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#I want a shaggy cut I’m over this Bob
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Hear me out, hear me out. Rei Suwa with a motherly s/o that loves to dote on him.
Rei Suwa + doting s/o
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“I said I’m fine.”
“You certainly don’t look fine.” [Y/N] insisted. Reaching out to touch Rei’s forehead and recheck his temperature, even as he tried to bob his head around to avoid it and keep his eyes on the screen. “Your skins all clammy and pale, and you look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“I always look this way.” He said. Shrugging his blanket cape higher up on his shoulders.
[Y/N] sighed and stood up to head into the kitchen. They would have been less worried if Kazuki was here, but he had was out of town on a job when Rei came down with his cold. A gift from Miri’s daycare. In his normal state Rei was barely able to take care of a child on his own, so you had come over to help with Miri and make sure Rei got better.
“Here. At least eat some soup.”
“I don’t want to.” Rei muttered as he continued to play his game. “It’s got things in it.”
“You mean chicken?” They knew he was a picky eater on the best of days, but with his sickness he was just being insufferable. “Come on Rei, just a few bites? I worked really hard on it.”
“You poured it out of a can.”
“I still worked really hard on it….”
Rei glanced over at [Y/N]. Seeing their crestfallen face while holding the tray. He paused his game and sat the controller down. “Ok. I’ll eat it.”
[Y/N] smiled and placed the tray in his lap. A bowl of soup, cup of hot tea, rice crackers, and even one of Miri’s pudding cups he secretly enjoyed was sat neatly on the tray in front of him. Looks like they did work hard.
He ate most of his lunch (and by most of that meant a few bites of soup but all the crackers and pudding) before [Y/N] took it away. “Why don’t you get a shower before Miri gets home? It can’t be comfortable sitting in those sweaty clothes all day.”
“I’m fin---!” Before he could finish his thought, Rei broke out into a violent coughing fit. One that shook his whole body.
[Y/N] immediately darted over beside him. Patting his back and handing him the tea again to clear his throat. “There there, it’s ok.” They assured as he took a few sips. Rubbing his back until the coughing stopped. “I’m sorry I’m being such a pest. I just worry about you. Which is weird because I don’t usually worry about you when you’re at work, but something like this..…maybe I’m just being silly. If you say you’re fine then I believe you. I’ll leave you alone and get back to your game. I’ll come by later after I pick Miri up from school—”
The last bit of their sentence was cut off when Rei caught the sleeve of their shirt as they stood. His face was tilted down towards the ground. His eyes covered by his shaggy hair. But his weak hold on their clothes keeping them still. “Don’t go.”
They were surprised to hear Rei’s words. Almost not hearing them with how raspy his voice was. “Don’t go. I don’t mind. I don’t want you to leave. Stay.”
‘Stay and take care of me’
[Y/N] smiled softly him and then sat back down on the couch to wrap their arms around him. “Do you want to take a bath instead of a shower?” His head nodded up and down. The mess mop of hair bouncing along. “Ok. You know that means it will still be wet after. You’ll have to sleep in your real bed.” He nodded again, then pulled his blanket cape up over his head like a little cocoon, and flopped down on the couch. Making [Y/N] chuckle. “Good idea. You rest and I’ll get the bath started.”
“shudding mups.”
[Y/N] turned back again when Rei’s muffled voice came out from the covers. He opened them just enough to stick his face out. “Can I have more pudding cups?”
They smiled, “yes you may.”
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letsdowebsite · 2 years
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Curtain Bangs Look Incredible on Everyone
"That sounds like an inquiry for your advisor," my beau answered casually, after I asked him, once more, whether I ought to get bangs.
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It's something I've requested him hundreds from times and an idea that rolls around my head while I'm attempting to nod off around evening time. As far as I might be concerned, the most main attribute of womanhood is sitting before the mirror, contemplating whether the right sort of bangs will completely change you.
Presently, I wouldn't go as far to say that bangs can be life getting updated, however I emphatically accept that everybody can profit from them. Assuming you lean toward yourself bangless, kindly, progress forward. Be that as it may, assuming you've at any point pondered, Can I pull off bangs? the response is a resonating yes.
Drapery bangs, for the unenlightened, are those shaggy, easy bangs that as the name proposes outline your face impeccably, similar as a shade does with a window. The look has establishes during the '60s and '70s , yet the present interpretation of it works with a scope of styles and surfaces: muddled waves, wavy shags, smooth victories, high braids, and so on.
"bob are the doorway to bangs, since they're really flexible," says Emily Heser, beautician at Cutler Salon in california. "They're sufficiently long to develop out or stick back on the off chance that you need, however they can likewise be cut into a more limited look." The style has consistently become both a big name and -young lady favorite for its accommodating energy.
bobshoda has seen that drapery bangs have become progressively famous over the most recent couple of years, generally because of the fact that they are so natural to make due. "They don't assume the responsibility of adding a max speed bang to your hair," she says. "They're less work and are so natural to develop out."
Like I referenced previously, I never felt that I could pull off bangs, yet these couldn't more compliment. They add an unexpected surprise to my generally plain hair style yet provide me with a touch of style. I love the classic reference, and they add development to my hair, so it doesn't feel so...blah. Yet, the best part is that they truly give the deception of additional articulated cheekbones since they hit right over your cheeks. (Hence, a beautician once let me know they're the ideal "selfie bangs" since they outline your face and point out your eyes, so do with that what you will.) Plus, assuming I at any point choose I'm over them, the develop out will be consistent.
Since getting The Bangs, I've made it my own main goal to spread the good news of how great they are, and whenever somebody finds out if they ought to get bangs, I'll reply with a firm yes. Come what may hair type, hair length, or face shape somebody has, I guarantee them they can pull these bangs off.
Assuming you're feeling so constrained, I suggest beginning with cheekbone-brushing bangs ask your beautician for a periphery you can fold behind your ears to facilitate your direction in prior to getting anything more limited, in addition to the capacity to fold them gives you pleasant flexibility. Tim , hair specialist , says to request to "keep the edges longer than the center and the closures delicate beginning in the focal point of the understudies and working to the facial structure."
Consider this the push you want to check them out. Also, in the event that you could do without them? Basically hairpins are moving.
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messers-moony · 2 years
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Accusations 2 | R.L
Paring: Young!Remus Lupin X Fem!Reader, James Potter X Fem!Twin!Reader, Eventual Regulus Black X Fem!Reader
Summary: Sirius and Remus come to the wrong conclusion that changes someone’s life forever.
Word Count: 5.4K
Inspiration: Click
It had been years since Y/n had any human contact. She became malnourished and curled onto herself often. This became a habit once she learned that her brother had died. The Minister had been lousy with his Daily Prophet, and Y/n managed to snatch it up. Azkaban taught her skills she’d never thought she’d need, like pickpocketing. 
It had been seven years before someone came to get her in the cell. Y/n didn’t know the guards by name and didn’t care to know them. The male guard with amber eyes and black hair led her to a port key. He didn’t say where he was taking her, but his name tag read Jenkins. Mr.Jenkins and Y/n touched the port key. They had been apparated to the Ministry. 
They got into the lift, and it brought them down to the courtroom. Y/n shivered at the cold and dry air of the hallway. She stood unmoving, but Mr.Jenkins pulled her by the chains making her walk forward. The courtroom was circular, and she was ordered to sit in the middle of the room. The new Minister of Magic stood at the podium - Cornelius Fudge. The jury stood behind him. 
“Today, on December 12, 1988, we will go over the case of Y/n Potter.” Fudge informed, “She was twin sister to James Potter, daughter of Euphemia and Fleamont. Also known to be in a relationship with Remus Lupin, a werewolf who got bitten by Fenrir Grayback at the age of four.”
A woman with a blonde bob hair cut raised her hand, “Excuse me, Minister, but Ms.Potter has been in Azkaban for seven years. Why are we going over her case now?”
A new voice boomed, confident, assuring, “I am.” 
Y/n turned to be face to face with someone she thought was dead. His face was sullen and deathly pale. His eyes were sunk into his face. His once pink freckles turned a shade of brown beneath his eyes. His eyes were beautiful graphite, and his body was defined like Achilles's. He looked like a god. There was only one family that looked like gods. 
“Regulus Black, son of Walburga and Orion Black, brother to Sirius Black.” Fudge introduced.
A man with shaggy red hair interjected, “And how is he credible? He was a Death Eater!”
“Pardon me, sir.” That voice, so smooth and confident, “I proved my disloyalty to the Dark Lord when I found out his secret, which I disclosed with the Minister.”
The man leaned back and made a ‘hmph’ sound. Regulus could feel a smirk wanting to grow on his chapped lips. He hadn’t felt this smug in a long time. He had tried to tame his appearance best he could. His wavy, black locks down to his jaw, which was sharper than a knife. He put on his best dress robes, the same robes from Walburga’s funeral he attended in secret. 
“Now, let’s begin, shall we?” The jury made a noise of agreement, “Mr.Black, you may go on.”
Regulus stood in front of Y/n, “First, I’d like to speak about how she is the twin sister to James Potter. I do not believe that a sibling would betray another.” 
“Objection!” A man yelled, “Sirius has betrayed you before. Your point doesn’t stand.”
“Sirius has never harmed me in any way. All of our duels were for show and never meant to harm another. We’ve only ever used safe spells.” Regulus countered, “My point still stands. Y/n Potter would never hurt her twin.”
“May I also continue that Peter Pettigrew has been confirmed the traitor.” Merlin, smirking, would’ve felt so good, “If this is the conclusion, why is Ms.Potter still in Azkaban?”
Fudge stroked his beard, “Dumbledores orders.”
“And these orders are?”
“She is dangerous and uncontrollable.”
Regulus stared deeply into the baby blue eyes of Cornelius Fudge, “Evidence?”
“I’m afraid we don’t have any, Mr.Black.”
“Then I believe you have been holding Ms.Potter hostage for no reason.” Regulus stated confidently, “And without and verified reason; the Ministry can get into great trouble.”
Fudge glared at the Black brother, “I believe this meeting needs a vote.”
“All in favor of sending Ms.Potter back to Azkaban for being dangerous and unpredictable.”
Twenty hands got raised. 
“All in favor of allowing Ms.Potters exit of Azkaban.”
Over fifty hands raised. 
Regulus smiled at his victory. Fudge hit the gavel onto the podium, “Ms.Potter will be released from Azkaban on December 12, 1988, at 12:47 pm.”
Mr.Jenkins moved his hands, and the shackles fell free. Y/n rubbed her wrists, and it felt good to be able to move freely finally. Regulus walked towards her with a wooden item in his hand. He was taller than her by many inches, and she could’ve sworn that Sirius was never this handsome. Y/n looked a right mess, hair askew, eyes tired and swollen. 
“I believe this is yours, madam.” Regulus handed over her wand. 
Gently, Y/n took her wand from his hand. Their hands brushed ever so slightly. His hands were soft and warm, utterly different than Remus’. His hands were always rough and ice cold. Regulus smiled at Y/n’s expression of happiness. She could see the dimples in his cheeks and the color flowing to the apples of them. His freckles looked so much more beautiful up close. They looked like constellations. 
Maybe it was Y/n’s lousy memory, but she couldn’t remember Regulus ever looking this handsome before. Sirius always talked about being the better-looking sibling, and she never thought twice. But now, standing only three feet away from the younger Black brother, she had to disagree. Regulus had ambition and smugness swirling in his grey irises. His eyebrows were arched in a way of victory, and his lips had a slight curve at the edges. Everything about him screamed elegant and beautiful. Y/n felt out of place standing beside such a graceful being. 
The next day her freedom was all over the Daily Prophet. Remus could remember the owl tapping at the kitchen window while making his tea. He smiled crookedly at the owl and opened the window. A nice dry breeze swept his hair back, and Remus took the paper gratefully. Before letting the owl fly away, he tossed it a sickle. The owl hooted in thanks and flew away. The window closed with a slam. 
Remus sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and paper in hand. However, the tea quickly fell onto the carpeted ground of the flat, and the moving picture on the front of the Daily Prophet made him freeze. It was Y/n sitting in the middle of the courtroom, tousled hair and all. The oversized grey and white striped jumpsuit, the glazed eyes, and the malnourished-looking body. The paper didn’t say exactly who had defended her case, just that it was someone trustworthy to the Ministry. 
Sirius woke up moments later. The Prophet left out on the table, and the tea cleaned up. Remus appeared to be missing from the house. Sirius stretched his arms, his shirt trailing up a bit when he saw the front of the paper. He stopped mid-stretch and just gazed at the woman on the front page. She appeared to be unmoving, but Sirius could see the Minister hitting the gavel on the podium in front of her. He watched a smile take over her features. 
It used to be a smile of comfort, but now it made his stomach churn. Suddenly he wanted to run to the bathroom and throw up every bit of acid in his stomach. He wanted to Oblivate his mind into forgetting what he and Remus had done seven years ago. It was a mistake, and they learned that a month later, but Sirius knew more than anything that it was an unforgivable mistake. Y/n would never forgive them. 
After seeing the Prophet, Remus had apparated to London. He sped walked through people trying to find the red telephone booth to take him to the Ministry. He had never moved this fast in his life after almost missing a job interview that he really needed. After minutes of very slow Muggles, he made it. The telephone booth took him down in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic. It wasn’t long before he found an official at the Ministry. 
“Ma’am!” He called, and she turned, “Do you know where Y/n Potter is?"
The woman scrunched her face up, “No, I do not.”
“Does anyone in the Ministry know?”
“Why would we keep track?” The woman questioned, “The residency of a wizard or witch is not for the Ministry to keep track of.”
Remus flushed, of course, privacy. “Sorry, ma’am. Its just-“
“You were her boyfriend.” She cut off, “Remus Lupin isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Remus put his hand out, and she eyed it with distaste.
“Well, it was good to meet you, but I must be off.”
“Yes, of course.” Remus scratched his neck after being left hanging. 
After being released, Y/n wasn’t sure where to go. Regulus offered to stay at his home. It was a lovely home in the middle of nowhere. He said it had to be so no one could find him, specifically people who thought he was dead. His house was two-story with cherry blossoms all around the property. The driveway was stone and perfectly clean. The house was a faint grey with dark brown accents. The inside smelt like teakwood mahogany. It was a peculiar smell, but it felt so Regulus. 
The house was furnished and painted wonderfully. It was a mix of neutrals and dark furniture, but it wasn’t depressing. It felt light and comforting despite its dark appearance. The carpet in the living room felt pleasant beneath her feet after standing on the concrete for so long. When they apparated outside, Regulus allowed her in first, and he took off his coat, placing it on the rack beside the door. He slipped off his shoes and motioned for Y/n to do the same. She slipped off the boots allowing her moth-eaten socks to hit the flooring in the hallway. 
Regulus made his way to the kitchen immediately after. Y/n suspected it was to make tea or something to eat. To avoid small talk, she walked around the estate. Everything was clean, and no aspect of dust on any of the belongings. In some of the rooms had pictures of the Black family. One picture was of Andromeda and Ted Tonks’ wedding. Another image was of Narcissa and Regulus laughing at something holding champagne. The third picture made her heart melt. It was one of Regulus and Sirius. Sirius had his arms around his brother, holding him close to his chest. It appeared to be taken sometime during Regulus’ first year. 
“Y/n?” Regulus' voice echoed, “Do you want some tea?”
“Sure.”
Without thinking, her feet led her to the kitchen. It was glorious. The flooring was grey wood, cabinets dark oak wood, and sage walls. Regulus handed her a white mug with tea, little milk, and one sugar. She took a sip and was surprised it was exactly how she liked it. Y/n had forgotten how she took her tea. It was a minor memory Azkaban ripped from the vault inside her brain. He smiled softly at her look of remembrance. 
“I- um- I remembered from our time at Hogwarts.” Regulus admitted, a soft shade of pink appearing on the apples of his cheeks, “I used to watch Sirius from the Slytherin table, and since you sat beside him, I just remembered over time.” 
Y/n placed the mug gently onto the graphite countertop, “In all fairness, I forgot how I took my tea.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how much do you remember?”
“I remember all the important things.” Y/n answered shortly, “Like being held at wand point by Remus and Sirius. I remember James, everything about him. My mum and dad.”
Regulus went to hold her hand, but she flinched, and he recoiled, “Sorry,” She apologized and took his hand.
“No need to be sorry.” His thumb rubbed the back of her palm, “I understand this will be hard, and I want to help you.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Y/n nodded, “Because you deserve to be free and live how you should’ve. It’s wrong that it was taken from you.”
Regulus’ words melted her heart, and Y/n found herself wishing that she could hug him, “My mum is dead, isn’t she?” 
“Yeah,” Regulus said softly, “Died in her sleep, peacefully only a week after your sentence.”
Y/n swallowed another sip of tea to force the tears away, “How old is Harry?”
“He’s eight.” 
“Where does he live?”
“Lily’s sister's house.” Regulus replied, “Dumbledores orders.”
Y/n scoffed, and Regulus tightened his grip just a little bit, “He’s such a bastard.”
“Tell me about it.” Regulus chuckled, taking a sip of tea; after placing it down, he continued, “He made me fake my death.”
“Why?”
“Because I found something out about the Dark Lord. Dumbledore didn’t want the Dark Lord coming for me after.” Regulus explained, “So I faked my death and moved into the middle of nowhere.”
She smiled softly, “Your house is beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Regulus smiled, fully this time, dimples and all, “I always had better style.”
Y/n laughed for the first time in seven years. Regulus found himself staring in awe as her face creased with laughter. He noticed her cheekbones getting defined, how her hair got tossed back when she laughed, the curl of her lips. Despite years in prison, Regulus still thought she was the prettiest girl in the world. He felt so happy, so accomplished that she blessed him with this sound. He found himself replacing his happiest memory with this one. This, Regulus thought, this is my happiest memory. At this moment, he felt like he could perform the best Patronus, and truth be told, Regulus was never good at the Patronus Charm. 
When she recovered, all Regulus wanted to do was make her laugh again, “Thank you for letting me stay with you.”
“Of course.” He replied like it was nothing; in all honesty, it was, “There’s a bedroom upstairs on the right prepared for you with a bathroom. It’s yours till you’re ready. If you wanted to wash up and begin your life again.”
“Yeah,” Y/n had a relieving smile on her face, “That sounds wonderful.”
The mug on the counter left forgotten Y/n traveled up the stairs. The upstairs was just as beautiful as the ground floor. The room she was given was gorgeous, and Y/n found herself never wanting to leave. The room was a pine color. The bed had grey sheets. The furniture was black. The flooring expanded upstairs, still the same grey wood. This room smelt of a forest. It was calming and made her never want to leave. 
Nonetheless, Y/n got undressed and got into the shower. The shower had been stocked with body wash, shampoo, conditioner, and other hygienic needs. The products smelt expensive, but it felt terrific to be adequately cleaned. In Azkaban, that was rare. Usually, the guards rushed the prisoners in and out of the shower. After the shower, she looked in the dresser to find some old Slytherin sweatpants and a black t-shirt. She put the clothes on and went to bed. 
Living with Regulus was something Y/n could’ve never imagined. In honesty, it wasn’t all that bad. She actually enjoyed it. It turns out that Regulus is just as charming and funny as his older brother. He was also quick-witted like Remus and twice as bright. Not to mention his youthful energy at times that made Y/n think of James. Back at Hogwarts, you’d never catch cold Regulus Black stuffing his face with marshmallows doing the ‘Chubby Bunny’ challenge with Y/n Potter. 
Y/n wasn’t sure when it happened, but she found herself slowly falling in love with him. It wasn’t because he was the only one around because she had gotten a job at Hogwarts teaching History of Magic. She met many people in her two years at Hogwarts, but her favorite was the summer holidays. It meant more days hanging out with Regulus. But after two years of living together, she adored everything about him. 
His elegance was magnifying. She fell in love with the way he made breakfast every morning, no matter what. How he took his tea - no sugar, splash of milk. He refused to drink tea or coffee out of anything but the mug Andromeda sent him for his birthday after he supposedly ‘died’. She bought the gift before the accident and wanted to send it to him anyway. Y/n fell in love with how he adored his cat because, yes, Regulus Black owned a cat and her name was Lynx. Y/n got introduced to her only hours into living in the house. 
Lynx was a black cat with blue eyes. She was Regulus’ pride and joy. On holidays Lynx would be dressed up in tiny sweaters, and Regulus swore it was so she didn’t get cold. On Y/n’s first Valentine's Day after Azkaban, she found chocolate and flowers on the kitchen island for her. They were HoneyDukes finest chocolate and beautiful lavender roses. Regulus adored the blush that appeared on her cheeks. 
The summer before Y/n had to go back to Hogwarts for her third year of teaching; Regulus asked her out on their first date. Regulus had been incredibly nervous and shy. They had been watching a movie on the couch together; his arm laid lazily around her shoulders when he realized he wanted this forever. He had said it so quietly Y/n had to make him repeat it. But she accepted immediately. 
Before leaving for Hogwarts that year, they began dating. It was new, but it was nice. Y/n hadn’t dated anyone since Remus, who she was completely over. Regulus was a completely different experience. Regulus was fun but serious, nice but mean, smart but stupid, but most importantly, he was loving and caring. Regulus did everything he could to show his love and affection for his new girlfriend. 
On the first day back at Hogwarts, Y/n had come early to set up her classroom. When she appeared at the feast, Y/n saw all the new first years and made eye contact with glittering green eyes. She took her seat at the end of the table. Y/n stared intently at the group of anxious first years as Minvera McGonagall - the Transfiguration Professor - set up the sorting hat ceremony. Multiple names got called, but Y/n had been focusing on one little boy in particular. 
“Potter, Harry!” 
The little eleven-year-old boy took hesitant steps to the stool. He stepped up on the wooden chair, and it allowed Y/n to stare freely. He had messy brunet hair and a defined child face like James but held Lily’s eyes. Harry was lanky like James, but Y/n knew it’d turn into muscle eventually as it had on James back in sixth year. The hat sat on Harry’s head for a little over a minute before calling out the house everyone knew he’d be sorted in. 
“GRYFFINDOR!”
Y/n allowed a big smile to take over her face as her nephew raced to the Gryffindor table. Harry got many pats, and a warm welcome like everyone knew he would. After the sorting and the feast, Dumbledore began to speak. He warned about the third story corridor and Mr. Filch that Y/n still held a grudge against. Mr. Filch was the worst ‘caretaker’ ever and was just a grumpy old man asking for pranks which the Weasley twins had done. 
