#like he won my heart over when he punched that weasel face and showed off his grades like- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

weelittleweasley · 3 years

Text

hopelessly devoted to you (f.w.)

prompt: rejection hurts. but what hurts even more is still being absolutely infatuated with the person who broke your heart.

pairings: fred weasley x fem! gryffindor reader, george weasley x platonic reader

warnings: heartbreak, crying, language, underage drinking, very angsty, think early 2000s movie

word count: 8k

taglist: @rosaliepostsstuff @harrysweasleys @gcdric @lumos-barnes @whizboingies @lumosandnoxwriting @pxroxide-prinxcesss @c-t-h @lol-idk-oops @another-lonely-heart-blog @starlightweasley @parseltongueswriting @shilohpug @peachypotter @spacexcowgirl @paintballkid711 @vogueweasley @rogueweasleys

It was like pouring salt into an open wound. You forced yourself to look at Fred, how happy he looked as he linked arms with Angelina in the hallway, smiling widely, whispering something into her that made her throw her head back with laughter. You tried to convince yourself that making yourself watch them showed him that you weren’t heartbroken or sad or sorry for yourself when in reality, you were trying to cover up the fact that you were miserable. The wallowing feeling of jealousy and sadness ate away at your stomach lining as you nibbled on your bottom lip, trying to remain composed as they passed you in the corridors.

After they were out of your sightline, you let go of the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in as George places a hand on your shoulder. “You can’t keep beating yourself up about this, (Y/N),” he wraps his arm around your shoulder as you lean into him with a pained groan. “I know it’s been difficult for you, but it’s been two months. No need to dwell on someone like my brother. It’s not worth your precious time, darling,” he tells you as you walk down the halls of the castle, making your way to the Great Hall.

With a huff, you look up at George who gives you a knowing look. He was right, but at the same time, there was no way he could understand the kind of pain it was to be so heartbroken, but still so head over heels for someone. “I can’t help it, George. It’s not something I can just get over. I didn’t just have a crush on Fred. He felt something too or else what happened that night wouldn’t have happened...” you trail off, the memory of that night playing in your head as you cringed to yourself.

Spirits were high as music blared in the common room. Laughter and celebration was in order. A great quidditch game was just won by the Gryffindor team against Slytherin and that meant a common room party unlike any other. Lee Jordan pushed the couch against the wall, clearing the space for a dance floor as Ron and Harry started pour up stiff cups of Fire Whiskey, Daisyroot Draught, and Gigglewater.

“Georgie, put on something that people can actually dance to! Enough of the bloody Cotton-Eyed Joe!” Lee groans out as George bursts out into a fit of laughter, changing the song to something more universally enjoyable. “The Macarena is not acceptable either!”

Fred grabs a drink as people filed into the common room behind him, filling up the space quite quickly. Your heart flutters at the sight of Fred, but you bury your face in your cup as you take a swig of whatever liquor Ron had poured for you. “Oh come on, Jordan, the Macarena is a fan favorite!” Fred laughs as you shake your head, Fred dropping his left eye in a wink, making you gulp and avert your eyes as if it were wrong to look at the tall ginger.

Lee rolls his eyes and makes his way over to the boom box. “You both are dickheads, I’ll man the music,” Lee groans before switching the music to ABBA as people cheer out as the music fills the space. “See? People like ABBA. Not the fucking Macarena.”

Soon enough, everyone has a drink in their hand and is on the dance floor, screaming out the lyrics to Mamma Mia so loud that you could barely hear the original music that came from the boom box settled in the corner of the room. Instead of joining the masses on the dance floor, you kept to the side lines, sipping on your drink as you made conversation with Katie and Alicia, laughing at a joke Katie had just told. Every once in a while you would look at the dance floor, watching Fred as he jumped up and down, holding onto his brother and Lee, laughing as the liquid in their cups sloshed around. You smiled to yourself, seeing how happy they all were, especially Fred. The way his dimple-y grin caused a grin to appear on your face as you watched his every move.

Fred was one of those crushes that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop liking him. You tried distancing yourself, but that only made the feelings grow stronger. And it didn’t help that you were close with his family. Whenever you were with George, Fred had managed to weasel his way into the conversation. If you were with Ron, Fred would always pull you away so you could hang out with “the more exciting Weasley.” No matter what you did, the crush to Fred Weasley stuck.

You shake away your thoughts as you turned your attention back onto the conversation with Katie and Alicia. Looking down at your cup, you see how empty it was. “I’m gonna grab another drink, anyone want more?” you survey the girls as they shake their heads. You make your way to the drink table, passing the dance floor before reaching the punch bowl. But before you could pour yourself another drink, you feel a pair of hands grab your sides, squeezing them abruptly, making you squeal out. “Oh my days!” you grab your chest as you turn and see it was just Fred. “What the hell is wrong with you,” you slap his arm with a small smile on your lips.

He laughs, “Why aren’t you on the dance floor? I know you can dance, (Y/N),” he teases you as you roll your eyes. Fred places your cup on the table and grabs your hands, trying to pull you to the dance floor.

“No, no, no,” you groan in protest, pulling away from him. “I’m not dancing, Weasley.”

Fred has a cheeky smile on his face as he gives you a look that screams, Oh come on. “You know you want to,” he sing songs. “Your favorite song is playing too!” he tells you.

Furrowing your brows, you speak, “No, it’s not.” He holds up a finger before the song switches abruptly to Dancing Queen as the crowd cheers out in excitement. You give him a look, knowing that Fred had planned this. “Oh, you cheeky bastard. You can’t play this song and expect me to stay still,” you laugh as Fred joins in, wrapping his arm around you, the two of you running to the dance floor.

The two of you start scream singing the lyrics to the ABBA classic, Fred twirling you on the dance floor into his chest as the two of you rock back and forth to the music. You can’t help but sport the goofiest smile. You couldn’t be happier in this moment. You were in your favorite place with your favorite song playing, dancing with your favorite boy. Fred brought you close to his body, hips moving against yours as your heart rate escalated, face flushed. You would blame it on the dancing even though it was definitely a consequence of your close bodies.

“I’ll give it to you, (Y/L/N),” Fred speaks close to your ear. “You are the dancing queen.”

With a giggle, you reply, “Don’t you forget it, Weasley.”

As the song fades away in the background, the two of you just look at each other, small smiles on both of your lips as you take the other in. Fred’s hair was messy from dancing, but it was still pushed back to show his handsome face and strong features. His lips were curved up in a smile as he looked into your eyes, his big brown eyes filled with tenderness. He looked so happy and a happy Fred was a beautiful one.

You didn’t even know how long you two spent looking at each other, but it didn’t matter. In this moment, you were the only two people in the common room, the music still blaring as students didn’t stop dancing and singing and laughing. But it was all a blur in the background, Fred your only focus, and you were his.

It wasn’t until his forehead was pressed against yours that you noticed he was leaning down, pulling your faces closer together. You inhaled sharply through your lips as he made contact with your forehead. “Is this o-”

“Yes,” you cut him off sharply before he waits no longer to press his lips to yours as you melt into Fred completely, pulling his body closer to yours as his hands grab either side of your face, cupping your cheeks. The kiss was everything you had imagined. His lips tasted of sweet cinnamon that warmed up your cheeks and sent tingles down from your head to your toes. Fred’s lips moved gently against yours, his tongue sliding past your parted lips as you started softly snogging on the dance floor. Neither of you cared who watched or didn’t watch, right now this was about the two of you.

Fred gently pulled away, keeping his forehead pressed against yours, hands still cupping your cheeks as you smiled from ear to ear. He was silent for a moment. But then he didn’t say anything. He just pulled away, removing his hands from your face as you looked at him, a little puzzled. “Freddie?” you speak gently, reaching out for his hand.

But he didn’t let you touch him. He just spoke, “I need to take a step outside for a second.”

Before you could protest, he dashed through the maze of people and pushed the door to the common room open, disappearing. What just happened? Panic dashes through your veins as you follow him out of the common room and to the stairs. “Fred!” you call out for him as he turns around to see you standing there confused as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

He chuckles, “What’s wrong? (Y/N), I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

Your heart sinks and your mouth falls agape for a moment before you manage to speak, “What?”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you and I’m sorry for putting you in that position. It was wrong of me. You’re my best mate and I just royally fucked things up for us, didn’t I? I don’t want this to change anything between us,” Fred walks towards you, searching your eyes for hope for your friendship.

You smile gently and grab his hands. “Fred,” you start, “It’s not your fault at all, stop apologizing.” He exhaled, relieved. “But...I, um, I want things to change between us,” you confess as Fred gives you a puzzled look. “Fred, I like you. I’ve liked you for so long and when you kissed me I was so thrilled that you felt something too. Even if it was for a second.”

Fred sigh and stutters for a moment, looking down at his feet. “Good Godric,” he speaks just above a whisper as you force him to meet your gaze as you look at him, hopeful that he will reciprocate those feelings. “(Y/N)...” he gives a breathless laugh as you bite your bottom lip in anticipation. This would be his confession. He felt the same too. He had to. Or else he couldn’t have kissed you. “You mean everything to me. You’ve been my closest friend here for so long. But I’m afraid that’s all I see you as. My friend...I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you felt that way about me. I wouldn’t have kissed you if I knew.”

Your heart sinks to your feet as you peel your hands away from him and look at him with complete and utter heartbreak slapped all over your face. Fred immediately feels guilty when he sees your eyes become glassy. He tries to speak for himself but you don’t let him. “I have to go,” you speak breathily before running back into the common room, The Winner Takes It All blaring through the speakers. How fitting.

You couldn’t let anyone see you like this, so you ran straight to the girl’s dormitories, trying to avoid sorry eyes and worried glances. The tears flow freely down your face as you scurry to the stairs, hearing your name being called out by an all too familiar voice. But you don’t let yourself stop. You run up the stairs, away from it all. Away from him.

The night haunted you like some sort of sick joke. George knew how much it bothered you, so he tried his best not to bring it up. But seeing you so upset over something as silly as a crush on Fred made him upset. “Something you surely know about Fred is that is a damned idiot. He does a lot of things he shouldn’t,” George tells you as you lightly laugh. “But you can’t let him get the best of you.” You knew he was right, but you couldn’t help but morn this crush you’ve nurtured for so long.

And now Fred was able to move on like nothing happened between the two of you. You avoided talking directly to him, rather going through a sibling to talk to him indirectly or just ignoring him when you were in a group setting. But if he talked to you, you put on your brave face and flashed him a smile like nothing was wrong. This only encouraged Fred to move on as well and as a result, Fred was now taking Angelina Johnson to the Yule Ball.

“I just can’t believe he could bounce back like that though,” you speak as you walk into the Great Hall for lunch. “I mean really? He’s taking Angelina to the Yule Ball, one of our mutual friends, and he expects me to be fine? I don’t know. It just doesn’t sit right with me, Georgie,” you confess as you plop down at the table, letting your head hang in your hands.

Katie gives you a confused look before looking at George. “Is this about-”

“Yes,” George cuts her off as Katie nods her head, sipping her pumpkin juice. “Listen, forget about them, alright? It’s done. It’s over. You’re going to go to the Yule Ball, you’re going to look fucking fantastic, and you’re going to dance your ass off and have the time of your life with your hot date,” George shrugs as if it were a matter of fact.

A short curt laugh escapes your mouth. “Sounds great, George. Only problem is that I don’t have a hot date,” you give him a glare.

He smiles. “Of course you do. It’s me, you git,” he nudges you. You burst out laughing as Katie joins you, the two of you clutching your sides in amusement. “Hey! I make a hot date!” George exclaims over the laughter. “Besides, we have a great time together. We’ll take nice pictures, I’ll dress up for you, I’ll treat you like a proper lady. It’ll be fun. But expect no kisses. None of that will be happening,” he tells you with a shiver as you smack his arm. “It’s nothing against you! You’re just like my sister.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off, will ya?” you speak with a small smile as George chuckles, giving you a nudge. “Fine. We’ll go together to the Yule Ball. My dress is winter white, if you care. And please, don’t bring me one of those ugly corsage things.”

George smiles, “Aye-aye captain.” You sigh and start picking at the food on your plate. “Now you’ve got everything you need for the perfect night out. Aren’t you glad you’re going to the ball with me?” he asks as you roll your eyes, mimicking him.

“Who would agree to go to the ball with you?” a voice asks with a sneer grin in their voice.

Looking up stood Fred with Angelina by his side as they took their seats across the table. Your heart starts beating faster as you just look away and pick at the chips on your plate. George, reading your body language, speaks up for you. Thank Merlin you had a best mate who knew you so well. “(Y/N) is. We’re going as mates, of course, but figured we’d both have the best time that way,” George beams, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you give him a smile.

Fred laughs, “That’s one way of putting it. (Y/N), if you need help getting out of it, blink twice,” he teases you with a grin as you gulp.

“Actually I’m really excited to go with George,” you exhale. “Might as well go with someone who I really care for then go with a date that I need to impress and don’t know that well. I reckon we’ll have a ball,” you wink to George who rolls his eyes, laughing at your awful joke as you smile.

Fred just watches the two of you chuckle together as he slowly nods his head. Katie interjects and speaks, “Reckon you chose the cuter Weasley twin too, (Y/N).”

You look at Katie knowingly and join her laughter as Fred calls out in protest, “Oi! Bell, piss off!” Katie spits a raspberry at him before scooting closer to you as you lean into her side. At least you knew George and Katie would have your backs.

Angelina looks at Fred, linking her arm in his yet again, “I think you’re still cute, Fred.” Her words make your stomach curdle, but you don’t let the expression show on your face. Instead, you continue to eat your food and distract yourself with a conversation with George about what he’ll be wearing to the ball.

