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loser-hub · 3 years

Text

All For One.

Summary: There needs to be more content for this gloriously sinister man and I am more than happy to provide! How does it begin? Will you escape his clutches or will you submit to his desires?

Warnings: Yandere Tendencies, Kidnapping, Mild mention of Starvation, Dubcon, Quirk use during sex, Mind-Break and a whole host of degeneracy.

Notes: I tried to make the reader as vague as I possibly could for insert pleasure! GN with as few details as possible so it could be anyone or anything! This is 18+, minors dni. If you'd like to block any content of this nature on my page please put Tw: Heavy Spice in your filtering options!

A/N: I really don't know if I should apologize for this or not, you can see the point it got out of hand so please be warned and take your tastes and limits into account while reading!

A terrible fate has befallen you, hasn't it?

Your meeting was rather innocuous. So easily forgotten despite the feelings time with him supplanted. Long before his debut in the Kamino Ward and before his defeat at the hands of the Symbol of Peace. He wasn't heavily deformed then, he could easily mix in with the crowds and disappear as quickly as he appeared. His shaggy white hair and piercing blue eyes matched only by his stature and smile, the consensus of the humdrum day-to-day passerby was that he was quite attractive. Not that he ever entertained their mindless and painfully obvious observations.

The fateful event happened rather cliché all things considered. It began in a library. Wonders never ceased and he was unsure what compelled him to enter the home of knowledge and entertainment but he never once regretted it. Wandering the sea of books he looked for anything that would pique his interest, he nearly gave up the search until his eyes landed on you. An innocent, tiny thing that perused the history section for your latest essay or project, he never specifically asked why you were there.

He was captivated, captured by your beauty. Staring there at the entrance of the aisle for so long that when you turned you shrieked, believing him to be a well dressed Weeping Angel that you had read about the night before. That was the most embarrassing moment of your life as you apologized to him and to the librarian that zipped to the location to scold you about being too loud. For once he found apologies endearing, cute even, adorable if you feel so inclined and the sheer shock that a creature like you could exist in this world was pushed to the wayside.

The encounter was swift but profound, for him at least. Using his towering height to pull a book from the shelf you were too short to reach and place with the over growing collection. You were stuttering and blushing something fierce underneath his gaze and he had to stop himself from smirking at your bashfulness. He asks for your name and once you divulge it he responds by insisting you call him Mr. Shigaraki. After more insistence from either side hearing his name fall from your lips was like he was graced with hearing the voice of an Angel.

Sadly that's where the meeting ended as your time was up for whatever was going to take up your time next and you needed to scurry away. You wouldn't be forgotten as your face was forever burned in his memory, a fondness churning in the pit of his stomach. He believed everyone else was beneath him, save for his brother, who were all ants that needed to be squashed. You were different and he needed to find out why.

Time passes, as it always does. You forgot your encounter with Mr. Shigaraki and life went on. The day started off oddly, you couldn't place why but the hairs at the back of your neck stood on end. A lingering sense of doom settled in your mind like a dense fog on a dewy spring morning but whatever the reason had yet to reveal itself. This too was forgotten as the day progressed until it was late, late enough for you to seek refuge in your bed. About to drift off to sleep when suddenly your whole room shook, no, the entire area shook like an earthquake had just opened the earth beneath your feet. Looking out your bedroom window you saw chaos, the entire area had been decimated and nothing but rubble remained. Heroes had appeared and began evacuating just in time for your home to collapse.

You drifted in and out of consciousness. The moments where your eyelids were opened you saw none other than All Might, the Symbol of Peace, face down a masked villain in a suit. Shock was written on the hero's face when you called out to him for help, accidentally gaining the attention of the villain as well. If he still had eyes they would be wide and manic, he had not forgotten you of course but there you were. He had searched for you so fervently and yet here you were right under his nose. Your presence, he could feel it using that quirk from the cat rescuer and he instantly knew it was you. What luck. The fight was abandoned when he saw this was his best chance, the rest of the heroes were too focused on fighting off his pawns and All Might was too wounded to move.

In an instant the masked villain moved the rubble that had been pinning you in place and whisked you away.

Your fear was intoxicating. The pleas, begs and sobs that you cried were more delicious than anything he had ever experienced. More euphoric than any narcotic, sweeter than ambrosia. The beats of your hands on his back drowned out by the drumming of his heart, his mouth was beginning to water. He could hardly wait.

Like any self respecting villain All For One had many, many hideouts and safe houses. Many hadn't been used in years, others were still unknown to the heroes, then there was one. The place he took you was far more special, the place he had planned to bring you after that fateful day but never used when you slipped away. Well, you wouldn't escape this time.

For a place that hadn't seen life in years it was surprisingly well kept. Not a speck of dust laid on any surface, a few lightbulbs had died or exploded when he flipped on the lights but the water still ran and there was heat, it would do nicely for the time being. During the short trip via warp gate you had passed out, the silence when it had been delicious begs was disappointing but his signature smile appeared. There would be plenty of time to hear you cry while he breaks you into the perfect doll.

After your "retrieval" he places you on the never before used emperor sized bed and retreats to the lounge chair at your bedside. He sits perfectly still, staring at you much, admiring how much you changed and grew in his absence. A hint of pride bubbles up, he's pleased to know the lovely being he remembers became even fairer and more perfect. The feat would be impossible for any other person but you were made for him, you're his, and you had to be for a man such as him.

When you wake up those beautiful, blissful begs are heard by his worthy ears once again. Behind his life support helmet he sighs, a heavenly breath that you take for annoyance. You cry. "Please don't kill me", "Don't hurt me", "I'll do anything" but oh sweet thing, you're going to do anything he says regardless. You're his. Why would he hurt or kill you? If he wanted you dead, you'd be dead.

It comes as a surprise that he's afraid to remove his facial cover. He might be the Symbol of Evil with plans of world domination but there's a portion of him that is a slave to your desires, just as the world is a slave to his. A sliver of doubt appears as you ask who he is, if he reveals his identity and you ask for proof, his disfigured appearance would revolt you. No blue eyes to see you blush, no hair for you to run your hands through, no lips to feel yours on his.

"Mr. Shigaraki" was the clue he gave you. It was adorable seeing your face go blank as your mind was wracked trying to remember the face. He watched with bated breath as your eyes showed recognition, you remembered him. You remember his face, his smile, his feeling. That wasn't helpful, now you had a face to the person who kidnapped you. Who was holding you captive for...what? Ransom? To be tortured? To be his plaything? Every possibility was worse than the last, each one more dire and inescapable and bleak.

He did his best to comfort you albeit in a deleterious manner. The Emperor of Darkness' weight was displaced from the lounge chair and moved to the bed, his near gigantic form towering over you. Knee pressing into the mattress, causing your body to naturally shift into him. You couldn't move. There was no gap to dash through if your body would get over being paralyzed in fear. The hand that could cover your head was placed on your cheek with uncharacteristic gentleness, a soft gesture that was masked by the sinister appearance staring down at you.

"Fear not, My Sweet." His voice is slightly muffled by the life support, the emotions were unbridled, intense and all together unhinged. He's wholeheartedly delusional, diluted enough to believe he's going to the the greatest Demon Lord who ever lived and would dismantle the world, rule it all the while having your love. He craves it, he needs it, he's desperate for it. It drives him mad and being this close to you sends him to the brink of insanity.

Your limitless stubbornness is as wonderful as it is infuriating. All For One can't have the object of his love be a pushover from the gate, at least not yet. He has to experience the pleasure of breaking you, making you submit to him before you're allowed to follow his orders. He has to make you his Doll first, his obedient, beautiful Doll. That's a tall order and as the days pass his desperation grows. The itch in the back of his mind needed to be scratched and it was becoming clear his tactics were having the effect he desired. You stymied his every attempt, reacted the exact opposite of how he expected. He loved it, the last flame of your fighting spirit getting snuffed out in his raging insistence. He was beginning to wear you down, headway was being made and the inevitable end result was near.

All For One's machinations had increased in cruelness, once he had left you enough water to last a week and nothing else. The food vanished and all you were left with were bottles of water. He was gone for two weeks, it only took ten for you to teeter on the edge of sanity. Devoid of any interaction from the outside world. Only you, your thoughts and the dwindling "supplies". When he returned he was pleased he was greeted with showers of affection, your touch was smothering and your body was pressed to his as close as humanly possible. The last of your will had fled in his absence and now his Doll was in the perfect state to mould to his liking.

That night it begins. You're so needy, so greedy. He decides to indulge you and removes his helmet, confident you wouldn't be repulsed by his scarred visage. He's correct of course, when you were met with the invitation to express your desperation you take it. Your lips wander. Pressing messy and half-opened kisses to his neck, jaw, and whatever remained of his own lips as his massive hands lead you towards the bed. You don't notice until the back of your knees hit the edge and suddenly you're falling.

He's on you in an instant. The bed sinks with his added weight and the heat he radiated replaced the warmth provided by your clothes. Before you knew it his thick yet dexterous fingers were pushing into your hole unprompted, sheathing them down to the knuckle before they were retracted. He was going to take immense satisfaction by making you climax until you were babbling incoherently before even preparing you for his villainous cock.

Which was exactly what he did, denying you orgasm until you were red in the face and sobbing. All For One sat back on his knees in victory, smirking as he watched you wiggle and writhe at the loss of attention. There was one final thing: hearing you finally give into him. He owned your body but he needed to own your mind, your soul, your spirit, everything.

"Say it." In the moment his voice was low, gruff, reverberating throughout your clouded mind to send heat straight down to your nethers. You might've been aroused before but nothing compared to what his voice did to you.

"S-s-say w-wh-wha?" Barely able to form a sentence you willed yourself to speak, if only to repeat whatever he wanted so he would continue with his mind numbing ministrations. The lack of sending you in a desperate rut the likes of which you had never experienced. He was cruel, further denying you what you wanted. His hand so near to your skin that the tiny peach hairs picked up the presence but when your hips bucked to force him to touch you? He left entirely.

"Beg. Beg for me to fuck you, to ruin your body, to corrupt your mind and make you mine. Mine alone."

That was quite the mouthful and you weren't sure if you could say it back but that's what he wanted. Mustering your frenzied will you commanded yourself to speak, to plead for what you so desperately wanted. "Please, please fuck me. Please I need you, I need you, please make me yours. I want to be yours, please!"

Every second, every breath, every thought had been leading up to this moment. All For One was in Seventh Heaven upon hearing your final submittance, exultantly triumphant. Your reward was swiftly delivered, the bulbous head of his cock pressed against the entrance of your hole and with one swift thrust he inserted himself to the hilt. The sharp edge of his hips cutting against the plush of your inner thighs, it hurt, it hurt so much. He had prepared you, scissoring and stretching you, it wasn't enough. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as the full stuffing of his cock inside you was enough to make you regret begging him to fuck you, sensing this he didn't move. Giving you time to adjust and acclimate while licking away your salty tears. The heat of his heavy breath oddly comforting.

Once your filled hole stopped fluttering all bets were off. His hips snapped expeditiously in the customary manner of fucking ones Doll till they came undone and fell into unconscious from the exhaustion and pleasure they felt. He was unrestrained. The initial softness and care he showed was the furthest thing in his mind now all that was left was a feral need to fuck his Doll till they were bedbound. He makes sure you know who owns you, using his numerous quirks to let you there was no escape. Musculoskeletal Coiling to make his already bed shattering thrusts harder. Proliferation, creating several pairs of arms and hands to tease you in places all at once. Reaching to grasp at your neck, fingers tweaking your oversensitive nipples all the while more teased and played with places unimaginable. Once using his Air Walk quirk to suspend you both amidst the impactful love-making.

Time had no meaning. Whatever seconds you counted to remember how many times he had made you climax were a distant dream, black spots appeared in your vision, your body somehow numb and pained all at once. The lightest touch was like you had been set on fire. In one particularly lucid moment you swore a drop of his milky cum was sliding past your nose but you don't remember blowing him or snorting it out but in the haze who knows what had happened. Finally the peaceful sleep wrapped you in its arms and carried you off to a safer place for a time.

Just as you passed out All For One finally came. Engorging you to the very brim, his fingers acting as a stopper to keep his demonic cum from spilling out. Whatever was left of the wrecked bed was used as All For One took your limp, sleeping body and wrapped you up in the soiled duvet.

The afterglow shone brightly like a halo while he laid with you. Keeping you flush against him. The plotting began again. Awaiting your eventual awakening to show you the other quirks at his disposal. He was far from done with you. It hadn't been a day since your submission and he intended to keep you as his Doll till you were well and old and your last breath was the escape from his eternal love.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #all for one #afo #mha afo #bnha afo #afo x reader #all for one x reader #tw: heavy spice #tw: yandere #tw: kidnapping #tw: dubcon #tw: mild starvation #tw: quirk use #tw: mind-break #tw: doll

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hisoknen · 4 years

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no promises || overhaul

warnings: apocalypse au, dubcon, mind break, overstimulation, orgasm denial, blood, physical trauma/injury in beginning, death of side characters wc: 2.8k

a/n: this is a piece for the bnharem collab!! make sure you go check out the other apocalypse au’s here! special thank you to @joyousandverywarlike for beta reading @thewheezingwyvern brain storming with me + helping with medical stuff!

It was heard through the grapevine that the Shie Hassaikai had stockpiled food. They had first aid and many other things that were impossible to come by in the time since the collapse.

Guards too cocky and relaxed to cover the premises. A few groups in your surrounding area had entered the compound successfully and although you have a small team and little backup, the need for provisions is far too great to ignore.

Going in with your recovery group, you quickly make silent entry into the warehouse. Despite the current circumstances in the world, this place was stocked full and spotless. You couldn't help but notice that there wasn’t a single speck of dust in the whole place, almost like no one ventured down here.

“I'm gonna head to the front Y/n, be smart. Gather as much as you can but not too much, we still gotta navigate out of this place quickly.” Your captain says in a hushed tone before advancing.

“Remember, no one gets left behind.”

In the years before, chaos had overtaken the world. Those without a high standing in society were left in the dust to fend for themselves. It had been 10 years since the collapse of society. Only the wealthy and well connected were able to continue their lives of luxury, while the rest of the world was left to feed on the scraps of what remained.

Shrugging the bag off of your shoulders and swinging it to your front, you unzip it and begin locating the necessary items for your team. If this is a success, you could not only head out with enough provisions for your crew, but you would also have a place to come back to in the future.

How could you possibly gage what is too much and what isn’t enough? You need food, clothing and first aid. If you grab more gauze than food, what would happen if you ran out of provisions? There is no way to eat gauze. What is most important?

“Y/n, time to go,” you hear your captain's voice behind you seeing only his back as he heads to the exit. Quietly locating the last of the things within reach, you zip up the bag, turning back to the entrance you came in through.

Your bag is heavier than it should be but you are known for being fast on your feet. Sprinting quietly, you open the door, catching sight of your team. “Y/n is here, we’re all ready to go.” You smile, taking a step before a loud noise sounds through your ear drums.

What is this? Your body is overcome with a dazed feeling. You run your fingers along the side of your stomach, the damp and sticky cloth clinging to your fingers. Bringing your fingers slowly up to your eyes you see a sickly vibrant red coating them.

The words of your captain, no one gets left behind, play over and over in your mind as you are struck by the realization of what has just happened. They wouldn’t leave you, would they?

Your legs begin to lose their strength, hand grasping at the door frame while you begin to slide down. The slick on your fingers helps none as the concrete below comes into contact with your skull. The muffled sound of yelling in the distance, the bodies you see fleeing the warehouse and an overwhelming ringing are all you can focus on.

No one gets left behind. No one gets left behind. No one gets left behind. Clutching at your stomach, you attempt to lessen the blood oozing from the wound.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. You command yourself, gathering your last bit of strength to press your other hand onto the floor. You gain footing, only to fall flat once again, the blood spilling between the cracks in your fingers. You can’t feel anything, everything is numb.

“What do you think you’re doing, little one?” A distorted shadow looms over you, pain coursing through your body as something blunt makes contact with your back. You hear a deafening pop followed by a searing pain in your chest. You let out a silent scream, immediately regretting it as the breath catches in your throat. Lungs collapsing in on themselves as you try in vain to take in air.

The pain once sharp now radiates in your gut. Each breath you try to take feels like breathing underwater. Your vision is fuzzy. You try desperately to gulp air to keep yourself conscious. The ache is debilitating.

You can feel it spreading to your ribs even as you stop moving, your head pulsing. The air around you feels heavy. There is no way to process the pain. All you can do is feel, as it overtakes your senses. You try in vain to move once more, vision fading to black.

—

Your eyes feel like they are glued shut, only just able to slip them open before snapping them shut immediately. There is a blinding light overhead beaming down on you. A sharp pain riddling through your body, stomach spasming. You let out an incoherent garble at the blistering sensation.

The constriction multiplies the existing pain tenfold. You try to pull your hand to cradle your wound, only to feel a sharp cinch at your wrists. Craning your eyes down, you see that they are strapped securely into place with a thin but strong plastic.

“Hel-,” you struggle against your limbs screaming out in agony for you to keep quiet in order to preserve energy. Where were you? Who was there to call for? Your friends? Your team? They’d all left you the moment you were shot. Crying for help is useless but what else can you do? The more you try to move, the more the pain jolts through your body. You can see that your stomach is bandaged but there is still a vibrant red slowly seeping through it.

“I’d sit still if I were you. Seem to have broken a rib or two along with that,” a muffled voice comes from your side, gloved hand pointing at your belly. The pulsing of your head keeps you from turning it as you let out a pathetic winded gasp, wrists jerking against the binds.

