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bonkhrnyjail · 3 months

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sweet plum | chapter three

masterlist | pinterest board

pairing: pedro pascal x fem!reader (plus size)

rating: mature (will become explicit in future chapters)

warnings: depictions of anxiety, drinking, nicotine use

summary: it's the final day of filming, and you go out to celebrate with your fellow cast and crew members

a/n: thank you guys for the love on the first two chapters! i honestly wasn't anticipating much of a response on here so it's been a sweet surprise. i have imposter syndrome up the fucking wazoo and this is the first creative project i have ever stuck with for more than a few months, and i think it's partially because of the kind comments i've received from people (and also because i'm fucking horny and delusional for this old man). anyways, hope you enjoy chapter three. xoxo.

You and a few of the other makeup artists and hair stylists are standing a few hundred feet away, watching as Pedro and Bella repeatedly break character on top of a magnificent hill. The roar of laughter from the distance still manages to reach your ears, Pedro doubled over with hands bracing on his knees to keep from toppling over completely.

You know your period is coming, but the emotions you’ve been experiencing today are something else entirely. You awoke this morning and immediately started to tear up, knowing today was the last full day you’d spend with everyone, the crew who's become more like family to you than anything else. You’re just so proud of everyone. Filming this show was grueling, the labor not only physical but emotional too.

Fucking hell, you’re tearing up again just thinking about it.

“Awww, honey bun,” one of the girls pulled you into a side hug, squeezing into your hip with her resting hand. “I get it, I felt this way after my first long project too.”

You hate crying in front of people, but you’re so exhausted from holding it in since the morning, it all just pours out.

“I just love all of you guys so much, I don’t want it to end. It’s been such an honor to do this job and to become friends with all of you," you sniffle, frantically wiping at your eyes to clear the streams of tears from your puffy cheeks. "And Pedro, he’s been such a dream to work with. Such a genuine, kind guy, I just love working with him-”

“Baby, we know.” one of the few guys in your group teases and everyone erupts with laughter.

“Wha— Why are you guys laughing?" you whine. "Did I miss something?”

Are they onto you?

You think that you’ve done an incredible job hiding your colossal, debilitating crush on your extremely attractive, kind, witty, charming client. Of course you’ve experienced work crushes before, most of the actors you’d worked with are incredibly easy on the eyes.

But with Pedro, things were different. The amount of time that you’ve spent together during this project and the way your relationship developed, you didn’t stand a god damned chance. The way he talks, listens, looking you deep in your eyes and transfixing you with his soft baritone, even in the most casual of conversations. He makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room. You barely survived some of those interactions, walking away with jello legs and a pounding chest, enough to make you a little short of breath.

“Oh, come on, kid, don’t play dumb,” another one chimes in, “We know you two have the hots for each other.”

Wait.

Each other?

The girl next to you squeezes your hip again.

“We’ve been placing bets to see which one of you would slip up first. It’s hard to watch. You guys are so, so oblivious.”

EACH OTHER?

Your chest starts pounding hard as your breath kicks out from underneath you. You can feel the pinkish-red hue spread hot over your round cheeks, only masked by the makeup you had put on that morning.

“You guys,” you manage through slightly labored breathing, “He doesn’t… it’s not… he wouldn’t…”

“See, I told you guys, it's gone completely over her head.”

Everyone is chiming in at this point, fits of laughter erupting from either side of you.

You honestly can’t believe the implication. You, crushing on him, sure. Who wouldn’t? But him, crushing on you? This has to be some kind of joke.

It’s not that you lack confidence. You rate yourself. You’re sexy, funny, talented, kinky, a great cook and even better at cleaning, not that those last two are things that should define you in any way. You're versatile, you can go out dancing or cuddle up on the couch and have a great night either way. And as much as you’re high strung about your work, you make up for it by being fun in your personal life. Yes, you have some moderate anxiety issues, but once you feel comfortable around people you’re a pretty damn good time. As for your looks, you truly like your appearance, you feel at home in your body and love to flaunt your curves.

But you’re also realistic.

Being a bigger girl means things will always be a bit different for you. You have to watch your back, fatphobia is so rampant and completely acceptable according to society, especially in LA. You’ve been denied entry to clubs simply because of your size. You've barely dated and haven't hooked up with anyone since your big breakup, over two years ago now. But you're not an idiot, and you know if you did, it’s a whole different ball game when you’re plus size.

You’ve helped a few of your fat friends make Tinder profiles, constantly having to answer questions like 'Does this picture look like me?' 'Is this catfishy?' 'Should I put a disclaimer in my bio?'

It’s never due to lack of confidence on their part, it’s due to lack of trust in other people to not be fucking vile. It’s exhausting, constantly trying to protect and defend yourself from hatred towards your own body, a body that you've come to love so dearly.

Now, with that being said, Pedro Pascal does not strike you as the type to go after someone like you. Not because he’s a shitty person, but because he’s basically an A-list fucking celebrity who can likely pull any woman he wants. In your experience, most of the older men who have shown interest in you were simply fetishizing your body. You're absolutely certain Pedro would never do that though, his respect for women is so innate, you can’t even conjure an image in your head of him treating you that way.

But the truth is, as fucked up as it is, if men can have their pick of the bunch, most of them will go for a thin woman. Social conditioning is a bitch.

Not to mention, he’s quite a bit older than you. You're closer in age to Bella than you are to Pedro. It's not something that bothers you, you've always gone for people older than you, but you don’t know how he feels in that regard.

If you're being honest, you never even allowed yourself to entertain the thought of him returning your feelings. But now here you are, and for some reason the concept scares you utterly shitless.

You want to bolt in the other direction, get in your car, and drive until you see nothing but fields. Canada is pretty good for that, you can drive in any direction and end up somewhere with no houses or buildings for miles. You love to sing in the car and drive for hours with no destination in mind. Horrible for the planet, yes, but you have a hybrid so you cut yourself a bit of slack. It’s better than driving your quiet, elderly neighbors up the wall with your obnoxious belting.

What if he did feel the same way about you? Then what?

First of all, he’s famous, incredibly famous. He’s a goddamn heartthrob. You’ve seen the TikTok edits that Bella saves on their phone to taunt Pedro with. People want him, bad, and you don’t think they’d appreciate him having a woman in his life. You aren’t sure you can handle an influx of cyberbullying from teenage girls with unhealthy parasocial relationships and too much time on their hands.

Secondly, there is of course the unexpected nature of you being his pick, decades younger than him and certainly curvier than most would anticipate.

And of course, your job. What would this do to your reputation? You don't want to be the girl who is known for this kind of thing, You don’t even know if this kind of thing is allowed due to the nature of your working relationship. Would you ever be allowed to work with him again?

You can feel your breaths starting to get shorter and shorter as your internal dialogue continues to obsessively ramble.

“I have to run back to the trailer, y'all just... text me if you need me, 'kay?”

You briskly walk toward the direction of the massive white vehicles, grateful to be able to drop the act and let the panic you feel seep into your facial expression. You walk into the trailer and slump down into the chair, managing an unfortunate attempt at the breathing techniques your therapist taught you.

As your body finally begins to settle back into a healthy rhythm, you hear voices getting louder and louder.

Shit, they’re breaking for lunch.

Without thinking, you bolt out the door with your bag and hide behind the trailer furthest from the incoming crowd of people.

You just need to calm down.

As you settle, you take some more deep breaths, your head flat against the white metal of the trailer, cooling the heat of your scalp. It helps, and you get lost in the sensation, the breathing steadying you back into your body.

Suddenly you hear your name being called in a gravelly voice, slightly steeped in a southern twang.

“Don’t come back here, I’m infected!” you blurt.

Stupid, yes, but it’ll buy you a second to come up with an excuse as to why you’re hiding. Digging through your bag to find your phone, you suddenly see the vape your friend left with you months ago.

Perfect.

You pull it out along with your phone and quickly open Instagram to make it look like you’ve been casually scrolling this whole time. You take a quick pull from the cartridge and try to catch as much of the vapor in your mouth, trying to protect your lungs and throat so you don’t start immediately hacking.

You exhale just as Pedro turns the corner.

“What are you doing back here? For some reason you’re never where I expect you to be.” he quips, his feet in a wide stance and arms crossed, illuminating his broad shoulders.

“Oh, it’s super embarrassing,” you flash the vape in your left hand. “My friend got me addicted to this stupid thing. I’m trying to quit but... clearly not going so well.”

He snatches it out of your hand before you can protest, studying it like it's an ancient artifact.

“What exactly is this?”

“You’ve never seen an ElfBar before?”

He looks at you, dumbfounded and a little peeved.

“Here,” you step forward and use your hand to guide his, lining up the vape with his lips. “Inhale.”

That was a little more seductive than you intended.

He obeys, taking a much bigger hit than he probably should. A panic washes over his eyes just before he starts coughing and hacking, the mist flying out of his open mouth.

“What the fuck is that? It tastes horrible!” he starts making noises of disgust amidst his hacking.

You can’t help yourself from laughing at his excessive dramatics.

“It’s essentially flavored nicotine. I like it though, I feel like it tastes like Froot Loops.”

He attempts to gasp but chokes halfway through, his lungs still traumatized by the vapor.

“How dare you insult Froot Loops like that!” he booms, his face absolutely flabbergasted by the suggestion.

Your hands are on your knees now, completely doubled over and barely able to manage a breath. His bellowing laughter fills the space, bouncing off of the trailer walls and waltzing with your high pitched cackles. Unable to hold himself up, he places a hand on your shoulder, and you both lose your footing.

You trip backward, back hitting the trailer hard as he stumbles into you.

Your bodies collide for a moment, his face so close that you can feel his breath tickling your cheek. The laughter between you quickly subsides as your consciousnesses adjust to the proximity you share. You feel that familiar flush prickle your face as he places a hand on the surface behind you, pushing himself off.

You meet his gaze, gentle and sweet, eyes softly nestled in crinkled skin. Your breaths start to deepen and your lips part slightly, unconsciously, as you maintain the eye contact intensifying dangerously between you. His gaze wanders to your mouth and you draw in a sharp inhale, an image of his lips on yours flashing through your head.

Your body jolts when reality catches up to you. He quickly steps back, raises a hand to scratch his head as his eyes dart around. There’s a moment of thick, heavy silence between you, you hastily fussing with your fingernails as he continues to mess with his hair.

You can’t think of a single word in the English language to save your life right now.

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to—” he fumbles through the words before you cut him off.

“No! No, it’s ok. It was an accident! Don’t worry, I’m ok—”

“Good!” He continues stammering, an undertone of panic lacing his tone. “Ok, good, I really didn’t mean to—”

“Why are you kids hiding back here?” a familiar accent cracks through the tension, a wave of relief crashing through your body.

Bella. Thank fuck.

“I... got P to try my vape!” you tease. “He’s… not a fan.”

You start to walk toward Bella, hoping that Pedro will follow you back to the more crowded area, desperate to get anywhere that keeps you from being alone with him

“Listen, If I’m gonna have nicotine, I’m just gonna stick to a good old-fashioned cigarette.” he states, still clearly trying to shake the Joel from his voice. He follows behind you, back to the open field where everyone is gathered.

Your hands are visibly shaking, so you hold them behind your back to hide them from the crowd. Beads of sweat start to prickle the back of your neck, the reality of what just happened hitting you like a ton of bricks.

You feel a strong hand rest on the small of your back and you jump. Hard.

“You ok?” a deep whisper floats toward your ear.

Why does he always have to be so fucking thoughtful?

“Never better!” you blurt, flashing a toothy, gaudy smile.

You’re a good liar, but not that good.

The two of you immerse yourselves in the swarm, pulled in different directions by little clusters of people that demand your presence. You desperately fight the urge to look back at him, but accept that the further you are from him right now, the better.

. . . . .

“And that's a wrap everybody!” Craig shouts towards the crowd of people behind him.

Cheers erupt, the crew hugging and high-fiving each other, little sounds of glee coming from every which way. In the distance, you see Pedro pull Bella in for a tight squeeze, their feet hovering off the ground as he spins them around in a circle. Arms and bodies push tightly against you as you get eaten alive by a clumsy group hug.

“I love you guys so much,” escapes you as you’re squeezed harder and harder, struggling to manage a full inhale. You’re going to miss this, miss them, so much. You can’t believe how fast these months flew by.

The group slowly starts migrating towards the trailers scattered in the faraway field. You hear chatter about dinner plans, possible parties, future projects and people excited to go home to their families and pets.

“Are you excited to go home?” The girl next to you inquires, her hand gripping yours fiercely.

“I mean, I miss my bed. And my bathtub. And kitchen. But honestly, I’m more sad to leave than anything else.”

It’s true, you miss your shitty little apartment. The AC doesn’t work half the time, the sink drains painfully slowly, and you swear you’ve heard scratching on the walls in your sleep. Staying in the pristine room you were put up in these past months has been far more luxurious than what you're used to, but it isn’t yours. You miss your posters, your record player, your stuffed animals, though you brought your most precious one with you to Canada. Just the thought of cozying up on your creaky mattress makes you feel warm inside, dissipating some of the discomfort you feel knowing this experience is over.

You sneak quietly into Pedro’s trailer and begin packing up your things. You snap a quick picture of your station, your hand in the frame making the heart symbol with your fingers that the kpop stars do.

The door creak open and you swing your head around to find Pedro standing in the doorway, hair tousled by the wind.

“Hey you!” he inches closer to you, opening his arms for a hug.

You throw your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes so you can rest your head on his shoulder. His arms find their way to your lower back, bunching the fabric of you shirt as he squeezes you tight.

“I’m so proud of you,” you gush, your hands unclasping from behind him and sliding off of his shoulders. “You were, you are, amazing. I can’t wait to see the final product.”

He reaches for your hand and gives it a little squeeze.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, you know. My hair could never be this gray without your magic.”

“Give it a few years,” you tease. “Next season you won’t need me at all.”

He lets out that laugh, the bellowing boom filling the space with its warmth and magic. Nothing butters you up more than that sound, a smile stretching across your face to make way for your giggles.

“So... a couple of us are going out for dinner and drinks after this, and you’re coming,” he orders, grabbing his shirt from the pile of folded clothes in the empty swiveling chair.

He begins to unbutton his flannel to reveal a white undershirt, slightly damp and sticking to his skin. Despite your straining efforts, your gaze follows his hands as they move lower… and lower… and lower…

“Whaddya' say?” he breaks your trance with the question.

Your vision goes fuzzy trying to focus solely on his face as he removes the shirt entirely.

His arms.

“U-uh, y-yeah. Sure. Yes. Where?” you stumble.

“I’m not exactly sure yet, but I’ll call you when I find out. We might be going out after, so I’m going to try to dress nice. You can if you want, too, but no pressure.”

He pulls his black t-shirt over his head, messing up his hair in the process.

You instinctively reach up to fix the bird’s nest he just created, running your fingers through to calm the frizz.

“God, what am I gonna do without you, Plum?” he grins sweetly, a soft chuckle wisping past his rosy lips.

Your stomach flutters as you press the pads of your toes into your shoes. Anything to keep you grounded.

“I have no idea. You’re pretty hopeless when it comes to that hair of yours,” you jab, using the palm of your hands to pat down the remaining flyaway curls.

He reaches a hand up to try and wrestle with your hair. You quickly duck, avoiding his touch.

“Hey! Never touch the hair man! You know better!”

As much as you'd love to feel his fingers raked through your hair, you’d be damned if he ruined your fresh blowout.

“But it’s too perfect, it’s begging to be messed with.”

He tries for it again but you manage another successful dodge.

“Enough! I’m outta' here!” you sass, grabbing your bags and head towards the door. “See you later?”

You pause in the doorway, looking back at him.

“See you later,” he winks.

. . . . .

You’re sitting at the far right end of the table, wedged in the corner awkwardly with your ankles crossed under your chair. Most of the actors are sat by each other, so it felt natural to join the crew on the other side. Only one other hairstylists showed, you aren't entirely sure what happened to everyone else, but you heard they would meet up with your group later on. Fingers crossed.

The black dress you chose for the evening tightly hugs your curves, flaring at the thigh and hemmed just above the knee. You’re wearing a sensible two-inch heel and some Dr. Scholls inserts, with the hope that there will be dancing and booze in the later hours of the evening. You stand out from the rest of the group, a bit overdressed compared to the others, except for Pedro.

He’s wearing a black button down, two buttons on the top undone, and a pair of pleated green slacks that cling to his figure in all the right places. His belt is sizable but not gaudy, and a gold band is fitted perfectly to his right ring finger.

Despite your desperate efforts not to, you've repeatedly gazed across the table to him, your prolonged gawking completely overriding your willpower.

His hands, god his hands, the veins prominent as he uses his knife to carefully cut into his steak. You know his grip is strong, you’ve been subject to many an affectionate hand squeeze. The thought of him running his thick fingers through your hair makes you white-knuckle your silverware.

The scrape of your knife jerks you back to reality, and you quickly join the conversation happening to your right. One of the guys tells an animated story about an ex-boyfriend that leaves the rest of you erupting in laughter.

Through your lingering giggles, you instinctively find yourself turning your head to sneak a glance at the handsome man across from you.

Only this time, you meet his gaze.

He’s not exactly smiling with his lips, but his eyes are, soft and crinkled along the outer corners. Your chest starts to flutter, but in the same instant, you feel the tension in your body melt, as he continues to stare back at you with a remarkable gentleness. A grin slowly takes over his face, his teeth catching the low lighting of the restaurant, and like a puppet, your lips mimic his.

“Pedro?” Bella questions in a whisper, lightly tapping his shoulder. “Merle is trying to get your attention.”

You jerk your head the other way, so violently that you know you’ll feel it tomorrow.

You can barely hear the conversation across the table, your burning desire to know if anyone witnessed the interaction impossible to soothe. You try to immerse yourself back into your group when a slight wave of dizziness washes over you, so you choose instead listen quietly, fidgeting with your phone in your hand.

A few minutes later, you feel a quick buzz against your palm, a notification from Pedro appearing on your screen. He’s never texted you before, always insistent on just calling you instead. You tuck your hands under the table as inconspicuously as you can.

P: We r going to a club after this. Want 2 come?

Of course he texts like that.

You hold in a chuckle and glance towards him. He smiles, throwing two thumbs up eagerly with a wiggle of his brow, clearly urging you to say yes.

You: I thought you didn’t like to text?

P: Didn’t want to yell across the table. Come party?

He attaches a bitmoji, an animation of him with a confetti cannon. Your eyes roll on instinct as you stifle your laughter.

You: I’ll come, but only if you take a shot with me.

He replies with a thumbs up.

. . . . .

After dinner, a celebratory cake, and a sea of hugs, approximately half of the group you started with hikes down a few blocks to a small, underground club. Pedro is a few feet behind you, out of your sightline as you hold hands with two of your favorite coworkers. The three of you try to skip in unison but fail miserably, the rhythm of your legs too disjointed to end with you all staying upright.

The bouncer lets you in one by one as you make your way down the steep metal stairs and into the bustling room. The lighting is mostly purple and blue, spotlights swirling around the shadowy, dancing bodies in the center. You mosey over to the bar and within a few seconds, Pedro slides in right beside you.

“What’s your shot of choice?” you shout over the blaring music.

He leans in, brushing your hair to the side so he can speak directly into your ear.

“You choose. I’m not picky.”

His breath tickles the skin on your neck, sending goosebumps down your spine with an inaudible gasp. Your focus flickers, thoughts of his mouth tasting your skin, mustache grazing as he trails lower... and lower...

No.

You snap out of it as you greet the bartender.

“Can we get four shots of Patrón?”

“Hey, you said one shot.” Pedro whines.

