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iamacolor · 7 years ago

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Hey! I don't know if you accept prompts but I'm gonna try... could you write something about Yousef and Sana's thoughts during today's clip? I hope you decide to write something. Thanks in advance! 😊

Hello Anon!Thank you very much for the prompt! I didn’t do something grounbreaking but I hope you like what I wrote!

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[But think about it, they’ve been apart for a very long time, they’re probably just chilling, and don’t give a fuck about anyone else] Sana doesn’t know what to reply to Eva’s message. She is still worried about Noora. Not just because she might be mad at her but because she wants to be sure that everything is going well with William. She feels bad about sending that e-mail. Maybe Noora wasn’t ready to talk to him again ? But then she wouldn’t still be with him surely ?She is distracted in her thought by the chatter of the boys playing in the garden. The sun is bright in the sky and they are enjoying a beautiful summer day playing. She goes to the window to observe them. She is reminded of a similar moment that happened not so long ago. She was spying on the boys but he wasn’t there and she had cried at the thought of him being with Noora. But now she knows the truth about that day. She knows how he feels about her.She spots him immediately sitting next to Mikael. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and he looks like he is having fun, relaxing with his friends. The texts he sent to Noora come back to her mind« I don’t want her to hate me. »« I swear that we’re soulmates . »« I don’t think she’s that interested »Oh if only you knew, she thinks, if only you knew.She hesitates a few seconds and decides to join the boys in the garden. She wants to talk to him. After all there is no reasons for him not to know about her feelings for him. She smiles at the thought of him being preoccupied and worried all this time. She does feel better thinking she probably wasn’t the only one being miserable. Because he likes her. She leaves her room to join the boys in the garden, checking her face in the mirror before going out. A natural look. No need for black lipstick today. She wonders about what she is going to say to him, how does she explain the situation ? She decides not to worry about it and to be confident and to simply see what happens. Which is a first for her.When she come out in the garden, Yousef is still seated next to Mikael. After walking up to them, she says « Hello » and looks down at Yousef. As the other boys great her warmly, he smiles at her then looks away then looks at her again scrunching his face in a second smile. At least she hopes it’s a smile. Mikael gets up to play leaving the spot next to Yousef free. She looks at him smiling at his friends in the sun. She hesitates for a while and decides to go for it. Act casual, she tells herself, You know the truth, nothing to be worried about. She does feel quite powerful knowing that she knows but that he doesn’t know that she knows. This is starting to feel like an episode of Friends, she thinks.

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He tried not to look at her too much since she came in the garden. He decided a while ago that looking at her was all he was allowed to do, if she doesn’t like him then he will not try to impose himself on her anymore as he did when they played basketball a few days ago. But on Friday, at Eva’s party she looked at him several times, she even gave him a beautiful smile that left him confused but also made him feel so happy. He has been trying to keep his hopes down since then. At least it feels like she doesn’t hate him anymore. Which is good.And now she is standing next to him and Mikael just left his side to play. He keeps his eyes on the game and the laughs at his friends’ behavior. Act casual, he tells himself.He feels her slowly sitting next to him. He didn’t realized before he had her there, next to him, how he had been craving his presence. He feels aware of every fiber of his being suddenly. He stays silent, staying true to his new rule. Look and reply. That’s all.« Hey »If she’s talking he has to reply. Her voice his soft and he turns his head to face her. She’s looking at hm with a smile that warms his heart. He smiles back and replies with a « Hey ». He then goes back to focus on the game. The boys will make fun of him if he doesn’t follow the score and get distracted and he doesn’t really know hat to say to Sana anyway. He feels lost. To distract himself, he starts picking at the grass.She is now asking him if he had a good time at he friend’s party. She really is initiating a conversation then. Ok. Conversation Yousef, you can do conversation.He replies that yes, he had fun and asks her if she had as well. She nods with a smile an a little laugh. How can she be so casual and soft when she has been ignoring him and glaring at him the past weeks ? He feels the need to break the silence and adds something about Eskild and Eva’s gift and how fun it was. She laughs and replies and laughs again. He had missed that. Her laugh. Making her laugh. That thought makes him think about something , or someone, else« And Even.. It was good seeing him again, at least. »And when she hums a yes, he knows that she understands why it was important to him to see his old friend again, smiling, playing, having fun and being happy.He doesn’t know what to say anymore and she isn’t saying anything either so he keeps on picking up the grass next to him.

