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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Here and Now

Author: SisterSpooky1013

Rating: Mature

Words: 2198

Read it here on AO3

Tagging @today-in-fic

May 25, 2021

Farrs Corner, VA

8:45pm

She stood at the sink, elbow deep in dishwater as she cleaned up the remnants of dinner. Music poured softly from the smart home device on the counter, a mix of Kasey Musgraves, Blake Shelton and Jason Aldean in what Mulder called “evening music.” She’d never been a fan of country, but this sultry, soulful version was a far cry from the twangy pickup truck tunes that she had previously been exposed to and she was surprised to find that she liked it. A new song started, “Tennessee Whiskey” by Chris Stapleton, and she smiled; it was one of her favorites. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, allowing her hips to sway slightly as the words began.

Used to spend my nights out in a barroom

Liquor was the only love I’d known

But you rescued me from reachin’ for the bottom

And brought me back from being too far gone

Maybe she liked this song because it reminded her a bit of her relationship with Mulder. Not that either of them ever had an inclination for drinking in their sorrow (thankfully) but because they’d saved each other time after time. As if on cue, she felt his hands at her waist as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her back flush against his front. He swayed softly with her, not speaking, his chin resting on her head.

You’re as smooth as Tennessee whiskey

You’re as sweet as strawberry wine

You’re as warm as a glass of brandy

And honey I stay stoned on your love all the time

“She asleep?” Scully asked, her hands scrubbing the perimeter of a pot.

“Mmhmm” Mulder hummed, his thumb brushing against the underside of her breast.

At 2.5 years old, Missy, or Samantha Margaret Mulder as she was legally named, was a bedtime resistance champion if there ever was one. Her requests for a drink of water, a trip to the bathroom, socks for her cold feet, or help with a blanket that had fallen off were endless. One or the other of them would sit outside her bedroom for upwards of an hour each night until she succumbed to exhaustion and passed out just inside the door, or on the floor of her closet, or once wedged up on the windowsill. A precocious child with strawberry blonde hair and hooded hazel eyes, she never wanted to miss out on anything and thus could not be bothered with unproductive things such as sleeping. Mulder had more patience for her antics than Scully did, tenderly marching her back to her tiny toddler bed over and over, kissing her plump cheeks and singing one more song. Her most popular request was “Fools Rush In” by Elvis and she would beam as her Daddy sang “I can’t help falling in love with you,” punctuating the ‘you’ with a gentle touch of his fingertip on her nose. The exhaustion of parenting a toddler in their 50’s was overshadowed only by the sheer joy she brought to their days with her inextinguishable curiosity and clear intelligence. Of course, every parent thinks their child is the smartest one in preschool, but in Missy’s case it was true.

Scully rinsed the pot and set it on the drying rack before she pulled the plug and let the water run out of the sink, wiping her hands on a dish towel and turning within the confines of Mulder’s arms to face him. She reached for his shoulders as they moved their dance to the middle of the kitchen, his hands traveling down until they found her hips, pulling her close as his lips brushed her ear and sung the next verse in his gravely baritone.

I’ve looked for love in all the same old places

Found the bottom of a bottle’s always dry

But when you poured out your heart I didn’t waste it

‘Cause there’s nothin’ like your love to get me high.

He pulled back and looked at her, his eyes soft and dreamy, a small smile at the corners of his mouth. She pushed up onto her toes and met his lips in a kiss. At first it was chaste, but when she slid her tongue against his bottom lip he sighed and slipped his hands lower to cup her backside, deepening the kiss and rocking his pelvis against her gently.

“Daddy?” A small voice called from the bottom of the stairs. Still embracing, they turned to see Missy’s rumpled form in her Frozen pajamas, a stuffed Bigfoot in one hand, her hair wild.

“Hey Magpie, what’s wrong?” He asked her. Having named her for both their sisters and Scully’s mom, his options for nicknames was endless and he did not let the opportunity go untapped. On any given day he might call her Missy, Miss thang, Sam, Sammy, Samwich, Maggie, Peggy or his personal favorite, Magpie.

“I heard somefing in my room” she whined, rubbing a fist over one sleepy eye.

“Come here, sweetie” Scully called to her, and she shuffled over to them where Mulder scooped her up on his hip and returned his other arm to Scully’s waist. Scully put her hand on Missy’s back and the three of them resumed the dance, swaying softly with Scully’s head resting on Mulder’s chest, where she could gaze at the sleep-dazed face of their daughter as she leaned against his shoulder.

And you’re as smooth as Tennessee whiskey

You’re as sweet as strawberry wine

You’re as warm as a glass of brandy

And honey I stay stoned, on your love all the time

As the last chords of the song faded out, Mulder placed a kiss on the top of Scully’s head and pulled away from her.

“I’ll go get this one back to sleep” he murmured, and she could see that it wouldn’t be a difficult task as Missy was already dozing in his arms. She listened to the creak of his feet on the stairs and sighed contentedly before turning off all the lights, locking the doors and heading up to get ready for bed herself.

When Mulder returned, she was lying on top of the covers reading a book, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. He stripped off his jeans and tossed them into the laundry basket before nestling in beside her, his head on her shoulder.

“What cha got there?” He asked, but she knew that it wasn’t an actual question, just a signal that he wanted her attention. Closing the book, she set it on the nightstand and folded her glasses neatly on top.

“Do you think she’s down for the night?” Scully asked as Mulder rotated so that he was perpendicular to her, his head on her belly so he could see her face. She reached a hand up to stroke through his hair.

“I think so, yeah. She was pretty much asleep when I put her back in bed.”

“That child” she remarked, shaking her head.

Mulder smiled. “I know, she’s impossible, just like her mother.”

Scully’s eyebrows lifted in mock offense. “Excuse me? I love sleeping, she gets that from YOU, sir.”

Mulder scrunched up his mouth “hm, you may have a point there.”

They held eye contact, smiling fondly at each other for a beat.

“I don’t know how you do it, Scully.”

“What, parent? You do the same thing, Mulder.”

He shook his head slightly against the fabric of her T shirt. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate.

“You just get more and more beautiful. You’re even more beautiful now than you were when I met you.”

She chuckled and gave him a doubtful look. “Mulder, I was 28 when you met me. I don’t know about you, but I remember what my ass looked like at 28, and it was definitely better than it looks now. Let’s not even mention my breasts.”

“I would actually very much like to mention your breasts, which are, as they always have been, exquisite.” As he spoke, he pushed her T shirt up to reveal her chest, drawing a pink nipple between his lips and eliciting a moan from her throat.

“So you’re saying” she continued, her breath growing ragged around her arousal “that if 28 year old Scully walked in this room right now, you wouldn’t go for her instead of 57 year old Scully?”

He let her nipple slip out of his mouth with a little smack. “Well, I doubt that 28 year old Scully would be down to get freaky with 59 year old Mulder, but no, I wouldn’t.” He moved to hover over her, his knees on either side of her thighs. “I might try to talk you two into a threesome, though.”

She laughed and he dipped his head to kiss the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

“No shade to 28 year old Scully, I was a huge fan of hers, but she hardly ever laughed. 57 year old Scully laughs a lot, and I like that.”

“Well, 57 year old Scully is pretty damn happy” she replied, her hands running up and down the broad expanse of his back.

He lifted his head to look at her, a dopey smile on his face. The adoration in his eyes moved her and she felt a lump form in her throat.

“I love you so much” she whispered hoarsely, moisture welling and blurring her vision.

He didn’t respond, just kissed her with all the feeling of the thousands of kisses they’d already shared, and the thousands that never made their way to their lips due to distance, or fear, or stubborn refusal to admit that they wanted to. He pulled her to sit up so he could free her of her shirt, removing his own swiftly, their bare chests pressing together as he kissed her again, their tongues dancing between their mouths in a practiced synchrony. There was no longer urgency in their movements, the desperation of their coupling now ebbed into the languid cadence of a love that you know will never fade, not again, not ever again. Not with Missy asleep down the hall tying them to each other inextricably, not with William out there somewhere as a testament to all they’d been through. Not with the knowledge that there was nothing in this planet or universe that could come between them, not really.

She lifted her hips and he slid her leggings and panties down before pushing off his boxers, settling between her legs as his erection grazed her belly. He moved his hand down to touch her, moaning at her slickness.

“You still get so wet” he growled against her shoulder.

“28 year old Scully got this wet thinking about you too, she just didn’t have the luxury of you in her bed” she replied, grasping his ass and pulling him into her.

“All she would have had to do was ask” he teased, removing his hand and thrusting against her, his length sliding through her wetness.

She put her hands on his face and pulled him away to look at her.

“I wouldn’t change it, Mulder. Not if it meant missing this.”

“That makes two of us” he said as he found her entrance and slid into her, no need for hands to guide him to the place he knew better than his own body.

She hummed and they began a slow rhythm, kissing for a while until he lifted one of her legs onto his shoulder to deepen his angle and she gasped.

“I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be this flexible, Mulder, you’d better enjoy it” she panted.

“Oh I plan to” he replied, increasing his pace until they were lost in a sea of sighs and hushed moans, staying quiet a newfound skill after years of no one being close enough to hear them. She came first, stifling her cries against his shoulder as she pulsed around him, and he followed her shortly thereafter, gently releasing her leg and then rolling to curl up behind her as they enjoyed the afterglow.

She was starting to drift off to sleep when she heard the distinct snick of Missy’s door opening.

“Your turn” Mulder mumbled into her ear and she groaned, throwing his arm from its resting place on her hip before she grabbed her robe and rushed out to the room to get to her daughter before she made it into their bedroom.

After a trip to the bathroom and a drink of water, she was tucking a sleep-laden Missy back into bed, finding her Bigfoot stuffie and slipping it under her arm.

“Mama, sing a song” she requested, rolling on to her belly.

Scully rubbed her back softly and began, woefully off-tune though that never seemed to bother Missy.

“Jeremiah was a bullfrog, he was an old friend of mine. Never understood a single word he said but I helped him drink his wine. Joy to the world, all the boys and girls. Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea, joy to you and me.”

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #xf fanfic

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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 4 years

Text

Fine Line | Jurdan Quarantine AU

Written for Jurdan Week 2020, hosted by @jurdannet | Day 4- Song Crossover (Adore You by Harry Styles requested by @mysweetvilllain )

Chapter Rating: M

CW: mature themes, explicit descriptions, vulgar language, eventual explicit content.

Summary: Two vindictive assholes. One shitty apartment. And a vow to get under each other’s skin. Stuck in hate together twenty-four-seven, this can only end in a crime of passion.

Next Chapter | Fine Line Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3

Chapter 1- Adore You (Verse 1)

[Cardan POV]

The minute I walk into the kitchen, I know I’m fucked.

She’s sitting there on one of my bar stools, at my island counter, eating my strawberries straight out of the plastic container. I say “my” because I’m still in denial that I have to share this shit-hole with anyone. Especially her.

When I put the ad up online, I was skint and desperate. I would’ve taken anyone short of a serial killer, really, but I was hoping for normal. Or at the very least, boring. It’s just my luck that the only person who responded to the ad was someone so insufferable.

We were civil with each other for all of a day. Three weeks had me almost driven to moving out. Me. Moving out of my own damn apartment because even that is easier than living with Jude Duarte.

That’s when corona hit, so I guess I’m stuck.

It’s been a fortnight of isolation. Putting up with her unmitigated bullshit. Her ceaseless presence and mulish disposition. Our constant butting heads.

On a good day, I give myself over to the ashen taste of resignation. On the bad ones, I want to throw myself down the stairs just so I can spend the night in hospital.

Anyways, I’m fucked because my wretched flatmate is sitting there in her baggy black sweatpants and oversized hoodie. Her knees are tucked up to her chest, giving me a plain view of those stupid rainbow socks she’s always wearing. Her hair is a mess on top of her head. Everything about her sets off a tick in my jaw.

Except the way she eats strawberries.

Her full pink lips wrap around one now and—fucking hell. I swear my cock twitches. When she sinks her teeth in, those lips come away red-stained and glistening. A line of juice dribbles down her chin as she chews. Then, she pops the stem into her mouth and eats that, too.

I find myself imagining her on her knees, strawberry lips wrapped around something else of mine. The way the back of her throat would feel as I ram into her mouth—

I blink. My lip curls. I need coffee, and maybe a cold shower.

The former is closest, so I stop standing in the doorway like the twat that I am, and walk into the kitchen. Thankfully, she’s got earphones in and is so immersed in whatever the fuck she does on her laptop all day that she hasn’t noticed my blatant ogling.

If she notices me at all, she doesn’t acknowledge it.

Good. It’s better this way. The less we talk the less we end up screaming at each other. It’s only happened twice. The neighbors came round both times.

I pull a mug and the instant coffee down from a shelf.

It irks me. Just last night, I was standing in this very spot, doing everything in my power not to lose my shit after finding a pile of her dirty dishes in the sink. For the third time this week. She always says “they’re soaking”, and I always end up doing them later anyway, because I can’t stand the mess.

She does things like that a lot. Dishes and crumbs and wrappers. Stealing my food. A week ago I found a pizza crust jammed in between the cushions of the sofa. She denies all accountability, of course.

Not to mention, she sets her alarms for the ass crack of dawn. She’s such a heavy sleeper that I’m invariably wide awake well before she is, listening to the incessant shrill of her phone through the walls as she hits snooze, over and over.

I’m certainly not without my faults, of course. I know she hates me just as much as I hate her. She’s told me as much. Which is why I’m miffed that suddenly, without any warning, I want to fuck her into the kitchen counter.

There’s a spoon in the drying rack and I use it to stir my coffee.

Nicasia hated me, I think to myself. She loved me once, but she hated me for a while before she did anything about it. Then, I stop. Because I don’t want to uncork that bottle today. Point is, maybe it’s not completely out of left field. To want someone right when they’re giving you the very least of their attention.

I tap the spoon against the lip of my mug. Usually, I’d retreat back to my bedroom at this point. Instead, I throw the spoon in the sink and turn around to lean against the counter.

She’s still sitting at the island, honed in on her computer. I can hear the thin, metallic wail of a guitar coming from her earphones. She bobs her head slightly to the beat.

It’s not as if she isn’t attractive. In her own, unique way.

She’s strong. If I didn’t hear her pummeling that blasted punching bag she’s got hanging in her room every night, I’d have known she boxed just by the way she looks. She’s got a fighter’s build about her. It lives in her shoulders, in the barrel of her chest. As if every line of her was made bold and unyielding. With intention.

Again, I have to stop my own wandering thoughts. I’m starting to wonder if maybe my dead end job that has me editing bad romance novels for a living is starting to go to my head.

It pays the bills until it doesn’t. And then it rots my brain. Maybe I should quit.

Still, I tell myself it’s the quarantine talking. That if I wasn’t trapped in here with her, I wouldn’t find anything about her attractive. That I’d probably be willing to whore myself out for one cigarette right about now. And I don’t even smoke.

But then she looks up at me, mid-bite. Those honey-brown eyes are wild. They threaten to cut straight through me. She squints, accusatory. Chews her bite, slow. Swallows.

My mouth goes dry as the fucking Sahara.

“What are you staring at?” she demands, glare blazing.

Apparently, I’m in the mood to walk that fire, because I take a sip of my coffee and say, smug as I can, “You.”

Sometimes, it’s better to be completely honest with Jude. The truth always seems to appall her far more than any lie ever could. As if she expects everyone to be deceiving. Or maybe it’s just that my truths are so outrageous to her that she doesn’t believe them.

I wouldn’t blame her there. I can hardly admit to this truth, myself. Whether she believes me or not, though, it gets under her skin.

“Right,” she scoffs. “Is it because I’m pretty? Is it because you like me so much?” She bats her lashes at me, mocking. I am stunned by the fact that, for a moment, I wish it was real. That I’d gladly lose myself in that look if it came from her eyes in earnest.

Then I shake my head. I sound like the biggest shit-for-brains. It’ll take more than a few eyelash flutters to make me surrender.

“Oh, no,” I say, trying to match her taunting tone, “I don’t like you. I adore you.”

That makes Jude roll her eyes. “Please,” she says. “You’re probably plotting ways to stick me in my sleep or something. Fucking psychopath.”

It’s that last part that makes me take a step toward the island, lean forward to rest my elbows on the counter so I’m nearly in her space. She doesn’t draw back. Just gives me a scathing look from over the top of her screen.

“If I’m ever depraved enough to stick you,” I tell her, smirking, “I guarantee you won’t be sleeping, love.” Which may come off as anything from perverted to downright murderous, but I don’t care. The face she makes is worth it.

It’s all jaw dropped, vicious gaze, blush creeping into her cheeks like red smoke. I’ve never challenged her before. It makes her look at me like she despises me. Like the only thing she’ll ever do is despise me. I don’t know why that eggs me on, but it does.

“Would you look at that,” I hum, “You’ve got the face about right, too.”

Her nostrils flare. Jaw sets. There’s a lovely shade of puce coming up on her already heated cheeks. She’s absolutely livid, and I can taste it in the air between us. It’s like static on my tongue.

That’s when something cold and slimy hits me dead between the eyes. Jude’s half-eaten strawberry plops to the counter. I’m so surprised I almost laugh.

“You’re disgusting,” she says with as much derision as I feel coursing through me.

Part of me wants to give into that anger. Sling a string of curses at her. Throw the strawberry right back in her face. Those things won’t annoy her half as much as what I actually do.

Keeping an unbothered expression, I pluck the strawberry off the countertop and pop it right into my mouth. Stem and all. I lick my fingers for good measure. All while keeping direct eye contact with the little menace sitting across from me. Her gaze flits to my lips. So I swipe my tongue over them. She blinks.

“Delicious,” I say.

She looks just the right amount of scandalised for me to straighten, take my coffee back up in one hand, and saunter out of the kitchen. I don’t say anything about the strawberries. Or how stealing isn’t a very good exercise in courtesy.

We’ve never been courteous with one another, anyway.

When I’m back in my room I lean against the closed door and scrub a hand over my face. My heartbeat is raging since I did not.

Sometimes, I think the irritating things she does are all on purpose. Just to get under my skin. I rarely give her the satisfaction of knowing it works, but I don’t like letting her trample all over me, either. It gives me an oily feeling. Like I’m back to being under someone else’s thumb, and I hate it.

But that—whatever that was—felt more like fighting back than I ever thought I’d have the balls to do. I feel more alive now than I’ve felt in months.

Maybe that makes me a bastard. C’est la fucking vie.

I start shucking off my clothes, throwing them into the hamper in the corner, one by one. My bedroom is mercifully en suite. If I wanted to, I could live in here for days at a time without leaving.

I don’t know why I ever bother.

I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. As I stand there under the cold stream, I think about how dangerous it is, this game I’ve entered. Flirting with Jude to get a rise out of her is one thing. That’s clear cut. A direct retaliation.

It’s another thing entirely if part of why I’m doing it is to take the edge off of my own perversions. I mean, what kind of sick fuck has sex fantasies about someone they hate? Someone they’re stuck in isolation with, twenty-four-seven, for the foreseeable future? Someone who hates their guts, too, and could probably easily take them out if it came to physical blows?

I guess that sick fuck would be me.

It’s a fine line to walk but there’s no turning back. I’ve already begun.

☽☽☽☽☽

AN: So I guess I’m hopping on the quarantine fic bandwagon 😅 this is definitely not what I expected to come out of this song crossover prompt, but I kind of like it? It’s (very loosely) based off of Adore You by Harry Styles- the threads are there if you look for them 😉

I’m planning on making this a 12 part series (one chapter for each song on Fine Line) so if you’d like to be added to the tag list for this, or to my Jurdan Forever tag list, let me know in the comments/my messages/inbox and I’d be happy to add you!

-Em 🖤💫

Title Inspo: Fine Line (album) by Harry Styles, Adore You (song) by Harry Styles

Tag List: @velarhysismine @knifewifejude @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte @clockworkgraystairs @thesirenwashere @judexcardanxgreenbriar @nite0wl29 @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @whocares-idont @babycardan @mysweetvilllain @aesthetics-11 @storiesandschemes @jurdanhell @poeticbrownmermaid @thechainofiron @random-llama-socks @villanellevi @lady-thea-of-narnia @b00kworm @flowersinvegas @vanessa172003 @cardanstrickytail @queen-of-glass @doingmyrainbow

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descendantofthesparrow · 3 years

Text

Encore - POYW - Harry Hook x reader - Part 24 - Sisters

you and Harry woke up to loud knocks on Harry's room door, you had decided to stay the night at the ship since your room was just so damn warm and Harry's room was nice and cool. You glanced at the clock on Harry's wall and sighed, it seemed you had slept in a bit as the clock read 12:30 pm.

Harry sighed and sat up, standing from the bed and walking over to his door, creaking it open and yelping as he was pushed back by a blonde and red blur “Hi CJ” Harry grunted out, CJ laughing as she pushed off of him and skipped over to you, Harriet entering the room a moment later “Harriet, what do yeh want?”

“We’re stealing your fiancé, (y/n) get dressed, CJ keep Harry down” CJ leaped over your body and slammed down onto Harry, trapping him to the mattress.

“Oi!” Harry snapped, ripping his arm out of CJ’s grip and pushing her face, glaring at Harriet as she walked over to you and pulled you out of the bed “No! She's mine! Leave ‘er alone!”

CJ and Harriet shared a dangerous smile and CJ pinned Harry to the bed again “Quick get her dressed so we can escape!” Harry let out a snarl as you quietly laughed, grabbing a red shirt and black jeans. Stepping into your bathroom to quickly get dressed, popping your head back out to grab a bra and socks.

You sluggishly got dressed and stepped back out to the bedroom to put your shoes on, laughing again as Harriet and CJ held Harry down to the floor, CJ sitting on his back and arms as Harriet held down his legs.

“Okay okay, don’t kill him, he is a good pillow, and I’d rather not lose the warmth” Harry pouted at you as his sisters snickered and got off him.

“Oh, no ‘oh please don’t kill Harry, I love him’ or ‘please don’t kill Harry, I'd rather not lose him’ no all I get is ‘I’m a good pillow’? really?” you let out a quiet laugh and finished zipping up your boots, leaning down to kiss Harry's cheek and ruffling his hair.

“Yep, and I’ll be back later, bye!” CJ dragged you out of the room, Harriet closing the door behind her as Harry continued to pout.

A few hours later, you sat outside an ice cream parlor, spooning (fav ice cream) into your mouth as CJ sipped at her chocolate and mint shake with Oreos. Harriet walked out of the shop with her fresh waffle cone strawberry cheesecake and sat down next to you, licking her lips slightly.

“You’re welcome” you chuckled, smiling teasingly as Harriet glared at you before she stuck a spoon into the ice cream and shoved it in her mouth, CJ continuing to enjoy her shake. “So other than the reason you gave earlier” that being them just wanting to hang out because they hardly got to hang out with you “Why did you want to hang out with me today?”

“We have to pick up my suit and CJ’s dress from the tailor, thought you might want to see ‘em or something” Harriet muttered, keeping her eyes on her ice cream.

You hummed and nodded, you would like to see them, to make sure they worked with what you had planned. “Sounds fun, what time is pick up?”

Harriet pulled out her phone “at two, it's one now so we got about an hour but the place is pretty far away from here, so-“ Harriet turned to you and raised her brow “-you mind driving us there, after we finish?”