Professor Dumbledore introduced each teacher, “For the introduction of our teachers for the 1991-1992 year goes as follows: Professor McGonagall of Transfiguration, Professor Snape of Potions, Professor Quirrell of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Sprout of Herbology, Professor Vector of Arithmancy, Professor Sinistra of Astronomy, Professor Flitwick of Charms, Professor Trelawney of Divination, Professor Babbling of Ancient Ruins, Professor Kettleburn of Care of Magical Creatures, and finally Professor Potter of History of Magic.”
Harry stopped in his tracks at the last name Potter. He turned to look at the woman with h/c hair and e/c eyes. If he looked close enough, he could see similarities in them both, but he didn’t look too hard. Her smile was beautiful, Harry thought, I wonder if dad had the same smile. 
On Monday, at 10:30 am, Y/n was ready for her first year with Gryffindor and Slytherins. She allowed her students to pick where they wanted to sit and gave them ten minutes of free time to befriend the person beside them. This was her third time doing this activity, and it usually went smoothly. Sometimes kids need to socialize, and most classes don’t allow it. Like every teacher, she began with an introduction of herself and the subject.
“Hello, class!” Her voice was cheerful and welcoming, “My name is Y/n Potter or Professor Potter, whichever you prefer to call me. I’ve been teaching History of Magic for three years now, and I know this subject is usually a boring one, but I try to make it as intriguing as possible. In this course, we cover multiple wars and important people of our history like Nicholas Flamel.”
People looked thoroughly interested, “I was in Gryffindor in my years at Hogwarts, so I do know the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, so I do hope we don’t run into any issues. My Ravenclaw and Hufflepuffs did beautifully this morning. Today we won’t go over any content. I’ll leave the rest of class to ask me questions or get to know your peers. However, tomorrow we will begin, so please come to class prepared.”
Harry always thought of himself to be relatively curious, but despite this woman sharing his last name, he didn’t ask. The wound was still fresh after being lied to by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon about the truth of his parent's death. Harry thought that rubbing salt on the new cut would do more harm than good.
Everything ran smoothly for Y/n’s first and second year teaching Harry. The summer going into third year Regulus and her got more serious about their relationship. At that point, they had been going out for just over three years, and Regulus couldn’t have been happier. He felt so elated. His shoulders were no longer to his jaw, and his muscles relaxed.
But being kept in seclusion was eating up at him now. He wanted to see Sirius and Andromeda, maybe meet his little cousin Nymphadora that he had heard about. There was no use in going back to Grimmauld Place. Walburga and Orion were dead, much to Regulus’ glee. Despite being so happy with Y/n, Regulus always felt like a part of him was missing.
Y/n would see it in his eyes as he drifted off from reading the Daily Prophet at the kitchen island. His stone eyes held longing and yearning for his elder brother to place an end to the craving he’d been having for years. It was getting tiring, and Y/n could see how restless Regulus was getting. While he worked most of the week at a Muggle job, he still wished to be an average person in the Wizarding community.
A week before the new term started, Regulus and Y/n flooed into Hogwarts. Her office was clean and void of any dust. It held bookshelves - many of them - and notebooks laid askew on the wooden desk. There were many red accents that Regulus had grown to love despite being in a separate house. Gryffindor pride was one thing Azkaban couldn’t even take away.
Y/n took his hand in hers, and they began their walk to Albus Dumbledore’s office. No one was inside the castle walls this early in the term than Dumbledore. They approached the Phoenix and spoke the password ‘Lemon Drops’. The Phoenix spun, allowing the stairs to appear. They both knocked at the door, and it opened with a flick of Dumbledore’s hand.
They were greeted with a small smile and half-moon spectacles, “Professor Potter and Mr.Black, what a surprise.”
Regulus smiled tightly and gripped Y/n’s newly ringed hand, “Or it seems I should be calling you Professor Black?”
“No, sir,” Y/n replied, “Potter works just fine.”
Truth be told, Regulus had only proposed a month ago, and he didn’t want it spreading, “That’s not why we’re here.”
“By all means, take a seat.” Dumbledore gestured to the seats in front of his desk that they took gratefully, “May I offer a lemon drop?”
“No, thank you.” Regulus grimaced, “I’d like to speak with you about my death.”
“Well, I suppose this was going to come up soon enough.”
“I’d like to have a presence in the Wizarding community again.” Regulus continued, “I’d like to be able to see my brother again. Along with my cousins.”
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, “Do you believe it is wise to do so?”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t know if you haven’t been reading the news, but Lord Voldemort is on the rise again.” Dumbledore explained, “He’ll know if your disloyalty and you’ll be the first he comes after.”
Regulus had a look of fear on his face before replying, “I’ll be under the protection of the Order of the Phoenix. Wouldn’t that be enough?”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged, “But by making an appearance again, not only will it shock the world, but it’ll put a target on your back. Not to mention a bigger target on Ms.Potter’s back.”
“I’m capable of handling it myself.” Y/n quipped, “If Regulus wants to be free again, he should be allowed to be, free of any guilt as well. Being trapped isn’t a feeling. He’s been trapped for much too long.”
“Fifteen years.” Regulus said monotone, “I’ve been in seclusion for fifteen years.”
Dumbledore allowed a slight smile to grace his features, “By all means, Regulus, the world is yours.”
The meeting came to a close, and they both retreated into Y/n’s office. He flopped down onto an armchair in her office while she swiveled in her desk chair. Regulus’ hair had progressively gotten more tousled as he thought about everything said in the meeting. He was quiet while he thought, allowing Y/n to tidy up her desk.
Regulus had gone thirty minutes quietly mulling over everything when he finally spoke, “I think I’m going to do it.”
“Good.” Y/n said without a second thought, “Maybe then you can become a writer for the Daily Prophet like you’ve always dreamed.”
“Or the Quibbler.” Regulus added, “Mr.Lovegood writes some good stories.”
Y/n chuckled as she sorted through her quills, “I remember him from our Hogwarts days. Always a bit strange, he was, sweet though.”
“Yeah,” Regulus sighed, “I suppose I didn’t really get close with anyone who isn’t in Azkaban right now or a death eater.”
“Hey,” Regulus turned to look at Y/n, “After this announcement, everything will be okay. You’ll get to see Dora and Andromeda again.”
Regulus noticed how she didn’t say anything about Sirius as she went back to organizing her desk. He didn’t want to keep bringing it up, but he wanted a relationship with his older brother now that their parents weren’t in the way. Regulus stood up from the armchair and took her hands into his. Gently he stood up with her. They began swaying back and forth to no music.
“I know I keep bringing this up, and I’m sorry.” Regulus began, “But I’d like a relationship with my brother. And it seems selfish of me to ask you to be okay with it.”
Y/n didn’t say anything, so he went on, “I’m aware that Sirius put you through extreme pain and grief. He’s the reason you didn’t get to say goodbye to your mum or be with your brother one last time. He’s the reason you don’t have Harry in your custody. He took away your freedom, and I will never expect you to forgive him.”
Regulus pulled away to look her in the eyes, “You’re my everything. Soon you’ll be my wife, and I don’t want anything to change that because I love you. I don’t expect you to forgive Sirius, but I’d like to have him in my life.”
“I know.” Her voice was quiet, but her touch was soothing as she caressed his cheek, “I know this is important to you, and I see no issue with it.”
“If- If James was still here,” Y/n swallowed the lump on her throat, “I’d want him with me too.”
Regulus pushed their foreheads together, “You’re so strong.” He pushed a piece of hair behind her ear, “You know that?”
“You tell me every day.”
“Because you are.” He kissed her forehead gently.
The following week it was all over the Wizarding World that Regulus Black had been reported alive and well. Regulus took many interviews with the Daily Prophet, and he did get to meet Nymphadora, who was in Auror training with Mad-Eye Moody. He also got to see Andromeda, who cried upon seeing her little cousin. Y/n had continued teaching while he was meeting all of his family.
One thing she didn’t expect was to see Remus Lupin at the Professor's table.
Dumbledore gave his speech as usual and introduced the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor - Professor R.J. Lupin. Remus caught eyes with Y/n, and they looked sorrowful. Along with Regulus Black’s recent reappearance in the Prophet, news that Peter Pettigrew was near Hogwarts had been released. The actual murderer of James and Lily Potter. Dementors were placed around the castle.
Everything went smoothly until Remus and Y/n had castle duty on the same night. They were at opposite ends of the castle, and yet Remus had still managed to find her. If she knew any less, she would’ve thought it was by coincidence, but she was a Marauder. Y/n knew about the Marauders map, not to mention her alias - Vixen - was on the print.
“Y/n.” Remus panted, “Can we talk?”
Y/n crossed her arms, “I can’t see what there is to talk about.”
“Oh, there’s much to talk about.” Remus replied as he stood to his full height - just two inches taller than Regulus, “I want to apologize for what happened.”
Y/n chuckled bitterly, “You aren’t going to be forgiven. I mean, how fucking dare you. I can’t believe you guys thought I was the traitor. He was my fucking brother!”
Harry had grimaced at her tone; he had followed Professor Lupin around the castle to ask him a question, “Dumbledore had specifically said that you were working with You-Know-Who. How were we supposed to take that?”
“I don’t know!” Y/n stressed, “Maybe ask me about it before pointing your wand at my throat?”
“It was a genuine mistake-”
“A mistake that ruined my life, Lupin!” He looked upset at the mention of his last name, “Seven years! Seven fucking years of misery. Seven years I will not get back.”
“Not only was it seven years. I’m not even allowed to have my nephew in my custody because of my record.” Her voice was low now, “You don’t understand what he’s been through, Lupin. He’s getting abused by Lily’s sister, and there’s nothing I can do about it! They see I’ve been to Azkaban, and that’s all they care about.”
“But you know what, fuck it all right?” Y/n spat, “Because everything that comes out of Dumbledore’s mouth is the truth, right?”
Remus sighed, “I really am sorry. I know you won’t forgive me, and that’s reasonable, but with Regulus being alive now, you’re going to have to be around Padfoot.”
“I’ve known all about Regulus being alive.” Y/n stated, “After all, he’s the reason I’m out of Azkaban.”
“He- He defended you?”
“He did.”
Remus stared appalled, “He’s also my fiancé.”
That was a knife to the heart. Remus’ heart had completely shattered at her tone and the statement that had fallen from Y/n’s mouth. He’d known that she wouldn’t wait for him, but it didn’t help any. Y/n would never forgive him or Sirius. That much was true. They had crossed a boundary and broke trust. Y/n wasn’t going to allow them back into her life no matter how badly he wished.
Remus was left wholly shattered in the middle of the Transfiguration wing.
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spideymarvelws · 3 years
Note
A threesome with tom × reader × Harrison when they become roommates PLEASE could you include... spanking? 😸
im sorry if this is so bad sdhvcwdhcvps the beginning is a bit shaky but i finally sat my ass down and wrong something so i hope you enjoy!
Main Masterlist / Add Yourself To My Taglist
Warnings : dom/sub undertones, spanking, mild degrading and humiliation, tom and haz being little teasing shits
Word Count : 1.8k
Roommates With Benefits
Harrison Osterfield x Fem!Reader x Tom Holland
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“And that’s pretty much it. Oh! And you could always just put Percy’s bowl and bed next to Tessa’s. I’m sure she won’t mind, very sweet girl,” Tom smiled, pushing the tips of his fingers into the pockets of his jeans as he led you back to the kitchen.
“We’d love another dog in the house! Just be warned if you ever leave, we might not be able to let him go.” Harrison winked, blue eyes shining with the light shining into the kitchen, causing heat to quickly rise to your face.
You chuckled light heartedly, leaning against the kitchen island with your head down, avoiding the intense stairs of the two brits on your body.
Everything happened so quickly. Being kicked out of your apartment after having trouble paying ridiculous bills, seeing the ad during your job at the cafe and immediately calling the number in hopes that the offer for a roommate was still open. It wasn’t usually something you did, especially without any background checks but you were desperate and in that moment, you were ready to endure anything if it meant you would have a roof over your head. 
What you didn’t expect was a cute british voice answering the phone who was very cooperative and patient, answering all the questions you had. You called him everyday after that, using the excuse of asking more questions but ultimately you both ended up talking about anything and everything. It was an immediate connection that only intensified when you met him the next week in real life after your shift. Shaggy brown hair, soft brown eyes and a figure that made your mouth water, you didn’t expect such a sweet human to take on the looks of a model.
But he didn’t come alone, next to him was a taller but equally attractive blond brit, with clear blue eyes and a smile that made your legs weak. You were surprised how composed you kept yourself while talking to them and with a firm handshake and exchange of phone numbers, a beautiful friendship between the two was born.
At least, that’s what you tried to keep it as. Both men were naturally flirtatious, constantly complimenting you then pointing out how flustered you got like it was some inside joke. When you would meet up with them after shifts, sometimes one of them would take your hand while the other stayed attached to you to the hip, along with a lot of subtle touches that left goose bumps in their wake.
It came to the point where your coworkers gave you side eyes, dancing around the question of asking if you were dating anyone which only made you more flustered.
After a month of spending time with them, the week before your lease ended, they invited you to their flat to show you around, not so directly confirming that they wanted you as their third roommate.  
However, as you entered the house, tension started to build in the air, tension that you only noticed apparently since Tom and Harrison went on with the tour like everything they did was normal. Constant innuendoes, especially when they showed you where the bedrooms were, stretching their arms in already tight shirts, staying close by your side with small touches to your back and arm.
It kept you flustered, while your purpose being there was to find a place to stay, you couldn’t deny that the two brits were attractive, irritatingly so. After the month of getting to know them, you developed a pretty obvious crush on the two men but you were too shy to say anything, too many negative consequences filling your head.
You were happy to maintain a friendship, even if that meant keeping the constant heat on your skin in their presence.
“How do you know if Tessa’s any safer? I might just take her with me.” you teased, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
“Oh really?” Tom raised a brow, walking closer to you behind the kitchen counter, “I feel hurt that you’re already thinking of leaving.” he leaned on his left elbow with his ankles crossed over the other, licking his lips as he looked you up and down.
“To- to be fair... Haz was the first to suggest it.” you stuttered briefly, coughing to hide how nervous you became.
“Yeah, cut her some slack Tom.” the blond snickered, walking up to you, standing on the other side, arms crossed and muscles bulging, “Don’t want to scare her off too soon now do we?”
“Oh I don’t think we’re scaring her off Haz.” Tom raised his hand, taking your jaw between your fingers and turning your head to face him, “Are we scaring you love?”
You shook your head no, eyes wide and body frozen with the contact.
“We’re going to need words darling,” Harrison said into your ear, his breath heavy on the side of your head, his hand landing possessively on the base of your neck, “Communication is very important for us in a roommate.”
“Is it?” you squeaked, trying to process being suddenly sandwiched between the two men. They’ve never been this forward, thoughts running through your head that made you squeeze your thighs together in hopes of some relief.
Tom hummed, leaning up with his face right in front of yours, “So I’ll ask again... are you scared of us Y/n?” your name fell off his tongue like honey, sending a pang of pleasure down your stomach to your heat. You wanted nothing more than to hear it over and over again.
“N-no.” the pitch of your voice was high, enough to make you laugh if it wasn’t for the men so close to your body.
“Then why are you so tense, angel?” Harrison’s hand moved down your neck, trailing along your spine and staying in the curve of your back, right above your ass, “Anything we could do to help?”
“I could think of one thing!” Tom hummed, leaning in closer, brushing his lips along yours, “That is, if our lady allows it.”
“Only if you want to be our girl.” Harrison added, leaning down to kiss the side of your neck, “Just say the word and this never happened.”
“No!” maybe it was the sudden closeness, their hands on your body or the pet names that flowed so naturally off their tongue. Or maybe it was the build up over the past months, the fantasies than ran threw your head of this exact moment that all lead you to whimper-
“yes... please.”
...
“Ah- fuck.” Harrison groaned from behind you, his rough hands gripping your waist tighter as he pounded into you from behind, “God she feels so good around me... tightest cunt I’ve ever fucked.”
“Wait till you feel her mouth mate,” Tom grunted, tightening his hands around your head. He looked down at your face, tears falling from your eyes, spit drooling from your mouth around his hard cock, some of it falling to the sheets beneath you. Out of his years of acting and traveling, he’d never thought he’d see such a beautiful sight.
“Oh I’m planning on it,” the blond responded, moving his hips impossibly faster, fingers digging into your waist, adding to the marks all over your body, “Not tonight though, don’t think the slut could think properly after this.”
Tom laughed at his friend’s words, continuing to bob your head on his cock, alternating between slow, calculated movements and a rough, punishing pace.
The humiliation only made you more wet and desperate for relief. You were right on the edge, have been since the night’s activities began. But the men wouldn’t allow it, constantly mocking and degrading you if the thought ever crossed your mind, threatening to not touch you for the rest of the week if you came without permission.
The fact that they planned to continue after this couldn’t even cross your head, mind too far broken down into just a toy for their use, begging and mewling for anything they gave you. 
A harsh spank landed on your bum making a squeak erupt from your throat, muffled by Tom’s length. Harrison scoffed at your reaction, landing blow after blow, his hips losing rhythm as he neared his high.
“I swear she just gets wetter and wetter,” Harrison groaned, punctuating the last three words with a slap to your skin, “So fucking perfect around me I-” he groaned loudly, bending over slightly to reach deeper inside you, hitting a different angle that made you scream.
Tom was quick to pull you off his cock, one hand wrapped tightly around your hair, keeping your head up while the other moved quickly up his shaft. jerking himself off.
“Fuck, you look so pretty princess,” Tom moaned, “Ready to cum?”
You nodded enthusiastically, smiling wide as you kept your mouth open. The brunette grabbed your jaw, tilting your head up and spitting directly in your mouth, slapping the side of your face for you to swallow.
“Fucking beg for it then.” 
But before you could respond, you felt pressure directly on your clit, Harrison’s cold thumb moving circles around the nub, pushing you further and further to your orgasm. 
“Please! Please let me cum! Please Tommy!” 
But the brit only laughed, “I’m not the one you should be begging too love,” 
Tom loosened his grip of your hair only for Harrison to take over, pulling your back to his sweaty chest.
“Go ahead angel, beg so you could cum all over my cock,”
“Please... please Harrison,” you could feel the energy slowly fading from your body but your will to get off was just as strong, “Please let me cum,”
“Go ahead angel,” Haz grunted in your ear, “Fuck I’m gonna cum with you, bury my cock deep in your pussy, stuff you full,”
Without a second to lose, you let yourself go, finally  getting that release you’ve been craving for that entire night. The feeling of the blonds cum filling you up made it more intense, along with his thumb still locked in place on your clit. It was an overload of pleasure, black spots clouding your vision but you still hyper aware of everything going on.
“Open your mouth pretty girl,” you heard echo in the back of your head. Without fight, your jaw slacked open, the taste of Tom’s seed hitting your lips, spreading across your mouth.
You were in pure ecstasy. 
It took you a while to come back after such an intense moment, tangled in Tom’s arms while Harrison worked on cleaning your body, both looking down at you with admiration and awe.
“What do you think Haz? She good enough to live here?” Tom mumbled, softly petting your hair as you nudge your cheek against his chest, bathing in the attention.
The blond snickered from behind you, crawling over your body and leaning down to place a sweet kiss on your shoulder, “She could live with us for the rest of her life after that mate,” you raised your head slightly at his words, eyes wide and blown. He gently took your chin between his fingers, pressing a kiss to your puffy lips.
“Free of fucking charge.”
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kn1feinthec0ffee · 3 years
Text
shave and a haircut - spencer reid
bi!spencer reid x gn!reader
summary: spencer needs a haircut, and you just so happen to know how to give him one.
warnings: none really, touch starved!spence 🥺
word count: 1,293
notes: this is an uber sweet amount of softness that i will not apologize for bc i love it so very much 
also bi!spence. yeah i said it,, what ab it??
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********************
you had noticed spencer’s thoughts about his hair even before he did. not that you were a mind reader, but you were essentially the next best thing.
you watched him constantly brush flyaway strands behind his ears to keep them out of the way as he pored over documents. the way he scrunched his nose adorably when garcia playfully tugged on a strand of it. it was obvious - to you, at least - that he wanted a change.
  “i’ve wanted it cut for a while now,” spencer exhaled, shaking his shaggy locks. “it just keeps getting in the way.”
  “i could always give you a trim if you’d like,” you inserted yourself into the conversation.
spencer’s cheeks appeared to tinge pink at the suggestion, but he quickly nodded. “if that would be okay with you?” you giggled, furling up his curls into a messy pile.
  “of course it’s okay with me, i’d do anything for you, spence.” he didn’t know how serious you were, but he felt his heart swell at your meaningful words. “can i come over, let’s say... tomorrow afternoon?”
he barely managed an awestruck nod before you were on your way. perhaps if he weren’t so busy overanalyzing what you had meant, he would’ve noticed the newfound pep in your step that lasted the rest of the day.
——————————
  “wow,” you bobbed your head as your eyes scanned the muted tones of spencer’s apartment. “this is... exactly what i was expecting.”
  “hey,” he feigned offense. “are you saying i’m predictable?”
you pretended to be in deep contemplation at the simple query. “yes, yes i am, i think that’s exactly what i’m saying.”
spencer wanted to roll his eyes, but you were too adorable for him to possibly feel any semblance of annoyance.
once you had laid out a towel underneath the chair and clipped a cape over his shoulders, you clasped your hands together in excitement. “okay! what are we thinking?”
  “i don’t really know, something short i guess?” spencer shrugged. “you can surprise me, if you want. i trust you. just please leave it curly.”
  “it’s been short before, but that was when i used to straighten it and gel it back,” he shivered just thinking about the slick stickiness he used to slather over his hands and onto his head.
  “you did what?” you gasped. “i’ve got to see a picture of that sometime. i’m just picturing little baby reid with his hair combed over to the side.”
  “well, it was only a couple years ago, so i’m not sure if that qualifies-” spencer began.
