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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

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Hey Angel - Harry Styles

a/n: since i had so much time on my hand at work lately (not anymore unfortunately) i used it wisely and cooked up this PA themed fic bc i absolutely love this trope. it’s lengthy and kinda emotional? kinda, lol. hope you’ll like it and as always, feedback is much appreciated!!

warning: sexual content

word count: 11.5k

masterlist

Harry likes to pretend he is tall enough to comfortably rest his chin on the top of your head when he stands behind you, but that’s not true. He has to push himself a little to his tippy toes and push you down at the same time to fit his chin above you, his arms weighing down on your shoulders. You stopped arguing him that you need to push your hips forward when he does this so you don’t carry his whole weight.

“Tha’s rude, you do not have to do tha’!” he defended himself every time you brought up, so you just stopped.

Now as you watch the game of air hockey unfold in front of you, a half empty pint in your hand, you don’t even budge when you feel a chiseled chin resting on the top of your head, you push your hips forward without a second thought to shorten your height. You catch a glimpse of a tattooed forearm on your shoulder, Harry’s chest presses against your back gently.

He doesn’t stay in this position too long, it’s making it hard to drink so soon enough, he wraps his left arm around your shoulders, coming to stand next to you, sipping on his tequila on the rocks.

“Hey you,” you smile at him as he gives you a side look, a boyish smirk tugging on his pink lips. “Everything alright?”

“Everything is fine.”

“You need something? How much have you had to drink?” you ask furrowing your eyebrows, looking down at his glass that was certainly full when you last saw him about ten minutes ago.

“Shush, stop pretending like you’re working,” he waves at your face, his words melting together, definitely thanks to the alcohol he has consumed tonight.

“I know I’m not working, I’m just tryna’ be your friend and look out for you.” Bringing your own drink up to your lips, you give him a look, but he just smirks at you playfully.

“Uh-huh, whatever. Don’t worry about me.”

“I always worry about you, H,” you sigh dramatically and it makes him laugh with his head falling back.

“Is this the part where you tell me I’m some spoiled brat celebrity you ‘ave to babysit for your living? And that I always do ridiculous shit so you ‘ave to keep an eye on me at all times?”

You can’t push your smile down at how far this statement is from reality. You just like to tease him about being a typical, asshole rockstar when he is literally your favorite person in the world without a doubt.

“Oh Angel, you can’t fool me,” he cackles, squeezing you to his side before taking another sip from his drink.

“Wouldn’t even try to,” you mumble with an amused smile. “Havin’ fun, birthday boy?” you ask, leaning into his side. You would never admit, but you love how touchy Harry can get sometimes, not really caring about physical boundaries, especially when he drinks. The hugs, the squeezes, the touches, they always make your heart flutter even after knowing him for years.

“I’m havin’ a blast. What about you?”

“What about me? It’s not my birthday,” you chuckle shortly.

“So what? I can’t make sure you’re enjoying your night?” he frowns at you dramatically that just makes you laugh.

“I’m having a great night. It’s just that my boss keeps coming after me even though I’m supposed to be off the clock.”

You peek up at him to see the grin on his face at your teasing. The dynamic between the two of you has been like this since day one. The constant bickering and teasing is what really brought the two of you close, you are so similar, it’s like you can see a male version of yourself when you look at him.

“Tell the dude to fuck off,” he mumbles into his drink and you bump your hip against him, but he just holds you tight to his side as an answer.

Soon enough, Harry joins the game and you watch him play from the side, obviously cheering on his opponent to annoy him, earning some pretty dirty looks from him whenever they score against him and you let out a “woho!” in victory.

“Y’know, it’s not too nice to cheer against the birthday boy, is it?” he calls you out when the table is taken by someone else and he joins you at the side again.

“Am I not allowed to choose who I want to cheer to?” you ask with a faked puzzled look and he presses his lips into a thin line, glaring down at you intently.

“Don’t test me, Angel,” he grumbles into your ear before walking off to join his friends who came out to celebrate with him today.

It’s a pretty lowkey celebration, since he is still in the middle of filming Don’t Worry Darling, so he couldn’t really travel far from the set, but some of his dearest friends were able to come here and celebrate with him and his cast members.

You stand at the bar and your eyes find him every time you scan the place, not able to keep your gaze away from him for too long, he just demands the attention. Or at least yours.

You’ve never met anyone like him. When you got the chance to be his personal assistant four years ago at the very beginning of his solo career, you never thought how he’ll move right into your heart and never leave it. Whether you look at him as your boss or your friend, you can’t deny that he changed your life and you’ve learned so much from him, you can only hope he thinks of you somewhat the same. However you always tell yourself: what could you possibly give for The Harry Styles? He has everything in the whole wide world.

Harry catches you staring and he arches a brow at you, abandoning the conversation he has been in for the past minutes, mouthing you “what’s up, Angel”, his accent thick even without hearing his voice.

He’s been calling you Angel for longer than you can remember. When you asked him why the nickname, he said it’s because One Direction’s song Hey Angel was written about you. It was a fat lie, you haven’t met him when the song was written, but his words still tightened your chest, playing with the thought of Harry writing a song about you.

As cheesy and cliché as it is, you fell for him faster than you’d like to admit. You tried to fight it for a while, convince yourself it’s just a silly crush, but you soon had to realize you outgrew that after the first few weeks working with him. How could you not fall for him? He is everything any woman could wish for and he has you wrapped around his fingers, just like he has half the female population, probably.

You shake your head in his way, not sure how to tell him you just got lost in your thoughts about him. In fact, he occupies your mind pretty much all the time, but he doesn’t have to know about that.

He excuses himself from the table and walks up to you, a slow breath leaving your nose as you watch him approach you.

“Tired?” he asks, stopping in front of you, placing his empty glass to the counter.

“Kinda,” you nod.

“Want to head home soon?”

“Don’t worry about me. I can just call a taxi and go home, you don’t have to come.”

“Don’t be silly, we go to the same place, obviously we’re gonna go home together.”

Since filming has started, Harry and you’ve been sharing a nice apartment near the set. It was his idea to rent a place for the two of you, rather than to stay at a hotel. At first you didn’t think it would be a good idea, but of course, he convinced you to live with him for the months while the movie is being filmed. So now you basically live with Harry, share pretty much all your living space with him, except your bedroom.

“But it’s your birthday, stay as long as you want,” you tell him, not wanting to snatch him away from his friends on his big day.

“We’re filming in the afternoon tomorrow, can’t drag the night too long either way,” he shrugs, trying to make you believe it’s really nothing.

No matter how badly you try to convince him to stay, he doesn’t bulge and starts saying goodbye within an hour, calling the two of you a car to take you home. He is clearly tipsy, but not drunk. Once you’re in the car, Harry’s hand finds yours and he pulls you closer in the backseat until your thighs are pressed together. He curls an arm around your shoulders, holding you tight to his side, sinking down in the seat. You let your head rest on his shoulder, enjoying the closeness of his body, pressing down any worrying thought that usually makes its way to your mind every time Harry gets a little cozier than the usual.

The rational side of your brain knows you should be keeping some distance from him for the sake of your own sanity and emotional health, but you just can’t. Denying these little moments from yourself would be like pure torture and your heart can’t take that for sure.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” he murmurs, his nose nuzzling into your hair and you just shrug your shoulders.

“Nothing,” you mumble your lie.

“Liar, I can hear the gears turning in that pretty head of yours,” he grins down at you as your eyes lock for a moment. Thank God for the darkness in the car, because you can feel your cheeks heating up. The last thing you need is for Harry to see how nervous he can make you feel with just a simple compliment.

“Stop being nosy, you don’t have to know everything all the time.” You poke his side with your elbow, it makes him jump a little before he snuggles back to your side.

“That’s not true, you know I’m entitled to hold every knowledge in the world.” He tries to hide his smirk, but he fails miserably and you just laugh at him with your head falling back to his shoulder.

“Harry Styles, you are something else,” you sigh shaking your head at him.

Arriving home Harry keeps an arm around you as you walk up to the front door, fishing your keys out of your bag since you’d bet Harry didn’t bring his. There’s a chance he hasn’t even used his copy since you’ve been here, he knows you always have yours and you haven’t really left without each other so far, always staying around the other.

“Want to shower first?” he hums, walking inside, his arm leaving your shoulders and though you feel lighter without the extra weight, you wish it was still there.

“Go for it, I’m gonna clean up the mess I made when I got ready earlier,” you tell him, heading into your bedroom where the floor is littered with half your wardrobe from earlier, when you were trying to figure out what to wear for the little outing.

Harry disappears in the shared bathroom and a moment later you hear the water running. You go around your room, picking up the dresses you voted against, placing them back into the wardrobe and then you put away your makeup you left on your bed in your hurry.

“Bathroom is yours!” Harry calls out just when you finish, you hear his bedroom door open and close so you grab a clean oversized t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts before occupying the bathroom.

The warm shower feels nice, it’s been a long day since you started on set, Harry had a few scenes to film before you could leave in the afternoon. You wash away the day, scrub your makeup off and then take off the rest with your wipes once you’re out. You brush your hair and use some lotion for your dry skin before getting dressed and leaving the steamy bathroom.

Padding down the short hallway you hear nothing coming from Harry’s bedroom and you wonder if he’s already asleep, but once you step inside your room you see that he is cozied up on your bed, your covers pulled up to his naked chest, a pillow tucked under his head as he scrolls through his phone so shamelessly, as if it was his own room.

“Did you take the wrong turn in the hallway?” you ask with an arched eyebrow as you throw your dirty clothes to your temporary hamper, which is basically your emptied out suitcase.

“Nope,” he grins smugly, you have to roll your eyes at him. He locks his phone, dropping it to the side table, watching you move around, getting ready for bed and his eyes on your figure feel like they’re burning down on your skin.

“You know, it’s rude to stare,” you comment not even looking at him, but you just know he is still staring at you. Grabbing a hairtie from the little dresses in the corner of your room you reach back to loosely braid your hair, but his voice stops you.

“Wait,” he pleads and you furrow your eyebrows at him. “Can I do it?”

You give him a confused look as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, his green eyes are glimmering from the tiredness and the alcohol he has consumed tonight.

“You want to braid my hair?”

“Yeah,” he nods. You hesitate for a moment but join him on the bed at last, turning your back against him, giving him full control over your hair.

A shiver runs down your spine when you feel his fingers raking through your strands. He is so gentle and careful as you feel him section your hair off to three parts.

“Didn’t know you can braid,” you tell him, eyes fixated on the sheets in front of you.

“Gemma taught me, but I’m not the best at it.”

“So I’ll look atrocious?” you tease him smiling to yourself. He pokes the back of your neck with his fingers before continuing his work.

“You could never look atrocious, even if you tried.”

“And you are such a flirt,” you sigh. Over the years you’ve gotten used to his flirty act, it’s just who he is and though in the beginning your breath always got caught in your throat when he said something cheesy, now you just brush it off, only thinking about his words when you are alone in the night, struggling to fall asleep because you’re once again, thinking about him.

“M’telling the truth. Have I told you how beautiful you looked tonight?”

“Mmm,” you hum. He has told you that you looked pretty when the two of you left and he saw you walk out of your room in your black skinny jeans and flowy sheer top on, your hair loosely curled, but you didn’t really know what to say, so you just smiled at him and it’s the same now. You’re not the best at taking compliments.

“You really did. You always are.”

“And once again, you are such a flirt.”

“Complimenting a pretty woman is being a flirt?” he asks pretending to be offended as he carefully works on your hair and you wish you could see his focused face as he is trying to keep track of the sections between his fingers. At a lack of a witty comeback, you just shrug your shoulders, fumbling with your fingers on your lap.

You both fall silent as he concentrates on your hair and you manage to stop thinking, just focus on how his fingers keep brushing against your back every time he crosses two sections over each other.

“Hairtie, please,” he asks, his hand appearing next to you with his palm upwards. You place it in his hand and he finishes up his masterpiece. “There, it didn’t turn out as bad as I thought,” he comments once he is done. Reaching back you run your fingers over the braid and it feels good, he did a great job.

“Thanks,” you smile at him shyly, turning around. He leans back, making himself comfortable once again and you arch an eyebrow at him. “Need me to walk you back to your room, sir?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine here,” he grins smugly, tugging his arm behind his head as he takes up the right side of the bed.

“You’re planning to sleep here?”

“Please, don’t make me sleep alone on my birthday!” he pouts, giving you those damned puppy eyes. How could you ever say no to him?

“You better not push me off the bed in your sleep,” you mumble before getting under the covers.

You turn off the bedside lamp and the two of you start moving around, finding a comfortable pose to sleep in and you end up facing each other on your sides, Harry’s face squished into the pillow as his eyes are roaming over the hand you have laid between your faces.

His fingers start to inch towards yours until he hooks his pinky with yours, the touch sending a warm feeling down your spine.

“I hate sleeping alone,” he mumbles into the semi-darkness.

“Why?”

“Don’t you like it when there’s someone next to you? When you wake up and you’re not alone?”

“I like it, but I don’t hate sleeping alone either,” you tell him as your eyes fall to your linked pinky fingers. “Why do you hate it? You have the bed all to yourself, and there’s no chance of waking up to someone snoring or talking in their sleep.”

He huffs out a laugh as he buries his head deeper into the pillow.

“It makes me feel lonely. Which is ridiculous, because I’m never alone.”

“But lonely and alone are not the same, so it’s not ridiculous. You can feel lonely when you’re not alone.”

“I know,” he nods, his eyes watching your linked fingers intently, before he moves his hand so it’s now covering yours, his warm palm wrapping around your much smaller hand. “I’m never lonely with you, though.”

“So… you are only lonely when you’re sleeping or in the bathroom, because we basically spend every moment of the day together.” You smirk at him and see his dimple form in his cheek as he smiles at you nodding.

“That’s right. We are like glued together.”

“How aren’t we sick of each other already?”

“That’s never gonna happen.”

“You sure about that?” You raise your eyebrows at him with an amused smile, he is too sure about that answer.

“One hundred percent. You’re my favorite person.”

“Is that what you tell everyone?”

He gives you a look, but you just chuckle, sinking further into your pillow. His fingers start playing with your hand as he draws a deep breath.

“I only tell this to m’ mum and Gemma. No one else.”

Your heart starts racing at the thought of him seeing you on the same level as his closest family. You know how much his mum and sister mean to him, but you never thought you are anywhere near them in his eyes.

“You’re my favorite person too,” you whisper as your eyes meet over your joined hands. He smiles at you warmly, his floppy curls falling into his forehead and you want to run your fingers through them, feel how soft they are under your touch. Harry scoots closer, your faces only a few inches away from each other as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

For a moment you just watch him, thinking how good it feels to have him in your bed. How amazing it is to end the day with him so close to you. You wish all days would end like this, you wouldn’t have another bad day with him next to you.

Lying there and watching him slowly fall asleep, his hand still on yours, the bitter thought eats itself into your mind that he is only here because he feels lonely and wanted to be close to someone, not you particularly. And though you’re glad it’s you he ended up next to, you try not to get too accustomed to the feeling, because you’re just a temporary fix to his loneliness.

The door to Harry’s trailer opens and he walks in wearing his blue dress pants and crispy white dress shirt, fumbling with the top buttons to undo them. You glance up at him from your laptop where you’ve been working on his schedule for the upcoming weeks while he was filming.

“Hey, how did it go?” you ask as he places his water bottle to the vanity and then sits in the chair he spends his mornings in while his hair is being styled and tattoos are covered.

“Good. Messed up only a few times. Whacha’ working on?”

“Just your schedule, I’ll email it to you when I’m done, though you never check it.”

“Hey, I do check it! I like your color coding. I just suck at using it and you’re always here to remind me of the important stuff.”

You roll your eyes, continuing to type away on your keyboard as he moves around, having a snack and texting back people.

“Florence is coming over for a little after we’re done. We can order something,” he speaks up grabbing your attention again.

“Cool,” you nod with a small smile. “Is she staying the night?”

“No, we just thought it would be nice to hang out a little without dressed like this,” he chuckles looking down at himself.

“What’s wrong with Jack’s clothes? You look neat.”

“Do I?” he cocks an eyebrow cheekily, placing his hands to his hips as he looks down at you.

“Yeah. It’s a nice change after all the grandpa clothes,” you tease him and he gasps pretending to be offended at your words, though you both know you have nothing against his style. In fact, you love how he just wears whatever he wants, not caring what others would think.

“Watch your mouth or you can’t wear my bode jacket again,” he warns you holding up his pointing finger, shaking it at you, but you just chuckle at him, finishing up what you’ve been working on before shutting the laptop down.

“How long until you’re done?”

“Just a few more scenes. I think we can leave in about two hours.”

“Alright.”

“You done working?”

“Mhm, for now.”

“Come and watch the filming. You’re always so hidden in here.”

“Because I always have work to do,” you point out, putting the laptop to the side from your lap.

“Yeah, but you’re done now, so come out and watch me be the next Leonardo DiCaprio,” he smugly tells you, and it makes you roll your eyes at him.

“You’re so humble, H. Is something that comes with the age?” you tease him standing up from the small sofa, grabbing your phone from the table.

“You’ll find out in a year,” he smirks back as you follow him out of the trailer, back to the set.

Later that day you, Florence and Harry are chilling back at your apartment, munching on the pizza you ordered, watching some documentary on Netflix, just enjoying a lazy evening. You’ve become quite close with Florence, her personality is a lot like yours so you got along well from the beginning, the three of you often do things together outside of set.

You and Harry are sharing the couch while Florence is curled up on the loveseat. The temperature at the apartment is always nice, but you often catch yourself feeling a little cold in the evening, but it has more to do with the tiredness rather than with the heating of the place. When you pull your legs underneath you to warm your feet, Harry notices the action and knows right away that you’re starting to feel cold as always. Reaching down he grabs a blanket from the basket next to the couch and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer to him.

“Come ‘ere,” he mumbles, draping the blanket over the two of you. You shuffle closer to him, making yourself comfortable at his side as he makes sure you’re fully tugged in. Then he leaves an arm around you, his fingers gently grazing your shoulder as he turns his attention back at the movie.

Glancing over at Florence you see the puzzled look on her, but you ignore it biting into your bottom lip, turning back to watch the movie though you’re having a hard time focusing. All you can think about is Harry’s touch on you.

It’s almost midnight when Florence calls herself a taxi. Harry picks up the glasses you used and volunteers to wash them, leaving you and Florence alone in the living room.

“So, what’s up with you and Harry?” she questions right away without beating around the bush.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you two has always been close, but now… it seems all too… couple-like.” She narrows her eyes at you, hands on her hips, looking like a mother questioning her daughter.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not,” she scoffs. Then you pretend to be busy with folding the blanket, but you can feel her intent stare on you before she speaks up again. “You like him, don’t you?”

“What?” you huff with a not too Oscar-worthy expression on your face that was supposed to hide the panic in you. “Well of course I like him, he is my friend and boss.”

“But not just like that. You like like him.”

“Florence,” you sigh, just when Harry walks out of the kitchen, oblivious to the conversation that he just interrupted.

“You sure you don’t want to spend the night?” he politely asks her, but she just shakes her head.

“I’m not really up for spending the night on the couch.”

“You wouldn’t have to, you can sleep in my bed,” he simply offers and something is telling you he shouldn’t open his mouth again.

“You’re not taking the couch because of me.”

“I wouldn’t, I usually sleep at Y/N’s,” he states as if it was nothing, but you instantly freeze.

Yes, ever since his birthday he has spent way more nights in your bed than in his own, always raving to you how well he can sleep when you’re next to him and you couldn’t bear the thought of him feeling lonely, so you’ve been letting him occupy half of your bed through the nights. He usually holds your hand falling asleep and then you wake up tangled together, sometimes he is cuddling you from behind, other times you’re the one curled up to his side. He treats it so casually, like it really is nothing, he just always goes on his day when you wake up so you decided to not make it into a big deal either.

Florence gives you a wide eyed look that you try hard to ignore, while Harry is so oblivious to what he just caused with his statement.

“I uhh—thanks but I’m fine going home. Besides, I think my car is already here. See you guys on set tomorrow. Y/N?” she calls out walking towards the front door.

“Hm?”

“We’ll talk later,” she tells you and it’s a strong message that she won’t just leave it at that.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you nod awkwardly, waving her goodbye.

You and Harry clean up together and as always, he is the first one to use the bathroom and by the time you’re done, he is in your bed, waiting for you to join him. You don’t comment on his presence anymore, part of you afraid he would stop spending the night in your bed and you definitely don’t want that. Not much is left from filming, meaning that soon you are forced to go home where you and Harry do not live at the same place so you’re gonna have to sleep alone, like you did before. Only now you are way too hooked on the feeling of having him in your bed, even if it’s not in the way you truly want, it’s better than nothing.

The moment you get under the sheets, Harry reaches out and pulls you to his side. He hasn’t done this often when you went to sleep, only sneaking some small touches, but you don’t mind him being a little extra clingy.

“Filming is almost over,” you mumble into his chest, your hand lazily resting where his ribcage ends in his chest.

“Mhm.” There’s a short silence before he speaks up again. “What about it, Angel?”

“It’s just that it’s going to be weird going home. I got used to living here.” It’s your way saying that you’re gonna miss having him around all the time, but you’re not sure if he understands the hint. It doesn’t really matter anyway.

“You like cramped together with me?” he chuckles lowly.

“Was kinda nice,” you smile.

“Remember how you threatened me to throw my shit out if I leave my dirty clothes on the floor?”

“I do,” you smirk, thinking back to the conversation where you agreed to live with him while he is filming. “Didn’t find any clothes on the floor, so you get an A for that.”

