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citydreamgrls · 3 years

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they were roommates - part one

a weasley twins x fem!reader fic

summary: she had nowhere to go, fleeing home to pursue something along the lines of freedom, so being welcomed into the entrepreneurial twins life was a whole world of new experiences waiting to happen.

an: i would just like to point out that this isn’t a fic with a polyamorous relationship, sorry if that was what some people wanted, instead i wanted to keep which twin is the love interest a secret until the end. if u guys want to guess after reading this first part, feel free to do so, i would love to hear your guys’ reasons too !! secondly, i would like to say a huge huge thank you to everyone for getting me to 600 followers, that’s absolutely mad like i’m blown away beyond compare, i love u all millions and billions i really am so grateful so thank you . hope you enjoy this first part, as always, <33

words: 5,790

warnings: swearing?

None of the nights seemed to turn into excitement, but this particular Tuesday evening in the Leaky Cauldron was passing slower than the rest had done. The paintings on the walls cast their weary eyes over the few lonely drinkers scattered across the dim room as even they contemplated calling it an early night. Y/n flicked through an old magazine and wondered if this place had ever seen much action, or whether the inn had become somewhere that paintings came to rest alongside grumpy travellers.

The girl hadn’t worked behind the bar long, only a handful of months now. But since then not a single bar fight had broken out, no one ordered anything out of the ordinary, and she struggled to remember seeing a single nice man pass through the doors. Besides the Weasley twins of course, who were running late for their weekly drink.

“Slow night?” Hannah came up behind her, carrying a stack of clean glasses and placing them under the counter. The girl swiped away her magazine and nodded, doing her best to hide the guilty blush that grew on her cheeks whenever she lied. It had always been a curse.

“I can do that if you want,” She offered, taking over and letting her boss stand up straight again. There was a strange air of awkwardness between the pair, despite the fact that they had grown close since she had started working as a barmaid.

“It’s been like this a lot lately, just… empty.” Hannah huffed, pulling up two stools and letting the younger girl sit beside her for a while.

“Yeah, makes the time pass a lot slower.”

“Neville’s getting worried,” The woman chewed her lip, gazing around at the lack of people. “He thinks it won’t be long before we need to do something drastic.”

“Should I be worried?” Y/n asked, knowing everything rode on this flimsy job.

Just as the girl posed her question the two front doors burst open, revealing the Weasley twins along with two others that she recognised from their past visits.

“I’ll talk to you later darling,” The boss stood, squeezing her shoulder and going to greet the regulars who she knew so well.

As Neville appeared from the back office to do the same she was called over to the far table by a man who she’d already brought too many drinks to. With a sigh, she obeyed his whines, and went over to see what he wanted.

“About time sweet cheeksh,” He slurred, his head propped up by a weary arm while the other gestured wildly as he spoke. “Another round darling-” She nodded, taking his money from the table and turning to leave, but he reached out for her hand.

She shivered beneath his touch, the stench of bile and alcohol filling her nose as she tried not to vomit on the spot. It was best to just ride out whatever he wanted, knowing better than to anger any kind of customer.

“Why don’t you join me when you get those drinks sorted- I haven’t got another chair but I’m sure my lap would do nicely.” He grinned, showing off the layer of yellow on his teeth.

Y/n gulped back her grunt and pretended to smile, sighing with relief when he let go of her and slumped against the wall beside him. The feeling of his hand lingered on her until she managed to distract her mind a little, smiling wider when the twins came up to the bar to order.

“Evening boys,” She sniffed back the nerves and greeted them with a polite welcome. “Not giving you trouble was he?” One of them asked, nodding over to the drunken mess.

“Nothing I can’t handle,”

“Well you let us know if not,” The other chimed, their charms always making her feel comfortable around them. Which was much more than could be said for most of the creeps who roamed the inn each night.

“That’s very good of you both, thank you-” Her smile never faltered, they always had noticed that, “What can I get for you then?”

“Two hog’s heads, one rum and I’ll have…”

“Come on Fred,” The other nudged his brother, the girl finally able to differentiate them, that was until the next day when she wouldn’t be able to recognise the clothes they chose.

“Firewhiskey would be great thanks y/n,” He smiled sweetly, leaning up against the bar as she rang up their orders on the till. He delved into the pockets of his trousers as George left to speak to Neville a bit longer, placing the money in her hand. “Keep the change too,” “A-are you sure?” She stuttered, looking down at the remaining 3 galleons in her hand.

“George never tips, so consider it his debt too.” The boy scoffed, leaving to join the rest of his group. The girl pocketed the money before anyone else could see her doing so and went to fix the drunken man his seventh drink of the night.

He grumbled about how much work he did that no one appreciated, as his eyes raked over her body in a queasily slow trance. The man didn’t stop at that, further pressing her to sit on his knee and let him feel her up. Crude remarks fell from his lips as if he’d relayed them to every woman he’d come across, as if it was second nature. All the while, she stood and let him ramble on, doing her best to ignore what he was saying and just nod along mindlessly. This wasn’t even the worst one, the girl sighed to herself, grimacing at the way his fingers toyed with the hems of her skirt as if he was going to try and slither inside it.

With perfect timing, Neville called her back to the bar, faking some questions about the menu so that she had an excuse to dismiss herself from the dog’s company and scurry off. She heard him call after her, but couldn’t make out what exactly it was he was saying. The girl prayed that he was too drunk to actually get up and walk over to the bar, or else he would become truly relentless.

No matter what, y/n always smiled, regardless of who was talking to her or at her. And when she wasn’t dealing with the unruly men of diagon alley, she was happy, she was lucky that she had a job and somewhere to stay. She had no reason to be unhappy.

Fred and George liked that about her. That in such a dimly lit, run down little place like the cauldron, such light could shine through with her presence. Both of them had mentioned it once on their drunken walk back home one night, that they wished they could afford to hire someone else at the shop because she would be perfect for it.

Y/n always smiled because most of the time she was a happy person, until there was no reason to be happy. She discovered that dreadful sinking feeling later that night once the pub closed and the girl was finishing up with her cleaning.

Neville and Hannah were speaking in hushed voices nearby, words that she couldn’t make out over the sound of her brush swishing over the stone ground. But they continued to glance over at her when they believed she wasn’t watching, which made her heart tighten with nervous anticipation.

“Y/n… darling.” Hannah’s sweet voice sounded through the empty room, startling her slightly. The girl stood up straight and smiled, a sight which made her boss want to cry on the spot. None of this was going to be easy. “Could you come into the office with me, please.”

She followed, her hands shaky as she left the broom leant up against a lone table. The door shut behind them with a finalising jolt as the woman sat down before her, prompting her own body to do the same.

The air became thick, and constricting as her knees locked together politely. Hannah seemed just as nervous as she, delaying the inevitable by shuffling paperwork around and shoving into nearby drawers. Finally the movement ceased and she had no choice but to bite the bullet.

“I know we already spoke today, about how the business is going here, and I promise that Neville and I have tried to do everything we can to get around this. But I’m afraid we’ve been left with no other choice y/n.”

The sound of her name felt like a stab, one short sound that cut through her skin and deep into the bone. The girl dwelled on that feeling, hoping that whatever followed would hurt less in contrast. It didn’t.

“We have to let you go y/n,” The knife plunged deeper, somehow splitting open all her organs on its way through her body. She froze, knowing that in this moment her world was falling apart all around her like dominoes.

“A-and the room? I’m supposing you need it?” Her voice was wavering, constantly on the edge as she confirmed all the priorities.

“I’m so sorry,” The gesture was appreciated, but it did nothing to help in the moment as the now homeless girl’s mind raced.

“Thank you anyway, for the past few months.” It was a sudden bravery that brought her to her feet as she announced how she would pack her things right away.

In truth, she needed to be alone, just for a few minutes. So she could let it all go, cast a muffliato and sob away her worries for a small amount of precious time. Hannah didn’t dare follow her, knowing nothing could fix it for the younger girl, instead she brought the bottle of gin from the bar into the office and took long, thoughtful sips until it was no longer the only thing playing through her mind.

When the girl gathered her things and apparated down to the front door with them, Neville was there with a sad smile upon his face. Only giving her a brief goodbye, before swiftly leaving to busy himself with yet another maintenance job around the building. He never was one for complex emotions, so she didn’t think bad of him for escaping an awkward situation.

Y/n opened the front doors, seeing the pouring rain before her and almost bursting into yet another round of tears. Not that her red raw eyes could take it much longer. Maybe it was because she had been standing up for the good part of eight hours, or maybe just the pitiful sight of the gloomy street before her was enough to make her knees shake. As if they were going to buckle beneath her and send her crumpling to the ground.

But she shuffled forward, her trunk following behind her and she had quietly charmed it to do so. Admittedly she didn’t have a lot, when she had decided to try and live alone it had become a rushed affair to say the least. So she only owned a number of outfits within that case, along with some books and other little items she had deemed important enough to bring alone. That, and her guitar case, which loomed over her shoulder like a stalking figure in the night. The one thing she definitely didn’t have, was a coat to shelter her from the oncoming rain.

The girl walked a few steps, round the side of the building, and found a pile of crates to rest on beneath a small dripping canopy. It was dry, for now, and it gave her a chance to think properly. She needed to figure something out fast.

But y/n’s mind was full of white noise, watching puddles form between the cobbled pathway before her and thinking how she used to love the rain as a child. It had been relaxing and beautiful from the safety of her childhood bedroom, the window facing her parent’s courtyard as she watched them leave for work each morning.

Back then they would both turn and wave, with a generous smile on their faces, always reminding the young girl how they wished to see her when they returned. They were always happy when she was a child, the three of them a cacophony of laughs and giggles. Until it stopped. Her parents worked together, but never left the house together, and neither of them stopped to wave her goodbye, no matter how many times she waited for them to do so. They just stopped being happy, and as y/n shifted her weight upon the damp crates she realised that maybe her once beloved parents were never happy at all.

They became distant. To one another and to her, even more so as she grew older and became her own person. They tried to oppress it, probably seeing her joyful exterior and constant smiles and not recognising where it had come from. Not either of them. It angered them further, seeing her be such a resilient person, because they wished for her to feel the same neverending hurt they had caused one another. Regardless of the fact that it wasn’t her emotion to own.

Y/n remembered the night she was handed a file by her father, feeling stunned to have been called into his study while he was working. Often he would go inside and not appear for days at a time, so she knew whatever it was, it had to be important.

She read over the words he’d laid out for her, detailing their plans for her, what they wanted for her future. It was a plan of her life, given to her by two people who couldn’t be bigger strangers. But it wasn’t hers, it felt nothing like hers. She wanted to be someone, and she wanted to do it for herself, not because her parents feel it’s financially best.

The words, writer… and prophet echoed constantly around the page as she tried to make sense of it all. Her father barely looked up from his work as she struggled to remain calm, her lungs losing all motor function as she felt her stomach twist and turn. That was when she realised she had to leave, do something for herself.

Rain had been such a comforting thing for y/n, when she was a child. Now it covered her like a plague, and drenched her down to the bone as she did all she could to forget about that life. It had been her home, her playground, her school. It had been her whole life, without much chance to be free in the rest of the world.

Now it was nothing. She wanted it to be nothing. There had to be something she could do, there had to be somewhere she could go. Because that place was no longer an option.

“Y/n?” A voice made her head whip up, the tears on her cheeks easily disguised as the rain if it wasn’t for the way she snivelled to herself. She hadn’t even felt herself begin to cry, yet here she was, and it was a pitiful sight to see.

The light was bad in the alley, but when the two tall figures got nearer she recognised them instantly. Her heart broke a little more to see the worry in the twins’ eyes as they quickly took in the sight of her cramped body amongst her belongings.

“Are you leaving town then?” She thinks it was George, asked, he had been the one wearing a black shirt when she’d seen them earlier. The girl was in a daze, her head taking in their words a lot slower than it should have been as she begged herself not to cry in front of them.

To them, she looked like she was in a dream. Her eyes glazed over even as she glanced their way, making it look like she wasn’t really there with them. George’s question caught her off guard a bit, the girl looking as though she had forgotten where she was as she looked around her with bewilderment. Then the look of confusion fell to one of despair when it clicked once again, she was all alone.

“I suppose I am.” Even the two men could hear how her voice begged to break as she spoke with an airy tone. This was the first time they had seen her anything but bright and smiley.

It broke their hearts, in all honesty.

“Do you need somewhere to stay the night?” Fred, this time, asked. He knelt down to meet her eye level, their tall forms always towering above her at the best of times.

“We have a particularly comfy couch at our place,” George added, following suit with the kneeling.

“It’s got five star reviews,”

“And probably a few galleons hidden down the back if you’re lucky.”

Their smiles made her giggle, and it was all they could have asked for in the moment.

“That’s very kind of you,” Her sweet tone was back, like she’d taken control of her head again, “But I couldn’t ask that of you two.” It was her default to be polite, not wanting to be a burden to anyone. It was the one thing her nanny had taught her before being let go when she was twelve, not to ask anything of anyone but yourself.

“Nonsense,” Fred stood up, taking her guitar case that was leant up against the brick wall and swinging it over his shoulder.

“Really, I’ll figure something o-out - it’s fine!” She tried to protest, but the twins had already decided her fate. George lifted her trunk with ease, and Fred held out a hand for her, prompting the girl to clumsily lift herself off the jumble of crates with his assistance.

“Come on then,” They said, starting off towards the brighter part of diagon alley.

She didn’t move, Fred having let go of her as soon as she steddied herself again. They looked back at her, both frowning with the same face as she tried not to laugh at how they were so similar they even acted like one another.

“Well you better come with us-” “Or else it’ll look like we’ve robbed you!”

The girl just looked down at her feet, feeling as though they were only doing this because they couldn’t leave her out in the rain. Which was true. But the twins knew that she was someone worth helping out.

“Do you have anywhere else to go?” George asked, shifting the case into his other hand nonchalantly as they waited for her to come along with them. Silently she shook her head, embarrassed to meet their eyes as she admitted defeat.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Fred chimed in, still wearing their signature smile.

Y/n couldn’t help but return the sentiment, she didn’t have to be alone for at least one night. That was something to smile about, so she smiled. Her feet surged her body forward, a small skip noticeable as she reached the two patient men.

“We do look like we’ve just mugged you.” George laughed as they all walked through the alley and towards their shop, her little life packed away and in their hands. The girl slotted between them, having to catch up with their longer strides every now and then, as both twins chatted away as if nothing was amiss.

“Here’s the palace itself,” “Our pride and joy!” They announced, ushering her into the shop lined with all the products an excited teenage wizard could wish for. The shelves seemed to be full to the brim, some things piled up as a display. As haphazard and chaotic as it looked, y/n couldn’t deny that the bright colours shimmering off everything she could see instilled a happiness inside her that she rarely felt as a child. This would have been her dream when she was younger.

The twins’ shop was well known in the alley, by almost everyone who visited the leaky cauldron. Yet she had never dared step inside it herself. Most days she would have been busy with jobs around the inn, and on the off chance that she ventured around any other establishments, it was purely for essentials.

The two men watched as she scanned all that she could see from the doorway, her eyes wide and inviting with each new discovery. They would see kids come in every single day with the same reaction, yet with her it seemed new. It was if she had never seen a toy before.

“Have you eaten yet?” Fred asked, weaving through some unopened boxes to reach the stairs. Even on them there was an endless supply of treats to be found.

“I’m not hungry… thank you.” She followed behind him, slowly, with George closing up the front doors and setting up security wards.

“That wasn’t the question silly,” He laughed, catching up. “Have you eaten tonight?”

“No- but I’m really fine without.”

Once they reached the very top of the long set of stairs, past the ‘staff only’ sign, a door was kicked open in front of her. The apartment inside was a sight for sore eyes, and also the furthest thing from what y/n had envisioned on the walk there.

From how high they had gotten inside the shop, the girl presumed that the flat above had to be pokey and a lot smaller than what she was seeing. It was like a large loft, with brick walls and two levels and these huge windows that looked well over diagon alley. She could see all the lights of muggle London shining amongst the dark sheeted sky.

“My rooms up there, and George is through there.” Fred explained, nodding towards the opening to a small hallway and setting down her things in the excess of open space they had. It was comfortable.

“And here’s your bed!” The other twin exclaimed, throwing himself onto the huge sofa that stretched beneath one of the windows and came out into the room in an L shape. They weren’t lying when they said it was comfortable, because she could tell it was even by looking at it.

“Right! I, for one, am starving.” Fred announced, walking through to the open kitchen, his footsteps echoing on the floor as he went. “What about you y/n?”

The girl was too busy staring out the window to hear him. She’d never seen the city this way before. Her old house was well out in the country, and the alley didn’t give much of a chance for enchanting views. It seemed as though this was the exception.

“Just make her something, she’s busy.” George chuckled, watching her from the sofa. The girl turned and looked at him confused, but the man just shook his head with a smile. “Nothing important,” He whispered and let her go back to the hypnotising view.

As they sat down to eat together, George asked y/n many questions about her life, determined to learn all he could about her in one evening.

“Let her swallow first will you!” Fred huffed, passing her a glass of water so she didn’t choke in the process.

“I was homeschooled all my life, well- up until I moved really.” The girl smiled politely, trying not to go into too much detail with her answers. The two men were so kind, though, that it was hard not to tell them everything she’d been holding in. “So you didn’t finish it all?”

“I left before I got the chance to,”

They nodded in understanding, but she could see the cogs turning in their heads as they both took another bite of their food, all in unison. She snickered a little, enjoying the way they effortlessly put on a show with their mannerisms.

“Did you run away!” They both cried out, startling her as she sat across from them.

“W-well… I um- yes I d-did really.” A wry laugh sounded as she spoke, an out of place sound amongst the shock that displayed over Fred and George’s faces.

“Woah, did something bad happen?”

“George! You can’t just ask that- you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to y/n.” Fred rolled his eyes at his brother, but the girl felt a sense of relief that they asked, it felt nice to have the chance to tell someone after keeping it to herself all this time. It felt more out of place to not tell them.

“It’s okay,” She chuckled at them both, “My parents weren’t very happy people, and they both kind of kept their lives centered around work. I had no problem with it, either than the lack of freedom I had at home, but it changed when they basically showed me a plan for my life.”

The twins listened intently, nodding along with her words and silently reacting accordingly. They both frowned with the last bit, never hearing of someone having their lives planned out for them before.

“They planned your life? Isn’t that a bit, you know-”

“Controlling,” Fred finished, a look of pity on his face.

“We had different ideas, they wanted me to be a writer at the prophet when I’d shown no interest in journalism or even writing before.”

“That’s mad,” George said in a hushed tone, not wanting to cut her off.

“It was then that I realised the only way I was going to do what I wanted, was if I left. So I just packed my things and came here, hoping to find somewhere to stay with what little money I had. Hannah was nice enough to take me in free of charge, so long as I worked behind the bar for it.”

“Both her and Neville really are saints.” “It’s so much better than I could have asked for, but now they can’t afford it. It’s all understandable, it’s just a pain that I can’t ask my parents for help.”

All the while that she recalled her story, the girl smiled, reminding the men that she was a lot stronger than people might assume. Given what she’d been through, it was amazing that she hadn’t broken down already.

“We’ll figure something out for you, all of us.” Fred smiled, glad to see colour in her cheeks now that she was in the warmth of their loft compared to the drizzly alleyway.

“It’s not the end of the world if your parents don’t support you either, there’s plenty more people in the world who will.” George reassured her, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Oh godric yeah,” Fred joined in, “Our folks went bloody mental when they heard this was what we wanted to start up instead of finishing at hogwarts.”

“Do they like it now?” She asked cautiously, feeling a little better knowing that they too skipped out on their academic life.

“They have to, given how well we’ve done.” “It is hard to deny our success,” They chimed like songbirds, the passion they had for their self made business shining through their wide eyes.

It was no surprise that the three of them got on, but as the night progressed quicker than they thought, the new trio found themselves with no awkward silences. The clock above them looked as though it had been enchanted when George finally glanced up at it, amazed to see that they’d been chatting for four hours already.

Only when y/n yawned did the two twins decide it was maybe time to call it quits.

“It’s getting late,” Fred spoke up, not wanting to keep the girl from her much needed sleep. It must have been a long day for her. “I’ll grab you some blankets.”

As he disappeared up into his room to look for something to keep her cosy all night, the girl helped George clear away their mess from dinner.

“I feel awful,” She smiled politely, handing him more plates to place into the sink that was doing all the work for them.

“What for?” The man seemed genuinely surprised.

“We spent all that time talking, but we never decided on what to do with me.” She scoffed, feeling like a child needing their help. “I promise I won’t hang around much longer, I’ll sort something out.”

“Like what?” He didn’t mean to sound harsh, it was more to show her that they were her only option right then.

“I-I’m not sure… sorry.” “Don’t be sorry, we want to help you.”

The door to Fred’s bedroom opened again and they fell into silence, the girl slipping back into the mindset that she was growing into a burden for them. She couldn’t ask anymore of them, they’ve already done enough for her. Then and there, y/n decided she would leave in the morning.

“Bed’s ready!” The shout came from the living room, where blankets had been laid over the sofa beneath the window. “Thought you would enjoy the view here.” Fred added when she came out to see his masterpiece.

“That’s hardly a bed!” George scoffed, laughing at the copious amount of cushions he’d left for her head, all different colours and sizes.

“It’ll be perfect, thank you.” She smiled, her eyes sparkling under the city lights that spilled into the room. It didn’t even matter that they would reflect against the ceiling as she slept, it looked like stars.

“As long as you like it then,” George muttered, eyeing his brother who clung onto a smug grin.

“Goodnight y/n, sleep well.”

“Night y/n.” They both smiled, turning to head off to their respective rooms as she opened up her case to look for something to sleep in.

“Night Fred, night George… thank you again, for all of this.” They both nodded at her words and disappeared, leaving her to change in the dark loft, only a small lamp beside her lighting her way to the sofa.