  “oh it absolutely qualifies. once a baby, always baby. in my book anyway,” you mumbled, more to yourself than anyone else, but that didn’t stop reid from blushing once more. you always seemed to bring that out in him. “i bet you pulled a lot of ladies & gents with a hair cut like that, huh, hot shot?”
he scoffed, picturing the image of him actually having too many people trying to get with him. “oh yeah, they couldn’t get enough of me with all my statistics on kidnapping victimology and the likelihood of being abducted from high-density social situations.”
  “hey,” you curled a finger under his chin to tilt his head up towards you. “don’t do that. you sell yourself short, sweetheart. you’re much more lovely and charming than you give yourself credit for.”
at this moment, spencer was 99% sure you had no idea what you were doing to him. he was falling deeper in love with you as every minute passed, and while he enjoyed it, it was simultaneously excruciating. this is just supposed to be a haircut, he thought. get it together, spencer. you don’t wanna mess this up.
he settled on a simple, “thanks,” as you began snipping bits of hair off in a seemingly disorganized fashion. 
he was so used to haircuts being awkward and impersonal, but this was something else entirely. the soft little tugs he felt as you pulled a strand out between your fingers nearly made his heart stop. the way you hummed a tune to yourself as you diligently worked made him feel so safe and calm. 
spencer only noticed his eyes had closed when he felt the warmth radiating off of you leave him. you were stood over your tools, picking up an electric razor as you walked back over to him. “so much freedom you’ve given me,” you tutted to yourself.
he remained quiet as the repetitive buzz of the razor filled the room. you tilted his head forward, resting it gently on your torso as you gave the hair around the nape of his neck a closer shave. you weren’t entirely certain due to the volume of the razor, but you were pretty sure you had heard spencer let out a contented little whimper against the fabric of your sweater.
the realization hit you like a bus that spencer had most likely been somewhat deprived of touch for most of his life. it made sense; he never seemed to seek out touch from anyone who wasn’t a close friend or relative. a warm feeling blossomed in your heart at the thought that you were providing him with the touch he had deserved for so long.
  “having fun, pretty boy?” you mused - teasing lightly as not to mock him or hurt his feelings - giving his locks a playful tussle. spencer wanted to respond, he really did, but he was so overwhelmingly soothed. your hands were in his hair, trailing across his skin; he was resting his head against the softness of your clothing, but more importantly you as your scent enveloped him.
all he could manage was a brief, “mhm,” too blissed out to conjure up any more intelligent terms from his nearly endless vernacular. he couldn’t help the pout that graced his lips when you pulled away from him, the lack of your relaxing presence filling him with a miniscule amount of sorrow. 
  “alright, time for the big reveal,” you handed him a mirror. “what do you think? did i totally screw up?” you looked to him for his reaction. 
spencer saw that you had given him a side shave, letting his natural curls rest on top and flop in whatever direction they saw fit. he had had hairstyles similar to this before, but this one felt... different. special even. although that could be due to the fact that it was you who had cut his hair. for once in his life, he wasn’t sure. 
  “i- i love it,” he flashed you an award winning smile, filling your tummy with butterflies. “thank you so much, y/n.”
  “no, thank you, the pleasure’s all mine. plus, i think having such a good model helped the end result, don’t you?” you smirked, twirling one of his curls around your finger. his cheeks heated up at the compliment, and your grin only intensified as he answered with a quick nod. 
“oooh, do you want me to wash your hair? that way you can get any leftover hairs out so they don’t bother you when you go to sleep.” spencer nodded eagerly at your suggestion, a warm feeling spreading through his tummy as you smiled. “okay, i’ll clean up out here and throw away all the hair. why don’t you head into the bathroom and bring a folding chair with you, so i can set it up in front of the sink?”
he smiled to himself as you rambled on and tittered about, cleaning the remains of his old haircut. he headed to the bathroom with that same lovesick grin on his face. spencer knew you’d end up being the death of him, and for some reason, he he didn’t seem to mind.
*******************
as i’m finishing this it’s 1:55am on wednesday and i’m practically half asleep, so the ending prob isn’t great or grammatically correct but if i have the time, i’ll edit this tomorrow
edit: i added a paragraph & tweaked some sentences but i think its a bit better now :)
tags: @sojournmichael @stinkyelf @crazyfore3 @cal-ifornication @eggygorl02 @howdycharlie @eosprincess @mortallythoughtfulgurl @illuxions-x @unlikelyempathpruneauthor @blankets-for-bees @holycandypizza @flyingbabyunicornnamedangel @lovelyrdjr @elitereid @minnie-bby @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @fantastic-fans @keomoon @achieveonyourown @jjtheangel @whoreforthebau @theonewithcriminalminds @angelbunnyoxo​
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givemethatgold · 3 years
Text
Fix’er Upper Pt. 8
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Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: none? Length: 2.1k Notes: I’m sorry, Cyn, I know I said there would be smut but I was just enjoying the slow burn too much. And I just feel like these two NEED this. Not me nervous to write about his p in her v, nooope. Also, I’m wine drunk and did not spell check this bitch, have fun with that. Divider by @firefly-graphics
Series MASTERLIST
The day of the fair had finally arrived and you woke with more than a little excitement churning in your stomach. Multiple meetings at the community center had given you a chance to meet more of the town's population and you'd gained a deeper appreciation for them. Small towns afforded very few entertainments, which had resulted in some of the older kids, driven by boredom, getting into trouble. Minor things like graffiti and trespassing, but the community knew if they weren't careful that things could escalate. So, instead of making the kids feel judged or harshly reprimanded, the town was working towards better programs and facilities to keep them busy.
It was an unseasonably beautiful Autumn day, the kind that carried memories of Summer on the warm breeze. Knowing that cold and snow were just around the corner, these "second summers" made people act a little more recklessly and freely than they usually might. You had a feeling that the crowds tonight were going to be bigger and rowdier than anyone could have hoped for.
Jacquie had stopped by later to offer you a ride to town but you had just sent your baking with her, insisting that you wanted to enjoy the sunshine and bicycle in.
Once you'd entered the main square you were blown away by the effort from the town. Banners, balloons, streamers, and posters were everywhere. A stage for musical acts and a ticket booth had been built and donated by Hank's Hardware, food carts selling anything and everything you could deep-fry were scattered down every road. Carnival games had been set up in rows down multiple, closed-off, streets, as well as people setting up face-painting, balloon animals, and a smaller version of the Saturday Farmer's Market. The high school football field had even been converted to a tiny amusement park with a Ferris Wheel, carousel, and swing ride.
It was still early, and there was still a lot to do before the fair would be open, but the excitement was already palpable. After making sure your pies had been marked down for the auction, you beelined for the water gun race game that you and a lovely woman named Heather had been assigned to operate. 
Too preoccupied with making sure you had the water tanks filled, the pumps were working, and your ticket box was in place you didn't notice how some of the other volunteers were acting strangely, making sidelong glances and meaningful head nods. 
Nothing seemed amiss once Heather had joined you. In fact, you were getting along with her so well the two of you had already made plans to meet for coffee the next day.
Soon, the fair was in full swing. The games booths were a popular stop with families and you were having the time of your life cheering for every child who tried their hand at your game. 
Eventually, there was a natural lull in the festivities as fair-goers drifted from the games towards the food and live entertainment. You were just suggesting making a quick snack run when Heather's phone rang. 
"Sorry, one sec, it's my husband," she grimaced, holding her finger up to stop you from leaving.
In a bid to give her a modicum of privacy, you tallied up the tickets and bunched them into coils for easier counting later. Heather's normally calm voice rose in pitch and urgency, drawing your attention back to her in time to see a look of alarm and annoyance cross her face.  
"What do you mean, burned? Like, burned burned? There's smoke?! Oh, honey, what on earth..." she paused, listening to her husband's voice some more, giving you an eye roll that clearly said 'Men. They're hopeless' and interrupted whatever he had been saying. "Alright, alright. It's slowing down here so I can run home."
Putting her phone back in her purse, Heather turned to you with a huff. "He's burnt dinner, and it sounds like my skillet is toast, too. I'm sorry to do this to you but I need to run to the store and bring dinner home. I've got the only car, so they're stuck."
Assuring her you could manage on your own, you shooed her away and told her to take her time.
Walking backward to wave goodbye, Heather kept spouting numerous apologies and promising she'd make it up to you on your coffee date. Giving one last smile she spun around and immediately ran into old Mrs. Crawley who was being escorted by no other than a very bored and trapped-looking Frankie Morales.
"Oh! Mrs. Crawley! So sorry!" She began, steadying the white-haired octogenarian, "I'm being called home, ditching my post, gotta run, bye!" With that, she was gone, weaving her way through the crowd of people.
Mrs. Crawley had glanced over at you when Heather had mentioned having to leave and was currently shuffling her way towards you, Frankie in tow.
"Frankie, be a dear and help this beautiful lady out while Heather is away."
It wasn't a question but you still felt the need to speak up, giving Frankie an out if he wanted it.
"I can manage-"
"But what about your-"
You'd both spoken at the same time and stopped mid-way through to let the other go first. Mrs. Crawley broke the silence instead.
"My hip is feeling much better, and I think I'll just make my way over to the bandstand," she gave Frankie a meaningful look accompanied by a rather sharper-than-expected slap to his cheek, "alone."
You both watched her walk over to the stage, stopping to wave at Jacquie and Agnes where they were organizing the bake sale.
"What on earth is going on," you thought to yourself while staring daggers at Jacquie from across the street. This had zero effect on her, she was just sending you lewd winks and had the audacity to give Mrs. Crawley a thumbs up. That conniving little-
"Emmmm... hi."
His voice, sounding uncertain and shy, brought your attention back to Frankie. Taking a moment to soak in his presence, you noticed how worn down he looked. "Good," thought the petty part of your brain, but she was easily squashed by the rest of it appreciating the rest of him.
Tight jeans hugging his thighs, the buttons on his shirt working overtime where the material pulled across his back and chest, his hair was long and getting shaggy but when you saw the curls peeking out from under his baseball cap you had to fight the sudden urge to run your fingers through it.
Your eyes traveled up his neck, noting the way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, and across his face. He'd trimmed his beard, filthy thoughts of how it would feel on your skin flashed in your head.
Finally meeting his eyes with your own, you had to take a breath before replying.
"It's nice to see you, Frankie." Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, drawing his gaze "I guess we should talk-"
You were cut short by rowdy laughter and a crowd of people bustling onto the street, another wave of ticket-holders were coming to try their luck and win the huge teddy bear prize each game boasted.
For the next hour, you were kept too busy to talk more than what was necessary for running the booth. You used the time to gather your thoughts and make a list of what you wanted to say, how you wanted to say it, and how you were going to start the conversation casually.
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Frankie wasn't sure how he had ended up as Mrs. Crawley's crutch. One minute he was dropping off a crate of fruit for the apple bobbing contest and the next he was walking at a snail's pace listening to the old woman reminiscing about her long-dead husband. 
She was sweet, and he didn't mind the slow meander around the square. No, it was the subject matter that had bugged him. After his divorce was finalized and his daughter was taken from him, which he could see now was the right thing to do at the time, Frankie had accepted the fact that he was alone.
Just him, his trees, and the memories of what he did to end up this way.
Then, you had come along. The first woman to catch his attention in five damn years. It wasn't just your beauty, or your easy smile, or the curves of your body. It was your goodness, your innocence, your ability to worm your way into everyone's hearts and not even know it. 
Listening to Mrs. Crawley and the love she had shared made his chest ache, knowing he'd never deserve it himself he still found himself longing for the same. The first moment he had laid eyes on you, it was like a movie about his life had played in flashes in his mind. The meet-cute at the market, romancing you with thoughtful dates like picnics and driving up to the city’s museums and theatre. Getting married, growing the business, then growing your family. It had all played out in a split second but the impression it had left was immeasurable. 
Then, he'd opened his mouth and ruined the moment. Crashed into your truck and ruined the moment. Spooked and burned you, ruining the moment. Gained your trust, broke down your walls, and then left like a coward in the morning and ruined it.
Shaken by his inward reflecting when Mrs. Crawley was jostled, Frankie froze in place once his eyes were directed to where you stood. You were glaring over his shoulder and refusing to meet his eyes, understandably, yet he still felt his chest contract with the hope you'd look at him and smile. 
The way your gaze had eventually taken him in, once he'd been abandoned by a suddenly spry-looking elder, had flared that longing back into a roaring flame. The sudden need to work the booth gave him plenty of time to plan his speech: begging for forgiveness and admitting to the way he felt. While his mind was busy planning his speech, his heart was bursting at how comfortably and effortlessly the two of you worked with each other, like you’d been doing it for years.
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Heather returned, strolling over with a barely concealed smile on her face, not looking at all like she'd just come back from a domestic emergency. This whole town could win an Oscar for their performance tonight, it was mildly humiliating but you knew they were acting out of love.
She thanked Frankie profusely for standing in for her and wouldn't take no for an answer after suggesting the two of you go and enjoy yourselves for a bit. Glancing at Frankie you shrugged your shoulders and made a face that said "why not?". He smiled and nodded back, grabbing your bag and slinging it over his shoulder before joining you on the bustling street.
You walked in comfortable silence for a while, relishing just being near each other and absorbing the jubilant energy surrounding you.
Frankie bought you cotton candy and you made him belly laugh when you showed him the few bottles of cider you'd smuggled in your bag. Seeing the way his face lit up, how he exposed that delicious neck when he threw his head back, hearing the joyous rumble from deep within, sent a realization slamming into you so suddenly it made you stumble.
You loved him.
You might not be in love with him, not yet anyway, but there was a lightness and a warmth in your heart and he had put it there.
Frankie had grabbed your arm when you had stumbled and when you didn't pull away from his touch, his hand slid down your arm and his fingers wove their way through yours.
Walking like this, hand in hand, you found yourselves at the rides.
"I've never been on a Ferris Wheel," he admits to you, craning his head upwards to stare at the top carriage.
Dragging your eyes away from his neck, again, it took your brain a moment to acknowledge what he’d said. "What?!" You expressed with mock horror, already making your way toward the ride’s gate, "Then let's remedy that!"
"I'm- uh this is stupid," he was barely moving with you and adjusted his hat, a nervous tick you'd noticed, "I'm scared of heights."
This admission stopped you in your tracks.
"Frankie." You deadpanned, gripping his hand and pulling on it to emphasize your words, "You're. A. Pilot."
He groaned and you were sure you could see a blush creeping up from beneath his collar, "I know! I know. It's just that, up there?" He stops with a sigh, gazing at the stars wistfully, "I'm in control. I trust myself."
"Do you trust me?" You ask him softly gripping his hand between the both of yours.
Frankie gazed at your face for a breath, not in a way that made you think he was hesitating, it was more like he was pausing so you knew the full weight of his words.
"I trust you with everything."
PART NINE
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IN LIFE, IN DEATH...
PART FIVE
:Masterlist:
Warnings: Swearing and angst, baby!
A/N: I just realized that the tags on Part Four got messed up so i'm sorry for everyone that didn't get tagged! <3
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---
June 1994
“I can do this.”
You mumbled to yourself as you paced in the sand, rubbing your sweaty palms against the leg of your jeans.
From your spot ‘backstage’ area, you could see the crowd as they waited for the next band, and it was huge. Huge enough to where any other day, you would’ve been buzzing with excitement, unable to sit still until you got behind your microphone. You would’ve been nauseous for a whole different reason.
But today was different.
Today you were singing a new song that you had spent weeks writing. The boys helped with the melody here and there, but it was the first whole song you had written in years, and at the end of it was the highest note you’ve ever hit.
And you had gotten through it perfectly every time you practiced it and you knew there was no way for you to be prepared, but there was still a nagging voice in the back of your head that you couldn’t shake.
“Hey.” Alex appeared at your side with a sympathetic smile on his face, instantly recognizing your pacing as a cry for help; considering it was a habit he picked up from you. “You need anything? Water? Aspirin?”
“A puppy?” Reggie chimed in.
“To punch Luke?” Bobby asked. 
“Dude!” Luke protested, shoving Bobby’s arm before stepping in front of you and resting his hands on your shoulders, his thumbs tracing slow circles on your collarbones in a way that was supposed to be soothing but only added to the mosh pit in your stomach. “(Y/n), you know this song inside and out. I’ve seen you kill it dozens of times with my own eyes.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but Luke cut you off with an insistent look and a shake of his head. “No. No more doubting yourself, okay?”
“You kids are up next.” A gruff voice announced from backstage, and you took a deep breath as you nodded, looking up at Luke with a weak smile.
“You’ll be there to take over if I hurl everywhere, right?” You joked.
“You’re not gonna hurl.” Luke laughed, dropping his hands from your shoulders and wrapping one around your wrist. “But, of course I will. Now, ‘c’mon!”
He started walking towards the stage, dragging you with him. When you passed Alex’s drum set, his eyes drifted down to Luke’s grip on your wrist and he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. You barely had time to flip him off before you arrived at Luke’s microphone. 
He smiled as he dropped his hand to tug his guitar strap over his head. “I’m serious. You got this.”
“Thanks, Luke.” You mouthed to him as you walked to the center of the stage, positioning yourself behind your mic.
“How are we doing tonight?” The announcer asked over the speakers and the crowd cheered. “Hey everybody! Welcome to our annual ‘Sunshine Showcase’ where we hit you with the hottest new music in L.A. Everybody give it up for our next band: ‘Sunset Curve’!”
The bright lights at the edge of the stage switched from a dim white to bright red and yellow, casting a faint orange glow across the stage, mixing with the color of the disappearing sun. Alex started a steady rhythm, catching the crowd’s attention. Luke and Bobby joined in, then Reggie.
Then it was time for you to sing. 
Your voice started out a little shaky as you sang the first few lines, but it slowly got steadier as you approached the chorus and by the second verse, you got completely lost in the music, bouncing and bobbing your head.
As the second chorus came around, you felt yourself getting nervous again. So you whipped around and met Alex’s eyes. He smiled reassuringly and twirled his drumsticks around his fingers. Then faster than you could blink, Reggie was at your side, giving you his signature goofy smile as he played along.
You threw your arm over his shoulder and bump him with your hip, sending him back to his spot and making a few people in the front row laugh. 
Then Alex’s drumming quieted as the bridge came up. You willed yourself not to throw up as you pull your microphone off its stand and crouched down to sing to the crowd. 
1...
You kept your voice as steady as you could, giving them your best confident smile as you slowly picked yourself back up.
2...
The music got louder as it neared the end of the bridge and you took a deep breath to prepare for the high note, but it disappeared from your lungs when you realized that Luke had started walking towards you.
3...
Just as he stopped in front of you, the buildup stopped and you could feel everyone’s eyes on you as you closed yours and poured all your energy into the music.
You hit the note perfectly, even surprising yourself a little when you held it longer than you ever had in practice. The crowd erupted in cheers after the note ended, but you kept your eyes closed as you soaked up the moment.
When you finally opened them again, Luke was right next to you, an amazed look on his face. Suddenly, you were grateful for the bright lights covering your face because you were definitely blushing.
The backup for the chorus started up again, but everyone else stopped singing, leaving it up to you and Luke. You held your microphone out so you could both be heard over the cheering. Usually, you all tried to interact with the crowd as much as possible, especially Luke. But his eyes never left yours, not even to look down as he played.
They were so bright and filled with so much intensity that it was hard not to get caught up in moments like this. It wasn’t unusual for you and Luke to sing together and pretend to flirt. The crowd always ate it up and it was pretty fun in the moment. But it always crushed you when the music stopped and you were reminded that it was all for show.
The last note rang out and you let out something between a shaky breath and a relieved laugh. While the boys grabbed their instruments, you walked through the backstage curtain and jumped onto the ground, the adrenaline still racing through you.
“That was awesome!” Reggie said enthusiastically as he tackled you in a hug.
“Yeah, you killed it, (Y/n)!” Alex raised his hand to give you a high five, but his eyes were focused on something behind you. You turned to see what he was looking at, but all you saw was a blur of shaggy brown hair and a grin before a pair of hands lifted you into the air.
“You did it, Squeaks!” Luke cheered as he spun you around, making your head spin. “I told you that you weren’t gonna hurl.”
“I still might if you don’t put me down!” You managed to say through a fit of laughter, holding on to his shoulders to secure yourself as he gently set you down.
You had expected him to pull away once you were back on the ground, but his hands stayed firmly on your waist and he tilted his head forward slightly so his forehead rested against yours.
The world around you slowed down, and you had to put effort into catching your breath again.
“Get a room, guys.” Bobby called as he put his guitar back in it’s case, making Alex and Reggie laugh. You chuckled awkwardly as you pulled away, glaring at Bobby. Luke just smirked and leaned over to stick his finger in Bobby’s ear. “Gross! Dude, stop doing that.”
“Well, I’m starving.” Alex said suddenly, sending you a quick look over his shoulder and you knew he was trying to give you some time to freak out in peace. “Anyone want some pizza?”
The boys all nodded in agreement and started walking towards the parking lot towards Bobby’s car with their instruments in hand, but your feet stayed frozen in place. Your heart was racing as you stared down at the sand between your feet, one question filling up every corner of your mind.
Was it possible that Luke liked you back?
-
2020
If there was one thing you’ve learned from being a ghost: it’s that everything is unpredictable.
You had just started to accept that this was your ‘life’. That you would never tour the world, and perform in front of a crowd ever again. But then you sang with Julie in that gym, and everything in your world changed.
Again.
Your mind was overloaded with questions. Why can people see us now? And why do we only show up while playing with Julie? Why is the afterlife so confusing?
And one more question, that was less serious but equally as important.
Does Luke like Julie?
It had been plaguing you since last night, when Luke had disappeared into the Molina house and didn’t come out for an hour. He had taken his songbook with him, which you didn’t think anything of at the time. But now you know that he gave her ‘Bright’, one of the first songs you and Luke had ever written together.
And then again today, when she sang, Luke looked just as excited as he was when the two of you wrote it. You scolded yourself for thinking about this now when there were bigger things happening. But you couldn’t help but feel like the universe was hanging a giant sign in your face telling you to give up on Luke.
Across the room, Alex started pacing and you shook those thoughts from your head. You knew that if you were freaking out, then Alex was probably on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
“I think he’s practicing his model strut.” Reggie whispered.
“He’s so nervous that it's making me nervous.” Luke agreed.
“Al?” You asked softly. “Are you okay?”
Alex sighed. “Okay. You guys know I don’t handle change well. Death? That was a change. Okay, then we became ghosts. Another change. And now we can be seen whenever we play with Julie. Big freaking change!”
