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mosstliest · 3 years

Text

mcyt movie night headcanons!

(cc!) Dream , George , Sapnap , Technoblade , Wilbur , Eret , Fundy , Nihachu , Quackity , Karl

requested? yes / no

pronouns used : they / them

cw! light nsfw (Dream) , mentions of jumpscares (horror films)

Dream

he is a big fan of a good old netflix and chill session

something about the warm, dark living room only illuminated by the moving images on the screen, your silhouette barely visible under a blanket and whatever snack you’d found on his cupboard on your hands gets this man in a raunchy mood

he’ll pull you to his lap or slide next to you and start pecking at your neck

“But it’s just getting to the good part”

you stretch your neck to give him more room anyways

“Oh we’re about to get to the good part”

you chuckle and bite your lip to stifle a sigh as his lips begin to trace your jaw

the movie gets paused is what I’m saying

he refuses to buy any snacks from the candy shop whenever you do go to the cinema

“It is unnecessarily expensive!”

“You have twenty million fucking subscribers!”

“BUT FOUR DOLLARS?!”

he has the most creative ways of smuggling sweets

it started with a classic tote bag

it’s become sort of a game

once, he bought the most ridiculously bulgy jacket and wore it in scorching florida weather solely for the purpose of hiding crisps

he laughs easily at movies and his wheeze has made you get kicked out of a movie theatre at least once

will talk about his favourite parts of the movie for hours after it’s finished

will laugh whenever he thinks about the funniest parts for days

George

(sort of George with a film buff s/o)

he doesn’t talk during movies and actively dislikes people who do

will complain if he doesn’t like the film but only in quiet whispers and not if he suspects you are particularly enjoying it

you made him watch a Tarkovsky film one time

he swears he didn’t fall asleep

he did

but he tried his best <3

can’t choose the movie for the life of him so you always end up having to pick

every time you try and analyze color symbolism he’ll chime in

“I’m colorblind”

before you can finish

you bait him honestly

he likes listening to you talk about your favorite movies and all the films you want to show him

he’ll look up facts about your favourite directors and will make fun of your least favourite ones with you

makes a great snobby-tarantino-fan “you’ve not known real cinema until you’ve watched pulp fiction” impression that never fails to make you cackle

he is not a fan of horror films

you tried to make him watch one once

“I don’t really like horror movies but you said this one was good so- WHAT IS THAT?!”

turned it off immediately and you ended up watching the hobbit

Harry potter marathons are a must

he can imitate maggie smith’s accent to perfection

Sapnap

you watch anime together

I don’t give a fuck if you don’t like it

he doesn’t either

he’ll make you watch it

he has good taste though, so you end up enjoying it

cuddles with Sapnap cuddles with Sapnap cuddles with Sapnap

movie playing on the tv, your head in his chest and his hand in your waist, blankets wrapped around you and the AC running just a little bit too cold = his absolute definition of happiness

you binge watch shows in one sitting and then get sad when they’re over

he always burns the goddamn popcorn

daily movie nights!

you order in and eat a late night dinner in bed

Your pick monday, wednesday, friday

his pick tuesday, thursday, saturday

a full on debate on sundays trying to figure out a good middle ground

Whenever the movie runs late and you end up falling asleep, he’ll turn the tv off and quietly pull the blankets over your body before kissing your forehead in the sweetest way imaginable

he yells at the screen

he loves watching horror movies but gets jumpscared easily

“Awww are you scared baby?”

“Shut up y/n I’m only holding you so you don’t get scared”

“I won’t :)”

“...I’m not letting go if that’s what you’re fucking thinking”

Technoblade

(take a shot every time popcorn is mentioned and pass out)

one of your first dates was actually a movie date

he turned and whispered in your ear whenever a clever wip popped in his head and his commentary was so funny you had to bury your face in your hands so your laughter didn’t disturb the other people in the theatre

he talks during movies, he can’t help it

"heh?!"

he doesn’t like cinema popcorn and will exclusively buy chocolate

you didn’t get it until the day he made you try his trademark-techno-popcorn and wow

“holy shit this is great!”

“I know”

he’s completely ruined popcorn for you

“please don’t ever leave me, I don’t think I’ll be able to eat normal popcorn after this”

“wasn’t planning on it”

he is secretly into romcoms

you watch movies in bed, laptop propped in his legs and an obligatory bowl of popcorn in your arms

he plays with your hair for the whole time

you hate-watch bad movies all the time and your chests hurt from laughing by the end

he can easily memorize entire scenes and will repeat them to you in a totally monotone voice

It’s great

has never cried during a movie, is dreadfully proud of himself for it

sometimes he’ll get distracted and just stare at you, movie reduced to white noise in the background

“you’re so pretty”

Wilbur

makes dinner for you whenever you have a movie night

his snack game is kind of weak though, as much as I hate to say it

water and dark chocolate only

if you think he doesn’t insist on rewatching hamilton at least once every two months you are wrong

he is a goddamn hamilton kinnie and he likes the fucking songs okay?

constant change of cuddling positions

you made him sit through the entirety of the twilight saga “as a hate watch”

he now quotes it on a daily basis (never on stream, chat would eat him alive)

“Whaddaya mean team jacob? He’s a glorified furry!”

you watch a lot of documentaries

the way he concentrates on taking in every single bit of information is almost more entertaining than the actual film

he’ll tell you random facts he learnt watching the documentary and you’ll have to remind him that you watched it with him

you act out iconic romance scenes and he gets so into it

he can be anything from Jack Dawson to mr. Darcy and William Thacker and it gives you butterflies every time

you’ll stand up whenever characters are slow dancing and dance along with them

You’ve tried to watch shows together but you always end up forgetting or one of you will binge an entire season and

he’s insufferable when he doesn’t like a film but will refuse to change it

he criticizes the smallest details in a way that would make Anthony Lane look like an absolute sweetheart

you dance to the end credits theme

Fundy

(long distance!)

Netflix parties ALL THE TIME

+ discord calls / facetime

you coordinate snacks

sometimes you’ll switch whatever you’re watching to dutch for a second so he can make fun of the god awful translation

most times,you fall asleep together after the movie ends even if your time zones are far apart

you watch entire shows together, the longer the better

four or five episodes at a time

You both get super invested and will have heated discussions about whether rory should have ended up with logan or jess

whenever you talk about meeting up, watching a movie and actually cuddling comes up

he used to be kind of quiet during movies

he won’t shut up now, it’s fun, having his voice in your ears with whatever film you’re watching in the background makes it seem like he's in bed next to you

his voice would be easy to fall asleep to if he didn’t yell so often

he can guess the precise plot of every single horror movie

like word for word, scene for scene

he gets scared anyways

he sent you one of his hoodies once, after you begged for weeks

you wrap it around a plushie or pillow and cuddle it whenever you watch something together

“can’t believe a fucking sweater gets more action than me”

“oh shut up you big baby”

Eret

lots and lots of movie dates

he has excellent taste in films and shows so you let them choose most times

stacking up on cinema sweets and a huge bucket of popcorn when you go to a theatre

buying tons of crisps and candybars when you hang out at home

not the biggest cuddler in this specific setting

would much rather have her arm around your shoulder and your legs up on their lap

you watch award shows solely for the purpose of roasting the outfits

bed/couch absolutely crammed with plushies and pillows

you always make milkshakes together

not smoothies

not frappes

milkshakes

with syrup, whipped cream and a cherry on top

the night isn’t complete without them

you watch a lot of period films

“you’d look great in that”

“who are you pointing to again?”

“doesn’t matter, you’d look great in everything”

(you’ll get them to wear a corset if it’s the last thing you do)

he turns to kiss your cheek every fifteen minutes

Nihachu

you bake cookies before movie nights and decorate them specifically for the theme of the film

you did a horror marathon once

(it may have been a sneaky way to get her to hide in the crook of your neck but we don’t talk about that)

the plate of cookies flew out of her hands in minutes

she got so worried

“but you worked so hard on the decorations :(“

“it’s fine babe, we’ll just eat the plain ones”

she wrapped her arms around you and kissed your cheek so it was totally worth it

the decorations were kinda shit anyways

you watch a ton of coming of age movies and will listen to the soundtrack for days after

she’s so funny during movies

sometimes a character will do something stupid and her remark will be so absolutely stingy both your hands will fly to your mouths and you’ll stare at each other, eyes wide, before falling into a fit of giggles

simping over powerful women with Niki

you have a huge watchlist of gay films and high five everytime you cross one off

cuddling under a huge pile of blankets

switching sweaters

Zuko climbing unto the laptop and pausing the movie at the most inconvenient times

Quackity

he eats dry cereal during movies because he’s just chaotic like that

you sit on the floor with your backs to the couch and eat takeout and drugstore snacks

the amount of times you’ve watched the fucking bee movie

you like watching things in spanish

everything from crappy soap operas to almodovar films

he likes to translate things and can do it super quick so you never really need subtitles

you watch a lot of superhero movies and he has made you watch Adam Sandler’s entire filmography

the floor always ends up messy and cleaning up afterwards is almost as funny as the film itself

sitcoms!

lots and lots of sitcoms

Karl

pillow fort is obligatory

monster energy drinks and a huge variety of candy

microwave popcorn with too much butter

hot cocoa with too many marshmallows

you mostly watch cartoons and 2010’s nickelodeon shows

scream singing the iCarly theme song and hating on tori from victorious

getting really into the adventure time lore

tickle fights when the film gets boring

he takes recommendations from “indie film” tiktoks and you mock him for it endlessly

he has weirdly obscure knowledge on every show you watch

he has a big colección of dvds/videotapes so you get to watch some oldies

he falls asleep with his head in your lap or your shoulder

he gives you a sweater or hoodie to wear and lends you plaid pyjama pants

you quote movies on stream and have ton of private jokes

can you tell I got lazy at the end?

likes and reblogs are always appreciated and have a wonderful morning/day/afternoon/evening/night <3

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finelinevogue · 3 years

Note

hey! first of all i’m obsessed with all of your writing i swear i cry every single time😭🤍 i look forward to reading your stuff when i get home from work, and it helps me when i’m stressed. so basically hi i love you. i recently celebrated 1 year sober and i was wondering if you could write something abou harry dedicating a song to his gf for maintaining her sobriety? (only if you’re comfortable ofc!)

hi, i love you too! sorry for making you cry😭 your words are so kind and you’ve made my day so much brighter! congratulations on your one year sobriety!!! i hope you’re very proud of yourself, because i’m really proud of you - always <33 i’m not sure what you are sober for and i don’t to be invasive and ask, so i decided to base this one off an alcohol addiction. this one’s for you, my lovely; (oh and p.s. let’s pretend harry wrote ‘home’ just for you and one direction never wrote it!)

Today you celebrated being one year sober.

Four years ago you developed an alcohol addiction. It was the worst time of your life; going to parties just to wake up still paralytic, drinking an alcoholic drink with every meal and a couple in between, falling asleep drunk every night and not learning your lesson from the hangover the next morning. You were self destructing and were too gone to see it happen. The people around you could see it happening though. Your family and friends abandoned you because you they believed you were a lost cause. You were alone for 3 lonely years, until last year you met Harry.

The one time that you were actually sober, shopping in your local Aldi, was the first time you met him.

He was dressed from a run and was in the fridge section to grab himself a protein shake before he was about to run home - that you’d come to learn. He made minimal conversation with you, but it was enough for him to fall for you - hard. Every time you met up with him you tried to be as sober as you could, but it caught up to you. You slipped and shut yourself out from him, not wanting him to leave you like everyone else had so you left him first.

As it would be, he never left you. He saved you.

He was there for you in your darkest moments. He was there to help lock your demons away and introduce life back into your heart and soul. You wanted to be better for him, he deserved that much. Half a year after meeting him, he managed to encourage you to attend counselling sessions which you would be worse without. He made calls to friends to help you re-connect with people, truly friendly people. He hugged you on the days you felt anxious or tempted and let you cry on his shoulder when you felt like a failure, all the whilst he would kiss your forehead and squeeze you to remind you just how much you were loved and just how proud he was of you. It took you a while to believe it, but;

Harry Styles loves and is proud of you.

You were so happy to spending the day with him, getting to watch him do what he loves so much. He was in Denver, Colorado, tonight and his set was going perfect so far. He’d given his infamous “ass or face” speech, which made the fans go wild. He, unfortunately, had to use the oxygen mask to replenish his lungs because he wasn’t feeling great. He’d even shouted to you when you were blowing him kisses saying, “I wanna kiss you but I can’t” which made you tear up ever so slightly. Today was such a proud and happy day for you, so extra moments like this for you were the cherries on the top of the cake.

“Okay, so we have 15 more minutes of love tonight for you.” Harry spoke into his microphone, after singing Treat People With Kindness and looking so very sweaty. “15 minutes of extra love compared to the previous show.” The fans screamed at this and you knew the fans in Vegas would no doubt be extra jealous.

“He’s allowed to do that?” You asked Jeff beside you, wondering why he was changing the timings all of a sudden. He hadn’t told you about this.

“He specifically requested it before going onstage.” Jeff answered, winking at you and nodding his head back to the stage for you to focus.

“Now. Today is not only special because I get to play in front of you lovely people,” the crowd let out a deafening scream, “but because it is an important day for my Y/N.” He smiled, looking over in your direction. The crowd screamed even louder for you.

“What is he doing?” You asked Jeff but he only smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Liar, you thought.

You’d never publicly told anyone about your addiction because it was something that you were embarrassed about. You hated who you were and you tried your hardest not to think about that person anymore. Harry was the only person who knew and you liked to keep it that way, for the time being. Not even your new friends knew.

“I’m so proud of Y/N, always, but especially today.” Harry spoke, walking down the stage to the end of the runway where his mic was set up and still keeping eye contact with you. Your tears were full in your eyes and some even streaming down your face as you took in his words.

He’d spent all morning loving on you. He didn’t let you two leave the hotel room until 5 minutes before the buses were leaving, because he wanted to spend as much time as possible showing you just how much he loved you. Turns out 4 rounds of sex, 2 blowjobs and 3 times getting eaten out doesn’t even come close to showing that, according to him, but it did make you feel worthy and that’s all you’ve wanted to feel for the past few years. He made you feel worth it - it being loved and supported and safe. He was your blanket of comfort and you’d let him swallow you up every day for the rest of your life if it meant feeling this way forever.

Harry had even bought you a card and a cake, one that had a singular candle in to mark your one year anniversary of being sober. The sense of pride getting to blow out that candle was a feeling second to none, except from maybe the 7 orgasms you were given.

“So if you don’t mind, i’m going to sing this song for my girlfriend. It’s new, but i’m sure you’ll pick up the chorus. This is called ‘Home’ and it’s just for you, m’love.” God damn these tears, you could barely see Harry pick up his galaxy painted guitar and tilt his body so he was facing you.

The song had you in tears.

Fans were both recording you and Harry, but you were too unaware to notice them when all you could focus on were the words he was singing to you. Every line was so clear and it made your heart burst through your chest that little bit more each time. You cupped your hands under your vin as you cried over every new line of song, watching him strum on the guitar and sing his heart out as if every ounce of him was just for you. His words, his voice, his heart and soul were completely yours. The fans did quickly pick up the chorus and the atmosphere was completely still, yet electric with them feeding off Harrys energy and gifting it to you.

“You’ll never feel like you’re alone, i’ll make this feel like home.”

His last line was sung and his last chord was struck and you couldn’t move an inch. You were stuck watching him with intense loved eyes, feeling an overwhelming sense of support and comfort just from this moment alone. You thought what he’d given you this morning in the hotel was love, but now you questioned that. This felt like a reminder you were free and safe and found. You felt significant. And for a moment, that all felt a like bit stronger than love.

You didn’t even realise your boyfriend was standing in front of you until he was. He caressed your cheek in one hand, holding the neck of his guitar with his other. The fans were being caged behind a barricade, but they weren’t even violently pushing because they wanted to see how he treated you and acted around you behind closed doors. Your relationship was very private, so this was very new for you too. You liked him close though. So much so that everyone else sort of slipped away.

“That bad?” He asked teasingly, referring to the amount of tears you were crying.

��Was a bit rusty in some places.” You teased back, you and him both knowing you didn’t mean a word that you’d just said. You both laughed until you caught Harrys hand on your cheek and moved it so you could plant a soft kiss to his palm. “Thank you for making me feel home.” You smiled, new tears forming in both yours and his now.

“Thank you for being my home.” He replied, smiling through the light tears.

“Stop crying,” you laughed through your own tears, reaching out your other hand to wipe his away, “not very rockstar of you.”

“Can’t help myself when i’m so proud of you.” He answered, moving his hand off his guitar so he could help wipe your tears away. Both of you were helping each other recover, forgetting about the world just for a minute to have a moment with each other. You both deserved that much.

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anabsolutetrainwreck · 3 years

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oh, honey || h. styles

warnings: mentions of sex, kissing

word count: 2.3k

summary: when harry is struck with writer’s block, you come to the rescue and inspire him to write a song, which later becomes known as ‘adore you’...

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t harbouring a crush on a man you’d known for about five years. And for four and half years of that, you found he was the only thing that seemed to occupy your mind. With any crush, it was fun at first. The thrill of being around him brought a new spark to your life. But then, gradually, it became tiresome; the constant butterflies and the overthinking every tiny action began to aggravate you.

You’d had a boyfriend since you met Harry. He loved you and you tried to love him. You knew it wasn’t fair on him, and you felt an ounce of extra guilt every day that relationship went on. You knew it was selfish to paint yourself a mirage of a perfect life with a man you knew you couldn’t love.

The relationship lasted eight months. It had never meant to last that long. At first, it was all fun and games - neither of you took things too seriously. A bit of harmless sex and late nights with red wine and David Attenborough documentaries. But then things took a turn, and he began talking of moving in together and meeting each other’s parents. Your parents would have loved him, you knew that. But what good was that when you didn’t love him?

Eventually, the two of you sat down and decided that maybe it was best if you went your separate ways. It was a mutual decision. And you both agreed that it was fun whilst it lasted. So, this relationship you’d gotten yourself into to get your mind off Harry had ended because you could never love this man the way he wanted you to.

It had been a rough eight months for you. Harry had been in somewhat of a mood with, well, everybody. Mitch concluded that he was probably just stressed with writing for the album and making sure everything was perfect for his debut solo album. But, though nobody necessarily picked up on it at the time, when you announced that you’d broken up with your boyfriend, Harry seemed to be in a much better mood ever since.

So, now, as you walked into the studio, you ran your hands along your jean-clad thighs. It was a desperate attempt to rid your palms of the sweat your nervousness had caused. Sarah had called you and asked if you were free to swing by the studio. She said something about needing a new mind to help Harry. Instantly, you agreed. You would always be there for Harry.

Sat on one of the couches was Harry Styles himself, his hand over his eyes. He was alone, his guitar beside him. A notebook of his lyrics was tossed aside, clearly neglected in tiredness or frustration. “Harry?” you called out, closing the door behind you.

He looked up quickly, startled by the sudden disturbance. “Y/N,” he smiled slightly, sitting up properly. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought you could use some help,” you shrugged, slipping out of your black puffer jacket. “And clearly you need it. Where is everyone?”

“Oh, they went to get some lunch at some place down the road,” he replied.

“And what about you? Aren’t you hungry? You need to eat, Harry.”

“I know. I will, I will. I’m just trying to finish this song, is all.”

You nodded slightly, sitting down in front of him on the coffee table. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were resting on top of dark bags. “Let me see,” you said, extending your hand.

Slowly, he placed the notebook into your hands. You stared down at the scribbled lyrics. Things were crossed out; things were circled; things were accompanied by little doodles. On the very top of the page, though, was the rushed title (above a few others, which had been crossed out): ADORE YOU. “I’m just gonna put it aside and come back to it,” he sighed. “Wanna get high? It always helps me write music.”

“No, Harry. I don’t want to get high with you. If you leave it, then you’ll never come back to it and nobody will ever get to hear it,” you replied.

“Except you. I want you to hear it,” he said quietly, so quiet, in fact, that you barely heard it.

He wasn’t looking at you, thankfully. At least he wouldn’t see the mix of nerves and excitement at what he’d just muttered. You shifted slightly, placing the notebook down beside you, “Well, then you’ll have to finish it, won’t you?”

Finally, he looked up at you. You felt tiny as his eyes explored your face, drinking in every last inch of your features. A small smile worked its way up onto his face, “I suppose I will.”

So, Harry began projecting his ideas onto you. He explained what the song was about and the kind of things he wanted to write. He sang the chorus to you, and you swore you melted right there and then. Hearing his voice fill the otherwise silent room you were in, with no other intent than to please you, filled your head with all sorts of fantasies. “It’s good, Harry. It’s really good,” you nodded, smiling sweetly at him.

“Obviously not good enough if I can’t think of anything other than the first verse and the chorus,” he groaned, raking his long fingers through his unruly hair.

In a moment of fleeting confidence, you reached out and squeezed Harry’s hand. He looked up at you, his green lagoons of eyes staring directly into your own. “Harry, stop. You’re doing yourself no good thinking like that. No songs start out as the greatest thing ever written; you have to put time and care and effort into them,” you said gently. “Let me help, Harry. I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

He nodded, squeezing your hand in return. He pulled out a pen and stared expectantly at you. You smiled - you were happy he was willing to let you help. “What did you have in mind?” he asked, eager to hear a new outlook on these lyrics he had grown sick of reading over and over again.

“Well,” you began, “it obviously has a sort of ethereal vibe to it. So, summer skies? Like, maybe something about ‘you under summer skies’?”

He nodded slowly, absorbing your suggestion. Until, suddenly, his eyes lit up. You knew the look. You’d seen it many a time before. It was the look he adopted whenever he’d been struck by the perfect slice of inspiration he needed to write an incredible piece of music. “You, Y/N, are a bloody genius! ‘Your wonder under summer skies’,” he grinned.

He scribbled the lyric down desperately. You couldn’t help but admire him as ideas escaped his brain and fell onto the paper before him. He finally looked back up at you, the page now littered with prompts and snippets of lyrics. “Thanks, Y/N. You’re a lifesaver,” he said.

You chuckled, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Well, you didn’t do anything for my other songs but they exist because of you,” he rushed out, clearly not comprehending his words. “Shit. Sorry, that- that didn’t mean to come out.”

You smirked. You had the power now, after four and a half years of falling in love with Harry Styles and making a massive fool of yourself in front of him. He’d slipped up and now you were in control. “Yeah? What songs did I unknowingly contribute to?” your confidence was rare, especially when it came to things like this, and yet here it was.

Unfortunately for you, Harry’s natural confidence matched your own. A playful grin swept up his features as he said, “Wouldn’t it be more fun for you to listen to the album and figure it out for yourself?”

“Or you could just tell me the titles?” you asked, your tone hopeful.

He hesitated for a moment, his confident smirk faltering for a split second. But, before you had time to say anything else, he said, “There’s this song called Sunflower, Vol. 6. I wrote that because your favourite flowers are sunflowers. And I wrote Cherry because I know you love cherries. And then there’s Golden, because that’s what you are, Y/N. And then there’s Watermelon Sugar because I know that In Watermelon Sugar is your favourite book. And now Adore You, because, I swear to God, Y/N, that’s all I want to do.”

He was rambling and you couldn’t help but smile. Whilst you’d spent your days rambling to your friends about how you were convinced you’d remain single forever if he didn’t happen to fall hopelessly in love with you, it appeared that he’d been writing down all the tiny details about you in his songs. Because it was true: sunflowers were your favourite flowers and cherries were your favourite fruit and In Watermelon Sugar was your favourite book.

He was staring at you now, his eyes searching your face for some sort of a hint on how you were feeling. When you said nothing, your lips parted slightly, he went on, “Hell, I wrote Cherry years ago. I wrote it when you were dating that guy... what was his name?”

“Ollie,” you replied quietly.

