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the-scarlet-witch-22 · 3 years

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Chaconne: Part 2 (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader)

Summary: After auditioning for who is often considered to be the world’s scariest conductor, you begin working for Agatha Harkness and the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra.

Word Count: 4.9K

Link: Dvorak’s New World Symphony: Movement 4 (Performed by the Vienna Philharmonic)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pGdtkUiKaA8

A/N: Hi everyone! I’m back with part two of Chaconne. I’ve included another link to the fourth movement of Dvorak in case anyone would like to listen, (it’s one of my favorite recordings and I definitely recommend it) but if classical music isn’t your jam I understand. Also, I would like to warn this is going to be major slow burn, but I promise there is a light at the end of the tunnel...eventually. Part 3 should be uploaded in a few days! I hope all of you enjoy it, and as always please feel free to leave a comment :) Oh! Also I think I’m going to make a taglist for this story, so if you would like to be added just comment or send me a message.

A week later marked the first symphony rehearsal of the season. You had barely seen Agatha all day. The woman was running from meeting to meeting with investors and the board so she had given you small tasks to complete in her absence. You were busy rearranging the small personal music library she kept in her office when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” You called out as you began sorting through the Baroque Era.

The door opened a moment later and you were glancing at a few different scores when you heard someone clear their throat. Looking up, you saw Wanda Maximoff standing in the doorway.

“Well hello there,” Wanda drawled out, clearly looking surprised. It took you a second to wonder why until you realized you were in Agatha’s office. “You’re not Agatha.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “No...um, no I’m not. I’m Agatha’s new assistant, Y/N.”

Wanda gave you a curious glance. “Her assistant,” she mused, taking a step further into the office. “Does she treat you well?”

You shrugged. “She feeds me a few times a day, buys me coffee. It could be a lot worse.”

Wanda chuckled. “Well it is very nice to meet you. I’m Wanda Maximoff.”

“I know who you are,” You blurted out before realizing how creepy that may have sounded. Glancing at Wanda, you were relieved that she seemed more amused than anything else. “I mean, it’s such a pleasure to meet you, Miss Maximoff. I’m a huge fan of yours.”

“Call me Wanda,” The pianist insisted. “You’re sweet. I’m surprised Agatha hasn’t had you running for the hills.”

You felt strangely defensive over the criticism regarding Agatha. “She really isn’t bad. I’m learning so much from her.”

Wanda looked surprised but smiled nonetheless. “You’re a very sweet girl, aren’t you? Do you know when Agatha will be back?”

“Um...” You trailed off and tried to remember when Agatha said she would be done. “It might be a while.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” Wanda said confidently, taking a seat in a leather chair. “I can keep you company.”

So you spent the next half hour sorting through music. At some point Wanda had offered to assist you, and although you assured her you were fine, she insisted. Which is how you found yourself discussing your favorite eras of music with one of your favorite musicians.

“Well isn’t this cozy,” Agatha’s voice rang out from the doorway causing you to jump.

The conductor had a scowl on her face and you could practically see the anger seething out of her. Wanda, on the other hand, smiled brightly at Agatha. “Agatha, so lovely to see you again. I was just getting to know your assistant. She’s a delight.”

Agatha glared at the woman, before giving you a quick once over. “Of course she is. What are you doing in my office, Maximoff? We aren’t rehearsing with you until next week.”

Wanda shrugged, not phased by the other woman’s attitude. “I thought I would stop by to catch up. It’s been a while since we’ve worked together.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at that. When did Agatha and Wanda work together? Agatha certainly had a lot of negative thoughts regarding the younger woman, so it would make sense that they had worked together at some point. You were just surprised Agatha never brought it up during one of her many long ‘Maximoff Rants.’

“I’m very busy,” Agatha replied, appearing to grow angrier with every word that came out of the red head’s mouth. “Right, dear?”

At first you wondered who she was talking to, until you noticed the pointed look she was giving you. You offered Wanda a polite smile before slowly heading over towards your boss. “Of course, Miss Harkness. You have to leave for your meeting with potential new investors and then we have to discuss new programs and publicity posters before rehearsal this evening.”

“I see,” Wanda was giving both of you a look that suggested she knew you were lying. “Well I should be on my way then. Lovely seeing you again Agatha, and it was a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” she said sweetly as she gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze on her way out of the office.

Once she was gone, Agatha all but slammed the door shut and your eyes widened at how angry she appeared.

“What did she say to you?” Agatha asked curiously eyeing you.

You shrugged, because Wanda didn’t really say anything to you. At least not anything important. “Nothing really. She asked who I was, insisted she wanted to wait for you to come back, and then she offered to help me sort through the music.”

“I didn’t realize the work I gave you was so complex it required a second set of hands,” Agatha spat out as she slowly moved closer to you, and you wondered what you said to get that reaction.

“It wasn’t,” you argued, feeling your temper grow and getting more flustered as Agatha moved even closer to you. “She was just being nice.”

Agatha huffed and stalked back to her desk. “Fine. She was just being nice. Now no more talk of Maximoff. I’m starting to get a migraine.”

“I’ll go get you some tea,” You offered, as you had become more familiar with the conductor’s frequent stress migraines.

Agatha merely nodded and began sorting through her scores for rehearsal and you set off to brew some tea in the kitchen. You brushed off her strange behavior as the anger that came with seeing Wanda Maximoff.

The rest of the afternoon passed by smoothly. Agatha eventually told you to go home for a few hours despite your protests to stay. She was still a tad bit grumpy from her run in with Wanda, so she all but shoved you out the door and said if she saw you back here before 6:00 that she would make sure it would be your last time attending rehearsal.

Finding yourself back at the concert hall an hour before rehearsal started, you made your way to Agatha’s office and used the key she had given you to let yourself in. You had to grab the boxes filled with folders of music, as well as Agatha’s scores and her favorite baton. Your eyes scanned the dozens of identical batons that the older woman had before you found the one she requested you grab.

There weren’t many personal items in Agatha’s office. Granted she had only been here for around a month, but still. It was basically bare, save for a few photos of her pet bunny, Señor Scratchy. You had often wondered what the conductor did when she wasn’t here, but you had never felt comfortable enough to ask. Agatha was...private, and while you respected her privacy a part of you wondered what she was like when she wasn’t in scary conductor mode.

A quick glance at the clock alerted you to head to the hall before the players started to arrive. You quickly locked up the office before hurrying through the building, arms filled with boxes.

“I should’ve brought these in before I left,” You mumbled out loud as you balanced the boxes in one hand to unlock the stage door with your other hand.

“Well yes dear, but that would’ve required thought,” Agatha said with a smirk as she came up from behind you.

You cursed and jumped, glaring at the woman who scared you half to death. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Agatha held the door open for you and shrugged in response as you passed her. “It’s not my fault you’re so easy to scare.”

“You’re evil,” You told her, but your tone was teasing. “And you’re early.”

“It’s my first rehearsal, I want to be prepared,” Agatha explained but you knew her well enough to know what that meant.

“It’s okay to be nervous, you know,” You said reassuringly as she grabbed one of the boxes from you to set on the stage.

Agatha scowled and gave you a dirty look. “I am not nervous. I’m Agatha Harkness. I don’t get nervous.”

“Right and you’re also nothing like Wanda Maximoff, right?” You fired back, enjoying the glower she gave you.

Agatha huffed. “I liked it better when you were afraid of me.”

You laughed as you began placing the folders on their respective stands. “I was never afraid of you. I was afraid of disappointing you.” And you were still afraid of disappointing her, but you would never vocalize that.

Agatha gave you a look you couldn’t decipher before she helped you with the folders. “Where’s your violin?”

“In your office,” You reminded her. “Remember, I told you I was leaving it there until after rehearsal?”

“Well how are you going to play in,” She checked her watch, “Fourty-five minutes without an instrument?”

You stared at her in shock. “But...but I thought I didn’t get the first violin spot?”

“You didn’t,” Agatha admitted. “But I haven’t hired anyone else and I still need to update our sub list. So there will be an empty chair for rehearsal.”

“Which means?” You pressed, needing to hear the words from her.

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Needy as ever for the praise I see. Grab your instrument and get your ass on stage in ten minutes before I change my mind.”

You practically skipped off stage, not believing what you were hearing. You were going to perform with the Manhattan Symphony! Sure it was just a rehearsal, and the first rehearsal at that, but you didn’t care. You were on cloud nine and nothing could bring you down.

By the time you returned with your instrument, some of the players had started to arrive. You recognized a few of the violinists from different gigs you had played over the past couple of years. Scanning the stage, you spotted Agatha in one of the first rows in the audience, drinking a bottle of water. She noticed you staring and motioned for you to come join her.

You set your case down next to her bag. “Thank you for letting me play in rehearsal today.”

“Why are you thanking me?” Agatha questioned, looking at you with curiosity. “I need a violinist for today’s rehearsal. You’re my assistant who will do whatever you can to please me. It’s common sense.”

You rolled your eyes at her but smiled nonetheless. “You really can’t let me be nice, can you?”

Agatha laughed and patted you on the arm. “You’re finally catching on, dear. Now get on stage and warm up. I can’t have my assistant embarrassing me in front of the entire ensemble.”

You did as you were told and sat in the last chair of the first violin section. The other members of the ensemble gradually made their way to their respective seats to begin warming up, and Agatha stayed at her spot still drinking her water. Your stand partner eventually made their way over to you and smiled.

“Hi, I’m Monica,” the woman said politely as she sat in the chair next to yours.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N,” you replied with a small smile. “Have you been with the symphony for a while?”

“This is my fifth season,” Monica replied with a shrug. “Should be a little more interesting with Harkness in charge at least.”

You vaguely remembered the rumors that the last music director had been voted off by the board due to his age, but you couldn’t remember his name.

“Yeah, she’s really great,” You said happily. Monica gave you a curious glance. “I’m actually her assistant.”

Monica raised her eyebrows at that revelation. “Oh, wow. What’s that like?”

You shrugged, and noted that was the second time someone had that reaction. “Pretty standard I guess.”

“I was wondering who she hired for the section after cancelling the blind auditions,” Monica admitted. “She gave those violinists quite a scare.”

“Well I’m not hired for this,” You quickly backtracked. “She just hadn’t filled the seat and she needed a sub for today so-“

Monica laughed. “Hey, it’s okay. I get it. It’s nice to have you here. I’m sure you’ll do great.”

A few minutes later, the chatter and warming up abruptly stopped when Agatha took the podium. The ensemble stared at their new conductor, curious as to how she would start their first rehearsal. Instead, Agatha raised her baton and the ensemble lifted their instruments in preparation.

“Movement four of Dvorak,” Agatha said and allowed everyone a moment to flip to the respective movement.

She raised her baton again and you felt a rush of adrenaline as you waited in anticipation for her to begin. Over the past few weeks you had studied Agatha’s conducting technique. Watching her move her hands in formation was so beautiful, she was easily the most skilled conductor you had ever observed. Her eyes raked over the ensemble and landed on yours, and with a smirk she gave the upbeat to begin.

Dvorak’s New World Symphony was one of the first full symphonies you remembered playing back in your high school youth symphony. It was breathtaking, full of colorful phrases and swirling melodies in every movement that left both the player and listener eager for more. The fourth movement seemed to tie it all together.

Despite it being the first rehearsal, the ensemble played relatively well. Agatha was mindlessly conducting, her gaze fixated on different ensemble members, and you knew she probably had so many quick witted insults stewing in her brain. You meanwhile couldn’t keep your eyes from watching her conduct. Sure, watching old videos of her conducting different orchestras was great, your personal favorite was of her performance conducting Tchaikovsky’s 4th Symphony with The Chicago Symphony. You also loved sitting in her office and watching her get lost in her scores, seemingly oblivious to your gaze locked on her baton and the way her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own.

But this...this was pure beauty. It was like she was painting a canvas using her baton as a paint brush. Even with her gaze focused elsewhere, she knew the score backwards and forwards and you saw her give every cue without even taking a second to glance down at the music. It was magical; she was magical.

The movement progressed and you had reached one of you favorite spots. There was a phrase transition that featured a slow and melodic theme that was passed throughout the orchestra. It started in the winds and you smiled at the serene sounds of the oboe that featured accompaniment from the strings before the melody was eventually passed to the violin section. While most violinists enjoyed playing fast and thrilling passages that left their fingers aching and bow arm sore, you had always secretly preferred the sweeter themes, the soaring melodies that kept growing and filled your heart with so much warmth.

Closing your eyes to play a passage you had long ago memorized, Dvorak had always been a favorite, you took a second to enjoy the unique feeling that every musician shared. Making music was an intimate experience. The ability to bring together dozens of people from different walks of life. To put aside any problems from everyday life and just take those brief moments to focus on nothing but their craft. Your happiest memories were of the time you spent in orchestra rehearsals. All of the hard, and sometimes grueling, work that went into perfecting each measure and making sure each section played as one giant instrument. All of it was worth it once you made it to the performance, and you swore there was nothing that could bring you more bliss than a live performance.

The movement progressed and Agatha was fully in her element. The woman was the most confident conductor you had ever encountered. Sure, she was a bit...cocky...but she had every right to be. This was the only first rehearsal you had ever attended where the conductor had effortlessly led the ensemble through tempo changes and cues without any faults.

With a whirlwind of fast passages and high notes that had you breathless, you reached the grand finale. You would occasionally glance up to check you were following Agatha’s tempo, and it took everything in you to not keep your gaze entirely fixated on her.

Agatha left her baton raised for a moment before finally lowering it, and you could tell by the passive look on her face that she was not pleased. “Well that was disappointing. Have any of you played in an ensemble before today?”

Directing her gaze to the principal flutist, she waved her hand. “And don’t even get me started on the mess over here. Are you trying to make my ears bleed? I’ve heard first graders who have a better tone than you.”

The principal flutist frowned. “With all due respect Maestra, it’s our first rehearsal and we’re a little rusty.”

“Did I ask for excuses?” Agatha questioned, and you knew the rest of rehearsal would only be downhill from there. If there was one thing Agatha Harkness hated it was excuses. “What’s your name?”

“Dottie Jones.”

“Well, Dottie,” Agatha sneered. “Since you apparently know more than I do, why don’t you come up here and conduct?”

Well shit. You didn’t see that coming. You glanced over to Monica and found she had the same shocked expression on her face as you did.

“Maestra I don’t-“ Dottie tried to argue, and you couldn’t help but feel a small amount of pity for the woman because you knew Agatha always got what she wanted.

“Now!” Agatha yelled and threw her baton on the stand. “Let’s see what you can do.”

“Is she always like this?” Monica whispered to you and you shrugged.

That was a good question. In the few weeks you worked for Agatha, you had grown used to her intense presence and ever changing mood swings. You would never admit it to her face, but you actually found it kind of charming in a weird and twisted sort of way, because you knew Agatha only acted this way to assert her dominance. The music world had predominantly been led by men. The vast majority of the most famous and beloved composers were men. For the majority of your playing career the conductors you encountered were men. Hell, even the majority of symphony orchestras had male concert masters.

“She likes to keep things interesting,” You whispered back while keeping your gaze locked on the scene occurring on the podium.

Dottie had reluctantly made her way through the ensemble to stand on the podium where Agatha stood to the side with her arms folded across her chest.

“Any day now, Dottie,” Agatha mocked and you grimaced. Not even a half hour in and she had already lost her temper.

To Dottie’s credit she appeared relatively calm as she picked up the baton Agatha threw on the stand. The orchestra readied themselves to begin, but you kept your gaze locked on Agatha. What was she playing at?

Dottie gave the upbeat and the opening notes of Dvorak rang out. The flutist was a decent conductor, but you knew it was a losing battle. Her technique was nowhere as refined as Agatha’s and you could tell she was trying her best to keep the ensemble from falling apart. You made it through ten bars before Agatha made her way to the podium and raised one hand, and everyone immediately stopped.

“Well Dottie what do you think?”

“I think I should go back to my seat and leave the conducting to you,” Dottie offered weakly.

Agatha arched an eyebrow. “Ah. I see.” She waited for Dottie to sit back down before continuing. “Some of you may find my methods crazy. Some of you may say that I’m too mean, that I’m pushing you too hard. However, there is a reason for all of this.”

She pointed her baton at the principal oboe. “You? What’s your name?”

“Oh, um...” The man stammered and Agatha rolled her eyes.

“Name!”

“Jimmy Woo.”

“Jimmy Woo,” Agatha repeated with a frown on her face. “How long have you been with the symphony?”

“This is my third season, Maestra,” Jimmy said with a smile.

Agatha nodded. “I need to hear more of you. We need to work on your projection to come over the strings without making it too nasally. Not bad for the first rehearsal, Woo.”

“Thank you, Maestra.”

“Now Woo, how would you say the past three seasons have gone?” Agatha prompted.

“Maestra?” Jimmy asked, appearing confused by the question.

Agatha let out a huff. “How have you felt the orchestra has performed for the past three seasons, Woo?”

“You want my honest opinion, Maestra?”

You watched Agatha tense up and you internally sighed. Another thing Agatha hated was pointless questions.

“No, Woo, I want you to change into a tutu and do pliés,” Agatha dryly commented.

Jimmy let out a bit of nervous laughter which quickly ended when Agatha glared at him. “Right. Well, I guess I feel like we’re losing our touch.”

“That’s putting it lightly. Thank you, Woo,” Agatha said before turning her attention to the rest of the ensemble. “The Manhattan Symphony was once the world’s finest orchestra. But all of you have gotten too comfortable. You’ve stopped making music and now are simply playing notes on a page. You’ve gotten lazy.”

There we go. The third thing Agatha hated. Laziness. You swore the woman was constantly on the move. There was one Friday afternoon where you had suggested taking a half day to enjoy the sunshine, which led Agatha to go on a twenty minute long rant (you timed it) that you could enjoy the sunshine when you were dead in a grave. Needless to say, you never asked to leave work early again.

You watched the conductor place her baton on the stand and wave her arms around. “I want this orchestra to regain its rightful place on top of the musical community. But this is going to require work from every single individual in this room. So, this is your first and only warning. If you are not going to put your entire soul into this orchestra, consider this your last rehearsal. Everyone is replaceable and I promise you will not be missed.”

You raised your bow to signal you had a question. Agatha’s head whipped around to look at you, and you could practically see the gears turning in her head. “Something you wish to add?”

“And if we stay?” You asked, thinking back to the very same question you asked her the day of the audition.

That earned you a smile so small it was almost impossible to see, and it went away as quickly as it appeared. “If you choose to stay, I am going to work you hard. I don’t want to hear any whining or complaints, only promises to do better. Are we clear?”

Silence from the room was taken as a yes. Agatha raised her baton. “Good. Flip to measure 21. Woo I want to work on your entrance. First violins, I know you love being the center of attention but you need to follow the dynamics on the page, circle them if you must. Flutes please try to not to fuck up your eighth notes otherwise I will make sure the only orchestra you play for is in the middle of Antartica.”

The rest of rehearsal went better than it started. Agatha was her usual slightly snarky self, and the rest of the ensemble was learning not to question her. You went to pack up your instrument when Monica motioned for you to come join her.

“I’m not sure if you have any plans but a few of us are going to get drinks if you want to join,” Monica offered and you were touched by her kindness.

“That’s so sweet but I’m actually pretty tired,” You said apologetically. Which was partially true, but you also wanted to make sure Agatha went home and didn’t stay cooped up in her office all night.

“Well if you change your mind, shoot me a text,” Monica insisted as she handed you her phone to put in your contact information. She took the phone back and sent you a message. “There’s my number.”

You thanked her again before heading over to where Agatha was silently stewing. A quick glance at her confirmed that she was still in a bad mood and you chose to silently pack up your instrument while shooting her quick and cautious glances.

“I can feel you staring,” Agatha finally looked up at you. “I want to redo the string parts for Maximoff’s piece. We need to fix a few of the bowings. I want everything to be set for our first rehearsal with her.” She noticed your hesitation. “Unless you have other plans.”

“Oh no, my dream Friday night is being holed up in your office marking Rachmaninoff,” You joked and grinned when she rolled her eyes.

“Funny, dear. Very funny,” Agatha deadpanned, motioning for you to follow her. “But I don’t pay you to make jokes.”

An hour later you were done with the bowings while Agatha had spent the time reading a book. She had a pair of glasses on and her feet were up on her desk, it was the most relaxed you had ever seen her.

“You’re finished?” Agatha asked, not looking up from her book. “Good,” she said and slammed the book closed. “Now, we didn’t get a chance to do this earlier due to my Maximoff induced migraine, so grab that violin and come with me. I want to see how relaxed your bow hold is after rehearsing.”

“Actually, I was going to suggest that we call it a night?” You asked tentatively, gauging her reaction. “You’ve had a long day and-“

“And what? I’m so old I need to be in bed before ten?” Agatha inquired, slowly taking off her glasses.

“You’re not old,” You blurted out and Agatha smirked at you. Blushing, you looked at the floor. “But maybe it would do you good to get some rest?”

“Trying to give me orders again, darling?” Agatha teased and even though you weren’t looking at her, you knew she was still smirking. “I’m not so sure I like that.”

“You really shouldn’t say things like that,” You mumbled whilst Agatha laughed.

“Whatever you say, dear,” Agatha said. “If it will get you to shut up, I’ll call it a night and go home. But I expect you back here tomorrow morning so we can make up our session. We’re finally starting to crack the surface of your true potential and I won’t have you wasting it because you need to sleep.”

You had waited for Agatha to pack up her bag and followed her out of the building. This was the first time you had left at the same time as the older woman. She usually sent you on your way long before she was ready to head out for the evening. She had her town car waiting for her out front, and she frowned as she watched you prepare to walk home.

“You’re not planning on walking alone at this hour are you?” Agatha questioned and looked at you like you were an idiot.

You shrugged. “I only live a few blocks away.” Which was a bit of a lie, but she didn’t have to know that. “And if anyone gives me a hard time I can just whack them with this.” You motioned to your hard case violin.

“You’re an idiot if you think I’ll allow you to wander the streets like a lost little puppy,” Agatha reprimanded you. “Get in the car.”

“I’m not getting in your car,” You argued. “I’ll be fine.”

“Darling I’m not going to tell you again. Get in the car,” Agatha repeated and then smirked. “Unless you’d rather I drag you kicking and screaming.”

You glared at her. Damn her for making everything sound so...suggestive. “Fine.”

“Good girl,” Agatha said as you followed her in the car, and she patted the seat next to hers. “Now where do you live?”

You gave her driver the instructions to your apartment and then made yourself comfortable in the car. There was a few minutes of awkward silence which you spent staring out the window, and Agatha spent staring at you.

“Ya know, you usually call me out for staring at you,” You finally spoke up, the silence starting to eat away at you.

“I am not staring at you,” Agatha lightly argued before changing the subject. “I never asked how you thought I did tonight.”

“What?”

Agatha frowned at you. “How do you think I led the rehearsal?”

That was new. Over the past few weeks Agatha had never asked you for your opinion on anything regarding her conducting, because why would she? Agatha was the most confident person you had ever met, and a part of you was envious at how she presented herself to the world.

You took a moment to glance over at her and found yourself staring into bright blue eyes. “I...I thought you were brilliant. But, you were a little too nice. I don’t think I saw anyone cry.”

Agatha’s expression lightened and you felt your heartbeat grow rapid at the sight of her smile. “Still making jokes, darling? Perhaps I’m going too easy on you.”

The rest of the car ride fell back into a more comfortable silence, and before long Agatha’s driver pulled up to your modest but nice apartment building.

You grabbed your violin case and offered Agatha a small smile. “Thank you for giving me a ride home.”

“Thank Hank, he did the driving.”

“Right,” You frowned. “Well, goodnight.”

Agatha briefly touched your arm as you went to exit the car, and you felt goosebumps at the sensation. “Goodnight, dear. I’ll see you in the morning.”

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha wandavision #wandavision au #wandavision #marvel au #agnes x reader #agatha harkness x you

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writingabouteverything · 3 years

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The Perfect White Flower--and Other Nonexistent Things

a/n YALL THIS IS PROBABLY DUMB BUT I HAD THIS IDEA ABOUT A HARRY STYLES X READER FIC THATS BASED ON THE PLOT OF JANE THE VIRGIN AND I WANTED TO WRITE IT SO BADLY I MADE THIS ACCOUNT

disclaimer--wont follow the show exactly

Pairing: Harry Styles x latina! reader (a key factor of the show revolves around the lead being latina, and im latina and honestly love writing for us but anyone can still read and understand/hopefully enjoy and the fic doesn’t involve any physical descriptions:))

Series Summary: Y/n l/n has had the world figured out since she was a child. She won’t be a writer because it’s risky, she’ll just focus on school and becoming a teacher. She’s never been a child, because her mother had her at sixteen and hasn’t aged a single year since. That’s part of the reason the promise she made to her grandmother means so much to her--if she doesn’t have sex before marriage, her child will never have to grow up as quickly as she did. And Harry Styles is at the top of the world--his music has never been more successful, he has a lovely girlfriend, and he’s never been more in demand. He has everything in the world...except a child, and through a series of unbelievable events--y/n might be his only chance to have one. Ever.

Chapter One Summary: Who knew getting a pap smear on two hours of sleep and three cups of coffee was as bad as having unprotected sex?

There’s something dangerous about taking public transportation in LA. And no, I don’t mean it in the ‘there are bad people in the world’ type of way. I mean it in the ‘I live in one of the casual influencer, celebrity, tourist hubs of the world and each time I step onto the bus I find myself mesmerized by all the stories I see in them’ way. Kind of pathetic, I know, but sometimes a child with blonde pig tails or a woman streaming on instagram live will catch my eye and the urge to pull out my lap top and start something I’ll never finish.

I know that writing isn’t some kind of disease. But I can’t let myself fall in love with it the way I want to. There’s nothing wrong with writing a short story or two, but trying to write a novel? That’s impractical. It will distract me from school, from the four year plan I’m almost done with.

Sighing, I brave taking at my surroundings. I deserve this today, after the anonymous, rude costumer at the hotel today, I need positivity. No one is particularly inspiring. The bus stops and I watch out the window. At first the crowd is ordinary, and then i see them...paparazzi. Flashing cameras from all angles, grown men violating all rules of personal space. It never sits right with me, but I guess it’s just part of living in LA. The bus starts moving again. When it stops again, I see even more paparazzis, but their cameras aren’t flashing. Good for whoever escaped that.

The bus door opens and I snap my attention back to my computer screen. I rub my eyes as I stare at my word document. How is there more that needs to be edited? This professor is the harshest grader I’ve ever had, and my friend, Gisa, is kind for giving me even more notes. But I’m exhausted. Two tests and an essay due before 12:00. And it’s...11:38. Great--I have to upload it the second I’m at my doctor’s office and have WiFi again.

I spend some time highlighting and rewording sentences, and once I’m done I reward myself with more people watching because I deserve it and I can’t fall asleep here. I’m kind of invested in the girl live streaming her bus ride...maybe she’ll say her instagram handle.

But when I look up, she’s not on the bus anymore. Almost no one is. An elderly couple is sitting towards the back. A woman with a toddler sit two rows in front of me...and there’s now a man directly across from me. I blink for a moment, imagining a story for someone who’s face I can’t quite see beneath such dark sun glasses. His dark waves and strong jaw do most of the imagining for me--he deserves a mystery, a dramatic one with a happy ending and just enough romance to keep the people interested. A good romance, too--not too sappy. Enemies to lovers, maybe. A mysterious stranger that’s not really a stranger because something about him is just...familiar.

He turns his head and I drop my gaze immediately. There’s no doubt he caught that, but I still pretend to edit the title of my essay. “You’ve been typing stubbornly since I first got on the bus.” There’s an accent--of course he’s english. But it’s more than that, I’ve heard that voice before. I’ve been...soothed by it. And--oh my god, I’m sitting across from Harry Styles.

Okay, don’t freak out. Don’t freak him out. He’s probably on here to escape the the whole ‘oh my god, you’re Harry Styles!’ thing.

“What are you writing?” Harry Styles just spoke to me. I greeted my one direction poster every single day in middle school, and Harry Styles just spoke to me. Okay--relax, breathe--it’s only weird if you make it weird.

There’s a kind of curt curiosity to his question. He could have been ruder, considering how blatantly I was staring at him. “I um...an essay.” I’m temped to turn the screen so that he can see I’m telling the truth. Though he wasn’t hostile, a part of me is paranoid that he thinks I am writing about him. It’s a fair assumption, for all he knows I’m drafting a tweet about who I saw on the bus this morning or preparing to send something in to some gossip girl-esque blog. “It’s due today at noon and normally I’m way more on top of things, but I had this last minute doctor’s appointment rescheduling because my usual doctor is out of town and--” I cut myself off before I can tell Harry Styles that I’m ovulating and that if I don’t go to my OBGYN now, I have to wait an entire month and I’ve already been off birth control longer than I’d like. I might not have actual sex in my near future, but my cramps have been extra terrible. “An essay, I just finished an essay.”

He nods once. Maybe he feels bad for so thoroughly startling me into such a rambling, because the corner of his mouth tilts upwards. A soft smile adds even more grace to his features, I focus on the dimple that appears in his cheek. “An aggravating essay, I take it, considering the death glares you’ve been giving your laptop screen.”

I smile at his polite humor. “It’s for the harshest grader on campus. She took three points off of my first essay freshman year because I spaced my bibliography wrong.”

He cringes in sympathy. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I hum, proud of myself for not letting him know that I know who he is. The bus stops, I can see my doctor’s office behind a few paparazzi. “This is my stop.”

Harry nods once, ducking his head slightly. A tiny part of me feels sympathy for him; from what I’ve gathered, he genuinely loves his fans and the relationship they have, but it must be draining to never have a moment of privacy. Especially when it’s people who care more about selling your picture than your mental health.

I linger on the bus’s step, watching the men with large cameras look around. “Excuse me, are you guys looking for Harry Styles?” Most of the men disregard me, but one looks at me. “I know he’s near here because I’m a really big fan and my friend just texted that she saw him.” This gets me the attention I wanted. “He’s at Northfield--a cafe like three blocks down. I just know that if she got a picture with Harry in like a magazine or something she’d totally lose it--in a good way, and she’s been having a bad time so if you see her can you try to make it happen? Knowing her she’ll be at his side, she’s blonde, shortish hair.”

The men seem skeptical, but I guess they realize that this is the best lead they have. I think the fact that I gave a reason to justify selling Harry out for no reason helped. They disperse together, heading at least three blocks away from Harry. I don’t know if I’ve actually helped him, but I hope I have.

“Essay girl.” I freeze, half cringing. Did he hear that? That’s embarrassing. I consider darting away, but decide that would just make me cringe more. So I turn on my heels. “You...you forgot your phone.”

He just saved my life. “Thank you.” I take my phone from his outstretched hand, ignoring the slight thrill that runs through me when our fingers brush. “You’re my hero--the last thing I needed today was to run all over the city searching for my phone.” I finish the awkward admission with a partial laugh.

“Least I could do,” he mumbles, “especially considering what you just did.”

...He did see that. “Oh um--it was nothing, I just kind of made a connection and assumed the only reason you’d be on a public bus is because you were trying to avoid some things, and you make really great music and a lot of people happy, so you deserve that break.” Why does it feel like I’ve been talking forever? “Anyways, thanks for the whole phone thing, and I hope I got them off your tail.”

My joke seems to somewhat land. His lips part, like he’s planning on saying something else. A timer on my phone interrupts him. I instinctually look down--great, the alarm on my phone warning me that I’m only ten minutes away from being late. “I’m late.” I turn towards the bus’s exit. “I gotta go, but thanks again, and I hope you have a good day.”

I disappear after that, still not sure that that whole thing wasn’t some kind of hallucination. Did I just meet Harry Styles? He...he gave me my phone. Harry Styles has touched my phone. I can’t wait to tell Gisa, she’ll lose it.

I’m still thinking about Harry Styles when I finally reach my OBGYN’s office. When I get there, things are a lot more hectic than I thought they’d be. Many people crowd the waiting area and the receptionist’s desk is clearly understaffed. Two young girls are trying to address multiple upset pregnant women and take phone calls at the same time, all while practically buried in a sea pf paperwork. Wow, I didn’t realize that transferring was such chaos. One of the girls waves me over and barely checks my name before shoving a form towards me. I fill out as quickly as possible.

