#BUT WE ARE ON A ROLL THIS SUMMER HOLY HELL just wins on wins on wins and sooooo much public support esp in entertainment | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

draculasfavoritewife · 4 months

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I Still Want You

Summary: It's been awhile since the two of you last worked together, but some things will never change.

Pairing: Madmartigan x fem!Reader

Warnings: Brief references to injury and alcohol use, some sexist jokes and sensuality (look, I physically cannot stop writing about reader running their fingers through pretty men's hair, alright? It's an actual problem guys).

So my family finally made me sit down and watch the original Willow film this past summer, and I ended up pretty smitten with this man lol. What can I say, the fallen-from-grace type with a flexible moral code and piercing eyes just really does it for me I guess. 🤷🏽‍♀️ (Also young Val Kilmer in drag? Kinda hot.)

"I don't know why the hell I let you talk me into this load of bull," you groan, a hand covering your exasperated face. "Why, in the name of all that's holy, did I leave behind my honest living to follow you into this harebrained scheme?"

The man next to you throws you a wide and winning smile, blue eyes flashing in the dim light. "Cause you didn't want me to come back to you dead," he says with a knowing smugness. "You love me."

"Did I say that?"

"You didn't have to," he teases, leaning down to saucily kiss your forehead before readjusting the woman's dress that doesn't quite fully hide his very masculine form. "Now, how do I look?"

You roll your eyes and crawl to your feet in the cramped cellar where he had chosen to make his quick change. "He's going to see through you in a second."

Your companion frowns, dark brows sulky and full lips pouting like a petulant child. "Please. The old oaf's such a lusty pig he's going to see exactly what he wants to see and fall head over heels for me. Believe me, it's happened before." He hurriedly stuffs the bodice of the dress until he has quite the impressive bust, and it's suddenly all you can do not to laugh out loud at the sight of him.

"I'm not sure you can slander other men until you finally start thinking with what's above your own belt," you chide, helping him wrangle his long, sooty-black locks beneath a headscarf. As always, you're momentarily distracted by how soft his hair stays, even though you know he does the bare minimum to care for it.

"I do think pink is definitely your color though, Mads."

"Shut up," he growls half-seriously. "We all do what we have to. A man's gotta eat, you know."

You snort. "Right. Because that's the old Madmartigan I remember. Always strictly practical, and definitely not getting in over his head robbing a rich man when he could find some honest work."

"Where at? A brothel?"

You move to slap his chest, but never make contact. It feels wrong somehow, now that his enormous false bosom is in the way.

Madmartigan sees the discomfort on your face and snickers. "Not to worry, Sweets. Your beautiful wife will return to you in one piece, trust me."

He presses a fond kiss to your cheek and turns around to the cellar door, ready to make a move on his unsuspecting target.

And promptly lets out a muffled yelp as you slap his ass.

"What the hell, Sweets?! What was that for?"

You smirk and make yourself more comfortable atop a large bag of flour, to wait out the results of his loosely formed "plan". Chances are he might have to call for backup if things get sticky.

"We women have to put up with that all the time from you 'lusty pigs'. Thought you should get used to it sooner rather than later."

"Insolent fox," he mutters, and hastily leaves, as if afraid you'll smack him again.

You might have, too.

Man's got a fine ass.

"Hold still, idiot," you scold as he flinches away from the wet cloth in your hand for the seventh time. "Do you want my help with that bloody lip or not?"

"I don't know why you're so angry," he grouses. "You're not the one that got their clothes torn off and beaten up for not actually being a woman."

"Oh, stop whining. You got out of there with the gold you came for and the other guy is worse off than you. And it's my dress that got sacrificed, so I think I've every right to complain." You gesture to the shredded pink material hanging around his waist, now the only thing preserving your disheveled warrior's dignity.

He at least has the grace to look momentarily contrite. "Right. I'll get you a new one."

You're slightly concerned by the fact that he doesn't explicitly use the word "buy", but decide to let it go for now. Many of the gifts he's given you throughout the course of your years-long friendship have shady origins, but it is the thought that counts.

And honestly, you're just glad he's not hanging up in a crow cage left for dead somewhere again.

His sharp eyes soften as he finally lets you finish tending to him. "Why did you really come along with me?" he asks bluntly. "I have nothing with which to bribe you, and you have built yourself a life here. When you made the decision to quit while we were ahead and go straight, I didn't understand, but I think I understand you even less now."

Not wanting to meet that deeply piercing ice-blue gaze, you study his lips instead, transfixed as ever by their perfect, sweeping curves. He can dress in animal skins like a barbarian and be constantly covered in ash and dirt, but the refined features of the noble knight he once was are never hidden completely, try as he might.

"I asked you a question, Sweets."

"Maybe I missed you, you boor." Unsettled, you smack him with the damp cloth and abruptly turn away to stoke the fire.

"Why?" You can't tell if he's genuinely lost or fishing for a particular answer from you. "You have a little bit of land, you're a respected herbalist, and I'm sure you've had more than a few offers of courtship since I saw you last."

Is that jealousy simmering behind his careless words?

You smirk over your shoulder. "Please. Herbalist is just two degrees south of witch around here. Men fear me."

He rises to his feet and comes up behind you, his large hands settling on your upper arms and rubbing gentle lines from your shoulders down to your elbows and back again. "I've missed being ripped to shreds by that razor-sharp tongue."

"Have you." You sigh softly as you lean back against his broad chest; without the barrier of one of his leather-and-fur shirts, all you can smell is him, a warm, welcome scent you hadn't forgotten in all the time since you last parted ways. Your bodies melt into each other with old familiarity, prompting a rush of memories of huddling together for warmth during long winters on the run, posing as husband and wife for hustling heists, his arm wrapped tightly around you on horseback.

All the little things that made you fall in love with him in the first place. The intimately shared moments that had made it so hard to leave him. But you had felt like you needed to protect your heart somehow.

After all, at the time he had seemed far more content to remain unbound to anyone, even you.

"I have another question," he murmurs, his lips now only a hair's breadth from the stretch of exposed skin at your collarbone.

"And that would be...?" You stifle a shiver, his hot breath skimming your neck and sending prickles of anticipation dancing across your body in all directions.

His cheek rests against yours. "That time I tried to kiss you, do you remember that night?"

Your hands tense, unconsciously grasping fistfuls of the torn dress fabric still hanging from his belt; there's a minuscule hitch to his breath at the sudden feeling of your hands at his hips.

"Yes."

"Why did you run away from me?"

The raw uncertainty running beneath that simple question makes you turn to face him again, acutely aware of the feeling of him against you, the hard muscles of his chest pressing into the softness of yours, his hands sliding down to linger in the curve of your back. There is no judgment in his handsome face, only a twinge of long-hidden hurt and real curiosity.

You reach up, tangling your fingers in his thick dark hair, loving the way the glossy strands slide across your skin. It's gotten so long, and your hands itch to weave it into slender braids like you used to.

"I'm pretty sure you were drunk, Mads. And I...I just wasn't fully ready," you admit.

"I still want you," he tells you softly. "I never stopped wanting you, even when you left."

You smile as he bends to rest his forehead against yours. "And I would still kill for you."

"Gods, you know it drives me crazy when you talk like that." He leans in even further, eyes dancing in the glow from the firelight. "How do you feel tonight?"

Your hands trail down again to cradle his face. "I think I'm ready now. I've missed you."

So you kiss him.

You're not surprised he's such a good kisser, but maybe more than a little startled that there's a real gentleness in him, a smooth temperance to his wildly passionate expression of love. And as the sweet reality of having him alive and solid and in your arms once again after so long finally sets in, you realize what you truly want with crystal clarity.

"Take this ridiculous thing off," you breathe as your lips finally part and you tug at his tattered skirt.

"You sure?" It takes him a second to figure out what you're really asking. "Cause I don't have anything else --"

You laugh and silence him with another kiss, guiding his hands to the laces of your corset and watching his expression change from one of surprise to warmth and hunger as he swiftly helps you undress.

#x reader #female reader #willow 1988 #madmartigan x reader #madmartigan #romance #sweet #humor #my fanfiction #willow fanfic #this was in my drafts #scoundrel #idk I think he's hot #sortafluffy #friends to lovers #there needs to be more fic about him <3

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papipopsicle · 3 years

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AFTERTASTE PART SEVEN

Pairing: Archie Andrews X Reader

Summary: In which two best friends since childhood test whether sex and friendship can co-exist without causing conflict. Including OC's Flick and Cherry, a bisexual and lesbian in a sapphic relationship who are best friends of Y/N.

Song: Dream Boy by Waterparks

Warnings: swearing

Words: 2.1K

MASTERLIST

feedback is always appreciated

Y/F and Y/M Robins were far from perfect parents. Y/F had the mental age of a toddler at times, and being an estate agent who always has to go the extra mile- he often wasn't home when his wife needed him the most. Y/M, on the other end of things, had been a stay at home mum until Y/N turned 16 last summer, and now she helped with all the administrative work for Mayor McCoy. She was a maternal creature which, coupled with her brilliant sarcasm, made for some explosive conversations. The two met on the first day of university and got married a week after the last.

When Y/M first found out she was pregnant with little Y/S Robins, the two realised they wanted a quiet bubble of a town to raise their children and grow up with them. But it wasn't until their second daughter was about to turn seven until they found their forever home in the quaint town of Riverdale. Ten years passing before their eyes, and the picturesque place didn't seen all that anymore.

Jason Blossom's death had nothing to do with the short gunshot sounding over the waves of Sweetwater River, the noise which woke Y/N from her sweet unmemorable dreams every few nights. The summer days rolled into early August without anyone caring, Y/N spending most of them at Cheryl's side listening intently to her past adventures with her brother. Betty threw herself into an internship at a publication house; Flick and Cherry had volunteered at a summer camp, and Archie was helping his dad out more and more with constructions job.

Although it hadn't been the start to the relationship Y/N had hoped for- the nervous giggles and hand holding, short and sweet kisses on late night walks followed by poetry worthy cuddling. There was a magnificent silver lining as Archie's muscles gained definition, and he suited the sweaty builder look far too well.

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y/n Humph!

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Cheryl busy being my own icon

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"Earth to my gorgeous queen? Y/N/N?" Cheryl quizzed her friend, who currently resided at the poolside of Thornehill Manor. Her mind was off on a glorious tangent about her rendezvous in the kitchen at two in the morning. Fixing herself a glass of water, when Archie slips his hand into her pyjama shorts, his other around her mouth muffling her needy moans.

The red headed beauty shoved her y/h/c friend playfully, warm skin sweaty under her pale touch. Y/N blinked innocently and sent her an apologetic smile, "What?"

"I asked if you've thought about dating anyone else since Clayton?" The fiery ginger girl enquired with her usual upbeat tone.

Cheryl knew she had a unique quality about her which made it almost impossible for Y/N to lie to her face. The y/h/c girl scrunched up her nose, hiding the smile the idea of Archie Andrews brought to her face. 'Yes. We started off as fuck buddies but never actually fucked. Then I drunkenly asked him to be my boyfriend, now a month later I think we may genuinely work out.'

"Maybe." Y/N bit her bottom lip, listening to her friend's squeal as she squeezed her sun tanned arm.

"I knew it! You have this euphoric glow you only get when someone else makes you climax." The redhead affirmed confidently, watching the Robins girl's eyes bug out before hitting her arm, "Y/N/N, you know your secret's safe with me."

"Fine." She sighed and took a sip of her fruity cocktail, "It started off as just fooling around, honestly I just needed to let off some steam after everything. I knew he was into the kinds of things I was, I mean he used to tease me about it non stop. And it was good, so good I stopped being a pussy and asked him to be my boyfriend."

"Holy freaking hell!" The Blossom girl grinned with excitement, "Dare I ask, who is it?"

Y/N deadpanned at her friend, "Guess."

"Please don't tell me it's that muscular oaf Reggie, he's pretty but there's not exactly much going on upstairs." Cheryl tapped her temples and rolled her eyes at the thought.

"Nope."

The ginger thought for a moment, consulting her liquid courage and splashing her feet around the waters edge, "It's Archie."

All it took was a side-eyed glance at the y/h/c girl's blooming rosy cheeks to know she definitely wasn't wrong. Y/N severely lacked the ability to lie, even if her tone held conviction, her features were far too expressive and told the truth all on their own. It's not like they were hiding it from anyone, but the past four weeks had gone far too quickly without any moments to spare for the world around them. They slept together each night, the majority of that time not actually spent sleeping, but they hadn't been given the chance yet to explore more romantic avenues.

"It's fucking Archie Andrews- you're fucking Archie Andrews and don't you dare deny it." Cheryl gawked in her gorgeous white and nude bikini, watching as her friend lay back against the hot marble slabs which encased the large pool with the largest grin adorning her plump lips.

"We haven't had sex yet, so technically you aren't completely correct." Y/N winked but carried on before the girl exploded with a hundred questions and could never be turned off, "Trust me, I want to, and I'm sure he does too. But you know, it's his first time, I want it to be perfect for him."

"Y/N/N, you really love him, don't you?" Cheryl gagged to begin with, but she found it sweet in truth. She wanted someone to hold, who would hold her right back just as tight for no other reason than needing to.

Y/N sat back up and paddled her feet, "You have no idea, Cher."

Arch 🧡

That new post should be illegal

Tiger 💛

Ooo

I like this reaction

Maybe I should post more

Like this one

Cheryl pushed me in the pool

And I may have had a drink

Or three

Arch 🧡

Well that's sexy

I swear nobody looks good like that how on earth

You're a goddess

But also

How's she holding up?

Tiger 💛

🥺😇

Broken

But she's strong yk

You coming over for dinner?

Arch 🧡

Yeah Y/D invited my dad too

Need me to pick you up from Cheryl's?

Tiger 💛

Awe cute we love a bromance, and it's all good my mommas coming now anyways :))

Hours had elapsed far too fast and soon the summer heat simmered into cool waves of wind brushing over sun kissed skin. Cheryl's arms were clasped around the blonde's shoulders in a tight embrace.

"Thank you so much, Y/N/N, I don't know what I'd do without you!" The Blossom girl professed with sparkling eyes and a brilliant smile.

Y/N beamed up at her, fingers carding through her damp y/h/c hair as she looked over her shoulder to see her mum pulling into the driveway, "You don't need to thank me, Cher, friends look after each other. Message me if you need me, okay?"

Cheryl promised she would and the two teen girls hugged goodbye, with Y/N soon heading home- listening to her mother gossip about Hal and Alice's screaming match last night, Y/N loved her inability to keep her mouth shut sometimes.

"Mom," The y/h/c stopped her mid sentence and received a side eyed glance in response, "I need to tell you something and you're totally not allowed to freak out while you're driving."

Y/M's eyes widened and her grip tightened around the steering wheel, her daughters very rarely confided in her. While she knew her youngest was safe in her promiscuity, neither of Y/M Robins' girls ever shared their secrets so for the most part she took finding out into her own hands.

"Honey," The forty four year old's calm tone was hardly comforting to the teenager, "if this is about you and Archie fooling around, your father and I figured that out a long time ago, like so long ago. Who do you think does your laundry? When your underwear starting looking like dental floss, we caught on pretty quickly."

Y/N felt like a deer in headlights, "Mum, what the hell?" Her cheeks heated to an inhuman temperature.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about, as long as you're being safe and he's-"

"For the second time today, and I can't believe I'm saying this to you, but I am not having sex with Archie Andrews!" Y/N's high pitched voice sounded through the car. It truly was a blessing and a curse to have such open minded parents in situations like this. She thought about telling her mother the truth, but Y/M was a blabber mouth as well as a gossip, so Y/N chose to withhold certain pieces of information.

The Robins matriarch dropped the subject but didn't forget about her daughter's tone, and continued to ramble on about how odd she found Penelope Blossom and the whole Blossom family in general. "Like why on Earth is Rose in a wooden wheelchair? They know it's the twenty first century, right?"

As expected, the Robins household was once again filled with warm laughter and copious amounts of food. The topic of Jason was skimmed over, and Y/S found herself away from the dinner table. The eldest Robins sibling was currently pleading with Alice as she began shoving all of Polly's belongings in the boot of Hal's car. She couldn't comprehend life without her best friend, not after losing Jason. They were meant to be going travelling together for a year- working the worst jobs and staying up all night to watch the sun rise in different countries. But instead, Y/S's eyes were blinded by tears as she screamed down the street at the speeding car, with Polly Cooper taken out of her life indefinitely.

Y/N was oblivious to the dark inner workings of the Cooper clan, Betty's knowledge about her and Archie unbeknownst to the loved up teens. She'd spent every second not occupied by her internship trying to justify the romantic act as a fleeting moment of loneliness fuelled by alcohol. She wrote in her diary ideas on how she could win Archie back over, not knowing it was in fact, too late. Betty found herself hopelessly in love with the boy next door, unfortunately for her, the girl across the road was the only one his mind found.

Archie and Y/N washed up while their parents resided to the living room with three glasses and a bottle of white wine. The short girl turned the tap off after placing the last utensil on the draining board, flicking her sudsy hands at the boy's face. "What the-"

She didn't give him a chance to finish that thought, jumping up and wrapping her legs around his torso- planting a kiss onto his lips, then cheeks, then forehead. The two fell entranced by each other, planting pecks across nape of her neck and top of his head.

"Son," Fred's voice called out from the next room and the two immediately pulled apart, hearts beating in their ears, "we're going in a minute."

"Alright." He replied, placing his girlfriend on the floor once more.

"I wish you'd stay." Y/N pouted childishly, she meant the words entirely but hated feeling overbearing. Her life had been turned upside down this summer, it started off with her unable to fall asleep with another person next to her- now Archie's chest was her most comfortable pillow and is arms were the warmest blanket.

"Tomorrow night instead, Princess? I promised my dad I'd spend more time with him before senior year." The boy reasoned, holding her close and unknowingly feeling the exact same way, he adored holding her by her waist and pulling her close under the duvet.

"Monopoly night at yours?" She grinned and he nodded back in reply, the two sharing a final kiss in the kitchen before walking into the hallway.

Y/N felt at ease as she wished the two a goodnight and headed up to bed. She took off her tea dress and replaced it with Archie's bulldog t-shirt, managing to reach the same length on her thighs as her dress did.

Arch 🧡

I can still smell your perfume on my sheets

Tiger 💛

Marking my territory obviously x

Arch 🧡

I love it

Hope you sleep well baby x

Tiger 💛

Call me that tomorrow and we won't be sleeping so you better rest up tonight x

Arch 🧡

Whatever you say, baby x

Tiger 💛

Goodnight x

Arch 🧡

Night princess x

part eight?

wanna be tagged? just send in an ask x

#fanfic #fanfiction #riverdale #archie andrews #archie x reader #archie andrews x reader #archie #Riverdale imagine #riverdale fluff #riverdale smut #riverdale imagines #archie imagine #fluff #smut

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princessofprocrastination · 3 years

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request because i adore the way you write angst to fluff, but maybe a just the reader and cc (whoever you prefer) getting into an argument, voices are raised or regretful things are said and cc has to fight to win back reader? idk just an idea for writers block!

have a good day :)

You’re Leaving Me (Sapnap)

this story fast forwards to the future a little, getting after 2021!

pairing : sapnap x fem!reader

summary : voices were raised when you were concerned about where you relationship is going. all this just to know if you were going to be in his future. was it worth the argument?

a/n : dude i fucking love you for sending this request. this def helped me :))))

"when are you coming back?" you asked your boyfriend of 3 years now.

he shrugged his shoulders. "i didn't think that far yet." he told you, eyes not meeting yours, busy packing his suitcase.

"what?" your voice slightly raised. you flinched at your own tone. "you mean to tell me you bought a one-way ticket to florida and didn't think about coming home?"

"i'll come home, just don't know when." he tells you, glancing at you to see your reaction.

okay, let's back track. sapnap, and you met at a dinner your mom hosted. her colleague, sapnap’s mom and her got close and shared some personal family details, one of which being that they had a kid, both around the same age, addicted to their electronics.

both moms hadn't thought that you two would get so close, you being uncomfortable in meeting new people, and him being socially awkward.

but, not even a while later, you two were inseparable and soon started dating.

and now, that boyfriend that you were once attached to the hip to had just told you that he had bought a ticket to florida to visit his friend, dream, and didn't have a ticket back.

you had nothing against dream, you two had spoken a while back in a light-hearted conversation, exchanging a couple of jokes here and there.

"you were the one who told me to visit him." sapnap tells you, exasperated.

yes, you had been the one to encourage him to go to florida. it would be good for him to have a change of scenery. you told him to think of it like a mini vacation, the borders finally opening again. you thought it was a great idea.

but you hadn't thought he wouldn't come back for a while. that's not what you wanted, at all.

"yes, i did, but i wanted you to come back after like 2 weeks." your hands brought to your face to ease the headache you suddenly got.

"you're being stupid." your boyfriend tells you.

you drop your hands to your lap, a small slap sound emitted from the action. "i'm being stupid? all i want is you to have a break. a short break, and then come back." you told him honestly. you were tired of the argument at this point.

"and what i want is to stay with my best friend for a while. stop being selfish." he scoffs.

you stayed quiet, trying to reorganise your thoughts before the argument turns big for no reason.

the air turns more tense by the minute. the quiet turns eerie at one point, the only sounds are you two breathing.

to be honest, you couldn't remember how you two got here. how it got this bad. but as you thought this situation is bad, it got worse. and it had been because of the next question you asked.

"where are we going with this?" you finally say something- well, more like asked. "this relationship, where are we going with it?"

you heard his breath hitch, albeit quiet, you still heard it. "what?" he scoffs once again.

"you're leaving me, for god knows how long, so i'm asking, where is this going?" you were done with questioning yourself everyday. this conversation had been way too long overdue.

and if the two of you were going to argue, might as well argue about something else, too. and something that was important.

“this is irrelevant.” he tells you, continuing to pack his suitcase on the floor. you look down at him, you being sat on his bed and him being on the floor, legs crossed, folding his clothes.

“no, it’s not.” you tell him, this time more seriously. you were sick and tired of being asked what is going to be your next move, being 20 and had been dating for a while.

some would say you two are too young to take the next step in anything, or even have this conversation, but you and him had always taken the express train in things.

“i just want answers.” you sighed. “you could come back next week, next month, hell, even next year. and i just want to know where this is going.” you pulled your legs to cross them on his bed.

“i’m not leaving you, i’m coming back to you, all i’m doing is going to meet my best friend.” his tone more serious now.

“which means you’re leaving me. and i’m terrified.” you told him, seriously. “we’ve been together for 3 years, since we were in highschool.”

“it’s only been 3 years.” he laughed. “what’s the rush.”

“we’re both working. sure, we’re both taking online classes, but, what’s not to rush about?” you say.

“you’re being ridiculous.” he rolls his eyes at your last statement.

okay, you might be exaggerating. but you weren’t telling him to get hitched, you were asking him what comes after this? moving in together?

“i just want to know what happens after this, after you leave.” your shoulders slumped down, you knew he was going to get mad soon, his temper already rising.

“for god’s sake, i’m not leaving you. i will come back, i just don’t know when.” he screams. “stop fucking asking, i’m getting a headache.”

your eyes widen slightly. no, you didn’t flinch. you knew this would happen, anyways.

“all i want to know is what’s in for the both of us. give me something to hold on to after you leave for florida.” your voice small, yet still pushing for an answer.

“oh my fucking god.” he says, his voice full of malice, which made your goosebumps rise. “i don’t want to marry you, what part of that do you not understand.” he raises his voice slightly towards the end of his sentence.

“do you get it now, my silence. i don’t want you to move in with me, i don’t want to propose, i don’t want to marry you. i don’t want kids with you.” he finally looks you in the eye.

the air turned tense once again as you became quiet.

“yeah, i get it.” you finally speak up.

you took your phone and stood up from your position from his bed and went near him on the floor.

“thank you for being honest to me.” you bent down to him, giving him a last kiss on the cheek.

you walked to his bedroom door to walk out before glancing at him one last time. “i love you.” you told him for the last time.

you wanted to let him know that you didn’t leave because you lost feelings, but more like because having a more serious relationship is not what he had wanted, and you respected it.

you took your bag from the couch outside, telling his mom that you were going to go home, giving her a kiss on the cheek and thanking her for the dinner you made for you earlier. that was probably the last time you’d talk to her, too.

sapnap was still seated on the floor, hand in the air, holding a piece of clothing he was meant to fold before you kissed him on the cheek.

he knew what it meant. the kiss, and the “i love you.”

and that terrified him. what did he just do?

fast forward to more than a year later, you were thriving, if you said so yourself.

you quit your job, deciding to finish your double major in college before starting to work again. you took in as many classes as possible, during the summer and winter breaks and extra classes to graduate as early as possible.

after that eventful day, you spilled everything to your mom. you sobbed on her shoulders. she comforted you through the entirety of your breakdowns.

she was one to thank of your success now.

she cried when you graduated, being the most proud of you for finally finishing college and being able to do what you love.

with that double major, you only decided to be a flight attendant. always wanted to be one, you were happy to hear back from one of the most prestigious airlines in the world.

and now, you were happy and healthy again.

and here you are now, sitting at a table, with your parents and your ex boyfriend’s parents.

at first when you met his mom again after he had left for florida, it was awkward and weird. you didn’t know if she knew if he had even told him.

but she assured you that she knew and to not feel uncomfortable with her just because of her son. and with that information, you started talking to her again comfortably.

‘fuck, i’m nervous.” he told his tall friend.

his friend chuckles. “you’ll be just fine.” he assures his texan friend.

the taller man looks out into the restaurant booth that the two families were sitting at to peek. “holy fuck.” he lets out.

