#and I was crying for like half of act two and at least three cast members noticed me and made direct eye contact throughout the rest of it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shig-a-shig-ah · 3 years

Text

FULL CIRCLE

» pairing: dabi x fem!reader

» contains: poc!reader, soft Dabi, implied/referenced domestic abuse, implied/referenced child abuse, handjobs, fingering, oral sex, vaginal sex. 18+, minors DNI.

» a/n: a commission for @xshinigamikittenx. Thanks so much for the fun idea! And please note there are some specific descriptions of reader since it was a comm.

» wc: 6.9k

» AO3 Mirror

"Before we get started, we have a new member joining us today. Would you like to introduce yourself, Touya?"

You hadn't noticed the stranger sitting three seats away from you, not when you try to pay as little attention as possible during this court-ordered charade that passes for healing. But those words draw your attention to the therapist, an older woman greying at the temples, and when you follow her gaze it's hard to imagine how you could have missed the newcomer, with his jet-black hair and ruined jaw and face full of metal. You wonder if the piercings were there before the scars, or if they're meant to draw attention from them.

"It's Dabi," he says flatly, and it's then you see there are scars under his eyes, too, ones that could pass for nothing more than the aftermath of exhaustion without careful examination. You didn't see them for what they really were until that purple-ish skin was crinkling in displeasure.

"Okay, Dabi, would you care to introduce yourself to the group?"

"I just did, didn't I?"

You laugh as the placating smile slips from the group leader's face. It's a small sound, no more than the start of a chuckle quickly covered with a feigned cough, but it's enough to draw a quick, curious glance from him.

That's the first time those turquoise eyes land on you.

You normally ignore the other group members. Disappear into your head while they talk about problems you can't bring yourself to care about, and cry over breakthroughs you can't imagine matter. You know you're lucky to be here, at least in some ways—group therapy twice a week is far better than jail, after all—but that does little to help you invest yourself in this sham. You don't really belong here, don't really need it.

You'd never hurt anybody who didn't deserve it.

So mostly you tune out. And when you can't do that—a problem you seem to have more and more lately—you watch Touya, or Dabi, or whoever he is. Count yourself lucky when you manage to get a good seat, and spend far too much time working out the geometry of what actually counts as a good seat in this circle meant to foster intimacy and vulnerability.

Directly across from him is no good. Too conspicuous, and too likely to put you in danger of a reciprocating gaze. Adjacent at 90 degrees or less is too close—makes the turn of your head to put him in your line of sight too obvious. You work it out eventually, that 135-degree ideal. Just off-center enough to not draw attention when you cast frequent glances at him from under your lashes.

You watch, and you wonder about him.

Anger issues, the therapist mentioned, and you can see it. He tries to act nonchalant, posing slouched in his seat with one booted foot propped over his knee, but his constant fidgeting betrays some turbulent emotion barely kept in check. His face lives in a bored expression and when he speaks his voice is a matching drawl, but his half-scarred hands can never decide what they want to do. They're tight fists stuffed in his pockets one second and long fingers combing through his hair the next. They pluck the unlit cigarette from behind his ear and roll it between two fingers until flakes of tobacco litter his worn jeans, and then he's moving on just as quickly to picking at loose threads in the denim.

He refuses to speak unless spoken to, too, and never comes close to actually sharing anything. Every probing question from the group leader yields the briefest possible answer.

Would you like to share anything today, Touya? "It's Dabi. And no."

How do you feel, being here? A scoff, and then, "Annoyed, mostly."

Can you tell us one thing you want to work on? "Nah, nothing comes to mind."

You like to think you're subtle in your attentions as you take it all in. You watch when he's speaking but never stare too long otherwise. Force your eyes to wander to some of the other attendees, as though you could hide your interest under the pretense of a restless gaze.

Apparently you're not as subtle as you think.

"You, with the braids," Dabi says one day as you pass by him in search of a good seat. His fingers snap. Point to the empty chair beside him. "Sit here."

He should know your name by now. The group leader uses everyone's, and often—some therapy technique meant to disarm, you're sure—so you don't bother trying to introduce yourself properly. Only freeze because you can't quite believe he's speaking to you.

"Why?" Your cheeks are already heating up, and that burning in your face only worsens when he answers.

"Because. I'm sick of you fucking staring from across the room."

You take the seat next to him, and it takes all your willpower to not look over at him again as the hour passes.

It's the same thing next session, and the session after. He doesn't say another word to you after commenting on your voyeuristic habit, but every day when you move to sit down, he guides you to the seat on his left with nothing more than a moment's eye contact and a tip of his head.

One evening, when you pause to fill a flimsy paper cup with burnt coffee and too many sugar packets before sitting down, someone else drops into that empty chair at Dabi's side.

He turns to them. Glares until they leave.

The group meets in the evening. It's meant to be more convenient, more accessible to the ones who work real jobs—the kinds in offices where they grind nine to five and pretend they aren't barely clinging to a respectable life.

It's less convenient for you. Your ride is already distracted and unreliable when the time comes to deliver you here. This late in the day and without the benefit of your reminders about a pick-up, they're just as likely to forget you entirely as to show up on time, or even twenty minutes late.

Today, it's a gamble between being late and entirely absent. After sitting outside after group and waiting for far longer than you probably should have, you finally call. The high-pitched ring on the other end of the line graces your ear a handful of times before you get the voicemail you'd been dreading.

You hang up without leaving a message.

"Somebody forget about you?"

There's a hint of schadenfreude in that recognizable voice, and when you turn you see Dabi leaning against the side of the low building, a cigarette in one hand. You can smell it now that you see it, don't know how you missed it before.

"No." The word sounds unconvincing even to your own ears. "Have you just been standing there watching me?"

"Don't flatter yourself." His cigarette drops to the concrete to be crushed under the toe of his boot. "If no one forgot you, I guess there's no point offering you a ride." He's already heading into the parking lot, towards a black coupe that looks as nice as he does ragged. He stops halfway there and turns back to look at you, one eyebrow raised. "Well?"

After a moment of deliberation, you rise. You follow.

The inside of Dabi's car is a stark contrast to the sleek outside. There's an overflowing ashtray in the center console and crumpled cigarette packs littering the floor, neighbored by fast food wrappers and the occasional empty can of coffee.

"Am I taking you home?" he asks as he pulls out of the parking lot, not bothering with a blinker.

"Where else would you take me?"

"Someplace you actually want to go. What, you think I haven't been listening?" he snorts when you give him a surprised look. "If it's any consolation," he adds a second later, "I know a thing or two about living with a bunch of assholes."

You don't know what to say to that. So, you don't say anything and he drives you to an industrial part of town. Parks behind some abandoned warehouse and keys off the ignition, slumping back a little in his seat and tipping his head to look at you.

You fidget with a lock of your hair. "What now?"

He shrugs, cranking the window down and lighting a cigarette. You watch the smoke curl from his lips as he exhales. "We sit here. Or we go climb through one of those windows and break some shit, if that's your thing." Another drag, another exhale. "Or we could fool around."

"Okay." It's not like you haven't thought about it. All that time staring at him, and then trying not to. Wondering about the texture of his scars and how they'd feel beneath your fingers, or about what it would feel like to kiss him. You've seen the stud that glints in his tongue when he talks.

"Yeah?" He raises a brow. Flicks his barely-smoked cigarette out the window instead of snuffing it out in the ashtray, and then leans over to release your seatbelt. He'd never bothered with his own.

This close you can smell him. The lingering aroma of tobacco, cedar and citrus beneath that. You wonder if he does things like this much. He's not unattractive, not to you, but his scarred face is intimidating if nothing else.

But he doesn't act inexperienced. Doesn't nervously procrastinate or shove his lips impatiently against yours like he's overly eager. Instead he lifts one hand to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your lower lip as he brings his face closer to yours. Your breath catches with anticipation.

His hand drops to your hip when his mouth finally presses to yours. It's a teasing, unhurried kiss, his lips hardly moving, at least at first. He pulls back once, cerulean eyes scanning your face from behind heavy lids, and when he leans back in it's with more intensity.

The center console between you must make it awkward, but he doesn't seem to mind. His tongue darts out to taste you, lapping over the seam of your lips before working its way languidly into your mouth. He tastes like smoke, and like the metal that decorates his tongue. When you lean into him a little more, his hand slides up to cup your breasts through your shirt.

It doesn't linger there long. He tweaks your nipple once, twice, and then his fingertips drag down your arm, long fingers tangling with yours and guiding your hand to his thigh. Upward from there.

He's half-hard when he presses your palm against his crotch, grinding himself against it just a little. You take it from there, fumbling one-handedly with his belt and the button on his jeans, bending your wrist awkwardly to reach beneath the band of his boxers and take him in hand.

The feel of more cool metal has a small, surprised sound slipping from your lips, and Dabi pulls back just long enough to chuckle before kissing you again, the faintest groan escaping his throat when you let your fingers explore the ring at his tip and the row of barbells running down the underside of his length, the distance between them increasing slightly as he continues to stiffen with each curious stoke of your thumb.

He groans again when your fingers wrap around him properly, pumping his shaft with rhythmic strokes, trying to memorize every detail of how he feels. Of the piercings there, and the thickness of him, and just how hard he is. His own hand slides under your shirt, your bra. Kneads at your breasts and then pinches lightly at your stiffening nipple. His hands feel unnaturally warm.

You can hear his breath starting to catch, too, gasping exhales and tiny grunts climbing up from his throat that only worsen when you work your wrist a little faster.

"Fuck, babygirl," he murmurs against your lips, "fuck, that's gonna—" You jerk more firmly, thumb pressing against his leaking slit, and he cuts himself off. His teeth catch your lower lip, tugging roughly as he gives a sharp exhale and fills your hand with a rush of warmth.

His face is slightly flushed when he pulls back, his eyes bright. You take a moment to appreciate the sight before glancing down at your sullied hand.

"Shit," he mutters, following your gaze. He reaches over you to pop open the glove compartment, rooting around until he emerges with a fistful of flimsy paper napkins. "Here."

You don't know what to do with them once you've cleaned the last remnants of spunk from your palm, and after a moment of deliberation you drop them on the floor amidst the other trash. He doesn't complain, only leans in to kiss you again. It's soft. Quick.

"Do you want me to..." He tips his head, and you shake yours.

"I should be getting home."

He doesn't protest, or try to insist on returning the favor. Just lights another cigarette and starts the car.

"Whatever you want, babygirl."

"Touya, do you have anything you'd like to share today?"

"It's Dabi." He'd been patient with that correction the first few times. Now he practically snaps it. He'd known this therapy thing was going to be nothing but bullshit, and the therapist's determination to avoid using his name only confirms that.

"Right," she smiles. "Do you have anything you want to share?"

"No, thanks."

The therapist frowns. She does that a lot, only to him. Dabi's pretty sure that has to violate some therapeutic principle.

"No one asks to be here, Tou— Dabi. But many of your peers have found it quite helpful." She pauses, forces the placating smile back on her face, lest that caring mask slip for too long. "But in order for it to help, you have to make an effort."

Dabi snorts. "Yeah, well, maybe the rest of my 'peers' have problems. But in my case, I'm not the issue. Trust me."

Maybe he's being uncharitable, but he doesn't care. Doesn't owe these people anything—not his sympathy, or his understanding. And it rankles him, being surrounded by old men for whom it's a revelation to learn that their tempers have consequences, or by women who seem to want to excuse the shitty behavior of everyone in their life. Who buy into forgiveness and the idea that mastery of the self is the remedy for dealing with selfish pricks who'll only allow you in their lives if you make yourself small for them.

You're the exception. It was why he'd noticed you in the first place, even before you'd taken to staring at him when you thought he wasn't looking.

Well. It was the second reason he'd noticed you. The first reason was simply because it would have been hard not to, with the bright red hair and full lips, and the fact that you were the only person here even close to his own age. But then to boot you turned out to be the only one who wasn't a fucking whiner, who didn't exude that faint sense of self-pity when you talked about your challenges. (Because that's how it is here—no problems allowed, no language permitted that might suggest people aren't inevitably responsible for their own difficulties. Only challenges that you're all meant to take ownership of, whether they're your own fault or not.)

Dabi's been trying to avoid playing that game, but apparently the clock is ticking, because the therapist gives him a stern look when he once again declines to indulge in that farce.

"I won't be able to continue signing your court forms if you don't contribute to the group, Dabi."

Dabi shrugs. Keeps his outsides calm even though that threat has his stomach clenching. "Don't, then."

"Can you believe that bitch?"

You're sitting in Dabi's passenger seat again. He drives you home now, your other ride relieved to not have to remember you. And yeah, you stop along the way. Meet above the center console to tangle lips and tongues and let hands wander.

You like his hands. They're always warm against your skin. And nimble, you'd learned when you finally let them venture to probe between your thighs.

"It's not so bad, once you get used to it. Talking, I mean. Especially if you just tell her what she wants to hear."

He exhales a plume of smoke out the open window. "Is that what you do?"

"Mostly. She just wants you to act like you're the problem even if you're not."

"And you're not?"

"No." You pause. Chew at your lip. "I'd never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it."

Dabi arches one brow. "And if they did deserve it?"

You lift your gaze to look into his eyes. Shrug. "We're all there for a reason, right?"

"We should—fuck—we should be getting out there."

You're not wrong. Group was slated to start five minutes from when he'd tugged you into this supply closet, and it's probably been twice that long since you entered. But Dabi doesn't want to go out there. Not yet.

"You want me to stop?" He punctuates the question by grinding the heel of his hand against your mound, the fingers buried inside you thrusting a little deeper. You have to lift your hand to muffle the moan that draws, and Dabi considers that a victory. "That's what I thought."

Your brown eyes roll back when he curls those fingers a little, another one of those moans escaping you. He tugs your hand from your mouth, replaces it with his lips so he can swallow those sounds. Ruts his hard-on against your thigh as he speeds up his efforts.

He can feel your walls starting to tighten as high-pitched whines work their way up from your throat.

"That's it, babygirl," he purrs. His mouth abandons yours, their job muffling those noises forgotten as he runs his tongue along the column of your throat, savoring the taste of your smooth skin. "Show me how good I make you feel."

"D-dabi," you whimper, and then your palm is slapping itself over your mouth again, your insides gushing and clenching impossibly tight around his fingers. It has his cock twitching in his pants, dangerously close to spilling over from nothing more than this bit of dry humping on his end, but he can't help it.

He wants to feel it for real—your cunt convulsing around his length—but the logistics of that are harder than fingering you in this closet, or his car, and he hasn't figured out what to do about that yet. He sure as hell doesn't want to invite you to his place, and yours doesn't sound any better. He knows that, because unlike him you talk during group. Not more than you have to, but enough for him to get the general idea—tumultuous life circumstances and a loss of restraint and then a move back home. Both of you suffering that indignity together.

One more thing you have in common.

The two of you stumble into group ten minutes late, your knees still weak from Dabi's attentions, and the therapist casts you both an unamused look as you drop into the last of the empty seats. You avert your gaze when her eyes scan over you, but they don't linger. Thankfully.

"Touya, would you—"

"It's Dabi."

Your dark-haired not-quite-lover casts you a curious look, because for once the correction came from your lips and not his own. The therapist shifts uncomfortably in her seat, glancing from him to you and back again.

"Dabi," she corrects, "why don't you start us off today?" There's a pointed edge to the question, clearly meant as punishment for delaying the start of this biweekly ritual.

"I'll pass."

That earns him a long, hard look. "I told you last time that if you don't contribute, I won't be able to sign your court papers. I'd prefer not to do that, so why don't you at least share with the group why you're here?"

Dabi glowers. You nudge him with your foot, silent encouragement, and after a long moment he eventually says, "I'm here because my dad's a real prick."

"And?"

"And I torched his car. 'S not that big a deal, he wasn't even in it." After a moment, he adds, "And the asshole had it coming."

You believe it. You don't know Dabi that well, but you recognize it all the same. That he wouldn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it.

"I'm surprised you only got group therapy."

Dabi pauses with his cigarette lifted halfway to his lips. It's been two sessions since he started begrudgingly following your advice. More or less, anyway. The therapist doesn't want to hear that his dad is a raging asshole who'd only reaped what he'd sown. But she seems satisfied that he's talking, at least for now.

"I didn't only get group therapy." Dabi kicks at an empty bottle, sending a plume of dust rising through the abandoned warehouse. He'd been feeling restless when the two of you parked in the usual spot, and you'd seemed like you felt the same. He'd led you out of the car and through a broken window, and you hadn't complained about hanging out with the trash instead of fooling around.

"Really?"

He nods. "Sixty days in jail. It was supposed to be twice that, but the old man pulled some strings." Dabi takes a drag from his cigarette. "He likes to do shit like that. Act forgiving. Pretend to take care of his family so he can feel like less of a bastard."

"That's bullshit."

Dabi knew you'd get it. He drops his cigarette, backs you against the wall with his forehead resting against yours. He likes that—the way you're even with him so he can look you in the eye. He spent his whole life being looked down on. Never stopped being uncomfortable doing that to anyone else.

"Yeah," he murmurs. Feels a strange surge of your gratitude for your company as one hand slides down your back to cup the curve of your ass, "it is."

You're upset.

You never talk more than you have to in group, but this time when the therapist asks you to share, you only shake your head.

Unlike Dabi, you get a pass. One privilege that comes with being generally cooperative, he supposes.

It's distracting to him, though. The agitation that bloomed in his chest when you came in late with puffy eyes isn't fading, and he can't stop looking you over. Scanning your face and arms in search of marks or bruises. He doesn't know if your family is shitty in that particular way, but old habits die hard and looking for the evidence of Enji's temper was always his first move when Rei retreated into one of her morose episodes. And god knows Dabi's own bruises were responsible for his surliness on one or two occasions.

The deep ocher of your skin seems unblemished from where he's sitting, but that doesn't relieve him as much as he'd like. The evidence of his own shitty childhood might be publicly displayed in the scars on his faces and his arms, but he still knows how easy it is to hide that kind of thing.

But he also doesn't know how to ask.

You're on him faster than usual when he parks in the normal spot near the edge of town. Kissing him hard and fumbling with his belt, only worsening that impression that something's off.

He still doesn't know how to ask. Doesn't want to hit on a sore spot. Doesn't want to show more of his own hand that he means to, though he already knows he's dangerously close to doing just that.

It's not a time for conversation anyway. You're kissing down his neck, teeth sinking into the scarred skin there as your hand reaches into his jeans to stroke his cock to life. With embarrassingly little effort you have him rock hard, and then your mouth is working its way lower. Your teeth sink into his pec, breath hot even through the fabric of his shirt.

He wishes, not for the first time, that you weren't constrained to the tiny space of his car. That he could lay you down, undress you properly. Do more than what you can manage contorted around the steering wheel or gearshift or glove box. And this time it's not just because he wants to really feel you, even if he wants that too; even more, though, he wants the reassurance of you laid bare before him where he can ensure every inch of you is unharmed.

"Fuck," he swears when your full lips wrap around his cock. Your warm tongue circles his tip before laving over the row of barbells lining his shaft, and he lets one hand move. Gathers your loose braids and wraps them around his fist. Gently, just to give himself a part of you to hold onto, but you moan at the slight tug against your scalp. The hum of it echoes through his cock, sending a shiver racing up his spine. "Fuck, feels good, babygirl."

It feels even better when you hollow your cheeks and swallow him deeper, bobbing your head and moaning again, eyes peering up at him from behind your lashes with obvious satisfaction. Dabi can't quite help bucking his hips a little, helping you along as you work him over with your mouth, and far too soon he's spilling down your throat.

By the time he's finished tucking himself back into his pants, you're right back to looking troubled.

"You wanna talk about it?" he offers, words mumbled around the filter pressed between his lips as he lights a cigarette.

"No." You stare out the window. It's raining, the tink tink tink of raindrops audible against the steel of the roof. You look back to Dabi. "But I don't want to go home either."

Dabi considers that for a moment. Lets out a heavy sigh as his desire to get you someplace safe and more comfortable wins out, and he resigns himself to doing the thing he really didn't want to do. "Don't worry," he says as he starts the car, "I got you."

The big house fits with the nice car, but you're still surprised to see it. You pause when you climb out of the passenger seat, taking in the slatted shutters and perfectly manicured grounds, heedless of the rain dampening your skin.

Dabi slots his fingers with your own before he tugs you inside, and you don't miss the care in those movements. The way he eases the front door open, and moves carefully as he toes off his loose-laced boots, nodding for you to remove your own shoes. In another situation, with someone else—someone less like yourself—you might find that stealth offensive. Here and now, you understand.

He leads you down a long hall, and you follow his lead in trying to keep your feet light on the floorboards. Apparently not light enough, though. Dabi tenses as a voice echoes in from the other room.

"Oh, is that company, Touya?"

You don't miss the way he grimaces, his fingers tightening around your own just a little. Then he's casting you an apologetic glance and tugging you off course.

The living room is as traditional as the rest of the home. Tatami mats and a low coffee table surrounded by cushions. Large picture windows that would flood the room with natural light if it weren't already so late in the day. There's a chair by the window where a slip of a woman is sitting, watching the rain with a blanket in her lap and a cup of tea in one hand.

"Hey, mom," Dabi mumbles. He casts another sheepish look your way as he introduces you, and then his mother.

"It's nice to meet you, Todoroki-san," you say.

"And you," Rei says. "I'm glad to see Touya making a friend."

Her smile is small. Fragile and tenuous even though it seems genuine. And her grey stare is strange—glassy and vacant. It has you uneasy for a moment, and then Dabi's nervous fingers are tightening around yours again as Rei reaches up to tuck a lock of pure white hair behind her ear, and her sleeve slips just enough to reveal fading bruises on her wrist.

Dabi clears his throat, already tugging you from the room. "I'll see you later, mom."

Dabi's bedroom is a chaotic contrast to the sparse order of the rest of the house. Black clothing strewn across the rug, rumpled sheets on the beds. Books and papers piled haphazardly on the desk, and a half-full ashtray on the windowsill. The window looks out to a garden, flowers in bloom dimly illuminated by path lights scattered throughout. You stand staring out at the scene while Dabi stands watching you.

He looks more uncertain than you've seen him before, his jaw set and his eyes not quite meeting yours.

After a prolonged silence, you say, "Thank you. For bringing me here. I just really needed to get away for a while."

"Yeah." He swallows hard. Shifts uneasily on his feet.

You think again about the bruise on his mother's wrist. About the handful of things he's said about his father. It's not the exact same dysfunction your own family suffers from, but it's not all that different either.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he answers immediately, his voice flat. One scarred hand lifts to run through his hair; he's nervous, you realize. You wonder if he's ever brought a girl here before.

You move away from the window. Walk over to the bed, chewing at your lip for a moment before peeling off your shirt, then your jeans. Dabi watches, taking in the sight of you. You see the hitch in the rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes soften with what looks like some strange combination of want and relief.

You crawl beneath the blankets. They're soft—brushed cotton that smells faintly of him. It's soothing.

You wait.

Dabi takes a moment. Tries to commit this sight to memory—you in his bed with the covers tucked up to your chin as you watch him with expectant eyes. Somehow it's a more endearing sight than even the brief moment when you'd stood before him in only your underwear, the relievingly unmarred expanse of your skin on display for him.