I upload my essay quickly after checking in. Who knows, maybe Harry Styles’s blessing will get me an A? A third person in scrubs emerges from the back after a moment and ushers me into a room. I tell myself to focus on going over the facts I need for the test I have to take in a little over an hour. Or to focus on the fact that I just met Harry Styles. But instead, I feel my heavy eyelids fall shut.

I don’t know how long I sleep, but I know that I wake up during the middle of a doctor’s sentence, “...I know I’m not your usual, so I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“Hm...Yeah, yeah I’m comfortable.” She nods once, her wide eyes slightly red. “But I do have a class today in like an hour, so I was wondering if this was going to take longer because of the office’s move?”

“Oh, no,” she shakes her head. “Just because Dr. Rodriguez gave us no notice before deciding that she no longer wanted to work here...or in the country. Or even live in the US, despite the fact that we just signed a lease on a place together...” Tears well in the stranger’s eyes, pity settles in my stomach.

“That sounds incredibly complicated, I didn’t mean to rush you.”

She blinks twice, her expression blanking as she fights against the pain of what’s clearly a terrible break up. “No, no--you have every right. Today is your day and if..honestly, if you’re strong enough to go to a class after this, and do what you’re about to do by yourself, then I’m strong enough to get through today.”

Um...didn’t realize a pap smear counted as something that needs moral support, but I’ll chalk it up to her heightened emotions. “Thanks.”

She snaps on her medical gloves. “No, thank you for your patience. Now lay down.”

I do as told, preparing for a sensation I haven’t often experienced. A moment passes and I know she’s started. She’s moving away from me much faster than expected. Oh--I guess pap smears are a lot shorter than I expected.

“That’s it?”

“Yep,” she hums, pulling her gloves off. “Now just take it easy, and hydrate.”

Weird...but that’s like general doctor advice. “Thanks!”

I’ve never wanted to keep a secret from Gisa, but sometimes I really regret telling her I met Harry Styles. It’s been almost a month and I find my mind wandering back to the moment in which our fingers brushed more than I should. Sometimes I let myself wonder what he might have said if my phone hadn’t rang. I was probably just imagining the way his lips parted, but my ind refuses to let it go.

“...You know it’s kind of sad, I read an interview in which he spoke about the fact that he has some genetic condition that makes it hard to have kids. He has so many godchildren, and I feel like he’d make such a great father.”

I try to keep up with Gisa’s words, but the dull ache in my head makes it feel so far away. “Yeah...he seemed really patient.”

Gisa nods, turning to face me. “You alright, you’re looking kinda green?”

“Yeah...” I reach for my canvas bag. “I think I just...I probably just need some water.”

My hand grazes the metal of my water bottle and then the corners of my vision blur into blackness. I sway, Gisa’s hand is on my shoulder...and then it all goes black.

I sit uncomfortably on the hospital’s cot. Gisa is a traitor for telling my mom that I fainted. I knew she’d just drag me here--hispanic mothers, they either believe they can cure you with vic’s vapor rub or they want you in the ER. No in between.

“I know you didn’t want another test, but you’ve been throwing up in the morning for days and now you’re fainting.”

“Fainted,” I correct, “it happened once.”

“C’mon, mija, it’s just one doctor’s appointment.”

Speaking of, an ER nurse returns. “Fainting and nausea spells explained,” he says, glancing at his clipboard, “you’re pregnant.”

My mom and I can’t help but exchange a look before bursting into laughter. Pregnant. If I’m pregnant then the second coming is here. “That’s impossible, I’m a virgin.”

He glances at my mom, “maybe we should have this conversation in private.”

“No, what you say in front of me you can say in front of my mom.”

My mom raises an eyebrow. “Y/n, did you and that guy from your english class--”

“No! No, we did not. I am a virgin and there’s no way I’m pregnant.” I glare at the nurse.

He then ushers me to a bathroom so that I can provide a urine sample. After I’m finished, he shows me a pregnancy test strip. “Pink means pregnant.” I bite my tongue as he tests the strip in my sample. He pulls it out and it’s...it’s bright pink.

“I’m calling my doctor, because this has to be a mistake. It has to be like a hormonal thing.”

“Exactly, pregnancy hormones.”

I glare even harder, calling the doctor that I saw last week. “Hello, Dr. Ash? I was wondering if I could get a consultation because I’m in the ER and some crazy doctor is trying to tell me I’m pregnant.”

Silence on the line for a long second. “...I actually cleared my calendar for you.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #jane the virgin #jane the virgin AU #lot #hslot st louis

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fweasleyswhore · 3 years

Text

Who We Are - F.W.

Chapter Five: Your Facade

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four

a/n: its really outta pocket how late this is, but, i am sorry depression been hittin hard lately im going to try and upload around every three days now !

word count: 2.2k sorry short

warnings: none! just fluff and a tad of uncomfy a lot of ground work for next chapter also this is a series specific taglist just as fyi

tags: @you-make-children-cry @bohemianspacebabe @levylovegood @louist-pics @rochellestark @hufflepuffzutara @weasleybeb @whoreforfredweasley @fortheloveofthecharacter @ayesha-mae @ma0422

“Darling! How I am so excited to meet you!” Before I could reply I was pulled into a bone-crushing hug by Mrs. Weasley. I was quickly pulled out of the train by the twins, barely able to tell Lee goodbye before I was being surrounded by redheads. If I didn’t know who they were I would have felt like I was being circled by vultures. Placing names to the faces I saw wasn’t so difficult, I knew all of the family from my time at Hogwarts, the only thing I didn’t know was who the two taller men behind Mrs. Weasley were. I only got a glance at them, they were both redheads, obviously of the Weasley clan. One had a dangly earring with longer hair that reached his jaw, the other was slightly taller and stockier, his hair wasn’t as long as the others but had more of a curl to it. They were engaged in a conversation I couldn’t hear or focus on as I was being pushed out of Mrs. Weasley’s arm’s. She held me at arms length smiling.

“Thank you so much for letting me stay with you, it really means a lot to me,” I spoke softly, bringing one of my hands up to squeeze hers that rested on my shoulder. She nodded enthusiastically. She opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by Mr. Weasley. “No problem, not at all.” He said nodding down at me. He extended his hand which I shook gladly. “Oi stop coddling Y/N!” George spoke up from behind me pushing next to me. “Yeah we want to spend time with her too.” Fred said linking his arm around my shoulders. George let out a chortle that pulled my and Fred’s attention toward him. “I meant for mum to coddle us, you know, because we are her kids.” I felt Fred’s arm drop from around me and I glared at George who smiled wide and looked between us. “Alright children let's get going.” Mrs. Weasley clapped, pulling all of our attention towards her. I let out a short sigh and grabbed my trunk. The ride to the burrow was uncomfortable. I sat in between the twins in the backseat with some extra luggage. Fred started to rest his head on my shoulder around the halfway point which would have been cute if I could relax into it, instead it just made me feel more cramped. I shut my eyes, trying to relax my breathing as my nerves took over me, counting my breaths until we were there. Getting into the Burrow was a flash, moving bodies tumbling up the winding stairs. The house truly was a beauty to behold, seemingly stacked and held together by magic, the outside was remarkable. The inside felt like an ever present hug, little nooks filled with cushions and blankets could be found in nearly every room. It truly was cozy and everything I longed to feel in my own home. Home was void, it was a place where I stayed but it never made me feel the way the Burrow made me feel. “Now Y/N, go put your stuff in Ginny’s room, you and her will be staying together and with Hermione later when she joins us.” Nodding along to Mrs. Weasley’s words I followed Ginny to her bedroom. It was cute there were posters on the wall for quidditch and on her dresser she had a few stuffed animals, they had their fair share of tears and missing buttons but I’m sure that was just from use. “So what’s it like?” She asked as I set my bag down on the cot set up opposite her bed. “Being Fred’s girlfriend of course! Mum’s ecstatic, this is the first time one of the boys have brought someone they are dating home.” I felt heat and embarrassment crawl up my neck like a ferocious fire breathing dragon until my entire body felt hot head to toe. “No, we are just friends.” “Are you sure?” “Very.” “But George said-” “Kids! Dinner is ready!” Mrs. Weasley’s voice flooded the house and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding in. “Go ahead, I’m going to change.” Ginny nodded and left, shutting the door lightly behind her. Did the family think me and Fred were dating? Did Fred think we were dating? Multiple questions raced through my mind, each one making me grow hotter, but I couldn’t quite place why. I decided against my winter apparel, opting for sleep shorts and an oversized shirt. It wasn’t the cutest but it was the coolest thing I packed and knowing how many people were down stairs I could only assume how much hotter the air would get. Winding my way down the stairs and through the rooms I finally found the one filled with people. The family was surrounding a table where it looked like there was a feast right out of the Great Hall spread out.

“Ah! Y/N, come! Sit sit, um here.” She pointed to a chair on the far end of the table, on each side were the two men I saw from before but didn’t know. Feeling nervous I nodded and went to take my seat. Luckily Fred and George were across from me and that calmed me a bit knowing the meal wouldn’t be met with awkwardness. Soon my plate was full and the entire family seemed to be going in between a big conversation and small ones on the side.

“You must be Y/N.” Said the man on the left of me.

“Yes and you are?” He chuckled and sent a confused look to the twins, I followed his gaze and saw Fred looking rather displeased, sending him a glare.

“Charlie, and that’s Bill.” He pointed around my shoulder to the man on my right. I smiled warmly and waved and he nodded with a sly wink.

“I’ve heard about you two, you’re the oldest ones right? And you are in Egypt most of the time?” I asked Charlie in between bites of beans.

“No I’m usually in Romania with Dragons, Bill is in Egypt working with his voodoo.” Placing my attention on Bill, silently asking him for confirmation.

“I don’t do voodoo, Charlie is just being an ass, it's his specialty.” He was cut off by Charlie laughing, rolling his eyes he started again. “I’m a curse breaker, I work for Gringotts.” My eyes widened as I felt curiosity bubble up within me. If I had to guess I would have assumed that Bill was the one working with dragons, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, his tooth earring, leather boots, it just felt more fitting. Charlie's build definitely proved his occupation; I just would not have guessed it.

“What does a curse breaker do exactly?” I asked. “Well obviously, you know, but are there any cool perks?”

“Yeah Bill what are the cool perks?” George asked with a sly smirk, his eyes danced between Fred’s hostile gaze and his older brother, chuckling to himself.

“Yeah other than getting sunburnt.” Fred groaned. I sent him a look but he missed it too busy prodding around with his food angrily. George had an amused look on his face, obviously directed at his twins behavior but I couldn’t place why.

“He knows nothing about burns, trust me.” Charlie piped up. He rolled up his left sleeve which held a scar that curved and danced up his forearm and around his elbow.

“Baby Chinese firebolt, I was trying to put it into the incubator when it realized I wasn’t mama.”

Dinner went on, Fred didn’t utter a word for the rest of dinner, just poked his food with a grimace on his face. I didn’t let his sour mood ruin mine, I was divested in conversation with Bill and Charlie, learning all about their jobs and travels. Bill told me about an old woman who made jewelry in the center of the town in Egypt where he stayed, he told me about how she imbued each item with a different magical property, some were protection charms and others were sister pieces used to send messages between their owners. Charlie taught me about the different types of dragons and what it was like to work with them. They were both so kind, answering each question I had with a smile on their face. I was so divested in whatever Bill was telling me I didn’t notice everyone had left the table at that point.

“Why don’t we move into the living room?” He asked looking around, I followed his eyes, noting the once lively table empty. In a weird way it made me feel cold, a shiver tore through me.

“If you don’t mind I am going to find the twins.” I spoke getting up. He smiled understandingly. “I think Fred might be in their room, second level first door on your left.” I nodded, sending him a small smile as thanks.

“Wait I said twins, not Fred.” I looked back to him, his smile evident as if he had just caught me.

“I know.” He said, cheeky grin never leaving his features. I felt my cheeks heat up, turning on my heel I left and found my way to the stairs. Harry was watching Ginny and Ron play wizards chess in the kitchen, Charlie and Percy were arguing in the living room about the ethical uses of dragons as means of labor while their parents were both reading. I didn’t see George or Fred and took Bill's advice and bounded up the stairs.

Knocking lightly on the door I was met with no response, tried again, nothing. Despite my better judgement I pushed the door open. The room is exactly how you would expect it, slightly messy with blueprints and products strewn about. On each side was a twin bed, one with green covers and the other with blue. On the right side Fred was laying on his stomach, head facing his wall and limbs falling off the sides. George wasn’t in sight.

I tiptoed around the things on the floor and found his side, sitting down gently in case he was sleeping. There was a tension in the air that made me uneasy and I wanted it gone. I just wanted to spend time with him, I didn’t want to feel like I had to hold my breath.

I ran my fingers through his hair, unable to hold myself back. I felt him let out a sigh under my touch. He began to shift, picking his head up and adjusting himself so he was facing me.

“Hey stranger.” I said softly, sending him a smile. His face was unreadable, part way between smiling and frowning like he was fighting himself inside. He scanned me, up and down like he was trying to read my intentions by a quick look.

“What are you doing up here?” He asked. His voice held no emotion and it stung slightly to see him be so blank with me.

“I want to see you, we haven’t been able to hang out all day and I missed you.” I kept my head down as I spoke. A beat of silence rang throughout the room. I looked at him for an answer, my eyes met his and I watched the resolve fade away, like a barrier breaking beneath his exterior, his eyes lost their cool touch and they warmed up, returning to their familiar honey pools I know.

“Get in here.” He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me down to his level. I helped him, situating myself around him, tangling my legs with his and putting my hands on his chest. Both of his arms were around me, pulling me into him like he hadn’t seen me in months, he buried his head in my neck, his hair fell across my face making my giggle at the feeling, realization struck through me as I evaluated his movements in his head.

“Freddie are you ok?” I asked, my voice was more serious now but his behavior was just hard to read, it felt like since I met his family he had pulled back, the back of my brain was telling me it was because I did something wrong.

“Yeah I just,” He paused holding his breath. “Please don’t let me go.” His words vibrated against my neck. I felt his arms tighten around me as he spoke, like he was in a dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

“I wouldn’t dream of it Freddie.” I whispered back, deciding not to push it. Leaning down I placed a small peck to his ginger locks. I felt his mouth curve into a smile against my skin and it made butterflies erupt in my stomach. I felt giddy and drunk, being wrapped up in his arms, smelling, holding, being held by Fred. It was intoxicating and I couldn’t possibly wish for more.

#fred and george #fred weasley #weasleys wizard wheezes #george weasley #harry potter #fred weasley x reader #weasley twins #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley fic #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley fic #george weasley fluff #fres weasley series #harry potter fanfiction

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pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

νοσταλγία (Chapter 20)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: So, here’s hoping you guys don’t hate this lol. Really, thank you for reading, hope you like it, and I look forward to hearing from you guys!

Sorry for posting this kinda early (just as it becomes saturday lol) but I suck at scheduling on tumblr and I can’t upload it tomorrow today morning. Thank you for understanding!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson

“I haven’t gotten a chance to congratulate you in person.” Freydis tells you as you approach a smiling Valdís and a few other women from the apothecary.

You offer a side smile, “You could have earlier,” You point out, meaning her previous approach to the throne. “But you were too busy reminding Ivar of what rewards pain brings, so I understand.

She stops on her tracks, and you turn around with a raised eyebrow. She doesn’t deny it, you will grant her that.

For once, being the one with the knowledge, being the one certain and with solid ground under their feet; it feels like a small victory, you won’t lie.

“Don’t keep secrets from me, Freydis.” You warn her.

“Witch!” Valdís calls you over the ruckus of the ongoing feast, before ducking out of the way of an elder woman’s hit. The shieldmaiden smirks, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I meant my Queen.”

You shake your head with a laugh, and when you approach the shieldmaiden stands. She embraces you before you can react, and how you almost don’t reach her chin makes you feel once again like you are in a land of giants.

“Congratulations, may the Gods bless you both,” She whispers, honest and caring and utterly motherly in that brash way of hers. “For the woman you are, witch, I don’t think there could be a better man. Nor a better woman for the man he is.”

“You seem sure.”

Valdís shrugs, as if the answer is simple, obvious to all.

“He’d step over a less prideful woman, but a dumber one would get killed before long,” She whispers, face close to yours and eyes knowing as she smirks, “You’d shake off the fool that tried silencing you, but would scorn the one that didn’t challenge you.”

You remember when Sieghild heard of your betrothal to Narses, how she told you to fight, to fight the men in Greece, to fight the notions they had of you, to fight Narses; and you how retorted he was a good man that loved you, and that you wouldn’t fight him. Your mother’s words from that day echo in your head, certain and prophetic, you wouldn’t give your love without a fight.

You only look at Valdís with a slowly growing smile on your face, before questioning, “You speak so surely, yet I’m the arrogant little witch?”

“Well, you are small.”

She laughs at your affronted expression, and with an arm over your shoulders guides you to the table where the other women you’ve come to know and care for sit, who congratulate you and bow their heads in greeting. Before long the conversation between the women continues on other topics, and you allow yourself to drink and laugh and forget you are supposed to feel chained.

When you return to Ivar’s side, you find his eyes trained somewhere behind you, and even a blind woman would know his gaze -and his thoughts- linger on the stranger that embraced you.

“Who was that?”

You sit at his side and thank a thrall that hands you a goblet of mead with a smile, before answering, “Valdís, a shieldmaiden. A…a friend.”

“I don’t recognize her.”

“But you do recognize Freydis.” You blurt out before you can trap the words behind your lips, and Ivar turns his eyes to you.

“The slave.” He states, but it is a question. You nod, and adjust in your seat, trying to rid yourself of the nervous energy.

“She’s beautiful, surely not easy to forget. You’ve seen her with me before, yet you never told me you knew her,” You insist, careful eyes watching over the ongoing feast. When Ivar stays silent, you turn your gaze to him and find him smiling at you, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

From his throne, Ivar leans towards you, his hand moving your hair out of the way and his mouth almost by your ear as he whispers,

“If I didn’t know better, wife, I’d think you are jealous.”

“But you do know better.” You bite out and Gods, even a deaf man would hear the truth behind your words.

____

You are escorted in a truly bizarre fashion to your now shared room with Ivar, but you write it off to being some Norse tradition you couldn’t for the life of you understand, and try only not to flinch when the door to the rooms closes behind the last of the warriors, leaving you alone with your husband.

For the first time since you arrived in this kingdom of cold and death, you allow yourself to look at the bed in the King’s rooms.

It looks warmer than yours, spacious and surrounded in dark wood posters, with a leather panel on top. Are those chains hanging over it?

“Wife.” Ivar calls, taking your eyes off the bed and stalling the panic that started to set in your heart. You are still wondering what the chains are for, though.

You turn to him, joining your hands in front of you so you can make them stop shaking. He only signals for you to approach him where he stands, and you hesitate for a moment before you do so, taking him in.

He is a handsome man, and ever since Aneridge, much to your chagrin, you have known you want him. Even after he has imprisoned you, it would be a lie if you said you didn’t wonder what it would take to have the Viking underneath you, or the different ways you could make his proud façade crumble. If only, at times, in fantasies when you can be the one in power, or in rarer ones when you imagined what he could do to try and make you surrender to him.

Gods, infuriating and terrifying a man as he proves to be, you want him, like you have wanted no other.

Still, your father taught you the first sign of a people enslaved and defeated is when they go willingly to their enemies’ temples, to their enemies’ beds. You refuse to admit that you willingly lay with the man that took you captive, that forced you to be his wife.

When you walk in shaky legs until you stand before him, he says nothing, but a hand on your shoulder makes you turn your back to him.

It is with awkward gentleness that he moves your hair to the side. Not the tenderness of a cruel man failing at pretending, no; but rather the uncertain one of a man that knows nothing but war.

His fingers start making quick work of the laces at the back of your dress, and hoping you can make him ignore the tremble of your breath at his touch, the goosebumps on your skin at the ghost of a caress that goes down your spine; you ask,

“W-What do you Vikings do?” He hums in question, and you explain yourself, “For…for a bedding ceremony, or whatever it is.”

“We just went through it.”

“Your people have a reputation. Forgive me for thinking the loosening of a dress seems…tame.”

Ivar chuckles at your words, lowering his head and closing his eyes for a moment. Few times you’ve been able to make him laugh, and you’ve counted and cherished each one, but you do realize there’s something different about this time.

He’s tense, uncomfortable. Uncertain.

“Will you make me lay with you?” You ask, startling yourself at the brashness. Ivar shakes his head, a guarded coldness taking over his expression as he steps away from you. Still, against your every instinct, you push on, “You surely don’t have any qualms about forcing yourself upon me.

The way he says your name, a warning and a threat all in one, it makes your breath falter. You’ve never heard your name on his lips like that, like the warning sound a cornered beast makes before striking.

But you will sooner die than let a man make you fear him. So, you press,

“You abducted me and forced me to become your wife, you’ve shown you care not for my freedom to make a choice. Your honor or your desire to have me want you to aren’t stopping you.

An honest and shame-filled part of you knows you are only being like this because you hate being reminded of how close to surrender you’ve allowed to come. Wanting the man that took you captive, softening your heart for the King that forced you to be his wife, letting yourself feel something for the monster that took you from your people and home...you have no choice left but to remind him -and yourself- that you are no willing wife, no enamoured maiden.

“I can’t.”

You lift your eyebrows, the simple words stealing all words from your head.

“What do y-…?”

“Useless legs and useless cock,” He interrupts, tone disdainful as he gestures to his own body, “Boneless. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the rumors.”

You shake your head mutely, for it is true no one has spoken of them to you.

He shrugs, the movement forced and unnatural.

“Well, it does not matter, now you know,” Oh, but it matters quite a lot, you gather. Still, you will say nothing of it, partly because you truly don’t know what you are supposed to say. Ivar doesn’t seem to want any words either, for he gestures towards you, “It is late and you are tired, go change.”

Who would have thought your wedding night would be the one night you actually obey him. You slip past him quietly until you are behind one of the partitions, and hear the telltale sounds of him settling in a seat by the hearth at the side of the bed as you start untangling your hair from the crown of flowers.

Shaking fingers trace over the dying and bloodied petals, and the reminder that, through a cruel twist of Fate, your Gods were here with you today; it calms you, it comforts you. It makes a small and easily quietened part of you regret the outburst.

You shrug off the red dress and leave it carefully folded for the thralls to pick up tomorrow, and put on the thin nightgown that will do nothing to protect you from Kattegat’s cold.

Your return to the King and find him sitting, with his hand by his mouth clearly thinking about something. When he sees you, he gestures with his hand to the bed.

“You can go ahead and sleep,” He instructs, and you nod your head and, with heavy limbs, move to the bed. But he stops you before you can move far with a call of your name, “If you dare try to divorce me on grounds of me not sleeping with you, I-…don’t.”

“Could I?”

“I’ll kill you if you ever try.” He promises, and it is a threat not for a second you believe to be a lie.

You accept his words with a curt nod, and realize you hadn’t actually thought of that. Being able to divorce him, not him killing you, of course.

That should have been your first thought, the rope thrown over the side of the boat that could help you climb to freedom. But you didn’t think of that, you didn’t think that at all, and it frightens you, the possibility of not seeing opportunities to escape for something as fickle as…

Never mind that. You close your eyes and, after considering your next words carefully, you insist,

“You know you don’t need a cock to sleep with a woman.”

“I will not lay with another woman that cannot stand to even touch me,” He states without hesitation, and though a part of you is dying to ask the story behind the words he speaks, you bite your tongue. “That is not what I want.”

“What is it you want, then?” You ask, turning around. And for the first time you do not demand to know the answer, you don’t intertwine accusations with the question. Your eyes search his and your voice hushes, “What did you marry me for? What do you want from me, Ivar?”

“I wanted to keep you at my side, make you my wife.”

But you shake your head stepping closer before you realize what you are doing. Your voice is quiet, soft, true, as you ask,

“Tell me, please. What do you want from me?”

His jaw clenches, and you notice his hands stay stiffly grasping at the armrest of his chair. His eyes search yours and the vulnerability in them shatters at something within you.

“Kiss me.” He whispers. A dare, a command, a plea.

It is not an answer to your question. And yet, Gods, is as honest an answer as you could ever get.

Your breath leaves your lungs in a shaky exhale, but you still step forward, closer, with certain steps.

Ivar stays still, as still as a marble statue and you reminisce of those first days in Aneridge, and how you thought you could shatter him with but a flick of your wrist.

But the realization that he could do the same to you settles within you like a rock on your stomach. No wrath, no fury, no cruelty, no King may have been able to make you cave, but…the vulnerability in his expression, the longing in his voice, the feeling of being lost written in his eyes, Ivar; makes your walls crumble and your heart stutter its beat.

You search his eyes and with one last shaky breath you lean down and press your lips to his.

He stiffens under your touch even if it wasn’t unexpected, he lets you lead his mouth moving against yours even if today he kissed you in front of a whole kingdom.

And you think of how many times you wanted to be the one to kiss him. There’s no use for lying, not anymore, not to yourself.

You think of Aneridge, and the foreign man you met when you lived in that fantasy where neither of you had names or lives outside of the two of you; and you know that if you had caved, if you had felt his kiss, you would have followed that man to the end of the world.

You think of those weeks of living in a limbo, where you could pretend there was no escape and yet lived without the invisible binds that today he set upon you; and you know it was only pride and shame what kept you from admitting you felt unburdened.

You think of the time since the certainty of this being Fate has set upon you, of what laid beyond the endless fight against the titles he wanted you to accept; and you know even if it lacerates at your heart and defies your very nature, you have felt safe, free.

Ivar chases after your lips when you pull away, tilting his head as if unwilling to part from your kiss. His eyes open and meet yours, and you lean closer once again, and kiss him again.

Not because he made you, not because anyone made you, because you choose to.

And with your choice comes a truth. What was it the witch said? It is easy to choose, it is not easy to live with what the choice we made says about us.

When you part a second time, your forehead rests against his and your breaths are one for a few moments.

And with your voice a hoarse whisper, you confess,

“If you had asked, I would have said yes.”

____

So...thoughts? Hope you liked this, really hope I don’t dissapoint with my writing that drags on and on.

Btw, ‘bedding’ traditions in Viking Age Scandinavia, as far as I could find, centered around the couple being escorted to their rooms/bed. Hence, the ‘we just went through it’ dialogue line. There’s so many Viking wedding things (and almost as many Ancient/Byzantine Greek wedding things) that I wish I could have included, but alas, I already ramble a lot with my writing, I don’t wanna bore you.

Thank you for reading, hope you have a nice day/night! Ik this chapter is kinda short and kinda open-ended, but this tuesday as scheduled chapter 21 us up :)

Love you all! <3

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #vikings #νοσταλγία masterlist

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a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan · 3 years

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LinkedUniverse Fanfiction Ch. 17: Swords, Shields, Arrows

Stop! You’ve Violated the Law!

So, you’ve stumbled upon this original post for my Linked Universe fanfiction. That’s okay, it happens to everyone. As of March 2021, I’ve uploaded the entirety of this fanfic to my Archive of Our Own page. Along with finally giving the story a name–Oops! All Links: A Linked Universe Story–I made substantial edits to some of the chapters. These range from minor stylistic revisions to fixing a gaping plot hole that kinda completely broke the character conflict in the earlier chapters. I also renamed and renumbered (but not reordered) the chapters. Specifically, this is now Chapter 19: Please, Don't Scare the Customers

The AO3 iterations of these chapters are the definitive versions. So, if you would like to read this fanfiction, please do so on AO3, right here. With this embedded link. Hehe. Geddit? Link?

Note: My screen name on AO3 is FrancisDuFresne. Yes, that is me. I am not plagiarizing myself.

Anyway, for posterity’s sake, the rest of the original post is below the cut.

In this continuation of my @linkeduniverse fan narrative, Wild and Four go on their own errand to find weapons to replace the resident amnesiac's busted sword and unwieldy Stalfos shield.

Word Count: 1482

Twilight and Wind had already left Madame Viliafore’s shop by the time Four and Wild had located an armorer. The town of Selggog was even busier in the late morning than it had been the previous evening. The sights and smells bombarded the two young heroes. Wild glanced down at his companion. The Hero of the Four Sword had to walk more briskly to keep pace with him, on account of him being a good deal shorter.

Four had planned to help Wild pick out new weapons once they had found an armorer. That was the main reason Warriors sent the two together. The moment they’d entered the store, however, Wild gravitated toward the higher-end swords. He picked a sword, tossed it between his hands, twirled it, shook his head, and chose a different one.

Four looked at the shopkeeper as Wild repeated this routine. The burly man behind the counter eyed the young knight warily. Four guessed his customers didn’t often test his weapons inside the store, if at all. Wild slowed his motions. He grasped the hilt of the sword he had been swinging with both hands, lowering it from above his head. When his hands were at waist-height, he stood still a moment. He took a deep breath.

The shorter of the Links watched in anticipation. The taller released his left hand’s grip and picked up the sword’s scabbard, then fit the blade easily into its place. He looked at Four and nodded. He strode to the shields, grasped an iron heater shield about half his height, fitted it on his left arm, and shook it a few times. He shook his head and tried a few more.

Wild stared at one shield for a moment before tilting his head to one side. He suddenly took off at a jog toward the opposite wall. He jumped, threw the shield to the ground, landed on it, and skidded a meter before he hopped off again. The shopkeeper had had enough. “Hey!” he growled, crossing his arms. “This isn’t a soldier’s barracks, kid. You’re scaring my customers!”

The young hero picked up the shield and checked the face of it for scratches. Content to find none, he faced Four and nodded again. Then he cast a glance around the shop. The Links were the only customers to be seen. The two of them exchanged a quizzical look. Wild turned to the shopkeeper. “Sorry, sir,” he said, “I’ve found what I want.”

The Links strode to the counter. Four passed a shelf with bundles of ten arrows each. He grabbed all fifteen of them. They placed their selection before the shopkeeper. The man scrutinized them. “What are two kids like you going to do with a knight’s weapons and my entire stock of arrows?” he asked.

Four looked up and stared the man in the eyes. He knew he was only fifteen but still didn’t like being called a kid. “There are actually nine of us,” he explained with a very slight edge to his voice. “We’re travelling a long way. Between monsters and bandits, the roads are dangerous.”

A few seconds passed before the shopkeeper cracked a grin and let out a bout of hearty laughter. Before either Link could recover from his confusion, the man planted his palms on the counter and continued. “Hell, whatever you say. So long as you’ve got the rupees, you’ve got the weapons. Let’s see… two hundred for the sword, three hundred for the shield, and three-sixty for the arrows… that comes out to eight hundred sixty.”

The Links winced at the number. Four shot a glare at Wild. Wild shrugged. He didn’t want to show how embarrassed he was that they were dropping five hundred rupees just because he needed new weapons. Thinking back to his conversation with Sky and Hyrule the previous night, he decided to try haggling. The young knight imitated Hyrule and put a forearm on the counter. He looked the man in the eyes. “Four hundred,” he declared boldly. Four saw the mistake immediately and shook his head.

The shopkeeper laughed even harder than before. Wild’s half-baked cocky expression faded. “Oh, boy,” the man said when he calmed down, “I know what you’re trying here, kid. Word of advice, huh? Never insult someone by offering less than half the starting price.”

Wild gulped. “I… um…”

“Save your breath, I can tell you have no clue what you’re doing. Let’s say seven hundred and call it even.”

Eager to avoid any more awkwardness, Wild just nodded. Four opened his wallet and withdrew three silver rupees, four purple, seven red, nine blue, and fifteen green. After placing them on the counter, he looked back in his wallet to find it almost empty. He sighed then stuffed the arrows in his pouch. Wild grabbed his weapons and the young adventurers went to leave the store. Four shot off a quick “thank you” before the door closed behind them.

Wild quickly fastened his new sword and shield to his baldric. “Right,” he started, “now to the café.”

Four sighed again. “You’re lucky that guy’s well-humored. That could have gone really badly.”

“How was I supposed to know what to offer?”

They started walking. “I dunno, but definitely not less than half.”

Wild’s shoulders slumped. "The Captain is gonna be on my hide for weeks.”

Four gently nudged his partner’s hip. “Don’t worry about it, he’ll probably appreciate that you picked such quality weapons. I saw the way you tested each sword. Where’d you learn that?”

“Part of knighthood is being able to choose the equipment that will keep you and your wards safe.” Wild went silent a moment. He remembered how the Master Sword had nearly fallen apart from the abuse of the Calamity. “When I’m out in the wilds, I take what I can get. Give me a choice and I’ll take the best I can find.”