“You drink however much you want,” you place a hand on his chest, the atmosphere of the club creating a placebo effect of tipsiness. “I’ll drink whatever’s left.”

The bartender pours the tequila haphazardly into the shot glasses, already fixed with lime wedges, and slides them over to you.

“OK, grab one and lock arms with me.” you shout.

He obeys, linking his left arm with your right.

“Now, cheers me. Don’t break eye contact or it’s 10 years of bad sex,” you exclaim through a hearty grin.

“Can’t risk that,” he winks.

God, you want him.

Your glasses clink and you throw the shots back with your arms still snaked around each other. The smooth burn coats your throat as it settles in your stomach. You pull away, biting into the lime wedge asa you place your glass down gently on the countertop.

His skin is glimmering in this light, the purple and blue dancing along the dew decorating his hairline. The curve of his nose is especially highlighted by the beams, resembling that of a ancient sculpture.

“Another?” you grab the remaining two glasses and hold one up to him inquisitively.

“Not yet. Later, or I’ll pay for it in the morning.”

You hold both glasses up to your open mouth and pour, the sting burning all the way down your esophagus and warming your tummy. You leave the limes untouched.

“More for me,” you smile.

A hand grabs you by the waist and tugs at your dress.

“You have to dance with me to this song!” one of your friends from the makeup team shouts in your ear, much louder than she needs to.

Pedro grabs the shot glasses out of your hands, mouthing his words with a smile.

"Go."

You try to wave as you’re being dragged in the direction of the dance floor. The crowd swallows you entirely and he disappears from your eyesight.

“Everytime We Touch” by Cascada is booming through the subwoofers and rippling the floor. The bass flows through you and somehow intensifies the heat spreading in your midsection. You start to move your body to the beat, flipping your hair to one side and running your fingers through it. You close your eyes and let the music turn you into a vessel of rhythm.

. . . . .

You’re drunk. About thirty minutes ago, a few friends bought more shots, clumsily pouring them in your mouth as you continued dancing. It’s only been an hour and a half, and you’re already five shots deep.

Your inhibition is nowhere to be found.

As you’re twirling and bouncing around the dance floor, the crowd cracks open slightly, allowing you a slivered view of the bar. Pedro is there, leaning against the counter and watching you intently. He waves diffidently when your eyes meet his.

“Be right back,” you turn, shouting to the group, squeezing the hand of the girl nearest to you.

You manage to escape the sea of bodies relatively unscathed, although you're certain your hair is absolutely fucked. You plop down carelessly on the barstool next to Pedro, raking your fingers through your mane to hopefully tame whatever the hell is going on up there.

Pedro turns to the bartender.

“Can we get some water over here?” He motions towards you with his thumb.

The bartender slides a water bottle down the bar and Pedro catches it impressively.

“God, you read my mind.” you manage, still a bit breathless.

“Who said this is for you?”

He opens the bottle, his massive hand flexing, a thick vein prominent on the top. Your eyes wander to his tattoo, barely visible in the violet light. You're transfixed for a moment, your head crooking slightly to try and study it more closely, the dizziness that tequila inevitably sparks beginning to set in.

He chuckles at your ogling, handing over the water with a cracked-open lid.

“You were staring at me,” you blurt, any semblance of a conscience you once had completely dissolved by the amount of alcohol in your bloodstream. “I saw you.”

His eyebrow cocks.

“I could say the same thing about you at dinner earlier."

Your stomach drops at the confession, but for some reason causes you to burst with unbridled laughter.

He giggles along with you, his shoulders bouncing as his dimple slowly appears.

“You’re just really fun to watch out there. You dance very freely. And your dress-”

“What about my dress?” you jut, cutting him off with a drunken, flirty shove on the shoulder.

“It looks really nice on you. Fits you... just right.”

He doesn’t break eye contact as he says it, his voice gentle and tinged with desire. You can feel your heartbeat in your fingertips as your ears color in red. You can sense the wide, awestruck grin plastered across your lips, too inebriated to do anything about it. Your eyes soften as you melt into the moment, Pedro looking down at you with gaze that can only be described as one of pure admiration.

He reaches up a hand and smoothes down your flyaway hairs.

“I’m helping, I promise.”

You lock your eyes on a spot on a stain in the wood floor, suddenly overcome with a giddy shyness.

“Well, you… you look pretty spiffy yourself. I like your…”

Don’t say chest. Don’t say chest.

“... shirt… buttons.”

Shirt buttons?

He booms with laughter, hard enough that he doubles over, placing a hand on your thigh to keep from toppling over completely.

You throb at the touch, the core of it pulsing between your legs.

“I’ll have to wear this one more often,” he teases, his hand unmoving.

With every second that passes, the sensation of his palm pressing into your skin starts to burn, the throb morphing into a panging need under your skirt. You bite your lip hard, bearing through the searing ache.

You have to get out of here before you do something you’ll regret.

“I-I’m gonna go dance again. You wanna come?” you spring from the barstool. holding out a hand, beckoning him to follow you into the mass of sweaty bodies behind you.

“I’ll watch, you go. Have fun.” he smiles, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You turn away with a stifled grin, his words echoing in your head as the crowd swallows you whole.

. . . . .

chapter four

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #plus size reader #the last of us #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

136 notes · View notes

ultralightpoe · 4 months

Text

Final Girl Part 3 -Eddie Munson

Authors Note: I wrote this awhile back, clearing out my drafts. Hope you enjoy !

Word Count:4822

Warnings: stabbing, hints of smut but not really.

Part One Here...... Part Two Here

(Thank you for the gif @feodor-dostoevsky)

Enjoy!

There was nothing ‘cool’ or ‘awesome’ about the movie Slashed anymore.

In fact as Eddie Munson sat between Dustin and Lucas while the film played on the tv before them he could barely stop the anger that coursed under his veins at every turn. That was you. This entire time his crush on the actress that played k/y/n had been a knockoff version of you.

He watches with his jaw clenched so hard his teeth begin to ache as the main character screams while the masked killer begins fighting to open the car door. The actress crawls along the console to get to the other window, and this part she rolls the window down but only half way so she could climb out. Her panties flash and the killer sinks his knife into the meat of her thighs.

Eddie’s mind flares, the memory of the scar on your leg the day he brought you dinner, right fucking there. It had looked like a knife had slashed its way down your thigh and the scar itself was still brash against your skin. Bumpy and noticeable. And though he never thought anything bad of it before right now he hated the scar. He hated how you managed to get it and he hated that this movie would make a mockery out of you. Would make a mockery out of his girl.

“What a bimbo!” Mike laughs out, shaking his head. “Open the door and run. Jesus this girl is stupid.”

“Do you think the real girl was stupid enough to do-“ Will starts before Eddie snaps out “Shut. Up.”

Steve, who was normally the first to tell one of them shut up in any given situation, looks over at Eddie with wide eyes and a shocked look. He mouths a “you okay?” and Eddie chooses to act like he hadn’t seen it because the truth was he wasn’t okay and everyone in this room knew something was off.

He had tried calling you numerous times, and had even stopped by your dorm more times than he could count. Desperate to see you, desperate to explain the shirt and explain that he had no idea what was going on.

It didn’t take much to figure out what you had scrambled together that night. Everyone was talking about you, talking about the final girl on campus and dashing to get a picture and he had shown up wearing a shirt that had that stupid fucking mask on it and- Jesus just thinking about it had his heart lurching through his throat as he rubbed at his face aggressively. He hadn’t gotten much sleep since.

Your roommate had explained that under the circumstances the school allowed you take finals early and head home for winter break, and Eddie was absolutely disgusted to realize that this was the first time he had ever seen a dash of excitement on your roommates face regarding you. Of course she would be the one to hate you until you because a popular name. What a bit-

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” The lead actor in the movie wails out in pain, now fully unmasked and holding his side from where the actress had managed to stab him.

All he could see was you, you covered in blood with tears streaming down your face. You limping from the injury on your leg as you circled around getting ready for the killers next attack.

All he could see was you.

He wanted to make it all go away, to be there and protect you from everything. Kiss away all the pain and hold you close enough that your bodies might as well morph together. He wanted you, and after weeks of not being near you he found that he couldn’t breathe or think straight.

It was like someone had cut off his oxygen the second you dashed away from him.

The main actor playing Billy begins taunting the actress- you- and laughing. Laughing on her pain and how he has used her just mere hours before and Eddie thinks he’s going to throw up. Heat flashes through him as a tight pain sears through his chest while he fights back the urge to puke, his hands raveling into tight fists.

He used you. He used his girl.

He had taken something from you that you would never get back and made it into a weapon. Blind rage fills his body as he gets up, angrily slamming the dial and turning the tv off before moving to the kitchen and beginning to angrily clean up everything they had used tonight.

His body sings as he slams the pots and pans from dinner into the sink, each bang giving him a little sense of pleasure. The spoons follow next and more and more until he can finally start scrubbing them clean. Scrubbing inch by inch, getting every spec of something off the dishes as someone makes an appearance in the kitchen.

He expects it to be Steve or Dustin, coming in to make some annoying remark on his attitude, so he chooses to stare at the fake tile the apartment manager had put up for his uncle when he was moved in. He stares and stares and stares, seeing the light from the kitchen flash from it.

“Munson.” Eddie is shocked to hear a female voice, strong and i breaking rather than the voice of his 2 dumbass friends, whipping around to face none other than Nancy Wheeler.

Eddie had been a little shocked when he saw her the first time tonight, because Nancy Wheeler looked different. From what Eddie could understand from her letters she had dropped both Steve and Jonathan and chose to move to college and build a better future and it showed. Her hair was perfectly done, she dressed in flattering outfits that fit her well and she stood a little taller. No more will they won’t they bullshit and Nancy was growing into the smartest person Eddie knew. She always had been but he would never admit that to her.

“Wheeler.” He sighs back, casting his eyes back to the dishes before him. He didn’t want to talk about this, didn’t even know how he could explain any of it to her.

“You know I love your letters, I’m glad you still write with me.” She smiles, moving closer. “But something has been off about your past letters.”

“Oh yeah? You finally realize I’m illiterate?”

“Close, but I’ve always known that.” She teases which forces a small smile on Eddie’s face as well. “You just seemed…. Happier. I was always worried about you in the beginning because of what you went through and your letters, although you tried to make it sound like you were having fun, you just seemed miserable. But then it changed, and you started writing about the pretty girl from your English class and the next thing I knew it was like your letters lit up.”

His mouth goes dry, and he can’t pull himself together long enough to look at her. “I didn’t know you could tell.”

“I knew you didn’t want me to know.”

“What about it?” He finally asks.

She doesn’t say anything for a minute, and he finally looks up at her to see that she’s pulling a newspaper from behind her back and setting it on the counter quickly. “I know the editor for your colleges newsletters.”

There you were. After weeks of not seeing your face he feels the breath of fresh air, his lungs expanding as he snatches the paper to pull the photo of you smiling a little closer to him. Just like that he felt like he was in your dorm again, laying with you while you both laughed at something. Your roommate, or maybe your teachers accent, maybe the jock that works at your shared pizza spot and never seems to know what to say.

It takes him a moment to drag his eyes away from the photo and read along the lines printed, seeing how they found out made his jaw clench one more time. An “anonymous source” recognized you from the newspaper and had to tell the world. Then the source explains that he also recognized that you were on a date with the ‘Metalhead that can never brush his hair’. Low blow.

“You recognized me because the metal head comment?”

“I recognized the girl you described. The metalhead comment just cemented my belief.”

“What about it?”

“Well I’m using my power of deduction to assume that something happened and you’re mad about the movie-“ A deep sigh falls from his lips before he nods and moves to face her fully.

He explains what happened and Nancy is a great listener, and once he is done she merely nods before a smile breaks out across her face. “This is so perfect for you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean with everything that we went through and everything that you specifically went through we never find people that can handle our trauma-“

“Therapist Nancy is in the building.”

“And this is a beautiful person that, although she doesn’t understand our trauma, understands trauma on her own and-“ She takes a deep breath in before looking at him with such excitement it made his stomach ache. “You just seem so much better, you seem happier. I haven’t seen you rub your side once.”

His heart stops, ringed hand rushing up to rub his side, rubbing slow soft circles as he did so. She was right, since Eddie had been thinking about you so much he hadn’t had time to think about his side. Now that she’s mentioned it he can feel the full ache there, pulsing under his skin like another heartbeat.

“I just don’t know how to explain it. You know? To make her believe me.”

“You’ve been collecting outcasts and misfits for as long as I can remember. You have the weirdest way of making the most shut down people I know break out of their shell. You will be just fine.” She smiles, leaning forward to kiss his cheek before heading back out to where the rest of the group had chosen to hide out and let him finish the dishes in silence.

By the time he makes it back out to sit with them they are watching a comedy movie Steve had chosen, and Dustin is staring at Eddie with a highly confused look. But Eddie just attempts a smile at him, staring at the screen to ignore the rest of the world.

The rest of the break was spent catching up with Wayne and helping his uncle out with anything he needed, and when Eddie told him he would be going back a week early Wayne made sure he had everything he needed and the two parted ways with a tight hug before Eddie began his trip back.

But there was one stop he had to make first, and his chest was tight just at the thought of it.

He had one newspaper clipping, back from when he himself had been in the hospital, he had found it in a book Wayne had been reading then. It was folded up and used as a bookmark, half the words ineligible from the time used but he could still make out the town he needed from it.

So he packed it all up, got directions and drove to find you.

You had always told him stories about the town you grew up in, but he had never connected the dots, now as he drove past the welcoming signs it finally settled in. The diner your parents always took you to was right there. The school you went to was 3 blocks away. The cabin that changed your life, as he understood it, was an hour just into the woods.

This was your town.

His chest ached for Hawkins, a town he hadn’t seen in years since they moved him and his uncle away. Even spending winter break with his friends meant they had to go to a new town so no one would spot him.

He had hated Hawkins, but that was his home.

He stops at a red light, skin itching with excitement at the possibility of seeing you. Even if you turned him away he would be able to spot you for just a second. That would make him feel better.

A honk pulls his attention, making him defensive as he sits up, looking to see where it came from and finding quite the angry scene unfolding before him. A pedestrian had been walking and a car had honked, the two now sat cursing eachother out. Eddie watched, stuck due to the light, and turned his music down to concentrate more as he watched one of them slam his hand on the hood of the car in anger. There was something utterly familiar about him, one that he just couldn’t put his finger on.

Before he think about it too much the light turned green and he drove off, casting one last look on their direction before he pulled over and asked for directions to your place.

For a town known for a murder spree peopke seemed just fine handing out personal information and Eddie tried not to get too irritated or protective at that fact. Instead he drove slowly, trying to remember if the older gentleman had said red brick or 2 houses down from the red brick.

He got his answer when he made it to the street, seeing a news van outside the red brick house as someone filmed in front of it. He parked, hopping out of his car and heading up, keeping his face turned away from the news caster as he knocked on the door softly.

There was no answer and Eddie was beginning to believe his plan was useless and stupid. What are the chances that you are home right now? And what are the chances you would answer the door to him?

He knocks a second time anyways, heat traveling his skin in embarrassment at this whole idea when suddenly the door opens. It’s the smallest amount, but he recognizes your eyes immediately. They seem to narrow in on him and he finds himself holding his hands out in a surrender motion with a small smile. “I was hoping to explain myself.”

“I don’t want to deal with some crazy stalker-“ you snap out, moving to close the door quickly before his hand is being shoved between so you can’t. It hits him and he gasps out in pain which makes you remove the pressure with a gasp of your own. “Are you crazy?! I could have broken your hand!”

“I’m not a crazy stalker, I had no clue. Please just give me a moment to explain.” He sighs, “it’s not what it seems.”

You both seem to have caught the news anchors attention, risking a side glance to where she is now standing and blinking slowly at you both. He stares back, giving her his best mean mug before he feels your hand snatch the front of his leather jacket and drag him in quickly.

He trips over his own feet, reaching a hand up to grab your arm to stablize himself as you glare and shut the door.

“I don’t recommend getting into with her, she will blast your ass across the news networks.”

“The government would make her take it all down. I’m not really worried.” It’s meant to be a joke, something to ease the tension as you rubs soft circles on your arm, but you merely glare at him and he knows you didn’t get it. But his main concern is the bags under your tear stained eyes. “Have you been crying? When’s the last time you slept?”

His hands fly to cradle your chin, rubbing soft circles on the skin, his rings glinting in the light of your living room. You seem to melt into his touch and he finds himself truly happy at the thought, moving closer to you.

“I should be the one asking you that.” You snap, staring at his own bags. “You look like hell.”

“I haven’t been sleeping. I’ve been caught up thinking about you and-“

“I know you didn’t know.” You blurt , cutting him off. “I know it, and part of me knew it then but I was panicked and embarrassed and I can’t believe I hit you. I….. oh my god I hit you in front of everyone and you-“

“I’m not mad. It’s not the first time I’ve been hit and I enjoyed the sting. Warmed my cheek up a little.” He teases and you shake your head.

“Eddie. No. That wasn’t okay and I can’t believe I did that. You gotta know that I’m bad news, okay? You’re better off without me.” You rush out, head snapping a bit when you hear the news reporter speaking closer than she was before. He watches as you rush to lock the door before coming back to him and holding out a hand for him to grab, he takes it quickly and lets you lead him up the stairs. He can’t decide between staring at you and your beauty or admiring the house you grew up in. You decide for him when you lead him into a room and shut the door.

“Sorry. They have the habit to peer through windows.” You explain, blushing bad as he scoffs.

“They really do that? Fucking lunatics.”

“Everyone wants to know the girl that-“ you cut yourself off, shaking your head. “You probably have questions. Ask away, ask anything. I owe you that.”

His chest tightens painfully and his jaw clenches at your words, choosing to look around your room because he was too afraid to look you in the eyes. This entire room felt wrong, it didn’t feel like you….. well maybe a past version of yourself. One he hadn’t met, still happy and innocent in the world. Like your past had been frozen in place.

He had his own version of this, his own room would have been stuck in the past if the police hadn’t snatched everything of his since it was a crime scene.

“You don’t owe me anything.” He bites out. “Ever. I want you to open up to me when you’re ready, not because you feel guilty for something. If you’re in danger, on the other hand, then yes you need to tell me.”

Still refusing to look at you as he runs his fingers over all your garments in the closet before walking by your desk and doing the same there. Humming a little when he sees a picture of you cheek to cheek with a cheerleader, both of you smiling ear to ear.

“Mila.”

“Maya, actually.” You sigh. “Her name was Maya.”

Nodding slowly, his stomach clenching in pain at your time as he turns to sit on your bed, finally facing you.

“I have many many questions. But you do not owe me answers.”

“I want to answer them.” You smile slightly, walking forward ever so slowly. “Not because I owe you, I want a clean slate with you. You know all my secrets and I get to be myself.”

His hands reach out to grab your hips, pulling you softly into his hold as he peers up at you with his heart hammering through his chest. You peer down at him, obviously a little worried and he wants nothing more than to wipe that look off your face.

“How about I go first?” He whispers, relieved when he sees the worry replace itself with confusion. Smiling from ear to ear as he slowly slides the leather jacket off before reaching down to pull his hellfire shirt over his head. His scars pull a bit as he reaches to do so, and the second the fabric is off him he watches your face intently, looking for any shred of disgust.

He finds none, only a look of devastation as you reach slowly to rub your thumb along one. “Fire?”

“No. Bats.” He smiles.

“Bats?!”

“Bats.”

“Bats?”

“Yup..”

“Like the Halloween version of birds?”

“Weird way to describe them but I’ll allow it.” He scoffs, watching as you let your thumb follow the ridge of it. He doesn’t want to think about how soft your skin feels, or how gentle your being.