“what? what?” the shorter man in a suit asks repeatedly in panic.

“man, she was hot before but she is smokin’ now.” the floridian says. “i hope you mess up, now.” he jokes.

“shut up, dude.” the texan says, now more nervous. he had seen a couple photos of you that his mom sent him and his friend was right, you did get more attractive, and he didn’t even think that was possible, given how already beautiful you were from a year ago.

“this is a bad idea.” sapnap says after a while of silence.

his tall friend turns to him. “what are you talking about? no, it isn’t. you’ve thought about this for over a year now.” he says to his friend as assurance.

“yeah but she won’t just take me back.” he sighs out. “it has been over a year. i just left her.”

the two fell into a comfortable silence, both not knowing what else to say. dream knew better than to say anything, he learnt to let his friend let it all out.

“that last kiss, that last ‘i love you’, plays in my head over and over again from the day she left my house.” sapnap says after a while. he needed to let out his frustration about himself one last time to gain the balls to talk to you again.

“and as much as i regretted screaming at her, telling her i didn’t want to have a life with her, i let her go. i tensed up and stayed on the floor and i let her go.” he continues.

“and almost 2 years later, i just come back? what kind of person does that to a woman so perfect? all she wanted to know was if she was in my future, like how i was in hers.” the texan 22 year old finishes.

his shoulders slumped lower than before before stretching his tense muscles and giving himself a pep talk in his head to go talk to you.

dream glanced at his obviously nervous friend. “again, you’ll be just fine.” he says to the man fiddling with a red box.

“she’ll say no.” sapnap says, exasperated, trying to understand why he’s here again.

“with your charming looks? no chance.” the tall man jokes light-heartedly. “look, we both know you thought about this for a long time now, and now is not the time to back off from it. you spent a lot of money and effort for this. now what’s left for you to do is ask.” he says.

“right, right. just ask.” he mutters to himself. he prayed silently to all the gods above that he got the private booth instead of one in the middle of the restaurant. he wouldn’t want you to feel obliged to accept him just because you don’t want him to feel embarrassed.

he walks out of his hiding spot, not before dream giving him a comforting pat on the back.

he fiddles with the box in his hands before putting it back into his suit pocket to hide it.

the closer he gets to you, the more he gets to see how much you’ve changed. you looked elegant in your dress, in his favourite shade of red. you looked collected and mature.

“okay, here i go.” he told himself before approaching your table.

“hey.” he said slowly and quietly, hoping he didn’t startle you but loud enough that you heard him so he didn’t need to repeat himself.

he could see his mom and yours giving him the biggest smiles or assurance. of course both your parents knew. he needed to ask for permission, anyways. they were supportive of him, but ultimately, it’s up to you.

his breath hitched as you turn your head to look at him, wondering how greeted the table.

“she’s even more beautiful in real life.” he thought to himself.

you were sipping on champagne when you heard someone greet you. as you turn and put the glass down, you were shocked to see your ex boyfriend.

a more attractive version of your ex boyfriend.

his face more mature, the suit he was wearing fit perfectly on his body. but you could still see how tired he looked. his sunken eyes were too obvious for you to ignore.

the table grew tired. you glanced at your family, trying to see if they knew this was happening, if are just as confused as you are.

but they were smiling. sly jerks.

you turn back to the man you haven’t seen since that day you left his house.

“i know, this is shocking to you. we haven’t seen each in almost 2 years.” he starts saying. “and i know i have no right to be here after i let go of you.” he sighs.

“but ever since that day, i have been kicking myself for being so stupid to even think that i could live without you even for another second.”

you open your mouth to say something before he cuts you off before you could even utter a word.

“i know, i still left for florida and i still stayed there for a long time. i didn’t even call, i didn’t text. and i feel terrible.” he comes closer to you.

“i said terrible things to you, when all you wanted to know was what i had in store for the both of us in the future. all you wanted was something to hold on to until i came back to texas to you.” he says, eyes teary. “i got to see you grow to be a more wonderful and smart woman over the year, thanks to my mom for sending me your updates.”

“and i see that you’re great without me. you have this amazing job and amazing friends and an amazing family who supports you through whatever you want to do.” he tells you, looking you in the eye. he looked extremely nervous, hands shaking as he goes to take your hands into his.

you stayed sat down, not knowing what to say. and at some point, you didn’t know when, you started crying silently, slow tears going down your cheeks.

you took one of your hands away from his to wipe away the tear before holding his hand again. this gave him a little bit of hope for the next thing he was going to do.

“and i know this is late, but i do want you to be in my future. but i just hope there is still space in yours for me to be in.” he kneels down on one knee as he finishes.

you tense up, eyes widened. slowly, your mouth opened and you took your hands to cover it. this is definitely not what you had expected to happen today.

you look at him as he reaches in his suit pocket to take out an elegant looking red box, with pretty gold swirls on the top. he opens the box for you to see the prettiest ring you’ve ever seen.

the ring that you’ve saved multiple times on your pinterest board. the ring you’ve told your mom you fell in love with.

the ring of your dreams.

“so i guess this is when i ask the question.” he inhales through his mouth and exhales out of his nose. his hands start to shake as he holds the box.

“will you marry me?” he finally asks the question. your eyes staring into his, tears still flowing, but you don’t bother to wipe away.

“um. you can say no, i’m sorry if this was too invasi-” he talks but is cut off by you.

“yes.” you say once, still not believing that this was happening. he looks at you to make sure he heard it right.

“say that again.” he says quietly.

“yes, i’ll marry you.” you tell him before he smiles brightly. he takes the ring out of the box and takes your left hand, sliding it on your bare finger.

he admires the glimmer of the ring under the restaurant lights and the ring being on your finger before he kisses your hand and takes you into his embrace. he gives you a tight squeeze before pulling you back to finally give you a kiss on the lips.

“fucking finally.” you heard a familiar voice say.

“shut up, dream.” you heard your now fiancé, say, not looking at him but still looking at you with his dreamy eyes and the dreamy look he has on his face.

you heard applaud going on in the restaurant as the people in the start to notice the romantic atmosphere.

sapnap stands up and pulls you up to stand with him as he hug your tight once again, this time staying that way for a while to busk in your scent that he had missed so much.

after a while, the two of you detach and hug your families. you notice the tall man in a classy white button up and black pants and shiny shoes standing there.

you give him a hug before talking. “nice to finally meet you, dream.” you say to him.

“alright cuties, let’s take pictures of you and that beautiful ring.” your mom says.

to which you remembered about the ring. you look down at your hands, admiring it for a while before turning to sapnap.

“you are so sneaky.” you told him.

“i know. tell me i did good.” he tells you before pulling you in by your waist.

“you did amazing.” you say before kissing him on the cheek.

“i love you.” he says to you before kissing your forehead and turning to look at the camera when your mom called for another pose.

what a day.

#sapnap #sapnap imagines #sapnap imagine #sapnap x reader #Dream Team

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excelsi-or · 3 years

Text

your type (pt. 9)

Hello wonderful people!! I started a summer job and have been reading a SHIT ton, so I haven’t been writing as much. But I’m kinda back into this story again, and we’re about past halfway so I think we can get this done. :) I hope you’ve all been well~~

w.c. 3.1k (yeah, i’m not apologizing for length anymore. i hope you’re all cool with that lol)

pairing: jihoon x OC/reader

pt. 1; pt. 2; pt. 3; pt. 4; pt. 5; pt. 6; pt. 7; pt. 8

“You have a new boyfriend,” Jungkook says the next time they meet up for lunch in the fall semester.

She shrugs, studying her mug. “I guess so.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “You’re still apprehensive.”

“It’s only been 2 months.”

“That’s enough time to know, don’t you think?”

She shakes her head. “It really isn’t.”

Jungkook rests his chin in his palm. “I told you I loved you after two months.”

“We were young and naïve then.”

With a smirk, he doesn’t bother to point out that that first ‘I love you’ had been only three years ago. “Well, how does he feel?”

“Not sure.”

“Trust your instincts on this,” Jungkook encourages. “You have amazing intuition. You told me before I’d even fully moved in with Taehyung that I’d probably wind up dating him.”

“I said that because Taehyung is a good looking, intelligent man and anyone would date him if they were in his proximity long enough.”

Jungkook snorts. “I guess that’s a fair point. But come on. What’s your gut telling you?”

“My gut says that it’s confused,” she replies honestly. “I can’t gauge how honest he is with me.”

“You can’t compare him and Byunggu. No one knew that Byunggu was going to blindside you like that.”

She chuckles. “Do you know how much he’s come up in the last few months? I haven’t talked about him in forever, and all of a sudden, he’s just the topic of every conversation.”

“New boyfriend will do that. Especially after what happened last time.”

She runs a hand through her hair.

“As someone who has dated you, trust me when I say, you’re an all-in kind of lover.” He nudges her fingers with his. “So just go all in.”

“Go all in? And then?”

“Well, if you get hurt in the end, we’re here. You have people around you to hold you up and take care of you. But you can’t go into every relationship anticipating an end.”

She studies the chai in her mug, the way it ripples when she moves her hands even a little. “I guess you’re right.”

Jihoon (13:41)

Hey, lemme know when you’re done at lunch.

Got some stuff I want you to hear before we head home.

Jungkook nods his head towards the phone lighting up at her elbow. “Is that him?”

She nods.

“Are you going to reply?”

“He wants to know when I’m done with you so he can show me something he’s working on.” She fires off a quick text.

“Works in progress?”

“I guess they’ve been less and less finished, yeah.”

Jungkook hums. “If Yoongi hyung were here, he’d say that means Jihoon really likes you.”

She finds Jihoon in the studio an hour later. Bumzu, one of the TAs, had directed her to the studio when she’d appeared in the music building.

“You’re legendary,” Bumzu had said. “Anyone who’s had Jihoon’s attention this long is legendary.”

She’d had no response for that.

Gently, she touches Jihoon’s arm to make him aware of her presence. Jihoon looks up at her and slides his headphones off. Wordlessly, he passes them to her, and she takes a seat in the spare chair. With her feet up, and her knees hugged to her chest, she listens.

“Can you bring up the sound of the piano? The bass seems to be overpowering it.”

She does this for an hour, and he adjusts as they go along. By the end of it, Jihoon is thoroughly pleased with how the song’s turned out.

“I wish I was as useful for your chemistry research,” Jihoon chuckles. He takes the headphones and puts them on the desk. “You going home?”

“No, I actually have dinner plans.”

Jihoon tilts his head at that. “You do?”

“Correction, we have dinner plans.”

“We do?”

“Jihyo told me to tell you that we’re going for dinner with her and Seungcheol.”

Jihoon’s sweet questioning face quickly changes into something of disgust. “Ew. A double date?”

“I think Jihyo wants to tell me something.”

“And Cheol and I need to be there? Why?”

She shrugs. “I have no idea.” She kisses the top of his head as she stands. “But you need to be ready by 5:30, okay? So, no spending the night here.”

Jihoon hums his agreement. He catches her hand and tugs her back towards him. He pouts up at her until she concedes to a kiss, a bemused smile on her face.

As she closes the studio door behind her, she bumps into someone. Stumbling away from her is a girl she recognizes but can’t place.

The other woman recognizes her first. “You’re Wheein’s friend, aren’t you?”

It takes her a moment. “Byulyi?”

Byulyi smiles at her. Her eyes dart to the door she’d walked out of and the smile on her face falters. “How are you?”

“Good. Just heading home.”

“You taking a music class this semester?” Byulyi asks, her eyes flicking to the door again.

“Oh.” She gets the meaning and the looks. “No. Just visiting someone.”

“Lee Jihoon?”

She holds her breath for another story and Byulyi doesn’t fail her. They start to walk towards the exit.

“If you’re friends with Wheein, you must be a nice person.”

She questions the connection, but doesn’t press that point. “And?”

“So,” Byulyi smirks, “why are you hanging around Lee Jihoon? The man’s manipulative and a swindler. He’ll con you of the love you have to give and leave you heartbroken.”

They push out into the sunlight, enveloped by the dying heat of the day. “He knows the right words to say and he knows exactly when to say them to get to you.”

If she hasn’t learned that already, then she’s an idiot. With a deep breath, she thanks Byulyi for the anecdote and the information. Byulyi is on the list of women Jihoon’s dated. These women follow her around now; the stories are variations of each other.

And at this point, she really doesn’t know what to do with them.

“I heard another one.” She sets her backpack down at the end of the dining table.

Jihyo glances up from her evolution flashcards. “Who?”

“Moon Byulyi.”

It only takes Jihyo a second to place the name. “Wheein’s music friend?”

“Yeah.” She empties her backpack on the table and then takes her water bottle to the sink to refill it. “I don’t know what to make of it. Apparently other people know Jihoon and I are…” She struggles to find a word.

“Dating?” Jihyo chuckles.

“I haven’t told him that his exes keep telling all his secrets.”

“I promise you, the look on his face when he looks at you isn’t one of a man who’s in for the sex or even just for the chase. He’s in. For all of that and all of you. I promise you that.”

The boys are already sat at a table when the girls arrive. Seungcheol pulls Jihyo’s chair out, and Jihoon looks conflicted as to whether he should do the same. Smirking, she slips into the chair next to him. She doesn’t kiss his cheek like Jihyo. She grabs his hand under the table and gives it a squeeze.

“Have you looked at the menu?” she asks him.

Jihoon shakes his head. “Not yet.”

She studies him for a moment. “Do you trust me to order for you?”

At this offer, Jihoon tilts his head. “Go ahead.”

Conversation is light. They play rounds of cards while they wait for the food. When Jihoon wins the last round of Shit Head, Jihyo and Seungcheol roll their eyes.

“You guys can’t win every game.”

She laughs. “You guys just aren’t good at games of speed.”

“Or strategy,” Jihoon adds with a smile.

Seungcheol stacks the cards as the food arrives. She leans towards Jihoon as she names the various foods before him. He’s pleasantly surprised at the range. There are foods that he will definitely eat, and a few that are out of his comfort zone but aren’t off-putting.

“So, what do you have to tell us?” Jihoon asks once everyone’s tucked in.

With his head bowed towards his plate, practically shovelling food into his mouth, Seungcheol answers, “We’re dating.”

Jihyo hits his arm.

“What?” Seungcheol lifts his head slightly to look over at Jihyo. “Did you want to make it a big deal?” He straightens up and looks at the couple across him. “We have decided that we are only going to see each other. Be exclusive.”

It takes a lot of effort to keep from laughing. Jihyo hasn’t had any other man over in the last month and a half. This isn’t surprising. The formal announcement is.

“That’s great.” Jihoon’s focus also seems to be on the food as opposed to the actual conversation. She nudges him with her elbow and he puts his chopsticks down. He mimics Seungcheol’s formality. “Seriously. This is excellent news.”

With a good-natured roll of her eyes, Jihyo meets Jihoon’s gaze. “The way you’ve committed, Jihoon, it’s really made us reevaluate.”

Jihoon furrows his brow at Seungcheol, but his friend won’t look at him.

Later that night, back in the safety of their apartment, Jihoon demands, “What the hell did you tell Jihyo?”

Seungcheol raises his hands in defense. “She asked me last month what my take on your relationship was! I couldn’t just tell her you were in it for a bet! I actually like Jihyo. I wasn’t going to tell her that your relationship was a façade. The only reason she decided to even give me a chance is because you’d been given a chance.”

Jihoon’s gaze could level mountains. “You straight up lied to her.”

“It was that or tell her that we bet on your relationship. You don’t understand how protective they are of her.”

Jihoon shakes his head in frustration. “What?”

“Byunggu?”

“Holy shit. What’s wrong with him? Isn’t he an actor or something?” Jihoon is almost tired of hearing about this ex-boyfriend.

“They threatened to ruin his entire career by blasting it on social media how awful a person he is. The girls have receipts. Even if your girl’s deleted all the messages and rid him from her life, her friends are holding onto them.”

Well, at least Jihoon knows the other man’s definitely not castrated.

“So, yeah, I lied a little about how real your emotions are.”

“Jihyo’ll be furious when she finds out!”

“What else was I supposed to do, Jihoon?” Seungcheol watches Jihoon begin pacing. “I like this girl. Genuinely want to make this work. Even if I only get a few months with her, it’ll be worth it to me. And if I can show her that I genuinely want to be with her in the time before we’re revealed to be the biggest assholes of all time, then maybe I can keep my relationship.”

Jihoon shakes his head in disbelief. “You and Soonyoung put me up to this bet. I told you guys I wanted to back out months ago.”

Seungcheol remembers that day. He was so sure that he would never be one to settle. At least not for years to come. “You can still back out. We can just give up, tell the others that your game isn’t as good as we thought it was. And if we end the bet now while everyone can get away relatively scot free, maybe we should.”

Jihoon shrugs.

Seungcheol catches his friend’s eye. “And I’ve seen the look on your face, Lee Jihoon. You have real feelings you’re scared to admit to.”

He rolls his eyes. “Did it not occur to you that I have to pretend otherwise this won’t work?”

“Whether you’re pretending or not anymore, I don’t know. But what I feel for Jihyo is genuine.”

Hansol (14:21)

You still on campus?

Late lunch?

It’s October and the air is getting crisper. She steps out onto the green with a scarf wrapped around her neck. She finds Hansol at the campus coffee shop. There are two sandwiches on the table, one for each of them.

“Seungkwan?” She slides her bag onto the floor next to her.

“Yeah. It’s one of the reasons why I wanted to have lunch.” He grins up at her, all gums and bright eyes. “I can’t eat two sandwiches.”

“Why doesn’t it surprise me that Seungkwan gets upset when you don’t finish all your food?” She starts to eat and nods in his direction. “Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

“Hmm?” There’s a ball of food in his mouth and his questioning eyes make him look adorable.

Chuckling, she says, “Well, we’ve rarely eaten out without you asking me something.” She juts her chin in his direction. “What’s up?”

“I, uh…” His cheeks start to redden. “Have a question about a girl.”

Her brow furrows slightly. “That’s new. You’re usually pretty confident about that.” She chews a bit. “Shoot.”

“What made you decide Jihoon hyung was a good idea?”

She tilts her head.

“I have a reputation like hyung’s, but mine’s not real.” He studies the contents of the sandwich. “And I just… I don’t know how to convince her.”

“Ah.” After spending the last four months with the boys, she knows whose reputations are real and whose have been garnered by association. Hansol is the latter, not really dating all that much. The girls he pursues are particular, which must mean this girl he’s interested in is amazing.

“You could just tell her the truth.”

“Do you believe everything hyung says?”

She takes a bite, allowing herself some time to think through her answer. She decides that Hansol deserves her honesty. “Not at the beginning, no.” She lowers her sandwich and holds his gaze. “But a relationship doesn’t work unless you trust that the other person’s being honest. And it gets really tiring to second guess everything your partner’s saying.”

Hansol’s cheeks redden even more this time, the blush creeping up to his ears and down his neck.

“Have you lied to her already?”

Hansol’s eyes widen. His voice is tight, practically squeaking out, “What? No.”

She makes a face. “You’re blushing.”

“Oh.” Hansol’s brain scrambles. “I just… uh…” How does he avoid telling her that her relationship is a bet? “Talking about her makes me nervous.”

She lifts an eyebrow, impressed. It’s rare to see Hansol nervous or outside his comfort zone. “You must really like her.”

“Uhm… yes,” he fills his mouth with sandwich, “I do.”

“Then… just be honest. You’re not your reputation.”

Lettuce gets caught in his throat. “And she’ll just… buy that?” He coughs.

“If she’s smart? No. She won’t. But actions help. Prove to her you’re not your reputation. You’re a good guy, Hansol.”

Hansol stares at this woman who he has grown to like. Her company is great, she’s awesome at games, and her humour matches the group’s well. As conversation veers towards classes and research, Hansol can’t help but think about how the bet will end and how hurt she’s going to be. Four times over the next hour, his tongue almost slips. Almost letting out a secret that will definitely end her relationship. Not just with Jihoon but with every one of them.

She checks her watch. “I gotta get back to the lab. The NMR should be done now.” She slips out of her seat and pats his shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

“Are you coming for dinner tonight?”

She bends down to pick up her backpack, slinging it back over her shoulder. “It’s at yours, isn’t it?”

Hansol nods.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

As soon as Hansol walks into his apartment, he says to Seungkwan, “We need to call off the bet right now.”

Seungkwan has his pink apron on that the boys got him as a joke. “I’ve been saying that for about four months now.”

“Well, we really need to call it off.”

Seungkwan waves his spatula at Hansol, but his eyes fall to the iced Americano in his roommate’s hand and he calms down. “We both know that the guys aren’t just going to do that. Not when they know Jihoon’s this close to winning.”

“What?”

“Do you just ignore all of noona’s feelings? The look on her face when she looks at Jihoon hyung? She’s fallen for him already.” Seungkwan huffs and then takes a long sip from his drink. “It’s just a waiting game now.”

Hansol shakes his head as he heads to his room to drop off his things. “Tell everyone to come early. We need to talk about this bet right now.”

Hansol rarely asks for anything from the others, so when they receive his text, they’re there in thirty minutes.

“What’s wrong?” Jeonghan asks upon arrival. He slips out of his shoes, his eyes not leaving Hansol’s face. “Who’s dying?”

“We’re assholes and we need to call off the bet now.” Hansol grabs his hand to help him over the one step into the house. “If you guys want the money, I’ll give you the money. But I don’t want to see noona get hurt.”

Seungkwan counts heads. “Where’s Jihoon hyung?”

Joshua has his phone out. “He got stuck in the studio.”

Hansol immediately calls Jihoon. When Jihoon answers, he puts the phone on speaker and sets it in the middle of the small dining table.

“What’s going on, Hansol-ah?” They can hear a mouse clicking on the other end. “Dinner’s not for another hour. I can’t make it right now.”

“I want to talk about the bet and you need to be here.” Hansol leans closer to the phone. “Can we just call it off? Hyung, you already know that she likes you. And if she,” he glances at Seungkwan, “if she hasn’t fallen for you already, she’s falling now. So, can we just end this before anyone gets hurt?” Hansol tips his head both ways. “Or more hurt.”

“Yes!” Seungcheol pushes through to the front so Jihoon can definitely hear him. “Let’s call it off.”

The ripple of agreement through the group is comforting to Hansol, but everyone listens when Jihoon’s voice comes through again.

“You guys thought I was still faking it?” His voice is soft, vulnerable. He’s even stopped clicking around on the computer. “Guys, I,” he pauses, trying to bring himself to admit it, “I stopped faking months ago.”

Seungcheol slams his hands down on the table. “We got in a fight last month about this. What the hell are you saying?”

“You told Jihyo without consulting me first. I wasn’t going to tell you that you were right.”

Now, Jeonghan slams his hands onto the table. This second smack causes Jihoon to swear. “So, this is real? Lee Jihoon has a girlfriend?”

“Hanging up now.” They can hear the smile in his voice. “See you guys later.”

#woozi #woozi imagines #woozi scenarios #Seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #Svt #lee jihoon scenarios #Lee Jihoon

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

54. I’m not sure what you think I said, but you start calling me an asshole and whip a ruler at me and somehow, we both end up in detention

Indruck, sfw, please?

Here you go! Content note: spiders appear at one point.

I based some of this AU--namely the concept of the Crucible and how magic is channeled--on the Carry On series by Rainbow Rowell. And Duck is trans in this, because any good wizarding school is inclusive.

After three years at Amnesty Academy, Duck is used to the objects being magically propelled through the air. But a ruler zipping through the air and smacking the back of his head is a new, unpleasant experience.

He tracks it to two chairs to his left, the new third year with the silver hair. He hasn’t even been here a day, what the fuck the is his problem?

“Hey, what the hell man?”

“You know very well what.”

“Uh, no I don’t, and I don’t appreciate bein hit with a fuckin ruler!”

“The maybe think before you insult someone next time!”

“I didn’t fuckin insult you! I don’t even know your name!”

“Ahem.” Ned, their Charms professor, looks down at them reproachfully, “gentlemen, while I know the review of Zone of Truth is rather dull, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t entertain yourselves with mindless conflict.”

“Sorry, Ned.” Duck mumbles, sending his pencil shooting below desk level to whack the other guy in the leg at the exact same moment he whips his pen at Duck’s hand.

“OW!”

Ned sighs, “I hate to do this, but-”

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

“Detention! Lovely, my first day here and I’m in trouble. Thank you so much, Duck Newton, for landing us here.”

“You started it!” He growls as they take their seats. God, he hopes this isn’t one of Woodbridge’s days.

“Huh, only two.” Mama wipes her boots on the mat, closes the door behind her, “Afternoon, Duck. And…”

“Indrid.” Says his nemesis, “It is nice to meet you Professor C-” he cocks his head, “you really prefer I call you ‘Mama?’”

“Yep. Never could get behind that more formal stuff. Let some of the first years call me ‘Ms. Mama’ if they really need to feel like they’re showin some deference.”

Mama is deputy Headmistress of Amnesty. The only reason she’s not fully in charge is that she’s not a witch and some families object to that. So The Quell technically runs the school while Mama does most of the actual day to day work. She also teaches a course of non-magic practical skills because, “some things you can’t magic your way out of. Like taxes.”

Duck loves her class and, while he doesn’t understand why someone would opt into this weirdness, he admires the guts it takes as a fifteen year old human to walk into a wizarding school and declare that there was plenty you could learn there even though you couldn’t so much as send a spark from your fingers.

As he and Indrid watch the clock tick down, Mama pulls a bag from her satchel. The contents are cookies, which she offers to each of them.

“Barclay tryin’ out new recipes?”