He knew what his name was. He never forgot. It had been two years but he’d never forgotten the eight months of hell where he had to watch you cuddle up to him and take him home after your group of friends had gone out for drinks. He didn’t know why he wanted to hear you say his name again. Some sadistic form of self-torture maybe, hearing another boy’s name on your lips. “Yeah, Ollie,” he played it off as if he really had forgotten your ex boyfriend’s name. “I wrote it when you were dating him. And I’ve been sitting on it for two years because I thought if I released it then you would know I’ve been in love with you for four years. But then I just thought ‘you know what, fuck it’, so I’m putting it on the album. And Anna, that was about you. But I’ll never officially release that one. Because I wrote it one night when I was alone and I couldn’t get you out of my head and I needed to tell somebody how I felt about you. Even if that was just a bit of paper. But then I played it to you, do you remember? And you loved it, so I swore to never release it because it felt like I’d confessed to you how I felt.”

As you listened to him ramble away about all of these songs he’d written about you and how much you clearly meant to him, you couldn’t help but smile. You’d dreamed of Harry confessing how much he, well, adored you. And you’d only ever thought it would be an occurrence in your fantastical dreams, and yet here he was, staring back at you, rambling on about how much he loved you. “Wait, Harry,” you spoke up, “isn’t ‘watermelon sugar’ something to do with oral sex?”

You chuckled as he flushed, “That’s besides the point.”

“And what is the point?”

“That I’m in love with you and, I pray to God, you’re in love with me back.”

Overwhelmed with joy, you couldn’t help but throw yourself at Harry. The feeling of his hands around your waist in a way that wasn’t just a slightly prolonged hug goodbye after a night out or a slightly overly flirtatious gesture of Harry’s felt electric. Harry’s hands on you in a way that was meant to be a moment of appreciation shared between two lovers was how it was always supposed to be.

After so long of knowing one another, falling for each other and sharing life changing moments, everything was finally slipping into place. You’d been there when One Direction first began their hiatus. You’d been there when he cut his hair off. You’d been there when he went to Jamaica to write his first solo album. You’d been there, albeit your eyes were shut most of the time, when he was dangling a thousand feet in the air for the Sign of the Times music video shoot. He’d been there when you finished university. He’d been there when you lost your mum. He’d been there when your sister had her first child. He’d been your date to your brother’s wedding. All of these things, and you couldn’t help but feel they mounted to this very moment.

You pulled your head back, admiring his face for a moment. Your arms were around his neck and everything just felt... right. His smile was bright and his eyes were full of nothing but loving joy. Without another moment’s hesitation, your lips were on his. You weren’t sure who leaned forward, but all you knew was that this was what you’d been waiting for for almost five years. And, now you were here, showing Harry how much you loved him, the wait seemed worth it. “We’ve got so much time to make up for,” he whispered.

“Good thing we’ve got all the time in the world then, isn’t it?”

He grinned, embracing your body. All he’d wanted to do for four years was to praise it. And now he finally had the chance to. That was until the two of you heard a voice behind you, “We only left for lunch!”

#harry styles #harry #harrystyles #harry styles imagine #harrystylesimagine #harryimagine #harry imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry x y/n #harry x reader #harry x you

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forthehpfanboys · 3 years

Text

Gold Strings & Red Picks- PT 1

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: The Weasley's invented a band! Having a band, means you need a band manager; someone to help find venues, gigs and sponsors. After finding one, Ron seems to be hopeless drawn toward them.

Warnings: flirting, swearing, bickering, sexual tension??, Punk Pining Ron but also Smug Ron, naming a guitar ‘Cherry Popper’, dm me if I missed any.

Notes: I plan on having some chapters kinda spicy. I made an entire gif for this and yes it is Rupert playing 👀 and god is this self indulgent. Hope you guys like it!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWERE~

It was a Friday morning when you quit the Static Dragons and posted the news on every piece of social media you had. It didn’t take long for you to edit your bios to state you were looking for a new band, and it managed to catch someone's eye just as quickly. It was Monday evening when you got a dm on Instagram from a user called ddchrmrs-official. The user basically sent you a paragraph about how he was the lead singer of a band he and his siblings threw together and they were looking for a new manager. You agreed to meet with them and talk about the potential of the band and he agreed, using more than a few explanation marks after his reply. He even sent you a few of their songs once he deemed you worthy enough.

So, you found a dining hall, an equal distance from your house and theirs, and with the lead singer's approval, Fred, you booked it for Tuesday afternoon. Fred even made a post explaining the good news- why he was acting like one of the Weird Sisters followed him back, you weren’t sure. You couldn’t help but be excited too. The songs were good- more punk-rock than you assumed from the band's name. Something about the name Daydream Charmers gave off a softer, boyband type.

The day of the band meeting couldn’t have gone much worse. You missed your morning alarm, you couldn’t find your laptop charger and the clothes you picked out the night before ended up covered in stains from breakfast. GPS even gave you the fastest route and you still managed to be 10 minutes late, but you managed to find the right hall. It was a bit different compared to the pristine image shown on the website.

The roof looked like it was caving under an invisible weight and the actual size of the hall looked like a small barn. The walls were made of red and black bricks, most of which seemed to be chipped, broken or bending, like it was being crushed. The door frame was slanting, the door’s white paint was chipping, the sidewalk was splitting at almost every corner. You were desperately hoping the building was enchanted so it was bigger (and nicer looking) on the inside.

You parked your car on the pebble covered asphalt, right next to an equally old and rusty blue car. You had no idea how four people, a sound system, a bass, an electric guitar and a full drum set fit inside of the small wagon, but figured they managed to spell the inside bigger. You weren’t bothered by it- how could you be? You felt your wand hit your laptop inside the bag as you threw it over your shoulder after climbing out of the car. Shutting the door, you hurried up the broken concrete, shoving your keys in your pocket.

You chewed on your lip, adjusting the collar of your shirt as you approached the door. A smile pulled at your lips at the refreshing sound of genuine laughter and bickering. You had an internal battle of whether you should knock or just barge in. It sounded like they were having their fun and you didn’t want to interrupt anything. Soon enough, the laughter was dying down and someone was strumming a bass quietly, practicing a few chords from one of the songs Fred gave you. You raised a fist to knock on the door and the silence that followed was close to defining. Soft footsteps followed the silence and you swore you could hear soft breathing behind the door before it was yanked open.

“Hey! You made it! We were worried you got lost on your way here.”

You weren’t expecting to be face to chest with an individual. Their band's logo was printed across the front, red letters with a gold outline that clashed drastically with the bright orange fabric of the tight shirt. You tilted your head up, meeting cocoa brown eyes and a crisp white smile. His ginger hair was spread across his shoulders, his ear lobes were pierced with two shiny black flat stud earrings and the little white nostril piercing on the left side of his nose was reflecting the sunlight.

“Fred?” You asked, matching his smile. You could tell he had fun, you could sense it. His arm raised, inadvertently showing off his muscles, and rested against the door frame.

“The one and only.” He grinned, clearly just joking. Before he could say anything else, he was rudely interrupted by a foreign voice behind him. Fred’s smile dropped into a frown like he was suddenly slapped across the face.

“Is it the pizza guy?” The voice asked from somewhere behind him, excitement clearer than crystal. Fred looked over his shoulder to respond.

“No, Ron. That’s not for another twelve minutes.” He rolled his eyes after looking back at you and letting out a loud sigh. “I’m sorry about him. His appetite is larger than Big Ben and it literally never stops. Anyway, I hope you like pizza! I tried to message you about it.” He pulled his phone out of his front pocket, unlocking it and scrolling through his messages and swiping right on notifications he didn’t care for.

“I was using my phone for GPS. Must’ve missed the messages.” Your hands slid into your front pockets, your weight shifting between your feet as embarrassment began to settle in. Maybe this wasn’t the best first impression. Before you could think about it too long, a low whistle was resonating from beside Fred.

Without warning, Fred was being nudged aside by a slightly shorter ginger, his piercing blue eyes staring into yours. They didn’t stay there very long though. They slowly dragged down your body, taking in your form, and his head tilted in appreciation.

“Oh.. I’m not gonna complain about the pizza when Merlin delivered us a cutie.” He gave you a dizzying side smile. “What’s your name, sweetheart? Surely, it’s something as handsome as you are.” Just as quickly as he appeared, Fred was pushing him back, faking a gag while driving the unnamed individual back with Fred’s hand against his forehead.

“Ew! Ron, down! Seriously? Keep your yap shut! He’s our new band manager and I’d actually like to keep this one, thank you.” Fred groaned, a sneer pulling at his lips. He blocked the smaller ginger from the door with his body before turning back to you with a sigh. “I’m sorry. He’s usually not like this. Usually he’s moping about his ex-” You could see Ron jumping behind Fred to get another look at you. The reaction had you snorting into your hands.

“Fred. Fred, move, mate. I wanna see ‘im again!” The ginger whined, tugging at his older brother's t-shirt. He was dodging around Fred’s constant moving hands to get one more peek at you.

Fred let out a groan, his head falling backwards in agony before letting out a loud “George, please help!”

“Wait! Wait, wait!” Ron’s voice matched the panicked hand trying to hold onto the door frame before it was hilariously slapped off the wood and was dragged into the mystery hidden behind the lead singer. His begs and pleas began to echo and soften which you thought caused you to giggle a bit.

“I’m sorry. We’ll put a muzzle on him or something. Come on in, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” Fred shifted out of the door way, allowing you to enter the hall. It was bigger on the inside than the outside, that much had you relieved. Fred shut the door behind you with a satisfying click and let you soak the place in while he sat himself down on a velvet red coach. It was dimly lit, about half the lights were on, and the walls were painted a light tan, which easily could’ve been mistaken for white, if white wasn’t used for the tiling.

Next to Fred on the couch, was a girl with long, slightly darker, ginger hair. Her hair went well past her shoulders, and a bright orange base sat on top of her crossed legs. She had gone back to laying a few chords once you entered, just relaxing as her two brothers basically wrestled each other.

“Ginny, this is (Y/n).” Fred spoke up, pointing from his sister to you, then back to her. (Y/n), this is the youngest Weasley in the family, Ginevra.” Fred smirked, but it turned into a pained expression when she landed a hard slap to his chest.

“Except if you call me that, I will break your legs. It’s Gin or Ginny, nothing else. It’s nice to finally meet you, (Y/n). Fred hasn’t shut up about you.” She smiled at you, reaching a tattoo covered hand out to shake yours.

“Really?” You couldn’t help but grin. You shook her hand proudly, knowing it was probably your reputation that kept the oldest Weasley in the band chatting up a storm. “It’s nice to meet you too, Gin.” You gave her a cheeky grin before turning to the other side of the hall, noting another Fred standing in front of Ron, who was sitting in a chair quiet grumpily.

The double picked up a deep red guitar covered in stickers and shoved it into Ron’s lap, causing the younger to gasp out a wheeze. It was obvious he had chewed Ron out for his behavior, but nevertheless, he gave his unplugged electric guitar a few strums, which seemed to satisfy Fred 2 because soon enough he was storming back to the couch, shaking his head the entire walk there.

He sat himself down on the arm of the couch, right next to his doppelganger. His arms crossed back over his chest once again. Fred 2 had the same length hair, different piercings though. He only had one set of black earrings, but had an industrial across his left ear. He had a straight line of freckles across his cheek bones and right across his nose. The spots went down his neck and across his forehead.

“He’s bloody useless.” He grumbled out, his snake bite moving to the right as his tongue ran across it. “Oh, hi!” Fred 2 scooted over to the edge of the arm rest, reaching his hand out to shake yours. “You must be the band manager! I’m George, Fred’s twin bro-”

“Younger twin. I’m the oldest.” Fred interrupted, smirking again as he pointed a thumb to himself. His smirk dropped when he was smacked in the chest again- by both George and Ginny.

“I’m his twin brother. Ignore him, he has a God complex.” George rolled his eyes, smiling at you while he shook your hand. He pulled his hand away before scooting back to rest his back against the back of the couch. You could tell he wasn’t comfortable, but he seemed dedicated to the spot. “I’m sorry you had to meet Ron the way you did. Usually he’s tamer than that.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, your gaze turned down to your shoes. Your cheeks were beginning to heat up as his flirting rebounded through your head again.

“Nah, he wasn’t that bad.”

“I wasn’t?” Ron’s sudden voice behind you had nearly jumped out of your skin. You spun around, your backpack strings nearly catching on one of Ginny’s bass strings. You swallowed down a squeak. “Georgie was trying to convince me I was being inconsiderate and rude and that mum would smack me if she saw.” He was still holding the guitar by the neck, and that was when you noticed the bright gold strings with a red pick trapped between them.

“Well, it’s not like you were asking about my shoe size… “ Your eyes landed on the hands holding the black neck of the instrument and you couldn’t help but gawk at them. Rings covered his finger knuckles, veins popped out from beneath his skin. “Wow.” You didn’t mean to verbally gawk over the hands, so you had to force your gaze down to the instrument and ignore the urge to stare at the pale, freckle covered skin that was making your mouth dry.

You shook your head, looking at the shiny strings. You had you stop yourself from reaching out and caressing the polished neck, the textures strings and hidden pick. It was clearly loved and carefully taken care of.

“Beauty, isn't she?” Ron grinned, showing off the red body drowning in decals- most of which were bright orange Quidditch themed or terrible chess puns. You almost forgot to check if they were a muggle band, but this told you enough. “My best friend got it for me, he’s a blessing. Mum didn’t approve, of course, said we all had better purposes, but dad said rock on.”

“She really is. I’m guessing you named her?” The second the question fell from your lips, the three sharing a spot on the couch groaned in agony, but Ron was grinning in pride.

“Of course I have! Her name is Cherry Popper and she’s the love of my life. Unless,” Ron was taking a step closer to you, a twinkle in his eyes as he continued speaking, “you plan on cha-” His flirting was cut off suddenly.

“And that’s enough of that! Please sit down and, for the love of Merlin’s beard, rename the damn thing!” Ginny cried out, almost knocking her own instrument straight into the tiled floor. She ran a hand through her hair, her free hand holding the bass hard enough to make her knuckles pure white.

“I mean, come on! Name it something classic like ‘Bertha’ or ‘Jasmine’, or, and here’s my personal favorite, don’t name it at all!” Fred waved his hands while he spoke, counting the names on his fingers before doing jazz hands at ‘don’t name it at all’.

“Fred, that’s hypocritical. You named your mic.” George spoke up, pulling two white marble drumsticks from his jeans pockets and began to spin one between his fingers.

“That was a joke.” Fred stuck his tongue out at his twin. “At least I don’t do it seriously. And leave Echo out of this.” Fred ripped the non spinning drumstick from George’s hand, holding it out of his twins reach.

“Shut up and give me Crystal back!”

“No, if you wanna talk about terrible names, we can talk about the band's name! Merlin, Fred, were you sky high when you made it?” Ron shot back, his arms crossing over his chest, one still holding the guitar.

Knowing this kind of fight could go for a good while, you slipped past him, patting Ron on the shoulder while you walked past while a pained gasp rented the silence that flooded the hall. You set your backpack on the white table, opening the zipper and pulling out your laptop. You sat down, pulling the laptop onto your lap before opening the notepad application.

“I made the name! And dammit, I think it was clever! It even has a unique backstory! At our school, we had a um- small business and it was quite successful. By ‘we’, I mean George and I and by successful, I mean we run an online joke shop. I thought it fit the shop pretty well.” Fred held a look of pride- a smirk was, once again, drawn across his lips as his eyes twinkled.

“Mate, it’s horrible.” Ginny spoke up, not even bothering to throw the truth as a curve-ball causing two of her older brothers to nod in agreement. She copied Fred’s movement by yanking the drumstick from his hand, but handed it to George, smiling at him.

“Why couldn’t it have been something cool? You named your shop something cool. Why’d you give the band something’ shitty?” Ron rolled his eyes, leaning his back against the door, the guitar balancing on his sneakers and leaning against his ripped jean covered legs. His attention didn’t stay with his siblings for long. Soon it was shifting over to you, like he was naturally drawn toward you. He grinned at you, sticking his tongue out. The little gold ball stamped into the middle of his tongue had your full attention.

You swallowed thickly. The ball and his guitar strings were the exact same color and reflected the same light. You felt butterflies fill your stomach from the simple action and noticed, almost suddenly, the ginger was actually quite attractive and funny. You sucked on your tongue, hoping the blush across your cheeks didn’t give too much away. Ron looked back at his brothers, his side grin screaming he basically saw your body temperature rise.

“I was led to believe you all loved the name, but no! I’m starting to think you guys are just trying to embarrass me in front of the (Y/n), but since you think it’s so easy, come up with a new one.” Fred cried out, crossing his arms over the printed long sleeve t-shirt, and was pouting like a child now, sinking lower into the couch.

“It makes us sound like a cheesy boy-band going after 12 year olds.” Ginny scoffed, propping her bass up against the couch. She looked over at her slightly older brother, nodding her head in Fred’s direction.

“It does. We could’ve been Fire Wicks.” Ron pointed at Ginny and the teaming up began. “Or like Solar Skips.”

“Or The Red Bloods.” Gin nodded, pointing back at Ron while her other hand pulled out her phone. The game was ‘Who-Cares-If-It’s-Bad-Let’s-Prove-Fred-Wrong’ and you could tell it was for shits and giggles. You were going to pitch in an idea, but someone beat you to it.

“Or FireBolt Bitters.” Spoke up George, who was now gazing up at the ceiling, shaking his head in mock shame, but you could see the edges of his smile growing at the corners.

“Ooh, I love that one!” Ron leaned over, stretching his arm as far as it could to give George a high five, before turning to look at you. He grinned at your confused expression. “Are you writing these down?” He pointed at your computer before giving you a wink. The butterflies came back, doubled in strength, and you couldn’t help but laugh. You shook your head no, laughing louder when he waved his hands in a panicked manner. “Write them down, mate!”

You rolled your eyes, typing random shit down just to please the younger one. Your eyes trailed across the dumplings, noting three quarters of them were smiling. Fred’s crabby expression made it was clear he didn’t get picked on very often.

“Charlie texted saying ‘The Copper Horntails’ would’ve been better.” Ginny said, looking up from her phone. She dropped the phone onto her lap, wincing a tad when the device collided with the instrument on her lap. She quickly forgot the pain and leaned back, enjoying her brother's pain.

“You asked Charlie?!” Fred squealed loudly, his hands holding his head. Right beside Fred, George had begun to tap his sticks together, improvising a beat to go with the arguing.

“You know what? That’s a great idea! Let’s ask Percy next-” yelled Ron over Ginny’s laughter and Fred’s agonizing scream. His smirk only grew when Fred tossed his head back.

“Ok, damn! I get it! But I already made t-shirts so deal with it.”

“Fred, we have magic. We can always change the print.” George piped up, tapping the white wooden sticks against his thighs in some random pattern, his head nodding to a beat. He shrugged his shoulders, not focusing on his words all that much,

“George!” This time it was Fred’s turn to smack George in his chest. He glared at him before leaning over to whisper in his twin's ear. It was something you couldn’t make out, but you figured they were debating over your status. You rolled your eyes, reaching behind you.

With a clear of your throat, you gained their attention before pulling out your wand from your backpack. While waving it, you locked eyes with Ron, playfully chewing on your lip to try to hide your smile.

“But-” Fred scrambled to grab his phone. You knew he was going to pull up one of your profiles to show none of them mentioned magic or wizarding or anything.

“The quidditch stickers were a dead give away.” You pointed to Ron’s guitar with the tip of your wand before putting it back in your bag. “That, and the tiny blue car that somehow carried four band members, and all of their equipment even though, that should’ve been impossible. I do enjoy Firebolt Bitters, though.”

Your own smile grew when the siblings broke out into loud snorts and sniggers, save for Fred’s. Ron walked over to you, and you were sure his cheeks were hurting from how hard he was smiling. He laid his arm across your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he faced his band members.

“I like this one.”

A smile stretches across your face as your cheeks get warmer. Out of everything to come out of today, this was something even the strongest and most willed seer’s couldn’t have predicted. It wasn’t even half past noon and you’d already started to develop a crush on a punk guitarist who shares a band with his siblings. You were clueless on how you were going to do your managing and keep it strictly platonic when he grinned at you like you were everything he wanted.

#Ron Weasley #ron weasley x male reader #ron weasley imagine #hp x male reader #x male reader #male reader #ron weasley smut #hp imagine #hp fic #punk!ron weasley

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 3 years

Text

Take My Hand (Part Seven)

Summary: from one proposal to another - you don’t know whose hand you want to take - until you do.

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Reader, Rafael Barba x Reader

Word Count: 8,649

Song: I thought of you (all the things that will be lost now) / In the cracks of light (can we just get a pause?) / I dreamed of you (to be certain we'll be tall again) (evermore by taylor swift)

Warnings: T, swearing, SO MUCH ANGST, i’m so sorry, like seriously i’m sorry “sightless in a savage land” (22x04) is used as background (but i also f*cked with the timeline to make things easier for me), also the v*rus doesn’t exist b/c i don’t want to live in reality.

A/N: ok, the penultimate part - the last part before the two endings. it’s been a long journey, but we’re here! thank you to those who have stuck with the series and have reblogged and commented!! as always, thank you to @laneygthememequeen and @bucky-of-the-opera for being the best beta readers! i don’t know when i’ll get the endings out because school starts for me this week, but they will be out soon enough! :)

The rest of the juror selection process felt like white noise after that. An arduous several hour process only made more difficult by Rafael’s nitpicking, probing, and constant objections to jurors — it felt like a punishment.

But you could only guess for who.

One of twelve jurors picked.

Rafael hadn’t even looked at you since you left chambers, but the glowering he gave Sonny wasn’t something that you envied. The man who had a million comebacks for everything on any given day hadn’t spared you a word the entire process, even as you two worked to examine the jurors together — with you pointing out possible problems or points of issue with each one, he managed to take your advice without speaking a word to you.

And it was killing you.

Three of twelve jurors picked.

But it wasn’t the fact that he was ignoring you, it was the fact you deserved it. You were unprofessional, you were secretive, and you hurt him in the process — the cherry on top.

Why hadn’t you told him? His eyes were everywhere but you, his hands careful not to brush against yours, and his lips a thin line. He still oozes charm as he spoke to the jurors, his patented smile — the same smile that you would tease him about — his courtroom smile, no more than a painted smile on the clown made to elicit the response he wanted. And one that he could hide behind from you.

You could feel Sonny’s gaze prickling the back of your neck, and you knew that he knew — he knew you hadn’t told Rafael. It was obvious — you could see Rafael still — his head snapping to you, his slow realization, the shock, and the quiet resignation that sunk into a sinking silence between you two.

And you still hadn’t brought yourself to look at Sonny.

Six of twelve jurors picked.

As the judge adjourned you for lunch, Rafael nearly fled the courtroom, and you went after him, following him out of the double doors, and you heard Sonny call after you, but you couldn’t — not now.

You wanted to fix this — you needed to fix this.

How ironic, you thought, following him out the courtroom and down the corridor towards the stairwell, skipping the elevator altogether, you were doing the one thing he never did — following him when he left.

Well to his credit, he did — the stairwell door nearly shutting behind him, but you barely catch it with your hands — but it was too late.

But you hoped it wasn’t too late now, as the stairwell door swings shut behind you with a resounding thud.

“Rafael,” you call him, his steps echoing in the empty stairwell, along with your voice. But he doesn’t listen — he doesn’t want to listen, but you’re following him — and if he knows one thing is that you’re stubborn, and he knows that well.

“Rafael please, let me just explain—”

“Explain what?” he whirls on you, “what is there to explain?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—”

“Sorry?” he repeats, his voice reverberating, “you’re sorry — for not disclosing to me that you’re in a relationship with Carisi?” His name comes out dismissively — the same way when he was nothing but a green detective shadowing you two — but he was so much more — so much more.

