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illylli · 2 years

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Bite My Tongue (Pt. 3) | Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

→ After the successful launch of Eddie’s original DnD campaign, you convince him to take you on a late-night drive. You reveal hidden fears and hopes, and bond over your shared desires. Eddie gets too comfortable and takes things a step too far.

→ 3.5k words: including mentions of abuse, an emotional heart-to-heart, eddie singing in the car and generally being an incredible person

→ a/n: i sincerely apologise for all the heartbreak, i promise i’ll make it up to you guys in the next part ♥️

♫ mood: ‘dionne’ by the the japanese house

→ read part 1 | → read part 2

A couple weeks and countless nights spent planning in your room later, Eddie was ready to launch the Hellfire Club into the greatest DnD campaign they’d ever, and possibly would ever, play in their lives.

He had gone all out: decking the classroom they hired out bi-weekly in set pieces he’d convinced the drama department to let him borrow, along with some things he’d made himself out of a bit of cardboard and sheer determination.

The look on his friends’ faces was well worth the effort. Dustin and Mike were especially impressed, sharing a slack-jawed look, taking in the mystical elements that transformed the space into a medieval-inspired dungeon. Plastic torches flickered with fake fire; the space surrounded by cardboard castle walls accompanied by hanging plastic skeletons, the long table adorned with daggers and jewels and chalices filled with fake blood.

If anyone walked in now, it’d be near impossible to convince them DnD wasn’t satanic.

It was when all the guys had taken their seats, Eddie clearing his throat to put on his most theatrical voice as he raised his arms, when you burst in.

“Shit, sorry,” your voice hushed, and you began backing out of the door “I’ll come back when you’re done.”

Eddie dropped his arms with a wide smile, “We haven’t started yet. You wanna watch?” He walked towards you, hand sliding up the door, holding it in place, “It’s just as much your story as it is mine, you know.”

“I came to return these,” you placed your closed fist onto his palm, transferring the collection of silver rings, “You left them at my place again.”

It was becoming a habit. He had started leaving them there after he’d forgotten them that first night, on your bedside table. He figured it’d give you an excuse to come see him, if you ever needed one.

You picked up his hand, brushing a tender touch over the rose-bush cuts that had healed into white slivers on his fingers, then slid his rings on.

He raised an eyebrow at your wrist. “My bracelet.”

You clutched it to your chest. “It matches my outfit today.” It was the only piece of jewellery of his that fit, so you’d decided to steal it.

Mike cleared his throat, and Eddie flipped him off without looking away from you.

“So,” he smiled, “You’ll watch?”

Eddie had already felt giddy, knowing this was to be the first day of his campaign. But now that he had your eyes on him during it? It was like floating on a cloud of pure bliss. Every time something dramatic happened he’d glance at you, totally entranced, your elbows on your knees as you sat on the edge of your seat.

No, not seat. Throne. Because Eddie had given you the head place at the table, the omnipresent goddess of the world you’d helped him create. You were haloed in gentle light, a real-life angel blessing them with your presence.

You shared in the excitement, cheering along when someone rolled for a successful action, and hiding your face during tense encounters. During the session you teased Mike and Dustin endlessly, and Eddie could see you were close with Mike, which wasn’t surprising.

The kid kept looking to you for advice on how to progress when the road diverged into different paths. Unluckily for him, you had no stakes in the game and only wanted to pursue the decisions that would land him in the most trouble.

You’d laugh whenever your choice backfired, and Eddie could scarcely do his job as Dungeon Master because he felt his chest go all fluttery whenever he heard the sound, his breath stolen from him and steeped in your mirth.

By the time the session came to an end, he felt slightly relieved, because he wasn’t sure how long he could go on pretending in front of everyone that he wasn’t totally head over heels for you.

You stayed back to help him pack up all the décor, which he appreciated endlessly.

“I didn’t know you get super into it,” you said as you reviewed the session, “You’re really passionate.”

Eddie felt a pang of embarrassment, rubbing his neck as he replied, “Yeah, I can go a bit overboard with the voices and stuff.”

“No,” you stopped, turning to him, arms filled with the skeleton he’d stolen from the biology classroom, “No, it’s great! It makes everything feel more immersive.”

He chuckled, “You think so?”

You ducked behind the skeleton, making it wave. You put on a ghoulish voice and said “I knooooow so.” Eddie just about burst a lung as he laughed.

“Fuck, you’re precious.”

You’d never cared much for the phrase about feeling butterflies in your stomach, but when Eddie said that, his head tilted and his eyes full of adoration, you felt as though your body had become a butterfly sanctuary, fluttering wings replacing the marrow of your bones, replacing the beating of your heart.

He went back to cleaning up like nothing had transpired, but you stood there for a couple more seconds, wondering why Chance had never called you precious before.

With an extra set of hands, packing up took half the time setting up had, and Eddie was left wondering how he’d spend the evening, as it was still young by the time you’d almost finished loading up the van.

There was only really one thing left.

“You want it back?” you asked as he threaded his hand underneath the chain bracelet, fingernails scraping gently against your pulse.

Eddie shook his head. “Keep it.” It would be fair that you carried a reminder of him, since the heart in his chest was a constant reminder of you.

“Hey Munson.”

Chance’s voice startled you apart, and you felt guilty without really knowing why.

“What’re you doing here, honey?” He greeted with a kiss to the side of your head, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Just helping Eddie pack his things,” you explained, “Did you win your game?”

“Nope. We sucked. Let’s get out of here.”

A group of rowdy jocks passed by, headed by Jason. He let out a low whistle at the sight, “Mingling with the freaks now, Chance? We didn’t lose so hard that you’re looking for new friends, right?”

Chance chuckled, not noticing how tense you’d gotten next to him. Eddie could see the distress clear in your body language. You did not feel comfortable around Chance’s friends.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, “C’mon, Jason’s giving us a lift.”

You rolled out of his grip, “I’m not finished yet.”

Eddie was about to interject and let you know he could handle the rest when Chance rolled his eyes and asked “You want a ride home or not?”

The impatience paired with his flaring nostrils annoyed him way too much.

“I’ve got her,” Eddie retorted, a little possessive.

Chance looked like he was about to reject the offer, but Jason called out his name, and he let it go.

“I’ll see you at your place later,” he told you, slipping back to catch up with the others.

You let out a loud sigh, rubbing your eyes with the edge of your palms.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, and you looked surprised he was asking.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

He led you to the passenger side, opening the door for you, wincing as it creaked. When he started up the van he opted for the safe option of the radio, not trusting his hands to be steady if he loaded up a cassette. It was tuned to the local alternative radio, and he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove the route to your house.

He could see out of the corner of his eye how dejected you’d become, sinking into the seat, eyes following the landscape painted in black under the moonlight as it passed by.

“You okay?” He asked again.

You sat up a bit, glancing at him. “Yeah, I just…” You played with the sleeve of your shirt, “don’t really want to go home yet.”

“You hungry?”

That turned out to be the golden question, and you soon found yourself sitting in the parking lot of a burger king, eating crappy food with a satisfied smile. Eddie spilt mustard on his Hellfire shirt, and despite rubbing at his profusely, it wasn’t going to come out without a good wash.

You almost choked on your drink as he pulled the top over his head, balling it up and throwing it into the back. He pushed up and hovered between the two front seats, the guitar pick on his necklace dangling as he searched for something to change into.

He was so close you could feel the heat of his body; smell the hint of cigarette smoke mixed with cheap cologne. You tried not to stare at his chest, but to your credit, it contained a few interesting tattoos to ogle.

Then your eyes drifted elsewhere, towards his back, and you were stunned at the scarring there, evidence of past lacerations across his spine.

He caught you looking when he sat back in the driver’s seat, a Metallica shirt in his hands. You decided not to say anything, not wanting to drudge up past trauma if he wasn’t ready.

“What do they mean?” You pointed at his tattoos, hoping he didn’t think you were staring because of anything else.

Eddie looked down at his chest, tracing his tattoos. He looked up at you with a goofy smile and said, “They don’t mean anything. They’re just cool.”

You huffed a laugh at his response, watching as he pulled the new shirt over his head. Now dressed and clean, he wrapped his hand around the handbrake, but paused, looking over to you.

“You wanna tell me what’s got you so bummed out?”

It shouldn’t have shocked you, his attention to your mood. He somehow always knew what you were feeling.

“It’s stupid,” you said, and he gave you a look that said no it’s not. “I guess I kinda feel trapped.”

Eddie turned his body to you, listening intently.

“I’ve been in Hawkins my whole life. I want to leave so badly, but Chance wants to settle down here. I know this is a horrible thing to say, but I honestly can’t think of anything worse than raising a family here. I don’t want to be relegated to some baby making machine, I want to travel and do amazing things!”

You dropped your hands from where you’d been waving them in the air to accentuate the graveness of your matter. “It’s easy for people like Chance. Highschool has given him his best years. But I’m not like that. I feel like I’ve barely even lived.”

You looked back at Eddie, a small smile on his face. “I sound like an idiot, don’t I?”

“No,” he said, pushing the handbrake down, “Put your seatbelt on. Let’s get out of here.”

‘Here’ had apparently been in reference to Hawkins, and you noticed as soon as he missed the turnoff that would bring you home. Excitement filled you, and you shared a wordless smile as Eddie got onto the highway, driving North, away from town.

There’s something about the highway late at night, most lanes empty. The darkness of the enveloping trees and the navy sky above a comfort despite their monotony as you watch it all fly past through the window. Eddie sung along quietly to the radio, and though you’d heard his voice before, you never got sick of listening to it.

Just as you thought he might never stop, the road stretching on forever, Eddie flicked his indicator to the off ramp, a big sign indicating that he was heading for Kokomo. It wasn’t anything special; a sleeping town similar to Hawkins, but at least it was somewhere new, somewhere you could watch pass by through the window and wonder about the people who lived here, and what stories they’d lived out.

Eddie had obviously never been here before either, looking down every street, slowing down at every turn to see if there was anything interesting to discover. Eventually, he pulled onto a dirt road that led to a park, and he parked the van atop a bridge. A lazy river flowed underneath it, moonlight glittering on the calm water.

The air somehow smelt fresher here, and you took a lungful, feeling cleansed when you exhaled. Eddie knelt next to the van, motioning for you to take a step up. He hoisted you onto the roof and joined you shortly, the van bouncing slightly as he settled beside you to take in the view.

“Know any constellations?” he asked, reclining onto his back to take in the sky.

You shook your head, looking up. “I don’t.”

“Then we’ll make our own.”

Eddie pointed out a collection of stars that looked like a smiley face. You struggled to point out one that looked like a dog. He said it looked more like a cat when he finally found it. His arm kept brushing yours as he gestured to the star he liked most; one that was flashing.

“It’s probably been dead for millions of years.”

Eddie popped up onto his elbows, “Is that right?”

You smiled, eager to teach him anything you could. “More than half the stars in the sky that we can see right now have probably gone supernova ages ago. Light travels pretty slowly, and because they’re so far away, their light only reaches us after they’re gone.”

He frowned, “That’s sad.”

You shrugged. “It’s just what happens. The one that’s flashing is probably going supernova, millions of years ago, but also right now.”

Eddie laid back down next to you, the edge of his pinky brushing against yours. “Like you.”

You turned your head, looking at him for an explanation.

“You’re this brilliant, amazing person, and whenever anyone looks at you all they see is light,” Eddie wondered if he was being cheesy, but he’d already begun his little spiel, so he didn’t dare stop now and keep you wondering. “I’m just worried that they’re convinced you’re fine when in reality you’ve been, and you are, breaking down.”

He was giving you an invitation to either shoot him down or give into the topic. He knew he’d managed to pull it off when you nudged his pinky, wrapping yours around his.

“It’s not their fault. I’m too good at pretending everything’s fine.��

“What’s on your mind?”

You looked back up at the stars, your eyes glassy, reflecting their shine. “Everything feels so stagnant. My job, school, my family, Chance.” You swallowed before continuing, “All I’ve ever done is work hard to make everyone happy. I know I’m lucky, and I shouldn’t complain. My parents have sacrificed so much for me, including their happiness.”

“And I know they don’t expect anything in return. All the pressure is self-enforced. But I need to be the dutiful daughter. The perfect girlfriend. The diligent student. I have a duty to be the person they need me to be. To surpass them and prove, to myself more than anyone, that all the pain and frustration was worth it. I should feel honoured, but I just feel stuck. I carry the burden of everyone’s problems and the moment I try to focus on mine, it’s like no one’s listening.”

“Hey, I’m listening.”

You turned back to him, stars trembling in your eyes.

“I’m sorry for ranting. You and Nance are the only people I feel like I can really talk to. But with Nancy, I feel like I can’t tell her everything. I don’t want her to worry. She’s been through enough.”

“Don’t ever apologise for getting things off your chest,” he reassured you.

You nodded, gifting him a small smile. “Are you doing alright?”

“Oh, I’m just peachy,” Eddie teased, “But yeah, I can definitely relate to that kind of pressure, in a different way.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “The part about wanting to surpass your parents, become a better person to prove that the pain was worth it? Though, I think your folks are a lot nicer than mine were.”

You’d never brought it up, but you knew there had to be a reason Eddie lived with his uncle and rarely mentioned his parents.

“Can thank my dad for the sick scars on my back,” he sat up, hugging his knees to his chest. “It was a relief when he got addicted, because uh, at least then he was too dosed up to give a shit. That’s why I'm always careful when I get high. Don’t wanna end up like a zombie, like he did. And I owe it to my uncle to be a better person.” He picked at the tears in the knees of his jeans. “I understand how it gets tiring, trying to do right by those who’ve supported you, especially when they can’t really understand you. At the end of the day that’s all anyone wants, right? To be understood.”

“Not loved?”

Eddie shook his head, “Nah. Anyone can love you. But love feels different when it comes from someone who really knows you. Someone who sees all the bad as well as the good, and still wants you.

You sat up then, and slowly pushed your hand up his shirt. Eddie’s eyes met yours as you felt the raised flesh of his back, valleys of suffering he had kept hidden right beneath the surface.

Moving your legs, you slid up behind him, wrapping him up in your arms as you pressed a kiss to his back. Eddie sunk into your embrace, feeling deeply safe and secure.

“I promise,” he spoke, and you could feel the reverberations of his chest, “We’re going to get out of Hawkins. I’ll buy an old camper or something, do it up reeeeal nice. You can write while we’re on the road, and I’ll play a few gigs, and when we get sick of it we’ll leave it at the airport and fly away to wherever you want.”

“Eddie.” There was a warning in your tone. Fantasies at a time like this weren’t going to help.

“Even if we do stay trapped in Hawkins for the rest of our lives,” he reached up and squeezed your hand, “I’m glad I’m trapped with you.”

He was baring his heart to you now, bleeding and on a silver platter. You wished he was the answer to all your problems. What you would have given to tell him you wanted him to take you away forever.

But reality was still only a 50-minute drive away, and it wasn’t going to go away. You had a Chance waiting for you, and you had to remain loyal to the man who had fallen for you a year ago, because you’d chosen him. Even though your heart ached for Eddie, and over the past few weeks it had become impossible to ignore the fact that you wanted him more than anything.

You’d just gotten too used to ignoring what you wanted in order to provide what other people needed from you.

“(Y/n)?”

You moved away from him, swinging your legs over the edge of the van’s roof. Eddie knew then he’d fucked up. He’d revealed too much, and you saw him for the reject he was. Or worse: you truly did care about him, but had realised his feelings for you were a lot deeper, and now he was just another person pressuring you to be someone he needed, when it wasn’t what you wanted.

He bit down on his tongue, wishing he could take back the last few minutes, rewind to when he was in your arms.

“Should get you home before your folks start worrying.”

“Yeah,” you wiped at your face, like you were crying. You were. “Good idea.”

The radio filled the silence on the way home, playing dionne warwick’s ‘walk on by’. You watched the roads become familiar again with tears in your eyes, and you felt like you were suffocating despite breathing just fine.

Chance was waiting by your front door as Eddie pulled up, his arms crossed as he saw the van. Eddie could see that your cheeks were wet in the reflection of the glass. He wanted to reach out, to comfort you in some way, but by the time he’d worked up the nerve you had already opened and closed the door, making your way to your boyfriend.

He couldn’t hear, but he saw the start of an argument brewing like a storm as you walked into the front door with your head hung low.

Eddie pressed his forehead to the steering wheel, simply breathing, trying to think of nothing. When he lifted his head, the light was on in your room, and though he’d been in there dozen times by now, the place now looked foreign to him.

Forbidden.

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#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #my work #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine

149 notes · View notes

xiaowhore · 3 years

Text

includes: xiao, childe, zhongli, & chongyun !

　　　　♡: readers' favorite　𖤐: author's favorite

XIAO

headcanons

skinship hcs

them as sappy lovers

scenarios

coming back after a long journey ♡

keeping your distance

xiao with a sappy s/o

making flower crowns

he becomes jealous

decorating a christmas tree

genshin boys as romance drama tropes

domestic fluff with genshin boys

treating you when you’re sick

you get injured (tw: blood)

valentine’s day

keeping your relationship a secret

cry for me

playing hard to get ♡

premise: as you were a person of bubbly character, he’d gotten used to your bright and cheerful nature, and the ridiculous shenanigans that came along with it. that included your numerous tries to woo him into dating you, with each attempt ending in failure. you weren’t too depressed by it, returning to your usual jovial personality even after rejections… and he’d taken that for granted. he didn’t expect you to do the “push-and-pull” tactic on him, and neither did he expect it’d work so well.

the small things he does for you

aftermath of a break up

how does he see you?

drowning in you

premise: it is love that cannot be conveyed in words, a depth of longing immeasurable and indescribable; it pours from his gaze, honey-saccharine and achingly tender, a desire not fueled by lust but by devotion. it's delightfully sweet, as dreamy as spun sugar, and it is love you want to drink in for all of eternity, as long as the gods permit it.

(or, the ardent love that can be felt even in the simplest of things.)

amusing beginnings 𖤐

premise: the dramatic prelude of a tale spun by the workings of fate, weaved with strings of scarlet linking futures untold. this is a story of innocence, of unforeseen encounters offering no clue of a romance that will blossom much, much later — this is how you begin together, yet there is no telling if there will ever be a proper conclusion for the prose you call love.

or, plainly speaking, a series of meet-cute scenarios i am far too lazy dedicating individual fics for. i just wanted to sound smart about it.

heartbreaker

premise: in which you claim to be immune to the “bad boy” appeal but fall for his charms anyway.

various x reader (harem)

genshin boys in a fantasy otome game ♡

premise: take your pick from a selection of pretty boys, set in medieval time as you navigate your way through hearts as a maiden from an aristocratic family!

genshin boys in a zombie apocalypse

unfortunately it doesn't appear to be romantic when the rest of his friends are raising havoc behind him, spilling zombie guts across the floor.

premise: you're a half-dead college student (figurative) hoping to find comfort from caffeine intake in preparation for a brutal final exam, which led you to visit your local cafe down the block... only to be mounted by a half-dead employee (literal) seconds away from biting your arm off before a kind stranger bashes his head in. “are you okay? we came to save you!” he offers his hand, smiling invitingly.

yours truly, ♡

premise: as a friend of the most attractive students in school, you’re more than used to acting as the middleman between them and the people vying for their affection, often tasked with delivering presents or handing out their love letters. however, when you chance upon a small bouquet of flowers on your desk without a note indicating the sender or who you’re meant to give it to, you start to wonder if this one’s supposed to be yours.

love at first bite

premise: most customers visit your cafe for the delicious bread and good coffee, but he comes for the cute barista behind the counter.

lights, camera, action! 𖤐

premise: in which you get yourself involved in a lot of unscripted drama. (genshin celebrity au.)

TARTAGLIA

headcanons

secret admirer hcs

skinship hcs

them as sappy lovers

scenarios

coming back after a long journey ♡

treating you when you’re sick

you get injured (tw: violence, slight yandere)

him with an indifferent s/o

comforting you when you cry

genshin boys as romance drama tropes

domestic fluff with genshin boys

genshin boys and soulmate aus

keeping your relationship a secret

the small things he does for you

valentine’s day

romeo and cinderella

playing hard to get ♡

aftermath of a break up

a dance with the devil

how does he see you?

drowning in you

(or, the ardent love that can be felt even in the simplest of things.)

heartbreaker

premise: in which you claim to be immune to the “bad boy” appeal but fall for his charms anyway.

various x reader (harem)

genshin boys in a fantasy otome game ♡

premise: take your pick from a selection of pretty boys, set in medieval time as you navigate your way through hearts as a maiden from an aristocratic family!

genshin boys in a zombie apocalypse

unfortunately it doesn't appear to be romantic when the rest of his friends are raising havoc behind him, spilling zombie guts across the floor.

yours truly, ♡

love at first bite

premise: most customers visit your cafe for the delicious bread and good coffee, but he comes for the cute barista behind the counter.

lights, camera, action! 𖤐

premise: in which you get yourself involved in a lot of unscripted drama. (genshin celebrity au.)