“How do you get attacked by bats, plural and not just one?” You whisper, allowing him to reach up and pull you in by your hips until both your thighs were on either side of his, allowing you to straddle him.

“It’s a long story. One that I really don’t think you’ll believe but I brought proof.” He mumbles, nose nudging your jaw. “And I’m hoping you’ll believe me.”

The proof, which had been the tooth of a demobat, you had gotten freaked out and demanded he put it away which had made him laugh and shove it back in the pocket of his jeans. You spent the next hour asking him question after question, taking 5 minute breaks to kiss along his face whenever you thought his answer was painful.

Finally it went back to you, and as much as he loved sharing the secret with you, Eddie found himself grateful that the pressure was off of him. He hated talking about it all.

But now you were explaining your side of things, and he found that he truly didn’t feel much better as you went through the events of the night.

You explained that you hadn’t slept with him that night but you had in the past, explaining how you had separated from Maya and the rest of the party because Billy had pulled you away to argue about your relationship.

While you had been arguing with Billy his friend Stu had been killing people downstairs, your friends Maya and Paul included.

He listened closely as you described seeing the mask for the first time and the terrifying dash for your life you had made, jumping off the roof to avoid him. How you tried the van to see if you could drive away, but another figure had found you and you were doing your best to escape over the console when he slashed your thigh but you still managed to get out of the car through the door. The final fight with them where you received the scar along your arm and your abdomen. You described finding Randy in the bushes as you waited outside man’s held onto his stab wound until the police arrived. At that point in the night you had been fully covered in blood, yours and your friends and the killers. The police had mistaken you and put you in handcuffs first while the paramedics were trying to rush you to the hospital. They only released you once they got Kelvins and Randy’s story.

“I thought there had been four survivors?”

“There was five of you include Gale and Dewey. She was a news anchor and he was the deputy of the time.”

“And Kelvin was the one that sold the story? Wasn’t he dating Maya?”

“Yes to both.”

“Does that make you mad?” He whispers, tensing a bit when you begin caressing his side once more, letting your finger feel his scar like you were amazed by it. He fights the urge to bring a hand up and cover it, embarrassment clinging to him like dust to wet paint.

“I try to think about it from his point of view…..” you start, your voice nothing but a whisper as your nose nearly touches his. From right here he can smell the your perfume perfectly, his thighs tensing as he feels his jeans tighten. “And then I always relent to anger, because he’s never tried to see it from my point of view and I’m the one that saved him.”

Your finger slides from his scar up to his chest, rubbing at the collarbone there. “Do you ever get mad about it all?”

“All the time. I think anger is the only thing that keeps me going sometimes” he admits, loving the way excitement sparks in your eyes.

“You don’t think I’m a bad person for wanting to crack Kelvins nose in?”

“Baby, I want to and I’m not even involved,” he laughs and before he knows it you are dragging him in for a heavy kiss, your hands woven in his hair as he moans a little into your mouth.

“I want you.” You breathe out when you break from the kiss, moving off him a little to give him room to crawl back as you push him back slightly.

He does what you want, smiling up at you as you tear off your shirt.

“You sure?”

“Never been more sure about anything.”

“This is so stupid.” Savannah Stevens snaps, slamming her car door and moving to the trunk to snatch the overpacked suitcase she took home for winter break.

Arriving back to school a week early was absolutely dreadful, and not something she ever planned on doing. None of the other girls would be coming back until Friday which meant it would just be her and the freaky girl Lindsay who barely ever spoke. To nervous to make eye contact but her mom was a pledge so she got an easy way in.

Savannah would be enjoying a nice hot dinner with her family right about now if her teacher hadn’t emailed her about a missing project that was worth 70 percent of her grade that semester. So she was forced to drive back to school and get it in before the new semester started. How lame.

There was a million other things she’d rather be doing right now, and as she struggled to find the key to the sorority house she chose to try and forget about them.

Frustration knaws at her as she cannot find the key, twisting the handle in a lame attempt to open it but shocked to find that it slides open easily. “Wow Lindsay.”

Nevermind people breaking in, Lindsay would just let them walk in, but the anger disappears when the warmth of the building engulfs her and she sighs in relief, stripping the jacket off and throwing it on the chair beside the door telling herself she would pick it up soon.

“LINDSAY?!” She calls, looking around at all the lights that had been turned on in the home. Brittany was going to lose her shit at the electric bill. “LINDSAY!”

When she gets no answer she rolls her eyes, turning to lock the door before walking through and turning the lights off as she made her way to the room.

Just as her hand hits the handle there is a shrill ring that breaks through the house, making her jump and turn to where one of the many landlines sat. “Swear to god if that’s Amy’s weird boyfriend….”

She picks it up anyways, sighing out as she answers “Hello?”

“Hello….”

“Yes. Hello. How can I help you?”

“I was looking for someone.” The voice drawls out, slow and saccharine. “Think you might be able to help me?”

“Who are you looking for?”

“Well that depends… do you think-“

“If you’re calling for your girlfriend she’s not here.” Savannah snaps, shaking her head. “Leave a name and I’ll write your message down.”

“It’s Paul….”

“Okay Paul,” she sighs. “Wait…. Like? Paul from English class? This is Savannah!”

“You mean the cheerleader that sits in the front row?”

“Yes, oh my god hi. I was actually scared for a second?” she laughs, hand falling on her chest as she breathed out. “Who are you calling for?”

“You,”

“Oh haha.” She giggles. “You calling for Lindsay?”

“I’m calling for you.” The voice says, more serious. “Think you have a moment to talk? Or should you go and close the front door?”

“What do you me-“ she begins to ask, walking to the staircase and stopping short when she sees the door that she locked wide open.

“What the fuck- how did- where the fuck are you Paul?” She snaps, instantly on edge as she whirls around to check around her. “This isn’t fucking funny.”

“What’s not funny about it?”

“You think this is a fucking joke?! Huh?! I’ll tell Munson, and L/N. Yeah I’m their friend so why don’t you back the fuck off you freak!”

“Munson huh? And just who is this Munson?”

“You need to BACK OFF!” She screams, dashing back down the hallway and looking for a spot to hide. “I’ll call the police and-“

Then he was there, in front of her, peering down at her through the mask. A loud scream tears it’s way out of her mouth as the assailant grabs her, plunging his knife deep into her abdomen.

“I asked what was so funny?”

(Yeahhhhhh. Who do you think is the new ghostface? Scream 2 babiessssss. Once again I wrote this series awhile ago and just never published it.)

(Scream will not be the same without Melissa and Jenna, I will no longer be watching and as much as I love the series I urge anyone to stop streaming it for the time being.)

TAGLIST:: (Tell me if you want removed <3)

@cryingglightningg @maxstecc @hookergutss @sunshinepeachx @random000000sblog @fried-peaches00

#eddie munson imagine #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fanart #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things fan #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanart #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader

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showf4lls · 2 years

Note

Saw your post asking for ted requests SO HERE IT IS!

prompt: head canons for: making up after an argument. like post-angst fluff, how would they apologise, makeup to the reader, etc.

( if you could do the full chuckle sandwich boys+ wilbur, that would be pretty cool. And if not, still cool)

― the come down; various

cw + info! angst, hurt/comfort?, fluff [not really but i tried], minifics / implied fighting, the boys are a little insensitive sorry

includes! ted nivison + charlie slimecicle + jschlatt + wilbur soot

notes! sorry, this turned out a little more angsty than i intended, but i hope you enjoy! it’s more hurt/comfort than fluff, my bad homies :/. i’ve also decided that i’m writing these minifics and then i’m putting out fluffier headcanons to go along with this because i don’t feel like these fill the actual request :> also when you fight with your partner, you should probably sit down and talk about it, not just say sorry and move on, i just didn’t know how to write that conversation so my bad y’all

TED NIVISON

it’s like dropping a nuke; the big bang before the smoke clears, and then, silence. you can’t bring yourself to look at him, lips curved downwards and eyes watery. and he watches with careful, wide eyes, mouth hanging open on his words. then you make to leave the room, quietly maneuvering around him. he turns to you, making to set a hand on your shoulder, warm the icy facade he’d been responsible for creating, but you dodge, stepping just out of reach. “ted, please,” you hiss, voice quivering. barely holding it together.

and ted's hand falls back to his side. head drops, and he gives a single, understanding nod. without another word, you hole up in the guest bathroom, face buried in your sleeve.

ted waits. knows it’s important that you both have your space. to process, to cool off, to come down. he gives you time despite the magnetic pull behind his sternum. sits with his head in his hands as his mind lingers on how hurt you looked. how that had been because of him.

after a while, he moves to sit outside the bathroom door, legs folded against his chest, listening. making sure you’re not hurting too bad. and he waits. waits until he’s sure you’re ready.

he stands. quells the shaking in his fingers by curling them into a loose fist. raps them against the door so softly he hadn’t been entirely sure you would hear him - i mean, he didn’t want to scare you after all, you had every right to be upset with him after what he’d said-

and the door falls open to reveal you. teary eyes, hair messy from combing through it, cheeks red. and he wants to cry all over again. “god, y/n, i’m so sorry.”

your laugh sounds awfully close to a sob, but the wobbly smile you give settles him. “ted-”

“can i please just hug you?” he breathes. “hold you? just for a little bit.”

you stand for a moment, just watching him, before nodding your confirmation. “yeah,” you mumble, opening your arms.

ted scoops you up. squeezes you against his chest, peppers kisses over your head. “i’m so so sorry, i shouldn’t have said that-”

you shake your head. hum as you press your face against his heart, beating like a caged bird in his ribs. take fistfuls of his shirt in your hands and just hold him. “we were both way out of line.” you let him hum as he rubs circles into your back. “i’m sorry, too.”

both of you stand like that a while, taking a moment to just be present with one another. communicate without words how truly sorry you were and how much you love one another. ted, playing with your hair, is the first to speak. “i wanna make it up to you. i’m just so sorry.”

you pull back, frowning up at him. “i wanna make it up to you.”

“how about,” ted starts. “you go take a nice, warm shower while i get started on making dinner?”

you purse your lips, thinking. “only if we get to cuddle and have a movie night after - i know you’ve been wanting to watch that new film that came out on netflix.”

ted, raising his eyebrows, considers. “that does sound pretty nice.”

leaning up on your tiptoes, you resist the urge to giggle. “i’ll even make popcorn the way you like it,” you whisper.

“oh?” ted asks playfully.

you nod, the water eyes and the argument long forgotten. “deal?”

ted, nodding along, shakes your hand. “deal.”

CHARLIE SLIMECICLE

god he’s such an asshole. that comment was totally unwarranted, and then he’d had the audacity to laugh it off, as if it wouldn’t hurt you. now he sits on the other side of the door to your shared bedroom, listening to the love of his life cry. he’d never regretted anything so quickly.

after a good 20 minutes of silence, he opens the door. slips in quietly. he knows you’ve acknowledged him, the sound of shuffling clothes and now-muffled sniffles says as much. if his heart feels like a bruise in his chest - if it aches like this - he can’t even imagine how you feel. wordlessly, he slots himself behind you and wraps himself around you in the most i’m sorry hug he’s ever given. “is this okay right now?” he whispers, cheek against your shoulder.

and you cough out a sob behind the sleeve of your sweater and nod. relax a little where your knees are pulled to your chest in what had been an attempt to fold yourself into disappearance - into the nothing that grows in your ribs. and now charlie’s crying and you’re crying and god, does it feel good to just let him hold you. “hey,” he rasps. reaches for the hands that clutch at your knees, wraps his around your own, slots his fingers between your knuckles and squeezes. “i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t have said any of that, it wasn’t fair of me. it was completely unwarranted.”

and now he’s rambling and you can tell by the way his voice breaks that he’s hurting every bit as much as you are, that he’s really sorry and he would do anything to take it back. now he’s stumbling over his words and crying into your neck and rasping apology after apology against your skin. so you lean into him and everything slows down. i forgive you.

charlie lets out a wobbly breath. inhales deeply, pulling the trembling, wobbly parts of himself back together. focuses on his breathing, focuses on the warmth of you in his arms, focuses on the squeeze of your fingers against his. “i love you.”

you hum in return, wiping at a few final tears. “i love you,” you agree.

and you yelp when charlie rises suddenly, accidentally jostling you forward. he clambers onto the bed, pulling his shoes off while holding a hand out for you. “come here,” he mumbles, not bothering to hide his falling tears. “please, come here. i just want to hold you for a little while. if you don’t want to, that’s okay, but-”

without a word, you stand. shrug your sweater up your shoulders and lay down in the middle of the bed. you let him roll over beside you. let him scrunch you up and pull you into his chest. let him move up so you’re resting comfortably in the space below his chin. and you stay.

JSCHLATT

as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he’d crossed a line. jaw clicking shut, silence blankets you and the both of you stare at one another incredulously. a lump sits in the back of your throat, but it doesn’t do anything to stop you from leveling him with a glare. “really, jay?”

ouch, that hurt. he watches almost helplessly as you cross your arms and make to leave the room. “y/n-”

you just shake your head, not turning around as you make your way to the backyard. and sure, it’s pretty chilly, but you don’t have it in you to sit inside with him right now.

schlatt is at a loss. he doesn’t know what to do with himself now that you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’re upset with him. he doesn’t know what to say, what to think. just knows that he hurt you.

it’s hard. he wants to do something, but he doesn’t know how to do feelings. how to hold his heart in his hands for you, vulnerable and sorry. and he is sorry, he’s just not good at the communication part. never been one for wearing his heart on his sleeve - it makes him feel just a little too exposed. he loves you, but god it would kill him to put himself somewhere vulnerable and deal with it if you decided to hurt him. but you didn’t, because why would you? no, he struck first, and now he had to fix it if he ever wanted you to look at him the same.

he sits on the bedroom floor, jambo sitting across from him, thinking out loud. spends so much time working it out that the sun has fallen below the horizon by the time he stands. hesitates by the back door, wringing his hands and fidgeting, eyes fixed on your back.

you sit on the steps of the back porch, half scrunched up. crossed arms rest on the tops of your knees, a clumsy rest for your chin, as you stare up at the few stars that dot the horizon, having found peace in the moon and her companions.

schlatt’s scared of startling you. tries his best to open the sliding door as quietly as possible, but it screams on its track. he winces, but you don’t move an inch. bad sign.

ever cautious, he moves to sit beside you, legs stretching almost to the bottom of the steps. looks over to spot dried tear tracks in the dim backyard light. his heart aches.

the silence is tense, shattered when you mumble without turning to look at him. “took you long enough.”

he lets out a surprised laugh, a hot puff of air from the back of his throat, before sobering up. a beat passes before he gathers his bearings enough to speak. “look, i never should’ve said those things, alright?” you level him with a blank stare, and he continues. “it was uncalled for and fucked up of me and i’m-” his voice cracks and he pauses, giving a frustrated huff. “and i’m really sorry. i really don’t like that i said those things to you, and not just because they upset you. it... it didn’t feel right saying that. i’m sorry.”

you sigh, letting yourself fall into his side. “i know.”

schlatt yelps, one arm flying up to catch you. he laughs a little when you dodge it, opting for the softness around his ribs as opposed to his bony shoulder. he looks down at you. lets his arm rest around your shoulders as he observes you. “you know?”

you hum an affirmative, craning your neck to peer up at him. “you’ve never looked more like a kicked puppy in all the time i’ve known you.”

he rolls his eyes, suddenly bashful. “oh shut up.” and you two sit, just a few minutes, staring up at the sky. the silence is a little too fuzzy for his liking still, so he nudges you just barely. “i am sorry, you know.”

silent, your hand moves up to find his lingering somewhere near your elbow. you thread your fingers together and squeeze, just light enough for him to be sure that’s what you’re doing, to be sure that you meant to. “i’m sorry too.”

“i don’t even remember what we were fighting about, if i’m being honest.”

you laugh against his side, sniffling. “neither do i.”

another beat. another nudge.

“so... are we good?”

you laugh again. turn your head to bury your face in his side. “we’re good, jay, don’t worry.”

WILBUR SOOT

it had started as a playful debate - you hadn’t even realized when it began to spiral out of control. now you’re both sitting across from each other, red in the face and practically steaming. “are you serious?” wilbur counters, sneering. “how would you even- come on, y/n. listen to yourself.”

“hey-” your breath catches in your throat and your lip wobbles. “i was being serious, wil.”

a tense moment of silence. you cross your arms tighter to your chest, eyes focused on the table between you. suddenly you stand. “y/n-” he starts.

“i’m going on a walk!” you call over your shoulder as you approach the front door. “and you are not coming with me.”

he half-stands, chair scraping backwards. “wait, are you sure you should go out this late? the sun’s-”

the front door slams behind you, effectively shutting down whatever he was going to say. unsure, he sits back down. laces his fingers together. then suddenly moves to the window, waits to watch you make your way down the street. he’d at least make sure you made it out of the building alright. then it’s back to the table, hands clasped, to figure out how to make this right.

the minutes tick on and anxiety begins to buzz in wilbur’s veins; not only had he not apologized yet, but you haven’t returned home. he sits a moment, knee bouncing, worrying his lip as the wheels turn in his head. he stares out the window, debating internally. on one hand, he should give you space. you’d set a healthy boundary with him to have your own space while you both cool down. on the other hand, the sun had set. the sky is darkening rapidly; every second that passes is light lost, and it’s supposed to be cold tonight. with a hum, he stands. shrugs a good jacket on and holds one of your sweaters in the crook of his elbow as he leaves the flat, locking the door behind himself. he’s descending the front steps when he finds you sitting at the bottom, arms against your chest, hunched over your knees. “y/n, love, it’s cold out. you should come inside-”

“i’m fine, wil,” you insist, not facing him.

he frowns. sure, he deserves it, but he doesn’t want you to force yourself to suffer for it. without a word, he drapes your sweater over your shoulders, taking the opportunity to sit beside you. though, you don’t acknowledge him, only glare out at the streetlights. it’s silent for a moment.

then you huff, dropping your head. “maybe my opinion was stupid.”

ouch. “no, not at all, love. i promise,” wilbur assures you, leaning some weight into you from the way he leans against your side. “i- look.” he faces you, not expecting you to face him. and you don’t, but he counts the tiny shift of your body towards his as a win. “i didn’t mean what i said. your opinion is just as valid as mine, i just lost my temper and i’m really sorry for that. it won’t happen again, i just- i’m so sorry y/n. i didn’t mean for things to go that way.”

you sigh and let yourself slump against him. “it’s alright, wil,” you mumble, reaching for his hand. he meets you halfway. watches as you lace your fingers with his, as you swipe your thumb against the back of his hand. “i supposed i wasn’t much better.” he opens his mouth to protest, but you shake your head when you hear him inhale. “it’s both our faults, i think. we both took it a bit too serious.”

the lightness of your tone eased some of the tension from his shoulders. “i guess you’re right.”

you elbow him halfheartedly, energy zapped. “i know i’m right.”

he smiles fondly. “yeah, yeah.” presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “would you like to go inside now? your hands are cold.”

the corners of your lips curl, tired. you don’t move against his side. “and we can watch a movie or something?”

“course we can, love,” he mumbles against your temple. “anything you want.”

