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hasanthehung · 9 months ago

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The Meeting

It was late.

My eyes strained at the computer screen after the word-count completed. 70,000 words. "Only 50,000 more to go" I sighed. I removed my glasses, stretched my now permanently arched back and raised my hands above my head, letting them fall limp by my side, before standing up for the first time in hours.

I was in my final years of a Political Science PHD at Princeton. It was tough going - you just had to take a glance at my tiny apartment, the curtains constantly drawn to limit the presence of the outside world, the stacks of books and piles of paper strewn on any available surface and the boxes of take-out tentatively placed in the kitchen sink to guess.

Writing this damned thesis was just the tip of the iceberg. As a PHD candidate I had lectures to give, as well as being an advisor to 3 undergrads who were more interested in extra-curriculars than in anything the oppressed PHD students could offer them. I couldn't blame them -Christ, I had BEEN them just a few years ago. Those long-gone days of waking up with a constant hangover, arriving late to lectures and usually sleeping through them had been the key to the student bodies morale, after all.

I checked my phone. 4:35 AM. Shit.

I had a meeting at 9 AM with a new undergrad I would be advising, but wasn't too bothered about it. Knowing how these advisory sessions usually went, this student would turn up late and only because they had to, with nothing prepared and probably concealing a hangover.

I needed to sleep. Like, now.

The phone buzzed. 8:45 AM. Shit.

I leapt out of bed, quickly showered and dressed in my usual fit; an oversized black hoodie, baggy jeans and baseball cap - The hood pulled up over the cap to hide my identity from the faculty or any other passers by that would - for the billionth time - ask with the best of intentions, "How's the PHD going?"- That dreaded question again.

I jumped on my bike and landed outside the PolSci building late. I ran up the steps, through the corridor and swung the door open to find, with true astonishment, the student actually sitting patiently at my desk, his head bent, scrolling on his phone.

"Hi, sorry I'm late"

"Oh hey, uh," He stood up and turned towards me, quickly parking his phone in his back pocket.

"No problem, uh, I'm Hasan, nice to meet you"

I was immediately worried.

Why? Because this guy was so freakin hot. He was tall enough to play for the NBA, broad enough to play for the NFA and the way he played with his short dark hair nervously as he waited for my response was adorable.

I didn't need any more distraction in my life. I had 2 years to finish this PHD, for Christs' sake.

It took a moment for me to come to my senses. I pulled my rucksack from my shoulder and approached him, offering my hand.

Those eyes.

"Intense" was the word I'd landed on. Dark and brooding.

And on closer inspection, he was much older than the usual undergrads were- He looked like he was my age- in his 30's, at least.

"Hey Hasan, I'm your advisor. I haven't seen you around, you've just arrived at Princeton?"

"Uh, yea uhm...I've got a degree in Political Science and was hoping to do a PHD here, I was told you could help me get the lay of the land?"

"Oh, of course!"

I obviously hadn't prepped for this meeting at all, as I never do- the students usually don't give a crap.

Much later on, I'd check my emails to realise this meeting was supposed to be an overview of the PolSci faculty, a de-briefing of what to expect as a candidate, and that this potential student was one of the top political commentators in the U.S.

This was all news to me. Especially the part were the man standing in front of me was famous and a major player in shaping the minds of millions politically.

PHD students are known to be "out of the loop" in general. We're too busy to keep up with the culture. But man, did it ever make sense.

This guy was made for the worlds eyes to look at him, and as he continued to speak, with his precise and deliberate choice of words, not to mention his deep beautiful voice, was made for millions to listen to.

Realising that this wasn't the usual boring check-in with an undergrad, I began;

"Well, in that case, lets get out of here. I'll take you on a tour of the campus and I know a great place for coffee that's empty around now, and to be honest, I need one. That cool?"

"Uh..totally, thanks"

After playing tour guide for less that 15 minutes, it became clear that this wasn't the usual prospective PHD student. Every undergrad that passed by took a double take, their eyes widening in disbelief and I could hear them whisper his name to eachother;

"Hasan! it's HasanAbi!"

"No, it not!"

"Dude, it freaking IS Hasan!!"

Hasan noticed this, too. He pulled a cap out of his back pocket and fished a pair of sunglasses out of his boldly coloured shirt pocket, pulling the collar up over his chiselled jaw and bending his head low. Not that it helped much - he towered above everyone in the vicinity.

"Wow, people seem to know you. Are you famous or something?" I asked.

"You could say that, I guess. In certain circles."

He shifted his feet uncomfortably and spent a little too long fixing the position of his cap over his dark locks. I knew not to press further. He obviously didn't want to get into the details just then.

"... Do you want to get out of here?"

"That would be great, thank you"

"Well there's my place, It's just up ahead, if you don't mind the mess? You'll get an honest idea of what your life will look like if you choose to take on a PHD, at least."

He smiled and lifted his head a little, relaxing. "I spend a lot of my time inside as it is, it'll feel just like home" He said.

We arrived at the run-down apartment block and as I fumbled with my keys, I could feel him standing behind me, waiting for some privacy. There was a heat... An electricity that seemed to buzz between him and I...Or was I just imagining it?

He switched position to lean his broad shoulders against the wall beside me as he waited, he seemed to be checking me out, cocking his head to the side and tipping his sunglasses down a little, watching me with a smirk on his face.

"Here, let me take your bag for you" He offered.

He moved closer to me, gently touching my arm as he took the strap of my rucksack and swung it effortlessly over his shoulder.

Was it me, or did his large warm hand linger a little too long on my body? I could feel my arm tingle as if my body knew before I did that something magical was happening.

He didn't move away. He stood behind me again, one hand holding the strap of the rucksack on his shoulder, the other hand reaching over my shoulder and landing on the wall in front of me, supporting himself. His breath touched the back of my neck, making me shiver. I imagined in that moment him enveloping me between those strong shoulders, feeling his breath all over my body.

The door opened and we entered. I was trembling. Trembling because of what had just happened, and also in anticipation of what could happen.

Now it was my turn to feel nervous. I didn't know who this guy was, but he was obviously famous, he probably owned some giant mansion somewhere in a tax haven, and now he had to sit in my little shitty studio apartment.

I mumbled something like "eh..just move those papers and take a seat, drop them anywhere."

The apartment was dark - as usual I had neglected to open the curtains. I quickly turned on the two lamps I possessed, then moved to the window and began to open them, suddenly his hand landed on top of mine and he said "I prefer it dark."

I couldn't speak, let alone turn around. His hand lingered on mine, then slowly moved downwards to my wrist. He grasped my wrist and swung me around to face him. Our eyes locked. Those intense, dark, brooding eyes. He smiled, then let my wrist go and bent his head, stepping away, embarrassed.

He began to move around my apartment, taking it in in the dim light cast by the lamps. He took off his cap and tousled his hair, his gaze landing on the many political posters I had precariously plastered on every available wall - all of my heroes were represented - Chomsky, Finkelstein, Reich, along with my favourite slogans "Tax the Rich" and "Capitalism is Voluntary".

He laughed.

"Your a Socialist?"

I didn't know how to take this. He was obviously famous, so obviously rich. If he was a political scientist, his views probably landed more to the right, I assumed. Most likely a talking head on Fox News and a Trumpian, at that.

"So what if I am?" I affronted.

All at once, his demeanor changed. He looked at me from across the room, a desire in his dark eyes that startled me. He began to peruse the many piles of books that scattered the floor of the apartment. He picked one up then sat down on the couch, thumbing through the heavily ear-marked and highlighted pages.

"Michael Albert is a hero of mine..." He was holding Parecon, my most cherished text.

I didn't think I could be more surprised by this man.

"You've read it? It's not on any degree-level reading list I know of..."

He lifted his arm and rested it on the back of the couch, tilted his head to the side, biting his lower lip. He moved his eyes from mine, to my mouth, to the curves and edges of my body, and didn't say a word.

I had never felt more vulnerable in my life.

He looked shy all of a sudden. He let my copy of Parecon fall to the seat, stood up and moved towards me.

"I...I'm a socialist too." He whispered. His voice had such an effect on me. It lulled me into a state of total desire.

He stood in front of me, his eyes filled with dark passion, but seemed unsure of himself.

"I...I'm a little..." He muddled, but never finished. His shoulders slumped, he looked away for a moment, his head lowered, defeated. Then, in a moment of hope, perhaps, looked into my eyes again, through the mass of black hair that had fallen over them.

I moved closer to him. The heat wasn't imagined.

His breath grew heavy. He pulled me into his arms, he bent his head and devoured by neck, ripping open my hoodie. I felt his hands moving down my back, edging me closer to him. I folded my arms around his neck after working my hands through his dark locks, our mouths saying everything we couldn't.

It happened right there on the floor, in between the piles of books in the dim lamp light, with Chomsky, Finkelstein and Reich watching over us.

Later, when he had left, I opened my laptop. I typed his name gingerly into the search engine. Maybe he made it all up to get an easy lay. Maybe he was another centrist cog in the machine. Who reads Parecon these days, anyway?

Maybe he had been lying.

He hadn't.

#hasanabi #hasan piker #fanfic #hasan x reader

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iwonderwh0 · 9 months ago

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Watching saltburn because I hear too much about it

Spoilers ahead!!! If you haven’t seen it but planning on, scroll away, cuz there are some twists that are worth experiencing first-hand. The internet made it look like it’s gonna be some trash shock movie, but it’s a really false advertisement I’d say.

Ohh, I love the beginning, it promises theatrical, level of over the top drama, just how I like

Thank god there are subtitles I can barely understand their accent

Damn, I just thought about how what I know about this movie reminds me of “Bright Young Things” and now one of the characters straight-out mentions the novelist who wrote the “Vile Bodies” (screenplay the movie Bright Young Things is based on) was basically writing about his family. Okay, so that was really spot-on impression

What’s Felix’s deal? 🤔 it looks suspiciously like love-bombing from his side what he’s doing

Damn, Oliver might be as weird as that math nerd with anger issues if not weirder. Only 20 minutes in, and our protagonist is already a creepy stalker

Oliver what the fuck, what was this sudden condescending parent mode switch with cleaning up as if just to be arrogant about it 😂

I feel like Felix might be in danger, I don’t trust Oliver anymore

Honestly I’m not even sure if Oliver is telling the truth, he might be straight out lying to gain sympathy, kinda looks like it

I really don’t understand why Felix keeps Oliver around. I don’t think he likes him that much as he is trying to show at all, and he already showed his gratitude for that bike. It’s like he needs him for something maybe?

Oh so Oliver did tell the truth

What does Felix wanttttttt I’m so confused

The complete shift of the room to instantly shower Oliver with compliments what’s up with that? Is it some rich people thing??

And instantly back to talking shit about the person who just left! Damn that really is theatrical shit

“But he spoke Russian all the time and it just sounded so romantic” lmaoooo no it did not 😭

The way they talk!! Jesus Fucking Christ, what an impressive skill of bullshitting. Absolutely no one mean what they say, that’s even impressive

Oh, MGMT!

Oh, I’ve heard something about the bath scene

Belle Delphine bath water, is that it? Is that the level of gross that impressed people?

The fucking mind games everybody is playing oh boy

I don’t understand what’s going on anymore

Is Oliver just trying to prove he’s not gay?

Oh the fucking song pick oh my god this is painful to watch and I don’t even like Oliver

I’ll have to watch some explanation after this movie, it’s so confusing, what happened

Oh, will it turn out that he lied about everything?

SO I WAS RIGHT ABOUT SUSPECTING IT

Oh my god

Fuckkkking Oliver the migraines he just keeps going Jesus Christ

Is he gonna kill Felix? I feel like someone will get killed, maybe even on accident

Wait but HOW

Was it the wine?

Is he stabbed to the ground, why can’t they move him?

The lunch scene, red curtains, wine that overflows the glass ohhh boy I love that

Oh here goes the gravefucking

Wait, I thought the movie is about to end, but there’s still quite some time on the timeline

Oh for FUCK’S SAKE this was so sudden

“Is everything alright?” God are you stupid? What kind if question is that 😭😭😭

Ohhhhhh the reveal

Ohhhh so it was the wine

Damn

I actually liked it a lot

As a movie I mean

And Oliver is such a realistic psychopath in a way he pretends to be harmless pathetic loser, oh my god, Good job

#watching movies

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jdgo51 · 7 months ago

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APRIL 6, 2024

Strength to Continue

Robert A. Perales (Texas, USA)

"This book of the law shall not depart out of your mouth; you shall meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to act in accordance with all that is written in it. For then you shall make your way prosperous, and then you shall be successful." - Joshua 1:8 (NRSVUE)

"My first bicycle was a black Mongoose with silver trim. I remember the sheer exhilaration of riding my bike as a child and the freedom it offered. But there was an obstacle: I was still on training wheels. After many, many attempts at learning to ride without training wheels, I quit. For decades, being unable to ride a bicycle remained a source of shame, regret, and embarrassment for me.

In my thirties, my wife was training for a marathon. I wanted to be with her while she trained, so I revisited my old nemesis. Within one hour, armed with newfound knowledge thanks to the internet, I was riding a bike. It’s remarkable what obstacles we can overcome when we approach them with determination and wisdom.

Our life in Christ is much the same. No matter how much time we spend with Jesus praying, meditating on scripture, or worshiping, we still need to bring effort to the task. Likewise, no matter how hard we try, we can’t overcome obstacles without the wisdom offered to us by Christ. When our God-given tenacity comes together with the wisdom and presence of God found in the practice of spiritual disciplines, we can succeed." Our own determination accompanied with God's power within us, we can accomplish even the massive things. But we must remember, God can do a myriad of things, but our tenacity should work within what He is doing. We do count in it.

TODAY'S PRAYER

"God of transformation, draw us into your heart and lead us to be transformed by your presence." Amen.

Joshua 1:7-9

"'7 “Be very brave and strong as you carefully obey all of the Instruction that Moses my servant commanded you. Don’t deviate even a bit from it, either to the right or left. Then you will have success wherever you go. 8 Never stop speaking about this Instruction scroll. Recite it day and night so you can carefully obey everything written in it. Then you will accomplish your objectives and you will succeed. 9 I’ve commanded you to be brave and strong, haven’t I? Don’t be alarmed or terrified, because the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.”' Be strong, push forth and team up with God who is with you at every single turn. And you are blessed at the same time in a huge way. Joe

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modestcatholiclife · 9 months ago

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What to Do For Lent?

My post last week left off on a more melancholic note. Thankfully, I've been blessed with a much better week this week.

It was my brother's birthday on Thursday. He is 11 now. Due to his school and my work, I wasn't able to visit him until this Sunday but I was able to get him a present (money has been tight lately so I wasn't sure I'd be able to). My fiance came along with me and gave him a present too which I really appreciated.

Speaking of my fiance, the two of us took our drivers knowledge test this past Saturday and I'm pleased to say that we both passed! We both have our learner's licence and will hopefully start learning the basics of driving soon enough. I don't want to put this off for too long.

Divine Liturgy was lovely as always. This week we were at St. Volodymyr's. The parish community here is mostly older folks, with some younger families attending from time to time.

For Christmas Eve last year, one of the older couples invited us, along with another of the couples and one of the women to a traditional Ukrainian Catholic Christmas Eve feast. It was honestly so amazing and really made us feel like part of the community. When we were at Divine Liturgy yesterday, the wife of the couple who hosted Christmas Eve gave me a booklet she'd made herself discussing the traditions of the feast, the foods typically served and recipes for them, as well as some Ukrainian Christmas carols. I absolutely love it and can't wait until I can put it into practise next Christmas season!

As for today, I had my second appointment with my new psychologist. This time the therapy dog was there! She's a six year old Labrador (I think) named Blossom and she spent most of our appointment sleeping but I love her immensely. I also got a start on writing up a new budget in the lead up to getting my first pay of the year. I'm a little apprehensive of how my grocery budget will change now that Meatfare has come to pass. I will be giving up meat for the entirety of Lent and I'm not sure how I'll fare with it. I'm trying not to go too hard with my Lenten fasts, since this will be my first Lent, but I'm feeling confident about what I have so far.

Here is what I'm planning to do for Lent:

Give up meat - I have an incredibly high metabolism and struggle if I don't eat well consistently so I won't be fasting from food as a whole.

Give up coffee - people who have given up coffee have expressed noticeable reductions in anxiety levels.

Give up coke - I'd say soft drinks in general but I only really drink coke. I usually only have it when I'm out but I think I'll be swapping it out for fruit juice/tea for Lent.

Give up my laptop - it's a major distraction for me and I live very close to a library with free to use computers. If I desperately need a computer, I can go there.