ZHONGLI

headcanons

skinship hcs

scenarios

treating you when you’re sick

comforting you when you cry

valentine’s day

genshin boys as romance drama tropes

domestic fluff with genshin boys

genshin boys and soulmate aus

keeping your relationship a secret

the small things he does for you

playing hard to get ♡

aftermath of a break up

how does he see you?

drowning in you

(or, the ardent love that can be felt even in the simplest of things.)

various x reader (harem)

genshin boys in a fantasy otome game ♡

premise: take your pick from a selection of pretty boys, set in medieval time as you navigate your way through hearts as a maiden from an aristocratic family!

genshin boys in a zombie apocalypse

unfortunately it doesn't appear to be romantic when the rest of his friends are raising havoc behind him, spilling zombie guts across the floor.

sincerely, ♡

premise: your diligent efforts to uncover the identity of your secret admirer had ultimately amounted to nothing. in fact, your investigations only raised more questions — your companions’ strange behaviors and shifty-eyed gazes hadn’t completely escaped from your awareness, not to mention you’ve become… privy to some of their affections…

and what is the last thing you need while trying to search for one person who liked you? more people to like you, of course!

but that is exactly what you receive. (goddamn it all.)

CHONGYUN

headcanons

skinship hcs

scenarios

genshin boys as romance drama tropes

#masterlist #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin x reader #xiao x reader #childe x reader #zhongli x reader #chongyun x reader #genshin impact scenarios

844 notes · View notes

samstree · 3 years

Note

For the reverse trope ask: the soft character comforting the tough character after a trauma

Piece Him Back Together

Part of the reverse trope series.

When Geralt gets kidnapped, it's up to Jaskier to rescue him. Some truths about a witcher's worst weakness come to light.

(geraskier, 2.1k, hurt/comfort, geralt whump, mutual pining, competent jaskier, love confession, mild blood)

read on AO3

"Shit, shit, shit..."

Jaskier lets out a string of curses all the while balancing the weight of two fully grown men with stumbling footwork. He desperately tries to keep Geralt up with a hand on the small of his back but fails to stop the injured witcher from drooping with each step, until, at last, both of them wind up in a heap of limbs by the road.

Geralt lets out a pained grunt and Jaskier scrambles with apologies.

“Fuck, sorry.” The bard shifts Geralt’s bulk with all he can muster and finally settles him on a patch of soft moss under the tree. The witcher hisses as his back hits the bark rather heavily. “Shit, I’m so sorr—”

“You already said,” Geralt interrupts him but there’s no anger in his tone.

“Still. I am.”

Jaskier retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket and begins to dab at the mess of blood at Geralt’s temple, wincing when he finally sees how bad the blow is. Blood oozes from the gash, slower than a moment before. The fabric is soaked through and the skin there is still tender.

It’s all witchers’ weakness.

The temple. A blow to the head.

It messes up all their senses and coordination, leaving them in the most vulnerable state. If Jaskier had reached him any later, this might have done Geralt in.

Jaskier lets out a distressed sound at the thought.

“Stop fussing. We need to go.” The witcher, against all odds, remains level-headed.

“No, it’s all right. I knocked out all the guards and servants, along with the duke and his mage.” Jaskier tilts Geralt’s head for a better angle to press the handkerchief down on the wound. “I may have given the two of them a little more than the recommended dose. The lady at the apothecary warned me about the risk of choking with much sleeping potion, urgh, like I give an ounce of fuck if they die a gruesome death or not. It’d be a favor to the town.”

The venom surprises even Jaskier himself, and Geralt lets out a meaningful hum.

“Rest assured, my dear. No one will be looking for us today.”

Up close, Jaskier can feel Geralt scrutinize him intently as if to burn a hole into his face. He meets the amber gaze, the dark pupils still a little blown wide from the shock, but there’s also something akin to relief flowing in those beautiful eyes.

He revels in the silence, observing Geralt in return for further signs of hurt, but finds none.

The witcher relents first, the tiniest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So you drugged an entire castle?”

“Didn’t think I had it in me, huh?” Jaskier teases. “The White Wolf, saved by a humble bard and forever impressed by his wit.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up, oh mighty witcher. I’m sure you only needed the rescue because those villains took advantage of your only weakness.” The bard adds his usual dramatic flair into the last two words.

Geralt blinks. Something shifts in his expression, his breathing picking up and his eyes darting everywhere. If the bard didn’t know better, he’d say the witcher is flustered, which makes it all the more confusing.

“Mocking me, are you?” Geralt drops his gaze and tries to shy away, but the bard holds him in place with the other hand. Under Jaskier’s palm, the frame of the witcher’s ear is heating up.

“How am I mocking you? Geralt, even you must admit witchers aren’t all-powerful beings.” Jaskier frowns. “They messed up your head. I know all your senses get muddled when you’re like this. Seriously, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“What are you talking about?” the witcher snaps his gaze back to Jaskier, a puzzled crease deep between his brows, which only makes the bard scoff with amusement.

“The head wound, of course. How did they get you? An ambush and a blow to the head, I’m assuming.” Jaskier explains. “How else did you get yourself into a dungeon and dimeritium cuffs? What, are you telling me you walk into their trap voluntarily?”

He rolls his eyes at the offhanded joke but the silence from the witcher leaves the mood heavier. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a denial of what he just said. Geralt is staring at him with an inexplicable look on his face, and these looks are hard to come by these days. Jaskier prides himself in being the best on the continent at reading his witcher, and he has no inclination to break the streak.

“What happened then? Talk to me, Geralt.”

Jaskier removes the handkerchief a little. The gash has stopped bleeding, so he ties it around Geralt’s head carefully to keep the wound shielded, at least until they can wash it properly. His hands stay with Geralt afterwards, waiting for him to open up.

“I—” Geralt purses his lips before continuing, golden eyes meeting the bard in earnest. “They didn’t ambush me, Jask. I walked into that castle unarmed by choice.”

“What?” Jaskier’s jaw drops.

“It’s because—” the witcher scowls. “Because I thought…that they had you.”

It’s like a lightning strike, where their skin connects tingling all the way from the tips of Jaskier’s fingers to a warm pool of fuzziness in his stomach. The air is suddenly too hot so Jaskier decides to put more space between them.

“Oh.”

Geralt chases him ever so slightly before settling back with resignation, his eyes still bare and vulnerable, as if he just revealed the darkest secret when it is only the sweetest thing in a horrible, horrible way.

“A whisper of you being held hostage and suddenly I couldn’t think. Couldn’t remember to check the truth. Couldn’t waste another second.” Geralt hovers a hand near the bard’s face before retreating to his side. “You were right that they got me because of my one weakness, Jaskier. Just not the one you assumed.”

The pounding in Jaskier’s chest is jumping out of his throat. He’s sure he will die within the next minute if he doesn’t speak to ease this ache in his heart.

“Oh.”

He ends up saying dumbly.

“It was too late when I noticed the absence of you. Your voice, your heartbeat, your scent. Nothing. You weren’t in that castle or the cells. All I could hear was silence and all I could smell was blood.” Geralt draws a shuddering breath. “I hoped, when they kept me in the dark, that they were lying about ever having you. That you were nowhere near that damn place instead of—”

The witcher swallows, unable to finish the sentence.

“Instead of,” Jaskier adds for him, “they’d already killed me.”

The tension hangs between them. The bard sits back on the heels of his feet and finds himself at a loss for words for the very first time in his life.

Geralt might be the only person who can force Jaskier through so many firsts in his life. His first time writing a hit song, first time smashing into someone’s face with a lute, first time saving a witcher’s life, and perhaps, first time murdering two evil overlords obsessed with collecting witchers for experiments.

Hmm, it’s not like Jaskier regrets any of these.

Geralt reaches out again, tentative and patient like he’s approaching a spooked horse. This time, Jaskier takes pity and meets him halfway, his thumb rubbing small circles at the sword callouses that he adores so much.

“Say something,” Geralt pleads.

Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat and sniffles to ease the congestion in his nose, his vision blurring in desperation.

“It’s the most words you’ve said in one sitting, Geralt. You’ll have to allow me a moment to figure out what you are saying and, most importantly, not saying.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “It’s you, you know? There’s always something you are holding back and that is often the crux of it. I thought I got good at reading between the lines, but this is…overwhelming.”

With the enhanced healing kicking in, Geralt is looking much better by the minute. The blood dries and crusts over and his eyes almost shining in the daylight, or is it just the emotions within them? Jaskier can’t tell.

“Maybe I can help you. With the hidden words.” Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s fingers reassuringly. He tilts his head in the most endearing way. It happens to be that particular head tilt that Jaskier treasures with his life, the one that manages to always take his breath away.

“I love you, Jask.”

The warm pool of fuzziness in Jaskier’s stomach turns into a bottomless pit, and he’s falling.

And soaring.

“I love you.” Geralt smiles sadly. “In the dark of that cell, it became…ever so clear and so loud that I couldn’t deny it anymore. I love you, in spite of myself. Gods, I’ve loved you for so long.”

Geralt picks up Jaskier’s hand and places the barest touch of a kiss there, his lips chapped but oh so gentle. Jaskier lets out a soft gasp and the tears roll down uncontrollably. The next thing he knows, he’s buried deep in Geralt’s embrace. The sobs choke in his lungs like a dam has been broken.

“I—” Jaskier is amazed to find that their roles have reversed. The witcher has expressed everything but the bard becomes mute. So he takes up Geralt’s role gladly and replies with actions.

Jaskier’s lips are pressed everywhere he can reach: the soft, warm skin of Geralt’s neck, the sharp of his jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose. He disregards the grime and dirt and kisses Geralt’s uninjured temple, the single most fragile part of a witcher’s body—barring their heart, so it seems. He tucks away a strand of white hair and kisses Geralt’s temple one more time, tasting the salty tang of tears.

When he pulls back, Geralt’s smile is blinding.

He hears Jaskier, even though—

“I still don’t know what to say,” Jaskier croaks, sniffling hard.

The bard rests his hands at the nape of Geralt’s neck and loses himself in the sunlit golden honey, his favorite color in the world and the most beautiful dream that’s ever come true.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Geralt wipes away the wetness on Jaskier’s face with the pad of his thumb. “Master Jaskier, poet, minstrel, professor… Stumped for words and forever impressed by a witcher’s love confession.”

He mimics Jaskier’s phrasing and the bard can’t help but chuckle despite the tears and snout, his hand swatting at Geralt’s shoulder. Jaskier knows he must look so absurd, laughing and crying all at once, but it’s the last thing in the world that matters.

Geralt loves him, and—

“You got hurt because of me.”

The remorse licks up, along with the urge to protect and to care. The sight of Geralt limp and bloody, bound by the wrists in a dark cell is something Jaskier never wants to relive again.

“I don’t care, Jask.”

“I care.”

“Then make it better.”

So he does. Geralt never wavers as Jaskier captures his lips and pours everything he cannot voice into the kiss, drawing a contented moan out of the witcher.

“Does it still hurt?” the bard whispers between one breath and the next.

“A little.”

Jaskier resumes his work and cards deft fingers through silver hair, careful not to nudge the handkerchief. His nails ghost over Geralt’s scalp and scratches gently until a purring sound rumbles deep in the witcher’s chest. The bard giggles proudly.

“Now?”

“Keep going.”

Geralt traps Jaskier between his strong arms devours him with passion, the heat of his body solid and calming.

Jaskier has never thought of himself as a protector, except at this moment with his witcher arching into his every touch and producing those heavenly sounds. The world is too bent on hurting Geralt, too eager to take and take and take from him.

A bard is not a fighter. Jaskier cannot stop monsters from tearing through armors or crossbows fired with ill intent.

But a bard is a lover. What Jaskier can do is heal, is piece Geralt back together with gentle words in the dark and soft lips on the thin skin at his temple.

“How about now?”

They are panting in tandem, the gold of Geralt’s eyes dreamy and out of this world.

“Still dizzy.”

“That’s from all the kissing, you oaf.”

But Geralt begs wordlessly with those wide, puppy-like eyes so openly, and Jaskier’s already non-existent resolve breaks into a million pieces. He kisses Geralt until the witcher melts into a puddle of purring mess, sun-warmed and pliant.

And he kisses Geralt more.

Again and again.

---

Thanks for the prompt. I kind of just rolled with the concept. The twist looks a bit obvious from the beginning, but feel free to tell me what you think. <3

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @dapandapod @artisanbaguette @birdsflyhome

Please tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #reverse trope #trope subversion #soft geraskier #geralt x jaskier #cw: blood #soft jaskier #hurt geralt #geralt whump #mutual pining #love confession #first kiss #italicized oh #hurt/comfort

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Text

Something Tender

Pairing | Elizabeth Olsen x reader

Summary | Promoting a movie with Lizzie is a relaxed and fun experience. And you could care less about the cameras that are in your face as you shamelessly stare at the woman.

Warnings | none, just fluff, and a suggestive comment.

Requested ☑️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

“Hello.” Her thin arms waved about in a flourish, causing you to roll your eyes at her dramatic and adorable tendencies. It was behaviour you were certainly used to, and you surely couldn’t get enough of it. But she was a clown, albeit, an insanely attractive one.

“Hi, I’m y/n y/l/n, and this is the insane actress that plays the most crazy character that I have ever been pledged to be on screen with.” A smile corrupted the sudden frown that fell on her face, before she laughed at your description.

“People also know me as Elizabeth Olsen, but this one thinks that I was programmed to take down the human race.” She swatted you with the stack of cards that were clasped in her sweet hands, causing you to inherently laugh and swoop back at her attempts of attack.

“So, today we are...” you dragged on, raising an eyebrow at Lizzie, prompting the blonde to continue your sentence, however she only marbleised you with a confused glare.

“Why’d you stop?” A smile remarked her mouth, watching as you exaggerated a sarcastic eye roll, directed promptly at her.

“I thought it’d be cute if you continued.” You whined inherently at her, causing her to laugh at your all consuming behaviour. “Never mind.” Disregarding the idea, you waved your hand, before making a statement aimed central at the camera. “Me and this fine lady here are doing a WIRED autocomplete interview, where we answer everything the internet wants to know about us.”

“Well, not everything...” a nervous laughter descended from the opposing woman, the large cards shifting lightly in her grasp. Her confirmation of a lack of such sure did make things sound suggestive, not that you minded at all however.

“So, who are those blocks of interrogation for?” Your finger pointed towards the first of the stack, and in turn, Lizzie put the following down, pointing at you to answer your enquiry.

“You’re adorable, so I find it only fitting if you get drilled by some questions first.” She responded, watching a sinister smile creep onto your lips, untrusting of the expression.

“Only drilled by questions?” Your shoulders slumped, showcasing your disappointment. It was utmost certain that the editors would cut the sexual talk, but that didn’t matter. The amorous attitude was not meant for them, it was obvious of whom your verbal intentions were towards.

“Please, shut up.” She shook her head at you, holding the board up so that the words were on focus for the lens, but still in the correct position so that she could peer around it herself. “Okay, let’s start.”

“Alright, I’m ready, I’m ready. I am ready.” You shuffled in your seat, causing it to scrape accidentally against the ground. “Ugh, I hate that sound.”

“You and me both.” Her agreement tuned in, before she reached her fingers ready so that she could peel away the white strip that hid the rest of the online enquired. “Is y/n y/l/n... dating Elizabeth Olsen?”

“Yes.” Clapping your hands together, you shot a smirk at the camera man. “She’s one lucky gal, I’ll tell you that much. If I were her, or anyone really, I’d want to date me too.”

“You’re such a narcissist.” Her green eyes lovingly bore into you, and you could only shrug off the butterflies that erupted in the cocoon of your stomach.

“And you love me for it, so next!” The encouragement had the woman sigh in a false exasperated manner, before returning to her duty.

“What is y/n y/l/n’s... height?” It was something that you had not even thought of being asked, and so you poked the printed question, scowling moderately at the blank ink.

“So... I don’t know if anyone else has noticed, but I tend to be put in heels of some kind in basically every movie that I am cast in.”

“I noticed.” Lizzie cut in, causing you to lightly tap the tip of your shoe against her knee. “It created a wide space between us, I feel like we’re in another galaxy.”

“Great pun.” You snorted at her attempt, before delving into further details. “It sure does making kissing harder though, which sucks, because damn, do I love mouth on mouth action.”

Elizabeth sunk into her chair, humoured by your extra information, that you just had to add. The chance was practically irresponsible; oh, how you absolutely loved, embarrassing your girlfriend. “And so we go onwards.”

“Is y/n y/l/n in... Guardians of the Galaxy?” She allowed the slip of paper that she had retracted drop elegantly to the floor, and as she spoke, you found yourself watching it for that moment until it reached the floor, reuniting with its fallen comrades.

“Why yes I am.” A half bow, considering that you were seated was called for. The mention of your marvel presence made you pleased, considering your character was often overlooked in comparison to others like Gamora and Nebula. “I play Aleta, also and more well known as Starhawk.”

“She’s a badass.” At Lizzie’s perception, you nodded and hummed in one motion. “And I think that you are too, you rock that roll, and James, if you’re listening, give this woman more screen time.”

“Okay, what’s next?” You enquired, eager to answer more and thus then reach the portion of which was centred around Lizzie. And with that, she removed the next tab, it falling like an autumnal leaf, spiralling down and down, until it reached the level of your feet.

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

Text

Tender Confession

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: Draco feels he can no longer keep his feelings from you.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: mild angst, self doubt, insecurity, fluff, kissing

It was well past midnight as you remain in the greenhouse, it’s vast array of greenery providing far too much serenity for you to want to leave it just yet. The fall air was brisk that night as it swept through the windows that had been open on its roof top, the gentle breeze brushing through each and every leaf and petal it could come across. There wasn’t any real reason for you to be there on a Tuesday night, or on any night you suppose, other than to revel in its natural beauty and have a moment to yourself. What more reason could you need?

It was the most calming place on the seemingly endless premises, one that only brought with it peace and quiet at almost all hours. That, and the Black Lake had been your favorite places to wander off to should you want to. The smell of soil and moss had always been immediate upon your arrival, paired with the ever so delicate floral scent should some of the magical plants blossom their flowers. Most students hadn’t come there past their second year, having had enough of it after experiencing the shrill cries of the Mandrakes. You suppose you don’t blame them, it worked in your benefit after all.

Occasionally Professor Sprout would leave you with some tasks should she need your help; she knew of your liking for it and she was merely happy that someone enjoyed the place just as much as she did. It was more than she could say for most of the students attending Hogwarts.

That evening, you had nothing in particular to do. There was no checklist when you had arrived two hours prior, nothing out of place to be organized. No plants to be repotted or windows to be cleaned just yet. You suppose you were grateful for the free time to simply just be there with no other responsibility than to take a moment to breathe, to take a moment to admire your surroundings. It’d been your last year, your seventh year. Once it’s concluded you would no longer be able to sneak off to this very spot, so you were determined to take in each and every second. And that’s just what you had been doing for the past two hours.

Sleep had not been on your radar quite yet, your mind far too busy with exams, too busy with trivial things, too busy with fond feelings to rest your eyes. You’d read a fair amount of your book in your time there, leaving yourself with half left to read before you could go digging in your bag for another to start. The library didn’t offer much in the form of entertaining fictional literature, rather it was filled heavily with books of history and spells, each and every word proving to be factual. It was interesting you will admit, but not quite something you’re searching to read in your free time.

Flourish and Blotts had been a place you’d frequented most often when you’d found yourself needing to replenish your collection. They had just about anything you could dream of crammed into uneven shelves, shelves that never seem to be empty. It was ironic to read books of fantasy and magic, to see others depictions on things they can’t quite fathom. The very magic you’d known the entirety of your life was sometimes strikingly different to that of what you read. It was more fabricated and dramatic, more whimsical than what you knew it to be. Despite that, it was something you easily fell into, something that was hard to put down until you reached the very last page and started another.

A sigh left your lips as you looked around the vacant structure, moonlit reflections bouncing off each and every window it landed on. You hadn’t known just when you’d make your leave and head back to the bed you should’ve already been in. It should be now, for you don’t think you could go another day yawning in each of your classes. But despite all logic and reasoning, you stayed put.

You startled when you spared a glance to your right for the sake of taking a small break from your book before a headache could form, spotting the ever familiar head of platinum. Your heart settled only slightly at the sight of him, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

“I almost didn’t recognize you in uniform,” you jest, noting the white dress shirt and vest, the slytherin tie dangling loosely from his neck. He rolled his eyes though you did not miss the smile he wore. “Do you have more than one of those black suits or is it just the one? Do you ever wash—”

“You’re starting to make me regret coming here already,” Draco sighs, stepping closer to you to join where you sat perched on a vacant wooden table. “And yes I do wash it.”

Your smile only widens as you try your hardest to stifle your laughter, looking up to meet his gaze as he huffs. “So you do only have one?”