“You didn’t pick the most expensive ones, though,” Four pointed out.

“I didn’t like the most expensive ones. This one,” he tapped the pommel above his right shoulder, “was weighted and sized the best for me. I know my abilities and my limitations. I can kill with virtually anything you give me, Four. Still, my own skill only carries me so far. My gear needs to pick up the slack. As the knight sworn to protect the princess of Hyrule, I’m most valuable when I’m at my most lethal.”

Four had to give it to him, that was solid reasoning. When he himself had forged the Four Sword, he put care into every strike on red-hot metal. In a way, he viewed the sword more as a piece of art than an instrument of violence. Wild had a point, though: Before everything else, a sword is meant to kill. Still, something bothered Four about his partner’s phrasing.

“Wild, your value isn’t just in your ability to slay evil,” Four said, careful to avoid the word kill. Wild looked down to his companion. Four couldn’t identify his expression, so he continued: “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. You’re kind, caring, and humble to a fault. You had the weight of the world thrust on your shoulders, and nearly died protecting the princess. You lost your memory, but you still soldiered on and saved Hyrule. And you were able to wield the Master Sword, which is a testament to the purity of your soul.”

The shortest Link looked skyward and smiled. “Just look at all of us Links. We share a love for life and a sense of justice that drives us to protect the light. That’s what binds us, what summons us whenever Hyrule needs us most. I’d bet all four of my lives that we aren’t the only Links there have been or ever will be.”

A few seconds passed. Four glanced at Wild. The Hylian Champion seemed lost in thought, as if he were walking on autopilot. The young smithy had had to make sense of four fragmented personalities to achieve his full potential. He still couldn’t make sense of Wild sometimes. He figured, as the other Links had, that Wild came out of his adventure the most psychologically damaged of all of them—even more than Time.

Wild was shocked out of his reverie by a little girl shoving past him trying to chase her friends. The sights and sounds of Selggog rushed back to him. He stopped walking and shook his head to clear it. Four waited a few paces ahead. “Sorry, were you saying something?” Wild asked, still a little dazed.

Four walked back, reached up to put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and smiled. “Not really, no. Let’s head back to the café and meet up with the others. They probably picked out some good food.”

“Yeah, sounds good. I’m down for a second breakfast.”

“Hah, you always are.”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #my own #my writing #fanfic #zelda #the legend of zelda #creator content #linked universe fanfiction #swords shields arrows

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gyllenhaalstories · 4 years

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SOUTHPAW, PART 1: HEADCANONS.

notes: dear anon: thank you for making me appreciate jake the rapper! also i know nothing about rap, so i’m sorry if this is pure trash! i never finished watching southpaw because it was too dark for me, but i took some very loose inspiration from it. warnings: mentions of dark past, mentions of sexual content... this got really long (2k words). gifs credits: alphalewolf. extras: if you want more informations about rapper!jake, please scroll through my blog. i have edited some older posts with the tag: topic: rapper!jake, so check it out if you’re interested. i have taken some ideas and put them in this list. (at the end of the list i provided some goodies!)

PART TWO WILL BE UPLOADED SOON, KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR IT!

attention, attention! please note i know absolutely nothing about rap. i very rarely enjoy listening to rap music, it’s simply not for me. this might be inaccurate and off compared to the actual world of hip hop and other similar genres. i apologize for my lack of knowledge! this is an au in which jake is not an actor or a producer or anything of the sort. his fame, he built it with his music. you must keep that in mind while reading these headcanons or else it will get confusing. also, i’ve taken some loose inspiration from jake’s actual work, but that’s just for the sake of backstory. are you ready to dive in this twisted fantasy?

Jake Gyllenhaal. Known as Hall. He exploded the charts after being picked up by one of the biggest record companies for his first album: Hall of Fame. He was a rookie, yet he was older than most of the rappers you can think of today. He worked his way up undercover. He started participating in poetry and slam nights at local cafés. He became a songwriter, through connections. He sold some songs that are absolute classics today, but he does not care. He did not feel like they fit him anyway.

Growing up, Jake had it rough. There was a lot of fighting at home. His older sister was the perfect angel and him? The absolute disaster child. It was not like he ran after danger and trouble, he seemed to always be at the wrong place in the wrong time, he hung out with the wrong crowd. He managed to avoid juvie on some miracle. What was the miracle, you might ask? He was caught robbing some local bank with his “friends” and the cops, at first, did not believe he was innocent. While his friends were screaming and threatening the innocent clients of the bank, Jake actually tried to help them out of the building safely. The cops arrived at the same moment and thought he was keeping the strangers hostage. He was arrested on the spot. The other guys played the victims, blamed it all on Jake but it was only when Jake wrote the whole story, from the beginning where his friends manipulated him and made of him their puppet to when he felt this adrenaline rush telling him he needed to save the strangers that night. His writing was too sincere, too raw to be a web of lies. The police released him, but they kept an eye on him.

His escape were writing and music. He impressed all of his teachers at school. Talented, gifted, magical. That was how they described Jake at every parent and teacher meeting. Writing dumb sentences that made very little sense and playing with a guitar after school, that did not make his parents very proud compared to his sister who was on top of all of her classes and working hard for a future of wealth and success.

Music was his entire life. He would come home from school and blast music until he was called out for dinner. Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, Black Sabbath, Heart, Pink Floyd, Metallica, name it. He liked it loud. He liked it weird. He liked it with a deeper message, with double meaning.

He worked all types of jobs, some legal and some not so much. He was saving money for college. He applied. He got in. He started his classes. He had big dreams, too, he had ambitions. Maybe he could his talent to good use? He wanted to study philosophy, literature, music, creative writing... Anything that required thought and depth. He made friends, there. He befriended the edgy punk guy, he had tattoos everywhere, he listened to the same bands, he was quiet but his essays spoke volumes.

Jake was disappointed, his illusions were broken. He hated the format of his classes, the feeling like his opinion and his inspiration did not matter, it was always about meeting some stupid requirements to please a rich professor who did not care about passion, about talent, about originality. Jake dropped out, soon followed by his friend. His friend was hired at a tattoo parlor and Jake hung out there all the time. He would stay up until 5 am, 6, 7, all night and all day long. He loved the clients there. He would write and read his writing out loud to the clients when they were tortured by the needle shooting the ink in their skin. Talented and gifted, they all the same thing.

He started to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

He wrote, not just stories and opinion pieces. He started writing songs, melody and lyrics. He started playing them, he started writing his own poetry too. He was introduced to freestyle battles. And as he fought against other talented thinkers, he noticed he spoke with a tempo, with a rhythm. He was rapping and he did not even realize it.

His career sky rocketed from the moment a music producer attended one of the rap battles. He was famous, he got quite the thick wallet and the connections. Jake was introduced to legends of hip hop. They all influenced him as his career grew to become something overwhelming and terrifying, yet thrilling and addictive.

Hall had a style of his own, though. It was romantic, yet absolutely disgusting and dark. It was aggressive, yet vulnerable and philosophical. He spoke of his trauma, of his hatred, of his envy, of his fears... He used his songs as an escape. He was becoming his own escape.

And his own prison. His family did not care about him, he was a shame, even. Aside from his old college friend, he never built strong friendships. They were all after him for fame and cash. He slept around, guys and gals, threesomes, foursomes... He did not care, anything for some genuine connection, even if it lasted for a very lazy and messy fifteen minutes in the trashy bathroom of a concert hall. Rumour had it he was a great lover, but he was so bad at loving.

Now it gets interesting...

Hall rapped alongsides Eminem, Drake, Kendrick Lamar, Travis Scott... The biggest pop stars were fighting just to get him to rap a line in their songs. Rihanna wishes he was the one singing Love the way you lie, does that give you an idea? He appeared on duets. He wrote more solo albums, sold them instantly. He never left the top of the billboard in weeks, months, if not years. It never really got to his head. He was still that sensitive boy writing about knights and princesses in his bedroom with walls covered by band posters. Fans did not care about this side of him, they loved him for his lyrics about snorting coke, drinking his pain away and fucking whoever wore the tiniest skirt around.

His latest album, Southpaw, was an even bigger hit. Pure filth. Pure gold. Imagine 13 tracks, Cardi’s and Megan’s WAP but reversed. He does not rap about how good he fucks people. He raps about how good they feel. That’s some real depth here, no pun intended.

You met him at one of his concerts. Your friend won VIP passes, so you were standing in the front and got to take a picture with him. You did not understand the hype around taking a photo with this guy, he just stood there and looked absolutely emotionless.

You hated rap, or perhaps you loved it. You did not care much for Jake, that was for sure. You thought he was just another lame rapper who thought he was the real deal because his lyrics were so explicit, even the clean versions made angels cry. The truth was, you did not know much a bout him. You found him too commercial, like he was scared of becoming irrelevant.

You saw right through him already.

But him? He already cared too much about you. You caught his attention as he rapped his songs. He could not take his eyes off you. You weighted heavy on his mind, caused him to stutter and forget lyricvs. Fans laughed, they said he was probably too drunk or too high too focus. Drunk in love, that’s what it was.

There was something about you. Maybe it was the Black Sabbath shirt you wore. Maybe it was the unimpressed look on your face. Maybe it was your plump lips he wanted to kiss. Maybe it was the sight of you laughing with your friend that made his heart skip a beat. Maybe it was the fact you treated him like a normal person even if you had not spoken to him first.

So, you met backstage.

Your friend was beaming from ear to ear, showering Jake in compliments.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Jake asked you.

“For someone who shows no emotion, sound dead inside and look like they wish they were doing anything but making dozens of thousands of dollars by singing a couple of semi mediocre tracks, yeah, it was not that horrible.”

He was up for a challenge.

You two exchanged insults like it was a boxing match. Each round was getting more and more intense. It was no longer insults, it was straight up flirting. You noticed when your bodies were so close you could smell the scent of watermelon chewing gum that escaped from his warm breath. You could hear the way his raced even faster than yours.

You were snapped out of this fantasy by his bodyguard, indicating other fans waited for him.

He remembered the name your friend called out, saying he needed to bring you home before something bad happened.

It was the most beautiful name he had ever heard.

He hung out around that concert hall for the next couple of days. At the bar nearby, at Starbucks, at McDonald’s, anything for the sake of seeing your face again.

And he did.

You were walking out of the record store with a vinyl of Heart squeezed under your arm. You looked so happy. You had paint stains all over your clothes. You were erasing the memories of a terrible relationship by decorating your tiny apartment, and you needed to set the right ambiance. You needed guidance, you found it in the strong minds of the ladies behind Heart, in Joan Jett, in Stevie Nicks. You found your silver lining in music.

Jake ran behind you, he pretended he was out jogging and he mysteriously bumped into you. He grabbed your vinyl before it could fall on the ground.

“Nice pick.”

“We finally agree on something.”

Another round of flirty insults...

... That ended in the two of you fucking like animals on the floor of your apartment.

And fucking on the couch the next day.

On the kitchen counter the morning after.

And finally, on the bed. That was a really special one. Jake was the first person to be on your bed since the departure of your ex. He could feel that you were not in the mood for a rough battle for dominance.

That night, he made love to you.

For, quite possibly, the first time in his life, he expressed his love directly to somebody. “Princess, baby girl, beautiful, gorgeous, amazing”, he showered you in compliments, and praises. The slow movement of his hips, the intense passion in his eyes and love in his heart spoke louder than the music you were playing in the background to set the mood.

You were not just another trophee to hang on the wall. You were special.

He was special too.

He bought you every record that reminded him of you. He bought you collector items of your favourite bands. From the silliest decoration to a new car to replace your crappy one, passing by tickets to exclusive and sold-out shows, Jake had never felt more famous in his life than when he was with you.

His fans noticed the change in his songs, in his lyrics. They were just as explicit, just as rotten and just as corrupted. However, they came from a place of light and love, not of darkness and rage.

He sang about how good your felt when you climaxed around him. How drenched he was whenever he made you squirt. How he loved to taste himnself on your lips. How he was full of love and of lust for you. How he would quit everything if it meant he would live a normal life, for once, and with you.

You inspired so many songs that became massive world-wide hits.

You travelled the world with him on tour. You helped him design his new merch and you wore his t-shirts with pride. You attended concerts in your freetime. You loved staying up all night, painting and drawing while he was writing about this mirage of a goddess, blessing his existence with a smile and a sparkle in her eyes.

He was addicted to you.

He was crazy for you.

And he went crazy on you.

for research purposes and not because i wasted my time hearing eminem talk about stuff i don’t understand so i could stare at jake’s thighs

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mP_cKP4OjsA

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whV5oQDvVWE

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UGqC9URTJIQ

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5imXD1LPnwo

and finally, for good measure :

@gyll-yee-haw ily

#jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal smut #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal x reader #topic: rapper!jake #series: southpaw

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theewritingroomm · 3 years

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Run Away - Part Three

Summary: A look into what Y/N has seen while in Hell Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (past), Word Count: 1,807 Warnings: Mentions of abandonment, swearing, A/N: Anything in italics is a flashback. For those who ask to be tagged and are not able to receive them I will try to fix it for next time. Text divider by @writeyourmindaway

Part 1 - Part 2

Tags : @coffeebooksandfandom, @bi-readytobakepie-cry-and-die,

Y/N didn’t remember much from her life before she began residing in hell. She remembered bits from early in her life, such as how her mother would make her breakfast every Saturday morning; chocolate chip pancakes with strawberries. She remembered the name of her childhood best friend, the street she grew up on, and her birthday. She also remembered how proud her parents were when she decided to go off to college. But she had very few memories of the years between then and now.

“What are you thinking about so hard, Love?” Crowley asked, pulling Y/N from her thoughts.

“Nothing darling.” Y/N replied before turning her attention back to the King of hell as the two readied for bed.

Crowley didn’t push her to answer him, knowing that she must still be reeling mentally from the last few months, even if she wasn’t aware.

3 Months Ago

“Because I know you’re the only one that can do what I’m asking.” Y/N explained, stepping closer to the demon.

“And what would that be?” He asked, taking his own step forward.

“I want you to make me forget Dean Winchester, completely.”

“Y/N, I know what he did, and I can’t let you go through with this.” Crowley had barley gotten the words out of his mouth before Y/N had him by the collar of his suit.

With tears in her eye’s Y/N tried to muster up as much of the badass hunter that was buried inside her before speaking, “Crowley…” she paused, her mask falling and her resolve fading. “Please, I’m begging you at this point, I can’t live with this pain anymore.”

Crowley sighed, placing his hand on top of the one that gripped his lapel, “Okay love, I’ll help you, but tomorrow, you need a goods night sleep first.”

Before Y/N could argue she felt like she was being sucked up into a vacuum. The feeling lasted for nearly thirty seconds before it ended, and she was standing in the middle of the largest bedroom she had ever seen. A large four-poster bed sat against the far wall of the room, a massive pile of pillows adorned with silk pillowcases sat towards the head of the bed, crimson silk sheets sat under a fluffy black duvet. A large crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the room, casting small rainbows on the black walls. It was a beautiful room, but it was not where Y/N wanted to be.

“Crowley,” Y/N turned to face him, “Why can’t you just do what I asked and let me be.”

Crowley shook his head and took a step forward, making Y/N take a step back towards the bed. “Because, as king of hell I like to keep tabs on all of the people that wish to kill me and that included Squirrel. So, I know what he did to you and I know that what he did shattered you and I only imagine what a toll it has taken on you.”

Crowley reached out to grab her hand, wanting to show her that he meant no harm. She allowed him to take it, letting him squeeze her fingers once. It was nice to have someone comfort her; it was a nice contrast to the pain she has felt these last month.

“All I ask is that you rest, get a good night’s sleep and if you still want to go through with this in the morning then I’ll do it.”

Y/N nodded at Crowley’s words, deciding then to go sit on the edge of the bed while Crowley explained where she could find everything in her new room.

Y/N woke the next morning to a rapid knock on the bedroom door. For a moment she thought it was Sam coming to check on her again, but the thought quickly left her head as she realized this was not her bed and she was not in the bunker anymore.

“Come in,” she said hesitantly, hoping that Sam had not found her or worse Dean.

A few seconds after the words left her mouth the large door slowly swung open to reveal a petite blonde woman with coal black eyes. A sense of relief overcame her at the sight of the demon, which Y/N found odd considering the time she spent with the Winchesters.

“The King wishes to see you.” The demon spoke quickly before turning on her heel and leaving the room and leaving Y/N to her own devices.

It took Y/N nearly thirty minutes to find Crowley’s office, having ended up getting turned around a handful of times. And with the amount of demons unwilling to help her it only made it that much harder to get where she was going.

She eventually was able to fine Crowley’s office, knocking on the door when she did. As she began to lower her fist from the door it swung open to reveal a room just as large as the bedroom, she had stayed in. The walls were painted the same dark color as the bedroom with ceilings just as high. A large dark oak desk sat in the middle of the room with Crowley sitting behind the desk, his nose buried in a stack of paperwork.

“Crowley,” Y/N spoke, gaining his attention from the doorway.

“Come in, come in,” He waved her in, the door closing on its own as she stepped into the room.

Y/N walked slowly to the chairs on the other side of the desk, taking a seat in one as Crowley continued to comb over the paper in his hands. Time continued to pass in silence, Y/N growing more anxious by the second.

“Calm down dove, I can practically feel you vibrating from here.” Crowley spoke, not once looking up from the paper in his hands. “I’m not going to screw you over; you want to forget Dean and I am willing to do that for you.”

Crowley held the paper out for Y/N to grab, “It’s all outlined in there. I will make you forget him and everything that he’s done to you and the only thing that I ask of you is that you stay here for a few weeks to recover. As this is going to take a lot out of you, it’s going to leave you exhausted and may even cause a little sickness.”

Y/N hung onto every word that left his mouth, grabbing the sheet of paper once he had finished. Reading over it she noticed that it was the most simple and straight forward contract she had every read. It outlined everything Crowley had just told her, the only repercussion she was going to have to face was the few weeks in Hell to recover; but she would be able to leave afterwards if she wished. It was exactly what she wanted.

“It’s perfect.” She told him, giving him a slight smile.

“Excellent,” he responded, holding out a pen for Y/N. Grabbing the pen from his hand she signed along the bottom line, handing everything back to the King of hell when she finished. “There is one final thing that needs to be done.”

At his words Y/N’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She knew it, she knew Crowley was going to screw her over. Why shouldn’t he? He was the King of hell; her ex-fiancé was one of his biggest enemies and by extension she was too.

“And what is that?” Y/N bit out, anger bubbling in her stomach.

“Well dove, all of my contracts and deals are sealed with a kiss.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, getting a shocked look from Crowley as she did. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I knew that I was just expecting to get screwed over still.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, a small smile on his lips as Y/N continued to laugh. As her laughter died down and she was able to catch her breath and turn her attention back to the man in front of her.

“Okay, I’m ready.” She said, pushing herself up from her chair and Crowley did the same.

She stood in front of her chair watching as Crowley made his way around his desk to come and stand in front of her. He went to straighten his lapels before gently grabbing Y/N’s wrist and pulling her closer to him; close enough that she was pressed against his chest forced to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. The two stayed that way for a moment, simply standing there looking into each other’s eyes before Crowley began to move closer to Y/N’s face, only stopping when their nosed were barely touching. Crowley flicked his eyes up slightly to meet Y/N’s, watching them as they fluttered closed. Crowley took the opportunity to then connect his lips to hers, kissing her slowly and relishing in the way she seemed to kiss him back.

After Dean had returned to the bunker to find out she had run away he dove into trying to find out where she was; but he was having no luck in doing so. The last lead he had gotten had come from a gas station attendant from the next town over who had seen her stop for gas before heading off again. Dean was running himself into the ground trying to find out where his fiancée was.

He knew that there were probably creatures hot on her heels after finding out that she was no longer being protected by Dean. He also couldn’t get the demons out of his head, the ones that were telling him that she was already captured or dead.

Taking a swing from the whiskey bottle next to him on the library table he continued to read over her outdated social media accounts, seeing that the last post on all of them were from the morning of what was supposed to be their wedding day. It hit him in the heart to see how happy she had been and to know that he was the one responsible for breaking her heart broke him. It broke him to look at the picture on his phone screen, seeing hoe her E/C eyes shone with happiness and the smile on her face stretch from ear to ear.

Dean scrolled on, taking in the other pictures that she had uploaded. Ones of her and Dean smiling and laughing and overall, in love. He saw ones of her and Sam and even Cas showing them goofing off and showcasing their friendship. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he took in the smile on her face.

“Dean!” he heard his brother yell and he run into the library; Sam’s phone clutched in his as well. “I think I found her.”

Dean jumped up from his chair, “Where the hell is, she?”

“She’s with Crowley.”

#supernatural imagines #spn imagines #dean winchester imagines #crowley imagines #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #crowley fanfic #supernatural oneshot #spn oneshot #dean winchester oneshot #crowley oneshot #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #crowley #angst

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Text

Missin’ You is Terrible- Part 2: Thinkin’ ‘Bout You

Calum isn’t looking for deep feelings, just for some fun. But he’s pretty sure friends with benefits isn’t supposed to go like this. Black!Female Reader.

Enjoy my masterlist

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_________________________

Get ready to miss me.

Her handwriting is sloppy, but still readable. Calum finds the note tucked into his journal. It rests right on top of an envelope. How in the world he managed to miss that this morning when he was packing his bad, he’s not sure. Calum picks up the white paper. Something slides from one end of the envelope to the next. It’s small and rectangular. What in the world? he thinks to himself. He parts the folds and sees something baby blue, a piece of paper--a note. And a small black flashdrive. His breath catches in his throat.

It’s not what he thinks. No, she didn’t. She wouldn’t do that. With a slight shake in his fingers, Calum pulls out the note. For Private Eyes-- is all that’s written in all caps. He scans the note again before noting a tiny arrow underneath the ‘S’. He follows it all the way down and sees in much tinier handwriting, They are watching you.

He chuckles. Of course, of fucking course, she’d make a reference to the song in such a serious moment. Was serious even the right word to use here? He isn’t sure, but his heart beat is so rapid he can feel it thumping beneath his skin. Swallow hard, Calum plays with the flashdrive, lets his ears and brain drift down the soundwaves of David Bowie, armpits sweating about what’s on this black drive. He cannot wait for this flight to end.

When his phone chimes mid afternoon the next day, he’s in the middle of signing posters. The second his plane landed, he managed to grab a couple hours of sleep before being rushed off to the venue. The show that night was great and the guys got up to their usual shenanigans. By the time he had a moment to himself, all he wanted to do was crash. Now he sits, working through the stack of posters in front of him. Calum scribbles his signature across the poster before capping the marker. New iMessage- A-1. Throwing a glance over his shoulders, he unlocks the message. Tell me you’ve stolen a moment alone to check what’s on that flashdrive.

Calum’s hands start to tremble. He doesn’t even want to think about what’s on that USB. He can’t even fathom what sorts of alluring and drool inducing concoctions she’s uploaded up there. He stands from the floor, a soft grunt falling off his lips. His lower back and shoulders have been killing him the last day and a half, and he knows it’s because of his visit to her. He can’t sleep hardly at night anymore. His body is dead beat tired, but his brain keeps drifting to the smell of her bonnet in his nose, to the feel of her curled up into his side. He misses her more than he usually does.

But right now, at the mention of that fucking drive hooked to his keys, his desire just have her close is replaced with a desire to devour her, to make her see stars, to utterly destroy her for making him like this. To give her a taste of her own medicine. The ringing hits his ear as he pulls the phone closer. The hallways to the venue seem to be bustling. They had soundcheck already, but it seemed like people and crew were always doing something, always on some sort of task. “You could’ve just texted me,” she laughs answering the phone call.

Calum exhales, nearly caving at the sound of her voice. But no, he’s going to give her a taste of her own medicine. She’s always the one pulling his strings, always the one to make him into putty. She’s going to have to suffer. “Patience, babycakes. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that it’s a virtue?”

Her exhale is shaky, crackling through the phone. “That’s quite cruel. I put so much hard work into that surprise for you,” her voice lowers to a whiny whisper. “Months. So many pictures. Videos,” she draws out the word. “All your favorite sets. Know how long it took me to find a baby blue set?”

“Stop,” Calum breathes. He doesn’t want to beg. He can feel the whine trying to claw its way over his throat. He can’t. She can’t win this time.

“You’re strong when you want to be,” she offers, voice returning to its normal volume and tone. “But only when you want to be,” she adds under her breathe.

He hears. She knows he did. Calum straightens against the cold concrete wall. “Babycakes, you’re going to regret that.” He’s going to make sure of it. They have two more shows before the North American leg ends. He’ll sweat her out for those two days. “You’re not allowed to touch yourself until I say so.”

“Who died and made you king?”

“Let me spell it out. I have two more shows before this leg ends. How long is the drive to my place from yours? Wouldn’t you like to see Duke? Spend a couple days with me, say hi to the boys?” Calum’s purposefully neglecting details, purposefully not mentioning sex. This is her reality if she misbehaves, if she doesn’t heed his words. But that sounds heavenly as he describes it. Does it sounds just as appealing to her as it does to him? He prayed it did. Part of him wanted her to misbehave. Wanted her to crack as some kind of twisted test to see if listened to his confession.

It seemed like she did. She got teary-eyed and he held her. Just held her, soothing her with soft murmurs and kisses to her forehead. He didn’t know what to say. Was there anything to say at that point? He wasn’t sure, and isn’t sure even now. She never said anything. How could he respond if she never spoke to him verbally. But then again she was never one for words. She spoke in actions. Like the next morning, she made him his favorite pancakes and she surprised him with muffins from a local bakery. Would she speak with actions again this time? Would she show him where she stood this time around?

“I’ll play this game,” she answers, consenting to the rules. They play these games. They make these rules, but rarely. Calum smiles at the phrase. “But when at the end of this, after I’ve obeyed like a good girl, can you do something for me?”

“What do you propose?”

“You’ll know when I ask for it.”

Calum drops his head to the wall, not hard enough to hurt him. He has to fight every once of him to fight the fucking groan trying to burst through his chest. She’s devious. She could ask for anything. She could ask to Dom. She could ask him to jump off a bridge and Calum would have to agree if he says yes now. He highly doubted she would ask him to do such a thing. But agree without specifics was a hairy situation to be in. But she needs a reward, something to look forward to that’s just for her at the end of this. Her obeying his rule, her being a good girl is for him, so he can watch her crack and melt to the smallest of his touches. He loves it. But she needs something on the other end of the deal that satisfies her Dom side, something that gives her an upper hand, even if it’s just temporary.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Calum nods. “I’ll play this game,” he says, pushing out all his breathe.

“Thank you, angel.” Calum can see the sly grin on her face, he can feel her nails ghosting over his skin. The thought makes his body shiver. A groan slips over his lips. “Oh, you’re not going to regret it. Well not that much.”

Oh, she’s not getting to him right now. She’s not pulling this sleight of hands right now. Calum pushes off the wall. “You only get your favor at the end. Don’t get too cocky now.” With that he ends the call. No goodbye, doesn’t let her get something slick in. The more opportunities she has to say something smart, to say something capable of cracking him, the more likely he is to crumble in this resolve. He drops his head back against the wall, exhaling deeply.

Someone chuckles next to him. He looks to see Ashton and Michael, sticking their heads out of the door. “Looks like someone had a pretty fun phone call,” Michael laughs.

Calum doesn’t even need to look down to his pants to know what they’re referring to. In defense, Calum flips them off. Ashton speaks, “That Nobody is truly Somebody huh?”

Calum wants to tell them to fuck off, that it’s none of their business. But his neck is a mess of red bruises still. She worked a number on him the afternoon before he had to leave. Not that he minds, but the jokes keep coming.

“That Nobody is probably a vampire. It’s a miracle that he’s still alive,” Michael states.

“Alright, get a new joke,” Calum retorts. “You’ve used that one enough.”

“Did she call to see if you had restocked? Which by the looks of it, you’ve got plenty of blood to spare,” Michael says.

This one gets Calum, his laughter bursts out of him. “Fuck off,” he chuckles out, walking back into the room. There’s no hiding it, there’s no need to even try. Calum walks back into the dressing room, knowing full well everyone that looks at him can take a guess as to who he was just talking to. No one questions it. Calum knows he ought to be more shameful, more reserved about this. But he’ll give her this. The quiet recognition that there is a somebody even if they never speak her name. He can give her that, and she never has to know.

__ Calum slides into his bunk that night, exhausted. But he figures before he slips into unconsciousness, he’ll finally take a quick look through her little gift. Calum pulls out his laptop and fishes out the USB. Slotting it into the port, Calum’s heart races. If he was dead tired before, now he’s wide awake. The small icon pops up, the title of the seems innocent enough. He clicks on it and there’s two compressed ZIP files. He clicks on one of it and a small text box pops up, asking for a password. What does he need a password for? She never game him one.

But he remembers the note. He tries ‘forprivateeyes’ and that doesn’t work. Calum thinks for a second ‘privateeyes’. That doesn’t work. What else was on that note then? Calum reaches into back into his bag and pulls the envelope out. Down in that corner in the smaller handwriting. Calum types into the box, ‘theyarewatchingyou’. The box disappears and suddenly his computer screen is filled with tiny icons. The rich depth of her skin in each one of them. His fingers tremble as he clicks on one at random. The photo that lights up his screen is just of her, sitting in her fluffy grey moon chair. She appears to be bare beneath the white sheet. She gaze is direct to the camera, or maybe it’s a mirror. Probably a mirror, he guesses. She did a rod set, he can tell by the way the curls do more a shirley temple curl than the zig zag pattern of her natural curl pattern. Her head titled just a little, lips glossy, pouty and parted.

Calum’s inhale is shaky. Holy fuck, holy fucking shit. He closes that one and clicks on another one, a little further down. Calum bites his lips as the picture loads, her a playboy bunny bodysuit. His body is tingling and hot. God, fuck. It did take her months to do all of this. Fuck, holy fuc. Scrambling he finds his phone buried under the blanket of the bunk. He doesn’t even know if she’s up at this hour. But he still tries. He has to see if she’s awake. So she can see what the fuck she’s doing to him. He keeps the volume down low, resting the phone against the screen of laptop. He clicks on another photo. This one is a video. She’s at her desk in her office, lazily sucking on a lollipop. Cherry he figures from the color of the candy. She gives a clear view of the tip of her tongue circling the body of the candy. “Fuck you,” he whispers.

“But you’re so far away.”

Calum looks down to the phone. She’s sleepily grinning into the camera. Shit. He didn’t mean to interrupt her sleep. “Did I wake you? I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “You called for a reason.”

“I finally looked at what’s on that drive. You know you’re such a good girl, right? But so bad at the same time.”

“It’s my speciality, huh?”

Calum looks back to the screen, she’s pulling the candy from hollowed cheeks. He can hear the lewd pop sound, the slurping follows soon after. Fuck, that does not sound good. He hurriedly turns down the volume, heart thundering, blood pounding in his ears. “You have headphones for a reason!” Luke shouts with a laugh.

She chuckles. “Wear headphones for all videos in the future.”

Calum sighs. “Thanks for the warning. Now, after the fact.”

She hum, shifting before her face is completely illuminated in the dark of her room by her phone screen. “See, now’s about the time I’d be touching myself. But somebody’s decided to be an asshole.”

A grin lifts Calum’s cheeks. “Be good for him, babycakes. Sleep well.”

“Wait, you’re not just going--” Her sentence dies on her lips. Because he is. He is going to toy with her. “That’s not the only reason why you called. Not just to tell me that you looked.”

“Sweet dreams,” he says.

A whine falls from her lips. “You’re gonna leave me high and I can’t say necessarily dry, but, just gonna leave me hanging?”

“I surely am,” Calum smiles, waves into the camera. The call ends, the distinct two beep sound signaling it.

The next day, the bus empties, leaving Calum alone for just a spare few minutes. So he pulls out his laptop, sliding the USB into the port again. He calls her again on FaceTime. It takes her longer to answer this time. When the call finally connects, Calum smiles, fingers typing in the password. “Have you been good?”

“No.” The word is so definite. She doesn’t make an excuse, she doesn’t hesitate with the word. But he catches the huff at the end of it. It’s not a pouty huff, it’s a breathless huff. He snaps his attention to his phone. Her chest is heaving, but she grins lazily into the camera.