You nodded, spooning the last of your ice cream in your mouth and tossing the cup into the trash “Sure”

You couldn’t help the grin on your face as CJ stepped out of the dressing room, she admired herself in the tall mirror, spinning around and her scarlet skirt flaring with her. Her black top was detailed with lace and was separated from her high waisted skirt that stopped just above her knees. “Look’s amazing CJ, I think we picked the perfect one for you” you hummed, laughing as CJ bounded over to you and slammed into your side as she sat next to you.

“I think this is the first time she's worn a dress and actually liked it” Harriet huffed, smirking at you and CJ as CJ discovered the pockets on her skirt. The tailor came out from the back, handing Harriet a maroon and black suit and gesturing to the dressing room.

The tailor gave you and CJ a smile and went back to the front to tend to her other customers. You and CJ talked about the wedding plans as Harriet changed, and a few minutes later Harriet emerged from the dressing room. her suit jacket was maroon and her dress shirt and pants were black. CJ wolf-whistled, standing and bounding over to her sister, grinning up at her “Wow Hettie, you look amazing!”

Harriet gave a shy smile and nodded, looking down at her jacket and pulling down the sleeves “Thanks, I think it turned out good” you grinned and that and stood, walking over to the girls and tugging at the lapels of Harriet's jacket.

“It turned out great, it's perfect…thank you, both of you. I know we don’t really interact much but thank you for trusting me with your brother, I know how protective you both are over him” Harriet and CJ smiled, Harriet pulling you in for a side hug as CJ wrapped her arms around your waist.

“Thank you for taking care of him, I never thought he’d find someone like you, but I’m glad he did. I can't wait to call you our sister” CJ nodded in agreement, and squeezed your waist, pulling back and walking to the dressing room to change back into her clothes.

“Let's go get something to eat! Im starving!” You and Harriet shared a look and shook your heads.

“That’s CJ for ya, always hungry” Harriet laughed, sitting down on the couch and waiting for CJ to be done changing so she could do the same.

“yep…Taco Bell sound good?”

“Hell yeah”

Harry started as a cold sensation pressed against his cheek and he quickly sat up, looking behind him to see you, smiling down at him and holding a cup filled with Pepsi “I got Taco Bell for you” Harry grinned and took the soda, drawing his legs in from the couch to let you sit down next to him and taking the paper bag from you as you handed it to him.

“Thank yeh love” Harry purred, taking out the cheese rolls and humming, he hadn’t eaten yet that day so he was very happy to finally have something in his belly.

“You’re welcome~” you sang back, taking (food) out of the bag and unwrapping it, biting down on it and turning to pay attention to the tv, where Harry had turned on Captain America; The First Avenger. “Good choice”

Harry just hummed around his food, pulling you into his side and the two of you settled down to watch the movie.

“hard ta believe we’re getting married in twenty days” Harry chuckled, helping you put away the washed dishes from dinner. You stopped, looking up at the calendar on the wall and laughing.

May 2nd, wow it really was only twenty days from today. “Well how bout that” you murmured, closing the dishwasher and starting it, walking over to Harry and wrapping your arms around him, setting your chin on his shoulder “Only twenty days till you’re mine forever” Harry laughed and turned in your grip, pressing a soft kiss to your lips and nose.

“Only twenty days till I can finally call yeh Mrs. Hook” Harry purred back, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around, setting you back down and pressing one last kiss to your nose. “I love yeh” Harry whispered, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead to yours.

“I love you too” you hummed back, kissing his jaw and slipping out of his arms, going over to the fridge grabbing two ice cream sandwiches, and tossing one to Harry, nodding towards the living room “one more movie?” Harry grinned and nodded, walking in and jumping over the couch, bouncing his leg as he waited for you.

“Oh, by the way,” Harry started, curling his arm around your shoulder as you sat next to him and curling into his side “All the invitations got sent out.” You perked up at that and swallowed down the bite of ice cream.

“Awesome! Did you keep one?“ Harry smirked and nodded, standing from the couch and walking into the kitchen, grabbing a card from the counter and walking back over to you, handing you the card and sitting down as you admired the invitation.

“I still love it, I think we picked a good design” Harry nodded in agreement, leaning over your shoulder slightly to look at the invitation.

The top was printed with watercolor waves at sunset, the bottom blocked with gold with white lettering detailing the date, time, and place of your wedding.

“only twenty days” Harry hummed, picking up the remote and turning on another movie, curling his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side, smiling as you cuddled into him and rested your head in the crook of his neck. “twenty days” you echoed, raising your brow slightly as the movie began to play. “Hook?”

“aye…what it’s a good movie!”

-end of part 24-

Note; I was writing this on the 2nd so that’s why the fic says “twenty days” instead of nineteen

24 parts! Woow!!! And the next part will be on the 22nd! The wedding! After the wedding, this series will officially be finished and the OG part of your world will be over! 😊 thank you all so much for coming with me on this journey and sticking with me through my horrible 2018-2019 writing. Again I will be rewriting Part of your world and Reprise because I want to (and rewriting some parts of Encore because the first 10-15 parts are fucking awful) and I’ll be starting on it after I finish encore, but I probably won't start posting until Rewrite(AU) D3 is finished so im not working on a thousand stories at once.

So Part of your world 2.0 will be coming after Finale - Rewrite is concluded so I can focus solely on POYW 2.0 :3 again thank you all so much for reading and soon, Mr. and Mrs. Hook will soon be introduced~!!!

permtaglist

@queer-cosette @sephiralorange

@lunanight2012 @daughter-of-the-stars11

@musicarose @verboetoperee

@random-thoughts-003 @remembered-license

@rintheemolion @thecaptainsgingersnap

@jatp-rules-my-life @imtryingthisout

#Descendents #descendants #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #encore #part of your world #reprise #wedding prep chapters

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mettlekettle · 4 years

Text

Cock block-Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Hi everyone, i guess this is my entry for @majorharry‘s 20k fic celebration, and its my first piece of writing that I’m posting on tumblr so feedback is really helpful! its not edited because I’m a lazy bitch but,,, it be like that don’t it? I used two prompts, the first one i used accidentally and didn’t realize i did it until i finished lmao. Prompts: 26. “Pay attention to me.” and 35. “If you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.”

Word Count: 1.8k

Description: y/n and Harry both want to move to the next level in their relationship, but something stops them. (just heartwarming fluff!)

HARRY 💗

hi love, do you want to come over tonight? H.

Y/N

of course, does 7 work?

Harry and y/n’s relationship is relatively new; the two of them met through Mitch and are now inseparable. It’s a calm time in Harry’s life meaning no tours or press, he’s writing his next album and relaxing. He spends practically everyday with y/n, lounging around his LA home, kissing, watching movies and kissing some more. She loves the way he holds her face when he kisses her, eventually moving one of his hands to y/n’s hair. He was always down for a good make out session, but they never really got any closer than that, always facing each other, never pulling her into his lap in fear of making her uncomfortable. Today was a little bit different, y/n is feeling extra needy, craving his lips and his touch. She just wants to melt into his arms.

At seven, like they agreed, y/n arrived at his house. He opens the door for her, he’s wearing a black shirt and grey sweatpants. He smiled at her sweetly before pulling her into a tight hug. y/n instantly relaxed in his grip.

“Hi bunny,” he murmured into her hair, holding her tighter, as if she was gonna disappear. y/n could tell he was feeling the same as her today, clingy and needing attention right away. She ignored his greeting, tucking her face into his neck and mumbling a small

“You always smell so nice,” into his shirt. He chuckled before releasing her. She pouted as he looked down at her, wanting a little more time in his arms.

“Hungry?” he asked, already knowing the answer, “got you a salad, with chickpeas like you like it.” Her pout quickly turned into a smile when he told her that; he always remembers the smallest things about her.

“And boba?” she looked at him from under her lashes, pretty doe eyes that made him weak. Of course he got her a boba, he would get her anything if she asked.

“Really wish you would stop drinking those, they’re full of sugar, love,” he said truthfully. He’s annoyingly healthy in her opinion. Why can’t she have boba if she’s eating a salad for dinner? She voiced her concern out loud. Harry rolled his eyes at his girlfriend.

“Jus’ cause you eat healthy, doesn’t give you a pass to eat copious amounts of sugar y/n” he retorts

“Whatever, you’re so boring, you can enjoy your green juice, and I’ll enjoy my strawberry bubble tea. Can we eat now please?” he sighs and leads his sugar addicted angel to the kitchen where their food, and yes, her bubble tea is.

They talk about their days while eating. Harry mentions a song he’s writing with Mitch and y/n talks about a scandal in her school in which two students were stealing test answers from a teacher and selling them to other kids. She also mentions the 3 vapes she confiscated in class, complaining about how students show her no respect because she’s only a student teacher and she looks quite young.

“Its not like I want to be teaching teenagers anyways, but its still really upsetting, I wish I could have found a job at an elementary school like I wanted.” She sighs. Her degree is in special education. That’s what she’s always wanted to do, but jobs in her field were scarce as schools were getting less and less money every year.

“You’ll find something love, any school would be lucky to have you as a teacher.” he then looked down at his lap and spoke shyly, “you know, if you can’t find a job next September, you could come on tour with me. Only if you want to! Of course I’d take care of you but m’not asking you to give up your dreams or anything, I support you completely in whatever you choose. Be nice to have you w’me all the time though, we could travel the world together. Again, no pressure,” His normally slow drawl became too hard to keep up with as he rushed to fix whatever mistake he thought he’d made. She let out a little giggle before grabbing his hand.

“I’d love to tour with you, I’m glad you’re as serious about our relationship as I am. You’d seriously support me financially if I couldn’t find a job though?” she questioned.

“I’d do anything for you, angel,” he responded before continuing, “ve’got too much money to even know what to do with, I’d spoil you rotten if you’d let me.” She gave him a glare before exclaiming,

“Don’t you dare!” He chuckled and reached out to pinch one of her cheeks.

“Can’t help it that you deserve the world bunny.” Her face became warm as she batted his ringed hands away. She took a long sip of her drink, slurping obnoxiously with her straw to draw attention away from her flustered state. Harry looked at her in amusement, he never got bored with how he could make her squirm, she was just so cute.

“Wanna watch a movie?” y/n questioned to take Harry’s scrutiny off of her heated face, “saw Legally Blonde on Netflix this morning.” He nodded before taking his hand and leading her to the living room. He quickly ran up the stairs to grab her a blanket and a fuzzy pair of socks because she always criticized the chill in his house. When he got back he knelt on the floor to put the socks on her feet, pressing a kiss to her knee before taking a seat next to her and draping the fuzzy blue blanket over them both.

y/n loved how her doted on her. She had never had a serious boyfriend before, most of the boys she had dated didn’t even know how to take care of themselves, let alone her. She smiled at Harry, who was focused on the movie. Harry wasn’t just a boy, he was a man, a really really handsome man who for some reason was into her and wanted to give her anything she wanted, even if that was a large amount of sugar in the form of tapioca bubbles and strawberry slushy goodness.

As Elle Woods faced her first class at Harvard Law, y/n got distracted by Harry. How did she get so lucky? She picked up his large hand that was placed on her lap and started fidgeting with his rings; pulling one off before pushing it back on his finger, then she moved to the next one, pulling it up a bit before twisting it around his pointer finger. Next she pulled the ‘s’ shaped ring off his pinky, inspecting it closely, before once again picking up his hand and pushing the ring back on his finger. When she got bored of her little game, she looked up to see him very invested in the movie and smiled. She leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek

“Thanks love,” he said before turning his attention back to the screen. She frowned at the lack of attention she received. She kissed his cheek again before grabbing his face in her hands and turning him towards her.

“Hi” he murmured.

“Pay attention to me,” y/n demanded. Harry laughed lowly before kissing her head. He grabbed her hands in both of his before leaning down to whisper to her,

“You wan’ my attention?” she nodded quickly, “what do you want me to do?” he questioned.

“Kiss?” she pleaded. He smirked.

“What's the magic word?’ He pressed, placing his hand on her cheek.

“Please?” she said. He smirked at her because he could tell how desperate he was. He pressed his lips to hers in a few short pecks before elongating their kisses. y/n put her hands on his shoulders, fisting his shirt in her hands.

“Y’taste so sweet,” he hummed against her mouth.

“Not too much sugar now, hmm?” she countered

“Sh, jus’ open up f’me,” he demanded before licking the seam of her lips. She instantly opened her mouth, mewling softly when his hand on her cheek went to the back of her head, holding her to him. They lazily kissed for a while, much longer than their usual make out sessions. y/n felt the need to be closer to him, gripping his shoulders tight before swinging her legs over him, now straddling his lap she put her hands in his hair. Harry’s moved to her waist, giving her a little squeeze when she whimpered against him.

This is as far as they’d ever gone, making nervous butterflies flutter in y/n’s stomach, but she didn’t want to stop, she wanted him. She ground herself against the bulge in his pants making Harry let out a groan. Her hands travelled south to his stomach while Harry’s moved up to her ribs, right below her breasts.

He slowly moved so she was under him on the couch kissing down her neck, sucking a hickey into her skin laving his tongue against the mark he made. She pulled him back up to kiss her again. His hands gripped her thighs and pulled them around his hips before grinding roughly against her core. Suddenly. y/n felt a tickle in her nose, quickly she pushed Harry of of her mumbling,

“Get off, get off, get off,” Harry, thinking he had hurt her or made her uncomfortable was quick to rush out words of comfort and guilt,

“M’sorry love, did I hurt you? Didn't mean to pressure you at all.” All y/n did was put a hand out to silence him and make him wait a moment. Abruptly she let out a small sneeze, and then another, and then another. When she was finished she ran the sleeve of her sweater under her nose.

“Didn't want to sneeze on you, sorry,” she spoke up meekly.

“What! I thought I did something wrong?” he yelled. Her cheeks once again warmed as she hurried to reassure him,

“Nonono, I really enjoyed that, we can continue now if you want, I can um, help you out,” she said trying to sound seductive, she moved her hands up his thighs. He caught her hands before she could reach the strings of her sweatpants. Now it was Harry’s turn to flush.

“I uhh, actually, um went soft when I thought I hurt you,” he uttered. She giggled softly, leaning up to kiss him.

“So I guess you’re not a sadist then, huh?” she got out through her laughs.

“Never said that bunny,” he drawled in his deep accent, “ jus’ like to have consent before I inflict pain, wanna know y’like it.” His naughty words quickly shut her up. It seemed he was making her flustered a lot today. He quickly caught her chin in his hand, before jokingly saying,

“Can’t believe you sneezed when we were making out,” he snorted. She pushed his hands away before glaring at him and croaking out,

“If you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.”

Thank you for reading, hopefully that wasn’t too unbearable! xx.

#majorharry20k #Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #yes my kink is imagining harry styles calling me bunny #dont judge lmao

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whitecrowapothecary · 3 years

Text

Like A Dream

Jaskier has had dreams for as long as he could remember- of monsters and magic and all the things that go bump in the night. He dreams of golden eyes and silver swords and honeyed ballads.

AKA the modern immortal/reincarnation AU no one asked for but I’m writing

Read it on AO3 here!

There’s music around him. Coming from him, his throat warm and honeyed with the lyrics he sings. Not him- the bard, the unknown man who captures his mind at night when he closes his eyes. He- they- are playing for an audience. Jaskier is used to this, the wayward looks, captured attention, but it’s… new. There’s an instrument in his hand he’s never learned to play and lyrics on his lips he’s never written, clothes resplendent of another time, another world, and he drinks it in with abandon. Full, flowing skirts, jackets made of the richest silk brocade in all colors, though all are muted compared to the bright, rich amethyst ensemble he seems to have donned for the performance.

He’s deep into his set, if he should call it that, singing about a fishmongers daughter just to get a laugh out of the crowd when his eyes catch on a small, insignificant detail. Jaskier sings and sways among the royalty around him, but all he can see is gold with flecks of amber, curious cat eyes watching him from the shadows. He takes a step closer, then two, then three until he’s propelling through the crowd, and just as a jaw covered in a neat snow white beard is unearthed from the shadows, a blare sounds, and the image shatters.

He gasps awake, clutching at his chest and trying to quell the shaking of his hands. Sweat sticks his hair to the back of his neck and his forehead in small curls which Jaskier rakes a hand through. On the nightstand, next to the bed, his phone vibrates, clanking softly against the wood until Jaskier scoops it up and hits answer. There are only a handful of people who will actually ring through.

“What, Pris?”

“Ah, woke you up huh? Touchy touchy. You haven’t forgotten about our brunch date, have you?” The voice on the other end is perky, far too awake for Jaskier’s liking right now.

“No, no of course not. You aren’t here yet, are you?” He slips from bed, grimacing and rummaging through his closet for something to wear, phone pinched between his ear and his shoulder.

“Almost, a block away.”

“Shit, okay, let yourself in?” The woman on the other end hums, amused, and Jaskier hangs up. Leave it to him to fail to set an alarm for something like this. He drags his sorry carcass into the bathroom, intent on getting a shower. He feels cold and sticky for all the wrong reasons, and when he looks at himself in the mirror the blue in his eyes is offset by the purple bags underneath. It’s… not an attractive look for himself. The hot water pounds against his back when he hops under the spray and he groans, letting it wash over him. Praying it’ll wash away the dream that seems to cling to him, digging at his bones and refusing to leave.

He’d had the dreams for as long as he could remember- at first they were nothing more than terrors, dreams of hideous, foul smelling creatures with sharp claws. Claws that regularly tore into the soft flesh of his belly, or the tender meat of his thigh, leaving him to wake up screaming and thrashing in bed. His parents, bless them, had tried everything to help, from heavy medication to therapy to a stint in a mental facility, but nothing took the monsters away. Medication only trapped him within his dreams, unable to wake up until he was well and thoroughly taken apart, and therapists only insisted the monsters were representations of some trauma he’d sustained as a child. The stay at the mental facility, well, that was more a break for his parents than thirteen year old Jaskier.

He’d learned to hide them, since then, to hold people at arms length and keep them from seeing what he truly was. The monsters rarely followed him into real life, but on the occasion he saw mention of a kikimore on the news, or a striga cropped up in Germany somewhere, well, it was all too easy to flip the channel and pretend. Now though… it was becoming harder and harder to leave his dreams behind when the sun came up. The dreams had shifted when he was almost eighteen, from monsters hunting and maiming him to something else- instruments and performances and gaudy, awful clothing he had no name for. Days spent walking and walking and walking, sweating under the sun but grinning like it didn’t bother whoever was in his dreams. It was harder still, to pretend that the performer in his dreams didn’t have his hands, his wonderful, skillful fingers, or the voice he’d spent years fine tuning.

He’s knocked from his reverie by the sound of his front door opening and clicking shut and the smell of food drifting in. His stomach growls loudly, protesting it’s current situation, and Jaskier hurries to finish his shower and get dressed. He’s got a towel in hand, scrubbing at his hair when he pads out barefoot and spots the blonde currently tinkering with his tv remote. Her blue eyes are bright, friendly, and she motions to the spread of food currently piled on his coffee table.

“Got you coffee.”

“Thank Melitele.” He makes a beeline for it, not caring the way it burns his tongue as he gulps it down. That draws a laugh from his companion, and he throws himself onto the couch, settling his legs across her lap and tossing his towel onto the chair nearby. He’ll get it later. “You’re a godsend, you know that Priscilla?”

A small smile plays on the woman’s lips, colored by rouge lipstick, and she raises a brow. “I do, but it’s nice to hear. Did you not sleep at all last night, Jaskier?”

“Ah, I’m afraid my muse kept me up, as usual.” He grins at her, reaching out to snag a strawberry from her plate before bending to get at the french toast on the coffee table. It smells absolutely divine, and maybe some food will make him feel more like himself and less like a shell of someone else.

“You really need to learn how to prioritize sleep.” Priscilla says, shaking her head fondly and digging into her eggs. He hums, half paying attention to the news on the screen. It’s nothing new, stocks going up and down, the latest in sports, and something about him, actually. Talking about his newest single that’s put him up in the top ten- Her Sweet Kiss. Jaskier clicks away before they can play the music, drawing a laugh from Priscilla. “You know, you never told me where the song came from.”

“Didn’t I? A whirlwind affair in Europe, during my last tour. She was… incredible, shall I say? Truly someone never forgotten.” He’s bullshitting and Priscilla knows it. The song had come to him, as most do now, in his dreams. Ringing through his ears in a voice so close to his he can feel his throat burning when he wakes up. She doesn’t press though- she knows better than to push Jaskier too far. The glassy, far away look he got when thinking about whatever it was that inspired his songs was sad, old, and lingered on Jaskier’s face the rest of the day. Jaskier focuses on eating now, barely tasting bite after bite and only stopping when his stomach is full. Priscilla does much the same, but she chatters through the melancholy.

Jaskier stops himself on a random show, listening to Priscilla but staring at the screen. It’s something nonsense, talking about old instruments, but his hand stops mid bite, the french toast falling back onto his plate with a wet smack. He stares, wide eyed, at the wide, oval bowl of the instrument and the short, sturdy neck. The strings, there are more than a guitar but not nearly enough- no, his had more. Six pairs, one singular. His?

“-ier? Jaskier, what is it?”

“What is that?” His voice sounds strange, words twisted faintly by an accent he’s never had before, and he sets his plate down as Priscilla looks between him and the tv.

“An instrument? You put on the show.”

“But what kind?” At this Priscilla frowns. She doesn’t seem to know either, and she shrugs reluctantly.

“We could ask Essi, I’m sure she knows more. Why, do you recognize it?”

“No.” He says softly, switching the tv off. He ignores Priscilla’s worried look and goes instead to put on socks and shoes, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on. It’s big, engulfs his frame, but there’s something about it he couldn’t get out of his head when he’d seen it in a thrift shop off of 28th. It’s also entirely too hot outside to need it, but he feels naked without it, and the hood will give him a better chance at remaining hidden. Not that that happens much anymore. Priscilla has the food cleaned up when he steps out of his room, and she swings her keys around her finger, lingering near the door.

“Where are we going today, my famous friend?” Jaskier rolls his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Anywhere but here. I think I’ll go mad if I hide in bed anymore.”

“That’s the spirit! There’s this new music store on Madison we could check out, and then that little bistro for a late lunch-” Her words fade from his ears as they merge into the crowd outside of his apartment building. He slips on sunglasses, nondescript ones he’d gotten from a random gas station, and prays that today he looks like anyone else. With Priscilla at his side, arm looped through his, no one pays much attention to the couple wandering down the street, chattering away. Jaskier feels a rush of gratitude for his friend, for the unwavering presence she is in his life. He’s not sure how he would have managed his budding fame without her, or handled being recognized everywhere once his face and name and music became more common knowledge.

“You’re the one who wrote the songs.” A rough voice reminds him, teasing.

“Yes, well, I didn’t expect them to break into my HOUSE for an autograph!”

“Get better doors. And a guard.” He drowns in those eyes, an endless pool of gold, and he reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair away, a smile stretching his lips wide.

“Why would I need anyone other than you?”

Jaskier stumbles over a crack in the sidewalk, pitching forward, and it’s only Priscilla next to him that keeps him standing. He rights himself, cheeks pink, and laughs despite his heart pounding in his chest.

“Ah, rather clumsy today. I probably should have had more coffee.”