Your voice rises. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to make me look like a fool in front of your boyfriend in chambers,” he cuts you off, “is that why you were pushing the deal so much? Wanted Carisi to have a slam dunk?”

And now you’re angry, “Don’t you accuse me of impropriety—”

“You sure make a habit of it—”

You scoff, “And you don’t?” and the anger simmers a moment — the exhaustion from the proceedings and the day hitting you at once. You speak, your words tempered, “I did what I had to — I told our client about my relationship — I disclosed to him and the judge in a timely manner—”

“So, you told everyone but me,” he’s shaking his head, turning away, “As a professional courtesy,” his words are quiet, stony faced, fingers clenched into fists, “you could have told me that you were sleeping with our adversary in this case,” but the facade flickers, and you see the cracks in the veneer, “but more than that, after everything we’ve been through—”

Your anger wavers, “I wanted to tell you when I dropped off the files, it just—”

“Was the wrong time?” he chuckles bitterly, stepping away, “isn’t it always when it’s us?”

Your chest squeezes, “Rafael, I didn’t want to hurt you, it just happened and I’m sorry—”

“I don’t have time for this right now,” he continues to walk down the steps, and you follow, calling after him.

“What about the case?” and he pauses.

“Mr. Davis and Judge Harper have no issue, neither do I,” he’s rubbing at his temples, adding, “but I catch even a hint of impropriety—”

“You won’t,” and he turns, his gaze undeniably sad, his lips in a thin line.

“I better not,” But still, the guilt sits on your chest, and you say his name again, leaving your lips before you realize— and he shakes his head, “you left last time — and I didn’t stop you — for years,” he continues down the steps, “let me have thirty minutes at least.”

And the stairwell doors shut.

~~~

You hadn’t told him.

Sonny knew that.

It didn’t take a genius to figure it out — Rafael was a brilliant prosecutor, but his poker face often showed his hand. And here it did too — he had feelings for you.

He knew that too.

He knew it because he had been there. He had been the guy waiting in the wings before, he had been the guy sneaking glances, the guy who wished you looked at him — and was disappointed when you didn’t.

And that was the same look Rafael had — the same Sonny had when you had kissed him all those years ago, wishing he were Rafael.

But you didn’t see it, did you? And he glances at your empty seat after you had left after Rafael, even after he called after you, before picking up his briefcase and leaving the courtroom for lunch —

Or maybe you just didn't want to.

“Sonny,” and you find him by the elevators, as you head out from the stairwell, “can we talk?”

“What’s there to talk about?” he pushes the call button, “you didn’t tell Rafael, did you?”

And you’re twisting your lips, “No, when I went to tell him—” the elevator doors ding, and the two of you step in, “his mother was there—”

Sonny wrinkles his brow, “At his office?”

“Well, his mother’s moving to Florida, and so kind of is his office at the moment,” and he can tell you’re nervous, fidgeting in place as you tell him, “he asked me to drop off files — we got interrupted right as I was about to—”

“And you couldn’t have told him this weekend?” he licks his lips, as your gaze drops to the floor, “I’m just wondering...if there’s some other reason you don’t want to tell him.”

You blink, “What other reason would there be?” And he sighs, as the elevator doors ding and he steps through them, you’re still following him, your hand brushing his wrist. And he stops, as your eyes soften, “I don’t love Rafael — I love you.”

And he wants to ask — then why couldn’t you look at him in court? Why did you follow Rafael out? Why did he always feel like he was your second choice.

But he doesn’t ask. He asks something else —

“Then why won’t you move in with me?” and a voice is whispering that your hesitation is enough, that he shows he wasn’t enough, that you two together were never enough — but he doesn’t want to believe it.

Because he wants to believe that his love is enough.

“Sonny, I want to move in with you, I do—” and he knew enough to know a ‘but’ was coming, “but not yet,” and he can’t help but let his face crumble, “but soon. I promise. I just—”

“You need time,” and he didn’t push you — he couldn’t push you — because he didn’t want to lose you, “but I can’t wait forever, doll,” and he couldn’t — not when he wanted so much more, not when he wanted you for the rest of your lives, and he didn’t know if you wanted the same.

“I know, I would never do that to you,” but you were — even as you leaned up to kiss him, he wondered for the first time, how many more times would he get to do that?

After juror selection, you and Rafael had left to go prep for opening arguments, while he was left to stew in his office — spotting a text from you that you would be running late, as was per usual. It had become the norm — working late hours with Rafael Barba — and would he ever stop feeling caught under Barba’s shadow? Even now, a year into this job, when he was in front of his mentor, he still felt like the same greenhorn detective he was when first came in — brash, thoughtless, headstrong — but you had seen past that, hadn’t you?

His chest burning, he reached for the bottle of pepto-bismol tucked away in his desk. You saw his potential, and you still saw it now — but he couldn’t have you by his side now, he couldn’t ask for your support in this case — he downs far too much of the bottle — not when you were too busy standing by his.

And there’s a knock at his door, “How’d it go at voir dire?” Amanda stood in his doorway, as he swallowed, the medicine as disgustingly sweet as Rafael had been today.

“It was the Rafael Barba show, charming and cherry-picking jurors for straight hours,” he could remember his smarmy smile from today — he was in his element, as always. And despite having the skills and the experience, the one thing Sonny couldn’t quite master was his same kind of charm — and you were surely evidence of that, weren’t you?

“Yeah, he was always a dog with a bone,” Amanda sighs.

Sonny laughs, picking up the witness list he had been combing through, “Yeah. I'm looking at his witness list, and he tracked down Ajay's other foster kids, ACS employees, V.A. shrinks. How big of a staff does he have?”

He knew he had your firm’s investigators — but even this much, this was something more than investigators could do — this was police work — the kind of work someone did when they were close to the case.

And Amanda steps forward, sitting, pursing her lips, “I probably shouldn't tell you this…”

“About you and Fin helping him out?” she doesn’t have words, and he knew he was right, and he thinks of Fin on the witness list — “I don't want to know—”

“I am not helping him out,” Amanda clarifies defensively.

“It's fine,” he didn’t need her to draw a line in the sand — it was easier to justify it, it was easier than hearing an apology, it was easier than hearing that his team had chosen Barba over him, “Barba was here before me, Fin was your first partner—”

You knew Rafael first, you loved him before you loved him.

It was easy to explain it away. It was easier than hearing where their loyalties actually lie.

He would always be the odd man out, wouldn’t he? Passed around from precinct to precinct, until he found himself here, but even still, always overshadowed — by Amaro, by Rollins, by Barba. He would always be the newbie, instead of the experienced pro.

He would always be “Carisi,” not “Sonny.”

“That doesn't mean I'm more loyal to them than I am to you,” she pauses, before adding, “You should know that it wasn't Liv's intention to undercut you.”

“Oh, no?” Sonny raises an eyebrow, “Are you gonna tell me that Fin brought Barba in?” And Amanda only shifts in her seat, hand rubbing her neck, until Sonny sighs, “what’s done is done — but I had thought the team would have my back—”

“They do but—”

“There shouldn’t be a ‘but,’” he sighs, “Amanda, I’m having to fight a one person war over a man who shot another in broad daylight—”

“He was abusing her daughter—”

“We hadn’t proved it yet!” Sonny sighs, leaning back in his chair, “there’s a reason they say innocent until proven guilty — we can’t give people a license to kill. Especially not now.” The concept of a white man shooting and killing a person of color and getting off without jail time did not sit well with him. Either way, he wouldn’t be the one to hand people licenses to kill — not without a fight.

“I know that,” Amanda raises her hands, “I do —- but Liv and Fin just want to help Davis and they thought Barba was the best way to do that,” and she doesn’t miss how his brow furrows, “is something else going on?”

And he wants to tell her — tell her about you and Rafael, about how Liv’s stunt may cost him his relationship and his case, how he didn’t know how you felt anymore, and he didn’t know what to do.

But he doesn’t, he only sighs, “I just would like to feel like someone is on my side,”

And then Amanda asks about you, “Have you talked to—”

“We’re both working the case—” he shakes his head, “Client privilege and the code of professional responsibility makes it difficult to talk about this.”

“You can still talk about everything else,” and he almost gives a bitter chuckle — before pulling the ring box from his pocket and placing it on the desk.

“Not everything,” as Amanda stares at the ring box, mouth ajar, as he lifts his gaze to meet her’s, “I’ve wanted to ask — for months,”

Amanda’s blinking, clearing her throat, “What’s stopping you?”

And he could feel his heart crack with the truth of his answer, “I don’t know if it will be a yes.”

And after Amanda left, and he sat in the quiet of his office, he wondered if he would ever be good enough — good enough prosecutor, good enough advocate, good enough boyfriend —-

And your text comes through: Headed back to your place, bringing dinner! And then another: don’t worry I didn’t cook :) And he glances at the picture of the two of you on his desk, before rising to leave —

Good enough for you.

He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.

If Rafael knew one thing well, it was disappointment — and it was so simple to be disappointed in others. Was that why he had become a prosecutor? To point out the flaws in a person, to pin them in place with their worst actions at the lowest point of their life and hold them accountable? His eyes flicker to you, it was easier than seeing the humanity in others — to look past their flaws for something more that was there — and then fight for it.

Because when you fought for it, there was always a chance you would be the one to get hurt.

Why did he let his mother get his hopes up?

When he first saw you at Rikers, he had resigned himself to being your friend, to being a colleague — because he didn’t think he deserved more, and he didn’t. And it was enough — until it wasn’t.

And he could think about all the things he did wrong — over and over, wishing for another chance, but that wouldn’t change the fact you were in love with someone else.

He snuck at a glance at you — you sat, legs crossed in your suit. Even in the late hours of the night, how had you managed to look so effortlessly good? Even after listening to him practice far too many versions of his opening argument, you sat pen pressed to your lips, lost in thought.

Even with his silent treatment, you had insisted on working on this — until you both got it right. You had mostly taken to shouting suggestions from the gallery — body language, wording — not that he had bothered to acknowledge you. He crossed out what he just wrote, before sighing and rising to his feet, and now he decided to take a completely different tact.

He faces the empty jury panel, beginning to speak.

“I consider myself a nice guy,” you snort, as Rafael’s head snaps to you raises an eyebrow at you, “what?”

“Is that we’re going with?” you hide your smirk behind your notepad, “didn’t know we could lie under a court of law.”

And he’s crossing his arms, “I do consider myself to be nice,” and you’re raising an eyebrow now, “you don’t?”

“You’re the one who told our first victim together that she wouldn’t like you after this,” you had started the Twenty Five Acts case almost as soon as Rafael did — pulled in from a different department to help with the case, but you ended up finding your home there — your gaze raises to meet Rafael — for a time, “and now you think you’re nice?”

And he’s huffing, “Are you sure you aren’t letting your personal experience color your opinion?”

“Well, it sure isn’t helping,” and his eyes narrow, before snapping back to his notes, “come on, Rafael, you won’t even hold a conversation with me — the only way you’re talking to me is if I get a rise out of you.”

“We’re lucky you’re so good at that,” and you scoff, setting your pad down in your lap, before fixing him in place with your narrowed eyes.

“Is this what it’s going to be like?” you echo his own words to you, “are you going to act like this throughout the rest of the trial?” and he doesn’t deign to reply to you, scribbling a note in his legal pad, “should I recuse myself from the case?”

“No,” he glances up, and you cross your arms.

“Then what?” and his lips are a tight line, “I get it, Rafael — I hurt you by not telling you about Sonny — and I’m sorry, but,” he sees you frown out of the corner of his eye, “did you not expect me to move on?”

“That isn’t what I’m upset about—”

How could he? How could he when you deserved so much more than him? And maybe that was the reason he wasted his chance with you — he was too busy pushing you away to see that.

Just like he was now.

You push yourself from the chair, the chair scraping against the floor, “Then what is it?”

And his gaze snaps to yours, and his anger deflates when he sees the hurt in your eyes, “I’m sorry,” he sighs, shaking his head, “I’m happy for you — I am—”

“You have a funny way of showing it,”

“I’m sorry, it just,” he can’t tell you how he feels — it’s not fair to you or to Carisi, “just caught me off guard. I just—” he purses his lips, “I don’t like when people hide things from me.” especially you.

But he doesn’t add that.

“I know, and I should have told you from the start — everything just happened so quickly,” you lean against the railing of the gallery, “It was just...really hard to tell you.”

And he’s stepping toward you, hands in his pockets, “Why?”

You give a terse chuckle, “Why do you think?”

Now he’s leaning next to you, “Well like you said, why wouldn’t I expect you to have moved on?” and your eyes can’t quite meet his, “afraid to rub salt in the wound?”

You roll your eyes, “If I can remind you, the wound was mostly your fault,”

“‘Mostly’ is a gift,” you laugh, and he bites back a smile, “do you think...it could have worked out between us?”

“Rafael—”

“I know you’re with Carisi,” the words sting as he says them, before he’s standing up — stupid question — “I just wanted to know, you don’t have to—”

“I loved you,” you admit, and he pauses, glancing back at you. You’re biting your lip, “I would have married you — if you asked me back then.”

He smiles sadly, “And by the time I did, it was—”

“Too late,” you both finish, your gazes dropping to the floor. And he allowed himself to wonder a moment — what if it had worked out? Where would they be now? Would they have a home? A family? A kid? Maybe he would be in private practice, like you — spending his weekends with you instead of an empty apartment. Maybe you both would be in New York, maybe you’d be in the suburbs. But you’d be together.

But you weren’t.

“When did you and Carisi start—” and you tilt your head.

“Is this appropriate—” you start, gesturing between the two of you, and he snorts.

“Is any of this appropriate?” and he didn’t know why he was asking — it would be better not to know, it would be easier not to know, “were you with him when I left New York?” but he still wanted to know.

“No,” your eyes are fixed to the floor, “I hadn’t even spoken to him in years,” and you add, “it was after he started at the D.A.’s office — a few months after. I had to settle a case in Manhattan and he was handling it.”

“So you’ve been together…?”

“It’s been about two years,” and he feels the pain leak into his chest — and now it would be him you would be coming home to, you that he would be walking down the aisle, you that he would be starting a family with.

But two years is a long time without an engagement.

You cross your arms — he notes the absence of an engagement ring on your finger — and he wonders if you were so in love, why weren’t you engaged by now? “We should get back to work,” you say, and he clicks his tongue, glancing at his watch.

“It’s late,” he tilts his head, “we should call it a night.”

“Shit, it is,” you sigh, grabbing your coat and your bag, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Raf.”

His lips upturns at the sound of his nickname on your lips, and he can’t help, but call after you — he needs to know, “You’re happy with him, right?”

Your lips curve into a smile, “I am, I really am.”

And he knows he really can’t tell you how he feels — so he smiles, “Good night.”

“I’m sorry I’m late,” you close the door behind you, tossing your keys and purse on the table, and kicking off your shoes, “Practicing openings ran late—” you cut yourself off, finding Sonny asleep on the couch, case file in hand.

His head lolled back against the couch, the file slipping down his side, and a half eaten dinner plate on his coffee table in front of him, the TV still on. You shut your mouth, smiling at the sight — before you pulled off your jacket, and hanging it up in the bedroom, before you found your way back to him.

“Sonny,” you murmur in his ear, pressing a kiss to his temple, “wake up,” And he’s mumbling your name in his sleep, eyes fluttering, “come on, let’s get you to bed.”

And after some coercion, he’s stumbling to his feet, warm fingers interlaced with yours as you lead him into bed, his eyes barely open, and he’s slipping into bed, under the covers, but his hand still won’t let you.

He mumbles something under his breath, “What did you say?”

“Don’t go,” he murmurs again, tugging you gently, until you’re sitting at his side, and he sighs, “don’t leave, sweetheart. Not yet.”

And your gaze softens, as his eyes flutter closed, running your fingers through his hair, “I won’t, Sonny.”

And he’s asleep, his quiet breaths filling your ears, and you get a text — phone vibrating in your pocket: Finally worked out the opening. I’ll show you tomorrow.

And Rafael adds: Unless you have a moment right now?

You glance at Sonny, asleep, before slipping your hand from his and switching the lamp off, closing the bedroom door behind you.

Yeah. I have a minute.

~~~

Sonny awakens at the sound of his alarm ringing. He groans quietly, blindly reaching for it, before shutting it off. And he turns, reaching for you, to find no one beside him. He blinks the sleep from his eyes to find only your pillow. He checks his phone — Had to head in early to speak to my client — I’ll be home for dinner at eight this time, I promise. Love you!

He frowns, rubbing his eyes, how many times did it make it that week?

He sits up, stretching, he had barely seen you — between work at the firm and work on the Davis case, he hadn’t seen you in a solid week.

But you have seen Barba every day of the week now.

He didn’t think of himself as jealous — no, he knew his place and he trusted his partner. And he knew you would never cheat, at least, not physically.

But it wasn’t you he didn’t trust.

Barba was a friend, a mentor, but he was also your ex. The very same that had broken your heart, the very same you had fallen in love with, the very same that you probably would have married in a heartbeat.

So why not Sonny?

He knew Barba had made you afraid of commitment — tentative to get your heart broken again, hesitant to take that step off a cliff where you couldn’t see the bottom — but he would catch you, he would always catch you.

He stares at your messages, so why didn’t you?

Might run a little late — Rafael wants to prep a witness again.

And he locks his phone.

Maybe he already knew the answer.

“Yet another late night,” you groan, looking at the time, stretching out on your couch, “how does this keep happening?”

“We’re both workaholics and enablers,” Rafael replies, putting away some of the case materials, “plus I’m more productive working here than my mother’s kitchen table.”

More or less, his eyes found their way to you as they always did — at least the view was much better.

You snort, gesturing, “My office thanks you,” before you think, “you know I could get you an elevator fob, a temporary one, so you could work the case here.”

Rafael pauses, furrowing his brow, “And that’s okay with your partners?”

“Well they want a win, so,” you sit up, rising from the sofa, glancing over at him, “they’ll be fine,” and he’s raising an eyebrow, and you can’t help but slowly smile, as you walk across the office, “well, they told me all things go well — I may be making partner after all.”

“You’ll be a partner?” and you nod, as he beams, “congratulations,” he moves forward, but hesitates — instead offering you his hand, and you roll your eyes, taking his hand and pulling him into a hug. And he stiffens, but tentatively melts into — “I’m really proud of you — you deserve it.”

“Thank you,” you reply softly, your arms resting loosely around his shoulders,

And he pulls away, lips curved upwards, “Thank me? I should be thanking you for all the work you’ve put in—”

“No, no,” you bite your lip, “I meant for everything — you helped me become the attorney I am today — you guided me, and,” your eyes meet his gaze, “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“In more than one way,” he gives a bitter chuckle, pulling away, stepping back. He had driven you from work — it was your choice, but what other choice did he leave you? It was either move on or spend days working with the man who broke your heart.

“Raf—” you start.

“I did apologize for what I did, but—”

“You did and—”

“But I don’t know how to make it up to you,” he presses his lips together, arms crossed over his chest, “in a way, I don’t think I ever can. I just—” he shakes his head,

“Raf,” you shrug, “I really wanted to hate you,” and a huff of a laugh escapes your lips, “you didn’t make it that hard,” a mournful smile on his lips, “but I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to,” you tilt your head, “I loved you — I couldn’t find it in me to hate you — even when I thought I did, even when I said no to you — I didn’t hate you — I couldn’t. You made mistakes and you apologized,” and you add with a sigh, “it’s also really hard to hate you.”

“Really?” a half smile on his lips.

“At least for me,” stepping forward, “must be something wrong with me — physically, psychologically, something,”

He scoffs, biting back a smile, “I hear Liv knows a good F.B.I. psychiatrist,”

“I’ll have to ask her about it,” you snort, “where’s this coming from anyway?”

“I treated you so terribly over Carisi,” he says softly, “when I treated you worse when we were together—” and you waver, “I just — I’m sorry — you deserve more than that,” you deserve more than me, he thinks, and you have it.

“We both made mistakes,” you tilt your head, “don’t you think it’s more important what comes after?”

“And what is that?”

You roll your eyes, “Friendship? Camaraderie? Maybe even a little honesty?”

“Well, you know lawyers love to lie,” he steps forward.

You raise an eyebrow, “Are you lying about something?”

Only my feelings — but what else was new? “Nothing important,” he smiles, grabbing his coat, and he bites his lip, glancing at the time — 9:37 PM, “do you have time for a celebratory drink for your promotion?” and you frown, “unless you have plans?”

And you glance at him and your phone and back, before nodding, “I got time.”

“Have you asked—”

“Not yet, Ma,” Sonny sighs, glancing at his casework, before leaning back in his chair, the stress crawling up his already stiff shoulders. And this phone call did little to alleviate his stress, “We’ve both been so busy with this case—”

“Too busy to talk about marriage?” it added to it, and he’s rubbing his temples, regretting ever asking for his grandmother’s ring to propose, “Dom, don’t let this one get away because you’re too afraid—”

And he’s covering his mouth, fingers squeezing his phone, “I know—”

He knows, but do you?

“You’re good for each other — we’ve seen it for ourselves,” he could hear his mother smile, “it’s so rare that you find someone that your sisters actually like, not to mention your father — that man—” his stomach is sinking, and cuts herself off, “what are you waiting for, Dominick?”

He was waiting for you to love him enough.

“Ma—”

“You love—” He’s always loved you more than enough.

“Of course I do, but—”

“But nothing!” she huffs, “you should propose tonight over dinner, I got the perfect recipe for you to cook, it will—”

“I can’t!” he finally snaps, frustration boiling over, “I can’t because I haven’t even gotten an answer about moving in—” and his anger simmers into sadness, voice breaking, “so how can I ask for marriage, when—” when he’s not even sure if you love him anymore?

“Dominick,” his mother’s voice would break his heart, if it already wasn’t broken, “if you’re unhappy, you have to say something, you can’t let it go on,” her words are soft, but firm, “you don’t deserve to have your heart wasted — you’re too good for that, my sweet son.”

He clears his throat, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, “I have to go, Ma,”

“Ok,” she says with reluctance, “call me later this week?”

“I will,” and then he adds, “and Ma? I love you.”

“I love you too,” and she hangs up, as he sets his phone down, seeing his lock screen — a picture of him kissing your cheek at lunch, a few days before the case. And he’s staring at your smile, your lips, the way you were looking at him instead of the camera — and he locks the screen.

He needed to tell you.

The door clicks shut — the fourth time in a row you had been late. Sonny sits, eyes forward on the T.V., arms crossed against his chest, not bothering to look over.

“Hey,” you begin, “sorry I’m late, I—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies tersely, and he doesn’t want to fight — he doesn’t — he’s too tired to fight, before clicking off the T.V., “I’m used to it.”

And you blink, “Sonny—”

“It’s what? The eighth time or ninth time?” he’s sighing, “if that’s not a pattern—”

“And this isn’t court,” you are walking towards him, setting down your things, “I’m sorry this case has been taking so much of my time— our time—” you correct yourself, “but it’s almost over — you know that, we’re working the same case.”

“Except I’m not the one who is constantly at the office,” he’s sipping at his drink.

“Because my side of the case is harder — you know the facts,” you cross your arms, “we have to be creative — we don’t have the government’s disposal at our fingertips—”

“That would be true, if Liv and Fin didn’t help Barba find and track down witnesses,” he raises his eyebrows at you, as you blink, “yeah I knew about that.”

“I didn’t know—”

“And it’s one thing to feel like your team is not on your side,” his chest squeezes, finally meeting your gaze, “but when it’s you—”

“Sonny, this is my case, it’s professional. It has nothing to do with us,” you find your way to his side, but he’s pulling away from you.

“It is when you’re using this case to push me away,” he says quietly, and he tries to see past your glassy eyes, “you’re never home, you’re always at the office, we never see each other—”

“It’s just—”

“It’s not work,” he almost laughed out of frustration, his heart no longer cracked but flooding, sinking beneath his own pain, and he could barely see the surface, “this has been happening even before.”