“Wow, was this… a compliment?”

“Shut up, I always compliment you!” you laugh smacking his chest gently.

“Oh, no. You don’t compliment, you just tell me when I managed not to fuck something up,” he corrects you and your cheeks are heating up about how well he knows you.

“Those are compliments in my book, don’t be greedy.”

“M’not. I love how grounded you keep me with treating me like this.”

“Like what?” you ask furrowing your eyebrows.

“Like a normal person. With you, I don’t have to be afraid that I earn something because of who I am. You give no shit about my name, you always keep me in check and I appreciate that.”

“Can’t let you have a too big of a head,” you smirk, closing your eyes. He laughs with you, squeezing you a little before you both fall into silence, drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms.

You’ve managed to avoid Florence in the past few days. Her burning look has been making you way too nervous, you know she wants to know more about what’s going on between you and Harry, but truth to be told, you have no idea what to tell her.

Yeah, I’m definitely in love with him and we’ve been sharing a bed for a few weeks because he feels lonely alone at night, so he uses me to ease the feeling while I just let him because as I said, I’m in love with the man.

No, you can’t tell her that.

Now there’s only two days left from filming, meaning that only two more nights to spend with Harry and it’s making you a nervous wreck to think about sleeping alone in your bedroom.

You round the corner in the maze of the trailers after a phone call you had with Jeff when you run out of luck and bump right into Florence.

“I’ve been looking for you, Y/N. Come have lunch with me in my trailer,” she smiles sweetly, grabbing you by your hand so you can’t escape her this time.

“Oh I wanted to call—“

“Do it later,” she simply cuts you off.

Soon, you find yourself in her trailer as she eats her burger while she eyes you with suspicion.

“So, you and Harry sleep together?”

“Well, not like that. We really just sleep in the same bed.”

“Oh, makes perfect sense, sleeping in the same bed as your boss. Very casual.”

“Don’t make it sound so weird,” you frown at her words. You definitely don’t see Harry as your boss. You do work for him, but it never felt like he stands anywhere above you, the two of you have always been equal even before you became close friends.

“You gotta admit it’s pretty unusual,” she points out and you just look away from her. “So let’s talk about how you’re in love with him.”

“What? I never said that!” you protest, but she just gives you a look that says ‘cut the crap, girl’ and you know there’s no use to try to trick her, she sees right through you. “Don’t fucking look at me like that, I have enough shit on my plate without your judgment.”

“Oh, I’m not judging you. I’m just wondering why you two are not together already.”

You practically snort at her statement, finding it quite absurd and ridiculous.

“What? You two are perfect for each other and I’m pretty sure Harry loves you too.”

“Yeah, as a friend.”

“That’s not how friends act, Y/N. He wouldn’t beg himself into your bed every night if he was just your friend.”

“He is just lonely. He doesn’t need me, just someone to be with him.”

“That’s bullshit,” she scoffs. “You two are just being idiots.” Just as you are about to answer, your phone starts ringing. Harry’s smiley face appears on the screen, making you extremely nervous because of the conversation you are having with Florence.

“Hey,” you breathe out answering the call.

“Hey, where are you?”

“Just, talking with Florence. What’s up?”

“I got an email from Jeff and I have some questions.”

“I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Thank you Angel,” he hums before ending the call.

“I gotta go. Please don’t… bring any of this up for Harry,” you ask Florence, heading to the exit.

“You’ve gotta sort your shit out. This is not ideal, Y/N.”

“I know it,” you growl under your breath, leaving the trailer. You chew on your bottom lip nervously as you march back to Harry’s trailer. You feel so confused and anxious about this whole situation and the worst thing is that you have no idea what to do about it. Telling him how you feel seems like a stupid idea, but mostly because you’re terrified of rejection. What if it all meant nothing to him? If you were right and he is just lonely and uses you to help himself, it has nothing to do with you. You wouldn’t survive the heartbreak it would give you if he told you he doesn’t see you more than just a friend.

As you walk into his trailer he is sitting on the sofa with his phone in his hands. He glances up at you, a warm smile tugging on his lips as you take a deep breath, feeling very much out of place suddenly. Unfortunately, he immediately senses your discomfort.

“Everything alright, Angel?”

Angel. This nickname could make your knees go weak in a heartbeat and you hate how much effect it has on you. Especially in this state of mind you’re currently in.

“I just…” You shake your head shutting your eyes. “Why do you keep calling me that?” you ask, sounding way more desperate than you intended to. Harry puts his phone aside, looking a little puzzled at your sudden weird act, but he seems more worried for you.

“I, uhh—“

“And don’t tell me it’s because Hey Angel is about me. We didn’t know each other back then.”

You have no idea where this is coming from or why you even questioned him about it all of a sudden, but Florence just totally threw you off with what she just said. Harry stares back at you, probably vigorously looking for the reason why you are acting up now, but luckily, he doesn’t try to turn it into a joke as always.

“I call you Angel, because you remind me of the song. It wasn’t written about you, but the lyrics match up with… you.”

“What?” you ask in confusion.

“I wish I could be more like you, do you wish you could be more like me?” he quotes the song, not singing the words, simply just talking them as he stares back at you. “I see you at the bar, at the edge of my bed, backseat of my car, in the back of my head,” he continues and you feel your throat doing dry just from the way he softly speaks, standing only a few feet away from you. “I come alive when I hear your voice, it’s a beautiful sound, it’s a beautiful noise.”

You never really gave it another thought, but now that he has told you this, it hit you hard in the chest. You weren’t expecting, especially because those lines are rather meaningful, to you at least.

“I thought of it once not long after we first met and thought calling you Angel would suit you. Do you mind it? I can just… stop calling you that if you don’t like it.”

You shake your head. You never want him to stop calling you that even if it’s not that meaningful for him. If it’s just some game. It’s great to know that something reminded him of you.

“No, it’s… it’s alright.” Your voice is small, barely more than just a whisper. It’s a little too much at once. Florence’s words are still stuck in your head, and what he just said has felt like he just gripped your heart even if he doesn’t know.

You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to come back from this hazy state of mind.

“So, what about that email?”

“You alright?” Reaching forward he takes your hand and you try not to flinch at his touch, just smile at him nodding.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He squeezes your hand before dropping it and he luckily doesn’t ask any more questions.

You stay oddly quiet for the rest of the day and Harry surely knows something is wrong, but he respects you enough not to bug you about it any longer. He just stays close to you as much as he can, trying his best to take your mind off of whatever keeps you occupied.

On the way home you and Harry drop by a supermarket, buy some quick dinner, not wanting to stack the fridge when you’re leaving so soon. Then you sit in the living room, eating and watching some random movie that’s on TV. You snuggle to his side on the couch naturally, he doesn’t even have to pull you close this time. The thought of having left only one more night in the apartment makes you want to sue every little moment you have left in this bubble.

Harry makes you have a shower first tonight and when you come out from the bathroom, your bed is already nicely made, inviting you warmly. He is quick to finish with his shower and joins you in bed barely five minutes later. You move towards each other instantly, his arms curling around your form soothingly as you make yourself comfortable, melted into his embrace. You feel his lips pressing against your forehead and you almost start crying at the small action.

“Angel, I don’t know what has upset you, but I’m here for you, alright? You’re not alone,” he murmurs softly.

“I know,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I would do anything for you, just like you do so much for me. You’ve got me.”

I wish, you think to yourself. You have him, but not the way you’ve been desiring. His hand moves to cup your face as he lifts your head so you are looking into his eyes in the darkened room, but there’s enough light coming through the window that you see his features. He runs his thumb across your cheek, gently caressing your skin and everywhere he touches you, it feels like your body is in flames. This something has been building up inside you and now you’re not sure how long you’ll be able to control yourself. And just as you think about how you really should put some distance between the two of you so you won’t regret it later, the unexpected happens.

Harry pulls you up just enough so when he moves his head he is able to place his lips on yours, kissing you out of the blue. His lips feel so soft, so fitting on your mouth, you let out a whimper when he goes further than just a gentle kiss, taking your bottom lip between his properly. It’s an out of world experience, you’ve imagined it so many times, but you never thought it would actually happen and now that it is very much happening, your whole mind goes blank and for a split second… everything feels right. You kiss him back with fever and with each passing moment the kiss grows more passionate and way hungrier than how it started. Harry’s arm tightens around you, almost pulling you on top of him and you can’t make yourself stop, not that you want to.

With a little force, Harry pushes the two of you around so now you’re lying on the mattress and he holds himself up above you, his lips never disconnecting from yours. He licks into your mouth, pulling and tugging on your lips, making your whole body go weak just for him.

But then, as if reality hit you in the head, you realize what’s happening.

“Harry,” you gasp pulling back, gasping for air. “This—We…”

“Angel, let me take care of you. Please,” he begs out of breath.

“What…”

“I want to make you feel good. I want to take care of you, please let me.” He sounds so desperate, like he would do anything for this and you are not strong enough to deny it from him.

It’s just his pity. He’s been using you for his needs, now he wants to give some back, it’s nothing more, you think to yourself. It can’t be more.

You lack the willpower to make a rational decision, so as you stare up into his eyes that appear so dark due to the lack of proper lighting, you just nod before he leans down and kisses you again.

He holds himself up on one arm while his free hand wanders down your body, touching you at places you have never felt him before. He palms your left breast, squeezing it gently and it makes you moan into his mouth before his hand moves down the curve of your waist until it reaches your sleeping shorts. Your body is burning for him and you can’t stop it from reacting to everything he does. You buckle your hips up when you feel his fingers gently graze along your pubic bone, even though you’re still fully clothed.

“What do you want me to do, Angel? I’ll do anything you want me to,” he pants between kisses as his hand moves to cup your heated core, making you moan again from the sensation of his touch there.

“I need you,” is all you manage to get out.

“I’m right here. You got me. What do you want me to do? Please, tell me, Angel,” he whines, forehead pressed against yours and his hips fall, pressing against your thigh, making you realize how excited he has gotten. His erection is hard under the fabric of his boxers, almost aching to be freed. There’s no way you can take any teasing or a long foreplay. You need him inside you now before you burst.

“Harry, I need you inside me. Please,” you whimper, almost cry, before he kisses you again, hard and demanding as he simply pushes your shorts down, revealing your naked sex since you don’t wear any underwear to bed. You grab the waistband of his boxers too and push it down until he can wiggle his legs out of them, leaving him completely naked in your bed while you still have a top covering your upper body, however he is quick to change that. He grabs the hem and starts pulling it off, your hands helping him so a few moments later you’re completely naked underneath him.

“Fuck, Angel,” he breathes out, his perfect, pink lips attacking the side of your throat, kissing and nibbling on the skin, going down to your breasts, giving the same amount of attention to both while you turn into jelly under his touch. lacing your fingers through his hair you cry out his name as you can feel him leaving a mark on your left breast, his tongue swirling against the spot he just completely destroyed before he brings himself back up so he can kiss you again and again with so much hunger, it’s hard to tell where you end and where he starts. Everything melts together and you’re such a mess in every possible way.

His hand gently reaches down between your legs and parts your shaking thighs before he cups you drenched pussy, his middle finger sliding between your folds, a shameless moan slipping from your mouth, right into his as your lips are still attached.

“So wet, I can’t wait to make you feel good, baby. Let me make you feel good.”

“Harry, just… please,” you pant, surely feeling yourself lose the last bits of your nerves.

“D’you have a condom?” he asks, head lifting up a bit so he can look into your eyes.

“I-In my, um, the makeup bag,” you try to explain gesturing towards your dresser where your makeup bag sits on top, two condoms somewhere inside it. Harry pecks your lips before pulling away from you, the lack of his weight on top of you making you shiver.

He digs into the bag until he finds what he’s been looking for, tearing the packaging open with his teeth and he rolls it on while he walks back, not wasting another moment. You cling onto him like a koala bear once he is back in bed, his massive body covering you again.

“Just tell me how you like it, I’ll do anything,” he mumbles against your shivering lips as he pushes the head in first, stopping for a second before the rest of his cock buries inside you, completely taking your breath away. He is bigger than anyone you’ve ever been with, filling up every inch of you, your walls stretching around him as he stills once he is all the way inside you.

This is it. This is the moment you’ve imagined oh so many times, feeling him the closest possible, his cock buried inside you, his cheek pressed against yours as he holds himself up on top of you. Years of yearning and endless nights when you imagined your hand was his… and now it’s your reality. And though you know it’s gonna change everything, you can’t tell yourself to stop.

Harry lifts his head, pecking your lips gently, calling you Angel over and over again as he starts moving, the friction between your legs growing with each thrust. He fits inside you so well, you won’t be able to enjoy sex with anyone else now that you’ve experienced it with Harry. All of a sudden, he has become the epitome of your whole life.

“Tell me what you want, Angel. Do you want me to go slow or fast? Tell me how to make you feel good.” His lips brush against yours with each word while you’re just trying to catch your breath, fingers digging into his back, the euphoria building up inside you gradually.

“A little faster,” you breathe out, speaking feels like a hard task at the moment. Harry picks his pace up, finding just the right rhythm that makes you wrap your legs around his waist so he can go even deeper with each thrust he makes.

“Look at me, Angel. Let me see your eyes,” he begs, his hand cupping your cheek. He runs his thumb along the line of your lower lip before he takes it between his lips, tugging on it gently, kissing you like you’re his last breath on Earth. He is devouring you, body melts together with yours, all your senses are strictly focused on him. He is all you see, hear, feel and taste.

Your gaze meets his and the way he looks at you, like you’re his whole entire world, it makes your eyes tear up. You want it to be true, you want it to be reality, you want it to be more than just about needs and satisfaction, but it’s not and your consciousness is not letting you believe otherwise.

“Oh Angel,” he softly hums, wiping away a tear that escaped the corner of your eye and ran down the side of your face. Keeping up his rhythm he kisses along your jawline, your cheek, your lips, the side of your face, the bridge of your nose, everywhere he can before returning to your lips with a hungry, passion filled kiss.

“Harry…” you whimper, holding your thighs tighter around his waist as you feel yourself nearing the edge.

“Let it go for me, Angel. I wanna see you feel good, cum for me,” he tells you, eyes never leaving yours as you are ready to burst underneath him.

“Harry, I-I need you!” The words fall from your lips as a desperate beg, arms wrapping around his torso tight, as if he could disappear from your embrace any moment.

“I’m right here, Angel. Right here,” he soothes you, kissing your lips sweetly as proof that he is not just a trick your mind is playing on you. “Are you close, baby? Are you gonna cum for me?”

“Yes! Yes!” you pant, losing control over your body and all your senses. It’s gonna be intense, you can tell and it hasn’t even started yet, you just know it’ll shake you to the core.

“Good girl. Let me make you feel good.” “So good,” you breathe out before Harry occupies your lips with his once again.

It doesn’t take long. He keeps thrusting in the perfect angle and it throws you right over the edge. Harry demands you look him in the eyes when your orgasm wash you over and the intensity of it all almost makes you cry again. You burst, lose yourself under him, screaming his name as if you were praying to all higher forces. In a way, you are, because for a moment you really think you completely vanish from this world.

Harry follows you just a few more thrusts later, falling out of his rhythm as he grunts and moans your name, face buried into the crook of your neck while you tug on his hair, the feeling of his soft locks between your fingers is like pure heaven.

He stills, but stays inside you as he looks up, his eyes filled with satisfaction and contentment as he cups your face again, kissing you long, taking his time with you.

As you come off your high and the clouds of euphoria clears off, reality sets in more painfully than ever. Your limbs are paralyzed and you feel like you are outside your own body, just watching everything happen as if you were a third person in the room. Harry rolls to the side, chest heaving wildly as he is trying to regulate himself. Once he is able to breathe without panting, he pecks your shoulder gently and makes a quick round to the bathroom. You hear water running and then his feet padding on the floor, but you can’t bring yourself to move, you just lie there, completely drained out. It doesn’t change even when Harry gently cleans you off with a damp washing cloth, throwing it to the side to take care of it in the morning. He pulls the covers over the two of you and scoops you into his arms. You manage to bring your arm up to his chest as your head rests on his shoulder. His fingers are dancing up and down your arm, his steady breathing keeping your overcrowded head grounded. And then… he starts singing so softly, it’s almost just a whisper.

“Hey Angel, oh, I wish I could be more like you. Do you wish you could be more like me?”

Your eyes shut close, the damn tears flooding again, but you keep your sobs drowned in your throat. Instead you force yourself to sleep and hope you live to see the morning, because you feel like your heart is about to give up on you.

When you wake up, you genuinely feel like you’ve drunk through last night and now have the worst hangover. It’s like you’ve been hit on the head with a chair. You slowly come to your senses and realize that you’re completely naked in bed and there’s a body curled to your side, equally naked.

The shock sets in first because you realize, once again, that what happened last night wasn’t just a fever dream, it actually happened. And then you basically jump out of bed when you look at the small digital clock on the bedside and see that the two of you have ten minutes to leave if you don’t want to be late to the last day of filming.

“Harry! Harry get up!” you smack him, kicking the covers off and grabbing your top and shorts from the floor, quickly putting them on. The man in talk growls, just rolling to his back without even opening his eyes. “Harry damn it! We have ten minutes or you’ll be late!” you snap at him and it somewhat wakes him up. With furrowed eyebrows at puckered lips, he lifts his head up and looks around.

Those lips were kissing you last night.

“What?” he mumbles in confusion.

“We overslept, get up. We have… eight minutes left.”

“Shit,” he mumbles under his breath, finally getting out of bed, reaching for his boxers.

It’s a shitshow as the two of you try to get ready on time and though you are running just a few minutes late, the driver of the taxi manages to speed down the streets fast enough that you arrive to set just in time.

During the whole ride, you feel Harry’s burning eyes on you, but thank God, you get a call from Jeffrey the moment you get into the car and it lasts the whole ride so you don’t have to talk with him about what happened last night.

“Y/N,” he tries when you’re still on the phone and he is already done with hair and makeup, heading to set to start filming.

“What?” you mouth at him.

“Can we talk later?”

“I’m busy. Go, I’m sure they are waiting for you,” you whisper to him and he looks so disappointed, but he nods and walks away. Your heart breaks as you lower the phone. You have been out of the call for some time, just didn’t want to talk to him.

Quite frankly, you’re not ready to talk to him about what happened last night. You don’t want to hear him say that he was just trying to help you out last night, that it wasn’t anything serious, just some messing around. It was just two people trying not to feel lonely.

Walking back into his trailer you can feel your chest tightening, a sharp pain shooting right into your heart the more you think about him. It was a mistake, you shouldn’t have done it because you are the one with the feelings and now you are the one struggling with the consequences of your little get together.

The more you think about it, the worse it gets and you feel like you’re about to suffocate. You need to get out of here, there’s no way you can face him now.

It all happens so fast. Before you can even second guess your decision, you’re on your way back to the apartment to pack all your stuff and get on the first flight back home. You need to put distance between you and him, spending one more night in the same apartment would make you go nuts. So while Harry is filming, completely oblivious to what you’re doing, you pack up your room as fast as possible and head to the airport to hop on the plane that leaves at four pm.

With a racing heart you check all your baggage in and make it through security when Harry first calls you. At first, you want to ignore it, but then you find yourself swiping your thumb across the screen.

“Hey,” you shortly greet him.

“Hey, where are you? Have been looking for you everywhere.” “I um… I’m at the airport,” you answer and the silence on the other end is deafening for a moment.

“You are at the what?” he then snaps.

“I had a, um, kind of emergency, so I’m heading back home now. Sorry, I would have called you, but didn’t know when you’d be off set.”

“You fucking packed and left already? You’re really at the airport?” He is fuming, Raging. You can tell he is pacing in the trailer, vigorously running his fingers through his hair, ruining it without a care. You almost feel guilty, but then again, you just know facing him now would break you. You’ll get back to him when you’ve pulled your shit together.

“I am, calm down, alright? Not a big deal.” “You just left on our last day here without a fucking word! And when am I seeing you again?”

“I, uhh—I need to be home for a while, but you’ll be fine. I’ll stay in touch with you in email and text.”

“Fucking text? Email?” he is barking now. Good thing you are not there because it would be a disaster. “Y/N, you can’t be serious. We-we were supposed to talk. You can’t just fucking disappear like this.”

“We’ll talk, alright?”

“When?”

“Later,” you simply tell him at a loss for a better answer. Hopefully, never, you think to yourself, but don’t say it out loud.

“Okay, you’re not doing this. Don’t you dare get on a plane, I’m going to the airport right now. You’re not leaving.”

“Well, I am and you’re not coming here,” you clap back, but you can already hear him moving around, probably gathering his stuff so he can leave right away.

“Swear to God if you get on that plane, I’m—“ He cuts himself off, no idea what to really say and you just sigh, closing your eyes. People rush by you and as you glance at the big screen you see that your plane is boarding.

“Harry, just… it’ll be better like this, alright? You’ll be fine, I’ll see you… when I see you. Have fun on your last day on set.”

You end the call before he could get another word out and put it on airplane mode right away as you grab your backpack and head to your gate.

Using your time on the plane wisely, you put together a very detailed schedule for Harry so he knows everything about his next few weeks and you can minimize your contact with him. You even set up a bunch of reminders in his calendar so he won’t miss his appointments.

When you set feet on the ground again, you expect the distance between you and Harry to feel comforting and freeing, but it’s the opposite. An ache in your chest is getting heavier as you get yourself a taxi and head home, feeling more alone than ever in your life.

Your home doesn’t feel like a home. Not without that one person who could make any place your home, but you can’t see him right now, not until you learn how to exist around him without the urge to faint.

