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caelum-in-the-avatarverse · 23 days

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Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available.

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community.

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company?

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists.

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits.

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people.

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it.

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

#ao3 #lore.fm #fanfiction #fandom history #gift economy #caelum rambles

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hotpinkstars · 2 months

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ESPRESSO - aventurine x reader

- "now he's thinkin' bout me, everynight, oh, is it that sweet? i guess so." or, how does aventurine do when he's in love?

- GUYS GUYS QUEEN SABRINA DROPPED A SINGLE i've been listening to this for days and i needed to write about it sooooooooooo yeah! anyways i'll get to writing probably a few requests tomorrow and wednesday (expect 4-5 posts between those days to make up for my absence) and yeahhhhhh enjoy!!

- aventurine might be a little ooc, mentions of his trauma (so penacony main quest spoilers), reader confesses at the end. wc 1067

Aventurine doesn’t know what to do when he first figures out that the feeling in his chest whenever he saw you was because he liked you. He probably tried to deny it, until Topaz caught him blushing like crazy after you walked away from the conversation you two had just finished. (Even then, she had to tell him, and then he spent a long time thinking that possibility through. She might have been right).

You plague his visions. Why does he always want something to do with you? Why does he always want to be in your space, but also never wants to see you again? You’ve noticed his weird behavior, considering you were one of the first people he’s ever genuinely called a friend, but didn’t really think too far into it.

Though, it didn’t stop you from paying more attention to it, that's for a fact. Sometimes you’d pay more attention to his body movements around you, the way he speaks, his etiquette, etc. You and Topaz communicate through it, and it’s a little bit different from his conversations with her.

You know he can be cocky. Like, very cocky. You know he’s not too afraid to talk back, to challenge someone to a gamble (spoiler he wins), and to be reckless. Though, you also know about his backstory. So you can kind of understand where he’s coming from.

He’s been pretty open with you about all of the things he’s endured. You know his real name, he’s described how his family has looked, and he’s described his years he endured slavery and what his home planet was like. You know about the Men in Black and the Katicans. And you know how traumatized he is.

Now, you’ve known him for a long, long time before this. You welcomed him into the IPC when Jade first announced his arrival, and you kind of showed him the ropes. He thought you seemed kind, so he stayed in contact with you.

You’ve watched him change, all of his progress through life, the hard times and the good times, and so much more. And that's what gets him the most, he thinks.

He never realized how much he trusted you until he realized he liked you. You know every single thing about this man, which was the reason why he was rather… nervous when he’d have to communicate with you face to face. He did a good job at keeping up his front he uses to talk to people, but you sensed a slight form of stress underneath all the layers he put up to look tough.

He lays awake, thinking about you. You’ve made part of his mind your home, and it’s the part he comes back to over and over again. You replay in his mind like a good song that he can’t get enough of- on, and on, and on, and on.

He does like to bring you little trinkets he finds pretty when he goes out in public to do some shopping. Considering how wealthy he is, he could probably afford to buy out the whole store, so if you even mention something you like to him, he’s on his way to find it for you. He likes to think of it as he’s buying your kindness, but you think something completely different. You enjoy his sudden gift giving, not just because of your gain, but because he thought about you enough to do such a thing. It always makes you slightly blush before laughing while opening the box presented in front of you. He thinks that's the most precious part about your time spent together; all of the opportunities he gets to listen to your gorgeous laughter and see your flawless smile. Topaz, pinch the man, he’s in his own personal dreampool.

Oh, how bad he wants to confess to you, but he’s really afraid of rejection. He fears losing you entirely, fears that you won’t look at him like you always do if he asked if you two could be a thing. He fears you’d think he was odd for wanting you to himself, and that you’d slowly back away until you refuse to even look at his broken, battered form any longer. The thought makes a shiver crawl up his back. He can’t lose you too.

All this man asks is to find a way to remove you from his head. You’re absolutely tormenting him! Notice how he’s been lacking on his work lately, always caught in a daze when he’s sitting down at his desk? That’s you he’s daydreaming about. He’s no good with his emotions. He knows how to hide sadness, fear, and anger, but he’s never been in this boat before. Love is a whole new concept to him.

“Aventurine, you’ve been out of it lately. Tell me, is something the matter?” You barge through the blonde's office, not even bothering to knock. You know you don’t have to, he’s never doing anything so significant in that tiny space that it needs to be kept private.

“What are you saying? Nothings up with me,” he drops his pen in the small plaster pen cup you bought for him. “Work has been tiring lately. Nothing to stress over.”

You plop into the chair in front of his desk, resting your arms on the top and putting your head in between your palms.

“I can tell when you lie. Tell the truth.”

He looks away. What was he supposed to say? That he couldn’t get you out of his brain, and that you’re the only thing he can focus on? That’ll scare you off for sure!

“Aventurine?? You there?” you wave a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his daze once more. “You know, you don’t have to lie. I already know what you’re thinking.”

His eyes slightly widen, just enough for you to notice. You giggle very lightly before continuing on with your sentence. “You have a little crush, don’t you? Don’t worry, I like you back. Seriously, I do.”

He doesn’t know how to reply to that. He doesn’t know if he wants to faint or make out with you right now. “So that makes us…?”

“I don’t know. We could remain friends, we could be boyfriend girlfriend, whatever you want. I don’t care.”

Well, he believes he already knows the answer he’s choosing.

#aventurine #kakavasha #aventurine x reader #kakavasha x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #star rail #star rail x reader

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shawnxstyles · 11 months

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personal

DATE: JULY 24, 2023

summary: you and harry are best friends who tell each other everything. or so you thought. when harry finds out you’ve barely done anything sexual, he offers to change that. and then things get a little… personal.

song: Glitch- taylor swift (this song seems fitting)

words: 6.5k

warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [rubbing, fingering, nipple play, praise kink], mirror sex, cum tasting??, dirty talk), and language.

note: i literally wrote this in a few days i think. this idea is so basic, but who doesn’t love a cliché concept? PART 2

bestfriend!fratrry x inexperienced!reader (because i literally write no one else and fratrry is the love of my life)

—

Harry had a lot of friends. People that he grew up with and some that he met along the way that just stayed. But you were his number one overall, and he told you everything. You told him everything too.

Well, almost everything.

It never really caught his attention that you guys never talked about sex. You guys have been friends for 15 years, since you were five, so you’d think it would have been brought up at least once. But now that Harry thinks about it, he can’t think of one time you’ve talked about the act.

He didn’t think it would be like this. And he didn’t think you’d answer like that.

You and Harry were casually hanging out on a free school day, just like you always do. And then you start talking about this date you went on and how the guy was great. Harry was happy for you, he really was. All he wanted was to see his best friend happier than happy. However, being the best friend he was, he was nagging and joking with you.

“Think he’s the one, eh?” Harry jokes, nudging your shoulder playfully on your couch.

“Oh, stop it. Don’t get ahead of yourself,” You roll your eyes and cross your arms. Yeah, Mike seemed like a decent guy and maybe you could have a relationship for a short time, but he was nowhere near “the one.”

You weren’t too desperate for a relationship, you liked whatever came to you. This cute guy asked you on a date a week ago and you weren’t going to say no. Because what if he was the one? He wasn’t, but what if?

“Imagine it, Doll,” Harry started. He began calling you Doll when you two were just kids. You loved to collect dolls of all sorts, but you never dared to take them out of the box. Harry thought it was silly, but also cool. “picket white fence, beautiful lake house. Kids runnin’ ‘round—”

He saw your face cringe at the word kids. He tilted his head in confusion, arm moving to rest behind you on the couch. He scoots closer to you and waits for you to respond.

“No kids for me,” You awkwardly chuckle. It seemed almost sad the way you sounded.

“What? Thought you wanted to be a mum?”

“Not anymore,” You breathed out with an awkward smile, “need a husband to do that.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout getting a husband. Shouldn’t stop you from wanting ‘em,” Harry smiled sincerely at you and you nodded while looking down.

“Plus, you could always just go out on the street and ask some good-lookin’ lad to be the father of your kids!” You socked Harry hard in the shoulder. He lets out a hearty laugh because he always ruins a sweet moment with a stupid joke. That’s just how you like it though.

“I’m not a prostitute!”

“Never said tha’.”

“Can we just watch some TV? You’re annoying me,” You roll your eyes as you reach for the remote. Harry continues to laugh as you switch the television on.

When you’re indecisive, you toss the remote to Harry and he shuffles through the stations. He lands on a random one, also indecisive. You guys were too similar sometimes.

“Look on your phone for somethin’ and then I’ll find it. I’m done searching.”

“You looked for like two seconds!” You laughed at his laziness. He shrugs with a smile, leaning into the couch. Again, you roll your eyes playfully before doing a bit of research on your phone.

Suddenly, a moan echoes throughout your living room and your whole body stiffens up. Harry notices and tears his eyes away from the screen, which was portraying the sexy noises. You don’t look at him even though you can feel his eyes burning into you.

“Alright?” he asked out of concern, peering at your rigidness. He’s only ever seen you get like that when you were anxious or scared, but nothing happened. Maybe you saw something scary on your phone?

“Uh, yeah,” You squeaked as the TV moaned again. Your face cringes and you force yourself to keep your eyes on your phone.

“Y/N, seriously,” Harry stares between you and the screen when she noisily moans again. The woman was being eaten out by the man and was being overly loud. Her back was arching and her breasts were on display. The movie was inappropriate, 18+ for sure, but it was nothing you hadn’t seen before. Right? You were both 21 years old.

“This… just makes me a tad uncomfortable is all,” You answered honestly, voice quiet as your legs tightened together. Harry’s eyebrows pursed together.

“Uncomfortable? Why?” he couldn’t help the question that slipped out of his mouth. He was too curious to know why a little movie made you stiff yet fidgety.

Unless… you were feeling something different than uncomfortable.

“No,” You shook your head and attempted to push yourself off the couch. Harry didn’t hesitate to grab your wrist and pull you back. He didn’t want you to run away and for you to feel like you couldn’t tell him something.

“Just tell me.”

“No,” You stood your ground, way too embarrassed to say something. Way too embarrassed to admit that you’ve never had sex before. Way too embarrassed to admit you’ve never done anything more than rub your own clit. Once. And it didn’t even feel that good.

Your skin was fiery and… tingly. Harry was much closer to you than he previously was because he pulled you closer to him. Your bare thighs were touching, warm on warm with a sudden spark. You didn’t know you weren’t breathing until you inhaled deeply at Harry’s hooking stare.

“Doll, you tell me everything, but you can’t tell me why a little porn makes you uncomfortable? Because I know it’s tha’.”

“Ugh,” You groaned between clenched teeth. You threw your head back until it hit the top of the couch. Harry’s grip on your wrist never left you. He squeezed it reassuringly, letting you know that he supports you in whatever you’re going to say.

Are you really about to say it?

“Y/N, just—”

“No.”

“I thought we were best friends—”

“Do not pull that card!”

“But—”

“I’ve never had sex before, okay?” You shouted over Harry’s pleading voice and the echoing moans from the television. You’d think by the time you had a whole argument they’d be done having sex, but nope.

Harry was cut off, so his mouth was slacked open. Once he realizes his jaw is on the floor, he blinks a few times to really process what you’ve said. If you had told anyone else, they would have harshly judged you. Harry wasn’t necessarily too different, but he was your best friend, and he was going to try his hardest not too. Harry was just more shocked if anything. He had a handful of different bodies, enough to give him a good amount of experience. So when he finds out you’ve done nothing, he’s beyond surprised to his core.

“But you’ve had so many dates,” Harry looks over at your face, which was looking down at your lap. Your wrist was still trapped in his hand, but you were twiddling your thumbs like you were in trouble. He starts rubbing reassuring circles with his thumb over your knuckle. Your skin was so hot, and Harry’s theory of you being turned on continued in his mind.

Did you even know what that meant? You were naive, right?

“So? That doesn’t mean anything,” Your attitude was shining through. But deep down, you were more embarrassed than anything. This was just your coping mechanism. And of course, Harry knew that.

“Surely you’ve done something else,” Harry suggests. You pin him with a knowing look and a long blink.

“I haven’t,” You answered before even hearing his question. He clearly doesn’t care about your reply because he’s asking you a series of interrogation questions.

“Have you had someone eat you out—” Harry points to the screen, but it was on a commercial break now. You got the point, but Harry clearly didn’t.

“No,” You grumbled.

“What about fingering—”

“No.”

“A toy?”

“Where would I even buy that?”

“Or—”

“No, Harry. Nothing.”

“Not even rubbing?” he asks. You stay quiet, unsure if you want to admit the one-time experiment you did.

Why does it even matter? You tried it and you realized you don’t like it, so you never have to do it again right?

“Not… really,” You hesitated. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion while your skin burned at boiling temperature.

“Humping?”

“No—I tried to…” You couldn’t get the words out. Not ever you’d think. But especially not with Harry so close to you. His body was warm, not as warm as yours, but it was eliciting something inside of you that you couldn’t comprehend. The way he nonchalantly said so many dirty things made you dizzy.

“Tried to what?” Harry was thinking of so many things you could say. He wanted to finish your sentence, just like how he wanted to finish you until you were crying his name and soaking him. But he wanted to hear you say it. He’s never thought of you in such an explicit way, but with the words and tension floating in the air it was hard not to.

“…do it myself.”

“And how did that work out, Doll?”

“Um,” You didn’t expect him to ask. Your neck and cheeks light up in small flames. Where did this come from? “I…”

“What? I thought you could tell me anything?” When your eyes flickered up to his, they were a dark, swirling green you’ve never seen on his face before. Your heart skipped a dangerous beat, frightened with anticipation.

“I know, I can. But this… it’s different.”

“How so?”

“It’s personal—”

“Best friends are personal.”

“But not like this. Best friends don’t do this,” You tried to get up again, nearly ripping yourself away from his grip. But you were in too deep now. Harry wasn’t going to let this one slide. His mind was thinking about one thing and one thing only.

You.

He yanks you back and twirls you around, releasing your wrist in the process. He grabs you by the hips and pulls you down to his lap. You couldn’t contain the slight gasp you let out at the feeling of his strong legs beneath you. Your legs were on either side of him, tempting to squeeze shut. Every movement you made Harry would feel in this position.

“Best friends can say anything. They can do anything too,” Harry’s hands caress your thighs. They’re comforting and inviting, but are also sending a field of goosebumps along your skin warning you to flee. It’s hard to focus on anything but his touch and the vibration of his words through the air. “Now, tell me, did you rub yourself?”

“Yes,” You stutter, trying to stop your hips from squirming on his lap. He notices and grips one side of your body to steady you. It only makes you want to shift more. His touch was almost overwhelming, but you wanted more of it.

Was it wrong to want more of your best friend’s touch?

“Did it feel good?”

“No,” A part inside of you was a bit disappointed that it felt so bland. You thought masturbation was this great thing, and that’s why people did it so frequently. You heard it was also a stress-reliever, but for you, it was just a stress-inducer. Harry could tell by your tone that you weren’t lying.

“Well, you probably weren’t doing it right,” Harry replies and you look up at him with a slightly startled expression and a scoff. You didn’t expect his response to be so straightforward, like he was a doctor diagnosing you with some disease.

“How could I do it wrong? Don’t I just rub…?”

“Baby, it’s much more than that,” Harry said sincerely. He’s never called you baby before, but the nickname had your heart jumping. “Were you even wet?”

“What? I—probably? I don’t remember…”

“You would remember.”

“The experience wasn’t very memorable,” You grumble with an eye roll.

“Do you want me to show you?”

His question had your head spiraling. He wanted to what? There is no way. There is no way those words just left Harry, your best friend’s, mouth.

“W-what? That’s way too personal!” Your eyes were wide and your skin was burning. You were nearly dizzy with this whole conversation and your stomach was tight. You thought you might need to lie down for a while.

Maybe you were sick. Yeah, that’s it.

“Best friends are personal, Doll. Just let me show you, yeah? And then we never have to talk about it again. If y’don’t want. Please,” Harry’s charm was convincing you. Everything about him was luring you in, completely different than ever before. The way his eyes was dark and his touch was warm made you feel wanted and needed, which was contrary to your past dates. They didn’t look at you this way, nearly beg for you this way. They didn’t show you anything. They wanted you because they wanted to get their dick wet, but they hated the idea of a virgin.

And Harry’s familiar. He’s safe. You don’t have to be afraid when you’re with him. But then why are you so nervous?

Harry was willing to teach you how to do the one thing you’ve been curious about your whole life, and you’re going to pass up the opportunity, why? Because he’s your best friend?

Isn’t that supposed to make it better?

“Okay, fine,” You inhaled as your hands gripped onto his T-shirt on his shoulders. You had convinced yourself to let the words slip out. “Show me.”

You were agreeing almost as if this wasn’t a big deal for you. But to Harry, it was. He would take your firsts, and something about that filled him with pride. A smirk slowly rides up on his lips, “Now?”

A blush cascades through your body. Of course he didn’t mean right now!

“I-I thought you meant—”

“Shh, relax, Doll. I was just makin’ sure,” he smirks again, pulling you closer to him. He loved watching you get all squirmy and flustered more than he thought. You could feel his body heat more than ever now, and you’re surprised you lasted this long on his lap without dying. “I’m going to give you a few options, okay?”

With anxiousness, you nodded and swallowed.

“When we do this, you have to talk. So use your words, Y/N,” You knew he was being serious when he said your name, so you replied with yes and then he was giving you your options.

“So, I can lay you down right here on the couch and show you how to rub your little clit,” his explicit words were making your privates ache, but it wasn’t painful. It kind of felt… good? You felt a foreign liquid dampen your underwear, and you can only assume that’s the wetness Harry was talking about. “Or, you can do it yourself on m’thigh with my help. Which one sounds like something y’want to do?”

“The first one,” You answered, painfully desperate to squeeze your legs together to stop this ache. “But how will I see what you’re doing?”

Harry thought for a moment. You made a good point. How were you supposed to learn simply from feeling? Harry knew you were a bit of a visual learner, so he wanted to make sure you saw how to pleasure yourself correctly. And he knew the perfect way to do that.

“I actually have a third option. But s’not really a choice anymore,” Harry doesn’t say anything after, he just lifts himself and you off the couch without warning. You wrap your arms and legs around his body like a koala, making sure you don’t fall. His warmth encompasses you back and you wish you could just stay there forever.

Familiar. Safe.