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He laughed. He smiled. He talked. Now it’s up to you Sana, she thinks, Tell him.She has decided to tall him about Noora showing her the texts messages and explaining why she was so cold with him the last few weeks. She doesn’t feel shy anymore. Even if her brother and his friedns are playing in front of them, she wants Yousef to know.She starts her sentence as Elias calls for Yousef attention and asks him when he is leaving.Leaving ? What is Elias talking about ? Where is Yousef going ?The boys keeps on talking about breaking their fast together and she feels as though she is missing something important here. Apparently Yousef is leaving to go somewhere on Saturday and she does not like that. How are they suppose to reconnect if he is leaving for the week-end ? She waits a little and asks him where he’s going. « Turkey »Which means he is going to go see his family. Which means that he is definitely gone for more than a week-end and probably more than a week. She feels that the confidence she had when she came into the garden is slowly fading away. She didn’t have any exact plan for the future events but none of them involve him being gone. This also means he is going to be busy during the week preparing or his trip and she won’t have many chances to see him. « Are you staying for a long time? - Until August »Before she has time to register his words, that he delivered with an annoying smile as if her expectations for the days to come hadn’t been crushed, he throws the grass he had been playing with at her. She is still too shock to react but still makes a mental note to remind him later that he should never do that again. Does he think he is cute when he does that ? Then she remembers his text to Noora. « Fuck, am I 12 or what ». You are, she replies in her mind, you so are. She doesn’t know what to say and he clearly doesn’t seem to think that there is anything wrong about him going to Turkey for two months as he stands up to join the boys to play. She tries to reassure herself with the fact that he is definitely coming back. But she can’t help the thought that maybe it is too late, maybe he is trying to move on from her. Maybe he already has moved on from her ? But surely he can’t go from calling her his soulmate to getting over her so quickly ? But what if after two months in Turkey, he comes back and doesn’t care about her anymore ?All these questions rush to her head as she watches him playing with his friends. And she can’t blame him for feeling good can she ? She can’t blame him for not staying next to her, for going to see his family, even when she so badly wants to see him everyday.

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Yousef didn’t look at her after saying that he would be gone until August because he wasn’t sure he wanted to see her reaction. She probably doesn’t care. She was just making conversation, he tells himself.He then remember that he threw grass at her and that makes him feel even more like an idiot. Now she surely doesn’t care at all and probably thinks he’s stupid. Who does that ? Who throw grass at people ? Why can he never act casually near her ?He looks at her after celebrating his victory with Elias. The only Bakkoush he has to pay attention to from now on. His best friend. Whose little sister he will leave alone.He looks at her, still hoping that she is looking at him. After all, he just won and even if she doesn’t care about him, surely she would be happy that her brother won ?She is looking at her her phone. And does she look worried ? Even if she does, it’s none of your business, he tells himself, She has better things to do than pay attention to you. Focus on the game. Focus on your friends.

#skam #yousef acar #Sana bakkoush #yousana #my writing #anonymous #I've got mail

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truckthesefeels · 7 years ago

Text

Rob the Bank (then take me home)

Armitage Hux, under extenuating circumstances, extreme duress, and the influence of alcohol (again), attempts to purchase a greeting card. He brings his live-in werewolf along because it’s Kylo’s fault they need one.

A direct sequel to Dog Whistle, with the added element of being almost not about werewolves at all. It’s probably necessary to read the first part first.