His blue stare narrows down at you and you finally laugh, the mere sound of it softening his defensive mood entirely, not that he was all that offended to begin with. He feels you could say just about anything to him and his heart would not stop fluttering for you, though he knows you could never be cruel.

“You’re a pain, you know that, Y/n/n?” He asks, the softness of his smile remaining all the same despite his lighthearted teasing.

“I can’t be any worse than you, that would be preposterous,” you quip as your gaze returns to your book briefly, and the laugh falling from his lips made your heart nearly skip a beat. You missed just how he’d looked at you in that moment.

He says nothing more then, the grin he held speaking more than enough of what he’d thought of your counter. You couldn’t help but to watch as the tips of his fingers brush over the leaves of the plants by his side, lingering over each one before moving on to the next. It was in your best interest to look away from him before he catches your gaze, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so in the very moment as you peer over the top of your book.

He plucks a single petal off of the plant just to his right, a new one regenerating almost immediately in its place. He holds it up to the moonlight, eyes bouncing over the pale colors that pigment his fingers as it lay pinched between them. It wasn’t hard to tell when something had been plaguing his mind, it wasn’t hard to figure him out really, especially considering you could imagine him setting foot in the greenhouse of his own accord. Plants were not of his interest. But you kept quiet for now.

He drops the petal from his grasp after a few moments and it’s sent fluttering to the ground, landing amongst moss and dirt before falling between a crack in the cement. It’s then that he looks at you once more, your gaze averting back to the text in your lap as your cheeks burn. You feel the table move slight and his knee bump against yours as he settles next to you, breathing out a sigh.

It was quiet for a little while then, save for the soft whistle of the wind gushing in and the chirp of the crickets. You noticed the way he’d been twirling the ring around his finger, the way he’d been suppressing his urge to hum as he so often did. You try to focus on the book held loosely in your hands, it’s pages quivering in the breeze. You try to immerse yourself into the world contained in paper before you, but the task was rapidly proving to be difficult with your newfound company.

His presence beside you was distracting, the warmth radiating from him something impossible to ignore, something you hadn’t wanted to leave. He, on the other hand, desired to be closer to you. To rest his head on your shoulder and stay there. He supposes he could, you’re his best friend after all. But he doesn’t think he can bring himself to do such a thing, his fear of never wanting to move from it keeping him still in his place. He knew he’d never want to.

“Is this all you do here? It’s quite boring,” he comments softly, resting his head back against the chilled windowpane.

A soft snort escapes you. “Yet here you are,” you jest playfully, “if I recall, it was you who came to me.”

He turns his head with the softest of smiles on his lips, his cheeks staining a pale pink having gone unseen in the dim lighting. The burning of his blush hadn’t gone unnoticed, however, that was very much obvious to him. You were right, you were always right it seemed. He found himself thinking of the striking realization that he’d always come to you, he will always gravitate towards you no matter how much he tells himself he shouldn’t. For your sake, he tells himself. For your sake is his reasoning for why he felt he should stay away, yet he can never bring himself to do just that.

He looks at you, with a look far too obvious of his feelings for his own good. “I suppose you’re right. But just this once.”

You laugh softly and he brings himself to look away, he has to otherwise he might just fall apart as his heart races. “Whatever you say, though I believe it’s more than just this once, Dray.”

Dray. It was a nickname only ever used by you, only ever thought of by you. Perhaps that’s why it had such a profound effect on him. If anyone else had used it he’d be indifferent to its meaning, annoyed rather because he felt it was something sacred, something for just the two of you. He doesn’t quite know if you feel the same, he only hopes it to be so to save him from creating his own anguish by thinking otherwise.

“What are you reading?” He asks, changing the subject as he snatches the book from your hands. His eyes skim over the cover, noting the whimsical and wondrous imagery on it. “The—”

You grab it back from him, with a frown, his laughter sounding once more. “Stop that!”

“How come you read of fake magic when you can use your own? I’m sure ours is far better,” he says with a raised brow, brushing his hair from his forehead.

“Because it is fun, Draco,” you sigh. “Besides, wasn’t it you who I found reading Shakespeare in the library?”

“That was one time! And in my defense it was rather good,” he grumbles, brows knit together in a glare focused on you and only you and he bit this inside of his cheek.

“You finished it, didn’t you?”

He tips his head back and sighs, his eyes fluttering closed. He would not be getting out of this one, he knows it. “And if I did?”

You ponder your response and he can feel your smile, one of his own forming on his lips. “If you did, then I just might tease you forever.”

He huffs out a laugh through his nose, turning his head to look at you. Forever sounded like bliss with you. Forever sounded far more wondrous than your ridiculous book of fantasy, far more than the love between Romeo and Juliet. “Then yes, love, I did finish it.”

It felt as though you flushed cherry red as you looked away from his gaze, the nickname setting loose a multitude of butterflies in your stomach. You resisted the urge to smile like a fool, to over analyze each and every time he called you that. Had he said to anyone else, or was it just you? Or was it just common for him to do such a thing? You were already doing it, already getting lost in a sea of possibilities that will have you winding up in a sour mood of hope and longing.

Before you could fall deeper into the depths of your mind, you open up your book again, your smile still very much evident as was the feeling of his eyes on you briefly. You didn’t dare to look, you’d look foolish if you did. You were aware of how you could be as such to him, but you were remarkably oblivious to the very same of him.

Conversation fell silent after that, and soon you fell into your book once more as he sat with you, quiet and content to simply be in your presence. He couldn’t help but to dare his glances, he’d chance any form of playful banter just to admire you. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear absentmindedly, the way you laughed softly at a particularly humorous part in your book even if you’d read it before. He knew you did, could tell by the way you underlined sections, and the way you filled the margins with hastily scrawled notes.

Something that got to him in particular was your bookmark. It was tattered and scratched, the very one he’d gotten you from Hogsmeade in fourth year. At the time he hadn’t wanted to admit he’d gone and done it, tried to say your owl brought you the parcel at dinner. You knew it to be false the moment you saw the crimson stain his cheeks. But he saw it, stamped with your initials, his own carved in with the tip of his quill some time ago. It was worse for wear as it sat tucked within pages yet to be reread, the very same ribbon tied to it in a shimmering gold that was frayed at the edges.

He decided against bringing it up, perfectly content with basking in the moment he had with you. One that was free of the stress pressing down on him constantly, free of the prying eyes he so strongly despised. For without them, he was free to be as vulnerable as he truly was, as he always had been. Not even in his own home could he be as such, not unless he was in the confines of his own room and even then he felt under watch. But here, as he sat with you amongst a myriad of plants and glass and moss, picking at the loose string on his sweater vest, he felt he could be that. He felt as though he could breathe, as though he could relax.

He exhaled a sigh as he stretched his legs, allowing them to dangle over the edge of the table as he slouched against the windows. It had to have been a half an hour at the very least, though in the absence of a clock, time could be deceiving when spent with someone you care deeply for. It could have been ten minutes, and it could have been an hour, you hadn’t known. What you did know was that you couldn’t read another word, the letters on the dimly lit page starting to blend. Your eyes couldn’t sweep across another line, and your mind couldn’t focus either.

You breathed out a sigh too, closing your book for good that night and tucking it within its rightful spot in your bag.

“Why did you come here anyway?” You ask softly, curiously, seemingly out of the blue as you closed it.

Regardless of how much he had expected that very question to fall from your lips, it took him by surprise as if he hadn’t been dwelling on it and his well thought out answer. He knew definitively just why he’d wandered out to that greenhouse that night. He knew it wasn’t because of whatever silly reason he’d conjure up, preferably in the next few seconds so he doesn’t look like a fool.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

That wasn’t entirely untrue; he found himself barely sleeping at all as of late and rightfully so. But his answer wasn’t entirely true either. He doesn’t quite know how to say he found himself unable to be without you for extended periods, he doesn’t even know how to explain it to himself. He’d never felt that way around anyone—to be so full of contentment in someone’s presence, to be so hopelessly enamored by every little thing you do. It was new and it was profound and it was scary. He knew himself to be vulnerable even if he’d been the only one to hold such knowledge, but this, this was different. It was love. He was in love with you.

You nod, your gaze softening from its once teasing stare. “Or maybe you just missed me.

He did. He absolutely did. He doesn’t even quite know how he’d made it as long as he did before he set off to come here. How anyone could possibly be away from you for more than a brief period of time. So yes, it was safe to say he missed you, and Draco Malfoy does not often do such a thing. But he simply laughs ever so softly.

You cast your gaze upward, focusing your attention on the moon and the glimmering flecks that spatter brightly in the sky. The clouds passed over it and dimmed the greenhouse each time they did so, quick to continue on their wind blown path before the next array took their place. The tip of your nose was cold with the chilly weather seeping in, and you knew it’d been rosy. You could nearly see your breath for that matter, but none of it had been important, not more so than the beauty present all around you.

It was when you sat there, head tipped back against glass walls and eyes fixed on the stars above that you felt it. You felt the brush of his fingertips over your palm, featherlight and fleeting, before it became all consuming as his fingers pushed between your own and his hand envelopes yours. You could feel the hesitancy in the sudden action and the flutter of your heart, you could feel his stare before he’d even done it. And it was then that you turn your head, meeting the eyes so longingly fixed on you.

His hair was no longer as neat as it usually had been, platinum strands dipping over his forehead in soft waves as the humidity did what it will do. He made no attempts to fix it either, the annoyance of his hair nearly in his eyes of no importance as you sat with him. What was on his mind was the way your hand remained in his.

You turned away, biting the inside of your cheek in an effort to hide your smile, to hide the giddiness that would surely betray you.

“I came out here,” he starts, huffing out a soft laugh, “I came out here because I wanted to be with you.”

Your smile was immediate, one he knew the meaning behind and he knew the fate he’d put himself into. You were never one to refrain from teasing him. “I’d assumed so. I knew you missed me.”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile as he looked down at his lap, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand and he shook his head. He was in trouble. That much was true. With each passing second he’d wanted to admit the very words that had been weighing so heavily on his mind. He wanted to say them a million times over yet not a single time at all, he wanted to make it known without doing just that but he knows that is entirely impossible.

As he sits there, his hand within your own he feels as though he may just explode if his inner turmoil worsens. He’s at a crossroads and he wishes he weren’t, wishes he didn’t have to be so conflicted. If he speaks he could lose you and be utterly miserable. If he doesn’t you’d still be there, clueless to his love until you inevitably find someone else. Both options leave him utterly miserable when he thinks on them too long, and it doesn’t improve his situation in the slightest.

His heart is beating wildly in his chest at the prospect of telling you, that paired with the fact that your hand stayed entwined with his own—he’s certain it couldn’t race any faster. He wonders if you could feel him shaking. He felt foolish for being so nervous. His entire life, he’s had no problem spouting out whatever he so pleased, most of it having been undesirable and he hates that thought. But this, this was different. He’d make an even bigger fool of himself if he did this. No, he couldn’t do it, he shouldn’t—

“I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”

It tumbles from his lips without pause and he feels as though if the ground swallowed him whole it would be perfectly suitable. He hadn’t said those three words, but he felt as though there was no difference at that point.

Your breath catches and your heart hammers, his eyes filled with something you cannot place, but the heat in his cheeks is a bit more noticeable under the glow of the moon. He hopes somehow you hadn’t heard him but he knew it was a ridiculous hope.

“Me?” You ask, and he nods softly. “What about me?”

He swallows thickly, his eyes bouncing between yours as he weighs out his options once more. His heart feels as though it’s in his throat by then, and surely his voice would falter as a result. He knew he couldn’t go another day without telling you, couldn’t go another moment tormenting himself on what you would or wouldn’t say. His feet gave him no option as he walked towards that greenhouse. Towards you.

It was terrifying to be in love, to feel so strongly for someone that a minute without them feels like a lifetime. It was terrifying to love you so wholly, for you to bring insurmountable light to his otherwise darkened life. He didn’t imagine it to be so when he first met you in Diagon Alley. Then, he only knew you to be his best friend, the one who told him he was an idiot for being mean. The one who still tells him just that. It was now or more than likely never to tell you.

So he looked at you, hand shaky in your own as your patient gaze made him melt. “I love you.”

Three words. They were whispered and they were truer than most things he’s ever spoken. They were faltered and they were the first time he’s said them in a long while.

“You—you love me?” You ask, the corner of your mouth quirking up as it settled into you. He pauses for a moment as if to give himself the option to take it back and save himself further embarrassment. But still, he finds himself nodding.

Your expression was awed and your lips parted as you looked at him, a look he couldn’t quite read and it left him to sit frozen as a flurry of emotions rained down on him. Seconds feel like hours as you look at him, each more agonizing than the last but before he could stammer your lips brush over his own. You could feel his sigh against your lips, his hand squeezing yours. The other was quick to settle on your cheek, the ring around his finger cold against your flushed skin as his hair tickled light against your forehead.

His heart was bursting in that very moment as you kissed him, a feeling most electrifying, most spellbinding. So much so that he followed your lips for another when you parted, your smile instant against his mouth.

“I love you,” you murmur, breathless and giddy.

His lips were kiss swollen and pink as you looked at him, his smile so soft you kissed him again. His forehead presses to yours and your noses bump, his breath warm as it fans across your lips. His grin widens at the rush coursing through him, his skin set ablaze and his heart pounding within his chest.

“You really do, truly?” He asks softly, pulling away to look at you in search of doubt, in search of realization. As happy as he’d been in that moment, he couldn’t quite believe how you, beautiful and wonderful you, could feel something so profound for him. Surely it must have been a dream and surely he’d wake up and be miserable, be just as hopelessly and foolishly in love as he always had been. He’d—

“Truly, I do,” you say, pulling him from his own mind and capturing his attention once more.

His eyes sparkled in the moonlit greenhouse, beaming and bright as he smiled, one reserved for you. He couldn’t have imagined his night to end like this when he wandered through shadowed and vacant halls to get there. He nearly turned back around more times than he could recall in his lovestruck state, dizzied by your kiss. He hadn’t imagined he’d have the courage to tell you, he didn’t feel he was courageous at all really. But there you sat, mere inches from each other, your hand still enveloped in his.

It might not have spilled from his lips as he imagined it to in all the times he’d thought about it, but it was tender and it was true.

—

Tags: @anchoeritic @slytherinsunrise @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @dracosathenaeum @snitches-at-dawn @lunalovecroft @awritingtree @writeroutoftime @harrysweasleys

#draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco fanfiction #draco x you #draco fluff #draco malfoy fanfiction

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idontblushsrry · 3 years

Text

Hikaru Hitachiin||SFW Alphabet

A/N: Will this include Hikaru slander? Yes. Hikaru stans come get ur food, enjoy!

Word Count: 2219

A: Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Hikaru shows affection physically. He’s much too prideful to admit (bar the rare and private confessions of adoration and love) his love for you through words or actions and he prefers to receive instead of give gifts. But a little arm around your shoulder, holding your hand in his pocket, small pecks on the cheek and you more than know how much Hikaru loves you.

B: Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Hikaru likely becomes best friends with you via pranks. He takes note of you when you catch him trying to mess with Tamaki and give him a few pointers on how to better scare the poor blonde. From there, it’s history.

C: Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Hikaru loves to cuddle. He becomes especially clingy at night at which point all he wants to do is hold you. When he’s away from you, he still prefers to cuddle with something so he’ll substitute you for a pillow. Not the same but it gets the job done until he can return home to you and get wrapped up in your arms again.

D: Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Hikaru likes the idea of settling down. He’d definitely want to head to the countryside or somewhere mountainous that’s surrounded by beaches. He likes the thought of you and him being together in your own little pocket of the world. As for cooking and cleaning, he can’t do either and has no interest in doing so, so he’d probably pay a few servants to do the work for him.

E: Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If Hikaru had to break up with you, it’d likely be the result of both of you needing to part ways so that you can work on yourselves before trying to give the relationship another shot. Hikaru generally acts unaffected (and depending on the length of your relationship, he is) but deep down he resolves to become better for you.

F: Fiance(e) (How would they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He doesn’t really like the idea of marriage because he views it as an expensive mess that ends in an even more expensive divorce. He does like the idea of spending his life with you but if yall ever got married he might just get a pre-nup. Overall though, he’s not really the sort for marriage, the legal part of it especially gives him anxiety, and to be honest, when he knows that he’s committed to you, it just is. Loving and being with you becomes as natural as breathing for him.

G: Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Hikaru isn’t really gentle at all. Like he definitely tries to be soft and tender with you but also he likes to pinch your butt when you walk past, and really is he so terrible for that? (Kind of, that shit be hurtin mf)

H: Hugs( Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Please hug Hikaru, he won’t ask for it or initiate aside from throwing his arm around your waist/shoulder. He craves your hugs and whenever you hug him it’s like the clouds part and a rainbow shines down onto your relationship. Hikaru’s hugs, as a result of his refusal to just ask for a hug, are always a little clingy, desperate to hold you tight to him for as long as possible.

I: I love you (How fast do they say the L-word)

One of Hikaru’s biggest regrets is how fast he said ‘I love you’. It was spur of the moment and he didn’t mean it, he just thought he had to say it because you’d both been dating for 3 months and he just straight up didn’t mean it. The look on your face was filled with so much joy that he feels disgusted with himself whenever he thinks back to it. Now every time he says he loves you, he tries his hardest to make sure that you understand just how much he means it. He never wants you to doubt the depth of his devotion for you.

J: Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous)

He and Kaoru are already getting that gleam in their eye. In all seriousness though, he gets really pouty and everything becomes a competition between him and the person he’s jealous of. It’s like, “Oh, you’re on track to become an olympic class track runner? That’s cool I guess, what’s really impressive is the fact that I’m 5′9″. It’s embarrassing for both of you, and you just apologize for him before walking away, dragging him along with you.

K: Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Hikaru’s kisses are a lot like him in the sense that they’re exciting with a hint of trouble. Hikaru enjoys flustering you by kissing you in as many public places as passionately as possible before walking off and acting like everything’s all normal. He likes to smirk into kisses and his kisses are so intense that most times they turn into makeout sessions despite neither of you really planning it.

L: Little ones (How are they around children)

Hikaru is kid of awkward around kids. He doesn’t really care too much for them and so whenever they’re around, he tends to just hand them off to the nearest person who cares for children. He genuinely doesn’t know what to do so if he’s left alone with a kid he’ll just kinda stare and ask if they need food or something.

M: Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings with Hikaru are sweet but stressful. Hikaru has an alarm that plays music and sends confetti instead of a more traditional one, and while Hikaru’s used to the sound of his alarm clock, you aren’t, and sleep right through it. Does Hikaru think ‘oh maybe I should wake Y/N up?’ Nope. He just sits there and stares at you until you naturally wake up on your own. You wake up so peacefully and stare at him until you get a glimpse at the time and start panicking and yelling at him for not waking you up sooner.

N: Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights with Hikaru are the calmest you’ll ever see him. He’s very sleepy and gets 1000% clingier. Whether it’s wrapping his arms and legs around you as he sleeps or you letting him sit on your lap while he applies both your and his face mask, nighttime Hikaru is just a clingy sweetheart trying to make up for a day of him acting like he’s not fully in love with you.

O: Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Hikaru is a very layered person. Just when you think you’ve discovered something about him, you actually just barely scratched the surface. He tries to be more and more open with you, hiding less from you. But it’s not exactly easy to break his habit of not/fear of being open.

P: Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Hikaru is a little brat, which means if he doesn’t get his way he will resort to mischief and then angry pouting. He gets angry kind of easily but he’s just gotten good at hiding it. Over the course of his relationship with you, he does start to chill out a bit, not getting his way doesn’t bother him as much anymore.

Q: Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Hikaru remembers weird bits of information about you at the strangest and most inopportune moments. Like you’ll be talking to Kyoya while Hikaru is talking with his clients and he’ll just suddenly remember mid-act that you were like school council president at your elementary school or something and completely freeze and break character.

R: Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite moment in your relationship (although this was technically before the two of you were together) was after the host club’s ball, you walked up to him like “I know the party’s over but may I have this dance.” He accepted of course and you both danced the night away. Just thinking about that day sends butterflies running through his stomach and he swoons for you all over again.

S: Security (How protective are they? How would they like to be protected?)

Hikaru is super protective over you. If he’s out and about with you somewhere and he feels like you’re in danger (not too common but always a risk with him being rich), he’s activating emergency defense protocol procedures. He’s also kinda dramatic about it like if you bump into the edge of the coffee table he’ll laugh at you but then while you aren’t looking, he’s calling to have the whole table removed. Have mercy on whoever decides to bother you though because he and Kaoru are not above jumping.

T: Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Hikaru puts a lot of effort into your dates, he enjoys the challenge of trying to one up his last attempt as well as trying to surprise you each time. He’s not really the type to give gifts unless they’re in the form of clothes, but he’d much rather get gifts than give them. He does get a little upset if he starts feeling like he’s the only one trying so shake things up by surprising him instead (wipe that all-knowing grin off his face). Despite the fact that he’ll try to act like he doesn’t try that hard, he really does want to impress you and he tries his hardest to do so.