When your head peers up from his shoulder, you’re in his bathroom. Your eyebrows pinch together, curious as to what his third choice was.

He sets you down on the floor until your feet are planted. You unwrap your arms from him, still confused.

“Do you trust me, Y/N?” Harry’s eyes were still dark, and you wondered if they would ever go back to the strong, emerald green they used to be.

“Yes, of course,” You didn’t hesitate to answer. There was no one that you trusted more than Harry that wasn’t in your bloodline.

“Okay,” Harry breathes, “Strip f’me. Keep your bra and underwear on.”

You nearly questioned him in shock. But then you remembered what the whole goal of this was. He was going to show you how and you were going to listen, right? So you did.

Carefully, you stripped yourself of your clothes. He’s seen you in bathing suits before, and some were revealing, so this can’t be as bad, right? Harry didn’t peel his eyes away although you wanted him to. He hasn’t seen you naked since you two were little kids, and even though you weren’t naked, it felt like you were with his burning gaze. Obviously, there were some changes too. Like height, hair, breasts, ass… the whole thing. Harry doesn’t say anything until you’re in your undergarments.

A swimsuit is definitely different.

“Good. Now, c’mere,” Harry sits down on the floor, a few feet away from his full-body mirror. His body was up against the bathtub wall to keep himself steady. You slowly lowered yourself to the floor, wondering what was going on through his head.

He pulls you between his legs until you’re pressed against his body. His warmth radiated through you far better with less clothes on and your body ached some more. Your legs closed to squeeze it away.

“Nuh uh,” he declines. Harry grips your thighs with his ringed fingers and yanks them apart. You gasp at the extreme vulnerability and the coolness that waves over your privates. He throws your legs over his and bends them slightly, making you unable to move at all. “Keep them open, yeah?”

You nodded, but that’s not what he told you to do.

“Words.”

“Yes. Keep them open.”

“Good girl. You’re learning,” Harry smiled and looked towards the mirror. His eyes instantly zoomed in on the growing wet patch on the front of your cotton panties, and he couldn’t help but smirk. He saw and felt your body squirming similarly like how you were on his lap. He’s had a rock-hard cock since this conversation started, so he’s not surprised if you can feel his hard-on poking your back through his shorts.

His hands rested on your knees as you watched him in the mirror. The entirety of it all was extremely erotic, like something that would be on TV.

“If you like something, tell me. If you hate something, tell me. It’s important that you do so, okay? It helps both of us learn.”

“Okay,” You were nearly shaking with anticipation. You were so nervous, but why? It’s just Harry. It’s just Harry. “I kind of like when you say I’m doing a good job. Makes me feel… nice.”

“Yeah?” Harry tried to conceal the smirk that threatened to rise on his lips. Of course his best friend, who happened to be the most innocent person in the world, had a praise kink. It just made too much sense. “Like when I call you a good girl?”

You sighed and nodded, but Harry didn’t say anything this time. He just kept going.

One of his hands rested on your knee, tracing delicate circles. He stayed in the same spot, for god knows how long, and you wondered when he would do something. He seemed to be in a trance. He was hyper-focusing on every centimeter with those circles, and although you were getting impatient, you felt cared for.

One of his hands snakes to your chest and rubs your nipple through your bra. Just when you were about to protest, his fingers moved a tad lower. The roughness of his pads tickled your skin just right and caused your thighs to squirm. It was entertaining for Harry to watch you get all squirrely from such a simple touch.

He’s going to have fun with you.

“It… tickles,” You observe as your eyes look down at his fingers, very gradually moving closer to that ache in between your legs. You felt like a kid exploring a new world for the first time; naive and curious.

“What does?”

“Your fingers,” You stare at him in the mirror almost as if he’s stupid. What else would tickle?

“Does this tickle?” Harry’s knuckle brushes the inside of your thighs, lower than he’s been. You inhale at the subtle sensitivity.

“Not much,” You answer, and his knuckle continues to sway leisurely. Your breath picks up, rising faster at his hand’s proximity.

“What about this?” His index finger traces the hem of your panties with purpose. You gasp when he gets deep in between your legs, outlining your cunt with ease. Your legs attempt to shut with a shake, shying away from the vulnerability, but it’s impossible with his strong legs prying you open.

“A-a little.”

“And this?”

As if his touch could be anymore teasing, he finally dances along your clothed cunt, tracing your lips with curiosity of how you’d react. A mix of a sigh and a moan wavers out of you unintentionally, hips pushing closer towards his finger. Your mind blanks, light and fuzzy. Your face immediately falls to gaze at his movements, attracted to the air-headed feeling.

“Eyes on the mirror,” Harry demands while delicately caressing you. It was ironic, really. His voice was so rough and stoic while his touch was ever so gentle. With a few blinks, you're focusing in on the mirror, obeying his command. “How does this feel? Does it tickle?”

“Good, and yes,” You swallow your moan as his finger keeps petting you lightly. You were almost getting used to it, but you wanted more. “Is this what I was supposed to do?”

“Sort of. This is called foreplay. Heard of tha’?”

“I think so?” You were breathless.

“S’basically where I get you all wet and ready f’me. You like that?”

“L-love and hate relationship right now,” You pant as his finger rises away from your weeping, covered hole and travels up to your clit. You choke out a gasp as he strokes it nonchalantly.

“Oh,” Your hand drops to his thigh, gripping it strongly as your body begins to tingle. You strain your neck to keep your eyes on the mirror ahead of you, trying to watch how he does it.

His familiar smirk never fades from his face, cheeks a tad rosy from the heat waving between you two. His wrist is probably sore from the tedious, repeated movements he does. His thick fingers delicately circle your covered clit, applying generous pressure until you’re panting.

“More. I think I need more,” You suggest when his pace stays a consistent speed. You needed to feel his fingers on your bare skin. If he was going to touch you, you wanted him to just do it already.

“Y’think?” Harry’s tone was taunting yet serious. He wanted you to be firm with what you wanted. He didn’t want you to second-guess your own pleasure. If you needed more, you needed to tell him that. The best way for that to happen was for him to train you. “Beg for it.”

As your head becomes floaty with the stimulation, you don’t even hesitate to throw out pleads.

“Please, Harry. I-I need it, need more,” Your head slowly falls back onto his shoulder before his touch is gone. “Wha—”

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to see you. All of you. He needed to see what he did to you, and if you were really as desperate as you seemed. As shocking as this all may be to you, it was just as shocking to Harry. He couldn’t believe he was this turned on from his best friend’s inexperience. He’s always liked when a girl knew what she was doing and knew how to reciprocate. But something about Harry teaching you and showing you the ropes just fills him with a kind of power and pride that he can’t get from anywhere else. And he’s feasting off of it.

“M’gonna take these off, alright?”

“Everything? O-okay,” He unclipped your bra as you slowly slid down your panties. The tile beneath you was colder than before, but Harry’s warm body behind you kept you comforted.

“Have you heard of the traffic light system?” he asks, hands resting gently on your bare shoulders. He gets straight into the safety part first. It also distracts him from ogling your naked figure against him. He could feel his cock twitch in his briefs at your fluttering pussy and peaked nipples.

“I assume you don’t mean the ones used for driving?” You both chuckle and break some of the swollen tension in the room. It was a nice little reminder that it’s just Harry.

“No, Doll. The one for safety and consent,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, no, I’ve never heard of it.”

“If you say red, I’ll stop instantly and ask what made y’red. Communication is key. If y’say yellow, I’ll slow down and ask you again. And then we can either continue or stop, whatever y’want. But if your color is green, I’ll keep going. Understand, love?”

There was a lot of information, but you were able to keep up. It was actually similar to the traffic light system, which makes the name very fitting. You reply with a firm yes to note that you understand.

All while he was talking and explaining everything, you were getting used to looking at yourself in the mirror. You weren’t always confident in your body, but staring at it in between Harry’s made you feel safe and sexy somehow.

Before your mind can wander too far, Harry’s hands are falling down until they’re at your nipples. His rough fingers lightly pinch the already-hard buds until you’re pushing up into his touch. The warmth and the nakedness made you overly flushed all over. He gropes your breasts with care, slyly sliding another hand down lower.

Throughout this entire process, you’ve been soaking; in your underwear, in your shorts, and now on his bathroom tile. Your lower body has been throbbing in desire to be aided, and Harry seems to know just what you need.

His fingers hover right above your mound that’s screaming for him to go lower. Your heart rams against your chest in anticipation of his bare hands on your bare body, on your most sacred and vulnerable parts. No one has ever touched you beside yourself. A small part inside of you was glad that the first person was Harry because you knew you wouldn’t regret it.

Right?

“Stop thinking s’much,” he says, rubbing a warm palm over your belly. His face moves your head, so his lips can kiss your temple reassuringly. You slightly arch your back, so maybe he could see how desperate you are. Your legs were still spread by his, so you know he can see your wetness. If you can see it, so can he. “Just let me show you how it’s done.”

“Okay, Mr. Cocky,” You roll your eyes as he shifts your hair behind your ear, “What if I don’t even like it?”

“The name is very fitting. But that’s for a different day,” he says with a cocky smirk on his face. Now that sounds like something Harry would say. But your entire face gets warm and your head gets a little fuzzy when you actually imagine it. “and you will. Trust me.”

You take a deep breath. You weren’t sure how far you guys were going to go, but you’ve never felt more ready and more safe. With the system Harry told you about and all his reassurance, it was clear that even if he was teaching you, you were the one that had all the control.

“Now watch me.”

With those words his hand turns into just one finger and resumes on your clit. You gasp into the air as your body jolts. The roughness of his thumb paints your arousal over and over on your skin.

“This little thing is important. Don’t neglect it.”

His rhythm is slow and tedious as he circles the nub. You see and feel him dip down to collect some more of your wetness as he continues stroking you.

“How’s this? Color?” he gruffs in your ear while staring at you darkly in the mirror. You could barely understand him because you were panting embarrassingly and trying your hardest to focus on the reflecting glass in front of you.

“Good! Wait—green,” You corrected yourself as a moan elicited from you, his touch feeling even better each second.

“Good girl.”

“Fuck,” You feel yourself clench around nothing but your own wetness at his words. You both watch as the liquid quenches out of your dripping hole, making Harry groan from behind you.

“Do y’think you can handle one finger? Hm?” his voice rolls perfectly into your ear as he twists your peaked nipple. You couldn’t control your moans at the pleasure. His voice sounded just as good as the feeling of his hands.

“Yes, yes. Harry, please,” You nearly cried from how bad you needed it. You didn’t even know you needed it this bad. You thought you were going to hate this feeling, but you’re far from it.

“So submissive, so responsive,” Harry’s middle finger pushes against your hole, teasing the opening. You hold your breath as he makes you wait. “Breathe, Doll. Relax.”

Your eyes close for a moment. You breathe deep and feel your limbs lose their sudden tenseness. Before you can open them again, Harry’s finger is slotting inside of you easily. A gasp falls from your mouth as your hand grips on his meaty thigh for support.

“O-oh.” The feeling was insane. Intense. Nearly overwhelming. You clenched around his digit, consuming and caging it like it would fade away.

You’re so tight around him, he swears his finger might fall off. Harry’s cock is pulsing and pleading behind your back, but you don’t seem to notice. He’s making sure he doesn’t rut into you, but it’s so difficult when you’re all spread out and submissive for him.

He’s never thought of you like this, but fuck, now he can’t think of you any other way.

“Color, Doll?” Harry grumbles in your ear, voice low and breathy as it fans over your skin warmly.

“Green. What’s more than green? B-blue? Just–don’t stop–God,” Your squeaky voice rambled as his finger pumped in and out slowly. You can hear his smile behind your screwed eyes. The pad of his thumb rubbed delicate circles over your throbbing clit to escalate the pleasure.

Your chest was beating fast when your legs started to shake. Your hips bucked closer to his hands, needing more as you chase the glorious feeling.

“Look at you, takin’ me so well,” Harry praises, subtly curling his finger as your back arches. You know that one finger isn’t a lot, barely anything, but you were melting at the praise that Harry gave you. His constant encouragement is what made you putty in his hands. Literally.

“Harry,” You moaned into the heated air, causing Harry to groan desperately behind you. And you’re not too stupid to deflect that Harry might be turned on from the scene unfolding. If you knew more, if you knew better, you would have offered to help him after. But you were inexperienced, and you assumed he wouldn’t want someone to give him head who could possibly bite his dick off.

“Are you close, baby? Hm? Gonna come for the first time on my hand?”

“Y-yes! Please,” You begged as you climbed your high, wondering what the top would feel like if the chase was this blissful.

Your head falls restlessly on his shoulder while his right hand keeps focusing on your cunt. It was covered in your arousal as his pace picked up. The stimulation was almost too much, your body wanted to push away. But your mind was pleading to feel a release you know your body needed.

“Is it gonna h-hurt?” You groaned as your cunt clenched around him again, stomach tensing. A strong rush you assumed could only be an orgasm was approaching you all too fast.

“No, Doll. It’s gonna feel real good,” He twisted your nipple again, pushing you over the edge. You felt his thumb and index pinch your clit, causing you to scream his name against his chest. “Look in the mirror. Watch yourself fall apart f’me. Watch and make sure this time is memorable.”

You always thought Harry had a way with words. You never thought that about dirty talking though. His hands were as skillful as can be, and maybe one day you’ll be able to make yourself feel as good as he made you feel. But his words are something that you’ll never be able to treat yourself with. You don’t think you’ll ever meet another person whose voice is as fitting as Harry’s.

With his demanding tone, you came right over the edge. An overwhelming ripple of pleasure ceased through your body, shaking your legs to the max. Soundless moans and clawing nails were all you were capable of as you came on his large hand. Although you were straining, you never took your eyes off of the mirror. He told you to look at yourself as you came, but you were only staring at the glaring green eyes reflecting back at you. He rubbed all of your orgasm until you were trembling from overstimulation.

Just when you thought he was done, he raised his ringed hand to his mouth and tasted you. You thought that was something that they only did porn or movies. You swallowed intensely as his hum vibrated through you.

“Do you always… taste it?”

“If I think it’ll taste good,” he smirked as you scooted forward to grab your shirt. As you throw it over your head, you just had to ask.

“Did mine taste any good?” You slightly cringed as you asked the question. Does cum usually taste good? What does it even taste like?

His smirk widens, a hint of evilness rising, “do you want to find out?”

Your skin flushes even against the chilling tile. Your heart skips a beat at trying yourself. You hadn’t ever thought of it before. But you’ve come (literally) this far tonight, so why not just take it a little further?

“O-okay,” You slowly lift up your shirt, revealing your fucked-out cunt to him again. “So I just…?”

“May I?” he suggests.

“Yes.”

Two of Harry’s fingers swipe over your cunt, which was still covered in a mix of your arousal and cum. You jolted from the stimulation, tensing quickly before his touch was gone.

“Open,” and without thinking, you do. Your mouth falls open as his fingers lay flat on your tongue. Salty and creamy, it spreads over your tastebuds. You hummed around his fingers just like he did because it tasted good. Yeah, it was a bit odd, but once you got past that, you realized how erotic and sexy it was. “How’s it taste?”

After a bit of suckling on his digits, he puts them out way too soon for your liking. “Good, actually.” You creak from your dry throat.

“I think so too. Let’s clean you up real quick.”

Still sitting on the floor, a warm, wet towel soothes your sensitiveness as he wipes away all of your liquids. A smile broke out on his face when he finished before his hand landed on top of your head. He shook your hair like crazy until it was already wilder than it was. The action was childlike and friendly, almost as if everything between you guys never happened and you were back to square one. It was better that way, though. Right? To just go back to how everything used to be?

Harry grabs the small hand towel and exits his bathroom. You assume he went to discard it and add it to his laundry, but you just sat there in oblivion. You already missed his touch, longing for something you should’ve never even had in the first place. He was the one that offered himself to teach you, but now you’ve been taught, so where do you guys go now? Are you really supposed to just go back to the way it was?

He saw you in ways that no one else has before. You always thought that you would be intimate and have your groups of firsts with someone that you were dating, someone that you loved. Because of this, you realized that Harry was the safe option. Doing this with Harry changed your views on everything, and your body, heart, and mind couldn’t keep up with the rapid reversal.

You knew that Harry had a few notches in his belt. But were they all from relationships or just one-night stands? You didn’t know because you two rarely ever discussed the topic. Was it easy for Harry to go from girl to girl? Or did he get attached like you?

If there was one thing you always feared from sex and sexual doings, it was the intense attachment. You had heard about the infamous addiction intimacy laces within your veins that makes you crave a person. Now that you’ve been with Harry, that won’t happen to you, right?

You’ve known Harry forever, yet you’ve never craved him. He’s your best friend, and you’ve never seen him as more than that. If it was anyone else, you’d probably lose all control because you have no significant relationship with them. It would be easy to latch onto anybody because it would be easy to lose them too. Harry, on the other hand, was not easy to lose.

The last thing you want is to convince yourself of anything. You don’t want to “crave” Harry just because you saw something about an article online about “sexual chemicals fusing.” You couldn’t. No, it was too risky.

You’ve known Harry forever, so you couldn’t lose him forever too.

“I think I found a good movie to watch!” Harry’s voice echoes from his living room and all the way into the bathroom where you haven’t moved a muscle. Your overthinking was louder than it’s ever been. With a shaky breath, you rise from the tiles and stare at your disheveled appearance in the mirror. The same mirror you watched Harry finger fuck you with.

“Be out there in a second!” You shout back as your heart beats rapidly from his heartwarming voice laughing loudly at something. You clutched your chest, wondering why the fuck you were feeling the organ lurch for him in a way that wasn’t meant for him.

You knew that it was way too fucking personal.

—

thanks for reading angels 😙 part 2

taglist: @crybabyddl @tiaamberxx @alwaysclassyeagle @bisexual-desi @littlenatilda @raajali3

#shawnxstyles #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles fan fics #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #fratrry #harry styles one shot #bestfriend!harry #fratrry x reader #dom!harry #harry styles love on tour #tpwk #treat people with kindness

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kachowden · 1 year

Note

Hii! I just saw your Loren art work and HE. IS.SO. CUTEEE!!! 💖💖 the pink collar around his neck is 😍😍 but it made me think of a funny scenario (most likely one where reader knows about his obsession with them and uses it to their advantage)

It was a huge game for the college team. Almost everyone and their grand mama came to see it! Two rival teams competing against each other, both known for their long streaks of winning, and not only that! Loren’s darling is on the sidelines cheering him on! (You are probably just watching the game bored out of your mind cuz the coach FORCED you to be there *saying it’ll give them a higher chance of winning*) unfortunately though Loren’s team seems to be losing by a couple points. The stands are restless and the other teams stands even started mocking the players! With Loren’s coach yelling and hollering he suddenly got an idea.