It might actually make bringing you here worth it, though that remains to be seen. Who knows what you'll encounter on your way out. His siblings or, even worse, Enji himself.

He can worry about that later.

For now, he lets his fingers hook at the edge of his own shirt. Hesitates there. You've dipped your hands beneath his clothes more than once, but feeling the scars that stripe his torso is different from confronting them with your eyes.

But you don't gawk when he finally yanks that fabric over his head in one fluid motion. Instead, you trace your tongue over your lower lip, teeth sinking into that plump skin when he fumbles with the button on his jeans and tugs those off too.

Then he's climbing into bed with you, pressing the length of his body against your and relishing the feel of skin on skin, and the last of his unexpected nerves are fading away.

It's slow, at least to start. Dabi joins you beneath the sheets and tugs you close to him, warm fingertips tracing lines up your back. His mouth captures yours, nibbling and sucking languidly at your lower lip as his hands explore you. Journey down your spine and over your curves. Up your stomach to cup your breasts.

It's only then that he finally deepens that kiss, tongue moving to circle yours one moment and lick at the back of your teeth the next. One leg slots itself between your thighs, that first faint hint of friction sending your hips grinding.

His mouth journeys over your jaw and down your neck, open-mouthed kisses littering your skin, growing more and more heated as nimble fingers reach to make quick work of the clasp on your bra. You sit up just long enough to let Dabi peel it off entirely, and then he's shoving you onto your back and ducking his head to mouth at your breast. His teeth sink into that soft flesh before latching around one puckered nipple, tugging gently.

He doesn't linger there long, even as the touch has you gasping. Before you know it he's kissing his way lower, down your sternum and over your stomach, pausing occasionally to lick or nibble wherever he's tempted—at your ribs or hips or the soft skin of your lower belly. His hands massage your thighs when he comes to rest between them, his breath hot against your mound through the lace of your underwear.

His eyes lock onto yours, the faintest grin on his face. It only widens when his tongue snakes out to press against the fabric, teasing at your center and drawing a whimper from you.

"Fuck, babygirl," he murmurs, lips working over your thigh, doing his best to suck a mark there. "Do you know how long I've been wanting to taste you?"

Dabi's fingers hook around the elastic of your panties, tugging them down as a low groan rises up from his chest at the sight of your cunt. He's seen you exposed before, more or less but mostly less, and the lusty look on his face makes clear that he likes this unrestricted view.

Your fingers comb through his inky locks at the first swipe of his tongue along your bare folds, a small cry slipping past your lips. It's barely more than a whine, but you know it's only the start. You're suddenly glad his room is tucked at the back of the house, far away from much of anything so far as you could tell. That gratitude only increases when he slips one finger inside, curling against your walls and making you moan outright.

"Feel good, babygirl?" he breathes against your sex, and you nod, one hand lifting to cover your mouth as he starts to pleasure you in earnest. He reaches up to pull it away just as quickly. "Wanna hear you. And all those cute little noises."

You let your hand fist at the sheets instead. Your face is growing hot, but you can't tell if it's embarrassment at the thought of being overheard, or simply because every inch of your skin is coming alight under his efforts. A wave of tingles washes over your every time he curls his fingers just right, your walls already tightening as his tongue circles your clit. Small chuckles of satisfaction vibrate against your sex every time another lewd sound falls from your lips.

His own hips are grinding against the mattress beneath him, seeking some shred of stimulation, and you suddenly find yourself impatient. Desperate to feel more of him, all of him in a way you hadn't really been able to consider in the cramped interior of his car or in a supply closet two precarious feet from discovery.

"Dabi," you choke out, using your grip on his hair to tug his head back. You can tell by the way his expression slackens that he understands your ineloquent plea.

The taste of yourself is bright on his lips when he rises to kiss you. Your hands tremble a little as you work to shove his boxers down over the jut of his hips, his own legs fidgeting impatiently to help you work the last of his clothing off entirely. Matching groans rise from both your lips when he ruts his length against your soaked center, the ridges of his pierced shaft grinding into you.

Then he's teasing at your entrance. Your hips buck in response, and Dabi smirks. "Eager for me, huh?"

The words are taunting but you can hear the hitch in his breath. Feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest pressed against yours. So you don't answer, only wrap one leg around his hip to coax him onward.

"Oh, fuck," he groans again as he starts to sink himself into you. His mouth finds yours, a heated kiss that's all teeth and tongue. It muffles your whines at being stretched open, ones that only worsen when you feel the metal ring at his tip brushing against that sensitive spot inside.

He pauses once his hips are flush with your own. Mouths at your jaw and your neck, giving you time to adjust before he starts to roll his hips. It's a heady sensation, being of full of him. Has you whimpering—small noises that only grow louder as his pace increases. This time when you move to cover your mouth, he's quicker to intervene; warm fingers catch your wrist, pinning it above your head.

"Told you I wanna hear you," he pants. As though to prove his point, his other hand snakes between you, fingers brushing over your clit. His lips quirk up into a satisfied smile at the choked cry that draws. "That's right, babygirl. Fuck," he swears at the way that light touch has your walls tightening around him. "You have any idea how good you feel?

You shake your head, but you're barely cognizant of the question. Lost in a haze as he works himself in and out, each stroke sending your belly tightening and pleasant shivers racing up your spine. The hand not pinned against the pillow grips tightly at Dabi's back as he continues with that stream of praise.

"Been thinking about this for a long—f-fuck—a long fuckin' time," he pants. Feelin' you for real. Makin' you mine." The last word is a low growl, followed by his lips catching yours roughly. "Say it."

"Y-yours," you gasp. His words have your cunt fluttering, your leg tightening around his waist as though you could actually draw him any closer.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's right." His fingers draw quick circles at your apex, turquoise eyes fixed greedily on your face as he watches your expression contorting with pleasure. "My girl going to be good and come for me?"

"Mm-hm," you whimper, nodding eagerly, that coil in your gut hovering on the edge of snapping. "Don't stop," you manage to slur out.

Dabi's lips twist lasciviously, his eyes burning fervently into yours as he cants his hips just right, and then he's groaning, swearing and pistoning his hips faster as your walls clench around him, your insides throbbing exquisitely as you come undone. Dabi's only a moment behind you—his hips stutter and his tongue laps over your pulse, and then his cock is twitching as he spills over inside you with a groan.

The two of you lie naked together for a long time before Dabi rises. Slips his boxers and cracks the window, perching himself on the sill as he lights a cigarette. He's surprised when you follow him, picking his shirt up from the floor to cover yourself. He's surprised again when you extend your hand, motioning for him to pass you the cigarette. You take a drag, pass it back.

"I only have a few weeks left," you say.

He inhales. Blows smoke out the open window and hopes the knotting in his gut doesn't show on his face. The math makes sense since you started this group therapy nonsense before him, but that doesn't make him like it any better.

"You know—" he swallows hard, forces himself to spit the words out "—you know I meant it, right?"

"I know. I meant it, too."

He's glad you take his meaning. That you didn't ask him to elaborate. Confessing that he wants you—really wants you—wouldn't be quite so easy when he's not buried inside you.

You're both quiet for a while after that, no audible sounds beyond the rain still pattering outside and the faint hiss of burning tobacco every time one of you takes a drag.

Eventually, Dabi says, "So if we're all official, or whatever—" he waves a hand "—does that mean you're finally going to tell me what you did to end up there in the first place?"

"No." Your face scrunches as you seem to reconsider. "Maybe. Someday."

"Should I be worried?" He keeps his voice light. Teasing. He can tell you catch it, because you roll your eyes even as you shake your head.

"I wouldn't—"

"I know," Dabi interrupts, voice softening in spite of himself.

He stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray and leans forward to catch your lips gently. When he pulls away, his lips curl into a small half-smile and he reaches for your hand, lacing his warm fingers through your own.

"I know. You wouldn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it."

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #soft dabi #dabi smut #bnha dabi #mha dabi #touya x reader #touya todoroki #bnha reader insert #bnha reader smut #poc!reader #black!reader #ghuleh.writes #nsft

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skinnyducky · 3 years

Text

class act // v.h.

requested by @lovesicksofi

a/n this was quite difficult to write. i felt like half the time i was info-dumping and i didn’t want anything to feel redundant or like it was slowing the pace down. however, i tried my best and i think it’s good. i hope this what you were expecting and wanting !

vinnie hacker x plus sized!actress!reader

Word Count: 1544, edited

WARNING: fluff, mentions of death (not real) blood (fake) and stabbing (fake), language, and sadness... i think that’s all.

---------

You were sitting at the makeup chair in your trailer, watching from the mirror as your makeup artist added blood to the corner of your lips. Today was the last day on set for you as your character in your highly anticipated drama film was meeting their demise. It was bittersweet, but after working for a good three months, you were finally happy to get it over with.

Being an actress was something you dreamed of doing. You went from being the sun in your elementary school’s “food chain” play to starring on Broadway in hits like Mean Girls or Wicked. Now, you were hitting the big screen. Though, when people found out about you, as happy as they were to have another talented actress in the business, they had a lot to say about your weight. You were more curvier, more fuller than most of the women in your field, and you faced a lot of criticism for it. No matter how good your acting was, you were always just the “overweight” girl.

At first, those words hurt, and it made you feel as though you wouldn’t make it in the industry. But then, you realized you had been working your ass off to get to where you are today. You damn sure weren’t about to let some snide remarks get in the way of you achieving your dreams. So, you kept pushing and pushing. Now, you had a leading role in a movie, starring alongside Margot Robbie and Brad Pitt.

“I think I need a little bit more pink in the eye.” You said to Andrew, your makeup artist. He rolled his eyes at you and continued to add blush to your cheeks.

“You’re dying, Y/n, not going to the club.”

You shrugged. “Nothing wrong with wanting to look good before I get stabbed.”

“Har, har…now tilt your head.” Andrew sneered, putting on my mascara. “So, where’s Jen? I miss her rants about contracts and stuff.”

“She’s with another client of hers. Something to do with dropping an album or whatever, I don’t know.”

Andrew snickered, screwing the top onto back onto the mascara. “She’s managing music artists too? Isn’t she quite the manager.”

“Tell me about it. I get lucky if she ever she shows me any attention.” You laughed as you pulled out your phone and started scrolling through Instagram. You went through and liked a bunch of pictures until you stopped on a certain person’s photo. A smile plastered itself onto your face as you admired the shirtless shot of your boyfriend, Vinnie.

“Is that the boyfriend I hear so much about?” Andrew grinned.

“That’s him indeed.” You answered with a smile. “His name’s Vinnie.”

You and Vinnie had been together for a good year. You both met at some sleazy influencer party. With you both clinging to wall, clearly not wanting to be there, you two made small talk. You chatted it up about everything: from favorite colors to Elmo, your conversations were wild. At the end of the night when you were getting ready to leave, he asked you for your number—much to your surprise. With glee, you gave it to him and thus led to a beautiful relationship. Of course, there was hate, people questioning what he was doing with you and mocking you because of your weight. But you weren’t focused on that. You had a gorgeous boyfriend and a blossoming career right in front of you. Jealous fans were the least of your worries.

“He’s a cutie, Y/n. You bagged a baddie.” Andrew joked, spritzing some setting spray on his masterpiece. “So, when can I meet him?”

Just before you could respond, the door to your trailer opened. You turned around and shrieked with excitement as your boyfriend wandered in. “I got lost and met Margot Robbie.” He said, causing you and Andrew to laugh. “Hey, babe.”

Vinnie stepped beside you and planted a kiss to your forehead. “Hey, baby!” You squealed. “This is Andrew, my makeup artist.”

You pointed towards the MUA who merely waved at Vinnie before pulling out his phone. “He’s not really social,” you said. “So, what are you doing here? I thought you were doing a sub-a-thon?”

“Well, I was going to, but I decided to come visit you instead.” He replied, moving to stand behind you. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and rested his chin on your head. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Of course, I am. I’m always happy to see you.”

He grinned and went to kiss your lips but before he could Andrew stopped him. “Not on my watch, sir. That took an hour and a half, and I really would like to not spend another one redoing it.”

You snickered, turning to Vinnie. “He takes his work seriously.”

“Duly noted.”

You and Vinnie shared a laugh and talked for a minute before you were called to set. After getting dressed in your tattered dress and fishnets, you left your trailer with Vinnie following behind you. Now, you were standing in the middle of a trashed hotel room with Brad Pitt across from you and Margot Robbie standing a few feet away. Vinnie stood with the crew as your director explained the scene thoroughly to you.

“Ginger”—he pointed at you—“is being attacked by Paul”—he pointed to Brad Pitt—“and Susan is banging on the door to help you, but it’s locked. When she opens it, you’re already dead, got it?”

You and the other two nodded before the director rushed to his seat behind the camera and yelled, “Action!”

Once the camera’s started rolling, it was like a shift for you. No longer were you Y/n, you were your character, inside and out. As Brad’s character, Paul—safely—flung you across the room, Vinnie couldn’t help but feel a little pained. He knew you were acting but seeing it, it hurt him a little. Margot’s screams rang throughout the set as she banged against the door. “Don’t hurt her, Paul!” she cried.

Tossing you onto the floor, Brad stood over you menacingly. “You wanna screw me over, bitch!” He shouted, gripping the straps of your dress as he pulled out the fake pocketknife in his back pocket.

“Please don’t do this, I’ll do anything. Please,” You cried, gripping onto Brad’s wrist. “Don’t, Paul…don’t do this!”

Vinnie gulped back a sob as he watched the scene unfold with tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Why am I acting like this? He thought. This isn’t real. But it felt real, all too real. It no longer felt like he was on movie set, no cameras or crew. To him, you weren’t playing a character, you were still Y/n…and you were being hurt. He couldn’t take it; he wanted to intervene and save you…but he couldn’t…and that broke his heart.

Soon enough, the epic moment came, and Brad plunged the “knife” deep into your abdomen. You let out an ear-piercing scream, sending chills down everyone’s body. Your breathing hitched as blood poured from your partly opened lips. And then…your body went limp.

“CUT!”

And with that, you we’re back to Y/n. The director ran over to you and pulled you up off the floor. “That was fucking amazing, oh my god! I’ve never worked with anyone who could convey that much emotion before!”

“Thank you!” You blushed. The rest of your cast and crew members flocked around you, complimenting you on your incredible performance. However, as you looked around, you noticed a specific someone missing from the small crowd. As you humbly accepted everyone’s praise, you said your goodbyes and went to search for you boyfriend around the set. When you didn’t find him, you headed back to your trailer. Before you opened the door, you heard the sound of soft cries. With furrowed brows, you walked into the trailer and there was your boyfriend, crying into a pillow on your couch.

“Vinnie? What’s wrong?” You cooed as you sat next to him and rubbed circles on his back.

He shook his head, keeping quiet. “Vinnie, just tell me. I’m not gonna judge you or anything.” You said.

“All of that…I know it was fake and it was just acting, but it felt so real. Seeing you just…die, it hurt me, y’know? I don’t know if it’s because you’re fucking good at what you do or if it’s just boyfriend instincts but, seeing that and knowing I couldn’t do anything to stop it…it was painful.”

“Oh, Vinnie.” You sighed, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m still here, babe. I’m alive, okay? Nothing actually happened to me.”

He nodded into your chest. “I know, but it was too real. I just had to leave.”

“And I understand. Had I known you were planning on coming, I would’ve warned you ahead of time. I didn’t know seeing me acting out a death scene was going to leave you like this. I’m sorry.”

“Y/n, you have nothing to be sorry for. It’s just me being worried over you.”

You smiled, “Well, you have nothing to be worried about.” You placed a kiss on top of head and started to stroke his hair.

“I’m safe.”

“And a damn good actress.” Vinnie added.

“That too.”

#vinnie hacker imagine #vinnie x reader #vinnie hacker x reader #vinnie hacker

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cursestothemoon · 3 years

Note

hi, hope you're doing alright

could you do something with wolfstar x reader where she uses the safe word?

i love your writing btw

Our Good Girl

S.O.B. X FEM!READER X R.J.L.

polyamorous relationship

17+ IF YOU ARE TAGGED AND DON’T WANT TO BE TAGGED IN SMUT PLEASE LET ME KNOW

warnings: smut, vaginal penetration, oral (male and female receiving), degradation, humiliation, choking, spanking, USE OF SAFE WORD, dom!Sirius(maybe kinda switch!) and Dom!Remus/sub!reader, daddy kink because why not, spitting, UNEDITED (im sorry✋🏻)

Your quill tapped ceaselessly on the black walnut wood of the desks that filled Slughorn’s classroom. Sirius sat next to you, your partner since the beginning of the year and your boyfriend for a year and a half, had a firm grip on your upper thigh. His breathing was shallow and back incredibly straight as he sat in his seat without sparing you as much as a glance. You had made him mad, at least you assume you had, he came into class with a look of dominance and you knew better than to question him when he was like that. A short ‘You are to follow me after class’ was the only thing he had uttered to you since the start of the lesson, nearly an hour ago.

“Alright everyone, you are to turn in your essays, no shorter than one and a half scrolls, by...let’s say Monday. Use the extra time wisely.” Slughorn dismissed the class after his reminding of the homework.

Sirius was quick to slip his hand into your own, grabbing both your book bags and throwing them over his shoulder as he ushered you out of the classroom.

“Remus and I have agreed you are to be punished, Moony’s probably already waiting for us in the dorm.”

You bit the corner of your lip before speaking up, “But I haven’t done anything bad.”

Sirius smirked as he stopped walking, turning to you with a glint in his eye, “Does Daddy need a reason to make sure his brat knows her place?”

The rasp in his low voice, his thumb tracing your cheekbone so lovingly juxtaposing the harsh, teasing tone of his words made arousal pool in your panties.

“No, Daddy.” You mumbled, slipping your hand back into his as he started walking again.

Without turning to look at you Sirius smiled, “Good girl.”

The rest of the way to the boys’ dorm was silent, Sirius just a few steps ahead of you at all times with his hand tugging yours just slightly. The door, a worn light wood, of the familiar dorm was being pushed open to reveal Remus sitting on his bed, belt in hand. His eyes turned toward you and Sirius as you entered the room, a stern look falling onto you.

“What did she do?” The question was directed to Sirius but his eyes trained on you.

Sirius shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant as he removed his tie, “Nothing, just think she needs some reminding.”

His mind was else where as he spoke making you silently wonder, had you done something?

Remus seemed to ask himself the same question as his brow furrowed slightly in your direction when Sirius wasn’t paying attention. You bit your lip again and averted your gaze to the floor making Remus stand and approach you.

His thumb came up to pull your lip from between your teeth, “Good bunny’s don’t shred their lips, you know Daddy doesn’t like it when you do that.”

You nodded, meeting his honey touched eyes as you spoke, “M’sorry, Daddy.”

“M’sorry, Daddy.” Sirius mocked, coming up to the two of you.

He placed a longing kiss on Remus’ lips, knowing the lack of attention would have you whining. He was right, breathy whines were leaving your parted lips in no time as you watched your boyfriends slip into a passionate kiss while you were left to watch. You were tempted to reach your hand down and relieve the aching of your throbbing clit with your own fingers, give Sirius an actual reason to punish you, but he seemed rather testy already.

“Is puppy getting needy all by her lonesome?” Sirius asked teasingly after he pulled away from Remus’ lips.

You gave a feeble nod as your hands fiddled with each other.

The raven haired boy sighed, as if this was talking a toll on him, “Alright, clothes off and over my knee.”

He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, taking Remus’ belt that had been left there by the lycanthrope mere minutes ago. Sirius ran the leather across his palm, it was still warm from being wrapped around one of his lovers’ hips.

Again, Sirius seemed to lose himself in the act, his jaw tense and knee bouncing making you strip faster. Something was bothering him, and suddenly the impromptu punishment was making more sense. You were always eager to help him blow off some steam, so you made sure to be the good girl you knew you were, his and Remy’s good girl.

You draped yourself over Sirius’ lap elegantly, the mere thought of helping him through his frustrations had you clenching your thighs. You were always eager to help your daddies.

Remus was making quick work of ridding himself of his trousers and briefs. He was semi-hard already, jerking himself off as he walked closer you and Sirius.

“Open up, puppy.” Remus instructed as he tapped the tip 0f hi cock on your lips.

He pushed past your parted lips, the warmth of your mouth making him let out a breath that turned into a low hum as you started to suck on his spongey head. Remus’ thrusts into your mouth were slow and hard, his hand petting your head gently- his dominance was something he embodied, and rarely ever had to prove.

“You aren't to stop sucking Moony.” Sirius warned as he ran a hand across your ass, landing a soft smack just to see the skin ripple deliciously.

You barely had any time to prepare yourself before you felt the harsh lick of the leather belt on the sensitive skin of your backside. His blows were quick- if he had asked you to count you would’ve struggled- and precise. The first few had an erotic sting to them, making you moan around Remus’ prick in your mouth, but as the belt returned to your skin it got firmer, the pain soon overtaking the pleasure. Sirius lost himself in the action, his mind seemingly glazing over the fact that you were on the receiving end of his brutal whips. His jaw was tensing again and Remus had half a mind to pull you away from him because this had to be painful, but you knew your safe word- if it was too much you’d tap his thigh three times and say your safe word- you showed no signs of displeasure so he went along with it.

In your impending submissive haze, pleasing Sirius was the main focus on your mind and the pain was a small price to pay for your Daddy to not be mad anymore. You lost your rhythm as you tried your best to bob your head along Remus, his cock triggering your gag reflex now making you audibly choke.

With perfect timing, Remus pulled you off himself as Sirius gave the last few blows to your backside. You were then shoved onto the bed harshly by the raven haired Gryffindor, the sheets rubbing against the raw skin of your ass making you wince quietly.

Remus, in an attempt to balance the pain and pleasure , knelt down in front of your bare cunt. He started to rub slow circles with his thumb on your throbbing clit.

“Our good girl is absolutely drenched Pads, here have a taste.” He offered, fingers dipping down to run up your slit and collect your juices before holding his hand up for Sirius.

Sirius wasted in time in wrapping his lips around the waiting digits, cleaning them of your arousal. The sight made you squirm, it was beyond intimate and had your walls clenching. With a pop, Remus removed his fingers from Sirius mouth and placed them back on your needy pussy. The two fingers running up and down your folds before entering your tight hole, his lips attaching to your clit with wanton fervor.

You knew your rules, Remus made sure of it, so your hands stayed by your sides resisting the urge to card through and pull the warm chocolate strands of his hair. Breathy moans were emitted from your lips at first, before they grew louder and stronger that had Sirius casting a silencing charm on the room. He then busied himself with stripping himself of his remaining clothes before situating himself near your torso, his hand coming up to tug and tweak your pert nipples, pulling more and more moans out of you.

Remus fingers sped up as did his tongue bringing you closer to the edge, your hips and thighs trembling letting both boys know you were close.

“Hold it you fucking brat. If you cum, you’re cuming around my cock.” Sirius spat, delivering a harsh slap to your sensitive nipple.

The request made you whine but you did as you were told, you wanted to make your Daddy happy. Remus continued his torment, lapping at your cunt knowing you’d never be allowed to finish like this. He gave a few more broad licks before pulling away making you cry out and pulling Sirius closer by the back of his neck and connecting their lips. The kiss was short and messy, Remus pulling away to land a smack to his boyfriend’s face before forcing his jaw open and spitting onto his tongue. The taste was intoxicating, both you and Remus intermingled beautifully- Sirius wanted nothing more than to swallow it, so he did.