“Judging by the injuries you sustained, you’re going to be bedridden for quite some time.” The man had a plague doctor mask covering his nose and mouth leaning down into your line of sight. Through your blurred vision, you can make out his pale skin matched with short, shaggy, brown hair.

If you weren’t occupied by the fear flooding your senses, you’d find the small golden irises peeking out at you quite beautiful. You flinch away, letting out a pathetic cry as a gloved hand lands softly on your injured belly. The movement only adds to the searing pain already pumping through your veins.

“What’s your name, little thing?” Bile rises in your throat as the pressure pushing dow and predicament begin to register in your clouded mind. You tighten your lips, eyebrows furrowing. There was no way you’d give him information about your group, even if your life depended on it.

He stares down at you unblinking, rolling up his sleeves with a huff. Removing the wet bandage he digs a gloved finger into the wound, tearing a shriek from your lips, vision spotting. The more you struggle and wheeze, the more prominent the ache in your belly becomes. His fingers curl inside of the weeping hole, tears blinding your vision, body blistering hot. There was no breath left to cry out.

“Y/n-” you choke out, nails tearing into your palm as you fight in vain to distract yourself from the tearing of your flesh and guts. His fingers slowly ease out, allowing you to relax for a moment.

“You made me do such a disgusting thing.” He cringes behind the mask, bringing a towel to wipe away at the blood covering his gloved hand. You see the skin on his forehead break out in small bumps.

He reaches out of your sight facing you again with a clean pair of gloves.

“Please don’t kill me,” you plead with trembling lips. All you wanted to do was provide for those you loved. Why hadn’t you died when you were shot? Did he really bring you here to torture you? Hadn’t you had enough?

“No promises.” His gaze is cold and calculating, inspecting you as though you are nothing more than a pile of filth. “They left you here all alone,” he muses, “but don’t you worry, they didn’t make it far,” he says unamused, itching at his forearm with the untainted glove. You can see the skin under his hands had begin to rise, angry bumps littering the area.

“All of the-” horror overcomes you as you think of the faces of your friends and family. Looking up at his blank face gives you all the confirmation that you need.

“I might let you leave, we’ll see. I think we can both help each other right now, Y/n.” A twisted look overtakes his face as he observes you, awaiting an answer. What does he want from you? Your team's location? Who you got intel from?

“You came all this way to steal from me, I’m making you an offer.” He tilts his head to the side, looking displeased at your lack of response.

“What do you want?” you growl, pulling at your restraints, immediately regretting it when you feel the raw ache of your struggle.

“You know, it’s hard being cooped up in here, all alone,” his fingers lightly dance along the raised skin on your arm. “No one there for me when I need them. No one to please me.” His hand makes its way to the outline of your collar bone.

“You all think it’s hard out there. But imagine being me.” Your stomach churns at his suggestion that living a life of luxury is more painful than the thousands of people scavenging the remnants of the world for supplies necessary to make it through to the next day. “You look clean enough,” he ponders aloud. You couldn’t tell if he was even talking to you or reassuring himself.

“So what do you say? You give yourself to me for a while and we can act like this whole incident never happened.” The words falling from his lips make your stomach reel, yet they were filled with sweet temptation.

Were you willing to let this man do anything he pleased to you in order to make it out of here alive? Would there be anything for you to go back to if he even followed through with his word? If there was, how would you explain to your camp why you were the only one to return?

“Yes,” you bite your tongue, swallowing your pride. It dawned on you that you were in no place to refuse in the first place. He would take what he wanted from you regardless of what your answer was. Your survival depended on your ability to choose when to fight your battles.

“You’re a smart one,” he lets out a soft chuckle, brushing his hands across your inner thigh and trailing them up. He pulls your body roughly to the end of the table, pain flooding your limbs at the sudden movement. Your hands are still secured above you, pants torn from your body. He stands between your legs, staring at your naked core.

Pulling out a chair, his fingers find your core. He spreads your labia, coming close to eye your cunt and push the hood of your clit back. Having him touch your cunt makes you want to gag. The man who did this to you, touching your most sacred parts sends rage throughout you. Yet the way his fingers delicately dance across your clit make your cunt throb.

“Who’d think you’d get so wet in a situation like this,” he questions, holding the slick up for you to see. You stare back at it in disgust, your body betraying you. His fingers push into your warm heat, your back arching in tune with his touch. The pain from your injury fuses with pleasure as he curls his fingers inside of your fluttering hole. With each movement he makes, you feel the pressure slowly building in your stomach.

Without the luxury of movement all of your focus turns inward on your body and the way he is taking his time to slowly coax an orgasm from you. The leather of his gloves is covered in your arousal, plunging in and out of your core languidly. Each motion sends a jolt of revulsion and arousal to your foggy mind.

“You’re such a disgusting little whore. Getting me dirty like this,” he breathes between clenched teeth, his speed picking up as irritation takes over his features.

“I’m gonna cu-” the pressure peaks, but before you can release, his fingers tear from your abused hole, leaving it quivering.

“I didn’t keep you alive so that could you cum,” he sneers, staring at his coated fingers, looking repulsed by the fluid covering them. “You’re here for me to enjoy,” he pulls the dirtied glove from his hand, discarding them both across the room.

He leaves your side, the sound of a drawer slamming open startles you. He appears between your legs, with a new pair, unzipping his pants. He palms his cock a few times before sliding a condom over it.

“I have waited so long for this,” he groans, digging his fingers into your hips, plunging into your pulsing cunt. A cry leaves your mouth at the sudden intrusion. He lets out a soft grunt, feeling your cunt fight against him. He continues to push into you, your walls milking him as they try and accommodate space.

“Fuck you’re tight,” he pulls out of you slowly, easing back in inch by inch. The stretch is painful at first but soon blends into pleasure. Fingers spread apart your labia, pressing at your swollen clit, prodding against it with each rut of his hips.

Your hands tug at the restraints above your head, an ache gushing through you. You didn’t even know who the man violating your cunt was, yet you let him continue to defile you. Whines tumblr past your lips as he fills you.

“All of your team is dead and you can’t do anything but grip my cock and moan like a slut?” The words falling from his mouth bring tears to your eyes. Why were you enjoying this so much? Why does your body want more? Why do his words send a wave of arousal shuddering through your body. He’s taken so much from you, yet all you can do is let out pathetic sounds, pleading him to continue as your tongue lolls out.

“It’s like your pussy was made for me,” the sounds of slapping skin and the lewd squelching of your cunt echo through the room. Your mind goes blank, your body made to take all of what he is giving you.

There’s nothing for you to do but lie still while he milks orgasm after orgasm from you. Each time your body undulates, you feel pain in tandem, soaking into the hollow of your belly. The first orgasm takes everything from you, body limp and tender. Yet you still utter the words, begging him to keep using you, to keep fucking into your swollen pussy. Each orgasm sends a shake through your body, convulsions of agnozing pressure and relief.

The overstimulation has sobs wracking through your spent body. You can’t take anymore, but you crave more. All you can do is focus on your breathing. You feel his pace falter, fingers digging into your hips.

“I can’t-” A spark of electricity crashes through you when he pushes against your clit.

A cry leaves you as he sends you over the edge a final time, bottoming out inside of you. You can feel the warmth of his release fill up the condom, his cock twitching against your walls. Your body shakes against him while your mind buzzes. The faint sound of a zipper being pulled, coaxed you out of the daze.

“When you’re able to move again, you’re free to go.” You fight to keep your eyes open, gaze following him to the other side of the room where he discards his gloves.

“The next time you need something. Feel free to come to the front. There are... easier ways to get the things you want,” he pauses, grabbing a clean pair of gloves before walking to the door. Your eyes are droopy, his figure swimming, mind desperately trying to hang onto his words.

“But while you are here. You’ll call me Kai.”

—

masterlist

#server collab #overhaul x reader smut #kai chisaki x reader smut #bnha smut #mha smut #apocolypse au #overhaul smut #tw gore #tw: mindbreak #tw death #tw dubcon #tw injury #tw overstim #tw blood

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calumance · 4 years

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omg aiden and or logan getting haircuts with dad 😭 and maybe cal never tells the reader when he’s getting a haircut but this time he plans it with the boys and the reader gets sad cuz she loves his curls 😭🥵😌

Cutting both Aiden’s and Calum’s curls off in one day? Lord help all of us. 😭😭

“Are you going to come back looking completely different?” Calum asked as he attempted to fold a shirt, but was having trouble almost immediately. He furrowed his brows and tried again, huffing when it didn’t work the second time. “These little shirts always are the hardest to fold, how the heck do you do it?” He looked up at you and handed you Logan’s tiny t-shirt.

You chuckled and snatched the t-shirt out of his hand, folding it with one try. As you set it on the pile of folded clothes, you put your hands on your hips and smiled at Calum. “I probably will come home looking completely different since I haven’t gotten my hair ‘done’ since before Aiden was born. I mean, I’ve gotten it cut, but it’s time to make it a fun color.”

It was true, when you found out you were pregnant with Aiden, you were no longer able to get your hair dyed. You would continue to get it cut every once in a while but wanting to dye it again went to the back of your mind. Once you were pregnant with Logan, your hair was back to its natural color and with how proud of it you were, you kept the dying it part in the back of your mind. When Alex had suggested a ‘girls day’ you jumped at it. Alex had planned massages, pedicures, manicures, and hair appointments. The excitement in the pit of your stomach that came with getting pampered was slowly eating away at you.

Calum smirked and reached for your hips, pulling you closer to him. He wrapped his arms around your legs and put his chin on your stomach. You looked down at him and ran your fingers through his thick curls. “I’m kind of excited to see how different you’re going to look.” You smiled, but pulled your eyebrows together in confusion. You tilted your head, silently asking him to elaborate. “Because it’ll be like falling in love with you all over again. It’ll be like ‘oh damn, who’s that? Oh right, my wife.’” You chuckled at him and bent at the waist to press a loving kiss to his lips.

That’s what started Calum on the hair cut trend. When he saw how different she had looked and how confident she was when she had gotten home from the girls’ day, he suddenly got the itch to get a haircut himself, change it up. He had been throwing the idea around a bit to Ashton, who also loved changing his hair as often as the weather changed. Calum held the phone up to his ear as he looking into the mirror. “I don’t know, these curls are getting ridiculous. Maybe I should go short again, maybe not buzzcut short, but short.”

“Like when you had the blue hair?” Ashton asked on the other end of the phone. Calum made a face at himself in the mirror and hummed. “I liked when you had the blue hair, it was snazzy.”

Calum chuckled at Ashton’s choice of words. “I liked the blur hair, but I was thinking a bit longer than that, so that I can still style it if or when I want to, you know?” Ashton hummed in response just as Calum felt a light tug on his pant leg. When he looked down, he saw Logan standing there, giving him puppy dog eyes. Calum hung up with Ashton and squatted to be at eye level with the Logan. “What’s up, buddy?” Calum asked running his thumb along Logan’s cheek.

Logan pouted and looked down at his little hands. “I want a haircut too, daddy.” Calum looked around Logan’s head and surveyed the length of his hair. It was getting longer, but really didn’t need to be cut. Just as Calum was about to say something back to Logan, Aiden rounded the corner, ruffling his hands through his own mop of curls.

Calum’s eyes widened and then he let out a breathy laugh. “Maybe it’s time all of us boys go get haircuts, yeah?” Aiden and Logan nodded and Calum stood to look at his phone and dial the number of the person he always went to for haircuts.

Calum never told his wife when he wanted to get haircuts, she always got mad because she hated when he cut off his curls. That trend continued, Calum scheduled the haircuts on a day she had to work. So, after she left the house, Calum gathered his two sons and headed to the salon. Logan and Aiden were the first ones to get their hair cut. Calum watched as Aiden bounced out of the chair, and running his hands through his fresh, shortened hair and telling Calum how much better he felt. Calum sat in the chair and made faces at Logan and Aiden to keep them occupied until it was time to leave.

You could tell there was something up the seconds you walked through the front door. There was a weird tension in the house, and then some tiny giggles coming from the living room, as if the boys were hiding from you. You dropped your keys into the ceramic bowl by the door and then hung your bag on the coat rack, as you usually do. Your eyebrows stitched together as you made your way into the living room, your jaw hitting the floor as you laid your eyes on the fresh haircuts. “Surprise!” Aiden and Logan said while lunging towards you.

“Well, this is certainly one heck of a surprise.” You said, trying to contain the tears as you ran your hand through Aiden’s short locks. You Looked up at Calum and reached forward to run your hand through his hair too. He pressed his lips to your before you could say anything.

“Do you like my hair momma?” Aiden asked with a smile spreading from ear to ear. You bit your lip and nodded. Aiden looked back at Calum and smiled before running off.

Logan tugged on your pant legs, forcing you to look down at him. “What about me? Do you like my hair too, mommy?” You pulled your eyebrows together, not really noticing that there was anything different. Your eyes flashed toward Calum who just nodded.

“Of course I like your haircut, too, baby.” You pinched his chin gently with your thumb and pointer finger before he smiled just as big as Aiden and ran off. Calum moved towards you and put his hands on your hips. You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair, dragging your finger nails over his scalp. You shook your head and chuckled, “Why’d you cut not only your curls off, but my babies curls off too?”

Calum chuckled and bent down to press a kiss to your lips. “Because we were both looking a big shaggy. Are you mad at me?” He asked after pulling his lips far enough from yours to look into your eyes.

You shook your head, your nose rubbing against his. “I’m not mad, a bit sad, but not mad.” You paused as a shit-eating grin stretched across your lips, “Because it’s like ‘damn, who’s that? Oh right, my husband.’” Calum laughed and shook his head before pressing his lips against yours one more time.

************

Tag list: @mantlereid @notinthesameguey @viiirg0 @wheniminouterspace @thinkofmehlgh @another-lonely-heart @limer-encia @itsmytimetoodream @babyoria @treatallwithkindness

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what-the-floofin · 5 years

Photo

Deal’s a deal I guess.

(me: *trips. words spill from my pockets. There’s 2127 of them*)

Lance had dealt long enough with living around that damn coat, his every attempt to have Keith just let him fix it turned down time and time again. Once he even managed to make the offer with no weirdness, no fumbling, no antagonising bites about it at all. Total stallion to stallion. Heart to heart. Or… something. It was damn cool, anyway.

(He’d deny having practiced a dozen times to the audience of his own reflection.)

Yet still Keith refused.

(And Lance did not sulk about it. Absolutely not.)

But he figured it out, after weeks of peripheral listening and observation and sheer determination to see it through. Keith wouldn’t accept reasons of ‘just because’ – not even from Shiro – but he would accept trades. So, Lance targeted the easiest one he could think of and caught Keith down one of many endless halls.

He’d spar with him for a full session – no complaints! – and in turn Keith would let him put a brush to his sides. Also with no complaints, though that part had been more or less implied since Lance was abiding by a strict no-button-pushing rule at the time.

Keith had pulled an odd face as he considered the proposal - finally mumbling something like an agreement after the longest, most agonising minute Lance ever had to wait in his life - and all while refusing to look any higher than Lance’s chin.

Lance only cared about that fact that he accepted and bolted at once to collect his things.

By the time they were making languid cool-down laps of the training deck, their sides lathered and legs shaking in the result of their sparring efforts, the giddiness of anticipation began to rise beyond the threshold of his control. It skipped his pace and littered his strides with prancing steps, kicking up waves of delight that manifested in half-restrained grins and more than once caused Keith to scowl obvious queries of why.

The instant they turned in towards the platform of the spectator stands, the single level they’d raised decked out with a box of water pouches and their discarded articles, Lance raced to his little bag and snatched it from atop his folded jacket, turning on a dime towards Keith and barely able to contain his eagerness to begin.

He was dismayed to find Keith had instead busied himself in removing the red binds from his legs, pointedly keeping his back to him and thin tail swishing quietly. Right, right, of course they wouldn’t jump straight into transition. That’s cool. At least Keith hadn’t just beelined for the exit. And they were still a little sweaty anyway, the wait would do them good.

Setting the pack on the floor Lance opted to follow suit. For it was, damn him, a good idea.

He thought himself incredibly patient as he watched Keith from the corner of his eye, strategically busying himself in removing his own blue wraps and guard pads to roll up the set, all while trying not to spend every other second tracking Keith’s languid progress. Lance found it impossible to match him he moved that slow, and yet Keith didn’t really seem to care much for winding the lengths of bind properly at all. Each looked more wadded up than decently coiled, and were dropped in a messy pile atop the half open duffel bag rather than in it. Which, if he was deliberately stalling, wasn’t what Lance expected.

Finally, Keith heaved a short sigh and tossed the last one amongst the rest, empty hands now tugging the hem of his shirt as he shifted weight across his legs, flexing them out one by one. He dallied a moment longer to take a water pouch, fiddling the straw between his fingers as his tongue flicked to wet his lips.

He was officially out of things to do. He had to be.

“Okay, fine. Get on with it,” Keith conceded, ducking at his own voice.

Lance dropped the wrap he’d wound up twice already and zipped beside Keith in a heartbeat, impatiently pacing on the spot when the mullet-head veered sideways in surprise.

“It’s about time this got handled! You’re in the hands of a professional now.” Lance beamed, immediately latching onto the fur of those scruffy withers as if he could possibly pull Keith back towards him.

“Uh… okay?”

Keith didn’t sound convinced but boy was Lance gonna prove it.