“Yeah, but it was a good change.” Luke said. “With Julie, we can play on stage again and be the band we never got to be.”
Luke’s words felt like a punch to the stomach. Sure, maybe you guys never got famous when you were alive, but you were still a band. You still poured all your time, energy and ability into every song you made together. You knew that Luke was just excited and not thinking about his words. But it felt like another sign hitting you in the face.
“I just-” Alex let out a defeated sigh. “I just want to know why.”
“Forget why.” Luke shot up from the couch. “I think we should ask Julie to join Sunset Curve.”
“Yeah!” Reggie agreed. “I mean, with a new lead singer, this band would be legendary.”
And there was another punch.
“Dude.” You said, trying not to show how much that comment stung. You loved Reggie like a brother but sometimes you wished he thought things through a little more before he spoke.
“Hey! We’re the lead singers.” Luke crossed his arms petulantly.
Reggie raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying. She can make us visible! Without her, we’d just be like elevator music.”
Luke pouted. “Well, you don’t gotta be so mean about it.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Alex starting to pace again.
“Al.” You said, walking up to him and stopping him in his tracks. 
“I’m sorry, okay?” Alex pushed his hair out of his face. his breathing was a little heavy. “I just…”
There was a moment of careful silence, like everyone was holding their breath, too scared of saying the wrong thing. You all knew how bad Alex’s anxiety could be, and while this wasn’t the most freaked out you had ever seen him, it was getting close.
“Hey,” You intertwined Alex’s arm in yours. “Let’s go for a walk, yeah? Clear our heads?”
Alex nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
You sent one last look over your shoulder to Reggie and Luke before you closed your eyes and concentrated on one of your favorite spots in the city. It was one of the first places you went to on your first night back.
Back in the 90's, it was one of your go-to spots when you just needed a place to breathe and sort through your thoughts.
The Walk of Fame.
The noise of the street filled your ears and opened your eyes, finding yourself in the middle of the sidewalk. Alex was right beside you, staring down at all the stars.
"Here? Really?"
You rolled your eyes. "Duh. It's where you and I had our first heart to heart, remember?"
Alex smiled as the memory played through your heads. It was a week after he came out to his parents and the tension in his house had slowly been building up until it was too much for him to handle. So you dragged him here.
"And I think it's time we had another one." You nudged him. "So, come on."
As the two of you walked through the streets of Hollywood arm in arm, it was like an invisible dam burst open and all the questions came pouring out.
After an hour, your head felt like it was going to explode if you kept thinking about all the crazy things that had happened since you got back. But there was still one question you needed to ask.
"Hey, Al?" You asked, making Alex hum in response. "Do you think that Luke likes Julie?"
"Yeah, I mean, I thought he was going to propose when he realized she can make us visible.” Alex said, his face dropping when he felt your arm tense in his. “No! Not like that. Shit, sorry. I-”
“It’s okay, Alex.” You said. You could see him cringing out of the corner of your eye and you knew he was probably beating himself up. “Maybe it’s a good thing, you know? Maybe it’ll be the push I need to finally move on.”
“But you can’t move on until you know how he feels.” Alex stopped abruptly, making you stop too.
“I think he’s been pretty clear."
“Has he?” Alex asked. “In case I missed it, you and Luke haven’t been talking much lately.”
You started to argue but then suddenly, a guy on a skateboard came barreling around the corner and ran right into Alex, making his arm fall out of yours as they both went crashing to the ground.
Alex slowly got back on his feet, groaning painfully. The other guy followed, sighing as he inspected his skateboard.
“Aw, man. You dinged my board.”
“I dinged your board? You almost ran me over! You’re lucky I didn’t-” The realization flashed in his eyes. “You ran me over.”
The skater looked just as confused as both of you when you asked, “You’re a ghost?”
“Yeah.” He took off his helmet, showing off his long hair. “Ever since I learned that skating in traffic was bad.”
Alex took in a sharp breath next to you and you smiled, knowing from the way his jaw dropped and he tripped over his words when the other guy tried to apologize that he was having a ‘gay panic’ moment.
“You guys are new to this whole ghost thing, huh?”
Alex was still a blushing mess but he seemed to find his voice. “Is it that obvious?”
“Totally.” The skater extended his hand out to Alex. “I’m Willie.”
“Alex.”
You introduced yourself quickly, then turned to Alex with a grin. Of course, you wanted to keep hanging with Alex, but it was time to be a good wing-woman. “Hey, I think I’m gonna go back to Cece’s for a while, but you should stay and get some information.”
Alex blushed again, clearly picking up on your intentions but he nodded.
“It was nice meeting you, Willie.” You said, waving goodbye but not before you raised your eyebrows at Alex to let him know that you were definitely going to be grilling him about his afternoon later.
 -
Just like every other time you walked into the diner, you were hit with a wave of painful nostalgia.
On a day like this, you would’ve walked right through the kitchen door and straight into Cece’s arms, rambling on while she made you her special hot chocolate and talked it all out with you until it made sense.
But now, you’re stuck trying to figure everything out alone.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite waitress.” Teddy called out from behind the counter, dog-earing his book and setting it aside to give you his full attention.
“Dude, we just met.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Isn’t it a little too early for shameless flirting?”
Teddy scoffed playfully. “It’s never too early for shameless flirting.”
You weren’t super inexperienced when it came to flirting, but it felt like you were in this moment. Sure, you and Luke flirted on stage all the time, but it wasn’t real. At least not for him. But you had gotten so used to it that someone being open about their feelings with you short-circuited your brain a little.
“So.” You said, looking down at this book on the counter. “The Great Gatsby?”
Teddy laughed. “Yeah, it’s kinda on my bucket list.”
“But you’re already dead.”
“Touché, Gorgeous.”
You sat there, talking about your lives, and deaths. Reluctantly, you told him that you died from a hotdog, which led to him declaring it to be the funniest death in history. The more you talked to Teddy, the better you felt. And before you knew it, it had been hours.
By the time you finally decided to leave, there was still a gaping, Luke-shaped hole in your heart. But you decided that maybe it was time to listen to the signs the universe- that Luke- was giving you and try to move on with your life.
Even if it meant letting go of your best friend.
-
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cazimagines · 3 years
Text
Born to be wild - Chapter 1
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Synopsis: Joining F1 as one of the first female drivers you knew was going to be a challenge but you weren't prepared to deal with one particular asshole on the tracks. With the urge to win so strong within each racer, will romance pave the way? Or will it destroy everything?
Word count: 2.6k
Author’s note: And away we go! First chapter lads. This is a long series so a lot of building up to do so stick around. Idk how frequent updates will be but I will try to make them quite frequent
Warnings: Reference to misogyny, swearing
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Cross-posted to ao3 under the same username
You were here.
Finally, after years of preparation, years of people, men, telling you that you couldn’t do it. That racing was a man’s sport, that a woman could never have the same skills, drive and determination that men had when it came to racing. That you just couldn’t do it. Now you stood here, feet on the warm cement, eyes glimmering with excitement as you looked over the F1 banner, ready to enter the garage for the first time, ready for qualifying for tomorrows race.
The first female F1 driver.
Ever since you were a little girl you had the need for speed. You created your own go-carts out of spare bits and bobs your father had from his garage. You raced the other neighbour’s kids down the street to see who would win and be crowned the coolest kid around. The way the wind flew through your hair, the feeling of it rushing past your face, seeing everything move slowly and fastly at once, it was intoxicating for you. When you first found out about Formula 1, it was still in its early days and people often would take the mick out of it, your parents included but you badgered them constantly to take you to a race, and finally, after years of begging they gave in and took you to see it seeing how your heart was set upon it.
After watching the race you had instantly turned around to them and told them that was what you wanted to do. You wanted to be an F1 racer. They tried to persuade you to seek a different job, a respectable one for a lady such as a secretary. They even suggested that you could be a secretary for an F1 team, but that wasn’t what you wanted and you would never feel that satisfaction in life if you weren’t within that seat, if you hand wasn’t on that wheel, if you weren’t crossing that finishing line.
It had been a rough start. No one wanted to hier you as they thought you would be nowhere near as successful as a man could be. Time and time again you were trying to apply for test outs and met with rejections at every corner to the point where you even considered just throwing your hat in. Would you be spending your whole life just trying to get in but being denied all the time just because you were born a woman. But when you were at your lowest you were met with a shining light. One team wanted to try you out. They made no promises but they were willing to give you a try, and that was all it took.
Once you were out on the tracks you could show off your skill, your ability to make quick decisions, how you were able to work the car to how you wanted it and no one could deny after that, you were a dam fine driver. You were taken on and started racing in small F3 races, in the hopes that a bigger company might spot you and choose to get you into F1, and after a few years of waiting, it happened. You were signed on.
A lot of other people from F3 were in an uproar about it, claiming you did all sorts of things to get in, claiming it was only for diversity but at this point, you didn’t care. Everything you had ever wanted was coming true. Your whole dream was becoming a reality and now there was only one last step for you. To win the championship.
You had been signed on to the F1 team, ‘Tyrrell-Ford’ and previously a week ago you had met your new teammate, Patrick Depailler. You had been worried about how his reaction might have been to you, fearing the man might have felt offended merely by your presence but he had been exceedingly nice to you and quickly your fears disappeared into excitement for getting to work with him.
You could see him now, coming out of your shared garage, holding up his hand in greeting and smiling politely at you. He wore a blue boiler suit, similar to yours, he had a white turtle neck under which just about poked out of his suit. His hair was cut short and stuck to his head in sweat from the warmth of the day but still, you could see the slight curls within the hair. He had a more prominent jawline than some men but his most distinctive feature upon his face was his large nose. You strolled over meeting him halfway and his grin grew as he placed a firm hand upon your shoulder, shaking you slightly.
“You’re first time on the grounds here in Brazill huh? How you feel?” he asked, his french accent heavily accentuated as his hand, tightly grasping your shoulder makes you walk beside him as he leads you to the main area.
“Amazing, I feel so excited being able to be here and I just can’t wait to get in the car and get out on the course!” you eagerly told him, bouncing on your heels, making him chuckle.
“I still feel the same way after all these years. I haven’t been able to stand still yet. But all in due time. I think it’s time you meet the rest of the racers”
Your fist naturally clenches as sudden nerves light up within you, but you swallow trying to push them down. You were used to meeting new people and you had every right as they had to be there. There is nothing to worry about.
“How do you think, they will… you know”
His face turns to yours again and offers a sympathetic smile, knowing the struggles you’ve likely gone through already to be there. “Most of them? Won’t give two shits. All they will care about is if you can drive well. They are men though, especially one of them I’d advise keeping an eye on. He’s gained quite the reputation around other women” he begins to explain but cuts himself off as he chuckles. “There is, of course, the rat, but he’s an asshole to everyone so you need not worry about him”
“I assume the first one you are talking about is James Hunt, and the rat would be Niki Lauda,” you say, thinking back to all the research you had been doing on the racers who you would be joining on the tracks.
“Ah so you’ve done you’re research, smart girl. Yes, you’d be right, but the news doesn’t truly show you what it’s like to know these men. They’re likely not what you expect”
He then pauses again and huffs in a burst of slight laughter, “Or maybe they are exactly what you expect”
You both turn a corner and instantly you felt eyes gaze upon you as you reach the section where all the drivers were preparing to start the qualifying. Patrick still kept a firm hand upon your shoulder as he guided you around, introducing you to all the other racers. Some of them like Patrick were nice and wished you well for tomorrow, some of them were standoffish, hardly saying any words to you as they looked at you in distain, and then Patrick leads you over to the man who currently had his legs spread out on his seat and was flashing you one of his well-known grins as his shaggy blonde hair falls down over his face. His jawline was incredible and made you feel like you could cut yourself on how sharp it was. He was seen as Britain’s heartthrob and everywhere he went he had women drooling over him, and looking at him in person for the first time you could understand why.
“James Hunt, he needs no introduction,” Patrick says, motioning his hand to James and instantly he was off his seat and extending his hand for you to shake.
“I’ve always said we need more girls around and in the cars, I’m glad they are starting to listen,” he says shaking your hand firmly.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you” you reply back, still almost in a daze, you were standing before the James Hunt.
“The pleasure is all mine love. I’m looking forward to getting to know you on the track” and then he pauses, and winks at you, “And off the track. I assume you’ll be attending all the parties. They are the best aren’t they Patrick”
“They are known to become quite a ruckus”
“But that’s all the fun! You’ll love them, you look like the kind of girl that would enjoy a party like that, uh?”
You almost mentally slapped yourself in realising you hadn’t even told him your own name yet, “Y/n, y/n, l/n”
“And that, is a beautiful name, like one of those greek goddesses”
You scoff though your lips twitch up into a smile. You cross your arms as you slowly start to grow used to what James is like, “And how many times do you repeat that to all the women you try to woe?”
James’s eyebrows furrow and he puts on a fake frown at your words, “I have you know, I have never said that to another woman before”
“Do you even know the names of the Greek goddesses?” Partick asks and James was quick to reply with “That is beside the point”
It causes the three of you to laugh though. Like you had seen in all the newspapers James was a flirt, a playboy, but he seemed like someone you could get along with, share a few jokes with and that you were looking forward to.
“You’d think with the amount of laugher here this wasn’t a place where people risk their lives and die”
James tilts his head back and lets out a groan of fake annoyance as he then turns around and you can see the man standing behind James, hand on hip looking extremely pissed off. His hair was a lot curlier than Patrick, and a lot thicker. It was chestnut brown with complimented his hazelnut eyes. His hair was all messy though, scattered across his forehead, the roots starting to become soken with sweat. While he didn’t have the cutting jawline that James possessed which drew women wild, his cheeks bones were more pronounced likely due to the most distinctive feature which was his overbite. His lips covered most of it but still, you could see his two front teeth slightly, which had earned him the nickname, the rat.
“Well, well if it isn’t the rat” James states, sucking his lip onto his top teeth to imitate Niki’s overbite in an attempt to make you laugh.
“Do I have to tell you every time, I don’t mind being called a rat. Rats are smart-”
It seemed as if Niki was going to continue talking but James cut him off again, leaving Niki to suck his cheeks in, in annoyance.
“Why are you here Niki, can’t you bugger off somewhere else”
“I came to see what was causing a buzz in everyone. I don’t understand the excitement”
James steps aside so Niki could see you clearly and Patrick finally takes his hand off your shoulder to introduce you to him.
“Niki, this is y/n, she’s Tyrell-Ford’s new racer”
Niki scoffs, his eyes looking you up and down in distain. “Everyone knows Tyrell is crap”
Patrick’s kind smile falters, a usual grimace that usually appears when talking to Niki arrives on his face instead. “Yes thank you for your opinion, Niki, we all really needed to hear it”
“You’re welcome. Still, I don’t see what all the fuss is. When other drivers join you couldn’t give two craps James, only when you have the chance of getting your dick wet are you suddenly alert”
James’ fists clenched as his face reddens and he takes a stride towards Niki, ready to go for a blow till Patrick steps between them trying to calm down the situation. “He’s only trying to aggravate you to throw you off your game before qualifying James”
“He’s a cunt, and needs a punch right in that ugly face of his” James seethes, taking one last glance between you, Patrick and Niki then storming off to try and cool down. You on the other hand were glaring daggers into Niki, also angered by his rude remarks about you. Niki feels your gaze and his face turns to you again, matching your heated eyes with his ice-cold ones and he refused to break eye contact first.
“When they say you are an asshole, they really mean it huh” you finally spit out.
“I only say what is true, if that makes me an asshole then so be it.”
“I trust that means you don’t have many friends”
Niki tilts his head as he continues to observe you, “Why would I need friends? I’m happy as I am”
You could feel your irritation for him grow stronger and you open your mouth to continue arguing with Niki when another driver jogs up to him, placing his hand upon his shoulder, “Niki, the boss wants to talk to you”
Niki frowned, in confusion and annoyance but shoved his hands in his pockets, mumbling under his breath about how he had seen the boss only half an hour ago. He took a few steps away before pausing and throwing you another look over his shoulder, his lips still cast in a frown “Good luck for tomorrow. You will need it”
You sucked on your bottom lip, trying to not shout back at him and give him the satisfaction of an answer. When he was a safe distance however you muttered under your breath “What a dick”
“I’m sorry about that y/n, but he’s like that with everyone, it’s best to ignore it,” Patrick tells you, shooting you an apologetic glance before turning to the other man. “What did the boss want with Niki?”
“Oh nothing, I just said that so he would go away”
The man cracked a smile and held his hand out to you for you to shake, “I’m Clay Regazzoni, Niki’s teammate”
The swiss man had tanned skin, a bushy moustache and long dark hair but his features were kind and certainly appeared a lot friendlier than his teammate.
“Niki’s teammate? I don’t know how you cope with that” you say shaking his hand back.
He grins at your statement, clicking his mouth as if thinking, “Alcohol, a lot of alcohol”
And with the removal of Niki’s presence, the laughter was brought back to the atmosphere.
“But really, Niki, he says what’s on his mind, and usually all shit and not worth listening to, but he’s an okay guy when you get to know him, you just have to put up with his bad days” Clay finally says as the three of you are able to control your laughter again.
“Which are most days” Patrick finishes.
Clay took a glance over to the direction where Niki had gone five minutes ago and with a nod of his head bit the two of your farewell, claiming he should leave before Niki gets back demanding to know why he had lied to him. Now you had met all the drivers, Patrick leads you back over to your shared garage, and with an excited smile, he lifted up the gate for you to be able to take a look at your new car. It was dark blue with your number and name pressed onto the side surrounded by a few sponsorship brands. Your heart nearly skipped a beat as your eyes widened in excitement.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
You smile, your eyes never leaving the car, “I was born ready”
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lemonlushff-iy · 3 years
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What's the dirtiest thing you've written that you never expected to write?
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WIP. I'll finish it one day. Warning - it may present as Dub Con at first...but if I ever finish it, you will see that it's actually NOT. But...It feels worth adding this disclaimer regardless.
“Password?”
“Irish car bomb.”
Inuyasha watched as the metal slot slammed shut and the heavy grey door swung open, revealing the dark interior beyond the snake demon guarding the entrance. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, and he could see it swirling in plumes from where he stood on the threshold.
The snake moved to the side, his yellow eyes narrowing when Inuyasha didn’t enter. He didn’t want to go in, but he didn’t have much of a fucking choice, did he? Thanks for that, Miroku and Sesshomaru.
“You coming or what, half breed?”
Not because he wanted to…
“Yeah,” he sighed, running his fingers through his shaggy hair before finally crossing the threshold into hell. It was dingy. Dirty. He was amazed he could smell the tang of sex in the air over all the cigarette smoke, but the further he walked down the barely lit hallway, the more that gave way to other scents.
Sex. Drugs. Alcohol.
It made his skin crawl.
“What am I getting myself into,” he sighed, slowly descending the stairs he found at the end of the hallway until he reached the club itself. Sweaty bodies ground together on the dance floor and lasers flashed down on the gyrating bodies from above, illuminating their flesh as they moved together.
He wasn’t interested in them, however. He was after something else.
His eyes swept over the crowd, and if he were self-conscious enough, he would have felt out of place there. His simple red button-down and jeans made him feel like a boy scout compared to the way the tight and short clothing fit all of these other patrons. If he wanted to blend in and find his adopted brother, he was going to have to change that a little.
He undid the first few buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, hoping that made him look a bit more like the typical clientele of the joint. No one was bothering him though, so he figured he was on the right path at least.
Inuyasha’s eyes swept the crowd as he looked for the backroom or a VIP area...Anywhere this “gang leader” could be hanging out. He didn’t know much about him. Just that he needed to find “Silver” to work things out. He couldn’t lose Shippo.
The guys were dumb, but they didn’t deserve to be held captive here or forced into this gang.
He spotted something in the back of the club that looked like a VIP section - rope and curtains included. There was a small gathering of women...all dressed in club clothing and looking far too beautiful to be related to this gang as anything more than arm candy...but...He knew they were his destination. If he were looking to find someone named Silver, they just felt like the people to ask.
His ears pinned themselves down to his head as he began to weave his way through the throng of bodies on the dance floor. He felt hands trying to pull him into dancing - palming his chest and upper body as he walked, and he shrugged them off as best he could. He needed to stay focused - he couldn’t afford any distractions. He had come this far, and he wasn’t about to lose his way now.
A flash of silver hair out of the corner of his eye drew his attention to a shirtless waiter wearing a pair of black pants and matching suspenders. A white shirt collar hung around his neck, serving as the base for a black tie, and matching white cuffs stood out against his wrists.
Sesshomaru.
His golden eyes were nervous as he brought the women their drinks, placing it on the table before a woman with black, wavy hair and silver eyes. She wore a short, low cut, silver sequin dress, and a red smile on her face that made his heart skip a beat and his breath catch in his throat.
She was stunning. Mysterious. Sensual. He wanted to bend her over the table and fuck her raw then and there, but he couldn’t. He was on a mission and he couldn’t stray from his task. It was too important to him.
Now that he was closer, he could see the danger in her. The beauty that was nothing more than a front for the many mysteries she held within. He wanted to know what they were. She seemed powerful and not to be trifled with, but he didn’t care. He needed to know everything about her.
Was...he wrong?
Was she Silver?
He swallowed the thought, and his stomach dropped as she reached out and grabbed ahold of his brother’s tie, running her hands up it until she held the base at Sesshomaru’s throat. She gave it a sharp tug, making him fall forward and almost into her lap. He caught himself on the back of her chair, his palms slamming against it with what would have been a loud slap if the music wasn’t blaring overhead.
Inuyasha watched “Silver” smirk and tilt her head up, whispering something to Sesshomaru, and Inuyasha could see his brother’s Adam's apple bob at her words. He nodded his head, murmuring a response before she slid her fingers into his hair and brought his ear to her lips. He couldn’t discern what they were talking about, but it was making his stomach knot. He knew he needed to get to them, and now.
“SESSHOMARU!” He bellowed, cupping his hands around his mouth in an attempt to make his voice carry, but it was just drowned out. He wasn’t going to get their attention this way. He no longer cared about blending in. He shoved his way through the crowd, disgruntled patrons shooting him glares and yelling “hey!” and “Watch it asshole!” as he went until he was standing in front of the VIP area.
