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chaotic-mystery · 9 months

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Pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You thought moving back to Texas would be a start to start over in life and you could maybe mend your relationship with your dad, but things don’t ever turn out the way they should, do they? Especially now that Joel has to pick up the slack your dad left?

Content warnings: Smut if you squint but still my work is 18+ so mdni!, eventually we’ll have smutty filled chapters but it’s a slow burN PLS, swearing, reader has daddy issues, mean Joel, eventual enemies to lovers, reader has a brief fling w Tommy, mean!joel, Joel’s hater ass gf is rude to you, arguing, alluding to smut. Joel & reader smoke from time to time. Tell me if I missed anything.

Word Count: 3.7K

A/N: I’m so excited for this you have no idea. I’ve been wanting to do an enemies to lovers with dbf! Joel for awhile now so here it is! 🖤 tell me what you think, if you want to talk about it at all send me something in my inbox! Um also huge shoutout to everyone who helped me work on this (you know who you are) I love you guys so much okay?? 🖤

Moving back to Texas wasn’t really in your plan for life, but after your life fell apart and you needed a do over, the idea of going back home didn’t seem so bad. When your dad reached out and reminded you he's still at your childhood home, he surprised you when he said you could call him and he’d be there in a pinch. You weren’t super close with him anymore, hadn’t been for years. Sure, you called him every once in a while but that was about it. No holidays with him, not a single card on your birthday, but a call every so often sufficed for him. You were lucky enough to have found a house about forty minutes from his. It’s a cozy little two bedroom, just big enough to hold you, all your shit, and personal problems inside like a warm blanket.

With everything still packed away in your car, you figured the first stop should be his house. You knew if you didn’t stop to see him before doing anything, that would be something you’d hear about later on. As you make your way to the front door, you observe all the cars in his driveway. His truck is there, and your step-monster's car is there unfortunately, but whose truck was this one? The dark blue truck with tons of shit in the back? The nervous pit in your stomach grew rapidly the closer you got to the door, almost not wanting to knock. What if he really didn’t mean it, that you could come back home and he’d help where he could? With the what if’s running rampant in your head, you needed to calm the hell down before you go in there guns blazing, tripping over your words and making an ass out of yourself after all these years of being gone. You reach into your purse and grab your semi crushed pack of cigarettes you swore you’d stop smoking two packs ago and pull out a cigarette, lighting the end of it just enough to get it going. With your lips pursed to hold it in place while you tucked away the pack back in your purse, you rolled your eyes at the ugly welcome mat on the ground by the door. As the smoke rolled from your mouth, you grabbed the cigarette with two fingers and dangled it to the side, contemplating on going back to your house for the night. There was no way you could do this, not the first night here.

The front door swings open and someone comes stumbling out laughing, someone you’ve never met before. Slowly his laugh dies as he notices you standing there and he stands up straight, clearing his throat ready to speak. “Can I get a puff? Don’t got any on me, they’re in my truck.” His deep accent made you turn slowly to look at him straight on, passing your cigarette to him between your fingers. He grabbed it and took a deep puff, smoke creeping out from the corners of his mouth as he pulled the cigarette away from him. You noticed his curly hair and the way his brown eyes squinted at the setting sun that was making its way into your eyes.

“Is uh, Is Alan in there by chance? I noticed his truck is here but ya know..” you leaded on and puffed the cigarette once more before putting it out on the concrete and throwing it in the bushes like you used to in high school.

“Oh, uh yeah, he’s in there. He’s makin’ a fuckin’ mess in the kitchen right now trying to fry up some chicken, but he’s in there.”

“If you’ll just, excuse me, I’ve got some pressing matters to attend to.” You turned the handle on the screen door and took one last look at the broad shouldered guy and disappeared into your once childhood home that now felt so strange. “Hello? Anyone here?” You called out and made your way to the kitchen where his wife and your dad were standing there over the stove, grease popping everywhere. “Well Janet, god damnit I can’t get the chicken in the fucking pan if you keep grabbin’ my arm like that!” He hollered annoyed beyond belief and she scoffed loudly, throwing her hands in the air. “Oh Alan shove it up your ass, I jus’ don’t wanna get popped!” Glad to see nothing has changed. “Hellllooo! It’s nice to see you too!” You shouted over the bickering and they turned around in unison, shock washing over their faces. “Well, look who’s come back home….huh.” He didn’t seem too excited to see you, just the tone in his voice alone made you feel like that same little girl you once were, not paying you much attention when it came to anything.

The pit in your stomach was settling into anger now, angry at yourself for even coming here. You could’ve lived here for years before ever running into your father. He probably wouldn’t even recognise you at the grocery store had you not stopped here. His wife didn’t bother to greet you at all but that was no surprise. You didn’t like her and she wasn't crazy about you, that was for sure. “I just came by to grab your two wheeler to use to bring all my shit inside my house. Is it still in the garage?” His back was towards you, grease still popping everywhere. Before your dad even has a chance to answer, his wife butted in like she always does. “ “Well, no, that's for my brother to use this weekend. Sorry.” The smug look on her face was already driving you to go back outside and choke down another cigarette. “Dad?” Your head leaned to the side and you hoped his answer was different. It’s not like you were going to keep it, you’d bring it right back. “You heard Janet, can’t use it, sweetheart. M’sorry. Maybe Joel can help you move your stuff? I’m kinda busy at the moment.” Never once did he turn around to look at you. Shoving your tongue to the side of your cheek and biting on it, you nodded slowly and your brows furrowed.

“Who is Joel? Why are you pawning me off on your friends again, dad?” With tears stinging your eyes, you knew you had to get out and you had to get out fast. “Well, he’s here somewhere, think he stepped out to call his-”

“The hell are you on about ole man? I’m right here.” The man from earlier came strolling in, a smirk playing on his lips. Only now did you realize how much taller he was than you, your beautiful eyes looking up at his, hoping he’d look in your direction to help you in any way.

“Sweetheart, this is Joel. Joel, this is my daughter, the one I mentioned before.” The confusion on Joel’s face said everything you needed to know, he had no idea Alan had a daughter, much less two of them and you were the only one on speaking terms with the bastard. Joel looks at you finally and gives a soft smile, the sadness in his eyes telling a different story. Your dad turned around to speak to Joel but not to talk to you, that’s very telling given the situation. You grabbed your purse off the counter and started walking out, shoulder brushing against Joel's arm. “Well thanks for all the help you two, really appreciate it!” You slam the front door shut and walk to your car, shaking your head in frustration. The mix of emotions was overwhelming you, the angry tears spilling out now. How could you have been so stupid? Your dad didn’t change, he was never going to change. He’s still a coward behind his wife and letting her tell you what to do, still treating you like you were nothing. Joel came out a few minutes later, walking up to your car. He rubs his eyes and looks at you, a sigh coming from his lips. “So uh, your dad tells me you need help moving? He asked if I’d help ya and I’ve got a two wheeler in my truck, I can follow ya over there if I need to.” You sniffle and wipe your tears away, giving a dry laugh to Joel. “Thanks, but I don’t need it. I can get all my shit inside by myse-” “Where am I following you to, girl? Damn. Jus’ tell me so I can get on with my night, please?” Rude. You didn’t ask to be dumped onto this stranger yet here he was acting as if you wanted this, like that was your idea to ask your dad for Joel to help you. Without a word you get back in your car and put your sunglasses on, looking at Joel through the open window. “You plan on following me or are you just going to stand there and say you helped?” The sarcastic tone in your voice took him by surprise and he walked back to his truck, climbing inside and starting it. A tiny part of you wished if you drove fast enough you could lose him.

Joel steps out of his truck and scoffs at the location of your house. “Huh, I knew I was getting a neighbor but damn, didn’t think it was you.” You couldn’t have rolled your eyes fast enough at his snarky comment, he deserved more than an eye roll if you were being honest. “That’s nice, I’ll have yet another spy watching me to report back to my dad so he can tell me how much of a disappointment I am to him.” Putting your hands on your hips, you look at Joel who wasn’t bashful about hiding his attitude towards you.

“Darlin’ to be frank with you, I don’t give a shit what you do, as long as you don’t damage my house, touch my shit, or keep me up till the fuckin’ sun comes out. Got it?” He walks to the back of his truck and lays down the tailgate, revealing all his tools in the truck bed. Suddenly you didn’t want any help as you realized he’d see all of your belongings. All of your music records, the boxes labeled weird shit like ‘Kitchen tingz’ and all the trinkets in your clear kaboodle you managed to keep all these years. The two wheeler was stacked high with almost everything in the trunk, Joel’s look of annoyance growing with every new thing you stacked on top.

“Are we done yet? This won’t hold much more.” He grunts and shifts his weight to support the boxes and you nod, walking in front of him to unlock and hold open the door for him. With the lock clicking open and the front door swinging open, he pushes your stuff in and sets it flat on the floor, pulling his tool out from under the stack slowly. Joel wasn’t too much of an asshole considering he helps you dismantle the mountain he just brought in. Sorting what went where into piles, a head popped in the front door, someone you haven’t met. “Joel the hell are you doin’ over here?” A man with almost jet black hair grinning from ear to ear looks in your direction and chuckles before coming inside. Without turning to look at him, Joel groans and continues sorting the boxes. “M’ Tommy, nice to meet ya.” His strong hand wraps around yours and shakes it firmly for what felt like forever. Finally, someone around this place with some god damn manners and he’s good looking? Bonus. “Tommy. I’m just finishing up here if you wanna wait outside f’me.” His knees crack as he stands up, groaning slightly at the aching muscles in his tired back. Tommy’s eyes never left yours, his deep brown almost black eyes glowing just a tad in the setting sun. “We’re goin’ to the bar if you wanna tag along, I bet you’re hungry after movin’ all this in here, huh?” The playful smile never left his elated face, and you started to grow one on your lips yourself. This was what you needed, to forget about your entire day and go out with Tommy, and a not as enthused Joel.

“Yeah I’d love to. Wanna see what bars are good and which ones aren’t worth going to.” Joel cleared his throat and you snapped out of the trance-like state you were in, looking at the sweating man in your living room. “If we’re going, can we go now before it’s too late? Got work tomorrow.” He didn’t wait for an answer before walking outside and cutting across your yard into his to go back to his garage. Tommy extends out his arm towards the door, signaling you to go first. He was hot on your heels behind you as you locked the door, chit chatting about nothing too important while making it to Joel’s truck. He opens the door for you to climb inside and sit in the back with him, Joel sitting in the front like the sad grumpy old man he is. Good, serves him right being such an asshole. “Are you a fruity drink kind of girl?” Joel asked sarcastically as he whips his truck out of your driveway, heading down the street to some hole in the wall. The blank stare you give him in his rear view mirror makes him return one right back to you for a second before flicking back to the road. “No actually, I’m a tequila shot kind of girl, thank you.” The snarky tone you spit back at Joel makes Tommy stifle a laugh, his hand resting on your knee. The veins on the top of his hand raised slightly, just enough for your thumb to notice as you brush over it. He was cute enough to distract you from your issues at the moment, the gnawing feeling of anger in your stomach slowly subduing. Joel pulls into the parking lot of the bar and throws the truck in park, telling everyone to bail out before they get locked in. He hardly waits for you to get out before you can hear the lock clicking in the door. “So is this a bar you guys frequent? It’s kind of shitty looking, hope they have decent drinks.” You ask and walk inside, the bartender catching half your conversation. She glares at you and then at Joel, giving him a scoff. Tommy clears his throat and sits down on the stool next to you, his hands running along the bar.

“This is um- this is Joel’s girls bar. That was her, Michelle.” You could feel the tension as Joel looked straight ahead at the bottles on the shelf against the wall, no one saying a word. With your lips puckered out slightly, you somewhat nod and fold your hands together, trying to find just the right words to apologize to Joel with. Fixing your lips to speak, you barely get a word croaked out before he cocks his head to the side, putting a finger in the air. “Don’t.” Joel barked and flew off the stool to go find his girlfriend. The other bartender working took your drink orders, a round of tequila shots was the exact thing you needed right about now. You grab the wet glasses from her and hand one immediately to Tommy, his smile growing once more. “Here’s to um..” You thought about it for a second, Tommy holding the shot in the air as he waited patiently for you to finish your toast.

“To the good, the bad, and the ugly.” You had no idea where that came from, but it works. Knocking the glass on the bar, you both threw the warm liquid back and Tommy shivered as it traveled down his throat and into his system. He starts talking about this one time his friend ate shit from being knocked off a horse but all you could think about was Joel. You notice if you lean back just enough you could see him and Michelle arguing in the hallway where the bathrooms were tucked away into. She was yelling but it wasn’t audible from the jukebox booming through the speakers. Her flailing hands, veins popping from her neck, pointing over at you, it was so obvious she didn’t want you here with Joel, let alone the two of them. It wasn’t easy trying to pretend like you were listening to Tommy’s story and trying to read Joel’s lips but all you could make out from their argument was “I didn’t have a choice! Her dad dumped his shitty problems onto me!” At that point it was too much for you to keep paying attention to when that was truly how he felt about you. “Tommy, do you wanna dance? I like this song!” He barely hears you but nods and drags you to the dance floor, grabbing your hips to pull you onto him. Michelle was storming back to the bar, brushing her hair out of her face to gather herself before asking the next person what they wanted to drink. Now that Joel got his ass chewed out for even being around a different woman mind you, a woman who was so much younger than him, he moved his seat to the end of the bar, right in Michelle’s section. Leash is kind of tight, isn’t it Mr.Miller? You thought to yourself while you grind your hips into Tommy’s crotch, your arms wrapping behind his head. His cold beer touched the skin on your hip, dripping condensation down to the hem of your shorts. Had you really been zeroing in on Joel that whole time before you asked Tommy to dance that you were completely unaware he ordered a beer and took two more shots? The echoing music was thumping in your lungs and your brain, like it was melting away all of your worries momentarily.

Six songs in and you were panting for air, your sweaty body still tightly pressed against him as he grinds harder into you. “I’m gonna go ge-get some water, okay?” You shout at Tommy and he nods, chugging what was left of his beer. You didn’t have to stand next to Joel to get water but you did, just to irritate him more. “Are ya done now? I wanna go. Tired.” He grumbled, rocking his empty glass and forth to shake the ice. The fighting urge to say something smart mouthed messed with you but you figured you’d need him sooner or later and right about now he was more help than your own father. “Yep. We can go.” Chugging the water you wiped your mouth of droplets and exited the bar, glaring up at Michelle who was watching you like a hawk since the moment you walked near Joel. When you make it outside away from the door, you take out your smokes. Down to your last two cigarettes, you light one and take a deep hit, smoke filling your lungs all the way.

The city seemed so far away with how the lights twinkled in the horizon. Maybe you should’ve moved there, away from this, start over completely. Joel’s hand was balled into a fist with Tommy’s shirt in it, attempting to help him walk to the truck you were leaning against with your cigarette. “I can walk Joel, I’m just a little wobbly. S’all.” His soft giggle echoes the parking lot and Joel’s aggravation becomes increasingly clear as he tries to get his buzzed brother into the truck. “Put that out before you get in.” He mutters in front of you, getting behind the wheel with the keys in the ignition. You take one last puff and flick it in the gravel, climbing into the seat next to Tommy. His hand immediately finds your thigh and rubs on it with his thumb gradually going up towards the apex of your thighs. His sloppy wet kisses pressed against your neck make you giggle and lean into him more, the rush of excitement rushing to your panties. Something felt off though, maybe it was the fact Joel was once again staring into your soul from the mirror. Your eyes locked onto his as Tommy started to rub your clit through the light fabric, eliciting a moan from you.

All at once the truck comes to a complete stop, Joel jumps out and walks behind the truck to your side and opens the door. “Sit in the goddamn front seat right now. You aren’t about to do this in my truck. Now.” Seething with anger he nodded to the front seat and Tommy sighs, telling Joel he ruined all his fun. The two bickered a little as you climbed into the front seat, shooting daggers into Joel’s head with your eyes while you watched him get back in and proceed driving. Fuck him, you can do whoever you want, wherever you want.

Joel isn’t your dad, why does he care who you wanna bang? The drive fell short due to Joel speeding, just ready to get you and Tommy out of his hair for the night, you were so ready to get away from Joel fucking Miller. The feeling was mutual, that's for damn sure. With his truck parked in his driveway, he looked down at the floorboard on your side and asked if you’d be alright getting inside by yourself. “Why do you care, Joel? Thought I’m just one of my dads problems he dumped onto you?” You rudely threw in his face as you got out and adjusted your purse on your shoulder. He looked like a deer in headlights, almost impressed you could read lips that well. “Don’t worry Joel, I won’t bother you with anything anymore, I’ll ask Tommy.” That wasn’t true. You’d still ask Joel but you wanted to make him hurt for saying something he didn’t mean.

“Cmon baby, let’s go inside and hang for a lil while.” Tommy was tugging at your hand to follow inside your house but something about the way Joel’s face changed when he heard that made you feel bad for ever agreeing to hang out with them. “Cat got your fucking tongue, Joel?” You rhetorically ask and walk to your front door and slip inside, leaving him to sit in his car and think about his words. That night, Joel tossed and turned in bed due to the noise coming from your room between you and Tommy. Rule number three: broken.

#joel miller smut #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel tlou #dbf joel miller #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #dbf! joel smut #dbf! joel miller #dbf joel miller x f reader #enemies to lovers #the last of us hbo

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sephirthoughts · 4 days

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*Throws golden coin at you like you are a wishing well and I’m a poor country girl waiting for a miracle* Tell us more of your Valenwind thoughts/headcanons PLEASEEE I’m begging you!

OK but remember, you asked for it. *cracks knuckles*

Physical Stuff: -vincent is half chinese or whatever the FF equivalent is. nothing is ever mentioned about his mother so no one can prove he isn't. (just let me have this one SE) -vincent's cloak/cape and headband are not fabric, they are some kind of organic extension of himself, that he has control over. though sometimes the cloak just does things and vincent is unconscious of it, like a cat twitching its tail -because of his circulation issues, due to his heart being replaced with protomateria, vincent has severe orthostatic hypotension (stand-up dizzies). cid is used to just catching him as he pitches over and moving on, without remarking on it -vincent is a mass of scars and mutilations (replaced parts, missing organs, etc.) which is why he covers his body entirely from the neck down with all that leather armor and gloves. -cid is a huge fan of vincent's monster hand because it has claws and he loves back scratches

Sexy stuff below the cut. And more, I got a little carried away.

Sexy Stuff: -vincent is anxious bordering on panicked to show cid his body, at first, because he thinks it's hideous and repulsive, and honestly there's just a lot of shame associated with being the victim of torture and systematic medical abuse -what vincent does not know is how much cid loves scars. like he fucking LOVES them (to the point where it's almost a scar fetish) -the first time they sleep together, cid slowly undresses vincent, little by little, touches and kisses all his scars, sincerely and fervently adores all the parts of him he thinks are ugly and horrifying, and makes him feel beautiful for the first time in his life -when cid sees vincent completely naked, he tears up because he's so beautiful to him, and he can't believe he got this lucky

-HC adopted from @getvalentined: vincent's already impressive dick was lost or removed during hojo's butchering of his body, but much to hojo's chagrin, it grew back even bigger (my own addition is some slightly monstrous characteristics) -cid is well above average in the dick department (note to self, change ask box title to dick department) but he can't help comparing himself to vincent and feeling a little intimidated

-vincent is a temperate and reserved person, but because of something to do with his chaos-induced fuckery, ever so often he goes fucking FERAL (almost like he's in heat), and cid is the lucky beneficiary of this. he winds up with bite wounds and claw scratches all over his body, over which vincent agonizes, while cid calls them battle scars and proudly flaunts them

Because reasons: -sometimes vincent pulls his hair up into a ponytail, removes the cape and headband, and just wears ripped up black jeans and a faded old black tank top. no one has ever seen him like this, aside from cid, because he has never been able to keep this ensemble on his person long enough to leave the house in it

Family Stuff (I don't usually do kids in fic, but i think these two would be cute with one) -shera is the bro of all time and is their surrogate when they have a baby -projected rendering of what the baby will look like, created by the friend group:

-cid and vincent did that thing where they mixed the sperm donations because they didn't want to know who would 'really be the father' cloud: [looking at their black-haired, crimson-eyed baby] uh…

-their daughter is named olivia. vincent calls her olivia. that is her name. -cid settles firmly and immovably on ollie, which everyone else winds up calling her too

-causing several people to lose egregious sums of money in the group betting pool, ollie's first word is not 'fuck'. that is her second word. her first word is papa. well it was 'bapa' but cid insists that counts

-baby ollie doesn't like anyone besides her daddies but cloud, and sticks herself to him like a little leech whenever he's around cid: hey ollie, who am i [points to self] ollie: bapa cid: who's that [points to vincent] ollie: dada cid: who's that [points to cloud] ollie: mama cid: no--

-sephiroth is vincent's biological child and he has just learned from cloud that he has a little half sister sephiroth: [appears, looks down at the crimson-eyed toddler with deep disdain] i'm still the oldest, so don't get any ideas about taking my place. i'll always be the pinnacle of our genetic-- ollie: gege sephiroth: [kneeling in front of the play swing] here is your juice box, is there anything else you want, my princess? say the word and gege will get it for you. is there anywhere you want to go? anyone you want killed? no? well, you can hardly have enemies at your age, but when you acquire some, come to gege and he'll take care of them for you.

-late one night sephiroth: [appears standing over cid and vincent's bed] cid and vincent: GAAAH! sephiroth: my sister has been crying for twelve seconds, unanswered. DO YOU WANT HER TO HAVE NEGLECT TRAUMA? cid: [grumbling as he clambers out of bed] neglect trauma i'm aboutta have sephiroth jump scarin me in my goddamn house trauma vincent: ….sister?

-they put both surnames on her birth certificate, to give ollie a choice whose surname she wants to use -one day, when she's older, she comes home with her newly printed ID documents reading "Olivia Valenwind" -both dads come down with a sudden case of chopping onions

**i just realized some people might not know that "gege" (pronounced like guh-guh) is mandarin affectionate for "big brother"

@a-schrodingers-fox I hope that was worth your gold coin! NO REFUNDS!