He sized up the full scope of his task, finger combing through pale hairs and flipping a hand over to find it covered in a fine dust, quickly concluding Keith had likely not seen proper care in yonks. Which was gross. And mildly horrifying. Jiminy crickets just the thought of letting himself get like that put a shiver down Lance’s spine.

He really, really wanted to tackle the remains of that old winter coat first now that he got a good look at it, for it was the clear culprit to all of his suffering. It just made the guy look so damn unkempt!

That is, until he realised the shaggy patches along his top line were as sleek and summer-fine as the rest. It certainly didn’t tuft and pull away when he clamped onto the strands and determinedly dragged them through. Lance had seen this coat uniformly short before – back in their Garrison days – so he was certain this was something new and it raised a whole plethora of questions that simplified to what the bloody hell. He stopped pulling when sturdy muscle flickered irritation beneath his attention. Keith gave a terse little grunt, turning just enough to glare from the corner of his eye.

“Pinching wasn’t the deal.”

“Hydration test,” Lance covered smoothly, straightening as he set both hands against the small cape of weirdly shaggy coat with a quick yes-all-good-here pat.

Keith just looked outright puzzled then, swerving his softly knitted frown from the water pouch in hand and back again.

“But I’m drinking. Right now.”

Shit, he was. Uh.

“Yeah- but uh, maybe it wouldn’t be enough! Those capri-suns are ridiculously tiny. Sheesh, whatever, okay, stay still.” Hands still braced over Keith’s spine Lance backpedalled the short step to reach his small pack. He hooked it with a back hoof, dragging it forward with enough force to flick it up and keep the strap over his foot. Despite the pendulum swinging it stayed put, allowing Lance the smug satisfaction of success as he twisted to meet his outstretched leg. Cradling the bag in the crook of his arm he dug through its contents, setting at least three different brushes atop the width of golden hindquarters before letting it thud back by his feet and pushing it aside. He cracked his knuckles and plucked up the round comb first.

The desire to chatter was a consistent tremble on his tongue as he worked the quick tight circles, but he wanted to play this cautiously. Safe-like. It had taken long enough to even get to this stage, and Keith… like, hated talk. And if he really hated it, he’d probably leave, deal or no deal, no hesitation about it. They agreed to grooming, nothing more nothing less. So! Lance was fully capable of not talking. Absolutely. For sure. Wouldn’t say a word. Easy peasy.

Instead he worked studiously to raise every bit of loose hair out of the light coat until Keith looked like a fuzzy dust bunny from withers to tail, every inch of fur rumpled up in every conceivable direction. The sheer volume he dislodged was appalling, really. Stars, how could the guy not be itching out of his skin running around like this.

Well, at least Keith wasn’t too much of a squirmer. He was tense and kind of twitchy, rocking away from the occasional sweep (ticklish, maybe?) and only once reflexively tail whipping him in the face, but otherwise Keith remained in reach. By comparison, trying to get this much work done with his niece and nephew was a riot. Lance missed this though, achingly so, for it had been such an integral part to his family routine. A deep-chested sigh suddenly rumbled beneath his hands and Keith shifted just enough to drop a third empty water pouch atop the raised seating. Third. Had that much time gone by in dead silence?

Surprisingly, Lance hadn’t found it all that unsettling. Huh.

He took up the broader brush then, running his palm against the stiff bristles and humming his satisfaction before setting into round two. He spent his time mulling over the relative silence, curious of the weird taste it carried and his uncertainty in what to make of it, and fastidiously focused on sentencing every discarded strand to flutter to the floor or tangle in the brush, every long sweep carefully following the grain. Glancing down as he crossed his hooves and side-stepped away from one very (and proudly, he could say) tidy looking shoulder, he could’ve smirked at the pale cloud collecting around the mullet-head’s feet.

It wasn’t until he’d worked down half the count of Keith’s ribs – still too prominent, did he even eat – that Lance noticed, and could only wonder when it changed. Keith had settled back, hip tilted and hind leg loosely bent, resting the tip of his hoof on the ground. Lance followed the dark line of his back then, careful to maintain all nonchalance as he noted how Keith’s forelegs compensated and his upper shoulders had taken on the gentle slope of a dozing lean.

Lance couldn’t see his face, but he was pretty sure Keith wasn’t looking anywhere but the back of his eyelids.

It filled him with a warmth that began in his belly and rapidly swelled up in his chest.

Hell yeah, he was great at pampering, and if he could get Keith of all people to relax like this then clearly he was a pamper god. It was all the proof Lance needed.

The feeling followed him the rest of the way through, chasing his palms and tingling in his wrists through every flick until Keith was – successfully and completely – brushed down. Truly, a marvel of his efforts. Lance was particularly proud of the delicate shine he managed to buff into the sandy gold, and could only imagine how much more it might show with a proper conditioned scrub.

He didn’t want to finish though. Not quite yet. So, sizing up his chances… he started over, running the soft brush in continuous gentle sweeps, too aware that any one of them could stir Keith and break the airy spell settled over them. Now and then Keith’s head drooped, the dark curls still drawn back in a ponytail bobbing on the return.

Lance saw the eventual dip too far that woke him – running a tiny jolt down the lean back that finished in an abrupt flick of tail – and guiltily whipped his hands away from their prolonged attentions. He stepped back as Keith twisted to study his work with a long, unreadable silence.

“Huh.”

That was it? Huh? Lance’s scowl vanished the moment Keith turned to him though, the smile on that face small and meagre but more than something fleeting. Lance found himself mirroring it right back in a heartbeat, staring as Keith finally moved off to pull on his jacket, and watching still while he fixed both cuffs and tugged the collar straight.

“Um, thanks.” Keith added, rushed and clumsy as if he’d just clicked to what Lance was waiting for. Lance huffed his amusement, hurrying at once to pack his things and stuff both arms into his own jacket, intending a quick exit himself now he’d gotten all he wanted. He didn’t put it past the mullet to suddenly decide locking him in here would be adequate payback.

Yet Keith remained a statue in his peripheral, duffel bag clutched in hand but held low between his forelegs. He swayed only once as if undecided in his departure.

“You should talk next time.”

“Next time?” Lance swung around, a bold smirk covering the simultaneous surprise and excitement of the prospect. He had expected a lot more than that to get here again.

Keith flushed at once, visibly scrambling.

“I mean, if that’s okay? After tr- the same deal. If you want- because you don’t uh… have.. to.” He scrunched his face and almost hid behind a hand, fingers curling against the air as he paused just long enough to suck down a breath and let it go again.

“Ugh,” he continued elegantly, hand dropping with a thwap against his side, “what I’m saying is- this was nice. But you should talk. It’s weird when you just… don’t.”

Lance was positively beaming, even brighter than the solar flare they once passed near Sh'gal.

“Sure. Next time.”

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piratekingimogen · 4 years

Text

ghosts

one-shot (?) for ascendance month day 9, prompt “ghosts” word count: 1259 :)

Rumor had it, a boy died at Farthenwood Academy. Rumor had it, it wasn’t an accident.

Of course, Imogen had never paid much attention to the rumors until Jaron fell through her window. It was almost midnight on a Tuesday. At first, Imogen had thought that the soft creaking sound in the darkness was Amarinda slipping into their dorm room, back from late-night studying, but the sound wasn’t coming from the direction of the door. Fear prickled her heart as she sat up. The door was still closed. But the window— there was something moving rapidly across the window, casting a liquid shadow on the floor. No, someone. Imogen’s heart stuttered as the figure pried the window open and then fell through with a thud.

A second later, a yellow flashlight beam panned across the window. The figure on the floor sagged with relief as it passed overhead. Then they saw Imogen and swore.

With as much ferocity as she could muster, she hissed, “What are you doing in my room?” In the uneven light from the window, she could see short, disheveled hair, narrow shoulders, and enough of his face to suspect that she had seen the boy before. He was a student at Farthenwood, although she had never spoken to him. The flashlight beam lit the window again.

“Don’t turn the light on,” he said. “The security guard will see. I’m so sorry, I thought this was my room. I must have miscounted floors.”

“We’re three stories up!” Imogen said incredulously. Had he climbed up from the ground?

“And it should’ve been four,” he said. He was still a little out of breath, but his initial shock had worn off. Then, to her surprise, he began to laugh, a loose, infectious sound. “This must look really bad.”

“I have a few questions,” Imogen agreed.

“Tell you what, I’ll answer them as long as you promise not to tell anyone I was here. Security nearly caught me a minute ago and I’m going to be in so much trouble if they figure out I snuck into the East Wing.” He tilted his head.

Oh, he’d clocked her in an instant. Her curiosity was her weakness; she couldn’t pass up a mystery like this. “Deal,” she said. Grinning, he sat cross-legged, fingers splayed in Amarinda’s shaggy carpet. “Tell me this: who are you?”

“Jaron Eckbert Artolius the Third, younger brother of Darius, family disappointment, fourth year Farthenwood student, and,” he paused theatrically, “ghost hunter.”

That was how it all started: Jaron and his irresistible enthusiasm. He would turn up to class with dust-smudged fingers and sleepless eyes, mud on his soles or wax on his sleeves, and catch Imogen’s gaze across the classroom. She couldn’t resist asking if he’d found anything, which turned into whispered conversations about picked locks and strange shadows, which turned into heads bent over old school newsletters and paranormal rags in the library, which turned into this: Imogen furiously shaking a saltshaker she had snuck from the cafeteria to make a protective circle big enough for five, while Tobias fiddled with a contraption of rubber bands and metal coils and batteries, Roden duct-taped the thick velvet curtain to the wall to keep light from slipping out, Amarinda scribbled times and temperatures in a coffee-stained notebook, and Jaron himself lit a constellation of mismatched candles.

If all went right tonight— and Jaron, dauntless Jaron, was sure it would— tonight they would finally speak to the ghost of the boy who had died in Farthenwood eight years before. Latamer, according to the old attendance sheets Amarinda found for them. Imogen glanced at Amarinda, chewing the end of her pencil as she checked her watch. When her roommate, the prefect, the model student, found her and Jaron and Tobias hiding in the janitor’s closet three hours after curfew with a rapier that should have been in the fencing shed, Imogen had been sure it was over. Jaron, who was actually holding the stolen rapier, would be expelled, and she and Tobias would be suspended at the very least. She had underestimated Jaron’s charm. Now, Amarinda’s level head and her key ring were a crucial part of the venture.

“Imogen, you’re salting me,” Tobias said.

“Oh. Sorry,” she said, adjusting the trajectory of her salt-shaking. Tobias brushed salt from the creases of his collar. “How’s The Gadget working?”

Tobias gave a long-suffering sigh and Imogen smiled. He’d given up on making them use The Gadget’s real name; it wouldn’t stick. “Up and running,” he said, flicking a makeshift antenna. “If there’s any sort of apparition, it’ll let us know.”

“Do you think we will get an apparition?” Roden asked, dropping to the ground next to them, duct-tape around his wrist like a bracelet.

Tobias shivered, though that might have had more to do with the unseasonable chill in the room. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“Roden, you smudged my salt circle,” Imogen said, nudging him. He scooted aside obligingly and she fixed it. “Jaron, I’ve laid down rosemary, salt and iron.”

“And I covered the door and windows,” Roden added.

Jaron, tongue between his teeth, lit the last candle— a black-cherry-scented thing borrowed from the third floor girl’s restroom— and then pocketed his cigarette lighter. Then he sat up, furrow melting from his forehead. “Are we all ready? Tobias?”

“All set,” Tobias said, patting The Gadget.

“The temperature’s been dropping steadily since we got here,” Amarinda reported. “It is—” she consulted her watch, “ten ‘til midnight, and we’re at fifty-six degrees. Which is already two degrees colder than last time.”

“If the cleaning lady was right, we should have ten minutes before Latamer appears,” Jaron said. An itch crawled down Imogen’s spine at the boy’s name. The room already had a strange sort of fullness; a blur at the corner of her eyes. This could be the big night— the moment of truth. Jaron’s eyes shined with the possibility.

“Friends, this is it,” he said, kneeling carefully in the salt-circle. “We’ve stuck through months of research, several near expulsions, a broken leg—” eight eyes turned toward Roden, who scratched his neck awkwardly, “and more sleepless nights than I can count. And if we see Latamer tonight, I will be thrilled. But whether or not we do, thank you for coming with me, thank you for putting up with me, and thank you for being my friends.” He sounded slightly choked. For a second, the words hung like steam in the air, and Imogen felt a surge of affection.

Roden grinned. “It sounds like maybe the real ghost was the friends we made along the way,” he said.

“No, I still want a real ghost,” Jaron said decidedly, and Tobias snorted. And that was all the response Jaron needed for his speech, because the real answer was wordless, in the jostle of knees and elbows within the salt-circle, in the way the five of them seemed to fit together like stained glass, in the comfort Imogen drew from Jaron’s hand in hers. She didn’t feel the chill in the air.

“One minute to midnight,” Amarinda said. Imogen’s hand was in Jaron’s, her thigh pressed to Tobias’ hip, one shoulder brushing Roden’s. They were as tense as her. The room was dark but for candlelight. “Thirty seconds,” said Amarinda. Jaron’s grip tightened. His words rang in her ears. This is it. “Fifteen seconds,” Amarinda said, her voice measured and calm. “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

There was a sound, like a sigh, and the candles went out.

#ghosts #ascendance month 2020 #fic tag #my fics #my writing #good ness i cannot remember any of my tags :0 #catch me pouring all this out instead of working on my real and urgent hw!!!#boarding school aus are my weakness.... what can i say

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istheresomebodywhocanimagine · 5 years

Text

Got Your Nose

anonymous said: Hi there!! Could you do an AU Roger Tayor fanfiction where he is a single dad and he meets the reader and really likes her and finally introduces her to his kid and she is so sweet with them and then eventually the kid ends up calling her mommy and just cute af fluff please and thank you??

(a/n: i’m so sorry i had to make the kid a girl. Imagining roger w a little girl just spoiling the shit out of her made my anti-kid heart swell a little bit. gif credit to @imladrs hehe ok time 2 code a website for class before it’s due woops)

“A surprise?! A puppy!”

“It’s not a puppy, sweetheart, it’s something better!” you heard Roger explain from the other side of the door, and you had to giggle as you listened for Camellia’s sweet little voice.

“Better than a puppy?” the young girl asked in disbelief, a small bit of attitude in her tone as you heard Roger laugh and walk towards the door. Suddenly, you were extremely nervous about all of this. It didn’t help that as they got to the door, Cam exclaimed, “Daddy, nothing is better than a puppy.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Roger dismissed teasingly, and you heard him pick up his daughter, making her squeal in delight. “Up you go, lovie. Are you ready?”

This was it. You felt your heart pounding in your chest as the front door unlocked, and you briefly imagined the worst case scenarios – Cam takes one look at you, decides you’re not interesting, and asks where the puppy is. Or she doesn’t even acknowledge you, or worse – she does, but she says she doesn’t like you.

Swallowing hard, you put on a smile as the door swung open. There was Roger, dressed to the nines in a simple t-shirt and track pants. His short but slightly curly hair was sleep-worn, and he looked very much like a dad today, which was not at all what he usually looked like. It was like seeing him again for the first time.

You remembered when you’d seen him for the first time. They were recording The Game in Munich, where you were visiting family, and you’d run into him by chance at a record store one afternoon. You were perusing the selections when you’d picked up an old Queen album, and a man nearby had scoffed at your selection – or so you’d thought.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, curiously watching the blonde who was standing around four feet away, holding a Jimi Hendrix vinyl. “Queen not your cup of tea?”

The man’s eyes were obscured behind dark sunglasses, unreadable – he didn’t remotely look like the last time you’d seen a picture of Roger Taylor, so it was no wonder you didn’t recognize him. You were admittedly a bit out of the loop, so the last time you’d seen a picture of the man in passing was years ago, and he was sporting a long, shaggy haircut and a lighter, bohemian-esque fit. This man was in a leather jacket and black tshirt, with a chunky chain necklace to match the wallet chain that was hanging from the belt loop on his jeans. His wavy blonde hair was cropped to a medium-short length, and it was unbelievably messy. There was an innocent look to his face, but a small smirk played at the corner of his mouth, as if he knew more than he let on.

“Oh, Queen?” he said, and you marveled at the Anglo-Cornish accent that pervaded the surprisingly mellow voice of someone who looked like they’d just stepped out of a Black Sabbath concert. “They’re all a bunch of cock-stars, really.”

“Ah.” You looked at the Queen II album cover in your hand, pointing to the one on the left (which you later found out was John) and looking at the man again. “He looks like a nice chap. Not bad looking either.”

“Oh, he might be the worst of them all,” he quickly replied, an impish grin sneaking its way onto his lips. “I’ve met them all. They’re insufferable. Don’t waste your time on them, gorgeous.”

“Really?” you asked, intrigued now and mainly ignoring his come-on. Although you weren’t sure whether you should trust a stranger’s word that they’d met such a big band, anything was possible. After all, you’d heard they were recording in the area. “Honestly? I don’t really know any of them. Usually don’t listen to this type of music.”

The toothy grin on his face was practically cracking his cheeks by this point, and you tried not to be too unnerved by this giddiness as he spoke. “The lead singer is a big drama queen, and that chap you pointed to? Right prick. Full of himself. The drummer might be the only one worse than him.” He chuckled, then shook his head and set the Hendrix album down, stepping just a foot or two closer and leaning against the stack of records next to him. “You said you don’t listen to this kind of music. What brings you over to this part of the store then?”

“Me?” you asked, almost confused that he was showing interest in your record selection. But you’d been chatted up in weirder places than a record store, so you played into it. “I usually listen to Stevie Wonder and the Commodores and Marvin Gaye, stuff like that. Just thought I’d change it up a bit, you know? I’m visiting an aunt here for a month or two since I just graduated uni, so I’ve got time out my arse for new music.”