The lycanthrope moved aside so Sirius could have his way with you. The aforementioned was grabbing his tie, and turning you over onto your belly so he could have access to your wrists. Remus moved to sit in front of you on the bed, his legs spread in a straddle and his painfully hard prick nearly touching your face. He slowly jerked himself off as Sirius knotted his tie around your wrists skillfully- the harder he tugged the tighter they got.

Your hips were then pulled up, your back arched, and face shoved into the sheets before Sirius pulled you up by the restraints on your wrists. The counterweight of your body on the restraints had it impossibly tight, making the tips of your fingers go cold from the loss of circulation. Without time for adjustment, Sirius was pounding into from behind and Remus fisting himself to match pace with the boy’s thrusts.

The first few thrusts were enjoyable, the head of his cock hitting the spot inside you that you seeing stars instantly, and the sight of precum leaking from the appetizing sight of Remus Lupin’s dick right in front of you. But the soon the painful grinding of your wrists along with the loss of circulation in your fingers and painful slapping of Sirius’ skin against the red, raw skin of your backside had tears welling in your eyes- any pleasure was gone.

Remus seemed to notice your change in mood, his hand slowing on his shaft as his eyebrows knit together softly- something wasn’t right.

Sirius had lost himself again, jaw clenched, eyes trained somewhere else in the room which was unusual in itself- Sirius was always present during sex.

Before Remus could say anything, it was your heartbreaking cry that cut him off.

“Red! Red! Please, stop!”

Your mind straddled the dangerous fog of subspace and...something else. You felt vulnerable, embarrassed, and afraid you had disappointed your daddies.

Remus was quick to reach over and pull your wrists from Sirius’ grasp, untying his reed and gold tie, before pulling you into his lap as your sobs grew heavier. Sirius seemed to freeze, the safe word being called out with such a pleading and desperate tone had snapped him back to reality in lightning speed.

“Shh, it’s all ok, love, y’wanna tell Remy and Siri what happened?” Remus cooed, voice gentle as you hid your face in his neck to find some sort of shelter.

You sniffled, “Jus’ hurt a lot, didn’t feel nice.”

His hand came up to brush your hair away from your face, “Can you tell us what didn’t feel nice, so we know not to do it again?”

“Spankings were too hard, when Siri’s skin was touching mine it hurt, an-and the ties were too tight, m’finger were getting cold...” You words came out slow and mumbled, every few broken by a hiccup or sniffle.

“Oh, puppy...”

You recognized the voice as Sirius’ making you turn to look at him. The tears freely flowing down his cheeks made a fresh wall of your own tears build and you started to blubber again.

“M’sorry, I didn’t mean to be bad, promise.” You cried as Sirius slowly climbed up onto the bed, his movements slow and cautious.

He was worried you’d hate him, that you’d never look at him the same. Sirius hated himself for not recognizing your boundaries and for taking his anger out on you in such a way.

The way you were apologizing, as if you were at fault, pulled at his heartstrings more as he pulled you into his chest. You gladly wrapped yourself around his body, his arms encircling you. Remus looked up, into Sirius’ eyes, and could see the guilt that was eating him alive, it was eating at Remus too.

“You did nothing wrong, love. I’m so proud of you for using your safe word when it didn't feel nice, and I’m so sorry, I made you feel like that, baby.”

You felt Remus place his hand on your back, scooting in to wrap his arms around both of you, “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you weren’t enjoying it, darling.”

It was after a few beats with your head in Sirius’ neck, and your hand holding one of Remus’ thumbs that you spoke up again.

“S’not your fault, it’s ok.”

Sirius shook his head, “No, I was in a foul mood because of a run in with Snivellus, and I tried to use you to work through my anger, as if you weren’t a good girl, my good puppy. Forgive me, Y/n.”

“I forgive you, Siri.” You placed a soft kiss on the underside of his jaw before leaning over to pull Remus into a kiss.

After breaking away Remus suggested, “How about we get some clothes on, and cuddle. Our good girl needs a nap, yeah?”

You feebly nodded making Remus stand up and bring over a shirt of Sirius’ to pull over your head and a pair of his own boxers for you to wear. Sirius helped you into the boxers, folding the waistband so they clung onto your hips better, before getting up himself to put his own underwear on- his hard-on being an issue of the past seeing as the self hatred that plagued him seeing your state did absolutely nothing to arouse him. Remus also pulled on his own pair of plaid boxers.

Soon you three were all laying in Remus’ bed, you sandwiched in the middle of your two boyfriends. Remus had an arm reached around you and Sirius, rubbing soft circles on the boy’s shoulder blade. Sirius had his hand resting on the side of your face- you were turned toward him- his fingers running along the skin as you were slipping into a peaceful sleep. The last thing you could remember was Remus pressing a loving kiss onto the crown of your head and your thumb running across the soft skin of his exposed hip behind you.

tags:

@amourtentiaa

@vsawyer1989

@lifeofkaze

@siriusement

@erinblack003

@maybesandohnos

@edithsvoice

@msmb

@maybesandohnos

#Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #wolfstar x reader #sirius black imagine #remus lupin imagine #wolfstar smut #sirius black smut #remus lupin smut

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heyyyharry · 3 years

Text

Drivers License

(inspired by drivers license by Olivia Rodrigo)

Word count: 2.5k

And you're probably with that blonde girl Who always made me doubt She's so much older than me She's everything I'm insecure about

This song is so sad and it made me cry so I had to write something about it 🤧

“I love the song.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N chewed on her bottom lip, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “But?” she asked her producer, who was on the phone. “You don’t sound like you love it.”

“Of course I love it, Y/N. It’s just–” Came a pause. “Do you really want this to be the next single?”

“What do you mean? You love it but it’s not good enough to be a single?”

“It’s too good, Y/N,” her producer said. “It’s very...personal.”

“That’s why I want to put it out, Gray. It means a lot to me.”

Gray was quiet for another moment. “The media and his fans are going to come for you.”

“I don’t care.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Alright. I’ll call you back.” Gray sounded defeated but she could still sense a smile as he told her, “Good job, kid,” before hanging up.

Y/N put her phone away, tossed her head back and heaved a sigh. She was well aware of the trouble she’d cause by releasing this song. It’d be like showing the whole world her diary. She’d written plenty of songs on her previous albums about her relationships, too. There had been witch hunts simply because the men she’d written songs about had fans who worshipped them and refused to see them as anything less than perfect. She wasn’t perfect, either. If she were perfect, she wouldn’t have written a song about an ‘almost’ relationship. She’d know her worth and not have chased someone who didn’t and would never want her. She knew that now. So this song would be the last thing she’d give this person. The last goodbye that she never got to say.

“What are you smiling at?”

“Nothing.”

“Let me see,” Y/N giggled and tried to grab his phone as he pretended to fight her off.

“Alright, alright.” He laughed, reached out to turn the music in his car down and handed her the phone. “It’s the memes your fans made about you not being able to drive,” he said, suppressing a grin.

Her jaw dropped. “I hate you!”

“I’m sorry. It slipped out,” he said, laughing again. She could listen to his laugh on replay. She loved his music, but his laugh had to be her most favourite melody. “To be fair, you talked a lot of shit about me in that interview, too.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” she scoffed at the smug look he was wearing. “At least I didn’t tell the whole world about your imaginary friend that you had until you were thirteen. You spilt my secret.”

“Not a secret anymore.”

She playfully smacked him on the arm. “My lawyer will hear about this.”

He pouted, pretending to be upset. “Guess we’ll never work together anymore.”

“Acting is not for me anyway.”

Y/N gave Harry back his phone. He took it but didn’t break eye contact as his brows knitted. “Stop saying that. You were great in the movie.”

She rolled her eyes sarcastically. “Oh please, have you been on the internet?”

“You mean my fans’ reactions, right? Just ignore them.” He breathed. “I mean, I love my fans, but they could be too much sometimes. Just look at all my previous relationships. I can’t even breathe around a female without them sending her death threats.”

“Yeah,” Y/N let out a nervous laugh, hands folded together resting on her knees. “Speaking of relationships,” she ventured, “are you talking to someone new?”

She wasn’t looking at him yet she could feel the heat from his gaze as he told her, “No. I already told you, Y/N. Right now there’s just you.”

Harry turned, putting both hands on his steering wheel. Was he nervous as well? Had she ruined the moment by bringing this up?

He took a deep breath, confirming her assumption. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just not ready for a relationship.”

It was the same line he’d told her times and times again, and she wished she could just tell him how much she loathed it. And since she couldn’t say anything, she just nodded and focused on the rings on her fingers.

“I do care a lot about you, though,” he added, his voice heavy with emotions.

Her friends had told her that men would say things like this, and most of the time they barely meant half of it. However, she’d known Harry for years. Their relationship had only changed since they’d been cast for the same movie earlier this year. She was confident that she knew him better than her friends or anyone else. Surely, he’d meant all the things he’d said to her. The problem was, he just wasn’t ready for a relationship.

“And I don’t want to lose you, Y/N,” he said, now looking at her again.

She turned slowly and met his thoughtful green eyes. She offered a single smile as a way to tell him she wasn’t upset, even though she was, a little bit. “I don’t want to lose you, either,” she admitted.

His dimples reappeared. “I feel like it’s rare for people like us to find a connection like this, and I’ve never opened up to anyone the way I have to you. But I think now isn’t the time for us to take the risk of ruining this. Right now we’re still trying to figure out our own lives, you know?”

She nodded again, not knowing what to say.

They sat quietly for another moment, and it was he who broke the silence. “How come you never learn to drive?”

She could feel her cheeks glowing red. “I never had to drive myself.”

She’d been famous since she was fourteen, so she’d always had people driving her places. Whenever she told anyone that reason, they’d either call her spoiled to her face or give her a judgemental look that made her feel self-conscious. She didn’t have a dad or siblings, her mum didn’t know how to drive, either, and she was too afraid to ask anyone to teach her for she feared they’d judged her.

“I could teach you.”

Y/N whipped her head up and blinked blankly at him. “Really?”

“Of course,” he chuckled. “I have a cousin who didn’t learn to drive when he was young because of his anxiety and I taught him. I could teach you.”

Trying to hide her excitement, Y/N smiled. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” His grin widened even though he was the one doing her a favour. It was moments like this that reassured her that he wasn’t like the other guys who’d broken her heart. “When you got your driver license,” he said, “you can drive up to my house on your own.”

“We can even go on road trips,” she said happily, already imagining the many scenarios in her head.

He seemed equally elated, which made her heart swell. “Yeah! Wanna do it now or–”

“Let’s do it now.”

“Yeah, okay.” Quickly, he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. She climbed into the driver seat and watched him settle into the passenger side. That afternoon was the first time she’d learned how to drive. She would always remember that.

“Y/N, you’re up next,” said one member of the backstage staff who handed Y/N her mic and ran off to check on the backing vocalist.

Y/N felt her heart thumping in her chest as she clutched the microphone to her chest and sucked in a deep breath. She looked to her right, peering at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She looked beautiful. The makeup team and her stylist had spent three hours on this look and made sure that she was flawless.

Would he be watching the show tonight?

Had he even listened to the song?

It got to number one on the iTunes chart today. He must have listened to it. If not, he must have heard it on the radio or someone must have sent it to him. The whole world knew the song was for him, and everyone was talking about it. So even though he didn’t care anymore, even though he was happy with his new girlfriend, he must be wondering. Because when she’d heard that he’d written a song about her, she’d been so excited to listen to it. So could it be that he was wondering as well?

“This is Y/N performing her latest single DRIVERS LICENSE!”

Y/N took a deep breath as she got a nod from the stage director. She stepped out, soaked in the stage lights while the audience applauded and cheered for her. She stood at the centre of the stage as the band started playing and the noise in the audience died down. As a habit, she searched the front rows for his face despite knowing with every fibre in her body that this would be the last place he’d be tonight.

I got my driver's license last week

Just like we always talked about

'Cause you were so excited for me

To finally drive up to your house

But today I drove through the suburbs

Crying 'cause you weren't around

She could see it even now. Them driving through the quiet night. From her house to his and back. Just the two of them. The kisses they’d share at stoplights when there was no one else around. The way he’d place his hand on her thigh just because he wanted to. In retrospect, she should have realised that he wouldn’t ever do that to her in public. Their relationship, if she could call it that, had been almost nonexistent. Maybe that was why it’d been so easy for him to move on. You couldn’t feel remorse leaving behind something that didn’t exist. How unfortunate. It’d been real to her.

And you're probably with that blonde girl

Who always made me doubt

She's so much older than me

She's everything I'm insecure about

Yeah, today I drove through the suburbs

'Cause how could I ever love someone else?

She’d thought to herself that if he could write a song about someone he’d never dated, it was worth staying with him despite not actually being with him. She could not expect that a few months after that song had come out, he would be seen driving around with another girl. The girl he’d told her was only a good friend. This girl was older and perfect in every way. Y/N wouldn’t choose herself either if the choices were between her and that girl. But she couldn’t bring herself to hate the girl. It wasn’t the girl’s fault that Harry had chosen her. And it wasn’t Harry’s fault that Y/N refused to see the red flags through her rose-coloured glasses.

And I know we weren't perfect

But I've never felt this way for no one

And I just can't imagine

How you could be so okay now that I'm gone?

Guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me

'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

Y/N wrote this song a week after she’d got her drivers license. She’d blast sad music in her car and cried as she drove past his house, wondering if he was still up and thinking of her whenever he saw headlights passing his street. The heartbreak had been confusing to her as they weren’t even together. It was funny how the whole world had believed in them, except for him. He’d told her he loved her, so why weren’t they together now? He’d said he wasn’t ready, so why was he holding hands with someone else on the street? Was it because of her? Was it something that she’d done? Was there something wrong with her? Why couldn’t he choose her? Y/N had pondered over those questions for months until she came to accept that there didn’t have to be a reason for someone to leave you. They simply lost feelings or found someone else. No one owed you an explanation.

Red lights, stop signs

I still see your face in the white cars, front yards

Can't drive past the places we used to go to

'Cause I still fuckin' love you, babe

For months, he'd been a ghost living rent-free in her head. She saw him in every face and every crowd, and she could even, in this moment, hear the sound of his laugh somewhere in the audience. She could hear him telling her he was proud of her, that everything would be okay. And the worst part was that, without her, he was still doing fine. He wouldn’t see her everywhere he went. He wouldn’t think about her when he was lying in bed and couldn’t sleep. He wouldn’t wonder if she missed him. Because he didn’t miss her. And he would be saying the same things he’d said to her to his new girl.

Sidewalks we crossed

I still hear your voice in the traffic, we're laughing

Over all the noise

God, I'm so blue, know we're through

But I still fuckin' love you, babe (Ooh, ooh)

There on the stage, she received sympathetic looks from the people in the front row as she cried her heart out to the lyrics. He might be at home this moment, watching the show with his new girlfriend, and seeing her cry on live television. Would they laugh at her together? Would he turn to his girlfriend and say he was sorry for how he’d treated Y/N and promised to never hurt his girlfriend the same way? The most heartbreaking thing, Y/N thought, wasn’t him leaving, but seeing him treat someone the way she’d wanted to be treated and realising that he’d been capable of doing it all this time, just not with her.

I know we weren't perfect

But I've never felt this way for no one

And I just can't imagine

How you could be so okay now that I'm gone?

Guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me

'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

Putting all her feelings into this song had made everything seem so much simpler and clearer. And at the end of the day, Y/N believed that the whole purpose of songwriting was to get closure. Perhaps, one day, when she listened to this song again, she wouldn’t be sad anymore.

Yeah, you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

“Good job, Y/N.”

“Thank you.”

“Love the song! You’re amazing.”

“Thank you.”

Y/N faked a few more smiles then shut the door of her dressing room and slumped into her chair in front of the vanity.

All alone, she looked right at her reflection and took a deep breath.

Her phone buzzed and lit up with a new text message.

Harry: Congratulations on your no 1 :) xx

She pondered over the words, picked up her phone, and deleted his contact.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #drivers license

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looooooooomis · 3 years

Text

Somebody’s Baby

a stu macher x fem!reader one shot requested by the lovely @slasherscream

I try to shut my eyes, but I can't get her outta my sight. I know I'm gonna know her, but I gotta get over my fright.

pairing: Stu Macher x fem!reader word count: 5.6k warnings: s m u t, longing, fluff, angst, oral, teasing, honestly I went off (my bad)

Stu Macher never really did stand a chance. At least not when it came to you.

He was putty in your hands, whether you knew it or not. He’d do anything for you, everything for you – even if that meant taking a backseat to Billy Loomis. He had to admit, it was gutting to watch you and Billy interact the way you did. The two of you were close – hell, the three of you were close – but there was something about you and Billy that seemed to just…make sense.

And, for the most part, Stu was okay with that. For the most part being the key words. Because, fuck, he’d be a liar if he said that tonight of all nights wasn’t bothering him. It was a night not unlike any other. The three of you had decided on a movie that Stu couldn’t really bring himself to care about all too much as you and Billy harped on and on about whatever it was the two of you were talking about, but it was your attitude that was rubbing him the wrong way.

You were distant tonight. You were cold. You seemed to smile real big whenever Billy would make a comment about the movie but if Stu said a goddamn word it was as though he’d sucker punched you in the gut. It didn’t feel angry, or at least he didn’t think you were angry, but there was something off about the whole damn thing and it was driving him mental.

You were tucked away in the chair with your knees curled up into your chest, frowning at a particularly bloody scene on the TV, a seemingly important one too, but Stu couldn’t bring himself to watch it. He was far too busy trying to discern what the lines on your forehead meant, what the furrowed brow and small, barely-there frown on that pretty face of yours meant. Had he unknowingly done something wrong? He didn’t think so, but stupid shit came out of his mouth all day long so, he supposed, it wasn’t impossible.

But there was a niggling feeling in his gut that told him that couldn’t be it. You weren’t mad or annoyed, you were cold. You were distant. It was as though you’d barricaded yourself away from him and done so with purpose. But why?

Why, why, why?

“It’s eight, Stu,” Billy muttered, far too engrossed in the movie to bother looking his way. “Didn’t you have to be at whatsername’s by eight-thirty?”

Glancing down at the time on his watch, Stu stretched out his long limbs and chanced another look at you only to find that your eyes were solely focused on the wall just beyond the television. For a moment, he remained still, waiting for you to do something. To look at him, to make a quip about his date, to do literally anything besides ignore him, but when your stare remained cast ahead, Stu sighed and stood up to his full height. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” He griped. “Think she’ll put out?”

It was meant to be a joke, something to lighten the mood or, at the very least, get you to crack a smile or roll your eyes, but when all you did was continue in your stare-off with the fucking wall, Stu’s stomach fell.

What the fuck was your problem tonight?

“Tact, fucker. Y/N is right here.” Billy rolled his eyes but shot him a small smirk. “And if she has a brain, don’t count on it.”

“Hilarious,” Stu mocked. “You guys need anything before I go? Some water? Some beer? Handful of condoms?”

“Fuck off,” Billy cracked a grin. “Don’t do anything stupid tonight.” He gave Stu a knowing look, being sure to keep his mouth shut around you in fear of letting anything regarding their little charade slip.

“Me?” Stu feigned hurt. “Never.”

Once again, he waited for you to say anything – a goodbye, at the very least – but when he got nothing in return, Stu merely rolled his eyes and walked out of the house.

You, on the other hand, remained stoic as ever as you blinked back a flurry of tears daring to spill out of the corners of your eyes. Your heart was in your stomach and your nails, which had been digging into your palms for the better half of the evening, carved out tiny half-moons into the sensitive flesh as you fought back every urge you had to scream and yell at the idiot for leaving you yet again.

The sound of the front door shutting was enough to make your body relax just enough for a few stray tears to roll down your cheeks. You were just so mad and so incredibly hurt all at once and, while you should have been used to it by now, it never got any easier watching that tall bitch of a man you’d grown to love over the years walk out for yet another date with another woman who was not yourself.

“You okay?” Billy asked, lulling his head towards you from his spot on the couch. He was the one person in the world to know your true feelings about Stu Macher and, while he’d never admit to it out loud, you knew he was oddly protective of you when it came to Stu’s idiocy, especially where his dating life was concerned.

You swallowed hard, not quite trusting your voice in fear of breaking down in front of him. So, instead, you remained silent and barely nodded. Was it hot in here or was it just you? You suddenly felt like you couldn’t breathe as you sat in the dark room with Billy to your left and Stu now long gone. Deep breaths, you thought to yourself, squeezing your palms yet again. Deep, calming breaths.

You heard Billy sigh as he paused the movie. “Y/N,” he muttered, his tone careful, “how’s he going to know how you feel if you don’t actually say shit about it?”

Through the thick blanket of tears still gathering in your eyes, you focused your glare on the dark-haired man. “Fuck off,” you barked out, “like it’s that easy.”

“It is,” he shrugged. “What’s stopping you?”

“The idiot has a date every week, Billy,” you hissed, “am I supposed to show up with a bouquet of fucking roses declaring my feelings as his tongue’s down some other girls’ throat?” With your emotions at an all-time high, you stood up from the chair and raised a shaky hand to anxiously toy with your hair. “I mean does he have to parade his shit around here the way he does? It drives me nuts.”

Billy remained quiet and still as he watched you pace in front of the tv. He’d seen this frenzied look on your face only once before, but he knew what was coming next. It wasn’t often that you let your feelings finally bubble over to the brink of explosion, but if your current state was any indication, he was about to witness a breakdown.

Standing up to his full height, Billy quietly walked towards you and placed his hands on either shoulder, holding you in place as his brown eyes searched your own watery gaze. “Hey,” he cooed, brow puckered. “Stu’s a fucking idiot if he doesn’t see what’s in front of him.”

You chewed on your lip in an attempt to contain the sob desperately clawing its way up your throat. “I can’t watch him do it anymore, Bill,” you finally said, barely above a whisper. “It just hurts too much.”

It wasn’t often you were met with the soft side of Billy Loomis, but you cherished those moments – though so far and few between – each and every time. With a sigh, Billy wrapped his arms around your shoulders and tugged you close. He said nothing, though, because what could he say? Stu was a fucking moron when it came to you, he knew as much, but uttering those words at a time like this would only hurt you more.

You sniffed, your tears bleeding into the cotton of his white t-shirt. “I swear he—”

“Wow,” Stu’s voice rang out into the silence of the room. Snapping your head towards his sudden appearance, you froze in Billy’s arms, terrified of just how much he’d heard. At first, he seemed to just stand there for a second, staring at the two of you wrapped up in each other’s arms with a resigned, almost defeated look in his blue eyes. But all at once, in typical Stu fashion, that serious undertone slowly morphed into an almost amused sneer. “You two move fast, huh? Guess I should’ve grabbed those condoms.”

You rolled your eyes, barely hearing Billy’s sly comeback as you gently pushed him away. That heaviness in your chest that had made you cry only seconds prior was now a raging fire inside of your chest. The audacity this big, dumb, ass of a man had.

“Hilarious, Stu,” you griped, sniffing as you walked back to your chair. “Forever the comedian.”

“Hey,” he held his hands up in surrender. “No shame in it, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t interrupt shit,” Billy said. “And you know it.”