“Course he is. Kid is gonna be the best damn kitchen witch in the country by the time he graduates. Guess he’s plannin to spend the summer drivin around and learnin the food magic of different regions.” She smiles, “bet you’ll never guess who’s goin’ with him.”

“Joe?”

“Bingo. Apparently he wants to study niche cultural magic.”

Duck’s pretty sure there’s another motive; sharing a van bed with Barclay. It sounds fun, roving the country, discovering new places with someone handsome by your side.

All that’s by his side is a glower hiding behind red glasses.

“Mama? I, ah, would it be possible for me to leave five minutes early? I’m supposed to get my pairing from the Crucible tonight.”

The older woman looks between the two of them, “Better tell me how you landed here first. Ned just said it was an argument.”

“He threw a ruler at me outta nowhere.”

“It was not, you know what you said.”

“The last thing I said before you hit me was ‘“nah, man’ when Billy offered me a pizza roll from his lunch.”

Indrid goes still, “Oh. I, ah, I misheard you. I thought you said 'mothman.' I apologize. I ought to have given you the benefit of the doubt.”

He seems so suddenly downtrodden that Duck shrugs, “Yeah, you should have. But it ain’t the worst thing that’s happened to me here. Not by a long shot.”

“No kiddin” Mama leans back on the desk, “Two of you can go at five til.”

His evening turns uneventful after that; dinner, hanging out with Juno and Aubrey, half doing homework and half fucking around on his phone in his room (the agreement between the school and the government is that a long as the students don’t post vidoes of themselves doing sick stunts with magic, the government will ignore any explosions and/monsters in the vicinity of the school).

He’s never had a roommate; when the Crucible spat out his name in fire on his first day, there was no other name with it. Almost everyone else rooms in pairs or trios. So his belongings are strewn about the tiny cabin that makes up his home away from home. Which is why, when the door creaks open at ten p.m, he sits up and prepares to fire off a spell.

Indrid stands in the doorway, one bag over his shoulder and another in his hand. He looks tired.

“Hello, Duck. Ah, I guess that one is my bed, then.”

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

The class schedules for Amnesty are generated by the heart of the school itself. Indrid isn’t entirely sure what that means, but the heart must not be terribly creative. It stuck him in divination class. He’s been seeing the future since he was five, managing it with his drawings since he was eight. Even the professor has no idea what to do with him, since the images come in like a garbled T.V signal when he uses a crystal ball and the cup shattered when he tried to read tea leaves.

At least Barclay gave him a conciliatory caramel while they swept up the shards. It made him feel a bit better, though whether that’s due to enchantment or Barclay being exceedingly good at cooking is hard to say.

And now he has to go to “Magical Weaponry.” Magical Defense he understands; there are still lots of malicious forces out there, or even just everyday evils that it’s good to be able to ward against. Plus, Vincent is a good professor, enthusiastic and understanding.

Professor Minerva is just as enthusiastic but twice as loud. This is their first day in the actual gym, as opposed to at a blackboard, and his visions suggest it’s going to go poorly for him. As it should; he’s not a fighter, he’s a disaster.

At Amnesty, magic is channeled through objects. Most people use wands or their hands but some, like Aubrey, use jewelry (a necklace from her mother) or another accessory.

Duck Newton uses a sword. Or he’s trying to. The sword seems to be winning.

“Exert your will on him, Duck Newton, he answers to you!”

“I answeeer to only the capable.”

“Shut up, Beacon.” Duck adjusts his grasp, but nothing happens until he drops the sword and sends a spell through his fingers. The target explodes. Indrid suddenly feels a bit better about his own probable performance.

Duck notices him, indicates the practice area next to him is clear. While they started off poorly, his roommate is doing his best to demonstrate southern hospitality. He invites Indrid to eat with him, helps him when his visions offer no help in navigating the grounds, and even lent him a blue and green shirt (Amnesty's colors) for his first Spirit Day. Duck is the best thing to happen to him in his first month here.

By the time class is over, they have six broken targets, a shredded mat, and a knife that is now a very confused frog between them. They manage to laugh about it, even as Duck scoops up the amphibian and tucks him into his shirt pocket.

It’s then that Indrid realizes he has a crush.

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

“You comin to the game tonight?” Juno measures her sapling.

“Assumin nothin comes up and nobody’s tryin to kill me, you know I’ll be there.” He loves cheering Juno on during her soccer games (hey, not everything has to be magic based, even at a wizarding school).

“Drat.”

The hissed frustration draws his attention to the far end of the work table. Indrid is trying to coax his Venus Flytraps to perk up, but they remain brown and limp.

“Need some help?”

“Please, as you clearly know what you’re doing.” Indrid tilts his head towards the sapling pine tree Duck is working on. If he does his growing spells right, he’ll be able to take it home as a Christmas Tree during winter break.

“You tend to picture words or, uh,pictures when you do your spells?”

“Images work best. The trouble is that the futures sometimes make it difficult for me to picture a spell clearly.”

“What if I try describing how I’d see it and you picture what I say?”

“It’s worth a try.” Indrid closes his eyes.

“Okay. Think about the roots drawin water up from the soil, about the traps absorbin nutrients from prey. That brown is goin green as they do, they’re stems are growin stronger…” he grins as the plant turns bright green, it’s mouths open, “hey, ‘Drid, look”

“Oh!” Indrid flaps his hands, “it worked! Now I can keep them healthy and big andohno, nono not again.”

The table cracks and collapses as the plant turns gigantic, blocking out the light from the greenhouse roof.

“Holy fuck, that’s great!”

“Language, sport, but I agree.” Thacker, the head of the magical Horticulture classes, whistles as he looks the plant up and down, “this is mighty impressive Indrid. Wonder if we could use it on some pumpkins come fall…”

“I don’t recommend it, unless you want them to chase people.” Indrid points to one of the heads, which is swaying in the air and lowering closer to him. It snaps and he leaps back, falling to a pile of potting soil. Thacker raises his walking stick and the flytrap returns to its proper size.

Duck helps Indrid up, but his friend stays quiet through the end of class and on the walk back to their room.

“You know it ain’t anythin to be ashamed of, right?” Duck flips on the light, “we all fuck up spells now and then. Hell, Aubrey is on track to be the best spellcaster this school’s ever seen and she still has trouble.”

“But mine go haywire constantly” Indrid flops, dejected, onto his bed, “forget mastering my powers, I’ll be lucky if I graduate able to keep them in check. If I graduate at all.” His hand searches the bed blindly; Duck sets the weighted, plush bat into so Indrid can set it on his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never lasted more than a year at a magical school. Or a non-magical one. I started at Mt Vernon when I was fifteen. Tried Deep Hollow and Shasta the year after that. I’m powerful but I can’t seem to channel it well, and three different schools decided I was more trouble than I was worth.”

“Bullshit.” Duck rests a hand on Indrid’s knee, “you’re strugglin with somethin; that means you need more help, not less. And if anyone gets it into their heads to kick you outta Amnesty, I’ll raise a goddamn ruckus.”

Indrid chuckles, quiet and disbelieving.

“I’m serious. You know Aubrey and them would side with me, and Joe knows school policy well enough he could probably find a reason why them tryin to get rid of you was against the rule.”

“Thank you.” Indrid’s smile is a rare flower, fragile and stunning.

“You want one of those calm-down caramels Barclay made?”

“Please.”

Duck grabs the box from the cabinet of their little kitchenette, then snags a Coke and a pineapple soda from the fridge. Indrid is no longer horizontal, is instead sitting with his back to the wall so Duck has space to join him.

Under the fizz of fresh bubbles, his friend murmurs, ‘“Have people really tried to kill you?”

“Yep. Someone sent an assassin after me my first year, and there was a Dire wolf on the grounds last winter that was clearly locked on to my scent. Perk of bein a Chosen One.” He grumbles as he swigs his drink.

“...Who on earth sends an assassin after a fifteen year old?”

“Right?! Fuck if I know, they never got any information out of the guy. Fuckin prophecy I swear, I didn’t even want these powers, let alone to be some kind of hero.”

“I sympathize.” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “there are prophecies around my birth as well.”

Duck clunks their bottles together, “To bein’ fucked over by stuff we can’t control.”

Indrid drains his soda, then perks up, “Oh! Oh dear, you should go if you want to be there for Juno’s match.”

“Come with me?” Duck can’t get the image of the two of them sharing a giant pretzel while smushed thigh to thigh on the bleachers out of his head.

His friend grins, “Of course.”

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

Duck hoped, after his not-great time in middle school, that a magic academy would be asshole free. But no, there are assholes everywhere, and these ones have even more tools for tormenting their targets. He’s never been one, nor have any of his friends. The one time someone tried to bully Barclay, Dani sicked three spectral hummingbirds on them until they apologized.

Indrid, odd and new, is an easy target, though he seems to hold his own just fine (and his proximity to the most powerful witch in school does scare off many potential antagonists). But three guys in their Magical Defense class have zeroed in on him.

They’re standing in line to practice against an evil eye when Indrid’s glasses, the ones he doesn’t take off even when he sleeps, hit the floor by Duck’s feet. Duck scrambles to grab them before they get stepped on, wondering why everyone is making such a fuss. Then he turns and backs up in alarm.

An eight foot tall moth creature is where Indrid should be, red eyes wide and claws clicking together anxious.

“Who let that thing in here?” Someone yells from behind him.

Indrid’s antenna flatten.

“Fuck, wasn’t expecting him to be that big a freak” one of the bullies scoffs.

Black wings twitch.

“Newton, give him the glasses back so we don’t have to look at him!”

Indrid trills, upset, and leaps into the air at the same moment Aubrey yells, “that’s enough” and Vincent shouts a reminder about no flames in enclosed spaces and also detention for you three. Duck is to busy climbing out the window Indrid flew through to pick up the details.

One two-story fall later, he’s chasing a dark shape into the Monongahela forest. While the parts of the woods near his hometown of Kepler are non-enchanted, this chunk is magic down to the moss (he plans to write his final year project on how those halves of forest mesh on an ecological level). One of the worst aspects of the enchanted portions is their tendency to re-shape around travelers. His usual way around this is to have an unwavering sense of where he’s going and pretend the woods are giving him an unchanging path to get there. But that trick does fuck-all when he doesn’t know his destination.

After two hours of searching he’s no closer to finding Indrid, it’s getting dark, and he’s debating heading back to the school for help. He hasn’t been this deep in the woods since he fled the Dire Wolf, and he knows the deeper you go into the trees, the wilder the magic becomes. Bad news for him, even worse for his friend who's out there somewhere, upset and alone.

Eight gigantic eyes glitter at him from the dirt, and he quickly rearranges who has it worse right now.

Throwing a burst of light into the trapdoor spiders eyes buys him enough time to bolt to a tree and climb. As soon as it crawls free of its burrow he freezes; if he’s remembering right, they use vibrations to locate prey.

Fuck, that thing is the size of a VW Beatle. Why is that even a thing? No spider needs to be this big!

In spite of his stillness, it spies him and sets its forelimbs on the tree-trunk. There’s nothing else for it; he draws Beacon, pictures the spider shrinking, and casts his spell.

A soft crunch of leaves signals it hitting the ground, now an unremarkable size for an arachnid. Just as he steps down a branch, a second trap door opens and an enraged spider bursts out, looking for it’s friend. When it can’t find it, it turns and snaps its mandibles at Duck. This time, Beacon does nothing, no matter how Duck commands and curses as his eight-legged doom gets closer.

A crackle of electricity and then this spider disappears as well. On the other side of the trunk, red eyes regard him with worry, “are you hurt?”

“Nah, all in one piece thanks to you.” He holds out his hand, “you wanna head back?”

“Yes, please.” Indrid flaps to the ground, Duck following him on foot and then turning them towards campus, “you did not need to come look for me.”

“Course I did, not gonna let my friend get swallowed up by the forest. Oh, here” he holds out the red glasses, “you want these back?”

“Not just yet. That is, if this form is not too alarming to you.”

Duck takes in the glossy feathers, the charming ruff, the way the face is still obviously Indrid yet excitingly new, “I’m good.”

Light flickers from black claws, stars and flowers spinning out with ease, “It’s so much easier when I’m like this. I never foresaw my disguise charm being an issue, but the older I’ve gotten the more it seems to influence my ability to control my spells. But, well, you saw how people reacted. Even you were startled.”

“In my defense, I thought you’d been eaten by, well, you.” Duck casts the same spell, vines of light chasing the red flowers, “I’m still sorry, though. You ain’t horrible like this, ‘Drid; you’re fuckin stunnin. Never seen anyone as incredible as you.”

Indrid stops, looking down at him, “Do you truly mean that?”

Duck rises on his toes, pecking his cheek, “Yeah, I do.”

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

The Halloween Formal is the most elaborate event at Amnesty. Indrid feels that if there’s any day he’s within his rights to be in his true form, it’s when everyone else is dressed as monsters.

He doesn’t have a date. He thought Duck was in the same predicament. Then his friend left before he was half-done grooming his feathers, saying he needed to get flowers for his hot date.

Ah well. At least Indrid will get to see him there and spend some time with his friends.

He checks his reflection in the gleaming black walls, orange and purple lights glowing and jack’o lanterns floating above his head. He adjusts his robes, the nice red ones his father sent him, and prepares to enter the ballroom.

“Hold up.”

When he turns, Duck is standing there in his black dress shirt and green tie, looking for all the world like he’s alone.

“You got one more thing to put on” He holds out a bracelet of flowers, sized to slip perfectly over Indrid’s hand. There are matching flowers pinned to one side of Duck’s hair.

“Oh. Oh my. You really-”

Duck uses a small spell to bend Indrid into a kiss; it’s a bit messy, since their mouths aren’t meant to fit together, but Indrid would not trade it for all the magic in the world.

“Yeah, ‘Drid, I really do.” With that, Duck offers his elbow and they walk arm in arm into the great hall.

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #meet ugly #wizard au

18 notes · View notes

imomomi · 4 years

Photo

Extra:

Atsumu wasn’t sure what he was expecting when Y/N said she was bringing her friends. Hell, if he was being honest, he’d never even expected her and Suna to get along as well as they did. But, the two girls that arrived were vaguely familiar and leveled him with glares so deadly, he instantly worried that he’d rejected them at some point. Y/N was oblivious to the stare off, searching the ground for the spot with the most grass. Atsumu rolled his eyes and tossed her his blazer. She didn’t say thank you and he didn’t really care to hear it.

Her friends tossed their things onto the ground as Y/N made a blanket out of his blazer and sat down. Iwanuma and Ota greeted him, bitingly adding that they were cheerleaders and that they hoped that Inarizaki would make it farther along this year.

“It’s not like you’d have anything else to cheer for if we don’t,” he said and then winced. Y/N frowned and raised a brow. Her eyebrows were usually the best indication of what kind of doom would follow. Once and only once, when he’d spilled a whole bottle of Pocari Sweat on her after winning a game in middle school, had her brows gone so high that he feared for his life.

“I’m here because no one else could stand to be in your presence, so shut up,” Y/N said. He rolled his eyes and stuffed the last of his onigiri into his mouth. The rice was bland in his mouth.

“Oh, no worries! We know he’s just joking,” said Ota with a cheery grin on her face. “Besides we never cheer for Atsumu-senpai.”

Atsumu blinked, head lolling to the side. He shook his head and laughed lightly. Guess Y/N had found more friends. The thought rung hollowly in his chest. It’s not like he cared much or needed that kind of shit anyway. He had Osamu, his teammates—even though some of them hated him—and volleyball. His brow furrowed and he fell strangely quiet, not noticing the three girls exchanging glances.

“Eat,” said Y/N and shoved a melon-pan into his hands. “It’s creepy if you’re watching us.” Her bento was freakishly neat, something Ota took delight in photographing.

“It’s always creepy. He has a pervert’s face,” said Iwanuma.

“Osamu has this face,” he defended. Y/N laughed sharply and shook her head. A tiny grin played at the corners of her mouth; eyes wrinkled at the corners.

“He wears it better,” she said, “I wish one of you had kept the black hair. It was nicer.”

“I look good! Everyone thinks so.”

“Who is everyone? The fangirls only want you because they think you’re going to be rich,” Y/N paused, turning to him with sharp eyes, “They haven’t heard you speak yet.”

“That’s not fair,” he whined, “I’m the older twin. I’m better looking. Come on, admit it.”

“What does being older have to do with looks? Won’t you just die faster?” asked Ota.

“That’s not the point,” he cried. The girls laughed together, the sound neither mocking nor scornful, but warm. Atsumu risked a glance at Y/N surprised to see that she was smiling freely. Though she wore her mask less often than she had in middle school, her face always carried an eerie calm that made it impossible to determine what she was feeling. Maybe it was because he’d know her for so long and spent summer’s figuring out what each twitch meant, but there was something comforting in being able to read her face.

They settled into light conversation, talking about school and their classes. They touched briefly on entrance exams, attempting to skim past the conversation when Ota voiced her displeasure at being the younger of the group. Atsumu knew that Y/N had her heart set on Tokyo, but he’s surprised to learn that it was because of her cousins.

“Volleyball,” he answered when they turn to him.

“Any team?” Iwanuma asked.

“The Jackals.”

“Holy shit,” Ota exclaimed and immediately covered her mouth with her hands. “You’re like good good.”

“Duh, he got called up to Youth Japan,” hissed Iwanuma, “What did you think? He’s dramatic, but it’s not without anything to back it up.”

“Dramatic?” asked Atsumu. He leaned back and rested on his elbows, grass digging into his white button down. Y/N made a noise between a squeak and a hiccup as he did and lurched forward. He swatted her away, smiling at the scowl that instantly formed on her face.

“THE SERVE ROUTINE,” Ota shouted. She stood up instantly and backed away a few paces. He groaned as she took four steps forward and thrust a fist in the air.

“No, no,” said Y/N to his surprise. His eyes widened as she stood too. What alternate universe had he walked into? Y/N mimicked his actions perfectly, down to the way he walked, and when Iwanuma started laughing, she leveled a heavy glare at her that was all too familiar. Atsumu choked and laughed so hard, tears sprung to his yes.

“Oi, sit down,” he ordered, “You’re all a bunch of scrubs.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” asked Ota.

“Doesn’t matter. Just don’t try that on M-1, you’re awful,” he shook his head. Ota jumped on Y/N’s back, pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek that was immediately wiped off.

When they’re done eating, he helped them clean up their stuff, not because he wanted to, but it felt like something Kita might have done and he’s all about channeling his ex-captain these days. Y/N lingered in the hall, letting her friends run off before her. Iwanuma dragged away a shouting Ota, who screeched the names of some boybands down the hall until she was no longer in sight.

“Where’d you meet those two clowns?” he asked. His blazer is tucked her arm with a promise to be washed and returned.

“Haru went to middle school with us,” she rolled her eyes at the look of confusion that crossed his face, “I tutored Mirai when she was a freshman.”

“You know, you’re kinda cute around them. A total tsundere.”

“Oh, shut up,” she huffed, cheeks turning a light pink, “I don’t need your inane flirting-“

“So, you admit it’s flirting. That seems like a step in the right direction.”

“Atsumu.”

“Y/N,” he mocked. She sighed and ran a hand over her face, staring at him with deeply ingrained exhaustion.

“We have practice later?”

“You can skip if you want. I’m pretty sure they deserve a break from their demon manager.”

“Your sets to Riseki need work. You’re the same height, but you keep tossing too high. He’s not playing on a trampoline; he can’t jump the way you want him to. Also, I think Osam-”

“Stop using your brain for a second. It’s stressing me out,” he breathed in deeply, putting a hand on her shoulder to force her to do the same, “Put it on paper and give it to me later. I’ll look at it.”

“Can you even read? You got a 10 on your last Japanese Literature exam.”

“I swear to god,” said Atsumu and inhaled sharply, “I’m this close to kissing you.”

“You demented pervert! This is why I don’t speak to you,” she shoved him away in an instant. The scent of her peach shampoo filed the air as she turned on her heel and stomped away. It was way too easy to rile her up, but somehow the thrill he got from doing it hadn’t gone away. Instead, he found himself looking for new reactions: little blushes, the way she ignored certain texts for hours, but would respond to others right away, sometimes he’d push just the right button and she’d throw something at him, usually her books, but once she’d pulled off a shoe and tossed it with a enough force to have given him a concussion had he not caught it.

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cowboy-anon · 3 years

Text

Weston’s Wild West Whump - 2

I DID IT! I FINISHED IT. Holy cow. XD Anyway, it’s a bit of a longer piece. Today, we learn a bit more about Weston, we’re introduced to Graham’s men Dee and Sunders, and we discover Graham is not someone you want to mess with. Enjoy! :D

CW : Animal corpse used as a metaphor, bribery mention, broken bones (and the symptoms that accompany them), concussion, cowboy shenanigans, gun mention and threat (not real), hogtie threat (not yet realized), knife mention, mild cursing, somewhat degrading language, thieving mention, touch of low self esteem, vaguely implied unsafe home life.

(I’m new to content warnings, so if I’ve missed something, please don’t hesitate to let me know! :D )

Tagging: @milk-carton-whump, @unicornscotty, @abitefullofwhump, @alliecat5594, @ihaveacrushonjester (Let me know if you want to be added or removed from this list!

2 - Good Ol’ Righteous Cowboy

Weston has only met Graham twice before this. Once, last week when he came to investigate the ranch’s missing cattle. “Sheriff Graham Miller,” he’d introduced himself. The way he’d carried himself, charming and self-assured, Weston was sure the culprit would get theirs, and if Johnson was lucky, he’d get his cattle back before Weston moved on.

And then Weston found that handkerchief caught on the barbed wire fence, “G.M.” embroidered on it in a stunning shade of blue. As far as leads went, it was pretty thin, but that blue thread and those initials—there was no way it could be a coincidence.

Which is what led him to his second encounter, dressed in Johnson’s clothes, pretending to be a wealthy man in search of some cattle for his father’s failing ranch. Of course, Weston was nowhere near wealthy, and his father’s ranch, he’d remembered with a shudder, was doing just fine, but wearing Johnson’s Sunday best, he sure as hell looked the part.

But with Graham being the one to show him around, he could only see so much. Weston was walked past rolling pastures and prize-winning cattle, sure, but no proof.

Which is what led him to his final attempt at getting it, not exactly a third encounter but one that led to it—this one—kneeling in front of two of Graham’s men, a lasso tight around his middle and with his right ankle throbbing painfully with every heartbeat.

Despite their lack of history, when one of Graham’s men pistol whips him across the face, it feels strangely personal. Weston can feel the malice, sees the satisfaction on the left’s face when his own snaps sharply to the right. The shock of it almost overwhelms the burn. Almost.

Weston stays there for a second, hunched over with his eyes squeezed shut, reminding himself to breathe, letting out a pained groan instead. Another breath, this time bracing. He shakes off the stinging pain and rights himself with a tight lipped smile.

His tongue darts out over his bottom lip, tastes blood. Yeah, he’s sporting a split lip now. He winces at the pain, more an ache than a burn now, and blinks back involuntary tears.

When Weston raises his eyes again, the man has his revolver in hand, arm pulled back to strike him again. God, he hates to admit it, but he flinches, tucking his face into his shoulder, waiting for the blow.

He hears the grunt of effort, expects his view to whip right again in a burst of pain when he hears, “Stop playing with him, Dee. Get his legs.” When Weston doesn’t feel the strike, he allows himself a glance in the direction of the voice.

It’s the man on the right, face stony with purpose.

The man on the left, “Dee” Weston assumes, shoots the man a venomous glare, then turns to look at Graham, who’s digging into the saddle bag of one of the horses.

Graham’s not paying attention when the butt of the gun slams into Weston’s temple.

Weston hits the ground hard, landing heavily on his shoulder, cheek pressed into hot rocky dirt. His head, oh God. He gasps against the blinding pain, eyes skewed shut as he gapes like a fish out of water.

“Dee.” Between the ringing in his ears and his ragged breaths, he hears it, a low reprimand but not a surprised one.

Weston forces his eyes open to look at the two men now looming over him, but he ends up shutting them again. When did the sun get so damn bright?

“You wanted me to get his feet, Sunders.” Sunders. That’s got to be the other man’s name. And—wait, they’re still talking. Focus, Weston, focus! “ —think he was gonna let us tie him up that easy? Graham likes Randy clueless. The sooner he’s tied up, the less questions we gotta answer. Get me?”

Randy? Who the hell’s Randy?

Weston lies there for what feels like ages before the more important thoughts make their way back to him. Graham’s here. Dee and Sunders, they’re going to tie him up. His ankle’s shot, he’s got that lasso around him that’s not going to let him go anywhere.

And all three of them are armed. Great.

Weston worms his arm out from under him and eases himself up until he’s propped on an elbow. For a moment, the world spins. Forget cotton. His head’s full of sloshing water, distorting and disorienting and all too heavy for what it is.

He wants to lie back down, let whatever’s going to happen happen. He’ll feel those ropes dig into the tender skin of his wrists and bite into his swelling ankle. Will they make him walk? No, not with a hogtie. He’ll more likely be draped over the back of a horse and taken back to the ranch, where—

Where what? Who knows what’ll happen back at that ranch? And what the hell is he thinking, lying back down and giving in? He shakes his head with a sneer. If he’s going to that no good sheriff’s ranch, he’s going angry, not complacent.

So he pushes himself up until he’s sitting again, lightheadedness be damned, and squinting at Graham’s back, legs stretched out in front of him, he calls, “You needed three guys to get a hold of me, Graham?” It comes out a groan, nowhere near as snarky as he wants it to be, but it’s dripping with sarcasm nonetheless—and based on the smile that sneaks over the sheriff’s face, it catches his attention. “Why, I’m flattered. ‘Course, I probably should’ve expected as much.”