“Uni? So you were a student. Where at?” he asked, moving his sunglasses to the top of his head. He had inquisitive eyes that were a shocking shade of blue, and he watched you patiently as he waited for an answer.

“London.”

“London, a lovely place. I’m actually from London myself, I’m also in the city visiting… What did you study at uni? Modeling?”

Scoffing at the notion, you were about to answer when a much taller man with a wild mop of brown curls approached the strange blonde from behind, clapping a hand to his shoulder and looking at you with curious eyes before looking down at the blonde. “Made a friend, Roger?” came the smooth, slightly lower voice of the second strange man, and you swore you’d seen his face before as he looked back to you again. After a quick glance at the album in your hand, he gave a quick chuckle and let go of Roger’s shoulder. “You going to buy that for her?”

“I was just telling her how the guitarist is a massive knobhead,” Roger replied teasingly, and you looked down to the album to be smacked across the face with the answer. The two men in front of you were right there, on the cover of Queen II, and you’d been sitting here like an idiot, not even realizing you were shooting the shit with one of the members of the band.

“Oh, eat a dick,” the man with curls laughed, shoving Roger’s head forward and grabbing the Hendrix album that he’d left sitting on top of other records. “Better have told her the drummer sucks something awful.”

A blush was quickly creeping up on your cheeks as you witnessed the interaction, not sure if you should apologize for not recognizing them or be thankful that he wasn’t offended. But Roger ended up being delighted to find a new Queen fan in you, and took down your number before he left with the man who introduced himself as Brian.

Roger ended up taking up most of your time in Munich after that, taking you all over the city on romantic dates, including a private boat ride up the river. Even once, he brought you by the studio for a brief visit when Freddie called him. You were ecstatic to see that side of the music industry, and you even got to meet John, who was amused to hear that you’d thought he looked nice on the cover of Queen II (Roger got an earful for that one later).

In fact, you spent so much time around him that you were upset when it was time for you to finally leave. But Roger promised he’d visit you as soon as they were done recording, and he did. He also said he had a surprise for you when he got back, and you were floored to find out what the surprise really was.

He had a 4 year old daughter from a previous relationship that he’d been dying to tell you about, and she was almost a carbon copy of him. Beautiful blonde hair, ocean blue eyes, and from what he’d told you, an attitude bigger than the Earth itself. But she was sweet as well, and she loved her dad dearly, just as much as he loved her.

“I want you to meet her,” he’d said one day, when you were both lounging on your bed back in London. He was playing with your hand, his head resting on your belly as he looked up at you.

“Meet Camellia?” You panicked a little, chewing on your lip as you ran a hand through his hair. This was a bit sudden for you, seeing as you’d only been involved together for around 3 to 4 months, but maybe he was just talking in the future. “When?”

“Tomorrow,” he answered quickly, an edge of excitement in his voice as he propped himself up on his elbows, one on either side of you. Oh, Jesus, tomorrow? “She’s itching to meet you. Ever since I showed her a picture of you on the river in Munich, she’s been wanting to meet ‘dad’s girly-friend.’”

You cooed softly, smiling as he crawled to hover over you, trapping you down to the bed. “But Rog, what if she ends up not liking me?” you worried, reaching up to brush a stray hair from his forehead before pressing your palm to his cheek. He smiled affectionately, then pressed a quick kiss to the inside of your hand before nuzzling it.

“She’ll adore you, promise.” He then kneeled between your legs, pressing his fists into the mattress as he carefully lowered himself so he was laying on top of you, resting his head on your chest. You shifted a bit so he rested between your legs better, then began to brush your fingers back through his hair and ponder the idea a bit.

“Is she not with her mom tomorrow?” you questioned, furrowing your eyebrows as you stared at the ceiling. You couldn’t really pinpoint why you felt so overwhelmed by the concept of meeting Cam – it was possible that it was mainly because you desperately wanted her acceptance. Roger had quickly become a fixture in your life, and you were pretty fond of him. It would be horrible if the number one girl in his life decided that she didn’t like number two, which was you. You couldn’t even let yourself make Roger choose between the two of you – you’d have to leave him, just to make Cam happy. That thought scared you a lot.

“No, I gave her the next few days off. I wanted to spend alone time with the little bugger.” You could feel the rumble of his chuckle against your chest, resounding deep into your heart, and you smiled a bit as you shook your head.

“Alone time?” you repeated, and Roger laughed at your not-so-subtle prying.

“Alone time with you included, of course.” You raised an eyebrow, and Roger looked up at you, grinning before moving back up to support himself on his elbows again, giving you a quick kiss. “Baby, I swear. She will love you. I might have to beg her to spend time with me at the end of the day.”

And that was that. You’d agreed to come over in the morning, and now here you were, a fatherly Roger holding an energetic and curious young girl on his shoulders. She was peeking down at you over her father’s head, and he gave you a wide smile before looking up at Cam.

“Cammy, this is the lady I’ve been telling you about. Y/N, come in!” he invited, opening the door wider and stepping to the side as Cam never took her eyes off you. She had a devilish grin, much like her dad, and you smiled right back as you stepped inside, looking around a bit at the unfamiliar den area. “It’s a bit of a mess, sorry. Cam here has been a whirlwind this morning.”

“Have not!” the 4 year-old protested, plugging Roger’s nose as an act of vengeance. “You’re a whirlywind,” she taunted back, wiggling his nose and making him laugh as he looked up at her.

“Help, don’t let her take my nose!” he cried out in a melodramatic (and nasally) voice, looking at you as Cam giggled in pure glee and pretended to snatch his nose before he sat her back down on the ground and held a hand over his face. “Oh no, don’t give it to Y/N, I’ll never see it again!”

The reverse psychology worked remarkably well, and she ran straight over to you, handing you the invisible nose before running off and shrieking. “Run! Run!” You were absolutely dumbfounded by how flawlessly he functioned as a dad, so you stood there, smiling in awe at him for a second before remembering your mission. Smiling sheepishly, you pretended to put the ‘nose’ in your back pocket, then took off after Cam.

Roger’s laughter echoed through the den as he jogged after you two, and you found Cam peeking out of the closet in the hallway, waiting for you to come in. When you did, she pulled the door shut with a little struggle, and then shushed you quickly as you two crouched in the semi-darkness. “Daddy will never find us in here.”

“Good thinking,” you whispered, watching Roger’s shadows shift by under the door as he called out your names. You feigned handing her the nose, which she accepted with both of her hands. “Where should we hide his nose?”

“Let’s run and hide it in the backyard on the count of three,” she whispered back, listening as Roger’s voice got farther away. “One, two.. three!”

You threw open the door and she ran out immediately, her long, thin blonde hair flying out behind her as she came face to face with Roger, who was hiding just around the corner. He picked her up quickly, tickling her and eliciting shrieks and giggles that made break out into laughter.

“Where’s it at? I’ll tickle you until you tell me!” he laughed, moving her to his side and attacking her tummy with relentless tickles as she squirmed and writhed with laughter.

“Y/N has it!” she gasped out between laughs, and your jaw dropped as you realized she was even more clever than you’d anticipated.

Letting Cam down gently to the floor, Roger watched as she took off again, and you shrugged as he walked over to you and gave you a quick kiss on the forehead. “Good morning, love. Have you had breakfast yet?” His arms snaked around your waist, and he glanced behind him to make sure Cam wasn’t in sight before he stole another kiss, this one on the lips and far more eager than the last.

Pulling away before he got too into it, you smiled fondly and rested your hands on his chest, nodding. “I grabbed something on the way here, had to calm my nerves.”

“Nerves? Over her?” he gently teased, squeezing your waist and making you roll your eyes playfully. “Isn’t she a little spitfire? I’ve been chasing her all morning. Can’t wait for her to pass out in a few hours.”

“She is, she is,” you agreed, kissing him one last time before reaching behind you to take his hands and unwrap them from around you. He pouted a bit, but didn’t have time to complain, for Cam came back around the corner with a new game already in mind.

You spent the rest of the morning entertaining her and all her wild ideas. When she finally got sleepy just after lunch, Roger was more than happy to tuck her in for a nap. He quickly roped you into a cuddle session on the large recliner in his living room as soon as she was out, and you found yourself wrapped up in his toned, slim arms, your legs weaved together as you both talked about your first impressions.

“She’s so smart, like unbelievably clever.” Roger yawned a bit, stretching before wrapping his arms back around you and grinning, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

He looked adorably sleepy, and his eyelids fluttered closed as he mumbled, “Don’t know where in the hell she got that from, because her mother’s no genius.”

“Roger, be nice!” you scolded quietly, Roger snickering to himself as he pulled you closer and buried his face in your neck. “She’s a brainiac, just like her dad.” Roger smiled against your neck, but only made a sleepy noise of contentment in response. Admittedly, you were getting a bit tired too, and cuddly Roger wasn’t helping as you felt yourself being lulled off to sleep quickly. “What if she wakes up while we’re still asleep?” you murmured, closing your eyes as you cuddled closer, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Trust me, she’ll get us up,” he muttered, and you wondered what in the hell that was supposed to mean before you quickly drifted off to sleep, content and warm in Roger’s embrace.

You found out what that meant. You were quickly jolted out of your sleep not even an hour later as Camellia pounced on the both of you, garnering a quick yelp from you and a groan from Roger as you both stirred and blinked sleepily. “Naptime’s over, let’s play house!”

This day quickly became a routine in the months that post-production of Queen’s album neared its close. When work would allow it, you’d find yourself over at his place, spending the day with him and Cam. She quickly grew attached to you, and Roger always told you how she lamented over your absence whenever you couldn’t make it. In fact, she had gotten so used to you being around that she’d accidentally let the M word slip one day, closer to Roger’s time to leave for tour.

“Daddy, no boys allowed!” Cam sassed, trying to shut the door to her bedroom as Roger peeked in at the two of you playing with her dolls. You were cross-legged near her dollhouse, and you raised an eyebrow before sticking your tongue out at Roger playfully. That got a laugh out of him, and he fought back to keep the door open just enough for his head to poke through as he begged Cam to let him in.

“Go away, boys have cooties!” you teased, and Roger shot you a devilish look as you grinned innocently and waved at him.

“Yeah, leave mum and I alone!” Cam added, and that brought you to a full stop as Roger’s face quickly softened. He looked at you with an apologetic look, but you felt a slow smile creep onto your face. If she thought of you as that important of a person in her life, you were more than okay with that. Sure, you weren’t anywhere near ready to be a mom, but the fact that she trusted and respected you enough to call you mom thrilled you.

Relief washed over his face as he realized you weren’t alarmed, but relief quickly turned to pain as he forgot to fight back against Cam’s incessant pushing on the door. His head was briefly squeezed between the door and the doorframe, and you couldn’t help but laugh as Cam giggled evilly at the look on his face.

Giving you a quick glance, he pouted, but there was an almost imperceptible smile hinting at the corner of his lips as he retreated. You watched fondly as he waved at Cam, who was peeking at him through the doorway, and she waved back before quickly shutting the door and starting to walk back over to you.

“Pysch!” Roger yelled not even five seconds later, opening the door and forcing his way into the room as Cam whirled around and immediately jumped on him. You laughed as he pretended to fall to the floor from her attack, letting her quickly take over the wrestling match.

Crawling over to where they were, you watched curiously as Roger whispered something in Cam’s ear. What were they planning, the little shits? You received a trademark devilish grin from the both of them suddenly, and you had no time to react before you were quickly overwhelmed, Cam shouting in glee as she tickled you and Roger held your hands above your head. “Get ‘er, Cammy! Don’t stop till she’s cryin’ for mercy!”

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#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #dad!roger taylor #dad!roger #queen imagine #roger taylor au #i named her cammy bc i love camellia flowers thank u #REQUESTS OPEN

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queen-of-deans-booty · 5 years

Text

She Knows My Name?

Characters: Artist!Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1,327

Warnings: just fluff

Summary: The mysterious stranger in your art class shows himself in unexpected ways.

Squared Filled: Artist!Sam

Author’s Note: This is for @samwinchesterbingo and this is unbeta’d and any and all mistakes are all on me.

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

The only reason you signed up for this art class was because of Sam Winchester. Granted, you didn't know anything about him except for his name, but he was a mystery you would love to unravel. When the class started six weeks ago, your friend dragged you along as a guest since she didn’t know anyone and wanted some moral support from her friend. When you laid eyes on the mysterious stranger, she told you he never talked to anyone. She had a class with him a few semesters ago and recalled the time she spent with him, but it only added to your curiosity.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, shaggy-haired, and sported the brightest hazel eyes you have ever seen. He seemed nice by the way he politely said hi to the teacher every time he came into class, but he didn’t say anything else besides that. Maybe he wanted to keep to himself, or maybe he was overly shy, but you really wanted to know more about him.

Your friend had some complications with family and had to drop out of the class, but you quickly signed up to take her place. It was a good excuse to ogle the stranger without it being too weird. After all, this was an art class where expression was limitless. If you wanted to paint something that just so happened to be behind Sam, then you would.

After a few weeks of being there, you paid attention to his behavior and noticed something a bit off. Not off in a way that was threatening or alarming, but off in a way that seemed he was more aware of what was going on around him than he let on. Whenever you entered the class, you noticed a faint blush on his cheeks even though he wasn’t looking at you. When the painting began, you could see him look at you from the corner of his eye, and if you looked at him, he would look away. When class ended, he always made sure you were out of the classroom before he was. It was little things like this that you noticed which made you think there was something going on behind the scenes.

There was the option of going up to him and talking to him, but he gave off the vibe that he’d rather be alone which is why you never approached him. The only word you ever said to him directly was sorry and that was because you accidentally bumped into him on your first day in class. He seemed flushed and awkward, but you passed it off as him being socially nervous. Nonetheless, the class must go on, and you were eager for this one in particular.

“Alright, class today there will be no set inspirations for your drawings. I just want you to express anything you wish. The only limit is your imagination. I want to see what your minds can come up with on its own. When we’re all done, we will be posting them on the wall to share,” the teacher grinned before letting you all have the rest of the class to draw. Immediately, pencils were up and the only thing that could be heard was the scraping of the lead against the paper. From the corner of your eye, you could see Sam peeking at you every so often, but you didn’t dare look up. Maybe he was finding inspiration for something behind you, and if you look up, it might scare him off. Instead, you focused all your energy on your drawing. Admittingly, this has got to be one of your best works you’ve ever done.

The class went by a lot faster than you hoped, and by the time the bell rang, you had just put the finishing touches on your drawing. After packing up, you went to the board before pinning your drawing to the board. However, when you grabbed an available pin, you stopped short to see yourself staring back at you--well, your profile. The teacher loved anonymity, so there were no signatures or initials on the papers. Someone was drawing you the entire class period and you didn't even know it.

Sam watched from his seat as you admired the drawing of you on the wall. The small smile on your face told him you thought it was beautiful and well done, so he was content with the work he did that day. Without making a big deal out of it, you left the classroom with a grin on your face that you couldn’t seem to wipe off. Someone was paying attention to you close enough to draw you which meant someone had a crush on you. It was cliché and very high school-y, but it made your heart jump with possibility.

The teacher didn’t let you free draw that often, so when the next time came along, you were already itching to draw what you had in your mind since the first free drawing. As soon as the teacher gave the green light, you began working furiously on your canvas with such focus and concentration, you couldn’t even pay attention to Sam who had been watching you the entire time.

Halfway through the class, the only thing that could be heard besides the pencils on paper was the scrape of a chair. Looking up, you watched as Sam left the room with the key to the bathroom, and that is when you noticed it. There were color pencils behind his chair that would make a good addition to your black and white drawing. Getting up, you approached the counter before your eye caught what Sam was drawing. Right there on his canvas was the outline of you, and it clicked in your mind that the drawing you saw of you a few weeks ago was from him which made this all the more better.

Before Sam could come back and catch you looking at his drawing, you snatched the color pencils before returning to your own seat. Your concentration was broken after seeing that outline, and the only thing you could focus on was Sam looking at you every so often so that he could capture your profile perfectly.

At the end of class, everyone pinned their drawings to the board before shuffling out. Just like last time, the black and white drawing of you stood proudly for everyone to see, but now you looked at it with a new light. Sam would only draw you and pay attention to you if he liked you or had a small crush on you. If he wasn’t going to start something, then you were going to do it for him.

Exiting the classroom, you waited by the door until Sam came walking out. You had been so close to the door frame that he bumped into you immediately.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“I really like your drawings. You’re very talented,” you complimented him as you began walking with him.

“O-oh, thank you. How do you know which one was mine? They don’t have signatures on them.”

“I can’t know for sure, but do you do more than profiles? Or are people your main focus?” you asked, hoping this would work.

“I can do animals well. I prefer people though. I like raw emotion.”

“And that is how I know which painting yours is. There was only one person on the board. Me.”

“I--you--well--” he stuttered.

“It’s okay, Sam, I like them. You know, if you wanted to talk to me, you could have come up to me. I don’t bite. If you ever want to grab some coffee after class, I’d really like that,” you grinned before walking away from him.

“S-sounds good,” he stuttered but frowned when he realized he was acting like an idiot. When his brain cleared, he finally heard what you had said. “Wait, she knows my name?”