“Or more sleep.” She counters, Jaskier laughing again and nodding in agreement. More sleep is definitely what he needs. A nice, dreamless sleep. Maybe if he gets that, he’ll be able to function like a human being again, instead of walking through the world with half a mind stuck firmly in fiction. The music shop is a quaint, cute little building tucked in a strip of other quaint buildings, and Jaskier ducks into the dim light of the shop. There are rows and rows of cds, vinyls, movies and more, and his eyes track along them all, taking in the sights and colors. There are plenty of instruments on the wall, guitars, basses, a couple of keyboards and a few sets of bongos even. There seems to be little rhyme or reason besides the alphabetical arrangement of the displays, and Jaskier spends his time wandering while Priscilla goes straight for the vinyls.

He’s near the back of the shop, by the counter when he spots an instrument on display behind the glass display. The sight is enough to make him freeze, and he stares at the smooth wood, the graceful curve of the instrument, finding that his fingers have begun to twitch. This can’t be a coincidence.

“Do you play?” A voice breaks through to him, and he has to blink a few times before he can focus on the man standing before him. His dark hair curls rather attractively, falling around his face and framing rather striking hazel eyes. Jaskier’s countenance sours immediately, and he squints suspiciously. It takes the man a moment, but he grins wide when he recognizes Jaskier. “Dandelion! A pleasure to have you here.”

“Valdo. This is your shop?”

“It is indeed, opened it up after my last album.” He’s proud, almost annoyingly so, but Jaskier begrudgingly has to admit the shop is rather nice. His eyes wander back to the instrument behind Valdo, and Valdo raises his brows. “You never said if you played. Would you like to hold it?”

“You’d let me?”

“I’ve seen how you care for your guitar. I’d warn you it’s expensive, but I know you’re good for any damages.” Jaskier snorts as the other man goes to grab the instrument, and his fingers drum against his thighs. “Do you even know what this is?”

“Not a clue.” Jaskier’s hands are reaching for it as soon as Valdo holds it out, and he tucks the strap around his body. The neck settles into his hands, fingers resting on the strings, and a line of tension holding his body razor tight snaps.

“It’s a-” The soft sound of Jaskier plucking out a melody stops Valdo short, and Jaskier closes his eyes to ward off the dizziness.

A fire crackles merrily in front of him as he plays, tinkering away at a tune with his notebook close by. He isn’t sure about the harmony of the piece, the way the notes blend together. There’s something missing, and he can’t figure out what it is. He stops with a heavy sigh, scrubbing at his face and wracking his brain.

“You’re missing the lowest note in the harmony.”

“Pardon?” He looks up, sees the sensual curve of a small smirk on a very ruggedly handsome face, and those eyes, always those eyes staring back. The man comes over, reeking of pine and metal and home, and reaches to softly pluck at one of the strings. The note rings out and Jaskier latches on.

“Try.” The man whispers, and Jaskier does, drawing the note into his harmony and grinning at the fully bodied life it brings.

Jaskier’s head is spinning when he finally opens his eyes again, Valdo staring at him with unabashed surprise. Priscilla is at his side, hand on his elbow to hold him steady, and he glances down at the familiar way in which his hands hold the lute. Because that’s what it is- his favorite instrument, the thing that made him coin and granted him fame and found him a-

Jaskier’s heart cracks in his chest, and his breath punches out of him in one big whoosh. He lifts the lute over his head, pressing it back into Valdo’s hands before turning to bolt out the front door of the shop. He doesn’t know where he’s going, merely that he has to get away, to find somewhere safe. He feels a thousand eyes on him, whispers following his frantic fleeing, and he ducks into an alleyway, hiding behind a trash can and pressing his back to the brick wall. There’s a stitch in his side from his frantic running and his hands won’t stop shaking as he rakes his fingers through his hair. The song rings through him, as fresh as the day it was written, and the lyrics come to him unbidden.

He’s crazy. He’s well and truly crazy, because there’s no way what he’s seeing can be real, but it’s so vividly him, buried so deep in his heart that there’s no way it could be fake either. His breath comes from him faster and faster, and tears blur his vision as he folds his knees up to his chest and rocks. Priscilla finds him that way, huddled in a ball amongst the trash, sobbing and muttering to himself, and she uses the large hood of his jacket to hide his face as she gets him home. Jaskier has calmed enough to get himself up the stairs when they manage to stumble their way back, and his chest aches from the pounding of his heart.

The tremor in his hands hasn’t abated yet, but the mug that’s pressed into his hands doesn’t shake, so he just enjoys the warmth that it brings him. Priscilla seems at a loss for words, but Jaskier knows what she wants to ask. “Just say it, Pris.”

“What happened? You haven’t been yourself all morning- first with the tv, and then the lute in the shop? Jaskier, I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I have dreams.” He says, voice so soft it’s almost lost in the sound of his heartbeat. “And lately, I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.”

Priscilla reaches out, touching his shoulder lightly, and her face is soft, sad. “They’re just dreams. What you do here, the music you make, that’s what’s real.”

Jaskier nods, but his heart is plummeting in his chest and he doesn’t know why. Priscilla’s words should be a comfort, someone rooted in his reality telling him that his dreams are just that- dreams. The result of an overactive imagination. That’s all they are, all they’ve ever been. Jaskier tries not to let the thought suck him down somewhere he doesn’t want to go, but it’s near impossible to fight the tide rising in him. “They’re just dreams.”

He takes a sip of his lukewarm drink to find that it’s tea- the stuff he usually drinks as a last resort before bed time. It’s never worked before, but Jaskier downs the rest of it and hopes that this time, it will. Priscilla waits until he’s finished to take the cup, and when she comes back she’s holding a very large, very lute shaped object in her hands. Jaskier frowns, confused, but takes it from her anyway, tracing fingers over the lacquered wood. It’s smooth and warm under his touch, and he finds himself picking at the strings just to hear the sound. “Valdo said that it was yours.”

“I didn’t pay him.”

“He knew you’d say that. He said, and I quote ‘I’ve only been holding it for him.’ Whatever that might mean.” Jaskier schools his features into careful indifference, trying not to let his discomfort show. What in the hell does he mean by that? He’s going to have to go back to the shop and talk to him to find out, but he’s not inclined to leave his apartment for the foreseeable future. Priscilla, sensing the mood has gone down, ruffles Jaskier’s hair and gives his shoulders a squeeze. “Take some time, Dandy, get some sleep, then come back.”

Jaskier makes a soft noise in his throat at the silly nickname, but it’s sweet and Jaskier has never told her to stop. He watches her duck out of the apartment with one last look his way, and once the door clicks shut, locking behind her, he grips the lute tighter. He hasn’t ever played formally- has never been trained, and while a guitar is similar, there’s more strings than ever and he expects to fumble.

He doesn’t.

His fingers know what to do even without his brain, and he hums along to the melody from before. Here, in the safety of his apartment, he plays and plays until the song is firmly committed to memory and he’s written down the lyrics to go along with it. A song about the monster of the wood, a cruel, hungry creature with the head of a deer, stalking him in the night.

“You need to listen to me-”

“I’m your barker, for better or worse. How can I bark if I never see anything?”

“You stay alive for a day longer.” His hands shake with anger, chest burning with it, and the man in front of him, golden eyes fierce and animal, glares back just as hotly. They’re nose to nose practically, and his head pounds in time with his heartbeat as his hands come up, shoving the man away and watching in shock as he goes.

“Go then. I’ll be here, tending your fire and watching your horse, as that is all I am good for.” He turns then, but a hand grabs at his arm, turning him around on his heel. He pulls against it, fights to be released, but Geralt’s hand bunches in his shirt above his heart and holds him. “Geralt-”

“For better or worse, Jaskier.” His eyes meet gold, molten and scalding, and he’s speechless at the sincere intensity in Geralt’s gaze. “I would rather it be better.”

“You don’t get to decide that-” Geralt cuts him off with a kiss, lips hard against his own. It’s awkward, a bit painful, but Jaskier tilts his head, pulls back a bit and Geralt responds in kind. He kisses, Jaskier decides, like a man who has been kissed not nearly enough, and he commits himself to fixing that immediately. Geralt’s grip loosens in Jaskier’s shirt, but Jaskier’s hand comes up to bury in snow white locks, keeping him close as his heart rockets into his throat.

The strings of the lute dig painfully into his fingers when he comes to, and he shakes himself, releasing his tight hold and groaning when blood rushes back into the pads of his fingers. He tucks the lute back away in its case, not wanting to look at the flowers painted onto the wood along its wide belly. He tells himself not to touch the lute, to leave it alone so that all this will go away, but the longer he sits on his couch, leg bouncing and tv on some awful movie the more his fingers itch to play.

Instead, he forces himself to get up, to pull out his vacuum and mop and cleaning supplies. He spends the afternoon scrubbing down every inch of the apartment, puts away his laundry, and even tidies up his desk, which is a rather artful disarray of papers. Some, like Priscilla, call it a mess, but Jaskier knows where each piece of paper goes, and he prefers it stays that way. Cleaning can only distract him for so long, and once the smell of lemon cleaner becomes too much he caves, grabbing the lute and ducking out onto his balcony.

The sun is beginning to descend on the city, and he allows it to warm his bones and loosen his muscles as he plays. Each song that comes from him is new and old and entirely his, each rich, resounding note a piece of him. The instrument is no more a stranger to him than his guitar, or his flute, or any of the other instruments he’s picked up and enjoyed along the way. Its weight, the feeling of the double strings pressing under his fingers is home to him, and he plays long after the sun is set. There’s a reckoning, a righteousness within this instrument that calls to the deepest parts of Jaskier’s soul, and he finds himself crying with no real reason as to why.

He cries silently, holding the lute close to him and staring out over the city. Cars rush past his building, far below, and somewhere nearby a dog barks. But it’s all background noise- it’s nothing compared to the harsh intake of his breath or the way that it shudders out of him. When he can’t stand it anymore he retreats back inside, leaving his lute on his dresser before stripping down and crawling into bed. There, buried under blankets and utterly, terribly alone, Jaskier closes his eyes and dreams.

“You’re alive.” A low, rough voice breathes behind him. He turns, but he already knows what will be waiting for him, and he can feel his face lighting up in a grin.

“Geralt! Of course I’m alive, how could the world bear to part with me just yet?” His heart jackrabbits in his chest at the sight of the man before him, clad as always, in dark armor and a stormy, conflicted expression. Well, the expression is new. The armor, not so much. He finds himself smiling for no real reason as to why, but Geralt’s face is open and honest and terrified, and he can’t keep from reaching out to gently touch his cheek.

“There were rumors- about a bard, having been murdered by a beast.”

“As if I could be harmed by a beast with you protecting me.”

“But I wasn’t.” Jaskier takes a step forward, cupping his witcher’s cheek and smiling when Geralt leans into the touch.

The dream dissolves as Jaskier shifts, drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness. The latter wins out, and his body drifts away while his mind slips again.

Blue eyes stare at him through the mirror. It isn’t a great mirror, small and cracked and woven with imperfections, but he won’t need it for long. He only needs to make sure his hair is presentable, his golden doublet unmarred by any stains, and that his smile, when shown just so, is as charming and delightful as always.

“You’re fussing.” Geralt says, and Jaskier knows, his heart knows that voice and the hand that slides over his hip better than anything. He finds himself leaning back against a strong chest, laughing and tipping his head back.

“Some of us care for our appearance before a performance.” An amused hum, and then lips on his neck, gentle and sweet, kissing a trail up toward Jaskier’s waiting lips. He sinks into the kiss, turning as Geralt’s arms come up and around him, careful not to crease Jaskier’s clothes.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Most of the night. You’re free to come, love. I’m sure they’d love to pester the White Wolf himself.”

“Mmm, pester is right.” The warmth in his chest is softer now, with no edges of anger, and he knows what this is. It’s love. Pure and unfettered by doubt.

That same warmth burns in his chest when he jerks up in bed, leaping from under the covers to run into his bathroom. The mirror he has now is perfect- gleaming with the fresh cleaning he’d done just today and showing his reflection without any defects. The same blue eyes stare back, sweeping over the same lips, the same cheekbones and nicely shaped jawbone. The same messy, tousled brown hair as the bard in the dream. As him . Whoever he was- is- is long gone- left behind in another life completely. That isn’t him anymore, it can’t be, but when he thinks, and thinks hard, they’re there. All the memories, the times in between his dreams. The first time he’d seen Geralt, sitting in the back of a tavern refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, to draw any unwanted attention to him. The feeling of his hair, so devoid of color, twisting around his fingers as he washed blood and viscera from them. His friends- Priscilla, in her blue and red ensemble with the poofy shorts, Essi, a near twin to Priscilla, only shorter and plumper. Valdo, his rival, the troubadour who writes songs without any meaning but somehow comes out on top.

Valdo.

Jaskier scrambles for his phone, dropping it twice before finally swiping open the screen. He has his number, more to make sure he never answers than anything, but now, now he needs it more than anything else. He hits dial without letting himself think, holding his phone to his ear and shifting nervously from foot to foot. The line rings and rings, and just as he thinks it'll go to voicemail he hears a soft click.

"Dandelion? It's nearly three in the morning, what could you-"

"I'm not crazy."

"Debatable." Valdo's voice is amused, but when Jaskier doesn't respond he quickly grows serious.

"You said you were keeping the lute for me." His words are rolling in his mouth, voice mangled by an accent that he can't seem to keep away or bring back. He hears a sharp intake of breath, and then a long, shuddering sigh.

"I was, Julian. For far, far too long. Meet me at the diner on Broadmoor." The line goes dead and Jaskier is left to get ready, a long, long dead name ringing in his ears.

-*-

There are three diners on Broadmoor. Jaskier curses his luck, but only one seems to have the lights on and so Jaskier heads that way first. He pulls on the door and is hit in the face by the smell of stale coffee and hash browns. He glances around, searching, and spots Valdo in a booth back in the corner. His face is drawn, hair a mess, but he has a cup of coffee waiting For Jaskier when he slides into the cheap plastic booth. Valdo slides the mug toward him and he clasps it in his hands, sniffing lightly. He debates putting sugar or cream in it, but he needs the caffeine too badly right now to care much about the bitter taste. Valdo watches his internal debate with a raised brow, leaning back in the booth and sighing.

“You remember.” Jaskier accuses, wincing at the way his tone sounds. Valdo takes it in stride, tilting his head in a small nod and sipping at his coffee.

“I always have. I didn’t know if you would this time around.”

“This time?” Valdo nods again, and Jaskier is quickly becoming frustrated by the non answers. “Valdo, what the fuck is going on?”

“Reincarnation. You’ve heard of it before, yes?” Jaskier nods, and Valdo continues on. “There are some of us who keep coming back. Not always with memories, not always whole. I seem to have no problem keeping them, but others like Priscilla, or Essi, or-”

“Are they really reincarnations?” Jaskier frowns- how much is it reincarnation if you’re just the same body without knowing if your consciousness is the same?

“I said that, didn’t I?” His glare is enough to set a house on fire, but Valdo doesn’t fold under the pressure, instead waving for menus to be brought over. “For decades I was unsure why. Why us? Nothing seemed to connect us together, just random strangers being brought through life. Until I found out you came along as well.”

“You’re saying that I’m the link?”

“You know us all, have some kind of connection. You are the one constant in each of our lives.”

“But the others, they don’t remember?”

“They never have.” Valdo orders something for the two of them, waving away Jaskier’s protest, and plows forward in his conversation. “You don’t always either. I’ve held that lute for the past two reincarnations, neither of which you retained memories for. But you remember now, or are beginning to.”

“Yes.” Jaskier’s voice is a whisper, and admitting it, saying that it’s real takes a weight off his shoulders he didn’t know he was carrying.

“Tell me how?” It’s phrased as a request, and Jaskier nods, staring at his coffee to try and ward off his tears.

“I was seventeen when my dreams started feeling real- performances or days on the road, nights spent stitching wounds or bandaging cuts. Lately they’ve-”

“Been bleeding into your waking hours. Like when you played in the shop.” Valdo’s interrupting makes irritation flare in the back of his mind, but he tamps it down. He’s only trying to help, and is filling in more details than Jaskier would have gotten on his own. Their food comes then, and Jaskier watches as some kind of breakfast scramble is placed in front of him. It’s heavy with hashbrowns, eggs, bacon and cheese. It looks awful. Jaskier digs in hungrily, groaning at the heavenly taste- shitty overnight diners always have the best food. They eat their food in relative silence, too hungry and tired to care much to continue with something else in front of them.

This all seems fake, too good to be real. Valdo’s instant reassurance of what he’s feeling, what he’s dreaming, it has to be some kind of con, some way to get dirt on him. He expects the other man to laugh any minute, to call him crazy and tell him he needs serious help. He’s waiting for a punchline that isn’t coming, and it makes him anstier and anstier by the second. It explains so much- the old, old memories he has of a time before electricity, or running water, of nobles and peasants and monsters. Of witchers and sorceresses and bards. There are newer memories too- of him in a diner much like this, sitting across from a man with white hair and shining golden eyes. Of dancing in a club to his own music, standing alongside all the others in a rally, holding a sign protesting the inequality that ruins his life while cameras show his face. Through it all, his companion is there- a silent, steady presence.

“There’s- a man. Who I am desperately in love with, no matter who I am.”

“Your witcher. White hair, cat eyes?” He doesn’t need to nod for Valdo to know the answer, and he grins. “His name is Geralt of Rivia, though Rivia is long gone now.”

“Is he…”

“Alive? Of course. They, unlike us, do not die.”

“They?” He doesn’t even get a chance to let Valdo talk, his vision going blurry and ears ringing.

“C’mere asshole!” Jaskier laughs, darting away from the witcher intent on catching him. It isn’t Geralt- his hair is dark and cropped short, voice smoother, less gravelly. He’s also much, much more expressive.

“Catch me if you can!” His lungs hurt from running and laughing so much, and he squeaks as hands grab the back of his doublet and yank him to a stop. Jaskier squirms as arms wrap around him, and he pouts, letting himself go deadweight. “You aren’t supposed to use your witchery powers, you know.”

“Oops.” He’s let go then, and Jaskier shoves the other man lightly, grinning.

“Ass. Maybe I’ll go find Eskel, at least he follows the rules of the game.”

“Rules are for peasants.”

“Then you should fit right in, Lambert.” He dodges a swat to the back of the head, laughing and disappearing further into the keep.

Valdo is staring at him expectantly when he blinks, the stone walls and cold breeze fading away from his mind. His food is lukewarm in front of him, and he takes a big bite just to avoid having to say anything yet. Valdo is too smug for his own good though, and he sits forward, grinning.

“Jogged your memory, eh?”

“Shut up.” His insufferable grin only grows bigger, and Jaskier wants to smack it off his face or strangle him. Either would work, honestly. “Is there some way to contact him, or any of them?”

“Not unless you’re a government official, or happen to know someone who had a pest problem. But, there is something that might work.”

“What?”

“Your songs. I'm sure you've already written new ones with the lute- release them in an album. If they’re listening, which is near impossible not to with your reputation, they’ll find you .”

“What if they don’t?”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to bed a government agent.” Jaskier scoffs, wrinkling his nose, but Valdo wags his eyebrows and he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from his chest. He falls into silence then, staring down at the rest of his food, and his voice is soft when he finally finds the courage to speak.

“Thank you. For keeping it safe.” When he glances up, Valdo’s eyes are bright, shining with relief.

-*-

Jaskier does what he does best- he writes a few songs, then writes a few more, until he’s bursting with music and lyrics and ideas. He gets himself into his studio and doesn’t leave until he’s recorded an entire album, with his lute being the main focus. It brings with it a new, exciting kind of charm that his producers eat right up, a kind of mystical energy that isn’t present in any of Jaskier’s other songs.

It’s also a release- he lets go of the monsters that haunted him, bringing them roaring into his music instead and letting them run wild. His dreams are still plagued by memories, but the more he plays, the more he tries to remember, the easier it gets. Turns out when you stop fighting against a piece of yourself, letting it in is much, much easier. The music videos are his favorite part of the whole process- he crafts one specific to each song, embedding as much of a message as he can in the hopes that one of the witcher’s will see. Will see him and know him, and extend a hand.

He tries to look up the witchers, to see if there’s any kind of way to find them online, but Lambert is too common a name and he has no clue what last name he would use, if any. Eskel’s name yields less results, but still too many for him to narrow down, and he’s left back at square one for them. Geralt’s name? Now that pulls up results.

‘ The witcher, most formally known as Geralt of Rivia, is one of the world’s only practicing monster slayers, and a bit of a recluse. He was last spotted hunting some kind of sea serpent along the mediterranean, and then boarded a plane bound for America.’

‘Geralt of Rivia, White Wolf, was allegedly seen decapitating a local woman at a train station in France. When questioned by police, they were informed that the woman was a bruxa who had been preying on locals. Mr. Rivia was released without further incident.’

That article makes Jaskier laugh, and he prints it out to tack above his desk on his cork board. Leave it to Geralt to scare everyone around him while doing his job. Any article related to Geralt gets its spot on the board, actually and he’s fairly certain he looks like a stalker, but they’re his only glimpse into what Geralt has been up to. It makes the pain easier to handle, knowing he’s just been too busy to seek Jaskier out, and certainly not ignoring the neon signs that are his music. Half of them are Geralt’s exploits, after all, and if he doesn’t recognize them then Jaskier has failed to faithfully recreate them.

But the songs work- somewhat. In a small town somewhere in the midwest, a witcher hears Jaskier’s music, and begins to hunt for his white haired brother.

Jaskier, in the meantime goes about his life, bouncing from interview to interview, one of which he’s in now. The chair is somewhat uncomfortable and the lights are a little too bright, but the woman interviewing him is new, nervous, and he does his best to put her at ease.

“You’re doing great, love. What were you saying?”

The woman blushes, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear before asking again. “Your newest album, it pulls away from the bouncier, lighter tone of your second album. Why?”

“Good question. Writing fun music is wonderful, lovely, but I, and I’m sure you’ll be surprised, have my own fears. Monsters that haunt my dreams, who begged to be put into song.”

“So the songs are based on dreams?”

“Now you’re catching on.” Jaskier winks, drawing another giggle from her, and he leans back in his chair, tilting his head. “No one can tell me they don’t dream of dark and twisted things sometimes. Of wanting a knight in shining armor to come save them.”

“That’s an incredible way to put it. Are any of the monsters in your songs real?”

“Oh yes. The leshy, or leshen is a forest spirit that is said to roam the deepest parts of a forest. There are also ghouls, terrible hunchback creatures who stalk battlefields, and basilisks, large winged creatures with iridescent scales and scalding breath.”

He sees his interviewer shudder, and his gaze goes soft, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Where did you hear about these monsters?”

“From a friend, years ago.”

"Do you still talk to them?"

Jaskier's eyes find the camera, and it's a terrible cliche to spike the lens, but he does it anyway. "We lost contact a while back. I'm hoping that… through my music, I can find him again."

"Well, I'm sure your fanbase can help!"

"That they can." Jaskier grins, glancing back at the interviewer, and he hears someone yell cut behind them. He stands, shaking her hand and giving her a quick hug. He murmurs a few words of encouragement, and when he ducks into the room they've designated for him he tells his producer to send her something. Flowers or a gift or anything. She handled him like a champ. It's thankfully his last interview of the day, and he grabs his lute, which he brought just in case before ducking out the door. He makes his escape from the building out onto the street with relative ease, slinging his lute across his back to navigate the crowds easier. The amount of times he’s had to refuse security before they learned was more than he could count. He's stopped a few times by fans, asking to take pictures, and he glances at them on his phone once his Twitter dings.

@dandelion stopped and took a picture! Best day ever!