“What are—”

“Why won’t you move in with me?” he can’t afford to avoid it any longer — the question burning on his tongue so long that it had branded the words across his flesh. The one question he knew that could pull this whole thing apart, but he needed to ask because he needed to know whether it would.

And he’d fall with it, if he had to.

“Sonny,” you’re staring at him, “I—”

“We’ve been dating for two years,” each word scrapes against the lump in his throat — each syllable only pain and hurt, “I have tried to be a good boyfriend, patient and loving — I love you, I’ve loved you since I met you—”

“I know, Sonny,” your voice breaks.

“And I can’t wait any longer for your answer,” he’s risen to his feet now, “I need to know.”

“I’m just not ready—”

“Will you ever be ready?” and he knows the answer, and he’s known the answer — he just couldn’t bring himself to ask it, but your silence is the answer he needs. And he’s turning away from you, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Sonny—” And he’s grabbing his things — his coat and his bag, but you’re at his side, fingers brushing his arm, “please—”

And he turns, pulling your hand away from him, “Have you ever asked yourself why you can’t move in with me?” and you blink, “it’s because of him.”

And he doesn’t need to explain who that is, “It’s not—”

“I’m tired,” he cuts you off, turning away from you, “I’m tired of being your second choice, okay?” The words leave his lips and he’s almost as struck by them as you, and in a second, he’s pulling you aside into an empty conference room, the door clicking behind him, “I don’t want to live in his shadow anymore—”

“Sonny—”

“And not just with you,” he knew Fin, Rollins, and Liv were helping him — despite their orders, despite their loyalty to the state of New York, and despite their loyalty to him. And you — every late night, every glance in court, everything that existed between you two — he trusted you, he did, but he didn’t trust your feelings, “I can’t do it.”

You’re at his side again, fingers plying at his cheeks, trying to get him to look at you, “I want you to move in, please, I—”

“I don’t want to just move in anymore,” he sighs, it wasn’t enough — not anymore, “we’re past that, I’m past that.”

“I—” and he pulls the ring box from his pocket, and your head snaps to it.

“I want to marry you, sweetheart,” his voice softens, fingernails digging into the velvet, “I want to be with you forever — I want to have a family, children, a home—I want to give you everything,” and tears are slipping down your cheeks now, “but not if you can’t give me everything too.”

And he wanted your everything — more than anything — he wanted to share it with you, to know you like he knew himself. And maybe he never would — but he would spend a lifetime trying to — and wasn’t that what loving someone was?

And he knew you loved him — but was it enough?

“Sonny, I—” you can’t believe it — it’s written clear across your face, and he knows — his stomach sinking — you hadn’t thought about this, had you? Not like he did, “I—”

“I think we need some time,” and he’s stepping away, “I need some time—”

“Sonny, please I don’t—” and you’re taking steps in tandem, until he allows you to touch him — but it doesn’t bring him peace, only pain.

And he kisses you because he can’t help it, not when you’re crying and he’s the cause — you pull him in, a meteor that can’t pull out of your orbit, and his kiss is soft and hard — jaw clenched, even as he melts into your touch, until you break apart, only your brows brushing in quiet of your breaths.

Until he’s pulling away.

“Think about it, okay?” he tucks the ring box back into his pocket, “because I have, and I—” and he swallows, “I can’t anymore.”

“How long do you need?” you ask quietly, as he steps towards the door, his fingers brushing against the doorknob, as he looks over his shoulder at you, standing.

And he smiles sadly, “That’s up to you,” and as the door shuts behind him, he knows that you know what he means — he needs an answer, and he hopes you give the one he wants.

Otherwise — he rests his head on your shut door, eyes stinging with tears — he’s not coming back at all.

You can’t sleep. An understatement.

You hadn’t slept in two nights — you couldn’t. Each time you’d toss and turn until you gave up, turning on your side and scrolling mindlessly through whatever app you found amenable — anything to not think, anything to not see Sonny’s face staring at you looking for an answer you didn’t have, anything to not hate yourself for not having the answer.

You hated yourself. Another understatement.

You turned on your back, staring at the ceiling — how could you do this to Sonny? What was wrong with you? He was perfect — loving, caring, sweet — and all he wanted was a future with you.

The very thing you were afraid of.

But why? You squeeze your eyes shut, but the thought wriggles its way to the forefront of your mind — Why were you so afraid?

You sigh, glancing at the empty space next to you, rolling over to Sonny’s pillow — it still smelled like him, his shampoo, the unique scent that you couldn’t quite pin down, but that was him all the same. Tears sting at your eyes, and you throw off your covers, sitting up — you couldn’t stay here.

You pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a jacket — sparing one more glance at your bedroom — not right now.

You don’t know where to go — you don’t feel like eating, you don’t feel like sleeping, so where else do you go?

You go to work.

The office building is unlocked from the outside — relatively deserted, except for the security guard that sat at the desk, who nodded at you as you entered — bleary eyed. You slip into the elevator, scanning your elevator fob and hitting the right floor, a shaky breath as the doors shut behind you — but you can’t cry, not in the elevator of your workplace, not when you’re on camera, not when you don’t deserve to.

Not when it was you who had done the hurting this time.

The elevator dings, letting you off on your floor — and you step off to an empty floor. The lights have long ago dimmed, as you scan your fob and open the glass doors to the offices. You spare at the glance at the partners’ offices — the lights shut. And you sigh, you hadn’t even told Sonny about the potential offer — you were going to wait until it was confirmed.

And now, you arrived at your office opening the door, would you ever get the chance?

You jump when you hear your name, head whipping up, heart in your throat, when you spot Rafael sitting on your couch, “Hey,” he blinks, “sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” and you furrow your brow, “I was practicing my closing.”

“How—” and you remember the temporary key fob you had made for him— and you shake your head, “no I’m sorry too, I just needed—” you swallow the truth, “I just—” but you can’t bring yourself to lie, choking on your own words. And then he asks the one question that he shouldn’t —

“Are you okay?”

And you’re crying, tears slipping down your face, and you don’t know how but he’s holding you now, your tears staining his button up, buried in his shoulder, “I’m sorry— I—”

He shushes you gently, “It’s okay, don’t apologize,” and you both stand there for a few minutes, until your sobs finally quiet, an empty feeling in stirring in your chest, and he’s running tentative fingers through your hair, “I feel like I can count the number of times you’ve cried in front of me on my fingers,”

You give a watery chuckle, “I don’t like crying in front of other people,”

“Who does?” he replies drily, and you laugh, shaking your head, before resting your forehead against his shoulder a moment.

“This is such a mess,” you whisper, before you’re pulling away, “I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t say sorry,” he shakes his head, as you sniff, wiping your tears, before jerking his head towards the couch, the two of you sitting, and he’s handing you bottled water. You take a few mournful sips, before screwing the cap on, “what happened?”

“I really fucked things up with Sonny — I—” your voice broke, “you should have seen him — he was—”

“It’s okay, slow down,” he tells you softly, “What happened?” and you’re silent a moment, “unless you don’t want to—”

“Sonny — he proposed,” the last words come out a whisper, and Rafael blinks, “sort of, it was an argument.”

“Because you didn’t say yes?” and you’re shaking your head.

“Because he thought I never would,” you squeeze your eyes shut, covering your face, “I don’t know what to do,”

“I think the obvious question to ask is, do you want to marry him?” and you don’t know how to answer that.

“I’ve never married someone before,” a tear slips down your face and he’s handing a tissue, “how do you know?”

“It’s a feeling,” he shrugs, “it’s the same as love — you feel it,”

You blink away tears, meeting his gaze, the question leaves your lips before you could stop it, “How did you know?” and you shake your head again, cheeks burning with shame, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“I knew too late,” his gaze dropping to his lap, “but I knew I wanted to marry you. I knew my days were happier with you, I know that I wanted to see you every day that you were gone, I know I thought about you almost every day, I know I regret every decision that drove you away,” and his eyes meet yours again — shining with something you knew all too well, “and I still do.”

More tears falling — but maybe for another reason now, “Raf—”

“I would kill for a second chance,” and then he gives a bitter chuckle, “no pun intended, or malicious intent for that matter,” he adds, making you huff, “but I would. I made so many mistakes with you because I was afraid — because I thought you would fall out of love with me when you saw me,”

“But I always saw you, Rafael,” your hand finds his, “I did.”

“I know,” he says softly, “but what’s stopping you? Is it fear? Or is it something else? Or…”

Or someone else.

The words were unspoken, but the implication hung between the two of you, and he whispered your name, but you’re shaking your head, “Rafael, I can’t—”

And you couldn’t — this wasn’t what you came for, this wasn’t supposed to happen. And you were supposed to say no, you were supposed to pull away, you were supposed to love Sonny — and you do, you do, but you can’t pull away.

Not when you have feelings for Rafael too.

“I know,” he whispers back, “but I can’t lie to you anymore — I can’t lie to myself,” he smiles sadly, “I love you,” the words echo in your fresh tears spill from your eyes. His fingers brushing a falling tear away, nearly just by the tips of his fingers, and your breath is shaky, as he smiles, “I don’t think I ever stopped.”

“Ever?” you repeat, and he laughs, a warm sound that lingers.

“Ever,” he sighs, “I didn’t want to hurt you or Carisi — I want the best for you, but I need you to know, if…”

If he was the one stopping you from saying yes.

“I know,” you whisper back — and you want to say more, but your words elude you. Your chest squeezes, and you wonder if he’s stolen your breath too, because he’s surely stolen your words— “but…”

“But,” he nods sadly, but you still didn’t know.

But the moment too eludes you when his phone rings, the two of you leaning away, blinking, as he reaches for his cellphone, as you wipe your tears away. He writes off whatever the message is, tucking his phone away, as you get to your feet, “I need time to think,”

“Of course,” he clears his throat, a beautiful blush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, I know,” you shake your head, glancing at your phone, seeing Sonny’s face on your lockscreen, before you pocket it, “I just—”

“I know,” he says, tilting his head, “are you okay?”

And you shake your head, “No,” and you sigh, a weight sitting on your chest — the weight of a decision you didn’t know you would have to make, but you did, and you would, “but I will be.”