Going to bed alone is pure torture. Every moment you are waiting to hear Harry shuffling around in the apartment, you miss his little snorts when he is watching the TV, his singing coming from the shower, but most importantly, you miss having him so close to you in bed. Now that you’re lying on your own, your bed feels so cold, it brings you tears as reality sets in. You miss him. You miss him more than anything and you can’t imagine a time when it won’t hurt anymore.

The crying pushes you into a shallow slumber sometime in the middle of the night, however, you’re rudely shaken back to consciousness when you hear someone banging on your door like crazy, pushing the doorbell constantly.

“Jesus fuck,” you mumble with a grimace, pulling a hoodie on as you make your way to the door hazily, probably still half asleep because you open the door without checking who it is through the peephole and you end up staring up at none other than Harry. “What the—What are you doing here?” you breathe out, panic sets in fast and your hands start shaking at the sight of him.

Harry steps inside without invitation and closes the door behind him, a stern expression on his handsome face.

“Y/N, what the fuck were you thinking when you left like that?”

“I-I told you, it was an emergency.”

“What kind of emergency? Because I called your mom and sisters, they all said nothing happened in the family, so what could possibly happen that needed you here immediately?”

“I don’t have to explain shit to you.” Shaking your head you try to step back to put some distance between the two of you, but he doesn’t let you, taking a step forward at the same time.

“Well I think we have a lot to talk about after last night, don’t you think?”

“I don’t want to talk,” you shake your head biting into your bottom lip. This wasn’t supposed to happen, why couldn’t he just stay where he was? “How did you even get here so fast?”

“Left as soon as we wrapped.”

“Where are all your stuff?”

“Left everything there, I’ll just go back and pack it up, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that for a girl who genuinely hates any form of working out, you ran pretty fast from you today.”

Any other day you would have laughed at his comparison, but not today. You just stand there, chewing on the inside of your cheeks as you try to figure out what to do or say. You were not ready to face him so soon.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask desperately, throwing your hands into the air.

“Tell me what it meant for you,” he calmly answers and you want to shake him. How is he so peaceful?

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m not doing this to myself, okay? I need time, Harry.”

“For what?”

“So I can get myself over this, alright? I need time, I—fuck this,” you growl, feeling the tears flooding your eyes again. Damn it!

“Why the fuck do you want to get yourself over it?”

“Because it obviously didn’t mean the same thing to me as it meant to you!” you snap at him and he raises his eyebrows at you in a way that tells you “you’re stupid”.

“What do you think it meant to me?”

“Probably nothing,” you scoff rolling your eyes, but the anger that bursts from him quickly washes your attitude away.

“Fucking nothing? You think I would get on a fucking plane first thing after filming for ten hours straight just to come after you? You think I spent all my nights with you these past weeks because you mean nothing to me? You know, for a smart girl, you can be pretty dumb sometimes.”

You blink at him in utter confusion, his words knocked you off your feet. He exhales sharply, long fingers running through his messy curls as he tries his best to calm himself down. When he is finally breathing somewhat normally his wildly vibrant green eyes meet your widened stare.

“Y/N, I thought we were on the same page. What did you think it was all about?” he softly asks, seeing how shook you still are.

“I, uhh—I thought this was all just some kind of distraction. You said you were feeling lonely, I thought you were just… kind of using me. And then last night was you returning the favor.”

“Hell no,” he breathes out shaking his head as he steps closer and this time you don’t back away from him. You let his hands run down your arms until they find your hands. “I thought this was clear, but I’m gonna say it then. I’m in love with you, Y/N, have been for a long time, I was just being a pussy and didn’t know how you’d take it. But then, when you didn’t kick me out of your bed the first night we slept together, it got me hoping and it was all heading just the right direction. Then last night happened and I was so damn sure this would be our turning point but then…” He breathes out shakily again, as if the thought still upsets him. “When I called you and you said you were at the airport… I love you, Angel, but I was ready to murder you.”

You let out a faint chuckle, feeling the tears bubbling in your eyes.

“Why did you run away instead of talking to me? Did you not trust me?” he asks softly, a hand coming up to cup your jaw gently.

“I didn’t trust myself,” you admit weakly.

“Oh Angel…” Leaning down he kisses your forehead tenderly, his lips feel like soft feathers against your hot skin. “Do you need me to tell you again how in love I am with you or are you gonna believe me? You’re not planning to run away again, are you?” he teases you making you chuckle as you shake your head.

“I’m not gonna run away, but I would love to hear you say you love me again.”

“I love you. I love you so fucking much, Angel, don’t you ever think otherwise for a moment, okay?”

You nod, lips curling into your mouth as your teary eyes meet his green orbs.

“I love you too, Harry.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” he chuckles breathing out in relief and it makes you smile. “I would never just use you. Love you way too much for that, Angel. You are everything to me.”

“Wish I knew that earlier,” you mumble with a bitter chuckle. It would have saved you a lot of tears.

“I will never stop saying it to you.” His forehead rests against yours, noses touching as his arms curl around your frame, pulling you close to him until you’re pressed up against his hard chest. “Just out of curiosity, what were you thinking when I told you, you reminded me of Hey Angel? Because I think it pretty much gave me away, but apparently, I was wrong,” he chuckles lowly, pulling back a little so he can look you in the eyes.

“I honestly have no idea,” you admit with an awkward chuckle. “I just had a conversation with Florence before that where she called me out about my feelings for you and I was still kind of in shock. Probably took it as just your usual flirty behavior.”

“I’ll admit I do flirt some, but haven’t you realized it’s different with you?”

“I guess not.” “Angel, you are… something else,” he chuckles in disbelief before leaning down he finally presses his lips against yours. You giggle into his lips, arms wrapping around his neck as he lifts you up from the ground, twirling you around, a squeal slipping from your mouth.

“So, now you have to go back to pack your stuff?” you question, still wrapped into his arms completely and you don’t want to exist any other way. This is where you belong.

“Yeah. Had to chase down this Angel who thought she could run away from me.”

“So how are you planning to get to New York by four tomorrow when you’re still here and have to go back to pack? Have you checked the schedule I sent you? You’re not gonna make it.” You cock your head to the side with an arched brow.

“Did you just go back to full assistant mode right after we confessed our love for each other?”

“Someone has to be responsible and we both know it’s always me.”

“I’ll just hire someone to do it for me, I’ll leave to New York from here. Happy?” he grins at you as you nod.

“Very. Because this means you can stay the night here.”

“Seeing the fact that I literally have nowhere else to go, because even my house keys are in the suitcase I left back… I very much need to stay here for the night,” he points out.

“Good. Come on, my bed felt empty without you,” you giggle, pulling him towards your bedroom and he follows you eagerly.

“I can definitely help that.”

Thank you for reading! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed!

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kindlyones · 2 years

Note

Okay okay, so I HAVE FEELINGS AND ITS ALL YOUR FAULT

But okay: teen Rebecca has her first kiss, and of course she tells her favourite Uncle. She tells him everything. And shes so excited about this BoyGirl that he cant even be outwardly angry? But on the inside hes a simmering pot of 'about to murder a tween' stew

Not that you asked for requests, but that post gave me life and partial death

I wasn’t and yet here I am, taking it. For @adowbaldwin

———

It was a rare moment. Baldwin had a job to do. For the family. After Matthew’s birthday party, which Baldwin had attended, Becca, now 13, was begging anyone with a car to drive her to the shopping center with the movie theater and the Sephora.

“It’s your father’s special night!” said Diana, who had family activities planned for the whole evening.

“No it isn’t,” said Becca, who was going through her obstinate teen phase. “Papa doesn’t have a birthday. Or he has too many. You just do this for you.”

“Rebecca…” said Matthew in warning.

“Everyone from school is going to see X-Men: Reunions and if I miss out I’ll have to watch it by myself!” Becca was very worried about something.

“You can watch it with us?” offered Diana.

“Ugh, no, mom it has like kissing scenes in it. And fighting. You wouldn’t like it.” Becca twiddled with her hair. She was not playing this cool at all.

Baldwin saw an opportunity to get some bonding time with his favorite niece and also an opportunity to cut out early from the party.

“I’ll drive you. I should head back to the city anyway,” said Baldwin. “If your parents say you can go,” he added, remembering the many fights he had had regarding what the twins were and weren’t allowed to do and have.

Becca transformed immediately. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you! You are the best! I’m getting my purse!”

She has a purse, thought Baldwin? Diana and Matthew gave him a look that said “It’s your funeral.”

“Don’t pull away until she’s inside and she’s with her friends,” said Matthew, who only approved of unsupervised outings with friends after several stern conversations with Diana.

“Obviously,” said Baldwin, standing up.

Becca came bouncing back into the room and for a moment she was a little girl again, scampering into her uncle’s arms.

Baldwin looked at Philip. “Are you coming as well?”

“Ugh, no, he’s not invited. He’s going to stay home and play his VR games,” said Becca. Baldwin did not like this new callousness and hoped she outgrew it.

Philip, who was playing a game on his phone, didn’t seem to hear any of this.

—-

Baldwin and Becca pulled out of the driveway and into the street. She was tall enough to sit in the front seat now. She had inherited her father’s legs and shot up six inches in six months, it seemed. Baldwin was concerned if her mother might like to purchase her a longer skirt now she had grown so tall. As they turned off her parents’ street, Becca opened her ludicrously small purse and withdrew a plastic tube which she uncapped. The scent of fake strawberries and plastics filled Baldwin’s car. His nostrils flared. Becca started smearing the goopy substance across her lips with a foamy little wand attached to the lid.

“By the gods, Becca, what is that?” he asked, glancing over. He might have worried about crashing the car from the shock and intensity of the smell, but the thing could drive itself. He only drove it because he was old fashioned and liked driving.

“It’s just lip gloss—mom said it was ok!” she said quickly, as if expecting to be challenged.

Baldwin was extremely suspicious of this. He now saw this trip as the minefield that it was. He got on the highway.

“How do I connect my phone to your car? I wanna play music,” said Becca.

“Hold off on that for now. I thought I was your favorite uncle? I was looking forward to talking,” said Baldwin.

“Oh,” said Becca, as if he had just lost any cool points he had ever earned with her.

The silence stretched out between them. Becca checked her lip gloss in the selfie cam on her phone and sent a photo to someone.

Baldwin cleared his throat. “Ahem. I understand you went to your first junior dance? 7th grade? Your mother sent pictures.”

“Yeah.”

“And how was that?”

“It was fine.”

“Did you dance with anyone?”

“Ugh, Jesus Christ, like… people don’t just dance with each other okay it’s just like everyone just vibes together okay? You’re just like dad.”

Shots fired, thought Baldwin. Where did his little cara go? He doubted very much that people had stopped dancing. What a world.

“Ok well did anyone want to ‘vibe’ with you? Or who you wanted to ‘vibe’ with?”

“Dad put you up to this, didn’t he? Is this a set up?”

“I assure you, your father and I are not in cahoots.”

“What the hell is a ‘cahoot’?”

“Language, young lady!”

Becca crossed her arms and pouted. If only Marcus had driven her.

Baldwin took a deep breath. “If you wish to keep things private from your father, you are going to need to work a lot harder than that. Any vampire could tell you are hiding something.”

Becca’s mouth dropped, astonished she’d been found out. And she’d been so cool! So slick! Like a spy. She’d gotten away with the lip gloss and everything.

“Who is he?” asked Baldwin. Becca gave him the silent treatment. “Did you slow dance?” He watched her reactions carefully. She rolled her eyes. “I won’t tell Papa. I know how to keep a secret. Did he try to kiss you?” Her heart was racing like a little bird in her chest. “Okay. Okay. He kissed you. Did you kiss him back?”

Becca stomped her foot on the floor of the car. “Jace is a they, Uncle. It’s rude to misgender people.”

“Well excuse me, I had no way of knowing their pronouns.” This was not going well. But he was getting somewhere. He eased up on questioning. She had started opening up. His years of military experience taught him when a source was ready to give up the goods.

Becca ground her teeth. “I kissed them,” she said very quietly. “But it was bad. I hurt their braces. It was very wet. Not like it looks on shows.”

Finally. Baldwin wished he weren’t in the car. He would like to start pacing. Maybe slam his fist on a desk. But he couldn’t spook her. She wouldn’t look at him. As he wracked his mind for something to say that wasn’t how could my little cara be kissing people Becca continued:

“Mom said you kiss a lot of people. Is it always… like that?”

“Your mother said what?” Baldwin was perplexed.

“Papa made a joke about you in French I didn’t understand and when I asked her about it she said you have a lot of lady friends that you kiss sometimes.”

Baldwin wished very dearly he could turn back time. Turn back time to when Becca was small and they could hunt pigeons together in France and she would marvel at him leaping through the air to grab one. Or at least turn back time to before he had gotten in this fucking car with his pubescent niece. He was shocked she would even ask him about that, although upon reflection, he had only himself to blame. He had brought up kissing first. He had never—never—discussed his liaisons with his family and certainly not his underage niece and nephew.

“Kissing can be difficult at first. It’s easy to get over eager. Or too nervous. It is a soft art. But I’m sure if you wait until you are older—“

“Uncle!” she interrupted him. “God. I wish I’d never told you.”

That hurt. She was lethal. Like her father. He had no idea what to say. He had advised thousands of young women in the arts of love but he absolutely was not going to impart any of that information to his Becca. Firstly, she should never kiss anyone ever. Secondly, it was kind of creepy? He was not well versed in modern uncle-niece relationships but in his day, it was weird. He kicked himself again for every bringing it up. He didn’t think she would actually have done it. He had said it as a tactic to get her talking. To accuse her of something far worse to get her to give up the truth. He used to do this to his lads—the soldiers under his command.

A thought struck him like a thunderbolt. “Is Jace going to be there tonight? Is that why you wanted to leave your father’s birthday party?” he asked.

“Uncle, stop. This isn’t, like, a military interrogation.”

“No, young lady, because if it were, you would have been caught red handed! Removed from your post! Escorted away by the military police!”

“Kissing isn’t, like, illegal. Baldwin.”

“Now you stop that. I’m your uncle and I’ll always be your uncle no matter who you kiss. And you can tell me things. Things you don’t want to tell your parents.”

He remembered when she was little and her parents had ingrained in her to never talk about vampire things except with them, but their intensity to know all her thoughts and feelings had frightened her, especially when she thought she felt the wrong thing because it upset mummy and daddy. He had held her close and told her she could never feel the wrong thing. She was born how she was born. And being a vampire meant having hard feelings and she shouldn’t be ashamed, and that all that was important was how she acted on them. And she would confess all her urges to her uncle who was never angry with her for being a vampire. And he couldn’t be angry now.

Becca remained silent.

“Okay. Alright. Well…” he had to offer her something. Something helpful so she wouldn’t shut him out. “I don’t even remember my first kiss.”

Becca giggled. She had always found his age to be inexplicably hilarious, like growing so old was a personal joke. She had once asked him if people had roads when he was born.

Baldwin continued, “but I do remember that boys kissed girls then—“

“Oh my god, Uncle. You can’t say that. Anyone can kiss anyone. It’s not Jesus times.”

Baldwin back pedaled. He had fallen into a common trap when talking to young people. “I can’t help you if you keep interrupting me.” Becca stayed quiet, listening intently. They were almost to the shopping center. “So… if you are the kisser, it’s important not to open your mouth too wide. And just keep your face relaxed. And if they start to open their mouth really wide, just pull away. They’ll get it eventually. But don’t mention it. Young people are very sensitive.”

“But I want them to kiss me,” said Becca, so softly Baldwin would not have heard it if he weren’t a vampire.

“Okay, well, if that’s what you want to signal then you can, erm, face them and look into their eyes and put your face a little closer than normal but not too close and give a nice smile and if you were older—no, stop that face—if you were older they would understand what you were thinking but if a thirteen year old… person… doesn’t understand it right away, it’s not your fault.”

“Jace is fourteen.”

Baldwin tried very hard not to grip the steering wheel tighter. Oh my gods. Jace was fourteen. Who knows what this person had experienced!

“And they are at the movies tonight,” Becca continued, a goofy smile coming across her face as she gazed at someone through the window of Baldwin’s car. They had arrived to the drop off area.

Baldwin was laser focused. Target acquired. He regarded the object of Becca’s affections. He tried to scent them but it was impossible. They were shorter than Becca with short, swoopy purple hair. Becca was bouncing out of the car, all legs and arms, and loping over to her friends. She didn’t even say goodbye. Jace felt Baldwin’s stare and met his eyes through the windshield. Baldwin blinked once and looked away. He would not ruin Becca’s night. But he would ruin Jace’s life if they hurt Becca.

When Becca was safely inside, Baldwin pulled away. He drove back to New York City with his teeth grinding and his hands nearly bending the steering wheel. He also felt a little weepy. Her teen years would soon pass, but she would never be his little girl again.

#baldwin montclair #a discovery of witches #adow #baldwin de clermont #fanfic #adow spoilers #rebecca de clermont #this one is angstier than my usual soft uncle baldwin content but I actually did like doing a request!#You can drop them in my ask if you want #i learned to kiss by watching the HBO made for TV movie Hercules and that’s what I think about whenever anyone mentions Hercules #so in a way it was baldwin’s dad who taught me how to kiss #actually the nymph that teaches baldwin’s dad but anyway #did not help my first kiss though #he came at me like he was taking a bite out of a sandwich

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transsexualhamlet · 2 years

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My turn :D 25,27,34,35 for the ask game

hello!!

25-How fluid is your concept of gender and sexuality?

ahaha doing mutual questions i see /pos

I've thought about gender and sexuality a LOT and the thing is?? The more I look at it the more I realize how fake it all is and how much we've constructed it with fake rules and fake ideas and how it can be used creatively but like??? Literally there's no way to really define things and it's a totally made up concept that there are no actual real life definitions of so yeah, people are just gonna be whatever they feel like and want to express themselves as and thats just cool

27- Are you afraid of growing old?

I used to be, a lot, but I think that was mostly influenced by media and kids books that made it seem like you could only be magic or important or interesting as a kid, and after you outgrew that you were just destined to be boring and useless and grow old and obselete. I don't feel like that any more at all. I'll be overjoyed if I have the privelege to grow old because I know that the longer I live the more I'm going to understand, and it's just a natural part of existence. I think we as a society need to stop glorifying youth and youthful beauty especially cause god we're so stupid and old people are important!!!

34- Was your childhood happy?

kaksdghhfsdfga. I mean, it wasn't horrifyingly tragic, it wasn't great, I think it was alright. I had good moments and bad moments. I have parents that care about me even if they suck sometimes and they're not divorced (although they probably should be) we have family that helps us when we're struggling for money and I never really experienced anything more traumatic than normal gifted kid bullshit, autism stuff, shitty friends, and problems with my health. I was pretty ok until middle school, tbh. So it was good enough, I think. I was happy for enough of it to be glad it happened.

35-What are you missing from your life?

I don't know, man! Maybe it's purpose? I don't think i Function Correctly and I don't know what I'm doing I think my brain is just a bit fucked up and i would be pretty ok if it wasn't

#rowan gets yelled at #ask game

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archetypal-archivist · 3 years

Text

Philza- Bound in Blood of Poisonous Desire (What Crimes Shall He Commit?)

A godhood! Sleepy Boys Inc. AU

A story in which Philza is a deity. Five years on a hard core world, enough near scares to kill most normal beings through sheer number of heart attacks alone, and an Ending that wasn’t enough so he broke through clear to the other side.

And came out with wings. And a crown. And glowing red heart, lodged right in the center of his chest, beating to the tune of immortality. Yes. Philza is a god. But what mortal with any sense has ever wanted such a thing?

Philza had been excited at first, he never was a man with much sense so much as determination and a will strong enough to flatten the desires of a world out to kill him. He had been nigh-on ecstatic to never need to worry about perma-death again. Finally, he could traverse his hardcore world without fear and reach for the stars as he always longed to do. He could construct castles, conquer the End and slay the Nether’s demons- all without the constant worry that he would run out of time. Now, he had all the time in the world.

And he used it to build.

Castles. Armaments. Machines of redstone and wires that did the impossible. He flooded worlds that had never before seen water and reaped the lives of its inhabitants for his own personal gain. He had all the time in the world, after all- what was a bit of genocide? He could just wait for the next generation and slay them too.

And then, finally, when immortality had lost its luster and every rock and tree and cube of dirt had his mark, he built the most important thing yet- a family.

A piglin adopted from a Nether that had grown too tough for its denizens, fiercer and hotter in attempt to keep its winged god from plundering its depths. A little boy dressed in a yellow sweater, outcast by a village that couldn’t handle another mouth to feed. A wild child of red and white, ferocious in his temper and fragile in his kindness, who had grown loud in an attempt to be noticed by a world too occupied with survival to care.

Those resources had had to come from somewhere. (And the children paid the price.)

All three loved him, of course, almost as much as they had feared his wrath in the beginning. For Philza was a player and the world a game, and for all that the Guardians of the End preached love and connection, there exist ways to skip their message. And for a being with all the time in the world, who had an unending future and impossible possibilities to get to- who was so, so excited to get started, well. Can you blame him?

But yes. The children learned to love him. For all that he had been the cause of their problems and for all that he ignored the destruction that he caused, he had seen something in them, in their suffering, and taken them with him to his castle in the North. Philza had seen them where the world had ignored them, had given them a chance to be children. Is it so surprising that they grew loyal? That they learned of love from the very being who slayed the old gods who preached it? In that castle in the North, made frozen by time, he treated them kindly, had wiped their tears and sheltered them in his wings. And there the god of the world devised a scheme that would shake their world to its very code.