The rest of the post is filled with heart eye emojis and hashtags, but Jaskier stares at the photo. The awful stripes and swirls on his button up are reminiscent of a bowling alley floor, but his jeans are cute and his boots top the whole outfit off. He thought it'd looked cute when he put it on, and is pleased to see that others agree. He looks better in general- the bags under his eyes are all but gone and there's a confidence in the set of his shoulders he hadn't noticed before. Like knowing who he is has completed a puzzle he didn't know he'd lost a piece to.

He tucks his phone back into his pocket as he skips down the steps to the subway, whistling merrily the whole time. The public transportation in the city had to be his favorite thing in the world, aside from jelly donuts and Geralt's eyes. It makes going from place to place a snap, and he doesn't have to constantly tell people he can't drive when they ask where his car is. The train is running a minute behind, as usual, but Jaskier books it down the rest of the stairs and through the turnstile, jogging up just as the doors slide open. People file on quickly, taking their seats, and Jaskier moves to step on when he spots snow white hair.

That in itself isn't unusual- plenty of old people ride the subway, but it's a man who looks no older than his mid thirties. He's dressed in all black, jeans and a heavy sweater, and strapped to his back are twin swords, their pommels shining dully in the fluorescent lights of the train. A duffle bag hangs from one shoulder, nondescript, but a pale, scarred hand hovers over it protectively. Jaskier is aware he's staring, holding up the train, but his feet are rooted firmly in place as his head begins to pound. The man- Geralt- irritated by the lack of movement turns to see what's going on, golden cat eyes cold and hard. The sight sends vertigo crashing through Jaskier so wildly that he feels his knees give out, and his vision blurs as he collapses onto the ground.

-*-

"No, no. He's fine. Don't hold the train for us." A voice, rough and low and heavenly drifts through his consciousness and he groans, burying his face in a warm, nicely toned chest. Strong arms wrap around him, holding him, and he sinks into the embrace without really thinking. When he moves the arms tighten around him, holding him closer, and he finally rouses.

He cracks an eye open to see an officer in front of them, debating with Geralt about getting him medical care, and he groans, sitting up and plastering his best smile on his face.

"Sorry love, my sugar dropped again. Was I out long?" The officer stops when he speaks, and Jaskier tilts his head curiously. "Tell me you didn't call them, you know I don't want the attention."

He looks up at Geralt, false frown on his face, and Geralt shakes his head. "Another passenger. I told them you were fine."

"That I am! I'm very sorry for the confusion, I just got off of a rather long interview and was a bit hungrier than I expected." The officer looks between them, brows furrowed, but tucks his notepad away and nods reluctantly.

"If you're sure you'll be alright."

"Feeling loads better already! Sorry again Officer!" Jaskier watches until the officer leaves the platform, and then shoves his way out of Geralt's arms. Geralt lets him go without a fight, sitting on the bench and watching as Jaskier paces the length of the platform, ranting. He's speaking in a language he knows but doesn't know, but it's better than letting everyone else hear him.

" I dreamt about you for years! Years, and the first thing I do is pass out when I see your goddamn face. Son of a bitch." Jaskier glares accusingly at him, but the corners of Geralt's mouth tug up in a smirk and Jaskier can feel his heart going a mile a minute. " I could have broken my lute, or-or been cut in half by the doors all because you were on the subway you big old insufferable-"

" You dreamt about me." Geralt's voice is soft, fond, and Jaskier loves and hates the way his voice curls around elder speech. " Jask, I didn't know you'd come back."

" Didn't- didn't KNOW? I am, and I am going to brag here, insanely famous, Geralt. Like on the news famous. How in the WORLD did you not know?"

" I don't watch the news."

"Of course you don't- of course I would get the one witcher in the whole wide world who doesn't watch the news ." He's cut back into English at some point, and he stops, fists clenched as Geralt stands up with his palms out. It's something he's seen Geralt do with Roach a thousand times when she's being antsy, and it drives him up the wall. "I am not a horse , Geralt, I am your fucking barker."

"You're acting more like my horse right now." Geralt is close enough now Jaskier can smell the soft cologne he's wearing, and his knees go weak again with the fact that he's actually here.

"You jackass -" Jaskier launches forward, throwing his arms around Geralt's neck and pulling him down to kiss him senseless. Geralt takes it in stride, scooping Jaskier off his feet and spinning with the momentum. He's careful of Jaskier's lute, but his hands are strong and firm as Jaskier is thoroughly crushed to his chest, held so tight that neither of them seem to be breathing. Jaskier doesn't care- his feet are off the ground completely, a fistful of white hair in his hands again and Geralt's lips on his. He has a beard, neat and taken care of, and Jaskier's other hand slips down to cup the side of Geralt's neck, thumb brushing through the coarse fibers.

Geralt is the first to pull away, Jaskier tipping forward blindly to kiss him again, huffing when Geralt smiles and bumps their noses together.

"Train is coming. As much as I've missed this, I'd rather not miss the next one."

"Tell me you aren't leaving me." Jaskier presses their foreheads together, eyes closed to keep any potential tears at bay. “Please.”

“I have to check into my hotel.”

“Geralt of Rivia, if you think for one minute you aren’t coming home to sleep in my bed you’re a fool. Fuck your hotel room.”

“It has a jacuzzi.” Geralt laughs when Jaskier pulls back to glare, and Geralt holds onto Jaskier’s hand, guiding them through the throng of people and onto the train. Geralt motions towards a seat, but Jaskier stays plastered resolutely to his side and just rests his head against Geralt's shoulder. He sways with the movement of the train, but Geralt’s arm is around his hip, holding him steady as the train goes around a curve and slows a bit. He feels more at peace with Geralt next to him than he has in years, and he’s drifted off to sleep when Geralt moves just a bit, dipping down to whisper in his ear. Elder speech brushes against him, trailing down his spine, and his eyelids flutter as he leans in to hear him better.

“What stop do we get off at, Jaskier?”

And oh, if hearing his name from Geralt’s lips isn’t sublime. “Two more.”

“ You were asleep.” Jaskier chuckles softly, turning his head and kissing him lightly.

“ I’ve lived here for years. I know how long I have.” His elder isn’t nearly as pretty or fluid as Geralt’s but he seems to enjoy it all the same, pupils widening at the sound, the sight of Jaskier’s lips moving. He feels like prey being hunted and he loves it. True to his words, two stops later Jaskier is the one to lead them off the train and up the many, many stairs to the street above. His hand never leaves Geralt’s, afraid that if he lets go the man will disappear into the crowd and leave him alone again. His apartment building isn’t far from the station, and he has to pass through three different checkpoints before he’s even flagged into the building. All of the security guards eye Geralt with barely hidden suspicion, but Jaskier is either oblivious or doesn’t care. The hot, possessive kiss that Jaskier pulls Geralt into while waiting for the elevator is answer enough.

Jaskier’s head is spinning again by the time they make it to his door, and he sags against it, panting lightly and trying to get his key in the lock. Geralt’s hand comes up, guiding the key in as he stands just close enough for Jaskier to be intimately aware of every inch of him. Jaskier gasps, shakes against the door and finally manages to shove it open. He hurries into the room, past the kitchen and into the living room. His lute is slung onto the cushions gently just as his knees give out again, and he catches himself on the arm of the couch, Geralt at his side a moment later.

He can’t feel his legs- he really, really can’t feel his legs, and he isn’t sure that it should seem like such a good thing. Geralt is a hard, hot presence between his thighs, and he arches up into Geralt’s touch, whimpering his name. He wants, he wants so desperately and he feels like he could fall apart at any moment, his breaths coming faster and faster as Geralt grins down, at him teeth sharp and glistening and begging to be buried in flesh. He reaches up, brings him down and kisses him, lapping into his mouth just to taste and let a fang scrape against his tongue.

His chest is heaving when he blinks from his memory, and oh, oh he’s embarrassingly, frustratingly hard. How in the hell does he explain something like this? His knees smart from where they’ve hit the floor and he pitches himself forward, out of Geralt’s surprised hands, his palms slapping against the wood of his floor as he pants. It’s better than letting Geralt see him, worked up over nothing. But he doesn’t get the chance to even think of a lie- he hears Geralt’s sharp intake of breath, the soft huff of a stunned laugh. Geralt is on his knees next to him before he can move, lips on his neck and teeth digging just so into the pale, unmarked flesh. Jaskier keens without meaning to, the noise spilling from his lips, and his cheeks flush when Geralt makes a triumphant noise, pulling back and using a hand on the small of Jaskier’s back make him sit back.

“If you say anything smart, Geralt, I will throw you off my balcony.”

“You don’t have to hide from me.” Is all he says instead, and he takes Jaskier’s hands, guiding him to sit on the couch while he takes care of Jaskier’s lute. Jaskier watches, knees pressed to his chest to hide his slowly dwindling erection as Geralt hunts around his apartment, breathing deep and seeming pleased at what he finds. He lingers briefly by the bedroom door, but seems to think better about exploring there just yet. Instead he reaches up, undoing the clasp across his chest and letting his swords slide from his back. He places them on the coffee table and pulls his sweater up and over his head. Jaskier watches it all, eyes wide, and he jumps as the sweater is tossed at him. He catches it with only a minor fumble, pressing it to his face and breathing deep.

He can almost feel the growl that rumbles through Geralt at the sight, and he grins, toothy and bright, sniffing again. It’s easy to lose his train of thought at the sight of Geralt- Modern clothes suit him well, from the cut of his jeans to the way his t-shirt shows off the rather lovely shoulder to hip ratio he has. Practically perfect. What really arouses him, and this shouldn’t ever be admitted out loud, is the amount of weapons Geralt has on him. There are two pistols tucked into sheathes under his arms against his sides, at least two knives tucked into each boot, not to mention the swords he’s already discarded.

“How do you draw the pistols with your sweater on?”

“I don’t.” Geralt’s voice is amused, and he reaches to unbuckle the leather harness, silver rings glittering along his fingers. There are no fingers that are bare of rings, whether they’re smooth, simple bands or ones studded in small spikes. It’s… ridiculously attractive and Jaskier fears for his heart at this rate. The holsters slip off of his shoulders and they too are left on the table with his swords, though he doesn’t go for the daggers in his boots at all. “You’re staring.”

“I’m allowed to.” He breathes out, reaching a hand out as Geralt pads over. His fingers splay against Geralt’s chest as the older man leans down, kissing him slowly, the warm metal of his rings sliding across Jaskier's cheek. Jaskier shivers at the sensation, making a soft noise as he stretches up further to try and get closer. Geralt pulls back too soon, always too soon, and Jaskier groans with disappointment.

“Tell me what happened when we came in.”

“Do we really have to talk about that now?” Geralt leans back, eyes searching his face, and Jaskier sighs dramatically, tugging Geralt to sit next to him on the couch so he can lean against his chest. "I wasn't born with my memories. I had- it feels stupid to repeat this all- I had night terrors as a child."

"Of monsters." Jaskier nods, pressing Geralt's sweater to his face and speaking through the fabric.

"Particularly of me being eaten by them. When I got older, graduated high school, they shifted focus. They showed me, or the bard I thought was haunting my dreams, following you, performing at a banquet, being chased by a farmer's husband. Within the past few months they got worse. They slipped into my daydreams, took them over, until I could hardly go outside without seeing something that would set them off."

"Is that what happened on the platform?" Jaskier shakes his head, sighing.

"I don't know what that was- a reaction to seeing you again, after only seeing you in dreams maybe? All I remember is getting hit by the worst vertigo I've ever felt, and then I was waking up in your arms. This last time- I'm not sure. I really don't want to keep collapsing though, my knees won't be able to take it."

His joke is weak but Geralt chuckles anyway, pressing his nose into Jaskier's hair. "I'll get you kneepads."

"My hero." He feels a rumble go through Geralt's chest and that brings a smile to his face. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Tell me about you, what you've been doing. I, for one, have been struggling with my memories and made it as a musician. But you, last of the witchers, are impossible to find info on."

"How do you know I'm the last?"

"Internet speculation. Don't worm your way out of this." Geralt sighs heavily, shaking his head and muttering to himself before Jaskier turns and plops himself into Geralt's lap so Geralt has to look at him.

"Eskel and Lambert retired a few years ago. Contracts are few and far between."

"What do you do then when you aren't fighting monsters?"

"I… Translate." Jaskier doesn't think he's heard right, and he tilts his head.

"Pardon? Was my very sexy boyfriend about to tell me something even sexier?" Geralt raises a brow at the word boyfriend, but Jaskier can see that he's pleased by the automatic assumption that they're together. Like they were never apart at all.

"I interpret. Mostly for doctors offices or business meetings. I'm occasionally called to the field when researchers need help."

"What languages?" Geralt doesn't say anything, cheeks flushing a faint pink instead. Jaskier grins then, pleased as all get out, and he leans forward, bumping their noses together and watching the way Geralt's pupils open wider at the contact. "What languages, Geralt?"

"There- aren't many I don't know."

"Someone's been busy."

"I had time. And language barriers make hunting harder." Jaskier laughs at the defensive tone to Geralt's voice, leaning their foreheads together and laughing until Geralt kisses him to shut him up. And even then he giggles against Geralt's lips, wiggling when Geralt tickles at his ribs.

"No wonder your elder is good." Geralt huffs out a laugh, shaking his head and leaning back so he can look at Jaskier, gaze sweeping over Jaskier's face slowly.

"My brothers and I are the only ones fluent."

"In the world?"

"There are small elven communities hidden around, but other than that, yes."

"Where are your brothers?"

"Somewhere in the midwest." Geralt says it with a shrug, as if it isn't a big deal. "They move frequently."

"Too used to being on the Path." Jaskier muses, though it's truer than he might realize. “What about you, where do you settle?”

“I don’t.” Jaskier tilts his head, thinking about that. He isn’t sure why Geralt would ever settle down, since he’s the last witcher active apparently. It would make sense for him not to have any place to call home, but the thought bothers him. A lot more than it should.

“You have a home here, if you want it.” He whispers, heart in his throat, and Geralt’s whole demeanor softens. His eyes look more amber in the setting sun coming through his balcony, and Jaskier leans forward, lips brushing Geralt’s at the same time his phone rings. He groans, intent to ignore it, but Geralt’s fingers dip into Jaskier’s back pocket to pull it out. He hits answer, holding the phone up to Jaskier’s ear as he glares.

“Jaskier, who the fuck are you kissing?”

“Hello Priscilla, nice to see you again, I’ve been just dandy since we last saw each other.” Jaskier takes the phone from Geralt, pressing it to his ear on his own.

“Jaskier, Twitter is in an uproar, there are pictures everywhere.”

“Naughty pictures?” Jaskier puts the phone on speaker while he moves over to Twitter, scrolling through the thousands of tags he’s gotten in the past two hours alone. They’re all the same picture, which Jaskier saves immediately, some better quality than others. There’s him in his bowling alley button up, held aloft in Geralt’s arms, kissing him senseless. It’s a rather artistic photo, the contrast between his bright colors and lute and Geralt’s stiff black clothing and threatening swords. “Ah.”

“That’s all you have to say? You haven’t seriously dated anyone since high school and that's what you say?” Priscilla is pissed, rightfully so, and Jaskier winces.

“Look it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you, I just-”

“I asked him not to.” Jaskier can hear the sharp intake of breath over the phone from Priscilla when Geralt talks, and she’s much more pleasant this time when she speaks. Traitor.

“Oh. And you are?”

“Geralt.”

“And where are you from, Geralt? How long have you been dating my best friend?” He sees Geralt’s lips quirk in a smile, and he rolls his eyes, letting Geralt do the talking. At least that way he isn’t getting yelled at.

“Rivia. We’ve been seeing each other for a few years now, I would say.” Jaskier snorts at the lie, except well- it isn’t really a lie. They’ve been together for years and years over entire lifetimes.

“Rivia?” A distant quality overtakes her voice, and Jaskier winces, clapping a hand over his ear as Priscilla squeals. “Jaskier, please tell me you aren’t dating Geralt of Rivia.”

“Uh.” Geralt’s lips twitch upward as he raises a brow at Jaskier’s hesitation, but Priscilla is laughing, wheezing out little breaths, and Jaskier waits for her to calm down before he answers. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, no it’s just unbelievable.”

“Hey!” There’s offense in Jaskier’s tone, and Geralt’s hand rests on his hip, squeezing lightly. Jaskier shudders at the touch, scowling, but his witcher is the picture of innocence. “I guess the cats out of the bag, eh love?”

“Mhm.” Gods Jaskier has missed those little sounds, the answers but not answers.

“You have to say something on Twitter before your fans break the site. And introduce us properly.”

“Right, right. Dinner okay?”

“Only if I get to pick the place.”

“Deal. I’ll call you later, okay?” Priscilla gives an affirmative and hangs up, Jaskier tilting his head at Geralt with his brows raised. “So, Geralt of Rivia, ready to be official with a popstar?”

“Not really. But with you? I’ll manage.” Jaskier rolls his eyes, moving to tuck himself against Geralt’s side. Geralt’s arm snakes around him, hugging him a bit closer as Jaskier raises his phone.

“Say cheese!” He grins wide, waiting until Geralt isn’t glaring to snap the photo. It’s a good one, Geralt’s eyes liquid and warm, the corners of his mouth tilted up in the smallest of smiles. It’s definitely going to be his wallpaper. Jaskier posts it onto Twitter with a simple caption.

My knight in shining armor.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #modern au #reincarnation au #immortal geralt of rivia #flaskbacks #popstar Jaskier

37 notes · View notes

treasurestation · 4 years

Text

You & Hyunsuk are strangers, the whole world seems to think otherwise.

In his last year of high school, Hyunsuk makes the mistake of accidentally confessing to the wrong person. That's where everything goes wrong.

“Excuse me,”

Turns to find you. And a boy.

“Do– do you need something?” Your smile is unbearable, the kindness in your eyes bright and blazing on your face. Head tilts, the boy's head does the same – synced in a way that doesn't mean friendship, deeper than it looks. More.

“I... Um!” Turns to your locker, stares at it – heart drops, chews on his lip. Bites hard.

“... Ask if he's okay,”

Hyunsuk feels the burn, your eyes and the boy's – searing at the back of his neck, seeping into his skin, bones, to his heart. Feels the red bloom of embarrassment grow on his cheeks.

“Are you okay? You look like you're sick–”

Hyunsuk runs. Wants the ground to open up and swallow him – he made a mistake. Accidentally gives you his love letter for someone else – he makes a mistake, and he doesn't know what to do.

Hyunsuk makes a mistake and runs.

“Maybe it's a bomb –”

Yoshinori leans close to you, stares over your shoulder at your locker. Steals a glance at your face, before he bumps your shoulder gently with his, says, “– or a very lovely love letter,”

“Or maybe, he made a mistake and accidentally put it, said love letter, in my locker,”

“That only happens in Shoujo manga...” He pouts, bottom lip jutting out. You shrug, looking to him, a smile blooms on your face, “my life could be a work of fiction, you never know, Yoshi.”

“I'll believe it when I see it,”

You begin to taste something bitter in your mouth. Wondering if it is a love letter, or if it's a mistake, or it's – you dwell on your thoughts. Feels a hand ground into your shoulder, kneads through the layers of your uniform. Presses soft, too gently on you – “it's okay to reject people, you know.” Nods his head, brings you back to reality.

You nod, open palm moving to cover his hand, “It's okay to reject people,” you say back. Repeating his words, more to yourself than to anyone else.

“I'll go get us milk, you'll wait here for me, right?” Waits until you hand him over a few coins from your bag, fingers brushing against his. You nod, “obviously,” you say quietly. He smiles before he's gone.

You stare after him. Feel the heat burning in your gut, you inhale. Swallow the world and feel something heavy on your shoulders.

You open your shoe locker, stare at the letter above your outdoor shoes. Stare and stare, until realization hits.

This could be for you, or it could be for someone who isn't you – you don't open it. Not until after lunch, after mouthfuls of rice, after your strawberry milk, after Yoshinori walks you to class, and goes to his.

Once you sit in your desk. Placing the pink envelope in between the folds of your notebook. Tearing it open, and placing out the parchment paper in your schoolbook, in the folds again.

Parchment paper between fingers, scratches against your forefinger. Draws blood, seeps into the corner of the paper.

You whip your fingers against your woollen sweater, red staining brown. Before your heartbeat quickens.

You looked beautiful today. I wanted to talk to you, ask you if you liked the color green – or any colors, you probably like colors. I chickened out, felt like I wasn't enough to be beside you. But you looked beautiful today. I like the way you look. Your hair, the way the sun catches it – I wonder how your hair will look green. Probably wouldn't match you, maybe it would. But I like the color green, I wanted to ask if I should dye my hair green. I probably won't. Too chicken for that. Just like I'm too chicken to talk to you – I want to write poems about you, expect I don't know how, and my friends think that's weird because I can't spell correctly when I'm expressing myself. What do you think? Am I good at writing? Grammar really shouldn't matter, right? If it does– I'm rambling, can you do that through pen and paper? Anyways. I think you're beautiful. I like the way you look – I just like you. There's no one like you. I hope one day you like me just as much as I like you.

Your not-so secret admirer, Hyunsuk.

Then your heart stops. Your knees knock together.

The letter smells like strawberries.

Hyunsuk sits with Jihoon. Watches Bang Yedam make his way to them, Asahi following close behind – they've been attached by their hips when someone swore that they were too awkward with one another, Yedam's face grew red and Asahi had said, “we aren't, you just don't see us together often,” – let's Yedam press close to him when he sits beside Hyunsuk. And Asahi stands, stares at students eating their lunches, while popping the joints in his hands.

“I messed up.”

Jihoon is sighing, face twisting in confusion, “in what way? The kind of way that means cleaning up after you, or the kind of way that means–”

Hyunsuk interrupts him, voice barely a voice, “I gave the letter to the wrong person...”

Yedam is leaning up, staring at the side of Hyunsuk's face, and Asahi has stopped the popping. “Are you alright?” It's cautious, too low for anyone to hear, Hyunsuk nods before he drops his head, hands coming to curl around the back of his neck. Still feels the burning of your stare there, “I'm just so embarrassed. Like, why would I do that like that? I'm so – oh my god, there's that guy that was with them!” His voice squeaks, draws attention. And he's pushing himself behind Jihoon, who stares at the boy with eyes wide.

Asahi says, “That's Yoshinori.”

And Yedam is humming, nodding along in understanding. “He's always in the music room with class 1's [reader],” And suddenly realization hits. “You confessed to [reader], didn't you?” And Asahi is walking away despite Jihoon calls for him. “There he goes. Our son is growing up,” Jihoon says jokingly, and his smile snaps away when Hyunsuk's face turns purple, like all the air in his lungs has been pulled away.

Asahi stands behind Yoshinori as he buys two milks from the vending machine, talks to him. Hyunsuk watches as he smiles at Asahi, soft. Pulls the corners of his mouth gently, lightens up his face. Wonders if you two are together – Then Yoshinori is waving awkwardly at them, smile soft. Cheeks reddening. Asahi is shrugging as his mouth moves.

Then Yoshinori is leaving, stealing glances at Hyunsuk. Just Hyunsuk. Only Hyunsuk – and Asahi is coming back.

He says, “he's in the manga club with me.”

A breathe escapes Hyunsuk's mouth, “I'm so dumb...”

Yedam hand rubs Hyunsuk's shoulder awkwardly, “maybe they'll both forget about it.”