Rating: M Warnings: mild exhibitionism, alcohol use, non-main character death mentioned in passing, unseasonable discussion of St. Patrick’s Day, werewolves (if you squint), soft as heckkkk (except for the references to past violent crime) Words: 3200

[Dear anon who requested this: sorry... that this took ten years and that the one thing you asked for does not actually take place. Dear everyone else: sorry that I only listened to Placebo and Kate Nash while writing this and as a direct result it turned out insane and also unmoored in space and time.]

He sees how they look at him, when he stands next to Kylo. They—anyone, little old ladies, families at bus stops, store clerks. This store clerk in particular. Rough piece, they’re all thinking about Kylo. Thug. They’re looking at how Hux shines his shoes and thinking that Hux has found himself a nice side of beef with his hired muscle, and then they’re thinking that he probably takes it rare with a little au jus. Not their fault: lycanthropy aside, Kylo still looks like someone who would tear your throat out. Probably with his teeth. Probably in a back alley somewhere.

He certainly isn’t someone who looks at home in a Hallmark store.

But of course they're in a Hallmark store.

Hux is halfways to drunk in a Hallmark, actually, because they're intended to be going to Ren's great-aunt's cousin's funeral. On his mother's side. Or something. It is definitely supposed to be a funeral; Hux was never quite sure of the relation and now he has no idea. He isn't quite sure why he'd let Ren convince him it was appropriate to pre-drink a funeral, either, even the funeral of a ninety-six-year-old woman he's fairly certain Ren's never met. Now that he's gone and done it, it turns out it was a terrible idea and there's no way Hux can attend.

The thing is, when he found Ren, he didn’t know what he was finding. When Hux let Ren into his home, he didn't know what he was letting in. He’d thought it might kill him. And when he let Ren into his bed, when he let him in and then climbed straight in on top of him, he absolutely didn't know that Ren was staying. (He must have assumed, as one would assume with almost anyone, that he was dealing, here, with an adult. Surely this adult lives somewhere. Surely he'll leave eventually.) Except that it seems like where Ren lives now, is with Hux. In his house, in his bed. On top of him and underfoot and huge and permanent.

He goes, sometimes, and then he comes back, and then one day over mostly burnt toast at the breakfast table he’d looked up and asked, “Will you go to a funeral with me? On Friday. I mean, you don’t have to. I just haven’t seen my family in a while, so it’s kind of…”

He didn’t say what kind of thing it was. Hux didn’t ask him to. It was a surprise to learn that he had a family at all.

And Hux, who hates his toast cooked any further than a four on the toaster’s little dial, somehow said “Of course I’ll go” without thinking about it for a second.

He’s done plenty of thinking between now and then, thinking he hates himself for agreeing, thinking of course he agreed, and then that of course he’d go for anyone, anyone who asked him—he would not, that’s a lie, but then there’s no one else who would ask him and there never has been—and so, that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? He thinks now, again. He’d have said yes to Ren, and by some vagrancy of fate it was Ren who had asked him. Here they are.

Every display in the damn store is green and Hux can’t understand it.

“Okay,” Ren mutters to Hux out of the side of his mouth. A pep talk—possibly directed at himself. He glares around like he too has noticed the unhealthy colour scheme. “Okay, we’re going to do this as fast as possible. Get in, get out. Clear mission. You like those, right?” Ren has his shoulders hunched in like he’s afraid he’ll knock over some piece of kitsch and be made to pay for it. Hux knocks a shoulder into him, because Ren could burn the whole fucking store down and Hux would probably help, it’s that awful. Also it’s slightly by accident because Kylo stopped walking when he hadn’t expected and he’d been using Kylo to keep him going in a straight line. “D’you think all the sympathy cards are gonna be fucking St. Patrick’s Day themed too?”

“Oh, Christ, is that what’s happening here?” It’s overwhelming. The clerk can go fuck herself, on second thought—it’s not her fault what she thinks of Kylo next to Hux, but the look she’s splitting between the two of them, like she’s listening in and wondering whether she should call the police or not, absolutely is.

Hux hates it here. He hates it, hates it, and yet here he still is.