Let it be said that Philza was not a bad man. Indeed, the suffering of others hurt him most fiercely and he was a staunch defender of those he loved best. His biggest flaws were ones inherent to most mortals- ignorance and selfishness. But where in mortals these were excusable, in gods the consequences radiated out into the world like ripples on a pond. His ignorance? That only players were people- a common misconception. His selfishness? That which he loved was worth... everything. And as established, he had not yet grown enough wisdom to know the consequences of his actions.

Philza loved and loved fiercely. He had ignored the Guardians of the End and had later pillaged their home and slain their children. These are not contradictions, for Philza never loved anything he had not built himself. And his tiny family, his Tommy, Wilbur, and Techno? For them, he would destroy the world. And he did. Miles and miles of stone stripped away for the walls of the grandest of castles, thousands of sheep for warm carpet and entire mountainsides of trees for fire and furniture. Enchanted swords and diamonds gear, a new set each year for the three princes as the grew- and that’s what the children were, now. Princes. And he made them crowns to prove it.

Philza loved his children and wanted the world for them. And in their name he built an empire, based far out in the freezing arctic where the princes would never see the devastation that had nearly led to their demise so long ago. He named it the Arctic empire, crowned his precious boys as princes, and spread word of their names to every listening ear in the land. And the princes, who now had the riches of the world at their fingertips after so long of having nothing, were happy.

But to Philza, it was not enough. He was a god, a player, and as such had higher expectations. For what are the riches of mortals to those who would live to see even diamonds degrade to dust? So he learned how to hop from world to world just for his sons and set out to plunder those places too. He brought back precious stones and prismarine, stories of technology and advancements that their world had yet to experience. And for his sons, for their world, Philza brought back code. He updated the fabric of reality itself beyond its previous limits to see his children smile.

(Pandas were cute, right? Every kid loved cute things. Welp, off to go break a world down to its foundations to find the piece of code that he needs so his kids could have a cute new animal to play with. It’s not like he had built the place, right? And there were no players, about he had checked. So he was free to do as a pleased. And there would be no consequences at all.)

(And in doing so, he left his sons alone.)

For Wilbur, Tommy, and Techno, life had been amazing so far. The cruelties of life had driven them all to bad habits, but their time with Philza had softened their edges in some ways, although they had been sharpened in others.

For the piglin Techno, his thirst for strength in a world determined to keep him down was, if not satisfied, then at least well-directed. The best armor money could buy and hours to practice? It was a dream come true and soon he became the best fighter in the land. And with the assurance that the world would never be able to lay him low again, he was content. (And if he became desperate to cling to what was his, came to despise governments for what they had done to his Wilbur, came to love the chaos that had been bred into his brother Tommy’s soul, well. The moniker of “The Blade” suited him well.)

For the villager child Wilbur, words bled into him from every angle and he reveled in their beauty. For so long his life had been nothing but scornful silence from the villagers that resented his birth, but with the soaring libraries and halls of music Philza had built for him, he found his passion. A guitar in hand and a song on his lips, he drove away the silence in his heart and wrote poetry for all that he held dear. (And if he practiced until his fingers bled, cursed himself for losing control every time his voice wavered, went over his sheet music so often his mind went numb, too focused on total mastery until perfection was obtained, well. For the ability to sing the perfect lullaby to bring his brothers the sleep they so desperately needed? It was worth it.)

For Tommy, true to himself in all the best and worst ways, control over anything but himself was never an option. Call it a consequence of his birth. The villagers had joked that he must of sprung from the earth fully formed for they could not picture him as anything other than what he was- a nuisance. They had pulled the world out from under his feet time and time again, some days rewarding him for his pranking, other times driving him away. Tommy had never had a home before Philza and his brothers, and he was desperate to keep his place with them.

But he would not change himself to suit their needs. It was the one thing Tommy had always had, and even the circlet of gold around his head could not shift his nature. And with his new-found family, that was okay, for they seemed to cherish him regardless. His chaotic tendencies were met with mild annoyance at worst and love-filled laughter at best, and at every turn he was welcome to listen, to learn, to fight and fly and be free. Under the sheltering wings of his found father, he was allowed to be himself to his fullest extent. And with the weight of their love and attention on his shoulders, he bloomed.

(And if he never outgrew that need to cling to what little he had? If his brothers had asked- truly asked- he would have given his identity up for them anyway? If he built them monuments based on what they should be, thought the arms around his shoulders that protected him from uncertainty to be unshakable? Well...)

(Philza left and the walls came crumbling down.)

The trio of brothers reacted poorly to their father’s absence and like a garden left unpruned, they began to grow into their new freedom in strange ways. The world was theirs to do with as they pleased and no longer were there any consequences to their actions, for Philza’s was the only authority higher than their own. Techno went out into the world, left behind the shelter of their Arctic castle, and started wars just so that he may fight them. He became known as “The Blood God” despite his mortality, for no man was better at fighting than he. When Wilbur came of age, he too left, setting out to spread his music with the world. Where his oldest brother sought blood, he in turn sought adventure, and everywhere he went he played his songs to audiences big and small alike. To those who welcomed him, he blessed them with good fortune, but to those who cursed him and attempted to drive him out as his old village had so long ago, he cursed them in turn by playing music designed to bring pain to those who heard it. For this, he became known as “The Mad Bard,” and he was worshiped too.

For Tommy, forgotten and left behind, as alone as he was in the beginning, things were harder. Where was the attention that he was so used to, the sheltering wings that comforted him when the past voices of those who hated him rang in his ears? Surely his brothers would realize their mistake, surely. But they never did. And while Techno killed great beasts and Wilbur charmed people out of their wealth, Tommy stayed alone in the castle, waiting for the day when they would come back. And slowly, as years passed and the trio grew from children to young men, stories began to circulate about him too. Wasn’t there a third prince? What had happened to him, locked up in that massive castle in the cold? Was he in need of rescue? Was he lonely?

What was his name again?

Theseus, it was Theseus... I think.

Right, of course, Theseus. Theseus, who was locked up in the castle, the third prince, the missing one.

And so tales of the three brothers spread, and it was to these stories that Philza came back to, proud of what they had accomplished in his absence. Techno, so skilled! A true survivor, just like him. Wilbur, so gentle, treating the mortals with kindness. And Tommy, obedient Tommy, who had waited and waited and waited.

Philza called all three to the Origin Point of the world and the brothers came running, ecstatic and scared and angry and overjoyed that their father was back after so long. There, he hugged them close and whispered to them of a gift he would like to give them, the greatest that he could ever give. Oh how he loved them, really, truly. Would you like to see?

And with that, Philza plucked that little red heart from his chest and broke it into three. For Philza was a god who loved and loved deeply, and a mortal with all the flaws that entailed, and a father who despaired at the idea of his mortal sons ever leaving his side. And so he broke that little heart into three and had his precious princes swallow a piece each so that they would never die and travel beyond his reach. He did not tell them the consequences of this choice. They did not ask.

(Philza was a father who wanted to give his sons the world. The world is not synonymous with what was best for them.)

And so the three boys, our three young men, were frozen in time just like their father, just like the Arctic Empire that they called home. They became players. And Techno and Wilbur, they became gods. Tommy... didn’t.

For godhood requires belief beyond measure, an assurance from the universe that you are too special to ever be mortal. For survivors like Philza and fighters like Technoblade and musicians like Wilbur, such a thing is easy. The world was all too eager to label them something beyond mortal kin. But Tommy? Tommy, the child who never outgrew himself and his love for his brothers, for stability, for home? There were no stories about him, or at least none under his actual name. And so, mortal Tommy would have stayed if not for the belief his brothers and father had in him- and through their love, a demigod he became.

But yes. Godhood. Locked into a role and a legend, forever unchanged by the passage of time- flaws and all. That twisted growth, those little hitches in their souls that caught on the rough edges of the world and had them lashing out, sent other people screaming? Those were locked in too. It is for this reason that Philza remained foolish, unaware of the consequences of his actions, and why Techno would forever hate governments and love chaos, why Wilbur would fight the world for control, why Tommy would cling to what was his with everything he had, come hell or high water.

And used to the freedom Philza’s long absence had created, the four went their separate ways and set out into the multiverse again.

The Dream SMP would never know what hit it.

#minecraft #mcyt #fanfiction #philza #wilbur #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #technoblade #god au #My writing #may be continued at a later date #cross posted to ao3 #dream smp #arctic empire #morally gray

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visd3stele · 3 years

Text

Frank Zhang, The fall on the other side

A/N: I wrote this for a capture the flag game on instagram a year ago held by _demigodhuntress_

summary: the fall of a hero, Frank Zhang had enough of the gods' bullshit

TW: corruption arc (let me know what else)

FRANK ZHANG

The end of the world flows through my blood, burned my skin and vibrated inside my bones. All I saw were dying bodies, powerless gods threatening me with empty words and old friends looking to me with matching looks: a mixture of horror, shock and pain. Buildings dropped over citizens, the worst of all being the Empire State Building that collapsed over a school bus few yards in front of me. All I could hear were screams, rough, coming out from dried throats. But it wasn't like I cared. All the sufferance and pain, all the dead and cries for help, the Apocalypse Day was nothing like the day when my world ended.

It happened right after Hazel and I became a pair of strong praetors. We could only enjoy it a couple of weeks untill Ella came rushing to us with a new prophecy.

The sleeping sky can breath again

And bring the twelve crowns to an end

When the sun and the moon lean on each other like a friend

And teary clouds send a toxic rain

What's dead must return to the ground,

Unbalanced order's will shall be done

Purple capes may work like one

But only one can be seen around.

It wasn't hard to understand it, it was just impossible to accept and fulfill it. "Frank?" Hazel hold her hand on my shoulder, her voice barely a whisper. "You know what it means, right?"

"No. No!" After everything I have lost, she can't become part of that list. We are romans. We will fight whatever – whoever – we have to, but we won't sacrifice one of us no more.

We brought it up the next day, let all campers and citizens of New Rome know it will be another battle soon. "The sleeping sky" I said "should be the father of titans. What happened to Gaia probably woke him up too."

"So the twelve crowns are the gods, right?" Dakota was trying to help as usual. "And the part with the moon and the sun..."

"An eclipse!" Lavinia shouted proud of herself.

"Yes. Whatever will happen, it will be during the next eclipse, most likely. Now, here's what we'll do..." but before I could say anything Dakota asked:

"The prophecy already tell us what to do, right? But I don't get it. It's weird."

"Shocker." Murmured Lavinia.

"We don't have time to figure it out. We will train harder and follow the battle plan."

This was the cue for looks of worry and confused glances to start travelling between the crowd. My eyes fell on Hazel, who was a distressed ball of nerves, chewing her lips in concentration. I knew what she was thinking. I must have looked the same when I planed my sacrifice during Lester and Meg's visit. But I cannot stay and watch her die on me just like that.

Turned out, I didn't have to. She and Ella talked behind my back, told the truth to everyone and when the right time came, I was hold by the the strongest campers from all the cohorts, forced to witness my love death. Dakota, Lavinia and few others from the fifth cohort couldn't watch. They had their heads turned around, muffled cries and tears falling down their faces. Everyone had sorrow expressions, everyone clenched their jaws together to keep them from acting up. Everyone but me.

I don't remember much. Only that I screamed with anger, but cried in silence. I remember the dark sky, the dawn that showed up hours later than usual, the cold rain, whipping my heated up skin as I carried her body in my arms.

The pain grew, and it outgrew itself untill it explode. My heart collapsed under the weight of it's own hurt. It was no longer broken, but sunk deep inside me, somewhere I couldn't reach for it. Not that I've tried. The numbness that came with it made me calm, it washed the tears away.

I haven't noticed it at first. How my movements were mechanic, like my soul left this world with hers. How nothing surprised me anymore. Nothing made me smile or frown. I haven't noticed how my head cleared out and everything I did was on automatic pilot.

Once, the fauns fell asleep in the bushes of New Rome. Again. And, because I had to solve this, I went there and picked them up. In eagle's form. Some other time I played as a bear the occasional game of Siege. I wanted to win.

I started to take long walks in the town and around it. But my ears were still the ones of an owl – I slept as an owl to keep an eye open in the dark since nothing felt the same and tired humane eyelashes are an impediment. And I eavesdrop at many conversation. About me.

"Do you think he'll be fine?" Lavinia blowed a gum balloon, cleared her face and smashed it all inside her mouth again.

"I don't know, actually. It's been a rough year, but he seems different." Dakota clearly agreed with her.

"Yeah, I guess. But death does that to people, right? I mean,it's normal."

"Nothing about new Frank is normal, Lavinia. Did you know he scared our elephant the other day?"

"What? No way!" Her pierced voice hurt my ears.

"Yes way! He circled it, full lion form, and Don thought he'll even bite it. He might have, if T's little girl wouldn't have yelled in horror. Poor elephant. It developed PTSD."

"Can elephants do that?" Lavinia skeptical undertone irritated me. She thinks she knows it all, but she's weak. They all are, submitting to the gods like this. Listening and obeying everything, like mindless monkeys – even killing a fried at their request.

"I don't know, Lavinia. But that is not the point. I am worried about Frank. He's not stable right now."

How do they dare talk about they praetor, their leader, like this? I almost growled fiercer than how Lupa used to. This got the two's attention, but I left them there, their gaze following each of my steps.

The next day, I found Nico at my doorstep. He wore a faint, sad smile on his ghostly features and asked if I'd go with him on a walk. I did not blink when I said yes by a mere nod of my head.

"How are you, big guy?" As if he cared. He was her brother, he brought her back and the only thing he does now is asking for a pep talk chat.

"Better than ever, thanksss for ssstopping by, Nico." My voice was shallow and even. I didn't try to move one muscle more than I need to.

The short, bonny boy jumped away from me. "Are you sure you are ok?" His eyes were as big as ping pong ball.

"Yesss, thank you." I repeated myself. My eyes burned a little, but I didn't mind. It's probably because I didn't blink in a long time.

"What is wrong with you, Frank? Look, I know how much it hurts, but take it from me: compelling in this state won't help. You need to snap out of it!"

"What ssstate? I am perfectly normal. Just coping, that'sss all."

"Frank, how much have you been using your power lately?" Nico asked me, slightly worried. Looking back, he might have had a point. Turning in all these predators, relying on their survival instinct... it made me one too. But it felt good. It feels right. When I don't think, it doesn't hurt and no thoughts means no more pain. What was the matter?

"Not much." I lied. "Thank you for coming, Nico, but you should go now." Saying this, I left him standing there. Alone as he deserve to be.

That night, I had a dream. Memories of my past haunting me. All I saw was me and my friends doing the gods' dirty work, saving them and getting only death, pain and sufferance in return. I saw Jason's body burning at his funeral, Lester's face running and leaving me in that tunnel, Leo burning in the sky.

I made a decision that night. One that I would have normally twist around and be anxious about for days before giving it up. But now it was different. It came as an instinct. And I knew I had to follow it, no thoughts involved. That's how animal's survive. That is the best way. I proceed in making it come true.

For once, I did not look back.

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clan-sayeed-fic · 4 years

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Do you love the blood on my hands? (Kamilah Sayeed & MC)

Reposting because of the issue with tags.

Book: Bloodbound (property of Pixelberry Studios)

Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed & MC: Amy (I do not own those characters, they’re the property of Pixelberry Studios as well)

❗ Warnings: angst, strong language, illustrative descriptions of situations full of violence and brutality, might cause distress ❗ Rating: Mature (no doubts about that) Author’s note: I’m not a native English speaker, I’m sorry for any mistakes (feel free to correct me).

As usual, I might have exaggerated a little bit in the warnings, but I want you to think twice before reading, rather than be responsible for your anxiety later.

This whole one-shot is focusing on Kamilah Sayeed. My main goal was trying to understand the work she had to put in herself and struggles that she faced along with it. To show her transformation from a person that was under Gaius's influence, to the one we get to know when our character meets her in Bloodbound for the first time. Pixelberry Studios showed us our MC's impact on Kamilah throughout the story, but the question remains, what was before that?

I mean, who else would try to write a whole character development in the one-shot fic haha geez, I'm a joke to myself. But at least you have the answer to why this story is so long, and I hope it'll keep you interested from the beginning to its end 💕

~ 3000 words

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Do you love the blood on my hands?

"You never talk about it."

Words slipped out, getting caught by the air in a flash. As if the world feared that the owner would change her mind, trying to take them back.

The sentence managed to fly ahead, led by the wind in this marvelous evening. Finally, it reached the woman in a burgundy suit standing on the shore. She turned her head a little on the sound of the hushed tones. The brightness of the sun hit behind her, making her figure cut out in comparison to the picturesque sky. She was like a goddess captured by the artist with brush strokes on the background of a peaceful ocean.

"Have you just read my mind, love?" corners of Kamilah's mouth curled up hardly noticeable, her posture full of dignity.

She didn't get to hear the answer, because at that moment the sky absorbed their full attention. Rays of sunshine won their fight between the clouds, reaching the Earth as they desired it all along. The intensity of the light made water shine as if it was covered in millions of diamonds. Both women got lost in that view, admiring it in silence.

Admiring it together.

"I..." Amy smiled, her cheeks took one of the colors straight from the sky. "Sometimes, your thoughts scream so loud, it's hard for me to not listen to them."

The woman turned around fully, facing her beloved one. Warm shades of sunset brightened the dark brown tones of her hair. Her skin shined along with the ocean, making the view truly breathtaking.

"Care to tell what do they scream?" Kamilah sent the girl a soft smile, trying to ease the tension.

They were scratching the surface of her past like the sun that was teasing their skin. It was their favorite part of the day since Amy was turned into a vampire. And that weekend, they were grateful to admire it on the beach while listening to the soothing sounds of water.

"How badly you hate yourself," Amy whispered in response.

Kamilah sighed slightly at those words, at the issue she was avoiding for a lifetime. The one she was keeping inside, not showing her true feelings to anyone. But something about this scenery made her lower her guard as her mind escaped to former times.

"One thought keeps coming back to me since the day I've refused to follow Gaius's orders," Kamilah's stare was empty.

She made her way toward the girl sitting on the ground. Blond strands of her hair were gleaming on top of golden tones of the sand. Her green eyes were standing out among this refined game of colors.

"What thought?" Amy asked, watching her wife closely.

"That there is a huge difference between creating a monster..." She sat down and looked at the clouds as if she prayed that they would cleanse her soul. "And letting someone make a monster out of you."

The guilt took over her body as the words were spoken aloud for the first time. The moment she wanted to close inside herself again, she felt a hand on her back. It was moving slowly up and down, easing woman's pain and adding courage at once. She turned her head at this gesture to look at the girl sitting beside her.

The most powerful ray of sunshine locked in the form of a person.

"I killed people, Amy," her tone was speaking by itself as if she already passed herself a death sentence. "I killed innocents... men and women... old and young... adults and... children."

A single tear flowed down her cheek. And before anyone could catch it, it fell on the sand, burying itself between grains, ashamed of the world to notice it.

To spot this sign of absolute vulnerability.

"I know," Amy's voice cut through the silence. "I know you did all of that, Kamilah," she placed one of her hands under woman's chin. "But I chose my side a long time ago," their eyes met.

The sky above them was slowly losing all the values. As if along with the tones of pinks, blues and brighter, oranges and yellows, all the hope disappeared.

"Amy, don't..." her voice broke. "Don't act like you see the chance for redemption for me," she moved her face away, avoiding her wife's gaze.

"Why not?" Amy's voice was like the opposite of Kamilah's, full of faith.

"Because I don't deserve it," a whisper in response with growing outrage in her tone. "Because you can't possibly comprehend what a cruel person I was back then," she looked at those green, light eyes, with the darkness inside her own.

They were left alone on the shore. But there was much more to both of them than to the entire crowd of people.

"Exactly, so let me see it by myself," Amy lifted her hand for the woman to take it.

"I can't," Kamilah shook her head in despair. "I can't take you there."

Her voice grew weaker with every word. As if the last piece of her spirit was shying away from her body. It was making its way on the sky, resting there in the form of stars, gleaming from above.

"Just let me in," Amy said, keeping her hand lifted, the offer still open. "And I'll do the rest."

Despite the previous hesitation, the moment her eyes met again with Amy's, Kamilah had no doubts left. It felt so natural. To entrust her memories and darkest secrets with the love of her life.

So she placed her hand on top of hers. And a spark traveled through both of them right after their skin grazed.

Some indefinable power took them inside Kamilah's mind. On a journey, leading them toward the darkness that was impossible to avoid there.

***

Taste of blood.

Liquid of the intense shade of red was slowly running down from the corner of the woman's mouth. She pulled back from her victim, just to admire the sensation for a tiny bit longer. To cherish the feeling of his mortal body weakening in her embrace.

She felt more powerful than ever. The life of innocents in her hands. The same ones from which the blood was dripping on the ground at her feet.

It was up to her how many of those villagers died that night. How much pain they did suffer before that happened. How loud their screams were when she was ripping them apart.

Her creator Gaius enjoyed them screaming loud. He absolutely loved performing a show for those who dared to enter the village during the attack. Who considered themselves strong enough to fight back.

And finally, for those who ended bowing before him and begging for mercy.

Mercy that they were never about to get from this man. Because hope was like a toy in his hands. Known as the greatest weapon of all times.

"How does it taste, my queen?" man's voice echoed behind her.

But the woman that Amy was observing on the side didn't answer. Instead, she dipped her fangs in the neck of the young man, sucking the life out of him. For a second, his body moved in convulsion, just to lay down still on the ground after she was finished.