Give up wasteful social media usage - I'll be using it to keep in touch with friends since usually I'm very bad at answering messages, but no scrolling for me. It absolutely saps my productivity.

Take up daily cleaning - I'm thinking a solid hour each day would be good, with possible Sunday exceptions. My apartment is getting a little out of hand and this would help me get back on tol of everything. If I somehow can't find something to do, I have my bike in the garage that needs to be fixed. The front wheel is loose and a lot of it is rusted.

Mostly, I just want to stay productive with my prayers and spiritual life as a whole, as well as with life in general. I still have a week to finalise what I'll be doing and plan my meals for that time. I'd love to know what everyone else is doing for Lent! I'll also be including pictures of two cats I met this week!

Christ is Born! Glorify Him!

#catholic #catholic women #christian faith #christian living #christian women #christianity #eastern orthodoxy #jesus #jesus christ #orthodoxy #eastern catholic #catholiscism

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ginemrys · 3 years ago

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a bedsharing fic!! <3

i had some fun with this one!!! thank you for sending in the prompt @sunshine-marauders <3

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“Lily, it’s okay, we’ll grab a room in a hotel, it’s not the end of the world.” James said as the two of them stood staring up at the boards in the centre of Euston station, tears in Lily’s eyes as she read the bright orange “CANCELLED” sign beside their train, the last train of the night that would get them home.

It had been a wonderful night of visiting the theatre with one of her best friends, getting lost in a musical for a few hours. The two of them had been singing songs from the show to each other on the tube on the way back to their station, not caring as they got weird stares from other passengers on the Northern line whilst they sang a beautiful rendition of All I Ask Of You. And sure, Lily had felt her heart beat a little faster when they reached the point of the song where Christine and Raoul kiss as she looked into James’ eyes, but that didn’t mean she liked him. It just meant that she understood the character, right?

But their sing-along had come at a price. They’d missed their stop. And the next after that. Then the next. It wasn’t until the last passenger left besides them on the train got off at Golders Green that they’d realised their mistake. And then they’d had to run and get the tube back to Euston, only to just miss one. A three minute wait later and they were finally heading back to Euston, getting off to discover that the last train to Northampton was cancelled. And they were stranded in London.

Lily was wiping furiously at her eyes. They’d stopped for a drink in a bar after the show, assuming that they’d have enough time. So the alcohol in her system heightened her emotions, resulting in the water works. James was scrolling through his phone, looking for the closest hotel.

“There’s a Travelodge or a Premier Inn, they’re fairly close. Everything else is ridiculously expensive.” James said, glancing up at her. “Which would you prefer?”

“Premier Inn, duh.” Lily said, pushing her hair out of her face. “Are you sure we can’t get a taxi?”

“From Euston to Leighton Buzzard?” James shook his head. “It’ll be cheaper to spend the night. Come on, it won’t be that bad. It’s just a short walk and then we can grab some breakfast in the morning before heading home.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “What do you say?”

“Fine,” Lily shoved his side playfully, but leaned into his hold after. “But you’re buying breakfast, you’re the one who suggested drinks.”

“Deal.” James chuckled before ducking to kiss the top of her head. “Come on, let’s go. It’s late and we’re both shattered.”

And so they made their way out of the station, following Google Maps to the closest Premier Inn. It was dead quiet inside, just one sleepy receptionist behind the desk barely able to hold her head up.

“Hi, how can I help?” She asked in a monotone voice, having just blinked at the two of them a few times as if she was trying to figure out if they were real or just her imagination.

“Hey, we missed the last train home. Do you have any rooms for tonight?” James asked, running his hand through his hair. Lily watched his movements, eyes following the motion of his fingers brushing through the messy black curls. She wanted to do that, run her hands through his hair. Chill out, Lily. She mentally berated herself, barely hearing the conversation beside her as she tried to sort out whatever the hell was going on with her hormones at that moment.

“Lily?”

“What?”

“Are you good with sharing a bed? There’s only doubles left.”

Holy shit. The thought of sharing a bed with James both thrilled and terrified her. Would she be able to control herself around him? The not crush but definitely a crush that she’d been harbouring for him for the last few months might rear its ugly head and make her do something stupid. But then again, she really didn’t want to have to walk all the way to the Travelodge and have the exact same option, or no room at all.

So she nodded, blushing when James grinned and turned back to the receptionist, passing over his card. Lily tried to protest but he insisted that she could just send him half the money later to save time. Then before she knew it she was joining him in the lift, heading up to the fifth floor. Of course James had had the foresight to ask for some toothbrushes and toothpaste, Lily was far too occupied to even consider such a thing.

Lily decided that she was going to hum to herself the overture to Phantom of the Opera as they travelled up to their floor, her eyes fixed on the ceiling of the lift. And then James’ hand was in hers, pulling her out of the lift and down the corridors of the fifth floor until they came to a stop in front of their room. He swiped the key card and there they were, alone, in a room with one bed.

Her throat felt thick as Lily looked at the double bed, why did it look so tiny? She stood in the small space beside the open wardrobe and the bathroom while James flicked on the lights and moved further into the room, peeling off his jacket and kicking off his shoes as he went.

“Come on, Evans. It’s just a place to sleep.” He smiled at her as he said it, noticing her hesitance. Damn him for being so perceptive to her emotions all of the time. With a deep breath, Lily walked further into the room, setting her shoes beside his while her own jacket draped over the top of his on the chair.

“Here, toothbrush.” He said, passing her one of the two clear toothbrushes he had picked up. “I’ll let you use the bathroom first, gentleman as I am.”

“Oh, so kind.” Lily rolled her eyes while grinning at him, accepting the toothbrush gratefully. She shut herself up in the bathroom, immediately rushing to the sink to splash some water on her face. Why was she so warm? “Get it together, Evans.” She muttered to herself, glancing at her reflection. She sighed as she looked at her makeup, minimal as it was, she had nothing to remove it with. Which would almost certainly result in panda eyes in the morning, but what other choice did she have?

So she left her face alone and focused on brushing her teeth, being a little more thorough than she usually would so James wouldn’t have to wake up to horrific morning breath. God, James was going to see her first thing in the morning. Christ on a bike. She filled one of the small glasses by the sink with water to rinse out her mouth, then gulped another glass down.

James was sitting perched on the edge of the bed when she returned, his eyes meeting hers straight away. Damn, did this man ever stop smiling?

“All… All yours.” Lily said quietly, stepping out of the way as he moved to head into the bathroom.

“Thanks, Lil.”

The door locked behind him and she released a deep breath again, her fingers moving shakily to undo her jeans. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep in them, so wanted to get them off and climb under the covers before he could come back. He wouldn’t want to see her in her underwear.

Jeans folded, with her bra tucked safely beneath them, Lily climbed into the left side of the bed, hoping he didn’t mind that she preferred the left. She plugged her phone into the socket next to her bed, thanking her past self for packing her charger in her bag. And then she waited, sitting cross-legged beneath the duvet as she listened to the sounds of the tap running.

The bathroom door opened and Lily had to do her best not to gasp. He’d taken his shirt off. It wasn’t even like it was the first time she’d seen him shirtless either, but seeing him in a dimly lit bedroom right before he was about to be laying right next to her was something else.

“You don’t mind if I sleep in my boxers, do you?” He was asking, his eyes having taken note of her folded jeans.

Lily shook her head, doing her best to look him in the eyes rather than drool all over his bare chest like some hormonal teenage girl watching Magic Mike for the first time. But then he turned his back on her and was pushing his jeans over his hips and Lily couldn’t help but stare. It was actually so unfair how fit her best friend was now, she could still remember the scrawny little kid she used to swim in the local lake with.

Any shred of sanity Lily had left vanished when he turned to face her again, she could feel a wave of heat rushing all over her body. And he’d seen it happen, had seen her eyes darken and her gaze shift into something hungry.

But he ignored it, electing to just climb into bed beside her and turn out the light, facing away from her.

With a slight huff, Lily threw herself down against her pillow, gazing up at the dark ceiling. Her arms were folded over her chest, her legs still crossed like they had been when she’d been sitting. While annoyed that he’d not responded to her sex eyes, she also just felt embarrassed. Because she’d totally just objectified him, looked at her best friend in the whole world like he was a tree for her to climb and use. And she hated herself for it.

“I can hear you thinking, Evans.” James whispered through the darkness, his back still facing hers. “Relax.”

And she did, her hands slid to rest on her stomach, her legs unfolded and moved to rest against the mattress. Her eyes closed and she let out a small sigh. And then he had to go and roll over, his breath on her neck.

While she knew she should just ignore it, squint her eyes and try to sleep, Lily couldn’t help but turn her head on her pillow, her eyes opening once more. And there he was, looking at her. No glasses, his hair already made even messier than usual from the pillow. He just looked so soft.

Usually James was all sharp edges and angular, charisma dripping from every inch of his body. He was sarcastic and energetic and never ever seemed to get tired. But there, laying in bed beside him, he seemed so calm, so at peace. His sharp edges had blurred, softened by the look in his eyes as he gazed at Lily. And that was what he was doing, gazing.

It didn’t take her much to lean in, just one look from him was enough. Her body turned on the mattress as she shifted to reach his lips, her own brushing his softly. And then she moved to pull away, to see his reaction when he moved, his hand sliding to the back of her neck to drag her closer. His lips covered hers and by god, did it feel right. Lily’s hand came to rest on his chest as she kissed him eagerly, their mouths pressing together in a perfect dance, nothing too eager or too slow.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for months.” Lily whispered when they broke apart, her eyes still closed.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for years.”

She looked at him then. There was no trace of a lie in his eyes. She believed him, because of course she did. James never lied to her.

And then she tackled him against the bed and thanked the London Northwestern Railway gods for cancelling the last train home.

#jily fan fic #jily drabble #jily fic

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hookingminor · 4 years ago

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4 times his friends posted you on their instagram + 1 time he did - mat barzal

a/n: I wrote this literally back in july so lets just ignore how idealistic this is regarding quarantine but im a slut for some barzy this is all fluff

word count: 4,733

summary: like the title says, some friends (with benefits?) to lovers + a tyson cameo, fluffy summer quarantine fic

tagging @davidpastrsnack so kate can get on the barzy train

To say the whole quarantine thing was an inconvenience was an understatement. School had ended online, your summer internship was cancelled, and it seemed like your summer would turn into an uneventful couple of months stuck in your apartment in, probably, the worst place to be stuck in during a pandemic: New York City.

Or so you thought.

You’d planned on having the most boring summer ever until your friend, Mat, had invited you to hole up away with him and a few friends in a lake house back in Vancouver. Well, friend was a loose term. The two of you were friends… just ones that kissed occasionally… and sometimes more than kissed. You’d met him about a year ago at a bar while he was out with his teammates after a game. A cliche meeting, but you hit it off instantly. Instead of ending up in his bed at the end of the night (which you would eventually end up at after a couple months), it turned into an exchange of numbers and an invitation to hang out later in the week.

You hadn’t thought anything of it at first, just thinking he was being friendly and wanting to end the conversation, so you were surprised to get a text the next day from an unknown number asking if you’d wanted to go on a bike ride.

Flashforward a year later and the two of you still went on bike rides together. At least, up until the pandemic started.

When the text came telling you to pack your bags for a month or so, you thought he was joking. Surely he couldn’t have meant you to join him in Vancouver over the summer? You were proven wrong when he showed up at your apartment the next day, two coffees in his hand.

“Uh, hi, Mathew,” you said hesitantly, opening your door to reveal your disheveled state, having just woken up.

“Why are you dressed like that? We have a plane to catch in four hours,” he said, pushing himself through your door, uninvited, to set the coffees on the counter.

“What are you doing here? What plane? You’re not supposed to be going out,” you reprimanded him for showing up unannounced and in the middle of quarantine.

“I told you we’re going to Vancouver, I know you read my text. Now let’s hurry up and pack, we gotta get going,” Mat rushed, already on the way to your bedroom.

You followed him after a brief moment once you’d processed what was going on. Mat had already pulled out your suitcase and set it on top of your bed by the time you entered the door. He was in the middle of rifling through your drawers and grabbing random garments to throw into the suitcase when you’d spoken again.

“You’re actually serious about this?”

“Of course I am. What better things do you have to do in a city on lockdown for an entire summer? Honestly, I’m doing you a favor,” he explained easily, turning back to grab more items.

“Oh, you’re doing me a favor? Thank you, Mat, for saving me from a summer of suffering. It’s not like I had other plans to find different internships or focus on my summer classes,” you replied sarcastically.

Mat rolled his eyes. “I am doing you a favor, and you’re doing me a favor by going. I need a hot piece of ass to get me through this, or I will lose my mind.” You slugged him on the shoulder in offense, but all he did was chuckle.

“And anyways, you can still do your classes in Vancouver. Instead of doing them locked in this apartment, you can do them lounged out under the Canadian sun. Preferably in a bikini,” he finished. You slugged his arm again, harder this time.

“In fact, you should take the red bikini, it makes your tits look amazing,” he said, noticing you shuffling through your swimsuits. You rolled your eyes at him but grabbed the red one anyway along with a couple others.

With both of you folding and packing, your bags were ready to go in record time.

“Alright, baby, let’s go.” And so you were off.

A week had gone by in total bliss. As much as you hated to admit it, Mat was right. Vacationing in Vancouver in a secluded lake house was a lot better than being alone in your apartment, even if you did still have classes to do. Mat teased you about it, but he always left you alone for a few hours in the day for you to focus on your work. Unless he really wanted something… like right now.

Mat had joined you laying on the couch while you were in the middle of annotating a book for class. He wiggled his way between your arms, causing you to break your hold on your book. He rested his head on your chest, arms wrapped around your middle, and nuzzled his face into your neck. Joining your hands back to your book and bringing your highlighter to the page, you continued to underline phrases you’d come back to later. A couple minutes passed in silence before Mat started sighing. And then he sighed again.

“What do you want?” you huffed out, closing your book with the pen marking your page.

“Let’s go swimming,” he said, pushing up to his elbows to look at your face.

“I have to finish, like, three more chapters today,” you explained.

“You can do that later. I want to go swimming now,” Mat whined.

“You know you sound like a petulant child right now, right?” you asked, moving a hand to his head, pushing his hair back as he pouted.

“Stop using big words on me. Let’s swim,” he said, rolling his eyes.

You paused to think about it for a moment, “Hmm… okay, I guess,” you said with a smile. Mat returned your smile with one of his own before hopping up to drag you to your room to change. It didn’t take much to convince you to swim. It was a really nice day out, and you didn’t really care to finish reading about 17th century philosophy.

You changed into your red bikini, Mat swapped his shorts for a pair of swim trunks, and threw on a backwards baseball cap. You went out back to join the rest of his friend group, who were in the process of loading up the boat with supplies and equipment.

“Oh, look, if it isn’t Brainiac and the Beast. Are you two finally going to go boating with us?” Tyson shouted from the dock. You rolled your eyes at his nickname they created for you and Mat. It had only been a week in Vancouver, but the chirps about you and school were tired by now.

“Princess here wants to swim in the pool, maybe next time!” you shouted back, pointing to Mat.

They laughed at your response, turning their attention back to the boat and running supplies to and from the house. You turned your attention back to Mat, who was taking off his hat and was about two seconds away from jumping in the pool.

“Mathew, stop!” you yelled out, “Get your ass over here!”

“What is it?” he asked, stopping just short of the deep end. He grumbled before marching over to you.

“You need to put sunscreen on first, dumbass,” you reprimanded. As you turned your back to grab the bottle of sunscreen, he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Mat,” you said sharply, turning back to face him with a raised eyebrow.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”

You ignored him, opening the cap and squeezing lotion onto your hands. You gestured him to turn around, and you spread the lotion over it, making sure to rub it into his shoulders.

“I don’t see why I have to put sunscreen on. It’s not even that hot outside,” he muttered.

“First of all, you’re a dumbass. Second of all, heat doesn’t automatically mean the UV rays aren’t strong. And lastly, you’re white, baby, you’ll burn like a sun-dried tomato and being in water only increases the amount of sun you’re exposed to,” you explained, reaching up to rub some on his face.

“Sorry, Miss Meteorologist,” he grumbled, clearly not happy he’d lost this argument.

“One of us has to have brains. We can’t all get by on our good looks and skating ability,” you replied, slapping his cheeks when you were done for good measure.

“Okay, well, if you’re finally done,” you nodded in confirmation, “Let’s go.” He picked you up from under your thighs and ran at full speed towards the pool before you could even process what was happening. You screamed his name in protest begging him to put you down, claiming you hadn’t had time to put on sunscreen yet. He ignored you as he jumped into the deep end, dragging you with him.