He opens his mouth to tell Ren what he damn well thinks and all that comes out is: "Ren.”

Ren turns to him, still mid-glare, some concern sliding in like he thinks Hux might be about to embarrass them—as if he would ever—and Hux’s mouth is still hanging open. He’s not sure how to shut it without incriminating himself. “I'm so fucking happy," Hux says. Caught. “Ren. I am.”

Then Ren gets a read on Hux—on something about Hux that Hux is not doing on purpose—and smiles, wide and without hesitation. Both his dimples show at once: his whole sullen face is changed to something completely else. "Yeah," he says, slow and silly when Hux was deadly serious, but at least it’s not a question when he says it.

Somehow he's right in Hux's space so there’s nowhere to go that wouldn’t trap Hux up against the St. Patrick's Day cards—who the fuck gives a St. Patrick's Day card, Hux would like to know, and he’s Irish—and he buries his face in the side of Hux's neck and just... doesn’t do a thing, although Hux might have let him. Hux holds his arms very stiff at his sides. "Yeah," Ren says again, like they're telling secrets. As, indeed, Hux supposes they must be. Ren’s chin digs sharply into his shoulder when he presses as close as possible there and then tries to get closer. "You didn't know?"

He didn’t know and he couldn’t be expected to. There’s no baseline for it.

Ren does this thing that no partner of Hux's ever has: he stays. Not just in Hux's bed but really with Hux. But in Hux’s bed, too, yes. After, when they've both come spectacularly and filthily and when usually, one might roll over and—well, roll over and spoon, or fight over who doesn't get the wet spot, or call a cab or something—Ren doesn't go. He always stays instead. He stays, almost unimaginably heavy on top of Hux, lets himself go soft there, lets himself settle in to breathe like he's not squashing all the life out of Hux. Hux knows enough about wolf physiology to have... theories, about what exactly it is that Ren finds satisfying in this. But the problem is, Hux likes it. He would like to lie like that forever, wet spot and crushed ribs be damned.

He’d choose it over almost any other thing, he’s just realized.

Maybe Kylo really did know it already. Maybe Kylo can scent it or something, how absolutely calm and still Hux goes, how much he doesn't ever want to push Kylo away. Maybe it explains where Kylo had found the guts to ask Hux to come along with him.

Here next to the cardboard sign that says Luck O’ the Irish, he shoves Ren off with a sharpish push to the middle of his chest. "Ren! Sympathy card! For Great-Aunt Whoever." Hux needs him to be at a non-distracting distance for this. Not so close that Hux is thinking about getting closer, too. "Just... just pick one and we'll mail it in. It's that rack." He's pretty sure. That rack’s not as green. Ren's pectoral muscles are still distracting even at arm's length, and it probably isn't helping that Hux has somehow failed to reclaim his hand from where it's spread out against them.

Ren's grin widens somehow. Like this is what surprises him. "You're fucking trashed, huh?"

"It was not my idea.” He’s a little wobbly, though, true enough. “And I am the—the goddamned voice of reason, here; I'm insisting that we don't go. You can't go to a funeral like this. It's disgraceful. We'll send a card."

"Hux, I had one beer. With lunch." Ren sounds so soft, and Hux knows what that tone means. It means Ren’s biting back the kind of full-blown smirk that’s worse than his grin, that will have Hux spitting at him.

"Before a funeral,” Hux spits anyway: “it's completely inappropriate."

"You had whiskey. And like four sweet potato fries. And then three more whiskeys."

This is perhaps true too. Hux hasn't been to a funeral since his own father's, and in fact he'd worn the same charcoal tie to it that he is wearing today. He must not have shoved Ren away as hard as he'd thought he'd done, because Ren is right back in his space again, looping his arms carefully around Hux's back. Something about the sure way he does it tricks Hux into doing the same. Now Hux is half-drunk and hugging in a Hallmark store. It's more egregious than being nuzzled against the St. Patrick's Day cards was somehow, perhaps because he is an active participant in it.