She clicked it off, casting lumos and stumbling over the fluffy rug to curl beneath the many layers of covers that Fred had left her. The girl chuckled to herself, peeling one off and folding it in a neat pile on the floor. Two would be just fine for one night.

It didn’t take long for her to drift off to sleep, the whole day’s nonsense catching up on her and slipping her body into a mini-coma. Her mind ran and slowed all at once, memories of nights she would spend in her childhood bed, reading books for hours on end until she’d fall asleep with the pages sprawled open beside her.

Many nights she would hear her parents scream at one another, that harrowing wailing sound would echo for hours until both of them grew tired and they decided to sleep apart yet again. That’s when she knew she could relax, she could finally do all the things that she wouldn’t have time for in the day between her tutor’s classes and meaningless chores.

She had been a night owl, revelling in the time she got to be truly alone, when the house slept she would come alive. Now, she couldn’t stay awake even if she wanted to. She needed to sleep, and fast.

Y/n vaguely heard a door opening and closing, unsure whether it was real or her mind replaying memories all too vividly. Either way, her eyes were far too heavy to open themselves and check. It could wait.

Fred cursed himself for not catching his bedroom door behind him, the noise booming across the loft. He waited, frozen at the top of the steps, watching to see if the girl would rouse at the sound. But he was in luck, she didn’t move a muscle.

He padded down to the bottom, making sure each step was lighter than the last as he headed into the small corridor. George jolted awake the second his door was opened, reaching for his lamp to see who was intruding on his sleep.

“What the fuck!” He almost shouted.

“Shut up! She’s sleeping in there!” Fred hissed, walking over to the empty side of the bed and sitting down calmly.

“So was I you git- what the hell are you doing, since when did we start sleeping together?”

“Disgusting-”

“I didn’t mean that,” George rubbed his eyes with a grimace and reluctantly sat up, “What do you want then?” His voice finally hushed to match his brother’s.

“I have an idea,” Fred started.

“Yes,” “Well, I’ve been thinking about y/n-” “If this is you coming to tell me about another sex dream, I don’t wanna know, okay?”

“Will you just shut up and listen to me,”

“Fine, fine, go on.” He pulled the covers over his bare chest, feeling suddenly exposed to the cold night’s air.

“Well, we’ve been saying for ages that we need someone to work in the shop, except we can’t really afford it right now.” Fred explained, and George nodded along. “Look, y/n needs somewhere to stay, but she would never stay here without giving us some sort of payment, right?” The man’s head looked like it was on a spring as he took in the words. “So, why don’t we let y/n stay here with us and in return she can help out in the shop?”

“Do you think she’d agree to that?” “It was basically the same agreement she had with Neville and Hannah, except we have no reason to get rid of her.”

“I suppose so,” He didn't sound overly convinced.

“She needs somewhere to stay, we need someone to work, it’s a win-win situation!” Fred exclaimed, smiling like a mad man to try and convince his brother that their plan could work out.

“Okay, fine. We can ask her in the morning.”

“Great, I knew you’d say yes.” “Well it’s not like she’s the worst person to live with, it hardly took much to sway me.”

“Not the worst person? Come on George, she’s great!” Fred, admittedly, got a bit too excited at this. His voice ringing out louder than he’d wanted it to.

“You have had a sex dream haven’t you?” “Oh shut up!” “Was she in it,” George teased, prompting his brother to get up and head for the door. “So i’m taking that as a yes.” He turned the light off, hearing one last hiss from Fred before the door shut behind him.

“Aren’t you forgetting the time you had a sex dream about Mcgonnogall?” Fred quipped, leaving quickly as not to get a beating up from the other twin, who was mentalling cursing himself for ever revealing that fact when they were drunk one time.

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karajaynetoday · 3 years

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i'll be honest, it's better off this way | luke hemmings

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hello pals! long time no writing! i know it seems a bit weird to post a luke break up fic just after he got engaged but to be fair, I already had this in the works before the news broke yesterday, so soz not soz. It is kind of a happy break up story though... kind of? this one features lyrics from our song by niall and anne marie that are in italics throughout the piece (you know i love a song lyric incorporation lol) and i’m a bit rusty, so any feedback is welcome! a big shoutout to my dearest @notinthesameguey for beta-reading this one for me, you’re a gem blanca! enjoy xo

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: mentions of a break up and a car accident/hospitalisation (minor/non-graphic)

(This is a fem reader insert)

More writing here | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here | if you’d like to be on my taglist go here

I'll be honest, I'm alright with me

Sunday mornings, in my own bedsheets

The break up with Luke had been easier than you’d first thought. It’d been months of growing apart, feeling like a stranger in your own home, before you finally worked up the nerve to utter those four words: We need to talk. He’d been spending most days and some nights in the studio, and you’d been working overtime at your job too; you were ships in the night who barely had time to say hello and goodbye, let alone have any sort of proper conversation. You’d spent an entire evening rehearsing a script in your head, and as soon as Luke walked through the door and greeted Petunia, you mustered the courage to stand up and speak your truth.

It turned out that you weren’t alone in feeling stagnant in your relationship, and although you could feel your heart breaking as you said the words, Luke’s hand on your knee was all the gentle reassurance you needed. Just like always, even when your relationship was falling apart, Luke was there for you. And that’s what he promised, that night in the living room. It didn’t make sense for you two to become strangers overnight after 3 years together, but you also both knew that you needed space to grow and heal, and that space needed to happen sooner rather than later.

You could tell that part of Luke wanted to fight it, wanted to raise his voice, wanted to convince you to stay. But part of Luke also knew that it was time to walk away, no matter how much his heart was feeling like it was being ripped out of his chest, because he did truly love you, and if he loved you, he’d let you go.

Even though Luke insisted you could stay in the spare room for as long as you liked, it only took a week or so to find a new place. An apartment in KayKay’s building opened up for rent, and thanks to her help, you secured the lease and started moving in as soon as you could. Ashton accompanied you to Ikea and then helped with assembling a new bed and dining table for you, while KayKay helped unpack some of your boxes. You could tell that they were trying to be sensitive, but at the same time were desperate to know what went down in the break up, and after a few slices of pizza and half a bottle of wine, you felt the emotions rushing to the surface.

“It feels dumb to get upset, after all, I was the one who suggested we should break up.” You sniffled, smiling sadly as Ashton handed you a tissue.

“Just because it was something that needed to happen, doesn’t mean you can’t be sad about it. You two shared a lot in the time you were together, it’s only natural that it’s going to take you a while to untangle yourselves from one another and to get your head and heart back on the path that’s right for you.” KayKay spoke softly, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

You knew she was right, and the healing would come; it was all part of the rollercoaster of walking away from someone you thought was the love of your life, but had turned out not to be. Time to adjust and find some independence, and re-shape the life you found yourself in until it was the life you wanted.

But every time I think that I can get you out my head, you never, ever let me forget

Once you’d completely moved out Luke’s house, your reasons to contact him became few and far between. A few occasional texts to advise that he’d let his family know about your split, and a link to a new cafe nearby that he thought was your kind of vibe (and it absolutely was). Everyone in your friendship group was trying their best to help you both cope, but it was hard to avoid the awkwardness that came with a break up of close friends.

You felt like you were walking on eggshells for a while, so you started to say no to invitations out. You threw yourself into a new work project, and barely replied to any group chats. Whenever your friends called, you had the perfect script rehearsed, about how you were going to be up for promotion, and after the next month or so, you’d have plenty more time for catching up with everyone. You were fairly certain that no-one believed your story, but you were sticking to it nonetheless. You’d seen photos online of Luke out and about with various beautiful women amongst the partying crew, and even though you knew better than to torture yourself with doom-scrolling through the internet, you couldn’t help yourself. You had to keep reminding yourself that it was YOU that wanted the breakup, and that it was for the best. Or something like that.

It was coming to the end of your big project, and the entire office decided to head out for celebratory drinks. You only stayed for a couple, because after a month of overtime you were ready for bed. Your boss took you aside to assure you that the promotion was yours and the new contract would be on your desk on Monday, and as you reassured him you were excited to take on the role, a song playing over the bar’s speakers made you stop in your tracks. You’d spent many a Sunday morning dancing around the kitchen making pancakes with Luke and singing these words; something you’d completely forgotten until this moment. As you stepped outside to await your Uber, the first person you wanted to call with the news was Luke. Your fingers hovered over his name for a good few minutes before your Uber driver honked and broke you out of her trance, and you settled for texting the group chat instead to share your exciting update. Lots of confetti and heart eyes emojis started popping up alongside congratulatory messages, and you let out a giggle when you saw that Luke had sent a photo of Petunia with “congrats!” scrawled across it in purple font. It was the last thing you remembered, before the squealing of tyres and your vision going black.

Just when I think you're gone, Hear our song on the radio

Just like that, takes me back, To the places we used to go

The rhythmic beeping of the hospital monitors was the first thing you noticed as you stirred awake. The second was a dull pain across your skull, and the third was that your arm was in a sling. Fourth was the large, warm hand that was holding your own and gently squeezing; without opening your eyes, you knew it was Luke’s. You felt too weak to say any words, so instead you tried your best to squeeze back as you slowly opened your eyes. You heard a sharp intake of breath, before Luke’s smiling face came into view.

“Hey there, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” Luke asked, reaching up to gently brush some hair out of your eyes.

“Like I was in a car accident.” You managed to croak out, shooting him a wry smile and earning a laugh in return.

“You are correct, you can pass go, and collect $200. A pretty gnarly accident, the car’s a write-off, but thankfully everyone’s injuries are relatively minor. Some dickhead ran a red light.” You could tell Luke was trying to remain calm, but under the surface he was pissed.

“Not ideal, but at least I get a few days off work.” You joked, grimacing as you tried to sit up. Luke stood and gently maneuvered your pillows to support your back and shoulders better, and you felt a zap of electricity as his hands brushed your arms in passing.

As Luke sat back in the chair next to the bed, you suddenly realised that it was just the two of you in the hospital room.

“No offence, Hemmo, but what are you doing here? Considering we’re no longer significant others, and all…” You said awkwardly, looking down at your arm sling with sudden great interest.

“Very observant, dear. Glad to see the concussion hasn’t affected your short term memory, I was worried you’d forget me entirely. You did, however, forget to update your emergency contact details, so I guess I was first on the list for the hospital to call. Ash, KayKay and I have been taking shifts but they’re out getting food right now - “ The rest of Luke’s explanation was cut off by a gasp and a cheer at the door, signalling Ashton and KayKay’s return and subsequent delight at you being awake.

The days that followed were uncomfortable physically, but kind of heartwarming emotionally. You got home to your apartment thanks to KayKay’s assistance, and found that your friends had stocked your fridge and freezer full of ready-made meals and your favourite snacks. They’d also made a roster so not a day went by without someone popping in to check on you, although you noticed that Luke never came by.

Your recovery was slow but steady, and soon enough the doctors gave you the all clear. At this point, it was nearly 6 months since you’d broken up with Luke, and you could feel your mindset shifting. He was no longer the first person you wanted to call with good or bad news, or the first memories that popped into your head when you needed cheering up. It almost felt like… relief? Because for the longest time, even though you knew the break up was for the best, detaching yourself from one another seemed almost in possible after so many years of so many memories.

I've been waking up alone, I haven't thought of him for days

I'll be honest, It's better off this way

The tipping point came at Calum’s birthday party, a month or so later. Ashton had invited you out for coffee and nonchalantly mentioned that maybe, possibly, well actually extremely likely almost definitely Luke was bringing a date to the gathering at Cal’s house; a girl he’d been seeing for a month or so. Everyone wanted you to be comfortable, and everyone, Cal especially, wanted you to be there, but they also understood if you wanted to avoid any potential awkward encounters with Luke and his new love interest. You assured Ashton that it would be fine, that you honestly weren’t bothered, and laughed off his suggestion of setting you up with a super hot blind date to help level the playing field.

The night came along, and you found yourself stumbling along Calum’s front path in the dark as you tried not to drop the gift you’d bought for him (a new cookbook and a collection of various hot sauces). “Bloody 5sos and the “no good party starts until 11pm rule”, you muttered to yourself as you almost tripped over again, and you heard an indignant shout that sounded very Ashton-like behind you.

“Oi! Don’t be mad at us, you know that rule has never let us down!” Ashton bellowed, as he came forward with his phone flashlight switched on, KayKay not too far behind him.

“Damn girl, you like fiiiiiine!” KayKay said, letting out a low whistle. You rolled your eyes, knowing she was exaggerating. Your outfit was essentially a denim skirt and a t-shirt - maybe you’d sexed it up a little bit with some thigh high boots, tousled hair and a red lip, but all’s fair in love and war, right?

The three of you made it inside, and a very tipsy Calum greeted you with open arms and a lot of excitement at your gift of hot sauce. It felt so nice to be back with all your friends at a house party, like the old days, and you found yourself stepping out onto the back patio for a moment of quiet reflection and to share some pats with Duke.

You’d exchanged a wave with Luke when you’d entered the house, but hadn’t quite worked up the confidence to go up and speak to him, especially when he had his new girl in close proximity. She looked really friendly, though, and you could tell from the spark in both of their eyes that their relationship was blossoming in the best possible way. Part of you thought you’d be upset about it, but all you truly felt was content. Content in your life as it was, surrounded by friends that loved you just as much as you loved them, and actually quite proud of how far you’d come over the past year. You’d learned to stand on your own two feet, and you’d grown into a much more settled, independent human as a result.

You were lost in your train of thought when you heard the song change on the speakers inside. Duke’s ears perked up and he licked your hand attentively when you stopped patting him as the song registered - it was your song. Or at least, it used to be. You felt a smile creep onto your face when you remembered the Sunday mornings of pancakes and singalongs, and the smile grew wider when you saw Luke’s girlfriend dragging him onto the dancefloor, much to his (fake) protests. You made eye contact with your kind-hearted, softly-smiling, gentle-eyed ex-boyfriend, and for a split second you saw a flash of concern cross his face. In response, you raised your glass in a cheers and shot him a wink, which earned a smile and a small laugh from Luke before he turned his attention back to the beautiful girl in his arms. You took a sip, and smiled to yourself. It truly was better off this way.

When I hear it, I just can't stop smiling, I remember you're gone

Baby, it's just a song on the radio, That we used to know

Taglist: If there’s a line through your name, I couldn’t tag you, so please message me to let me know your new URL or what the go is! @suchalonelysunflower @blackbutterfliescal @redrattlers @loveroflrh @spicycal @notinthesameguey @metalandboybands @cheekysos @ashton-trash @another-lonely-heart @queenalienscherrypie @becihadshawn @allthestarsandthemoon @oyesmendes @andrianawinchester @333-xx @findingliam-o @hoodhoran @rbforsmileycal @myloverboyash @myhappylittleyoutubee @saywhatnow07 @secretsicanthideanymore @ar1analara @killmywildflower

#my writing #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings one shot #luke hemmings fan fiction #5sos one shot #5sos imagine #5sos fanfiction #lol how do i even write things anymore #i feel VERY rusty #but alas #hopefully it's okay #lmk what you think!

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luminescencefics · 3 years

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***

The Backstory

September 2006

In Nora Priestley’s fourteen years of life, she’s never lived this far away from the ocean before. It’s always been just right outside her window, a quick ten-minute trek from Thames Street until she reached the rolling dunes of Rejects Beach. Smelling the salt in her hair and feeling her skin grow sticky from the feeling of the ocean air was practically second-nature to her, but ever since she moved to the middle of nowhere Connecticut for boarding school, she’s never felt more disconnected from normality in her life.

Nora’s never really been a big fan of embracing change. She’d like to blame that on the fact that she’s never really had any monumental shifts to her tectonic plates so far in her short life, and she’s not quite sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.

It’s always been just her and her mom. A dynamic duo. A tag team of epic proportions.

Growing up in Newport, Rhode Island could be worse, Nora thinks. She was lucky enough to grow up in a small coastal town where everybody accepted her in one way or another. Even though she was much different than the other kids her age, considering she spent most of her time alone while her mother worked, she never felt unhappy. Life was simple. Life was easy.

Nora and her mother, Shannon, lived in a small apartment in a renovated old colonial townhouse at the bottom of Thames Street. It was a third-floor walk-up, and in the heat of the summer when the humidity made the wallpaper begin to curl at the edges of her tiny paisley-coated bedroom, Nora had to sleep with her creaky window open with nothing but a thin sheet to cover her sweat-soaked body, the soft sounds of the rolling waves crashing against the shore lulling her to sleep.

Shannon Priestley was the ultimate leading lady in Nora’s life. She referred to Nora as her perfect mistake, because having a baby the summer she turned eighteen with a boy she thought would be her forever was the very definition of that phrase. But she handled it like she did everything else in her life—with grace and dignity, and nothing but a big gleaming grin on her face that always made Nora and everyone else lucky enough to be around her sunbeam feel that everything would be okay.

With a one-year-old baby on her hip and a bright and shiny high school diploma under her belt, Shannon found a job listing to be a nanny for the Clemonte’s. Without a second’s deliberation, she packed up her things and moved to the tip of the state to Newport.

The Clemonte’s were one of the wealthiest families in Newport, hailing from an impressive lineage of old money with an expansive estate of fourteen acres overlooking Ochre Point and the Atlantic Ocean. They were one of those families that named their properties, and when Shannon Priestley first stepped foot inside The Breakers mansion, she knew right then and there that her new bosses had very high expectations for her.

Shannon became the singular nanny to Warren and Jane Clemonte’s baby son, William. He was born three months after Nora, and even though Shannon felt slighted that she had to spend most of her days with another family’s child while her own was being watched by their downstairs neighbor, she promised to split her time evenly. And even though twenty-four hours in a day was never enough for Shannon, she made sure to spend most of it with Nora.

And Nora was always grateful for that.

The second Nora was old enough to take care of herself, she started going to The Breakers after school so that her mom could walk her home. It was at that very moment when she had her first taste of ostentatious luxury, and from then on it never failed to amaze her. The other half certainly did live differently than Nora and her mother, and stepping foot inside the Clemonte’s mansion made that realization startlingly clear.

This was when she first met William Clemonte. Nora always knew he existed, considering her mother would sprinkle in small anecdotes about him while doing other mundane tasks. “Willy was very quiet today,” Shannon would tell Nora on their walk home from Ochre Point to Lower Thames. “Mr. and Mrs. Clemonte want Willy to take piano lessons and learn Latin. How on earth is a seven-year-old supposed to handle that?”

To Nora, Willy was somewhat of a fictional character living behind the towering walls of The Breakers. She imagined him being a smaller boy, blonde with blue eyes and wearing some sort of matching ensemble sitting inside the thick walls of his mansion, overlooking the deep cobalt ocean through a grand wall of windows. But when she meets him one afternoon after her first day of second grade, she could not be any more wrong.

Sure, Willy Clemonte was a small boy, but he was by no means shy or scared of her. He took her on a tour through the grand halls of The Breakers, showed her all of the secret passageways built inside the walls from when the mansion was first erected back in the early twentieth century, and shared his brand new toys with her.

But most importantly, he listened to her. He asked her a million questions about public school, about the world outside of his tall fortress, about the television shows Shannon let Nora watch after dinner, and the different kinds of popular music other kids their age were listening to.

“Wait, so *NSYNC isn’t just Justin Timberlake?” Willy would ask whenever Nora would show him what was inside her portable CD player (which was almost exclusively No Strings Attached until she reached the fourth grade).

“Oh my god, Willy! *NSYNC is a boyband! Justin is just the best one,” Nora would scold right back, shoving the plastic headphones over his blonde head of hair so that the felt cushions would press against his ear, the vibrating thumps of “Bye Bye Bye” playing through the electronic equipment.

Whenever he would ask her about school, Willy was always shocked to hear how different her experience was from his own. Nora would tell him about the yellow school buses that picked up and dropped off her friends, she would show up to his house afterward wearing jeans and a pink Gap sweatshirt and he was always surprised to learn that kids could wear whatever they wanted during the day, and when she would come over on Fridays and tell him that her mother gave her a dollar for pizza day at lunchtime, Willy wished more and more that he could go to public school with her, too.

While Willy was nothing but sunshine and kindness, Warren Clemonte was the complete opposite. A cold and distant man, stern and grumpy with a perpetual frown on his face, he sent a terrifying chill all the way down to Nora’s bones until they rattled together like a hollow instrument. And one Thursday afternoon when Shannon was busy packing Willy’s bags for the Clemonte’s annual Christmas trip to Aspen, Warren caught his son running around the main hall searching through every nook and cranny for Nora’s impressive hiding spot. It was only once she heard the bellowing yells when she emerged from behind an old armoire in the library, peeking her head around the corner to watch Warren yell at Willy in the echoing hallway.

“What do you think you’re doing, running around when you’ve left your Latin workbook unfinished?” Warren demanded, his low voice bouncing off the thick walls.

“I’m sorry, dad. I was just—”

“—Just what? Playing around and avoiding your responsibilities? How are you supposed to learn anything if you spend all of your time dilly-dallying with that girl, William?”

Willy began to cry then, and before Nora could interfere, her mother was already ten steps ahead of her, entering the main hall and apologizing profusely while her daughter stayed hidden behind the old armoire, watching everything with regretful eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Clemonte. I was just packing for Willy, I didn’t realize he had run off. I’ll make sure it never happens again, sir,” Shannon said, placing a comforting arm around Willy’s shaking shoulders while his father stood barely five feet away, watching his wailing son with lifeless eyes.

“Please do, Miss Priestley. William does not need any more distractions.” His voice held a clipped finality to it, and when he walked away and Nora appeared from behind the wall to approach Willy who was clutching her mother for dear life, she never understood how his father could just leave his son to fall apart in front of him like that.

That was the last afternoon Nora ever spent at The Breakers.

Up until four months ago, Nora was almost certain that the entire Clemonte family had forgotten that she existed, and that treacherous afternoon with Willy nearly seven years ago was just a sad memory that could be tarnished for the rest of eternity. But when her mother comes home with a thick black and red folder, the words Townbridge Academy in capital letters splayed against the front page above a golden crest, Nora’s never been more confused in her life.