And you would be — as you stepped out of your office, rubbing your eyes — maybe once you slept on it.

~~~

And sleep you do, but it is one that is dreamless, but not thoughtless.

No, your thoughts swirl throughout your subconscious the entire night. You dream of Rafael, just as you dream of Sonny.

And as soon it seemed you fell asleep, you woke up to your cell phone going off — the verdict was in.

Even as you walk into the courtroom, you don’t know who to choose. You hadn’t spoken since that night at the office — to either of them. You arrive earlier than the others, Rafael and Sonny absent from their respective tables, and the officers choose then to bring in your client to your side.

“Mr. Davis—”

“Please call me Mickey,” he offers a weak smile, “I told you that from the start.”

“Sorry, Mickey,” you correct yourself, “I would ask how you’re feeling, but well—”

He huffed a laugh, “Nervous, for one, but,” his eyes fall back to the empty jury box, “I have to trust in the system don’t I? Same as everyone else.”

And you glance behind you, noticing the absence of anyone behind him, “Did you not ask anyone to come?”

And he sighs, “My daughter, but,” he glances sadly behind him, “she hadn’t come — not yet at least,” and he shakes his head, leaning back in his chair, “wife’s gone as you know — and well,” he pulls a picture of his daughter from his pocket, “who else would you want by your side at the worst moment of your life?”

The double doors behind you creak open, and Sonny enters, walking past you without a glance, And who would you want?

And only a few moments later, Rafael arrives too, finding his place beside you and Mickey, and you allow them to speak, his hand clapping to Mickey’s shoulder.

None of you really knew how the jury would rule on this one. And you wondered — who was it that you would want beside you at your worst moments? Who would you want behind you, whispering comforts in your ear, who would want to love you, even at the lowest point of your life?

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” and the jury rises, the foreman handing the verdict to the judge, before handing it back, “have you reached a decision?”

And you glance between Rafael and Sonny — you were on trial, whose hand would you want to hold?

“We have, Your Honor,” and you know what your answer is now, “we find the defendant—”

Guilty of Manslaughter Two — the same deal that you and Rafael had turned down at the start of this — ironic, you think, glancing at the two of them — back right where you started.

You pack up your things as Rafael slips out early, as you quietly discuss sentencing with Mickey, before setting up another meeting with him about the hearing. And Sonny’s leaving too — catching a glimpse of both of them leaving — and now you knew your answer, as you begin to walk towards them—

You knew whose hand you wanted to hold.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba imagines #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi #sonny carisi imagines #sonny carisi fanfiction #svu #svu imagines #svu fanfiction #law and order: svu

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milktyama · 3 years

Text

— ☕︎ IF BY CHANCE

a/n: here are the imagines that anon gave me and gave me permission to expand with my own accord!! thank you anon i love this idea (and also added the song to my playlist thank you for that) ALSO longest work ever done!

— heavy reference to if by chance by ruth b.

synopsis: "if by chance... could you forgive me?"

pairing: 3rd year/adult!kageyama tobio x reader

genre: fluff to angst, hurt little comfort, in spain w/o the s

wc: 2.3k

thank you @kohi-zeri @snoozless for beta-ing! <3

❥︎ two swear words, most obvious n smallest manga spoiler

People like to emphasize how high school will be the greatest and the wildest years of your life. And a major part of high school is exploring first loves and small infatuations. High school love is so innocent and light-hearted and sometimes awkward, but that is what makes it so charming.

That is exactly how it felt being with Kageyama Tobio after meeting him in your final year of high school. Shy confessions were exchanged on the daily, pinkies linked as the main source of public affection, anything more flustering both of your young selves.

You always thought that meeting your high school sweetheart in your last year was a sign of bad luck. It was way too late for any deep love to actually develop. It would almost feel forced or fleeting, the connection not having enough time to harvest and bloom.

Though, being with him proved that wrong.

Having him in your life was a blessing from the moment you first encountered him on a rainy spring evening during your way home. You would’ve never expected that that day to become as significant to you back then as it does now.

A small irregularity of Kageyama Tobio forgetting his umbrella when the weather forecast had explicitly predicted a 90% chance of raining during the evening. That night, you thought to yourself that he was counting on the 10% chance that it wouldn’t rain, when in reality it was simply the fact that he did not check the weather forecast daily.

Pft. You would think that being a senior in high school would mean taking up a little more responsibility, but that wasn’t the case with him. His mind still ran on the adrenaline and excitement of volleyball and volleyball alone.

You saw him attempting to take shelter under a cherry blossom tree in the nearby park. The droplets of the rain reflected the sunlight as they landed on the light pink petals of the tree, giving it a warm and peaceful glow.

Kageyama’s hair and clothes were damp from the minimal protection he had against the pouring rain. If you had not approached him that night and offered to share your umbrella, nothing would have happened between the two of you.

You two would have remained as casual classmates, having small insignificant encounters that could be easily looked over: being assigned clean up duty together, collecting tests from people in your row — simple things that no one would ever think twice about. This encounter alone could have easily been part of the list of insignificant encounters… it was just a classmate looking out for another classmate right?

But the warm kindness you showed him on that cold, rainy night had somehow reached Kageyama’s heart. What he at first thought was a mere act of kindness towards a classmate had sprouted into something a little bit more.

After that night, Kageyama found himself looking in your direction more often. His bright blueberry eyes would wander towards your figure who sat a few desks in front of him. You never caught him staring during class, but his presence was more than enough to burn through the back of your head.

It seemed his not-so-subtle glances have rubbed off onto you because you would find your eyes starting to linger on him as well. His tall and lean figure captivated you. His raven hair, his blue eyes, his indifferent voice, and infamous “resting bitch face” were triggers your brain could not miss.

The more the days pass with your attention captivated by this man, the more you realize your feelings towards him. It was a rocky but surprisingly short journey, with both parties who faced difficulties with expressing their feelings to the other, but everything eventually fell into place, leaving it up to fate to bring both of your yearning souls together.

And oh boy did fate put a strong magnetism between the two of you.

You fell in love with Kageyama Tobio through and through. Sure, it was a little awkward at first, with stiff movements and a sprinkle of miscommunication, but after speaking your hearts out, it became clear: you were in love with him just as much as he was in love with you.

At least that is how it seemed.

Even after sharing light kisses under the cherry blossom tree where you met for the first time, your hands held in his rough ones, surrounded by the smell in his clothes that you borrowed from his closet. Or passing small notes to each other during class and sleepless nights when you tried to tutor him in classes he lacked on. Or shouting from the top of your lungs whenever you attended any of his games while sporting his spare jersey.

All these memories seemingly came crashing down a week before your graduation.

Your ears rang after he utters a short phrase that had enough power to crash your world, enough power to make you feel as if everything you’ve done the past year had been a waste, enough power to leave you on your knees, helplessly clutching your chest as the pain starts to spread throughout your body.

“I’m sorry. But… I think I’m in love with someone else.”

He continued to ramble endlessly. Maybe it was more apologies, or maybe he was reasoning what he’d been doing with you this past year. Maybe he was word vomiting in order to make this impact on you less heavy. Whatever it had been, you couldn’t hear it. You lost your grasp of your senses the second those words had reached your ears.

How did you not notice this? How could you not see how his glances towards you became less frequent, how his kisses grew more reluctant, how he wouldn’t reach for your hand first, how his eyes didn’t sparkle for you? You only now realized that he fell out of love. Or maybe he loved someone else all along? Or maybe you were just a game to him? You didn’t even want to consider the latter.

Your sight was blurring with tears that you desperately tried to keep in, but they had already fallen helplessly down your face. You didn’t even notice that Kageyama was no longer in front of you.

When you finally composed yourself, you could see his retreating figure in the distance with someone else at his side. They weren’t hugging or holding hands or kissing or anything of that sort. But watching the person you thought you could love for the rest of your life walk away with someone else was just too much for your poor heart to bear.

It has been exactly 4 years since. You graduated from university and did some intern work during your summers to distract yourself. You truly believed that you have finally picked yourself up and moved one. It was only after seeing him on TV, seeing that he had achieved his dream of going pro, that all the emotions came rushing back.

You still loved him. You always have and never stopped. Your love for him was so great, so powerful, so unconditional that it never left your system, even after being broken in one of the worst ways possible.

Maybe if he had loved you then you would still be by his side, cheering him on.

He reached out to you a few months after your break up. With your wound still fresh, you had truly believed he called to get back together, only to get your hopes crushed. Well, not completely, at least. He called to apologize again, figuring that back in high school you — actually, both of you — had been too emotionally distressed to properly deal with the situation.

It was a very short call, 5 minutes at most. His apology was simple and to the point, but that was how he was. He swore he was sorry for ending things the way they did, and ended the call with a promise. He promised to never hurt you again.

Although his heart may or may not have not been occupied by someone else during your time together, he still found comfort and familiarity when he was with you. Before he could hang up, you too apologized for how you reacted and dealt with the situation, swearing the same promise.

But that promise proved harder to keep than you had thought.

You encountered Kageyama once again, but this time he was with someone else. He seemed happy. It was hard to believe that even after all these years, your heart still beat for Kageyama Tobio. It hurt your heart to see him smile for someone else, knowing those smiles used to be for you. It hurt your heart to know that you were no longer the reason for his smiles being so wide, so genuine.

You wondered if he still recalled the memories the two of you shared. If he still sang along to the song you two spent weeks choosing and claimed as “your song” or if he skipped it. If he still reacted to advertisements that featured your favorite lip balm, the one he loved tasting on your lips whenever you kissed. If he remembered the future plans you talked about, where the two of you would live in a comfortable apartment and how the interior would be decorated; how you would spend nights dancing around the living room.

Either way, you were no longer part of his life. He had found someone else to dedicate his heart to. As if to confirm the dilemma that has plagued you for so long, Kageyama leaned into a kiss to the forehead of his partner, smiling as he pulled away whilst leaning his head onto his partner.

Tears brimmed in the corners of your eyes. You ran, allowing your body to take you wherever it pleased, hot tears falling helplessly from your eyes continuously.

So much for keeping a promise.

Your feet finally stopped, tired, your eyes worn out from crying. You slowly took in your surroundings as you felt the warm breeze of a spring evening, soft petals tickling your sensitive skin. It was quite obvious where your heart belonged.

You found yourself under the tree where you first met him. Where you two would often sit and exchange fleeting kisses or a small treat, feeding each other with fond eyes. The wind blew past you as the petals from the cherry blossom tree slowly fell, surrounding you in a cozy ambiance that left a bittersweet taste in your mouth.

As your legs finally gave up at the memory that came rushing into your head, you heard footsteps that sounded like they were approaching your way. A piece of light blue cloth neatly folded entered your line of vision. Your eyes shot up to the tall figure that was now towering over you. His body faced you, however his eyes did not meet yours.

You hesitated before slowly reaching out for the handkerchief in his hand, avoiding his eyes as well.

“I’m sorry…” was all that came out from his lips. There was a moment of silence, disrupted every now and then by a couple of sniffles. Kageyama tried speaking again.

“I’m sorry for hurting you again, even after I promised you I wouldn’t.”

“It’s fine…” you managed to choke out, voice slightly cracking. You thought you sounded pathetic. You two broke up four years ago, for fuck’s sake! A lump formed in your throat again, a mix of the remains of old memories and your own consciousness trying to bring some sense into your pained heart.

“If by chance… could you forgive me? For breaking the promise I mean,” Kageyama asked. His words were gentle and soft, maybe a little sweet like honey, attempting to cover up any harshness. It was clear he did not want to hurt you for any longer. His blueberry eyes that you missed so much had a small sparkle to them. You wondered what that sparkle meant.

Was it because he still loved you? Did he miss you the way you missed him? Or maybe he only felt pity for you. Maybe he was hoping for something more. What could he be possibly hopeful for? Your forgiveness? It wasn’t like you were mad at him. Afterall, it was your own fault for falling so deeply in love with him. As painful and bitter as it was, you tried your best to pull your lips upwards.

It was the saddest smile he had ever seen.

Voices in your head screamed at the pain you felt in your heart, but your head reasoned that this was not his fault. You had to let go, once and for all.

“Of course I forgive you.”

The words vibrated through your skull. Your head forgave him, your self-conscious told your heart to forgive him, but in the end, it wouldn’t succumb to logic so easily. You thought with your heart rather than your head, and you absolutely hated it. You broke too easily and gave in to the way your heart beated instead of the words that were trying to break through your thick skull.

The sun sets, warm yellow tones of the fleeting rays of sunlight shone upon the pale pink petals of the cherry blossom tree. The petals turned into a light orange colour as they fell ever so elegantly from the branches above you, surrounding your figure on the ground.

You clutched your knees to your body as you watched his figure stray from you, slowly getting further and further away. Memories from the first time you met under this same tree flooded into your head as a single tear droplet slid down your right cheek.

You felt a lump at the back of your throat. It was an awfully bitter yet mildly sweet feeling. You didn’t mean to be selfish with your feelings towards Kageyama, but if by chance, things didn’t work out with his current partner, then maybe, just maybe, he could be part of your world again.

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achliegh · 3 years

Text

Bronze

Alright, I had this wonderful idea come into my head about Clayton, honestly he deserves his own fic. So here is his version of events! Lots will tie together with Golden so I recommend you read that as well. But you don’t have to of course.

Explaining:

Before Letter is the present.

Letter is updating the lives of the people back home, of whoever wrote it mostly.

After Letter is memory.

The first few letters will be very awkward because writing letters and not being sure what to talk about and what not to talk about is hard and confusing. Stick with me! Yes, this prologue is just a letter.

TW/CW: Discussions of death, miliatry training, smut, cringy jokes, underage drinking, dumb choices, swearing, and more later on.

Beta: @walking-crisis

Some Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Chapter 3:

Dear Uncle Sam

Copperhead Road (Line Dance Skip to 1 minute)

It was an uneventful night, they had just gotten back from an assignment that came up with nothing. Taking off his boots Clay was sitting on his cot, rolling his neck to crack it. Stiff from looking through a scope all day. A song that Clay wasn’t familiar was playing over the satellite radio, something old.

As he took his boots off the picture he always keeps in his left boot falls out and flutters to the floor, smiling he picks up the picture of Leo, Reg, Eloise, and himself smiling at the camera during Christmas one year at the Dumias’ house. He sets it next to him and tugs off his other boot where his other photo falls out. He can’t help the sad and lonely smile that creeps onto his face. Running his thumb over their faces he reminds himself that he has two weeks until he sees them again.

Thomas and Noelle were the last faces he saw before a loud bang and bright lights were all he saw.

Sitting up as soon as the light dulled he felt a shock flow through his body and gasped for breath. Grabbing his chest a sudden heat shot through the back of his head to the left side of his forehead.

“Hey, hey, hey, it's okay.” A voice caught his attention, looking around he spotted a man that looked familiar but not at the same time.

“Where am I!? What happened? Am I dead!?”

“Do you feel dead?”

“... I don’t know”

“We’ll come back to that in a moment. Do you remember your name?” The man moves to sit at the edge of Clay’s bed from where he was standing in the doorway.

“Clayton London Bruss. Now where am I?” Clay lifts his hand up to his forehead where the pain still throbs and feels bandages.

“You’re in a recovery center, you were shot by one of your superior officers.” Clays eyes widen and he lays back down. Then he remembers his pictures and a feeling of guilt washed over him.

“I’m Grev Kinter, I’ll be helping you recover.” The man held out his hand for clay to shake.

He didn’t take his hand.

Dear Dancer,

Long time no write, haven’t heard from you in a couple months. I hope you’re still kicking ass out there. I do miss you… a lot. You come home in 2 weeks. I can survive, but I am getting impatient.

Oh! Remember that dance and song that made me realize I liked you? I finally learned the dance! That means we can dance when you get home.

I may be able to skate like it's nothing but I can’t line dance for shit. But, I learned for you… and because it gets stuck in my head all the time.

When you get home we have to go to this new restaurant that sells a bunch of southern foods because I need to know if it's authentic or not. I eat there everyday you're deployed just to remind me of you.

Was that too cheesy?

Well, I haven’t gotten to be cheesy in a while to you so… Deal with it.

I hope you get this before you are on your way home or else you’ll have no clue what I’m talking about.

All the love,

Thomas

P.S

Noelle says hello!

“I fucking hate those boots.” Leo runs the back of his thigh where Clayton just kicked him with his cherry red pointed toe boots. Smiling, he pats Leo’s shoulder.

“You're just jealous you can’t look this good.” They went to sit at their normal table, Reg sat in between them. It’s where he feels most comfortable. They ordered drinks as they waited for the team to arrive, the music was swinging, people were laughing. It was a relaxed night.

Clay was a bit nervous though, he had gotten close to a specific person on the team and he recently found out that that person was already in a relationship. He had gotten her number from Logan somehow, he didn’t know how those two knew each other, he had called the girlfriend to let her know that he and the teammate had been talking. The next thing he knew he was on the phone with her for hours, talking about him, life, hockey and how Clay had no idea how to follow the game.

She was something special, but Clay knew that those two were happy together so he tried to just be friendly with them. New friends never hurt anyone. Then he saw them in person again and being just friends suddenly became a lot harder.

Thomas, a whole 6’2” man of solid muscle broader than clay himself and just the light in the room. He has the nickname Talkie because he loves to chat with anyone, for hours, including Clay. It felt like he had known Thomas for years when really it was only a number of months.

Noelle balanced him out perfectly, she is smart as hell, quiet but still goofy with Thomas. She was taller than Logan by an inch and won’t let him forget it, her long brown hair was constantly up in a ponytail. She also plays hockey but not professionally, she plays for fun. Clay doesn’t know her job yet but he wants to know everything about her.

It was just the guys coming out tonight because Judy invited the women and whoever didn’t want to come out over to have a wine tasting of Garland’s homemade wine. Clay was out on the floor dancing with one of his friends from highschool when the team came in. He made his way back over to them when the song ended and joined them in a round of shots.

He makes eye contact with Thomas for a second too long and he quickly looks away to Reg who is coughing from the burn of the drink and pats his back. After a couple of minutes of chatting and joking Clay's favorite song came on.

“Leo! Come on!” Clay drags Leo onto the floor right in front as the music gets past the intro. Logan was supporting himself on the table next to a smug Finn. Thomas and James were watching as they started the dance. The light changed to this dull yellow light that swirled around the floor landing on dancers every once in a while.

Clay and Leo were constantly under the light because everyone knew them there. Anytime Clay looked up he always felt a specific set of eyes on him. Dark brown and soft. Clay lost himself in the music, dancing was something he enjoyed to a fault. Once he gets in the zone he can’t be talked to.

Swinging his legs, kicking to the beat, stomping in time he smiles to himself. Starting to sweat he untucks his tank top from his jeans. He tips his head back until the stomp comes up and whips his head forward when he stomps.

The words in this song always get to him, especially something that he was planning to do already… without telling anyone.

“I volunteered for the army on my birthday.” He hums along kicking in a circle and kicking Leo’s ankle just to mess with him. He laughs when Leo flips him off. Smiling as the song ends, he is panting and sweating.

“I always forget how that dance makes me feel out of shape.” Leo flings his arm over Clay's shoulder as they walk back over to the table and take gulps of their drinks. “I’m going for a smoke, anyone else?” Clay nods, Sirius and Logan follow them along with Thomas. Clay didn’t see him as a smoker but everyone has surprises.

“Light me.” Clay holds out his cig as Leo finishes lighting his own, rolling his eyes Leo does after he passes his own to Logan. Sirius came outside for some fresh air and is chatting with Thomas who also came out here for that reason. Taking a drag and leaning against the wall, he looks up at the stars that are poking through the clouds. Closing his eyes he falls back into his own world for an unknown amount of time.

“Coming back in?” Clay blinks his eyes open to see Thomas standing by himself in front of him. His heart feels like it stops beating for a moment. “I mean it is pretty nice outside, I wouldn't mind staying out here. Especially with you.” Clay choked on the drag he was taking from his cigarette when Thomas mumbles the last thing he said. He feels a large palm on his back, not patting but rubbing his back.

Clay looks at him and takes a deep breath and shrugs the hand off of him.

“Let’s go back in. this isn’t something you want, Thomas” He stumps out his cig on the bottom of his boot and pushes off the wall.

“What do you mean?” Clay looks back at him and his face softens when he sees a look of hope and confusion in Thomas's gorgeous eyes. “I mean, I’m straight… or I think I am, but maybe I’m not and I just- I don’t know anymore.” Thomas reaches out to Clay and grabs his pinky finger with his pointer and pulls Clay closer to him.

“I don’t think you are straight, maybe you forgot but I am a man.”

“I know.” Suddenly Clay's back is to the brick of the alley and rough hands are on his waist. He watches Thomas lean forward, pausing for a second to make sure this was what Clay wanted. Clay stares into his eyes then glances down at his lips. Nodding slightly he feels Thomas surge forwards and connect their lips.

It was like his blood turned to fire, a sensation he has never felt before. Their lips moved in sync with each, Clay constantly being pulled against Thomas with his greedy hands and his own arms gripping Thomas's t-shirt. After a couple of minutes they pulled away for breath and Thomas backed away.

Thomas Left. Clay went to find Reg.

Noelle needed to know.

#leo knut #clayton bruss #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #thomas walker #noelle tremblay #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #sweater weather #lumo

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ophelialoveshandsomemen · 3 years

Text

Cristo y Tú vivís en mi corazón.

Capítulo Dos.( second chapter.)

Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, seizures, medical procedures, self indulgent use of an ABBA song, Catholicism, maybe a swear or two. If you are under 18…please go to sleep instead and do not read my works!!!!

Medikua; is Basque for Doctor. Espagnole is French for Spaniard. I realize he’s not a spaniard but hispanic however she doesn’t know that and espagnole can sorta mean someone who speaks spanish if you will.

And yeah, I used an ABBA song. Guilty pleasure of mine and -Fernando- just shouts romance with El Catorce for me, so voila! Enjoy!

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Medikua Hermenigilde Hortense, or Doc Hortense as he is more commonly known, is Isabeau's nearest neighbour from 6 and 3/4's of a mile away. A kind 88 year old man of Basque and French descent and the best medical man this side of the Atlantic, he came over to ask Isabeau if she could perhaps spare him an onion or two for his supper. Then promptly found her hunched over a strange, injured Hispanic man almost a km into her 'woods'. Luckily, he rode the donkey cart in. Making the delicate job of transporting said caballero back to the house much more stress free.

Isabeau sat on the floor of the cart, the ragged cotton quilt he keeps on his seat to fend off the cold now draped across her lap to cushion the patient's head. As his donkey walked the trail to her house, the doc turned his head towards the back. The stranger is still unconscious, and Isabeau gently brushes his hair from his forehead, with her right hand keeping steady pressure on his wounds.

That punctured lung is worrying him. Not because he doesn't have the equipment to treat such an injury. Of course he has the correct equipment, he is, after all, ex-military and he knows people, for God's sake. But because it's a punctured lung caused by a machine gunshot, something the good doctor can spot a mile away. Those are never pretty or easy to treat and almost always end fatally. How this young pup has stayed alive for this long is beyond him! Must be his guardian angel putting in much needed overtime...

*******************************************************************************************

Isabeau has officially gone into shock. Or a panic attack. In this situation there can't be much difference, one is just as useless as the other. She vaguely wonders if it's a result of falling out of the cherry tree or of finding a badly wounded, Hispanic man in her woods. Both, in all honesty.

She still cradles his head in her lap and is monitoring his breathing almost constantly.

'"Doc, his breathing is getting to be quite laboured. Can I do something?"

Doc hears the heavy worry saturating her tone. And makes the donkey pick up his pace.

" Alright, try hanging his legs off the end of the cart, get his blood to rush to his feet instead of into his lungs. And settle his back fully on your lap to elevate his heart level even more. But do it slowly, girl. Slow and steady."

He turned back his head many times as he ordered her to ensure she didn't accidently jostle the boy wrong. He had noticed her complexion become paler. "Breathe, Isabeau, breathe! I don't need the both of you passed out in a donkey cart on me. I'm far too old to deal with this all by myself."

She wordlessly nodded. Her returning nausea didn't thank her for it. She subconsciously and minutely tightened her grip around the caballero's shoulders, consequentially pressing his scalp further against her stomach, mildly alleviating her need to lose her guts. She could feel his shallow breath in the crook of her left arm, quick, wheezing in and outs with a few of the inhales resulting in short choking fits. By now, both her arms and her naked thighs made her appear to be a human incarnation of a battlefield, stained scarlet with the lifeblood of young men, ( or of one young man, in this instance).

His heartbeat, Isabeau could faintly feel thrumming in a rhythm too slow and unsteady for her comfort.

She began to sing. Softly. For her comfort. For his comfort. In order to forget the pain in her head from the fall. In hopes to ground the wounded man in her arms. To gently guide him back to the land of the living through his sense of hearing. Isabeau knows from both her studies in university and her own brief dabblings in mild hypnosis and lucid subconsciousness that a person who has lost consciousness, either from sleep, or pain, or loss of blood, can still register, deep in the recesses of their mind, sounds and voices and even full conversations. But they especially hear singing.

So, Isabeau sings.

The melody is the first that pops up in her brain, a song from one of the numerous cd's she keeps in her 2001 Ford f-250 King Ranch. An ABBA Gold cd, if she recalls correctly. She can't remember all the words, so instead she hums when her mind is blank of lyrics.

Can you hear the drums, Fernando? I remember long ago another starry night like this.

They hit a tiny bump in the road, not even enough to bother the steed pulling the cart, but more than enough to send a jolt of pain coursing through the caballero.

In the firelight, Fernando

The pain noticeable in the wince upon his face, causing the girl to expect him to awaken soon. However much she dreads to see the pain etched on his brow, at least he would show more sign of life than now. She continues to hum.

You were singing to yourself and softly strumming your guitar!

A thought briefly flitters across her mind. She wonders if he plays guitar? Or perhaps he sings? Maybe his voice is strong, loud and boisterous. Or is it smooth and deep? Or he dances? Perhaps none of these and he prefers to sits in the sidelines and enjoy the talents of others instead...

And I'm not afraid to say the roar of guns and cannons almost made me cry!

" Almost there cerisette, which door?" "Uh...the back garden door has no stairs and is the closest to my bedroom." "Oh, your bedroom huh!" "My bed's on the floor. Easier to care for him that way."

There was something in the air that night. The stars were bright, Fernando!