He very much regrets mentioning any kind of happiness, ever, fleeting as it is turning out to be.

"You could just have told me you didn't want to go," Ren says. Hux thinks Ren's actually swaying them back and forth very slowly and calmingly, foot-to-foot, although that could be his head sloshing around. Either way, it's very nice. It doesn’t quite mesh with the smirk Hux had thought Ren was holding in. Makes it hard to keep scowling into the side of his head, especially since Ren can’t see that Hux is doing it. "I didn't even know Aunt Maz; I was only going for Rey."

"Sorry." Rey, Hux knows, is the only member of Ren's family that he still talks to, or at least the only one he ever talks about. Hux isn't totally sure what their relation is, either. Sister? Cousin? Packmate? “Sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Shouldn’t have what, he doesn’t quite know.

He isn't totally sure what happened to the rest of Ren's family, but now that he knows they exist, he has some theories about why Ren's face looks the way it does when he doesn't talk about them. One of the reasons he has never asked is because not all of Hux's theories involve all the members of Ren's family being alive. This, if nothing else about Ren, is something that Hux can understand very well.

"Hm," Ren says after a minute, like he’s carefully considered it and Hux's apology just doesn't signify. "Let's go home. I'll email Rey later—don’t think she really expected me to show anyway." But he doesn’t stop anything that he’s doing.

Hux squeezes. Ren is, among his many dubiously good qualities, very solidly squeezable. His hair smells amazing even here in this terrible place. Not participating was really never an option.

"That... claim." He didn't know he was going to say that either, but he’s had four whiskeys at noon and now it's said.

Ren goes still and stiff in his arms. This is not something they've spoken of since the very first time, when Ren swore not to do it. Or swore not to hurt Hux, like that was the same thing without question.

"What is it? Exactly?"

"We don't need to," Ren says quickly. Extremely quickly. "That... other pack. They're not—it's not a problem, I told you. I know I got cut up pretty bad." This is an understatement; even with Ren's impossible healing, Hux can trace the scars across his face and down his side and he does so now. He can track those scars even through the dress shirt that Ren had to buy specifically for a funeral that they’re not going to ever make it to now. They are marks of Ren's physical protection, of his stupidity, of his willingness to let himself be gutted for someone he didn't even know. "But I won the challenge. The issue is settled. They're not. Um. Not coming back for you."

He holds Hux tighter when he says it, even as he stretches a little, preening a bit under Hux's touch. It's stupidly endearing, if not entirely reassuring, but this is not what Hux means. He only has one question.

“It wouldn't make me... like you? It's not the bite?” He only has one question and he’s not even sure if the answer makes a difference.

“It doesn't make you a—not like me, no. Jesus.” Ren pulls back now, gives Hux a frantic little shake by the shoulders like he knows what Hux was thinking and he’s not sure if he hates it or not. “But it's a permanent alignment, Hux. You'd be mine, and. And it can't be undone.” Ren’s voice is nervous but the thing underneath that is pitch-black, predatory. It’s there in the way his fingers dig into Hux’s flesh, the way he pulls back but even so he’s looking. It's another feeling Hux knows well. “You could never undo it.”

“And you are also mine?” His huge worried thing, his huge hungry thing, so keen to protect Hux from everything and anything and especially from himself. Just dangerous enough that a little protection might be warranted. This doesn’t count as a question because Hux knows the answer without thinking about it.

“I am. Yes. I would be.” He’s so still. But still there.

He knew the answer, and even so Hux’s blush heats up from the bridge of his nose to the top of his forehead—hopeless. He is filled hopelessly with an unexplainable love, right up to the same rising waterline. He should have—should have checked for it. Should have known. It must be pouring out of his ears.