“He wrote about how he wonders what their hair would look like green,” Jihoon says, mouth twitches. Hyunsuk is sighing, “I was just wondering...”

“... Why would you even wonder that?” Asahi questions. Brows narrowing at Hyunsuk, and Jihoon laughs, hand covering his mouth. Makes it muffled.

“I don't want to be friends with you guys.”

“I'm trying to make you feel better, hyung!”

After school, after club practice, after Yoshinori leaves the school early to catch his bus – you're alone.

Left by your shoe locker switching shoes, White cotton socks on wooden flooring. You shrug off your woollen sweater, folding it before shoving in your bag. A student walks by, nodding his head to you as he leaves, “be safe,” you say quietly. Watching as he leaves. You stare absentmindedly at the sky, before the door closes. You continue to stare once it's closed.

“Um. Hey.”

A voice startles you. You jump. Knocking your bag over, your things spell out, along with the letter.

Hyunsuk stands. Hands reaching out, unmoving. Still.

“I– I'm so sorry!” He's bowing. Head hung low.

“You just scared me, it's alright.”

He's kneeling, grabbing your stuff. Sliding it across the wooden floor. Toward you. They sit at your feet, before you kneel to. Knees pressing atop the floor. The crevices of wood holding skin. “You shouldn't do that. I could have punched you,” You smile at him, but he keeps his head low.

Strangely, you don't like it.

“Can you take a confession back?”

He asks. Your heart begins to hurt.

– No, this is the first boy to ever like you. He's thinks you're beautiful, he likes your hair, and you. And you don't know him, but for the first time – you don't know.

“I don't know you. I don't like you. Like– like that. I think you should dye your hair. I think green is nice, but I like black because it's ever color. I don't know you... And I don't want to know you. I'm not looking for romance. Not now.”

For the first time you look at him. Think you see, see you. And he does.

You hope he does. But you also don't.

“I... Okay, but can you answer my question.”

You smile, your head tilts and you say thoughtfully, “You can't, not once you've already confessed.”

He nods. Your cheeks begin to burning. Palms becoming sweaty. You swear he's beautiful. “I'm sorry,” He apologizes, “But I–”

“There you are!” A friend of his appears. Eyes on you and the contents of your bag on the floor. “I was looking for you, you weren't in class.”

“I was... I was just apologizing to [reader].”

You nod, beginning to grab your things. Hand touching the letter before you slide it to him. “Be careful next time.” You say, because he's taking his confession back and he nods. Cheeks reddening.

You're shoving your things in your bag, standing up in a hurry. “See you both,” Grabbing your shoes, and slamming your locker with more force then intended.

Your eyes blur, and you wonder if it means you aren't enough.

It isn't that, you just don't know.

“They looked upset.”

Hyunsuk is staring, the letter by his knee. Torn open, pink suddenly doesn't look like it should. It doesn't feel like a lovely color anymore.

“They were.”

A realization hits – you wanted the letter to be yours.

(He doesn't know that there is a girl listening in, hands curling around her books, mind swirling – “[reader] was confessed to by Hyunsuk!” she gushes the next day to a few other girls. “They rejected him! Why would they even do that?!”)

#main protagonist: hope you're home safe and sound, can we have lunch with a friend tomorrow? (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧ [06:48]

#readerchan: i am! and of course, anything you want! ^_____^ [06:50]

You're changed, pajamas soft your skin. You finish up your homework. Settling in your bed, phone in your hand.

#main protagonist: yeah, a friend from the manga club asked if i wanted to meet his friends, he invited you (´⊙ω⊙`)！[06:53]

#readerchan: that's weird... [06:53]

#main protagonist: it is weird! i was like !, and then he was like ?, but i said yes [06:54]

#main protagonist: that guy who was by your locker is his friend (๑•﹏•) [06:54]

#main protagonist: i can decline, make up an excuse like i got sea sick and forget about his invitation lol [06:55]

#readerchan: you're so weird~ [06:59]

Sighing, you lay down and stare at the ceiling. Eyelids closing over irises. You picture a cow jumping over the moon, feeling your heart heavy in your gut.

You sleep and dream of the boy you barely know.

Hyunsuk, Hyunsuk, Hyunsuk, Hyunsuk – you wonder how he'd look with green hair.

Hyunsuk is walking to school. Bundled in a coat, the morning air bitter against his skin.

Closing his air as he walks down an emptied street, listens to a song that makes his body ache – pull it together, we could love you, forever and ever – sees you hopping in the bus, coat buttoned up, woollen sweater in your arms along with two bags. A brown paper bag, and aged leather. Watches you fade into bodies on the bus through glass.

Realizes you live down the street from him.

Then he continues walking. Wondering if he should buy Yedam lunch.

At school, Yoshinori is waiting patiently by your shoe locker, already talking to someone. You recognize him as the boy from yesterday, the one who isn't Hyunsuk – “– you heard that? From a freshman? I don't think that's true–” Yoshinori stops talking, face turning red at you. And the boy stares, and stares, and stares. Until you redden. “Wh... Um, hello.” You bow, and he smiles. Lifts at corner, before it spreads across his face. And Yoshinori waves. Awkward, like he has something he shouldn't tell you.

“You're [reader]?”

You nod, smiling. Shuffling between feet. Standing awkwardly in the hall.

“Uh. There was –”

“There is.” Yoshinori says, low. Quietly. The boy continues, “There is a rumor. It's about you. And Hyunsuk. And Yoshinori.”

Your face twists. “... Hyunsuk?”

Your voice expressed regret over embarrassment. “Um. I didn't accept his letter.” You're looking at Yoshinori. Forgetting about the boy for a moment. “I couldn't.”

Your heart hurts.

You walk cautiously to your locker. “They should fade, they won't last – tell Hyunsuk not to worry.” You smile. And it looks bitter on your face.

The boy nods. Smiling, “See you later.”

His hand pats Yoshinori on the back before he's gone.

“Why didn't you accept? Hello, Shoujo romance is cheesy, you should have –”

“It's also cringy, Yoshi.”

He sighs, hand going to his pants pocket, holding a manderine out. An open palm and a smile too soft – you grab it slow, fingertips brushing against his palm.

You don't see Hyunsuk watching. Feeling the low unsettling burn of something in his gut – eyes on your face, your cheeks, your fingers – realizes you don't want a letter from him, but from Yoshinori.

Hyunsuk walks to class after putting his things away. Thinks of Yoshinori and who he is – and why he doesn't like you the way he should.

“What are you thinking about?” Yedam is by his side, books in his arms. Face lightening up at him.

“Yoshinori. Do you know him?” Yedam slows, thinking. Brows furrowing, lip going between his teeth. “Only that he's in the manga club.” Shaking his head softly.

“Manga club...” Hyunsuk stops, sees you walking down the hall with Yoshinori. “What do you know about [reader]?”

Your head turns and you don't see him. Your cheeks are tinged red, only seeing Yoshinori who doesn't see you in the way you want – “they're really nice. I talked to them once,”

Hyunsuk decides, why not – and vows to make Yoshinori jealous. For you. Only you.

That's his second mistake.

You peel the manderine during break. At your desk, atop notebooks and schoolbooks. Fingers pull the skin, tearing the flesh of the manderine.

Your fingers softly ground into the pulp, pulling the piece apart and laying them on your tongue. Chewing slow, feeling the warmth of happiness bloom in your chest.

Until Hyunsuk walks into your class looking at you with a smile.

You begin choking, grabbing your water bottle and chugging.

“Are you okay?” He's suddenly in front of you, concern written on his face – “I shouldn't have come, I'm so sorry, I clearly almost killed you–”

And you laugh, because he's rubbing his chin. Forgetting about you.

It snaps him back into reality, looks at your face, red discoloration seeping into your skin. You look different without Yoshinori.

You look beautiful.

“You almost killed me twice already,”

You say, softly. And you don't notice eyes watching you both. All you can see is him.

He gestures towards the empty desk beside you. “May I sit with you?” You nod.

“Did I really almost kill you?” He questions. It's cute, makes your heartbeat quicken. You don't feel it, you don't feel the pink crawling up your neck.

You and Hyunsuk talk. You give him a piece of manderine and watch his entire face redden when your fingers brush his palm.

A friendship blooms.

“I talked to [reader].” He tells Yedam. Whispers it, like a secret. It is.

Yedam nods, looking at him to continue. “They're nice.” Yedam is humming, makes Hyunsuk's gut jump. He agrees, low and quiet. Smiling.

They wait for Jihoon and Asahi. By a bench near the school doors. Yedam's lunch in plastic containers on his knees, tells Hyunsuk, one is for Jihoon. And Hyunsuk pouts, “None for me?” Yedam is pushing him, softly with his shoulder.

The hair on Hyunsuk's neck stands when he sees you trailing after Yoshinori. Hair blowing in the breeze that passes, hand pushing it away. The other hand clenched tight around a brown paper bag.

Doesn't notice his heart burning.

“You look beautiful in the sun.”

He says, and he smiles. Watches you freeze. Face flushing, before you say, “...You too?”

Thinks it's true. That you look beautiful in the sun.

Doesn't notice you staring at Yoshinori. Doesn't notice Yoshinori staring at him.

You sit beside Yoshinori and Yedam. Across from Hyunsuk.

You pick at a jelly sandwich, listening to Yoshinori talk about Shoujo manga and the recent adaptation of his favorite manga with Asahi – you think of manderines and if they remind Yoshinori of you, or if he's just a good friend.

Your gut starts becoming uneasy. Emptying out.

Would Yoshinori ever like me?

You think. Chewing the inside of your cheek until Hyunsuk hands you a strawberry, smiling at you.

Yoshinori stops talking. Stares at you. Stares at Hyunsuk.

You think, but rejection is okay, if Yoshinori doesn't like me, other people will. And you take it, pretending you are in a Shoujo manga. Just like Yoshinori said.

You smile. And Yoshinori frowns.

And Hyunsuk's heart burns.

Hyunsuk stares at your smile. Feels the burn, remembers that you aren't the one he likes – remembers that it could change.

His heart begins to burn. Searing against bones.

His breath catches.

This is his third mistake.

Hyunsuk asks Yedam about it days later, if it's okay to move on quickly, and if it's okay with like you – “people move on differently, it depends on the person, it depends on you. Everyone has their own process.” Smiles at Hyunsuk and continues walking. Meeting Asahi again, this time with Yoshinori.

Yoshinori isn't Yoshinori without you, that's what Hyunsuk thinks. Doesn't realize you and Yoshinori walk different paths in life.

Trails behind.

Until he sees you.

Leaning against Yoshinori's shoe locker. With two containers in your hand. And two strawberries milks atop them.

Face brightening up at Yoshinori. Heart burning, wishing it were him. You hand Yoshinori the container, fingers pressing tightly around it. Releasing it into his hands.

You give a strawberry milk to Hyunsuk.

You sit between them, and Hyunsuk watches the way the sun catches your hair when it shines bright in the sky. Heart aching, he decides to write you a letter – but this time, it isn't for someone else. This one is for you.

“Do you like Hyunsuk?” Yoshinori asks quietly.

You're sitting across from him. His eyes are tender, too soft to hurt you. Your hand curls tightly around your pencil, biting the side of your cheek, something bitter tinges your tongue. “W– what do you mean?”

His head tilts, drops to the chest. “You didn't give me milk today... That sounds childish saying it out loud.”

You smile, but it feels strained. Your gut recoils, and you feel strange.

It's been weeks since the letter. It's felt like days – the more you think about the letter, the less you think of Yoshinori.

Instead all that fills your head is the smell of parchment paper that held the scent of strawberries, and Hyunsuk and if he'll ever dye his hair green.

“I don't... I don't know.” It's quiet. And Yoshinori stares, “you should tell him.”

Your breath hitches. Face twisting, you become upset because – because... You like Yoshinori. You do. You want him to be with you. You do. But Hyunsuk is there, here, he's everywhere. Hyunsuk makes you feel warm and fuzzy and Yoshinori – “I liked you, Yoshinori.”

His face pales. He stiffens, and you know. Like you've always known.

You begin collecting your things. “Don't say anything, okay? I know. I always knew. I... We were always just friends.”

Your eyes dampen when you walk away.

You think of Hyunsuk and wonder if he'll ever dye his hair.

You think of Hyunsuk and wonder if he'll ever hold your hand.

If he'll ever just make a move.

You think of Hyunsuk. And he's all you can really think of lately.

Hyunsuk writes you a letter.

He feels his heart ache and burn.

Thinks of your hair and your hands and you.

You're almost at the school gates when Jihoon notices you.

You remember parts of him – he likes dancing, drawing, and he's good at those things. His excitement rolls onto everyone around him, and he can make you smile and anyone else. You remember he's friend with Hyunsuk and he's easy to get along with – “Goodmorning!” You bow slightly. And it makes him laugh a bit.

“That felt so formal... Never do that again.”

Your voice stutters. Chin ducking, hitting your chest. “... Am I really that formal?”

“Try extremely reserved,” He jokes, it makes you smile. Face reddening, hands curling around your bags. “What's for lunch?" His chin lifts, gesturing to your brown paper bag.

“A sandwich."

You shuffle between feet, hearing him mumble quietly, “Aw.”

“You should go, the bell will ring soon, don't want to take up your precious time!” He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pushes you gently through the gates.

You wonder about Hyunsuk.

“Jihoon... Um... Hyunsuk, is – do you think... Do you think he likes me...?”

Your chewing your lip. Staring at the way his head tilts, at the way a smile grows on his face.

“Why don't you ask him?”

You ‘oh’ softly, taking slow steps backwards. Nodding, before you twist around.

“... Ask him?”

He catches a glimpse of you at lunch.

Eating outside, sitting on a bench. Cherry blossoms fall, and it's heart pounding. Smiles a little at your fingers pulling back the flesh of a manderine.

Opening the door, he walks to you. Maybe too quickly. Too rushed. But his heart is pounding loudly in his ears, his chest burns and wildfire is spreading across his body.

He practically throws the letter at you. It's in a light green envelope. A sloppy drawn heart at the centre, slanted.

Eyes shut tight. Face tinged pink.

“I love you [reader]!”

That's his fourth mistake.

He likes you. But that works too.

Then he's running. Towards the entrance doors. Pulling it open and letting it slam shut.

You face bursts into flames. Your heart swells and your stomach flutters.

His hair is green. A very bright green.

You read the letter during your last period.

There's an extra layer of timidness in your fingers when they tear open the envelope.

Your whole body seizes. Your heart drums, and your fingers are running over his writing.

You look beautiful every day. My first letter, it wasn't for you – but I'm glad I gave it to you. You like green. I did it BTW, dyed my hair. You'll probably see, or have seen? I talked to you, I know you. Or at least, I like to think I do. Here are some things I know – 1. You like fruit, you pull the skin off of manderines slow, and you eat strawberries like they're too sweet 2. You like the color black, because it's every color. I think 3. You're more reserved than anyone I've ever met, you remind me of an old person, in the best way 4. You look beautiful, that's a given. You've always been beautiful and I've just never noticed 5. You're everywhere, I'm just blind 6. You might like me. I don't know. Not yet. I hope you do. If not, that's okay too. I'll understand. But. I think you're beautiful and I think I'm a bad letter writer? See. I don't know how to write.

You look beautiful every day. I like you. I think we'd go sweetly together. Let me walk you home.

Your not-so secret admirer, Hyunsuk.

Your knees knock together. Your heart bursts and your stomach knots.

He didn't like you, but he does now. You think that's okay, and you also think, maybe it isn't.

Your heart has already decided.

You're walking home with Hyunsuk.

He waits. At the school gates. Starked off in his uniform. Waits and waits. Feels a quiet nervousness swirl in his gut.

Doesn't notice you walking toward him. Two strawberry milks in your arms and the letter in between your fingers.

“... Hey.”

The world slows down for Hyunsuk.

“Will you walk me home?”

Hyunsuk's heart pounds and he smiles. Nervousness fading away, ebbing into less.

He nods, watches you hold out a strawberry milk. Takes it, fingertips brushing against your palm.

“Okay... I'll walk you home,”

What he means is, I like you so much.

Hyunsuk walks you home.

Kisses you slow. Tastes like strawberries. Reminds you of Summer.

No – you lean in first. Eyes closed when your lips touch. Your hand twisting at the fabric of his shirt, palm warm over his chest. Pulling away slow.

“... Are you okay?” You ask, hand covering his. “I... Just really like you.” Face flushed red, you smile. Kiss him once more. Tasting of strawberries. Reminds you of Summer.

(#readerchan: i'm sorry :(

#main protagonist: finally, i thought you were never going to apologize

#readerchan: WHY DIDN'T YOU APOLOGIZE THEN

#main protagonist: I didn't want to <3).

In his last year of high school, Hyunsuk makes mistake of accidentally confessing to the wrong person. Everything turns out okay.

#some angst?#half angst half whatever it is i wrote #i'm sad this wasn't pretty :( or the way i wanted :(#but we move #hyunsuk #choi hyunsuk #choi hyunsuk imagines #hyunsuk imagines #choi hyunsuk fluff #treasure fluff #treasure #treasure imagines #treasure x reader #treasure angst #yg treasure #treasure box imagines #yg treasure box imagines #hyunsuk scenarios #how to tag 😿

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 3 years

Text

More than frivolity

(Hayffie ❤️. — I wrote this fic in the spirit of shared little headcanons and with gratitude for that sweet @hayffiebird who motivates me to continue writing. — Ellie, your remarkable creations and compassionate presence keep helping me feel that maybe... “It'll be spring soon. And the orchards will be in blossom. And the birds will be nesting in the hazel thicket. And they'll be sowing the summer barley in the lower fields... and eating the first of the strawberries with cream.” — I don’t know if hope can transcend the depths of extreme trauma. That transcendence has not yet been my experience, but you’ve been inspiring me lately to not lose sight of the possibility. Thank you, dearie.)

***

Through a whiskey fog, he felt her eyes on him.

Again.

All day she’d been hovering, dictating “musts” and “must nots.” And not just to the tributes.

“...Wear the navy blue coat. No, not THAT one. The one with pinstripes. It makes you look taller. And wear the silver tie that shimmers when it catches the light. It draws attention down from that chin you refuse to have manicured. Just two millimeters shorter is all I’m asking, and you balk as if I’m suggesting you cut off your head. Scuffed shoes?? Absolutely not! After all my efforts to make you presentable, you want to wear THOSE old things?! The black leather wingtips will be perfect. And, for goodness sake, comb your hair. It appears as if some sort of rodent nested in it last night...”

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 71st Hunger Games.

Haymitch sank into the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. The black shoes, the pinstriped coat, and the silver tie were all off now. The kids were in bed, and he was no longer on the clock. He could ignore her.

He took a swallow of whiskey and tried to ignore her.

She smelled faintly like cherry lollipops from the sweet shop back home. She drew her feet up beside her, and her knees shifted toward him. They brushed his thigh for an instant before she inched them away.

She was impossible to ignore.

He took another drink, closed his eyes, and awaited an additional onslaught of directives.

Effie’s clipboard lay abandoned on her lap as she examined the contours of his face. He was probably too drunk to notice her attention. If he noticed, she could say she was planning his attire for the following day. Her truth was that memories of those contours had haunted her the past year. Now he was here again in person, and she was taking in that reality.

Had she ever been turned on before by the spot where a man’s earlobe curves into his jaw? It sounded ridiculous. Nonetheless it was happening inside her. Her perusal shifted to his hairline, and her fingertips followed. What am I doing?

He shivered as her nails touched his scalp. He’d expected nagging — not this. This was the kind of sensation he experienced in dreams that made him wake up ready to fuck somebody. But he always woke up alone. He made sure of that.

Now he wasn’t asleep, and he wasn’t alone, and he was feeling this. He opened his eyes and rolled his head to face her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m thinking about washing your hair.”

Of course. “Always looking for something to fix.”

She continued the caress. “I’m just wondering how it would feel — to do it. Don’t you ever just wonder?”

Yeah, he wondered how it would feel to do it with her. When he woke up ready to fuck someone, lately he always thought about her.

“Will you let me?” she asked.

Hell, yes. ...Wait... “What?”

“Will you let me wash your hair?”

He didn’t need to look away from her eyes to know the details of her body. He’d been glancing at her all day. Peacock blue eyelashes matched her dress with feathers stitched in strategic places. Her wig was platinum like the rings on Capitol fingers. It was late, and her makeup was worn out. He pictured pink seeping through it if he could make her blush. Her lipstick coated the rim of her teacup. Her lips were almost raw. And kissable. Too kissable.

“Nobody washes my hair but me, sweetheart.” It was the safe answer. But he didn’t tell her to stop touching him, because the longer she kept at it, the better it felt.

Abruptly, she stopped and folded her hands over her clipboard. “It was just a thought.” A fool’s thought. Of course he’d say ‘no.’

He didn’t want her to stop. Shit. He took a swig so long the liquor burned his throat. “You can wash my hair, but I have two conditions. One, I don’t want to smell like perfume or fruit when you’re done. And, two, while you’re washing MY hair, I get to see YOURS. Not *that* thing.” He scrutinized her wig.

He’d seen her hair before, a decade ago, when it was teased and curled and sprayed to perfection. She didn’t have the tools for that here since wigs were the fashion now. So if she agreed, he’d be seeing her plain and wispy and nothing special. The voice of insecurity berated her.

“I don’t know...”

“Then forget it. I’m comfortable right here on the couch.”

He drank, and she watched his throat. She focused on the three open buttons of his shirt, counting them down and back up again. His skin was weathered just the right amount to make her want to crawl out of herself and slip inside with him. She wanted to touch more than the stiff bend of his elbow, which she curled her fingers through when courting potential sponsors.

She wanted more with him than artifice. For the past year, she’d been irritated, embarrassed by her desire. Yet the want itself was more overwhelming than any irritation or embarrassment she felt about it.

Effie set her clipboard on the coffee table and dropped the first hairpin onto it. “I don’t want to ‘forget it’.”

He gaped as she slid the pins out and lifted her wig off. She shook out her hair, bending forward and quickly back up. The maneuver thrust the feathers adorning her chest into prominence, and he wanted to see all of her at once.

She fluffed her hair like a preening bird. The color was deeper than he remembered from that long-ago summer when she was 18 and barely old enough for him to be looking at her the way he did. Her hair was golden now, like late afternoon sun reflecting off the endless fields of wheat they passed as the train traveled alongside District 9... and like the honey he’d spread on a slice of fresh bread that morning.

“I don’t want to forget it either,” he said.

She reached for his whiskey. Their fingers brushed as she took it from him. She gulped a mouthful and choked down the cough that threatened to follow. She capped the bottle and set it on the table beside her clipboard. “If you stop drinking, just for tonight, then you might remember this.”

If he wasn’t drunk on the look of her hair alone, then he would have protested. In that moment, he’d do almost anything she’d ask. That recognition made him nervous.

“Follow me.” She stood up and moved through the dining room on stocking-clad feet.

He followed in socks. The walls had ears, but this act was quiet. Suddenly he wanted to keep it that way. “One more condition,” he said, “No talking.”

“But—“

“You don’t need to use your mouth to wash my hair.”

She pursed her lips. Her silence reflected her acquiescence. In the kitchen, she found a wooden chair used by the avoxes, and she held it out for him to carry. He took it, and she lead him back through the common rooms and down the hallway to her bedroom.