Her chorus much slower and more weary than the original.

They were shining down for you and me, for liberty, Fernando!

The doctor steers the cart off the driveway and towards the house.

Though we never thought that we could lose, there's no regret.

They round the last corner of the house, stopping a few feet away from the door, back end turned to the door.

If I had to do the same again, I would, my friend, Fernando!

******************************************************************************************* Three Hours Later....

Isabeau was exhausted.

They'd been barely successful in carrying the still unknown man into her bed before he slightly awoke, only for him to begin having seizures while she went away in her pickup to Doc's house, grabbing the direly needed equipment for the procedure. Mercifully, he'd only had two minor fits before Doc stabilized him enough to treat the wounds.

Which had taken nearly three hours.

She'd held his hand through most of it. But no one, including herself, could genuinely tell you if she'd done that for his comfort or her own...

She honestly can't recall much else.

She stood in the bathroom down the hall from her bedroom, furiously but tiredly scrubbing at the blood stubbornly caught beneath her fingernails, staining her hands, sticking to the plush hairs on her arms, seeped deep into the fabric of the old yellow plaid shirt she'd swapped her lacy 70's top for...

Her thoughts were disrupted by the good old doc gently placing his freshly washed hands upon her shoulder.

" Get some rest cerisette. The sun may still be awake but you shouldn't be. The caballero is safe now...and so are you. " He sighs. " I am going home for a few hours. Call me if you need me. But get some rest."

With that, Doc Hortense leaves the room. And yes, he did grab a proffered onion on the way.

*******************************************************************************************

She carefully pads across her own bedroom, silent as a Trappist monk, to not disturb her espagnole, as she's begun to call him in her mind. She decides against simply grabbing her sleep clothes and changing somewhere else. Instead she stays standing before her dresser, in full view of son espagnole if he were to awaken. Which he doesn't. She swaps her soiled plaid shirt and jeans shorts for a comfortable pair of well-worn navy flannel pants and a soft long sleeved beige cotton undershirt. No underpinnings either. Girl likes her freedom too much to subject herself to that.

Still a tad too wired up to fully rest, what with the time only being around 8:30 or so, Isabeau cautiously rummages through his minor belongings. Carelessly thrown to the side whilst his life was in danger, now she takes everything in her hands as if it's a precious object. She gingerly folds the white linen jacket, the torn beige button-up, the filthy knit cotton undershirt and the striped wool pants, putting them to the side to be washed later.

Next come the gun holsters and the bullet belts, made of beautifully well crafted leather, the stitching somehow immaculate. Without a doubt handmade. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Isabeau gets the barest nudge that there is no way in hell this was made within the last 50 years. They seem worn: however, they can't be older than a three or four years.

What intrigues her the most about the belts and the holsters, besides being nearly completely full, is the embroidered cross upon the pistol holster. No outlaw trusts that much in God, but no soldier dresses like this. Perhaps a revolutionary from Southern America way back...in...the...

She quickly makes the connection between the guns and the age of the leather and the medallion of La Virgen, the fact that he was shot by a machine gun, mass manufactured and distributed to many governments by Americans in the time she's thinking of.. She may be wrong, but an inkling tells her that she probably isn't. She walks hurriedly back to the bed, sits gently cross-legged on the side where she will rest and softly stares at her sleeping espagnole. Several minutes, or maybe hours, pass and then, she whispers, to the unconscious man, to the dark, to the angels, to God, to herself.

"There's a Cristero in my bed!"

________________________________________________________________

If you would like to be tagged let me know!

#el catorce #for greater glory #for greater glory fanfiction #victoriano 'el catorce' ramirez x ofc #Victoriano Ramirez #oscar isaac #character fandom #catholicism #tw; blood #tw; medical procedures #tw; mentions of seizures

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ilovefandoms102 · 4 years

Text

Part 11- Shape of My Heart

Pairing: Rudy Pankow x Plus Size Reader

Summary: Falling in love with someone you can never have is the worst feeling in the world...

Taglist:

@jeyramarie @drewswannabegirl @sexualparkour @teamnick @jiaraendgame @agirlwholovescoffee @outerbongs @jaxxandcomet @velyssaraptor @baby-pogue @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @must-be-a-weasley-92 @kaitieskidmore1 @ma10427 @ifilwtmfc @lasnaro @justcallmesams @judayyyw @lonely-kermit @gviosca @iamaunicorn4704 @jellyfishbeansontoast @fernweh-fangirl @runway-to-my-aid @eb15 @hurricane-abigail @tangledinsparkles @fandom-phaser @sunwardsss @http-cherries @bibliophilewednesday @evaporatedrosepetals @thetomatosaucee @tomatosauceagent @redosmo @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @obx-direction-sos @mxltifandoms06 @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless

Part 10 Part 12

Note: After crying over the last chapter, I was finally able to muster up this one. Also just in case anyone was wondering, we’re pretending COVID19 is nonexistent in this story because it would just ruin everything and I’m not about it!

=============================

It’s been a month and a half since Rudy told me about his short film, our conversations became less frequent which worried me deeply...

I didn’t want to drift apart from him, and that’s exactly what I feared was happening now. I tried to indulge into my school work, but it became harder to focus when I kept checking to see if I had a text or at least a SnapChat from him. I didn’t want to bother him by blowing up his phone either, becoming an annoyance he’d soon grow tired of. I expressed my concerns to both Maddie’s on our daily FaceTime call, hoping to get some reassurance for my MIA boyfriend.

“We’ve been in a lot of meetings with Jonas and Netflix to try and get season 2 of OBX approved, I don’t even know why we have to be there because they don’t really talk to us.” Maddi B commented.

“Plus Rudy has that short film on top of everything, so I imagine all of this is taking up his time. Don’t fret though, he said in our last meeting how horrible he felt that you all couldn’t talk as much with the both of you being so busy. He talks about you to everyone and how much he misses you.” Maddie C inputed.

“Awww, he’s so sweet. Maybe I am overthinking things, when I go to work tomorrow I’m demanding a week paid vacation because I need a break. Midterms are coming up and I’ve barely had any time to study.” I sighed.

“You need to focus on school, that’s the most important thing right now. You know Rudy would say the same, you need to take that week to relax and get everything in order.” Maddie B pointed out.

“Yeah you’re right, jesus I forgot I have to fucking close at work tonight. I’m going to start applying to different places that actually care about their employees, and will work with school schedules.” I huffed, swinging my legs off of my bed.

“We’ll let you go then babe, love you!” Maddie B called, waving in the camera.

“Love you y/n!” Maddie C said, blowing a kiss in the camera.

“I love and miss you guys, I’ll see you later.” I smiled, hanging up.

=================================

Work was awful, being a shift manager was not all it was out to be. I hated dealing with difficult people and sometimes the other employees. I had just finished have a shouting match with this lady who was down right insulting both me and the other cashier working. I was so glad to be locking up once we closed, practically sprinting to my car, I was stopped by the cashier I had worked with tonight.

“Hey y/n, I-I was wondering you know if um..” he said.

Shit, I knew where this was going...

“Maybe we could hang out some time, I think you’re really pretty and uh...yeah I think we should get together more.” he spoke.

“That’s nice and all pal, but she has a boyfriend.” was heard from behind us.

I froze in my spot, tears coming to my eyes. I whipped around to see Rudy leaning against my car, his blue eyes zeroing in on the guy. He scurried off, leaving just Rudy and I.

“Hi baby,” Rudy spoke, a smile so wide on his face.

He looked different, having grown a mustache and slight beard. His hair was longer too, but still handsome as ever. I let out a watery laugh once I was out of my trance, blinking to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. I dropped my stuff in front of my car, throwing myself in his arms.

“Oh my god, are you real? Are you really here?” I blubbered, pulling back to hold his face. He held me tight against him, combing some stray hair from my face.

“I’m here, you’re even more beautiful than I remember.” he gushed, beaming as he laid his forehead to mine.

“I look like shit Ru, I don’t even have makeup on.” I giggled, feeling his facial hair under my fingertips.

“You don’t need it, fuck I’m so happy to see you. I’m sorry we haven’t talked much, I’ve been so busy in meetings and filming.” he sighed, shaking his head.

“You came just at the right time, I have a whole week off of work.” I said, both of us grinning wide.

“Plenty of time for you to show me around then.” he smiled.

Rudy gripped my face in his hands, crushing his lips to mine. I had craved them for so long, having been deprived of the feeling. My heart went soaring, the feel of his facial hair tickling my skin. He moaned into my mouth, his hands moving to hold my hips to bring me closer. My fingers weaved their way into his now long blonde hair, tugging at the roots slightly.

I pulled away once I became dizzy, pulling my hands back to caress his face. He gave me little kisses all over my face, fully caging me against him so I couldn’t move away. Rudy laughed along with me, pulling back fully now.

“Guess you’ll be my chauffeur for the week babe.” he smirked, opening my door for me.

I chuckled as I got in my car, Rudy jogging to the passenger side. He held my hand for the drive to my apartment, pulling it to his lips to kiss the back of it. We jammed out to some of our favorite songs, dancing crazy. I had the windows down so we could blast my speakers, probably waking everyone in the neighborhood up. Rudy even pulled out his phone to record us rapping Ice Ice Baby by Vanilla Ice, he got embarrassed after the first chorus though because that was the only part he knew and I was still going.

“Ok show off, trying to outshine me on my own Insta story.” he scoffed teasingly.

“Not my fault you don’t know the lyrical poet Ru,” I joked, sticking my tongue out at him.

===================================

I threw my bag on the end table as soon as we walked into the apartment, Rudy taking a walk around. He picked up pictures, looked at my bookcase, and even pulled out some of the books I had to skim through. I sat on my couch to flip through some movies for us to watch, not wanting to miss a single moment spending time with him. Rudy walked into my kitchen, opening my cabinets, and my fridge.

“Baby, why don’t you have anything to like eat or drink?” he called from the kitchen.

“I uh...I couldn’t afford to go to the store this payday. I had to pay my rent and my car payment which is basically my whole check, and the rest is for gas to school and work.” I murmured, knowing he was going to be upset with me.

“So like...what do you eat then?” he asked, peaking his head around to look at me.

I stared at the floor, chewing on the inside of my cheek. I could feel his anger radiating off of him, the tension in the room becoming nerve wracking. I was a poor college student ok, I didn’t have the luxury of my parents buying my way through it. I was lucky some nights to even have stuff to make a fucking cheese sandwich.

“I...I don’t.” I confessed, hearing a sharp scoff come from Rudy.

“Get your shoes back on.” he demanded, snatching my keys.

“Wha-...Where are we going?” I questioned.

“This shit isn’t going to continue, not on my watch. I am seriously pissed you didn’t tell me this.” he snapped, taking me aback for a moment.

“It’s not that big of a deal, you’re being over dramatic! It makes me lose weight so what’s the fucking problem?!” I yelled, Rudy whipped his head around, his mouth hanging open.

“The fucking problem is that I’m not going to sit here and watch my girlfriend struggle when I can help. Let me help you and stop being so stubborn. If you want to lose weight for you then that’s fine, but I don’t want you to have it in your head that you need to do it for me. You’re perfect to me.” he stated, earning an eye roll from me.

“Alright Ru, let’s get this over with.” I sighed, secretly melting at how sweet and thoughtful he is.

===============================

Goofing off in the store was all fun in games until I saw him..

Nick.

The guy that shredded my heart, still yet to be fixed. The guy that messed me up so bad I never thought I was deserving of love until Rudy came into my life. Rudy was in the middle of talking to me when I abruptly spun around and high tailed it out of the aisle.

“What’s wrong?” Rudy asked as soon as he caught up to me.

“We need to leave.” I declared.

“Babe, we haven’t even made it through half the store I-” he spoke.

“Hey y/n, long time no see.” someone said, my blood turning to ice. I turned around to see Nick with some of his friends, smirking at me.

“Um..” I stuttered.

“Who’s blondie?” Nick scoffed, pointing at Rudy.

“I’m her boyfriend.” Rudy said, glancing between the two of you. He must have put the pieces together from the very uncomfortable expression on my face.

“Boyfriend? Really y/n? You’re so desperate you hired someone to be your boyfriend? Pathetic really...” he laughed, his friends joining. I just wanted to ground to swallow me whole, I had to turn my head so they didn’t get the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

“You’re Nick, the piece of shit who thinks he can just toy with women how he pleases.” Rudy concluded.

“Guilty, y/n and I had a good run didn’t we?” Nick commented, going to touch my shoulder.

“You lay one finger on her and I swear to god you’ll regret it.” Rudy said, his voice going an octave lower.

“Oh please man, you seriously don’t have to keep your act up. How much is she paying you?” Nick asked, tilting his head.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but this isn’t an act.” Rudy hissed.

“Guys that look like us man don’t go for fat chicks.” Nick chuckled.

“The fuck did you just say?” Rudy bellowed, getting in Nick’s face. I had to intervene now, I couldn’t risk a fight in the middle of the store.

“Rudy please, he’s not worth it.” I said, tugging on his sleeve.

“Nice seeing you again y/n, remember what I said last time we spoke.” Nick cackled, leaving with his posse.

“What did that fucker say to you?” Rudy inquired, his chest heaving with anger.

“I’ll tell you when we get back, let’s just go to a different store.” I offered, checking out whatever we had in hand before heading to the car.

================================

Rudy spent way more than I told him he could, but I wasn’t surprised he didn’t listen to me. It took us four trips to carry in all the stuff we bought, I’m sure I’d be stocked up for a year now. I was seriously exhausted, and my mood hadn’t gotten any better since our run in with Nick. Rudy had tried to cheer me up, but I think he knew that my mood wouldn’t be saved tonight.

I planned on taking a quick shower, but I couldn’t stop my mind running through my past. My chest started to burn, my hand came over my mouth to conceal my sobs. I had hoped the water would drown out my cries, but Rudy still heard them. He shed his clothes and jumped in the shower, taking me in his arms. I leaned my head on his chest as I sobbed, his lips moving to kiss my wet hair.

“I don’t understand! What did I ever do to deserve that!? I did everything for him! I was some sick game our whole relationship, how fucked up is that?” I laughed humorlessly.

“What did he say to you?” he inquired.

“He told me that I would never find someone to love me, that I was undeserving of love, and that I was the ugliest being on this Earth who was stupid to think I ever stood a chance with him.” I recalled.

“That’s fucked up, you should have let me beat his ass.” Rudy muttered, switching places with me so he could wash his hair.

“He’ll get his karma one day, someone will shred his heart beyond repair just like he did mine.” I whispered.

“I’ll have the best time repairing it then,” Rudy shrugged, leaning to plant a sweet kiss to my lips.

“Are you sure you want to go through that Rudy, I-I’m not...I’m not as happy go lucky as everyone thinks I am, I’m broken deep on the inside.” I said, shaking my head as I looked down to the tile.

“I wouldn’t of chased after you if I didn’t want all of you.” he spoke, tilting my chin up.

“Well I guess so but-” I started.

“It’s you and me against the world, no one will ever compare to you y/n.” he inputted.

I kissed him hard, a moan leaving his lips. He pinned me against the wall, showing me exactly what I meant to him....

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drwcn · 4 years

Text

Not to bring up the distasteful teenager memory of Twilight LMAO, but yall remember that part of the story where it is revealed after Rosalie turns into a vampire she goes and devours every single one of the men who r*ped her.

Fierce Corpse!Qin Su coming for Jin Guangshan’s life.

JIGGY was always looking for ways to make a fierce corpse wasn’t he? Well consider this.

Madam Qin confronts JGY, but it was already too late. Qin Su was already pregnant. JGY, being the dumbest smart person, realized he has fucked up, but what to do? It’s not like he can tell Madam Qin he knocked up his own sister accidentally. Unknowing of this, Madam Qin then went to Qin Su to tell her the truth. Surely even if that degenerate won’t stop this marriage, once Qin Su finds out they are related, she wouldn’t go through with it.

Well, little did Madam Qin expect, once Qin Su finds out, she’s so overcome with disgust she takes her own life (canon compliant, I think? idk what that episode was about to be honest. I always assumed Jiggy drugged her to keep her quiet, but Qin Su was the one to take her own life. Jin Rusong is at best a ball of cells at this stage and abortion is a staple trope of cdrama don’t @ me. I take no criticisms.)

Well shit, now Qin Su is half a step away from death. Jiggy discovers this first, and is like O.O oh feck, but also... opportunity???? He recruits evil gremlin extraordinaire Xue Yang, and beginner’s luck takes them to a successful resurrection.

*cue Mary Shelly shaking her head from beyond the grave or... in the future....technically.*

Qin Su is rightfully like wtf JGY, but Jiggy is like aight sis i know you’re mad, but hey now that everyone knows what’s the deal here, I think we have a common enemy: Jin Guangslut. Should we kill him or should we kill him?

Xue Yang: yo so .... you still gonna get married or what?

Qin Su: if you even think about getting married i swear to god -

JGY: ....okay, how about “fake” marry. Once dear old Dad is dead, we can...idk have an amicable separation. I can even set you up on a date with a guy I know in the fierce corpse community. His sister is still in my basement come to think of it -

QS: what

JGY: what

QS: you are a fucking nutjob, Jiggy, you know that? I can’t believe I was attracted to you.

JGY: first of all that’s hurtful, but... hey at least you didn’t insult my mother.

QS: why would i? our mothers are innocent. *deep sigh* okay fine, how should we kill JGS, I vote for castration. Also *points to the black veins on her paste-y complexion* this is gonna be a problem.

XY: *quirk an eye brow* realllly starting to see the family resemblance now. Don’t worry I got make up to cover that up. Also gotta find you some blush, so you don’t look so ... undead.

JGY “so we get prostitutes -”

QS “No. Jiggy, I’m sensing some internalized classism. Let’s just sic Xue Yang on him and be done with it.”

JGY “....you were less bossy before.”

QS “I was also less dead before. Also, Xue Yang doesn’t mind, do you dear?”

XY *eating the candied pastries QS got him* “Nah, not at all, jiejie. I can wear a dress and get dolled up if you want, but I want silk and the dress needs to be tailored. Bespoke. *points to his plate* These are great. Do you have more?”

JGY: *facepalm* what have done.

QS: created a fierce corpse you can’t control. Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it brother?

QS “I feel bad for Chifeng-zun. If I had to sit and watch you and Lan Xichen make eyes at each other over the guqin day in and day out....”

JGY “Oi, you’re not even my real wife.”

QS “Doesn’t mean I can’t nag you. Also, you have an issue, you know. You can’t just murder your way to the top.”

JGY “I wasn’t -”

QS “Save it. If you give Xue Yang enough candy, he’ll tell you anything.”

JGY “NMJ is a problem. He disrespects -”

QS “You think maybe the reason he thinks you’re a untrustworthy little shit is because you are...an untrustworthy little shit? Also he’s always violent and aggressive towards you...yeah ‘cause you’ve been playing Terrible Temper Tango on repeat for weeks.”

JGY “.....................” *well sis does have a point, maybe i should re-evaluate my strategy “Then what do you suggest I do?”

QS: I believe Xue Yang calls it “when it doubt, fuck it out.”

JGY: ...............................you two need to stop hanging out together.

Jin Guangyao and Qin Su spend many nights in the secret chamber plotting together. Apparently the Jin crazy can both be inherited and developed. Qin Su decides her second life is rather nice, and having power is nice too, but she’d rather have some friends.

*Jiggy and Qin Su’s Ten Step Plan to Un-Fuck the Cultivation World*

Aka Jiggy’s illegal but necessary emergency U-Turn.

Step 1: Start playing some nice music ffs, and maybe when NMJ is in a better mood, the venerated Triad can be the venerated Triad. ;)

Step 2: start treating MXY better. He could be useful as a loyal brother.

Step 3: Sic him on Nie Huaisang. They seem like they could do well together. Also, the easiest way to get through to NMJ is through his little brother.

Step 4: Make Jin Guangshan disappear.

Step 5: Speaking of little brothers, they’re gonna have to eventually deal with Lan Wangji. Even Qin Su’s 78 year old grandma with cataract can see he’s just a liiiiittle hung up on Wei Wuxian, who is unfortunately....dead.

”How do you suppose we fix this particular problem?”

”Isn’t there some cultivator prisoner found guilty punishable by death in your single minded cleansing of your political enemies?”

"Of course. Go on I’m listening, mei-mei.”

”So while you were off being shady, I did some research. There is a spell. I think a potential trade off could be made if we bargain right. Their soul, which was forfeit anyway, in exchange for a lifetime of protection and financial stability for their families.”

“>:) dear sister, where have you been all my life I’ll never know.”

Qin Sun, “Just make sure they’re not too hard on the eye. Lan Wangji doesn’t seem to be the shallow type but one never knows.”

Step 5: Jiang Wanyin needs an emotional laxative like... last year. Look into resurrecting Jiang Yanli. Once she’s alive, all that Yunmeng Bullshit will resolve, and you will also have a Lotus Pier forever grateful for Jin Guangyao and Qin Su’s kindness. If that doesn’t work...idk get Jiang Wanyin a dog.

“Okay, hooow are you going to get a woman to give up her soul to -”

“Can we fierce corpse her? Wei Wuxian had a bunch of undead ladies hanging around right?”

“........worth looking into.”

Step 6: Jin Zixuan. Yikes -

JGY “I didn’t kill Jin Zixuan. Wei Wuxian did.” (note: CQL washed WWX of any responsibility for the deaths of others by making it so that the Song of Turmoil caused him to lose control. This, in fact, is not what is written in book canon. WWX did lose control by himself without external influence. I can cherry pick the plot points I want to keep.)

QS “..........but you sent him to his death.”

JGY “..........”

QS *Deep sigh* “Who can we throw under the bus this time for Jin Zixuan’s death, Jigs? Someone that won’t be missed...got it. Su She.”

JGY “He’s loyal to me, he’s an ally -”

QS “Listen here, once you resurrect Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian, you will have the eternal gratitude of Yunmeng Jiang and Gusu Lan. Who gives a shit about Su Minshan that simpering turd.”

JGY: True. *he’s understood by now that he could get rid of those who would talk shit, belittle, and disrespect him...but he could always do more with a couple of important influential people who would spread words of his goodness. Stubborn righteous cultivators like the Jiangs, Nies and Lans.* “Also Jin Zixuan’ll be an undead, not able to inherit. We’re safe.”

QS: “Exactly.”

Xue Yang: eating candy......... *eye roll*

Step 7: Because Step 6 didn’t work out, forget about Jin Zixuan.

JGY: “you know... maybe Jin Zixuan moved on.”

QS: “Would explain why we couldn’t call his soul back the way we called back Jiang-gu’niang.” Qin Su glances back at Jiang Yanli’s soul-infused clay body in the process of being reanimated (lifted this idea straight from Inuyasha - ahem- kikyo.) “It’s probably better this way. I don’t like the thought of sharing the control of Lanling Jin with more people.”

JGY: “Ah, blood of my blood you are indeed.”

Step 8: Reveal Jin Guangshan’s evil deeds. Once they kill Dear Ol’ Dad, they can just blame EVERYTHING on him and have him be the disgrace of the entire cultivation world, and them the unfortunate children left to do his bidding and trying the best they could to salvage what they can from his trail of ruins.

Step 9: Reunite Wen Ning and Wen Qing. Lie. Blame it all on Jin Guangshan who is too dead to argue in his own defense. If Jiang Wanyin finds out about Wen Qing...well, information gets around.

JGY “So about that Date.”

Qin Su: “Yes I distinctively remember you promising me eligible young men of the Fierce Corpse Community.”

JGY: >:) I’m here to make good on my words.

Step 10: Reap the benefits of a world restored.

#Anonymous #corie replies #qin su #jin guangyao #xue yang #corie fics #cql ideas

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papipopsicle · 3 years

Text

AFTERTASTE PART FIVE

Pairing: Archie Andrews X Reader

Genre: fluff and some angst

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: Candy by Doja Cat

Warnings: swearing, minors consuming alcohol

Words: 3.6K

MASTERLIST

feedback is always appreciated

Y/N lasted two weeks before thoughts of even throwing the bet came to mind. She had been strong so far; making sure to wear her tightest outfits and highest heels, being extra touchy-feely with Archie and not reacting to his moves in the slightest. Her personal favourite moment was sitting on his lap at the Twilight Drive-In and giving him a hard-on whilst Kevin and Betty sat next to them non the wiser.

But now, on day eighteen, she needed reinforcements. The redhead realised his attempts were failing miserably and he couldn't help his reactions to Y/N’s provocative movements. He turned it up a notch, becoming rather possessive of the five foot blonde knowing she enjoyed that side of him. He carefully walked the line of teasing and taunting like a tightrope, always whispering in her ear and letting his hand rest on her inner thigh under the table. And now, Y/N found herself wanting to pounce him whenever he caught her eye. It was getting out of hand, so she called for the only two people who could possibly help.

"Have you tried doing the bend and snap?" Cherry asked out of the blue, her head rested on her girlfriends lap as the three watched Clueless from the comfort of Felicity's bed.

"Babe," the blue haired girl said with a sigh and took a handful of M&Ms, "I love you but I don't think our answer lies in a two-thousand's rom-com."

"Hey, it worked on you, didn't it?" The brunette grinned smugly and leaned up to kiss the girl above her, earning a handful of chocolate to be launched in their direction and a disgruntled groan from the blonde sitting beside them.

Y/N pouted, "Please stop reminding me how single I am."

At this, the two girls pulled away and sent her the same bewildered look, "You wouldn't be if you told that hunky ginger you're in love with him!" Flick barked, a hand playing with the hem of her partner's shirt whilst the other flew up in desperation.

The y/h/c girl sent her friends an incredulous glare, it only growing when their shared 'you know I'm right' smile made an appearance. She took a handful of sweets and irritably shoved them in her mouth, "I am not in love with Archie Andrews... I just want his body on my body... in a variety of ways, and locations... multiple times."

"Right, so let me just get this straight," Cherry sat upright and gathered her hair over one shoulder, she paused the film and sent the petite girl a serious look, "you really think a no-strings-attached relationship can actually work? Have you even seen Friends With Benefits? It doesn't work! Sure it's all fun and games now but it's only a matter of time before one of you catches feelings and shit gets real. Then we'll have to pick sides, obviously you automatically get us, but I really liked Archie, he was promising..."

"What my gorgeous girlfriend means, is that we won't have this relationship ruined because you two can't keep it in your pants. We've put a lot of work and effort into this ship and it isn't going to waste, this isn't some TV teen drama shit, there's no need to wait until season 6 to actually be happy. Don't be Lydia and Stiles." Flick rounded up, taking the remote and pressing play.

Y/N simply sighed and slouched against the pillows, her attention turning back to the TV as she sulked, "I came here for your advice, and honestly now it feels like my moms are telling me I can't have sex with my hot best friend because they ship us too hard romantically. How can sex ruin a friendship? That's like saying extra sprinkles ruin ice cream! Anyways, none of that matters unless I win this stupid bet."

"You know Y/N/N, asking a lesbian and a bisexual whose only ever been with a girl on how to seduce a boy isn't exactly your best move." Cherry commented, snuggling under her blanket with a near-empty bowl of mini-pretzels at her side.

"My advice? Just be yourself, dumbass. Clearly for some weird reason he's into that, so it's only a matter of time until he gives in and this insanity will end. Boys think with their dicks and have a lot less will-power than us. For fucks sake, he's sprung when your name's mentioned in passing conversation, clearly he wants to bone your brains out. Wait it out, you're one stubborn chick when you want to be, you got this."

Two days later, on one rather fateful Friday night, Y/N found herself in the midst of a party thrown by none other than the Blossom twins. It had been a while since she'd spoken to either of them, but since their entire year was currently making out on the couches, the invitation wasn't all that strange. She and Betty had spent the evening getting ready whilst rocking out to the cheesiest music known to their generation. The smaller blonde wore a little red number with lace cutouts, and only managed to convince her taller friend to ditch the mom-jeans for a conservative royal blue knee-length dress. Baby steps, she told herself whilst trying her best not to cut a deeper neckline in the mass of material.

Betty Cooper had absolutely no idea what was going on between two of her three best friends; and although she'd always been silently jealous of their closeness, she was used to it and didn't think twice to question it. Y/N spritzed her neck and wrists with her favourite perfume, Daisy Dream, and gave herself a final once over in the large mirror beside her wardrobe.

With perfect timing, like some magical intuition, Y/N’s phone buzzed, notifying her their ride was outside. She grinned at the taller girl and slipped her black Louis Vuitton's on, "Ready, m'lady?"

"I-I don't know, Y/N/N." Betty panicked, wringing her hands together as a worrisome look etched onto her face, "What if my mom sees us leave? She'll kill me if she finds out we're going to a Blossom party."

