#i am once again photographing my neighborhood at night

[scruboaks]

#night rain #my photos #original photography #rain #night #thunder #storm #i am once again photographing my neighborhood at night

[messedupfan]

Taylor Sloane Draft (Might Not Continue)

A/n: Hello! I thought I'd share something from the drafts that I've kind of abandoned haha. So read at your own discretion that this is possibly all that you'll get from this story. But I am open to any and all ideas, so if you have one let me know in the comments, asks, or even my dms. Enjoy!

Taylor plays with the ring on her finger. She has just accepted a proposal from a man she didn’t love, but that was good for her image. She downs the rest of her champagne and makes a face. She didn’t enjoy the beverage at all, but it was an expensive bottle that he bought special for the occasion. Although it was a sham, he said it was still something to be celebrated. And he wasn’t wrong. Taylor Sloane was no longer going to just be known as a freelance photographer and social media influencer. She was going to be the fiancé of a respected actor who is at the height of his career. Which means that she is going to be getting a lot of attention once their publicists have the photos of their secret engagement “leaked” to the press. 

Looking out on the balcony of the restaurant, she can’t admire the view of the city much without being haunted by the memory of the first time she saw it. With you. It wasn’t at a fancy restaurant like this. No, back then the two of you could barely afford to splurge on McDonalds. It was after the first month of living in California. She was losing hope on ever getting an apprenticeship with a professional photographer. She hated the part-time job she had so she could help pay the bills. She was losing all hope of ever achieving her goals and chasing her dreams. 

 So, to cheer her up and help remind her where she is and of the endless possibilities, you grabbed her camera and drove her to the Hollywood sign. The two of you couldn’t actually get to the sign with security lurking around. But you could hike above it without getting into trouble. At the top of Mount Lee in the middle of the night, Taylor found inspiration again. You handed her the camera and she took a few different shots. She kissed you and thanked you well into the next morning. She truly loved you the best that she knew how. 

Taylor looks at the ring and scoffs. There was a time when she believed the only person to ever put a ring on her finger would be you. Now she was far from that ever happening today. It was rare for her to regret her decision. Until it came to moments like these that woke her up. That reminded her of what she lost on her way here. 

“I think this is going to be great,” Chris says as he joins her side. “Are you okay?” 

Taylor flashes a quick smile at him and moves her gaze back to the city. She knew you had to be living in one of the neighborhoods. But she couldn’t know for certain. The two of you lost touch a long time ago and she could never find you on social media. The mutual friends the two of you had together haven’t spoken to her in years because eventually Taylor blew them off as well. They were holding her back, is what she would tell herself anytime she missed any of them. Including you. “I’m going to be, just, this isn’t how I imagined my first marriage. Maybe second or third,” she quips. 

He laughs and looks down for a second, “I understand, and we still don’t have to go through with this. Y’know? It’s in the contract, we’re allowed to bow out at any point.”

“No, I’m not saying,” she turns her whole body towards him. “I’m okay. We’re going to make a great power couple for the next few years. And who knows, it might last longer than that,” she leans in to give him a kiss. He smiles against her lips. 

“I’m happy to hear that you want to make this work,” he kisses her back and brings her closer to him. “I never saw this for myself either but I think this will be the best decision of my career. Maybe even my life.” 

Taylor felt the exact opposite. She was already regretting this one so much. But she doesn’t show it. She hums as she kisses him again. She pats his chest and the two separate. 

After they go their separate ways for the night, Taylor goes driving around town. She doesn't really leave the house to explore anymore. Anytime she goes out it's only to promote a place that has paid her to be there. But tonight, for the first time in a long time, she doesn't want to do anything that will boost her image. That was well taken care of for now. 

“You really want to drive across the country?” You ask skeptically after Taylor presented her idea to you. Graduation was creeping closer and closer. The both of you hoped you would have access to more money by now. But life was too tempting and the “You only live once,” mentality wasn't financially beneficial. 

Taylor assumed she'd have access to her trust fund straight out of college but with the example she showcased to her parents in the past four years — not to mention how Nicky blew through his in a matter of months — the Sloane's only saw it fitting for Taylor to have to work a little harder for her money. She wasn't eligible for access until she was thirty-five. However, she could have it sooner if she got married and had a stable job. 

Taylor knows that you would have easily married her if she asked. But she didn't want that to be the story. Even if she never told you that was why. She would know and it would eat her alive because that's not what you deserved. 

Your parents gave you access to your money after you graduated high school. They thought you would be responsible with the money but with the spring break and summer vacation trips you paid for and the weekends spent in clubs, and the expensive dates and gifts that you would get for your girlfriend all started to add up and left you with barely enough to get you and Taylor something to rent in California. Not a nice place either. And there wasn't much left over to help the two of you get there. Not unless you drove across the country as Taylor has suggested.

“Come on, it could be an adventure,” Taylor boasts. 

You laugh because she was volunteering to sleep in the car packed with yours and hers belongings when she was known for refusing to sleep anywhere that wasn't a five star hotel. But you haven't seen her so willing to do something like this. “Okay, yeah, we could do it. As long as I’m not the only one driving.”

#taylor sloane #y/n x taylor sloane #unfinished #stuck #don't know what to do #messedupfan drafts

[illumins]

CHAPTER FOUR

Etymology

Just as the night had lulled me into slumber, it also stirred me awake. My eyes, now open, gradually adjusted to the dimness of my room. Silver streaks of moonlight filtered through the curtains, painting the walls and furniture with a mysterious interplay of light and shadow, reminiscent of scenes from noir films. I meticulously traced every detail, my gaze occasionally drifting to the aged photographs adorning my walls. They were fragments of my past, not numerous, but significant enough to merit their place. Each image featured either Nana, Areum, or myself—those who had remained in my life for the long haul. It was both comforting and disconcerting. Nice things never last, I thought, a sense of dread accompanying the idea. While my grandmother found beauty in such transience, often remarking, ‘They don't last so other nice things can have a share in your life too’, I resisted the notion. I didn't crave more; I wished only to preserve what I had. ‘More’ frightened me, ‘more’ overwhelmed me, and I was hesitant to embrace it.

Minutes of internal deliberation yielded no resolution. My eyelids, no longer heavy with sleep, and my mind settled into a calm state. Interpreting it as a negative response from my brain, I pushed my covers aside and got out of bed. Peering through my window, I observed the serene night, its hushed streets illuminated by the soft glow of yellow street lamps and a blanket of rolling clouds. Usually, moments like this beckoned me for a peaceful stroll, the night offering solace. But now, as I gazed out, a nagging sense of danger shouted in my mind. The night was never truly mine; it belonged to someone else. The anger I had felt upon reading the letter resurfaced, gradually consuming me. I hate the night, no, I hate them.

I was not one to easily succumb to intimidation. Even as a child, when bullies taunted me with words, I stood my ground. Verbal jabs never affected me, but the moment a hand was laid upon me, I reacted with unbridled fury. Fists clenched, teeth sinking into flesh, kicks soaring as high as a horse. My grandmother had taught me to defend myself, a fact that had invited criticism from some. ‘How dare you raise such a thing? She bruised my child,’ they would complain. Or, ‘There are places for girls like her—troublesome—and that's nowhere near a neighborhood like this.’ But these words held no weight, merely masking narcissism and fear.

Yet that night, I had been intimidated beyond measure, dwelling in a perpetual state of terror. Reflecting on how easily I had panicked over a simple letter earlier filled me with shame and anger. They had made everything seem poised at death's door, and it infuriated me. Their words in the letter, carefully crafted like a viper's strike, amplified my frustration. They attack me and then attempt communication with a letter? What the hell. Returning my gaze to my desolate neighborhood, I clenched my teeth, slipped into my slippers, and wrapped a scarf around my neck for added warmth. If I want the night for peace, for myself alone, I can have it.

My heart continued to pound, even as I descended the stairs until I stood at the front door. Now, with my hand hovering over the doorknob, hesitation grew, though not as rapidly as the fiery rage that coursed through my thoughts. Just open it, Sora! I urged myself. And so I did. A gentle breeze wafted in from outside, tousling my ebony hair.

Stepping onto the porch, I took deep breaths, savoring the sensation of truly inhaling again. There were no short gasps of air; instead, my lungs were filled with the crisp autumn night. Once on the sidewalk, I scanned my surroundings, searching for anything out of place, yet finding only empty spaces. "It's yours, Sora," I whispered to myself, seeking reassurance. Convinced, I let out a light laugh, a sigh of relief. "I don't need Sincheng to escort me home to feel okay. I can do it myself. I am okay."

For several minutes, I walked down the street, studying my neighbors' homes. I was well-acquainted with their appearances, but my eyes couldn't resist wandering. Most adhered to a palette of cool-toned colors for their houses, while a few stood out vibrantly. Mine was among the vivid ones—a two-story yellow house with a dark wooden roof and small statues in the front yard. I had always cherished my home as a reflection of my grandmother's character—a quirky woman with countless surprises and stories to share.

The scarf that had been neatly wrapped around my neck gradually unwound as the wind picked up. It came in gusts, causing my hair to dance mid-air. Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping my sweater would provide enough warmth for my nightly walk. I continued, my senses alert, until one gust of wind hit harder than the rest. It nearly blinded me as my hair and scarf flew about. Pushing my hair out of my face, I scoured the area for my scarf, which had landed in the street below. Walking back, I kept an eye out for any passing cars. I mean, there can't be any; there haven't been any for hours.

Before retrieving my scarf, I gave one last look around. Then, determined, I began walking toward it. Reaching down to pick it up, I inspected it to ensure it hadn't gotten dirty. I brushed away bits of cement, painstakingly picking them out with my nails. Afterward, I smoothed it down with my palm, unaware of the ring of light that had begun to glow behind the scarf. My mind slowly grasped the significance—there was a car approaching.

Time seemed to stretch as the car's engine roared. Why wasn't it stopping? Why wasn't I running? I stared at the approaching headlights, my fear akin to that of a deer caught in headlights. My breath caught, and my feet felt leaden. I wanted to scream, but even my voice felt trapped in this moment. All I could do was clutch my scarf to my chest as the car hurtled toward me.

As the light engulfed me, swallowing the feared night I had fretted over, a sudden tug at my back yanked me to the side. In a split second, the car sped past me, not stopping as it continued down the street. Disoriented by the abrupt shift, I clung to whatever had pulled me aside. Wide-eyed, I continued to watch the spot where the car had vanished, my breathing rapid as my heart raced to catch up with my adrenaline.

The arms that had encircled me loosened, and I tumbled onto the sidewalk with a moan of pain. Slowly, I rose to my feet, regaining my balance. Standing erect, I turned my attention to my rescuer—a young man. Soft, brown hair framed sharp cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, and half-full lips. His hands rested on either side of his head as he panted, breathing deeply as if dispelling a headache. When he finally glanced up at me, our eyes locked.

We stood there, sizing each other up. I clung tightly to my scarf, and he remained in a maroon blouse and black skinny jeans. He patted down his disheveled hair and watched as I continued to maintain my silence. “Are you okay?”

“Me? Are you okay?” I replayed his demeanor from moments ago. “Are you?” I asked, pointing to my head to make myself clear.

Recognition flickered in his eyes as he understood my meaning. He brushed it off with an apologetic smile. “It happens sometimes. I'm fine now. But you seem pretty shaken up by what just happened, right?”

I nodded, still keeping my distance.

“I won't hurt you. I was just passing by and happened to be here at the right moment.”

Just passing by? I would have noticed you; these streets are quite empty.

“Thank you. Otherwise…” I glanced back toward the street where I had stood. “I would have died.” I returned my gaze to him as he spoke.

“I'm Mark. Nice to meet you. And you're welcome,” he replied with a sheepish smile.

I continued to observe him, noting his posture—hands in pockets, one foot slightly behind the other as he leaned back. His raised eyebrow conveyed his expectation for me to break the silence. I let out a series of quiet 'um's' in my awkwardness, but he remained patient. Eventually, I reached a conclusion. I guess he isn't bad, or at least not one of them. He could have let me die, but he didn't.

“I'm Sora. Nice to meet you too.”

He offered a warm smile, and I reciprocated it. During this exchange, I noticed his nose was bleeding. “Oh, Mark, your nose,” I pointed to my own nose as a reference. “It's bleeding.”

Mark reached up to his nose and attempted to wipe away the blood that slowly trickled onto his lips. I couldn't help but think, Um... I looked around for a nearby tree, found one in a neighbor's yard, and plucked a green leaf that hadn't yet turned ruby or amber. Walking up to him, I offered the leaf, which he snatched from my hand quickly, distancing himself from me. Had I done something wrong?

Noticing my startled expression, he quickly offered an apology, his voice tinged with sincerity, “Sorry... thank you though.” His gesture indicated the leaf now covering his nose.

“It's nothing, you should thank the neighbor though; it's their leaf,” I quipped with a hint of humor in my tone.

Mark, taken aback by my shift in demeanor, closely observed my newfound composure. My muscles had transformed from tense to relaxed, an unspoken trust apparent in my demeanor. Without warning, I approached him, causing him to instinctively step back, but I reached out and gently grasped his arm. My grip conveyed a clear message, an unspoken ‘stay,’ yet it remained loose enough not to appear threatening but rather gentle.

“Do you tend to have nosebleeds, or is this because of that headache of yours?” I inquired, my eyes probing him. Since my grandmother had begun to fall ill, I had become attuned to detecting signs of pain as potential threats. How could I not, given that any sudden ailment could potentially prove fatal for her ailing Nana? I had become a self-taught nurse through research and careful observation of how actual nurses cared for her Nana when they had been able to afford hospital visits. Now, here I was, tending to a stranger in the middle of the night.

It took Mark a few seconds to register the situation unfolding before him. However, when my gaze shifted from his nose to his eyes, he refocused on my question. “Umm... yeah... no,” he stammered, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I mean… haha…”

Watching him stumble over his words, I couldn't help but let a genuine smile spread across my face—an expression of awe and intrigue for the boy who had come to my rescue. “Take your time, Mark,” I said, savoring the sound of his name on my lips.

Amused by me, Mark chuckled and cleared his throat, regaining his composure. “Sora, you happened to hit me in the nose when I pulled you back,” he explained, emphasizing my name just as I had.

“I did?” I questioned, attempting to recall the sequence of events, but the adrenaline had blurred my memory. “I guess I did. Sorry…”

Stepping back a few paces, I looked around; the night had returned to its quiet state. It was still and silent, much like a few minutes before, but it felt eerie. There were no chirping crickets or bursts of aggressive wind—no wind at all, in fact. It's almost surprising there's still air.

“What, scared?” Mark observed my growing unease as my eyes darted around my surroundings.

Now back to him, I smiled and rolled my eyes playfully. “No, just lost myself for a bit.”

“Mhm, I do that too sometimes.”

A serene tranquility settled between us as we simply gazed at each other. “So, I... uh... should be going,” Mark gestured behind me, indicating the direction from which I had come.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. It's pretty late, so I should be heading back too.”

We both nodded but remained standing there a while longer, unashamedly allowing our eyes to wander over each other's figures. One observed every movement, every strand of hair, and every feature of the other. The other tried to memorize them, as clothing alone wouldn't suffice. So our eyes roamed every inch of each other's faces, carrying a sense of care and gentleness that neither could help but acknowledge.

I was the first to break the silence that had settled between us once more. “I'll head out first. Nice to meet you, Mark.”

Mark watched me closely, his eyes soft. “Nice to meet you too, Sora.”

#kpop fanfic #kpop ff #kpop au #kpop vampire au #haechan au #haechan fanfic #haechan #illumins #nct fanfic #nightdoveseries #mark fanfic #mark lee

[letmeplaytheliontoo]

Green, Green Shorts

TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 3032

Summary: “Oh really?” you say, giving your ass a little wiggle against him. You hit pause on the movie and turn to face him.

“I just . . . “ his eyes run down your body, devouring it as if it was his first time seeing it.

“Just what?” you purr as you start to kiss along his jawline.

His hand stretches down your body to reach for the skin of your thigh as he takes your lips with his. You hook you leg over him to straddle him and you’re greeted with the feel of his hardening length. He takes your ass in both hands as he breaks away.

“I fucking love these green, green shorts,” he pants.

You erupt with a laugh. Whatever you thought he was going to say, it wasn’t that.

SMUT! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

This is my very first fic. Please be gentle with me.

I am a bisexual who can't decide and so I wrote this as two versions (his/hers). The other one is on my page.

Thanks to Capzi for being such a supportive and wonderful beta.

“Hey gorgeous,” he says, removing his mask. He crossed the room and gave her a light kiss.

“You’re home early,” she says in reply, taking off her heels.

“If you’re just getting home, you’re home late. You’re working too hard.”

“Ha! Says the savior of Manhattan.”

“Hey.” He wraps his arms around her waist and rests his forehead on hers. “I just want you to be kind to yourself.”

“I know, love. Thank you. We’re just getting buried at work,” she exhales and start to snuggle into his chest. “What the fuck is this sticky shit on your suit, Peter,” she says with a tired laugh.

“Uuuugh, I got slammed into a soda fountain while stopping an attempted robbery.”

She laughs at the image. “Oh, Peter, you’re getting too old for this,” she says, giving him a warm, adoring smile.

“Oh, my back is well aware of that fact.” He grins. “Take a deep breath. Relax. I brought home take-out—"

“From the attempted robbery place?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to turn down food.” He laughs and gives her a peck. “I know how much you love egg rolls. I’m in for the night. Let one of the other dozen supes take care of the city tonight. Let’s just enjoy a nice night together. Give me just . . . seven minutes to shower and I’m all yours, babe.”

After eight years together, he knows that they both feel better if he showers before snuggling up with her. He strips off his sticky suit and throws it in the washing machine, once again grateful that she had inherited a rent-controlled apartment with a washer and dryer. He doesn’t get paid enough at the Bugle and certainly not as Spider-Man to help out much financially.

As he washes off the grime of being the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, he thinks about how tired she looks tonight. He can tell that she had had a bit of a day. A bit of a week, if he was being honest. This global burnout is getting to everyone, even his girl. He decides he wants to make tonight as easy and comforting as he can for her.

Peter steps out of the bathroom wearing a very worn Ramones t-shirt and his favorite grey sweatpants sitting low on his hips. He comes to the kitchen leans against the door frame to watch her.

She’s wearing her favorite purple top. It’s the top she was wearing in his favorite pictures of them. It had been just a random day, five or more years ago, when they decided to play hooky and go to the aquarium. She looked so pretty and carelessly happy that he couldn’t resist photographing her but when she noticed that what he was doing, she had demanded that he turn the camera on the two of them. They were the best photos he had ever taken. Now the shirt is very worn. She keeps putting stitches in it every time a new hole appeared so that she can keep the shirt as long as possible. She always looks gorgeous in it.

She’s also wearing those fantastic, soft, super-short, green shorts. He can see that she’s taken off her bra and her make-up. Her hair is up in a messy bun and there is a large glass of wine next her on the counter. All of this told him she was in desperate need of all things comfy.

A smile stretches across Peter’s lips as he sees her biting into an egg roll. He finds himself captivated by the relaxed joy she has on her face as the flavor hits her tongue. God, he loves this woman.

“Thorry,” she says with a full mouth when she realizes he’s watching her. “I got too hungry to wait for you. Want some wine? Wanna watch something?”

His smile is broad and easy. “Yes. And anything you like.”

She decides on Deadpool 2, a comfort movie of hers. As a former theatre kid, she really appreciates the Yentl jokes. Peter admits that he’s very charmed by Wade Wilson and, if he’s honest, a little attracted to Ryan Reynolds.

She relaxes into the couch, leaning a little away from him and on to the armrest. He looks down at her legs and see all of that gorgeous skin on display. He loves how her body has spread over their years together, especially her thighs. And, Jesus Christ, these shorts. These green, green shorts. They’re so wide in the leg that he can very clearly see that she isn’t wearing panties. And this top, God, he doesn’t know why she ever wears anything but this top. Her breasts look so perfect in it.

He pulls her back over to himself and slides behind her in a spooning position and kisses her neck as he slides his hand across her round hips. He learned on their second date that she had a weakness for her neck being kissed and he has used that information to great effect since. She releases a sigh of contentment.

His right hand starts to lightly skate over her body. Gently stroking the skin exposed between her shirt and shorts, he hums in appreciation of her silky skin. Peter can no longer resist and he brings his hand up to cup her breast, over her shirt. It’s more of an affectionate gesture than purely lustful. He adores the weight of her breasts in his hand. Then he lightly brushes the skin just above the neckline of her shirt as he feels himself start to harden behind her ass.

“Oh really?” she says, giving her ass a little wiggle against him. She hits pause on the movie and turns to face him.

“I just . . .” His eyes run down her body, devouring it as if it was his first time seeing it.

“Just what?” she purrs as she starts to kiss along his jawline.

His right hand stretches down her body to reach for the skin of her thigh as he takes her lips with his. She hooks her leg over him to straddle him and she is greeted with the feel of his hardening length. He takes her ass in both hands as he breaks away.

“I fucking love these green, green shorts,” he pants.

She erupts with a laugh. “Peter, these are just cheapy shorts I picked up at Target.”

“Thank God for cheapy Target shorts. And this shirt,” he hums trying to kiss his way down her chest while remaining underneath her. “You’re never allowed to get rid of this shirt,” he adds as he sucks a nipple through said shirt.

He elicits a tiny moan from her for that but he responds with a growl and suddenly he has lifted them both off the couch to pin her against the wall. He knows she hasn’t had many partners who could hold her up during sex and he loves how she reacts when he uses his super strength to do so.

“Babe,” Peter wines, “I don’t think you understand what this outfit is doing for me.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed. What with the pinning me against the wall with my legs wrapped around your—” He pulls her face towards his to kiss her deeply as he thrusts up against her center.

She hastily grabs the bottom of his shirt, seeming desperate for more of him. Once his shirt is gone, she rakes her nails up and down his chest and back while kissing his long neck. She looks up at his smiling face as he tries to breathe through the pleasure of her hands and lips on him.

“These shorts are too dangerous,” he huffs.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, they give me too much access to this pretty pussy,” he says as one of his long fingers ever so slightly grazes her lower lips. He feels her wetness and her whole body gives a little shiver as he smirks at her reaction.

“Do you want to cum on my fingers? My tongue? My cock? What do you want, babe?” he hums by her ear in between kisses and feather light strokes over her clit.

She thinks for a moment before whimpering, “D) all of the above?”

“Oh,” he says delightedly, “eager much?”

“Please Peter, just don’t let me think too much.”

He stops. She looks at him almost nervously. He sees how stressed she still looks. He lets her down so he can take her face in his hands. He kisses her slowly with all of the care he can. “Of course, my love. Anything you need.”

“Good,” she says grabbing him by the hips to pin him against the wall, “because I would really like to suck your dick right now.”

“Hey—” he starts before seeing her down on her knees kissing just above his sweatpants. He tries to focus. This wasn’t where this was supposed to be going. But the feeling of her nails skimming over the V of his hips as she pulls down his sweats . . . and the hunger in her eyes as she comes face to face with his cock . . . Jesus Christ, she is making him loose his mind, he thinks as his head hits the wall behind them.

She wraps her fingers around his smooth shaft and places an open-mouthed kiss on his head. She brings her tongue out and starts to lick him like he’s an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day. He remembers that she mentioned learning the technique from Dr. Ruth and it makes him chuckle. She looks up to lock eyes with him while she take his cock deep into her mouth and start to stroke the rest of him with her hands, which cuts off the laugh in his throat and he gasps.

She looks so sexy with her top sliding off one shoulder as she bobs up and down with his cock in her mouth. She uses one hand to start running her nails over his balls and, Jesus, he could just die. He grabs her by the arms and pulls her up to kiss her.

“You are stupendous and I love you and thank you but I want to take care of you,” he kisses her deeply. “And I need my stamina.” He pulls his sweats up and then wraps her legs back around his hips so he can carry her to the bedroom.

His kisses are urgent now, firmer. One hand is behind her head so his fingers can tangle into her hair as his teeth graze her bottom lip. He places her on the bed and starts to run his hands all over her.

“I think, I’ll start with these,” he says bringing his hands up to her breasts. She relaxes into the bed as he brings his mouth to the top of her shirt while his hands slip beneath. He gets a hold of a nipple and gives it a flick with his fingers which makes her breath hitch deliciously.

“This top is wonderful but I need more access now,” he says, pulling it off of her. As soon as her tits are exposed his tongue is on one nipple while his fingers work the other. She squirms under him.

“Don’t be too gentle, Peter,” she pleads just before he starts using his teeth to worry her nipple.

“I know what you want, love,” he purrs as his hand moves up the inside of her thigh. His long forefinger slides slowly up her slit. “You’re so wet—”

“Your fault,” she hisses.

“You definitely seem to be enjoying it though,” he chuckles into her neck. Her hips give an involuntary jolt trying to get his finger to her clit but before he does he brings his finger to his mouth, sucks it lasciviously, and moans.

“Peter, please . . .”

“I want to taste you.” He grabs he by her hips and pulls her to the edge of the bed. He starts to kiss her thighs and hike up the shorts. He considers working around the shorts but instead he raises a little higher and starts to kiss her beautiful soft stomach. He hooks his fingers into her shorts and pulls them off. He pulls back to admire her naked form. No matter how many times he’s seen her naked, he is always blown away by her.

“I will never get over your pussy,” he says at barely a whisper. He takes a tiny beat before his mouth is kissing up her thigh towards her center. Her breathing quickens and he looks up to find her fondling her breast. He groans at that which makes her look down to see his devilish grin before licking up her slit to her clit. ,

Her composure seems to break. He starts to run a pattern over her clit. She’s wiggling and huffing but he holds her still so he can slide a finger into her. He hums his approval on her clit as she quakes.

“You like my fingers, huh?”

She tries to roll her eyes as she says, “What do your spidey senses tell you?”

He laughs but she moans lightly and her insides flutter as he adds another finger and starts to thrust them in earnest. He starts to lick the pattern again and she buries her hand in his hair. She clearly needs to hold him where she wants him, which makes him smile.

“So good, baby,” he says, practically on top of her clit.

“Please, Peter, suck on my clit.”

He happily obliges while he curls his fingers inside her. He can feel that she’s getting close.

“You taste so good,” he pants. He takes his fingers out and uses her slickness to lightly touch her back entrance. He knows that doing this makes her cum like very little else.

“You want it,” he asks, smirking, knowing what full well what her answer will be.

“God, yes.” He slowly, pushes his finger past the tight ring of muscles while licking her clit. Her breathing is deep but building in speed as he gets to the second knuckle. The combating impulses of her gripping his finger and relaxing to get more inside is fucking incredible. He hums on her clit and suddenly she’s toppling over. She seems to be totally unconscious of the fact that she is just moaning “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” as she cums and he holds her in place as he fingers her through it.

“Peter . . . cock. . . please,” she begs, pulling him up to kiss her. She reaches to pull down his sweats. His cock feels so hard, leaking pre-cum, and she looks ravenous. As soon as his knees are on the bed, she straddles him. He loves this but he holds her up off of him so he can take his cock in his hand and drag it slowly between her lips .

“Fuuuuck . . . baby. . .” The head of his cock brushes against her clit and she shakes over him. “I think I am going to drag this out.”

“I had a feeling that you might,” she says, nipping at his ear. He lays her back so he can run his cock through her lips more. It’s the most delish torture. He keeps brushing her clit with his head and he hopes he can make her cum again. “Peter . . .”