“Sesshomaru!” he yelled, and “Silver” broke away from his brother in annoyance, her eyes warming slightly as she took him in. He felt her gaze roam up his body, taking in every inch of him. Weighing him. Judging him. Calculating the situation.
“You know this man, Pet?” she demanded, and Inuyasha knew in that moment that he was right. This was “Silver”, alright.
“I’m his brother,” Inuyasha replied before Sesshomaru could. “I’m here for him, and I’m not leaving without him.”
Silver’s red lips widened into a smile as she reclined in her chair, propping her chin on a relaxed, curled fist.
“Really? The dog has a half breed for a brother?”
Inuyasha did his best to contain his growl, but Silver could still hear it, if the way her smile widened was any indicator.
“Do you know why he’s here, oh brother of his?”
“I do.”
“Then you know that he’s not just walking out of here,” she informed him curtly, her eyes roaming up and down his body again. He noticed that the other women beside her were doing the same, and he noticed for the first time that all of the women there were appraising him. One of the women beside her leaned in to whisper something to Silver, and he watched the long, thick lashes around her eyes lower as she listened.
“Mmmm...Already ahead of you, Kikyo,” he heard her reply, and this response seemed to please Kikyo greatly.
“I don’t care,” Inuyasha replied, trying to ignore the exchange between the women, but it was hard. He had a feeling it was about him, and it made him nervous. “He’s not staying here with you.”
“Sesshomaru has a debt to be paid,” she calmly informed him. “Now, I can’t just...overlook this, nor can I overlook his transgressions...Do you understand what I mean?”
Paid. Money. Alright. He could do this. It would be hard...but he’d figure out something.
“Ok. How much?”
The women around him laughed, and he suddenly got the impression that perhaps it wasn’t monetary.
“What is your name, ‘brother’,” Silver demanded, and he swallowed. She was far too calm for his taste.
He saw Sesshomaru open his mouth, perhaps to reply on his behalf, but a wind demoness with a high ponytail and magenta eyeshadow pulled him down to her seat. He watched his brother situate himself in her lap, allowing her to run her fingers down his suspenders. His chest. His pectorals. She circled his nipples, flicking them and scraping his nails against them, and all the while, Sesshomaru said nothing - allowing her to have her way with his body however she saw fit.
“Inuyasha,” he whispered, unable to remove his eyes from his brother. Sesshomaru wouldn’t meet his gaze. He looked like he actually enjoyed the demoness’s attention, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that now.
“Inuyasha,” Silver purred, her smile widening. “An interesting and yet fitting name,” she commented offhandedly as her eyes flicked to the top of his head, and he found himself looking away from her. He didn’t need or want the reminder right now.
“Parents had a sense of humor, but enough about me. I wanna talk money. What’s it gonna take, Silver?”
“He thinks I’m Silver,” she laughed, her head tilting back as she let out a full-bodied laugh. He didn’t get what was so fucking funny, and frankly, he was starting to get annoyed. “Oh Inuyasha,” she breathed. “I’m not Silver...but your brother is mine. You’re right about that.”
“Yeah? Then who has my brother?” he demanded as she leaned forward to take a glass of red liquid from the table. The movement lowered the neckline of her dress, allowing him to see more of her breasts than he previously could, and he felt his desire for her flare.
“Well. That depends...I’m inclined to release your brother to you, Inuyasha. But, seeing as his debt needs to be paid, what you call me depends on what you’re willing to do to obtain him. Now, there is an easy way and a hard way we can do this,” she informed him, lifting her hand and two other women stood - one with short, shoulder length hair and a sight black dress that clung to every curve of her body. The other wore a black mesh catsuit with solid black cut outs that prevented you from seeing anything, yet told you that she had forgone both a bra and panties that night. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail that still reached her waist, and pink eyeshadow. They moved to the sides of the VIP area, drawing the curtains around them shut to give them some privacy as they spoke.
It muffled the music significantly, enough that his ears were able to rise up from his skull, but not enough that he could no longer hear it or feel the base in his chest. Or maybe that was just the pounding of his heart he felt. Nerves. It had to be nerves.
“Alright. What’s the easy way?” he pressed, and the women who had just closed the curtain came up behind him, running their hands up and down his chest and back in a way that allowed him to connect the dots even before the woman in silver purred.
“Satisfy my whims and desires for the night, and he’s yours.”
Her eyes were dark. Salacious. Filled with desires that were impossible to mistake.
“Just the night,” he demanded, shifting his eyes away from the silver clad vixen and back to his brother.
“Please me, and yes. Just the night. You’ll take his place and do everything that I ask, and obey me fully and completely. When I say jump, you say…”
He swallowed thickly.
“How high,” he finished, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“Very good...yes…” she approved, and a thousand images of her naked body entwined with his entered his mind at her praise. Images that left his heart racing and his blood heating in want. He could feel his cock twitch in excitement at the thought of bending her over the table and making her his.
“What’s the hard way?” he continued, trying to dispel the thoughts and refocus his attention. It was an obligatory ask, though he knew he had his answer.
“The hard way...Well...Let’s just say that it involves obtaining something not exactly...legally. Are you interested?”
Not particularly. No.
“Easy way it is,” he chuckled nervously, as the woman holding Sesshomaru leaned down to kiss him. At the same moment, one of the women holding Inuyasha slipped her hand inside his shirt, making his breath hitch as she palmed his pectoral muscle.
He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.
“In that case...You may call me Mistress.”
He swallowed and felt the women on either side of him begin to unbutton his shirt. He could feel their fingers working each button through the holes in the fabric, the warm air of the club kissing his skin as the front of his chest was slowly exposed to Mistress and her friends. Despite the heat in the room, he could still feel his skin pucker and a shiver run through him as the woman with the shorter hair leaned forward and kissed his neck. His shoulder. Slid her fingers across his own nipples. He tried not to panic. This was what he had agreed to, and Mistress seemed to expect the way her friend was touching him.
It almost looked like she welcomed it and took pleasure in it. In watching the little show her friends were putting on.
“How does he taste, Yura?” she asked, and he felt Yura nip his shoulder before soothing the offended flesh with her tongue.
“Delicious. You’re lucky you get this one all to yourself.”
“Later,” Mistress mused as the other woman with the high ponytail pushed his open shirt down his shoulders before her mouth was on him as well. Licking, sucking, palming his flesh...He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself focused.
“Sango?” Mistress pressed, and her friend reached down to the front of his pants, palming him.
“Very lucky indeed…”
“Sesshomaru,” Mistress, cooed, and Inuyasha watched his brother stand to kneel before her. “Give your brother your clothes,” she demanded, and Inuyasha felt the women’s hands working on his belt.
“Yes, Mistress,” he replied, rising once more and working on removing his own clothing, or lack thereof. He placed each item onto the table before the woman in silver, until he stood before them clad in nothing more than his birthday suit.
Inuyasha closed his eyes as he felt his boxer briefs being pushed down to his ankles, and he fought the urge to cover himself. What was the point? They’d all see him in all his “glory” before the night was over. He held his hands down to his side, clenching and unclenching his fists and watched as Mistress's smile widened as she took him in.
“Sesshomaru, perhaps I should have traded you a long time ago for your brother…”
Sesshomaru’s didn’t respond, nor did he.
He toed off his socks and shoes, not needing to be told to. He knew what was coming next. He didn’t need them to verbalize their demands. He bent down to pick up the cuffs first, knowing the women wanted a show, and Sango tilted her head to the side.
“He has a nice ass,” she commented, slapping it and making him straighten his back abruptly. “Nice and firm.”
“Really,” Kikyo drawled, shifting in her chair. “Do try and contain yourselves. The entertainment hasn’t even begun yet.”
“Mmmm…” Mistress agreed. “But...we have all night, ladies. Sango?” Mistress intoned, tilting her head to the side, and she begrudgingly returned to her seat. “You too,” she continued, narrowing her eyes at Yura and she reluctantly left his side as well.
He took that as his cue to keep dressing, and when he was finished, he stood at attention, waiting for her to tell him to do something.
“Pet...This area is a mess,” Mistress informed him. “Clean it and return...And while you’re there, ask the bartender for ‘Kagome’s Kit’. He will know what you mean.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he ground out picking up all of the empty bottles and glasses. When he slipped out behind the curtain he sighed, trying to wrap his head around what the hell had just happened to him in there.
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metalheadkells · 3 years
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here is some fem!kells (w/ same old em) i wrote in like february. very much just a draft. a little n!!sf!!w so it’s going under a cut. also, content warning: derogatory language
“Fuck yeah, just like that - Em, I’m gonna - Fuck!” 
Marshall buries his face in the soft tattooed skin of Kells’ shoulder as he spills into her, shuddering, the force of his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. 
He collapses, his head swimming through some incorporeal plane made of light and raucous noise, registering nothing but the jackhammering of his own heart until his senses return to him and he realizes that Kells is jabbing at his arm with one long finger. 
“You’re fuckin’ heavy,” she complains, “Get off me.”
He shifts to let her up, watching as she leans against the headboard and combs her jewelry-laden hands through her shaggy shoulder-length bob, her expression troubled. The way her full mouth is pursed makes Marshall want to kiss her for like the fiftieth time that night, even as he coolly asks, “Not what you expected?” 
Her usually severe strokes of eyeliner have smudged over the course of their night together, and her ever-present silver necklaces are tangled in a knot around her throat. She doesn’t answer. Instead, she asks, “You got a light?” 
“No fuckin’ way are you smoking in here,” Marshall says immediately, giving her a sour look. 
She huffs. “God, you’re boring.” 
“And you’re a whiny brat,” he says, even as a shard of ice pierces his heart, because what if she is seriously regretting this? 
After the media storm the two of them had stirred up by taking constant shots at each other; veteran battle rapper Eminem choosing as unlikely an opponent as the 6’4”, thin as a rail and heavily tattooed, part-time runway model and full-time rapper-slash-singer Machine Gun Kelly; he can see how she might have made certain assumptions about him that he isn’t living up to. 
Now, she slides off the bed and stands to stretch her arms with a wince, completely unselfconscious in her nudity. Long, slender limbs and pert breasts practically concealed by the vibrant scrawl of ink all over her torso and Marshall needs to stop gawping at her like some gross old virgin.
She catches him looking, of course, and says, “Take a picture, pops,” her pretty mouth twitching into a smile. “But don’t, actually. ‘cause you know how offended people get by women’s bodies. Seeing as you’re one of those people.” 
Marshall flushes, an automatic protest rising to his lips. “That’s not - ”
Kells shushes him, clambers back onto the bed to kneel over him and cradle his head between her hands, saying, “No bullshit, okay?”
He swallows; trapped in the intent gaze of her piercing blue eyes, the flutter of her long, mascara-coated eyelashes; and echoes, “No bullshit.”
Because he can’t deny that he had viciously insulted her appearance numerous times over the course of their beef. She is pretty obviously someone who takes great pride in being unsettling - often wearing extravagantly gothic platform boots that, paired with her already imposing height, make her dwarf most men in her vicinity at a staggering seven feet tall. Her ears and eyebrows are typically crowded with piercings, and she carries herself like she is perfectly aware of how beautiful she is in spite of (or because of, Marshall secretly thinks) her eccentricities.
Marshall is starting to understand that the way she presents herself is a fuck-you to people like him, who are subconsciously threatened by her and the jagged little niche she’s carved out for herself in the music industry, and arm themselves against that perceived threat the only way they know how. He’d called her a frigid toothpick bitch and a walking abortion, among other colorful epithets, and had likened the idea of fucking her to slapping your dick against a bamboo stalk. Kells in turn had loudly proclaimed him to be a washed old cuck desperately clinging onto relevance, and had insisted to anyone who asked that he was obsessed with her. Which was closer to the truth than she could have possibly known at the time, but he’d publicly rejected the notion in no uncertain terms.
Looking back, he is wholeheartedly ashamed of the proverbial poison-tipped arrows he’d let loose at her, at how obviously he’d broadcasted to the world that she had gotten under his skin. The media, which had previously paid Kells and her unseemly antics minimal attention at best, largely took her side over Marshall’s at the height of their feud. The general consensus seemed to be that he shouldn’t be directing such vitriol at a woman, and especially not one young enough to be his daughter. This mindset had apparently angered Kells, who had ranted during one especially memorable interview about the fact that many music critics neglected to even compare their diss tracks on the grounds that she was an unsuitable opponent.
Nobody gives a fuck about what I’m saying, ‘cause all the headlines are like, Eminem’s Women Problem: Part 500. Like, how long are we gonna keep having that conversation? The guy’s stuck in his ways. We should be talking about how I’m holding my own against one of the greatest rappers of all time. Some of these dumbfucks can’t even remember my name; I’m just that freaky bitch that Em’s got a hate boner for. Bunch of fuckin’ hypocrites. That tirade had possibly been Marshall’s turning point, planting an innocuous seed of sympathy - hell, of empathy - deep inside his chest. He remembered what it was like to be put into a box, to be unthinkingly overlooked for something you couldn’t change. And on top of that, Kells really was holding her own. A lesser opponent would have silently bowed out after his first diss dropped, but she just kept fighting, all while maintaining the same aggressive zeal that had drawn him to her in the first place. Before long, that seed of empathy had yielded long, gnarled roots that snaked all throughout his body, and those very roots had ended up choking him when he and Kells crossed each other’s paths at one of too many insipid industry events Marshall had been strong-armed into attending lately. She’d shepherded his useless stuttering ass to some secluded corner where the blare of music and partygoers wouldn’t drown them out, she’d gotten in his face and demanded to know why he was still dragging this shit out, and he, in a moment of honesty that shocked even him, had answered, Because I like you. 
He’s fuzzy on what happened in the immediate aftermath of that confession - all he knows is that his heart stopped as soon as the words left his mouth, and that there were maybe some other weighted words exchanged between them before Kells lurched down and kissed him. It was so unexpected that he had nearly fainted on the spot. 
“It’s rude to zone out when you have a pretty girl in your lap,” Kells says now, jolting him back to the present. 
He refocuses on her face, searching her eyes. “Do you have a masochistic streak, or something?”
She raises her eyebrows at him. “Excuse me?” 
“The way I talked about you - ” Marshall starts, then trails off, feeling small and ugly. 
“Is that supposed to be an apology?” Kells asks, somehow sounding amused. 
“I just - Weren’t you worried I would hurt you?” 
She shrugs. “Your edgy persona doesn’t scare me. This isn’t ‘99, and I’m not some gullible Stan. Not anymore.” 
Swallowing hard, Marshall looks down at his hands, thinking this is where her common sense should start kicking in. 
“Mostly, I’ve got terrible taste in men,” Kells continues, “But, you know, you’re not so far off the mark with the masochism thing.” 
He looks up at her again, his brow furrowing. “For real?” 
She smiles coyly in affirmation. “I’m usually only into it with other women, though. With men, I like to be the one in control. For obvious reasons.” 
Marshall shivers involuntarily at the images that spring out of his subconsciousness without warning in the wake of that statement. 
“Oh,” she says, her eyes sharpening with interest, “I’m giving you ideas, huh.” 
“Nope,” he says, in a pathetically unconvincing tone of voice, “I’m just freezing my dick off in here.” 
“Well, we can unpack all that later,” she says, laughing a little, and the sound lights up Marshall’s insides just as much as the promise of later does. 
He smooths her hair out of her face and cranes upward to kiss her breathless, thinking about all the different ways he can start to show her how truly sorry he is. 
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realityhelixcreates · 3 years
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Lasabrjotr Chapter 77: Like a Good Old-Fashioned Barn Raising
Chapters: 77/?
Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: pg
Relationships: Loki x Reader
Characters: Loki (Marvel),
Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time
Summary:  Buridag begins!
Loki was awake long before you were, getting preparations ready, loose ends tied up, last minute orders sent out. He allowed you to sleep until you woke on your own, having removed his little illusory alarms from you some time ago.
Sometimes flower petals still rained upon you, and perfume rose from your footsteps, but no more snakes in the bath.
So you rose slowly, stretching and yawning the grogginess away at your own pace. Time was very hard to tell by looking out windows at this time of year, but when Loki entered the room carrying an egg sandwich, a little pile of fresh potato chips, and a glass of coffee, you placed yourself firmly within brunch territory.
Loki flicked on your sunlamp, gestured at the chair, and handed you your brunch once you'd taken your seat.
You munched your food and absorbed your light while Loki laid out the day's plans. You'd get dressed in a ceremonial outfit that included your armor and helmet, and join the parade that was gathering even now.
They were initially going to put you on Sleipnir. You had asked them not to. Sleipnir was magnificent, but you had no connection to him, nor to Leynarodd, who was the second choice. Your sweet, stout, shaggy little Acorn was who you preferred, a horse that belonged to no one initially, but who had formed a trusting bond with you.
Your clothing was, predictably, green, the underdress and apron a dark mossy color, hemmed on all edges with fine gold braid, embroidered with stripes of delicate knotwork, and your mark, also in gold. Over the top of this went your quilted tunic, in it's shimmering jade, and then your armor; the breastplate, the tassets, the bracers, pauldrons, greaves, and poleyns, though the last two were not visible. They went on over the leather trousers you'd been given to wear under your dress. They were sleek things, made of tough black leather, pleated in diagonal patterns, just like something Loki would wear. You thought the pleats had the advantage of putting more leather between you and any danger, and were flexible as well.
There were actually places where your familiar oval brooches could be fastened, your strings of shining beads strung between, your chatelaine dangled. Your belt was tooled leather and brass findings, hung with a leather purse, your Yggdrasil phone case, a small drinking horn carved with your mark, and of course, your knife. A little burst of deep pink against all the gold, green, and black.
You wore a minty-green velvet cape, a gift from Andsvarr, and your beautiful helmet to top it all off. You truly looked like something out of a fantasy novel, someone who looked like they should be standing next to the legendary figure that Loki currently cut.
He looked enormous, with his many asymmetrical layers, and molded shoulder guards, his billowing cape and hair spilling from beneath his magnificent curling horns. He shone with nornbein, and his cloak, shot with silk, shimmered subtly.
“You're so beautiful.” you mumbled. Loki smiled, and leaned down to adjust your cape, cheeks dusted with pink.
“Thank you.” he said, “I make every attempt. Though I think I will fade into the background under the power of your radiance.”
Warmth rushed to your face.
“Um, I know we've got to hurry and get Acorn, but I want to ask you a favor, Loki.”
“Anything. Tell me what it is and I'll make it so.”
You took a deep breath.
“I need you to stop trying to impress my father.”
The pink on his cheeks transformed into bright red.
“Ah. Yes, I rather hashed that, didn't I? I apologize. I thought that was still standard procedure, but your father, uh, explained otherwise.”
“Mhm, I'll bet he did. Look, I know you wanted to surprise us, but when it comes to things like that, you really oughta run it by me first. I could have told you that wouldn't work out the way you thought it would. You know, saved you from being chewed out like that. You can let me save you sometimes too.”
“ Like with the Huldra.”
“Kinda. Dad's not as bloodthirsty as she was, but he's a lot more stubborn.”
“Like father, like daughter, hm?” he teased.
“You have not seen me be stubborn yet.” you warned, and he gave you a quick smooch.
“A blessing, I'm sure. Very well, I agree. Surprises get run by you. Anything to save me from another tongue lashing. That man truly does not hold back.”
“I mean it though.” you persisted. “I'm not saying that you can't have any surprises at all, but talk to me about big stuff like that. If it's something that Asgardian law or custom would demand, but would be insulting to a human, we can maybe hash out an alternative that would satisfy both. That's the point, isn't it? Please, I really don't want to deal with anymore trouble between you two. Don't get hung up on impressing him, he has every reason to reject it, and he will. No more gifts, no toasts, no calling attention to him in public, nothing. He hates being the center of attention. Just let him be a guest, and see, without interference, that his little girl is doing fine on her own.”
“I really didn't mean to make him so angry.” Loki said, a little crestfallen. “And the more I tried to explain, the angrier he became. I just wanted him to know how much I value you. I wanted you to know too.”
“Material culture is different where I'm from. There are places in the world where that would have been understood and appreciated, but we've stopped doing it. In the same vein, fathers don't make all the decisions for their daughters anymore, so you don't actually need his approval. But...I need you to understand, it's not just that you took away his child, though that's bad enough. It's that I'm the only family he has left. My grandma only had one kid, and that was my dad. And she's dead, and so's my granddad, before I was even born. And then my mom died, and Beth too, and so I'm all that's left for him. And I have this giant Sword of Damocles hanging over my head all the time, and he's had to worry about that for my whole life. Most of the women on my mom's side all died from this, but occasionally, rarely, there's one that doesn't. I'm starting to hope that might be me. Maybe the magic is protecting me. But he's not going to be able to accept that so easily. I'm all he had left, and you took me away. That's all that's going to be important to him. You didn't even have to do the things you did in New York, this is the worst possible crime you could commit, in his eyes.”
Loki heaved a sigh of remorse. “And I cannot even return you to him. It seems there is one more thing I cannot set right.”
“The best you can do is make sure I'm okay. And don't bother him anymore. And maybe let him come visit more often. The more he sees me living my life and being fine, the more confidence he will have that I'm actually safe here.”
“I shall endeavor to help you thrive.” Loki promised.
“All right, so if that's settled, we should go get our horses.”
                                                                         ******
Acorn was, like you, a bit overdressed in your opinion. Long tabbards and blankets covered her from nose to rump, green and gold, embroidered with oak leaves. They were so long, they almost brushed the ground. Ribbons were braided into her wild mane and tail, and bells jingled with every movement. Like you, she could barely be seen under her splendor. But she was probably warm, and happily accepted a carrot from your hand. Placid as always, she let you up on her back, and fell into step behind Leynarodd, who likewise, followed up behind Sleipnir, whose hooves still rang like bells even over the thin layer of packed snow that covered the recently cleared streets.
There was a whole procession of people-this was a parade after all, and Thor, on Sleipnir, was preceded by the twin Valkyries, carrying Asgardian banners, as well as several musicians, and Beli, who chanted an ancient epic on the exploits of Buri.
Saga had translated the chant for you a while ago, and it sounded something like the sensationalized, self-aggrandizing boasts of pharaohs, or Mesopotamian kings-the kind that claimed to be rulers of the world, or rulers of the heavens themselves, to have battled armies of demons, killed giant lions with only a stick-that sort of thing. But when Beli called out those verses in such an ancient dialect of Asgardian, the words themselves felt powerful.