Coach: OY! Number 13’s (girlfriend/boyfriend)! Get over here!

Surprised at the sudden call over you quickly walked over to him. “What-“ “-no time for Lilly gagging! I need you to give number 13 a pep talk! Some type of motivation! You hear me!? I ain’t gonna let these assholes win!!” He cut you off and told you what to do. Thinking for a minute as he pushed you to where Loren was taking a break on the bench, a thought popped up. You sighed and stood in front of him, he looked up to you in with that cute gaze and a sad smile. “Hey (y/n), I know this ain’t look too good but I bet we can still turn this around!” He tried to stay positive (as positive as you can get when making a fool of your self in front of your crush). You just lowered yourself to his eye level and started talking.

(Y/n): don’t worry bout that, don’t worry about what already happened. Just focus on what you do next. Cuz like you said you still have time to turn it around. *you grabbed the back of his neck and leaned into his ear, whispering* if you do manage to win,I’ll celebrate with you-give you a reward. I’ll do things so VILE to you that it’ll make the devil blush~ *giving him a smirk and a kiss on the cheek you left him on the bench*

Meanwhile the other team:”We are destroying those fools!” “They can’t keep up with us!” “That trophy is—wait do y’all hear boss music??”

Long story short Loren’s team won, the other team had most of their players end up in the hospital and he didn’t leave your apartment for almost 3 days after. (He also couldn’t walk properly for a whole week and had to wear more “covering” clothes for a while) —💖💖 anon

I almost feel like I don’t need to write anything at this point! The scenario is too good too pass up though.

——————————

Loren was frustrated. You could see it from where you sat on the teams bench. Technically, you weren’t supposed to be sat their, as it was reserved for the team and all, but the coach had made an exception for you on account of Loren’s-….crush. Or whatever it was. You didn’t know and you didn’t care.

But you had to admit, seeing that look on his face was a little upsetting. The guy had been sweet to you. A little overbearing, but sweet. And you found it a bit hard to deny the butterflies in your stomach whenever he looked so eager for praise or attention from you.

You weren’t stupid. Loren had made his intentions very clear after the first few meetings. “My lucky charm” he so often said. You found that almost laughable, what with how unlucky you often seemed to be.

That felt all the more true when you watched Loren let out a frustrated sigh, his helmet being roughly pulled from his head as the coach called a time out.

You watched, in a somewhat flattered manner, as narrowed brown eyes found their place on you, and subsequently widened in shock and awe. A wide smile broke onto the star players face as he made a beeline straight towards you.

You stood up once he came to a stop infront of the bench you occupied, and handed him his water bottle.

Loren’s tan cheeks flushed darkly, though you weren’t ignorant enough to assume it was from sweat with the way he was staring at you.

It was intense enough to make your heart beat just a little faster.

He panted after a quick sip, trying to catch his breath and not sound more pathetic than he felt.

“What-“ a deep breath “what’re you doing here? I thought you had a test tomorrow?”

Loren didn’t do much to hide how happy he was seeing you. Though the embarrassment of his previous play seemed to quickly settle in when he realized you had been watching him flounder about on the field.

You gave a soft huff and folded your arms. “Yeah-, well.” You glanced to the side, a bit shyly. You weren’t embarrassed. Only a little actually. Maybe a lot. “I finished early and decided to come see the game. A friend of mine told me it was a big deal or something so I figured I’d might as well.” Actually you knew the whole time. And you skipped studying. The real reason you showed up was because you felt guilty after seeing his face when you first rejected the offer.

God it payed to be pretty didn’t it?

Loren’s smile became all the wider at your answer. Though you spotted what seemed like mirth dancing in his eyes, before he shook his head of the cold water he sprayed onto it and looked deeply at you.

“Well I’m glad you came. Though, I wish you hadn’t see us getting our asses kicked out there..”

Jesus that kicked puppy look was killing you. You imagined he probably felt the brunt of his teams failure. Since he was the captain and all. You felt a bit bad for the guy.

“….”

You bit your lip softly.

Am I really about to do this?

If there was one thing you learned about Loren, Is he was driven by motivation. And nothing got him more motivated than you. He was more like a dog than people realized.

With only a few minutes left in the game, you decided it was a now or never situation. Besides, it wasn’t the worse case scenario.

You didn’t mine the idea actually.

With quick resolve you gripped the front of Loren’s jersey with one hand, yanked him down to your height and gripped the hair on the back of his neck firmly with the other, earning a startled grunt from the burly player who looked at you with wide glazed over eyes.

The way he was staring at you was borderline…..

Whatever that wasn’t important right now.

“Loren. I don’t know why the fuck your playing like shit right now.” Your heart ached at the borderline whimper that poured from the poor brunettes chest, “But I know damn well you can kick this shitty little teams ass.”

Loren’s breath cought in his throat for a moment, and he stared deeply in your eyes as if searching for any hint that you didn’t believe what you just said. But when he found nothing he swallowed thickly with a raging flush.

“(Y/n)…”

Time to real him in.

With a heavy exhale you furrowed your brows and gripped tighter on to his shirt.

“If you make a come back and win this game…”

“I’ll give you a kiss.”

Somehow the deafening roar of the two teams crowds faded instantly into white noise. The bright lights of the night poles buzzed dully in your ears as Loren’s brown eyes burned so hard into you, you swore you’d go blind.

“On the lips?”

“On the lips.”

You watched as this 6’6 hunk of man slid onto his knees in front of you, and you forced yourself not to whip around in embarrassment at the sight and the possibly of a dozen eyes watching you.

Loren breathed deeply, pushing his head into your stomach softly, like a dog asking to be pet, and you couldn’t stop yourself from running your fingers through is soft wet hair.

He shuddered, and shakily exhaled. “Promise?” He begged this wasn’t a cruel joke. Something you were going to hang over head.

“Promise.”

Holy fuck

You’d never seen a guy bolt up like that before. With nimble feet he grabbed your hand and placed a gentle kiss on the pads of your fingers, like a promise of what was to come, before turning around and marching onto the field, helmet now securely placed on his head.

The aura he had was intense. Like he was officially in the game for the first time that night. And it seemed both teams realized this, with the way their shoulders tensed and the audience grew more frenzied.

It was over before the enemy could even blink, and the sound of cheers that followed was deafening.

You could feel yourself smile a bit at the sight of Loren’s teammates crowding around him excitedly, like kids who just won a new toy.

He laughed loudly, though quickly jerked away from their hold and ran to you.

He was out of breath when he reached you, and the furious red on his cheeks was very telling. In fact, you were pretty sure the sweat and heavy breathing wasn’t from the game he just played.

Guess you had to commit now huh?

Loren’s gaze was nothing short of eager and desperate, and the way he licked his lips, seemingly unconsciously made the whole thing seem much more vulgar than it actually was.

It was just a kiss right? Probably barely even a peck.

You should’ve known that Loren was gonna get as much out of that single kiss as he could though.

With quick confirmation from you, Loren’s large rough hands took careful hold of your face. He already looked ruined from just touching you, though that may have been the post game sweat.

Time slowed briefly, and before you knew it you felt a heavy breath on your lips, where the star players hovered for a moment before finally pressing down.

It was soft at first. Gentle. His hand moved to the back of your head, pulling you closer amongst the screams and roars of the fans who watched in awe.

Some angry. Most charmed by the romantic display.

Though when Loren’s other hand slid to your lower back, and his foot inched forward to press further into you, causing you trip, the noises faded out again.

Because Loren didn’t stop kissing you. Even when you’d fallen and your mouth popped open to gasp slightly, and his arms caught your head and cradled it tenderly and possessively, he continued to kiss you. Deeply, passionately, and above all else desperately.

What was supposed to be a pretty and simple kiss quickly turned into a make out, Loren’s hands groping at varying parts of your body but never breaking away. Your hands subsequently finding themselves tangled in his spiky soft hair.

At the sound of a low groan pouring from Loren’s lips you snapped out of it and pushed him away, though he resisted for a moment before remembering where he was.

Lifting himself up, he didn’t appear the least bit embarrassed by the public display as he hovered over you on the dewey grass field.

He looked almost frustrated at the interruption if anything.

The sky was dark above him, and the faint artificial lights glowed around you in his eyes. Though you could’ve argued similarly.

He almost looked angelic. If it hadn’t been for the look in his eyes and the odd firmness on your thigh.

Your embarrassment reached its peak when the coach blew his whistle at the two of you.

“Alright Ortega quite snoggin and get your puebescent ass over here! We still gotta wash up and go over the game! ”

Fuck you wanted to crawl in a hole and die so badly. At least your team won the game right?

It was best you didn’t know the only reason they had been losing in the first place was because a certain wonder boy was pouting over your previous rejection.

#yandere #x oc #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere jock #jock of #Loren oc

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twisted-king · 26 days

Note

Hello! Since you also write genshin, I've thought about reader or F!S/O being from Teyvat. But that isnt really the main point. How 'bout their F!S/O is from Sumeru and is strictly bestfriends with Cyno and Alhaitham. How would Trey, Azul, Jade, Floyd, and Jamil feel about their F!S/O having boy bestfriends back at her world? Maybe if they're jealous, reader tries to comfort them by saying that Alhaitham is engaged(to Kaveh)XD Lol

You dont have to do this if its to much♡

Oddly specific but I like the cut of your jib!

Also can be read as genter neutral, I don't reall mention gender on this one?

Trey, Azul, Jade, Floyd, and Jamil X F!SO from Teyvat

who is also besties with Cyno and Alhaitham

Trey Clover

Well youre from a whole different world! Magic seems to exist in some capacity at least.

He doesn't know what a Zatyun peach or a Sunsettia is.

But he tries v hard to make you things that remind you of home sometimes!

He actually does a pretty good job at it too!

And thats where the issue arives.

Whenever he asks about your homeland he knows he is going to hear about your best friends

He's trying SO hard to be normal about this

Trey loves you so much but, he gets a little jealous!

You've done so much with these two!!!

"And Cyno's jokes are the absolute WORST! I swear some of the things he says are worse than Ace's!" "Oh that's... nice!"

but they're your best friends! He really shouldn't be jealous.

"I still don't understand why Alhaitham is so jacked, like all he does is read books all day!"

He really shouldn't be jealous

"And I'm kind of glad its never too hot around here! Like I know he works primarily in the desert but like put a shirt on sometimes! You know?"

But damm its hard.

He tries to be subtle (not really)

"So have you ever like... done anything with one of these guys?" "What do you mean?" "Like have you dated one of them..?"

oh.... OH!

You laugh at that, he's embrassed "Oh gosh NEVER! They both have boyfriends anyhow! Alhaitham is engaged!" "Oh."

You nod and give him a little kith

Wow he's relieved!

Azul Ashengrotto

He loves learning about you and your home world! Truly!!!

Azul thinks your mind is briliant, you're so smart and quick on your feet due to years of travel!

With travel comes a lot of experiences

a lot.

without him.

He's playing it cool though! suuuper cool

"Oh I remember Alhaitham would never answer anything that wasnt formatted or completed properly! maybe you could do the same? it would certainly free up some time, no?" "Of course it woudl free up some time, dear... But" "buut?" "Well it wouldn't be fitting of my benevolent nature now would it, my love?"

Azul keeps trying to prove he's a better boyfriend than your old friends

He needs you to know he's the best option for you <3

"And could this 'Cyno' make you a delightful seafood pasta like this?" "No, not really, he was more into rice." "I see..."

Oh hey he made you curry and rice

You know, by the way. He is NOT sneaky

After another bout of showing off, you finally say something.

"They have boyfriends, you know?" "huh?" "Cyno and Alhaitham? they have partners. You don't have to be jealous." "Why would I be jealous, dearest?"

DENIER

Denies his jealous to this day but he gets happier after you reassure him.

Jade Leech

Yeah he's super cool about this!

for the most part...

He's extremely interested in learning about the flora in your world!

and he thinks those vishap creatures you compare him to sound rather interesting.

Jade being rather curious in nature comes in handy! since he doesnt seem to get jealous.

His questions are... odd, though. they kind of make sense?

"Cyno once took out like-- 10 guys in like a MINUTE! it was so cool! "Is he that fast in the depths of the sea?" "No-" "I see..."

Sometimes he's a little less slick though

"OH my gosh Alhaitham is so weird about soup! He hates the stuff because it could get on his books of all things!" "Does he consume beverages as he reads? tea perhaps?" "Yeah, sometimes." *Pleased eel noises*

He's just being careful :)

Jade often prefers to dicuss your best friends while in the kitchen. he likes spending this time with you!

And he has his knives and mushrooms at his disposal.

*chop chop chop* "And so Haitham and I used to skip out on akademiya meetings together-" *chopchopchop-* "But Cyno would ALWAYS 'catch' us just before the meeting would actually ends-" *ChopChopChopChop-* "So then he'd bring us to Kaveh, Alhaitham's fiance to-" "He has a fiance?" "yeah,why?" "no reason." *chop~ chop~ chop~*

He's still keeping the information from his... questioning in mind.

Can't be too careful, after all.

Floyd Leech

He loves his shrimpy's stories!!!

He hates his shrimpy's stories :((

Floyd is reaaal conflicted. He thinks you're so interesting! your world seems like fun!! he wants to go there with you.

But not with those men you keep talking about

"So sometimes there are these HUGE mushrooms that kind of act like a launchpad! they're super springy." "Eh? Jade might like soemthing like that... OOOH! do ya think if I throw someone (Ace) on one of those they'd still bounce?" "Yeah they would! one time while going after a criminal, Cyno had to-" "Eeeeh I'm bored. You coming to my next game?"

Subtlety? not THIS eel

He audibly groans when you bring them up sometimes.

But he still loves hearing you talk! so it really confusing sometimesz

"So genius invocation uses 8 elements, 7 from the nations, one is omni. Usually the cards are based off of vision users like Diluc of mondstadt, Arataki Itto, from Inazuma... OH! there is one of my best friend, Alhaitham, he's dendro and Cyno's is electro, its actually" Oh he's no longer looking at you.

You get an idea... "There is one of Haitham's fiance, Kaveh" "Oh really?"

GOT HIS ASS

You're his girlfriend, you know him best.

He's a little less weird about listening to your stories now, he's way more enaged.

He still tugs you closer to him when you mention other men, but thats kind of normal for him now.

Jamil Viper

A confident king? He's not really jealous. He knows he can be better than them.

Plus they're just friends to you.

But in all honestly he like... doesn't care too much about Teyvat.

You're here now, with him. not them.

Don't get him wrong, Jamil likes hearing about what your world!

There's only oneee little thing he doesnt love hearing.

"Sometimes I miss the food from Teyvat... Cyno always made the best Tahchin." "The best you say?" "Yeah! he shaped it like a pyramid every time he made it!" "Have you ever tried mine?" "You make tahchin!?"

He's smug, you'll love his cooking more than that Cyno's.

He serves you a plate of tahchin, golden brown, perfectly seasoned, barberries topping the rounded rice dish "So, what do you think?" "This is so good! I kind of miss the padisarah petals though.."

The hell is THAT?

"Is it... not up to your expectations, my flower?" "No its delicious! I think I just miss the way my friend would make it.."

He's a little grumpy about it!!

Jamil gets kind of huffy with you next time you're together.

He's not ignoring you but just don't bring up food for a while.

Snake man will just respond with "Why don't you ask Cyno." when it comes to cooking for the next day or two...

#twisted wonderland #twistedwonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x yuu #jamil viper x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech #trey clover x reader

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goldustwomun · 2 years

Text

take a chance on me (b.b.)

pairing: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x ex! mother! reader

summary: your daughter stumbles upon a photo of you and a mysterious man, immediately noticing the similarities between him and her. nothing good can come from revisiting the past, especially one you’d hoped to avoid because you’d never gotten the courage to tell him, the man from the photo, that he’s a father.

warnings: major rip-off of the mamma mia! plot but this was purely for enjoyment so xxx; angst angst angst; swearing; allusions to sex; a lot of exposition so sorry ‘bout that

wc: 9.2k+

note: had so much fun messing around with this request (thank you by the way!!). listening to the mamma mia! soundtrack the whole time and now yearning for an island romance<3

ps. reader’s age is slightly hinted to being over 30 but that’s only if you do the math and i left the daughter’s age ambiguous (she’s a teen, over sixteen at least); also, daughter’s name is poppy!

pps. i probably won’t be writing a second part to this because i love the ambiguous ending; let your imagination run free lovelies :))

more of my work x

The summer heat was thick and just about everywhere, like sticky honey you can’t wipe clean off your fingers after spreading it onto a piece of too-burnt toast.

You were on the verge of giving up, trekking back home and collapsing onto the sofa with a stand-up fan aimed at your sweat-slick face.

Maybe the dungarees hadn’t been your best idea when it came to thirty-degree weather, but the utility of them, their pockets filled to the brim with spare screws, a cylinder-shaped glue for the hot glue gun you’d lost in your storage room a week back, a few hair ties for when the one currently holding yours up snapped for the third time that day.

Practicality over comfort, as was your motto for the past over-a-decade of your life. As it had been, since you’d found yourself pregnant after a one-night-stand (turned many, many night-stand) you’d yet to shake yourself free of).

You were never one to ask for help, and when it came to raising your child, things hadn’t changed. No matter how desperate you were, working two jobs on an island you didn’t speak the language of, an infant perched on your hip, whaling in your ears whilst you simultaneously cleaned the rooms of the little bed-and-breakfast you’d landed a job at.

When you weren’t taking care of your kid or working, you were thinking about one of those two things, or both.

And it wasn’t like you hated it entirely; she was the best thing to ever happen to you, could have arrived at a more opportune time, but she was your best friend if you’d ever had one. So saying she was a mistake or something you regretted– it was an unfathomable thought that had only crossed your mind once, sat in the doctor’s waiting room, pregnancy test wrapped in toilet paper, clutched tight in your trembling hands.

“Ma’!” she yelled now, your little Poppy with her chocolate-brown curls, sun-kissed skin from all the time spent at the beach. Remarkably like her Father, but you’d never tell her that.

