallop, another cry rent the air, stealing your attention to the corner of the room.

“This is Marin,” the man breathed, moving closer to the woman who sat curled up and distraught in the corner. “Dahlia’s mother. She saw the attack with her own eyes.”

“Oh, gods,” you whispered. Devin’s hand landed on your shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze.

Your father took slow, careful footsteps towards the grieving mother. And the softness with which he knelt before her, laying a tentative hand atop of hers…it had your eyes stinging.

“My name is Marschal,” he introduced himself quietly. “I’m so sorry for what those monsters have taken from you. Your beautiful daughter is safe in the Beyond now. The fae can hurt her no more.”

Another soft cry shuddered out of Marin. But she nodded her head and answered, her voice watery, “I know who you are. What…what you do.”

“Then you’ll know why I’ve been brought here. What happened…it’s something I believe our queens should know about,” he paused. “If you’re able, I’d like to know exactly what it was you witnessed. As much as you can manage, of course.”

The request almost made you flinch. It seemed callous, somehow, when her child’s body was still right there on the table and hadn’t yet been sent back to the earth. But after a beat of Marin staring at your father through her tear-filled eyes, she offered the slightest dip of her chin.

“I…” Her voice wobbled. “I’ll try.”

“Devin,” your father murmured over his shoulder. “Fetch her a drink to steady her nerves.”

You were jostled ever so slightly forward as Devin slipped past you — too close to Dahlia’s poor, broken body than you could handle. You turned away, your feet numbly carrying you to Marin’s side. You took her hand into your own, and she didn’t object to the comfort.

In fact, her voice was a little steadier as she said, “It was just me and my Dahlia.” She inhaled slowly through her nose, steeling herself. Her eyes fluttered shut for the briefest second before they opened again. “We were returning home from visiting my sister in another village. It was such a nice night that we decided not to spend coin on transport. The walk was a bit lengthy, but we’d made it before. We knew which way to go.”

The story was momentarily interrupted by Devin re-entering the room and handing a glass of amber liquid to Marin. Her free hand trembled as she took it and lifted it to her lips. Beads of dark liquid coloured her pale lips as she swallowed it down and continued.

“Only, Dahlia insisted on cutting through a forest to look at some plants,” she whispered. “She’s into botany, you see — she was into botany.” A fresh wave of shuddering sobs threatened to overpower her, but somehow, she found the strength to tamp down on them. “So we went into the forest, but Dahlia, she…she had a habit of wandering off, and I got separated from her. It wasn’t for long. But when I found her again, she was with a man.”

Your father repeatedly softly, “A man?”

“I knew at once that it was a faerie. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. And Dahlia thought so, too. He was talking to her, and she had this glazed look in her eyes like she was somewhere else. He offered her his hand, and she took it. I knew in my bones that he was going to take her away from me, so I stepped forward, announced myself. I told Dahlia to come, that we were going home. The man answered for her in a voice like music.”

“What did he say?” you rasped.

“He said — he said that Dahlia would make a pretty wife for a faerie. That faerie men liked human brides. He said that she was coming back with him, across the wall. He asked her if she wanted to do that, and she said yes. I think he had her under some sort of spell. I could tell that it wasn’t my Dahlia talking. And I panicked. I stepped forward to grab her out of his arms, and he attacked. Immediately. It was all so quick, I couldn’t register what he was doing. But then he was disappearing before my eyes, and Dahlia was crumpling to the floor, and I knew…I could see she was gone.”

A keening, horrendous wail left her, and she was curling herself up so tightly — like she was trying to hold herself together. It was all you could do to grip onto her hand as she rocked back and forth and cried over and over and over, my Dahlia, my Dahlia, my Dahlia.

You waited for your father to say something else — to come up with an answer as to what might ease her suffering, if anything at all could.

But it was Devin who lowered himself to one knee before her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his face gentle, open.

“Madam, the last thing I wish to do is cause you any more distress at such an awful time.” He spoke in the calm, sure way that all village guards did. “But I am a guard of the village from which my companions and I hail. Our girls have been suffering attacks at the hands of the fae, also. If, perhaps, you could describe the faerie you saw…who hurt your child…”

“He was beautiful, as I said,” Marin snivelled. “So beautiful, it almost hurt to look at him. Dark hair and golden-brown skin. Eyes that seemed to glow. That beauty made him easy for Dahlia to trust. He seemed kind. His voice was just as stunning as he was.”

“Their beauty,” your father supplied sympathetically, “is a calculated part of their thrall. Do not blame yourself nor your daughter for being allured by it. The fae know what they are doing.”

You did not hear whether the reassurance brought Marin any comfort. You didn’t catch what Devin then said to her, despite you looking right at him, watching his lips move.

Your mind was roaring, ears screaming. You felt…panic.

Their beauty is a calculated part of their thrall.

The fae know what they are doing.

So beautiful, it almost hurt to look at him.

Dark hair and golden-brown skin. Eyes that seemed to glow. He seemed kind. His voice was just as stunning as he was.

Faerie men like human brides.

You felt like you were going to be sick.

Was it so easy to be lured by the mere beauty of the fae?

Was that what Azriel had done to you?

Dahlia’s attacker had seemed nice to her…just as Azriel seemed nice to you.

And Dahlia was now lying lifeless and brutalised just inches away. Allured by a beautiful faerie. Like the other village girls. Like your mother. Like you—

You launched up, nausea turning your stomach. This was too much. If all fae were the same…if all of them were capable of this…

“What is it?” Devin asked. Your father didn’t speak; merely stared at you with an indiscernible expression.

“I need some fresh air, I’m sorry.” Feeling as though you were gasping for breath, you pushed through them, stumbled clumsily past Dahlia’s body and out of the room before they could stop you. You focused on forcing your legs forward, finding your way out of the house. Balmy summer air coaxed you towards it and had you practically falling out of the door.

What had you been thinking, having regular, secret meetings with a faerie who could tear you apart with his bare hands? Inviting him into your village, your home? Allowing yourself to think that he was somehow different? Finding ways to justify your involvement with him?

Azriel may not have been responsible for the attacks himself, but his kind were. You didn’t know him. Didn’t know what he was capable of. For all you were aware, your warming to him had been carefully manipulated by him, by magic. For all you were aware, he could have an extensive list of human girls that he’d softened and lured. He could be using you for something.

You didn’t want to think about what. Didn’t want to know.

What you did know was that you couldn’t see him anymore. Dahlia was some sort of sign that your dealings with the fae had to stop. What you had with Azriel needed to stop—

“It hits a little close to home, doesn’t it?” Your father’s soft voice reached you from the doorway. Amidst your reeling thoughts, you hadn’t heard him follow you out.

You sucked in a huge gulp of fresh air and pivoted to face him. “It does,” you agreed. “I’m sorry if I disappointed you by running out of there.”

He shook his head, took a step closer. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I felt it was necessary for you to see just what a single faerie was capable of. That doesn’t mean I expect you to be unfeeling and unaffected. That sight in there is…it’s terrifying. And gods, if it were you lying on that table—” he cut himself off, swallowing hard. It was a rare thing for him to share such sentiments with you. That was as close as he’d allow himself to get.

So you nodded, letting him know that you got it. He was terrified of you meeting the same fate that poor Dahlia had.

The moment hung between you, thick as the sticky night air. And then you were taking the plunge and asking the question that lived somewhere deep and heavy inside you, trying to claw its way out.

“Was it like that when Mama was attacked?” you studied your father, waiting for him to flinch, grimace, something. “When she was attacked by a faerie, did she…did she look much like Dahlia does?”

A gruesome question, and perhaps an unfair one.

But for the first time in your life, you needed to know — the gory details. How bad it had been.

Your father pursed his lips, staring back at you. For a moment, you thought he might not answer.

But then he shook his head. Shoved his hands into his pockets. He looked…vulnerable.

“No,” he answered, his voice laced with something you couldn’t grasp. “No. There was far less left of your mother after her attack. Nothing of the woman I had loved.”

Before you could answer, he turned and trudged back inside.

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Three weeks in a row.

Three weeks in a damn row, the curtains had remained shut at Y/N’s bedroom window.

Azriel thought his need to see her was starting to eat him alive.

But gods, he missed her. He missed her curiosity, that she did not seem to fear him. Missed that he could lose hours talking to her about everything and nothing. Missed her scent, the taste and feel of her lips—

He heaved a sigh, sprawling back in his bed and running a hand over the panes of his bare stomach. His blood thudded and thrummed in his veins. Burned too hot.

He knew, at least, that she was well, only from the rare glances he caught of her from the sky above the village. Seeing her and not being able to swoop down and speak to her was a whole torture of its own. But if the curtains were closed, that meant it wasn’t safe. The last thing he wanted was to get her into trouble.

Still, that didn’t stop his bones from feeling too hot with need, his heart too heavy—

Another quiet sight escaped him, the pads of his fingers stroking absentmindedly over his abdomen. It felt entirely out his control that his thoughts quickly ventured down the same avenue they’d been walking for three weeks, now. Yet again recalling that conversation he and Y/N had had when he’d last been with her. The broadened confidence that had lain within her actions.

She’d asked him about lovers. She’d kissed him deeply, yearningly, and had he not stopped her, she would have taken it further. He knew she would have — knew it from the way her scent had changed.

Gods, that scent. He was sure it had followed him everywhere these past weeks. It would drive him mad yet. The scent of fresh summer air and sweet, ripe apples. It was perfect, and mouthwatering, and Cauldron boil him, Azriel wanted more. A touch. A taste—

A low noise rumbled in his chest as his cock instantly hardened. This was why it was best to keep his mind occupied. Because as time went on, so too did his growing, strengthening, snowballing attraction for the human woman.

She was likely unaware of what affect she truly had on him.

With only the covers draped over his naked body, the light brush of the fabric against his hardened length was too much. He kicked them away, glancing down at his body’s reaction to the mere thought of Y/N. Nothing to do with him not having had sex for a while now.

All to do with the fact that he wanted Y/N. Badly.

He wrapped a hand around his cock, releasing a hushed moan at the touch. And as his thumb mopped up the precum at the head, and he began to pump slowly, languidly, he closed his eyes and imagined it was her hand that touched him.

That mental image threw the unhurried pace straight out of the window. Fantasies swarmed him as he writhed on the mattress and bit down on his husky, growling moans. Thoughts of Y/N stroking and squeezing and licking him, of her guiding him through his pleasure with filthy words and promises. Watching his length disappear between those perfect, full lips—

A shout shuddered out of him that he was too slow to suppress, his chest heaving as he emptied his cock onto his stomach. The pleasure was too much. He couldn’t think around it, couldn’t see anything but the stars that burst in his vision.

He didn’t know when he’d last cum so fast, so hard.

But somehow, he did know that no other woman, female, whatever, would ever be enough again. Only Y/N. He wanted Y/N.

He needed to find a way to see her.

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Resolving to have nothing more to do with Azriel did not, unfortunately, banish thoughts of him. Nor did it banish the feeling of missing him, missing what you’d grown comfortable with.

It was hard to go from looking forward to weekly rendezvous to just…nothing. No social interaction, besides what you got from behind the bar of the inn. No personal connections.

It was for the best, you told yourself. In the three weeks since you’d been on the road with your father and his men, those images of Dahlia’s broken body had not left your mind. They haunted you as thoroughly as the sounds of Marin’s cries and wails. As thoroughly as those words she’d spoken.

The most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

Azriel was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. And while he may not have been responsible for Dahlia’s attack, or the attacks on the girls in your village…that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable.

The fae were a violent people. There was no getting around that. And you…you could not take that risk. No matter how much your heart yearned to do so, just to feel the touch of Azriel’s hands and hear the smooth lilt of his voice.

He was fae. You were human. It could never work.

So you kept your curtains closed, and you kept yourself busy. You knew Azriel must have wondered what was going on, why you’d been unavailable three weeks in a row. Soon enough, you told yourself, he was bound to get bored and seek connection with somebody else, and your brief brush with the fae would become a bizarre, distant memory.

You hoped.

Perhaps if you chanted it to yourself enough, it would come true.

But gods, you’d become so comfortable with him. Had found what felt like a real, genuine bond with somebody, like nothing you’d been able to experience before. It was no easy thing to return to loneliness, just you and the inn and your piano. Everything was suddenly too dull, too quiet.

At least your father hadn’t asked you to come on the road with him again.

His trips were getting longer, the further he ventured. Two days had stretched to four. You were more alone than ever.

Tonight, when the last of your customers had filed through the door, you were not in the mood to play piano, nor to read a book. Your frame of mind was a tricky one. You felt…restless and misplaced. Tired in your bones and yet wide awake and longing.

You tossed and you turned, kicking your sheets, writhing against your mattress until you were sticky with sweat. You wanted to pull back the curtains and wrench open the window, but…not at this hour. Not while Azriel might still be circling above, searching to see if you were available.

So in the dark, you let the hours tick by, waited for sleep to find you or…some semblance of peace. You listened to each chime of the village’s clock tower, making you aware of every hour you’d lain awake; one o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock. No passing time made a difference. Restlessness still commanded your body until finally, you’d had enough.

It was nearing four o’clock by the time you threw your sheets off you and stormed out of your bed, exasperated and fed up — by your constant thoughts that would not leave you alone, and how they seemed to control everything. What were you to do without the few hours of oblivion that sleep afforded you?

Was even this some power of the fae…to command your mind and drive you mad with sleeplessness and restlessness until you were losing yourself entirely, becoming an empty shell who lived only to harbour feelings for an ethereal being who saw you as some sort of toy? Was your longing even real, or just the product of magic?

You weren’t sure of anything anymore.

Though still very much night, the darkness had lifted just slightly over the village with another summer morning rapidly approaching. Birds were beginning to wake and sing their songs. It wouldn’t be too long before the milkman ventured through the village with his wagon, leaving bottles at the residents’ doors.

If Azriel had tried to visit, he certainly wouldn’t be around any longer — not with the world waking up.

So you resigned yourself to the fact that you wouldn’t be sleeping. You threw a robe over your nightgown and trudged down the stairs, irritated and ill at ease. You headed straight for the back door, to your small yard that was just as grey and dull as everything else. At least the air would be fresh. Somewhat.

Though tinged with the smells of the countryside, it was nice to feel it wash over you. Cool, in the absence of the sun, and yet not cold. You slumped down onto the wooden bench against the wall and rested your head back, closing your eyes.

How, you wondered, had you been foolish enough to land yourself in such a predicament? How had you gone from being some human, village nobody, to brushing arms with the very beings you’d been raised to despise? It had to be magic that had weaved its way into your mind. Perhaps Azriel hadn’t meant to bewitch you, but he had. Perhaps it was some natural facet of his kind that he had no control over, that you’d fallen victim to. You’d heard stories of the kinds of fae who were love talkers — Gancanagh — whose sole magic was to pour sweetened words into women’s ears and so thoroughly seduce them until they were nothing more than their feelings. Could that be what Azriel was? Could he have—

A thud ripped you from your thoughts so abruptly that you jolted, your eyes flying open.

Just in time to see Azriel jump down from the opposite wall, feet landing smoothly on the cracked concrete ground of the yard.

You stared at him, knocked speechless, for a moment, by the mere sight of him. You couldn’t deny that you’d missed gazing upon his brilliance. The dark leathers and flawless appearance. The shadows.

But you quickly yanked yourself out of it, shaking your head. You would not be bewitched or love-talked or…whatever. Not again.

“It’s so good to see you,” Azriel breathed, cleaving the silence.

But you were up on your feet, still shaking your head, suddenly cold all over. “You can’t be here.”

“I checked the village before I came down,” he stepped closer. “All is fine—”

“No,” you interrupted. “You need to leave.”

He paused, seeming to take his time studying you. His brow furrowed at your guardedness, the way you crossed your arms over your chest and eyed the distance between yourself and the door.

“I don’t understand…” he murmured, taking a step closer. “Where have you been? What’s happened?”

The backs of your legs hit the bench in your attempt to back up. “None of that matters. You just need to stay away from me. Leave, and don’t come back.”

Surprise seemed to steal him so suddenly that it gave you an opening the move. You made to cross your way back to the door, to get yourself inside. Locks were no use against his ability to winnow, but at least you could find a weapon in there, should you need it.

But Azriel was stepping closer just as fast, his warm hand closing around your elbow in a gentle yet firm touch. Gods, you’d missed that touch—

“Don’t,” you snapped, recoiling. “Do not touch me—”

“Y/N, just look at me. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Why?” Pivoting to face him didn’t ease his grip even a little. “So you can charm me into believing you’re not dangerous?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked, his eyes blazing. “I never claimed not to be dangerous. But I am not a danger to you.”

A brusque, almost hysterical laugh broke from you. “Resorting to faerie riddles? How convenient—”

“Y/N—”

“Let me go.”

This time, when you yanked your arm back, his hand fell. You didn’t wait around to see his reaction as you darted through the door and slammed it shut, locking it with trembling hands.

But when you turned, he was right there in front of you, in your fucking house. You backed yourself up against the door to stop your body colliding with his.

“Get out,” you breathed. “I mean it. Get away from me.”

Slowly, he rose his hands in a placating manner. There was pleading in his tone as he carefully bit out, “I just want to talk to you. Please. Tell me what I’ve done.”

You stared at him, pressing your palms flat against the door. It hurt so, so badly that you wanted to hear him out. Wanted to wipe that crestfallen, devastated expression from his face and hold his hand and talk to him and kiss him—

No, no, no. You shook your head, shook the thoughts away. Azriel watched with wide eyes.

“I am not a danger to you,” he said again, slowly lowering his hands. “But if that’s what you’re worried about…” smooth as a damn waltz, he unsheathed a blade, sharp enough to slice through the sky itself. He gripped the hilt, holding the beautiful weapon out to you. “Take this. It is the only thing I am currently armed with, and if at any point you feel in danger, you have my permission to stab me with it. I just want to talk.”

Your gaze flicked between the blade and his face, unsure and upset. Upset, because you knew that the longer you spent in his presence, spent listening to his voice, the harder it would be to remember the driving force behind your hostility. The harder it would be to convince him to leave and never return.

But perhaps the key to that was not being hostile towards him, but rather, making him hostile towards you. That would be easier. You had never been completely honest with him — about who your father was. Maybe fessing up to the fact that you’d joined him in his campaign would be enough to anger Azriel into leaving.

You jerked your chin at the blade, squaring your shoulders. “Place it on the floor and step away.”

He didn’t hesitate. A shadow snaked out, coiling around the dagger and easing it to the floor with barely a noise. And then Azriel stepped back, and back, and back. Until he was pressed against the wall opposite you.

He didn’t move an inch as you reached for the knife and took it into your hand. The feel of it was weighty and foreign — and beautiful.

“I just want to talk to you,” Azriel said again, his voice gritty. “Tell me what happened. Tell me what…what’s changed.”

You met his eyes, squaring your shoulders as you admitted, “I wasn’t completely honest with you.”

His face showed no reaction. He didn’t even stir. Just stared back at you and spoke clearly, carefully. “Alright. Talk me through that.”

“We once discussed a band of humans who are raising a cause against the fae. Do you remember?”

“I do.”

“I never told you that it is my father who set up the cause. He is the one behind the campaigns. He is the one who takes his men village to village and spreads word of the evil deeds of the fae. He’s behind it all.”

A heavy silence filled the space between you. Azriel stared at you, his expression unreadable. This was the moment he would curse you for keeping the truth from him. The moment he would leave and never look back.

Except, all he did was nod his head once. Like you’d merely offered him a droll comment about the weather.

“Do you not understand what I’m telling you?” you pushed. “I sat up on that hill with you and discussed the matter when I knew the entire time who you were talking about. What they were doing. I deceived you. Kept it from you.”

“There are things you don’t know about me, too,” he answered quietly. “Things that I, for certain reasons, have not told you yet. I would be foolish to assume the same wouldn’t be the case for you,” he stared at you, head-on. Unflinching. “I know better than anybody, Y/N, that you cannot help who or what you come from. I won’t judge you for it, just as I’ve asked you not to judge me.”

Gods, he was so damn reasonable. So much more…worldly and mature, than the human men you knew in the village.

Then again, Azriel had centuries of life on them.

“I’m not angry that you didn’t tell me,” he studied you. “I can understand why you’d be cautious—”

“My father took me on his campaign three weeks ago. Took me on the road with him and his men.”

 It was that which seemed to really stop Azriel in his tracks. Something — the slightest thing, a tiny reaction — flared in his eyes. You weren’t sure what it was.

Good. This was good. Maybe now he would get the point, that you and he needed to stop seeing each other.

“Night after night, I sat and listened to what my father had to say. To what he knows,” your hand gripped hard at the knife’s hilt, like it was the only thing grounding you and making you able to speak. “None of it was stuff I hadn’t heard before. I even resented listening to it. I curled myself up in a corner and repeated to myself over and over that whatever was being said, you were not like that. You were not the kind of fae of which my father spoke.”

Azriel’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I am not. Just as I told you.”

“I found it frustrating to hear him tarnish all of your people with the same stories when you had proved to me otherwise. That some fae could be good. That I had been ignorant. And then,” a short laugh rasped out of you, “and then, as if the universe was trying to send me some sort of message, a man came looking for us and said we needed to accompany him somewhere. And we did. My father, a member of his group, and myself. We followed this man to a house in that village, and I knew it was bad from the other end of the street. I could hear the cries coming from within that house, the wailing.”

That information was met with a wall of silence — as though Azriel was biting back his words and waiting for you to finish your story before he would deign to speak. Even if the rigid set of his shoulders told you he desperately wanted to do otherwise.

“There was a girl’s body in that house.” Merely recalling the image of Dahlia had a lump rising in your throat. You silently begged your eyes not to tear up. “The body of a fourteen-year-old girl. A child. A fae male had attacked her, and her poor mother had seen the entire thing.”

Azriel swallowed. “That’s awful—”

“She told us exactly what she saw. Described the faerie to us. How he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, with dark eyes and golden skin and such a charming demeanour. How her daughter hadn’t stood a chance, because he was already weaving his way into her mind and appealing himself to her. Making her think that he was no threat. Because his beauty, his allure, was above anything else.”

“And…what are you saying?” Azriel asked bleakly. “That you think it was I who attacked that girl—?”

“No, but it was a faerie! It’s always the fucking fae!”

The words left you so angrily, so loudly, that you realised you’d been waiting for someone to yell them at. That they burned inside you, and they hurt. You felt…foolish. Betrayed.

And Azriel appeared to read all of that on your face. He swallowed again, hard, balling his fists at his sides like it took everything in his power to hold himself back and not approach you.

“I never once denied that faeries are capable of such atrocities,” he stared at you. “Not once. I simply asked you to acknowledge that there is good and bad in all people, whatever we are. It’s not as black and white as the fae just being bad.”

“And yet,” your voice was cold, “I haven’t been presented with anything to say otherwise.”

That might have been a low blow. You were guessing it was, from the way Azriel physically flinched, before schooling his features.

Because he…he was evidence of good, wasn’t he? He certainly had been, before the situation with poor Dahlia. He’d shown you that he was tender and soft, patient and kind. It had been enough for a while.

But you had more or less just said that it had never been enough at all. And that seemed to bother him more than anything else.

“You and I are worlds apart,” you added, sounding weaker. “Whatever or whoever you are…we simply have no business getting involved with one another.”

“That’s bullshit.” In a flash, Azriel was pushing off the wall. He strode forward a couple of steps, before thinking better of it and stopping in his tracks. Ferocity turned his golden skin a ruddy hue. “I don’t care what sides of the wall either of us fall on. What matters is that I feel right around you. I feel alive because of you. If we have no business getting involved, tell me why I cannot sleep for having constant thoughts about you. Tell me why you have consumed me as though you have bewitched me.”

You blinked, almost — almost — wanting to laugh. The description was one you absolutely had fitted to him. To consider that he’d come to the same conclusion about you—

“I swear to you that I have never used any sort of faerie sway to appeal myself to you,” he continued. “What we feel for one another is genuine. I keep coming back to you because I ache for you. And I don’t judge you one bit for thinking badly of my kind — especially after what you saw on your father’s trip. It’s awful, and I abhor what was done to that girl. But I beg of you, Y/N — please. Do not paint me in the same light.”

Each word pelted you like hailstones, the impact of them sending a shiver coursing down your spine. So quickly, your body wanted to falter, to fold, to go marching over to him. It took every shred of effort to stand your ground and grip onto the knife as though your life depended on it.

“I’m not trying to invalidate what you’ve seen, what you’ve experienced.” Azriel took another slight step forward. “I would never. I just…I ask you to give me one more chance to prove that there is another side to the coin. That good can exist as well as bad.”

You pointed the blade towards him, stopping him in his tracks. But you lifted your chin as you asked, “How? How would you prove that? I don’t want any faerie trickery.”

“And there would be none. I want to show you…for you to see with your own eyes…”

“…see what?”

“The good that I know. The good that I live amongst.” Pleading lay within his eyes. “Just give me one more night. One more night of your time to take you into my world. To show you more of myself. And if you still want nothing more to do with me…” Slowly, he shook his head, as though he could hardly bear the thought. “Then I will find a way to accept it, and you will never have to see me again.”

You shook — trembled — with the effort to rein yourself in. You didn’t understand this carnal…thing, deep inside you, that was drawing you to him. Like a thread in your body, connected to one in his, begging you to close the gap and go to him.

You rocked on your feet, eyeing him with none of the anger you’d felt moments before, and all of the caution at how he so often made you feel. Like you wanted to be in front of him. To touch him.

“I don’t…understand what you’re suggesting,” you said slowly.