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inthepeakymidwinter · 1 year

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A Grand Distraction (Arthur Shelby x Reader) *smut*

*This story is 18+ no minors interact* Summary: Y/N leaves a party in a rush only to meet Arthur in a back room to comfort her. *cough cough emphasis on comfort* A/N: This was a weird old one I wrote and un-published just bc I felt uncomfortable at the time with writing smut but now I'm like fuck it lets gooo. Also LOWKEY I was making a hint to the newer Anna Karenina film bc i picture Count Vronsky (aaron taylor johnson) as 'Count Ostrovsky' lmfao don't judge me Word Count: 2750 TW: smut, alcohol, tight corset/hyperventilating Tags: @theshelbyclan @globetrotter28

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It was the night of the grand ball at the Russian Count Ostrovsky’s mansion. I wasn’t sure why, but the Count had taken a liking to the Peaky Blinder boys, and more so…me. It was uncomfortable for him to pine after me, but Tommy begged me to go. It was selfish for him to ask that of me, but I knew there was business to be done on his end and I didn’t want to get on his bad side. Truth be told I was frightened of the consequences, so I decided to play dress up for one night while the peaky boys did their thing. I wore a long burgundy ball gown that was so tight around my waist I could barely breathe. This was the one thing I could ask Tommy to buy for me and he didn’t complain. I told him if I was going to do his dirty work, I would have to do it properly, and well, properly I did.

I rode on the way to the mansion with none other than the mother hen of the Peaky Blinders, Polly Gray. “You know you are going to have the Count on your neck the entire time with this dress. He won’t want to leave your side” She stated bluntly. I nodded quietly and gazed out of the window of our car. I was so nervous I couldn’t speak. I didn’t want to have the Count anywhere near me let alone breathing down my neck. I only wanted Arthur Shelby. The only man who could save me from this whole thing. Arthur was tall, slim, and had a heart the size of an elephant. He was so caring and sweet to me, but I could never understand him. He wouldn’t tell me anything about himself. He’d just ask how my day was going and carry on with bartending at the Garrison. I’d get a few stares from him when I would be caught talking to his brothers, but he never did anything other than stare. It had been months, and still nothing. I was starting to doubt myself and go along with Tommy’s plan already.

Polly and I stepped into the Count’s giant ballroom. His dance floor was massive, and the servers were passing everyone champagne as they walked by. I made my way around with Polly, we both sipped our champagne and eventually parted ways before I found the Peaky Blinder boys in a corner talking amongst themselves. The first to look at me was Thomas, he tried looking back to his brothers but failed miserably as I continued to hold his gaze. John and Arthur were trying to interact with Thomas but had to track what he was looking at because he could not speak without looking in my direction. Arthur shot his gaze down my way, and I felt my cheeks heat up. His dark eyes turned colder once he remembered what I was here for, and he turned away in the blink of an eye. I felt my heart start sinking, and before I was able to do anything about it, I felt a strange finger on my shoulder. I turned around to face the young, tall, and brightly blonde Russian Count Ostrovsky. “Madam Y/N, would you like to dance?” He asked politely, kissing my hand gently. I blushed hard at the gesture, yet my heart felt pulled towards another direction.

“I would love to, but if I’m quite honest…I’m not really sure how” I spoke.

“Don’t worry” He wrapped his left arm around my waist. “We can remedy this situation in a matter of minutes…I’ve been told I’m a great dancer” He gloated.

I smiled at him and followed his steps carefully, trying hard not to step on his toes.

“Count Ostrovsky…How did you know I was here?” I asked as we danced together. His blue eyes sparkled as he held my gaze.

“I have my ways” He laughed.

In a few minutes our dance had finished, and I felt my lungs run out of air. The corset I wore had restricted me in the worst way. “I enjoyed dancing with you Count Ostrovsky” I spoke softly, purposely trying not to let him down harsh before parting ways with him. He accepted my leave with a simple yet friendly nod, and I walked off the dance floor towards the back of the room where I had seen the Peaky Blinder boys previously.

Thomas and John had run off to the dance floor, but Arthur was standing patiently in a corner by himself. I waved at him, and he gave me a small smile. I walked over slowly, sure to inhale and exhale smoothly so I didn’t pass out. “Arthur” I called him out. “I see you’re having fun” I pointed to the bottle of vodka he held in his hand. He nodded his head and took a long swig before looking my way again. On the way towards him I wobbled slightly on the back of my heel and nearly fell, but Arthur came to the rescue and held me for a moment. I looked deeply in his eyes, trying to breathe but instead Arthur came up with words for me.

“Aren’t you a grand distraction”.

I stood upright and looked around the room to keep myself from blushing. I spotted Polly talking to some young man and decided to dart over that way to spare my feelings for Arthur. I didn’t need things to go tragically wrong tonight, and Thomas told me I only had one job. Spend time with the count. I gave Arthur a soft smile before sliding my way towards Polly. She was laughing and drinking with some young prince I had seen before at another party. I tried to chat with them for a minute, but I was quickly pulled aside by Thomas. His blue eyes stared me down and I felt my stomach tighten. “Why are you not with the Count?” He asked sternly. “I-I don’t know, we were just dancing Thom-“ “Are you serious? You two are supposed to be in bed by now” He huffed.

“Are you serious? Am I just some whore to you? You know what…I quit, I’m done playing your games, Thomas” I snapped and stormed off from him.

As I ran off my corset kept tightening and I could barely breathe. I ran down a random darkened hallway and walked into what seemed like a personal library room. I hyperventilated in the quiet room, trying to figure out how to rip the dress off myself until I heard a voice from behind me.

“I see you’re all by yourself” Arthur spoke lowly, sending chills down my neck. I quickly turned around and his face fell. He saw that I was in desperate need of air.

“Arthur…I need your help but you cannot tell anyone, okay?” I asked him quietly. He nodded his head and I started to look around the room for an escape route. There was none. I looked at the door and saw there was a lock. I went behind Arthur and locked the door

“Y/N what are you-“

“Arthur I need you to get me out of this” I began trying to untie my dress but I couldn’t reach the strings of fabric in the back.

“Y/N are you sure I shouldn’t get Polly” He said sheepishly. I turned to looked him dead in the eyes and yelled at him to help me take it off. It felt like my lungs were deflating by the second and I couldn’t bear to keep the dress on any longer.

“Arthur I can’t breathe I don’t have time-“ I shouted at him. I started to hyperventilate again and instantly I felt his warm, rough hands start detangling all the tight knots. Within a few minutes Arthur had reached the corset and released me from its dreaded grasp. I let out a big breath and nearly collapsed onto the nearby chaise lounge in nothing but my silky white underclothes. “Arthur I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for you to see me like this but-“

“Y/N…you’re all I ever want to see” He let out. My mouth dropped open slightly, and I felt myself get lost in his glazed eyes.

“I thought you didn’t like me like that, Arthur“

“With a bloody face like that, how could I not like you Y/N” He slurred a little and began to lean in for a kiss. I struggled with the thought of Thomas finding out, and didn’t move at first, but Arthur kept his distance once I showed a sudden disinterest.

“Thomas could find out-“ I gulped and looked into his eyes.

“Fook him” He smirked and cupped the side of my face gently. I felt my cheeks heat up as his eyes took me in. I couldn’t stand to hold the silent yet enamored gaze. I crashed my lips against his in one quick move, a desperate attempt to taste the lips of the one and only Arthur Shelby. He reciprocated my actions and locked his lips against mine. We broke away for a moment. A chance to catch each other’s breaths and assess the moment properly. “From the first moment I saw you in that dress, I wanted to devour every inch of you” Arthur growled lowly. He got closer to me and placed love hungry kisses on the right side of my neck. I breathed him in with each kiss, he softly sucked and nibbled at certain spots sending chills down my back.

“A-Arthur” I whined.

“Tell me what you want, love” He commanded.

“You…Arthur” I mumbled as he kept kissing and sucking on my neck. His thick moustache sent me into sensory overload as it tickled and scratched me with each kiss. I didn’t know how much further we would get before we got caught but I didn’t ever want him to stop. I felt his rough hand slide against my underclothes slowly. He started at my collarbone then slid down towards my breasts. He took my right breast in his hand and gently but firmly caressed it then slid down lower towards the edge of my stomach. “Arthur” I whined. He looked at me as he slid his hand down lower, feeling the warmth between my legs radiate against his skin. It was then that he kissed me firmly again and bit my lip when our lips separated slowly. I whimpered at the thought of our kisses coming to an end if anyone realized we were gone for so long. “Arthur, someone could catch us” I worried aloud. He looked at me with furrowed brows, then sighed and kissed my nose.

“I don’t think I’d be able to stop even if someone did, Y/N” He spoke gently. I desperately craved him and his confidence. We kissed once more, and I straddled his legs as he lay on the chaise lounge. “I need you, Y/N” He grunted as I started grinding down on his thigh. I felt myself get wetter by the second and we spent the time kissing one another, slowly deepening this kiss, using our tongues slowly and playfully. Each time we touched it felt impossibly electric. A feeling that was extraordinary only because it was him. Not the count, not Thomas, not anyone else, just… Arthur.

“I wanna feel you love” He growled once more and ripped the top of my slip dress to show my breasts. I sat there in shock, but it quickly faded as soon as he reached down and started to kiss and suck on my breasts. He alternated with each one, teasing me and making my nipples hard until I moaned and squirmed in his lap. “A-Arthur please” I begged him with a thirsting need for him to please me properly.

“You want me?” He asked with a shine in his eyes. I nodded my head quickly and before I knew it, he was flipping me over, so that I was positioned under him on the chaise lounge. He began hovering over me slowly reaching up under my white slip dress. “Let me taste you first” He demanded and shoved his head under my dress. I had prayed to the sky that this man wouldn’t kill me before the night was over, but things weren’t looking too good on my end. I felt his hot breath surround my wet pussy. His lips had pressed against my clit and he started to lick me up and down, using the chance to suck on my clit whenever he desired to. It had sent me so overboard that I dug my nails into the arms of the leather chaise lounge. I didn’t know what else I could do but shout Arthur’s name each time I felt my stomach tighten into knots. He quickened his pace and it felt like I was on fire.

“Arthur-Arthur I’m going to c-cum pl-please” I moaned out. He took that as motivation to proceed eating me out as fast as he could. He swirled his tongue on my clit and licked downwards, sticking his tongue into my entrance. His tongue flicked and thrusted into me at record speed. I was on the brink of orgasm when he stopped altogether and left me hanging. He pulled himself out from under my dress and his hair was flattened, pieces falling to each side of his face. He reached up to me and crashed his lips down on me. I reciprocated the kiss as desperate as I knew how. “Arthur please…I need you” I whined for him.

“As you wish, Y/N” He smirked and undid his belt. I followed his thick, veiny hands towards his belt and the second it popped off his waist I was able to see his cock poking through his boxers.

“You’re so big” I gasped as he took off his boxers. He had the proudest grin on his face as he bent down and gave me a slow, deep kiss. I took him in my hands as we kissed and I felt his body shudder at the touch. I stroked him slowly and he separated my lips from his.

“You want me to fuck you huh?” He smirked. He shuffled around the chaise lounge, getting into a better position. I nodded my head and bucked my hips against his dick. It wasn’t until after that he saw the neediness in my eyes. He aligned his cock with my warm entrance. He thrust into me slowly, but all the way and I gasped with widened eyes. “You alright, love?” He asked softly. Even with all the lust and passion, Arthur was still a sweet gentleman on the inside. I nodded my head and he slowly thrusted himself into me. His low grunts filled me with a dark desire to make him orgasm. With each thrust I cried out his name and dug my nails into his back. I couldn’t help but to scream, his size wasn’t something I was used to.

“Art-Arthur!” I shouted as he sped up his thrusts. It felt like I was going to explode with bliss. He deepened his stroke and kept fucking me like he meant it.

“Cum for me, Y/N” He demanded roughly as he thrusted. I tried to control my breathing, but there was no point. I was finally getting all of Arthur. I bucked my hips and tried to control his thrusting from underneath, but instead Arthur sped up his thrusts and I didn’t even know he could go so fast. Every inch of him was hitting me at once and all I could do was dig my nails into him and cry out his name.

“I’m gonna c-cum, fuck Arthur” I panted out.

He kept his pace and praised me. “Good, cum for me, princess” His hands grabbed mine and forced my arms above my head. He stared deeply into my eyes as he kept thrusting quickly into me. I closed my eyes and bit my lip as I started riding out the high of my orgasm. “Good girl” Arthur complimented as he kissed and sucked on my neck. He kept fucking me until he came shortly after I did. He grunted and clenched up around my walls. I moaned softly and kissed him on the shoulder. Arthur slowly slid out of me and looked at me like he sobered up via orgasm.

“Arthur…” I whispered.

“I told you…you’re a grand distraction Y/N” He breathed out

#arthur shelby x y/n #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby smut #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders x y/n

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wen-kexing-apologist · 3 months

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Bengiyo Queer Cinema Syllabus

Hello! After a holiday hiatus, I am returning to @bengiyo’s queer cinema syllabus. We will be ringing in the new year with Unit 4: Heartbreak Alley, the totally light-hearted, definitely not agonizing section of the syllabus where I get to watch countless acts of violence be committed against queer people. That fuck I have Lesbians waiting for me at the end of this unit. The films in Unit 4 are: Bent (1997), Strange Fruit (2004), Boys Don’t Cry (1999), Brokeback Mountain (2005), Parting Glances (1986), Philadelphia (1993), The Living End (1992), Holding the Man (2015), Jeffery (1995), and Boys on the SIde (1995)

Today I will be writing about

Boy’s Don’t Cry (1999) dir. Kimberly Pierce

Content Warning: rape, murder, self harm

[Run Time- 1:58, Lang: English] [I was not able to find Strange Fruit anywhere online so will investigate my library to see if they have a copy]

Summary: A young man named Brandon Teena navigates love, life, and being transgender in rural Nebraska.

Cast: *Hilary Swank as Brandon Teena *Chloe Sevigny as Lana Tisdel *Peter Sarsgaard as John Lotter *Brendan Sexton III as Tom Nissen *Alicia Goranson as Candace

Side note: Boys Don’t Cry is based on the true story, and real life rape and murder of Brandon Teena, who was 21 years old when he was killed in Fall River, Nebraska.

To start, I’m glad that I looked this film up before I watched it so that I knew what to expect. I don’t know how often this will occur throughout the syllabus, but while the syllabus itself is a lead in to BLs it seems to be structured towards Baby Gays, which means that I am expanding my knowledge of famous trans people in history beyond Stonewall. I didn’t know who Brandon Teena was until I looked up this movie, I didn’t see his name printed in anything until I read Transgender History.

I am having a delayed reaction to this movie. While I was watching it, I was able to bear witness to the violence, it was graphic, and brutal, but I knew it was coming, I had time to prepare myself, I could abstract the violence being done in to a fictional character, I could remind myself it was a movie when the cameras panned away from the dead bodies and I could see the supposed corpses breathing. And then it was over and I couldn’t escape it anymore. I couldn’t escape the knowledge that this was real, that this actually happened, that what I had just watched, what I was not spared from, was bearing witness to an actual crime, to actual violence, rape, murder of an actual, real human being, of Family.

I said this in my last post from Heartbreak Alley that I went in to this section just expecting to be put through the wringer for almost the entire length of a film. I would say I went in to this unit expecting to feel my skin crawling the way it did with Mysterious Skin. Instead I have been gifted all sides of queerness: acceptance, homophobia, love, hatred, joy, pain, gentleness, violence. I want to talk for a bit about how grateful I was to see Brandon happy. His experience in this film does speak to truth, to trans experience, the complexity of being loved by a family member but not having your identity respected. Brandon’s cousin cuts his hair short for him, but can’t call him a man. Brandon gets in a bar fight and is beaming afterwards cause he got a shiner, cause random strangers didn’t clock him as trans. Brandon stays in Fall River for far longer than he should because he is riding the high of just getting to exist as himself. I know a number of friends who wanted to immediately get the hell out of dodge when they started their transition. Hell, I barely return home myself.

Brandon does stupid boy things, he flirts with every pretty girl, he pushes his own boundaries because he wants to prove that he is a man. He smiles. He smiles often. He smiles widely. He smiles. I loved how much he smiled in this movie. I love that his life was not all suffering. This movie is kind to Brandon while still having to put him through the inevitable.

This movie speaks to queer strength and queer fears, Brandon knew the people who raped and murdered him. They were his friends, he was their friend. They smoked together, drank beer together, and tried to dodge cops together. John (the man who will go on to murder Brandon) was one of the first people we saw affirm Brandon’s gender identity (at least in the movie). And I think this movie is smart in how they set John and Tom up. They are friendly but they are wild, we learn that John has issues with impulse control, we see how quickly John and Tom can escalate their behavior towards aggression.

Lana serves a reminder to trans people that we are worthy of being loved, and that there are people who will love us. I love what it says about Lana when she notices Brandon’s breasts during their first sexual encounter. When they finish she feels his lap, searching for a dick, she strokes his cheek and comments on how smooth his face is, she calls him handsome. For me this is where I think Lana figures it out, even if she isn’t told until later.

Lana (and later on Candace) serve as reminders to me that rural doesn’t mean bigoted. It can. It absolutely can. But there are queer people everywhere, there are allies everywhere, queer people can have a life, find love, experience joy anywhere. When Brandon returns to Lincoln for his court date, his cousin Lonny asks him “Fall River? You know they hang faggots there,” and that could be true. Fall River had people like John and Tom, it also had people like Lana, Candace, and the nurse.

[CW: the next few paragraphs will discuss sexual assault]

I loved that Lana was committed to Brandon as a person, she did not care what his body looked like. I loved that she refused to participate in Brandon’s humiliation. When John and Tom forcibly stripped him and tried to show Lana his vulva, she refused to look. It’s Brandon’s business, she loves Brandon, she doesn’t care, she will ease as much pain and humiliation as she possibly can.

The rape scene was brutual and hard to watch, especially because they don’t start it right away. Brandon is being interrogated, you get the implication, and while I was writing notes to myself I was just about to write “i’m glad they spared us the scene” when they cut to Brandon’s rape sequence. I sometimes struggle with displayed assaulted scenes, especially when they are associated with real people, because I think it is important to really, fully understand the violence that was committed against Brandon. I think the brutality he was treated with is very much an important thing to sit with and understand, and I am not one to feel like people should turn away from observing acts of violence. But I also don’t know that I love watching the assault of a man who actually existed who was really beaten and gang raped, I don’t think we have any way of knowing if he’d want to show that. I don’t think we have any way of knowing if that honors his memory.

Either way, I did find it absolutely fascinating from a characterization standpoint what happened after Brandon was raped. Because before they get confirmation that Brandon is trans, they are using Brandon’s name and pronouns, then they get the confirmation and partway through they switch to Brandon’s deadname and misgender him. When they rape him, they misgender him. When he’s raped we see him getting thrown around, slammed against the car, punched in the face, etc. he is treated with such violence, and then it is over and Tom and John and Brandon kinda go back to normal? They gently place his shirt over his torso, they call him buddy, they help him stand up, they help him get in to the car, they ask Brandon if he is okay.

They take Brandon home, and immediately go back to affirming his identity. Like Brandon is in the bathroom, trying not to hold back or quiet down his breakdown, and John and Tom refer to him as ‘little dude’ when they start asking him if he is okay and if he will need any help. Like???? I feel like I will need to sit in that scene for a while trying to pick apart what John and Tom’s brains are doing there. Don’t get me wrong, the less I have to hear Brandon be deadnamed or misgendered the better, but it was truly a wild thing to see Brandon’s cousin deadname and misgender him all the time while still caring about and loving him, and to see Brandon’s assaulters and future murderers just slip so easily back in to masculine terminology for Brandon in this scene.

[Assault conversation over]

We get a similar thing with Candace where she is the first person to figure out that Brandon is trans, and she is horrified. But when Brandon comes a-knocking on her door, at first Candance cannot even meet his eye but she still uses his name, and the second she picks up on the fact that something is wrong with the way his voice wavers, she faces him, she softens, she asks him what they did to him, and she lets him back in to her home, she tries to hide him to keep him safe long enough to get out of town.