Just to join the rest of the dead bodies that were spread all over the village.

"It tastes like fear," Kamilah stood up, looking at the victim with disgust. "I hate drinking the blood of cowards."

Amy lifted her hands to her own mouth, trying to hold back a scream. The scenery around her seemed to be cut out straight from the horror movie. And yet, it was the past of her beloved one.

The intensity of the pain that she sensed from this place outgrew her worst expectations. The whole memory was filled with darkness and cruelty, which she was able to experience by watching the death of innocents.

"I'm aware that's not up to our standards," the man moved closer to Kamilah. "But we will get what we deserve," he cleaned the blood around her mouth. "We will take over the world," a sly smile appeared on his face.

"Together."

***

"No, please," Kamilah cried out, trying to push the girl away. "You were supposed to look at this, not me."

"Kamilah," she kept her eyes closed, trying to maintain the connection. "I don't want to force you into seeing this, but I really think you should."

The woman was drowning in the ocean, filled with guilt and embarrassment. The walls she built around herself for hundreds of years were slowly falling apart as she was left with no other choice than to give up.

"I can't face him. I can't meet the people I've murdered," she wept in desperation once again.

"Trust me, please," tears started flowing down Amy's cheeks as her own feelings linked to Kamilah's. She managed to keep herself focused when the command left her mouth, "now, we're going to walk."

They stood up slowly on the sand, while their spirits jumped into the next memory.

***

Bloodshed.

A stranger flew over the tables, landing on the other end of the bar. Loud coughing filled the room along with the pungent scent of blood, which hit Amy's nose rapidly. She looked around, taking in the surroundings of the scene.

Wooden chairs and tables were broken, spread all over the floor in the place she found herself in. She spotted an enormous amount of shattered glass. Alcohol was flowing down of the broken bottles, dripping on the floor.

Getting mixed up with the blood that once was running in the veins of those people. Humans that were stiff on the floor in unnatural positions, lacking any form of life.

"Just get it over already!" a loud scream echoed inside the building.

A throaty voice was coming from a middle-aged man, probably a bartender. He was the owner of this cursed place that unluckily happened to be the next destination of a Vampire Queen's crusade.

The woman moved forward, getting rid of the tables on her way with just one hand as if their weight meant nothing for her. Her eyes were flashing with the intense shade of crimson at anyone who dared to look at her directly.

"What are you?!" the bartender managed to lift himself up with difficulty, spitting out blood. "Who the fuck kills so many people in just a few seconds?!"

He was staying upright in front of her. As if the image he witnessed, the woman with red eyes and fangs, made no impression on him. As if seeing the death of his friends and customers was enough to make him believe in anything.

To make peace with the upcoming end.

"I believe it should be the last of your concerns," Kamilah whispered in her icy tone.

Amy watched the woman moving closer to the victim. She quickly recognized her fully prepared for attack posture.

"You kill me, and then what?" Thoughts escaped to his family, "you will deprive my wife of a husband, my children of a father," his voice broke along with his spirit. "You will be the one to bear the guilt of this for eternity."

Amy noticed a tiny difference in the expression on Kamilah's face. At the same moment, she sensed the change that occurred in the whole memory. The darkness associated with it seemed to fade away as the lightness peeked into it.

Her wife's features softened like those words moved something inside her. As if Kamilah didn't even consider this possibility before. As if the idea of suffering the consequences wasn't meant for her.

But as soon as the metamorphosis appeared, the equally fast it vanished into thin air.

"Maybe I will," she said, tilting her head to the side, licking her lips. "But as you so rightly pointed out," she reached the man, tightening the grip on his throat. "You're going to be long dead until then."

***

"I can't," the woman kept begging, sweat on her forehead.

Their feet touched the water that appeared to be salvation at that very moment. The ocean was cooling them both down, strengthening the connection as they were falling further into its grasp. The sky above them became dark far sooner, and the moon stayed as their only companion in this journey for forgiveness.

"One more," Amy's voice slipped away, wandering on the surface of the water.

It was fading away little by little, the same as her presence until darkness fell on them this one last time.

***

Blood lust.

She tried her best to regain control, to follow Adrian's rules. To cut down drinking blood to just from those who agreed on it. And never to the point of killing a person.

Humans are our priority, we need to protect them.

Those were Adrian's words that kept flashing back as she was holding the woman pinned against the wall in the dark alley. All weak and miserable, not able to struggle, to fight back. The only thing left was to kill her, to take the sip of the blood she desired so badly.

Kamilah lost her battle once more.

She remembered going outside for a walk as she always did after the sun went down. And it must have happened again, she must have blacked out. And as every time before, she snapped out of it right before causing another death.

At the very moment, she wasn't able to control herself anymore.

She needed to feed, she wanted to kill.

Amy was standing on the other side of the alley, watching her in silence. She was so sure that this memory was crucial in the journey on which she took Kamilah with herself. She wanted to believe that it was the moment of her change.

An actual call for redemption.

"Mommy?" a faint voice reached them from behind.

"Sweetheart..." the woman managed to cough up, her vocal cords were struggling under the grip. "Don't...please...run...away!"

But her attempts went to waste since Kamilah turned around immediately, facing the little girl. She let go of her previous victim, not bothering about the intensity of the fall that fractured her ribs. The vision went blurry before the woman's eyes, but she gathered all the strength she had left and focused on saving her daughter.

"Stay away from her!" a heartbreaking scream traveled through the alley.

But Kamilah kept getting closer to the child, moving smoothly and quietly like a predator approaching its prey. But this time, something seemed wrong. With each step, thirst for blood was weakening, along with the realization that was forming itself inside her head.

"Mommy?" the same word, followed by growing fear.

The little girl in front of Kamilah might have been six years old at best. She was too young and innocent to understand what was happening there.

But at the same time, old enough to stay by her mother's side. Old enough to show loyalty and understand love.

Love...

"Please, don't harm her," the woman cried out, unable to move.

That's when something moved inside Kamilah's heart.

The guilt spread all over her chest. Years of killing... thousandths of victims...

It all hit her at once, forcing her legs to bend. Her body to fall on the knees before this little human being.

She got lost in the view of those teary eyes of the child. The ones in which she saw something she had never considered before... a future.

A life that she had the power to end,

to step on,

crush it completely, leaving nothing behind.

And this power frightened Kamilah for the first time.

For the first time, she showed mercy.

***

"It's over," Amy held the woman sobbing in her arms.

The ocean was reflecting the beauty of this starry night in its smooth like a mirror surface. Accepting all the tears, letting them mix with the water, to pass into oblivion.

"You saw me there," Kamilah said, pulling back. "You saw what a monster I am," she swallowed, feeling the blood of the people she killed in her throat.

The girl moved her hand slowly to Kamilah's face, choosing silence. She caressed her cheek with tenderness, feeling the tension leaving her wife's body under her touch.

"I saw much more," Amy's voice was shaky, but she knew what needed to be said. "I can't deny the truth, Kamilah. You caused the suffering of many people," she found woman's hands under the water. "But their deaths must not be in vain. You can make them mean something, and you're already doing that."

"How..." Kamilah's eyes were letting go of all tears that she held back for such a long time.

"You've changed," Amy lifted their hands above the water, fingers entwined. "You've saved a lot of people, you've saved me. And those hands," she lifted them higher. "The blood will keep showing up, reminding about itself," their eyes met, shining like stars. "But I'm here to help you wash it off every single time it happens."

Amy kissed the knuckles of her wife's hands. She moved on the top of it, leaving the path of soft kisses on her skin. Her tears were flowing down as if they were the key to wash away all the guilt.

To bring peace, even for a moment.

"We can do this," Amy looked at her with eyes full of understanding and patience. "Together."

Kamilah took in what she had heard hundreds of years before. The letters that preached to be the beginning of her dream life but in the end turned out to be poisonous.

That time she knew it would be different. She trusted with all her heart that her wish would be fulfilled.

So a single word slipped out, drifting on the surface of the ocean to reach her beloved.

"Together."

#choices fic #kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #bloodbound kamilah #bloodbound mc #bb kamilah #bloodbound choices #bloodbound fic #choices fanfiction #kamilah sayeed fic #kamilah bb #bb mc #one-shot fic #please read the warnings #checking if it'll appear in the tags this time...

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allsassnoclass · 4 years

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i’ll be here in pieces when you finally pull the pin

They only ever do this on the road, and only when Alex initiates. When they first started, years and years ago, Jack would fight against that surrender of control tooth and nail, but it’s different now. If he’s being honest with himself, it was different back then, too, because Jack could’ve stopped at any time, could’ve said no and walked away, but he always came back for more. Alex said jump and Jack lept at the chance to ask how high, and nothing has changed. Alex will always be the most the addictive drug Jack has ever tried, and he has never once considered trying to quit him.

read on ao3

bella threw this idea out and it spoke to me, so here is a jalex fic based on Tie Me Down by Every Avenue

Jack loves life on the road.

He was never meant to settle down. They started this thing as teenagers, itching to explore and sprint to every corner of the world that they could, and Jack feels like he never quite outgrew that. Even with Rian working with his studio in Nashville and Alex buying a fucking farm of all things, Jack stays in LA and parties and waits until they can get back on the road so he can stop vibrating out of his skin. The impermanence suits him, but it’s not his favorite thing about being on tour. It should be the fans, or the music, or any number of things, but it’s not those either.

It’s Alex.

“Hey,” he says right before they’re set to go onstage, shadows of the wings hiding his face but not his posture. He’s leaning close, tilted towards Jack in a way that has less to do with the fact that they’re surrounded by people now and more to do with what he wants later. Jack recognizes the way his voice dips, how he’s standing, the smell of his cologne. It used to send shivers through him.

(It still does, but they’ve been doing this for long enough that he’s gotten good at hiding it.)

“I’m coming to your room after,” Alex says, as if Jack might have other plans and his life doesn’t revolve around Alex and the things he can do with his mouth, like singing or other actions that Jack is particularly interested in.

“Sure,” he shrugs. Alex tilts his head and smirks in a way that lets Jack know he’s not as casual as he’s trying to be, but Jack doesn’t have time to fix that before the lights onstage are dimming and they’re being ushered forward.

He makes the mistake of looking at Alex during the first song and fumbles his chords when he gets a wink in response. Alex laughs at him, cocky and sure-footed, and Jack can’t wait for the show to end while simultaneously knowing that he should enjoy the flirting while he can.

The issue with only doing this when Alex wants is that Jack is always left wanting more.

The show passes in a blur of stage lights and sweat and Alex’s vocals ringing through his in-ears. Jack doesn’t remember what he says during the talking breaks, only that it makes Alex’s eyes slide over to him, and Jack lets his gaze settle on his shoulders, keeping him grounded until he knows Alex will be able to hold him down in a different way and take him apart. By the time the show is over he’s shaking with a mix of post-show adrenaline and pre-Alex anticipation, just enough for Zack to ask if he’s okay.

“Yeah, of course,” Jack says, and when Alex lets his fingertips dance over Jack’s shoulder as he passes, Zack understands.

The band knows. It’s kind of mortifying, but in a way that adds to the entire experience. He’s sat through the cautious talks from Zack and Rian, but there isn’t anything either of them can say that he hasn’t already told himself.

He can stop at any time. There’s no need to constantly be putting himself through this push and pull, to be led on by his best friend time and time again only for him to leave right after he finishes, making Jack try to pick up the pieces of himself alone. Every time with Alex feels like an explosion, and Jack is well aware that he’s letting himself take all the damage, shrapnel sticking in his guts that he has to pry out with steady hands once he calms down enough. Still, he’s the one who agrees to it. He knows that Alex isn’t going to stay the night, knows that they’re not going to do breakfast in bed or tender kisses or any of that other stuff that couples do, because they aren’t one. That’s not what Alex wants, and Jack would rather have this than nothing.

Zack had once asked Jack why he still did this, after all these years of fucking Alex and never getting anything more out of it. Jack joked that he’s a masochist, but that’s only because that truth is a little easier to reveal than the simple fact that it’s Alex.

He makes it back to his hotel room in one piece and rinses off, even though he’s going to need to again afterwards. Alex likes to draw things out, to have him shaking and begging beneath him until it hurts and the only thing Jack can make himself focus on is the way Alex’s hair is plastered to his forehead, because looking into his eyes would be too much, even for him.

There’s a knock at his door before he’s finished towel-drying his hair, and Jack makes himself take a deep breath and walk to open it at a normal pace, rather than trip over his own feet in his haste to have Alex’s hands on him.

“Hey,” Alex says, wearing sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt that used to be Jack’s, once upon a time. It doesn’t mean anything, because clothing always gets mixed up on the road, but it kick-starts that sting in his chest that nights with Alex like this always bring.

“Good show tonight,” Alex says, and Jack hums in agreement. Some tension releases when Alex rolls his eyes and presses forward, finally bringing their mouths together, because this is something Jack can handle. There’s a very distinct line between Alex-The-Best-Friend-Slash-Bandmate and Alex-Who-Fucks-Jack-Up, and small talk goes with the first Alex, not the second. That’s the one thing that Jack can’t let himself mix up, because tangling those two would have more repercussions than he or anyone around him could handle.

“Been thinking about this all day,” Alex says when he finally pulls back for air, and Jack groans. It’s unfair, it’s so totally unfair to suggest that he’s not the only one who wants this and Alex knows it, but that doesn’t stop either of them from playing this game every time.

The rest of Jack’s thoughts dissolve with a particularly filthy kiss and two thumbs pressing into the divots of his hips, and before he knows it they’re on the bed with clothes off.

Fuck, Jack can’t get enough of the sight of the hair on Alex’s chest or the moles on his back or the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Every sharp breath that he manages to coax out of him and low groan is better than all of the music in the world, and every bruise left on him makes him swear and moan and think why the fuck are we not doing this all the time.

He’s breathless and ready to explode before Alex even grabs the condom.

“Eager, are we?” Alex asks when Jack whines at the lack of contact caused by him reaching for the lube.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jack says, as if Alex isn’t fully aware how much Jack is always gagging for him.

“God, you’re so beautiful like this,” Alex says. Jack doesn’t reply except to try to breathe. Words like that hurt in the best way, a reminder that everything he wants is close enough for his fingertips to brush, but far enough that he can never actually reach it. Jack already knows that he’s going to replay it in his head all night, pressing viciously on that bruise just to feel the ache that comes with it.

It doesn’t last as long as he wants, and it feels so good while his heart is shattering, because this means Alex is going to leave again and who knows when he’ll get this next. He’ll see Alex tomorrow, but it’ll be Alex-The-Best-Friend, and he won’t be privy to the face Alex makes when Jack does something just right that makes his toes curl or the way his eyes shine or his ragged breathing.

“Thanks,” Alex says when they’ve both recovered, like Jack did a small favor such as restringing his guitar, rather than give Alex a piece of himself.

“No problem,” he replies. “I’m here all week.”

Alex huffs an outline of a laugh. Jack doesn’t say I wasn’t joking or just stay the night or fuck, yes, hurt me again because it feels so good or I’m probably in love with you, you know?

Jack walks him to the door, under the pretense that he wants to lock it behind him and not because he wants to stay close for just a few moments longer. Alex pauses with his hand on the handle, then turns.

“Seriously, thank you,” he says. “I know this isn’t always easy for you.”

Jack snorts. Alex frowns, and Jack can see the sincerity there, the worry that comes around every so often that has Alex asking questions like should we stop? and saying things like Jack, I don’t want to actually hurt you. You’re my best friend and I love you.

“Having sex with you isn’t exactly a hardship,” Jack says. Alex keeps staring at him, and suddenly Jack can't take the weight of his gaze, looking down at the carpet instead. Being tied down like this is different, vulnerable in a way that he can’t face and can’t make surface-level innuendos about.

“We should stop.”

“I’d rather have you fuck me up than anyone else,” he says before he can think. It’s too honest in the quiet of the room, the fan from the hotel bathroom the only backing track for this conversation, but it’s out there now. He’d say anything to ensure that he gets to keep what little piece of being with Alex he has. When he makes himself look up, Alex’s frown is deeper, eyes searching his face. Jack doesn’t know what he’s going to find, and he’s terrified of what it could be.

Alex frowns for a second longer, then blinks the expression away. They spend a moment just standing there, breathing the same air, and Jack is about to step back and break it for his own good when Alex brings a hand up to cup his cheek. He’s leaning into it before he can stop himself, and then Alex’s lips are pressing against his again, except slow and sweet and tender in a way he’s never gotten to experience. Jack sinks into it, and it’s everything he’s ever wanted but it’s also painfully unfamiliar. He doesn’t know where to put his hands and he doesn’t know what the right amount of pressure is and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to go on existing when he knows it’s possible for Alex to kiss him like this but he won’t.

When Alex pulls away, Jack forces himself to open his eyes and keep his knees from buckling underneath him.

He wants to know if Alex is aware that he’s made things worse, or if he thinks he helped.

Alex’s thumb brushes over his cheek one more time, and then he pulls back, cutting off all contact between the two of them.

“Good night, Jack,” he says, voice soft. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, then clears his throat so he can speak without his voice cracking. “See you.”

Alex opens the door and steps out. Jack closes it behind him, then slides the lock in place. He stands there for a moment, imagining that Alex is on the other side standing there, too, just as reluctant to leave. It’s a fantasy he shouldn’t indulge in, but it’s one of his favorites.

He sighs and steps away. The shower has hot water and good soap. He makes his way to the bathroom and begins the process of washing away all traces of Alex from his skin, starting the first step of putting himself back together.

#my writing #jalex #atl fanfic #baby's first jalex! whoo!!!#it's angsty and it has a m rating on ao3 just fyi #thought I might as well cross post here

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iwillhaveamoonbase · 4 years

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The Long Game ch. 3

“You called, Dad?” Claudia announced her presence. Viren turned to her, sighing as he faced away from the mirror he had gotten back in Xadia. He still hadn’t figured out it’s secrets, but he had seen a cloaked figure appear every once in a while.

“Yes, Claudia. We need to talk about relationships.”

“Oh.” Claudia blushed, putting a few strands of her dark hair behind her ear. “Did you hear about the girl at the bakery? I know it’s unorthodox, but-”

“You don’t have time to be worrying about bakery girls, Claudia.” Viren sat in his chair, gesturing for Claudia to sit beside him. “Ever since Rayla got here, Prince Callum’s attention has drifted from you to her.”

“I know.”

“That’s not acceptable.”

Claudia looked down at her hands. “He’s my friend and I didn’t want to embarrass him, but I never liked him, Dad. I like girls.”

“I know. But we’re a different cut above people who work in bakeries.”

“That’s not what Harrow says.”

“Claudia, please. In order for our families to be closer together, in order for us to keep living a life you’re accustomed to, I need you to make an effort to get Prince Callum’s attention again.”

“Dad…I don’t want to. If he wants to be with Rayla-”

“Soren wants to be with Rayla. You’ve seen how he makes a fool of himself around this castle when she’s in the room. Don’t you want your brother to be happy? It frees Rayla up if Callum’s taken.”

“How would I even do it?” Claudia put her arms around herself. Viren got up, wrapping an arm around his daughter.

“Callum wants to learn magic. Though both he and Harrow are deeply opposed to dark magic, start teaching him how to use the primal stone. Private lessons. Do whatever you can.”

“I don’t know….”

“Claudia, look at me.” She finally did, confusion in her green eyes. Viren shook his head. He hated that he was asking his own daughter to sacrifice her happiness, but he had plans. Harrow was growing more and more distant from him. Killing Thunder and taking the egg hadn’t done their friendship any favors. If anything, it had deteriorated it. They argued constantly and Harrow had threatened to send him out of the castle. Viren couldn’t let that happen. Harrow was becoming too against dark magic and was starting to doubt everything they had built towards. What if Xadia attacked and Katolis was defenseless? Or worse, Harrow tried to make peace and Xadia used it as an excuse to invade the entirety of the Pentarchy? Viren couldn’t let that happen. “Please. It’s important that you do this.”

“OK, Dad. I’ll try my best.”

“Good girl.”

-----------------------------------------------

Rayla watched from the window as the royalty from the other kingdoms came to the castle. They were coming to celebrate Ezran’s eleventh birthday. “They’re here,” she whispered to Callum and Ezran. They both looked over at her, interest on their faces. “Have you really never met any of them?”

“I met the former Queens of Duren when I was four,” Callum started, “but, besides, that, no. This party for Ez is pretty unorthodox.”

“Why? Seems counter-intuitive. You get a stronger alliance when you all know each other, right?” Rayla glared at herself in the mirror. Was that too obvious? Callum and Ezran were really trusting individuals, but she really could be slipping as she grew comfortable here.

“There’s a concern about influencing the other kingdoms. There’s a desire to be friendly, but to also be separate and to respect differences. Duren and Katolis have usually had a reasonably close relationship compared to the others. But when you have a country like Evenere, which is far out compared to everyone else, it can lead to concern about plotting and alliances.”

“Fair, I suppose.”

“We’re going to get ready for the party. You coming?” Rayla nodded, keeping her eyes on the window for a moment longer. This was the other reason she was here; information. As she followed the princes to their rooms, she noticed just how rushed everyone was. They were moving about and it felt like the whole castle was being remodeled. “Good thing I moved out months ago,” Callum said to Ezran.

Rayla raised a brow. “‘Moved out?’”

“Oh. You didn’t know?” Rayla shot him a look of confusion. “Ezran and I used to share a room. The day I turned 15, which was right before you got here, I finally got my own room. It’s next to Ezran’s, but I needed space.”

“Why did you two share a room for so long?”