Azriel took a single, tiny step closer. You didn’t stop him. “Let me take you across The Wall for one night. A few hours, if that’s all you’re willing to give. To my city, my home. Let me introduce you to my family. To everyone and everything that reminds me how much good exists amongst my kind, even when I sometimes doubt it myself.”

“Across The Wall—?”

“It would be entirely safe.” Another step, closing that gap between you. “I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. And if we get there and you don’t even want to talk to me, you don’t have to. I just…I just want you to see. You deserve to see the good.”

So many feelings warred inside you at once. Intrigue, curiosity, fear — such raging fear. Excitement. Maybe…maybe a little bit of hope.

Hope that you could still be proved wrong. Because you still wanted to be proved wrong.

You didn’t want to let Azriel go.

Swallowing hard, your eyes shuttered. What he was asking of you was huge, and that wasn’t even considering the logistics of how you would do it. “I don’t…know if I could.”

With another step, Azriel was close enough to touch. The familiar scent of him was almost enough, alone, for you to fold. The hand that held the blade lowered entirely without your willing.

“Why don’t you take the day to think about it?” Hazel eyes were a long-awaited caress against your face. “Your father is away for another night yet, isn’t he?”

Your gaze clashed with his abruptly. “How do you know that?”

Quickly, he held his hands up. “Just going by the pattern of his previous trips, that’s all. He doesn’t usually return until the weekend.”

Right. Perhaps you were being a little bit paranoid. You forced yourself to relax a little.

“Yes,” you concurred. “He’s away for another night.”

Azriel’s chin dipped. “So…how about this? You take the day to think my offer over. If you decide you want to accept and come with me, I’ll be waiting for you above. At midnight, on the dot. If you decide you don’t, and you do not want anything else to do with me…well, like I said, I’ll find a way to accept it somehow.”

You knew your resolve was already slipping, leaning more towards what felt right, rather than…that what you’d been raised to believe was right.

And it wasn’t as though it was an unreasonable offer. You believed that Azriel could keep you safe either side of The Wall. Your wellbeing wasn’t what concerned you in the slightest.

You supposed that it was that if you were to go along with this…there would likely be no turning back. You’d so far merely dipped your toe into the world of the fae.

Crossing The Wall would be like submerging yourself in it.

“Take the day to think about it,” Azriel said again, studying you closely. “All I ask is that you do think about it…properly. Don’t just…don’t just write me off. Please, Y/N. I couldn’t bear it.”

Something in his voice smothered that last shred of doubt that tried to hold you back. Your own voice was quiet as you replied, “Alright. I’ll think about it.”

In front of you, his shoulders seemed to slump with something like relief. Pleading still lay within his eyes. You weren’t sure, in that moment, if you could handle staring back at it.

So you instead held the knife out to him, ripping your gaze away. “You can have this back.”

“Don’t want to stab me?” he said, and your lips threatened to quirk up. You forced the smile away as he took the weapon back and sheathed it.

“I’ve yet to decide. I’ll spend the day contemplating that, too.”

So easy, to fall back into the natural rapport you had with him. Azriel didn’t bother to bite down on his smile.

But the smile then faltered, and worry clouded his eyes. “I really do hope you’ll give me another chance.”

“Why?” you blurted. “Why me?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. And then he stepped away from you. Something in his stance told you he was readying himself to disappear.

“I’ll tell you why, if you come across the wall with me,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “I want to be transparent with you. But I have to protect my heart, too.”

“You—”

“Just think on it,” he spoke softer, gentler. “And get some sleep, Y/N.”

Before you could respond, a breeze rippled through the room, tinged with the smells of winter.

And just like that, you were alone.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

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[fastcardotmp3]

Ronance AU where after the Upside Down has been neutralized and the fight for Hawkins is over, they go their separate ways and stay in touch largely through letters.

A couple of months together at the end of the world, a couple more helping Hawkins rebuild in the aftermath, and then Nancy is off to the East Coast for college and Robin is taking a gap year to spend the time with her family she lost in the war and they're not quite close enough for regular phone calls at that point, but Robin gets a great picture of Mike and the kids that she just knows will bring a smile to Nancy's face so she sends it and that's--

Well that's how it starts.

Polaroids with little notes at the bottom to show each other what they're up to, where they've been, who they've been with. Robin thinks it's easier to get to know Nancy Wheeler through the written word, none of their individual hang-ups can be in the room to get in the way and Nancy is just-- God she knows how to string a sentence together.

It's life updates and questions asked and answered and book and movie recommendations and--

Steve and I are moving to Chicago in the summer so I can start that linguistics program I told you about.

I usually have a layover in Chicago! Maybe I'll take a day to see the sights...?

It's plans made and it was good to see you's and more Polaroid photos with little notes at the bottom and it goes on for years, is the thing.

They move around and never end up in the same place. Nancy is chasing her dreams and chasing stories from city to city and country to country and she hardly sees her family outside of major holidays let alone Robin, but Robin gets the uncensored preview to a lot of her articles in long-hand scrawl from a cramped airplane seat and that's nearly as good.

Steve is Robin's platonic soulmate, always will be the bastard, but the more years it goes on through the end of both their undergraduate years and then into Robin's first Master's and Nancy's first staff writer gig and then into careers and new friends and lives and their thirties, well.

Well, Robin is pretty sure that Nancy Wheeler is her best friend. At least on paper.

It's like, the letters don't come every week or even every month, but every single time that familiar handwriting with a new return address comes sliding into her mailbox, thicker with photos the longer it's been, there's this flutter of utter joy and gratitude that Robin just can't deny herself.

Nancy Wheeler sure can string a sentence together. She can string a sentence together so good that Robin knows her just from pen and paper. Sees her just from the wall of Polaroids that travels with Robin from Chicago to a couple years getting yet another degree at UCLA and all the way back home again to Indiana.

When Robin imparts the news that she's gotten a teaching position (now that she has her doctorate) at IU, Bloomington to Nancy, it's with tongue-in-cheek jokes about whether or not this place is haunted too, but mostly Robin points out that she'll be close by again for when Nancy visits her parents.

She sends the letter before she gets into the passenger seat of the U-Haul Steve has insisted on driving cross-country for her out of fear for your safety, Buckley which is code for we haven't been on a road trip in too long and I miss you. But what it really means, the haste and the excitement, is that she doesn't manage to get her new address into the letter before it's already in the mail.

It shouldn't matter. She'll send another one when she gets to Bloomington in a week or so, depending on how many roadside attractions she and Steve decide to indulge in like they're teenagers with all the time in the world and not thirty-five-year-old dweebs singing along to mixtapes they made in 1987.

It shouldn't matter.

Miraculously, it doesn't.

She's getting a feel for the new campus the first time she sees Nancy Wheeler in probably four years, walking through the lobby of the student union like she belongs there.

(She belongs anywhere she decides to lay her feet, Robin thinks.)

She's walking through the student union, and out of nowhere Robin is a too-blunt, no-filter teenager and--

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Hallowed halls of a respected institution, Robin couldn't care less about it as Nancy turns over her shoulder and beams.

"I'm sorry," she gives Robin a once-over like she had been waiting for this moment, like she had known, "who are you?"

Robin is lifted across the room by the force of her own joyous laughter before she even has the chance to call Nancy any of the names she'd like too, wrapped up around her and swaying in the middle of what will become a well-used study space once the semester starts in a week.

Wrapped up around her. Feeling her here and now and real as she is on the page. Nancy Wheeler knows how to string a sentence together with a pen, but god does she know how to do it off her tongue just the same. Everything that rolls out of her and into the world has Robin's cheeks aching from how hard she smiles, has her buzzing despite the lack of caffeine in her system.

Because as it turns out, Robin isn't the only one coming home, isn't the only one looking to maybe create a home base to return to at the end of each long trip, isn't the only one who snagged a gig teaching a new generation of world savers just how to do it. (The IU School of Journalism is, after all, one of the best in the country, and thus fitting of a mind like Nancy Wheeler's.)

It's strange, not to need to pen a letter to talk to her anymore, to be able to go for dinner on Thursdays after classes or work on lesson plans in tandem in Robin's eclectic living room because Nancy is still very much working on the whole having furniture thing after so many years on the road.

Robin knows it won't last forever, that Nancy can't sit still for more than the next couple of years she's on contract here, but the longer they spend together the more it becomes clear that Nancy really does want a place to come home to for longer stints in between assignments.

She wants roots, she says, people and bars where she can consider herself a regular and students to teach how to take no shit from the old guard.

Robin wants that for her too. Wants to make that happen for her. Wants it to be here.

With her.

They're not kids anymore, and the world doesn't need saving in the same way it once did, and the pictures they take now are together, together, together and Robin finds it's so much easier than she ever thought it could be at seventeen years old to look at the woman she loves and not be afraid of it.

To lean into her on the couch while they listen to a record Nancy had picked up somewhere in her travels in a language Robin speaks and can translate in real time, to share her space, to kiss her like they've been kissing all this time and like they're inventing something new wrapped up in one.

"So, roots, huh?" Robin breathes, foreheads tipped together and those blue eyes bigger and brighter than ever.

Nancy Wheeler knows how to string together a sentence, but all she needs right then is two words.

"Yeah," she smiles, bright as the flash on a Polaroid camera, "roots."

[shion-yu]

Day 29: Sick on a Road Trip

A more serious interpretation of this prompt. A short and introspective pre-transplant Al and Theo drabble. 570 words, TW chronic terminal illness. @sicktember

On their fifth summer as a couple, Theo and Al got on a plane and flew to Fresno. From there they rented a car and drove north, hitting all the great landmarks Al had always wanted to visit: Yosemite, Lake Tahoe and the Redwoods. Then they went east and visited the national parks in Utah. It was a trip they’d been talking about for years, but they’d never gotten around to it. Theo had been busy in law school, then establishing himself in his practice. It had always seemed like too much planning and too much money.

This year, however, Theo took the initiative and came home with two plan tickets in his hand, and an excellent itinerary mapped out by his paralegal. He told Al it would be the best vacation ever, and they didn’t even have to rush because Theo had two entire weeks off. Al had beamed and didn’t ask any questions about how Theo had managed to get the time off, how Theo had convinced his transplant team to allow it, or where they’d gotten the funds. Because the thing was, although they didn’t talk about it, they both knew it might be their last chance to take this trip.

Al had been waiting for lungs for months now. He’d been in and out of the hospital for tune ups and maintenance, but it wasn’t doing much anymore. He needed new lungs and there was no way around it. Without them he had less than a year to live. Theo never entertained the idea out loud that Al might run out of time before that, but planning this trip was the closest he had gotten.

Theo flew them business class, making sure all of Al’s medical equipment was taken care of and safe. Apparently he’d marked every hospital and specialist on their route, and knew the fastest way to get to an airport just in case they got the call while they were away. He went to great lengths to make sure they would always have signal on their phones and to find the best views that Al could physically manage to get to. 

He seemed most determined not to be sad. Al knew how hard Theo was trying not to break. He had tried to talk about the what ifs many times and been shot down. Theo hated to talk about anything less than optimistically. During their vacation, Al let him have that peace of not bringing why they were doing this up once.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t tired. Al felt like he was always tired these days. No matter how much he slept, he had a heaviness about him that he couldn’t shake. He slept in the car for the vast majority of the time that Theo drove. Sometimes he was so still that Theo would pull over just to make sure he was breathing. He always was though, and Theo would get back on the road feeling his foolish heart beating hard in his ears.

Despite all the sleeping, Al was worn out by the end of their journey. Theo knew he might have pushed too hard, but Al reassured him that it was just enough. He was just ready to go home now. Theo didn’t feel ready to go back to reality: life where everything was uncertain, surrounded by a wait that they could do nothing to predict the outcome of.

[venus-haze]

I’ve Got a Crush on You (Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: You’re a performer in Hank Snow’s traveling show and become friends with Elvis when he joins the troupe. Elvis starts crushing on you, but figures he doesn’t have a chance because you’re dating your performance partner...right?

Note: This is based off of an anonymous request. The reader is feminine but never explicitly referred to as being a woman. I’m not sure if the requester wanted it to be more yandere or not, so I apologize if this isn’t what you had in mind! I hope everyone likes it regardless. I listened to the Frank Sinatra song of the same name and Elvis’ The Girl of My Best Friend almost nonstop while writing this. The reader and their partner’s act is based on Stan and Molly’s act in Nightmare Alley (the original one). Do not interact with my blog or content if you are under 18 or post ED/thinpso content.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: None.

The seemingly endless corn fields of the Midwest were finally behind you, replaced by the Gulf Coast swamps that made you desperately roll down the car window to get some relief from the humidity. Sensing your discomfort, Walt, your close friend and performing partner, handed you a folded map to fan yourself with. 

The breeze from the moving car and your makeshift fan did little to cool you off. You felt like you were sticking to the leather car seat with each passing minute. There was still at least an hour until you’d get to the motel and be able to cool down with a shower. 

“Why can’t we tour the South in the winter and just spend the summer in New England?” you lamented, wiping sweat from your brow.

Walt shrugged. “Ask the Colonel.”

A car pulled up next to yours, and you saw it was the one Elvis and his band rode in. The car kept pace with Walt’s, and you leaned out the passenger window to talk to Scotty, who was driving for this stretch of the trip.

“Where you bums headed?” Scotty shouted.

You laughed. “Same place you are! Hey, you know if the motel’s got a pool?”

“Think so,” Elvis responded from the passenger seat.

“Thank god, I’m about to melt!”

“See y’all there!” Scotty said, sending their car flying past yours and farther up the road.

You settled back in the seat, smiling at Walt. “They’re fun. I’m glad they‘re here.”

“Don’t think it’ll stay that way for more than a few months. Seems like every town we go to, more people are showin’ up for Elvis than anyone else,” Walt said.

“Can you blame them?” 

He grinned in response. You never pried when it came to Walt’s preferences. It didn’t matter to you, personally; he was your friend regardless of who he was attracted to, but you got somewhat of an inkling when the two of you had first watched Elvis’ performance at the Louisiana Hayride a few weeks before, equally entranced by the way he moved. 

The Colonel had recruited Elvis and his band, the Blue Moon Boys, to be part of the traveling show after that. Of course, Hank Snow was top-billed in each backwater town the troupe set up in for the week, but Walt was right, people were flocking to see Elvis. Even Jimmie had started to emulate Elvis more than his own father.

As the sun set on the horizon, you welcomed the cooler night air. It was still sticky, but at least now you weren’t sweating as much. You turned up the radio, kicking your feet along to the songs that played on the local station for the remainder of the drive to the motel.

Some of the performers had trailers they stayed in while on the road, setting up at whatever local fairgrounds the show would be held for varying lengths of time. You and Walt, along with some of the other performers opted to stay in motels when you could. Hank wasn’t exactly pleased that two unmarried people would be sharing a motel room, but it wasn’t like you and Walt were together, anyway. It had become an inside joke among a handful of the performers, since you and Walt were promoted as a uniquely connected psychic married couple, ‘The Otherworldly Wonder of Y/N and Walt’.

Hank was nice, if not a bit too old-fashioned for your liking, but you owed your livelihood to being part of his show. It wasn’t what you wanted to be doing for the rest of your life, but few others had the opportunity to travel the country so extensively while they were young. Most of the people who came to the shows had never been more than a few miles of where they grew up.

When Walt pulled into the motel parking lot, you saw Elvis’ car already parked out front. You noticed the swimming pool, illuminated by a few lamps that didn’t have blown out bulbs. A few people were hanging out poolside, but you couldn’t make out any faces.

“Will you get me something to drink after we check in? I wanna go in the pool,” you said, when Walt parked.

“Sure,” he said.

You dug through your bag, handing him some loose change. “Get yourself something too. If you wanna shower or something, don’t rush. I’m not dying.”

The check-in process went quickly, and the desk clerk informed you that the pool was open until midnight, giving you plenty of time to enjoy yourself. Grabbing yours and Walt’s suitcases, you rushed to the room. You pulled your bathing suit out of your bag, quickly changing into it and grabbing a towel while making a beeline for the pool. 

“Hey Y/N!” Elvis called out to you as you ran over. 

He was there with Bill and Scotty, sitting on one of the lounge chairs while they swam.

“The party’s here!” you announced, throwing your towel to the side and jumping into the pool.

Elvis watched as you swam with Bill and Scotty. The three of you decided to have a cannonball contest, with Elvis judging.

“C’mon, Y/N, he’s gonna let you win,” Bill protested.

“I can hold my own when it comes to cannonballs, thank you.”

After about fifteen minutes or so of cannonballs and subsequent arguing over whose were best, Elvis decided it was a draw. 

Not long after, you climbed out of the pool, grabbing your nearby towel and wrapping it around the bottom half of your body. Taking a seat on the lounge chair next to him, you laid back and closed your eyes for a few minutes. He let himself look at you, really look for the first time since he’d met you. Your skin seemed to glitter as the moonlight reflected off of the water droplets that clung to you. Though your eyes were closed, he could picture them perfectly, bright and playful. Did you have any idea how beautiful you were?

You turned to him, laying on your side. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.”

“What’s with you and pink Cadillacs?” 

He laughed. “I just like ‘em.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, my mama used to work at a hospital, always saw people drivin’ up in their pink Cadillacs. I’m gonna buy her one someday.”

“Your family means a lot to you,” you observed aloud.

“They’re everything.”

You smiled. “Good, hold onto that. Not a lot of people can say the same.”

“What about you?” he asked.

“It’s complicated,” you said with a shrug, “but I have Walt, and everyone else in the show. Spending all these hours on the road with the same people, you get really close—or you can’t stand each other.”

“I hope I’m in the first category.”

“You’re one of my favorite people.”

“Yeah, me too. I really—“ 

Before he could finish his thought, Walt sat with you on your lounge chair, handing you a soda. 

“My hero,” you smiled, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Elvis looked away, not out of any sense of decency, but because of how much he wanted you to be like that with him. You were right, being on the road and performing with the same people for weeks on end could either make or break bonds. In the few months he’d been part of Hank Snow’s outfit, the slight crush he had on you when you were first introduced had snowballed into him finding even the smallest excuses to spend time with you or playing you new songs before anyone else heard them. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Walt. He was a great guy and had been a lot friendlier to Elvis and the band when they first joined the group than most of the other people were. From what he could tell, you and Walt were happy together and rarely argued, if you did it was never over anything big. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder—what if?

He went to sleep that night wondering if he should take a chance and make a move. At the same time, he didn’t want to ruin your friendship and have you out of his life forever. Not to mention, the unnecessary tension it’d cause, especially if you went and told Walt. He could hold his own in a fight if he had to, but he didn’t want any of that on the road. He couldn’t believe he was losing sleep over a crush.

He regretted not sleeping better, though, because the following morning was a lot of last minute set up before the carnival opened in the afternoon. Everyone pitched in, which made things easier, and you sat with him while eating lunch next to the ferris wheel. Your act went on earlier than he did, so he didn’t see you again for the rest of the afternoon.

Your and Walt’s act was a sort of ‘mind-reading’ trick, wherein people would write questions or statements on cards, and Walt would read them out to you for answers. The trick relied on how Walt pronounced or emphasized certain words, signaling the answer for you. It was always a hit, and you didn’t feel too bad about all of the people who would come to the show seeking ‘enlightenment’. The more people who believed it, the more money you made.

“Will this man’s father recover from the illness he’s currently afflicted with?” Walt asked, reading from the card.

You put your index fingers to your temples, gazing into the distance until your vision went out of focus. Dramatically, you gasped, pulling your hands away from your face. The crowd looked at you with bated breath for your response. “Your father will recover, but it’ll be a tough road. You’ll need patience.”

The crowd murmured among themselves, and the man in question nodded, contemplating your answer. You and Walt continued this routine for the next hour or so, ‘answering’ as many of the questions as you could in the time given. Sometimes, in bigger cities, you and Walt would put on your show two or three times a night. This small town, however, would only get to experience ‘The Otherworldly Wonder of Y/N and Walt’ once.

Toward the end of the show, you noticed Elvis standing in the back of the crowd. You gasped loudly, as if suddenly assaulted by a vision. “You, young man in the back,” you said, pointing to Elvis.

The corners of his lips upturned. “Yes?”

“You’re looking to purchase a new car, not for yourself, though, no,” you said. 

He shook his head.

“For your mother! A pink Cadillac?”

“Well, you must be the real deal,” Elvis grinned, playing along.

The crowd erupted in chattering and applause, and you sent a wink his way. He knew he was blushing and hoped you couldn’t notice as much from the other side of the tent.

“Hey! What are the winning lottery numbers!” a man shouted from the crowd.

You laughed. “Now, if I knew those, I wouldn’t be up here.”

“Thank you all for your time,” Walt announced, signaling the end of the show.

“Have a wonderful rest of your evening!” you said to the crowd.

The two of you bowed before disappearing behind the curtain. You and Walt hugged, celebrating another successful show. You’d been at it long enough to work through any hiccups in the performance without anyone seeing through the facade. 

“Nice thinking with Elvis,” Walt said as the two of you changed out of your stage clothes and into casual wear.

“I’m lucky he was sweet enough to play along,” you said. “I gotta find a sink to wash this gunk off my face.”

The intense eyeshadow and long false eyelashes had become a staple of your performance attire, drawing attention to your ‘vision’ even for people farther back in the audience. It was always a pain to apply, though, and even more of a pain to remove without looking like a raccoon for a few hours. You put your stage clothes back in the costume trunk after you changed.

When you walked down from behind the stage, you noticed Elvis leaning against a post, waiting for you. “Say, what are those winning lottery numbers, anyway?” 

“Well, since we’re alone,” you said, lowering your voice.

You hadn’t noticed the suggestive tone you’d taken on, but Elvis did, feeling his mouth become dry as you gave him what he could only describe as a ‘come hither’ stare through your dramatic eye makeup. Before he could say or do anything, Walt walked out, throwing an arm around you.

“Thanks for bein’ a good sport back there,” Walt said kindly.

Elvis nodded. “Yeah, ‘course. Y’all always put on a good show.”

“The way people go crazy over you? We’re okay,” you said.

“When are you playin’ tonight, anyway?” Walt asked.

“Should be ‘round nine.”

“We’ll be there to cheer you on.”

“If anyone throws you panties in my size, let me know,” you joked.

Walt groaned. “Y/N, Elvis doesn’t wanna hear that.”

You held your hands up in defense. “C’mon, I was just kidding! See ya later, Elvis.”

“See ya,” Elvis said, as if he could think properly after mention of your panties.

Before he knew it, Scotty was calling for him to join the rest of the band to practice before their show. He could faintly hear Hank Snow’s set while they made sure their instruments were tuned and had the setlist in order. The uproar of cheers and applause was the cue to go on stage, becoming near deafening as he approached the microphone. He scanned the crowd for you. When he caught your gaze, you waved excitedly at him. 

He snuck glances at you throughout the show, smiling as he watched you and Walt dance together. The slightest guilt snuck up on him, who was he to ruin what you already had? Then he saw it, the hungry look in your eyes that almost everyone else in the audience had while watching him perform, except it was you. Seeing the confirmation that you were at least attracted to him gave him the confidence he needed to decide that for better or worse, he’d tell you how he felt. 

The show was only in the Alabama town for the day, as they were headed for a week-long stint in some mid-size city in Florida that Elvis had never heard of. While everyone was checking out of the motel, Elvis approached you, helping you with your suitcase.

“Y/N, you wanna ride with me this time?” he asked. “If it’s okay with Walt.”

“Sure, I don’t see why not. I’ll let him know that Bill and Scotty will be riding with him,” you said. 

Elvis waited by his car, fidgeting with the keys while he waited for you to return. It’d be at least eight hours to the next town you’d be performing in, eight hours alone with you. Running back over to him with a smile, you gave him a thumbs up. With that, he put your suitcase in the backseat of his car, and you made yourself comfortable in the passenger seat.

“If the radio signal sucks, you’ll sing, right?” you asked.

He smiled. “If you want me to.”

“Nah, I’ll let you have a break.”

The drive seemed to fly by, the two of you talking nonstop for hours about anything and everything. You admired his profile as he drove, the sun giving his skin a golden glow and shining off of his freshly dyed hair. When he’d revealed to you that he dyed it with shoe polish, not long after you first met, you nearly fell over. You’d never heard of anyone doing that before, but it worked really well for him.

Spending time with him was always fun. He was charming to no end, constantly complimenting you and offering to help you with things, especially when Walt wasn’t around. You knew he could easily have his choice of just about anyone in his general vicinity who breathed, so you figured he wouldn’t be interested in you, but appreciated the friendship that you had.

“I’m starvin’,” Elvis said as the sun began to set low over the Florida marshes. “Darlin’, would you look at that travel guide in the glove box and see if there’s anywhere to eat comin’ up?”

You grabbed the travel guide, following with your finger where you were on the route. “There’s a place called Betty’s Diner about five miles from here. We should see a Texaco station and then it’ll be about a mile past that.”

“Anything you want, it’s my treat.”

“Thanks, Elvis,” you smiled.

Just as you’d read in the travel guide, you could see the glowing neon sign for the diner just about a mile past the gas station. Your stomach began growling as soon as you smelled the greasy diner food.

“I’m sorry for your wallet because I’m ordering one of everything,” you said when he pulled into the gravel parking lot.

“Hell, I’m fixin’ to do the same,” he agreed.

The two of you walked into the diner, a somewhat run-down but charming little place that you knew would hit the spot. The waitress led you and Elvis to a booth, handing you menus and leaving you to order. You stared at the menu, trying to decide what you were going to order. Everything looked so good, and you were becoming worried you were going to make Elvis broke with what all you were going to order.

You were still contemplating what you were going to get when the waitress came back to ask what you wanted to drink.

“What do you recommend to eat?” you asked her. “I can’t decide.”