“I know, love. You’re so good. I want you to—”

She beats him to it. Her orgasm is powerful and she’s screaming his name as one long noise. But he’s not letting up and he continues to stroke her through this orgasm too.

“My turn, bug boy.” She rolls him over and pulls him into her center before he realizes what’s happening. She inches down onto him and his eyes flutter and they both groan. She waits. She knows him well enough to know he needs a second after waiting this long.

“Hmngh . . . I’m okay baby,” he says, while pulling her down for a searing kiss. She starts to move up and down on him. Her pussy feels incredible and still so snug on him. His hands are running all over her body trying to touch anything, everything he can.

He loves this position. He loves that she can control the strokes and angle them just the way she wants. She is rocketing up and down magnificently but he can see her exertion is waning and he smiles. He reaches one hand to hold her ass up so he can thrust into her from underneath. He brings his free hand to her face and puts a finger in her mouth.

“Get it wet, love. I want you come with me one last time.” She takes it and runs her tongue over it.

“Touch me, Peter,” she whines. He rubs tight circles over her clit while he drives into her. Her hands are in his hair and she’s kissing his neck, making him quake while she hums in pleasure.

“Jesus, so good . . . Peter. . . Yes, fuck, please, yes.”

“Are you going to cum, baby? Once more? Hmmm, God, I’m so close,” his thrusts are becoming less controlled. He thrust and hits that something inside of her so deep. He hits that one spot once, twice, three more times and she is yelling, begging, utterly incoherent and he loves it because there’s only her and he is yelling back her name over and over and over as he thrusts one last time.

He holds her to him and he’s whispering in her ear as they both try to level their breathing.

“Jesus, babe. That was . . . outstanding. You are amazing.”

“Coming from ‘The Amazing Spider-Man,’ that’s quite a compliment,” you grin, collapsing into the crook of his neck.

“I think I’m going to buy you a thousand of those cheapy target shorts.”

“If I’m going to get sex like that out of it, I’ll happily wear those shorts every day for the rest of our lives.”

#tasm fanfiction #andrew garfield #peter parker/reader #peter parker smut #my writing

[lastbluetardis]

Sacred New Beginnings (1/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong.

Ten x Rose AU, @doctorroseprompts

This Chapter: Teen, ~5500 words

Note: Er... surprise? This idea has been in my head for months but my brain took it and ran with it this weekend. I plotted the whole thing and am gonna try to update every weekend. I don’t anticipate this being more than like... 7-10 chapter? I’d love to keep it under 5 chapters but that might be trimming things down too much for my liking. Anyways, I really hope you enjoy this little story!

AO3

Flashing lights and shrieks of his name greet James the moment the back door to his armored car is opened. His head of security ducks out first and James can only see a mass of feet and legs but it’s more than enough to let him know it’s a heavier than usual crowd. Not surprising, considering the news of his latest break-up just dropped while he’d been flying back from a visit to America.

He slides out of the car, helped by hands that pull him as much as guide him through the throng. He ignores the shouts of his name—telling him to look left or right or up or down or every combination therein—and the barrage of questions and jokes that aren’t funny.

Was it you or him that ended it?

Three weeks, is that a new personal record?

Another notch in the bedpost, eh James?

Got another beau lined up yet?

If you’re looking for candidates, what do we have to do to get our names in the running?

“Ignore them,” he mutters to himself, too quietly for anyone except his security team to hear.

In answer, one of them gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as they reach his front door. Someone has already unlocked it for him and the darkness within is a blessing he’s all too willing to be shoved into. The cacophony muffles once the door shuts, and finally he’s alone, a rarity for him. If it’s not his security, it’s personal assistants and writers and producers and photographers and the paparazzi.

Or his lover of the month, as the papers have taken to calling his partners.

But nope, his home is empty and quiet and bloody freezing. A shiver ripples up his spine as he treads to the thermostat controller. Summer finally released its hold on London, and the muggy heat has been replaced with a damp chill that burrows down into his bones.

Several button-presses later, James hears the familiar clank of the radiator and he can smell the heating kick on. It’ll take a while for his house to warm up, so James keeps his peacoat on for the time being as he putters around his home, checking the fridge and the cabinets. As always, they’re well-stocked. He hasn’t had to do anything as mundane as grocery shopping in the five years since his YouTube channel full of acoustic covers of popular songs went viral and landed him a lucrative deal with a prestigious record label. Only in his wildest dreams had he expected to find fame and fortune in the hobby he loved so much—for it to have actually happened still took him by surprise, as though any minute he’d be told “it was fun while it lasted, but it’s time for you to leave wonderland now.”

Shaking his head of those thoughts, he goes to the antique dining table that can easily seat ten people, which is great for holidays or in-home meetings, but just plain depressing every other day of the year. A stack of mail has piled up, and he spends the next five minutes attempting to sort it before giving up and telling himself he’ll look at it in the morning, once he’s not quite as groggy—transatlantic flights always take it out of him.

Instead, he rootles around his fridge until he comes up with the necessary items to make himself a ham and cheese sandwich. With the prospect of food in front of him, James realizes he is starving. He shoves a whole slice of ham in his mouth while he assembles his pitiful meal, heaping on lettuce and sliced tomatoes as though that’s enough to negate the pile processed protein and greasy chips he layers in for crunch.

It’s tastier than any sandwich as a right to be, and he nearly makes himself a second one before catches sight of his phone screen and the slew of incoming notifications. His work is never finished, is it?

There are several texts from his publicist, Donna, welcoming him home and congratulating him on not making an arse of himself just by trying to walk up the front drive of his home. (To be fair, he felt entitled to channel his inner crotchety old man and tell reporters to get off his damn lawn if they encroached on his personal property.)

“Though some photos are surfacing of your trip to New York… Anything you need me to get ahead of?”

He rubs his fingers into his eyes, knowing she’s probably referring to his last night out in the city, where he went bar hopping until the wee hours of the morning to try to forget the text his subsequently-ex-boyfriend had sent him.

Thanks for everything, but I need to focus on my career. Cheers mate.

The career that James had kickstarted for him by introducing his rising actor boyfriend to several of his friends in the film industry, because James had been so damn desperate for affection that he’d once again let the wool get pulled in front of his eyes.

And so James had reached out to mates who lived in New York and they’d all gone out and acted half their age and had a wonderful time once James forgot about why he’d gone out in the first place.

But none of that now. Nope. No sir.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he replies. “Let me know if you catch wind of anything.”

Despite the fact that he only just got home and he’s jetlagged and still feeling the effects of his night out in New York, James can’t stay in his house right now. It’s so quiet that his brain is creating its own white noise. He can’t stand being in his head on a good day, and today is not a good day.

He grabs his keys and wallet and makes for the back of the house. His property is landlocked with the back gardens of other houses; the paps have learned the hard way that James is dead serious about protecting his neighbors’ privacy and will not hesitate to phone the police to arrest and sue anyone caught trespassing on private property to snag a photo of him. James hosts dinner for his neighbors several times a year and buys them gifts any chance he can to show his appreciation for their patience and tolerance.

In the dead of night, he slips out into his back garden, the crisp October air burning his lungs in the best way as he ducks his way through the neighborhood, his feet taking him far away from the crowd of reporters that are still stationed in front of his own home. Hopefully they’ll all have dispersed by the time he gets back. Perhaps he should have turned on music or a movie or something, made them think he was settled in for a lazy night in.

He wanders aimlessly for a while, enjoying this taste of freedom and trying to remember the days when he could leave out the front door of his flat without any fanfare.

It’s dark, and thick clouds obscure whichever moon phase they’re in, but the street lamps glow yellow on the damp pavement, lighting his way forward. A crisp autumn breeze ruffles his hair and the leaves, sending them tumbling around him and skittering across the residential street that’s so much quieter than the bustle of New York. It’s good to be home, though.

He arrives at a bus stop and catches one headed into the city proper. It’s no secret that James lives in London, and therefore the general population has gotten used to glimpsing him on the tube or walking on the street or frequenting pubs. He knows people snap quick photos of him, and he’s always happy to stop and pose for a selfie with respectful fans, but mostly he’s left alone when he’s out by himself like this.

Nevertheless, he hears the excited undertones of people trying to inconspicuously point him out to their oblivious friends. He keeps his head down, mindlessly opening and closing apps on his phone for something to do as he pretends he doesn’t notice them. He won’t be on the bus much longer anyway.

Several people get off the bus with him, including a group of teenage girls who are whispering heatedly among themselves. It’s almost funny, watching them debate amongst themselves before one of them approaches him.

She’s red-faced but determined as she blurts, “Can we get a photo?”

“Sure thing,” he says good-naturedly, inclining his head for them to come closer. “Need me to take it?” He holds out a lanky arm and flops it around a bit. “Got a longer reach than any of you.”

He’s certain one of the girls is about to start crying with joy as they all nestle into his side and hand him a new-model iPhone. Damn, it’s fancier than his own. When he was their age, he had an old flip phone that lost reception if he breathed on it wrong. It was a tank though—he’d dropped that thing hundreds of times, and nary a scratch.

“Do me a favor,” he says, handing the phone back to its owner, “and don’t ping our location if you post to social media, yeah? I appreciate it.”

“You’re my favorite person ever,” one of the girls squeaks.

His face splits into a grin and he tucks his hands into his pockets. “Is that so?”

The girls spend the next five minutes chatting with him about music and how they’ve been following him ever since his YouTube days. He listens and chimes in every now and then when they ask him a direct question, but he prefers being passive in exchanges like this, content to hear peoples’ stories. It makes him feel normal, if only for a little while.

Finally, they take their leave, and James turns in the opposite direction even though the destination he had in mind is down the street the girls had just taken. But he’s been burned far too many times by encounters with seemingly innocent fans, only for them to begin following him around and showing up outside his house to talk to him again. He makes a point of not drawing out public encounters with his fans.

He wanders down a street he’s vaguely familiar with, figuring he can backtrack in a couple blocks. The night is too beautiful for him to be upset about needing to take a detour.

Everything looks different in the dark, the glow of neon signs bathing everything in hues of greens and blues and pinks and yellows. Shops and restaurants are mostly shut up for the night, their windows dark or blinds drawn. Dingey motels with pay-by-the-hour rates are in full swing, as are the pubs that have a revolving door of people in varying states of intoxication.

Deep bass that he can feel all the way in his chest catches his attention, and he gets turned around a few times, but he eventually finds the establishment: Bad Wolf Brews. At first, he doesn’t think it’s open, and that he must be mistaken about where the music is coming from, but the heavy front oak door opens, and he realizes the glass on the door is tempered so that the interior lights don’t shine through. The music is clear and heavy and vibrating in his bones. He doesn’t think twice before catching the door before it closes and slipping inside.

The air is humid and smells of sweat and stale beer. Bodies are writhing and gyrating to the rhythm blasting through invisible speakers. The acoustics are phenomenal; none of the layers are lost and the sound quality is nearly as good as if he were listening to the record at home on his own stereo system.

The lights are low, and he’s sure he trips into a few people in the minute it takes for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, but finally, he’s at the bar. There are three open stools, and he claims one between a blonde woman and a red-haired man as he wonders what the hell this dive bar serves. He can see beer taps, but he’s more of a cocktail guy. He must look as lost as he feels, because the bartender hands him a menu that looks like it was hand-written and then photo-copied. It jives with the overall vibe of the pub.

The bartender checks in with him a minute later. James opens a tab and orders a sidecar sans sugar, and is pleasantly surprised by the quality. Not to make assumptions, but he’d figured an establishment such as this would have cheap liquor. If the alcohol in his drink is cheap, it’s well masked.

When he’s drained the last drop and about to signal for another, a hand rests on his shoulder. “Can I buy your next round?”

James looks up into the face of a stranger. It’s a woman with striking green eyes and a disheveled pixie cut. Judging by her crimson cheeks and glazed eyes, she’s three sheets to the wind. There’s buzzed, then there’s drunk, and then there’s plastered. He prefers not to let himself get to that last category, and by extension, he doesn’t really like to associate much with people who won’t remember the night come morning.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” he says with his most charming grin. “G’night.”

He has no idea if the woman knows who he is, but the way she shrugs and saunters to the gentleman sitting beside James, he doubts it.

He gets clumsily propositioned a few more times and always politely declines with a smile. So far, nobody here seems to recognize him and he is going to ride out this anonymity for as long as it’ll last. It has been too long since he’s been able to sit in a pub and drink quietly. Well, quietly, insofar as crazed fans or paparazzi aren’t harassing him—the music is loud enough that he’s sure to have ringing in his ears for a few hours once he gets home.

But he’s not really in any rush to get home, and so he orders his fourth cocktail before making his way to the loo. Alcohol goes right through him, and it’s nearly gotten him in trouble on tour a time or two.

There’s no line, but the loo is crowded, and he tries to ignore the double-takes as he stands in front of a urinal to take care of business. If he wakes up tomorrow morning to find that someone snapped a photo of him having a piss, he’s going to lose his goddamn mind.

Bladder tended to, James keeps his head ducked and shoulders his way back into the bar. His stool is unoccupied, and when he steps forward, he realizes why. A purse sits on it, seemingly reserving the seat but he can’t figure out for whom. He’s about to take the cocktail the bartender hands him and stand against the shadowed wall when someone picks up the purse.

It’s his blonde-haired stool mate. She flashes him a broad grin that lights up her entire face and squeezes something deep in his stomach.

“Saved your seat for ya,” she says with the ease and confidence of someone who’s known him his whole life.

“Thanks,” he manages through a suddenly dry mouth.

Feeling like an idiot for standing and gaping, he slips into his seat and downs half his new sidecar in one go. It’s as though the ice has been broken now, and she turns to him, her elbow on the counter and her cheek propped on her fist.

“Pretty sure you could outdrink a fish, mate,” she drawls, smiling again in that easy way that does too many strange things to his insides. “You’ve been knockin’ ‘em back for over an hour now.”

Has it really been that long? James checks his watch, and yup, it’s half past ten. The paps should be gone from his house by now, but he feels no draw to leave this place. The alcohol has left him pleasantly tipsy and warm, but he’s more drunk on the fantasy that he’s just a normal bloke having a nice night out in a newly-discovered dive bar.

“Fish don’t really drink though, do they? They absorb water through their gills via osmosis,” he replies, and he wants to bite his tongue off because what the fuck was that??

This woman, whatever her name is, doesn’t seem to mind his answer though, because her face scrunches in a giggle. His body is hot and throbbing with more than drink now, and he wants to hear that sound again but his brain has stopped working.

“Is that so different from you absorbin’ alcohol through your bloodstream?” she muses, finishing off whatever is in her short tumbler.

“Can I buy your next round?” he blurts rather than responding to her question, which he’s almost certain was rhetorical.

Her smile melts into something softer, something private and a little shy. “If you’d like.”

“I do.” He flags down the bartender and glances at his new companion expectantly.

“Gin and tonic,” she says. She thanks the bartender, then James when she takes her first sip. “I’m Rose, by the way.”

“James,” he says, feeling stupid because his face is plastered all over London, which likes to boast that it’s the home of international celeb James Noble. But wouldn’t he seem more of an arse if he just assumed this gorgeous woman knew who he was?

Nevertheless, his stomach sinks a bit when she snorts into her drink and says, “I thought it was you.”

“Yup, it’s me,” he forces, his voice flat. He hides his frown with his glass, knocking back the rest of his sidecar like it’s a shot. The room sways slightly with the violent motion of his head, and maybe he’s slightly drunker than he’d thought.

If Rose catches on to his sudden sour mood, she doesn’t mention it. “What brings you here to Bad Wolf?”

He shrugs and blows out a noisy breath. “I dunno. Went for a walk, ended up here.”

“Those are the best sort of adventures.” She hums wistfully. “Sometimes you find what you didn’t know you needed when you let yourself get lost.”

That observation is far too astute for his current state of mind, so instead he says, “Would you like to dance with me?”

Her eyes flicker across his face for a brief moment before she says, “Okay.”

He hops down from his stool, but Rose hesitates, clutching her purse and coat awkwardly. The bartender helpfully tells her to keep them on her stool, and he’ll keep an eye on it. Rose flashes him a grin that James would rather she flash at him, but he realizes that is utterly absurd, so he simply rests his coat on top of her things to better hide them from view. He then holds out his hand for her. Her palm is soft and warm against his as he leads her to the crowded dance floor.

They find space towards the back of the pub, hidden in the shadows of a hallway that states it’s closed off to patrons. And of course, of fucking course, right when he rests his hands on her hips to find the rhythm of the song, a new one comes on, and his own voice belts from the speakers.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. He loves his music—he made it, after all—but he can’t help but feel pretentious and more than a little silly to dance to it like this.

Rose, however, grins and says, “Oh, come on, this is one of my favorites.”

She catches his hands where he’d loosened them at her waist and forces him to grab hold of her. She’s wearing high-waisted trousers and a top that leaves a sliver of her belly exposed. His thumb grazes the skin of her bare side, and it’s enough to send tingles through his body. Rose, meanwhile, slings her arms around his shoulders and begins to rock her hips from side to side in sync with the bass, embellishing the motions until she looks absolutely ridiculous but so, so beautiful.

He can’t help but grin and laugh, and he mirrors her movements until they’re both dancing like idiots to his music.

“This is how my baby brother dances,” she explains, bouncing up and down while twisting her hips. “We have regular dance parties together.”

“How old’s your brother?” he asks.

“Just turned four.”

He blinks, and blood rushes from his face. “And… and how old are you?”

“A perfectly legal twenty-four,” she drawls, reaching up to flick his nose. “You can start breathing again.”

Thank fuck.

“That’s quite the age gap.”

“My mum got remarried when I was nineteen,” Rose says with a shrug. “She and my stepdad didn’t waste much time.”

“Clearly,” he mutters under his breath.

“It does feel a bit like they’ve started over,” Rose confesses with a too-stiff shrug. “New family, new life, and I’m the interloper.

There is no way this vivacious woman in front of him could ever be considered an interloper, but before he can tell her that, she continues, “Mum does her best to assure me otherwise, but still. It’s hard to watch all the things Mum and Dad are able to do for Tony—that’s my brother, Tony—when Mum struggled so much as a single mum with me.”

“Your dad’s not in the picture?”

A sad smile pinches her face, and he regrets asking.

“No, I never knew him. He died when I was a baby.”

“I… I’m so sorry.” Well, he’s totally buggered this all up, hasn’t he? He wracks his brain on how to salvage the easy banter they’d had at the bar, but draws a blank.

Rose seems to realize they’ve lost the mood, but she breaks out into a lazy grin and says, “Since you seemed so opposed to dancing to your own music, it’ll please you to know a new song’s on. C’mon, show me your moves.”

He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and so he follows her lead, watching her dance her heart out until her cheeks are pink and her hair is damp with sweat. He’s sure he doesn’t look much better, since he can feel the perspiration beading down his back and beneath his arms, but he can’t bring himself to care. Tonight has been the most fun he’s had in a very long time. Clubbing in New York had been a lark, but he’s been swarmed by his American fans half the night, and had been busy drowning his latest heartbreak to fully enjoy it. But here, now, with Rose, it’s like he’s any other bloke in a pub, chatting up a pretty girl he wants to get to know.

Their bodies are wrapped around each other with the ease and grace of partners who have known each other for years, and he forgets that he has known Rose for all of a few hours. He never wants this night to end. He wants to cling to this fairytale and pretend that the clock isn’t about to strike the proverbial midnight.

But time marches on as always. The clock really does strike midnight, and the bartender begins to clear people out of his establishment. James is as exhausted as he is exhilarated, no longer drunk on booze but rather the company of Rose and the magic they made together by simply dancing the night away.

They head back to the bar to retrieve their coats and her purse, and to close out their tabs. James slides his credit card to the bartender and asks him to charge everyone’s tab to his card. If the bartender is surprised, he hides it well. A few minutes later, James is signing off on the receipt of purchase of several thousand pounds-worth of alcohol. His personal assistant is sure to be confused as hell when she wakes up to see the charge. He fires off a quick warning text to her so she doesn’t open up a fraudulent charge claim.

James salutes the bartender, knowing he’ll come back to this pub as often as he can until he’s found out and this place once again becomes somewhere that’s overrun with his fans.

The night is refreshingly cold when he and Rose emerge into it, a nice change after the stifling, sweaty heat of the bar. However, she hunches her shoulders against the chill, prompting him to wrap his arm around her waist and tug her into his side, all too eager to lend her some of his body heat.

“Can I walk you somewhere?” he asks, glancing around the street that is now full of the drunken patrons who’d been in the pub with them. They all disperse in different directions, stumbling home or to a different bar that is still open. “Or wait with you ‘til you catch a cab?”

“Yeah, sure,” she says, pulling up her phone to order a ride. She taps on the screen for a few quiet moments then says, “Done. Should be here in a few minutes.”

They descend into a slightly awkward silence that James wants to break, but he can’t think of anything clever to say. So he says nothing, and finally headlights wash over them, momentarily blinding them before a taxi pulls up.

“D’you wanna share?” she asks, opening the door to the back seat.

Is she as reluctant to leave him as he is to leave her? Or is she being polite and eco-friendly by ride sharing? Nevertheless, he nods and slides into the back seat beside her.

There is something incredibly intimate about sitting with Rose in the dark interior of the taxi, and he feels like he’s fifteen and wondering how to hold his date’s hand after a cheap night out at the cinemas. He fists his hands together, knotting his fingers until his knuckles pop.

The driver goes to the address Rose provides first, and all too soon they’ve arrived.

“I’ll cover the fare,” he says when she makes to hand over some bank notes to the diver. “It’d be my pleasure.”

She hesitates, but nods, then opens the door to climb out of the car. His pulse quickens as he watches her walk away with nothing but a, “Goodnight.”

“Can you wait just a minute?” he asks the driver.

“Meter’s still runnin’,” he grunts.

“That’s fine.”

James scrambles out of the taxi. “Hey, Rose?”

She turns back to face him, frowning.

“I… er… I had a great time tonight,” he says lamely, but her frown relaxes into a smile. “It was fun. With you. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too,” she answers.

He licks his lips; his mouth is bone dry and his pulse pounds in his ears, making his vision throb with each frenzied beat.

“Do you… do you maybe wanna do it again some time? Hang out together? I… I’d really like to see you again,” he says, cursing his clumsy, fumbling words.

She scrutinizes him for a long moment, her expression indecipherable. His stomach sinks. Maybe this was a one-off, a story for her to tell her mates.

You’ll never guess who I met at the pub last night. James Noble! He paid for all my drinks and we danced like idiots.

He stews in his misery of doubt, and just when he’s about to tell her to forget about it, she slowly nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

“Really?” he asks, a hopeful edge creeping into his voice.

She laughs. “Really.”

“Brilliant!” James fumbles in his pocket for his phone, and he thrusts it at her. “Give me your number? I’ll text you. Or call.”

He rocks back and forth on his toes and heels, waiting for her to finish up with his phone. He has a sudden, potent bolt of panic that she’s snooping through his private messages or photographs for something to use against him to make a quick profit, but before that panic can take root, she hands his mobile back to him. It’s open to a new texting conversation.

From: 🌹 Bad Wolf Girl 🌹

Now I’ve got your number too 😉

He beams at the name she’s given to herself in his contacts, then he pockets his phone.

“I’ll see you later,” he says.

“You better,” she replies with that knee-weakening smile he’s grown to love over the course of the night. “See ya.”

“Bye.”

He stands there like a moron until she’s safely inside, then he turns back to the taxi and climbs in. The deserted streets streak by as the driver takes him to his neighborhood. He never gives his address though; he always chooses a destination a few streets away, just in case.

James generously tips the driver and bids him goodnight before slipping into the night to his home. He was right: the paparazzi are gone. There is no fanfare as he slips his key into the lock and lets himself into his house. It’s warm and cozy, but still too quiet for his liking.

Between the plane ride and his night out, he feels greasy and disgusting, and indulges in a hot shower before bed. He washes Rose’s scent off of his body, an intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla that’s as sweet as it is musky.

He’s groggy by the time he crawls into his giant, king-sized bed and burrows deep into his mounds of pillows and duvets. One of his ex-girlfriends once teased that he turns into the marshmallow man when he sleeps.

His sleep is deep and dreamless, and when he awakes with the sun the following morning, he feels more refreshed and invigorated than he ever remembers being. He’s got a full day of meetings with his songwriting team to brainstorm his next album, and he is ready.

But first, he checks his phone. There’s nothing from Rose, which makes him a little sad, but also nothing from his publicist, which is always a good sign. If ever she messages or calls him first thing in the morning, it always means there’s some sort of dumpster fire to put out. Usually a dumpster fire full of compromising photos of him.

He makes a point of not Googling himself, but he does occasionally check his social media pages for new posts about him, wanting to know when, where, and how his fans came across him in the wild. He easily finds the photo that he took with the group of teenage girls, and makes a point to like the original post and type a quick, “Nice to meet you all. Thanks for chatting with me last night - J” in the comments section. He snorts to himself as his comment blows up within seconds.

But other than some grainy photos of him riding the bus, he can’t find any other photos of himself. Nothing of him wandering the streets or drinking in the pub or even having a wee in the mens’ room. And best of all, there’s nothing of him and Rose. No photos of them dancing together or sharing a cab. If Rose has a social media account, it didn’t post any sneaky photos or bragging stories about dancing all night with James Noble.

He can’t quite believe it; he managed to have a fun night out drinking without it all being thrown back in his face the next morning. Within seconds, he’s grinning to himself and pulling up Rose’s contact information. It’s still in his phone, further proof that his night with her wasn’t some sort of jetlagged fever dream. She was real.

“Good morning. I hope you slept well. Thanks for last night.”

She responds almost instantly. Good morning to you too. I should be thanking you for paying my drink tab and taxi fare 😉 And for being an excellent dance partner.

“The pleasure was all mine, on all counts.” He sends that message, then types out a new one, “I’m gonna be in meetings all day (yes, I know it’s Sunday), so please don’t be discouraged if I don’t reply. But I’d really like to see you again. Want to do dinner or drinks or coffee or something?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, needing to make himself presentable for when his driver picks him up in an hour. Yet he can’t help but check his phone every three seconds, until finally there’s a message from Rose.

Yeah, I’d like that. I work ‘til five most nights, but I’m free after that. Or we can wait ‘til the weekend.

With spirits lighter than they’ve been in months, James steps out of his house with a broad, stupid grin that the ever-present crowd of paparazzi are all too happy to photograph.

#ficandchips #dwfic #doctorroseprompts #doctor who #ten x rose #ten x rose au #james x rose #yet another iteration of james and rose lmao #romance #meet cute #light angst #musician au #my fic #sacred new beginnings

[laviefantasie]

Your Biggest Fan | L.P.

Pairings: Alive!Luke Patterson x Alive!Reader

Summary: An obsession that became a friendship and flourished to love. That’s the story between Sunset Curve’s lead singer and guitarist Luke Patterson and Y/N Y/L/N.

| MASTERLIST |

Sunset Curve was the boy band of the moment. Luke, Alex, Reggie, and Bobby were everyone’s dream boys. What started as a small band playing on the garage of their best friend, Julie Molina, ended up with millions of fans all over the world as they tour it.

It started as a dream and a small group of friends. Julie helping the boys with the band management while Carrie Wilson, Bobby’s rich cousin, designed all their outfits. It had been the six of them at the start.