U: Ugly (What are some bad habits of theirs? (I’m gonna add arguments here because they aren’t on the prompt list I found))

A bad habit of Hikaru’s is that he has a tendency to try and pick fights. No matter where this stems from, he tends to try and bait you into fights or disagreements. He doesn’t even realize that he does this until you point it out to him. (Well honestly you pointed it out, then in disbelief he went and asked the host club at which point, they agreed, and he was left in shock at their lack of hesitation).

V: Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Hikaru, like Tamaki, is obsessed with his looks. He often lies and says that it’s Kaoru who’s obsessed with looks, but Hikaru goes absolutely feral if someone so much as touches any of his beauty products. He honestly doesn’t even want you to touch them unless you’re coming back from buying his stuff at the store.

W: Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

At first, Hikaru kinda treats your relationship with him like an exchange. He’s terrified you’re only interested in him for his looks or his money and so he does everything possible to make you stay because he was scared of what it would be like to be a person without you. He does break out of that dependent mindset eventually though. To be completely honest, you both probably break up because of Hikaru’s dependent tendencies and only get back together once both of you grew without the other for a while.

X: (E)xes (Any previous relationship experience. How does that factor into your current relationship?)

Hikaru has absolutely no relationship experience as he’s spent the last however may years of his life fending off all potential interaction with people who weren’t Kaoru with a stick.

Y: Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner)

Hikaru’s only real turn-offs are people with no sense of style. Of course, it’s not a huge deal breaker but you pretty much have to be ok with being Hikaru’s personal doll. He also really dislikes boring people, like if your life can be summed up in a resume, he’s skipping past you. Another thing that he looks for in his partner is, obviously, the ability to tell the difference between him and his twin. If you can’t do that, he’s already written you off completely.

Z: Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Hikaru sleeps fully and completely in the nude, like no boxers or anything. Initially, it was kind of a joke/ look at me thing but now he can’t help himself. Now, it’s fine between the two of you now, but the first time you spent the night at Hikaru’s house, only to find he’d somehow stripped all the way down in his sleep come morning, was...surprising to say the least. (You couldn’t look him in the eye for almost a month afterwards)

#ohshc x reader #ohshc imagines #ohshc hikaru x reader #hikaru x reader #hikaru hitachiin x reader #ohshc x black reader #black!reader #x black reader #sfw alphabet #idontblushsrry

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withoneheadlight · 3 years

Note

I’m s o r r y but I made myself sad over this one so naturally I’m here to share the pain

Okay so I was thinking about the alternate timelines//realities thing and what if there’s a universe where Billy dies, and a universe where Steve dies,, and somehow they meet ~maybe in the Upside Down???~ and Steve is like 🥺 b i l l y,,, but Billy can’t deal with it??? Like, “you’re A Steve, but you’re not MY Steve”

| quick heads up!: mentions of death and mourning ahead |

Ahhhhhh, Kelly!. Bring the pain, bring the pain, we’ll deal with it together, cry together, blow our noses together! 😢😢

i’ve been having my mind full of that alt timelines/realities idea these last few days, and that’s surely the reason why that’s what I saw in your beautiful 3-sentence fic, both because a post i saw about one of the boys dying (i can’t find it now. please human who posted it, tell me if it was yours!) and bc of this marvel @edith-moonshadow (<3) wrote in one of my posts. and then you sent me this ask and wrote that fantastic piece and-- IT'S ALL BEEN VERY COSMIC AND PLANETARY ALINGTMENLY and i didn’t want to make myself sadder or make you sadder but,

I can imagine how it’d go. Both of them trapped on the upside-down. Both of them bleeding out. Sliced down as they are, right through the middle. Half a Billy and half a Steve, the wound still fresh with the part they’re missing and I imagine they could barely stand it, right at the beginning, the mere sight of that other that’s not― That’ just not. What was once love rotting into hate, into feeling trapped, doomed, to live in this cage with the constant reminder of their loss.

And Billy’d miss the way Steve used to roll his eyes at him, and the way Steve used to sigh all dramatic like ‘God, Billy Hargrove, you’re too much for me I swear’ but would then wink and pull him close and steal a kiss, voice falling low to smile a ‘Definitely way more than I deserve’ into his mouth. Would miss the way Steve used to brush his hair to the side, bite at the curve of his neck, and words, they always sounded better when Steve traced them against the shell of his ear ‘Tell me I’m your pretty boy’ he’d say and Billy would tell him, would try to catch his lips but ‘Ah-ah’ and Steve’d shake his head, brush their lips together ‘First babe, you gotta tell me how much I love you’, holding him tight and not letting him go ‘till Billy would get over the way his cheeks were blushing, and tell him. But―

This Steve. This Steve doesn’t love this Billy. Doesn’t love Billy. This Steve gets mad and yells at him when Billy’s been ‘Too fucking much, I swear! You’re too fucking much’ and it hurts, when he puts his hands on his hips and looks exactly like his Steve. And it hurts even worse, when he sets his jaw and looks wrong and like somebody else completely (And it hurts even worseworseworse, when he finally says it, what they both think. When he opens up those pretty lips Billy used to kiss, to love, those pretty lips that used to say ‘I love you’: “Of all the monsters in here, you’re the only one that gives me nightmares”).

This Steve never calls him by his name. This Steve doesn’t look him in the eye. This Steve hates him.

And weeks pass, and months pass, and they repel each other, can't stand each other but ―they can’t, either, even if none of them ever says it, bear the idea of splitting apart. And Steve’s house is not Steve’s house, but it makes do, with its walls re-painted in horrors and damp seeping through the floral wallpaper of the hallway his mama used to be so proud of. And there’s mold growing in the mattress and invisible night-terrors that bite living in the blankets and it gets cold at night. Cold and lonely and hopeless. And Steve doesn't want to and Billy doesn't want to but. They sleep together. Back to back. Touch only where they have to touch. Not to freeze (not to feel. Except they― ). Wake up together (like they used to). Steve's face buried in Billy's curls and the smell, the smell is the same. Exactly, perfectly, dishearteningly. The same. Right there, all along the tenderness at the curve of Billy’s (this. Not his. Thisthisthis. Never his) neck.

And weeks pass, and months pass, and it hurts. Every minute, every second and every tiny, tiny particle of time. Because this Billy is not Billy and Steve―

Steve’s missing a half. Steve’s an open wound and it doesn't matter how much alike they are, how much they feel (exactly, perfectly, dishearteningly) the same under Steve’s touch, because this Billy is another Steve's and he doesn't fit, and he wouldn’t ever heal, against his skin but― his blue eyes are the same and those curls of his look like they’ve forever captured the sun in the same way and his scars are gone but when the creatures hurt him and draw new ones Steve recognizes under his fingertips the familiar shapes of his back, the way Billy bleeds, the way his skin feels warmth against his palms and,

Billy.

Billy recognizes the way Steve touches him, the way he groans a "Be quiet for frikin’ once. And hold still!" but then, lower, softer, a whisper “Shhh. C’mon. Shhh. Just a second, alright? I promise I’ll be careful” and Billy does and bites down his tongue and the pain and the tears as Steve stitches the wound and Billy wants to ask him to sew his whole body, too, all along that wide wide line where it used to fit that half he’s missing, but what he says is "Would you kiss me once? Just once? So I can feel like I still have him?".

And it's the same. And it's different. And it's not Steve. But it is. Steve. And they kiss and Steve’s crying, because is thesamethesamethesame, the way Billy’s lashes are falling and Billy wants to say ‘I love you’, but he doesn't, and it becomes a lump in his throat as they kiss and kiss and kiss for hours, on that bed they’ve been sharing, that bed they’ve only been touching for survival, and when they're done, Billy wants to ask Steve to sew his lips together too. So he can’t ask him again. So he can not want to but― the nights are cold and lonely and hopeless. So they touch. And they kiss. And weeks pass. And they touch and they kiss and they fuck. And months pass. And they kiss and touch and fuck and fight. And they need each other. Want each other. Hate each other. Hate themselves. And then Steve says "I'll never love you. I'll never love you like I loved him" and Billy says "Neither I will”. And they’re both are bleeding. Been bleeding for so long. Bleeding out. And they won’t heal, a Billy-less and a Steve-less, as they are. So it spreads. The rot. And it's even worse like this, hating what there’s left of themselves. Because they don’t fit but it feels like they do, when they touch and they kiss and they fuck. When they fight.

(When it feels like love but― isn’t).

(Can’t be)

And weeks pass and months pass and neither of them says it (‘Wanna touch you again, kiss you again, fuck you again’), even though they're both thinking it and it’s been almost two and a half years. Five hundred days. Five hundred nights. Of hiding from each other, of finding each other in this endless night, when the dormant creatures start to crawl out of their nests, when the darkness is filled again with growls and howls and screeches. With danger. Vines coming back to life after their hundred years of sleep and then something’s coming something’s coming something’s coming and,

“Take all you can”

“Get the bat!”

“Run, Billy run!”

“Block the door! Block the door!”

“The head! Steve! Slam ‘m on the head!”

“Come on, come on, come on! Let’s get the shit outta here”

and then,

“The gate. Somebody must be opening the gate”

They find it.

Seven feet. That’s how far it is. That's how close they are from making it. And must be some kind of cosmic joke, so Billy laughs at it. Gives that one to the universe. Chokes on his own blood.

Steve’s blurred, less and less clear every time he blinks. Still the most beautiful thing Billy’s ever seen.

“C’mon, pretty boy” he says. Squeezes Steve's hand tighter. Just one second. It’s the end of the end of the world and Billy feels like he’s spent a whole lifetime like this. Stealing Steve Harrington in seconds. So he can steal one more. That’s always been the deal. Just a little more, a little more, since the moment he saw him “You know you hafta go”

Salt. Tears. That detail, Billy always forgets: they taste exactly like the ocean.

“Nah. I’m thinking that― they won't split us apart. Not this time”

Tears. Salt. The ocean on Steve’s lips. Taste like coming back. Coming Back home. But,

“It’s ok, pretty boy. I’m not him”

Steve shrugs. Smiles. Dots on the curve of his cheek. Eyes like the first day of fall. It’s in the curve of his lips, where Billy’s history has always been rewritten.

“But there was a me, that loved you. And there was a you, that loved me. And I guess it’s just impossible. Not to do it again so―” and words, they always sound better when Steve traces them against the shell of his ear, says,

“Can you kiss me? So I can know how it is to have you?”

And it’s the end of the end of the world.

(But,

Time Swirls. Space wraps around itself. Reality flickers. So maybe― maybe it really is. The end. But. Maybe,

There's a house. Steve’s house. And is not the same. But it’s not different, either. And there’s daylight pouring down the hallways, burning bright against that soft-gold wallpaper his mama’s always been so proud of. And the mattress is soft and warm and feels familiar. And the blankets smell like softener and old memories. Like new memories. Like us. Us.

“Tell me how much you love me”

Steve brushes Billy’s hair to the side, runs his lips all along the curve of his neck, leaves a kiss behind his ear. And it’s the same, but it’s different and Billy know it’s always, always gonna hurt. Because they’re still a Billy-less and a Steve-less but. They’re always gonna be a Billy one Steve loved, a Steve one Billy loved. They’re this Billy and this Steve.

But there’s this one thing, that’s always gonna be the same. This one thing neither of them would ever do in halves.

“I love you with all my heart,” he says, and draws Steve closer, closer, ‘till there’s barely any space left between them.

And they allow themselves to feel, where their wounds touch.

Allow themselves to love.)

#harringrove #i'm sorry #for the terribleness of this #but thank you so So much for making me feel inspired #and for being SUCH a dear <3<3<3 #i wrote this and still can't shake the all other possible ideas out of my head #the sadder and happier possibilities #ahhh #ill stop or ill just ramble essssndlessly #<3<3<3<33<#also!#@lovebillyhargorve my lof #this is a 'this billy with this steve' sorta thing?#look at what you've made to me <3<3<#edith. u there? as always. thanks for adding magic to my brain #tw: death #tw: mourning #also yep its not a trick of your mind i keep on paraphrasing my favorite oscar wild line #xharringrove

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xiao-cafe · 3 years

Text

your favourite flowers — valentines day 2021

pairing: childe x gn!reader

wc: 1.3k

notes: this is for yuri on the genshin writers discord! i hope you enjoy this short piece and that you have a wonderful valentine’s day ^^

The sweet fragrance of flowers lingered in the air as you traced the words on the letter, describing your beauty in eloquence and a heartwarming confession of the feelings they had for you. Laughing quietly as you read the letter, the tone of it sounded rather shy, yet at the same time confidence could be felt through the written words as if this person knew you wouldn’t turn them down, and their request to meet you tonight.

You placed the letter back down on the table, the rapid thudding in your chest bringing a bright red flush onto your cheeks as you contemplated on the anonymous sender’s identity. A few people came to mind but a glance at the bouquet of your favorite flowers, only one remained.

You had stumbled across the flowers while running an errand with Childe a few months ago. At that time the both of you were pressed for time and you could only admire the flowers with a forlorn look as you walked away with Childe by your side. A sudden giggle erupted from within you as you remembered how the Harbinger had thrust a Qingxin flower at you before sauntering off, nonchalantly waving goodbye to you as he returned to Northland Bank.

You were sure no one else was aware of your favorite flower as they were hard to come by and rarely seen around Liyue, therefore it surprised you that this person was able to not only find it but procure an entire bouquet of it.

Pressing your palms to your face, you felt the warmness of your skin against your palms as you replayed the contents of the letter in your head once more. The last sentence occupied your thoughts the most.

‘Meet me tonight, where we first met.’

You remembered the places where you first met Childe yet you weren’t sure who was the sender of this sweet love letter. It’d be terribly embarrassing if you went to the wrong place after all.

The waterfall at Nantianmen was where you had your first fateful encounter with the Fatui Harbinger. You were on a mission to take out a band of treasure hoarders as ordered by the Liyue Qixing, yet some ginger-haired guy slid down the waterfall, dousing you from head to toe and promptly obliterated the same bunch of hooligans you had been aiming for. You were shocked by his sheer prowess at combat and how he left no opening for you to pitch in an arrow or two with your own bow.

You simply stood still and watched as he used a variety of weapons, conjured from water, each one showcasing just how strong of an individual he was. However, you scowled when you saw him use the bow, noting his poor posture and how his arrows flew further when he threw them as compared to when he had shot them with a bow. After witnessing the intense battle, you approached the man carefully and said, “You suck at archery.”

And that was how you came to give archery lessons to Childe and the rest was history.

Smiling to yourself, precious memories of the time you spent with him presented themselves one by one.

The smoothness of Childe’s gloves as he takes your hand without permission, his hair turning bright orange under the glow of the setting sun.

The tight grimace on his face whenever he was presented with chopsticks to eat with, and how he continues to try and use them anyway with his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

The blaze in his blue eyes whenever a fight awaited him and an opportunity to show off in front of you arose.

Wrapped in silence, the memories you recounted finally ended on a conclusive note. With the smile on your face growing bigger you picked up the bouquet and thought about how you could answer this love letter with sincerity.

***

The sound of rushing water filled your ears as you neared the waterfall. The old tree of Nantianmen casting a blue glow across the area, scattering golden ginkgo leaves everywhere.

In your hands was a box containing a chocolate heart you spent all afternoon making. You hoped the cooling night air was enough to keep the dessert from melting completely before you could give it to Childe. You huffed a sigh of relief when you spotted the ever-familiar hair colour in the distance.

Childe turned around as soon as he heard the crunching of leaves with each step you took. His face lit up instantly when he spotted you and a large grin was evident on his features as he waved at you. You paused for a moment to wave back, locking your gazes on each other. As if the both of you thought of the same thing, you broke into a jog at the same time Childe did. Your laugh floated through the air as you met Childe in the middle, feeling a little breathless as you came to a stop.

Butterflies were running wild in your stomach and you could see the affection in his eyes as he stared at you with slightly flushed cheeks.

“You’re here.” He stated softly. His gaze dropped to the box you held in your hands and a mischievous grin made its appearance as he pointed at it.

“Is that for me? It is, isn’t it!” Childe cooed teasingly. “Can I open it now?”

Hesitantly, you nodded your head and handed the box over. “Don’t be disappointed if it looks bad…” You mumbled.

Childe tilted his head and smiled at you as if to say he wouldn’t be disappointed no matter what your gift looked like. A rush of appreciation sent tingles down your spine and you could only observe his face in anticipation as Childe carefully opened his gift. His eyes widened as his lips formed an ‘O’.

You let out a snort as Childe clutched his chest dramatically, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I didn’t know you liked me so much Y/N, the heart’s so big.” He drawled in a teasing manner.

You rolled your eyes at Childe but your face betrayed you as you couldn’t help but smile at his amusing antics. You stifled a giggle as Childe hummed in satisfaction, a smirk on his face as he watched your shoulders tremble with effort to stop yourself from bursting out laughing.

“Y/N…”

“Childe?” You mimicked questioningly, noting how the air between you had shifted as Childe gave you a serious look.

“Can I kiss you?”

You bit down on your lip nervously as you met Childe’s expectant gaze. A kiss? Truth be told you wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on yours.

Your head bobbed slightly giving the barest of nods. Your eyelids fluttered shut and you heard Childe’s breath hitch as his thumb and pointer finger gently held your chin, tilting your head up.

Sensing a tenderness you had never felt before, Childe leaned in, bumping his nose against yours lightly. You could feel his exhale on your skin and you were beginning to feel your patience run thin. So you decided to take matters into your own hands.

Your heels left the ground as you tiptoed, pushing your face closer to Childe’s and finally closing the distance between your lips and his.

His lips were slightly chapped but you didn’t mind as you felt your heart burst in your chest, your feelings for Childe overflowing. The kiss lasted mere seconds and the both of you broke apart with wide grins that mirrored each other’s.

“I like you too.” You confessed in a whisper, interlocking your hand with his.

In response, Childe pulled you closer to him, his other hand wrapping around your waist in a tight hug as he spoke into your ear, “Can you say it one more time?”

You smelled the sweet scent of your favorite flowers on him and laughed.

“I’ll say it as many times as you want. I like you.”

#genshin impact #childe x reader #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #childe #zhongli-cafe-writes

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connordavidscamera · 3 years

Text

Moon | Connor Brashier

College (B)Romance extra!!

A/n: I just found out that you can buy an acre of the moon for only $30, and this immediately gave me this idea because I always say that Connor hung my sun, my moon, and all my stars.

Summary: Connor gives you a present for your six month anniversary. (College (B)Romance series extra!!)

Warnings: an overload of fluff, connor is so in love with the reader, alludes to smut

Word count: 3k

***

“Well don’t you look all done up?” Shawn says from the doorway as I fix the collar of my white button up. Y/n has said many times that she likes me in white. And for this being our six month anniversary, I wanna bring out all the stops.

“Shut up, Mendes,” I grumble.

“So, six months,” he says, plopping down on my bed. “What’s the plan? Whatcha doing for her?”

“None of your business.”

“Oh, come on. What’s got you so bent out of shape.”

“Like you said. It’s six months. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

Shawn shrugs, “I mean, if she hasn’t gotten tired of you yet, I don’t think she’s gonna dump you today.”

I roll my eyes, “Okay, I wasn’t thinking she would but now I am. So, on that note. Get out of here,” I point toward the door.

He just laughs and pushes himself up, “So touchy. Have fun on your date. Tell y/n she looks pretty for me,” he says as he stalks out of the room.

I can’t help but roll my eyes again. Tonight has to be perfect. I look over myself one last time, running my fingers through my hair to give it that styled but messy look. She likes that too. She compliments it every time I wear it like this. Just enough product for it to stay in place, but not enough that it’s not gonna move if she tries to tug on it later - or play with the bottom of it in the car.

God, I love when she does that. But it’s dangerous, because her hands in my hair make my eyes flutter shut and if I’m driving, most times I have to grab her hand and keep hold of it in her lap. But it’s okay, because when I do that she always smiles and plays with my ring. The ring that is currently safe in a tiny box in the glove compartment of my car.

I smile at the thought of her wearing it on a chain around her neck. The thought of her wearing it every day, it makes me almost giddy. I told her once that since she loves it so much I would get it resized for her, but she absolutely refused.

“No! No way!”

“Why not, angel?”

She blushed. She always does that when I call her angel. Which is why I’ll never call her anything else. “Because.”

“Because why? Why can’t I get it resized? You love it!”

“But,” she sighs, “I love it because it’s yours. If you get it resized to fit me then… well then it’ll technically be mine.”

“Why’s that so bad?”

“Because then I don’t get to play with it on your hand anymore. Like let’s say you gave it to me on a necklace or something - at least then, if it was something I was craving, I could slip it back on your finger and twirl it around for a little while.”

I sighed then. “Angel, if I give that ring to you, I don’t ever want you to take it off.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “It would never be for long. Just long enough for me to get my fix. Then it’d go right back.”

I pushed her hair out of her face and kissed the tip of her nose which only resulted in her scrunching it up. “Promise?”