“Cheeseburger with the works and fried egg on top. Goes really good with a side of hashbrowns,” she said.

“I’ll have that.”

Elvis nodded. “Me too.”

The waitress left with your drink and meal orders, and you started digging through your bag.

“I told you I’m payin’,” Elvis scolded.

“I know. I’m gonna go check the jukebox,” you said, holding up the nickel you found.

He watched as you scooted out of the booth and over to the jukebox in the corner. You flipped through the song selection, grinning ear to ear when you found exactly what you were looking for. Dropping the coin into the slot, you made your selection. A few seconds later, ‘Baby Let’s Play House’ began playing throughout the diner, and when you looked back at him, he shook his head, trying to bite back a smile.

“You ever heard of this guy?” you joked as you slid back into your seat.

“You’re somethin’ else, ya know that?”

“I’ve been told,” you smiled.

He was about to speak when the waitress set the food down in front of you. Her recommendation was spot on, and you and Elvis ate in near silence, not realizing how hungry the hours on the road had made you. Being with you made him feel at home, he wanted every drive, every meal, to be with you. When you smiled at him, big and beautiful, he couldn’t hold in his feelings any longer.

“I gotta be honest with you, Y/N,” Elvis said, holding your hand from across the table, “I like you a lot, and I know you’re with Walt, but I could treat you so good if you’d let me.”

“Elvis,” you began.

He felt a lump form in his throat. This was it, you were letting him down gently. He almost wished you’d call him a jerk, throw your soda in his face, and storm out of the diner.

“Walt and I aren’t together.”

“But your act—“

“Is just that, an act,” you said. “The Colonel says the show sells better if Walt and I are promoted as a couple.”

“So you’re single?”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Well, there is this guy.”

“Oh?”

“Dark hair, dreamy eyes, lips to die for,” you said. “He’s got this voice that drives me absolutely wild.”

He grinned. “Sounds like a keeper.”

“Yeah, too bad Hank is married,” you sighed wistfully.

“What?” Elvis nearly shouted.

“Elvis, I’m kidding.”

He cleared his throat, nodding. “I knew that.”

“But do you really think I have a chance?”

“Y/N–”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” you laughed. “I like you a lot too, and I think you should kiss me right now.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to step in on Hank’s territory.”

You let out a cackle at this, drawing the attention of some of the other people in the diner. 

Giggling, you attempted to give Elvis a bashful smile. “Please?”

“I don’t think I could ever say no to you,” he said, getting up from his side of the table to sit next to you.

He took a moment to study your face, how your eyes sparkled even under the bright diner lighting, your kind smile that seemed like it was reserved especially for him, and your lips that were begging to be kissed. To his surprise, you closed the gap between the two of you, pressing your lips to his and pulling him closer to you. He steadied himself by placing a hand on your hip, deepening the kiss. He swore fireworks were going off in his brain while kissing you, he’d never felt a connection like that with anyone else before. Far too soon for his liking, you pulled away, leaving his lips chasing yours.

“Too bad we’re in public,” you said.

He looked wildly around the diner for the waitress and waved her over. “Can we get the check now?”

[hookingminor]

“In awe, the first time you realised it” with Mat Barzal please🥺

31. In awe, the first time you realised it

I swear all my favorite things I've written are for barz, this is also so self-indulgent for me bc my love language is playlists

-

You and Mat had been dating for just under a year now, still in the honeymoon phase of your relationship even after a few fights, and he swore you were the only person he would never get tired of. The weekends you spent at his apartment, the Saturday morning markets you always dragged him to, the nights he curled on your couch watching TV while you worked away at the kitchen table, there was no such thing as too much time with you.

The feeling nagged at the back of Mat’s mind, subtle and quiet, a distant voice telling him he was in love with you even if his brain hadn’t completely registered it yet. Your relationship was comfortable. You moved around each other with an ease Mat had never known, as if you’d spent years together and now lived in routines that revolved around the other. He hadn’t even processed how used to being around you he’d gotten until your first summer apart had hit.

He thought about you all the time, wondering whether or not you’d like the outfit he chose when he went out with friends, whether you’d enjoy his mom’s cooking, whether you were thinking about him all the way back in New York when he was in Coquitlam.

By the time fall came back around, he was ready to ask you to move in even if neither of you had said those words yet. Mat just missed you all the time. It didn’t matter how much time you spent apart, he was counting the hours until he saw you again.

It was only when the two of you packed your bags and climbed into his car, ready for a weekend road trip upstate that the overwhelming feeling of how much he loved you hit him. You chose to drive, knowing Mat’s proclivities for driving a little too fast would’ve made you insane during the four hour ride to the secluded cabin he rented. In turn, he got to choose the music, though you made him compromise that he’d split the time between both of your spotifys.

Yours and Mat’s music taste didn’t always mesh well, and while he knew your account and followed it, he never delved into the playlists you curated. At the two hour mark, he unlocked your phone and scrolled through your account, clicking through a few playlists as he tried to find one that he wouldn’t completely hate.

He came across one titled happiness, the playlist photo piquing his curiosity. It was a little further down the list, about halfway through your nearly twenty playlists, and he recognized the picture as his own head. There were no discernible features, only his hair as his head rested on your chest and your fingers curled in the strands, but Mat knew it was him.

One by one, he read over each song in the playlist. The theme seemed all over the place, ranging from slow songs to upbeat pop to hip-hop, and his curiosity got the best of him.

“Babe, what’s this playlist?” He asked, stretching your phone so you could check the screen. You only took a brief glance, noticing the title immediately and shifting your focus back to the road.

“Oh, it’s just a bunch of songs that remind me of you,” you answered with an apathetic shrug. You added the first song a week after you met Mat after your first date when you knew that you wouldn’t be letting him go any time soon.

Mat furrowed his brows, not quite sure what Christmas Eve by Kelly Clarkson or Ain’t No Mountain High Enough by Marvin Gaye had to do with him, but he pressed shuffle anyways.

The first song that came on was Flightless Bird, American Mouth, and Mat vaguely remembered hearing this before.

“Why’s this one on it?” He asked.

“Remember when I made you watch Twilight even though you complained the entire time? You said you thought this song sounded nice, so I added it,” you explained.

“And Bloom?” Mat questioned, finding another song title he didn’t know.

“It was a song that played in the cafe during our first date.”

“Shoop?”

“That one night we stayed up until three baking brownies because we were drunk and hungry, we sang it, like, four times dancing in the kitchen,” you said.

It turned out every song on the playlist had some underlying meaning as to why you added it. There was the song you first slow danced to at a teammate’s wedding, the song you chose to karaoke to once at a bar, the song Mat always played first thing upon turning on his car for a couple weeks whenever he drove anywhere, songs he found himself singing under his breath while not realizing you were listening, his favorite Taylor Swift songs even though he would publicly claim he didn’t listen to her, songs he went crazy for every time they played in clubs. Every song had a story.

Mat didn’t ask you for the explanation for each one, not wanting to annoy you with his many questions, but he connected the dots soon enough after you told him Green Light by Lorde was on there because of how many times you and Mat had watched through New Girl, but more specifically, the scene where Nick and Jess finally get together.

A few sparked memories in his own head, the Khalid songs you made him listen to the one time you convinced him to get high with you, the Kendrick songs he swore were the best rap songs ever made, even a few Bieber songs you found more tolerable than others since you weren’t a fan of him but Mat was.

The playlist was nearing fifty songs, all recounting moments in your relationship over the past year, and Mat’s chest tightened in a way he’d never felt before.

He was in love with you.

You didn’t even bat an eye explaining the meaning of each song, every story fresh in your mind and you told him each one without hesitation. Had it not been for your eyes on the road, you probably would’ve noticed the tears welling in his eyes, though he quickly brushed them away.

His heart was so full of love for you, how you paid attention to every detail, and there was no doubt in his mind he was in love.

“You good?” You glanced over quickly, curious as to why he was quiet all of a sudden.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He cleared his throat.

“I love you.”

That caught your attention immediately, and you looked back at him, your own eyebrows slightly drawn together in confusion as the outburst.

“Yeah?” You asked. The words had been on the tip of your tongue for so long you could probably trace it back to the first time you met him, but you kept it to yourself. Mat was always cautious with his words, never wanting to say anything he didn’t fully believe, and you didn’t want to scare him off saying it too early.

“Yeah,” he replied confidently. Grabbing the hand resting on the gearshift, he intertwined your fingers and brought it to his lips. “I love you." Gently, Mat kissed your knuckles.

Your own heart felt like bursting at the soft look on his face. “I love you too.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that,” he chuckled, wide grins spreading across both of your faces.

You brought his knuckles to your own lips, placing a soft kiss on them before letting your joined hands rest across the middle console. The remainder of the drive was silent, neither of you starting a conversation as you let your playlist take you the rest of the way.

[marauderundercover]

A Guide to Love and Coffee in the City of Crime: Ch. 1

Here Comes the Sun

AO3

For as long as she could remember, Marinette had spent one month every summer with her family in the states. Although they weren’t related by blood, they were still as close as any family could be. Her nona had met the Kents years ago, even before her Papa was born, and had grown close with them. A couple of years after her Papa was born, the Kents had their son, her Uncle Clark. Her Papa had practically grown up with Clark as his little brother. So it just made sense that, as the family continued to grow, they kept in contact. Like when Marinette was the first grandchild. And then Jon, the first grandson. And when Conner came into their lives (something that still confused Marinette). Although Conner’s introduction into the family was much later than hers and Jon, he wasn’t any less a part of their family. They cared about each other. All of them. So they wrote to each other. And had plenty of video calls throughout the year. And sent presents. And had family gatherings. Like the annual trip to Smallville. Usually, Marinette’s family (most times, even her nona would come for a few days) would spend two weeks of the summer with her Grandma and Grandpa Kent in Smallville. This year, however, was different. For the first summer ever, Marinette would be following her cousins and Aunt and Uncle back to Metropolis to spend some more of her summer outside of Paris. Her parents claimed it was to give her a break from the drama in Paris. It was also to give her a break from akuma attacks (in their minds, anyway). No matter how much she cared for her extended family, she knew she couldn’t tell them about the Paris situation. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that her family wasn’t exactly normal. And even though she wasn’t exactly sure what it was that was different, she didn’t need her Uncle Clark to get overprotective (and angry) and get akumatized. That would be the opposite of a solution.

So instead of letting the stress of the Paris situation get to her, Marinette decides to relish the time with her family. She only got to spend time on the farm once a year, after all. Might as well make the most of it while she could.

“Mari, Mari, Mari!” Marinette’s pulled out of her thoughts by her younger cousin running over to her, practically vibrating with excitement. She grins, ruffling his hair.

“What?” She asks, laughing. He grins widely.

“You remember how Dad said we would be back in Metropolis in time for the annual 4th of July fireworks show put on by Superman?” He asks. She nods. “Well my best friend gets to come and you finally get to meet him!” Marinette just grins, happy to see the kid so genuinely happy.

“That’s only if we survive the road trip back.” She reminds him. He looks at her, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re not really gonna try and bug Kon the entire way back are you?” He asks with a sigh. Marinette shrugs, grinning.

“He’s basically my big brother too. And I haven’t had my entire life to annoy him like you did mine. So I have to make up for lost time.” She says. Jon pouts. “Please Mari! Please don’t annoy him too badly!” He pleads. Marinette sighs dramatically, but decides to take pity on the kid.

“Fine. I guess I could promise to be on my best behavior.” She says. He relaxes. “If...”

“If what?” Jon asks, looking suspicious. Marinette grins.

“If you can convince Grandma to get Uncle Clark to stop bugging me about the surprise I have. It’s not much of a surprise if you guys figure it out ahead of time.” She bargains. Jon tilts his head to the side, almost as if he’s listening, before nodding.

“Deal. But that includes playing songs that you know he hates.” Jon says firmly. Marinette immediately agrees. She’d have plenty of time to annoy Conner once they were actually in Metropolis.

---

The second the car stopped at the park, Marinette threw herself out of the car and onto the ground dramatically. She waits until her Uncle has moved from the driver’s seat to where he can see her, before she starts acting like she’s hugging the ground.

“Land!” She cries, stifling a laugh at Jon’s giggles.

“I’m not that bad of a driver!” Uncle Clark protests. Marinette sits up and makes eye contact with him, raising an eyebrow. He huffs. “Lois?” He asks. Marinette snorts as her aunt shrugs.

“I love you, but I’m going to have to agree with Marinette on this one.” She says, turning and winking at her before moving to the back of the car. Marinette spots Conner getting out of the car and raises her arms up.

“Help!” She calls, grinning as he huffs, but still walks over and grabs her hands, helping her into a standing position. She grins. “Thanks!” She says, walking over to help her aunt grab the picnic basket and other stuff they’d brought. Although it wasn’t a holiday that most French citizens celebrated, the 4th of July was one of Marinette’s favorite holidays. Mostly because she was usually with her extended family either on the actual day, or close enough that they still celebrated it. Cracking open the picnic basket, Marinette grins at the sight of her Grandma’s famous apple pie. She’d been kind enough to make an extra one for them to bring home (not that it would last past today with her cousins and Uncle eating it).

“Hey Mari, could you grab the basket?” Her aunt asks, trying to balance the bag of sparklers and all of the blankets. Marinette nods with a smile, grabbing the basket and stumbling slightly as she adjusts it.

“You got it M?” Conner asks, his hands almost empty. Marinette nods though, determined to carry the basket herself.

“Let's move out, men.” She commands, grinning as Jon immediately falls into line. She quirks an eyebrow at Conner, who rolls his eyes before falling in line behind his little brother. “Forward, march!” She calls, moving quickly so that she could catch up with her aunt. She catches Lois’ eyes as she glances back, snorting softly at the sight. Marinette just grins, the happiness and safety she felt in her heart leaving her to feel relaxed overall. With the help of the kwamis, she’d managed to make it so that Hawkmoth couldn’t release an akuma for an entire month. The spell was complicated, and had made her sick for an entire week, but it was worth it. It meant she was able to enjoy an akuma free summer with her family doing silly things, like marching around a park to prepare to watch a huge fireworks display. Marinette breathes out a sigh of relief when Lois finally stops and starts laying out the blankets. A soft poke on her arm makes her turn, quirking an eyebrow at Conner.

“Want me to take that?” He asks, gesturing towards the basket. She purses her lips and shakes her head. Conner sighs. “You carried it all the way over here, trust me, we know you’re strong. Just let me help my baby cousin.” He says, ruffling her hair. Marinette gasps, practically shoving the basket into his hands so that she could fix her hair.

“You’re such a pain sometimes, Conner.” She huffs, readjusting her ponytail and headband. Conner just smirks, making her scowl. She was an only child, so Jon had always been like a little brother to her. Adorable and annoying at times, but easy to boss around (most of the time, and she hasn’t been super bossy since she was twelve). She was also pretty sure that Jon looked up to her, so she always tried to be a good role model (once she got out of her bossy phase). Conner, on the other hand, was very much her older brother. Which meant he was annoying, he picked on her, and was incredibly overprotective. But she wouldn’t trade either of them for anything. They meant the world to her.

“Damian and his family should be here soon!” Jon announces, a wide smile on his face as he practically vibrates with excitement. Marinette smiles.

“Sweet!” She glances around, realizing her uncle was MIA. “Where’s your dad?” She asks, frowning. Jon shrugs.

“Maybe he had a work call. They always seem to be able to tell when Dad’s back in town. Or Mom.” He says solemnly. Marinette suppresses a snort at her cousin’s tone. Jon was never super serious. Overall, he’d always been a pretty happy kid. Which made moments where he acted serious just that much funnier.

“Oh my god, don’t tell me B’s adopting habits rubbed off on Clark.” A voice says, approaching their group. Marinette tenses, but relaxes at the wide smiles on both Conner’s and Jon’s faces. Even her aunt grins at the mystery group of people.

“Bruce! How nice of you to join us.” She says, her voice light and teasing. The oldest man in the group smiles.

“Yes, well, I couldn’t let Damian have all the fun. And I am sponsoring the fireworks after all.” He says with a wide grin.

“Lois, please tell me B didn’t rub off on your husband.” Another man says, a pleading look on his face. Her aunt just laughs.

“Your father is the only serial adopter here, don’t worry about that.” Her aunt says, grinning. Marinette takes the opportunity to step forward slightly, and wave at the group.

“Hi! I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She introduces herself, waving slightly at the group.

“She’s the totally awesome cousin I told you about!” Jon interjects, running to stand right in front of the youngest boy, who Marinette assumed was Jon’s elusive best friend. The boy glances at her, his face unreadable before he says something quietly to Jon who just grins. Feeling completely left out, she glances back at the rest of the group. Who had still not introduced themselves.

“And you are?” She asks, quirking an eyebrow as almost everyone in the group dropped their jaws. Frowning, she moves slightly closer to Conner. “What’d I say?” She asks softly. He snorts.

“They’ve gotten too used to their celebrity status in Gotham.” He says, his voice light and teasing. The guy with a white streak in his hair rolls his eyes.

“Maybe these losers have, but I haven’t. I’m Jason Todd, nice to meet you.” He says. Marinette smiles back, hands twitching slightly at the excess of chaos magic hanging off the group. She’d definitely need to talk to Tikki about it later.

“Likewise.” She says, before glancing at the group around him who had (finally) seemed to put themselves together again.

“Apologies, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I’m Bruce Wayne. These are my sons, Dick Grayson, you met Jason, Tim Drake and Damian Wayne.” The oldest man-Bruce- says, pointing everyone out. Marinette grins, waving lightly. As she makes eye contact with Tim (a name she recognized from some of Conner’s stories), she can’t help but let her smile widen at the slight red on his cheeks. Glancing at Conner, she snorts, seeing the exact moment on his face that he notices the blush. Deciding to save Tim from whatever overprotective rant she was sure Conner would go on, she pokes her older cousin.

“Hey.” She hisses out, poking harder as he refuses to look at her.

“What?” He hisses back, glaring at her. She grins.

“Race you to the swingset.” She says, beginning her run before she even finishes talking. She knew the chances of her losing were good. Her cousins were freakishly fast. What she hadn’t expected, though, was for all of the other guys (except Bruce Wayne) to join in on the chase. Laughing loudly, she pushes harder, determined to at least beat the Wayne boys. She manages to reach the swings just after Jon and Conner, grabbing one of two swings left. She snorts as the Wayne boys throw elbows, and trip each other to try to get the last swing. The rest were so caught up with their little fight, they hadn’t noticed Tim sneak by them and grab the last swing. Marinette turns to him, grinning as she swings.

“Impressive.” She says. Tim grins back, breathing heavily. Marinette issues a challenge to her cousins to see who can swing the highest, laughing loudly at Conner’s pout as he attempts to get the swing to go higher. She lived for moments like these.

---

Once it was fully dark out, (and Superman had already welcomed the crowd) her Uncle Clark came back and dropped onto the picnic blankets (where Lois and Bruce sat) with a huff.

“You okay?” Marinette asks softly, inching forward a bit. He nods, moving his face out of the blanket to smile at her.

“I get to spend the evening with my amazing family and friends. Of course I’m okay, kiddo.” He says. Marinette rolls her eyes, but grins.

“You’re such a sap.” She teases, leaning back onto her blanket. He grumbles, but doesn’t say anything else. Marinette settles onto the blanket (she’d picked the one with Conner, Tim, and Jason; the last one had Damian, Jon and Dick), shivering slightly. It might be summer, but it was dark out and they were close to the water. And she already had strong reactions to the cold thanks to Tikki.

“Would you, uh, do you wanna borrow my jacket?” Tim asks softly. Marinette shakes her head.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t wanna take your jacket-” She starts, but Tim cuts her off.

“It’s not a big deal!” He insists. “I’m not cold or anything, I just brought it for the look.” He says, laughing lightly as he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Marinette grins.

“Okay. Well, I’d really appreciate it then, Tim.” She says softly. He nods, immediately slipping the jacket off and passing it to her. She puts it on and immediately sighs in relief at the warmth. She gives him a wide smile. “Thank you.” She says. He nods.

“Yeah, no problem.” He says, his voice light. Marinette smiles, eyes wide as the firework show starts. It was bigger and grander than any show she’d seen before, except for maybe the fireworks display at Disneyland Paris. It was the perfect end to an amazing day.

Next

Story tag list (open): @timari-month-event

Permanent tag list (open): @stainedglassm @kittenmywaythrulife @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @queenz-z @deathssilentapproach-blog @literaryhiraeth @unoriginalmess @crazylittlemunchkin

[landinoandco]

Mick Schumacher x reader

A timely confession

Request from @gpiggy98

Warnings: fluff:)

Word count: 1.8 k

Rating: Teen and up

When Guenther had announced that Mick Schumacher was going to be joining the team - the whole of Haas were ecstatic. There were many ways to describe him, his kind and nurturing nature, his dedication to any job he sets out to do and his gentle manner that could put anyone at ease. As gutted as you were to not be Romain’s assistant going into the 2021 season, getting Mick was definitely going to make up for it. The day you were scheduled to meet him, to go over the pre-season press plan - you were excited to show him around, introduce him to the team and talk about the new challenges you were going to be facing together. What you hadn’t expected was the inability to form a proper sentence whenever he came near you - which, as his assistant proved to be less than practical. 

“Hey, it’s lovely to meet you.” Mick had said when Guenther had introduced you that day. 

“I - uh - likewise. I’m really looking forward to working with you this year.” You had stuttered. Never in your career before had you stuttered when introducing yourself - a pink flush creeped up your neck betraying you completely. Fortunately for your sake, Mick smiled innocently and shook your hand, when he clasped your hand in his you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter. 

Guenther watched on in amusement, obviously thoroughly enjoying the experience of you making a fool out of yourself. 

After the tour - in which you had tripped over your words a fair few times - you said your goodbyes and trudged angrily up to Guenther’s office. Slouching on the chair in front of your desk, you sighed loudly. “What a day.” You uttered, pinching the bridge of your nose with your thumb and forefinger. 

“How did it go?” Guenther asked, passing you a glass of water. 

“I kept tripping over my words, to be completely honest with you it was slightly traumatic.” You replied honestly, taking the glass gratefully and taking a sip. 

“You get the chance to work with Mick and you call it slightly traumatic?” Guenther mocked, the corner of his lips turning up. 

“Tomorrow’s a new day - maybe I’m coming down with something.” You wiped your forehead in anguish. 

As it turns out you were coming down with something but unfortunately it wasn’t really something that could be cured in a matter of days. You finally worked out what was wrong when Mick had asked you to grab a little bit of lunch with him before the first race in Bahrain. You had to keep reminding yourself that it wasn’t a date, it was for work and only work. 

It was a well known fact that Mick was a heartthrob, a real life Prince Charming who drives cars for a living. His crystal blue eyes were seemingly easy to get lost in - perhaps that was half your issue. The way he was so softly spoken, lulled you into a trance. His mannerisms resembled that of a golden retriever pup and after that you realised - you were falling for Mick Schumacher. 

You were sitting in a terraced cafe, looking over the city landscape near to where the track was. Picking on chips, as Mick asked about your career up to this point. 

“What made you want to become an assistant?” He asked, passing you the plate of chips. 

You picked one up and waved it at him, “I’ve always been in love with the sport and what better way to experience it first hand than work with the drivers. I could never have been one so join them, I suppose.” 

“Did you ever race as a child then?” He asked, leaning onto his elbows, a lopsided grin plastered onto his face. 

“I did for a while.” You nodded and took a bite of your chip. 

“Maybe, during the summer break, we should go go-karting. Show me some of the good tracks in the UK.” He declared, completely oblivious to the effect it had on you. The familiar pink tinge that had gotten too used to creeping up onto your neck, the corner of your eyes crinkled as you gazed into his eyes. 

“I would really like that.” You stayed transfixed, gazing longingly at him. If only he knew how you truly felt or even better - if he felt the same way. You knew he never could, at the end of the day he had been given an opportunity to drive in formula one and you knew he wasn’t going to let a girl he worked with distract him from that. 

You cleared your throat and tore your eyes away from him - as much as it pained you - and stood up but as you turned back around, you realised that he was still watching you, his eyes glinted and the corner of his mouth quirked up. 

“I suppose we should think about getting you back, wouldn’t want them thinking you’ve gotten lost.” You said, forcing a smile onto your face. 

A few weeks later and it was time for the race in Imola, the rain was pouring down and the team’s strategists had re-grouped to come up with a strategy to fit in with the weather. Unlike for people at home, watching a wet race as part of a team was never enjoyable - the tensions thick throughout the race. Over the few weeks that you had been working with Mick, your feelings only grew stronger but since the season was well underway you found yourself spending more and more time with him. It was an impossible situation that you wished upon nobody. 

You had never been good with nerves and that was clear as you paced up and down his room. 

“Liebe.” It was his new nickname for you. “Why are you so stressed. When you start stressing, so do I and do you really want me to-” You stopped pacing and sat next to him, he placed his hand on your shoulder in an attempt to calm you. If anything it made you worse. 

“I know, I’m sorry Mick.” You exhaled shakily and looked around the room. You had seen a fair few wet races in your time and not all of them had ended nicely, in fact the majority of the time someone ended up in the wall. “Racing in the rain always makes me nervous.” You looked down at your lap, toying with your fingers. You looked at him desperately, “Just promise me you will be careful.” 

“Damn,” He whispered, “You know I was really considering driving off the track today. A little off-roading never hurt anyone.” He laughed at your horrified expression. “I’m only teasing, Liebe. You know I will be careful. Extra careful so I won’t get a telling off from you - or Guenther.” You allowed yourself to chuckle slightly, he nudged his knee with yours and tried to catch your eye but you deliberately avoided it, nibbling on your lip and furrowing your eyebrows. 