#ff7 #valenwind #vincent valentine #cid highwind #cloud strife #sephiroth #ff7 vincent #final fantasy 7 #ff7 rebirth #ff7 remake #head canons #for funsies #kid stuff #shera is a bro #this is so cutesy i made myself a little nauseous

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ipsen · 11 months

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Eto Character Analysis

Big long post coming. Couldn’t help myself.

Admittedly, I’m mostly stealing from this post from the old ages (it’s crazy good and turned Eto into my favorite character), so you can read that and honestly get the same information. But I figured I’d take a swing at the behemoth myself.

Also wanna preface the analysis with the fact that I’m using the official translations as my source, as I can’t access the original scans and also couldn’t read them even if I did (cursed by monolingual tendencies).

Under the cut!

Eto is, unfortunately, a character that is built mainly on subtext crammed into very few chapters. Figuring her out is very difficult and a lot of her more nuanced traits can go over most people’s heads (it’s easy to call her insane, for example, and while she does have a few issues up in the old cranium, i’d hardly call her that).

The most important thing about Eto to keep in mind when discussing her is that she has been failed, and as a result of that, she also believes that she has failed those around her.

Her father left her in what is basically a literal shithole, especially for a baby. Her mother, though she died without really knowing Eto, did leave a journal behind, and Eto’s singular insight to the work regarding herself is that she is just a “byproduct,” and her foster parent got killed (presumably) protecting her from V, punting her to an orphanage where she’d have to steal money to survive (see: re 62), and presumably pretty often at that.

She got insanely lucky with the writer gig and shiono, who-- side note-- means a lot to her. Finally, a positive adult figure in her life! Unfortunately, he is a) only human, and b) her editor/coworker, so his positive influence, while welcome, is limited. still, she picks up his cute little hand gestures and I, personally, appreciate that (see: re 62 and compare it to TG 114).

Just the greatest.

Where was I... Ah, Eto being failed by those around her. And where does that leave her? Look no further than TG 98:

“A replacement is merely a replacement.” Eto doesn’t believe in found family, because she never actually found one.

And within the context of this chapter, we learn another thing about Eto. Whenever she interacts with someone and “breaks” them (the Yasuhisas, Kanae), she heavily projects onto them (because she recognizes their situation; notice how she only ever targets people who are both relatable to her and weaker than her) and breaks apart the “lie” the target tells themself, even if it isn’t entirely accurate:

(re 43) This is a false statement; Kanae does wish for Shuu to recover, he’s just upset it’s happening like this. Because who wouldn’t be, in his situation? Despite everything that he and the others did for Shuu, the only thing able to bring him out of his depression is the very thing that caused it. But I digress.

Back on track, there’s also Haise’s analysis of her work, the most personal thing she has, to consider when discussing her in re 39:

Once again, the void rears its ugly head.

Hopelessness. Emptiness. Filling it with anger and bitterness, and it’s never enough, but it’s all she has. Because the void can only be filled by the things she can never have.

So she throws herself at the CCG, banging her head against its walls with small raids alongside some fellow ghouls and then taking on the special investigators by herself. She’s 14, she’s a kakuja, and she’s mad. Mad at the world that failed her, mad at V for making it the way it is, and mad that things haven’t changed for a very long time. She has Ukina’s journal; she knows how stale the “narrative” is.

Of course, her raids don’t work very well, but she’s basically just a kid. She is as old as Hinami during TG.

Then, she’s finally thrown a bone, and is worse off for it:

Something I’ve noticed when factoring Arima’s influence into Eto’s character is that there is an assumption that the power dynamic between them is equal. It isn’t. I cannot stress this enough; there is a hierarchy at play here, and Eto isn’t the one on top. How do we know this?

(TG 139)

(re 52)

Kaneki was the new toy to replace Eto, the old one.

The ultimate plan is “the One-Eyed King will destroy the egg of V’s world and make something new.” By the time Kaneki does take the throne, this plan has been going on for 13 years. Kaneki was chosen as a candidate at the ten-year mark; he had to have been a non-factor before then. So who is left to become the king instead?

Eto.

The age difference between her and Arima is roughly 4-5 years. Remind you of another relationship?

(TG 14)

Uh-oh.

To reiterate, Eto is a 14-year old kid who has been abandoned by everyone who could possibly love her the way she wants. She desires parental love, protective love, the kind of love that makes her feel safe, when she has only ever fought to defend herself.

Enter someone who is far stronger than she could ever be, someone who could actually offer her the protection she so desperately wants. Unfortunately, Kishou Arima is the endgame mindset of Black Reaper Kaneki, to put it simply: someone who is impossibly distant, wants to die, and craves the approval of everyone.

Let’s expand on Arima for a brief moment. “Craves the approval of everyone,” specifically. He is both the One-Eyed King and the greatest ghoul investigator that ever lived. He doesn’t pick one or the other, and when he dies, he doesn’t have to pick. He is mourned by the CCG, and Kaneki, ever a puppet in someone else’s game, carries on his legacy and “wish“ for coexistence.

Eto is no exception to his godly levels of charisma. She is one of Hinami’s foils, and we know how quickly and easily she latched onto Kaneki. It’s safe to assume that something similar happened with Eto and Arima.

And Eto failed him. She doesn’t become king; someone else does. Someone very similar. And yet, when faced with this new person:

(re 56)

Well, then.

Eto also does everything in her power to give Kaneki the information he needs to break the eggshell. She freely gives away information about V, the Washuu’s involvement with them, the connection to the CCG, everything. Or as much as she can give him while under Cochlea’s surveillance.

So what’s the game here? Why does she support Kaneki, the one who basically stole Arima's approval, something everyone around him wants, from under her nose? Better yet, why is she aiding the search for her “replacement” in the first place? Because remember, even before Kaneki registered on her radar for a candidate for the OEK, she and Aogiri were searching for Kanou, the one-eyed ghoul maker specialist man. Aogiri wanted to use Kanou to make as many possible candidates beyond just Kaneki. So even without Kaneki in the picture, Eto wants a replacement. She wants this. Why?

Well, here’s what I think she actually wants:

(re 53)

There’s no other explanation that I can think of for why she would willingly get herself arrested and leave Aogiri to be fully exterminated on Rushima (the One-Eyed Owl totally could have turned the tables of that battle). She’s only lived as long as she has because she doesn’t want to leave anything unsaid. This is also the reason why she reveals herself as a ghoul as Takatsuki; she’s effectively destroying her own career while simultaneously giving V a huge middle finger.

This desire to close off everything she’s built up until now and pass the torch to Kaneki is also represented in her haircut; she’s literally shedding her burdens to give to someone else. Someone similar to her, but kinder than her. Better than her.

(re 52)

I’ve said what I’ve come to say. Thanks for reading!

#tokyo ghoul #eto yoshimura #sen takatsuki #tg meta #tokyo ghoul meta

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grabyourluck-blog · 1 year

Text

Life is Short... Seize the Day!

New Post has been published on https://www.referral-master.com/life-is-short-seize-the-day/

Life is Short... Seize the Day!

Don’t be alarmed, but right now I want to shake you by the shoulders and slap you silly… Because I suspect you’re fast asleep at the wheel of life.

Well I have news for you, and I’m sure you’ve heard it before but maybe, just maybe this is the time when you finally sit up and take notice and start making some real changes in your life, because…

Life Is Too @#$Z&% Short!

Remember when you were a child and you believed life just goes on and on and on?

And now here it is, barely a few minutes later (or so it seems) and you discover that a major chunk of your life is now forever gone.

What the heck happened to it??? Did you blow it like someone blowing money on the horses? Or did you make the most of every moment?

There are millions of people who struggle just to make it through the day. They’re in jobs they hate, lives they don’t like doing things that hold no interest for them. And yet the clock ticks for them as it does for the rare person who is completely happy and content doing what they love to do.

Doberman Dan wrote something that fascinated me. I don’t know where he got these numbers, but they’re enough to shake awake anyone slumbering through life:

You’ve got 78 years on this earth, statistically speaking.

You spend 1/3 of that time sleeping so that leaves you with 49 and 11 months of “awake” years.

Subtract hours in school and that leaves you with 46 years and 4 months of your life remaining.

Subtract 91,000 hours on a job and you’ve got 35 years and 11 months remaining.

Subtract time driving, running errands, brushing your teeth, etc., and you’re now down to 32 years and two months.

Subtract eating, drinking, shopping, etc., and you’ve got 25 years and 10 months left.

Subtract chores and you’re down to 20 years and 1 month.

Subtract taking care of children and family, along with watching TV, playing video games and wasting time on the Internet and you’re now down to 9 years and 6 months of your life remaining.

78 years on this planet (if you’re lucky) and only 9 of them are yours.

See what I mean? Life is too @#$Z&% short.

Life is too short to let fear rule. Open your mind, arms and heart to new things and people. Take a chance, push through fear, let go of guilt, break down your goals to achievable steps and get moving TODAY.

Life is too short to be unhealthy. Get moving and get active and stop eating crap food, especially if you want to make it to 78+ and enjoy the journey.

Life is too short to be full of regrets, just as it’s too short to dream about your ‘glory days.’ You can’t start the next chapter of your life if you keep re-reading the last one.

Life is too short to be a slob. If you’re disorganized then you’re wasting time looking for things and wasting more time not doing the things you want to be doing.

Life is too short to be negative. Yes, occasionally negativity seeps in. But when negativity rears its ugly head you’ve got to beat it back with everything you’ve got, and never under any circumstance do you invite it in or ask it to make itself at home.

Life is too short to deal with or even think about rotten people. Are you worried about what that nasty person said about you? Why????? Life is too short to stress yourself with people who don’t even deserve to be an issue in your life.

Life is too short to keep up with the neighbors. Do you care how many new cars or televisions they have? I can’t think of anything more irrelevant than what the neighbor blew money on today.

Life is too short to be in a job you hate. If you’ve never had a job you hated, all the words in the world couldn’t explain this to you. But for the other 95% of people who know what I’m talking about, no explanation is necessary.

Life is too short to be poor. Yes, you might start out poor and that certainly isn’t your fault. But there comes a time when your finances are exactly what you make of them. There is nothing noble about being poor – it’s like having a ball and chain around your throat that stops you from living the life you want and instead wraps you in layers of stress and anxiety. If you don’t have the money you want, then get busy and make it. And yes, I do believe Internet Marketing is still hands down and bar none the best way a person can go from poverty to wealth in a relatively short amount of time (2 to 10 years.)

You and I and every single person we love is terminal – it’s just a matter of time. And every day we have a little bit less of that.

I’ll let the quote master Mark Twain have the last words…

“Life is short, Break the rules. Forgive quickly, Kiss SLOWLY. Love truly. Laugh uncontrollably. And never regret ANYTHING That makes you smile.” – Mark Twain

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icinch · 1 year

Text

Life is Short... Seize the Day!

New Post has been published on https://www.cinchhomebiz.com/life-is-short-seize-the-day/

Life is Short... Seize the Day!

Don’t be alarmed, but right now I want to shake you by the shoulders and slap you silly… Because I suspect you’re fast asleep at the wheel of life.

Life Is Too @#$Z&% Short!

Remember when you were a child and you believed life just goes on and on and on?

And now here it is, barely a few minutes later (or so it seems) and you discover that a major chunk of your life is now forever gone.

What the heck happened to it??? Did you blow it like someone blowing money on the horses? Or did you make the most of every moment?

Doberman Dan wrote something that fascinated me. I don’t know where he got these numbers, but they’re enough to shake awake anyone slumbering through life:

You’ve got 78 years on this earth, statistically speaking.

You spend 1/3 of that time sleeping so that leaves you with 49 and 11 months of “awake” years.

Subtract hours in school and that leaves you with 46 years and 4 months of your life remaining.

Subtract 91,000 hours on a job and you’ve got 35 years and 11 months remaining.

Subtract time driving, running errands, brushing your teeth, etc., and you’re now down to 32 years and two months.

Subtract eating, drinking, shopping, etc., and you’ve got 25 years and 10 months left.

Subtract chores and you’re down to 20 years and 1 month.

Subtract taking care of children and family, along with watching TV, playing video games and wasting time on the Internet and you’re now down to 9 years and 6 months of your life remaining.

78 years on this planet (if you’re lucky) and only 9 of them are yours.

See what I mean? Life is too @#$Z&% short.

Life is too short to be unhealthy. Get moving and get active and stop eating crap food, especially if you want to make it to 78+ and enjoy the journey.

Life is too short to be full of regrets, just as it’s too short to dream about your ‘glory days.’ You can’t start the next chapter of your life if you keep re-reading the last one.

Life is too short to be a slob. If you’re disorganized then you’re wasting time looking for things and wasting more time not doing the things you want to be doing.

Life is too short to keep up with the neighbors. Do you care how many new cars or televisions they have? I can’t think of anything more irrelevant than what the neighbor blew money on today.

You and I and every single person we love is terminal – it’s just a matter of time. And every day we have a little bit less of that.

I’ll let the quote master Mark Twain have the last words…

“Life is short, Break the rules. Forgive quickly, Kiss SLOWLY. Love truly. Laugh uncontrollably. And never regret ANYTHING That makes you smile.” – Mark Twain

0 notes

love-minor-poltergeist · 3 years

Note

I loved the chubby reader headcannons, if you don't mind could you do one for mr wheezy and Cagney Carnation, and the devil? Sorry if it's a tad too much to ask for three! I hope you're having a cool day!

A/N: I have to say that this was a lot of fun to write! Wheezy is always a treat to write, and though I already wrote some headcanons for the Devil, I made sure to sprinkle in some additional ones I could think of for him!

As always, be sure to let me know if you’d ever like me to redo this batch of HCs!!

Mr Wheezy w/ a Chubby S/O:

Wheezy, true to his perverted nature, had shamelessly gawked at your body the first time he saw you. From your softer, rounded face, all the way down to your thick thighs and the cute pudge of your middle, you already had him smitten.

Incredibly outspoken about how beautiful/handsome he thinks you are-- and will gladly shout it out for all to hear. He wants everyone to know how lucky he is!

He’s a pretty hefty fellow himself, so Wheezy can empathize with any chubby person problems you have (not finding any cute clothes your size, thigh-chafing/chub rub, etc). He’ll try to cheer you up with a simple “well, doll, at least you’re smaller than me” before pulling you into his warm side.

Calls you a myriad of food-related nicknames (“It’s ‘cause you’re cute enough to eat, sugar.”). Which include, but are not limited to Dumpling, Sugar, Babycakes, etc. Also jokingly includes “sugartits”, among other dumber ones.

The cigar’s incredibly handsy with you— you can’t just tempt him by looking like that and expect him to behave himself. He loves to squeeze your hip or your butt at any chance he has.

And if he’s feeling bold, Wheezy will slap you on the ass when you least expect it. It may earn him a slap in the face in return, but watching the plump flesh jiggle upon impact is 1000% worth it.

If you ever let him use your lap as a pillow, it’s official: you now have him wrapped around your finger. He’ll do whatever you want if it means he gets to rest his face into those glorious thighs.

Though be warned-- Wheezy will try to cop a feel as he exaggeratedly groans in your lap.

Cagney Carnation w/ a Chubby S/O:

Growing up, Cagney had been surrounded by a variety of plant life, each meticulously molded and sculpted from the tender hand of the earth to draw out the beauty of each form. From the steady, statue-Esque trees to the frail yet bright flowers of his field, Cagney approached your build with the same mindset: it came with its strengths, and it came with its weaknesses. However, since you managed to worm your way into his heart, you’ve only become a lot more beautiful to him.

With that said-- Cagney can’t help but marvel at your chubbier form. You’re the complete opposite of him in every sense of the word. Whereas he was all sharp lines and rail-thin, you were all gentle curves and rounded edges. It’s quite the visual treat for him.

Sometimes, you’d catch the carnation staring at you-- awe-struck and eyes full of gentle yearning. He’d flush and cough before turning away, but you can still see him admire you from the corner of his eyes.

Likes to trail long, leafy fingers across any stretch marks you have. Whether they are purple, red, or any color within the rainbow, it’s enough to faintly remind Cagney of the vibrant patterns he’s seen on flower petals. He’s able to find beauty within every one of your blemishes-- even if you sometimes can’t.

Cagney naturally runs pretty cold. And you’re extra soft and warm-- can he make it any more obvious? He’ll use you as his makeshift heating pad, and he’s extra cuddly with you. He especially likes to tucks his face into the crook of your neck and wrap his thin arms around you-- his quiet purr vibrating against your throat.

Growing up, Cagney spent a lot of his youth being harassed by his cousins and some of the larger residents; and as a result, he’s built a tolerance towards most insults. Insults towards him? The most they’ll get is a withering glare before he rolls his eyes and turns around to water his flowers. Insults toward you? They’re on thin ice.

And if the perpetrator manages to make you cry or make you feel ugly… Well, it’s their funeral.

If you ever decide to wear shorts, Cagney will combust. He already has a habit of staring at you normally but the moment he’s met with your exposed legs, it’ll take every ounce of self-control not to gawk. Though, from the number of times you caught him staring (and at your butt, no less..), he isn’t very good at it.

Tease him at your own risk. You’re laughing at his embarrassment now, but he’s going to get back at you one of these days….

The Devil w/ a Chubby S/O:

It’s hard to find any cute clothes your size-- most of your options were either pretty bland or they were usually pretty expensive. However, that becomes an issue of the past so long as you’re on the Devil’s arm. Anything you want, you’ll get. Though, be warned: the demon will try to sneak in more revealing/risque articles of clothing into your wardrobe… You’re aren’t obligated to wear them, but if you do, you’ll have a very pleased demon on your hands.

As much as he loves you, your boyfriend is still a devious son of a bitch. One of his favorite ways to tease/mess with you is to suck hickeys/bite into your tummy; never hard enough to draw blood, but just enough to draw a startled yip from your lips. Your glares will only be met with a smug, cat-ate-the-canary grin.

#my writing #reader insert #x reader #various x reader #chubby reader #Headcanon #cuphead dont deal with the devil #Cuphead #gender neutral reader #gender-neutral reader #mr wheezy #mr wheezy x reader #cagney carnation #cagney carnation headcanons #cagney carnation x reader #The Devil #ch the devil #ch the devil/reader

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strawwritesfic · 3 years

Text

Brock Rumlow x Female!Former SHIELD Agent!Reader: Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Fried

Summary: All old flames grow cold eventually–Excepting, of course, yours.

Rating/Warnings/Tags: T (bad language, torture, physical abuse, beating, brainwashing, post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier)

Fic Trade Prompt: “Don’t make my job too easy~ ;)” Plus, I got to pick the character to write for this time around.

Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Fried

You awoke with a start in complete darkness with one hell of a headache pounding through your skull. Where you were and how you’d got to wherever that was you didn’t know, but it didn’t feel like you’d come along willingly. A multitude of invisible cuts stung up and down your body; your stomach felt as though it had had its contents punched out of it recently; and maybe you couldn’t see to confirm this, but you were pretty sure your left eye was swollen shut. Worst of all, every cell inside of you felt dry and hot and buzzy, as though you’d spent the evening before playing test subject for a new line of Tasers.

But what had happened mattered very little in comparison to your present predicament. You could catalog injuries once you were definitely safe. It didn’t take long for you to decide that your current location wasn’t that. Straining your ears, you heard nothing. No hum of electricity. No faint whir of a security camera. No chattering from anyone keeping guard. Eerie, you thought, until you decided to stand up…

…and found your arms clamped tightly to a couple of armrests. You had not realized that you were sitting down in an actual chair until you were unable to lift your wrists. Try as you might, no matter what angle you used, the restraints wouldn’t budge. Your ankles were in a similar state. Gritting your teeth, you mentally prepared to dislocate the bones. Nothing you hadn’t done before, but never a pleasant prospect. On the count of three. Three…two–

“Good morning,” came a deep voice from another corner of the room, “sweetheart.”

The sudden appearance of someone in your cell was not what caused you to freeze. No, you only stopped your attempts to get loose because you recognized the voice. You squinted into the dark. Still you could hear no breathing, see nothing further than the pitch black two inches from your nose. But then again, this man should have been a ghost.

“Brock?” you asked, voice raspy. Sounded (and felt) like you’d been smacked in the trachea, too.

A rumble of laughter answered you, but no footsteps. “I don’t go by that name anymore. But it’s good to hear you haven’t forgotten me entirely. Thought you might have, the way you’ve been treating me.”

Those three sentences were all it took to force the shock out of your system and flood it instead with frustration and anger. You clenched your fists into useless balls, rattling your cuffs as you did.

“I haven’t been treating you any way,” you said. “Not since INSIGHT. Not since Hydra.”

You glared in the direction from which Brock’s voice had issued, but still you could see no sign of him. Wherever you were, there were no windows. He had to be there, though; you hadn’t heard him move away or out. Sure enough, when he spoke again, he sounded close by:

“Don’t pretend that you leaving had anything to do with either of those.”

“Oh yeah? And why else would I leave you? Because you’re such a wonderful person, I’d be a fool not to stay?”

This time, the silence that stretched out after your final question lasted long enough for you to start wondering if Brock really was in there with you. He always did know how to stay silent and still–a boon working as the head of STRIKE–but even he had to shift sometimes, even he had to breathe. Maybe he had an intercom rigged up. You tried to hold your breath to listen for him again to no avail. Then you did hear a breath, a long, rattling almost laugh.

“Oh, I don’t know.” A click sounded just before the room was flooded with light. Your eyes snapped shut to avoid the pain that surged through your already throbbing head for what little good that did. “How about this?”

It took you a few seconds to force your eyelids back open. Sure enough, your left would hardly move. Through what remained of your field of vision, you could not see much through the sudden haze of light–not much outside of a dark shape in the corner of the huge room, that was. You blinked, and the figure came into focus: a dark-haired man sitting against a wall of security deposit boxes, and wearing thick, dark armor. As soon as your gaze reached his face, Brock grinned.