Callum shrugged. “Maybe because of our mom’s death. I know I had nightmares and didn’t like being alone and when Ezran needed a room because he outgrew the crib, I offered mine. I only moved because the king suggested it.”

Ezran sighed. “Call him ‘Dad,’ Callum. He liked it when you did that one time.”

“It felt weird,” Callum whispered.

“Because you made it weird. You apologized right after and everyone could tell that you were thinking about it for a long time. He liked it. For all the Big Feelings Times we have, the two of you are so hesitant to be open about this.”

Rayla was quiet as they argued about whether or not Callum should call Harrow ‘dad’. What was she going to do while the royal families were here? If she mingled too much, it would be obvious that she was trying to get information. Viren was already suspicious of her. But if she stuck with Callum and Ezran she would be missing out on an important opportunity. When they approached their rooms, they saw Soren and Claudia arguing in the hall. “Can we help you?” Rayla called.

The two turned, smiling at the trio. Soren cleared his throat. “Rayla, I was wondering if you would like me to accompany you tonight? Usually, for these things, people take dates and-”

“Callum already asked and I said ‘yes.’” Rayla’s eyes widened a bit. It was the perfect chance. If Callum was her date, then she could meet the royals and have an excuse to not be too conspicuous. But, that hadn’t been why she had said that. She didn’t want to go with Soren. She looked over at a sputtering Callum. “Right?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I asked a little bit ago. Sorry, Soren.”

“Oh,” Claudia interrupted. Rayla’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a shame, I was hoping you and I could go together, Callum.”

“Really?” Callum raised a brow. Rayla looked at her door. She didn’t want to hear this. “Why?”

“Well, you and I have known each other for a long time, so…maybe the two of us could start thinking about dating.”

“But…Claudia I saw you in the bakery last week. You and the helper were very clearly flirting and making-out.” Claudia flinched. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m sorry, I’m not interested in you like that anymore.”

Claudia’s jaw dropped for a moment, biting her lip when the shock probably wore off. “OK. That’s fair. Ezran, will you be my date?”

Ezran looked down at Bait. “Can Bait come?”

“Of course,” Claudia smiled.

“Sure!” Claudia, Soren and Ezran moved on, heading to their rooms to get ready. Callum hung back, still looking at her.

“Rayla?”

“Hmm?”

“I never asked you.”

“I know.” She said it so matter of factly it probably shocked him if his continued stare was any indication. “I didn’t want to go with Soren. I’m sorry I put you on the spot like that, but I didn’t see any other choice.”

“Is that the only reason?”

‘No’ almost escaped her lips. He needed to stop looking at her like that, like she was something to be admired and adored. “I trust you. Is that not enough?” Callum held her gaze for a moment longer, finally nodding. They stood in the hall a bit longer, static crackling in the air between them. “Besides, you need a good guard. Who better than me?”

Callum chuckled. “True. You can take anyone in the crown guard.”

“Yes, I can. And don’t you forget it.” Rayla turned away, entering her room. She leaned against the door for a few moments, pressing her clenched fist to her heart. Her heart was beating too fast. It always did that when he looked at her too long. ‘Does he see? Can he see through the illusion?’ She couldn’t tell. Ever since that first night on the balcony when he said something about her appearance was off, he sometimes looked at her like he could see through to her true form. He never said anything, so Rayla had no way of knowing if she was being paranoid or if he was quietly observing.

That wasn’t it, though. They talked on their balconies almost every night. Their winter at the Banther Lodge had been cozy and intimate and she had gotten to know him, Ezran and Harrow more. She liked what she saw. Liked it too much. Also….Ezran. Oh, gods, Ezran. Was she really here to kill Ezran? The more time she spent with him, the more she realized he was just a child and how wrong all of this was. The Dragon Prince hadn’t deserved to die, but, would justice be achieved by killing another innocent?

‘Stop it, Rayla! You’ve been having too many Big Feelings Times with them. You are here for a job. It’s not your responsibility to judge what is justice and what isn’t.’ It wasn’t her job at all. Rayla pushed away from the door and made her way to the bed. There was a blue gown on the bed. The gold embroidery on the skirt was obviously meant to be reminiscent of the uneven towers of Katolis. She ran a hand down the expensive silk. ‘Too much…’ Rayla pulled her clothes off and dressed in the gown. When she looked in the mirror to make sure it sat correctly, she was startled by her reflection. Human…she looked human. Would she ever get used to seeing blue eyes, rounded ears and blonde hair staring back at her?

Rayla stepped forward for a moment, hand touching the reflection and the other touching the necklace. What she wouldn’t give to pull it off and see herself looking back at her. Lujanne’s warning screamed loud in the back of her mind. ‘If you take that necklace off, the illusion will break. If you put it back on, you will not look exactly the same. There is no way of knowing if that difference could be explained away or not. You can never take it off as long as you are on this side of the border.’

Rayla quickly put the necklace under her dress. She didn’t need people asking questions. She did her hair in a loose bun, several chunks framing her face, and her small braid used to wind it all together. She had never thought about her looks before coming here. It was a distraction. There were most important things to do than having perfect hair. There were a few tubes and jars of, what she assumed, was make-up. “No way.” Rayla was not going to paint her face with human cosmetics if she wasn’t allowed to wear the dye of her people.

She put on the low heels Opeli had most likely picked out for her. The dress covered the heels. What was the point of wearing them if no one would even see them? She shook her head; just thankful she hadn’t been given anything with a corset or laces. She had seen that fashion here in Katolis and it didn’t interest her at all.

She looked in the mirror one more time and walked out the door to the hall. Callum was waiting for her. Her eyes widened as she took him. He was in a red jacket and a fancier version of his black pants. There was clear padding on his shoulders as well as the same embroidery of the uneven towers. His eyes scanned her form, slowly taking in every detail. She both wanted to hide and stand firm in his attention. “You clean up pretty good,” she finally said.

“You look beautiful.” That wasn’t fair…he couldn’t say things like that. Not when she was fighting her heart against him. Her heart was so desperate for her to run into his arms, tell him the truth, and maybe, just maybe, it would all work out. That wasn’t how things worked, though, was it?

“Thank you. I’m just hoping I don’t trip on this dress.” She lifted the skirt a bit to show the shoes. “I’m not used to heels, either.”

“You’re a pretty good dancer, though.” Rayla smiled. Callum had been tasked with teaching her how to dance since he wasn’t terrible at it. Rayla had taken to it quickly. It may not have been the same steps she knew, but Silvergrove was full of dancing. It was in their keys, their celebrations, their harvest, everything.

“You need to stop complimenting. You’re going to make me think you mean it.”

“I do. You’re amazing, Rayla.” Callum cleared his throat. “Shall we go?” He held his arm out, giving her the crook of his elbow. “I can’t wait to for you to show me off.”

“I’m showing you off?” Rayla chuckled.

“Of course. I’m the step-prince of Katolis. I need to be shown for the whole world to see. Oh…is the whole world going to see?”

Rayla looped her arm through his. “No. Just the important people.”

“Same thing.” Rayla laughed as he stuck his tongue out at her. They waited for Ezran and walked with him to get Claudia and Soren. The group of five exchanged pleasantries, Soren stumbling on his words as he complimented Rayla.

“The dress really suits you, Rayla.” Soren bowed a bit. “You sure you don’t want me to escort you?”

“I’m sure.” They walked behind Ezran and Claudia, who looked back at them every once in a while. Rayla didn’t know what game Claudia was playing, but she didn’t like it. It wasn’t acceptable to play with Callum’s heart like she was. “You got a problem with this?”

“No,” Claudia said too quickly. “Just wasn’t expecting it.”

“After seeing you give lingering looks to half the girls in the castle, I wasn’t expecting what you asked either.”

Claudia was quiet. Rayla wasn’t sure if she was simply refusing to answer or if she had offended her. Either way, Rayla couldn’t find it in her heart to care. They arrived at the hall, waiting for Ezran and Claudia to be announced. “This is so much,” she whispered.

“I know,” came Callum’s soft reply. “You can stay by my side all night if you want.”

“Thank you.” They walked forward when Opeli gestured.

“Introducing Prince Callum and King Harrow’s ward, Ms. Rayla.” Rayla took in the room. She saw a lot of figures she had seen from the window. She could hear whispers flitting to her ears.

‘She’s stunning. Look at that face!’

‘I heard a rumor she was gifted with weapons, but she looks so slim.’

‘They look uneven, don’t they? A rare jewel like that next to the step-prince?’ Rayla’s eyes flitted around the room, trying to find that particular voice. She saw a young man with a crown on his head dressed in golds and creams.

“Who is that?” she gestured with her chin when she got Callum’s attention.

He looked over and was quiet as he thought. “I think Prince Kasef of Neolandia.”

“So no avoiding him?”

“No. Why?”

Rayla looked back at Kasef. He was staring at her with heat in his eyes. She had heard rumors that Kasef acted like a child when he didn’t get a toy he wanted. “I don’t trust the way he’s looking at me.”

“How’s he looking at you?”

“Like he wants to eat me. I couldn’t be less interested.”

“Really? A lot of girls think he’s attractive from what I’ve heard.”

“I’m not into selfish children disguised as men. I’d rather kiss Soren, and I’m not into himbos, either.”

“‘Himbos?’” Rayla winced. Right, that was a Xadian term. Hopefully she could play this off.

“Not very bright, but muscular and kind. Well, he’s kind with Ezran. I don’t like how he treats you.”

“He’s not so bad,” Callum looked down at his feet. “He can be a pretty good friend when he wants to be.”

“He calls you the ‘step-prince’. I’ll believe you when he apologizes for that.” Callum didn’t push it. They finally made their way to stand by Harrow and Viren, standing off to the side. Rayla tuned out Harrow’s speech about friendship and forging connections to be a united Pentarachy. She’d heard Harrow practice it a million times. Watching everyone’s reactions to it was far more telling. There seemed to be a good-natured attitude in the air. Kasef, though, rolled his eyes every so often. Rayla looked at a young girl with blonde hair in a crown. She stared at Harrow with an intense gaze, but moved her eyes down the line. When she made it to Rayla, they held eye contact for a few moments. In those moments, Rayla saw a world of strength and pain. Someone who wasn’t willing to back down and didn’t trust because they were betrayed every time. “Queen Aanya,” she breathed.

Callum looked where she was, nodding slightly in ascent. “Yeah.”

Aanya held the gaze. What did she see? Finally, Aanya broke away first, but Rayla felt like she had given Aanya far more than she had learned herself. “She’s Ezran’s age.”

“She is.”

Harrow’s booming voice broke through Rayla’s concern. “Please, enjoy the night. And, again, thank you for coming to celebrate Ezran’s birthday.” Rayla stood to Callum’s side as the royals came up and introduced themselves. She curtseyed and kept her head down as much as good as she listened to everything around her.

When Kasef got to her, he picked up her hand and placed a kiss on it, a smirk that he probably thought was charming on his face. “May I have the first dance?”

“Already promised it to Callum.”

“Second?”

“Ezran.”

“Third?” Kasef’s voice was straining, squeezing her hand.

“Harrow.” It bothered Rayla how quickly lies left her lips lately, but she felt no guilt for this.

“Fourth?”

“Callum again.”

Callum coughed a bit. “Look, she clearly isn’t interested-”

“Was I talking to you, step-prince?” Kasef hissed. Callum looked down at his feet. “Thought so.”

Rayla glared at Kasef, snatching her hand away. “He’s right, I’m not interested. Pick someone else to annoy.”

“Rayla, right?”

“You’re bothering me and you’re asking to make sure you got my name right?”

“I just want to be sure I know the name of the woman I plan on pleasuring tonight.”

“Then you’re talking to the wrong girl. Not happening tonight, tomorrow, or ever.”

King Ahling sighed. “Kasef, leave the girl alone.”

Kasef cocked his jaw, but moved on. Rayla didn’t stare after him, looking straight ahead lest he turn back and think she was encouraging his behavior. Aanya was next. They stared at each other for a few moments. How did this tiny human queen make her feel so small? Aanya nodded. “I’m Aanya, Queen of Duren.”

“Rayla, a simple farm girl.”

“Not what I hear. How does a farm girl get so good with a sword she beats a member of the crown guard or so good with a spear she trains a prince?”

“We watch the military and play a lot. I’ve got good reflexes, I guess.”

“I see.” Aanya stared at her for a few more moments. “Has anyone ever told you that there’s something not quite right? It’s like something is pulling at the edge of my mind when I look at you.”

Rayla nodded. “Callum said that.”

Soren piped up from behind them. “It’s because she’s so pretty. You know how beautiful women make you stop in place. Same thing.”

Aanya was quiet, staring long and hard at Rayla. Finally, she turned away. “I see.” She turned back and nodded her head. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Rayla grabbed her hand, shocking them both. Aanya raised a brow but did nothing else. “What do you see?”

“I see someone who was deeply hurt by someone they love but hides it because it’s easier than thinking about it. I see confusion and anger and hurt. I also see a heart that’s too good for the world we live in, one always concerned with war breaking out. Perhaps, if you let go of that hurt and forgave, you could be happier.” Aanya walked away before Rayla could say anything.

“How did she do that?”

“She’s good at reading people,” Callum whispered.

“That’s an understatement.”

“You have to be if you live the way she does. Sycophants, assassination attempts, regents pretending to love her like their own child, whispering in her ears. It caused a stir when she took the throne last year. Everyone said she was too young, but she couldn’t trust the regents anymore. She’s either going to be one of the greatest rulers the Pentarchy has ever seen or she’ll be so clouded by distrust she’ll be a tyrant.”

“What do you think?”

Callum mulled it over. “She’ll be a good queen, I think. Maybe she won’t always make the popular choice, but she’s well-known for loving her people. She views them as her family because she lost her parents when she was a baby.”

The night dragged on. Rayla meant dignitaries and nobility who stared at her like she was a piece of cattle on display. Her face hurt from smiling and her feet hurt from the heels. The biggest reprieve had been dancing with Callum. A simple waltz had left her imagining they were the only two in the room. He had that effect on her, like the rest of the world just melted away and there was no one left but them. She had clenched her fists in Ezran’s clothes when he danced with Claudia while she and Ez danced.

“Rayla?” Ezran whispered. She looked down. “Callum doesn’t like her anymore. I don’t know what Claudia’s doing it, but anyone with eyes can tell her heart isn’t in it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rayla whispered.

“Then why are you so upset?” Rayla didn’t say anything. She danced with Harrow in silence, smiling at his jokes, but unable to get rid of the cloud hanging over her head now.

When she came back to the dais, Kasef was waiting for her. “May I have a dance?” he asked. Rayla couldn’t put her finger on it, but she had a feeling he expected her to say ‘yes.’

“Don’t you give up?” Rayla shook her head. “Will you leave me alone if I do?”

Kasef smiled down at her. “I can promise you you’ll never want me to.”

Rayla snorted. “Sure, but promise you’ll leave me alone.”

“If you truly wish it, if you let me have this dance, I will leave you alone for the rest of the night.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” Kasef took her hand and pulled her way too close when they got to the dance floor. Rayla pushed herself a more than appropriate amount away. “You’re pushy.”

“How old are you?” Kasef asked.

“16.”

“Marriageable age in Neolandia.”

“Cool,” Rayla huffed under her breath.

“You’re quite stunning. Why would you choose to be the step-prince’s date?”

“He’s nice and I like him.”

Kasef pulled her closer again. “I have experience with women.”

“How nice for you.” Rayla was going to slap him if he didn’t stop.

“A beautiful woman like you should be draped in silks and dripping in diamonds.”

“Not interested.”

“Come on. I’m offering you a chance no other farm girl would ever get.” Kasef spun her, and brought her back far too close. “If you keep my bed warm every night, I’ll give you all the pretty things you never dreamed of.” His hand snuck down her back and he groped her ass.

Rayla couldn’t hold back. She slapped him so hard his head swung to the side. “DO. NOT. TOUCH. ME.” Rayla held firm as he turned his head to look back at her. “Learn to take a ‘no’ every once in a while, and stop acting like a child. Actually, that’s not fair. Children know that ‘no’ means ‘no’. You’re spoiled and you need to grow-up.” Rayla walked away before he could say anything back. The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Well,” Aanya’s voice carried throughout the room, “I don’t know about all of you, but I think this party should move on. I’m tired of dancing. King Harrow, I heard that Katolis has a beautiful garden.”

Harrow nodded. “It does indeed. Let me show you all.” Rayla stayed back as everyone went to the gardens.

“You OK?” She was startled back into reality as Callum took her hand.

“I’m fine. Just grossed out.”

“Not even the jerkface dance could make that better.”

“No, it couldn’t.”

“What do you need?”

“Can we just go to bed? Or would that be rude?”

“Given the circumstances, I think it would be OK.”

“Did I really just slap the crown prince of Neolandia?”

“You did and it was awesome.” Callum chuckled with her, gently putting a hand on her upper back. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He looked up into her eyes and she almost fell into them. His lips her so close and they were alone. He moved away before she could let her heart make the decision for her.

‘It’s for the best, Rayla. Your heart is a fool.’

#rayllum #rayllum fanfic #tdp #the dragon prince #the long game #au #moonbase fanfics

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wistfulcynic · 4 years

Text

Their Way By Moonlight: Broken (Chapter 16)

In which the chapter title says it all, really.

For @thisonesatellite and @ohmightydevviepuu and @katie-dub, YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID 😘😘😘 (and shoutout to @winterbythesea for filling the gaping holes in my video game knowledge)

SUMMARY: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time Emma is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from Henry and anyone else who might help her break it. But what no one knows –including her own cursed self– is that she and Killian have the ability to share their dreams, and are working together in secret to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from a new and dangerous foe.

Rating: M

AO3

Broken:

All her life Emma had loved to sleep, but she wasn’t the biggest fan of naps. Sleep, to her, involved putting on comfy, loose clothing, making the room as dark as possible, burrowing into her pillows and blankets and letting oblivion wrap her in its soothing embrace for at least eight hours, preferably more. Obviously, those perfect conditions didn’t happen often, but still a girl could dream.

Naps, she felt, were like fast food sleep. They met her most immediate needs but left her feeling heavy and groggy and a bit gross. Exactly the way she was feeling now. She peeled one sticky eyelid open and groped for her phone, groaning when she saw the time. Ten past six. She’d slept for over two hours, and Neal would be here in less than one. Rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, she tried to force her foggy mind to focus.

A burst of triumphant laughter sounded from the living room, followed by a dramatic groan.

“Right, you’ll pay for that,” snarled Killian’s voice.

“Oh yeah?” Henry crowed in reply, “Who’s gonna make me?”

Emma heaved herself up out of bed and went to the curtain that separated her and Killian’s bedroom area from the main part of the apartment. She peeked around it and grinned at the sight that met her eye. Henry and Killian were on the sofa, controllers in hand, playing what was apparently a very hotly contested game of Battlefront II.

She thought back to when Killian had first begun attempting to play video games with Henry in New York, hampered by his missing hand and his general bafflement as to why anyone would want to sit for hours in front of a flickering screen, shooting imaginary bolts of light at each other. He seemed to have gotten over that in the past year, she thought, and now with his modern prosthetic he was able to manage the controller and navigate the game deftly enough that Emma had a sneaking suspicion he might be letting Henry win.

Although, she thought, as Henry racked up another kill, pumping his fist as his character respawned into Han Solo and Killian’s eyebrows snapped together indignantly, maybe not.

She pushed aside the curtain and went to sit on the arm of the sofa next to Killian, who flashed her a brief smile before returning his attention to evading Henry’s digital assault on him.

“Hey, guys,” she said, unable to resist letting her fingers sift through Killian’s hair. She still found it difficult to go too long without touching him. “Who’s winning?”

“The lad has a temporary advantage,” Killian replied grudgingly.

“Temporary my ass.”

“Language,” Killian rebuked, and Henry snorted.

“That’s rich coming from Mister oh bloody hell,” he retorted.

“Perhaps, but when you swear in front of your mothers I get the blame.”

Emma chuckled and Killian paused the game, looking up at her with the soft, adoring smile that never failed to make her weak. “How are you feeling, love?” he asked. “Rested?”

“Yeah, I guess.” She shrugged. “Kinda groggy. Do you think I have time for a shower before Neal gets here?”

“Aye, a quick one.”

“And you don’t need me to help with anything?” Emma looked around the apartment. It was as neat and tidy as ever, the way Killian always kept things.

“No, everything’s prepared for dinner, it just needs cooking. Go have your shower, then Henry and I should probably freshen up too.”

“What? I’m fresh!”

“Your mouth is, perhaps,” said Killian, quick as a flash. “But as this is meant to be a nice meal, please indulge me by putting on a shirt that isn’t covered in dog hair.”

“Ugh, fine.” Henry rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. Neither could Emma.

“What about that nice grey one I got you?” she suggested.

“Mom, I outgrew that like six months ago.”

“Oh.” The little flare of loss and regret was familiar now, but no less sharp. “Okay.”

Killian squeezed her knee sympathetically. “It has been replaced by another nice grey one, however,” he said. “Which I happen to know is clean and ironed and hanging in your room. Wear that.”

“Fine,” sighed Henry. “Can I finish kicking your arse at Battlefront first, though?”

“You can try,” said Killian.

They were making dinner together.

Mary Margaret knew it was happening, she was here, she was experiencing it. She could smell the rich aroma and hear the sizzle of frying onions, could hear the rhythmic sound of knives on a chopping board as she and David sliced mushrooms and minced carrots. Hell, she was the one doing the mincing. But she still couldn’t quite believe it.