She nodded, looking up at me. “Promise, bub.”

“Hey, you heading out?” Brain asks coming into our room as I spritz myself with a bit of her favorite cologne.

“Yeah, picking up y/n.”

“Big date. Y’all have fun. I’m staying at my girl’s tonight, so you’ll have the room to yourself if you need it.”

I nod, “Good to know.” I grab the large envelope from my nightstand, along with my phone. “Okay,” I whisper to myself. “Got everything. I’m out.”

“Have fun!” Brian calls out. “Tell y/n she looks pretty for me!”

I groan.

---

I smile wide when she opens the door. “Wow,” I say. “You just get prettier and prettier as the days go on, huh?”

She blushes, “Oh my god! Stop it!”

I reach out for her hand and pull her toward me so I can plant a soft kiss on her lips. “Happy six months,” I mumble against her lips.

“Happy six months,” she hums, kissing me once more.

“You ready?”

She nods with a wide smile.

“Then let’s go,” I offer her my arm which she gladly takes.

“You look good, Brashier. Are you wearing the white button up for my benefit?” she muse as I open her car door.

I smirk, “I don’t know. Are you wearing red for mine?”

She shrugs, “I might be.”

I hum and lean in to kiss her again before she ducks inside the car. When I back out of the parking lot, her hand immediately goes for my hair, like it always does. I don't even try to hide the low whimper that escapes the back of my throat. "Angel, we've talked about this."

"I know, but bub, your hair looks so pretty. And it feels so nice. How can I not play with it?"

"You are gonna get us in an accident before I even give you your presents."

She gasps and takes her hand away, "hey, no! We did not agree on presents. We said present. As in one."

I shrug, "No, we set a spending limit. Which I didn't go over. I promise."

She crosses her arms, glaring at me with a dramatic pout.

"What?" I chuckle. "What's that look for?"

"I only got you one thing."

"So? I have you, what more do I need?"

That causes her pout to dissipate and she shakes her head, looking out the window. "You smooth motherfucker."

I laugh, whole heartedly, and reach for her hand when I'm done. We sit in comfortable silence the rest of the ride, while I steal a few kisses at the red lights. Because I mean, come on. I love kissing those lips.

Despite our attire - you could say we were pretty dressed up, her in that pretty red dress, me in my white button up and slacks (that I rarely ever wear) - we go to the diner for dinner. It was her idea. She had told me that she wanted to do this thing she’d seen on tiktok, where you get all dressed up but go do super mundane things. Go get fast food, go to the grocery store, get ice cream, whatever. I loved the idea. It gave me the excuse to see her all done up - which I love, almost as much as I love seeing her everyday look. (But let’s be real, I just love her and I don’t care what she’s wearing.)

I help her out of the car and once again her hand is in my hair, but only for a second. “Got a little messy up top there,” she says, immediately reaching for my hand, locking our fingers together.

I look over her face and smile softly to myself.

“What’s that look for, bub?”

I shake my head, and with my free hand I reach up to caress her cheek. “Have I told you just how pretty you are?”

“Tonight? Yes, you have.”

“Well, I’m telling you again.”

“Thank you. You look pretty too.”

“Oh I do, do I?”

“Mhm, my pretty boy.”

I know I’m blushing when she says it, but I can’t bring myself to care. “Come on, angel. Let’s go eat.”

I pull into a deserted field on the edge of town and y/n looks over at my with a raised eyebrow. “Is this where you kill me? If you wanted to get rid of me, you could have just broken - wait no. Death will hurt less.”

I roll my eyes, “I did not bring you here to kill you. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Well what do you expect? You’ve left me alone with Shawn and Brian way too many times - they’re the most dramatic people I know.”

I nod, “No, okay. You’re right.”

“No, but seriously. What are we doing out in the middle of nowhere, Brash?”

“We... are star gazing.”

She perks up, “Hey, I’ve always wanted to do that with someone.”

I smirk, “I know.” I slip out of the car and run over to her side to open her door. “Don’t worry,” I say when she shivers at the cold air that hits her as she gets out of the car. “I have blankets. And your favorite sweater.”

She smiles, watching as I open the door to the backseat, pulling out two blankets and the thunder road sweater. “You just thought of everything, didn’t you?” She asks, slipping her arms into the sleeves.

I shrug, “I wanted tonight to be perfect,” I mumble and close the door. I melt when I see her in the sweater. It doesn’t matter how many times she’s worn it - or any of my clothes, really - she will forever be the most beautiful girl in the world to me. “God,” I shake my head.

“What?”

“I literally do have the world’s most beautiful girlfriend.”

She rolls her eyes at me, “You keep saying that. What? Are you trying to get lucky tonight?”

“What if I am? Is it working?”

She shrugs, “I don’t know. It might be.”

I lean forward for (possibly) my hundredth kiss of the night. “Good to know.” I move around her to lay out one of the blankets on the hood of my car. Once it’s down I motion for her to get on first and then I effortlessly slide in next to her, taking the other blanket and draping it over our legs. I pull her into my chest and rest my head on top of hers.

Before we got out, I had turned my music up just loud enough that we could hear it with the windows rolled down. When You and Me comes on, she looks up at me with a big grin.

“What?” I ask, amused.

“You’re aware this is our song now, right?”

I chuckle. “I am, yes.”

“Dance with me?” She asks with her perfect pout and big puppy dog eyes. And I can say this and not be ashamed, but when she does that, I’m weak. I can’t deny her. Not this. Not anything. Ever.

“Of course, angel.” I slip off the hood of my car, taking her with me. In an instant, I have her against my chest, one arm around her waist, the other holding her hand, while her free hand plays with my hair. I hum when she scratches that one specific spot, which only causes her to giggle. She knows what she’s doing - she may be my angel, but she’s a little devilish when she wants to be.

The song plays through the speakers as we dance freely in the shining light of my headlights. I sing softly to her against her hairline when she rests her head against my shoulder.

“Everything she does is beautiful, well everything she does is right,” I press a tender kiss to her forehead.

“Cause it’s you and me,” she sings back, quietly. “And all of the people with nothing to do.”

I smile to myself and spin her around. She squeals because she wasn’t expecting it and laughs into my chest when I bring her back as the song starts to close. When it does, I dip her, holding her hips firmly, to keep her in my grasp. She’s still holding onto the back of my neck, staring up at me.

“Connor,” she says, breathlessly when I pull her back up.

“Y/n.”

She swallows thickly and looks down. I just watch her. The wheels are turning in her head, I can see it. But when she looks back up at me, her eyes are soft, her whole face is open and radiant and -

“I love you.”

And I think I’m dreaming.

I laugh. Not at her. Just the absurdity of the situation. I’m dancing in the headlights of my car, while my girlfriend looks up at me with those fathomless eyes, in my sweatshirt, on our six month anniversary, and she’s telling me that she loves me. The girl I love is telling me that she loves me too and I - I genuinely do think I’m dreaming right now.

I shake my head and cradle her face, resting my forehead against hers. “God, I love you too. I am so in love with you.” I whisper, moving my head so I can kiss her once, twice, three times.

She relaxes against me. “Oh god, you scared me for a second there. You weren’t saying anything.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, stroking her jaw. “I was trying to convince myself this was real.” I kiss her once more. “Hold on. I want to give you your presents.”

“What? Bub.”

“You’ll love them, I promise.” I nod and let go of her. I quickly round the car to get to the passenger side. I open the glove compartment and pull out the ring and envelope before coming back to her.

She raises an eyebrow at me when she catches sight of the ring box. “Hey, I know I just told you I loved you. But this is way too soon to get married.”

I laugh and take her hand. “No. I’m not proposing.”

She nods, “Okay, good. Because it would be really awkward to say no.”

I roll my eyes and hand her the box. “Not an engagement ring. Open it.”

“Okay,” she nods and pops the lid open and gasps. “Bub!”

I smile as she pulls the ring and chain out. “You like it?”

She pushes out her bottom lip, “You put your ring on a chain for me.”

“I did. That way, technically, it’s still mine. But it’s yours now too. But,” I point at her sternly. “It is only coming off if you're putting it on my finger to get your fix, okay?”

She nods quickly. “Yes. Yes, I promise. Will you put it on me?”

“Of course, turn around.” I take the necklace from her and gently clasp it around her neck, reaching around to pull it down so it rests just below her collar bones.

She turns back to face me, her hand already reaching up to play with the ring. “It’s perfect. Literally the best gift ever. Thank you.”

“Well, it’s not the only thing. I still have one more.”

“What could be better than this though?”

I shake my head, “Well, I wasn’t expecting such a positive reaction to that one. So I’m excited and nervous to see how you react to this one.”

“Why wouldn’t I be excited for this one?”

“Well, no I just mean, I didn’t expect you to be this excited. But I love it.”

“I love you.”

I blush, and I mean I blush red. “I love you.” Then I clear my throat and hold out the envelope for her. “Okay, so this other gift.”

“Yes,” she says, toying with the opening flap.

“It’s probably really cheesy. The guys are definitely gonna give me shit for it if they ever find out what it is.”

She gasps, “Oh god! It has to be the best thing ever then!”

“Open it first, before you decide.”

She nods and pulls the sheet of paper out. Her brows furrow as she inspects it. “What is this?”

“Okay, so… you know how sometimes you tell me that I hung your galaxy? And how the guys always say you look at me like I hung the moon for you?”

“I did not know the guys said that, but yes. I do know that I say it.”

“Well,” I take the paper from her. “I bought an acre of the moon.”

“You bought the moon?” she asks, incredulous.

“No!” I laugh. “Not the whole thing. I bought an acre. For you.”

“But - I,” she pouts up at me with these big teary eyes. “Bub. You literally hung part of the moon for me. Like you own part of the moon.”

“It’s our little sliver of it. I just - when I found out you could do that, I literally couldn’t wait. I bought that acre and it has been killing me not to tell you.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “I cannot believe this. You bought me the moon!”

“Not the,” I got to argue, but stop because I can’t say no when she’s looking at me like that. “Yes,” I nod once with a big smile. “Yes, angel. I bought you the moon. And I’ll buy you as many stars as I can. And the second I find out you can buy part of the sun, I’m buying you that too.”

I don’t expect it, but she surges up and wraps her arms and legs around me. I stumble back just a little and chuckle into her neck, holding her tight. “I love you so much, oh my god.” She mumbles, pressing kisses all over my face. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

I sigh contently, holding her tighter, closer. “I love you, angel. So, so much.”

---

She blinks slowly at me as I lay back next to her, after discarding the warm washcloth I used to clean her up. I push back her matted hair. “How you feeling, my love?” I ask quietly.

She grins sleepily and takes hold of my wrist, kissing my palm. “I’m so good.”

“Yeah?” I chuckle. “You a little sleepy there?”

“Mhm,” her eyes flutter. “But I wanna look at you a little longer.”

I kiss her forehead tenderly. “Go to sleep, angel. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Kisses?” she murmurs, puckering her lips, her eyes already shut.

I smile softly to myself and lean forward, pressing three kisses to her lips.

She hums in content and moves until she’s laying her head right over my heart, her favorite place to lay, she’s told me. And as I trace my finger up and down her spine, she falls asleep to the steady rhythm of my heart that beats just for her.

***

Permanent tag: @soyalimoncada-blog @magcon7280 @homeofpoetry @fallinallincurls @goldenflickerx @myyohmyuohmyy @harry-hollands @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @baroness-alison @lostinmendess @linanilssonfurberg @luvluvxx @mariamuses @shawnieeboyy @divinginfearlessly @mendesficsxbombay @shawnsthighs @zaahidahhh @adelaidestreets @shawnandconnor @shawnsblue @turtoix @honestlyimstilllivinginthe90s @gangofhoes @verlaneswiftie13

Frat!Con: @mymanshawn @madison-malfoy @queenmendes

#connor brashier #connor brashier x reader #connor brashier x y/n #connor brashier imagines #connor brashier imagine #connor brashier fanfiction #connor brashier blurb #college (b)romance

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lightsinthedistancee · 3 years

Text

On Your Skin : Poe Dameron x Reader

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Words: 1.1k

Summary: “There is something so inexplicably intimate about it all. Him looking down at you with tender, hyper-concentrated eyes. You willingly resting there as his living, breathing canvas that he runs his fingers over with the utmost care.”

A calm morning between Poe and Reader after eight weeks away from each other.

A/N: So guys, I was looking through all my works the other day, and I realized that someone ends up crying in literally all but 3 of them...who knew? (And they’re all angsty in some way too). So I’ve taken a huge step—this fic is ✨happy✨!! Enjoy!

“Poe, stop!”

You giggle, sleepily rolling onto your back to get away from him. The sun is just barely peeking over the horizon as you protest, making itself known through the windows of the room. His hands had been trailing down your sides, increasingly lighter and lighter, increasingly more and more ticklish.

He smiles down at you, the sight of his warm toned skin soothing on your senses. “What, sweetheart? I can’t touch you after two months away on a mission?”

You roll your eyes at the newly formed, exaggerated pout on his lips. “You can. Just not like that.”

“Fine. As you wish,” he sighs dramatically, falling back down beside you. You make a move to rest your head on his chest, but at the last moment he shifts away, leaving you on empty sheets.

Your gaze snaps up, a glare already on your features. He looks as if he’s trying not to laugh. “What? I thought…”

“Poe,” you whine, eyes widening. Perhaps it’s cheesy, perhaps it’s purely comical, but it has the same effect on him as it always does. His expression softens.

“Maybe if you ask nicely,” he teases, dodging your grip again as you reach for him.

It’s your turn to pout now, simply saying nothing. In reality, you know he’ll give in within moments at simply the sight of you snuggled up in sheets, asking for him to be near you.

He finally laughs, scooting back closer, gently pushing you onto your stomach, tracing circles on the skin of your nearly bare back, covered only halfway with a loose camisole. You let out a sigh of contentment at the feel of his fingertips. It’d seemed like it’d been an eternity since you’d felt them in such an intimate situation.

“How was Corellia?” you ask softly, burying your head back in the pillow, letting him roam your body as he pleased. The planet was where he’d been the last eight weeks.

“Alright. Would’ve been better if you were there.”

You roll your eyes again. What makes it even more sickly sweet is the fact that you know it’s true for him.

“You know the Corellian word for flower?” he asks all of a sudden.

You raise an eyebrow at the random question, shaking your head.

He tells you, the sounds rolling off his tongue with a sweetness only he can achieve. The word sounds incredibly similar to your name.

“Reminds me of you,” said Poe, stating the obvious.

His leisurely movements abruptly cease before he pulls away. You whine at the loss of contact, but he returns in moments after grabbing something from the bedside table drawer. It’s a thin marker. You can almost see his thought process as his eyes flick from the drawing tool to the bare expanse of your back.

“Please?” He looks at you with an expression that he knows you can’t resist. You feign a moment of thought, but in reality, you’d made your choice the moment he’d pulled the marker out.

At your confirmation, you feel his hands gently helping you pull the camisole over your head, letting you get fully comfortable on your stomach.

A jolt runs through you as the cold tip of the marker makes first contact with your skin. From your position with your head to the side, you can clearly see him. He’s wearing just his boxers, legs crossed, his back bent, his face pointed down in concentration.

“What are you drawing?”

“Flowers,” he simply answers. He gives you no more details.

As the time passes in a comfortable silence, you find yourself closing your eyes, attuning to your sense of touch more than you had in a long time. You feel the tip of the marker, the brief coldness of the ink when it first goes on—perhaps the trace of a petal, a leaf, a thorn.

But most of all, you feel him. The soft side of his hand with each sweeping stroke. The rough, calloused pad of his thumb as he quickly brushes away a mistake before it fully dries.

There is something so inexplicably intimate about it all.

Him looking down at you with tender, hyper-concentrated eyes.

You willingly resting there as his living, breathing canvas that he puts his soul into.

It is comforting to the point that you almost doze off as he works, slowly becoming more and more unaware of his movements, of his eyes darting back and forth between your skin and a reference on his holopad.

“Sleepy?” You jump when his voice breaks the silence.

You nod, blinking slowly as your eyes lock on him.

He chuckles at your reaction, bending over to press a kiss to the base of your neck.

“Rest—,” he tells you. “—just don’t move.”

You giggle, allowing your eyelids to close over, allowing your sight to be enveloped in darkness.

The minutes on the clock tick past with an uncanny speed for the both of you. Luckily, it is a day off, and the air is relaxed, free of the anxiety that could come on certain days.

It is just you and him, in a quiet room, softly lit by light just barely penetrating the thin curtains. The tip of the marker begins to skip around your back, and it is almost like a game as you non-visually detect his movements with a trained sensitivity, trying to place where the nib of ink would make contact next.

His warm hands brush away a few strands of hair covering the back of your neck, and the blunt tip of the drawing utensil moves in a fluid, curvaceous movement, perhaps a vine or the edge of a leaf.

“Done,” he states, running his thumb over the delicate skin beneath your eyes to bring you back to full consciousness.

You only groan, looking up at him, expression still tired and more tranquil than ever.

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t want to look?”

One of the last things you want to do is move, but curiosity overcomes you as you manage to drag yourself out of bed, walking to the mirror, arms across your bare chest, more so for warmth than modesty.

He follows you, resting a hand on your hip as you turn your back to the glass, tilting your head so you can see.

A smile immediately develops as your eyes roam over the intricate lines running over your skin: roses, hibiscus, hydrangeas—more exotic species that you assume he’s discovered on his numerous off-planet missions.

“You like them?” he asks. The grin he is barely holding back suggests he already knows the answer.

“The fact that you have to ask doesn’t say much about your intelligence, love.”

His jaw drops in faux offense. You laugh as you grasp his chin, pulling him down into a deep kiss. Breaking away soon after, you glance back into the mirror once again. Adoration floods your veins at the sight of the complex beauty drawn onto your skin by his own hands. “They’re beautiful.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

A/N: Ok tbh, I had no idea where the heck this thing came from. Half of my brain was like “yeessss, artist Poe, that’s amazing!” and the other half was like, “that makes no sense, that’s the least Poe thing ever” so yeah…I don’t know. Lmk your guys’ opinion on the matter. Also, I didn’t want to add it and ruin the atmosphere but Poe’s immediate response after the last line is “Like you?” and no one can change my mind.

Taglist (for everything): @dark-academics-and-florals @theultimateslashgirl @princessxkenobi

Taglist (for Poe): @paper-n-ashes @synical-paradox @spider-starry

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mikkomacko · 4 years

Text

Sweet As Honey 17

Harry's anxious again. Not in the excited kind of way that pumps him up before a fight, and not in the sick, nauseous way that hits him after he has a nightmare. This is new. Instead of fearing the past like usual, he's fearing the future. Because the future he sees is one he never imagined before. He likes it a lot more than the one he used to picture. Instead of endless nights in the ring and girls whose faces he'll never remember, he sees a house. A cute little two story house with a fenced in yard for a dog to run around in. Hopefully being chased by a baby or two. And on the front steps stands one girl who's face he'll remember for the rest of his life. It's y/n he sees, with a wedding band on her finger that twinkles in the sunlight as she scolds Harry for letting their babies get dirty right before dinner.

It's a nice dream, but Harry hates to break routine. Breaking routine means something unplanned has happened, something spontaneous. Something out of the blue. Like getting thrown out of your home on the night you were just supposed to be studying. It scares him. Terrifies him so much he can't sit still. Which is how he ended up sending a text to y/n telling her she didn’t have to come to his fight tonight. Because if she does they’ll end up celebrating after, her on his arm and showing him off to everyone in the bar. And he’ll go home with her and probably have sex with her, and he’ll keep doing it over and over again until he's got this whole new, unfamiliar routine. Until he undoubtedly falls in love with her while she sees him as just a hot boxer who's good company.

"Fuck," Harry curses, tears burning his eyes and throat. Not even two months ago he was arguing with her about her attendance at his matches, and now he's changing his mind. No not changing his mind, because he still wants her there, he just doesn't want what comes after. It's too much, too fast. He's falling in love with her way sooner than he ever thought possible.

Y/n: What are you talking about Harry? I already cancelled plans with Kate to go with you

He winces as he types out his response, knowing it's going to make him an asshole, but he can't think of anything else to say. It's like those dreams in which he's running on buildings and he knows he's going to reach the end and fall but he can't stop.

I don't know. Maybe ask her if she's still free? I just don't want you there tonight

Growling in frustration he throws his phone onto his bed, digging his elbows in his thighs until it hurts. He's got a headache building in his skull, pushing his fingers into his hair and squeezing until the knots send tingles across his scalp. He can't believe he just said that. He can't believe he lied to his y/n and in the worst way possible. It wasn't even a lie to protect her or keep her happy. It's a lie to keep him safe. Even with the regret squeezing around his heart he can't bring himself to apologize or take it back. Not even when her reply hurts more than the panic.

Whatever Harry. Don't call or text me. I don't want to be around you either right now

"Guess who's on baby watch today!" Harry cheers, scooping a bite of mashed bananas into Arlo's waiting mouth. Smacking his lips and letting out a refreshed sigh, Arlo parts his mouth for another bite, tongue falling sloppily to his chin.