He placed his finger under your chin and lifted it to meet his gaze then placing his hand either side of your face. Breath hitching in your throat and your heart having an absolute field day, you blushed profusely, once again unable to look away from his intense gaze. 

“What’s on your mind?” He asked,  you could feel his breath fanning across your face. You shut your eyes, hands clammy and you didn’t know whether you could trust your voice. 

“I care about you.” You managed to stutter, your eyes still closed. At least this way, you couldn’t see his expression when he realised. 

“I care about you, Liebe, but you already know this-” He began carelessly. 

“No, Mick.” You opened your eyes, his brows knitted. “I care about you more than I should.” Your tone was hushed, his eyes flickered with realisation, his mouth curved into a beaming grin. He moved his face so your lips were only a tantalizing distance from each other, “Why didn’t you say so sooner.” His lips brushed yours as he spoke and when you didn’t answer he closed the distance. Capturing your lips with his, it was like two puzzle pieces had been put together. 

There was a knock at the door and the pair of you jumped apart - a voice called out: “Mick it’s time to head to the track.”

Reluctantly he got up, brushing down his race suit and held out his hand to help you up - instead of letting go once you got to your feet, he proceeded to pull you into his chest. “We shall talk about this after the race, Liebe.” He kissed the tip of your nose and walked out the door, leaving you lost for words behind him. You could still feel the ghost of his lips on yours, relishing in the events of a couple of moments ago - playing it over and over again in your head. 

It was a tense 2 hours in the Haas garage - the race far from lacking action; with Latifi crashing into the wall on lap one then on lap four Mick losing the backend of his car whilst under the safety car and crashing into the exit of the pitlane. Fortunately with a new front wing he was able to carry on and finished the race 16th. They weren’t the only two to crash as Bottas and Russel came together - even Hamilton ran off the road. Imola was proving to be savage in the rain. 

As soon as Mick crossed the finishing line, the whole garage relaxed, hugging and cheering. He had matched his result from Bahrain and managed to finish in front of Nikita. As far as Haas was concerned - it was a successful day. As his assistant you were to meet him at Parc fermé to take him to his weigh-in and post-race interviews. As soon as he saw you he took his helmet off and wrapped you into his arms, your feet coming off of the floor. You giggled and placed your hands either side of his face. 

“I was as careful as I could be.” He assured, a smirk toying at the corner of his lips. You shook your head at him, your mouth curved into a wide smile. 

“You did a good job.” You said to him, he wrapped his arms around your waist - pulling you closer into him. Then he dipped his face and connected your lips, rain falling around you. It was atmospheric and cheesy all at the same time.

There were wolf-whistles and cheers around you, as passing drivers walked by. You pulled your face away, both of your cheeks resembled tomatoes but it didn’t really matter. You knew you could never be happier with Mick by your side.

They say home is where the heart is and as long as you were with Mick - you were home.

[earnestly-endlessly]

first of all. you're amazing. second, in most fics I've read Erik's Jewishness is subtle at best. do you have any recommendations of fics in which his being Jewish is well handled?

Thank you for the ask anon. I did make a list a while ago with fics that address Erik's Jewishness. I decided to post it again since it's been a while :)

Jewish Erik

Mistletoe, Latkes, and Long-Term Revenge Strategies – pocky_slash

Summary: Charles knows that Erik hates working at a department store in the best of times. Being Jewish in a department store during the holiday season is far from the best of times. He does what he can to help.

A Nice Boy (the Family Matters Edition) – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik's not sure whether the problem is that he doesn't want his parents to meet Charles or that he doesn't want Charles to meet his parents. Either way, he never invites Charles to brunch. Why should he? It's not like they're dating.

A Road Trip to Pennsylvania – Aainiouu

Summary: For a year Charles has nurtured the biggest and most embarrassing crush known to man towards Erik. They are friends and roommates and when Erik asks Charles to accompany him to home on Thanksgiving of course Charles goes.

In the Bleak Midwinter – keire_ke

Summary: It is not easy to find out, well into the second decade of the twenty-first century, that your mother arranged a marriage for you. It is even less easy to convince her that you have no interest in the very fertile Magda, she of the wide hips and lustrous auburn hair. Fortunately, with a good friend at his side over the holiday weekend, Erik is sure he will prevail.

Speech Making – phalangine

Summary: Modern Emma AU- Charles Xavier, accomplished matchmaker and headmaster of North America’s preeminent school for mutants, intends to add another notch to his belt: setting up his friend Moira. His oldest friend, Erik, has doubts about this plan.

Charles doesn’t share them.

This is life (and everything’s all right) – pocky_slash

Summary: Edie Lehnsherr came into Charles' life long before he ever heard Erik Lehnsherr's name, and her death left a gaping hole in the lives of everyone in Charles' family. As the first Purim without her approaches, he begins to get creative in his efforts to bring everyone out of their grief. Kitchen creativity, however, is not quite his strength....

Bashert – AvengingAngel

Summary: Erik and Charles meet and fall in love. I wanted to write a story where Erik had a huge family. Pretty fluffy (for me anyways). I suck at summaries.

Note: The summary doesn’t reveal much but if you’re looking for a fic where Erik is jewish and has a large family with a heavy dose of cherik fluff and angst then this one is for you.

Math Reasons – pearl_o,  pocky_slash

Summary: "Mom says Erik always knows what he wants, it just sometimes takes him a little while to actually realize it," Ruth said.

Charles fell in love with Erik the first night they met, the first week of freshman year. Two years of friendship, adventures, arguments, hijinks, secrets, and summer visits later, Erik is starting to catch up.

Ser

It’s kind of our whole things – pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: After two years of best friendship, Charles and Erik thought they knew everything there was to know about each other. They're surprised, then, when their first summer as a couple reveals that they have a lot to learn about each other and themselves.

Sequel to Math Reasons

A Winter in New York – nextraordinaire

Summary: Charles and Erik have been childhood friends for as long as they can remember – Erik, living with his mother in Queens, and Charles in the big mansion in Westchester. For all, expect themselves, it was just natural progression that they'd end up together.

A series of ficlets from the same universe – can be read as separate and are out of chronological order.

Baby, It’s Cold Outside – heyjupiter

Summary: "It's just, this is my first Chanukah away from my parents. And it's--it's like 90 degrees out."

Erik Lehnsherr and Kitty Pryde celebrate a Genoshan Chanukah. It's a little different from the way it used to be in New York, but some unexpected visitors help them embrace the spirit of the holiday season.

Hold Back the Rain (front!strict mashup) – euphorbic

Summary: Charles Xavier: society darling, powerful political activist, well-known professor, and Dominant.

Erik Lehnsherr: anti-social, international motorcycle racer, and defiant submissive.

Erik is at Sepang in Malaysia for the fourteenth leg of the International World Championship. After doing poorly in qualifying, he's furious to find he has to take another VIP around the track instead of meeting Charles at the KL airport.

The Swan – waitfornight

Summary: In 1939 Erik and his sister Ruth are sent to Devonshire, England, during the Kindertransport refugee program to live with Kurt and Sharon Marko as foster children just before the start of World War II. Angry and wishing he could return home on the night of his seventeenth birthday, Erik meets a boy alone in the forest who is cursed to transform each day into a swan, only taking his true form by night.

Swan Lake AU.

The boy with the heart on his sleeve – euphorbic

Summary: Charles loses a high-stakes bet to Raven and is required to get a tattoo. However, when he makes a disparaging remark about the art form, Raven's acerbic mentor, Erik, steps in.

Or, the one where Erik and Raven are tattoo artists.

The Wurst Case Scenario – sareyen

Summary:If anyone asked why Charles, come rain, wind or shine, made the significant trek during his dismal lunch hour to dine at "Edie's Kosher Delicatessen", he would stubbornly say that it was because their pastrami on rye and potato knishes were absolutely to die for. He wasn't completely lying, because the deli's namesake, Edie Lehnsherr, made the best matzah ball soup Charles has ever had in his life. Still, Charles would rather shave his full head of hair off than admit that the real reason he would willingly walk through hail and fire to get to the corner deli was because of Erik, the insanely attractive man working the counter.

Sure, Erik has barely spoken two words to Charles other than "Hello, what can I get you?" or, after the third day in a row that Charles came to the deli, "Welcome back, what can I get you?", but Charles was more than happy to just ogle at the man from afar while devouring the juicy wurst Erik had put together with his (large and very capable) hands.

But, little does Charles know, Erik doesn't usually work the front counter. He only does it when he knows the cute blue-eyed man will be dining in.

This is life (and everything’s all right) – pocky_slash

Summary: Edie Lehnsherr came into Charles' life long before he ever heard Erik Lehnsherr's name, and her death left a gaping hole in the lives of everyone in Charles' family. As the first Purim without her approaches, he begins to get creative in his efforts to bring everyone out of their grief. Kitchen creativity, however, is not quite his strength....

c'est regarder ensemble dans la même direction – melonbutterfly

Summary: Since that day on the beach, Charles and Erik have learned to agree to disagree for the sake of living and working together. Then, for Christmas, and Charles gives Erik Hanukkah back a second time, and their relationship shifts a little further.

Terrible Hanukkah Sweaters and Other Life Challenges – professor

Summary: “Why am I here again?” Erik groans.

“I need you to lift things and glower at people over my shoulder when I tell people that it’s not ‘politically correct’ or a ‘war on Christmas’ to have a non-denominational winter holiday festival,” says Theresa Pryde.

Well, at least those are two things he’s good at.

Shrapnel – librata

Summary: It's late 1940, and tensions between the Axis and the Allies are tightening. Displaced and alone, 16-year-old German Jew Erik Lehnsherr finds himself employed as a servant by some snobby, terrible family in England whose house is far too big and whose money never seems to end. The worst part is, he isn't just mucking stables or cleaning plates–-he's tasked with tending to the whiny, disabled son named Charles, who might just drive Erik into absolute madness.

Or, the World War II fic in which Erik and Charles experience a changing world and a lot of teen angst.

Defying Expectations – Baamon5evr

Summary: Charles and Erik meet each other’s family. Neither of them gets what they expect.

table for three – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik should have known to call ahead to the Chinese restaurant--it's Christmas Eve and he lives in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood, after all. But before he can go home to mourn the loss of another one of his mother's yearly traditions, he's accosted by a teenage girl with a strange proposition--that he should stay and have dinner with her and her mother, instead.

different from all other nights – metonymy

Summary: "This year we are slaves; next year we will be free." Kitty and Erik host a seder for Passover at the Xavier School.

Libertad – ariadnes_string

Summary: Erik knew the look, had seen it his whole life, even before the war.  ”You, with your height and blue eyes and straight nose, you can pass. You can be free of us. You are not marked with your difference.” If you only knew, he’d thought then. He thought the same thing now. And it was that thought, as much as anything, that made him move towards the gate.

Wash Away – sebastian2017

Summary: One quiet, lonely morning, before Yom Kippur, Erik makes his way to the sea in search of forgiveness.

After? There is No ‘After’ – Unrepentant_Marvelist

Summary: Erik knows what he is for. He has known his responsibilities as a survivor since the moment he woke under a scratchy, lice-infested blanket in the Red Army hospital. His world is painted in lucid blacks and whites (so often splashed in red) and there is no room for uncertainty or indecision... until a certain sunburned Englishman throws himself into his world.

The Children of an Idle Brain – Margo_Kim

Summary: Sometimes, when he’s lucky, Schmidt can’t hurt him. It’s like there’s a room inside of Erik’s head that’s he’s usually locked out of, that won’t open no matter if he beats himself bloody against it. On those days, he endures. But sometimes—and Erik doesn’t know why, whether it’s that the stars align or some higher power takes pity or Erik screams loud enough to earn his reward—the door opens. Erik can duck inside and slam it behind him and watches himself through the windows as Schmidt slowly, methodically tortures him to strength.

These days, this past week, there’s a boy in the room with him and he tells Erik, “That’s horrible,” like that means something.

Somehow, across the world, Erik's and Charles' minds touch when they need each other most. They can't be sure that the other boy is real. They suspect that he is not. But that doesn't mean they aren't each other's lifeline until they lose each other and then for a while longer.

Tehillim – kvikindi

Summary: Erik, in Israel, afterwards: another life he could have had. If.

I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) – childishinquiry

Summary: Erik has worn long sleeves his whole life, even before they had to wear yellow stars. Marching along his arm, in neat, black, English letters, are the words "My name's Charles Xavier."

Precious Few Years – sherwoodfox

Summary: Erik and Charles (known only to each other by the letters inscribed on their wrists) are meant to be together, soulmates, destined for the most powerful kind of love and connection a human being can experience.

But they are separated in almost every possible way- by distance, by circumstance, by language, by war. Their chances of success- of finding one another in the labyrinth of the world- are very slim. There is a reason why most people never find their soulmates.

But of course, Charles and Erik aren't ordinary children-

They have their gifts.

ign of the Times – dsrobertson

Summary: Charles Xavier meets Erik Lehnsherr in Paris, 1937. They spend the next two years with one another, stupid in-love, until war comes heavy in September 1939. Erik leaves for Poland and the Resistance movement there, promising to return. Charles is left in Paris, where Nazi jackboots march in, Summer of 1940. He becomes a member of the underground French Resistance, publishing illegal newsletters, leaflets, until news comes through in February 1942: Erik is dead. Charles throws himself into more dangerous work, meeting with Communists, helping derail a German train, and he does too much, goes too far. His friends find him safe passage out of France, out across the Mediterranean, to Morocco, Casablanca. It is here he finds Erik, alive.

[shirophantomvox]

Random date night with Illumi, Hisoka, and Chrollo

Hello, anon! Ask and you shall receive! This prompt is very interesting and I will try to keep it in character as much as possible. To sum this up, Hisoka would take you to an ice cream shop, a carnival, or apple orchard while Illumi would rather go to an art or historical museum. Chrollo would persuade you to attend a book reading/author signing or go hiking. Depending on who you are and what your ideal date is, I’m sure you’d find them all fun. Going to a carnival or apple orchard is my go-to since I’ve barely been because they’re all in the suburbs. These headcanons are explained much more than the others. That is why Chrollo and Illumi seem to be short, but they’re not. Also, I can’t wait for Halloween because these headcanons are going to be amazing. I am extremely sorry if there are grammar errors! Taking classes on Zoom is frustrating and now my brain has to relearn everything that I lost in 3 months! Before we get started, I have a few announcements.

This post is more laid back than my other headcanons because I tried to keep it as canon as possible.

I want to thank you all for 65 followers! It means a lot! I’m happy to see that a lot of you enjoy my writing and like it enough to follow me! I have a challenge for you! When I reach 100 followers, I will host some type of writing event here...but I need ideas. I’ve seen some pages do specials where you can send an ask and pretend like you're talking to a character and I respond with what they’d say. SEND ME IDEAS! I WILL CREDIT YOU!

I will be stepping back a little more than before. I’ll still be logged in and re-blogging but as far as writing posts like this...it may only be once or twice a week. You see, I’m in college and I’m struggling financially and I have to work on scholarships. If you all send me an ask, be patient.

Voltron posts will only be created based on asks. I will not be writing posts about VLD if no one requests them. I do not receive any feedback from it anymore and no one seems to like them.

Now, let’s get into the post.

Let's start with Illumi first.

Headcanon 1: Illumi has a secret admiration for different types of art but he specifically enjoys pop art and surrealism. He has commented on how surrealism makes his brain twist and his feelings swirl as he tries to figure out the piece and what inspires it.

He prefers not to participate in tours as he likes to digest the art at his own pace.

Headcanon 2: In his spare time, he paints on a canvas. His art style consists of both surrealism and abstract art. For a person with a dark personality, his compositions always contain bright colors and abstract techniques that leave you wondering about his TRUE personality. He is truly a good man with a bright personality but after being abused for so long, those behaviors/personalities have been shoved so far down his throat that they may not come back up.

He has a bad habit of asking you what you thought about every single piece of art you passed. The conversations were great but this is a date after all. The playful conversation slowly turns into a lecture about art. Although you loved your bf’s dictionary-like brain it also drained your energy.

One of his favorite artists is Vincent Van Gough. Although he favors surrealism, Van Gogh’s art style was mind-blowing to him. So amazed that he buys several Van Gogh t-shirts from the gift shop.

His favorite piece created by Van Gough is “Starry Night”.

He notices that you are becoming bored and decides that it is time for MORE excitement, one that you are certain to enjoy.

“Where are we going,” you ask, pretending to be interested.

“Down to the basement. We are going to have a bite to eat.”

Since Illumi rarely smiled, when he did smile it drove you wild. The anticipation of what his next move was going to be is what drove that wildness. Being a bounty hunter was thrilling already but dating a smart, badass assassin was totally out of your league but it worked out.

Headcanon 3: Illumi’s idea of being romantic is dramatically different from yours. He believes just spending time with you on the couch was enough. He is correct; but if you have the time and funds, your time together should be a little spontaneous. You insisted on dates outside of the house because his family will not stay out of your business.

“Illumi, I am too hungry for more trivia.”

He chuckles. “Don’t worry. So am I. That is why I’ve decided to take you to a wine and cheese party.”

Huh? Wine and Cheese at 3PM? That’s ok. When was there a time limit on when you can drink alcohol?

Illumi has indirectly attended parties as such when he was 15 years old. He never drank, but he watched as his mother’s friends (surprisingly) talked about business and their children. This time, you weren’t going to talk about business for once. Instead, you two were going to actually talk about what couples discuss.

Headcanon 4: When introduced to alcohol for the first time, Illumi immediately stated how he hated brown liquor. That includes Hennessy, Jack Daniels, etc. It makes him sick to his stomach. He prefers to drink Smirnoff mixed with fruity drinks like strawberry or pineapple.

He loves it when you make these drinks for him on a summer day.

Hence the title wine and cheese, you both go to a stand-up table, place your brochures down, and actually have a wonderful conversation not involving work or hunting.

Illumi smiled a few times, more than usual. Whenever he appears to be softer even around you, that is because he has mellowed out and doesn't have the overbearing weight of his family on his shoulders. You set him free.

Hisoka

According to a one-shot that another manga artist created, they expressed that Hisoka was found on the side of the road, was taken in by someone that worked at a local circus, and learned Nen in a matter of days. Hisoka’s clown look and having the skills of a magician proves that this has to be canon in some way.

Headcanon 1: Given this potential backstory, going to a carnival is his go-to every summer. He wants to take you to a circus but saves that for you as an engagement gift.

Everyone with a heart knows that whether or not you’re in a relationship or not the carnival is fun as hell! Expensive fried food, elephant ears, funnel cake, ICEE’s, rides, and stuffed animals are to die for!

Being at a carnival relaxes him so his bloodlust isn’t activated unless someone bumps into him and causes a scene.

Headcanon 2: PDA is something that Hisoka does well; he doesn’t overdo it but does it enough where people get the impression that you are a couple and aren’t “best friends”.

While completing a mission depending on how rough it may be, he insists that you tag along to see how he handles the situation. You’ve already seen his ruthlessness from Hunter’s exam but he insists.

His sense of pride gets the best of him sometimes. Sometimes his head is so big that it reminds you of a large birthday balloon.

Headcanon 3: ANYWAY, given his nature, he is very adventurous, dangerous, and courageous. If he wants to go on the Demon Drop, he’ll do it and you DO not have a choice in the matter. He’ll tease or guilt trip you into doing something that you would not like to do.

“Well, you wouldn’t want me to cling on to someone else, would you?”

“No. Of course not,” you reply.

“Let’s go then, scaredy-cat.”

As a hunter, you’ve seen worse. Why are you so afraid to go on a ride?

Headcanon 4: At apple orchards, cornfield mazes are one of his favorites. You cannot for the life of you figure out how to get out but he can. He grabs a scarecrow and scares you from behind. That annoys you but is nothing compared to later on that night.

Oh. My. God. It’s haunted house time!

“Hisoka, I’m not going in!”

“Why not? I’ll protect you.”

“Because they’re monsters and I already have to deal with one.”

It took him a second to catch on that you were talking about him.

“That’s going to bite you in the butt, kitten.”

Headcanon 5: Like Killua, Hisoka has a sweet tooth. Don’t allow his buff appearance to fool you!

He LOVES caramel apples, elephant ears, funnel cake, freshly squeezed lemonade, fudge, and cotton candy. How can this man manage to stay in shape? The world may never know.

Headcanon 6: He isn’t one to play by other people’s rules but he sets his own rules with your relationship that you both must obey. One of those rules says that neither of you can be on your phones while together.

Headcanon 7: Hisoka insists that you both wear either matching pants or matching shirts to avoid unnecessary flirtation.

He isn’t jealous but on “us time”, he doesn’t want to lose a single second.

Headcanon 8: Hisoka only jumps in when necessary. Given that you’ve passed the hunter’s exam and work as a bodyguard, he knows you can handle your business. If the person can’t take a hint, then he steps in. They almost back up immediately considering Hisoka is towering over them.

When the moon shines, you both go to the car and off to sleep in your comfy king-sized bed.

Chrollo

We all know that Chrollo loves to read! What does he specifically like to read? What Genre? Does he like to read alone or with other people?

Although Chrollo is a thief and must be hidden in the shadows, the authorities have called off the search for him for at least 3 years. Slowly but surely, he begins to find himself in the outside world again.

Chrollo once discussed a book with the Phantom Troupe when they were being transported to another place for a mission. He read “Tears of a Tiger” by Sharon M. Draper.

The reading sessions are opened with an affirmation and a reason to be thankful to be alive. He says he is thankful for the troupe, glances at you, and smiles. No one catches on to that sly face except for Phinks.

Headcanon 1: Chrollo is very silent and shy to an extent. He only associates with people he knows and trusts. You are the social butterfly at this moment.

Chrollo tags along behind you like a shy child, holding your hand while you stick out your free hand to greet everyone.

Today, the book club was going to read “Divergent”.

Headcanon 2: Although he loves to read, he hates it when others read out loud. Most people are drably read and it annoys him. After a while, he takes over. Chrollo was tense the first 30 minutes of the meeting because two cops were there but neither of them noticed it was him.

Headcanon 3: Chrollo often acts the part of the character that he is reading in the book. His tone, attitude, and emphasis on certain words keep the group engaged. He is complimented on his acting!

“Good Job, honey,” you whisper.

He responds by tightly squeezing your hand.

His tone was so impressive that the host insisted that he read for the entire night. He was ok with that because in between reads he was often distracted by a lovely pair of jeans and shoes you had on. You were into writing, so hearing others read and act out the characters helped.

Headcanon 4: In some settings, Chrollo is very braggadocious. He insisted that the group read one of your stories so you could be provided with feedback.

“We’d be delighted to view your story, y/n!”

“It will be fun!”

The book club wasn’t a stereotypical club that only consisted of soccer moms but instead consisted of men and women who were involved with a business, law enforcement, health, etc. This was an open space for everyone to relax and forget about their demanding jobs.

After the meeting, the group went to dinner at a nearby pizzeria. You all enjoyed large pizzas, beer, salads, and dessert. How could your stomach (or anyone’s stomach) hold that much?

Chrollo laughed so much that it made you question if he was your actual boyfriend or not. He even engaged in conversations with the two off-duty cops! For once, you helped Chrollo experience the greater things in life; true love, friendship, and happiness.

“Thank you,” he whispered and slyly placed a kiss on your hand. “For everything.”

[aereres]

Stuck On You - Cale Makar

Summary: What started as a friendship between you and Cale takes a turn during one of the best summer vacations of your life - a week in a campsite with your new friends from Colorado.

A/N: A self-indulgent Cale fic, who would have thought lmao. Definitely not my best work but I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: a couple swear words, mentions of break-up

Summer. Summer held something you couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was the road trips with music blasting from your car’s speakers, or the endless nights spent drinking cheap beers with strangers while sitting on docks. Maybe it was the seasonal loves, the ones you’d talk about with your friends after coming home, or maybe it was the memories.

Summer had always been something you had never missed, no matter how hard school got, or how good your job paid people to stay during the hottest months of the year; and, in Colorado, it wasn’t any different.

You were gasping for breath when you finally reached the perfect spot for camping, your backpack heavy on your shoulders as your friends walked past you. The excited giggles that left their lips joined the sound of birds chirping as they pushed their own belongings on the ground.

“Oh my God,” Johanna laughed, Andre’s arm wrapped around her shoulders as she looked around the empty side of the forest your getaway was going to take place in. “This place is beautiful,”

“It is,” Sydney said from beside her, eyes cast on her bag as she started to take some stuff out.

You were still taking the beautiful view in, a smile on your lips as you realized that summer was finally starting. A new summer, you thought, with new friends and a new spot.

“Y/N, just come here already!” Andre yelled from the distance, pushing you out of your trance. “Your tent is not gonna build itself,”

“I’m coming,” you giggled, jokingly rolling your eyes your friend’s way as you pushed your backpack down your shoulders, looking around for an empty space for yourself.

“I’m here-”

The breathless words were mumbled behind you, making you turn around quickly to find a flushed face. Cale’s cheeks were their usual dark shade of red, sweat lining his forehead as he tried to gain back his breathing.

“Oh- hi, Cale,” you smiled, heart fluttering when your eyes met his face. “You doing okay?”

“I was a little late,” he mumbled, waving JT’s way before his eyes gently settled on you. It seemed like he had realized you were there in front of him just then, his body tensing as a small smile formed on his lips. “Hi, Y/N,”

“Oh my God,” Nate huffed. “I’ll literally let the two of you sleep with the bears if you don’t start with the tents,”

“Fine, fine. You guys are annoying as hell,” you mumbled, brushing past him to reach one of the last two empty spots, throwing the bag that held your tent on the ground. The paper that slipped out of the opened zipper was filled with instructions, the words so small you almost struggled to read through them. If it wasn’t already difficult enough, the drawings explaining how to set up the tent weren’t helping, either.