“Are you--Why?” Calum can’t even get the words out to fully flesh out his disbelief. So blatant, like with no shame. He should be furious, he’s trying to tell myself to be. But it’s not working. All that’s flooding him is desire, it starts in his lower gut, spreading to his chest. His body floods with warmth. A moan falls over her lips, eyes fluttering close. “Show me. Show me how much of a fucking bad girl you’re being,” he whispers.

The screen shifts. She’s using her laptop, he realizes as the full view of her body comes into view. She situations the laptop between her legs. He watches the point in which her fingers disappear inside of her. He can see the pillows lifting her lower back and hips. She’s at home. She must be writing today. “So you couldn’t wait?” Calum questions, gaze zeroed in on slickness glistening in the reflection of the screen.

“Hmm, I’m sorry. I couldn’t wait.”

“Clearly, you’re not sorry enough to stop.”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you jacking off to those photos,” she sighs, squeezing one of her breasts. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the sounds you make, the way you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. Then I really wanted your fingers inside me. Then I-fuck,” she hisses. Her hips start to rise, heels dig into the mattress. Her fingers have sped up.

“Stop. You fucking stop right now, or so help me God.” He doesn’t even recognize his own voice. The amount of authority that spills past his lips makes him scared.

Her fingers immediately stop, she doesn’t remove them. Just stops, like she was told. “I’m sorry. I-,” she tangles her free hand around the roots of her hair.

“Tell me why. Why disobey and break the rules. I even gave you a reward at the end.”

It’s silent. She turns her attention to him. She’s assessing him. She’s trying to find the right words. She can write her ass off, she can create beautiful words. But in person, she flails. Calum doesn’t want to have to guess her motives. He wants the fucking truth. He creates an incentive. “I’ll let you cum if you’re honest.”

“I know I wasn’t supposed to touch myself. I know I consented to the rules. But what if instead of seeing you just for sex, I really wanted to just say hi to Duke, and see the other guys, and bake and too late or too fucking early in the morning with you like we used to do. What if I said I was breaking the rules because sex matters much less to me when it comes to me?”

“Well, are you saying it? Why fill that flashdrive?”

“I am saying it. I’m saying that. Why fill the flashdrive? Because I’m always thinkin’ ‘bout you. Literal months spent putting that together. Because literally you consume every thought that’s not about work or writing. Sue me. Fucking sue me for being a human being with fucking feelings. Sue me for trying to suggest that maybe just maybe I might want something more.”

His breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t do relationships. They never work for him. It requires too much trust. The last time he thought he could trust someone it blew up in his face and went viral--not in the way he wanted either. He was a kid, it was an honest mistake. But still when things cut deep, they leave scars. His first reaction is to say things would never work. His first reaction is to fucking run. But hasn’t he already kind of opened this door? Is he actually falling for her? Is this just more than sex? Was it ever really just about sex?

“Well, are you going to say anything?”

Calum wasn’t even aware of how long his silence had stretched. “I’m a man of my word. You can cum. Be a good girl for me.”

“I know I’m naked right now. But we are passed this game. We are passed a tug of war in who’s Dom right now,” she sighs, pushing the laptop away from her. She disappears from view, but still talks. “I know we’re shit with words and verbally expressing ourselves. But I’d greatly appreciate you opening your fucking mouth for once.”

The door to the bus opens. His security guard waves at him. “C’mon, Cal.”

Shit, of course. Now when he doesn’t need to be interrupted. Her sigh is heavy from the other side of the screen. “Go, I understand.”

Calum exits the folder, ejecting the flashdrive. “I’ll call you back,” he says. “Okay? Give me just a minute to get into the venue and then I’m calling right back.”

“Okay.” It’s not a convincing tone. She’s defeated. Her lips are twisted, her eyes look glassy. Fuck, damn it.

“I swear. I’ll call the second I’m inside.” All she does is sigh and nod before ending the call. Calum rushes to collect his things, throwing them into his bag. He follows behind the guard, phone still unlocked on her contact name. The second the fans see him, the screams start. He waves. He doesn’t even attempt to smile. The moment his feet touch the inside of the venue his taps on her number again. The call rings once, then twice, three times. She’s not going to answer. Calum bites down on his thumb nail, listening to the ringing. He doesn’t leave a message.

He calls again a couple hours later, after sound check. Still no answer. She responds to that missed call with a text. Sorry, got an email about a bumped up deadline.

Calum types a reply. Okay. Good luck. Let me know you’re done so we can talk. Please.

She sends back a thumbs up emoji. Calum drops the phone into his lap, rubbing his closed eyes with the heel of his palms. She always responds with a text, a phrase, even if it’s just ‘K’. There’s always some sort of text, never just an emoji. He could cry. Honestly, he might be. There’s that all too distinct sting behind his eyes. Yes, definitely teas. It’s not that he wants to reject his feelings. He’s just frustrated. He can’t believe that he was an idiot. Why didn’t he say anything about his feelings? Why did he think that he could respond like that? “Fuck,” he exclaims.

The entire room jolts at the exclamation. Michael puts his phone down, watching his friend rub his face. Ashton walks over, perching onto the edge of the sofa. “I’m such an fucking idiot,” Calum mutters.

“What’s up, man?” Ashton asks.

Calum shakes his head, finally opening his eyes. He peers up to Ashton, the anguish painting his face. Ashton knows, gives a squeeze to Calum’s shoulder. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You said that already.”

“I just really fucked up. And I can’t tell if she’s blowing me off, or she’s actually busy now and can’t talk. She’s never responded to a message with just an emoji. Never, ever.”

“Give her the rest of the day. See if she responds with something else.” Calum nods. Maybe she just needs time.

The entire show, Calum’s too focused on if she’s called, if she’s left a message. She knows he’d be on stage at this point. If she really wanted to talk, she wouldn’t call when he couldn’t answer. He misses a note and nearly wants to kick his own ass. Just stop thinking about her for thirty seconds, he reprimands. When the show ends, Calum hates himself. He played terrible. He managed towards the end of the show to put aside his thoughts for the most part. But by that point, it feels too late to correct it, to make it better.

He stands from his final bow, steps backwards and immediately thinks about drowning his anger in a pint. Or two, maybe more. His phone is empty of messages from her. Not a text or a call. He figured as such. As the night nears morning, there’s still nothing from her. Calum curls up in his bunk, clutching his phone. He doesn’t care if her call comes at 7 in the morning. It won’t matter what time as long as it comes.

To see Duke is just the distraction that Calum needs. She still hasn’t called. It’s only been a day and a half. He’d be less concerned, if not for the fact of his fucking idiotic mistake. He hasn’t called since his text, he’s afraid to interrupting her. But now it’s eating him alive. He reclines in his outdoor seating, rubbing Duke’s stomach. “Should I call her bub?” he asks the small dog.

Duke turns his head to Calum. He doesn’t say anything, just pants a little happy to have Calum back. Calum unlocks his phone and hovers over her name. He should call her. Even if she doesn’t answer, he’ll leave a voicemail. He’ll apologize. There’s a chance she doesn’t listen right away. But he has to do something. He taps it and presses the phone icon. Bringing the phone to his ear, he listens to the ringing, heart pounding against his ribs. It rings for a fourth time and he’s about to give up when the call connects. “So, I’m still on deadline and I’m still pretty pissed. But I figured I should finally answer,” she says.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve actually responded to your confession. I should’ve said literally anything other than what I did. I’m so so sorry.”

“Could’ve said that in a text.”

“Would you even have read it?”

She chuckles. “Probably not right away.”

“How much more do you have to do? What’s the new deadline? I want to have a proper conversation but I don’t want to intrude on your time.”

“Tonight. I still have a fourth of this chapter and then three more. I haven’t slept more than four, five hours total. I’m running on pure caffeine, right now.” Her sigh is heavy through the phone.

“Get some rest, okay? I’ll call tomorrow morning.”

“I’m still mad at you,” her voice is soft.

“You could curse me out. But I’m going to talk to you. I’m going to apologize properly, again.”

“I’ll answer,” she whispers. Calum ends the call, biting his lip. This is good. She answered. As Calum watches out, taking in the lush grass, recording cute clips of Duke, he starts planning how early to get up. He’s got more than one way to apologize to her.

“How can I help you?” the young girl says from behind the glassy display case.

Calum eyes the donuts, but also keeps an eye on Duke. He sits quietly, watching all the other patrons of the bakery. “Half a dozen variety pack. Though I might be back later,” he chuckles, thinking how much she loves this family owned donut shop.

The girl nods, grabbing the box and lining it with a wax sheet. “It’s a blessing and a curse to work here,” she jokes. “I highly suggest the lemon filled.”

“Throw two of those in there, yeah. Two red velvets.” Those are her favorite. He cannot show up to her door without those in the pink box. He pauses, looking over the rest of the options. “And two classic glazed too.”

“Great choices.”

It’s about ten when he knocks on her door. If it weren’t for the donuts in his passenger seat, Calum is sure that it would’ve taken him nearly an extra hour to knock. He said call, not roll up at her door with donuts. But he did also have Duke, so maybe that would make up for it as well. Just as he drops his hand, the door opens. He expected her to roll out of bed, drag herself to the front door. But no, she’s in athletic shorts and an one of his t-shirts tucked into them. It’s his Drop Dead one, the ones with holes in it. Her hair picked out in a fro around her head. She’s even got lipgloss on. Fuck. He wonders for a moment if it’s the one that’s slightly scented like vanilla.

“I thought you said you were going to call,” she chuckles, holding the door open with her body.

Calum shrugs. “So maybe I’m bad about my word sometimes.” He lifts the box of donuts. “But I brought breakfast, or maybe a mid-morning snack. It looks like you’ve been up for a while.”

She waves him inside, crouching to pick up Duke, who happily climbs into her arms. She giggles. “Yes, it’s scented lip gloss Duke. No, you can’t have any. I’m so sorry bud.” Calum places the box onto her dining room table. He spies the Swiffer mop and knows she was in the middle of cleaning, so slides out of his shoes, putting them on the guest shoe rack.He stands for a moment. Can he act like he normally does? Go straight in for a donut and kick his feet up on the coffee table? No, he should probably talk to her first.

“I’m going to chop your head off. Relax.”

Calum plays at the rings on his fingers. He’s not really sure why he put them on. Well, no, that’s a lie. He knows why he put them on, because he knows how much she loves them. He wanted to show he was thinking about her too. Another reason why he got the donuts too. Calum nods, looking to the ground for a second. “So, if I say I’m a fucking idiot and I’m very sorry again is it overkill?”

She slips the harness off Duke, shaking her head. “No. It’s not overkill. Some might call it just a kill. I’m sorry for ghosting. I should’ve called or something.” She slumps in front of her couch, put Duke up on the couch cushions. Calum grabs the box of donuts and some napkins. He settles down directly across from her in front of the coffee table. She flips the lip, grabbing a red velvet with her fingers.

“You’re disgusting,” Calum teases.

“You’ve kissed me with your own cum in my mouth. Let’s not talk about gross right now.”

He rolls his eyes, though he shifts a little. “We’re not talking about that right now.” But there’s a lot more they’re also not talking about either. Like, is Calum ready to jump into the deep end. Is he truly gonna let himself call this love? Is he going to call this a desire to be with someone that’s not strictly sexual? Is he going to actually “do” feelings right now? But fuck, does he like pondering the universe with her. He likes watching her play with Duke, he’s got too many videos of them curled up together on his phone.

“It’s been hard to sleep at night,” Calum utters. She pauses, part of her bite still hanging out of her mouth. “Without you,” he continues. “Like, I either don’t sleep peacefully at all. Or I sleep in this really tight ball and I wake up with sore muscles. There’s something about the floral scent to your hair products, something about your body heat next to me. And like, pondering the universe alone fucking sucks. I much rather hear you debate me on every sentence than have my brain loop the same paranoid thought a thousand times. And I’ve very unfortunately forgotten your family recipe to snickerdoodle cookies and I’m sad about that because they’re the greatest cookies ever. And what I’m really trying to say is that I have feelings for you. And not just the ‘I-want-to-fuck-her-senseless’ kind. It’s more of the ‘I-want-to-watch-her-edit-at-the-kitchen-table-massage-her-shoulders-and-then-fuck-her-senseless-on-it’ feelings’ kind of feelings. And I’m so sorry I didn’t say that before. I-- me and verbal communication aren’t the best of friends.”

She nods. “I know that much. We aren’t great friends either. I guess my question is, do we want to act on those feelings? Like I know I’d like to, but Mr. Doesn’t Do Relationships across from me might say otherwise.”

“I do. I want to act on these feelings. I’m not promising that I’m going to the best. I’m not promising that I’m such knight in shining armor. But I am promising to try. It’s honestly all I’ve got.”

Licking some of the icing from her fingers, she taps against the wooden structure beneath her fingers. “So, like, what now?” she laughs.

Calum shrugs with chuckle. “The hell if I know.”

“I gotta finish mopping the kitchen, so I’m going to go do that and then we can figure out what the hell happens from here.” Calum nods, watching her push up from the floor. As she passes, he reaches out for her, fingers brushing over her calves. She nudges his leg with her foot. He over dramatizes the effect and falls back onto the hardwood flooring.

Her chuckle is soft, “Idiot. It wasn’t even that hard.” Before she can walk away, Calum grabs onto her ankle. He know she has responsibility. But the kitchen floor isn’t going to up and run. “Yes, Calum?”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“No, you fucking bought me red velvet donuts. I’d be a fool to still be mad at you.”

“Does that then mean that I can get a kiss?”

She watches the way his lips quirk into a smirk. He’s going to ask for a lot more. He says kiss, but she second squats down to peck his lips, his hands are going to find her hips. If his hands find her hips, they’ll find her waist. Then her breast, her throat, every inch of her skin. “Just a kiss,” she warns.

The warning falls on deaf ears. As she lowers down, Calum catches her waist, pulling her in close. Don’t swing your legs over his waist, she warns herself. That’s the deadly move, that’s the nail in her coffin. As their lips pull apart, Calum gives another tug. Her knee hits his side. “I gotta mop,” she defends. Yes, mop. That’s going to spare her just minutes.

“It can wait. I’m thinking about that playboy bunny suit right now and I really hope your coffee table is sturdy.”

She straddles him, holding his face gently in her hands.This is it, she’s completely lost any ounce of being in her right mind. He smells so much like Gain, stale cigarettes and coffee. He smells like home to her. She doesn’t give a fuck about that kitchen floor now. “Coffee table’s too short.” They gaze at each other. Dark brown melting into each other. He reaches up and brushes over her face with the back of his knuckles. She’s real, and his. Fuck, the phrase feels strange in his mind. Would it sound just as strange? Would it feel awkward leaving hips?

“You’re like, actually mine,” he whispers, his lips lift into a smile. No, it’s definitely not awkward. It feels right. But still strange, still not firmly in his grasp.

“I’m yours,” she laughs, kissing him. His fingers dig into her side. She’s soft beneath his fingers, she’s warm, she’s his. Her hips grind down on his crotch, covered thinly in the mesh of his basketball shorts. He groans into her mouth. She tastes differently now, he thinks, even behind the sweetness of her donut. She still tastes, smells like what he always knew, but it feels new on his tongue, in his nose. It feels news and exciting somehow.

Calum slips his hands under the cotton of her, his, t-shirt and she moans into his mouth. The rings probably cold to her. Balling the cotton into his fist he pulls up. She breaks their kiss, pulling the shirt completely off her body. A lacy black bralette covers her brown chest. He runs the pads of his fingers over her skin, dancing them over the swell off her breasts. She drops her head back, pressing hard down into his crotch again. “Hmm,” she whines.

“I know you call me an angel. But right now, you’re the one god sent,” he whispers to her, squeezing her breast beneath the thin material. He drags his second hand down her stomach, pressing his palm deep into her flesh.

Her head falls forward, a smile resting on her face. She crawls her nails up his skin, trailing up his ribs beneath the black hoodie adorning his body. She pushes the material up, exposing his skin to the cool air. Her lips are soft as the barely touch his body. “Ah,” he groans, tensing at the small bites she trails up his skin. She pushes until the hoodie is up and over his head. Calum sits up, pulling them chest to chest.

She rests her head onto his shoulder as his fingers run down her spine, playing at the hooks. Her cheek is so close to his silver fern. His reminder of a home he’s never been. She wants to take them there. She wants to watch his face light up when he lands and gets to spend proper time with his family. Not rushed backstage, not told at the holidays. But proper time. She kisses the tattoo softly several times. Calum tilts his head a little, letting her take her time with his body. “I’m gonna take you home of these days,” she whispers in his ear, gently nibbling at his ear.

He chuckles. “It’s two hours without bad traffic.”

“No,” she presses a hand to the tattoo. “I’m going to take you home. Here,” she says tapping the black ink.

“I am in a home,” he returns. “Right here with you in my arms.”

“A home, but not home. I know Sydney will always be your home, the place you’ll ultimately go back to. But, roots, I want to take you to your roots.”

He can’t say no to that. He’s always wanted to go. He’s just never allowed himself to dream it a possibility. He always has something else to do. He’s always putting something else in front of it. He can’t put something else in front of her though. She’s going to be his reason to finally think of himself. “Okay, Ms. Big Shot. Sweep me off my fucking feet.”

She kisses him, laughter still bubbling from her lips. “I’m not that strong. But I’ll surely try.”

Calum undoes the hooks to her bralette, staring directly into her eyes as he pushes the lace away from her skin. “A small wise old alien once said, ‘Do or do not. There is no try.’”

She slaps his chest. “Do not quote Yoda to me with your dick hard.”

He laughs, biting the end of her nose before placing a kiss to it. “Fine. No more Yoda quotes in the bedroom. But since this isn’t the bedroom.”

She covers his mouth, trying to stare at him with fire in her eyes. But all that’s there is love, is her laughter, is a softness for him. “I swear to God, Angel, I will walk away right now.”

Calum sighs, but nods, signalling his agreement to not quote anymore Star Wars. He wraps his arms around her waist as she slowly pulls her hand away. Calum waits. She’ll give in too soon. She’ll believe in his agreement. Right as she relaxes into his embrace, he squeezes her into a hug. “Feel the Force.”

“I fucking hate you, Cal! Oh my god, I do.” She laughs, attempting to wrestle from his grasp. He peppers her face and neck in loud, wet kisses, punctuating each one with a “muah” sound effect. She knows she can’t win. Not in a game of pure strength, so she gets a good handful of hair into her hands and pulls. Calum immediately ceases with playful kisses a whimper falling over his throat. His grip slackens and he lets her pull his head up.She pushes away from him, settling onto the edge of the coffee table.

“Don’t laugh,” she warns.

Why would he laugh? All he can think about is the pleasure swimming in his veins. She peels her shorts away to reveal Wonder Woman underwear. “If you think those panties are gonna ruin this mood, you have got me all wrong.” Calum pushes shorts and underwear off, wiggling his fingers for her to crawl back onto his lap.

“My knees are already gonna be mad at me,” she teases, running her fingers over his length. It’s been way too long. Her mouth is already watering at the sight of him, mind already reminding her what he taste like. She stands, holding out her hands. Calum stands with her assistance before she’s pushing him into the wall.

“Shouldn’t you be the one against the wall?” he teases, but his laughter dies in his throat when she sinks to her knees. Her hands wrap around him with no apprehension and tug up.

“Hands behind your back please?”

Widening his stance a bit, Calum holds his hands behind his back, bracing into the wall. Her tongue and lips slips over with ease. There’s the initial moment of tensing before he relaxes into the sucking, slurping, tugging of her mouth and hands. She swirls around his length with the top of her tongue, flicking at head before sucking his back down her throat. “Fuck,” he hisses at the feeling of him hitting the back of her throat. She gags around him and pulls back for a moment.

His toes are curling. His hands are fists, have been for what feels like hours now, but knows are only minutes. She slurps some of the excess salvia, but the vibration sends a current through Calum’s body. “God-fuck, baby,” he whines, watching her. He wants nothing more than to grab a fistful of her hair, wipe the tears falling down her cheeks. “Oh, please, can I touch you?” his voice is just a pant.

He gets no answer. She just wants to bring him over the edge, just wants to hear the groan ripping over his throat. She’ll stop at nothing to hear it. Her hand pulls faster, her bobs become more swallow. But her pace is relentless. Calum feels like he’s chipping paint off her wails, but how hard he’s scratching to keep his hands in place. His hips rut into her mouth once, then a second time. He’s gonna come down her throat. Tearing his hands from behind his back, he grabs both sides of her face, stilling her. He gives another rut of his hips, hitting the back of throat. She gags around him and the sudden squeeze is all he needs. His groan tears over his throat. Calum drops his head into the wall, emptying himself into her. His vision stars for a moment until her nails dig into his thighs. Then he hisses from the pleasurable pain.

His breathe still gone, he brings his gaze back down to her, she’s got tears down her face. He pulls out of her mouth and she coughs. “Sorry,” he whispers, pulling her up. “I’m sorry.” Calum wipes her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, allowing her time to catch her breathe. Once he’s sure she’s breathing steadily, he pulls her in. He knows what he taste until on her tongue. But he just needs her close. Their kiss is soft. Arms wrapped around his neck, their bodies press close other. Calum lets his hands wander, sliding between her legs. She’s soaked, so much so, he slides in one finger giving test pumps before deciding he can easily insert a second.

She shudders against him, back bowing a little. Calum wraps his left arm around her, hoisting her into a studier position. “Come around my fingers, yeah, babycakes?”

Her words die in her throat as he pumps faster. Watching her, mouth hanging opening, the tiny sounds and moans falling over her lips, she reminds him of a painting come to life--nothing more perfect to him. Her latch around his neck tightens, her head dropping to his chest. He continues to push his fingers in and out of her curling up into the fleshy part of her. “Hmm, God,” she cries.

“That’s right,” he whispers into her ear. He drags his lips over her skin, kissing the parts he can reach, bending to nip at her collarbones.

“Calum,” she hums, her legs start to shake. She can’t stand hardly. She’s not going to be able to stand by herself, she thinks. The wave of orgasm crashes over her, hits her all at once. “God,” she shouts, voice straining and eventually giving out on her. Her mouth hangs open, clutching, clawing at Calum to keep up, to keep steady. He rides out the rest of high, feeling as her holds slackens.

Gently, he pulls his fingers out of her, bring them to his own lips. In her post orgasm haze, she can just register the sounds of Calum moans in her ears as he licks his fingers clean. She smiles up at him, tugging at his wrist. His hand in front of her she licks around the metal of his fingers, collecting her own arousal on her tongue. “Can’t let you have it all,” she grins, and then drops her head back into his chest.

“No,” he chuckles, “no you can’t. Clearly.” Both arms wrapped around her, they stay hugged together, his back still pressed into the wall.

“I will be able to walk in approximately 6.3 seconds. And it’ll be the bed for nap. Care to join me?” she laughs, sound muffled by his skin.

“Sounds good to me.”

#calum hood #calum hood imagine #calum hood 5sos #calum hood smut #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #calum 5sos #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer smut #5ssos smut #h writes #luke hemmings #michael clifford #ashton irwin

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imjeralee · 4 years

Text

Wallflower: Chapter 4 - Open Me

Raihan x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Note: This is my first Pokemon fanfic. I hope you enjoy it :) Originally posted on Archive of Our Own.

Summary: You’re an unassuming Pokemon breeder who works at the nursery in the Wild Area and he’s Raihan, the fearsome gym leader of Hammerlocke who has more than a million followers.

You don’t want anything to do with him but he’s…persistent.

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Warnings: Lemon, smut, violence, language

OPEN ME

...

"Some time ago, this woman did this, uh.... this art performance. It was extreme art, using herself. Basically, she stood with this sign saying that she was letting the public do whatever they wanted to do with her - and she was gonna stand for seven hours and do nothing. She laid out some stuff in front of her - amongst random objects, I think there was a pen, a flower, a gun, a knife...So anyway, she stood and at first, people just stared and watched her. Someone went up to her and gave her a hug. Gave her a handshake. Someone gave her the flower to hold. Someone kissed her on the lips. The public chuckled and laughed, watching this woman stand there like a living dummy. They used the pen and drew on her or something. It began to escalate: someone started taking off her clothes. She stood semi-naked until someone covered her up. Someone slapped her. Someone punched her. I think she started crying but they didn't stop. Someone grabbed the knife and cut the side of her neck. Someone took the gun and put it in her hand, pointed it to her own head. When the time was up and the woman started moving again, the people who hurt her ran away immediately, afraid of the repercussions. When I read that article, I knew: human beings are absolutely disgusting to the core."

She lifts up a knife next. A terrified Deerling trembles in the corner of the room whilst Banette grins.

"That being said, I guess I'm no exception. I'm sorry it had to come to this."

....

Detective Looker is hard at work.

He's got a few things going on - not only has he taken over Raihan's social media account for the time being (it took a lot of persuasion but Raihan finally agreed, vexingly... if he might say so himself) and now he has taken it upon himself to personally investigate the hotel, in particular, room 241. It's Raihan's designated room should he ever visit Circhester, Spikemuth or Wyndon, and Looker's interrogated the majority of staff and checked out all CCTV. No-one reported witnessing any unauthorised persons going in and out of the room and the CCTV does not accurately show the hallway, indicating several blindspots. They also tell him a keycard went missing which was not replaced or brought to management's attention. Looker is not surprised. Of course, there's a hiccup...whilst the hotel staff apologise profusely for their blunders, Looker dismisses them. It sounds like they'll improve their security from now on.

Looker heads to the room, opening the door. Everything is evidence and should be treated with utmost care...he unleashes his Growlithe to sniff out anything. He wouldn't be surprised if Raihan and the girl were snorting up berry dust or anything. Who knows what kids these day were up to...who knows.

Upon checking the room, he stands where the camera in the DVD was facing and finds two light switches in the wall that faces the bed directly. Attempting to remove them, he gets Magnemite to ease it off using it's Magnetic Pull ability and it manages to take the cover off, revealing a square slot where any sort of camera could be placed there, perfect for recording. He takes a few snaps of it using his Rotom phone and inspects the area where the dust doesn't settle. The camera was placed here for some time (a long time, perhaps) but it's long gone now.

Someone had set up a camera way before the one night stand and removed it during the night when both were sleeping. Pretty ballsy, if Looker admits; the perp had gone into the room when Raihan and the girl were in it. But from the testimony, the young couple were drunk as fish so it's not surprising they were out cold for the rest of the night and didn’t notice. The next question is - if no-one saw anyone go in or go out, how did the culprit escape? Looker turns to the window, finds that it's easily opened and proceeds to look outside. Anyone could just use pokemon to fly out here. Also, how did the culprit know where the girl worked to be able to deliver the DVD directly to her workplace?

She probably works for Macro Cosmos. It's the perfect setup - she's Raihan's biggest fan and being an employee of Macro Cosmos, she could have access to what hotel he stays in. Macro Cosmos also has their paws stuck in the Pokemon Nurseries; they pretty much run everything in Galar. They may as well be the government, Looker thinks to himself.

He grabs a pokeball and presses the button. "Go, Dustox." And the large moth pokemon abruptly appears and Looker issues his command: "Dust it."

Dustox flutters around, sprinkling some dust over the window pane where it reveals two handprints.

"Good job, boy." Looker says as Dustox lands atop his head and he pulls out some equipment to take prints. They look small - most likely a female's. Next, Rotom buzzes, indicating a new message. "Talk." Looker mutters, as Rotom flies out.

"Zzrt, I've got the report; I've also got the address of the fan who told Raihan to go to Spikemuth!"

"Thanks, Rotom. This is coming along nicely." He mutters to himself. Grabbing Rotom, he checks the rest of the statistics report; looks like the person has also commented on every single photo and video Raihan has uploaded since...ever. It's simple. Real simple. Just a case of blackmail and obsession after all.

...

Looker arrives in Spikemuth and looks up from his Rotom phone. He's standing in front of an apartment block that looks very rundown. Of course, everything in Spikemuth is grizzled and decrepit, but somehow this sad building really takes the cake. Rotom's provided address mentions the third floor so he quietly makes his way up and stops at the front door. This is it.

Letting go of Rotom, he makes a circle with his finger. "Scan it."

"You got it, champ." Rotom says, before he zooms into the air and a dim blue light glows. "There'zzz only one person inzzide. A man."

"Thanks, I'm going in." Looker knocks on the door and waits.

A few seconds later, the door opens and a middle-aged, bald man in a tracksuit opens it. "Whaddya want?" He slurs, clearly drunk.

Looker holds up his badge. "I'm with the police; I'm looking for - "

He doesn't even get to finish his sentence because the man yells over his shoulder, "What are you in trouble for this time?! Now the po-po's here!"

There is no response.

The man sighs, opens the door and grunts at Looker, "C'mon in."

With an eyebrow raised, Looker steps inside. The flat is in a disgusting state and there's a terrible odor. Feces, perhaps. Looker follows the man down the small hallway of the cramped apartment, stepping over heaps of trash and boxes and upturned furniture on the floor and they stop at a random door. The man proceeds to slam his huge fist over it and it rattles in the doorframe

"Hey, are you in there?!" He yells, before he tries again, but there is still no response.

Looker holds out his arm. "Stand back." With a hefty kick, the door opens violently and swings on the hinges.

Inside, it's a fairly normal room, save for the numerous posters of Raihan pasted to the walls and a bunch of magazines on the floor with Raihan's picture on it, along with the mangled carcass of a dead Deerling. The man gags and runs back towards the direction of the living room whilst Looker steps in.

"Rotom?"

"Yezzzir?"

"Let's get a team here."

"Okay-doo."

...

The Wild Area...

"I've got two wonderful arms, I've got two wonderful lips, I'm over twenty one and I'm free…Oh, I've got a hive full o' honey, for the right kind of honeybee…"

In the Rolling Fields, a young man sits in the middle of a patch of tall grass with a jar of honey in hand and a small plastic knife in his other which he's using to spread over his face.

A group of trainers pass him whilst chatting animatedly and giggling, all female - looks like they're heading to Motostoke - and they stop as soon as they spot him, eyes wide. Realising he's being watched, he grins and waves at them. "Ladies! You wanna see my Lickilicky? He's big and pink - "

"Ewww! Weirdo!" They scream loudly before quickly scampering away.

He looks upset. "What's wrong with Lickilicky?" Rummaging a hand through his pockets, he takes out a pokeball and presses the button, releasing a large pink pokemon and he continues spreading honey over his chin. "Wait," He pauses abruptly, frowning. "How does this work again? Was I meant to put honey on myself, or on a pokemon? What do you think, Licky?"

His pokemon turns to him and sticks it's massive pink tongue out in response.

"Eh, fair enough. Okay, here goes nothing. Let's give it a shot." Once he's finished giving himself a honey moustache, he moves to stand up and holds his arms out, dropping the knife to the ground - but then his phone rings and he fishes Rotom out from his pocket. "Yello."

"Um, it's me."

"What's up?"

“I...I think I have a date. Can you help me?”

“Hell yeah, I will!” He shouts down the phone before he hangs up, then - "Frick, why'd I do that? Damn, where we gonna meet?"

He immediately calls her back.

"Yeah?" She sounds exhausted.

"Where we gonna meet and when?"

"Can we meet right now? The date is tomorrow. Are you in Galar? Sorry for the short notice..."

"Nah, s'alright, I wasn't doing anything important anyway," He replies, "And yeah, I'm in the Wild Area. Meet you outside your workplace?"

"Sure."

After he hangs up a second time, there is a loud rustling noise emitting from the right. He gasps and whips his glance over over. "What was that?"

There's another loud rustle to the left which makes him leap frantically in the air.

"Huh? What? Who?"

Another rustle.

"Who goes there?"

Glancing left and right, he can't tell where the noise is coming from but then the grass parts and a dark shadow leaps out. His eyes widen.

…..

You're waiting outside the nursery as agreed, checking your phone for any messages when you see a figure sprinting towards you from the horizon. It's some dude dressed up as a Galarian Ponyta. Oh, wait. You know this dude.

"Help! Help me! Demon cat! Demon cats are chasing me!!" He yells, waving his arms around.

It's Glenn. Finally, he's here. Took him long enough. He's rushing towards the nursery with his Lickilicky waddling after him and there's something chasing him; you notice it's a couple of Purrloin that have all set their eyes on him.

Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he hisses, "Back, I say! All of you, stay back! Oh? You want a battle, do you? Fine!!" He grabs a pokeball from his belt and tosses it without looking and throws his arms in the air, "Go Kricketune! Delelele whooooop!"

You continue to watch as a large, reddish insect pokemon appears in a burst out of light and it stands its ground in front of the rampaging Purrloin - however, it's quickly pushed to the ground and trampled over.