Thor followed slowly, Sliepnir plodding along, both of them absolutely huge. Loki and Leynarodd came right behind, only slightly smaller. And then you and Acorn, almost comical in your stature, diminutive by comparison. You were keenly aware of it, but either all of Asgard was too polite to say anything about it, or they simply didn't care.
The human guests, corralled in roped off areas, whooped and cheered when when you passed. Behind you, more musicians played, and a circle of Seidkonas walked in silent dignity. Then came more banners, the rest of the Valkyries, representatives of each noble house and guild, and the rest of the Aesir in Asgard, provided they didn't already have another position in the parade.
After them, the gathered Asgardians began following, lengthening out the procession, bright balls of magical light bobbing overhead. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, and would be slinking away in a mere three or so hours, so the mage lights sparkled everywhere. Helpful Einherjar herded the humans to the next specially roped off area, so they could follow the parade as well; you caught a few amused faces at the playful rowdiness displayed by celebrating humans.
That was just how humans were when they were excited about something. Humans loved to holler, to jump, and dance, and clap. Some of them were even trying to keep time with the music.
You weren't actually able to pick out your father or Tara in the crowd, nor anyone else you knew, so you just kept your head forward and your back straight, trying to look as dignified as you could.
You'd only ever seen a few of what you considered 'proper' parades: in a small town a parade mostly consisted of people waving from the backs of neighborhood pickup trucks and tractors, maybe decorated with balloons or paper chains, blasting music from dusty old speakers. In the autumn, there might be pumpkins and corn stalks, and usually hayrides. But never anything like this spectacle.
As you got closer to the construction site, the apprentice mages responsible for all the floating lights started throwing sparks from their hands, like colorful sparklers. The gathered Asgardians began lining up in their designated areas, ready to play their part. The foundations had already been dug, and everything that needed to go into them was already there. All that remained was the pouring.
Thor, Loki, and yourself dismounted as close to in unison as you could manage, the horses carefully lead away to a temporary enclosure. You headed to the stack of decorative bricks, and took your place among the Asgardians there, while Thor gave the order for the cement to pour.
While this went on, Beli gathered his students and skalds in front of the Huldrastone to recite a modern epic. Within the first few verses you realized that it was about the Huldra's attack, and your confrontation with her.
Of course, the poem was much cleaner and more elegant than the actual events had been, but certain things had still been included. Your ears burned beneath your helmet when Beli reached the part where you had 'bestowed upon the fallen prince, a gentle sacrificial kiss, knowing that to trade life for life would grant him breath once more.'
You had finally spotted your father and Tara in the crowd; he crossed his arms and glared upon hearing the verse, while Tara gave you a cheezy grin and thumbs up.
As the poem reached its conclusion, the cement finished pouring, and a new recitation began. As Thor and Loki knelt and began scratching ritual runes into the wet cement, Beli's current group of student came forward and began telling the story of Beli, while apprentice mages illustrated the words with colorful, stylized illusions.
There were harrowing battles against huge stone people, the construction of the original Bifrost, which at that time connected a fleet of alien ships to one another. The illusions showed the gathering of construction materials, the building of a platform in space, and the grand revelation of the crystalline platform upon which Asgard slowly grew. Mountain and plain, river and ocean, building after magnificent building rose into the sky. Their ships captured and carved an asteroid, then set it in orbit as a bright new moon. All this was accomplished by the use of a glowing, icy blue cube that was difficult to look directly at. It was compelling though; it caught and held your attention with its beautiful, sparkling light.
You knew what that device was: you had learned about it in your lessons with Saga. It was the object known as the Tesseract, a four dimensional creation meant to house the incredible energy of an Infinity Stone. Perhaps that was why it was simultaneously fascinating, yet hard to perceive. Your curious human brain was drawn to its uniqueness, yet equally unable to fully fathom it.
That device was the key to Asgard's existence and eventual success. It was unthinkable to you that Odin had just lost it on Earth, as Sagas histories had proclaimed. It must have been a terrible loss.
Thor and Loki completed their carving, and began the process of imbuing the foundations with divine power. Goosebumps rose on your arms, and there was a pricking in your sinuses, like you were about to sneeze. There was almost a flavor to it.
The actual blessing didn't take nearly as long as the rune carving ritual, and soon, the two brothers stepped back, to allow others to begin their work. More mages worked a spell together that lifted the water out of the cement, drying it within moments. People came forward with wires and pipes, floor and wall supports, insulation, hammers, plaster, bricks, and mortar. In rotating lines people laid flooring and installed fixtures, scraped grout and assembled frames. Every now and then youths moved through, sweeping up dust, always away from you.
It suddenly became clear that that was why you were so far back in line, why you'd been assigned a decorative brick, something that would be placed near the very end of the construction. There would be no dust then. Gratitude swelled in your chest, but you said nothing. There was singing now, simple, repetitive melodies that sounded like work songs.
Every hour, volunteers carted huge, heated cauldrons around the lines and groups of human spectators, dipping out hot drinks like witch's potions, and it was possible that there was a simple sort of magic in things like hot chocolate, strong coffee, and buttered rum on a cold day.
The building went up faster than you thought possible, the widows, doors, and lights being set into place as auroras began ribboning across the sky.
Finally, there was one brick left. You lifted it up, as the singing seemed to intensify, scooped some mortar from the pail, and fitted it all into the only remaining slot. Giving the brick a light pat to make sure it was secure, you turned back to the assembled crowd.
“We did it.” You said, and the cheering began.
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hufflepuffhollander · 3 years
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IDK if you want to do some more smut, but if so, I love anything with frat Tom. Could you do one with him at the gym, lifting weights in a tank top and he's all sweaty, and when he wipes his forehead with his shirt, his abs show. Y/N is there, too, and she can't stand him, but she also can't stop looking. Finally, he approaches and flirts with her, until he wins her over, and then he takes her for a BJ and he's super dominant and dirty talking and boasting a lot!
it’s smutty sunday, my dudes
requests are still open!
this was a vv juicy idea & i probably did not do it justice 😂
 smut below the cut! 18+ only please :)
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The smell of sweat, metal and rubber filled your nose as you walked into the weight room at your university’s gym. Unfortunately, you had ended up at the gym on the west side of campus, which you tried to avoid like the plague; it was situated right next to frat row, and the weight room was basically just a platform for the biggest muscleheads to upstage one another in the mirror, showing off how much they could deadlift. But after a long day of studying, you needed the outlet, and you decided to say screw it, re-situate your ponytail on your head, and head in.
Immediately, you could feel several pairs of eyes following your every step, like you were a gazelle that had just unwittingly pranced into lion territory. You turned up the music in your headphones to distract you from the objectifying stares and found your place on the mat while a couple of bros tried to catch your attention where you had sat down. Right as you were finishing your first circuit, finally feeling in the zone again, you looked up to see one of your least favorite faces grinning at you over a barbell across the floor.
You and Tom Holland had a class together last year- you’d been assigned to the same group project, and loathed him ever since he completely tanked your grade by not showing up on the day of the big class presentation because he was too hungover. Since then, you tried to keep your distance as much as possible. He was the Delta president, after all—notorious for his good looks, insane body, and one night stands that were never again spoken of the morning after. You hated how good he looked doing bench presses, flexing every goddamn muscle exposed to the cold air in that muscle tee that left little to the imagination...
Damn it, focus. 
You started another round of sit-ups but couldn’t keep count when every time you sat up he was either looking at you or stretching out his arms, almost purposefully dragging out his movements so he appeared in slow motion. When you sat upright to drink some water, you glared at him, trying to pass it off as annoyance when really you just couldn’t peel your eyes away. He was like a glistening god.
Shit, did I think that out loud?
The last straw broke when he lifted his shirt up to his face to wipe away the beads of sweat that had formed, and his entire six pack was revealed, basically rendering you breathless. When he caught you staring, you abruptly stood up to stretch, hoping he hadn’t noticed you were checking him out.
After opening your eyes from a long toe touch, you came face to face with Tom who had sauntered over while you were mid-stretch. You only realized a moment later you had basically been bending over right in his face.
“Oh, my god! You scared me! Tom, what are you-”
“Sorry, sorry- I just wanted to get a better view.” He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes.
“I’m really just trying to finish up my workout, so if you don’t mind...” you responded, focused on the few curls that were stuck to his forehead with sweat making him look somehow adorable and ridiculously hot at the same time. 
“Nope, don’t mind at all, babe. Go right ahead.” He remained standing where he was, leaning on a machine all nonchalant, like you wouldn’t mind stretching out in skin tight clothes for an audience.
“Tom, I’m serious.”
He gave you a once over as you put a hand on your cocked hip, waiting for him to leave. He bit his lip ever so slightly and took an exaggerated exhale, his tongue visibly lolling in his mouth.
“Isn’t there a party somewhere just absolutely miserable without you?”
“Yeah, well, parties are fun, but I’m thinking I could have a lot more fun here.”
You raised an eyebrow at him as he reached his hand out to flick away a bead of sweat rolling down your cheek.
“And seeing as you’re already sweaty, well-”
“Tom, what the hell are you on about?”
He took a long sip from his water bottle, clearly grinning from behind it at making you wait for his reply when you were already visibly irritated. You should’ve walked away by now, but seeing him all shiny and tattered from likely hours at the gym was almost intoxicating- he had a grip on you and you couldn’t make yourself hate it.
“Wanna finish your workout with me?” He held out his hand, and without thinking, you just...took it. He lead you out of the weight room and into the locker room that you weren’t supposed to be in, finding an empty shower stall and closing the lock to the door once you were in it. 
“What are we doing in here?”
Instead of responding, he pushed you up against the shower wall and kissed you hard, beads of sweat mixing with your spit in some delicious way. Once he finally pulled back, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip and sported a devilish grin on his face.
“I’m feeling pretty tense after that workout, wanna help me relax?”
Maybe it was all the steam in the air, or just the way his tank was clinging to his abs, but you wanted to do literally anything with Tom that he’d let you. His mouth met yours again, and you went to take off his shirt so you could see that glorious body up close, Tom following suit with yours so you were left in your sports bra. You just nodded against his head as he explored your mouth with his tongue, and with one final kiss, slowly sank your way down to your knees.
“That’s a good girl,” he cooed, tightening your ponytail as you slid his gym shorts down to the floor.
He wasted no time pushing himself into your mouth, immediately letting out a low groan at the friction. You worked him with your tongue, bobbing your head with him as he pushed it up and down- and the control he was starting to take over you made you feel blissfully lightheaded. Drawing out the time between sucking and slowly circling your tongue around him, he’d had enough of the teasing and pushed your head so you were fully choking on his dick. He hummed in pleasure at hearing your rhythmic gags, and you had started to tear up by the time his face was changing, he was getting louder, and started mumbling to you as you sucked him off.
“Fuck, that’s so good...”
You looked up at him doe eyed as he watched you with your mouth wrapped around him and he breathed out hard.
“You gonna let me cum, babe? You want me to fill up your mouth?”
You hummed and nodded, and that sent him spiraling.
“Only if you swallow it like a good girl,” he was barely getting his syllables out. You kept your pace and moaned again in agreement, and with one long expletive he let himself go.
He looked down at you, taking shaggy breaths, and caressed your chin and cheek with his fingers as you swallowed, giving him a sweet smile that he reflected back. You stood up to be at eye level with him again, and he pulled you in for a deep, long kiss, holding your neck with one hand and gently cupping your cheek with the other.
“That better?” you asked.
“Yeah, much,” he laughed. “Do you come ‘round here often?”
“I like to keep in shape.” you said, running a hand down his abs. He smirked at you and pulled out your scrunchie so your hair fell to frame your face, the front pieces sticking to your sweaty cheeks. 
“Just gorgeous,” he muttered, and you started to blush wildly. “Maybe we can sweat together again sometime soon.” 
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mulderist · 3 years
Text
Wicked Game
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Previous chapters // read on A03
Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.
tagging @today-in-fic
CHAPTER 6
Navy Yard Washington, D.C. 10:13 p.m.
The Navy Yard sits on an unappealing southeast corner of the city pressed up against a polluted strip of the Potomac. It was used for ship maintenance and ammunition manufacturing during the war and continued for a little while after. The surrounding warehouses and docks became defunct once the war effort projects dried up. The shipyard devolved into a revolving door for small-time criminals which begat large-time mobsters. Security was usually an older night watchman who was past his prime and easy to track. Smaller boats would pull up and drop off cargo whenever they could. Deals were quick and dirty. Soon, respectable businesses in the southeast east district wanted a piece and formed a “two ships passing” style agreement. I suppose it saved them from having their goods sent to Anacostia or down towards Virginia. 
A flash of lightning brightened up a cluster of clouds. A rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. Fortunately, I had arrived and got into position just prior to the downpour. I sat on a dirt driveway off the access road, which was quickly becoming a muddy river. There was a canal to my left at the nine o’clock position, the Potomac dead ahead at my twelve, and the edge of a warehouse was at my three o’clock. The rain sounded like I had parked my Pontiac under Niagara Falls. Water pounded against the roof, rushed down the windshield in sheets of grey making the wiper blades useless. The water-logged Buddy Rich solo played on against the car and I had a feeling my view was not going to clear up anytime soon.
I fidgeted with a sunflower seed I pulled from the half-empty bag on my dashboard. Ideally I would toss the shells out the window but given the weather and trying to keep a low profile, there was an unsalted graveyard on the floor of the sedan. I cracked the shell with my teeth and added it to the discarded brethren. The seed danced around my tongue and I turned my wrist trying to make out the time on my watch. The minute hand eased a tick past the quarter hour. I then picked up the radio and connected with the precinct dispatch.
“This is Detective Mulder, over.”
Static. Click. Click.
I pressed the button again on the comm as I leaned over and grabbed my hat.
“This is Detective Mulder, do you copy? Over.” 
“Evening detective, this is Officer Stanz. Always nice hearing your voice in the dead of the night.”
“You too, sweetheart.”
“So Mulder, what’s your status?” 
“Waiting for this storm to strip the paint off my car,” I replied as I ran a hand over my face. “Visibility is shit sitting here in the driver’s seat. Regrettably, I think I’ll have to go on foot. Over.”
“Copy that,” she said, “Hopefully you won’t need to build an ark.”
“Honey, I’d rather swim for it. Over and out.” 
I placed my hat on my head, pocketed the small binoculars that were resting on the seat next to me, and opened the car door into the deluge. The rain sounded different as it slapped against the water in the canal, rang against the scrap metal, and beat against the dock. I dashed towards a scrap pile and crouched down amongst rusted metal and what I hoped were empty oil drums. If there was a gunfight I didn’t want to go up like a Roman candle. I peered over an oil drum and got eyes on the warehouse through the binoculars.
The info Krycek had provided Skinner said three was the magic number; Vincenti favored odds over evens. Guess I know how he’d play the roulette wheel at the casino. I saw a worn metal sign tacked to the side of the building letting me know I was in the right place. There was a dim light piercing through a shadow on the dock so somebody was home. Suddenly, headlights came down the other end of the access road and I got out of sight. The car went dark and I counted to ten then shifted my position. Rain poured off the brim of my hat, dripped down my neck so I flipped up the collar; glad I chose the dark grey trench coat. The new vehicle slowly crept closer to the front of the warehouse and idled. Once the hood touched the dim light source I knew it looked familiar; the distinct yellow paint job of a D.C. cab. I squinted and tried to memorize the plate number through spikes of rain. The passenger door opened flashing the checkered pattern on the side panel. A figure stepped out and rounded the front of the car then paused at the driver’s side before heading into the warehouse. Just then, a headlight shone on the river. I listened to the putter of the engine as it pulled up to the edge of the dock. Once the engine was cut I watched through the binoculars and saw one of the goons wave as the boat approached the dock. It was the same goon who was with Lodi at the restaurant. He approached the boat as they cut off the light. My grip switched and my eyes strained.
The D.C.cab was still idling along with the boat at the dock. I kept to the shadows. I could feel moisture collect at my mid back from an adrenaline surge. That all too familiar feeling. Suddenly as a thunder clap sounded, I had a flashback to a sunrise mission on Wake Island: Rain made my hands very slick on the Carbine as I tried to ready my aim. Bullets whizzed around me. The mud was so thick. An explosion went off nearby, my ear was ringing. My sergeant was yelling commands. I held my breath for three counts and pulled the trigger, a bright spray of red marked where I hit a Japanese soldier square in the throat. First time I successfully made that shot. Confirmed kill.
  I closed my eyes and dug my nails into the palm of my hand, one pain replaced another and the memory faded. My breath was short but steady. I needed to focus. If the goon was there, Lodi was surely lurking somewhere inside. I just needed to get eyes on him. The backside of the building seemed like a safer option and I pressed against the rotting wood as I moved around to a shabby staircase. A quick glance up and I climbed towards the single door. The steps were slippery and I was waiting for my foot to punch through a soft spot in the warped planks. At the landing I readied my gun and turned the knob, slowly opening the unlocked door. The upper level looked clear. It was a nice respite from the storm. I held my position and holstered my weapon. My trenchcoat felt like it took on about twenty pounds of rainwater and I would have enjoyed shaking off like a wet shaggy dog. Drips from the edge of my coat marked my hiding spot like an X on a treasure map. Luckily I didn’t need my binoculars from my perch because, as if on cue, Carlo Lodi’s hulking frame lumbered across the floor. 
He blew a puff of smoke from a dying cigarette. His goon handed over a white package which Lodi bounced in his hand with approval. He gave a wave and a couple of men filed out of the warehouse and approached the boat. I could just barely make out the edge of it bobbing at the side of the dock. The lackeys quickly transferred packages from the boat to the trunk of the idling taxi. I adjusted my stance and craned my neck. The cab had a picture of the Capitol dome and what looked like the word ‘Speedy.’ They were using the taxi company to move the heroin. I heard the boat engine rev and pull away from the dock. One of the men approached the driver’s side door of the cab and pulled the driver out. He pushed the confused cabbie away from his vehicle. Then the man swiftly plunged a knife in the cabbie’s side, repeating the motion until the poor driver went limp. He was then dropped in the Potomac like yesterday’s garbage. The goon took his place behind the wheel and I knew I needed to get back outside to tail him.
I saw the headlights from the commandeered taxi so I was careful not to be spotted. I couldn’t tell which direction he was going to pull off so I waited behind a different wood and scrap pile. The chug of the engine caught my attention. The lights appeared to be moving backwards and when they were far enough, I made a break for my car. Inside via the passenger door I fished out my key and started the engine then grabbed the radio comm.
“This is Mulder, does anyone read?”
I backed up on the access road and spun the wheel in the right direction. That sweet voice came through my radio once again.
“This is Stanz. Over.”
“I got eyes on Lodi. Shipment confirmed at Dock 3 at the Navy Yard, get anyone from the Southeast Division who isn’t asleep down here now. Beat cops, vice, narco, I’ll take whatever I can get. Take caution, he isn’t alone.”
I pressed the gas a little harder keeping textbook distance as I locked onto the cab. I clicked the comm again. 
“I’m in pursuit of an accomplice heading west on Waterfront Dr. It’s a taxi, plate number: TK-0421. Speedy Capitol Cab Company. Over” 
“Roger that. I’ll relay to Captain Skinner. Over and out.”
I tapped the break as I pulled around a corner and turned up Patterson Ave. then on to M Street. The cab slowed to stop at a red light a block ahead of me. Mighty nice of him to use a turn signal. He switched lanes and merged onto New Jersey Ave. angling towards Capitol Hill. The street cut a sharp diagonal and the famed white dome came into view. I heard my radio crackle but ignored it. My eyes felt like I had rubbed them with sandpaper, I hated to blink for fear of losing my target. I was dangerously tired, a second wind was long overdue. 
Street lights and neon bounced against puddles in the street. The rain had slacked off to the point where it was an annoying stubborn mist that couldn’t make up its mind if it wanted to stop or go full tilt. I had cracked my window and listened to the rush of tires on slick pavement, splashing in potholes and against manhole covers. 
The cab turned right onto Independence Ave. I tailed a little closer than protocol distance, keeping only one car between us. I missed the signal change and watched my target turn left on First St. Impatiently I waited for the signal, hoping I hadn’t lost them. After I made the turn I slowed down and searched for the taxi. I spotted it parked in front of the Library of Congress, parked like he was picking up a fare. There was a man standing on the curb holding an umbrella. I performed a u-turn maneuver and pulled into an empty parallel space, threw the gear shift into park and advanced on the suspect.
“DCPD!” I yelled as I approached the driver’s side door with my badge and gun drawn. The driver calmly rolled down the window and lifted a meaty hand from the wheel. A thick signet ring on his pinky finger looked like butcher’s twine around a sausage link. 
“No, keep ‘em on the wheel! Don’t move.”
He smirked and obliged. I held my gun on him and glanced in the backseat; a red ember glowed from the tip of a freshly lit cigarette.  
“Is there something we can do for you, detective?”
That voice. That distinctive snake hiss I couldn’t forget; it slowly coiled around like a wisp of smoke. The smoking man. Spender’s father. 
“Fancy meeting you here. Looks like you chose the wrong taxi tonight.”
“On the contrary detective, it’s you who chose poorly.”
“Yeah I have a knack for doing that,” I retorted, fingers gripping the handle of my gun, “Alright, you — out of the car. Hands where I can see them.” I pulled the door open and took a step back, letting the goon out. I made him turn to face the car, hands atop the roof. The smoking man leaned forward from the backseat, cigarette tucked between his lips.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Hey! You are next on my list.” I shouted then continued frisking the goon, finding a small handgun and a switchblade. I stuffed them into my trench coat pocket.
“Careful, you’re gonna make me stiff,” he said with a laugh as I patted his legs down to the ankle, finding another blade in a clever holster. I pulled out my handcuffs and clasped his wrists behind his back. I pushed my gun in between his shoulder blades, directing him toward the rear of the taxi and told him to open the trunk. I felt the heat from the exhaust pipe blowing against my pant leg, creating a small dry patch on an otherwise drenched pair of trousers. The goon shook his head and flipped the latch. The trunk appeared empty.
“Alright where is it?” I asked,
“Where’s what?”
“The package. The white package.”
“Ain’t no package here.”