You were just starting to understand something when your friends’ loud laughter filled your ears, along with the sound of bottles of beer being opened. You laughed to yourself, taking one of the many thin poles in your hands as you tried to figure out where it was supposed to go, one of your palms burying itself in your hair.

You had never been the greatest at building things, and you weren’t surprised when you grew close to calling one of the guys and ask for their help. Their tents had been built in less than half an hour, helping you prop up yours wasn’t going to be too difficult. Right?

“Here, give it to me. I’ll help you,” the familiar voice snapped you out of your thoughts, as deep as you remembered it to be. Cale was standing beside you, arms folded over his chest as he gave your work a quick look, a teasing smirk on his lips. “Never been camping?”

“Not really,” you giggled awkwardly, handing him the item in your hand as he figured the mess out. His feet carried him to the left side of the tent, sliding the first part of the tube in its place.

“Alright, go on the other side,”

With Cale’s help, building a tent had never been easier. He knew what to do and where to start, he honestly made it look easy. Your shelter was ready after just a couple of minutes, and you found yourself smiling Cale’s way as soon as he mumbled a quick ‘we’re done’.

“Really?!”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, taking his place by your side again as the two of you gave the results one last look. “Looks better than mine down there,”

You giggled, turning around to wrap an arm around him, pulling him in a quick hug. “Thank you so much,” you said, pushing a stray hair out of your eyesight. “Wouldn’t have made it, without you,”

“You’re welcome,” Cale said rather rushedly, his cheeks blushing slightly. You weren’t able to see the way he flushed, though, turning around way too quickly to unpack your bag and getting the last few things for your shelter out.

As you pushed your phone out of your pocket, you realized just then how messily the butterflies in your stomach were dancing. And it was all because of Cale.

-

The sounds of the fireplace were comforting you as everyone enjoyed the first night of the summer together with a beer in hand. Loud laughter was coming from the Avalanche players, and you could hear a few laughs and giggles coming from your own friends, too.

“I can’t believe they gave you a penalty, man,” Tyson admitted, referring to Nathan’s last call on the ice that cost the team a power-play goal. “It was a clean hit and we all saw that,”

“Yeah, man,” EJ agreed, tipping his head back as he finished his beer.

“Call was ridiculous,” Nate agreed, shrugging slightly to signal the end of the conversation before letting an arm wrap around his girlfriend. “What have you been up to, Y/N? You’re the only one we don’t see too often,”

You chuckled at his words, shaking your head as you swallowed the last piece of s’more in your mouth. “Just been working, trying to get a promotion,”

“You go, girl,” Johanna cheered, making you laugh. “And Christian?”

The laughter left your body as soon as your ex was mentioned, the last words of your final argument repeating themselves in your mind. “Christian?” Was all you were able to mumble, eyes cast on the fire as you buried your hands in the pockets of your hoodie.

“Your boyfriend,” Susanna stated, making you chuckle out bitterly.

“Well, ex-boyfriend,” you sighed, shrugging when you looked up to see a few shocked faces. “Broke up a few months ago, now,”

“And you didn’t tell us?!” Mikko yelled, his voice loud over the mixed words of shock from your friends.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, casting your eyes to your lap as everyone kept talking, slowly starting to express the way they all almost despised your ex. Nathan - and his girlfriend agreed with him - said something about Christian hitting on his girl, Tyson complained about the fact that he had never seemed to treat you good, and all the girls agreed with him.

Thinking about your break-up on the first day of your summer vacation wasn’t something you had planned, so you silently kept to yourself, hoping the conversation would drop quickly. Your eyes lifted up from the orange flames of the fire, finding the stars illuminating the dark sky, so subtle yet so beautiful. All the voices of your friends were silenced as you admired the beauty of the night, a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in finally leaving your lips.

A gentle hand nudged your elbow, your attention snapping towards the person to your right in a quick second. Staring back at you was Cale, a soft smile on his lips as he held a stick with a roasted marshmallow between the two of you. “For you,”

“For me?”

“I know you love roasted marshmallows,” he mumbled, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. “Just thought of making one for you, I guess,”

A small smile formed on your lips at his kindness, cheeks burning as you accepted the stick. “You’re too sweet, Cale,” you mumbled, your shoulder leaning against his as you grabbed the candy from the top of the branch, pushing it in your mouth.

He grabbed his own marshmallow and slid it in his mouth, your eyes meeting as you silently looked at each other. His cheeks grew bigger from the size of the candy, a small piece of it coloring the side of his mouth.

You giggled, his own laughter following yours as you swallowed. “Hang on, Cale,” you mumbled, coming closer to him as you tried to ignore your heartbeat picking up its pace. “You’ve got something-”

Your palm cupped his scarlet cheek, warm against your skin as your thumb smoothed the sticky substance away, your eyes barely leaving his as the two of you sat back in place. Both of your heartbeats were loud, cheeks burning as you acted as if the closeness hadn’t affected you in any kind of way.

You silently hoped nobody had paid attention to the two of you, knowing the guys wouldn’t hold down the chirping; but when you looked back at the team and wags, they all seemed to be too focused on their conversation to even notice Cale’s burning cheeks, or your fingers slightly touching.

You were the first one to wish everyone a good night, that day, to retrieve in your tent and listen to your heart beat loudly. You felt like a teenager again, feeling just so jittery after the interaction with the man you had always spent too much time looking at, and had always looked for whenever you’d join the group at any kind of event.

You had always repressed whatever you had been feeling for Cale, pushed it to the side to avoid any kind of rejection. But the way Cale smiled your way, the way he helped you out whenever he could, the way he tried to find subtle ways to gently touch you.

Something in you, that night, was guessing that your feelings might have been mutual.

-----

“Does this happen every time you guys go camping?” You asked Sydney breathlessly as you took a look at the hiking path in front of you. You were already two hours into the hike, the guys all walking ahead of you as if the uphill path wasn’t tiring them, at all. “Like, do you ever get a break when hiking with the boys?”

“Nope,” Sydney giggled from beside you, stopping in her tracks to take a sip of her water. “You’re a newbie to our camping trips, you’ll get used to it,”

You laughed along with her, looping your arm around hers as you followed the rest of the group through the sunrays-lit forest, sweat threatening to line your forehead. Walking in front of everyone was Cale, laughing along with Nate as you watched him, a smile of your own forming on your lips.

The moments of the previous night kept repeating in your mind as you silently walked, hoping the man living in your mind wouldn’t notice the fondness in your eyes whenever he looked your way.

“So, you and Cale?”

The words leaving Sydney’s mouth had your cheeks burning, the smile on your face quickly turning sheepish as you kept walking. “What about me and Cale?”

“C’mon,” she laughed, looking at you with an eyebrow raised. “Last night?”

You rolled your eyes with a chuckle, shaking your head slowly as you looked at the path in front of you. “That was nothing,”

“Nothing?!” She cried exasperatedly, pushing your shoulder as she kept walking. “You looked like you were going to make-out on the spot,”

“That’s not true,”

“That’s more than true, Y/N,” she laughed, silence settling between the two of you after her teasing words. Maybe you and Cale hadn’t been that smooth, you thought. Her elbow was quick to hit your ribcage after a few minutes, her eyes finding yours again as a small smirk formed on her lips. “He’s single, you’re finally single. You should give it a thought,”

“It’s just a stupid, small crush,” you admitted. “Nothing more,”

“Then why not try and see where things would lead?” She stated, knowing she was right. “I’ve never seen Cale act like that,”

“Like what?”

“Like a smitten teenager,” her honesty had you laughing, your head shaking as you were the one to push her shoulder, that time. When your laughter died down, her voice made its way inside your ears. “But really, you should try,”

She didn’t give you time to give her a response, slipping away from you to reach her boyfriend’s side, who had called her name. You were left on your own once again, staring ahead of you, your eyes focused on the back of Cale’s head as you struggled to keep up with the group.

Was it so easy to notice? The way your cheeks would heat up, or the way your smile would turn giddy as soon as he’d be close enough to have your fingers brushing against his. Was it that easy?

“C’mon, Y/N! We’re almost there!” EJ yelled from the front, his toothless smile shining from the distance as he walked backward. You laughed, throwing your head back for a quick second before meeting eyes with a smiley Cale standing by his side.

His cheeks were their usual scarlet color, hair slightly tousled from being pushed back too many times, but he still looked like the kind of person who would steal your heart in no time.

-

“Good night, Y/N,” Tyson was the last person to leave the fireplace, a smile on his face as he walked towards his tent, the silence of the night engulfing you in a warm embrace.

Your eyes drifted up towards the sky - as they always did - and found the patterns of stars painting it. The moon was shining brightly that night, its rays illuminating your face as you silently thought about your day. And Cale.

The hike had gone surprisingly well: the various hours under the hot sun had been worth it, the view from the top of the mountains so beautiful you could never forget it. But you couldn’t just forget Cale, his lingering touches, and the way his eyes would be staring deeply at you whenever they could.

When he had helped you down a particularly high, rocky step, your breath had hitched, the feeling of his rough yet gentle hands on your waist pushing the butterflies in your stomach back to life. You were sure you had never felt so deeply connected to someone, the way Cale was making you feel just so unknown to you. You didn’t want things to end.

“You sure you’ll be okay out here on your own?”

Your head snapped towards the source of sound, the nest of tousled blond hair you knew too well finding your eyes in less than a second. “Yeah, don’t worry, Cale,”

Your gaze fell back on the stars, ignoring the sound of his footsteps until the shuffling of his body next to yours snapped you out of your thoughts again. “The stars are beautiful, tonight,” was all Cale mumbled as your shoulders touched.

“City pollution doesn’t do them much justice,” you chuckled, wrapping your arms around your folded legs as you sent him a quick glance. “I should probably come here more often,”

“It’s such a nice place,” Cale stated, a layer of comfortable silence settling between the two of you. Your body leaned against his on its own command, your head almost resting on his shoulder as the sounds of the crickets surrounding you pushed you into a state of calmness.

His body seemed to tense for a second, but his arm wrapped around your middle when he realized there was nothing you wanted more than to feel him close to you. He was silent for a few minutes - just enjoying your closeness and the warmth your body held - before letting his eyes close.

You didn’t recall walking back to your tent, the next morning when you woke up, but his hoodie still covering your body was a tell-tale sign Cale had brought you back after a while. You buried your flushed face in your pillow, that morning, the sun warming up your tent as you still felt Cale close to you.

Did he feel the same way?

-----

“Oh. My. God. Y/N!” Johanna yelled, trembling as the chilly water of the lake hit her back, all thanks to your splashing. You giggled at her exaggerated reaction, dipping underwater to escape any of her splashes as she tried to look for revenge.

The sun was setting after another long hike, its reflection painting the lake an orange shade as you cooled down, enjoying the last day of the vacation with the team. It was a summer you were going to remember, but you felt stressed, in some kind of way.

Your heart was beating for someone, and that someone was Cale. You had never felt as close to him as you did on the trip, and you felt like something was going to happen. Eventually.

But the trip was coming to its end: you’d have to go home and get back to your schedule, the guys would go back in full swing to their own jobs, and you weren’t ready to give up on the progress you and Cale had made, not yet. It felt as if the universe wanted you to be happy, giving you Cale and feelings you just couldn’t hold back, and just a small time to find your happiness.

The water had stopped moving around you, and you realized just then that Johanna had left, and you were - yet again - on your own. The water had started to cool down even more due to the dark clouds already painting the sky, pushing you to sit on the dock with a towel wrapped around your shoulders to warm up.

The world seemed to grow quiet as you watched the clouds move, reminding you of the sleepless night you were going to spend in your lonely tent due to the upcoming rainstorm. You smiled, though, taking a deep breath as the sound of laughter from the distance slowly put your world back into motion.

“You’re going to get a cold,”

“Would be worth it,” you giggled, watching Cale move until he was sitting next to you on the dock. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you, dinner’s almost ready,” he mumbled, his own eyes falling on the sky. You hummed, wrapping the towel tighter around your shoulders as you scooted closer to him.

“I’m going to miss this,” you whispered truthfully, your cold fingers busy on the strings of your bikini. “Camping, nights in front of the fireplace, you guys,”

“Same,” Cale admitted. “I don’t want it to end, you know? I’m going to miss you,”

Your heart fluttered at his words, sending the butterflies in your stomach in a spiral for a quick second as he kept talking. “And it’s stupid to say, because I see you just so often,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But I’m going to miss you, and what happened between us here,”

You took a second to let his words sink in, just how quickly they made your body feel warm and how they made you feel like a teenager in love all over again. “It doesn’t have to end, Cale,” was all you whispered, your eyes meeting his as you let your heart beat loudly, not caring if anyone heard it.

“I didn’t think you’d feel the same way,” he said, honesty slipping from his lips as he let a hand cup your cheek tenderly.

“And I didn’t think you’d feel the same way, either,” you giggled, your chest warming up unexpectedly when his lips brushed up in a smile. You admired him, letting your eyes rake across his eyes, then his nose, his rosy cheeks, and - soon after - his lips. “Promise me we won’t let this go to waste,”

“We won’t,” he whispered back, his free hand lacing with yours as your lips finally met. Your world felt complete, at least, it seemed like it. With his hands on you and his gentle kisses, you felt alive, you felt like you were finally home.

One of his kisses turned into two, and two turned into three. As warm as he made you feel, your body heat was lowering and you had to pull away with clattering teeth before you bit his lip a little too hard. Your foreheads met for a moment, your eyes closing as you spent one last moment with him, the closeness having you weak.

“You’re freezing,” he stated, eyes carefully taking notice of your purple lips and shaking limbs. “Let’s go, you need to get changed before you die on me,”

“I’m fine, Cale,” you giggled, taking his hand to stand up with him before you started to head towards your camping spot, where the rest of the team was making dinner. His hand stayed in yours as he led you towards your tent, not caring - or worrying - if your friends saw.

Dinner was quite uneventful after that. You ate in silence as you missed Cale’s touch, a smile on your lips as you caught him staring your way from the distance. You didn’t set up the fireplace, that night. Rain started to hit your skin by ten, and everyone pretty much understood your last night had come to an end.

You had wished Cale goodnight with a subtle squeeze of his hand before heading towards your tent, sliding under your covers as you thought about the events of the day. Your mind went back to the man that stole your heart, thinking about the way your heart would stutter every time he’d look your way, or just how quickly your mood could change when his skin touched yours.

Saying you were stuck on him was an understatement.

The tiredness from the activities started to kick in - your eyes feeling quite heavy as you pushed your phone away from you - but the sounds the rain made, the fear of a storm and just what it could cause, they were keeping you up.

The raindrops were hitting the fabric of the tent harshly, and as much as you tried to relax, you just couldn’t. It was well past midnight when an idea popped in your mind, but you just couldn’t. It was too much, and too early.

You rolled to your side, your air mattress making a squeaking noise as you did so. It was too early. Your phone vibrated, pushing you out of your thoughts as the screen lit up, a new message waiting to be read.

I’m outside your tent.

Your brows furrowed at Cale’s text, looking up to see that, in fact, someone was standing outside your tent. You crawled towards the entrance, pushing the zipper down until the cold hair of the night hit your face, and your eyes met Cale’s frame.

“What the hell are you doing here? You’re going to catch a cold!”

“Would be worth it,” he repeated the words you had used earlier that day. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” you whisper-yelled, almost dragging him inside before you closed the tent back up. “What are you doing here, Cale?”

“I noticed you couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, sitting on the edge of your mattress as his eyes stayed on your features even in the darkness of the night. “And I couldn’t sleep either,”

You giggled, shaking your head when you had realized you had had the same idea at the same time. You had been so close to joining Cale in his tent to relax and let all your worries leave your body, but he had beaten you at your own game.

With your last ounce of courage, you pressed a quick kiss to his blushing cheek, pulling him along with you to lay on the mattress. “Just come here,”

You were facing each other after you slipped under the covers again, his eyes staring into yours as you felt your body snuggle closer to his at its own command. One of his arms wrapped itself around your body, pulling you even closer as you felt a tender kiss being pressed to the crown of your head.

“Get some rest,” he whispered in your hair, your face buried in the crook of his neck as he talked. “I’ll be here in the morning,”

“Good night, Cale,”

“Good night, Y/N,”

-

Morning came quickly, too quickly for your liking. The sun was weakly lighting up your tent, its rays shining against Cale’s skin just right. He was still with you - as he had promised - and you were sure there was no better way to wake up than to open your eyes and see Cale, before anyone else.

He was breathing shallowly, eyes still closed as his arms kept tight around your waist, no sign of him waking up just yet. Your heart was a fluttering mess: you’d gone from complete strangers, to friends, to what seemed like lovers. And, God- you didn’t want it to end.

One single digit of yours ghosted over his soft cheek, starting to trace his features as lightly as it could as you admired him with all you had, hoping he wouldn’t wake up from your motions. A long sigh left his lips at your touch, eyelids squeezing for a quick second before he let them open.

“Good morning,” he grumbled, voice gravelly as he closed his eyes for another moment.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” you whispered, retrieving your hand as he pulled you closer. “Slept well?”

“Yes,” he dragged the last letter, the smile on his lips making you giggle. “You?”

“Like a baby,”

“That’s good,”

Silence settled between you as you enjoyed his warmth, brain running way too quickly at just eight in the morning while you traced shapes on his clothed chest. “They’re gonna chirp the hell out of us,” you giggled.

“Oh, God,” Cale chuckled, his palm landing on his face as he remembered about his restless teammates. “Might as well just die in here,”

You giggled, tugging the tent’s zipper open and grabbing his hand to get him out of your bed. “Just let them talk,” you whispered in his ear before stepping outside, stretching your limbs. His quite taller frame struggled to exit the tent, but when he did, a chorus of gasps surrounded you.

“I knew it!” Johanna yelled, receiving a slap from a sleepy Sydney when her loud voice scared her. “I fucking knew it!”

“Cale is getting it, guys!” Tyson said loudly, making Cale’s cheeks heat up.

“Shut the fuck up, Josty,” you spat out jokingly, pushing his shoulder as you found an empty spot to sit on. “Don’t chirp my boyfriend,”

The weight of Cale’s body sitting next to you was enough to distract you for a second, but his thick voice in your ear really took your breath away. “Boyfriend?”

You bit your lip, looking up at him innocently before sending him a quick smile. “Only if you want to,”

He hummed, jokingly leaning down to press a kiss on your cheek, your heart beating loudly against your ribcage. “I’ll think about it,”

Breakfast was over in a rush, and you found yourself packing your belongings with sad sighs leaving your lips every now and then. Even though summer had barely just reached its peak, you weren’t ready to leave the memories of the camping trip behind just yet.

On the hike back to the parking lot, your hand stayed in Cale’s. It fit in his palm so easily you couldn’t help but think you were never going to stop holding his hand, as pathetic as it sounded. The air was chilly, and it held sadness as you two and the rest of the group walked back to your cars.

“I don’t want this to end,” Susanna said, hugging you tightly as you all said goodbye. “I’m going to miss you girls,”

“We’ll find a way to see each other, babe,” Sydney reassured her as they embraced each other.

“Y/N,” Nate greeted you with a smile, a smirk on his lips as he hugged you. “I’m hoping to see you at our next game with an eight on your back,”

You punched his shoulder jokingly when you parted ways, laughing along with him. “I’ll miss you too, Nate,”

Your last goodbyes were sad, numerous people piling in cars as you waved their way, your back resting against your car as you sighed softly.

“So,” Cale mumbled from behind you, stepping closer to your frame as he looked down at you. “Would be interested in our next game’s ticket and my personal jersey, as Nate suggested?”

You giggled, shaking your head as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “I mean, maybe,” you joked, biting on your lip as you let your eyes meet.

“As my girlfriend, you should probably say yes,” he said, looking down at you with a smirk as he gave you no time to respond, his lips meeting yours in a kiss.

“Girlfriend?”

He matched the smile on your face, leaning down to press another kiss before mocking your words from that morning. His voice was smooth, making your heart beat faster than usual, the butterflies in your stomach so crazy you were worried he could feel them.

“Only if you want to,”

Taglist: @thirstyybitch @bellaguarneri @boqvistsbabe @trashforbarzal @captaindaddies @keithseabrook27 @heatherawoowoo @sidscrosbyy @laurenairay @nathan-baelieu​

[blueskrugs]

I Wanna Know You | Matthew Tkachuk

I heard this hannah montana song in a store at the beginning of december, immediately thought of Matthew, and then spent a week with it stuck in my head and trying to plan it out. sorry this isn’t a request, but I needed a break from writing them to remember why I loved writing. yikes. anyway, apparently I’m still incapable of writing fics that aren’t based on or inspired by songs. maybe one day...

length: 2.4k words

When I saw you over there, I didn't mean to stare But my mind was everywhere, I wanna know you

Matthew Tkachuk was magnetic. He’d always been like that, loud, the center of attention, lighting up whatever room he’d walked into. He thrived when all eyes were on him, and he lived to make people smile. That’s where you met him, at a party just before the start of the season, in Gio’s backyard on a night that wasn’t quite summer and not quite fall, either.

You were friends with Johnny's girlfriend, and she’d insisted that you come along. She’d told you that no one would care, and she had been right, because no one had paid you any mind other than asking what you wanted to drink. Besides, looking around, you were pretty sure other people had brought plus-ones or plus-twos and threes. 

Matthew was holding court in a corner of the yard, always with a shitty beer in his hand and a small crowd of people around him. Your eyes kept being drawn to him, not just for the way whatever stories he was telling periodically sent up peals of laughter into the night sky, but for the way his face lit up when he talked.

He caught you in the kitchen when you were grabbing water. 

“I don’t know you,” he said bluntly. You were taken aback. “I mean-” Matthew shook his head. “I’m Matthew,” he said, holding out the hand that wasn’t holding yet another Bud Light. 

“I know,” you said before you could stop yourself. 

Matthew laughed. “You a fan?” 

“Would you stop talking to me if I told you I were an Oilers fan?” You mostly just wanted to see what he would say. 

Matthew wrapped an arm around your shoulders and dragged you back outside. “Nope.”

There's a mark above your eye, you got it in July Fightin' for your sister's reputation

It was well after dark, and you’d had more than a few drinks. Which probably amounted to whatever courage it took to reach out and poke Matthew in the forehead where he was sitting next to you at a bonfire someone had built. 

“Ow,” Matthew said, rubbing his forehead. You hadn’t even poked him hard enough to leave a mark, but there was something there, a cut just above his eyebrow that had barely healed all the way.

“How’d you get that?” you asked.

On your other side, Noah snorted. Matthew flipped him off. “I’ll have you know that I was defending my little sister’s honor.” Noah laughed outright now. “Okay, she and Luke Hughes were arguing about something dumb down at the Lake this summer, and I stepped in.”

“And?” you prompted, because you could tell the story didn’t end there. 

“And I wasn’t paying attention where I was walking and fell off the end of the dock and hit my head.” Matthew somehow managed to look sheepish while grinning as the group sitting around the fire burst out laughing. He rubbed at his forehead again wryly. “My mom says it’s gonna scar,” he added. 

“Maybe leave out the falling off a dock part next time you tell the story,” you told him. 

Matthew grinned at you and winked. You settled back into your lawn chair and took a sip of your drink, watching as Matthew launched into another tale of something that happened at the lake over the summer, thinking that you could get used to this.

Matthew kissed you for the first time later that night, alone in the hallway as the party was winding down, still tasting a little of beer, and, yeah, you could definitely get used to this. 

And valentines are lame So you bring me flowers just for no occasion

The first time Matt brought you flowers for no reason, you were suspicious. It wasn’t your birthday, or anniversary, or Valentine’s Day– and he hadn’t missed any of those things, either. But there they were, waiting on the table in your apartment when you got home from work. You knew they were from Matthew because the card had one of his dumb cheesy jokes on it, but you still didn’t know why they were from Matthew. You snapped a picture and sent it to him, simply asking, “what did you do?”

Matt called you instead of responding. 

“What did you do?” you asked again.

“What makes you think I did something?” Matthew asked. You could hear him pouting. 

“Why else would you give me flowers?” You were still a little anxious about it, and Matthew wasn’t exactly helping. “How did you even get them in my apartment, anyway?” The Flames were on a road trip, had flown out to Chicago that morning.

“Used your spare key and dropped ‘em off before I went to the airport this morning,” he said. He sounded a little proud of himself.

“Matthew,” you sighed. “I gave you my spare key for emergencies,” you chided.

“And I needed to give you flowers!”

“Matt!”

“Okay, I just-” Matthew cut himself off. “My dad used to send my mom flowers from longer road trips, and I always thought that would be something I would do one day.” Matt trailed off, and he sounded hesitant for the first time all conversation.

You reached out and ran your fingers over the petals on one of the roses in the bouquet. They were pretty, and it was cute that Matthew had wanted to give you flowers, had thought of it while getting ready for a road trip in the middle of a busy season. 

“You couldn’t have at least put them in a vase?” you asked, grinning, though Matthew couldn’t see you.

Matt huffed out a laugh, surprised. “I was running late!”

“Yeah, well, now these poor flowers are half-dead,” you told him, holding your phone between your shoulder and your ear so you could root through your cabinets for a vase to rescue the flowers that were indeed wilting a little.

“Then I’ll just have to send you more,” he said.

“Oh my God, Matthew.”

The flowers kept coming throughout that first season together, with no real rhyme or reason: before some road trips, whether they were over a week or just two days, or when he came home from a road trip, showing up at your door and producing a bouquet with a flourish and a crooked grin. It always meant that Matthew had been thinking of you, no matter where he was.