When she asked her mother what she was doing with a boarding school acceptance letter in her hand that Nora had never heard of before, the answer she received was definitely not what she had expected. Apparently, Mrs. Clemonte found out that Nora was planning on attending the public high school on Broadway Street, and apparently, she believed that she could offer Shannon a lending hand. Nora would like to blame it all on Jane Clemonte’s philanthropic tendencies, but a few phone calls and a faxed copy of Nora’s stellar transcripts later, Nora was appointed a lofty scholarship to attend Townbridge Academy in the fall.

All things considered, Nora did not want to go. She liked her middle school friends, she liked being her own person, she liked knowing that her mom was only a twenty-minute walk away, and most importantly, she liked not having to be associated with a family like the Clemonte’s. She didn’t want to be seen as a charity case, and accepting the scholarship on Mrs. Clemonte’s behalf to attend a prestigious boarding school like Townbridge Academy was exactly that.

But when her mother sat her down and told her how amazing this opportunity was, and how much Nora could accomplish with a diploma from one of the best schools in the country, Nora couldn’t bring herself to say no. Especially when her mother held her close and whispered in her ear, “God, Nora, you can do all of the things I never could have done,” Nora knew that there was no way she could break her mother’s heart.

Because now, standing in her new dorm room with deep oak walls, a creaky polished hardwood floor, a red ornamental rug that smelled a bit like Warren Clemonte’s cologne, and a small twin bed nestled in the corner underneath a window overlooking the bleak green hills of Connecticut—Nora Priestley wishes she had told her mother no.

Before she can even wallow in her own self-imposed misery, the front door opens revealing an older man carrying a trolley holding a matching six-piece set of luggage. Nora looks down to the singular old leather suitcase she purchased at a surplus store on Spruce Street resting on the floor, comparing it to the monogrammed navy blue set with the gold letters ARW spanning across each piece.

The man begins placing each suitcase onto the floor without uttering a word to a very confused Nora, and suddenly the door opens wider, a pretty girl with strawberry blonde hair floating into the room. She’s wearing a white tennis skirt that rests a few inches above her kneecap, with a powder blue collared shirt cuffed at the wrists. For a brief moment, Nora wonders if her mother purchased the wrong uniform set for her, but when the girl lifts her eyes from her Blackberry and looks over at Nora, she notices a sailor’s crest embroidered on the right side above her chest with more initials, and she begins to breathe a little.

“Hi! You must be my roommate, I’m Nor—”

“—Where are the rest of your bags?” the girl interrupts, eyeing the old leather suitcase disdainfully. Nora’s fingers immediately fly up to her scalp and begin raking through her blonde hair, a nervous habit she’s tried her hardest to get rid of.

“I have a duffle on the desk chair, too,” Nora explains quietly, removing her hand from her hair so that she can point towards the old wooden desk that holds her mother’s duffle bag.

Nora watches as the girl’s piercing gaze shifts from her two flimsy bags to her outfit. And when Nora watches beady hazel eyes take in her old white tank top, her mom’s grey knit cardigan, thrifted bootcut jeans, and sandals from two summers ago, Nora’s never wanted to disappear more in her life.

Before she can find the words to speak, Nora hears a shrill “Alyssa!” echo through the hallway, until a matching set of girls wearing nautical-inspired clothing and thick headbands are hugging the strawberry blonde-haired girl who just so obviously judged Nora a few moments ago.

“Who’s this?” one of the girls asks Alyssa, breaking away from their hug and looking over at Nora with interest.

Just as Nora reaches a hand out to introduce herself, Alyssa says, “Doesn’t matter. Let’s go, girls,” and the three girls spin around without even uttering a goodbye.

Nora watches as they walk down the hallway, giggling the entire way as if they hadn’t singlehandedly just ruined her first official day away from home.

***

October 2006

The first month at boarding school is just a series of Nora playing catch up. While she thought going to public school and hanging out with normal people would be enough to prepare her for high school, three weeks in she’s never felt more lost in her entire life.

She’s one of the only students who doesn’t own a cellphone, she wears second-hand Sperry’s instead of fancy loafers with gold links on the front, her backpack is a maroon Jansport while most students opted for leather messenger bags, and when people ask her how she spent her summer, she’s gotten used to the wide-eyed look they give her when she explains that she scooped ice cream near the beach for tips.

Nora’s not naive. She knows that she’s referred to as The Scholarship Girl behind her back, she knows that Alyssa complains to her elitist friends about how dreadful it is to be forced to room with a girl who wears hand-me-down clothing, and she knows that adjusting to life at Townbridge was going to be the very definition of arduous.

But she remembers what her mother told her—how Nora’s skin is thicker than she thinks, and no matter how different she is to everybody else, she’s still just as deserving of a top-notch education.

Even though Nora was at the top of her class for most of her life, she still felt far behind the rest of her classmates at Townbridge. She spends the first few weeks getting very acquainted with the walls of the library, making the nearly twenty-minute trek from her dorm in Emerson Hall to Millikan Library across campus. Classes have only just begun, but Nora can’t afford to fall any more behind than she already has. So instead of making friends and signing up for various clubs and sports teams, Nora’s allowed her backside to practically mold into the stiff wooden chairs inside the empty library.

Nora would have completely forgotten about the First Year Mixer being held that evening if not for Alyssa and her friends getting ready in her dorm room. When she walks in still wearing her uniform well after classes have ended for the day, the three girls look at her as if she were crazy.

“Did you forget about the mixer tonight, Nora?” Grace, one of the twins, asks with a shocked expression decorating her pretty face. All three girls are wearing colorful Lilly Pulitzer dresses, passing along mascara and eyeshadow amongst themselves in preparation for tonight.

“Uh, no I was just—”

“—Making friends with the books again?” Alyssa sneers, earning a giggle from the girls.

Nora chooses not to respond. It’s just easier that way.

Walking over to her wardrobe, Nora sorts through her limited selection of clothing to find something appropriate to wear for tonight. She didn’t even want to be in attendance, but she’s figured that she’s probably spent enough time on her own, and that maybe, in the off chance that Townbridge has some normal students, she can make a friend or two.

The only two dresses she brought with her were a simple long-sleeved cream sweater dress that fell just above her knees, and a thin summer dress her mother bought her two years ago that was tighter and fell around mid-thigh. She goes with the sweater dress, deeming it the best outfit she has to just simply blend in. Once it’s over her head, she reaches for her thigh-high socks and brown boots she got as a graduation gift, slipping them on quickly. October has left a brisk chill in the nighttime air, and considering her jackets consisted of a worn-in winter parka and an oversized flannel she scored at Goodwill, Nora thinks this combination will be more than fine.

She reaches for the comb on her desk and begins to rake it through her knotted hair, smoothing out the kinks and leaving the strands to fall in their messy, wavy natural state. Just as she’s digging through her backpack to try and find her lip balm and mascara, she can’t help but overhear Alyssa gossiping to Grace and Erin loudly from across the room.

“Harry’s plane landed a few hours ago,” Alyssa gushes, plucking the blush from Grace’s hands and beginning to apply it to the apples of her cheeks.

“Oh my God, no way! You must be so excited, Lyss!” Erin squeaks, reaching for the lipgloss that Alyssa just used. Before she can even remove the lid, Alyssa swats at her wrists and tells her to pick another color.

“Have you been texting all summer?” Grace asks from behind the vanity.

Alyssa nods, readjusting her freshly curled hair. “Ever since he left the Hamptons in July, yeah. We’ve been messaging back and forth. He told me he can’t wait to see me tonight.”

“That’s so romantic, Lyss!” Erin says, and Nora tries her hardest not to roll her eyes. “I can’t believe they let him miss the first three weeks of school.”

“He’s Harry Styles, Erin,” Grace chides, turning to face her sister with slanted eyes. “He can do whatever he wants.”

Nora twists the mascara wand back into the tube before backing away from her desk, double-checking her outfit to make sure that it was suitable enough. Just as she gives her hair one last fluff, she hears Alyssa ask, “Are you really not going to do anything with your hair?”

Nora turns towards her with a sheepish look, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t own any styling tools so…” she lets the words fall from her mouth, watching the three girls in front of her look at her as if she had a second head growing out of her neck.

“You’ve never straightened your hair?! I’m sure Alyssa will let you borrow—”

“—Erin! Enough. Let’s go, we’re going to be late,” Alyssa scolds, ending the conversation abruptly. Before Nora can even shoot a smile in Erin’s direction, the three girls are already out the door, leaving Nora to walk to the Great Hall by herself.

The problem with spending all of her time walking from her dorm to the lecture halls on East Campus to Millikan Library is that she seemingly forgot where every other building was. Trying to locate the Great Hall in daylight was already difficult for Nora, but now with the sun practically set behind the horizon and her sense of direction completely shit, she starts panicking when she’s walked by the dining hall for the third time.

An upperclassman saves Nora before she can have a full-blown panic attack in the middle of the quad, and with two minutes to spare, Nora finds a row with a few empty seats towards the back of the room.

Nobody seems to have noticed her, save for the girls in the row in front of her who turn around when Nora’s boots jostle their chairs. She offers them a muffled apology, and just as quickly as they turned around to look at her, they swivel their necks to face the front again.

Nora sighs to herself, before lifting her head to hear the Headmaster begin his speech. After listening to him drawl about the mission statement and his expectations for the first-year students, Nora immediately wishes she never left her dorm room. She can feel her eyes begin to droop, and before her body can slump further down into her chair, the sound of a heavy oak door closing echoes throughout the Great Hall, and Nora feels her body springing upwards.

Headmaster Clayton pauses in his monotonous ramblings, and before the entire collection of students in front of Nora can turn around to see what the interruption was, a long body falls into the chair next to hers, and the Headmaster resumes his speech as if nothing ever happened.

“Did I miss anything?” an impossibly British voice whispers in Nora’s direction, and she’s a bit surprised by the low timbre of it. She looks over at him and finds herself staring into green pools with a golden shimmer surrounding his irises. Nora’s never been captivated by a boy before—but the one sitting next to her with fluffy chocolate curls falling over his forehead, surrounding his ears, and ending at the nape of his neck might possibly be the first. His hands are shoved inside the pockets of an expensive-looking black trench coat, and his upper body is leaning towards hers as he awaits her response. When Nora notices his pink lips forming into a small smirk, she’s almost positive that she’s been caught staring at this boy for far too long.

“Uh, no. Not really,” she whispers back, scrutinizing the way her voice squeaked at the beginning of her sentence.

His smirk shifts into a full-blown grin, and Nora can feel her cheeks begin to burn. “Hm, sounds like somebody wasn’t paying attention in the first place.”

Before Nora can retort, the boy near her chuckles softly at her nervous expression. “Can’t say I blame you, love. Clayton’s a fucking fossil.”

Nora giggles, causing the girls in front of her to turn around again with a murderous expression on their faces. She stops abruptly, and after they’ve snapped their heads forward for the second time, she looks over to the boy on her left and finds him trying his hardest to stifle another chuckle.

He shifts his body so he’s no longer leaning in Nora’s direction, and she’s a bit saddened by the sudden distance between them both.

Nora replays the interaction in her inexperienced, fourteen-year-old mind, wondering if the boy near her was just flirting with her. There’s no denying that she thinks he’s cute, considering she finds herself sneaking looks at him every few minutes during the duration of Headmaster Clayton’s speech just to get another glimpse of his soft hair and sunken dimples. And on more than one occasion, he catches her in his periphery, shooting her that charming smirk that never fails to make her cheeks blush.

The moment Headmaster Clayton wraps up his speech and the rest of the students begin to stand, Nora turns towards the boy and finds that he’s already looking at her. Now that they’ve exited their row, Nora notices how tall he is, taking in his long legs clad in black denim, his even longer torso in a similar black shirt. The all-dark ensemble somehow makes him look older. Makes him look mysterious. Makes him look even more handsome—and suddenly Nora’s grown a bit nervous.

“I’m Nora, by the way,” she says, sticking her hand out for him to shake. He hesitates, looking between her face and her outstretched hand with a smile on his face, finding it incredibly cute that a girl his age would greet him so formally.

Just before his hand can fall into hers, another hand claps him on the shoulder and he’s forced to look at the intrusion, his own arm falling back to his side. “Harry, my man! How was the flight?”

When Nora looks over his shoulder, she notices two boys greeting him warmly. She hasn’t really met anybody at Townbridge aside from Alyssa, Grace, and Erin, so she’s not surprised when she doesn’t recognize the two other boys infiltrating their small bubble.

But upon further inspection, Nora realizes that she does, in fact, recognize one of them.

Standing directly in her line of vision is none other than Willy Clemonte. Although it’s been seven years since Nora last saw him, there’s no denying that the sandy-haired, blue-eyed teenager in front of her is him. He’s practically almost the same height as his father now, towering over Nora in his khaki pants and a white cable-knit sweater. His hair still tangles in his eyelashes and his cheeks are still dusted with freckles, and Nora’s stunned at the sudden rush of memories that flood her insides.

He seems to have made the same startling realization as Nora did, because his eyes begin to widen almost comically, and a strained expression falls over his features. Before they can give away that they’ve been staring at each other, the boy from before, now known to Nora as Harry, spins around on his heels and gives her a small smile.

“Nora, right?” he asks, and she nods hesitantly. “Where are you from?”

“Uh, Newport,” Nora answers.

“Oh, wicked! So you must know Will, then?” Harry asks, seemingly oblivious to the awkward tension radiating from the two of them.

Before she can respond, Will clears his throat and takes a step forward. With one last panicked look at Nora, he tells Harry, “Yeah, man. Her mom was one of our maids.”

“Wait, what?” Harry asks, confusion written all over his face. Nora’s surprised that she can hear it over the sound of her breath leaving her lungs from Willy’s comment. Sure, she knew that the last time they saw each other he was crying into her mother’s arms over a remark his father said, and sure, she didn’t expect them to resume their friendship as if nothing had happened.

But to blatantly lie about Nora’s mother, a woman who took care of him for years? Nora never thought that he would grow up to be so cruel.

To twist the knife lodged into her chest even further, Alyssa and the twins approach the group with annoyed looks, all aimed in Nora’s direction. They seem to have overheard Willy’s previous comment, and before Nora can even defend herself, Alyssa reaches out and wraps her hand around Harry’s forearm as if she were claiming him in front of everybody.

“Yeah, apparently Townbridge is letting just about anybody in this year. Just ignore her, Harry, we all have been,” she says, her tone nothing but dismissive.

Nora watches as Harry shifts his gaze from Alyssa to her. His green eyes fall down her body, and for the first time, he notices the loose thread at the hemline of her dress from overwear, the tear in her socks behind the knee, her brown boots that lack the distinction of a designer label. With one last look at her, he takes a step back, and Nora knows right then and there that she’s been condemned as an outsider.

“C’mon Harry, tell us all about the rest of your summer in France! I want to hear all about it,” Alyssa enthuses, and without a second look, the group turns around and leaves Nora staring after them.

No matter how attractive she finds Harry, there’s no denying that his personality is undeniably ugly. And as she watches him wrap an arm around Alyssa’s shoulder, Nora thinks it’s quite fitting that they’ve both found each other.

***

November 2007

Summer has always been Nora’s favorite season (living permanently near the ocean sort of makes that inevitable), but that summer after her first year, Nora’s never been more excited to be home. She missed her mom, she missed the beach, and she missed her normal friends who didn’t care that she wore sandals that were falling apart and shorts that were fraying at the edges.

When Nora came back from school, she begged her mother not to send her back to Townbridge for her second year. She told her how she couldn’t make friends, how everybody made her feel like a social pariah, and how she was absolutely miserable being so far away from her.

“Oh, Nora baby,” her mother said, holding her close. “You know exactly who you are. You’re strong, you’re beautiful, you’re intelligent—and you’re so much better than those kids who make you feel like you aren’t.”

“You don’t understand, mom,” Nora said through hiccups, wet tears soaking her cheeks, “They hate me. All of them. They never even gave me a chance.”

“Everybody?” her mother asked. And when Nora just stared at her with her lower lip trembling, Shannon combed her fingers through Nora’s blonde hair comfortingly. “I’m sure there are people at Townbridge who are just like you. I just don’t think you’ve tried to find them yet.”

Even though she didn’t want to admit it, Nora knew that her mother was right. So after another summer filled with scooping ice cream for tips and spending every second of her days off at the beach reading romance novel after romance novel, Nora packed up her things for the second time—this time with another suitcase—and set off for Connecticut with higher hopes for her second year.

Things seemed to be turning around for her when she discovered that her roommate was no longer Alyssa Whalen. Instead, it was a girl named Lydia who lived a few towns over in Madison by the beach, just like Nora. They bonded instantly over their shared love of having sea-knotted hair and the feeling of having sand squished between your toes and letting your fingers wrinkle from wading through the briny water for too long. And when Lydia encourages Nora to sign up for the swim team with her, Nora’s grateful that she’s finally found a friend in this hellhole.

Her second year is leagues better than her first, considering in the first three months, she barely had to cross paths with Alyssa and Harry. On the rare instances that they do run into each other, they simply ignore the other’s existence, and Nora doesn’t mind it one bit. It’s just easier that way, she supposes.

Halfway through Nora’s swim season, she turns sixteen and discovers that everybody around her is getting their license. Lydia’s parents bought her a used 2005 Honda Civic when she passed her driver’s test, and when she told Nora that she could use it whenever she needed, Nora felt bad lying to her new friend. Because once again she was playing catch up, getting her learner’s permit over the summer when everybody was already scheduling their exam, and with the way things were going, Nora wouldn’t be able to get her license until she was home again for summer break.

She also didn’t want to admit to Lydia that she couldn’t afford a car, and that her mother would never allow Nora to take her 1997 Toyota Corolla to campus.

After swim practice one November afternoon, Nora leaves the Athletic Center with wet hair to head back to her dorm in Donahue Hall completely across campus. Normally, Nora walks with Lydia, but since it’s Friday and students who live in-state with a license are allowed to leave campus for the weekend, Nora’s forced to make the twenty-minute journey alone.

With her gym bag slung over her shoulder, Nora begins to walk through the parking lot to head towards the footpath that will bring her through campus. The sky is awfully dark for four in the afternoon, and when she looks up and notices the menacing grey clouds, she kicks herself for not packing her umbrella before she left her room this morning.

Just as she’s almost in the clear, she hears a familiar giggle that makes her skin crawl. Living with Alyssa for one excruciating year has allowed Nora to recognize that sound almost immediately, and sheepishly she tucks her chin deeper into the neckline of her jacket, praying that her face is hidden as she walks past the group.

When Nora reaches inside her half-zipped gym bag for her water bottle, she swears to herself when the strap detaches from the siding and the nylon bag falls to the cement. Making sure everything is strapped appropriately, she heaves the bag over her shoulder once it’s zipped up. As she swings her elbow to place the bag comfortably around her body, she doesn’t take into account her proximity to a particularly shiny black SUV—and just before she can escape the parking lot undetected, her bag smashes against the hood of the car, causing the headlights to flicker on and off and the alarm to blare piercingly through the space.

“Hey!” Nora hears from behind her. When she turns she sees Harry jogging towards her, his brown hair dripping from the shower he just took. He’s wearing joggers and a Townbridge Academy Soccer sweatshirt, and when he reaches inside his pocket and reveals a shiny key fob, Nora swears for the second time knowing that the fancy car she just accidentally hit belonged to him.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” His voice is booming through the parking lot and it’s enough to make Nora feel incredibly small. When he finally presses the alarm button on his key and the blaring stops, she can hear his exasperated breaths in its place, and she’s not quite sure what’s worse.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“—I saw the whole thing, Harry!” Alyssa calls over from her spot across the cement, walking towards the pair of them with an accusatory finger extended in Nora’s direction. “She slammed her gym bag against your car.”

“It was an accident!” Nora screeches, feeling her face turning red. “My bag strap fell off and when I went to put it back on my shoulder, I bumped your car. Not, er, intentionally.”

Harry looks between the two girls with an annoyed expression on his face. “Just be more careful, yeah? It’s brand new.”

When Nora looks at the behemoth of a vehicle to her left, observing the shiny black exterior with the words Range Rover written across the front in chrome lettering, she can only imagine the outrageous price tag it has. Which is why she nods, apologizing one last time.

“Won’t happen again.” Nora begins to turn around on her heel, just as the air begins to get cooler and the slightest smell of rain can be detected in the distance.

“You’re walking all the way to Donahue in the rain?” Harry asks suddenly, and Nora begins to wonder how he even knows she lives in that building. She pauses, thinking if he or Alyssa or any one of their stupid friends lives in Donahue, and when she comes up with nothing, she turns around with a confused expression on her face.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t have a car.” Before she can feel the first drop of rain hit her skin, laughter erupts from the small group surrounding Harry and his car. Nora hides her face, wishing the ground would swallow her up.

With one last gulp, Nora turns around and begins walking towards the footpath, shoving the hood of her flimsy rain jacket over her head.

“Well, at least your hair is already wet!” Nora hears Alyssa call out from behind her, with more laughter following until Nora’s a safe distance away from where she can no longer be scrutinized by Harry and his rude friends.

As Nora reaches Donahue Hall with her tracksuit bottoms sticking to her legs like a second skin and her jacket completely drenched, all she can think about is how she’d rather walk another ten miles before ever having another conversation with Alyssa Whalen and Harry Styles if her life fucking depended on it.

***

A/N: Here’s chapter two! We’ve finally met Harry and Alyssa (yikes), so feel free to share with me your thoughts and predictions for the next part! High school is a funny time period to write about, and I’m excited to share the next part with you all. Look out for it on Friday, February 19th, which will be the normal update schedule. Until then, stay safe! x

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javierpenaspinkshirt · 4 years

Text

A Hundred Questions.