And Brandon gets another moment of peace, he and Lana have sex with Lana knowing everything about him. Knowing that he lied about his life, knowing that he has a vagina. They have another moment alone to dream, to talk about leaving Fall River, to plan to run away together. I don’t know if any of that happened in real life, but the movie at least grants Brandon one more moment of joy before his entire life is ripped away from him.

And it happens so fast. Candace is shot and killed instantaneously. Branon is shot in the head and he dies instantaneously, and John stabs him to make sure he’s finished the job, but in an instant, with the pull of a trigger Brandon is just…gone. Twenty-one years old, a whole life ahead of him. I think movies too often grant its characters a dying monologue. They get to have a final moment before they finally, slowly succumb to their injuries. But not here. Brandon is alive one second, and dead the next. There is no moment for silence right after, there is no remorse with John or Tom, they turn against Lana, they turn against each other. They are firing bullets at random, John is stopping Tom from killing Lana or Candace’s toddler.

I’ll tell you what though, sometimes the parallels parallel. Two days ago, my friend and I learned of the death of someone we cared about and loved, it’s a devastating loss for our household, and a devastating loss for the broader community. As far as I know, they did not die from any violent action, but they were a part of an incredibly stigmatized and disregarded community. The last few people who have passed away in my life died slowly, I was able to brace for it, but this was quick, unexpected and I say this only because seeing Brandon die so quickly, knowing he was real, knowing he had so much time taken from him, that knowledge just wrapped itself right around the rest of my grief for the week. I had a delayed emotional reaction to this movie, it took a couple minutes of silence afterwards to feel the blow, but I think having watched this when I did, Brandon Teena’s story will live in a different, deeper part of me than most of the films I’ve watched so far.

Favorite Moment

There isn’t one scene that really stands out to me, cause everything was so strong. I feel like my favorite moment is maybe right at the beginning when Brandon looks in the mirror after his haircut and sees himself and you can just see the happiness take root in his body.

Favorite Quote

“You’re so handsome”

Lana says this after she and Brandon have sex for the first time. I talked about it a bit above, but I think she figured out that Brandon was trans here, and I see her calling him handsome as affirmation.

Final Score

9/10

This was a fantastic film with incredible acting.

#bengiyo queer cinema syllabus #queer cinema syllabus #boys don't cry #boys don't cry (1999)#brandon teena #unit 4: heartbreak alley #apologies for skipping Strange Fruit y'all I went to watch it and I can't find it online so I will need to scour the library for a copy #i do hope I will be able to watch it #wka long post

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sequinsmile-x · 3 months

Note

Domestic older hotchniss always have a special place in my heart, can you write more of them pleasee 🥺

hiiii bestie <3

They have a special place in my heart too and I haven't written them in forever!!

I hope you like this!

-x-

Salut d'Amour

Emily has a long, very bad day. Luckily, her husband never fails to make her feel better.

-x-

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: none

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily was having a long day.

It had started well enough. She’d woken up to her alarm to find that her husband was already out of bed. He was still an early riser despite having been retired for a few years, and he was almost always up before her, already working on breakfast for her and the girls before she was even half awake.

Aaron already had coffee ready for her when she walked downstairs, and she’d thanked him with a kiss, something which had pulled groans of disgust from their teenage daughters, both Hazel and Violet protesting just like they always did when Emily and Aaron showed each other affection.

She’d left the house whilst the girls were still eating breakfast, nodding along as Hazel reminded her about her violin recital after school as she promised her daughter she’d be there.

Her day had gone downhill the moment she’d arrived at work.

There was enough paperwork on her desk to make her consider retiring herself and she had more meetings than she even wanted to think about. She liked her job most of the time, but it wasn’t lost on her that her promotion to Section Chief a few years ago had injected more politics into her career than she’d ever wanted. She’d taken the job to allow herself more time with the girls and Jack, something she was grateful for now he’d moved to college and the girls were getting older. Violet barely needed her anymore now she was 17 and Hazel was 15, on the cusp of pulling away entirely, forever claiming her need for independence.

Everything had only got worse once the deputy director had pulled her into his office just before she was due to leave and insisted she and the BAU stayed behind to catch up on paperwork, news she had to deliver to the team herself. Whilst they were her friends, people she considered to be family, she hated being their bosses boss sometimes, that she’d stepped into a role where she controlled their days so heavily. They’d been mad at her, as if it was her choice to keep them all at work late, as if she didn’t want to get home because she had somewhere else to be.

As soon as she knew she was going to be late, that she was going to miss Hazel’s violin recital, she’d tried to call the teenager to let her know. When she didn’t pick up, something she never did that always drove Aaron crazy, Emily had sent her a text apologising, explaining she was stuck at work. Hazel’s reply had been short, her annoyance clear.

Emily had also called Aaron who had assured her he’d film the recital for her, his ability to placate her concerns even over the phone one of the many things she loved about him.

When she got home late any relief she felt as she walked into the house is gone the moment she tries to talk to Hazel who ignores her, storming off up to her room without even looking at her mother.

Emily blows out a shaky breath and heads to the living room. She sits on the couch, sinking into it as she tries and fails to relax.

“What a fucking day,” she says to herself, closing her eyes for a moment to try and centre herself.

“Hi sweetheart,” Aaron says as he walks into the room, his smile soft and gentle as he places a glass of wine on the table in front of her, “I thought you could do with this after the day you’ve had.”

He sits on the couch next to her and she hums gratefully, resting her head on his shoulder, “Thank you. How was the recital?”

He puts his arm around her and pulls her closer, “She was amazing as always,” he says, hating that Emily tenses against him, that he can practically feel the guilt flowing from her, “I recorded it for you and Vi did too,” he says, chuckling slightly, “She said her phone is better and that she ‘actually knows what she’s doing,’” he smiles at Emily when she looks up at him, “Apparently my giant hands mean I always cover the microphone.”

Emily smiles softly as she imagines their eldest daughter saying that to him, how she would have rolled her eyes in a way Aaron always said was all her. “If it helps, I’ve always been fond of your giant hands.”

“Oh I know,” he says, making a point of grasping her thigh. He watches as she smiles at him, how it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, how he can see how the day she’s had has impacted her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

In the end, after a day of being yelled at by various people and having her nerve tested at every turn, her husband’s kindness breaks her. The unwavering love and affection shining in his eyes as he reaches for her hand and links their fingers together, a touch so common to her, so much a part of her life, that she can’t remember what it was like to live without it. The sob breaks free from her chest with such force she’s surprised it doesn’t crack a rib, her lungs heaving as she tries to suck in air as it escapes. Aaron pulls her into a hug immediately, his arms tight around her as she fits against his side like a puzzle piece, as if they’d been made for each other.

“Oh sweetheart,” he says, kissing the side of her head, his heart cracking at the way she cities against him Her sadness had always had a profound impact on him, even years before they got together. It had always made him want to seek out whatever had made her sad and tear it to pieces, to defend her whatever had snuck through her iron-clad barriers. His wife was strong almost to a fault, she was stronger than him most of the time, and it felt like nothing short of a privilege to be the person she felt comfortable enough to do this with, to take off the armour she’d worn since she was a little girl who was too small to carry it all, the weight of it on her shoulders something that had never gone away, “I’ve got you.”

She grasps at his back, her short nails digging into him through the material of his polo shirt, and she presses her face into his neck. She swallows thickly and shakes her head at herself as she pulls back, looking at him through eyes that are shining like glass, her ears still gathering at her lashline.

“I feel so stupid for crying,” she says, leaning into his hand as he cups her cheek to wipe away her tears. “It’s just a bad day,” she smiles shakily at him, “We both know I’ve had worse.”

He leans in and kisses her, the salt of her tears pressed against his lips for a moment before he pulls back, “Em, you’re allowed to be upset. What is it we always say to the kids?”

She rolls her eyes at him and presses her lips together to stop herself from smiling, love for him that came as naturally to her as breathing swelling in her gut, “Feelings are never stupid.”

“Exactly,” he says as he winks at her and kisses her forehead before he pulls her in for another hug, his hand running up and down her back, “And you know what Haze is like, she reacts first and thinks later,” he smiles at her as he pulls back, mischief she would have once thought he wasn’t capable of carved deeply into his dimples, “Not sure where she gets that from.”

She pinches him lightly through his shirt in retribution, his implication clear enough she’s sure Sergio has picked up on it from where he was sleeping in the corner of the room. She loves that he knows her well enough to know that, no matter how bad her day had been, disappointing their daughter had been the worst of it. The look on Hazel’s face when she got home enough to reopen wounds from when she was the teenager's age that had never fully healed.

“I just hate that I let her down,” she says, the force of the emotions she’s trying to keep back making her chin tremble, “She wanted me there and I was at work.”

He can hear what she hasn’t said, the comparison she’s made. It was something she had worried about ever since they’d found out she was pregnant with Violet, a concern that had only increased when they found out she was a girl and when Hazel had come along a couple of years later. She’d spent the girl's entire lives, and every moment of Jack’s since she’d stepped into a parental role for him, proving that she wasn’t Elizabeth. Their children were the centre of Emily’s world and everything she did was for them.

He squeezes her hand, “You’re not your mother, Em.”

She sighs and shakes her head, his ability to dig into what she was upset about without even trying still a surprise after all this time.

“For someone who is not a profiler anymore, Agent Hotchner,” she says playing with the collar of his polo shirt, “You’re damn good at it.”

He hums, “Maybe I just know my wife.”

She smiles softly at him but it fades and she blows out a steady breath, “She was so disappointed.”

“You’ve been at every recital except for this one,” he says, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, the grey locks somehow making her even more beautiful than when they’d met, “You’ve always been there in the front row, even back when she was terrible and it sounded like a dying cat when she played,” he says, and she shakes her head at him, a smile flicking across her face, “Once she’s calmed down she’ll be fine, and knowing her she’ll even apologise.”

She knows he’s right. Hazel was exactly like her in every way, but she hadn’t needed to learn to control her emotions quite as tightly as Emily had. She’d been encouraged to feel them, to deal with them healthily, but she was still a teenage girl at the mercy of her hormones. She knew her daughter well enough to know that she’d feel bad for yelling at her, that she’d be in her room simmering in her guilt until it came to a boil and she’d come to find her, her apology already halfway out by the time she was hugging her mother.

“Yeah,” she says, the assurance not making her feel any better, the fact she’d missed something so important to her daughter still lingering in her belly, a heavy weight she knew she’d carry for days, “I guess.”

He wants nothing more than to cheer her up, than to see her real smile brighten up her face, so he smiles at her, “Failing that, you could always get your own back by embarrassing her in front of her friends this weekend.”

She laughs, a loud and bright thing that surprises her as she shakes her head at him, “There’s always that,” she says, biting her lip as she looks at him, “How do you always do that?”

He frowns, his eyebrows furrowing as he tilts his head at her slightly, “Do what?”

She runs her fingers through his hair, smiling at how the grey flecks in it shimmer in the light of the living room, “Make me laugh just after I’ve cried.”

He smiles and he leans in to kiss her, his hand on her cheek as he holds her in place. He rests his forehead against hers, “We have been married close to 20 years, sweetheart. It would be sad if I didn’t.”

She nods in agreement, but is cut off as they hear a clearing of a throat in the doorway, and she pulls back from Aaron to see Hazel standing there, her arms tight across her chest and a half smile on her face.

“Just once I wish I could walk into a room without the danger of seeing you two all over each other,” she says jokingly, her smile shaking slightly before she clears her throat, “Mom, can I talk to you?”

“I’ll go get started on dinner,” Aaron says as he squeezes Emily’s knee reassuringly before he stands up.

He makes a point of placing his hand on Hazel’s shoulder as he walks past her, smiling encouragingly at her as he leaves the room. He turns back around only a few seconds later to see them hugging and he smiles, the two of them together a sight that had always warmed him from the inside out from the very first time Emily had held Hazel when she was a newborn, a tiny dot of a thing pressed against her mother’s chest.

He leaves them to it and heads towards the kitchen, grateful for the ordinary life he once thought he’d never have.

-x-

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ken-dom · 6 months

Text

Come Back To Me

Holland March x Mrs March

Summary: Nightmare or dream? Why not both.

Author's notes: Written as part one to @heresthestorymorningglory's heartbreakingly gorgeous Holland x reader fic, Of Dreams And Dances, which came about after she had a dream that eerily coincided with the contents of a deleted scene I was watching from what turned out to be one of our favourite films. Of which the main theme is coincidences. Coincidence or not, it resulted in us teaming up to explore Holland as a husband and a father, and what his future could look like.

Warnings/content: fluff, angst, mentions of pregnancy (and conception — one nsfw line from holland midway through), alcohol

It had been a quiet Saturday. All three of them, taking advantage of some rare time at home to relax together.

Holland had a case. Technically. It wasn’t one he was particularly worried about, just a simple problem he could string out for more cash while doing the bare minimum. And with a relatively new baby at home, who could blame him?

Well, Holly wasn’t really a baby. Holly was three and a half years old now. But he still called her his baby, wishing the time hadn’t moved so fast since she was born, hoping that she wouldn’t grow up too fast and have to take on the horrors of responsibility in the real world too soon. He wanted to protect her for as long as he could, be a better dad to her than his own father was to him. Let her have the childhood he wished he’d had.

So he would take the money, regardless of the morals involved, and use it all for her, to build her a future.

He still remembered the moment in the hospital when his wife had looked up at him, glowing after a horribly long labour, and said, ‘She’s perfect. I want to name her Holly. After you.’

His heart broke every time he remembered that moment, because already, at three years old it seemed too long ago. But he wanted to live in it forever.

Today had been almost as perfect, the entire world shut out as they enjoyed their perfect little bubble in their perfect little house, Holland not even bothering to dress properly and his wife feeding him chocolates and making him tea “the English way” — whatever the fuck that meant — reading to each other and to Holly, playing hide and seek with her between naps and lazing around. It was heaven. He was in heaven.

‘Holland, darling, put some music on!’ His wife cooed when she appeared from upstairs, finding Holland slumped over the kitchen table. She tugged at his shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s dance.’

Holland didn’t budge for a moment, lost in a haze of melancholy nostalgia. His life was completely perfect, he knew that, so why couldn’t he live in the moment and just fucking enjoy it instead of lamenting how three years had passed so suddenly? Four, if you counted the pregnancy.

‘Holland, darling, what’s the matter?’ his wife pressed, sitting down on the chair beside him and laying her head on the table too.

He loved that about her. She always got on his level, always managed to soothe him back to her so easily.

He slowly lifted his head and his big, round, blue eyes locked on hers, glistening with something unreadable. ‘I wanna have another one.’

‘Another one what?’

‘Another baby.’

‘Oh-’

Before she could even really answer, he had sprung up, his chair crashing to the floor behind him, and he had offered his hand out, pulling her close to him when she took it, and breathing her in as she pressed close. She felt so warm against him.

‘You can’t name the next one after me, too, though. It’s gonna get silly.’

She chuckled against his chest, swaying with him. ‘Why, how many little Hollands are you planning?’

‘Oh, hundreds. I was thinking, we should try for twins this time, get two in one go.’

‘Steady, Holland, you’re not the one carrying them. Besides I don’t think it works like that.’

‘I’m serious — what do you eat to get twins?’

‘I’m not sure…’

‘Whatever it is, I'll find out and I’ll make it for you every day,’ he leaned closer to her ear, whispering, ‘and I’ll pump you full of me every night until your belly is full with our children.’

She giggled, slapping him playfully on the chest. ‘I would have a hundred children with you, you know that?’

‘Wanna start tonight?’

She looked up at him, smiling at his dumb but seductive expression. ‘Yes I absolutely do. And I’ll do my best to get you twins.’

He kissed her tenderly, arms tightening around her shoulders as they swayed.

There was no music. There didn’t need to be. He hummed, though, low against her ear, the tune of her favourite song, gradually adding in the words until he was serenading her.

‘Dad-’

Holland looked up, toward the stairs but Holly hadn’t appeared at the top, looking for him.

‘Dad.’

‘Honey? Was that-’

But his wife was silent, face buried against his chest.

‘Dad!’

Rubbing at the wedding band around his finger with his thumb, he closed his eyes, it was there. It was safe.

When he opened his eyes again, Holly was in front of him.

He grasped for his wife, arms flailing in front of him, but there was nothing. She was gone. So was the ring.

And Holly was… older. Almost ten years older by the look of her.

Had he fallen asleep dancing with his wife? He needed to get back to her, needed to snap out of whatever vision this was.

‘Dad, wake up!’

‘Believe me, I’m trying,’ he slurred, mouth struggling around the words. ‘Why am I wet?’

‘Because you’re in the tub again. I told you to get undressed next time. You’re gonna ruin all your suits!’

Holland groaned. The water was cold and he was shivering. It felt real. This was no vision, no dream. This was real.

‘You need to get up, Mr. Healy’s here to see you.’ Holly growled with frustration and turned on her heal, storming out of the bathroom to carry on making breakfast.

‘Tell him I’ll be out in ten minutes,’ Holland grunted, flopping back into the cold water and closing his eyes. ‘Come back to me,’ he breathed, her song playing on loop in his mind all the while, ‘come back to me. We were gonna make twins, come back-’

#not s f w 💀#holland march x mrs march #holland march angst #holland march fluff #holland march fic #holland march #the nice guys fic #the nice guys 2016 #the nice guys #ryan gosling fluff #ryan gosling angst #ryan gosling fic #ryan gosling #ken-dom writes

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writing-whump · 8 months

Text

A wolf's heart

Continuation of this fic. Isaiah's is still sick, Matthew is helping him through the night. Contains a bit of emeto and chest pain.

Isaiah was in pain.

His chest felt tight for some days, but it kind of came and went, so he ignored it. That’s what you usually did with pain when you had a supernatural shadow taking it away. But this tightness was steady and hollow, like constant pressure under his breastbone and on his side and while it fluctuated during the day, it never quite went away.

It happened before. It actually happened often enough now Isaiah knew it came with too much raising and lowering his shadow for effect, and that it was becoming a weakness. A trademark way for his body to protest his shifting states. Or maybe longer lasting damage, a weak point he made to himself by his own hands.

He could accept that. But today was much worse. The tightness grew until it became a searing hot pain he was unable to ignore or think away. As if a white hot knife kept stabbing him into his heart, and the pain pulsed with his heartbeat, spreading to his jaw, neck, back, and arms. Traveling by nerve points, he guessed.

So Isaiah found himself at home, his white button up shirt sweated and clammy, heart pulsing with searing pain, short of breath and barely breathing. Not to mention his limbs felt like lead, pulling him with all the force of gravity down and every movement was a struggle. Changing positions was a gamble, because there was no logic in the pain spreading from his chest when he moved. And his mouth was flooding with these sour tastes and he was queasy without relief.

And the cherry on top? He couldn’t relax, because Matthew was there.

Currently watching him, fists helplessly clenched at his sides, a worried frown now etched on his forehead as if it could never go away.

Isaiah was sitting on the couch, legs spread out in front of him, leaning heavily against the backrest. Matthew stuffed pillows under his back, and the upright position helped a little, but Isaiah’s chest simply hurt, consistent and crushing and making his eyes close and open as he rode out each wave.

“Isaiah, what else can I do?” Matthew said, standing over him. He looked angry, but that was typical and Isaiah was learning to see the worry and concern hiding behind this particular furrow.

There was a bowl on Isaiah’s lap, because after three hours he wasn’t bringing up more aside bile, so Matthew gave up on the overbig trashbag.