But their fame grew and things were asked of them. The boys soon started homeschooling and Julie’s mom, Rose, took over the management of the band.

Julie and Carrie stayed behind as the boys grew busier and that’s when they met Flynn and Y/N.

The four of them became best friends in no time and soon they stopped missing the boys. They chatted from time to time with them but they were okay with them not being there.

Of course, Y/N and Flynn had no idea that the two teenagers were Sunset Curve’s best friends. It had been a silent agreement between Carrie and Julie that they didn’t need to know, especially since Y/N was probably their biggest fan.

Not the normal ‘I love you’ kinda fan but the ‘I’ll kidnap you’ kind. It was okay, they thought it was hilarious but it was definitely better if she didn’t know.

But soon the girls found themselves in their junior year of high school with the news that Sunset Curve was coming back to LA and to Los Feliz High School.

Carrie and Julie walked with dread around the hallways of their school as soon as they received the call from Carrie’s father, Trevor Wilson, stating that the tours had been paused so that the boys could have their last year of high school with the full experience.

They were gonna spend their senior year with them at their high school. As much as the girls like the idea, they dreaded it. But it was happening.

“JULIE! CARRIE!”

The yell of Y/N had both girls flinching as they knew the reason behind the excited scream and the smiling Y/N pulling an annoyed Flynn across the hallway towards them.

“Did you hear?! Do you know?! Can you believe it?! This is so exciting!! We’ll meet, it’ll be love at first sight!! I cannot believe it!! It’s destiny! This is the—”

“Y/N! Honey, I love you but you need to calm down” Carrie cuts her off.

“We need to tell you something” Julie starts while sharing a look with her blonde friend, “We actually kno—”

“CARRIE!/JULIE!”

The scream of the girls’ names has everybody in the hallways turning their gazes towards the sources, everybody gasping as they see the boys of Sunset Curve in all their glory.

Y/N let’s out a strangled scream as she sees them running towards two of her best friends with huge smiles.

Carrie and Julie share a worried glance before looking at Flynn, the braided girl grabbing the fangirl from her shoulders to keep her in her place.

Soon, the boys find themselves by the four girls’ sides and Y/N feels her legs shake as they hug Julie and Carrie.

“It’s been so long, we have missed you!” Exclaims Reggie while holding Carrie’s stare a while longer than necessary.

The six of them start catching up and it takes a while before they notice the other two girls, but Alex does and soon acknowledges them.

“Hey, I’m Alex”

Y/N’s legs give out and soon Flynn is catching her with a groan, Carrie and Julie looking at their friend in worry.

“Um... this is Flynn and this—”

“OH MY GO—”

Flynn covers Y/N’s mouth with an apologetic smile before leaving with her, despite Y/N’s efforts to stay.

Julie smiles at the boys, “That is Y/N. Our best friends”

“She is a huge fan” Carrie adds.

The boys laugh a little weirded out before proceeding to catch up with the girls they saw as family.

As the days passed, things started finding its way. Carrie once again started making the outfits for the boys and Julie now took over songwriting with Luke.

Y/N, on the other hand, kept going as she always did. She daily updated her Sunset Curve fan club blog, now with better content thanks to actually knowing the boys, as well as followed them around as much as she could.

Things didn’t change too much on her but her friendship with the boys grew. Thanks to being one of Julie’s best friends, Y/N spend most of her time at the Molina’s house and so did the boys.

Movie nights happened a lot and Y/N didn’t faint anymore at the sight of them.

So it got better. But she was still crazy about them and it showed whenever they didn’t give her enough time to control her emotions before going near her.

“Hey, Y/N/N”

A shriek leaves the h/c haired girl before her pretty e/c eyes turn to Luke. All sleeveless-beanie-vans Luke.

“Uh—I.wh—Hi”

If the brown-haired guitarist noticed her stutter, he didn’t mention it. Instead he turns his phone towards her showing her a photo of him while on tour.

“I want to post this on Instagram. Is it good enough?”

One thing the boys had noticed as soon as they got to know the girl was that she was a talented photographer, meaning she had an eye to know which pictures were the best ones.

So, they always asked her before posting something and sometimes even let her post from their accounts.

“I—Uh...”

Y/N stares at the photo intently, choosing to focus on that instead than on the pretty looking teenager in front of her.

“May I?”

The lead singer nods and soon the new iPhone is on her shaking hands. Y/N takes a deep breath before starting to edit the photo as she sees best, making sure to not make it look photoshop but to make it look better.

Once she is satisfied with the results, Y/N holds the phone towards Luke who takes it eagerly. A smile takes over his features once he sees the final result.

“This is perfect. You’re the best”

Whatever Y/N was gonna say is quite down by Luke’s soft kiss on her cheek, the boy leaving without knowing what he had caused on the petite teenager.

Carrie, who was on the locker across from the scene, walks towards her best friend with a knowing smirk.

“You’re gonna faint, aren’t you?”

Y/N nods before letting herself fall, Carrie catching her with a small laugh.

For most of that school year the boys saw Y/N as the girls’ best friend and a fan, but not really as a friend. They didn’t really know her.

But after half of the school year they each got to have their fair share of moments with the young girl.

For Reggie it was in one of his darkest moments. The leather jacket lover was being surrounded by a bunch of fans on a trip alone to the beach, it would’ve been okay any day but that day was the anniversary of his parents’ divorce and he couldn’t take it.

So he ran. He ran as far and as fast as he could from them without noticing the curious glance of e/c eyes, without noticing the one person who didn’t stop following him.

He stopped until he thought he was alone and hid from sight, breath short and heart plummeting in his chest. He stopped because his chest started to hurt and his vision became blurry. It soon became harder to breathe and the weight of his body became too much.

He felt his legs give in but before he could fall soft arms went around his waist helping him sit down softly.

He couldn’t see who was the person helping him but he could hear —barely— the soft murmurs on his ear. Was it singing? He didn’t know but it helped soon calm his racing heart allowing him to breathe better.

He didn’t know how much time passed before his vision cleared up and the feeling of suffocation subsided, but it did and he finally saw his holder.

“Y—Y/N?”

The boy’s voice sounded softly, like a whisper, and weak. It was as if he had been lost and had finally found his way home.

“It’s okay, Reg, it’s okay” she softly states, “You had a panic attack but it’s okay now”

Reggie nods slowly before hugging her closer, needing the feeling of loneliness to subside too. And it did. Because she was there.

She didn’t have to be but she was.

They spent a lot of time there just sitting together and talking about random things, never did Y/N burdened him as she normally did and she didn’t questioned him on the reason behind the attack.

All she did was offer a shoulder and a distraction, and that meant the world.

That’s why when Reggie got to the apartment he shares with the other boys he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

“Reggie!” Exclaims Luke before hugging him, “Where were you man? We were worried”

Alex and Bobby take their turns hugging the bass player before looking him over for any sign of injuries.

“I am okay, I was with a friend”

After that Reggie always sat by Y/N’s side in class, helped with anything he could for the blog she constantly worked on, and —sometimes— went to the beach with her.

It helped Y/N’s fangirl side control itself, especially since she started seeing him mainly as a friend.

Bobby’s realization of the value of her friendship was different. It happened after a concert the band had in a small cafe on the neighborhood, they were trying to get back to their roots.

The rest of the guys were surrounded by screaming fans as soon as they got off stage. Him, on the other hand, was ignored as usual.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t good looking nor the lack of talent. He just didn’t shine as much as Luke, Reggie, or Alex. And it was okay most of the time, but that night he really felt left out and angry.

At least he did until he saw Y/N in front of him.

“Luke’s over there”

A blush soon covers the teenager’s cheeks causing Bobby to smirk. It was not secret which band member was the one that could make the girl’s cheeks turn a crimson color.

Y/N shakes her head and soon straightens her Sunset Curve crop top before clearing her throat.

“I was... uh—Could I have an interview?”

Bobby furrows his eyebrows, “Wouldn’t you rather interview Luke?”

Confusion settles on the small girl’s face as soon as the words leave the rhythm guitarist’s mouth.

“I thought... did you write the music for this set list?”

He nods and she smiles.

“Then I don’t want to talk to Luke, he gets enough praise already” she assures him “I’m more interested in the process of the making of the melody, can you answer some questions?”

He nods again and soon she starts questioning him, he answers her while watching her in shock. No one had ever minded nor acknowledged his part in the songs.

Y/N did. And every question she asked demonstrated she knew of every single one of his contributions.

She must’ve noticed his demeanor because she put her things away and to smile sweetly at him.

“I’m not the only one that knows what you do, Bobby” she states “Sunset Curve wouldn’t be Sunset Curve without you”

That’s all it took for Y/N to have Bobby by her side, sitting by her every class he could with Reggie. The girl being a stuttering mess at the start but soon finding ways to converse with both rockstars.

Bobby considered her a friend. A friend not because she was family, like Carrie, nor because she was Luke’s best friend, Julie. A friend because she saw him, she saw his value.

He had never been enough but whenever she talked with him about the band with that glint in her eyes he saw he was.

For Alex it was in an entire different environment. The h/c haired beauty saw the blond drummer on an LGBTQ+ parade, both surprised to see the other one there.

The drummer started stuttering trying to find a way to explain the reason why he was there when Y/N just smiled and told her she was bisexual. She even joked about a small fling she had with Julie during their sophomore year.

Alex smiled in relief when she didn’t question him and instead offered to join her as her support. She was giving him the perfect excuse for his presence there, acknowledging he was not ready to voice the truth.

“Thank you” he finally says.

All she does is smile before grabbing his hand and taking him to a group of skaters, mainly towards a long brown-haired on with a rainbow colored skateboard.

“Hey, Willie! I want you to meet a friend of mine”

The three of them talked until morning about their feelings. About how hiding the truth felt like drowning, like living a life that wasn’t theirs to live.

It was like a breath of fresh air for Alex. Talking to someone who understood, someone who had been through their own experiences, it made him realize that his parents’ approval wasn’t worth not being happy.

And happy is what he was choosing to be, especially after Willie gave him his number with a kiss to his cheek.

He walked Y/N to her house in silence after. Both of them with soft smiles on their faces.

“I just don’t want anyone to change the way they see me” he admits “I’m still me”

“You’re still you” She agrees and he nods “Nothing changes, Alex. I still have a crush on you, I just now know I have zero chance”

He laughs, vivid and happily, before hugging her tightly. Next Monday, Alex and Y/N spent most of their time together gossiping about every latest news the teenager girl had.

The girl still froze at first contact with either of the boys but after a while she could hold on normal conversations.

With Luke it was different.

Luke had been writing on Julie’s garage the next song for Sunset Curve, the one he had been having trouble with for the last week, when Y/N ran into the studio.

“I’m here, Julie! You ready for Calcul—AAAHHHH!”

Luke’s hands fly to his ears as he hears the girl’s loud scream. Y/N only stopping when she feels her lungs give in.

“Uh—Wh—I jus—Julie?”

He chuckles while closing his songbook, “Jules is not here. Left to go get Carlos from his baseball practice”

“Oh”

An uncomfortable silence soon settles between them, a silence cut off as soon as the sound of the teenager’s phone taking a photo makes them both look at one another.

“Oh... Oh! Thought I had it in silence” she laughs awkwardly “It’s... uh, for the blog”

He nods with an awkward laugh before opening his songbook once again. He had better things to concentrate on than Julie’s best friend.

Don’t get him wrong, he liked her. He thought she was funny and nice but she was just too much sometimes and he couldn’t handle it. Especially not now when he had a song to worry about.

“What are you doing?”

Her question has him gazing at her for a moment before settling once again in his unfinished lyrics.

“Just writing a new song”

An excited squeal leaves the h/c haired girl and soon Y/N is by his side reading his lyrics through his shoulder.

He shudders once he feels her breath in his neck and he soon turns to look at her, admiring her features as she reads the lyrics carefully.

“What if you... scoot over”

She doesn’t let him answer and is soon pushing him to sit besides him on the piano’s bench, ignoring his protests.

He is about to ask her to let him be when her fingers starts moving through the keys, the melody he had thought for the song —the one written on his songbook— was playing through the studio.

With some little —yet good— changes.

“A piano intro would be great. And then...” she explains before starting to sing softly, “Sometimes I think I'm falling down, I wanna cry, I'm calling out for one more try to feel alive”

Luke’s eyes widen as he hears her soft but powerful voice. He didn’t know she could play, much less sing.

And, wow, she could sing.

“And when I feel lost and alone I know that I can make it home....”

She stopped singing as she saw the empty space on the verse and just as Luke was about to explain the lack of progress she started playing once again.

“Fight through the dark and find the spark. Life is a risk, but I will take it”

“Close my eyes and jump” he adds as she stops, “Together, I think that we can make it”

They look at one another before harmonizing together the end of the verse that he had written down, “Come on, let's run”

She stops playing with a huge smile and both laugh in excitement, both slowly stop laughing without tearing their gazes apart.

A soft blush soon taking over Y/N’s features as she sees the way he gazes at her as if trying to figure her out, which he was. How come he didn’t know she could write, sing, and play like that? How come he didn’t actually know her?

The moment, though, is interrupted as Julie walks through the doors of the garage apologizing to Y/N for being late and then taking her to her room.

Never noticing the curious and amazed expression on the guitarist’s face.

Soon the four members of Sunset Curve were in awe of the obsessive fan who annoyed them as much as she could, soon she didn’t truly annoyed them.

The rest of the boys’ senior year was spent amazingly with the girls, but the year ended and the boys had to go back to prioritizing their band while the girls did their senior year.

They all FaceTimed a lot. They tried to stay in contact as much as possible during that year, especially Carrie and Reggie —since they started dating a few months before the boys graduated—, but they were all pretty busy. Even Y/N who was still daily updating the band’s blog.

Experiences happened, lessons were learned, the girls grew and soon they graduated.

Everything changed.

That was the first thing Luke and the boys noticed when the girls moved in with them at their mansion to help with the band while they also attended college.

Everything had changed.

For starters, Julie and Flynn were now in relationships. Julie was dating a boy named Nick and Flynn a girl named Kayla, they both met them during the end of their senior year and had been together since.

Carrie, also, was now wearing her hair shoulder-length and straight instead of the long blonde waves she used to rock before. And she was now doing an internship of a famous designer’s brand that Luke didn’t know the name of.

But who had surprised the four of them the most was Y/N. The girl who the first three months they met her couldn’t stop herself from throwing herself at Luke. The girl who never once started a conversation with them without a stutter. The girl who was the president of their fan club. The girl to used to silently follow them around and admire them.

That girl was gone.

Instead Y/N had seen them, smiled, hugged them as a normal friend would, and left with the girls to get settled.

No screaming, no blushing, no overload of excitement.

Totally normal.

In worry, the boys had cornered Julie as soon as she had left her room to start questioning her on the abnormality. Julie laughing as soon as she sees the worry in their eyes.

“She’s no longer the teenager you met, guys. She still loved your music but she’s over you” she chuckles “She’s okay. She’s even dating now instead of waiting around for one of you”

The boys look towards one another in disbelief, Luke’s face falling a little after Julie’s words. She was over him? Why wasn’t he happy about it when that’s all he had wanted since he met her?

The answer to his question was answer soon.

Her being able to talk to them without fainting meant she spent more time with them. It meant she was spending more time with Luke.

Both of them would spend most of their nights on the music studio in the boys’ mansion writing songs and making melodies. They would play around in every break and they would laugh as loud as their voices allowed them to.

It was new to Luke. Being that comfortable with someone that wasn’t the boys or Julie and Carrie, being that comfortable and at peace with someone he met after he gained fame.

He didn’t connect with people as much as he used to since his life changed.

But he connected with her. He had connected with her since that afternoon at Julie’s garage when she showed him a part of her she never really showed.

And he never wanted to stop connecting with her.

That is why when they all went to the beach together he spent most of his time by her side, he loved the random conversations they could make and the way she would scrunch her nose while she laughed.

He didn’t understand what he was feeling until he went to play volleyball with the boys and turned around to catch a boy talking with her.

A handsome stranger that was making her laugh in the cute way only she knew how.

His fists clenched by his sides and soon he was standing besides her, stretching said guy’s hand and telling him all about her obsessive behavior during her junior year.

He hadn’t meant to be mean or to talk about her as if she was a crazy teenager who shouldn’t be trusted. But that’s what he sounded like.

Because he was jealous.

He hadn’t realized he was until he had already scared the boy off only to turn around and find Y/N on the verge of tears.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. He’s a douche”

“No! You’re the douche!” She takes a step away from him with teary eyes, “Is that how you saw me? A stupid little stalker who couldn’t get over her obsessive crush?”

He stays quiet as he sees the way her beautiful e/c eyes shine with hurt.

“Well, guess what? I’m not stupid anymore because I finally realized the awful mistake that was crushing over you to begin with! I’m over you!”

With those words, Y/N ran off not noticing the stares of her friends as she left. Carrie and Flynn soon running after her while Julie stayed behind with the boys to question his actions.

Actions he couldn’t actually excused. He was jealous and he had hurt her because of that and it wasn’t fair. She didn’t deserve it.

“Luke... how long have you liked her?”

Julie’s question had the green-eyed boy looking at her with surprise before realization settles on him.

He likes her. He’d maybe even go as far as say he was falling in love with her.

“I... I think since that day at your garage”

Julie stares at him in confusion not knowing what time he was talking about but he knew. And that’s all it took for him to grab the curly-haired girl’s hand and ran off with her.

Reggie, Bobby, and Alex scream at him questions at his sudden actions —even Julie does as she is being pulled— but he doesn’t bother answering.

All the answer he gives is pulling out his songbook, Julie’s eyes widening as she realizes what he is planning.

The only way Luke knew to truly express himself was through music and that was what he was going to do. He was going to express his feelings for Y/N through a song.

It took exactly three days to finish the song. Three days in which Y/N spent most of her time in her bedroom trying to avoid running into Luke.

That's why she knew she couldn't do much about Julie coming to get her that day, urging her to get out of her room.

"I'm doing homework, Jules"

"You have more than enough time late" She argues back, "Move, now!"

Her papers are snatched out of her hands by Julie making her scoff, but one look at Julie's brown eyes and she knew she couldn't fight her on this.

With a sigh, Y/N stands up from her seat to follow the curly-haired girl out of her room to the pool.

There they find Carrie and Flynn waiting for them and soon the four best friends start chatting. Bobby, Alex, and Reggie joining them soon. Neither expected the music that started playing through the mansion's speakers.

Everyone looked towards one another in confusion except Julie and Reggie, who smiled at one another as they moved to sit together. The leather jacket boy had been explained everything as soon as Luke thought the melody needed two voices to harmonize with his.

Soon the music is joined by the sound of an acoustic guitar and Luke walks through the door and into view.

Y/N's face shows how confused she feels while all the others start smiling excitedly. Sentiments that grow as Luke starts singing.

“I never thought I would, did it

Never thought I could

I did it like that, did it like this

Did it like everybody knows"

He starts walking towards her with a shy smile, the meaning of the lyrics have his palms sweating and his heart racing.

"That we got something real, shorty

I know what I feel

So shout it like that

Shout it like this

Listen up, everybody knows

But you, so here it goes"

Before he is close enough to hear her, Y/N turns her face towards Carrie with a small smile full of disbelief.

"He likes me"

It's a statement and Carrie knows that, yet the blonde beauty still smiles happily while nodding before moving to sit by Reggie's other side.

"'Cause I never really noticed

Took a while for me to see

Playing back the moments

Now I'm starting to believe

That you could be at the show and know every word

But it's you who makes me sing"

Luke kneels in front of her giving her his best smile, a smile she returns sweetly.

Alex smiling alongside Flynn in excitement because of the scene that was unfolding in front of all of them.

"And I know where we are and I know who I am

Baby, I'm your biggest fan, oh"

Luke stares into her e/c eyes, remembering the first time they met and the way he had been weirded out by her internal fangirl moment. But then, somehow, things changed. One day he just didn't see her as that weird girl anymore.

"Every time you smile for me

Takes me a while to bring myself back

'Cause you're all that

And I just had to let you know"

Y/N stares at his bright green eyes remembering the first time he met the real him, not the one she met through her phone's screen but the real with imperfections him.

"That I'm screaming out in the crowd for you

I can't be too loud but I don't care

I let 'em all stare

I just want everyone to know

The truth, it's only you"

Carrie and Reggie share a look full of love, both remembering when they were just best friends and how hard it had been for the both of them to finally admit their feelings for one another.

"I never really noticed

Took a while for me to see

Playing back the moments

Now I'm starting to believe"

Alex smiles as he sees the huge smile on Y/N's face. To think that a year ago she had been the one to introduce him to Willie, who was now his boyfriend, and now she was here being serenading by one of his best friends, his brother even.

"That you could be at the show and know every word

But it's you who makes me sing

We may not know where we are but I know who I am

Baby, I'm your biggest fan"

Luke's playing falters as does his confidence, which everybody notices. Everybody around them soon screaming words of encouragement.

"Don't stop now, Luke"

"Yeah, sing it!" adds Reggie after Julie.

Luke looks unsure but one look at Y/N's hopeful face has him continuing the song. By rapping much to everyone's surprise.

"You showed up and you looked so classy

Made me think twice 'bout the way I was acting

You were real from the start of it all

Like a dream came to life, now I'm left in all"

A blush soon covers Y/N features and her face soon go to cover her face as her smiles becomes too big to hide.

Her all-time crush was seranading her a song that confessed his feelings for her, this had to be a dream. What were the odds?

"A stars shine but your light is the brightest

Love flies but your love is the highest

You're so sweet that it drives me crazy

A summer like no other, you're my L.A. baby"

Flynn joins Julie in snapping her fingers to the rhythm as the curly-haired girl keeps singing harmonies with Reggie for the brunette rockstar. Alex and Bobby soon joining in.

"I never really noticed

It took a while for me to see

(took a while for me to see)"

Everybody smiles as they see both of their friends stare at one another with so much love. This had been coming for a long time, they all knew it.

They knew it since the small talks became lingering gazes between one another.

"Playing back the moments

Now I'm starting to believe

(starting to believe)"

He couldn't believe he was actually as lucky as he was. He was falling for a talented and passionate girl who wasn't ashamed to let everyone know what she thought and felt.

He just hoped he was lucky enough to have her love him back, because if she said she felt the same he knew it wouldn't be because he was Luke Patterson, Sunset Curve's lead singer, but because he was Luke, the guy she wrote songs with from time to time.

"That you could be at the show and know every word

But it's you who makes me sing

And I know where we are and I know who I am

(I know who I am)"

Y/N lowers her gaze as she feels her eyes get a little teary with emotion. Having heard the words he had said about her the other day had hurt her deeply, but now he was letting her know exactly what he felt.

He was letting her see his soul. He was being vulnerable with her. He was telling she was worth being vulnerable.

"Baby, I'm your biggest fan, oh

Baby, I'm your biggest fan, oh"

As the song comes to its end, Y/N wipes the smile from her face to stare at her with a curious gaze. She knew how he felt but she still wanted him to actually say it.

"'Cause you could be at the show and know every word

But it's you who makes me sing

We may not know where we are but I know who I am

Baby, I'm your biggest fan”

Silence takes over all of them, Y/N raising her eyebrow to let Luke know she was expecting more than just a song.

"Oh!" He exclaims before proceeding to get rid of the guitar.

Reggie reaches for it before hurrying him to speak making Y/N let out a small laugh at the sight before becoming serious once again.

"I... Ju-I want you to know... Y/N, I..."

She looks at him with furrowed eyebrows as he stares at his hands for a moment to gather his thoughts.

Finally, he grabs her hands in his before staring into her eyes. Green and e/c meeting with many emotions swirling through them.

"I like you, Y/N. I have for a while, but I do" He states, "I like the way you scrunch your nose when you laugh, the way you can't stop yourself from singing along to all of our songs, how you always go out of your way to help the people you care about, I..."

He takes a deep breath, "Even the moments when you acted all crazy, I love those moments. Heck, I think I may love you. I just want to-"

Y/N's right hand finds her way to Luke's mouth, a smile overtaking her features while a deep crimson resides on her cheeks.

"Take me on a date first, okay?" he nods silently, "But, uh, I think I may love you too. And not Luke Patterson, I think I may love Luke"

That's all he need to hear before hugging her close to him as his friends cheer them on. He would take her on a date and they would see how things moved on from there.

But for now this was enough. They were each other's biggest fan.

#julie and the phantoms #luke patterson x oc #sunset curve #luke patterson #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson x y/n #jatp #luke jatp #charlie gillespie

[beatricethecat2]

"This is nice," Myka says, sipping her beer while surveying the bar.

"Consuming alcohol in a public house?" Helena asks.

"Yeah," Myka says, eyes angling down as she picks at her label. "Working with Pete...this wasn't a thing I could do much. Then Steve and I had a drink here, and I remembered what it was like. I used to go on my own in DC just to unwind. Feels like a lifetime ago."

“In many ways it was," Helena says, idly stiring the ice left in her drink. "Could you ever have imagined the company you now keep?"

"I don't think so," Myka says, shifting closer to Helena. "But I like it, a lot. Doing this with you feels...normal. Two people, spending time together, not a care in the world."

"You care for nought?" Helena says, fingers tracing a line from Myka's thumb to her wrist where her hand rests on her thigh.

"Ok, one care," Myka says, eyes flicking up to meet Helena's. "Hey, I know that look. We said we'd stay for the band tonight, not just hole up in our room."

"Is there not another band tomorrow?"

"Yeah, but we said we'd stay for this one." Myka slips her hand from Helena's.

"As you wish," Helena says, settling back on her stool, frustration evident in her tone.

"More drinks, ladies?" the bartender says. "The band's about to start."

"I shall need one," Helena grouses.

"Stop being dramatic," Myka snips.

"Fine," Helena snaps. "Bourbon. Neat. Top shelf, please," she instructs the bartender.

"Comin' right up." The bartender steps away to complete the order.

"Oh, we're getting drunk now, are we?" Myka quips.

"When in Rome..."

"I'd actually like to see that, a drunk H.G. Wells," Myka says, poking Helena in the arm.

Helena flinches. "You may very well if you keep behaving as such."

"Seriously though, when's the last time you drank enough to let your guard down, even a little."

"In the company of others? Not in recent memory. And you?"

"Same."

"Here you go," the bartender interrupts, setting the tumbler on a napkin in front of Helena. "Another beer?" she asks Myka.

"You know what? I'll have the same." Myka waves her bottle at Helena's drink.

"Cavalier, Ms. Bering."

"We'll keep each other in check. We deserve to get super tipsy, at least."

"Color me intrigued."

The band strikes its first cord just as Myka's drink arrives. She tugs Helena's arm, and they relocate to a table near the stage.

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

The Adventures of Bering and Wells ("Warehouse 13" Season 5 replacement) Season 1: Episode 4 Title: New Orleans: Laissez les bon temps rouler!

Summary: Myka and Helena follow whim rather than duty, driving south, detouring around Washington DC, avoiding a second emotional rabbit hole so early on. After a wi-fi-free week in a cabin, deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains, they feel ready to tackle urban density again. ("The Rockies are better," Myka declares. "We'll go there, too.) Vowing to stay as touristy as possible, the pair head towards history-filled New Orleans. But far too soon their carefree trip hits a snag and they're in need of Warehouse help.

Previously: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3

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

***BONUS SCENE***

"Exactly how touristy have you been?" Abigail asks.