I leaned in and felt around, searching for a latch or tab or something that would indicate a hidden compartment. As my free hand finally found what it was looking for, my occupied hand dug the tip of the standard issue deeper into a lesser known pressure point in the goon’s back. The pulled a section of fabric loose, revealing a hidden compartment that was packed full of white packages. 
Sirens wailed in the distance. I tossed the goon in the back of my car, adjusting his handcuffs so there was no funny business, then radioed in my location. The smoking man approached under the cover of his umbrella.
“I could have your badge for this, detective.”
“You can try.”
“This small incident won’t change anything.”
“Just keep telling yourself that. I have officers from every direction to bust up the little party at the Navy Yard. This is the tip of the iceberg and I’m willing to go all the way to the core.”
We stood silent, listening to the approaching sirens. The rain had finally stopped but the percussive sound of drips could still be heard in the surrounding trees. A plume of smoke wafted in the air. He was about to say something to me but a squad car had arrived coming to a stop in the middle of the street. Two unis got out with guns drawn. 
“I’m taking my suspect back to the 3rd,” I called out, “You boys can take this one for a ride.”
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pagingevilspawn · 3 years
Note
Hi could u please write a fic where alex is diagnosed with a serious illness and jo is there with him for support ?
doctors make the worst family members
anon, i’m gonna start by saying that this is most certainly NOT what you asked for, but it's what you're getting. One; I can't write angst for shit so it would just be a major disappointment, and two; I truly just don’t have the heart to write my favorite character with a serious illness, lol. 
Also, welcome to the series I'm starting. It's called, “payton uses evan peters characters from ahs for jolex baby names because she loves him and every character he plays”. (“payton loves evan peters too much” for short) it’ll be a ride 😎 
anyways... hope you enjoy, nevertheless! 
____
Jo Karev stood in her husband’s room, pacing around one the hospital’s floors so much she would make a hole in them if she continued any longer. She anxiously bit her nails with one hand, the other rubbing circles on her seventeen week baby bump. 
She stops her movements suddenly, making her way to the uncomfortable hospital chair that sat in the corner of the room, flopping down into it, more than happy to be off her feet. They were beginning to feel like she had just through the grand canyon, not to mention, were the size of cantaloupes. 
“You good now?” Alex asks her from his bed, a teasing smirk on his lips. His arms were crossed in front of his hospital gown, an item he (very) reluctantly put on. Jo had given him a glare and he knew he couldn’t refuse. Never get in a fight with Josephine Karev, he learned that one a while ago, but it was especially important that he never got into a fight with a pregnant Josephine Karev. She went full on criminal defense attorney, and he wasn’t going to lie, it was pretty scary.  
Jo throws him a sharp glare. Due to her pregnancy, her mood swings had been hitting harder than ever. One second she wanted to pummel her husband, and the next she wanted him to hold her in his arms forever. Although, she supposed that wasn’t too out of the normal though, since Alex was always finding some way to piss her off and then say something sickenly sweet to make it up to her. A more accurate description would be how she went from joyful in the morning to blubbering tears and incoherent words when she figured out her favorite pair of jeans didn’t fit. (It was a scary sight, Alex had to console her for a good twenty minutes before she was able to fully calm down. Pregnancy hormones were wack.) 
“Shut up.” she glowers, sinking lower in her seat, tracing circles on her belly in an effort to calm the kicking in her stomach. Baby decided now would be a good time to jab a kick straight to her rib, so she hunches over in her chair, letting out a small hiss of pain before adjusting herself, not missing the way Alex’s eyes look at her warily. 
“You okay?” he questions, making Jo bob her head up and down. 
“Fine. Your daughter just likes you more than me, which you know, I'm totally okay with. I mean, it’s not like I'm growing her inside me for nine months or anything.” she stares at him pointedly, causing the worry etched on his face to fade away and form a crooked smirk. 
Alex chuckles, leaning back into the multiple hospital authorized pillows behind him as he runs a hand through his hair. He had a snarky comment on the tip of his tongue, but decided to hold it in. Jo was stressed, and the last thing he needed was to cause her any more.
It didn’t take long for Jo to begin her pacing again. She traveled the length of the room. The door, to the blue chair. Door to the blue chair. Back and forth, back and forth. Alex was starting to get dizzy just by looking at her. Her brown locks flew behind her as she moved, at times picking up her pace, making it across the room even quicker. It was at then that she would fiddle with the rings on her left hand, twisting them and untwisting them, tracing her fingers over the large diamond from her engagement ring and the smaller ones from her wedding ring. When she was little she always thought it was the other way around. She thought the big, fancy diamond was for the wedding, while the more modest piece of jewelry was the one that was ever so delicately placed in the velvet box. 
She stares at the ring fondly, a small smile subconsciously gracing her lips. God, it was so beautiful. A 2.5 carat princess cut with a platinum band. Jo knew the name of the shape of the diamond wasn’t by accident, it had most definitely been the main reason why he had chosen that exact one. (She found out it was a princess cut when Kepner had taken her finger and examined the ring, sprouting out facts about the new piece of jewelry she was wearing. Also known as the only reason she knew any details about the rock that only left her finger when she had to be surgery, a rare now since she had transferred to OB) 
When he pulled out that ring the first time, she was shocked to say the least, one; because, well he was proposing to her, and two; it was so freaking gorgeous. 
Jo was never the type of woman to gush over rings and weddings and frilly dresses with frumpy looking bridesmaids gowns and too many different forks to choose from at dinner. But when she saw that ring? It didn’t matter that they were arguing, it didn’t matter that she felt like he wasn’t in her corner, she just wanted that ring. She never felt like that with Paul (for obvious reasons), the want to stick that ring on her finger and never take it off. Besides that fact that it was beautiful, she knew the real reason she wanted it so badly was because it came from him, from Alex, the man she loved more than life itself. She hated when she had to tell him to put the beautiful ring away, because she wanted nothing more than to wear it herself. 
“Jo, I’m gonna be fine.” the man says, watching as his wife stops her movements, turning around to glare at him so sharply he wanted to pull the words back into his mouth and zip them up. 
“You don’t know that!” she explodes at him, moving her arms around aimlessly, angry tears beginning to glaze over her eyes. Damn pregnancy hormones.
She lets out a huff, her breath coming out shakily as she tries to fan out the water in eyes. 
Alex flashes her a small smile, “Jo, it's an appy. A freakin’ appy. Bailey’s doing it! Nothing’s gonna go wrong if Bailey is doing my appy.” he remarked. 
“So many things could go wrong!” she exclaims, pacing around the room once more as words come flying out of her mouth with absolutely no filter at all. “There’s bleeding, infection, inflammation, your appendix could burst-”
She’s cut off by Alex, who’s shaking his head. “Jo.” he looks up at her, her brown eyes boring into his, “I’ll be fine.” he reassures her, watching as she tries to swallow the lump growing in her throat. He pats the bed beside her, signaling for her to come sit next to him. 
Jo waddles to him, curling up to his side and placing her head on his chest as he runs fingers through her hair. “You can’t die on me, alright?” she mumbles into him, letting a single tear come down her cheek and land on his hospital gown. 
“I won't. Promise.” he places a peck on top of her head. 
Jo lets out a little chuckle, “I was never this emotional with Walker.” she teases. 
Alex laughs, pulling her closer into him. “Trust me, I know.” he says, earning him a slap on the chest. “Speak of the devil…” he trails off, seeing Meredith walk into the room with a little boy glued to her hip. 
“Momma! Daddy!” the three year old exclaims once he sees his parents, a wide smile painting his face as he tries to wiggle out of his auntie’s arms and onto the ground. It felt like he hadn’t seen them in forever, even if it was just six hours before he was being dropped off at daycare. 
“Hi bubs!” Jo exclaims, taking Walker from Meredith’s extended hold and setting him down on her lap, his big, hazel eyes staring up at his parents in adoration while the blonde goes to sit in the chair Jo previously occupied. 
Walker adjusts his position, making sure not to sit on his mommy’s bump. “Hi baby sissy.” he says to her stomach. Jo takes his hand and puts it on her abdomen, watching his face light up as he feels a sharp kick come straight to his tiny palm. 
“Sissy says hi back.” Alex grins, ruffling the little boys spiky hair, which had somehow stayed intact throughout his adventurous day at the hospital’s daycare. He had his wife to thank for that. Jo had somehow managed to find a way to keep their son’s hair in place after long hours, thanks to copious amounts of gel she had mastered the use of. He used to say that a shaggy haircut was fine and perfectly normal, but she said that she ‘didn’t want her son looking like Will Byers’. All haircut debates officially ended after that. 
The parents listen as their little boy rattles on about his day, from seeing his best friend Peter to knocking down the block towers he built over and over again. Their three year old was a little bundle of joy, their complete surprise baby. Jo always joked that he was created the night of her faux pregnancy announcement, since the dates lined up. Walker was something else. He inherited Jo’s hazel eyes nose, but everything else about the little boy screamed Karev, from the big head he had when he was born to the crooked smirk that permanently stayed plastered on his lips, always ready to get into some trouble. 
Some days he acted like an angel, but majority of the time he was the literal spawn of Evil Spawn. Cristina’s custom made onesies and t-shirts were frequently worn by little Walker, which proudly stated, “My Daddy is an Evil Spawn!”, “Spawn of Evil Spawn”, “Product of an Evil Spawn and Hairball” just to name a few. 
Walker and Meredith found them hilarious, Jo and Alex… not so much.  
A few minutes later a nurse walks in, asking Alex if he needed anything while simultaneously checking his vitals when the little boy speaks up. 
“Hi!” he chirps excitedly, a crooked grin on his face. He loved meeting new people, one of the few differences he shared from his parents, but they knew that was a good thing. Walker had always been sociable and practically made friends everywhere he went. The cashier at the grocery store, the workers at the receptionist’s desk, random people he passed on the street… little Karev was quite a people person.
“Hi there sweetie,” the woman in her mid-twenties coos, tucking a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear as she bends down slightly to meet the little boy’s height. “I’m Andrea, what’s your name?” she asks. 
“Walker!” the tiny brunette exclaims. 
Andrea laughs, shaking her head a little bit at the adorable little boy, looking up to meet Alex’s eyes. “Your vitals are good Doctor Karev. Dr Bailey should be in soon to go have you sign your consent forms, but otherwise just sit here until then.” 
Alex says his thanks as the nurse walks out the door, his son watching as the young girl leaves. Walker leans up unexpectedly, whispering loudly enough for the three adults in the room to hear. 
“She had big boobies.” he giggles, clutching a hand over his mouth, trying to hide his large grin. 
Jo’s face could only be described as scandalized, while Alex and Meredith burst into loud laughter, their sound filling up the room with the little boy’s giggles. 
“Walker Alexander Karev!” oh you are so your father’s son.
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hellowkatey · 3 years
Text
Febuwhump Day 21
Prompt: time travel (alternate 7)
Warnings: brief description of minor PTSD episode
Read on AO3! (this one is long so I didn’t spend as much time on reformatting when copying it here) 
Not Much Has Changed, Except for Everything
Anakin is angry. He knows he isn't supposed to be angry because "anger leads to the dark side" and whatnot, but he can't help that he is seething. He should head straight into a meditation room and deal with his anger the way he is trained. Or even lock himself in a training sala and work out his emotions constructively.
Instead, he barges through the door of his apartment, and when his master isn't in the living room or kitchen he barges into his bedroom.
Obi-Wan sits on the bed in a lotus position, a datapad balanced on his knee and a cup of tea in the other hand. He looks up with a raised eyebrow like he expected him to end up here eventually.
"Hello, padawan... what--"
"Don't," Anakin says sharply, so worked up he's bobbing back and forth on the balls of his feet. "You recommended passing me over for trials again."
Obi-Wan's shoulders drop and he rests the mug on his thigh. "Anakin we have talked about--"
"You know I'm ready! I have the highest marks in combat and control of the Force. I even got my grades up in philosophy. How could you do this to me?"
Obi-Wan doesn't answer him a moment, just does the endlessly annoying thing where he ever so carefully and calmly puts away whatever he was doing to give him his full attention. And to make sure I don't throw his hot tea across the room... again.
"Are you going to let me speak a full sentence, or are you just here to yell at me?" Anakin crosses his arms over his chest. It's enough of a response. The Jedi knight sighs. "Anakin, we've talked about this. You are a fine senior padawan and very close to being ready for your trials but as you are very relevantly demonstrating, you still have some work to do on managing your emotions."
"I'm only mad because you went behind my back!"
"Went behind-- " he shakes his head. "I never told you I was going to recommend you for your trials this cycle, I only said you were getting close, and the council agreed with my assessment."
The idea of his master and the council discussing him and how unready he is for the knight trials only pours salt in the wound.
"I basically command my own battalion like a Jedi general at this point. I have done everything you say, and you still treat me like I'm a kid."
"Need I remind you that if you were knighted at your current age, you would be one of the youngest human Jedi knights?"
"You say that like it's a bad thing!"
"I don't mean--I am just saying, you talk as though I'm holding you back from your peers when many of your age-mates are years from being considered for knighthood."
"I don't care about my age-mates?" Anakin huffs.
"You just need more time to mature--" Anakin rolls his eyes. He's heard this exact lecture a billion times from Obi-Wan.
"More time to mature. Much more to learn. Master, just because I don't have a lightsaber up my ass and recite the Jedi Code in my sleep, doesn't mean I'm not ready!"
"Anakin," Obi-Wan's calm demeanor turns colder. A warning tone.
"Where did being the perfect padawan get you anyway? Qui-Gon didn't even try to knight you until you were what, twenty-five?"
"Anakin--"
"And you didn't even do the trials, it was basically just a pity--"
"Enough," Obi-Wan stands from the bed, his tone severe. Immediate regret trickles in at the sight of Obi-Wan's intense stare. He's gone too far. "You're lashing out and certainly not acting like a Jedi Knight. This is not me asking you to be perfect this is me asking you to be reasonable. Think about it in any other way besides The Galaxy vs. Anakin and you'll see you are acting like the child you so desperately don't want to be!"
Anakin doesn't quite know where to go from here because usually Obi-Wan sits there and lets him go on until he runs out of steam or makes a fool of himself. But this time... Anakin has never seen him snap into action and actually fire back so hard. He didn't want to hurt his feelings he was... just frustrated.
"Obi-Wan I--"
"Anakin can we talk about this tomorrow?" he massages his temple with his pointer finger. "My headache is becoming a migraine and you have some meditating to do."
He sighs. Not really wanting to leave things that way, but when Obi-Wan gets his migraines there isn't much talking that can actually happen. He walks over to his dresser and grabs a pill bottle.
"Yeah, Master. Tomorrow." he places the pill bottle in his hand and leaves the bedroom. The door closes behind him.
Obi-Wan probably thinks he's going to bed, but he isn't. Instead, Anakin leaves, taking deep breaths as he walks through the halls of the Temple. The Force is especially pungent today. It feels like he's wading through a foggy bog with all the negative emotions he's stirred up, and meditating in his room isn't going to resolve that. So he heads to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. It's a weird time-- the younglings should be at dinner, it's evening briefings for the knights and padawans out on a campaign, and the council is usually in session, leaving the massive fountain room basically empty.
He climbs a few levels up, already feeling better with the mist of the waterfalls against his skin and the activity of climbing. His favorite place is a little nook on the fourth level where an upper fall cascades beside it. The constant water noise is soothing-- something he never thought he'd ever hear when he was a kid. If he's going to do the old-fashioned meditation, it's going to be here. Anakin settles down on the rocks, breathing in slowly and letting the Force saturate around him. With how pushy it's been acting, there's no surprise he's pulled into a good, deep meditation quickly.
Anakin awakes lying on the ground. He doesn't remember falling asleep, but meditation is pretty boring so it's not uncommon for him. He groans, letting his eyes adjust to the light streaming in from the window-- he must have slept here all night... whoops. Hopefully, it's still early or else Obi-Wan will have a whole other reason to be mad at him.
But strangely, when his eyes adjust he realizes he isn't in the Room of a Thousand Fountains anymore. He's laying in the middle of the hallway that leads to the council chambers.
Did someone carry me down or... No that would be difficult and I would have woken up. Maybe I sleepwalked? Anakin has never done that but he supposes there's a first time for everything. He straightens out his wrinkled robes and tries to fix a few parts of his braid that are trying to unravel.
Voices approach. He looks down the hall to see a tall master walking with long strides. Beside him, a little boy trails slightly behind and to the side-- the padawan position. But this boy doesn't look like much of a padawan. His hair is long, unevenly cut and falling into his eyes and down to his collar. If he has a braid, Anakin can't see it. While he wears some Jedi robes, they're mixed with pieces of civilian clothing. A blue undershirt paired with a the standard-issue outer robe and black pants with mismatched patches on both knees. And he's tiny-- concerningly skinny from the way his robe is hanging off of him. The boy's bright eyes snap to him as he stares, and Anakin adverts his eyes from the strange kid.
"Excuse me, padawan," the master says, brushing past him, and Anakin's entire body freezes. The voice is familiar, one he would never forget. He'd been so busy trying to figure out what the heck is going on with the padawan's wardrobe that he didn't get a good luck at the Jedi Master's face. Anakin whirls around.
"Master Jinn?"
The master stops, and turns around, his eyebrow raised. "Yes?" He blinks. This isn't possible. Qui-Gon is dead. Has been for a decade. Qui-Gon steps forward, cocking his head to the side. "Are you well? You've gone pale."
"Yes," Anakin chokes. "Yes, I'm... I'm fine. Just... uh, have you seen Master Windu?"
His brown eyes scan over Anakin critically. "In a council meeting. They should be done soon."
He can't stop staring at the dead master. He looks younger than Anakin remembers. Grays are only beginning to invade his sideburns, and there are far fewer wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and across his forehead. This must be a dream... a really vivid dream... but how could Anakin possibly dream about Qui-Gon if he never knew him at this age?
The realization dawns on him. He looks down at the shaggy padawan. Bright blue eyes shine back, silently watching Anakin's awkward encounter. A blank stare that Anakin would recognize anywhere. "Obi-Wan?" he blurts out.
Now the kid looks alarmed. He can't be older than twelve or thirteen. "Uh, yes..."
"Manners, Obi-Wan. Senior padawans are to be respected, too." Qui-Gon corrects, and the padawan's eyes widen, and then he bows. Master Jinn turns his attention back to Anakin, still looking at him funny. "Where is your master? And what is your name, I'm sorry, I thought I knew most of the senior padawans."
"I, uh, my name is Ani. My master is a shadow, so I'm... gone a lot."
It's a threadbare excuse that any reasonable Master would as follow-up questions to, but Qui-Gon seems to be in too much of a hurry to go through the trouble. He just nods. "Right. Nice to meet you, Padawan Ani, but we must be going. Master Windu should be done momentarily, though, if you wait outside the council chambers.
"Thank you, Master," Anakin replies, bowing. He still can't believe he's really talking to Master Jinn again... and padawan Obi-Wan? This just makes it even weirder. Why is he dressed like that? And how did Anakin get here? When even is here?
It has to be some trick of the Force. There really isn't another explanation. For some reason, it has sent him back in time, and he has a feeling it has something to do with Obi-Wan.
The pair turn and continue on in the direction they were before. He watches them go, Obi-Wan trailing with his head staring at the ground.
"As I was saying, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon says in a low voice, but the acoustics of the vaulted hallways make it sound as though he's talking directly to Anakin. "The council may have accepted you back on probationary status, but I am not yet ready to accept you again as my student. Do you understand this?"
Anakin's brows crease in confusion. The Force must have sent him back in time and to another dimension! If he heard Master Jinn right then... Anakin needs to talk to little Obi-Wan and find out what's going on.
It's harder to track down the kid than he thought it would be. He passes the time by taking a quick lap around the Temple to check out what else is different in this new time-- he figures out it's about two or three years before he's actually born, which is weird. Not much has really changed besides the Temple being much fuller. Like when he first was brought here. His first stop is the Archives, which surprisingly doesn't contain Tiny-Wan. He passes by the mess, the padawan training sala-- nothing. Then he gets an idea.
He strolls into the initiate training sala and smiles. Obi-Wan is on the other side of the room, his back to the door and a training saber in hand. He goes through the Form I katas slowly and smoothly.
As Anakin strolls in, Obi-Wan stops, dropping his saber at his side and turning slowly around. "Oh, hi Padawan Ani," he says in the same Core accent but a few octaves higher. It seems he hasn't had time to change, so he's stripped down to his undershirt and pants, Jedi robes cast to the side. He seems to also have gained a strip of cloth he's fashioned as a headband to keep his hair back. It makes parts of his hair stick up in wild directions. Definitely, a look that isn't characteristic of his usually tidy Master. He tops off the greeting with a polite bow.
"No need to bow when we're not around the Masters, kid. And you can just call me Ani. We're both padawans."
Obi-Wan's eyes drop to the ground, his face falling. He can't get over how young he looks. "Oh... you didn't hear?"
"Like I said, I've been away."
He traces a saber mark on the ground with the toe of his boot. "I, uh, left for a while. My master doesn't trust me anymore."
Out of all the things he expected to come out of Obi-Wan's mouth, this was not one of the possible options he contrived. "Doesn't trust-- I mean, what could you have possibly done?"
"I said I left," he says, his blue eyes snapping up to him with surprising intensity. Anakin raises an eyebrow.
"You're angry."
"I'm not angry."
"You're upset."
Tiny-Wan doesn't reply. Anakin gets another idea. He pulls out his lightsaber and turns down the power into training mode. The kid watches him carefully.
"Wanna spar?"
"Now?"
"Helps blow off some steam so it's easier to meditate later." Anakin ignites his saber, waving around the blue blade in a quick spin. Obi-Wan's long face turns to a grin, and he ignites the training saber again. They stand in opening positions, Obi-Wan sticking with Form I, which makes sense for a thirteen or fourteen-year-old. Anakin decides maybe doing a form he isn't as good at would even things out a little more-- he raises his lightsaber above his head, turning his body to the side and pointing his arm straight out toward Obi-Wan. The kid's eyes widen at the Soresu stance.
In taking a defensive form, Obi-Wan is the first to make a move. He moves swiftly, naturally, testing out the clash of the sabers against one another with simple blows Anakin is meant to easily deflect. He's testing me, Anakin realizes as he keeps pushing him in a tight circle. He lets the kid get warmed up to the spar, giving him a few more offensive moves to mix things up, which seems to excite him.