“Normally I wear the mask.” He stood, gesturing to a helmet sitting by his feet. It, too, was black, but with a skull blasted across its face in white paint. Then Brock kicked the mask to the side and strode purposely over to where you were clamped to the chair. “But I don’t need to wear it for you. No secrets between us, [Name]. Isn’t that right?”

Up close, you could see his features better even through your damaged eye. However you looked, you definitely looked better than Brock. His face was a twisted mass of reddened flesh. As you took his new appearance in, he drew closer, leering down at you. You shrank away, but all this did was make him chuckle.

“I thought so. Couldn’t stand to be with someone so ugly, could you?”

You swallowed thickly. “I didn’t see that before I left.”

Brock laughed again. “You’re a damn shitty liar. Always have been. You think I didn’t know? You think I was deaf and dumb under all those bandages? You think I had any delusions that my girl would stay by my side after Captain America demolished a building on top of my fucking face?!”

His voice rose in volume and intensity, and with each sentence, he thrust himself further into your personal space. You made yourself stay in place, though your heaving chest betrayed your fears.

“I left because you were working with Hydra, Brock,” you said, willing your voice to stay even. “Because I don’t want to be with a terrorist–”

“Terrorist!” he shouted, and for one blessed moment he stepped away from you. Unfortunately, he was soon back and closer than ever, his nose practically pressed to your own. “I’m a mercenary, sweetheart. I work for the highest bidder, and don’t you go pretending you’re not just the same as me.”

“I’m not like you. I don’t work for Hydra. I don’t work for SHIELD anymore either. I’m doing real work, good work, with the–”

“With the Avengers. Yeah. I heard.”

Despite his claims to have already known about your present employment, Brock appeared put off by the news. He turned away from you, pressed his hand to his mouth, and shook his head. You took advantage of his distraction to again attempt to get at least one hand out of your shackles. Too bad they seemed to be made for someone much, much stronger than you.

And then Brock was back, smiling so widely that his eyes turned to half-moons inside their scarred lids.

“I was good to you, wasn’t I? Brought you flowers, like a good boyfriend. Took you out for dinner. Walked you home from work, cuddled with you at night, bought your goddamn tampons! And what did it get me? What good did any of that do?”

To that you had no proper response. All you could do was stare, captivity momentarily forgotten in the light of the dawning realization that your ex-boyfriend had gone completely insane. Yes, Brock had done all of those things for you, for years. You had been happy with him for all those years. You had thought you’d been lucky to be with the guy that headed STRIKE, one of SHIELD’S golden boys, the most handsome man in the whole organization. All the same:

“I don’t date Nazis,” you snarled.

“Is that what you think I was? A Nazi?” Brock shook his head, but then seemed to drop the subject, his mind wandering as his dark eyes traveled up above your head. “Never let the higher ups take you in, either. Wasn’t like they didn’t want to. Good enough to be an Avenger, Agent [L Name]. Could’ve had you conditioned by someone who knew what they were doing, and we would have never been in this mess.”

“What mess?” you asked, if only to keep Brock talking. A little further, and you thought you might have a chance of dislocating your wrist just enough to slip out of Brock’s restraints.

Brock said nothing.

“Brock,” you said once more, “what mess?”

He seemed to only then remember you were there. His eyes drew slowly down until he was staring right into yours, seemingly oblivious to your desire to get free. “

Tell me you still love me, [Name],” he said, sounding almost normal.

“Excuse me?”

“Tell me you still love me,” he repeated. “Tell me you still love me, and none of this has to happen.”

“None of what has to happen?”

“Just tell me that you’ll take me back! The rest of it doesn’t matter. Just tell me that you still love me!”

You mustered all of your energy, looked Brock dead in the eye, and spat in his disgusting face. He froze.

“The man I fell in love with was just that–a man.,” you said breathlessly. “What are you? Some burnt shell, that’s all that left. Not even enough courage to take me on face to face. You’re pathe–”

One thickly gloved hand shot out viper-fast and put your jaw in a vice grip. Brock’s lips pulled back into a snarl that gave way to another laugh that raised the hairs on the back of your neck.

“Careful, [Name]. I brought you here to kill you. Don’t make my job too easy.” He winked, a gesture that you did not return. His smile faded as his fingers gripped your chin even tighter. “Either you’re leaving here mine, or you ain’t leaving here at all.”

“And what is that supposed to mean? You’ve been babbling since you got me here. Tell me what your plan is, if you’re so proud of it.”

He considered you for a long moment–too long. Your jaw ached; you could feel his fingers pressing bruises into your skin. At last, he released you, then gestured up to where he had been looking only a few minutes before.

“You’re sittin’ in a real special chair, darling,” he said as your own eyes traveled upward.

Your heart gave a great thud as you realized exactly where you were. You’d seen the Winter Soldier’s files, and unless you could get out of there, you were screwed.

“Brock–”

“See, this here bank’s a front for Hydra,” Brock went on as though he couldn’t hear you. Who knew? He was far gone enough that maybe he couldn’t. “But they dropped it like a hot potato after Rogers fucked over Project INSIGHT. Once upon a time, they used to strap Cap’s old war buddy into this and fry the living daylights out of his skull. Only saw it done a few times myself, but how hard could it be?”

“You wouldn’t.”

His new, predatory smile returned. “Wouldn’t I? How do you know I haven’t already done it? That’s what this setup is for, after all. Memory loss. And I want you back pretty damn bad.”

He had a good point. Your head definitely felt like it had been put through the ringer–but unless a lot more time had passed than your body could account for, you still had all your memories. In fact, you had enough memories to know that you weren’t about to beg this man for your life.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” you said in as dangerous a voice as you could muster.

Brock ignored you, walking over to where a very obvious lever had been installed near your chair. Before you could say anything more, he pulled it, and your chair–Bucky’s chair–shifted slowly backwards. The mechanism above your head jolted to life, then drifted down toward your head. Only then did Brock answer you:

“Who’s gonna come for you? SHIELD? Don’t make me laugh. They know about us. They’ll think you were in on it all along. A Nazi terrorist, just like you said. Always spouting the company line. And the Avengers?” Here he did laugh. “Think they got better things to care about than where you slipped off to in the middle of the night. Never got in the habit of staying in one place too long, did you?”

He was right. He was right, and what was worse, begging was beginning to seem a better and better option the longer the whirring in the chair went on. You rattled your wrists, rattled your ankles, arched your back to strain with all your strength against your bonds, but nothing moved or loosened. Of course it didn’t. This machine was built for a super soldier. What were you compared to Bucky Barnes?

Brock Rumlow’s haunting laugh started up again in nearby. His hand reached out to press your shoulder back hard against the backrest.

“Don’t worry so much, [Name],” he said. “I might not have the finesse to pick and choose what you forget, but it’ll all be over soon either way. When you wake up, we’ll either be back together or–well, you’ll believe that we are when I tell you. I’ve got big plans for us. Real big plans.”

You opened your mouth to retort. How, you didn’t really know–but any possibility of a retort vanished the very next second. All that came out of your lips was a scream as the surge of electricity from HYDRA’s brainwashing device slammed into your head. You opened your mouth again, and let out another scream. Brock chuckled one last time before he gave your shoulder a final squeeze.

“Welcome back to the dream team, [Name],” he said, but Brock Rumlow had vanished from your thoughts. The whole world had vanished from your thoughts. If you weren’t lucky, neither of them were ever coming back. Everything from there on out was pain and order, order and pain.

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mannien · 3 years

Text

Mornings in Sheffield Park | TH - CHAPTER 1

The one with stress, takeout food around the world, late night walks, and Disney dreams.

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: some stress, some anxiety, mention of sex, and a lot of smiles

Masterlist

Fourth week into the morning pitch meetings at BBC, Millie felt lifeless and drained. The room was usually exploding with ideas, creative energy, and a lot of constructive feedback to the few interns who were allowed to join the conversation with editors, writers, and producers. That morning had started ugly enough for her: with an overwhelming number of e-mails about the schedule and missing content for Politics Live.

When she first landed her spot at BBC, Millie was over the moon. She was constantly calling it a dream come true, a once in a lifetime opportunity for her to begin a writing career in media. Her degree seemed to be the best choice for her future and Millie was ready to prove that graduating from humanities can actually land her a decent job. Her first days were filled with morning preparations, early commute to the city centre and exceptionally smoothed out shirts. The work environment in such a fast-paced industry felt inspiring and daunting at the same time, but Millie felt obligated to use this experience to its full potential. Each day she attempted to learn more than the day before and possibly show off a tiny bit more of her creative skills to her superiors. She spent her evenings researching topics and people, trying not to fall out of the loop. Being one step forward was hard work, one that Millie desperately wanted to ace.

The second week of her internship brought a slight shift to her agenda. After grasping the general concepts of working for a major radio and TV broadcasting company, she was aware of the production processes. She tried to happily follow up all the details about the work of a writer, a researcher, or an editor – just so she could be prepared for the follow-up of the introductory week. And as she hoped her interview was remembered and she would soon contribute to any program touching upon music or pop culture, her dreams and calls were slowly fading away. The intern manager ascribed her to the team devoted strictly to politics and daily news, having no vacancies for the popular radio programs. Even though she took whatever spot was offered, it was only to get more insight and experience.

Having already managed to speak up a few times during the morning routines in the conference room, Millie eased herself into the work environment and was treated like a regular employee. But the first wave of success quickly passed, especially when she was hit with growing emptiness in her brain. She did not enjoy politics, so as far as she could, she attempted to sneak in a sociological aspect into the context. But her tactic had an expiration date.

A couple of heads were expectantly turned at Millie when she was unsurely stuttering her weak ideas for the upcoming programme. She knew it wasn’t going well and she was mentally cursing herself for trying to impress the producers that much so early on.

“This isn’t gonna work. We’ve covered this enough in the evening news. Let’s take five, and maybe you’ll come up with a different angle. I’ll give you another shot here.”

Hugh, the head writer took off his glasses and watched her fidget in her seat. She nodded and took a deep breath, before leaving the room for a short break. Her mind was racing in panic; she wasn’t ready to admit that she didn’t have any idea. She walked back and forth through the corridor until she cursed quietly and walked away to the main hall. She pulled her phone from the back pocket and without overthinking this anymore, she called her boyfriend. He picked up after the third ring.

“Babe, can I call you back…”

“No, Frank,” She felt determined and fierce. Her hands shook from the pure view on board members slowly coming back from the kitchen with fresh coffee mugs. They were probably waiting to hear her another take on the TV show which Millie, wholeheartedly, was beginning to hate. “My work on the programme is too basic and I’ve been roasted for the past fifteen minutes or so. Hugh has me in the spotlight in front of everyone. Help me, please?”

“It’s not your fault they’ve given you a job you’re not good at, babe. It’s just an internship, they will roast you anyway.”

Millie’s lungs were ready to stop working and suffocate her. She feared she might start hyperventilating, or at least meet up with a panic attack from the nerves. Franklin’s reaction seemed to be absolutely unfair and inconsiderate of her actual feelings, and he must have felt that through the piercing silence on the line.

“Look, I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t worry so much about it. They will probably just give you another placement where you’ll fit more, I don’t see why it’s such a bad thing.” And just like that, she started doubting herself and her right to overthink her situation. It didn’t sit well with Millie and she could feel anger slowly making its way through her veins.

“Can’t you just fucking help me? This one time?” She lost her temper, she lost her patience. At the same time Riley, one of the end writers, started waving at her from the end of the hall as to show her that her time is coming to an end. “I need a hook, or something that would spark a debate. Brexit-themed, maybe. Can you think of anything?”

Frank groaned loudly. He wasn’t exactly happy that she made him break down his ambitious wall and let her in on topics he was too invested in. Millie could hear him moving around as he left his desk of the equally large office of The Guardian, until the line went surprisingly quiet. Her anger and fear made her clutch her phone tightly to her ear, while her legs started carrying her slowly to the terrifying conference room.

“Think internationally. See what the Spanish had to say about May’s resignation from the Office. Think economics in the EU. Try to stand on the Union’s side and do some fair judgement.”

“Give me facts, not ideas. You’re the one who knows politics.”

“Spanish government says that May’s resignation is bad news. Compare it to the popular opinion that she was the worst Prime Minister since the 18th century and the American war on independence.” Millie breathed in, trying to desperately grasp all the details he just provided her with.

“That’s a… harsh and history-digging argument,” She mumbled in surprise, “where did you get that from?” She grabbed a yellow post-it note from the reception desk and quickly scribbled the key words on it. Her briefing on politics was never something like this and she could feel the embarrassment making its way into her heart. It wasn’t her way of thinking and she felt like a fraud.

“I can’t tell you that.” By the end of the single sentence Millie could feel the blood escaping her face, making her look pale and scared for dear life. She didn’t want to have heard that sentence, she was definitely happier not knowing how did he come up with a story like this. That was one of the many reasons she tried not to talk business with him.

“An opinion entry. A column for The Guardian. Shit, you just busted one of your colleagues.”

“Sometimes I hate it that you’re smart. Did I ever tell you that?”

“You just saved my internship!”

“Please don’t say that. I will pretend that we just talked about the weather.”

“I’ll spend them the details. You’re the best, Frank.”

“Alright, go kick ass.”

And that she did. Franklin did save her internship, mainly because Millie avoided the specifics about who and why said something so harsh about the resigning Prime Minister. However, it definitely did spark interest among the production board. Afraid of not being so lucky next time, she decided to politely suggest a replacement for her permanent internship division within BBC, due to her ‘personal discomfort with discussions over issues of such importance and potential shame to their glorious country.’

Millie felt bad for using her boyfriend’s knowledge for survival at work. She wasn’t genuine and her idea didn’t come from her hard work - it was sourced in fear and anxiety-driven reactions. This situation proved to her that she wasn’t fit for the position, but it also raised her stress levels around the fact that she couldn’t get by on her own in the industry. She didn’t want others to navigate her through it all, but the conversation she had with Frank had also made her uncomfortable. Her need of support in a stressful situation was primarily turned down, so—naturally to her character—she started to worry even more.

With a heavy heart and two bags of Wagamama takeout, she walked up the stairs to his apartment. She was usually working until later hours than Frank, so all she really needed was for him to open the door for her. She leaned on the doorframe as she waited patiently for the two turns of the lock. He opened still in his work attire – tailored jeans and a light grey button up shirt. He was holding his phone next to his ear and humming approvingly to the speaker when he looked her up and down. He winked at her and let her in, as he continued to talk with someone.

Inside, Millie found the TV turned on with a football game playing. His work jacket was still hanging on the back of the tall stool in the kitchen, and the grocery bags laid unpacked on the table. She took off her shoes and made her way to the kitchen, where she made a little room for their food on the countertop. Pulling off her sweater, she peeked into the shopping bags – she wasn’t surprised to find a couple bottles of beer and food essentials, a multipack of tissues and a large box of condoms.

“What’s all this, babe?” Franklin came up to her and briefly kissed her on the lips, before looking into the boxes with deliciously smelling food.

“I just thought it might be nice to eat some goodies,” She smiled, trying to sniff out his mood first. He smiled back at her with approval and reached for the plates in the cupboard, so she continued, “also, it’s a ‘thank you for being my saviour today,’ kinda thing.”

“Ah, yeah. I bet everyone on my floor will hate BBC’s guts for that.” Frank said it so casually, with a shrug to follow up, that Millie struggled to understand the dynamic he had at The Guardian. He seemed to be a great fit for his team, because a week into his new job, he was already invited for Friday drinks and talked about his co-workers just like anyone would about their long-time friends. She couldn’t understand how was he getting so lucky at any step, but the last thing she wanted to do is doubt him. Any time worries and competitiveness clouded her brain, Millie was making extra room for compassion and support.

Frank unloaded some of the curry on his plate and started eating with a fork, and then made his way to the living room where he spread out on the sofa. He didn’t say anything else, somewhat scaring Millie that he will let her know he’s uncomfortable randomly, on a promisingly good day. Trying to figure out her brain, she followed his actions and took some extra food to the coffee table, before sitting down next to him.

“But you’re not gonna get into trouble for that, are you?” she was biting the inside of her cheek hard, definitely not used to not being judged for using someone else’s help.

“Nah, I don’t think so. They don’t know I’ve got a girl at BBC, so I should be just fine.”

Millie ate her curry in silence, suddenly at loss of words driven by his surprising statement. She didn’t want to raise an argument or seem overly sensitive. But for some reason she hoped that he would talk about her at work, especially considering his already formed strong bonds in the office, and a definitely higher success rate in his position. Ever so charming Franklin, he always glowed among people. She couldn’t really fight with this, so she just kept any comments to herself and focused on her food.

Frank switched the channel to the evening news and pulled her to his side once they were done eating. It comforted Millie to know that at the end of the day, they could both enjoy each other’s company, no matter what was happening at work. She didn’t pay much attention to the news, but rather focused on the way he reacted to it and what he enjoyed. She felt too tired to get invested in another load of politics, so she just soaked in his warmth and curled more into his side. He smelled of coffee and heavy, musky cologne that he liked to reapply frequently. Millie closed her eyes and breathed out the stress that weighed her down after a long day, finally finding peace.

“I’ll go grab a beer, you want one?” he abruptly stood up, making her slightly loose her balance and lean back towards the pillows. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips in a thin line.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“You sure? You’re awfully quiet today.” He spoke already from the kitchen, not even catching a glimpse of her pursed lips.

“I just need to wind down. It’s been stressful day.” She pushed a little smile on her cheeks as he came back with a frown. He took a few large sips of his drink and put it on the table, before lowering himself on the couch and leaning over Millie.

“I can help you relax, if you want.” He raised an eyebrow in a flirtatious manner, leaning into her and leaving a series of delicate kisses on her lips. He then moved onto her jaw and sucked on her skin, but never left a mark. Slowly massaging her waist, he slid his hand under her shirt and sprawled his fingers across her hip to pull her closer.

Millie enjoyed the warmth that started to spread through her body, but she couldn’t find any energy to give some of it back. She felt drained and exhausted, so a mere thought about participating in sexual activities was sure to make her at least slightly uncomfortable. Unless Frank was willing to change something about it.

“Okay, hold on,” her chuckle and a light push at his chest made him narrow his eyebrows in confusion, “I don’t think I’ve got enough energy today, Frankie.” Her whisper was followed by a reassuring smile. She weaved her fingers through his short hair and kissed the tip of his nose.

“What if I provide you with some energy first?”

“What, you’ll give me an energy drink?” She laughed at her poor joke and he chuckled, too, but more at her silliness than anything else. He laid her down comfortably and cautiously peppered her with kisses on her neck and the tiny bit of cleavage that was available without unbuttoning her shirt. She was slowly giving in, allowing him to get lower on her body and touch her. Frank either wanted to make her feel better, or was really horny. But whatever the case was, she didn’t want to stop him and ruin his enthusiasm. The glow in his eyes and admiration painted across his face were too intoxicating to back away. His touch was filled with sparks of emotions and a kind of drive that Millie was addicted to. She felt wanted and needed, and that’s what made her return the heated kisses despite her hooded, weary eyes.

They walked hand in hand through the chilly evening, sometime after she persuaded Frank to walk her to the nearest tube station. The wind was slightly tickling her neck, but other than that she felt at peace. She let her hair down, flowing gently with each blow of the air and lightly caressing her face like a safety blanket. They swayed their hands until they had to make room for a group of people passing by.

“Jane texted me about a little get together this Friday,” She mumbled into the night, trying not to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere around them.

“Ah, yeah. Aaron told me about it, too. I guess we’re going, right?”

“Yeah, it might be nice. The girls mentioned this new club near their apartment? I think that’s where they wanted to go.”

“Cool. I could use a little break.”

As they continued their walk, Millie mostly focused on leading the way through tight London streets. Franklin’s parents rented him an apartment in the city centre, close to everything you could dream of in London. It also meant crowded streets at any hour, so to have a nice walk around the neighbourhood usually requested it to be late at night. But it didn’t matter to him, as long as he had a short commute to the office and all other things that life requested from him, within reach. There were times when he would mention coming back to Manchester and supporting his parents at their law firm, but Millie saw how much he preferred his growing career as a journalist. Mathilda and William were a generous couple, so they shared their resources with him and tried to help him get into the business as smoothly as possible. Sometimes she wanted to ask him about his permanent position at The Guardian and whether his name had anything to do with it, but she never felt comfortable enough to do it. Some things were better left unspoken.

Reaching the staircase to the station, Franklin stopped and made her turn to him and look up at his smiling face.

“Thanks for coming over tonight. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too.” She smiled shyly, nodding her head in reassurance.

“I wish you could finally move to the city, though. It would be so much easier if you were a few blocks away.”

“You do realize that even if I moved out, it wouldn’t be anywhere nearby?” Her chuckle resonated through her body, almost as if she wanted to humour herself at the topic that had started to come up more often in their conversations.

“I could ask around the office if anyone has a room available to rent.”

“But I don’t want to share my personal space with strangers, you know this. Don’t try to change my mind about it.” She smiled tightly.

Frank has been trying to persuade her into moving out for months. He wanted to be closer to her, within a short train journey, rather than a whole commute in and out of Kingston. He felt comfortable in the business of London, and Millie liked to call him out on being spoiled by having an apartment on his own in such a lively part of the city. But she wasn’t financially ready to leave her family home in equally comfortable Southwest London, where she had all she needed within her reach, and her social life was just a tiny bit longer train trip away. It was a source of their small disputes from time to time, because it was Millie who spent more time on going to his place and spending time there. Naturally, it made her feel more engaged in their relationship and Frank tried his best make up for the difference. But one thing that never occurred, was Millie staying over for longer than a night. Even a night’s sleepover was a rare event, somehow always blessed by excuses from either one of them.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he pecked her lips and brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I talk about it out of concern, okay?”

“Okay. But I like my train rides and I like Kingston. So let’s just deal with it for now, yeah?”

“’Course,” He sent her a tight smile before giving her one last kiss. “Text me when you get home.”

“Will do.”