"Pretty touristy," Myka answers.

"Practically flâneurs," Helena says, grinning as Myka looks up at her with sparkly eyes.

"Well, that narrows it down," Steve mutters, typing into the keyboard. "Let's start with your hotel. Why'd you pick the carriage house?"

"The lack of adjoining suite and the king-sized bed."

"Helena!" Myka smacks Helena on the arm. "Because it's cute and charming."

"So this ghost isn't listed on their website? Wedding dress woman, Civil War soldier, dancing patio woman?" Steve asks.

"No. And the manager hadn't recognized the description I gave," Helena explains.

"So not all ghosts," Abigail says.

"If seeing them is normal," Myka says.

"Let's say the ones on their website are but H.G.'s isn't," Steve says.

"Are we to assume I've been 'whammied' then?" Helena says.

"You freeze in place. I have to shake you out of it," Myka explains.

"Perhaps I'm studying the phenomenon."

"You're never that still. It's creepy."

"Then I think we should consider it," Abigail says.

"Where else have you been?" Steve asks.

"Um, everywhere?" Myka answers. "That blacksmith's bar you and I went to. And The Gas and Lights Museum--"

"Such memories. So many details wrong," Helena gibes.

"On a carriage ride--"

"Highway robbery! Sixty-five dollars for a turn around the park. And not in the least authentic."

"You said it was nice!"

"I said it was familiar. The sound of it took me back," Helena says.

"I thought you'd like it." Myka leans back and looks up at Helena questioningly.

"I enjoyed the company quite thoroughly," Helena says, laying her hands on Myka's shoulders and grinning down at her fondly.

"Aww," Steve coos.

"Did anything about the carriage ride scream 'lady ghost will now appear at will?" Abigail asks.

"Not to my knowledge," Helena says.

"We also went to the Pharmacy Museum. And on a steamboat ride," Myka adds.

"Not that I'd have stepped foot on that death trap without proof of modern safety precautions. In my day, they exploded frequently," Helena explains.

"Ok...let's start with the Pharmacy Museum," Abigail says as Steve types. "Could this woman have afforded a doctor?"

"She often appears in her Sunday best, but also in, shall we say...less. She didn't strike me as particularly monied."

"Did she look sort of vampire-ish?" Steve asks. "I'm reading that people with consumption were rumored to be vampires due to how the disease aged them."

"I'm familiar with that premise, and no, this woman was not withering away."

"Could she have died on a steamboat?" Abigail asks.

"She doesn't give off that sense. There's a calm about her. She's not in danger."

"Let's try another angle. The neighborhood you're staying in, Storyville, claims to be the birthplace of jazz," Abigail says, reading over Steve's shoulder. "Maybe she's related to that?"

"Myka took me to hear this 'jazz,' and I can't say I was at all impressed."

"I like it. Steve does, too. You really hated it?" Myka asks.

"The bleat of the saxophone evokes vaudeville for me."

"Play her some Charlie Parker. Or John Coltrane. That might change her mind," Steve suggests.

"Does this relate to our ghost?" Abigail presses.

"I don't see a connection," Helena answers. "Her dress is previous to that of jazz, of an age closer to my own."

"Storyville was once a legal bordello district," Steve explains. "The whole neighborhood was shut down in 1917. So maybe she's from then?"

"That makes sense," Myka says.

"Do you see her inside or outside?" Abigail asks.

"Thus far, outside."

"But," Myka protests, "last night, when we were...t-the blindfold, you said 'just in case.'"

"Did that not heighten our activities?"

"That's not the point. I can't believe you--"

"Punish me later, darling--"

"Why don't you two hash this out, and we'll get back to you," Abigail suggests.

"Wait, is this her?" Steve asks.

Steve shares a black and white photo of a woman, seated outdoors, in front of a makeshift white backdrop, her hair styled into a modest, shoulder-length coif. Her linen top, trimmed with lace, hangs off one shoulder, and a string of pearls adorns her neck. Her lipstick, rendered as a middle grey, matches the kohl lining her eyes, giving her a soft, silent movie-era look.

"Hm, possibly."

"Here's another."

Helena leans further over Myka's shoulder, looking closely at the image. "Yes, I believe that is her."

"That's, um, really off the shoulder. Shoulders..." Myka says. "Isn't that kind of racy for the time?"

"Quite tame compared to some. Her expression is unusual, contemplative almost, recalling solemn greek statues rather than the usual fodder meant to titillate men's desires."

"How would you know?"

"One encounters all sorts of materials as a Warehouse agent," Helena says with a smirk.

"As an agent. Uh-huh."

"Listen to this," Steve interrupts, "these prints were made from a stash of glass negatives found locked in a desk drawer years after the photographer died. Many are of Adele, the woman you're seeing, but there are other women, too. They were shot in the 1910s, but these prints were made in the '60s. If there were any original prints, they were never found."

"May I see the images again?"

Steve cycles through and adds a few more, one depicting a roll-down desk with a shrine of photos arranged above, all of women, vignetted portraits and romantic depictions of the female form more typical for the time.

"Not sure if that last one is related. But it says it's by the same photographer."

"Could you send that one over? I'd like to look more closely."

"Sure."

Myka trades places with Helena, and Helena clicks the link. She enlarges the photo and inspects the array of images.

"I vaguely recall flicking through a basket in a shop with ephemera such as this. Perhaps this ghost woman was amongst it, but printed in a manner such as the images depicted here."

"So you're saying the photo in the shop might be a photo from this photo?"

"That is what I'm hypothesizing."

"So when you see her, you freeze like you're her photograph trapped in this photograph."

"Or perhaps I am her, caught in the decisive moment of the image being captured."

"That's really meta," Steve says.

"No matter what, neutralizing that photo should do the trick," Abigail suggests. "Heck, neutralize everything in the basket, just in case."

"Do you remember which shop you were in?" Steve asks.

"My recollection is hazy at best due to the copious amount of drink someone encouraged me to consume the evening previously."

Helena looks at Myka and scowls. Myka looks back, endearingly.

"I don't get hangovers."

"Lucky you," Helena quips.

"I hope you find it soon," Steve says, "because being happy looks good on both of you. You should get back to that."

"Thank you, Steve. And thank you, Abigail, for all your help," Helena says.

"Anytime," Abigail says.

"Have a great trip. Send some postcards!" Steve says.

"What a marvelous idea," Helena replies.

"Isn't flicking through postcards how we got here?" Myka warns.

"Shall you pre-screen everything I touch from now on?"

"Maybe I should--"

"We're hanging up now," Abigail says.

The screen goes blank as Myka and Helena devlove further into playful bickering.

*End Scene*

-TBC-

NOTES: "Laissez les bon temps rouler!" is Cajun French for "Let the good times roll." In season four, Steve and Myka go New Orleans and both say they like jazz, so I'm not making that up. I see Myka as more of fan of popular tunes - Billy Holiday, Duke Ellington, Nat King Cole, etc., whereas Steve would know the genre through and through (and try as he might, never gets Claudia quite on board with it all). The photographer is E. J. Bellocq - I was going to incorporate that more, but the politics behind photos I mentioned is...complicated. I want this B&W show to focus on our ladies journey, artifacts are side-plot motivations. But if you're interested, look him up, and I suggest reading both Susan Sontag and Nan Goldin's essays for some clarity on why the images hold the status they do. From the research I've done, his images are plastered all over Storyville businesses, so if you've been there, you've seen at least one. Oh and I had a roommate once who could drink anything and never got a hangover. Some people are lucky like that.

#BERING AND WELLS #w13 #fanfiction #fan art #Myka Bering #Helena HG Wells #new orleans #road trip! #canon divergent au #it's nice using the characters you like and wish had more screen time in spin off shows #while others need not appear

[ickle-ronniekins]

when all hope seems lost

desc: George finds himself to be lost: his business, merchandise and home have been destroyed in the war and his twin brother is still healing from a battle wound that could’ve been fatal. He’s living temporarily in a flat in a desolate looking neighborhood, and he’s desperate for anything to feel like it used to be. It seems as though all hope is lost, until he meets someone who reminds him that he’s got to endure the darkness to be able to appreciate the light.

A/N: yaknow i hate myself sometimes because whenever i just wanna write ~one fic~ i always add WAY TO MUCH INFORMATION and need to make it either a two-partner or a series smh why can’t i write shorter pieces man??? also this is me just feeding my feelings sorry.. i know some other friends need some light too so hopefully this two part (maybe more?) mini-series can help you a bit, too

pairing: george x fem!american!reader

word count: 1.9k

warning(s): mentions of war, anxiety, mental health

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyingserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley | message me to be added!

When it seemed as though every bit of light had been drained from the universe, you wondered whether the pavement beneath your feet would implode, catapulting you into some other world, some other place where maybe the darkness wasn’t so evident.

George was wallowing again, letting his unhappiness swallow him whole, the happiness he always seemed to emanate now diminished by the hollowness he felt inside of his chest. What had happened to him? How had it come to this? How had he let his desires go by the way side? Why had he given into the melancholy feeling overtaking him?

You wondered whether things would ever go back to normal. Though the war had taken place in England, it hadn’t stopped the following of the most dangerous wizard in all the world to make their way to America. They’d stopped at nothing. Not that you were surprised, really. You’d heard just how awful things had been across the pond. It was no wonder that they’d seemingly wiped out half of the population and then headed for the states, looking to inflict more damage upon the Wizarding community.

A sharp honking noise came from round the bend, but George didn’t move. He stood, feet cemented firmly into the cobblestone as he peered up at his shop; or rather, what was left of it. A few measly bricks and the siding that had been blasted open, showcasing the inner lining of the shop, their flat above it, and all of the products that had been destroyed along with it. The following of Voldemort hadn’t been kind. If he’d been there, if he hadn’t been at Hogwarts, he could’ve saved it -- Fred could’ve saved it --

You peered around the desolate little street you now found yourself on. Though the war had ended, the damage was still very prominent. Here you were -- halfway around the world, no job, no home, no life plans on the horizon, for they’d been smashed to smithereens the same way your tiny little home had been. You wondered if England would be the better choice than America. A wave of doubt surged through your bones, and you very quickly scratched at your head to try and ignore it as you made your way toward your new home.

Fred was busy at the Burrow. After his almost near experience with the great beyond, Molly had insisted that he come home. He hadn’t been too resistant, actually. He reckoned he could use some time there. George, however, desperately searched for a new place -- at least for a little while. A new place for himself, until Fred got better, and they could go back to their plans. Though, now, as he angrily clenched his fists inside of his pockets, the foreboding feeling of doubt swept through his mind, and he wondered if he and Fred would ever be able to replenish all that they’d lost.

Your suitcase clicked rather annoyingly against the cobblestone. You stopped and took an exaggerated deep breath, threading your brows together as you looked up at your new home: a tiny little apartment right on the outskirts of London. It was freshly painted a very stark white; it was beautiful, but nothing like what you were used too. It wasn’t just a new apartment -- it was a whole new world. England was too far from America, and every aspect of home felt as though it were light years of miles away.

George opened up the door to the room of his new flat: it was desolate looking -- bare walls, muted colours, a sort of dryness he wasn’t fond of, and he knew Fred wouldn’t be either. There was absolutely nothing exciting about this place. He set down his trunk in the corner and stood there for a few moments, half in a sort of daze and half in denial. He then threw his jacket onto the bed and made way toward the kitchen to make himself a much needed cup of tea.

You were busy tracing your hands over countertop in the kitchen when someone scared you. A redheaded man stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide with confusion as they glanced over you. He was tall and lanky; he desperately needed a haircut (or a hair taming, rather) and appeared as though he hadn’t caught much sleep in days. You stuck out your hand to introduce yourself: right. You forgot you’d be sharing a home. With a stranger. From England.

“Hi.” George’s voice sounded weirdly firm and unfriendly in his own ears. He cleared his throat a bit and forced a smile onto his face; in his desperation to find a place to temporarily live, he’d forgotten that he’d agreed to another flatmate. He slid his hand into yours and shook gently. “I’m George. Nice to meet you.”

By the puzzled look on his face, you wondered if he knew he was going to get a  roommate. A female roommate. An American female roommate. You figured probably not, because he seemed to be caught rather off guard when he walked into the kitchen and nearly froze on the spot. The startled expression cleared from his face, and he offered a rather genuine looking grin. You introduced yourself right back. “Nice to meet you.”

George found himself in a better mood when he realized that you were bound to be a good flatmate: you were tidy, didn’t have as many belongings as he’d imagined, and offered to shower either morning or night, it didn’t really matter to you -- whatever worked best for him. He was grateful to how accommodating you were being right off of the bat, especially when he felt as though his entire world was collapsing. But when he wandered past your room that first night and saw you sprawled out on the floor, hurriedly going through your belongings and peering down at what seemed to be some type of photographs, he wondered if you were possibly going through something, too. He pretended not to notice when you dabbed at your eyes.

It was nearing midnight, and you forced yourself to place back into your suitcase all photographs of your home -- or, the home you once had. It wasn’t doing you any good looking through them; if anything, it was just making the move to London that much more difficult. Suddenly, a gentle knock pulled you from your thoughts: George was standing at the entrance of your room, two cups in his hands. “I normally have a bit of tea before I head off to bed, and well.. you looked like you could use some. Hope I’m not overstepping.”

George was glad to see the grin that appeared on your face at the sight of him holding two steaming cups of tea. He watched you quickly got up from the floor and pull your hair back into a ponytail. “Thank you,” you told him, cautiously blowing on your tea to cool it. George figured now would be a good a time as any for a casual conversation, since it didn’t look like you’d be going to bed anytime soon. “So -- America? What brings you to England?”

He caught you off guard when he asked this. When you turned back around to look at him, he was casually leaning against the doorframe. His eyes looked much more awake than when you’d first met; it seems as though your foreignness had piqued his interest. Gently, you offered, “My home was destroyed. In the war. Crazy how everything that had started over here wandered all the way over to the states. Lost my job. Lost other...personal things.” You cleared your throat a bit and watched as George bit down on his lip; he seemed to understand. “Figured it was time for a fresh start, you know? New place, new adventure. Though I suppose I could’ve just moved to another state instead of across the country. But hey, England seemed as lovely a place as any, right?” You chuckled a bit before continuing, the first genuine laugh you’d had in months. “How about you? What brings you to this little apartment?”

“I’m so sorry. That’s awful.” George felt a tightness in his throat at your words. He hadn’t expected you to be so frank right off the bat. He wondered if all Americans willingly told intimate details of their lives to complete strangers. Though it was sort of strange to him, he felt as though it was an opening. He bravely took a step forward. “My reasoning isn’t any happier than yours, I’m afraid. I own a business with my brother -- the war destroyed nearly all of it and my flat above it. Fred’s back at my mum and dad’s; he was poorly hurt. I’m kind of on my own for the time being, struggling to find which way is up. That’s how I ended up here.”

“I’m so sorry.” A sudden wave of sadness took you over. You wanted to reach out and grab his hand and squeeze it, seemingly letting George know that you knew, sort of, how he felt. You’d both lost things due to the war. You’d both had to find a way to start over. You resisted the urge and instead sipped again on your tea. You lifted your eyebrows in shock. “It’s strange, the aftermath. It’s startlingly much worse over here than it is back home.”

George found himself laughing, genuinely giggling, for the first time since before the war. “England hasn’t scared you off, has it? I promise, it normally doesn’t look this bloody dismal. And, well, this little area on the outskirts of London really did take quite a hit. Not my first choice in terms of places to live, but I reckon for the time being, it’ll do.”

You swore you caught a bit of a glimmer in his eye, and you wondered how long it’d been since it had been there. George didn’t seem like a particularly melancholy kind of guy, but you knew that with his business destroyed, his brother hurt, his home demolished that he was entitled to a few (or more than a few) bad days. You peered out of your window to see the little rain covered cobblestone street, lit by nothing but the pale light of the street lamps, and breathed in gently. No, England hadn’t scared you off -- dismal looking or not. It had actually turned out to be much nicer than you’d imagined. You nodded at George, who offered up another small grin. “It’ll do.”

When George went to bed that night, he fiddled around with a few test products he and Fred had been placing the finishing touches on. He sucked in multiple breaths to stop himself from crying and just tried to remind himself constantly that they’d work it out. Fred would get better, they’d repair the damage, they’d create new products, their flat would be fixed. When he said all of it in the same breath, it sounded like too much for two blokes to handle. So he tried to focus on one thought at a time. Right. Fred will get better, after some much needed rest. George could handle being in this flat. It would give him time to work out logistics and design more products in all this new free time he had. He glanced to his bedside table and noticed a copy of The Quibbler underneath his wand, and his trunk in the corner of the room. The furnishings actually sort of reminded him of his dormitory at Hogwarts, and he chuckled to himself before shutting his eyes. Perhaps you were right. This new life? This time for all to heal? This time spent in a new flat?

It would do. It would do just fine.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley fluff #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fic #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #george weasley one shot #fred weasley #weasley twins #weasley twins fanfic #weasley twins fanfiction #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins imagines #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction

[gureishi]

prompt 2 with v tysm take care of you ^^

Thank you for this wonderful request, and apologies for taking my time writing it!

I thought a whole lot about this prompt and Jihyun and my mind said PINING and I wrote this long, sprawling thing. It’s a slightly different format from my other requests—I hope you don’t mind! Writing this made me feel all kinds of things. ♡♡

two: fall into yours arms again

JihyunxReader, G, words: 3620

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

97 days

It’s windy today.

You wake up late and throw open the window that you can reach from your bed. The sun’s already high in the sky and beating down through the thin, gauzy curtains. You need to buy new curtains.

The window sticks; you push; it opens. The cool breeze whips through your hair, in stark contrast to the sun—nauseatingly hot and dry. The wind cools your neck, wipes away the last remnants of what you suspect was a nightmare.

Though it’s June, the air still smells of spring. The azaleas in the community garden down the street have wilted, but some of their fragrance is in the air today, and it startles you, spins your head around.

He left in March and the chaos of April and May have been locked away in your memory, behind a wall that says think about this later. Now it’s undeniably summer, the days lengthening, your tendency to sleep through the morning worsening. Time has slowed: the afternoons feel languid and the nights unbearably long. You stretch, letting your shirt—his shirt—fall off your shoulder. It’s long lost its scent by now, grown softer as you’ve slept in it, worn it while cleaning up the little loft you once lived in by yourself. You lived here what feels like forever ago, before you made the misguided decision that led to your life turning upside down and now, somehow, righting itself in ways you still don’t understand.

“I miss you,” you mouth into the wind.

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

191 days

When you get home you’re shivering, underdressed and underprepared for the turn in the weather. You turn the key in the lock, shoulders hunched against the cruel chill that has abruptly permeated your quiet little neighborhood.

You slip inside and shut the door, the wind chimes jangling harshly. You toss your things haphazardly to the side—keys, bag, sunglasses, coffee cup. Everything you needed for the day except a stupid jacket.

The house is cool, too—the wood floors retain some of the warmth of summer but you haven’t turned the heat on yet out of some convoluted mixture of stubbornness and frugality. You shrug on your thickest, floppiest sweater and move through the house, closing the windows one at a time. You shouldn’t have left them open to begin with.

You survey the mess you’ve made: bag spilling out onto your multicolored shag rug, sunglasses hanging over the hand-painted lamp on the side table. You decide to leave them there.

As you so often do lately, you slip into the well-worn chair at your small desk in the corner, under the little window that faces north. You rub your hands together, gaze at the growing pile of paper, stacked precariously high. You know there’s work to be done, emails to be answered—instead, you pull a new sheet of paper toward you, begin a letter than can never be sent.

“How are you?” you write. “It’s getting cold here. I hope it’s warm where you are.” You pause, well-chewed pen cap in your mouth. Scrawl the words you know he won’t read on the paper you have no way to send to him. “I think about you,” you write. “Every single day.”

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

277 days

You laugh and wave and laugh again as you see the grey cloud your warm breath makes in the air.

You call out a last goodbye toward your friends’ receding backs and then wrap your scarf more tightly around your neck, feeling the cold more strongly now that you’re alone. You make your way back through your neighborhood, stopping only to pet the head of the tabby cat that your down-the-street neighbor lets roam free. The sun is setting—the midday chill is turning to a biting evening cold.

You approach your little loft: open the gate, half-run down the path. When, you think, will this feel like a home again? How long, you wonder, till this feels more real that those two weeks that are still illuminated in your memory, brighter even than the events of yesterday or last month or last summer?

Automatically, you check your mailbox. Automatically, you riffle through the bills you can just barely pay and the magazines subscribed to by the apartment’s former occupants. At the very bottom, there’s an envelope, one side covered completely in stamps. You climb the steps, peering at it curiously. You recognize the writing.

You trip.

You should get back up and go in the house and turn on the lights—open the letter where it’s warm and bright. But instead you stay right where you are, on the bottom step, jacket twisted up under you. You tear off one mitten, your hands shaking a little, and open the envelope.

“Dearest,” he’s written. “I don’t know if I’ve sent this the right way or how long it will take to reach you.”

There are already frozen tears on your eyelashes, blurring your vision. You wipe them away frantically with your other hand, still engulfed in your warm, chunky mitten.

“There’s no regular post office where I am so I had to improvise,” he goes on. His thin, messy scrawl is the same as you remember it. You can feet your heartbeat in your fingertips. “Still, that’s no excuse. I’ve written so many letters to you and thrown so many away. I never knew where to begin. I hope you can forgive me.”

The tears are falling hard and fast now, and you give up on wiping them, squinting to read the minuscule letters he’s crammed onto one single sheet of paper.

He describes where he’s staying in detail. It’s beautiful and evocative and you can tell that he’s stalling.

He asks after you—how your work has been going, how you’ve settled back into your own home, if you’ve been eating well. He asks after the RFA too, one at a time, by name. This answers a question that’s been lingering in the back of your mind—so it’s true, you think. He’s written to no one else.

The final paragraph is neater that the rest, as if he’s written and re-written it, practiced and copied it over.

“I am trying to live in the present moment and not worry over the future,” he says. “But every night I can’t help but imagine the life we could have together, when we are both ready. Do you imagine it too?” Your eyes are blurry with tears. “I miss you,” he writes, and you mouth the words as you read them, almost able to hear them in his sweet, gentle voice.

“If you don’t feel like writing me, I’ll understand,” he says. “But I’ll be at this address for some time, so please do write, if you like.” You think of all the letters, the ever-growing pile on and under your desk. You giggle through your tears, imagining how much it would cost to send them all. 

He signs the letter “Yours.” At the bottom he’s added cramped letters, so small you have to bend over, nose almost touching the paper, to read them. “By the way,” he writes. “Please call me Jihyun.” 

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

352 days

To you, March will always be him: the sudden rain showers in the midst of sunny days are his eyes and the scent of plum blossoms in the air is the indescribable warmth of his arms.

There’s a string of pictures now above your bed—you’ve hung each one that he’s sent, strung them up on a piece of bright green yarn. When you told him you’d started doing this, he began sending them with a hole already punched in the top—delicate, perfectly round, just the right size.

You sit on the floor, bare legs extended in front of you, a book propped on your lap.

“All the snow has melted except for the one, long icicle outside my window,” you write. “I think I’ve grown attached to it, and I’ll be sad when it’s gone.”

Your letters have grown longer over the months—his last was five whole pages, front and back. He sends photographs he’s taken of the beautiful landscape where he’s living and sketches he’s made, mostly of nature—and a few of you.

He includes vague references to his companion, and though he’s never mentioned him by name, it’s become clear to you who he’s with. It’s brought you immense comfort to know—if not in much detail—that he is alive and well.

“Tomorrow I’ll be seeing everyone,” you write. “I know you both still need more time, but not being able to give them any news is killing me. Not everyone is doing so well, you know.” You bite your lip, consider crossing off the last few lines. You don’t. He’s healing—and you’d give anything in the world to ensure that he has the space and time he needs. That they both do. But the time you spend with the other members has been dwindling and the evidence of their suffering—some of them more than others—is becoming abundantly clear.

“I think I want to have a party,” you write. “Not for months, maybe longer, but I want to start thinking about it. I think it might help.”

You sip from the glass of water you’ve set on the floor next to you, swirl it around a little to listen to the sound of the ice clinking.

“I miss you desperately,” you write. “And I love you, Jihyun.”

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

478 days

The song that plays through your headphones is soft and pretty, not nearly loud enough to drown out the shouting of the street vendors and the overall atmosphere of chaos. It’s Sunday, and you’ve ventured into the city to shop. You don’t love the crowds or the fast pace, but you do relish the savory scents drifting from food stalls and the feeling of your thin pants swooshing against your legs.

You hoist the two large fabric grocery bags up; they’re nearly slipping out of your sweat-slick hands again. The mid-afternoon July sun beats down on you. You slow your pace.

It’s been a few weeks since you’ve gotten a letter. This isn’t shocking—he’s staying somewhere new now, and it’s even more remote than before. He has to travel into town to mail his letters, so the gaps between them have grown longer. You’re used to it, but you still can’t help feeling like a cold hand is clenching around your heart whenever you check the mailbox and find it empty.

You reach the train station, grip both bags with one hand so you can tap your card. You go through the motions: standing in the station, boarding the train. As you have so many times, you repeat the words of his last letter in your mind. You know it by heart.

“I bought plane tickets last week,” he wrote. “He hasn’t been feeling well the last few days and we decided together to cancel them.”

This isn’t a first either—the tickets bought, the tickets cancelled. And you know that it isn’t just Jihyun’s “companion” who needs more time. They are both still healing—physically, mentally, emotionally.

“Please tell me when you decide on a date for the party,” he wrote. “I’m sorry to hear the plans aren’t going smoothly. And I’m sorrier that I can’t offer the other members some solace—particularly where it concerns him. I must respect his wish for privacy.”

The train is packed; you set your bags at your feet so you can hold on. The gentle rocking motion is familiar; the air conditioning is a relief.

“I saw a flower yesterday that I couldn’t identify. It was raining here, but the flower’s petals were open. I was afraid it would wilt from the force of the rain, but it didn’t. I watched it for a long time, and saw the raindrops collect inside it. I thought of you.”

The train rumbles to a stop. More people get on. You adjust. A new song plays in your headphones—it’s slow and a little melancholy.

“Every morning I imagine the things I will do with you in our bright and beautiful future,” he wrote.

The train picks up speed again. Sweaty people read newspapers and speak quietly to one another, underscored by the gentle music in your ears. You close your eyes.

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

555 days

You run to catch the bus, the leaves crunching delightfully under your feet. It’s pulling into your stop as you’re crossing the street and—why does this always happen?—you bow your head and sprint, waving frantically at the driver.

The driver sees you. Smiles. Waits.

“Thank you,” you pant, jumping the steps two at a time. 

“It’s okay. I remember you.”

Ouch.

You stumble to a seat and collapse into it. If you’re late for the bus often enough that the driver remembers you, you’ve really got to try and pull yourself together.

You comb a hand through your sweaty hair. It’s hard, as it turns out, planning an RFA party while keeping up with your old life—you’ve got one foot in the world of working and cleaning and paying bills and the other in the world of CEOs and mysterious guests and anonymous donors.

As you’re catching your breath, you pull the newest letter from your bag. It arrived just this morning—perhaps that was why you almost missed the bus again—and you’ve only read it once so far. You scan the page with eager eyes, searching as you so often do for clues and hints and promises hidden between the lopsided words.