"Been a while since you sparred?" Anakin asks.
"That obvious?"
"Oh, no, Obi-Wan I didn't mean you were doing bad you just seem... happy to be doing it." The Force is singing right now.
The kid does a slightly more advanced move, grinning wildly. "I've missed fighting with a lightsaber."
Slowly, Anakin is picking up clues. He "left", didn't have his saber with him (or he did and just had nobody to use it against), and whatever he did got him in trouble with the council.
"What form do you wanna learn first?"
"Four!" he says, demonstrating a classic Ataru acrobatic move with his answer, which surprises Anakin enough that Obi-Wan manages a combo move.
Anakin smiles. If only he knew he'd be a master of Soresu a handful of years from now.
"Very impressive, young one. You stayed in shape while away."
Once again, his face falls, and he puts his energy back into the fight. Their actions start picking up, Obi-Wan funneling more of his young energy into quick movements and acrobatics. Though his forms have fallen out completely by this point and turned into less controlled jabs, Anakin is struck with how smart he's fighting. He is selective with diversions and fakes, fighting well enough that Anakin is actually having to put some effort into maintaining his Soresu form. He's strong too. He slams his saber into his with surprising force, but never still long enough for Anakin to return the blow.
It's like he's used to fighting those much larger than him. He uses his size and speed to his advantage, knowing exactly how and where to strike that makes it difficult for Anakin to counter. It's fascinating, and not at all like how Obi-Wan spars now. Anakin even starts to forget who he is crossing swords with after a while until he speaks and the Tiny-Wan accent reminds him.
"You're holding back," he says, his forehead sheening with sweat.
"You're a kid."
"It's harder to practice real sparring when you're fighting like a training droid."
Anger? Taunting? Who is this kid? Anakin smirks at him, and when they reach a lull, he shifts his position into an offensive. Now, let's show him how Ataru is done.
The fight ends minutes later. To Tiny-Wan's credit, he held him off well, but Anakin is a senior padawan, trained by one of the best swordsmen in the Order, and Obi-Wan... well, he hasn't found out he's one of the best swordsmen in the Order yet. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he lays on the training sala floor. Anakin peers over him, and finds a toothy smile on his face.
"That. Was. Awesome!" he says, jumping up. "You moved so fast I couldn't even see you sometimes! You and my master--" he trails off, biting on his lip. His mood deflates. "You and Master Jinn should spar sometime. He also specializes in Ataru."
"Do you feel less upset now, at least?"
He nods. "I have a lot of catching up to do, but it... helped. Thanks, Ani."
Obi-Wan walks over to the bench to get dressed again. As he picks up his robe, his belt falls and clatters against the durasteel bench, making a loud singular bang. He doesn't think much of it until he looks at the padawan and sees his entire body has gone rigid, his eyes darting around the room.
"Obi-Wan?" Anakin asks. When he doesn't move, he walks up to him and crouches down to eye level. "Obi-Wan, what's wrong?"
The kid clears his throat, his eyes finally focusing on the senior padawan. "I, uh, nothing, Ani. Just... loud."
Anakin reaches down and picks up the belt. "The noise this made... Did it scare you?"
"Jedi don't get scared."
"That isn't true. What just happened? Your face is white as a sheet."
With a deep, shaky sigh, the padawan sits down on the bench and buries his face in his hands. "It sounded... it sounded like the invasion bell."
"Invasion bell?"
"The scouts would ring it when they were attacking in the night."
"Obi-Wan, I don't know what you're referring to."
"The--The Melida. Or the Daan!" he exclaims, his head popping up from his hands. "They attacked so often in the night, we could never sleep well. What if we missed the bell?"
Cold sweat is beading on his forehead. Anakin has no idea what to say. He puts a comforting hand on his shoulder instead, rubbing softly.
"Hey, hey, you're not there anymore. It was just your belt. You're in the Jedi Temple. You're safe now. Just... breathe."
He guides him through deep breaths in and out-- something that his own master has gotten him through as well. It's strange to be preaching his own tactics back at him, though he doesn't seem to notice. Probably hasn't learned them yet.
Obi-Wan recovers. Finishes getting dressed. Seems embarrassed to have him kneeling beside him rubbing circles on his back from the flush in his cheeks. "I should... go home now. But thanks for fighting with me Ani."
"Anytime, kid. You know, things with your master are going to work out."
Tiny-Wan looks up at him with those big blue eyes. "You think so?"
"I know so."
Obi-Wan leaves with a spring in his step. As soon as he's out of the room, Anakin deflates. How did this kid-- shellshocked and emotional-- become his steadfast master? How has he never heard any of this before? He decides the best way to figure this out is to go talk to the council. Tell them he's here somehow and try to figure out more.
But suddenly the sala starts to sway, and he begins to feel like he's being put under a sleep suggestion. Uh oh. Not now! Not yet! I just need to talk to--
Anakin gasps awake, a headache pounding at his temples and his sleeve soaking wet from falling into the spray of the waterfall. He's back in the room of a thousand fountains, back in his own time period, assumingly, and now with a million questions going through his head. Light is streaming in from the skylights-- he really did spend all night here. He wastes no time jumping up and climbing down the falls.
Obi-Wan is awake when he bursts back into the apartment, sitting at the kitchen table eating sliced fruit. He looks up apathetically when Anakin enters, half soaking wet, only raising an eyebrow. The Obi-Wan blank stare that apparently he's had mastered since he was a kid.
"Where have you been?"
You wouldn't believe me if I told you. "Early start."
"Mmhm." he doesn't sound convinced, but he chooses to stuff another piece of fruit in his mouth instead of questioning him further.
"Obi-Wan..." Anakin doesn't even know where to start. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," he says, gesturing to the chair across from him. Anakin sits down slowly. It's early enough that Obi-Wan is still in his nightclothes and his hair an unorderly mess. In this state, Anakin can see a flash of his padawan self, long messy hair, and baggy clothes hanging off him. "What is it?"
"What's the Melida?"
Obi-Wan lowers his fork slowly, "In... In what context?"
"Like... Melida or the Daan. Maybe a war?"
Obi-Wan goes completely still. He stares forward for a long time, not looking at Anakin or anything in particular just staring. What can Anakin do besides sit there and wait for him to say something. Anything.
"Well," he finally says. "Melida/Daan was a planet that had a civil war spanning generations."
"Had?"
"Well, it ended years ago. By a third group that fought against the other two for peace," he swallows dryly. "The Young. Why... Why do you ask, Anakin?"
"Well, I..." he didn't think he'd get this far if he's being honest. From the way Obi-Wan is looking at him, he seems to not have expected this to ever come up. "I heard something. About you as a padawan."
He's quiet for another moment. Not as long as the first, but just as haunting.
"Qui-Gon and I had a mission there when I was thirteen. Master Tahl had gone dark, and we were sent to find her. I saw what was happening on this planet. That children had taken it upon themselves to fight the war their great-great-grandparents waged. And I felt my place was there with them." Obi-Wan stands from the table, walking toward the window that faces out onto the skyline of Coruscant. "Qui-Gon didn't agree with me. He gave me a choice, and I chose to leave the Jedi Order and stay on the Melida/Daan."
"You... left the Jedi?" Anakin whispers in awe. Suddenly Tiny-Wan's cryptic words make sense.
"For about a year, yes. And then my feelings changed. I wanted to return, and we needed the help of the Jedi to lock in peace for the planet so I called Qui-Gon again. And he came for me... not without consequences, though," he mutters the last part.
"You. You left the order?"
"That is what I just told you, yes."
"And Master Jinn... he was hard on you about it?"
Obi-Wan's lips press together into a thin line. "Master Jinn and I were on scant terms before I left. He feared I would turn out like his previous padawan who turned to the dark side."
This almost makes Anakin laugh out loud. Obi-Wan? Turning to the dark side? He literally can't think of a person less likely.
But he thinks about how when he met padawan Obi-Wan his emotions were strong, easily read across his face. He was upset and a little angry and Master Jinn certainly wasn't doing anything to help him with that. Now Anakin feels horrible for what he said to his master the night before. Not only was it out of frustration, but it was also completely incorrect.
"Master, I'm... I'm sorry. For what I said earlier. I didn't... I wasn't--"
"Not many do," he says serenely. "And maybe I should have told you sooner I just..." he shrugs. "I suppose it's not my favorite topic to think about. I was far too young to be in a warzone. And when I returned, my guilt often got the best of me. It took a long time for him to trust me again. It's not a way I wanted you as my padawan to see me."
But when Anakin looks at Obi-Wan now, he isn't let down by this new context. If anything, it makes him respect his master even more. He always believed that Obi-Wan was hard on him because he wanted him to be as perfect as he was... but obviously, Tiny-Wan wasn't the saint he thought him to be, and Master Jinn didn't exactly give Obi-Wan the benefit of the doubt. But now he knows, even if it was just a glimpse, that maybe he knows more about needing to keep emotions under control than Anakin previously thought.
"Will you tell me more Tiny-Wan stories?" Anakin asks, making his master look at him funny.
"Tiny-Wan?  Why are you assuming I was small?"
Because I met you, Master, and you were pretty tiny. "Just... a hunch I suppose."
"Well, I'll have you know I was perfectly average for my age group." he pouts.
"Fine," the padawan groans. "Will you tell me more of your padawan stories?"
Obi-Wan walks into the kitchen and puts a kettle on the range. "I'm sure something of that sort can be arranged."
He watches him pull out two mugs and start to make some tea. He picks out Anakin's favorite as well as some milk-- just the way he likes it. And then his own. He watches his master with a new admiration. This must have been what the Force was trying to lead him to.
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claraoswaldfics · 3 years
Text
Halloween Night
The throbbing in her neck was the first thing Clara noticed as she woke up. The second was that she was naked. What had happened last night?
As she pushed her fringe out of her face, she noticed a trail of clothes winding their way from the door to her bed. Heels, jumper, skirt. She lifted the covers, where she discovered her bra and underwear, neither of which were still on her body. But strangest of all were the orange knee-socks on the unoccupied pillow beside her. Were they hers?
On her bedside table, her phone announced it had finished charging. That should have taken it about one and a half hours, so either there had been a power cut last night, or someone else had recently plugged it in for her. Clara looked at the screen and saw on it a message from her flatmate, Priya.
“Noticed a redhead sneaking out of your room this morning. Congrats on losing your gay virginity!” Dozens of emojis followed; huge blocks of pride flags and fireworks lit up her screen, then the message continued, “Not going to tell the group chat until you’re ready of course, but girl, I am going to need all the deets!”
There may have been more to the text, but it was then that Clara noticed the date. November first. Suddenly it all came rushing back.
 It was Halloween at Glitz.
The club itself had been dwindling for a while now and most of the cool young people had probably moved away to venues that were more ‘hip’ or ‘fresh’. The fact that Clara assumed that was still the lingo was part of why she still came to Glitz. Not often, granted. It was strictly on an annual basis now. An ersatz tradition dating back to their university days (back when they’d all briefly experimented with paganism) to dance at this increasingly outdated, overpriced discotheque every 31st of October.
Even in the rain
Clara was as usual the first to arrive. It wasn’t so much that she was always early as everyone else was always late. The whatsapp group had assured her a few hours ago that they’d be there though, so there was still a chance (however small) that they were already inside.
She flashed her ID to the bouncer, who made a point of studying it. She was 26 now, old enough to appreciate being mistaken for someone younger, but still young enough to be impatient about the delay. Or maybe it was the costume that was holding him up. Thinking about it, it must be hard to tell if someone is who they say they are when they’re dressed as Velma Dinkley.
Ever since she’d gone for a more bob-like haircut, she’d been getting a lot of comparisons to the Scooby Doo character, so it was an easy decision to lean into it for Halloween. This didn’t mean it was an easy or cheap costume – Clara Oswald never did things by half, after all. She’d been nosing around high streets and second-hand shops the last two weekends putting it together. The orange jumper was baggy but sewn so as to give a good impression of her figure. The glasses made her eyes seem even wider, and combined with the freckles she’d drawn on took five years off her face. Surprisingly it was the little red skirt that had taken her the longest to find, only appearing in a last-minute lunch-break scrabble in Oxfam, and between it and the knee-socks, she was showing a lot more thigh than she was used to.
I mean it looks damn good, she thought to herself, but it isn’t half cold…
The bouncer finally nodded her through, and soon she was enveloped by the warm haze and pounding bass of Glitz. Maybe two dozen people were on the dancefloor, jumping and swaying to a song Clara was fairly sure had come out this year, but not one she knew the name of. I’ll dance at the next one, she thought, or maybe wait until the others get here.
It seemed that almost the moment she found a seat at the bar, her phone pinged. Naomi and Ellen weren’t coming. Apparently some couple had been trying to book their wedding venue out from under them so they were resigned to staying in and shouting down a phone all evening.
That wasn’t good. Those two were the lynchpin of all group planning. It was always worth going out with Naomi and Ellen because there would always be a story the next day. This was because the drunker they got, the more they’d dare the other, and those dares usually involved even more drinking. Clara had even had to bail them out once after they got arrested for shagging on a pool table.
But without them, the group dynamic fell apart. Priya loved nothing more than when a plan got cancelled. For her it was an excuse to shrug her bra off and fall asleep in front of the tv. Clara herself only owned two bras, one good but itchy and the other comfy but old, but Priya could have five littered around the living room at any one time. She’d hidden them on one occasion to encourage future tidiness.
And Emerald, the last of the group, Clara didn’t know particularly well. She knew they kept up with Yugioh (somehow) and read PG Wodehouse, but they’d joined the group in Clara’s last term at uni and she’d had her nose too deep in books to get to know her in any great depth. No doubt they’d have put a lot of effort into some anime costume, but if it was just her and Emerald left, they wouldn’t come.
Okay Clara, it’s not too bad. Shake it off, get a cocktail in you. This night could still go well.
The two pings of doom arrived before she was even halfway through her pina colada. Two more cancellations. Urgh. This calls for a consolation drink. And make it a pint this time.
It wasn’t even nine yet and it felt like the night was over. Clara sighed audibly. Such a shame, she thought. It’s my first Halloween as an out bi woman. This should have been like gay Christmas! I had all this Sapphic energy built up inside me tonight and I’m going to waste it fingering myself in the bath reading Jane Austen again. I’m even wearing the bi flag underpants Ellen got me for my birthday!
She’d been considering the idea of a second pint for around five minutes when she got a tap at her shoulder.
“Velma!”
A jolt of electricity raced up Clara’s spine. She knew that voice, didn’t she?
She turned around in her stool just as the lights above the dancefloor shifted. The woman behind her was briefly illuminated from behind, her face a shadow, but her hair a fiery red halo. Putting a hand in front of her face for a second, Clara took in the rest of her body; a purple dress and go-go boots. Her brain rushed to piece it all together, arriving at the costume before the face.
“Daphne?” She replied, weakly.
As the lights shifted again, Clara was blessed with another view of this woman, who was somehow more dazzling out of the spotlight. She stood imposingly tall, her soft moon-like face looking kindly down on Clara. Taken altogether with her vibrant red hair, Clara felt like she was looking directly at a solar eclipse, and one she couldn’t look away from.
“Hi, I hope you don’t mind. My Shaggy’s gone off with my Scooby.” The woman smiled apologetically. “Thought I might go and make some new friends and well… the costume…”
Clara blinked. In fact she blinked rather a few times. She was still trying to process the fact that an angel had descended from heaven right in front of her.
“I beg your pardon?”
The redhead explained herself again. Clara made a note to focus on what she was saying, which, she justified, involved looking at this woman’s lips a lot.
“I did a group costume with these two guys. One was Shaggy, one was Scooby; we thought we’d come here for the night, have a few drinks, have a few laughs, but instead,” the next part of the sentence involved turning her head to shout pointedly “they’re GETTING OFF IN THE TOILETS!”
Clara let out a nervous giggle. It was a good cover for the big red wave of excitation that was coursing through her body. There was something about the way her Scottishness had just announced itself in her voice that made Clara’s thighs shudder. That woman could shout!
“Shaggy and Scooby-Doo?” Clara repeated. “The dog and the dog owner?”
“Exactly!” she bellowed. “Isn’t that mad?”
“That is so mad.” Clara nodded. Agree with everything this woman says, she thought. If she asks you to rob a bank, do it.
“And after only one drink as well!” She continued, exasperated, “They. Are. Terrible!”
“I guess that’s why they call him Shaggy?” It was a weak joke, Clara knew. And I fumbled the delivery. But frankly the fact that I managed a straight sentence around this woman is a miracle. Managing a straight anything was a challenge, to be honest.
And she laughed! She laughed at my dumb joke! I made that sound come out of her! That brogue-y Scottish cackle! Oh this is the best feeling in the world!
“I know! And that dog will do anything for a Scooby Snack!”
God, me too, thought Clara, as she unleashed a laugh a lot less cool than she hoped she would.
Ahem.
“Can I get you a drink?” Clara asked, thankful she still had any rational thoughts left.
“Ooh, yes. Rum and Coke, please.” She smiled. Such a lovely smile. “Do you have a name, or should I just call you Velma all evening?”
“Only if I can call you Daphne” Clara replied with a grin, signalling to the barman. This was a bit of damage control. It was suave and flirty, but she’d missed the window to introduce herself properly, or find out this charming redhead’s name.
“Oh, you want to play that game, do you?” Clara braced herself for the next word, as the redhead’s lips formed around it. “Velma.”
Beads of sweat started to form under her jumper. It was then that Clara realised where she’d heard that sexy Scottish brogue before…
The kissogram from Naomi and Ellen’s engagement!
Six months on and I’m just as flustered.
The drinks came and Clara positively snatched hers off the table. As long as her mouth was occupied with alcohol, she had more time to think. And as always, Clara, try and play it off as glamorous and mysterious.
The more strategic side of Clara’s brain spoke up; so you know who she is, but she doesn’t know who you are. What does that mean? You know what she does for a living – is that an okay thing to bring up? Does the fact that she hasn’t recognised me yet mean my costume is too good…
…or was that kiss unmemorable?
She chanced a look. The woman in the Daphne costume was nursing her rum and coke, but her eyes were still fixed on her over the rim of her glass.
Right. So what if she didn’t remember that kiss. It was half a year ago and in her line of work she couldn’t be expected to remember everyone she’d ever kissed. Clara could hardly do that herself. What it meant was that Clara could make another first impression. A confident, in-control one.
“Miss Blake.” She congratulated herself on remembering that scrap of Scooby Doo trivia.
“Is that Daphne’s last name?” The redhead half-giggled. “I’m sorry, I haven’t watched Scooby Doo since I was a wee bairn.”
Aha! The strategic part of her brain roared into force again. I know more about Scooby Doo than her! I can leverage this to my advantage… somehow! Strategy brain realised it should probably shut up for a bit, and that the reason it had been allowed to think so long without interruption was because the rest of her brain was once again cooing at the Scottish turn of phrase.
“So why Daphne, then?”
“It was a group costume with a bunch of friends, but there were a few no-shows, you know?”
Clara made a gesture to the four people who were definitely not standing next to her “I do know.”
“Between you and me, I’d have quite liked to come as Velma.”
The seriously unstrategic part of Clara’s brain practically roared: Come into the bathroom with me! We can swap clothes right now!
She continued. “besides, what other characters are there to dress up as, as a tall ginger woman?”
Jessica Rabbit, said Clara’s brain.
“Jessica Rabbit” said Clara.
Oh shit, said Clara’s brain.
“Naughty” she chided. “But I don’t think so. Not two years in a row, anyway.”
Oh shit, said Clara’s brain again, but with purpose (and without vocalisation). This is definitely flirting! This could go well! I haven’t made an embarrassing mess of myself!
Tonight, I’m going to rock her world.
“Would you like to take a seat?”
High on her own hubris, Clara hadn’t noticed the seats either side of her were taken. Um…
“I’d love to.”
Sirens blared in Clara’s head as ‘Daphne’ draped one arm over Clara’s back and slid both her indigo tight-clad legs over Clara’s until she was Sitting! In! Her! Lap!
“Oh, you don’t mind, do you?”
In a moment, all of Clara’s newfound confidence melted and words stuck in her throat. Clara worried for a moment maybe her nose was bleeding, or her entire lower body had turned to steam, or worse, that her damn traitor face might be giving Amy some reason to stop sitting on her.
“Oh, not at all.”
THINK OF SOMETHING TO SAY!
“So…”
SOMETHING WITTY, FLIRTY AND MAYBE TO DO WITH HER COSTUME!
“Daphne…”
HERE WE GO! SHOOT YOUR SHOT!
“Would you like to get in the van with me?”
THE VAN???
“The van?”
“The um… the mystery machine.”
“Oh, the van from the show”
“Yes”
“So you want me to get in the Scooby Doo van with you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a van?”
“No.”
“But you just invited me to your van.”
“Yes.”
Clara blinked a few times while her brain rebooted.
“It’s a metaphorical van.”
“And what exactly is it a metaphor for?”
“I don’t know.”
“Truly, this is one mysterious machine.”
“…Yes.”
A few mortifying seconds later, her strategic brain came back online. As did her non-strategic brain. They both made this noise: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!
The Daphne impersonator slid her legs off Clara and stood crouched at eye-level.
“Look, can I propose something?” asked the redhead “Instead of you trying to entice me out of the club, into a dirty alley, and into the back of your metaphorical van, why don’t we just get a taxi back to my place?”
Clara fell off her seat.
“Oh my God, your little flustered face!” She belly laughed. “Oh we are going to have such a lot of fun tonight! Come on, Clara.”
Their hands touched as the redhead reached down to help her up. In all future memories of this moment, it seemed to Clara like she was in Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam. Any hints of the reality, that a wide-eyed, shakey-legged sex-addled Scooby Doo cosplayer was being picked off the floor of a bar, were quickly purged from her mind by a greater realisation.
“You know my name.”
“Of course I do. I don’t get to snog many girls in my line of work.” She winked “And I make a note of the cute ones. I’m Amy.”
Clara nearly fell to the floor again.
But Amy kept her on her feet, one arm pulling her whole body to her.
“How about we get you into that taxi, I let you calm down for a little bit, and then you and I can get to know each other, okay?”
A sigh of relief from Clara; this was going well at last!
“Okay.”
“And then after that we can make out a little and I’ll put my hands up your jumper, sound good?”
“Oh God yes.”
 END OF PART 1
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