"Meeeeeeee!" Y/n sings, dipping a celery stick into her blueberry yogurt and crunching loudly. Harry tries not to scrunch his nose up at her breakfast but it's hard. She's getting a lot of different and odd cravings this pregnancy as opposed to the ones with Arlo. All she ate then were burgers and hot chips. Now she's on a celery and yogurt kick, last week being the end of the artichoke rein, and of course she's still enjoying hot Cheetos, but now she eats them with cheese.

"Mumma's so loud, huh?" Harry whispers, turning his nose up at her as another crunch rings out. She sticks her tongue out at him and Harry’s dramatic gasp at the action makes Arlo giggle. “We’ll be nice though because she’s feeding our mate,” he feeds another bite between Arlo’s lips. “even if she does mean things like stick her tongue out at daddy.”

Arlo hums around another bite, eyebrows pinching together as he looks between Harry and y/n. Head tilted to the side thoughtfully, he settles on Harry. "Daddy."

A smile stretches across his face. "Tha's right bug." Arlo smiles proudly, accepting another bite. Sock covered toes kick Harry's knee when he takes a bite of the baby food, and Arlo's nose scrunches dejectedly.

"Oi!" Harry pinches his little foot, "share with me! M'the one that bought this!"

Arlo turns his cheek to the next bite, stubbornly not wanting the food after Harry’s eaten it. Sighing, Harry twists the lid back on the jar of baby food before rising from the table to put it away. Walking back to the high chair, Harry peels off Arlo's dirty pajama shirt, wiping his face clean with the stained fabric. Arlo grumbles and glares at him, pushing Harry's hands away.

"No!" Arlo shouts at him, eyes welling up with angry tears. By the time Harry's got him clean and the shirt in the laundry room Arlo's crying and trying to wiggle out of his seat. Harry picks him up, patting his back to soothe him but Arlo continues to squirm until Harry puts him down.

Frowning, Harry watches the bub waddle to y/n, arms reaching for her. She grins proudly, setting down her breakfast and happily scooping him up. He curls into her chest, dramatically wailing until y/n pecks his wet cheeks. "I know baby, m'sorry daddy's mean." She coos, pouting but her eyes shine with amusement when they briefly meet Harry's. "S'why you're my favorite boy."

Arlo sniffles, a pleased grin curling his mouth up as he looks over at Harry. Harry scoffs, glaring at Arlo like a child. The baby returns the look, nuzzling into y/n's shoulder as if trying to rub it in Harry's face that he's the favorite boy.

"Tha's not fair," Harry grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. Y/n giggles, rising from her seat and adjusting Arlo to her hip. Harry continues to pout as she pads over to him, cupping his jaw with her free hand.

"You're my favorite man." She comforts, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before heading towards the stairs. Harry's lips turn up, smiling proudly. That is until Arlo peers over y/n's shoulder at Harry and slurs just loud enough, "my mumma."

Today's going to be a long day for Harry.

Harry's fucked up. God he's so fucked up. And he feels bad, really he does, because he's ruined everything for y/n. He can tell by the forced smile on her face as she says goodbye to the last of the guests, a couple guys from the gym, before closing his apartment door behind them. She looks utterly heartbroken as she rips down the birthday banner from the ceiling and throws it to the ground, followed by the streamers. The front door of the complex opens, and Harry waits for his mates for disappear down the street before pushing up from the bench and dragging his feet into the building. The second floor is too short a ride, he thinks bitterly, stomach flipping with nerves. He feels shitty but he made this happen.

Y/n is stabbing at balloons with a knife from his kitchen when he opens the door, the loud pop making him jump. He hangs his hoodie and kicks off his shoes and avoids looking up at the party decorations that y/n is angrily destroying.

"Hi," he mutters quietly, standing in the entryway like a new visitor. A visitor in his own apartment because that's what y/n does. She comes in and she takes over everything he's ever known. She leaves her mark with every step. In every corner of the gym, on every bench by the ring, on every thread of his bed sheets, on every tissue of his muscles, on every fiber of his heart. Maybe that's what he loves most about her, her ability to take over. He's always had to be in control because when he's not he fucks up and does something stupid, but maybe it'd be a nice change in pace to just hand himself over to her. Not that he really gave himself the chance. As soon as he started to give into her, he took it all back and now he's hurt her.

'Better her than me,' he tries to remind himself when she comes to stand in front of him. She's wearing a pretty pink dress that she knows he loves, and she might even be wearing something prettier under it as well, but he's fucked up all chances at seeing it. His chest aches but he repeats his mantra. 'Better her than me.'

"You're late Harry," she says emotionless, arms crossing over her chest. "like three hours late"

He hums, scratching the top of his head as if he forgot. "S'really that late? Fuck me." The laugh that leaves her lips is cold and mocking.

"Yeah fuck you Harry," she steps close enough to shove something into his chest "you knew about tonight. I've been planning it since December and you just skipped it? Do you know how humiliating that was?"

She walks away from him, disappearing around the corner into his bedroom. Harry takes a minute to examine the "birthday boy" sash and party hat she threw at him. His knees tremble as does his resolve. He hasn't had a birthday party in years. Not since his father died and y/n knows that. That's why she went out of her way to throw one for him. "A good birthday memory for you baby," she had said back when he first told her about it, and he had blushed and accepted her tender kisses like a child in desperate need of attention. Or care. In desperate need of someone to care for him.

"I mean," he clears his throat when she comes back, her coat thrown over her shoulders. "s'just a birthday. My birthday. Not like I missed yours or anything."

She pauses, fingers freezing on the buttons of her jacket. "Are you serious Harry? Are you really fucking saying that to me?"

He shrugs, tossing the items in his hand onto the dining table. Trying not to look at the sash, he focuses on her.

“Is this some scheme for attention?” She sighs, and her shoe taps against his floor anxiously. She’s trying to hold herself back from yelling at him, and the thought makes him want to cry. Even when he’s hurting her, she won’t do the same to him. She really is too good for him.

"What are ya talking about?"

"You fight with me to go to your matches and then tell me you don't want me there. You complain about your birthday, and being the dumbass that I am, I care enough about you to try and actually give you a good day, and you don't even fucking care. After you practically sobbed at the sight of the invitation! What do you want from me Harry?" She's begun to lose her resolve, eyes watering and lip quivering. Her shouting actually gives away the hurt she was trying to hide from him, and he wishes he hadn't pushed her this far. He hates hearing her hurting especially when he's the cause.

Dropping his gaze to the floor, he gnaws at his bottom lip. He knows what he needs to say, what he needs to do. He's been thinking about it for a week and a half, but the words still get stuck in his throat. He should take it as a sign that it's because he doesn't actually want to say this. Instead he uses it as a reason to push himself. It hurts because she's come in a changed him. She's going to hurt him if he doesn't hurt her first. "I want to break up."

The silence that follows weighs heavy on his chest. Peering up through his eyelashes, fully prepared to see y/n crying or glaring at him, he bawks at the sight instead. She's not trembling with rage or melting with tears, no, she's smiling. A cruel, twisted smile but still beautiful. Harry looks up at her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Isn't she going to yell at him? Scream? Hit him? Tell him to fuck off again?

"Is that really what you want Harry?" She asks softly, voice not matching the painful grin on her lips. He wishes he knew what she was thinking. He wants to know what part of breaking up has got her lips curved up because he feels like he just stabbed himself in the chest.

He opens his mouth to reaffirm his words but he's cut off by her. "Don't lie to me either Harry. I can handle you lying about not wanting me at your fight, but not this."

That lump is back in his throat, catching his lie and holding onto it for dear life. He doesn't want to break up. He wants to see her every day, kiss her before every fight, wake up next to her every morning. But he doesn't want to get hurt. He's so scared of being hurt, and now he's mad because of course she knows when he's lying. She already knows him better than anyone else does.

"Stop saying my name please." He requests quietly, because it hurts to hear it from her. It falls out of her lips comfortably, rings softly with a tenderness no one's ever spoken it with before, and he loves it. Love to hear her say it.

"Than stop running away from me."

He breaks a little at the truth, tears rimming his eyes and jaw clenching to keep from sniffling. She knows exactly what he's doing. She always knows, and he has no excuse so he stays silent. With a quiet sigh, she continues to button her coat and throw her purse over her shoulder. Her footsteps echo throughout the apartment as she walks over to him, stopping a few inches from being in his arms.

"I just want you to be happy Harry," there's his name again, sounding so loving in his ears "so you come find me when you're miserable, okay?" Harry's knows that's exactly what he'll do but he denies it, shaking his head softly. "You better have a really good apology too." Her lips press a soft kiss to his cheek, free hand cupping his jaw for a mere second. Then she's walking around him, slipping out of the door, and leaving him by himself.

With a cement-like weight on his ankles, Harry drags his feet to his bedroom, crumbling to his knees with sobs as he takes in the room. She's decorated it with dozens of candles and roses, petals sprinkled romantically on the bed. Sitting among the forgotten petals, Harry can't help but think about how much he loves her.

Gemma is really nice to be around. With Harry and Anne gone, and the tension of trying to keep everything civil forgotten, y/n realizes that she could be really good friends with her. Maybe even actual sisters. And she really loves Arlo.

“I can’t believe how much he looks like Harry.” She breathes out, shaking her head in disbelief. Arlo, who was walking circles around the coffee table, freezes, looking around expectantly after recognizing his father’s name. His disappointed frown falls on y/n when no sign of Harry comes up, and he's stumbling over to her with his arms outstretched.

"It's a bit freaky huh?" She laughs, lifting Arlo up onto her thighs. He squishes as close as he can to her, his tummy pressing into her swollen one and head dropping against her chest.

Gemma nods, smiling softly at the little boy. His frown deepens, dramatically whimpering and turning to hide his face. "Harry used to do that too," she comments "but with our dad. He was always really clingy and attached to our mum. He'd whine and be grumpy whenever we were left without her."

Y/n strokes her fingers over Arlo's little back, giggling when he shivers and gurgles into her tee-shirt. "This one's always a little grumpy," y/n says, "even when he's with Harry. If Harry does something he doesn't like he'll be so hurt with him."

"Really?" Gemma asks, eyebrows raising in surprise. "I didn't think Arlo could ever be mean to Harry."

"He likes to guilt trip him," she explains, goosebumps rising on her skin when Arlo's tiny fingers begin to rub over her belly, tickling her. "Like the day after fights if Harry's a little beat up Arlo gets mad and will fight with him when he tries to ice bruises and stuff. He's getting into a hitting phase now so he'll smack Harry too."

"And then give him those big green eyes huh?"

Giggling, y/n nods. She thinks Arlo's realized how affected Harry is by his baby having his eyes and he definitely uses it to his advantage. There's a reason Arlo's been eating nothing but bananas and peas this week and it's that puppy look he's perfected.

"Speaking of Harry's fight," Gemma clears her throat quietly, "do you think it'd be okay if I brought someone to the match tomorrow?"

Taken aback, it takes y/n a moment to respond. "Of course. I think Harry would love that actually." He'll feel like Gemma's showing him off, bragging about him and y/n knows that will really make him happy. "Who is it? If you don't mind me asking?"

Gemma's cheeks blossom pink, and her lips curve up shyly. "This boy that lives in the building with us. We've talked a few times and I really want to ask him out. Heard him mention how much he loves sports so I figured this would be cool."

Y/n can't help but beam, being a hopeless romantic. There's just something so sweet about seeing someone blush over their crush. She's about to grill her for more questions when the baby presses against her tummy, wiggling around and Arlo let's out a shocked grumble. His head flies up from where it was resting on her, eyes wide and curious as he glares at her belly.

"That's the baby Arlo," she tells him, peeling up her shirt so he can press his hands against her skin. Tentatively, he rubs his fingers into his brothers temporary home, tilting his head when he feels more movement. "he's just saying hi."

"Oh that's so darling." Gemma mumbles, giggling when Arlo presses his face into y/n's belly and grunts nonsense at the baby. This time he doesn't move away when the baby kicks at his palm, instead just mumbles again. Then he looks up at y/n, nose scrunched up in annoyance.

"Baby." He murmurs to her, struggling a bit on the a, but still pronouncing the word Harry's been working on with him for a few days. She's not sure if he's letting her know that there's a baby in there or if he's complaining about the baby, but either way she leans forward to kiss his nose. Just like Harry does when she kisses him on his nose, he shivers and then the pinch on his nose melts away and he smiles at her.

"You better not be complaining mister," she warns him, "because daddy will be so hurt if you get mad at him for this." Gemma laughs, and Arlo gurgles, and y/n hopes Harry's feeling as happy as she is.

It's weeks before Harry can drag himself to y/n's apartment. He told himself to stop counting the days since he last saw her, yet he knows it's been exactly 17. 17 days of him sitting like a corpse in his apartment, doing the bare minimum at the gym, and doing even worse at fights. He got used to seeing her at them and knowing she wouldn't ever be back unless he went to get her really threw him off. After losing three fights, the latest of which actually ended in him blacking out, he knows he was stupid to break up with her because it hurts a lot more to not have her with him than it would if she broke his heart.

Which is how he found himself on Saturday afternoon in front of her apartment door, sitting on the doorstep because she's not home and she hasn't answered his calls or texts. Fifteen minutes of knocking and pleading for her to open the door, followed by her neighbor popping out to tell him to shut up because she went out, and he's been huddled against the wooden door for about a half an hour, shivering in the cold.

It feels like a mirage when he finally spots her climbing the cement stairs, head shooting up to look at her and his sore neck prickles in pain. She's wrapped up in the same coat she was wearing the night of his birthday party, a maroon beanie he used to steal from her on her head, and a pair of knee-high boots that echo throughout the platform. Harry scrambles to his feet, stumbling when his eyes go temporarily black and his head pounds.

Her eyes meet his, and if she’s surprised to see him, it doesn’t show. "You look awful." Is her greeting, eyeing the split above his eyebrow and the dark bruises littering the expanse of his face. Harry takes the cardboard pizza box from her hands, the warmth of it's contents soothing his frozen fingers.

"Had my ass handed to me last night," he murmurs in explanation, grateful when she finally gets her door open and let's him follow her in. Even after how terribly he treated her, she's still willing to let him in. "deserve it though." He closes the door behind him, toeing off his Nike's in a hopeful move that she'll let him stay long enough to not need them.

Y/n makes a noise of agreement, removing her jacket and beanie and tossing them into a heap on the couch. She fits herself into a chair at the small dining table, unzipping her boots and Harry takes that as a chance for him to set the pizza on the wood top and sit next to her. Once her boots are off, she leans back and crosses her arms over her chest, waiting.

Harry can't bring himself to look at her as he speaks. "I got scared," he admits shyly, "and I know that's not excuse to hurt you but I didn't know what else to do."

"You could've just talked to me," she replies, her previously emotionless tone opening up to show hints of compassion. Harry frowns, upset at how easy it sounds. Speaking. Simple. Actually doing it? Not so much. Y/n must sense this, because she changes the subject. "What were you scared of Harry?"

He knows the answer to this. He's practiced it all day knowing he'd need it to win her back. "How I feel about you." Glancing up at her, he’s relieved to see a bit of warmth radiating off of her. Fueled by her understanding, he continues. “I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re on my mind every minute of everyday. And night.

“I can’t even fight anymore without you there. If I’m not fighting for you, what’s the purpose?” Y/n has uncrossed her arms, leaning forward on her knees to be closer to him.

“Because it’s something you love.”

Harry shakes his head. “Not like you. Got my ass kicked last night because I couldn’t stop looking for you. When I didn’t find you I just gave up.” In a bold move he tentatively reaches out for her hands, eyeing her for any signs of discomfort. Her gaze remains warm as he intertwines their fingers.

"Is that why you're here?" She asks incredulously, "To give you?"

Harry immediately shakes his head, scooting closer to the edge of his seat to be near her. "M'here to fight for you. I made a mistake, a big one, and I want to take it back. I want you back...if you'll have me." He doesn't shy away from her intense stare, ignoring the nerves fluttering around his stomach. He can trust her, he doesn't need to hide from her. "I won't ever hurt you again, I promise darling."

"Pain is a part of life Harry," y/n murmurs as her hands release his to cup his face. "it's going to happen whether we want it to or not. We're going to hurt each other but it doesn't have to be heartbreak and it doesn't have to mean the end of us.

"We'll fight, and we'll piss each other off, and we'll hurt each other, but you're the only person I want to fight with."

His heart leaps in his chest, and despite how hard he tries to stop it, his lips curl up. "You still want me?"

Y/n presses a sweet kiss to his lips, not protesting when he swiftly pulls her into his lap. "I'll always want you Harry Styles. Always."

One truth. One honest truth. Harry feels like he has a million but they all get caught in his throat when he tries to speak. He just needs one though, one that'll make him feel a little less heavy.

Dr. Wells waits patiently, a kind smile on his lips while Harry racks his brain for something meaningful. It's Anne's fidgeting next to him that finally spikes his thought process. Clearing his throat, he eyes her out of his peripheral vision.

"I feel like I can't trust you."

The words hang heavy in the air, but Harry doesn’t regret them. He already feels lighter, relieved to have finally admitted it to her face. Letting out a pleased sigh, he relaxes back into the couch, unable to stop the tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Anne nods, looking to Dr. Wells for help. “Very good Harry,” he compliments, “Anne, trust is very important to Harry. I believe the first step to him welcoming anyone into his life, is absolute trust. If you would even like to hope at healing the relationship with him, you need to show him that he can trust you.”

Anne murmurs something else and Dr. Wells expands on his statement about Harry as if he weren’t there. He doesn’t mind it though. It gives him time to detach, to just think. Trust. How did he learn to trust again? He thinks of Nick, who fed and housed him. Liam, who trained and supported him. And y/n, who’s always loved him, mended him after fights, held him when he cried, stood by him when he felt like he was falling. Reliable. He’s always been able to rely on them. Even when he did all he could to push them away, they stayed with him.

His heart sinks to his stomach at the revelation, dejectedly looking at Anne. He trusts those that stand by him, even in his lowest moments. And she didn’t do that. She left him when he needed her. No matter how much he wants to trust her, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to.

For some reason, that insight takes more off his chest than his truth did.

Y/n's fingers are familiar and soothing as they stick tape around his knuckles. Harry watches her fondly, elbows dug into his thighs that are parted around her own. Liam and Nick are chatting behind her, but Harry can't bring himself to listen. Placing a delicate kiss to his pinky, she moves to grab his other hand. Harry flexes his fist, testing out the tape and nodding in approval when he realizes it's been perfected. Not that he'd expect anything less from her.

"Feels like it's been awhile since we've been here." Y/n says softly, eyes meeting his for a brief second through her eyelashes. "Just you and me."

Harry smiles cheekily. "And our unborn child of course."

She chuckles. "Of course," tearing the tape around his middle finger, she smooths the edge down "but you know what I mean."

Harry does know what she means. Despite Gemma and Anne being gone for a few weeks, they've had few moments where it felt like Harry and y/n again. Nodding, he pulls his hand from her hold, cupping her jaw tenderly. Pads of his thumbs brushing over the soft skin of her cheeks, Harry whispers, "I love you so much, ya know that?"

Y/n wraps her fingers around his wrists, pressing her lips against his inner forearm. "I love you just as much, if not more Harry." He leans forward to slot his lips against hers, their kiss being brief but lingering, even after they've separated. "And m'so fucking proud of you."

His lips curl up cockily, eyes twinkling, and if it weren't for the weight of the wedding rings around her neck and his baby in her stomach, she'd be back in the day they first met. "Mm how proud of me?" Harry whispers teasingly, nosing along her jawline. "Gonna show me? Show me how good I am?"

"You know how good you are."

Her words pull a deep chuckle out of his chest, pulling back to grin boyishly at her. "Could use a reminder darling." Simpering she pecks his mouth and cheeks, working her way up his jaw until her lips brush his ear.

"You're gonna have to earn it."

Harry's eyes flutter shut, eyebrows knitting together almost painfully and his fingers dig into her waist. "Yeah?" He murmurs gruffly, "gonna make me show off for you darling?"

She hums, vibrations tickling his sensitive skin. "You used to love showing off for me baby-"

"Still do." He cuts in, chuckling.

"and there's a big crowd out there. Show them who's the best, Harry. And then I'll spend all night reminding you."

A shiver runs up his spine, Harry blinking heavily and a tremor in his breath when y/n pulls back, smiling sweetly at him. "I am the best, huh?"

"Always."

He gives her that shit eating grin, contrasting the wicked curl of his mouth with a tender kiss to her forehead. "Should get out there," he mumbles, "gotta make sure I'm good enough to take home the prettiest girl in this joint."

Y/n nods, and Harry rises from the couch, taking her hand as he pulls her up from the coffee table. He locks their fingers together, pulling her towards the door but she tugs him back. Looking over his shoulder at her, he quirks a confused eyebrow.

"You're more than good enough Harry."