The layout was nearly identical to the room next door where he’d slept every July for 20 years. In all that time, he’d never been in the escort’s room. The space was Effie’s now, filled with delicate things he would have looked at more closely if she hadn’t ushered him straight through to her bathroom. Colorful robes and fluffy white towels hung on the wall. Dozens of shiny, fragrant bottles were lined up on the granite countertop. Haymitch stood there out of his element, holding the chair, unsure about what to do.

Mercifully she took it from him and positioned it with the back against the sink. She folded a towel in half and draped it from the edge of the counter over the back of the chair. As he sat down, he wondered when she’d done this before and with whom. He didn’t know why that mattered to him, but it did.

“You’re going to have to slouch,” she whispered, putting gentle pressure on his shoulder, “That shouldn’t be a problem for YOU.”

Smart-ass. He slunk down until the nape of his neck rested on the folded towel. She reached across him and cradled his head. Her forearm pressed against his cheek, and the scent of cherry candy hit him again. Her skin was soft. Beneath all those peacock feathers and that corset, she was surely the softest thing in this forsaken place.

She turned on the faucet and let it run. Then she let go of him.

“Where are you going?” He should have kept his mouth shut because he sounded like he cared too much about this. Like SHE was doing HIM a favor, rather than the other way around.

“Not far.” Stifling a chuckle, she opened a cabinet and pulled out a plastic tumbler.

Then she was back, even closer than before, and he recognized how much he wanted her there. He was sober enough to know this whole thing was probably a mistake but not sober enough to call it off.

When the water poured over his scalp, it was the dream world again. Warm shivers, ease, pleasure... Oh, god... Effie. He tucked his hands in between the chair and his ass so he wouldn’t do something insane — like touch her.

She threaded her fingers into his hair. Goodness. He is actually letting me do this. She was scarcely breathing, fearing that air alone could burst the bubble, and he would leave.

“Peppermint?” she asked gently.

“Hmmm?”

She reached for a bottle of shampoo and pumped a dollop into her palm.

“If you don’t like something, tell me, and I’ll change it.”

Don’t change anything.

She watched sensations play over his face as she massaged his scalp, mindful of her nails. She wanted this to feel good for him; plus, breaking a nail during the Games would be an extreme inconvenience.

Right now she SHOULD be getting ready for bed. Puffy eyelids would be another inconvenience. She could justify this time with Haymitch as more than frivolity by telling herself that sponsors would be more inclined to make deals with a more polished version of him.

She slid her fingertips along the base of his skull. His lips parted, and a sound between a sigh and a moan escaped his throat. She repeated the motion, curious if he was even aware of his response.

Her pubic bone brushed against his shoulder, and she wanted more. She wanted more of all of this. This wasn’t frivolous for her. It was intense and deliberate, and if she was being honest, impressing sponsors had nothing to do with her intentions.

She filled the large glass again with warm water. When she poured it over his hair, his eyes opened to find her staring.

Please don’t stop doing this.

Please don’t make me stop.

Effie didn’t glance away or prattle. She kept her eyes fixed on his as she pumped more shampoo and repeated everything that she’d done the first time. If he blinked, she didn’t notice.

If she blushed, he didn’t notice. Maybe the worn out makeup was too thick, after all, for him to see through it. Or maybe this was just business for her. Her body might be pressed against him simply because the space was small. She could be washing his hair a second time just because he was a mess.

His gaze dropped to her lips. He remembered the way they caught the corner of his mouth the summer before. He recalled his decision to not kiss her and how cold she’d turned afterward.

His reasoning still made sense. He still liked her too much. He liked her now even more. She was aggravating and often preposterous... and she felt like the goddamn sun. The warmth of her was all consuming, especially when she was like this — quiet and close and wrapped up in fragrances of peppermint and cherry candy and whiskey fog.

Damn, this is dangerous.

She poured water over his hair once more, and he closed his eyes again. In a moment she’d be gone. If I’m going to touch her, it has to be now. He untucked his hands—

“Stay still,” she whispered, moving away to get a towel from the cabinet, and then returning. As she patted his hair dry, she felt him trace the feathers stitched along the sides of her dress. The warm water she’d been pouring ran through the core of her. His hands came to rest on her hips.

“Not tonight... Not like this,” he’d said the last time his hands were there. The words frustrated her then but didn’t make her want him any less. “Sit up,” she directed.

He did so without letting go of her. As she dried his hair some more, he leaned his forehead against her stomach. The stays of her corset dug into him, but he didn’t care. Weeks of misery stretched out before him, and whatever this was with her, he needed it.

She set the towel down and held the back of his head. “You’re drunk.”

‘No,’ he shook his head against her. The haze of liquor was clearing. It was HER now in his veins.

“Do you want me to blow-dry your hair?”

“Hell, no,” he mumbled, “I’d probably come out of that thing looking like a poodle.”

“Hmm. No trust!”

When he finally looked up, her eyes were on the mirror.

“I’m a mess,” she murmured with her hands still in his hair.

He laughed. “Finally. Something we agree on.”

“Haymitch! Don’t spoil this.” With the back of a knuckle, she stroked his forehead, tracing the imprints of her corset stays. “Please don’t spoil this tonight.”

“I’ll spoil it tomorrow then.” He smirked.

The corners of her mouth turned up as she sighed.

She’d washed his hair. Twice. Their reason for being together in that space was done, but he kept holding her hips as she strummed a forgotten melody in his hair.

Neither of them was ready to let go.

***

#HayffieFics #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #hayffiebird #appreciation #thg #71st hunger games #games era #the penthouse #the hunger games #lotr movie quote #return of the king #thg fanfiction

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prettyboypeterparker · 4 years

Text

Peter’s laying on the grass out front with a glass of lemonade when a U-haul pulls into the house next door. There’s a pickup truck following behind that’s connected to a flat car carrier and strapped up on top is a hot rod, Peter’s attention wanes easily. Peter goes back to reading his book and sucking on the bendy straw in his drink, he hears bustling and a few male voices and decides to look over at the house.

“C’mon Barnes, lift with your knees not your back.” Peter hears someone yell.

The voice seems to come from a man standing by the pickup, he’s wearing tight blue denim jeans with a black shirt and he seems to be holding a box in his hands.

“I’d like to see you try and lift this Stark, you’d crumble within the second.” The man, Barnes, calls back.

Barnes is gorgeous, he’s got long brown hair that’s tucked up in a bun and he’s wearing black khakis and a red Henley that bulges around toned muscles, he’s standing by another man who’s tall, blond and handsome. He’s smiling at Barnes and is holding two boxes in each beefed up arm. Peter likes everything he sees. Blondie makes eyes at Barnes and walks with him inside the house leaving Stark by his pickup. Peter’s going to assume that Stark is his new neighbor and thinks it’s fitting to go say hello.

“Hi Mister.” Peter calls out as he abandons his book.

He walks over to the man and takes a pull at his straw.

“Oh, hi.” Stark says as he adjusts the box in his arm to free a hand.

Peter shakes it and snickers softly when Stark draws his hand back and wipes it on his jeans, Peter had purposely used his wet hand.

“I’m Peter, I live next door with my Aunt.” Peter points a thumb over his shoulder at his house.

“Right. Well I’m Tony, it was nice to meet you kid.” Tony, huh, Peter likes the way it rolls on his tongue.

“You too Mr Stark, be sure to come around and meet my Aunt when you got time.” Peter smiles cotton candy sweet before waving goodbye, he walks back over to his spot on the grass and resumes reading.

Over the rest of the afternoon Peter catches Tony staring at him when he thinks Peter isn’t looking, Peter puts on a little show of stretching and not fixing his shirt when it slides up his belly, he even arch’s his back at one point and moans softly like the idea of stretching like this brings him pleasure. Tony drops a box when Peter does this, he stands at the hedge staring at him until Barnes asks if he’s okay.

“Yeah I’m fine.” Tony murmurs back.

It’s mid summer and Peter hates the heat, he’s more of winter kind of guy, loves wearing big sweaters and fluffy socks but it seems this summer brings two good things. First May works nearly every day from early morning to late at night and Peter gets to slut around in tiny cotton shorts and shirts that he hacked the sleeves off of and second Tony Stark works on his hot rod with the garage door rolled open and Peter figures the heat must get to him as well because he ditches his shirt and walks around in tight jeans and wife beaters covered in grease.

Peter lays on his porch swing with more homemade lemonade and watches as Tony works on his car, Peter knows he’s openly staring, he doesn’t actually care if he’s caught. Best case is that Tony fucks him for being rude and he gets the best hate sex of his young virgin life and worse case is that Tony tells him to stop. Not that Peter would listen. Peter lays in the warmth until he runs out of lemonade, he walks inside to the kitchen and grabs the pitcher when suddenly a great idea comes to mind, Peter grabs a glass cup from the dishwashing rack and takes that and the pitcher outside he walks down his lawn and into Tony’s. Tony is still working on his car, music blasting at an acceptable volume so as not to disturb Mrs Bell one house over who is getting terribly crabbier with each passing day. Peter heads up to the garage and waltz’s on in without any care and pours lemonade into the cup, he places the pitcher on a work bench and as he walks to Tony he rubs the chilled glass along his neck and up his cheeks to his temples.

“I hope I’m not bothering you.” Peter says words heavy and thick with heat.

“Shit kid, you shouldn’t sneak up on people.” Tony startles, hand coming to his chest.

“Sorry Mr Stark, I thought you might like some lemonade to fend off the heat. I made it myself.” Peter sloshes the cup and some of the lemonade tips over the rim.

“That’s, uh, that’s real nice of you. Thanks.” Tony stands from his stool and grabs the glass.

He steadily drinks all of the lemonade and takes a big gulp of air afterwards, he wipes at his mouth with his arm and smears a bit of oil across his cheek.

“Would you like some more?” Peter turns to pick up the jug when his plan comes in to play.

As Peter takes a step closer to fill the cup up he pretends to stumble and pours the sticky drink all over his shirt.

“Oh man, I’m so clumsy.” Peter looks up at Tony and notices that his grip on the cup has tightened.

“You should probably take that shirt off before it sticks to your skin.” Tony swallows and his pupils fatten.

“Yeah I should.” Peter places the pitcher down and grabs the hem of his shirt and shimmies it up his tummy and chest before pulling it off his head where sweat drenched curl stick to his temples.

Tony watches his every move and Peter works on mopping up some of the lemonade from in between his chest.

“Man it’s so messy and stick.” Peter whines.

“You should have a shower.” Tony says gently.

Peter goes to ask if he could just shower here when Tony seems to get a hold of himself, sadly.

“You should go home and shower... yeah.” Tony hands over the glass and pitcher before shuffling Peter out of his garage.

“Mr Stark.” Tony shakes his head.

“Go home Peter.” Peter huffs but walks away.

He’ll seduce Mr Stark, he’ll do whatever it takes to have him.

It seems that Peter isn’t the only one who has eyes for Tony. May invites him over for a homemade dinner and dessert and Tony accepts happily, Peter puts up a fuss the entire time that May cooks dinner and even tries to burn the roast but May manages to salvage it and at exactly seven thirty the doorbell chimes and May is sending Peter to fetch the door.

“Hi Peter.” Tony says politely as the door opens.

“Hey.” Peter crosses his arms across his chest and stares Tony down.

“Uh, I bought these for your Aunt.” Tony holds forward a bouquet of river lilies, they’re absolutely gorgeous.

“May’s allergic to lilies.” Peter lies.

“Oh, shit.” Peter smiles sweetly and takes them.

“I can take them, just if you’ve touched them you probably shouldn’t touch May. Just incase.” Tony nods and wipes his hands on his jeans.

Peter tries not to laugh but shuts the door and leads Tony into the dining room where three plates are set up.

“You just wait here, I’ll get rid of these.” Tony sits at the head of the table and Peter walks into the kitchen, May is standing by the stove steaming vegetables.

Peter finds a vase and fills it with water, he cuts a little bit of the stems off and arranges them nicely before walking up to his bedroom and placing them on his bedside table. May calls him back down and he runs downstairs to the kitchen.

“Can you take these out please?” May hands over a bowl of mash and gravy.

“Sure can.” May smiles at him and kisses his cheek.

“Such a good boy.” Peter takes the bowl into the dining room and places it on the table.

Tony’s on his phone and looks up when Peter places the bowl down a little too hard.

“Hey it’ll be best if you didn’t mention the flowers, May’ll feel bad that you spent money on her.” Tony nods and Peter leaves him to grab more food.

When the tables covered in food everyone sits down together, Peter fills his plate up and eats angrily as the two adults chatter on about stupid adult stuff.

“I think I’m going to go back up to my room, I have homework and all. You two should keep talking though, don’t let my absence get in the way.” Peter snaps, he grabs his plate and flounces into the kitchen.

This evening has been one of the worst he’s had.

Two weeks later Peter has the perfect opportunity to seduce Tony. May has left for the day and Peter goes into his Aunts room to snoop for some of her delicates. He finds what he’s looking for in the back of her closet tucked away under Peter’s box of baby photos which, gross. He pulls the black back out and dumps the contents on the carpet, a receipt flutters out and Peter checks the date, May’s only bought these recently so she must think she’s going to get lucky with Tony. Not on his watch. Peter picks up the lingerie and takes it into his own room where he lays it out all pretty on his bedspread, Peter goes for a quick shower and cleans himself of sticky sweat and washes himself with his newly bought strawberry scented body wash. When he walks ass naked out into his room he flicks on some music and starts to figure out how the lingerie works as he air dries.

“How the shit do women do this?” Peter complains out loud.

After a while he manages to figure it out, he slips on the green and black panties that are embroidered with roses, next is the bra which he clips it on at the front of his chest then swivels it around, he slides the straps over his shoulders and adjusts them as necessary the lace rubs against his nipples until they pebble and Peter likes the feeling. The last item is a garter but he skips it and throws on clothes over the top, he switches off his music and heads downstairs and outside. Tony isn’t working in his garage and he isn’t outside so Peter walks up his lawn and porch and knocks three times on the front door, it swings open and Tony stands behind the screen door.

“Peter?” Peter musters the best innocent smile and nods.

“Hi Mr Stark, I was wondering if you were busy?” Tony opens the screen door and stares down at Peter.

“Not at all, what can I do for you?” Peter fiddles with the hem of his short shorts.

“Well Mr Stark, my Aunts not home and I was wondering if you could come fix the sink in the bathroom? You look pretty handy so I thought maybe you could help?” Tony takes a moment before nodding.

“Sure, just let me get my toolbox.” Peter thanks the older man and waits patiently for him to get what he needs.

The plan is going accordingly and now all Peter has to do is somehow get Tony in a position where he can’t refuse him.

Tony comes back with a black and yellow toolbox and follows Peter back to his house asking questions about the sink, Peter lies through his teeth and when they get inside Peter leads him upstairs into the bathroom.

“Huh, the sink looks fine Peter.” Tony says as he turns the tap on.

“I guess it must of fixed itself while I was gone?” Peter tries but Tony doesn’t look so convinced.

“I’m starting to think the sink wasn’t broken. Was it?” Peter rolls his eyes and cocks his hip.

“Okay fine the sink wasn’t broken, I lied but I just wanted to talk to you Mr Stark.” Tony picks up his toolbox and starts to walk away.

“You shouldn’t lie Peter, have you heard of the boy who cried wolf?”

“I’m sorry.” Peter whines.

“Sorry doesn’t always cut it kid.” Tony is leaving and Peter is getting desperate.

Peter runs ahead of Tony and stops him in his tracks.

“Look, I like you Mr Stark and I’m pretty sure you like me too so why don’t we skip the whole, pretending that nothing’s happening thing?” Peter says seductively, fingers curling creases into Tony’s wifebeater.

“Like? What are we in, grade school? Jesus Peter I don’t like you, you’re my neighbors kid nephew who might I add shouldn’t dress like he’s a two cent hooker.” Peter smiles.

“You think I look like a two cent hooker? How sweet, you haven’t even seen what’s underneath.” Tony’s jaw tense.

“And I plan to keep it that way, you’re literal jailbait. This isn’t happening Peter.” Peters smile turns into a frown.

“Why are pretending like there isn’t something between us?” Tony sighs.

“If there was anything between us and I’m saying a very big if, you’re too young anyways. Plus your Aunt’s a very lovely lady and I don’t want to hurt her feelings.” Peter snorts.

“Tony, this isn’t some power imbalance or some stupid tactic to have sex with you and get you into trouble. I like you and if we had sex that wouldn’t be so bad either. Look I’ll let this go if you can kiss me and not feel anything.” Peter says as he steps closer to Tony.

“Fine, one kiss and if I don’t feel anything I’m leaving and we don’t talk about it and you leave me alone.” Peter smiles.

“Deal.” Tony drops his toolbox and grabs Peter’s face, pulling his face up until his neck strains.

Tony kisses him hard and Peter gets tingles in his toes. Peter definitely feels something and by the way Tony hasn’t pulled away he guesses Tony feels the same way. They part for breath and without saying anything they start kissing again, Peter walks them back and Tony falls back when his shoe hits a snag in the rug Peter goes down with him and ends up on Tony’s lap. The make out until Peter’s lips go numb and Tony paws are his waist, pulling his shirt out of his shorts his hands push the shirt up until it uncovers the bra underneath.

“Oh fuck.” Tony leans up and places his lips in the small crevice between his pecs, the tightness of the bra pushes them together nicely making small mounds.

“Pretty right?” Tony nods and sucks on the lace until it dampens and Peter’s nipple hardens.

Tony treats the other nipple the same and before Peter realises it his shirt is being flung somewhere and Tony’s unclipping the bra expertly.

“Pants.” Peter huffs as he wiggles over Tony’s stiffening prick.

Peter straightens his legs and Tony pulls the cotton shorts down and Peter is pretty sure Tony’s pupils thicken.

“Panties baby?” Peter likes the pet name.

“Yeah, I feel so pretty in them.” Tony’s fingers work over the lace and Peter gets hard steadily at each rub.

“You look pretty baby, so goddamn gorgeous.” Peter flushes and leans down to kiss Tony.

Tony works over Peter until Peter whines and threatens to spill.

“Not yet sweetheart, wanna eat your pussy.” Peter sobs wantonly at Tony’s words and helps the older man pull the panties off.

He kneels over Tony’s head, creamy thighs coming to straddle his face. Tony settles Peter down and gets to work on eating him out, Peter loves every moment and cums quickly though that doesn’t stop Tony he keeps going until Peter spills again.

“Such a good boy.” Peter shakes his head.

“I’m your good girl sir.” Tony pushes Peter on his chest and smiles.

“You my little girl Pete? My pretty princess?” Peter nods gently, he might as well keep playing with this fantasy.

“Yeah I’m yours.” They kiss and Peter can’t help but grin.

“What are you smiling about?” Tony asks as he rakes his fingers through Peter’s knotted curls.

“I’m totally your Lo.” Tony chuckles and licks at the sweat on his neck.

“Yeah baby, you’re undeniably the Lo to my Humbert.”

#starker #tony x peter #lolita au #bit of manipulative peter #starker nff #long read #nff

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fortysevenswrites · 3 years

Note

all the odd numbers <3

Alllllllll the odd numbers? Okayyyyy then.

1. when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk?

It’s been a loooooong time since I’ve had cereal, but definitely more cereal, added milk as needed. The last thing I can handle is soggy cereal.

3. what random objects do you use to bookmark your books?

I’m that asshole who dog-ears her book pages. Sorry not sorry.

5. are you self-conscious of your smile?

Not really.

7. do you name your plants?

Lol I’d have to keep plants to name plants. The closest I’ve gotten is when I was house-sitting for my sister and thought I murdered her strawberries last summer. Turns out, I didn’t.

9. do you like singing/humming to yourself?

Not really. I do most of my singing to myself in my head.

11. what’s an inner joke you have with your friends?

Too many to count.

13. what’s something that made you smile today?

I bought these sour gummy snakes at the market today. Had them for brunch. Meal of champions.

15. go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!

According to the great google and Arizona State University, there are more trees on earth (3 trillion) than there are stars in our galaxy (100-400 billion). That’s a lot.

17. what color do you really want to dye your hair?

Overtone, the hair dye company, has been advertising this color blend called Merlot, which is a mid between red and purple and it’s SO my vibe.

19. do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it?

I try to, but by the time I’m done with my day, I forget to journal. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

21. talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces.

answered here

23. what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?

answered here

25. what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into?

answered here

27. what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor?

I don’t chew gum.

29. what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing?

My best friend does this nose crinkle thing that is adorable.

31. what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks.

I wish they would just FUCKING FIT. So I don’t wear socks unless I have to.

33. what’s your fave pastry?

Chocolate croissants. Hands down.

35. do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often?

I have the handwriting of a twelve year old boy, so stationary is wasted on me. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

37. do you like keeping your room messy or clean?

I am blind to most messes. My closet is on the floor, pretty much.

39. what color do you wear the most?

Black. Hands down.

41. what’s the last book you remember really, really loving?

Any book in the Sigma Series by James Rollins. I am trash for a good military thriller.

43. who was the last person you gazed at the stars with?

Probably not since I was still working at the summer camp I grew up at, so, years ago, and probably with my campers.

45. do you trust your instincts a lot?

Yeah. My instincts are always right.

47. what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

I don’t do bananas.

49. do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought?

Oh man, I used to LOVE buying CDs. The last record I bought was a vinyl of Haley’s Badlands when she did a club concert around the corner from where I live. It was SO much fun. Do I have a way to play said vinyl? No.

51. think of a person. what song do you associate with them?

I recently got news about a person who I used to work with back in the ye olde. The song I’m thinking of is Fuck You Very Much by Lily Allen. So, uh, take from that what you will.

53. have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them?

Beetlejuice is one of the best movies of all time. I’ve actually never watched RHPS all the way through. And I’ve never seen Heathers or Pulp Fiction.

55. what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point?

Quit my job.

57. go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics?

Like I could conquer the damn world. And yes, I did sing along. Duh. And now I want to listen to Radio Gaga. So thanks for that.

59. what’s your favorite myth?

I’ve always been a huge fan of the story of Serenity and Endymion. Goes back to my Sailor Moon phase. As one does.

61. what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received?

I don’t think any of the gifts I’ve given, gag or not, are stupid. Even the socks I’ve given (and gotten).

63. are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be?

Not really. I like knowing where the books I go back to regularly are, but that’s really it. I used to be really organized about my music back when iTunes was a thing. Now I really just listen to music via YouTube.

65. is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d love to hang out with?

Yes, and that’s as far as I’m going to go on that nonsense. It’s been nine damn years. Ugh.

67. how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?

SO FUCKING GOOD. Love days like that.

69. what are your favorite board games?

Uhhhhhh....I haven’t played board games in years.

71. what’s your favorite kind of tea?

I used to drink green tea before I realized caffeine gave me serious anxiety.

73. what are some of your worst habits?

A great many things.

75. tell us about your pets!

My four-legged roommate Bishop. She’s the black cat I’ve always wanted and she’s the biggest, brattiest baby and she screams when she wants me to pay more attention to her. I am also the the aunt to four dog nieces, Belle (black lab mix), Raven (beagle mix), Ivy (miniature aussie), and Cora (husky/german shepherd mix), and two dog nephews, Sebastian (miniature schnhauzer) and Sven (husky/german shepherd mix).

77. pink or yellow lemonade?

Pink when I’m feeling fancy.

79. what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you?

Someone I know, two years ago, the day after he met me, snuck me a cookie from the leftovers after team meal. It’s been a problem ever since.

81. describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of.