“I’m here, I’m here!” you answered in a similar, exasperated fashion, bent over a crack in the intricately tiled mosaics that covered the floor of the plaza.

You still worked at that bed-and-breakfast, though now it was yours and had expanded to a vast number of the buildings at the centre of the island. Everyone helped out, whether out of kindness or a small fee, and you were grateful for the community, the small army, you had behind you, catching you every time you stumbled (far too often than you’d ever admit).

“Need help?” Poppy asked, amused, hands perched over her white-tiered skirt clad hips, looking like the stubborn replica of her mother, of you. Her head just about obscured the sun from beating down on you anymore than it already was, framing her with a halo of gold that tinted the edges of her hair.

“I’m alright, love,” you assured, heaving yourself straight with a pained groan. Poppy crowded you, arms going around your shoulders to help you up. “Why don’t you go help Esme. She’s in the storage room, looking for the hot glue gun.”

“Still haven’t found that thing?”

“No, I– fuck. Everything disappears around here. Swear we’ve got a ghost or something, the only logical explanation.” Poppy nodded along, taking your finger-pointing at the supernatural with a deathly seriousness.

“Makes sense if you ask me, ghost with a hankering for rusty tools,” she agreed, voice solemn. “Aaaand you’re sure I can’t help you here?” she asked again, murky brown eyes baring right into your soul. You brushed her off, nudging her in the direction of the sweet old lady, Esme, with her wonky English accent and pastries to die for.

“If you see anything you like, put it to the side!” you called after her retreating figure, shaking your head as she chucked a ‘thumbs up’ behind her back.

Not only was she the spitting image of her Father, or rather, the man who got you pregnant as you called him in your head, but she walked and talked with that same air of breezy confidence that got him into your pants in the first place.

You’d hoped a few more of your mannerisms (and none of your risky mistakes) would have brushed off on her as she grew up, but other than your resolute anger and little patience, she was nothing like you.

Always headstrong, sometimes teetering on the precipice of arrogance, but she usually relented and bugged you with her incessant chatter until you forgave her.

Would stare up at you, all watery and doe-eyed, hair curling around her chubby cheeks still splotchy from her tantrum, near ready for tears again until you were shushing her with a carrot stick coated in hummus (her favourite but you worried she’d turn into a chickpea or something close to it).

Even if she was part-chickpea, you’d love her forever.

Named her Poppy after the bunches of wild, scarlet-red flowers you’d seen breaking through the stones of the Acropolis when you were pregnant and needed a break from the island. Your Poppy was a lot like that; able to push past even the most inconceivable of hardships, past whatever unmovable stone that might be surrounding her, threatening to cage her in, until she was illuminating the world around her. Painting it a little brighter for everyone to enjoy.

Your very own field of flowers.

Poppy could admit that even with having grown up on the island, she could never get used to the heat or the muggy feeling of her clothes sticking to her like a second layer of skin. But she persisted, finding Esme with a cloth tied around her head as a make-shift hat in the barn they used for storage.

It was… falling to pieces, and still, that was an understatement.

The blue doors looked more grey than anything ocean-like, the junk crammed inside, stacks on stacks of unlabelled cardboard boxes she worried had a family of something disgusting in at least one of them. The ceiling had caved-in in places, allowing beams of sunlight to penetrate through, and acting as a door for the birds to fly in and build their nests.

So yes, the barn was falling to pieces, the entire hotel was, actually. But what worried her the most was that her Mother seemed close to the same fate despite being so young, so she’d persist where she had to.

“Little girl, come help me with this box would you!” Esme ordered from somewhere within the labyrinth of boxes. Poppy picked her way through, using the groans Esme exerted as a homing-beacon and eventually bumping into the older woman. She was caked in dust and dirt, but didn’t seem to care all that much if the grin on her face was any hint of her mood.

Esme was rather grumpy a lot of the time, so a smile like that, one that screamed mischief, and her eyes beaming with that all-knowing look she got sometimes after visiting the psychic on the other side of the island… Well, something told her this couldn’t be good.

“What’s in this particular box, May?” Poppy questioned, huffing as she pushed it onto the ground.

“You’ll see in a moment–” Esme tssked at her impatience, patting her back so Poppy would move into the light so they could see its contents more clearly. When it was in place, Poppy looked-up at her from her crouched position on the floor expectantly, still unsure of where this was headed.

“Don’t give me such a dumb look, little girl, open it!” she scolded, frowning so deeply Poppy worried her mouth would be stuck that way permanently.

Sometimes she thought it already was. “Okay- Okay– Stop calling me that,” she added under her breath, pulling back the hole-ridden flaps and immediately rummaging through, wondering what all the fuss was about.

“This just looks like a bunch of old junk, May. I don’t think the glue-gun is in here.”

“Keep looking,” she insisted, peering over her shoulder. It was only a few minutes later that her hand came down on Poppy’s shoulder, gripping tight enough that Poppy stopped shuffling things around, hand stuck on a tattered journal she’d never seen before. “That one– take that out.”

“This?” Poppy asked inquisitively, lifting it from the box and standing up so Esme could see.

“Yes, this,” she nodded with a relieved sigh, flipping open the first page. Inside, Poppy admired the elegant script, eyes widening at the name inscribed on the first page.

“This was Ma’s?”

Esme held it out to her, confirming her wild thoughts, doing little to halt the curiosity currently poking at her mind. “This was your Mother’s when I first met her. Maybe… younger than you, or the same age, I’m not sure. But she was beautiful, and hardworking, and very, very pregnant.”

A forced laugh stumbled past her lips, disbelieving as she carefully turned to the next page. A stray photo, not stuck down like the others, flew out of the bottom. Poppy scrambled to pick it up, not wanting it to get lost amongst the piles of stuff they desperately needed to sort out.

In it was her Mother, looking radiant with her head tilted back in laughter, flowers in her hair, an arm around her waist that belonged to an unfamiliar man. “And– this guy, who’s he?” Poppy’s heart was hammering now, knowing the answer before Esme could even respond.

He had her curls, unruly and deep brown. And something about him, the fluidity in his shoulders, the ease with which he carried himself, the look on your face. It couldn’t be…

“I’m not sure. I never knew his name but he was following your Mother around that summer, like a lost puppy. Very cute,” she murmured appreciatively, gaze fixated on the photo in your hand.

Poppy’s heart sank, hating the lack of answers, the not-knowing. She needed to know, could feel the fire stoked in the pit of her belly that would keep her up until she found out more, more, more.

You wouldn’t say anything. You were tightlipped about the ingredients in your famous pasta sauce, so anything about Poppy’s potential Father would be a no-go, a dead end she couldn’t get herself stuck in and clue you in on her snooping.

“What happened to him– the puppy man?” Poppy did nothing to hide her curiosity, knowing deep down that Esme had lured her to this box for a reason.

Everyone could see how you were wearing away, working yourself to the bone everyday for a dream that seemed just about unreachable. You needed someone, anyone, to help you, and Poppy wouldn’t always be there to do just that.

She knew you didn’t need a man, bursting into your life and fixing your problems. It’d have you biting at his heels until he was running off into the sunset. But a partner– a companion, maybe, who could support you when the job was brutal and rough and you were nearing a breakdown like no other– you deserved, at the very least, that.

Poppy would make sure of it. It didn’t take long for her to do the calculations, nine months minus her birthday and she had an approximate date to look for. She thumbed through the journal, marking the pages that mentioned any indication of when you’d written in it, and shoved it into the back pocket of your denim shorts to search through later.

She’d find him if it was the last thing she’d ever do.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t be, but she needed to see you smiling like you had in that picture. And Poppy had an inkling, a feeling, a certainty like no other, that the answer to all of your problems, maybe her’s as well, would be found with the man with the funny moustache and wicked grin.

The internet was a powerful machine, and one, Poppy thought decidedly, she’d be forever grateful for. It didn’t take long to hunt down the mystery man from the photo. She smiled, somewhat maniacally, really, at the screen as she read through the email she received from the United States Navy.

She’d gotten the idea after noticing the dog-tag around his neck, nestled against his bare chest. It was hard to see at first, what with the obnoxious printed shirts he wore in every photo, but Poppy was nothing if not thorough, meticulous, error-free.

Anyway, it wasn’t like the Navy had actually responded to her far-fetched cries for help, but she did find a help-centre that was rather effective in hunting down men who had gotten someone or the other pregnant while deployed internationally.

Poppy wondered how often this kind-of thing happened that they needed a whole department for it, suddenly trying to burn the image in her mind of a few more miniature him-with-the-moustache-s walking around the Earth.

But it couldn’t be, not with the way he had stared at you in that photo. And you’d kept it, all these years, so it had to have meant something.

Bradley Bradshaw. She scoffed, what a dumb name. And his callsign? Somehow worse– Rooster. She hoped eternally her maybe-Father wasn’t a proper moron now, and could still live upto the photos she had of him (of which she found many more hidden between pages in your journal).

He was quite attractive, almost two decades earlier. And you– well, even today, you were ethereal in Poppy’s eyes. Carefree and determined.

“Pops– hun, I’m going down to the post office, need anything mailed?” you asked from the other side of her bedroom door.

“Yeah! One sec,” she replied, frantically shoving all of the post-it notes and pictures back into a drawer in her desk, doing one last scan of her room to make sure she hadn’t left anything lying around before snatching up the letter– to Rooster– from beside her laptop.

Poppy opened the door to see you resting against the door frame, flipping through the letters (bills, probably) you had clutched in your hand. You held out your hand, waiting for her to drop it in your palm, but she quickly yelled out, “No!” which had you looking up from the dreaded envelopes with a raised brow.

“No…?” you asked, confused at her unusual outburst. “So you don’t have any mail?”

“No,” she repeated, dumbly, mouth forming words that never made it out. “No– I have a letter, but I’ll come with you. Drop it off myself,” she explained eventually, nodding along as if she was trying to convince herself.

You relented, sending another curious look towards your daughter but stomping down the stairs, creaks following, to the car. “I’m leaving now so put your shoes on!” you sang.

She sighed out of relief, shoving her feet into her trainers and barreling past you into the front seat of your Jeep. “God, Poppy– what’s gotten into you? Acting like a five-year old, I swear,” you grumbled, irritated and lethargic enough to have her wincing with guilt.

This was a good thing, right? Sure, you’d be angry– scratch that, furious, murderous, down-right irate, when you found out, but you’d understand. She was doing this for you.

“Sorry,” she appeased, kicking her feet onto the dashboard that earned her another withering glare from you. It did little to dissuade her as she continued talking. “Just giddy, that’s all.”

“Giddy? About a letter?” Poppy hummed in agreement, watching the ocean and mountain-side trees rush by, painting an array of abstract strokes across her vision. “Is it for a boy?” you asked, teasingly, side-eyeing her before returning to concentrating on the winding road ahead.

“Mmm, funnily enough, yeah,” she giggled, loving how you were entirely clueless.

“Interesting,” you murmured, then reaching across the console to squeeze your daughter’s bare knee. “Be careful, yeah?”

Poppy’s eyes flashed, chest-clenching painfully as she worried her lip between her teeth. Her hand moved to rest across yours. You’d never opposed her love-life, of her having one, but Poppy had always wondered why your own dating history was so sparse, time spent, instead, taking care of her or, later on, the hotel.

“Always, Ma’, you know that,” she made sure with a tight grin, praying you missed how it didn’t reach her eyes.

This was a good thing, she reminded herself. This was for you.

Poppy was jumpier than usual, like a skittish cat, you observed silently. Slamming doors and screens shut when you walked by. You didn’t necessarily care what she was up to until she was rambling off, a mile a minute, going on about an excuse you hadn’t asked for.

You were a good mother, one that didn’t pry or push when you wanted the gossip and highlights of your kid’s life. Had built a relationship, a friendship, even, with your daughter where she voluntarily shared the information without you ever needing to bat an eyelash.

So you tried not to worry, to let the mishaps distract you from the seemingly never-ending list of work you had tugging your attention elsewhere.

But that was another thing about being a mother; worrying was second nature, a muscle that unknowingly worked itself sore whenever your daughter was out of your sight.

She’d go off during the day, by the beach with her friends, at the dock helping with shipments or sailing into the late afternoon, returning only when the sun was sinking into the horizon and the sky was all shades of purple, pink, a burning orange.

She’d give you a soft, routine kiss on your cheek as you sat on the dinner table, skin sticking to the plastic cover you’d laid on the surface to protect the wood. Spew details of her day, who said what, who kissed who– though always failing to mention the letter from a month ago, the unknown boy she was secretly buzzing about was still unknown.

You hadn’t forgotten the letter, not recognising the address, some small town in America with little significance to you.

Poppy sat across from you now, talking around a mouthful of the sandwich you’d made the both of you with the leftover baguette from the bakery across the street, one that hadn’t sold that day so was priced cheap.

“--and then, you’ll never guess, but Dom was changing on the boat and basically flashed everyone. Tony and Riley included. I felt so bad, almost pushed the boys overboard and she was so red for someone who, basically, never got embarrassed.”

You snorted, stopping mid-bite. “Just because someone doesn’t make their emotions obvious doesn’t mean they don’t feel them. And I hope they’ll apologise to her.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” she agreed enthusiastically, eyes wide as if digesting every single one of your words. “And they did right after I threatened them. It wasn’t awkward for long, they’re not a bad bunch or anything. It was an accident, Dom said so herself.”

“That’s good,” was all you answered, now distracted by a letter in your hand you’d pulled from the pile as Poppy talked. She was watching you intently, burning a hole through the paper, and, being her Mother, you already knew she was dying to know who it was from.

“It’s for you,” you said eventually, putting her out of her momentary misery as she squealed and snatched it from your hand. You watched discreetly, touched by the sight of her mouthing the words as she read the letter. “Is it from that American boy of yours?”

“American?– what– I mean, how do you– how do you know he’s American?” she stuttered messily, mouth agape and ready to argue.

You reflexively held up your hands in surrender. “Hey, love– I just saw the sender’s address, that’s all,” you assured.

She collapsed back into her seat, mumbling an apology for getting all worked up.

It was now or never, you decided, finally sick of the anxiety coursing through your veins these past few weeks.

“Poppy, you’re… alright, right?” you asked, struggling to find the right words and sighing, forehead resting against your palm while the other crossed the table, holding your daughter’s hand, grip light and featherlike, in comfort.

“I mean– you’d tell me if you were in any trouble, or anything. I wouldn’t judge or–”

“Ma!” she scolded, sounding appalled by your line of questioning and roughly pulling her hand out of your grasp.

“Don’t ‘Ma’ me, Pops. You’ve been going mental for weeks now! I’m allowed to fret, I’m your Mother!” you retorted, standing up abruptly, chair screeching against the linoleum tiles as you dropped the plates into the sink.

“It’s nothing, I swear–”

“Is it drugs?” you asked suddenly, turning around to face her.

She looked completely aghast, arms crossed against her chest defensively and, what was likely subconsciously, pouting at you. “If it’s drugs, Pops, we can get help. I’ve got money saved up and I know a decent doctor on the mainland. I’ll get you an appointment tomorrow if you let me–”

“Ma!” she screeched again, parroting your earlier movements, walking right up to you, holding your shoulders firmly, and shaking as she spoke, or rather, yelled. “I’m not on drugs, don’t be stupid!” You scowled at her, pushing her off of you.

“Then what is it because I’ve been wracking my brain for what could possibly have my child on fucking edge and–”

“I found a journal!” she interrupted, voice loud and exasperated. You whipped around, pinning her down with a stare you’d mastered over the years. She froze on the spot, likely shocked she’d let it slip in the first place.

“You found a– a journal? Where? Who’s?” you asked succinctly, hiding your shaking hands behind your back.

“Uh– it was– Esme, she– it’s her’s, and she wanted me to help her find the name of this guy who’d visited her when she was younger. I reached out and it’s a letter from him, that’s it. I was excited for her,” she explained, but the way her voice wavered made you certain that wasn’t the whole story.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?” you reasoned, still unbelieving. It was too convenient of an explanation.

“Because she told me not to! You’re– you’re a bit harsh, sometimes, a bit cynical when it comes to love,” she said, hesitantly, mouth twitching with a smile at how you were now the one pouting. “Anyway, you’re always telling me to butt out of people’s business so I thought it’d be best to just keep it to myself.”

The two of you, mother and daughter, stood in silence for many long minutes, bathed in the nauseating yellow glow of the kitchen lights, flickering bulbs casting ugly shadows across your faces. But it was home, the one one you knew, so you never complained, at least not out loud.

Not when Poppy was around to hear you. “Okay, I believe,” you relented, returning to the dishes, though Poppy nudged you out of the way.

“Why don’t you let me do this, huh? Go sit down for a bit, I’ll finish tidying up.”

You opened your mouth to protest but Poppy was quick to give you a look– the look. Same one you’d mastered after many years of dealing with her fits, and evidently, she seemed to have learnt it as well. You acquiesced reluctantly, hands raised for the second time that night, and fell back, fainted more like, onto the sofa.

Poppy stood, hunched over the sink, and you watched her from your position in the living room.

Something– a nagging feeling you couldn’t quite get rid off– poked at you, at your brain in all of its aching, slimy glory– that the story she fed you was just that– a story, fictional. But you trusted her, unlike some other mother’s who’d lecture you over the cabbages in the market about how you were too lenient with Poppy, how she’ll end up just like you.

You griped internally. She’d be lucky if she turned out anything like you. Your gaze returned to her, shoulders moving as she scrubbed at the dirty dishes.

Okay. Maybe not exactly like you.

He arrived on an assuming Tuesday, a single bag strapped to his back, all brown skin and smouldering looks hidden behind decade-old sunglasses. Poppy couldn’t believe it, not one bit, as she greeted the stranger while working at the pier.

He had her curls, unruly and deep brown.

“Can I help you?” she asked politely, lips pulled into a frown to hide the urge of flinging herself at him with no explanation at all.

“Yeah, I’m looking for this address–” he fumbled with a piece of paper, pulling it from his back pocket. It was a letter, her letter, and he jabbed at the address, her address, on the front of the creased envelope. “--or if that’s not familiar, Poppy? She said her name was Poppy. Do you know anyone like that around these parts?”

She snorted. What were the chances?

She’d almost bailed on her shift, persuaded by Ben and his pretty smile to sneak out to the hidden beach on a nearby island. You’d managed to coerce him into going another day, mumbling an excuse or two in between kisses as you rushed down to the dock.