The entire time you distract yourself from Fred, you can feel him steal glances at you, monitoring how you spoke to George, throwing your head back as you laughed, grabbing onto his arm as he leaned into you. You and George were mates, nothing more nothing less, don’t get that wrong. But still something about the interaction made Fred jealous for whatever reason. Regardless of how Fred felt, you couldn’t let yourself care. Fred had moved on and it was time for you to move on as well and enjoy a dance with your best friend.

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

“A few more pictures and then we can get going. Mum will have a cow if I don’t send her any,” George tells you as Katie groans as she plays photographer. “Oh, quit the bellyaching, Bell. Just two more.”

George stands behind you and places his hands on your hips as you place your hands over his, the two of you smiling as the camera flashes and snaps more pictures of the two of you. “My cheeks hurt, are we done?” you huff.

“Yeah, yeah,” George huffs. “Thanks, Bell,” he tells Katie as the group of you gets ready to leave the common room and head down with the masses to the Ball.

You run your hands down the front of your dress. The winter white silk clung to every curve of your body, the deep v necklace showing off your smooth skin. It wasn’t everyday that you got this dressed up; you almost felt out of place as you ran your finger through your hair, toying with the style you chose. “I look fine, right?” you ask George as you two link arms, headed to the ball.

George scoffs, “Fine? Fine? You look bloody gorgeous.” You smile fondly at George leaning into his side. “I’ve got the most beautiful girl on my arm, I feel like the luckiest guy in the world,” he nudges your arm as you chuckle. “I’m serious, I’m glad that we can go to the ball together, (Y/N).”

Looking at George with kind eyes, you speak, “I am too, Georgie.” George presses a kiss to your temple as you walk down the stairs, arm in arm. “Ugh, why couldn’t I have a crush on you and not your bloody fucking twin,” you speak through gritted teeth as George laughs.

“Would that be any better?” he looks at you knowingly as you huff. “That’s what I thought. Come on, you, I wanna show you off to Lee,” he giggles excitedly as you roll your eyes.

As you make your descent down the stairs, you scan the room. Everyone was dressed sharply in suits and beautiful ball gowns. Everyone looked phenomenal. And that’s when you saw him.

Perfectly tailored black suit. New. His hair slicked back, his gloved hands running through his hair. His hand held Angelina’s, but his eyes were all on you. You suddenly felt very aware of yourself in the space, but you didn’t let that throw you off balance. Instead, you held your head higher and smiled around at the people by you. But his eyes didn’t move from you. It was like you had him in a trance. A trance he had no intention of breaking.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs, you were greeted by Lee. “Wow,” he speaks. “Absolutely brilliant. You look incredible,” Lee beams. “And you look alright, (Y/L/N),” he teases as you roll your eyes, making George laugh. “I’m joking, you look phenomenal. I don’t know how you managed to get her to agree to go with you.”

George shrugs, “I have a gift, Jordan.”

You give George a look, “A gift for what? Behaving like a moron? In that case, yes, you have a very special gift.”

Almost on cue, a voice speaks from behind you saying, “You look great,” making you turn your head. You meet Fred’s gaze and you give him a soft smile while gulping. There he stood in his suited glory, Angelina clinging onto his arm, looking absolutely breathtaking. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, they made a very attractive couple.

“Thank you. You as well,” you say politely even though he did look absolutely ravishing. “You look lovely, Angie. Your dress is stunning.”

Angelina smiles and thanks you as the four of you just awkwardly stand there in a lull of silence. You look over to George, hoping he would take the hint and diffuse the tension. George notices your panicked stare and clears his throat, “If you don’t mind us, (Y/N) are going to go tear up the dance floor now.” He pulls your hand away from Fred as your eyes linger on him for another moment longer. “That wasn’t awkward at all,” he whispers to you. “In fact, that went better than I thought it would go.”

You sigh, “Don’t remind me. Now enough about them. I don’t want to think about it. I want a glass of punch and I want to dance.”

George squeezes your hand with a giddy smile. “Atta girl. Come on then.”

The entire night, you spent it surrounded by George, Lee, Katie, and Alicia, jumping around to the live music, laughing and smiling. It was your mission to forget about Fred and who he was dancing with, instead paying attention to your friends and how much fun you were having.

Katie grabbed your hands and pulled you into the lot of students on the dance floor as you twirled her around, making her giggle wildly. The two of you pressed against each other, dancing to the wailing live band as people sang screamed along to the music. You were having the time of your life and Fred became the last thing on your mind, too busy letting the music ripple through your body as you let your hips swing to the music.

But then the music slows down and over the mic the lead singer says, “Alright everyone. It’s that time of the night to grab that special someone and take it nice and slow.” With that, the band starts playing a slow song and soon everyone is in pairs, smiling at their date with eyes of adoration.

Katie huffs, “Well, that’s no fun, is it?” You laugh and push her arm, teasingly.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and see a bent at the waist George, offering you his hand. “M’lady,” he teases as you roll your eyes, accepting the extended hand with a smile. “I’ll try my best not to step on your feet.”

“Oof, that will be hard considering you have fat feet,” you tease him as he chuckles. One of George’s hands rests on your lower back as the other holds you hand delicately in his, you resting a hand on his shoulder.

The two of you begin to sway back and forth to the music as you sigh, scanning the ballroom, trying to inconspicuously look for that couple. “Don’t look for them, (Y/N). You know it’ll just make you upset,” George tells you.

But as the words leave his lips, your eyes land on them and your heart sinks into the floor beneath your feet. Angelina is giggling as Fred spins her around and pulls her back into his chest. Fred is chuckling as he holds her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. They looked so happy together and that’s what made you feel so upset. “Too late,” you huff as you watch Fred duck his head down, placing a kiss onto Angelina’s lips as you suck in a breath sharply. He kissed her just as he kissed you that night in the common room.

You turn away from the sight and look directly ahead of you, pretending you saw nothing with a shake of your head, but your eyes were fogging up with tears. “Don’t cry over him,” George squeezes the hand that rests in his. “We didn’t come here for you to cry over a boy. We came here to have fun. Crying isn’t any fun, is it?” he tries to catch your gaze as you give him a sad smile. “I don’t like seeing my best mate upset. Yeah, that’s right. My best mate.”

With a soft laugh, you take a deep breath in and calm yourself down. “You’re right. You’re right. We came here to have fun. I’m perfectly fine. I’m perfectly happy,” you tell George who gives you a reassuring wink as the two of you continue to sway. But with every passing moment, you keep wanting to look at them. What were they doing? Were they still dancing? Were they laughing? Were they kissing? What did Fred do?

Inevitably giving in, you turn and look at them again and see Angelina resting her head against Fred’s chest as they sway. Her eyes are closed peacefully as she listens the sound of Fred’s heartbeat mixing with the serene music that plays. But Fred on the other hand is looking right back at you. His eyes are fixated on the way his twin brother holds you in his arms, his jaw lightly clenched as you look directly back at him. Your eyes are full of pain that you try to blink away, but Fred knows how you are feeling. There was no place to hide. Fred Weasley knew you too well. “Look away,” George tells you as he follows your line of sight.

“I can’t,” you manage to sigh out. “He gets the very best of me.” You look at Fred’s eyes and how they stare deep into you. He knew that you wished it was you resting on his chest, and somewhere deep inside he wished the same. You avert your eyes from the boy and turn to George and speak, “Could we go outside? Get some fresh air?”

George nods, “Absolutely. Come on then.” You link your arm with George and start making your way out of the ballroom and away from the happy couples. Away from Fred.

The two of you make it out to the courtyard that was beautifully decorated with roses and mixed winter flowers as you suck in the cold, crisp air, refreshing your lungs and hot face. The breeze makes your dress bellow in the wind as George leans against the wall as you take a few deep breaths. “Take the time you need,” he tells you.

You turn to George with a kind smile. “I’m sorry I’m pulling you away from the ball. You should be having fun and not worrying about me. Quite the date I am,” you sarcastically laugh as George shakes his head.

“Don’t apologize. You’re not just my date, you’re my friend. I want to make sure that you’re doing okay. That’s my priority. Take the time you need and when you’re ready, we’ll go back in and spike the punch,” he jokes making you laugh. “Eh, why wait,” he shrugs before pulling out a small flask from his jacket pocket.

You laugh, “Of course you brought it with you. Godric, I love that we’re best friends.” George hands you the flask as you take a long drag from it, the warm whiskey trailing down your throat and warming up your chest and stomach. You hand him back the flask with a small grimace, making George chuckle before sipping from it as well. “I fucking hate balls.”

George shakes his head, “Yeah. I’m not too fond of them either. To be quite honest with you, I’d rather go back to the common room and fuck around.”

Your eyes light up. “Can we do that?” George furrows his brows in confusion. “What’s left to do at the ball? Pretend like we’re enjoying ourselves?” you ask. “I know the both of us are just going to drink more and pretend to like the music, so why not just go into the common room and drink more and listen to music we actually like?”

He smiles and shakes his head, “You sure?” You nod your head. “Alright. I’ll go tell Lee and Katie where we’re headed and then we get get out of here.” You smile and George starts walking back inside. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

As George disappears back into the castle, you sigh and look out at the courtyard. It was such a shame. A beautiful night to have a ball, spending a romantic night with someone. It wasn’t that you weren’t having fun with George, because George was always fun to be around, it was just not how you pictured the night going in your head. You pictured yourself to go with someone you fancied, ideally that person was Fred. You imagined that he would have asked you to the ball and you would have danced the night away, ending the night with him asking you to be his. It was a silly daydream though. But still a dream you hoped for none the less.

However, the memory of that night in the common room sat in your stomach like a rock. The feeling of being told that you weren’t what he wanted made you feel ill. You never wanted to feel like a second choice. You wanted someone who wanted you just as badly as you did. But apparently that wasn’t Fred.

“What are you doing out here alone?”

Without turning around you knew who it was and you wouldn’t dare look at him. Not right now. You had already seen enough of him. “Shouldn’t you be with Angelina?” you snap back, not intending to sound harsh, but the words came out that way regardless of intention.

You start to walk into the courtyard, allowing yourself to become distracting with the beautifully bloomed bouquets of flowers. The sound of Fred’s footsteps follow you into the courtyard as you gulp. “I saw you leave and I wanted to make sure that you were alright,” Fred tells you as you roll your eyes. “You’re still my friend, (Y/N). I care about you.”

With a small sarcastic chuckle, you reply, “Right. Good to know you care about me.”

In the distance, the roll of thunder sounds as you look up at the sky. What was once a clear night sky now becomes cloudy. But instead of retreating to the castle, you walk further into the gardens. Fred allowing himself to do the same. “I know that things have been complicated between us, (Y/N), but that doesn’t mean we can’t work this out. We can still be around each other without feeling awkward,” he tries to reason with you, but you simply keep walking away from him. You hear him groan before running ahead of you so he can look at your face. You abruptly stop when he appears in front of you. “Please, (Y/N). I can’t have you walk out of my life. You mean so much to me.”

You look at Fred’s apologetic face, but you don’t buy an ounce of it. No matter how much you wanted to take his hands in yours and tell him that you forgive him because you love him, you fight agains the urge and speak with a scowl, “You should have thought about that before you went along and kissed me.” Fred sighs and scoffs. “You know how I feel about you, Fred. And you’re choosing to pretend like I didn’t tell you. Do you know how uncomfortable that is?” you ask him genuinely.

Another rumble of thunder sounds as you look up at the sky with a groan, walking away from Fred again and deeper into the garden. But rather than Fred giving up, he follows you, chasing you through the maze of flowers. “How do you think I feel seeing you come here with my twin brother? Laughing and dancing and being around him constantly? You think it doesn’t make me uncomfortable?” he asks.

This makes you stop dead in your tracks and spin around to look at him. “You’re joking, right?” you scoff as Fred just looks at you. You huff out a laugh, bewildered that Fred would go so far to suggest that you had a thing for George. As you rub your hands over your face, you feel a drop from the sky hit your skin. Great. “George and I are friends!” you emphasize as Fred rolls his eyes. “You think I’m so calculating and manipulative that I would go after your twin? After you rejected me?” you spit at him.

“I don’t know what you think, (Y/N)! All I know is that when I see you with my brother it...does something to me. And I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it,” Fred pulls at the roots of his hair as you frustratedly groan out. It was if the universe was feeling the same way; another rumble of thunder sounds as more droplets start falling from the dark sky.

You take a daring step towards Fred and say, “Well, I can’t help that your ego is so fragile that you get jealous that I’m having a good time with someone who isn’t you.” Fred rolls his eyes and runs hand over his mouth, shaking his head. You couldn’t believe that the two of you were having this conversation. With a burst of confidence, you yell, “Because you know what, Fred! I can’t keep pining over you! It makes me miserable! I’ve been doing it for so long and it’s exhausting. I can’t keep living like this, it makes me infuriated with myself. And now that I know that I have no chance with you, it’s pointless!” Fred runs his fingers through his hair and opens up his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, “But that night you kissed me...you made me think that we had a chance. A real chance. But it was all a lie, huh, Fred? You just wanted to take me out on a test drive before you committed to me.”

Your words make Fred’s heart sting and it’s evident by the look on his face. Your words were harsh, but it’s what Fred needed to hear. He was trying to string you along still when you didn’t want to be. And that’s when he explodes, throwing his hands in the air, surrendering, “I didn’t mean to kiss you that night in the common room! It was an honest mistake, heat of the moment! You weren’t a test drive, (Y/N)! Who do you think I am?!” he exclaims as you just shake your head. “I didn’t know you liked me! If I had known-”

“If you had known, you what? You would have found out eventually. And what were you going to do? String me along like some lovesick puppy?!” you exclaim, the lump in your throat rising as the rain starts to fall faster. The rain dampens your hair and the silk of your dress starts to absorb it. “Regardless if you knew I liked you or not, you still kissed me, Fred, and you can’t take that back! You kissed me! But instead of facing the problem as what it is, you’ve distracted yourself with someone new,” you protest as you allow the lump in your throat to burst as tears start to fall down your face, mixing with the fresh rain.