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roseprints · 4 years

Text

Faded (part one)

Summary: Unexpectedly Yu is faced with an old enemy from his past. despite wanting to leave well enough alone he feels it best to confront him instead of allowing himself to sit with fear and bad memories. Not sure what will happen next, Yu finds an odd friendship forming, as well as a chance to offer forgiveness from himself and others to him. (Set between Metal Fury and Zero-G)

Yu hadn't expected to see him ever again. It had been what felt like forever since he last heard his name or even gave him a thought. Yu wavered slightly from where he was sitting in the store. He'd been waiting just at the entrance of the little shop for Tsubasa, while the ran to pick Madoka up a few things. They'd been on there way to see the mechanic when she requested for them to stop and pick her up a few things. Since she was in the middle of finishing up minor repairs on Eagle and Libra they figured it was the least the could do. Yu hadn't really wanted to stop. It was a nice and bright summer day out and the weather was perfect. He wanted to get his Libra back as soon as possible so he could head over the bey park with Tsubasa and do some battling. Tsubasa had been rather busy lately regarding WBBA, so Yu wanted to have as much time as possible to battle and spend time with the older male. Much to Yu's dismay, Tsubasa said they had to stop and Yu soon found himself basking in the air-conditioned shop as he waited. He had decided to wait rather than walk idly around with Tsubasa. It had been a good idea at the time, but now Yu found himself wishing that he'd gone with Tsubasa.

Shorty after Tsubasa disappeared within the isles of the store Yu found himself chilling on the bench just under the store's large windows. Not long after he'd gotten comfortable he looked out to the blue sky to watch the fluffy white clouds and daydream, however, his eyes had been caught by the slight and eerie sight of a familiar redhead just across the road. Tall and scrawny with shaggy red hair, golden eyes hidden behind those yellow-tipped bangs...there was no mistaking who that guy was. "Reiji…" Yu whispered to himself as he lowered his body to the bench and peeked over the back of it to look out at the redhead through the window.

Outside Reiji waited patiently for his cue to cross the street alongside the other's waiting. The summer sun was beating down on him and dampening forehead and neck as strands annoyingly stuck to his pale skin. He scratched irritably at a mosquito bite that he'd gotten the other night. He hated such hot summers as this one. It was too hot and the bugs bothered him, mostly the ones that bite at him and left marks or itches. Not only that but the heat that he could feel off his thick head of hair didn't really make him feel the best. His refusal to cut it didn't help either. Reiji watched the cars past him with an impatient gleam in his eyes. He was hungry and all he wanted was to get to that store and buy something to snack on as he headed back home. Why was the light taking so long to change? How long had he been waiting? He was sure he was just being impatient and it had only been a moment or so.

Finally, he heard the light change from green to red and the signal to walk popped up. He strolled across the road with a slight hurry in his step, but he disappointed to find that the people in front of him were taking their sweet time. Reiji recoiled at the feeling like one of the people crossing stumbled into him, he shoved them away with an irritable hiss and hurried to cross the street and push the door of the shop open, being greeted by a wave of cool air. He gave a pleasant hum to himself as he began his search for something to eat. He found himself staring at the snack for what felt like forever. There were too many to pick from and so many that he wanted to try.

If it hadn't been for his red locks Yu likely wouldn't have realized who it was so quick. That, and those hair clips sat in his hair still, mimicking a serpent eyes as he made an odd stagger across the crosswalk, his head down and bobbing slightly.

Yu watched with an odd mix of fear and anxiousness bubbling up inside him as Reiji approached the shop. Why was his stomach turning like this? Battle Bladers had been so long ago, he hadn't even heard of or even thought of Reiji since then. So why was it when Reiji walked in and lifted his head to look around and expose his piercing eyes did yu recoil a bit? He shouldn't be scared of Reiji! He'd been confronted by Damian during the World Championships, watched Tsubasa fall apart under the dark power, and even fought alongside everyone else; Reiji should be the last thing to be afraid of! Yu could remember a time when he had nightmares about Reiji and the Dark Nebula, even for a short time after they fell. Despite having the support of his friends and not even saying a word of the subject. He eventually got past it, especially now that he was older and he didn't give thing's like that a thought anymore. Still, though, Yu could still remember the feeling he'd felt when he'd thought Reiji was going to smash his Libra to pieces. Even though he didn't see Libra suffer as much as Kenta or even Hyoma's beys had, he very much remembered running away after distracting Reiji and Doji with his special move. He was glad that he'd escaped, he would've been a fool not to getaway. Reiji hadn't got the full chance to hurt Yu in the way that he wanted to, but it only made Yu wonder if Reiji saw him if he'd want to finish what he didn't get a chance to do back then. Would Reiji want a rematch? Would he want to finish what he started?

Still, when Reiji walked past, paying little to no mind to him and heading for one of the isles, Yu felt his heart jump and a flood of memories hit him. Memories of his time with Doji and the Dark Nebula hit him hard. A flood of images of all the damage Reiji caused and the flashes of Libra slowly chipping and breaking stuck in his mind. That battle with Reiji had been the first time Yu could remember feeling truly weak and defenseless. Yu moved to sit back on the bench. He was older now, petty fears like this shouldn't bother him anymore. But Yu was more frightened now than he was back then, as it wasn't necessarily the sight of Reiji that scared him, but the idea of him.

Yu scolded himself for having such feelings. You're older and stronger now Yu! Reiji couldn't even hurt you if he wanted to! The sudden thought of how strong Reiji may have gotten since their Dark Nebula days crossed his mind. Come to think of it, Yu hadn't really heard anything about Reiji since then. No news of an odd snake boy tearing people's beys to pieces around the city. What if he left the city to go embark on some twisted journey of tormenting others and growing strong in the process!? Despite being older, Yu's mind still raced with every possible scenario.

The idea that someone had really once been able to pin him down in a battle and almost defeat him like that. Of course, Yu had lost before and times after Battle Bladers, but not in a way like that. He'd been forced to watch Reiji begin to hurt his Libra. He'd been pushed to call Ryuga for help and forced to see him turn his back without a care for him or Libra. Watching Ryuga leave and receiving nothing but the defenselessness that came with losing to Reiji.

Yu got up next without much of a thought of what he was doing. Looking over to Reiji he found him paying at the front counter. He wasn't going to let himself sit there and be afraid, he was going to confront this right now! He walked up, lingering behind Reiji for a moment as the redhead appeared to be counting his change. The sound of the change hitting the counter alerted Yu and when he looked over he saw that Reiji appeared to be a dollar and some change short and again without much thinking Yu dug into his pocket and slide a dollar and seventy-two cents over to the cashier. "That covers it right?" Yu asked, receiving confirmation from the older man.

When Yu looked back to Reiji the words he'd planned to say immediately left his mind and his mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out. Reiji's sharp golden gaze had turned down to Yu and all the younger could feel were those unwanted feelings of fear and bad memories rising within him again.

#Metal Fight Beyblade #beyblade metal masters #beyblade metal fury #beyblade #beyblade metal saga #beyblade zero g #yu tendo #reiji mizuchi #kenta yumiya #ginga hagane #madoka amano #tsubasa otori

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stillness-in-green · 5 years

Text

Salt-Sweet Curse

A wild departure from my usual fandom interests, but what can I say - the villain drama in My Hero Academia is really doing it for me right now. For MerMay, and also for @codenamesazanka, whose post about this really inspired me, have some Shigaraki and Toga mermaid AU.

Toga Himiko had a new target, and he wasn’t exactly her usual type. He walked around town slouched and hidden away in a black hoodie, just radiating ‘societal outcast,’ while she preferred people with more cheer. Killing someone who’d just die with an attitude like, “Yeah, it figures,” would be the absolute worst! Also, he smelled bad. Like, really bad. But she only knew that because she’d passed him by close enough to see the other thing, the one that caught her interest—his eyes were red. Really, true ruby red, and that was enough to have her tailing him for hours, because she wanted to know if his eyes really did match the color of blood as closely as she thought they would.

He was a wily one, though! He must’ve clued in that he was being followed, because his shoulders had gone tight and hunched, and he kept looking over his shoulder, those gorgeous eyes scanning the crowd. She was a wily one, too, though, and his eyes hadn’t landed on her yet (though she wouldn’t hate it if they did—patience, Himiko-chan, patience).

She saw her chance when thunder rumbled through the open air, and the crowds of people paused and then resumed walking, all a two-step faster. The boy—older than her, but still not quite a man, she didn’t think—stopped at the mouth of an alley and looked up at the clouds. They were quite the picture, an impressionistic panorama in shades and strokes of grey, layers on layers. The darkest ones were piling in from the west, though, a haze of rain already visible on the horizon. She could see the consternation on the boy’s face, frustration visible even from her safe distance. He scratched at his neck and turned his head down, pulling his hoodie tighter and looking around. Didn’t you bring an umbrella today, silly thing? Toga giggled at the thought, her own umbrella pink and playful, still unopened over her shoulder.

Eventually, the boy headed for the bridge. How convenient! When he didn’t go up over the top, but rather down towards the riverbank, she even wondered if it was a call-out. Well, that suited her fine. He ducked up between the pylons and out of sight and she decided to give him a few minutes, watching the school kids and stray fishermen along the bank pack up and trail off towards home as the rain came in.

Once the embankment was clear, she gave her umbrella a spin, sluicing water in every direction, then closed it and tossed it to the ground. Right away, the rain began to soak through her hair and clothes, and she stifled a laugh as she ran down the slope towards the cover of the bridge.

In the dim and damp, she felt the weight of someone’s eyes—someone’s gorgeous red eyes—but the boy wasn’t immediately visible and she didn’t search for him. Instead, she made a show of examining herself with a disgruntled expression before wringing out her sleeves and kicking loose water off of her shoes. She shook her head and rubbed her ears, dislodging a bit of trickling wet, gave the pouring rain a half-hearted glare, and finally straightened her shoulders to start looking around.

Discarded bits of paper and cigarette butts littered the lee beneath the bridge, roadwork signs for the thoroughfare overhead stacked in haphazard piles in amongst the pylons. Graffiti slogans marked the cement walls on the opposite side of the river. The rain sounded a steady drumming, mixing in with the lapping of the river, and the air whispered cool and dark on her cheeks.

She turned, gaze scanning up the near walls, and saw him again at last, a black lump tucked up in the highest recesses of the gloom.

“Oh!” She raised a hand to her mouth in surprise, then her voice in greeting. “Hello, up there! I’m sorry; I didn’t realize anyone else was here!”

He didn’t move, features indistinguishable in the shadows.

“It looks like the rain’s gonna keep going for a while,” she called, and started up in his direction—no sense giving him a chance to turn her down. “Do you mind if I come up?”

If he responded, he didn’t do it loud enough to make himself heard over the rain, so she clambered up towards the upper recesses where the cement embankment met the underside of the bridge. The boy, she saw as she neared him, sat curled up with a ragged-looking backpack pulled up over his head, his arms wrapped around his knees, taking up as little space as possible.

Are you scared? she thought, and bit the inside of her lip, fighting back her grin.

“I said no,” he growled when she stopped a few feet away from him. His voice was hoarse, a groan like buckling metal.

“Oh—sorry, I couldn’t hear anything over all that.” She waved blithely at the downpour and gave him an apologetic smile, dipping her head in contrition. A drop of water squeezed out of a chink in the concrete above her, plopping down atop her head, which she ducked down further, twisting it to look up at him sideways. “Is it dry up there? I just need somewhere to wait until it dies down a bit.”

He edged away from her minutely as she closed the distance and plopped herself down beside him with no further fanfare. Up close, the stink hit her again—so profound it passed out of the realm of bad and into some farther territory of personalized, body odor so layered that she couldn’t even pick out the usual things like “sweat” or “blood” or “piss” or “beer.” He just smelled like himself—something sour and penetrating and old. She itched to ask him about it, but a schoolgirl like herself should be polite, so instead she rummaged in her pockets, fingers skimming over her switchblade to land on her cellphone.

She pulled it out and squinted at it, swiping the lockscreen away and pulling down the status bar to look at—and sigh at—the moisture warning. “Darn… Cellphone’s wet, too. Do you have one I could use to call home? I’m afraid to use mine when it’s wet like this…”

“No.” He clipped the word out like a snip of scissors. Her sidelong glance found a tight frown on his face—he was so thin, protruding cheekbones and a jawline so sharp it was a wonder it hadn’t broken his skin, and his hair was the color of an old man’s, gray-white, while still having a shaggy thickness that couldn’t be all matted grime. Two old, small scars marked his face, short cuts that lay over his right eye and the left side of his cracked, dry lips. Her heart skipped a beat—his eyes were just as red as she remembered.

Patience, Himiko-chan! Oh, but you’re making it so hard…! She racked her brain for the right thing to say—he was obviously some kind of runaway, maybe from home, maybe from the police, so the usual ‘So what do you do for a living?’s and ‘So where do you go to school?’s wouldn’t work.

“So…” She busied herself fiddling with the edge of her sweater. “How long do you think the rain’s gonna last? I can’t believe I forgot an umbrella today…”

“Too damn long,” the boy groused, eyes flicking out to the rain, and back to her again.

“Yeah.” She huffed a short laugh. “I thought maybe I could beat it home, but…

“So… Do you live around here?” she went on when he didn’t take the bait to ask where she lived or volunteer a story of his own. Such a puzzlebox! She poked at her cellphone screen, adjusting the lighting so she could better see the moving outlines of their reflections, the boy’s and hers.

“I live around,” he answered, voice flat, and oh, there was only so much stonewalling a girl could take!

“It’s just that,” she said hurriedly, stumbling a bit on the words. “Your eyes are so pretty.” He stiffened beside her—at the compliment? The forwardness? “I’ve never seen anything like them. And your hair’s white, too—are you albino? Is that too rude?”

He’d gone silent, an emotional shift Toga felt like a barometric drop, and was drawing back from her—dangerous, it felt dangerous, how exciting!

The next few seconds happened very fast.

“Can I take a picture? Smile!” She held up the phone in front of them, her thumb tapping over the screen to pull up the camera app. She grinned at the rictus of dismay and the flare of anger in his eyes; he uncurled from his hunch to reach over, faster than she’d been expecting, to grab at her wrist.

Her other hand, unnoticed, slipped down to her pocket again and closed on a well-worn lacquer handle.

“I don’t want to be in your fucking selfie, you—!”

His words cut off, his hand—chilly, so cold and it wasn’t even autumn yet—tightening reflexively as his eyes widened.

She giggled and hit the snapshot button on the phone, capturing his dumbstruck expression as he looked down at the knife between his ribs.

“What”—he wheezed, the breath rattling in his lungs—“the fuck.”

Toga pealed with laughter and pushed herself away from the swipe of his other hand. She left the knife in him and he didn’t try to get up, blood already soaking a darker circle through his hoodie.

“You know this doesn’t work, right?” he hissed, curling up around the wound.

“What, stabbing?” she drawled, cupping her cheeks with her hands. What a delightfully strange boy she’d found. “Stabbing works on everyone, silly.”

“…So you’re just a random psycho? Just my luck,” he mumbled, glaring up at her—those eyes, those eyes, she just had to know!

“Your eyes really are so, so pretty!” she cooed, ducking back in towards him, pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket. “How’d you ever get eyes like that? Your mother? Your father?”

He tried to bat her away, but with all the blood he was losing, there was no strength in his arms, at least not enough to stop her from pressing the cloth to his wound.

“What the hell,” he whispered, and coughed wetly. This close, she could smell blood mixed in with rainwater. “Gonna patch me up now?”

“You’re so snide even when you’re bleeding out,” Toga giggled. “That’s so unique. What’s your name?”

He gave her a disbelieving look and coughed again, the force of it rattling his thin frame. She pouted at his lack of response, wondering briefly if he had an ID she’d find when all was said, done and drank, but the wet heat at her fingertips wrested the thought away from her. Her breath hitched in excitement and she pulled her handkerchief away, the cloth now stained a dark, dark red, brighter around the edges.

She brought it up to her face, breathing in the smell—blood, yes, and something salty and stale, maybe some of his sweat, or a musk of fear that didn’t show on his face but couldn’t lie through physiology. She opened her mouth, extending the tip of her tongue, and—

He tackled her, out of nowhere, and there was his strength, sudden and desperate, like the dying man he’d been all along but was only just now thinking to act like. His hands wrapped around her wrists like claws, like wire cables, his breathing gone deep and guttural, and his eyes, when she looked up to meet them, shone bright and desperate and furious.

“No,” he snarled, pinning her arms to the grass. She laughed, delighted.

“Yes!” she cheered in reply and raised one foot to kick them into a roll down the hill. They tumbled together, and in the tangle of his body and the ground, she managed to get a hand on her knife and wrench it loose. He cried out, short and sharp, and then they spun to a stop at the edge of the lee, the raindrops hard and heavy where they gathered, ran and fell. He cursed and jerked away from her, scrabbling backwards towards shelter, and she was left with the knife, which wouldn’t have long before the rain washed it clean.

She wasted no more time, bringing the blade to her mouth and carefully, exquisitely carefully, wrapping her lips and tongue around the metal. Oh. Ohhhh!

The usual taste of iron hit her mouth first, laving over her tongue like juice from a burst peach, but there was more there, more, a salt like sweat, like brine, like nothing she'd ever tasted in blood—that smell from before, was that this saltiness, his blood and not his sweat at all?

I'm going to keep you, she thought, delirious, nicking her own tongue in her haste to suck down more of his flavor and moaning at the taste of his blood of mingling with her own, brackish copper and red iron. I'm going to drag you off somewhere and keep you, I can't get enough of this, oh, why’d I go for the ribs first, oh please don't die from that!