And then there he was, looking a lot like the lost puppy Esme had described to you. He still had the same odd facial hair, though it fit him a little better, having aged well.

“Poppy? Yeah, I know her,” Poppy mused, pulling at her bottom lip in faux-thought, eyes darting between the letter and the confused man holding it.

“Right, well–” he cleared his throat, shifting his weight between his feet. “Can you direct me towards her?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” you nodded vehemently, hoping he couldn’t see the grin threatening to take over your features.

He sighed defeatedly after waiting for you to continue, and after you failed to expand on the information, he shoved the paper back into his pocket. “Okay, thanks for the help”-- sounding not the least bit thankful.

Better put him out of his misery, she thought eagerly, looping an arm around his shoulder, having to lean up on the tips of her toes to reach. “It’s actually you’re lucky day, Bradley–” you began, that same grin winning its battle.

“How do you know–” he cut you off, then stopped himself, pausing as he turned to face you. “Oh…”

“Oh!” she mirrored, though a lot less like she’d had some sort of epiphany. more mocking and exaggerated.

“So you’re Poppy?” he asked, stupidly, bashfully, shaking his hair out of his eyes. They were slightly longer, the strands, than in the photos, but he had that same boyish charm you’d sensed.

“The one and only,” Poppy enthused..

“So you’re–”

“Her daughter? Yeah, that’d be me,” she finished for him, teetering towards something more serious, more solemn, bracing yourself for the moment of realisation as the both of them walked up to the road, identical gaits and hair and noses, where Poppy’s Jeep (or the one she’d borrowed from you) was parked.

It never came.

“And your Dad?”

You choked on a breath that never made it down the right pipe, halting in your steps. “My Dad?” you asked, bemused.

“Yeah– is he around? Would love to meet him, your Mother as well, of course. I was really surprised by the letter but I think–”

“My Dad isn’t around. Never met him,” she explained slowly, frustrated by how he really wasn’t understanding. Had she not been obvious enough?

Shit. Would she give him a fucking heart attack if she told him now?

She looked him over, deciding he wasn’t so old that an unannounced confession would kill him.

“I’m sorry about that, men can be real dickheads,” he stated, as if knowing from experience, not bothering to censor his language, and she liked him just a bit more for it.

He was perfect for you.

Poppy watched, unspeaking, as he settled into the passenger seat, admiring the interior of the car– probably the one thing you owned that wasn’t ripping at the seams. “So, where are we headed?”

“The hotel Ma’ owns, it’s at the–”

“Centre of the island?” he interrupted, staring distantly out at the unwavering landscape.

Bradley-- Rooster let out a shaky breath, one she tried not to notice, understanding that the two of you, meeting after all these years– it wasn’t going to be easy. Not when there was a significant part of his life he didn’t even know existed, one that came in the form of her.

“You remember,” you pointed out, surprised and sounding more like a statement rather than a question.

“Yeah, I mean– I remember everything. How could I not?” There was something beneath his words, a weight to them that had her shifting uncomfortably in her seat, foot colliding with the accelerator as they hurried home.

“So you’ll be staying here,” she announced, shoving her shoulder against the barn door and coughing at the dust that attacked her senses once she managed it open. Bradley– or Rooster, as he’d told her to call him– followed close behind, cautious with every step as he took in his dilapidated housing.

“Here?” he questioned out loud, pushing at the bunches of hay lining the floor with the toe of his combat boots. He was sweating like it was no one’s business and Poppy giggled to herself, finding amusement in his unspoken disgust.

“Yeah, here. The hotel’s all booked up–” a lie, she just couldn’t have you stumbling upon him before she’d planned how it’ll all go down. “So this was all we had left. I’ll find a spare mattress for you, and the bakery across the road– owned by a sweet, old lady–” another lie, it was Esme and there was nothing sweet about her. “--who can help you with showering, food, all the necessities.”

He stared intensely as she spoke, as if not really listening to a word she was saying.

“What is it?” she asked eventually, breaking free from his gaze as she busied herself, distracted herself, with collecting the boxes into a corner, out of the way to allow him some more room.

Rooster shook his head, convincing himself to look elsewhere, and smoothed his hair back.

“Nothing, sorry. You just– you’re so much like your Mother. It’s crazy, really.” She beamed at him, suddenly sitting on the floor opposite, and he joined her amongst the dust and hay.

“Really? You think so?” He nodded, laughing at her eagerness. “She said once, I don’t think she knew I was awake and I was really young, or younger,” she amended then continued. “She said I reminded her of my Dad, but I couldn’t ever tell you if it’s true or not.”

“Can’t say I knew him either–” Brilliant, it was all just brilliant. “--but you’re as… fiery, I guess would be an appropriate word, as she was.”

“And what was she like?”

He was ready to answer, not needing even a moment to think his response through, but your voice from outside the barn had Poppy’s eyes widening with fear, heart sinking low in your chest.

“Poppy! You in here?” You struggled with the door, pushing all of your weight into the crumbling wood.

“Fuck–” she cursed. “You need to– you need to hide, like– now.” He watched, perplexed, opening his mouth to question the sudden turn in events but she held up a finger, shushing him like he was a child and not her Father-who-didn’t-know-it.

“I’ll explain later just– please,” you begged quietly, urging him deeper in between the organised junk and out of sight.

She inhaled, exhaled, steadying her thrumming heartbeat. “Ma’! Y-yeah, I’m here, one second.”

Poppy pulled on the handle, hauling it open but the circular, metal ring broke-free from the door.

“Another thing to fix, I guess,” you noted, nodding at the rusted metal in her hand. “What’re you doing in here?” you asked, as if only now aware of where the both of you were.

“Here? I’m just– glue gun, yanno. Esme still couldn’t find it so I thought I'd try again.”

“Alright you flaky weirdo. I swear, you wouldn’t even need drugs to act all high and jittery, manage it just fine all by yourself,” you mumbled, dismissively pushing past her and heading straight towards the area Poppy had, moments earlier, shoo-ed Rooster towards.

“You can't go there!” she burst out, holding out a hand in front of you that you glowered at.

“Yeah, and why’s that?” you asked, voice tight and ready to pull the Mother card you never really enjoyed playing. You’d earned it, sure, but it was a little demeaning considering how old your daughter now was.

“Because– Because–”

Shuffling footsteps alerted your attention towards the disarray, squinting between the piles, searching for where the noise originated from. “Is there someone else here?”

“Yes! There is!” Poppy admitted, and your stare returned to her. She could see, right past your head, where Rooster was stepping into the light, assuming she was about to explain his presence, but she shook her head imperceptibly– not yet, go back, go back

You stared expectantly, waiting for a response. “It’s Ben,” she blurted, not sure, even herself, where she was headed. “And he’s– well, you see– he’s naked. Yeah, we were about to have sex and you walked in and he’s all embarassed.”

You sputtered, all but sprinting towards the door and unable to look behind you so you missed how Poppy relaxed minutely. “Oh– wow, okay. Just– that’s not what I was expecting,” you stuttered, palm shielding your eyes. “I mean, firstly– not here, gross, that sounds unbelievably unhygienic. And secondly– use protection.”

You didn’t stay any longer, escaping to the outside, and Rooster appeared beside Poppy almost immediately.

She turned, ready to barrage him with excuses and explanations she hadn’t thought of yet. “I’m so sorry, she’s–!”

“She doesn’t know, does she? That I’m here?” he asked, though he didn’t need you to respond to know the answer.

He groaned into his hands, bending at the hip and breathing raggedly. “Okay, so– I’m gonna go before she does find out. It was nice meeting you Poppy,” he said, all in one go with no room for you to interrupt.

“No you can’t– she’s just–”

“No, I really, really need to leave,” he bit out, not facing her as he strapped his bag to his back.

“If you just give her time–”

“You don’t understand!” he exploded, eyes fluttering shut as he visibly attempted to calm himself. “The last time she saw me– it wasn’t– it wasn’t good. And I left the next day, without a word of apology or justification or–” Rooster sighed as if he’d had this argument with himself countless times before. “--so no, I can’t imagine she’ll ever come around.”

He stopped at the boundary of the door, calling behind him. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Then he left, again.

At least he apologised this time, she thought bitterly.

You were stepping down from the hardware store, or hole in the wall, really, when you saw him.

A flash of saturated colour, mind-numbing prints, and broad shoulders. You gasped, frantically searching around yourself as if questioning if anyone else had seen a ghost from their own past.

No. They seemed to be going about their day as usual– Johnny sweeping at the cobblestone directly in front of his store, Mia laying fresh fish on ice, ready to be sold, her six-year old daughter tugging on the bottom of her dress with tears in her eyes.

No one was phased, except you. You looked back to where you’d seen him, but he wasn’t there anymore, only an empty street corner with nothing particularly out of the ordinary.

What the-- You rushed forward, intent on finding out the truth as your boots slapped loudly against the pavement, dodging busy workers and locals, all, now, staring at your wild movements.

“Child– where are you in such a hurry to?” Esme yelled, head poking through her bakery window with a scowl at the abrasive noise you were making in your pursuit.

“I’ll explain later, May!” you hurtled back, not stopping despite the burning in your legs, your chest.

Still, you carried on, making it all the way to the edge of the city centre, rushing to a stop as you stared across the abandoned gravel road. There was no one there except you, and you panted, exhausted and head-pounding, as you scolded yourself for such a stupid daydream. The heat had never gotten to you like this before.

It felt so real, him.

“Hey,” a voice greeted, cautiously, from behind you. Your eyes closed, hands clenched at your side, before you turned to face the tentative owner.

“Hey yourself,” you answered, surprising yourself at how civilised and steady your voice sounded to your own ears.

Bradley fucking Bradshaw. It was real after all.

“Are you okay?” he asked, hurrying towards you and letting his bag drop to the ground between the two of you, pulling out a water bottle and holding it out in front of you. A peace offering of sorts.

You only stared at it, like it’d bite you if you got any closer. “Take it, sweetheart. It’s fucking miserable out here.”

The endearment had you flashing your eyes at him, fire or rage or something somehow hotter– the sun had nothing on you in that moment, but he stumbled back, remembering himself.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded between gritted teeth, chin turned up at him.

“Sightseeing,” he said simply with that reaching grin that had you melting years earlier.

You scoffed impatiently. Poppy really had gotten her knack for lying, or royally sucking at it, from him.

“That’s bullshit. Why are you really here?”

There must have been an edge to your voice that had him spilling the truth, because you were stunned when he explained.

“Poppy– you met Poppy?” you asked, forcibly nonchalant, arms no longer dangling stupidly at your side but rather picking at the straps of your dungarees, loose threading growing longer as you pulled at them.

“Yeah, she’s a good kid,” he said, nothing giving away– not in his words, his body language, the look on his face– that he knew. Knew she was his.

He sat on the edge of the pavement, right by your feet, and patted the burning space next to him. You blew at a strand of hair tickling your nose, hating how you listened, even then, and sat right next to him, shoulders brushing the slightest bit and you were scampering to put some more distance between the two of you.

He smirked, quiet, leaning his arms on his bent knees, and his head on top, turned towards you as he watched you fight yourself.

“So, how’ve you been?” he asked, waiting, patient, all things you could never be.

“I’m fine,” you grumbled dryly, accidentally meeting his eyes, Rooster’s smirk deepened, before darting away. “You?”

The mid-afternoon heat bared down on the both of you, colouring your shoulders darker and doing nothing to help the heavy thumping against your skull, like a jackhammer or a fucking normal hammer– whatever. It just hurt bad.

Rooster noticed, silently offering his water to you again which you reluctantly snatched from him, gulping almost half of it down before he decided it was safe to speak.

“Still get migraines from the heat?” he asked, though it was more an observation than a question. You nodded, placing the now-empty bottle between your feet.

“I’m fine, as well. After I left–” you visibly winced, glaring against the rays of the sun as you willed yourself to look anywhere but at him, not when the tips of your ears were burning, ringing, making you dizzy and woozy and about ready to throw up all over your worn boots.

“--I went back to training and was then deployed overseas for a long time. Been training new recruits for the past few years now. It’s–” he stopped, glancing at you momentarily, but decided to continue. “--it’s nice. Feels like I’m moulding them to be better versions than me because I sure wasn’t picture perfect by any means.”

“No, you really weren’t–aren’t–” you agreed, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know I never said sorry, and it seems pointless now but–”

“Bradley,” you said his name and his heart stopped. He was dead and even though it was you that had killed him, right there with your voice alone, it was also only you that could bring him back to life. “I really don’t want to hear this,” you begged, and you never begged– never.

What had he done to you?

“Please, sweetheart–” Again with the nickname. You bristled beside him, standing up all of a sudden as if you were about to run in the opposite direction of his familiar ruggedness. “I need you to hear this, just a second–”

“No– you don’t,” you growled out of frustration, tugging your hair free and pressing your fingertips into your skull, anything to soothe the ache growing there. “--you don’t get to need anything, you, you– fucking prick!”

He said nothing, baffled, shocked, certain nothing he said now would make this situation any better. It was downhill from here.

“You said you loved me– promised me the fucking world and a ring and a life together, and the next morning, you left! You fucking– you left!” You were yelling now, unafraid, unabashed, uncaring if anyone could hear. They couldn’t, and if they could, they wouldn’t clue you in that they were.

The people of this town loved to know the darkest, most confidential secrets of its inhabitants, all without ever showing their face. This wasn’t any different.

“I had to!” he insisted aggressively, pushing off the rubble and invading your personal space, leading you back, back, back– until you hit a wall. You held him at arm's length, hand pressed against his hard chest, holding him there.

If he got any closer– well, if the past was anything to go by, you wouldn’t remember to stay mad long.

“I had to!” Rooster repeated, desperately. You said nothing, so he went on. “I got a letter– they needed me back, I can’t– I can’t tell you why–” You sneered, typical. “--but, I was going to come back. I swear it.”

His breathing was loud, dense in your buzzing ears. It’s just words, nothing but words– you repeated to yourself, over and over again. Bradley stepped back, giving you space and himself, as well. But his despairing stare– it pierced something inside you, something you hadn’t thought was still there.

“I wrote letters,” he stated.

“I know, I got them,” you retorted acridly, slumping into the wall for support.

“You never responded.” Again, stating facts.

“I was busy.” Being pregnant.

He nodded, unable or unwilling, you weren’t sure, to argue. An emptiness stretched between you and him, the kind you don’t think any words, half-hearted i’m sorrys, or passionate confessions could ever fill.

He bent to pick up his backpack. “Is there anything, and I mean anything, I could say to make you forgive me,” he asked, voice dejected and the rest of him following suit.

You shook your head, words failing you.

Rooster, Bradley– he turned to leave, accepting defeat, and something roared in your chest, urging, begging, pleading for you to stop him.

You don’t know why you did it, or how you thought it would ever be even a half-decent idea, but it spilled past your lips before you knew what you were saying, confessing, like a foot jamming between a door, forcing it open for someone, anyone.

Bradley.

“Poppy,” you said, loud enough for him to hear. He stopped but didn’t face you. “Poppy. She’s– she’s yours.”

His bag– the poor thing had been rattled all day– fell off his shoulder, and he spun, in slow motion, questions discernible on his face but struggling to make it out of his mouth. “How– We didn’t– I used–”

“What’s that thing they say– ninety-nine percent effective.” You shrugged blandly. “Guess we were the one percent.

It was strange having a man in the house, but there he was– Bradley Bradshaw, or Rooster, sat right at your kitchen table looking a lot like a man you’d once loved but hoped to forget.

There’s this story you loved to tell Poppy when she was young, dealing with the realities of bullies and snarky kids with nothing else to do but poke fun at her absent Father and questionable living circumstances. It was ironic, really, because it wasn’t like they were exactly well off, but kids were mean and you were sick of seeing your daughter upset everyday when there was nothing you could do.

So you told her the story of Pandora’s Box, or Jar, actually, as she corrected you, having read about it in the library but still entirely enchanted by your way of storytelling. It was like letting her in on a secret only grown-ups knew and Poppy was downright bewitched to be a part of the club.

It was never the whole let-out-everything-awful-and-wrong-with-the-world part of the story that was your motivation for telling it, or her love for hearing it, but rather, the ending.

After all the evil, poverty, greed and general nasties had escaped, tainting the world and the humans that inhabited it– out came hope, fluttering on its weak wings but beautiful all the same.

At the time, you’d believed hope to be this beacon of light, something to keep you going when nothing else could, when the bullies had you down bad.

Now, however, you saw hope as a cruel joke.

That after all of this negativity that had made mankind wrought with sin and selfishness, hope lingers about for no reason other than to yank your chain, keep the wheel of capitalism turning, the public nothing but a lot of pigs with hope dangled in front of them like an out-of-reach carrot.

You’d admit it’s a pessimistic take on the story, but it wasn’t long after Poppy was born that you realised hope was a sweet lie fed to the ignorant.

The proof of it sat right in front of you, looking exactly the same except for the way in which his hair tickled the tops of his ears, having grown out from his previous military-ordered buzzcut.

“Can I get you something? Tea? Water?” you asked, words maddeningly courteous as you yanked the fridge door open, searching for something to offer your guest.

He hadn’t said a word since you’d blurted it out an hour ago, instead, guiding him back into town, to your house, Poppy nowhere insight (likely hiding out until she’s certain you’ve cooled down, though unluckily for her, the very sight of her would have you revved up and raging whenever she dared make an appearance).

Rooster stared at a single tile on the opposite end of the kitchen, fixated and motionless like a statue and nothing like the passionate, begging man from earlier.

“Helllooo?” you asked again, waving a hand in front of his face that snapped him from whatever trance he’d been under. He blinked at you, face blank enough to unnerve you. He should’ve said something by now, right?

“Water would be good, thank you,” he answered eventually, hoarse like he hadn’t spoken in years. You nodded, pulling a glass from the cabinet and letting the sink run into it before placing it on the plastic-topped table in front of him.

You sat down on the only other usable chair that happened to be right next to him, the other two with the unstable legs and missing backrests having only been kept to make your kitchen look a little less incomplete.

You both sat in silence, one that seemed just about never ending and had you gnawing on your lips and nails like a mad man. He looked over at you, noting your anxious state, and pulling your hand away from your mouth. It was infuriating, the way he acted like no time had passed.