“What are you even doing back?” You snapped, glowering across at the idiot. “Or did you get bored of this one already?” You made a show of looking down at your watch-less wrist. “Five whole minutes, that’s got to be a new record.”

Stu pretended to laugh. “I forgot my wallet, ice queen,” he grabbed his wallet off of the table but continued to glare down at you. “What’s your problem tonight, anyway? You’ve got a stick shoved so far up your ass it’s practically coming out of your—”

“I wouldn’t go there,” Billy warned, flicking the play button on the remote. “Stop while you’re ahead.”

Stu barely glanced at him. “Nah, Billy,” he shrugged and took a seat on the edge of the couch closest to where you sat. “I’m curious. Can’t a guy be curious as to why a broad suddenly decides to give you the cold shoulder?”

“I warned you,” Billy merely shrugged.

“A broad?” You growled. “Get fucked, Macher.”

“What is your issue?” Stu reiterated. “I’m serious. You’ve been acting like a—”

“I’m not getting into this with you.” Pushing yourself off of the chair, you stormed passed both men towards the front door. “Enjoy your date, dipshit.”

Stu watched you go in utter confusion but before he could get up to follow you and continue this entire fiasco, Billy smacked him upside the head. “Leave her be, idiot,” he merely said, not tearing his eyes away from The Exorcist. “Let her cool off.”

“Cool off?” Stu asked with a furrowed brow. “Cool off from what? You two got that heated that fast that she stormed out because I came back inside?”

A long, deep, heavy sigh escaped Billy’s lips as he – yet again – had to pause the movie. His eye twitched in irritation as he surveyed the almost dopey look on Stu’s face. “I just want to watch this damned movie and it’s like a fucking soap opera with you two.”

Stu blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“You seriously don’t know, do you?” When all he received was a blank stare from his friend, Billy pinched the bridge of his nose and swore under his breath. “You’re even dumber than you look, you know that?”

»»————-¤————-««

It was a few hours later when there was a casual knock at your front door. Your parents were gone for the night and, as you glanced at the time, your stomach gave a nervous twist. It was nearing midnight and, while it was a Friday and you were by no means tired, just who would be knocking at your door this late at night eluded you.

Debating on whether or not to answer, you remained firmly situated on your couch as you eyed the front door in disdain. Maybe if you waited long enough, they’d move onto the next house and your life could be spared for another night. But, before you could get too much hope on the matter, another loud knock erupted from the door. This time, however, followed by an all too familiar voice.

“Hey dipshit,” Stu’s muffled voice rang out, “open up.”

“The fuck?” You whispered in confusion before making your way to the front door. Sure enough, as you unfastened the lock, there he stood. Stu Macher in all his glory. His eyes were somewhat wild as he silently stood on your front porch, soaking you in from all angles as his Adams apple bobbed up and down in his throat. For the first time in…well, ever, it appeared Stu was at a loss for words.

“Stu, what the hell?” You asked. “My parents could have been home do you know how late it is?”

“Yeah,” he simply said, not moving an inch from where he stood. “But this couldn’t wait.”

You blinked. “What couldn’t wait?” You asked, glancing over his shoulder to see if this was some weird prank that he and Billy thought up. “Come inside, you’re freaking me out.”

“I—” His words seemed to die on his tongue. “I just need to know if it’s true.”

You frowned. “If what’s true?” You racked your brain for a possible answer but came up empty. “Did something come up on your date or something? If it’s about that rumour with me and Matt Sewinski, I promise you that’s not true. The guy’s a creep.”

Stu shook his head but his eyes remained glued to your face, unblinking. “No,” he simply said, “and I didn’t end up going out with Heather.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I thought it was Sarah tonight?”

Stu shut his eyes in sheer annoyance. “Heather, Sarah, whoever the fuck it was,” he opened those blue eyes open again and the raw intensity inside of them made you take a small step back. “I didn’t go.”

You swallowed hard and suddenly felt a wave of nausea overcome you. “Why?” You gulped out.

Stu licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair. He was yet to step foot inside your house and between the maniacal look in his eye and the chilled breeze seeping in through the open door, you shivered absentmindedly. “I talked to Billy.”

Four words. Four tiny little words was all it took to make the room around you spin on its axis. A cold sweat broke out across your chest as you averted your eyes to the wall directly beside his head. Maybe if you didn’t quite look him in the face, you could get out of what was about to become an incredible awkward, painful situation. With your breath trembling, you swallowed again and tried to find your voice. “About what?”

Stu cocked his head to the side. “Y/N,” he warned, “cut the shit.”

Another painful gulp. Your throat felt like it was closing in on you as you stood there facing the boy you’d been in love with for as long as you could remember. You’d often dreamt of this day, the day where he’d finally realize your feelings only to have them reciprocated fully – but when you’d pictured it, Stu looked a lot less crazy than he did looking back at you now. But, even still, there was a glimmer of emotion shining brightly behind those blue eyes that made your breath hitch in your throat.

It made you nervous.

Worse, it made you hopeful.

“Stu,” you tried to find some conviction in your tone, but your nerves got the better of you. “Can you just get inside first? You’re scaring me.” Despite feeling as though you were going to faint, you managed to reach across the divide to yank him inside of your house. Locking the door behind you, you took a few even breaths before turning back around to face him. “What did Billy say?”

Stu ignored your question as he began to pace around your hallway. He was this tall, broad, string bean of a man on a regular day, but the mass of him tonight was all encompassing as he governed your foyer. “Seven years,” he began, his voice slightly shaky. “We’ve known each other for seven fucking years, Y/N. And I’ve hung on your every fucking word for all of six years, eight months and a handful of days, give or take.” He turned on his heel rather abruptly to face you. “But you liked Billy.”

You opened your mouth to respond to the first half of his statement before realization dawned on you. Grimacing, you shook your head. “Billy? He’s like my brother, where the hell did that come from?”

“You act like he hung the fucking moon, Y/N!” He exclaimed, emphatically. “What was I supposed to think?”

“What?” You shook your head in sheer confusion. “Okay, one thing at a time. Billy is one of my best friends. So are you. What’s the problem here?”

“The probl—?” Stu laughed. “The problem? For seven fucking years you’ve been the first person I think of when I wake up and the last person I think of before I go to sleep. And literally every fucking second in between. And this whole goddamn time, I thought you were in love with Billy.”

You were reeling. You weren’t entirely sure if your heart was beating as loud as it appeared to be, but you were sure he could hear it from where he stood a few feet away. “I—” You tried to form a sentence – any sentence – but nothing seemed to suffice. “But the dates?” Were the only words that seemed to spill from your lips. “You were dating – are dating – constantly.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, “wonder why.”

You weren’t sure when you’d done it or just how your legs managed to carry you back into the living room, but you found yourself falling against the arm of the couch in an almost dream-like state. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m not trying to say anything,” Stu fussed. “I want to know if what Billy told me was true.” He walked up to you and searched your face. “Do you love me?”

You didn’t answer at first. You couldn’t. Not when it felt as though your lungs were about to explode in your chest. You must have opened your mouth a dozen times over, each time with the promise of a formative sentence, but nothing seemed to suffice.

Suddenly Stu’s hands were on you. Squeezing your thighs with those large hands, he demanded your focus as he swooped down and caught your eye. “I need you to answer me, doll.”

You were so focused in on the overwhelmingly glorious feeling of his hands on your thighs that you forgot to answer. Hell, you forgot to breathe. It wasn’t until you slowly managed to tear your eyes away from his hands to trail up the rest of his body towards that striking face of his, that you found your words.

“You came to my house at midnight. You’ve been the one going on dates like it’s a part time job. You’re the one claiming to have been hanging on my every word for the better half of our friendship so, no, Stu, I’m not saying a fucking word until you tell me what it is that brought you here this late?” You pushed his hands off of your thighs and stood up. “All I’ve done this entire time is sit idly by and watch you carry on like Heffner at the Playboy Mansion. You want me to answer you? Not until I get a—”

Your answer came in the form of a kiss.

On instinct, your hands tangled through his hair as his tongue slid along your bottom lip. He might have been on your shit list at the moment, but fuck he was a good kisser. You’d been thinking about this very moment for as long as you could remember. Longer, even, and god was it everything you thought it would be and more.

His hands were on your face at first, cradling it gently as he backed you into the sofa, and then they were on your neck, holding you close as his tongue massaged against your own. Shivering beneath his touch, you instinctively leaned into his broad chest as the pair of you continue to stand there, kissing like your lives depended on it.

“Stu,” you mumbled against his lips. “What are we doing?”

“Kissing” he rasped out before finding your lips yet again. “Bed or couch?”

Every red flag in your head was going off to stop this and properly talk about what was not so subtly insinuated only seconds prior, but he just felt so good and you’d wanted this so so long. “Bed,” you told him breathlessly, without a second thought.

Stu wasted no time in leading you towards your bedroom, kissing his way down your neck as you stumbled down the narrow hallway. Obviously losing his patience about halfway through, he pushed you up against the wall and trailed sloppy kisses down your jaw and neck. “I love you, if that wasn’t obvious.” He breathed out. “Like, a lot.”

His words struck you blind. Ever the dutiful distraction, however, Stu’s hand trailed down your sweatshirt before settling on the waistband of your pajama shorts. Your body reacted to the promise of his hand. Arching into him, you bit your lip and sighed in contentment as his fingers slipped beneath the band. You were already soaked. Your body responded to the man in a way you couldn’t begin to comprehend, and you weren’t sure you wanted to. And as his middle finger slid into your folds, instantly finding your clit, a soft moan escaped your lips.

“Is this the horny part of your brain talking?” You growled, tugging at the ends of his hair so that you had full access to his lips. “Or are you serious?”

“So fucking serious.” He hummed into your mouth. He pinched your clit, garnering a rather surprised hiss to escape from your lips as your entire body lurched forward. Hearing him chuckle, you popped an eye and began to pull his shirt over his head. When you tossed it across the hallway, his eyes met yours. “Do you love me?”

“Yeah, but I have bone to pick with you first,” you chided, doing your best to control your breathing as he quickened his pace on your clit.

He ducked his head down to bite your lip. “Unless it’s this bone,” he ground his hips into you, and you could feel his rock-hard erection even through his jeans. “It can wait.”

You laughed before you could think of stopping yourself. “Jesus Christ, you’re disgusting.”

He was smirking across at you. “You love it.”

Still grinning, you rolled your eyes before your lips took refuge on his neck. Which, as it turned out, was a massive turn-on for Stu Macher. Running your tongue along it and nipping at the sensitive flesh, was getting him incredibly riled up if the bulge in his jeans was any indication. Biting down on the sensitive flesh, the groan it drew out of his mouth was enough to make your already wet pussy clench around his fingers.

“Fuck,” he drew out, sliding the finger that had been assaulting your clit only seconds prior inside of you.

You let out a small moan of your own as you hurriedly got to work on his belt. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you just tell me how you felt?” When you’d managed to practically rip it off of his waist, you wasted no time in unzipping his jeans. His cock sprung free within seconds.

“I thought you liked Billy,” he rasped out gruffly as you began to pump his cock with your hand. “What was I supposed to do?”

You wiggled free from the hand currently down your shorts and dropped to your knees. Looking up at him through your thick eyelashes, you raised your brow. “You could have asked me?” You reminded him, swirling your tongue around the tip of that perfectly girthy cock. The man might have been a pain in the ass but good god he had the assets to make up for it.

Stu braced himself against the wall behind you and threw his head back. Fuck, you were lethal with that mouth of yours. “Hindsight,” he breathed out.

You released his cock with a pop. “You’re an idiot.” Was all you said before getting back to work. With your hand, you circled the base of his dick and took the length of him inside your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip each time you made your way back up.

He grabbed your hair and gave it a firm pull. “Fuck,” he growled. “Keep going.”

You hummed against his dick, digging your nails into his thigh briefly before looking back up at him. “Or what?” He allowed his forehead to fall against his forearm currently stabilizing him against the wall. You knew you were driving him crazy, but he’d done the same thing to you for the last seven years and you were nothing if not a petty bitch when you wanted to be. “Say it again.”

He furrowed his brow. “Say what?” Realization dawned on him. “Fuck, baby, you keep doing that I’ll put a ring on your finger tomorrow.” Stu’s blue eyes were hungrily taking you in. How you’d managed to stay fully dressed as he stood there with his jeans around his ankles and his cock out was beyond him but, sure enough, that was his reality. “I love you. A lot.”

You dug your nails into his thigh again, and slowly licked up the base of his cock. “Hmm,” you hummed with a nod of your head, releasing it to stand up to your full height. His eyes were pleading with you to finish him off, but as you slinked up the wall and mirrored his hungry gaze, he surprised you by sliding his calloused hand up the side of your neck until it cupped your cheek. You were practically nose-to-nose as he slowly pinned you against the wall and, as he leaned forward and nudged your nose with his, a slow, lazy grin broke out across your face. “I love you, too.”

Slowly, you leaned in and kissed him. Unlike the deliberate make-out session you’d had minutes prior, this kiss was slow and methodical. When you pulled away, you kissed the tip of his nose and nodded towards your bedroom. “Get on the bed.”

Stu’s eyebrows shot up in amusement. “Pushy.”

You gave his dick a tug. “Go.”

He swooped in again and kissed you before haphazardly kicking off his shoes and jeans, punting them across the hallway as he backed you into your bedroom. When you were close enough to your bed, he broke the kiss to peel off your sweatshirt. Throwing it across the room, his hands were back on you within seconds, kneading and massaging your breasts before taking one in his mouth. Expertly, his tongue ran along your nipple before he began to suck and nip at them. Arching into his mouth, you fisted a handful of his hair and groaned as he pulled you in even closer.

“Stu,” you moaned, shutting your eyes momentarily as you allowed yourself to get lost in the feeling of his mouth on your tits. The man truly was a god with his tongue.

But you had a trick up your sleeve. A little payback, if you will. And this, melting into his mouth, was not part of the plan.

Hating yourself, you pushed him away. The back of his knees hit your bed and you watched as he fell back onto the soft mattress with a slight bounce. There was confusion in his stare as he sat there ogling you. “Get over here,” he beckoned, voice low.

Slowly, you shimmied out of your pajama shorts, feeling his eyes on you every step of the way as you stepped out of them and walked towards the bed. Towards him. Sitting himself up, he opened his legs so you could step between them. His hands were slow as they trailed up and down your thighs, hips, and waist before sliding around to your ass. Squeezing and pulling at your cheeks, he pulled you closer and placed a tender kiss to your sternum before craning his neck up to peer up at you.

“I always knew you had a thing for my ass.” You raked your fingers through his hair, pushing it back and away from his forehead as you grinned down at him.

His answer came in the form of another firm squeeze of your ass only rather than stop there, he tugged you closer until you were tumbling onto his lap. You gripped his shoulders as you straddled his lap, subtly grinding your hips so his erection settled between the folds of your pussy, rubbing against your clit.

“Lay down on your stomach,” he uttered. When he noticed your apprehension, he raised a single eyebrow up at you and squeezed again. “Do you trust me?”

You nodded mutely and did as you were told. And, before you knew it, you were sliding off of his lap to lay stomach-down on your bed. You felt the bed shift as Stu crawled towards you but before you could question him on it, you felt his hands slide beneath your hips to pull you up so that your ass was raised in the air.

“What are you—”

Your words died in your throat as you felt his tongue glide along your pussy. Gasping, you nearly buckled forward, but caught yourself on your pillow. You were face down, buried in the comforter and pillows of your bed, but with your hips bent at the level Stu had moved them into, he had full access to both your pussy and your ass. You could feel his fingers kneading into your ass as his lapped up your every fold until settling on your clit. You groaned and buried your face into the pillow as he began to suck your clit. You could hear how wet you were as his mouth imbibed every inch of your pussy.

His name tore out of your throat and your knuckles whitened as you gripped the bedsheets. The veins in your neck swelled with every laboured breath you managed to draw and you found yourself bucking into his mouth as an orgasm rippled through your body. You moaned and groaned and cursed into the bed but Stu’s mouth was relentless. And as he pinched your clit all the while still lapping you up, you all but collapsed. When he was sure you couldn’t take another second of torture, he pulled away and allowed you to collapse onto the bed. Your cheeks were flushed, and your lips were parted as you attempted to catch your breath. With a quiet chuckle, he kissed his way up your spine, grinning against your skin as your legs continued to twitch.

“Can I?” He asked, his cock at the ready.

Nodding, you gasped when you felt him slide inside of you. He bit down on your shoulder as he thrust into you and his quiet moans and unsteady breath was enough to kill you. “Fuck,” he whispered. “You feel so fucking good.”

This was a high unlike any other for Stu. Watching his cock slam into you, watching your ass slap against him with every wild thrust and pump he provided and feeling just how fucking wet you were for him – this was the unattainable high. You were the unattainable high.

He reached around to play with your clit again. He could feel it throbbing between his fingers and, feeling you tremble made him weak. Quickening his pace on your clit and steadying his thrusting to ensure you finished again, Stu bit down on your earlobe. “Come for me, baby.”

Your answer came in the form of another thick, guttural moan as you came undone yet again. He watched you quiver and shake and the vision of it was enough for him to quicken his thrusts. Groaning, his hands fell from your clit to hold your hips as he pounded into you. The sound of your cheeks slapping against him was drawing him closer and closer to one hell of an orgasm and as you let out one last breathy moan, his whole body seemed to erupt in fire.

His breathing was heavy as he came inside of you and the more sensitive his cock got with every thrust, his pace slowed. For a moment, neither of you moved. Instead, he allowed his forehead to fall back against your shoulder before he slowly pulled out.

“If I’d have known that’s what I was missing, we should have had this talk a lot sooner.” You teased, earning a playful smack to your ass from the man. Grinning, you flopped back onto the pillow and stared up at him. He was leaning on one arm as those blue eyes scraped over every inch of your face. You could see the words he wanted to say splayed out across his face and found yourself reaching up to brush his hair back and away from his sweaty forehead.

“Right back at ya,” you smiled.

Fuck, you really were in love with the idiot.

#matthew lillard #stu scream #stu macher #ghostface #scream stu #Stu Macher x reader #Stu Macher x fem!reader #Stu Macher x you #slashers x reader #scream #scream 1996 #scream film #scream movie #billy loomis #Billy Loomis x reader #Ghostface x you #Ghostface x reader #scream x reader

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random-imagines-blog · 3 years

Text

Sideways {Andrew Garfield x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 1811 Summary: Andrew gets a call that no one wants to get. Especially from their own child. Warning: Contains hospital, miscarriage and talk of pregnancy.

The best part about your job was that you could do a lot of it online, and could travel with Andrew when he went abroad for his different acting gigs. This was one of the last times that you would be able to go, since it was the Summer and your daughter was going into first grade, and you wanted to keep her in one place to keep her adjusted. Still, he was going to appreciate all that he could get. And every minute that he wasn’t needed on set, he was going to take you and your child together to go and explore. He’d been here in Vancouver before, but you hadn’t, and he was eager to show you what he had learned about on his last trip here. But for now, he was stuck in the studio, getting fitted for one of the ‘special’ outfits that he was going to be wearing for this film.

He was laughing with the wardrobe stylist, joking about something that happened with the director on the first day here. They had pranked him by bringing in a bunch of extras and announcing them as the main cast. The director had sputtered, and not wanting to be rude, had to excuse himself to make ‘script adjustments’. Once he had realized that it was all a prank, he saw the funny side, and all tension and nerves around the team had dissipated. Andrew had been in on it and thought that it was hilarious, especially since he had been dressed as one of the camera-crew. Best acting he had ever done, the director had said to him.

“There’s a call for you, Mr Garfield,” His assistant said, popping up beside him. She was a small, older woman with a very no-nonsense air about her. She hadn’t appreciated the prank, because it meant that she missed out on a few hours of work. “It’s urgent.”

“It is?” Andrew asked, wondering who it could be. You only texted him during work hours, and he’d give you a call at lunch once in a while, otherwise he would wait to tell you about his day once he got home. That way his little girl could listen in and chime in whenever she wanted as well. “Excuse me,” He told the woman who was measuring his shoulders to make an adjustment to the suit. She nodded, and helped him to remove what he had on of the costume, then he changed quickly then finally accepted the phone from his assistant.

“This is Andrew,” He said, just in case it was an urgent professional call. He could hear a commotion coming from the other end of the line. There were men talking, and then a loud siren. Ambulance, not fire truck or police. He knew the difference, having always stayed in hotels in busy cities.

“Daddy?” The six-year-olds voice came through, and Andrew felt his heart sink from his chest down to his knees. He looked at his assistant who looked more solemn than usual. And maybe even a little bit concerned. “Daddy - it’s Mommy.”

“What’s wrong with mommy? Tell me everything - and where are you going?” He took his wallet and keys from his assistant, who had been holding onto them during the fittings.

“Where are we going?” Andrew heard her ask someone, and a man said something in response. “Vancouver General,” The little girl repeated.

“I’ll meet you there, okay? Stay with one of the paramedics until Daddy gets there. I won’t be long.”

It took him half an hour to get to the hospital, and that was with light traffic. He cursed the studio for being so far away, but he knew it was just the stress. His daughter wasn’t able to give him much information, just that you had been in the bathroom, crying in pain, and then told the little girl to call 911. They had taught her the emergency number for every country that they stayed in, just in case. It was good that she knew, but he hated that she had to use it.

You had been feeling fine that morning, he recalled. You went to the hotel restaurant for breakfast, had a simple meal of oatmeal and fruits. He was thinking that perhaps you had food poisoning of some sort? He hoped it was something as simple as that, though you wouldn’t have called 911 over something so trivial.

He parked, then ran into the first entrance that he could find. It was emergency, and they gave him directions to the fourth floor. He noticed from the signs around the elevator that it was to ... to a pregnancy floor?

He saw his daughter first, sitting on a bench, reading a book, swinging her legs back and forth since they weren’t reaching the ground. There was a paramedic sitting with her, but not saying anything. Just keeping an eye on her, which Andrew was thankful for. His footsteps brought their attention, and the little girl jumped to her feet. She had been crying, Andrew could tell from the puffiness of her cheeks. She ran towards him, and he leaned down to catch her in a hug. “Daddy! I called just like you taught me to!” She pulled your phone out of her pocket, it looked so massive in her little hands, and she held it up to show you.

He knew the password, there were no secrets between you two. You knew his as well, but neither of you ever went snooping. In fact, this was the first time that he had used it. He saw indeed that your first call of the day was to work, and then 911, and then to him. He turned the phone dark and put it into his own pocket. He scooped up the girl and held her in his arms in a giant bear hug. He looked at the paramedic over her shoulder, took a step towards him and held his hand out. “Thank you so much for staying with her-”

“It’s no problem,” He said, getting to his own feet. “We had to resupply the ambo anyway. And - the doctor said that your wife was stable. I’m sure she’ll be out soon.” He shook Andrew’s hand then excused himself to go back to work, and Andrew sunk down on the recently vacated spot on the bench, still holding his daughter on his lap. There wasn’t much that he could do except for wait for the Doctor, which didn’t take long. The commotion that your daughter made had gotten their attention.

“Hello, Mr. Garfield?” The Doctor said, coming out of the room. She reminded Andrew a lot of his assistant. Same motherly face, same solemn features. Andrew nodded to the affirmative. “Your wife is going to be just fine, though her body had gone through some trauma. She’s going to need to rest, take it easy for a couple of weeks at least.”