“I made a painting today,” he tells you. “I won’t describe it to you, because I want to show it to you in person.”

But when? you want to ask. You can’t help the frustration that’s creeping under your skin. The bus rocks; you lean your head against the window.

“I’ve realized something,” he writes. “I wonder what you think about it. I feel closer to you than I’ve felt to anyone before. And yet every day I find things I still don’t know about you, because of our circumstances. What are your favorite things to eat? What smells make you reminisce about the past? What music makes you sleepy?”

You sigh, fold up the letter. It’s true, you think. You love him with a warmth that encompasses your whole being—a feeling you’d never even dared to imagine. But how does his face look in the morning when he sleeps through his alarm? Which groceries does he always forget to buy?

You don’t write these questions down. Instead you turn over the letter, scribble on the back. 

“The party will be March 24th.”

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

641 days

It hardly snows this winter, but it rains. The sound of the rain fills your dreams: it pounds on the roof of your little apartment, and you wake up and run to the kitchen to check that the window is closed. It fills your waking hours, thrumming on your giant umbrella as you navigate the narrow streets of the city. When it lets up, you still hear it, humming in your eardrums, reverberating inside your chest.

You sit at your desk again. No longer is it covered in stacks of paper, records of yearning—those letters have been long sent or put away in pretty boxes with colored lids. Your laptop buzzes, hopelessly trying to cool itself down. You press send and cut the frightening number of messages in your inbox down by just one more.

You lean back in your chair. The rain goes tap tap tap on the roof and you rub your sore neck. It’s a Friday night and even in this weather, you can hear the distant sounds of people gathering at the bar on the corner. You open another email.

“I’m working hard,” you wrote in your last letter to him. “Sometimes I feel that I can barely keep up with it all. Other times I’m sure I’m burying myself in all of this work on purpose, making myself busy so I don’t have to feel lonely.”

You scan the email with expert eyes, dash off a quick reply. Both are true, you suppose—planning a proper party, not one hastily thrown together in a few weeks under extreme circumstances, is a full-time job all on its own. But you are lonely, you think, taking a break to stretch your arms over your head. There are people around you all the time, but your chest feels hollow. “I’m taking good care of myself,” you wrote to him last week. “I do feel fulfilled. But…”

But you can no longer re-create in your mind the exact way that he smells, the sweet freshness of nuzzling your face into his shoulder. You can’t always hear his voice clearly in your mind when you read the sweet, beautiful words he writes to you. “I love you like the way the ocean crashes into the rocks and then spills peacefully over the sand,” he writes. “Does that make sense?”

It does.

You shake your head to clear it, type a few brief, carefully-worded lines.

“I’m ready,” you say out loud, and the words echo in your apartment: warm and cluttered and bright and full to the brim with thoughts of him. “I’m ready when you are.”

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

702 days

For the first time, you wait to read his letter.

You find it in the mailbox as you’re leaving in the morning and you whisper “patience” to yourself as you walk to the bus. You wait at the light, you cross the street. You sit at the bus stop for two whole minutes before the bus arrives and the driver raises his eyebrows at you in surprise.

“Patience,” you whisper to yourself again as you exit the bus, breathing in the fresh, early-spring air. And “patience,” you think, as you greet the venue manager and listen to her running through the event checklist for what feels like the eight hundredth time.

“Almost,” you tell yourself as you leave, taking a picture on your phone of the orange and purple sky. You board the bus again, watch the sunset fade into star-speckled navy through the smudged window.

“Now,” you say out loud as you unlock the door to your flat, hanging your light jacket and keys on the hooks you’ve recently mounted by the door. “Now.”

You tear into the letter as you make your way to the bedroom, turning on lamps as you go, bathing the room in amber light.

You pull out the paper and your hands, steady all day, start to shake. You hold it up to the light. It’s shorter than usual. He’s written your name at the top and he’s answered your questions, described a walk he took on the waterfront yesterday, offered updates on the plants growing beside the house where he’s staying.

And at the bottom, he’s sketched a picture in light blue ink. His lines are soft and wavy, but the details are clear: it’s two plane tickets. They’re dated.

You inhale sharply.

Thirty-two more days.

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

734 days

It’s warm, but not too warm. The lights are dim, but not too dim. The air is lightly scented like spring flowers and rain, but it’s not overwhelming, and the chatter of the crowd is enthusiastic and warm.

In other words, you’ve done a very good job.

You step onto the balcony for a moment, patting your red cheeks with both hands. You’ve been receiving compliments all night and it’s made you feel like you’re floating several centimeters off the ground. You’re proud of yourself—you worked hard for this.

But as the night’s worn on, your anticipation has built to a fever pitch, and you have to keep reminding yourself to breathe. If he were arriving on any other day, you’d be meeting him in private— and would you feel more or less nervous, then? You can’t decide.

But of course it’s today, because the most important events of your life always seem to coalesce around each other. There’s a beautiful garden surrounding the party venue and you take comfort in the ivy wrapped around the wrought-iron trellis; it reaches almost as high as your eye level and its balance of sturdiness and delicacy gives you strength.

You slip back inside, take in the groups of expensively-dressed people clustered around tall, elegant tables. There’s a string quartet in one corner and a mouth-watering array of hors d’oeuvres arranged toward the back wall.You straighten out your clothes surreptitiously, sneak a peak at the clock, flash a bright smile at the nearest group of guests .

And then, for a reason you’ll never be able to explain, you know what’s about to happen. Your eyes fly to the door. You gravitate toward it like a moth to a lamp and you know no one else has noticed but somehow you feel that the room has quieted for you.

The door opens. Your hands fly to your mouth.

“Hi,” he says.

He’s always been spring to you but it’s as if he’s brought summer with him. He’s taller than you remember and his collared shirt is open and he’s got the warmest smile you’ve seen in your whole life. Your thrill and worry and hope are reflected in his bright eyes. 

He holds out a hand—cautiously, as if afraid you’ll float away. You take it and his fingers are soft and cool, like the petals of a flower.

“Welcome home,” you say. “Jihyun.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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@currentlyprocrastinating @thesirenwashere  @ultrasupernini​ @cro0kedme​ @otomefoxystar​ @dawn-skies06 @nad-zeta

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[seanfalco]

Only When You’re Lonely | Klaus Hargreeves x Reader

Words: 4.2k Requested by: @1pixie1dust1​ & @moodymoonchild98​ Prompt: I have a one-shot request! In your work Klaus is all "I don't deserve her" / "she deserves someone better than me". On that note.. I would like to request a one-shot where someone "better" than Klaus likes Y/N and she actually reciprocates the attention but Klaus goes out of his way to ruin and sabotage the budding relationship and has no good reason as to why he doesn't like the guy. Could this please take place in one of their off periods? Thank you! + Hey could you please write Klaus x reader with reference from this song : You Only Want Me When You’re Lonely - Jim Boyd. (Its a great song btw) Where the reader just want klaus when h/she feeling lonely lol. Thank you! Oh and love your fic playing with fire 💖💖 a/n: Decided to kind of merge these two prompts together, since I got the same vibes from them.  Takes place pre-Playing with Fire.

——

It had happened, exactly what he’d wanted and feared — she’d found someone else.

He’d chanced upon them out on a date late one night, spying them through the window of the diner and his blood had gone cold.  Was she laughing?  At one of his jokes?  Was that his hand on her arm?  Who said he could be that close to her?  Oh my God, was she actually gunna let him kiss her?

Tearing his eyes from the scene, Klaus whipped around, pressing his back to the wall outside and squeezed his eyes shut.

This was what he wanted, he told himself.  She deserved so much better.  So why did his blood boil at the thought?

Turning back around he let his gaze caress her.  That smile, what he wouldn’t give for it to be turned on him once more.

He had to break this up.  

This is what you wanted.  You pushed her away.  She deserves more than you.

Pushing those thoughts away, Klaus was already formulating a plan on how to get her back.  He’d made up his mind.  He wasn’t going to let this stand.

“Klaus, what’re you doing?” Ben asked as Klaus lounged against the alley wall, waiting for [y/n] to get off her shift.

“Nothing,” he grumbled in response, peeking around the corner surreptitiously.  

“Uh huh,” Ben replied dryly.  “Y’know, this is low, even for you.”

“Shhh,” Klaus hissed, waving Ben away.

“You’re the one who keeps pushing her away and now you’re upset that she’s actually found someone who treats her right?  Please don’t tell me you’re actually going to sabotage this for her.”

“Ben, I swear to God —“ he cut off as [y/n] rounded the corner, nearly running into him.

“Klaus?” she asked, clutching at her chest in surprise, “Jesus, you scared the crap outta me, what’re you doing here?”  There was a slight snap to her voice, but as her eyes came to rest on his face, her expression softened slightly.  

Klaus smiled apologetically, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.  “Sorry [y/n],” he murmured with a nervous laugh.  “I, uh, I was in the neighborhood and thought I could maybe, walk you home?” he offered with a slight shrug and a hopeful look as he pointed off in the direction of her apartment.

[y/n] sighed, clearly deliberating.  “Alright, fine,” she gave in and Klaus’s face broke into a bright grin, “but,” she exclaimed, holding up a finger warningly, “no funny business and you can’t come in.”  

Klaus’s smile slipped slightly, but he shrugged.  “Fine by me, I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” he insisted, holding out his arm for [y/n] to take.

“I’ve heard that before,” she grumbled, but she took his arm, a grin on her face that made his poor heart skip a beat.

“So what have you been up to, hmm?” Klaus pried, watching her out of the corner of his eye.  “Anything new?”

She glanced at him askance, almost suspiciously, “Not much,” she answered offhandedly, but her lips twisted thoughtfully.  “If you must know… I’ve started seeing someone,” she admitted  hesitantly and Klaus’s stomach flipped, dropping uncomfortably.

“Oh?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know this and was already planning on winning her back.

Could you even lose something you never had in the first place?

“Do tell,” he pressed lightly, his tone at odds with the flurry of emotions that buffeted him.

[y/n] eyed him conflictedly, biting her lip.  “He’s an artist -- a photographer,” she finally said and Klaus wondered if she’d let him photograph her yet, his mind careening down dark avenues that twisted his insides.

Had she let him take photos of her that no one else was privy to?  Had she slept with him?  Did he know how to pleasure her in all the intimate ways that only he knew how to?

All too soon for his liking they were nearly to her apartment building and he forced the lie through his teeth, really wanting a drink.  “Sounds exciting!  Are you… are you happy?” he asked hesitantly, afraid to hear the answer.

The reluctance in her eyes however before she answered made his heart leap hopefully.  “Uh, yeah.  Yeah, I’m happy,” she answered, flashing a reluctant smile, and Klaus knew he had a chance.

“Well,” he segued, his eyes flicking to her building, the one he thought of as more home than anyplace else he’d been, “I guess this is where we part ways.  For now.”  With a dramatic flourish Klaus took her hand, bowing low and pressing his lips to it before straightening, a playful grin tugging his lips that was mirrored in [y/n]’s eyes.

“Goodnight, Klaus,” she murmured, watching him over her shoulder as she walked to the door.

——

“No, Klaus.”

“What, c’mon Ben,” Klaus whined, kicking an empty can down the dark alleyway before spinning  and sliding down the brick wall to plop to the damp asphalt.  “I thought we were friends!” he cried.

“Not when you’re acting like this, we’re not,” Ben replied, watching Klaus from across the alley, his hood pulled up over his head.

“Don’t you wanna help bring [y/n] and I back together again?” Klaus asked dramatically.

“Not like this,” Ben snapped, “and not so you can just leave her again when things get hard.”

“Bennnnn,” Klaus whined again, fixing his brother’s apparition with his most pleading stare.

“No.  Even if I could possess people, I wouldn’t do that, not to some stranger.  What if he’s a good guy, Klaus?”

“What if he’s not?”  Klaus snapped back, reaching into the pocket of his dark patchwork coat for the little baggie tucked inside.  Dumping the pills into his palm he studiously avoided glancing at Ben -- knowing the familiar disappointed look that was surely waiting for him and he popped the drugs into his mouth to swallow, leaning his head back against the wall and letting his eyes droop shut.

Ben sighed.  “If you really want [y/n] back, you’re gunna have to do it the right way.  Put in the work, show her you want to be better.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Klaus exclaimed dismissively, waving Ben’s words away for the moment, wanting to enjoy his high.  “I just have to remind her what all she’s missing,” he murmured.

——

“This is not what I meant, when I said put the work in,” Ben pointed out the next day as Klaus waited outside [y/n]’s building, coffee in hand.

“It’s not?” Klaus asked flippiantly, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“No, this is… stalking,” Ben exclaimed, throwing his hands up, but Klaus ignored him.

“[y/n]!” he called instead as she emerged from her building, pushing off the wall and striding over to meet her, holding the cup of coffee out to her.

Watching him curiously, a small smile playing at her lips, she took the pro-offered cup and brought it to her lips, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Klaus,” she greeted, her eyes flicking down and back up, no doubt noticing he was still in the same clothes he was wearing the night before.

“Sleep well?” he asked, falling into step with her as she began to walk.  “Dream of me?” he asked, flashing her his most charming grin.

Instead of answering, she rolled her eyes fondly, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder.  “Klaus, what are you doing?” she asked pointedly.

“Moi?” he asked, gesturing to himself, adopting an innocent expression.  “Am I not allowed to come see my favourite person in the world and bring her coffee?” he asked, fighting the urge to sling his arm around her shoulder.

“I think it seems rather coincidental that you suddenly show up as soon as I start to see someone else,” [y/n] pointed out, though she didn’t look mad.

“What?  That’s ridiculous!” Klaus exclaimed, almost scandalized.  “I just… miss you,” he murmured, fidgeting with his fingers, “and whether we’re sharing a bed or not, you’re still my best friend,” he reminded her, his eyes flicking to hers, finding a hesitant smile on her face.

“So,” he exclaimed, brightening once more, clapping his hands together, “how about we do dinner, catch up?  You, me, your new beau?  You can introduce me.”

[y/n] gaped at him incredulously.  “That sounds like a terrible idea,” she laughed while Klaus pouted.

“What nooooo!” he exclaimed, leaning into her shoulder without thinking, half draping himself over her.  “I think you mean, it sounds like a lovely idea.  I mean, let’s be honest, he’s gunna have to meet me sooner or later,” Klaus reasoned.

Leaning into him subconsciously, [y/n] sighed.  “Believe me, I know that,” she muttered.  “Just… not tonight, okay?” 

“Oh, so you are meeting him tonight?” Klaus asked, a mischievous grin curling his lips.

“Klaus,” she said warningly, though it held no real heat.

“What is this lucky fellow’s name, by the way?” he asked, carefully ignoring her admonition and she sighed again.

“It’s Sean, okay,” she answered, “now I have to get going,” she announced, extricating herself from his arm and taking off down the packed sidewalk.  “Thank you for the coffee!” she called, turning back to him and flashing a smile that sent his heart racing.

“Don’t mention it!  I’ll see ya when I see ya!” he called back, waving.  She just didn’t need to know that he’d be seeing her tonight whether she liked it or not.

As soon as she was out of sight Klaus rubbed his hands together.  “Now to figure out where they’ll be dining tonight so I can make my grand entrance,” he muttered while Ben glowered at him.

“Are you gunna show up like that?” he asked and Klaus glanced down at himself.

“What’s wrong with this outfit?  It’s one of my signature looks!”

Yeah, if that look is sleeping in alleys and not showering for like a week,” Ben scoffed and Klaus lifted his coat to sniff.  “When was the last time you changed?”

Clearing his throat, Klaus made a mental note to find someplace to wash and a new pair of clothes before night came.

——

“So, what exactly is your plan?” Ben scoffed.

“Just go in there, make my presence known and meet this Sean character, size him up,” Klaus answered, peering through the window, having finally found the place they were dining at.  [y/n] thought she was being clever by not telling him where they were eating that night, but he knew her favourite haunts and it hadn’t been hard to find them.

Straightening his jacket and running his hands through his freshly washed hair, giving it that effortlessly mussed look, Klaus steeled himself and pushed open the door, heading nonchalantly toward the bar, carefully not making eye contact with [y/n] across the room.  It was important that this look completely unplanned.

Sliding up to the bar he ordered a drink, tapping his painted fingers on the smooth polished counter as he waited and as soon as the glass was in his hand he brought it to his lips, turning to assess the room, his eyes finally catching [y/n]’s whose face darkened for a moment while he regarded her with his best feigned innocence, holding up his drink before approaching.

“Well, well, well, fancy seeing you here,” he exclaimed jovially, not missing the way [y/n]’s eyes traveled over him, pulling a smug grin to his lips.

“Uh huh, fancy that,” she replied wryly and Klaus’s smile widened, turning to take in the fellow sitting across from her.  

“You must be Sean,” he continued, holding out his hand to shake and the man peered at him in confusion as he reluctantly took his hand.

“Yeah, that--that’s me,” he replied, “I’m not exactly sure who you are, unfortunately.”  His eyes flicked to [y/n] questioningly and she sighed.

“Sean, this is… Klaus,” she introduced hesitantly, her gaze flicking nervously between the two.  

“It was nice to meet you, man.  Now if you’ll excuse us--” Sean said with a nod, directing an uncertain smile at him, before turning back to [y/n], the dismission in his voice clear, but Klaus merely grinned, pulling over the chair from the adjacent table and swung his leg over it, leaning forward and resting his arms over the chair back.

“So, you’re a photographer?” he asked, sipping his drink and Sean blinked, frowning as Klaus made no move to leave. 

“Uhm, yeah, how did you--?”

“Oh, [y/n] told me,” Klaus explained, swirling the drink in his glass.  “Y’know she’d make such a great model, I mean, she has no bad angles,” he continued, his eyes flicking to [y/n], winking at her cheekily.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Sean replied, his lilting voice taunting, turning the tables on Klaus and he turned to gape at him.  “I’m excited to get her behind the viewfinder.”  Now it was Sean’s turn to wink across the table at [y/n] who flushed slightly.

His grin faltering, Klaus hid it by tilting back the rest of his drink and knocking on the table, interrupting their moment and signaling his departure as he made to stand.

“Well, again, it was nice to meet you…” he trailed off, snapping his fingers as if trying to remember the fellow’s name, even though of course he did.  He did have to hand it to [y/n], she had good taste.

“Sean,” Sean provided, reaching across the table to slip his hand over [y/n]’s, watching Klaus carefully, clearly aware what he was up to.

“Right,” Klaus muttered, turning to nod to [y/n], his smile tight.  “You kids have a nice night.  Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Outside, Klaus’s grin disappeared, replaced by a scowl and Ben folded his arms.

“So what exactly did that accomplish, other than making a fool of yourself?” he asked and Klaus sighed.

“That was just step one,” he explained with a huff, “but it’s planted the seeds and now I just have to water them.”  

Ben rolled his eyes.  “Oh yeah, because you have such a green thumb.”

“Shut up, Ben, you’ll see,” Klaus insisted as he turned to stumble away, ready for another drink and a hit to take the edge off and banish the sight of [y/n]’s hand in Sean’s.

——

Over the next several weeks Klaus engrained himself back into [y/n]’s everyday life as if he’d never left, being the best friend she could ask for, and no matter where she turned, he was always there -- much to Sean’s obvious chagrin.

If Sean showed up for movie night, Klaus was already there, painting [y/n]’s nails.  If they went out, he somehow always managed to bump into them.  Every chance he could get to remind the other man that he was still very much in the picture and that he wasn’t going anywhere, he took it and he could tell he was starting to get under Sean’s skin.

And oh what Klaus wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall during the conversations they no doubt had about him. 

So what if Ben wouldn’t help him, Klaus felt like a ghost himself, his presence, his very name haunting [y/n]’s new beau as surely as any spectre.

And as time wore on he could see [y/n] cracking -- the lingering glances, the subtle touches that lasted a little too long, slipping from friendly to intimate, leading finally to an almost kiss that he could tell practically pained her to pull away from, half-heartedly admonishing him for being so tempting.

He was so close, he could feel it.  Klaus was in the home stretch now.

Now he just needed to nail the final nail in the coffin.

Weaving his way through the crowd, Klaus headed for the bar, waiting for [y/n]’s band to take the stage.  They may only be local openers, but he smiled fondly, remembering the very first gig they played, him cheering them on to the smattering of applause.

“Oh.  Hey,” a familiar voice behind him said, and Klaus turned to find Sean joining him at the bar.  “Guess I really shouldn’t be all that surprised to see you here.”  There was a tenseness to his tone that made Klaus grin smugly.

“Nope, I’ll always be around,” he replied off-handedly, though the message behind his words was clear and Sean nodded uncomfortably before ordering a beer and settling in for the show.

“You know, I helped [y/n] buy her first guitar,” Klaus reminisced, a dazed grin crossing his face at the memory.  “It was only a cheap pawn shop thing, but it became her most prized possession.  She taught herself how to play on that damned thing.”

“How long have you known her?” Sean asked softly and Klaus took a sip of his drink.

“Oh, comin’ up on almost fifteen years,” he mused proudly, counting on his fingers before flicking ash off the end of his cigarette.

Before either man could speak further [y/n]’s band took the stage, her eyes meeting Klaus’s across the room as an excited smile crossed her face, before her gaze moved to Sean, and Klaus could feel the other man’s eyes on him as they began to play.

“[y/n]’s told me about you, you know,” Sean said suddenly, taking Klaus by surprise and his eyebrows raised as he tore his eyes from the stage to face the other fellow.

“Oh?” he asked, curious as to what she had to say about him.  “Good things, I hope,” he continued with a chuckle and Sean’s tight smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“I truly don’t see what she sees in you,” he answered coldly.  “All I see is a charming addict who manipulates people to get what he wants.  And I have a feeling you’re not gunna give up until you have her back.”

Klaus stared straight ahead, frowning thoughtfully, determined not to let it show that maybe his words might have gotten under his skin a bit.

“Well,” he said flippantly after a long moment, gesturing with his cigarette and flashing a grin, “charming is my middle name, after all.”

Sean shook his head, falling into silence once more to finish watching [y/n]’s set.  

Once the last song ended and the band cleared their gear off the stage so the headliners could get set up [y/n] trailed to the bar, grinning widely, practically beaming, and Klaus didn’t fail to notice the other man’s sad smile as he watched her approach, her eyes seeking Klaus out first.

Fuck, he wanted to kiss her so badly right then.

When she pulled him in for a hug, whispering in his ear, “I’m so glad you came tonight,” he nearly did kiss her.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

That night, even though she didn’t leave with him, Klaus fell asleep buoyed by the thought that it shouldn’t be long now til she came back to him.  She hadn’t looked at him like that since she’d last called him her’s.

It was a continuous buzzing that woke him late the next afternoon and though he felt slightly hungover still, the late evening sunlight streaming through the blinds making him blink blearily, the sight of the name on his caller id had him jumping awake, nearly falling off the couch.  He’d never been happier to have minutes remaining on his phone than right now.

“[y/n]!” he answered brightly, pushing himself up to run his free hand through his short messy curls.  Moments later however, the sound of her sniffles on the other end of the line made his stomach drop, flipping a strange somersault of hope and shame that left him a little queasy.

Shh, that’s just the alcohol.

“What--what’s wrong?” Klaus asked quickly.

“...Sean broke up with me,” [y/n] answered thickly, “can… can you come over?”

“I’ll be right there,” he assured her, rushing to shove his feet into his worn boots and grab his coat, slipping it over his arms before he realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath.

Ah, fuck it.

As he made the trek across town to her apartment, Klaus grappled with his guilty conscience.  After all, one could argue he was partially complicit in her pain.  But no, he’d never once actively played homewrecker, right?  He’d been good, he’d never urged her to break up with him, or threatened the guy.  He’d never been untoward with [y/n] or tempted her to be disloyal.  He’d merely just been there, letting them come to the conclusion on their own that it wouldn’t work out.  He wasn’t guilty, was he?  

No.  No, of course not.

——

“Klaus!” you exclaimed as you opened the door, your eyes puffy from crying and he barely had time to react before you were in his arms, pressing your tear damp face to his chest.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” you murmured, your words muffled and he quickly brought his arms around you, his chest constricting with affection, missing holding you like this.

“Are you okay?” Klaus asked, pulling back to look you over, holding the sides of your face gently, his thumb tracing under your eye to intercept a falling tear.

“No, yes… I don’t know,” you floundered, biting your lip to keep it from trembling.  

“What happened?” Klaus asked, shutting the door behind him and ushering you further into the apartment.

“Sean broke up with me this morning,” you explained, punctuating your words with the occasional sniffle.  “He said that he couldn’t… that he didn’t want to compete with you.  That you’d always be there and that I’d…” you trailed off, covering your face with your hands.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Klaus murmured, gently pulling your hands from your face and you hesitantly looked up at him.

“I know what you did Klaus, I’m not stupid, and you’re not exactly subtle.”

When he looked ready to argue, you silenced him with a finger to his lips and he merely watched you curiously, kohl darkened eyes following your every movement, his tongue moving behind his parted lips, sending a shiver through you as you felt it.

“Part of me is glad you intervened,” you admitted and Klaus frowned in confusion, his brows drawing down.  “Yes, I liked Sean.  He was a good guy, but like every person I date or sleep with, I always end up comparing them to you,” you explained, your heart pounding in your chest.  “And even if logically they’re better for me, or whatever, I always end up finding them lacking.”

“Lacking?” Klaus asked, unable to keep the question from springing from his lips.

“Because they’re not you.”

And with that your mouth was on his and you were pulling him with you to the bed and he followed eagerly, ready to make you his all over again.  

Maybe this was a mistake and maybe you shouldn’t have called Klaus while in such a vulnerable state, but you’d never wanted him more than in that moment and logic was not on your side.  You wanted him to hold you, to touch you.  You wanted to lose yourself in him and know that he’d be there when you woke. 

——

“What you did wasn’t fair, Klaus,” Ben said, watching him across the room.

“All’s fair in love and war, Ben, and this just happened to be a little bit of both,” Klaus replied, smirking triumphantly, his fingers gently tracing the slope of her arm as she lay draped over him.

“So, what, the next time you get bored or scared, you’ll push her away again until you come crawling back?  You can’t keep doing that to her, Klaus, and just expect her to wait around for you, not wanting more than that.”  Ben shook his head sadly.  “It’s like… you only want her when you’re lonely.”

 “Piss off, Ben,” Klaus hissed -- it was enough that his self loathing shared his brother’s voice, he didn’t need to hear it repeated back at him in stereo.  “You don’t know anything.  I lo—“ he fumbled over the words that nearly sprang to his lips, quickly correcting himself.  “I want her all the time, but it’s easier to leave than to be left.”

“How do you know she’d leave you?” Ben pressed.

“Because she should,” Klaus exclaimed, his arm tightening around her.

“Well, I’m glad we both agree on something.”

“I said, Piss Off, Ben!” Klaus repeated louder, frustration sharpening his words and Ben disappeared as [y/n] stirred in his arms.

“Hey, you okay?” she asked, pushing up to rest her hand on the side of Klaus’s face, worry etched in her expression before Klaus forced a smile, placing his hand over hers and turning to brush a kiss to her palm.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I-I’m great,” he lied, “Never better.”

[y/n] studied his face for a long moment before he leaned forward, distracting her with a kiss -- knowing if he let her look for too long she would see the lie in his forest green eyes; she knew him too well for his own good.