The sound of cloth ripping brought her back to herself, and she found a dull and distant pain waiting for her, swelling in her ankles and her feet. She looked down at herself hazily—Did I twist something going downhill? That would suck!—and blinked, slow and owlish, at the sight at her shoes, bloated like the store had overstuffed them with paper.

And then the pain grew sharper, knifing up through her legs. She gasped in shock, dropping her knife and curling up on herself, patting at her knees, hunting for broken bones, red cuts, anything at all to explain why her ankles felt like they were breaking, feet twisting in on themselves like wilting flower petals.

The boy laughed, low and harsh, and she looked up at him, eyes wide. He stared back from under the lip of the bridge, ruby eyes bright and hateful, and an enormous fish tail, dull silver and speckled with red scales, lashed in the flensed remains of his jeans.

“Congratulations. Now you’re cursed just like me.”

And then the red hurt in her legs rose in a song like the swing of a knife, and she had no ear for any other melody.

When the pain finally receded, she looked up to find the boy giving her a long, narrow stare. He looked from her and her new tail—her new tail, her new tail—up to the empty road atop the embankment, and came to some unspoken decision.

“We can’t fix this here,” he told her bluntly. “Come on.” And then he slipped off his backpack, his hoodie and the unspeakably stained shirt beneath it, cramming them both inside the backpack. Reshouldering it, he began dragging himself down to the riverbank. His fins flipped and flopped as he shifted the bulk of his tail one heave after another, his gaze fixed on the dancing surface of the water. A trail of blood smeared the grass behind him, thinning and running in the pouring rain that slicked his hair to his skull and almost, almost drowned out the pained hiss of his breathing.

So I guess stabbing really doesn’t work?

She didn’t hesitate. The pain still lingered in her new extremity, but that was nothing, really—not compared to the ruby-eyed boy who’d just changed her in a way more profound than any of her previous crushes, and whose surface she’d clearly only just scratched, judging by his sudden turn-around from actively rebuffing her to inviting her to follow him. And there was all that weird talk about her “just” being a random psycho—as opposed to what? So who knew how many more delicious secrets he could be keeping?

It wasn’t like she was going to get up and walk somewhere else, anyway.

She picked up her knife, folded it back into its casing, and tucked it carefully into her bra, where it pressed a reassuring two inches of cold solidity against the curve of her flesh. She looked thoughtfully at the mess where her lower half was just a minute ago—burst shoes (no wonder it’d hurt so much) and just shreds of her knee-socks, but her skirt had just rucked itself up about her waist and was maybe salvageable. She unfastened it and tried to slide it down, flexing the curve of her tail—bright yellow with two curving arcs of red like blood spray, and very beautiful, for all that he called it a curse—but the tail was so long, much longer than her arms, and she couldn’t quite sit upright anymore, and—

A splash sounded from the river, nearly swallowed up by the rain, and then the boy barked at her, “I said come on!”

Toga sighed and followed. Probably this’d be easier in the water.

It took her longer than she’d have liked to get there, and clearly longer than the boy liked, from the way his eyes kept darting between her and the embankment and periodically up to the bridge. She was excited, and her arms weren’t weak, but the tail was heavy and unfamiliar. When she finally reached the edge, the boy planted one hand against the bank and reached out of the water to wrap his other hand firmly around the base of her tail. Unceremoniously, he dragged her in.

She yelped a laugh, startled but unfazed by the cold, and let herself sink. She was a mermaid now, and she’d seen enough cartoons to know how that worked. Down here she’d be able to get her skirt off better, and maybe look at the boy’s wound again, taste it in the water of the canal, see how blood smelled when she breathed in through—

She didn’t have gills. She realized that as her lungs expanded, foolhardy and confident for their very first mermaid breath, bringing water surging up her nose and down her windpipe, heavy and cold and tasting like lead.

She thrashed in the water, arms flailing—the boy was nowhere in her reach, but she smacked an arm against the bank and clawed at it, dragging herself halfway out of the water again, choking, gagging, instinctive tears of panic blurring her vision. The rain went on drumming down against her shoulders, leaving her sweater a sopping wet weight against her back, and the water she heaved up on the shore tasted, at last, a little, like a curse.

By the time they stopped for the day, a long and exhausting swim later, the boy’s wound had mostly closed, a red welt between two of his ribs. She had no clue how long it had taken—all her attention had been used up just figuring out how to swim and steer with one huge new muscle in place of her legs while also getting her breathing down such that she just came up for air when she needed it.

“It’s not here to turn your life into a sparkly magic fairy tale,” the boy told her when she complained about the learning curve. “It’s a curse.”

“How do we fix it?” she asked, curled up on the low, silty shore next to him. His backpack and her skirt and sweater hung over a tree root curling out from the bank and down to the water—not really out of the water to dry, just enough so they didn’t float away. Above, the clouds had started to clear off, and the sunset turned all those chiaroscuro grays into scarlet and gold and deep iris-purple.

“Hell if I know,” he said, brisk and derisive. He was even thinner without the hoodie, all sharp edges and dark hollows, like a pencil sketch. “If you didn’t want to get caught up in it, you shouldn’t have sucked my blood off your knife, you freak.”

“Your blood was delicious; it was totally worth it.” She grinned at his expression and rolled onto her back, stretching and swishing her tail back and forth in the shallow depths. “But I was talking about what you meant before. Back in town, you said ‘We can’t fix this here.’ So where do we fix it?”

“…The sea,” he allowed with a grunt after a few sullen beats. “You have to submerge in the sea.”

“And what triggered it to begin with?” she asked, curious.

“The rain,” he answerd, rolling his eyes. “But any water’ll do it, when you’re on land.”

“Wait, but what about when I need a drink?”

“Get used to booze.”

“I’m underage,” she pointed out gamely, though something nagged at the back of her mind.

The boy snorted, sharp and more bitterly sarcastic than she’d ever seen on a human face—insomuch as you could really call him human. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to get over that pretty quick, too.”

“What does that—wait, any water—is that why you smell so bad?” The words came out in a delighted shriek as she rolled onto her front, propping herself up on her elbows. “Because you can’t bathe?”

He scowled at her, but she was beginning to think that was just his default expression, disdain clear in the angle of his chin and the little scrunch of his nose.

“It is, isn’t it?” She dissolved into laughter, shoulders shaking. “Do you even try, like, body spray or baby powder or something? Maybe just wiping the grime off sometimes? Changing clothes once a week?”

“Yeah, see how well that works around the six month mark,” he sneered. “Or the six year mark.”

Her eyes went round as she took in the enormity of the thought—oh, this was going to take some work. But then, maybe she could just try the youkai life sometimes, living in deep rivers and picking off cute boys from the countryside—she’d never even met a cute countryside boy, only seen them on TV. That could be fun.

“Hey, what’s your name?” she asked, focusing back in on her companion. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to start calling you Stinky, just so you know.”

He snorted again, eyeing her sidelong, but after a moment—and oh, she couldn’t wait until she’d dug into him deep enough to figure out what he was thinking when his eyes went all hard and calculating like that—answered her with, “Shigaraki.”

“I’m Toga Himiko,” she told him with a broad smile. “Let’s be friends from now on.”

#shigaraki tomura #toga himiko #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mermay #my writing #ficcing #bnha #salt-sweet curse

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shadowynnn · 5 years

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fire and ice |part three|

far cry 5

fire and ice synopsis: After a drunk driver kills both of your parents in an accident when you were sixteen, you eagerly leave Hope County for college a few years later to escape the demons that haunt you there. After six years away, a strange dream prompts you to return home where you find things not quite how you left them. With a mysterious, and possibly dangerous, cult on the rise, you attempt to juggle finally coming to peace with your parents’ deaths and the cult’s increasing interest in you. (Begins a few months before the events in the game take place.)

part two synopsis: Your first encounter with Jacob Seed.

pairing: Jacob Seed, Joseph Seed, John Seed x Reader (though mainly Jacob Seed x Reader in this part)

words: 1731

You were utterly exhausted from last night’s party at the Spread Eagle Bar. While you had been ecstatic to see and catch up with everyone again, it had left you drained and yearning for time alone.

You knew that the mature and responsible thing to do was start the long process of fixing up your parent’s old cabin and moving in your belongings before you started up your job at St. Francis the following week and really lost all willpower to do just that, but you had always been a procrastinator and knew that the work could stand to wait another day. So instead of getting to work at settling back into Hope County, you had opted for a nice, long hike. It had been too long, after all, and you were eager to spend the day wandering through the Whitetails.

You had planned on allowing yourself to sleep in, letting your body have one good night of sleep before you got to work on the cabin and then eventually began your shifts at the hospital, but you awoke early all the same, breathless and heart racing from the dream you had been having. What the dream had been, however, you couldn’t seem to hold onto as time slowly ticked by. The more you tried to remember, the hazier everything became.

Figuring it was better to leave it forgotten with the way it left you shaky and anxious, you put the dream to rest and climbed out of bed. There was no way you would be able to get back to sleep now, so you decided you might as well begin the day bright and early.

It took you longer than normal to get ready as your old bedroom in your uncle’s house was crammed with boxes and you hadn’t done a very thorough job of organizing things when you had packed everything up. After a few minutes of haphazardly rummaging through the boxes, you pulled an army green utility jacket on over your t-shirt and shorts before slipping on a pair of your old hiking boots. You then quickly tugged your tangled curls into a messy ponytail before pulling on your backpack guitar case and strapping your trusted Glock into the holster on your waist-you could never be too safe hiking by yourself in the valley-and were out the door just as the sun was peeking its way over the horizon.

You would be lying if you said the case didn’t grow uncomfortable and cumbersome to carry throughout the day, but finding some quiet, isolated place up in the mountains and playing to your heart’s content was one of your favorite things to do. It calmed you; kept you grounded when nothing else could and your fingers were just itching to play.

You didn’t have a destination in mind, but rather, let your feet take you away when you arrived at the start of some of the trails. It was a beautiful day, the morning sky dusted with just a few wispy clouds and the temperature just cool enough to make you appreciate bringing a jacket for the first few hours. Fall was fast approaching, but the afternoons were still pleasantly warm.

You softly hummed along as the hours passed by, your feet traveling up and down the worn trails. You had yet to see another soul, just a few deer and other harmless wildlife scattered among the trees.

Eventually, your legs began to grow tired and you could feel your breath starting to catch. Looking at your watch, you saw it was nearly noon and decided now was probably a good time to sit down to rest, eat, and perhaps play for a little bit.

You walked just a bit longer as you looked for an appropriate place to stop, finally finding an open place to your left which opened up to part of the valley below. After settling down on one of the larger rocks, you ate the meal you had packed for yourself before getting your guitar and beginning to tune it.

Ever since you were born, you had had a knack for all things musical. You were quick to pick up instruments and had an ear for being able to play things you heard. You could read music, your mother had taught you at a young age, but you often didn’t need the sheets. You found it easier and more enjoyable to just hash out the notes yourself and see where they took you.

Your fingers strummed idly across the strings, playing a few chords of this and that as you tried to find something which resonated with you at the moment. After a few minutes of indecisiveness, you found yourself strumming the beginning chords to an Axel Flovent song, your voice softly humming along before they turned to form the actual words.

“Your dreams are incredibly loud tonight; you're creating forest fires. You can't even change your sight; it's stuck in you like --”

You stopped abruptly when you heard rustling behind you. Startled, your guitar dropped from your hands which immediately moved to hover over the Glock at your waist while you spun around to see what had made the sound.

You didn’t know quite what you were expecting, some sort of animal most likely, so you were shocked to see it was a man standing a few yards back, staring intently at you.

“Holy shit, man!” You breathed out when you felt your heart begin to slow once again. “Don’t you know better than to sneak up on someone out here?”

Your common sense told you to keep your guard up, but you were just so relieved it was just another person and not a wolf, mountain lion, or god forbid, a bear, that you found it hard to still be wary of him. With a dead whitetail strapped around his shoulders, you reckoned he was just a hunter who had wandered by when he heard your singing.

“I’m sorry, that was kind of rude of me.” You blushed when you saw his eyes glance at the hand still hovering over your gun. You quickly dropped it against your better judgment as you began to ramble from your still buzzing nerves. “It’s just, you scared me, is all...Which I guess, now that I think about it, there probably wasn’t a very good way to announce yourself without scaring the shit out of me, so I guess we’re just...equally...to...blame...” Your words trailed off at the end as you realized you had begun to ramble. You felt another light blush creep up your cheeks at your actions. The man probably thought you were an idiot.

Deciding it was better to keep your mouth shut and not embarrass yourself any further, you took a few seconds to truly take him in. He was older than you, you thought by at least fifteen years, though it was a bit hard to be sure. His hair, a few shades lighter than your own was cut short on the side but kept longer on the top and the lower half of his face was covered in a shaggy beard just as red as the rest of his hair. His jacket appeared to be military and you could just make out the glint of dog tags around his neck confirming your suspicions. You weren’t familiar enough with the military, however, to figure out what branch he had served in.

You were unnerved by the silence which followed your previous ramblings. He had yet to say a word since you had acknowledged his presence behind you. This silence along with the intensity of his scrutiny over you caused you to shift uncomfortably in your seat.

The time it took him to reply, though only a few seconds, seemed much longer due to the way he kept looking at you. It wasn’t in a lustful manner, but rather a careful, almost wary one. Nonetheless, it made you uncomfortable and you were about to open your mouth to break the silence. With what, you had no idea, but any rambling on your part seemed better than this stifling silence.

“Don’t you know it’s not smart for you to be out here by yourself?”

Before you could break the silence yourself, he finally spoke, his words a mocking reference to one of your earlier statements.

Despite the blush his words brought to your cheeks, you narrowed your eyes at the statement. “Puh-lease, I’m just as safe out here as you are. I could shoot you square between your eyes if I wanted to.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at his obvious condescension from your appearance. Sure, you probably didn’t look like it, but you had been taught how to shoot a gun since you were ten and you had become a pretty straight shot after the years. “You’re just lucky I’m not a trigger happy kind of gal.” He was also lucky that it had been a few years since you had practiced, though he didn’t need to know that.

The man smirked at your statement, resituating the deer hanging off his shoulders as he gave you another one over. He took another bout of silence as his eyes took you in once more, almost as if he was seeing you in another light.

“Well aren’t you a little spitfire.”

“Wow, real original.” You narrowed your eyes at him again. “It’s not like I’ve never heard that one before.”

“Not surprised,” he snorted.

“Don’t you have something better to do than annoy girls just trying to mind their own damn business?” You retorted, before picking up your fallen guitar and checking for any damage. It wasn’t so much the words which bothered you, you could go back and forth all day with talk like this. You just really didn’t like the way he kept looking at you, with a gaze and intent virtually impossible to read.

“You’re right.” His head tilted to the side, taking one last long look at you before beginning to walk down the trail, seemingly losing complete interest in you. “See you around, Spitfire.” You heard him shoot back at you before he disappeared around a clump of trees and out of sight.

You turned back to your guitar, brushing off the dirt still clinging to it and trying, yet failing to hold back the blush creeping up your face.

#Far Cry 5 #far cry 5 imagine #reader #romance #john seed #jacob seed #joseph seed #imagine #au

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1dffexchange · 5 years

Text

Again and Again

To: Liv @midnightcities

From: Christa @wild3flow3r

Summary: Bowie Mason was trained her entire life to be a classical violinist. So how she found herself featured on Harry Styles upcoming rock album? She’s got no clue. How she found herself in his bed? Even more of a mystery.

I-Prologue

Bowie Mason has been playing the violin since the prime age of three. Her own mother played the instrument, as well as her mother before her, and her grandmother’s mother, and so on and so forth for as far back as they can trace their family tree. “It’s a tradition,” Bowie’s mother told her once when Bowie started complaining after a two hour practice session at the age of six, “and the women in our family do not break traditions.”

Bowie’s mother, Gwendolyn, kept her daughter locked up tight during the after hours of school. Homework first, then dinner, and then violin practice. Ages six to nine, two hours of practice; ages ten to thirteen, four hours of practice; ages fourteen to seventeen, five hours of practice. And then at the age of eighteen, just a month after Bowie graduated high school, she left her mother's house and she never looked back. Sure, she still talks to her mother from time to time, but Bowie hasn’t set foot in her small town in almost five years.

Bowie lived with her grandparents, her father's parents, in New York City for the first two years after she left her mother's house. Her father died when she was almost two years old, and her mother still let her spend summers with his parents. And they absolutely adored Bowie. They would tell her stories all the time about her father, ever since she could remember, and about how her parents had fallen in love. Her mother typically refused to speak of her father, except as a special birthday treat to Bowie on that one day a year, so Bowie had to soak it all up from her grandparents. But honestly, she wasn’t sure she believed their story about her parents.

You see, her grandparents tried to tell her a story about her father being an ameature up and coming rockstar, and her mother, a violinist (true) who worked nights in the club her father would play in (probably not true for two reasons, One: Her mother would never work in a club, and Two: There’s no proof anywhere that her father was a rock musician. Her mother would never marry a rock musician).

When Bowie first moved away from her mother, she rejected the violin immediately. She locked hers away in a closet in her grandparents house and forced herself not to even think about it for the first six months she lived there. But as time moved on, and Bowie had no such luck finding a job because the only skills she had came along with the violin, she finally decided to unlock the case.

At first she would take her violin and play it in Central Park, or Washington Square Park, or at any park really. Sometimes she could make up to one hundred dollars a day, other times only five dollars. Bowie started learning music she hadn’t been allowed to before. She explored past her classical training and started adding some newer pop music to her repertoire, and sometimes she would mix the two together for a fun beat.