But Isaiah found it quite reassuring, as a wave of pain crushed his chest and his breathing hitched. His stomach clenched in unison, not wanting to be left behind and soon enough bile shot up Isaiah’s throat. He went with the movements at this point, opening his mouth in time for the drool to drip down. The hot mouthful of the rest of his stomach lining splashed against the bowl. Matthew winced, stepping closer.

Isaiah panted and leaned his head back. The light of the living room stung his eyes, in stark contrast with the darkness behind the window. Was it midnight already? He wasn’t sure. His cheeks puffed out with a silent burp, which brought him no relief. Again.

He must have been dehydrating, because now a steady pounding in his temples joined the chorus of pain. But drinking anything, knowing his empty stomach was clenching and unclenching with force and any liquid would be taken as fuel was entirely unappetizing.

Isaiah felt Matthew’s gaze on him and cracked his eyes open. Matthew was peering into the bowl, but there was almost nothing to rinse out. The redhead sighed in frustration. “There must be something I can do, right?”

Isaiah cracked his eyes open and regarded him through the blurry film of his eyes. “Get me a bottle of water. I have small ones under the kitchen sink.” Better to have water close, if he decided to risk it. He didn’t mention a glass, cause he didn’t think he could hold one steadily, but a plastic bottle was easy to discard nearby.

Matthew shot out of the room immediately, happy to have something to do. They were both entirely bad at this. Matthew at taking care of someone, helpless, clumsy and clueless and Isaiah letting somebody assist him. Isaiah was used to suffering alone. That was the right way to bear pain, to handle it on your own, away from prying eyes sniffing at weaknesses. It was especially important for shadow wolves to look as strong as possible because their instincts made them attack. It was only natural.

So Isaiah was used to loneliness, even craved it at times like these. Having Matthew around, he had to bite back moans of pain, had to hold himself quiet as his body purged itself of every drop of nourishment or liquid, had to focus on breathing steadily, even though each breath added another jolt of pure hurt. He was just so tired. And he didn’t know what anyone could offer to lessen his discomfort. Years ago, maybe, he had taken care of his younger brother when he was sick - but they were boys and Isaiah hid from his father’s strictness, going behind his back to soothe the pain of the shadow he knew too well. He couldn’t turn away from Hector then. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t turn away from Matthew now.

The truth was, he pitied Matthew. With such a difficult personality an enormous shadow like his was a burden. Yes, Matthew could be strong, he could rival many of the packs in the city on his own, if he weren’t a danger to himself. His shadow was too big, eating at him, taking his concentration and willpower. That’s why Isaiah didn’t expect Matthew to figure out something was wrong with him, not to mention what. He expected him to be too busy focusing on himself, on his shadow. He didn’t consider Matthew capable of thinking, caring or putting things together. Didn’t expect to get attached, either.

Isaiah wasn’t looking for a pack. That he vehemently rejected, no matter what his father, his origin pack or his brother thought of the idea. He didn’t care how many people he would disappoint, how weird and alarming they found him, how risky he had made it for himself. This was his life and he was going to live it by his rules, not by the pack’s.

So he avoided enemies, rivals, equals - not that there were many running around. He didn’t let himself get dragged into their nets, working on the outside, bending the rules, testing his masks. But then Matthew came and Isaiah couldn’t stand idly without giving him a try. A chance.

Matthew came back with the small water bottle, sitting down on the edge of the couch. “Here, take this.” He looked him over worriedly, as if making a list of differences of Isaiah’s state before his one-minute absence. It pulled a corner of Isaiah’s mouth, watching that.

To his own surprise, Isaiah did believe Matthew. Masks were important for him, his suits, his apartment, even his personality - he had his roles and robes, illusions for everyone and every occasion. Illusions were crucial, more important than reality, because they could shape it. They had the potential to become it. People believed what they wanted to believe, what they wanted to make true. Isaiah always did just that - became one with the masks he wore, the ones he crafted and chose carefully according to impact and desired effect. He presented himself as he wanted to be until he became it.

Not Matthew though. Matthew wore his heart on his leather jacket, pinned down at the front. Volatile and impulsive? Sure. But never hiding, never controlling and suprisingly unapologetic about it. The base was anger and frustration, but he was living the range of all the rest as he discovered it.

Most people were just slaves to their desires, fears and instincts. Didn’t reflect or thing more ahead than the shortest way to pleasure, to self-interest and they usually weren’t even aware of this. They had a mask or two, not very well-crafted, using it to get what they wanted.

As Matthew studied him, helpless but concentrated, hands reaching out for a second, but not daring to touch all the way, Isaiah saw the earnestness. He had underestimated Matthew before and hard. Maybe Matt wasn’t just a pity case, someone to help find a better direction and discard. Maybe he could be someone even Isaiah could count on.

Matt uncapped the bottle and held it towards the sick man. Isaiah stared for a bit before slowly taking it, wincing slightly as his heart pulsed and blood rushed into his ears loudly. He took a small sip, savoring the cold water in his mouth before swallowing.

Matthew watched him like a hawk. “What else? Would human medication help? Tea? Air?”

Isaiah turned his head slightly, wanting to close the bottle, but Matt grabbed it out of his hands and closed it himself.

“...A cold compress. Take a clean towel… and dip it in water… and bring it over,” Isaiah instructed. His throat constricted and his chest freaking hurt and he was left breathless between the words, barely making them out.

Matt jumped into action immediately, taking record time to return, even with the faint noises of cursing and thumping of something from the bathroom. He got back, white towel in hand, question written on his face.

Isaiah sighed. “For my head. Just hand it over.” He wrapped the towel around his forehead and let it hang around his neck. The seeping cold felt soothing against his heated skin.

“You have a headache now too?” Matthew asked, rocking on his feet in surprise.

“Likely from all the vomiting. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not doing it right anyway,” Matthew grumbled, something small and sad in his voice, pacing the living room.

“You are doing fine. Don’t worry about it. And for hell’s sake, sit down.”

Matthew bit his lip, but sat down obediently beside the couch on the floor. Isaiah pushed the bowl away from his lap. His arms were so heavy and the movement shot out burning jolts into his arms. The black-haired man coughed, but despite the nausea swirling in his stomach with the sip of water, he was set on keeping it down.

His shirt was freaking stuck to his skin with sweat and grime and for the moment he felt good enough to realize it in full. He grimaced, but there was no way he was going to change his clothes. Not in front of Matthew. The suit jacket he gave up, but the shirt was his last line of defense, a reminder of dignity and the illusion of control. Of something not claimed by this ridiculous weakness. Who knew, maybe Matthew would realize soon this wasn’t just healing on its own, not all the way, as Isaiah claimed.

The suit pants were digging into his stomach though and it felt tender and puffed out now with that pathetic sip of water. He really really wished he could get rid of them.

“Isaiah? Zaya? Hey, man, talk to me.” Matthew patted his leg gently. Somehow all too tuned into his every move.

Isaiah hesitated. He just felt so tired and nauseated and his stomach freaking hurt, the pain radiating from his chest into his entire body. Damn these fucking clothes. “Could you…help me to my room?”

“You want to lie down? Sure, man, but won’t it be harder to breathe for you there? Though you wanted to sit…”

“Not-...” Isaiah had to take a deeper breath to finish, “that. I just want to change…” he tugged helplessly at his shirt, grey and splotchy.

Matthew stared at him for a long second before realization lit his eyes and he surged to his feet. “For real? And you are asking me that now? After almost 5 hours?! You should have just changed into something comfy right when we got here!”

Isaiah grimaced and hid half his face in his palm. Somehow he hoped Matthew would give up or Isaiah would find him a good excuse to leave, to send him somewhere, just anywhere, where he would have found a free moment to change properly.

“Okay. I see you are overthinking this. And I’m not thinking enough. So obvious. Damn it all.” Matthew stalked out of the living room. Isaiah lifted himself up in a panic, wanting to follow, but shifting on the couch made him gasp in pain and he fell back immediately.

Matthew returned not a few breath lengths later, shaking out a pair of pajama pants and a loose shirt. “Here. Don’t fucking get a heart attack for having to change in front of me. Hell.”

Isaiah braced himself and with closed eyes, panting for air, started to unbutton his shirt with shaky fingers. He guessed what would come next and he hated it. But Matthew only rolled his eyes, sitting on the edge of the couch beside him and leaning in to work on the buttons himself. He got him out of the shirt in no time, throwing it on the floor. Pants Isaiah could unzip just fine, thanks, but Matthew peeled them off of him.

Then he actually helped him put the pajama shirt on. Thankfully it had no buttons, just loose black cotton with short sleeves. The pants could have been an awkward moment, except Matthew was so matter-of-fact and irritable Isaiah didn’t dare to protest. The wave of relief at having his comfortable fresh pajamas on was indescribable. Isaiah didn’t realize what a giant difference even such a small thing made when everything hurt.

His stomach was churning, but with much less urgency. Isaiah got his towel back against his head and leaned back again. Matt stayed beside him, his shoulder almost touching his, grumbling. Isaiah let his eyes fall shut. Despite the crushing weight on his chest and the tremors in his limbs, he hoped for sleep, Matthew’s shoulder just an inch away, if he leaned against it.

#emeto #sickfic #emetophilia #hurt/comfort #vomiting #whump writing #emeto writing #werwolf #bromance #comfort #werewolf wip #my writing #this is coming in quick #couldn't wait to write this once I got the idea #enjoy the first look into Isaiah's pov :D #Isaiah

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thecameronchronicles · 2 years

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Seven Days Too Long

TW: masturbation. Edging. Smut. Language.

SUMMARY: After Drew makes you wait a week to feel pleasure, you take matters into your own hands…literally…

WORD COUNT: 1800

*Requested*

Seven Days Too Long

In hindsight, a week doesn’t seem too bad. But once denied or forced to wait, you begin to feel just how long it really is. 168 hours. 604,800 seconds. Way too fucking long. And this was exactly what you thought as you watched him sit leisurely on the couch scrolling through his phone while you were nearly bouncing out of your chosen lingerie. All because you had disobeyed him.

Due to him having been gone filming in some location you didn’t care to remember as they all seemed to blur and your focus remained on more pressing matters, being the pulsation between your thighs, you were told not to come until he could come home to you and ‘take care of matters himself’. But your impatience led to a specific, turned to phone sex, which was overhead by those on the production crew. Because of THIS, he wanted to teach you a lesson. And so for seven days since he’d returned home, you weren’t allowed to relieve yourself, and he made sure you didn’t.

But now all you wanted to do was feel him. He was always so alluring to you as he towered over you and could move you however he saw fit without much effort. Not to mention the cool blue of his eyes and how they thrilled you once they were focused or even lustful and the sound of his voice that could bring you to your edge if he willed it. And he knew this. He knew that he could have you trembling in a matter of seconds-especially with delayed gratification. And this is what made it THAT much more infuriating.

“You going to bed, baby?” He teased, acting indifferent, despite the fact you were adorned in his favorite babydoll nighty that was made up entirely of a sheer fabric colored a powder pink.

You noticed how his eyes caught your breasts as they were just barely concealed and you were aware that some part of him was slipping in his reservations. And yet with his apparent nerves of steel, you took matters into your own hands as you crossed the medium sized living room and pushed his phone from his hand before resting on him in a straddle.

“Please Drew, I’m sorry…” You began to kiss his neck, his skin chilling beneath you as he let out a sigh.

“I just missed you…And I need you…’ You whimpered, completely pitiful-and you didn’t care. You didn’t care if he’d bend you over and finish in seconds or spend hours edging you just for payback. You just needed him to do something-anything to bring pleasure. Even if it was just teasing.

Finally his fingers would come to your hips as you breathed a sigh of relief. But he had only cemented his touch here to toss you onto the far side of the couch and moved into the kitchen. By now, you were livid. Drew was usually giving and selfless in all things, but to this, he’d truly rode out your punishment until the last second-'punishments’ he always caved in on once finding you too irresistible to focus on anything else. But this was his job you had pushed, something he loved and took seriously and you embarrassed him and he wanted to ensure it didn’t happen again and your lesson was truly learned. But you didn’t care. You wanted a release and you were going to take it one way or another.

Moving into the bedroom you shared with him, you began to rummage through the drawers in search of a specific device used for times like these-one he had hidden when he had gotten home. In other moments of weakness you had seeked it out, but always come up empty with only his smug grin left behind in your endeavors. But whether it was dumb luck or having been done out of his own negligence to pick a better spot, you came upon the vibrator at the back of bathroom closet poorly hidden beneath a stack of uneven towels.

Excited at the relief you would finally be allowed, you pulled it to view, preparing the speed to which would bring you to your quickest orgasm, before turning over your shoulder to find him in the reflection of the bathroom. Without a word of beratement, he would only stare at you as you narrowed your eyes as if to say ‘try me’. You were too pent up to care about civility and were willing to literal throw fists if necessary for what he had denied you. And to push this one step further, you wanted him to know that you could play his game just as well.

Slipping onto the counter of the bathroom sink, his eyes followed you while you disposed of the vibrator at your side, knowing if used it would make his torment end prematurely. For every night left cold and minute unsatisfied, you wanted to torture him as long as possible. So you slowly guided your fingers behind your lips, sucking them wet enough to drip, and leading them beneath the fabric of your panties as his lips parted in approval.

“Oh God…” You groaned, “It’s been SO long…” You bit your bottom lip, watching his jaw clench as you used every item in your sexual repetoire that you knew affected him. That feigning innocence of doe eyes or pouts that he’d correct into explosions of pleasure and perfect ‘o’s, he lived for it just as you lived giving it to him. But you focused on your task-more specifically, your revenge.

“Feels SO good…” You watched him swallow hard as you closed your eyes to bask in the relief of a touch. Even if it wasn’t his and even if the moment would only pale in comparison to him, it was enough to let you find some satisfaction in your tensions.

To add to this, you carried your free hand to your breast, kneading the soft skin beneath the fabric, rolling your eyes before quickening your fingers. Your eyes would come open to the feeling of his fingers finally making contact to your thighs, tracing their newfound quaking, before you lifted your foot to his chest. Casting a denying shake of your head, his expression now read in anger before you were taken off of the sink and into a bend.

“I thought you wanted-” You began to speak before he replaced your fingers with his own.

“This week has fucking killed me, baby…” He ate into your shoulder just enough to explain his words with this visualization, “But I had to put up with such bullshit from everyone…”

“I’m not apologizing for wanting you, Drew…’ Your words surprised him as he lifted to find you looking back at him in the mirror.

“I don’t want you to apologize…I want to give you what you wanted…” Pulling the high fabric just enough to then pull your panties to the side, he knelt onto his knees, bending you just far enough to have access to your core. You ran your fingers over his short hair, tugging as he showcased the truth behind his words in his trek to bring you such pleasure.

“Come on my tongue, baby-Please…” He nearly begged beneath his panting as you clawed onto the sink, body rocked into the cold exterior of the counter as you had instead turned to face him.

“I want to come around you-I think I’ve earned it.” Remaining on his knees for only a second, you were suddenly lifted around him and taken into the bedroom. Kept connected even as your back rested on the mattress, you pulled his clothes completely free from his body until he was left just as bare as you, a single lift of your nightgown making it completely even.

“God, I missed your body so much…”

“It’s been waiting…” You spoke with annoyance as he nodded, licking his lips, and descending between your breasts and anvel, kissing the hem of your panties, before turning you back onto your stomach, but pulling you against him once he was able to dispose of your panties, until you now rested on your side.

“And I’m gonna give it to you, baby…” His cock was at a tease against your ass, how you craved it even just this contact was bewildering as you reached behind to try and stroke him into motivation, before feeling him laugh.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you baby…”

“Then fuck me, Drew-Please, just-” Your breath was cut off by his penetration, a moment of silence spent between the two of you before he began his rhythm, fingers set to your clit for optimum pleasure as the was pulling you into him. But when you could feel that familiar release, you wanted more-you needed more. More depth. More speed. Just more. And so you moved forward as he looked at you in confusion.

“Baby, please-” You pressed your fingers over his lips to quiet him as you steadied yourself into a straddle over his cock and teased him between your folds.

“I’m gonna take what I want-” He nodded, eyes lust blown as you took control. Rocking over him, bobbing him in and out of you, his body reacted accordingly as you brought him to his edge as you rode him. Your name cursed behind his clenched teeth, you allowed him that release before surprising him with the cold steel of handcuffs now at rest over his wrists and keeping him pinned in place.

“Baby-”

“Do you have ANY idea how long that was?” You groaned. “You have a lot to make up to me.” You lowered onto him. “And you will.” He began to groan to the sudden overstimulation until he was sent into tremors.

“Baby please, I can’t-”

“But you feel SO GOOD-” You moaned, slowing your motions and tormenting him in painful discomfort as he pulled himself up against you.

“Take them off.” Something suddenly switched with him.

“I’m not fucking around, baby-You thought a week was bad? Try a month! Take ‘em off-NOW.” He growled as you obliged, wanting him like this. Feral and desperate-just as you had been.

“Give me your hands-” Before you could offer both of them in acquiescence, he forced them to the headboard.

“I need a second to recover and then I’m gonna make up for those seven days…but for now…” He left you abandoned for a moment, returning with the vibrator.

“Drew…”

“You wanted to feel good…You wanted to tease me…so I’m gonna watch you come until I think you’ve had enough. And you’re gonna be a good girl and take it for me…I think seven times should be fair-”

“SEVEN?! Drew-”

“Better get started…”

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @my-baexht-Is @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era

#drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey smut #outer banks

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secretlywritingstories · 9 months

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In another life you still would’ve turned my head | phan one shot

Summary: Dan comes across old black and white photos of two queer men messing around, one playing with the other's hair, just like he did in a recent video with Phil. He gets caught up in the emotions that he would have fallen in love with Phil in any universe. He crawls into Phil's lap and tells him exactly that.

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: 2023!phan, established relationship, queer love, couch cuddles

Inspired by Timeless by Taylor Swift and Phil’s video on Twitter

Read on AO3 or below

‘Cause I believe we were supposed to find this

So even in a different life

You would still have been mine

We would’ve been timeless

Dan didn’t really scroll tumblr that often anymore, but he opened the tab sometimes when the mood stuck him. The current mood was laptop time after dinner, sitting in their pyjamas in the living room, just existing next to each other, doing their own little thing.

He’s barely scrolled for more than a minute or two when he’d scrolled carelessly past a post but something made him scroll back up and take a second look. He scrolled up and then let his fingers just hover over the mousepad to look at it. It felt like something snagged in his chest, and knocked the air out of his lungs.

It was four photos of four old photos. Four old black and white photos featuring featuring two young men laid out nicely on a table and captured with a phone camera. Not exactly unusual but there was something about the vibes of the photos, how the two men leaned into each other, one holding the other by his hair, and it was so strikingly familiar that it makes something in Dan’s chest ache.

He scrolled down a little more to see the caption and his eyes felt as they tremble as he read.

found these in the attic, it said 1944 on the back. mum said that one of the men was my grandfather’s older brother James. she didn’t know the other man. i don’t know much about James, but i do know that he never married or had children. but it looks like he still had love. seeing these warmed my queer little heart.

Dan clicked to enlarge the photos, and he felt like he wasn’t really breathing as the took the first one in. It looked like the two had been set up for a proper photoshoot but they got distracted. Both were wearing big smiles, grinning at each other like there was no one else in the world.

In the next one, one of them was rolling their eyes in fondness while the other had his head thrown back laughing. Dan felt like he could almost hear it, loud laughter ringing in his own ears.

He clicked onwards, and now one of the guys had stood up and his hands in the other’s hair, it looked like he was gently carding his fingers through the strands. The man still sitting down was looking up at the other man, all of his focus on him, while the other seemed to be talking, not caring that the camera was pointed at them and they probably should have been trying to sit still.