With a sigh she let him pull her back down to the bed and into his arms once more, her eyes fluttering shut, leaving him to wonder if there would come a time that she wouldn’t take him back.

#the umbrella academy #tua #klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves imagines #PwFverse #fic: playing with fire #my writing #prompt request #1pixie1dust1 #moodymoonchild98

[nickiewrites]

Golden Globes. (Chris Evans)

Type: Smut, I guess

Warnings: Swearing, oral (f receiving)

Words: 1,429

Pairing: Chris x reader

Summary: You and you’re boyfriend Chris get a little too hot and heated and decide to finish it up at the Golden Globes

A/N:

Idk why I even write authors notes lol

~

The Golden Globes. One of the years biggest award shows for film. It was a big deal for most actors. Also, nerve racking. And not just for them. It was going to be my first public outing with my boyfriend. We didn’t want to let everyone know so soon that we were dating but I really wanted to be there to support him. We acted pretty civil the whole night and never said anything about it. Until recently, he confirmed it on live TV, no one was really surprised, but we were finally ready to let everyone know. And now, the Oscars had rolled around again, and we could actually go and have fun.

“Hey baby.” Chris walked in and kissed me on the forehead, just getting back from a walk around the neighborhood with Dodger. I smiled and looked up from my laptop.

“Hi. How was your walk?” I spoke softly.

“It was good.” Chris said, grabbing some food out of the cabinet. “It’s so hot outside, though.”

I grabbed my phone. “Yeah, it says it’s almost 90 out.” I laughed. “But that means you’ve been sweating a lot and… you’re pretty sexy when you sweat.” I said, biting my lip, almost slipping out of my seat, starring at my boyfriend.

At the end of my sentence, Chris turned around and looked at me with his bedroom eyes.

“You think I’m sexy when I sweat?” He says, coming closer towards me.

“Mmm, you know I think you’re always sexy.” I whisper, grabbing his waist, as he’s finally in reach of me.

Chris puts his hands on my shoulders. “Well, I think, you’re always sexy.” He moves one of his hands to my neck and the other down towards my ass, his lips connecting to my neck.

I moaned loudly, moving my head to the side and my hands making my way to his ass. After a minute, both of his hands find my backside and lift me up and carry me to the island counter of our kitchen. I could feel his hard-on against my core. I decided to change it up and found his ear lobe and bit down lightly on it.

“Oh fuck, where did you learn to do that?” Chris whispered, his mouth leaving my neck for only a second.

I giggled. “I didn’t need to learn it, dummy. But I didn’t think you’d like it so much.” I sucked the rest of it into my mouth and Chris grinded his hips into mine.

I lifted my head up after I released his lobe and I saw the time on the kitchen clock.

“Oh, baby!” I squealed.

“You like that, babygirl?” He moaned into my ear.

“No, no! It’s already 1pm! We have to go get ready! I have to do my hair and make up and you have to shower!” I giggled, pushing my hunky boyfriend off me.

“Sweetheart, do you see this?” He pointed down to the tent in his pants. “You just did this to me, and you’re gonna make it better, don’t think you’re getting out of it that easy.” He smirked, trying to lean in, but I pushed him away once more and jumped down from the counter, laughing.

“We’ll finish it later. Come on, stud.” I smirked, pulling Chris towards our bedroom.

~

“My handsome man.” I smiled, looking at Chris in his velvet maroon tux, rubbing my hands up and down his chest.

“My sexy girl.” He said, giving my ass a small slap.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late.” Walking towards the front door of the house.

“We can be a little late, no one will miss us.” Chris hot on my tail, locking the door behind us.

20 minutes later, showing up at the red carpet. Chris got out the opposite side and ran to my side to open my door. I smiled and grabbed his hand that was extended to help me out of the low car.

“Oh god!” I squeaked, almost losing my balance from the tall heels I was not used to wearing. Chris reacted fast, his other hand that was holding onto the car door moving to grab my other hand before I could tumble to the ground.

“I got ya, honey.” He said, pulling me up to my feet.

“Thanks, love.” I said, standing still to regain my balance. “I guess I forgot how to wear heels this high, it’s been a while.” I looked up to see the crowd of people and paparazzi. “Of course, now they’ll have pictures going around forever.”

Chris giggled. “At least you didn’t totally face plant.” I shoved him in the chest and we both started laughing.

We made our way down the red carpet, stopping every few feet to pose and smile. There were a few times I tried to step away to let the photographers get pictures of Chris by himself, but every time, he pulled me right back to his side.

And every time, his hand landed on my ass.

After about an hour and a half of pictures and walking down to our seats, running into people, Chris either introducing or reintroducing me to all the people from his world. The entire time we mingled, his hand was on my back and I just felt so heart-warmed by the small but at the same time, huge gesture of love.

At 5pm, the show had finally begun. Chris’ hand was on my thigh almost the entire time. I loved that we could be this open in front of everyone, unlike last year. It was nice knowing he wasn’t afraid to be seen with me, either. I wasn’t famous or anything, no one knew my name, other than just from social media and tabloids. I was happy. My mind started to wander and I started thinking about earlier, how we almost had sex on our kitchen counter and how upset we both were that we had to stop. I had been so focused on the event that I had almost forgot about what I had… or rather had not, done.

I leaned in towards my boyfriend. “I have to tell you a secret.” I whispered in his ear.

“And what’s that, baby?” He looked at me suspiciously.

I leaned in closer so no one else would hear.

“I don’t have underwear on…” I moved my hand across his crotch, grazing across his growing boner.

“You, um- uh. You don’t?” He said, his hand moving to my back, his face getting red.

“Nope. I thought you would have felt it since your hands spent about 50% of the night on my ass.” I smiled.

“I thought you were just wearing a G-string, you’re so naughty.” He smirked, hiding his face in my neck.

“I am 100% commando. Want me to prove it?”

I kissed his cheek softly, while he finally comprehended what I said. Before he even had a chance to respond, I grabbed his hand and led it up my thigh. I pulled back the slit in my dress, scooting closer to the table. His other hand, still on my back, mine on his shoulder, his face still on my neck, giving it soft, open mouthed kisses.

My hand slowly guided his to my middle, finally reaching it. The minute his cold fingers touched me, I jumped a little bit, but they immediately warmed up. I let go and started palming his hard-on under his pants. He started to push two fingers slowly inside and I bit my lip to quiet myself. Everyone around us was pretty into their conversations, lucky for us.

He finally pushed his fingers all the way in and started moving in and out. My grip on his lower half got harder as his fingers started moving faster. I was so close to getting off and I whispered in Chris’ ear, “I’m so close Chris, just a little more and my cum will be all over your fingers baby.” Chris groaned and he added a 3rd finger, pushing me over the edge. I nudged Chris’ head away from my neck and snuggled into his as I rode out my climax. I sat back in my chair and heavily breathed in and out. Chris pulled his fingers out and slowly brought his fingers up. He grabbed my chin and made me watch him stick his fingers in his mouth. My brain about exploded at that point. I stood up, my legs still shaky, walked to the opposite side of my boyfriend and leaned down,

“Meet me in the bathroom in 5.”

#chris #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans and reader #imagine #chris evans imagines #chris evans imagine #chris evans smut #chris evans blurb #chris evans blurbs #chris evans one shot #chris evans one-shot #chris evans oneshot #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fan-fiction #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans x fem #chris evans x female reader

[lovelivingmydreams]

A story by heroes and villains

Book 2: secrets revealed Virgil Anker: trust and caution

Masterlist book 1

It's not easy to know who to trust and who to be wary off. But Virgil better learn soon.

When Virgil got back to the new house, he took a shower and sat himself on the couch in his pj’s. He was listening to his ‘winding down’ playlist. He was grinning to himself. Someone else was wearing his design. Sure he’d made Janus a shirt way back in freshmen year, but he barely wore it outside the house. This would be seen by tons of people. And it looked so good! He couldn’t wait till Monday. He could imagine Roman’s reaction. Would there be pictures in the papers? On the news? He just might buy a paper so he could keep a clipping to look back on later. Thinking about gushing over the costume with Roman at school made him think about seeing Janus again. J had skipped school after what happened in the hallway, leading to him having detention all of last week. He hadn’t even so much as looked at Virgil since. Not in a, “I am mad and ignoring you way,”. He looked ashamed. Scared. That was what made it so hard for Virgil to stick to his plan. Janus looked so hurt and lost and ashamed. And during lunch, he was nowhere to be found. Virgil needed to talk to Picani about this tomorrow. It would be a busy session. He contemplated where things had gone wrong for the millionth time for a while until he heard the door and looked up to see his fathers enter the room. “You’re back!” he greeted as he sat up. “So I gotta know, who’s your fourth guy?” he wondered casually. His dad just looked at him confused. “What do you mean?” “For your poker nights,” he clarified with a chuckle. Imagining Patton or uncle Thomas playing poker was kind of funny. It seemed so out of character for them. Still he couldn’t imagine what else would take all three of them getting together like this. Thomas had taught musical theatre classes, back when he was still a professor, and now he was the dean. Then again, Virgil wasn’t certain his uncle was always present. Tonight might just have been one time he happened to be there. But Patton definitely had been part of this project as much as Logan was. The past six months at the very least, but most likely from the start. “No cardgames I’m afraid kiddo. We’ll tell you about the project once it’s finished. It’s all confidential for now I’m afraid,” Patton told him gently. Virgil looked long and hard at Patton. He wasn’t lying. And confidential stuff made a lot of sense. He shrugged, letting it go. Even if his first guess was right after all and his dad was doing some kind of superhero stuff as BrainStorm, if Patton was there to help him Virgil felt assured that they’d be safe. Though he wouldn’t know how Patton, or Thomas, got wrapped up with anything involving a former super villain. “Okay, keep your secrets,” he sighed as he stretched. “Night Pat, night Lo,” he bid before heading upstairs. “Goodnight Virgil, I love you.” Virgil looked back at his dad when he heard that. “Love you to dad,” he replied with a smile. “Love you three kiddo!” Patton added, making Virgil laugh. “Love ya Pat.” And with that he went upstairs to his room. His new room was bigger than the one in his old house. But he didn’t care much about that. His old room had memories. He missed it honestly. He started to worry that he’d been too quick to say that he wanted to move out. No matter how nice the new house was, and how conveniently it was positioned, it would never quite be like the one he’d known most of his life. He let himself drop on his bed. It was pointless to think about that now. At this point, another family had probably moved into their old home. They’d brought their own furniture. Probably painted over the walls. Erasing the little doodles he’d made when he was little and bored. Before his mind could go any farther down that path, he heard a buzzing. Roman sent him a text. “Greetings! I just got back. Sorry for not checking in earlier. Could not be helped. Did you get home alright?” Virgil chuckled and texted back. “LOL. You worry too much. Hope you had a fun night.” Virgil certainly did. Just thinking about it made him impatient. Oh why not? Before he could second guess himself, he pressed call. “Virgil?” Roman sounded surprised, but Virgil was already way to giddy about his news. “I had to tell you now. I saw him!” he whispered. “Who? And why are we whispering?” Roman asked, mimicking his volume. “I’m supposed to be asleep,” he admitted, earning himself a chuckle. “Ok… Who did you see?” Roman asked. “Dream Prince!” expecting the logical next question he edited his story a little. “I went for a walk and I guess he was doing patrol in my neighborhood, I caught a glimpse of him,” well, that was an understatement. But he couldn’t tell Roman everything. Not yet. He’d lectured Prince about being cautious just today. He trusted Roman. But anyone could overhear them at any time. “He was wearing my costume! You were right! I can’t wait to get a good look at it in action!” Again. “You think someone got a picture? I didn’t have a chance. God I should’ve taken a picture so I could show you!” Though he wasn’t sure if he could’ve managed to get a believable citizens picture of him. He doubted Prince could be photographed if he didn’t want to be. “I’m sure I’ll see your work plastered around the front pages Monday. Pretty sure you missed out on the Saturday edition. But the news stations might talk about it.” Virgil’s cheeks hurt from smiling. “You sure you don’t want your name attached to it?” Virgil considered that for a moment. It would be kind of cool, he supposed. But he was trying not to draw any attention to his civilian self so long as he did the vigilante gig. Asides from that, he didn’t want anyone to be able to claim any of his future successes were due to his connection to a superhero, or have expectations based on this one work. “Yeah… I just… I know I should want the credit. But, just in case he becomes like this big time hero,” which seemed very likely to Virgil. His powers were pretty amazing and he had the personality to make it big. “I don’t want my possible career to be defined before it starts, you know what I mean?” He hoped he did, because he was starting to get confused by his own phrasing. “Maybe I’ll come forth with the original sketch when I’m like, 30, to prove it was me if it still matters by then,” he concluded. “Sounds like a smart plan. I’m going to let you go. I do need my beauty sleep after all.” Oh, he made it too easy. “You said it, not me,” he chuckled. “Night Princey.” “Buenas noches. Mi querido amigo,” Roman replied dramatically. Virgil rolled his eyes. Though he smiled as he realized Roman just called him ‘dear friend’. Trying to hide the way that warmed his chest he let out a groan. “Bon nuit,” he huffed in retaliation before hanging up. Janus had taught him a bit of French over the years. And just like that his thoughts returned to his old friend. Janus had been well behaved the past week. He hadn’t gotten in a single fight. Maybe he should try and show that he noticed. Just saying ‘hi’ wouldn’t be that bad right? Show that he meant it when he said he wanted to get back to being friends, real friends, at some point. With thoughts of a happy ending for everyone, Virgil fell asleep. The next morning he woke up early. He made sure to be quiet as he got ready for the day. Once downstairs he turned on the tv. And sure enough, the local station was talking about Dream Prince. A professional picture of him leaping across the street from one rooftop to another serving as background. The anchors were talking about his heroic deeds of last night, ranging from walking a girl home to taking down those criminals ‘single handedly’. “No one can deny it. This young hero finds no feat too great or too small, and he does it with style. Looks like he’s settled on a look.” They thought his costume had style! Virgil was vibrating with excitement. He couldn’t sit still. He had to do something with all this energy. He started on breakfast. Bacon, eggs… It had been a while since he’d felt up to making a big breakfast and been the first to wake up. Patton was as much of an early riser as he and Logan. Which meant he hadn’t had Virgil’s secret omelet recipe yet. He was bouncing on his feet as the two anchors were analyzing the costume in as much detail as they could. They found the heels a bold choice and the mask an elegant way to incorporate a crown. When Virgil heard his dads move about upstairs he turned the news off and set the table. Patton really liked the eggs. That or he really wanted Virgil to think so. Three servings made him think that it wasn’t pretend though. After breakfast, uncle Thomas picked him up for their trip to the zoo. Virgil had been looking forward to it. It felt forever ago since he last spent some one on one time with his honorary uncle. “That’s a nice one. You really got the eyes down well,” he complemented as Virgil finished a sketch of a koala. “Thanks,” Virgil said, pretty happy with the result as well. “You are really talented. Guess it runs in the family. I remember your dad scribbling away in his poetry notebook all the time.” Virgil looked at his uncle with wide eyes. “You knew my father?” he asked perplexed. Thomas frowned down at him for a moment before his eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, no. I never personally met your birthfather. I meant Logan,” he clarified. Virgil was a little disappointed. For a second he’d hoped to learn a little more about his birthparents. But if Thomas had been talking about Logan… “My dad wrote poetry?” Thomas chuckled. “Yeah. He was pretty good. Though he’d disagree. He felt more comfortable using his sharp tongue on the debate team. He won us some prizes,” he recalled. Virgil took this in. He had wondered what his dad was like at his age before. Now was a good time to ask more. “So poetry and debate team… Guess that is why you two became friends, huh?” he asked. Thomas shook his head a little awkwardly. “Not exactly. With my social anxiety I probably wouldn’t have approached him if my mom hadn’t told me about his mom losing custody…” “What!?” Virgil gasped. He never knew that. Thomas cringed realizing he had maybe said to much. He looked down at Virgil. “Your grandparents weren’t parents of the year. Not abusive, but… neglectful I suppose. Logan never talked about it, so I don’t know the details. Just what little ” “He was in the system?” Virgil asked with a shiver. He’d heard about the system. He was glad he never had to experience it. “No, like for you there was someone ready to take him in right away,” Thomas told him. Virgil wanted to ask who had adopted his dad. But he had an idea… And he kind of didn’t want to hear he was wrong. He wanted it to be his parents. It would explain why Logan had such a hard time talking about them, but had so much love and respect for them when he did. “What was it like rooming with him? Was he secretly a slob in college?” he asked hopefully. Thomas relaxed and started talking about a few college stories, though he quickly veered into high school and early parenthood stories. At the end of the day Virgil had a good handful of animal sketches, an idea for his art project for the semester and Thomas dropped him off at Picani’s office. “Hello Virgil. How are you today? I heard you had a good scare earlier this week.” Virgil let out a deep sigh, sat down and started his story. Leaving Picani’s office a little bit later than planned, he felt a lot better. Or, well ‘better’ never had been the right word. He’d realized that sometime during the camp. After talking about Picani about what bothered him, he was still bothered by it. But he understood things more clearly. He felt less confused and had an idea of what to do about it. Picani never told him everything would be okay. He helped him understand what was wrong and how to either steer it in a better direction, or learn to live with it. He now felt less uncertain about wanting to give Janus a sign that there was still hope for them, even after what happened last week. He felt less guilty over indulging the people asking him out even though Roman was still very much on his mind. He even felt better about getting more information than he should’ve from uncle Thomas. It had been a relief talking about his theory that his dad had been in his parent’s custody for at least four years and that that was, maybe, the reason why he took him in when they passed. And the fact that he had at least one set of grandparents that might be still alive. He wasn’t going to ask about them though. If they held bad memories for his dad, he didn’t think he wanted to know them. It was very low on his list of priorities. The fact that his dad never mentioned them told him enough. The whole scare with the ceiling lamp was discussed and Picani left it alone when Virgil said that he didn’t want to waste too much time on it. “I’m home!” he announced as he came through the door. He heard Patton call a greeting from the kitchen and saw his dad come from the living room to meet him in the doorway. “Dad!” he called out eagerly as he gave his father a hug. “Virgil? Not that I do not appreciate you seem excited to see me. But is there a particular reason?” There were a few honestly. Knowing a bit more about how he ended up being raised by the smartest, most patient man he’d ever met had him excited. On top of that knowing what his dad was like at his age made him feel closer to him. He decided to focus on the latter. He’d turn sixteen soon. If Logan hadn’t initiated the conversation by then, he would. He could be patient for another month. “Uncle Thomas told me about your teen years. I didn’t know you were on the debate team!” he told him. He could imagine his dad thriving in that environment though. Maybe they should check out the debate team this year in between Roman’s play and Virgil’s art exhibit. Logan gave Virgil a small smile, a bit of pride in his eyes. It was rare for Virgil to see his dad proud of himself. He liked it. “Well, yes. It was a bit of a hobby of mine, as well as an attempt to get better at socializing,” Logan said modestly. Virgil picked up on the operative word in that sentence. ‘Attempt’. “You were a socially awkward nerd,” he concluded with a chuckle. He was so used to being nothing like his dad. Finding flaws and similarities to himself in the man he’d idolized as long as he could remember, it was strangely exhilarating. Logan, however seemed to misunderstand what had Virgil so thrilled. “Hey, that’s a complement! I’m a socially awkward artsy kid. Sounds like I’m your son after all!” he clarified. That reminded him though. “Speaking off. Uncle Thomas told me you wrote poetry back in the day.” “Really!?” Patton exclaimed from the kitchen. Logan was blushing. Scrambling for a way out of the conversation it seemed. “I… Experimenting with different forms of self-expression is a natural part of discovering one’s identity as a teenager. It was a phase. I would like to forget about it.” Virgil was about to argue against it, but Patton beat him to it. “Aw, but poetry is so romantic,” he pouted. And Virgil could see the way that affected his dad. Well, their date nights were about to get ten times more sappy. Hopefully going for the heart, and his ego, would work out just as well for Virgil. “That’s too bad. I thought I could make a project around your old work for art class,” he sighed disappointedly. And just like that his dad’s firm posture melted away. “I’ll see if I can find some of my old notebooks. Just ask my consent before you pick one.” Virgil couldn’t resist hugging him again. “Thanks dad. You won’t regret it. I promise.” He felt his father put his arms around him gently. A wordless “you’re welcome”. Virgil was feeling very chatty during dinner and so told his parents all about his day. They had to go to the university again tonight. Since Virgil was planning on meeting up with Prince and not sure if he’d be out all night or just long enough to talk to the guy, he bid them both a good night now. Just in case he’d be too tired to wait for them to get home once he got back. As soon as they were out the door Virgil dug in his closet for his face mask, something he wore when he was feeling sick and didn’t want to infect others. And his shades. He was going to take a chance on Prince today. He made sure he had his evidence at the ready. He’d updated it earlier that week and last night he hadn’t learned anything new. He decided to go with the same look as yesterday so Prince would recognize him more easily. He made his way to the street and vanished in the alleys. After a few minutes he found the rooftop they’d used as their rendezvous point last night. Hopefully Prince wouldn’t make him wait too long. He lowered the intensity of his cloak to be more easily spotted should someone be looking for him. Suddenly he heard a sound behind him. “Good evening my shadowy friend,” the grand voice of Dream Prince drifted through the air. Virgil turned around, his coat flaring out with the movement. “Hey there highness,” he greeted as he tossed him the evidence bag. Clear of any fingerprints or DNA as far as he could manage it, as usual. Prince studied it for a moment. “Is this…?” he sounded surprised. “A show of good will. I thought about it…” not enough. Maybe he was biased because he reminded him of Roman. Or because he’d seen him during his training wheel days. Maybe he didn’t want to be alone anymore. “You seem alright. I’ll… I’ll have your back. If you have mine.” They could help each other. Grow stronger together. Weren’t heroes always at their strongest once they learned to work together? “You do know that if I hand this in, they’ll know I made contact?” This guy. Virgil chuckled, finding this strangely endearing. “You mean you haven’t told them yet?” Prince’s posture straightened almost defiantly. “You didn’t say you were alright with that!” Was he actually insulted by the idea of reporting back to his people without Virgil’s permission? Guess he’d read him right. Good to know. “Okay. Well, consider this my permission. If I don’t want to be found, I’ll disappear Prince.” He’d find a way to avoid Prince if it was necessary. “Tell the chief all communication with me goes through you. If you don’t mind.” Because Virgil didn’t trust the chief enough to go anywhere near her. Prince nodded as he reached for his ear. “I am currently debriefing Phantom. I’ll let you know when I’m done here. Tell chief I’ll stop by with a package. Radio silence until further notice.” Virgil couldn’t stop himself from letting out a chuckle. This guy. He really needed to be more careful. “You ever thought I might be a bad guy? You shouldn’t cut off your back up like that in front of me.” Had they taught him nothing at the GTH? “You’ve had plenty chances to take me out,” Prince pointed out, much to Virgil’s surprise. “You could have let those goons get me the first time you saw me. You could have attacked me while I was busy with those guys yesterday. And who knows how many times over the summer. And on top of that. Who says my communicator is my only way of contacting back up?” Okay, so maybe Prince knew what he was doing after all. “Fair enough. So what now?” He had no idea what would come after this. He just knew that Prince reached out, and he’d accepted. The ball was back in Prince’s court. “Now… I warn you about the collector.” That sounded very serious. He almost wanted to get out before he could get involved, but a gut feeling told him that this was important. He eyed the edge of the roof. Well might as well get comfortable. “I feel like this is a sitting down kind of conversation.” Once they both sat down, Virgil put on his sunglasses and dropped his cloak completely. It was symbolic or whatever. Letting his guard down in a visible way. He turned to the prince expectantly, a little annoyed at how the dark glasses limited his vision. Prince took in a deep breath and started his story. “The collector is an old enemy of Manifestor. He recruits Gifted, and those he thinks deserve to be gifted for some kind of revolution. You and I are probably his kind of people. Young, full of potential. All that stuff creeps like that love to go on about.” Virgil’s eyes widened. That did sound bad. He was suddenly very glad he had not confided in anyone about his powers so far. Who knew if the Chief was on the Collector’s payroll? Or maybe Picani was being spied on. “So we should be careful, you and I. I want to help you out,” Prince told him as he offered him two small objects. A stone and lip balm? “These can help you hide your identity without having to use your… Do you have a name for it?” Prince wondered. Virgil wasn’t sure if he could disguise his voice. But if he did, he was not going to risk Prince being someone from school who might recognize his voice. “Cloak,” he replied before dropping his guard again. “Cloak… Cool,” Prince nodded as he showed the black stone. “So this, is a voice modulator. I adjusted it to fit your tempest voice as best as I could.” Virgil couldn’t help laughing. Tempest voice? That sounded so cool honestly. But man was it dramatic. “You clearly have not heard it,” Prince pointed out and he had a point. He sounded normal to himself. “What’s with the lipstick?” he asked. “This will paint your hair black faster than any hair dye. It’s also a very good hair gel and it washes out right away,” Virgil bit his lip as Prince offered him the items. He was not used to being helped. Not as ‘Phantom’ at least. He still struggled with it as Virgil. Letting Roman help him with his English assignment yesterday had been hard. But he had to let people help him. He had to take a leap of faith here. So he took the items and got up to try them out. “No peeking!” he warned, though he would keep his cloak up. It was more to test if Prince would be tempted to go against his wishes. He didn’t. Virgil placed the modulator on his throat where Prince had his red stone and applied the balm to his hair. He spread it out and took a moment to decide on the style he wanted to go with. He tried for windblown, though he wasn’t sure if he did it right without a mirror. “Okay, let’s try this,” he said testing out his new voice. Wow, if that was what he really sounded like then Tempest voice might just have been the most accurate description. He looked back at Prince who was getting up and waling over to him. “Okay. So… what’s the plan?” he asked, curious what Prince was expecting out of this collaboration. “Well… We could try and meet up here regularly. We might not always patrol at the same time, and you might be busy. But I could… If you are okay with it… I could help you coordinate with the cops. Like you kinda suggested earlier. Or we could like, do some patrolling together? Keep each other company…” Oh, that was cute. Prince could be insecure. Virgil was starting to think he was unshakable. “It might be nice talking someone who gets it you know? You’re my age right?” he wondered. Nice try. Very subtle. “I mean… I guess, but I’m not sure how old you are exactly,” he shrugged casually. He wasn’t going to give anything away that easily. “Fair point.” Or maybe there hadn’t been an ulterior motive. He was getting paranoid. “Anyway… What do you want?” Virgil thought about that for a moment. He hadn’t expected to be asked for his opinion. “I mean… Debriefings sound cool,” he said casually. “I’d like to patrol with you, but my parkour is no match to that walking on air trick you got…” He was kind of jealous of that one if he was honest. “I was thinking of hanging around the clubbing district at the end of the night and making sure some party goers get home safe. I’ll see you around there when you’re done?” This talk was fun and all, but Prince should probably check in with his team soon. And Virgil needed to think about things for a minute. “That sounds like a good idea,” Prince agreed as he gave him a bow. “Until then. Know that the GTA’s resources are now at your disposal through me. So if you want to get a proper suit or other fun toys, you need only ask.” And with that Virgil’s new ally sprinted of into the night. A real suit huh? Virgil shook his head. He’d have to think on that some more. For now, he had work to do.