Dee’s at eye level in an instant. He grabs a fistful of Weston’s shirt and jerks him forward, lips curled up in a snarl. “Why, you—”

But Graham just laughs from his spot by the horses.

Dee’s eyes, still shining with murder, flicker with confusion, and Weston’s gaze snaps over to Graham, doubled over with warm, genuine laughter. What the hell?

The grip on Weston’s shirt wavers as the seconds tick by. Finally, Weston clears his throat and says, “Sure, I find your stupidity funny, too, but—”

Graham’s gun is trained on him before he can finish.

“Dee,” Graham says, motioning with his revolver. It’s a command. Dee barely spares Weston a smug grin before pulling his hands from Weston’s clothes and stepping into place between Graham and Sunders.

Graham squares his shoulders and, accent thicker than Weston’s ever heard it, he says, “What’s funny is you talking about stupidity.”

Weston knows he should be scared, and he is. He feels it, unadulterated fear, making its way to his shaking fingers, twisting knots deep in his stomach, watching him stare down the blackened barrel of this gun, telling him, Give up, give in. Maybe he’ll let you walk away.

It’s so damn tempting.

But Weston has already given in to too many people like Graham with the promise of walking away too many times, so despite everything, he balls his trembling hands into fists, meets Graham’s eyes with a pained smirk, and says, “Please, do tell.”

Graham grins.

“Good ol’ righteous Weston Casey.” He shrugs past Dee and Sunders and makes his way towards Weston, digits lazily fingering his gun’s trigger, blue eyes scanning him and the barely concealed shock on his face. “Yeah, I’ve heard about you. Hardworking, dependable, new in town. You rolled on in here just last month, didn’t you?”

Weston doesn’t answer. Instead, he changes the subject. “What do you mean, ‘righteous’?”

Graham stops by Weston’s feet and sits back on his haunches, eyes trailing idly over his body. “I mean your absurd morals,” he says. “I’d heard about it before, but I saw it clear as day when I came to Johnson’s ranch yesterday. You were angry for him.” He laughs to himself, toying with the trigger thoughtlessly.

But the hammer’s still standing tall by the frame, not pulled back. So the gun’s not cocked yet. It never was. That’s good news.

“It’s a damn shame,” Graham continues. He’s looking at Weston’s face again, a tiny knowing smile on his lips. Did Weston’s realization show? “The bribe I would’ve paid you—beyond generous. Not that you would’ve taken it.”

“What’s this got to do with stupidity?” Weston cuts in. He’s stalling at this point, he knows it, but he needs something—anything—to distract him from the fear bubbling just beneath his surface.

“Well, we’re talking about you, aren’t we?” Another flick over the trigger as Graham’s tone shifts, almost amused. “A good, quiet stranger rolls into town, surely minding his own business when something not quite right goes down. A few cows go missing. Nothing special, nothing new. Cattle go missing all the time around these parts. But being him, he decides he wants to investigate.”

Graham’s voice darkens then. Weston forces himself to be still under Graham’s scrutiny as his eyes travel over his left leg, then to his right. Then to his right ankle, swelling like a cow’s carcass in the summer sun under his jeans. “And he finds out a little too much,” Graham continues. “And he gets in a little too deep. And he decides he wants to do the right thing. Which, in itself, is not a stupid thought.” Graham glances back up at Weston. “But his—your—morals, they get in the way of some really great opportunities. A guy like you would fit into this cattle rustling operation real well.”

At that, Dee’s expression visibly sours behind Graham, but he stays quiet. Smart or scared?

“I know you won’t take the bribe,” Graham says lowly, “but how about a fair trade? Your work for my money, plain and simple.”

Weston scoffs to himself. His heart is in his throat pounding so loud he can hear it, but it’s not even a question. He meets Graham’s eyes through his mop of hair and says, “Over my dead body.”

He means it.

Graham stares at him, and for a second Weston thinks he might burst out laughing again. But he just smiles, more to himself than Weston, seemingly thinking something over.

He tucks his gun back into his holster, shoots Weston a big grin. And then his gloved hands shoot out and twist his right foot hard.

Weston’s broken bones in the past. He’s felt that wet snap of the initial break. He’s felt the numb shock before his brain catches up with his body. He’s felt that nauseating pain that accompanies every jostle and movement of the site.

But he’s never felt anything like this.

Weston shrieks, white hot blinding, agonizing pain that he feels all the way to his fingertips in sharp, involuntary spasms. Overwhelming, all encompassing. In this moment, Weston is pain.

Too much, too much, too much! It’s blaring in his head like a siren, that fear. His face goes hot, then cold. Tears run down his cheeks, but he’s too focused on gritting his teeth against another wail to care.

“See, I gave you a chance just then,” Graham says over his cries. “I offered you a job, nice and respectable like, and you turned it down—and for what?” He leans in close to Weston, a hand still twisted in the fabric of his pant leg. “A few meaningless morals? If you ask me, that’s awful stupid of you.”

Graham wrenches his ankle again, and even though Weston knows what to expect, it’s just as awful as the first time—worse even. Bone grinding on bone, leather on swollen, hypersensitive, hot-to-the-touch flesh.

He throws his head back with a broken sob. “G-Graham—!” Weston doesn’t know why he says that. He doesn’t even realize it’s him saying it, not in his current state, concussed and half delirious with pain.

But he definitely hears “Yes, Weston?” through the haze, barely registers Graham’s hand leaving his leg.

The twisting’s stopped, Weston knows it, but the pain hasn’t. He still feels it, twisting, twisting, the rough seams of Graham’s leather gloves on swollen skin. And he feels dread, prominent, telling him this isn’t the worst to come, not by a long shot, that only makes it hurt worse.

He hasn’t felt a dread like this since his last month at the family ranch.

As the worst of the pain melts from his limbs, just enough for it to be bearable, his wits start to come back to him, and it occurs to him that he cried out Graham’s name in an agony-induced panic. Then Graham had asked him a question: “Yes, Weston?” His stomach drops at the thought.

What had he been looking to say? Would he have begged? “G-Graham, please stop! Please!” Or would he have bargained? “G-Graham, I won’t tell a soul, I swear!” Maybe, Weston realizes with a thick swallow, he would’ve accepted Graham’s terrible offer, helping steal cattle for the man he’s grown to hate in the last twenty-four hours to save himself. “G-Graham, I… I’ll do it.”

Graham had called him righteous.

Weston is a coward.

“Weston, you wanted to say something to me?” Graham is grinning, blue eyes glimmering with mirth. He wants to know what he was going to say just as much as Weston does.

Weston stares at his feet. His ankle is back to that constant throb, but the muscles in his foot and calf are still twitching and seizing from Graham’s rough hands. “Yeah, I did,” he says quietly. “I wanted to tell you, ‘Graham…’”

He shakes his head, sets his jaw, meets Graham’s eyes with a steely gaze. And then he spits at him, fueled by what little fight he has left, “‘Graham, get your damn hands off of me.’”

Righteous. Coward.

Liar.

Graham stares at him for a long moment before rising to his feet, that stupid smug grin still on his face when he looks back down at him.

“I like you, Weston. I really do,” he says, vaguely apologetic, “and you’ve made a lot of stupid decisions today that I could forgive you for. But that decision you made just now, making an enemy out of me? Real stupid.”

Graham turns on his heel and shoulders his way past Dee and Sunders again, only this time he stops between them and, in a voice just loud enough for Weston to hear, he says to them, “Now, I know I told you two to get him trussed up.” The look Graham gives Weston is chilling. “So tell me, what’s he still doing with his hands free?” Graham casts a final glance at Weston before Dee and Sunders make their way towards him for the second time.

This time, they don’t hesitate. Sunders pockets his knife, walks behind Weston, and tugs his arms behind his back, holding them together by the wrists. “Grab the rope from my horse, Dee,” he calls.

But Dee is standing by Weston’s feet, smiling a malicious smile. “His legs first,” Dee says.

Weston can’t see Sunders’s face, but he can hear the exasperation in his voice from behind him when he replies, “There’s no way he’s going anywhere on that ankle now.”

“I know that.” Dee crouches down by Weston’s feet, eyes running down the length of his right leg. “But I want to start with his legs.”

Sunders sighs and drops Weston’s arms back to his sides, already aching at the joints from the position.

“I’ll hold him down.”

Sunders takes his spot next to Dee and puts pressure on Weston’s thighs, holding him still while Dee goes for Sunders’s rope. If Weston didn’t know better, he’d think they were trying to help him.

But he does know better, and he knows their intentions are anything but pure.

He could shove them off, Weston realizes from his spot on the ground. He could, and if he tried, he could get a good solid kick on Dee when he gets back if he uses his left leg. He’d sure as hell deserve it.

But watching Dee take his place by his feet again, Weston doesn’t. Smart or scared, righteous or cowardly—Weston doesn’t know anymore. He just glares at Dee.

Dee smiles back at him. “You got him, Sunders?”

“I’ve got him.”

“Good.”

Dee feels the rope in his hands, tests its strength with a few sharp pulls. Then he turns to look at Graham.

Graham nods at him from by the horses.

When Dee turns back to Weston, he’s grinning from ear to ear, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I’m gonna enjoy this.”

#weston's wild west whump #weston's wild west whump part 2 #cowboy whump #my whump writing #whump #whump writing #whump ocs #pistol whipping #why did i choose to use so many italics #i swear that made the transfer from google docs to tumblr like 6000% harder XD #thank you for reading!#the mystery that is weston is slowly being unraveled #so stay tuned for that!

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mightysteelix · 3 years

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Pent Up Desires (Fic)

Ever since the summer event last year, I've been toying with the idea of a larger Robin. And now that its rerun is about to come, I've decided that it is time to finally write it out - and meanwhile hit as many of my kink buttons as possible. This is the result - one of my most indulgent works (if not the most indulgent work to beat them all).

Rating: Explicit Category: M/M Fandoms: Fate/Grand Order Relationship: Robin Hood | Archer/Billy the Kid | Archer Characters: Robin Hood | Archer and Billy the Kid | Archer Summary: Do you remember when B.B. said she would turn Robin into a pig during ServaFes? What if she followed on the threat, albeit with quite the twist?

Robin is cursed and can't control himself around food. Billy has promised to help, but he can't control himself around Robin.

Weight-gain kink fic. Don’t like, don’t read.

WARNING FOR KINK CONTENTS UNDER THE CUT

Additional Tags: Weight Gain; Belly Kink; Size Kink; Size Difference; Masturbation; Dry Humping; Stuffing; musclechub; Robin gets huge; And Billy tries not to jerk off whenever he sees him; Self-Indulgent

LAST WARNING FOR KINK

Summer was in full swing, and Babbage blasted enough steam to make Chaldea hotter than a waterless hole in the heart of the prairie. So, it did not come as a shock that Robin was rockin’ only trunks and an open shirt, which showed some well-sculpted arms. The guy was hell-fired handsome with the finest body ever, and if he wanted to kick back, Billy wouldn’t protest. Nay, what hit like a bullet to the brain was the ton of food in front of him—meats, loaves of bread, and a raft of drinks.

“How’s it goin’, partner?” Billy plopped down in a chair next to Robin. “Famished after Servant Fes sucked the life outta ya?”

“It’s…” Robin, with a larger scowl on his face than usual, panted. “It’s that… purple-haired witch’s fault.” He grabbed a drumstick and tore off some meat like a starved wolf. “She threatened to turn me in a pig…” His face was red with effort. “We had to win her Holy Grail…” He bit another chunk. “Don’t worry,”—Billy stifled a giggle when Robin mocked the Master’s voice—“she won’t follow on it.’ It’s easy to speak when this isn’t happening to them!” After chewin’ the last of the drumstick thoroughly, he swallowed. The slow gulp traveled down his throat and into his stomach. Robin punched his chest and exhaled in relief.

Billy’s eyes followed it and glued themselves to Robin’s gut. It was taut, bloated, as large as a basketball—and just as hard if he touched it. The pressure was makin’ the skin around the belly button burn angrily. The trunks rested under the overgorged curve, a trial of ginger peekin’ below the band. “True, partner, you’re becomin’ a nice piggy,” Billy quipped. “So, the purple lass’s itchin’ for a vendetta, and she chose ya?”

After he popped a soda open and drank half the bottle—his gurglin’ gut sloshin’ and expandin’ even more—Robin nodded. “She cursed the clothes. And I must’ve stepped on her toes something fierce when I complained to Master. Now I can’t even take the swimsuit off.” He grit his teeth, his handsome face (Was that the start of a double chin? Nay, don’t stare!) grimacin’ as he tried to keep the fizz down. His strained jaws opened as if pried apart, and with shakin’ hands, he poured in the rest of the drink. His neck bobbed; his stomach filled and grew in every direction. “Whenever I see—urp!”

Robin closed his mouth. His cheeks bulged with a held-back belch. Yet the stress forced his lips to open: “UUUURRPPP!” He bowed his limp head away. “Excuse me,” he muttered. “But when there’s any food—anything—I must eat it. It doesn’t matter if I’ll explode; my hands will push it down to my stomach.” He slapped the swollen ball, it barely swayin’. Something bubbled in its depths rose in his throat, and he let out another lengthy burp.

Bitin’ his lips, Billy leaned closer. “Have ya tried stayin’ outta here? Far from the eyes, far from the heart and all that?” he advised Robin, his eyes lookin’ anywhere but that overstuffed middle.

“I’m trying. But she’s pulling that Archer’s strings, too.” Robin grunted and glanced at the kitchen while devourin’ a buttered slice of bread. “If I leave my room, he’s on my tail with a cupcake or some other treat. Before I know it, I am dragged here and”—he pointed to the ungodly number of plates—“you see the rest.”

Billy nodded slowly, his whole willpower holdin’ him from lickin’ his lips. A fire was blazin’ in his chest—and his groin. He knew EMIYA’s dirty little secret way too well: the way a man’s gluttony melted him faster than an ice cube durin’ high noon. The Archer had left his treats unguarded when Amakusa discovered his sweet tooth. And when the Ruler came one morning, enormously flabby and flauntin’ it at every step, the pervert couldn’t stop blushin’! For Billy’s shock, neither could he. So did they become accomplices, secret friends bound by a common desire.

But gettin’ his pleasure from Robin, who hated every second of it? Damn, that was a new lowest of the low! Billy’s neck ached with strain as he did his best not to look, but he wouldn’t give in! “Forgive the question, partner,” he dropped it, hopin’ to divert the talk, “but if ya’re stuffin’ down so much food, how are ya not as fat as that priest boy?”

Robin clicked his tongue. “I’ve been burning off the calories. When I am not gulping down food here, I’m in the gym to work out. Doesn’t stop flab from piling.” Billy squinted, lookin’ for it, and caught himself. “But it does help.”

With some vigor, Billy’s line of sight moved higher—towards Robin’s arms. True, they were meatier, fillin’ the short sleeves of the shirt. Robin wasn’t a stick before, either, but now he was more powerful. Gorwin’. Maybe his legs had also bulked, but Billy didn’t wanna risk lookin’ at that gut again.

“Of course, after the training, my stomach is starving, and I chew down more food to make up for it. You should see how much EMIYA brings me then.”

Even more? Billy gulped—and before his brain could call out the horrible, horrible idea, he spoke. “Do ya need a partner for this job, partner? Someone to help with the trainin’ and to keep your appetite under control? Because ya can rely on me!”

“You know, that might help. Thanks a bunch!” Robin’s relieved smile stabbed Billy’s heart like a dagger. “Do you want to try it once I’m done here?”

“Sorry!” Billy jumped outta his chair. He wasn’t goin’ to ditch Robin—he owed up to his offers. “I’ve gotta do something else first!” Namely, one red Archer needed a few bullet wounds and a lecture on personal boundaries. “But tomorrow I’ll help ya!” And hopefully, he wouldn’t end distracted by that amazing, achy, hungry gut.

---

“Damn that EMIYA!” Billy shouted as he collapsed on his bed. “And that purple wretch, too! When did they form their party?” His talk with the red Archer a day ago had gone to the dogs. That man had balls of steel—no matter how many threats or bullets Billy wasted, EMIYA did not budge. And B.B. had hidden in her little mouse hole, without a trace of her anywhere in Chaldea. Billy couldn’t find her, no matter how many rooms he checked—as the stupid chef had told him.

“No whiff of the Master, either,” Billy grumbled. Da Vinci had promised to deal with the unruly pair, but B.B. would stop only if her so precious senpai ordered her. And unless she lifted the curse before breakfast tomorrow, Billy woulda to help Robin with the training again. The pillow muffled his screams. His heart woulda exploded in his chest after watchin’ his partner once. God help him if he had to see him bustle those weights while his gut shifted and gurgled. He hadn’t stopped glarin’ at the packed sphere once, paying attention and squirmin’ whenever it swayed. Robin’s unintended teasin’—him drummin’ over the sphere every once in a while—made it even worse. Billy barely had survived today; tomorrow would kill him!

Even worse, he said some calories stuck as fat. Did that mean an ever-flabbier Robin with a softenin’ gut? How much feedin’s would it take ‘till it became an enormous tank of lard; ‘till it sagged over his deck and he needed someone’s help to jerk himself off? It would jiggle whenever he took a step, it would flop over his shorts—hell, Robin woulda to pull them under his belly! His shirt would hide nothing; nay, it would show off those juicy curves.

Billy’s crotch twitched. No! He clenched fists, his nails diggin’ in his palms. “I’m not beatin’ it to Robin, no matter how smokin’ hot he becomes!” There were boundaries to those things! He rolled, now lyin’ on his back. His dick was makin’ a tent in his pants. The movement only made it rub against the fabric, and the pleasure flared up even more. “Self-control, self-control, self-control!” Billy repeated like a mantra. A burnin’, powerful feelin’ arose in his chest.

Would Robin gain love handles, too? They’d be juicy and plump, always to be grabbed when there was a chance. Billy imagined squeezin’ them in his fingers, the flab jigglin’. Would they push his shirt even higher, so large that nothing would cover them? And when Robin tugged it relentlessly, his gut would shake. The threads would strain and groan, but the clothes wouldn’t fit over that engorged mass. When he gained moobs…

Billy shut his eyes. His body was tense and feverishly hot. Sweat was burnin’ his forehead, and the flame in his dick pulsated through him. He shouldn’t think about those two swayin’, soft sacks of flab. He shouldn’t imagine carresin’ them, kissin’ them. Precum moistened his underpants.

“Who knew: I’m a pervert enough to do it!” Gruntin’, Billy peeled off his pants and pulled down his briefs, freein’ his dick. “Only this time!” He snatched the lube from his nightstand—his hands trembled and almost dropped it on the floor—and generously coated his fingers. “Do yer fuckin’ worst, libido!” he swore and began pumpin’ his cock. The first touch rustled through his body, a torrent of pleasure to drown him. No, oh no, oh, oh, oh yes, yes! He was breathin’ heavily, and his hand didn’t stop.

Robin’s moobs would show under his shirt—nay, so large that he couldn’t fit clothes over them. He’d parade around naked, a total show-off, his gut, and moobs, and love handles, and delicious, delicious backrolls for the whole world to ogle. The shirt would be a mere piece of fabric, stretched and useless, good only for hidin’ his shoulders—if even that!

Billy tried to hold his moans—keep at least that dignity. His insides were coilin’, his muscles were shiverin’. His dick stiffened more, and he drew every movement long until his body woulda broken under the strain of lust. He gulped the moan down, opened his lips for a hasty breath, and closed them immediately, the pant havin’ built up in his throat.

Robin would become a titan of a man, his torso a lardy mountain. He would carry all the weight, his freakin’ strong body put to good use. Those powerful arms he boasted an entire day—that was a start because he would also swell with packed flesh. His shorts would tear around his tights, the veiny mass crackin’ them apart. But he would pay no attention to that. The curse would drive him to eat and eat, glut himself more, unable to fight the thrall of the food. He would complain of his growth but never resist because he couldn’t—not even when he outgrew the chairs, the doors, the halls.

His stomach would be stuffed at all times, yet callin’ for more. What if Billy brought him snacks to the gym? Robin went only there and to the dinin’ hall. What if they shortened that time? What if he did not stop fillin’ his gut, gorgin’ himself, the sphere bloatin’ out of proportions, dominatin’ his already enormous frame? Then he would explode into more impossible, more gargantuan sizes. There would be no end, no control, only expansion and flab, and muscle…

Billy arched his back. A desperate, loud moan—almost a hiss—left his lips before he could bite it down. He was thrusting more rapidly, hastily, desperate for that release. If only he coulda Robin with himself, to have his way him.

If he were there—small, almost invisible next to the giant that was Robin, he would cheer. He would rejoice as the other Archer lifted heavier and heavier weights in the gym, his muscles so swole that they would tear the skin open. Veins would run under the sweaty flesh, visible over the bloated mass. And when Robin wanted to eat… Oh, boy, Billy would make sure he packed away his fill. He would push the meals in the other Archer’s mouth, rub his belly to provide comfort, and squish the flab under his fingertips, enjoy it as the gut would seemingly grow under his touch. Or, it would be tight and heavy, stretched to its limits, angry and protestin’ the constant stuffings. But it would be so used to the fullness and the cursed hunger that Robin wouldn’t handle a second without bein’ stuffed. It would be like an addiction—nay, it would be one—to eatin’, to blowin’ up, to growin’ fatter.

And if Robin enjoyed it as much as Billy, then the blond would have no problem givin’ some bonus help. He closed his eyes and imagined Robin’s dick in his hand. The massive roll of his gut pressed into the fingers, and as Billy stroked the cock, it would groan and roar, so overstuffed that it could burst open. He could also ride that massive ball, rub his member all over it while pushin’ caloric meals into Robin’s stomach. Or he could push his shaft between the two lardy ass checks and fuck Robin!

There, almost there! Billy was pantin’, out of breath, hot as coals. His ghosting fingertips ran across the red tip of his dick. It was an itchy, sudden touch that quickly ended. He hoped to prolong that sick, depraved cravin’ for as long as possible. Thoughts of relief were pushed to the corners of his mind.

Once their efforts came to an end, Robin would be huge, too large for his puny clothes. He would march around Chaldea, showin’ off his naked, heavy, thick body. The muscles would sway, the veins of his biceps and calves would shift. His enormous gut—so enormous that it would fall over his erect dick—would gurgle at every step: either achy and overfilled or not full enough and needin’ more. Robin would tend to it, gloat, relish in his new size and consume even more food. He would feed himself further into titanic sizes. Control would slip out of his mind. After gorgin’ himself, he’d be so horny, so desperate, that he’d pound Billy straight there in the canteen.

Cum shot outta Billy’s cock over his hand, and he was moanin’. His sheets were sticky as the white liquid soaked them., but he kept squeezin’ the last few lustful drops. The heat was sated, the achin’ hole in his chest filled for the time bein’. But, he realized with newfound clarity, tomorrow it would set him on fire again. And the thought of Robin attackin’ the filled tables like a beast sent a shiver down his dick again.

---

“Almost… There!” Robin grunted, gritting his teeth, and pushed up the barbell. His arms stretched, his large muscles expandin’ to their full size and squeezin’ again. His sleeves were already rolled as high as possible, not fittin’ around his swollen arms but tried to creep up more. Sweat was glistenin’ on the skin as it rippled - a proof of the effort he was puttin’ in. His round pecs—as big as apples—flexed, hard despite the flab that covered them. They swayed rhythmically as the weight moved up and down, plusatin’, tensin, and relaxin’: one, two; one, two. Billy’s eyes traced them as they shook, and he could see himself gropin’ them, holdin’ that powerful flesh… “And done!” Robin’s proud shout snapped out Billy. But it was for the worse because the huge Archer sittin’ on the bench let the barbell in place and scratched the curve of his gut, which rolled over his waist.

Fidgetin’ and tremblin, about as helpful as a snowball in a summer gunfight, Billy was warmin’ a nearby bench. He had been comin’ every day, unable to tear eyes away from the clothes that seemed to shrink around Robin’s growin’ body. The gym trips didn’t make him any smaller—especially when, after every workout session, Robin gorged himself until his bloated stomach couldn’t fit a morsel more. Then, he’d complain he was so full, drag out long moans and poke the stuffed sphere. As he sated his gluttony, it distended, pushed out more, and sometimes—a hot thrill cut through Billy—rested on his lap.

Billy bit his lips, strugglin’ not to slip a hand down in his pants right at the gym. He rubbed his tights together. His face was sizzlin’ like fire, and his breaths were rushed, unruly, desperate. He shook his head, hopin’ to clear the fantasy, but choose the damned best worst moment.

Robin jumped on the floor. The shockwave rocked the bench. Didn’t the equipment also rattle? Billy swallowed and the gulp lodged in his throat. He was shiverin’, truly feverish, trying’ to look away from the handsome behemoth. He knew what was comin’, but his neck refused to budge.

“Let’s go to the canteen.” Robin grinned lazily, his chubby cheeks jigglin’ a little. “After this stress, I should eat something.” He drew fingers over his exposed belly. Hadn’t he started touchin’ it more often—almost as if he got his kicks outta it.

No, no, no! Don’t think like that!

“Wasn’t the plan that you stopped stuffin’ your face, partner?” Billy wanted to stall—he was a god-damned coward. Once he saw Robin gulpin’ down food like there was no tomorrow, all pretenses of holdin’ back would fly straight outta the window. “Ya sure it’s not the purple hag’s doin’?” He didn’t know if he had the power to stand up without his legs meltin’ in a puddle.

Robin crossed arms behind his back, the mass of his bulky arms and forearms pressin’ together. “Does it matter much? I mean, I am not sprouting a pigtail, right? I was worried B.B. was literal with her curse.” He glanced down at his belly. “I can get used to some flab.”