"No!" Glenn yelps, before he spies you and proceeds to hurriedly make his way towards you, hiding behind your back, "Oh good, you're here. Do something!"

"Okay, I got this." You mutter; the Purrloin stop before you, peering up at you inquisitively whilst Glenn quivers in fear. You quickly fish out some spare berries from your bag which you keep handy for these sorts of situations and squat down to hand the fruit to them. They surround you at once and you distribute the food in an orderly fashion. "One for you...one for you.... aaaaaaaand...one for you." You mutter as they line up, single file. Once each pokemon has a berry, they purr and meow appreciatively at you before turning to leave quietly.

From behind your shoulder, you hear: "Are they gone? Are the demon cats gone?"

"Yeah."

"Phew!" Glenn pokes his head out and sighs. "Thanks for taking care of that, sis. These Purrloin walk on their hind legs! That's not normal!" He exclaims as he returns his Kricketune and Lickilicky into their pokeballs.

"It's a Galar thing." You reply, before you squint your eyes at him, "Are you high?"

"Me? High? No, of course not. I've been clean for years, sis. Years."

"Right, okay. Come on then, let's go. It's getting late."

"Sure, sure. I'm so happy you called me." He gushes, as you both begin your trek down the beaten path of the Wild Area that will lead you to Hammerlocke where you will get the train; Glenn quickly falls into the same pace as you, folding his arms behind his head - which he does all the time but suddenly it reminds you of Raihan.

Glenn is your foster brother and a self-proclaimed Pokemaniac, choosing to dress up as random pokemon depending on his mood. A week ago he was a Bidoof, a few days ago he was a Weedle. Today, he is a Galarian Ponyta, a pokemon he's been on the lookout for a long time since he read about them. He still stays in Johto somewhere in Mahogany Town, but he likes to visit you a lot on sporadic occasions and luckily for you when you called him - he was in the Wild Area. You've asked Glenn to help you choose an outfit for your date. He was responsible for picking out the black dress from Goldenrod department store - the one you wore to the club - so overall, he's good with fashion and naturally you called him first because you trust his opinions.

He was also a berry addict. Specifically, the lum. Yes, that one. Out of all the berries he could get addicted to, it had to be that one. He got addicted to lum berries at a young age and spent much of his youth going to shady places, throwing most of his cash to dealers just to snort some lum dust. He’s been clean for years, or he says, but sometimes you’re not sure. There's no telltale sign right now - no red, watery eyes and there's no distinct smell of the lum either. You guess you have to take his word for it.

"Wait, before I forget - " Glenn removes his Ponyta hood, leaving himself in his white sweater and slacks with the pink-blue edges, and he proceeds to take out two pokeballs, handing them to you, "I brought your pokemon."

You grin widely as you take the pokeballs off him. "Thanks!!" You'll let your pokemon out later, and stuff their capsules into the pocket of your bag.

"I guess the only pokemon you're missing from your team would be a Goodra, Dragonite, Kommo-o and a Hydreigon, right?"

"And a Dragapult." You remind him.

"Why do you want one so badly? Is it because they look like they're so done with life and shit?"

"Uh, no, but - hey, what happened to that Dreepy trader?"

"He said he wanted your Metagross in exchange."

You make a face. "NO."

And he snickers, crosses his arms over his chest. "Yep, I called the trade off.”

"Thanks. So, what pokemon were you looking for this time?"

"A Vespiqueen, but no luck." He says with a sigh.

"You should've dressed up as a Combee."

"I wanted to but I couldn't make the costume in time." He sighs again, "Anyway, this isn't about me. This is about you. How's it goin'? How's Galar? You got a date, right?"

You immediately throw your glance to the ground and kick a stone away from your path, cheeks going pink. "...Yeah."

"Who's the lucky dude?"

"Um...it's Raihan."

Glenn's eyes bulges for a split second but then his expression returns to normal. "Oh. Figures. He loves dragon Pokemon and you use some dragon pokemon, so you got something in common." He scratches his chin next, "Raihan, huh. He's a bit of a celebrity around here; didn't know you would like his type."

You blush furiously in response. "I don't know if I should go."

"Huh? But you called me for help, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then you should go. Give it a shot. Ahhh, my little sis is going on a date with the hot-blooded dragon tamer. That's adorable." Glenn reaches over and pulls at your cheek affectionately.

You smile awkwardly in response. There's more to it, of course, but you're reluctant to tell Glenn the entire truth. Once you're at Hammerlocke, you take the train to Wyndon - even though you're heading there tomorrow - and upon arrival, you and Glenn head to the boutique. Raihan's asked you out on short notice and you're sure there's nothing in your current wardrobe, so the Wyndon boutique will have to do. Compared to the boutiques in the region, the Wyndon store offers some of the best selection of clothing. Stepping inside, you're greeted with hundreds of clothing racks and your eyes are assaulted with dozens of colourful garb, shoes and handbags.

As you grimace under your breath, Glenn rolls his sleeves up and grins widely. "Right, let's get you sorted!"

...

Wyndon, next day.

Needless to say, you didn't get a very good night's sleep and when you had heard a Corviknight crowing, indicating it was morning, you groaned and sat up in bed, glancing over to the folded clothes on the stool which you had bought yesterday with Glenn's help. It was rather exciting at first and shopping with Glenn is very much fun and games, but now...not so much. The initial excitement is gone now, replaced with an underlying sense of dread. You're afraid. Why are you doing this? What will you say to Raihan when you see him? What will you talk about during your time together? What if it gets awkward? What if he thinks you're boring as hell and that you have nothing in common? You smacked a hand to your forehead as you slipped out of bed, full of regret and feeling sick to the stomach; it's not like you agreed to go on the date either but he's expecting you to turn up now and you're too afraid to message him saying you don't want to go anymore.

Glenn said he could wait with you at the Wyndon pokemon centre for moral support which you didn't think was necessary; it doesn't make you feel any better.

Yet, you're waiting in the Pokemon Centre; Glenn stands at the rounded table, going through photos on his phone whilst you peep outside the double glazed window. Here you are, dressed and dolled up. It took you almost three hours to get ready. You look the same as you did at the nightclub but the makeup's a bit toned down, especially with your eyeliner. There's still ten minutes to go until the date officially starts but your indication of Raihan's arrival is a cacophony of manic female screaming and cheering. People are pointing to a specific direction so you follow where their fingers are pointing to and you see that Raihan has appeared, having just arrived at the large fountain in the town square; he smiles and waves at a few shrieking fans - he's donned in a casual black t-shirt and denims (and looking very much like the way he did at that talkshow) - before he abruptly steps towards the fountain and plops himself down on an empty, dry space, bringing out his Rotom phone. High above and the sky is turning grey, indicating that it will be raining soon.

Your eyes grow wide as your Rotom phone buzzes and he flies out; you have received a photo from Raihan - he just snapped a photo of himself at the fountain and has sent it to you. The caption below says:

Doofus: I'm here :)

You don't know how to reply, your feet suddenly anchored to the spot. "...He's actually here." You croak out. "He's here, Glenn."

Glenn doesn't look up from his phone. “You thought he wasn't serious? That he was playing a cruel joke on you? This isn't prom night or high school or whatever.”

“Y-yeah...”

"Well, now that he’s here and obviously very serious, what are you waiting for? Go to him."

You shake your head furiously, taking a few steps back from the window. "Um...not yet."

"Huh?" He looks up, confused. "You're gonna make him wait?"

"...It's not that. I...I don't think I can do this."

"What do you mean?"

"This is a bad idea."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"You can't keep letting whatever you're scared of stop you from doing things, sis." Glenn says, but you don't leave the safety of the pokemon centre.

As the minutes tick by, you see Raihan occasionally checking his phone, talking to some fans who would go up to him for selfies and autographs. Once that's done, he would look up and around and check his phone again for updates from your end (but obviously there's none because you didn't reply to his message). You hear a loud booming clap of thunder overhead and it occurs to you that the weather's getting worse and soon, the window becomes streaked with droplets.

"Look, it’s raining now." Glenn adds, "And it's pretty bad. Go and get him. Go get your man."

You stare at Raihan, who is still rooted in his seat on the fountain. He hasn't moved at all. Glancing at your phone, you realise you've left Raihan waiting for almost ten minutes. And as Glenn pointed out, it's beginning to rain heavily.

"Shit. You're right. Goddamnit, he's gonna get sick." You utter under your breath, "Glenn, I'm going."

"Whoohoo! Good luck! And most importantly, have fun!”

You pull your umbrella from your bag and open it as you rush out of the pokemon centre, running over to the fountain. Raihan doesn't notice you coming and since he hasn't moved from his spot at all, he's very drenched; once you arrive, you hold the umbrella over his head and he promptly looks up.

"Sorry, I'm late!" You exclaim, "Well, no, I wasn't late, I was - uh, never mind, I-I have kept you waiting and for that I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

He stares at you from head to toe; you're wearing a long-sleeved shirt dress with a belt and black shorts underneath, along with matching black chelsea boots. After he's had a good look at you, he immediately stands up and envelopes you into a tight hug. The umbrella jiggles in your hand and almost threatens to fall but you manage to hold onto it. Despite being completely wet, his body is warm.

"It's okay, I didn't wait for long." He says, as he nuzzles you affectionately. He sounds happy.

What a doofus, he clearly did wait for a long time.

"You came." He adds.

"O-of course I'd come." You utter, and you exhale quietly under your breath as he bundles you up in his arms and gives you a tight squeeze. "...Sorry." You mumble again, throwing your gaze to the side as your chin rests on his broad shoulder. You can't help but apologise again and again.

His arms lower from your waist, large hands resting on the sides of your legs and the contact makes you blush heavily, your fingers clinching the damp fabric of his t-shirt. “Your outfit is too short.” He murmurs as he strokes the sides of your bare thighs before he slips his fingers underneath the material of your shorts - he’s almost at your ass - and he succeeds in sending a few shivers down your spine.

”You don’t like it?”

“No,” He mutters, “But it’s dangerous to wear something like that in front of me.”

Honestly, it’s quite a tacky thing to say but somehow he can get away with it because your face ends up a thousand shades of red before you defiantly turn your head to the side. “S-shut up.” You mumble as he leans over to press his lips over your cheek and you close your eye as he begins to trail little kisses over the side of your face. What were you expecting? Heck, you are deliberately wearing a sexy outfit for this date.

He moves towards your mouth and presses a deep kiss on your lips which kind of takes you off guard but before you can react, he pulls away and says, "What do you want to do first?"

"You're soaked." You squeak out, "I'm sorry."

He plants his hand atop your head, ruffling your head as he grins at you in response.

"Okay, I'm here and you're here. Your obsessed fan could also be here and watching us this very moment. What the hell are we doing, being in the wide open like this? This is bad. We should not be doing this." Glancing around, you see some of the Wyndon locals running for shelter from the rain, disappearing into their homes or nearby restaurants which now look pretty full. You're not too sure if it's a good idea if you should go with Raihan to such a busy place. You ponder to yourself briefly and it hits you. "Never mind; I have an idea."

....

Glimwood Tangle.

"Ahhhh. This is so much better." You sigh, wiping your brow with relief, "It's nice, dark and quiet here. No-one will see us."

The Glimwood Tangle is the perfect place - maybe not so much for a date, but if Raihan insists in spending some time with you, this is a good option. It's not raining here either, thank goodness. Of course, you're just a few paths away from Ballonlea as well, so you guess you could invite Raihan for tea or something nearer the end (and not for sex, nooo... and you hope he would respect that too). You took the Corviknight taxi - which was a bad idea because it was really cramped inside and you were both basically rubbing shoulders - which he didn't object to or anything, in fact he pretty much wanted you to sit in his lap but luckily for you and unlucky for him, there was just enough space.

You found the entire taxi ride darn near claustrophobic and he had his hand planted over your bare leg the entire time so you're relieved to have finally arrived at the woods - even when you exited the taxi, he let you go out first and the damn cramped cubicle meant when you both stood up and turned, your ass basically grinded invitingly against his hips. If it couldn't have been anymore damn obvious, there's tension between you and Raihan and you're not sure what will emerge from this.

In the woods, you look around whilst Raihan tries to get a signal on his phone. There's not many people around at all and as you mentioned, it's dark and quiet. You prefer this more than any other town or city. You take one step forwards and -

SQUELCH.

Throwing your glance down, you see your foot is stuck in thick mud, fast. "Motherfu - “

Raihan’s watching you.

”-Fuh...Furret. These are brand new."

He chuckles as you try to pull and tug your leg free but to no avail. Raihan steps over, invulnerable to the mud (but of course he is) and reaches for you, scooping you up with one hand under the back of your knees and the other around your shoulder and with unimaginable strength, he hoists you out - but now you're stuck in his hold, being carried bridal style which embarrasses you greatly.

"What are you doing?"

"Saving my princess." He replies cheerfully as he carries you through the woods. You blush the entire way; when you're away from the muddy terrain and back onto the path, you both find a large glowing mushroom and decide to sit down and Raihan looks around inquisitively. You get the feeling that he doesn't come here often, and you wonder if he has even come here before at all. He doesn't look used to his surroundings.

"Are you okay?" You ask, as Raihan looks up at the non-existent sky. "Is it too quiet here? Too dark? Some people find the Glimwood Tangle unnerving."

"It’s not so bad here.”

"Yeah, but people are rumoured to disappear or get lost for days. Weeks, even. So, not many people like passing here and as you can see, it's really dark. Like it's almost noon but it looks like it's night-time right now. It can really mess with your biological clock," You muse out loud, "N-not that I chose to stay near here because of those reasons, of course. “

You go silent; it occurs to you that he was observing you as you babbled and now you’re scared to death that you’d put him off with your ramblings. Did it make any sense? Or was it all garbage? Why did you say those things in the first place anyway? You couldn’t help it - it was like verbal diarrhoea. Have you made things awkward now?

As you worry, he asks, “Do you live in Ballonlea or Stow-on-Side?"

"Ballonlea. You can see my cottage over there." You point to the left where between some giant, neon mushrooms, you can see the roof of your cottage in-between the stems.

"Nice." He comments with a grin, before he takes off his orange sweatband which is damp with rain and as he wrings it dry, you get a rare view of Raihan without his headband, revealing the sides of his shaved head and his dreadlocks. You can feel your cheeks heating up as you look at his rugged side profile and angled jaw, the amount of manly appeal he oozes is enough to reduce you to a blushing mess. He's still fairly damp, his black t-shirt clinging to his muscles and you can see the lean outline of his biceps. Looks like he works out a lot...hot damn, you should've paid more attention to the training videos he posts up online. There's a reason they're insanely popular with fans.

You try to focus on the topic at hand here, clearing your throat, "My pokemon like it a lot here, except Espie. She prefers Johto."

"What other pokemon do you have?"

"I have a Drifloon; he's been with me for a long time. And I have a Poliwag. He refuses to evolve though, so we tied an Everstone around his tail. He lives in my bathroom."

Raihan chuckles again. Surprisingly....the conversation's been pretty fluid and he's extremely easy-going. “I got something for you.”

”Huh?”

Delving into his pocket, he takes out a pokeball with a ribbon tied neatly around the middle. Fancy. “This is for you.”

You don’t move. Your gut feels like it’s twisted into a tight knot.

”Go on, it’s yours.”

You nervously accept the pokeball from him and he gestures for you to open it, releasing whatever is inside. You press the button and a red light flashes briefly before the Pokemon appears. Your eyes widen at once. It’s a round purplish-pink blob that blinks it’s little eyes at you before opening its mouth wide. It makes a gurgling noise and your jaw drops.

”A Goomy!!?!” You exclaim, and you can’t help the smile that blossoms on your face; Raihan watches, grinning at your reaction. “But...why? You didn’t have to.”

“He needs a home and I know you’ll take good care of him.”

As the Goomy looks between you and Raihan, you hold your arms out. It slowly slithers over to you and you lift it up and into your arms. Uh, okay.... now your clothes are feeling a little damp. There’s a slime trail over your front and as Goomy gurgles happily, you smile cheerfully at it and rub at one of it’s little horns.

”Oh, so cute...” You can’t wait to raise him into a Goodra that will destroy anything and everything. Oh yeah. Turning to Raihan, you grin, “Thanks. I’ll look after him.”

He grins at you in response as you return your new Goomy into the pokeball. Shit, you didn’t get anything for Raihan. But his gift was totally unexpected! You weren’t expecting any presents!!! What are you going to do?

“What's it like being a Pokemon Breeder?" He asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"O-oh, well, I like it very much, I get to see lots of pokemon everyday. I look after a lot of pokemon everyday." You babble again, "I look after the babies, I look after the eggs, and I deliver eggs. For EV training, I only accept up to five pokemon; I take them to places with specific pokemon to battle for stat gain."

He rubs his chin in thought, "Where did you learn how to EV train?"

It's then you throw your glance to the ground and bring your knees to your chest. "....When I was a kid, I brought Beldum to Show and Tell. My classmates laughed at him and said mean things so I wanted to train him up to become stronger. I took him to the mountains and we battled a lot of Trapinch. Along the way, I noticed his attack stats kept increasing as I levelled him up." You mumble, "I never forgot that moment, not once."

"I know." He says nonchalantly, "You told me."

You whip your head to him in confusion as he smiles coolly at you. "When did I ever tell you that?"

"Didn't you watch the rest of the video?"

Your cheeks go red. "Uh........No." You utter, after a pregnant pause, "...No, I...I didn’t."

His expression gradually dissolves into one of disappointment and his face crumbles slightly. Oh shit, now that you think about it... you didn't finish watching it. You scratch your elbow, pondering.

"What's it like being a gym leader?" You ask timidly, and also wanting to change the subject, "And why did you decide to become one?"

"Hah, good question." He replies, "I like battling and training pokemon. Being a gym leader means I constantly get challenged by people from all across the region; there's always something new to look forward to everyday and my pokemon can get stronger. One day, when we're strong enough, we'll beat Leon."

You admire his positivity, you really do. And his energy. You give him a small smile as he grins at you again and a comfortable silence settles between the two of you; inwardly, you’re quite happy that the date seems to be going in a good direction. You muse silently whilst Raihan takes out his phone and attempts to take a selfie of himself with a green mushroom behind him. It's too dark for him to show up properly, however. You're about to say something when you hear a rustle in the grass below you and you turn your head to the source of the noise.

“Did you hear that??" You whisper, leaning over to see who or what is making the ruckus; when a pokemon emerges, your eyes widen and you unconsciously grab his arm. "Raihan, look, it's a Ponyta!"

"Hm?" He peers over the edge of the mushroom beside you.

As you point excitedly to the grass below, the small horse pokemon trots out from the undergrowth and glances around cautiously before it begins to feast on the grass. "Damn, all my pokemon are too strong. They'll just kill it - I mean, make it, er, faint - in one move."

"I'll catch it for you." Raihan says; he stuffs his headband into his pocket, hops off his seat and drops to the ground carefully and quietly before reaching for you with arms outstretched.

You swallow down slightly and gingerly slide off the mushroom, holding onto his shoulders for support; he slips his arms around your waist securely and effortlessly hoists you down and when your feet touch the ground, he's still holding you tightly and your noses are almost touching. You mutter your thanks as he lets go of you slowly before reaching for an ultra ball that's nestled behind his back. Approaching the Ponyta, he tosses the ultra ball and a large pokemon emerges - it's his Sandaconda. The Ponyta, startled, decides to face it head on. You look at it's multicoloured mane that is a beautiful shade of mixed pastel blue and pink. So adorable!!!

"Go, Sandaconda! Use headbutt!" He instructs, and the sand snake pokemon proceeds to ram itself at the pokemon. It didn't get a chance to retaliate at all! The Ponyta drops to the ground, not exactly knocked out but reeling from the impact. Weakened, Raihan grins and then grabs a spare pokeball from his pocket and throws it at the downed pokemon. You're surprised he's helping you catch it, and when the ball clicks shut successfully after wiggling around for three times, you watch numbly as Raihan collects it, returning his pokemon at the same time. With the pokeball in hands, he heads back to your direction and hands you the capsule. "There you go. She's all yours."

He’s surprising you a lot today. And he’s gotten you another Pokemon.

"Thanks, Raihan."

“Whatever Pokemon you want, I’ll get it for you.”

”You don’t have to.”

”I want to.”

Your cheeks flame up immediately.

”What’s next on your list?”

You think about Dragapult and an image of the ghost slash dragon type appears in your mind. Oh, Glenn is right. Dragapult really does look like he is done with life and shit. Now you really want one. “Dreepy....” You mutter, in a slight zombie trance.

”Okay, I’ll get you one.”

”Wha - ?! Raihan, I didn’t mean it, I was just - seriously, don’t. It’s okay.”

As you splutter, clearly flustered by his generosity, he chuckles. You give him a timid smile, throwing your glance to the pokeball in your hands, then back up at him. He hasn't looked away from you at all. It grows silent for a while between the two of you where you're both staring at each other - to your surprise, you’re able to maintain the eye contact without wanting to look or turn away.

Maybe it’s because you’re anticipating him to kiss you and as predicted, Raihan slowly begins to lean in. You freeze on the spot then, watching as his face comes closer and closer and your heart beats harder. It’s that giddy Butterfrees-in-the-stomach feeling again but this time, it’s strangely pleasant. His gaze lands on your lips and when he finally nears you; he pauses and flicks his glance up at you as though he’s waiting for something. Your permission, perhaps? When you don’t move, he closes the gap and gently pecks you on the lips, reaching for your hand and squeezing it. You force yourself not to move and discover you’re able to stand still. The corner of your lip tugs upwards against his mouth which causes him to grin in response as he smooches you again quickly.

When you both pull away, you mutter, "...Shall we head to Ballonlea?"

"Sure."

You place the pokeball with the newly captured Ponyta into your bag beside Goomy’s and once that's done, Raihan begins to guide you out of the woods. Hand in hand, you both walk towards the direction of Ballonlea where he would occasionally nudge you playfully using his shoulder and you would nudge him back. The only source of light comes from the glowing mushrooms but it's really relaxing to be here. You see some other pokemon in your path, including some Shiinotic and Morelull who all hide away from you, disappearing into the darkness. Up ahead and you see some gym challenger being pranked on by Impidimps. Soon, the town comes into view and you lead the way to your house where you see a cardboard box on your doorstep.

Huh, that wasn't there before...and it couldn't be mail, either.

Stopping directly in front of it, you and Raihan stare at the box and then look at each other. It says 'Open Me' and there's an awful stench emitting from inside. That wipes the smile clean off your face; Raihan steers you behind him and you quickly grab his arm. "Wait! No, don't open it. Call Looker."

He eyes the box cautiously, "...Yeah. You're right." Just as Raihan pulls out his phone, his screen flashes, indicating a call from the detective you had just mentioned. "You called at a great time."

"What happened?" You can hear Looker's gravelly voice from the receiver.

"I'm with her. There's a weird box outside her doorstep."

"Okay, I'm heading over. Don't open it."

"What do you think is inside?"

"...A dead pokemon, or parts of one, probably."

There's a brief silence before Raihan hangs up.

"A dead pokemon?!" You exclaim in shock; Raihan returns his phone and turns to you, then encircles his arms around your waist wordlessly and holds you tight against him; he's strong, you can't wriggle free from his embrace. "Raihan, we shouldn't have - this person knows where I live! And now this... this is awful!”

Raihan doesn't say anything except press his lips against your forehead in an effort to calm you down whilst rubbing your arm soothingly.

The wait for Looker is excruciatingly long.

#raihan x reader #Raihan x you #raihan #pokemon #pokemonshield #pokemonsword #pokemonswordandshield #jeralee #fanfic #fic #archiveofmyown #wallflower #kibana

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atemgirl94 · 3 years

Text

Pharaoh and reincarnated Queen’s adventures pt. 6

When they were back in Domino City, Britt stayed mostly in her room at the Motou's house. She went to school walking with Yugi but she did her best to ignore 'his' voice. For the most it seemed she was doing a good job at it but then things were getting to her. Tristan and Joey noticed during school Britt was a bit distant like something was bugging her.

"Hey, the girls stay at your place. Is everything ok over there?" Joey asked Yugi

"Yeah, for the most. Britt spends most of her time in her guest room." Yugi said

"Huh? I wonder why." Joey said

After school she walked with them home, she smiled a bit seeming to have things under control. When they made it home she heard Yugi calling her name.

"Britt, is everything alright?" Yugi asked

Britt turned around "Yeah Yugi. Everything is fine, I just need some space ok." She said

She went to take a shower after that because she didn't want to deal with many more questions. It felt good to let the water run on her skin as she closed her eyes.

"My Queen, why do you avoid it. Stop fighting it." She heard his voice

'why? Why do I want to stop fighting...I don't buy that I'm really this Queen.' She thought

While she was thinking about it all her thoughts went back to the almost kiss in the puzzle. A blush formed on her face knowing he could of kissed her right then but he didn't.

'it wouldn't of counted. It would have been in the puzzle not in the real world..but did I want him to kiss me?' She thought

Hathor was sitting in her own guest room thinking about the whole thing. How strange Britt had been since they'd returned. Just thinking of that guy holding her cousin like she was his made her mad. Hathor had always protected Britt from people who wanted to harm her and now it felt like someone was trying to take her place in Britt's protection.

"he won't take my cousin from me." She said under her breath.

Hathor, Bre, Nana and Britt had always known that a pharaoh would return. They'd known for years Britt was this reincarnated Queen and now it seemed as if the time had come for the Pharaoh to meet her again. Hathor knew Britt was stubborn she'd always said she didn't feel as if she was a Queen, especially not a reincarnated one. Now things seemed to be different, Hathor noticed Britt pulling her space away from Yugi.

Britt finished her shower then she went to her guest room after getting dressed. She layed down as she closed her eyes taking a brief nap, it may of only lasted thirty minutes to the hour as she had her usual dream about being called to come to him. She woke up when she heard a lot of commotion in the living room.

Going out to the room she seen the gang with Mokuba.

"What happened?" She asked

Mokuba gave them the load down about the Big 5 that worked for his brother how they changed his pod to capture him in the game.

"Please help save my brother." Mokuba asked Yugi

"Of course, lead the way." Yugi said

Britt mentally and internally figured it out but she set herself to go with the gang to help save Kaiba. Sure he wasn't her favorite person in the world and it seemed danger was going to come whether she wanted it to or not so saving Kaiba would be in best interest.

As they followed Mokuba and he led them to Kaiba's lab that had four pods. As they looked at the pods.

"So, whose going in?" Tristan asked

"I will." Britt, Joey and Yugi said

"I'm going too." Mokuba said

After that was decided each of them got in as they got their duel decks situated inside. Tristan did the work of uploading them to the virtual world and after that happened Tea and Tristan looked at all of them.

"looks like it worked." Tristan said

As the group looked around and then looked at each other, they noticed they were in some kind of forest. Britt and Yugi were looking at their dueling deck and the duel point counter.

"I'm glad I've got my dueling deck with me, but this duel point count makes me nervous." Yugi said

"Yeah me too." She said

Each of them knew what normally happened in a game when you lost a life but this wasn't that kind of game. As they kept walking they noticed they came across a graveyard.

"eh, do we have to go down there?" Britt asked

"Yes, so we can find my brother." Mokuba said

Britt was pretty freaked out the whole time knowing it was a graveyard then suddenly zombie duel monsters came from the ground.

Mokuba took the lead showing how to do the summoning and Yugi took the same motion.

"I summon the rude Kaiser!" Mokuba said

"And I summon the dark magician." Yugi said

"Attack" They said in unison

The zombies were destroyed but they came back and Britt feaked out but she was impressed by Yugi and Mokuba then Joey said he got them as she watched seeing him summon the flame swordsman. Joey was first to lose life points when he called an attack by using his flame swordsman.

After the Zombies were taken care of Joey looked at his life points seeing that they didn't go back up. This little bit of information made all of them realize they needed to be very careful.

As they made their way it wasn't long before they found a sprite, like they put in other games to help players so the four followed it coming across a village.

Once they went around the village, they were looking over different cards that had. They noticed cards in the village were worth points. As they looked at the points they earned they only got 5 points.

Yugi and Mokuba came up with ideas to ask people about Seto Kaiba. Searching every street and asking every virtual person they could find. Later they found out that kaiba was brought through to a mountain.

They tried crossing the desert and they went through a sandstorm. Only a sandtwister came in and took them back to the village making them back where they started.

A virtual villager started laughing "that ain't no way to be crossin' no desert." He said

"Wait you say you know how to cross it then?" Joey asked

The man made a referece to the Niwatori card that it was a desert crossing chicken.

"Thanks Mister, can you tell us where we can go to get a card?" Yugi asked

"I wish I could. But they can't be got they can only be won." He answered

'so a duel card we need to win?' Britt thought,

Virtual world or real world she felt someone watching her knowing too well who it was. Joey made a remark and the man answered.

"You said prized Bird? It sure is, especially around here." He said

Mokuba came up with the idea of looking at the card stands to see if they had it. After so many times of looking they came across a poster that said that the Niwatori card could be won in a fight against the champ.

The four went to the collseum to take a chance at going against the champ. Though the man in charge didn't seem too much interested and then he ate a fly by catching it with his tongue freaking them all out. Joey decided he was the one that was going to go up against the champ but as soon as they made it to the dueling arena and watched him, it wasn't long before they realized the champ was Mai.

Joey took his mask off "Mai." He said

When she recognized him she took her mask off and the others came over.

"Britt, Yugi, Mokuba? What are you doing here?" She asked

Yugi explained about the mission asked her about why she was there and she told them she was testing out this game for the big 5. So she used her Harpie ladie to get the niwatori card for them as they escaped.

Getting to the outskirt of the village, one of them summoned the card and three chickens appeared. Five Niwatori's appeared as they got on and rode them across the desert. There was a sand monster and not long after Joey used his red eyes to destroy it clearing the way and getting them to where they needed a temple.

Mokuba was first to run in and then Britt got off following with Yugi, Joey and Mai behind them. It was after that they came across a labyrinth that they made their way through but they heard a female scream.they were led by the sprite towards the women and then out of maze.

Later they were in a carriage, all of them were listening to her story hearing she was a princess, named Princess Adena. As they arrived at the palace

They were invited back to the palace with a lovely dinner made and it was during that dinner that Mokuba asked about his brother.

"well around this time each kingdom gives an offering. The far kingdom has gave theirs, a stranger that appeared." the princess said

"That's seto" Mokuba said.

The princess told them she was going to be the offering for her kingdom. It was later told to them that they could very well be the heros of legend. It wasn't very long that they each were given outfits to wear in traditional hero style.

Joey was given an outfit that seemed to be of a cavemans. Yugi was given one that seemed more of a knight while Mai was gave one of an amazon. The three of them waited to see what Britt would be wearing, at first she didn't want to come out due to everything happening in the real world.

"Come on Britt, it can't be bad." Mai said

Britt gave a sigh before removing the curtain and they seen her walk out, they had expected something like Mai's but they noticed the Princess had gave her something more of a royal attire that could be fought in.

Yugi smiled "You look great." Yugi said

Britt gave him a smile before she heard his voice. "Yes, My Queen, you do look great." She heard but ignored it.

They all ran outside to be ready to go. Joey used time wizard knowing it was a fifty fifty chance that it would send the ship they needed to get to the castle back in time or cost him his life points.

"let's hope this works" He said.

They watched as it did seem to work. After that everyone got on and it started to go to the floating castle. Eru tagged along to help them. Joey looked back at Britt

"Ain't that kinda royal? Didn't they have anything else?" He said.

"it's what they gave me. I didn't ask any questions.." Britt said

Joey said nothing more to her as he knew it wasn't his place.

Duel monsters came from the castle and went to attack. Each of them called out duel monsters to use. One of the duel monsters attacked Yugi but Eru got in the way.

"No Eru!" Yugi said and held the little pixie in his hands as it became digitized.

Tears fell and he had enough, Britt watched as Yugi turned into Yami. She tried her best not to stare knowing that they had bigger fish to fry over all this. Yami had good skill to help them out to get through.

When they had to let their ride go and get the rest of the way by using the duel monster. Yami grabbed a hold of Britt's arm and pulled her to him as the dark magician helped to the castle.

"hey, I have my Goddess. I could of used her." Britt said in trying to protest.

"I know." Yami said to her.

She looked at him for a second then looked away. She wasn't still buying the whole Queen stuff and she was resisting even now but she let it go knowing they had a mission to finish.