Hero au

@cirishere @hestianerd1 @moonlightshow00​ @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290 @meowthefluffy @frida0043​ @angelic-cali​ @selenechris​ @theblackveilinreverse

#sanders sides #ts sides #hero au #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #prinxiety #logicality

[chris-evans-indian-fanfic]

Voice

One-Shot

Description: When Mr Freezy enters your life, your peaceful world is destroyed.

Warnings: Non-consensual, voyeurism, masturbation, verbal abuses, harsh language and hints of necrophilia

DO NOT PROCEED IF THESE THINGS UPSET YOU. THIS IS A VERY DARK STORY. ONLY PROCEED IF YOU ARE 18+

This one-shot is my entry for Week 5 of @donutloverxo 's superfun writing challenge. This time, the challenge was based on GIFs. The one I selected will appear in the story below. Click here to participate in their weekly challenges

A/N- I blame @jtargaryen18 for making me an unholy hoe for Mr Freezy! 

My Main Masterlist

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

You were living the best life in 1969. Working part-time at the ice-cream parlor in the mornings, hanging out with your friends in the evening and sneaking out for parties at night, you loved your routine, carefree life in New Jersey.

Your foot bobbed along the tunes of Honky Tonk Woman by The Rolling Stones as you read that month's fashion magazine, sitting by the new, shiny cassette player. Taking pride in the fact that your family was the first in the neighborhood to buy the expensive cassette player, latest in the technology of playing music, you smirked as you delicately, almost teasingly fondled the device. 

*beep beep*

The annoying horn of the filthy ice-cream truck broke you out of your reverie. Scowling, you turned to look at the abomination on 4 wheels parked right in front of your house. The long-haired driver, who called himself Mr Freezy, always gave you creepy vibes. Maybe he thought his wide smile would lure in more children, but it never failed to make your skin crawl with disgust. 

You tried your best to ignore him and his irritating horn, hoping that he would drive away soon enough. Unfortunately, it was a hot summer's day and there was a long, winding line of customers.

After yet another *beep beep* you slammed down the magazine on the table. Walking out in your pinkish-red knee-length skirt and long-sleeved top, you had a good mind to tell Mr Freezy off.

Standing in front of his ice-cream truck window, you stomped your foot and placed your hands on your hips. "How can I help you Ms Jello Mould?" his disgusting attempt at comparing you to a dessert sent a chill down your spine. 

"You have a long line of customers! Stop pressing your horn every 5 seconds!" you exclaimed, gesturing your hands towards the waiting people.

Mr Freezy chuckled, but the mirth didn't reach his eyes behind the glasses, "Now now. That is no way to talk to someone who is older than you Raspberry Ripple," he said in a friendly tone, "Not everybody can afford to buy a cassette player." 

"Maybe you can if you cleaned your ice-cream truck once in a while," you spat, purposefully covering your nose, "I work in an ice-cream parlor, and no establishment dealing with ice-creams should stink like this!" 

"My customers don't seem to mind it Sugar," his sweet tongue rolling the last word as if he was drooling.

You huffed, "I mind it! And stop with the horn! Or I will have daddy make sure you are never seen here again." And with that hardly intimidating threat, you walked towards your house. Mr Freezy licked his lips as he saw your silhouette disappear behind the front door. He could put your bratty nature to good use. Very good use indeed.

🍦

Dressed in a brown checkered dress, you sauntered home after your shift ended, your spirits high as you looked forward to being Ricky's date tonight at the party.

As you entered your home, your eyes fell upon the new cassette sitting besides your beloved player. Squealing with excitement, you rushed and grabbed the plastic box, hurriedly prying it open. To your surprise, a few photographs of you and Ricky fell out of the case with the words "Does daddy know about him?" scribbled on the back of every photograph.

No no no. OH GOD NO! you panicked as you rifled through the images. Your parents had no idea about your nightlife, let alone your boyfriend! These lovey-dovey photographs threatened to reveal your secret and ruin your life.

You found another note in the box behind the cassette, "There are plenty where these came from. Now be a good girl and play the cassette." Just beneath the sentence, a chocolate bar was roughly drawn in the corner and the words “My Chocolate Fudge” were written in small letters. 

Your hands trembled as you hit play. A raspy voice greeted you from the device.

"Hey baby." You knew this voice, who was he? "Has daddy's little princess recognised me?" You were pretty shaken up, your mind refused to let go of the terror and think straight for a moment as your thumbs rubbed against one another.

"Oohh Sugar, what am I going to do with you?" the voice chuckled. That sentence brought you to a complete halt. It was Mr Freezy! How dare he threaten you like this?

Before you could form any coherent thought, he tut-tutted in annoyance, "How can an ordinary ice-cream man like me trouble a beautiful young woman such as yourself? What will Daddy say? Let's call Daddy shall we? I am sure he would enjoy looking at how well Ricky can fondle his daughter's breasts."

You felt numb as his words sank in. If your father found out, he would have you sent to the country, to his relatives who lived on a farm! Eww!! You shuddered, overcome with disgust as the cassette continued.

"Now Sugar, we don't need to tell Daddy about us. Do we?" You shook your head in response. "Very good," Mr Freezy continued, "Open the curtains to your right, and look at the house across the street."

You followed the instructions, and nearly choked on your spit. There he was, in your neighbour's house, smiling and waving from their first-floor window. "Follow my next instructions very carefully, or I will make sure that your entire neighborhood comes to know about the wonderful kisser that Ricky is."

You could only nod in response. No matter what, you could not afford to let your family be humiliated because of your actions. 

"From now on, hit pause after you finish every command. And hurry, we haven't got all day Sugar. Your mother will be home soon. And if she is home before I am done with you, then let's just say tonight there wouldn't be any dessert for you," you gulped in agreement.

"Pull up a chair near the window and place the player near you." Your fear slowed you down and the recorder kept on playing, "Face the window, and strip." After a pause, you heard, "Sit on the chair and spread your legs wide. Keep your feet on the windowsill."

The rest of the commands fell on deaf ears as your body was stunned in shock. Did this man… really? You couldn't. You wouldn't. Maybe you could still apologise…

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you realised what this man wanted you to do. It was almost 4:30pm and people would soon fill the street in front of your house. If anybody decided to even look towards the window, they would surely see your body on full display.

As if reading your thoughts, Mr Freezy shook his head and pointed to his wristwatch.

You knew your mother would be home before 5:30pm. Whatever you had to do, you would have to do it quickly. 

With trembling hands, you paused the cassette, and obeyed his first two commands, the upholstery on the chair feeling warm against your naked bottom. From this angle, you couldn't see him, but you were sure he was keeping an eye on you.

You were correct. 

Mr Freezy sucked on his ice-cream bar as he watched the scene unfold. His tongue working the cold dessert as if it were your core. A small bite here, a suck there, and his length was already aching in his pants.

"Oooo look at that slutty pussy! Just waiting for a man's touch," his voice cooed from the recorder, "Play with your clit with one hand, and bring your other hand to your breast."

You begrudgingly relented, wanting to get it all over with soon. Heat flooded to your face as the indignity of your actions set in.

Across the street, Mr Freezy unzipped his pants, and started rubbing the neighbor's panty on his shaft, his touch fleetingly light as he sucked on the bar. He bit into the ice-cream when you rubbed your clit, the cold going straight to his length.

"I love how your plump breasts bounce everytime you take a step. A man can get lost in those curves of yours," his raspy voice continued, "Squeeze your breast lightly. Feel it's roundness. Tease your nipple too. Fondle it with one finger." 

You bit your lips as you followed his instructions. You had masturbated a few times and had even reached third base with Ricky, but it had never felt like this. You knew this was humiliation in answer to your rude behaviour. But this… it felt… good. You were ashamed to admit it, but as the teasing prolonged, you started feeling the familiar and ever elusive knot building up in your stomach.

"Yes yes yes baby. Rub that clit harder. Make that pussy wet for me. But don't you dare enter a finger in your cumhole." 

He watched as your hips thrust upwards, desperate for friction, as he started pumping himself faster. 

"Slap that boob," he commanded as another moan escaped your lips, "slap harder!" and you did. "Pinch your nipple and pull it. Pull it you cock sucking bitch."

More wetness pooled at your core as you continued to play with your body. 

"Stop," said Mr Freezy's voice. At first you thought you misheard him and so you didn't.

"I said STOP YOU FUCKING BITCH," his shouts from the player sounded as clear as a bell. 

Startled, you brought yourself to a complete stop. Despite yourself, the sudden cessation left you feeling disappointed and hungry for more. "Pause this recording. Go to the full-length mirror in your room and have a good look at yourself," his voice urged you.

Meanwhile, Mr Freezy had come undone across the street, his thick release coating the neighbor's cotton panties. He sighed as he used the neighbor's brassiere to wipe himself clean. He was longing to get a taste of you. Too bad he had other things planned for you instead.

You ran towards your room, trying to hide your nakedness as much as you could. You didn't recognise the woman in the reflection. Hair astray, lips and cheeks slightly flushed, puffed breath, eyes wide and the hair on your mound glistening with your arousal. You couldn't bring yourself to meet your eyes reflected in the mirror. 

You carefully went downstairs, and resumed the cassette.

"Saw the slut in the mirror? That's who you are bitch. A whore for a man's cock. Don't let Ricky touch that filthy pussy again, or I will fill you with my cum infront of your Daddy while he watches," the cassette ended with the heavy threat.

🍦

You were living the worst life in 1969. Quite often, you came home to a new cassette with new instructions recorded on them. Everytime, the plastic box was filled with naked photographs of your previous lewd acts. Up until now, you had jumped naked in front of the window, placed ice on different parts of your body, deep-throated an ice-cream bar and stripped to a vulgar song. 

Tonight however, it was different. He had asked you to carry a bottle of wine (that he kept on your bed while you were gone) and go to a hotel at midnight. Mr Freezy had explicitly mentioned that you were to wear only your bra and panty. Still, you covered yourself with a long coat as you snuck out of the house.

The hotel, if you could call an almost crumbling building that, was in the notorious part of town. With your heart pounding in your throat, you shed your coat and knocked on the door. A large man answered, his smirk widening as he took in your appearance. "You Buffy's girl?" you nodded just as you had been instructed. The stranger pulled your breast and dragged you into the room. 

He smacked your ass as he grabbed the wine bottle with another, "Buffy always sends the best stuff."

He was swift in opening the bottle, chugging the liquid down as if it was water. You shuddered at the thoughts of what this man was capable of doing to you. Tears filled your eyes at the realisation.

The man looked at you and, without warning, shoved the glass bottle in your mouth. "Drink. I like it when my prostitutes are drunk." His gaze swept over your entire body. One second you were gulping down the foul liquid, the next you were gasping for breath as he pulled the cups of your bra and poured the liquid down your torso, "Let these girls drink too! Lets get hammered baby!" he exclaimed as he pulled the elastic band of your panty and poured the wine on your mound. 

He laughed maniacally as you squirmed in his grip. Drinking the last of the drops, he pulled you into his lap, licking and sucking at the wine currently following down your figure. 

Your protests only spurred him on, but it all lasted only for a few seconds. 

You felt the stranger's body seize with yours. Breath coming in harsh rasps, you felt your throat constricting as sharp pain shot in every nerve of your body. Your agony, along with the stranger's, lasted only for a few minutes as your shallow breaths became few, finally coming to a raggedy stop.

Mr Freezy smiled a lopsided grin into his binoculars. He hurried across the street, grabbing the girl's dead body and dumping it into his ice-cream truck.

He happily hummed when he saw the ice slowly creep up your skin. You see, this profession had turned Mr Freezy cold, inside out. To an extent where he despised the warmth of a pussy around his cock. He craved the cold. He craved you.

__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__

Taglist open! Just comment, send an ask or message!

#Captainsweeklychallenge #the iceman #iceman #robert pronge #mr freezy #mr freezy x you #mr freezy x reader #mr freezy x y/n #robert pronge x you #robert pronge x y/n #robert pronge x reader

[flowerfan2]

Love Is The Seventh Wave

McDanno, A03, 2400 words

Written for the H50 Writers Club Discord “Danny Deserves Better” challenge

“Are you serious?”  she says, and all eyes in the writer’s room turn towards her. “That’s just cruel.  And it makes no sense.”

 “It’s dramatic, Lola.”

 “Lilla,” she corrects, surprised that the douchebag even came close, given that he hasn’t spoken more than those three words to her since she started working for him a month ago. “Just hear me out.  What if instead of having totally out of character bathroom sex with Joanna....”

 *****

 Danny’s sipping idly at his drink when he notices the woman sitting nearby.  She’s pretty, her dark hair a contrast to her light silky blouse, and she’s about as out of place at this bar at ten o’clock in the morning as Danny is.

 She looks up at him, and Danny cracks a smile.  “You looking at me?”

 The woman shakes her head.  “The television’s behind you.  And I desperately need a distraction.”

 Same here, Danny thinks.  “Well, if you’d rather have a live distraction than whatever’s on the news, I’m happy to oblige.”

 The woman smiles and moves over to the seat next to him, bringing her coffee with her.  “At this point I’m willing to try anything.”

 “Buy you a drink?  Wine, beer, scotch on the rocks?”

 “Nah, I’m good.  Not quite desperate enough to drink the hard stuff before noon.”  She glances at Danny’s glass.

 “Club soda,” he admits, and she grins.

 “We’re practically twins.”  She sticks out her hand.  “I’m Joanna.”

 “Danny.”  Her hand is soft, but her grip is firm and doesn’t linger.  “It’s nice to meet you.  So, what do you want to talk about?”

 “Oh, anything but my love life.”

 A laugh bursts out of Danny. “Get right to the point, do you?”

 “No sense wasting time.  For all I know, you’re a reporter doing a story on bars that open before noon and you’ll have to dash off to the next one any minute now.”

 “No chance.  I’m a detective, actually.  But I’m taking a personal day.”

 She gives him an appraising look. “A cop?  But you seem so nice.”

 “Ha, ha, ha.  Very funny.”

 “So,” Joanna says, “why a personal day?”

 Danny takes a moment wondering how to answer this – he’s not really sure himself – when his phone rings. It’s Steve, of course, and the fact that hearing his voice makes his whole body light up just adds fuel to the giant dumpster fire that is his life.  He hangs up after a few minutes and turns back to Joanna.

 “Who was that?”

 “My partner.”

 Joanna looks at him appraisingly, and then nods.  “Yeah, I’ve got one of those.”

 “You’re a cop too?”

 She snorts.  “Um, no, that’s not what I meant.  I’m a lawyer, actually.”

 Danny’s confused.  “So you have, what, law partners?”

 Joanna takes a packet of sugar and adds it to the fresh coffee the bartender has set down in front of her. “You’re a little oblivious, aren’t you?”

 It’s said with such amusement that Danny isn’t mad, and he’s happy to play along.  “Oblivious about what?”

 Joanna sighs and takes a careful sip of her drink, then stirs it some more.  “You’re telling me that guy you just spoke to is your work partner?”

 “Yes, who else would he be?” Danny has his own answer for this, but it’s a fantasy he hasn’t entertained in, oh, at least an hour or so.

 Joanna shrugs noncommittally.

 They slip into a more or less comfortable silence, and Danny contemplates his club soda.  It’s just as boring as it was when he started it. He’s not even sure why he’s here, at a random bar on the north shore.  When he woke up this morning, knowing he had a day free to do anything he wanted, a day off from work and all of its headaches, the first thing he thought of was checking the weather report to see what the waves would be like – because surfing with Steve is one of his favorite things to do to de-stress.  But then he realized that Steve didn’t have the day off too, and it all seemed pointless.

 A day without obligations is hard to come by for a single working dad, and Danny knows in theory he should be enjoying it.  But he’s not.

 “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push.”

 Danny is drawn out of his thoughts by Joanna’s comment.  “No, you’re fine, it’s not you.”

 Joanna leans back a little and runs a hand through her hair.  “Want to know what I’m doing here?”

 Danny takes in her flattering outfit, her carefully done make-up.  “Waiting for a client meeting?”

 She laughs.  “Nope.  One with my partner.”

 “Your law partner,” Danny clarifies.

 Joanna laughs again.  “Yes.  Except that’s the problem.”

 “What’s the problem?”

 Joanna takes a deep breath.  “The truth is, I’d like it if my law partner were a little more than that.”

 Danny feels a rush of shame, and looks quickly around the bar – still empty, except for the bartender.  “Is this some kind of joke?”

 She reaches out and puts a hand on his arm.  “Relax. I’m really not pulling your chain. I’m telling the god’s honest truth.” She takes her hand back and swipes at her phone.  “Here, see? We go out for drinks every Thursday night, everyone in the office.  Thirsty Thursday kind of thing.  Last night went on a little longer than usual, since we just got some really good news on a case.”

 Joanna shows him a photograph of a tall, blond woman with her arm around Joanna, both of them in business suits and holding glasses of champagne.  Several other people are crowded around them.  All of them are making happy faces at the camera, except for Joanna, who has eyes only for the woman at her side.  

 “Oh,” says Danny.

 “Yeah,” says Joanna.  “And I’m pretty sure Jasper – he took the picture – sent it and about twenty other equally embarrassing ones to everyone who was there, including my partner.”

 “Is that good or bad?”  Danny asks.

 “I’m not sure.  But I’m going to find out.”

 “What do you mean?”

 Joanna taps her fingers on the bar, clearly a little nervous.  “Okay, you’re probably going to thing I’m nuts.  I went for my usual run this morning, through my neighborhood and down to the beach.  It’s the same route I’ve run hundreds of times, and there isn’t much beach there, just some scrubby trees by the water’s edge, but you know any bit of beach is beautiful here, so it’s all good.  And this morning, for the first time ever, I saw a honu on that little beach.

 “A turtle?”

 “Yeah.  I’ve never seen one there before, but today there was a honu right there, a really big one.”

 “Okay…”

 “Honu are a symbol of good luck, right? I’ve realized that if I don’t say something to my partner soon, I’m going to lose my mind, or have to quit my job, or both – and once I saw that honu, I knew I could tell her how I feel. I’m going to do it today.”

 “Wow,” Danny said, feeling buoyed by Joanna’s excitement.  “You really are?”

 “I really am.”  Joanna stands up from her chair and straightens her skirt. “I finally realized it’s too important to keep hiding from.  The way I feel about her… I think I love her, you know?  And I can’t believe I’m telling you all this, maybe it’s easier because I don’t know you…”

 “No, I get it,” Danny says, and he does.  Sitting in this random, sunny bar, with a woman he’s never met before, with no preconceived assumptions, no rules or requirements, Danny suddenly feels like he’s opening up, too.  

 “I just don’t want to let a chance for love pass me by, not any more,” Joanna continues.  “Not if we could really be something, and I think maybe we can. So I asked her to meet me at one of our favorite restaurants for lunch, in Haleiwa.  Away from the office, somewhere private… and I better go, I don’t want to be late.”

 “Of course not,” Danny says, standing too.

 Joanna regards him for a long moment, and Danny squirms a little.  “I think today is your lucky day, too,” Joanna says.

 “Why’s that?”

 “Because you met me,” Joanna says, grinning as she leaves.  Danny thinks she’s right.

 ****

Joanna’s excitement is infectious, and Danny feels himself standing a little straighter as he leaves the bar. Maybe her plan would work for him, too. He hasn’t wanted to say anything to Steve for all the obvious reasons – he doesn’t know if Steve feels the same way despite how close they are, he’s never heard Steve express any interest in men at all, and he doesn’t want to ruin their friendship.  But this constant pining is wearing away at him, and he isn’t getting any younger.  What if he waits another ten years and then it turns out Steve was up for something more after all – what a waste that would be.  Or what if he doesn’t have ten years to make up his mind – what if Steve’s conversation with Eddie’s veterinarian this morning turns into asking her out for a date, and they hit it off and live happily ever after?

 There are millions of ways that Danny can miss his chance with Steve, and only one way to find out if he’s still got one.

 Danny makes a few stops on his way back to Steve’s place.  He texts Tani a few times to keep tabs on the team and make sure he knows when Steve’s heading home.  He’s got a caprese salad drizzled with balsamic vinegar on the table and wine opened and breathing on the counter when he hears the front door open.

 Steve appears in the doorway to the kitchen, and Danny’s jaw falls open.  Steve’s wearing a dark gray button-up shirt, collar open at the neck, and black slacks that hug his ass like his cargoes never quite manage.  He even looks freshly shaved.

 “Hey, Danno,” Steve says, voice low, and Danny shivers.  He takes a step towards Steve but somehow trips over his own feet and the carving knife in his hand goes flying to the ground.

 Steve sucks in a breath, and they both stare at the knife, stuck in the floorboards about an inch away from Danny’s bare right toe.  “Huh,” says Steve.  “Lucky.”

 Danny sucks in a breath and shakes his head, trying to grab on to anything at all that makes sense. “Why’re you dressed up?”  he finally comes up with, which isn’t particularly witty but is somewhat better than oh my fucking god what is going on here, which is a close second.

 Steve smirks.  “I’ve got a date.”

 Danny’s heart sinks.  He’s too late, he’s just one goddamn day too late, this is his life every single time.  He was a fool for thinking otherwise.

 “With that vet?”

 Steve looks determined.  “No, not with the vet.”  Steve crouches down at his feet and retrieves the knife, then places it in the sink.  He’s right up in Danny’s space.  “You look nice too,” Steve says, and at first Danny think’s it’s a non sequitur, but then he takes in Steve’s expression, that cocky confidence with an undercurrent of uncertainty, and the way Steve is lining up his own very nicely clad shoulder with Danny’s, and suddenly the clouds part and all is clear.

 “Wait,” Danny says.  “What do you think… How did you…?”

 Steve’s face does something that seems to be a cross between a smirk and a hopeful grin.  “Tani said you texted her a few times today.”

 “So?”

 “She said you were buying wine.”

 Danny bites his lip.  “Again, so?”

 “You never buy wine, unless you’re cooking a fancy meal.”

 “I buy wine all the time.”

 “When was the last time?”

 Danny has to think pretty hard about it, and that’s when he knows he’s losing this particular argument.  He still has hope for winning the war, however, so he stops talking about wine.

 “Can we go back to the part where you said you had a date?  Because you’re not acting like you have a date.”

 “No?”  Steve asks.  “How should I be acting?”  Steve somehow moves even closer to Danny, tilting his head, waiting for Danny’s answer.

 Danny can feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he thinks he might be getting light headed.  

 “Come on, Danny,” Steve says, his breath puffing against Danny’s skin.  “How should I be acting?”

 Danny just blinks up at him, and then he’s saved from having to come up with an answer by Steve’s lips pressing against his own.  Danny thinks he lets out something like a moan as his mouth opens under Steve’s, and he slides his hands up Steve’s back under his ridiculous shirt and pulls him close.

 ****

 “You can’t possibly have known what I was going to do just from Tani telling you I was buying wine.”

 Steve flops over onto his back. The sheet is pulled up just over his stupidly attractive hip bones, and Danny sneakily reaches out a finger to slide it back down again.

 “Honestly, all I knew was that it seemed like you were getting ready for a date,” Steve says.  “And it made me realize that I could lose my chance with you, anytime.  You could meet someone, maybe even that woman you were talking to at the bar this morning, and it would be too late for us.  So I changed into the spare clothes I keep at the office, and figured I’d give it my best shot.”

 Danny pushes up on an elbow. “Have you eaten a radioactive spider lately?  Drank some kind of serum?”

 “No…”

 “Because the mindreading shit is frankly disturbing…  I literally – and I mean the actual meaning of literally, not the one the kids are using these days – I literally had that same thought today.  That you’d finally get up the nerve to ask out that vet again, or fall in love while buying ammunition, or save some gorgeous lady’s pet parakeet from terrorists, and I’d lose my chance with you.”

 Steve turns towards Danny, his face brimming with affection.  “I guess today really was our lucky day, then.”

 Danny grins into Steve’s kiss. He’s gonna send Joanna a fruit basket. And maybe give a great big donation to whatever organization looks out for the honu, because he owes them, too.

#McDanno #H50 #H50 fic #Steve McGarrett #Danny Williams

[soybeantree]

pairing: kim junmyeon x reader

genre/warning: fluff, magic!au

word count: 5k+

description: apparently blowing off some steam - one too many times - leads to a one way ticket to servantdom. at least that’s how you viewed the newest link in the perverbial chain called ‘eventual obligations of being a familiar’. turns out it actually doesn’t matter how much you argue the rightness of your life choices to the higher ups. and turns out you don’t mind being attached to a certain kim junmyeon all that much either.

a/n: from the ‘rosemary by moonlight’ universe. not necessary to read that first, but some things may not make complete sense. we’ve been working on fleshing out this universe, so there will be more to come very soon!

The assignment sheet mocks you, promising the end of your freedom. You ball up the paper and throw it in the nearest trash bin. It doesn’t matter though, the damn sheet will show up on your bedside table tomorrow. Once signed a contract is unbreakable. It’s only six months though. You continue to remind yourself as irritation crawls across your skin.

Shoving your hands into your pocket, you head towards the exit but pause when you catch sight of a familiar figure. “Yuri!” You call. The healer turns. Her brows furrow when she sees your raised hand. She returns the wave and stops as you jog up to her. “What are you doing here?” 

“City Council business.” She gestures to the hall she came down. The doors at the end lead to the City Council Chambers.”

“But you’re not on the City Council.

“Only because it’s full of bigoted assholes.” She scoffs as she resumes walking. You fall into step beside her.

“Doesn’t your family head the City Council and make up about half of it?”

“Doesn’t mean their not bigoted assholes. Anyways, what are you doing here?” She reaches for the exit door and holds it open for you. 

The sun glares down at you, causing your eyes to transform. Cat eyes are easier to adjust to the bright light which outweighs the con of seeing everything in black and white. “I was picking up an assignment.”

“What?!” Your shoulders hunch, and you hiss. Yuri laughs and slaps you on the shoulder as she comes up beside you. “Don’t get your whiskers in a twist. I just never thought the day would come when Y/N would tie herself down to a sorcerer.”

“It’s not voluntary.” Your mumbling quirks Yuri’s brow. “I may have started a riot with my neighborhood cats,” you explain, quickly adding, “but I had good reason. This dick wad kid at the end of my street keeps shooting at strays with his pellet gun. I reported him to the neighborhood watch, but they did jack shit. So I took it upon myself to right the wrong.” Yuri nods along approvingly as you head down the steps in front of Town Hall, and you smile. If she or Uko were on the Board of Familiars, your hearing would have gone in your favor. 

“Long story short, the dick wad’s father brought charges against me, and the Board of Familiars thought my rebellious behavior is due to a lack of an authority figure in my life and that I have gone too long without a master. After all, what is a familiar without a master?” You roll your eyes and scoff.

“That’s ridiculous, so you had to sign your entire life away?”

You shake your head as you reach the sidewalk and head toward the nearby bus stop. “Familiar Law may be traditional, but it’s not barbaric. I signed a six month contract, and I’ll have an evaluation at the end. If I’m good, they’ll let me decide when and who my next master is.”

“They chose your master?” You nod. “Who?” She asks as the bus pulls up to the stop. The one question, you had hoped to avoid. You use the excuse of boarding the bus to delay your response, but all too soon, you two are sitting. She stares at you waiting for an answer. 

“Jun- Suho.” You correct yourself. “Why do sorcerers have to take a new name when they gain the title? It’s so stupid. He was Junmyeon all through school, and now that he has the fancy title of Sorcerer, I have to call him Suho.” You blabber on, avoiding her gaze. “It’s not like there are a lot of options in the area.” You huff.