Mando x Reader - One Shot

Warnings: it’s fluffy and it’s soft and it’s a lil bit sweet. Loose Star Wars lore. Brief mentions of death. Dodgy formatting.

Words: 5.2k (woah, right?)

Summary: Mando is a touch starved man who just wants to be loved send tweet.

A/N: I wrote this while I was meant to be writing several reports for work so if you enjoy this soft rambling lmk so I can tell my boss I didn’t waste my whole day.

A Hundred Questions

It had been 6 months, you worked out, since you had met the Mandalorian.

He had landed on Jakku for supplies, knowing it was on an old trade route but also knowing it was only a mere few years on from the battle that had finally seen the Empire fall. He had assumed it would be largely empty and fairly quiet and he was right.

Mando had docked the Razor Crest in one of the bays you were overseeing that day. You’d had to stop your jaw dropping when you had seen him walking down the ramp of his ship towards you. You had seen a lot in your life, but never a Mandalorian. He had sauntered over to you and tipped a few credits into your hand.

‘I need some rewiring done’ his voice was gruff and tired, ‘will this be enough to get it done before I return?’

You looked at the credits in your hand, it was more cash than you had seen in years.

‘Absolutely’ you replied, ‘I’ll have her like new in no time’.

He nodded and walked passed you to leave. You turned to watch him go only to see what looked like a large green ear sticking out of the backpack the Mandalorian was wearing. You knew Mandos were often bounty hunters so you thought nothing more of it, only that it was none of your business.

You did your job and fixed up the ship as best you could. Your dad had been a mechanic before the war. He’d taught you everything he knew and though you had groaned and whined at the time, you were so grateful to him now. You had lost both of your parents and your siblings in the Battle of Jakku a few years ago. You had only survived because you had been underground working in the mines as the battle had begun. You and your fellow miners had hidden and waited out the siege. Eventually you had resurfaced to learn that the battle had been won by the Republic, but the fighting continued on for months until the last Imp dropped.

Mercifully you had survived the onslaught, but not everyone in your company had had your luck. Though you used the term ‘luck’ loosely.

The Imperial forces had arrived on Jakku months before the battle ensued, and in that time they had terrorised the locals. Your existence was an insult to them and they would assault and even kill residents simply for being there. But when the the last one finally dropped you couldn’t bring yourself to celebrate. You were on your own, and you had to get off this planet.

You had spent years working as a mechanic in one of the few lasting ship ports and had saved as much money as you could. You were hoping to be able to afford a small ship just to be able to get the hell away from Jakku and find somewhere, anywhere, else to be.

So when the Mandalorian returned from his trip for supplies you figured you would try and rinse him for a few extra credits. Every little helps, right?

He was walking with purpose towards you and the Crest, bag stuffed full of supplies and a tiny green child, like nothing you had ever seen before, waddling behind him.

‘Is it done?’ He asked, stopping to stand beside you and admire your handy work.

‘Yeah all done no problem, but I’m going to have to charge you for parts’ you wiped your hands on your overalls and put your hands on your hips to look up at him, hoping it made you look important and serious.

‘I’m not paying for anything extra’ the helmet turned to look down at you, ‘I asked for wiring, nothing more’.

His voice was low and gravelly. It made your stomach flip and you lost your cool.

‘Hey you asked me to fix what I could and I did, this thing is gonna fly better than it did when it was built, mate! I need the money for parts!’

‘Absolutely not’ was the only response you received before he bent down to scoop up the strange green child who was cooing at his feet, and began to walk aboard the ship.

‘Wait!’ You called, running up the gang plank to catch him ‘please! Please I need this, please! You don’t understand’ the desperation caught in your throat as you ran passed him and stood in front of him to stop him walking up any further.

‘Please’ you lowered your voice and looked around to make sure none of the other mechanics, or god forbid the boss, could hear you pleading, ‘please, I have to get out of here, I need the money’.

You couldn’t see his eyes, but you knew the Mandalorian was staring you down, making a judgment of you and deciding whether you were worth his time.

‘What are you like with kids?’

Your eyes widened, ‘excuse me?’

He held the little green child close to his chest and looked down at him. The baby cooed at him and made a little grabby motion at the helmet.

‘Can you look after a child?’

The truth was you’d never met a child you liked. You had had several siblings before the war and as the oldest you had often been stuck babysitting, and rather than hone any kind of parental instinct you may have had it had dragged it behind the barn and shot it dead. You adored your siblings of course, and you missed them endlessly, but you would rather have been their sibling than their surrogate parent. Children were your nightmare, but if the small green boy was your ticket out of here… Then you guessed you were going to have to learn to like him.

‘I can’ you agreed, ‘but I’m not a glorified babysitter y’know, I’m a mechanic and a damn good one!’

‘I know, you would be a valuable crew mate. I don’t need a babysitter, I need a mechanic and someone I can trust around the child’, his helmet dropped to look at the baby again. If you could have seen his face you would’ve seen the smile spread across it as he looked down at his little foundling.

‘Trust is very important to me’ you explained, ‘I promise I wont let you down’.

The Mandalorian straightened and sighed, ‘go grab whatever you need and meet me back here in an hour. If you’re not here, I will leave without you’.

Your eyes widened and you darted off the ship calling out behind you that you’d be back soon.

That had been 6 months ago. Since then you had been travelling with Mando and the little boy and it was the freest you had ever felt. You’d fallen into comfortable routine with your time split between him piloting and securing jobs and you maintaining the old ship, keeping her flying and keeping her safe. You shared taking care of the child and, despite your initial reservation, you had fallen in love with the little creature. He was different to human children, he needed more supervision than care and was capable of moving himself around the ship with alarming speed. He’d often sit beside you, fiddling with bolts or some of your tools while you fixed things and he’d watch with those big inquisitive eyes as you grumbled about the mess the wiring was in or rambled on with stories of your childhood. He made you miss your siblings but you pushed those painful feelings aside whenever they arose, instead choosing to tell the little one stories of happy times with your family, especially your dad. He would smile and cock his head as you spoke to him.

Occasionally Mando would listen from the cockpit if you were close enough for him to hear. You never really spoke to him about your family… but that was largely because he didn’t ask. Usually you’d sit with him of an evening once the child was asleep. He’d be in the pilot’s seat and you would sit behind him and ask him a hundred mindless questions. Sometimes he’d answer, sometimes he’d just grunt, but he enjoyed the way your mind worked. He had explained to you early on about the rules about his helmet and he had been relieved when you had immediately respected them. You would make the occasional joke,

‘Bet you’re a gungan under there’ you’d smirk.

Like he hadn’t heard that one before. But he didn’t mind because it was you. You would ask him about his armour, about the creed, you’d even once asked about his family. He’d revealed that he was a foundling but nothing more. You had got the hint and stopped your questioning.

This evening was no different. Mando had secured a job on some outer rim planet you’d never even heard of and you were only an hour or so away from landing. The child had nodded off so you’d left him in the cot in the hull where the two of you usually slept, leaving the door open so you could hear if he stirred from the cockpit.

You resumed your usual position in the co-pilot’s chair and started your usual barrage of questions. Mando grunted at most of them and answered a few.

‘So tell me then, Mandalorian’ you crooned ‘when was the last time you took the helmet off?’

‘This morning’ was the typically blunt answer.

‘Okay but when?’

He spun round in his chair to look at you, beskar glinting, ‘this morning when you were feeding the child’.

‘I’m gonna have to get sneakier if I’m going to ever catch a glimpse of you aren’t I?’ you chuckled.

He let out a gentle exhale. He knew you were joking, he trusted you never to look as you promised you wouldn’t. But he still felt a well of anxiety when you’d joke.

You sensed you’d gone too far and backtracked, ‘sorry I shouldn’t have said that, I was only playing. I would never, Mando. I promise, I owe you my life I’m not going to be the one to ruin yours’.

He cocked his head to the left gently and you hoped it was because he was smiling.

The truth was you hadn’t ruined his life. You’d turned it upside down a little but he didn’t mind. After the events of the last year, protecting the child, having to go on the run, having to face down Moff Gideon and almost dying… being out here with you and his foundling was the escape he craved. He had mentioned Cara to you briefly but he offered no detail as to the origin of the child or any stories about what had lead him to arrive on Jakku and meet you.

He wasn’t ready to talk about it yet and he knew you understood. Though you could question him for hours about all sorts of inane crap, you were good at taking no for an answer.

But the one thing you would bring up consistently was his helmet. He knew you were curious. You wanted to know who the man under the Beskar was and he understood that. He got to look at you all day, see the way you smiled at the child or the way your brow furrowed when you were thinking. He got to see your body, clothed of course, but he got to see the way your hips swayed when you walked or the way the muscles in your arms worked when you were lying down trying to fix something on the ship. You hadn’t even seen the colour of his skin.

He wanted to show you more of him. He had slowly and cautiously admitted feelings for you to himself but he wasn’t ready to admit them to you yet. In the last month or so he had started putting his forehead against yours, especially before he went to bed. You would get up to go down to the hull to curl up with the baby while he would stay upstairs in the sleeping quarters behind the cockpit. But he’d make a point of gently pulling you to him and putting his forehead against yours for just a moment. You never questioned it but he could feel the way your body would tense when he held your arms and then relax as he gently tapped the helmet against you. He didn’t think you knew what this gesture meant and he wasn’t going to explain it. But he hoped you were getting the hint without him having to say anything.

He was still looking at you, waiting for your next question of the night when there was an almighty thump and the ship shuddered violently. Without thought or hesitation you were out of your seat and down the ladder into the hull. The little one had woken up at the jolt and squealed as you scooped him up and ran back up to the cockpit.

Another clang and all the lights bar the dashboard control and the dodgy LED emergency lighting went out. The cockpit was dark save for the blue lights of the dashboard and the child squealed again and clung to your clothes. You sat down in the co-pilot chair and hung for dear life, holding the child as tightly as you dared.

‘Hold on’ Mando commanded as he threw the ship around, dodging what you could now see were meteors and space junk flying at the Crest at alarming speed. The planet you were headed towards was well in view now and you hoped to gods that Mando could get you there without doing too much more damage to the ship.

A few more minor knocks and a few hisses from the engines and Mando managed to land on a baron plain, covered with what must be ash, with no sign of a moon or sun and a dark cloud swelling.

‘This… is where the job is?’ You looked out of the window, holding the child up so he could see where his father had almost crash landed you.

‘Yes. Sorry I shouldn’t have taken my eye off the controls… the meteors knocked the lights and the heat out’ He flicked a few switches but to no avail and slumped back in his chair.

‘Can you fix it?’ He turned the chair to look at you.

‘I can but not until morning, its dark and I wont be able to see properly even with a flashlight. I’d have to go outside to see the damage but if I’m honest I don’t really wanna do that tonight… even with you standing guard’.

Mando agreed and stood up, ‘it’s going to be too cold for you and the kid in the hull tonight, you’ll have to stay in my quarters’.

A lump caught in your throat, ‘with you?’ You hadn’t meant for it to sound quite as eager as it did but it was out there now.

‘No’ was the matter of fact reply, ‘I’ll be here, I can sleep in the chair.’

‘No way, Mando, if you’re going on a job tomorrow you need to sleep, you can have the child in your room, I’ll stay here’ you stood up to make a point.

He sighed. The baby whimpered gently, he was cold. You held him close and wrapped him in the cloak you were wearing. It used to be an old cape Mando wore but it had been ripped and was way too short for him. You adopted it and patched it up and proudly wore it everywhere, it was your little piece of him. Now you used it to wrap the little one tightly to try and warm him.

The temperature outside was freezing and without the heat in the ship you would all be feeling the cold in no time.

Mando finally stirred, ‘I have an idea.’

You looked at him as he sunk down on to his haunches in front of you. He took hold of the loose end of the cape you were holding the baby in and took a knife from his boot. He cut a small length from the cape and held it out to you.

‘Take this. Go into my room, get the baby settled and get yourself comfortable. Then put this over your eyes and call for me’ he was so matter of fact about it that you didn’t question it, just did as you were told.

You had never actually been in Mando’s sleeping quarters before. It was a small room, no kind of decoration or homely nature to it, classic Mando. There was a single cot in the corner against the wall that you assumed he would make you sleep on, you knew him well enough not to fight him on that. You put the baby down on the floor, still wrapped in your cloak. His eyes were drooping and he was gently cooing to himself.

‘Getting sleepy, little one? You can sleep here, I’ll get you your blankets and we’ll make you a nice bed, yeah?’ You spoke to him softly and he lifted his little hand to you. You took his hand and gave it gentle kiss before zipping down to the hull to grab the blankets the two of you usually shared. It was freezing in the hull and you were grateful to Mando for insisting you slept in his room.

You went back to his quarters and swaddled the baby tightly. You put him on the floor at the foot of the cot so you could still hear him if he woke up but wouldn’t squish him or accidentally kick him out of the small bed in your sleep. He drifted off as you were positioning him comfortably, you thanked your stars.

You had grabbed a long tunic from the hull and changed into that, discarding your clothes and boots on the floor. You felt the cold and dived under the thin covers on the cot and put the makeshift blindfold over your eyes.

‘I’ve got the blindfold on’ you called, a slightly inappropriate thought raced to the front of your mind but you shoved it back before any damage was done.

You heard the door open and close and the gentle thud of Mando’s boots on the floor. The room was completely dark save for one small port hole on the far wall. You probably didn’t even need the blindfold, you couldn’t have seen him anyway! But you knew the blindfold helped his peace of mind.

You sat in the bed as you listened to the delicate, dull thuds of pieces of beskar being removed. You tried to guess what was what by the weight of the thud but you gave up after the third piece. Finally the quite clanging stopped and a heavy silence hung in the air.

‘You promise me you wont take that blindfold off?’ His voice was still modulated, the helmet still on.

‘I promise’.

There was a gentle hiss and a click and a quite thunk as he put the helmet down on the floor. You heard him move closer to you then drop what you guessed were blankets on the floor. You could hear him shuffling around, laying one blanket on the floor then covering himself with the other. He was still at last.

‘Good night, Mando’ you whispered into the blackness.

No response but an un-gloved hand reached up from his makeshift bed on the floor and gently squeezed yours.

Your whole body tingled. You couldn’t see him, or anything at all for that matter, but that was the first skin to skin contact you had ever had with your usually beskar-clad hero. You placed your other hand on top of his and squeezed back. That was enough for him and he removed his hand and you heard him wriggle a little until he was silent again.

What you didn’t know was that his heart was racing. He hadn’t felt the touch of another person for longer than he cared to count and it was all the more wild that it was you he had finally been able to touch.

But the memory of the last time he had had his helmet removed haunted him and clouded the joy he so wanted to feel. The flashbacks came occasionally; the explosion, the ringing in his ears and the blood. He’d had to tell Cara to take the child and to run for their lives. He had laid there in the rubble and dust, smoke filling the air and a droid, that would later go on to sacrifice itself for him, standing over him reasoning as to why it should take his helmet off.

In the end he had relented and allowed it to and IG had saved his life. But the trauma of the whole ordeal was still too fresh to ignore and lying on the cold floor of his room, completely exposed without any of his armour was almost too much to bear.

He wanted to sit up and slide himself into bed next to you and hold you, if for nothing more than comfort. He’d been alone for so long and suddenly he had a foundling, a family of friends, and a crew mate he wished was more than just crew. It was a lot to take in but you were pretty good at calming his nerves when he needed it. There had been a few instances when bounties had proven to be tougher than expected but you had always been there waiting for him to return, somehow knowing all the right things to say but you had never dared reach out and touch him, fearing it would offend or upset him. Really it was what he wanted most.

Sensing the restless body on the floor beside you you attempted to reach out and feel where he was. Your icy cold hand made contact with his bare shoulder and he hissed and shot away from you.

‘Shit sorry I didn’t realise you were so close!’ You whispered, trying your best not to laugh but a small snort escaped you and you clasped your hand over your mouth to prevent another.

‘What are you? Part Trandoshan? You must be cold blooded!’ his response was sharp but there was humour in it.

‘Trandoshan? Tall, fearsome, not a fan of Wookiees? You got me’ you giggled quietly again but stopped abruptly when you realised that was the first time you had ever heard his voice un-modulated.

You could hear him breathing slightly heavily from the shock and you took in every breath not knowing whether you would ever hear it without the helmet again.

He settled back down and calmed himself. The shock of the freezing hand on his arm had shaken him from his rapid thoughts of lava tunnels and enemy fire and left his heart racing again.

‘Are you really that cold?’ He whispered up at you.

You nodded but realised he couldn’t see you and rolled over so you were on your front looking down at him, ‘I’m from a desert planet, I don’t do cold! But I’ll be fine once I’m asleep’.

Mando formulated a plan but first he quietly sat up to look at the foot of the bed. He moved to his hands and knees silently and knelt down as he touched his hand to the child’s sleeping forehead. He felt warm enough, safely enveloped in the blankets you had wrapped him in and happily snoring in deep sleep. Mando smiled to himself.

Then, before you could ask a question or protest, Mando pushed you over to the edge of the cot and against the wall. His hands were warm as he gently scooted you over and awkwardly fumbled with the covers as he got in beside you. He was trying to be as quiet as possible but the bed frame creaked, only used to having to support one body.

‘You’ll wake the kid!’ You hissed.

He shushed you and flipped you so that your back was against his torso. He slipped an arm under your neck and draped the other over your ribs and pulled you tight against him. He reached up with the arm under your neck and gently checked the blindfold was still in place.

You smiled at his abundance of caution ‘it’s still there’, you reassured him ‘not that I could see you without it anyway, it’s so dark’.

He huffed gently and put his arm back down and held you close to him.

He was bare chest but radiating heat like a small thermal oscillator. You sunk into him not wanting to cause too much of a fuss in case you put him off and he went back to the floor. But you desperately wanted him to talk to you. You wanted to hear his voice and see what he sounded like when he laughed and you desperately wanted to know what he looked like. You knew you couldn’t see him and you wouldn’t ask to, but maybe you could feel him?

You began to wriggle as slowly as possible to avoid the bed squeaking too much and rolled yourself over so that you were lying on your other side, face to face with Mando. You made sure the blindfold was in place and put your hands down in the small gap between your bodies so as not to touch him with them and startle him with the cold again.

He still had an arm under your neck and the other now gently traced circles on your back.

‘Mando?’ you began.

He grunted back at you and you had to stifle another laugh. Even in the most intimate moment you’d ever shared his immediate response was to grunt at you.

‘Mando… can I touch you? Is that allowed?’

His breathing hitched and you felt him shift ever so slightly and you feared you’d done exactly what you were afraid of and crossed a line.

He moved his arm from your back and took your hands in his. His one hand was big enough to envelop both of yours and you had to smother another inappropriate thought before it blossomed.

‘Not until these are warmer’ he whispered giving your hands a squeeze.

You beamed at him and you hoped he could see you even just a little bit to know how happy you were at the possibility of actually being allowed to touch your Mandalorian’s skin.

He couldn’t see you, but your faces were close enough that he could feel the way you sucked in air in an excited gasp as he said it and he was sure you were smiling at him.

He carefully brought your hands up to his chest and rested them there, letting go and returning his hand to your back and pulling you closer still so that your bodies were touching, his chin resting carefully on the crown of your head.

You spent a few moments just taking in everything you could about him. His skin was soft but scarred. You traced scars and old wounds across his back and his chest. His shoulders were tough and knotted, muscular but tired from carrying the weight of the beskar pauldrons every day since he was little. Every scar told a story and maybe one day you’d be allowed to see them, not just feel them, and you’d be able to ask a hundred questions about how and where… but for now you just gently dipped your fingers into every mark that made him who he was.

You moved up to his neck and felt his heart rate racing as your hands edged closer to his face. You stopped just below his jaw and shifted your head up to look at him. As was normal to you now, you couldn’t see his eyes so you just stared where you hoped they were.

He gave you a timid nod and you breathed in hard as you slowly moved your hands up to his jawline. There was stubble, maybe a few days worth. You wondered if he shaved often? His jawline was sharp and defined, you had imagined it as such. You gently moved your fingers along it, taking in every dip of his mandible that indicated an old injury, every mark you could feel that could have once been a wound, and enjoyed the knowledge that even a proud warrior couldn’t always be bothered to shave.

You left one hand at his jaw and moved the other up his cheek, stroking it gently with your thumb, and moved across to his nose. It was pronounced but fitted the shape of his face beautifully. You would have to imagine how striking his side profile must be. There was a scar across it and little ridge at the bridge that suggested that maybe it had been broken once. You weren’t going to ask now.

You carefully traced a thumb over his closed eye, his eyelashes long and his eyebrows unkempt but not wild – a little like him maybe. You moved up his forehead, more scars and bruising, you wondered exactly how much good that helmet did him. Finally you found his hair and you ran your hand through it and pulled ever so slightly. It was longer than you imagined but not so long that he didn’t care for it. The fact it was at the length it was meant he must cut his own hair, that was enough to pull a smile out of you.

He felt you smile against him and he winced slightly, afraid you were laughing at his messy hair or his bruised face. You rubbed your other hand against his jaw.

‘What colour is you hair?’ The question was tentative, walking on thin ice and unsure how far was too far.

‘Brown’ he whispered, the bass in his voice making your soul leap a little.

You moved your hand back down to his eyelid, ‘and these?’

‘Also brown’ the whisper was even quieter now.

‘Mando, I think you’re beautiful’ you said it as sincerely as you could. You meant it.

He didn’t respond, just lay there still as anything, holding you against him.

You rested your palm on his cheek, feeling the stubble under it as he moved his head to look down at you. He put his forehead against yours as delicately as he could.

You could have stayed there for a hundred years. Wrapped in his arms, his forehead pressed to yours, feeling his breathing slow as his heart rate settled, his skin against yours.

But he moved, and you were afraid that was the end until he took his hand from your back and used it to tilt your chin up towards his face.

You felt his lips against yours and it was like an explosion had been let off inside you. It was tentative and cautious but he held your chin firm, not wanting you to move away from him. His lips were soft, a little chapped, but so undeniably him. Firm but inviting, hesitant but wanting.