Millie was one of those people who could be easily judged as thinkers. Years of taking trains and buses in and out of central London taught her to cherish every moment of peace she gets during her journeys. That’s how she learned to create playlists for each season – summer commutes were always different than autumn ones; they required different sounds and lyrical quality. Intense months during university semesters also showed her how to read fast between the stops and how to juggle standing on the tube and holding an open book without falling, as the train slowed and rushed every few seconds.

As she was approaching her station in Kingston, she stopped the music but kept her earphones in. A bunch of other people was hurrying to get out of the train and get home as soon as possible, but after leaving the station, she would have a lonely 15-minute walk to her neighbourhood, so she always tried to stay alert in the evenings. Getting on the sidewalk in the busiest area of Kingston, she closed her book and put it back in her backpack, pulled the jacket tighter around her middle and continued her steady walk.

The air was getting crispier with each minute outside. It was refreshing and calm, disturbed only by a few laughs from the pub across the street and two cars passing her by. She turned into one of the quieter streets, where the buildings were becoming shorter and more separated from each other. Brick fences and trimmed hedges adorned the concrete sidewalks on both sides of the street, illuminated only by a few lanterns. Most of the light was coming from the windows in a row of semi-detached houses that Millie has known for a good chunk of her life.

Right when she wanted to cross the street and take a right, she heard a subtle clicking of a dog collar and a leash. Soft padding from the back was slowly approaching her and becoming louder, as well as someone’s whistle.

“Tess, come here!” a hushed call didn’t disrupt the peace of the night, but rather added the familiarity that Millie adored. She slowed her walk and turned around, just in time to be met with lightly jogging blue Staffordshire Bull Terrier. She panted lightly with her tongue out and reached Millie’s legs, where she tucked her head and mewled timidly.

“Oh, and who do we have here?” Millie chuckled at the dog’s persistence in keeping close. She scratched her head and patted her on the back, “are you on your evening walk, Tessa? Is that right?”

“We didn’t mean to scare you, Millie,” Dominic reached them and sent Millie a kind and apologetic smile, “good evening.”

“Hi, it’s good to see you.” She beamed at the middle-aged man, whom she learned to adore like a family member.

“Likewise, yeah. Heading home?”

“I am, just got off the train.”

“We will keep you company, then. Is that alright?” He fixed his glasses and leaned down to attach the leash to Tessa’s collar. Millie’s insides warmed and her mind calmed down at the idea that she will get to spend a few minutes with a friend.

“Absolutely, thank you.”

“Ah, don’t mention it. I bet Tom would have my head, hadn’t I offered,” they chuckled at the mention of his son. Their laughter died off comfortably and escaped into the night air, while Millie reminisced about the caring nature of the Hollands. “How is it going at BBC?” he asked after a moment, letting her go first through a narrow passage.

“It’s… going,” she smiled shyly, not sure how to dress up her words. In Dominic’s company she always felt one step behind in her creative skills; his writing and comic abilities exceeded her capabilities, or so she thought. “but I feel like I’ve definitely hit an end with politics. I know it’s only been a month, but it’s just… it keeps on proving that I should be writing about something else.”

“Oh, it’s totally understandable. Rest assured, you’re not the only one stuck like this,” They turned the corner onto her street. “but I wish you luck there. They have some sensible editors, so I assume you’ll get a chance at something else as well.”

“I hope so. Today I asked them about switching departments and the intern manager told me she will think about it, so there is a tiny light.”

“Something will always work out. You’re smart, you’ll find your way there.”

Dom and Millie continued down the sidewalk, until Tessa stopped near the gate to Millie’s house. She sniffed the pavement and turned back to the girl who crouched down to pet the Staffy one last time.

“Thanks for walking with me,” her smile was genuine, coming straight from her heart. “please say hi to Nikki and the boys. Is Sam still home?”

“He is, he starts his practice at the end of June. So, we all will be here to celebrate your birthdays.”

“Oh, that’s great! It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”

“That’s true. But you’re welcome to stop by anytime.”

“I know, thank you.” With fondness painted across her face, she scratched Tessa’s ear and stood up straight, reaching for the keys in her pocket.

“Have a good night.”

“You too. Bye, Tess!”

Whenever she got the chance to interact with someone from their family, Millie instantly felt their love and care penetrate her straight to the core. It was this kind of relationship that had been built through the years, only making it stronger and bringing it closer to the concept of family.

Nikki, Dom’s wife and Anna, Millie’s mother met shortly before Millie and Tom were born. At first only neighbours, soon they became best friends to the point of engaging their families in a kind affair. Greetings at the doorstep turned into late night family dinners and weekends away with the kids. They were used to spending most of the birthdays and holidays together, especially when Millie and Tom’s birthdays two days apart brought them all closer. She raced her best friend in Anna’s womb and came out to this world right before the brown-haired boy. Ever since the Beavers celebrated the birth of their third and youngest daughter, the Hollands began their journey with four boys. They always stayed close and treated each other like family, deeming it necessary to nourish their friendship and turn it into something everlasting. The example of their parents taught Millie and Tom to mimic the closeness and made them create their own little world.

Millie’s older sisters also treated Tom, Harry, Sam and Paddy like brothers, but not as much as Millie did. Samantha and Liz were already grown toddlers when the families got together, so they figured more as the female patrons of their youngest sister and her adventures with the boys. But Millie and Tom’s friendship turned into something so effortless and harmless that no supervision was necessary. They were each other’s partners in crime, best friends from next door. Their mothers had signed them up for the same dance classes, helped them get to the same summer carnivals, and let them have late nights in makeshift dens. Millie was one of the first people their dog, Tessa, got familiar with. She missed him dearly when he started his journey as a young actor, but Nikki made sure he always made the time to call his best friend when the time zones were somewhat cooperating. They nurtured their friendship through Millie’s education and Tom’s career, not stopping even for a moment. He was there for her always, carrying her home when she scratched her knee after falling off the slings. She would help him with homework whenever he felt too embarrassed to ask his parents. Tom escorted her home from her disaster of a prom; he was the first one to understand her anxiety and help her through it. And Millie always read the books and scripts Tom needed to prepare for auditions. Just like that, they always found home in one another.

Their house smelled of baking and freshly watered plants. As quietly as possible, Millie took off her shoes and tip-toed into the kitchen, turning on only the least invasive, small lights. She put down her backpack and lightly stretched, letting out a tired, yet content breath. Her eyes scanned the kitchen in search for the source of the sweet scent, and there it was, on a cooling rack in the corner, covered with a tea towel – fresh lemon sponge cake, the favourite of Millie’s mother. Lightly dusted with powdered sugar, it added an extra layer of sweet comfort to the late night’s atmosphere. She left the cake untouched, but put the kettle on to quickly make herself a cup of tea for a good night’s sleep. She let out an overwhelming yawn and rested her hips on the side of the countertop, patiently waiting for the water to boil.

She felt her phone vibrate in the back pocket of her jeans. The brightness of the screen was almost blinding, until it adjusted to the low lighting in the room. She could feel the anticipation growing in the back of her head as she noticed a new message.

(Tom) I got you something today

After a second or two, a picture loaded under the message. Millie gasped and smiled like mad, when he showed her a pair of Minnie Mouse sequin ears. It was an artefact that Millie has always dreamt of, not having an opportunity to go to Disneyland ever in her childhood. She awaited the chance with high hopes and wandering mind, but she knew the trip had to be thorough, well-planned, and wholesomely happy.

(Me) You were in Disneyland????

(Tom) yeah we did promo for spidey today

(Me) I’m so jealous rn

(Me) THANK YOU FOR THE EARS!!!!!

(Tom) it’s alright

(Tom) I didn’t get any weird looks at all

(Tom) Just casually carried around this shiny sparkling beauty

(Me) I bet you loved this feeling

(Me) I bet you bought yourself a pair too

(Tom) Don’t tell anyone

(Me) You could always pretend they’re for Tessa

(Me) I just saw her and your Dad btw

Whenever her and Tom texted, it always sparked a never-ending conversation about sweet nothings. They mocked each other, talked about their days, spoke about all things home. It allowed them a safe space from their daily hustles; Millie was able to breathe lightly and happily, and Tom had a chance to detach from the world he desperately tried not to drown in.

Almost spilling the tea, she slowly made it upstairs without losing the sight of her phone screen. She struggled to turn off the lights in the corridor without making a noise but somehow, she managed not to disturb her parents too much, as she reached her bedroom. Safe within her own little space, she put down the mug and let go of her backpack and jacket. She threw herself on the softest bedspread and waited patiently for Tom’s reply.

The text bubble stopped and a massage didn’t appear, but her phone started ringing. Millie answered the FaceTime call and waited for the camera on his phone to adjust and show his familiar face.

“I had a meeting with Disney and they want me to participate in one of their projects for a Marvel-themed ride at Disneyland,” from a crooked angle she could see his neatly gelled hair and uneven eyebrows. Tom was walking somewhere, but then sat down and perched his phone on the mug that stood on the coffee table, so that she could see him better.

“That’s exciting, right?”

“Oh, yeah!” She could see him rummage in a brown paper bag and pull out a box with some takeaway food. “But I’m telling you this because we could turn it into our Disneyland trip that you’ve wanted, right?”

“That would be nice, yeah.” She smiled back at the screen, but a terrible yawn sneaked in to her expression. Tom scrunched his forehead and took a large sip from a bottle of water.

“I didn’t wake you up now, did I?”

“No, I just came back home. I am tired, though.”

“Yeah? How was work?”

“Stressful and not nice. It wasn’t a good day.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Wanna talk about it?”

Tom spent the next minutes carefully listening to her words and trying not to spill his soup on his fresh clothes. He hummed to some of the stories and asked little intrusive questions, to get the whole picture. She kept rubbing at her eyes and stifling her yawns every now and then, at last making a mess of her mascara and getting it all over her skin. Despite the seriousness in her voice, Tom smiled fondly to himself at the view of her ruined face that probably mimicked her current mental state. It wasn’t something he should laugh about, but it was rather endearing to have her so comfortably sharing her lows with him, while he casually ate his lukewarm, very late lunch.

“Why are you laughing at me?” She returned his smile, knowing it was probably something she did.

“You made yourself look like panda.” He chewed on a chunk of chicken from his second plate. The wrinkles by his eyes deepened with each of her chuckles and proved to them that this is the lightness they need in their daily routines. “Well, it’s good you asked for a new placement. You should be comfortable in your work environment. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” she yawned again and stopped herself mid-rubbing her eye again, earning a wholesome, groggy laugh from her friend, “your dad thinks they will give me another chance.”

“I mean, he knows some people there, so he probably has a point.”

“Yeah, I just don’t want to get my hopes up too high, you know?” A comfortable silence rested between them after he nodded and continued munching on his food. Millie stood up from her bed and took the phone with her, but also started to slowly get ready for the night.

“You will know when the moment feels right and shows you something worth a shot. Trust yourself, Mills.”

“I guess…” she trailed off, making her way to the closet to find fresh pyjamas. “I’m glad my panda face entertained your… what is it, lunch break?”

“Sort of, yeah,” he chuckled, enjoying the playfulness of her tired self, “I should be coming back in two weeks. We could hang out then, if you’ll have the time.”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Alright, I’ll let you rest. Text me anytime, yeah?”

“I will. Thanks for the Minnie ears!”

“You got it, Minnie Mouse. Sweet dreams.”

* * *

After her little mishap with Politics Live, Millie tried her best to keep up the hard work, but stay low. She tried not to focus too much attention and just assist other workers in their tasks, only coming up with ideas when necessary. She strived to come back to her public voice, but she knew she needed it to have a comfortable outlet, preferably in another setting and on different topics. She was greeting the intern manager with additional caution and kindness, trying her best not to leave her case forgotten.

Segregating files for the research team seemed to be the best solution to her temporary creative break. Her attention to detail and wholesome care about the task being done to its full potential came in handy. She volunteered to help the group of meticulously scribbling and researching men in keeping their documents in order.

The soft mumble of the radio in the background was interrupted by a guy named Tim. He always wore rock band t-shirts under his jackets and Millie swore she had seen him participate in a wild dance routine during the last year’s Glastonbury Festival. He stopped typing on his keyboard and started to quietly hum a song that was definitely different to what Scott Mills was announcing on Radio 1.

“Oh my God, do you guys know this song? I can’t get it out of my head!” he groaned in frustration, making a few people in the open space office chuckle.

“Do you know any words, maestro?” Millie’s head snapped up at the sound of Kim, the intern manager’s voice. She was passing by with a bunch of files and a coffee, before she perched herself on his desk, obviously making fun of her friend.

“It’s got this very cool, mariachi-like trumpet between the lines,” he mimicked a trumpet player and hummed some more, “and the guy sings something about stopping a feeling…”

“Justin Timberlake?”

“You know he’s not my jam, Kim! It’s an old-school song.”

“You’re the old-school one here.” Kim’s comment earned a couple more laughs at poor Tim, who was genuinely struggling. “you’re the researcher, have you googled it?”

“Of course I googled it, stop mocking me! People are watching.”

Their little light-hearted exchange brought a breezy atmosphere to the office and made Millie smile some more. She kept on looking up at Tim to check if he’s found the song he was looking for, but without luck. Her fingertips started to tingle with each swipe through the pages in a file, because she felt like she knew the song. Deciding to come against her decision to lay low, she gently cleared her throat and swallowed her nerves of speaking up in a new environment.

“Hey Tim, have you tried to find it on Spotify?” they both looked at Millie with playful smiles, as anyone would to the up and coming intern fresh out of university.

“I don’t think it’s the title of the song, so I won’t find it there.”

“But you actually could,” she offered, biting her lip nervously “since the recent update, you can now type in the lyrics into the search bar and the results will show you all licensed songs with the same or similar lyrics.” Tim instantly reached for his phone and started typing away.

“Oh really? I didn’t know that, let’s see…” Kim looked into his phone and watched his progress.

“And since you’ve remembered a catchy verse, it’s very possible that others also tried to find this song through the same words. So, it will probably come up within the first few results.”

“Alright, smarty.” He shook his head in amusement. Millie watched as Kim’s face got ridden of any emotion and just stared at Tim’s work.

“But if nothing comes up, you can always try ‘Hooked on a Feeling’ by Blue Swede.”

Millie waited with racing heart at their reactions. Tim clicked on one of the results and raised the volume, filling the room with a sound so familiar to Millie’s memory. She smiled shyly and internally patted herself on the back, before coming back to her task.

“How did you know this song?” His triumphant smile was radiating, as he did a little dance in his seat and twirled on his rolling chair. “It’s such an old tune, I didn’t think your generation would know it!”

“Yeah Millie, how did you know?” Kim encouraged his question and watched her carefully, almost as if she was studying her intern.

“It’s in the soundtrack to Guardians of the Galaxy. I wrote a paper on it.”

“Hm.” Kim’s unreadable expression was giving Millie chills, but in a positive way. She liked to be asked about things that interested her and prompted her to be creative, so the way this situation evolved was close to burst her heart into passionate flames. “I’ll ask the Radio managers if they want a music and pop culture geek, how’s that sound?”

It sounded like Millie put the trust in herself at the right time.

****

tagged: @peeterparkr @katieraven @kozybear@sunsetholland @hey-marlie @lauras-collection@cunaeparker @constellationsv @heyhihellowhatsup0 @spideyspeaches

If it bothers you that you’re tagged, please let me know!

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff #tom holland x oc #mornings in Sheffield park #misp #tom holland fanfic #tom holland blurb

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roman-writing · 3 years

Text

no great revelation (1/8)

Fandom(s): The Haunting of Bly Manor / Star Wars

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Tyalor

Rating: T

Wordcount: 6,236

Summary: Jamie just wants to enjoy a drink after a hard day's work on the Telosian Restoration Project. The last thing she needs is to get herself caught up in a mysterious woman with a lightsabre at the local bar.

Aurthor’s notes: Please don’t expect anything from this story. I’m just doodling in between writing ch11 and ch12 of ‘bring home a haunting.’

read it below or read it here on AO3

“The great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.”

— Virginia Woolf, The Waves

—

See, here’s the thing: she didn’t look like a Jedi. In fact she didn’t look much like anything. Any other time, and Jamie would have spared her a brief albeit appreciative glance before moving on. Today however, Jamie did what could only be described as a double take.

The bar was crowded, and the night was young, and Jamie still had dirt under her fingernails from a day’s hard work beneath the Telosian sun. An Ithorian had just jostled Jamie’s elbow as he pushed by on his way to the bar, ignoring her tired grumble of, “Watch it, hammerhead,” when she’d spilled a bit of the local ale she had been nursing. She was wiping her wrist dry on her drab Corps-issued boilersuit, when she caught sight of her by the bar.

Or rather. Saw it. A lightsabre. Clear as day. Clipped to this woman’s belt, poorly concealed beneath a cloak clasped together at one shoulder. Jamie nearly spilled her ale again. And that was when she really gave this woman a closer look.

Blonde. Pretty. Maybe a little too pretty. Definitely not Jedi material, however. For starters, her clothes were all wrong. She looked like she’d just stepped off a cruiser from the Core Worlds in those nanosilks. She moved as though too aware of the weapon she bore, her hand drifting to her waist every now and then before gripping her fingers in a fist and trying — and failing — to look nonchalant. And to polish it all off, she kept glancing around as though afraid that every tavern patron was about to grab her by the arm and haul her from the building.

A nervous tourist, perhaps. Someone unused to travel. Or maybe a mule. Someone unlucky enough to owe a debt to Czerka.

Jamie’s scant money was on the latter. Which of course begged the question: a mule smuggling what?

Over the top of the bar, the holo feed flickered with the latest news from across the galaxy. Yet another infringement on the Treaty of Coruscant as Imperial Sith forces seized a planet along the border of the Outer Rim. From her vantage point in the far corner of the tavern, Jamie pretended to watch the feed idly as she sipped at her ale and studied the woman askance. Across the way, the woman was crowded away from the bar and closer towards Jamie’s corner table as thirsty patrons with credits clamoured for a drink, while the bartender — a Kel Dorian with a rusting breather mask that had seen better days — struggled to meet demands.

Two more people entered the crowded tavern and began shouldering their way towards the bar. Jamie’s hand froze in its journey lifting the glass to her lips. Slowly, she set the drink down and leaned back in her seat, lowering her hand in a nonchalant manner to rest against her thigh. The small mining laser strapped to her leg wasn’t useful for much outside of cutting bits of wire or rope. It would even go through narrow branches in a pinch, if Jamie were too lazy to go trudging off for a proper thermal saw. But it would certainly give somebody a nasty burn if applied with a generous disregard for the health and safety manual.

Not that starting a fight with two Czerka pillocks was her idea of a relaxing evening after work. Especially not with her history with the Hutt Cartel. The last thing she needed was yet another galaxy-spanning underworld corporation painting a target on her back.

Pillock One was hassling other patrons, lifting hoods to get a better look at faces and pushing his own ugly mug close enough that said patrons leaned away. Meanwhile, Pillock Two was holding a chip in his outstretched palm, which projected a tiny holo displaying what appeared to be a very large amount of credits as a reward for any who cooperated with their search for a newcomer on the planet. The mini-holo flickered with the Czerka logo and a sign-off from the Official Head Pillock himself: Peter Fucking Quint.

This day could not get any worse.

Jamie slouched down a few more inches in her seat. Definitely Not A Jedi Mystery Woman near the bar had only just taken notice of their newly arrived friends, and tugged up the hood of her cloak with a panicked expression. Jamie refrained from rolling her eyes, but only just. By the time the Czerka reached the woman, Jamie was well and truly ready for the worst.

“You there.” Pillock One grabbed a hold of the woman’s shoulder and spun her round. “Not hiding, are you?”

He reached up to push the hood of her cloak back, but she jerked away. Her expression was firm, but Jamie was close enough to see the tremble of her fingers. “I’m just passing through.”

“Not much of a tourist joint, Telos IV,” Pillock Two said. His voice was muffled behind the bulky helmet he wore, emblazoned with a chipped Czerka logo on one side.

The woman lifted her chin slightly, pulling her cloak more firmly around herself. “The gardens here are famous across the galaxy.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to get your hands dirty,” Pillock One sneered.

“Or maybe she does,” Pillock Two said, and he put the chip away, the mini holo vanishing as he did so. The woman shrank away from them, her back pushing against the edge of the bar.

All right, so the mule theory was out with the bathwater and the last of Jamie's sanity, it would seem.

Don’t get involved, Jamie, she told herself firmly. She grit her teeth and tightened her grip on the mining laser.

The bartender leaned forward and said, “If you don’t mind, you’re scaring the customers.”

“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll hook up your mask to an oxygen tank,” Pillock Two snapped.

The bartender immediately shuffled back, and the other patrons that had previously been crowding the bar followed suit, creating a vacuum of space around Jamie’s little corner of the tavern. Which, of course, meant that Pillock One looked in her direction, as she was now the only person who hadn’t moved away.

Fuck.

“She’s with me.”

All three of them froze at the sound of Jamie’s voice. Pillock Two turned to regard her as well, and over his shoulder Jamie could just make out the woman cautiously leaning around him to get a look at who had spoken.

So much for not getting involved.

“She was getting us some drinks,” Jamie continued. She managed to catch the other woman’s attention and exchanged a significant look.

The woman nodded. “Yeah. I was just - uh -”

She gestured towards the bartender, who by now was no doubt pressing an emergency transmitter for the authorities located beneath the bar. Jamie would know. She’d had to press it herself once or twice when things got too rowdy around these parts. Not that it happened often. Just often enough.

Pillock Two pointed to Jamie’s glass. “Looks like you’re still making your way through that one.”

“What can I say?” Jamie gave a shrug and remained seated. “I’m thirsty.”

Pillock One sauntered over to her table. Jamie glared up at him from her seat, maintaining eye contact even as he reached out and tipped her glass over so that ale foamed and spilled all across the table.

“Go ahead and drink, then,” he said.

“She’s been on Telos with me for a week already,” Jamie countered, ignoring the slow drip of ale onto her work boots. “Whoever you’re looking for came here — when? On yesterday’s shuttle from Praadost?”