It had been David’s idea. When they finished their lunch at Granny’s that afternoon he’d walked with her back to her office, as slowly as they could get away with, then lingered even longer by the door.

“This was fun,” he said. “I had fun. Did you?”

The thread of uncertainty in the question squeezed Mary Margaret’s heart and set her mind racing. What if—she could barely entertain the thought—what if David felt as she did? What if he wanted the same things? What if he was just as unsure of her as she was of him?

What if—this was the scariest what if of all—what if she actually told him what she wanted? That’t she’d like to give their marriage a real shot?

What would happen then?

“I did,” she replied, slightly breathlessly. “A lot of fun.”

David’s smile widened. “We should do it again.”

“We should,” she agreed, as her heart raced faster.

“Like tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah.” David nodded eagerly. “Let’s eat together tonight. Let’s make dinner.”

“Make dinner? I can’t cook!”

“Me neither. It’ll be fun. Half raw and half burnt maybe, but, you know—” his eyes seemed to bore into her “—ours.”

“Ours,” she repeated, wishing she could draw some air into her lungs. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he echoed.

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay.” His smile was so soft, his eyes warm. “I’ll get some stuff. Ingredients and things, and I’ll—see you at home.”

Home, thought Mary Margaret, letting her eyes caress his ass as he headed back down the street, then jerking them away when she realised what she was doing. Maybe they could actually have one.

And so now here they were, standing next to each other in their kitchen, chopping vegetables and browning meat in an attempt to make spaghetti.

“Shouldn’t be too hard, right?” said David, opening an old cookbook he’d unearthed from the back of a cupboard. “We just follow the instructions.”

They browned their meat and added their veggies and a can of tomatoes, several pinches of herbs and a generous glug of wine. The aromas were amazing and the kitchen warm and steamy and Mary Margaret took off her cardigan, draping it over a chair, and when she turned back David was watching her, his gaze hot and almost tangible on her bare arms. She caught her breath and he seemed to catch himself, his eyes flying to hers, their gazes catching and holding, lingering as they began to move towards each other, slowly as if in a dream, drawn by the tug of attraction they could no longer ignore. David’s fingers gently traced her cheek and hers gripped his shoulders, and when their lips touched—so softly at first then harder, growing desperate—it felt right and natural and like coming home, and also sent the sharpest spike of lust through Mary Margaret’s belly that she could ever remember feeling.

She couldn’t remember it, yet it was so familiar. This was familiar. David’s lips on hers, the silky slide of his hair between her fingers, the breadth of his shoulders, the firm comfort of his arms around her making her feel safe and treasured. Loved.

Then his hands slid over her hips to cup her ass and all she could feel was the frantic certainty that if she didn’t get him naked, right now, she would die. She sank her nails into his shoulders and rolled her hips against his, swallowing his moan and adding her own as he hoisted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist and then—

“Wait—wait,” Mary Margaret gasped, tearing her mouth from his. She was still a sensible woman, no matter how lust-drenched she felt, and just enough of that sense remained to remind her not to burn the kitchen down. She leaned over and turned off the burner beneath the bubbling spaghetti sauce, then wrapped her arms tightly around David’s shoulders and kissed him fiercely, telling him with her lips what she couldn’t put into words. What she felt for him, and everything she hoped that they could be.

When they broke apart he stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time, like she was his sun and moon and stars and everything in between.

“Mary Margaret,” he breathed. “I want—”

“Me too,” she gasped against his mouth. “Me too. Let’s—upstairs?”

The icy blue of his eyes had never been so hot. “Fuck yes,” he said.

That evening Archie returned to the small, draughty room he rented in the boarding house where most of the mine workers lived. His body felt as exhausted as it always did after a double shift, his mind as fallow. He collapsed onto the small sofa that doubled as his bed with a sigh and let his head fall into his hands and his eyes fall shut.

The cushion beside him shifted and sagged as Pongo leapt onto it, his tail swishing across the threadbare cover. Archie looked down at the dog with a faint smile that grew wider as Pongo covered his chin with sloppy kisses then settled down to rest his head in Archie’s lap, gazing up at him with warm brown eyes full of trust. Trust, and love. Archie’s heart swelled in his chest and the worst of his exhaustion seemed to lift, lightened as all burdens are by the presence of a friend. Tears prickled behind his eyes as he stroked Pongo’s silky head.

“Good boy, Pongo,” he said. “That’s my boy.”

“Your love does not see them. He sees you.”

Oisín’s words rang in Regina’s ears as she stood examining her reflection in the mirror in the loft’s small bathroom. Carefully she applied another coat of lipstick then brushed a tiny crumb of mascara from beneath her eye. She’d managed to resist the urge to put her glamour spell back on but not the one that had drawn her into the market on her way home from Emma and Killian’s to pick up a stash of land-without-magic cosmetics. It was all well and good to talk about trusting people with the truth of her appearance but did have standards, after all, and no intention of going on a date with nothing whatsoever on her face.

She gave herself a final once-over just as a knock sounded at the door and took a deep breath to quell the butterflies in her belly. It didn’t work, not even a little, and they fluttered more frantically than ever as she went to open it.

Robin—no, John, she reminded herself firmly—smiled when he saw her, a smile that had warmed and softened considerably over the past few weeks.

You look lovely, Regina,” he said, producing a bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back and offering them to her, almost shyly. She caught her breath. He’d brought her flowers before, many times during their slow, cautious courtship, but always from the florist. Tasteful, professional arrangements that a banker would choose, nothing at all like this handful of blooms he’d clearly picked himself.

“Where—where did you get these?” she asked, taking them from him and breathing deeply, barely stopping herself from burying her face in them.

“Ah.” He looked a bit abashed. “From the woods. If you don’t like them—” He reached for the bouquet but she snatched it back, cradling it to her chest.

“I love them,” she said. “They’re just… different from the ones you brought before.”

“Indeed. It was the most peculiar thing,” he explained, stepping into the loft as she held the door for him and following her to the kitchen where she took out a vase and filled it with water. “Every morning I go for a run, as you know. Always around town, along the same route. But this morning—I don’t know what it was but I just felt the need to get out of civilisation, into nature.” He shook his head wryly. “I’d barely had that thought when I found myself jogging down the road that cuts through the forest on its way out of town. I was feeling brighter than I had in some time, lighter somehow, and then I noticed a footpath leading off the road and into the trees, and on a whim I followed it. It led through some dense trees and then opened into a little clearing with a tiny rock pool surrounded by the most stunning wildflowers.” He caught her eye and smiled. “They reminded me of you.”

Regina flushed with pleasure at the casual sincerity of the compliment and returned her attention to her flowers, arranging them in the vase and admiring their colours in the fading glow of the evening light.

“So I took note of the location and went back there just now to collect some for you,” he concluded. “Do you really like them?”

“They’re beautiful,” she replied, looking up again to see he had moved closer to her—so close—close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek and hear the hitch in it, see his pupils dilate as he too became aware of just how close they were.

They’d seen each other nearly every day since she’d asked him to lunch, sharing coffee and meals and conversation but only rarely touching. Touches between them when they did occur were gentle, restrained. Cautious.

(“Regina,” said Emma, coming up behind her as she stood by Granny’s outer gate, watching Robin return to work after their first lunch date. “I’m really glad you’re happy. But… don’t forget he’s cursed, okay?”

“As if I could,” snapped Regina. “It’s kind of obvious in the way he doesn’t remember me.”

“That’s not really what I meant.” Emma shuffled her feet, her face the picture of both deep discomfort and grim determination.

“Well what did you mean?”

“Just that he—he doesn’t have control of himself. He can’t make decisions like he would if he weren’t cursed.”

Regina frowned. “Are you saying that un-cursed he wouldn’t be interested in me? Because I can assure you—”

“No! That’s not—look—” Emma crossed her arms over her chest, clutching her jacket sleeves so hard her nails left grooves in the red leather. “Don’t sleep with him, okay?” she burst out, flushing at Regina’s outraged glare but barreling on. “I know it’s none of my business and believe me, I really don’t want to be talking about it, but just—don’t. Cursed people can’t consent, and—” she took a deep breath “—I know that’s something my parents had to deal with after the first curse.”

Regina scowled, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the twinge of guilt that needled at her. She’d cursed Snow and Charming to those lives with full intent to hurt them as much as she could, and while she wasn’t precisely sorry for it her own recent experiences had given her a new perspective on what she’d put them through.

Things between her and Robin hadn’t exactly been friendly when the curse struck the Enchanted Forest, and while she’d had a whole year to think about that he had not. She’d spent those moments of the past year that weren’t consumed with her fear for Henry’s safety thinking about Robin and the way she’d treated him, wondering what might have happened if she’d been less scared, if she hadn’t let that fear make her so snappish and bitchy to him. Emma was right. Un-cursed, Robin might not wish for her to touch him.

That thought hurt far worse than she’d expected.)

But she wasn’t thinking about that now, not with him so close and leaning closer… not when her heart was pounding and her breath short… not when his lips touched hers and she just… melted into the kiss. Melted into him, unable to think of anything now but how right this felt, how right they felt, and how profoundly she wished she hadn’t fought against it for so long. She felt consumed by him, by them and by this moment, and neither Emma’s words of caution nor her own regret, nor even the ominous shifting and creaking of the magic in the air around them could pull her attention away from it.

When Belle arrived home she carefully removed the books Killian had lent her from their bag and placed them on the small table in her living room, taking a moment to let her fingertips trail over them, across the cloth bindings and the leather ones, tracing the titles and the authors’ names, and the illustrations on their covers. They all looked so fascinating she couldn’t wait to dive in and lose herself in the tales they carried within their bindings. And she knew exactly where she would begin.

(“It’s an adventure tale,” Killian explained as he handed the book to her, his eyes twinkling at the way hers widened and her hands trembled with eagerness. “A heroic quest to rescue a prince and reunite true loves.”

“Ohhh,” Belle breathed. “That sounds wonderful.”

“I figured you might like it,” Killian’s grin was warm. “I can tell already that you have excellent taste.”)

Belle made herself tea in her favourite cup, the one she saved for the most special occasions, and carried it carefully to her sofa, curling her legs beneath her and tucking a fluffy blanket around them, and a plump pillow behind her back. She sipped the brew with a contented sigh, and then she opened her book.

Neal Cassidy was no stranger to disappointment. It was always there, clinging to him like the smell of stale cigarette smoke he carried home with him each night from the Rabbit Hole, harsh and acrid and never wholly gone even when his clothes were freshly washed. The disappointment was the same, ever present, hovering in a cloud around his head, wherever he was, for as long as he could remember.

He’d had dreams once. At least, he thought he had. He must have, everyone did. He’d had dreams and he’d had a family—or at least he’d had a father, though he could barely remember the man, no more than a hazy impression of a hunched form and a plaintive voice.

I love you, son.

But that was a long time ago, impossibly long it sometimes felt, lifetimes ago. He was alone now, and had been for—well, for as long as he could remember. He worked as a janitor because he could do no other job, he drank alone because that’s what everyone did in Storybrooke. Each night the Rabbit Hole was silent but for the blaring music that was always on its speakers, patrons scattered throughout the dingy room, staring into their drinks and pretending the rest were somewhere else. Possibly pretending they were.

He worked as a janitor at the town hall, every day the same, sweeping and mopping and scrubbing, always under the sharp eyes of Mayor Green. Eyes that watched him more closely than a mayor really ought to watch a janitor, and with a smug, triumphant gleam that made him itchy and uncomfortable.

And then one day Mayor Green was gone, replaced by Mary Margaret Nolan. Deputy Mayor Nolan with tentative determination in her eyes, who greeted him with a kind smile and didn’t watch him as he worked, and who one astounding day had called him into her office to inform him that he owned the pawn shop.

(“It belonged to your father, apparently,” she said, “and he left it to you. I’m sorry I only found the records yesterday, they must have gotten lost. But the pawn shop is yours, and if you’d like to open it again, well, more business in town wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“Um.” Neal’s head was spinning. He didn’t know the first thing about running a business. And yet… “Yeah, sure. I can try.”

When he unlocked the pawn shop the next day it was dark and dusty, with that stale smell places get when they’ve gone too long without exposure to fresh air. Neal stood in the doorway feeling the full weight and scale of the task that lay before him and how very poorly equipped he was to tackle it. He was seriously considering locking the place back up and never thinking of it again when a voice spoke behind him.

“Hi,” it said. “Are you gonna open this place?”

Neal turned. He didn’t recognise the boy—not surprising as he didn’t recognise most people in town—but his bright, cheerful expression lightened Neal’s heart and gave it an odd twinge.

“Uh, yeah,” he replied. “I’m gonna try. I guess.”

“Cool!” exclaimed the boy. “Can I help?”

Neal frowned. “Shouldn’t you be in school or something?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Oh yeah.” Neal didn’t know much about kids but he was pretty sure this one was still a bit young to be going around talking to strangers. “Um, where are your parents?” he asked.

“My dad’s at work,” the boy replied, like he was expecting just that question. “He owns a bookstore.”

“He does?”

“Yep. I helped him get it set up, so I know what needs to be done. I could help you too.” He shrugged. “You know, if you want.”

Neal kind of did want. He wasn’t sure just how much help the kid could actually be, but just the idea of having someone around, of not having to do everything by himself, made the weight on his shoulders seem lighter. Still, a kid he didn’t know… “You sure your dad wouldn’t mind?” he hedged.

“He won’t,” said the boy decisively. “But I can call him if you like, to be sure.” Again he sounded like he’d been expecting exactly this development. Neal’s frown deepened. He wondered if he was being played somehow, though he couldn’t imagine how or why.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that,” he said. Let this play out, at least.

The boy took out his phone and tapped on its screen, then held it to his ear. “Hey, Dad,” he said. “I’m at the pawn shop. Yep.” His eyes flitted to Neal’s face and then away. “There’s this guy who’s gonna get it open again and I offered to help him but he wanted to be sure it’s okay with you… uh huh… yeah… okay.” He looked up at Neal. “My dad wants to talk to you.”

“Oh. Um, sure.” Neal took the phone from the boy. “Hello?”

“Hello,” said a voice, a deep, smooth, accented one that gave Neal another odd twinge, less pleasant than the one inspired by the boy. The voice was friendly, but it made Neal tense, his fingers flexing on the boy’s phone. “I hope my son isn’t troubling you,” it said.

“No.” Neal had the oddest urge to contradict everything this voice said. “He’s not.”

“Good. He sometimes lets his enthusiasm overwhelm his common sense. If he’s bothering you, feel free to send him away.” The voice was light and careless and Neal bristled at its lack of concern for the kid’s feelings.

“He’s not bothering me.” Neal glanced at the boy, who was listening intently.“He offered to help, and actually I could probably use it.”

“Excellent.” There was a hint of amusement in the voice now that Neal found deeply objectionable. He scowled. “Well, let me know if he causes you any trouble,” the voice continued.

“Sure thing,” said Neal shortly, and handed the phone back to the boy before he snapped and said something much longer. The boy took it back with a bright grin. “So I can stay?” he asked. He listened for a moment, then sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know. Okay. Okay, bye!” He ended the call and stuck the phone in his pocket. “I’m Henry,” he said, holding out his hand. “Henry Jones.”

Neal took the hand, feeling that twinge again as the small fingers wrapped around his own. “Neal Cassidy.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr Cassidy,” said Henry. “So, where do we start?”)

Henry Jones turned out to be just as enthusiastic as the voice had warned, bright and cheerful and actually very knowledgeable about running a shop. As was his dad, Neal discovered, when the man arrived later that day to pick up his son. Neal had ignored the funny twist in his gut at the sight of them hugging and forced a smile as the man—Killian, as he introduced himself—cheerfully inspected their progress and answered a lot of the questions Henry hadn’t been able to, and even some Neal hadn’t thought of yet. And Neal found himself taking the man’s number, almost gratefully, and even calling it, just once or twice, whenever he hit a snag he hadn’t anticipated.

Though he liked Henry very much Neal had weirdly mixed feelings about Killian Jones. He couldn’t seem to quell the hostility he felt deep in his gut whenever they met, the twisting anger and resentment that at most times simmered low but at others flared so high they licked right at the edge of hate. This despite the fact that the man was never anything but perfectly nice and helpful and by all appearances the kind of loving father Neal wished like hell he could remember. He tried to like Killian, he almost liked him. But that gut reaction was too troubling to ignore.

And that was how he came to find himself at ten minutes before seven p.m. walking straight past the Rabbit Hole and towards the harbour, turning down the small street where he could see the sign for Jolly Roger Books hanging from a wrought iron hook above the shop’s wide doorway, swinging gently in the chilly evening breeze.

Neal set his jaw and rang the bell, and a minute later Henry’s cheerful face appeared. “Come on in, Mr Cassidy!” he said, pulling the doors open. “You’re right on time.”

It was a typical night at the Rabbit Hole. The bar’s interior was smoky and dark though the sun was still in the sky outside, adorned with neon signs in precisely the wrong colours and a ceaseless blare of music from the speakers. Not bad music, not exactly, but bleak and melancholy and a strain on the ears, and just loud enough to make conversation impossible, should anyone wish to converse.

Generally, no one did.

A handful of patrons sat at random around the dark and grimy room, staring into their drinks or off into space, not looking at each other, not so much as a civil nod. This was not the place for civility.

It was a typical night and no one expected otherwise, none there hoped for any more or less from their drinking place or from their lives.

And then the music stopped.

It stopped abruptly, with no hiss of interference or record scratch, just silence that fell with the grace of an anvil and was in itself so deafening that it took a moment for those present even to register the change.

The town records clerk was first to notice, rousing from his reverie and frowning as he looked around, his eyes meeting the confused gaze of the librarian sitting one table over to his left.

“What happened?” he asked.

The librarian shrugged. “Maybe it’s broken?”

“Wouldn’t be a bad thing if it was,” said the clerk, and the librarian snorted.

“Maybe they’ll switch it for something good,” another voice chimed in, this one belonging to a man the clerk vaguely recognised. Did he work for the bank? No… the insurance company, maybe?

“Let’s hope so,” the librarian agreed.

“I hope so,” said a fourth voice from behind the clerk’s right shoulder. “If I never hear that whatever-stank again it will be too soon.”

“Hoobastank,” supplied the librarian, and they all groaned.

“Even the name’s bloody awful,” said the clerk, and the other men all nodded their agreement, sliding their chairs ever so slightly closer as they did, drawn by the unifying power of a shared grievance.

On the other side of the bar a similar conversation was occurring.

“Finally, I can hear myself think,” growled Leroy, still glaring at his beer like it had done him a personal wrong, but doing so in peace and quiet at least.

The man down the bar to his left sneezed, startling the man down the bar to his right, who had been dozing into his mudslide. “What?” said the sleepy man. “Wha’s happ’nin?”

The sneezy man wiped his nose with an enormous handkerchief. “Something’s wrong with the music,” he said.

“What music?” asked another man from further down the bar, blinking wide, guileless eyes. “Was there music?”

“Of course there was music,” growled Leroy, glaring at the dopey man.

“Loud music,” agreed the sneezy man.

“Kept me awake,” muttered the sleepy man as his eyes drifted shut. Leroy snorted.

They all turned to look as the door to the back room opened and another man entered, wringing his hands anxiously and blushing bright pink, the sweat on his forehead glistening beneath the neon glare of the bar lights.

“Um,” he whispered, far too quietly to be heard over the faint buzz of conversation that now filled the bar. He tried again. “Um,” he said, slightly louder.

Leroy felt a flare of anger oh his behalf. This bashful man was just trying to get their attention and no one was taking any notice.

“HEY ALL OF YOU,” he shouted at the very top of his lungs, turning so that the men at the back of the room would be sure to hear him too. “THIS GUY HERE IS TRYING TO TELL US SOMETHING,” he continued, pairing his bellow with a nasty glare that killed every last conversation in the room. “WHY DON’T YOU JERKS SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO HIM?”

The bashful man was pinker than ever but he nodded gratefully at Leroy. “Um,” he said for a third time, and every ear in the place strained to hear him. “I—I’m so sorry, but the music seems, ah, to be, er, broken.”

“What’s wrong with it?” called the clerk.

“I don’t know,” the bashful man confessed. “I can get someone in to look at it tomorrow, but it’s too late to do anything tonight. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said the librarian. “I’d rather talk with this group of scoundrels than listen to another note of that shit.”

A chorus of “ayes” and “huzzahs” rose from the men around him, the clerk and the insurance man, and several others who had gathered around them to raise a pint in merriment together. Men whose day jobs left them drained and hopeless and who now preened in delight at being referred to as “scoundrels,” knowing it was as far from the truth as anything could be and yet feeling that somehow, deep in a place they hadn’t known they possessed, that secret place that brought them dreams of forests and campfires and glad camaraderie, scoundrels they might actually be.

“Doesn’t bother us—achoo!—either,” said the sneezy man, who had moved to sit next to the sleepy man and nudge him with a gentle elbow whenever he began to doze off. Leroy noted that the dopey man was now flanked by two companions, one white-whiskered with round, wire-rimmed glasses and the other wearing a broad grin that Leroy suspected ought to annoy him but instead made him feel like he’d found something long missing from his life. The happy man raised his glass to Leroy, and Leroy raised his in return.

“Doesn’t look like there’s a problem here,” he told the bashful man. “Why don’t you join us—” he’d meant to say join me, but the us he spoke instead felt far more right “—for a drink?”

The bashful man looked over at the group in the far corner, now laughing uproariously and toasting each other’s exploits, then back at Leroy. “Okay,” he said. “I’d like that, I think. Thanks.” He smiled shyly. “Thanks for everything.”