He moved his hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, being careful not to knock the blindfold and broke the kiss. He put his forehead back against yours and stroked your cheek with his thumb.

You put your hands back on his chest and lay still with him. He would kiss you again but he would need a minute first. And that was fine by you. This was unchartered territory for him and you would give him as long as he needed. There would be time for a hundred questions later.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #the mandalorian fic #pedro pascal #a hundred questions #the mandalorian fanfiction #dyn jarren #the mandalorian imagine

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stellarboystyles · 4 years

Text

Make a Move

Harry’s a bartender and she’s a waitress, a match made in heaven. That is, if they weren’t constantly pining over each other like idiots.

4.2k !

She and Harry closed almost every weekend.

Why? Because there wasn’t really anyone else that was willing, so they’re always picking up slack. They were even more short staffed before Y/N came along, and given that she was the only waitress who actually gave a shit about her job, she was always the first choice whenever someone called in sick or quit unexpectedly, which, unfortunately for her, was quite often. Not that she’s complaining, because she and Harry always work the same shifts so it’s always fun. She was so kind to every customer but as soon as any of them were crossing a line she’d be the first one to tell them to back off. Harry was the best bartender on the strip, and everyone local knows it, too. Word travels fast, and his drinks speak for themselves. They make a great team. The rest of their co workers claim that the pair always get better tips, and even though they aren’t wrong, Harry and y/n like to indulge in the private joke that maybe if everyone else didn’t do their job half ass then maybe they’d get the tips that they get every night. Their boss is lucky to have both of them working for him.

But Harry was just as lucky to be working there.

That’s exactly what it was. Pure luck.

When Harry’s mum Anne told her husband that she was pregnant with him, he promised her that he was going to change and be home more often, for them. And he kept his promise, for a while. Harry was such an easy baby, easy going and hardly ever cried. However, three months later things swiftly took a turn when she quickly realised that he was going to be a colicky baby. Seeing her little baby boy in pain, screaming and inconsolable just simply broke her heart, but it just meant that he needed a little more attention. She’d quickly learned his favorite remedy was a warm bath and a comfy swaddle, followed by some cuddles and he’d be right back off to sleep. She still thinks the reason that they’re still so close now is because of that extra bonding time.

Harry’s dad had always been distant from him. He was never home, And when he was, he wanted Anne’s full attention, and when he wasn’t getting that anymore, because, you know, she was busy raising an infant by herself, he grew selfishly jealous of the child that he created. When he hit her in front of her son, that was it. She made the split decision that she didn’t want this life for Harry, or for her. She waited until he fell asleep that night, packed what she could, took her baby and left. Moved to London and never saw or heard from him again.

Harry was six years old when his mum first got sick. It started out as headaches and a fever that would come and go, but it got worse. To be specific, an autoimmune disease that was attacking her muscles and joints. It got so bad that she couldn’t even brush her hair, let alone take proper care of a six year old. Long story short, Harry learned quickly and at a young age how to take care of himself. when Harry wasn’t in school all he wanted to do was take care of her. He’d always wake up early on the weekends and make her second favorite breakfast...waffles. Her first favorite was pancakes, but he couldn’t make those, only because he knew that his mummy said the stove wasn’t safe and that he couldn’t use it by himself, because he could burn his fingers.

Three years go by and things are really tough. Anne could no longer work, so without her knowledge, Harry began to improvise. He started selling some of his toys to his friends at school during playtime. By the time almost all of his toys were gone he’d managed to gain thirty five dollars, and he was so proud of himself. But when he saw one of the medical bills totals on the kitchen counter, he knew he was going to have to try something else. Every monday his mum gave him five dollars to pay for lunch at school for the whole week. So instead of eating lunch, he kept it in his backpack with the other thirty five. His friends always shared their lunch with him so that he wouldn’t go hungry all day, and no one ever found out. Week by week the amount seemed to add up quickly. Before he knew it it was the end of the school year he had one hundred and ninety five dollars. He counted it twice just to be sure, but it didn’t matter because it still wasn’t enough.

He was sad, extremely sad and angry. Three more years go by and his mum is in the hospital recovering from surgery. He couldn’t help feeling so many things all at once. His mum was his best friend, why on earth was this happening to her, to him?

One afternoon Harry was walking home from school. It was gloomy and dreary, typical London weather. He wanted to get home faster so he could get to the hospital to see her, so he chose to make a quick shortcut down an alley to his left. As he walked he noticed a group of boys older than him, maybe fourteen or fifteen, on the side of the alley. Before he could turn around or walk past them, of course, they surrounded him. It felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

He was getting jumped.

“I-I haven’t got anything.”

One of them held his arms in a tight grasp whilst another one yanked the backpack off his shoulders, dumping the contents, including the wads of cash, onto the asphalt.

“Ooh, what do we have here?”

Harry’s eyes instantly widened, struggling with all the strength in his body, desperately trying to get free. He couldn’t let them do this.

“No! Please, please don’t. I’ll do anything you want, but I need that money!”

“So do we.”

A fist landed against his cheek and before he knew it he was on the ground being beaten senseless.

“It’s not for me!” he tried, throwing his hands up in front of his face in an attempt to defend himself. “It’s for my mum, she’s sick.”

“Hey! How many times have I told you to quit causin’ trouble back ‘ere?!”

Harry was wide eyed as he saw a man, probably a store owner since he came around the back corner. They quickly ran off empty handed. The man’s face changed from angry to bewildered as he saw Harry’s face.

And as if on fucking cue, it started to rain. Pour, actually.

“No, no, no…”

Harry scrambles to his knees and crawls forward, trying to salvage the dampened green paper, shoving it back into his backpack.

“Are you alright?!”

That was the moment that Harry’s life changed forever.

The man, who Harry quickly learned was named Joe, did more than just clean up the young boy’s bloody face. They started talking and Harry told him everything. About his father, the piling medical bills, everything—and in that moment Joe knew he had to help him.

Every day after that, after school Harry would go to Joe’s bar and work for him. Small jobs—sweep the floor, clean the tables, things like that. He took Harry in, looked after him when his mum couldn’t and gave him advice like the father he’d never had.

The day Harry turned seventeen was the day his mum was officially in remission. Harry had been saving every single penny he’d made over the last five years, which was enough to really help out with their situation until his mum could go back to work. He was over the moon, he didn’t think he’d ever see the day that she’d be feeling like herself again.

Harry didn’t really plan on going to college because even if his mum was better, he always wanted to be able to visit and check on her. After he graduated, he moved into the apartment upstairs above the bar, and the rest is history.

And that leads us to now. Four years later at twenty one Harry is everyone’s favorite bartender, who's crushing hard on this truly one of a kind girl that walked into his life only a few months ago, and he can’t remember what life was like without her in it.

Despite how the job sounds, they both loved every second of it. Especially when they worked together. When they weren’t busy, they were constantly messing with each other, usually it was him teasing her whenever she tripped over her own feet, almost spilling a plate or glass and when she’d come back behind the bar he’d be smirking “y’not drunk are yeh?” and she’d mumble a “shut up.” making him chuckle.

But they were incredibly soft for each other, there was no way around it.

One time, Harry called in sick, and if he would’ve seen the look of disappointment mixed with sadness on her face, he might have just said fuck it and came in to work just to make her happy or at least see her smile, despite the food posioning.

That’s what she did to him. All rationale was lost, even if it was just for a moment.

When he came back, his co-workers filled him in, telling him that she was all sad and pouting through the whole shift. It made his heart ache, made him want to kiss the pout right off her lips,

because her lips were so pretty.

But it also made his heart beat a little faster.

He caught himself staring more and more as the months went by, their friendship torturing him day by day. It was truly a sick joke—being her friend but not being able to feel her soft skin under his touch, kiss her anywhere, anytime he wanted.

Was this karma? What did he do to deserve this?

He’s never been a day dreamer, until now. She’s in his head all the time and he can’t stop thinking about what his life would be like if he could just muster up enough confidence to tell her that he loves the way she pushes her hair behind her ears, or how he’s been dying to kiss her since she walked in the door on her first day.

He remembers that day like it was yesterday.

***

Harry was wiping down the bar, cell phone cradled between his ear and shoulder as he listened to his boss tell him about his newest hire being a new waitress.

“Hope this one sticks.” he mumbled, a small smirk appearing on his face as he dried off the inside of one of the glasses. “M’not gettin’ paid to wait tables, Joe.”

“Oh piss off, I’m payin’ you more than that.” a laugh was shared between the two before he continued.

“She’s already been trained, but it’s her first day by herself, so be nice.”

“M’always nice. It’s those other vultures you’ve got to worry about.”

Harry wasn’t exaggerating. The other waitresses were like wild animals, they’d either attack you or try to have sex with you.

“Just look out for her, will you? Don’t want her bein’ eaten alive on her first day and then she’s too scared to come back.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine, I’ll keep y’updated. Have fun on your holiday.”

“Thanks again for taking care of everything, I really appreciate it.”

“S’the least I could do after all you’ve done for me.” the humor in his voice slowly faded, his tone becoming more serious.

Don’t get soft on me now.” his response to Harry’s sentiment makes him chuckle.

“Okay, okay. But m’serious, don’ know where I’d be without your help.”

When he hung up the phone, as if on fucking cue, he hears the front door open.

***

Everything about her was perfect. Her hair looked like silk, even if it was tied back while she was working with some baby hairs falling around her face. Her skin was flawless—he loves it when she doesn’t wear any makeup, like today. He found her rosy cheeks and naturally long eyelashes to be undeniably adorable.

“H?”

His head snapped up at her voice. It was sweet, like the sugar he always puts on the rim of her glass when he makes her mojitos some nights after they close up. Harry thinks he’d do anything she wanted if she asked him nicely.

“Earth to Harry.” she jokingly waves her hand in front of his face. “It’s almost two.”

“Oh, shit. Wasn’t even lookin’ a’ the time.” he chuckled. “Thanks, love.”

“No problem.” Her cheeks were splashed with pink, looking at her shoes before turning to walk away.

To this day, Harry doesn’t know what on earth possessed him to do this. But for some reason, three words popped into his head.

Make a move.

“Hey.” he stops her from walking away by taking her hand and pulling her towards him.

“What?” she giggles as she turns her head to look at him.

“C’mere.”

The look on his face was giving her butterflies. He blinked slowly, a small smile curved across his lips.

“Got a new drink idea, can I try it out on ya?”

She lets out a nervous giggle before nodding her head.

She felt like an idiot because she really thought that he was going to kiss her. She wanted to feel his lips on her lips, her skin. And god, did he want to kiss her. He felt like an idiot because that wasn’t really a move. He wanted to kiss her, so fucking bad but he got nervous. How couldn’t he? She was his friend, and so, so beautiful. What if she didn’t want to be more than friends? It was a scary thought, rejection. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin their friendship, he cared about her too much to ruin that. Wouldn’t it be awkward, if things didn’t work out, or she didn’t want him in the first place, and they still had to work together? Harry just might have to crawl under a rock.

But she wore her heart on her sleeve, so she couldn’t really hide the sadness in her eyes as her gaze fell to her hands as he was mixing the contents that were going to go in the lowball glass. It pained him to see her anything but her usual bubbly, sweet self.

“S’wrong?” Harry frowned, but she shook her head.

“Nothin’. Just waiting on you, like always.”

His mouth fell open at your accusation.

“Since when?” he scoffs. “M’always waitin’ on you.”

“When?” she challenges, eyebrows furrowing.

Harry playfully rolls his eyes. “When we were goin’ t’that festival, or anytime we do somethin’ outside of work, yeh always take forever to get ready.”

Because she wanted to look super cute for you, you idiot.

“I messed up my makeup, okay? Gimme a break.”

She’s sitting on the bar stool and he’s behind the bar, leaning onto his elbows and stopping what he’s doing to look at her.

“Y’dont need tha’ stuff.”

She gives him a sheepish smile, but Harry’s not having any of it.

Here goes nothing.

“Hey.” he reaches over and puts a hand under her chin, finger brushing the skin of her jaw and his touch gives her butterflies. “Look a’ me?”

Her eyes flicker up to meet his, earning a smile on his pink lips.

“S’true. You’re beautiful and you don’t need it, okay?”

A soft smile graced her lips, making his small smile wider. “Okay, okay.”

“Alright, here.” he slid the glass across the bar top towards her. She takes a sip and her eyes light up, making his do the same.

“Mmm, it’s so good!” she looks up at him, eyes widening, making him laugh.

She loved his laugh.

“Know you like to start off with the fruity stuff.”

“Careful.” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “I know how much you love those cranberry vodkas.”

“And they’re delicious. Especially mine.”

“Definitely yours.” her comment makes Harry giggle, looking at his hands and you’re positive it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. He looks at her, flicking his head.

“C’mere, I’ll show yeh how t’make one.”

Her whole face lights up. “Really?” and her excitement is so adorable he can’t help but mirror her expression with a laugh.

“Mhm, c’mon.”

She’s standing behind the bar and Harry’s standing behind her, showing her the ropes, as he called it. But when she felt his chest pressed against her back as he went through the steps, she could no longer focus on anything he was saying, which worked in his favor because he stumbled across his words quite a bit at the feeling. They were physically closer than they’ve ever been and she smelled so fucking good. He rests his head on her left shoulder, gripping the bar top in front of her.

She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, and he finally speaks up.

“Wanna try?”

He picks up the lowball glass, bringing it up to her lips. He moves his hand, tilting the drink to meet your lips. The interaction was so intimate, and you could feel his breath on your ear.

“Good?”

His voice was deeper, sending shivers down her spinal cord. She nods and he moves beside her, (much to her disappointment) and leans one of his elbows onto the surface beside him. She turns to him, and takes the glass out of his grasp as he’s taking a sip.

“S’not nice!” he laughs as she takes a drink, giggling as he gets in her face.

“S’your turn to make me a drink now.”

One hour later and she was three drinks in, which meant that she was on the verge of drunk. She made him two replicas of the cocktail he’d helped her make just before, and he claimed that hers were just as good, but she still wasn’t too sure if he was letting her win or not. She wasn’t drunk, though.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” the smirk sliding up his lips told a different story.

“Liar!” she giggled, and she tries to walk towards him but her legs betray her as she trips over her own sneakers and falls into his chest.

“Okay, you’re drunk.” he confirms with a chuckle, catching her by her forearms helping her to stand again.

“M’not drunk, shoelace is untied.” she tries to lift up her leg to show him the definitely loose laces, but she loses her balance and nearly falls onto the wood floor, and if Harry hadn’t grabbed her hand when he did she would’ve definitely had a sore backside.

“Maybe I am drunk.” she mumbles, pouting when she hears his chuckle. “Not funny, H.”

His stomach drops when he sees that she’s looking right at him with tears threatening to spill onto her soft cheeks.

“No, m’sorry love. Didn’t mean it, okay? Promise.” He uses his thumb to brush the skin just under her eye. “Please, don’t cry.”

The rest of the tears subside at Harry’s comforting gesture. They stood like that for a while, eye contact refusing to break before she spoke up.

“Do you like me?”

Did she really just say that? Was he that drunk? He was definitely more than tipsy, but did she really just say that?! Was he dreaming? Please let this not be a dream.

His heart thumped in his chest when her fingers started playing with his.

“Now what’s not to like about you, darlin’?”

That’s sweet, but not what I asked, she thinks to herself.

She could not believe the level of bravery in her blood right now. She wasn’t even that drunk and words that she thought she would never say were spilling out.

As she was about to respond, she lets out a yawn, her previous thoughts quickly slipping her mind.

“Tired?’ he questions as he cocks his head to the side, a grin sliding up his lips.

“Mhm. Still need to walk home.” she frowns and his eyes go wide.

“Can’t let y’walk home alone-”

“I do it every other night.” she protests, clearly getting frustrated.

The thought of her walking back to her apartment alone at 3 am, sober or not, made his stomach turn. He ignores her attempt at convincing him that she’s fine, because there is no way he’s letting this happen.

“ Y’can stay with me? S’just upstairs.”

His voice was quiet and it took a moment for her to register what he’d said.

“Wait, what d’you mean upstairs?”

“There’s a flat upstairs, s’mine.”

The confusion on her face made his heart want to melt.

“C’mon, I’ll carry you.”

She feels another yawn coming and he picks her up—one arm under her legs and the other supporting her back. She lays her head on his shoulder, and he’s so warm—she can’t help but nuzzle her face into his neck and he thinks he could very well pass out, but he won’t, because he’s holding her, obviously.

He sets her down onto his bed, and tells her she can pick whatever looks comfy from his dresser to wear as pj’s.

“M’gonna go get some water, okay? Be right back, love.”

She picks out a stones t-shirt and changes into that because honestly, it’s one of the first things she sees and it smells like him and she’s tired.

He comes back upstairs and she’s laying down on his dark sheets, her back to him with her hair fanned out on his pillow. He walks around to the other side and sits down next to her. She feels the bed dip, opens one eye and pouts when she sees the water bottle in his hand.

“I know love, just drink some for me? Y’know it’ll make you feel better tomorrow.”

He encourages her to sit up and he doesn’t let her lay back down until she’s had at least half, and then covers her up with his blanket before

“I’ll just be on the sofa. If y’need anything in the middle of the night let me know, alright?”

“No, stay.”

His breath hitched inside his throat. He swallowed thickly before replying.

“You want me to stay?”

She nods. “Don’t leave me.”

She wants him to stay.

“I won’t, s’alright.”

After a small freak out episode in the bathroom while he changed, he gets into bed next to you.

Harry always had trouble falling asleep, but tonight it only took a few minutes and he was softly snoring into his pillow.

The light peeking through the curtains was what slowly pulled her out of sleep.

“G’mornin’ sleepyhead.”

She couldn’t help the lazy smile across her lips, letting out a giggle as she stretched.

“What time is it?”

“Almost eleven. Do you want somethin’ to eat?”

“Can I have some waffles?”

So, he made her some waffles. Some for him too. Harry didn’t have a dining table so he insisted she stay put while he make them breakfast in bed. He watches her take her first bite and he swears that this is the moment when he truly fell in love with her.

“Mmmm.” she hums, eyes closed with a dopey, syrupy smile across her lips. “So good.”

The reaction made him quite literally crack up laughing, because those waffles were from his bloody freezer and she was acting like Harry had just ordered room service to their hotel room in Paris.

He’d take her to Paris.

“So, how’d you end up living here?” she wondered out loud, breaking Harry out of his daydream.

He proceeded to tell her everything. About his piece of shit dad, his mum getting sick, getting jumped, and how Joe took Harry in and was the father he’d never had. When he’s finished, her hand is on the back of his neck pulling him into a protective hug, lightly toying with his hair.

“I’m so sorry, H.”

Her voice is just above a whisper and it makes Harry’s eyelashes flutter.

She pulls away and they instantly find each other’s eyes. He gives her a small smile, as if to say, it’s okay.

She looks at him with doe eyes and he can’t help but reach over and pushes her hair behind one of her ears, the space in between their faces becoming smaller and smaller, until his nose brushes hers.

“Can I kiss you?”

She gives him a small nod.

He cautiously presses his lips to hers. The kiss is everything both of them have ever dreamed of and so much more. Her hand is still on the back of his neck and he’s moved to cradle her cheeks in his hands, and they fit perfectly.

Neither of you want the kiss to end, both of them breathless as Harry’s forehead is pressed against hers.

“I really, really like you, had feelings for you for a long time.” you heart flutters in your chest at his sweet words. He felt like he couldn’t breathe as he waited for you to say something, anything.

“I really, really like you too.”

This is my baby, be nice to her. I’ve pulled many all nighters to make this as close to perfect as it can be so I hope you love it <3

Thank you to @oh-honey-styles , @for-fucks-sake-h and @andwhenshesays for putting this Pick Your Poison Fic Challenge together, I’m so glad I could be a part of it!

BIG THANKS to my babies @goldenfeelin , @bfharry and @avhrodite for truly hyping me up and being so supportive, I love you. <3

#pypfc

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doodlingstuff · 3 years

Text

Heaven knows I’m proud, but I’ll turn ‘round

Chapter 15 of Comeback.

Proceed with caution. This is loaded with heavy angst and almost every TW.

***

All comments, likes, kudos and shares make my day shine. Thank you for reading 🧡

***

Cold brushes Andrew’s arms and face.

His armbands and knives are not with him.

It takes several tries to open his eyes.

Before he can reckon his surroundings, he feels the hot hands in his arms, dragging him across grass and dirt. Then he feels the cold metal around his wrists.

He plants his feet on the ground. He is too dizzy, but he spent years under heavy medication. He can fight even drugged.

When the men holding him notice he is awake, they are received by a kick and a headbutt. Andrew can only duck and kick since his hands are tied to his back. He has another three persons behind him. There’s no time to maneuver his legs and put his arms in front of him to punch them properly, so he runs.

It’s too dark to see where he’s going, but he can see a highway ahead. He sprints faster to reach it. However, his path gets blocked by a massive man holding a crowbar. Andrew dodges him and keeps going.

He can almost step foot on the highway when three pairs of hands grab him from the arms, the legs, his torso. He spins and tries to kick, but he is outnumbered. His hands are tied. His knives are lost. He is carried back to a pig’s car.

It doesn’t matter how much he moves and twists, the men holding him above the ground have a fierce grip on his body.

A woman approaches. He can’t see her face in the dark, but he can hear.

“Ain’t no fun if you hurt us.”

The smile never leaves her face as she smacks a rock to Andrew’s head.

Next time he wakes up, Andrew is sitting on a chair. The room is covered in darkness.

Moisture dampens his head and shoulder. The scars in his arms are stinging like they are split open again, but he can’t see.

“Look, our tiny toy is back.”

Andrew struggles to wake up fully. His head is hammering too hard to focus.

Contours start to appear as his eyes get adjusted to dark.

Knives glint on walls and there is a drain in the middle of the room.

He has been here before. His hazed brain takes a few moments more to recall.