Well it had if your daughter was any indication. A whole lifetime had come and gone, for you, at least, and he couldn’t ignore it away, not like the rest of his problems or like he’d done with you. You were about to say as much, going off like you’d been itching to since you’d set sights on him, but he beat you to it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He wasn’t looking at you, but you didn’t need to see him to hear the distress in his voice, and beneath that, a restrained sort of anger.

“I had nothing to tell,” was all you offered him, and his gaze snapped to you in the blink of an eye, his temper apparent on his features as that one vein at the top of his forehead stood proud, face going scarlet as he held himself back.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he spit out, unbelieving. “Nothing to tell?” he repeated. “I have a daughter, for Christ’s sake! One I would’ve loved to know about if you’d done me the courtesy of actually letting me in!”

Your hands clenched into tight fists, fingers twitching. “What? Like you were any better when you up and left?”

He was shaking his head at you, unwilling to hear anything you were saying, and you were no different. “It’s not the same fucking thing, you know that. I had to leave. It’s my job, my duty, to my country and to–”

“Well what about me, huh?” you bellowed, reaching decibels you didn’t think were physically possible. Yet there you were, defying all odds. “What about your duty to me? To us? You promised–”

“I know what I promised you, but how could I give you anything– a life, a home, a family, a future– if I was broke and unemployed. Money doesn’t grow on trees, sweetheart, not here in the real world.”

You couldn’t take it, exploding out of your chair. He didn’t know, couldn’t know, what you’d been through, what you’d fought past. But he followed close behind, grabbed you by your wrist until you had no choice but to face him.

Rooster’s breaths escaped him in hard bursts, and you looked no better with the flush creeping up your neck and the scowl permanently etched to your face.

“That’s pure coming from you, the same man who was throwing away his life to join the army, giving up a paying job, all because his ego wouldn’t let him work for his Dad.”

Bradley recoiled like you’d slapped him.

“You weren’t around to see me working two, sometimes three if I could manage it, jobs– for years, Bradley, years. It was hard, so fucking hard, but I did it because I had someone dependant on me. I wasn’t alone, living like some unattached bachelor. I worked myself to the bone for her– for Poppy.” You were close to sobbing by then, the weight of it all finally registering. “Because if I didn’t, no one would.”

He looked like he wanted to argue more but thought better of it in the end, letting go of his hold on you and moving to lean his forehead against the wall in the living room. You watched, not wanting to move lest he remember you’re still there and end up going for a second round. You couldn’t, yearning for respite of any kind.

And his head turned from where he was, catching the chest of drawers nestled in front of the window with photos of you and Poppy adorning every inch of its surface. He walked over, wordless.

You joined him where he stood, hand brushing against his, by accident, you’d tell yourself later, but when you tried to move away, he slipped his fingers through yours, squeezing hard.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though there was no one else to hear it, no one but you.

You nodded, accepting his apology, then realising he wasn’t looking at you, you said, “Me too. I’m sorry.”

He reached forward, picking up a photo of Poppy at age two, hair in pigtails, chubby knees covered in sand at the beach. It was the first time she’d gone into the water and you wanted to live in that moment forever, freeze it and hold it close to your chest. It had seemed like the biggest milestone at the time, and you remember wishing he was there to treasure it as well.

“I know why you did it,” he admitted, and you faltered from where you stood. “And I’m not going to stand her and pretend like I would have dropped everything, put everything on pause, for the two of you. I can’t guarantee that, knowing who I was back then.” You inhaled shakily, eyes glassy from barely-held-back tears.

Bradley turned to you abruptly, hand sliding out of yours to hold your face instead, close and intimate. Like nothing had changed.

You didn’t fight it, savouring the feeling of being held, of relinquishing control to someone else, if only for a second. “But that’s not who I am anymore. I don’t care about what happened and what didn’t. I’m here now, and, if you’d let me, I’d like to stay. Learn a little more about you, and about– about Poppy, as well.”

You searched his face for any hint of a lie, that innate urge to protect your child at all cost threatening to label Bradley’s confession as pretence. It’d be easier if it was, you thought, if things weren’t so complicated and you could just say no.

But no matter how hard you looked, how long as well, you found nothing, only love and a sincerity you couldn’t possibly fault, even if you were still broken and bruised from years of delayed burn-out.

So you did the only reasonable thing one could do. You nodded, complimenting it with a watery smile he chuckled lowly at.

“Yeah? Gonna take a chance on me, sweetheart?” he asked, needing confirmation but unable to hide his budding rapture.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Okay, okay. I think– maybe, we can work something out.”

He grinned and fuck– was he a vision. No matter how you framed the past, it was all going to be both of yours’ fault for what happened, and how it did. His for leaving and yours for keeping the child you shared a secret.

And it wasn’t like the road ahead was going to be at all easy, you’d accepted your fate already. But maybe, and you might have been overstepping or consumed by an unexpected wave of euphoria that impaired your judgement– but maybe a family was worth fighting for.

After all, the best things in life, the things truly worth having and celebrating, were never meant to be easily acquired, otherwise you’d just take them for granted.

You didn’t take this for granted, and you didn’t let the hassle deter you.

For the first time in a long time, you had hope, and there was nothing cruel or funny about it.

Hope you enjoyed this <3 Reblogs & Comments are love love loved!

+ my masterlist

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw angst #rooster bradshaw angst #rooster bradshaw oneshot #bradley bradshaw oneshot #top gun: maverick fanfiction #top gun: maverick #miles teller #miles teller x reader #take a chance on me #my writing #mamma mia!

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irwinsblender · 4 months

Text

sickness

a/n: wrote this fic bc i’ve been on and off with random illness for the past couple of months which i’m still dealing with (😞) but, that inspired me to write this.. so taking some positives from the negatives ig lol

pairing: ashton x reader

summary: you’ve been getting sick a lot recently and ashton is there to care for you

warnings: brief mentions of throwing up

word count: 1.8k

✩ ✩ ✩

after a couple of months of endless sickness, you thought you could be starting to go down the right path with being healthy again.

the past two months had been exhausting, you picked up a cold after visiting family and after that went away, it came back a week later. recovering from that, you thought you were in the clear.. until you felt sick one night and couldn’t seem to keep any food down.

whenever you were sick, ashton was always there to care for you as long as you needed. which you were always very appreciative for.

you were finally back to being yourself again. or so you thought.

ashton had a few studio days planned with the guys, ready to do some recording for their next album. he reassured you that he wouldn’t go if you still weren’t feeling 100%. you told him you were fine and urged him to go, which he did.

you thought you were fine, out of that danger zone of picking up other illnesses. however, you were clearly mistaken.

you’d been feeling unwell again for the past two days, a horrendous headache, stomach ache, nausea, the whole lot. at first you were going to blame it on food poisoning. but, you’d only eaten a microwave pasta meal for dinner last night, so it couldn’t be that.

by the time it was getting to evening, you were sure this was the worst you’d felt. no appetite, feeling slightly light headed. you convinced yourself getting an early night would help.

walking into your bathroom, using the sink for brushing your teeth and washing your face, you leaned down for a moment, not long, just to rinse your face. that was clearly too long for the blood to circulate properly, as when you stood upright, you blacked out instantly.

reaching around, you tried to stop yourself from falling, but it was no use. slamming your head into the wall, hitting the ground pretty hard, you knew there would be bruising.

it took a few moments but your vision came back to you, kind of. your sight was blurred, perhaps from hitting your head. you knew you should be calling ashton at this point, but you didn’t need him to worry about you again already.

instead, you called 911, thinking that would be best after hitting your head. they sent an ambulance and you were on your way to the emergency room in no time.

they did a few tests, gave you ice and pain medication for your head and without you knowing, they called ashton. the first person on your emergency contact list.

your tests were completely normal, a relief that nothing was seriously wrong with you. however, you’d hoped they’d find something to explain your bout of constant sickness as of recently.

you were given the all okay to go home by your doctor, only being told to rest for a few days and make sure you eat and drink enough.

you were about to figure out a way to get home when you heard your boyfriend’s familiar voice.

“babe? there you are!” he rushed over, seeing the ice you were holding. “are you okay? what happened?”

“ash? what’re you doing here?” you asked. “i thought you were at the studio?”

“i was,” he paused, sitting down beside you. “the hospital called, told me you were here.”

you looked down, feeling bad for not telling him what had been going on, not knowing how to explain that you had come down with sickness a further time.

“i blacked out,” you admitted, removing the ice from your head for a moment to show where you ended up having to get stitched up. “hit my head and ended up with everything looking blurry for a good thirty minutes.”

“oh, baby.” ashton sighed, placing his arm around your shoulders to pull you into his embrace. “have you not been feeling well again?”

you nodded, looking down, “for a couple of days.” you explained. “lost my appetite and haven’t had much energy.”

“did they check your temperature?” he asked, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead. “you’re hot.”

“kind of you to compliment me when i’ve never looked worse.” you glanced up at him, tiny smirk on your face.

ashton nudged your shoulder, shaking his head. you knew what he meant, sometimes you just can’t help yourself.

“yes, they checked my temperature,” you chuckled. “it’s up a little, they gave me some medication for that.”

“good,” he replied. “you had blood tests done?”

he pointed to your left arm, noticing a piece of cotton taped over the middle of your arm. you looked down for a moment, almost too tired to have to explain everything the doctors did.

“yea,” you answered. “they didn’t find anything wrong, they think it’s just a bad fever.”

“and what about all the other times you’ve been sick in the last two months,” he questioned. “surely they have some answers for that.”

“they think i’ve just got a weak immune system since i’m at home a lot of the time.”

“oh,” ashton sighed. “you can blame me for that, i’ve been writing and going to the studio which leaves you with nothing to do.”

“i’m not blaming you, ash,” you shook your head at him. “i work from home, which gives me little time to socialise with people. it’s since the pandemic, we both know that.”

ashton nodded, taking in what you were saying. he was about to add to what you said, when a nurse walked over with a clipboard and medication.

“anti nausea pills,” she explained, passing them to you. “you can take one every six hours as needed until your symptoms wear off.”

she smiled, giving another all clear for you to go home with Ashton. you kept hold of the ice pack, ashton took hold of your pills for now. he lead you out to his car, helping you inside first before he got into the drivers side.

the drive home was quiet, but short thankfully. the same as when you left the hospital, ashton helped you out of his car and up to your doorstep, unlocking the door for you before letting you in first.

he locked up for the night, slipping his shoes and jacket off before helping you to get your shoes off too.

“let’s get you up to bed, yea?” ashton suggested, you agreed, just wanting to lay down and relax.

holding onto your hand as you took one step at a time, you felt much better in ashton’s presence. he was here for if anything else happened, for if you felt sick, if you needed your pills or anything to eat or drink. he always cared for you.

once to your room, you laid down on your bed with your pillows propped up slightly. ashton covered you with your blankets, sitting beside you for a moment.

“do you need anything?” he asked. “water? a snack?”

“can you get me some water?” you asked quietly. “i think i should take one of those nausea pills.”

“of course, baby,” he smiled softly, leaving the room to grab a glass of water for you.

while he was gone, you stayed in bed, ice pack on your head, which was starting to melt and would be used up soon.

you stared in front of you, thinking about the past two months. it had been a lot. a lot of sickness, not getting out of bed very much, having to cancel dates with ashton because you felt terrible in yourself.

it had been incredibly draining. you’d reached a breaking point this time.

ashton didn’t expect to hear quiet sobs as he walked back up the stairs with your water and pills. he slowly pushed the door open, seeing you’d placed the ice pack beside you with your face hidden behind your hands.

“my love,” he softly spoke as he placed the water down on your nightstand, the pills next to it. “what’s wrong?”

he crouched down next to the bed, slowly pulling your hands away from your face, holding them in his as he caressed his thumbs across the backs.

“i’m just tired,” you cried out, the tears flowing down your cheeks. “i’m tired of being so sick all the time, i have nearly no energy to do anything, i just wanna know what’s wrong with me.”

you let out a shaky breath at the end of your sentence, ashton frowned, hating seeing you like this.

“let me come and lay with you.” ashton stood up, letting go of your hands for a moment.

he slipped under your covers, shuffling so he could be right next to you. he took one of your hands, entwining his fingers with yours.

“there might not necessarily be anything wrong right now,” ashton tried to think of what to say carefully. “you might just be going through a phase of illness, it can happen.”

you wipe your tears with your free hand, not baring to look over at ashton.

“not like this,” you shook your head. “i’ve thrown up more times in these past two months than i have my whole life.”

“i think you’re being unlucky, baby. i know it’s been hard on you, but you had tests done and nothing was wrong, right?”

“i guess.” you folded your arms, letting go of his hand in the process.

“i know things are tough, and feel never ending,” ashton placed his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “but, you’re gonna be okay, i’ll stay here with you while you rest up and try to get your strength back. anything you need, I’ll be right here.”

you leaned to rest your head on his shoulder, sighing quietly before glancing up to him.

“i’m sorry I’m being like this.” you apologized. “even though they did tests, i still feel like there’s something else going on with me.”

“tell you what,” ashton runs his hand up and down your side to comfort you. “why don’t we monitor how you feel, write it down each day to see if things change.”

you nodded, liking that idea.

“if you keep getting sick, or if your symptoms never go away, we can go straight back to the hospital or to see a doctor.”

“okay.” you meekly replied.

ashton gave a reassuring smile, kissing the top of your head, “is there anything else you need me to do?” he asked, prepared to go and get anything you needed.

“just want some cuddles.” you looked up at him, forcing a smile.

he nodded, laying down more to pull you to rest your head against his shoulder. his arms around you as you leaned against him. more comfortable than you have been for the past few days. after a few moments, you let out a quiet yawn. one ashton still heard.

“get some sleep if you need to, baby,” he whispered. “i’ll be right here with you.”

“i love you, ash.” you said before drifting off to sleep.

“i love you too,” ashton sighed, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, happy that you’re finally getting the rest you needed. “get well soon, angel.”

✩ ✩ ✩

#5sos #5 seconds of summer #ashton irwin #ashton irwin fanfic #ashton irwin imagine #ashton irwin x reader #5sos fanfic #5sos imagine #5sos imagines #ashton irwin fluff #ashton irwin angst #5sos x reader #ashton irwin imagines

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slightly-warmer-hibiscus-tea · 29 days

Text

CW: OC talk + Rambling / Blood / Gore / Censored Nudity (character sheet) / Mentions of Drugging

(idk why these warnings are so intense, but I swear it's all just silly OC talk T^T)

I’m kinda sorta working on more (comprehensible) TS OC stuff in between studying right now… I wanna hurry and talk about them but without info dumping (if given the opportunity I will without hesitation 😔…) because in terms of the best stories I have conjured up for OCs in general Naudedel and Noble are surprisingly good and I’m very excited to share how deranged they are together…

Right now it’s just about making Naudy readable and working on extra fun stuff… like monsters!

I’m trying to work out his “monster” form…. The concept is there, but the execution is just not ticking the right boxes for me right now… also, the line art at the end is old and probably will go unused, but thought it was something to add here because like hehe look at my deranged son :)

When it comes to the writing I'm going to split it into two chapters. The first half will be a summary+ of his upbringing, and the second on how he fucked up his arm and why. Just enough info to get a read on what his deal is pretty much. I just need to edit the first chapter and rewrite some parts then it's ready to annoy the world!

I'm trying to think of a good design for his original mother... I'm thinking dark hair and milf (¬‿¬)･ﾟ✧ ... honestly I need to start drawing out the designs for all the other TS OCs I've accumulated over the year (?) here's a fun list-

Hickery (bloodhound OC... dilf oc...I've already been made fun of for his name, but it stuck to me so I'm keeping it!)

Maya (another bloodhound OC)

Cove (Hound's ex-husband)

Cetcher's gf + informant, who still needs a good name...

and that one guy! (doesn't have a name yet... but is important in Hound's part of the story... she bashed some of his guys in the back of head with a hammer... it was a whole thing... Leander got involved... gang war stuff, don't worry about it...)

There are technically more OCs, like that Hightown lady Noble befriended during their first few weeks in town. However, I'm not sure if I'm including her in the final plot meeting. But yeah, anyway I'm rambling so on to Noble news!

For Noble, everything is plotted out in advance surprisingly…character playlist and all... just need to find the words to explain their story other than “parasite with a weird God complex feels guilty” I do have some old memes and art of them though!

Noble curse stuff...

Childhood cult stuff...

Current reality...

Poor person masquerade dress censored for tumblr...

Noble folks!

I actually wrote out a whole little thing for the black dress in a what-if scenario of...

"Oh! ,,,What if there is a masquerade in Hightown and Noble sneaks in to get some information on a certain individual who might know a thing or two about curses, but turns out the whole event if devious and their all eating babies or some fucked up shit,,,, and what if while sneaking around they see Leander and are like 'what's he doing here?' and they lock eyes but he ignores them as he ducks into a closed off area with some important looking people,,, once he comes out he walks past them and they lock eyes again as he leaves,,, Noble chases after him and once they catch up they get to see his cold and detached side right before he hides them from the other guest,,, after they talk for a bit, or more like Leander talking over them and their worries as he slowly wipes their memories while they protest that it's not fair only to wake up the next day back in their room,,, thankfully their curse is good for more then just silly bouts of insanity so they have a hunch on what happened, everyone around them who knew where they went the night before were obviously worried and the general consensus is that they might have been drugged and should go check in with Kuras just in case (wow this is getting long...) but on their way to the clinic they run into Leander and of course discusses their current problem with him ,,, words are exchanged,,, a kabedon may occur,,, as he whispers in their ear,,, all fun till he erases their memories again, or at least tires before receiving a little gift that makes him look at this whole curse thing from a different angle." DEEP BREATH! ...Anyways... yeah.

But it was taking so long to write out that I ended up losing motivation so yeah... like everything else we will pray the motivation comes back so I can finish that... plus who knows, I might make an x reader version of it if I can. (don't hold your breath... I'm extremely slow)

Anyway, I'm gonna to shut up now because I've yapped enough. I'mma make some hibiscus tea (ironic) and head to bed... Night night, if you made it this far, thank you for listening to my craziness <3

#rambles #oc: naudedel #oc: noble #touchstarved oc

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atlabeth · 11 months

Text

i’m your gal — jesper fahey

summary: two durasts in the barrel, one a sharpshooter and one a gunsmith. blackmail’s really the only answer, isn’t it?

a/n: blackmail is love in the barrel i guess. also fun fact: i started this before i even started six of crows because i guess i think i don’t need to know the source material that i write fic for anymore but now ive read both soc and ck so im good

wc: 3.7k

warning(s): fem!reader, blackmail obviously. guns, talks of death, constant threats, questionable romantic tactics. kaz hates everything

You were roused from an unpleasant bout of sleep by knocking—slamming, rather—against your door. You frowned as you rubbed your eyes and stood up from your chair.