They fought their way until they reached the last level. They had to go up against the big five and their most powerful dragon. Each of them had dragons but Mokuba was the only one without a deck after he gave Seto his deck back.

When the big five tried to attack Mokuba Joey blocked it and it cost him all his life points.

"win this one for us." He said to his friends giving them a thumbs up.

The next one to be attacked was Mai making her life points drop down to zero then she was digitized. They tried to get rid of Seto Kaiba next but Mokuba pushed him out of the way.

It was now down to the three of them, but the big five didn't want to allow that for if any of them could win there'd be consequences. Debating who was next to be attacked wasn't no brainer as they knew Yami had a non-dragon type out but they wanted to get rid of another friend.

Britt looked at Yami "what do we do? Alone our monsters can't take it on." She said.

Yami nod as he tried to devise a plan, but with all the delay the big five took that chance to take out Britt's Goddess's pet Dragon with her life points. She fell to her knees seeing her dragon destroyed.

Yami rushed over to her seeing her be digitized. "It's over for me, it's up to you now. I'm So-" She didn't get to finish as her eyes widened, Yami had cut her off by doing exactly what he had wanted within the puzzle, which was kiss her.

"I'll get you back." Yami said as she disappeared and he was angry by then ready to defeat this to get everyone back.

Now it was up to Yami and Seto Kaiba, they fought strong and hard. By combining monsters they were able to defeat the dragon once and for all. With beating the game they were able to have all their friends back but also be able to return to their world. So when they six of them awoke from their pods they were able to all regroup. Mokuba was once again happy to have his brother back.

"thank you" He said to Yugi and the others.

After parting ways each of them went home, Britt questioned everything. She didn't understand why she'd let it happen when she had been trying to avoid him. Maybe it was because deep down she knew the truth. She knew she couldn't fight destiny or take control of it.

#Yu-Gi-Oh #yami yugi x oc #yugioh #ygo ocs #ygo #pharaoh atem #Adventure #reincarnated queen #fanfic

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absolutelyabby23 · 4 years

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College AU Sanders Sides Headcanons

Hey everyone! I’m getting back into writing and I also recently got accepted to college! I’m going to be a biology major :) With all of that going on, I started thinking of some Sanders Sides College AU Headcanons so here we go! Let’s start off by introducing everyone.

Roman Prince: Freshman. 18 years old. He’s a theatre major with a minor in musical composition. In his free time, Roman likes to write fanfiction correcting Disney movies. He also frequently uploads to his YouTube channel which is called RomanticRoman. He mainly does covers and skits. Occasionally, he will do livestreams where he reads his stories.

Logan Berry: Freshman. 17 years old. Logan skipped a year because he’s just that smart. He’s a psychology major with a specialization in teaching. He wants to become a professor. In his free time, Logan shadows the campus counselor, Emile Picani.

Virgil Sanders: Freshman. 18 years old. He’s currently undecided but working towards his degree with an exploratory major. He’s a major procrastinator and spends most of his free time watching YouTube videos. He enjoys conspiracy theories and has started to dip into some ASMR. He’s in the process of starting a podcast.

Patton Rogers: Freshman. 19 years old. He’s a child psychology major with a minor in chemistry because “he likes to mix stuff.” In his free time, Patton likes to bake treats for various clubs and organizations on campus. He also helps a certain sassy sophomore named Remy Stewarts at their coffee startup.

Dee Jones: Junior. 20 years old. He’s majoring in pre-law with a minor in sociology. Dee is the Resident Assistant (RA) for the dorm that the other five all live in. In his free time, Dee is the DM for a campus DnD club. He also likes to visit the small animal center in the veterinary school and feed the snakes.

Remus Prince: Freshman. 18 years old. He’s an english major with a specialization in creative writing. In his free time, Remus likes to prank his brother Roman and his friends. Remus also has a YouTube channel where he specializes in “childhood ruining” facts.

Okay now let’s get to the headcanons!

-Roman, Virgil, Logan, and Patton all live in the same suite-style dorm room. This means they have a common area, bathroom, and two bedroom areas. Roman and Logan are in one room and Patton and Virgil are in the other.

-Remus lives in another dorm room with Remy and two other students. Their room is across the hall from the other four which makes it a prime spot for scouting out pranking information.

-On moving day, Patton was the first to arrive. He made plushies for his three other roommates based on things they said they enjoy on their roommate profiles. He also figured that they might be a source of comfort when the others inevitably started to miss home. Roman got a red dragon wearing a little golden crown. Logan got a robot wearing a labcoat with NASA patches on it. Virgil got a blackbear wearing a purple-patched hoodie.

-When Virgil moved in and saw all of Patton’s pastel pillows and rainbow potted houseplants, he took one look at the MCR poster in his hands and wondered if this was going to work out. However, when Patton came in and saw that they both had fairy lights to hang, they became fast friends while helping each other set them up. Patton actually laughed at Virgil’s edgy humor while Virgil seemed to enjoy Patton’s puns.

-Roman brought about 5 Costco-sized packs of ramen noodles with him and his own personal coffee maker. Remus was behind him threatening to drop his video camera out the nearest window. Roman simply rolled his eyes and moved the rest of his stuff in.

-Logan was the last to show up. He brought a big stack of textbooks and an array of extra supplies that his roommates would go on to “borrow” from for the next four years. Meeting Roman was pretty anticlimactic.

Logan: Is that Shakespeare on your desk?

Roman: *Looking up from doing his makeup in a lightbulb mirror* Yes.

Logan: Cool.

-Things didn’t stay that chill for too long though. Roman and Logan frequently got into arguments about everything.

Logan: Roman for the last time, eating a cup of instant ramen does not automatically make you a more cultured person!

Roman: Okay… but have you tried an egg in it though?

-Patton quickly becomes like the dad of the group. He loves taking care of his friends and it definitely shows. However, they didn’t quite get his parental nature at first.

Patton: Okay kiddo time to get up from your nap and do your homework!

Virgil: Kiddo? Patton you’re like three months older than me.

-However, Virgil and Patton soon started to understand each other more. Virgil knew about Patton’s caring nature and Patton started to learn how badly Virgil procrastinated and got stressed. This led to them coming up with a sort of rules and rewards system. Patton would start saying things like “Okay Virge if we get our math homework done in the next twenty minutes then we can have a cookie and watch YouTube for 30 minutes.”

-Platonic cuddling also proved to be a way to help get rid of Virgil’s anxiety about his future. It was hard to ask him for things like that back home. He was able to trust Patton though so it’s enjoyable for both of them.

-Virgil has trouble sleeping at night after hours of doing homework and trying to get himself to do said homework. Dee was in the hallway one day and heard Virgil telling Logan about this problem while chugging an energy drink. The next day, Virgil had a package waiting on his desk. It was a purple weighted blanket with black spider print on it. Virgil has been sleeping better ever since.

-Logan recognized Roman from YouTube and remembered a few of the technical and research problems that he had with the channel. Logan begins helping Roman with scripting, setup, and editing. People start to notice the quality improvement.

-Roman and Logan went viral when they wrote a song about Crofters jam. Logan’s moms send them jam in care packages. After a late night of studying lines for Roman’s theatre assignment, they ate Crofters straight out of the jar with plastic spoons. Logan started humming a melody and Roman sang along until Virgil banged on the wall as a request for them to shut up. They wrote down lyrics until 4 in the morning. They recorded the video the next night and it got over 1 million views.

-After the Crofters collab, Logan started to appear more on Roman’s channel. He soon became almost a weekly regular.

-Patton invited Remus and Virgil to his new coffee startup to try some of the drinks in order to name them. Remus had some… creative suggestions (some involving horrid ways to use milk), which Remy and Patton immediately shot down. Virgil’s best idea was “Strawberry Survival” for an energy drink with a sugared berry taste and energy boost.

-Dee was able to recruit Roman, Remus, Virgil, and Logan to his DnD club. This is how the club meetings usually go. Roman wants to roll to marry every character. Remus rolls to seduce every living and nonliving element of the game. He then rolls to kill every living and nonliving element of the game. Virgil just thinks of more and more creative ways to try and eliminate his own character. Logan is just whining the whole time that nobody is playing correctly. Dee just tiredly says, “Roman you cannot kiss the villain. Remus you cannot fuck the rock. Virgil that cat cannot rip your heart out. And Logan, here’s $10. Go get me a coffee and chill out. I cannot wait until I’m 21 and can block out you little shits with straight vodka.” Though he’s exasperated, Dee really enjoys the meetings. He just won’t tell the truth.

-Virgil starts his podcast halfway through the year. People immediately love his sarcastic, yet calming, voice. He does a mixture of things on his show. Sometimes he just talks about calm things with Patton while they bake in the school kitchens. Sometimes he broadcasts the DnD sessions. By far his most popular is the segment “Dumb Debates” that he does with Logan where people send in meme questions and they each pick a side and argue about it. A chair might’ve been thrown during “Is water wet?”

-Roman and Logan solve every argument with a rap battle. They sometimes vlog it for Youtube. Four way arguments are solved through a Mario Kart tournament. Everyone always tries to get too technical with the best tricks except for Patton who almost always wins.

Those are basically it for now! Comments and likes are appreciated. Let me know if you want more headcanons or would like to see a fic out of any of these situations. Take care everyone and I’ll be back with more soon!

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides au #sanders sides headcanon #sanders sides college au #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #duke dont look

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lovelylogans · 4 years

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paper rings

i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings uh huh, that's right, darling you're the one I want i hate accidents except when we went from friends to this uh huh, darling, you're the one I want

part of the wyliwf verse.

ao3 | other fics on tumblr | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, underage drinking, drinking, slightly tipsy/drunk adults, proposal, complicated parental relationship, this one is really mostly just fluff y’all but please let me know if i’ve missed any!!!

pairings: moxiety, logince

words: 9,924

notes: okay. so, SOMEHOW, it is the first anniversary of me uploading the first chapter of where you lead, i will follow!!!!! i remember where i was when i uploaded the first chapter; i was studying abroad, and i thought that i may as well keep on writing during the trip, since i always keep writing, and this was the project i felt most passionate about, at the time. and now, a year later, the world certainly looks very different, and my life does, too. but this project is still going. i love this little universe, so much, and i’m so happy and proud and grateful that all of you keep reading it, and you’re cheering these characters along right beside me. so, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so very much for reading. and happy birthday to this little universe.

patton’s been basically vibrating with excitement since monday, and now that it’s actually friday michel’s banished him to his office because “your happiness is scaring the customers,” but patton can’t help it!!!!

it’s labor day weekend, starting today, which means at any minute logan’s going to be coming into town, straight from yale, his first time being home since he moved into his dorm about three weeks ago now, which means logan’s gonna be home!!!!!!!!!!!

he’s due back in town any minute!!!!!! he’s going to be here for about four days!!!!! logan and roman are going to be in town for four! entire! days!

sure, patton has seen him at friday night dinners, but that’s not the same as him being home! patton can pester him about classes and how frequently he’s taking breaks and ask questions about how he’s settling in and any potential new friends, because sure, he and dee are roommates, but patton wants to ask questions about his other dorm roommates (suitemates? it’s technically suitemates, isn’t it?) because patton only got to see just a glimpse of them on move-in day, so he doesn’t really know much about them, and—

and patton has a lot of questions and a lot of things he wants to know, generally, and also, logan’s going to be here!!!!!

patton looks down at the paperwork on his desk, considering it.

yep. he cannot focus on this at all. it’s basically a lost workday, at this point. goodbye productivity, he hardly knew thee. it’s time to go and sneak downstairs under the guise of checking in on the guest’s dining room, but really to sneak a cup of coffee and maybe also a cookie.

he descends the stairs.

“no,” michel says, without looking up from the guestbook.

“i’m just checking on the dining room!” patton protests. “i’ll be out of your hair, in and out, you’ll barely even notice me.”

“too late,” michel says, then, “stop making that facial expression.”

“i’m smiling, michel,” patton teases. “i’m happy.”

michel grumbles something in french, and patton’s about to ask what he’s saying, when he hears the door open. he swivels to see—

logan.

he’s wearing the navy blue yale sweatshirt patton bought him when he made his college decision, part of the pack of “yay yale, go yale!” stuff patton had kind of went nuts on—he can see an unbuttoned shirt and a loosened tie underneath it, along with a pair of jeans and sneakers that host a couple of roman-penned doodles. he’s got cocoa’s leash wrapped around one hand, cocoa panting happily at his feet, and he’s holding onto the strap of his backpack with the other.

patton’s moving before he can even think about it; logan drops his backpack to the ground, and patton’s wrapping his son up in the biggest bear hug he can manage.

logan’s done growing now, and is still firmly stuck at taller than him, something that when he thinks about it too much still strikes him as strange and still makes him a little bit emotional. logan smells like the laundry detergent he and virgil bought in bulk for him, and something patton can’t quite pin down, maybe something Inherently Yale, and maybe he’ll never be able to pin it down, but patton crams down the wave of sadness at the idea of him and logan growing apart; kids grow up, that’s what they’re supposed to do, he reminds himself.

still. all of those complicated feelings aren’t quite enough to quell the wave of my baby’s home, my baby’s home!!!!!!! happiness and excitement that’s been building since logan mentioned over phone that he was going to come back to sideshire as soon as his friday class was over.

patton draws back, hands on logan’s shoulders, beaming.

“there’s my college-goin’ boy,” he teases. “how’ve you been, kiddo?!”

logan’s lips twitch up into a smile, and patton feels his heart swell up with fondness at the sight of it.

“good,” he says, then, “i have eaten basically nothing but dining hall pizza for three straight days.”

patton laughs, and claps him on the back.

“very collegiate,” he quips. “i’ll keep the secret from virge, if you want. i’m assuming you’re probably not going to want pizza, then?”

“like grandma and grandpa will serve us pizza tonight,” he says, adjusting his grip on cocoa’s leash; patton reaches out a hand, and logan hands it over as he picks up his backpack.

“true, true,” he says, and reaches down to pet cocoa, because she’s butting up against his shins in a clear ploy for attention. “i know, yes, you’re a very good girl—well, clearly you’ve been by the house, do you want to hang out here or—?”

“please get him out of here,” michel shouts from the front desk, and patton pivots, holding up the leash.

“but cocoa is here!” patton says teasingly. “you don’t wanna kick out cocoa, do you?”

cocoa wags her tail at the mention of her name. she loves michel; patton really doesn’t know why, but ever since patton had taken her to work for the first time, back when they were training her as a puppy and didn’t think she’d do well shut up at home all day, she’s always made a beeline straight for michel.

michel, also, is very much a dog person. he watches the westminster dog show religiously each year, and his two chows, paw-paw and chin-chin, probably eat better-quality food than patton’s parents. and ever since he’d discovered that cocoa’s part chow, well...

it’s moved him to look at least tempted to take back his continual askings for patton to get out.

“no, that’s okay,” logan says. “i was going to ask if we could stop by the diner, anyway?”

“hungry?” patton guesses, and smiles a bit when logan nods.

“didn’t have time to stop for lunch,” he admits sheepishly, and patton gasps, only a little jokingly.

“oh, well, we definitely have to get you right to virgil, then,” he says. “he’ll get you something nice and healthy and not dining hall pizza—we’re going now!” he calls to michel.

“good riddance,” michel says, perhaps a bit less enthusiastically than he would have if it was just patton and logan, and if cocoa wasn’t part of the deal.

patton’s about to head over to the inn’s parking lot, but logan says, “can we walk?”

“oh! yeah, sure!” he says. “wanna see the town, huh?”

“just—cocoa,” logan says awkwardly, and moves to take back cocoa’s leash. “and it’s, um. nice out today. have you taken your allergy medicine?”

“yes, no sneezing because of pollen from me,” patton says, not to be deterred, “and you missed the town?”

logan grumbles something, and then moves to check his phone, and patton directs his grin out toward the inn’s grounds.

it’s that sweet point between summer and fall, where all the sweltering heat and humidity has died down, but the fall chill hasn’t quite crept in yet; the leaves and grass are all still green, the sky still a perfect shade of cloudless blue, but there’s a slight breeze that tempers any of the heat of the bright sunshine.

it is very nice out today.

it’s the perfect backdrop for a walk with his son and his dog; cocoa eagerly plants her nose against the ground and spends most of the walk sniffing every little plant, weed, and patch of grass she can find, while he asks logan all about classes and dorm life and how his first quizzes and papers went; he knows most of this, from their daily phone calls, but it’s still very nice to hear logan say it without the distortion of the phone’s speaker.

it’s probably good that they’re treading old ground, conversation-wise, because people keep stopping them on the sidewalk.

dot and larry beam at logan and patton. babette and morey stop in the middle of a walk to enthuse over the pair of them. emile’s walking toward remy aserinsky’s café, and clasps his hands together and gushes over them. mrs. torres nearly starts crying at the sight of the pair of them.

patton guesses people are really happy to have logan back in town? which, like, fair, he doesn’t blame them, not one bit. logan’s the best, and his absence has been keenly felt during all sorts of town activities; mayor porter had even stopped him after the last town meeting, bemused, holding out a paper of pr-perfected answers that always frustrated logan about needing to include, asking where on earth logan was, he’d usually emailed the mayor’s office three times to get these answers.

except the occasional visitor seems like it’s almost nothing, when they approach the main square of town; there’s a veritable crowd.

patton, bemused, looks around at them: his neighbors, the business-owners in town, even a few of his workers—it’s like half the town has turned out, and patton turns to logan.

“is it a holiday or something?”

“hm?” logan asks, distracted by making sure cocoa doesn’t tangle her leash around a telephone poll.

“it’s just,” patton says, and jerks his chin out toward the crowd. logan seems to catch sight of all of them, and his eyes narrow, just for a moment, before his facial expression smooths back over into indifference.

“it’s not a holiday, to my knowledge,” logan says. “but who knows, with taylor involved?”

patton acknowledges this with a slight laugh. “i bet it’s double-coupon day at the store, or something. i can never keep track of all the promotional deals that he puts on. i haven’t seen any posters for festivals or anything.”

“that’s probably it,” logan agrees, still somehow distracted by cocoa, who has long since freed herself.

they draw closer to the diner, and his son lets out a laugh, and surges forward, and runs to hug a familiar face, also grinning from ear to ear.

“roman!”

patton watches roman rush forward, wrapping his arms around logan’s waist and picking him up off the ground, spinning him around with the force of his hug, and he can’t help but smile when he hears logan laugh; to patton’s knowledge, this is the first time they’ve seen each other since they went off to school.

“my love!” roman enthuses, setting logan on the ground but keeping his hands wrapped around his waist, “mi querido, my beloved, oh, i have missed you—”

“i’ve missed you too,” logan admits, barely above a whisper, and as patton’s politely averting his eyes from them kissing, that’s when he notices something strange.

the curtains are drawn.

virgil never draws the curtains, not even when they’re closing at night. the last time patton can remember that happening is when they painted the diner, nearly two years ago.

and there’s a CLOSED FOR BUSINESS, ONLY OPEN FOR DANES, SANDERS’, AND PRINCES on the door.

“do you think virgil’s doing something at the diner?” patton asks logan and roman, who have stopped kissing, but they’re holding hands.

“what?” he says.

patton gestures to the curtains.

“oh,” logan says. “maybe you should go in and check.”

“if he’s doing something—”

“he would have deliberated it for months at a time and argued the pros and cons with you,” logan says pointedly. “i barely managed to convince him to re-upholster the seats a couple summers ago, remember?”

patton does. “but still—”

“he specified that it’s open for us, go check,” roman insists, at a pitch barely below a squeal, and so patton slowly opens the door to the cheerful jangle of the bell.

and he’s overwhelmed by yellow.

there are bundles, heaps, mountains of yellow daisies; crowded in every booth, sitting at the center of every table, fighting for space among candles that definitely weren’t there before, clustered around the feet of the table. there’s the biggest daisy chains that patton’s ever seen, ringing the diner’s ceiling, brushing against the pride flags behind the counter, and pots of daisies sitting in every chair, every booth.

patton pivots slowly, trying to take it all in—daisies bundled up in mugs, daisies twining pillars, bouquets of daisies tucked into every spare surface, every spare nook or cranny, soft instrumental music that patton definitely knows, even if he’s never heard this particular version of it—and he knows, he knows something big is going on here, hovering just at the edge of his brain but refusing to click, and he hears footsteps, turning to see.

virgil’s stepped out of the kitchen, through a clearly designated path from all the daises, there’s so many daisies, and smiles at patton.

“hey,” he says softly.

“hey,” patton breathes out. “what’s—” he struggles for a word, still trying to search for what this is, what the sense of déjà vu is—“all this?”

virgil smiles at him. there’s something nervous, in his face, making his smile a little awkward, and virgil wipes his hands on his jeans. he’s wearing the homemade hoodie, the one virgil wears most often, the one patton loves best, and his dark outfit looks strangely out of place in all this brightness, these florals, all this cheerful yellow.

he has That Look on his face, the soft one, the loving one, that always makes patton feel like he’s melting into a sentimental, happy little puddle of goo.

“so, turns out,” virgil says, “a thousand yellow daisies sounds super impressive, but once i got them all piled in here i decided i needed, like, way more, so i’m pretty sure i’ve bankrupted the east coast out of all the yellow daisies it’s got.”

“i’m sure you did,” patton says breathlessly.

virgil’s smile quirks at the edges. “you don’t remember?”

“i—”

“i mean, you were pretty specific, but i don’t blame you, it was eighteen years ago,” he says. “and you were kind of preoccupied with a lot of other things, it being logan’s first christmas eve and all the rest of everything going on, back then.”

and then, very suddenly, it clicks.

“ but proposals… that’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing, right? it should be planned. it should be magical... it should be—it should be more. there should be music playing and romantic lighting and a subtle buildup to the popping of the questions. there should be a—a thousand yellow daisies, and candles, and—and more than just an oh, i guess.”

“oh,” patton breathes. all of a sudden, he feels very dizzy, and very warm, and the thoughts in his head could really only be described as the sound a kettle makes when water comes to a boil.

“yeah,” virgil says, “so” and he slowly gets down on one knee. patton is distantly aware of some clicking sounds.

“virgil,” patton says thickly, vision already blurring with tears, even as virgil smiles up at him, removing a small velvet box from his hoodie’s pocket.

virgil clears his throat, but it doesn’t stop his voice from sounding rough as he begins, “when i first thought about us being married—”

patton can’t help but let out a choked noise, somewhere between a sob and a laugh of sheer delight. married. married!!!!!!!!!

“—i thought that maybe this part would happen like how we’d moved in together; we’d slowly come to the realization, and figure out that we’ve basically been married the whole time, and maybe go off and elope, with the kids in tow.

“but then, well, i kind of remembered something you said, and i realized i agree. this—us—it’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing. you are a once-in-a-lifetime thing. you and logan and roman—the family that you’ve helped make and bring me into—that’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing, one that i cherish, so so much. you let me into your life, you let me be a parent to your son, our son, and i can’t—i can’t thank you enough. for everything that you’ve done for me. i don’t know who i’d be without you in my life, and i don’t ever want to find out.”

patton sniffles, and hastily reaches his fingers to swipe at his eyes under his glasses, because virgil’s going blurry, and he doesn’t want to miss this. he doesn’t want to miss a single second.

“you deserve the—the big romantic gestures, with the daisies, and the candles, and the music, and wedding with cake and cookies and flowers and dancing and—and everything you want, i’ll try my best to give it to you, because you deserve—” virgil’s voice breaks, and he clears his throat.

“you deserve everything, anything, that i can give. you deserve the very best in life. you’ve been through so much, and you’re the strongest person i know, and i just—you deserve everything good in life, everything you want, and, for whatever reason, somehow, you’ve chosen that you want me, and—and i’m so grateful for that, for you, every day, and i want to show you that, and i want to give that to you, because i love you.”

“i love you too,” patton manages to squeak out. his cheeks are wet, and aching.

“so,” virgil says, drawing himself up as straight as possible, cracking open the ring box, and patton lets out another sobbing laugh, like he’s so full of joy he can’t help but let it escape his body somehow, “patton thomas sanders. i adore you. i love you more than anything in the world. i—i am not sure how many times i can communicate i love you, i feel like i don’t have words big enough for how i feel about you, but. i want to spend the rest of our lives trying. will you marry me?”

“yes,” patton bursts out the millisecond the question’s fully out of virgil’s mouth, “oh, my goodness, yes, yes, a thousand-million times yes, virgil—”

virgil breaks into a relieved smile, and he fumblingly removes the ring from the box and catches patton’s hand, his own hand shaking. he holds onto patton’s hand to steady himself—or steady patton, patton thinks he might be shaking too—and carefully slides the ring onto his finger.

it fits perfectly.

patton lets out another sobbing laugh at the sight of it, the ring on his finger, they’re engaged, they’re going to get married, and virgil rises to his feet, smiling the biggest patton’s ever seen him, and—

“oh,” patton sobs out, and pats down his pockets, even if he knows full well he doesn’t have it. “oh, this is so silly, it would be so much more romantic if i had it on me—”

logan clears his throat.

patton had nearly forgotten he was there, but he whirls, and—

and logan’s smiling, just a little, but his eyes are wet enough that patton can tell he’s emotional over this, too; roman’s clasping his hands to his chest, practically bouncing up and down, clearly just barely holding in every comment he could possibly make.

and logan’s holding a camera in one hand, and the black velvet box that patton’s been hiding in his knitting supplies since logan helped him pick it out in the other.

“oh,” patton says, beaming. logan knew, logan knew about this, logan knew and he went by the house to get the ring box for him, and patton loves him, so so much, and he leans in and rocks onto his tip-toes to kiss his son on the forehead before he takes the ringbox from him, and spins to present it to virgil, opening it—

and virgil laughs, and this time he’s the one who’s crying, and patton can’t help but laugh, too, opening the box.

“virgil—”

“yes,” he says immediately, smiling so big, and patton is so in love with him, and patton lets out a messy, sobbing laugh.

"can i ask?”

“oh! sorry, sorry—”

“marry me?” and “yes” leaves virgil’s lips as soon as he asks, and patton manages to slide the ring onto virgil’s finger, and virgil immediately cups patton’s face in his hands and leans down for a kiss.

and cocoa’s barking at their feet, knowing that something’s going on and excited to get in on it, and he can hear the clicking sounds of logan taking pictures, and roman is hollering behind them.

and everything is perfect.

⁂

virgil feels so jittery with happiness that he thinks he might vibrate to another plane of existence.

patton had scooped up a discarded daisy chain fashioned it into a flower crown that’s nestled in the midst of his curls, and every time he looks at virgil he bursts into delighted laughter, eyes crinkling up with a smile, and he’s adorable, and virgil is so lucky, feeling the urge to reach out and touch patton, just to make sure that it’s all real.

they’re engaged. patton said yes. patton had also been planning on proposing.

virgil thumbs the ring on his finger—still new to him, even with the retro look it’s got going for it, still something to get used to, but the metal’s already warm. it’s fairly simple: a gold band with a single diamond inlaid in some kind of silver rectangle, flush set, ‘cause i read that lots of little stones are bad when you work with food, since you don’t wanna get anything lost in the dough and stuff, patton had explained, and then he’d bitten his lip and asked do you like it? as if that was even remotely in the realm of possibility, as if virgil could not like the engagement ring that patton got him to symbolize their commitment to each other for forever.

virgil had tried asking patton the same thing, though, and patton had spun his gold band around his finger—well, it looked more like two gold bands joined around several small diamonds—and said “you silly goose, of course i love it” so virgil figures that their emotions are the same on this particular subject.

they’re alone, just for a bit; roman and logan had dashed off to get the champagne that roman had apparently badgered his mother into buying for them on his behalf, so they’re sitting together on the floor of the diner, surrounded by their thousands of yellow daisies.

“i just,” virgil says, and fiddles with the ring on his finger, before looking at patton. “we’re almost married.”

patton giggles, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “we are,” he agrees.

“i love you,” virgil says, giddy and almost a little helpless, because he couldn’t think to say anything else, he couldn’t think of words big enough, but—but patton knows that. he’d told him.

patton twines his fingers into virgil’s hair, and pulls him in for a kiss.

patton is an exceptional kisser; virgil has known this for years. but apparently, they get exceptionally clumsy when the pair of them are beaming so widely that they can barely even move their lips together, and they keep trying until patton laughs and virgil breathes it in, lightheaded with the euphoria of all of it, and they break apart.

“we’re so happy we can’t even kiss right,” patton howls with laughter, which gets virgil to start laughing, which means the pair of them are cackling like hyenas at each other as the bell jangles, roman calling out “who wants champaaaagne?!”

virgil tries to explain, but he catches sight of patton, flower crown gone askew from their kissing attempt, which just sets him off again.

logan sighs “dads” at them, which makes virgil even happier, which turns to him grinning even wider which means he’s laughing louder, and roman rolls his eyes at logan, grinning, looping an arm through his.

“they’re happy,” roman says.

“overjoyed,” patton offers, grinning.

“elated,” virgil tacks on.

“ecstatic,” a voice says, which is when he notices ms.—isadora, right, she’d told him to call her isadora, but it took a lot to break eighteen years of habit—and he and patton scramble to their feet.

after a pause, logan adds, reluctantly, because he cannot resist a word association game, “jouissant.”

“ooh, good one,” patton says. “that’s a ten dollar word right there, look at what you’re learning off at college!”

“from the french,” isadora says. she’s holding the champagne bottle awkwardly; virgil had learned on the day after both logan and roman moved to college the amount of times she had drunk alcohol could have been counted on one hand, then, but after that day it was escalated to two. patton moves to take it from her, looking at virgil, clearly about to ask for—

“i don’t have champagne glasses,” virgil realizes.

patton says, “i think mugs’ll work, it’s not like we’re going for class, here.”

virgil acknowledges that with a shrug, and, after checking with isadora, goes to gather five mugs.

patton’s the one to pop the champagne, and virgil quickly moves to put a mug underneath it to catch anything fizzing over—he just mopped these floors, before all the daisies had come in—and patton splashes a generous amount into it.

they end up splitting the bottle among five mugs, and roman lifts his, clearing his throat.

“to virgil and patton!” he declares. “we have seen this coming since i was five—”

patton elbows him jokingly, grinning.

“—and we wish you all the best together,” roman finishes. “salut!”

“salut,” they all echo, clacking their mugs together in a chaotic rendition of cheers, and patton smiles at up at him.

“aren’t we supposed to link arms or something?” virgil asks him an undertone, and patton’s smile widens.

“save it for the wedding,” he says, in the same undertone, with a sly grin that he barely hides with his sip of champagne, and virgil has to hide the silly grin that springs onto his face with his own sip of the bubbly, sweet champagne.

isadora sips at her mug with all the delicate class that he should have expected, but it’s still kind of funny to watch her lift her pinky and sip demurely out of a gaudy SIDESHIRE PRIDE PARADE branded mug, which has more rainbows on it than possibly anything else virgil owns.

roman breaks off with patton to start making his own daisy chain, and they tug logan to join them, too, so that leaves isadora and virgil standing alone together.

“congratulations,” she offers quietly, and virgil smiles at her.

“thank you,” he says, equally soft, touched.

a pause, and then, “remus would be thrilled.”

theres a prick of bittersweetness near his heart; not nearly enough to puncture the happiness, but enough to twist his smile, just a little bit.

“he’d try to pull a carrie at my wedding,” he says, and isadora smiles. it’s a very nice smile, one that he almost never sees.

“part of the reason he’d be thrilled,” isadora agrees. “still. regardless. he should be here congratulating you.” a pause, a sip of champagne, before she says, “he would be proud of you. as am i.”

virgil swallows down the sudden lump in his throat.

remus had, almost always, relentlessly teased him, on the rare occasions he’d had dates as a teenager. the baby’s growing uuuuup! he’d croon, and then proceed to attempt to sabotage him, “lovingly,” with something that virgil could easily undo, but something that would distract him from any mounting anxiety over a date.

he thinks remus and patton would have eventually gotten along. it would have been a rocky road, to be sure, but. they probably would have bonded over fatherhood, over their sons being friends. maybe because virgil cared deeply about both of them. he’ll never know, though.

“thanks, izzy-dory,” he says.

isadora’s smile has its own bitter quirk to it, at the re-emergence of a nickname that no one but remus had had the bravery to use on her; but, somehow, it isn’t sad, even as they’re remembering their own shared grief.

because she’s right. remus would be thrilled.