“That’s not fair to say,” Fred shakes his head, taking a step closer to you.

“No, what’s not fair is you being mad that I’m trying to move on!” you exclaim now, speaking through your tears, pushing Fred’s damp chest. He stumbles back at you continue, “What’s not fair is you telling me I can’t do what is best for me! What’s not fair is that no matter how much you hurt me or reject me or surround yourself with other women, I’ll still be head over heels for you, Fred Weasley! I’ll still want you even though you don’t want me! I’ll still be hopelessly devoted to you!” you confess with a sob, turning away from him, covering your face with your arms as you inhale shakily.

Fred doesn’t dare move a step closer to you. Instead, he stands there, listening to the rain pour down, hitting the tender Earth, the wetness absorbing into his fresh pressed suit. “What...do you mean?” he asks, genuinely confused.

With an exasperated laugh, you yell out, “I’m a fool! I’m a fool whose willing to sit around and wait for you!” pulling on the roots of your hair, you vomit everything you’ve been holding in. “I’m out of my fucking head, Fred! My mind is screaming to forget about you and move on, but my heart is telling me to not let go of you! You’ve pushed me aside! Completely! And I don’t know what to do! There’s nothing left for me to do!” you scream out in the pouring rain, the two of you completely soaked standing in the garden. Your chest is heaving in the rain as you just stare at Fred who looks at you, so sad and so torn up. But he is silent. For the first time in a long time, Fred Weasley is speechless.

In a more calm voice, you speak out in the garden over the rain, “I will always be foolishly and hopelessly devoted to you. And I’m sorry. So if I can’t let you go, you’ll have to be the one to do it.” Fred is still silent as you scoff, knowing that he can’t find the words he wants to say. He just stands there in the rain, hands in his pockets as you shake your head, pushing past him, through the garden to get back to the castle.

“(Y/N)!” he calls out as you ignore him, only picking up your pace as you run out of the courtyard and back into the castle. “(Y/N)!”

As you enter the castle, you see George who looks at you confused as to why you were suddenly drenched, but the rumble of thunder behind you answers his question. But that didn’t answer why you were crying. And then Fred runs into the castle, also completely drenched, and George puts together the puzzle pieces. Katie, who stands next to George, gives you a sad look before speaking, “Let’s get you dry.” You run into Katie’s arm, crying as she rubs your back and guides you up the stairs to get back to the common room.

George just stands there, looking at his twin, shaking his head. Fred looks at his twin, not knowing what to do now. Does he chase after you? Does he take care of you? But next to George stands Angelina who looks at him completely confused. Fred sighs, knowing that he’s really gotten himself into trouble. And there was no easy escape out of it.

Back in the common room, you have changed into cozy pajamas and are adorned with a fuzzy blanket as the fire roars, warming you up from the freezing rain. Katie sits next to you, rubbing your back as you rested your head on her shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. We can just sit here, have a drink, and listen to all the music you want,” she speaks as you nod against her shoulder. Lee hands Katie a cup to which she hands to you as you take a small sip of.

Lee turns on the boom box in the corner, gently switching through songs before the intro to Dancing Queen starts playing. The sound makes you sit up straight, reminding you of that same damned night as you speak up, “Change the song.” Lee gives you a confused look before switching the song to something different.

Katie gives you a puzzled look as you pull the blanket around you tighter. “I thought you loved that song.”

“Not anymore,” you sigh. “He ruined that too.”

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

The days had gone by slowly but surely. Each day you separated yourself more and more from Fred and tried to keep interactions limited. But it was all difficult since seeing George meant seeing Fred. No matter what though, you knew that Katie and Alicia had your back, giving your hand a squeeze under the table at the Great Hall as he walked in with George.

Even though you knew the chances of you and Fred ever happening were down the toilet, you couldn’t help the fact that your heart still fluttered at the sight of him. Your stomach still did somersaults at the mention of his name. When you saw his silhouette in the hall, your heart raced with excitement and anticipation. But you couldn’t let yourself give into him.

You sat in your room one night, writing in your journal, keeping yourself busy as Alicia rose from her bed and put on her shoes. “I’m going to head down to the common room to meet up with Katie. We’re gonna study in the library. You wanna come?” she asks with a smile.

“I think I’m going to stay in. Thanks though,” you tell her before she slips out of the room. The door closes behind her as you shut your journal and huff, resting your arms on your shoulders.

Rising from the bed, you look out of your window and look at the beautiful Scottish scenery that was slowly being covered in snow. It was gorgeous, the green grass being covered in powdery white snow that shimmered in the late afternoon sun as it set in the horizon. You smiled to yourself softly as you watched the snow fall from the sky.

It brought you back one of the days it snowed three years ago. George had pounded on your door to put on snow shoes and your jacket. He insisted it was packing snow, perfect snow for a snowball fight. Of course, you had gotten ready in a flash, you, the twins, Katie, and Alicia all running outside of the castle to hurl snowballs at each other, laughing and squealing as the cold snow hit your skin. You remember Fred sneaking up behind you and dumping a chunk of snow down your shirt as you yelped out before smacking him with a snowball as he cackled. With a sneaky smile, you jumped on his back and did the same, shoving a snowball down his shirt as he yelled out, the cold snow melting against his warm skin. “Oh, you’ll pay for this one, (Y/L/N),” he called as you ran away from him with a giggle.

The memory made you smile, but was soon interrupted by the sound of pulsating music coming from what sounded like the common room. “What the hell?” you whisper to yourself as you slowly start to register the music as ABBA. “Good Godric,” you huff as you realize that Dancing Queen is the song being blared from the common room. You angrily slip on a pair of trainers before opening the door and making your way down the stairs. “Ever hear of the silencing spell?” you grumble.

As you descend the stairs, you start to call out, “Oi! Some people are trying to study! Would you knock it off?”

But as you reach the bottom of the stairs, you stop in your tracks as Fred stands in the middle of the common room, the boom box blaring ABBA, in his hands, a hand picked bouquet of the flowers from the courtyard. The same ones from the Yule Ball. Your eyes meet Fred’s as he turns off the boom box. “Fred,” you speak quietly.

“Hey,” he smiles at you. “I, um, I want to make a grand romantic gesture like they do in those muggle movies. I don’t know how successful the execution was. But it’s the thought that counts, right?” he gives a shaky laugh as you gulp, looking at him puzzled as to what this all was. Fred inhales shakily before speaking, “Angelina and I are over.” Your eyes widen and your heart stops. “Look, (Y/N). I haven’t been able to sleep since the Yule Ball. And I know that what I said to you that night was so uncalled for and so childish and stupid of me and I will forever be sorry for it. But what you said. About being hopelessly devoted to me. That keeps playing in my head on repeat.” You fold your arms across your chest and awkwardly shift your balance, trying to stay calm at his words. “And you said, since you can’t get over me, that I’ll have to do it. But truth is, (Y/N), there is no getting over you,” he sighs with a hopeful smile as you look up at him, heart beating against your rib cage. “I’m not letting go of you. I’m holding onto the very end of it all because you’re the one that I want. I want you and you only. And it took almost losing you to realize that. And I’m a dickhead for not realizing it earlier, but I’m just hoping that there is a part of you that still wants me,” he tells you as you look at his trembling hands, a small smile forming on your face.

You walk towards him slowly until you are face to face with Fred, looking into his worried, but hopeful eyes. You smile and pluck the bouquet from his hands as he lets out a breathy chuckle. “Nice flowers, Weasley,” you tease him as he smiles.

Fred puts one hand on your hip, pulling you close to him as he cups your cheek with the other hand. “I’m not saying we need to dive into things right now, if you want to take things slowly, then I’m more than happy to do that,” he tells you as you sigh. “I want to prove to you that I will be completely devoted to you, angel. I want to prove that I’m not going anywhere. I can’t hide it anymore. I am devoted to you.”

A goofy grin appears on your face as you give into Fred’s touch with a sigh. “Freddie, I do want to take things one day at a time,” you tell him as he shakes his head, still overjoyed at the thought that you would still have him. A small giggle escapes your lips. “You are quite adorable when you’re excited,” you tell him as he rolls his eyes. “I’m out of my head for you, Weasley.”

Fred pulls you impossibly closer to him as he sighs, “I’m head over heels for you, my darling.” And slowly, Fred presses his lips against yours as you melt into his touch. For once, things felt right.

#Fred and George #fred weasley #Fred and Goerge Weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader imagine #fred weasley x muggle!reader #fred weasley x female reader #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfic #Harry Potter Smut

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starlightinhumanform · 4 years

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Friday Night Lights

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ships: Romantic Prinxiety, Platonic Sleepxiety

Summary: Roman and Virgil play opposite positions on their rival high school football teams. It’s the Homecoming game and tensions are high. Neither are willing to lose but one must rise above the other…

Warnings (in order of strength): Some language throughout, Just Gays Being Dudes (That is to say, some mildly mildly risqué content)

Genre: Human (High School) AU, Rivals to Lovers, Eventual Fluff

A/N: I impulsively wrote a bullet point fic (*btw the bullet fic does contain some spoilers so beware of that before you read it*) several months ago and meant to flush it out a lot sooner but I only got a thousand words in before life hit and I wasn’t able to continue. I’m hoping to get the second part done soon, but in the mean time I thought I might as well post this! :D Love you all 🖤✨

Chapter 2 Ao3 Link Fic Masterpost Fic Request Info

The locker room light was sterilely bright, fluorescent lightbulbs glaring loudly above Virgil’s head. Bodies rushed back and forth in front of him, occasionally bumping into his knees or ruffling his hair. A hand clapped his shoulder but between the padding on his shoulders and the distance of his mind, he hardly felt it.

He sat on the wooden bench, neck bent, eyes closed, and breathing deeply through his nose. He did this before every game. While his other teammates hyped each other up- yelling and pounding each other on the back- he would go somewhere far, far away. It was how he got centered before all the chaos, how he rose above the adrenaline pounding in his heart, how he won. But today was different. Today he had to win.

“Hey, sleeping beauty, you ready to smash this game?”

Virgil grinned as he opened his eyes and turned to look at his fullback, Remy, “Yeah, dude. We’re going to wipe that smug grin off Prince’s face once and for all.”

———————————————

Roman Prince sat in a tight huddle with the rest of his team, wearing a smug grin. This was the homecoming game, basically the most exciting three hours of Roman’s year. Besides, this was his senior year and his last chance to show the rival school where they belonged. (That is to say, in the dirt).

With one last shout, the team started jogging out of the locker room, jumping as than ran and yelling at each other occasionally like they couldn’t even remember how to talk. The energy was electric. Roman lived for moments like this. The only thing he loved more than the pre-game hype was the post-victory euphoria.

He grinned and ran out into the field. It was dusk, a dark blue sky fenced off by the bright flood lights ringing the stands. He was hit by the strange combination of smells that was only found on high school football fields- funnel cake and sweat and turf and axe body spray and face paint. He waved at the cheering stands and blew a kiss at the opposing bleachers who booed at his arrival. This was his world and that ridiculous West Shore High didn’t have shit on him.

———————————————-

Virgil glared across the field at the pompous tackler from Monarch Knights. He was currently blowing kisses over towards his team and it made Virgil want to punch him. The boy was just so full of himself. Unfortunately, he had some right to be. On defensive, he was like a wall- one that simply refused to be knocked down. When he played offense, he moved like a tractor through the other team, mowing them down like they were cards and he was a quickly approaching tornado.

Remy laughed next to him, “I don’t think staring at him is going to do anything.”

“Well, if you do your job, I won’t have to do anything to him,” Virgil shoved him lightly in the chest.

Remy pushed back and it sent Virgil stumbling back a few feet. Virgil was by far the smallest on the team but he didn’t really mind; his job was to be light and fast. Being the halfback meant he got the ball and ran like his life depended on it. All the brutes around him were supposed to keep the field clear enough for him to sprint all the way to the end zone.

Usually it worked out well. Remy would run ahead of Virgil, knocking any threats out of the way and Virgil would carry them all the way to victory. Usually. Sometimes they would come across teams with some on-steroids sort of defense. Sometimes Remy would get pushed to the side play after play and Virgil would spend every down trying to weave his way through an oncoming river. Sometimes Virgil would get trapped in front of an oncoming wall and could hardly run an inch the entire night. More specifically, sometimes they played against Roman Prince.

Monarch Knights was the only school they had lost to the entire season. But not tonight. Virgil refused to be made a fool of.

———————————————-

Roman could feel that stare from across the field. Hundreds of eyes were on him at the moment, but none were so venomous.

It was the little creep who played offense for West Shore. He was one of the strangest people Roman had ever had the displeasure of playing against. Virgil Tempeste was like a chihuahua- tiny, aggressive, and buzzing with energy. Standing next to him felt just as idiotically risky as standing three inches from a lightning rod in the middle of a thunderstorm. When Roman had been forced to shake his hand earlier in the season, he had been half convinced that Tempeste was going to bite him.

As difficult as it was to admit though, he was Roman’s biggest concern this game. The halfback was fast and he knew how to weave through even the best defense lineups. He moved across the field like an ice skater across a rink.

Roman tried to give the little weasel a wave, but he was too busy bickering with the boy next to him to see Roman. Is was oddly disappointing; Roman would have loved to see how mad he could make Tempeste before the game even began.

——————————————————- The pre-game niceties passed by Virgil in a blur. Someone sang the national anthem, a coin got tossed, and the Student Body Leaders said something over the speaker system but it just sounded like overly enthusiastic static.