You smile, nеver shout You stand out in a crowd

As Matthew got older, he had developed a habit of adopting rookies. It was entertaining to watch: Matthew, not really much older than a rookie himself, but with an A on his chest nonetheless, going full big brother-mode on all the kids fresh into the league.

Which is why you were woken up in the middle of the night by a phone call from one of said rookies. You listened to Matthew stumble out of bed and root around for a hoodie in the dark, grumbling under his breath about “idiot kids.”

“What happened?” you asked, still half-asleep.

“Fucking ow,” he said, tripping over one of his shoes. “Fucking Zary got in a fight at a bar or something, I don’t know. He asked me to come pick him up.” Matthew had managed to get matching shoes on his feet, and was now looking for his keys. “I’ll be back with him later if I don’t kill him.”

Matthew did not kill Zary, just drove him home and directed him to the guest bedroom to sleep it off, because he did love his rookies, though he would never admit it to anyone. 

The next morning, Connor was waiting nervously in the kitchen when you both woke up.

“Coffee, kid?” Matt asked.

“I didn’t start the fight!” Connor blurted.

Matthew snorted. “I didn’t ask, but good for you, kid.” He started fiddling with his coffee maker. 

“You’re not gonna, like, yell at me?”

“Do you want me to?”

You laughed softly. “Be nice, Matthew.”

“I’m always nice!” Matthew protested. “And, no, I’m not gonna yell, but you are bag skating after practice for a week,” he told Zary, pointing a fork at him. The piece of fruit he’d had speared on it fell off and hit the floor. “Ah, fuck.”

You're fragile and you're strong A beautiful and perfect combination

For the most part, Matthew didn’t let much bother him. He was good at leaving the game on the ice, not taking anything too personally. He did, however, take his game very seriously. He was always trying to be better, for himself for the team, and he prided himself on becoming a leader in the locker room over the years. He took bad losses to heart, and he was the first to blame himself for any mistakes he made. 

The Flames were having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, well, couple of weeks. Okay, maybe you were exaggerating just a little, but it certainly wasn’t pretty. They were losing more than they were winning– they lost every game on a four game road trip, the games they were winning were sloppy, and they were losing ground in the standings. To make matters worse, in the latest game, Matthew had missed an easy goal on an empty net. Yeah, definitely not pretty. 

You made it home before him and waited. 

Matthew slammed the front door when he came in, but there wasn’t a lot of force behind it, like he was too exhausted even for frustration. You had been idly watching an Oilers game because it was on, but you turned the TV off when Matt came into the living room. He wasn’t wearing his suit jacket, his tie wasn’t tied properly anymore, and his dress shirt was rumpled. 

“Oh, babe,” you said. Matthew made a face at you. “Do you want to change or just-”

“Cuddle?” Matt asked.

“Yeah,” you laughed. “Come over here.”

Matt wasted no time in coming over and flopping gracelessly onto the couch with his head on your lap. You ran your fingers through his hair, and he pressed into your hand.

Matthew sighed, long and loud, ending in “Fuck.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” you tried, but you both knew you were lying. 

Matthew opened one eye to glare at you. “I hate this so much,” he said. There was a crease between his eyebrows, and he’d been chewing on his bottom lip. He sat up and pushed his hands through his already messy hair. “I don’t understand what’s wrong, we’re supposed to be a better team than this.”

You really weren’t sure how to comfort Matthew, but you hated seeing him like this. You reached out and took one of his hands, pulling him in for a hug. He slumped against you like his strings had been cut.

“I’m supposed to be better than this,” he whispered, and there it was. Matthew could grin his way through a game, letting chirps and insults roll off his shoulders, but when it came down to it, he would always be worried about being good enough, always wanting to impress everyone. To make people proud.

“Oh, babe,” you said again, but this time your heart broke a little for him. Matthew sighed again. “This is not your fault, you know that. You are good, and you’re a good team. You’ll get through this just fine.”

Matthew huffed like he didn’t believe you, but he didn’t argue with you. You sat quietly in the dark living room for a while, long enough you thought Matthew had fallen asleep. 

“Hey,” you said quietly. Matthew stirred and stretched. “You have a couple days off next weekend. Do you wanna drive out to Banff and do something?”

Matthew perked up immediately. “Can we go dog sledding?”

I like how you are with me In our future history

It was the end of the season, and you were at another backyard party at the Giordano’s. You were idly watching Matthew chase some of his teammates’ kids around. Well, actually, Matt was being chased by some and chasing some others. You weren’t sure how anyone knew who was doing the chasing. The other girls were chatting around you, but you were only half-listening as you watched Matthew scoop up a giggling Tillie Backlund and spin her around.

You couldn’t help but think about how Matthew would be with kids of your own one day. 

“I’m too young for baby fever,” you muttered into your sangria. 

Annica laughed next to you, following your gaze. “He’ll be a good dad one day,” she commented.

“You are not helping!” The other girls were laughing, now, too. 

“Have you two ever really talked about the future?” Meredith asked.

You scoffed. You hadn’t even been together for a year yet. “Not really,” you admitted. 

Your eyes didn’t leave Matthew as he flopped into the grass and let the kids swarm him. And yet. Matthew hadn’t stopped talking about how much he couldn’t wait for you to come down to St. Louis this summer, to really meet his family, to spend time down at the lake with everyone. How much his family was going to love you. 

You’d always dreamed of your future, of a picture-perfect wedding and a few kids and a dog. Growing up, the man of your dreams had always been just that, a dream, but lately when you thought about the future, Matthew was always there. That certainly felt like something important. 

After a few more minutes, Matthew extricated himself from the small mob of kids and made his way over to you, pulling the empty chair next to you close and kissing your temple as he dropped into it. 

“What’re you guys gossiping about?” Matt asked, plucking your glass from your hand and taking a drink. He made a face, but didn’t give it back to you.

“You’re great with all those kids,” Lauren said pointedly. Matthew beamed. 

Your group dissipated a little not long after that, and Matthew tugged you out of your own chair and into his lap. He poked you in the side a couple times.

“You’re awfully quiet.” You made a noncommittal noise. “What’re you thinking about, babe?” he asked.

You nosed at his jawline, pressed a kiss there. “You ever think about having kids?” you murmured.

Matt’s arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer into him. “Yeah, of course.” He was smiling softly at you. “Oh.” 

You giggled a little. “Just one day,” you added.

Matthew kissed you, just a quick peck. “Yeah, one day,” he said.

One day didn’t feel so far away if you knew it would be Matthew by your side. Maybe you’d be used to his antics by then.

And maybe someday down the road I'll sit back and say to myself, "Yeah, I thought so"

[collecting-stories]

Cardigan - Rafe Cameron

Request: heyy for the ts anthology, can u do one for cardigan with rafe? love ur writing🤍 

TS Anthology Series | Outer Banks Masterlist

_ . ◦ ⭐︎:*.☾.*:⭐︎◦∙._

The summer you turned thirteen was the same summer your dad showed up again. Driving the same lemon of a car that he’d pulled out of the driveway in when you were six, he looked like he hadn’t aged. Or maybe you just didn’t remember him all that well because his face felt the same but you were different. When you missed your best friend’s birthday, a trip to the gymnastics gym on the mainland and a towering cake with fondant replicas of all her favorite things, she was rightly pissed.  

Thirteen felt monumental, like the movie the two of you had snuck onto your mom’s Verizon bill, and you had both made a pact that you would be there for each other no matter what. That promise included birthdays and, more seriously, dads who showed up after seven years of radio silence because they didn’t want to ��miss anything else”. But you didn’t mention your dad because hers was so great and you felt a little like you were floating on an island and no one could understand you enough to reach it. But then you missed her birthday and she swore not to speak to you and that felt more crushing than the dad thing until her brother stepped in. Always the one playing referee in when you fought, Rafe was a few years older and, in your mind, a lot smarter.  

It felt pretty important that an older boy would make the time to talk to you, especially when he had to know that his sister was avoiding you at all costs. He’d just gotten his permit and, like any good brother, showed up in the car he wasn’t supposed to drive with a minor in the passenger seat, to take you around the island for the afternoon.  

“My mom said she thinks we’re gonna move.” You mentioned, less casually than you would’ve hoped. The windows in the truck were rolled down and you had your legs up, feet placed precariously on the window ledge. There was a particularly nasty bruise on your knee from falling off your skateboard three days ago and a few short hairs you’d missed shaving. You were relatively new to both shaving and skateboarding so there were bound to be mistakes, you just wished they were less visible.  

“Off the island?” Rafe asked, concern etched into his tone. You assumed the concern was for his sister, what would Sarah do if you moved? Who would put up with all her antics?

You shook your head, “to the cut.”

“Why?”

“She can’t afford the house on her own anymore and my dad has been lousy with child support.” You repeated back all the things she had said to you. Why she didn’t take him to court like the other kid in your grade with divorced parents was beyond you. Rose told her that it was the only way to ensure he paid what he was supposed to but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to hold him accountable.  

Can’t believe you’re gonna be a pogue.” He said it like it meant something worse than you moving to the mainland.

“It’s not forever. My grandma’s house is there, we’re gonna stay with her until we can get back up on our feet.” You shrugged, “at least my dad’ll stay away then.”

But you dad wasn’t the only one who kept their distance. It felt like the distinction over your mother’s life choices held a greater impact on your friends than they had let on. A year into pogue life and Rafe seemed to disappear almost completely. It had always been an odd kind of friendship in the first place but you’d thought that it could’ve withstood a change in address.  

Sarah kept in touch, unbothered by labels or mailing addresses. She’d been to your grandma’s a hundred times before you moved and she continued to go there to see you after. The two of you played in the backyard, doing tricks on the trampoline until gossiping about kids at school became more important than cartwheels. You’d lay there whispering as if someone might overhear, telling each other stories from the week that you were separated. Rafe always came to pick her up, staying in the car and honking the horn for her but never coming over to see you.  

It felt a little lonely even though you technically retained most of your friends.  

-

In tenth grade you got the role of Eponine in the teen camp production of Les Miserables that the local theatre was putting on. You were technically sharing the role with another girl your age but you couldn’t help being excited nonetheless. The boy playing Marius was in two of your classes, a senior who had lofty city dreams and a nice smile. He flirted almost constantly with you, brushing your hair back, telling you how pretty you were, inviting you out after practice. You told Sarah you were “pretty sure” you were on your way to having your first real boyfriend.  

But maybe the ominous casting of Eponine over your life should’ve been hint enough that things weren’t destined to work out that way. The boy who played Marius had an actual girlfriend, home from vacationing with her family in time to watch her boyfriend on stage, and you were supposed to accept that he was just “connecting to the character” when he was with you. Either way, your On My Own struck a different chord in you and after the show was over you didn’t join the other cast members in the lobby to greet people.  

“So when you get to New York...do I get to leak all those videos of you and Sarah doing your Genie in a Bottle routine?” Rafe asked, pulling a chair next to you at the makeup table. Yours was halfway off but you’d stopped scrubbing at your face to stare at yourself in the mirror. Self-pity was a powerful procrastinator.

“You’re supposed to be in the lobby.” You pointed out, ignoring his comment, “I look like a ghost raccoon that just climbed out of a dumpster.  

“Now there’s an analogy.” He laughed and picked up the cotton pads you had sitting on the counter, soaking one in micellar water and turning your head to face him.  

You bit your bottom lip as you tried to keep your composure. It’d been a while since you and Rafe had been alone and last time he was just your best friend’s cute older brother. Too old for you and way out of your league but you were fifteen now and seventeen didn’t feel so far away.  

But Sarah was your best friend and she would be mortified if she found out that you had even entertained the idea of her brother, let alone had serious thoughts about it.  

“I’m sorry,” you said as he swiped the cotton pad over your cheek.

“What for?”  

“I know we’re all supposed to go out tonight for dinner but I kinda just wanna go home.” You replied.  

“Sarah might’ve let it slip about-”

You groaned, “don’t even say his name.” You weren’t sure if it was embarrassment at having let yourself totally believe he liked you but hearing Rafe bring it up made you feel even worse.

“Hey, you’re so much better than that loser,” He insisted, “I’ll beat the crap outta him though, just say the word.”

-

It was that same year, just as school was ending, that you turned sixteen. A short stay in the cut at your grandma’s house had helped your mom get back on her feet. A new job, better than the one that let her go, afforded a moderately sized house back on Figure Eight and a birthday with all the friends that had left the two of you behind.  

Sixteen felt a little more important than thirteen had, especially because, for two whole weeks, time suspended and you were technically only a year younger than Rafe. You still hadn’t told Sarah that you liked her brother, though she did seem a little suspicious when the crush on your co-star dissipated almost overnight. The boys of the past had no hold over your growing infatuation with Rafe. Maybe it was foolish but you couldn’t help thinking that maybe it wasn’t.  

Especially not when he showed up at your house the same way he had when you were thirteen, though this time he had his actual license and not just a permit. He told you it was birthday drive around the island, that he was in charge of stalling you while Sarah set up a surprise party at your house.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to tell me that it’s a surprise.” You teased, sipping at the iced coffee that Rafe had brought you when he picked you up. You swished the ice around once before sipping again.  

“It’s a party either way.” Rafe replied, shrugging his shoulder.  

“So, we’re just driving around until she texts you?” You asked. Rafe turned into the Island Club, circling the parking lot once and then turning back around.  

“I’m yours until Sarah says otherwise.” He said, the words erupting butterflies in your stomach. You could practically feel yourself heat up thinking about what those words could mean if he wasn’t just your best friend’s brother.  

“Well...then do you wanna go to the beach?” You suggested, “Jaxon showed me this really cool spot on the south side that’s practically hidden.”

“Jaxon?” Rafe sounded judgmental when he said the other boy’s name, whether he meant to or not.  

“Yea, we’ve been on a couple dates. You know him, he took me to prom,” you supplied, thinking of the way Rafe had sulked on the staircase while you and Sarah had gotten your pictures taken on the front lawn of Tanney Hill. The last picture in the bunch, despite his sulkiness, was of you and Rafe. You’d asked and he had obliged, coming down onto the porch to take a picture with you before everyone left for the dance.  

It was your favorite picture, even more than the countless ones of you and Sarah or the few of you and Jaxon. He was just a place holder anyway, someone to take your mind off the thing you couldn’t have. Not that it was working, especially when you were driving around with Rafe at the moment.  

“I remember him.” Rafe replied, “so this special part of the beach?”

“It’s so pretty.” You confirmed, “Sarah and I went there a couple weeks ago but she only ever wants to sunbathe.”  

“Don’t say it like you’re surprised.” He said, pulling his car off to the side of the road when you told him to.  

You were out of the car first, letting the door fall shut behind you as you headed up the wooden ramp to the beach. The drop off at the top was a little steeper here than anywhere else, the beach mostly desolate. You stopped at the top of the walkway, turning back to wait for Rafe. He was standing at the bottom of the ramp staring up at you.  

“Are you coming up or what?” You called.  

“Yeah,” he nodded, walking up the path to you.  

“I know Sarah’s planning a big birthday for me, but I’d much rather have this...” you admitted, “just like, coming out to the beach with you...”  

“Oh yeah?” He asked, grinning down at you.  

“Don’t tell Sarah,” you joked, “she’ll be mad-”

“Why, cause I’m your favorite Cameron?”

Maybe it was being sixteen or maybe it was that you were feeling particularly bold, out here on the beach with just Rafe, no threat of prying eyes to interrupt you. Either way, you had been thinking about telling him for a while now and it felt like the time...even if getting rejected ran the risk of ruining your birthday.  

“I know I’m just Sarah’s best friend but...I really like you Rafe.” You said, “and I know it’s like a million to one that you like me back but I just felt like I would explode if I didn’t tell you.” You waited a beat for him to say something and when he didn’t you kept talking, “Sorry, I know this is so weird-”

“It’s not weird.” Rafe cut you off, “I’m just shocked that you seriously think I only see you as Sarah’s best friend.” His tone was teasing as he brushed a piece of hair behind your ear and cupped your cheek. “You’re so much more than that.”

-

It was Sarah who told you, days before your eighteenth birthday. She’d seen Rafe with someone else when her family took a weekend trip out to Chapel Hill to see a game. There was a girl there, hanging all over her brother. He swore she was just a friend, told Sarah not to tell you, but Sarah wasn’t dumb and she wouldn’t help her brother cover up an indiscretion. So she told you flat out that her brother was cheating on you.  

When Sarah first found out that you and Rafe were dating, she had been as mad as her thirteenth birthday. How could you go behind her back and date her brother? The anger dissipated slowly, over the course of the summer it became clear that were not going to leave her in the dust for Rafe. She wasn’t wholly supportive of the relationship but she was supportive of you and if Rafe was who you wanted to be with than she’d be happy for you.  

But if she had to choose, it would always be you over Rafe.  

“I didn’t want to tell you, I really thought about not saying anything but...you deserve to know.” It was the justification she used as your face fell, all the giddiness from planning your eighteenth birthday fading in the blink of an eye.  

“He cheated?” And it felt like a punch to the gut. “Are you sure?”

“He said she was just a friend but...I don’t hang on my friends like that.” Sarah remarked.  

You fiddled with the phone in your lap, Sarah’s comments turning over in your head. You could refute them, tell her that you’d just talked to him the night before and he told you how excited he was to see you, how much he loved you. He’d used the word love...that had to mean something right? You could call him, ask him straight away if he was actually cheating, but you suspected that he would only lie to you. And if he wasn’t cheating, if he did tell the truth, would you believe him? Sarah was your best friend and once she had planted the seeds of doubt in you, they seemed to flourish there.  

You didn’t say anything else about it to Sarah that night and when Rafe called to talk, like he always did, you pretended that everything was fine. But that could only last for so long. A week before your party, on the same special part of the beach that Rafe had first kissed you, things ended. Rafe had sworn to Sarah that the girl at school was just a friend but he couldn’t lie to you, and he didn’t try to either.  

“It was a mistake,” he insisted, as if it was the type of thing you could brush off.  

“But you still made it.” You replied.  

“I didn’t mean to.” Rafe didn’t have any good reasons for why he had cheated on, only that he had and that, since you now knew, he was apologetic. “I don’t even talk to that girl anymore. She meant nothing to me.”

“Obviously she meant more than we did.”  

Rafe had been it for you for a long time. He seemed so out of your league and you had thought a million times that you would’ve done anything for him. He was the ideal for everything that you wanted and for a while, when you had it, had him, it had felt like a dream. But now you were waking up to reality and it wasn’t a sunset on the beach.  

“I love you.” He said it like it was something you were neglecting to remember.  

“Not enough.”  

[leafs-lover]

If He's Lucky I'll Let Him Join

Part 6: Things shift

Series Masterlist

A/N: Sorry for the delay on this, hope you like it. I only plan on 2 maybe 3 more parts of this.

Warnings: Swearing, smut (oral female receiving) unprotected sex (wrap it kids), voyeurism, 18+

Word Count: 6600

April 8, 2021

A: Hey want to go for a walk with Felix and I?

You stare at your screen for a few minutes, the message sitting on read. Since giving Auston your number a week and a half ago he has text you three times. Two were pictures of Felix, and the third was a meme.

The Leafs had a few days off during that stretch, you saw Fred a little but you haven’t seen Auston since you left his house. You also haven’t told Fred about Auston, and since he hasn’t brought it up you don’t think Auston told him.

It’s not that you did anything wrong or cheated on Fred; you aren’t in a relationship, with either man. You haven’t talked about what you are, or where this is heading, if anywhere. The season is almost half over and you have no idea what will happen after that. Last time the season ended you barely heard from Fred for three months, and Auston almost 4.

When you agreed to sleep with Auston, you never specified it would only be with Fred, only in threesome situations. You never discussed the dynamics of you and Auston, and what the boundaries were. You know all of this.

Yet something feels wrong. Like you shouldn’t have done that behind Fred’s back and you shouldn’t keep doing it without with Fred knowing. That you should talk to Fred before you and Auston sleep together again, assuming you do sleep with him again. You don’t even know if you want to sleep with him when it’s just Auston. Not that you had a bad time, it was far from it. You just don’t know what it means, if anything.

There is so much you are uncertain of, all you know is how you felt about Fred last year. Things were going great, and you talked about summer plans. They were loose plans like being his plus 1 to a teammates wedding, going up to the Muskoka’s for a weekend with Mitch and Steph. He even mentioned a five day trip to Iceland, though that seemed unlikely to happen given the amount of planning required. But everything was heading towards a relationship until the world stopped.

And now a year later, the world is spinning. People are getting vaccinated everywhere except Canada; but they say they are coming, and the countries with vaccinated people are easing restrictions. Everything seems to be heading for a new normal, but where does that leave you and Fred?

Some nights you feel like a set of holes for him to use like target practice. But other times you wake up to Fred gently brushing your hair, legs tangled beneath the sheets placing soft kisses on your forehead or shoulder and you feel like so much more.

Intimate dinners.

Sex.

Cute text messages.

Sex.

Lazy Sundays.

Sex.

Bubble baths together.

Sex.

So much back and forth, it’s very confusing. And that’s just with Fred, you can’t even begin to understand the dynamic of Auston.

He has been a roller coaster, and not just the way he throws you around in bed. The first time he was dominant, but ended it with a soft kiss. The kiss lingered on your lips for days, your mind was swirling from it. Sometimes his eyes are dark and full of fire, but other times you get glimpses of him and that kiss.

Sure you had some feelings for Auston last year, but you told yourself they were feelings of lust. Completely, 100% sexually driven. But they were just feelings of sex right? Just the heat developing in your core from being around him fogging the sense and reason of your brain.

Auston finds moments to wrap his arms around you, placing soft kisses on your forehead or your lips. Doesn’t matter if Fred is in the other room or 5 feet away he will do it. While he drives his hard dick into your walls, he’ll have eyes dark with hunger. But after they are soft, and he doesn’t hesitate to lay soft and passionate kisses on your lips while Fred is lying inches beside you.

He exudes so much dominance, both men do. You are actually surprised it doesn’t turn into a pissing match with them, but they direct it all to you. They let you think you are in control, but the first chance they get they take over. Spilling words of venom, pulling orgasm after orgasm, juices coating their cocks and fingers.

The sight alone is enough to send you home with an ache between your legs. They are patient while you are with the other one, knowing their turn is coming. Not too patient though. But through all of it they don’t fight or get jealous of you.

Until last week ago that is, running into Auston in the elevator.

When he was hovering over you, kissing along the marks Fred had left earlier in the day, you got the feeling he was jealous you had spent time with him. You don’t know if it’s because he wasn’t there or that he didn’t like that you were sleeping with someone other than him, but he seemed bothered by it. But he would be naïve to think you and Fred only sleep together with him right?

An hour before that he was mumbling in your ear while cuddling on his couch. He looked at you like he wanted to hold you tight to his chest and never let you leave. Maybe it’s just a part of who he is, how he plays girls. You know he has a reputation around Toronto, besides his performance on the ice. There are rumours that over his first four seasons he has a revolving door of women while on road trips.

Obviously this year with Covid he has been much more mellow, no rumours or stories. But you don’t know if there is any truth to the rumours, you don’t know if he’s sleeping with other women. Not on road trips, the league has strict protocols in place for road teams. But at home they are supposed to follow local health guidelines. He could easily have another girl, and you are just someone he uses when called upon.

Maybe you are just a piece for him to bide his time with until restrictions are loosened, just an easy solution with the leagues COVID protocol’s. Or maybe he sees you as something more. Either way it’s all very convoluted.

Fingers hovering over your screen you mull over everything. Just before you go to type three little dots pop up as if he can sense your hesitation. You decide to wait before replying and are met with a selfie of him and Felix cuddling in bed, tattooed arm fully on display due to his lack of shirt. A “please play with me Y/N” text obviously supposed to be from Felix coming in immediately afterwards.

You can’t help the way your legs snap shut, rubbing together in search of friction. Or the involuntary groan that tumbles out as you stare at over his arm and down to his abs. But it’s the big beady eyes of Felix that win you over and without a second thought you quickly reply with a yes.

**

“Miss, I think you dropped your keys,” you hear someone call out. Ignoring it you pan around the somewhat busy street. Car horns are sirens are heard on the streets, wind howling between the buildings making the air crisp against your face. A hand gently touches your arm and you quickly spin around on your heels, wide eyed. “Sorry,” he chuckles seeing the shock on your face “I called out but I don’t think you heard me. Are these yours?”

He holds up a keychain in your view and you sigh slightly, “yes, thank you.”

When getting ready you decided to leave your purse at home, they aren’t the most convenient while walking a dog. You threw your debit card, TTC pass, phone and keys into your pocket. Arriving out front the coffee shop a couple minutes ago your hands were cold so you reached into your pocket for your gloves.

“No problem,” he smiles.

Scanning over his face you immediately notice his bright blue eyes grazing over your face. Thick flowing dark brown hair sticks out under his Montreal Canadians ball cap, a short scruffy beard on his chiseled jaw. He looks familiar but you can’t place it.

He is tall, similar in height to Auston and Fred. Even through his black peacoat you can tell his shoulders are just as wide. A red scarf gently popping out under the collar of his jacket. “I’m Josh,” he says, and you see him smile once again, instantly you think that it is just the best smile you have ever seen.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you smile back.

“Can I buy your coffee? “he asks glancing to the shop behind you. “I assume that’s why you’re here,” he chuckles. “It’s not free though, it’ll cost you a half hour of your time through the park.”

You chuckle slightly, if you weren’t supposed to meet Auston in a few minutes you would struggle to say no. His wide smile and soft eyes are drawing you in, but on top of that he seems nice. Someone you would actually have a good afternoon chatting with. “I’m actually meeting someone,” you reply.