Pillock One grit his jaw so tight Jamie could see the muscles bunch up there.

She bared her teeth at him in a smile. “Thought as much. Now, fuck off and let honest people drink in peace. Yeah?”

For a long tense moment it seemed that would be the start of a very long evening, in which Jamie ended up back in her flat upstairs nursing a bag of ice against her face if she were lucky. Then, Pillock Two thwacked his companion on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

“The bounty’s getting away, while we sit here wasting our time,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Pillock One stayed where he was, glowering at Jamie until Pillock Two made his way back towards the exit. Only then did he follow suit, but not without taking inventory of her appearance. And of course Jamie had to go and wear her Corps-issued boilersuit to the pub, with the AgriCorps logo stamped all over it. Absolutely phenomenal choice there.

When they’d finally left, Jamie heaved a great sigh and let her head fall back against the chair for a second. Then she rose to her feet and crossed over to the bar. The woman eyed her warily, then seemed confused when Jamie ignored her utterly in favour of leaning against the bar and speaking to the bartender, “Ho’kyn, you got a towel?”

The bartender gave her a relieved nod in thanks, and immediately poured her two fresh ales. He slid them across the bar along with a stained dish towel. Jamie took them, pushed one into the woman’s hands, took the other for herself, and sank back down into her usual corner table seat with a drawn out groan. She used the towel to mop up the remnants of her previous drink before chucking it back towards the direction of the bar. The woman had to dodge out of the way to avoid being hit square in the face.

“You going to sit or not?” Jamie asked, and she kicked the leg of the other chair as an invitation.

Nonplussed, the woman just stood there, clutching the full glass of ale between her hands as though it were a lifeline. Then she perched herself at the very edge of the seat, so that she seemed fit to flee at the drop of a hat.

“Thank you,” she said eventually.

Jamie hummed around a sip of her ale, then lowered her glass. “Might want to hide that a bit better next time.”

“Hide what?”

Jamie gave her a significant look, then let her gaze wander down to the woman’s waist, where the glint of metal was clearly visible through a gap in her cloak. Face flushing, the woman jerked the cloak more tightly around her midriff and sent Jamie a glare that lacked any real edge. Before she could hide the lightsabre, Jamie could clearly see this close the faint glow of kyber through the hilt’s decorative casing, blue as the woman’s eyes.

Or - well. Blue as one of the woman’s eyes. The other was a strange sort of brown, like the gleam of light through amber.

Must’ve been some kind of cosmetic augment. Except there were no microfibral lines or data ports to suggest further connections that would make such augmentations useful in any capacity.

“So,” Jamie said, leaning her elbows on the table and cradling the glass of ale between her palms. “What does Czerka want with a pretty thing like you from the Core Worlds?”

The woman shot her a bemused scowl. “I don’t know. I don’t even know who those people were.”

“Well, you’re awfully convincing. I’ll give you that.”

Jamie’s comment was summarily ignored, and the woman asked, “How do you know I’m from the Core Worlds?”

“You’ve got a Core accent thicker than a Senator’s.”

The woman’s mouth dropped open to protest, then shut again without saying anything. Instead she took a sip of the ale, holding the glass precariously from the top rim. Jamie watched this with some amusement, half expecting the glass to be dropped along the way. By some miracle it wasn’t.

“Let me rephrase the question,” Jamie said. “Why do you have a bounty on your head?”

Her shoulders bunched up around her ears, and the woman cast a furtive look around to see if anyone had overheard their conversation. The other patrons had, indeed, moved back into their space now that Czerka was out of the building, but nobody was paying attention. That was why Jamie liked this corner. Nice and private.

When the answer wasn’t forthcoming, Jamie slouched back in her seat. “All right. A guessing game, then. Does it have something to do with that stolen lightsabre on your hip?”

“I could’ve bought it,” the woman countered.

Jamie gave her a slow grin. “You really couldn’t have.”

“And why not?”

“Because the people who trade in lightsabres aren’t the kind of people you walk away from.”

“Are you,” the woman asked warily, “a Jedi?”

Jamie gave a derisive snort. “Not even close. Trained in the temple, sure, but I was a shit padawan. Can’t lift a pebble with the Force. Got tossed out of Tython as a failure early on, and they passed me around various Service Corps branches until I ended up here to work on the Restoration Project.”

“Oh. Right,” she said in a tone that meant she didn’t actually understand the situation at all.

Jamie tapped her chest where the AgriCorps symbol sewn onto the corner of her boilersuit. “I’m a glorified gardener.”

The woman gestured towards a nearby window, through which the leafy horizon of Telos IV was darkening in the encroaching dusk. “I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job,” she said with a weak smile.

“Oh, sure,” said Jamie dryly. “Only took us three hundred bloody years. And I still find shell fragments from the orbital barrage some days. Fucking Sith.”

With a shake of her head, Jamie took a sip of her ale. Across the table, the woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“But you know,” the woman asked after a lapse in the conversation, “how to use one?”

“What? A lightsabre?”

The woman nodded.

“Well, I can hold one without chopping my own fingers off, which is more than most people can say. Never got past Shii-Cho before they yanked the practise blade from my hands and told me I was out.” Jamie made a jerking motion with her thumb over her shoulder as if throwing something away.

“I never knew what happened to people if they never made it to being a full Jedi.”

“Yes, what glorious lives we lead,” Jamie drawled, and she lifted her ale in a mock salute before draining it and setting the glass back on the table. “Listen, I suggest you lie low for a few days. Sneak back aboard a transport, and then move on before Czerka realise you’ve gone. Just -” Jamie offered a wry smile and said, “- head back to the Core.”

The woman was gazing down into her half-drunk glass of ale. “I can’t. The Core Worlds are — I can’t.”

“It’s either that, or -”

And Jamie didn’t finish what she was saying. Instead, she pointed towards the holo feed over the bar, where the news was replaying the spread of red across the galactic map, like a virus creeping ever outward from the Sith homeworld of Korriban. The woman glanced up towards the holo feed and flinched as if she’d been struck across the cheek.

“Cold War won’t last forever. And when it breaks, this is the last place you want to be.”

The woman frowned at Jamie. “And what about you?”

“I don’t get much of a choice,” Jamie said with a bitter chuckle. “The Council of Reassignment sends me where they send me.”

“That sounds terrible,” the woman replied softly.

A few more patrons trickled in through the front door on the far end of the long room. Jamie spared them a quick glance before dismissing them. Just the authorities answering Ho’kyn’s call about the Czerka assholes, no doubt. A handful of officers in tired uniforms and tired expressions behind their opaque half-face shields. They approached the bar and exchanged a few words with Ho’kyn, who gestured back the way they’d come.

“It is what it is,” Jamie replied, training her eye after the officers, who had begun talking to a few patrons and scribbling down notes on the pop-up screens from their forearms. “Difficult to make a living as a Force sensitive outside of the Council’s jurisdiction. And they look after me in their own way. It’s not -”

Jamie trailed off and cocked her head to one side. The holo feed over the bar now bore a description of her newfound acquaintance in the scroll text along the bottom of the usual news. There was no picture attached, but it was clear who the authorities were talking about. Jamie read the scroll text in a bored kind of bemusement.

Until it got to the part about being wanted for murder, that was.

Jamie’s eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. Sitting up straight, she glanced over at the woman, who had tracked where she was looking and whose face had gone white as a sheet. Another glance over her shoulder towards the group of officers slowly making their way from table to table. They weren’t as efficient as Pillock One and Pillock Two, but they would get here eventually.

With a surreptitious jerk of her head towards the holo feed, Jamie asked quietly, “That right?”

Eyes wide and hands shaking around her glass of ale, the woman stared at Jamie. Her voice wobbled when she spoke, coming out broken and erratic, “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to - He just - He attacked me out of nowhere. I swear it wasn’t -”

“Fucking hell,” Jamie muttered under her breath. She dragged a hand down her face and shook her head. Then she sighed. “Who are you?”

“Dani,” was the immediate answer.

“Dani,” Jamie repeated in a dull tone. “What the fuck have you gotten me into?”

Worrying at her lower lip with her teeth, Dani said, “Not to seem ungrateful, or anything, but I don’t exactly remember asking for your help.”

Jamie mulled that over for a second, before conceding with a nod of her head. “Fair,” she said. Then she abruptly rose to her feet. “Right. I’m off, then. Good luck.”

“Hang on -! No, wait -!”

When Jamie did not, in fact, ‘hang on’ but instead turned to leave, she felt Dani grab her by the wrist, and she went stock-still.

It was like an electric shock. The wave of it traveled up her arm and hummed between her teeth loud as a thunderclap. It was like standing atop a great mountain, and the wind tearing at her clothes and hair. It was like waking up six feet beneath the ground, gasping for breath and breathing in dust until she drowned in it. It settled over her like a pall, a mist, a cool kiss at the back of her neck that roved down her spine and coiled in her gut. It was like a set of floodgates being unleashed, like being dragged along the current to some great unknown destination, vast and sweeping as the stars.

“I’m sorry. Please,” Dani whispered, gazing up at her with wide eyes, her voice like a riptide. “Help me.”

And Jamie gaped down at her. Like an absolute moron.

Not a Jedi. Not at all. Not a Sith, either. At least, not like any Sith Jamie had seen in the holo feeds. All black robes and black masks and red gold eyes that seemed to pierce the veil between them, as though reaching through space and time to claw back the very essence of whoever dared perceive them. And Jamie might not have been the strongest Force sensitive on the books — not by a long shot — but she was Force sensitive. She knew what the Force felt like, and that was —

“Shit,” Jamie hissed. Taking a moment to compose herself and draw in a deep breath, she grabbed hold of Dani’s hand in return and tugged her upright. “Come with me. Pull your hood back up. Keep quiet. Do what I say. And don’t make me regret this.”

Scrambling to do as she was told, Dani pulled her hood up and trailed in Jamie’s wake. Jamie squeezed them around the back of the bar, bending her knees just slightly so that they were a little less conspicuous. Ho’kyn shot them a puzzled look as they passed.

“I wasn’t here,” Jamie muttered to him.

The sharply pointed feelers on his face clicked. “Back door’s locked. You know the combination.”

“Cheers, mate.”

It was a quick duck and weave through the cramped kitchens and storage rooms, a race past the walk-in freezer, and then Jamie was punching in the combination code to open the rear door. The two of them spilled out into the back alley. Piles of trash had been stored awaiting disposal in the recycling unit that came every three days. Clouds of steam puffed from the vents in the walls, creating white trails that rose into the night sky.

Dani squeezed her hand tight. Jamie squeezed it back, but then Dani gave her hand a tug and pointed towards the main street down the way. Flashing lights and parked vehicles. More authorities congregated on the front step of Ho’kyn’s tavern. When the heavy metal rear door to the tavern slammed shut, one of the officers shone a torch down the alleyway towards the noise.

Acting quickly, Jamie pushed Dani up against a nearby wall by the door.

“What are you -?” Dani gasped.

“Just -” Jamie stepped in close, close enough to block Dani from view, “- trust me. Keep your head down. Pretend like we’re -”

The circle of light hit them. Jamie could feel Dani wince, could feel Dani duck her head and bury her face in Jamie’s shoulder, gripping the fabric of Jamie’s boilersuit along her back as though she were a human shield. They were barely touching, but still Jamie felt the heat of Dani’s skin beneath layers of pastel nanosilk, the sweep of her panicked breaths against Jamie’s collarbone. A few stray strands of blonde hair tickled her nose, and Jamie had to fight the urge to scratch at her face.

To say nothing of the cold length of a lightsabre pressing against her inner thigh. And not in a good way. In a ‘This Will Burn A Hole Through My Leg If I Move’ way.

After what felt like a whole planetary cycle, the light moved along, the officer clearly disinterested in a couple groping one another behind a seedy bar. Jamie waited a few rapid heartbeats longer before pulling back. Dani peeled her hands away from Jamie’s back, looking small. In the dark, her mismatched eyes seemed to gleam owlishly. Especially the pale brown one. Almost golden. Like something that belonged to a nocturnal animal.

“This way,” Jamie murmured.

When she began guiding them further into the shadow of the alley, Dani asked haltingly, “Why -? I mean - where are we -?”

Jamie reached the expected set of metal grated stairs leading up to the second floor above the bar. “My flat.”

Dani followed without further question, nervous and silent, all but hugging Jamie’s back when Jamie fumbled the passcode to unlock the door at the top of the stairs. They stumbled inside and Jamie only breathed easier when she’d shut the door behind them, locked them, then hit the control panel to lower the alusteel shutters over the windows.

The apartment was small and dark and not at all quiet. By now Jamie was used to the noise of the nearby streets and the tavern beneath her feet. Her neighbours weren’t exactly gems, either. Another slap of the control panel, and she turned on a few lights and the news holo feed along the wall screen to generate some more noise so that it would be more difficult for them to be overheard by anyone snooping.

Jamie turned around to find Dani standing stiffly in the middle of the living room. Which was also a kitchenette. And the entryway. And technically the guest bedroom. There was no wall separating it from the actual main bedroom. Beyond that was a door leading to a bathroom, and another door leading to a very cramped closet, which bore nothing but spare sets of Corps-issued boilersuits in various states of shabby, and a few personal outfits that weren’t much better off.

“Your place is - uh -” Dani started to say, gesturing weakly around her.

“Pure shite,” Jamie finished for her. “Thanks. I know.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“No? And were you ever going to get around to telling me about the whole murder thing?”

“Yeah, actually, I was waiting until after we’d finished our drinks. I thought it would be a good segue into a friendship,” Dani retorted in a tone so sarcastic that Jamie had to quell an answering smile.

“All right,” Jamie stepped forward, motioning towards the couch for Dani to take a seat and make herself comfortable. “Why don’t you start from the beginning.”

Dani did not take the invitation; she remained standing, thumbs tucked into her fists, shoulders tense, jaw tense, gaze downcast.

“Do you want another drink?” Jamie offered quietly.

Dani shook her head. “No. Thank you.” She flexed her hands and said in a dull voice that lacked its previous fire, “I was recently employed by Lord Wingrave of House Thul. He - uh - he needed a governess to teach his young niece and nephew at his family estate, and my background is in education. So, I thought it was a - it was supposed to be a good opportunity for me.”

“Until it wasn’t,” Jamie said.

Dani nodded. “Yeah.” She sniffled and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand before continuing. “It turned out he has unsavoury friends and -” she wrinkled her nose, “- debts.”

“What kind of friends?” Jamie asked.

Dani didn’t answer, but her eyes darted just for a moment towards the holo feed, where a fleet of Imperial II-class Star Destroyers were raining down hell on fleeing Republic ships.

Well, shit.

“Poor choice of friends,” Jamie muttered under her breath.

Dani hummed a note in agreement.

“Then what happened? Did you hear something you weren’t supposed to? Find something, maybe?”

Dani’s head jerked up to look at Jamie in surprise and — for some reason — suspicion. “I did,” she said slowly. “I found a - a box.”

Rolling up her sleeves for no other reason than to give her hands something to do, Jamie asked, “What kind of box?”

“Why does everyone keep going on about that box?” Dani asked, her expression suddenly going steely in a way that did not seem to become her. “What is so important about a glowing little box?”

“It glows? Listen, I’m not - Woah! Hey! Be careful where you point that thing!”

The lightsabre had appeared in Dani’s hand in a movement too fast for the eye to track, as if it had always been there, as if it belonged there. The blade was still sheathed, but gone was the awkward hesitance with which she had worn it before. She levelled the unlit hilt towards Jamie with a tilt of her wrist, and her face was hard yet frightened.

“Who are you? Why do you want to know about this box?” Dani asked, and her voice was surprisingly even for all the tremble in her clenched fist. “Answer me.”

Jamie had her hands held before her, as though that would somehow help deflect a fucking lightsabre. She tried to drift sideways to get out of the way, but Dani trained the hilt on her as though it were the muzzle of a blaster rifle.

“The name’s Jamie, but I’d prefer it if you bought me dinner before pointing any weapons at me,” Jamie said blandly. She immediately regretted the quip, when Dani’s hand tightened around the hilt of the sabre and her thumb drifted over the activation button.

“Okay! Okay!” Jamie scrambled back a few steps, nearly tripping over the edge of the couch, but Dani followed closely after her. “It just seems to be a bit weird, is all. Glowing boxes and corrupt Lords. Y’know. Unless Wingrave was in the habit of collecting items of luminous quality. I don’t fucking know. I’m just trying to get a picture of what happened, so that I can -” Jamie gave a wave of one hand towards Dani, “- help you. Remember? Remember that part? Me helping you?”

If the furrow in Dani’s brow was any indication, she was not convinced by this argument.

Jamie motioned to the lightsabre. “Also, you’re holding that the wrong way ‘round.”

With a blink of confusion, Dani glanced down at the lightsabre in her grasp, tilting it to one side for a better look. The moment she did so, Jamie leapt forward, grabbed the hilt of the sabre, and tried to wrench it free. A scuffle broke out, and it was not the most dignified scuffle Jamie had ever taken part in. There was a lot of swearing — admittedly, mostly from herself — and a lot of yanking at the lightsabre hilt in futile desperation like a game of tug of war. Except instead of a rope, they were tugging at a weapon that might accidentally extend a nigh unstoppable plasma blade with one wrong movement.

Eventually, Jamie managed to hook a foot behind Dani’s ankles, causing her to fall to the ground with a graceless yelp. Unfortunately, Dani did not let go of the sabre as expected, and Jamie was dragged down with her. Jamie grunted in pain when a sharp elbow connected with her ribs. With one final yank, she managed to wrest the lightsabre free.

Dani panted beneath her, flushed and half pinned to the floor between Jamie’s knees. Her hair was splayed loosely across the carpet, and she glowered up at Jamie with equal parts impotent fury and fear.

“Right,” Jamie said breathlessly, ribs still aching. “Now that that’s all sorted, can you please tell me about this glowing box? And spare no detail.”

In answer, Dani’s jaw took a stubborn set. Sighing, Jamie pushed herself upright, then offered Dani a hand. Dani stared at her for a moment before allowing herself to be hauled to her feet, where she brushed down the back of her nanosilks.

“When was the last time you cleaned your floor?”

“Can’t remember,” Jamie answered honestly.

Dani wrinkled her nose and began to card fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame it. When Jamie held out the lightsabre, palm up, in a silent offering, Dani went very still. Hesitantly, she reached out to take it, but Jamie pulled her hand back slightly before she could do so.

“Be careful,” Jamie warned. “This thing isn’t a toy. You’re more likely to chop off your own leg by accident than you are to actually injure someone else. And don’t point it at me again! Or we’re going to have words. Got it?”

Jamie waited for her to nod, then held the lightsabre out again. Dani took it, and her shoulders relaxed incrementally once she had it back in her grasp.

“Now,” Jamie said. “Weird glowy box?”

Dani sighed and ran the same hand through her hair that held the lightsabre. Jamie had to suppress a wince. After everything she’d said about being careful, too. Bloody idiot.

“I don’t know what it was,” Dani admitted. “I overheard a transmission. Something about putting the box where the children could get it. So, naturally, I investigated. I found it on a shelf in their playroom. I picked it up, and -”

She trailed off with a helpless little gesture.

“And?” Jamie pressed.

“And I don’t know,” said Dani, clearly frustrated. She paused to hook the lightsabre back onto her belt, but it took her a few tries to make it work. She almost dropped the weapon in the process, and Jamie took a step back just in case the bloody thing went unsheathing itself into the floor. “I woke up and I didn’t know where I was, or how much time had passed, or -”

“Which is when you looked down and found a dead man at your feet.”

“What?” Dani frowned at her. “No. That was later.”

“Right. My bad,” Jamie said dryly. “Describe the box to me.”

“It was about this big.” Dani held up her hands to indicate an object that could comfortably be held in one hand. “Sharp edges. Some kind of black gold metal, but nothing like I’d ever seen before. It looked hollow, but it was heavy. Like the light inside of it had weight.”

“Was there writing on it? Marks of any kind?”

“Yeah, but nothing I could read.”

“Would you recognise them if you saw them again?”

Dani shrugged. “Sure. I guess.”

“Do you have this box with you now?”

At that, Dani’s shoulders went all tense again and she pursed her lips, her expression growing guarded.

“Forget I asked,” Jamie said with a dismissive wave. With a sigh, she leaned down and began unlacing her work boots. She chucked them into a corner and then flopped onto the couch, placing her feet up on the cushions. “All right. Last question for the night. Did you know that you’re Force sensitive?”

Dani stared at her as though Jamie had sprouted an extra limb. And then she laughed. It was, in all honesty, a very nice laugh. Nothing at all like the nervous smile from the bar. Her smile now had lines at the corners, and she shook her head.

“No,” said Dani, still laughing. “No, I’m not.”

Jamie hoisted up an eyebrow but said nothing.

“I’m not,” Dani repeated more firmly this time, her smile fading. “There’s nothing - I’m not special. I’m a governess. I’m from a small town on Alderaan in the middle of nowhere. I teach kids about galactic history and how to share toys.”

Jamie pointed to herself. “And I’m a Rim Rat, but that didn’t stop the Jedi from hauling me off to the Temple for training until they realised I was a waste of time.”

“I’m not -!” Dani’s voice had started to climb, and she quickly lowered it to a hush. “I’m not - like that. My family is normal. I’m normal. We don’t have any kind of history or - or anything.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t feel it?”

“Feel what? What are you talking about?”

Sitting up abruptly, Jamie leaned forward on the couch. “When you touched me earlier. In the bar. You grabbed my hand, and I felt — That was it. That was the Force. You were like a - a circuit. Like an exposed wire. You didn’t feel it?”

Dani was staring at her now and there was no laughter. Only a dim and dawning horror.

“No,” Dani croaked. “I didn’t feel anything.”

Jamie huffed out a short and mordant laugh. Then she said, “Liar.”