You emerged from the water clinging to Mat’s wet body, your hair sopping and hanging over your face like you had come straight out of the movie The Grudge. Mat was laughing at your chaotic look, knowing you were well pissed at him. You jumped higher in the water on top of him to dunk his head under and tried your best to drown him.

It wasn’t until you were relaxing on the couch later that night doing your routinely social media scroll that you saw one of the guys recorded your sunscreen interaction by the pool, you calling Mat a dumbass, and him throwing you in the pool onto their instagram story with a caption “all these two do is fight” with some laughing crying emojis added for effect.

After a long day or hiking, you’d immediately crashed on the couch once you’d gotten back to the house, not bothering to walk all the way to your room. It was only early in the afternoon but you’d been out since sunrise, and dealing with people for hours on end had drained you. The group laughed at you as you plopped your body down onto the couch, curling your head under your arm instead of grabbing the pillow two feet away from you. The rest of them gathered in the kitchen, refueling their bodies with assorted snacks as they started popping open bottles of beer, ready to start the night. It seemed that even an entire day on their feet had not emptied them of their, seemingly endless, energy.

“Jesus Christ, we hiked for, like, six hours and you’re all still bouncing off the walls,” you sighed deeply.

“We’re about to go hit the boat and go water skiing, too. I’m assuming you’re too tired to join us?” Tyson teased.

“I will not be joining you because unlike some people, I need a nap. Now get out of here, you’re all giving me a headache,” you said, pinching your fingers on the bridge of your nose to emphasize your point.

They all snickered but kept quiet as they shuffled around, packing up more food to take outside. You heard the sliding door shut and close a few times as they ran in and out before it was finally silent. You let out a sigh of relief as you took solace in the calm quiet.

That was until you felt a pair of arms shifting you closer to the edge of the couch. You peeked one eye open to see Mat rolling your body over to give him some space as he climbed over your body to nestle himself between you and the back cushions.

“Not going out on the boat?” You asked as he tucked a pillow under the both of your heads and pulled a blanket over your bodies.

“No. They’re exhausting. I need some time for myself,” Mat replied, wrapping his arm around your middle to pull you into his chest.

“No offense, but if you’re with me, you’re not by yourself,” you explained, closing your eyes again as you settled into a comfortable position.

“Yeah, but you’re you. You don’t exhaust me,” he said quietly. You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t answer. Within a few seconds you heard Mat’s breathing even out, and you followed quickly behind him into a deep sleep.

A couple hours passed in a dreamless sleep when you heard the sliding of doors and laughter travel through the house. It stirred you from your sleep and you both shifted around, letting out displeased groans.

“Are they both still asleep?” You heard one of them ask from the kitchen. Neither of you wanted to answer in hopes they would leave you two to continue sleeping.

You were sadly mistaken.

“Hey! Sleeping beauties! Time to get up!” Tyson shouted from somewhere above you.

You both groaned out a “Fuck off, Tyson,” without opening your eyes, both of you giving him the middle finger. Tyson laughed to himself and you expected him to keep bothering you, but you heard his footsteps lead away from the couch. You turned over on your other side, tucking your face into Mat’s neck before falling back asleep.

When you woke up later that evening, you checked instagram again to see Tyson posted a new story. It was the video of him bothering you two and flipping him off with a caption that said “I get no respect around here :(“

It had been raining all day. Which meant everyone was stuck inside watching movies and eating pizza. It didn’t take long for you to get bored of lounging on the couch, especially when all they wanted to do was watch Fast and Furious movies. You sat on the loveseat you were sharing with Mat, and you distracted yourself from the boring movie by tangling your hands in your hair, French braiding the strands into pigtails mindlessly. You unbraided and rebraided your hair into a fishtail after the pigtails, and then into a regular braided ponytail after that. You let yourself get caught up in daydreams as you stared blankly at the TV when Mat started tugging on your leg. Dropping your braid, you finished tying it off with a hair tie and turned to look at him.

“Let me practice on you,” Mat said quietly.

“Practice what?” You asked.

“Braiding,” he said, shuffling to sit upright. He tried to gently push you off the couch until you got the hint and moved to sit between his legs on the floor.

“You think you can do it?” You asked, ready to offer him a demonstration.

“I’ve been watching you for the past half hour, I got this,” he replied, pulling out your hair tie. You rolled your eyes at his confidence, but let him continue unraveling the strands.

Every few minutes Mat would sigh exasperatedly before pulling out the twists he’d made to start over. Eventually, he’d almost gotten all the way to the end of your hair before he sighed again, clearly fed up by how long this was taking him. You didn’t say anything as he restarted for a third time, going for a straight back braid instead of a French braid.

After another ten minutes, Mat had finally completed his simple braid, tying your hair off with the tie. He tapped your shoulder to indicate he was done, and you pulled the long tail over your shoulder to look at it.

It was a braid.

An extremely loose one where he mixed up the strand order in a couple places, but a braid nonetheless. You turned around to get back up on the couch, and you were met with his triumphant smile.

“Good job, bud,” you complimented, leaving the braid in as you resumed your previous position on the couch.

You checked your phone to find a notification of a new story tag. You opened the app to see a picture of you on the floor, staring at the TV while Mat had his hands twisted in your hair and a confused look on his face and tongue poking out of his mouth. Next to your instagram tag was “he’s been knotting her hair on purpose for 20 minutes now”

Your final exams for the summer classes you were taking were in a week. Finals stressed you out more than anything else in the world, and when you were stressed, you did a lot of baking. A lot of baking. After finishing your finals study schedule and nearly breaking down almost twice because of the amount you had to get done, you decided to start baking instead of going to sleep. So, at 3 in the morning when everyone was asleep, you’d turned on the oven and brought out the bowls.

It began with a few dozen cookies. You figured everyone could at least enjoy the cookies. Who didn’t like cookies?

Cookies turned into muffins, muffins into cupcakes, and then cupcakes into pies. By the time everyone was waking up, it was nearly eleven in the morning. You’d gone to the store twice and had taken a few twenty minute naps while you waited for your desserts baked in the oven. And right now, you were in the middle of finishing off some cinnamon rolls for breakfast

“Oh my god, what the hell happened here?” Mat had asked with a scared expression, taking note of the disastrous kitchen. You didn’t answer him as you were topping off the rolls with some icing.

A few more bodies had gathered in the kitchen and began to fill the seats at the countertop while they watched you with worried eyes.

“What?” You asked innocently, placing the plates of cinnamon rolls in front of all of them. Their eyes followed you carefully as you pulled more goods out of the oven where you were keeping them warm. Plate after plate you set on the counter, all the cookies and muffins and cakes.

“How long have you been up?” Tyson asked cautiously. You swear you’ve never heard him use a softer voice than right now.

“I’m not sure. I never went to sleep, I guess? What time is it now?” You asked, pulling out glasses for orange juice.

“Nearly noon. You seriously didn’t sleep?” Tyson asked. The others had delved into the confections, eyes bouncing between the two of you as they stuffed their faces.

“She’s stress baking,” Mat replied quietly, helping himself to a cinnamon roll.

“What the hell is tress baking?” One of the other guys asked.

“Yeah she does this when she’s stressed. Usually when finals are coming up,” Mat said, directing it more towards you than his friend. You gave him a sheepish look, deciding not to comment since he already answered for you.

Mat was used to your stress baking as it resulted in you showing up at his place in the middle of the night with bags full of pastries in the late hours of the evening. It was always against his diet and he frequently gave most of your desserts to his neighbor, but he could never tell you no when you arrived with gifts.

“Well, I’m all out of flour, so, I’m going to run to the store again to get some more supplies so I can make a chocolate cake later,” you said hurriedly.

You did a quick double check of the kitchen, flashing all the guys a bright smile before heading out the door with your purse in hand, all of them staring until the front door shut behind you.

When you came back, you found Mat in the kitchen doing the dishes and nearly all the sweets you’d baked earlier were eaten or wrapped and put away. Maybe there was a plus side to being in a home with five other people.

“Mat, you don’t have to do that,” you said, setting your groceries down and hip checking him away from the sink.

“You’re already stressed, I figured doing the dishes would take away some of that,” he said with a shrug. He continued rinsing out some bowls as you gave him a small smile.

The two of you continued to wash the dishes in silence, moving to clean the countertops when you were done. After half an hour, the mess you’d made was gone and any signs of a baking breakdown had been erased.

It was a shame you were about to tear up the kitchen all over again.

“How about this,” Mat said, noticing the frown on your face at the thought of making another mess, “Let’s have a competition.”

You quirked your eyebrow, “I’m listening.”

“You said you were making a chocolate cake, right? How about we see who can make the better cake,” Mat propositioned.

You raised both your eyebrows this time. You both knew you were the better baker by a long shot. You did have this same breakdown at least twice a year. You weren’t even sure Mat knew how to make anything that didn’t come with box instructions or included possible salmonella-inducing ingredients.

You knew what he was really trying to do. He was trying to distract you from all the stress, and he knew you couldn’t turn down a competition. You were just as bad as him when it came to winning. Thankfully, this was something you knew you’d win.

“Fine, but I hope you’re prepared to lose,” you agreed with a smile.

“I don’t know, I have been practicing my cooking skills lately,” he said, grabbing the bowls he’d just dried off.

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it,” you replied with an eye roll and heavy sarcasm.

You joined him in gathering all the ingredients and materials on the counter, setting up your respective stations. Mat divided the workspace in half, drawing a line in flour which made you laugh. You split the bowls between the sides and set up the ingredients on the second counter just like an actual cooking show.

“Okay, ground rules first. Half an hour to make the cakes, we bake them at the same time, and then another half hour for decorating at the end,” you explained, tying your hair back in a ponytail. Mat nodded at your statement and set a timer on his phone for 30 minutes.

“Ready.”

“Set.”

“Go!”

After about two hours, your creations were done. Well, they were supposed to be. Mat’s cake looked more or less like a brown lump coated in frosting and stripes. You’d tried your best to decorate yours with small chocolate roses, but you could’ve turned out a plain cake and probably would have done better.

“I think I won,” you stated confidently.

“You’re not allowed to decide, you’re biased! I’ll make a poll on my story,” Mat said, going to grab his phone.

“You can’t do that, your followers are going to pick yours.”

“Fine, we’ll get someone else to do it— Josty! Come here,” Mat called to his friend passing through the kitchen. He hesitantly walked over to where you were, not wanting to come in the middle of whatever you two were shouting about.

“We need you to make an instagram poll to see who’s cake looks better. Oh, and you’re going to taste test them,” you said, picking up your cake to pose for a picture as Mat did the same. Tyson sighed before realizing you two were serious and he opened his app to take a picture.

He added the photo to his story with a poll asking “Which one is better?” With two options, Y/N’s or Mat’s.

After you set the cakes back down, Tyson picked up a fork before stabbing them to pick out a chunk from each. He ate yours first, nearly moaning at the taste.

“Holy shit, this is, like, the best cake I’ve ever eaten,” Tyson said, shoveling down another forkful. You gave Mat a shit-eating grin.

“Okay, okay, try mine now,” Mat said, displeased. Tyson rolled his eyes before forking out some of his.

“Uh,” he coughed, “it’s a little,” cough, “dry.”

“What? No, it’s not! Let me try,” Mat shouted, outraged, and grabbed Tyson’s fork to try for himself.

It took him two seconds before he was spitting the cake into a napkin.

“Fine. You win,” Mat conceded, throwing a dish towel against the counter in mock fury.

You gloated for another 5 minutes, pointing out Mat’s terrible baking skills as Tyson continued to eat your cake and laugh at Mat.

You won the instagram poll too.

+ 1

It was the last week before you and Mat were flying back to New York. The past month had passed quickly, and Mat needed to get back for the start of training camps. As the summer began to end, the whole crew thought they’d spend one last day on the boat before everyone started parting ways.

It’s not like you were opposed to being on boats, but when all the guys did was water sports and no one wanted to slow down to teach you, it wasn’t as fun.

Today, however, had been quite calm as you sat against the front of the boat, a seltzer in hand as you watched Tyson wakeboarding in the back. Mat was curled up behind you as you leaned back against his chest, tanned skin shining in the summer sun. You reached back to grab the baseball cap off his head, placing it on yours to shield your eyes from the sun. You’d forgotten to bring sunglasses, and you figured Mat could part with his hat since he had a pair.

The day passed peacefully as all the guys took turns until it was sunset. Mat had joined you back on the seat, skin wet from just getting out of the water. He wrapped you in his arms before pulling you onto his lap, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Hey, Tys, take a picture of us real quick,” Mat said, shoving his phone into Tyson’s chest.

You thought nothing of it, you and Mat had taken many pictures together, and this was no different. Mat rested his chin on your shoulder, his arms wrapped around your stomach as you both gave your cheesiest smiles to the camera. A quick shutter indicated the picture was taken and Tyson gave Mat his phone back.

Mat called your name from your bed as you stood in the adjoined bathroom, finishing your nightly routine.

“Hey, do you mind if I post that picture of us on my instagram?” Mat called out.

“The one from the boat? Why?” You asked, drying off your face with a towel.

“It’s a cute picture,” he shrugged when you reentered the room.

“People are going to start talking if you do,” you warned with a cautious tone.

He paused for a second.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Mat asked quietly, looking up to meet your eyes.

You stayed silent as you climbed in under the covers.

“What are you trying to say, Mat?”

He took a deep breath, “I think you’re amazing, you know that. And we’ve been friends for so long, it kind of feels natural, doesn’t it?” His fingers began tapping against the sheets anxiously as he held his breath and waited for your response.

You gave him a small smile, moving your body around to fully face him.

“It does,” you agreed, “But if you want us to be something more, you’re going to have to ask me on a date first.”

“A date? After I’ve already gotten you into bed? What’s the point?” You knew he meant it as a joke since he could barely finish the sentence without laughing, but you gently slapped his head as he began to apologize.

“I’m kidding!” He said between chuckles, “Will you go on a date with me once we get back to New York and it’s safe to go out again?”

“I’d love to, Mat,” you replied, leaning in to give him a sweet kiss.

“I’m still going to post that photo tomorrow, though,” he said after a short pause, smiling against your lips.

The next day when Mat had gone on a fishing trip with the guys, you saw a notification pop up on your phone.

“@barzal97 tagged you in a photo”

You unlocked your phone.

“Isolation isn’t so bad when you have this girl to spend it with”

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #nhl fic #my writing #isles13

1K notes · View notes

fruitcoops · 4 years ago

Note

So my finger is actually broken and it made me think about the series where Remus took a stick to the face and Sirius took care of him if you’re willing to do another part to that so I can live vicariously that’d be great

Hey lovely! I’m so sorry for the massive delay on this fic--hopefully, your finger feels better soon <3 Coops and O’Knutzy credit goes to @lumosinlove!

This fic also includes Cap and Logan being brothers, O’Knutzy fluff, and my personal favorite ask of all time:

Anon: We have seen protective Leo in action and he is an absolute badass, but what about the other 2/3 of O’Knutzy. Because gods know they would all protect their fairy gay mother if anyone were to mess with him in the slightest

TW for bruising, swelling, injury

Read the rest of the series here!

“Where is he?” Leo demanded as soon as the door opened. His mother would have been appalled by his lack of manners, but he was too worried to bother with pleasantries. “Is he alright?”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Hello to you, too, Knut. Harzy, Lo, how’s it going?”

“Depends,” Finn said. “How’s our favorite rookie doing?”

Logan took a more direct approach and kicked Sirius lightly on the shin. “Move, I want to see my future beau-frère.”

“Are they here?” a rough voice called from the living room.

“Don’t get up, Loops!” Leo shouted down the hall, making a beeline for the kitchen. “Are you feeling okay?”

There was a muffled curse from the other room, followed by footsteps; Leo scowled. “I’m not made of glass,” Remus huffed as he shuffled into the room with an ice pack in his hand.

All three of them hissed in sympathy and Leo felt phantom pain in his nose at the wide bruise across Remus’ cheekbones. “You should go lay down again, dude.”

“You made me soup?”

“You can only have it if you promise to rest.”

“I don’t have a concussion.”

“Your face looks like someone biked over it.”

“Rude. I’ll call your mother.”

“You don’t have her number.”

Remus shot him a look and turned to the others, who were watching in clear amusement. “Tremzy, a hand?”