All that mattered was that they had possession of the ball. That meant Virgil could start his sprint from the very start of the game. Virgil liked his position. He was important, he had purpose, it gave him an opportunity to use all of the anxious energy he had bouncing around inside. Most importantly, his position was the very back of the formation which meant he got to see everyone else’s asses.

He looked out across the field and over his team. Past Remy, their quarterback, and the long line of guards and receivers, the red uniforms of the Knights blazed an angry red. It was such an arrogant colour, bright and brash and filling all of Virgil’s senses. Every time they played against the Knights, those stupid uniforms bothered him a ridiculous amount. Maybe that’s why they wear them- like that thing the matadors do with the red capes.

Virgil shook his head. He needed to stay focused; the game was going to start in seconds at most and he was idiotically thinking about the opposing team’s colours. But if he craned his back he could just see Prince…

—————————————-

Roman glared at the brute in front of him. His mouth guard sat heavily against his teeth. The bitter taste of plastic couldn’t mask the coppery adrenaline that coated his tongue and flooded his brain.

This was his game. His to win, his to conquer, his to dominate. And none of those Concord-grape-looking fools were going to get in his way.

The beast in front of him growled and Roman rolled his eyes. He really thought he could intimidate Roman? Bitch, please. He looked like the type of guy who would hurl slurs at Roman for wearing eyeliner just because he was insecure in his own sexuality (and probably thought that Roman was just a little bit hot). That type stopped scaring him a long time ago. Besides, he could brush that guy off like a fly.

The real threat was several feet behind him. Roman had come to refer to Remy Ristretto and Virgil Tempeste as Team Rocket because they were just as annoying and undermining- except they were often more successful than the cartoon characters.

Roman stopped trying to see Virgil and made eye contact with the wall just a few feet ahead, giving him a wink. He might as well have fun with this. Anyways, he’d have plenty of time to bother Tempeste later in the game.

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist or my Friday Night Lights taglist, please just send me an ask or reply to this post :p (please specify which one you would like to be added to!)

General Taglist: @phan-fander @abi-beehive @fandomfan315 @cas-is-a-hunter @reggieleigh07 @endless-rain-of-words @vicdehart @im-actually-ok @softnic Friday Night Lights Taglist: @lcrnbw @itsvirgilelliot @amazing-creepyfloof

#prinxiety #prinxiety fic #prinxiety high school au #prinxiety enemies to lovers #high school rival au #prinxiety human au #prinxiety fanfic #prinxiety fanfiction #romantic prinxiety #platonic sleepxiety #virgil x roman #roman x virgil #sanders sides human au #sanders sides high school au #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #starlight writes #Friday Night Lights

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chiseler · 3 years

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Ginger Rogers: Curse of the Working Class

A natural-born mimic, ham, tease, hard worker, stoic follower and out-of-reach babe, Ginger Rogers has proven one of the most difficult to define of all the 1930s Hollywood stars. At her best she was a synonym for fun and high spirits while also conveying a dignified and skeptical kind of resistance to other people, and these contradictory impulses made her one of the most special and ambiguous performers of her time. Rogers excelled in her first seven musicals with Fred Astaire and in several of her comedy vehicles and even in some of the programmers she churned out in the early 1930s. She was beloved, and rightly so.

In Stage Door (1937), Rogers gives one of the most distinctive, most suggestive, and most perfectly judged performances of the period, molding every one of her bone-dry, wisecracking line readings (and what lines she has in that movie!) into something pleasurable, something unexpected, even something profound, delivering them all with her guarded, in-transit sort of face.

I’ve seen Stage Door probably more times than I’ve seen any other movie, but I always notice something new in it, some new line, some new angle. As a kid, I didn’t really understand the source of Rogers’s misgivings here, which is the same source that animates her outrageously and inventively bitchy yet somehow tender and worldly fights with Linda (Gail Patrick), her high-falutin’ former roommate. Linda is the mistress of Anthony Powell (Adolphe Menjou), a powerful Broadway producer. When Powell sees Rogers’s Jean Maitland rehearsing a dance routine, his little weasel eyes light up with lust. He thinks she’s just playing hard to get when she makes her habitual mordant jokes at him, but she is really just trying to delay the inevitable. She wants no part of sleeping with a man for his money not because she thinks it’s morally wrong, per se, but because she’s basically too tired-out to go through those motions.

Jean is so disenchanted that the disenchantment seems to be leading her to some kind of drastic change. She talks herself into going out with Powell but gets out of sleeping with him by getting, or pretending to get, disruptively yet vaguely drunk. Jean gets drunk the way she does everything else, at some very unusual kind of steady and wary behavioral half-mast. She cracks wise as a matter of course, but she sleeps with a doll and she plays a ukulele. These cute details don’t seem to fit her character, but they do express the divided character of the woman who was playing her.

Jean stumbles home from Powell’s penthouse to her new roommate Terry (Katharine Hepburn), a rich girl with airily la-di-da attitudes about life and the theater. Hepburn had not endeared herself to Rogers with her much-repeated remark about Rogers’s partnership with Astaire: “He gives her class and she gives him sex.” The competitive rivalry between Hepburn’s upper-class pretension and Rogers’s low-burning common sense is the heart of their conflict in Stage Door, and this conflict and mutual dislike reads as pure chemistry on screen, just as it did for Rogers with Astaire.

There is such chemistry between Jean and Terry that Stage Door has always been a kind of closeted lesbian classic just waiting to burst into full-on Sapphic love. Terry has no love interest and shows zero interest in acquiring one, while Jean looks more than ready to give up on poor, unreliable young men and rich, sexually demanding older men like Powell. Jean and Terry, in fact, are perfect for each other and wind up with each other, and in the last scene Rogers reaches a kind of epiphany as she reacts to their friend Judy (Lucille Ball) leaving New York to get married. “At least she’ll have a couple of kids to keep her company in her old age, and what’ll we have?” she asks. “Some broken-down memories and an old scrapbook that nobody’ll look at.”

I first saw Stage Door when I was eight years old. Now that I’m well into adulthood, these last few lines that Rogers tosses off with such face-the-facts casualness have the force of revelation, as if she has finally washed up on the shores of some final philosophy. They predict the real lives of both Hepburn and Rogers (though some people still do want to leaf through those particular scrapbooks) and Terry and Jean, and everybody else for whom the easy way and the conventional way of living will never fit or will never be acceptable.

Rogers was capable of that tough-minded and frank and bleak attitude on screen, but in life and in general she was actually, and alarmingly, one of the most clueless of stars, never quite knowing what it was that people liked about her. Starting as early 1938, the year she made Vivacious Lady and Carefree, something peculiar started to happen to Rogers. After years of the most unlikely and enormous success in her Astaire films, where she was up to any dance challenge he gave her and where her timing in both musical and comic and dramatic scenes was magically sharp, her timing started to go horribly awry. Rogers began to be afflicted by self-consciousness, miscalculation, cutesiness, self-infatuated archness and flashes of deep-rooted mean-mindedness. She slipped back into her best controlled star mode in several films after that year, but she started to deteriorate more and more by the mid-1940s, almost as if someone had put a curse on her.

Rogers was born Virginia McMath in Independence, Missouri in 1911. Her formidable mother Lela Rogers was a writer for silent films and a journalist, and she was seemingly joined at the hip to her daughter. It was Rogers who wanted a career as an actress, and Lela resisted this at first, but when Ginger won a Charleston contest Mama Lela knew which way the wind was blowing. She poured all of her own considerable energy and ambition into making Ginger a star and keeping her one (that first name supposedly came about because a cousin couldn’t pronounce the name Virginia).

At the height of her stardom, when Rogers was sent the script of The Hard Way (1943), she wonderingly said, “This is the story of my life,” and turned it down. In that movie, Ida Lupino works like a demon to get her malleable kid sister (Joan Leslie) into show business, and the comparison is not flattering to Lela, who made a fool of herself testifying before HUAC as an expert on Communist infiltration of Hollywood, citing particularly the time when Rogers had to say Dalton Trumbo’s line, “Share and share alike, that’s democracy” in Tender Comrade (1943). Lela herself actually turns up playing Ginger’s mother in Billy Wilder’s The Major and the Minor (1942), and she’s a rather low-key presence, but she talks and moves like a woman who has power and feels no need to make any outward show of it.

In that Wilder movie, Rogers spends most of her time pretending to be a twelve-year old, and this uneasy reversion to little-girlhood was one of her most troubling fallback modes. She had made her first successes on stage with “baby talk monologues” written by Lela, and her early style, as seen in films like Young Man of Manhattan (1930) and Honor Among Lovers (1931), was very much a hold-over from the 1920s, a Betty Boop baby vamp persona that was more suited to cameo roles than to leads (Claudette Colbert, the star of Young Man of Manhattan, gently mocks these baby affectations after meeting Rogers’s character).

She churned out lots of low-budget programmers in 1932, and in 1933 she made ten films. In two of those, 42nd Street and Gold Diggers of 1933, Rogers nearly steals the show in fairly small parts. As Anytime Annie, a notoriously obliging chorus girl in 42nd Street, Rogers is first seen wearing a monocle and affecting a grand manner accent, and this was the first sign of her aptitude for two-faced disguise. As Manuel Puig once said of Ann-Margret, Rogers is anything but reassuring.

She’s close to surreal in her gold-coin outfit singing “We’re in the Money” with pig Latin verse in Gold Diggers of 1933, looking directly into the camera and not flinching as it travels all the way up to her face. Rogers gobbled up attention like that, and she had what it took, but she needed something or someone to stabilize her. When she strips down to her slip and stockings and gyrates in Professional Sweetheart (1933), an outraged Norman Foster spanks and then punches her, the first in an increasingly ominous series of punishments that would shadow her later career.

In the very horny Pre-Code musical Flying Down to Rio (1933), her first film with Astaire, Rogers is a hot mama, singing and swaying to “Music Makes Me” in a vagina power dress that even Marilyn Monroe might have rejected as too overt. When they dance “The Carioca,” Astaire starts out holding his head slightly away from Rogers, as if she might be diseased, but by the end their electric chemistry has fully kicked in.

Astaire had spent his youth dancing with his sister Adele and didn’t want to get stuck with another steady partner. Rogers had her eye on dramatic parts, announcing to an incredulous press that she wanted to play Joan of Arc. She was an ambitious and competitive person, and she knew that she was not even close to Astaire’s Olympian league as a dancer. But that’s part of the magic of their series of films, in which Rogers improves as a dancer bit by bit until she is fully capable of following his every step.

Astaire objected that no one would believe Rogers as an English girl in The Gay Divorcee (1934), and surely no one could mistake her for English, but this part gave her the reserve that she intriguingly used and toyed with for her best years as a star. Like most first sexual experiences between two people, their first real romantic dance together in that film, “Night and Day,” is both exciting and a little awkward. In their follow-up Roberta (1935), Rogers looks tense during their slow “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” routine, but she comes wonderfully alive when they casually tap to “Hard to Handle,” their first really great dance together.

She was always at her best in the lively comic numbers, where her wacky energy seems to warm Astaire, but she worked hard at the dramatic routines, so that when they do “Let’s Face the Music and Dance” in Follow the Fleet (1936), Rogers has somehow ascended up to Astaire’s level as a dancer. It must have taken nearly super-human will, but she did it, and audiences saw and felt her progress, and they loved it because it meant that anything was possible if you worked hard enough, even dancing like or with Fred Astaire.

Astaire didn’t like her feather dress for the “Cheek to Cheek” dance in Top Hat (1935), and you can see why he didn’t: it’s a little tacky. Costumer Walter Plunkett said Rogers always wanted to “add a crepe paper orchid or a string of beads or some goddamned feathered thing. She just never could resist little improvements.” But her feather dress in Top Hat does move beautifully when she dances, even if we do see some of the feathers floating away from them, as if she’s molting.

A more characteristic and winning image of her comes in the way she hikes up her skirt in the “Pick Yourself Up” number in Swing Time, which has a deeply charming kind of put-on nonchalance, or in the soldier-like way she executes a series of brutally exacting turns at the end of the “Never Gonna Dance” finale toward the end of that movie (while she shot this scene, her feet started to bleed in her shoes). One of the real pleasures of American moviegoing is watching Rogers as Astaire sings a love song to her: she would listen so intently, with barely any change of expression, but with such sensitive receptivity behind her eyes and in the set of her mouth.

People like to wonder if Astaire and Rogers hated each other. Maybe there were moments when they did, but mainly they just resented being tied together as a team, and those misgivings are part of what give their partnership and their best dances such impact, such crackle. Rogers reported in her autobiography that Astaire had taken her out on dates in New York when they were both working in theater, and at the end of one such date he gave her “a kiss that would never have passed the Hays Office Code!” But when they worked together in films, Astaire was married to a woman he adored, and he was a distant taskmaster in the killer rehearsal sessions for their dance routines. His friends, cultivated when he played on stage in London in the 1920s, were the English gentry. Rogers was not his cup of tea, and he made that known to her in subtle ways. She said either, and he said eye-ther, and they wanted to call the whole thing off, but no one else ever did.

In the many years after their partnership ended, they were still stuck with each other, and they both still resented that. Rogers would sometimes make friendly overtures to Astaire, and he would politely but firmly put her off, and this led to hurt feelings for her, so much so that she didn’t even go to his American Film Institute Lifetime Achievement Award ceremony. Film scholar Joseph McBride helped to put together that evening, and when I asked him about it, he remembered Astaire saying, “I suppose we’ll have to have Ginger,” in an irritated voice. When she didn’t come to the ceremony, it seemed like sour grapes on her part, but it had been made clear to Rogers that Astaire only wanted the bare minimum to do with her, and so she withdrew. It would do well to remember, of course, just how obnoxious Rogers could be. If you want to feel the full force of that, just look at any number of the films she made from 1944 to 1964 and you’ll see one garishly misplayed, mistimed performance after another, including the last one she did with Astaire, The Barkleys of Broadway (1949), where her dramatic aspirations were mocked and then the mockery was unintentionally confirmed when she did a goggle-eyed recreation of Sarah Bernhardt reciting the Marseillaise.