“I’m not -” Dani inhaled sharply and sat down on the edge of the couch furthest from Jamie. She crossed her arms. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Jamie shook her head and gave an incredulous chuckle. “Fine,” she said. “Fine. Here’s the plan: I have no idea what’s going on -”

“Great start,” Dani muttered under her breath.

“- but I know some people who might,” Jamie continued.

Dani’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the catch?”

“Catch?”

“I’ve just spent the last two weeks being chased across half the galaxy by criminals and authorities alike. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little skeptical of your sudden eagerness to help. So,” Dani leaned forward and fixed Jamie with a pinning stare, made all the more unsettling by her mismatched eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch,” Jamie said, lying back against the couch cushions, “is that my friends are a pair of Jedi on Tython. And the Council doesn’t really think of discretionary funds as a necessity, so I don’t have enough money to get us both there.”

Dani’s face went a little pale. “Can’t they -” she swallowed before continuing, “Can’t they meet us somewhere else? Somewhere halfway, maybe?”

Slinging an arm behind her head, Jamie asked, “Why? What’s wrong with Tython? I mean — apart from the obvious of it being one of the most boring rocks in the known galaxy.”

“Nothing,” said Dani, very unconvincingly. “It’s just - That’s a long way to go. And I’m not exactly swimming in credits either.”

Jamie studied the way Dani tried to hide the wringing of her hands beneath her cloak, the way Dani noticed what she herself was doing and hid her hands behind her back even as she gave Jamie her best imploring look. Which, granted, was very effective. She certainly had some eyes.

Gentling her tone Jamie said, “Hannah and Owen are good people. Better friends than I probably deserve. The most they could be accused of is spending too much time with their noses buried in the library or in a kitchen recipe.”

“It’s not - I don’t doubt that. It’s just -” Dani breathed in deeply and then continued in a rush, “I don’t think people will like me going to the central planet of the Jedi Order.”

“Why would they even care?”

“Because,” Dani said slowly, not meeting Jamie’s gaze. She wrung her hands together in her lap, staring down at her own fingers. “The man I killed was a Jedi.”

Well, then.

Things just got complicated.

“Perhaps you were expecting some surprise, for me to reveal a secret that had eluded you, something that would change your perspective of events, shatter you to your core. There is no great revelation, no great secret. There is only you.”

— Darth Traya, The Sith Lords

#the haunting of bly manor #thobm #dani clayton/jamie #damie #star wars au #no great revelation #roman writes #star wars

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theshipscloset · 3 years

Note

Regarding the question about discrimination based on physical appearance, as a foreigner, I would love to hear your insights on as to why the USA has so much fatphobia when a large percentage of its population is actually overweight. I could see it happening in places like Korea or Japan where nearly everyone is thin (unless you fight Sumo), but I never understood why it happens so much in America.

Many many factors led America to where it is now with fatphobia and beauty culture, but this article does a fantastic jobs of summarizing key points in history that pushed us towards our present day fixations/misconceptions.

Not mentioned in the article but still important factors:

-Way back in the day, being able to afford enough food to put on some extra weight was a sign of wealth and privilege and was therefore desirable. Now that we’re surrounded with food (especially the cheap, trashy kind) now more than any other point in history, it’s the opposite--having enough money to buy healthy food is a sign of wealth and privilege and is therefore desirable.

-We were fixated on thinness before fatness was the majority, but now that thinness is even more ‘rare’ it’s considered even more desirable and sought after. The fast food boom in the 80s and 90s was great for the beauty and diet industry--even more fat and “fat” people to shame into buying their products. The dwindling population of “thin” people has only put them on an even higher pedestal.

-Our public health education sucks. Even if you’re lucky enough to have a health class requirement, you typically come out of that class knowing “veggies good, sugar bad” and “thin good, fat bad,” instead of, say, actual nutrition and health information. As a result, most Americans believe that almost any degree of “extra” weight is literally unhealthy. (And how most Americans define extra weight, btw, is through an outdated and debunked system called BMI that is utter bullshit.)

-We’ve deeply tied thinness to morality. If you’re thin you’re automatically assumed to be healthy, responsible, and generally taking care of yourself. You ‘put the effort’ into being fuckable your health. If you’re fat or even just have an inconsequential bit of padding, you must be lazy, lacking discipline, sloppy, and physically ill. (This is how the beauty and diet industry can capitalize on our feelings of shame.)

-We’re given the message dozens (if not hundreds) of times a day that thin = beautiful. All day, every day we’re shown thin bodies as examples of top tier beauty. Men get this messaging too, but it’s particularly heinous for women. The subtext we receive as a result is that if you’re fat, or even have a perfectly harmless extra bit of weight, you’re ugly, disgusting, and will never be desired.

-Alternate voices in beauty like the Body Positivity movement are constantly being ripped apart for any reason the public can think of in order to quash more realistic thinking (because realism often discards shame, and shame sells). It’s extremely difficult to put better ideas into the mainstream’s eye and be listened to before the person saying those ideas are hyper-scrutinized and “cancelled.” (In a couple of cases the criticism of a person has been warranted, but that’s used as an excuse to throw out their entire message even if the criticism had nothing to do with it.) So far I think Lizzo is the only body positive person to not get ousted or “discredited,” though she still gets plenty of fatphobia aimed at her.

Basically, it’s complicated. Anyone who tries to handwave the issue with “oh Americans are just shallow” is too ignorant to be listened to.

#TSC Asks #Beauty Issues #Fatphobia #Body Issues #Thank you for the ask anon #America is baffling to me and I live here #I can't even imagine how it looks from the outside #Anonymous

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turinn · 3 years

Text

Naive

Ray Blackwell x M!Reader

Summary: An invitation at a party reveals that Luka had no idea you’re gay, and brings up a concern you hadn’t had before. Tags: Crack, fluff, secret relationship, mention of homophobia, alcohol consumption A/N: This is based on a dream I had where Luka and I had this exact conversation and when I woke up and remembered it I nearly threw up laughing. I did actual research for the girls outfit and hair bc im a fashion history nerd. the pocket watch i just thought was cute. Fenrir calls the reader fruity but its okay bc hes gay too god bless Word Count: 1.5k

The party was the usual affair expected of the Godspeed's, an air of elegance- present but not too overbearing- hanging over the large hall. Music drifted gently to your ears as you took everything in, a small smile settling on your face.

You couldn't help but feel a little underdressed. The officers had, of course, kept their uniforms on, but everyone else present was dressed to the nines. You'd thought the suit you wore was lovely when you and Seth had seen it last week, dark blue with a white trim, paired with a pale cyan tie and pocket square. The gold watch that settled comfortably in your pocket had been a gift from Blanc, supposedly made by Oliver to look similar to his own, to commemorate your decision to stay in Cradle. Compared to everyone else, it felt rather simple now, but you pushed the thought aside. Nobody was judging what you were wearing, they were here to enjoy themselves same as you.

"Would you like a drink?" Ray asked, voice soft enough not to startle you too much. This wasn't too effective, as you'd gotten lost in your thoughts, and sort of forgotten there were people around you, but it was kind of him to try. "Oh, yes, please." You smiled at him and a moment later he'd walked off, talking to Sirius about something, leaving you alone with Luka. Fenrir had disappeared to greet his family when you'd first arrived, and Seth was who knows where, but you didn't mind it being just the two of you. Luka rarely came to these, in fact this was the first he'd been to since you'd arrived in Cradle, despite it being your fifth, and you decided someone should stick with him so he didn't feel quite as nervous.

As you turned to say something to him, you noticed a lady making her way over to the both of you, looking rather flustered. Her fists were clenched at her sides, and she seemed to be muttering something to herself, but it was clear she had intent to speak to one of you. Perhaps she wanted to talk to Luka? He was cute, it wouldn't surprise you. What did surprise you, however, was when she walked up to you instead.

"Um, excuse me if this is far too forward, but... would you be interested in dancing with me?" She sounded so nervous, and you almost wanted to say yes. Any other man would have been lucky to get such an invitation- she looked stunning. She wore her hair in curls, gathered at the back of her neck, with a hairpiece of pale blue flowers was pinned at the front, a necklace donning the same type of flower hanging just above the neckline of her gown. The gown in question matched the colour of the flowers well, though the width of the crinoline supported skirt would have made you concerned about the logistics of dancing with her- if you'd had any intention of saying yes. Her cheeks were tinted pink as she chewed her bottom lip and waited for your answer, avoiding your gaze. A hand on your chest and a sincerely apologetic look on your face, you began to respond. "Oh dear. I'm terribly sorry, but you seem to have gotten the wrong end of the stick. You're a very attractive young lady but I'm afraid... how should I put this," You glanced at Luka for help, but he seemed to have no idea what you were trying to tell her, "I'm afraid I don't tend to set my eye on the ladies, so to speak." "You're... gay?" A sympathetic nod. "That's the ticket. Sorry, love." "Oh, it's not a problem! I'm really sorry to have bothered you!" She suddenly looked much less nervous, though a little embarrassed, and scurried off. You sighed. "I feel a little bad. I really hope she finds someone to dance with." Luka looked at you quizzically. "Why did you lie to her?" A confused laugh escaped you. "I'm sorry?" "You told her you were into guys. Why lie?" As he said this, Seth and Fenrir came up behind him, and hearing his question their eyebrows shot up. So did yours. Was he kidding? "Luka, sweetie, you have got to tell me what part of my personality made you think I was heterosexual, so I can set about changing it immediately." Seth choked on his drink, and though you flashed him a grin, you weren't entirely kidding. Going from Victorian London to a world where being gay was perfectly acceptable had been quite the change, but you'd been certain all of your friends had known. It's not like you were quiet about it, and sure, Luka was naive but... come on, now. "Wait are you... you were being honest?" "Yes?" "Luka," Fenrir began, stepping next to you and resting an elbow on your shoulder, "How have you seriously not noticed that he's gay yet?" "Well- there was no reason for me to assume!" "You watched me drunk make out with at least 2 different Black Army soldiers in my first month here!" Luka looked flustered, and utterly dumbfounded. The expression was one he wore often, usually when people insinuated that someone was in love- but somehow about five times more confused. He was unfortunate enough that Ray and Sirius returned at this moment, just in time to hear both your last remark, and his next one.

"I thought that was just something you did when you were drunk?" In another moment you were on your knees, legs shaking so much from laughter that you couldn't hold yourself up any longer. Fenrir was right there beside you, practically convulsing. Everyone else was laughing too- except poor Luka. You felt a little bad, truly you did, but this had to be the funniest thing you had ever heard. "He's completely straight, but watch out! Get a couple drinks in him and he turns fruity!" Fenrir managed to get out between cackles, and Ray was glad to have put your drinks down when Luka had last spoken, because he too nearly fell to the ground at this.

"Luka- Luka I'm sorry." You pulled yourself to your feet, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "We aren't laughing at you." Another fit of giggles overcame you. "Okay we kind of are, but it's not malicious or anything. That was just... hands down the funniest thing you've ever said." It took most of you 5 or so minutes to fully calm down from what he'd said, and anything that jogged your memories of it would bring you back to a state of uncontrollable laughter for the rest of the night. Luka came round to it being pretty funny after you talked him through the dozens of times you'd mentioned your sexuality to him since you'd met- every one of which had gone over his head.

Hours after the party had worn down and you'd all made your way home, you lay in bed, your head pressed against a familiar chest, and sighed. "What's up?" "I just... D'you think anyone else just hasn't realised?" Ray cocked his head, confused. "I'm gonna need a little more info than that, kitten." "I suppose I just... Back in London, it's not even legal to be gay, and I don't know if it ever will be. When I first came out to Fen, he told me that it was fine here, accepted and even celebrated. So, I guess I just thought that people wouldn't make the automatic assumption that I'm straight, y'know? I mean I talk about it a lot among you guys but- when I’m out and about... where do people think my final destination is? When I pick up a silly cat themed gift for you does the shopkeep think I’m buying it for my wife? It shouldn't be a big deal, I guess, but I'd never been able to be myself until I came here, and now it's like I can be me but... people will still only see who I am if I tell them. It's just weird is all. I dunno. Maybe I'm drunk." "You're not drunk. It's an understandable concern. I guess I've never thought about it, because whether or not people would accept that part of me has never been an issue, but the fact that you've had to hide it for so long and now that you're able to be open people still aren't seeing it must be hard. If you want we could... come out, so to speak?" Your eyebrows raised, and you moved back, propping yourself up on your arm so you could look your partner in the eyes.

It had been decided at the very start of your relationship, which had officially begun a few months after you'd made the choice to stay in Cradle, that the two of you would keep it under wraps for a while. Being from the Land of Reason was more than enough reason for people to take an unwanted interest in you, and you didn't need the extra attention being the King of Spades' partner would garner. Plus, anyone with a grudge against Ray would see you as a target the second you announced it. It had been a sensible suggestion on his part, one you hadn't hesitated to agree to, and as far as you knew only Sirius and Fenrir knew about your relationship. Fenrir because he had walked in on you sitting in Ray's lap while he worked late one night, and Sirius because- well, can anything get past that guy? And now, Ray was offering to tell the entirety of Cradle you were his, just so that you didn't feel like you were hiding your identity anymore? You could feel your eyes starting to burn, and you cursed the late hour and the alcohol in your system for making you cry so easily, but... "I don't think we need to be that drastic. You were right when you said it would keep me safe for us to not be in the public eye, at least for now. I'm sure Seth can come up with some better way for me to tell the whole world I'm gay." "I don't doubt that at all." Ray grinned, placing a gentle kiss on first your forehead, then your nose, and finally on your lips. "Tomorrow, though. You need your beauty sleep." "Ah, yeah, can't risk getting ugly. My boyfriend might not want me anymore." You quipped. "Exactly." He smirked at you, turning out the light and pulling you into his arms.

#🌙. by me #new fandom lads lets go!#i had a migraine earlier and now i cant remember how i tag fics help #ikemen revolution #ikerev #ikerev x reader #ikemen revolution x reader #ikerev x mc #ikemen revolution x mc #ray blackwell #ray blackwell x reader #ray blackwell x mc #☆ ikerev #♥️; ray blackwell

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bbaronpiper · 4 years

Text

I’m Home

where are my angsty people at? 😂 this was requested by a lovely anon. I just couldn’t find the post but here’s what’s requested. Hope you like it tho.

1. And that makes it okay? 19. Don’t you think you’ve done enough? 25 We’re you trying to destroy us? 27 Is the weight of it all finally too heavy?” 37. Is this how you thought your life would be?”

Also, I tried to write fluff but I just can’t maybe the next one will be. Someoneee pleaassseee write fluff aron imagine. I’ve been dying to read a new one. pleaaaseee? <3

“Is this how you thought your life would be?” your best friend said, knocking some sense into your thick brain for the nth time for the last year and a half now. It’s more of a statement than a question referring to you and Arón’s relationship or whatever it is that you two have.

Instead of answering, you just took a sip on your coffee and shrugged, too tired to go through this again. Your best friend sighs and rolled her eyes. She was probably tired too on giving you advices but you never actually do something about it. She’s totally against it, not against Arón, but against the fact that you two did everything together: laugh, cry, fight, be there for each other, fuck each other, meet each other’s friends and family, everything any couple would do. Except that you’re not. For her, you deserve more than to be the girl who doesn’t know where to stand with him.

But for you, it didn’t matter. You didn’t want to push him if he’s not ready for a commitment. You knew his past relationship and it’s ugly. You had your unfortunate experiences as well but you two are different people. Both of you have different ways of coping and you totally understand if he doesn’t want to jump into that roller coaster ride again. What’s important for you is that he’s happy: You’re both happy even without that fucking label. You knew it has its pros and cons and most of the time it didn’t bother you until now.

It has been going on for a few months. Not exactly to be proud of but you are too stubborn to admit it. Your faith in him was too strong but you knew. You can feel it. He’s slipping away. Hugs don’t feel as warm and kisses just don’t feel the same. He’s growing distant for the reason you weren’t aware of and too damn scared to ask. ‘Cos you know, no labels right? You mean, you even question yourself nowadays if you even have the right to.

Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone ringing. Looking down on it and saw Arón’s name flashing on the screen.

Y/N: Hey, what’s up?

A: Hi Y/N, I’ll be home in an hour.

Y/N: okay see you.

A: okay. Bye. Can’t wait to be with you tonight.

Your heart flutters as you heard his voice even so when he said ‘home’ knowing he wasn’t referring to your apartment as you both have your own but he spend most night at yours.

Home was never a place, he once said. It was you and damn the stupid smile you had on your lips that one night he told you this.

You hanged up the phone and looked at your best friend from across the table. All she did was nod and you go back home running. You were excited to see him. He just got back from his weekend getaway with his friends. Of course, he had asked you to come but unfortunately you can’t because of work and promised you’ll make up to him next time.

You changed into more comfortable clothes and do your night routine the moment you came home. But you kept hearing your best friend’s voice inside your head over and over again like a prayer. Is this how you thought your life would be? You thought of addressing this issue with Arón you just don’t know when and how.

As if on cue, you heard the door knob twist open, revealing a curly-haired boy you love so much enough to make your knees weak. You smiled brightly at him as he did to you, engulfing you into his arms tightly, you buried your face into the crook of his neck savoring his distinct perfume. He pulled his head back, looked at you and pecked you on the lips. You closed your eyes briefly and opening it back again the second his lips left yours. There it goes again. The empty kisses. It felt like a routine. Something he had to do and not something he really wanted to do. You tried to mask your disappointment as you gave him a weak smile.

“I bought us dinner!” Arón said enthusiastically, wiggling the paper bag in front of your face. “It’s your favorite” he added. Damn that smile he had on his face, it made your heart flutter for the second time today.

“Yeah thanks, but before we eat, can you please take a shower first? Damn you stink!” you teased him. Pinching your nose.

“huh, okay….” He looked at you for a moment before grabbing the back of your head and slamming you into his armpits. “No! Y/N! take it back! I mean, go smell it for yourself!” he said laughing. Of course, he heard a lot of curses from you telling him to let you go and that he really stinks even though he’s not.

After so many attempts, he let you go eventually. He then walked over to the kitchen counter and drop everything including the backpack he had on him and his phone.

Arón being the naughty boy he is, asked you to shower with him in which you refused telling him you just showered when you got home and will just prepare the table for dinner. Of course, he pouted at you like a baby, most of the time it would work but not tonight. Not after you heard your best friend’s voice inside your head again repeating the same question she asked you earlier.

Times like this makes you so confused. He acts all lovey dovey now but some days he won’t. It’s nothing. He’s just busy. You tried to fight it as you repeat the words trying to reassure yourself but you knew deep down something was off. There’s something about a gut feeling that’s too strong for you to ignore.

But lucky you, fate decided to refrain you from prolonging your heartbreak. You heard Arón’s phone vibrate against the marbled kitchen counter. You knew it wasn’t right. You knew you didn’t have the right to go through his personal belongings. You have never done it before and you thought you never will but something in you made you do it tonight. You had to know what’s causing this.

You took all the strength in you to grab his phone on the counter. It’s notification box screaming at you: your knees trembling, your lips quivering, your hands ice cold, your face pale like a fucking vampire, and tears threatening to fall as you stared down on it.

Message from: *insert name of a girl* (I don’t wanna name names at this time, you know. Lol)

Can’t wait ‘til our next getaway! You gave me a new meaning of fun. *wink emoji*

You felt like someone threw you a bucket full of cold water and ice over your head. You felt so cold, it made you numb from head to toe. It was a simple text, probably meant nothing. With shaky hands, you put the phone down on where you got it from. You grabbed the chair closest to you for support as you felt your stomach get sick. Like you’re about to throw up. Not to mention that tightness in your chest that made you gasp out for air. You heard the bathroom door opening but there’s nothing you can do about it. you just stood there with your hand gripping at the back of a chair tightly like your life depended on it and the other over your chest as if it will hold your heart in one piece but it’s too late for that now.

The moment Arón stepped outside of the bathroom and saw you like that, he quickly ran over to you. He grabbed you by the waist and slightly pulled you up as you were about to fall on the floor. Blame your weak knees. No. Blame this man in front of you.

“Hey, heyyy, What’s wrong?” he asked concerned. He really is. You heard it in his voice. “Y/N! C’mon look at me. Look at me baby” Arón said as he grabbed your face in one hand trying to get you to look at him. You just stared at him unable to form words. You tried but no voice came out but the tears stream down your face instead which made him more worried than he was a minute ago.

You just hugged him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your face buried on his chest as you cried. His warm skin against yours brought comfort. There’s still few droplets of water on his upper body, his hair slightly dripping and all he had was a towel wrapped around his waist but none of you cared. You just stood there hugging and him running his hand up and down your spine trying to comfort you, not knowing he’s the cause of all this. You savor the moment as this will be the last. You are sure of it now.

Once you found your strength, you pulled away and spoke.

“Were you trying to destroy us? Were you trying to destroy me? ‘cos you definitely did.” You sniffed and wipe your tears with your hands.

He looked at you confused like you just grown a second head.

“Que?” he asked tilting his head to the side slightly. “What do you mean babe? I would never-”

“Please don’t make it hurt more by lying to my face.” Your lips are trembling and the tears are non-stop. He looked away from you and bit his lips probably trying to keep the truth from coming out or probably trying to stop the tears. But you knew he saw the pain in your eyes and it’s too much for him to handle now confirming that all this is because of him.

“What are we really, Arón?” you tried again. You were surprised by your sudden bravery to say this out loud even Arón was shocked as he whipped his head back to face you.

“We’re happy. That’s what matters, right?” he spoke slowly, afraid that his answer will never be good enough for you and damn right it’s not.

You backed up a few more inches away from him while laughing sarcastically through the tears. You then pursed your lips into thin line and nodding your head a few times. Accepting the fact that he’s still not ready to commit.

“Please say something” he whispered with his strained voice. He rubbed his hands on his face, something he does when he’s uneasy, stressed or afraid. He stepped forward and by this you knew that he wanted to hold you. he wanted to feel the warmth of your body but the look you are giving him is enough to know that you wanted your space.