“Oh that’s a shame, I’m leaving Toronto in a few hours. Think I can get your number; take you out when I come back?”

Before you can answer you feel Felix brush against your legs and let out an excited bark. He jumps up on you almost knocking you over and you immediately feel Auston’s hands on your hips and Josh grip your elbow, holding you upright. Auston mumbles some bullshit to Felix about manners, but you ignore it. Trying to focus on the eager pup, when in actuality you feel fire ignite where their hands connect to you.

“Hey man,” Josh says to Auston releasing your elbow.

“Hey Josh,” Auston says politely stepping beside you. You immediately sense the tension, Auston puffing his chest keeping on hand on the small of your back. Josh’s gaze flicks between you and Auston a little, realizing this is the person you are meeting but he doesn’t seem too bothered by it. You take a harsh swallow, the cold Toronto air burning your throat.

Tick tock, tick tock.

You have no longer how long you all have been standing there, likely only a few seconds but time feels like it has stopped. The only sound besides passing cars is the excited whines and yelps Felix lets out while he circles around your feet. Shifting awkwardly you stare between the two men not wanting to be the first to make a move. Finally Auston clears his throat glaring at Josh, pulling you in tighter to his chest. So close you can smell his cologne.

“Well I’m going to grab my coffee. Nice meeting you y/n,” Josh smiles, stepping around you to go through the door.

“A Hab really?” Auston jokes kissing your cheek, following Josh with his eyes until the door shuts behind him. His lips are warm on your cool skin, eyes look slightly heavy from the previous night's game, and dark curls pop out under the toque he’s wearing that barely covers his ears.

“What?” you ask confused, bending down to pet Felix who is still enthralled by your presence.

“Josh,” he nods inside and you shake your head shooting him a puzzled look. “That’s Josh Anderson. He plays for the Montreal Canadians.”

“Oh that’s why he looked familiar,” you say glancing back inside briefly, you watched the game last night and you remember him. He looks a little different without the equipment or covered in sweat, but his thick hair and smile is what stood out to you. Felix takes the opportunity to kiss your cheek causing you to laugh and look back at Auston. “You watch him for a sec so I can get our drinks?” Auston asks, handing you the leash.

Josh comes out first saying goodbye to you and giving Felix a few pets before making his way down the street. Auston is out not too long after, 2 paper cups in hand. You try to hand the leash back, but he tells you to keep it, feeding you some line about Felix being happy to see you. You know Felix doesn’t care who holds his leash, he is just happy to be on a walk but you aren’t going to object.

It’s only been two days since you saw him. Fred watched him for the Leaf’s short road trip and you spent some time over there during it. While Fred went to physio you would take him on long walks, walks too long for Fred and his knee right now. Fred joked about how close you were thinking it’s the first time you met him.

You took naps on the couch and played with him. He followed you around everywhere, whining and clawing at the door when Fred locked him out for an hour. When you finally opened the door he almost tackled you with his excitement. That night when you went to go to bed he climbed between the two of you resting his head on your chest while you fell asleep, gently petting the top of his head. Every time you saw him Felix would be more excited than the last.

“Thought you Canadians are inferior to the cold,” Auston jokes when a strong wind gust blows from the lake and through the streets. Shivering you pulling your zipper up further, pulling your toque further down your ears.

“Lets go warm up, my place is only a couple blocks away,” he puts a hand on your back to guide you. It’s the smallest contact, a slight brush against your back before his hand falls into his pocket for warmth. But through your jacket and sweater your skin burns from the ever so slight touch.

Stepping into the lobby you instantly feel the warmth of his building hit your face. “You had a good game last night,” you smile knowing he can’t see it through your mask.

“Woah you actually watched,” he teases, pulling his mask over his face.

“Yeah, you know hanging around hockey players all the time figured I should watch a game or two,” you joke. “You know with not teaching I have some spare time.”

“I’m glad you find time in your busy schedule to watch me on TV.” You give him a playful nudge hitting the button for the elevator. “How is it going with work? Find anything yet?” he asks, bending down to give Felix some pets for patiently waiting.

“No, all schools in Ontario go 100% online Monday so there are a lot of us in the same situation right now across the province. I’m sure something will come along I’m not too worried right now.”

“You’re smart, you’ll figure something out,” he says looking up at you. His black mask is covering half of his face, but from the creases beside his eyes you can tell he is smiling at you. Before you can reply you hear the doors creak open and turn your attention to it.

You notice a body in the elevator who shifts into the corner to make space. Taking a step in you are met by a tall man with broad shoulders, hood of his Nike sweater pulled over his red hair, mask covering half of his face. But you immediately recognize the eyes, stopping you in your tracks.

Auston walks into your back not realizing you stopped and Felix jumps up at his feet. Fred stares at the two of you for a second with a look of confusion, blinking a few times. Like he doesn’t believe it’s actually you behind the mask; but his eyes soften and he turns his attention to the eager pup. You shift uncomfortably, eyes darting between Auston and Fred. Auston looks unphazed a small smirk tugging on his lips.

“What’s going on?” Fred asks standing up, still petting Felix’s head.

“Just grabbed some coffee,” you say quietly.

“Yeah just hanging out,” Auston adds in. “What about you?”

“Just getting home from the rink, was gonna see if you wanted to hangout.”

Auston glances over at you briefly before back to his friend, “yeah for sure man,” Auston replies. Stepping off the elevator on Auston’s floor the three of you head towards his apartment. The two of them chat about something from the game last night, almost oblivious to the fact you are there while you trail a few steps back.

Once inside Auston takes of Felix’s leash and wanders to the kitchen to get him some fresh water. Fred lingers once his shoes are off watching you remove your jacket and boots. Once you hang up your coat Fred’s hands are on your hip backing you against the door, handle digging into your back, “you two having fun.”

His words hang thick in the air, stepping closer he pushes you in further, his breath hot on your neck. When you don’t reply he squeezes your hips, driving the handle further into your back causing you to hiss out a yes. His musty cologne and hot breath has moisture pooling between your legs, the only thing holding you up is his nails digging into your skin.

“Hmm,” he hums as you take a few uneasy breaths. “How long has this been going on smuk,” he places soft open mouth kisses on your neck waiting for you to reply.

“Uh...” you stutter, voice catching in your throat when he nips your skin. “Just the,” you mumble groaning, “one other time

“Cute,” he mumbles placing a kiss to your cheek, the edge of his lips brushing the corner of yours. Pulling back slightly he smirks at you and turns his gaze down the hall, smugness plastered on his face while he locks eyes with Auston who silently watches the exchange.

Your chest heaves and you swallow dryly taking a minute. Without another word he leaves you trying to catch your breath while he walks down the hall. Craning your head slightly you see Auston at the other end watching the entire interaction. Expressionless he follows Fred to the couch, as you try to compose yourself.

You don’t know why but you contemplate walking down the hall and saying you aren’t feeling well and heading home. But that seems obvious. And Fred didn’t seem mad did he?

The three of you sit on the couch, Felix circling, constantly bringing someone a toy or whining for pets. It’s a lazy afternoon and easy, the boys watching some golf tournament that you have no interest in. Fred mindlessly runs circles over your ankle while they chat, your head resting on his pillow.

His touch is soft but soothing. Every circle he draws you feel your blood pressure drop before you finally are at ease. Fred is smiling, Auston laughs at something he said. Everything seems fine, like you worked yourself up over nothing.

“So y/n has the hots for Josh Anderson,” Auston says part way through golf which immediately catches your attention, turning your gaze from Felix to the boys. Auston has a smug look plastered on his face while he winks at you, and Fred has a dark mischievous grin.

“Oh yeah,” Fred grins as you feel your cheeks heat up.

“Apparently we aren’t doing a good enough job,” Auston grins and your eyes go wide. You hear Fred laugh lightly squeezing your ankle tightly.

“Never said that,” you whisper, so faintly you aren’t even sure you spoke. Fred’s hand on your ankle tightens and he pulls you so you’re back is flat to the couch. Quickly his body is on yours, pinning your wrists to the couch at your side.

“Is that true baby? Are me and Auston not satisfying you? Not fulfilling your needs?” he murmurs eyes locked down at you. His chest presses into you, the air around you shifting. You try to swallow, but your throat is dry being starved of saliva.

“Pretty sure he asked you a question princess.” You didn’t even notice but Auston moved across the room, his mouth is millimeters from your ear.

Tilting your head slightly, you feel a hand on your jaw holding you in place, forcing your gaze up to Fred. You aren’t even sure whose hand it is until you feel the leather bracelet brush your neck and immediately know its Auston.

“What do you say man, should we take her to your room? Show her how good she has it,” Fred doesn’t pull his eyes away, while his comments are fully directed at Auston. Another display of his dominance over you making the slick between your legs build even more. “Make her regret even mentioning thinking of him”

You practically can hear the smugness oozing off the man beside you, only answering a quick but firm, “yes.”

Fred’s body is off yours as fast as he was on you. In an instant he easily throws you over his shoulder, carrying you down the hall to Auston’s room. Once back on your feet they begin to remove your clothing. Fred on your right, Auston on your left, both sucking on your neck working in unison; articles of clothing littering his bedroom floor, leaving you in just your matching underwear. If it wasn’t for the two hot bodies pressed against you goosebumps would be popping all over your body.

Auston unclasps your bra, sliding his tongue along your collarbone. Fred sucks on your neck when you hear fabric ripping, your underwear being torn off of you. Fred smirks against you, knowing you have been on them for all the shredded underwear they have left you with over the last three months, but neither seems to care.

Auston’s hand makes work of your breast, massaging and pinching the nipple. Gently rolling it through his thumb and index finger while Fred manipulates your legs apart, thrusting two thick digits inside of your folds. The unexpected nature causes you to whine while both men chuckle against you.

“Most women would be happy to have one man and you have two” Auston murmurs.

“Let’s make sure she never thinks about him again,” Fred sneers. Your head falls back and you begin to moan louder, his fingers quickly thrusting in and out of you. Auston’s other hand roams your back, sliding down to your ass, giving you firm squeezes to roll your hips forward further onto Fred’s digits.

If it wasn’t for both men on either side practically supporting your entire body weight, your knees would buckle. Fred pulls away slightly to get a better look at you, to watch you fall apart over his fingers. Your gaze meets his and his pupils are dilated, black with lust.

Increasing his fingers, thumb finding your clit you know you won’t last much longer. Incoherent thoughts are all you can manage, whimpers and curse words falling from your lips.

“Hear how wet you are princess?” Auston’s mouth is pressed against your ear. One hand cupping your breast his other firmly squeezing your ass. “Freddie’s hand is coated because of you,” he mumbles, you head a chuckle from the man on your right.

“This is nothing,” Fred asserts, but before you can process the weight of his words your orgasm crashes over you. Knees trembling, walls fluttering; blood pulsates through your body causing you to groan loudly.

As soon as you come down the boys release you and you almost fall over. Walking like a newborn deer on ice, you make your way to the bed while both men quickly strip. There must have been a silent exchange because Auston is quickly sitting in the middle of the mattress pulling you towards him.

Your back is to his chest and you can feel his hard erection pressed into your back as he brushes your hair aside exposing one side of his neck for him. “How many do you think it’ll take princess?” he hums his voice soft in your ear. “How many until you can’t even remember Josh’s name anymore?”

His words go right to your core, vibrating through your folds. Your chest heaves and your body shudders thinking of his statement. You know the question is rhetorical, but even if you had a number it wouldn’t be enough.

Fred stands at the end of the bed, eyes switching between yours and the slick dripping between your legs. Every time his eyes drop they stay a little longer, licking his lips at the sight. You begin to feel like a piece of meat and both men have been starved of food for weeks. You move your legs to close them, but Auston’s hands quickly grip your thighs holding you open for him.

Fred shakes his head while Auston rasps, “you know better than that princess,” in your ear; digging his thumbs into your flesh. Your entire body shivers and you take an uneasy exhale, knowing you are in for it. Quickly Fred crawls onto the bed, making his way towards your heat while someone, you aren’t sure who, bends your knees. Fred places soft kisses on the inside of your thigh and knee. The thought of what he will do has you dizzy. Flattening his tongue he licks up the mess from before, your entire body jolts but Auston firmly grips your legs open holding you is place.

“Such a good girl,” he mumbles as Fred laps up all your juices. A few more licks and Fred thick fingers find your heat, curling back inside you “taste so good hun” he adds.

Throwing your head back against Auston’s shoulder you groan “fuck,” but all it does is give him a better view.

“Look at you taking Fred’s fingers,” Auston hums as you feel Fred’s mouth attach to your clit. Auston’s voice is hot and heavy, Fred’s fingers hitting your g-spot with every thrust and soon your second orgasm is building deep inside you.

“Oh fuck,” you hiss while Fred’s tongue circles your clit, swirling in a figure eight on a continuous loop.

“You gonna cum again princess,” Auston says in your ear. “Coat his face?”

Incoherent sounds fall from both sets of your lips. You’re so wet that the obscene sound of his fingers fucking in and out of you makes your entire body heat up. Between both of their sinful mouths, Fred’s attached to your cunt and Auston’s whispering a string of filth on your ear, you are right back on the edge. Your heels dig into the mattress and it’s only a matter of time. Auston’s mouth purring in your ear, Fred’s tongue carefully circling your clit is more than you can take.

Your second orgasm rolls through you, little fires exploding in your hear. Fred slows slightly to draw it out while Auston holds you firm against his chest and you tremble in his embrace. His dick twitches against your back watching as white spills out. You sag against Auston’s chest, body tingling as your juices coat Fred’s face.

Pulling away from your heat your fog begins to settle. Fred has a dark smile, his beard coated in your slick heat. “What do you think does she need one more? Or should we fuck her ‘til she can’t walk anymore?” Fred says to Auston.

“She definitely needs one more,” Auston replies, hands digging harshly into your thighs keeping them spread apart.

“Ungh,” is all you can whimper in response, closing your eyes to take a few uneasy breaths while your legs relax, falling back to the mattress.

There must have been an exchange between the two or maybe you are still coming down from your high and don’t hear the question, but you do hear Auston say, “all you man I’m really enjoying the view.”

A hand is on your throat pulling your face away from Auston’s shoulder. Next a pair of lips are on yours, in a hot and hungry way. Immediately you know it’s Fred; not from the facial hair but the taste of yourself on his tongue.

Fingers are thrust back inside you, but your groans are swallowed by Fred’s mouth. Auston throws his calves over your shins, keeping you spread for his friend while his hands trail up your body. One finds your breast, the other finding your clit, thumb concentrating on pressing harsh circles into it.

Your pussy quivers at the contact it all becoming a lot. It’s almost too much. And then you feel Auston’s mouth on your neck and you know its game over. Being sandwiched between these men, fingers and tongues all over your skin has you pulling away from Fred for some much needed air.

“Holy fuck,” you moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, beads of sweat are rolling down the valley of your breasts. Your scream gets ripped from your throat and your vision goes white, wave after wave of euphoria rolling through you. Both men groan as your warmth spills around Fred’s wrist and onto the bed.

“God you are so beautiful when you cum,” Auston groans in your ear.

“Bet Josh would never make you feel like that,” Fred mumbles, finally pulling his fingers from you. Grabbing your jaw he forces your mouth open, shoving his fingers inside for you to lick clean. You have barely caught your breath and almost choke, but quickly work to clean your slick from his finger.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he purrs. Pulling away he lands beside you on the mattress, Auston quickly crawls out from behind. Falling backwards landing on the mattress, Fred brushes your sweaty hair from your forehead mumbling something to you in Danish.

Before you can react Auston in between your legs, hands on the back of your ankles pulling you closer, his throbbing tip pressing against your entrance “Remember the word,” Fred asks.

“Yeah,” you barely manage to say, throat incredibly dry.

“What is it,” Auston asks, waiting to continue.

“Yellow,” you manage to whisper through some uneasy breaths.

“You okay,” Auston asks, and you turn your head to stare up at him with a nod, tears resting in the edge of your eyes.

“You have to say it,” Fred says softly.

“M’okay” you say smiling at the softness of the two men, no matter how dominant or aggressive they are they always make you’re okay.

With that Auston thrusts inside your walls, Fred’s handiwork providing an easy lubrication so he gives you no time to adjust. Snapping his hips he sets a fast pace eyes dark and staring between your legs, watching his thick cock slide in and out of your sopping cunt. Pulling your bottom lip through your teeth you whimper, warm tears now rolling down your cheek.

“Just be thankful he is letting you off easy by being on top,” Fred winks rolling onto his side gently pressing his lips into your shoulder.

Wrapping your legs around his waist he snaps his hip, “figured she could use a minute,” he grunts. “But only a minute,” his hands are on your hips and he forcefully pulls you back increasing his pace causing you to cry out.

“Y/N,” Auston calls forcing you to whine as your head turns. “I think you should say thank you to Fred for taking such good care of you earlier,” he nods down to Fred’s hard member resting beside your hand. You honestly don’t think you could do much even if you tried, but when you slowly turn to meet Fred’s gaze he smiles at you.

“It would be nice if you said thank you skat,” Fred mumbles, sucking on your sweet spot beside your ear. Reaching out you wrap your hand around his length giving him a few slow tugs.

“Faster baby,” Fred mumbles, his words vibrating through your body. You try to set a fast pace, but Auston quickly has you distracted. Every thrust is hard and deep, brushing your g-spot before he pulls back. He knows exactly what he wants, each thrust calculated as he drags his cock along your walls. Every time he pounds into you your hand stutters around Fred’s length, but he’s loving it, smirking against your neck.

Each time Auston hits your g-spot you squirm and he is getting off on it. His eyes getting darker and darker, a grin tugging on his lips a little more each time. Fred continues to pepper your collar bone with kisses before working his way down your chest and back up again. His mouth is everywhere when his thumb attaches to your clit.

“Fuck Fred,” you jolt from the contact.

“Pretty sure it’s Auston making you feel this good,” Fred mumbles in your ear. “He’s the one with his dick buried inside you right now.”

Every statement is accompanied by harder faster circles on your bundle of nerves. Nails gripping your hips harder, cock sliding in and out faster. “He feel good baby?” Fred hums. “He feel good stretching you out? You’re taking him so well, you gonna cum all over his cock?”

“Fuck she’s close,” Auston announces as if you and Fred didn’t know. Releasing your hand from Fred’s cock you feel your body erupt around Auston’s dick.

If you thought the first three were intense, the fourth is pure fireworks. Every extremity is tingling and you feel lightning bolts erupt inside. Your walls flutter and both men groan as you disintegrate under Auston, melting into the bed. Neither man stops and soon you are met by Auston’s sticky warmth flooding your walls. He grunts and slows his hips, a few shallow thrusts and he spills everything he has inside you.

Fred pops his head up and looks towards your cunt, watching his friend coat your insides white. Momentary confusion crosses his face before turning back to you. Apart from the first time which Auston didn’t mean to, he has never once spent inside of you. Always spilling on your ass, tits or sometimes thrusting his cock inside your mouth so you can swallow it down. He doesn’t know when you and Auston fucked last week you told him can doesn’t need to pull out. He doesn’t know how every time over the past three months you have a moment of disappointed when Auston pulls out of you. How you are excited for your pussy to overflow with a mixture of both men’s cum.

Auston pulls out and falls beside you and Fred’s face softens. He smiles at you, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lip as he takes in your face. Absolutely fucked out and flush, hair a mess, splayed across the bed, makeup likely smeared down your cheek. Licking your lips you pull Fred’s face down for a searing earth shattering kiss.

Your hand tangles into his roots, his thumb drawing circles just below your ribcage. Tongue sliding into the others mouth and you tug harder trying to pull him on top of you but he doesn’t budge. Instead he falls onto his back pulling you on top of him.

“We all can’t go easy on you,” Fred winks while adjusting you over him. A mixture of sticky white fluids spill out and onto Fred while he lines himself up.

“Got one more in ya princess? You gonna cum for Freddie like you did me?” Auston asks and you shake your head, body barely functioning at this point.

“Oh baby we all know you do”

“Umph,” you mewl as he easily pulls you down, Auston’s cum spilling out around his girth.

Your hand quickly lands on Fred’s stomach, his abs covered in a thin layer of sweat. Your breath hitches when he bucks his hips while you try and take a minute, slowly grinding your hips, trying to compose yourself as best you can.

“Cocks not gonna ride itself,” Auston chortles from beside you.

Your eyes go wide and Fred smirks, shooting you a wink, you start rising and dropping around him, Fred bucking his hips to press deep inside you. Feeling his tip almost in your belly a slew of curse words fall from your lips. With every thrust you can feel more of Auston’s cum spilling out. A part of you thinks Fred thrusts up and pulls your hips down so harshly to fuck it out of you, but either way you are heading back towards the edge.

“That’s right take me deep baby,” Fred praises his back arching off the bed slightly.

You can tell he is enjoying watching you squirm above him. Your overly sensitive cunt barely able to take any more. Luckily the time you spent with your hand wrapped around him earlier means his high is close too.

“You’re taking me so well, baby girl,” Fred praises.

“You gonna cum for him like you did for your me, huh? Milk his cock for all it’s worth?” Auston asks, drawing your gaze to his dark brown orbs. You had almost forgot Auston was there, you are barely able to focus on Fred the pound driving up into your cervix let alone the man beside you catching his breath.

“Mmgh, I don’t… I don’t think I can,” you keen helplessly into thin air.

“Yeah you can, princess,” Auston urges gently.

Auston sits up pinching your nipple and you hiss from the friction his hand is causing, mouth grazes along your throat, his mustache brushing it ever so slightly. You don’t need him, Fred’s cock driving into your throbbing pussy with every thrust. Fred will get you there, but Auston’s mouth on your neck, hand on your nipple sends you catapulting over the edge.

Fred’s hands dig into your hips and Auston’s arm catch your body as you tremble above his friend. Auston spews filth in your ear, Fred mumbling Danish praise below you, but you hear none of it. Vision whiting out, ears filled with a high pitch ring as Fred fucks you through your high. Wave after wave of ecstasy overwhelms your body, Fred gives you a few more sloppy thrusts before painting your walls white. The two men support you while Auston slowly lowers you onto Fred’s chest while you catch your breath.

Auston leans on his elbow beside you, brushing your hair drenched with sweat from your forehead. Both you and Fred are breathless, clammy with sweat as his dick softens inside of you.

“So you learn to keep other guy’s names out of your mouth,” Auston sneers .

“I was obviously joking,” you groan while Fred brings a hand up to lightly draw on your back.

“Wasn’t very funny,” Fred adds.

“One Andersen is more than enough,” you try to push off of Fred put he tightens his grip wrapping his arm around your back, pulling you back down to his chest.

You hear Auston’s feet on the wood floor, and he returns a minute later with some water and a damp wash cloth. Fred gingerly lifts your body, sliding his cock out as some cum spills out. Once off him, Auston hands you the glass and Fred the towel who gently wipes between your legs while you whimper from the contact.

Auston having found some boxers, pulls a t-shirt over your head and pulls you back into the bed with him. Lying on your side you curl into his arm, using his tattooed bicep as a pillow, your hand lying on his chest. Fred crawls in behind you, hand on your hip, warm breath on your neck.

You hear the click clacking of Felix’s nails on the wood floor as he gets closer. The bedroom door finally open, he lets himself in jumping onto the bed and curling up between your legs and Auston as you all quickly fall asleep.

[kingstylesdaily]

Playtime With Harry Styles

via vogue.com

THE MEN’S BATHING POND in London’s Hampstead Heath at daybreak on a gloomy September morning seemed such an unlikely locale for my first meeting with Harry Styles, music’s legendarily charm-heavy style czar, that I wondered perhaps if something had been lost in translation.

But then there is Styles, cheerily gung ho, hidden behind a festive yellow bandana mask and a sweatshirt of his own design, surprisingly printed with three portraits of his intellectual pinup, the author Alain de Botton. “I love his writing,” says Styles. “I just think he’s brilliant. I saw him give a talk about the keys to happiness, and how one of the keys is living among friends, and how real friendship stems from being vulnerable with someone.”

In turn, de Botton’s 2016 novel The Course of Love taught Styles that “when it comes to relationships, you just expect yourself to be good at it…[but] being in a real relationship with someone is a skill,” one that Styles himself has often had to hone in the unforgiving klieg light of public attention, and in the company of such high-profile paramours as Taylor Swift and—well, Styles is too much of a gentleman to name names.

That sweatshirt and the Columbia Records tracksuit bottoms are removed in the quaint wooden open-air changing room, with its Swallows and Amazons vibe. A handful of intrepid fellow patrons in various states of undress are blissfully unaware of the 26-year-old supernova in their midst, although I must admit I’m finding it rather difficult to take my eyes off him, try as I might. Styles has been on a six-day juice cleanse in readiness for Vogue’s photographer Tyler Mitchell. He practices Pilates (“I’ve got very tight hamstrings—trying to get those open”) and meditates twice a day. “It has changed my life,” he avers, “but it’s so subtle. It’s helped me just be more present. I feel like I’m able to enjoy the things that are happening right in front of me, even if it’s food or it’s coffee or it’s being with a friend—or a swim in a really cold pond!” Styles also feels that his meditation practices have helped him through the tumult of 2020: “Meditation just brings a stillness that has been really beneficial, I think, for my mental health.”

Styles has been a pescatarian for three years, inspired by the vegan food that several members of his current band prepared on tour. “My body definitely feels better for it,” he says. His shapely torso is prettily inscribed with the tattoos of a Victorian sailor—a rose, a galleon, a mermaid, an anchor, and a palm tree among them, and, straddling his clavicle, the dates 1967 and 1957 (the respective birth years of his mother and father). Frankly, I rather wish I’d packed a beach muumuu.