They change colors, but most often, somewhere between fanfiction yellow, and the color of dead moss. And they’re the best.

83. what’s some of your favorite album art?

I don’t really have thoughts on album art? But I have my Halsey Badlands vinyl right in front of me and it’s pretty cool.

85. do you read comics? what are your faves?

Not often, but I have a giant pile of Power Rangers comics that I’ve been meaning to read through for like...ever.

87. what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

Blazing Saddles, Pacific Rim, Beetlejuice, Crazy Rich Asians

89. are you close to your parents?

Well that’s a complicated question. Let’s just leave it at that.

91. where do you plan on traveling this year?

Well I was supposed to go to Hawaii for a friend’s wedding this summer, but she pushed it back to 2022, which makes sense. Other than that, California at some point to see my grandparents because I haven’t seen them in over a year because of the pandemic.

93. what’s the hairstyle you wear the most?

Either a ponytail or a messy bun. Sometimes I’ll wear it down, but it depends on which day I am between shampoos. My hair is, well, finicky at best.

95. what are your plans for this weekend?

I have a module for a course I’m taking that I need to watch and do the homework for. Maybe go up to my sister’s house once my niece gets back from her dance tournament

97. myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house?

MB is steeped in eugenics so, no thank you, and also I just don’t have time to take the quiz. I’m a Taurus, and damn straight am I a Taurus. And I’m a Slytherin, full stop (though apparently I’m also a Ravenclaw, which makes sense).

99. list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them.

marjorie by Taylor Swift, any song on Halsey’s Badlands album, The Pit by Silversun Pickups, Jet Pack Blues by Fall Out Boy, and Save Rock and Roll by Fall Out Boy, to name a few.

these are actually hella fucking cute y'all (except, you know, all the odds)

#asked and answered

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this-is-where-i-put-my-dark-shit · 4 years

Text

Your Savior is Here! Ch 5

Natasha POV

“No.”

I look from Homelander to the intern, the blushing nerd couldn’t look up from his nice shoes to even look in Homelander’s direction. Without missing a beat, I slowly work on my breakfast, just scrambled eggs and some strawberries. The intern has brought in our breakfast 20 minutes ago and some unwanted information along with it.

“As I remember, I was grounded. Being grounded means I’m not leaving my apartment unless absolutely necessary. Tell Madelyn to fuck off, okay?” Homelander snaps as he takes a step closer to the man.

“She says that if you don’t come to her, she’ll come to you.”

My brows are in my hairline as I look back to Homelander for his reaction to such a pathetic threat. He is not amused. Three more steps and he has the man cornered against the door.

“She wouldn’t fucking dare,” he is seething, chest puffed with pride. His eyes begin to glow that terrifying red.

I sigh, pitying the poor thing, “Can you please stop being so aggressive?”

It’s like a flip switches in his mind, he turns to look at where I am sitting at the counter, eyes soft and concerned. “Is something wrong sweet girl?”

“Kind of,” I grumble, “Are you going to make me eat all of my meals alone?”

“Oh my god, of course not, I just need to deal with that witch first.”

“Why don’t you just go see her and get it over with? She won’t stop sending him in here, so you might as well so this guy can stop interrupting us.” The hope on his face almost breaks my heart. I just need them out of here for five minutes so I can make a run for it, this Madelyn bitch is giving me a perfect out.

Homelander sighs, “Fine, I’ll be up there in 30 minutes. Now leave so we can enjoy the rest of our breakfast in peace.”

Kenneth, the intern, nods as he rushes out the door, something I’m aching to do but I can wait, only 30 more minutes. The blond god comes to the spot next to me, uncovering his pristine, white plate as he sits. Eggs and toast for him too, but he also gets bacon and sausage along with it. He begins eating it slowly, glancing up at me for a moment, then once again when he realizes I’m still staring at him, he stops.

“Is something wrong?”

“You have bacon.”

“I do.”

I give him my best pout, “Can I have some?”

He hums as he thinks, “Not today. We wouldn’t want to upset your stomach, you probably aren’t used to eating this much.”

“Okay,” I want to argue but I decide to hold my tongue. He’s in a good mood, I don’t want to fuck it up. I look back down at my breakfast, I work on my toast slowly, my stomach gurgles. It’s annoying how right he is.

“Such a good girl,” He coos, he strokes me head so lovingly I could almost forget that he’s a sociopath. “Do you want to try your chance at medicine again?”

“How about when you get back?”

“That’ll be perfect! Now eat your breakfast sweet girl.”

I obey, this could very well be my last meal for who knows how long. Homelander is watching me slightly less than yesterday, I can still feel his heated gaze but it’s not attempting to burn through me. This is the first time I’ve seen the god eat something, I was starting to think that he lived on nothing but praise and children’s tears but apparently not.

I finish first, he finishes moment after, “Come on.” He pulls me away from the counter, through the apartment to the bathroom where I find myself guided to the bathtub, “Sit.” He leaves me on the thick ledge of the bath as he goes into the closet.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” I wonder as if I actually plan on staying long enough for anything more than one last conversation.

There is the sound of shuffling clothes for a moment before Homelander steps out in his uniform, his hair the only thing left to fix. “I will go talk to the witch and then I will come back and spend the day with you again.”

“Sounds good,” I hum.

“Really?” He wonders as he snaps the last button of his suit.

I nod.

“That’s wonderful! Do you want to do anything specific?”

“Like what?”

“Whatever you want! We could watch a movie? We could just sit down and talk more, I have so many questions to ask you still!”

I nod again, ignoring the guilt building up in my stomach, “We could do both.”

He rushes over to me, his gloved hands cup my cheeks, “You are such a good girl.” We stay like that for a moment, his thumbs gently caress my skin, our eyes lock in a less intense stare down than yesterday’s. My eyes shift down, the red and gold collar of his uniform draws all my attention. I find myself tracing his form again, my finger follows the red seam of his suit. It zig zags from the middle of his chest to his left shoulder and down, down, down, I stop myself at the golden belt at his hips. He shudders, bringing my focus back to his face, his eyes are closed, he falling slightly back. “My good girl,” He nearly moans.

I pull my hand away, “You should be going. She’s probably waiting.”

His lips curl back in a silent growl, “That witch has to ruin everything.”

"Not everything," I interject, "She won't ruin the rest of the day." She's actually doing me a huge favor by getting you out of here, she'll be making my day if I can escape.

"You are right," He leans down a places a kiss on the crown of my head. "I'm going to go, once I get back we can enjoy the rest of our day."

"Can't wait."

With that done he takes me by the hand and leads me through the apartment to the front door. He turns me to, kiss the back of my hand and sighs, "Are you going to be okay while I'm gone? It should only take a few minutes. The door will be locked so no one will be getting in here, okay?"

I nod, "I'll be fine Homelander. It's only a few minutes."

He doesn't look as if he believes a single word out of my mouth but he doesn't have much of a choice, either leave me alone or bring me along to see that bitch that neither one of us seems to like. Part of me is curious about that woman, she seemed so confident talking down to him yesterday and genuinely surprised when he zoomed across the room to choke her out. What is their history? I quickly shake that question out of my head, it's none of my business. I'm going to be out of here in a few minutes and this whole situation will be a thing of the past.

Homelander gives me one more kiss on my forehead before finally leaving, the door latches shut behind him, I actually relax for the first time since I've been here. I turn on my heel and rush back into the bathroom to the closet. It's my first time actually being in here, it's as organized as I thought it would be. Built in shelves are stacked full of white t-shirts and grey sweatpants, there are drawers which I assume are full of underwear similar to what he lent me. To my right there are his suits, four neatly hung up but missing the accessory he is currently wearing, the belt. Grey sweatshirts are hung up neatly in a row next to it, this man really has no in between does he.

I grab a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt and quickly pull them on. For my feet all I can find is a drawer packed with white socks, guess shoes are out of the question. If I didn't already know better I would assume from just his closet that this man is a sociopath. I double up on the over sized socks and make my way back to the door just in time for the key pad to switch green. Without hesitation, I throw myself behind the couch, fuck me. I expect to hear Homelander's confidently striding in to catch me, for him to tell me this was a test and I failed it terribly. Instead, the unlatching of the door is followed by a weak knocking on the heavy wood.

"Hello? Miss?" A small voice calls out.

I peek out from behind the couch and almost scream with excitement at the sight of the same terrified intern from this morning.

"Miss?"

"Is he gone?" I question as I scramble towards the door.

He jumps back, "What?"

"Is Homelander gone?"

"Yes, that's why I came in, Ms. Stillwell wants you out of the building."

I scoff, that bitch really is helping me out today, "That's perfect cause I want to get out. Could you point me in the direction of the exit?"

"I'm supposed to escort you out."

"Whatever the fuck works! Lead the way, just make sure we don't run into the fucking asshole. Oh my fucking god it feels so good to cuss. Fuck, shit, bitch!" I shake the stress out of my shoulders, this is really happening, I'm getting out!

The man looks so uncomfortable but he nods and turns to lead me out of the apartment. The building is as sleek and modern as his apartment. His slow pace makes the anxiety in my chest tingle but I force myself to stay calm. He has no idea what he is doing, if I start acting suspicious he may start questioning, prolonging my time in this fucking place. Portraits line the halls, seven of them to be exact, each one stars a member of the Seven. Homelander's has me shuddering at the sight of it. We reach the elevator doors, he presses the button and we wait. I bounce on my toes as the elevator comes down from the higher floors. The elevator dings and the doors open.

Inside is a pretty blonde in white and gold, it's Starlight. She gives us a bright smile when she spots us, “Good morning.” The blonde seems as sweet as the media portrayals her but I’m not quick to buy it.

“Good morning,” the intern and I say in unison.

“Going down?” We nod. She takes a step backwards so there is plenty of room for all of us. As casually as possible we join her and awkwardly stare at the doors as they close. She clears her throat, “Where are you coming from?” I can’t tell whether her question is really because of where we came from or because of my attire, both could be a factor.

I look to my escort to give a proper response but he just fidgets under my stare, I roll my eyes, “We are coming from Homelander’s apartment.”

Her brows shoot up to her hair line, “What? What were you doing there?”

“I’m a friend of his,” I somewhat lie, “But I have an emergency at home and this young man is kind enough to escort me out.”

“Without shoes?”

Both of our eyes flash down to my bouncing feet, “I knew I forgot something! I must have been in such a rush that it slipped my mind.”

“Oh, do you need to go back up for them?”

“No!” I respond too quickly when I see her reaching for the button pannel, “I can just come back for them another time. I’m really in a rush.”

Her brow scrunches in confusion, she opens her mouth to question me when the elevator dings once again. Without waiting for the intern to move I rush forward, ready to be out of this fucking building. Instead of a busy lobby and my freedom, I find myself smacking into a familiar smelling, leather wall. I’m staring down at a pair of red boot, my forehead resting against a blue leather like material and my hands clenched right at my sides.

This can’t be happening.

I stumble back without even looking up at him, I shove the intern at him as I repeatedly jab at the lobby button until the door closes. Surprisingly, it actually closes without an issue. I grip the hand rail to keep myself from falling over, a hand on my shoulder makes me jump.

“Are you okay?” Starlight wonders.

Fuck, I forgot she is in here. “I’m fine, just surprised.”

“Don’t you know Homelander?”

I chuckle, “Yea but I was hopping to make it out without him seeing me.”

“Why?”

“He’s… um…” The elevator stops. “He’s a little possessive?” Metal screeches above us, “Fuck. Can’t he just race us to the lobby? Why does he need to pull this shit?”

“Is everything okay? What is going on?”

“He’s being fucking dramatic!” I snark, ignoring the way I tremble, I come to grips with the situation I’ve gotten myself into. I’m going to die. He is going to rip me limb from limb, the least I can do is die swearing. There is a soft thud on the ceiling, followed by the harsh click of some kind of latch and the screeching of old hinges.

Then I see him. He stares down at me from the escape hatch, covered in blood from god knows where, if didn’t know any better I would think he is sad. His head cocks to the side, lips slightly parted in a small frown, poor thing. His nostrils flare as he takes a few measured breaths before he joins us in the elevator. Starlight and I separate into opposite corners, of course he follows me, towering over me with his terrifying presence, yet he doesn’t say anything. We are only a foot a part, I crane my neck up to keep eye contact, refusing to submit to him again. A gloved hand comes reaches out to me. Even with a brave face I can’t help the way my body tenses at the small action.

“Whose blood is that?” Starlight questions with a tremble in her voice.

Homelander freezes, his head snaps in her direction, the sad look on his face is gone and replaced with one that is ready to murder. He turns on his heel and takes two confident strides to be in front of her, “What the fuck are you doing in here?” His terrifying smile reflects off the walls of the tin box. “Did Stillwell bring you in on this? Are you fucking stupid? As the leader of the Seven don’t you think it would be wise to not get on my bad side since you are so new to this? You are just asking to be sent back to whatever the hell you came from!”

She just stands there and takes it of course, the Homelander is screaming in her face, covered in blood, this is the stuff of nightmares. The blonde’s eyes are wide with fear, her mouth opens to defend herself but nothing comes out. He crowds in on her closer, forcing her to curl in on herself.

Fuck.

“She has nothing to do with this!” I snap with a rough tug on his cape. He doesn’t budge but he feels it, he looks at me both surprised and angry. Starlight peeks at me, her eyes pleading for me to stop. I ignore her, “You’re pissed at me, you don’t need to take it out on her.”

“Who did this than?” He asks, surprisingly calm.

“It was me and that intern and your fucking bitch of a boss. Be mad at us!”

He comes back to me, smirking at the sight of me being brave enough to still hold his cape like a god damn leash, “Oh sweet girl, I already dealt with that fucking bastard. I’ll deal with Stillwell another day, my main concern is getting you back home.”

“Home?”

“Of course. Now let me talk to little firelight or whatever for a minute then I can get you up stairs so we can have a talk about honesty.” He tries to turn his back on me, his eyes glowing their ominous red but with another tug of his cape he is back in my space, hand on either side of me, caging me against the wall.

“I said it was me. Deal with me.”

His eyes narrow for a moment, he looks from me to her and back again, “Did I miss something? Are you friends? Why do you care about what I do to her?”

I shake my head, “I just don’t want to wait around here for you. Are you going to take care of me or not?”

“Are you trying to piss me off?”

“I’m trying to get you to stop wasting time! If you want to do something, do it!”

He laughs, “Fine, lets go. Say goodbye to your friend.”

"Wait!" Starlight yells, the petite blonde stands as tall as she can with a sad attempt at a brave face. Her eyes glow like headlights. "I don't know what's going on but I'm just going to let you take her."

"Not going to let me?" Homelander raises his brows.

"It's fine," I bud in. "I'm going on my own. Just mind your own business."

"But-"

"You heard her," He gives her a smug grin, "Mind your own business before I make you. I can cut you down before you could do your little magic trick so don't think of trying it again, understand firefly?"

"Homelander," I tug on his cape again, fully earning his attention.

"Yes, sweet girl, come here, lets get you back home." His sweet, playful tone is unexpected but I try not to think about it too much. I step into his space and I am quickly scooped up into his arms, he doesn't waste a second before taking off into the elevator shaft to whatever floor his apartment is on. He rips the doors open with ease, he doesn't bother landing, just zooms through the halls without a care for anyone else's safety.

"You are gonna kill someone!" I point out with my arms wrapped securely around his neck. The god ignores me until we reach the door to his apartment, this is the only door he seems to have the mind to be gentle with. Once inside I’m placed on the ground, I stumble away from him, unsure of what he will do next.

He stares at me expectantly, “Are you going to explain yourself?”

“Explain myself?”

“Yes!” He takes a second stride towards me , looking softer than before, “Where the hell do you think you were going? Did they let you out? Did they make you leave? You can tell me if they threatened you! I won’t let them do anything to you!”

I can’t hold in my reaction. A laugh bubbles out of me, “You’re joking right? You really think they had to drag me out of here to get me out? The moment that door was opened I had that intern escorting me out. I went on my own.”

His jaw clenches.

“Speechless?” I hum, already knowing I’m dead. “I’m just being honest, you are the one who said honesty is the most important rule. You wouldn’t want me to lie, would you?”

“Why are you acting like this?” The god mumbles so softly, I’m not sure if I’m supposed to respond. “Things were so good this morning. Everything was going to be perfect.” His eyes snap up to meet mine, “Why are you doing this?”

I snap, “Because I don’t want to fucking be here! I know you have this fucked up delusion in your head that things would be sunshine and rainbows but that’s not how kidnapping works! I was fine where I was, I didn’t need anyone, especially you, to come save me! I don’t need you! I am just fine all by myself!”

His chest heaves as he stares at me. He takes a step in my direction, “You don’t need me? All by yourself? How can you say that?” Another step. “You just don’t know, you’ve never had someone take care of you, you poor girl. Don’t worry, I’ll fix this, it’s just going to take some tough love.”

“Why aren’t you listening? I will never want to be here!”

Before I can even register it he has a grip around my throat, forcing me across the apartment and up against the wall near the bed. His other hand slams against the panel of the wall I’m pressed into. I wait, my heart pounding out of my chest, for whatever is to come, torture, my death, anything. The panel beeps, a latch releases and the panel flys open, revealing a secret room. He doesn’t give me any time, he shoves me into the room sending me tumbling on my ass.

A cold metal floor catches me, “What the fuck?” I snarl at him, struggling to get on my feet.

“You think you are just fine on your own until you experience real loneliness. I’ll come back when you feel like being a good girl.”

The panel is slammed shut, plunging me into darkness. I rush to the door, scrambling for a job or something but I come up empty. “Homelander!” I scream, pounding on the door, “Let me out of here you sick fuck! Homelander!”

Nothing.

“You fucking asshole! Let me out!”

He can’t be serious, he’s just teasing me right, he wouldn’t actually leave me in here for that long, right? I take a deep breath as I slump to the floor, what the hell.

#homelander #the boys #yandere #the boys amazon #starlight #daddy kink later on #dead dove do not eat #the boys season 2

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subbyboymax · 4 years

Note

I want to ask you all of them 🙈🙈

So why won’t you ask all of them? Huh anon?

Jk I love you whoever you are. As requested:

1. Zodiac sign

Taurus. I don’t really pay much attention to zodiac stuff but I’ve heard from friends that I fit the stereotypes somewhat.

2. Sexual orientation

This is hard because I’m kinda questioning atm, but I would say I like women and identify as NB using male pronouns which I personally feel is accurate to me, but I still am unsure myself what that actually means. I am still figuring myself out.

3. Relationship status

Single and honestly looking. I’ve had one girlfriend in high school and I’ve had romantic interests since but I have such low self confidence that I end up being too nervous to really pursue a relationship.

4. Someone you miss

My friend Rebekah. I miss her a lot. She’s like a sister to me.

5. Person who’s arms you’d like to be in

Hmmmmmmmmm... anyone really...

6. What you find attractive in Men/Women?

Typically I find personality attractive and looks don’t really matter, but usually someone’s smile and eyes draw my attention the most.

7. How tall are you?

5’7 or ~170cm but I wish I was more smol.

8. What you love about yourself?

Already answered

9. What you’re doing tomorrow?

I’m probably going to exercise and play games with my gaming clan.

10. What are your future plans?

My goal is to become an electrician, but I also want to go to various Asian countries and try to improve my Asian cooking by studying the food culture all over east asia.

11. Your last night out in detail?

Oh god I don’t even remember the last time I was out at night... I guess it was last year when I had my heart broken and I went to a really nice bar and spent $200 on alcohol and was GONE. Never again. Ended up being hung over for the first time in my life.

12. Your favorite book?

Hmm... favorite book(s) would have to be the Ranger’s Apprentice series of books. Good story, good characters.

13. All of pets you’ve ever had?

I’ve had so many pets I could make a whole post about them and may do that later.

14. Something that changed your life?

Unfortunately too many things have happened to change my life more than I would like. I still can’t really answer this question fully.

15. Do you remember your last dream?

I was basically playing a game that turned out to be an isekai and I basically had a SMG and had to fight off a dragon. Shit was weird but very vivid. It’s weird because I don’t particularly like guns or dangerous stuff in general.

16. What your last text message says?

“Keep me posted! We should meet up and have a toast to it!” was sent to my friend Renè, who has been my best friend since birth pretty much. Our parents were close while they were pregnant with us and we are practically brothers. He’s getting a house near where I live and we will live in the same state for the first time since we were 8 years old. Obviously we will social distance but we still had to celebrate and see each other to mark the occasion.

17. Do you respect your government and the way your country is run?

Absolutely not. Please vote biden if you live in the US. Even if you hate the idea of voting for biden, he’s better than trump. If hillary had won, she would have been putting her third justice on the supreme court. Biden is the only chance for our freedom and for the freedom of many people. I am terrified of 4 more years of trump.

18. Where you would like to live?

South Florida, where I was born.

19. Your favorite flavor of ice cream?

Depends on my mood, but typically strawberry.

20. Last thing you ate?

Pizza that was left over from last night.

21. Which swear word do you use the most?

Fuck. Like I use it so much it’s stupid.

22. Your plans for summer?

Heh... plans...

23. Any upcoming concerts?

Bruh if only. Like I work as an usher and as a stagehand, so if any concerts were happening at all I would JUMP for joy. And I am CHONK so jumping is not exactly the most comfortable thing to do.

24. Something that you’re proud of?

That I am finally committing to getting therapy for my long list of traumas.

25. Do you still talk to your first crush?

I wish I could, but she’s not part of my life anymore, sadly. She was a good friend.

26. What language do you want to learn?

Japanese, because I really have a strong interest in their history and culture and want to go sightseeing there someday.

27. Where have you lived before?

Ft. Lauderdale, Florida and St. Louis, Missouri.

28. Eye color?

I think it’s green or something but it changes depending on the light because it’s sometimes more silvery idk.

29. Favorite style of clothing?

Traditional Japanese formal wear. It’s always been an interest of mine.

30. How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?

All of one minute to throw on an outfit and get socks on. I wish I had an eye for fashion but hopefully if I ever have a partner, they will help me with my style choices a bit lol.

31. Where did you go today?

Nowhere, because pandemic lmao.

32. Where are you right now?

In my room wishing I could have cuddles.

33. How many countries have you visited?

None because money is not exactly a thing we have an abundance of.

34. Something old?

What does this mean? I guess I have my great grandfather’s old stamp collection.

35. Something new?

Hell if I know, I’ve had nothing new in months.

36. Something inherited?

My laptop.

37. Is death more scary than life?

Hell no. Death is easy. Life is scary and overwhelming but it’s worth living the life you have. You only lose out on life by dying before your time. You gain nothing in death, despite it being less scary and uncertain than living is. Keep living to experience everything you can and have no regrets once you do pass on.

38. Experience you’ll never forget?

The time my high school crush complimented my hair in physics class. I get very few compliments and I never feel that attractive so I hardly focus on my appearance but I had brushed my hair that day and the fact she commented on it made me smile very wide.

39. What’s your favorite part about today so far?

Honestly today has sucked and I have been dealing with depression but I am trying to stay positive. Hopefully the answer to this question changes later today!

40. Who is your hero?

My Great-Grandmother. She was part of my life until I was 17 and she taught me that kindness and compassion is the most important trait for a human to have. She was the most amazing woman I have ever met in my life.

41. Are you happy with where you live?

I love this house, but it’s definitely not perfect and I would love to have my own place someday.

42. Do you like your handwriting?

Ew no it looks like alien language. It’s so bad. I can barely read my own writing.