So what happened to Rogers? Why did she lose all of the qualities that had made her a star right after her stardom was confirmed? Many writers have tried to explain it. Analyzing Astaire and Rogers in The Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers Book (1972), Arlene Croce says, “She’s an American classic, just as he is: common clay that we prize above exotic marble. The difference between them is that he knew it and she didn’t. Rogers always wanted to be something more. Probably no other major star has so severely tried the loyalty of her public by constantly changing her appearance and her style.” In his book Romantic Comedy (1987), James Harvey writes, “Can there be any other major star who was so variable, even from film to film, as she was?”

Harvey blames George Stevens, who directed maybe the finest Astaire/Rogers film, Swing Time (1936). He sees a softening of her character in the straight scenes in Swing Time, but the rot really sets in with Vivacious Lady, a romantic comedy that has all the elements for success but perversely ruins them with its taffy-pull pacing, its willful lack of coordination, its leaning on jags and cutesiness and bizarre sequences like the fight scene between Rogers and a rival that devolves into a series of unmoving tableaus broken only by a coy laugh from Rogers, as if Stevens wanted to turn her into Frank McHugh. In the same year, in Carefree with Astaire, Rogers exhibits such unpleasant sadism when her character is under hypnosis that it feels like a revelation of some inner nastiness that had always been prudently hidden from view.

The damage was reversed in Bachelor Mother (1939), a working girl comedy that has no right to be as charming as it is, where Rogers added a kind of moony dreaminess to her repertoire of personas. She then made two films for Stage Door director Gregory La Cava, 5th Avenue Girl (1939) and Primrose Path (1940). In her second La Cava film, Rogers is so deadpan that it reads as a lack of basic vitality, a first in her career; it’s as if La Cava is unearthing the suicidal or even homicidal side of Jean Maitland. “People annoy me,” she says in that movie, and boy does she mean it. In Stage Door, when Powell tells Jean he wants to put her name in big electric lights, she says, “Gotta be big enough to keep people away.” La Cava is the director who understood Rogers the most, discerning something anti-social and solitary behind her sunny audience-pleasing looks and manner. In Primrose Path, he cast her as a teenager who breaks away from her family before she joins their prostitution racket, and her work in that movie is stark, clean, unsentimental.

Rogers won an Oscar for Kitty Foyle (1940), and many have dated her decline from that point, even if she is modestly touching in what is a modest working girl soap opera. She was close to unbearable in Tom, Dick and Harry (1941), where director Garson Kanin seems to dote on every moment of her self-indulgent performance as a dumb and narcissistic telephone operator who must choose between three suitors. Something about playing dumb here makes Rogers’s style seem laborious and throws her timing all out of whack, yet the following year, in Roxie Hart (1942), she certainly gets her laughs with her broad playing of a very dumb murderess who lives for publicity and likes to do the Black Bottom for reporters. In her segment in Tales of Manhattan (1942), you want to say to her, “OK, you can have all that hair on the top of your head or you can have all that hair fanning over your back, but you can’t have both, Ginger.”

Leo McCarey’s Once Upon a Honeymoon (1942) did her no favors, but most writers agree that the real coup de grâce in her career was Lady in the Dark (1944), a Technicolor movie of the psychoanalytical stage musical that had starred Gertrude Lawrence. Rogers insisted on playing it, and she was at loggerheads with director Mitchell Leisen and Paramount studio chief Buddy DeSylva, who vengefully cut most of the Kurt Weill songs from the film. All in all, the mercifully little-seen Lady in the Dark looks now almost as if it had been made in a spirit of deliberate sabotage. It is has to be the most nastily misogynist of any major studio production of this time, constantly hammering home the idea that Rogers’s Liza Elliott is an unnatural woman unhealthily attached to her work, and her leading man Ray Milland warrants particular scorn here for the gleefulness he brings to the scenes where he humiliates Rogers’s character. In the one extended musical number Rogers has, “The Saga of Jenny,” she doesn’t seem to have been given any choreography or direction and she can barely move in the outfit Leisen designed for her. “After Lady in the Dark there was nothing left of the Rogers character,” wrote Croce. “She died on the analyst’s couch.”

Rogers’s career proceeded only through sheer determination on her part (and on Lela’s part). She floundered in an updated remake of Grand Hotel (1932) called Week-end at the Waldorf (1945), and the next twenty years of her career were a real trial for her fans from the 1930s. Howard Hawks’s Monkey Business (1952) was supposed to be about scientist Cary Grant reverting to childhood when he drinks an elixir of youth, but Rogers insisted that she “wanted to do the kid thing too,” and so she ripped into scene after scene of coarse-grained youthful impersonation, the wise child of her early ‘30s character bearing rotten and poisonously un-watchable fruit. Cast as a hardened gangster’s moll in Phil Karlson’s Tight Spot (1955), Rogers is so heavy-handed and slow and cutesey with her dialogue that the effect is ghastly. If I were to make a simple diagnosis of her problems in the last half of her film career, I’d say that she caught a bad case of George Stevens-itis and never got over it (she had an affair with the married director during Vivacious Lady, which had Lela up in arms).

When she worked with a fine and sensitive director, as she did with Frank Borzage for Magnificent Doll (1946) and with Edmund Goulding for Teenage Rebel (1956), Rogers was still capable of restrained and acceptable if somewhat colorless work. But hateful things kept happening to her. In something like Storm Warning (1951), where she does battle with the Ku Klux Klan while also doing a transposed version of A Streetcar Named Desire, it seemed as if someone behind the scenes wanted to see Rogers punished. When Steve Cochran attacks her in Storm Warning, the scene is so prolonged that finally it is Rogers being humiliated and hurt, not the character she is playing.

Rogers went through five husbands, including the pacifistic and beautiful Lew Ayres, and most of them lasted for a couple of years, but Lela was her real partner for life. The last husband, William Marshall, got her to play a madam in a dire film shot in Jamaica, variously known as The Confession and Quick, Let’s Get Married (1964), and after that low point she made only Harlow (1965), where she was intriguingly cast as Jean Harlow’s mother, before retaining her star status in long-running stage stints in Hello, Dolly! on Broadway and Mame in London. After that came a little TV and nightclub work, where she ended most of her songs with a corny wink to the audience. A Christian Scientist like her beloved or at least inescapable mother, Rogers refused medical treatment after having a stroke, and she was ill for several years before dying in 1995.

The last forty-five or so years of Rogers’s long career basically ran on fumes of good will from her first twelve years in movies, and particularly those Fred Astaire musicals that she preferred to forget. Like many actors, Rogers had no real center or base that was really her, and this lack of center meant that she was able to in effect be something she wasn’t with Astaire, and transcendently so, but it also meant that bad habits and instincts were ready to rush in and overwhelm her when her guard was down.

“May I rescue you?” Astaire asks her in Top Hat, to which she snaps, “No, I prefer being in distress.” The Astaire/Rogers films are so romantic because part of her resistance is that she is suspicious of romance, and maybe she doesn’t believe in it at all. That lack of belief was what made her so sexy beyond her God-given but worked-on perfect figure (“Women weren’t born with silk stockings on, you know,” she says in Follow the Fleet). Look at how cool and unreachable she is when Fred is singing his heart out to her during “Never Gonna Dance” in Swing Time. She preached that God is Love and soda fountains were forever, but in her best work with Astaire and in Stage Door, she let darker and more movingly yearning things cloud her almost cartoonishly pretty brow, and those things are what should define her and what should be remembered.

by Dan Callahan

#Dan Callahan #The Chiseler #Ginger Rogers

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menalliha · 6 years

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Dancing with Demons

Summary: A fight with Dean turns sour. Being left alone in a motel room with a demon demanding answers doesn’t make a fun night.

Pairing: Dean x Plus Size!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warning: Angst, body issues, mentions of violence and killing, also implied cheating.

A/N: This is going to be a two part mini series. It was supposed to be an angsty one shot but the more I typed, the more word vomit came out and the idea sprang to life!

MY MASTERLIST

FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS WELCOME!!!

The scene that was unfolding in front of you was one you never thought you would imagine. Sam stared at you in shock while his older brother wasn’t paying any attention. He was too busy trying to devour the hot blondes face next to him. While it was obvious he has a few too many drinks in his system.

You felt your heart break into a million tiny pieces and tears stream down your cheeks. You didn’t even realize you were crying till some of the tears landed on your hand. It was a small fight that lead to this. Him making out with another girl while you were left back at the hotel to wallow in self pity. Yes, you admit the fight was stupid and your fault and that was the main reason you were here.

You made a mistake on a hunt that could have killed you and yet it didn’t. You were alive and well with only a minor scratch. But you understood where he was coming from. It just took you longer to actually understand. Plus the walk here to the local bar.

Your boyfriend was coping with this in the wrong way. Usually when he was mad, he would either just down drink after drink or play pool. But no.. he decided to try and hook up for the night. Sam was trying to silently plead with you and keep you from losing your cool.

The best you could think of was turning on your heels, you took off fast towards the door. Not wanting to ruin his moment which was soon shattered. You kept your eyes closed from crying anymore and ran into a waitress, knocking the drinks from her hand and all over your. Still you never screamed, just quietly apologized and tried to leave.

“Watch where you’re going next time, fatty.” The waitress’ words only numbed the pain more. She peaked over your shoulder and saw the table you walked away from. “Don’t blame him for moving on. Anyone could do a whole hell of a lot better than you.” A wicked smirk played on her lips.

Your face heated up from embarrassment. All eyes were on you and your over sized body. The one thing you were always insecure about and Dean knew it. He and Sam had to witness you take this verbal abuse this time and many times over. Dean was always the first one to complement you and defend you.

Running out of the bar, you heard Sam call or you but you didn’t stop. Your silent anger is what scared the boys the most. They knew you could just blow any moment. Sadly, this wasn’t that time. Instead of wanting to slash Baby’s tired or the car’s windows, you trucked it back to the hotel to hide on foot and maybe die from everything that just happened.

Dean looked over to his brother then the girl next to him. What was he doing? This wasn’t him. He would never break Y/N’s heart. You meant to much. You put up with his bullshit and broke down his walls while he tried to help you rebuild yours. Spending countless years feeling like second best and not worth anyone’s time. While he spent the last two years making you feel loved and safe. Nights of endless love making and promises. That all shattered tonight and he knew it. He was beating himself up mentally about what he did. He knew he couldn’t blame the alcohol.

Tossing the keys to Baby on the table, Dean hurried up from the table and tried to chase you down. “Don’t wait up Sam.” He yelled over his shoulder as he left the bar.

Hurrying down the road, he saw you walking fast back to the motel. You kept your head down and arms crossed over your chest. You wrecked of alcohol from running into that waitress, your self esteem was at rock bottom and to make it all worse, your boyfriend was sucking face with another woman.

“Y/N!” Dean yelled as he caught up to you. He turned you towards him and saw how tear stained and blotchy your face was. It was like a kick to the gut for him. He was supposed to prevent this from happening not cause it. “God… sweetheart… I-I am so sorry…”

Pushing him away, you wiped your face. “No… no you don’t get to sweet talk me. I saw you… I saw you making out with that beautiful woman. She… She has what I don’t… smaller everythings. Probably doesn’t have stretch marks on her stomach or boobs…”

“I don’t deserve to be easily forgiven but you sure as hell don’t deserve to be so degraded. Don’t think of yourself like that. You want the truth,” Dean licked his lips and started at you with his striking emerald eyes. “That happened mere moments before you walked in and she kissed me! Sammy is my witness. I would never go that far. Trust me I blame myself for being so vulnerable to that. But please… yell at me, scream… get mad please. This silent anger is what worries me the most.”

“You expect me to believe that Dean Winchester didn’t invite a stunning woman over to make out with her? Get the feeling of what skinny girls feel like since his own girlfriend is the size of a beached whale!” Your throat burned from screaming the last part. Your nails dug into the palms of your hands, leaving small crescent shape.

Dean swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. “Yes to the first half. Sam is my witness! Baby, you're not the size of a beached whale. Don’t make me drag you to the motel to prove that.”

A growl escaped your lip. “Don’t you dare use your charm on me! You are sleeping with Sam tonight! I need time to think about all of this. Us.” You knew the last word hurt him. It wasn’t meant to hurt anyone. You truly needed time to yourself.

Turning on your heels, you walked the rest of the way back to the motel, tossing Dean’s duffle bag to the room next to yours. Slamming your door, you locked it. You knew he always has a way of weaseling his way into your room after fights. Tonight was not that night.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you chugged down your second beer and heard the door slam next door. Indicating Sam was back and Dean was with him. You heard them mumbling, making out certain words. Mainly him saying he was an idiot and he really screwed up.

“Maybe I was too harsh on him. All I really have to do is ask Sam. He kept saying he was his eye witness.” Sighing, you got up and walked around the messy room and kicked the clothes out of the way. Reminded you of the first time you and Dean ever had to share a room together.

Sam won the pool game against Dean and got to room with bigger bed. Said the two of you could figure out the sleeping arrangement. The thought brought a small smile to your face. You were so insecure then. You tried to force Dean to look away while you walked out of the bathroom in a barely big enough towel while you looked for your sleep clothes. You didn’t need them that night. Dean showed you an amazing time and was yours since.