No.

Neil has been here before.

This is one of his nightmares, not Andrew’s.

---

Next Monday after Neil’s party, Andrew almost needed to be shoveled out of bed.

Daily morning practices were off for nearly four months and he was fine with not having to wake up early for fucking stickball. But it’s Neil’s first practice since he got back and his good mood was spreading fast through the dorm, so even Andrew felt the need to put some effort, even if it was the bare minimum.

Classes came and went and then it was time for afternoon practice. He was used to head to Abby’s place then to be with Neil. It was strange having him on the passenger seat, but it was even stranger seeing him sitting out most of the practice. At least, he was able to try some drills in the morning.

Coach stopped the whole team before they headed out to shower. He had the schedules and matches to be held for the rearranged championship. They were facing the Binghamton Bearcats in one month, and the final match would be played two weeks after. Everyone cheers and celebrates.

In one month, they trusted Neil could play more than the five-minute top threatened by Coach. The Foxes were finally moving as a whole after the striker’s return and the Bearcats weren’t one of the Big Three, so they felt entitled to lift their hopes up, even if it was the weirdest season on the books.

With a date to look forward as the definitive end of the season, final exams on their way, and Kevin bitching to have night practices again, weeks passed in a mix of sweat and stolen kisses with Neil whenever they had a few minutes to spare. The boy shone with excitement for being able to play, and the only thing Andrew could do about it was make sure he didn’t push too hard whenever he noticed the striker limping.

Since it was only one match and Neil asked, Andrew conceded closing the goal on his half of the match. He had seen the Bearcats previous matches, so he knew their patterns. It was easy.

The weight of the Foxes playing or not the last match would depend then on how many points Kevin, Neil and Dan could score, and hope their number was bigger than the rest.

The ride to Binghamton was eternal and boring. Andrew certainly had a few ideas of how he could make time go faster, but not with the team that close, so he had to settle with the stories Neil told about his travels, hearing his wishes for going on a holiday someday, and his daydream that he would be able to play on finals. Then, he fell asleep on Andrew’s shoulder.

The match was brutal.

The twin was split the whole time between staying in place deflecting shots, or run to shove out dirty players far from his lot. He kept the goal shut and their win wasn’t taken with grace, since the Foxes were the away team and certainly not anyone’s favorite despite the loads of news and gossip provided by Neil’s incident with the Ravens, but he couldn’t care less about the fans’ mood.

Andrew’s arms were close to burnout when the final buzzer confirmed their win. The Foxes gathered in the middle of the court and celebrated as if they had earned gold at the Olympics. The blond watched from the distance, when all he wanted was a shower and pile back into the orange bus, but he had to keep an eye on Neil, and he intended to wait until after he was done in the showers to carry their equipment, as he had done every practice. The striker was perfectly capable of carry his own things by then, but helping made curious things futter in his chest, and painted a smile on his pipe dream.

The celebrations were carried to his goal and he could only stare at Neil’s happiness.

That was another moment to treasure.

Finally, everyone headed out of court and started to clean up. Neil was waiting for him to finish, so they could get back to the others. The joy lighting his blue eyes was so powerful that Andrew nodded for the striker to join the rest while he got both their bags ready. Nothing would happen if Neil was out of his sight for a moment.

The pipe dream had proved to be real.

Andrew was almost out the locker room when he felt a pinch on his neck.

Duffel bags were dropped as he unfurled to fight, but the liquid spreading through his blood was faster, and everything turned black before he could do anything about it.

----

A tall woman with a gargantuan red lipped smile approaches him. “Are you awake now? Revenge is not fun if you can’t hear me.” It’s the same one who knocked him with a rock, and maybe a needle too. The one on the original list of the Moriyamas that Andrew ignored.

Lola Malcolm.

“Fuck you.” Andrew tries to stand, but his whole body is chained to the chair. His efforts send him to the floor. His hips hit instants before his head. His left arm is on fire after the impact. The sting in his scars is worse.

“So bold but so small. Can’t believe you were the one who killed our boss.”

The woman is too close and holding his face. The touch burns him worse than the pain on his head or his arms. He spits in her face. A shoe presses Andrew’s head to the floor.

The betrayal of the Moriyamas sends waves of rage through him as terror replaces it fast when realization settles.

“Where is Neil?”

“Wait you insolent Gremlin. He hasn’t picked up again. Little boss said he was untouchable now, but he never said anything about you and Junior didn’t like it. Oh, hey, you heard that Junior?”

Static of the phone echoes in the room. There is silence on the other end for minutes.

“Fuck you.” The fear in Neil’s whisper shatters something in Andrew, but reliefs him at the same time. It doesn’t matter what they do to him as long as the pipe dream is safe.

“Nathaniel, say hello to our special guest now that he is awake.”

"Don’t you dare fucking touching him-”

“Watch that mouth Junior. As you recall, it’s my honor to tell my victims what I’ll do, and since this was meant to be for you once Nathan got out from jail, you both get to hear.”

Andrew can’t pay attention to the things Lola mentions. The jagged screams of Neil on the other side of the phone are destroying him already.

His promise was broken.

Neil was unprotected and suffering.

Because Andrew was about to get chopped. That isn’t right. No one suffers for Andrew. Never.

“Are you still there Junior? I’d like to start now.”

The other end of the phone is dead.

“Shame. We’ll get started without him then.”

Andrew struggles as two men free him from the chair and pin him to the floor with a loud crash of his skull. He is too close to the drain.

He tries to fight them, but the massive one from before joins to keep his legs glued in place.

Romero Malcolm. Jackson Plank. Patrick DiMaccio.

Fucking list.

“Heard Junior and you like to do nasty things with each other. Such waste of tiny men. I’ll have a try anyway.”

Lola climbs on top of him. She has a knife on her hands. The tip presses on the hollow in his throat, where the collar of his shirt starts, and cuts all the way down to his waist. She rips the shirt in two and leaves his bare chest in display.

Then, she bends down and licks Andrew’s neck. Nausea piles in his throat as the woman sucks his nipples and keeps pressing her tongue until she reaches the hem of his pants.

The contact is revulsing, and it only gets worse as fingernails dig inside his underwear to make way between his legs. Pulling, pinching, tickling, pressing until his body betrays him.

Like Steven, Samuel, Drake, and Proust did.

Nausea rolls from his stomach to his throat. He puts all his effort in containing a gagging sound while Lola keeps feasting on him.

Andrew fights to get rid of the weight, but he is helpless with three men strangling his limbs and tugging his hair to keep his head in place too.

The sharpness of a blade starts on the side of his lower belly and follows all the way to his knee. Lola tears apart the ruined pants and gets free access to Andrew’s intimacy. A shiver runs from his head to his toes. He can’t do anything to cover his unprotected body. The men pinning him only look away, but they never release the strength of their hold.

The woman watches him with sickening delight before sliding down from his legs to his shins, and sucks him.

She bites and licks and digs her long nails on Andrew’s sides until his skin breaks and bleeds.

His stomach tries to rebel again, but he only retches. His teeth are close to breaking from how hard Andrew is clenching his jaw.

It’s an eternity before Lola gets up again, wiping her mouth with a hand.

She leaves Andrew exposed. Trembling. Humiliated.

Hot shots set his skin on fire everywhere Lola touched him.

“That was good indeed. But I promised other delivery, so let’s get started.”

Lola stands and disappears from Andrew’s view. His attempts to het free are useless once more.

When she returns, she climbs over him again and takes his phone from one of her pockets. While the device beeps, waiting for the other side to answer, the sound of a blowtorch makes Andrew’s nerves stand on edge.

“No one told you is unpolite to hung up, Junior?” There’s only silence on the other side. “Fine. Don’t talk. I’ll update. Your tiny boyfriend is delicious indeed. But I have to resume. See, we were planning on carving out that disgusting thing on your face. We’ll have to ruin a pretty face in your behalf. And because you are always running, we were cutting your legs tendon by tendon, but this one relies on his knives, so we are cutting his arms. Did your midget tell you that he made an exact copy of your scars on the Butcher? I’ll perfect his idea now.

“No.” The whisper on the other side is too broken to be Neil.

“Yes. And you will get to hear his screams. Word says he lost emotions and all that. We’ll see that when he sees his fingers on the floor.”

Andrew can’t think, can’t remember, can’t move as the tip of a red-hot knife gets pressed to his left cheek and sharp nails are dug in his jaw to keep him steady.

He was right. The good weeks had to end, but he never thought it would be like this.

At least he enjoyed all of Neil while he could and he got enough time to know it wasn’t a hallucination made up from his meds.

Pain sears his cheek and spreads to his full face, but he doesn’t make a sound even if his teeth are cracking. He won’t make Neil hurt more.

“You know how to stay shut, don’t you? Nathaniel, have you seen the mess this one has on his arms? Of course you do. It’s time to erase them. Can’t make clean cuts with that view. I began on the way here, but it wasn’t enough.”

“No. Please.”

And that word.

Bolts of fury fill Andrew to fight again. He is not letting Neil fall into the same trap the twin fell when he was seven.

The man on his left is slightly smaller than the one on his right. Despite the pain, he puts all his might into getting free. It hurts dislocating his joints to get free, but not more than hearing Neil’s strangled pry.

If he is dying today, he doesn’t want Neil to hear.

And if he will hear anyway, let it be the sounds of Andrew putting a fight to get back. As Neil did.

He swings a closed fist to Lola and sends her to the floor before his arm is trapped again with a jolts of agony.

“Enough talking.” Says the woman cleaning the blood dripping from her nose. She is holding the fucking blowtorch again.

Andrew braces for the pain but it’s not enough. The horrors he had faced are nothing alike.

Lola pins first his left arm with the same knife she used to burn his face and gives the halt to the man over to hold it in place. Then she gets the blowtorch to the scars and new cuts of his right arm.

Fire scorches his skin slowly. He watches in slow motion as his marred scars start changing color. Swelling. Blistering. Bleeding.

He scrambles and twists to get away from the fire, but the knife pinned in place is dividing his other arm in two with every move he can manage below the fierce grips.

A feral growl escapes his throat and Lola laughs as she moves the torch up. The knife held by the man on his left has made a hole in his arm. He can’t feel his fingers anymore.

A scream bursts free against his will when the blade is taken out and stabs his burned arm.

He doesn’t want Neil hearing this. It will break whatever defense survived Evermore.

Another scream is finding its way out as the blowtorch now works over the open wound, cauterizing the cut and erasing his scars. He can’t feel his burned arm being torn apart with the knife.

Andrew can’t notice immediately when the weight in his left arm is gone, but he can see the shock in Lola’s face as she lets the torch fall and stands to fight.

All around is pain and confusion.

A real hallucination from the pain. Maybe he is already death. This is impossible.

Because there is no way that Neil is standing around his body, bloodied knives in both hands, slashing and cutting everything in his way, making bodies fall and fight and free Andrew’s limbs.

He can swear there is also a strike of rainbow moving at flash speed behind Neil. Clearing the path. Getting rid of the people torturing him.

“Andrew? Andrew?"

The voice speaking is too far, too wrecked to be real.

Andrew is too shocked to understand. He hadn’t been so afraid, so sore, so useless in so, so long. He finally loses control of his stomach and everything comes out, but there is no relief afterwards. The pain and the sickness go on and forces him to retch again until there is nothing left.

There is a cling close to him.

He wants the world to disappear beneath him. Die if he hasn’t. Pass out at least.

He can’t tell when he curled on his side and covered his head with his battered arms.

He is shaking. His head is throbbing. His arms sting. He is mostly naked. He is cold. His belly hurts from the effort.

Neil heard him. Neil is watching him like this. Again.

“Andrew? You’re bleeding, we need to stop it.” The voice outside is too hurt, but sounds real. “Andrew?”

“No.” The answer comes between shattered sobs.

A part of Andrew that is still aware of the surroundings knows he is the one crying, but he is uncapable of doing anything else.

He promised to protect Neil and he failed.

He failed to his promise like everyone else does.

All because he thought he wouldn’t have enough time left with Neil.

Because he thought the Moriyamas would finish their part of the job faster.

“Don’t touch him.” The jagged voice turns fierce before being soft again. “Andrew, we need to get you out of here.”

He doesn’t move.

It takes ages before he can acknowledge that the shattered voice belongs to Neil.

He can’t face him after failing a promise. He has failed him twice.

That is unforgivable. That makes him a monster indeed. The monster everyone believes him to be.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t get faster. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you like I promised. I’m sorry it wasn’t me. I-”

Andrew uncovers his face only an inch. His arms hurt too much, but he needs to see if Neil is indeed there, apologizing for a promise that was never his to keep. Hurting only because Andrew was hurt.

He was sure that no one gave a fuck about what happened to him, until he heard his name spoken with utter fear for him, not because of him.

“You are a pipe dream.” He manages to say with cracked voice.

“Fuck you I’m not. I’m real. You made me real.” There’s a pause before he goes on. “And I can’t lose you. Not like this.”

Neil’s eyes are a few shades darker and glassy as he lowers a hand and places it extended, close to Andrew’s arms, but not touching. Never touching. Only waiting.

“Let’s go home. Yes or no?”

It takes minutes or maybe hours for Andrew to find enough courage inside of him to realize that Neil’s apologies were sincere and he still wants him.

Maimed, useless and humiliated, he’s still accepted.

He was forgiven for breaking the promise between them even before he pointed his failure.

The hand extended is still by his side. Asking. Expecting. Ready.

Neil is feeling guilty for the consequences of Andrew’s miscalculated actions. The striker didn’t choose his criminal family, but Andrew chose to get rid of them. The guilt and consequences should be only his. Neil should be away from this, enjoying his free life. Not extending his hand to pick the pieces of a wrecked a monster like him.

And yet, he doesn’t have it in him to let go. No when he is so terrified for the first time.

With trembling fingers, Andrew takes the offered hand and holds it as hard as he can with his numb fingers.

It is as warm and real as the last time.

“Yes.”

#tw: torture #tw: injury #tw: noncon #aftg #aftg fic #aftg fanfic #aftg fandom #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten #andrew x neil #bamf!neil #the foxhole court #the kings men #the raven king #canon divergence #canon divergent au #mid-canon #someone stop me from writing

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a19yearoldtryinherbest · 4 years

Text

Dead Man. [Barry Berkman]

Masterlist

15 Days of Hader

Day 4

Prompt: Fuches messes with the wrong guy one more time.

Pairing: Barry Berkman x OFC

Warning: Angst, graphic depiction of violence, swearing, character death.

A/N: Day four of 15 Days Of Hader!

This could’ve work with Sally instead of an OFC but I wasn’t sure.

Also I did this in one day so, again, I apologize for any mistakes.

Also, also, NoHo Hank and cristobal are totally canon you can’t change my mind. I mean, the hug, Cristobal calling him mi corazón, the I love you... I can’t.

Word count: 3355

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

— Things are simple, Barry. We do the deal with the Chechens, you do your thing for them whenever they tell you to, we split the money and the pretty girl doesn't get hurt.

— Fuck you, Fuches. — Barry growled between gritted teeth, holding his phone steady to his ear.

— Oh, I think you're gonna want to change that answer, buddy — he chimes, amused by his own fucked up game — See, the girl is with me right now, — his breathing stopped and his stomach clenched — and I have some knife freak Chechen guy here and I'm sure he would love to cut her pretty face. — all that Barry could feel was his heart pounding against his chest and rage. The entire world was gone it was only him and the shaky breaths Hayley let out into the microphone.

— Barry? — she let out, her voice shaking with fear.

— Hayley. — he breathed out in fear — Hayley, I'm here.

— Barry, w-what's going on?

He felt his chest twist in itself, feeling sick to his stomach — I'm sorry I got you mixed up in all of this, Harp. It's gonna be alright. It'll be over soon, I'm gonna keep you safe, okay? You'll be alright.

He was hoping to hear her reply bit he couldn't, Fuches grabbed the phone back having heard everything he said — You know, you shouldn't make promises that you can't keep.

— You're a fucking dead man, Fuches. I'm gonna fucking kill you, you hear me? — Barry voice was dark, more than just dark, it was rough, threatening, almost diabolical as if the only thing composing him was anger. And, at that moment, it almost was.

Fuches laughed at him — You already said that a few months ago, buddy, and I'm still alive. So, don't make promises. — he laughed — NoHo Hank will send you the details. Then we'll consider letting the girl go. — after that the line went silent, so did Barry's mind.

His phone ringed a few times and he looked at the message, seeing Hank's name above the new message. NoHo liked Barry so the first message said

"I'm sorry. The kidnapping was Fuches idea, I was totally against it."

Followed by

"Hayley is very nice. I'm trying to keep her comfortable but the fucking knife guy won't go away. He wants to look at her face so he will know how to cut it. Whatever the fuck that means"

And

"So, the target would be Nicola Jefferson. In 78 Evanson Street. We already sent the bullet, so no worries."

With two pictures of the guy. But Barry paid no mind to it and replied

"Tell me where Fuches is."

After a few seconds Hank replied

"You know I can't do that"

"Tell me or I'll find out myself and more people will die"

A few minutes passed with NoHo's side of the screen was occupied by three dots, in that time Barry went to his bedroom and removed the mattress to reveal his guns.

"I'm sorry. Just do the hit, Barry."

He wasn't gonna push Hank, he was his only ally at that moment — Fuck. — he said as he grabbed a few guns, one for the guy, one for Fuches, one more just in case. He didn't even think while he went to the direction he was given and looks for the guy. He kicked the door down, fueled by rage and fear, and went to the kitchen were the guy was. He heard the screaming and the begging but he didn't bulge. His hand went up, shooting twice, both hitting in his forehead.

He put the gun down and grabbed his phone, dialing Hank — It's done.

— Well that was fast! — chimed Hank's voice as

— Tell me where they are. — he demanded, his voice cold and empty.

— Barry. — he said, somewhat playfully followed by the sound of footsteps and a door — Alright we're on the Colombians' old storage. — he said almost whispering — But you need to take me too. Everybody is being rude with me and Cristobal for, like, no reason. And also this is super creepy and I can see Hayley is really uncomfortable. — he added that name into his list as his blood boiled in his veins.

— Stay beside her. Keep her safe. — he said before hanging up the phone. He got in his car and went the opposite way than the police sirens were coming from. He ran red lights and went at all times way over the speed limit. However, when he got to the hideout he stopped about a block away and entered by foot, shooting at least five Chechens before a sixth one sounded the alarm, that meaning he saw Barry an ran for his life screaming.

Barry shot him too, first on the leg to throw him down and then, once he had caught up to him, on the head. He shot the few people on the couch that were watching a show in Spanish -but noted they weren't Colombians- who hadn't reacted fast enough to grab the guns on the table, he grabbed a few since the one in his hand had no bullets left.

He put a bullet in the chamber, turned around and shot the three guys coming from his left, two of them on the head, one on the gut, and then the left arm. He saw no one else was coming and went to the one that he left alive, anger and fear controlling his body as he leaned on top of the guy and pressed on the wound in his arm with the tip of the handgun — Where the fuck is Fuches?! — he screamed as the guy cried in pain. He wasn't thinking of what he was doing but on the back of his mind he knew he would be remorseful of what he was doing, all of it.

— I don't know! — the guy cried, shaking his head with his eyes closed, immeasurable pain running from his gut and arm.

— Hayley! Where is she?! — he grabbed his face, strong, crushing grip on his jaw — Look at me! — the guy did as he was told and opened his eyes, fear glimmering alongside the tears but Barry seemed to be unable to care about it as his look stayed angry and cold — Where is she? — he wasn't screaming but he might as well had, the fear it generated on anyone who heard it was beyond anything else could give. His words were like a promise of pain and death.

— I don't know. — he wished he did, specially when Barry stood up and pointed the gun at him — No, no, please wai-! — the bullet stopped him from begging, and Barry continued walking, remembering the maps he had seen about a year and a half when he had to do the raid. He decided to go where TAYLOR? had found the money.

As he walked he kept crossing paths with more Chechens going after him, killing them without hesitation, one after the other, counting the bullets and not the bodies on the floor.

He saw four tall, armed guys and at the end of the corridor and NoHo's boss, where he had to make a turn, so he grabbed his second gun from the back of his pants and charged towards them shooting two from half way and the other two after, leaving the boss to shake in his spot as he looked for a way out, but he didn't found one, alive.

He recharged the clip on the door before shooting the lock and opening it with a kick and immediately following it with four shots, Chechen guy, Chechen guy, Fuches leg, Chechen guy, Cristobal — No! Barry, wait! — NoHo Hank stopped him, posing himself in front of the Colombian, grabbing his hand — He's with us. — Barry lowered the gun, trying to understand what was next.

— You bald fuck! You sold us out! — Fuches cried out anger and pain on his voice and Barry remembered why he had shot him in the leg and not the head. He walked towards the body of the person he used to see as some sort of father figure and stepped on the injured leg. He was enraged, his mind unhinged, even if he seemed calmer than before, his body was almost shaking with fury and his head was filled with only one thought, make him suffer, as he pointed the gun at Fuches shoulder — This is for trying to turn Mr Couseneou against me. — Barry shot his shoulder, hearing him scream in pain, and waited until he was able to talk.

— Barry, you don't have to do this. I can go- I- please, buddy, I- — he started to beg but Barry kept his expression unfazed as if most emotions inside of him were blocked. He pointed the gun at his other arm.

— This is for kidnapping my girlfriend — another shot and and another cry of pain.

— Buddy, you don't have to do this. Please, don't- — Barry looked at him in the eye and Fuches stopped, knowing there was no use to keep talking, he was done, he was fucked — Barry.

— This is for turning me into this.

In the deafening silence that the bullet and screaming left behind all that was heard was a whimper. Barry turned to it, seeing the terrified look on Hayley's face but not registering it was because of him and his blood stained face.

— Hayley. — he mumbled under his breath, moving softly towards her but she crawled back into the wall. She feared him. She had seen him in his worst and she had learn to fear the man she thought would never hurt her. And he hadn't, not intentionally at least.