“Can’t tell you. I want soup.” Logan ruffled his hair as he walked past; Remus batted him away, but he was smiling. It was even more crooked than usual with the latent swelling, and Leo felt a pang in his chest when he noticed the missing dimples. He looked so…not Loops. “Où sont les casseroles?”

Finn frowned and glanced in the Tupperware. “That’s not casserole, Lo.”

Sirius reached up and pulled a large pot down from the cupboard. “Pots, Harz. You’ve been dating these two for almost a year and you still don’t know French?”

Finn hopped up on the counter. “Keeps things interesting.”

Leo blew him a kiss and received a wink in return, making them both laugh. “Thanks again for bringing this over,” Remus said as Leo turned the stove on and grabbed a wooden spoon.

“Anything for the rookie, right? You look better than last night.”

“Yeah?” Hope lit in Remus’ less-swollen eye; he was still bruised to hell and back, but the puffiness had gone own significantly and a good night’s sleep seemed to have done him good.

“No thanks to the captain,” Finn snorted, swinging his legs until Sirius whacked him on the thigh with a spoon. “I swear to god he was just fucking with us in the groupchat.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “What did you do?”

“I told the truth!” Sirius protested. “I don’t know why they’re all pissy.”

“You were so vague,” Logan groaned. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and scrolled through the texts, then cleared his throat. “Home safe. Re is fine—"

“Get over here—”

“—getting lots of cuddles from Hattie,” Logan continued, ducking out of Sirius’ reach as he read aloud. Leo stepped closer to the stove to let them both run past. “Thanks for the messages. Thanks for the messages? Thanks for the fucking messages?”

“That was pretty vague,” Remus agreed, hiding a smile behind his hand when Sirius finally snatched Logan’s phone away.

“I’m keeping this,” he threatened. “And I sent messages to people who reached out individually with questions, including your boyfriend.”

“Which one?” Logan asked with a smirk.

Sirius shook his head. “Knutty, will you be offended if I kick him out of the house?”

“Eh.” Leo shrugged, still stirring. “He could use some fresh air. Maybe put a bowl of water out with him.”

Logan grabbed a towel and rolled it up, snapping it at Leo’s ass; it connected with a sharp smack and he dodged the second attack by less than an inch. “Hey, cut it out!” Remus laughed. “He’s making me soup!”

“Yeah, Lo, we don’t want to leave the invalid in the hands of Cap’s cooking,” Finn drawled.

Sirius heaved a sigh. “You are all so mean to me.”

“I love you!” Remus said, putting a hand over his heart in mock-offense.

“You don’t trust my cooking either.”

He hesitated for half a second and Sirius spread his hands. “I trust most of your cooking. And all of your baking.”

Leo perked up. “Will you make cookies for us?”

“No.”

“Come on,” he wheedled as bubbles began forming around the edges of the soup. “You know you want to.”

“He made some for the block party two weeks ago,” Remus said with a grin, leaning over to smell the thick steam. “I’m domesticating him.”

“He’s like a feral cat. Once you let him in and feed him, he starts making cookies and never leaves.” Logan slotted himself between Finn’s knees for a cuddle with a devious glance at Sirius.

“I regret knowing you,” Sirius muttered; the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away, and Leo smiled to himself as he pulled a few bowls out of the nearest cabinet. “Soup’s ready?”

“Soup’s ready. Where are we eating?”

“Well, Loops is eating on the couch so he can rest,” Logan said, ignoring Remus’ eye roll.

“I’m fine.” All four of them gave him a skeptical look and he threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “Alright, we’ll eat in the living room and pretend I’m on my deathbed. Jesus Christ.”

Leo gave him a playful nudge as he handed him a bowl. “That’s what friends do, right?”

Remus’ face softened and he bumped him back. “This was really sweet of you, Knutty.”

“What was I supposed to do, leave you here alone with only your fiancé and your dog for company?” He looked behind the kitchen island and paused. “Speaking of, where’s my baby?”

“I’ll get her.” Sirius wandered out of the room and they heard the back door open a moment later; after a few seconds of muffled noise, Hattie came barreling into the room in all her long-legged glory. One side of her fur was mussed into bedhead, but Finn dropped down and immediately smoothed it out again as he smothered her with affection.

“Oh, was somebody taking a nap on the deck?” Remus cooed, grabbing a handful of spoons from a drawer.

“I missed you so much!” Finn said, laughing as she licked his face. “So much, precious girl! It’s been too long!”

Hattie wiggled out of his hold and galloped toward Leo—she tripped over her too-big paws and rolled to a stop at his feet with a lolling tongue. “Oh, my munchkin,” he groaned, lifting her into a cradle hold. “Do you think your dads would be sad if I took you home with me?”

“Yes,” Sirius and Remus chorused.

“But I made them soup!” He stuck his lower lip out in a pout and held her closer to his chest. “It’s only fair.”

Logan turned a pleading look on Sirius. “You can’t say no to that face, can you?”

“Someday, you can have a sleepover. For right now, we’re going to eat soup and then make Remus take a nap.”

Leo declined to mention the fact that he had not answered the question and filed that particular information away for later use. For all his bluster and grumbling, Sirius was a softie for puppy eyes of any sort.

They gathered in the living room and carefully balanced their bowls so nobody spilled on the carpet. Remus curled up to make space for Sirius on the couch, while Logan perched on the armrest of Leo’s chair and Finn took the floor; Hattie made the rounds with a roving nose and tried to steal bites wherever possible, to little avail.

“This is really good,” Sirius said after a few minutes of hungry silence, shoving another spoonful of broth in his mouth. “Mon dieu, what is this?”

“Italian wedding soup,” Leo said, breaking a meatball in half. “Mom’s recipe.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You’re not Italian.”

“Not even a little.”

“You guys are the best, by the way,” Remus said. “This is exactly what I needed.”

“We would’ve beat the rookie up if you asked,” Finn informed him with a casual bite of soup. “Say the word, it’s done.”

Remus shook his head. “It was an accident. He tripped, I came up too fast, and it snowballed from there. Kid’s lucky he didn’t get a skate to the face when we fell.”

Logan blinked at him for a second. “You’ve seen your face recently, right?”

“No, actually, it’s a bit difficult to see my own face,” Remus said drily. “I’m sure it looks worse than it feels.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows, but made no comment. Leo wasn’t sure whether he wanted to know that story or not; seeing Loops in any amount of pain was hard enough. “Kind of ironic, right?” he said instead. “After all that time spent fixing us, you’re the one we get to take care of.”

Remus snorted. “How the turntables. Hestia did all the heavy lifting.”

“That Tupperware was heavy.”

“Do you want to tape me back together next time?”

“Don’t try me, Loops, I’ll do it and give you a moustache.”

They bickered and teased for the next half hour, long after their bowls were empty and Hattie laid down with a dramatic huff after her unsuccessful quest. Finally, Remus dozed off on Sirius’ shoulder, which they took as their cue to leave.

“Thank you again, guys,” Sirius said as they pulled their coats on. “This really meant a lot to both of us.”

“No problem,” Finn said with a shrug. “We were worried, and bringing over a little soup was easy.”

“It was good to talk to you both outside of practice,” Logan added, giving him a one-armed hug. “Keep us updated?”

“Bien sûr.”

“See you around, Capsicle.” Leo mock-saluted and Sirius laughed under his breath. “Take care of our rookie.”

“Will do, Knutty.”

Leo maneuvered his container around his seatbelt as Finn turned the car on, trying not to lose another lid down the crack between the console. “I’m glad we did that,” he said after a few seconds of comfortable silence.

“Me, too. Loops still looked pretty rough, though,” Logan said quietly.

The side of Finn’s mouth turned down a tick. “Next time we play the Ravens, that rookie is getting checked like he’s never been checked before.”

Leo’s back cracked as he stretched his arms over his head. “Oh, yeah, Kasey and I already have a plan. That kid is never even going to see the net.”

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statticscribbles · 4 years ago

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Monster

Summary: Sweet Pea/werewolf!Reader Request: The song Monster by Besomorph

“You know what they say about Fox forest yeah?” “That it’s filled with monsters and creatures even more horrible than Clifford Blossom’s wigs?” You laugh and Sweet pea grins. “Actual werewolves Y/N.” “That you confessing? I’ve never seen you on a full moon, you need to tell me something then Sweets?” You tilt your head grinning and he laughs shaking his head.

“Nothing you don’t already know; I’m a beast in bed.” He winks as Toni and Fangs groan. “I’ve never been luckier about you having to go home now.” Fangs shoves him towards his bike. Toni and Fangs retreat home and you let them leave before you sigh finally being alone at the edge of the forest. You scratch at the back of your neck feeling excess fur growing and you wrinkle your nose, annoyed before pulling your clothes off, no sense in having them ruined after a shift.

You can feel your arms and legs starting to ache and you force yourself to half walk and half run to the edge of the forest. You cringe when you can hear a bike pulling back around and you hide in the tree cover watching nervously eyeing the clothes you’ve left hoping no one thinks the worst. Of course you luck isn’t that good, Sweet Pea almost running towards your clothes and catching the foot prints you’ve probably left from stumbling towards the forest.

“Y/N?” you shove yourself back into the forest trying your best to avoid making too much noise before you curl behind a hollow tree hoping for once your shift will be fast and that Sweet Pea won’t find you. He doesn’t walk any deeper into the forest than the edges and you can feel the dirt under paws and you’re waiting for the wolf that’s now been let out to attack him, instead you find yourself travelling parallel to him as he paces the perimeter of the forest. You want to say something, to make some noise so you’ll be forced to expose yourself; hiding you were a werewolf was getting exhausting. You debating trying to fight against the wolf, it never ends well for either of you, but the wolf seems too agreeable when you suggest alerting him to your presence.

Sweet Pea doesn’t scream when you charge him; you’re too horrified waiting to taste or smell blood instead you find yourself looking down at from where you sit on his chest. “Jesus fucking-not hot dog, not hot dog.” He scrambles back after shoving you off dashing towards his bike. You trot after him and can almost smell his panic as he sees his keys laying where you’d knocked him over. He eyes you stepping from his bike closer to them and you want to scream at how excited the wolf grows.

When Sweet Pea makes a dash for it you force as much of yourself to the surface rooting the wolf to the spot. He retrieves the keys and as he speeds off you can feel the wolf clawing back control. Once you know Sweet Pea is far enough away do you give in.

You wake two days later, back curled behind the hollow tree, your clothes gone, you nudge the rock next to the tree out of the way digging up the bag of clothes you’d hidden for emergencies. You pull the clothes on and peer from the canopy of trees watching Fangs, and Sweet Pea pacing around where the fire pit was. You debate going out to them, deciding that getting it over now would be better than not. “Hey guys, what did i-“ You still when Sweet Pea almost crushes you in a hug. “You’re okay.” “Yeah, I was at my aunts; what happened?”

“One of the Ghoulies got attacked last night.” “We care about Ghoulies now?” “He died. Some sort of ‘animal’ but everyone thinks it was one of us.” You stare shocked, nervous as you can feel the wolf humming in satisfaction. “Does it look like someone attacked him? Wait was it here??” You spin around and Sweet Pea shakes his head.

“No it was on the way home, you know where that huge tree is, and then it turns off towards that house we used as our headquarters for a while? It was over there he was out back snooping around there and whatever it was got him from behind, looks like there was a fight or something. FP showed us pictures of the body, looks mangled. Could barely tell it was a person.” “Jesus, how do they think one of us did it then?” Sweet Pea shrugs nodding to his bike. “Jughead wanted to meet at Pop’s now that we’re all back. We were really freaked out you were gone you know. You need to let us know when-“ “You, you mean.” Fang nudges him laughing and he rolls his eyes. “Yes, god forbid I care about my girlfriend’s safety. You couldn’t have texted?”

“I was busy and my aunt’s house goes way out of range.” You follow Sweet Pea from where he’s parked his bike into Pop’s everyone grinning as you wave. “Listen Y/N.” You furrow your brow when FP pulls you aside. “I know.” “About?” “The attack.” “You think I attacked that Ghoulie?” “Yes.” “Because I was away at my aunt’s house?” “Because I watched you.” “You have proof?” You wrinkle your nose when he nods grinning, pulling his phone out and scrolling through a series of pictures, that show the Ghoulie standing around before a shadow springs out attacking him. “I’m a shadow monster now?” You snort and Sweet Pea leans back nervously looking away. “What do you know Sweet Pea.” “Looks like that dog that was gonna go for me the other day.” “Oh of course it does. So now we gotta alert the pound yeah?” FP sighs dragging his hands down his face. “We could just storm the forest, flush it out.” “Sounds good enough. We know its probably a werewolf, or that Ghoul was just heaps unlucky to park his ass around the most magically charged forest in all of Riverdale”

You cringe as you sink into the forest unsure if letting the wolf take control will be the best idea for tonight. While you know the wolf is a simplified selection of your emotions it’s also the best at survival, you try to reason with it; assuring it that Ghoulies are fair bait, but it has to leave the Serpent’s alone.

You don’t mean to let yourself trail Sweet Pea but both you and the wolf agree it’s better to keep him safe even with the exposure risk. You’re pretty sure he knows you’re there, with how he checks over his shoulder, you jog ahead slightly appearing in the middle of the path and tilt your head, almost bowing to him as he freezes in the middle of the forest. “Uhh, hi.” He sighs shaking his head and you can hear him muttering to himself about how stupid he is.

“Listen I just need to look for whatever it was that killed that Ghoulie, we want to thank it, uh I mean prove it wasn’t one of our own that did it. Was it you?” You nod and he groans. “Of course it fucking was Jesus christ. Okay let me just call-“ You tackle him before he can a warning growl reverbing in your chest you hate how he cowers slightly and you huff sitting up onto his chest and watching as he tries to reach for his phone, before you pluck it from his finger tips and toss it farther ahead. You can hear someone swear and then footsteps and you inwardly sigh as Jughead, Toni and Fangs run up glaring at you.

“Okay Sweet Pea you just-“ Jughead’s voice shakes as he tries to help and you roll your eyes and step off of him. “Oh that worked really well. Jesus Christ.” Jughead shoves himself and Toni out of the way as you rush forward running father into the forest and trying to dodge as many of the Serpents as you can. “Leave it to run off where ever. We can try again tomorrow.” You watch hidden from view.

“Why do we have to do this shit at night, why can’t it be during the day. Better yet why do we even have to bother, she can take care of herself, she killed a Ghoulie for Christ’s sake.” Fangs grumbles and Sweet Pea shakes his head. “Because FP says werewolves can only change at night, besides if you think I’m going to let the Ghoulies get Y/N; they have a better chance of getting out alive facing her.”

Support My Writing?

#sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x you #sweet pea x y/n #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea reader insert #jordan connor #jordan connor imagine #jordon connor reader insert #stattic

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la5t-res0rt · 4 years ago

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this was written several weeks ago in response to asks i was receiving i am posting it now it is very long the longest i have ever made and it is not very well edited but here it is in this final essay i talk about how shitty rae is about black people in her writing as well as just me talking about how her writing sucks in general lets begin

hello everyone

as you may know i have received a lot of anons in the last week or so about issues of racism in the beetlejuice community both just generally speaking and also within specific spaces

i was very frustrated to not be getting the answers i wanted because i typically do not talk about what i do not see but in an effort to be better about discourse i went looking through discourse from before my time in the fandom and i also received some receipts and information from my followers and from some friends

keep in mind that the voices and thoughts of bipoc are not only incredibly important at all times but in this circumstance it is important that if a bipoc has something to add you listen and learn and be better

i admit that when this happened i wasnt aware of the extent of what occurred and im angry at myself for not doing more at that time and i want to work harder to make sure something like this doesnt go unnoticed again

im a hesitant to talk about months old discourse because i have been criticized for bringing up quote old new unquote but this is very important and i am willing to face whatever comes from to me

lets talk about this

content from our local racist idiot that may be months old but its important

putting my thoughts under a cut to spare the dash but before i begin obviously this is awful

lets fucking unpack this folks

right out the gate op states that she supports artistic freedom but then within a couple words she goes against that statement

being entirely canon compliant isnt artistic freedom and even so if this person has so much respect for canon they wouldnt be out here erasing lydias obvious disgust for beetlejuice in the movie or ignoring lydias age for the sake of shipping that shit isnt canon either

also we love the quick jab at the musical there hilarious we love it dont we because god forbid a licensed and successful branch on a media have any standing in this conversation but whatever

now lets scroll down and talk about the term racebending

the term racebending was coined around 2009 in response to the avatar the last airbender movie a film in which the east asian races of the characters were erased by casting white actors in the three leading roles of aang sokka and katara

whenever the term racebending is used in a negative light it is almost always a case of whitewashing like casting scarlett johansen in ghost in the shell or the casting of white actors of the prince of persia sands of time instead of iranian ones

this kind of racebending erases minorities from beeing seen in media and is wrong

all that being said however racebending has also been noted to have very positive after effects like the 1997 adaptation of cinderella or casting samuel jackson as nick fury in the marvel movies nick fury was originally a white guy can you even imagine

i read this piece from an academic that said quote writers can change the race and cultural specificity of central characters or pull a secondary character of color from the margins transforming them into the central protagonist unquote

racebending like the kind that rae is so heated about is the kind of creative freedom that leads to more representation of bipoc in media which will never be a bad thing ever no matter how pissy you get about it

designing a version of a character as a poc isnt serving to make them necessarily better it serves to give new perspective and perhaps the opportunity to connect even more deeply with a character it doesnt marginalize or erase white people it can uplift poc and if you think uplifting poc is wrong because it tears down white people or whatever youre a fucking moron and you need to get out of your podunk white folk town and see the real world

the numbers of times a bipoc particularly a bipoc that is also lgbt+ has been represented in media are dwarfed by what i as a white dude have seen myself represented in media is and that isnt okay that isnt equality and its something that should change not only in mainstream media but in fandom spaces as well

lets move down a bit further to the part about bullying straight people which is hilarious and lets also talk about the term fetishistic as well lets start with that

this person literally writes explicit pornography of a minor and an adult are we really going to let someone like that dictate what is and what isnt fetishistic

similarly to doing a positive racebend situation people may project lgbt+ headcanons on a character because its part of who they are and it helps them feel closer to the character and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that

depicting lgbt+ subject matter on existing characters isnt an inherently fetishistic action generally things only really become fetishistic when the media is being crafted and hyped by people who are outside of lgbt+ community for example how young teens used to flip a tit about yaoi or how chasers fetishize trans people

but drawing a character with top surgery scars or headcanoning them as trans is harmless and its just another way to interpret a character literally anone could be trans unless if their character bio says theyre cis and most of them dont go that deep so it really is open to interpretation and on the whole most creators encourage this sort of exploration because it is a good thing to get healthy representation out in the world

as for it being used to bully straights thats just funny i dont have anything else on that like if youre straight and you feel threatened and bullied because of someone headcanoning someone as anything that isnt cishet youre a fucking idiot and a weak baby idiot at that like the real world must fucking suck for you because lgbt+ people are everywhere and statistically a big chunk of your favorite characters arent cishet sorry be mad about it

lets roll down a bit further about the big meat of the issue which was when several artists were drawing interpretations of lydia as a black girl which i loved but clearly this person didnt love it because they have a very narrow and very racist and problematic view of what it means to be a black person

and before i move forward i must reiderate that i am a white person and you should listen to the thoughts of poc people like @fright-of-their-lives or @gender-chaotic it is not my place to explain what the black experience is like and it certainly isnt this persons either

implying that the story of a black person isnt worth telling unless if the character faces struggles like racism and prejudice is downright moronic

why use the word kissable to describe a black persons lips now thats what i call fetishistic and its to another extreme if youre talking about a black version of lydia on top of that

the author of this post says herself that shes white so clearly shes the person whos an authority on the black experience and what it means to be a black person right am i reading that right or am i having a fucking conniption

how about allowing black characters to exist without having to struggle why cant a black version of lydia just be a goth teenager with a ghost problem who likes photography and is also black like she doesnt have to move to a hick town and get abused by racist folks she doesnt have to go through any more shit than she already goes through and if you honestly think thats the only way to tell a black persons story you need to get your brain cleaned

you know nothing about the complexities about being a black person and i dont either but you know wh odo black people who are doing black versions of canon characters they fucking know

lets squiggle down just a bit further

so the writer has issues with giving characters traits like a broad nose or larger lips if theyre a woman but if theyre a man suddenly its totally okay to go all ryan murphy ahs coven papa legba appropriation when approaching character design like are you fucking stupid do you hear yourself is that really how you see black men like what the fuck is wrong with you

none of the shit youre spewing takes bravery it takes ignorance and supreme levels of stupidity

do you really think you with your fic where a black lgbt+ woman is tortured and abused where you use the n word with a hard r to refer to her like that shits not okay its fucking depraved and yeah we know you love being shitty but like christ on a bike thats so much

can we also talk about this

what the fuck is this fetishistic bull roar garbage calling this black character beyonce dressing her up in quote fuck me heels unquote are you are you seriously gonna write this and say its a shining example of how to write a black character youre basically saying ope here she is shes a sex icon haha im so progressive and i clealry understand the black experience hahahaha fuck you oh my god

on top of that theres a point where this character is only referred to as curly hair or the fact that the n word is used in the fic with the hard r like thats hands down not okay for you to use especially not in a manner like this jesus christ

oop heres a little more a sampling for you of the hell i am enduring in reading this drivel

oh boy lets put a leash on the angry black woman character lets put her in a leash and have the man imply hes a master like are you kidding me are you for real and what the fuck is with calling her shit like j lo and beyonce do you actually think thats clever at all are you just thinking of any poc that comes into your head for this

also lydia fucking tells this girl that she shouldnt have lost her temper like she got fucking leashed im so tired why is this writing so problematic and also so bad

hold up before i lose my head lets look at some of her own comments on the matter of this character and what happens to her

hi hello youre just casually tossing the word lynch out there in the wide open world as if thats not a problem that is still real like are you fucking unhinged there have been multiple cases of this exact thing happening in our firepit of a country in the last five months alone like how can you still have shit like this up for people to read how can you be proud of work like this in this climate

and also what the fuck is that last bit

what the actual fuck

i dont speak for black people as a white person but you do!? im sorry i had to get my punctuation out for that because wow thats fucking asinine just because one black person read your fic and didnt find the torture and abuse of your one black character abhorrant doesnt mean that the vast majority of people not only in the fandom but in the human population with decency are going to think its okay because its not

i started this post hoping to be level headed and professional but jesus fucking christ this woman is something else white nationalism is alive and well folks and its name is rae

if you defend this woman you defend some truly abhorrant raecism

editors notes

in order to get some perspective on these issues more fully some of the writing by the author was examined and on the whole it was pretty unreadable but i want to just call back to the very beginning of this essay where the person in question talked about holding canon in high regard but then in their writing they just go around giving people magic and shit and ignoring the end of the movie entirely like are you canon compliant or nah

the writing doesnt even read like beetlejuice fanfic it reads as self indulgent fiction you could easily change the names and its just a bad fanfic from 2007

also can we talk about writing the lesbian character as an angry man hater like its 2020 dude and als olets touch on that girl on girl pandering while beetlejuice is just there like here we go fetishizing again wee

i cant find a way to work this into this already massive post but

im going to throw up

okay so thats a lot we have covered a lot today and im sure my ask box will regret it but this definitely should have been more picked apart when it happened

please feel free to add more to this i would love more perspectives than just my own.

#long post #racism #raecism #im so tired #thanks for reading

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justasparkwritings · 4 years ago

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The Word of Your Body: Holy {4}

Previous: You’re Gonna Be My Bruise

Pairing: Namjoon X Reader

Genre: Slice of Life

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Swearing, Pregnancy, Fatherhood, Questioning Religion

Listening: Holy by Justin Bieber

Master List

Namjoon didn’t believe in God, or god, or Him. He didn’t believe in a higher being, a power that created and decided the fate of all peoples. There was no Buddha, Allah, Brahma or Vishnu. No shabbat or Holi or Ramadan. He didn’t believe in any of it. Army was King and Queen, Empress over his fate and his life. He didn’t feel anything around Easter or Christmas, there was no desire to bow his head and pray over a tragedy. He didn’t feel guilty for every sin committed, or anytime an “oh my god!” crossed his lips. He didn’t feel like there was anything moving his life forward except for BTS and you.

When he had asked you to marry him, he felt an inkling of what prayer was. There was nothing he wanted more than to marry you, to create a family, to live his days intertwined with yours. He was positive you were going to say yes, but he found himself wishing and hoping for your answer amidst the ten seconds it took before you responded. He didn’t realize it was prayer, nor did he think his hope that you would say yes would be constituted as a form of worship. But on bended knee, in the few seconds before you answered, he offered it up.

Your resounding yes sounded like an alleluia on Easter morning, a sensation he had experienced with you a year prior. He didn’t understand it, but he felt it.

“I don’t understand why you participate in it,” He said, drinking his coffee at your favorite local breakfast spot the day after his first Easter service. The two of you had come to your home to spend the holiday with your family, which meant showing him where you grew up and yes, bringing him to church.

“Why?” You asked, sipping your coffee.

“It, it doesn’t make sense, why would you believe in something that’s so, cynical?” He wondered.

“The religion you’re speaking of and the religion I subscribe to are two different things,” You said.

“How?”

“Because the religion your speaking of is God as a vengeful, omniscient dictator, demanding sacrifices, demanding life, wanting fees and fines designed by man to prove your loyalty to capitalism, not to God. The God that I believe in, that I celebrate, is merciful. He fights for what is right and just, for equity, for love.”

“Like Sailor Moon,” He smiled.

“Without the talking cat,” You winked.

He hadn’t understood what you meant until you’d given him a copy of your favorite book, which detailed the life of Jesus and his wife, Ana. It wove the notions of Jesus as savior with Jesus as man and expanded his understanding of what a savior could mean. It wasn’t that he suddenly believed in religion, or had faith, because he didn’t. Reading your favorite book had only made him fall more in love with you and made his understanding of religion murky at best. He did admit that he could see its place in your life and accept it for what it was.

The second time Namjoon had prayed was when you took your last pregnancy test. Conceiving wasn’t easy, and he beat himself up every time a test came back negative. You tried to dissuade his fears, tell him that it took time, it wasn’t going to happen the first time you had unprotected sex. He knew he wanted kids; he knew he wanted kids with you. The inability to get you pregnant for two years, even with increased hormone treatments and meticulous care placed on both of your bodies, he felt like he was exhausting all options. Every choice he was making led to further disappointment when the test came back negative.

Why couldn’t his body do the one thing it was designed to do? Was it the dancing in tight pants? Was it working out too much? Riding his bike too often? Why weren’t different positions, different times of day, number of orgasms leading to the creation of life that was half you, half him?

He found himself scrolling through his phone, looking for any sort of solace when he came across a quote you had typed into his phone’s notes for when he felt nervous. You said it every time you had an interview or presentation, a Bible verse imprinted on you during adolescents. As he read the words, the idea of prayer came into his mind… he quickly looked up how to pray before closing his phone. Wasn’t the point that you didn’t need to have a formal way of asking God for help or guidance? Dejectedly, Namjoon bowed his head, closed his eyes and let the words flow out of him.

Namjoon’s heart soared when you took your first positive test. It nearly erupted at your first sonogram. The thump-thump-thump of your child’s heartbeat had been like angels singing. You had created a life; you were going to have a child together. Maybe with his eyes and your nose, or your heart and his mind… Either way, he had heard a chorus echoing every time he saw your bump and felt your baby kick.

He couldn’t reason with himself though, did he now owe God something because whomever it was had fulfilled his prayer? Would he have to baptize the baby, offer it up on an altar like Abraham or split it in two like Solomon? Was God holding a grudge against him now because he hadn’t exalted him fully?

He had borne his soul to you shortly after your eighth month. His conscious was weighing heavy.

“I need to tell you something,” He said, sitting next to you on the couch.

“Okay,” You said, setting your phone face down on the coffee table. “What is it?”

“I, I did something, and I don’t know what to do next,” He couldn’t tell if he was ashamed, nervous, or bashful. Would you laugh or be surprised or lovingly tell him it was okay?

“What did you do?” You asked, cautiously.

“I,” He sighed, “I prayed.” He glanced up at you through his lashes, gauging your response before proceeding.

“Okay, and?”

“What am I supposed to do now? Do I owe God something? Is our child a sacrifice?”

“Well, what did you pray for?” You asked.

“A baby.”

“Namjoon, look at me,” You said lightly.

“What?” He reluctantly lifted his gaze to lock with yours.

“I did too,” You smiled.

He felt the baptismal waters crash down on him.

“You did? Oh, fuck. That, that makes me feel better. Do, do we have to do anything?” He reached for your hands as you laughed. Your baby kicking at the movement in your body.

“We can say a prayer of thanksgiving, but that’s not really how God works.” You said.

“I’ve read articles, and books, and the expectation that you offer something up to God in thanksgiving is everywhere. He grants a prayer and you give thanks. I’ve spent the past seven months trying to figure out what that thanksgiving is supposed to be.”

“Namjoon, why is this bothering you? You don’t normally adhere to organized anything,” You said intertwining your fingers.

He nodded his head before speaking. “I’ve never prayed about anything, but I needed solace, someone to listen. I was scared to tell you or the guys because I don’t believe in it, but I did it anyway.”

“That’s what faith is. It’s throwing your hopes and fears up and believing someone will catch them. Be it fate, or karma… or God or Allah or Krishna… it’s hoping that something will move the chips in your favor, and knowing you’ll be okay if it doesn’t.” You answered, lightly squeezing his hand.

“Do I owe anything?” He whispered.

“No, that’s not how God works, at least in the evangelical sense. Just, be a great father, and an excellent husband, and your actions will show your thankfulness.” You said, moving his hand to rest on your belly, baby kicking excitedly as Namjoon’s hands held it gently.

“That’s it?”

“God doesn’t want for much, Namjoon.”

He had spent the next six weeks studying books on organized religion, alternating between writing lyrics for BTS, unpacking the idea of GOD, and preparing for the baby. He read every parenting book, went to every class and watched birth video after birth video. He took to your body like the gentiles took to John the Baptist, following its every inkling, tending to it with care. He prepared baths and scheduled massages. He gingerly placed lotion on your growing belly, and proceeded to rub natural remedies on your cervix, anything to make your eventual labor smoother. He kneaded your growing breasts and never hesitated to help you tie your shoes. God had smote the Egyptians for worshipping their golden calf, and here Namjoon was, on his knees, singing exaltations to your growing form.

The third and fourth time Namjoon prayed was when your water broke, and with it came an excessive amount of blood. You had rushed to the hospital and were diagnosed with late term placenta previa, a condition they should’ve caught earlier. Upon examination, you were rushed into a C-Section, and as he sat clutching your hand, tears streaming down your faces, Namjoon braced himself for the worst possible outcome. He prayed diligently, every second you were in surgery, every moment he wasn’t whispering to you or kissing your hair, he prayed.

God, Jesus, Allah, anyone… Please let my wife be safe. Please do not take her or our baby away from me. Please let us live our lives together. Please let them be okay, please, please, please.

He offered up penance, a term he’d learned reading about the evolution of the Catholic church. He’d offered up his career, his bandmates, his money, his time. Anything he could trade to keep you and your baby.

Namjoon had thought he’d heard a gospel chorus whenever he saw your bump or felt the baby kick. It wasn’t until his child took its first breath and let out a cry, that Namjoon realized the crescendo of expectation, fear, relief and hope raking through his brain was the angels, singing the Halleluiah Chorus, proclaiming the birth of the savior. He could see it, you Mary, the unassuming mother of the Christ child, him Joseph, a lowly craftsman, the doctors, the shepherds, guiding life into the world.

As your tears turned to joy, Namjoon muttered to himself, “Unto you a child is given.”

It was past midnight when Namjoon finally had a minute to breathe. He held your new baby securely in his arms and glanced at your peacefully sleeping form. The past 48 hours had been a whirlwind. You were recovering from a C-Section and unable to lift or move much. On the one hand, you were relieved. You were emotionally exhausted from a traumatic labor, and physically exhausted from undergoing a major operation. Bed rest was welcomed as your body began to heal, from the nine months it had spent growing life, and as your hormones began to fall and rebalance. On the other, you wanted to spend every second staring at your child, guessing what they’d be like, wondering if their eyes were shaped like your husband’s or yours. Smelling their head for that new baby, fresh on the planet scent, and memorizing every feature.

Namjoon was grateful, it gave him time to spend with your child, knees deep in fatherhood. He could carry your child everywhere, sing to it, love it, create a strong bond before he would eventually be pulled to tour. He was savoring every diaper, every midnight feed, every coo and cry. He couldn’t imagine life before your child was born, and he wanted to cherish every millisecond he had with you both.