You started to unlock the door when you heard a faint chuckle behind you. It stopped you dead in your tracks and made your blood run cold. “How did you find me?” With your hand on the doorknob, you were sure you could yank the door open and barge to the boys room. Or you could scream. That would definitely get them over here.

“Remove your hand from the doorknob and if you scream, I will take your knife and plunge it into your heart myself. Have a seat darling, we have some catching up to do.” Gentle you let go of the doorknob and turned to face a demon. His eyes so black, it almost matched the night sky. “You really made an idiot of yourself at the bar. Not that hard to find you when that happened. Plus the old car out front. But where’s the old Dean boy at? Boot him out and on to his brother for the night for lip wrestling with another?”

“What do you want? You denied my deal. You clearly have a death wish.” You carefully sat on your bed and watched him carefully.

The demon chuckled and stared at you with his evil eyes. “You have information I need. You will either give it to me willingly, or I torture it out of you. Where is your older brother?” You watched as his eye flashed back to normal for a split second.

“There is no way in hell I am telling you that sensitive of information. I would never rat my family out.” A growl left the demon’s lips as his eyes flashed black again.

He grabbed you by the neck, trying hard to cut off your air supply. He knew he was succeeding when you were gasping for air. “Now listen here… I asked nice once, I’ll ask one more time. Tell me where he is or I will force it out of you with torture. I don’t care if the Winchester’s are next door or not. I will leave cuts, bruises or even possess you to get this information. Now one last time princess. Where. Is. Your. Brother?”

You felt him loosen his grip on your neck. “No chance in hell.” You spat and clawed at his hand.

“I tried to be the nice guy. Now I have to turn ugly.” Sighing, he doubled his fist and punched you hard, knocking you out.

Only to wake up hours later tied to a chair, a gag in your mouth and your knife in his hand. All while a wicked grin played on his lips and his soulless black eyes stared back at you.

FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS WELCOME AND WELL LOVED!!

#supernatural #spn #spn fic #spn one shot #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural one shot

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jhopesjawline · 7 years

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Hoseok - Dope Series

You were a boring office worker who met race car driver, Jung Hoseok, at a bar and things progressed in the backseat of his car.

Genre: Fluff | Smut Members: Hoseok x Reader Word count: 5179

Masterlist

You woke up with a sharp pain in your back. Shifting your hand to your backside to massage the pain away, you felt something on your stomach restricting your movement and you let your arm glide back down to your side. You lie there aching, but in comfortable silence. It was strange, you felt warm and cool at the same time. You felt giddy, at peace with your surroundings and you had no idea why.

Your eyes were sown shut from the sun blaring down on them... then you heard a groan, that wasn't coming from you. Your eyes popped open and you saw that you were like beef in a burrito, wrapped up tight beneath many layers of blankets. Somewhere in one of those blanket layers, there was a brown mop head. That's when you finally realized that you weren't alone.

You met him last night at a bar. It was a few minutes past ten when you arrived. You just got off your irregular shift at work that you were forced to work because Jerry called in sick again. How many times did that man weasel his way out of work this week? Even when he does show up all he does is stand beside the copier and yell at it to go faster, even though it's trying its very best! It's either that or the water cooler. He says he has some condition that requires him to drink a lot of water but you think he just wants to hit on Cheryl (who's busy at the front desk beside the cooler).

Looking like you just got out of a dumpster -but like a decent dumpster- you made your way to the counter and slid onto the end stool. Your hair was a little messy still holding up in the bun that you pushed it into this morning and your white button down was wrinkled from the weird positions your office chair had you in today. At this point in time you were hungry and quite frankly didn't give a shit about your appearance. You ordered some nachos, prepared to drown yourself in the greasy cheese and chip combo. The TV over top of the bar was showing the results of today's modified set at the local speedway. The screen flashed back to the sports anchor and you looked down at the bar like a starving dog, hoping to see your food placed in front of you. It wasn't there, so you ordered up a beer to sip on while you waited.

As you swirled around the brown liquid in your glass you listened to the noises around you. The bar was practically desolate so you could hear the hum of the appliances, the whispers from the women at that one table at the back and the sports anchors deep, exuberant voice. The sports anchor kept a friendly back and forth commentary with the news anchor about a rookie, Jung. They were so fired up about the kid, saying he was a natural; he could actually make it big. As big as the plate of nachos you saw exiting the kitchen via the bartender’s hands.

The smell wafted into your nose, travelling to the nerves in your brain and making you lose all sense of rationality. You dove into those nachos, no holding back. You didn't have a break today so who could blame you? Suddenly a crowd of people swarmed into the bar and you ate ignoring the new noises. Every bite was heavenly, full of flavour and guilt. You'd be working this meal off for a month (because when's the next time your actually going to work out?) but it was worth it, you haven't treated yourself to bar food in ages.

You realized that you would not be able to finish these all alone. You underestimated the size of the dish and overestimated your stomach capacity. As if an ethereal being up above knew you needed an eating buddy, someone bumped into your shoulder. You swung your head to your left and saw the perpetrator. A young male, with tousled brown locks hanging over his eyes, parted down the middle exposing a smidgen of his forehead. He was clad in a blue striped suit, unbuttoned revealing a white crew neck t-shirt and donned on his feet were a pair of black leather dress shoes. The man flashed you a dazzling smile that could shatter a camera lens into a million tiny pieces. His outfit made him stand out but he somehow looked like he still belonged in this small stuffy bar.

"Ah, I'm sorry." He cooed, sitting down beside you.

"Is this seat taken?" He asked after he sat down, like he instinctively knew the girl eating a whole plate of nachos is not here with anyone.

"Nope, go ahead." You replied.

He must've come in with a group of people because not a second after he sat down an older man came up to him, patting him on the back and congratulating him on his job today. A few more people came and chatted with him over the span of the next 5 minutes, all of them giving their congratulations and best wishes for the future. You became curious, what exactly does he do? So you conjured up a conversation.

"You look a little overdressed for a bar, don't ya think?" You asked playfully, hoping that you didn't come off wrong, seeing as you looked like a wreck.

"Oh, I just finished at work. I like to dress up for celebratory occasions." He beamed, not off put by your question at all.

"I see... Why are you celebrating?" Not holding back you fired another question at the handsome stranger.

"I won the qualifiers for the modified set today." He chuckled, down playing his accomplishment.

"Wait... Is your name Jung?"

"Yeah! How'd you know?!"

"Oh, I heard them talking about you on the news like ten minutes ago!"

"Wow." He said looking down at the counter in front of him, the corners of his mouth turning up.

"I didn't know they would be so quick to cover it. I've only been out of the car for half an hour..." His little smile grew and his cheeks brightened making his already lovely face livelier.

"Hey, do you wanna have some of my nachos? I ordered too much."

"Ah really? I'm quite hungry after all the excitement tonight." He looked like such a kid, gingerly picking up a chip and dipping it in the salsa. The happiness oozed out of every inch of his being. His suit, his posture, his face, his voice, his everything screamed 'nothing is better than this'.

He shoved the whole chip in his mouth, chewing with an expression of delight. Wiping the crumbs off his mouth he ordered a beer and your second as a thanks for sharing with him.

"So what's your name?"

"Oh, It's y/n."

"That's a pretty name! You can call me Hoseok by the way... I wouldn't want my new nacho friend calling me by my family name." You giggled at his attempt to get you on a first name basis. He was so cute and bubbly. Hardly what you would expect a race car driver to be like.

"Now I have the title of nacho friend?"

"Yup!" He grinned swiping another chip off your plate.

"So, what else do you do?"

“I like to dance in my spare time.” He responded, earning an eyebrow raise from you.

“Really?”

“Is that so unbelievable?” Bug eyes appeared and shock washed over his face.

“No, it’s just, racing and dancing seem like two very separate activities…” trailing off, you felt like you struck a chord.

“Movement, through body and through machine have their similarities.” He rebutted with a case closed firmness and smirk. You didn’t strike a chord per say, he came to be more cheeky.

“How so?” You pried, ready for his reaction.

“Well, man controls the machine. And man does the dancing.” His matter of fact expression gave you the urge to punch him, but he’s so darn cute about it that you let it slide.

“So… what do you do?” He inquired, forcing the spotlight onto you.

Taking a moment to think, you hummed, letting him anticipate.

“The standard. Eat, sleep, work and maybe play every once in a while.” You joked and laughed together, discovering more about your silly sides for what felt like hours (in reality it had only been one), until finally the plate in front of you was empty. The bar was crowded and the TV was replaced with some loud rock music. After your 4th beer your head started to buzz and you needed to get out of there. He must have seen the discomfort on your face because he reached over and gently grabbed your hand. His unexpected touch made your heart skip a beat and the buzz in your head grew more powerful, coinciding with the blood rushing to your face.

“Do you wanna go get some air?” His voice was soothing but his face was full of mischief. There were stars in his eyes that captured your soul and his lips were spread into a huge grin, egging you on. Of course you wanted to get some air with this man! So you nodded and he lightly pulled you through the crowd and out onto the street. The temperature drop was noticeable before you breathed in the crisp night air. Just the touch of the small breeze on your bare complexion settled you down. Your lungs felt revitalized and you let out a sigh, still holding onto his hand that was warming up your already cold body.

“Let’s go for a ride!” He cheered, pulling you with more force this time. You felt energized now so you didn’t mind how fast he was running.

“What?!” You uttered in confusion. “A ride to where?”

“Around the track!” He tossed his head back looking at your confused face and laughing.

You ran around the side of the building, through the alley to the back parking lot. You, have no idea what car you’re looking for so you just keep the pace and twist your body in between bumpers. He stops abruptly at the back of an enclosed trailer.

“I don’t usually take her out spontaneously.” You didn’t expect him to say that. You weren’t expecting any of this. You, at a bar, with a young and attractive race car driver. This was very new.

He let go of your hand to unpin the lock, letting the chain drop down with a clang. He slid the aluminum door across the bottom of the trailer bed. When he pulled himself into the trailer you got an excellent view of his calf muscles. Trying not to be distracted by his physique you peered into the darkness surrounding him. He walked further inside until you could hardly distinguish his body from the seemingly empty trailer, then he grabbed onto a pull string. Click. A lightbulb flickered on above his head, dimly lighting the trailer. The first thing you noticed was the car which was painted the same colour as the trailer, bright orange with a white accent. It had a local pizza place logo on the hood along with some more sponsors from local businesses. The number 94 was airbrushed onto both doors in jet black. It suited him well. The whole trailer looked like it belonged to Hoseok. The decals on the walls made it homely. There was a race car calendar pinned up beside a work table at the back, this month featuring a red Ferrari. Little decorative road signs and flags were pinned up on the walls. They were scattered around without any sense of order. The tables were cluttered with tools and equipment. There were a few lawn chairs, one open and the rest tucked away in their drawstring bags.

You watched as he walked around the trailer, collecting a few blankets and two helmets. He handed you the helmets, asking you to hold onto them for a minute. One you assumed was what he wore while racing. It matched the car, had the number, and covered the whole head. The other was a plain black ATV helmet, it had a visor (didn’t cover the whole face) that was just there to keep the sun out of your eyes.

You didn’t question his ability to drive. He had two beers all night and was as sober as when he bumped into your shoulder… which doesn’t sound very good but you knew when he showed up at the bar, he was extremely eloquent there was no way he had anything to drink. You watched as he backed the car out into the parking lot with extreme caution. He hopped out of the window and you were mesmerized. You saw things like that on TV, not in real life. The man was straight up out of a dream. Hoseok turned off the light inside the trailer and pulled the ramp back up. He then escorted you to the passenger seat of the car, told you to throw the helmet in the back seat for now which you gladly did, you didn’t want to hold the damn thing for the entirety of the ride. As he ran around the hood of the car you decided to tug your hair out of the horrible bun it was in. Well, it wasn’t really a bun anymore, since you ran to the parking lot it was more of a… folded ponytail?

“What?”

“You just look so pretty.”

The space inside the car was limited so you felt like he could see all the bumps, bruises and imperfections laying on your surface. His remark a few seconds ago made you twist up inside and you wanted to throw yourself out of the window. Your rosy cheeks were very apparent now, not from the running but the way he talked to you and complimented you. You turned your head away in shame hoping he wouldn’t see but…

“Don’t look away!” He laughed, trying to make you feel at ease but he ended up making you more nervous.

You finally looked back at him when you heard the roar of the engine and he gripped the back of your headrest. He saw your sheepish smile and returned it with one as bright as sunshine. He checked his surroundings a quick glance out the back of the car and to both sides before turning forward and taking away the nice view he’d given you. His tanned skin was more noticeable in the dim lighting; you could see all the contours of his bones and the way his brows curved when he manoeuvring through the tight lot, careful not to bump into the cars lining the rows.

The lights illuminated over the old brick buildings. The downtown scene looked rough but straight out of a movie, absolutely stunning. A gust of wind rushed in through the mesh lining on the window, pulling your hair in all directions. It was exhilarating. His laugh, the city, the speed, it was amazing.

You watched with your eyes sparkling as the city lights turned into lush green tundra. The air became clearer, you felt revitalized. Hoseok accelerated when you hit the highway making you burst out laughing. You gripped the sides of your seat trying to stabilize yourself and he noticed this, reducing his speed a tad.

Eventually you turned onto a tiny road; it was practically a cow-path. You had no idea where you were and you wondered where he was taking you. Things quickly became apparent when you saw the round dirt track and ginormous aluminum stands. You were at the race track. You should’ve known he’d take you here to show you what he could really do.

Once he pulled the car to a halt he chimed, “I’ll be right back”. He left you in the car under the moonlight and you could see his figure fumbling around in the little booth you pulled up to. The lights surrounding the track flickered on and you could see just how far the track extended. It was much bigger looking when you were right in front of it. From a distance it didn’t look any bigger than the path that lead you back to it.