He saw the look on her face and felt his heart sink, and just like that he felt every emotion that was blocked before, the anger being washed away with shame, fear and pain, seeing on her eyes all the things he had done, seeing the monster she now was able to see.

— Hayley. — he said moving his hand forward and he could've sworn he saw her flinch.

— Guys! — called Hank, looking at the door — They're coming!

Barry looked at him and then back at Hayley — Love, please, I'm won't hurt you. — she looked at him hesitant. It was Barry again, it was his sweet and soft voice, but she couldn't help but remembering the way he sounded when he killed that guy. She looked at his eyes and saw the same face that she saw waking up every morning but it was stained with blood — Please, just let me get you out of here. — he begged, offering his hand for her to take it. She did but let go of it the second she was standing. Barry looked at her, a few bruises on her arms and her left cheek red.

He swallowed his questions and his concern. He would take her to a safe place and then he would talk everything out with her, if she'd let him. They left the room and immediately ran into the body of Barry's previous victims.

— Damn, you killed him! — said Hank with a smile on his face when they ran into the bodies at the end of the hall.

— Yeah. — Hayley felt sick, Barry had done that, his boyfriend killed those guys, and the ones in the room, and, according to what Hank and Fuches talked in front of her, he had killed many more, for God knows how long.

They turned on the corner and they stopped, following Barry's lead — Wait, doesn't that mean that you're the next in line to, uh, manage all of this?

— Oh, no, no, no. — he laughed — They know I'm soft. — he smiled, sweetly, and looked at Hayley who only gave him a confused and panicked look — Yeah, we're screwed.

— And your guys? — Barry asked Cristobal.

— The ones that you didn't kill the other time ran away. — Hayley gave Barry a worried and confused look as she mouthed to herself "The other time?" Barry just avoided her gaze.

— Great, so we're alone out here. — he mumbled, looking around the corner to see if someone was coming.

— Yeah, but we have you. — Hank chimed making everyone look at him with a puzzled look making him explain — You know, with all that John Wick shit you do.

— I don't want to do that.

— Why not? You did it to get in. — he laughed shortly, looking at the other members of the party, as if to check if he was saying something crazy — I mean, look at that motherfucker, — he pointed in the distance to a guy with his brains blown out on the floor. Everyone looked while Barry closed his eyes to find for some sort of hiding place as he heard Hayley murmur "Oh my God" — you did that. — he laughed, which only made Berkman angrier.

— Shut the fuck up. — he mumbled, watching his tone around Hayley but still sounding harsh.

— What? You did. — he said, amused until he saw the threatening look Barry was giving him, his smile faded — I'll shut up.

Barry nodded and thought of a way to get out — I'll go ahead, you follow loosely behind and move when I tell you to. — he grabbed the gun he still had on the back of his belt and gave it to Hank who pinched it between his index and thumb like of it was a dirty tissue — You see someone, shoot, don't hesitate.

Cristobal grabbed the gun from Hank's hand — I got it, corazón. — he said softly before grabbing it right, checking the clip and putting a bullet in the chamber.

— Alright, let's go. — they moved fast through the building, barely escaping in time.

They all ride on Barry's car, the first ten minutes were spent with Cristobal checking if Hank was ok and kissing him while Hayley and Barry stayed in silence, both in their own state of panic.

— Barry, my friend, would you take us to the airport? — asked Cristobal, leaving a hand in Barry's shoulder and getting him out of his trance.

— Yeah, uh, sure. — he nodded and thought of the route as Cristobal released the grip on his shoulder — Where are you guys going?

— Who knows! — exclaimed NoHo, grabbing Cristobal's hands as they looked for a second into the other's eyes — We'll just get away from all of this and start fresh. — he said, like if it was something they had already discussed because they did, they had once discussed it as an impossible dream that it was coming truth.

— Anything for you, mi amor. — he whispered and Hank was left in a sight that made Barry look at Hayley, like if he was saying "I'd do the same for you" but she wasn't looking at him, she was looking straight ahead, arms around herself, silent. Hayley was never silent. And Barry felt guilty. He had made her feel whatever she was feeling - and it was obviously not good.

He drove them to the airport, which was basically empty — Do you guys have money? — asked Barry, suddenly concerned by their future well being.

Hank laid his arms on Barry's rolled down window and nodded. We transferred a shit-ton of money to Cristobal's account, it'll be enough. — he smiled and looked at Hayley, who was still trying to understand everything she saw, and then looked back at his friend — Are you gonna be ok Bary? — Barry gave him a tight smile, not really knowing what to answer, Hank returned it and taped twice on the door before stretching his hand to a middle point between them — The debt has been paid. — Barry took his hand and shook it shortly, telling him the debt was paid on his side too before driving off, leaving them behind to go wherever they wanted to.

Hayley didn't asked him to but he started driving to her apartment. When they got there he stopped the car and left his hands on his legs waiting for her to talk, but she didn't — Are you ok?

It took her a moment to register the words but then, when she understood what he was asking, she scoffed — Am I ok? — she laughed bitterly again, still not looking at him — Am I fucking ok? Well, I don't know, Barry, you tell me! I was kidnapped, threaten to dead all because you're a, what? A fucking hit-man? — she was doing all sorts of tense hand movements that she ceased to at that very moment, realizing — I guess you fucking are. — she finally looked at him, wide eyed — You killed all of those people. — she mumbled with realization and astonishment than was suddenly pushed aside with anger and some sort of despair — I saw you fucking torture and kill a guy! — she looked straight ahead, and shook her head, tears finally letting loose, but she wasn't sobbing, she wasn't really crying, it was just her tears falling down her cheeks. She stayed in silence for a second collecting her thoughts — Who the hell are you? — she asked, but Barry knew not to answer. She pursed her lips and faced him, a dull look on her eyes — I don't fucking know you. — Barry was about to talk, he moved a little towards her but she backed off, pressing herself to the door — Don't. You don't get to talk, you don't touch me. — she saw him backing away, and settle into his seat. She was about to leave and tell him to never speak to her again and threatening him so he would leave the class, but something dawned on her, something he had said when he killed that guy and the idea of Gene — You killed Janice. — she whispered, almost as an afterthought but knew she was right when he flinched and closed his eyes like he always did when he was overwhelmed — Holy fuck. — she panicked, all those times they talked about it, all those days looking for her, all the time she spent with him suddenly weighing down on her like rocks tied to her feet as she was sinking in a lake — I- I can't. — she said, opening the car door with shaky hands.

— Hayley, wait. — he said, getting out of the car and following her but she stopped him before he was less than three feet from her.

— No. Stop it! — she said, turning around to see him. He seemed defenseless, it made Hayley wonder how he could do that, how could he look so defenseless and vulnerable when he still had someone's blood on his face? How could he seem like she was about to rip his heart out when an hour before he seemed to note have one? — I don't ever want to see you again. And if you talk to me or anyone from class I will call the police and tell Gene what you did. — he backed away and nodded looking hesitantly at her.

She nodded and walked away, thinking back on all of the things that had happened that day, she still hadn't wrapped her mind around any of it.

Barry saw he walk away, feeling his heart sink with every step she took.

#15 Days Of Hader #Barry Berkman #barry berkman x reader #barry block #barry hbo #barry block x reader #barry berkman imagine #barry berkman x OFC #Barry Block x OFC #bill hader imagines #bill hader #bill hader x reader #bill hader x OFC #noho hank #cristobal sinfuentes #noho hank x cristobal sinfuentes

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parkersshaw · 5 years

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Perfect Once More - Chapter 3

A Once Perfect fanfic, Part one can be found here, part two can be found here. I hope you enjoy, I’m really enjoying writing this one, its the most muse I’ve had for a while!

You had your coat pulled tight around your shoulders as you walked into Excess. The cold February whether didn’t seem to be scaring away the clientele as you saw a line of people already waiting at the door for open. Once you would have been one of them. You barely remembered that girl anymore. Strangely, however, you also didn’t remember the woman who had waited on them. It was as if your life had been split into three stages. The girl who had existed before your father’s arrest, the one who had partied on her trust fund, never imagining it could all be taken away. Then there was the woman who had worked at Excess, desperately ignoring her past, and how it had broken her. This was the woman who had fallen in love with Mateo, been swept away by the first man who had seen her. Now there was the woman who existed after he had dumped her. You didn’t know why that woman would be yet.

You avoided everyone’s eyes as you came into Excess, tucking yourself away in the corner. You knew were Mateo was almost immediately, with Big Chris and Ant. Noelle and Dee Dee were only a few steps away. Once it would have been second nature for you to go join them. They had become your closest friends in the past few months. They were Mateo’s friends first, however, only giving you a chance because you were with him. Now, no doubt, they thought of little of you as he did.

You were aware of the absence of Mateo’s gaze. He used to watch you whenever the two of you were together, his look enough to make you feel hot. Now, however, he didn’t even seem to notice your entry.

This is it, you thought, this is the worst of it. I’ve seen him, I’ve seen them all, the hole between us is as clear as I knew it would be. Now I can put my head down and work. It’ll be just like it was before I got with Mateo, I will work alone, knowing nothing about the people I work with. I’ll come and I’ll go, I’ll make enough money to buy my flat, and I’ll be no worse off then I was before I met Mateo.

“Now that Princess is back with us, we don’t need to worry about uncovered areas so I want to see you all out there, keep the drinks flowing in these rich fucks mouths, and keep them happy.” You realized too late that Sam had been giving his normal spiel. Your cheeks flushed when he mentioned you, feeling eyes turning to look at you with curiosity. It had been a long time for one of the staff to take off sick. More embarrassing than the eyes on you, however, was the one person who hadn’t even bothered glancing your way.

“Teo, I’m expecting a busy night tonight, I want to see your boys on every door. Let’s not have any trouble.” Teo nodded, calling the other bouncers over for their debrief. You moved to grab your trey, hoping to get out on the floor as quickly as possible so no one would notice that you once again had no one to talk to. Before you could take a step, however, Dee Dee and Noelle were on either side of you.

“We heard; Evelyn I am so sorry.” Noelle wrapped an arm around your waist, her red hair brushing against your shoulder. Dee Dee didn’t get as close, but you could see the expression on her face, the same pity.

It broke you, the kindness they were showing you. You felt your head drop as the tears threatened to roll down your cheeks, “Shh.” Noelle said, coming to wipe your cheek, “Don’t let him see how he got to you. He wants to be an idiot he doesn’t get the satisfaction of seeing you suffer from it. You pick up that tray and take you're fine ass out onto the floor, make him remember exactly what he walked away from.” Noelle gave the aforementioned ass a slap before picking up her own tray and moving off.

Dee Dee approached you, her tray in her hands, giving it to you, a serious expression in her eyes. “You need anything tonight, you let me know.” You could only nod as she too walked away, feeling as if a tiny piece of that hole Mateo had left inside of you was slowly being filled.

The night was going normally. Much more normally than you had expected, Dee Dee and Noelle were cracking jokes whenever you passed each other, rolling your eyes at the more obnoxious customers and helping each other push through the crowds without spilling the copious amounts of alcohol that was being carried from table to table.

You were once again looking after the VIP section. A group of drunk co-eds had stumbled into it. Ordering tray of blowjob shots after tray of blowjob shots. Your eyes had followed Mateo as much as you had tried not to. He seemed on edge, quick to throw out anyone who stumbled. He had nearly thrown a punch too many times for your liking. Here was the Mateo that you had only seen before in the underground fights, the man who let his fists lead. The man who seemed if he might snap at any moment. This was a man you could see hurting you, a man who seemed ready to fight the world.

Despite your eyes seeking him all night he never once looked your way, staying as far away as possible. He moved through his team of bouncers as if he was repelled by your presence, always keeping a sea of people between you. It was whilst you were watching him strategically move away from you that you felt the hand on your hand.

“Keep one of those for yourself darling.” It was one of the co-eds, he was holding a shot glass out to you, whipped cream sitting on the top of it. You forced a tight-lipped smile onto your face, not wanting to lose this table’s tips, they’d dropped enough money on drinks for you to know it would be a big one, “Sorry, I’m still on the clock, why don’t you do it for me.” You moved to walk away, but the kid followed, laying a hand on your lower back, “Naw, I’m sure your boss won’t mind, you're serving our table, after all, come on, sit down and have a drink with me.” He leaned in, allowing you to smell the alcohol on your breath, as you tried to push him away, however, he just gripped on tighter,

“I’m sorry, I’m really not interested.” Noelle was at your side in an instant, pushing herself between you and the handsy man “Hi there sir, I’m Noelle, I’ll be taking over this area from now on, why don’t you let me take you back to your table,” The kid pushed around her, eyes never leaving your chest, “Actually I think I preferred the other waitress if you don’t mind,” He shoved Noelle to the side, lunging for you, just as quickly as he came at you, however, he was pulled away flying to the other side of the room.

The cause of his removal quickly revealed itself as Mateo pressed him up against the wall. His forearm was against the kid’s neck, choking him, as he spoke in a low dangerous voice. “You look at her again, you touch her again, I will send you out of this club with two broken legs, you understand me?” The kid nodded, desperately pulling at Mateo’s arm as he struggled to breathe. Mateo relaxed slightly, lifting the pressure of his neck.

Wheezing an evil look came across the kid's face, “Bitch was begging for it.” In an instant the kid was flying across the club, crashing into the table where his friends had been sitting. In an instant it all lit up, the other kids who had come with the creep were on their feet, screaming that they were going to call the police, Ant and Big Chris had grabbed Mateo stopping him from lunging at the kid once again. Sam came barrelling across the floor. He pulled the kid up, apologizing and promising drinks on the house for the rest of the night.

Finally, it seemed that Mateo had been calmed down and the co-eds placated as Sam turned to face them, fury radiating off him. “You,” He said, pointing at Mateo, “And her” He nodded at you, barely even glancing your way, “In my office, right now.”

#fan fic #fic #imagine #choices fic #chapters interactive #chapters interactive stories #pomc3 #mine #not choices

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deputysaint · 5 years

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every time you tell a lie, your soulmate gets a painful tally mark scar on their body

@noprodigalson // i hate myself

he’s a baby when the marks first start appearing, barely out of the womb before the first tally mark appears. it causes alarm with his parents, his mother especially, because what kind of person was their son’s soulmate? their concern only grows as he gets older and the tally marks continue to pile up.

by the time he’s a toddler, he’s virtually covered in them. shiny little pink scars, one for each lie his soul mate tells. but there’s nothing that can be done.

he doesn’t cry. if there’s one thing that can be said about little deacon saint, it’s that he’s perfectly made for whoever his soulmate is.

the first marks fade with age, turn a healthy shade of pink-silver, and then eventually heal on their own. but they also keep coming. luckily, there’s nothing on his face, his neck, but there’s dozens, hundreds elsewhere by the time he’s sixteen. he wears long shirts and jeans, and makes the most of it.

he’s not angry with his fate, just confused.

who is his soulmate, and why do they have to lie?

he’s seventeen when his mother dies, and it’s an expected loss, but a blow to him nonetheless. cancer wasn’t quick, it wasn’t the best of ways to go, but she was always smiles, even when the hospital put her in hospice care. her spirit never faded, even as her body failed her.

he’s angry then. not at the lines that mar his body, the lines that keep coming and coming, uncaring of his pain. but he’s angry at god, at the world, at the disease that took her from him when he’s still so young.

he fights his father and leaves.

the only thing that keeps him sane is the marks on his skin, and the knowledge that his soulmate was still out there, lying away.

if the world was really this cruel, he can’t blame him.

he’s an uncomfortably honest man, and even white lies taste wrong on his tongue. the knowledge that whenever he lets them loose, someone in the world hurts keeps him from doing it often. but he lies on his application to the rodeo, he lies about his age, again and again and again, until the lie doesn’t feel so sour anymore.

there’s three months where the scars stop, and deacon drinks himself stupid with worry. he makes mistakes in the rodeo, gets thrown off a bronco because of a too-loose grip and knocks his head into the metal rails so hard he blacks out.

his boss gives him a talking, stern and angry, and there’s scars on his hands, tally marks of his own, and deacon can’t stop staring at them.

he’s dead. he’s dead, dead, dead. he has to be, there’s no way his liar of a soulmate would stop.

then one day, he wakes to the burn of a new mark on his skin, right on the inside of his wrist.

he cries with relief.

his father dies when he’s twenty-two.

the scars keep coming, and they ground him as he sobers up.

he accepts a job offer in hope county, montana as a deputy.

it’s a fresh start.

“how long should we let them go at it?” pratt’s a familiar weight against his side, and deacon hums quietly, cigarette dangling between his lips.

it’s saturday night, and they’re at the spread eagle, responding to a call of a fistfight. a local and a tourist have gotten into it over a few choice words, which ones deacon doesn’t need to guess.

it’s not their first time running into jeff harrison and his sexist, racist, homophobic drunk ass, and it probably won’t be their last this week alone.

mary may hums at his other side, a beer in her hand, her eyes sharp and unkind as she watches the whole thing go down. he thinks that she should be mad, he knows anyone else would, but instead she’s a calm observer, too tired of jeff’s shit to care about it anymore.

a sentiment he can’t find fault with. they’re all tired of jeff’s shit.

“long enough for him to knock him into a coma.” deacon scoffs at pratt’s reply and shakes his head. they can’t do that ( much as he’d like to ), and he hands staci his half-finished cigarette and pushes up the sleeves of his jacket.

( mary makes a noise, and he knows she’s looking at the marks on his skin. he pretends not to hear her. )

jeff is a shit fighter. he screams profanities and claws and punches without tempo. everything about him is unbalanced, and it doesn’t take much for deacon to grab him and fling him down the stairs. he rolls and rolls and stops at pratt’s boots, and pratt just sighs before pitching the cigarette to the side and pulling him to his feet.

“why does it always have to be this way, mr. harrison?” pratt sounds about as put out as they all feel, as disappointed as they all feel when the man starts his shit again, calling pratt all kinds of choice words that he really shouldn’t be.

deacon imagines he can hear the sound of pratt’s patience cracking as the f word is tossed at him too casually to be a mistake. he doesn’t imagine he hears the slam of a body against the side of his truck, and for a moment he worries about it being dented.

“hey deputy,” the tourist smiles, all bloodied teeth and face, and something about it is disarming. “is this a bad time to say he started it?”

deacon already knows this, hell, they all know it. if there’s a fight and jeff’s involved, it’s always his fault. the man didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut, especially when there’s liquor in his system.

but there are laws, and he’s a deputy, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to get yelled at for letting them fight for so long and just watching it happen.

“hands above your head and i promise i won’t put you in the truck with him.” he says instead of i know.

“would that be the truck you’re getting into?” the reply is whip quick, and his intent is obvious from tone alone. and the look in his eyes is as slick as his words. “because i’ll do whatever you want me to then, deputy.”

it’s going to be a long night.

it’s not a long night, because somewhere between pushing the man against the side of his truck and then turning to get mary may’s statement, the man slips his cuffs and slinks off into the night.

distantly, he hears the sound of a car starting, the rumble and purr of a well kept engine.

he doesn’t give chase.

he doesn’t give chase because he doesn’t need to, and the next day deacon knocks on a hotel room door firmly. he’s in plains clothes, because it’s his only day off that week, and he’s not sure why he’s here, but he knows it’s right.

the man from the previous night opens the door, and then squints up at deacon.

his face is no longer bloody, but there’s a bruise forming on his cheekbone, and a split in his lip and something about him makes deacon’s heart ache uncomfortably.

“howdy deputy.” his smile is just as sure as it was the previous night, confidence oozing off off him in waves.

somehow he knows it’s fake.

“morning.” it’s midday, but there’s something about the other man that gives him the impression he’s just woken up. he’s freshly showered, there’s still droplets of water in his hair, and he smells clean. but beneath the wariness in his eyes is an edge of sleepiness, like he had just woken up, or maybe been up the entire night. “you wanna come in to give a statement about last night’s chain of events?”

“sure, let me just get my jacket.”

there’s a sharp burn of pain on his arm, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s shoving the toe of his boot between the door and the door frame, not allowing it to be shut in his face.

it could be a coincidence, but something about the way the man looks at him, all surprise and narrowed eyes, then leads him to believe it’s not, that dean had planned on booking it out the fire escape the moment the door closed.

he doesn’t say anything to confirm his suspicions, but he does take the man’s statement and contact information.

his name is dean winchester ( a truth he had not meant to spill, that much was obvious from the way he looked surprised after saying it ) and he’s a hunter. he’s only planning on being in the area for a few days because he’s got to return to his job.

it’s not a lie, none of it is.

but it’s also not hunting season anywhere in hope county.

the third time he meets up with dean winchester, it’s a day later. he’s at mary’s bar, eating a quick lunch, when a weight drops into the chair next to him, knees bumping his thigh as the person moves too close.

when he turns his head, he’s face to face with him, and he’s only a little confused on why he’s there.

“can i help you, mr. winchester?” he hasn’t had a new scar since he’d left dean the previous day, and something about it is reassuring. he doesn’t know how he knows that dean is the cause for all his marks, but he just knows.

the sky is blue, the grass is green. dean winchester is his soulmate.