He hummed to your baby quietly and again glanced at you, your milk had slowly started to come in and leak onto your shirt, or rather, a tour shirt of Namjoon’s that you’d kept every time he left home. He remembered the day you fought over him not having a t-shirt in your size and been pleasantly surprised when he had found this one in some drawer. Over the years it had become your comfort object. You kept it at his place indefinitely, and once you’d moved in together, had insisted he wear it before he went on tour to capture his musk. What had started as an argument over insecurities had blossomed into one of your favorite traditions.

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is-it-art-tho · 4 years ago

Link

This is Chapter 6!

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

Summary: There is a race against the clock.

“I’m getting three– no, four separate explosions across the city,” Oracle said, watching red blips appear across her screen as chatter from her police scanner filled the room.

She listened for a second as more info rolled in from law enforcement. “It’s Firefly.”

“Perfect timing,” Spoiler grumbled.

“Not our priority,” Oracle decided. “Only stop if you see someone in immediate danger. Otherwise, we need everyone in the historical district looking for–”

“N-no,” Dick rasped. “You gotta… help them.”

“That’s what fire departments are for,” Robin countered.

“Oracle.” Dick sounded firm, or at least as firm as he was capable of sounding at the moment.

Oracle ground her teeth, staring at the many blips on the screen, all in fairly densely populated areas. It would take over half an hour for the fire department to respond to all of them, closer to an hour for reinforcements from other precincts to come help. And this was all assuming that Firefly didn’t have anything else planned for the night.

Dick was right. He usually was.

“Red, you assist at The Terrace. Batman, you take the quarry. Spoiler and Robin: the senior center at Fourth and Gerrard. Black Bat, Old Lansing Hotel.”

The group protested until Batman silenced them with a, “Go.”

And Oracle watched and listened as the team scattered across the city. She kept the group line going through the speakers as she opened an individual channel with just her and Dick.

“You there?” she asked.

“Mm…”

“Where are you hurt? Head, punctures?” She already guessed by his general lethargy that he was concussed, but she needed to keep him talking, and the specifics would be helpful in figuring out what to expect when they finally got to him.

“Uh… I– yeah… Yeah.”

“Tell me more. Just tell me what hurts.” She kept her eyes glued to the map of the city and the scrolling transcription from the police scanner. Another blip appeared further from center city; the corresponding transcript was calling it a fire in an abandoned building.

“I…” Dick’s voice slurred and faded.

“Dick?”

No response.

“Dick, come on. Talk to me.”

Nothing.

“Dammit,” she muttered switching back to the group line. “Dick stopped responding. I need–”

“On it.”

It took Oracle a moment to recognize the voice. “Hood?”

_______________

The explosions started barely thirty minutes after Red Robin left, rattling Jason’s entire building. He sprinted from the living room back into his bedroom to get his comm just as Oracle was pinning the blasts on Firefly, and he was on his motorcycle rocketing towards The Terrace when she said Dick was unresponsive.

“Hood?” she asked.

“Just tell me where to go.”

He almost expected her to refuse – it would make sense if they genuinely considered him a person of interest in all of this – but instead she responded with, “Historical district. Is anyone else able to help Hood do a sweep? It’s a lot of ground to cover alone.”

Batman’s voice came through over the sound of something massive and metallic clattering near him. “I’m almost done here.”

“Won’t be for a while,” Red Robin called over the roar of a fire. “There’s a ton of people in here.”

“Same. The blast got like six houses. It’s a mess,” Spoiler panted.

“Soon,” Black Bat said.

“Understood. Hood, I’m gonna try to get you some more information. Stand by.”

“Roger.”

________________

Oracle again switched to just the line with Dick, hoping to minimize any possible interference.

“Dick?” she said. “Dick?”

“M’yeah…?”

She exhaled, pushing stray hairs out of her face. “Stay awake, okay? You gotta stay awake.”

“I’m… I’m awake.”

“Good. Hood’s almost there,” she said, eyes flicking back to the monitor at the single dot speeding away from the heart of the city. “ETA five minutes.”

She wasn’t sure if this was true since once Jason got to there, he would still have the task of figuring out where exactly Dick was, but she figured it was an acceptable lie in the moment.

“Caref– ” He gagged and hacked; the sound made her chest ache.

“Dick?”

“Fire… Bombs…”

Fire?

Oracle’s eyes snapped to the red blip – the one at the abandoned building she’d ignored barely five minutes ago. It was smack in the middle of the historical district.

“Jesus Christ,” she breathed, blood draining from her face as she pulled up the location. It was at the McConnel House, a long-forgotten colonial home that had once been a tourist trap for history buffs. It looked like first responders had knocked it to the bottom of their priority list just like she had, because not a single fire engine was headed in that direction.

Then Oracle’s brain caught up to the second part of what he’d said. “There are bombs in there with you?” she echoed. “Why didn’t you–”

Why didn’t you say that in the first place? Why’d you tell us to wait?

“How many?” she finished.

There was a brief pause. “Six… crates… No. Eight.”

Oracle cursed. “All right, I’ll let the others know. Just hang in there all right? It’s gonna be okay.”

“’Kay…”

She switched back to the group channel. “The McConnel House. He’s at the McConnel House. It’s on fire and he said–”

Her voice hitched. She cleared her throat. “He said there are bombs in there with him.”

There was a chorus of horrified reactions and Oracle used the quick moment to mute herself and stifle a sob behind her hand.

When she came back on, all she said was, “Hood?”

“Yeah?”

“Hurry.”

_________________

Bombs. There were bombs.

Red Hood’s blood ran cold, his breaths shallowed as a voice in the back of his mind begged, Not again.

He had no idea if the bombs were on a timer or if the plan was for the flames to set them off naturally. But even pushing his bike as hard as it could go, it would take him at least a few more minutes to get there. And he knew from personal experience that a few minutes was centuries in these situations. A few minutes meant life or death.

He might not get there in time.

He had to get there in time.

Jason put a finger to the side of his helmet. “You there, Dick?”

“Uh-huh…”

Jesus. He sounded terrible. But hearing his voice at all right now felt like a small miracle.

“Good,” Hood said, forcing some semblance of levity into his voice. “Just making sure you’re not taking a beauty nap in there. You better be ready when I get there to spring you.”

“You… kidding? I’m packed and… everything.”

Hood laughed, buoyed somewhat by Dick’s ability to make jokes, even now. Part of him wondered if Dick was doing this for Hood’s sake the same way Hood was trying to keep things light for him.

It would be a very Golden Boy thing to do.

“This isn’t it,” Hood said, as much to Dick as to himself. “You know that, right? I’m getting you out of there.”

“Right… ‘cause of the…” – Dick coughed and groaned – “…nieces and nephews, right?”

At that, Hood found himself smiling in earnest. It was something they’d talked about months ago – a casual exchange in the Batcave after a run-in with Mr. Freeze left them both shivering beneath heated blankets as they waited for their core temperatures to get back within a safe range. The conversation had begun with whether or not Jason would ever adopt a puppy and somehow transformed into a broader discussion of the future.

“I didn’t know you were interested in that kind of stuff,” Jason said through chattering teeth.

“I don’t talk about it much.”

“So kids, wife, the whole thing?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Even half-frozen, a faint blush came over Dick’s face, coloring his ears as he fought a small smile.

“Hm.” Jason felt himself grinning.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just– ‘Jason Jr.’ Kinda like the sound of that.”

“That’s not how names work.”

“Damn right,” Hood agreed now, bringing himself back to the present. “You and O owe me some kids to corrupt. Who else is gonna teach Jason Jr. how to shoot a gun?”

Dick choked out a low laugh. “That’s not how… names work,” he said, echoing the earlier conversation.

“All right then. Just Jason.”

There was a short pause, and Hood felt a twinge of panic until finally Dick said, “Hood…”

And something about the tone in his voice, at once resigned and defeated, made Hood decide instantly that he did not want to hear the rest of that sentence. Not now or ever.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he broke in. “Two minutes.”

Sunlight was spilling over the rooftops and onto the streets now. Shop owners were sweeping their stoops, flipping their signs from “Closed” to “Open.” The quiet tedium of it all clashed almost hilariously with the current situation.

Another painful silence stretched out between them, so long that Hood was almost certain that Dick has passed out, before the older boy finally said, “I trust you.”

#batman fanfic #batman fanfiction #jason todd #dick grayson #red hood #dick grayson & jason todd #nightwing #whump #dick grayson whump #hurt/comfort #AllOurBrokenParts

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stattic-writes · 5 years ago

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Monster

https://statticscribbles.tumblr.com/post/639099629845233664/masterlist

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#sweet pea x reader #sweet pea #sweet pea x you #sweet pea x y/n #sweet pea reader insert #sweet pea imagine #jordan connor imagine #jordan connor #riverdale #riverdale cw #riverdale imagine #riverdale fandom #riverdale request #riverdale reader insert #halloween challenge #written #female reader #female reader insert

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somewhereawrite · 5 years ago

Text

Happy Birthday

Original Fiction

Word Count: 2,268

Warnings: Mentioned Abuse, Brief Suicidal Ideation

TC: Happy birthday dude! 🎂 🎉

IC: thanks

TC: Are you working?

IC: No. I missed my shift

TC: That sucks. Everything ok?

IC: yeah i just got locked out

TC: Of your house?

IC: yeah. I think my dad changed the locks cuz my key doesn’t fit anymore

And he’s not home so

TC: You’re outside right now? Are you okay?

IC: yeah

Just fucking cold

There’s snow everywhere

I went over to that one corner store but they kicked me out for loitering so

Ngl i kinda wanna die right now lol

TC: where are you?