Billy’s small body clenched as he struggled to hold back a moan. Robin was already a damn-fine lady-killer—in that case, a bloke-killer. His awesome, broad shoulders led to beefy arms, as thick as tree trunks - as possible capable of tearin’ them outta the ground. A soft layer of flab—quiverin’ unless Robin flexed—bloated their size further. But if Billy dragged fingers over ‘em, he’d feel the packed bulk underneath. Those powerful monsters could—a hiss of pleasure pinned him to the bench—snap him in two. Robin’s muscles were top-notch, too: wider than his arms, shaped by constant bustin’ at the gym and the very act of carryin’ his bulk. They were veiny, ripped, and made the puny summer shorts stretch and ride up under the curve of Robin’s gut.

That lardy overhand attracted attention without fail. It was an enormous sphere of pure fat. The hidden muscles kept it in a firm, massive, fat ball. Robin still tugged the shirt around his oversize middle; the buttons ached and shook, hangin’ for their dear life. His poor shorts fared even worse, trapped between the titanic tights and the blobby belly, strained into a thin line of fabric. What if, while Robin was packin’ away food, it snapped in two, no longer survivin’ the pressure? Would he shrug it off and keep eatin’, too gluttonous to consider it? Would he glut himself, his pecs—round, sightly saggin’, the perfect ending touch to his appearance—wobblin’ at the fast movements?

“Hey! Are you coming?” Robin asked. He had turned his back towards Billy. The shirt rested well above his soft, squeezable love handles, which trembled with each step. His bloated ass cheeks pressed together, foldin’ as he walked. The shorts barely covered them—and if Robin kept feedin’ himself and expandin’, no clothing would fit him. When the threads snapped, and his body exploded outta them.

Billy’s mouth opened wide, and he stood up, followin’ their hypnotizin’ sway. It wouldn’t come to that, would it? Robin had more self-control, did he not? But he had no problem with growin’ fatter—and if his eager steps were an indication, he could even await it. Billy’s imagination quickly did its job, paintin’ a pic of Robin, who was eatin’ no longer with resignation but with cheer. He would adore the way his flab folded or his muscles swelled. He would rejoice more the less he could see under the dome of his girth, proudly lift even heavier barbells and dumbbells and eat his weight in food.

“Come, or you’ll miss everything!” Robin shouted from the hall, turnin’ so fast that ripples spread through the entire mass of his engorged gut.

“I’m comin’, partner!” With an uneasy waddle, Billy followed him. Had he found out? Could he? As if he was a mutt with a yanked chain, the blond rushed down to the canteen. His brain could wait. Robin was right; Billy needed to see every second of that show.

---

Billy’s legs dragged him towards the canteen sluggishly, weakly. He hesitated at every step, pulled back, and then minced forward. What if someone saw him? He had to scram as fast as possible, get far from the dinin’ room. His dick was throbbin’ in his pants—and they were so tight that the whole Chaldea musta noticed. Hot sweat soaked him to the bone: anxiety, arousal, and anticipation. He had clenched his hands and mustered whatever willpower was left to him. “I’m not beatin’ it in the halls,” he murmured in the lonely corridor. “No matter how much I’m burnin’, no matter if it’ll drive me insane, no matter that Robin’s embraced piggin’ out and when I enter the canteen, I’ll find him stuffin’ himself sick.” Each second was painfully long-drawn torture as the twitches of pleasure set him ablaze.

“Can you walk faster, please? You partner”—the voice was so heavy with sarcasm that Billy could see it drippin’—“is inside and has already begun. If you arrive too late, he will have finished.”

“EMIYA!” Billy crouched in his shootin’ position. The tight pants rubbed his sensitive cock, and he felt himself edgin’ closer to release. He tried to hide the dick with his hands but brushed its tender head. “You’ve got a lotta courage,” he tried to push away that shameless joy, “showin’ up before my eyes.”

“Keep the rage for later. The curse would have failed if he did not enjoy it.” The unfazed Archer passed by him. Then, he stopped, glanced around shiftily, and turned back. “And you don’t have to thank me for this. Honestly. The grand plan was someone else’s.”

“I’m gonna give you all the gratitude you deserve, no worries!” Billy reached for his gun, but EMIYA slipped past him and disappeared.

He coulda chased the Archer, but there were more pressing things.

With the red vermin gone, Billy opened the doors and entered the canteen. He moved through empty chairs. The lively hall was now ghastly empty, not a sound to distract him.

Only one table was occupied—or, more accurately, three tables put together as a one. There was no other way the oversize feast woulda fitted. Potatoes, dazzlin’ with melted butter; meats with sauce as thick as syrup; mountains of golden, crispy fried rice—those were a few of the dishes, reversed for the special guest. And he was wolfin’ down a huge plate of appetizers along with a large bottle of soda to keep him company, the same ol’ grin plastered on his face. “Hey, partner!” he spoke, his mouth full. “I would say that you can pick whatever you like, but, uh, I have the feeling this is all for me.”

The flame of passion erupted into Billy. He bit his lips, and his hand reached for his cock, stroking it through the pants. It brought some short-lived relief, but then it rose higher—like a wave which would drown him if he stopped. “S-so,” he hoped to move the topic to anything else, “you were serious ‘bout enjoyin’ the curse, partner?”

The enormous gulp traveled down Robin’s throat. “How does it look to you?” He polished away the last few bites and set the plate on a pile of empty ones. When did he have the time? Billy had come ten minutes after him! How fast was Robin gorgin’ himself?

“If the red Archer will be my chef, I might get a use out of him.” Robin moved onto a juiced steak with bewitchin’ aroma and dug straight in, lickin’ the splotches of grease that stained his lips. “It’s not a weak start, but I bet I can do better. There’s a lot more to eat, after all. Do you want to watch?”

If Billy had any sense left, he should have realized the so clear teasin’. But he could only think about Robin’s huge body, about his gut and ass and bottomless hunger. Squirmin’, he nodded.

“Then you can sit here.” Robin patted the space on the bench near himself. “It might be a little tight, but a small guy like you can fit.”

Small. As if in a trance, Billy walked and plopped down, squeezin’ his body as close as possible to Robin’s flab. His left side was sinkin’ in the lard, feelin’ the warmth which the oversize Archer radiated. Those temptin’ rolls bulged over the smaller man, spillin’ over his lithe frame. He was like a mouse next to the engorged mountain that was Robin. “When did ya began enjoyin’ it, partner? Didn’t ya say ya will be stayin’ fit ‘n’ trim?” His hand hadn’t stopped runnin’ over his cock; how the hell had Robin not noticed?

“No, I did not want to be a pig. I thought B.B. would make me a large pink animal, but it seems she hadn’t been literal. Besides”—Robin stopped his feast to grip his flexed biceps, stretchin’ his fingers to fit around it—“this is quite far from a fat pig. I would have ended this earlier, but I had fun playing with you.

“You… On purpose?” Billy couldn’t bear it anymore.

“Why else? Did you think someone missed the way you were staring at me?”

It was as if a bomb had exploded in Billy’s chest. He shoulda been ashamed, distraught that his dirty secret was out in the open. But instead, he felt bliss, utter and true bliss. Robin was on the same page. Robin was on the same page! “Then, partner… Can I?” He was tremblin’, barely able to speak.

“Do whatever you want. You’ve earned it.”

Billy jumped onto him, perchin’ himself atop the blobby gut. His face leaned forward, and he kissed Robin’s revealed moobs. He pressed his lips over the pecs. His face was enveloped in the soft chub, and his tongue caressed them from the perky nipples and up the curve, glidin’ over the muscle underneath.

He began grindin’ against Robin’s belly. The flab engulfed his cock. As Billy thrust into it, his dick not penetratin’ deep enough to fell the muscle, it shook around. Those jiggles made him throb with pleasure, arch his back, and squeeze—squeeze all he could.

Robin’s huge arms were the nearest. Billy’s hands slid over them, feelin’ the muscle ripple. The veins shifted with each movement and… Was Robin still stuffin’ himself?

The fat sphere pushed out, givin’ in less and less. Robin’s gut was growin’, fillin’ up with food, and he was bound to end even flabbier; even bigger—so impossibly enormous that Billy would be but a speck next to him. He’d be so tiny next to that solid wall of flab and flesh and beef!

Jizz soaked Billy’s underpants. The relief—the final relief—crashed over him like a wave and let out an unabashed moan in Robin’s chest. His warm, frantic pantin’ made the skin tingle.

And he rose his head, and his red, messy, wild smirk met a proud grin.

“For such a small guy, you’re pretty intense,” Robin said. He was breathing heavily, his belly pushing in and out. “Do you think you can handle a round number two?”

The blond, ruffled outlaw nodded, his body movin’ before his brain had a chance to react. “You betcha, partner!”

#weight gain story #male weight gain #male weight gain stories #robin hood #billy the kid #fate grand order #fgo #chubwritings

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imanativeofswlondondahling · 4 years

Text

Becoming A Stark? (1) Peter Parker X Stark! Fem Reader

A/N: This will eventually be a Peter Parker X Stark! femReader. However, there was backstory needed so Peter won’t be introduced until Chapter Six. This takes place after Iron Man 3 but before AOU. However time is wishy washy and will pass in weird ways so lol opps. Let me know if you want to be tagged.

Word Count: 3073

Warnings: Swearing

You feel it in your soul that you will hate Tony Stark for the rest of your life. It doesn’t matter that you’re related to him. It doesn’t matter that you’re his daughter. He ripped you from everything you’ve ever known. You were happy living with your grandparents. Sure they were getting up there in age, but you were happy. You had a life, you had friends, hell you had been working on moving forward with your crush and were hoping to have a date to homecoming this year. But all of that was ruined the day that Tony Stark waltzed through your front door. You can’t help but think back to that interaction.

“Nana, who’s this?”

“Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, philanthropist, Iron Man, to name a few things. I’d offer a hand but that’s not something I normally do. I guess, maybe I should due to the circumstances but…” It’s not the first time you’ve seen his face. The Avengers have saved New York a few times, but it is the first time you’ve seen him up close. The dark haired stranger trails off and you’re put off by his attitude alone. Why was someone this stuck up standing in your living room? So instead of saying anything, you turn your head back to your book. Tony decides to take a seat at the opposite end of the couch and tries again. “What are you reading?”

Instead of answering, you just hold up the book and let him read the cover. Once and Future, spelled out on the spine of the book that you had removed the book jacket from while you read. “Y/N, maybe put the book down for a few minutes. I think Mr. Stark-”

“Tony is fine.”

“I think Tony and you need to discuss something.” You hesitantly pick up the receipt you had been using as a bookmark and slide it into the book, not wanting to leave Ari Helix behind, but you wouldn’t be rude to your Nana on a good day. On a day that you had trudged through the snow in your converse, maybe, but not on purpose.

“I don’t know him. I don’t think we have anything to discuss.”

“You’re right, we don’t know each other yet, but I’m hoping that will change with everything that’s going to happen.”

“What’s going to happen?” You can feel your eyebrows fall towards your eyes as you feel as though something is about to change without your permission.

“Well Y/N, I’m… I’m your dad.”

“Bullshit.” You say quickly. “Tony Stark doesn’t have kids. And if he did, there would have been a fucking gossip blog screaming about it already.”

“Well you definitely have my mouth if nothing else.” Tony adds with a chuckle.

“I don’t have anything of yours, because you’re not my dad. I never want to see you again. Get the fuck out.” You push off the couch and turn to run off to your room.

“See that’s going to be a little tough seeing as you're supposed to come live with me.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” You turn on your heels, the anger building quickly. You’ve always been a bit of a hot head, but in this moment you don’t even try to control your temper. “I have a home, thank you very kindly. I don’t fucking know you. And I’m not looking to find a dad anytime soon.” The words spit out of you before you can stop any of them.

“See the thing is, you’re fourteen and I’m your dad. Custodially, you’re supposed to live with me.”

“See the thing is,” you mock before continuing, “You didn’t care for fourteen years, so I don’t give a shit what you think you’re supposed to be doing custodially.” You can’t help but add air quotes around the word custodially. It burns as it leaves your lips. He hasn’t cared about you for fourteen years, why start now?

“That’s because I didn’t know you existed Y/N. I found out about you twenty four hours ago and I’m stepping up now.” The words leave his mouth in an exasperated tone, but he doesn’t raise his voice.

“How?”

“How what?”

“How did you find out about me?”

“Your high school.”

“What?”

“When you registered for school they had your birth certificate. They needed more information. Since it listed me as your father, they reached out to Nat- to my assistant. It was quite the shock to me that my child’s school was reaching out to me, since I didn’t know I had a child but the timing adds up and looking at you, it makes a lot of sense.”

“You were listed on my birth certificate?” This question was aimed at your grandparents more than at Tony-your father.

“We didn’t know if it was true or not. Your mom was in a bad place when she had you Y/N. So we had to take everything she said with a grain of salt. Was she beautiful and loving and did she love you? Yes completely. But did a lot of what she said during that time make sense? No, not at all.” Your nana says as she sits down on the couch, rubbing her knee. It’s probably another bad day. If you leave, who will make sure Nana and Pops are ok?

“I can’t go with you.” You cross your arms as you speak to Ton-your father.

“Why not?” His eyebrow raises over his square glasses.

“‘Cuz someone has to help Nana and Pops around the house.”

“I’ll make sure there’s a nurse helping them. Or better we can move them into a nursing facility where they don’t have to go up and down a bunch of flights of steps all the time.”

“Why would you do that.” The question came out as a demand, especially since you don’t want to believe this man that’s taking you away from the only family you’ve ever known would do something… nice.

“Because they’re your family. I’m not heartless. Well I guess that depends on what your belief on science is and arc reactors are, but technically I do still have a heart underneath all of this.” He points to where you know there would be metal and lights under his suit. “But for right now, we need to focus on getting you to the tower.”

“What tower?”

“Avenger’s tower? It’s closer than Malibu? And in less shambles.”

“So you’re moving me from the home that I know and love, but you don’t even live where you’re moving me?”

“I live there a lot of the time. And the Avengers are there most of the time which means you’ll be very safe. But I do have to travel for business.”

“Then I’ll stay where I am thanks.” Tony goes to speak when Wallace goes off. The beeping is only jarring for him since you and your Nana are used to it going off at random times.

“What the hell is that?”

“That is Wallace.” You say, not clearing up anything. Hmmm, your Dexcom says you’re 205 and rising? You could have sworn you had insulin on board. So you unclip the pump from your side and tap the screen to enter your blood sugar. No correction needed.

“You good babydoll?” Your nana asks from across the living room.

“I’m good. I have insulin on board.”

“You’re diabetic?” Tony asks, putting two and two together.

“Yup. Have been since I was four.”

“And Wallace?” He asks hesitantly.

“Do you honestly care?” You say before rolling your eyes and walking towards the kitchen. Mentally, you slap yourself. You should have grabbed your book. Now you’ll either have to start a new one or wait until your father, you roll your eyes at even saying it, leaves so you can continue your space adventure. Walking down the hallway you enter your room and close the door behind you. All you want to do is shut out the bombshell that was dropped on you and not deal with it. But for some reason you get the feeling that Tony Stark, freaking Iron Man, isn’t one to just let things go.

Giving up on the idea of starting another book, you open your computer and click your Spotify to start playing the playlist you had paused this morning when you had left to run errands with Pops. You only have two weeks of summer left, so you had spent time getting school supplies and groceries before returning to the apartment. While Hitchin’ A Ride by Green Day starts playing, you open Twitter, hoping for anything to distract yourself. But somehow you find yourself on Tony Stark’s Twitter. It was less narcissistic that you imagined for him. Some retweets about Stark Industries, a few comical tweets about wanting a cheeseburger, and then a tweet from twenty four hours that just said HOLY SHIT in all caps and nothing else. Could that be about you? Closing out Twitter, you find yourself opening up your Tumblr to scroll as Lithium by Nirvana played. Or well you tried to scroll, but a knock on your door interrupts you.

“Can I come in?” Tony’s head peaks in.

“If I say no will you go?” You say without looking up.

“Probably not. The people in my inner circle say I’m fairly stubborn.”

“Hmm.” Is the only reply you give him. To be fair, a lot of your friends would say you’re stubborn too so it’s not that surprising that your father is too.

“I know you don’t like it kiddo-”

“Don’t call me kiddo.

“-but we do need to head to the Tower soon. Happy’s been parked downstairs for about as long as he’s allowed to be there.” Tony continues as if you hadn’t said anything. “So how about you pack up stuff you’ll need for the next few days and then I can send Happy and some other people to come get the rest later on?”

“You’re going to send people to pack up my stuff? You know how invasive that is?”

“Ok, I’ll send you over with them, you can pack it up and they’ll move it to the tower, it’s your choice. Or to Malibu if you’d rather. Well that is once the rebuild is done. Long story. But if you stay at the tower, you won’t have to change schools.”

“Yippee. Everyone at school will get to find out that Tony Stark is my father. How much fun will that be.” Your voice is dripping with sarcasm. “I definitely wanted to be ostracized my first year at high school. Thanks for making it even better than I could ever imagine high school being.”

“Look I know this isn’t a win/win scenario, but we can keep your name out of the press until your eighteen if you want. You’re a minor-”

“Yeah, but when the paparazzi see me coming out of the tower, that won’t tip them off.”

“I’ll have Happy drive you. There’s a garage entrance. No one will see you coming or leaving.”

“Great so I just have to give up my freedom. That’s even better than I imagined.”

“Y/N, I know this isn’t what you wanted, or even what you want, but I think we can come up with something that works in the long run. Plus I’m having Pepper, you’ll meet her later, take over SI so I won’t have to do as much. I can try to stay in New York as much as possible. Because no matter what happens, you’re my daughter and I want to know you.” You don’t say anything in response. “I hope one day, you feel similarly.” He says softly.

“I doubt it.” You say honestly.

“Well even if that’s the case, right now we do need to pack up some stuff to take to the tower for now. Want me to hel-” He starts to pick up a sweatshirt from the end of your bed and you snatch it from his hand as you reply.

“I’ve got it.”

“Y/N, we’re here.” Your father’s voice pulls you from your thoughts and you look at the non descript parking garage that is under what you assume is the tower. The man you’ve figured out is Happy, though he’s the exact opposite of Happy, opens your door and you climb out, knowing that Tony will be behind you. Happy goes to grab your bags from the trunk, but you stop him.

“I’ve got it.”

“It’s part of my job.”

“I don’t have an issue carrying my own stuff like some people.” From the trunk you lift out your purple backpack, the black rolling suitcase, and the canvas bag that’s filled with all your pump supplies, sensors, and insulin. You follow Tony and Happy towards an elevator.

“JARVIS take us to the main floors.”

“Certainly sir.” You look up expecting to see a face or something but there’s no one there.

“JARVIS is the AI that runs the whole tower. If you need anything JARVIS is the one to ask. If there’s specific food you want or if you need stuff for school or, well, anything really, just ask JARVIS. I’ll get you added to the levels of clearance that allow you to order anything that you want.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Part of you living with me is that I’m going to provide for you. JARVIS is part of providing for you. I’m not the best at remembering to like grocery shop or send the laundry out so JARVIS helps with that.”

“Send the laundry out? Do you not have a washer and dryer in this whole place?” You cock an eyebrow at how spoiled he sounds.

“We do, but there are other things that take time away from me.” You add continue to do my own laundry to the mental list of things that will make you different from your father. Tony notices the disapproval marked in his daughter’s face and hopes that maybe meeting the Avengers will make up for the disappointment he’s been to her so far. The doors open and in the living room Natasha and Clint are sitting watching a movie while Steve sits in a chair reading a book. “Where’s Code Green?”

“In the lab,” Steve comments, not looking up from the page he’s on.

“That’s Capsicle. Legolas is sitting next to Nat. Big Green is down in the lab and Point Break is currently back at home but you’ll meet him eventually, though hopefully not his brother.” At the sound of being introduced the three in the living room look up and see the girl standing next to Tony in surprise.

“Uh, Tony, are we taking pint size Avengers now?” Clint asks.

“I might be small, but I can kick your knees out just as easily.” You pull on the strap of your backpack, not really wanting to be in this room much longer.

“Ok, before you kick anyone’s knees out. This is not an Avenger recruit. This is Y/N Stark, my daughter.” Ok taking on his last name was something you were going to have to talk to him about because you were perfectly happy being Y/N Y/L/N, not this Y/N Stark bullshit.

“You have a kid?” Steve asks, genuine confusion spread across his face.

“I do. I didn’t know until yesterday, but I’m doing the right thing.” You can’t stop the snort that escapes you. Tony looks over at you.

“Sorry,” You say although you don’t mean it. “Can I es- go to my room?”

“‘Yes, you can escape to your room. I’ll show you where it is.”

“I got it boss. I think you have some people that need answers.” Happy offers. You’re silently relieved that Happy offered to show you. If you had to spend another minute with your dad, you might lose your mind. Happy walks you into the kitchen and opens the fridge as you go past it. You look at him, trying to figure out why he’s opening it. “Tony told me you’re diabetic. You have insulin that needs refrigeration right?”

“Oh, yeah I just didn’t know he told you.”

“Head of security. There’s not much he doesn’t tell me.” Happy turns them towards a staircase leading away from where all the Avengers are. “But you know if you need someone to talk to, or grab a cheeseburger with, there’s things he doesn’t have to know about.”

“I don’t eat meat, but I appreciate it, Happy.”

“He’s going to say you’re not his kid if you don’t eat cheeseburgers.” And for the first time since all of this started, you actually let out a laugh.

Tony’s head turns towards the sound of the laugh. It’s unfamiliar, but he wants to hear more of it. He’s missed fourteen years of your life, but he wants to make things better, he does. He’s just not sure how.

“So you found out you have a kid?” Steve asks, his book forgotten now.

“Yeah, yesterday I found out I had a fourteen year old and then it’s been a whole process of finding out that since she’s mine I have custody technically.”

“So you took her away from all she knows?” Natasha's voice comes softly from the couch.

“I guess you could say that.”

“Did you give her a choice?” Natasha asks, harsher this time. In her eyes anyone could see the remainders of another girl that was taken from all she ever knew and replaced with a hard boiled assassin.

“In the eyes of the state she doesn’t really have a choice.”

“So you didn’t give her a choice.”

“She’s got a medical condition that was costing her family thousands a month on top of her grandparents’ conditions. I’m helping!” Tony’s voice raises for the first time this afternoon since he tried to stay calm around his kid.

“You think you’re helping, but you’re taking her from the only life she’s ever known and I’m betting you gave her no choice in this. All you might get out of this is four years with her and then she disappears from your life.” Clint says softly, not trying to upset Tony, but also hearing the points that Natasha was bringing up.

“You’re going to have to work hard to make this worth it to Y/N, Tony.” Steve says before picking up his book.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #stark!reader #tony stark daughter #peter parker fan fiction #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fan fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker x you #imanativeofswlondondahling #tony stark x daughter!reader

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anna-justice · 3 years

Text

Lost or Found - 19

Summary: As Jay, Hailey, Kim, Adam and Kevin start their junior year in the wake of a tragic summer, the past year of their lives comes back to haunt them. If you enjoyed Pretty Little Liars, this is for you! *UPSTEAD/BURZEK High School AU

...

19 - You’re Mine Now ...

Hailey laughed loudly as Jay spun her around, they had been dancing with their friends for a while and she hadn’t stopped smiling since. Jay grabbed her hand, pulling her closer to him as they swayed. Despite not being able to feel her toes and a pounding headache, it was magical.

The loud music continued and Hailey felt warm breath against her neck. “I love you.” Jay whispered in her ear, only loud enough for the two of them to hear.

Hailey pulled away feigning shock. “Really? I had no idea.” She teased and Jay rolled his eyes and pulled her close, swooping down and capturing her lips with his. “I’m still not convinced…” Hailey said against him before kissing him again.

The pair was forced apart by an announcement from the stage, it was time to crown Homecoming King and Queen. Adam and Kim found their way to Hailey and Jay’s side to await the news. Kim and Adam were both on the court, and everyone agreed that either of them could use a win right now.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please help me welcome to the stage this years homecoming king: Kelly Severide.” One of the teachers called from the stage, and the crowd immediately erupted. Hailey followed her peers, clapping for her attacker. Jay wrapped a protective arm around her waist, his jaw clenched tight.

“Sorry babe.” Kim said, peering up at her boyfriend.

Adam shrugged, “It’s okay. I’m not surprised, it’s Severide.” He laughed, lightening the mood.

They four of them watched as the massive (quite ugly) crown was placed on his head. Jay scoffed, “What a king.” Hailey pushed herself further into him, squeezing the hand that wasn’t resting on her side.

“I’m okay. Don’t let him ruin tonight.” She said and Jay placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for! This years homecoming queen: Sylvie Brett!” They all cheered loudly for their friend, watching a sheepish Sylvie make her way up the stairs to the stage. Matt stood right at the front, cheering for his girlfriend and his best friend: something he never thought he would do.

Jay’s pocket buzzed against Hailey’s hip, causing her to jump. He reached in, grabbing Jay’s attention and pulling out Erin’s phone.

BLOCKED ID: Sweet sweet Sylvie, finally finding her place in the popular crowd. It’s time for the princess to tell everyone who the real queen is. You know…

Jay’s head snapped up, scanning the crowd for anyone out of the ordinary. “Who ever this son of a bitch is, they’re here.”

“Kim.” Hailey said sadly, calling her and Adam over. Once she had their attention, she held up the phone.

Kim sighed, glancing towards the stage where a beaming Sylvie was posing for a photo. “Why does it have to be Sylvie?” She asked sadly.