“are you free tonight?”

dean’s mouth is warm, inviting. intoxicating. and deacon isn’t sure if he’s romanticizing the situation because he knows who he is, or because he really is temptation incarnate, but dean is something he can’t resist. every bit of him is strangely familiar, and he knows, when he slides a hand under dean’s shirt and his thumb brushes raised skin on the other man’s hip, he knows those marks are from his youth, from when he lied too many times about his age in an attempt to fit in.

he breaks away then, buries his face in dean’s shoulder as the world around him tips.

he can’t do this. he has to show him.

dean’s eyes are dark and flit around as deacon tells him what he thinks they are, what he knows they are. he doesn’t look at the marks on deacon’s arms when he rolls up his sleeves, but his fingers are traitorous, and brush against them when deacon reaches for him, tries to get him to see.

he gets up and leaves without a word.

deacon burns in humiliation and fear that he’s made a mistake.

three days later, he gets called to the bar again, and pratt meets him there. on the deck, dean is fighting with jeff again, but he’s actually angry this time, and jeff is taking a beating like he’s taken no other before. deacon’s up the stairs before staci gets to ask him how long they’re waiting for this time, pressing himself between them before he even thinks about what he’s doing.

mine, mine, mine, is all his traitorous head is thinking, and he’d be furious with himself it it wasn’t for the fact that dean seems to still as he hears him approach, head turning and eyes seeking his automatically.

jeff launches then, as if sensing the distraction the deputy has made. and deacon reacts on instinct. his fist hits the local man so hard, he topples back down the stairs in disbelief, falling to the gravel ground with a solid thump, all the air knocked from him.

when he turns to look at dean, dean is smiling.

there are apologies there, mixed between the press of mouths together and noises of pleasure. dean asks for forgiveness, fingers tracing against old scars, new scars, all the painful lies he’s ever told. deacon knows it’s hard for him to see it, to see the pain he’s caused another, to see all the lies he’s ever told marked upon deacon’s skin.

a lifetime of lies. he knows that truth hurts.

but he doesn’t let dean dwell on them, presses him into the bed and cuts off every attempt at self-hate with a press of his mouth.

he doesn’t care about the lies, about the marks in his skin.

deacon only cares about dean winchester.

#noprodigalson #radio. ( askbox )

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themdolanboys · 7 years

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The Wedding Planner - t h r e e. Ethan Dolan Mini Series

A/N: Hola! Sorry this has taken so long, i’m just lazy! Enjoy! Word Count: 2,780 Warnings: None, I think there might be swearing but.. I wasn’t going to post this today, but it’s @artdolan‘s birthday, so this is for her! I love you Emi, Happy Birthday!

I spend the next few days doing absolutely nothing, and I make it my mission to stay inside my apartment for as long as I can. I took my time off as an opportunity to restock all the food in my fridge (online shopping, of course), and to catch up with Amelia. The minute she found out I wasn’t working, she was at my front door juggling a bag of Chinese food and a bottle of wine.

“You wouldn’t believe this guy, Mel, like honestly, he was just like this overgrown man child,” I whined, popping open a second bottle of wine, this time from my own personal stock, and filling up our glasses.

Our Chinese food had been long eaten and empty boxes were discarded by our feet, too drunk and too lazy to clean it up.

As much as I loved my job, it was stressful at the best of times, and I rarely got a chance to vent out my frustrations. Alcohol tended to make me relax, and therefore very talkative, meaning I’ll usually blurt out everything I wouldn’t say if sober.

Amelia loved to take advantage of it. She says that sometimes it’s the only way she can get me to open up to her.

“You know…” she smirks, and I lift my eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. She takes a sip of wine for dramatic effect, and I roll my eyes at her, nudging her arm with my toe.

“Considering you can’t stand him, you sure do like to talk about him.” She said, raising her eyebrow in a way that’s daring me to challenge her. I gaped at her, opening my mouth only to close it again, my alcohol slugged mind struggling to form words.

“What? No!” I finally splutter out, putting my wine down. “No really, Mel -hic- it’s not like that. He genuinely -hic- he genuinely makes me angry! I mean yes, he’s extremely attractive, and if he had the personality to match, I’d definitely consider going there, but no. I’m honestly -hic- not attracted to him what so ever!”

Amelia laughed, and turned her full body around on the couch to face me.

“Honestly though, why do you dislike this guy so much? I mean yeah, he was rude to you,” I sit up and my protest is on the very tip of my tongue, but she holds her finger out to silence me, “and that was wrong, but he did apologise!”

“I…I don’t..” I trailed off, not really sure what to say. She did have a point. Why was I being so harsh?

“Maybe you’re right,” I tell her, picking up my wine again. “He caught in me when I was in a mood, and it would be unprofessional of me to hold a grudge. Yes, ok, you’re right. I’ll apologise.” -

Waking up the following morning wasn’t fun. My head felt like it had been split in two, and for the first time in years I have gotten so drunk that now I was desperately battling the need to vomit everywhere.

I had originally planned to ring Grayson, but after 5 hours of headache that probably didn’t plan on disappearing within the near future, I opted for email being the better choice.

Y/[email protected]

SUBJECT: Wedding arrangements.

Hi Grayson,

Hope all is well. I was wondering when you’re next free, we need to arrange numerous things for your wedding, one of them being flowers. It’s a small start, as I was thinking we could deal with all the smaller things whilst Maya was away, and then she could join us when we started planning the more important things.

As it just so happens, I have a close friend who owns a florist shop, my clients have been going to her since I started my career. Perhaps we could meet there to start with, and if you’re not happy we go elsewhere. See you soon!

Sincerely,

Y/N

Two hours had rolled around before Grayson had replied, my laptop dinging to notify me of an email as I cooked myself pasta for dinner. Home cooked meals were something I rarely got time for.

[email protected]

SUBJECT: RE: Wedding arrangements.

Hi Y/N

I’m free whenever you need me. I’m the boss of my own company and I am willing to allocate myself time off whenever you need me to, to help ease the strain of planning a wedding in only two months. Just let me know when you want me, and I’ll be there.

Sincerely,

Grayson.

P.S The florist shop sounds like a great idea!

I was thankful to Grayson, that he was willing to be so flexible and he was right, he was making it easier for me to plan this wedding.

I emailed back asking if he wanted to meet up with me at 10am tomorrow, and he agreed, so I gave him the address and said I’d see him there. That gives me a final day to relax before I have to get back to work, and given the short amount of time I’ve been granted to plan the wedding, I imagine that I won’t be able to take another break until this whole fiasco is over.

I spent the rest of my day mooching around, just doing small mundane jobs such as decluttering my apartment and making sure that I was up to date with all my bills. I also had a tediously lengthy conversation over the phone with my mother, who was once again keen to remind me that she wanted grandchildren.

Honestly, I was thankful when bed time rolled around, because I was starting to get bored. I’m so constantly busy nowadays that it’s like I’ve forgotten how to relax, and I’m suddenly itching for something to do. - Fortunately, because I know where the location of the florist is very well, I’m not late to meet Grayson this time. He still beats me though, and he and Ethan are sat outdoors on the dainty little tables of the café next door.

Grayson jumps up from his seat when he sees me and he instantly walks over to greet me, whereas Ethan takes his time standing up and begrudgingly walks behind Grayson to follow him to where I’m standing.

We exchange our hellos, Ethan and I barely giving each other a nod of acknowledgment, and I lead the way into the shop, breathing in deeply as the overpowering smell of nature lingered in the air. It’s a smell I’ll never get tired of.

“I’m just going to let Kat know that we’re here,” I say, already making my way to the front desk, “why don’t you have a look around and see if you can find anything you like?”

Kat is a woman I’ve known way before I ever started my wedding planner career. She’s a small lady, in her mid 60’s, and her hair is just beginning to grey. I visit her once a month, as I often come here to buy a bunch of flowers for my father’s grave.

My father wasn’t much of a flower man himself, but whenever he brought home flowers for my mother, they were always ‘Forget Me Not’ flowers, also known as Mycositis, so every month I would come in to buy a bunch of them, and Kat would always keep them behind the till for me, ready to buy.

Kat has become a close friend to mine, so if my clients like her shop, which they always do, because Kat somehow manages to obtain every flower imaginable, regardless of the season, I like to bring them for, to bring her in a great deal of business.

“Kat!” I grin, walking around the counter to give her a hug, which she openly accepts.

“Hello, dear. Oh goodness, it’s not been a month already has it? I completely for-“

“No! No, Kat, it’s okay,” I laugh, pulling away from the hug, “I’ve got a lovely young gentleman here who is getting married in about 2 months, and he’s not sure what flowers he wants, so I brought him here for your expertise.”

“I see,” she says, leading me out from behind the desk. We walk around the shop to find Grayson knelt down beside a display of Pointsettia flowers. He’s holding his phone out in front of him, and he’s speaking to it in a low, quiet voice. He’s on FaceTime with Maya.

“That’s the Christmas flower dear, not very practical for an Autumn wedding, hm?” Kat teases him, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Grayson huffs out an embarrassed laugh as he stands up, pointing the camera back towards him, Maya’s beaming face on the other end.

“Y/N! It’s so nice to see you again,” she tells me, sounding genuinely excited. It reminds me that whilst this may be nothing more than 2 months of utter hell for me, at the end of it, yet another couple get their happily ever after, something that they entrusted me to make perfect for them.

“And you,” I say, offering a wave and a grin. I turn my attention to Kat, who has been watching the interaction with a fond smile on her face.

“Grayson, Maya, this is Kat. Kat is a personal friend, who I have been coming to for all my flower needs for years, and I promise you that you won’t be disappointed.”

Kat blushed and swatted at my arm good naturedly before offering a hand for Grayson to shake. “And you must be the lovely bride,” she said, waving at Maya, who waved back.

“Now then, do you have any idea what kind of flowers you want?” She asked, to which she received a blank look from Grayson. Kat and I both laughed.

“Erm, we don’t know really. Just anything wedding-y, I guess,” Grayson shrugged, looking down at Maya to see if she had anything to say.

She was just as clueless to Grayson, so Kat lead us all to a shelf tucked away in the back of the shop and pointed at the flowers displayed there. “These, my dear, are the traditional wedding flowers.”

The shelf was adorned with Roses, Tulips, Calla Lillies, Hydrangeas, Peony, Ranunculus and several other traditional wedding flowers, an explosion of colours that takes my breath away every time I see them.

I hear Maya’s excited squeal and I laugh to myself, excusing myself to walk around the shop and give them time alone with Kat so that they can decide between them. As I make my way around the shop, I’m so immersed in looking at all the floors that I almost walk straight into Ethan.

“Oh, So-“ I cut myself short as I look up to see Ethan looking down at me, a twisted smirk on his lips. I narrow my eyes at him, anger already flowing through my blood. Apologies be damned.

“Oh, it’s you.”

His chuckle is cold, and it sounds like it comes from a place of annoyance rather than amusement.

“What, no apology?”

I scoffed. “And why would I apologise to you?”

His smirk becomes more twisted, and I internally pump my first in victory as he poorly hides the irritation from his face.

“For a professional, how the hell can you be so childish?”

My jaw drops open in disbelief, “Me?! Childish? Are you kidding me? You’re the one who had a tantrum towards me the first time I met you!”

His eyes narrowed, and he took a step towards me. It was an intimidating move, but I’m incredibly stubborn, so I held my ground.

“You were late! And I apologised for that! You were the one who didn’t accept my apology!”

I took a step towards him, my eyes narrowing further. I was practically squinting at this point, and it must of looked ridiculous, but I don’t care. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was the brother of the man who was paying me to plan his wedding, I would have been full blown screaming in his face.

“You didn’t deserve one!” I hissed.

I don’t know what it is, but everything about this guy just fills me with rage. He brings out a cruel, childish side of me, regardless of the fact that I barely know him, and it appears that I bring out the same ugly side of him.

We’re standing so close at this point that if we were the same height, we’d be nose to nose.

A forced cough trips through the tense atmosphere, and I break out of whatever enraged trance I was in, stepping back and refusing to look at Ethan.

I turn to look at Grayson, who is looking at us with a shocked expression, holding a bunch of Stephanotis. My cheeks heat up, and I too become shocked when I realise what just happened.

“Erm, we’ve picked our flowers, and I er, just wanted to show you some samples of the ones we chose,” Grayson spoke slowly, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. I feel mortified.

“Oh, they’re… lovely.” I tell him, barely able to look him in the eye. I can’t believe how unprofessional I’ve been. I’ve never let my emotions get in the way of business, until now.

I can’t help but feel more resentment towards Ethan.

No one has ever managed to get such a reaction out of me before, and I don’t know why Ethan is different, but I have a feeling it might just have cost me a job.

“Well, I’m just going to pay … for …” He trailed off, clearing his throat again, before swiftly turning and walking towards the front desk.

I don’t even need to look at Ethan to know that he has a smug smirk on his stupid face. His whole body is practically radiating with cockiness.

I huff, unable to stop myself, and walk away from Ethan before I can make the situation worse for myself.

I stand at the door of the shop, patiently waiting for Grayson to pay, whilst Ethan walks to the desk to join him. I can’t look at them, so I pretend to be looking at the flowers with added interest.

“No E, I can’t let you,” I hear Grayson protest, and curiosity gets the better of me, so I look up.

Ethan has pushed Grayson to the side and pulled out his own wallet, dodging Grayson trying to grab him as he puts his own card into the payment slot.

“Nah bro, don’t worry, I got this one.” Ethan tells him, nudging Grayson’s arm good naturedly. Grayson pulls him into a side hug. It’s sweet, and I’d of enjoyed watching the interaction a lot more if Ethan didn’t piss me off so much.

What an asshole.

They finish paying and we make our way out of the shop, Ethan not even bothering to say goodbye as he walks straight towards Grayson’s car. Jerk.

“Grayson… about earlier.. That was incredibly unprofessional of me. I’m so sorry. That’s never happened before, and I promise it won’t happen again.”

Grayson studies me for a few moments and he’s not angry. He just looks curious. Eventually he sighs and nods at me.

“Maya likes you,” he says, and when I bow my head in shame, Grayson puts a comforting hand on my arm, “and I do too,” he adds quickly, which makes me smile.

He sighs again, running his hand in his hair. For the first time, I notice how tired he looks, and guilt tugs at my stomach.

I forget that this wedding planning is every bit exhausting to him as it is to me, and he clearly doesn’t know the first thing about planning weddings.

“Look, Ethan’s a good guy, okay? Annoying and stubborn, yes, but a good guy. I just hope you can see that.”

I nod by head with sincerity, vowing to do better. I won’t let my personal anger against Ethan get the better of my professionalism ever again.

We bid our goodbyes, and as Grayson drives away, Ethan gives me what can only be described as an ‘holier than thou’ smirk.

White rage flashes through me and I punch my steering wheel before taking a deep breath and starting up my car.

2 months, Y/N, you can do this.

You can.

#masterlist #The Wedding Planner #I hope you enjoy it!#I'm nervous lol #Happy birthday emi

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winecoolr · 6 years

Text

I wanna talk about David, and our split cause folk have asked and I’ve given a really short story every time but it’s. A lot. This is a long post and there’s a shit ton to get off my chest so. very fucking long post ahead

Literally everyone knows we’d been together for coming up 5 years, which when you start at 16 is quite a fucking long while and we ended up living together and it was supposed to be great? And at the end of it I’ll say it was at one point a great relationship and we were great together? BUt

I went away to work a season at a hotel up north last year, and I was gone nearly seven months, which was the longest we’d ever been apart and it showed me a lot. I smoked and drank and partied all the time, which I had never done, and he used to go absolutely ape at me over it. Granted my communication slipped and had the roles been reversed (as they had been three years prior) I’d have been furious too. But when I quit that job even though i loved it, to move back in with him, it was so different.

We used to go to pubs and talk about getting married and what we’d call our kids and where in the world we’d moved to once he finished his degree (never about when I finished what I wanted to do) and all these things, but after I came back it changed to us going to the pub and he’d drink and accuse me of not loving him and cheating on him while I was away, and we’d end up fighting and i would cry. every time. four times a week usually. I would feel guilty for ever leaving, and feel as if I had actually cheated on him, as if I had actually done something wrong enough to warrant him hating me the way he told me he did. I spent my time tip toeing around him, trying to convince him I loved him.

And then it changed, he’d go out three or four nights a week, but I couldn’t. I’d work nights and even that would bring a round of accusations of seeing some guy, or smoking, or anything. He would demand to know who, if anyone, had hit on me while I was working, and if I flirted back. I’d smell like booze (I’m a bartender for fucks sake) and he would say I’d actually been out partying instead of work. In the seven months of returning to Glasgow, i went out only twice, and he came with me one of them - and I don’t think anyone there will forget that night because I’d been standing outside myself talking to a guy, who was also in a relationship, about where I was from and David went off his rocker at me. He screamed at me in front of a whole nightclub that I had been making out with the guy and smoking. I cried and cried and cried and it was an awful night and I smoked an entire fucking pack of cigarettes. We “made up” and that was that. He had all the passwords to my phone and laptop, and would check them when I was at work. Any little thing that seemed off to him, he attacked me over.

After that, I was depressed. And depression hits everyone differently, we all know. I stopped eating, and weighed just 8 stone at my heaviest in June and I’m 5′11″ .He never noticed this, which made it a lot worse in a twisted way. I started smoking properly at my job, where David wasn’t there to see it, and when he went away to classes during the day I’d walk at least a 5 mile stint for something to do and a way to smoke without the smell lingering. I thought it was all chilled out too, convinced myself we were back to normal and everything was fine again. It had to be, I wasn’t making enough in the three fucking jobs I had to move out into my own flat, I needed him.

And then one of my friends, who I usually had to sneak out or make an excuse to see while David was at uni, kissed me after I told him everything that had been happening in my relationship. And then one night when David had gone away to spend the night with his family and left me in Glasgow, I fucked that friend. Not even just once. Then literally a few days later, I had a threesome with old work colleagues from the hotel. I hadn’t been drinking, all they did was ask if I wanted to come over. I don’t know why (maybe I do). And whenever he accused me of cheating after that, as he still did, I would actually have a reason to feel guilty as I denied it. We hadn’t been having sex anyway, even though he pushed and gaslighted me about it every night, so when it got to the point when the guilt would eat me when I would even think of sleeping with him, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for me to say I wasn’t up for it. Small blessings on my sinning fucking head. But I still told myself we were okay.

When I got a call in May to return to the hotel for another season, I was ecstatic and scared. I hadn’t been allowed to even bring up the hotel’s name for seven months, or fear the mood and accusation, so to say I wanted to go back to work there was out of the question. But we wanted to get our own flat together, and he was going on an unpaid internship, so someone had to come up with the money. I had to make rules and guidelines for myself that he agreed to; I had to call him at 7am every morning, and every night as soon as I finished my shift. I had to come see him every time I had a day off, and I wasn’t to spend any money - in fact, was to ask my boss to keep half of it in the safe for when I left so I wouldn’t spend it.

That lasted four days. Within the first week, a day off came and it was sunny and I wanted to spend it drinking and getting sunburned with my work friend rather than spend the whole time on the train, where I would be miserable and get the 5am bus back to work the next day. So I did. And he was angry, but I was an hour and a half away so I didn’t actually have to face it - I turned off my phone and got drunk and smiled for real. And then a couple nights later, there was a party (which I’d promised I wouldn’t be partying this year) that I went to, and met Cal properly. We sat in a corner the whole night drinking gin and irn bru and taking the piss out of eachother and we clicked instantly. When I had the party at my van another couple nights later, it was just us left eventually and we kissed. And we stayed up all that night chatting and got about 20 minutes of sleep.

Cal and I started a relationship. While I was with David. He knew everything about me, I told him it all straight away, that I was in a relationship, the whole nine yards. We didn’t have sex though, he was too moral for that which I am thankful for.

A month into being in Ardlui, I dumped David. I phoned him, and laid it out that I didn’t want our life plan anymore, that I wasn’t happy and we weren’t growing off eachother anymore. I didn’t tell him about the cheating, with anyone. I didn’t tell him I smoked. I didn’t tell him I’d been absolutely jungled three hours before phoning him. Because I didn’t want to hurt him, and prove that he’d been right every time he accused me and I denied it.

And he didn’t even care. He went ‘okay’ and sounded like he’d been expecting it- which made it so much easier on me, because when I woke up the morning I decided to leave him, I was destroyed. 5 years of my life and the whole life I had planned ahead of me were about to be thrown out the window, and at first I didn’t think I was ready. I wasn’t looking in the mirror when I decided it, to see my ribs and hipbones staring at me over an ignored eating disorder. I didn’t see the depression written in my drafts on twitter. I didn’t see his controlling nature in my texts to the few friends I had left. I saw my dependency to him and saw the promises I’d made him, and I felt like a bitch. Because he was relying on me too for his life plan. But the simplicity of his ‘okay’ drove the way he’d been treating me home. Despite hating myself over the way I’d been acting with the cheating and eventually refusing to adhere to any of the “rules” we’d set, I deserved better. I deserved to eat, to drink, to smoke, be happy with the 6′4″ gorgeous man I’d always wanted that finally waltzed into my life and showed me I deserved better.

So for the first time since officially being considered an adult, I depended on myself. I threw my entire life away and took everything day by day after that, and it has done me the world of good. I’m still with Cal, we’ve just hit 6 months together, and even though the way we ended up together was unconventional and I’m sosososo insecure about it, I know he loves me. Even though we do argue, I don’t lie or hide anything from him. I tell him when I‘m having a rough mental health day, even though it’s hard. We’ve been all over Europe, something I always wanted to do but never did, and it won’t be the last time I do it. I have nothing planned, I have next to no money left, but I’m happier right now than I have been in the past year. I don’t depend on anybody. Everything is down to me.

I’m still balls deep in my eating disorder, which I’ve only recently admitted and acknowledged was something I was dealing with. I am better, I do eat every day. Some days I eat properly, some days I have to deal with choking down a cereal bar and staying away from the scale and calling it victory - which it is! I still hit rough times mentally, but they’re okay. I know how to recognize and deal with them now, and I don’t brush anything under the rug. Even though I am worried about how he views me, I have a boyfriend that listens to me when I tell him what’s wrong.

Abusive relationships aren’t always black and white until you’re out, and the term ‘abuse’ is scary and heavy, but it’s grey too. Neither of us knew how bad we were for eachother. We were both abusive. I haven’t spoken to David since the split, so I’ll admit I don’t know how our relationship affected him. I guess I just hope the breakup was as good for him as it was for me. I don’t mean to paint him badly, because I do have people here that knew and know him. He’s a great person and I do wish him the best. I just wanted to finally talk about it and what I went through, because I’m tired of being asked. Idk. If you read this then god bless you, because it was l o n g.

#personal #ed mention

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