“What happened?” He asked, his voice shaky with relief that you were going to be fine. Still, this had seemed to come out of nowhere. And the fact that you were in the pregnancy wing made him nervous.

“Your wife had a miscarriage, Mr. Garfield. She was three months along,” The Doctor’s voice was straight to the point, no emotions at all. She must have to deliver news like this all of the time. “She claims that she didn’t know that she was pregnant, so she is feeling rather fragile. I’d like to keep her for overnight observation, just to be careful.”

Andrew swallowed, but nodded. There wasn’t any other reaction that he felt like he could have. He could only hug his daughter close, thankful that at the very least, he had her. “Can I see her?” He asked the Doctor, who nodded, and motioned towards the open door that she had just come out of. Andrew got back up to his feet, and walked in, still holding his daughter, who was being unusually quiet. He realized as he walked into the room that she had fallen asleep.

You hadn’t, however. You were laying in the hospital bed, hooked up to machines, getting fluids, staring straight ahead of you blankly. Andrew hummed to announce that he was there, and you snapped out of it, your eyes meeting his. They were still filled with tears on your end, while he was still comprehending the news.

“Hey baby,” You said, weakly smiling. Andrew smiled back, and set the little girl down on a chair, where she curled up immediately and continued to sleep away. All that worry and excitement must have exhausted her. He then went to your side, taking hold of both your hands, being careful of the IVs.

“How -” He said, shaking his head. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” You said, blinking away tears. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant. I swear, I wasn’t keeping anything from you. I had my period and no other symptoms. I mean, I thought I gained a little bit of weight but I thought that was just all of the cake,” You somehow managed to laugh though it didn’t sound sincere. “The Doctor says that happens sometimes.”

Andrew would never dream of accusing you of cheating. The two of you stayed in the newlywed stage of your marriage, remaining sexually active. The math added up enough, three months, you two were definitely intimate three months ago.

“How do you feel?” Andrew asked, caressing the top of your hands with his thumbs. “And not just physically.”

You took a deep breath in and then a deep breath out. “I’m devastated,” You admitted, finally admitting your own truth. Tears were fighting to come out and you had stopped the battle, letting them descend freely. “When I heard that I miscarried - I realized... I want that baby. I want to have another one with you and we just lost our chance.”

Andrew felt the same wave of depression overcome him. In an alternate universe, he could just be finding out that he was going to be a father again. He had to be strong for you though. He could let out his emotions when you got home. You were too vulnerable right now.

“We’ll have more chances,” Andrew said, leaning forward and kissed a tear off of your cheek. It tasted salty, it lasting on his lips for a long while. “I’ll gladly give you another baby.”

You chuckled at that, though you were still crying. “You just like the act of making one, mister,” You squeezed his hands. Andrew laughed as well, and nodded.

“Can you blame me?”

#Andrew Garfield #Andrew Garfield x reader #Andrew Garfield oneshot #celebrity #celebrity oneshot #request #oneshot #one shot #x reader #andrewg

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mcustorm · 3 years

Text

In Defense of a Black Cyclops

In case my username didn’t make it clear, the single most anticipated visual project for me is the MCU’s interpretation of the X-Men, which hasn’t even been announced yet [officially]. And ladies and gents, I have found your Cyclops:

Good ol’ Alfred Enoch, who we all know from Harry Potter and How to Get Away With Murder. If you’re not familiar with HTGAWM, know that his character goes from the de facto leader of the ragtag (murderers) and most cherished protege of Viola Davis’ Professor X to taking more of a grimdark turn after his girlfriend’s death. Sound at least somewhat familiar?

Enoch also embodies the physicality of the character well, seeing as to how he’s “slim”, 6′4(!!), black, and notoriously lanky. Wait, one of these isn’t like the others.

In general I hate fancasting. Everyone generally picks from the same pool of about 30 actors (Peeps, neither Taron nor Daniel is a good Wolverine choice. Argue with your mother!), and most all of it is based on physicality, except when it absolutely should be (like say, choosing a ~5′10 dark-skinned black woman for Storm).

And I think there’s some malarkey afoot. I think there needs to be some serious consideration on part of fancasters and actual casting agents alike to rethink race when it comes to the [white] X-Men, especially since they’re the X-Men of all teams. So I’ll make the case for a black Cyclops:

1. There is no quota on Black X-Men: There’s a bug in your ear that’s been whispering lies to you for years, it says something to the effect of “We need a black person on the team for diversity. How bout Storm?” And you’ve gotten complacent. Storm does not have to be the only black person on your X-Men roster.

2. The X-Men represent diversity: Iceman is gay, Cyclops and Prof. X are disabled (sorta), there are plenty of women, oh and everybody except Storm is white. Of the A-List X-Men, there is only *one* POC character. I’d argue that an MCU X-Men needs to champion diversity like never before.

3. The X-Men represent minority struggle while being mostly white: There’s a cognitive dissonance in the metaphor that has always been there, and for the most part, nobody cares. To appeal to the white readers of the 60′s, the X-Men were all initially white. That way, the message of the mutants could be related to the audience with a familiar face. We don’t need to approach the problem that way in 202?

4. Just because that’s the way it’s always been, doesn’t mean that’s the way it should be: The first line of defense. Sorry, that will never be a good justification for literally any idea. It’s time for some more critical thinking.

5. We don’t all want to be Bishop: So say you’re white and you have a kid who for his birthday having a costume party. You’ve bought some X-Men costumes and you want each kid to pick one. 9 white kids and one black kid show up to your house. As the kids deliberate who gets what costume, be it Cyke or Wolvie or whatever, you yell at everybody to “STOP!”, point to the one black kid and tell him “You’re gonna be Bishop. That’s it, end of story!”

We don’t all want to be Bishop. The black child could have the best Cyclops interpretation within him, but you’ll never know if you don’t let him try. And that’s no different from the Black actors of Hollywood. There’s no reason why all of the black talent should *have* to compete for the role of Bishop or Storm, which I’ve discussed, while Joe Schmo can walk up and audition for literally anybody he wants.

Jharrel Jerome is 23 and has an Emmy to his name. He needs to be in the MCU in some capacity, period. Stephan James is another. How bout Damson Idris. Ashton Sanders. But no, no, let’s fancast Dacre Montgomery or Ansel or Joe Keery again as [Human Torch, Wolverine, Iceman, Angel, I’ve literally seen it all.]

6. Nobody wants to see the B-team if it comes down to it. The next line of defense from your racebending naysayers after “That’s the way it’s always been!” is “Well, what about Psylocke, Bishop, Forge and Jubilee?” who are otherwise known as B-tier X-Men. The problem is, we’ve got limited time and limited spots.

So since the X-Men is all about wonky metaphors that make half sense, let me give you another: Let’s say somebody approaches you and says “Hey buddy, I got two free concert tickets for ya! You can either see Michael Jackson Sings the Blues, or you can go see Justin Timberlake. Free of charge!”

Now, are you used to MJ singing the blues? No! Do you have a problem with going to see Justin Timberlake? No, he’s fine on a Wednesday! He had that one little diddy we liked that one time. We’d love to see him eventually! But are you gonna say, “fuck that, I’m going to see MJ Sings the Blues” regardless? Hell yes, because that’s still Michael Jackson. He’s gonna give the same amazing performance he always does, it’s just gonna be the blues. And speaking of blues...

7. Black is not Blue, Brown is not Blue: Raise your hand if you’ve ever heard this one: “I don’t care if you’re black, white, purple, or green, I’m going to treat you all the same!” I will not say all have this intention, but some fancasters have noticed that the racial diversity is kinda low within the A-List X-Men, so they oh-so-generously give the following roles to a black or brown person: Iceman, Nightcrawler, Beast.

Notice the pattern? It’s a microaggression, and it’s bullshit. What these fancasters are implicitly telling you is that, yes the actors will be black or brown, but when the action starts we can ignore that. They’ll be blue by then. In other words, you in fact do care if they’re purple or green. Nobody will cry foul if Dev Patel gets to play Nightcrawler (because that’s a common one I see), but should Anna Diop be Starfire or Michael B. Jordan be Human Torch, I bet there’d be backlash. Oh wait. If that’s you, please stop acting like you actually value diversity. You don’t want to see black or brown skin, period. Unless of course, it’s Storm (refer to point #1).

But wait, there’s more! When brown characters get whitewashed in these movies, it’s crickets! So eventually it’s revealed implicitly that proclaimers of point #4 only care about it one way.

8. Professor X should not be black if you’re not willing to change anyone else: The next line of defense is that some people say the professor should be black, if anybody HAS to be racebent. Something something MLK Jr., Civil Rights or some shit. Number one, I’m not reducing Professor X to being a magical negro for 9 white people (and Storm!) who for all intents and purposes get to have all the action. Number 2, the Professor X/MLK/Magneto/Malcolm X comparison is an oversimplifying disservice to ALL FOUR of those people. I hate that line whenever I see it, please watch a documentary my friends.

9. The Candidates for Racebending: For me, the A-List X-Men are Cyclops, Jean Grey, Iceman, Angel, Beast, Wolverine, Storm, Gambit, Rogue, Colossus, Nightcrawler, and Kitty Pryde. Now, who should be exempt from the racebending? Storm, she’s our designated minority. Gambit, he’s Cajun and they’re white (generally speaking, that’s a fun bit of research). Wolverine, Colossus, and Nightcrawler, because their nationality/ethnicity was the whole point of the Giant-Size premise in the first place. Angel, because his character embodies a privileged white male. Beast and Iceman, I don’t care one way or another (Point #7).

That leaves Cyclops, Rogue, Jean Grey, and Kitty Pryde. Now Jean Grey is a redhead, and we all know that every time a redhead is racebent people sharpen their pitchforks (Mary Jane, Wally West, Iris West), so I will cede the ground on Jean if only so that my ginger friends can get their rep. Kitty Pryde is Jewish, but Jews of color exist. Rogue is from the South. And Cyclops is, well, just Cyclops. That makes those three characters good options for more diversity. But allow me to make the case for Cyclops, specifically.

10. It’s not just diversity for diversity’s sake: If you had to pick who the main character of the X-Men is supposed to be, most would say Cyclops. And so in a series that highlights racial discrimination in society, it makes sense that our main character be black. While changing Cyclops’ skin color should not change who he is as a character, it *should* recontextualize it. Now, as an eventual increasingly radical leader of the X-Men, Cyclops would evoke real life figures such as Colin Kaepernick or, shall I say, Martin Luther King, Jr.

Not that most X-Men fans and writers truly think about what it means to be black anyways. Storm’s minority status is almost always put through the lens of her being a mutant and not her being a black woman. In other words, you can’t argue that making a character black will fundamentally change his or her character when you haven’t even analyzed the racial context of the black character(s) you already have. Another concept that the MCU X-Men should tackle: intersectionality.

11. Representation matters: I have to say it: Chadwick Boseman’s Black Panther hit different. And now he is tragically gone. At the end of the day, the MCU moving forward is down its most prominent black male superhero. Which has implications beyond just the movies themselves.

The women are in good hands. Shuri, Okoye, and Nakia are badasses in Wakanda, Valkyrie is ruling Asgard, Storm is almost assuredly on the way, RiRi Williams has already been cast, and Monica Rambeau is here and she’s not even at her most glorious yet. That doesn’t even include variable Δ, or the number of characters who can and will be racebent. And I’ll note again that to me, Gamora doesn’t count, because she’s green (#7 really pisses me off because it’s so blatant. I hate it). Of course from a behind the camera perspective we love black women getting work.

The men are a completely different story. Imma just go out and say it, I can’t stand Falcon and War Machine [in the MCU] because they’re not characters, they’re just two of a slew of MCU minority sidekicks who have essentially been at the beck and call of Captain America and Iron Man, respectively. You cannot tell Falcon’s story without mentioning Cap. The reverse is not true. There’s a whole essay that could be and have been written on “Minorities in the MCU, pre-Black Panther”. Remember, there’s a reason BP made so much noise in the first place.

So excluding those two we have, let’s see, M’Baku, Blade, and Fury who aren’t exactly the most superheroic superheroes, Eli Bradley is proooobably coming, I doubt Miles Morales is coming (because he’s just Peter Parker in the MCU), Luke Cage(?) Bishop(??), Sunspot(???), Blue Marvel(????). Not only are they not A-List, I would not put money on any of them being in the MCU any time soon.

Cyclops is thee Captain America of the X-Men. He’s the frontman. He’s the poster boy. He’s the “boy scout”, which in other words means he’s the hero, if there has to be one. It would mean a lot right now, and specifically *right now*, if he were to be black. The MCU needs it. It NEEDS it.

12. The X-Men is the Summers Story: I’ll even make the case that if just one character needs to racebent, then it should be Cyclops, because that of course implies that other related characters need to be black because half of the X-Men universe is in fact a part of the Summers family.

So now Cable is black. Corsair is black. Havok is black. And one of the most central stories in the X-Men mythos, the Summers family drama, is now a black family drama set in space or the future or where the fuck ever. The concept is boundary pushing. When white families have drama in the media, it gets to be Game of Thrones or Star Wars, while when black families have drama in the media, it has to be black people arguing in a kitchen or living room about their various earthly traumas (I’m @’ing you, Mr. Perry). I mean, that’s all fine and good often times, but I want my black family drama in space, dammit.

And again, this is the X-Men, the series that’s all about *minorities* and their struggle, so again, why not?

Oh, and I’ll even throw out a Havok fancast for you: How bout Jharrel Jerome?

#cyclops #scott summers #the mutants #monica rambeau #X-men #xmen #marvel #MCU #fancast #jharrel would actually be a better sunspot #but you get the point #my man would have OPTIONS

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canary3d-obsessed · 3 years

Text

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 20, part two

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff) (Previous Post)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

So much happens in this episode that I couldn’t stop the meta and had to break it in thirds. Part one is here, part three is here.

Owie Owie Owie

Wen Zhuliu takes exquisitely tender care of Wen Chao, despite presumably disliking him quite a lot. He wipes his tears away, saying that the tears will infect his wounds, which...isn't likely, but ok.

I will note that he didn't get the "no sting" kind of medicine, however, so maybe there's a limit to his kindness. Wen Chao screams and yells at him while he puts a tiny amount of medicine on one tiny spot of owie. It's going to be a long night for these fellas. Except it isn't because they're going to die, so at least they won't have to put more medicine on.

The candles blow out and we hear the sound of a flute, which Wen Zhuliu hilariously says is just the wind when Wen Chao starts freaking out. They have two days to go before they get to safety, and Wen Chao is pretty sure he's not going to last two days. And you know...he's right!

As usual he blames Wen Zhuliu for the situation, but then gets afraid that WZL is going to leave him, and starts making promises of status. WZL says that's not necessary. He is a loyal sonofabitch, I'll give him that.

The Man Comes Around, Redux

And now Wei Wuxian enters the scene, climbing menacingly up the stairs carrying his own hair fan, just like Lan Wangji did in the previous episode. (Gifset here). Wen Zhuliu doesn't look optimistic. When the boys on the roof see Wei Wuxian they don't look too happy either.

Wei Wuxian stops in front of Wen Zhuliu and proceeds to have a philosophical conversation with him. Wei Wuxian has come to fuck your shit up, but he has also come to pass judgement on your ethics because he is, fundamentally, still himself.

Wen Zhuliu takes the opportunity to justify his actions, giving a heartfelt statement about what he owes to Wen Ruohan. Wen Zhuliu knows his number is up and that they obviously didn't kill Wei Wuxian hard enough, but he still feels righteous.

(more after the cut)

Here Wei Wuxian asks a question that shows the fundamental difference between himself and Wen Zhuliu. In many ways they are similar: neither of them was born into their clan. Both were appreciated by the clan leader and placed in high positions. Both feel an obligation to those clan leaders. When Wei Wuxian asks "why do other people have to pay for your gratitude?" he's foreshadowing the moment when Jiang Cheng demands the death of the Dafan Wens.

Wen Zhuliu doesn't hesitate to murder people because his clan leader wants him to. Whereas Wei Wuxian doesn't hesitate to pay a terrible price--his golden core-for his gratitude to Jiang Fengmian. But he won't let the Dafan Wens pay the price of his continued membership in the Jiang clan; he chooses exile while Wen Zhuliu chooses murder.

Wei Wuxian is done talking and very very slowly brings his flute into position and starts to play. Wen Zhuliu doesn't make a move to stop him, but he might be frozen in place...everything happens at weird speeds in this scene.

Lan Wangji is super horrified when he sees what Wei Wuxian is doing with his flute. So horrified, in fact, that by the time they are face to face, he's moved past any other emotion.

Lady in Red

As Wei Wuxian plays the flute, the camera moves around him (or they spin him on a turntable) and the scenery around him shifts to a 360 view of...the burial mounds! That's so fucking cool!

You can take the boy out of the graveyard but you can't take the graveyard out of the boy. He is carrying it within him now.

He summons up the hottest ghost lady ever, to scratch the shit out of the Wens with her fancy fingernails. She's all in red, not the dark Wen red, but super-saturated bridal red.

She's not dressed as a bride, but she is very pretty and the color is awesome, particularly when she turns into red smoke. Presumably having actual ghosts attacking people is ok with the censor board as long as they are pretty ladies in nice clothes, since there are two in this episode and this one is absolutely definitely a non-corporeal being when she wants to be.

Camera Operator: What did I ever do to you?

She fights with Wen Zhuliu, who tries to put his core-melting hand on her, unsuccessfully, and then figures out that Wei Wuxian is the better target, so tries to put his core-melting hand on him.

Wen Zhuliu, you need to have some different moves! Not everybody has a core for you to melt.

Zidian’s Revenge

As soon as Wen Zhuliu targets Wei Wuxian the boys break in from the rooftop, with Jiang Cheng snapping Zidian up over a rafter and down around Wen Zhuliu's neck in a single move, and then hauling him up and hanging him.

This is a pretty gratifying moment; Jiang Cheng finally gets his vengeance using the weapon his mother gave him before this fucker killed her. He also gets to come back at the guy who melted his core and kill him with a spiritual weapon. All around nice work, Jiang Cheng.

Meanwhile, Lan Wangji initially placed himself between Wen Zhuliu and Wei Wuxian, which is a pretty strong show of devotion, given that his chest was directly in line with Wen Zhuliu's hand.

He watches intently while Wen Zhuliu dies...Lan Wangji is actually a pretty vengeful guy, isn't he? He's not into torture but he seems to like executing bad people, and he enjoys chopping off arms a whole lot.

Welcome Back

Having disposed of Wen Zhuliu, Team Where The Fuck Have You Been is ready to greet Wei Wuxian. This is Lan Wangji as he prepares to turn around and face him.

This is not "relieved that my soulmate is ok" or even "feeling betrayed because you didn't even send me a text." This is cold, hard, fury. He's plowed right past relief and joy into full on disgust and vehemence.

Jiang Cheng is also pissed at him, but he's so used to being pissed at him that it's not a remarkable emotion, and it passes quickly. He gives him his sword, calls him a prick, punches him in the shoulder while Lan Wangji looks grumpy Wang Yibo tries very hard not to smile, and fails.

Then Jiang Cheng gives Wei Wuxian an enormous squishy hug.

Wei Wuxian, who has probably wanted that hug for the past decade, does not return it, and looks stricken, eventually raising his flute hand behind Jiang Cheng's back.

Lan Wangji glares at him while Jiang Cheng hugs him, and then shifts to glare at the flute.

Let's talk about Lan Wangji's body language here. This scene is often talked about, including by OP, as "Wei Wuxian picks a fight with Lan Wangji in order to push him away." But since their very early days,Lan Wangji's nonverbal communication has been an essential component of his relationship with Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian has been reading his microexpressions from the very start, and he's the only one besides Lan Xichen who does that.

Lan Wangji's anger and disapproval are written all over his face and posture, so much so that even a casual observer can tell what he's feeling. For Wei Wuxian, with his extreme awareness and having shared actual literal telepathy with the guy previously, this has got to feel like Lan Wangji is screaming at him.

Lan Wangji is the one picking this fight. Wei Wuxian is trying to defuse it by giving him time to calm down before engaging. For perhaps the first time since meeting him, Wei Wuxian ignores Lan Wangji to focus on Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng asks him a bunch of questions and Wei Wuxian slides out from under most of them, giving half answers, non-answers, and what All The President's Men calls a non-denial denial.

Wei Wuxian, who is adept at sounding like he's speaking truth when he is lying, here sounds like he's lying when he's speaking something very close to the truth. He spins a particularly outrageous-sounding tale of finding a cave and learning an ultimate power there...but that's actually what he actually did, actually. Xue Yang does this "lie so much that the truth now sounds like a lie" thing by accident, years later in Yi City, but Wei Wuxian is using it as a deliberate tactic to hide the truth from his brother. Which is basically his main occupation at this point.

He acts offended that Jiang Cheng doesn't believe him, but he does it playfully to cast everything in the conversation as a joke.

Lan Wangji is not as inclined to accept utter codswallop as Jiang Cheng is, and he has already figured out an important underlying layer of the situation--the turn away from the way of the sword--while not seeing the very bottom layer, the "I don't have a golden core" layer.

Unfortunately, he continues to be judgy and pissed off. He says "Wei Ying" gently enough, but his body is braced for conflict.

Wei Wuxian looks at him wearily and stands up to have the fight Lan Wangji is asking for.

Maybe you were right But baby I was lonely I don't want to fight I'm tired of being sorry

I'm standing in the street Crying out for you No one sees me But the silver moon

Soundtrack: 1. Sympathy for the Devil, The Rolling Stones 2. Tired of Being Sorry, by Ringside

Writing Prompt: Who is the lady in red and what is her deal?

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #wangxian #chengxian #the untamed gifs #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs

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yandere-romanticaa · 4 years

Text

It was neck and neck, but this old man won! It's your time to shine daddy Lilia!

Yandere alphabet.

ft! Lilia Vanrouge. 💚

A - Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Lilia is very touchy feely and he makes sure that his arm is at least around your waist if he's close to you - he can't help himself, you're just that cute! And I wouldn't describe it as intense per say, just a tad suffocating. He'll leave you be if he sees that you really need it but chances are, the two of you will be glued by the hip.

B - Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

That's a tricky question because Lilia is quite hard to pin down. If he does create a mess no living soul would ever know unless he just flat out tells someone. Chances are, he probably won't even need to lift a finger - everyone knows who he is so there is no point for his hands to get dirty.

C - Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Ah, he'd be such a tease, downright cruel even. He'll taunt them for not paying attention to all the warning signs and red flags, actively gaslighting his darling in the process. His words cut deeper then any blade and darling will have to learn that the hard way.

D - Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Honestly? Not really, no. He wants his darling to come to him by their own will, even if it is twisted in the end. It really doesm't matter to him in the end though as their happily ever after is pretty much here.

E - Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

It would take Lilia some time to fully open up to his darling. He's used to being the caretaker, not the other way around. But once comfortable he will open up his heart.

F - Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Lilia would enjoy it a bit at first but if his darling keeps being persistent he will be very upset. Why can't they just live out their lives in love and peace...?

G - Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

He treats it as both a serious matter and a game at the same time. He's curious to see at how his darling will fall for it and despite him messing around he will toughen up if need be.

H - Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Probably the first time Lilia had tortured them. His knowlege of the human body is.... erie, shall we say...

I - Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Why, marriage of course! Lilia wants nothing more then to spend the rest of his days with his darling. Wouldn't that be a dream come true? Oh, he'd love a family, with lots and lots of kids! He'd be the best dad in the world, he can already see it! With his ambitions set in motion chances are that this will be happening sooner rather than later.

J - Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He says that he doesn't get jealous but really, that's just a lie. This old man just doesn't want to admit the fact that he fears that he may be boring to his darling and anything of the sorts. If he does get jealous, he just cuddles his darling until he gets better. The perfect payment, yes?

K - Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

He's the same pretty much all the time, he's protective and affectionate, very sweet too! Just give him some love and he'll go away....~

L - Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Very old fashioned with a hint of playfulness. This old man knows exactly what strings to pull and there is no stopping him. Once his sight is set on his darling, it is endgame.

M - Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

He shows his true colours in a subtle way, no one really figures out what they are once it is too late.

N - Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Probably by taking away their privacy and then his punishments will get worse and worse. It really all depends on the severity of darling's crime and Lilia can get even stricter if need be...

O - Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

It all depends on darlings attitude. If they are kept line he will keep himself in line too.

P - Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Lilia's endless patience is downright disturbing. He is like a spider just waiting to snatch up his prey and then tear it apart with no remorse what so ever. It also helps that he has all the time in the world to deal with pretty much anything so in case his darling ever tries to pull something, Lilia will just figure something out and stop them.

Q - Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

No. He'd tell himself that he could handle it, that he was used to death, but he could never get past this. Lilia is probably going to cast some sort of spell on his darling to ensure that their souls are conected for the rest of their days. The poor old man just doesn't want his heart to be broken once more.

R - Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Guilt is something that Lilia almost never feels and that would be the case here as well. He is doing this for darlings well being, Lilia knows best! And he'd never let his darling go - once they're in his clutches, there is no getting out.

S - Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

If he is being honest with himself, he is not quite sure. He mostly blames it on his old age and the fact that he's seen so many humans dissapear in a flash, just like that. And if that were to happen to his beloved... He'd mourn for an eternity.

T - Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

A more sadistic side of him would enjoy such a display - please dear, don't stop. He likes to hear all the little noises you make, they're all just so adorable. ~

But if his darling starts giving him the cold shoulder, Lilia won't be happy about it. He'll poke them and scare them, until he can finally get some sort of reaction, even if it wasn't the one he wanted.

U -Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Well for one thing, he is a lot more creative and fun than your average yandere. He gets away with his obvious stalking and his comments go unnoticed by pretty much everyone, even his darling. His magic is also something to behold and any person that at least has half a braincell would know not to mess with Lilia. He may be small, but he really can be dangerous.

V - Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Despite his cheery exterior, Lilia never actually shows any weakness. That is mostly because his darling themselves are his prime time weakness, along with Silver, Malleus and Sebek of course. The only real way to hurt Lilia would be to hurt those three but let's be real, darling can't even approach them. The last thing to do in that situation would be if darling starts hurting themselves but Lilia would take all the sharp objects away the moment darling just pricks a finger.

W - Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

On purpose? Never. Out of necessity? Definitely. You see, all Lilia wants is for his darling to be happy, and how can they be happy if he is being cruel? He's torn over this, but there are times when he just has to put his foot down and remind his darling of their place, no matter how much it may hurt them.,

X - Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

His darling is pretty much family to him so he'd go to great lenghts to ensure darling's safety. As for winning them over, he can get pretty cheeky but his flirting mostly subtle, blink and you'll miss it, but it still has that long lasting affect of keeping darling up at night. Just like how Lilia wants it.

Y - Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Once Lilia realizes that he fell for someone he is going straight for the kill. You only get to live once, what is the point of hidding his affections? He will be a massive tease though~!

Z - Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

He does have a sadistic side but Lilia truly does not want to do this. He fell for his darling for a reason, he doesn't want them to just be a shell of their former selves. His ideal situation is that his darling remains mostly docile with just a hint of the rebellious fire he fell for in the first place. He can break his darling but he doesn't want to. So for everyone's sake, keep it that way.

Tags: @yourlittlerunt , @phantomness @pumpkiethepie, @twst-rose-prisms, @tsuisute, @delusional-obsessions, @teralavey, @minoux-x, @tiaragqueen

#yandere #yancore #twisted wonderland #yanderecore #yandere aesthetic #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere alphabet #twst x reader #diasomnia #lilia vanrouge #yandere lilia vanrouge #yandere lilia vanrouge x reader

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trashforhockeyguys · 3 years

Text

Vienna Waits For You -3- William Nylander

A/N: So I think this counts as the start of their friendship? Or at least them no longer hating each other. As always, all previous parts are linked in my masterlist! Enjoy!

The apartment was quiet, save for the sound of the old game she was trying to watch. Frustrated, Avalyn took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes, hoping the screen would stop being blurry if she just took a second away from it. She could very easily be out with some other members of the cast, drinking and having a great night. Or she could be like Jackson, who seemed to be spending a lot of time with various members of the team.

It was good for him though, he didn’t have many guys around him that understood the game that he devoted many years to. She often wondered if Jackson regretted giving up hockey so he could act instead. She remembered his last game, the way he looked so defeated when the buzzer sounded, despite the fact that they’d won.

The knock on her door was enough to pull her away from her little hockey bubble. Maybe Jackson decided to stop by after all. She didn’t bother trying to make herself look any better, after all, Jackson witnessed her looking far worse than this.

William shifted his weight, hoping she wouldn’t slam the door in his face. Especially not after he literally ran to go find ice cream. He figured Jackson’s tip couldn’t hurt. He’d been a dick to her, so he wouldn’t blame her if she refused to talk to him. He probably wouldn’t talk to him either.

He expected to see her all done up, like she always seemed to be, but instead the girl that opened the door was a far cry from that. Her hair was a little curly, but not like she’d curled it, more like that's just how her hair dried. She had sweats on, an old worn college sweatshirt that wasn’t her’s, but maybe one of her parent’s? What really surprised him was the fact that she didn’t have a single bit of makeup on, and she was wearing glasses. He hadn’t seen so much as a single picture of her without makeup on, or with glasses.

“Oh- I uh,” She seemed to stumble back a few steps, “I thought you were Jackson. How do you- how do you know where I live?”

“Jackson,” William shrugged, “He’s downstairs at Auston’s place.”

“What?” Avalyn questioned, not being able to process much of anything.

William smiled almost shyly, “Auston lives two floors below you. Jackson suggested that I come up and try not to be a dick.”

“Are you capable of that?” She regretted even asking the second the words left her mouth.

“I brought chocolate ice cream, if that makes a difference?”

Avalyn sighed and stepped away from the door, pushing it all the way open for him, “I’ll get bowls.”

William wasn’t sure what he expected from her apartment, but he didn’t expect it to be fairly empty. It didn’t feel like a home, more like a cold apartment, half furnished so someone could at least live in it. Even Auston’s place felt more like a home, granted that’s mainly because his mom and sisters came to decorate when he first got it.

“Sorry, I-” Avalyn shook her head, “I’m still trying to get settled or whatever.”

William nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets, watching as she started dipping the somewhat melted ice cream, “I get it.”

He eyed the bookshelf, which seemed to be the one piece of furniture that she really put some thought into. There didn’t seem to be any space for any more books, some even seemed to be doubled up. He smiled slightly, there was something human about her after all. He thought back to Jackson saying that she hadn’t been able to be herself in a very long time. Maybe this was a rare glimpse at who she might be.

“So uh- Jackson told you to come up here?” She asked, not really understanding what was happening.

“Something like that,” William replied, “Are you watching one of our old games?”

Avalyn felt her face turn a little red as she handed him one of the bowls, “Well, it’s hard to go to an actual game, no one really knows that I’m here yet. Besides, I can watch more online and I get the option to replay things.”

He looked at her for a second, watching the way she started to eat big spoonfuls of her ice cream. She didn’t seem at all like the person he’d seen earlier today, or the person he’d been told about. Maybe she had a point when she told him that he should at least try to hear her side of the story.

“You said I didn’t know your side,” He said abruptly, “So, what is your side?”

She stopped eating for a moment and took a deep breath, “It’s complicated, and messy, like Shakespearean level messy. We all knew each other as kids, Jackson, Margret, and I. The three of us started around the same time, landed a few roles together and just kind of became best friends. We did everything together, and would’ve done anything for each other. Things changed, Jackson and I did some things to protect Margo that should really stay between the three of us...and I don’t know. She just took it all the wrong way and was convinced that I took Jackson from her, which isn’t the case. But she wouldn’t let either of us explain, things just ended up getting really out of had.”

“So all of this over that guy?” William blew out a breath, “No offense, he’s cool or whatever, but he isn’t worth all of that.”

“She said some things on the record and got blacklisted,” Avalyn added, “Everyone says she’s a terror to work with, among other things. She blames it all on Jack and I. It is what it is. You can believe me or not, I don’t care.”

He looked down at the small coffee table. Notebooks were strone all across it, drawings and neat handwriting covered all of the pages. He noticed the diagram of a rink, along with explanations all around it. He couldn’t help but pick it up and look closer at it.

“So, how much do you know?” He asked.

She leaned back into the couch, “Not enough. The technicalities I understand, the mechanics and how the game is supposed to work. But the lingo and how it actually works, that I’m lost on.”

He smiled lightly, “Yeah, that I can help with.”

She watched as he leaned forward and grabbed her notebook and laptop. He closed the windows she’d been flipping between and instead pulled up a movie. He smiled lazily, putting his feet up on the coffee table, “This is the first step.”

“What is this exactly?” She questioned.

“This is Slap Shot. We’ll watch the Mighty Ducks, Goon, and Miracle later. But to understand a hockey team, you have to at least see Slap Shot.”

“I-” She shook her head and pulled the blanket from off of the back of the couch, “Okay, if you say so.”

“For the record, I still think you might be a stuck up bitch,” He shrugged, “But you were right, I do want what’s best for the sport, and my little sisters would actually fly over here and murder me if they found out I refused to help you.”

Avalyn couldn’t help but smile lightly, just the slightest up curve of her mouth, “I still think you might be a selfish prick, but I want the crew to be taken care of.”

“Then I guess it’s settled.”

A week later, Avalyn found herself sitting at a table with William and other Maple Leafs, as well as various members of the cast. They were all laughing at stories that the hockey team was telling, mainly of things they did in their youth.

As Avalyn sat laughing, she realized that this was more than just a team, they were a family too. A close knit band of brothers. Jackson used to talk about how his old team was like that, but Avalyn hadn’t seen anything like it before. She wasn’t used to a close knit family unit like this, especially given how her parents raised her.

Her notebook was still open in front of her, sometimes she would jot down a few things, especially hockey slang that she wasn’t yet familiar with. But she could say, without a doubt, that she was beginning to feel like she was a part of something bigger than just her. Something that went beyond the crew too. Because they had a whole team working with them too.

“So you two worked it out?” Mitch asked, gesturing to Avalyn and William.

“Uh-” William scratched the back of his neck.

“More like, called a cease fire,” Avalyn clarified.

“Better than all out war,” Jackson joked, “Avey, we’re all going to get on the ice later today, you should come.”

She shook her head, kicking Jackson under the table. The last thing she wanted was to get on the ice for the first time in front of professional hockey players. She hadn’t skated in years, not since her and Jacky were kids. She didn’t want to embarrass herself, especially after she just got William to somewhat like her.

“I think I’ll pass for today,” She said nervously.

The rest of the team and cast kept chatting, while William leaned over to Avalyn, “You can’t skate, can you?”

She felt her face turn red, “I can...I just haven’t since I was a kid.”

“We won’t let you fall, you know.”

She shook her head again, “I don’t want everyone to see me fail.”

“We all had to learn too you know, and some of the guys taught their girlfriends at the last family skate,” William explained, “We rented out the whole rink, it’s part of learning the ways of the team.”

She still shook her head, “You just want to make fun of me.”

“Well actually I wanted to help you, but if I get to laugh at you that’s a bonus,” He explained.

“Asshole.”

“Bitch,” He smirked, “Avalyn is gonna come!”

“Hell yeah!” Mitch cheered, “You can ride over with me and Aus.”

“I hate you,” She whispered to William.

“Yeah yeah, we established all of that.”

But the truth was, she was starting to dislike him less. They talked nearly everyday, sometimes he’d come to her apartment, and sometimes she would go to his. He would send her highlight clips, and ask if she understood what was going on. They would facetime so he could walk her through things, and she even made sure that she could watch his games, just so she could get more exposure to the sport.

It was strange, she wouldn’t call them friends at all, but they weren’t enemies. Truth be told, neither of them knew what they were. But they wanted to do right by the show and by the small hockey community around the world. They never talked about Margot, but William slowly started to talk about his family and growing up in Sweden, and in other parts of the US because of his father’s hockey career. She liked hearing about his life, more than she thought she would.

A few hours later, she found herself sitting on a beach just off of the rink. She had her skates on, but didn’t exactly know how to lace them up, and Jackson was nowhere to be seen. So she sat helplessly, hoping he would find her before one of the other guys did.

“You can’t tie them, can you?”

She groaned before turning to the blond Swede before her, “Why is it always you?”

He shook his head before bending down in front of her, “Give me your foot, I’ll tie it. It’s supposed to be tight, okay? But not so tight that you can’t move.”

He started jerking on the laces, pulling each section as tight as he could, and then loosening some that he felt he got a little too tight. Avalyn tried not to think about how close they were, her foot was caught between his arms, the blade of her skate pushed into his chest. It almost felt too intimate to her. Like her skin would start crawling. But her skin instead seemed to burn with his touch, she could feel her whole body heat despite the cold temperature of the rink.

“How’s that?” He asked, releasing her foot, “Not too tight?”

She wiggled her foot a bit, her ankle felt secure, not limp like it did before he tied them, “Uh no, I think it’s good.”

“Alright, good,” He nodded his head, “Other foot, and then we’ll get you out there.”

“I still don’t want to go out there,” She stated.

“Do you want me to hold your hand?” He teased.

“William, I’m serious, I haven’t skated since I was a kid. Even then I sucked ass,” She explained, “I’m going to fall and literally break my butt and everyone is going to laugh at me. You guys are professionals, you literally do this for a living. I don’t know how to skate on a blade that’s an eighth of an inch thick.”

He looked up at her, “I’m surprised you know how thick the blades are.”

She shrugged, “I told you I’ve been doing my research.”

He sat back, putting her other foot back down on the ground, “I won’t let you fall, okay? But even if you do, it’s fine. We fall sometimes too. I’ll even let you use the little kiddie rails too.”

She shook her head, grabbing onto the bench, “I think I’m going to stay right here.”

He held out a hand for her and flashed a big smile, “C’mon Avalyn Bradshaw Kreitzburg, I didn’t think you were one to back down from a challenge.”

“Avey!” Jackson yelled from the other side of the rink, “Get your ass out here!”

She took a deep breath, grabbing William’s hand, letting him pull her up, “Just don’t you dare laugh if I fall.”

“Yes ma’am,” He replied, “You better hold on tight though.”

#william nylander imagines #william nylander fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey fanfic #hockey fanfiction #toronto maple leafs imagines #toronto maple leafs imagine #toronto maple leafs fanfiction #toronto maple leafs fanfic #nicolewritesthings

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harley-sunday · 3 years

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Encore [01]

Summary: The new Disney+ show ‘Encore’ brings together former castmates of a high school musical, tasking them with re-creating their original performance in a high school reunion like no other. Emotions run high as you face faded friendships, long-forgotten controversies, killer choreography, and an ex-boyfriend you haven’t seen in eighteen years.

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader [unnamed OFC, nicknamed ‘Ace’)

Warnings: None

Word count: 8.4k

AN: So, here it is, the re-write of Encore. For those of you who have read it when it was first published, there are some subtle changes in this first part, but the real fun doesn’t start until part 2, which will be online tomorrow. Hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think :)

Masterlist

Cursing quietly you set out in a jog, one hand holding your purse close to your body while the other is clutching the double espresso that made you late in the first place. You make a mental note to check if they’ve replaced the coffee machine in your hotel room when you get back tonight, because you really don't want to go on another early-morning Starbucks run tomorrow in case they haven’t.

Still, you’re parked relatively closeby and so it’s only a short run to the double doors which you all but burst through, coming to a sudden stop when there are two people in your way who look like they’ve been waiting for you. They introduce themselves as part of the crew and help you with your microphone, telling you to keep it on as much as possible and not to forget to hand it back at the end of every day. You only half listen because all of a sudden the familiarity of the place hits you and you’re surprised to see nothing has changed, not really anyway. It’s almost like time has stood still and the sense of melancholy that washes over you makes you a little weak in the knees.

There’s no time to reminisce any further though, because once your mic is in place they tell you everyone else is already here and waiting for you in the theater room, and so you’re off again, running towards the other end of Lincoln-Sudbury Regional High School for the first time in eighteen years.

You’re a little out of breath when you get there and want to allow yourself a moment to catch it again, maybe calm your nerves a little, but you know they’re waiting for you and so you take one last deep breath and open the door.

There’s a group of nine people on the stage who, like you, are the show’s main cast. They’re all talking to each other amicably and you wonder if they’ve kept in touch all these years. One by one they turn to you as you make your way towards the front and it does absolutely nothing to calm your nerves. Some of them look surprised to see you and you don’t blame them, because once you left Sudbury after graduating high school you had no intention of ever coming back and so you cut ties rather vigorously.

Two of the four cameras that are spread out across the room are now trained on you, but you try your hardest to act natural, because that’s what it said in the production brief they sent you last week, and so instead you try to focus on the people you haven’t seen for so long.

It’s Nicole Matthews who greets you first, running towards you as you walk on stage. She presses a kiss to your cheek before she gives you a hug, a quiet, “So glad you made it, babe,” whispered into your ear. You hang on to her just a little longer because now that you’re finally getting to hug your best friend again for the first time in eighteen years it’s hard to let go.

After Nicole you make your way down the line at a steady pace, greeting everyone with a hug, except for Michael Pratt who insists on doing the secret handshake he taught you during rehearsals all those years ago. You hand your coffee to John Ryan on your right, because unfortunately you’ll need both hands for this. It takes a little practice but then you remember the full routine and you can’t help but laugh when you nail it on your third try, earning you a wink from Johnny when he hands you your coffee back, “Still got it, huh kiddo?”

All too soon there’s only one person left to greet and you know all eyes are on you when you walk towards Chris, the talking from before quieting down to a hushed whisper. It’s fine. You get it. You would want to know what happens next too.

“Hi.”

He seems unsure what to do and after a second or two he pulls you in for a hug that’s a little awkward and might have not been such a good idea after all.

You give him a quick pat on the back before you pull back, and step to the left, trying to hide from view a little. There’s a whole range of emotions you’re going through right now and you’re not sure which one to settle one. If somehow you could walk out of here and just forget this ever happened, you probably would, even though you are sure Nicole would never let you.

It’s then three more people walk in and so everyone’s attention shifts to the newcomers before they have a chance to ask questions you don’t have any answers to.

The two men and one woman introduce themselves as the director, choreographer, and musical director for this project and tell you there’s a lot of work ahead of you, even though from tomorrow there will be some professionals to fill some of the minor roles and help with the choreography. They seem so unfazed about having a celebrity there that you can’t help but wonder if they got instructions from production or if they’re just used to working with well-known actors. You suppose, and hope, it’s the latter.

“So, Grease,” the director, Coy, comments with a smile when he hands the scripts to Nicole to pass down the line, “that was already a classic by the time you performed it.” He asks everyone to tell him who had which role in the original production, taking notes and nodding fervently when he hears who played who.

Coy looks up and smiles, “So, we have a lot to do, of course, if we’re gonna do a show in five days, but Grease doesn’t work unless you have fun. Unless you’re having fun, the show falls flat.” He looks to Adam, the musical director, “So today we’re gonna have a little bit of a singing session. That’ll let us know where you are, vocally.”

Adam has the group form a semi-circle and hands each of you a piece of paper with the lyrics of ‘I Want it that Way’ by the Backstreet Boys on them, because, as he reasons, it was one of the biggest hits the year you performed Grease and you all need to go back to that place in time.

Nicole starts, a little hesitant at first, but then she decides to go for it and it’s amazing and, like nineteen years ago, you are absolutely in awe of her voice. As more and more people sing their rendition of the song, you are actually surprised at the level of singers in the group and how serious everyone takes this. That is until Johnny and Michael decide to remake the song into a duet once it’s Johnny’s turn and their very serious facial expressions and interpretive dancing have you crying from laughter in no time.

Chris is up next and finally you get to take a good look at him. He’s wearing a dark blue sweater that stretches across the muscles in his arms and chest, paired with black jeans, and sneakers, and it suits him. His voice is soft but clear and you can’t help but wonder why he never did more musical theater. You’ve followed his career, of course you have, and you’re proud to see what he’s accomplished, because you know how hard he’s worked to get there.

It’s your turn then and instead of butterflies it feels like there’s a herd of elephants stomping around in your stomach. You step up anyway, because, with the exception of the three professionals, they’ve all heard you sing before. You haven’t sung in a long time, but you still know how to carry a tune, although you never really take any risks, and so if anything your rendition errs a little on the boring side. Still, you make it through the song without any real struggles and at the end Adam praises the group, saying he’s impressed at everyone’s vocal capabilities.

Coy looks up from his seat then, where he’s been taking more notes ever since Nicole started singing, and informs you that they have decided to honor the original casting.

And so here you are, once again playing the Rizzo to Chris’ Kenickie.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur of read-throughs, choreography, and more singing, and even though you know you’ll be dead-tired once you get back to your hotel tonight, you also can’t help but feel excited. You never pursued a career in acting or performing and so Grease was both your first and last venture out into the theater world, but God, did you like it.

You’re a little lost in thoughts, watching a scene you’re not in from the side of the stage, thinking back on your days as a theater kid, when Chris comes up beside you, “How you holding up?”

You know what he wants you to say, because this has been your spiel whenever you found each other in the wings, but you just can’t get the words out, there’s eighteen years worth of pain and heartache that needs to be dealt with first. Instead, you keep looking straight ahead at the scene in front of you, shaking your head ever so slightly to let him know, what, you’re not exactly sure.

He takes a step back and doesn’t say anything else until it’s his turn to enter the stage.

There’s no time to unravel what the hell just happened because Nicole comes off stage and joins you then, gently bumping her hips against yours, “You ok, babe? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“The ghost of my fifteen-year old self,” you mutter quietly. A little louder then, hoping she’ll let it go, “Don’t worry about it, Nic.”

“Well, at least no one’s gonna complain about the age difference between you two now,” she says with a grin, nodding towards the stage where Chris is going through his scene. She shakes her head, “God, I still can’t believe it was such an issue back then, only because he was, what? A year older?”

“Almost two,” you offer. You remember Mrs Linton pulling you aside to inform you there had been complaints about you being cast as Rizzo. She told you there were some people who were worried the age difference between you and Chris could be perceived as inappropriate, especially because you shared one very steamy makeout scene right before intermission, that went on for at least a few minutes. You were just a junior and so shocked to learn people had a problem with you that you offered to step down, but it turned out Mrs Linton was on your side, and she told you she’d kick your butt all the way back to second grade if you even so much as thought about letting them win.