We take the piratical gangplank that juts into the water and dive in. Let me tell you, this is not the Aegean. The glacial water is a cloudy phlegm green beneath the surface, and clammy reeds slap one’s ankles. Styles, who admits he will try any fad, has recently had a couple of cryotherapy sessions and is evidently less susceptible to the cold. By the time we have swum a full circuit, however, body temperatures have adjusted, and the ice, you might say, has been broken. Duly invigorated, we are ready to face the day. Styles has thoughtfully brought a canister of coffee and some bottles of water in his backpack, and we sit at either end of a park bench for a socially distanced chat.

It seems that he has had a productive year. At the onset of lockdown, Styles found himself in his second home, in the canyons of Los Angeles. After a few days on his own, however, he moved in with a pod of three friends (and subsequently with two band members, Mitch Rowland and Sarah Jones). They “would put names in a hat and plan the week out,” Styles explains. “If you were Monday, you would choose the movie, dinner, and the activity for that day. I like to make soups, and there was a big array of movies; we went all over the board,” from Goodfellas to Clueless. The experience, says Styles, “has been a really good lesson in what makes me happy now. It’s such a good example of living in the moment. I honestly just like being around my friends,” he adds. “That’s been my biggest takeaway. Just being on my own the whole time, I would have been miserable.”

Styles is big on friendship groups and considers his former and legendarily hysteria-inducing boy band, One Direction, to have been one of them. “I think the typical thing is to come out of a band like that and almost feel like you have to apologize for being in it,” says Styles. “But I loved my time in it. It was all new to me, and I was trying to learn as much as I could. I wanted to soak it in…. I think that’s probably why I like traveling now—soaking stuff up.” In a post-COVID future, he is contemplating a temporary move to Tokyo, explaining that “there’s a respect and a stillness, a quietness that I really loved every time I’ve been there.”

In 1D, Styles was making music whenever he could. “After a show you’d go in a hotel room and put down some vocals,” he recalls. As a result, his first solo album, 2017’s Harry Styles, “was when I really fell in love with being in the studio,” he says. “I loved it as much as touring.” Today he favors isolating with his core group of collaborators, “our little bubble”—Rowland, Kid Harpoon (né Tom Hull), and Tyler Johnson. “A safe space,” as he describes it.

In the music he has been working on in 2020, Styles wants to capture the experimental spirit that informed his second album, last year’s Fine Line. With his debut album, “I was very much finding out what my sound was as a solo artist,” he says. “I can see all the places where it almost felt like I was bowling with the bumpers up. I think with the second album I let go of the fear of getting it wrong and…it was really joyous and really free. I think with music it’s so important to evolve—and that extends to clothes and videos and all that stuff. That’s why you look back at David Bowie with Ziggy Stardust or the Beatles and their different eras—that fearlessness is super inspiring.”

The seismic changes of 2020—including the Black Lives Matter uprising around racial justice—has also provided Styles with an opportunity for personal growth. “I think it’s a time for opening up and learning and listening,” he says. “I’ve been trying to read and educate myself so that in 20 years I’m still doing the right things and taking the right steps. I believe in karma, and I think it’s just a time right now where we could use a little more kindness and empathy and patience with people, be a little more prepared to listen and grow.”

Meanwhile, Styles’s euphoric single “Watermelon Sugar” became something of an escapist anthem for this dystopian summer of 2020. The video, featuring Styles (dressed in ’70s-­flavored Gucci and Bode) cavorting with a pack of beach-babe girls and boys, was shot in January, before lockdown rules came into play. By the time it was ready to be released in May, a poignant epigraph had been added: “This video is dedicated to touching.”

Styles is looking forward to touring again, when “it’s safe for everyone,” because, as he notes, “being up against people is part of the whole thing. You can’t really re-create it in any way.” But it hasn’t always been so. Early in his career, Styles was so stricken with stage fright that he regularly threw up preperformance. “I just always thought I was going to mess up or something,” he remembers. “But I’ve felt really lucky to have a group of incredibly generous fans. They’re generous emotionally—and when they come to the show, they give so much that it creates this atmosphere that I’ve always found so loving and accepting.”

THIS SUMMER, when it was safe enough to travel, Styles returned to his London home, which is where he suggests we head now, setting off in his modish Primrose Yellow ’73 Jaguar that smells of gasoline and leatherette. “Me and my dad have always bonded over cars,” Styles explains. “I never thought I’d be someone who just went out for a leisurely drive, purely for enjoyment.” On sleepless jet-lagged nights he’ll drive through London’s quiet streets, seeing neighborhoods in a new way. “I find it quite relaxing,” he says.

Over the summer Styles took a road trip with his artist friend Tomo Campbell through France and Italy, setting off at four in the morning and spending the night in Geneva, where they jumped in the lake “to wake ourselves up.” (I see a pattern emerging.) At the end of the trip Styles drove home alone, accompanied by an upbeat playlist that included “Aretha Franklin, Parliament, and a lot of Stevie Wonder. It was really fun for me,” he says. “I don’t travel like that a lot. I’m usually in such a rush, but there was a stillness to it. I love the feeling of nobody knowing where I am, that kind of escape...and freedom.”

GROWING UP in a village in the North of England, Styles thought of London as a world apart: “It truly felt like a different country.” At a wide-eyed 16, he came down to the teeming metropolis after his mother entered him on the U.K. talent-search show The X Factor. “I went to the audition to find out if I could sing,” Styles recalls, “or if my mum was just being nice to me.” Styles was eliminated but subsequently brought back with other contestants—Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson, and Zayn Malik—to form a boy band that was named (on Styles’s suggestion) One Direction. The wily X Factor creator and judge, Simon Cowell, soon signed them to his label Syco Records, and the rest is history: 1D’s first four albums, supported by four world tours from 2011 to 2015, debuted at number one on the U.S. Billboard charts, and the band has sold 70 million records to date. At 18, Styles bought the London house he now calls home. “I was going to do two weeks’ work to it,” he remembers, “but when I came back there was no second floor,” so he moved in with adult friends who lived nearby till the renovation was complete. “Eighteen months,” he deadpans. “I’ve always seen that period as pretty pivotal for me, as there’s that moment at the party where it’s getting late, and half of the people would go upstairs to do drugs, and the other people go home. I was like, ‘I don’t really know this friend’s wife, so I’m not going to get all messy and then go home.’ I had to behave a bit, at a time where everything else about my life felt I didn’t have to behave really. I’ve been lucky to always feel I have this family unit somewhere.”

When Styles’s London renovation was finally done, “I went in for the first time and I cried,” he recalls. “Because I just felt like I had somewhere. L.A. feels like holiday, but this feels like home.”

Behind its pink door, Styles’s house has all the trappings of rock stardom—there’s a man cave filled with guitars, a Sex Pistols Never Mind the Bollocks poster (a moving-in gift from his decorator), a Stevie Nicks album cover. Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” was one of the first songs he knew the words to—“My parents were big fans”—and he and Nicks have formed something of a mutual-admiration society. At the beginning of lockdown, Nicks tweeted to her fans that she was taking inspiration from Fine Line: “Way to go, H,” she wrote. “It is your Rumours.” “She’s always there for you,” said Styles when he inducted Nicks into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2019. “She knows what you need—advice, a little wisdom, a blouse, a shawl; she’s got you covered.”

Styles makes us some tea in the light-filled kitchen and then wanders into the convivial living room, where he strikes an insouciant pose on the chesterfield sofa, upholstered in a turquoise velvet that perhaps not entirely coincidentally sets off his eyes. Styles admits that his lockdown lewk was “sweatpants, constantly,” and he is relishing the opportunity to dress up again. He doesn’t have to wait long: The following day, under the eaves of a Victorian mansion in Notting Hill, I arrive in the middle of fittings for Vogue’s shoot and discover Styles in his Y-fronts, patiently waiting to try on looks for fashion editor Camilla Nickerson and photographer Tyler Mitchell. Styles’s personal stylist, Harry Lambert, wearing a pearl necklace and his nails colored in various shades of green varnish, à la Sally Bowles, is providing helpful backup (Britain’s Rule of Six hasn’t yet been imposed).

Styles, who has thoughtfully brought me a copy of de Botton’s 2006 book The Architecture of Happiness, is instinctively and almost quaintly polite, in an old-fashioned, holding-open-doors and not-mentioning-lovers-by-name sort of way. He is astounded to discover that the Atlanta-born Mitchell has yet to experience a traditional British Sunday roast dinner. Assuring him that “it’s basically like Thanksgiving every Sunday,” Styles gives Mitchell the details of his favorite London restaurants in which to enjoy one. “It’s a good thing to be nice,” Mitchell tells me after a morning in Styles’s company.

MITCHELL has Lionel Wendt’s languorously homoerotic 1930s portraits of young Sri Lankan men on his mood board. Nickerson is thinking of Irving Penn’s legendary fall 1950 Paris haute couture collections sitting, where he photographed midcentury supermodels, including his wife, Lisa Fonssagrives, in high-style Dior and Balenciaga creations. Styles is up for all of it, and so, it would seem, is the menswear landscape of 2020: Jonathan Anderson has produced a trapeze coat anchored with a chunky gold martingale; John Galliano at Maison Margiela has fashioned a khaki trench with a portrait neckline in layers of colored tulle; and Harris Reed—a Saint Martins fashion student sleuthed by Lambert who ended up making some looks for Styles’s last tour—has spent a week making a broad-shouldered Smoking jacket with high-waisted, wide-leg pants that have become a Styles signature since he posed for Tim Walker for the cover of Fine Line wearing a Gucci pair—a silhouette that was repeated in the tour wardrobe. (“I liked the idea of having that uniform,” says Styles.) Reed’s version is worn with a hoopskirt draped in festoons of hot-pink satin that somehow suggests Deborah Kerr asking Yul Brynner’s King of Siam, “Shall we dance?”

Styles introduces me to the writer and eyewear designer Gemma Styles, “my sister from the same womb,” he says. She is also here for the fitting: The siblings plan to surprise their mother with the double portrait on these pages.

I ask her whether her brother had always been interested in clothes.

“My mum loved to dress us up,” she remembers. “I always hated it, and Harry was always quite into it. She did some really elaborate papier-mâché outfits: She made a giant mug and then painted an atlas on it, and that was Harry being ‘The World Cup.’ Harry also had a little dalmatian-dog outfit,” she adds, “a hand-me-down from our closest family friends. He would just spend an inordinate amount of time wearing that outfit. But then Mum dressed me up as Cruella de Vil. She was always looking for any opportunity!”

“As a kid I definitely liked fancy dress,” Styles says. There were school plays, the first of which cast him as Barney, a church mouse. “I was really young, and I wore tights for that,” he recalls. “I remember it was crazy to me that I was wearing a pair of tights. And that was maybe where it all kicked off!”

Acting has also remained a fundamental form of expression for Styles. His sister recalls that even on the eve of his life-changing X Factor audition, Styles could sing in public only in an assumed voice. “He used to do quite a good sort of Elvis warble,” she remembers. During the rehearsals in the family home, “he would sing in the bathroom because if it was him singing as himself, he just couldn’t have anyone looking at him! I love his voice now,” she adds. “I’m so glad that he makes music that I actually enjoy listening to.”

Styles’s role-playing continued soon after 1D went on permanent hiatus in 2016, and he was cast in Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk, beating out dozens of professional actors for the role. “The good part was my character was a young soldier who didn’t really know what he was doing,” says Styles modestly. “The scale of the movie was so big that I was a tiny piece of the puzzle. It was definitely humbling. I just loved being outside of my comfort zone.”

His performance caught the eye of Olivia Wilde, who remembers that it “blew me away—the openness and commitment.” In turn, Styles loved Wilde’s directorial debut, Booksmart, and is “very honored” that she cast him in a leading role for her second feature, a thriller titled Don’t Worry Darling, which went into production this fall. Styles will play the husband to Florence Pugh in what Styles describes as “a 1950s utopia in the California desert.”

Wilde’s movie is costumed by Academy Award nominee Arianne Phillips. “She and I did a little victory dance when we heard that we officially had Harry in the film,” notes Wilde, “because we knew that he has a real appreciation for fashion and style. And this movie is incredibly stylistic. It’s very heightened and opulent, and I’m really grateful that he is so enthusiastic about that element of the process—some actors just don’t care.”

“I like playing dress-up in general,” Styles concurs, in a masterpiece of understatement: This is the man, after all, who cohosted the Met’s 2019 “Notes on Camp” gala attired in a nipple-freeing black organza blouse with a lace jabot, and pants so high-waisted that they cupped his pectorals. The ensemble, accessorized with the pearl-drop earring of a dandified Elizabethan courtier, was created for Styles by Gucci’s Alessandro Michele, whom he befriended in 2014. Styles, who has subsequently personified the brand as the face of the Gucci fragrance, finds Michele “fearless with his work and his imagination. It’s really inspiring to be around someone who works like that.”

The two first met in London over a cappuccino. “It was just a kind of PR appointment,” says Michele, “but something magical happened, and Harry is now a friend. He has the aura of an English rock-and-roll star—like a young Greek god with the attitude of James Dean and a little bit of Mick Jagger—but no one is sweeter. He is the image of a new era, of the way that a man can look.”

Styles credits his style trans­formation—from Jack Wills tracksuit-clad boy-band heartthrob to nonpareil fashionisto—to his meeting the droll young stylist Harry Lambert seven years ago. They hit it off at once and have conspired ever since, enjoying a playfully campy rapport and calling each other Sue and Susan as they parse the niceties of the scarlet lace Gucci man-bra that Michele has made for Vogue’s shoot, for instance, or a pair of Bode pants hand-painted with biographical images (Styles sent Emily Adams Bode images of his family, and a photograph he had found of David Hockney and Joni Mitchell. “The idea of those two being friends, to me, was really beautiful,” Styles explains).

“He just has fun with clothing, and that’s kind of where I’ve got it from,” says Styles of Lambert. “He doesn’t take it too seriously, which means I don’t take it too seriously.” The process has been evolutionary. At his first meeting with Lambert, the stylist proposed “a pair of flares, and I was like, ‘Flares? That’s fucking crazy,’  ” Styles remembers. Now he declares that “you can never be overdressed. There’s no such thing. The people that I looked up to in music—Prince and David Bowie and Elvis and Freddie Mercury and Elton John—they’re such showmen. As a kid it was completely mind-blowing. Now I’ll put on something that feels really flamboyant, and I don’t feel crazy wearing it. I think if you get something that you feel amazing in, it’s like a superhero outfit. Clothes are there to have fun with and experiment with and play with. What’s really exciting is that all of these lines are just kind of crumbling away. When you take away ‘There’s clothes for men and there’s clothes for women,’ once you remove any barriers, obviously you open up the arena in which you can play. I’ll go in shops sometimes, and I just find myself looking at the women’s clothes thinking they’re amazing. It’s like anything—anytime you’re putting barriers up in your own life, you’re just limiting yourself. There’s so much joy to be had in playing with clothes. I’ve never really thought too much about what it means—it just becomes this extended part of creating something.”

“He’s up for it,” confirms Lambert, who earlier this year, for instance, found a JW Anderson cardigan with the look of a Rubik’s Cube (“on sale at matches.com!”). Styles wore it, accessorized with his own pearl necklace, for a Today rehearsal in February and it went viral: His fans were soon knitting their own versions and posting the results on TikTok. Jonathan Anderson declared himself “so impressed and incredibly humbled by this trend” that he nimbly made the pattern available (complete with a YouTube tutorial) so that Styles’s fans could copy it for free. Meanwhile, London’s storied Victoria & Albert Museum has requested Styles’s original: an emblematic document of how people got creative during the COVID era. “It’s going to be in their permanent collection,” says Lambert exultantly. “Is that not sick? Is that not the most epic thing?”

“To me, he’s very modern,” says Wilde of Styles, “and I hope that this brand of confidence as a male that Harry has—truly devoid of any traces of toxic masculinity—is indicative of his generation and therefore the future of the world. I think he is in many ways championing that, spearheading that. It’s pretty powerful and kind of extraordinary to see someone in his position redefining what it can mean to be a man with confidence.”

“He’s really in touch with his feminine side because it’s something natural,” notes Michele. “And he’s a big inspiration to a younger generation—about how you can be in a totally free playground when you feel comfortable. I think that he’s a revolutionary.”

STYLES’S confidence is on full display the day after the fitting, which finds us all on the beautiful Sussex dales. Over the summit of the hill, with its trees blown horizontal by the fierce winds, lies the English Channel. Even though it’s a two-hour drive from London, the fresh-faced Styles, who went to bed at 9 p.m., has arrived on set early: He is famously early for everything. The team is installed in a traditional flint-stone barn. The giant doors have been replaced by glass and frame a bucolic view of distant grazing sheep. “Look at that field!” says Styles. “How lucky are we? This is our office! Smell the roses!” Lambert starts to sing “Kumbaya, my Lord.”

Hairdresser Malcolm Edwards is setting Styles’s hair in a Victory roll with silver clips, and until it is combed out he resembles Kathryn Grayson with stubble. His fingers are freighted with rings, and “he has a new army of mini purses,” says Lambert, gesturing to an accessory table heaving with examples including a mini sky-blue Gucci Diana bag discreetly monogrammed HS. Michele has also made Styles a dress for the shoot that Tissot might have liked to paint—acres of ice-blue ruffles, black Valenciennes lace, and suivez-moi, jeune homme ribbons. Erelong, Styles is gamely racing up a hill in it, dodging sheep scat, thistles, and shards of chalk, and striking a pose for Mitchell that manages to make ruffles a compelling new masculine proposition, just as Mr. Fish’s frothy white cotton dress—equal parts Romantic poet and Greek presidential guard—did for Mick Jagger when he wore it for The Rolling Stones’ free performance in Hyde Park in 1969, or as the suburban-mom floral housedress did for Kurt Cobain as he defined the iconoclastic grunge aesthetic. Styles is mischievously singing ABBA’s “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)” to himself when Mitchell calls him outside to jump up and down on a trampoline in a Comme des Garçons buttoned wool kilt. “How did it look?” asks his sister when he comes in from the cold. “Divine,” says her brother in playful Lambert-speak.

As the wide sky is washed in pink, orange, and gray, like a Turner sunset, and Mitchell calls it a successful day, Styles is playing “Cherry” from Fine Line on his Fender acoustic on the hilltop. “He does his own stunts,” says his sister, laughing. The impromptu set is greeted with applause. “Thank you, Antwerp!” says Styles playfully, bowing to the crowd. “Thank you, fashion!”

[buckyjamess-archive]

𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓲 ❁ 𝓫𝓾𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼

chapter seventeen • a/n: thank the sudden burst of inspiration for these chapters coming out so fast. Feedback is appreciated! • wordcount: 1.5k+ • warnings: kids, parenthood, nothing more?

summary

going through  rough years after losing your husband, you try to raise your daughter the best you can. With the help from the wilson's you make the best of it but the road is bumpy when sam introduces you to his friend.

masterlist

F O U R M O N T H S L A T E R

"I'm running a little late today, so I won't be home in time but I asked Steve to be there to open up–" a heavy sigh "for the love of god, try to be nice buck, that's all I'm asking, okay? Also, can you let me know if you're staying for dinner so I can pick up something extra on my way back– thank you. Okay..bye, love you." 

love you. Bucky never expected to keep hearing those words falling from your lips but he does– after every call, every voicemail, every goodbye and see you soon. It makes him smile yet he doesn't deserve those two words. 

you had assured him that morning after that you would always love him no matter what; that he's still the father of yet another gift in your life. The best months of your life after a shit show of years prior– you'd always love Bucky even if he broke your heart in a million pieces, he seemed to be the only one to put it back together..or steve. Steve did a pretty good job of glueing shattered parts of your heart back together.

It angered bucky. Coincidentally; Steve rogers marriage came to an end not two weeks after you'd moved into your own little place with the kids and for a split second Bucky had wondered if nothing ever happened between you and Steve during the time he suspected something. But he believed you. Nothing had happened, never and though Bucky still had to get used to Steve being around more and more each day, he knew he could trust the blonde. 

You seem happy with Steve and unlike you and him, things between Steve went slow, taking time. No moving in three weeks after or by each other's side everyday and you certainly didn't let the man straight into Rosie and JJ's life.

A break..of sorts and maybe he'd gotten his hopes up and believed it actually could get better with time; get back together and be that little family again but as time passed by, it became all too clear– you really didn't plan on getting with him again and Bucky couldn't even blame you.

But you still let him into your life, let him be a part of your life. A part of Rosie's life..of JJ. You let Rosie stay with him whenever she wanted to, let her stay the night or a couple of days until the girl wanted to get back home again. Got to see his son nearly everyday and have him all weekends. 'I'd never take away your kids, buck'

Invitations to stay for dinner or spend the evening or to tag along with one of your day outs– all too eager to spend all the time he could with what once was his family,  even if it meant spending time with Steve.

You still took care of bucky, you still loved bucky because the man who broke your heart made you believe in love again, pulled you out of your shell after years of wanting to be alone. Took care of you during your darkest days, stayed by your side when you needed him the most. Gave Rosie a father figure she never had the opportunity to get, gave you another little soul to take care of. Bucky Barnes stole, bruised and broke your heart and till this day manages to glue it back together. 

It took you a while to forgive him, you're still not sure if you actually have. With the loan you got from your new part time job at the store around the corner, you managed to get yourself a small two bedroom apartment not too far away from bucky– following most classes from your new study online and still being able to be there for your babies; if you were being honest, life was good. 

The family wilson being back in your life being the icing on the cake. Sam being to eager to apologise for everything he'd said and done although 'I told you so'– first flight to Brooklyn and before you knew it the family stood in your apartment, unpacked boxes and painted rooms as if their lives depended on it; be there for you like they were after riley– family. Hailey even spent the better part of her summer in Brooklyn by your side to catch up while in all honesty, she got tired of her dad and needed some time alone.

Life was surprisingly good after everything.

"Dad?" 

Snapping out of his daydream, Bucky looks up and meets the eyes of the little girl in the rear view mirror. The braid bucky had managed to braid that morning an untangled mess, hanging from her shoulder. Left overs of a chocolate cookie still visible on the corner of her mouth. Yellow shirt covered in dirt, paint and what else she'd been playing in and with at school.

Bucky hums and types a quick text to you, telling you he'd stay over for dinner "What's up?" 

"Can alpine come with me sometime?" Rosie asks seriously, a hint of hope in her voice. 

"I wish he could sweetheart but mom's not allowed to have any pets," Bucky chuckles "He misses mommy, right?" 

"I don't know, he can't talk silly." 

"Really then why does alpine talk to me every night?" Bucky quips back "he tells me how you steal the last cookies from the cookie jar." 

"That was JJ– when are mommy, me and JJ coming back home, I want my own bedroom again." 

Bucky clears his throat and quickly gazes to the little boy fast asleep in his carpet on the backseat and back to Rosie, Bucky swallows the lump in his throat. 

You tried to explain it all but the 4 year old never seemed to be able to understand any of it; the two times Christmas, two birthdays not working.

"I don't know princess," Bucky admits "whenever mommy is ready." 

which is never

Heavy footsteps echo against the grey stone walls of the short hallway,  doors with small white numbers glued onto the wood– Steve isn't much taller or shorter, maybe a bit broader but nothing to be afraid of and yet bucky finds himself tiny next to the man, intimidated to say the least- black leather jacket over a simple grey shirt clung around his biceps, long legs...intimidating but with the softest facial features, christ bucky didn't have any reason to feel this way around someone You deemed important. 

If anything, Steve was as awkward as him.

Twirling around the hallway, her pink and purple colored bag bouncing up and down her back and her messy braid flying through the air, Rosie stills at the sight of the men walking their way 

"You're late." 

"I know, kid," Steve chuckles lowly "tried to be faster." 

"Well, you should be faster next time." Rosie simply states. 

Steve nods his head towards bucky with a slight smile which bucky returns and without another word, Steve twirls the keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door with the faint 9 on it. 

Rosie storms in, nearly tripping over her own feet as she pulls her backpack off and throws it in the corner with all other shoes, bags and umbrellas. 

The man nods again as Bucky pushes the stroller with JJ through the door. The familiar smell of you lingering in the air and fills his nostrils. He ignores the footsteps behind him. Bucky pushes his son further into the kitchen where he picks JJ out and sets the little man on the floor. Bucky's not even able to say another word, his son zooming off on all fours, going straight to the box filled with toys near the couch in the living room. 

"I was told to hand you the keys." Bucky's eyes shoot up to Steve, your keys dangling between his thumb and index finger– Steve clears his throat. 

Casually folding the stroller back before standing up straight, bucky nods and holds his hand out. 

Your keys, not Steve's. Great, he's not at that base yet.

"y/n asked if you wanted to bathe the kids," Steve clears his throat once again and shifts his weight from one foot to the other "so she can start with dinner when she's back." 

"Yeah, sure." Bucky mumbles almost inaudibly, calm and collected, through his stomach drops as Steve nods and strides his way to your bedroom and comes back out with a black overnight bag hanging from his shoulder; rogers printed on the fabric. 

so, he's at that base already

"So, yeah– I should head back out. Work and all." Steve breathes out a laugh. 

Placing both hands on his sides, Steve looks back to the living room where Rosie and JJ crawled and played around the coffee table. 

"Bye rosie," Steve waves awkwardly and with no answer back, he looks back at bucky with a slight smile and nervous chuckle "kids, right." 

"Yeah," Bucky deadpans, not batting an eye at the men in front of him "kids." 

Bucky doesn't have the right to feel jealous, he screwed things up and not you but he still loves you with all his heart and he'll be damned if he didn't at least try to gain back your trust and maybe even woo you back in his life– Steve stands in the way of just that.

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