"She won't. And even if she does, she'll only see us getting into a car with Cherry and Flick, just tell her they invited us over for a girl's night or something... Stop worrying about the future, and start living in the now! You look smokin', I look hot, we are not wasting my precious work on Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore again, capisce?" Y/N didn't allow even a millisecond to pass before dragging the taller girl downstairs with her where they met Polly and Ren.

The four took a few quick photos together and hightailed it out to the red convertible sitting on the edge of the drive. Polly switched places with Flick and the happy couple sat in the back on each other's lap, leaving Y/N and Betty sat beside them like two spare wheels.

When the group of girls arrived, Cheryl graciously directed them down to the basement. Thoughts of being led down to a torture chamber came to mind as the redhead opened a large squeaky door, but those died down when the smell of liquor and sound of house music hit them like a brick wall.

So now, an hour into the night, it was just Betty and Y/N standing at the side of the room with a red solo cup in hand. Polly ran off to find her beloved boyfriend as soon as she arrived and Y/S/N just so happened to find herself hitting on a nearby houseplant. 'Flicky' were playing beer pong, well cider for them, against Reggie and Moose, and were winning with only one cup standing.

The petite girl, who still stood below her friend even in four inch heels, was about to save her sister from some terrible mugshots, but a strong arm stopped her in her tracks and pulled her back into a muscly chest.

"Where'd you think you're going, gorgeous?" A deep voice breathed in her ear, and a second later she ripped herself away from the boy, instantly recognising him and wishing to be the other side of the building right now. Though her actions were quick, the brunette pinned her to the nearest wall and stared hazily into her wide chartreuse-coloured eyes. Y/N actually laughed at the irony of the location, finding it funny that the last time she was in this position it was rather enjoyable.

"Fuck off, Chuck." The girl took another sip of her drink, not bothering to pay the boy any attention because that's exactly what he wanted. Though, when his arms moved from the wall to around her waist and neck, forcing Y/N to look up at him, she felt like punching the stupid smile off his smug face. But with one hand stuck at her side and the other holding her drink, she simply settled for chucking her remaining vodka-lemonade at the boy.

He chuckled cynically and wiped his face down, eyes darkening as he pushed himself against her with even more force, "Now, now. That's no way to treat the best fuck you've ever had. Why don't we go find somewhere quiet, for old times sake." He commanded, his tone leaving no room for questioning or any form of verbal consent.

But Y/N scoffed and chucked her now empty cup at his face, "Do you really want to be known for rape, as well as leaking a fifteen year old's sex tape, that you were a part of let's not forget?"

He sighed and brought a hand up to cup her face, coarse fingers gripping her jaw achingly tight, "Y/N/N, aren't we past that? I was mad and you embarrassed me in front of the entire football team, what did you expect me to do? Can't we just forget about that?" His other arm aggressively tugged her closer, "C'mon, you know you want me, slut."

Y/N had her eyebrows raised intolerably the entire time he spoke, and when she realised this had no affect on him, she cocked her head ever so slightly. That word felt so good coming from Archie's lips weeks ago. But with Chuck's intoxicated breath panting down on her made up face, she felt completely and utterly violated, physically and mentally.

She hid the look of disgust as best as possible and simply let her best fake alluring smile grace her features; Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck and looked ever so sweetly into his darkened eyes, "Clayton, we were together for what, eight months? And somehow, in that entire time, you never made me orgasm, not even close. I feel sorry for any girl, or whoever else who has to put up with your shitty oral. Don't you ever, ever use that word against me or any other girl. Don't touch me, you do not and shall never have consent to touch my body, remember that." She smoothly spoke, her voice laced with sugar-coated venom.

Using his drunken and shocked state to her advantage, Y/N unhooked his arms and rushed off to find one particular individual. She fought through the endless crowd of teenagers and after ten minutes of searching, Archie was nowhere to be found. A light tapping on one shoulder caused the y/h/c girl to spin on her heels, ready to slap a bitch if it were another jock.

But thankfully it wasn't, and Y/N let out a sigh of relief when her eyes found Betty's figure. She took her taller friend by the arms and asked, "Have you seen Archie at all? There's three fucking gingers at this party and I can only spot two."

"Last time I saw him he was in line for the bathroom, and that was around five minutes ago." The taller blonde said, peering down at her friend in concern as a hand smoothed down her signature ponytail instinctively, "Is there anything I can help with?"

Betty's question almost flew right past her as she searched for the toilet queue, but thankfully she managed to make out a few words, and quickly put two and two together. Y/N shook her head and finally looked at her friend, "It's alright, but one of us is about to lose a bet, I'll tell you who once I find out."

Betty's expression contorted at that, and she began to feel an uneasiness settling in the pit of her stomach. The Cooper girl did her best to hide her jealousy along with her crush on Archie. She'd always viewed Y/N as the unwanted cog in the machine, but as the months went on she couldn't help but feel like a spare part.

With that, the petite girl marched off and soon found herself pushing through throngs of her drunken classmates until a head of fiery-red hair poked up above the crowd. He was joking and laughing with Reggie, both wearing giddy smiles whilst sipping from from their cups every so often.

Y/N was used to being easily knocked, because she was so tiny in relation to the 6 foot something masses of muscle she called her friends, so it came as no surprise when someone practically rammed her right into the middle of the boys' conversation. Luckily, being the gentleman he was, Archie's arm instinctively wrapped around her waist to steady her toppling body. Their chatting ceased and it took Reggie no less than a second to start talking to someone else, leaving the red-haired boy looking down in confusion at his best friend.

"You okay there, Tiger?" He asked, gingerly hooking a few strands of her y/h/c hair behind her ear, making Y/N crane her neck up to watch him intently for a moment. She bit down on her lower lip and let out an intoxicated little giggle, "My knight in shining armour, however will I repay you?"

Archie breathed out a deep chuckle and smirked, "I can think of a few ways..." he all but muttered. Y/N’s thoughts flickered back to just moments ago in the lull of silence, and that was all the boy needed to lead her out of the packed basement. He saw the look confliction in her eyes, not quite understanding it, "has something else happened, Y/N/N?"

"Do you remember last spring, when I finally broke it off with Chuck... and then he, you know?" She tried to clarify, but her words wavered and fell short.

"Released a video of you two without your consent and only got suspended for a week?" Archie almost growled his voice felt so heavy. He hated remembering their relationship. Not only because he wanted Y/N to be only his, but because he was forced to see his best friend humiliated and heartbroken all at the same time and couldn't stop it.

"That's the one." The girl looked down, unable to meet his eyes as her mind raced back to one of the darkest weeks of her life. But she pulled herself away from the horrible memories, "Look, it happened and I can't change that, but I really don't want to be around him right now."

"We'll go back to mine right now, Tiger." Archie affirmed with his hand now cupping her made up face, bringing her gaze back to his own.

"Woah, didn't realise you two were a thing." A slurring Reggie turned back around and winked at the pair with his usual cheeky smile, "Don't worry, I won't tell."

Y/N giggled and hiccuped at the same time, "Fuck off, Reg."

"Hey, if you hurt her, Andrews, I'll knock you into next year." The Asian boy only partly joked with his best friend.

The Robins girl pulled herself away from the wall and wrapped her arms around Reggie, "My hero!"

"Yeah, yeah." He hugged her back, not too hard though as in his drunken state he was scared he might snap her in half with all his muscular might. "I love you too, Y/N/N."

She gave him a sweet peck on the cheek before returning to Archie's side, clasping his hand in her own and leading the both of them away from the raucous party. Nobody seemed to notice in their happy little haze, even if they did, most people assumed the two were sleeping together anyway.

"Does it bother you at all?" Y/N small voice called as they walked down the narrow roads back home. She didn't know whether the answer would be something she wanted to hear, but it had been bothering her for the past minute or so.

Archie's brows furrowed, slightly more sober and completely not understanding his companion's train of thought, "Does what bother me?"

"That people assume so much about us? That we're sleeping together? That we're a couple?" She pondered.

"Not unless it's something that puts you in a negative light, otherwise I really couldn't care less about other people's opinions. Everyone has them, but the only ones that matter to me are my friends and my family's." Archie reassured her.

Y/N giggled at her own joke, "I thought you were going to say they're like assholes?"

The boy looked at her incredulously.

"Everybody has one." She grinned and wrapped her arm around his waist as his own found its way to her shoulders, pulling her into his warmth. The rest of the walk was silent after that, cool summers air bringing an ease to Y/N's tipsy frame. Twenty minutes must have gone by before they saw the Andrews' household finally in view, it was anything but awkward though. Their hands clasped swinging between them, the girl's feet beginning to ache from the regrettable choice of five inch heels.

They shared giggles and passing comments that wouldn't make sense the next morning, gleeful smiles hanging from cheek to cheek. Before Archie had the chance to hunt for his key, the front door opened with Fred sending the two teenagers a short look of annoyance.

"Get in already." He rolled his tired eyes, not wanting to question why his son's best friend was currently looking up at him with hidden adoration as she slipped off her shoes.

Y/N hiccuped and sent the adult an apologetic smile, "Sorry if we woke you, Freddie."

"I couldn't sleep anyway, kid, don't worry about it." Fred gave her a kind smile and felt her small frame hug his own. He returned it as always and after a few moments, let the teenagers carry on upstairs. The girl immediately went into the bathroom and found her small bottle of cleanser under the sink, removing her heavy make up before returning to her best friends room.

Y/N couldn't help but gawk at the sight her eyes were greeted with, the redheads body clad with tight boxers with his warm bedside lamp lighting the room, and his muscular build, perfectly. Her hands lightly traced his back, making Archie jump before leaning into her touch.

"I'm still going to win this bet," She whispered, shutting the bedroom door and pulling the boy down to his bed with her, "but Arch, can I ask you something?"

Y/N's head nearly reached the wall as the redhead towered over her, hot breath tickling her skin while he rest himself against her without putting any weight down. "Of course." The words floated from his lips so easily, knowing his whole life he'd do anything or answer whatever she wanted.

"Do you think we're meant to be more than friends? I think I've finally realised it's not that we were never and will never be romantic in each other's minds, it's always been that way but we've just never really known." The Robins girl seemed so sure of her words, staring up into his amber eyes with so much honest admiration.

He watched her for what felt like forever, not knowing whether it was the alcohol in them both or just that the little game they were playing didn't matter anymore, and decided to throw that away. A short gasp fell from Y/N's lips as Archie caught them, rolling over and pulling her on top of his chest.

"You're right, I've always wanted us to be more than friends Y/N/N, ever since Leonardo went missing when we were in sixth grade and you kissed my cheek when I found him." Archie propped himself up and returned that same gesture. She stole a kiss but he didn't let it end, running his fingers through her curled blonde hair.

"Arch?" Her small voice called out, sitting atop of his torso still in her revealing red dress. He nodded back with the biggest smile, unable to control the pure joy as her next words tumbled into the world, "Will you be my boyfriend?"

"I don't have a choice, since I lost the bet, do I?" He mocked, smile not falling as she hit his chest and rolled her eyes. "Yes, of course, yes, I'll be your boyfriend."

PART SIX

#fanfic #fanfiction #archie andrews smut #archie x reader #archie andrews imagine #archie fluff #archie riverdale #archie imagine #archie andrews fluff #archie andrews fic #archie andrews x reader #imagine #riverdale imagine #riverdale #riverdale fluff #riverdale smut #riverdale fanfiction

77 notes · View notes

inkedtae · 4 years

Text

into the meadows ⇾ pjm. [F]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ faery!jimin x reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ s2f2l, romance, fluff, studio ghibli inspired, pg

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ at seven, you heard a sweet voice lure you into the meadows. the memory is so distant, you’ve always thought it was a dream. twenty years later, you realize how wrong you were.

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 2k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ brief implied mention of abuse (not explicit / mentioned in passing), swearing

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ order up, @dylanxmin! it’s best to take this in lil sips.

◐ beta’d by ⇾ @kitsutaes

◐ le playlist

◖collab. for @bangtan-dreamland’s drinks and drabbles event. find original request here.◗

Nana is not an early riser, nor is she a night owl. You’ve gotten used to her midday naps and early turn-ins since you first began visiting every spring when you were seven. At that time, your mother would stay with you and help Nana around the house. Lately, you’ve been visiting alone and extending your stay to make sure Nana has everything she needs before you return to your college life of stress and finals.

Shuffling about in the kitchen, you combine and mix Nana’s lemon honeysuckle pound cake recipe.You remember having it every morning when you came here as a kid. She’d wake extra early to prepare it for you and place three slices on your plate, despite your mother’s protests. You couldn’t eat all three slices, but always appreciated Nana’s tendency to want to make sure you leave her house ten pounds heavier.

After wiping your flour coated hands on your pink apron, you grab a tiny blue bowl and make your way out through the backdoor. Little Mimi, Nana’s puppy, follows behind you; he’s always scuffling around your ankles, whining for little treats he knows he can’t have too much of. You hear his little collar jaggle as you enter Nana’s garden and begin picking honeysuckle petals. Once you have a good amount for the syrup, you grab a couple of lemons as well.

A familiar melody greets you as you open the garden gate. Mimi’s already on his way inside, hopping through the pet flap at the bottom of the door. Without his collar’s irregular jiggle of metal on metal, you’re left alone with the angelic voice as company. The tune twirls around you, filling your chest with a familiar sense of comfort and warmth.

Placing the lemons into the bowl, you rest the dish on the edge of the wooden gate. Perhaps following a mysteriously familiar voice over the hills and into the meadows is not your sharpest idea, however, you can’t shake this sense of deja vu. The rhythm of the song, the pitch of the voice all sound too familiar to ignore. As you further distance between you and Nana’s house, you wonder if the voice knows you can hear them.

You climb up the last hill, the rising sun bleeds it’s peachy rays into the sky. The sight is entrancing, especially when paired with the enchanting voice. Rushing down the side with a shout and giggling, you almost feel like a seven year old all over again. The voice only continues it’s melody, drawing you into a meadow you’ve only thought you’ve seen in your dreams. The bushes of spirea flowers, and rivers of lavender with little shores of roses and tulips, you can almost definitely pin this moment to a dream you had when you were seven.

It was also the peak of dawn when you entered a meadow exactly as the one before you. A little boy, maybe only a few years older than you, sat on a moss covered tree stump, resting his cheeks in his small hands. Blonde hair, brown eyes, pouty lips, the boy sighed and sang a similar tune to the one you hear now. He looked upset, gazing at his feet but all you could think was where are his shoes?

Exhibiting the innocence of a child, you asked the boy if he was sad because he lost his shoes. His eyes widened when he saw you and he sat up straight in his seat. His lips all but trembled as you tilted your head at him. Thinking he was simply shy, you took off your shoes and placed them in front of him. They were all too small to fit him, but you were adamant that he at least try them one. As he tried to shove his feet into the small red shoes, your mother’s voice cut through the meadow. That’s all you could remember of the dream before waking up on Nana’s couch with your mother muttering under her breath and your Nana approaching you with more slices of honeysuckle cake.

Those red shoes dangle from a cherry blossom branch now, rapturing your heart as the realization that whatever vivid dream you thought you had, might not have been a dream at all. The wind blows through the loose strands of your pinned up hair and the skirt of your white day dress. You take a step closer, but ultimately jump back the moment you hear a quiet hiss. Looking down, you spot a white, glossy snake rolled up in the tall grass of the meadow. It hisses at you before slithering further towards the cherry blossom tree behind that tree stump you found that little boy sitting on all those years ago.

White snakes, scales that glossy, are the omen, signaling the presence of a nearby faery. Nana told you all about faeries when you visited, creating a web of worlds in which faeries and humans once co-existed. Usually each tale ended with two different versions, the one the humans tell themselves is the truth, and what really happened. The human’s tale usually focused on the faeries’ power being too toxic and harmful and thus, safety precautions needed to be taken. They believed the faeries needed to be “exterminated.”

The truth, however, lies in the fact that humans have a fickle tendency to take advantage of faery magic, capturing the innocent people to further their bidding under harsh and inhumane conditions. After a revolution, faeries secured the right to live a life separate from the humans without the threat of being hunted or killed. The magical beings have morphed into a myth now, and if it hadn’t been for Nana’s tales and omens, you would’ve believed it to be as such as well.

The voice, you sudden realize, has ceased. You aren’t sure when or how it stopped, but just that it did. Now, surrounded by the meadow and the swirling breeze of the early spring wind, you notice you’ve been watched this entire time.

Stand atop the tree stump, a man, blonde hair, brown eyes, pouty lips, stares down at you. He cocks a brow as your eyes meet and you need to swallow your scream as his crystal wings flutter when he jumps off the stump.

“Little red,” he says as a means of greeting.

You feel your face with the back of our hand, and noticing that from the heat on your cheeks alone, that you must be a little red.

“No, no,” he chuckles, before pointing to the shoes. “You gave me those, right? They’re little and red.”

A nickname. He has a nickname for you. All notions that whatever happened twenty years ago was a dream have disappeared. The boy, now matured, was- is real. His wings, the sparkle in his eyes, and the entrancing aroma of lilacs and pomegranate all point to the conclusion that he’s not merely a man, but a faery.

“It’s you,” you whisper, taking a step towards him. “You’re the voice?”

“The voice? I give you Little Red and you give me The Voice?”

The smirk on his face lets you know he’s only teasing, but you can’t deny that he does have a point. His name for you is cute and personalized, a detail you greatly appreciate. Fighting off a smile, you mutter an apology and scan his frame for a nickname that encompasses him in your eyes.

“Pretty,” you blurt.

“Huh?”

“Princy,” you quickly correct. When he furrows his brows, you explain, “You just remind me of a prince.”

He smirks, all confusion in his face shifting to an expression of smug grace. “I see,” he hums. Scanning your frame, he raises his brows and says, “oh, did I take you away from a task?”

You shake your head to answer his question, words caught in your throat that the realization that he intentionally sought you out this time. You’re not quite sure what he wants, but the look in his eyes reassures you that it’s nothing to be afraid of. “What’s your name, Princy?”

“Isn’t Princy good enough?”

You pause. “I’m (Y/N),” you smile, ignoring his question.

“Little Red suits you better.”

He makes his way over to you, wings twitching as he nears. You stay still, reflecting that same look of reassurance in your eyes to let him know you’re not a threat. He must believe that you have no intentions to harm him. He did seek you out to begin with, luring you to the same place you met all those years ago.

“You know what I am.” A statement of fact, not a question. He seems surprised by it though, as if he was prepared to explain himself. “Here for magic?”

You furrow your brows. “Here for you.” You know exactly how it sounds. And, though you’re firm on your stance, you can’t help the blush creeping up your neck. “Didn’t you call?”

“Why would you answer-”

“If you’re so suspicious of me, Princy, then why did you call me?”

He gulps. His eyes dance around your frame, as if registering something around it. “I thought your innocence had something to do with age,” he replies. “But, it seems to be your usual sentiment.”

You’re not entirely sure what he means by that but, based on Nana’s tales, you can somewhat make out a meaning. Choosing to ignore his observation, you say, “nice wings.”

“Want them?” You know he’s teasing, but you can’t ignore the dark bitterness behind his humor.

“I’m happy with what I have now.”

“That’s because you don’t know what you’re missing.”

You smirk. “Maybe,” you shrug. “Or maybe I’m not missing anything at all. Maybe you are.”

All hints of cockiness have left his face, only the image of pure grace staring back at you. Both barefoot, you stand within half an arms length reach of each other. Humming his tune back at him, slight off key and beat, you smile up at him.

A little smile plays on his face, right eye twitching as you hit a particularly pitchy note. Placing a hand over your mouth, he whispers, “never again.”

You laugh against his hand before gently nudging it off you. “How will I be able to call you then?”

“What would you need me for?” he chuckles. His usual hints of suspicion and defense do not accompany his question. He asks more out of confusion than doubt.

“Well, what’d you need me for now?”

He shrugs. “Reassurance.”

“Of..?”

“Trust.”

He does not hesitate in his answer, intensely holding your gaze. Your heart murmurs, hitching your breath at the word, the implications that follow it and the way he looks at you.

Swallowing thickly, you ask just above a whisper, “what will I do when I need the same?”

His hands dig into his pocket after a moment of silence. Pulling out a little copper dragonfly pendant, he cups it close to his lips and blows over it. The copper turns to glass, lined with gold. He brings the pendant to your lips, nodding at you to do the same. Blowing over the pendant, the clear glass reflects a rainbow between the gold lines.

“Give it a kiss when you need a friend,” he smiles. Glancing behind you, he sighs. “Nana’s waking; you better get back. See you around, Little Red.” He licks his lips, backpedaling towards the cherry blossom tree before his wings snap into action and he flies out of sight.

Twirling the rainbow dragonfly pendant in your hands, you catch a glimpse of a little Princy flying between through the meadow. You press the glass token to your heart with a little smile and make your way back to Nana’s.

Princy’s quiet tune accompanies you, filling your heart with trust. And as his tune fades, you clutch on the pendant and silently wish for the day you’d get lost with him and the meadows he calls you into.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

#bhqdrabbles #bangtanhq #bangtanfairygarden #bangtanscenery #btsgoldnet #btswritingcafe #fairy jimin #park jimin fluff #jimin fluf #jimin x reader #bts fanfic #bts drabble #bts fluff

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sunflowerhazzavol6 · 4 years

Text

Cherry

A/N- Heres little quarantine blurb! Since it seems we’re all stuck in this shitty social distancing situation, might as well pretend you’re getting high with Harry ;) marijuana usage (ofc) with a little angst and a whole lot of fluff!

“Make me a sandwich?” Harry asks, not even glancing up from his very important activity of picking at his fingernails.

Y/n laughs a bit from the kitchen, watching as the water from the tap fills up her glass. “If I wasn’t so damn bored I would call you out on how sexist that sounds. Do you actually want one or are you just joking?”

“Only kidding.” He sighs, staring at his socked feet on the coffee table in front of him. He wiggles them just to be sure that they’re real, that he’s in fact still alive and not a sack of bones and skin on the sofa. He lets out an exasperated yell as he throws his head back, looking from the top of his eyes at his girlfriend across the room. She snorts a laugh, moving to stand behind him and play with his hair. “I’m going to lose it if I don’t get out of here, I swear, y/n.”

“Mhm. So remind me again, what position was it that you took last week when I told you that you were a bit hyperactive?”

“That I wasn’t?”

“Funny how that played out.”

Harry rolls his eyes and reaches back to pinch her side in annoyance before sitting up and turning around to face her. He liked the way she looked now. Y/n was usually very invested in fashion and her appearance- she was like him in that way. They both liked to express themselves through what they wore and how they carried themselves. But she was absolutely stunning as she was right now- his Fleetwood Mac t-shirt brushing against the swell of her thigh, black leggings traveling down to her ankles. He especially loved when she kept her hair like this, unstyled and wavy, unruly due to the constant laying around the house. He sighs a bit in appreciation, tugging on a small curl by her shoulder.

“I hate to say it, but i’m also tired of having sex even.”

Y/n seems to sigh in relief, and he laughs. “I know. Isn’t that awful? It’s not that the sex is bad-”

“...by any means…”

“It’s just that you can only do the same activity so many times in a day, you know?”

“I know.” He smiles, wrapping his arms around her middle. “At least we won’t get the Quarantine 15.” This draws a laugh from her belly, and he can’t help but to feel a sense of pride in that he caused it with little effort. They really were delirious from the isolation.

“And I feel so guilty.” Her arms slide around his shoulders as she hooks her fingers into the curls at the back of his neck. “Because we’re at your place and it's a literal mansion, and loads of other people are in far worse conditions than we are.” He turns his head to kiss her forearm while she rants, listening intently. “I’m in a literal HGTV dream home and I’m complaining, how awful is that?”

“Not awful. It doesn’t matter where you are, being cut off from your routine and normal human interaction sucks.” He shrugs. “Even when you’re with your sex god boyfriend.” Harry grins before pulling her over the edge of the couch and into his lap, causing her to spill her water all over his shirt.

“Harry!” She scolds, giggling and standing up to examine the damage on her own outfit. He smiles at her reaction, lifting her soaked shirt to gently kiss her stomach, just above her belly button. She pulls the wet fabric over his head, making him laugh and kiss again before blowing cold air against skin to make her squeal like he knew she would. He pulls himself out from under her clothing and grins at her boyishly, squeezing his hands on her waist.

“Bloody hell, I’m so in love with you. Want to share a joint?”

His girlfriend snorts at his inability to focus on one thing at a time, pushing his hair from his forehead and kissing the skin it exposes. She was secretly grateful for this social distancing, because it meant there was no way Harry could cut his hair. It was quite close to the length that made him look like a prince out of a fairy tale, and there was no way she could pass an opportunity like that up. “I’d love to. I love you. You roll?”

He giggles giddily as he bounces up from his spot on the couch, his soaked shirt at the far back of his mind by now. “I love it when you talk weed to me!” He calls over his shoulder as he disappears down the hall. She follows him, peeling off her own shirt and pinching his ass as they walk into his bedroom.

“You know, I quite like that shirt on you. Almost makes me wish I wouldn’t have gotten you all wet.” He winks before going to his bedside table and pulling out a small box. Y/n rolls her eyes, grabbing his ‘women are smarter’ shirt and putting it on. “Ah, but that's the money shot right there.” He shapes his thumbs and forefingers into a square, squeezing one eye shut and peering through it.

She rolls her eyes before walking up to him, ignoring his smirk when she peels his own shirt from his skin and over his head. “I am wet all of the time.” She mumbles in imitation of him, making him chuckle.

“What can I say?” He shrugs, sitting on the bed and pulling out his stash. As he starts preparing their joint she sits behind him, wrapping her arms around his middle and watching his hands over his shoulder. She always had an appreciation for his hands no matter what they happened to be busy with. Turning the pages of a book? She’d imagine them on her arms, rubbing up and down to warm her up. The strings of a guitar? She’d think about it all day until they were buried in her in the evening. For now, though, she just appreciated that they were attached to him, her Harry. His cross tattoo stretched across his skin as he pulled the paper over, sealing the plant inside, and prompting her to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Want to go outside? It’s sunny, and I think we both need a bit of vitamin D.” He leans into her hand when she combs his hair back, just for it to fall right back into place.

“Well in that case I’m rolling two, because you’ll start whining about wanting another and I won’t have nearly enough energy to come back inside.” There's no malice in his voice, just pure observation, and it makes her laugh.

“You’re probably right.” She lightly kisses his neck just below his ear. One side of his mouth turns up into a crooked smile as he grabs more herb, creating a long mound on the paper. They sit in comfortable silence while he works, but y/n, being impatient as she is, can’t sit still for long until she gently bites his earlobe. “Haz.”

“For fuck’s sake, love, can’t an ounce of attention go elsewhere than you?” He says, his accent forming an o when he curses. She laughs and her breath tickles his ear, making him smile and turn his head to look at her. “I’m nearly finished anyways, good lord.” He wrinkles his nose before pecking her lips, making her groan in impatience as she stands up.

“If you weren’t such a perfectionist we’d be high by now.”