IC: the park across from my house

TC: me and my mom are pretty close by. We’re going to come pick you up

IC: ok

~~~

Ian couldn’t feel his fingers anymore.

They’d skated past the miserably cold stage about an hour ago, and settled into the slightly numb and painful stage. Now he couldn’t feel them at all, and they were like clumsy icicles stuck to his hands than actual digits as he used them to scroll through his texts and see if Taylor had responded to him.

Nothing yet. Ian clicked the lock button and shoved his phone and his hand back into his coat pocket. The battery was at 12%. Probably a good idea not to waste it.

At least the wind had stopped blowing. Ian had swept the snow off of the park bench he’d taken shelter on before sitting down on it, but he could still feel his jeans and the back of his coat getting soaked through. He’d pulled his legs up to his chest to conserve warmth, but at this point it was no longer doing any good.

Maybe his dad really did want him to freeze to death.

Today was Ian’s birthday, but that did not change in the slightest the fact that it was a bad fucking day.

It hadn’t even started out right. He’d woken up this morning (or rather, dragged himself out of bed, semi-conscious and uncertain if he’d gotten anything restful enough to be called “sleep”) feeling sick, but gotten ready for school anyways and jogged out the door barely on time. He hadn’t ridden his bike, because he could hear Dad talking to someone out in the garage from the hallway, and he really didn’t want to go in there and interrupt whatever was going on, so he grabbed his coat and his earbuds and resigned himself to being late.

One of his fucking ear buds broke on the walk there, so there was that. So much for carefully arranging the balance settings in stereo for the best amount of bass versus treble versus mids, because all he could fucking hear now was treble.

He walked in to find out he had enough tardies to equal an unexcused absence, and that admin would be sending his dad a letter and a request to schedule a parent-teacher meeting about attendance. Fan-fucking-tastic.

He missed a quiz first period, used fourth period to scribble down homework he’d completely forgotten, and spent lunch sleeping in the corner of the shop classroom. By the time he headed home to grab his bike for work, his head was throbbing and his sore throat and sniffles were definitely turning into a full-blown cold.

And then he was locked out. He called his dad twice, then texted him a few times after that, but no response. It wasn’t like he was expecting one anyways. He found his manager’s number on his phone and called out.

Then he wandered around for a bit, got kicked out of the corner store, and ended up on the park bench with his school backpack and a dying phone, freezing to death in slow motion.

He felt like his organs were going to rattle apart with how violently he was shivering now. He should probably stand up a bit, move around, get his blood pumping and stomp his feet a little to ward the frostbite off his toes. He didn’t want to. Instead, he buried himself a little deeper into his coat, rested his forehead on his knees, and closed his eyes.

He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to go to school tomorrow. He didn’t want to try to explain to his manager why he called out again, and he didn’t want to have to deal with his dad. He didn’t want to think anymore. He just wanted everything to stop.

Everything was bullshit and he was so, so tired.

His phone buzzed and he pulled it out to glance at the screen.

TC: You still there?

We’re right in front, by your house

Ian tapped back a quick “k” and uncurled himself, pushing to his feet and grabbing his bag. The movement and a gust of cold air made his stomach lurch and sent fresh stabs through his skull, but he closed his eyes for a second until it passed, then shouldered his bag and headed toward the front of the park.

Lauren Conroy drove a small silver SUV that was just old enough to look like a mom car. Ian saw the puff of exhaust from the tailpipe and the glow of the headlights cutting through the dimness the second he crested the hill, and something in him gave a little sigh, collapsing into tired relief.

He shuffled down toward them, shoes scuffing and sliding against the icy sidewalk, and then he was there, frigid fingers bumping clumsily against the handle of the back passenger side door, pulling it open, shoving his backpack and then himself inside. Lauren was in the driver’s seat and Taylor was in the back, pulling his backpack out of the way, stabbing the buttons that turned up the heat.

“Good god. Taylor, grab that blanket in the back and give it to him.”

Before he could react, Taylor was reaching past him and dragging the lengths of a soft, heavy comforter from behind the seats. Lauren twisted in her seat, dragging it around and over him as far as she could reach, and directing Taylor to do the same.

“How long have you been out there?” she asked, an edge in her voice.

Ian pulled the rest of the blanket over him so that it covered everything but his head. “Since four-ish.”

Lauren froze and stared back at him. “Since four?”

Ian nodded.

Lauren muttered something under her breath that he couldn’t hear. “Have you eaten?” she asked, louder.

“Not yet.” The words slurred a little, Ian’s lips and tongue stiff from the cold.

“Christ.” Lauren’s expression was lethal. She took the car out of park and pulled into the street, heading towards the edge of the neighborhood. “Taylor, my phone. Look up an Ihop or something. Someplace we can eat inside.”

“Got it.”

The car was so warm it almost hurt. The heater was blowing at full strength now, deafening, and the seat warmers were on full blast. Ian sank into the seat and pulled the blanket as tightly around him as he could, still shivering and sniffling so that his nose wouldn’t start running from the heat.

Lauren glanced back through the rearview mirror. “Are you sick?”

“Yeah. A little.”

“You look awful. Taylor, there’s some Tylenol in my purse, and there should be an extra water bottle back there still.”

“Yeah, got it.”

Taylor handed over the water and Tylenol, and Ian took two of them, then enveloped himself in the blanket again. Lauren glanced back at him once, then again.

Then finally, “I can not believe he left you out there.”

Ian half-shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s happened before.”

Wrong thing to say. Lauren looked furious. “This has happened before?”

Ian dropped his gaze, not in the mood to meet her angry stare. “Yeah, once. Wasn’t this cold though.”

“Of course not, because you would have--” she cut herself off and huffed out a breath, tugging on her ponytail.

Would have frozen to death. Ian knew. They all knew.

Lauren didn’t say it, though. When he looked up, there was a misty sheen in her eyes and the muted anger on her face was mixed with regret. “Sorry, kiddo. I’m just--” she broke off again. “Let’s just go get some food in you.”

The car fell silent, and for a moment, the only sound was the gps’s electronic monotone spitting out directions.

Ian didn’t speak up again until the feeling came back into his fingers with a rush of tingling and pain. “Thanks for picking me up,” he said.

“It’s the least I could do, kiddo. The very, very least.”

No one said anything else until they arrived at the restaurant. Lauren sent them both inside to find a booth, saying she had to make a call, so they went ahead without her.

“What even happened?” Taylor asked over his menu, once they’d gotten in and sat down. “Was there a fight or something?”

Ian shrugged. “No. Don’t think so. Guess he was just done.”

“That’s…” Taylor shook his head, struggling for words. “That’s so crazy.”

“Yeah.” Ian didn’t really want to think about it anymore. “Does your mom care what we get?”

“No, get whatever you want.” Taylor watched him over the menu. “You know you can stay at our house if you want to, right?”

Something inside him twisted. “We already talked about that. You guys live too far away from my school.”

“My mom says she might be able to make the drive before work. Me and Fletcher are almost finished saving for a car, so she wouldn’t have to bring us and Jackie to school.”

Ian hesitated, looking at him. He wanted it. He wanted it so badly. Living someplace where he knew he wouldn’t get screamed at for no reason or locked out without warning, where he liked people he lived with and they didn’t wish he was dead--living someplace normal. It sounded good. Too good to be something within his reach. “I… my dad--”

“Hey, boys! We order yet?” Lauren’s voice, bright and cheery, interrupted him as she swept into view. Taylor scooted to the side and she dropped into the booth next to him, picking up the third menu. Her eyes were rimmed in red, but her smile was genuine and almost defiant.

“Not yet,” Taylor said.

“Well? Come on! Ian, order whatever you want, I’m paying. Are we getting milkshakes? I’m getting a milkshake.”

Ian did get a milkshake. And a breakfast skillet. And hashbrowns. And crepes slathered with fruit and whipped cream. And Lauren didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow, just slapped on an order of birthday pancakes and handed back her menu.

Taylor ordered just as much as he did, and Lauren sat back with her milkshake and strawberry French Toast, watching them converse with a satisfied look on her face.

After they’d finished devouring the last of the dessert pancakes, Lauren glanced at her phone. “Sorry to break up the party, but we have to get going if we’re gonna pick you up a toothbrush before we head home. I told your dad you were staying over.”

Ian narrowed his eyes, wary. “What did he say?”

“He said it was fine, of course. You’re staying for the rest of the week, at least.”

The rest of the week? “Wait, really? He was fine with that?”

“Oh, he was more than fine,” Lauren said, glibly.

Ian stared at her, disbelieving. “He was more than fine?”

“I’m guessing he wants me to go easy once the court proceedings are underway.”

Wait. What? “What court proceedings?”

Lauren looked at Taylor. “You didn’t tell him?”

Taylor shrugged. “Didn’t get the chance.”

Ian frowned. “The chance to tell me what?”

Lauren reached into her purse and pulled out a stack of neatly stapled papers, set them on the table, and slid them over. “The reason we were in town.”

Ian picked them up and read the lettering at the top. He suddenly couldn’t breathe. “Petition for... guardianship?” he read aloud, voice tight. “What are-- are you serious?”

Lauren nodded solemnly. “We’ve talked about it enough. You’ve said plenty of times that you wanted to go ahead.”

“Is that why you called me yesterday?”

Lauren’s face softened. “Yeah. And you told me that it was just your--”

“--my dad,” Ian finished. “He’d never agree. How did you…?”

Lauren grinned slightly. “I talked to him last week. I was very convincing. And he knows we have a case. Seems like he doesn’t want trouble.”

Ian stared down at the papers again, clenching his teeth against the lump growing in his throat. “So that’s it? He’s giving me up?”

“That’s what he’s saying right now. But if he changes his mind and we have to fight for it, we will. If you still want it.”

It was all suddenly too much. Ian’s vision blurred and his breath shuddered, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes to block the tears that had sprung from nowhere, but then he was gasping and he felt arms around him, holding him tight and warm.

“Do you still want it?” He heard Lauren ask him, voice quiet and full of emotion he couldn’t quantify.

He felt everything inside of him unravel as he nodded, letting her hug him and leaning into the embrace. “Yes,” he said. His voice sounded choked, but he didn’t care. “I want to.”

Her arms tightened around him, every so slightly. “I guess that’s it then. Happy birthday, Ian.”

Taylor’s hand squeezed his shoulder from wherever he was, still across the table. His voice sounded shaky when he spoke too. “Happy birthday, Ian. Welcome home.”

#original fiction #original characters #hurt/comfort #happy birthday #ian carpenter #taylor conroy #lauren conroy

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ineffable0husbands · 5 years ago

Note

For the Them: I am a lost boy from Neverland Usually hanging out with Peter Pan And when we're bored we play in the woods Always on the run from Captain Hook "Run, run, lost boy, " they say to me Away from all of reality

Soooo…this was originally just going to be the Them playing as kids, but then I got an idea and it wouldn’t leave me alone, so here

Warning(s): growing up, crying, negative self-talk, depression, and loneliness

Ship(s): Pepper/Adam and Brian/Wensleydale

tag list: @adoratato @iamdevilantlysatan @bri-cas@that-gender-bender@scum-of-the-earth @pieces-of-annedrew @scampycat4999@elrilsf @my-emo-child@always-reading2 @larrklopp @l-garnxtt@halbarryislife@ninjacatinsanitycrazy@impossiblynervouscycle @audder17 @boredafsposts @i-really-dig-the-purple@mycrappylife01@lostwolf-fandomlover@hamiltrashphannerd@she-who-must-not-be-named@sundry-whovengerslocked@deceitfullyanxiousprince@booklover223@twdlover03@drunkinfandomstuff @nimsy1920 @catsarebestest @sonic-spade@reprehensibleghost@to-dance-among-stars-in-dreams@afternoon-sunlight @danifandxm @oddpopsicle @rise-abxve@shipping–hell

Wensleydale was lost.

Metaphorically of course, but lost all the same. All he did, every day, was eat, go to work, sleep, repeat. Adam, Brian, and Pepper had escaped Tadfield years ago, but Wensleydale was stuck there, working a dull office job as an accountant because everybody told him that’s what he would be good at. And he was good at it. That didn’t mean he liked it, though. Often times he would go back home after a long day of work and more work and look at pictures of the Them back when they were just kids. Wensleydale was only 25, but he felt old looking at those pictures. He felt boring and dull; he’d always thought he was boring and dull. Pepper, Adam, and Brian were the only ones who had ever managed to make him feel exciting. He was stuck in a boring life, in a boring house, with no friends and no way to feel truly happy.

It was another boring day in the office. Wensleydale leaned his chin against his hand, half asleep as he stared dully at his screen, glasses askew. He wasn’t really processing anything as he mindlessly scrolled, and his eyes kept flickering down to his watch. An Hour to go. 45 minutes to go. Half an hour to go. Wensleydale groaned and slammed his head down onto his desk, irritated beyond belief and just wanting the day to end. Someone knocked on the side of his cubicle and he jumped, startled. He looked up to see one of his superiors. He couldn’t remember his name and frankly didn’t care.

“We’re closing up early tonight, you can start heading home,” the man said wearily, twisting his tie in his hand. He really shouldn’t have been in a management position with nerves like his. Smiling gratefully, Wensleydale nodded, grabbing his briefcase and paperwork he would have to finish at home before rushing as quickly as he could out of that dreadful building. He didn’t know why he was in such a hurry to get home. it was just as drab there as it was at work, but Wensleydale supposed he just found it more comfortable than an office cubicle.

“Wensley! Wensleydale! Jeremy! Wait!” someone was shouting, and Wensleydale was nearly knocked off his feet as a blur of curls barreled into him, tackling him in a fierce hug. Wensleydale tried to get away when he actually saw who the person was and stopped, surprised.

“Adam? What are you doing here?” Wensleydale exclaimed, pulling away and grabbing Adam (for it was Adam) by the shoulders to look at him better. The other man was grinning from ear to ear. he’d changed a lot since Wensleydale had last seen him. His hair was longer. going past his shoulders and down his back, and he’d grown much taller. His style had changed too, less ‘young schoolboy’ and more artsy looking. he even had a stereotypical red flannel and beanie.

“Just back in town for a while! I was just coming down to get you, Brian and Pepper are- wait, are you wearing a suit?” Adam was rambling a bit but Wensleydale didn’t mind, and he smiled somewhat proudly at the comment about his attire.

“Yep, I am. Part of the dress code at the office. Doesn’t it look professional?” Wensleydale asked, smoothing the front of his grey suit jacket. Adam smiled impossibly wider and nodded. He was so much happier than when Wensleydale had lost seen him, he realized. Life must be treating him well. Wish I could have that, Wensleydale thought bitterly, but he quickly pushed those thoughts aside. “You said Pepper and Brian were here. Is there any special reason you’re all back?” Wensleydale asked as Adam put an arm around his shoulders and led him down the streets.

“Well, we wanted to see you,” Adam stated as if it were obvious. Wensleydale’s face flushed.

“Really now Adam, please be serious-”

“I am, Wensley, I promise! We live close by to each other so we see each other all the time, but we never see you! We thought it would be nice to just visit and catch up,” Adam continued. Wensleydale didn’t know how to reply to that, so he didn’t, and Adam didn’t force him to. Pepper and Brian were perched not far away on a park bench, chatting with each other and laughing. Pepper looked the same as always, with her curly hair let down and hanging freely with jeans, beat-up tennis shoes, and a black button-up. Brian, though…

Jesus fucking Christ, Wensleydale had never been more confused and yet more attracted to a man simultaneously in his entire life. Brian had gone full punk rock. He had a leather jacket with spikes and various awareness patches stitched into it, ripped black skinny jeans, knee-high black leather boots, a lip piercing, three small piercings in both ears, and his hair styled into a faux hawk fade. It appeared college really could change a man, just like Brian had said it would to Wensleydale right before he left. Wensleydale didn’t mind it though. Not one bit.

“There you are! I thought I was going to die before you got out here,” Pepper said as soon as she saw her two friends placing her hands on her hips, but not being able to hide her small smile. Wensleydale rolled his eyes and grinned.

“I missed you too, Pepper. You look great!”

“Flattery never works on a married woman, Wensleydale, I thought you would know that,” Pepper teased, interlocking her fingers with Adam’s when he sat next to her.

“And teasing doesn’t work on a gay man, so I guess we’re even,” Wensleydale retorted with a cheeky smile. Brian snorted and hid his face behind his hand, trying to conceal his smile. “What’s so funny?” Wensleydale asked, his face heating up.

Brian looked up at him with a fond smile and said, “You haven’t changed a bit, Wensleydale.” If only he knew. Wensleydale managed to smile and nodded in thanks, but couldn’t muster up a thank you, both because he was flustered and hiding the fact that Brian’s comment made him want to crawl into a hole and die. Brian clapped his hands and stood, towering a good foot or two over Wensleydale both from his actual height and his heeled boots. “Right then, we’re all here. Where should we go?” Brian said, looking around at his three friends questioningly.

“I was thinking we could go to Hogback woods…my father said our little hideaway is still there. Someone’s been keeping it up for us,” Adam suggested. The four adults hovered in nostalgia for a moment, and Wensleydale contained a smile, Call it an obsession, boredom, or both, he didn’t care. He’d kept their hideaway in the woods in tip-top condition for seven years, ever since they had all left after high school. It grounded him, reminded him of better times when he didn’t have to worry about what he was supposed to do next or whether or not he was wanted.

“That’s perfect! I wonder if our wooden swords are still there,” Pepper said thoughtfully, leading Adam to their blue BMW and getting into the driver’s seat. Wensleydale knew for a fact that the swords were still there. He’d made sure of it. The two buckled in and drove off.

“Come on, let’s catch up to them,” Brian said, grinning with excitement as he rushed over to a black motorbike,

“Oh no, no. There’s no way I’m getting on that,” Wensleydale protested. Motorbikes were insecure and they could go off balance at any moment and he would have to grab onto Brian just to stay on, and he couldn’t think of anything more humiliating. Brian scoffed.

“Live a little! it’ll be fin, I promise. I’m really good with these,” Brian said encouragingly, grabbing the two helmets off the back and handing one to Wensleydale. The bespectacled man took it skeptically, raising an eyebrow at Brian.

“Did you plan this?” Wensleydale asked. To his surprise, Brian blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, looking rather sheepish.

“Maybe, maybe not. Let’s not talk about that right now, Adam and Pepper will be waiting for us,” Brian said hurriedly, putting on his helmet and swinging his leg over the bike. Wensleydale sighed and put his helmet on, getting on behind Brian and hesitating. “Around my waist, I like to drive fast,” Brian encouraged. Wensleydale grimaced and did as he was told, blushing furiously as he pressed his face into his friend’s back. He could have sworn he heard Brian let out a sigh of relief, but he supposed he was just hearing things.

“How fast does this go, exactly?” Wensleydale asked nervously. Brian looked back at him and smirked before flipping down the visor on his helmet.

“Just hold on really, really tight. Wensley,” Brian said, revving up the bike before taking off down the road. Wensleydale almost fell off, but he gripped onto Brian’s waist tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. Brian’s blushed crept down his neck and his ears turned red. He was grateful for his helmet then, which kept Wensleydale from seeing his face. He would’ve been mortified if his lifelong friend-turned-crush (when that happened, he couldn’t recall) had seen him. The ride lasted much too short for Brian’s liking, and when Wensleydale quickly let go of his waist when it was over he felt his heart drop. This was a stupid idea. Fuck Adam and Pepper and their ‘romantic gestures’. He stayed quiet as Wensleydale took off his helmet, hair messy but admittedly adorable. Seeing the usually put together man with messy hair was enduring. The two walked side by side into the woods until they reached their childhood hangout. Pepper and Adam were already having a sword fight while an aged but still playful Dog yipped and ran around their feet.

“Argh, I spy two scallywags trying to board me ship!” Adam said, pointing his wooden sword at Brian and smirking. Brian’s eyes lit up mischievously and he ducked around Adam, rushing to the tree and grabbing his own wooden sword concealed under a rotting blanket. He tossed the remaining sword to Wensleydale and leaped down, immediately engaging in combat with Adam and Pepper. Wensleydale stood there dumbly, watching his friends reenact their favorite childhood game. It was either cowboys versus pirates or knights versus pirates. Adam always had come up with the best of ideas. Wensleydale smiled bitterly. Even when they were kids he’d felt left out, despite the three of them doing their very best to make sure he felt included.