You never found out who she meant by ‘them’ but you always thought Jessica Mullen, the girl playing Sandy, and Fiona Warren were behind all this. Jessica and Fiona were best friends, two of the most popular senior girls, and it was no secret Fiona had a huge crush on Chris back then. She also auditioned for the part of Rizzo, but Mrs Linton favored your approach to the character and so Fiona ended up being offered a role in the ensemble, which she declined with a temper-tantrum unprecedented by anything any two-year old has ever thrown.

Ultimately, as a compromise, Mrs Linton made you and Chris skip the makeout scene during rehearsals, which seemed to stop the protests somewhat. You've often wondered if she would have done things differently had she known Chris and you were already dating for two months by the time rehearsals started and so steamy make out sessions were part of your daily routine anyway. Then again, you always had the feeling she very much knew about your relationship and was just playing her part.

Nicole nudges you then, pulling you out of your memories, “It’s your cue, go!”

The producers thought it would be nice to have all of you go out to dinner after the first day back together, and so you find yourself at the Oak Barrel Tavern, sharing a table with Nicole, Johnny, Michael, Eric, and Chris, enjoying what everyone still considers to be the best burger in Sudbury. Funny how some things never change, you think, as you take a bite of your fries.

Except for you and Michael, the rest of the table all graduated in the same year and are already two beers deep into a play-by-play of the many senior stunts they pulled. You watch Chris as he animatedly tells the story of how he, Johnny, and Eric toilet papered the principal’s house the night before graduation. Two cameras circle your table and you are certain some part of this story will make it to air, because it’s too good not to. Johnny tries to chime in, but instead keeps letting out these roaring laughs whenever he remembers another detail of that night and you can’t help but smile at the familiarity of it all.

It’s strange, you think, how something as insignificant as performing a musical together made you form a bond with these people which even after nineteen years is still there. Sometimes you wonder if leaving Sudbury all those years ago really brought you the peace of mind you were looking for. Maybe you wouldn’t feel so restless now if you had just accepted that this would always be your hometown and this group of people would always be here. You realize then that there’s hardly been any catching up going on tonight and so you figure they must have all kept in touch in some way or another.

You and Eric get to talking then, during a lull in the conversation, and he easily admits that hadn’t it been for Chris he would have liked to asked you to go to Senior Prom with him, revealing that back then he had a major crush on you. Your cheeks heat up at his confession and you can’t help but glance at Chris, who quickly adverts his eyes when you do. Turning back to Eric you try to make a joke about how he should have, because at least then you would have had a date, but the moment the words leave your mouth the awkward silence that follows makes you wish you hadn’t said anything.

Chris throws you an angry look and Nicole just stares at you in disbelief, before coming to your rescue and telling everyone that it’s getting late and maybe it’s time to go home.

You throw her what you hope is a grateful smile and get up, following the rest of the group outside, where the same crew that fitted you with your mic this morning is waiting for you and so you hand everything back to them like they asked you to

With a wave and a, “Goodnight everyone,” you head towards your car, not completely surprised when Nicole catches up with you.

“What the hell was that?”

“I-” you shake your head, “I don’t know. It came out before I knew it.”

“Well,” she says as she puts her hand on your shoulder and kisses your cheek, “we’ll discuss it over dinner tomorrow night.”

“Can’t wait,” you answer, a hint of sarcasm in your voice even though you are in fact looking forward to it. “See you tomorrow, Nic.”

“Bye, babe,” she says as she opens her car door and lowers herself into her seat. You wait until she’s backed up out of her parking spot before you give her a little wave and continue on towards your car while you rummage through your purse to try and find the keys to your rental. You push the button needed to unlock the car and are about to open the door when you hear someone come up behind you. Of course. You let out a sigh, “I know what you’re gonna say-”

“You don’t,” he says, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans and his foot kicking at the loose gravel near your tire. He looks up at you, his voice much softer when he says, “I can’t believe it’s been eighteen years, Ace.”

Hearing him use his old nickname for you sends a shiver down your spine and you hate how it brings back an onslaught of memories. You don’t say anything, just look at him, wondering where he’ll go with this.

“Eighteen years is a long time.” He looks up at you, a sadness to his eyes that would make you a little weak in the knees had it not been for his next words, “Do you think that maybe it’s time to leave the past behind us? Maybe we could just start over?”

“We could just- Sorry, what?” You open your mouth to say more but find yourself at a momentary loss for words after what he’s suggested and so you stand there gaping like a stupid fish, which makes you even more angry. You shake your head and get in your car, “Goodnight, Chris.”

The drive to your hotel only takes a couple of minutes, which means you’re still pretty upset when you get to your room. Your purse ends up being flung into a corner somewhere before you make your way to the minibar and grab all four of the miniature bottles of whiskey that are in there, taking them out onto the balcony with you. Downing the first makes your throat burn in not an entirely unpleasant way, although it does nothing to relieve you of your anger.

Putting your feet up on the railing you lean back in your chair, head resting against the wall, and uncap the second tiny bottle. To hell with your good intentions of going to bed early, you think, knowing you won’t be able to sleep now anyway.

Today’s run to the theater room is almost a carbon copy of yesterday’s, down to the Starbucks cup in your hand because they didn’t replace the coffee maker in your room like they said they would and of course you forgot to check. The only difference is that you have a pounding headache and might just be a tad hungover. Oh well, there’s a first time for everything, you think as you make your way down to the stage once they've put your mic on.

Nicole eyes you suspiciously but doesn’t say anything, although you do see her glance in Chris’ direction not much later, the rest of the group just nodding and some of them mumbling a “Good morning,” to you. Chris keeps his distance, probably thinks you’re still mad at him, which, you know, you are. Sort of, anyway. It sounded so casual when he suggested leaving the past behind you, like none of what happened matters anymore. Then again, maybe it doesn’t. It’s all just very confusing and you guess that’s what annoys you most of all.

Adam steps onto the stage then and tells you his plans for today, wanting to go through the songs in order, with choreography, for now not bothering with the scenes in between. It’s the only thing you’ll do today, except for some wardrobe fittings after lunch, and so he warns you it’s going to be grueling and that you won’t get to stop until everyone’s at least ninety percent there. A few more people come on stage and are introduced as the extras, professional actors who will make up the ensemble and help with the choreography where needed.

Your headache-induced bad mood helps you pull off ‘Look at Me, I’m Sandra Dee’ with an attitude your sixteen-year old self wishes she had and even ‘There Are Worse Things I Could Do’ goes as well as it could. But then ‘We Go Together’ has you paired up with Chris for the first time and it’s awkward, and stiff, and when Coy reminds you that Rizzo is no longer mad at Kenickie at this point, you just nod and try to put in some extra effort to make it seem like there’s nothing going on between you and Chris, wanting to get it over with.

Coy doesn’t comment on it any further, but pulls you and Chris aside at the end of the day, when the rest of the group is dismissed after what Kelly, the choreographer, deems "A great day of work."

Both you and Chris are sitting on the edge of the stage, Coy standing in front of you, looking from one to the other and back, almost as if he’s studying you. He waves his hand around then, “What am I missing here?”

You shrug and out of the corner of your eye you see Chris do the same. You can’t help but smile when you realize it’s still very much you two against the rest of the world, even now, even when you’re sort of fighting.

“Fine,” Coy says with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, “you don’t have to tell me. I’m just sensing some history here that I hope won’t get in the way of your performance.” He looks up at you, “Don’t let this become about you two, ok? There are eight other people who deserve this to be a good show. So whatever it is, work it out.” And then, before you have a chance to respond, he walks away, muttering something that sounds like, “High school drama, man.”

Next to you, Chris sighs and looks at you, “Maybe he has a point.”

“Hmm,” you shrug in a very non-committed kind of way. Your headache has reappeared, and you’re tired, and honestly, you just want to get back to your hotel room and take a quick nap.

Chris seems unfazed by your attitude, like he always was, “We really should talk about it.” He jumps down from the stage, “Why don’t you come over? We could get some takeout and, I don’t know,-’

“Chris,” you scoff.

“You rather do this here?” He raises his eyebrows and nods towards the camera on your left, which, no doubt, is still rolling.

“I’d rather not do this at all right now,” you mutter quietly, although you know it’s not fair. A little louder then, “I’m having dinner with Nicole tonight, so-"

He just nods, “Fine,” even though his jaw sets in a way that tells you it’s anything but.

“Come in, come in!” Nicole steps aside to let you pass and tells you to walk straight ahead to the kitchen, where you are greeted by the rest of her family. Her husband introduces himself as Keith and tells you it’s great to finally meet you, before he points at the two little boys sitting at the table, “That’s Leo, and the other hooligan’s Robby.”

“I’m five!” Leo exclaims proudly, holding up four fingers.

You chuckle, “That’s awesome!”

“The boys wanted you to sit in between them,” Nicole says from somewhere behind you, “hope you don’t mind?”

“Are you kidding me?” You wink at Robby, who looks at you expectantly, “Best seat in the house.”

Dinner is spent catching up with Nicole, or trying to anyway, because Leo and Robby keep interrupting, wanting to tell you about anything and everything they deem important enough to share. Which, as it turns out, is a lot. After dessert, Nicole asks Keith to take the kids into the living room, because, as she puts it, “Mama needs some peace and quiet,” and so you find yourself, glass of wine in hand, on the back porch not much later.

“You have a gorgeous family, Nic,” you tell her before you take a sip of your wine. “It’s really nice to finally get to meet them.”

“Thank you.” A mischievous smile then, “So. You wanna tell me what’s going on between you and Evans?”

Never one to beat around the bush, you think and laugh, “Nothing’s going on, Nic.”

“Uhu,” is all she says in reply, folding her arms in front of her chest as she keeps looking at you, one eyebrow raised for good measure.

You just shake your head but her looking at you like that makes you a little nervous and so, against better judgement you offer, “It’s complicated.”

“Uhu,”

“It is,” you reply, your voice suddenly an octave higher. You hesitate for a moment, but then you figure she knows most of it already anyway, and so you turn in your seat so you can face her, “You know I haven’t spoken to him since we broke up, Nic, and I don’t know it’s- It’s weird.”

She nods, encouraging you to go on.

You sigh and rub your temple, “Eighteen years is a long time, Nic.”

“It is,” she agrees, “but maybe it’s time to bury the hatchet and at least try to be friends?” Her eyes grow kinder then, “You were always so good together.”

“I don’t know, I mean- And I know I keep saying this,” you hold up your hand when she starts to protest, “but it’s been such a long time. So much has happened. And none of it we went through together, you know? Does that even make sense?” You shrug and shake your head, “I guess our history together is both a blessing and a curse at this point.”

“You need to get out of your head, kid,” she offers with a stern look. “You’re setting this up for failure before it has even started.”

“This?”

“Oh come on,” she shakes her head, “don’t tell me it never crossed your mind.” She sits up, “I’m going to ask you something and you need to swear on Bubbles’ life that you won’t give me some bullshit answer.”

“Nicole,” you gasp, hand to your heart in pretend shock, but laughing at the same time. “You want me to swear on Mrs Linton’s dead goldfish? That’s fu-” but then you hear the french doors open and see two little boys running towards and so you have to adjust quickly and throw her a look for good measure, “-funny. Super funny. Funny haha. You’re funny.”

Nicole lets out a laugh and throws you a wink before she holds out her arms and smothers her two boys in kisses once they jump onto her lap, “Goodnight my little rebels, I love you.”

A chorus of “I love you, mama,” makes you smile and you watch the boys run back inside where they give you a quick wave from behind the door before they disappear upstairs.

“So?” Nicole asks, as if nothing ever happened.

You glare at her, knowing she’ll never let it go, “Fine.”

“Would you have come back to Sudbury to do this show if it weren’t for Chris?”

You let your bottom lip roll between your teeth while you contemplate your reply, but of course you know the answer already. It wasn’t just for shits and giggles that you searched all the gossip sites for any information on his relationship status when you first agreed to do this. And so you shake your head, “No.”

“You know I told Keith I wasn’t sure you’d even come back, right?” Nicole shakes her head, “After all you’ve been through after you and Chris- You know-”

“Yeah,”

“I still have all your letters,” she confesses with a smile. “Every single one of them.”

“Nic-”

“It was my way of keeping you close,” she says and shrugs. She tries to act as if it’s no big deal, but her voice catches on the last word and when she tries to smile it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She clears her throat, “I’m just glad to have you back.”

They’ve replaced the coffee machine in your room while you were out yesterday and so there’s no running towards the theater room once you make it to Lincoln-Sudbury this morning. You walk through the hallways at a leisurely pace, enjoying how much everything still looks the same, down to the blue color of the lockers lining the wall.

You’re actually a little early and so you’re one of the first to arrive, only finding Johnny and Michael on stage. Michael insists you give the secret handshake another go and you can’t help but laugh when you nail it on the first try this time.

Johnny gently pats your back, “It’s really good to have you back, kid.” He runs a hand through his hair, letting it rest at the base of his neck and looking a little flustered, “We always wondered what happened to you, you know, after you and Chris broke up and you left Sudbury-”

“Thanks, Johnny,” you reply with a smile, “that means a lot.”

“But you’ve been good?” Michael asks.

You nod, “I am now. It’s good to be back.”

The door opens then and you see Chris and Jessica walk in together, Jessica telling him something that makes him laugh and all of a sudden you feel a pang of jealousy that you’re not necessarily proud of. You try to get back into the conversation with Michael and Johnny, but they’re talking about last night’s football game and so you just stand there, trying your hardest not to stare as Chris and Jessica step onto the stage. Before it can get awkward though, the rest of the group walks in and so all of a sudden there are nine people surrounding you and your attention is diverted elsewhere.

Nicole waves at you from the other side of the stage and you smile back at her, mouthing a, “Morning,” at her.

Coy, Adam, and Kelly walk in next, followed by the ensemble, and not much later you find yourself reciting your lines over and over again because Coy wants to do a complete runthrough of the show this afternoon to prepare for the two dress rehearsals planned for tomorrow.

You find Chris on the side of the stage in between scenes and stand beside him, not saying anything because you’re so nervous you don’t even trust your own voice right now. But, you promised Nicole you’d do this, promised her you would try to make things right, and so here you are, reaching for his hand, your finger’s brushing against his skin before you gently tap the inside of his wrist four times. Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Meet me after practice

It’s been nineteen years since either of you last used this shorthand, but he must remember what it means because he nods in reply.

You wait for him in what used to be your usual spot, all the way in the back of the parking lot where there’s a bench tucked away in the tree line. It’s been a while since you were dismissed by Coy and you worry he might not show up making your stomach turn.

Letting your eyes fall to the ground you distract yourself by trying to get your breathing under control, hoping it will help you calm your nerves. When you look up again you can’t help but smile, because there he is, walking towards you and looking just as nervous as you feel, “Hi,”

“Hey,”

“Listen, Chris-” you start, just as he says something that you don’t quite catch. He nods for you to go first and so you clear your throat and start again, “You were right. We should talk-”

“Come again?” He grins, “Did you just tell me I’m right, Ace?”

You stare at him, shaking your head, but there’s a smile playing on your lips because this is the best response you could have gotten and so you shrug, “I guess I did.”

“I guess you did,” he echoes. A little more serious then, “What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know,” you reply, because honestly you didn’t think this far ahead, “maybe grab a bite to eat somewhere?”

He smiles apologetically, “I have somewhere I need to be tonight, but why don’t we do this tomorrow? That way we can both think things over a little and-”

“I’d like that,” you admit easily.

“You want to come over to my place or should I book a table somewhere?”

Biting your lip you weigh the pros and cons, quickly realizing you much rather have this conversation in the privacy of his home than somewhere in a restaurant and so you nod, “I’ll come over.” You give him your phone number and watch as he saves it in his phone, smiling when he puts you in as ‘Ace’.

He pockets his phone when he’s done, “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah,” you nod. It’s a little awkward then and so you turn around, a quick wave over your shoulder to tell him goodbye.

You hear your name being called from somewhere behind you when you walk from your car to the entrance of the school and can’t help but smile when you see Nicole hurry to catch up with you. You kiss her cheek once she joins you, “Morning.”

“Hi, gorgeous,” she beams back, “you excited about today or what?”

“Dress rehearsal?” You shrug, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Uhu,”

You raise your eyebrows and look at her as you push the double door leading into the building open, unsure if she’s saying what you think she’s saying. You shake your head when she starts laughing, “How do you even know?”

“I didn’t,” she holds up her hands to let you know she’s telling the truth, “but I saw you in the parking lot together after practice yesterday and I just figured, you know, maybe you kept your word about wanting to work things out with him. And then you totally gave it away just now, so-”

“I hate you,” you mutter quietly as you pick up your pace.

“You love me,” she counters, easily catching up with you. “And you’re going to tell me exactly what you’ve got planned for tonight.”

Like he promised, Coy wants you to run through the entire show at least twice today, choreography, outfits changes and all, and so you take your place, not particularly looking forward to all the dancing. The first half of the show goes as well as it could, although Johnny keeps forgetting his lines, and Jessica takes too long whenever she has to do an outfit change, and ok, fine, you mess up the choreography more than you care to admit too.

When you finally get to the part right before intermission, where you and Chris have to make out for at least two minutes, Nicole is quick to inform Coy that you never rehearsed that scene when you first performed the show, and wouldn’t it be great if you didn’t do it this time around either? Coy seems interested as to why and so Nicole gives him an abridged version, and to your surprise he quickly agrees to skip the scene until the show tomorrow, because, as he reasons, it will add some drama.

A quick glance at Chris earns you a wink from him and you know he’s probably just as relieved as you are.

You find Nicole in the dressing room not much later, where she’s getting fitted for her Frenchy wig and when you walk up to her all you say is, “Thank you.”

She nods in response, “Of course.”

At the end of the day you’ve run through the show almost three times and Coy seems somewhat confident that you’ll manage to pull it off tomorrow. He has some kind words for everyone and tells you all to get a good night’s sleep and to meet back again here tomorrow afternoon at five, for a last dinner together.

Chris texts you his address after practice and tells you he’ll have dinner ready around seven, with a smiley face at the end that lets you know he’s just as nervous about this as you are. It’s funny how easily you can still read him after all these years, you think, as you connect your phone to its charger before you hop in the shower.

Your outfit of choice is simple and not too dressed up, but still nice enough for whatever this is. Definitely not a date, you think, but then again, maybe it is. You grab your phone and purse before you head out, nerves suddenly taking over and for a moment you wonder if you should just cancel. You’re going back to Philadelphia on Sunday anyway, so maybe it’s better to just leave things the way they are, you reason. You give yourself a very stern talking to then, because you can’t keep running away from this. You’ve been doing that for the past eighteen years and look where that’s gotten you. No, time to get some closure, you decide as you close your hotel room door behind you and head downstairs to your car.

You pull up to a heavy iron gate about fifteen minutes later, only the roof of his house visible from the road. Pushing the call button you tap your steering wheel to the beat of the song that’s playing on the radio until he answers with a kind, “Hi.”

“Hey,” you reply with a smile and watch as the gate opens in front of you. After about half a mile the house comes into full view and you let out a quiet, “Wow,” because it really is a beautiful farmhouse. You park your car next to his not much later and just as you step outside his front door opens and a dog comes running towards you.

“Dodger, sit,” Chris says from where he’s standing on the front porch and the dog does as it's told.

“Hi cutie,” you say as you walk up to the dog and scratch behind its ears, “hi.” It gives you a moment to take a deep breath, because you’re so nervous it feels like there are hundreds of butterflies fluttering around in your stomach right now.

Dodger runs back to Chris then and so you follow him, meeting Chris on the steps, where he holds out his arm and pulls you in for a side hug, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Chris,” you protest quietly, although you don’t really want him to let go either.

“I know,” he whispers, “I know. I’m just glad you’re here.” He lets go then and motions for you to follow him inside. He leads you through the house to the kitchen, where the opened French doors reveal a large deck where a table has been set for two.

“Come on,” he says and walks outside where he pulls out a chair for you, “sit down. I’ll be right back.”

You watch him walk back into the kitchen, curious to find out what he’s up to but then Dodger sits down next to you and gently puts his paw on your knee to let you know he’d like some more scratches, thank you very much and so you don’t really see Chris come back with two glasses of champagne until he puts one down in front of you.

He sits down on the opposite side of the table before he raises his glass and smiles, “It’s good to have you back.”

“Yeah,” you reply, before you clink your glass against his and take a sip.

Dinner’s a little awkward, both of you not quite ready to stray away from the small talk and so you mostly just tell him what you’ve been up to these past eighteen years, albeit it a slightly abridged version. No need to tell him about how you’ve never really seemed to have been able to find your place in the world and still feel like an outsider everywhere you go just yet.

He tells you about his career, how much everything has changed once he agreed to play Captain America, and how he secretly would like to do more behind the camera from now on. Maybe step away from the spotlight a little because he still gets these bouts of anxiety and your heart goes out to him because you remember how much he struggled in high school.

To lighten the mood you tease him about doing this show because it seems so small in comparison to what he’s been doing, but he assures you he never even had to think about it when they asked him to take part.

“I’m guessing you were a little more hesitant?”

You nod, “I was.”

He doesn’t push it any further and you’re grateful for that.

You offer to help him clear the plates after he suggests to maybe move things inside because it’s getting colder. It takes two trips to the kitchen to clear the table and once again you compliment him on the amazing pasta dish he tells you he made from scratch. You believe him, only because you know his mother taught him well and you fondly remember her cooking.

He tells you to make yourself at home while he clears away the last things and so you find yourself in his living room, smiling when you see the wall filled with family pictures. Most of them are recent, but there’s one of him and his brother Scott that you know for a fact was taken at his parents’ house right before Chris’ Senior prom. You know this because you were the one that took it. And because you were his date.

“That was a good night,”

You look over your shoulder to see him walk towards you, holding a glass of whiskey in each hand, and can’t help but smile, “It was.”

He hands you one of the glasses and touches it with his then, “To all the good memories.”

“Chris-”

“I know,” he says, “but it wasn’t all bad, Ace.”

“No, it wasn’t,” you agree easily. “It was good, Chris, right up until the very end.”

“Yeah, about that-” He clears his throat before he speaks again, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry. For everything.”

You want to tell him that it’s ok, that it was no big deal, that maybe you overreacted at the time, but you guess you both know that’s not true and so you just say, “Thank you.”

He nods.

You take a sip of your drink then, relishing in the way it burns your throat, as a welcome distraction to the tears that have started to form in your eyes. You let your gaze drift back to the same picture when you say, “I wish you would have just told me.”

He lowers his head, “I know.”

“That’s what hurt me the most,” you swallow back a fresh set of tears. “Because it wasn’t so much that you couldn’t make it to my Senior prom, I mean, I understood working on your first movie was more important at the time but- To find out you were at some random B-list celebrity’s party- And not because you told me, but because someone shoved a magazine with your picture in it under my nose-” you shake your head trying to rid yourself of the memories, but failing -”draped over some girl.” You lift your glass and put it to your lips, fully intending to finish whatever’s left in one go.

He starts to say something but you hold up one finger to let him know you’re not done yet. A tear rolls down your cheek and you’re not sure if it’s because of the whiskey or because of everything else, but it doesn’t really matter anyway. There’s something you have to admit, “Maybe I should have reacted differently, or at least given you a chance to explain, but I-” a sob escapes you then, “I was so angry. So hurt. For me breaking up right then and there was the only thing that made sense.” Another tear spills over but you don’t even try to wipe it away, knowing more will follow soon. Instead you let out a humourless laugh, “But then suddenly every single thing in Sudbury reminded me of you and every memory was like a knife to the heart, and so I had to- I just had to leave.”