⁂

patton feels like he’s filled up with helium and he keeps bursting into peals of laughter at absolutely nothing at all.

virgil had taken over driving, like he usually did when he came to friday night dinners. they’re a bit late, patton’s sure, because when he and virgil were changing into their suits patton kept giggling, because they’re almost married, and then he got distracted by trying to kiss virgil again, so—

so, they’re a bit late, but he got engaged today, sue him.

virgil’s holding his hand, the other one on the steering wheel.

“i wonder how they’re gonna react,” patton muses, because, well, it shouldn’t exactly be a surprise, they moved in together a while ago and patton’s been pretty gosh-darn clear that virgil’s gonna be the one he’s spending the rest of his life with. he really hopes they aren’t gonna be too... well. them about it.

virgil says, “i did ask your dad about a family ring, a while ago—”

“oh, shoot,” patton says, turning to face him. “i totally didn’t think to do that!”

“essie got the family ring,” virgil says reassuringly, “so you didn’t miss anything, there isn’t a male family ring, as far as i know, but—but they had some forewarning, at least.”

“well, good,” patton says decisively. “they’re gonna be happy about this, okay? they’re gonna pop open some cristal and say congratulations and they are gonna like it.”

“that’s the spirit,” logan says dryly from the backseat.

“that it is,” patton says, and squeezes virgil’s hand. “anyway, logan, you’re home! do you have anything you wanna do over the weekend?”

logan considers this, before he says, “virgil told me he was planning this for this weekend, so—”

patton turns slightly. “you did?”

virgil shrugs. “i knew you’d want lo to be there.”

patton beams, and presses a kiss to virgil’s knuckles.

“roman was planning on something tomorrow with all of us,” logan continues, “but otherwise—i think the regular things. the bookstore, the press, the diner.”

“roman’s planning something, huh?” virgil says warily.

logan smiles, and doesn’t say anything else. virgil grumbles to himself.

“he’s a journalist, he knows how to keep secrets,” patton says, and, teasingly, “especially if they’re from his boyyyy-frieeeeend.”

logan mumbles something under his breath, turning ever-so-slightly red, and patton grins.

they end up plotting out a loose plan for logan’s weekend: a shopping spree of all the latest books at the bookstore, topping up any school supplies logan might have forgotten at home, doing the laundry logan had hauled back from yale, and an investigation of the library’s most recent shipment, hanging out with roman, and lots of diner food.

they pull up to the sanders’ house, and patton takes a deep breath, squeezing virgil’s hand one last time before he gets out of the car.

as soon as he walks closer, virgil immediately laces their fingers back together, squeezing.

“if you want, if they end up turning on us, we can go,” he says, in a low voice. “this day’s for us, right?”

“right,” patton says, and lets out his breath. “and who even says that they’ll react bad anyway?”

virgil doesn’t answer that—probably a good choice on his part, since he’s most likely already overthinking and patton is nervous enough—and logan knocks on the door.

his mother opens it.

“finally, you’re here,” she says, and they file in after her.

“sorry we’re late,” patton says, smiling, “we got a bit held up.”

she sighs. “well, nothing to do to fix it, then—come in, come on, would you like a drink?”

“um,” patton says, “well—”

“now?” virgil says in an undertone.

they enter the living room, where his dad’s already fixing himself a scotch at the drinks table.

“why not?” patton says, equally quiet; if we don’t, they’ll be upset we didn’t say right away, patton tries to communicate with his eyes, and virgil seems to understand, squeezing his hand.

“hello, logan,” his dad says, turning. “how’s yale?”

“busy,” logan says.

“hey, dad, why don’t you come over and sit down?” patton offers. “we, um, we have some news.”

richard and emily exchange a glance, before they sit on the couch together.

“what?” his mother says, turning to face them.

“it’s, um,” patton says, and makes the mistake of looking over at virgil, who is giving him That Look which makes his heart burst into butterflies and he can’t help but giggle, “well—”

“we, um,” virgil says, trying to help, but he can’t help smiling, too, and patton covers their held hands with his own—hiding his ring from view, coincidentally.

“oh, my god, you didn’t,” his mother says, aghast.

patton blinks, and virgil squeezes his hands harder. “didn’t what?”

“oh, my god, you did,” she says, a look of horror blooming across her face.

“now, emily—” richard says.

“you eloped!” his mother fumes, slamming his hands on the couch cushion and standing, and patton yelps out “mom!”

“i knew it, i knew you’d do anything to keep me out of your wedding!” she rants.

“mom, that’s not—”

“well, that is just cruel, patton,” she continues, overriding his attempt to intervene, moving to begin to pace, “a mother waits and plans for this day, even your mother, and tonight you just waltz in here—”

“we’re engaged,” patton bursts out. “we didn’t elope, i mean—well, we’re going to get married. in the future. since we’re fiancés now.”

his mother stops in her tracks.

“oh.”

she slowly sinks down to the couch.

“mom...?” he prompts, because he can’t really interpret the look on her face right now.

“who proposed?” she says.

“i proposed, but he had a ring too,” virgil says.

“it was very romantic,” patton says, and he can’t help but smile at virgil, all soft and silly.

“i was there, it’s true, he was very romantic,” logan confirms.

“oh,” richard says, attempting to blink off whatever whiplash must come from expecting your son to have eloped only to figure out he’s gone about the thing properly, for once. “well, congratu—”

“when’s the date?”

“oh,” patton says, caught off guard, and looks at virgil. “um—”

“the venue, the florist, the registry?”

“we got engaged today, mom,” patton tries to point out.

“i know that in a million years, you would never let me plan your wedding,” his mother starts, sounding a little wistful, and oh, no.

“um, mom—” patton begins, because. well, he’d expected the “differing social classes,” protest, he’d expected the “he’s not well-educated enough” protest, he’d expected, maybe, the “we revoke every little thing we’ve done to signify approval,” protest, or maybe even “we will start openly attempting to sabotage your relationship now.”

he hadn’t expected the mother-of-the-groom version of bridezilla. mother-in-law-zilla, maybe?

“i gave up on that dream a long time ago,” his mother continues, putting on the full, oh, what could have been, i miss that dream so face. emotional manipulation, emotional manipulation, he chants to himself, trying his best to summon emile’s voice. “yours was going to be a russian winter theme—the romanovs.”

huh. that sounded strangely familiar, but patton couldn’t put a finger on it; his brain’s been doing that a lot today.

“before the firing squad or after?” logan asks, in a blank, studious tone that only barely masks the sarcasm, and virgil just barely manages to stifle his snort. patton elbows him in the side.

“snow white roses, trees with white lights and candles, snow everywhere—”

oh, well, that doesn’t sound too—

“—you arriving in a silver sleigh with white horses...”

aaaaaaaand there it is.

“wow,” patton manages to get out, and she deflates.

“you hate the idea.”

“no, it just—” patton says, and struggles with how to put this delicately. “it doesn’t seem very... us, mom.”

“yes, well, it would have been beautiful,” she sniffs. “what will it be now? burgers and fries for the dinner? you walking down the aisle with a ketchup dispenser in hand?”

“hey,” patton says, a little sterner.

“i dunno, pat, a diner wedding could be cool,” virgil says jokingly.

“what do you think of the romanovs?” his mother says, giving virgil her most withering stare.

“they probably had it coming,” he says, stone-faced, and patton elbows him again, a little harder.

“happy day,” patton says, and looks at his mother. “let’s celebrate the engagement now, and leave all the wedding planning for later.”

frankly, it had probably been kind of naive to assume that his mother wouldn’t try his best to butt her way into wedding planning; she had gone into raptures about the potential of his debutante gowns and future outfits enough when he was younger to ohhhh he’d forgotten about the wedding talks. that’s where he’d heard all the talk about the romanovs.

well. at least it isn’t a bad reaction, he figures.

“yes, yes,” richard says. “ah—champagne?”

“yes!” patton says eagerly, ready to get past his mother attempting to worm her way into wedding planning. “yes, let’s—let’s do champagne!”

“elsa!” his mother calls, then, undeterred, “you know, it’s tradition for parents to help pay and plan for the wedding, and if we could just get in touch with your aunt celine, i bet most of your father’s side of the family—”

“small wedding, mom,” patton says, “we’re probably going to want a small wedding.”

he glances at virgil. “right?” he checks.

“yes, small wedding, absolutely,” he confirms. “my family, your family, the town—”

“the town constitutes a small wedding,” his mother says, doubtfully.

“we were talking about champagne!” patton says quickly, as elsa comes into the room. “um, elsa, can i go help you find champagne flutes, preferably until my mother exhausts this topic of conversation?”

“you’re doomed,” logan says, and patton tries his best to glare at him.

he can’t really manage it, though.

because, well. he can’t really blame his mom. he’s very excited about his wedding, too.

patton decides to take this as a win, even if he knows he’s going to spend the rest of his evening trying to dissuade his mother from throwing money at their wedding.

⁂

“okay, spin, twirl,” roman says.

virgil sighs, but does so, awkwardly; he’s wearing a purple flannel and a pair of black jeans, very regular for him. like, not very fashionably forward of him, but very regular. roman surveys him, squinting.

“since when do you need to do outfit approval for an outing?” virgil grumbles.

“since always,” roman says happily, before he smooths his hands over virgil’s shoulders; he supposes the whole thing is semi-formal—he’s wearing a white top tucked into a red skater skirt, which he guesses passes for cute but semi-casual. “okay, but, hang on, what if—”

“how many times have i told you i don’t want a makeover,” virgil says wearily.

“and how many times have i listened?” roman says. “it’s not even that much, anyway, just—”

he digs out a jacket that pairs well with it, a black one, one that at least takes virgil’s outfit to i threw it on to i at least attempted to plan, which virgil shrugs on with a sigh, and roman immediately sticks his fingers in virgil’s hair.

“hey—”

“i’m not even doing that much,” roman says, correcting virgil’s bangs, before stepping back. “okay, now you’re set.”

“finally,” virgil grumbles. “why don’t you do this to patton and logan?”

“because patton is very set on his sense of dad-fashion and logan at least has some kind of officious-looking thing going for him,” roman says. “you are just helplessly grunge.”

virgil rolls his eyes, but gestures for roman to go ahead. roman skips down the stairs, catching logan’s hand, because they’re together, in the same space, where roman can touch him and not just see his face over grainy video call.

“hi,” roman says, and presses a kiss to his cheek. “ready to go?”

logan smiles at him; unlike patton and virgil, he knows exactly what’s going on.

“we all are,” logan confirms.

“right!” patton says brightly. “what’d you have in mind, kiddo?”

“you’ll see,” roman says, instead of stating an elaborately crafted cover story he’s sure he could come up with on the spot—virgil not knowing what’s going on means he won’t be super surprised when roman leads him to, well. the thing.

he keeps a tight hold on logan’s hand as they walk, swinging it between them. they hadn’t really gotten to spend a lot of time together yesterday, with the engagement and logan’s grandparents and all, so roman is absolutely planning on capitalizing on logan time when everyone else is occupied.

it’s an easy walk, from patton’s house to town; the weather’s still really nice, and the breeze feels nice on his legs, and logan’s hand is cool in his, and the closest thing he has to dads are behind them, trying to be subtle about their reinvigorated lovebird honeymoon phase but failing miserably.

roman squeezes logan’s hand. “so, my big yale man—”

“nickname denied,” logan says.

“all right, eli-logan—”

“slightly better,” logan says, then, “wait, you researched yale nicknames?”

“of course i did, that’s four years worth of new material there,” roman says. “so, anyway, i have news for you.”

“news?” logan says, startled.

“um, yeah,” roman says. “i asked my mom and caught up on all the taylor gossip, i bet you could write an exposé over thanksgiving break. so, i’ve got common knowledge, and town meeting stuff, and apparently my mom’s got some info for you, so i managed to get her to tell me that so you know everything before everyone else—”

a little smile breaks out on logan’s face, and he leans in to press a kiss to roman’s cheek.

roman blinks at him, but smiles. “what was that for?”

“just,” logan says, and he smiles wider. “you look very pretty today.”

roman preens; he did put extra effort into his hair, and he’s wearing a bit of makeup, a fun little glitter look on his eyes, and he usually wears skirts on special occasions, he used to wear them more when he was a kid; he borrowed this one from charlotte.

this skirt would be pretty short on him, if it weren’t for the fact this skirt is too big for her. most ballet women are tiny; charlotte’s 5′5″, and she’s the tallest of his new friends.

“well,” roman says, and preens even more obviously, so that logan will laugh. “obviously.”

logan’s laugh buoys him all the way to the point where they’re nearly to the town square, and he can hear the rush of noise, and music.

“what’s going on?” patton says curiously.

“well,” roman says slyly, and moves aside. “go and see.”

patton breaks into a smile, probably remembering the last time that roman told him to go see something.

“roman,” virgil starts, and they turn just in time to see.

the town square’s decked out with all the yellow daisies that virgil had used to propose, and a banner that says PATTON AND VIRGIL’S ENGAGEMENT PARTY, and the gazebo’s twined with blue and purple ribbons and there’s stacks of presents, and there’s a cheer that comes from people gathered: his mom, and a ton of girls who go to the dance studio, and mrs. torres, and emile and remy, and dot and larry, and babette and morey, and even taylor, all here for—

“what’s all this?” patton says, delighted.

“well,” roman says. “since i’m a poor college student and couldn’t exactly afford an elaborate engagement present, i figured i’d do the next best thing and give you an engagement party.”

“roman,” virgil says.

“i—i made it so that there’s music, and dancing, and food and stuff,” roman says, gesturing vaguely, “so even if it’s a party for you, the attention won’t always be on you, since i know how you feel about—”

he gets cut off, though, because virgil cuffs him gently around the head and pulls him in for a sidehug.

“you’re a good kid, roman,” he says, gruffly, and roman can’t help but smile. he feels like his heart is glowing, from the happy look on patton’s face, to the outward expression of fondness from virgil, to the way logan’s looking at him all proud like he’s doing something super special.

“well, duh,” roman says, like he isn’t grinning so big that he’s sure it’s messing up his makeup. “go on, go, it’s time for the party!”

and so virgil goes to patton, who takes his hand and drags him straight for the throne-like chairs that are set up for them to start opening their presents, and logan bumps up against his shoulder.

“i still can’t believe you did this,” he says quietly; they’ve been facetiming a lot so logan could help plan it, so it’s not like this party is news to him.

roman shrugs, and leans into logan’s side in a blatant ploy; logan obliges him, and wraps an arm around roman’s shoulders.

“well,” he says. “they’re important to me, too. i wanted to do something special.”

logan presses a kiss to his temple, and says, “wanna get some cake?”

“hell yeah,” roman says, and so they go and get in line to get some cake.

⁂

the sun has set, there are twinkling lights on, the music is playing, the party is still going fairly strong, and logan sways to the music.

this mostly has to do with roman dragging him out to dance, and he’s obliged, mostly because of how happy it makes roman, how excited he gets, how beautiful he looks.

roman’s hair is sweaty and has long since become a bit more of a wreck than it originally was. the glitter around his eyes has smeared a little, and his sweat catches the light, making him gleam and glow in a way that is unfairly attractive, for his version of being a sweaty mess.

he’s never, ever going to be as good a dancer as roman—for one, he hasn’t been training for nearly fifteen years—but he’s perfectly content to dance with hm, so long as he can see roman look this great, be this happy.

the song ends, and roman whoops, putting his hands up in the air, before he fans at his face.

“want a breather?”

“yes,” logan says gratefully. he runs fairly frequently, but he also isn’t nearly as in shape with roman (again, training for nearly fifteen years) and his feet ache.

roman grins at him, grabbing his hand so that he could drag logan out of the crowd, and logan follows along, trusting roman’s sense of direction in a crowd far better than his own.

they pop out somewhere near the beverage table, and logan spies, somewhere deeper in the crowd, his dad trying to twirl virgil around and virgil awkwardly ducking his arm, to gales of laughter from his dad.

“they’re happy,” logan notes.

“yeah,” roman says. then, “do you think sookie’ll kill me if i steal this bottle of champagne for us?”

logan glances over at roman, who’s grinning, and holding up a recently-opened and not-very-depleted bottle of champagne.

“it’ll be worth it,” logan decides, and roman giggles, before taking logan by the hand again, dragging him to the exact place that logan expected.

they settle on the steps of the gazebo, stretching out their legs and beholding the crowd. roman sighs, pleased, and logan tries his best not to stare at roman’s tanned thighs and the way they look in that skirt.

he has been doing that quite a bit today.

“champagne, my good sir?” roman says, mockingly officious, and logan blinks.

“we forgot to grab glasses.”

“well,” roman says, and takes a swig directly from the bottle, before offering it to logan. “i’m pretty sure you don’t have cooties, and if we do, we’ve definitely cross-infected each other by now.”

“well, who knows what kind of super-cooties you could have picked up in new york,” logan says, and tries his own swig; he’s less practiced than roman, and he gets a near-painful mouthful of fizz and bubbles that makes him cough, just a little.

“a joke!” roman says, thumping him gently on the back. “college really has taught you things.”

logan rolls his eyes, and bumps his shoulder against roman’s.

they technically both got drunk for the first time at the same time; patton had offered his house for it—you’ll both probably get offered to drink at college, and i want you to try it somewhere where you know you’re safe just in case, all right? patton had said, and so they’d drank candy-flavored drinks in glass bottles and roman had tried to experiment with bartending and they’d kissed a little but logan’s pretty sure that he’d fallen asleep in the middle of it, because the next thing he remembered was waking up with a dry mouth, draped over roman, on the floor of the living room.

he hasn’t drunk very much since; unsurprisingly, roman likes parties more than logan does.

they swap the bottle back and forth in mostly companionable silence, watching the party go on; patton and virgil get champagne flutes clanged at them a few times, making them lean in and kiss each other to cheers from the crowd; the music rumbles on, and roman dances in place, singing along quietly; they watch emile and remy dance, and kirk’s bizarre arm-flailing that might pass as dancing.

logan feels warm, and pleasant, and a little floaty, and he turns to rest his head on roman’s shoulder.

“this is nice,” he says.

“yeah?” roman says, amused.

“i—this is really nice,” he says earnestly, and roman snorts, adjusting so that he can cup logan’s chin in his hand and examine his face.

“are you tipsy?”

“moderately, i think,” logan admits, and roman throws back his head to laugh, before cupping logan’s face in both his hands.

“you’re adorable,” roman teases, and he leans in to kiss him.

logan hums happily into his mouth, leaning into it as much as he can. he’s missed this; he’s missed him, so bad. this is his first time living away from roman, his first time not going to school with roman there, to talk to him at the press or for logan to steal into the studio to watch roman dance. it’s been harder than he thought it would, to be away from him. from home.

but he’s here now, and he’s so happy, and he feels so warm inside.

his dads are getting married, and roman is right here, kissing him, and logan parts from him with a dreamy little sigh.

“i love you so much,” logan tells him, and roman’s face goes soft.

“well, i love you so much too, bulldog-an,” roman says, and brushes some of logan’s sweaty hair out of his face, ignoring the face logan made at the highly questionable bulldog logan pun. “like, so much.”

“oh,” logan says, relieved, “good,” and roman laughs, but not in a mean way, not at all.

“you’re a peach, baby,” roman says, and logan rests his head on roman’s shoulder.

the party’s still going; it’s a slow song playing, and his dads are dancing slowly, eyes closed, completely in their own little world.

“you know,” logan says thoughtfully, “when i propose to you, i wouldn’t mind something like this for us. i think that’d be nice.”

roman laughs, a little nervous, and he says, “what?”

“when i propose to you,” logan repeats. “or when you propose to me, i guess. however. i don’t care which way. but a party like this, then, it’d be pretty—mmph,” because roman’s pressed his lips against logan’s, hushing him.

and oh, logan has missed kissing like this; feeling like he was melting into it, hyperaware of every swipe of roman’s tongue and promising hint of the scrape of teeth and the taste of champagne on both of their tongues, roman’s hand a warm presence he can feel burning through his shirt that’s inching lower and lower, and logan twists his fingers in roman’s shirt in kind, dropping down to squeeze at roman’s bare thigh—

“this skirt,” he growls, “has been distracting me all day.”

“yeah, i know,” roman says, pleased, wiggling into the touch, flexing his muscles on purpose, “that was the goal” and how could logan not lean in to kiss him even more at that, spreading his hand as wide as he could to feel as much of roman’s soft skin as he could, kissing him heated and quick and desperate, and—

and there was the clanging of champagne flutes starting again, someone hooting and hollering, and roman and logan broke apart.

well. logan kept a possessive hand on roman’s thigh. because feeling up roman’s muscles was just very nice.

“we should probably get back to the party,” roman breathes, and he’s still close enough that logan can feel the breath on his face.

“i—yeah,” logan says. “we probably should.”

roman laughs, and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “i’ll get you some water first, though. stay put, okay?”

“okay,” logan agrees, leaning back; well, as much as he can lean back, when he’s sitting on stairs.

roman giggles, and walks off, with more swaying to his hips than he usually would, looking over his shoulder to give logan an ostentatious wink.

logan can’t help but burst into a smile.

i’m going to marry that man.

⁂

"wait! wait, wait, wait, wait,” virgil says, frowning, wrapping his hand around patton’s wrist to keep him from going into the house, and patton bites his lip to keep himself from laughing.

listen. patton knows he’s a lightweight. he usually plans for these kinds of things, so that he doesn’t end up drunk off his butt from what would usually get other people teetering their way from tipsy into drunk.

with that, it follows that he’s been around virgil drunk more than virgil has been drunk around him.

but the champagne had been flowing, and everyone had been eager to fill up the newly... affianced? newly fiancéd? the engaged couple’s drinks throughout the entire party.

and as such, virgil is frowning, almost over-exaggerated, clearly going through some kind of calculation that must make sense in his drunk brain.

“i gotta do the,” virgil says, and vaguely mimes something. “the carry-you-over thing.”

it clicks in patton’s brain, then.

“you want to carry me over the threshold?” he asks, amused. “honey, that’s what newlyweds do. people do that when they get married.”

“we’re basically almost married,” virgil argues, and patton tilts his head, considering this.

look, he’s not sober either, okay?

“all right,” patton agrees with a laugh, holding out his arms. “carry me over the threshold, darlin’.’

virgil beams at him and, carefully, gets into place.

“ready?” he asks, and, when patton nods, lifts him with a small grunt, and patton squeaks as his feet leave the ground, wrapping his arms tight around virgil’s neck.

virgil slowly ascends the porch stairs, patton beaming at him, until virgil comes to a pause.

“what?” patton asks.

“the door,” virgil says.

“oh, i can get—”

“i’m not putting you down,” virgil says, as if offended by this potential slight to his ability as a good fiancé, and scowls at the door, as if he’ll be able to open it with telekinesis.

“no, virge, i mean—” patton says, with a laugh, then, “hang onto me tighter?”

virgil obliges, and patton reaches over, twisting the doorknob.

“there,” he says, satisfied.

virgil leans ever so slightly to smack a kiss of gratitude to patton’s cheek, before stepping carefully over the threshold, making sure that patton doesn’t bump his feet or his head against the doorframe.

and patton expects that to be it, for virgil to set him down right there, except he keeps going, ignoring cocoa barking excitedly at their feet.

“virgil!” he squeaks.

“night, logan!” virgil calls to logan, who calls out a cheerful “night!” and moves past them, clicking his tongue for cocoa to follow him, for her to go out one last time before bed.

and virgil keeps going, moving up the stairs much more slowly than they usually would, a combination of the pair of them being tipsy and giggly, and virgil climbing the stairs with patton in his arms.

the door’s slightly ajar, and so virgil turns to bump it open with his hip, and carries patton across that threshold, too, and, at last, deposits patton on the bed, patton bouncing ever so slightly with his landing, bursting into laughter.

virgil immediately looms over him, crawling above him, and patton giggles at the sight of him, moving to cradle his cheeks in his hands.

“my big strong man,” patton purrs, “you’re such an amazing almost-husband—”

virgil dips and immediately moves to devour patton, and patton gasps into his mouth, snaking his arms around virgil’s waist. virgil bumps noses with him, and patton laughs, adjusting, before he surges up and kisses him again, and he feels so excited, all of the energy of the party resurging and making his blood heat and patton presses himself closer and nips at his lips and kisses him, and virgil gasps into his mouth, and—

“you’re drunk,” patton groans, and virgil sighs, resting his head on patton’s collarbone.

“but kissing,” he whines into patton’s chest. “and—other things.”

patton snorts, nudging virgil so he rolls off of him, and he does so easily, with no resistance.

“you’ve had to tell me to not get too eager when i’m drunk,” patton says, “and now i’m telling you.”

virgil pouts, and it is awfully difficult to not just dive right back in and kiss him, when he’s all rosy-cheeked, and he’s got kiss-swollen lips.

“nope,” patton says, and swipes a kiss across his cheek. “payback for that one time after my final final exams.”

“you were drunk,” virgil protests.

“and so are you!” patton says, laughing.

virgil lets out a long, weary sigh, and grumbles, “fine,” rolling away from patton.

“aw, lovely,” patton says, and puts his hand on virgil’s side, shaking him a little to get his attention. virgil pretends to mope—or maybe it’s not pretend, virgil can be a sulky drunk, and he usually is, until patton draws him out of whatever corner he decided to brood in, and then he gets all blushy whenever patton kisses him on the cheek or gives him gestures of affection or pays attention to him, generally—“hey, honey, we can still cuddle, n’stuff.”

virgil visibly perks up at that. he rolls back over.

“yeah?” he says hopefully.

“yeah,” patton says, “of course we can cuddle, just—we should get ready for bed, first, and then we can cuddle all you want.”

“mkay,” virgil says, and steals one last kiss before he ambles away to go brush his teeth, even as patton squawks after him, because that’s cheating, they aren’t supposed to kiss and stuff when they’re drunk, those are virgil’s rules!!!

patton ends up butting up against him in the bathroom, bumping his hip against his, and they brush their teeth together, making funny faces at each other in the mirror.

they tumble into bed together, patton letting out a relieved groan.

“the party was very fun,” he sighs. “but i am very tired.”

“seconded,” virgil groans, wrapping an arm over patton gracelessly; it’s like he wants to touch as much of patton as possible, hug him as close as he could, and patton smiles, burrowing closer.

a beat, then, “okay, i know that i’m the one who said we should follow the rules, but—”

“mm-mm,” virgil grunts, and patton sighs.

“yeah, i figured.”

“well,” virgil says, after a beat. “look at it this way. we’ve got the rest of forever to kiss and stuff before bed.”

patton hides his grin at the thought of that in virgil’s chest; he knows their rings are resting side-by-side on their nightstand table, their symbol of their commitment for the rest of time.

virgil’s right. they do have forever.

and that sounds just about perfect to him.

#my post #text #my fic #the sideshire files #sanders sides fanfiction #moxiety #logince

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guardianofjunmyeon · 4 years

Text

Finding Atlantis (part 2)

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Lovers, PirateAU

Description: 20 years ago the seas became angry. Unruly and unkind to any sailor, to any ship that dared venture too far out in her waters. Many a man has heard the tales of Atlantis, the lost city, the key the ocean. But fewer men know the tale of it’s missing child. The key to the ocean, the key to Atlantis but a lost little one. The power one would hold should they find this child would be nearly that of Poseidon himself. Thus, the hunt began.

A/N: Here’s pt2 i have up to like...8 written but i’m gonna upload from here on out like weekly probably while i work to finish writing the rest of the story

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18

You’ve known Byun Baekhyun for two years less than you've had your ship. You met him in Arae, a well known pirate city in the west, when you were 21 and he was 22. He was fairly well-known around the city. People knew him as a charming and witty pirate in training. He worked on different crews mainly as sailing master to whoever was willing to pay the most. If you needed information, he would most likely have it or know where to get it.

Junmyeon had gone off with Yixing to post “Help Wanted” posters in places around the city. You had snuck off for a drink in a bar. You were tired, and the three of you had been looking for more crewmen for days.

He’d slid up to your side with his best smile and a gleam in his eye that drew you into him. That and the eye patch he sported. He was possibly one of the most handsome men you had ever initially seen, with his white teeth, the sneaky look in his eye, and the earrings and jewelry adorning his body.

“You must be new around here,” he observed.

You downed the rest of your drink. He watched in silence. “Is it obvious?”

He motioned for the bartender and ordered two more of the drink you had been drinking. “Kind of. I usually know all the pretty people that frequent Arae.” The drinks were placed in front of you both. You took the one he nudged your way with a snort.

“That line work on everyone you hit on at a bar?”

He laughed around a sip of his drink. “I don’t know. Is it working with you?”

You paused in bringing the cup back to your lips to really get a look at the man next to you. He was handsome, sure. And yeah you guessed he was kind of charming with his bright smile and pretty fingers wrapped around his own drink. His hair looked soft, and the mole above his lip was kind of cute. But boy, did he have some big ass ears.

Fuck it, it had been a couple of weeks since you’d had sex. Who were you to turn down an offer like this? You didn’t even need to work for it. “Yeah I think it might be working,” you told him. His eye widened at your admission. “So, you got a place around here or what?”

He smiled fully again then, finished off his drink, stood up from his chair and held out a hand for you to take.

The moment you put your hand in his sealed your fates together.

He fucked you, against the hotel mirror, cracked in the middle when he slammed you too roughly against it. You fucked him, in the dirty motel shower when he had gone to clean himself off and you left painful bites along his wet skin and pushed him under the spray of the water and pulled another orgasm out of him with nothing but your hand and kisses hard enough to make his lip bleed. You fucked each other, one last time on the bed, arms pinned above your head as he marked your own skin with sucks and bites that stung for days after.

You lay on your back, chest heaving as he put on his boots. You had called it quits because you needed to leave soon. To find Junmyeon and Yixing. They wouldn’t be worried, but they would ask questions. Questions you didn’t have the energy to answer.

A click of metal on your wrist shocked you out of your fucked-out stupor.

“What the-” You yanked against the metal and heard it clang against the bed frame.

He stood up, straightened out his shirt and pushed back his hair, looked down at you in satisfaction. Covered in marks, cuffed to the bed, and naked as the day you were born. “Sorry, it’s nothing personal sweetheart. I had a good time, but…” he jingled the pouch of money that was in your discarded trousers on the ground.

You stared in disbelief. A bit impressed, but more pissed off. You couldn’t really be that upset since you’d let your own guard down. “If you’re going to rob me and ditch me chained to this bed, the least you can do is kiss me goodbye, you dick.” You sat up the best you could and pulled the sheet up to cover yourself with your free arm.

He held your money pouch out of reach as he leaned down to press a rough kiss against your lips. You bit his hard enough to draw blood. When he pulled away and brushed the blood off his bottom lip with a clipped laugh, you bared your teeth. “Cute.”

You licked the blood off your own lip and spat it on the sheet at your side. He tossed your money in the air and caught it with a smirk. “Thanks for the pouch, and the sex. You’re not bad, kid,” he said appreciatively. “Good luck getting out!” He wiggled his fingers and disappeared from the room with a bounce in his step. You nodded to yourself and laughed sourly at the situation you’d been left in.

“Bastard…” you muttered as you pulled your free hand back from under your sheet. The hand you’d snuck into his pocket with the pouch of money you pulled off him as you bit his lip. “Dumbass,” you said with a smile. The money he had on him is more than what you were carrying around, you could tell from its weight. If he was going to rob you, you could rob him right back. Fuck him and his handcuffs.

It took half an hour before someone came to help you out of your cuffs. That’s how you met Seulgi. She was a maid at the hotel, and came to clean when she found you bruising your own wrist trying to yank your arm free. She used a pin in her hair to uncuff you and you offered her a job on your ship on the spot. Maybe you could thank him for that at the very least.

Every encounter you've had with Baekhyun since then has ended with one of you bleeding, beaten, or abandoned in some location with no way home. You don’t think that you’re someone who really hates anyone. You understand people usually have their reasons for doing things, and there are times when people need to die for particularly horrid crimes.

It’s never personal for you.

But Byun Baekhyun? You loathe him. You cannot fucking stand that sorry excuse for a pirate and you’re glad to know he feels the same. The hatred you feel for him, oh it’s personal. Any pain you want to inflict on him, is entirely for your own pleasure.

He smiles, all teeth, at you from behind bars. “Long time no see. Glad to see you’re in good health.” He scans you from top to bottom. “You look much better than you did the last time we met, sweetheart.”