“I’ll do it.” Adam said, taking her hand.

“No Adam.” Kim snapped, “You can’t. Remember what happened last time?” Hailey looked down at the scar popping out of the front of her dress. “We have to play their game.”

Hailey placed a hand on Kim’s shoulder. “We’ll wait for you by the door, we can high tail it out of here.”

Kim nodded, turning towards the stage. She booked it to the front, taking a deep breath before ascending the stairs. The crowd quieted down as she made it to the top, “Kim?” Sylvie asked, shocked.

“I’m so sorry.” Kim muttered before reaching and taking off her crown. The student body gasped and Sylvie looked so hurt that Kim couldn’t bear to look at her. “I chose to be on the Court last year...with Erin. We had been talking about it since freshman year, and today I stood in this room without her. We all know that if she would have been here, she would have won. And so I say we crown her queen, because she deserved it more than anyone and she deserves to be remembered.” With a shaky breath, Kim handed the crown back to Sylvie and rushed to her friends.

When they reached their cars in the parking lot, Kim broke down, Adam holding her tight as she cried. Hailey stayed tucked into Jay’s chest, hurting for her friend.

Buzz.

BLOCKED ID: You said all the right things Kim, but was it enough?

Jay read it aloud. “What?” Kim choked out. “How was that not enough? God, I can’t take this anymore. Erin wouldn’t have wanted this.” Kim grabs the phone out of Jay’s hand and smashes it on the ground.

“Kim!” Jay calls out right before she digs her heel into the cracked glass. “What did you do?”

Kim took a deep breath, “It’s over. We’re done. Loosing Erin was hard enough without someone torturing us. If they want to hurt us again, they can show their face.” Breathing hard, she stepped on the phone once again. “I’m sorry.” With that she climbed into Adam’s jeep, shutting the door.

Adam sighed, “We should probably head over to Kevin’s, tell him what happened.”

Jay nodded, grabbing Hailey’s hand. “Yeah, we’ll meet you there.”

The pair made their way to Jays truck, sighing as they hut the doors. “It’s been an eventful night.” Jay joked, trying to lighten the mood. Hailey just nodded, pressing her lips together. “Hailes?”

“She smashed the phone Jay.” She rushed out, looking at him with teary eyes for the third time that night. “She broke it, what are we going to do?”

“It’ll be fine.” Jay said, reaching across the center console to hold her hand.

“What if it’s not?” She snapped. “Jay you saw what happened last time. Kim could have died-”

“You could have died.” He said softly, cutting her off.

“Yeah…” She started, “Erin is dead and someone killed her. Kim just destroyed the only thing we have against them and the game keeping us safe. This person has to be psychotic, who knows what they’ll do.” As good as it felt to finally say all the things she had been thinking all along, it was a terrifying admission.

Jay watched a few tears fall from her eyes, his heart clenching. “We will get through this. I don’t know how, but I promise I will not let anything else happen to you.”

Hailey smiled at him, she didn’t know what else to say. She had learned a long time ago that there are some promises you can’t keep, and this one would prove to be the worst.

…

Thirty minutes later the four of them sat in Kevin’s living room, filling him in on the night they had. “So, Sylvie and Matt probably hate us and our stalker can’t easily contact us anymore?”

“Yeah, I’d say that about sums it up.” Adam said.

“Wow.” Kevin leaned forward on his knees, processing.

Jay piped up, “I also thought I saw Erin.” He said, causing Kevin to shoot up in his seat.

“You say Erin?” He asked.

“No,” Jay said cautiously. “I just thought I did, Kev, she’s dead.”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” Kevin sat there in shock, debating whether of not to tell his friends that Erin had contacted his sister. Well, at least someone pretending to be her did. “Guys, a few weeks ago I came home and found Vinessa playing with a doll that looked just like Erin.”

“What?” Kim asked, jumping out of her seat.

Hailey sat forward, “How did she even get it?”

“I don’t know…” He confessed, “But, right before I was about to leave to meet you guys Vinessa told me that my friends Erin had told her that she would see us soon.”

“Holy shit.” Adam said, running his hands down his face.

Kim ran her hands through her hair, pacing around the room. “What have I done? They already got to Vinessa, and they could still contact us! What did I do?” Adam immediately jumped up to comfort her, pulling her into him.

“This is insane.” Hailey said. “We’re seventeen, we aren’t old enough to handle this on our own. We need to get help.”

“And risk the rest of our families?” Kevin snapped.

“Hailey’s right.” Jay said. “We need to tell someone, maybe Hank? He can handle himself.”

“Of course you agree with her…” Kevin muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jay questioned, standing.

Kevin stood up to face him. “You will always take her side, you did it wth Erin and now you are doing it with Hailey.” He gestured to the two couples, “You guys have each other. Me? I have that little girl in there. And she is everything to me, so is Jordan. I have them to think about. I won’t risk bringing them anywhere closer to this!”

Jay clenched his jaw, “We will do our best to keep everyone safe, but I don’t see how this has anything to do with me and Erin.”

“This has everything to do with you and Erin! With all of us and Erin. This all started when you decided to look for her, you couldn’t give her up, but then all of the sudden Hailey swoops in and all that matters is her?” Kevin yelled, “Can you honestly tell me that if Erin was magically alive you wouldn’t go running back to her?”

“Kevin!” Kim shouted, he had crossed a line.

Hailey stared at Jay, awaiting his answer. “I wouldn’t, I love Hailey and how dare you say that I don’t.”

“I’m sorry Jay, it’s not like its your ex girlfriend that got us into this mess in the first place.” Kevin snapped, exasperated.

“Enough.” Kim shouted over them. “She was my best friend, she was our friend.”

“Was she though?” Kevin asked, softer this time.

“Kevin-” Adam started.

“No,” He said, cutting him off. “Erin was a master manipulator, to the point where someone hated her so much that they killed her. She destroyed people, she blackmailed people, she kept each of us around to make sure she stayed relevant. We were her perfect friends, her power. I don’t know how you all don’t see it. She almost blew up a teachers career and shamed Nadia out of town all because she felt threatened. She hated Hailey because Jay thought she was nice! Kim you were just a pawn-”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Adam shouted. “I wasn’t the biggest Erin fan ever, but this isn’t helping.”

“Adam’s right,” Hailey said, speaking for the first time in a while. “This is what they want, for us to tear each other apart. But guys, we are stronger and safer together.”

“To hell with together,” Kevin said, “If you all can’t see her for who she really was, you can get the out. I won’t sit here and pretend to miss a sociopath anymore.” With that, Kevin stormed out of the room, leaving the rest of them to blankly stare at each other.

“I want to go home.” Kim said quietly.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Jay said.

The four of them regrouped in the driveway, “Adam, I think we should all stay at Kim’s tonight. They have the space and I would feel better if we were all together.” Adam suggested.

“Me too.” Hailey agreed, running her hands up and down her arms. Jay noticed immediately, shugging off his coat jacket and throwing it open Hailey’s shoulders. “Thanks.” She said quietly.

“Hailey and I will swing by my house and then meet you there?” Jay asked.

Adam nodded, “Yeah, see you guys in a bit.”

The two couples went their separate ways, Hailey sighing at the warmth inside the truck. She glanced at the clock on the dash. It was almost midnight. “I’m so tired.” Hailey said, yawning.

Jay reached over his seat and grabbed a blanket off the back bench. “Here, go to sleep. I just want to run in for a change of clothes. I’ll wake you up when we get to Kim’s.”

“Thanks.” She said, smiling at him. She laid her head on the center console, pulling the fuzzy blanket over Jay’s jacket. Before too long she was fast asleep. Jay drove cautiously to his house, leaving the car running when he finally arrived. He was going in for just a few things, including a sweatshirt for Hailey, so he wasn’t too worried about leaving the truck unlocked.

When he reached his front porch, a figure in the chair by the door caused him to jump back. He froze as the person stepped into the dim light, he recognized the soft, almost apologetic, smile immediately. “Erin?”

“Hi, Jay.”

…

A/N: I finally posted! Honestly, I’m on a roll and I hope to post a few other new chapters this weekend! I want to finish this story by New Year’s, so be ready! Thanks for reading! <3

P.S. I went through my regular comments and added some people, I hope that’s okay!

@lissethsrojas @fuckyeahkillianemma @puckluck28 @chilly7188 @thebigapocalypsewolf @karihighman @ruzek-halstead @snowwhite013 @tracysupton @anotheronechicagobog

#jay halstead #hailey upton #upstead #upstead au #kim burgess #adam ruzek #burzek #burzek au #kevin atwater #sylvie brett #matt casey #kelly severide #chicago pd #chicago pd au #chicago fire #one chicago

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moldisgoodforyou · 4 years

Text

give a little: chapter three (college!jj maybank x oc)

MASTERLIST

pairing: jj maybank x oc

synopsis: charlotte “charlie” walker is a rising senior at the university of south carolina, an exercise science major, a kappa, and is back in the outer banks for the summer. she’s stubborn as hell, isn’t rich enough to be a kook or poor enough to be a pogue, and is used to being in the background. she and jj both go to USC, her sorority and his frat (beta) running in the same social circles but the two rarely speak at school. things change when they run into each other at the boneyard in the summer.

warnings: drinking, creepy guy hinting at non-consent, swearing, mentions of sex, all characters are 21+

wordcount: 3.5k

_______________________________________________________________________

“Um, JJ’s number, Pope passed it on,” Charlie shrugged. “I’m probably not gonna do anything with it but I thought I’d keep it just in case.”

Grace reached over and plucked it out of her hands, promptly ripping it into pieces despite Charlie’s feeble protest. “We went over this, I told you that boy’s no good for you. Will you let me do your makeup and pick out an outfit?”

“Why’d you have to - ugh, yeah, sure. Whatever makes you happy,” she teased.

Grace clapped together her hands in excitement. “We’re gonna get you laaaiddd!” She sang, making Charlie blush again and whine in response.

“I hate you.”

Grace laughed. “No you don’t. You love me.”

It was an evening ritual of Charlie’s to head to the ocean after work and unwind. She had her board on top of her car at all times and her wetsuit in the back, just in case. As soon as the clock hit 4pm and she traded spots with the high schoolers that manned the evening shifts, she drove straight to the beach. It was one of those days where the humidity felt so thick you were swimming through it and she forgoed her wetsuit for her bikini she wore under her work uniform. As she shimmied her jean shorts down her legs, JJ came around the corner with his board tucked under his arm.

Charlie groaned quietly and stepped back behind her car, but not before JJ noticed her.

“Walker, hey!” He waved, jogging over to her.

She raised her eyebrows, caught off guard. “Walker?” She questioned with a small smile.

JJ grinned, pleased with her reaction. “Yeah, since you refuse to use my name, I figured I ought to do the same.”

She laughed. “Shame. I like the sound of my name on your lips.”

He beamed at the approval. “Here, let me help you with your board.” He set his own down and stepped up close to her, reaching over her to pull her surfboard down from the top of the car.

Charlie swore her heart stopped beating for a second, her cheeks going red. She put her free hand on his bare chest to steady herself.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah?” She looked up, making eye contact.

“Is this just a game to you?” He questioned.

“Is what just a game?”

“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Believe it or not, I don’t exist just to mess with you, Maybank.” She took her board from him and walked toward the water.

JJ just watched her for a second, then jogged to catch up. “Do you surf often? I don’t remember seeing you on the water much in high school. And most Kappas I know are too prissy for that anyways,” he remarked as the two walked out to the water.

She didn’t miss his gaze trailing down her body, but chose to ignore it as well. “We’re not prissy. But no, I picked it up last summer when I had an internship down in Florida. I’m okay,” she understated. After dealing with a shitty boss, she turned to surfing as her therapy and ended up finding time almost every single day to surf that summer. She was no amateur.

They kept casual conversation as they both paddled out past the waves. “Oh, I’m sure you’re not that bad. Let’s see,” JJ gestured to an upcoming wave, letting her take the first ride.

“What a gentleman,” Charlie grinned, paddling out toward the wave. She caught it with ease, standing over the swell and riding it into shore.

Back in the ocean, JJ’s jaw dropped as he watched her take control of the wave. “Holy shit,” he murmured to himself before coming to his senses and catching a wave after her.

He caught up to her on shore, grinning ear to ear. “What the fuck was that?!” JJ cried out.

Charlie smirked and shrugged. “Like I said. I’m okay.”

“If that’s just okay, then I’m just okay.” He bragged. “Seriously, Walker, I didn’t think you could rip like that.”

Charlie just winked. “Race ya!” She yelled over her shoulder, taking off with a head start.

He laughed and chased her into the waves, paddling out and keeping pace with her. They kept taking turns, one after another for a while, until they both grew tired.

“I can’t keep up anymore,” JJ groaned.

“Okay, okay, last one. It’s big, we can both catch it,” Charlie pointed out.

“Deal.” JJ spit into his hand, force of habit with the Pogues, and went to shake Charlie’s hand. She just looked at him in disgust, wrinkling her nose.

“You’re gross.”

He retracted his hand, embarrassed and dipped it in the water. “I was just kidding!”

Charlie just shook her head and started paddling out in sync with JJ, concentrating on the wave. Unlucky for her, he was concentrated on the curve of her ass instead. As they both stood, he got distracted and crashed the end of his board into hers, tossing both of them into the waves. It took an extra beat for Charlie to surface, her leash wrapped around her leg.

She came up with a big inhale, sputtering. “What the fuck, Maybank?” She demanded. Charlie held onto her board for support, coughing up water.

Uncharacteristically, he was bright red, not able to tell her the real reason why he made them wipe out. “Sorry, I, uh, wasn’t paying attention. Are you okay?” He steadied her board for her, coming closer to help her on.

Charlie maneuvered her board away from him, pissed off. “I’m fine, no thanks to you.”

“Shit, Charlie, I really didn’t mean to. Here, I can help you back to shore, check your leg out.” He offered apologetically, starting to paddle in with her.

The last thing she wanted at the moment was his help, but her leg was stinging and that was never a good sign. “I thought you were supposed to be good at this, Maybank.”

Her tone didn’t slip past him and he took her board from her immediately as they got to shore, ignoring her whine of protest. “I don’t know, I’m off my game, I guess.” He saw a trail of blood dripping down her leg and winced. “Stay here, I’ll go grab something for that.”

Charlie glanced down at the scrape on her leg and groaned, flopping back into the sand and shielding her eyes from the sun with her arm.

JJ returned quickly and knelt down in front of her as she propped herself up on her elbows. “I think it’s just a scrape but my board got you pretty good. I’m really sorry, Walker,” he apologized.

“That’s Charlie Walker to you.” She retorted dryly.

He laughed a little, then realized she wasn’t kidding around. JJ carefully dabbed the area with his shirt, wiping the sand away, then covered it in what was probably expired Neosporin and an old bandage. After a few too many falls, Kie made all of them put a tiny first aid kit in their cars ‘just in case.’

“Hey, at least it’s not as bad as when you sprained your ankle at the Clemson tailgate,” he joked to ease the mood.

She shot him a glare. “That was your stupid pledge brother’s fault for running into me.”

He dropped the smile. “Right. Not the beer bong you did beforehand?”

She scowled. “Watch yourself, Maybank.”

“That’s JJ Maybank to you.” He said, testing a smile with her.

When she just rolled her eyes, he gave up. “I think I got you all fixed up, though. I’m sorry. Again.” He ran his hand through his hair, messing with it as a nervous habit.

“It’s whatever. Thanks for the bandaid.” Charlie got up, ignoring his extended hand to help. She grabbed her board and stormed off. It probably was an honest accident, but she was still pissed. Plus, now she had an honest excuse to ignore the boy that had been living in her head rent-free since the first kegger.

_______________________________________________________________________

JJ watched her stomp away and groaned once she was out of earshot. He brought the first-aid kit and his board back to the car, then grabbed his phone and texted the Pogues.

~POGUE LIFE~

JJ: I fucked up

Kie: u ok???

Pope: What did you do

John B: I’m with Sarah is it important

JJ: was surfing with Charlie and I busted her wave

Pope: That’s it?

JJ: no it was bad

JJ: no chance of being friends now

Kie: i’m sure it’s not that bad, you’re such a drama queen

Kie: is she ok?

JJ: yeah I cleaned her up but she’s pissed

Pope: She’ll get over it, I think she likes you

Pope: Has she texted you yet

JJ: no and no thanks to you

John B: well your stuttering in the ice cream shop didn’t help

Kie: play nice boys

_______________________________________________________________________

Friday rolled around, the day Charlie had been dreading. The last thing she wanted to do was go to a party and have a chance of running into JJ again. Normally an accident like that wouldn’t have pissed her off as much as it did, but there was something about the blonde boy that just irritated her to no end. She sat in Grace’s room as her friend practically tore her closet apart, looking for just the right outfit for Charlie. Charlie’s typical beach uniform of choice was just a tank top and jean shorts, but Grace had different plans.

“Try this one on,” she said as she tossed a shirt at Charlie.

Charlie held the garment up with one finger, eyeing it skeptically. “This thing? You can practically see your nipples when you wear it.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “That’s the whole fucking point, Charlie, we’re trying to show you off here. How else do you think I hooked up with the quarterback?”

Charlie gasped, genuinely surprised. “Grace Evans! You did not!”

Grace grinned. “Did I forget to tell you about that one? It was after the Georgia win. Someone had to congratulate him,” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

The real reason Grace kept lecturing Charlie to stay away from JJ? She knew his game way too well - because she was practically the female version herself. She even made it onto the Beta composite last year when she was voted fraternity sweetheart. Sleeping with the president will get you to the top pretty quickly.

“You are too damn much.” Charlie laughed, but pulled on the shirt anyway. Her chest was smaller than Grace’s and the crop top, while still low-cut, flattered her chest in just the right way. “Huh. It’s not too bad.”

Grace beamed. “Then I know the perfect skirt.” She tossed a floral smocked skirt in Charlie’s direction. “I know it’s not your style, but trust me on this. No one will be able to resist you tonight.”

Charlie obliged and pulled it on. “I just need to drink enough to not remember the guy’s name and I’ll be set.”

“That’s my girl!” Grace grinned. “Let’s go, now we’re fashionably late.”

_______________________________________________________________________

It was only an hour into the party before Charlie was tugging at her crop top to stay up and her skirt to stay down to an appropriate length. She was five White Claws deep (thanks to a pregame at Grace’s house) and definitely feeling it. She had seen JJ the second she walked in, but slipped in through the crowd and got away without him noticing. Focusing hard on walking in a straight line, she kept her eyes trained on the ground as she walked toward the keg - and straight into a Touron’s chest.

The guy smiled and reached out to steady her, his glance going south to her chest. “Whoa there, don’t fall for me before we’ve even talked,” he said.

She laughed, cheeks going red. “Hi, sorry, I was just trying to find more drinks.”

He nodded. “Let’s go find more drinks then. I’m Scott.” He placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her through the party.

Normally she would tell him to fuck off and get the drinks on her own, but after a second glance and deciding he was cute enough, she let it happen. “I’m Charlie. Nice to meet you,” she offered.

“Pleasure’s mine, darling.”

She laughed as they entered the kitchen. “You must be from the south.”

He chuckled, pointing to the Alabama logo on his polo. “Guilty. Roll tide.”

Charlie wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. That’s unfortunate.”

He laughed and leaned over her to grab her a canned Smirnoff mixer out of the cooler, along with the last beer for him.

Charlie squinted to read the 8% on the can and shook her head, knowing it was a bad idea, but then reminded herself of the reason she came out tonight and popped the tab with a sigh.

“Let me guess, you go to North Carolina?” Scott questioned.

“No.” Charlie was already bored.

“Duke, then. All the pretty girls end up there.”

She shook her head. “Ugh, no. I go to SC.”

He nodded in recognition. “Ahh, an SEC girl! You must know how to party then.”

Charlie shrugged, letting him carry the bulk of the conversation. “Guess so.”

Behind her, JJ had spotted Charlie following the Touron into the beach house and made his way toward her. Before he got too close, he felt a small hand on his wrist pull him backward.

“Hey - oh. Hi, Grace,” JJ muttered unenthusiastically. She hung around the Beta house far too often last year for him to not recognize her instantly.

She gave him a look, crossing her arms to set the tone. “What are you doing?”

“Uh...just getting more drinks?” JJ tried.

Grace gave him a short laugh. “Don’t humor me, Maybank. I saw you watch Charlie go in there.”

He relented quickly. “Look, I just wanted to say hi, that’s all. I got her leg scratched up earlier this week and thought I’d check in on her.”

Grace scoffed. “Yeah. I heard. I don’t trust you.”

JJ crossed his arms back, annoyed. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why don’t you trust me, Grace Evans?”

Grace pointed two fingers at her eyes, then back at his. “Because I know exactly how you play your game, JJ Maybank, and you’re not playing it with my Charlie. She’s not gonna get hurt because of you.”

JJ frowned. “I just want to check up on her, god!” He raised his eyebrows. “You know, I could do that if you just gave me her number…”

She laughed. “Nice try, stupid. Leave her alone, she’s trying to get laid.”

JJ had just taken a sip of his beer and choked on the drink. He grinned. “Well I could help her with that.”

Grace glared. “Go find some other Touron to pick up tonight, JJ, leave her alone. You’re trouble.” With that, she walked away. JJ turned back to look into the beach house, but Charlie was nowhere in sight. He sighed, walking back to his friends with slumped shoulders.

Pope gave him a sympathetic smile. “No luck?”

JJ shook his head, draining the rest of his beer. “No, I got intercepted by her friend. John B, remember Grace Evans?”

The tips of John B’s ears turned red and his grip around Sarah’s shoulders got a little tighter. “Uh...no?” He tried.

Sarah looked up curiously. “Didn’t she go to your school?”

JJ laughed, lightly punching John B’s arm. “Ohh...of course you remember Grace Evans, you crushed on her for a whole summer until -”

John B’s eyes went wide, telling him to shut up.

Sarah turned to her boyfriend, arms crossed. “Until what, John B?”

John B flipped JJ off. “Thanks a lot.”

Sarah turned back to JJ. “No, go on, I really want to hear this.”

JJ shook his head. “No can do, Cameron,” and walked away before he had to deal with hearing the argument he probably just started.

JJ made his way toward the beach and saw Charlie and the Touron, Scott, sitting out on the sand together. Alone. His brow furrowed and he walked closer til he could hear their conversation.

“We should get out of here,” Scott offered, helping her up from the sand.

Charlie blinked a couple times. “Huh? Honestly...I just wanna go to bed. I’m fuckin’ tired.”

Scott smiled. “Come on, I’ll find you a place to sleep.” His arm went around her waist and trailed along the hem of her crop top.

JJ frowned and jogged over, taking the drink from Charlie’s hand. “Hey, everything okay here?”

Scott nodded. “We were just -”

JJ crossed his arms and straightened up so he had a few inches on him, stepping toward Scott. “I wasn’t asking you. I was asking Charlie.”

Charlie looked between the two of them. “I dunno. I think we’re gonna go take a nap?”

JJ frowned deeper. “With this guy you don’t know?”

Scott dropped his arm from Charlie’s waist and stepped up til he was face-to-face with JJ. “I got her man, don’t worry about it.”

JJ shoved his chest. “Fuck that. You can leave.”

Scott shoved his shoulder back and turned to Charlie, taking her hand. “Charlie, doll, you don’t want me to leave, do you?”

JJ gritted his teeth and stepped in between the two of them, putting Charlie behind him protectively.

Charlie reached up and tapped JJ’s shoulder. “Don’t fight, JJ, please?”

JJ softened at the sound of his name and looked back to Scott. “You heard her. Fuck off.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Whatever. She’s boring anyway.” He walked back to the party and JJ kept an eye on him til he was out of sight.

Seeing Charlie sway, JJ put his arm around Charlie’s shoulders to support her. “Careful, Walker, I got you.”

She leaned into JJ. “I’m not boring, am I, Maybank?”

JJ laughed quietly. “Anything but.”

Charlie nodded, satisfied. “JJ...I’m drunk. Grace is gonna be mad at me.”

He smiled. “Yeah? I’m almost drunk too. Why is Grace going to be mad at you?”

She pouted, sticking out her bottom lip. “Because she let me borrow her clothes so I could get laid.”

JJ grinned, amused. “I heard. And you look great. But why are you so set on getting laid? I mean, no judgment, just seems like you had a very set plan.”

Charlie shrugged, resting her head on JJ’s chest. “My ex cheated on me and I need to move on. A good fuck usually helps with that.”

JJ cleared his throat in surprise, moving his hands to her shoulders and carefully sitting her down. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that. I-uh, um, yeah. Sleeping with someone can help. Sometimes.” He sat next to her but made sure to keep distance between them.

“I mean, you would know, right? You’ve had your fair share of fucking around.” Charlie asked pointedly and scooted closer.

JJ laughed loudly in response. “I guess so?”

She turned to him, a thought occurring and her eyebrows rising. “Oh! Is the thing about the handcuffs true?”

JJ looked at her in shock. “The handcuffs? What thing about the handcuffs?”

Charlie grinned. “You know. With Jenna Gray? She said you two hooked up after the Florida tailgate and you had handcuffs.”

JJ ran a hand over his face, groaning. “Dear god. Now I can see where you’re coming from, talking about my “reputation,” He said, putting the last word in finger quotes. “I never hooked up with Jenna Gray, we kissed at the tailgate and then she puked in our bathroom and I called her an Uber home.”

Charlie sat back, thinking. “Oh. Huh. I wonder how many stories I’ve heard are true, then.”

JJ shook his head. “We’re gonna have to review those together when I’m not as drunk.”

Charlie extended her pinky toward him. “Deal.”