He nods and from the corner of your eye you see him run a hand through his hair.

“Turns out it hurt all the same no matter where I was,” you continue softly, “but it took me years to figure that out.” You clear your throat, trying to find the right words. Yes, it still hurts, but maybe it’s time to let the past be the past. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry too, Chris. I should have-”

“Don’t,” he says, his voice kind. “There are a lot of things we both could have done differently, but we were still so young and, I don’t know, I think we both did what we thought was best. We can’t change what happened,” he turns towards you, “and I don’t want to make excuses for what I did, because,” he clears his throat, “it would be far too little, far too late.” He lowers his eyes, “All I know is that it’s been eighteen years and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of you.”

“Chris-”

He looks back up at you and smiles, “It’s my turn now, Ace.” A hand on your arm then, his touch soft and a gentle squeeze to let you know what he’s going to say next is important, “I know there’s still a lot left unsaid, but we’ll get there, eventually. And this might sound crazy, and I’m not saying we should forget what happened but, I don’t know, maybe we could try to start over and just see where it leads us. What do we have to lose?”

You let the weight of his words sink in, wondering if you are able to just forgive and forget this easily. It’s then you remember admitting to Nicole that you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Chris and the possibility to get some closure and so you agree with a quiet, “I’d like that.”

He seems a little unsure of himself then, so you put down your glass and take his hands in yours, draping them over your shoulders before you wrap your arms around his waist. He holds you tight, presses a soft kiss to your temple that feels maybe like the most intimate thing he’s ever done, and quietly whispers, “I’ve missed you, Ace.”

He offers you his guest bedroom after another round of whiskey and some smalltalk, because somehow you’re both still hesitant to open up completely. It’s ok, you tell yourself, you’ll get there eventually and there’s no need to rush. You find yourself in the ensuite bathroom not much later, putting on one of his Patriots shirts to act as your pyjamas for the night. It’s all a bit surreal and you’re grateful you’re on the opposite side of the house, because it would be too weird otherwise, even though you know that doesn’t really make sense either.

Sleep comes surprisingly easy once you’re under the covers and so the next thing you know there’s a knock on your door and for a moment you’re confused because this isn’t your hotel room. You hear his familiar chuckle on the other side then before he lets you know breakfast is ready if you’re up for it and it’s then you remember where you are.

You take a quick shower before you make your way to the kitchen where you find him leaning against the counter top, enjoying a cup of coffee, Dodger at his feet. He pushes a full cup towards you and smiles at you from over his, “Morning.”

“Morning,”

“Sleep well?”

“I did, yeah,” you admit, even though it still surprises you. You pick up the steaming hot cup and wrap your hands around it, the smell of freshly brewed coffee waking you up even more.

He motions to the kitchen island where there’s a plate of pastries, “I got you some Danish,” he almost looks embarrassed then, running a hand through his hair, “you used to like those, right?”

“I did.” You’re quick to correct yourself, “I do. Thank you.”

“You got any plans for today?”

You shrug, “Not really, maybe drive around a bit to do some sightseeing, you know, see how much has changed over the years.” You grab a pastry then and immediately Dodger’s attention shifts from Chris to you.

“No,” Chris warns him and Dodger’s quick to lie down again. “Good boy.” He looks back at you, “Until when are you here?”

You’ve just taken a bite and so it takes a while before you answer, “I’m flying back on Sunday.”

“To?”

“To Philadelphia.”

He nods appreciatively, “That’s not too far.”

You spend a few hours driving around the area, thankful that he didn’t ask if he could come. You guess you both needed some time alone.

The trip down memory lane is nice, but after a few stops you don’t really know where else to go and so you drive back to your hotel, where you have a few hours left until you need to get ready. You kick off your shoes once you’re inside your room and sit down on the tiny balcony before you fish your phone out of your back pocket and call Nicole, who picks up on the first ring.

“Tell me everything!”

“Hi Nicole, how are you,” you mock, but can’t help but laugh. “Lovely weather today, isn’t it? Are you excited for tonight?”

“I hate you,”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” she agrees, “but you better start talking, babe, or else.”

And so you do. You tell her about dinner, about the talk you and Chris had after, about how you spent the night, laughing when you hear her curse quietly after you’ve told her nothing happened, and how you and Chris agreed to start over.

“Oh honey,” is all she says, but you know exactly what she means.

#Chris Evans x reader #Chris Evans fanfic #Harley Sunday x Chris Evans #Chris Evans #Encore

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luke-patterson-owns-my-soul · 3 years

Text

Tiny Pretty Phantoms

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Title: Tiny Pretty Phantoms

Words: 2241 (only a short one)

Summary: Charlie and his girlfriend are separated by work.

Requested: Sort of. The lovely and talented @dream-a-little-bigger-x got this request. Charlie x reader where the reader is on a tv show like ahs or something that’s not necessarily “kid friendly”. But as she’s not taking them atm, I decided to swipe this one. I hope the anon who requested it doesn’t mind.

TW: Swearing, alluding to sexual intercourse. That’s it I think. If I miss anything, message me so I can edit.

Author’s notes: I’m baccccckkkk. This was my way of getting back into writing reader fic. It’s been a while, and I hope y’all haven’t forgotten me. Also, while I’ve seen Tiny Pretty Things, I know nothing about the cast, so anything I’ve written, is completely made up.

Being back at home in my parent’s home was both reassuring and strange all at the same time. I’d been living in L.A. for almost two years, hundreds of miles away from home. While I missed my family like crazy, I loved being out in the world, being independent, and chasing my dreams.

However, rejection after rejection after rejection were beginning to weigh heavy on me and I had been starting to regret making the move. I’d been considering heading back home and teaching dance to kids. Then, I met Charlie through a mutual friend.

From the moment I met him, there was something that drew me to him; it wasn’t particularly hard. He was charismatic, funny, and crazy talented. The good looks were an added bonus. From that first meeting, we’d been inseparable and after six months, I gave up my apartment and moved in with Charlie and his friends.

We both booked jobs on upcoming TV shows within a week of one another, and we’d celebrated the news hard. A week of partying with your friends had wrecked the apartment, but it had totally been worth it. The main difference between our shows were the target audience. His, Julie and the Phantoms was aimed at a younger demographic to mine, Tiny Pretty Things. I was just glad to be using my ballet background as well as my acting abilities. He was also playing a main character, while I was to be in the background.

I was jolted from my memories by my phone ringing, Charlie’s face filling the screen. With a smile, I answered the facetime call.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, babe. I miss you.” Charlie was still in L.A., but he was at a boot camp thing that the legendary Kenny Ortega was running.

“I miss you too. How’s it going?” in answer to my question, he held up his hand. I could see band aids wrapped around his fingers. “What did you do?”

“It’s nothing. Guitar war wounds.”

“Poor baby.” I snarked, grinning at the mock upset look on his face. “Oh please. You’re loving every minute.”

“Babe, I really am.” His grin was wide. “When do you fly out to Toronto?”

“Not for another three weeks. I’m back in L.A. the day after tomorrow though. Will I get to see you?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if we get any time off before we head up to Vancouver for filming.”

I couldn’t help the groan that escaped me. I hadn’t seen him for over two weeks, and I was going insane. It was one of the reasons behind my trip to see my family. They were enough to distract me, at least until I climbed into my childhood bed, the bed that only held me at night. That was when I missed him the most.

“That sucks.” I felt the lump in my throat, an indication I was close to tears.

“I know, babe. I know. I’m gonna try and get back, even if it’s just one night.”

“Please do.” I missed him, missed waking up next to him, missed just goofing around and hanging out with him. He was the man I loved, and I hated us being apart.

:: ::

I’d been in Toronto for almost six weeks. A month and a half had passed since I last saw Charlie, and it was killing me. It wasn’t as if I was alone, far from it. I may not have been playing a main character, but the entire cast of Tiny Pretty Things were close, even those of us in the background. We’d all been put through our dancing paces until we were exhausted – that had a habit of bringing people together.

Charlie and I spoke most days, if we could, and when we did, we were often interrupted by cast mates. Through our facetime calls I became friends with Jeremy, Owen, and Madison, and he became friends with the girls I was rooming with, and Brendan who played Shane. He and I had been partnered up during rehearsals and had become close. It didn’t bother him I wasn’t a main character and he was.

I had a rare night off while the main cast were working hard on some night scenes, so I was able to kick back in my room and relax. And I made the most of it. While a hot bath was running, I connected my phone up to my speaker and hit play on a relaxing playlist Charlie had made for me before we’d had to say our goodbyes and fly to opposite end of Canada.

I’d just sank into the steaming water, bubbles up to my chin when my phone rang. Reaching over, I managed to pick it up, and saw Charlie’s face on the screen. Quickly swiping, I answered the call, despite wanting to stare at the photo I’d taken almost a year ago when we’d gone camping.

“Well, if I’d have known you were in the tub, I would have called sooner.” He grinned as he spoke, making me roll my eyes.

“Charles Gillespie, you’re a damn perv.” I attempted to scold him as he pretended to try and look around the screen to see if he could see anything. Joke was on him, the bubbles came up to my neck.

“Only for you.” I laughed at the corny line. “Hey, why are you in the bath anyways?”

“Because I ache like a motherfucker and I don’t have any night shoots tonight. So, a hot bath is in order. I’ve been dancing almost non-stop for ten hours a day for six weeks. I never did this much when I was with the company.” I knew I was whining; knew I sounded like a petulant child, but I needed to get it off my chest. All of us in the cast moaned to one another, but it wasn’t the same as venting to my boyfriend, no matter how much I loved my job.

“I’m sorry, babe. If I could take the aches away, I would.” I knew he would too.

“I know. Ignore me, I shouldn’t be putting this on you. How’s your set?”

We chatted for almost an hour, Charlie making me laugh about his previous night’s filming eating what he said felt like hundreds of cold hot dogs, making me laugh so much, my stomach was starting to hurt when I climbed out of the bath – much to his enjoyment – and wrapped myself up in a large, soft towel. We carried on talking as I made my way into my room and got myself ready for bed.

“Look, I gotta go. But I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” I couldn’t help but sigh when the call ended, and as I snuggled up in bed, wearing one of his t-shirts, I also couldn’t help crying. It was the longest we’d been apart in over six months, and even though I was loving my job, it hurt how much I missed him.

:: ::

When I walked onto set the following day, it felt as if everyone was acting a little shifty. No one seemed to look at me directly and whenever I initiated a conversation, they either found something else to do, or the director made us begin working.

“Hey, we’re all going out for dinner and karaoke tonight. Make sure you look pretty.” Brendan whispered in my ear as we got into position in the ballet class, ready for our scene.

“Uh, okay. Sure.” He gave me a smile before walking away.

We’d all be out a few times during filming and the rehearsals we’d had before, but this was the first I’d heard about plans for tonight. Rolling my neck and stretching my arms, I put it out of my mind as I followed the instructions of the director as the scene began around me.

By the end of the day, I was yet again exhausted, and the last thing I wanted to do was go out. But, as I packed up my gear, putting my comfiest shoes on, Brendan came over.

“Don’t forget we’re going out. We’re all meeting up in about an hour. Make yourself pretty.”

“Can I give it a miss? I’m ready to have a shower and crawl into bed.” He knew how I was feeling, I could see it etched onto his face too.

“Not tonight, sweetheart. Attendance is mandatory for all.” He flashed me a wide smile before spinning away from me, no doubt off to get ready.

When I got back to the apartment I was sharing with a couple of the other female background cast, they were almost ready. The three of them ushered me into the bathroom to shower, telling me to find a nice dress.

The shower did reinvigorate me, and by the time I was dressed and applying my make-up, I was feeling much better, and was even looking forward to some great food and a good night. There were no shoots the next day, so we were able to let our hair down for the night.

When we all met up, the atmosphere was electric. We’d all worked so hard, and were more than ready for a night of not having to worry about getting up early or having to be in hair and make-up at the crack of dawn.

“Ready for a great night?” Brendan asked, linking arms with me as our huge group began to walk to a restaurant nearby we’d all been to on more than one occasion.

“I am actually. Thanks for making me come.”

“No worries, sweetheart.” He placed a kiss on the top of my head before turning to talk to the two guys behind us.

:: ::

Moving from the restaurant after dinner, we all made our way to a club where all of us were able to let go. I got myself a drink from the bar, and stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching my cast mates and friends having the time of their life, showing off their dancing skills. Laughing, I finished my drink, I put my empty glass down and joined them, losing myself in the deep bass. Brendan was in the center, lapping up the attention in a way only he could. He and Barton, who played Oren in the show, were busting out one of their routines from the show and had attracted a hell of a crowd.

As everyone whooped and hollered, I moved away, needing to head to the bathroom. I pulled my phone out of my purse to check if I’d missed any messages or calls from Charlie, but my screen was blank beyond a photo of the two of us. Disappointment flooded me as I shoved the phone back into my purse. Just as I zipped it up, I crashed into someone, strong hands grabbing my waist to stop me falling over.

Thinking my mind was playing tricks on me as my senses were invaded by the aroma of Charlie, the aroma I knew as well as my own. I looked up to find my boyfriend smiling down at me.

“What… how… huh?”

“Surprise, by airplane, Brendan organized it. Hew knew you were missing me as much as I missed you, So Kenny gave me a couple days off while Madi does some scenes with Jadah.”

“You’re really here?” I still wasn’t sure I was hallucinating.

“I’m really here, until tomorrow afternoon.”

With a squeal, I flung my arms around his neck, and kissed him. The evening suddenly got one hundred percent better.

:: ::

Waking up wrapped up in Charlie’s arms was the best thing. I’d missed it so much, and I knew I was going to struggle when he had to leave again, but I felt so happy being with him.

After he’d surprised me at the club, we’d mingled with my friends for a while before slinking away, going back to the apartment and making the most of the quiet as we got reacquainted with one another, multiple times, all night. So much so that when I managed to untangle myself from Charlie’s arms and legs to go to the bathroom, I ached in a completely different way I had been from work.

Once I was finished in the bathroom, I swiped my phone off the counter in the kitchen and sent a text to Brendan.

Thank you. I owe you one.

Once it had sent, I set the phone down and crawled back into bed with Charlie, making the most of having him with me. Especially naked.

Tagging: (strikethrough unable to tag) @dream-a-little-bigger-x @calamitykaty @crybabyddl @xplrreylo @morganayennefertyrell @lovesanimals @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve @echocharm17618 @kinda-really-lost @n0wornever @all-in-fangirl @5sosmukefan @kcd15 @charliesmountains @amazinggracy

If you want to be added to my taglist, drop me a message.

#Mich writes fic #charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie x reader

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tothemeadow · 4 years

Note

these Mario kart AUs are killing me 😭 Ok so, after that little um..’display’ lol, It’s come down to this...Girls vs boys..The reader with the girls competing in the hardest mode: ☀️S h i n e T h e i f☀️ Empress-Sama can pick the punishment 👀

‘to claim victory pt. 3′ / Pillars x Reader

warnings: slight NSFW

words: 1,556

(a/n): Muichiro is 18+ in this!

also, one word: femdom

This is it.

This is your chance.

You’ve come so far, and you are not going to give up. Failure is a well-known friend by now, lingering on your shoulders and whispering words of doubt into your ears. There is nothing left to lose, now, and you’re going to give it your all.

The same can be said for Shinobu and Mitsuri. Like you, they’re tired of facing a loss and crave after the sweet taste of victory. The other team – the guys – have had far too good for far too long. It’s their turn for them to plead for forgiveness, to kneel at your feet and cry for mercy.

You’re so damn hungry for power. It’s well within your grasp, inches away. You are not going to lose this time. Boys be damned.

Stripped down to your undies, your flesh bears fresh goosebumps. The heat radiating off of Tengen and Kyojuro is downright pleasant, and you desire to have them cling onto you. But no, you cannot allow yourself to be distracted.

Your character frantically chases after Shy Guy, gradually closing in on his little buggy. The Shine Sprite hanging above him sticks out like a sore thumb, and you’re practically salivating to get a hold of it. You wait until you’re directly behind and take your aim.

“It’s nothing personal, Gyomei,” you speak.

At that, your character whips a green shell at Shy Guy. The Shine Sprite flies off, allowing you to quickly grab onto it before zooming away.

“Dammit,” Tengen curses by your side.

“Oh my gosh!” Mitsuri cries out. “We got it! We got it!”

“Don’t lose focus, Mitsuri,” Shinobu is quick to respond. “(y/n),” she says to you, “we’ll cover you.”

“Like hell you will,” Giyuu grunts.

Yoshi comes barreling towards your character. Boo King slams straight into him, effectively keeping him from reaching you.

“Thanks, Shinobu!”

“Oi, jackass,” Sanemi barks at his teammate, “don’t fuck this up!”

Your heart thuds with every beeping second. Twenty seconds left. You have to hold onto it for thirty. You must.

Again and again, the guys either launch themselves or an attack at you, but either one of the girls comes to your aid just in time or you somehow dodge it. Isabelle is hot on your heels. Waluigi is charging straight towards you. There are only moments to make a decision.

Screw it, you think as you rear your character to the side. You can hear both Muichiro and Obanai muttering curses.

Ten seconds left.

Your skin is absolutely crawling.

“Give it up!” Kyojuro taunts in his usual happy-go-lucky way. He tries to be intimidating while playing games, but he’s really not.

“Kiss my ass,�� you toss back. You flash him a smile right when the clock reaches zero.

“No!” all of the boys shout.

“Yes!” the girls cheer.

Giyuu merely sighs and sets his device to the side.

Mitsuri wildly claps her hands. “(y/n), you did it! You really did it!” You quickly hop up from your seat to meet her hug.

Shinobu comes to stand next to the two of you, a dark glint in her eyes. Her lips curl into a sadistic smile. “Girls,” she begins, using a low voice, “you know what this means.”

A similar smile appears on your own face. It’s time for revenge.

The three of you simultaneously turn to the guys.

“Alright,” Shinobu continues, crossing her arms. “Now it’s our turn to pick the punishment.”

A round of grumbles comes as a reply. The guys are in no place to be angry, especially since all of them agreed to the conditions.

Shinobu claps her hands together. “Alright, gentlemen, please do us a favor and strip.”

You bite your lip and share a sneaky smile with Mitsuri.

Their reactions are amusing, to say the least. Of course, Tengen has no issue with whipping off his clothes and showing off all his glory. Kyojuro doesn’t mind, but is face turns red while he does so. Sanemi and Obanai only seem annoyed by the ordeal. The rest reluctantly do as told, an anxious expression written across theirs features. Soon enough, the room is filled with half naked men.

Mitsuri’s face blows with a bright pink. “Oh, wow.”

You agree. You know all of the guys spend a lot of time working on their physiques, but to see them up close and personal? It’s incredible.

Tengen flexes as your gaze flicks over his torso. “Like what you see, sweetheart? I know, this is quite some prize,” he purrs.

Shinobu rolls her eyes. “Pick two,” she says to you and Mitsuri. “I think we should give them a taste of their own medicine, don’t you agree?”

Your dominant side perks at the suggestion. It’s revenge, alright. And if you can get the guys as embarrassed and flustered as they made you, then sobeit. Humming, you tap your chin, eyes scanning over the different guys. “I want him,” you say, pointing at Sanemi, “and him.” Your finger lands at Muichiro.

“Alright,” Sanemi growls, “let’s get this shit going, then.”

You meet his challenge with a shark-toothed smile.

It’s funny that Sanemi is trying to pass as unbothered about the whole thing. For one, he hates to lose. Second, you can see the subtle shifts in his character. The light trembling. The way he swallows harder than usual. You’re already affecting him and you haven’t done anything yet. Taking a seat next to him, you bat your eyelashes at him.

“I promise I won’t bite.”

Sanemi scoffs at your obvious bluff. He knows it’s a personal jab; he’s into biting himself, and the mark on Mitsuri’s shoulder says it all.

Kyojuro’s sudden giggling catches your attention. Turning to him, you see Mitsuri peppering kisses up and down the column of his neck. Oh, so he’s sensitive? You’ll have to keep that in mind. On the other hand, Shinobu is sitting on Gyomei’s lap. Compared to his massive size and her tiny one, she’s more of a doll sitting in his lap rather than a human.

Fingers dig into your fleshy hip. “Stop watching them,” Sanemi growls, just low enough for you to hear. Jealousy laces his words, and it’s clear as day. Heat spikes up your back.

You cast your attention back to him and click your tongue. “Brat,” you hiss. His fingers dig into you harder. “Don’t be so upset,” you breathe into his ear. “I’ll mark you, okay?”

A heavy breath passes through Sanemi’s nose as you nibble at his earlobe. Lips skimming his sharp jawline, your lids fall into a sultry squint. Sanemi gulps.

It starts with a few light kisses situated under his jaw. You soon grow bolder; it turns into open mouthed kisses, sensuous licks. You take delight in how much he’s trembling. His hand forces your thigh over his legs so that you’re half-straddling him. Although he’s acting extremely bratty, he knocks his head to the side when you suckle on his flesh.

Other sounds fill the room. They’re mostly grunts and little pleasured sighs, but there’s also impatient ones mingling with them. Seems like the others are impatient for their punishment.

Sanemi’s openly groping and kneading your thigh now. You swat his hand away as a warning, but it goes unheeded. You sink your teeth into him in return.

“Fuck!” Sanemi barks.

“Shit,” Tengen mutters off to the side.

Your fingers grip onto his hair and jaw, keeping him in place. After a few moments, your tongue licks over the fresh bitemark and you pull away. You flash Sanemi a devilish grin as he scowls back at you, his chest heaving. Gingerly, you grab him by the wrist and take his hand off of your thigh.

“What did I tell you?” you whisper. “Now you’re bearing my mark - just like you wanted, right?”

Sanemi inhales sharply through his teeth.

Picking yourself into a stand, you look to Muichiro. From his spot on the floor, he looks impossibly tiny. His brilliant eyes widen as you cross over and stand directly in front of him.

“Sit back,” you order him.

And just like that, Muichiro snaps from his hunched position and leans back, his palms pressed to the floor. You quickly drop to the floor, a leg swinging over him; as you straddle him, you press your hands flush to his exposed abdomen.

“I wonder where I should mark you,” you murmur, mimicking the words he said to you earlier. “You think you’re always so sly, Mui. Maybe I should put you in your place.”

Your words take him by surprise. Leaning down, you pick your spot on his collarbone. Muichiro’s high-pitched gasp fills your ears, fuels that growing fire inside of you. You suckle on his skin languidly, dragging your tongue and your teeth whenever you feel like it. Muichiro’s muscles flex underneath your hands.

“Such a good, pretty boy,” you mumble offhandedly. “You’re not a brat like Sanemi.”

To your surprise (and delight), a soft moan breaks through his lips. Color immediately colors his face and Muichiro promptly clamps his mouth shut. Pulling away, you lick your lips and cock your head at him. His eyes shine with that fierce emotion you saw in them earlier.

“Hmm,” you say aloud, grabbing everyone’s attention, “I decided that I like winning a lot more than losing.”

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