“I know.” Yuri sighs, and you chance a glance at her. She’s staring out the window. You nudge her, but she waves you off. It’s not her fault that her family has only produced one sorcerer in the past two generations, but that argument has grown tiresome.

A mischievous grins tugs at your lips, and you settle into your seat. “Yep, so it was either Suho or Kyungsoo – whatever his sorcerer name is – and I didn’t think you’d like me being his familiar.”

Yuri whips around. “It’s D.O, and why would I care if you were his familiar?” You shrug but continue to grin. She glares, and you crack up. “Are you going to meet up with Suho now? He was at the Town Council meeting.”

“Fuck no. The contract doesn’t start till tomorrow, and I plan to enjoy my last night of freedom. Do you want to join me?” You cock a brow, but she shakes her head.

“Can’t. Chanyeol’s in town, and I promised him I would help him with something. Stop by my house in the morning though if you need a hangover remedy.” She offers as she presses the button for her stop.

“You’re the best.” After a quick grin, she is off, leaving you to your night of revelry.

The revelry should have stopped at 11:59. After all, come midnight, your six months of servitude began, but you had to push your boundaries, had to stay out till dawn drinking and dancing. 

Standing in front of Junmyeon’s townhouse after two hours of sleep and with a stomach threatening to unleash everything you imbibed during the last twelve hours, you question your life choices. With a shrug, you step forward and hammer the door. 

Nothing. No creak as the door swings open on rusty hinges and no smoke billowing from an empty corridor. No faint wail of departed spirits welcoming you to a place of death and despair. You definitely have suggestions for your sorcerer, and with Halloween around the corner, they are desperately needed.

Raising your fist again, you pound out the opening to Beethoven’s 5th symphony. Before you make it too far into the song, the door swings open soundlessly to reveal a sleep disheveled Junmyeon in purple silk pajamas with a matching silk robe. 

“I expected the robe. The pajamas not so much.” You comment as you lower your sunglasses to allow a full examination.

With a huff, Junmyeon jerks his robe closed. “What are you doing here, Kitty?”

Your lips pull back as you hiss at the nickname. Middle schoolers think they’re so clever. But the stupid nickname has stuck with you through high school and beyond. Shoving past Junmyeon, you enter the house. He blusters behind you, but you hear the door click shut soon after. 

“Didn’t you hear?” You ask as you glance around the impeccably groomed foyer. Every vase, frame, and piece of furniture glistens with a fresh coat of polish. “Do you clean all of this yourself or do you have a spell for that?” You turn back to face him, pulling your shades off and tucking them into the top you’d pulled out of your laundry basket that morning. It was the clean laundry basket, but it has been sitting on your bedroom floor for upwards of two weeks.

“Hear what?”

“I’m your Familiar.” You sweep your arms out and pop a hip as you dazzle him with your million-watt smile. 

He stares at you, mouth parted and chest still, for entirely too long. As a Familiar your magic extends beyond the ability to shift and a photographic memory, but not to immobilizing sorcerers. 

“Would you stop being a dick and say something? Listen, I’m not happy about this either. I’m even less happy that the stupid Board of Familiars didn’t give you a heads-up even though this was their brilliant idea. But here I am and here you are, and we’re stuck together for the next six months. We should just be happy that they didn’t insist that I live with you. 

“Now, do you have any ginger tea? My stomach is all kinds of upset, and I didn’t have time to stop by Yuri’s and get her hangover remedy.” You about-face and head towards where you think the kitchen is.

“Other way.”

You about-face again and head in the other direction. The kitchen is as disgusting as the foyer. He has everything in glass jars with labels, but none of them have ginger tea written on them.

“In the cabinet to the right of the microwave.” He directs you as he takes a seat at the counter. 

You swivel the Lazy Susan until you find the jar of ginger tea. “Mugs? Tea kettle?” 

He stands and stomps over to another cabinet to grab a mug. Filling it from the sink, he hands it to you, steam rising above the rim. You cock a brow. He returns the gesture, and you snort grabbing the mug and dropping a tea bag in it. “Look at you warming water without a spell. You really are a sorcerer, aren’t you?” You tease as you wait for your tea to steep.

“I didn’t ask for a Familiar, and I don’t need one.”

“And I didn’t ask for a sorcerer, and I don’t want one. But yet again, here we are?”

“Six months?” You nod. “And you signed a contract?” You nod again. “I didn’t sign.”

“Apparently a request was made by the head of your family. No signature needed when it’s stamped with the family crest.”

Junmyeon sighs, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Why is my grandfather like this?”

“We’d all like to know that.” You blow on the tea before taking a tentative sip. The warmth slips through your body easing through your stomach and bringing it to rest. “Did Minseok make this tea blend?” You ask as you take another sip. 

He shakes his head, his cheeks tinging pink. “No, he only works with coffee.”

“You got this from Yuri, didn’t you? How did you swing that?”

“If we are going to be working together for the next six months, we need to set some ground rules.” He sneaks by your question, and you let him because you agree. “Let me shower and change, and then we can go over them.” You nod, sipping at your tea. He starts to walk off but stops and swivels back to face you. “Don’t touch anything.” You roll your eyes, and he narrows his.

“Calm down, Mr. Sensitive. Sorcerers aren’t the only ones who know about the delicate nature of magic.” His lips purse, but whatever retort he has remains unspoken. He walks off, and you shake your head. This is going to be a long six months. 

Strolling out of the kitchen, you follow the scent of magic up to the second story of the townhouse. The door to Junmyeon’s work room is locked, but what good of a Familiar would you be if that stopped you. The door pops open, and the scent of magic overwhelms you. Sneezing, you glance around. The large still at the end draws your attention. Witches simply brew their potions in a cauldron, but sorcerers have to be pretentious and make it seem like their work is more advanced and complicated. 

Passing in front of a mirror, you pause and raise a brow. Surely, Junmyeon knows the mirror is an open dimension portal. Why he would have an open dimension portal is beyond you, but he must have a reason. You stand in front of the mirror, chewing on the inside of your lip. He said not to touch anything, and you had given your word. However, you would be a shitty Familiar if you left the portal open. 

Eyes closed, you breathe in and out, feeling your magic hum through your hair and all the way to your toes. Your bones reform themselves, and your skin shrinks itself as fur sprouts across it. When you open your eyes, the world appears in shades of grey, except for the creatures on the other side of the mirror. They glow a sinister black. Raising a paw, you rest the pads against the cool glass. It ripples at your touch. The creatures stir, and you hiss at them to stay back. Your claws are good for more than catching mice. 

Magic surges through you, and you purr at the sensation. Releasing the magic, you watch as it coats the mirror’s glass. The rippling surface stills, and when you stare at it, only your reflection stares back.

“What are you doing?” Junmyeon’s scream grates on your ears, and you hiss at him. “I told you not to touch anything.”

And I wouldn’t if you weren’t stupid enough to leave an open portal in your work room. Who knows what shit those creatures would have caused in here. Your words are unspoken. They call upon your magic to reach him, and judging by his frown, they did.

“The portal wasn’t open.”

You cough, your throat unable to snort. Wow. Now I understand why your grandfather requested a Familiar for you. 

He bristles, his shoulders rolling back as he draws himself up to his full height which is considerable from where you sit on the floor. “I was doing quite well without one. I am close to a breakthrough on my research, and I will not have you causing me any delays.”

Delays? I’ve been here for less than an hour, and I’ve already saved your research. 

“Will you become human, please? We have a lot to discuss.”

You shrug, and by the time your shoulders settle into place, you are human again. “Better?”

With a nod, he heads to his work table and sits down on one of the stools, indicating you should take the other. 

Stretching, you ease the tightness which always comes from transformation and do as requested. Junmyeon starts talking, but the burbling beakers behind him capture your attention. One’s color shifts from bright blue to dark purple as you watch. Above it, a valve releases a droplet of water in ten seconds intervals. The liquid continues to darken with each drop. 

“I have a feeling that you don’t want that turning black.” You cut Junmyeon off as you point to the beaker. 

He glances over his shoulder and nearly falls off his stool as he rushes to remove the beaker from under the valve. He curses and mutters low to himself as he sloshes the liquid around. A light traces the surface of the glass before disappearing. Junmyeon sets the beaker on the table and scratches the back of his head. His eyes focus on a shaft of light coming through one of the work rooms' high windows. He continues to mutter, and you stand, moving closer to him to catch the vein of his thoughts. But, he senses your presence and steps back, glowering at you.

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m your Familiar. I’m supposed to help you with your magical problems, but I can’t do that if I don’t know what they are.”

“We have not established the rules of our relationship, and I don’t need your help.” He places his hand on the beakers top, muttering a spell. The liquid disappears, and he picks up the empty vessel, carrying it over to a previously unnoticed cauldron. You smile to yourself. Maybe, he’s not as pretentious as you thought. Returning with a bright green liquid circling the base of the beaker, he sets it under the valve and adjusts its speed, increasing the time between drips. 

“What are you working on?” You ask and quickly add. “I’m your Familiar. I should know.”

“We are setting up our ground rules.” He retakes his stool and you plop into yours, propping your head against your palm. The tea calmed your stomach, but using magic while hungover and exhausted is brewing a nasty headache. 

“Fine. Can we make it quick though? I need a nap.” 

“First, you are not to enter my home if I am not present.”

You nod. The movement sends a stab of pain through your head. “Going forward. If I don’t say anything, I agree. Also, even though my eyes are close, I am still listening.”

“Why did you go so hard last night?”

You grunt in response. “Consider it my ‘bachelorette party’. Gotta party hard before-“ You stop when you feel cool finger tips against your temple. Cracking an eye open, you still. Junmyeon’s face is a breath from yours. His eyes, warm as a sunrise, focus on you. His lips, soft and supple, part. His words are a whisper, but your mind fails to process anything he says. Magic flows from his fingertips. The ache in your head eases. 

He steps back, his eyes still upon you. “How does that feel?”

You stare at him, both eyes wide open, and your mouth silent. Your brain has forgotten what words are and how speaking works. 

“Y/N?”

“Better.” The response is a guttural growl. You clear your throat and repeat in your regular voice. 

“Given the current circumstance,” he says as he reclaims his seat. “The second rule is do not show up to my house drunk or hungover.” You nod. “Three, do not touch anything without my permission.” You roll your eyes but motion for him to continue. “Four, do not give advice unless I ask for it.”

“Yeah, that’s not possible.” You smirk at him. “I’m a Familiar. My job is to give unsolicited advice. Like you should try a different type of water to purify that potion.” You point back to the beaker which is once again on its way to black. 

Junmyeon’s head falls back as he groans. Your attention catches on the strong column of his throat. You shake the image out your head. Your close encounter has addled your brain. Junmyeon is an Essem, and you shouldn’t be staring at any part of him.

“I don’t understand.” He growls, and you refocus on the darkening potion. “This water was charged during the full moon and distilled by my cousin. It should work.” He grabs the beaker, vanishing the contents once again. This time though he does not refill it. Instead, he sets it down and pulls a leather journal from a shelf above his work bench. 

“Charged during one full moon or many?” He glances up from his notes, a question in his glance. You sigh. “Water charged during one full moon is fine for scrying, but if you’re trying to purify a potion and make it stronger that shit isn’t gonna work. You need stronger water. What’s the potion and what do you want to accomplish?”

His finger taps against the journal, and his whole face scrunches up. 

With a huff, you stand up and walk towards him. He pulls the book to his chest before you can catch a glimpse of anything. “Really? What do you think I’m going to do? Run off to the Stahns and tell them what you’re working on? They don’t use spies.” You pause, allowing the weighted silence to convey what you are leaving unsaid. “And even if they did. I wouldn’t spy for them. Despite how much I fucking hate the Familiar institution, I do uphold our value of loyalty.”

He lowers his arms. You snatch the journal from him. He makes a noise, but you ignore him as you flip through the pages allowing your magic to commit it all to memory. “Do you really think you can make an invisibility potion last longer?”

“Yes, I think that by purifying a potion, you can increase both potency and longevity. I’m trying to establish the process with an invisibility potion and then expand to other potions.” His shoulders go back and his chest puffs up as he speaks, but his voice quavers revealing a glimpse through the peacocks feathers.

You nod, turning a page. “Why potions? I always thought sorcerers were more interested in spells and rituals.”

“Spells and rituals are fun.” His chest deflates as he rearranges the equipment on his desk. “And you get a lot more prestige from accomplishments with them, but they aren’t that useful for everyday life and people.”

You pause on a page, the scribbles already committed to memory. Junmyeon has the fancy script of a sorcerer, but perhaps not the motivation. “But a long lasting invisibility potion is?” You smirk as you snap the journal closed and hold it out to him. “I feel like that’s only useful for pervy teens and maybe thieves. Which is your market?”

“Neither.” He snatches the book from your hand. “It’s a basic potion, an easy starting point. I don’t intend to hand it out to anybody who asks.”

You shrug but continue to smirk. “Any more rules?”

He shakes his head. “But I reserve the right to additional ones as I see fit.”

“I reserve the right to argue them. I accept the first three, but not the fourth.” You hold out your hand, allowing your magic to fill it. After a moment’s hesitation, he grasps it. His magic meets yours, sealing the agreement. “Alright, now that’s settled, I’ll let you get back to work while I try to figure out your water problem.” He sputters out a response which you ignore as you head out of the room. 

Three weeks in the Essem library leaves you more frustrated than the day you were forced to sign your damn contract. Getting access to the library had been bitch enough. Grandpa Essem had been adamant that no outsider should have access to their family’s knowledge and especially not someone with a photographic memory. When you pointed out to him that he was the one who had registered Junmyeon for a familiar, he had blustered insensible nonsense which you had tuned out. In the end, it took Junmyeon and Kyungsoo vouching for you and a gag spell before he allowed you access.

Not that the library has been any help. The Essem’s have plenty of books about enchantments, spells, rituals, charms, and all other forms of high magic, but something as simple as supercharging water no. Aside from spending the next three years charging the same water during each full moon, you are at a loss, and that would not be practical for Junmyeon’s purposes. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know any aquamentals would you?” You ask Yuri as you spin in her swivel chair. 

“No. You know how rare elemental magic is.” She glances between her notebook and the ritual she has set up on the table. A bowl sits in the middle. She said it was a salve for wounds which would help knit flesh back together if she could empower it properly.

“Yeah.” You sigh, giving yourself another push.

“You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’m with a healer.” She ignores your comment. “You work with charged water don’t you.”

“I’m not offering any advice that will be used to help an Essem.”

You scowl. “Don’t think of it as helping an Essem. Think of it as helping one of your oldest friends.”

“Who is working with an Essem.”

“Don’t you owe Kyungsoo for something.”

Her hands ball into fists. “Junmyeon is not Kyungsoo.”

“What if I convince Kyungsoo that this counts?” 

“No.” She snaps her notebook closed, ending the conversation.  She closes her eyes and draws upon her magic. You can smell it in the air, a hint of herbs and growing things. Sweat breaks across her forehead, but even with all her effort, it is only a hum compared to the current of Junmyeon’s magic. She places her hands on the table. For a moment, the ritual hums. You hold your breath. The magic fizzles, sputters, and explodes. The contents of the bowl covering the table, Yuri, the ceiling. You manage to stay clear of the blast zone.

Yuri unleashes a string of curses and nearly flips the table before collapsing back in her chair and banging her head on the table. “This should not be so hard.” She moans.

 As you fumble for something to say, the workshop door opens. “Uko.” You breathe a sigh of relief. She has always been better at cheering Yuri up. She also believes that magical knowledge should be accessible by all. “Really quick before you help Yuri, what’s the best way to charge water? And don’t say moonlight because I’ve tried that and it’s not powerful enough.”

“Which crystals have you used?” She asks as the door closes behind her.

“Doesn’t matter. None of them could give the water a high enough charge.” You wheel towards her, grabbing onto her hand and peering up at her with the softest kitty eyes you can muster. “Please you’ve read so much.”

“You know you look creepy not cute when you only transform your eyes.” She taps your forehead before walking to Yuri. She brushes against you, swiveling you to face them both. Yuri is continuing to bang her head. 

“Stop it.” She commands. Yuri drops her head with a final thud.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” You whine.

Uko shakes her head as she glances between the two of you. “If crystal and moonlight isn’t enough then you would have to steep it with an object of pure magic.” 

“Where the fuc-” But your brain answers the question before you can finish. You’re an idiot. A straight idiot. “Thank you, Uko. You’re the best.” You jump out of the chair and wrap the girl in a quick hug. “Also, Yuri, I’m pretty certain Kyungsoo would help you with your ritual if you asked.” She lunges at you, but you dart out of her reach, laughing as you head for the door. 

A week later, you skip into Junmyeon’s workroom, positively purring. If your idea was successful which you know it will be, you will see the results today. As you cross the door’s threshold, your footsteps falter. Junmyeon stands at his work table with his back towards you. Red tinges his magic, leaving the taste of sulfur on your tongue. “Suho?”

“Kitten,” the word is a low growl. Not Kitty, Kitten. Anger or, perhaps, fear should explain the surge of blood through your system, but it takes second place. An unwanted and unwarranted emotion causes warmth to travel from cheeks to toes. You have been spending way too much time with Junmyeon. 

“I have a name.” You spit back, calling on your anger.

Junmyeon’s hands clench on his work table. “Where did you get the water?”

Fear rises and mingles with your anger. Neither produces an answer though. The words remain locked within your throat. 

As he turns to face you fear overwhelms every emotion. You had misinterpreted the red. Rather than anger; fear has mixed with his magic. Fear for you if the Council finds out? Fear for himself. Regardless, his fear frightens you. “From the Lake.” He knows which lake. He knew before he asked. 

“Why?” His voice breaks on the question and brings your head low.

“We were out of options.” You whisper. “There are no spells for charging water, we don’t know any aquamentals, and relying on the full moon would have taken too long. The Lake has been steeping for centuries.”

“Steeping dark magic.”

You scoff at that. “Magic is neither dark nor light. It’s magic. We are dark and light and use magic to suit our purposes.”

He presses his lips together until they are a thin line across his face. You swallow the rest of your argument. In the current conversation, it is irrelevant. Junmyeon knows it too.

“It is forbidden to go to the Lake or take its water.”

“Only because the Council is full of bigoted assholes.” You borrow Yuri’s description. “Just because they think they know everything doesn’t mean they do. The spells placed on the Lake are older and more powerful than anything the sorcerers of today can conjure. The Stahns may be diminished in power now, but they were at the height of their power when they sealed away the Paen’s sorceress. Taking a beaker of water isn’t going to do anything to those spells. Short of draining the lake of all its water, I don’t think there is anything we could do today to affect those spells.”

“Regardless, it is the law, and you broke it.” His fist pounds on the table behind him, shaking the still. The invisibility potion, clear with only a hint of green, ripples beside his fist.

“Are you-“ The question sticks in your throat like a hairball. You cough. “Then be a good little Essem and turn me in.” You call on the remnants of your anger and force the fear out.

“No.” Your eyes snap to his. You were ready for the Council to come storming in and bind your magic for the rest of your life.

“No?”

“No.” He leans against the table and folds his arms across his chest. “I should because that was stupid and reckless.” He sighs and shakes his head. “But you are my Familiar. You acted to help me. More importantly though.” He holds your gaze, offering a glimpse of the deepest depths of his soul. “You are my friend, and I trust you.” 

You run your tongue across your lips, suddenly parched. Friend? You have known Junmyeon since kindergarten. You have been his line buddy, his teammate, his lab partner, but he has always been an Essem. A bigoted asshole and the enemy. You nod. 

“Thank you, friend.” You smile at the odd taste of the word. He returns the smile. “Do we go back to work now?”

“I’m adding another rule.” Pushing himself off the bench, he comes to stand before you and extends a hand. “Please consult me before you break any laws.” With a chuckle, you reach for his hand, but pull back and cock a brow. His face furrows as you tuck your hand behind your back. 

“Before I agree I have a rule of my own.” He sighs and crosses his arms, nodding for you to continue. “Don’t call me Kitten again unless you mean it.”

“What do you mean ‘mean it’?”

“You’ll know what I mean if you mean it.” You purr. 

A flush creeps up his neck, but he clears his throat and shakes it off. “Fine.” He offers his hand again. This time, you take it and let your joined magic rush through you. 

#hmw #exo #kim junmyeon #exo drabble #exo drabbles #exo fanfiction #suho #junmyeon drabble #junmyeon fanfiction #suho drabble #suho fanfiction #g: fluf #essem: rosemary by moonlight

[cheollies]

The Lovers

It was midday, the sun at its peak, blue painting the sky and only the occasional birds soaring above. The wind caused the light to sway in the living space. The curtains danced in their place, the sound of traffic outside making its way inside the small space. 

She left the confines of her room. The stillness of the home had curiosity picking at her. She abandoned the paper and pencil, a hand running through the tangled locks of her hair. It was no doubt that she had forgotten to brush or even wash her hair the night before. She lifted her hair as her steps led her to the open kitchen, she pulled at each strand, clumping her hair to the mid of her head. The hair tie snapped from her wrist, she lightly divided the ponytail, tugging the two lengths away from each other to tightened the space. 

The sound of the coffee maker grumbled, her fingers started the rice cooker next, the chopsticks whipped the eggs sizzling on the stovetop. While it was midday, she considered this breakfast. Two plates set on the tiny table top, a plate of eggs, various side dishes, a bowl of rice overfilled and standing lopsided, a smaller bowl rice leveled off evenly at the tip. 

She poured herself a cup of coffee, ripples appeared as she blew into the steaming mug, her eyes peering over to the male carelessly snoozing onto her couch. The coolness of the leather countered the humid heat. He slept on his side, face hidden in his forearms that he rested against the back of the couch. His shirt hung over the edge of his body, exposing the small of his hip. His toes crinkled occasionally, a sigh leaving his lips ever so often, a tiny snore whispering into the air. 

He slept with his body curled. The empty curve by his abdomen held the curiosity that drew you from your cave. She nuzzled herself into the warmth of his shirt. At moments it was hard to tell if it was her snores or if it was his. Although the position looked uncomfortable, the male still managed to sleep soundly with the feline cuddled next to him. 

“Jihoon.” The female called as she approached the male. Her mug left sitting at the dining table, she attempted to stir the man from his midday slumber, “Jihoon.” She spoke once more. 

A click of her tongue echoed when her foot caused his cell phone to slide under the furniture currently used as a bed. More often than not, she felt like she was caring for a son rather than a lover. While he slept perfectly content, she huffed, her fingers finally grasping the device. Cross legged, she sat, a small glare at the back of the male. 

The phone vibrated in her grasp. She noticed the pile of text, emails, and calls left unread. She placed the cell face down on the coffee table. He, who rested perfectly, dreaming in his own little world, she decided to leave him to rest a few minutes longer. 

She let light into the living space, giving the curtains a rest by pushing them aside. The air outside felt cooler when she stood in front of the opened window. Her eyes watched the neighborhood children run along the streets below. Her lips curved at their playfulness. 

It was this position she once saw him trudging behind his group of playful friends. A slowness in his step, hands deep in the pocket of his jacket. She could neither recognize or point out distinct features that definitively stated it was him at that moment in time; but as she recalls, it was definitely him. 

She pulled the window shut. The warmth of her home encasing her in a hug. He always liked the airy feeling of the opened window. She did not. 

The coffee table called to her with its chaos. She lowered herself, hovering over the amount of papers, the closed laptop, the various pencils and papers. It was similar to her own desk setup. The male stirred, the feline yawned. She looked back at the pair who only molded into each other more. 

Instead of organizing his mess, she removed the unnecessary items to give space. The framed photograph of the two under neon lights, the countless magazines he swore he read, her unnecessary fruit in a bowl. 

Over the fabric of his shirt, her fingers glided along his spine, “Jihoon.” She whispered, his name falling off her lips slowly, fazed by the way his lips curled. Her fingers snuck under, her nails dancing along his hip, inching the ends of his t-shirt to expose him. He hummed as if to trick her into thinking he were really awake. Her palm smacked the small of his back. 

His eyes bulged from the impact. The feline had escaped at this point. He twisted with his voice crying out in a whine. He leaned over onto his stomach, his hand caressing the spot that glowed crimson on his body. She stood over him with her hands on her hip. A thin line on her lips. She feared he would only fall back asleep. 

Jihoon felt weight on his back. Both of her palms rested on his back, she applied pressure, bouncing the male on the sofa. He only grumbled more as she continued her actions. 

“Wake up.” She landed another slap onto his back, “It’s literally one in the afternoon and you’re taking a nap.” 

His finger grazed the floor. He leaned his head over the furniture, noticing that his device remained obsolete from its position he had left it almost an hour ago. She no longer stood beside the male. Jihoon flipped himself onto his back. Hands resting on his stomach, tongue dragging over his dried lips. He tilted his head, watching her retreating figure to the dining table. She pulled her seat, proceeding to sit faced to him, one leg crossed onto the seat under the thigh of the other. She let one foot bounce against the floor. 

“Anxious?” He questioned. 

The bounce of her foot ceased at his words. She glanced at him, her mouth full of midday breakfast, she attempted to speak only to spew bits of rice out in front of her. Her hand flew to cover her lips, a light giggle escaping from her. 

She swallowed her food whole, “Starving.” She barely manages to choke out. 

Jihoon begrudgingly leaves the space on the sofa. Feet pitter pattering on the wood floors of the apartment. His hair bounces as he takes his seat in front of her. He barely takes notice of the way she had already perfectly set up his plate and utensils. He aimlessly grabs the chopsticks, picking at the scrambled eggs she had cooked previously. 

For a while there is silence. No words are spoken as the two continue to eat their first meal of the day. While his phone vibrates from the living space, hers dings off in the distance. Yet no movement occurs from the two. Between the both of them, they preferred this. A meal with no distraction, just sitting comfortably with the one across from them. 

“I heard Seungcheol and his girlfriend were taking a break.” She spoke suddenly. He only hums in response, uninterested in the business of his friend, “Seungcheol broke up with her, something about not communicating in the relationship.” She had rested the tip of her chopsticks atop the table. 

His eyebrow quirked, “Are you trying to tell me that we should talk about our relationship?” 

“No.” She picked at the side dish, “Just thought you’d like to know that the next time you see Seungcheol, he’ll probably be extra needy and clingy.” 

An air of laughter flew between his lips, “Thanks.” 

Silence fell once again. A smile formed on her face watching the male hurdle spoonfuls of rice into his mouth. He finished his bowl of rice, carefully looking at her in the eyes then to her half filled bowl of rice, almost asking permission to devour hers also. 

“Take it.” She lightly pushed the bowl to him who grinned with his mouth still filled with rice, “Am I a friend?” 

His head bounces up towards her, “What?” The food almost spills. 

“Well I was just thinking,” She tilted her head, “There was a conversation at work, ‘putting labels on a relationship’. What would you consider me? A friend? Companion? Girlfriend? Cohabiting partner?” 

The lightbulb flickers in his head. He sat frozen, one hand still holding the rice bowl, the other with his utensils. 

She rests her cheek on her knuckle, “I consider you my lover.” Her lips curled into an amused expression, the way a light blush appeared across his face, “Sounds scandalous, doesn’t it? My lover.”

#seventeen #seventeen scenarios #jihoon scenarios #woozi scenarios #woozi #jihoon