“That’s Captain to you,” you correct. He raises his hands in mock apology. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re just your average stowaways Captain. Nothing less, nothing more.” His response in relaxed, comes out too easily.

“Bullshit,” you bite out. “Give me a real reason why you’re aboard my ship or I’ll kill you and your little friend, right here.” He raises his eyebrows but his earlier smile melts into a smirk. “I’m waiting.”

He shrugs innocently. Fuck it. You pull out your gun and shoot it once right above his head without warning. He jumps and the prisoner in the other cell lets out a surprised yelp at the noise.

“Spill it,” you growl. Your ears ring from the sound of the gun firing in such a small space, but as much as it hurt you, it had to hurt him more.

“Fuck.” He winces and digs a finger into his ear. His expression finally turns serious when he brings his attention back to your face. He looks you dead in the eye. “I know you’ve got the Princess of Atlantis aboard this ship.”

It feels as though time stops. You try to keep your expression neutral, but he must find some kind of break in your facade because he brightens immediately. The excitement in his eye makes his smile look wild. “You do, don’t you?” he asks with barely concealed mirth.

You raise your gun between his eyes. “What do you want?” You can feel the panic rising in your veins. You close your eyes for a second and try to hold in your anger. “If you don’t give me a reason not to fucking kill you both right here in the next 5 seconds-”

“I know how to find Atlantis,” he starts. You open your eyes to properly judge the words coming from his mouth. “I know how to get the princess back home. She’s been lost for years, everyone knows that. I don’t know how long she’s been aboard your ship but I know that it’s been long enough that you’ve stopped actively looking for the city.” He sounds serious enough in his explanation.

But then again, he would say anything to save his own life.

“How do you know that I’ve been looking for ways to find Atlantis?” You and your crew gave up trying to find it almost 3 years ago. Every man and his mother has been looking for the Princess of Atlantis since news broke out of her going missing 20 years ago. You didn't think that anyone had caught on to your ship looking for the lost city itself and not its lost princess.

Baekhyun rolls his neck slowly, you cock your gun impatiently. “Hold on, hold on. Give me a second!” he exclaims. “Itchy trigger finger,” he mutters under his breath. He clears his throat and settles back into seriousness. “I have my sources okay. Nearly everyone on Arae knows that she vanished and that there’s a hefty reward for her capture. Everyone has been looking for her for years, but not you. Not your ship. You’ve been looking for clues to the city itself. It doesn’t take a genius to put together the pieces that you must already know of her whereabouts.

“It was honestly a shot in the dark…assuming that she’s on the ship, but you’ve already told me everything I needed to know.” He smiles devilishly.

“I haven’t told you shit.”

“You and I both know that you’re wrong about that.” His eyebrow quirks quickly. You exhale angrily. “It’s only a matter of time before a lesser man puts together the same pieces that I did.” He tilts his head cockily. You lower your gun but keep your eyes trained on him.

Cocky bastard.

You've come to know Baekhyun as a captain known for his wits, craftiness, and unpredictability. You’ve crossed paths many a times in the past, and as much as you hate to admit it, he may be one of the smartest pirates around. Because of his reputation you are willing to believe that he gathered this information on his own and hasn’t gone around spreading it to just anyone. If he’s got a hunch about a prize, he goes after it on his own.

He may have gotten the information from real sources, but that doesn't mean that you trust him. You put your gun in its holster and decide to end your questioning there. You don’t want him to get any information out of you accidently before you get a chance to talk to your crew.

Fuck. “Don’t you have any more questions!?” he calls out after you. “I’d be more than happy to answer them!”

You continue your way out of the room, but not before tossing back a, “Shut up Byun” and leaving them entirely.

~~~

You call your first mate and navigator to your quarters for a meeting. You leave the ship in Yixing’s capable hands while you all have this dire discussion.

Fingers tap nervously on the table top as Yeri and Junmyeon settle in across from you. There’s no plan to ease into this conversation, so you bite the bullet and get right to the chase.

“Byun knows how to find Atlantis.” You hear an intake of breath but close your eyes rather than meet the looks on their faces. “I know we said that we would give up on this wild goose chase years ago. I know that. The clues back then were always dead ends, useless, or wastes of time…if not all three.” You exhale tiredly, in disbelief at the words coming from your mouth. “But I think that Byun could be telling the truth…and I may be willing to try one last time to find Atlantis…for the princess.”

You lift your eyes from the table to gauge their expressions. Junmyeon looks at you pensively, a bit of disappointment in his eyes while Yeri avoids your eyes and instead focuses on the table.

“Captain…haven’t you…had run ins with him in the past? How could you trust him?” Junmyeon asks carefully.

“Do you mean the time he locked me in the brig of his ship, tried to kill me, and then left me for dead on a deserted island? Or maybe the time he shot me in the arm at that bar in Arae because I bought the last pint of his favorite beer? Oh! Or perhaps you mean the time he tried to turn me in for a bounty on my head and I had to handcuff him to a sink and knock him unconscious just to get away?” You list a few of your encounters off the top of your head and Junmyeon winces. “Yeah, don’t worry I haven’t fucking forgotten.”

You can also remember all of the bounties that you lost to him and his crew. Your ship could be the first notified, but somehow he would manage to get there first and claim the reward that you were hired for. The information was getting slipped to him by members on your crew that he’d bribed.

Let’s just say you had to do some pest extermination and reevaluating the so-called loyalty of your crewmen.

“I don’t trust him,” you tell them simply. “But I’m willing to follow his information, if it seems trustworthy, just one last time.”

“One last time?” Junmyeon asks hopefully. Since the first days of Storm Chaser, Junmyeon has been here at your side. He’s seen you run yourself ragged trying to find the lost city in your early days as captain.

You place your hand on his. “One last time,” you assure him. You look over to Yeri who hasn’t said a word since the conversation began and can feel how tense she is. “It’ll be fine Yeri. If it works, it works. If it doesn’t, then we kill Byun and the princess will stay here on the ship with the crew. We’re all a family, remember?” She smiles a bit and relaxes at your words. “Either way I win, so I just need you two to be on my side when I bring this before the rest of the crew.”

Yeri finally nods and places a hand on your shoulder. “Okay Captain,” she says with a squeeze.

“I’m in Cap’n,” Junmyeon says assuredly. “One last time.” He warns.

You smile sadly. “One last time, I promise…” you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. “I guess we should call off this other bounty hun-”

A gunner bursts into your room. “Captain, the prisoners escaped.”

You groan and stand up from the table. “Did anyone search the prisoners before we locked them up?” The gunner looks sheepish.

“We took away their swords, knives, and guns…” he starts.

You storm out of the room. “ATTENTION! I WANT EVERYONE’S ATTENTION RIGHT FUCKING NOW.” You wait a total of 30 seconds for the attention of anyone around. “I want ALL men to look for the prisoners. If you catch sight of them and they try to run…you have my explicit permission to shoot them in their fucking kneecaps. Byun is an expert lock picker so I want him brought straight to me before he’s taken back to the brig!” No one moves. “GO ON!”

~~~

Baekhyun is thrown at your feet on the main deck not long after setting everyone on the crew to find him and his accomplice.

His kneecaps are still fully intact (much to your dismay).

You look towards Minseok. “Search him thoroughly.” You glance at Baekhyun who looks all too smug about finding his way out of your brig once. “I want him striped, and searched thoroughly,” you emphasize, leaning closer to Minseok pointedly.

Minseok smirks happily. Baekhyun finally looks a bit nervous. You smile gratuitously and leave Minseok to it. You know that Minseok will get the job done and make Baekhyun regret every second of it.

“Yeri!” Blonde hair bounds over to you. “Chart a course for the closest port. We need to make a stop before we make any hasty moves.”

“Ay, Cap’n,” she says happily. You watch proudly as she ties up her hair and heads to the maps that she knows like the back of her hand. In your periphery you catch Baekhyun being dragged back below deck, but his gaze is fixed on Yeri. You frown and make a mental note to, personally, check that he’s sufficiently locked up.

He’s fucking up to something. You can feel it as clearly as you can the beginning of a storm.

~~~

A week passes on the sea with no issues. The weather has been kind, and has sped up your arrival time to Glacia, a large island close by that your ship can use to restock and prepare for its next course.

The prisoners have been quiet and fairly respectful (in the best way that prisoners can) and have caused minimal issues. You’ve sent Yixing down to try and pull information from either of them about the whereabouts of Atlantis, but he hasn’t gotten anywhere fruitful. You’re planning on waiting until getting to port and dragging the information out of Baekhyun even if it kills him.

Much to your annoyance, his presence has awoken the curiosity and gossipy side of your crewmen. It's slowly driving you absolutely batshit crazy.

You go down to the food storage to refill your canteen with drinking water, and to sneak a bottle of rum to your room (hopefully without being caught by your first mate). You crouch down among the secured bottles when whispering catches your attention. You freeze where you are in fear of Yixing or Junmyeon shaming you for stealing liquor from the storage, but you quickly recognize the voices of other crewmen as they get closer.

You strain to hear the conversation, but they start talking louder once they assume the room is empty. Mark, your junior gunner, whispers, “I heard he lost his eye fighting a baby kraken single-handedly.” You immediately know they’re talking about Baekhyun and the urge to reveal yourself and cut the conversation off is only slightly less than your desire to eavesdrop.

“I heard he slept with the eldest son of the King of Jekyll and was shot in the eye for ruining the Prince’s engagement.” Wendy, a boatswain whispers back excitedly.

“I heard that ever since he lost his eye, his fighting has only gotten better.” Taeyong, a junior sailing master says.

“That's true! He practiced fighting with one eye closed as a child and then took his own eye out to prove that he can still fight just as well and beat any other swordsman with just one eye.” Wendy says. You resist the urge to snort.

“Wow…he’s fucking crazy,” Taeyong says in shock. “The eye patch…is kind of sexy though. I have to give it to him.”

“He’s kind of amazing don't you think? He even dared try and kill the Captain multiple times…” You pick out the voice of Kun, your cook. If you’d planned on interrupting before you definitely aren’t going to now. They’re talking about you now too?

Mark gasps. “Who do you think would win in a sword fight? Have they ever fought one on one like that? I think Byun would win, the one eye thing probably makes all his other senses stronger…”

“Nah, she’s the best swordsman alive. There’s no way she’d lose a fight like that with him.” You smile as you pick out Minseok’s voice. Damn right.

“Didn’t they fuck? Did he ditch her after they had sex? Isn’t that why she hates him so much? That and the fact that he’s like…tried to murder her.” Wendy inquires. You hear a giggle.

“They definitely fucked; she would have killed him long ago if she wasn’t in love with him. They say the line between love and hate is super thin,” Taeyong says as if it's a well-known fact.

“Don’t you all have work to be doing?” You ask after hearing enough. You stand up from your spot, rum in one hand, your water in the other and your deadliest glare on your face. “Or would you all like to continue to discuss my sex life and rumored love of the son of a bitch locked in the prison of my ship?”

Everyone straightens and Mark lets out a noise of surprise.

“Sorry Captain!” Wendy, Kun, Mark, and Taeyong say in unison before scurrying from the storage room.

Minseok walks up to you with a smile on his face, and nudges your arm holding the rum with his elbow. “You planning on telling your husband about this?”

You grimace. “Don’t call him that. And don’t tell him about this,” you hiss. He laughs. “I’m still angry with you…gossiping about me on my own ship.”

“There’s nothing else to do these days, and we’ve got the ‘famed’ Captain Byun Baekyun aboard. Of course people are gonna gossip, you know it’s all in good fun.” He grabs the rum from your hand, uncorks it with his teeth and takes a huge swig. “If you were actually angry, you would have stopped them earlier. You can still scare the newer members but I know you’re not going to do anything about it.” He holds the bottle out towards you. “You were eavesdropping as if you were interested in the topic at hand,” he says smugly.

You grab the bottle with a frown. “Oh shut up…” you take a swig and hand it back to him. You point a finger at him threateningly. “Seriously, don’t tell Junmyeon or Yixing about this Minseok. I’m serious. They give me enough shit about not drinking while I’m supposed to be on duty.”

Minseok laughs around another swallow of the liquor. “Ay, ay, Captain.” His voice is nothing but playful, and you know that later tonight you’re going to get an earful from either your first mate or quartermaster based off of something they heard from an “anonymous source”.

You leave the bottle with him, a promise of “keeping this between you two and finishing off the evidence on his own” on his lips as you sulk to the kitchen for dinner and then to bed.

As expected, Junmyeon bites your ear off at dinner about drinking down in the food storage and you apologize profusely. Yeri laughs at your side and Minseok peaks his head in the kitchen with a smile and thumbs up before vanishing again.

Mutineer.

~~~

Your door slams open at the early hours of the morning startling you out of your sleep. You groan and sit up in your bed tiredly. “Listen, I said I was sorry Junmyeon. You already ripped me a new one I’m not going to drink again…” You rub your eyes and finally recognize the face in your doorway.

Yixing looks frantic and not at all bothered by your sleep driven rumbling. “There’s a ship in the distance off of starboard. A couple of our men are down, knocked out but alive and-”

“And let me guess,” you interrupt and your mind immediately switches awake. Sleep long forgotten as you begin putting on your boots. “The prisoners escaped.”

Yixing swallows, his expression turning grim. “And they’ve taken Yeri.”

Fuck.

#exo #exo imagines #exo stories #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #baekhyun #byun baekhyun #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun pirate au #exo pirate au

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whereisten · 4 years

Text

The Wedding Singer - Part 3

The Wedding Singer (feat. Taeyong and Yuta)

Summary: You are an up-and-coming singer and songwriter who is thriving in the wedding singer business. When you find yourself singing for your former best friend Samantha Perez and not-so-former crush Yuta Nakamoto, shit really hits the fan.

Genre: fluff, drama, romance

Multi-part Series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Part 3

Word Count: 3.9k

It was nearing Christmas, which meant there was one week left until the wedding of the century. Samantha finalized the song selections with you. Johnny would be on guitar while Jungwoo would be on piano alongside the rest of the wedding band. Johnny was pretty jazzed because he would see Stella again, rise to the occasion, and ask her out. They met the night you performed at Holy Hell. It was all over for Johnny when Stella genuinely laughed at one of his dad jokes.

Everything seemed to be falling into place these days. Your career was on the rise. Record labels from all over the county wanted to sign you. You were a breakout YouTube star after Jungwoo uploaded your performance of Bad Boy. You were booked for even more weddings that you had to start turning people away.

And best of all, you had the most incredible man in your corner. In the span of months, Taeyong was your best friend and your biggest fan. He showered you with affection in every way that he could. And it seemed like he would never stop.

If only you could find a way to return the favor.

Taeyong was adamant that you did not have to give him anything. He told you that your presence was the present and you had to walk out of his office when he said that to you last week. He’d been spending too much time with Johnny.

You were babysitting Taeyong and Samantha’s little half-sister Sonya while they were away. Her mother was on a yoga treat with her friends. Samantha was doing a photo shoot in New York. She was doing a cover story for Elle Magazine for her success as a fitness model and a celebrity chef. Taeyong was in New York with his father. They were in negotiations to acquire a a very popular restaurant chain that they hoped to bring to Miami.

Yuta picked Sonya up to take her to school before you headed to RCA Records.

“y/n, is there anything you want for Christmas?” Sonya asked you as you tied her hair. She was about to leave for her last day of classes before Christmas break.

You thought about it. As cheesy as it sounded, you had everything you could ever need.

You checked your phone to see if you had any messages and smiled at your lock screen of Taeyong scrunching his nose.

“You’re pink,” Sonya giggled. She watched your reflection.

You shook your head. “Is the AC even on?”

The doorbell downstairs bellowed throughout the Lee estate.

“It must be your future brother-in-law,” you said to her.

Sonya ran out of her room and down the grand staircase of the mansion. She ran past the maid that was about to answer the door.

“YUTA!” Sonya squealed when she saw him at the door.

Yuta gave her a big bear hug.

He was in dark wash jeans and a white tee, looking well-rested. He looked better than you’d last seen him. He’d been up and down about the upcoming nuptials. As much as you wanted to tell him to not go through with the wedding, it wasn’t your place.

“Hey, Yuta,” you said, “How’s it going?”

“It’s going. How are you? Have you decided who you’re signing with yet?” He threw his car keys up and caught them quickly.

“Yuta, what time is it?” You asked.

He frowned as he looked at his Apple Watch. “7:35.”

“Right? I don’t talk about anything serious until after 9:30 so I won’t answer that.”

He laughed as he grabbed Sonya’s Elena of Avalor backpack. “Right. But you’re doing okay right?”

You couldn’t help the smile on your face. “Yeah, everything’s great.”

Yuta mustered his most winning smile as he tried to ignore his truth.

Taeyong and Samantha would be back in time for their friend Sooyoung’s wedding tonight. Because mega pop star Luna had scheduling conflicts and at Taeyong’s high recommendation, Sooyoung hired you a month back. Johnny would join you as a band member and as your singing partner.

;;

After you discussed the set list with Johnny for tonight, you walked back to your car and were surprised when a red tulip was propped on your windshield.

As a woman, you felt joy, confusion, and mostly, fear. This anonymous gift was not to be trusted.

You debated grabbing the tulip because it could’ve been laced with poison. Who would try to do such a thing to you?

Well, Samantha could be above murder.

But was she?

You decided to leave the tulip be so you can get home, grab some gloves, put the tulip in a ziploc bag, and take it to the police station.

It would be awkward to send Samantha to jail a week before her wedding.

You grabbed your keys from your handbag and got into your car.

Your phone rang. You relaxed once you saw who called.

“Hey,” you said, exhaling in relief.

“I guess you don’t like tulips?” Taeyong said, a lace of hurt in his voice.

“That was you?! I thought you were some creep trying to kill me.” Leave out the part where you were 98% sure it was stepsister.

“How would a tulip kill-You need to lay off the Lifetime movies, babe.”

You laughed as you got out of the car and took the tulip in your hands. “If it makes you feel better, it’s the most beautiful flower I’ve ever seen. You took in its fresh scent and hummed. “It smells amazing.”

Taeyong was silent over the line.

“Taeyong?” You asked.

Nothing.

And he hung up when you checked.

You turned back to the driver’s seat and saw him before you with a huge bouquet of red tulips. His big brown eyes were warm and welcoming. You imagined he was beaming behind the bouquet.

You couldn’t wait to kiss him so you pressed yourself against him and the flowers. You pecked him on the lips and almost lost your balance. He steadied you. “Hi,” you said, flustered at being such a dork in front of him.

He wrapped his arms around you for a moment and pulled back. “Mind if I set these aside first?” He didn’t want your flowers to get ruined.

You pulled away from him so he could put the flowers on the driver’s seat.

“Hey, songbird,” he said as he opened his arms wide.

You jumped into his arms and squeezed him tightly.

He’d been gone for a week but you were very clingy.

“I missed you,” you said as you nuzzled into his neck. He smelled of lavender and fabric softener. You wanted to lie in bed with him and snuggle him like a pillow. You were sickening.

“I missed you more,” he said as he kissed the top of your head. “Are you free?”

“I’m free until the ceremony,” you said as you played with the buttons of his baby blue button-down.

“Great because I want to take you somewhere,” he said as he lifted your chin and kissed your lips.

;;

Taeyong took you a pottery painting place. It was called Stella’s. It was located a few blocks from Holy Hell Nightclub. He wanted to bring you here for a while now so you two could be alone in a quiet space and maybe get into a paint fight.

“It’s quiet. Must be a slow day,” you noted, in marvel of the shop. It was filled to the brim with all kinds of figurines to choose from. The paint selection almost brought you to tears.

Taeyong cleared his throat. “Actually, the place is ours for the afternoon.”

You put down a ceramic owl that was too cute for words. “What do you mean?”

“Stella’s parents own this spot and I asked her for a favor.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Are you mad?” Taeyong asked, worried.

You shook your head. “No...It’s just...You are...Too good to me sometimes.”

Taeyong’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Taeyong was the poster child for the ideal boyfriend. It was amazing but sometimes you felt a little out of your league.

And the way that he endlessly spoiled you. You loved every bit of it but you wondered if you were too greedy. If you weren’t doing enough for him.

You worried that at some point, he would get bored with you.

And you knew you were wrong to think that.

Taeyong almost cried when you gave him a homemade minion sweater for him to take to New York.

He appreciated you for you. It wasn’t his fault that he was disgustingly wealthy.

You two had fun together. Most of the time, you two dated like a healthy functioning couple.

Movies. Supermarket trips. Playing with your two cats Kai and Jax at your place. Late night trips to the beach.

The best nights you had together were when you went to the movies and indulged on popcorn.

But then Taeyong would catch you by surprise. Like today.

You admitted to him, “Sometimes...I feel like I’m never going to be able to make you happy the way you do me. I don’t want to let you down.”

Taeyong moved closer to you. “You could never let me down, y/n.”

You held his hands. “I want to make you happy.”

He wrapped his arms around you. “You have no idea just how much better my life is with you in it.”

You nuzzled into his chest and felt the steady beat of his heart. You loved him.

Soon, you would tell him.

You two settled down and started painting. Taeyong picked out a horse figuring to paint all shades of pink for Sonya. You picked a slice of cake figurine for Taeyong for his sweet tooth.

“So when I got up on the stage, I almost fell on my face,” you said, remembering your junior year of high school. The first time you sang in public was at your school’s annual talent show.

“You were nervous,” Taeyong noted.

“I wanted the earth to swallow me whole,” you said, “If it weren’t for Johnny being beside me of the stage, I never would’ve given myself the chance.” Johnny was one of the reasons why you became a singer. He believed in you. He was your truest friend.

Taeyong added, “He’s a great friend to you. I’m happy you have such good people around you.”

You rolled your eyes to avoid blushing. “You are so...Sweet that I’m about to get a cavity. I saw a dentist around the corner. I gotta bounce and get that filling.”

Taeyong chuckled. “I’m stating facts, y/n. Most of my friends are in LA so seeing you two makes me miss that...”

What about Yuta, you wondered. But something inside you made you decide not to mention it.

“I’m sorry,” you replied, “Maybe we spend too much time together?”

Taeyong froze. “What?”

“Taeyong, your life is basically work, me, and accumulating the best plush Pokémon collection.”

Taeyong gaped. “I resent that. Your life is basically work, me, and accumulating the best Pokémon card collection.”

“To conclude, we’re both nerds that need to get out more,” you said.

“But I love spending time with you. You’re my best friend,” Taeyong admitted.

You grabbed your paintbrush full of dandelion yellow paint and painted his arm. “Shut up.”

Taeyong grabbed his brush full of rose pink paint and painted your nose. “Cringe brings out cringe, babe.”

You painted each other and tried to restrict the mess to your table so Stella wouldn’t blacklisted either of you.

Taeyong traced magenta onto your side bang. You laughed as you finished painting your cake slice.

He just watched you for a moment. The sparkle of mischief in your eye when you stared at each other. The wondrous song that was your laugh. The matching Spongebob friendship rings you bought.

“y/n,” he said slowly. The sound of your name on his mouth sounded so lovely.

“Yeah?” You asked, focused on painting a corner carefully but peeking at his soft expression.

“I-“ Taeyong began.

And then his phone rang. He glared at his phone. He sighed.

He answered his phone, “Can it wait?”

The person on the other line replied.

Taeyong’s eyes grew. “I see. We’ll discuss it on Monday, Doyoung. Okay, thanks.” He hung up.

“What’s up?” You asked. Taeyong’s demeanor was unreadable.

He debated telling you about his latest job opportunity but he wanted to make sure he had all of the details before he brought it up with you.

“Remember how I told you it’s been a dream of mine to start up my own cinema chain?”

He told you on your first “date”. “Yeah.”

“Well, Doyoung and I are planning to lay the groundwork for our own movie theater. We just spoke to our last investor and we got the green light.”

“Your own movie theater?” You gasped. “Tae, that’s incredible!” You squeezed his hand.

He smiled softly and it quickly faded. “The thing is...”

“It’s not in Miami,” you finished, already having a feeling with the way he reacted over the phone.

He shook his head. “It’s in LA.”

“Oh,” you said.

He watched you carefully. “I’m sorry, y/n. I didn’t anticipate our plans developing so quickly. I wasn’t sure if it would happen. I’m so happy here with you. I would never want you to think-“

“Honey, it’s your dream,” you started, “I want this for you.”

“But...would it be too much for me to ask you to come with me? If not, could you handle long distance?” He worried about stressing you out. He thought he had more time.

You thought about it. You had a lot of doors opened for you that you had to consider. “I’m not sure. It all depends on who I sign with.”

Taeyong nodded.

You continued, “Can you wait for me to join you?”

Taeyong was surprised. “What?”

“I want to go with you. I just need some time to get my affairs in order. End things with the agency. Move out of my apartment. Say goodbye.”

Taeyong broke out into a smile, his soulful brown eyes squinting from cheesing so hard. “Really?”

You giggled. “You looking for a roommate?”

Taeyong reached over and kissed you. It almost felt like he said “I love you”.

Honestly, he didn’t even have to say it. You just knew.

;;

Choi Sooyoung’s wedding was in Miami Beach at the Grand SeasideHotel. The ceremony took place at the beach and the festivities were in the hotel ballroom. You began your set with a father and daughter dance. Then, you continued with love songs for the couple and the standard party ones for the whole group in attendance to get on the dance floor. Your rendition of Cha Cha Slide was one no one would forget.

You looked radiant. You wore a silver dress that went down to your heels. The beads gave a subtle rainbow effect that you glowed onstage. You sang Adele’s “One and Only”. A lot of couples slow danced.

Taeyong danced with Sonya.

“Better than Adele, right Taeyong?!” She asked.

Taeyong laughed. “I believed you when you said it the first time.”

He remembered Sonya mentioned the wedding singer Samantha and Yuta hired. Yuta wasn’t the only one who raved. The minute Samantha found your YouTube channel, she started spamming Taeyong with your videos.

Your cover videos were of just your voice. You hid in the shadows to give some mystery.

Taeyong began falling in love right then and there.

And then when he saw you for the first time, it was really over for him.

Sonya ran off to find her sister and Yuta joined Taeyong to watch you belt it out.

“Hey, she’s unreal, isn’t she?” Yuta asked.

Taeyong replied. “She’s...There are no words.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t signed with a label yet,” Yuta replied.

“Y/n is thinking of joining Epic,” Taeyong adds, “It’s funny, you know. I didn’t even think to invite someone from epic.”

Yuta blurted, “I’m guilty.”

“What?” Taeyong eyed him carefully.

“I invited the Epic Records exec.”

“Oh.” Taeyong is silent. How did Yuta think to invite your dream label and he didn’t?

It turned out that Yuta snuck a peak into your lyric journal that night at Starbucks when you excused yourself to go to the bathroom. He was curious to see what you’ve written. He did find a song about himself dated back 6 years ago. It was your catharsis for letting him go. But Yuta took a photo of the page and has read it over many times. He also found a page of your goals, which included possibly joining Epic Records one day. But Yuta would never admit that to Taeyong.

He wanted you to chase your dreams and achieve them. A phone call to his friends at Epic wasn’t a big deal to him. He wanted you two to be happy. He would simply hold onto the fact that at one point in time, you liked him.

“I have a friend at the label. You remember Kyla?” Yuta asked smoothly.

And with that, they resumed enjoying the party.

You performed “You’re The One That I Want” with Johnny, who went the extra mile and brought a leather jacket just for that song.

As you performed song after song, the buzz about you grew stronger and stronger, much to Samantha’s annoyance.

When you got a break, Taeyong led you to his table. He went to grab you some water and wedding cake. People passed you at the table, praising you and giving you their contact information because they wanted you at their next event.

When that was over, you took a deep breath and relaxed.

“You must be so happy.”

You froze at the sound of her serpentine voice. Samantha sat beside you.

You knew this wouldn’t go well.

“You have my half-brother wrapped around your little finger. It’s because of him, you’re on the verge of commercial success. You could have everything you want. Because of him.” She was very pointed when she said “because of him”. She wore a dark red party dress and her long nails matched. It was like she was out for blood. Yours, probably.

“Samantha,” you started.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re taking advantage of my brother.” She tapped her nails against her glass of champagne.

“Hold on just a second-“

“I wouldn’t put it past you since you never did quite get over your crush on Yuta.” Her hazel eyes turned into daggers.

You stayed silent. Waiting for her to finish her tirade before you ended her.

“I see the way you make those little first day freshman year eyes at him. It was cute, at first. Since he’s a major NBA player and one of the most influential men in the city. You were starstruck. After all, we went to high school with him. But it’s been months now. You’re dating Taeyong. He’s done nothing but shower you with the best. And what do you do? Look at my fiancé when Taeyong’s isn’t looking.”

“Are you finished?” You asked.

Samantha smirked. “For now.”

“I don’t know what gave you the impression that I was sweet on Yuta. I’ll admit seeing you two after seven years brought out old feelings. But they died when I met Taeyong. Ever since I met him, my life has been wonderful and adventurous and I feel like I’m on top of the world. Record deal or not. I’m happy where I am. Taeyong has done a lot for me and I’ll never let that go unappreciated. Is he helping me make my dreams come true? He always has. Since the first time he asked me to play something for him. Look, I haven’t told anyone this but I’ll let you be the first to hear it. I’m turning all of the labels down. Not to prove anything to you. But to prove to myself that I can make it without anyone’s help. So for you to say that I’m taking advantage of Taeyong? Well...you’re lucky to be Taeyong’s family.” Or else you wouldn’t have been courteous.

You got up from the table because you didn’t want to see Samantha’s stuck up face for at least an hour.

“Hey,” Taeyong said as he touched your arm. “Are you okay?” He noticed you looked flushed.

You nodded as you took the glass of water from Taeyong. You gulped most of it down. “My throat was getting dry but I’m good now!”

Taeyong grinned. “I can’t get enough of you, you know that? That cover of Cha Cha Slide is one for the history books.”

You rolled your eyes. “Put the cake down and dance with me.”

You two danced to Miracles Happen by Myra. Sooyoung was a big Princess Diaries fan. Taeyong spun you around and you tickled him when he least expected it. It was one of his weaknesses.

;;

Samantha didn’t realize Yuta heard what she accused you of.

“What is your problem?” Yuta asked.

“What do you mean?” Samantha snapped. “That little wedding singer has infiltrated our lives and I was just putting her in her place.”

Yuta groaned in frustration. “Leave y/n alone Sam.”

“Why are you so concerned about her? I’m trying to save my brother from getting his heart broken by that-“

Yuta dared her to finish that sentence. “I’m gonna stop you right there.”

“Why are you getting so defensive over her? Don’t tell me you still have a thing for her.” But she already knew that.

Yuta remained silent.

“Oh?” She exclaimed, egging him on.

Yuta gave her a pointed look. “Don’t give me that. It was never a secret and you knew it.”

Samantha seethed. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. She told me she loves Taeyong. And, in case you forgot, you’re marrying me. If you know what’s good for you.”

Reality sunk in even deeper for Yuta. He stormed off and hit up the open bar. He was mad he had to marry someone he didn’t love. And for what? Fame and success? An obligation to the Lees and Samantha’s biological father?

A small part of him hurt that the only girl he ever really liked was in love with someone else. That someone else being his best friend.

;;

You finished your set. You were going to meet Taeyong at the photo booth set up for the reception.

You both sat in the photobooth.

“What do you think? Duck faces?” Taeyong asked.

You knew the only answer was yes.

“Wait! I saw some more props closer to the entrance. I’ll be right back,” he said as he kissed your cheek and squeezed your cheeks. “You are so adorable. I think I can die and go to Heaven now.” He was definitely buzzed.

You laughed and then waited.

A few second later someone opened the curtain. You were shocked to see who it was.

“Yuta?” You asked him.

He was drunk out of his wits. His long hair was disheveled and at the sight of you, he ran his hands through it again.

He looked at you in adoration. “Hey.”

“Yuta, are you okay? I-“

Yuta moved in and the flashes could be heard. He kissed you sloppily. You could feel the vodka from his lips. Alarms were going off in your head. You panicked and pushed him away hard.

“Get off of me.” You said as you pushed past him out of the photobooth.

“Y/n, come back! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Yuta stayed in the photobooth, despondent.

;;

Neither you or Yuta realized that you left something very important behind at the photobooth.

But someone else did.

To Be Continued in Part 4

A/N: You thought I forgot. 😉 I had to revise one little detail in chapter 1. Y/N auditioned for Yuta and Samantha in September instead of April! Thanks for reading and especially thanks for waiting. 😭

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