Y/n loves Gemma's date, so much so that she's considering inviting him to every match rather than Gemma herself. From the moment y/n joined them in their seats as Harry took the ring he's had this explosive energy that typically isn't present at these matches. He shook her hand with a beaming smile and a quick rush of "Nice to meet ya love, I'm Niall! Heard a lot about that Harry of yours! Saw him on TV once..." and he's been chatting about Harry ever since. Not that she minds of course. She loves talking about Harry.

And she's not the only one enjoying Niall's hype. By the way Harry's fighting, bouncing on his toes, ducking and diving around his opponent with ease, throwing hits packed with more strength than she's seen from him in awhile, she knows that Harry's buzzing from the praise. Every move he makes earns some shout or cheer from Niall, who then either high fives or lightly chest bumps y/n. Of course their celebrating brought Nick to his feet as well, hollering at Harry as well. And the rest of the crowd followed, including Gemma and Anne.

She knows Harry's buzzing with it. She can feel it radiating off of him, pulsing through his veins as he moves around the ring with grace. Like usual, he lives for the praise, the smirk on his face growing with every holler of his name. Harry gets his opponent pinned in the corner, rapidly firing punches against the man's shielding arms. Over the man's shoulder she can see Harry's face, flush cheeks and creased forehead lined with sweat. The chant of his name grows louder, rattling the stands as Harry's hit grow even more ferocious. Hands clasped in front of her, gnawing on her lip in excitement, y/n is bouncing with nerves when Harry catches the man's jaw, sending him to the ground in a heap of bruised and sweaty limbs.

The crowd around her is deafening, and through the chaos of Niall and Nick wrapping her in a hug while they sob with pride, she meets Harry's pleased gaze and smug smirk. Even when the ref throws Harry's fist into the air, his eyes remain on her, always on her.

#sweet as honey #harry styles #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #harry styles au #dad harry styles #daddy harry #boxer harry styles #boxer harry #husband harry styles #husband harry #angst #one direction #harry styles imagine #harry imagine

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literarygetaway21 · 3 years

Note

20 for the starter lines with bughead 🤍

(What have you done @heytherejulietx?! Lovers to enemies to lovers again. Full cycle. This is part 1. Let me know if this is horseshit.)

"At least I'm not breaking any laws," He sneered as he slammed the SUV's door. He spent ten entire minutes parking his car, glancing and smirking at her shivering frame in rear-view mirrors.

"You're about to... Also exposing Stonewall's secret society was your idea and I'm more than happy to get the scoop. We need to get moving." She retorted, teeth chattering.

***

He met Betty Cooper at the trivia contest in which she completely trashed Bret Weston Wallis, his roommate, and rival, flashing her pristine triumph smile to press and cameras. A few days later, the media was flooded with Riverdale High scandal, Betty Cooper, the genius beauty was a cheat and the glint in Bret's eyes suggested more to the story. When Jughead got to Stonewall Prep, he was keen on making friends but his underprivileged upbringing excluded him. The barrier between his world and theirs was built with mistrust and prejudice. He was given an etiquette, trailer trash. He sought their validation but however impressed they secretly were by his stories, his etiquette remained the same, maybe was updated to the somewhat good writer but still trailer trash.

There were rumors about a secret society at Stonewall Prep. He thought it'd more like a book or chess club at which he'd never be a member. He stayed the weekends, in quasi-vacant dorms, with superfluous time to kill, doing what he did best, sleuthing. Over three decades, recurrent cases of missing students picked his curiosity. The said dropout-runaway students were never seen again around the town. He delved through the voluminous yearbooks, and all of them had a small quill-shaped pin on their blazers, just like the one ornamenting Bret's uniform.

The Ides of March came by, and the school threw a Midsummer-Night's-Dream-themed party in the woods. Nursing his punch, he considered retreating to his room as most of his classmates and their dates disappeared in the thick of the foliage for inebriated groping sessions. Before he spilled the remnant of his cup on the ground, Betty Cooper, the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen stood right before him. She was looking at him in a way that made him want to say something, anything to keep her close, to persuade her that he wasn't a complete washout, loser, that he could be as entertaining as the boyfriend she came with.

"Hey," she said, smiling as her trait traded the fiery competitiveness for an equally breathtaking softness.

"Hey," he said, mirroring her cheerful tone.

"Forsythe, right? I loved the short stories you wrote for your school's literary magazine."

"My friends call me Jughead."

He could feel himself loosen the metaphorical tight knot around his neck at her compliment. She didn't seem rushed to catch up with the boyfriend. He hung on her every word, concerned that she'd excuse herself once she'd glimpse her date passing by. To his relief, Betty said that she was third-wheeling a couple of friends, Archie and Veronica who emerged dramatically from the penumbra, ruffled and sweaty when Betty was typing her number on his phone.

They texted every day. They joked, shared memes, hilarious jokes which soon turned into virtual heart-to-hearts. He found that he wanted them to hang out again, the hazy memory of her face was fading and he needed to renew it, commit it to better quality and clarity, unshadowed by trees and wilting flames. She invited him over, a few weeks later. Her mom was out of town. A movie night, she said, and a large homemade pizza, does that work for you, Jones? He was sold. He paid little attention to the movie as he tried to conceal the sparse facts he knew about Betty into one image, but it wasn't enough. In a way, she was a complete stranger and a friend. She was a good listener and an amazing cook. She was driven and hardworking. When she asked him what plans he had made, he found that he didn't have any. She shook her head disapprovingly but kept quiet. The long silence had him rambling in an attempt to explain his lack of wants, of a future vision. He told her about his grandpa, a failed writer, his father, an alcoholic who both wanted nothing but to succeed, were blinded by their short-lived achievements only to hit the ground. They stayed down, forever. She wasn't having it. Betty showed up every weekend to edit his admission essays, forcing him to apply to several universities. They raided the vending machine, laughing and rambling about Betty's overbearing mother and Jughead's intrusive roommate.

"Bret is a total freak. Wait until you hear about Poe porn story he wrote for the seminar."

"Bret, as in Bret Weston Wallis? He's the creepy roommate?" She queried.

He nodded. She smiled. Most of her smiles were open-mouthed, delighted. But that one was a little like being told a secret. She bit on her bottom lip, and his mind just veered into She's so sexy territory. There was a shift in their texting dynamics, subtle flirting, and agonizingly slow seduction, which they were eager to carry on with whenever they met. He summoned enough courage and kissed her on a Sunday morning in her childhood bedroom. And so they were dating. He shared his childhood stories and she responded with questions about Bret. She visited him on Thanksgiving, spent the night as they were snowed in. They kissed on his bed and he thought that he'd never know Betty completely, she'd shown him facets of who she was, tender, flirty, and loving. She wasn't disgusted by his past, never seemed to care about his etiquette. She made love to him, bringing him even closer to whom she might be. Her words were measured but her face and touches imparted her nurturing self. At least, or so he thought back then because he woke up to Betty rummaging through Bret's drawers. He sucked in a breath and watched her unlock Bret's spare Laptop. She let out a frustrated sigh when she apparently didn't find what she came for.

At the breakfast table, Jughead just stared at his plate.

"Jug, you're not eating. Are you okay?"

"I saw you, Betty, this morning, going through Bret's stuff. Why?" He asked, eyes pleading for an answer.

She clenched her fists, looking away.

"Bret trashed my name, in my town. I won the trivia contest fair and square, but somehow he snuck the answers sheet into my desk. Damning evidence. This isn't the first time... Stonewall had always won, for years."

His mind was racing, throng of thoughts of what they'd shared flashed in fast. Rage tore through him.

"So this..whatever this is...", his finger made a quick back and forth motion between them, "was a ploy to expose Bret? To get an inside scoop?" He was gathering his thing, phone, and jacket.

"Jug, please, let me explain-"

"Don't bother," and he was gone.

#Bughead #ask game #let me know in comments if you want a part2

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing. jjk x named f!reader. jhs x named f!reader makes a lil (big) appearance.

genre + rating. rockstar!au. e2l (exes n enemies!). angst. general.

tags / warnings. this starts surprisingly soft! and then it gets... sad. no real tags, though. just... mentions of butts? also kicking butts? jungkook is a bit of a manipulative dingus. the usual.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif and @periminkle! i would be nothing without them. 💛

wc. 2.7k

chapter two.

“Are you okay?”

It’s a question that doesn’t beg an answer. He already knows you aren’t - that there’s no way you possibly could be - but he asks anyway. He offers the words like a hand in the dark, a light on the horizon. A reminder that you’re not alone and he’s here.

He, with sunbeams in his smile and a dependable heartbeat. He, who is melted and never frozen, a calm sea to your raging storm. Jung Hoseok.

He holds you delicately, with utmost care, as if he’s worried you might shatter into the same pieces he’d found you in three years ago. Or worse. He cradles you to his chest, tracing stories into your skin; his fingers press against the brassy ladders of your rib cage, fitting care between the spaces and double checking your heart still beats there. Every beat reminds him that you’re stronger than he gives you credit for. He offers his support anyway.

“I’m…” The words don’t come. They’re barely realised, hardly tangible - sailors who’ve died with no names or wives.

You falter, just a little, where gold thread fails. There’s only so much someone can take.

It isn’t asked of him - it never is - but he does it anyway: catching the splinters in his hands. He pretends like they don’t hurt him just as much and the truth is, they don’t. He’s faced enough hurt that yours is nothing - simply a stroll through a rose garden, barely a blip on his radar. So he does this for you, because he can and he really doesn’t mind.

Where he’s able, he fills the cracks with the glory of his smile, with passes of his hands and lips and breath. He does his best to keep you from catching your hands on those sharp edges - turning them round with a trail of tenderness against your temple. Then another. Then one more. Touches passed in tandem with the tears that spill from your eyes, far too full to stop. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

He’s not going anywhere.

You apologise and hope the saltwater doesn’t rust your insides that he’s worked so carefully to scrub clean. The downpour continues, relentless and miserable. He waits and for that, you’re grateful.

“I didn’t think it would be that hard.” Not quite true. You’d expected it to be worse - an entire blackhole devouring your universe. It still hurts more than it should.

Hoseok laughs. It isn’t cruel. It exists only in sound and even then, hardly at all.

“Did you think it would be easy?”

“Not easy.” Different, maybe. A pain less sharp. Pressure on a healing bruise rather than a festering wound that’s been poorly, wrongly stitched together. You didn’t get it - you’d had time to heal. Why was there still this cut-out in the centre of your heart, shaped exactly like Jungkook and torn around the edges?

“Did you think he’d changed?”

It feels silly to say yes. It feels sillier to lie. “Maybe.”

He tries again. “Did you believe he would’ve changed?”

Had you hoped for it? Wasted wishes on pennies and stars? “Yes.”

“Vi.” So soft you almost miss it, coloured in melancholy and sympathy. You’ve heard it enough times to recognise what follows. From Hoseok and your brother and your best friend. “You need to let him go.” You know he’s right. More than that, you know he cares. He doesn’t want to see the same shell of a girl from years ago - a house without any lights on inside.

“I’m trying.” You are, truly. You’d left, hadn’t you? Not once but twice! Two whole times.

You’d never thought you would.

“I know.” Hoseok is kind - kinder than you could ever hope to be. Stronger, too. You feel it in the way he holds you, keeps you afloat when you’re so close to being pulled under. “Just know I’m here.”

You can’t count how many times you’ve said it. You repeat it again, earnest and heartfelt. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” It means more than the words, more than it’s fine . It’s everything in between, unspoken but understood. It’s his way of reminding you that you - exactly as you are, a little broken and bruised - are everything you need. That you are exactly as you should be, with the people that love you most.

“What would I do without you?” You can’t quite picture it. You don’t want to.

The arms holding you tighten, warm grip holding you tight against his chest. His lips are dry upon your cheek, his breath ticklish over the shell of your ear. “You’d be fine,” he insists, so assured you can’t help but believe him. “Colder, probably, but you’d be just fine.”

You laugh for the first time since you’ve been in his bed, the sound still a little wet but far better than it was. More you, with sunshine peeking out from behind the rain clouds.

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

You peer at him from your periphery, reminded once again of how lucky you are. You might’ve had your heart broken but it was whole again, if not a little worse for wear.

His was gone - buried six feet under.

You can’t help yourself. “Really, Hobi. Thank you.”

“What’d I say?” It’s a little huffy - all for dramatic effect, you know.

“I know but—”

“No buts.”

“But—”

“No buts!” You catch the look of mischief before you catch something else - a playful palm that lands with a quiet smack. “Unless it’s yours.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re laughing, so who’s really the winner here?”

He might think it’s him, but you know it’s you. Because he’s everything you’ve ever imagined. Calm, cool, collected. Shoulders carved from boulders and a heart made of pure gold. He’s the solid foundation you’d never thought you’d needed but that steadies you now - a reliable foundation for the home you’ve been rebuilding. A friend who gives everything and asks for nothing.

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to repay him.

Don’t bother, you know he’d say. It’s nothing, he’d insist. You’ll still try.

“Let’s eat.” You beat him to it, tossing whatever words he’d levied out the window as you extract yourself from the tangle of his limbs and linen sheets. His expression shifts - swings from pouting at the loss of your body to delighted at the prospect of food in the span of three seconds - and he’s kicking his way to freedom alongside you.

“Should I make pancakes? Or are you in a waffle mood?”

Truthfully, you’re in a drown-your-sorrows-in-wine mood but you figure at ten in the morning, carbs might be the better option. Especially if they come in the form of his chocolate banana pancakes, third on your list of favourite comfort foods. “Pancakes.”

“Pancakes it is, then.”

The shirt he pulls on falls mostly into place before he offers a hand to you, one of his various hoodies - baby blue with Supreme emblazoned across the front - held in the other. “Put this on and let’s get cookin’, good lookin’.”

Your brother joins the two of you for breakfast, the temptation of free food too strong - even for him. He shuffles out of his bedroom, a sleepwalking zombie that only perks up at the smell of coffee and sizzling bacon. He steals a piece before it’s even fully done, jumping out of the way of your wayward chopsticks when he nearly leaves a trail of pork fat over the counter.

Knives and forks clatter across kitchenware and steam curls out of ceramic. Caught in this little piece of Sunday morning paradise, it’s easy to imagine this is just another day.

“How’re you doing?” It comes around a careful mouthful of batter and chocolate chips, Yoongi’s expression soft and expectant across the table. There’s no hesitation in his question, even as Hoseok shifts in his seat beside you, free hand dropping to rest - inconspicuously - over your knee.

Yoongi notes the motion with an imperceptible tick of his stare but says nothing. It’s an unspoken agreement between the three of you.

If you don’t acknowledge it, it doesn’t exist.

“I’m…” The words fall short, yet again, but none of you are in a rush. The quiet sound of chewing fills the void until you’re able to, in your soft and measured way. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” That’s what matters.

He hums an acknowledgement before digging further into his plate, slicing through a perfectly cooked yolk with the edge of his knife. “You’re not going to see him again, right?” You can tell he’s trying to be conversational - ask without demanding, understand without judging. You know it’s hard for him. It’d be hard for you too, if the roles were reversed.

“No.”

It’s punctuated by a squeeze of your thigh and the tiniest nod from the corner of your eye. Hoseok knows it isn’t his place to butt in but he offers his support where he can, in the little ways you can’t miss. Like the sun in the sky, you can’t always see him, but you know he’s there.

“Good.” The relief is palpable, fully formed and bright as it pops off Yoongi’s tongue in a pronounced exhale.

You can’t help but smile, though you’re not entirely sure it meets your eyes. It’s hard to remain chipper when faced with your nightmares. If only you could leave them in bed, far away. “Don’t worry.”

“You’re my little sister - I have to.”

You catch the grin that forms across Hoseok’s mouth, heart-shaped and hidden behind the rim of his coffee cup. “She’ll be fine, hyung.” It takes a lot for him to say it but you appreciate that he does. Sometimes, it feels like you and Yoongi are fighting over the wrong things; he recentres you both when that happens.

Feline eyes train on you, indecipherable in their depth. The bond you share with your brother is unparalleled, despite the oft forgotten fact that you aren’t actual siblings but a chosen family. You sometimes wonder if you’d be able to read him better if you shared the same coding - if his thoughts might slip into yours one day. Not that it’s necessary. He’s always been honest with you. “I know she will. She’s strong.”

“Thanks, Yoongs.”

He nods - a short, curt thing that’s diffused by the way his mouth moves, lips curling into the peculiar gummy smile he’s had since he was a kid. “Just know if he comes within ten feet of you again, I’ll kick his ass.” With the laughter that sprouts around his words, it could easily be mistaken for a joke. A bit of nonsense between friends.

You know better, though. Yoongi would throttle Jungkook with his bare hands if he ever hurt you again. He’d told you enough times, drilled it into your mind that first year when he’d had to pick up all the pieces. You can’t blame him; they’d hurt him, too, just in different ways.

You’d lost the love of your life. He’d almost lost his little sister. It was hard to come back from that.

“I know you will.” Because while decidedly slimmer - a good, maybe, thirty pounds less than your former love - Yoongi would, with no doubt in your mind, obliterate the boy who’d done the same to your heart. It was a family thing.

“Does he know that, too?”

You’re sure Jungkook does. He’d be stupid not to, right? “Yeah.”

“Good.”

It’s a whole three days later when you realise how wrong you are and how stupid Jeon Jungkook is.

The familiar number flashes a total of four times, glaring up at you like a neon sign that demands your attention. Even when you blink, they’re seared against the back of your eyelids - a highlight reel of your worst moments encapsulated in a simple ten digits.

Letting the calls ring through, untouched, is almost impossible. You can do it, though. You know you can.

You repeat that over and over again until the vibrating stops and the screen is black.

That wasn’t so hard, you think.

Then the missed call reminders are replaced by a voicemail notification and all of your pride sinks like a weight to the bottom of your stomach. Unease bubbles up in its place, fizzles and snaps - a movie theatre fountain pop. You hate pop.

Deleting the message without listening to it is what you should do. Pretending like it never happened is what Yoongi would want you to do. Neither of those things happen.

You know you’re going to regret it the moment you press play and his voice fills your ears, reaching all the way into your chest as if that’s where it belongs. You only repeat it for a second time because you’re not sure you’ve heard right. You can’t believe the words he’s left.

But Jungkook is Jungkook and you really shouldn’t be surprised.

After all, he certainly isn’t when you swing open the front door. In fact, he’s almost smug, cheeks pressed into that heartbreaking smile of his. Even the cuts on his nose and his bruised eye do little to detract from the charm of it. He could wear a brown paper bag and he’d still, somehow, have your heart racing a mile a minute.

“Hi, Pumpkin.”

You barely react when he closes the distance and pops a sweet, chaste peck to your forehead. You don’t know how to react.

It’s like having a bomb dropped on you - a cataclysmic shift that tips your entire world on its side and leaves you scrambling for purchase on a tilted axis. All at once, everything returns to revolving directly around the boy standing in front of you.

Just as he had three years ago - how he almost had, only three days ago - Jungkook becomes the centre.

The realisation is sobering, startling you into action.

“What are you doing here?”

He blinks once, twice, doe-eyed and adorable. It’s impossible not to see what he’s doing - see right through the facade he crafts so well, with such practiced hands. It’s even harder not to fall for it.

You’d thought you wanted nothing to do with him - not since he’d bumbled his way through his last lie, too guilty to even properly correct the mistake he’d made. You’d been certain that would be the final straw. Hoped it would be, with every last tired breath.

“I wanted to see you.”

He looks so pretty on the outside. A picture perfect dream come true, plucked straight from your afternoon fantasies. The boy you’ve wished for forever, wrapped up in hyperactive laughter and black silk.

But you know he’ll break you from the inside out, turn your heart to ash. He’ll articulate his love in the form of unnecessary bouquets and drunken voicemails that come too late. He’ll disappear for weeks at a time then come crawling back, begging for your help as if he hasn’t tripped over his own two feet. You’ll be too weak to say no, wrapping him in the bandages you should be keeping for yourself.

You know all of this - and yet you wait, hope, pray , that this time might be different.

You wonder if he can tell. If he can still read you in the ways he used to, between the lines and in the dark. You think he must by how he stares at you, relentless and restless, searching your expression for any sign of forgiveness.

“Pumpkin?” If words held weight, you’d be crushed beneath it.

“You can’t just… come here.” Where I have nowhere to run.

Jungkook shifts his weight, dances from foot to foot. He’s peering down at his shoes - Italian leather, polished within an inch of their life - mouth rounding in that pout you recognise so well. “You want me to leave?”

Don’t answer that.

“I’ll leave. Just tell me to go.”

Tell him. It’s one word. Hardly a feat.

“Vira, tell me to leave and I’ll go.”

You can’t. You can’t. There’s no anger now - nothing to spring you to your feet in a fit of rage. It’s only sadness, all-encompassing and blue, enough to swallow you whole and spit you out. It’s so heavy it aches in your bones and all the way through to your toes.