JJ smiled and locked his pinky with hers, then brought it to his lips and kissed it before letting go. “Deal.”

They both turned as they heard voices from a boy and a girl heading their way. Charlie bit her lip as she saw Rafe come into view, hand-in-hand with the girl she had caught him cheating on her with. She weighed her decision, looking back and forth hurriedly between JJ and Rafe walking closer.

“Are you okay, Charlie?” JJ asked, concerned.

“I’m fine, um..” She glanced over just as Rafe seemed to recognize her and turned back toward JJ.

“Oh, fuck it,” she muttered under her breath. Taking JJ by surprise, Charlie leaned over and her lips met his.

He didn’t hesitate to kiss back, threading his fingers through her hair as she pushed him gently back into the sand. JJ took control instantly, flipping them over so he was on top. He broke off the passionate kiss reluctantly, hovering over her as Rafe walked away.

The blonde choked out a laugh. “I’m not complaining, believe me I’m not. But what was that?”

tags: @booksandshish @jiaraendgame

#jj outer banks #outer banks #outer banks fanfic #college outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #jj maybank obx #obx fanfic #obx fanfiction #college!obx #obx x reader #jj x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank fanfiction #mine #jj x charlie

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enviedear · 4 years

Text

that damn american ᵗʷᵒ

quadpot and miniskirts

DESCRIPTION ⌙ in which y/n l/n cheers her brother on for the first quadpot game, and draco is unimpressed by blaise’s love of your miniskirt.

PAIRING ⌙ draco x fem!reader

WORD COUNT ⌙ 1.5k

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

chapter twooooo hehe i’m going to rec two songs from the playlist for this chapter, gold by brockhampton and the chain by fleetwood mac (side note - that would be a great mashup) now, enjoy the second chapter.

it’s been a week since your first day and today is the first quadpot match. you’re eating breakfast with your friends, and mulling over how in the world you’re going to make a halftime routine work with only six girls, when a deep voice calls for you.

you look up to find blaise zabini, “yeah?” you ask.

“i was wondering what a cheer team does. draco’s saying you just yell on the field.” he questions, face utterly calm.

“dude please don’t get her started this early in the morning.” quinn groans, putting a hand to his face.

you make a face at your brother, “actually we’re meant to entertain the crowd. we dance and we stunt. you’ll understand later. i can promise you i do more than yell.”

blaise shrugs and returns his gaze back to draco, who’s glaring at you.

you raise your eyebrows at him, “staring is rude you know.”

the boy doesn’t respond and instead takes a sip of his pumpkin juice.

“hey y/n, i think ally is calling for you, good luck with the practice.” sophie tells you.

you smile at her and make you way to your co-captain. when you reach her, she’s fumbling trying to carry her poms, speaker, and water bottle.

“hey girl, any ideas on how we’re supposed to make this work?” she asks, walking out of the dining hall, you not far behind.

“we haven’t had time to make a new routine so let’s just go with the last year’s homecoming dance and the stunts from our practice before summer.” you say as you both enter the quidditch field.

on the field are the remaining four girls, stretching and laughing.

“alright ladies, i hope you remember the dance from homecoming. now up, we’ve got a game to cheer.” you smile.

lucky for you, your team - well the fraction of it you have - is easy to work with and before practice is over the routine is perfect.

“y/n, do you know where the uniforms are?” ally asks, looking through the trunk full of quadpot and cheer gear.

“i think they’re under the brooms.” you say, leaning down to look yourself.

ally grabs the brooms, and sets them down, going back in for the uniforms. she comes back up with a smile on her face and begins handing them out to the girls.

“thanks,” you say to her as she hands you yours. you look at the rest of the team, “the boy’s are about to be out here to practice so go to your dorms, change, eat lunch, and be back here at exactly 4:00.” you tell them.

they nod at you and sprint for the castle.

you and ally continue clearing the field and after five minutes the boys’ are behind you.

“hey y/n.” your brother greets, grabbing his broom from the ground.

“hey quinn, good luck tonight.” you smile.

“i appreciate it, but we’re playing horned serpent. and even though we’re down to half a team, they’re going to get pummeled.” he laughs, shoving sebastian.

you roll your eyes at the two of them and bid them farewell before making your way to the slytherin common room.

you head straight for your dorm and are met with april and sophie laughing profusely.

“what the hell did i miss?” you ask, looking at the two of them.

“bitch, april made that video from last night one of those gta ‘wasted’ memes and i sent it around the school. i just got a snap of draco reacting to it and, holy shit, it’s too good.” sophie laughs.

you snatch the phone from her and watch the video. draco is sat outside on a bench talking with zabini when a pukwudgie, davis, comes up to him, holding out his phone and telling the blond to play the video. after a short lived moment of draco and blaise asking what exactly the phone is, draco plays the video. you see his face grow bright red and begin insulting the video, yelling ‘just wait until my father hears about this’.

“that’s beautiful.” you chuckle, giving sophie the phone back.

“i think draco’s my favorite person i’ve met so far.” april giggles. “he’s such a spoiled brat. it’s amazed me.”

the three of you continue talking as you slip into your uniform. the black and orange colored top and skirt are tight on your body. the top is decorated with the wampus emblem and the skirt is simple with a small slit on the left side.

“i think those skirts get shorter every year.” april winks, smacking your ass.

“oh shut up, let’s grab lunch before the game, i’m hungry.” you smile, grabbing your poms.

you and your friends enter the dining hall, scoring seats near the head of the table.

you grab some roast chicken and a hefty helping of potatoes and begin scarfing down your food.

you and your friends don’t talk much, finding the food much more important.

“you eat like a starved house elf.” draco says, sitting beside you.

“keep up the insults and i won’t throw you a wampus tee-shirt during the game. you’d feel pretty left out without one.” you smirk, taking a bite of your chicken.

“well, y/n, i’d love to get a shirt,” blaise grins. “so long as you keep that uniform on for the rest of the night. i’m fond of the skirt.”

you let out a shocked laugh, “jeez buddy, i didn’t know it took one tiny skirt to win you over. wait till you see the rest of the team, you might have a heart attack.”

blaise laughs and draco seems wildly uncomfortable between the two of you. you’re enjoying the little game blaise is playing with draco.

“so what’s the routine for tonight’s game?” sophie asks.

“we’re dancing to gold, the song we used at homecoming, and doing the pyramid from last year’s spring pep rally.” you say.

“i love that song. and the dance is hot, i’m so glad i get to take you back to my room once it over.” april teases.

you wink at her, “i’m going to be the one in control tonight, baby.”

the three of you laugh.

“you’re going to be doing more provocative dancing tonight? great. let the whole school know you’re a bin-” blaise interrupts draco, “we’re excited to see it.” he says.

draco rolls his eyes, smiling ever so slightly.

‘so he’s enjoying this too’

soon enough, it’s game time. the boy’s enter the field and you and the rest of the girls and crowd cheer them on. the game is fast and your brother leads the wampus team easily.

come half-time, the horned serpents are tired and ready to have the game over. but wampus house, and the rest of hogwarts, is awake and wild. the routine you preform with your team is a hit instantly and the hogwarts students soon become acquainted with all the cheers.

when the game finally ends, you rush to give your brother a hug.

“you did so good baby brother!” you giggle, pinching his cheek.

his curls on his head are a mess, but the smile on his face doesn’t fade.

“did you see when i threw the quad at finn,” your brother chuckles. “blew up right in his stupid face. i mean that play was legendary.”

you’re about to respond before the wampus team lifts your brother up heading toward the locker room chanting, ‘l/n! l/n! l/n!’.

you stick around after everyone else to clean, telling your team to enjoy the rest of their night. you finally make it to the slytherin stands, ready to clean up the copious amounts of wrappers and cups.

“i don’t need your help.” draco says, emerging from the stands, holding a bag full of trash.

“sucks. i’m already here.” you shrug.

draco groans, “this a prefects’ job. i don’t need some dumb american to help me.”

“you’re not doing a good job at pretending to hate me. and isn’t there two prefects?” you ask.

“i don’t have to pretend. i don’t like you now and i’ll never like you. you’re just so loud.” he shutters.

“answer my next question.” you command, taking the bag of trash from him and picking up more.

“of course there are two prefects’, but parkinson neglects her duties.” he huffs.

“then what’s the issue with me helping again?” you smirk.

draco sighs, defeated, “i guess you’re right. i still don’t like you though.”

“fine by me, draco malfoy.” you smile.

after a few minutes, the two of you are done and walking back to the slytherin common room.

“you know, you’re not the worst company.” you tell the boy.

“thanks, you’re okay.” he says, giving you a teasing look.

“so are we cool?” you ask before stating the password to the common room.

just as draco is about to reply, the door opens and shows the two of you a vibrant scene.

the slytherin common room is in the midst of a party.

you look to draco and see him looking utterly pissed.

‘this should be fun’.

#—myfics !#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco fanfiction #draco lucius malfoy #draco x y/n #draco x reader #draco x female reader #draco x poc! reader #draco x black!reader #draco malfoy series #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #hogwarts #draco x ilvernmorny! reader #draco x american! reader

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wreckofawriter · 5 years

Text

Just Checking

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Slytherin!reader

Word Count: 2,219

Warnings: None

Request: Hey! I just read some of your work and you're brilliant! Can I get a 2 and a 23 paired with Fred Weasley? You write him so wonderfully

2: "Hey... what's wrong with your face?"

23: "I cant belive I'm about to tell you this."

A/n: Holy shit this is late. I'm so sorry. I was with family all week and had no time to write. Anyway, I hope you guys like it!❤

You picked your head up from your book as you heard a whooping cheer come from the head of the room. You were greeted by the sight of identical redhead who bounced into the room with excitement.

Your eyes instinctively rolled as you saw the older twin wink at you.

"It's not going to work." A young Gryffindor girl named Hermione Granger said in a sing songy voice.

"Oh yeah?" George asked.

"And why's that Granger?" Fred finished.

"You see this?" She gestured toward the growing ring on the floor, "This is an age line. Dumbledore drew it himself."

"So?" Fred asked.

Hermione and you both huffed in unison, they were incompetent.

"So, someone that brilliant won't be fooled by something as pathetically dim witted as an aging potion." She scoffed.

"Ah but that's why it's so brilliant." Fred chuckled.

"Because it's so pathetically dim witted." George finished.

"Are you truly that stupid Weasley?" You asked, raising both eyebrows at the boys.

"Probably." Fred shrugged. Before they both straightened up, shaking their bottles. "But if you're so sure it won't work y/l/n you wouldn't mind going on a date if it did." He teased.

"Sure." You shrugged so sure of Dumbledore's ability you would have bet your life on it.

"Alright then it's a deal." Fred winked again, you rolled your eyes again. "And no backing out when I win."

"If you win." You corrected.

"Ready Fred?" They younger asked.

"Ready George." The older responded.

"Bottoms up!" They said in unison as they crossed their arms and downed their bottles.

Then together they lept from where they were standing into the age circle. To your horror, it allowed them in, you felt your heart begins to pick up speed as Fred smirked at you, cheers erupting from those around you.

"Proves nothing." You scoffed.

"But we got into the impossible age line." George pointed out.

"I'm thinking this weekend at hogsmeade," Fred joked as he danced around the goblet adding his name at the same time as his brother, "We could go to the three broomsticks then Honeydukes. What do you think?" He asked turning toward you. Just then the two boys were thrown from the circle in a flash of blue. Everyone around you gasped. You on the other hand giggled.

After a few seconds you walked towards the heaps on the ground still laughing.

"I think that would be terrible." You smirked. Fred then looked up at you and laughter erupted from your lips, "Hey ...what's wrong with your face?" You giggled uncontrollably.

Fred raised his white bushy eyebrows at you and you fell to the floor in a fresh wave of laughter, this went way better than you thought it would.

"Fred?" George asked from beside him. The twins locked eyes shocked expressions taking over their faces.

"This is your fault!" Fred gasped growing red.

"My fault!" George gasped, "How is this my fault?"

You stood up smirked once again waving at the old men in front of you, before turning and leaving the scene, green robes billowing behind you.

"I'm gonna kill you George!" Fred shouted leaping on his brother after watching your reatreting form.

"He's staring again." Adrian whispered into your ear.

"What's new?" You grumbled rolling your eyes. It wasn't like you needed Adrian to tell you about the staring, you could feel Freds eyes boring holes into the back of your head.

Adrian chuckled and let his eyes wander to the front of the class. You tried to do the same but the thought of Fred's deep brown eyes being locked on you made focusing an impossible dream.

You whipped your head around immediately meeting his eyes. You glared at him and he winked back. On a reflex you rolled your eyes and turned your head back to the front of the class.

Fred had been like this since second year, the stares, the winks, the jokes, the flirting. It never ended. You had simply become accustomed to it. You remembered when it first happened. He had flirted with you in Snape's class, after he was separated from George he was forced upon you and you had been so flustered as a 12 year old girl who had never been flirted with before that you split all of the potion you were making. And since then he had always been there, annoying you, making you blush, embarrassing you. You had simply become accustomed to Fred.

Once Flitwick dismissed you, you and Adrian left the classroom and headed toward potions. Personally you loved potions you knew that many people hated it because of Snape, but hell, he loved you, you were one of his top students. So when you entered the dungeons you couldn't help but feel a bit more peppy.

"I wonder what we are going to be studying today." You gasped excitedly, "I hope its poisons!"

Adrian laughed, "You are so weird y/l/n."

"Thanks." You smirked before entering the classroom and taking your seat. You glanced at the board and felt excitement once again rise in your throat.

In Snape's signature handwriting could be read one word. Amortentia. You tapped your feet on the floor excited for the lesson ahead of you.

After a few more minutes the classroom had filled up, well at first you thought it did, but at the same time, it seemed incredibly empty. Why was that?

You brushed of the feeling and focused back on the board.

"Does anyone know the effects of this potion?" Snape drawled.

Your hand shot in the air.

"Ms. Y/l/n?"

"Amortentia is the world's strongest know love potion. When given to a person it makes you fall into a desperate infatuation with that whom presented it. When smelling Amortentia you smell that which you love" you finished taking in a breath.

"Very good Ms. Y/l/n, 15 points to Slytherin."

You smiled and then was once again overwhelmed with that empty feeling. Something was missing. Once again you brushed it off.

"Now as Ms. Y/l/n said when you smell Amortentia you smell what you love. So I have some and I would like you to take notes on what you smell." Snape snapped, seeming very uncomfortable happy as usual.

He waved his wand and a small cauldron drifted to each desk. You could smell the most beautiful concoction of things the second it reached your table. You inhaled deep trying to place the smells.

You smelt fresh rain on grass. You smelt blueberry pancakes, bleach from a chlorinated pool and, what was that smell?

It was sweet with a bit of smoky to it, like candy and gunpowder mixed, you inhaled more deeply trying desperately to place the smell but you were helpless.

Just then there was a loud bang from the front of the classroom. Your head whipped upwards to see two red headed twins speaking to Snape. They seemed to be laughing, Snape was quite unamused.

They headed to there seats being followed by "45 points from Gryffindor!"

When they passed you Fred through you a wink. They then took the desk behind you and you focused back on that smell. What was it?

Just as you were getting back into your thoughts you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around to be met with those deep brown eyes.

"Yes Fred?" You asked impatiently.

"So, y/n I was wondering if you would do me the pleasure of accompanying me to the ball in a few weeks?" He smirked, his messy red hair falling into his face.

You rolled your eyes, "Try fixing your hair next time Weasley." You said as you brushed his hair out of his face.

Fred flashed red from the contract but gained his composure quite quickly, "Oh, but I'm sure you would love to see my hair messy every morning."

You scoffed and inhaled sharply, on that inhale you got a strong whiff of that smell again, stronger than before. But you were facing away from the Amortentia? Then it hit you like a bus.

You were smelling Fred in the potion resting on your desk. Your face was bathed in crimson as you look back up at the boy. Your breathing had become shallow and your eyes were panicked.

Unsure of what to do you simply snatched your stuff off of your desk and sprinted for the door.

You could hear your name being called by various voices behind you but you didn't care. You kept sprinting until you were completely out of breath. You then walked to the side of the corridor and slid to the floor.

What the hell was happening? Why did you smell Fred? You didn't love Fred! He was the annoying git you had to deal with since you got boobs in 2nd year, he was just the guy who wouldn't stop flirting with you, and embarrassing you. He was just Fred.

Fred. Fred and his stupidly soft red hair and his idiotic deep brown eyes. Fred with his ridiculous jokes and his imbecile smile that made his eyes sparkle. Fred who's absence made rooms seem empty, Fred who made you smile everyday. Fred who told that Gryffindor to fuck off in third year and punched that Ravenclaw in fifth because they were messing with you. Fred who you secretly missed every summer. Fred who was always there. Fred who you always wanted there. Fred who you were in love with.

You buried your head in your hands and drew your knees to your chest. This couldn't be happening. What if your parents found out you were in love with a Weasley, a blood traitor. They would kill him and disown you! You began to panic again, your heart speeding in your chest you could feel you head pounding and your breath coming in short gasps.

"Oh thank god." You heard looking up.

Your eyes were greeted by a tall slim figure you recognized instantly.

"Oh Merlin y/n are you alright?" Fred asked dropping to his knees in front of you.

Your breathing picked up speed and you began to stand up.

"Woah woah woah woah!" Fred gasped putting his large hands on your shoulders to keep you in place. "I'm not going to hurt you alright?" His eyes were soft, his pink lips pulled into a concerned frown. "I'd never hurt you." He whispered

"Just slow your breathing down for me alright?" He asked raising his eyebrows, "In and out nice and slow, in and out."

As he talked to you you closed your eyes and followed his instructions. After a few minutes your breathing was normal and you opened your eyes again.

You were almost taken aback by the sight. There Fred was his smooth red hair hanging on his face, his deep brown eyes sparkling in the faint candlelight that bounced of the dungeon walls, his lips looked deliciously soft a small smile playing on them.

"You okay?" He asked

You nodded slowly trying not to stare at those lips.

"I just want to say, I was just making a joke, I didn't mean anything by it. It's not like I'm go-"

"I didn't leave because of your stupid joke." You chuckled.

"Oh." Fred looked surprised, he leaned back into a sitting position loosely hanging his arms around his knees.

"Yeah." You murmured looking down at the stone floor.

"Why did you leave then?" He questioned.

You huffed, "Well um." You paused, "I can't believe I'm about to tell you this." You squeezed your eyes shut pursuing your lips before opening them and saying, "I smelled you in my Amortentia potion and it wasn't until you got close to me when I realized."

You opened your eyes slowly. Fred's mouth was hanging open and his eyes were the size of golfballs.

"A-are you serious?" He stammered.

You once again nodded slowly.

"You love me?" He all but whispered.

You bit your lip and nodded again even more hesitant.

Fred just sat there. He shook his head in confusion and exhaled loudly.

"Please don't freak out." You begged. "Because I'm already freaking out and if you freak out I don't think I'm going to be okay. I mean if my parents find out I'm in love with a Weasley they will probably disown me or something and-"

"Hey." Fred placed his arms on your shoulders again, "You are going to be alright, I promise." His lips were parted in a wide smile, his white teeth flashed brilliantly.

You took a deep breath in and then let it out, "Okay."

"Now can I kiss you?" Fred asked blushing a bit.

"Please." You begged. With that his lips were on yours. His hands moved from your shoulders to your waist as yours found his hair. He pulled you close as he could closing all the space between you.

You felt his tongue graze your lip and you opened your mouth as you tugged on his hair lightly.

Eventually you broke away gasping for air from swollen lips. Removing you hands from his hair and placing them around his neck.

"Hey y/n/n?" Fred smirked.

"Yes Fred?" You inquired.

"Would you go to the ball with me?" He smiled.

"Of course idiot." You giggled.

"Just checking."

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path-of-my-childhood · 5 years

Text

The Rolling Stone Interview: Taylor Swift

By: Brian Hiatt for The Rolling Stone Magazine Date: September 18th 2019

In her most in-depth and introspective interview in years, Swift tells all about the rocky road to 'Lover' and much, much more.

Taylor Swift bursts into her mom’s Nashville kitchen, smiling, looking remarkably like Taylor Swift. (That red-lip, classic thing? Check.) “I need someone to help dye my hair pink,” she says, and moments later, her ends match her sparkly nail polish, sneakers, and the stripes on her button-down. It’s all in keeping with the pastel aesthetic of her new album, Lover; black-leather combat-Taylor from her previous album cycle has handed back the phone. Around the black-granite kitchen island, all is calm and normal, as Swift’s mom, dad, and younger brother pass through. Her mom’s two dogs, one very small, one very large, pounce upon visitors with slurping glee. It could be any 29-year-old’s weekend visit with her parents, if not for the madness looming a few feet down the hall.

In an airy terrace, 113 giddy, weepy, shaky, still-in-disbelief fans are waiting for the start of one of Swift’s secret sessions, sacred rituals in Swift-dom. She’s about to play them her seventh album, as-yet unreleased on this Sunday afternoon in early August, and offer copious commentary. Also, she made cookies. Just before the session, Swift sits down in her mom’s study (where she “operates the Google,” per her daughter) to chat for a few minutes. The black-walled room is decorated with black-and-white classic-rock photos, including shots of Bruce Springsteen and, unsurprisingly, James Taylor; there are also more recent shots of Swift posing with Kris Kristofferson and playing with Def Leppard, her mom’s favorite band.

In a corner is an acoustic guitar Swift played as a teenager. She almost certainly wrote some well-known songs on it, but can’t recall which ones. “It would be kind of weird to finish a song and be like, ‘And this moment, I shall remember,’'” she says, laughing. “‘This guitar hath been anointed with my sacred tuneage!'”

The secret session itself is, as the name suggests, deeply off-the-record; it can be confirmed that she drank some white wine, since her glass pops up in some Instagram pictures. She stays until 5 a.m., chatting and taking photos with every one of the fans. Five hours later, we continue our talk at length in Swift’s Nashville condo, in almost exactly the same spot where we did one of our interviews for her 2012 Rolling Stone cover story. She’s hardly changed its whimsical decor in the past seven years (one of the few additions is a pool table replacing the couch where we sat last time), so it’s an old-Taylor time capsule. There’s still a huge bunny made of moss in one corner, and a human-size birdcage in the living room, though the view from the latter is now of generic new condo buildings instead of just distant green hills. Swift is barefoot now, in pale-blue jeans and a blue button-down tied at the waist; her hair is pulled back, her makeup minimal.

How to sum up the past three years of Taylor Swift? In July 2016, after Swift expressed discontent with Kanye West’s “Famous,” Kim Kardashian did her best to destroy her, unleashing clandestine recordings of a phone conversation between Swift and West. In the piecemeal audio, Swift can be heard agreeing to the line “…me and Taylor might still have sex.” We don’t hear her learning about the next lyric, the one she says bothered her — “I made that bitch famous” — and as she’ll explain, there’s more to her side of the story. The backlash was, well, swift, and overwhelming. It still hasn’t altogether subsided. Later that year, Swift chose not to make an endorsement in the 2016 election, which definitely didn’t help. In the face of it all, she made Reputation — fierce, witty, almost-industrial pop offset by love songs of crystalline beauty — and had a wildly successful stadium tour. Somewhere in there, she met her current boyfriend, Joe Alwyn, and judging by certain songs on Lover, the relationship is serious indeed.

Lover is Swift’s most adult album, a rebalancing of sound and persona that opens doors to the next decade of her career; it’s also a welcome return to the sonic diversity of 2012’s Red, with tracks ranging from the St. Vincent-assisted über-bop “Cruel Summer” to the unbearably poignant country-fied “Soon You’ll Get Better” (with the Dixie Chicks) and the “Shake It Off”-worthy pep of “Paper Rings.”

She wants to talk about the music, of course, but she is also ready to explain the past three years of her life, in depth, for the first time. The conversation is often not a light one. She’s built up more armor in the past few years, but still has the opposite of a poker face — you can see every micro-emotion wash over her as she ponders a question, her nose wrinkling in semi-ironic offense at the term “old-school pop stars,” her preposterously blue eyes glistening as she turns to darker subjects. In her worst moments, she says, “You feel like you’re being completely pulled into a riptide. So what are you going to do? Splash a lot? Or hold your breath and hope you somehow resurface? And that’s what I did. And it took three years. Sitting here doing an interview — the fact that we’ve done an interview before is the only reason I’m not in a full body sweat.”

When we talked seven years ago, everything was going so well for you, and you were very worried that something would go wrong. Yeah, I kind of knew it would. I felt like I was walking along the sidewalk, knowing eventually the pavement was going to crumble and I was gonna fall through. You can’t keep winning and have people like it. People love “new” so much — they raise you up the flagpole, and you’re waving at the top of the flagpole for a while. And then they’re like, “Wait, this new flag is what we actually love.” They decide something you’re doing is incorrect, that you’re not standing for what you should stand for. You’re a bad example. Then if you keep making music and you survive, and you keep connecting with people, eventually they raise you a little bit up the flagpole again, and then they take you back down, and back up again. And it happens to women more than it happens to men in music.

It also happened to you a few times on a smaller scale, didn’t it? I’ve had several upheavals in my career. When I was 18, they were like, “She doesn’t really write those songs.” So my third album I wrote by myself as a reaction to that. Then they decided I was a serial dater — a boy-crazy man-eater — when I was 22. And so I didn’t date anyone for, like, two years. And then they decided in 2016 that absolutely everything about me was wrong. If I did something good, it was for the wrong reasons. If I did something brave, I didn’t do it correctly. If I stood up for myself, I was throwing a tantrum. And so I found myself in this endless mockery echo chamber. It’s just like — I have a brother who’s two and a half years younger, and we spent the first half of our lives trying to kill each other and the second half as best friends. You know that game kids play? I’d be like, “Mom, can I have some water?” And Austin would be like, “Mom, can I have some water?” And I’m like, “He’s copying me.” And he’d be like, “He’s copying me.” Always in a really obnoxious voice that sounds all twisted. That’s what it felt like in 2016. So I decided to just say nothing. It wasn’t really a decision. It was completely involuntary.