“What do you want me to say?” you whispered back. Tired of all the crying. Tired of pretending everything is fine even though you knew for months that whatever you two have is bound to end soon. “Do you want me to say that I knew you were with someone else these past few days? Huh Arón?” you said calmly more than ever which made Arón really terrified. “Do you want me to say that I felt it months ago? That you’re drifting away? But kept my mouth shut?”

“She’s just a friend, okay? Nothing happened between us. You gotta trust me Y/N” he defended. His heart hammering against his chest, hard.

“Wow. Trust. Big word!” you spat back. “How can you ask me to trust you when you can’t even give the same trust I was asking you when I told you I’m not her! That I won’t do whatever the fuck it is that she did to you!” you said referring to his ex.

And there it is. His defensive side that always resurfaced every time you mentioned her. You saw his face slowly turn red. Annoyance painted on his face

“This has nothing to do with her Y/N! besides, it’s not like I cheated on you we’re not even offic-” he stopped himself. He didn’t mean to say it.

“Official.” You finished for him. He swallowed the lump on his throat getting nervous as ever as his eyes fell on the floor. “and that makes it okay?” you asked him sincerely. ‘cos you thought, even though without a label, you two had mutual understanding that both of you love each other enough not to let anyone else get between the two of you. The doubts, the fear, the stinging in your heart is consuming you. It made your judgement cloudy. Now, you’re starting to believe that everything was a lie.

Slowly accepting the harsh truth. You decided for the both of you. You didn’t even let him explain himself. You’re done, your best friend was right all along. You didn’t deserve this.

You took a deep breath. You had to stop the tears and say this firmly.

“It’s okay Arón”

That’s when his eyes shot back up at you. That’s when he knew you’ve given up on him, on both of you. That was the sign you wouldn’t put up a fight anymore. He stared at you blankly as flashes of memories clouded his vision. Memories of you: good and bad. He watched how he treated you for the past year and a half. Specially these past few months. He now saw how fucked up he is and how stupid he is to let it fall apart like this. He was so scared on commitment to the point that he didn’t see how worthy you are. How different you are from the other girls he met.

It felt like a big punch on the face for him.

“No, please Y/N” his lips trembling as he tried to reach for you. “Don’t say that please.” Arón whispered walking closer to you. Trying to break down the wall you’ve put up between the two of you. He intertwined his fingers on yours, his gaze piercing straight to yours as he tried to find any direction because he has no clue on how to fix this or if it was even possible to fix it.

“Arón, really, It’s okay” you stated again. You already made your choice.

“NO! stop saying that! Joder! You know it’s not fucking okay!” Arón cried. It surprised you. He never cried for you before but your calmness over this whole thing is driving him crazy. He can’t accept the fact that you’re acting like you knew it would end like this long before it happened, like you’re taking all the hit like you deserved it and it’s making him feel like shit.

“Just please… Tell me what you want me to do, how do I fix this?” regret, fear and pain flooding over him. But you know what they say, all of these emotions are felt when it’s too late.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” you let go of his hand which made him cry harder as he shuts his eyes tightly. You aren’t even mad at him, you love him too much. You understood him from his point of view, it’s really difficult to put your broken heart back together and you’ll never take this against him.

This is exactly what made him love you. You were such a kind soul, a sweetheart, you always try to look the good in people. You were always so patient with him but he took advantage of it without even noticing. He broke your precious heart when you did nothing but love him unconditionally and he loves you just as much but he’s just a coward who can’t admit it.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. You don’t deserve this. I’m sorry” Arón continues to sobbed realizing how he put your love to waste and it made him look back down on the floor feeling ashamed of himself.

“I just want you to be happy.” You cupped his face making him look back at you. you were surprised on how you’re handling this too well or maybe it just haven’t sink in on you yet.

“You know I don’t deserve that” he shook his head as you shook your head yes in return, completely disagreeing to what he just spit out. “Of course, you do, silly” you gave him a sad smile as you wiped his tears. You really meant it. He really deserved to be happy after all, he’s not the monster here.

He didn’t answer for a while. “Do you want me to leave?” Arón held his breath hoping you’d answer no. Gripping on your forearm tightly not knowing if this was the last time he’ll hold you. His biggest fear came to life the second you sent him a sad smile and nodded yes slowly. He just stood there unable to move. Taking a few moments to process what has just happened before putting on his clothes and gathering his things.

He gave you a sorrowful look, he opened his mouth as if he was gonna say something but instead a soft whimper came out of his lips. Knowing that it’s time to go, and he caused you too much pain already, he leaned in closer to you and gave you a kiss on the forehead. You smiled at the feeling. oh how you’re gonna miss this so much.

“Te quiero” he whispered before turning his back at you so fast not giving you time to process and answer back.

You stared at the door as he closed it. With eyes wide surprised at what he said. Or he did he really say it or you’re just hearing things? you weren’t sure but one thing is for sure. You needed someone. Someone you can talk to, someone who will understand. You’ve been strong for far too long and you just needed someone to confide in.

You dialed the familiar number you’ve known by heart. You waited anxiously and the moment you heard her voice, you broke down to tears. And she knew. No explanations needed she just knew you too damn well. She’s your best friend after all.

“Is the weight of it all finally too heavy?” she asked sympathetically. She didn’t let you answer verbally. Your sobs are enough for her to know. “I’ll be there in a few Y/N. I’ll bring you some comfort foods” you nodded through the phone as if she can see you and quietly whispered ‘okay. Thanks’.

And true to her words, you heard a knock on your door not long after you hanged up the phone.

You walked over your front door only to reveal a boy you thought you wouldn’t see again. He has a blush pink across his cheek. His lips plump, hair slightly disheveled, his eyes red but it showed a slight hope in it.

Arón, this cabron, this boy who’s stupid enough broke your heart, and the only man who can put it back together in a swift. Standing at your door. Again. For the second time tonight.

“I’m home” he spoke.

You made your choice hours ago, but now, he’s making his and he chose to be with you. He promised to get it right this time. The girl he was with? Not important. He was telling the truth when he said nothing happened between them but being with this girl made him realize who he really wanted to be with: You. The reason behind him drifting away is that he’s too scared to fall too deep again only to get his heart broken. But after tonight, after losing you, he realized that love isn’t for the weak. It takes courage and bravery. It’s about getting your heart broken but still loving the right person with all of its broken pieces. He knows that now and he’s willing to take the risk.

You smiled and kissed his soft lips with every passion you both have in your bodies.

“I love you too… and yeah, you’re home”

#aron piper imagine #aron piper fanfic #aron piper x reader #aron piper angst #aron piper fluff #aron piper #aron piper imagines

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esmesrose · 3 years

Text

Lorraine/Ed (gift for you)

Lorraine is mesmerizing, for so many reasons.

Ed knows this from the moment he first lays eyes on her, all those decades ago when they were both teenagers - fingers brushing softly at the movie theater, laughter in the rain, kisses under the gazebo. His heart was caught from day one, and he’s never pretended otherwise.

One slight issue, of course, is that she is mesmerizing for so many people they meet also. To a certain degree, this fills Ed with pride – of course people should be captivated by his wife, why would they ever not be? But at the same time, he can’t help it whenever a tiny sliver of jealousy rears its ugly head.

Lorraine is beautiful, no matter what she is doing.

Early mornings, when Lorraine’s hair is a mess, her eyes blinking blearily at the suddenly light, and her nose crinkling at the thought of having to get out of bed when it’s still cold. Evenings, when they are both reading side by side on the couch, their shoulders resting together, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, and her hair tickling his neck. Afternoons, when they are out for a stroll through the park, her bright smile lighting up the world around them more than any ray of sunshine. On a case, where she is dressed smartly and sensibly, willing to crawl into a basement or run up a flight of stairs, whilst looking wonderfully fashionable at the same time.

She arrives to help people on their darkest days like a burning symbol of light and beauty, and Ed finds it understandable that so many – men and women alike – are enthralled by her when she helps chase their troubles away.

Or at least, it would be understandable if they didn’t try to flirt at the end of the case. Ed’s eyes narrow as he takes in the scene in front of him.

Mr Williams, husband and father of three, has seemingly forgotten his now-relieved family in the aftermath of their latest demonic possession case, and Ed watches as the man leans ever so slightly closer to Lorraine as she finishes saying something to him. She reaches out to shake hands, about to wrap up the case and say her farewells, and he clasps her hand between both of his; Ed notices his touch lingering even as her arm tenses to pull away.

Ed slides smoothly in next to her, his arm going around her waist so his fingers can rest lightly on her hips. He reaches out his own hand, forcing the man to break contact with her and turn his attention to Ed.

‘We best be going now,’ Ed says in a falsely cheery tone. He can sense the amusement radiating off Lorraine, who isn’t fooled in the slightest by his sudden appearance, but she allows him to lead her gallantly away.

Lorraine is fascinating, with her abilities making her seem almost otherworldly sometimes.

Ed tries to protect her as much as possible, because only he knows the true toll these gifts extract from her. He sees the pain and exhaustion, her fear at what her visions bring, her nightmares when a case refuses to leave her mind. He hates when people don’t take her gifts seriously either, far more than it ever bothers her. There are a few times when the mocking becomes too much, and he wishes he could just punch the person, although he always refrains. It’s a fine line to walk – wanting people to respect her gifts, but wishing that she didn’t have to use them often either.

When she does show them on full display, it’s a sight to behold, however. Ed loves that part of her just as he loves all of her, and while he’ll never be able to know what she sees and goes through, he is there by her side each time.

Those lucky few who get to witness it in person like him are often awestruck, or perhaps even fearful. And then there are those in the classroom, who can watch the videos and be lost in the stories, fascinated by something that is slightly removed from their own reality.

There are always some students who seem to be captivated by these stories, and they flock around Lorraine after their speeches, with hundreds of prying or challenging questions. Ed can practically see the stars in their eyes as they stare at her, riveted by this calm and polite woman with such a powerful gift.

But as always, they don’t know the dark side of it; they’re searching for the mystery and the What Ifs, not the actual woman behind them.

‘Enough questions for today,’ he says, holding up a hand after one such presentation. There is a sigh of disappointment from the large cluster of students surrounding Lorraine, but he shoulders his way through, trying to be civil and yet refusing to be separated from her by a sea of people.

Lorraine finishes up her conversation with a young girl, who is clinging onto her notebook with white knuckles and a slightly dazed look in her eyes, and then smiles up at him.

They leave the classroom arm in arm.

Lorraine is brave.

To many people, especially when they first meet her, she seems a composed and polite woman, exuding elegance right from her fashion choices to her language and behaviour.

And of course, Lorraine IS elegant, and she is composed and polite. But Ed gets to see the ridiculous sense of humour she has at home also, when she is playing with Judy or making him laugh. He enjoys how matter-of-fact she can be when out feeding the chickens or how freeing she finds dancing in his arms.

Perhaps people could guess these sides of her, given enough time. But what they almost always underestimate is how brave Lorraine can be, facing down the darkest creatures of hell. She sees terrible visions without flinching, and converses with spectres and demons as if it is normal – which it practically is, for her.

Occasionally, although Ed would loathe to admit it out loud, he wishes she slightly was less brave. He is less fearful of the demons they fight against than ice-cold terror that runs through his veins whenever he is forced to witness Lorraine in danger. Sometimes, it’s her own gift that leaves her screaming, at risk from a creature in her mind, or being so wrapped up in what is unfolding in her vision that she isn’t aware of the real-world threats around her. Other times, he has to watch as she crawls into a basement to face down an angry ghost, or climbs up into an attic space where only the slightest body can walk along the floor. He hates being left behind, but she always just smiles at him, or rolls her eyes at his attempts to persuade her not to go, and he is left hoping for her safety again and again.

For other people though, they aren’t expecting this type of behaviour from her. This time, Ed notices it in the expressions of the two policemen, who have just watched her scramble out from under a house, a small child clutched in her arms.

He’s already next to her, one hand on her back and the other cupping her elbow as he helps her stand. There is dirt on her knees, spiderwebs in her hair, and a scrape down her cheek that looks flecked with blood, but she’s beaming at him with a bright smile, so he thankfully knows she’s alright.

‘Mrs Warren, let me take the boy,’ one of the policemen says, reaching out to lift the child out of her embrace.

‘That was very impressive, ma’am,’ comes the stutter from the younger officer, his eyes wide as he takes in the scene around him. Lorraine turns her smile towards him, and a bright red flush sweeps across the young man’s cheeks. Ed almost chuckles at his bashfulness, for once having sympathy for someone who is clearly enamoured by Lorraine – he too can never resist her smiles.

But then he can feel her waver slightly in his arms, exhaustion setting in after all she’s done. A passing flashlight illuminates her pale face, and he can see bruising appearing around the gash in her cheek.

‘Come on,’ he says softly, and leads her towards the ambulance.

Lorraine is warm-hearted.

Her warmth, patience and kindness towards others can still amaze Ed, even after all these years, and after all the evilness that’s surrounded her. Other people can sense it also – and not just from those who know who they are and what they do.

They’re at a wedding organized by a close friend of them both, but where most attendees are strangers. Small talk flows comfortably at their table however, with Lorraine skillfully leading the conversation whenever it threatens to peter out into awkward silences, having an innate ability to include everyone in a discussion.

Later, Ed wanders over to the private bar to collect drinks for them both, and as he waits to be served, he turns and scans the crowd, searching for her out of habit.

Lorraine is still standing and talking to the group he’s just left, smiling at whatever is being said. The evening lamps have been lit, and there is a soft glow to her skin. At least two of the (apparently single) wedding guests have closed the gap in the circle where he once stood, clearly trying to be slightly closer to her. He’s not sure if she’s even noticed, so intent is she on listening to her friend’s story, reaching out to rest her hand on the woman’s wrist. The two guests watch her instead, and he watches them. He could go over and interrupt, slotting back beside her in the circle, but at the end of the day, he knows there is nothing to worry about anyway. She’ll be more disgruntled if he comes back empty-handed.

He turns back to the bar, raising his hand and finally capturing the attention of a waiter. The man is busy pouring two glasses of wine, when Ed feels a warmth at his back, and two small hands settle on his waist.

‘Having fun?’ he asks, not turning around, but slipping his hand down so he can entangle his fingers with hers.

‘I’ll have even more fun dancing with you,’ she says sweetly in his ear, and the next thing he knows, he is abandoning their drinks in order to be swept onto the dance floor.

Lorraine settles in his arms, and they dance together for the rest of the evening.

(I was aiming for jealous Ed for you, but kinda stumbled on protective-jealous Ed by mistake…woops.)

I loved it, thank you so much!!!!!♡♡♡♡

#submission

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ahsbitch · 4 years

Text

Yes, Mr. Langdon---Fire & Reign!Michael Langdon x Reader

Word Count: 3228

Summary: Reader is F&R!Michael’s assistant, who is always quick to do whatever he asks. Michael wants to see how far she’ll go to do just that.

Warnings: NSFW, lots of swearing, masturbation, Reader gets a facial, bootlicking, degradation, humiliation ish?, some Mean!Michael, but also kinda Soft!Michael at the end bc I’m soft and lonely at heart, that’s all I can think of idk

A/N: Hi I’ve literally never written any AHS stuff before so I apologize if this sucks but I really hope it doesn’t

Being the personal assistant to the Antichrist was definitely not the easiest job in the world.

But when held in comparison to your time in restaurant service, it definitely wasn’t the hardest either.

At least here, you rarely had to deal with obstinate customers. Most people were too frightened of your boss, Mr. Langdon, to yell or be rude in his presence, which you were constantly in, and on the occasion that they were rude or stubborn anyway, he had a tendency to give a little wave of his hand, incinerating them before your very eyes.

No, the rudest and most needy person you typically had to deal with was Mr. Langdon himself.

The rude came and went in waves. He could be cruel, demeaning, downright evil at times. He acted, in short, much like one might expect the Antichrist to. But sometimes, he could be charming, gentle, occasionally even sweet.

The neediness came and went in waves too, although it was more often very subtly present than anything else. Usually he was commanding, powerful, clearly in charge. But sometimes, although still commanding, he could be almost childlike in his confusion and frustration.

He was kind of an asshole, but he wasn’t the worst boss in the world. There was something about him that was compelling, that made you feel a great desire to please him. He was always specific about what he wanted, and you always complied, no matter how out of the box, how insulting, how simple or extreme, how kind or how demeaning. You said yes to everything he asked you.

And he had begun to take great notice of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Fucking, fuck, dammit to hell, this fucking, son of a bitch!”

You sat at your desk just outside of Michael Langdon’s office, transcribing a giant tome of text as instructed by the Cooperative, and listening to your boss curse loudly at inanimate objects.

You should probably get up, check on him, but you decided that until he reached the point of breaking things-

“Fuck!” He shouted, and then there was a bang and a very, very loud crash.

Yeah, until he started doing stuff like that.

You rose with a shake of your head, knocking sharply on his door three times.

“Come in,” Michael sighed, and as you walked in you took note of the shattered computer against the opposite wall of his desk, turning back to look at your boss with his head laying against said desk, hands gripping at his golden curls.

Dammit, he was frustrated.

Frustrated Michael could be particularly difficult to deal with.

You stood before him, hands folded neatly in front of you, smiling pleasantly even though he wasn’t looking at you yet, “You sounded like you might be in need of assistance, Mr. Langdon. Would you mind fixing your computer?”

He grunted quietly, giving a little swirl of his hand, although he didn’t lift his head, and you stepped out of the way as the technology flew back into place, drifting into its original position.

“Very good. Now, if you don’t mind, could you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m not a child, Y/N,” Michael growled, and you bit your tongue gently to resist the urge to laugh.

Moving to the side of the desk, you smiled to yourself at his little temper tantrum, “Of course not, Mr. Langdon. I am merely at your service.”

“Of course you are,” Sitting up finally, he turned to you, and you were amused to see the pout that sat on his lips, the intimidating man looking suddenly very young, more his own age, “The mouse won’t work.”

“May I?” You didn’t wait for him to agree, already wiggling the mouse once and then moving to the wires of the computer, fiddling with them quickly before sliding the mouse back to Michael, “That should do it.”

“What was wrong with it?” He glanced up at you, voice gruff, although you could hear a hint of curiosity.

You shifted where you stood, trying to mask your discomfort, “Just, uh, just technology stuff.”

“Y/N,” Turning in his chair, Michael pinned you in place with his gaze, and you were unsure whether this was metaphorical pinning or not, with how frozen you felt, “Tell me what was wrong with it.”

“Yes, Mr. Langdon,” Trying to keep your smile in place rather than let a grimace take you over, you grit your teeth in preparation for him to do something violent, “The mouse wasn’t plugged in all the way. It’s a fairly common issue. Happens all the time.”

You tensed, but to your surprise Michael didn’t yell or break something or curse, like he usually did when he felt a sense of ineptitude. Instead, he laughed, and normally that would’ve scared you even more, but it was such a warm and gentle laugh that you felt yourself relaxing ever so slightly as he spoke, “Of course it was. Tell me, Y/N, is there anything wrong with you?”

Shrugging, you let yourself perch on the edge of his desk with a giggle, “Plenty of things, believe me.”

“Tell me some?”

“Yes, Mr. Langdon,” Pausing, you mused over your words, testing each on the tip of your tongue before you said it, “Let’s see. My left foot is bigger than my right. I think jealousy is a very ugly emotion, and I hate it, but I have a lot of insecurities, and often find myself jealous of people around me in spite of my best efforts. Um, I read cheesy romance novels in my free time even though the writing usually makes me cringe. When people ask me what type of lipstick I use I always lie because I don’t want anyone else to have lips that look as good as mine. Oh, and even though I exclusively call you Mr. Langdon out loud, I will confess that in my head I usually refer to you as Michael. It’s faster, y’know.”

Chuckling softly once more, Michael nodded, “Those don’t sound too bad, as far as problems go. You’re lucky.”

“I prefer to think of myself as adaptable.”

“Fair enough,” He grinned, but something dangerous glittered behind his eyes, “You can go now, Y/N.”

“Yes, Mr. Langdon,” You flashed him a small smile before hurrying out of the room.

Michael watched you leave, musing over your words.

How far, he wondered, how far could he go with his wishes, before you gave in, before you said no.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Why the hell wouldn’t you say no to anything?

It was beginning to drive Michael crazy, watching the way that you gave in to whatever he asked, even when he was being absurd.

You spent a full day doing all your work in nothing but your underclothes, simply because he asked.

You gave sat on his lap through a whole meeting with other members of the Cooperative, your superiors, simply because he asked.

You let him order you to do tiny things. Hand him pens that were two inches away from his fingertips. Kiss the floor where his chair had been sitting. Adjust the brightness of his computer screen for him only to come back and adjust it to its original brightness approximately two minutes later. Simply because he asked.

What wouldn’t you say yes to?

He was musing over this as he waited for you to return from a coffee run.

There you were, carrying two paper cups, a pleasant smile on your face.

Always that same damn smile.

“I have your hot chocolate, Mr. Langdon,” You set the cup in front of him on the desk, “Thank you again for allowing me to get myself a drink.”

Michael glanced up at you, frowning, “Y/N, I always let you get yourself a drink.”

Shrugging, you raised the cup to your lips and took a sip, “I know you do, Mr. Langdon. But it feels right to thank you. You’re a good boss.”

Maybe not so much, He thought to himself as he twitched his hand, watching you drop the cup almost in slow motion, watching as the lid came off and your drink spilled just a bit onto his lap, just a bit onto his legs, cursing as the rest came splashing down onto his shoes.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry!” You gasped, staring at your now empty hands in shock.

Sneering at you, Michael snapped twice, “Don’t just stand there, Y/N. Clean up your mess.”

“Right, I’m sorry, Mr. Langdon, let me go get-”

“No,” He grabbed your wrist, not allowing you to move away, and you turned back to him in confusion as he continued to tug you closer, “Get onto your knees, open your mouth, and clean up your mess.”

Holy fuck.

Ignoring the way your face burned, you averted your eyes, whispering, “Yes, Mr. Langdon,” As you dropped to your knees.

Where exactly were you meant to go with this?