43. What do you wear to bed?

Typically just underwear, or in the winter I will wear a T-shirt and fleecy pants.

44. Tea or coffee?

Tea

45. Chocolate or Vanilla?

Chocolate hands down. It’s such a varied flavor imo.

46. Are you excited for anything?

Being okay someday.

47. How late did you stay up last night and why?

Midnight because sleep is hard.

48. What’s your ringtone?

I’m boring and keep my phone on vibrate so no ringtone.

49. Did you have a dream last night?

Yes, I said it earlier.

50. What keeps you going each day?

Honestly no fucking idea lmao.

51. Picture of yourself?

You’ll have to DM me for that one, friendo. Anons get no face pics!

Also for the other people who sent in asks, I saw them, but I figured I could just use this ask to consolidate and not spam posts. Thank all of you for sending in asks, you are the best <3

#Asks #Thank you anon

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thatmultifandomhoe · 5 years

Text

Strawberry Cream and BBQ - 19

Pairing: Hybrid Hoseok and Human Reader

Overview: Your best friend knows she can count on you for anything, so when she asks you to watch her hybrid while she’s gone for a study abroad trip for four months, you can’t say no. But when these four months are over, things have changed in a way no one expected.

Word Count: 2,283

Genre: Hybrid AU, Fluff, Future smut, Angst, Best friends to Lovers

Warning: Fluff, a little itty bitty angst.

Master List

Sneak Peak - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18 - Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22 - Part 23 - Part 24 - Part 25 (Final) - Move in Day: A SC&BBQ Drabble

You held the laundry basket against your hip, arm stretched out to the side as you walked down the hall to the last room at the end of the hallway. An earbud was in one ear, listening to your favorite music, occasionally nodding your head to the beat of it.

Hoseok’s heat had ended the other night, making it the first time in three days that you got to sleep longer than a couple hours. True to his word, he hadn’t been able to control himself after marking you, showing you another side of him that you never expected but you greatly enjoyed.

Entering the room, you hurried the best you could to the only empty washing machine, setting your basket on top of it to claim it, wincing while doing so. The only down side to rough sex meant that you were sore, and having a mate who enjoyed seeing you covered in hickeys, also meant that underneath your clothes your skin was dotted with various purple love bites.

Inside the laundry room, there were six washers and six dryers, five of which were already taken. The complex provided the machines, but the tenants had to use their own detergents and softeners, which you didn’t see as a hassle as some of the older tenants did. Against the left wall was a six-foot table in length, and a handful of black folding chairs incase anyone wanted to stick around. But there wasn’t anyone else in the room despite the machines running, so you didn’t feel guilty about setting your basket on the table.

You hummed along to the song as you got the water running, turning to separate the clothes. For the last three days, Hoseok and you were stuck to staying in the bedroom for the sake of keeping the rest of the furniture safe from your sexcapades. He already lived up to his promise of needing a new headboard, and you weren’t even positive if the sheets were salvageable at this point. With a shudder, your nose scrunched up at the thought.

As the washer filled with water, you tossed in a load of dark clothes, a mix of yours and Hoseok’s clothing. This was perhaps, the least exciting thing you’ve done since he came to stay with you. But it was the like nothing had changed. You were still you, the same woman who hated throwing all her laundry in the wash at once, unlike your neighbors who would rather toss it all in instead of separating them.

Since the task was so simple, your mind wandered to Sue and your friendship. You weren’t ready to say that it was dying, but you knew that it was nothing like it used to be. It felt like you were seeing her in a new light, one that painted her in a new light. During the last three days, your phone and Hoseok’s had taken turns with receiving messages from Sue, sometimes only minutes apart as she alternated between texting you. For obvious reasons you didn’t respond back. The only time you even touched your phone was when Hoseok went to go get snacks and food from the kitchen for you during the breaks. He didn’t let you leave the bed unless it was for the bathroom, but that was because he saw how sore and exhausted your body was.

You couldn’t help but shake your head, remembering how he had whined when you tried to go to the kitchen the first time after the first couple rounds. He knew exactly what was going to happen but you were being stubborn. It was a good thing he was right behind you when you stood, legs giving out at your attempt to stand. You had to reassure him more than once that you weren’t in pain.

Speaking of pain. Reaching up, you gently touched the bite mark on your neck with your fingers, only flinching a little. It was still sore and needed time to heal. How long it would take, you weren’t entirely sure. A sense of pride rushed through your body knowing that his mark was permanently there. You spent years, trying and failing to find the perfect man, only to realize he had been there all along. Tossing in the last shirt, you closed the lid. Maybe watching all those romance movies was starting to reflect on your life.

“Oops, I didn’t know someone was in here.”

Turning to look over your shoulder, you watched as two women entered the laundry room. They appeared to be a mother and daughter, sharing the same brown hair and thin nose. You knew the mother; her name was Mrs. Whitney and she lived three doors down from you.

“How are you doing hun?” Mrs. Whitney asked, adjusting her teal framed glasses as she went to the dryer against the right wall.

“Pretty good.” You answered, smiling when she looked your way. “Just trying too find the motivation to get a majority of the laundry done today.”

Mrs. Whitney chuckled as she put a basket on the floor. “Mind sending me some of that motivation when you find it?” With a glance over her shoulder, she gestured to her daughter who was sitting on one of the chairs, her eyes glued to her phone. “Better yet, send it to my daughter instead. Somebody doesn’t know when to set her phone down and help her mother.”

You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing. Instead you grabbed your own basket and tapped your fingers against the handle to give your hands something to do.

The daughter, realizing that she was being spoken about, lifted her head and forced a smile when your eyes met. She appeared to be around your age, young enough to have pink highlights in her hair and get away with it, but you didn’t immediately recognize her.

“You asked for company,” she told her mother.

“Yes, I did,” Mrs. Whitney agreed. “But I was hoping that you’d put the phone away too, Beth.”

Beth rolled her eyes, but she did put her phone in her pocket. “What would you like me to talk about?”

Leaning against the washer, you felt a pang of sympathy for Mrs. Whitney. You weren’t extremely close to her, but you were friendly enough to stop and have a conversation with each other if you weren’t press for time.

“Well, I think we have a new tenant living on this floor. I’m not sure what his name is, but I’ve seen him coming in and out. He’s a hybrid.”

You tilted your head to the side, biting back the smile that threatened to take over your face. No matter where you went, Hoseok managed to be the main story to any conversation as of late. “Actually,” you softly interjected. “That’s Hoseok. He’s staying with me while Sue, our friend and his owner, is away on the study abroad program offered at the college.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed that Beth suddenly straightened up, her gaze focused on you.

Mrs. Wright on the other hand, just smiled. “Studying abroad? Well that’s exciting. Wait, Beth, don’t you have a friend doing that too?”

“Yeah, I’m friends with Sue too,” Beth explained. “She’s over in Hong Kong.”

If a dark cloud had the ability to form inside a building, you were willing to bet there was one hovering over your shoulder. You couldn’t recall ever seeing Beth, but the longer you look, she did seem familiar. She probably was friends with Sue. Even though it was a small town, the college attracted students from all over the state. If anything, you might have seen her in passing on campus.

There was just something about her that made your pulse race. Not like how it did when Hoseok was near. No. She gave you the same feeling you experienced every time you had to lock up the bookstore at night and had to walk around back to the parking lot where you kept your car. You felt nervous around her.

“Well isn’t this a small world,” Mrs. Whitney spoke, capturing your attention again.

You gave her a shaky smile, quickly nodding. “Yeah, small world.”

Shutting the dryer, she moved her full basket on to the table, pushing it against the wall to have space to fold her clothes. From what you could tell it was mostly whites and a dozen or two socks.

“That Hoseok, he seems around your age,” Mrs. Whitney sent you a knowing grin, obviously missing the mark that was on your neck. You knew that she meant well – things tended to go over her head sometimes – but she truly was a sweet woman. For the first few months after you moved into your apartment, she was the only one to say hi to you and offer help when you needed it. “Is he seeing anyone?”

Beth snorted, drawing her mother’s attention. “Might want to clean your glasses mom and take a look at her neck. He’s seeing someone alright.” As if to prove her point, she pointed at your neck, her eyes narrowing when you reached up to cover the mark with your hand. But Mrs. Whitney saw it before you could hide it.

“Oh, I didn’t realize…” Mrs. Whitney’s hands grip tightened on the washcloth she had been folding. “I’m sorry hun, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s alright, Mrs. Whitney.”

The room went silent for a moment, the atmosphere so tense that it felt like it would suffocate you at any moment. Beth sat back in her seat, a smug grin on her face as she pulled out her phone.

“You know, he seems like a really nice man,” Mrs. Whitney softly said. “And as long as he makes you happy, then I don’t see any reason to dislike him.”

Looking up, you saw the gentle smile on her face that was meant just for you. “Thank you, Mrs. Whitney. Hoseok’s about the sweetest man you could ever meet.” Her smile widened as she began to fold her clothes once more, and you took that as your cue to leave.

You rubbed the mark once more before uncovering it, feeling Beth’s stare on it as you wished Mrs. Whitney a good day, hurrying out of the laundry room as fast as possible without drawing attention. Taking a shaky breath, your body moved on autopilot, the steps to your apartment already ingrained in your mind as your thoughts went elsewhere.

This wasn’t what you were expecting when you went to go do laundry. Obviously, there were still people who didn’t see hybrids as equals, but you didn’t think you’d run into someone who thought that way so soon. Especially someone who was a friend of Sue.

It didn’t change your mind or your feelings for Hoseok, you didn’t want to bother with people like Beth. What hurt was that she already had her mind made up about hybrids, and despite how sweet and understanding her mother is, she didn’t seem to be changing her mind anytime soon.

As you walked back into your apartment, you were still thinking about Beth when Hoseok walked out of your now shared bedroom, dropping a black garbage bag on the floor.

“Bad news,” he announced, scratching the base of his dog ears.

Raising an eyebrow, the corner of your lips curved into a smile as you guessed what was in the bag. “We need new bed sheets?”

“I’m thinking we should buy a bunch, that way if they get ruined, we don’t have to constantly go out to the store.” He had the decency to look partially guilty, but it was still amusing. Walking around the bag, he went to take the basket from you when he frowned, his tail stilling as he took in the not so happy look on your face. “Strawberry, is everything okay? If it’s about the sheets, I’m sorry. Ripping them was the last thing I planned to do.”

You shook your head though, effectively cutting him off. “No, it’s not that. Do you recall someone named Beth Whitney?” You asked, setting the basket on the floor. “Pink highlights, apparently a friend of Sue?”

He frowned as he thought about it, moving closer so he could slip his hand into yours. “The name sounds familiar, but I can’t picture her. I might’ve met her at some point, Sue and Colin always had people over. Why do you ask?”

“I ran into her and her mom in the laundry room,” you answered, stepping into his embrace. His arms went around your back as he looked down at you. “She was very interested in the fact that you were staying with me. Beth, that is.”

Hoseok tilted his head. “Well, that’s weird.” But he kissed your forehead and your body relaxed at his touch. These three days had been amazing, and to see you suddenly so sad didn’t sit well with him. “I wouldn’t worry about it though. She’s probably someone who’s nosey. Sue always had a few friends who couldn’t mind their own business. We on the other hand, have to go shopping for a new headboard and sheets.”

That made you chuckle, and as you went to retrieve your purse, you couldn’t shake the strange feeling. It was like a cold breeze that never died down. You tried not to think about it, and when the two of you left, Hoseok wrapped an arm around your shoulders as you headed for the elevator. His touch warmed you up, but you could feel a pair of eyes on you that didn’t go away until the elevator doors closed shut.

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musicrunsthroughmysoul · 4 years

Text

Bloom From Nowhere

The town that contained them for 21 years had become too small for them. When they'd graduated high school, arms linked in promise, they told everyone they were getting out of this one-story town. They feared, after a few years of working and saving up as much as they could, that maybe they had been lying; really, they were just waiting for the perfect, hurried moment. Nothing was more motivating than procrastination. It was about time they moved on.

Rosenda packed in a flurry, excitement and anxiety beating wildly in her chest as she threw necessities into a positively ancient suitcase she found at the bottom of the hall closet. She carefully folded and packed her favorite shirts: a green and blue striped top that fell from her shoulders toward the center of her chest, a crimson rayon top with ruffles from the neck to the bottom of her bust and a keyhole opening that showed off her modest cleavage, as well as her beloved Lord of the Rings quote t-shirt and a modified tie-dye t-shirt she got from Forever 21 that read “California Dreamin'” in a stitched Coca-Cola-style font. She added her comfiest pairs of jeans (two – light wash and black), a pair of brown capris, and a pair of denim cut-offs. A dress made it in there, too – a flowy turquoise summer dress that she saw on sale last summer and had to resist wearing it every day – and some jewelry, makeup, socks and underwear and a pair of tan-colored flip flops. If she needed anything else, she figured, she'd ask her mother to send it along once she was settled somewhere – after her mother started speaking to her again, of course.

Only a few hours earlier they'd determined that they would leave, so with what little time was left, she drove straight to the bank and withdrew all of her savings. The weight of the cash in her wallet that would only fit in her back pocket seemed heavier than she’d been expecting as she walked to her car, her phone in hand. She seemed to be waiting for a call, but why, she couldn’t tell – her plans with Gal were made already and they agreed to pack separately and meet up later. As she got into her silver 2004 Honda Civic (a car that she inherited from her mother, and besides that felt history, would not miss) and dropped her phone into the empty passenger seat, she felt the semblance of safety fall away. Every familiar red light she met on her way home looked like the call she was inexplicably waiting for, but once she pulled into the driveway, the expectation seemed far away.

Back in her room, she picked through her desk drawers for things she thought she might miss – photobooth strips of her with Gal and a couple of her high school friends, a lucky blue mechanical pencil she lost in high school more times than she could count that always managed to find its way back to her, a few small journals, and a homemade deck of Lord of the Rings themed playing cards that her middle school friend Liza made her one year for Christmas. She packed them, along with electronics and appropriate chargers and wires, into an extra travel bag where she packed the last important pieces of her future: drawing utensils, her most-used box of oil pastels, a newer set of paints, and three pads of drawing paper. Then, sitting on the edge of her bed leaning over her nightstand, she scribbled a note to her mother.

It’s been time for a while, hasn’t it? Even though I know how much you worry about me, I know you just want me to be happy. Bueno, gracias por eso. But take care of yourself, sí? Tú también mereces la felicidad. I'll be with Galia (who else?), so try not to worry about me too much. I know you trust her even though you'd like her to think you don't. We know you do, though. I’ll be okay. I’ll call you when I get somewhere new and beautiful. You understand, ¿a que sí? Te quiero tanto — Rosenda

Once she smoothed down her blankets again, she propped the note up against her pillow and stared at it for a few minutes. The blank edges of the note gave her something to focus on beyond everything that she was leaving behind in her childhood bedroom. When her eyes accidentally flicked upward, her gaze fell upon the yellow and black flag hanging above her bed that she’d rested her post-high school dreams on. She quickly looked away and sighed. 'Perhaps hope only blooms from out of nowhere and doesn’t grow from whatever you hang on the wall,' she deduced as her phone lit up with a text from Gal. I’m outside. That was why she’d never hung any photos of her with Gal on the wall. She wanted the unknown future to stay unknown for as long as possible.

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

As soon as she throws her suitcase and bag into the trunk of the navy 2008 Subaru Outback and hops into the passenger seat, she looks over at Gal in the driver’s seat and finds herself staring.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” she finally says.

Gal scoffs.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” She picks at the thin threads holding on at the edge of a hole in the left knee of her jeans. “I just thought…like, it’d be a bigger deal or something.”

“Oh, this isn’t a big enough deal for you? Want me to honk the horn as I drive down the street, make people come out and see what all the fuss is about as we wave at them like princesses?”

“No!” she cries, and then immediately laughs. “I just meant…I don’t know. Does it feel like a big deal to you?”

Gal shrugs.

“Sort of.” In Gal-speak, Rose knows that means, Yes, absolutely, and I’m terrified and I’m not going to talk about it.

She glances at the phone in Gal’s hand, the bright screen glowing in the dimming cab as the outside light swiftly grows darker.

“I made a road trip playlist before I left, though.”

“Oooooh,” Rose says with genuine interest.

“Fuck yeah. We’re ready, babe.”

As they pull away from the curb of her childhood home, she chews on her lip. Passing by the quiet houses that line her block, lingering on the illuminated outdoor lights hanging beside front doors, she tries not to think about how they will change, how neighbors will move away and be replaced by new ones that her mother will have to adjust to or try hard to ignore. She looks over at Gal whose pale face is cast in a garish orange glow by the overhead street lights and she wonders, but doesn’t want to know yet, how they will change.

After a few hours of idle chatting – nothing deeper than what they did earlier today – and singing along loudly to their playlist, they pull into a quiet AM-PM gas station. As she watches Gal, standing tall with her eyes forward but her gaze faraway, fill the gas tank, she suddenly realizes what would make this seem more important. She pops the trunk and scrambles out of the car. Gal looks at her with furrowed eyebrows but says nothing, and Rose offers no verbal explanation as she grabs her suitcase and opens it, sifting through the clothes she hastily packed. Finally, she finds what she thought was a random dress she’d stuffed into the slightly emptier side of the suitcase and places it carefully over her left arm. Closing the suitcase and then shutting the trunk door, she gives Gal a smile and tells her that she’s going to the bathroom and will be back in a minute. Gal raises an eyebrow at the garment slung over her arm but nods and goes back to the arduous task of pumping gas and sort-of-not-really paying attention to her surroundings – they’re alone in the station, but who knows for how long.

When she walks into the store, she offers the too-tired-or-too-awake white cashier a smile and asks for the bathroom key. The strawberry blond man who looks to be in his 30s sighs and picks the key up off a tack in the wall at the end of the counter and hands it to her, gesturing toward the back of the store. She marches through the side aisle and then down a small hallway that ends with the plain-looking hefty green bathroom door. Once she opens the door, she wrinkles her nose at the soapy smell that seems to be trying to mask the torrent of years-old scents of bodily functions. The brown tile floor looks clean enough, but the once-white walls seem suspiciously grey, and she tries to ignore anything that looks remotely like a stain smeared on the wall.

Closing the door and placing the key on the edge of the sink, she drapes the dress over her shoulders and slips off a boot to remove her jeans. She’s barefoot, but they should stop into a hotel at some point later so they can shower. Removing her other boot, she then shimmies out of her jeans, conscious of the sound of denim sliding together down her legs and bunching around her ankles. She pulls them off and folds them up, setting them on the edge of the sink. Next, she pulls her shirt off over head and folds it and places it on top of her jeans, then steps into the dress and pulls it up to her chest and shoves her arms into the straps. After adjusting her bra not to poke out so noticeably above the cups of the dress, she finally looks in the mirror and notices the way the bust of the dress seems to stretch and she raises her eyebrows – her boobs have grown since she last wore this dress. She half turns and notices the way the gown’s soft polyester material curves over her rear and cascades down past her calves – at least it seems to fit better than the last time she wore it. When she turns around again and looks at her reflection straight-on, she sighs and suddenly feels shy. She remembers she has to walk back to the front of the store and return the bathroom key to the cashier, and what if there are other customers wandering around, just waiting to judge the other oddballs stopping in at gas stations at 1 o’clock in the morning?

Suddenly, she hears Gal’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Hey Rose, can you hurry it up in there? I wanna get back on the road.”

She pauses, looking at herself anxiously in the mirror and makes sure her mascara hasn’t run to her knees, and then begins to gather up her clothes.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m done.” She grabs the key off the edge of the sink and opens the door quickly to see Gal standing in front of her, waiting. When Gal notices the change in attire, her eyes widen.

“Is this what you meant by ‘a big deal’?” she asks.

Rose blushes.

“I feel silly, actually.” She’s still standing on the ground in her bare feet and she just remembers to grab her boots as well.

“Well…you look-” Gal pauses, apparently searching for some grand adjective to describe the woman before her, of Rose’s tan skin flushing under her stare and limber body draped in a vermilion gown, “-amazing.”

The word isn’t enough, but Rose recognizes the breathless way Gal ends her sentence and knows what she means. She smiles and hands Gal the key and adjusts her clothes in her arms and carefully holds her boots between her fingers on one hand.

They stand there for a minute, Gal admiring her, before Rose clears her throat and shifts her feet.

“Ready?”

Gal shakes her head, as though shaking herself out of a trance, and nods. Before turning around to leave the store, she smiles at Rose who returns the gesture.

As the two walk together through the store, Rose feels all anxiety regarding the trip fall away. Even as she walks barefoot in an evening gown through a random AM-PM store at 1AM clutching her discarded outfit, the presence of Gal beside her makes her feel light. She smiles again at the cashier as Gal drops the key onto the counter and nods goodbye to him and they leave the store, walking across the gas station parking lot to the Subaru on the other side of the gas pumps.

Gal rushes over to the driver’s side of the car so she can unlock the door for them, and as soon as she presses the button on the inside of the door, Rose reaches the passenger side door and pulls it open, a faint smile still present at the corners of her lips. She throws her discarded outfit and boots into the backseat and steps into the car, the material of her dress gathered by hand and tucked under her thighs. Once she closes the door, she looks over at Gal who is staring at her.

“What?” she asks self-consciously.

Gal keeps staring for a few seconds before she looks away into her lap.

“Nothing.” When she looks up again at Rose who is now staring at her, she laughs and shakes her head, grinning.

“You’re just-”

“’Too much’?” Rose asks, quoting her from years of knowing each other.

Gal pauses and her smile slackens a little bit.

“No. You’re beautiful and I just feel too lucky to be here with you right now.”

Rose feels her blood thrum quicker in her veins and she glances at their surroundings for a second.

“In this gas station?”

Gal laughs, and she watches the way Gal’s roomy mouth opens wide at the corners and reveals all the gaps between her straight teeth. She remembers when Gal confided in her that she hated her teeth, though she recognized how privileged she was that her teeth were taken such good care of in the first place. They were too straight, according to Gal – ‘Totally unlike me,’ as she’d put it with a wry smile. Rose meant to bat her on the arm for saying that, but instead she’d grazed her skin with her fingertips and watched the goosebumps rise on Gal’s arm in their wake. She enjoyed that reaction as much as she enjoys Gal’s laugh, so she smiles even as Gal’s laughter fades.

“I love you,” Gal says after a few seconds of silence, wearing a matching smile.

Rose reaches over to tuck Gal’s short dark hair behind her ear.

“That’s why I’m here,” she says. They stare at each other for a minute, Gal blinking in gratitude or awe, and then Rose eventually seems to zone out, away from them as they sit there though her eyes remain glued to a small, unassuming mole resting on Gal’s chin.

Even once Gal finally looks away and turns the key in the ignition, Rose continues to stare, only now at Gal’s cheek where a few more small, inconspicuous brown dots adorn her skin. Perhaps there is nothing more she wants to know then what is already there. Still, as Gal guides the Subaru away from the gas station and back onto the road, they move on.

#my writing #creative writing #original characters #wlw #realistic fiction #short story #y'all might remember this story actually. I'm reuploading it because I got inspired to improve it a little #I think (hope) I improved the Spanglish this time around. LOL #also wanted to reupload it because out of self consciousness I changed Gal's name the first time I posted it #but Gal was always her name to me when I first wrote this so I wanted to retain that instead of change it #anyway I might work on this again and give it more of a purpose some time. who knows. (not me!)

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