You had to stop falling asleep at your desk, you thought sourly as you walked through the narrow hallway to your “front door”. When you opened it, you weren’t surprised by what you saw.

“Fahey,” you said flatly. “I assume you’re here—”

“For my gun,” he said, pushing past you to get inside. “Yes, that would be right. Shoddy service that it took you all this time to get here.”

You scowled as you shut the door and followed him. “My hours haven’t even started, azel. You’re lucky I’ve even let you in—I should charge you double the kruge for your nerve.”

“Yeah, but you can’t deny your handsomest customer.” He winked at you, and you rolled your eyes as you pushed open the door to your office. At least he had the decency to wait for that.

“My most annoying customer,” you corrected. “Tell me, do you get your nerve from Novyi Zem or the Wandering Isle?”

“Neither,” he said, his hand resting on his holster as he, per course, refused to take a seat. “It’s all homegrown by yours truly.”

“How lovely,” you said wryly. You took a seat at your pathetic excuse of a desk and stared at him. “Do you have the rest of my money?”

“As if I would walk in here without all my payment,” Jesper said. He pulled out a few wads of bundled up kruge, and you raised an eyebrow as you took them. You pulled the bands off and began to count, not bothering to look up at him as you spoke.

“How much of this did you gamble away before today?” you asked. “If it’s honestly all here, then you’ll have surprised me, Fahey.”

Jesper pressed a hand to his heart. “You wound me. Of course it’s all there.”

“Forgive me for my assumptions,” you said wryly. “Your reputation just precedes you.”

“These guns are more important than my life,” said Jesper, and you couldn’t tell whether or not he was joking. “The money’s all there.”

You finished counting—it really was all there, though the differing amounts of wear and grime on the bills showed he had in fact won some of it back—and you chuckled. “Congratulations. You’ve managed not to be a thief for one day.”

“That wounds me further,” Jesper commented, and he crossed his arms. “Now, I’d like to see my pistols, new and old. It’s been very difficult living without them these past few weeks.”

“My work doesn’t come cheap, Fahey,” you said as you knelt down, “and it doesn’t come quick either.”

You pulled your knife out of its sheath and pried up the floorboard from underneath the spot your chair usually was, then turned the lock back and forth until your safe opened. You pulled out the guns and set them on your desk, standing back up as you shut the safe with the heel of your boot.

“Well,” you said, “what do you think?”

You could have sworn he went a little teary-eyed, and you couldn’t help but smile.

When Jesper Fahey, sharpshooter for the Dregs and well-known for his ability to gamble away his life’s savings in a night, nearly toppled your door from his amount of knocking, you had half a mind to turn him away. But his Fabrikator-made, Zemeni revolvers were almost as beautiful as him, and when he offered to pay you a whole lot of kruge to make an exact replica, you could hardly turn it down.

He carried twin revolvers everywhere he went, but apparently, during a heist gone wrong, one of the twins was fatally wounded. Jesper himself was a Durast, but he told you he wasn’t nearly skilled enough to bring it back to life. Word had spread of your abilities—a little more than you’d have liked, if you were being honest—and he found his way to your door. It took a lot of convincing to get him to leave the other with you so you could make a true replica, and you could tell every step taken without them at his side hurt.

He picked up the pistol you’d made. He held it up to the light, knocked his knuckles against it, looked at it from every angle possible, then held up his other one and looked at it in comparison from every angle possible. Jesper spun out the barrel, clicked it back in, and did the same thing a few more times until he looked at you and grinned.

“She’s beautiful,” Jesper whispered, and he tucked them into his holsters. A weight visibly lifted off his shoulders, and the electric energy that always buzzed around him seemed to dissipate some. “How do you do it? How did you get it exactly the same? Even the pearls— the damn sheen is the same.”

You shrugged. “It’s my job. I’m good at it.”

He shook his head. “I could kiss you right now. You’re incredible.”

“You’re pretty, Fahey, but you’re annoying.” You smiled. “Let’s stick to business.”

“How are you not indentured by now?” he asked incredulously. “Surely some merch has gotten their claws in you.”

“I told you,” you said with a slight smile, “I’m good at my job. And my job includes staying independent.”

“Surely everyone knows you’re Grisha by now,” said Jesper.

You shrugged. “No one can prove anything. And if you say a word,” you looked at his guns, “I’ll give them a slow death.”

Jesper’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You offered another pleasant smile. “Get out of my office, Fahey.”

“Pleasure doing business with you,” called Jesper as he walked out, a hand held up in parting as he left you with a wink.

You just huffed a laugh and shook your head. One credit to Ketterdam was that you were never bored.

“Kaz,” Jesper begged, “please.”

“Absolutely not,” he stated. “We don’t have the resources.”

“She is the resources!” he exclaimed. “She’s a Durast, and she makes the best weapons I’ve ever seen. Besides, she doesn’t have to be part of your circle—she’ll do fine as a plain old Dreg, or even just a supplier.”

“You’re a Durast,” Kaz said coldly. “Can you not do exactly what she does?”

“No,” Jesper insisted, “nobody can. She makes a living off of selling her Grisha weapons because they’re unmatched by anyone else’s.”

“I’m aware,” he said. “I’ve been keeping tabs on her ever since she sold her first weapon in the Barrel. She hasn’t encroached on our territory, so I’ve let her be.”

“So you know everything she can do,” Jesper said. “Even more reason to hire her.”

“I don’t see why you don’t just improve your abilities.”

“I don’t know, Kaz,” he said, making a mockery of his words, “I might just be trying to avoid earning an indenture.”

“She’s not indentured,” Kaz pointed out.

“Because nobody knows that they’re Grisha weapons, not for sure, besides me.”

“I know,” said Kaz.

“You know everything,” Jesper grumbled. “And any other person in the Barrel who has experience with Fabrikator weapons, I suppose, but that’s not the point.” Jesper’s eyes glistened. “There are a whole lot of suspicions floating around. And that’s how we get her.”

“…You’re suggesting we blackmail her,” Kaz said, and he leaned back in his chair.

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Jesper said, “but, uh—yes.” He cleared his throat. “We would be blackmailing her.”

“Go on,” he said.

“It’s pretty simple,” Jesper shrugged. “She works for us for a reduced rate, we promise not to throw her to the wolves. You get to keep most of your kruge, she gets to keep her life and most of her independence, and we get the best weapons on this side of the True Sea for the Dregs.”

“Interesting.” Kaz glanced down at his papers then back at Jesper. “Anything else?”

His eyes glinted. “I saw Pekka Rollins outside her building the other day. I’ve heard through some circles that he secretly commissioned a few weapons from her—my bet is that he was testing her goods, and now he wants her permanently on his side.”

Kaz’s jaw clenched. Thank the Saints for his grudge, because it would make this a lot easier.

“Talk to Inej and Nina. See if they know anything I don’t.” Highly unlikely, Jesper wanted to say, seeing as Dirtyhands knew everything that went on in the Barrel, but he nodded. “If you’re lucky, we’ll pay her a visit tonight.”

“You’re actually agreeing with me,” Jesper marveled. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

Kaz scowled. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“I would never.” Jesper grinned, already starting to back towards the door. “You’d better prepare for a midnight escapade.”

He didn’t wait for a response—likely that he wouldn’t get one anyway—and shut the door with a sigh behind him. Jesper practically flew down the stairs, never so thankful for the rarity that was both Nina and Inej idling. They were sat at the bar together conversing, and without much care for it all, Jesper slid in next to them.

“What an entrance,” remarked Inej.

“I know how to make them,” he said, “but we tragically don’t have time to talk about my greatness. What do you two know about the gunsmith near the Exchange?”

“Above the bakery?” Nina asked. Jesper nodded, and she grinned. “The Grisha Gunsmith. She’s playing a dangerous game.”

Inej frowned. “How do you know?”

Jesper glanced at her. “You didn’t know?”

“Of course I know.” Inej sounded almost offended. “I just wanted to know how you know.”

“I can just sense it,” she said. “Maybe it’s a Heartrender thing.”

“It is not a Heartrender thing,” Jesper scoffed. “I know about her and I’m not a Heartrender.”

“I believe Nina,” Inej said, and Jesper groaned.

“You are all impossible, do you know that?”

Nina laughed and she held up a hand. “Alright. Yes, I know she’s Grisha, and we’re decently acquainted. Most of the Grisha in Ketterdam know each other—we pass things along, try and keep each other safe.”

“So?” Jesper leaned forward. “Have you got anything?”

“She was born in Ketterdam. Had a brief spout at the university before she dropped out, and then she decided to make a living in the Barrel.” She shrugged. “At least, that’s what she’s told me.”

“That’s why she seems so familiar!” Jesper exclaimed. “We had a class together! I hardly remember what it was, but it’s not like it really matters now, but still—dropping out of university to recklessly sell weapons.” He couldn’t help but smile. “Truly a woman after my own heart.” He then turned to Inej. “What have you, Wraith?”

“All of that is true,” Inej said, inclining her head. “She’s been making weapons since her university days, and she’s done freelance work for a lot of gangs over the years. The Razorgulls seem to favor her, but Pekka Rollins and his Dime Lions seem to like her too, especially as of late.”

“Interesting, interesting.” Jesper nodded a few times. “Very interesting. At least I was right on the Rollins front.”

“I’ve also seen her around West Stave doing work,” Inej said. Usually her lip curled when she spoke of the canal, but instead there was a glint in her eye. “She slips weapons to girls who need it most.”

Jesper nodded, and he held Inej’s gaze for a moment longer. “Admirable.”

“Why are you so interested in this anyway?” Nina asked. “Seems a lot more trouble than it’s worth.”

“I want her on our team,” he said. “She’s brilliant. I only have until tonight to convince Kaz this is a worthy investment, and I convince him by convincing you.”

“Then convince us, Fahey,” Nina said with a smile.

“Our dear Wraith.” He clasped his hands together in front of Inej and he saw the mirth spark in her eyes. “How would you feel if your knives could never break?”

“They don’t break in the first place,” she said.

“But if they did,” Jesper said, “she could fix them.”

“Couldn’t you just do it?” she asked.

Jesper groaned and pulled back. “Why does everyone think I can do what she does just because I’m a Fabrikator too?”

“…I have seen some of her weapons,” Nina said. “They’re near indestructible. I’ve heard she makes her bullets too.”

“She does,” Jesper said, giddy like a little kid as he pulled out one of his pistols and set it on the table. “This is Ace made, and it’s the best damn thing I’ve ever held. Doesn’t it look exactly like my old one?”

Nina studied it, reaching out a hand that was then receded with the look Jesper gave her. “Very much like it.”

Inej, rather, cocked an eyebrow. “‘Ace made’?”

“That’s what she goes by,” he said. “Y’know, ‘ace shooter’ and all?”

“Nobody calls her that in the Barrel,” Nina said, a grin forming as she crossed her arms.

Jesper shrugged defensively. “I do. It’s catchier than the Grisha Gunsmith, and it doesn’t expose her.”

Nina leaned forward, that glint in her eye that Jesper didn’t exactly like. “Your heart is beating pretty fast for talk about guns and catchy nicknames.”

“Ah,” Inej nodded, “that’s why you want her to join us so badly.”

“I want her to be on our side because she makes incredible weapons,” huffed Jesper, “and because I certainly don’t want her as an enemy.”

“And because you think she’s beautiful,” Nina cooed.

“Which is not a crime,” Jesper defended. “So what? You flirt with anything that moves, Nina.”

She tipped her shoulder. “Fair.”

“I think getting her on our side is smart,” Inej said. “She deals a lot of quality weapons to a lot of gangs—funneling that straight to the Dregs would be of aid.”

“Thank you, Inej,” Jesper said solemnly. “Kaz holds your opinion much higher than any of ours.”

She glanced away, though the smallest smile curled on her lips. Nina grinned and nodded to Jesper.

“Good luck with all this,” Nina said. “I hope the blackmail doesn’t ruin your relationship too much.”

“This is the Barrel,” said Jesper. “Blackmail is practically flirting.”

“Saints, Jesper,” Nina muttered. “It really isn’t.”

Jesper had to admit, he did feel the slightest bit of guilt as he stood in front of your front door—rather, the door to the shoddy space you rented out above a bakery—Bastard of the Barrel next to him. Just this morning, you saved him from a fate worse than death and replicated his revolver with Fabrikator perfection he’d previously thought impossible.

And now, he was thanking you by getting you stuck with the Dregs.

Maybe blackmail didn’t pass as flirting, but it was just as common in the Barrel. It wasn’t something to make himself feel better, it was the truth—no matter how good you were, sooner or later, you would get caught up in a mess you couldn’t get out of. This was the smartest option.

Thankfully, he didn’t have time to revel in his thoughts for much longer as the door was opened, and you were remarkably poor at hiding your surprise. You looked a bit of a mess, and Jesper figured they were your rude awakening. You were still beautiful as ever, and he allowed a moment to take you in.

“Gentlemen,” you said levelly, staring at both of them. Jesper couldn’t remember the last time he’d been referred to as a gentleman—the word was probably foreign to Kaz. “What brings you back—” you glared at Jesper— “to my door at this hour?”

“A business offer.” Kaz looked every bit the intimidator and he wasn’t even trying. He was just standing there, gloved hands resting on the crow head of his cane, as he spoke with that coal rasp of a voice. “It would be smart to let us in.”

Maybe you were better at hiding your surprise than Jesper thought, because your expression remained as still as your voice as you stepped aside and let them both in. Jesper noticed you locked the door behind them. He didn’t know what use you thought that would be, but he understood—petty comforts were still comforts.

“Kaz Brekker,” you said, coming to a stop behind your desk. Your poster was a whole lot stiffer, tone much more restrained. “I never thought I would see you at my door. How’s your cane working for you?”

“I don’t need a replacement,” he said.

You hummed. “Good. I don’t much like crows.”

“Pity,” said Kaz. Jesper swallowed, fingers tapping nervously on his revolvers. He spent so much time around Kaz, he almost forgot what it was like for those that weren’t used to him. The man was terrifying when you didn’t know he wouldn’t kill you.

“Kvas?” you asked, holding the bottle up. Both of them shook their heads. You shrugged and poured a bit more in your glass.

“Remind you of home?” Jesper asked.

You huffed a laugh. “You could say that. Now, what do you two want?”

“Your service,” Kaz said.

You raised an eyebrow. “You, or the Dregs?”

“Both,” he answered.

The gesture turned to a frown. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“We want you to work with us,” Jesper translated. “We want you to be a Dreg.”

Your eyes flashed with something he couldn’t fully place. “And where is this coming from, Fahey?”

He shrugged. “We could use your skills.”

“My skills have been around for a while,” you said. You pulled out your knife from its sheath, and Jesper’s skin felt very fragile all of a sudden. He was very thankful when you instead started twirling it between your fingers. “Your intimate knowledge of my skills has only been around since this morning.”

“I’ve been aware of you since you first settled in the Barrel,” Kaz corrected, and he tapped his cane on the floor. “Since the moment you made your first payment on this wreck.”

“Of course,” you said wryly. “Did you know that I promised his guns a very slow death if he spread word of me?”

“His guns will remain unharmed,” Kaz said. “I can’t have a sharpshooter without pistols. And I can’t have a gunsmith without hands.”

Your burning gaze turned to Jesper. He almost took a step back from the force of it.

“I’m not stupid, gentlemen,” you said after a moment of angry staring. “I hear what they say about me, about the rumored Grisha gunsmith. I’ve managed to avoid an indenture by equal parts smarts and luck, but I have backroads—I can leave Ketterdam, Kerch as a whole, overnight if I have to. You don’t get to this place without being able to disappear.”

“You’ll find the Dregs are quite organized,” said Kaz, “and quite experienced at bringing our competition down. In spite of backroads.”

“Ah,” you said flatly, staring at the wall as you continued to play with your blade. “This is a threat.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Jesper shrugged. “You work with us, nobody will have confirmation that you’re Grisha. And if anyone tries anything with you, you’ll be protected.”

“And if I don’t?” you asked lazily.

“You’ll end up indentured to some lecher or dead on the streets within a week,” Kaz said.

Your lips twisted into a smile, which Jesper assumed was more of a facade than anything. “I love dealing with you Dregs. Straight to the point.”

“It’s a better deal than anyone else would give you,” Jesper said.

“You come in here, threaten me and my business, and ask me to work for you for free?” You laughed sharply, stabbing the blade you’d been twirling across your fingers into the wood of your desk. “You’ve got some nerve, Dirtyhands.”

“It’s a simple choice,” he said, gloved fingers running down the head of his cane. “I assume you’re intelligent enough to make the right one.”

“And it’s not exactly for free,” Jesper added. “You’ll get a base rate from Per Haskell. And you can still take commissions from anybody so long as they’re allied with us.”

“So you’re telling me no more special orders for Mister Rollins,” you said wryly, eyes narrowed on Kaz.

Nothing in his expression changed, though the rasp of his voice became a bit rougher. “No. And I expect a detailed summary of all the work you’ve ever done for the Dime Lions.”

You huffed as you pulled the blade out. “I always thought I’d end up floating in the harbour or indentured to some councilman before I ended up working for the Bastard of the Barrel.”

“It’s not all bad,” said Jesper with a shrug. “We’re quite good company, if I say so myself.”

Your eyes trailed over to his forearm, his rolled up sleeve revealing the ink of the Dregs. “When do you mark me?”

“After you sign the contract,” Kaz said.

“It’ll be extra protection,” Jesper said. “Another bonus. Much less likely to get nabbed off the street if you’ve got the Dregs on your arm.”

You stared at both of them for a good, long moment, hardened eyes narrowing in. Jesper could only guess at what was running through your mind at the moment. He knew he was thinking of how attractive you were when you looked like you wanted to drive that knife through both their hearts.

“I’ll be paid enough that I won’t lose this place,” you finally said.

Kaz nodded.

“And I’ll still be able to make a living through commissions to those allied with the Dregs.”

“To your heart’s content,” Jesper confirmed.

“I want you to do the tattoo,” you said, looking straight at Jesper. “You’re obviously the one that got me into this mess, so you might as well solidify it.”