But you also had good things happen in your life at the same time — that’s part of Reputation. The moments of my true story on that album are songs like “Delicate,” “New Year’s Day,” “Call It What You Want,” “Dress.” The one-two punch, bait-and-switch of Reputation is that it was actually a love story. It was a love story in amongst chaos. All the weaponized sort of metallic battle anthems were what was going on outside. That was the battle raging on that I could see from the windows, and then there was what was happening inside my world — my newly quiet, cozy world that was happening on my own terms for the first time. . . . It’s weird, because in some of the worst times of my career, and reputation, dare I say, I had some of the most beautiful times — in my quiet life that I chose to have. And I had some of the most incredible memories with the friends I now knew cared about me, even if everyone hated me. The bad stuff was really significant and damaging. But the good stuff will endure. The good lessons — you realize that you can’t just show your life to people.

Meaning? I used to be like a golden retriever, just walking up to everybody, like, wagging my tail. “Sure, yeah, of course! What do you want to know? What do you need?” Now, I guess, I have to be a little bit more like a fox.

Do your regrets on that extend to the way the “girl squad” thing was perceived? Yeah, I never would have imagined that people would have thought, “This is a clique that wouldn’t have accepted me if I wanted to be in it.” Holy shit, that hit me like a ton of bricks. I was like, “Oh, this did not go the way that I thought it was going to go.” I thought it was going to be we can still stick together, just like men are allowed to do. The patriarchy allows men to have bro packs. If you’re a male artist, there’s an understanding that you have respect for your counterparts.

Whereas women are expected to be feuding with each other? It’s assumed that we hate each other. Even if we’re smiling and photographed together with our arms around each other, it’s assumed there’s a knife in our pocket.

How much of a danger was there of falling into that thought pattern yourself? The messaging is dangerous, yes. Nobody is immune, because we’re a product of what society and peer groups and now the internet tells us, unless we learn differently from experience.

You once sang about a star who “took the money and your dignity, and got the hell out.” In 2016, you wrote in your journal, “This summer is the apocalypse.” How close did you come to quitting altogether? I definitely thought about that a lot. I thought about how words are my only way of making sense of the world and expressing myself — and now any words I say or write are being twisted against me. People love a hate frenzy. It’s like piranhas. People had so much fun hating me, and they didn’t really need very many reasons to do it. I felt like the situation was pretty hopeless. I wrote a lot of really aggressively bitter poems constantly. I wrote a lot of think pieces that I knew I’d never publish, about what it’s like to feel like you’re in a shame spiral. And I couldn’t figure out how to learn from it. Because I wasn’t sure exactly what I did that was so wrong. That was really hard for me, because I cannot stand it when people can’t take criticism. So I try to self-examine, and even though that’s really hard and hurts a lot sometimes, I really try to understand where people are coming from when they don’t like me. And I completely get why people wouldn’t like me. Because, you know, I’ve had my insecurities say those things — and things 1,000 times worse.

But some of your former critics have become your friends, right? Some of my best friendships came from people publicly criticizing me and then it opening up a conversation. Hayley Kiyoko was doing an interview and she made an example about how I get away with singing about straight relationships and people don’t give me shit the way they give her shit for singing about girls — and it’s totally valid. Like, Ella — Lorde — the first thing she ever said about me publicly was a criticism of my image or whatever. But I can’t really respond to someone saying, “You, as a human being, are fake.” And if they say you’re playing the victim, that completely undermines your ability to ever verbalize how you feel unless it’s positive. So, OK, should I just smile all the time and never say anything hurts me? Because that’s really fake. Or should I be real about how I’m feeling and have valid, legitimate responses to things that happened to me in my life? But wait, would that be playing the victim?

How do you escape that mental trap? Since I was 15 years old, if people criticized me for something, I changed it. So you realize you might be this amalgamation of criticisms that were hurled at you, and not an actual person who’s made any of these choices themselves. And so I decided I needed to live a quiet life, because a quiet personal life invites no discussion, dissection, and debate. I didn’t realize I was inviting people to feel they had the right to sort of play my life like a video game.

“The old Taylor can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Because she’s dead!” was funny — but how seriously should we take it? There’s a part of me that definitely is always going to be different. I needed to grow up in many ways. I needed to make boundaries, to figure out what was mine and what was the public’s. That old version of me that shares unfailingly and unblinkingly with a world that is probably not fit to be shared with? I think that’s gone. But it was definitely just, like, a fun moment in the studio with me and Jack [Antonoff] where I wanted to play on the idea of a phone call — because that’s how all of this started, a stupid phone call I shouldn’t have picked up.

It would have been much easier if that’s what you’d just said. It would have been so, so great if I would have just said that [laughs].

Some of the Lover iconography does suggest old Taylor’s return, though. I don’t think I’ve ever leaned into the old version of myself more creatively than I have on this album, where it’s very, very autobiographical. But also moments of extreme catchiness and moments of extreme personal confession.

Did you do anything wrong from your perspective in dealing with that phone call? Is there anything you regret? The world didn’t understand the context and the events that led up to it. Because nothing ever just happens like that without some lead-up. Some events took place to cause me to be pissed off when he called me a bitch. That was not just a singular event. Basically, I got really sick of the dynamic between he and I. And that wasn’t just based on what happened on that phone call and with that song — it was kind of a chain reaction of things.

I started to feel like we reconnected, which felt great for me — because all I ever wanted my whole career after that thing happened in 2009 was for him to respect me. When someone doesn’t respect you so loudly and says you literally don’t deserve to be here — I just so badly wanted that respect from him, and I hate that about myself, that I was like, “This guy who’s antagonizing me, I just want his approval.” But that’s where I was. And so we’d go to dinner and stuff. And I was so happy, because he would say really nice things about my music. It just felt like I was healing some childhood rejection or something from when I was 19. But the 2015 VMAs come around. He’s getting the Vanguard Award. He called me up beforehand — I didn’t illegally record it, so I can’t play it for you. But he called me up, maybe a week or so before the event, and we had maybe over an hourlong conversation, and he’s like, “I really, really would like for you to present this Vanguard Award to me, this would mean so much to me,” and went into all the reasons why it means so much, because he can be so sweet. He can be the sweetest. And I was so stoked that he asked me that. And so I wrote this speech up, and then we get to the VMAs and I make this speech and he screams, “MTV got Taylor Swift up here to present me this award for ratings!” [His exact words: “You know how many times they announced Taylor was going to give me the award ’cause it got them more ratings?”] And I’m standing in the audience with my arm around his wife, and this chill ran through my body. I realized he is so two-faced. That he wants to be nice to me behind the scenes, but then he wants to look cool, get up in front of everyone and talk shit. And I was so upset. He wanted me to come talk to him after the event in his dressing room. I wouldn’t go. So then he sent this big, big thing of flowers the next day to apologize. And I was like, “You know what? I really don’t want us to be on bad terms again. So whatever, I’m just going to move past this.” So when he gets on the phone with me, and I was so touched that he would be respectful and, like, tell me about this one line in the song.

The line being “. . . me and Taylor might still have sex”? [Nods] And I was like, “OK, good. We’re back on good terms.” And then when I heard the song, I was like, “I’m done with this. If you want to be on bad terms, let’s be on bad terms, but just be real about it.” And then he literally did the same thing to Drake. He gravely affected the trajectory of Drake’s family and their lives. It’s the same thing. Getting close to you, earning your trust, detonating you. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore because I get worked up, and I don’t want to just talk about negative shit all day, but it’s the same thing. Go watch Drake talk about what happened. [West denied any involvement in Pusha-T’s revelation of Drake’s child and apologized for sending “negative energy” toward Drake.]

When did you get to the place that’s described on the opening track of Lover, “I Forgot That You Existed”? It was sometime on the Reputation tour, which was the most transformative emotional experience of my career. That tour put me in the healthiest, most balanced place I’ve ever been. After that tour, bad stuff can happen to me, but it doesn’t level me anymore. The stuff that happened a couple of months ago with Scott [Borchetta] would have leveled me three years ago and silenced me. I would have been too afraid to speak up. Something about that tour made me disengage from some part of public perception I used to hang my entire identity on, which I now know is incredibly unhealthy.

What was the actual revelation? It’s almost like I feel more clear about the fact that my job is to be an entertainer. It’s not like this massive thing that sometimes my brain makes it into, and sometimes the media makes it into, where we’re all on this battlefield and everyone’s gonna die except one person, who wins. It’s like, “No, do you know what? Katy is going to be legendary. Gaga is going to be legendary. Beyoncé is going to be legendary. Rihanna is going to be legendary. Because the work that they made completely overshadows the myopia of this 24-hour news cycle of clickbait.” And somehow I realized that on tour, as I was looking at people’s faces. We’re just entertaining people, and it’s supposed to be fun.

It’s interesting to look at these albums as a trilogy. 1989 was really a reset button. Oh, in every way. I’ve been very vocal about the fact that that decision was mine and mine alone, and it was definitely met with a lot of resistance. Internally.

After realizing that things were not all smiles with your former label boss, Scott Borchetta, it’s hard not to wonder how much additional conflict there was over things like that. A lot of the best things I ever did creatively were things that I had to really fight — and I mean aggressively fight — to have happen. But, you know, I’m not like him, making crazy, petty accusations about the past. . . . When you have a business relationship with someone for 15 years, there are going to be a lot of ups and a lot of downs. But I truly, legitimately thought he looked at me as the daughter he never had. And so even though we had a lot of really bad times and creative differences, I was going to hang my hat on the good stuff. I wanted to be friends with him. I thought I knew what betrayal felt like, but this stuff that happened with him was a redefinition of betrayal for me, just because it felt like it was family. To go from feeling like you’re being looked at as a daughter to this grotesque feeling of “Oh, I was actually his prized calf that he was fattening up to sell to the slaughterhouse that would pay the most.”

He accused you of declining the Parkland march and Manchester benefit show. Unbelievable. Here’s the thing: Everyone in my team knew if Scooter Braun brings us something, do not bring it to me. The fact that those two are in business together after the things he said about Scooter Braun — it’s really hard to shock me. And this was utterly shocking. These are two very rich, very powerful men, using $300 million of other people’s money to purchase, like, the most feminine body of work. And then they’re standing in a wood-panel bar doing a tacky photo shoot, raising a glass of scotch to themselves. Because they pulled one over on me and got this done so sneakily that I didn’t even see it coming. And I couldn’t say anything about it.

In some ways, on a musical level, Lover feels like the most indie-ish of your albums. That’s amazing, thank you. It’s definitely a quirky record. With this album, I felt like I sort of gave myself permission to revisit older themes that I used to write about, maybe look at them with fresh eyes. And to revisit older instruments — older in terms of when I used to use them. Because when I was making 1989, I was so obsessed with it being this concept of Eighties big pop, whether it was Eighties in its production or Eighties in its nature, just having these big choruses — being unapologetically big. And then Reputation, there was a reason why I had it all in lowercase. I felt like it wasn’t unapologetically commercial. It’s weird, because that is the album that took the most amount of explanation, and yet it’s the one I didn’t talk about. In the Reputation secret sessions I kind of had to explain to my fans, “I know we’re doing a new thing here that I’d never done before.” I’d never played with characters before. For a lot of pop stars, that’s a really fun trick, where they’re like, “This is my alter ego.” I had never played with that before. It’s really fun. And it was just so fun to play with on tour — the darkness and the bombast and the bitterness and the love and the ups and the downs of an emotional-turmoil record.

“Daylight” is a beautiful song. It feels like it could have been the title track. It almost was. I thought it might be a little bit too sentimental.

And I guess maybe too on-the-nose. Right, yeah, way too on-the-nose. That’s what I thought, because I was kind of in my head referring to the album as Daylight for a while. But Lover, to me, was a more interesting title, more of an accurate theme in my head, and more elastic as a concept. That’s why “You Need to Calm Down” can make sense within the theme of the album — one of the things it addresses is how certain people are not allowed to live their lives without discrimination just based on who they love.

For the more organic songs on this album, like “Lover” and “Paper Rings,” you said you were imagining a wedding band playing them. How often does that kind of visualization shape a song’s production style? Sometimes I’ll have a strange sort of fantasy of where the songs would be played. And so for songs like “Paper Rings” or “Lover” I was imagining a wedding-reception band, but in the Seventies, so they couldn’t play instruments that wouldn’t have been invented yet. I have all these visuals. For Reputation, it was nighttime cityscape. I didn’t really want any — or very minimal — traditional acoustic instruments. I imagined old warehouse buildings that had been deserted and factory spaces and all this industrial kind of imagery. So I wanted the production to have nothing wooden. There’s no wood floors on that album. Lover is, like, completely just a barn wood floor and some ripped curtains flowing in the breeze, and fields of flowers and, you know, velvet.

How did you come to use high school metaphors to touch on politics with “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince”? There are so many influences that go into that particular song. I wrote it a couple of months after midterm elections, and I wanted to take the idea of politics and pick a metaphorical place for that to exist. And so I was thinking about a traditional American high school, where there’s all these kinds of social events that could make someone feel completely alienated. And I think a lot of people in our political landscape are just feeling like we need to huddle up under the bleachers and figure out a plan to make things better.

I feel like your Fall Out Boy fandom might’ve slipped out in that title. I love Fall Out Boy so much. Their songwriting really influenced me, lyrically, maybe more than anyone else. They take a phrase and they twist it. “Loaded God complex/Cock it and pull it”? When I heard that, I was like, “I’m dreaming.”

You sing about “American stories burning before me.” Do you mean the illusions of what America is? It’s about the illusions of what I thought America was before our political landscape took this turn, and that naivete that we used to have about it. And it’s also the idea of people who live in America, who just want to live their lives, make a living, have a family, love who they love, and watching those people lose their rights, or watching those people feel not at home in their home. I have that line “I see the high-fives between the bad guys” because not only are some really racist, horrific undertones now becoming overtones in our political climate, but the people who are representing those concepts and that way of looking at the world are celebrating loudly, and it’s horrific.

You’re in this weird place of being a blond, blue-eyed pop star in this era — to the point where until you endorsed some Democratic candidates, right-wingers, and worse, assumed you were on their side. I don’t think they do anymore. Yeah, that was jarring, and I didn’t hear about that until after it had happened. Because at this point, I, for a very long time, I didn’t have the internet on my phone, and my team and my family were really worried about me because I was not in a good place. And there was a lot of stuff that they just dealt with without telling me about it. Which is the only time that’s ever happened in my career. I’m always in the pilot seat, trying to fly the plane that is my career in exactly the direction I want to take it. But there was a time when I just had to throw my hands up and say, “Guys, I can’t. I can’t do this. I need you to just take over for me and I’m just going to disappear.”

Are you referring to when a white-supremacist site suggested you were on their team? I didn’t even see that, but, like, if that happened, that’s just disgusting. There’s literally nothing worse than white supremacy. It’s repulsive. There should be no place for it. Really, I keep trying to learn as much as I can about politics, and it’s become something I’m now obsessed with, whereas before, I was living in this sort of political ambivalence, because the person I voted for had always won. We were in such an amazing time when Obama was president because foreign nations respected us. We were so excited to have this dignified person in the White House. My first election was voting for him when he made it into office, and then voting to re-elect him. I think a lot of people are like me, where they just didn’t really know that this could happen. But I’m just focused on the 2020 election. I’m really focused on it. I’m really focused on how I can help and not hinder. Because I also don’t want it to backfire again, because I do feel that the celebrity involvement with Hillary’s campaign was used against her in a lot of ways.

You took a lot of heat for not getting involved. Does any part of you regret that you just didn’t say “fuck it” and gotten more specific when you said to vote that November? Totally. Yeah, I regret a lot of things all the time. It’s like a daily ritual.

Were you just convinced that it would backfire? That’s literally what it was. Yeah. It’s a very powerful thing when you legitimately feel like numbers have proven that pretty much everyone hates you. Like, quantifiably. That’s not me being dramatic. And you know that.

There were a lot of people in those stadiums. It’s true. But that was two years later. . . . I do think, as a party, we need to be more of a team. With Republicans, if you’re wearing that red hat, you’re one of them. And if we’re going to do anything to change what’s happening, we need to stick together. We need to stop dissecting why someone’s on our side or if they’re on our side in the right way or if they phrased it correctly. We need to not have the right kind of Democrat and the wrong kind of Democrat. We need to just be like, “You’re a Democrat? Sick. Get in the car. We’re going to the mall.”

Here’s a hard question for you: As a superfan, what did you think of the Game of Thrones finale? Oh, my God. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this. So, clinically our brain responds to our favorite show ending the same way we feel when a breakup occurs. I read that. There’s no good way for it to end. No matter what would have happened in that finale, people still would have been really upset because of the fact that it’s over.

I was glad to see you confirm that your line about a “list of names” was a reference to Arya. I like to be influenced by movies and shows and books and stuff. I love to write about a character dynamic. And not all of my life is going to be as kind of complex as these intricate webs of characters on TV shows and movies.

There was a time when it was. That’s amazing.

But is the idea that as your own life becomes less dramatic, you’ll need to pull ideas from other places? I don’t feel like that yet. I think I might feel like that possibly when I have a family. If I have a family. [Pauses] I don’t know why I said that! But that’s what I’ve heard from other artists, that they were very protective of their personal life, so they had to draw inspiration from other things. But again, I don’t know why I said that. Because I don’t know how my life is going to go or what I’m going to do. But right now, I feel like it’s easier for me to write than it ever was.

You don’t talk about your relationship, but you’ll sing about it in wildly revealing detail. What’s the difference for you? Singing about something helps you to express it in a way that feels more accurate. You cannot, no matter what, put words in a quote and have it move someone the same way as if you heard those words with the perfect sonic representation of that feeling... There is that weird conflict in being a confessional songwriter and then also having my life, you know, 10 years ago, be catapulted into this strange pop-culture thing.

I’ve heard you say that people got too interested in which song was about who, which I can understand — at the same time, to be fair, it was a game you played into, wasn’t it? I realized very early on that no matter what, that was going to happen to me regardless. So when you realize the rules of the game you’re playing and how it will affect you, you got to look at the board and make your strategy. But at the same time, writing songs has never been a strategic element of my career. But I’m not scared anymore to say that other things in my career, like how to market an album, are strictly strategic. And I’m sick of women not being able to say that they have strategic business minds — because male artists are allowed to. And so I’m sick and tired of having to pretend like I don’t mastermind my own business. But, it’s a different part of my brain than I use to write.

You’ve been masterminding your business since you were a teenager. Yeah, but I’ve also tried very hard — and this is one thing I regret — to convince people that I wasn’t the one holding the puppet strings of my marketing existence, or the fact that I sit in a conference room several times a week and come up with these ideas. I felt for a very long time that people don’t want to think of a woman in music who isn’t just a happy, talented accident. We’re all forced to kind of be like, “Aw, shucks, this happened again! We’re still doing well! Aw, that’s so great.” Alex Morgan celebrating scoring a goal at the World Cup and getting shit for it is a perfect example of why we’re not allowed to flaunt or celebrate, or reveal that, like, “Oh, yeah, it was me. I came up with this stuff.” I think it’s really unfair. People love new female artists so much because they’re able to explain that woman’s success. There’s an easy trajectory. Look at the Game of Thrones finale. I specifically really related to Daenerys’ storyline because for me it portrayed that it is a lot easier for a woman to attain power than to maintain it.

I mean, she did murder... It’s a total metaphor! Like, obviously I didn’t want Daenerys to become that kind of character, but in taking away what I chose to take away from it, I thought maybe they’re trying to portray her climbing the ladder to the top was a lot easier than maintaining it, because for me, the times when I felt like I was going insane was when I was trying to maintain my career in the same way that I ascended. It’s easier to get power than to keep it. It’s easier to get acclaim than to keep it. It’s easier to get attention than to keep it.

Well, I guess we should be glad you didn’t have a dragon in 2016... [Fiercely] I told you I don’t like that she did that! But, I mean, watching the show, though, maybe this is a reflection on how we treat women in power, how we are totally going to conspire against them and tear at them until they feel this — this insane shift, where you wonder, like, “What changed?” And I’ve had that happen, like, 60 times in my career where I’m like, “OK, you liked me last year, what changed? I guess I’ll change so I can keep entertaining you guys.”

You once said that your mom could never punish you when you were little because you’d punish yourself. This idea of changing in the face of criticism and needing approval — that’s all part of wanting to be good, right? Whatever that means. But that seems to be a real driving force in your life. Yeah, that’s definitely very perceptive of you. And the question posed to me is, if you kept trying to do good things, but everyone saw those things in a cynical way and assumed them to be done with bad motivation and bad intent, would you still do good things, even though nothing that you did was looked at as good? And the answer is, yes. Criticism that’s constructive is helpful to my character growth. Baseless criticism is stuff I’ve got to toss out now.

That sounds healthy. Is this therapy talking or is this just experience? No, I’ve never been to therapy. I talk to my mom a lot, because my mom is the one who’s seen everything. God, it takes so long to download somebody on the last 29 years of my life, and my mom has seen it all. She knows exactly where I’m coming from. And we talk endlessly. There were times when I used to have really, really, really bad days where we would just be on the phone for hours and hours and hours. I’d write something that I wanted to say, and instead of posting it, I’d just read it to her.

I somehow connect all this to the lyric in “Daylight,” the idea of “so many lines that I’ve crossed unforgiven” — it’s a different kind of confession. I am really glad you liked that line, because that’s something that does bother me, looking back at life and realizing that no matter what, you screw things up. Sometimes there are people that were in your life and they’re not anymore — and there’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t fix it, you can’t change it. I told the fans last night that sometimes on my bad days, I feel like my life is a pile of crap accumulated of only the bad headlines or the bad things that have happened, or the mistakes I’ve made or clichés or rumors or things that people think about me or have thought for the last 15 years. And that was part of the “Look What You Made Me Do” music video, where I had a pile of literal old selves fighting each other.

But, yeah, that line is indicative of my anxiety about how in life you can’t get everything right. A lot of times you make the wrong call, make the wrong decision. Say the wrong thing. Hurt people, even if you didn’t mean to. You don’t really know how to fix all of that. When it’s, like, 29 years’ worth.

To be Mr. “Rolling Stone” for a second, there’s a Springsteen lyric, “Ain’t no one leaving this world, buddy/Without their shirttail dirty or hands a little bloody.” That’s really good! No one gets through it unscathed. No one gets through in one piece. I think that’s a hard thing for a lot of people to grasp. I know it was hard for me, because I kind of grew up thinking, “If I’m nice, and if I try to do the right thing, you know, maybe I can just, like, ace this whole thing.” And it turns out I can’t.

It’s interesting to look at “I Did Something Bad” in this context. You pointing that out is really interesting because it’s something I’ve had to reconcile within myself in the last couple of years — that sort of “good” complex. Because from the time I was a kid I’d try to be kind, be a good person. Try really hard. But you get walked all over sometimes. And how do you respond to being walked all over? You can’t just sit there and eat your salad and let it happen. “I Did Something Bad” was about doing something that was so against what I would usually do. Katy [Perry] and I were talking about our signs. . . . [Laughs] Of course we were.

That’s the greatest sentence ever. [Laughs] I hate you. We were talking about our signs because we had this really, really long talk when we were reconnecting and stuff. And I remember in the long talk, she was like, “If we had one glass of white wine right now, we’d both be crying.” Because we were drinking tea. We’ve had some really good conversations.

We were talking about how we’ve had miscommunications with people in the past, not even specifically with each other. She’s like, “I’m a Scorpio. Scorpios just strike when they feel threatened.” And I was like, “Well, I’m an archer. We literally stand back, assess the situation, process how we feel about it, raise a bow, pull it back, and fire.” So it’s completely different ways of processing pain, confusion, misconception. And oftentimes I’ve had this delay in feeling something that hurts me and then saying that it hurts me. Do you know what I mean? And so I can understand how people in my life would have been like, “Whoa, I didn’t know that was how you felt.” Because it takes me a second.

If you watch the video of the 2009 VMAs, I literally freeze. I literally stand there. And that is how I handle any discomfort, any pain. I stand there, I freeze. And then five minutes later, I know how I feel. But in the moment, I’m probably overreacting and I should be nice. Then I process it, and in five minutes, if it’s gone, it’s past, and I’m like, “I was overreacting, everything’s fine. I can get through this. I’m glad I didn’t say anything harsh in the moment.” But when it’s actually something bad that happened, and I feel really, really hurt or upset about it, I only know after the fact. Because I’ve tried so hard to squash it: “This probably isn’t what you think.” That’s something I had to work on.

You could end up gaslighting yourself. Yeah, for sure. ’Cause so many situations where if I would have said the first thing that came to my mind, people would have been like, “Whoa!” And maybe I would have been wrong or combative. So a couple of years ago I started working on actually just responding to my emotions in a quicker fashion. And it’s really helped with stuff. It’s helped so much because sometimes you get in arguments. But conflict in the moment is so much better than combat after the fact.

Well, thanks. I do feel like I just did a therapy session. As someone who’s never been to therapy, I can safely say that was the best therapy session.

#uhhhh #just by copying and editing text I see it's gonna be good =)#can't wait...#taylor swift #interview #by taylor #lover era #Rolling Stone magazine #Brian Hiatt

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