Michael raised his foot, nudging your chin with it until you looked up and met his gaze, his eyes holding something dark and urgently, compellingly dangerous, “Well? Get to work, Y/N.”

“Yes, Mr. Langdon.”

Before you could even think any further, he had touched the toe of his boot to your mouth, pushing gently against your bottom lip until you opened for him.

He was a remarkably clean person, and beyond the taste of your coffee even the shoes themselves didn’t taste particularly bad.

Probably because they cost more than your apartment.

You moved slowly at first, but as Michael brought his hands down to wind tightly through your hair, you sped up. You lapped at the droplets of coffee, over the grooves of his laces and up to the sharp, pointed toe of the boot, and when you were done with one you switched to the other. He gripped your hair tightly, guiding your head, forcing you to bob up and down as you cleaned his shoe, and you wondered vacantly to yourself if he did the same thing while he was getting a blowjob.

Probably.

“Good girl,” He praised as you worked, his voice softer than you expected, and even Michael seemed surprised as he cleared his throat, his tone becoming darker, “You’re not bad at this. Do you do this often?”

Pausing your ministrations briefly, you shook you head, “No, Mr. Langdon.”

You were back at it immediately, feeling him tug at your head.

Michael was trying hard to sound intimidating, and of course he did, he always did, but there was something shockingly gentle behind his voice even as he growled, “Good. I should be your first priority. Tell me, do you enjoy this?”

You had finished against his shoes, pulling away, and he released your head as he examined them, smirking at your heavy breathing, at the way you panted your answer, “Would you, uh, do you want me to enjoy this, Mr. Langdon?”

Narrowing his eyes, a frown etched across his face, “What? I mean, no. No, I don’t want you to.”

“Then I don’t,” You shrugged, rocking backwards.

Fuck, you were going to kill him.

“What if I wanted you to?”

“Then I would.”

Clearing his throat again, Michael stared at you for a moment before patting his thigh, “There’s coffee on my pants, as well. You’ll need to take care of that, too.”

“Yes, Mr. Langdon.”

He didn’t touch you this time, instead bringing his hands up, reclining further back in his chair and resting his head against his palms as he watched you.

Starting at the cuff, you stroked your tongue up his pant leg, pressing absentminded kisses occasionally as you went. By the time you’d reached the tops of his thighs, Michael was straining forward ever so slightly, dragging the chair closer to you with one ankle hooked around his desk, and then meeting up with his other ankle to lock behind your back.

You took the hint, mouthing along the outline of his cock.

Holy shit, he was huge, and you hadn’t even seen it unconstrained.

He hissed, quietly, his hips bucking forward as you licked your way up to his zipper, clamping your teeth onto it and tugging down without much thought.

“Stop,” He said firmly, almost laughing as you scrambled back, “Don’t be greedy.”

“Sorry, Mr. Langdon,” You dropped your gaze and licked your lips, tasting the remains of your coffee.

“Is this...” Trailing off in thought, Michael guided your face upwards once more, forcing you to make eye contact with him, “Is this embarrassing for you, Y/N?”

“Do you want it to be embarrassing for me?”

“Stop that,” He snapped, his grip on your chin tightening, “Stop bullshitting me. Give me a real answer. Truthfully, is this embarrassing for you?”

Tapping your fingers along your thighs, musing over your answer a moment, “Truthfully? Of course it is. A lot of the things you have me do, especially lately, I find humiliating.”

There it was. Now would you finally give in, finally reject a request?

He didn’t say anything, just reached into his boxers and pulled out his cock.

Neither of you spoke, staring at each other instead, and hesitantly you reached for it, flinching as Michael slapped your hand away just as you brushed your fingers against him.

“I told you not to be greedy.”

“Sorry, Mr. Langdon.”

After a moment more, Michael nodded, wrapping his own fist around his cock and beginning to pump it. You watched in fascination as moved, at the way his long fingers wrapped around his thick, long, perfect cock.

“Y/N,” Snapping you out of your daze, Michael paused to spit into his hand, moving rubbing along the head of his dick before returning to his former position, “I want to jerk off onto your face. I want you to sit there, and watch me, and I want to finish on your face, and when I’m done, I want you to thank me, and I want you to leave it there. Leave it for the rest of the day, so everyone can see how desperate you are to please me.”

Surely, surely you would say no to this.

“Yes, Mr. Langdon.”

A growl made its way out of his throat before he could stop it, and he sped up his pace as he watched you fold your hands in your lap, adjusting your knees a little, staring up at him through your fluttering lashes.

Snarling, Michael grunted, “You’re pathetic, do you know that?”

Did he want you to answer?

“Keep your pretty little whore mouth shut, got it?” He spoke like he could read your mind, and you decided he probably could as you clamped your teeth shut, nodding quickly as he continued, “Fuck. You’d do anything I asked you to, huh? If I told you to kill someone, you’d do it without question, wouldn’t you? Hell, you’d kill yourself without question, if I asked you to. I think you like feeling humiliated. I think that your pussy gets wetter and wetter every time I tell you what to do. I- shit- I’m your fucking boss, and you’re on your knees for me before I can even finish telling you that’s where you need to be. It’s absurd. You probably want me to fuck you right now. You’re probably wishing I would let you open your mouth so you can swallow me down, you’re so desperate to get a taste of me.”

He was getting closer to finishing, you could tell, his rhythm getting faster and faster, his words becoming more sharply articulated.

Michael kept going, almost like he was talking himself into cumming, “You can’t wait for me to finish, can you? You can’t wait to feel completely possessed by me, like I’ve somehow claimed you. You can’t wait for everyone who you see to stare at you, full of disgust and confusion. You want it, don’t you? Don’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Langdon,” You nodded, shutting your eyes as he let out a low, shaky groan, his warm cum coating your face.

Fucking hell.

You opened your eyes slowly, carefully, unsure of whether or not you should move. You watched as Michael stuffed himself back into his pants, zipping them quickly, and then he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, holding it out to you.

You didn’t take it but blinked up at him, staring, “I, um, I thought you said to leave it.”

Clicking his tongued, Michael started wiping your face himself, his touch incredibly light, “I thought you’d say no. Tell me to stop. Maybe report me to HR.”

You flicked your eyebrow up, an amused smile settling on your lips, “Do we have an HR for the apocalypse?”

Chuckling mirthlessly, he raised the handkerchief to his mouth and spat lightly, cleaning your face more intently, “You could say no, do you realize that? Why don’t you ever say no to me?”

You closed your eyes as he rubbed across the bridge of your nose, dabbing delicately at your eyelids.

“Have you ever seen The Princess Bride?” You asked, finally, as he moved to your hairline.

His brow furrowed in confusion, “I, uh, no? No, I’ve never seen it.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” His hand moved to your cheek and you leaned into it before you could stop yourself, humming as his thumb moved to run across your skin, “You should watch it sometime. Before you do the whole ending the world thing and kill me and pretty much everyone else in the world and inevitably ruin Netflix. Forget about that. Let’s just say it’s because I’m afraid of you, yeah? You scare me, so I do whatever you say.”

Hesitating for just a moment, Michael pulled his hand away, eyes closed, frowning, “Is that what The Princess Bride is about? Being afraid of your boss?”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, and you found yourself wishing that he would touch your face again, although you didn’t dare say so, “Not quite. Just, uh, forget about The Princess Bride. It doesn’t matter.”

He nodded, folding his handkerchief and slipping it into his pocket without opening his eyes, which you found oddly impressive.

You kept waiting for Michael to say something, to look at you, to move, to do anything, but he wasn’t and he didn’t and so you stood, and started to move away.

“Wait,” He spoke finally, and you felt as though you’d been in silence for hours although you knew it must’ve only been a few moments.

“Yes, Mr. Langdon?”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Michael opened his eyes, looking at you carefully, “I mean, the apocalypse. It’s not going to kill you.”

“It’s not? I thought only members of the Cooperative, and the people rich enough to buy a ticket, I thought they were the only ones who were going to make it.”

He wrapped his hand around your wrist, just as he had before, but this time it wasn’t aggressive, wasn’t rough. He was very gentle, his fingers skimming along the veins, pausing to feel your pulse thump against him, “And you. There will be a place for you in the new world, Y/N, I promise you that.”

And then Michael had released your wrist and turned away, and you made your way out the door and back to your own desk with a soft, “Thank you, Mr. Langdon.”

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whenihaveyouromione · 3 years

Text

When I Have You - Chapter 21

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3 if you’d prefer!

I run an Instagram account for this fic called whenihaveyou.romione if you’re interested.

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Chapter 21

“Ron, are you okay? You’re staring.”

“What?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, I’m okay… sorry.” Ron grinned at her. “I just think you’re really beautiful when you’re all serious and do all that official stuff, you know?”

Hermione went very red, shooting an apologetic look towards the amused witch sitting across from them. Then she returned her gaze to the pile of papers in front of her and cleared her throat. “Yes, well, we need to do this now.” She passed Ron one of the official-looking papers. Ron didn’t miss the small smile she tried to hide as she did so.

Not at all sorry about his lapse in concentration, Ron drew the parchment towards him and scanned it quickly. He took out his wand and brought the tip of his parchment to it, but didn’t bind the contract.

“So,” he said, “I just bind my name to the contract and this place —” he gestured around the small flat where they now sat, “— is ours?” He’d never had to deal with this before, and honestly, he was just as confused about everything as he was about using the microwave at the Grangers’ place.

“That’s correct,” the witch said, now looking at Ron with a keen interest. “For fifteen Galleons a week.”

“And if we choose to move out —”

“Just do it, Ron!” Hermione said irritably. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m just making sure everything is in order,” Ron muttered, though he tapped the contract with his wand and watched as his name appeared underneath Hermione’s. He passed the parchment back to the owner of the flat.

She studied it with interest. “Huh,” she said, “who would have thought that I’d receive an application for my old little flat from two heroes of the wizarding world.”

“Yeah, well, don’t go telling people that,” Ron said. “And, Hermione here is really good at protective enchantments, so even if you did, they wouldn’t be able to find it.”

“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed, shooting the witch another apologetic look. “If you read the contract —”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” the witch said, Vanishing the contract they’d both agreed to. “Of course, by signing it, there are privacy enchantments locked into it. Then, of course, I will always protect people who rent from me, regardless of who you are.”

“So, it’s ours now, then?” Ron asked, looking around the small living area. It wasn’t much — a tiny living room, an even smaller kitchen, with a single bedroom and bathroom off to the side — but it was perfect for them. Not to mention that if they needed anything, they simply had to go downstairs and they’d be in Diagon Alley. No Floo travel, no Apparating, or anything.

“Yes,” the witch said. “All yours, so long as you pay —”

“Yeah, yeah, the money,” Ron said.

Hermione glared at him.

“Speaking of, I do require a down payment of fifteen Galleons now, to secure the contract.”

Ron, who’d been warned of this prior to coming, extracted a small pouch containing fifteen Galleons from his pocket. He grinned as he passed it over to the witch. He only felt satisfaction at parting with it, knowing that it was his first major contribution as an adult earning his own money. Sure, he’d bought himself some new clothes and could now afford to take Hermione out, but this was theirs. Their own place, for which he was fully independent in paying for.

“I’ve never seen anyone look so pleased with handing their gold over to me,” the witch commented.

“Lucky you’ve got us then, eh?” Ron said. Hermione shook her head.

“Well,” the witch said, standing up, “here are your keys. Though, the place can also be accessed via spells if you so wish. You’ll just need to set them.” She smiled. “Enjoy. If you have any issues, owl me, and I’ll respond within two days.”

“And if it’s a leaking pipe?” Ron asked.

“You have a wand, do you not?”

Ron considered her tone highly rude, but chose to ignore it, along with Hermione’s laugh.

“Enjoy,” the witch said, and she left, leaving Ron and Hermione alone in the flat — their flat.

A silence ensued — one of the many, peaceful, and pleasant silences that had come to be a part of their relationship; a time for at least Ron to consider just how happy he was with the turn his life had taken after the war.

“We should celebrate tonight,” Hermione said after a moment. “You and me. We have Diagon Alley at our disposal, let’s not waste it.”

Ron looked at her, a smile playing at his lips. “You mean to say, you want to celebrate us moving in together by going out?”

“Well, we don’t have to go out. We can always stay in, and —”

“I’ve learnt to be an alright cook,” Ron said. “Since living with Harry. We both have.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” Hermione said. “Never had the desire to learn…”

“Well, you’re lucky you have me!” Ron said, beaming. “We can have a nice night in, in our new place. And I’ll cook for you. I’m not fantastic, but I’m sure I can get something together. Then maybe afterwards we could go down to the ice-cream place and — I love you.”

Hermione was looking at him with such a tender expression, apparently from his offer to cook for her, that the words — as they always did in a moment like this — slipped out. She had that effect on him. Just like earlier, when they’d been discussing the contract, she had been so serious and so focused that he hadn’t been able to stop himself from staring at her. He couldn’t believe he’d made it over a year with her, in a post-war world that was still trying to find its feet again. Sometimes, it was still hard to believe that they could be doing something as simple as finding a place together, when just over a year ago, he believed they were all going to die.

His words seemed to snap her out of some reverie. Her eyes regained focus and she looked up at him.

Ron smiled at her. “You alright there?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine. More than fine, actually.” She shuffled towards him, allowing Ron to gather her in his arms. He held her tightly. “I love you, too,” she added a moment later, almost as an afterthought.

Ron laughed. “Come on,” he said after a moment, pulling away from her. “We should probably go and get our stuff. Though, we don’t need much, do we?” The flat had come fully furnished, apart from their personal belongings.

“No, we don’t,” Hermione said, frowning suddenly at the ugly sofa they were sitting on. “Though, Isadora did say that if we wanted our own things, we just had to contact her and she’d remove these ones for us.”

“Yes, but we don’t have our own things, do we?” Ron said. “I mean, most of the stuff at Grimmauld Place — including the bed I sleep in — belongs to Harry. And the stuff at your place is yours parents, isn’t it?”

Hermione looked up at him, thoughtful. He could tell an idea was forming in her head, and for once, he could guess what it was.

“We’ll have to make do with it for the meantime,” Ron said. “Maybe one day we can buy our own furniture. I had a look at that bed in there —” he pointed towards the bedroom, “— and it doesn’t look very comfortable, so that’ll be the first to go.”

She smiled, taking his hand, and they made their way down from the flat and onto Diagon Alley. “You surprise me, Ron,” she said once they reached the busy street.

“You’ve said that before,” Ron replied. “I amaze you, I surprise you, I impress you…”

“Well, you do.”

“In a good way this time, I hope.”

“Of course. Always in a good way.”

“So, what amazing thing have I done this time to surprise you?” Ron asked with a smile.

“Just that once upon a time ago, I had serious doubts that you could ever be so thoughtful, so caring… so affectionate…”

“You were looking at me all wrong,” Ron told her. “Besides, back then, I was not only younger, but I had no idea how to approach things with you. I had no idea, at sixteen years old, how to say ‘Hermione, I know we’re friends, but I really like you in a more-than-friends kind of way’. Nor did I have the confidence to do it, even if I had known how. But I always cared about you, and Merlin, I always thought about you.”

Hermione raised her eyebrow at him, to which Ron added, with a smirk, “Not even going to deny it, Hermione. There’s no point. That time between the end of sixth year, and Harry arriving before the wedding and Horcruxes… that time when it was just you and me, I had many thoughts about you — some innocent, like wondering what you would do if I just kissed you there and then. Other times, I got a little carried away with my imagination, and it ran a little wild.”

“Charming, Ron,” Hermione said, though she was smiling and looking rather pleased with herself.

“What?” Ron said. “Most of those thoughts became a reality anyway. You made sure of that, not even two weeks in.”

It seemed Hermione felt she didn’t need to give a dignified response, instead smirking as they weaved their way through Diagon Alley.

“Well,” Ron said as they reached the Leaky Cauldron, “at least I don’t have to wonder how you feel about me anymore. That’s one less thing to worry about. I mean, you wouldn’t have moved in with me if you didn’t feel something, right?”

Hermione squeezed his hand as she pulled him through the archway and into the pub, and for Ron, that was a good enough answer.

…

The idea had occurred to him later that day — a way that he could make their first night in their new home memorable. Their first year together had been rather dateless, with Hermione going to Australia, Ron’s exhaustion from Auror training, and then Hermione going back to Hogwarts. There simply hadn’t been the time to even go out to dinner one evening.

But now they had all the time in the world; all the evenings together, all the weekends to do whatever they wanted.

So, naturally, Ron decided the best date was staying in.

He didn’t know where the idea had come from, but right before starting on the dinner he’d promised to cook her, he decided that eating at the table would be boring.

A picnic, he thought, would be much more interesting, and much more romantic.

Hermione seemed to agree.

“This is why I keep saying you surprise me,” she said, grinning at him as she watched a blanket, two Firewhisky glasses (and the Firewhisky) and some cushions appear in the centre of their small living room. Simultaneously, the sofa, the armchair and the coffee table all jumped out of the way to make room.

“What part?” Ron asked. “The part where I can do all that non-verbally now, or this?” He indicated the picnic.

“Your romantic side,” Hermione said softly. “You’re a romantic at heart, and I like it very much.”

“Only for you,” Ron told her. “You make the effort worth it.”

She flushed with pleasure and sat down on one of the cushions while Ron Summoned the food. He had to admit, it wasn’t the best — his mother could have made something ten times better — but he was quite pleased with how it had turned out. He just hoped it tasted alright.

Ron joined her on the second cushion, and she beamed at him. Then she laughed when he picked up the Firewhisky bottle.

“There are a lot less potent things than that around, you know?” she said.

“And where would the fun in that be?” Ron asked, pouring some of the drink into each of the glasses.

“What, you want to get us drunk, do you?” Hermione said, sounding amused.

“Honestly, it was all they had,” Ron confessed. “There wasn’t much of a choice. Unless I wanted to pay two hundred Galleons for a tiny little bottle of something.”

Hermione accepted the now full glass of Firewhisky, still smiling.

Ron returned it, watching her for a moment. “You really are worth it,” he said eventually. “I just wish we’d done this sooner. Earlier.”

“You mean in the middle of a war?” Hermione asked.

“I mean, even earlier than that,” Ron said. “Around the… time of Lavender. I really liked you then, but I had no idea how to tell you. And I also had no idea how you felt and thought that if I said anything — even if I had the confidence to — it might have destroyed our friendship.”

“I asked you to the party, though, didn’t I?” Hermione said. “I mean, I thought I had been obvious —”

“Nah, you needed to have spelt it out for me a little clearer,” Ron said. “I thought you asked me as a friend. If I had thought it was anything more, even the slightest chance… well, I wouldn’t have gone for… Lavender.” He always felt so guilty admitting that, but enough time had passed, he thought, that it was okay. He’d been sixteen then — young and stupid and very unsure of himself. Besides, she was happy with Seamus these days.

“I’ll know that for next time then,” Hermione said. Her expression turned thoughtful, and Ron was suddenly aware that they had not yet touched the food, nor their drinks. He moved the plates of food in front of them.

“Can I ask you something?” Hermione suddenly said, ignoring the food.

“Of course,” Ron said. “Er, as long as it doesn’t embarrass me.”

She smiled, shaking her head. “If you didn’t like Lavender… in that way… why did you go out with her for so long? I thought… well, honestly, you never were good at hiding your feelings, and I at least strongly suspected how you felt about me, and then all of a sudden you were with her — after I’d asked you to the party, too. I was confused, to say the least.”

“There’s a story behind that that I don’t really want to tell you,” Ron said. “But to put it quickly, Ginny pointed out to me after the Quidditch match that I’d never kissed anyone before, which annoyed me. Then she added that you had… you and Krum… well, that annoyed me too.”

Hermione seemed to want to argue his statement, but he cut her off. “I didn’t seek her out or anything, if that’s what you’re wondering. She came to me, and… and I was upset with you. I admit that. I just wanted to forget.”

Hermione stared at him, looking rather surprised by that information. Ron never had told her about that evening, and he hoped he never would have to go into detail about it. He wasn’t proud of it, and whilst Lavender wasn’t a bad person, he’d never really liked her all that much and often found himself thinking about Hermione and wondering what she was doing when he was with Lavender.

“You should eat,” Ron said after a few moments of silence. He indicated the plate in front of her. “Before it goes cold.”

Hermione seemed to accept the fact that the topic was no longer up for discussion, nodding slowly, and turning to their meal.

They began eating, striking up less intense and less uncomfortable conversations than past failed relationships.

"You know what we should do?" Ron said as he cleared their plates away with his wand, along with the glasses and the Firewhisky that had been too strong for either of them to drink too much of. "We should throw a housewarming party next weekend. Have everyone over."

"There's really not much room," Hermione said. "By everyone, do you mean… everyone?"

"Well, you know, Harry, Ginny, my brothers and whatnot. Neville, Seamus, Dean, Luna… that lot. Though I doubt Bill and Fleur would come, but I suppose Victoire would be welcome."

"Hardly a place for a baby, don't you think?" Hermione said. “I imagine there’d be plenty of drinking — I mean, you saw the Common Room when we were all under age…”

"It's why I said I'd doubt they'd come." Ron grinned. “It will be good to celebrate with everyone. All of us together again, for something good for once, too. What do you think?”

Hermione smiled. “I don’t see an issue with that. It’s right before NEWT results are due to arrive, too, so might be a good distraction.”

“Yes, because you’ll need that from the one hundred NEWTs and one hundred and one job offers you’ll get afterwards,” Ron said.

“Don’t say that, Ron.”

“I love you.”

“You can’t use that as a way to change the conversation —”

“Yes I can, because it always works.” Ron shuffled on the cushion so he could kiss her. “I love you.”

“Didn’t you say we’d get ice-cream after dinner?” Hermione said, pulling away from him.

“Yeah, I guess, but we don’t have to.” Ron kissed her again, but she pulled away once more, looking at him, rather amused.

“So, I take it you’re not actually interested in ice-cream?”

“Not at all,” Ron said, and for the third time, he kissed her, and finally she didn’t pull away, instead wrapping her arms around his neck to draw him closer.

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