She was approached by a woman one day, almost a year and a half after she moved in with her grandparents, and was given a business card. That business card would change Bowie’s life.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

II-November, 2018

Bowie walks her way through the studio, her violin case in hand. She moved to Los Angeles three years ago almost immediately after she was discovered by her manager. That meeting changed her life. She went from living in her grandparents spare bedroom to owning her own luxurious apartment and playing her violin as backtracks for famous musicians and on occasion for a live television appearance.

Bowie’s manager, Melissa, arranged an appointment for her to record a piece of a new song for this guy named Harry Styles. Growing up, Bowie wasn’t aware too much of any celebrities that weren’t Mozart or Bach, but over the last few years of getting up to speed she knew Harry Styles was quite a big deal. Apparently Harry had asked for her specifically to be the one playing the violin on his album, and that was an even bigger deal.

“He said he’s trying to figure out a new groove for his next album,” Melissa tells Bowie as they look for the assigned room where they were supposed to meet with Harry. “He’s recorded some songs and feels like somethings missing. He thinks it might be a violin backtrack, and if it is and you wow him on the spot, which of course you will because you wow everyone on the spot, then you’ll be immediately hired.”

“And what happens if I’m hired?” The two of them stop outside of a closed door. Harry Styles was apparently only a few feet away from her, and she couldn’t remember the name of the band he was in before going solo.

“They’ll present us with a contract, and all of the details should be in there. I’ll go over it with you before you sign anything. Ready?”

With a nod of her head, Melissa opens up the door and announces their arrival. There’s about half a dozen other people in the room. At the sight of the two women, they all instantly stand to greet them. Bowie recognizes a few of them from previous times she’s worked with other artists, but most of these people are new to her.

“Bowie, this is Harry Styles.” Melissa pushes Bowie in front of her towards a tall male with shaggy brown hair.

“Nice to meet you,” he greets her with an automated smile on his lips and his hand out towards her to shake.

“Likewise,” she responds while gripping onto his hand.

“I’ve heard your work before. It’s just… unbelievable. The sounds you get that instrument to make is something very few people can accomplish.”

Bowie feels her cheeks heat up just the slightest. She was never one to accept compliments graciously, always feeling slightly embarrassed whenever she received one. “Thank you. Really, that’s very kind of you to say.”

“Shall we take a listen to what you’ve prepared?” Someone a few feet away from then then Bowie does not know asks.

Bowie nods and sets her case down on an empty table. She opens it up, taking her violin out and tuning it first, and then taking out the bow and putting a sufficient amount of rosin on the hairs of it. She’s directed into a smaller room with a microphone set up for her to play into. Everyone else watched her from the other side of the glass wall that was in the room, spotting Melissa nodding to her confidently and Harry staring at her with eager eyes.

Bowie takes a deep breath before shutting her eyes and starts playing the piece she’s prepared for the day. By the end of the short piece, Bowie spots Harry’s manager handing over some papers to Melissa. She even saw Harry mouth the words to someone next to him that she was exactly what they were looking for.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

III-January, 2019

Bowie’s contract with Harry Styles stated that they would begin recording his new album starting in January 2019. When it was time for Harry to start his next tour to perform these new songs, Bowie was to accompany him for the entirety of it. Harry was one of those musicians that wanted all of the instruments on his tracks to be live for the concerts rather than have some backtrack play throughout the stadium.

To say Bowie was nervous about the tour was a huge understatement. No other artist she’s worked with has ever invited her on tour with them, but Harry wanted things as authentic as possible. But first they had to make the album, so a few weeks after New Years, Bowie was shipped off to Italy to a villa that Harry and his team had rented out for the next few months.

Stepping off the airplane, Bowie was shocked when she spotted Harry Styles waiting there to pick her up. He stood up straight, but completely relaxed, and smiled over to her as she neared him. He couldn’t help but to chuckle at the shocked look on her face.

“Surprised to see me?”

Bowie’s eyes quickly glance around the room for prying eyes, but nobody was giving Harry a second look. “Aren’t you scared someone will notice you?”

Harry smiles so wide that the sides of his eyes crinkle. “This is a very small town here. The population barely reaches five hundred, and most of the people here tend to mind their own business. I’ve never gotten spotten here before.”

Bowie relaxes and barely even notices when Harry takes her suitcase and her violin case from her hands. “Well, hello then.”

Harry bites his bottom lip to hold back another chuckle. “Hello Bowie. I hope your flight went well.”

“As well as a flight can go in a terrifying small plane.” Bowie nods along and quickly follows Harry as he walks towards the exit. “Why are you picking me up anyways? Don’t you have people to do that for you?”

Harry stops in front of a small blue car that was obviously rented for their stay here. He opens the trunk and settles her luggage in carefully before shutting it back closed. He then goes to open her door for her.

“I’ve always felt like I missed my true calling as a cab driver, so I jump to every practicing opportunity that I can get. How have I been doing so far?”

Bowie rolls her eyes good naturedly before sitting down in the passenger seat. “I’d give you a pretty decent tip at the end of the ride.”

Harry shuts her door and jogs over to the drivers side before getting in and starting the car. “It was a slow day today, and I was itching to get outside. Plus, I feel like if we’ll be working closely together for the next few months then we should get to know one another.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Bowie says in response.

“I understand you must be exhausted from the trip, so I won’t bother you too much when we get back to the villa. Only for a few minutes to give you a tour, but then tomorrow we can properly get to know one another. There’s also a few tracks that might be ready for you to try.”

The drive took only ten minutes to get from the small airport to the huge villa Bowie would be staying at for the next month or so. The place seemed almost out of a fairy tale that Bowie would secretly read when her mother wasn’t home. It was shaped like a castle, but a smaller version. Harry had told her that there was a total of thirty-four bedrooms in the house, but only a little over half would be used by people who were working on the album with them. The house was set up on top of a hill with a seashore about a hundred feet downhill. Harry carefully navigated the car up the twisty steep hill to get to the house’s parking garage.

“We’ll probably be here well until March, maybe even April. Of course, you’re allowed to leave any time you’d like for family events and such, but you’ll have to come back if we need you for a track.” Harry explains as the two of them get out of the car. Harry resumes holding her bags and gives her a short tour of the house.

“It’s very pretty here,” Bowie sighs as she scans over the entire place. It looked every bit like a castle on the inside as it did on the outside.

“I’m glad you like it,” Harry responds before biting down on his bottom lip to hold back a grin. “This is your room here,” he nods his head towards the door for her to open it.

Bowie does so and nearly gasps at the sight. The walls were painted a light blue, and all of the furniture followed a similar color screen. Her room had an added on balcony that faced the seashore she spotted earlier.

Harry sets her cases down on her bed carefully before turning towards her. “Dinner’s tonight at seven, but you can come down to eat whenever. There’s always a bunch of food in the fridge for you to make whatever you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Bowie lets out a soft breath. “If I don’t sleep through it then I’ll be sure to be there.” Bowie moves towards her suitcase to unpack it.

She sees Harry look down and shakes his head in amusement from the side of her eye. “I’ll see you soon then. And Bowie?”

She turns around to face him fully now as he took small steps towards her door. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for doing this.”

***

Bowie fell dead asleep on her bed as soon as she had packed her clothes away. She slept for close to thirteen hours before her body finally woke herself up once more. She was hungry and dehydrated, but sleeping on that bed made her feel the most energetic that she’s ever felt. Even though it was a little after four in the morning, she figured she wouldn’t disturb anyone if she went down to the kitchen.

She slips on a pair of sweatpants over her shorts and a large pair of socks before tiptoeing down to where she believes Harry had said the kitchen was. It takes her a few minutes and a couple wrong turns, but she eventually makes in one piece. She flicks on the light and very nearly screams at the sight in front of her, but any noise she made was muffled by her own hand that she had slapped over her mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” Bowie curses once the initial fright leaves her body. “Harry, what are you doing here in the dark?”

Harry only grins in response. “Good morning Bowie. Would you like a cup of tea?” He was stood by the fridge, a water in hand, and dressed in some work out clothes. He neared the kettle though in case she accepted the tea.

“No I… No thank you. I was just going to have some water.”

He nods before reaching into the fridge and grabbing her a bottle, handing it over to her. “I gotta go for my run now, but I’ll see you in the studio in a few hours?”

“Uhh yeah. Yeah you’ll see me there.”

Harry nods in response, the smile never leaving his face, before he heads towards the backdoor in the kitchen. Bowie stares at the door he’s just left through, completely confused and still a bit jittery from the fright she was given.

“Who goes running at four in the morning? It’s still dark out for pete’s sake.” Bowie shakes her head to herself before taking a sip of the water bottle Harry had given her. “He’s absolutely crazy.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

IV-February, 2019

It’s been one week since Bowie arrived in Italy. She spent a good portion of her time practicing her violin and recording tracks, but other than that she mostly kept to herself. She got along with the others who were helping to put together his album, but while growing up her mother never tried to strengthen her daughter's social skills. So she preferred to be on her own. Harry, on the other hand, had other plans for her.

Every night, after Bowie was finished recording, he would ask her if she wanted to hang out with him and the others residing in the house, but every night she would refuse. The thought of being in such a large group of people, of all of them staring at her while she attempted to say something smart, put a large pit of anxiety in the middle of her stomach. When she plays her violin in front of a large crowd, the type of anxiety she gets then is one of excitement, but when it deals with large groups of people she wants nothing more than to lock herself away for the rest of her life.

After a week of her declining him, tonight Harry wasn’t going to take no for an answer. It was his birthday after all.

“Hello Bowie,” Harry starts just as she finished packing her violin back in the case.

“Hello Harry,” she calls back, turning towards him with a small smile on his face.

“Will you be joining the group for dinner tonight? It’s my birthday, afterall. Did you know it was my birthday?” His face lights up in mockery.

Bowie rolls her eyes good naturedly. “No, really? I thought you just had my play the Happy Birthday song five times on my violin just for kicks.”

“Yes yes, well anyways, it is my birthday and I’d like for you to join us for dinner.”

Bowie sighs quietly. “I don’t know…”

“We’re all going to get drunk and take the day off tomorrow,” he lets her know. “Everyone’s going to be falling over their own feet.”

“I’ve never gotten drunk before,” she admite, not knowing why she let the words pass her lips. Now Harry would definitely make her attend his bash.

He raises both of his eyebrows at her. “Never ever?”

“Never ever,” she agrees.

Harry throws his hands up in the air. “Well then I’ll have to show you how to do it properly!”

“Don’t you just have to drink an excessive amount?”

“Well, yes… but I’m going to get you drunk on the good stuff. On the best alcohol that’s ever graced this Earth!”

Bowie can’t help but to shake her head and laugh. “Alright, alright. I’ll come around tonight, but only because you’ve basically told me that I don’t have to be around you sober. Might jump out a window if I spend anymore time necessary with you without a drink in my hand.”

Harry pouts playfully. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I’ll see you in a while, Harry. Happy Birthday.” She pats his shoulder twice before leaving the room.

***

Well Bowie hates to admit it, but Harry did teach her how to get drunk the proper way. He filled her up with the most expensive alcohols, and he matched every drink she took and more. He never even left her side unless it was to give her another drink. Basically everyone in the house was drunk save for a few so they could keep a proper eye on everyone.

Bowie was giggling hysterics on a couch sat in the back of a room at some story Harry was telling that made absolutely no sense. He had told the beginning of it then skipped the middle and went straight to the end. He hadn’t a clue why she was laughing at him though and pouted at her the entire time a new string of noises fell out of her mouth.

“You’re laughing at me,” Harry whines. “Not with me, but at me.”

Bowie shakes her head uselessly. “You went from eating at a McDonalds directly to a cow sitting on you! I’ve got no idea how the cow ended up on top of you other than an image of it seeing you eating a burger and being upset with you so it just sat on top of you!”

“You missed the entire plot of the story! You didn’t listen to a word I said!”

“You skipped the entire plot!” Bowie pushes carefully at his shoulder.

“Did not.”

“Did too.” Bowie sticks her tongue out at him.

Harry gasps in fake offense. “I’ll have you kicked out of the house for that!”

Bowie rolls her eyes while still smiling wide. “You’re too infatuated with me to ever do that,” she jokes.

“I’m infatuated, eh?” he leans in close, his mood changing almost entirely at the flip of a switch.

Bowie lets out a nervous breath, almost sounding like an awkwards giggle. “Of course you are.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You asked for me specifically to try out for you, yeah? That must mean you’ve heard my work before.”

Harry’s nose was a mere centimeters from her cheek. “Alright, I will admit I had been following your work for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Since you featured on Ed’s Divide album. Raved on and on about you for a week after he hired you. Looked you up myself, and well, I took a liking to you.”

Bowie almost has to cross her eyes to look at him properly. “I recorded for that album over two and a half years ago,” she squeaks out.

Harry shrugs in response. “Wanted you for my first album, but your manager said you were taking a few personal months when I wanted to record. Made sure to snag you for this album though.”

“I didn’t even know you existed until almost a year ago. Like, I knew of One Direction, but never any of the members names.”

Harry laughs to himself. “I think that’s what I like most about you. You one hundred percent do not give a fuck about who I am.”

“Well, thank you, I guess?”

Harry leans his body further into hers. “You’re welcome.”

Bowie leans away just enough so that she can gulp the last of her drink. She’s felt light headed from the alcohol for a while now, but the way Harry was staring at her, how he was pressed against her, it made her light headed for another reason.

“Is it true that your mother didn’t let you have much of a social life as a child?”

“I see you’ve read my Wikipedia page.”

“Know it backwards and forwards.”

“It’s true,” Bowie admits. “She kept me inside to practice.”

“That doesn’t sound like a whole bunch of fun.”

“It wasn’t,” Bowie agrees. “I went through such a rebellion stage too after I moved out.”

“Yeah?” Harry grins in amusement. He pushes even closer, now so that the top half of his body was basically lying on hers. She didn’t feel uncomfortable at all though.

“Mhmm. Locked my violin away, dyed my hair pink, and I got a boyfriend that had a tongue piercing, three eyebrow piercings and, well every piercing imaginable that a person can get on their face times two.”

Harry scrunches his nose up. “That sounds painful.”

“At least you weren’t the one that had to sleep with him,” Bowie laughs.

“You don’t know my life,” Harry teases.

“You’re right, I don’t. How about you get me another drink and tell me about it?”

***

“Fucking ‘ell,” Bowie groans as the first rays of sunlight beat through the window and onto her face. Letting Harry influence her into drinking so much may have been the worst mistake she’s ever made. Her head felt like it was splitting in two, and every breath she took made her feel more and more nauseous.

Bowie turns around to hide herself from the sun, but immediately after she turns in the other direction she bangs against something hard. Her eyes jump open to examine what has caused her head an entirely new pain, but she’s met with someone instead of something.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” Bowie repeats, each time her voice increasing in sound.

She scrambles away as Harry’s eyes slowly pop open. Bowie crashes to the floor from Harry’s bed, his bed sheets tangling around her body and restricting her movements.

“What’s happening? God, are you okay?” Harry begins to sit up only to realize that he’s completely nude. “Jesus!” He grabs one of his pillows to cover himself.

Only then does Bowie realize she’s also naked, her only saving grace being that she had the sheets covering herself. She picks herself up into a sitting position, one hand on the floor to hold herself up and the other holding the sheets tightly against her chest.

“Did we…” Bowie trails off, not being able to form the words.

“I… I think so, yeah,” Harry replies. “Shit, I don’t remember much.”

“Yeah me… me neither. Just bits and pieces. What do we… Well what do we do now?”

“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

“I think maybe… maybe I should get dressed. Both of us should get dressed.” Bowie stutters out while her cheeks redden.

“That’s a smart idea. A really good idea. Let me just-” Harry stands without a second thought, but immediately the pillow falls off him. Bowie gasps and turns away, only spotting a glance at all his glory. “Oh shit. God, I’m so sorry. I’m a bloody idiot. Hold on.” He’s quick to fumble over to his dressed and rip out a pair of joggers, jumping into them immediately. “Okay, you can look now. I’ve got everything… covered.”

Bowie removes her hand from her face, but is reluctant to turn back towards Harry. She finally does when she feels her clothes hit her body, him having thrown them right next to her.

“Thank you,” she mutters.

“It’s eh, it’s no problem. I’ll just… I’m turning around now,” he says while doing the actions as well.

Bowie is just as fast as he had been before, only struggling a moment to wrestle her way out of her sheets. “Okay, I’m good now too.” She sits down on the bed, completely breathless from the embarrassment. Harry sits on the opposite side.

“Are you okay?”

Bowie glances at him before her eyes flit all around the room. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine? I only just slept with one of the world’s most famous celebrities a few hours ago at the only time I’ve been properly drunk. Is this God’s way of punishing me for getting drunk? Like this hangover part sucks ass. Like my head hurts and I want to throw up all over your sheets. I won’t don’t worry! But I really feel like it. And now I have to suffer through that while also knowing the fact that the second person I’ve ever slept with is my co-worker who is kind of my boss but also worth about a billion dollars. I’m fine, yeah I’m perfectly fine.”

Harry stares at her as if a new pair of eyes had grown out of her head. “You’re panicking Bowie. You just need to take a deep breath.” Harry scoots closer and goes to place a hand on her shoulder, but she flinches away before he can even touch her.

Bowie stands up, her feel taking her to Harry’s bedroom door. “I have to go. We have to talk about this another time. Or better yet, let’s talk about this never. I’d rather talk about this never again.” She leaves before Harry has a chance to respond.