Ren is on him, slamming him back into the St. Patrick's Day cards so hard this time that the cardboard shamrocks rattle. Something jams into his kidney and it fucking hurts, and the sound is like two six-foot tall men have tackled each other in a shop full of tat. Which they have. Hux can't believe that no one has come to try and interrupt the scene they're making, and he doesn’t care to stop until someone does. Maybe the confluence of capitalism and false sentiment has created some kind of liminal zone where no one can touch them. Maybe the shopgirl isn’t here clearing her throat at them because she’s busy dialling 911.

Maybe it's because Ren has one rock-solid thigh pressed into Hux so hard and so sweet, but his hand on the back of Hux's neck is gentle. He'd kill anyone who tried to look twice. Hux would definitely help him. No scene could matter.

“The last funeral I went to...” Hux is slurring not because of the whiskey but because his nose is mashed up against Ren's ear and he's not inclined to change position. “The last time, it was,” he chokes on My father, can’t say it. It was a decade ago and on a different bloody continent is even lonelier, somehow. “I'd have shot him myself,” is what he ends up saying, unsteady, “only somebody got to it first. So I shot them instead.”

“They can't have you,” Ren growls, as he holds Hux and holds him and holds. As if the people he’s talking about aren't already dead. “They can't get to you. I won't let them.”

Completely inappropriately, now Hux is the one who’s trying not to laugh. He thinks what’s bubbling up inside him might be something much worse than what this card store was built to withstand. A black kind of joke, a joke like a tar pit if it’s a joke at all, but Ren is here. Ren is here and Ren has him, and Ren knows from bad. Hux lets himself kiss Ren first one time, just a peck, and squeeze him tight around the ribs some more. “It's not a fucking blood pact,” he says. This part, the trial, is a confession. “It was ruled self defence; I was acquitted.”

He’d walked out of that court with his knees shaking and caught the first fucking flight across the Atlantic, destination anywhere else, running, but here he is now in a fucking Hallmark with an impossible person. With something he doesn’t let himself look at straight on on a good day, let alone when he’s drunk before two.

He slides his death grip up from Ren’s middle to his huge tense shoulders, to his disaster of a haircut, to both sides of his glowering face. Holds him there white-knuckled while Ren stares straight back.

He’s going to tell Ren that he means it, that he’s happy with him, that he’d rip anyone in half that tried to stop him now—fangs or no. That he’d let Ren put his teeth in his neck if that’s what this means, and he thinks that it might be. That he’s serious, so serious, they have to leave right now or it’ll be Ren he’s tearing into and they’ll both be arrested.

He’s going to let Ren take him home, and it’s their home, together, like it was never Hux’s home when he was alone. Before that he’s going to let Ren hold his hand – in the street, in the taxi, in the goddamn queue line to buy a sympathy card that Ren will barely even check to make sure that there are no leprechauns on it. He’ll probably sign the card next to Ren’s name. Tomorrow.

Before that, after that, sometime in between those things:

He’ll be the one to hold Ren down for once. He’s going to close the blinds at three PM and do a shoddy job of it, and he’s not going to care if the neighbors can see it when yanks off Ren’s tie. It’s a tie that he borrowed from Hux, the navy one with a little stripe to it, which is also inappropriate for a funeral. The whole incident almost made Hux want to ask Ren if on top of everything else he was colour-blind like a dog. He doesn’t care; he won’t care where that tie lands or about any of the rest of it.

In Hux’s bedroom in the middle of the afternoon, tipsy and so certain, so certain now, he’ll push Ren down and bite at him when Ren is the one who hesitates. They’ll be as naked as if the idea of going to a funeral had never existed. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe this will be all there ever was, this huge and simple thing, and nothing else will happen after. Ren will open his eyes suddenly into Hux’s messy, determined kiss, will push at Hux a little until they’re staring at each other, and Hux will look straight down into him and realize it was possible to be more naked even than that—to be completely bare before another person and to be completely unafraid.

“I won’t hurt you,” Ren will say. The second time he’s said it, exactly like this.

#kylux #werewolf au #I mean listen it's not NOT about werewolves #also I'm sorry that this yet again features Hux getting wasted. he self-medicates.#my fic

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