“Wensleydale, a little help here?” Brian shouted, his distressed voice alerting his attention. Wensleydale looked up to see Brian pinned up against a tree, fighting off both Adam and Pepper. Quickly rushing to the scene, Wensleydale brandished his sword and, still skiddish, poked Adam in the back with it. The other man grinned, turning to face his nervous opponent. Wensleydale gripped the handle of his makeshift weapon tighter, the sounds of Brian and Pepper continuing to fight in the background ringing in his ear. It felt just like old times. Adam whacked his sword against Wensleydake’s startling him out of his train of thought, and the fight began. They were no experts, nor were they as practiced as they were as children, but they were adults reliving some of their most wonderful memories. Even as he was hit and bruised and nearly knocked to the ground, Wensleydale had a wide, happy smile on his face, the first genuine smile he had worn since his friends had all left him behind in Tadfield. They played for hours, feeling just like the eleven-year-olds playing in the woods and annoying R.P. Tyler they had been fourteen years ago.

The fights ended with all four of the sprawled on the ground, laughing and breathless as the stared up at the darkening night sky. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, illuminating the Them and the groves of trees in a gentle, silver light. Brian stole a glance Wensleydale’s way and his heart nearly stopped in his chest. Seeing him smiling so widely in his suit and tie and dorky glasses with the light illuminating his face could have been the last thing Brian saw and he would have died a happy man. Daringly, he moved closer to Wensleydale until they were pressed against each other like Pepper was on his other side and Adam was on hers. Wensleydale’s heart nearly leaped unto his throat when Brian did that, and he had to remind himself that it was a purely platonic gesture.

“So, how have you been Wensleydale? Really?” Adam suddenly asked, turning on his side to face his friend. Wensleydale gave him a confused look. “What? We really did come here to see you, we see each other all the time and we have no idea what you’re doing or how things are with you,” Adam continued. Wensleydale’s smile melted off his face and he shifted slightly on the ground, looking up at the stars overhead. Brian turned on his side to face him as well and Pepper linked her arm through his, resting her head on his shoulder. Wensleydale closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

“You really want to know?” Wensleydale asked. This was their last chance to back out. They all made varying noises and gestures of agreement, and Wensleydale swallowed the lump in his throat. He was finally going to come clean to them all. “It’s been lonely without you all here.” Silence. Wensleydale continued. “Mum and dad moved out of town two years ago. Mr. Tyler passed away around the same time. All I’ve really done is go to work…and I hate my job. I only became an accountant because everybody told me to. I wanted to do something with science…but now I’m stuck in an office every day for hours on end doing absolutely nothing,” Wensleydale muttered. Brian looked down at him sympathetically and came to rest at his side, putting his head on his chest and wrapping an arm around him. Wensleydale shivered slightly.

“That sounds awfully dull,” Pepper commented, playing with Wensleydale’s ie and frowning. His throat tightened.

“It’s not just boring, it’s-” his voice broke “-it’s absolutely horrid! I fucking hate it!” Wensleydale’s voice trembled and his eyes began to well up with tears. “I feel…I feel so trapped here. I thought I would want to stay but I’m so lonely all the time and-” Wensleydale clamped a hand over his mouth as a sob threatened to escape. His closed his eyes tightly and tried to gain control over himself. Brian held him tighter and Pepper curled into his side while Adam tried to get closer, putting an arm over both Pepper and Wensleydale.

“It’s alright to cry, Wensley. You may be an adult but you’re still allowed to feel things-” Pepper started before she was cut off by Wensleydale.

“But you were all so happy just a moment ago! I don’t want to ruin it! I always…I always ruin everything,” Wensleydale said between sobs. He hid his face in his hands, burning with shame as he cried uncontrollably between his three friends.

“You haven’t ruined anything,” Adam said firmly, using his free hand to rest on top of Wensleydale’s head in a comforting but somewhat awkward gesture. “We came here for you. We want you to be honest with us, and you are. We love you, Wensley. We care about you and we want you to be happy. Just because we’re grownups now doesn’t mean we don’t care anymore.” Wensleydale nodded.

“I-I know, I just…I’ve felt like this for so long, and I…I honestly hate myself, and I hate this town, and I hate feeling so lonely all the time and I wish everything would just stop, but I can’t do anything about it!” Wensleydale said miserably, not sobbing anymore but still crying. “I have no money, no ambition, no real talent. It’s hard for me to even get out of bed in the morning without…without wanting to…” Wensleydale closed his eyes, unable to finish his thought, but he didn’t have to. The others understood.

“We’ll take you with us. We aren’t rich but we can help you get on your feet. You could go to school!” Brian said, hovering over Wensleydale and looking down at him earnestly. Wensleydale sniffed and wiped his face.

“I...I appreciate that, Brian, but I wouldn’t want to be a burden,” Wensleydale said softly, looking up into Brian’s eyes and cursing his heart for hammering so loudly in his chest. Brian’s gaze softened.

“You could never be a burden, not to us. Alright? promise,” Brian said with a smile, placing a hand over his heart to seal the deal. Wensleydale smiled back shakily, letting out another sigh. He did that a lot. Brian settled back down next to him ad wrapped his arm around his waist again. Wensleydale closed his eyes and breathed deeply, allowing himself to relish in the moment. He’d wanted this for so long, it was hard to believe that they were all really here. And they loved him. And wanted to help him. Love was a word that was thrown around too much these days, but Wensleydale knew that he could trust his friends when they said it.

“It’s getting late,” Wensleydale murmured. “It’s nearly midnight. We should probably go.” Brian whined in protest and Pepper sighed, but Adam took Wensleydale’s side.

“We’re leaving tomorrow, we need to get up early so we can start driving,” Adam piped up. Wensleydale’ stomach twisted into knots.

“You’re....you’re leaving tomorrow?” Wensleydale asked weakly. Adam smiled apologetically.

“Yeah. But we’re coming back very, very soon. Unless...you want to come with us now, rather than later?” Adam replied. His voice was hopeful. Wensleydale's face fell.

“No. I’m sorry, but I’m not that spontaneous. I couldn’t quit my job on a second’s notice, and...and I’d have to sell the house and do so many other things before I would be ready to move.”

“You worry too much,” Pepper insisted, but Brian shook his head.

“No, Wensleydale is right. A lot goes into leaving a place, even if you don’t like it very much. The best thing we can do right now is support him as he works his way up to leaving here,” Brian said. Wensleydale felt a pang in his chest. He knew Brian meant well and he was really repeating but Wensleydale had just said, but it almost sounded like he didn’t want Wensleydale to come with them. With Brian’s words, the conversation was over and Adam got to his feet, helping Pepper up. Brian scrambled to his feet and grabbed Wensleydale’s hand to lift him up.

“We’ll figure this out soon, right?” Wensleydale asked hopefully, looking around at the three of them as they began to walk back to their vehicles.

“Of course! A promise is a promise. We won’t leave you here a second longer than necessary,” Pepper said with a curt nod. Wensleydale didn’t reply. Adam and pepper got into their car and Wensleydale put on his helmet and got onto Brian’s motorbike, holding on to him as they sped down the road. Wensleydale managed to direct Brian to where his house was without getting them into a wreck, and he felt both relief and sadness when they reached his modest abode. He didn’t want the night to end, but he just felt like curling up in bed and crying for hours. He should’ve known his happiness would be shortlived. The universe would never be that kind to him. To his surprise, Brian got off the bike with him and walked with him to the front door, hands in his pockets and kicking at a loose stone on the pathway.

“I’m glad I was able to see you again,” Brian said, lifting his head to look at Wensleydale and smiling. Wensleydale just hummed in acknowledgment. Brian sighed. “Is this about what I said before? I didn’t mean anything by it. I was...I was just trying to help,” he said softly. The thought of adding to Wensleydale’s pain made Brian’s heart ache. He cared about his friend in a way that was much stronger than just the love between friends. He wanted to make him happy, not discourage him and make him feel worthless.

“I know, Brian. And you were right. I suppose I just wish you all would stay here longer,” Wensleydale admitted. Brian smiled and playfully ruffled the other’s man’s hair, making him yelp in protest and hurry to fix it.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere! I may live a ways off but I’ll always be here or you. We will always be here for you.” Brian quickly corrected himself and his face grew hot. Wensleydale blushed too, but the darkness and the moonlight made it impossible to see. They got to the front door and Wensleydale turned to Brian, smiling weakly.

“I look forward to seeing you again. You better come back soon,” Wensleydale warned, a playful smile on his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. Brian laughed and hugged Wensleydale tightly, holding him close and probably lingering longer than he should have.

“I will, I promise. Take care, Wensleydale,” Brian said, pulling away from the hug. Wensleydale nodded and gave one last smile before turning and opening the door to go inside. Something stopped him, though. As he heard the soft crunch of Brian’s footsteps against the gravel of his driveway, his stomach suddenly churned with fear. he was letting him walk away again. He was letting Brian leave without telling him...everything.

“Wait…Brian, wait!” Wensleydale cried out suddenly, turning around and grabbing his friend by the back of the shirt. Startled, Brian turned around to see his friend and was shocked to see tears rolling down his face and fogging up his glasses. Alarmed, Brian held Wensleydale by the shoulders.

“What’s wrong? Come on, talk to me,” Brian said gently. Despite his beating heart, he plucked up the courage to wipe away the tears falling rapidly down his friend’s face. Wensleydale let out a sob and hung his head, ashamed.

“I don’t want you to go…I don’t want to be alone anymore,” Wensleydale admitted, his grip on Brian’s shirt tightening. Brian’s face flushed and despite himself, despite every nerve in his body screaming for him to stop, he cupped Wensleydale’s face in his hands and tilted his face upwards, running his thumb across his cheek and wiping away the tears there. Wensleydale’s eyes widened but he didn’t pull away, looking up into Brian’s eyes desperately.

“Then I’ll take you with me. I know what I said earlier, and I know that just dropping everything and leaving will be stressful, but you shouldn’t be here Wensleydale. This place is suffocating you. Come with me,” Brian said breathlessly, hands moving from Wensleydale’s face back to his shoulders and gripping tighter than he probably should have. Wensleydale smiled gently and his eyes softened as he looked up at Brian, the tension leaving his shoulders and the tears slowing to a stop.

“I…I would like that. Very much,” Wensleydale whispered. Brian smiled back down at him, eyes fond.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They stared at each other for a while. Rather, it seemed like a while, but Wensleydale knew that it had been only a few seconds. His heart was thumping in his chest and his face was heating up as he looked up at Brian. His friend never ceased to amaze him. From his freckles to his toothy grin to his constant griminess to the way his eyes sparkled when he was happy or told a joke, Brian was absolutely perfect in Wensleydale’s eyes. And perhaps that’s why Wensleydale cast aside all rational thought and surged forward, wrapping his arms around Brian’s neck and kissing him, closing his eyes and leaning into him. Brian squeaked in surprise and froze for a moment, arms stuck out awkwardly, but he quickly composed himself and returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around Wensleydale’s waist and kissing him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When they pulled away, Wensleydale nestled into the crook of Brian’s neck and hummed with content as the taller man rested his head on top of his.

“Come inside. It’s far too late for you to drive back to your motel,” Wensleydale murmured, looking up at Brian and smiling gently. Brian grinned and pulled away, holding his hand and walking up to the front door.

“I could ‘t agree more, dear.”

They walked inside hand in hand and shared another kiss in the dark, hands tangled in hair and love held back for years pouring out in its fullness. They fell asleep next to each other, limbs tangled and hearts intertwined.

Wensleydale was found.

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hoefortomhoelland · 6 years ago

Text

God of London | Mob!Tom Fanfiction

Introduction Part 1

Mob!Reader x Mob!Tom

Warnings: Swearing, Gore, Guns, Death

Summary: The reader is the most dangerous mobster in London. Every week she’s given a new person to kill. One night, she gets a card with the name ‘Tom Holland’ printed on it.

The heels of her ankle boots clicked against the pavement of the backstreet which led her to the oh-so-familiar nightclub she usually goes to. Tucking a stray hair from her ponytail behind her ear, she approached the doors of the nightclub and the bouncer immediately let her in, already knowing who she is.

The club was lively like usual. Strippers danced on the poles at each table, men smoked their cigars and people drunk from their glasses. Nothing new.

“Miss Romano, what can I get you today?” The bartender, Lewis, asked her.

“A tequila sunrise margarita, please.” Her thick, British accent barely noticeable.

“You’ve always got to be so extra about your drinks.” He raises a brow, chuckling. She smiled back at him as she tapped her dark red acrylics on the sticky counter. A few moments later, a round edged glass was slided in front of her as well as a small card under the glass. She nodded a thank you, took a sip from the rim of the glass, and flipped the card over.

Thomas Holland

Licking her already wet lips, she flipped it back over and looked at Lewis. “Thomas Holland? I think I’ve heard of him before.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that he’s one of the most dangerous mobsters in London.”

Scoffing, she took another sip of the drink. “Yeah, right after me.”

“Of course.” His Brooklyn accent was apparent since it was much thicker. “You have a meeting upstairs in the VIP lounge in five minutes. Table four, like usual.”

“Christ.” She groaned, reaching into her pocket to get a five pound note. She checked the time on her phone before tucking it away again. 21:30 “Alright, I’ll catch you later. Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

The lounge was quiet and dimly lit, opposite to downstairs which had loud music and bright lights. Upstairs, there were no strippers since important business is usually discussed. She took a seat at table four and crossed her legs, tapping her nails again.

“Miss Romano, would you like a drink?” One of the waitresses asked her.

“Whiskey would be great, thanks.” She flashed her teeth as she smiled and the waitress nodded before disappearing to make her the requested order. 21:34. If they arrive a minute after thirty-five past, she would have their heads. Sucking on her bottom lip, she watched the waitress arrive with the glass on a black tray.

“Here you go. Is there anything else you need?” Yeah, for these fucking people to turn up so she can leave.

“No, no. That’ll do thank you.” The waitress nodded and walked away, leaving her alone again. 21:35.

“Y/N Romano?” Y/N looked up and smiled slightly as she looked up. One man held a black briefcase in his right hand.

“That’ll be me.” She gestured to the other spaces in the booth. “Please, take a seat.” Sipping her whiskey, she glanced at each man who seemed to be dressed similar to each other. “So, introduce yourselves then..”

“My name is Alex Grainger.” He seemed to be the boss out of the three of them. “He’s Antonio.” Alex pointed to the man sat to the right of him. “And this is Daniel.”

“Nice to meet you all. So tell me boys, how can I help?” She leaned forward on her elbows.

“We will give you thirty thousand Great British pounds if you assassinate this man.” Antonio pulled out a picture of a man from his brown jacket pocket. Leaning back on her chair, she nibbled on her middle finger acrylic nail, cautious not to break it or chip it.

“Make it forty thousand.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Fifty.”

“Deal.” Alex yelled, slamming his fist on the table. “His name is Robert. He’s downstairs at the moment making a deal with some of my men which I don’t want happening. I need you to maybe seduce him and then kill him.”

“Seduce? Oh please, I’m more classy than that.”

“Right, well use whatever technique you want but just get his attention.” Alex provided her with more information about what he’s done, keeping Y/N in line with what she needs to do.

“Show me proof of the money.” Y/N leaned back in her chair, swirling around the whiskey in the crystal glass. Daniel reached under the table and pulled out the black briefcase that she noticed earlier, slamming it onto the table. He unlatched the hinges and opened the lid, turning it around so she could see evidence of the cash.

“We only have thirty thousand with us, but I’ll transact the remaining amount into your bank account.” Alex smiled slightly. Y/N finished her drink and placed it onto the table, sighing.

“Alright. I won’t be long.” Her hand reached into the inside pocket of her jacket to check if her gun was still there.

“He’s sat at table twenty three.”

“Got it.” She cracked her knuckles and neck and stood up.

“Excuse me, sir?” Y/N asked the ‘stranger’ at table twenty three innocently. “I have a couple questions I would like to ask you.” Her voice was higher than usual. Robert raised a brow and chuckled.

“I’m in the middle of something.” He turned away from her. Rolling her eyes, she then proceeded to slide a hand down his arm seductively.

“Pretty please? I’ll make it up to you.” She batted her lashes.

“Alright, poppet. I’m sure it won’t take long.”

“No! Of course not.” She giggles obnoxiously loud. Grabbing his wrist, she lead him to a random janitors closet she noticed in the corner of her eye earlier. Opening the door, she snuck them in and turned the light on. She rested her hands on his chest and pulled on his tie as she bit her lip.

“You’re a desperate one.” He smirked. Y/N forced another stupidly loud giggle before locking the door and whipping her gun out.

“I’m not here to play games.” Her voice changed back to her usual tone as she cocked the gun, pressing it against his forehead.

“What the fuck?” He whispered, raising his hands.

“You’re making a deal with a mob which their boss doesn’t approve of. You also owe three million dollars to that mob which you’ve been avoiding constantly. Clearly you aren’t going to repay them at any point.”

“N-No! I will... at some point.” He stuttered, fiddling with a button sewn onto his jacket.

“Bullshit.” She said through gritted teeth, slamming the gun against his forehead again. “You have ten seconds to send the money to his account or I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

“That’s not enough time.”

“Ten.” His fingers fumbled in his pocket as he searched for his mobile. “Nine.” His thumb presses against the home button in a panic. “Eight.” He tapped on the app and his bank account was on screen. “Seven.” Robert’s hands shook as he scrolled through the app. “Six.” He eventually found the store money. “Five.” Panic pulsed through his body whereas Y/N stood there calmly with a gun to a man’s head. “Four.” The screen loaded slowly.

“Come on, come on.” He repeated as he tapped his foot on the floor.

“Three.”

“Shit.” He cursed as he tapped a way a few more times.

“Two.” The screen read pending. “One.” Transaction complete. Robert let out a sigh of relief. “You’re a lucky man.”

“Can I leave now?” Y/N’s finger pulled the trigger and his body instantly dropped to the ground, blood splattering on the wall behind him.

“Whoops, my finger slipped.” She giggled, opening the door and slipping. Walking over to table twenty-three, she grabbed the dead man’s glass and finished the drink. “He won’t be bothering you anymore.” Y/N smirked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The three men from earlier appeared in front of her and Daniel handed her the briefcase.

“Is it done?”

“You tell me.” She wiped the blood splatters off of her face with her thumb. “I’ll see you around.” Y/N smiled, patting Alex’s shoulder. “Oh, and check your bank account.” He smiled and thanked her before walking out of the club.

She grabbed her drink from earlier and took a few more gulps, finishing it. “Clean-up on aisle four.” She grinned. Lewis groaned and placed the glass, which he was cleaning, down on the table.

“Seriously? This happens every week. Janitor Steve is not happy about the bullet holes in the wall.”

“You know how it is with me.” She picked up the briefcase and slammed it on the counter. “I did get some good money though.” Opening the lid, stacks and stacks of money was revealed to him. For a second, she thought she saw his eyes glimmer.

“Fucking hell. Try not to spend it instantly.”

“I might buy another car.” She shrugged, pulling the case off of the counter.

“You should buy me a car. I work my ass off for you, cleaning up that damn closet, giving you free drinks sometimes.” Lewis nodded to the room where the body remained.

“Sometimes.”

“Whatever.” He scoffed, grabbing a bucket and towel from under the sink. “I’d better go and fix your situation before someone walks in, thinking it’s a bathroom.” He smiles at her and walks off with the towel over his shoulder. She couldn’t help but chuckle as she shook her head. Sliding the glass off of the card, she picked it up and read the name again.

Thomas Holland

Clicking her tongue, she slipped the small piece of card into her jacket pocket and made her way outside. Y/N walked down the alleyway to where she parked her motorbike earlier. Slipping the black helmet over her head, she flicked the shield over her eyes, climbed onto the bike, and started the engine.

The name wouldn’t leave her head as she drove back home.

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