“Would we be? With a canoeing joint?” He holds it up to inspect his work, the sides smooth until they peak with a twist at the top. She plucks it out of his hands before sprinting down the hall, her boyfriend calling an indignant “Oi!” behind her. She giggles as she runs out into the living room, perching the joint between two fingers as she sits on the floor to shuffle through his collection of vinyls. Harry follows her with a smile, bending to rest his hands on her shoulders and rubbing his thumbs into their blades.

“What’re you thinking, little thief?” He murmurs in her ear, brushing his lips along the cartilage. “Classic rock? Psychedelic? Something smooth, slow?” She feels goosebumps on her arm, and knows he can see them when she feels his smile against her skin.

“For someone who’s supposedly tired of sex, you sure do like to be suggestive.” She says, pulling out Lust For Life by Lana Del Rey. She wipes the small collection of dust off the front with her palm, admiring the ethereal beauty of one of her favorite artists.

He merely hums in response, reaching over her head to turn on the record player. When they had first started dating, Harry had pestered her with question after question about music. What she liked, what she hated, what made her smile, what made her cry. At first she had been compliant but confused by his questions, until she observed him in the same situations he was asking her about. Harry didn’t just listen to it, he felt it. She could tell in the way his body fluidly responded to his favorite songs, as if they had entered his bloodstream and were traveling through each of his limbs. She felt it in the way he held her close and swayed back and forth in the kitchen with her while Helplessly Hoping by Crosby, Stills & Nash played softly in the background. Or saw it in his eyes when Elton John’s I’m Still Standing came on in the car and he would pump a fist into the air. His constant questions were him getting to know her in the only way he understood- through music.

The first soft beats of the opening song crackle through the speakers, and y/n can feel the pop in her knees when she stands up. “Outside, my love?”

Harry nods in response, tucking her hair behind her ear with a soft smile. “Better than sex, yeah?”

She laughs and pushes his shoulder as she brushes past him to slide open the glass door. Harry leaves it open behind him to let the croon of Lana’s voice follow them outdoors, his fingers reaching out to tug on the fabric of her shirt. “C’mere, baby.” He says, fishing a lighter out of his pocket and holding it up to her. She perches the joint between her lips, watching him as he flicks his thumb and cups his hand around the end. She inhales slowly with her eyes closed, feeling the burn of the green hit drift down her throat and the burn of his green eyes on her face. She exhales after a second, handing it over to her boyfriend. Harry does the same, brushing the curls out of his face and keeping his eyes on her. “How the fuck did I get so lucky?” He says on his exhale.

“What do you mean?” She takes it from his outstretched hand, sitting on the ground with her back against the wall of the house. Harry sits beside her only to pull her into his lap so she's facing him.

“How the fuck did I get so lucky to live this life? I get to make music, smoke a joint with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life. I get to see you, like this. No makeup, wearing my clothes…” He pinches her chin in between his fingers, kissing the corner of her mouth.

“You’re always so sappy when you smoke.” She smiles, kissing his forehead while he takes another hit.

“Maybe so, but I mean it.” He coughs slightly, adjusting her in his lap so he can bend his knees to support her back. She rubs his arm, tilting her head to watch him. “I’ve been in some dark places before. Mentally, ya know? But now that I’m here, and you’re here, and we’re together, I can see how fucking pointless it all was.” He waves his arm to the side to emphasize his point, physically pushing away the metaphorical memories in the air. “Er, not pointless I guess. I can see how I needed it. To be everything I can be for you.” Her eyes soften, and she can see the water pooling beneath the green in his. She holds her hand to his cheek, and he leans into it, closing his eyes. “I was stuck in that place for so long, trying to decide who I was when I was on my own and who I didn’t want to be. And now I’m at a point where...” He huffs, his curls blowing away from his forehead. “Now I’m at a point where... I don’t know. I just want to be everything for you, y/n.”

“You are everything for me.” She wraps her arms around his middle, resting her head on his collarbone and squeezing him tight. “Really. I admire you so much Harry. How hard you work and how far you’ve come. You are oozing with passion, not just in our relationship but in everything you do. I see that. I wish you would see that.” She holds his face in her hands now, rubbing his cheekbones with her thumbs. “You’re allowed to step back and be proud of the progress you’ve made.”

He takes a drag and then kisses her palm as he considers what she had said. When all the smoke has escaped his lips he looks at her with a small but pleased smile, his eyes still shiny. “Okay.”

“Okay?” She kisses his eyelids, causing his dimples to make an appearance in his cheeks.

“Okay. I’ll try. I mean I will. I love you.” He wraps his arms tightly around her, burying his face in her neck. She can feel his groan start in his chest before he releases it, the type of exclamation that only comes with relief of getting something off your chest. She laughs, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him close. He pulls away only to kiss her, his eyes still closed when their lips separate.

“I’ll always be here too, Harry. You don’t need to put up a front just because it’s what you think others expect. You can be whoever the fuck you want to be, and I’ll stay right here beside you until you figure out who that is. I know I’m still figuring myself out. For god’s sake, we’re in our twenties. The entire plot of Sex and the City is figuring yourself out, and they’re in their thirties. I think we’re doing well.”

Harry chuckles at her rant, kissing her again. “Thank you, y/n. I appreciate the analogy. Now that the heart-to-heart is through, can we get high as balls?”

She snorts a laugh, taking the joint from his hands and taking a hit in response, raising her eyebrows. He grins up at her, squeezing her waist in his hands and attacking her neck with kisses, whispering and teasing her. The smoke from their lips intermingles in the air with the soft sounds from the record player, Lana’s Cherry drifting to and around them.

‘Cause I love you so much, I fall to pieces

My cherries and wine, rosemary and thyme

And all of my peaches

#harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry edward styles #Harry Styles

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random-imagines-blog · 3 years

Text

Blow Out that Cherry Bomb for Me {Incubus!Synyster Gates Oneshot}

This is based on a special request by anonymous. This is the sequel to ‘Devil’s Gonna Get You if I Don’t First.’

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2304 Summary: Even while distanced from one another, a relationship with an incubus can be interesting. Notes: Smut, swearing.

Synyster was glued to his phone every minute that he wasn’t busy working. Being on tour was usually the ride of his life, going through different cities and meeting tons of different people. But all that he could think about was being back home - back to his girlfriend. It had gotten to the point where the band had to have a talk with him about bringing his phone onto the stage, just in case she was to text. It fucked with the performance, because you’d pull it out between songs. It wasn’t fair to the rest of the band, and it really wasn’t fair to the audience. So it was only when they were on the road that he was looking at his phone, always keeping it charged. Barely interacting with anyone. They left him alone though - an incubus in love can be a very moody creature.

He was laying in his bunk, playing Solitaire, waiting for Tessa to call once she got off of work. The game went black for a second, and then her picture came up, along with her name. He grinned as he saw the picture of the two of them - despite seeing it multiple times a day, it never grew old. Lying together on the sands of Huntington Beach, her grinning face, her eyes hidden behind sunglasses. His own grin, the infamous hat perched on his head. Memories of an amazing day.

“Hey babe,” He said, picking up the call before the second ring could go through. He heard her struggling to take off her shoes. Those familiar little grunts that he knew so well. “Just get home?”

“Yeah,” Tessa sighed. “It’s been a long day, Syn. Gods, I wish that you were here. I need those magical hands to work a massage on me.”

Synyster smirked, closing the curtains to isolate the others from himself. They didn’t need to see what he had planned. “That bad? Run yourself a bath, love, and tell me about it.”

“I will - once I get these - damn - shoes off!” Tessa grunted, finally undoing the strap and slipped her feet out of the heels that she had been wearing for work. She let out a sigh of relief, and though it was just a small one, it was enough to get Synyster hard. As an incubus, he was already to go - and as her lover, every little thing that she did was able to turn him on.

He chuckled lowly, imagining Tessa stretching out her toes after having them be cramped all day. With his eyes closed, he could swear that he could imagine it.

Tessa started to talk about her day, though Synyster’s ears were straining to hear what was going on around her. Her feet passing across the carpet of the living room. The keys dropping into the bowl near the door. Her bag being set down on the couch. The coat hangers swinging as she hung her coat up. And then finally, the water being started in the bathtub.

“Do you need me to talk to your boss for you?” Synyster asked, once Tessa finally wrapped up her retelling of the day. “Because I’ll gladly make a call, and then fly you out to meet me.”

“I can’t just quit my job,” Tessa sighed. He could imagine her putting her smooth hand into the water, swirling it between her fingers, checking to see that it was the right temperature. And then the sound of a cap being opened. “As much as I would love to some days...”

“What kind of bubble bath are you using?” Synyster asked, cutting her off before she could go into further depression about not loving her job. He could even hear the liquid soap being poured into the water.

“Lavender,” Synyster told him. “And I’m throwing in some bath salts too. It really has been a long day. If I don’t destress, I think I might actually explode.”

“Don’t fall asleep in there,” Synyster advised. “You know how lavender affects you.”

“I won’t, I promise.” He could picture her smile now, the one that he thought was better than any model’s in a toothpaste commercial.

“Tessa - do me a favor.” Synyster commanded. It wasn’t a request - and so Tessa didn’t take it as one. She made a noise of affirmation. “When you get in the bath, think of me. Say my name. But only once you’re relaxed, okay?”

“Yes, Syn,” She agreed. He tapped his scree to end the call, and rested back against his pillow, eyes still closed, thinking of Tessa, and only Tessa. After a couple of minutes, he started to feel a tingling through his body, and the pictures in his imagination grew more and more intense. He could see her perfectly - her hair tied up out of her face, her head leaning back against the wall, her legs stretched out, nice and soapy. She was saying his name, like he had told her to do. Summoning him to her. It was time to make her day a whole lot better.

It was really like he was there with her, though his form couldn’t be seen. But it could be felt, if he focused hard enough, and managed to conjure up her own sexual energy. He started at her shoulders, rubbing them, pressing kisses onto her neck, just hard enough for her to feel. She moaned his name, and tried to push her shoulders back to feel him even more. It was building inside of him. He was becoming more heavy, though still could not be seen since he was not really there.

He then went on to fondle her breasts, which were sitting just below the water. It may have been warm due to the heat but he pulled on her nipples until they were hard, like she was sitting on an iceberg. “Oh fuck - Syn...” She said, adjusting herself in the tub.

Everytime that she moaned his name, or even thought about him, his own powers seemed to grow. That sexual energy had to go somewhere, and it went straight to him. As long as he was the one being thought about. He joined her in the bath, though the water didn’t so much as ripple or rise. He kissed along her collar bone, still playing with those beautiful breasts that he missed so much. He wished he could really taste the saltiness of her skin, but alas - his powers didn’t extend to that.

His hands went further down, until they were between her legs, to that magical place he loved. Yes - he would admit, he loved her and every inch of her body. At the feeling of his touch, Tessa shot up, sitting straight rather than slouching. “Are you here with me?” She asked, but he could not muster up a sound in response. He just kept exploring, touching her naked flesh. Going down her legs with his fingers, to the very tip of her toes. The straps from her shoes had cut into her flesh, leaving lines, which he was determined to massage away.

She settled back down, feeling safe under his touch. She knew that it had to be him. That no other incubus could affect her in this way because she had been claimed. She bore his mark, right on her hip. The deathbat with the fedora hat was tattooed, the ink a startling contrast to her otherwise unmarred skin. It only helped to further strengthen the bond between the two of them. Without it - he wouldn’t be able to be here like this. He would have gone mad if he had gone on tour and wasn’t able to have any of these visits.

He was able to influence her thoughts, but he could not control them. The more turned on that she got, the more power that he had with you. ‘Relax,’ He whispered to her, and watched as her body became less rigid, and she sunk back into the water once more. Now that she knew that it was him, she was much more open to being touched. To be helped to forget the day. To just soak in everything.

He kissed his way from her feet, back up her calf, and to her thighs. And he stayed between there, nibbling at her skin, grinning at the giggles that he heard. They were like music to his ears. Definitely more melodious than anything Zacky could come up with on his guitar. He started to suck on the skin right on her inner thigh, bringing a moan back out of you. Fucking delicious.

His own thoughts started to go wild. He wouldn’t be able to fuck her like this, but there was plenty of other things that he could do. Get her off. That sounded like a great goddamn start. Though he couldn’t fully taste her, he buried his face between her legs now, his tongue getting to work. The benefit of that was that he also couldn’t taste the soap in the water. The downside was he missed her taste upon his tongue. He really meant that he would fly her out. He needed her - and soon. He felt like he was wilting without her. Like a man walking around in the desert, looking for water.

Tessa was trying to reach him, her hands going to the space where she could feel his head against her thighs, but her hands touched nothing. “You’re such a fucking tease,” She said, growing exasperated, and gave up. She just put her hands on the edge of the tub instead. She clutched at the porcelain, feeing every little flicker of his tongue.

It was a tease. Synyster agreed with that. All he wanted was to pick her up, sopping wet, and take her to bed. Sheets be damned. And fuck her until her face was as red as the sheets that he had picked out. Make her hot and sweaty with exertion - because the best way to relax was in the afterglow of a good fucking. Everyone knew that.

Tessa’s legs started to squirm under the water. Fuck, it was beautiful seeing her face like that. Pretty as a picture. Enough to make him feel the blood running to his cock back in his body.

All that he could think about was fucking her. So many dirty thoughts running through his mind. They went straight through to hers, and he found that she was speaking under her breath. Speaking his own thoughts aloud.

“Oh my god baby...” She said, chest heaving. “I want you so fucking bad. I miss the taste of your skin. I miss the feeling of you. I just want to sink in and never leave.”

It was interesting, and it made Synyster smirk. He pulled his head away, and went back to work with his fingers, rubbing her, while returning his lips to her chest. He kept his thoughts going, so she could hear them coming out of her own lips.

“I want to feel you squeeze around my cock, you dirty girl. I want to feel you deep, deep inside. I want to watch you take all of me. I want you to scream my name as you come for me, you filthy girl.” This all came out of her mouth. She seemed surprised to hear herself say all of these things, but it helped. She was getting close. Synyster could feel it.

His thoughts left her, and she was alone with her own. She started to moan out his name, louder - and louder - reaching a crescendo as he plunged two fingers inside of her. He curled them to reach her spot. To rub against her inner lining. His thumb kept rotating circles around her clit.

Tessa didn’t know what to cling to. In this type of situation, it would usually be him. But her hands couldn’t grasp so she just kept holding onto the sides of the tub as the feeling of climax came over her. She shuddered, arching her back in the warm water, her toes curling, her mouth gaping open.

And with Tessa’s orgasm, Synyster returned to his own body, only to reach his own. He had made the mistake of not taking his cock out of his pajamas when he went over to her, so now he made quite a big, and sticky mess. He groaned, and finally got out of his bunk to rummage around in his bags and change.

“Ha! Syn made a mess of himself!” Johnny said, seeing Syn waddle.

“Fuck off,” He muttered. He found a new pair of pajamas, went into the bathroom and changed. Once he was feeling a little more clean, he returned to his bunk, just in time to see Tessa’s face coming up on his phone again. His mood was no longer tainted, and he grew excited to pick up his phone. “Well, hello there, beautiful.”

“That was fucking hot,” Tessa said into the phone. He could hear the water going down the drain in the background. He bit down on his fist to stop himself from getting aroused at the thought of you in just a towel. “I didn’t know that you could do that.”

“I have many talents, and a lot of time to showcase them. I want there to be some surprises in the future.”

“Oh my fuck, I’m a lucky gal,” Tessa said. He imagined her grinning into the phone. Maybe playing with her hair. Fixing the towel as it split. He chuckled, and laid back down on his bunk, closing the curtains for more privacy.

“No, love, I’m the lucky one.”

#Synyster Gates #Synyster Gates oneshot #Avenged Sevenfold #Avenged Sevenfold oneshot #request #oneshot #one shot #synysterg

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pixie-cocaine · 4 years

Text

ATEEZ reaction to: their S.O. being a former Playboy model

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I really did hella research on this because Playboy's rules and shit are a lot more strict and confusing than you'd think. BUT, good news is that you can model for Playboy without having to be a Playboy playmate (which is a lifetime job I think). Anyways, it's kinda long because I like to make each scenario different in terms of style and what you wear, but I hope you enjoy :)

Songs Listened To: Sweet Insomnia - Gallant, mentiras - Alaina Castillo

(Also, mature/explicit so read at your own risk!)

Hongjoong ♡:

• you'd ask him to go get you a shirt from your drawers while you were in the shower

• he'd be going through the wrong one, your underwear drawer, when his finger brushed against the plastic cover of what felt like a magazine

• his curiosity would get the best of him, also the fact that he thought it was porn and he'd be able to tease you about it

• and he'd pull it out

• he definitely wasn't expecting to see you on the front cover, body adorned with silk lingerie that held accents of cherry red ribbon and deftly tied loops. Everything about you was carefully laid on; the flawless red matte lipstick, your hair which fell over your eyes in gorgeous tendrils, even the neatly-placed bunny ears and cotton tail.

• the thing that got him most was how you sat on your knees, a sickly sweet smiling playing on your lips as your hand slipped beneath the thin fabric of your panties

• he almost thought he was dreaming when he saw the title 'Playboy', plastered across the heading in big bold letters

• he wouldn't think twice about throwing the magazine on the bed and waiting for you to come out of the shower to go see why he hadn't given you a shirt like you asked

• when you finally stood in the doorway, robe covering your nudity and an eyebrow raised, Hongjoong would hold up the magazine with a smirk

• "You never told me you were a Playboy bunny"

• "You never asked, and why would I tell your nosy ass anyways?"

• he'd chuckle and you'd finish getting dressed, but he wouldn't stop thinking about it

• you'd end up fishing out your old Playboy outfits to wear for him

Seonghwa ♡:

• you and Hwa would be getting ready for the sexy-themed costume party San had the bright idea of throwing for Wooyoung's birthday party

• since Hwa didn't have any costumes, he'd go with the simple but classic loose black button-up and pants before sitting on the bed, waiting for you to come out of the bathroom

• the sound of your heels clicking on the polished floor had him looking up from his phone, and to say his eyes damn-near popped out of his skull was an understatement

• literally, this man would probably be drooling like a saint Bernard

• you looked like an enchantress; gorgeous royal purple forplay bodysuit, complete with jeweled fishnets, dual cuffs and a cuff collar, the iconic large bunny ears, cotton tail, and redbottoms all had him in a daze

• he literally could've pounced on you right there if he had no sense of self-control

• your smile, god your smile was what set it off. Especially with the way your lips curled delicately and accentuated the bloody red lip tint, a few stray strands of hair kissing at your forehead

• "Do you like it? I used to wear it back when I was a bunny and modeled every once in a while," you'd say, feigning obliviousness to how Hwa drank in your form

• to be honest, Seonghwa couldn't give less of a fuck whether you modeled and strut around in skin-tight clothing for hundreds of hungry eyes

• all he cared about was whether he'd be able to finish fucking you before you were late sifbjeuzysha

• in a nutshell, he absolutely loved the fact that you still had your Playboy bunny outfit, but didn't mind your past contract with them

Yunho ♡:

• you were always the secretive one in the relationship so it was no surprise that one day when Yunho dropped his phone under the bed and sat on his knees to look for it that he found it sitting by a big black box

• just because you were secretive didn't mean he couldn't find a way to get past the point of you hiding it in the first place

• you were in the kitchen at the time, cooking your famous homemade jajamyeon, but Yunho knew you'd come to check on him, so he had to make it quick

• after he finally popped open the stubborn lid, he'd looked in to see something he wasn't expecting to see at all

• magazines, all of them with you in various positions on the covers, sat in stacks to the right of the box. Beside it sat a headband with large familiar bunny ears and.. was that a half see-through bodysuit?

• well, he didn't even have time to identify the rest of it, because the sound of your amused voice filled his ears

• "Yunho, what are you doing?"

• "N-nothing!"

• he'd scrambled to close the box and push it back under the bed, but he would get his fingers jammed in the top, letting out a yelp as it caught on the tender flesh of his digits

• "tsk, tsk, tsk. Clumsy boy.."

• but still, you'd giggle and crouch down to his eye level before removing his hands from the box and rubbing the tips of his fingers

• "I didn't know you were a Playboy bunny"

• was the first thing he asked lmao

• you'd giggle and answer questions about your past contract with Playboy before treating him to your jajamyeon and a band-aid

• it was only when you were cuddled up on the couch did he bring it up again

• "um, babe?"

• "yeah?"

• "would you be fine with it if I asked for you to pose in your Playboy uniform?"

• I swear, this bitch-

Yeosang ♡:

• to be honest, nobody knows how he found out

• this bitch sneaky

• all you know is that he came into the living room where you sat, holding up your folded Playboy uniform and a glass of wine

• "Do me a favor and go put this on, gorgeous. I wanna see how you look in it."

• and that's how you wound up standing in front of Yeosang, occasionally tugging at the bowtie hugging your neck or pulling at the back of your bodysuit

• but Yeosang paid no mind to your fidgeting. He was completely entranced

• he couldn't comprehend your beauty. The black Velvet of your bodysuit wasn't anything special, but the way it framed your curves and stuck to all the right places was enough to make anybody gasp in jealousy. The dual cuffs linked to your wrist added to the whole 'sexy waitress' look, and the bunny ears and cotton tail made you look adorable, all Yeosang wanted was to worship your body and all of your flaws

• which is what he did

• he sat before you, his forehead resting on your stomach as you stood there, a hand on his shoulder for balance that might be needed, and sighed as you savored the feeling of his hands roaming every inch of your body. He started at the stockings; pinching the thin fabric between his forefinger and thumb, before moving up to slide his hands around your waist and finger at the textures of your clothes.

• the rest of the night, he made work of your body

• literally, he was so soft and tender

• he wished he would've seen the photoshoots you'd been in, but overall, he didn't really care

• it was something you liked, and he respected that

• literally, I know this man has a huge body worship kink nsjdkwksj

• you didn't hear it from me

San ♡:

• you both would be watching movies together when you stood up

• "I'm gonna go pee real quick, you can keep it playing if you want."

• and you were outy 😔🤙🏼

• just when he was about to go back to the movie, your phone began to buzz, the screen lighting up along with the vibrations that rattled it's being

• now, San's nosy ass wouldn't wanna be too rude by touching your phone without permission, but he couldn't help checking the caller ID

• his jaw dropped when he saw just who was calling

• 'Playboy 👯'

• was the caller ID

• he kinda would just freeze up and make excuses in his head

• "Nah, that's probably just one of her friends."

• he'd ask you when you came back out, but still tried to make sure you understood that he in fact did not snoop through your shit

• "I'm just curious, that's all. If it's something that you liked to do, then do what you want."

• really supportive, even if you told him that you left that job and they were only calling back to see if you'd pick up a last-minute gig for extra money

• "Baby, I wouldn't care if you decided to go back."

• actually likes the idea a lot

• he'd be searching up your name in Playboy while you were asleep lmao 😂

Mingi ♡:

• you wanted to do something fun towards the end of his birthday party

• so what better way than to blindfold him, sit him in a chair in the middle of the bedroom, and go put on your old Playboy uniform?

• he'd be kinda nervous, but also excited

• the telltale signs of his clammy hands and constant leg jumping gave it away

• maaan you were abouta blow this man's moinnndd

• his head would perk up at the sound of your heels hitting the floor, getting closer with each shaky breath rattling Mingi's chest, his heart threatening to jump out of his ribcage

• one moment his vision was obscured, the next, you were standing in front of him with a hand on your hips, looking like a wet dream personafied

• he literally felt like he might nut in his pants at the mere sight wonfjwjwjw

• hair, messy and tucked behind your ears. Lips, curled in amusement at his shocked expression, painted over with a subtle brown lipstick which glistened in the soft orange glow of the lamplight to your left.

• his eyes traveled lower, almost helplessly

• the black latex bodysuit enveloped your figure, fitted like a second skin, and cupped your hips as you shifted your weight to your left foot. Bunny ears sat atop your head and swayed with your small movements, a tied bow clipped to your throat, and your legs slipped into glossy-looking sheer tights

• Mingi felt like a starved animal, staring at you as if you held the key to his ecstacy

• which, let's be honest, you did

• y'all began to fuck straight after HAJAJAJABDBDJS

• (he definitely liked the idea of your being a Playboy bunny, but was pretty left-leaning to the fact that a bunch of other men probably looked oggled at you back when you did occasionally waitressing)

Wooyoung ♡:

• sooo, Wooyoung is a pretty flexible person (??)

• i mean, he has to when he has the sex appeal of an expensive stripper that always wears a custom-made silver crown when she gets on-stage to show that she's a bad bitch

• so when you and him decided to skip work in favor of booze and some Disney

• he'd be kinda excited when, as you both were talking about stupid shit you did in the past, you brung up the fact that you'd used to model for Playboy

• he'd be a little thrown off at first tho

• "Woah, woah, woah. Like, signature bunny ears and cotton tail Playboy?"

• "Yeah, I did a couple photoshoots for them in my time. Why, do you suddenly have the desire to hurl up your breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the sight of me?"

• "No, no, not at all. That's kinda hot, if I'm being honest"

• not even ashamed that he immediately pulled up your photoshoots and looked through them with you

• "Yeah, see that one? They had me lay in a tub of melted chocolate for it, I'm not even gonna sugar-coat it when I say that it got all up in my hoo-hah"

• "Lucky! I wanna pose in a pool of chocolate like a sexy french girl, too!"

• it'd become an inside joke for you two

• like when you'd complain about it being cold, he'd say some stupid shit like:

• "Playboy bunnies never get cold, you can deal with it"

• it'd be really cute 🥺

Jongho ♡:

• ugh the sweetest baby to ever exist

• for lack of a better scenario, you both would be laying in bed, half-awake, and talking about life in general

• you'd been the one to bring up the topic, considering your usual bouncy, sweet Jongho had been stressed lately

• you wanted to calm him down, relieve him of any exhaustion

• so that's how you ended up in bed with him, limbs tangled together, and your head resting on his chest as he recounted his childish ways of the past

• you'd look up at him with full heart eyes bro

• and I really don't blame you

• and ease him into your own actions

• you'd hesitantly bring up being a Playboy bunny, and bb would immediately sit up and be like

• "Uhhh, pardon?"

• you'd think he was against the idea, but after you sputtered out excuse after excuse, he'd start giggling

• OH MY GOD LET ME KISS YOU JONGHO

• and then once he stopped laughing

• he'd reassure you that it was fine with him

• if you liked doing something, who was he to stop you. Yeah, the idea might be a little iffy to him because he wasn't so keen on sharing you with anybody, but he didn't wanna stop you from being happy and getting ya money

• why? Because uhhhh he's a baby?

• Why would you even ask? That man can do no wrong HE GOES TO FUCKING ELDERLY WOMEN SINGING MEETUPS

• he'd ask you to tell him some funny stories about being a model, and he'd eventually fall asleep due to you running your fingers through his hair

• ugh I'm in my feelings

(oh yah, and sorry for posting this a couple days late lol)

#ateez fluff #ateez yeosang #ateez reactions #ateez #ateez mingi #Ateez hongjoong #ateez jongho #ateez yunho #kpop related #jongho #hongjoong smut #hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #Seonghwa #yunho #i love these babies

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