Jesper shifted uneasily. He hoped you would renege on your promise of a slow death. “Right.”

Again, you stared at them. And then you sighed heavily, plucked the knife off the table, and shoved it in its sheath.

“I guess I’m your gal, then.” You threw back your glass of kvas, standing and offering a charming smile. “I hope you’ve got room for two Durasts, Mister Brekker. Otherwise, you’re the one that’ll be out on the street, pretty boy.”

Jesper’s eyes twinkled. “You think I’m pretty?”

“And far too annoying for your own good.”

He grinned. “You think I’m pretty.”

And the slight upturn of your lips was worth Kaz’s incredulous scoffs.

#jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey x you #jesper fahey x y/n #six of crows x reader #six of crows fanfic #grishaverse x reader #jesper fahey fic #sadie writes

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quindread · 1 year

Text

Constanstine starts acting sober on important missions/meetings for the JLD; he has a sanity-potion dealer

Zatanna reports this odd behavior to Batman, they interrogate him when his veins are swamped with alcohol.

C: … I-I know what yer doin’ [hiccups]

Z: We care for your well-being. You have bouts of sobriety that you seem to have control over.

B: Are you on something new?

C: M’yeah… is called a pwoz—piss—poise! Poise potion, yeah das it!

B: And who makes this “Poise” potion?

C: My dealah, my busniz. G’way! [stumbles out the door]

Z: … That went as well as expected.

Sober Constantine is actually more reasonable. Batman catches him after a meeting.

B: [observes his brushed hair and very high-quality, new trench coat] You’re sober… Congratulations?

C: Uhuh. Did you need something? I have some business elsewhere.

B: With your dealer?

C: [affronted] Wha—Who in their right bloody mind would dare call Celest that?

B: You did.

C: ….

B: Who’s Celest?

C: Oh, fuck me!

Constantine gives him an address - it’s in Milan, Lombardy (Region of Italy). He specifically instructs him to come as a civ along with Red Hood and Robin with the threat that he will erase their memories if they so much as go into detective mode.

Bruce Wayne and his two wayward children enters the teahouse and is led by the hostess to a private room. They are served with tea and light snacks that they know even Alfred would more than approve of.

A door opens - they didn’t even know it was one with the way the molding blends into each other seamlessly. And out came one of the most enchanting woman Bruce has ever seen. He’s seen his fair share of attractive females but he has never been star-struck like he should be - as if he were back to his pre-pubescent days.

M: Constantine said you’d be here.

B: [realizes that this person was Constantine’s dealer and was 100% magic] You’re his dealer?

*Jason and Damian who saw the look on their dad’s face snicker at his opening line*

M: [raises and elegant eyebrow at Bruce] And you must be his work associates?

J: Something like that, lady. I’m Jason, kid’s Damian, and the one who can’t stop staring at you is our Dad, Bruce.

*Bruce grumbles and Marinette smirks*

M: I’m Marinette. It’s a pleasure to meet you.

D: [gestures at Bruce] Pleasure is all his, Marinette.

B: [red at the ears] Their Grandfather thought them better, I swear.

M: Mhmm. I guess he didn’t teach them how to not die then?

The guys: ….

Jason gets a more potent version of the potion Constantine consumes - it’s a prescription that he has to come for every month. Damian gets a charm; ear cuffs because he does whatever her wants, a spontaneous orbital piercing is nothing. And Bruce gets Mari’s number.

(Tim also gets forwarded in his fave fashion label’s waitlist from the near thousands to the fourteenth - his first consultation coincides with Jason’s next appointment.)

AN: Some posts/fics call Mari Celestial Guardian. Idk where and when that happened - I have abandoned canon a long time ago. These are all pulled from my days in the maribat blackhole (still kinda stuck there). I basically pulled this out of my archives so they at least get the chance to see the daylight.

Addressing Brucinette: I have a whole re-written MLB plot in my archives where everything is more brutal and the miraculous aren’t actual pieces of accessories. Like there’s an initiation to the order and stuff like that. I normally don’t enjoy aging up characters in crossovers but Brucinette just works. I have a secretary AU somewhere (it’s tragic and I’m considering scrapping it if I find it). And I also have deep-rooted issues that wants me to write Good!Dad Bruce who has Mari breathing down his neck when he so much as raises his voice at his children (Muminette/Mominette is another breed scary). And those tropes where Mari sees right through Brucie? Has a second sense for the when the batkids are in/causes trouble? Love those. I WILL FIGHT FOR THIS SHIP. (Jk people are free to dislike this. I get it.)

#mlb x dc #john constantine #batkids #bruce wayne #justice league dark #maribat

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xxaraaq · 6 months

Text

𝟭𝟵𝟴𝟮

masterlist

wc | 3.2k

cw | angst, traumatic upbringing, unprotected sex, long distance relationship for a little while ig

Reiner x black! reader

A/N | This is prob my longest fic so far but I really enjoyed writing this and I cried a lot. I hope y'all enjoy. Not edited btw so don't mind any mistakes.

The first time you told him that you wanted to move away when the time came to decide what you wanted to do with your life, he didn’t think much about it. Your opinions regarding your future fluctuated constantly, from what you wanted to have as a snack to what you wanted to be when you grew up. You could never decide on one thing for long. You were only nine at the time, and you left it at that. He was still glad that you dropped it nonetheless, for it would hurt him beyond measure to watch you leave. The two of you went to the creek to play with the other kids after that, and his thoughts were occupied on other things such as getting back at a boy called Clarence for pushing you onto a pile of rocks after you told him to leave you alone. Reiner’s always been like that, walking the extra mile for you whenever you needed it, even if you didn’t ask. He was the type to stand behind you when you were deep in a conversation with someone else, quietly hanging onto every word as you went on without a care in the world. It was simple, and he liked it like that.

The second time he remembers you bringing it up, it was around freshman year of highschool. Things had started getting stressful at home, with your father having gotten caught in an affair and your mother turning to wine to cope. Those days were mainly spent at his fathers farm, helping him with his chores and anything that needed tending too. He always noticed how you would come to him with dry tears staining your face, but he never said anything about it. He was just happy that you were coming to him when things got hard, and you were happy that he was there through it all. Your bouts of sadness would never last long with him though, he would always be able to cheer you up no matter what went on in your home. You would come over so often that his mom would make you a plate once it was time for dinner. It was a normal day, you were helping Reiner with carrying hay bales for his horses, when it came out.

“I think I wanna move to a big city, like New York and LA once I graduate.” You say, mind fixated on not getting bit by Daisy, the feistiest horse you think you’ve ever met. He stops in his tracks, looking at you with a shocked face. “Why would you wanna do that?” He asks, concern lacing his tone. “I don’t know. I think I’m just tired of all the bullshit that comes with this sucky ass town. I wanna be able to live my life without anyone trying to strike down my dreams just cus’ they think it’s not the way I should be living.” You shrug, petting her as she chews on the straws of hay. He doesn’t really know what to think, but it makes him nervous. He knows that you have a multitude of reasons for wanting to get out, but he doesn’t want to see you go, especially not without him. It scared him, but he wasn’t going to let his fear outway his advice for you.

“Well I think you should do whatever makes you the happiest, I would hate to see you stay here in plain old misery just because you chose the thing that would make other people happy.” You smile at him, knowing that he talks purely out of his heart, and not just saying what you want to hear. His wholeness is your favorite quality about him. He’s never been one to shy away from the truth, and he always has your best interest in mind, even if it wasn't the best for him. “Awww, really?” You coo, walking up to him. “Yeah, why not? Why should you stay here if you don’t want to? Because of what other people might say? Screw that, it’s your life, and you shouldn’t be living it for others who don’t actually give a damn about you.”

Without a doubt, those conversations were your favorites. You could be open and vulnerable with worrying about being judged or brushed off. It was talks of real life that constantly reminded you that Reiner was truly a good friend, a good person. He would actually listen instead of simply hearing to respond. It made you feel heard, made you feel like you weren’t out of your mind. It was the same for him as well. Whenever he talked about the pressures that his father put on him about being a leader, being responsible, and putting family above everything; he knew that all it took was a knock on your door and you would be there for him, comforting him with honest words and a tight embrace if need be. It was the perfect relationship, easy and smooth.

Until he started to fall in love.

He knew when he started to look at you in a different way, he wasn’t oblivious. He grew, so did you. The person you were sprouting into amazed him. You were kind, but not a pushover. Firm, but not some – well, most of the time. He was mesmerized by all parts of you, good and bad. You couldn’t lie when you thought he turned out just as fine, if not finer than all the other boys you grew up with. He was a solid six one, with years of hard labor showing on his body. He was still a gentleman, which is what you think is what you loved most about him. He was the sweetest boy you’ve ever known, and it wasn’t just for show. He was everything if not one for chivalry, always opening doors and being polite, slinging out “Yes ma’am” and “No sir”, just like he was taught. He was what every mother wanted their daughter to bring home, but he only had eyes for you. People could see it too, that’s why no one tried to steer his attention from you. He was the first and last person you saw every night, and were both fine with that. You would take long drives in his truck in the early mornings of the weekend, and spend time together in his cargo bed on late Sunday. It was peaceful, just you and him. He knew that you were starting to catch on, but he wanted to enjoy it, because talks of favorite tv characters turned into what colleges were being applied to. The unburdened era of childhood was slowly coming to an end, and it was frightening.

Frightening because you would have obligations to take care of, frightening because he knew that his endless conversations were manifesting.

Frightening because he knew his time with you was coming to an end.

Your mothers addiction had gotten much worse over the course of time, leaving you to have to deal with her hysteria. Reiner lost track of the amount of times you had called him on the landline, practically begging him to come pick you up, to save you from the cloud that has consumed your mother, from the feelings that brew inside you. You had grown sick of the stuffy place you call your hometown, and he had caught on quick – he always does.

The last time you talked about it was the summer after graduating. Your dynamic had changed, longing gazes had been throwing and touches had been shared. It was getting more romantic, more intimate. Reiner’s father decided that he should go stay at his grandmother's lake house for the summer, and that he should bring you. You knew you could go without having to ask, so off the two of you went. The ride was easy, songs being sung along to and many stops being made for pictures and pee breaks. The house was beautiful, with the frontside facing the beach. You settled in quickly, buzzing with excitement as you ran to the clear blue water. Many days were spent like this, the pair of you swimming and laughing and kissing in solidarity. It was what he dreamed of, being alone with you to just soak in your presence, nobody calling his name and nothing to worry about. It was bliss, until it wasn’t.

Summer was coming to a close, with only two weeks until fall semester began. He drove you two home, the air different from usual. He knew the privacy you had with him was going to change the nature of your relationship, but it still bothered him inside. During it all, he noticed that you would be awake in the early morning, asking your mother about a letter. He knew you wouldn’t talk to the woman unless it was of absolute importance, you despised her after all. You seemed more nervous the closer you got, but he tried not to think too much of it, summing it up to having jitters on going to college.

It wasn’t until you called him a couple days later with dread in your voice that he knew what the phone calls were about.

“I got in.”

Words so simple, but so sad. Usually one would be happy that they got into college, but you weren’t. It hit him like a ton of bricks, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Was he supposed to be happy for you? Was he supposed to cry with you? Was he supposed to be strong for you? Yes, that’s exactly what he needs to be, what he's always been for you; for everyone.

“I’ll be over in a couple, just wait for me, okay?” His voice has always calmed you, but not this time. With a simple okay, you hung up the phone. He speeds through stop signs, breaking the speed limit by around twenty miles just to get to you faster. He jumped out the car, jogging down your driveway as you jump into his arms. He’s warm and smells nice, the scent of his cologne and freshly wet soil hitting your nose. He holds you for a second, then five, then ten. “What’s wrong sugar? What’s got you so worked up, huh?” He asks, looking at your features for any signs hinting at your distress. “I got in, Reiner. UCLA, they accepted me.” You say, gripping his shirt for support. “UCLA? I-isn’t that in California?” You nod, and he sighs deep, pulling your head to his chest. “I’m so glad they accepted me, but I’m scared. I don’t know anyone there, and I don’t wanna leave you.”

Him. You didn’t want to leave him. He didn’t want to, but in that moment he felt so ecstatic that he was the only reason you wanted to stay. It was selfish, he knew that, but he elated that he was that special to you.

“Isn’t this what you always wanted? To get out this shitty little town and finally live your life?” He was right, when was he not? But it still hurt knowing that he wasn’t coming with you. “Yes, but I love you, and if I leave I won’t come back. I don’t wanna leave you here and you never see me again and you move on with life while I never stop thinking of you, thinking that if I stayed then none of it would’ve happened.” You were crying at this point, tears pouring down your face. He wiped them, even kissing some of them away. “Now in what world would I move on without you? Don’t be silly now, you're my number one girl. You're gonna go to UCLA, live your life, and be happy. I’ll be right here, supporting you from this shitty little town in Texas. We’ll talk to each other on the phone, and we’ll still love each other the same.” It was a lie, and he knew it. But it wanted to believe it so bad, you did too. You spent the rest of the night with him, and you ended up making love.

It was new to the both of you, but for some reason it wasn’t awkward. Light kisses down your neck and soft moans filled the night sky as your dream came true. As ashamed as you were of the fact, you had fantasized this night many times before. He treated you with care and compassion, as he did any other time. But it was different, more transparent. It was hot, sticky, and sweaty. But neither of you cared, happy to do this with each other, to be the others first.

It wasn’t long after that before he had to help you pack and see to the train. His mother cried for and with you, hugging you tight as she whispered prayers in your ear for your success and safety. You could see tears in his fathers eyes that wouldn’t dare fall. He told you that he’s always seen you as his own, and that he was happy that his son got to grow up with you. He drove you to the station, hand on your thigh as a reminder. A reminder that he’s there and that he doesn’t want to let you go, a reminder that he loves you.

A reminder that he’ll never forget you.

You wish you lived close enough to an airport so that you could spend more time with him before you left, but that wasn’t the case. He picked your luggage with a quiet grunt and followed you to the platform. You turned to him, not knowing what to say, and he knew it. Your eyes met his, and a tear raced down his cheek. You followed suit, and soon the both of you were crying. He pulled you into a hug that you never wanted to leave, and he knew it. He knew all of it, and that’s what you think made saying goodbye so much harder.

“Promise me you’ll call?” You ask, sniffling. “Course’ I will, doll. What kinda man would I be if I didn't call my woman?” His woman. You’re his woman. It’s supposed to make you happy, but it just makes you cry harder. “Cmon now, I don’t want cha’ goin on this train boo hooing when you have so much to look forward to.” You shake your head yes, touching your forehead to his. He kissed you again, then again, then again. If you weren’t whispering to each other, you’re sure that bystanders would’ve noticed by now. But you didn’t care, you just wanted one more night with him to watch the fireflies and talk about meaningless shit that has meaning in the moment, because that’s what it comes down to. Moments with him make you feel like everything is perfectly fine, even if they’re not.

You hear the deafening sound of the train whistle in the distance, signaling the end of your time with him. “There’s your train to the future baby.” He says, kissing your temple. “Shut up Reiner!” You laugh, leaning into it.

He helped you board the train, finding your seat with ease. He looks at you, and you look at him. He’s frozen in place, and so are you. “I love you so much, let that be known for as long as you live.” He says, hugging you for the last time. “I love you too, don’t forget it either. Oh, and don’t forget to tell Daisy that mommy loves her.” You joke, chuckling as you see his face drop. She had warmed up to you over the years, and you were now her favorite person.“That damn horse is the bane of my existence.” he scoffs, and you burst out laughing. “I think you, your family, and that damn horse are the only things I’m gonna miss around here.” You say, playing with his collar.

The conductor yells something you don’t catch, but you know it means that he has to leave. “Can’t I just come with you and tell my parents why I didn’t come back later?” He asks, a boyish tone in his voice. “You can’t,” you coo, “if you did, they would actually kill you when you got back.” “Who said I would come back?” Your eyes widen in shock, really contemplating it. All in all, he could come, but he has a life here for him – you don’t.

“No, you need to stay so you can take your fathers farm once you're old enough. I know that it’s your dream even though you get tired of it sometimes.” He looks at you with an expression you can’t explain. It’s as if he’s trying to tell you something he can’t put into words, but he doesn’t need to. You understand him just as well as he does you. Some things don’t need to be said, and this is one of those things. “Call me when you get there, ok?” He borderline begs. You say yes, and he finally walks off.

The trains move with a jerk, but you don’t pay attention to it. You see him as he slowly disappears into the distance, being replaced by forest and gravel. You don’t cry anymore, more like you refuse to, but you think to yourself – what if I stayed.

When you reach California, as the first day commences, when you finish your freshman year, and when you graduate. Through it all you constantly think to yourself, what would've happened if I stayed?

The calls started getting sparser and short, life catching up to the both of you making less time for each other. It still hurts when you think about it, but life is life, and it doesn’t stop for anybody. By senior year, the two of you stopped talking all together. You found people, as did he. The two of you drifted apart, as many others do. But you don’t care about the others, all you care about is him.

He calls you the day you graduate. It’s short and simple,exchanging hellos and words of well being. You want to ask him a million questions, but you refrain. You're content enough with just hearing his voice, even though you know it’ll be for the last time. He’s in the middle of asking you what your class rank when you hear a youthful voice on his end. “Is that your kid?” You ask, deep down hoping he says no. There's a brief pause, as if he’s thinking of a lie to tell you. “Yeah, she’s my youngest.” He finally says, and your heart drops. “Oh..that’s lovely to hear. How old is she?” You ask, throat tightening up. “She just turned two, her birthday was last week actually.” He sighs, seeming to be occupied with her. “What’s that sweet girl's name?” You ask, eyes darting around the room looking for something to keep you busy. “Um..I actually named her after you.” You freeze in your tracks, breath hitching. “Does her mom know about me?” You ask, hoping that she doesn’t. “No. She’s from out of town actually. Her names Natalie.” You can’t breathe. Room starts to spin around you. He notices, and starts to call out your name. “I..I gotta go Reiner.” You hang up the phone before he can say anything else.

She’s a reminder. A reminder of your old love, a reminder that he’s always been waiting and still doesn’t want to let you go, a reminder that he loves you.

A reminder that he’s never forgotten you, and he never will.

-Nene

#nene #x black reader #x reader #aot #reiner x reader #reiner x black reader #angst #reiner x reader angst #reiner x black reader angst #aot x reader #aot x black reader

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