“We can’t be long,” he began explaining as he seated himself pulling on his belt.

“We don’t want the neighbours to call the cops.”

Hoseok adjusted the strap on your helmet and put his own on after.

“Orange suits you.” You giggled as he admired you wearing his helmet.

“…and black suits you.” He give you the cutest wink and revved his engine , seeming to not care about the tracks’ neighbours and so you took off.

The dust blew up behind you, swirling the car and floating off into the night air.

“Is this safe?” You finally started asking the important questions.

“It’s as safe as I make it.” He answered straightaway. That’s reassuring…

You spent the next half hour zooming around the track, laughing at each other as you both made little side comments here and there. He was at an all-time high. You couldn’t imagine him during a serious race, he was screaming crazy things into the night, yelling out your name and how much he liked you, how glad he was to meet you. He yelled spontaneous things, like how he liked your hair, your laugh and the way you toss him a side eye. How perfect you are in every little way, and the best part is, he hardly knows you.

He pulled up to the little control booth and cut the engine. Hoseok helped you with your helmet; his nails remained at the tip of your chin. He gazed at you with such intensity but you watched his features change as he realized what he was supposed to be doing. He scrambled out of the car and into the control booth. With the lights on it was easier for him to see how to turn them off so he was back in a jiffy.

“Do you think it’s safe to stay here?” You wondered aloud, “You were very loud Hoseok.”

“If they haven’t come by now, then I think we’re good.” He grinned again, it’s like he never stopped smiling, and it was so warm and inviting.

He climbed into the backseat and gestured for you to follow. It was crazy cramped in the back, but these cars weren’t made for passengers so you understood why. Your knee was pressed against his and the only thing on your mind was how close you two were and how there was no other seating option.

Hoseok was so casual and nonchalant. He acted as if he’d known you for a while -not just an hour or two- so it wasn’t weird when he pulled you into his arms.

He rested one arm across your stomach and the other over your shoulders. He was getting really cozy and you thought it was adorable until he burrowed his head in your neck and what he said next was tremendously sensual.

"If you could do anything you wanted right now in this moment... What would you do?" You felt him whisper, breath dangling on the nape of your neck, your pulse quickening. ‘This isn’t fair’ you thought. He was too alluring. He pulled your body around to face him, staring into your eyes with affection. He smiled sweetly at you. All you could hear was the nerve-wracking sound of your breathing mixed with his. You were hot, he was inches from you. What would you do? There was this floating feeling in your chest that was spreading through your whole body. Your fingertips found their way to his cheeks caressing his satin skin.

“Y/n, what are you doing?”

“Enough teasing.” You retaliated, deciding to succumb to your heating core. You closed your eyes and leaned toward him in a rush. Your lips met his, he was a little surprised but kissed you back once he realized what was happening. You bit his succulent lip asking for an entrance. He got the message and eased up, letting you in. The kiss was long, your tongues fought for dominance. You almost didn’t want to give into him. You let him take control then he searched all the crevices of your mouth, trying to find your sweet spot but stopped short. He broke away from you, panting. He searched deep into your eyes.

“Do you want to go all the way tonight?” You did drink 4 beers, he was just being mindful of you, making sure you wanted this; and that made you want him more.

Your hands that were cupping his cheeks moved to the back of his neck swiftly at the same time he manipulated your position hoisting you onto his lap. You could feel his erection grow from underneath his suit pants. The fact that he was turned on, made you melt into him and become lax.

With your body easily at his disposal, he peppered hundreds of kisses along your neck and collar bone, making you feel like a thousand little butterflies were fluttering past you. With each kiss you pulled your body in closer and closer, wanting to press yourself right into his flesh; you loved the feel of him that much. He was the most beautiful man you’d ever touched. You kept running your hands through his locks as you relished in the feel of his lips.

You didn’t notice his hands slip down your waist to your butt. He grasped your firm ass pulling you closer to him. From there his hands travelled to the base of your skirt, making your heart beat rapidly. You placed a few kisses on his cheeks trying to distract yourself from his fingertips that were slowly making their way to your slit. When the tips of his fingers reached the cloth separating his finger from impaling you, you jolted, making him press harder on the material.

“Do you like that?” His husky voice sent chills down your spine as you griped his hair tighter pulling it so that a moan left his lips.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He grunted, never stopping the pattern circles he was rubbing over the cloth. You squirmed; making him chuckle but you couldn’t take his teasing anymore. All you could do was pull harder on his hair, taking fists full of his precious locks because a small part of you wanted him to completely annihilate you. The craving you had for this man’s body was something you’d never experienced before. A few hours ago you were pining for him but now you were straddling him.

His fingers tugged at the crotch of your panties. In one shift motion he completely exposed your throbbing clit. Immediately you felt the need to cover up, but you hastily pulled his shirt over his head instead, revealing his chiseled torso. He had to move his arms up over his head when you took off his shirt, giving you enough time to collect yourself and lock down your beating heart. He was quick to remember where he left off and he slithered his left hand up your thigh again, resting it on your inner thigh.

‘Not yet’ you thought. You wanted to have some fun first. You could feel his boner raging beneath his pants and you brought yourself to unbutton his jeans. He promptly started working at your shirt while keeping your lips at bay with his. There were so many buttons on your shirt he was becoming impatient, you were worried he’d start to rip your shirt off if you didn’t offer some assistance. You helped undo the last few buttons and the material cascaded down your shoulders. He took one look at your lacy black bra and started kissing near your cleavage. You felt a smile forming on his lips as he noticed your racing heartbeat.

“How bad do you want it?” He mumbled into your chest. He wanted to keep control of the situation, but you weren’t just some kind of toy to be played with. You didn’t bat an eyelash at what he said, you continued to look glossed over and tranquil not letting him know how much you wanted his hard cock inside of you.

You’d already unbuttoned his pants and it was time for him to unleash his cock. He flipped you on your backside so he could slip them off with minimal effort. Your hands instinctively went to his member. You could feel the blood pulsating through his thick skin and it was extremely warm to the touch. You started fiddling with it, stroking it like it was a beloved pet as you purred into his ear, manipulating his urges.

You thought the teasing had gone on long enough but your resistance to his advances made him want to break you. His lips hovered over your nipple, and the hot breath drove you insane. He started palming your breasts before he looked up at your glistening face, producing a smirk you registered as ‘here we fucking go’. His tongue swirled around your sensitive nip. He bit down softly on it making you gasp. He knew he’d succeeded in making you distracted and weak so he decided to move onto your other nipple. His nose brushed against your chest and you dug your nails into his shoulders simultaneously. His hands. Oh god, his hands, they were underneath your skirt. You were so focused on the way he exploited your nipples with his tongue you forgot his digits were ever up there.

His finger creeped into your slit so he started to play with your extra bits. It wasn’t long after that he’d decided to give up torturing you and just give you what you wanted. He pumped one finger inside of you, slowly at first, still delighted by your agony.

You wanted to scream out ‘faster’ but it took all of your might just to keep your mouth closed. You bit down on your lip so hard when he started to pump hastier and with increased speed. You knew you were close and you hated it. Your vices were lacing you with sweet, sticky pre-cum. He could tell he had you under his finger and it was time to go bigger. He slid in another finger, taking you closer to your limit. With each pump you felt like you were going to burst.

He pulled out and held onto your waist, steadying you and letting you catch a breath before smashing his member inside you with no restraint. You came all around his member instantly, the force he applied was too much to handle. Your arms were glued to his shoulder blades. You dug deeper and he rode your high, feeling your insides contract around his cock. He watched as your eyes glossed over and you both began spilling liquids before he decided it was time to call it quits.

You laid there for a minute panting before he entranced you in a long kiss. He pulled away, kissed your forehead, nose and cheeks, moving down to you the rest of your body. It’s like he started all over, kissing your torso again all the way down to your belly button and squeezing his palms into your hips. He stopped for a moment to catch some air and his eyes danced over your body landing on your stunning orbs.

Fast forward to today.

The covers ruffled around you, and you watched his arm snake up your stomach over your breasts to your chin. Reaching his beautiful fingers up the line of your jaw, cupping your cheek and smoothing his thumb over your soft skin. He rests his hand there for a moment that felt like an eternity. When he brings it down, his face emerges from the blanket. He quickly leans in and gives you a sloppy kiss. Lusting for more but unable to move your body you go with the flow of the kiss until he abruptly pulls away from you. He sits up slowly, rubbing his eyes.

"Aish, it's hot in here!" He bellowed out, too loud and too happy to see the light of the morning. His infectious smile making your heart pound once again so you lazily smiled back.

"Well, it is August."

His fingers found their way to the squishy part of your belly. Hoseok pretended to be innocent but you knew what he wanted.

You gave him a challenging smile; you knew Hoseok wasn’t through yet even after last night so with all of your remaining strength you rolled over, topping him. Nothing could compare to how his muscles felt below you. His thighs tensed as your hands came close to his cock.

You sucked on his tip and he couldn’t take it, his head lulled backward until he couldn’t bend it any further and he let out a scratchy moan. Just the slightest touch sent him over the edge, how he endured it last night, you had no idea. You think maybe the image of you melting around his cock could be a huge turn on for him because he didn’t react this erratic when you were jerking him off.

Your lips opened up enclosing more of his member, sliding your tongue over the flesh and you began sucking. You could feel his member twitch. The more you sucked, the more he shivered and he grabbed onto your hair as you had done to him minutes before you hit your climax.

“Do you like that?” His husky voice sent chills down your spine as you griped his hair tighter pulling it so that a moan left his lips.

The thought of the dirty things he put you through made you squeeze your eyes tighter together, and suck with generosity. You didn’t think he could last another minute of your sultry motions... and he couldn’t.

His cum shot inside your mouth and you slowed down trying not to gag but he held you in place. You wiggled a little and his fists loosened up. You pulled back some, released his member before you went down on him again. This time he was moaning non-stop, he didn’t care. You both knew you had each other wrapped around one another’s finger, you couldn’t beat each other so why not enjoy it?

As he let out a burst of cum you retracted and you collapsed on his chest, drawing circles over his plush skin. He craned his neck back as he held you in his sturdy arms. He let out a deep sigh before you both closed your eyes. Living in the bliss that was that moment he murmured, “Wow”.

A/N: No joke this took me a whole year, I’m so sloooooow. But I got it done and I’m hoping you like it because it just... it was a time. Congrats for waiting so long! You’re going to have to wait a long ass time for my next contribution to the series.... -Amelia

#bts #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #bts v #taehyung #yoongi #suga #jimin #jungkook #seokjin #jin #rapmonster #namjoon #jhope #hoseok #bangtan #bts reactions

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kcwiarchive · 7 years

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“who the hell did this to you?” Fletch n cam ho

hurt meme | fletch & cam.

the entire day had been a disaster.

so, a typical day at the west household.

it begins with a premature thanksgiving visit to his parents. pip agrees only if they go early, since she can’t stand the idea of spending an actual thanksgiving with them. she says it’s a waste. fletcher thinks it’s fair, especially when he considers their track record of holidays in this house, but he doesn’t have the heart not to see his mother at least for occasions and he hates going alone, so they go together.

mistake number one.

it’s easier to ignore the disappointed stares, angry looks and the snide remarks when penelope isn’t around to rebuttal every single one of them. it’s fine, he tells her, because he’d rather just have a night in peace without things unravelling the way they always do. he’s not here to see his father anyways. something in fletcher has always felt incredibly guilty for leaving home for that exact reason ¬– him and penelope might’ve found a way out but his mother surely hasn’t, stuck with a man that looks right through her and talks her down when she tries to make her presence known. penelope says it’s her own fault – they’ve offered her plenty of outs, all of which she refused. in pip’s eyes, their mother chooses him over them. fletch tries to tell himself that his father isn’t a cruel person ( pip says otherwise ) but misguided. jaded. angry, even. fletch thinks he might be similar if he hadn’t left when he did, but he loves making excuses – he’s spent his whole life doing it.

“ too busy on actual thanksgiving to visit your folks? ” it starts early. a statement as simple as this could be taken light-heartedly. fletcher is glad he’s got an uncanny ability to ignore the real intention behind words and spin them in a way that hurts the least – maybe this is where he learned it. penelope knows better, though, but even she doesn’t want to start a storm so early, so she smiles tightly and lies through her teeth. everyone knows but nobody bothers to acknowledge it.

“ we’re shooting on location, then. i’ll be in chicago and fletcher’s gone to vegas again for some.. tournament or whatever. ”

“ yeah, i’ll be there for a few days. ” fletcher nods in agreement, readjusting himself in the old couch that has a bad habit of sinking in. they still haven’t gotten a new one, even though fletcher’s just about done everything to insist they let him help.

“ not spending thanksgiving with cam? ” his mother’s half-listening, one foot in the kitchen. fletch didn’t realize how hungry he was until now – he’s been too on edge to think about it.

“ nope, he’s got coursework. ” bad topic. his dad huffs from his recliner, frowning.

“ because he’s in school. ”

“ don’t. ” pip warns. fletch gnaws at the inside of his cheek and drops his head just enough that he doesn’t have to see anything.

“ because some people actually decide to go to school. ”

and there it is. if it were just fletcher, it’d be perfectly fine. he’d shrug it off and change the subject, his mother would follow along, bless her soul. but it’s not just him and he can nearly hear the steam coming out of penelope’s ears.

“ well, you sure as fuck didn’t. ” she’s smart enough to at least mask it with a smile. his dad stares at her curiously, like he’s not sure whether to scream or laugh, but his expression softens even if his eyes swim with suspicion.