And then the last one. It was arguably the worst of the photos, one of the men mostly blurry because he was actively being shoved off to the side, but it was without a doubt Dan’s favourite of the four. The man might mostly be blurry, but you could still make out a small smile on his lips. The man who’d shoved at him looked so satisfied with himself.

It was radiating love, practically palpable in the air, and Dan felt like he couldn’t breathe without inhaling it. Without it settling in his lungs, heavy and important.

It was not entirely without reason that these photos hit so hard today of all days. He saw something else in photos, something reflected back at him. Just yesterday him and Phil had filmed a video asking for suggestions of what hairstyle Phil should try next.

It had been utterly impulsive and so fun. Phil had just casually mentioned that he wanted to try a new hairstyle, and Dan hadn’t hesitated to involve himself. He cared a whole lot about Phil’s hair after all.

He’d seen it in all of its stages and he would love it in all of its stages, even the crappy square hair from when they were young. Still, he was excited to see Phil switch it up, and try something new. It was hard for Phil to pluck up the courage for it, and therefore Dan knew he needed a gentle shove to actually do something about it.

The video had been just that. Something to hold him accountable, so he would do what he wanted to do.

Phil had grown tired of the quiff, of having to style it and he wanted to try something new. Dan could have helped with research, or they could have talked to their hairdresser, but why not turn to their community when they’d eat up something like this? And the fact that Dan had been in the video, shoving Phil around and messing with his hair had just been a bonus.

It didn’t feel quite as daunting to post something like that anymore. For a while the two of them had distanced themselves from sharing stuff like that, in the years following their coming out. Things were different than before when they were in a glass closet. Before they had said that their relationship was real, even if both of them had been adamant about wanting to keep it private.

This was a tiny peek into their life, a moment captured and shared just because they could.

Just like these two men back in 1944. They’d clearly deemed the photographs important enough to print and keep, even if they seemed to have been left behind in an attic in the end. It was so silly and fun and Dan couldn’t help but agree with the person who’d posted them. It made his heart warm too.

He stayed on the last photo, the blurry shove, and he opened another tab for Twitter to search up Phil and find the video from yesterday. He moved the cursor near the end where he knew he’d given Phil a playful shove.

He pressed play, hearing Phil lift his head from the other end of the sofa at the sound, and Dan watched how in the video a small smile played on Phil’s lips just as he was shoved to the side. Dan clicked back to the other tab and watched the photo again. The identical expressions felt like it hollowed out something inside of him, and then filled him with warmth.

It could have been them. In another life, in another time, that could have been him and Phil. The photos were taken during World War II and two young men found the time to laugh, and play around. If they two of them had met then, Dan was sure that Phil still would have captured his attention.

He’d have dreamed of having a moment like that with him. Just like he loved that they could have moments like this now. After everything they’d been through. After all the talk about soulmates and finding each other in every universe… it had always been kind of a joke with a grain of truth. A part of Dan deep down that wanted to believe Phil in his adamant conviction that they were meant to find each other. Always.

“Dan?” Phil asked, voice softly curious.

Dan knew his face was probably trying to process his complicated feelings. He wasn’t quite sure how to sort them out, how to put all of this into words that made sense. He couldn’t really.

Seeing photos of queer people existing throughout history always got him, but this felt even more poignant when he could see the two of them reflected in the touches and the smiles. The photos could literally have been stills from the video Phil had posted. 79 years apart and yet it felt like the same story.

Dan was projecting, heavily, but he didn’t care. He pushed his laptop away from him, setting it on the table and turned towards Phil, who’d been watching him. There was something curious in Phil’s eyes, and he quirked an eyebrow up in a silent question.

They were so used to communicating with each other, and Phil would probably understand what Dan meant even if he only got a few words out. But right now, it felt like all of the words were stuck in his throat. It wasn’t often that he didn’t have anything to say.

He could run his mouth on practically any topic. He was a chronic rambler but right now, it felt like it had all dried up. How was he meant to explain that he loved Phil so much that he saw the two of them in other people’s past too? In another time, he could imagine that it would have been the them sharing laughter and messing around.

How could he explain that he would have fallen in love with Phil no matter where or when they would have met? And how loving him felt endless and timeless?

Phil put his laptop on the coffee table right next to Dan’s, and Dan hadn’t even realised that he wanted crawl over but he could feel it now, the innate pull to be in Phil’s arms. His body was moving before he’d really decided to do it. It had always been pretty good at navigating itself when it came to Phil.

Phil was like a magnetic field, and it was so very easy to let himself get pulled into it.

The two of them were cuddly and touchy. They’d always been so, even if they had periods where they were more careful because of cameras being around. Still, it wasn’t quite usual for Dan to climb into Phil’s lap and just latch onto him unprompted.

His knees dug into the sofa cushions on either side of Phil, and he buried his face in Phil’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin and thinking whether those two lovers had ever pressed close to each other like this.

Maybe they weren’t queer. Maybe Dan was just reading into it, just like the person who’d posted the photos, but something in his heart sung that love recognised love. There was a reason he saw himself and Phil in those photos.

When he’d been younger, he’d sometimes been mad that he couldn’t quite keep the love out of his eyes when he was around Phil. How it radiated out of the both of them and made them vulnerable to speculation that they hadn’t been ready to face.

That he hadn’t been ready to face.

Everything had been subtext, hidden glances, and then so much love away from prying eyes.

Perhaps the two guys in the photos had never been allowed to be seen for what they were, but it didn’t diminish what Dan could see between them. He was happy that things were different for him and Phil. That they got to exist as themselves. Dan was still working on feeling pride in his identity, but he had no doubt in his love for Phil.

It was the easiest thing in his life.

A given.

Dan Howell breathes, and loves Phil Lester.

Phil’s hands came to rub up and down Dan’s back, and he didn’t complain that he suddenly had most of Dan’s weight just dumped into his lap. He welcomed it, even if Dan was just being emo about a couple of photos.

While he didn’t ask verbally, Dan could hear the questions that Phil didn’t asked. He wondered what had set Dan off like this, even if he would be able to pick up on the fact that it wasn’t really a bad thing. Just emotional.

“Saw some photos,” Dan mumbled against Phil’s neck. “Queers from the 40’s. Goofing around, one playing with the other’s hair.”

The sentences came out fragmented, kind of sharp existing his mouth.

Phil hummed in understanding. “I see.”

Dan knew he did, but now that he was talking, he couldn’t quite stop himself from continuing. It was suddenly very important to him that Phil knew where his head had been at. Dan knew Phil only would be delighted that Dan was seeing them in reflected in other queers through history. He’d have called it fate.

“It could have been us,” Dan said, voice almost a whisper, but he didn’t need to speak very loudly when Phil was this close. When they were touching, embracing and breathing the same air. “I would have loved you even then.”

He meant every word. Even with war and homophobia worse than now, he’d have chosen to fall for Phil. He would have chosen to risk everything and pursue him, just like he’d done in this life when he’d started to reach out as just a fan on Twitter.

More than a decade has passed and yet he could still remember every beat his heart had skipped when he realised that they were becoming something more. When they’d become actual friends, rapidly evolving to best friends, falling in love and deciding that they wanted to share their lives forever.

He thought of all of their different boxes of memories, of how they clung onto all of their history. The story of them.

“Even in another life, you would still have been mine,” Phil agreed, squeezing Dan tighter to his chest. “Can you show me?”

Dan flung his hand in direction of his laptop and felt how Phil shifted both of them forward so that he could pull the laptop closer to take a look. He put it down on the sofa next to them, and Dan heard him click through the photos.

He closed his eyes and relaxed in Phil’s embrace, quite content not to move right now, even if he did want to see Phil’s reaction. He could feel part of it, with their chests pushed together like this, Dan swore he could feel Phil’s heart kick up and go a little faster.

“They’re beautiful,” Phil whispered, earnestly and then because he couldn’t help himself, he added: “Hot too.”

Dan had been so lost in big emotions that he hadn’t expected Phil to say something like that. It startled a laugh out of him, and he almost managed to knock both himself and Phil off the sofa.

“Oi! You’ve got your own hot guy right here!” Dan protested, voice light and airy as he continued to laugh between his words. He put more of his weight onto Phil like he could crush him. Remind himself that he got to be with Phil like this. All tangled up in each other.

He didn’t actually care that Phil found other men attractive. Phil seemed to have a pendant for running into hot men everywhere, and Dan mostly found it ridiculously funny how Phil malfunctioned around them. For fun, he would play up his jealousy or poke fun at Phil with it.

He knew that the love they shared, and how their attraction to each other was much deeper than just physical hotness. Dan knew that Phil would always come back home to him, no matter how many super attractive dudes he might encounter.

“I do,” Phil said, moving to squeeze Dan’s ass unabashedly.

Dan opened his mouth to chastise Phil for fun, but he couldn’t get a word out before his lips were captured in a kiss. He could have pulled away to continue the banter, but he found that he’d much rather melt into the kiss.

Get lost in his timeless love with the one man that he’d search low and high for in any world and in any time. He knew that love would always mean leaning into Phil’s side and getting lost in his eyes.

It was joking around after Dan got emotional about old queers that could have been them. It was knowing exactly how to kiss each other after all of these years. It was how they would always choose each other.

Before meeting Phil, Dan had dared to dream of love and romance, but he could never have imagined what they’d find together. They always had a whole hoard of cardboard boxes with memories, and the collection would only grow and grow.

Dan couldn’t imagine a life where he wouldn’t find Phil. They were going to be timeless. He was sure of it.

#phanfiction #phanfic #phan fluff #my stories #pedia

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sibillascribbles08 · 1 year

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15. “I’m in love with you and it’s terrifying.”

Donatello always thought, even as a kid, that people in movies would say “I love you” too fast.

Even barely having a grasp on romance he would try to figure out how any of it made sense. To say you love someone you’d known for only a few days. Could they actually mean it, or did something else cause the words to spring from their lips?

“It’s just movies,” his father would tell him. “A lot of things are exaggerated for film.”

“Have you been in love?”

“I think I have, yes.”

“You think?”

“It sadly did not end well. But, I do love you. And I love your brothers.”

“But that’s different.”

“Of course, but all love is different, for every person you feel it for.”

Truthfully, it’d been one of the wisest things his father had ever told him. Donatello took note of it, took note of how he felt toward his brothers, toward April, toward his father.

And now, how he felt toward Jase.

He was right, it was all different, but not in a way that Donatello cared to analyze or define. Explaining how he felt always felt like an impossible task. He knew he felt things, but putting it into words? An impossible translation. Like trying to illustrate to his brain what the color yellow actually looked like.

Lucky ass shrimp.

Still, he began to wonder if maybe five months of dating was long enough to say something like “I love you.”

That wouldn’t be too forward, right?

He did love Jase, didn’t he? Or was it still sitting in an attraction phase? He tried to muddle through it, pick through the details, but once again it turned into garbage noise.

He didn’t really know. Maybe he should just try it and see if it felt right.

The opportunity presented itself after a phone conversation. It’d just been a quiet evening. Donatello felt idle, none of his jobs or inventions keeping his attention, so he called Jase for a quick conversation. Jase didn’t want to stay on long, still having an essay to finish, but he still wound up prattling on about all the research he was doing into the topic. A paper about all the accurate scientific descriptions in I, Robot.

Donatello soaked in every word, leaning back in his chair with a smile on his face that he didn’t even notice until the conversation wrapped up. Gods, most days he could listen to Jase talk like this for hours. All the smiling made his cheeks hurt, but he kept doing it. His chest kept buzzing, and he felt so light he wondered if he’d start floating off his chair.

“Anyway,” Jase finally said. “I better get back to finishing it.”

“Yeah,” Donatello agreed. “Um, Jase?”

“Yeah?”

Now, he should say it now, right? Because what other word was there for this kind of feeling? “I love you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Donatello could hear the very faint line of static from the phone. He held his breath the entire time, and it lasted so long he almost gasped for air when his lungs started to hurt.

“Um, Jase?” He finally asked, wondering if the line flat out disconnected.

“I…” His voice shook. “I’m gonna get back to work.”

“Jase?”

This time the line did cut off. Donatello stared at his phone in disbelief, watching it return to the home screen.

What just happened?

He swiftly opened his texts, typing as fast as he could.

>Did I say something wrong??

No immediate reply. That was… fine. It was fine. Jase was busy with homework, after all. Maybe he put his phone far away.

He decided to do the same thing before his anxiety ate him alive. He left the device on his work desk and headed to the kitchen for a snack and some water.

When he returned, an hour later, there was still no reply.

Anxiety made him want to throw up the cheese puffs and beef jerky he just ate.

>Jase?? Are you still working on stuff? >Please just reply when you can.

Donatello took a few deep breaths, tried to put it out of his mind. Jase would reply when he was less busy, and ready, it’d be fine.

But sitting there idle didn’t make him feel better, so Donatello did the only thing he could think of.

“I might have ruined everything.” He said the second he slammed open the door to his father’s room.

Splinter shouted in surprise. One of his slippers flew into the air as he stumbled off his bed, the noise of the TV blocking out the sound of him hitting the floor.

“Purple, what?” Splinter forced himself up, popping his back as he did. “What is going on?”

“I might have ruined everything.” Donatello rambled as he paced back and forth, hands on his head. “Was he just not ready to hear it? Did I say it too soon? But five months is a decent amount of time, right?”

“Purple!” His father shouted. “What are you talking about?”

“Jase.” He turned to look at him. “I… I told him I love him on the phone earlier and he just ended the call and won’t reply to my texts.”

His father’s expression became serious, his ear twitching. “Perhaps he is just feeling overwhelmed?”

“I did say it too soon, didn’t I? Ugh, I knew I should have tried to do some more calculations to—”

“My son, this is not something you can calculate.”

“Then when am I supposed to say it?” He failed to stop himself from shouting. “I don’t…”

Splinter approached him, hand out, but he didn’t grab Donatello. “Did you say it because you felt that way, or because you assumed it had to be said.”

“I did feel that way. I do.” The buzzing in his chest from earlier returned, but somehow it hurt. “But I… I must have upset him. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“Hmm,” Splinter’s ear twitched again and he lowered his hand. “These are not things you can calculate or predict, Donatello. You were being honest with your feelings. All you can do now is wait for Jase to be honest about his.”

“What if he never wants to talk to me again?”

“Hmph, I highly doubt that is the case.” Splinter nudged him toward the door. “Try not to worry so much. You surprised him. He needs some space. I am sure he will reply to your texts soon enough.”

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

Two days.

No response.

Donatello didn’t know what to do. He left a few more texts, all of them going unanswered. He tried to leave an apology. An explanation. But maybe both of those were useless because he had no idea what upset Jase in the first place.

He tried to focus on his work but he couldn’t. Holly Blue noted how distracted he was. He told her what happened, but she didn’t have any good advice. Her own words.

“Love has never been good to me, Donatello. My experiences are too far removed from yours.”

He tried to distract himself with movies, but that failed. Tried to help Mikey with one of his murals, with letting Leo practice some magic tricks on him, with way too much extra training with Raph to the point he badly pulled a muscle in his shoulder.

“Donnie,” Raph said during a massage session to undo the damage. “What is going on?”

“I don’t know.” He tried not to cry. “I don’t know.”

It was pathetic to be panicking this much, wasn’t it? His father was probably right. Jase just needed space to think.

But what if…

What if.

His anxiety made him stressed. His stress made him lash out.

So finally he sent one more text.

>If you want to break up then just say that.

He stared at the text, at the colored background. His head screamed at him on loop that he shouldn’t have said something like that.

Finally, those three flashing dots appeared. Finally, he got a reply.

>I don’t want to break up

Donatello glared at the screen, past the blurriness of the tears lining the bottom of his eyes.

>Then SAY SOMETHING ! >U know I can’t stand being left in the dark !

>I just needed some space

>For what???? >U can’t even tell me u need space?

He wanted to say so many other things. He even started typing them, fingers darting across the keys. “How DARE you.” “That’s so unfair.” “Why are you doing this to me?”

In the end, he deleted all of it and tossed his phone on the bed to wipe his eyes and try to clear the lump out of his throat.

It buzzed.

He ignored the urge to chuck it at the wall and instead read what was on screen.

>Do you want to come over?

Donatello glared again as he typed.

>Do you even want me to come over?

>I don’t hate you or anything

>Then why are you doing this?

>Just come over>I’ll try to explain

The temptation to ghost his boyfriend out of spite sat in the back of his mind, but he ignored that. It would absolutely make things worse.

So he grabbed his shell and his jacket, and flew out of the lair.

When he got to Jase’s house, the window was already open. Donatello pulled himself inside, finding Jase sitting on the bed. He had his sleep shirt on, eyes tired and mouth twisted like he was trying not to vomit.

He glanced in Donatello’s direction, but couldn’t hold his gaze.

Donatello straightened up, dusting off his jacket. “So, what’s the explanation? Any particular reason you decided to ignore my texts for two whole days while I’ve been utterly losing my mind worried that I upset you to the point you never wanted to see me again.”

Jase curled up, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Donnie…”

That didn’t sound like an explanation. “Did me saying ‘I love you’ upset you that much? It’s not like I expected you to say it back.”

“It didn’t upset me.”

Donatello shouted, “Then what’s wrong?”

Jase shouted back, “I got scared, okay?”

Donatello flinched, reminding himself to not scream. It’d just frighten Jase more, then they’d never get to the bottom of this. He paced around for a few moments before finally sitting on the floor and picking at the carpet. “Does the thought of me loving you scare you that much?”

“No it’s not you it’s—I mean it’s not just you it…” Jase sighed and hid his face in his knees.

Donatello tried to be patient and wait for him to finish, still pulling the fibers out of the rug. It really needed to be replaced. Just how old was it? He could practically see the layers of dirt if he squinted hard enough.

“Donnie.”

He glanced back up. “Yeah?”

Jase let out a long breath. “I… I’m in love with you and it’s terrifying.”

Donatello’s eyes went wide. His chest buzzed and his cheeks burned, but confusion still sat at the forefront of everything. “What?”

Jase kept hiding his face, nails digging into his arms. “You said you love me and I realized that I love you too and I got… scared. I know it was a jerk move for me to go radio silent but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want you to think you did something wrong, because you didn’t, but I just…”

Donatello pushed himself up off the floor and got closer to the bed. “Why does it scare you?”

“Because…” Jase’s voice wavered and he sniffed. “Because I keep thinking it’s not going to last.”

Donatello narrowed his eyes and put his hand on the mattress. “Jase, I told you—”

“I know.” His boyfriend snapped, finally looking up. “I know. You tell me all the time, but it’s not that simple. It constantly feels like I’m just another big screw up—like ghosting you for two days—for you to decide I’ve been nothing but a waste of time.”

“Jase, if your last major screw up didn’t scare me off what makes you think—”

“Don’t pretend you aren’t mad.”

Donatello groaned. “Fine. Yes. I’m mad. But it’s still not enough to make me leave. I’m here. I’m talking about this. Because that’s all I wanted from the start, was to talk about it. And like I said, you could have at least told me you need space but you didn’t say anything.”

“I know.” Jase rested his chin back on his knees. “I’m sorry.”

Donatello sat down on the bed, but still kept a fair distance between them just in case. “Jase, I’m bad with feelings. I don’t often know how to identify my own and when other people try to talk about theirs I always try to treat it with logic instead of… well, feeling.” He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “And it’s true, I don’t get it. I don’t get how your brain works sometimes. But just because I’m bad at understanding doesn’t mean leaving me in the dark makes it better.”

His boyfriend let out a long sigh. “I know.”