“Tell me to leave — or let me in. One or the other.”

author note. another short chapter but one that lays some important groundwork. further pain will be forthcoming! xoxo

tag list. @jalexa83 @aa-ronpa @kookiesbreaky @celestialflamefairy @xjoonchildx

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i-prefer-the-term-antihero · 3 years

Text

So this is going to be a long, overemotional/melodramatic post... but I need to get my feelings out somehow.

I've only watched ep1 so far, but I really love the look of, and am really excited for, the new Loki show.

When I first saw that some Marvel shows were coming to Disney+...okay, yes, I was definitely excited about Wandavision and Loki, because those are three of my favorite marvel characters. But at the same time, things did feel a bit like a marketing ploy. Of course Disney would make a bunch of marvel shows on their new platform--thats what'll sell. Of course they'll pick Loki, because he's really popular and that'll sell more. I wasn't even sure I'd watch Falcon and Winter Soldier. It didn't feel like I could genuinely be excited about the shows, thinking this. And, don't get me wrong, this problem is still there, no doubt about that.

But I've definitely enjoyed Wandavision and Falcon and Winter Soldier, especially the former. I thought they were solid shows.

So even though I LOVE Loki as a character...I came to the trailers with this sort of bias in mind.

Now, let me be clear, I don't just love Loki.

He was probably the first character I ever became truly obsessed with. I'm pretty sure he was the first villain character I liked, and kind of awakened my love for redeemable villains (which, if you couldn't tell by my url, stays strong today). He's a character I've loved since Thor came out in 2010. He's been in my life for ten years, and in a way shaped who I am.

I enjoy marvel overall, but pretty casually. I definitely keep up with all the movies, but I don't totally obsess over all of them. However, I still remember just how unfathomably excited I was when Dark World came out. How unbelievably happy I was to see Loki again. How I savored every joke he made, every tender moment with him, and just how happy I walked out of that theater. When I watched Ragnarok, I was older, so I wasn't quite so giddy, but that kid inside me is still there, and still jumped and grinned every time I saw him come on screen.

Needless to say, he holds an extremely special place in my heart. Even though I have characters now that I potentially like more, he's sort of been my "favorite character" for ten years, and I will always adore him.

I'm sure its been said by plenty of Loki Stans but...I absolutely hated how Infinity War went.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not mad because he died. Okay, of course I'm mad he died. But I can deal with character death. In fact, I sometimes prefer a character getting a dramatic and fulfilling death to them getting a happy ending. (And there are things I liked about his death--like, I really adored his dialogue, that he was dying for a good cause.)

But what I hated the most was that it felt like the creators didn't know his character. Loki is the god of mischief. He would never EVER launch a straight attack on a villain, no illusions, no back up plan. I'm sorry, but that's just not him at all. (Sure his plans in Avengers were more scattered and went horribly...but, firstly, he was being mind controlled so he wasn't all there, and secondly, if I remember correctly, there was still a level of mischief in his plans. He didn't generally do things straightforward. That's part of what made it fun to watch.).

(Loki wasn't the only character I felt they did this with in IW. I hated that they just had Cap live his life through time with Peggy. Not that I hate that idea itself, it's cute of course. But Cap is so incredibly selfless. He would never just do something so selfish like that...It wasn't him).

In addition to that, I felt like I saw the puppet strings so clearly in that scene. That movie was all about shock value. I don't think a movie--at least one in a franchise like marvel--should ever be made purely for shock value. It should be about what's right for the characters and the overall storyline. If there's some shock there, great. But give the audience an actually fulfilling story. Don't make your entire plan to shock and horrify the world that loves these characters/this franchise. In that scene, it truly felt like they were "Oh hey Loki's like the most beloved character, right? Lol, let's break his neck within the first five minutes to show we mean business. They'll hate that."

I'm a writer, I know the merit in going "okay, hey, we're going big here, we need to set up our villain early, and set up how this movie overall is going to go with the first scene." I know why they felt the need to kill off a character in the first five minutes.

And hell yeah I'm largely just mad because it was my fave, of course I am.

But it didn't feel like they were going "Okay does this make sense for Loki's character? Is this a good way to have him go out? Will this satisfy our audience who loves him?"

It felt like they were going "Okay let's pick the most beloved character so it'll shock, annoy, and hurt people the most."

And I'm not okay with that.

I'm just some shmuck, there's nothing I can do about that. But I'm not okay with that. I was so not okay with that, that I've pretty much hated marvel for all the years preceding Infinity War, and have not been fully excited about anything marvel related since then. I have barely interacted with Loki content since then it affected me so much.

I know it's melodramatic, but It felt like they were killing my childhood. That little piece of me that got excited every time he came on screen. That piece of me, that had been so excited to see him be on the side of the villains in infinity war, because it just meant I got to see him. It truly felt like a small part of me died when I watched him die.

So when the Loki trailers came out? In a weird way ....I couldn't even be excited.

They were bringing him back, potentially erasing the problem I have with Infinity War. And yet...I couldn't be excited.

First off, when I saw what happened with him in Endgame (it made me extremely happy and hopeful, let me tell you, but it obviously didn't fix everything) I was kind of under the impression he'd just be causing mischief throughout space and time for the show, and I was absolutely here for it.

So when I saw the trailers were him getting caught immediately, and then recruited for the side of the good guys...I was like "okay so...the same plot as other Marvel movies? The plot of Ragnarok again? He gets stranded on an alien planet, and has to work for the leaders. There's lots of fighting, like there is in every other marvel movie, which is the part I least care about." When I saw the trailers I didn't get to see Loki being himself at all. I saw other people controlling him, and then him working for the good guys. That's not Loki. Loki is mischief. Loki works for himself. Loki fights, yeah, but his character actually has depth and emotion to it, he's not just for brainless fighting. (And whoo boy let me tell you I was mad when I saw the DB Cooper part of the trailer and thought they chopped his wonderful hair off when they made him a good guy, like they were totally changing his identity. And also let me tell you the SHEER RELIEF I felt when I found it was just a tiny scene, and his wonderful hair will remain (please God let it remain)).

So here I was thinking "great, its infinity war all over again. I'm gonna have a whole show of them not knowing and staying true to his character."

Even though that little kid inside of me was still there. Even though that little kid was going "Dude! Dude! It's Loki! An entire show about Loki! You won't have to wait for him to show up on screen, he'll just always be on screen! He'll be the protagonist! Do you realize how much I would have loved this if I got to see it years earlier?" I was so tired, and so mad.

But now I've watched the first episode.

And for the first time since infinity war...I felt like I could breathe again.

Here I thought they'd forgotten his character. They forgot that he's the god of mischief, that he's funny, that he's, well (to use the words of Thomas Sharpe)...absurdly sentimental.

And they didn't at all.

From minute one he's himself, wanting to rule the world, cracking jokes, refusing to be controlled, causing mischief when and where he can. They actually showed the progression of why he'd be willing to work for them really well.

And gosh I loved that scene where he sees what his life would be like. From the moment Mobius started showing him scenes from his life, I was desperately hoping he'd be left alone with the device and get to see more of his life, and desperately hoped he'd see and react to his death.

And they did not disappoint.

They remembered. They remembered that he's ambitious, that he's not controlled, they remembered that he's funny and mischievous, and that he's a special marvel character, that you can actually get deep and emotional with. They remembered all of it.

Watching Loki watch his own death was like taking all those years of anger, and for one brief moment melting them away. I felt like I wasn't alone anymore. Wasn't alone in going "hey that's not Loki." Loki himself was watching it, and could judge that for himself. And most importantly, it was confirming before my eyes that it was no longer was his end.

And him being the villain and the hero? I cannot explain to you how much I love that idea. How much and how well that keeps in line with his character. A great premise and protagonist can make for a poor story if it has a poor villain, and, to be fair I haven't seen how it goes, but that seems like the perfect--and perhaps only--villain who could make this show absolutely stellar. I'd love to see them explore that Avengers-level villainousness, with him also being a hero like we see at the end of Ragnarok. It'd be fun to see his two sides trying to convince each other to join them. It would truly feel like they understand all aspects of his character.

I'm older now, so I don't get nearly as excited about things as I used to. I wish I did. I almost wish this came out when I was younger so I could be more excited. But that kid is still inside of me, and I'm so excited to see him on screen all the time.

Now...I don't really care so much if it's all about the money.

It's a whole show about Loki. I don't have to wait for him to come on screen, he's just there.

This feel like more of a relief than I can possibly express.

(@mylokabrennauniverse @annievvv7 I’d be curious to hear your thoughts/if you’ve felt similarly!!)

#loki #loki tv series #loki tv series spoilers #loki tv #loki series #loki laufeyson #marvel #mcu #marvel loki #loki mcu #loki show #marvel mcu #loki marvel #mcu loki #thor #thor the dark world #thor ragnarok #infinity war

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croesow-moving · 3 years

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Adreffe’s Appeal for @wallace-cup !!

Choreographing the appeal had been difficult for Molly. She wasn’t a dancer by nature, and neither were her pokemon. Where Margourette could spin and glide like she was the tiny doll in one of those music boxes every child seemed to have, Molly stumbled and hesitated and tripped over her own feet. It was frustrating beyond belief, and yet she pushed forward through all of that.

Adreffe was supposed to be a region of learning, of getting out of your comfort zone and trying something new, and what sort of teacher would she be if she couldn’t hold herself to the same struggles her students were expected to undergo?

Still, perhaps it’d be easier to focus if her feelings for Margourette hadn’t been skyrocketing ever since the start of this Cup. There was simply no getting around it - Margourette was beautiful, even after their pavilion showing had ended and she’d been exhausted, her dress covered in Skitty fur and Togekiss feathers and with half-melted chocolate smeared across her baking apron. Her hair, long since having fallen out of its pristine bun, had glittered with all the rainbow lights still filtering through their icy pavilion walls, and her eyes had glittered with the tiniest hint of mischief as she’d flopped down against Molly and sighed dramatically:

❝ So exhausted, amie! You must carry me back to the hotel. ❞

Though she’d (probably) been joking, Molly had simply lifted her up with a fond smile and carried her bridal style out of the pavilion, lulling her to sleep in the process. She’d hoped at the time that Margourette’s arm, draped so delicately across Molly’s chest to rest upon her shoulder, hadn’t been able to feel the frantic beating of her heart hidden just underneath her sweater dress. She’d prayed to Magearna above that Margourette hadn’t felt the gentle brush of fingertips against her scalp as her hair was freed from its tie and brushed out, nor the feather-light ‘goodnight’ that had been whispered as Molly left for her own room.

She definitely hadn’t had that safety during their practice sessions, though. The music Molly had chosen was almost waltz-like (she really didn’t like to make things easy on her tender heart, did she?), so naturally it meant that the two women had to spend a lot of time pressed pretty closely together as they danced. While that had done wonders for their synchronisation, these flimsy ballet costumes did nothing to hide how fast her heart was going. Margourette had been kind enough not to mention it (outside of the occasional check-in to make sure Molly had enough stamina to get another rehearsal done), but now her crush was so obvious that she was having trouble looking the ballerina in the eye without that telltale blush creeping up her cheeks.

Even as she stood there now, backstage, playing with her puffy white tutu that contrasted amazingly with Margourette’s black one, she found herself staring at the floor rather than admiring how the stage lights made Margourette’s blonde hair glow like a halo.

There was a soft squeeze on Molly’s hand.

❝ Ready to begin? Our audience is waiting. ❞

❝ Oh- I- uh, yeah! Yeah, let’s go. ❞

Pokemon List (ik there’s a lot, but bear with me): Togekiss - Dazzling Gleam, Aura Sphere, Air Slash, Fairy Mist Alcremie - Mystical Fire, Sweet Scent, Decorate, Magical Leaf Morelull - Confuse Ray, Sludge Bomb Florges - Wish, Flower Shield, Petal Blizzard, Sunny Day Slurpuff - Thunderbolt, Sticky Web Cubchoo - Rock Tomb, Sheer Cold Glaceon - Sand Attack, Blizzard, Rain Dance, Iron Tail Sealeo - Water Gun, Aurora Beam Smoochum - Sing, Ice Punch

Music: Merry Go Round of Life from Howl’s Moving Castle

As soon as the women stepped out on stage and took their places in the center, the music started. The starting notes were simple, and so they kept their dance at a simple waltz, never straying far from the dead middle. This gave the pokemon time to form a circle around them, some of them standing more gracefully than others, and start using their moves.

Glaceon called out to the ceiling, summoning a gentle Rain Dance to patter across the stage. This water got Cubchoo’s attention, who wiggled in place for a moment as he remembered what he was supposed to be doing, and then released a breath of Sheer Cold. This move wasn’t anywhere near the strength a Cubchoo could let out, mainly toned down for the comfort of the audience, but it was chilly all the same. This colder air froze the wet ground on the stage, forcing Margourette and Molly to move from a waltz into more of an ice skating routine. Margourette took most of the attention here, her ballet training coming in useful for a balancing challenge such as this, and Molly used that as the necessary distraction to nudge the pokemon circle into moving, following her around to the back of the stage.

There, Sealeo’s Water Gun was fired against Smoochum’s Ice Punch, each connection creating a thick pillar of ice. This continued all the way around the left side of the stage, then the right, leaving a total of nine pillars on each side. Their final connection was the biggest one yet, leaving a block of ice about as big as a dining table jutting out from the back of the stage. Apparently content with what she was seeing, Molly left to go rejoin Margourette in her dance at the front of the stage, Florges sealing them off from the pokemon with a Flower Shield. A Fairy Mist courtesy of Togekiss leaked out from behind it, the pink smoke trailing across the stage and down into the audience, and by the sugary smell drifting up from it, it looked as though it had intermingled with Alcremie’s Sweet Scent. The Rain Dance was wearing off now too, the floor now thoroughly coated in a layer of ice.

Molly’s hands found Margourette’s, and before she knew what was happening she was getting tugged into an elaborate dance of twirls and spins, their bodies pressed so close they were little more than a blur of white and black. This definitely hadn’t been part of their rehearsals, and yet Molly couldn’t find it within herself to pull away and get them back on track. Especially not when she was suddenly dipped, the toes of one foot ghosting across the ground, the rest of her weight kept suspended in Margourette’s arms (and how hadn’t she noticed those muscles before?) In a moment of whimsy, she plucked a white rose off of the Flower Shield and slipped it into Margourette’s bun, nuzzling her shoulder as she pulled away. The ballerina breathed out a huff of laughter (what a lovely sound!) and returned the gesture, slipping a black rose into Molly’s brunette curls. They could have stayed like that forever, wrapped in their own little world, but the music was lulling and that meant it was time for their second half.

They straightened up, Margourette slipping off to kneel down one side of the stage and Molly the other, and waited for the shield to drop and give their pokemon back the spotlight. Once it did, eighteen tiny ice Duckletts were revealed sitting on top of the ice pillars they’d made before, as well as a Swanna with her wings outstretched, perched proud in the center slab of ice. If the people in the audience had attended the Adreffian pavilion, they’d no doubt have a pretty good idea of what was going to be happening next.

The pokemon lined up behind their Trainers, already having agreed it’d be easier for the judges if this next part was done one-by-one, rather than all moving at the same time. Togekiss was first to break the line, floating over to the leftmost Ducklett sculpture. She flipped in front of it, looping backwards again and again until she’d built up a neat circle of wind around her, and then she released it in an Air Slash. Rather than slicing through the Ducklett, it was caught underneath it and the icy pedestal it sat on, levitating the duck in a gentle up-down motion and swirling through its shell of a body. The air whistled as it whipped through, a happy accident that gave that particular Ducklett a voice.

The next Ducklett was given the power of the Fighting type, Togekiss glowing neon blue with the stored energy before bumping the ice sculpture with its Aura Sphere, careful to feed the energy inside without accidentally destroying anything. It glowed beside its wind-surfing brethren, the Aura Sphere flitting over every crevice of the icy container but never able to actually break through.

For the third Ducklett, Alcremie was called over with a gentle chirp. Togekiss unleashed a Dazzling Gleam, the move bouncing off of all the ice on stage and shining outwards across the audience in all directions. The Ducklett was left shining bubblegum pink, glittering with Fairy power, and Alcremie completed the look with a Decorate. Strawberries and globs of frosting were held up for the audience to see before being dropped down into the icy shell, the ensemble soon beginning to smell incredible.

Togekiss floated backstage, her part in this show finished, but Alcremie continued on. The next Ducklett was greeted to a Mystical Fire, the flames dancing about inside its body but never burning hot enough to melt the exterior.

That had been a nightmare to correct during their training, so much so that Molly had lost count of how many times they’d considered scrapping this idea entirely, but she couldn’t help but give a proud smile over to Alcremie. The little thing just looked so happy with itself, pointing at the Ducklett as if it, too, couldn’t believe that it had worked.

Molly turned her back towards the crowd just as Florges got up to float over to Alcremie, easily scoping her up and carrying her over to the next pillar. This Ducklett was treated to a combined attack, a mix of Alcremie’s Magical Leaf and Florges’ Petal Blizzard, and the resulting look was a gleaming mess of leaves and flowers, caught in some sort of endless whirlwind. Florges then joined Togekiss backstage, setting Alcremie down with a barely audible splat of ice cream against the floor.

The next Duckletts continued in this fashion, each new typed move hitting a new ice sculpture until seventeen of them stood completed, each one more dramatic than the last as the mythical Swanna’s love for her chicks grew.

The Ghost duck sang with the eerie notes of Morelull’s Confuse Ray, the whistling harmonising nicely with wind still coursing through the Air Slash duck from before. Morelull’s Sludge Bomb attack had left another Ducklett oozing thick purple liquid, congealing around the base and dripping slowly down the ice.

The Rock and Ground ducks had been completed simultaneously, Glaceon’s Sand Attack clinging to the surface of one while Cubchoo’s Rock Tomb had filled the shell of another. Glaceon was one of the few pokemon still left sat on stage now, its Iron Tail reflecting nicely in all the lights and onto the body of another ice Ducklett, making it appear to have a metal coating.

The Electric duck still crackled with Slurpuff’s Thunderbolt, a violent thing that had shot down from the heavens and illuminated the entire stage for a split second. A candyfloss Sticky Web had ensnared another, stuffing the duck with layers of pink wire that pushed more of that same sugary sweet smell out onto the stage and into the audience.

Not all the Duckletts had had exciting creations (the Water type, for instance, was just slowly getting filled with the ice that was melting off of it), but the music was reaching its final part and they couldn’t afford to waste more time here.

Immediately after the second lull, as the crescendo started, Smoochum started to Sing along to the music, her voice perfectly matching the notes. Sealeo’s Aurora Beam combined with Florges’ Wish (she’d returned to the stage during the creation of the Duckletts) and sent a beam of rainbow light skyward, just as the Swanna had done when she’d wished for her chicks to be given life. The beam hovered against the ceiling, spreading out across it as it desperately sought some sort of answer to the prayers it carried, before Glaceon interrupted the moment with a yowl. It was the only warning she gave before unleashing a brutal Blizzard, feeding off of the Sheer Cold from the start of the performance and really letting the harsh winter seep in.

Molly and Margourette were dancing again, had been ever since Smoochum’s song had started, but their movements were more laboured than before. The cold was setting in, chilling their joints unpleasantly, eventually forcing them to cuddle together just to avoid the air whipping all around them. Ballet dresses were not the best insulators in the world, and yet the women braced themselves to endure it. They knew what was coming next in this story, and if it went according to plan it’d all be worth it.

They waded through the Blizzard snow until they came to kneel at the base of the Swanna sculpture, sheltering beneath her wings.

Finally, finally, the storm was split apart by Florges’ Sunny Day, lighting up the stage and warming everyone in the room. Smoochum’s song had hit its closing notes, the snow was rapidly melting and sending waves of water down into the audience, but none of that was the center of attention. Instead, as Molly and Margourette stood up once more, their costumes were illuminated by the rainbow light of the Swanna behind them, who was in turn illuminated by all the colours of her chicks surrounding her. Every ice shell had been filled with a different move to create a colour representative of its type, and the rays of the Sunny Day were now hitting them from all different angles, sending the light bouncing across the floor and straight into the figure of their mother.

It was beautiful, made more so by the way it made their contrasting costumes dazzle and shine, but Molly couldn’t tear her eyes away from her dancing partner. Margourette had one hand on her cheek, the other on her waist, and though no words were spoken Molly knew what was going to happen. As the music died out around them, the remaining pokemon leaving to join their teammates backstage, the two women were drawn closer and closer together until their faces were mere centimetres apart.

❝ Margourette, I… I-I’ve always- ❞

❝ Shh, mon ange. I know. I feel the same. ❞

And so, with the rainbow light of a mother’s love shining over them both, Molly and Margourette shared their first kiss. Not as friends, or Adreffian colleagues, but as lovers. Two souls devoted as deeply to one another as the Swanna was to her chicks.

Unrehearsed, cliche, but perfect all the same.

#wallace2k21appeals #↪ gym leader molly.#↪ gym leader margourette.#↪ in character.

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