“ you’re right. just wanted better for you two. ” it’s barely audible but fletcher only notices because he expects it, the way penelope holds back a snort. he feels the same way – the only reason both of them amounted to anything was in spite of their father. fletcher would never say that out loud, though, not even when he doesn’t have watchful eyes on him.

“ i think they did quite well. penelope, your show’s about to start a new season, isn’t it? ” then his mom comes through, sensing the tension in the room and diverting it to something positive. this is why fletcher appreciates her, but pip’s never seen it as enough. it’s why she’s so protective – she thinks if nobody ever fought for her, then it’s her responsibility to be that person. especially to someone like fletcher who is happy to lie down and let people use him as a doormat, as long as that means they’re around.

“ we’re just wrapping up filming, actually, which is why i’m going to chicago. ”

“ and you won that award, right? see, you’re doing great. ”

“ thanks, ma. ”

peace is restored.

until dinner, anyways.

they sit around the too-small dining room and do their best to ignore the fact that they hate touching elbows. the main light is out ( their mother gets scorned for forgetting to pick up a new bulb at the store ) so it’s dimly lit by a bright lamp in the corner of the room. it’s been an hour of tight conversation and everyone is already rundown. penelope’s patience is thin ice and fletcher’s confidence is smeared on the walls, blown out of him with a shotgun. it’s not unusual or unexpected, just exhausting. fletcher has always been particularly naive and this is a perfect example – he wonders when he’ll stop believing that things will change. when he’ll stop thinking that one day he’ll actually walk through the door and feel like someone loves him.

it’s a childhood dream that hasn’t died apparently. he still wants to be an astronaut, too, so he figures it’s all bullshit anyways.

under the table, penelope nudges at him with her foot. she gives him that look that he knows well enough. it’s them two, it’s always been them two and this is just a formality. so he sucks in a breath and straightens his shoulders and props himself up like a string puppet.

“ so kingston’s back into acting now, too? it’s been so long since we’ve seen him. is he going with you to chicago? he’s from there, isn’t he? ”

“ not sure yet. i don’t know what his schedule’s like, but chances are if he’s not one hundred percent obligated to film, he’ll be coming. ” it’s almost relaxed, the way penelope pushes around the food on her plate. fletcher can tell she’s not eating and normally he’d say something, but he knows she can’t. she’s too stressed out.

“ not hungry? ” both fletcher and penelope pull in a breath at the same time when he speaks again, in some sort of synchronized annoyance. fletch is used to the jabs when they come his way, but he can’t help but wrinkle his nose when his father gets started on his sister.

“ my nutritionist has me on a new diet. ” penelope says lamely.

“ it’s true. hollywood and their veganism shit, you know. on the plus side she makes a ton for putting it on instagram. ” fletch babbles out, swallowing hard. he doesn’t like lying and he’s not a particularly good liar, but he tries.

“ probably a good thing. ” it’s flat and detached and it takes a second before penelope tips her head to process.

“ what? ” she knows what because she’s heard it before. there’s a reason she had to quit dancing, too sick to stay in the game. years of being put down has its effects on everyone, even someone like penelope, who fletch knows is tough as nails.

“ you know, it’ll be good for you. healthy. ” it’s not a full insult so penelope just blinks at him before returning to scraping her plate with a fork. hitting below the belt is his specialty and it leaves her exhausted – it’s a battle she doesn’t want to pick, one she knows is purely bait, so she refrains. fletch glances at their mother who has an intense, disappointed look on her face but penelope is right. she never comes to her defence.

“ and you’re doing what exactly, fletch? going back to vegas to screw around some more? ” in all fairness, it’s not exactly typical for your kid to aspire to be a professional gambler. and in all fairness, fletch does spend the majority of his time fucking around, but there’s a little part of him knows that it wouldn’t make a difference if he became an engineer or a doctor. if money and success was the root of it, there wouldn’t be a problem.

“ y-yeah. i mean, not to mess around. ” he sniffs and rubs at his nose, fumbling to explain. “ someone hired me on to play for them. high stakes. so i gotta go when they ask me to. ”

“ so you’re working for someone. ”

fletch falters, thinking. “ i mean, technically. temporarily. but after the weekend i won’t be. ” he can tell it’s falling on deaf ears.

“ they must think you’re good then, if they want you to play for them. ” one more attempt from his mother to weasel her way in and diffuse the situation, but they’re halfway through dinner and his dad is five drinks deep. it’s only a matter of time before he gets his fill digging into fletch, so he answers with a shrug and a nod. his dad laughs from across the table but it’s humourless.

“ leave it to fletcher to make a fortune and still find himself working for someone else. ”

“ i’m just doing it because i want to. ” it’s not defiant, but it’s an excuse to get angry, so his father takes the cue.

mistake number two.

“ well, it’s not like you’ve got anything else to put your energy into. might as well play some cards, ~since you can’t do anything else. ”

“ he can do plenty. ” penelope snaps back, irritated. she doesn’t visit much anymore and it’s been a while since anyone’s put up a fight. between their mother and fletcher, it’s always a free pass to say anything, use them as punching bags because he hates looking at himself in the mirror. with penelope here, it’s different. not necessarily in a good way, either.

“ like what? let’s not fool ourselves, alright? luck had him on get rich quick scheme, penny. ” the fact that fletcher’s been performing and winning for years now is ignored, obviously. it’d defeat the purpose. “ there’s no way someone who can barely pass his high school classes gets successful any other way. s’a good thing, too, because we both know the college wouldn’t take you, fletch. seems i raised a couple of kids that only know how to take shortcuts. fletcher spends his time playing games and drinking away what’s left in there – ” he taps at his temple, leaning back in his chair. “ – and you, pip. well, you quit dancing because you couldn’t learn how to put food in your mouth. ”

what the fuck. fletcher isn’t sure if he says it out loud, too stunned to form words. penelope, on the otherhand, has a silver tongue and no concept of hesitation. fletch has seen her angry – genuinely angry, not ‘a girl stepped on my foot with her heel at the club’ angry – and this is it. as loyal and goodhearted as she is, that temper is most definitely hereditary. he’s kind of scared then because penelope just laughs, cold and bitter and eyes narrowed in a way that gives new meaning to if looks could kill.

“ shortcuts have gotten us farther than you’ll ever go, but if you want to sit on your ass and resent us for the rest of your life because you’re stuck in his shithole then feel free. the only thing you’re worse at than providing for your family is being a fucking father – so i guess we’re not the only failures in this room. “”

fletcher exchanges a nervous glance with his mother but doesn’t back away. they’re stuck with no way to reverse and all he can do is hope it ends soon. they’re practically crawling at each other from across the table and fletcher can see it now, so he braces himself.

“ this shithole is the place we were kind enough to let you two stay in until fletcher turned into a fag and a glorified fucking criminal and you decided to whore yourself out to hollywood. don’t think because you’ve made money that you’ve accomplished something. if it weren’t for your rich friends, you’d have nothing to fall back on except this shithole and your fat ass. ”

it’s a lit patch into a pool of gasoline. it’d almost be comical if it weren’t so tragic, the way his mother backs away from the table when penelope lunges across it. there’s been plenty of altercations before but none quite like this. they’ve just kicked open the door to years of indignation and penelope knows only how to solve it with her fists. he’s done it before, pulled penelope away from a fight when she’s pushed too far, but his involvement is definitely not a good idea.

mistake number three.

violence and alcohol is an ugly cocktail, but at least their father is kind enough not to hit his daughter. instead, as it’s always been, he goes for the easy target.

it’s probably because they forgot to say grace.

when fletcher realizes what’s happened, the only thing he can think is that he really fucking hopes pip got a good swing in before it broke up.

happy thanksgiving.

the ride home is unusually quiet for the two of them. penelope floods out apologies, asks him if he wants to see a doctor but fletch shrugs it off. it’s most definitely not the first time and likely won’t be the last. and so what if he’s collateral damage, as long as sister’s fine.

“ it’s just a black eye, pip. ”

“ and a bloody nose. ”

“ yeah, but that’s stopped now, mostly. ” they might live in nice houses and drive fancy cars now, but their shifty upbringing taught them at least two things: how to take a hit and how to throw one. fletcher sighs and leans back against his seat, closing his eyes. he’s not sure when he got so exhausted, but all he wants to do is sleep. “ i know i’m not the scrappy one but growing up a fucking weirdo means i know how to get decked in the face. don’t worry about it – at least we’re in the clear and never have to spend another holiday there. ” he does his best not to think about it. they’re in a little bubble then, a bubble where penelope understands and so fletcher doesn’t have to explain, he doesn’t have to think about how fucked up the entire thing is.

until he gets home, of course.

he takes the stairs just to give himself more time, even if he’s got a splitting headache and the other tenants give him strange looks. there are days where cam is hardly home at all because he’s busy with school or work or anything else. fletcher is praying it’s one of those days so he can go to sleep and figure out how to explain this later on. he thinks this is the first time since meeting cam that he actually has the desire to avoid him.

the text he sent before he trucked up the stairs went unanswered which fletch hoped meant that cam was buried in books at the library, but when he opens the door and feels the humid air in their apartment, he almost sulks. it’s so out of character he almost shocks himself. all that worrying and he still doesn’t have words. for once, fletcher needs to think about it – it’s one redeeming thing about him, that how he feels just spills out of his mouth easily and shamelessly. it’s almost childlike sometimes, how he doesn’t carry those same reservations about expressing himself, but there’s nothing endearing about this, so he’s got to come up with something.

because his luck doesn’t get any better, cam turns the corner to the small foyer just then, leaving fletcher standing there looking sheepish and dishevelled.

“ i just saw your text, i was in the shower. how was the –– what the fuck? fletch? ” cam looks at him incredulously. it happens often, but this time it’s laced with concern instead of amusement or annoyance. fletcher wants to stare at the floor but he’s fixed on cam’s wet hair and the smell of soap. he wants to take a shower. in fact, the only thing he’s more upset about than having a black eye is that cam’s showered before he got home. a buzzkill.

“ hi. ” fletch replies dumbly, scratching the back of his head and pulling his gaze away, finally.

“ are you okay? who the hell did this to you? ” cam moves a little closer, cautiously. fletch wants to laugh it off like anything else, but the question sinks in and so does the realization. the realization that his boyfriend knows he went to visit his parents for dinner and the idea of fletch coming back like this is so absurd that there must be another explanation, right? but there’s not. there’s been plenty of times where fletch wished he wasn’t the softer one and now is no exception; he wants to grit his teeth and shove it away and learn how to put up walls, but he’s never been the type and he knows he won’t ever be – all he can do is feel it. all the time.

“ i –– uh, ” he’s halfway to a painful smile when his lip quivers as a giveaway. in response he bites down on it so hard he could use it as an excuse for the way his eyes go glassy. there’s a pause – to gather himself or the words, maybe – but when he opens his mouth nothing comes out, so he shrugs and wipes at his cheeks with wide palms before they can get too obviously wet. cam’s smarter than fletcher will ever be and he’s more than thankful it catches on quick. cam’s met his father, so he knows, at least, some fraction of how vile he can be. the realization crosses cam’s face for just a moment, some kind of appalled shock when the pieces come together, but then it dissolves into a simple, steady frown.

“ did he do this? ”

fletcher blinks back at him, swallows hard and almost succeeds at smiling this time. almost. it’s a long minute before he answers, his voice cracked and unfamiliar.

“ you showered without me? ” it takes a second longer than usual for cam to respond because it’s unexpected, but fletch feels oddly comforted by the way cam is so typical, staring down fletch like he always does when fletch decides to say something ridiculously inappropriate.

“ fletch, ” cam urges now, drawing forward fully. fletcher stares straight ahead but touches at cam’s waist, finding the fact that he got dressed after his shower seriously annoying. he settles for touching the skin just underneath the hem of cam’s shirt. it’s still dewy almost – he thinks about it a lot, ignoring the feel of cam’s eyes obviously inspecting the damage. he’d wince at cam’s finger on his cheek if he didn’t want it so bad because it fucking hurts, honestly, but fletcher’s always open to letting people press his bruises. he’s thankful cam only does it in a good way. “ you shouldn’t go back there. ”

“ i know. ”

fletcher is so used to filling the silence that it’s almost eerily quiet. for once, it doesn’t make him nervous. he’s worn out from head to toe, even his feet ache in his shoes and talking seems like such a chore, he doesn’t even want to stomach the idea. instead he sits comfortably on the couch – one that doesn’t sink in – and shrugs off his shirt that’s splattered dark red and drops it on a pile on the floor. it’s sad; he quite liked that one.

cam comes through like he always does, wiping off the evidence with a wet cloth, worried frown still painted in place. fletch knows he’ll have to explain fully eventually, but he shelves it for later and nudges cam closer instead.

“ i’m okay. barely hurts. the turkey in the middle of the table got the worst of it, if i’m being honest. ” it’s not untrue. he’d feel bad about the clean up, but he just doesn’t.

“ i hope it looks worse than it hurts because it looks pretty bad.”

“ hey.”

“ hold still.”

fletcher sighs but listens, as always. he’s spent a lot of years in denial, ignoring things because it was easier that way. there was a part of him that did it because it’d hurt too much otherwise, but also a part that simply wanted to hope for the best. the truth stares at him so obviously, fletch loses the ability to look straight through it. even through the insults and bad encounters, fletch hasn’t been able to utter a bad word about his father, not once. you’d be hard pressed to hear him speak poorly about anyone, let alone his own family, but penelope’s right. of course she is.

“ cam? ”

“ hm? ”

“ my dad is a fucking dick. ”

#°·• fletcher | cameron #slurs //#ed //#violence //#alcohol mention //#this is so long lmfao what the fuck #also i didn't edit this so just go w it #paynesrps #( °·• ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ sʜᴏᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴋɴᴏᴡ | ask meme ! )

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