Donatello pressed his lips together. There really wasn’t point in another lecture. Jase already knew what he did wrong. He pulled his legs up onto the bed as he turned to face his boyfriend. “Would… you like a hug?”

Jase looked up at him, his expression just a bit brighter than it had been for this entire conversation. He finally left his guarded position and scooted over.

Donatello opened his arms, ready to pull his boyfriend into a hug, so he was very unprepared for Jase’s hands to grab his face and tug him into a kiss instead. Not a short one either, as Jase’s hands moved to the back of Donatello’s neck. Donatello’s eyes fell shut as his arms wrapped around his boyfriend and pulled him onto his lap.

Still, Jase pulled away before it got too deep. “You really love me?”

Donatello’s eyes fluttered back open. He reached a hand up, brushing away the stray tears he found clinging to Jase’s eyelashes. “I really really love you. Two reallys.”

Jase sighed, leaning close so their foreheads touched. “I really really love you too.”

#scribbly fics #jasonnie #rottmnt #me like: Jase would be the type to panic after the first 'i love you'#and then I proceeded to upset myself #also random rambling #donnie isn't colorblind #though I did learn turtles can see more shades of red than us #anyway humans can't actually see the color yellow #our brain just makes it up based on a best guess from the RGB cones we do have #insane shit

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daddyy333 · 2 years

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Bad Boyfriend | Jamie Campbell Bower x y/n

if you’d like you can reblog my original work, but please don’t post it without credit. if you take inspiration from my ideas please tag me, I’d like to see how someone else would write it

Word count: 2.4k

warnings: Jamie’s a doodoo boyfriend, reader is insecure about if she’s a good girlfriend, Jamie lowk has an eating disorder? Jamie also isn’t sleeping much, uhhhh idk what else let me know

summary: Jamie hasn’t loved you the same for what feels like forever, and you’ve had enough

You sighed, leaving his little producing studio in the house you two shared with a full plate for the thousandth time in the last year or so. Jamie was stressing himself out too much, you knew it. Because of his new role in the Stranger things series he was overworking himself trying to be the best actor for this role.

It started as soon as he got the role, he was going crazy doing research and figuring out his character and then filming got shut down and it got worse. He was fully putting his everything into this character and then shooting started up again and you barely saw him anymore.

He’d literally practically spent an entire month on set once he started filming as Vecna in the suit and everything. He almost always fell asleep on the couch in his trailer or someone would have to drive him home because he was so exhausted. It was heartbreaking to see him going through that, you wished he would just give himself a break or ask the directors if there was any chance he could take a day or two off.

Whenever you’d tried visiting him on set, you spent more time with his cast mates than him because he was so busy. You felt hopeless and like your relationship wasn’t even real anymore. You genuinely can’t remember the last time he kissed you, hugged you, made love to you, or even touched you if we’re being honest.

He’d finished filming a few weeks ago, and you’d hoped that maybe he’d go back to being your boyfriend again but he still wasn’t sleeping, still wasn’t eating, still wasn’t really interacting with you and at this point you were starting to get concerned for his health. He was getting unhealthily skinny, and you could practically sense the exhaustion from a mile away.

He’d been holed up in his studio for the last couple weeks, working on music and really getting back into that groove. You’d made him breakfast, lunch and dinner everyday and you’d be lucky if he ate lunch and maybe a little bit of his dinner.

You set the plate down on the counter and tears filled your eyes, you wondered if maybe it was just you. Maybe he didn’t love you like he used to anymore and doesn’t know how to tell you. Maybe you should’ve tried harder, should’ve been a better girlfriend, should’ve tried to support him more.

You saved the leftovers like you always did, even though you’d end up throwing them away in a few days anyways. You blinked away your tears and washed dishes and cleaned up the kitchen as well. You fed your cat and headed upstairs, showering and getting ready for bed.

You made sure and said I love you and goodnight every night before bed, or you would text it and even if he didn’t reply (which he always did, but it never felt like he meant it) you at least knew you tried. Tonight though, you were done trying.

The last year and a half of your relationship has been completely one-sided, and you are just sick of fighting to keep this relationship going when he can’t be bothered to even look at you sometimes. You were too mentally drained to want to go downstairs and say goodnight to him, so you just didn’t.

It left you in tears, because you knew that there was nothing left between you two at this point. You’d love him till your last breath, but it seemed as though Jamie didn’t even care about you at all anymore. You cried yourself to sleep, staring at the promise ring on your hand, he promised, he fucking promised he’d always love you.

You got up the next morning and showered, and you couldn’t bear to look at the promise ring anymore without crying so you just took it off. That also made you want to cry, considering you’d never ever taken it off once since he gave it to you. You never had a reason to, and it was okay to be worn in the shwoer so you kept it on all the time. But the promise attached to that ring was long broken now, that ring only brought you pain now.

It was your anniversary today, your 5th anniversary of being together. On your 3rd anniversary he made you breakfast in bed and you celebrated beautifully with a little picnic and walked all around the city with each other, going to your favorite shops and just spending time with each other and made love most of that night. Last year, your 4th anniversary, he sent you breakfast, and took you on a dinner date and fell asleep in the car because he was so exhausted from filming. This year, well this year he forgot.

You went the whole day hoping he would at least come out and spend time with you. You had bought him a gift months ago, a new ring, just a simple one but with his and your initials engraved onto it.

You wanted to give it to him anyways, but wasn’t sure if you should. He probably wouldn’t even care. You kept the little box in your pocket all day, fiddling with it anxiously and thinking about you and Jamie.

“Why is your promise ring sitting on the bathroom counter?” He asked as he came downstairs, you were so zoned out you didn’t even remember him coming out of his studio at all. “I-I…I just wanted to clean my hands and I took off my jewelry. Must’ve forgotten to put it back on. I’m sorry” you said and stood up and walked towards him and tried to take it from him but he moved his hand away.

“You never take it off. I’ve seen you wash your hands before you always keep this ring on” he said and you sighed. You grabbed the ring from him and slipped it back on. “I’m sorry. It was just a fluke or something. Won’t happen again” you said and he took a deep breath.

“You also didn’t come in and say “I love you” last night. Are you upset with me?” He asked. You sighed shakily and said “no, babe. Everything’s fine” He could hear the shakiness in your voice and you knew you were about to cry and so did he.

“What’s wrong?” He asked and you looked away slightly, trying to fight the tears. You took a deep breath and said “nothing, I-I’m okay Jamie” “Y/n, you’re crying, obviously somethings wrong” he said and you sniffled.

“I just…do you even know what day it is?” You asked and he shrugged. He looked at his phone and said “Tuesday?” “No, Jamie…it’s our anniversary. And you fucking forgot. It’s not only that, it’s the fact that I don’t even know if we’re really even in a relationship anymore. For the better part of the last 2 years we’ve been growing apart more and more with every day that passes by and I can’t handle it anymore. When you got the stranger things role you dropped everything, including me, and put everything into the show. I know that acting is very demanding of you and is something you need to focus for but it’s like you don’t even care about me anymore! I tried to be supportive, I tried to understand-but I can’t! I can’t remember the last time you kissed me, or- o-or hugged me or the last time you even touched me and it’s frustrating. I cook you breakfast, lunch, and dinner every single day and you don’t even look at it. I tried to get you to rest and relax for months and you didn’t care! You don’t appreciate anything I do anymore! This promise ring is nothing now, you broke it a long time ago. I cant keep fighting for our relationship, it’s so fucking one sided, at this point we’re just goddamn roommates. I miss my boyfriend, god damn it. I thought after filming I’d get him back but you’re still fucking avoiding me, you’re still not sleeping, you’re still not eating, you’re still stressing yourself the fuck out! I tried Jamie, I tried for over a year and I can’t anymore. It’s eating me up and ruining me inside. Happy goddamn anniversary” you snapped. You got up and threw the box with the ring in it at him, running upstairs.

He stood there in shock. Warm, salty tears ran down his face. He knew he’d been focused on working, but he really didn’t realize it was this bad. He couldn’t believe he forgot your anniversary, how could he?

Of course he cared about you, he was very much still in love with you. He couldn’t believe he made you feel this way, made you think he didn’t love you anymore.

He picked up the box and opened it, seeing the ring you had made for him. Why the hell would he ever screw this up? You were so good to him, so supportive, you were the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He slowly made his way upstairs and knocked on the door, he could hear you crying softly on the other side.

“Please just leave me alone. You’ve managed just fine this entire time, now I’m asking for it” you said and he let out a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry, y/n. I just want to talk, please?” He begged and you opened the door hesitantly.

He sniffled and said “I’m sorry” “I’m sure you are, Jamie. But “I’m sorry” isn’t gonna make almost 2 years of being ignored go away. You have no idea how painful it’s been to watch you overwork yourself, and watch you wither away cause you won’t eat or sleep” you said and let out a shaky breath, moving to sit on the bed.

He still stood in the doorway, ashamed of what he’d done as he said “I-I know that…but there’s no words to excuse what I’ve done. I still love you like you wouldn’t believe, I never ever wanted to make you feel this way. I guess I just got too wrapped up in my work and it caused me to abandon the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I shouldn’t have let it happen, but it did and the only thing I can do now is try to make it up to you”

You stayed silent a few moments burying your face into your knees whilst you cried as you had curled up against the headboard. “H-How do I know it won’t happen again? I can't go through this anymore, if I do it again it’ll break me” you said and he whimpered.

He moved inside the bedroom and sat in front of you, grabbing one of your hands softly. “I’ve done something I never ever thought I would do. I never thought I would hurt you this bad, I never wanted to. If you can give me a second chance I swear on my mother I’ll never, never ever let my ignorance cause you to hurt this badly ever again. I swear, if I had thought you were in even half as much pain I would’ve dropped everything for you. I’m so goddamn sorry, y/n” he said and you closed your eyes, more tears wanting to spill.

“As much as I’d like to pretend I don’t care about making this relationship work anymore, I really fucking do…I’m just- I-I’m scared” you said and he bit his lip, he really was the shittiest fucking boyfriend on the planet right now. You took the promise ring off and said “you have one more chance. Promise me you won’t ever do this to me again. If you do it’s over, and I’ll be outta here before you can even think about convincing me to stay”

“I promise” he whispered softly and slipped the ring back on you. He kissed your hand, sniffling softly as he pressed gentle kisses to it. “Thank you…” he said and you nodded. You were still terrified to trust him again, but he seemed so genuinely upset with himself you were willing to give him one more chance.

“Now…I’m gonna go make dinner, and you’re gonna eat the shit out of it cause you’re getting really really small and it’s freaking me out” you said and he chuckled softly, nodding. He followed you downstairs and you talked some more, talked through all the issues and all the pain he had brought you and why the two of you thought he had gotten this invested in his work, enough to do this to you.

“Can I sleep in the bed tonight?” He asked and you nodded softly. He curled up next to you, both of you facing each other. “I’m sorry I ruined our anniversary and the last 2 years of your life,” he said, you both chuckled softly.

You played with the edge of the blanket as you said “it’s okay…don’t worry, we talked about it, and it’s gonna be okay” “can we celebrate tomorrow?” He asked and you nodded. He brushed your hair behind your ear and kissed your head.

“I love you so much” he whispered and you bit your lip, fighting tears again. He awed, wiping them away and apologizing. “No, no it’s okay…I love you too” you said and he chuckled softly, cupping your cheek.

He lightly spooned you whilst you both slept that night, and ordered you bagels from your favorite bagel place. He called his team while you were still sleeping and got himself lots of time off to fully be with you, and repair the damage he’s done.

It took a few months but by the time the show was released things were amazing between you two. You had never been stronger together, he’d drop everything for you in a second if he even sensed you might be having a bad day or something like that.

“Thank you…for a second chance. And for showing me I’m only human and need rest and food regularly” he said, cuddled up with you as you both watched the first 6 episodes of the season as it had just come out last night.

You smiled and said “how could I not? Can't resist that pretty face. Plus I love you way too much” “I love you more” he said and tightened his arms around your waist. He kissed your temple and sighed softly, nuzzling into your hair.

As of now I’m writing for

Eddie Munson

Joseph Quinn

Jamie Bower

Steve Harrington

Robin Buckley

Eddissy

Maya Hawke

So just comment the taglist you want to be added to and I’ll add you :)

#jamie campbell bower #jamie bower #jamie bower x reader #jamie campbell bower x reader #jamie campbell bower x y/n #jamie bower x y/n #jamie

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insomniamamma · 2 years

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Sometimes You Can’t Make It On Your Own: Nico (House Comes With a Bird) x f!reader

A/N: this started off as @littleferal‘s Iron Chef, but I will not reblog it there because I entirely lost control of this fic. I tried to follow the rules, but it didn’t work out. Partially inspired by this U2 song. Same reader as Ephemera. This is personal for me because if you grow up in a small town, the second you manage to leave you will be punished for it.

warnings: anxiety. crappy family dynamics. reader is disparaged by family. Financial hardship. Age gap. Language. Please let me know if I’ve missed something. Terrible Spanish. I took latin in high school.

He's going to dump you. You know that right? He's going to ditch you the second you look a day over 25. Your mother the last time you talked to her. He only likes you cause you remind him of his dead wife. He'll get bored and leave you and then where will you be? Huh? Stuck in San Diego without a dollar to your name. Ma it's not like that what? You think he loves you? You think he cares about you? Look at him and look at you. He wants you for one thing. Ma it's not like that. I always knew you were stupid. But I never thought you were this stupid. You're nothing to him. You're just his little whore. You're a charity case. The sooner you realize that the sooner you can move on with your life. He doesn't love you. Grow up.

Lu: hey Nico. She's got you as an emergency contact. IDK. If this is an emergency Nico: she needs me. Lu: yeah. I can hear her crying thru the door. It sounds bad. I wouldn't bother you-- Nico: I'm on my way.

It all came crashing down. That little nagging voice. The one who doubts. The one who says no one and nothing, the one who says no one will ever care, the one who sounds exactly like your mother and your sisters and your roommates, the ones who say he can never love you, that someone like him is only interested in some nice, tight holes. Dumb hooker. Like in Pretty Woman. Always said you'd never amount to nothing. Who do you think you are, putting on airs? The same litany you've heard all your life. Punished for trying to leave. For trying to make a go of it somewhere else. Go to California try to make a new start and now it's just you and Lu, clinging by the skin of your teeth and Lu is gone by the end of the month and you can't make it, you know you can't, and someone shared a photo of you and Nico together at at art opening and your mom and sisters had started in. Look at you, some rich fella's arm candy, who do you think you are? He'll ditch you the second you look a day over 25. Who do you think you are? He's old enough to be your father, he doesn't love you. You're just his little whore.

It feels like you've been crying for days. You can't stop. You hate when this happens but you can't stop, you can barely breathe, your mind revs like a feverish engine, you can't stop, you can't stop, he only wants you for one thing, and you're so scared that it's true, but how can it be true? He's held you while you've cried. He memorizes the things you love, even the small things. He knows you love the Chinese place in the strip mall down the hill from your apartment, hot and sour soup so spicy it feels like using ANFO to clear your sinuses. He takes you to Live Wire because he knows you love to stack the jukebox with Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. He always has chapstick on hand because you keep losing yours. The OG kind, not the cherry. But still. Her voice has always been the hardest to ignore. Why can't you be more like your sisters? You're wasting your time. You'll come crawling back once you need a handout. You'd kicked against the bars of your cage and flown free. For a time. It's only you and Lu now, and she leaves at the end of the month, 27 days.

You hear voices low outside. Lu and Nico. A film of embarrassment falls over everything else. You don't want him here, in the sticky dark, in the grit that seems to cling to everything. It's different when you come to meet him, there's an illusion of being on equal ground but here? The cracked linoleum, the peeling paint, the dust that gathers in the corners, the dishes in the sink, that's all on display like a scab.

"Vine lo más rápido que pude, Osita," He bursts in and you want to hide. Your try to curl into yourself but he will not allow it, his hand on your shoulder, rolling you so you are facing him. "You shouldn't be here." "Where else would I be?" You blink the tears away and look at him, knowing more tears will come. Once you start crying like this it's like a river. Nothing can stop it. The corners of your mouth quirk up because Nico's a mess. He's wearing his glasses instead of contacts and his curls stick out every which way. He's wearing a t-shirt with a stretched out neck, and pajama bottoms. You laugh a little and it hurts, bringing a wave of fresh tears. His eyes are wide and shining, his teeth worry at his lower lip and his concern is too much. You roll away from him on your narrow bed, and curl inward, feel the dip of the mattress as he sits. "What happened?" "My family knows about us." "So?" "God, you're really fucking dense sometimes," you say, and there is silence, except for the hitch of your breath, the sounds of the neighbors music oozing through the walls, the sounds of someone arguing in the parking lot. "I don't mean to be." "Fuck. I know. It's just--" "Talk to me, Osita, tell me what happened." "You know the art show we went to?" "Yes! The Henry Darger exhibit." "Well, someone took a picture of us and someone tagged me in it, and it got back to my sisters and my mom." He runs his hand along the curve of your shoulder, tracing up and down your arm, a mindless, repetitive motion. “I don't--" "They say you don't love me, okay? That you're just gonna fuck me till something better comes along and then ditch me." "Why?" He says, and his voice is cold, hard like you've never heard. You've seen Nico happy and melancholy, but this is the first time you have ever heard him angry. "They don't know me. Why would they think such things?" You start talking and you don't stop. You don't stop until your voice is hoarse. Your mom, your sisters. You'll be back in three months. Who do you think you are? As if the enclosure of your hometown is all you should ever dream of. All you should ever be. Aspiring to anything else means you're insulting them. Go ahead and go. See what it's like. You'll be home by thanksgiving. Who do you think you are? It all falls out of you. The way all your friends turned their backs when they found out your were leaving. How you got suckered. We all work together and we can make it. Except making it ended up being a shit apartment with everyone scraping to put together rent and food and bickering over who ate what from the fridge, the nearby strip of public beach always filled with washed up trash, littered with cigarette butts. A promise gone sour right from the start. "They're right. I can't make it. I never should have come out here in the first place." Nico doesn't speak. He doesn't speak, but he slides into bed behind you, enfolds you in himself, a warm wall around you. "They are wrong about you," he says, his breath warm on your nape, "They are wrong about us. We can go to the courthouse tomorrow morning if you wish. I had intended to court you properly, to surprise you, something romantic, you know--" "Nico, are you asking me to marry you?" He curls around you tighter, his hand finds yours and he threads his fingers through yours and squeezes. "You don't have to answer right now," he says, "I don't want to pressure you. I just--mierda, I'm bad at this. This weight you carry, you don't have to carry it alone. I want to carry it for you, Osita." "Why? You want to rescue me from my sad little life?" He squeezes you even tighter. "Do you know why I call you Little Bear? It's because you are strong. You are fierce. But you don't need to be. You don't have to go it alone. I don't want to rescue you. I want to stand beside you. If you'll have me." And there is silence between you, the sound of some cop show coming through the thin walls, the sounds of someone arguing, the sounds of the compressor in your balky window unit kicking on. "You're sure." "I am." "I need to think." "Of course." "Will you stay?" "I'll be here all night. As long as you need." He tucks his face into your neck and pulls you close. And you're so tired from crying, from arguing with your mother, from the cramped spiral of your own thoughts, you feel yourself relaxing into him, settling into Nico's arms, your breath matching his, his chest curved to your back, his long legs entangled with yours, you feel your breath even out, his words pressed soft into your neck. "Rest well, mi amor."

#nico x f!reader #nico (house comes with a bird) x f!reader #ephemera au #nico #nico (house comes with a bird)#house comes with a bird #pedro pascal

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