She doesn’t stop walking until she reaches her room down the hall, and even after she shuts the door behind her she continues to pace around the room. Her hands go to her mouth to bite at her nails, but immediately she can feel an imaginary sting on her knuckles and her mother chastising for the bad habit, so instead she places them back down to her sides.

Bowie doesn’t know why she does it. She knew as soon as she dialed the number she would regret it. But soon her phone starts ringing and an old picture of her mother flashes across the screen. She doesn’t even think about the time difference.

“Bowie?” Her mother croaks out, her voice filled with sleep.

“Hi mom,” Bowie whispers back.

“What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing’s wrong. Can’t I just call my mom?”

“It’s four in the morning here. And you sound like your panicking. Are you panicking?”

Bowie scoffs, although it’s clearly fake. “I’m not panicking mom. You’re imagining things.”

“Did you screw up the job?”

Bowie’s heart drops. “Excuse me?”

“Is that why you’re panicking? You finally messed up big time and you want to come back home? Well let me tell you, when you come back you cannot pull the stuff I let you get away with-”

“For your information, I did not mess up big time. I’m doing a great job here. And you didn’t let me get away with anything.”

“I should have home schooled you. Disciplined you more. Something different! Now you’re so disrespectful.”

“Do you want the truth mother? I called you because I needed some comfort. Not because I lost my job, but just because I felt like I needed it in this moment. It’s what children usually do in their time of need, they call their mothers. But all you’ve done is remind me why I wanted to get away from you in the first place.”

“Your father would be so disappointed in you.”

The tears burn at the edge of Bowie’s eyes. “Well from what I’ve heard about him, he really would have been disappointed in you.” She hangs up and throws her phone across the bed so that it falls on the floor with a quiet thud.

Bowie curls up on the top of her bed, tears streaming down her face mostly because of her mother, but also in embarrassment over what had happened with Harry not more than ten minutes ago. Bowie’s problem was, she remembered it all. She remembered the way his hands explored her body, taking her farther than she’s ever been before. The way his lips pressed against every part of her skin. How his mouth fumbled out words about how beautiful she was. How special he made her feel. She remembered every part of it. But she was scared. So instead of strutting back over to Harry’s room to talk about what happened like adults, Bowie stayed as she was, curled up and crying her little heart out before she had no more tears left.

***

When most people are sad, they usually curl up and watch sad movies or nap all day. When Bowie was sad, she played her violin. Well, when she felt any emotion she played, but she produced her most emotional pieces of work whenever she was feeling blue.

She played until her fingers hurt and her shoulder felt cramped by holding the violin up, but then she only played some more. It was never a specific song, only where her fingers would take her. Some muscle memory would appear and she’d play an old classical piece her mother would make her practice for days on end.

Her eyes were shut closed the entire time she played in the empty studio. Her body moves along to the notes she’s’ producing. Not once did she falter in her playing, she knew this was the one thing she was amazing at, and she wouldn’t let any negative comments from her mother get in the way of that.

When she took the bow off the strings for a moment, only to catch a breath, her eyes snap open at the sound of hands clapping. There Harry stood in the back of the room, now properly dressed, his eyes dead set on her. Bowie freezes before letting her instrument fall to her sides.

Harry starts to slowly walk towards her, like if he made one wrong move then she’d scatter away like a frightened deer. “That was beautiful.”

Bowie shrugs. “It was nothing,” she mumbles.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Just accept the compliment. Don’t dismiss yourself.”

“There’s been better players though-”

“You’re better than Mozart for sure,” Harry cuts her off with a wave of his hand. “That guys got nothing on you.”

“Literally thousands of people would kill you dead if they heard you say that.”

“Would well be worth it since I’m only speaking the truth.”

“Listen, about earlier-”

“We don’t have to speak about it if you don’t want to.” Harry interrupts her while looking down at her softly.

“I do. I just… I was scared. Thought maybe you thought it was a mistake and that everything would be all awkward between us now. But then I realized that me just leaving like that was also going to make everything awkward. And at least if we talk about it that would give us the ending that’s the least… awkward.”

“I like you Bowie. Thought I made that clear enough last night when I basically admitted that I internet stalked you for over two years. Guess I didn’t though, so here I am telling you exactly how I feel. I like you. We’ve only just started spending time together. I’m not saying we need to be in a full on relationship, because that’s crazy and I don’t have time for that right now, but we could just… be together in every other way.”

“You like me?” Bowie stares at him with wide eyes and eyebrows raised.

Harry chuckles and shakes his head. “I do.”

“You want to be with me in every way but an actual committed relationship?”

“If you want to, then yes.”

“You wanted to have sex with my last night? That wasn’t just the alcohol’s doing?”

“Oh, I so wanted to have sex with you, Bowie Mason. The alcohol only gave me the courage to initiate it.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything right now. You can think about it. And then when you figure out what you want, you can come knock on my door.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

V-May, 2019

Bowie Mason basically lived in Harry Styles’ bed nowadays. After their first night together in Italy, it wasn’t hard for Bowie to take Harry up on his offer for a casual hangout and then some sex. It wasn’t something she’d ever see herself doing, but Harry had a way of helping her forget things for a little while.

The left Italy at the end of March, and right after Bowie moved back to her apartment in Los Angeles. Harry went home to Holmes Chapel for a few weeks, but then one night he showed up at her apartment and then they didn’t leave her bed for an entire twelve hours. Because of Harry’s work schedule, Bowie typically had to stay over at Harry’s place if they wanted to get it on. Nearly every night Harry would come home and Bowie would be there making him dinner. He almost always greeted her with a kiss on her neck and a fuck on the counter.

Tour was starting in a few days. Bowie was set up to go around the world with Harry for the entire time of it. The were leaving in two days for Paris. Harry had been trying to teach her some French for the past week when they were curled up together at night.

“You barely know any French yourself, so you can’t chastise me for not knowing any.” Bowie moans as Harry repeats the one phrase he knows.

“Je suis allé au cinéma avec mes copains et ma famille.” He repeats for the fifth time in a row.

“I’m going to murder you in your sleep,” Bowie threatens while pinching at his sides.

“You’d have a big mob at your house.”

“You mean a large group of people who would thank me for what needed to be done.”

“You’re so rude,” Harry pouts, his bottom lip sticking out as far as he could get it.

Bowie giggles before pecking at it. “Don’t be a baby.”

They’re interrupted by the vibrations of a phone on Harry’s nightstand. Harry reaches over, but instead of producing his own pink Iphone in which Bowie had assumed was ringing, he hands her her phone. “It’s your mother,” he prompts her.

Harry didn’t know much about the woman other than the fact that she and Bowie do not get along.

Bowie declines the call before carefully setting the phone on the floor. “I’ll call her back later,” Bowie lies.

The truth was, Bowie hasn’t spoken to her mother since their phone call back in February. Her mother calls her at least once a week, but Bowie always ignores the attempts. She wasn’t ready to speak to her mother yet.

“Should probably start teaching you Spanish as well seeing as we’ve got a show in Madrid right after Paris.”

Bowie rolls her eyes, thankful that Harry knew to change the subject quickly. “I told you I’ve been practicing, but my brains more wired for music than it is even for english.”

“Hola, me llamo Harry. Como estas?”

“Harry-”

“Now Italian. Ciao! Come va?”

“Can you stop-”

“German. Hallo! Wie geht es dir?”

“Did you google translate this before I came over today?” Bowie shakes her head in disbelief.

A smirk pokes at Harry’s lips. “That obvious, eh?”

“You’re so goddamn dumb!” Bowie laughs, only intensifying when Harry wraps himself on top of her and pokes at her sides. “Stop! Oh my god, I can’t believe I love you.”

Usually Harry would continue on no matter what she said, but after those words the entire world froze. Bowie didn’t even know what she said it. She never thought about whether she was in love with him or not before, at least not in heavy thoughts, but now that she’s said it it made complete sense to her.

Harry turns off of her and into a sitting position. “What did you just say?”

“I said… Well I said that I love you.”

“I told you I didn’t want to be in a relationship.”

And just like that, Bowie’s heart shatters. “What do you call what we’re in right now then?”

“I don’t know. Something casual.”

Bowie shakes her head, now on her feet. “We’ve spent way too much time together for what we have to still be casual. We haven’t been with anyone else but each other. The only thing we haven’t done is label ourselves as a couple, but in each and every way we really are.”

“I can’t do this right now. I’m about to go on tour-”

“I’m going on tour with you!” Bowie interrupts.

“My new album comes out in a few weeks-”

“One in which I feature on,” she interrupts again.

“Well I don’t want to be in a serious relationship right now!” Harry snaps.

Bowie jumps back from the tone of his voice. Her bottom lip trembles and all of a sudden she’s back in his room in Italy, except this time it’s Harry who is terrified of what’s to come. “Well I don’t want to just be a casual fling to you anymore.”

“Come on, you know you weren’t just a fling-”

“Do I? Because apparently I know nothing! I thought… I thought maybe you felt the same way about me, but I guess I thought wrong.” Bowie starts moving around the room to gather her things and slip her sneakers on.

“Bowie, where are you going? What are you doing?” His eyes follow her every movement, all the words he has spoken over the last few minutes finally dawning over him.

“I’m leaving. I’ll see you in Paris. I’ll go on tour with you because it’s what I promised to do in our contract. But once that show comes around in October when we’re back here in LA, I’m done with you.”

“Don’t-”

“I’ll see you Harry.” She doesn’t spare him a second glance as she marches out of his room and then his house entirely.

***

The first two weeks of tour proceeded as such: Bowie avoided Harry all day until the last possible moment, she performed on stage with him, and then once she was off stage she took a cab to the hotel they were staying at only to repeat everything the very next day.

They were at his Manchester show when Harry decided to change things up.

Gwendolyn Mason stood by the rest of the band in the backstage area. Bowie couldn’t believe her eyes when she spotted her mother conversing with Harry and the other band members, although she did look increasingly uncomfortable with every word she spoke.

“Mom?” Bowie mutters as she walks up to everyone. “What are you doing here?”

“Well I’ve been trying to call you for months now, Bowie. You should really learn to use that phone of yours.” Gwendolyn addresses her daughter without even a smile on her face. Her eyes scan up and down Bowie’s attire, immediately disapproving. “Harry invited me,” she states matter-of-factly after a moment.

Bowie snaps her head to Harry so fast that she’d nearly given herself whiplash. “You what?”

Harry’s smile fades a bit. “I thought-”

“I don’t go butting into your personal life, alright? So how about you stop butting into mine,” Bowie snaps at him, surprising everyone surrounding them. “We need to talk in private.” Those words being addressed to her mother. She grabs her mother's arm before dragging her to the next vacant room.

“Jesus, Bowie! You’re about the rip my arm out of my socket.”

“You’ll live,” Bowie mutters in response before shutting the door behind them so that they wouldn’t have any evesdroppers. “Now really, what are you doing here?”

“I told you-”

“Did you come to judge my life again? Because I’ve told you I don’t care what you say. You’re always so goddamn hypocritical! Why can’t you ever just be happy for me?”

Gwendolyn’s eyes narrow. “You think I’m not happy for you?”

“Of course you aren’t! You told me dad would be disappointed in me the last time we talked, for pete’s sake!”

Gwendolyn’s face drops for a moment, a flash of regret surfacing, before it hardens once more. “I think we both said some things we didn’t mean,” she raises an eyebrow.

Bowie goes to speak, but stops herself. “I believe we may have,” she sighs at last.

“I’m tired of you blocking my out, Bowie. I want to be a part of my daughter's life.”

“I know. I want you to be a part of it too, it’s just… Every time I let you in you criticize me in every way possible. It just feels easier for me to block you out all together.”

“I know… I’m… I’m working on that. I’ve started seeing a therapist.”

Bowie stares at her mother in shock. “You’ve what?”

“Being alone in that house for the last five years… I know I’ve made mistakes. All I can do is try to mend them now. It’s a work in progress, but I think I can fix everything.”

“Mom-”

“What I said to you last time, it was completely unacceptable. That’s when I decided I needed help. Bowie your father would be so proud of you. Definitely a little jealous, but one hundred percent proud.”

“Jealous?” Bowie sniffles as she struggles to hold back small tears.

“You’re featured on an actual rock stars album! You’ve even been invited to go on tour with him. That was your father’s dream.”

“Gram and Gramps, they always said he wanted to be in a rock band. I just… I never believed them because well, you shunned all that stuff when I was growing up.”

“It hurt too much. All of that stuff reminded me of your father. Maybe that’s why I was always so hard on you, because you’re exactly like your father. Not that I’m excusing my actions, but god Bowie you’re exactly like you’re father. I even let him name you after his favorite singer.”

Bowie laughs, tears now freely falling from her eyes. “I thought maybe you lost a bet with someone. Thought it made you dislike me even more.”

Gwendolyn now reaches to hug her daughter, their arms wrapping tightly around one another. “I’ve always loved you Bowie. I know it’s hard for me to show it, but I always have and I always will. I’m sorry. I promise to try. There will be set backs, but I’m willing to better my relationship if you are.”

“Of course I am. That’s all I ever wanted.” Bowie buries her head into her mother’s neck. The two of them stay like that for a while before finally letting go. Gwendolyn takes a tissue packet out of her purse and offers some to Bowie. “How did you get here anyways? Who do I have to thank for getting you here so that we could have this moment?”

Gwendolyn smiles softly. “Harry.”

Bowie tilts her head. “What?”

“He called me up two days ago and offered to fly me over. Said he really messed up something with you, but you should at least fix your relationship with one of us.”

A signal sets off letting everyone know that Harry’s performance was going to be starting soon. Bowie wasn’t going on until the third song, but she knew she should get ready to go out.

“I’ll be out in the crowd. I’m excited to see how far you’ve come.” Gwendolyn leans forward and presses a kiss to her daughter’s cheek. “Break a leg darling.”

***

Bowie stood at the side of the stage as Harry performed an unreleased song on his upcoming album. It was being released the following day, but the fans were begging for it to be released sooner. Especially since he insisted on performing nearly all the new songs live.

As the song comes to an end, Bowie holds the violin in her hand with a firm grip. At this time, Harry would usually introduce her to the crowd, but instead he was strapping a guitar to his body. Bowie looks at the others for help, but they ignore her.

“I’ve finally decided to tell you the name of my new album.” The fans in the stadium erupted in a new wave of screams. “I named my first album Harry Styles because I had written it at a time where I felt like I properly found myself. I’m naming my second one Bowie Mason because I wrote it in the time in which I found her. This next song is one I wrote for her. I hope she likes it.”

Harry tunes his guitar before turning to face her. He smiles at her, and the bastard even has the audacity to send her a wink, before he starts strumming his guitar. The song was completely acoustic. Just his voice and the guitar he was playing. Bowie nearly drops her violin to the ground several times through this entire thing.

Bowie swears every single person falls quiet once Harry starts singing.

words were never easy

they’re not so simple to me

so maybe if i write them down

and try to sing about them now

well then, maybe you’ll fall in love with me

when you were in my bed late one night

snoring softly around midnight

that’s when i knew, oh that’s when I knew

that i was in love with you

and even when the sky is gray

and we go and we waste away our day

wearing nothing but our underwear

and the jukebox music filling the air

i’ll fall in love with you again

when the lights so bright

and we close the curtains

lock the doors because you’re hurtin’

over something your mother said

i’ll fall in love with you again

and even when we argue

because i usually say something dumb

and we feel like maybe it’s all over

know that i’ll still love you when it’s done

i held you tight

i stayed up all night

wondering if you were fine

and maybe that you didn’t need me

you took my hands and called me so goddamn dumb

and that maybe you were in love with me

and even when the sky is gray

and we go and we waste away our day

wearing nothing but our underwear

and the jukebox music filling the air

i’ll fall in love with you again

when the lights so bright

and we close the curtains

lock the doors because you’re hurtin’

over something your mother said

i’ll fall in love with you again

and even when the sky is gray

and we go and we waste away our day

wearing nothing but our underwear

and the jukebox music filling the air

i’ll fall in love with you again

when the lights so bright

and we close the curtains

lock the doors because you’re hurtin’

over something your mother said

i’ll fall in love with you again

again and again and again and again

i’ll fall in love with you again

***

“I’m so so so sorry.” Harry speaks right after he a Bowie get off the stage.

“I know you are,” Bowie whispers in response.

“Whenever someone says I love you to me, well they usually end up leaving pretty soon after. I just… I really like you Bowie and I got nervous.”

“It’s okay Harry, really.” The two of them stop in the middle of a hallway and people continue to walk past them although they seemed to be extremely intrigued by the two of them.

“But I didn’t say it back and I want-”

“You didn’t?” Bowie stares up to him with a smirk playing across her lips.

“No I… I didn’t.”

“You didn’t just sing about how you loved me in front of a stadium full of people who were probably live streaming the entire thing?”

“Well, yeah I did that. But it’s not the same.”

Bowie laughs before she moves towards him to press her lips against his. “I feel like it matches up pretty well, don’t you think?”

Harry grins. “So we’re good?”

Bowie backs away from him by a few feet. “Don’t get too excited, Styles. I’d say about a week or two of groveling and then we can pick up where we left off.”

“A week or two?” Harry squawks out.

“Yes. That’s how long you had us apart for because you couldn’t sing my song at an earlier concert.”

“But I was hoping that because we’d been a part so long that we could pick up where we left off as soon as we get back to the hotel. More specifically, my room.” Harry reaches forwards, and only very reluctantly does she let him hold her.

“I suppose you can start groveling tomorrow.”

Harry presses his lips to her neck at the exact spot that he knows gets her all flustered. “I think I can get you to drop that groveling thing altogether, baby.”

#1dff #exchanges

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