“No trouble at all, brother,” replied Leroy.

Neal followed as Henry raced up the winding staircase to the third floor and burst through the door to the apartment. Through it Neal could see Killian standing in the middle of an open-plan living space with his head bent towards that of a blonde woman, whispering in her ear. Their pose was unmistakably intimate, his hand curled around her waist and hers resting lightly on his chest, their heads touching. They turned when he entered the room and both smiled, strangely rigid smiles, Neal thought.

The woman’s face he could swear he recognised, though he couldn’t place it, and vague recognition definitely shouldn’t make him feel so angry at the sight of them together, or cause a stab of jealousy to pierce his gut when Killian’s fingers tightened on her waist and he pulled her almost imperceptibly closer.

So why did it?

Neal forced his emotions down and returned their smiles in kind and Henry, seemingly oblivious to the odd tension in the room, said, “Mr Cassidy, this is my mom, Emma.”

“Your mom!” Neal cried in astonishment, then wondered why he was astonished.

“Yep!” Henry’s bright grin faded slightly at the look on his face and Neal attempted to smooth his features as Emma stepped forward and offered him her hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

“And yo—” Neal began, when he realised in a flash of memory where he’d seen that face before. “Wait—did you say Emma? Emma… Swan? The sheriff?”

“That’s right.”

He could place her now, sitting at the end of the table at the town council meetings, sighing and tapping her pen impatiently. Neal frowned again as he tried to remember what he knew about Emma Swan. It was… not much. He didn’t know much about anyone in Storybrooke, and for the first time that felt wrong. He stared at her as he strained to remember, watching as she toyed absent-mindedly with the chain around her neck, the ring on her wedding finger catching the light.

“You’re married?” he shouted, and that gut feeling flared again when he saw her glance back at Killian, silently seeking support from her husband.

“Yeah, we—” Emma began, but Neal interrupted her.

“No,” he said, forcing the fury and jealousy down again and making an attempt to smile. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Of course you’re married. Henry’s parents.”

“Yeah,” Emma smiled in relief and from the corner of his eye Neal could see the tension drain from Killian’s stance. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Come in and sit down, Neal. It’s okay if I call you Neal?”

“Sure.”

“Do you want a beer or something?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Neal was starting to think he needed a hell of a lot more than a beer, but it was better than nothing. His gut was roiling and his head felt stuffed with cotton balls, and there was a distant buzzing noise in the back of his mind, like white noise from a broken television. He tried to force himself to think, to remember more about Emma, about Killian, about all these things that seemed to be teasing at the edges of his mind, but the harder he tried the louder the buzzing grew. He gave his head a hard shake and then another, and ignored Emma’s surprised look when she returned from the kitchen in time to catch him doing it. She pasted on a smile and handed him a beer.

“So Henry tells us you’re reopening the pawn shop,” she said, sitting next to him on the sofa and taking a pull from her own beer. She smelled like flowers, clean and sweet, and gods, he could swear it was familiar. Her scent slammed into him like a Mack truck, carrying memories of something he could feel but not touch, as powerful as they were indistinct. Why couldn’t he remember?

He gulped his beer and tried to concentrate on her question. “Yeah. I guess,” he said. “Kinda sudden, I know. I just found out recently that the place used to belong to my father.”

“Oh?” Emma’s voice rose a bit too high on the question.

Neal frowned at her. “Uh huh. I don’t remember much about my papa—er, I mean my dad. So it was a pretty big surprise to find out about it. But Henry, he’s been a major help with everything. I probably couldn’t have done it without him.” He looked at Emma and warmth bloomed in his chest. “Thanks for letting him come by.”

“Of course,” she said with a smile. “But you know, with Henry it’s sometimes hard to stop him.”

“That’s what, um, Killian said.”

“What did I say?” asked Killian, perching on the arm of the sofa next to Emma as Henry came to sit on the floor.

“That sometimes when Henry decides he wants something there’s not much we can do to stop him,” Emma replied.

“Aye, unquestionably,” said Killian. “The lad is a force of nature when he sets his mind on a thing.”

There was so much pride in his voice as he said it, and so much pleasure in Henry’s answering grin, and so much love on Emma’s face as she looked between them and her fingertips absently traced patterns along Killian’s thigh as his played with the ends of her hair, and suddenly it was all just too much. They rose up and they choked him, all the feelings between these three people and the ones churning in himself, and it was too much and too strong and too confusing, and the buzzing in his head was so loud he could barely think straight.

Blindly he set his beer down, hoping he managed to get it onto the coffee table, and lurched to his feet.

“Is everything all right, mate?” Killian’s voice hovered just at the edge of his consciousness, and the mate made Neal want to punch him.

“I’m fine,” he growled. “I’m just—not feeling very well. Think I should go.”

“Oh.” Emma stood as well and approached him cautiously, taking him gently by the shoulders, her hands warm through the fabric of his t-shirt. She tried to catch his eye but he evaded her.

“I’m really fine,” he said, stepping back. “I just gotta go. Maybe we can do this another time.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Henry asked. He was clearly trying to be calm but his eyes were so disappointed, and again Neal felt a surge of emotion that was far too strong for the circumstances. He shouldn’t care about disappointing some kid he only met a few weeks ago. But he did. He did.

“I just—I feel like—” he stammered, groping desperately for the words he needed to say, to explain. And then Henry stepped forward and hugged him.

Henry hugged him, and Neal’s arms came around the boy in return, automatically, naturally, like they’d done it before. He looked down at Henry’s eyes, big and brown and so damned familiar, so different from the clear green and blue eyes of his parents.

Was that even possible?

“I—” he tried again, but Henry interrupted.

“Please stay,” he said. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I—damn it.” Neal snarled. He wanted to go, wanted to run, fast and far away from all of this mess and tangle of emotions hot as fire and memories thin as smoke. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bear for Henry to be disappointed in him.

“I’ll stay,” he said, and the world exploded.

Sleeping curses broke elegantly, the Dark Curse dramatically, but this odd chimaera of a hybrid curse, cobbled together from odds of this and ends of that, bound by Oz magic and twisted through the mirror world… this curse shattered. It burst into shards like the very mirrors that made it possible and Emma, Regina, and Zelena gasped in unison as they sensed its fracture. There was no burst of light, no gasp of awakening, just a sharp shock and then memories and then…

The world blurred, shifted, settled, and then snapped back into focus. The colours and shapes and sounds of Storybrooke were themselves again, the breeze through the town was warm and welcoming and the trees in the forest tall and straight, their eerie menace wholly gone.

Emma looked at Killian, eyes wide.

“What is it, love?” he asked, reaching for her and pulling her close. “What was that?”

“I think…” Emma lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think the curse just broke.”

“Really? How do you know?”

“I—I felt it. I felt it shatter and its magic is… well, it’s everywhere.”

Neal was staring at Henry, blinking rapidly, then a huge grin split his face. “Henry?” he said, pulling his son in for a bone-cracking hug. “Oh my God, Henry. I’ve missed you.”

“Um.” Henry was still reeling from what had felt like an earthquake. He looked past Neal to where Emma and Killian were standing with their arms around each other, whispering frantically, then his eyes lit up with triumph as the pieces fell into place. “Have you?” he said.

“Yeah, kid.” Neal loosened his hold and ruffled Henry’s hair. “I did. I—wait.” The smile faded from his face, replaced with a scowl as he turned to Emma and Killian. “What’s going on here?”

They exchanged a look. “What do you mean?” asked Emma. “You were cursed—”

“Yeah, I know that, but I mean you—you two—” He gestured at them, his scowl deepening as they unconsciously drew closer to each other. “You aren’t actually—it was the curse for you too, right? All this is just the curse.”

“No, mate,” said Killian gently. “We weren’t cursed. Emma was briefly, sort of, but Henry and I never were.”

“Then you’re really—” Something dark and angry flared in Neal’s eyes.

“Yeah,” said Emma. “We’re married.”

“You married him,” sputtered Neal, almost choking on the words. “The pirate? The one who fu—” he broke off with a glance at Henry “—who took my mother away. Him, of all people.” He stared at them, shaking his head, then gave a bitter, grating laugh. “So much for your word, huh Hook?” he said. “You remember, your word that you gave me, to back the hell off and give me a chance to be a family with my son and my—well, her.”

“A lot has happened since I made that promise,” said Killian, as calmly as he could when the nasty curl of Neal’s lip was making him wish he was wearing his hook. “A lot has changed Bae.”

Neal hissed an angry breath. “Don’t call me that.”

“Neal, then,” Killian amended. “As you like. We have much to discuss, lad, why don’t you—”

“I’m not a lad,” snapped Neal. “I’m as old as you are in this realm, maybe older. I’m not that boy you knew.”

“You’re right of course. I’m sorry.” Killian’s voice was genuinely contrite now, his expression sorrowful. “I do know that. Sometimes I just—forget.”

Emma’s arm was still around his waist and she squeezed him reassuringly. “Look, I know there’s a lot we need to talk about,” she said. “And I promise you, Neal, we will explain everything. But right now the curse has just broken and people are going to be confused. So can we table all this, please, until we’ve had a chance to figure out what we have to do?”

“Do for what?” asked Henry. “Isn’t the curse broken?”

“Yeah it is.” Emma shivered at the sharp, dangerous feel of the magic that had come untethered by the shattering curse. “But that’s not necessarily the end of our problems.”

“So what do we need to do?” asked Killian.

“I’m not sure yet. Let’s start by finding Regina. And my parents.”

@katie-dub @kmomof4 @teamhook @stahlop @mariakov81 @snowbellewells @thejollyroger-writer @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @winterbaby89 @ultraluckycatnd @resident-of-storybrooke

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #canon divergence #3b canon divergence #alternative 3b #captain swan #captain cobra #captain cobra swan #background outlaw queen #background snowing #curses #cursed storybrooke #broken curses #no tlk #more of a group-lk #bring back the love #their way by moonlight #profdanglaisstuff

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knittedkneil · 4 years

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Production Paralysis and WIPs

Something that’s been on my mind quite a bit is something I like to call “Production Paralysis” (PP), my own acronym. Now, this is similar to procrastination, but in fact the reason I’m making this specification is because I find it to be the regularly occurring procrastination of specific tasks when otherwise completely available.

What does this look like?

For me, it’s like this. I get up in the morning on a saturday, world is calm, and I’m feeling alright. I’ve planned several tasks, and these are all projects I’d like to do. the first task, is something I’ve been planning to do for a little while- but whenever it’s time to do it. I freeze. I don’t get out of bed because I’m thinking about it, I’m psyching myself up for it- but for some reason it doesn’t happen.

Another example, I have a bag of knitting projects. I get through and finish some objects, a shawl, a hat- but something like a pair of socks. I see it. I pivot. I can’t put myself in the mindset to. Just. Do it. Comparatively it’s an easy task, but it’s like there’s a block.

This frustrates me, because I like to get things done. I feel go doing these tasks, but for some reason it’s not coming. Can it be related to other things? A manifestation of stress? Perhaps- but there are other tasks that are similar that I can accomplish.

There’s aren’t any particular deadlines, which do activate me but stress me the hell out.

So, I think about it. Even though it’s still something I struggle with, here are some things I meditate on:

This is about my emotions

Like procrastination, I need to draw the focus away from the idea that this is all a productivity problem. It’s not about being lazy. It’s not about an unwillingness to get things done.

It’s an emotional response.

Things that hit me in those moments are feelings, like being overwhelmed, or not feeling good enough, or that the process is going to be uncomfortable.

So I’m going break that down.

I feel overwhelmed when I think about this task. (In this case my poor orphaned projects)

Above are a couple longstanding projects. You’ll noticed that the pattern motifs are similar but I’ll get into that later. More importantly. I look at them, and I imagine all of the sheer work that needs to get done and I’m not sure if I can do it. So I avoid them. I keep them in my project bag- and when I’ve finished everything else it’s just one glance, then NEXT!

I’m overwhelmed because I feel Ike this stakes are so high. The duffle bag, I want it to be the center point of a book I’m trying to write. I want this to be proof that what I’m thinking about *works* well. That’s a lot for one little project to hold. The dark scarf, it’s a really big lace motif, it’s gotten easier to do as I’ve become comfortable but it’s harder to feel the progress on this, because I’m always in the thick of it and never really finishing the repeat (it’s 40 row repeat XD)

So how do I approach this? I’m going try and break it down.

For the lace motif, rather than thinking in large 40 row, I noticed the smallest scallops are only about 11 rows long. SO. I try my best to work in that unit. It’s less than 4 varying repeats of one his repeat. I give myself those little goal posts. Then, when you are working at it, there’s this really cool technique called the Pomodoro Method. That means you just break the task up into 25 minute increments with small increasing breaks in between. You get whatever you can get done in 25 minutes then you let it go no matter where you are in the process. Then you do it again for another 25 minutes until the task is done. Because the idea of 40 rows are still daunting to me, I do that for a couple of my little goal posts and my plan is to do that regularly each day until I finish!

Now the duffle, stakes are high. How do I get around that? This is harder for me because it’s a question of my worth, the value of my ideas, and a reflection of my skill. Which brings us to the next point.

I don’t (or the project doesn’t) feel good enough.

This is two pronged. My duffle bag requires of me much more skill than I currently have. I had to learn how to attach a zipper to a project for first time. I need to learn how to attach hardware, need to figure out a good pattern for straps- and on top of that I don’t even know if that duffle bag, the centerpiece of my book, is going to look good enough. Even as, I write this, I can feel those thoughts tighten my chest.

I’m catastrophising: What that means is that I’m letting my mind run with every bad outcome that can possibly be. It’s not going look great. It won’t be functional. No one will like it. I won’t like it. I’ll have wasted all of my time for nothing. What I need to do is stop. And question it. Do I really know those things to be true? Will those things actually happen? Am I allowing space for the best outcomes as well? What I have to remind myself is that the best outcome is just as likely as the worst. It really can turn out amazing. I need to give myself that space.

I’m being resistant to growth: There is so much to figure out. That’s just it. Can I do it? Will I be good enough to do it? So, I have to tell myself to be kind. To tell myself that every step is a journey, much like my post on sweaters. At the same time this is a different project in a lot of ways. It’s stretching me. That’s okay.

I’m not being compassionate to myself: This is one I catch myself doing a lot. A lot of my personal culture growing up. The idea that I could do better, translates in an unkind way in my head by default so I always find myself needing to change the conversation I have with myself in my head. Something that’s helped me is to ask myself. Would I say that to my sister? She and I are really close, and we come to each other when we are struggling- if it’s something I wouldn’t tell her because it was unkind. Then I shouldn’t be telling myself that either. So finishing projects might take longer than I expected. It may not turn out exactly the way I want. That’s okay. My efforts aren’t wasted. I am good enough, and it is good enough. Everything is beautiful in it’s own way.

What if the project really isn’t good enough? There’s no reason why you shouldn’t frog it because you aren’t happy. (Above is a beanie I had ALMOST finished but. I just ended up not liking how the ribbing didn’t quite gel with the rest of the hat) IT’S. A LOT OF PROGRESS. You say. Yeah. You can still start over. Which segways into the next point.

The process is going to be uncomfortable.

When I’m in the thick of things, I play this game where I pretend that if I just keep my head down and keep going down this same path it will magically get fixed without any effort.

Yeah. That doesn’t always happen.

You can try and fix it. I feel like real skill is not just learning the complicated stitches and patterns. It’s how to recover after you make a mistake. I learned a lot about brioche when I forgot to do a whole two decreases in the west knits shawl pattern. So, I frogged in that section and learned how to rebuild that section without having to frog all the rows in their entirety. The stitches were tight/looser than they should be but... still gorgeous

It doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s yours. Something my aunt always tells me when she makes an error on her silk paintings or her water colors. “Now it’s artisan, because you can tell it was handmade” The mistake didn’t break the piece. It elevated it. This is your piece and if you wanted something that looked like every other thing you could have just bought it. You can riff it. If you didn’t do enough increases/decreases you can find ways to change it further to match the stitch counts you need. There’s always a way.

But, If you need to frog it. Do it. Yes, you’ll have to start all over again, yes you’ll need to do more work. But that effort was not wasted. You learned something important about this, and that’s exactly what it was there for.

I completely frogged the yoke on the top red sweater- which later became my Red Herring Sweater. The duffle bag and dark scarf— are still waiting for some love. The viney hat crown I finished (the only one out of this whole table) The blue faire isle scarf? Not wide enough. The cast on wasn’t thick enough. Frogged. That GORGEOUS Baby sweater? Took too long. The baby long outgrew my sizing- Frogged. But that’s all okay. I grew with each piece and I’ve been getting better and better.

What I’m trying to say is that growth doesn’t happen smoothly. It’ll get hard. I try to imagine the finished piece when it’s particularly in a hard spot, and I feel really discouraged. I remember why I started it in the first place. Maybe that could get me through. Find a way to get yourself in an emotional place that can work for you, may think about it differently OR don’t, maybe it’s not the thought but the process that counts. Remember in knitting everything is built one stitch at a time. You’re making fancy knots on string. Everything is just based on a knit, you know that, build from there.

Nothing is too hard. It just takes patience, time, and commitment.

Thanks for sitting with me, as I break this down. This post is a lot for me, as I find a way to pick up those needles and finish those resting projects. If you like my long form posts, there may be couple more on my blog— and a couple more on the way. Things kind of float in my head that need this kind of gestation to completely get it. I also have instagram! Same username! For all my links you can go to knittedkneil.com/links

This was the last project I finished :) I’m really REALLY proud of it, and I’ll try to remember this feeling for when things get hard.

#long project #knitting #procrastination #thoughts #blog #i legit have so many wips i dont have a number anymore #wips #wipmegood

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interludcs · 4 years

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BENEDETTA PORCAROLI , CIS FEMALE , SHE / HER → according to the school records , GIOVANNA ELOISA ARGENTI has been attending sacred heart for the past two years . i last saw them hanging around stan's place ; i think they were tying cherry stems into knots . at twenty - one , gio has been studying classics and get this , i heard that her bloodline has long been cursed to succumb to inevitable madness and it’s been the cause of many mysterious deaths in the family already — figure it’s true ? everyone around here always associates them with biting into an apple only to realize it’s rotten , a bloody nose dripping onto silk stockings , and the distorted screech of a violin coming from another room . in the time since these strange happenings , they have encountered unexplained occurrences .

━ ˙ ˖ ☆ QUICK STATS !

full name : giovanna eloisa argenti

nickname(s) : gio , gigi ( although she likes to think she outgrew it )

zodiac : scorpio sun , gemini moon ( click ! )

sexuality : bisexual .

occupation : student & heiress .

birthplace : rome , italy .

current residence : sacred heart academy .

pinterest : ( click ! )

━ ˙ ˖ ☆ BACKSTORY ! ( tw : depression , murder , suicide & drug abuse )

born in 1953 to one of the wealthiest families in italy ! the argenti's posses a ridiculous and tbh kinda disgusting fortune because of their distant ties to the old italian monarchy ... and are also long rumored to have been cursed hundreds of years ago as divine punishment for the sins of a past family member .

the family has a long and gruesome history — good husbands turning into killers , more than one argenti woman flinging herself off one of the many balconies in the family estate , children who hear voices in the night . more often than people care to count , these fits of madness are seemingly inexplicable .

giovanna was born on chilly autumn night . she would be her mother’s first and last child , but lucianna argenti saw her baby girl as anything but a miracle . when she was only five months old , a nanny discovered the woman trying to drown giovanna in the bathtub , stuck in a trance she’d later have no recollection of being in . long in denial of the family curse , marco argenti hired nearly every notable doctor in italy , but none of them could find a sound explanation for the violent and nonsensical trances his wife would experience for the next three years before ultimately taking her own life .

leaving giovanna to grow up all alone in the too big family estate at the hands of nannies , marco argenti would spend the better years of his only daughter’s life traveling all around europe , desperate to shake the ghost of his wife , but never succeeding .

despite all the tragedy early on in gio’s life , she had an almost typical upbringing for someone in her socioeconomic circle . a childhood devoid of the love her parents were supposed to give , nannies who gave in to the rotten demands only a wealthy child and sole heir could conjure up , a house that never felt like a home .

by the time she was a teenager , gio had grown up to be a different kind of monster — not the madwomen her classmates would snicker about when speaking ill of the blood that flowed through her veins , but something perhaps more dangerous , a selfish girl too clever and too beautiful for her own good .

on the eve of her 18th birthday her father makes his grand return home , gone so long he mistakes his daughter for a maid before a groundskeeper politely informs him of his mistake . causing more tension still was the brand new gold band on his ring finger , as well as the announcement that he’s selling the estate , and that gio’s to come live with his new wife and three small children in france .

the day giovanna argenti turns 18 is a day she can no longer remember save for waking up in the remnants of a burnt down home , ash caked underneath her fingernails , smoke burning her lungs . servants who have been loyal to the argenti family for decades will later testify that there had been a terrible accident lighting the birthday cake that night , that marco argenti had never returned home the night before , and that the family of four in paris crying murder were nothing but scammers after the family fortune .

gio spends the next year scrambling to piece together the mysterious events , a tiny voice inside her head insisting something wasn’t right with the story she’d been fed by the people who raised her , albeit confused as to why they’d hide the truth if something sinister had indeed happened that night . she could have sworn the memory of her father coming home was a real one — until she gets a letter in the mail , signed marco argenti , polaroid attached , a blurry shot of a man who bears the family resemblance standing in front of the statue of liberty .

cue the drug abuse ( coke being her poison of choice ) , the reckless and dangerous stunts all in the name of having a good time , the mind numbing sex with strangers . heart heavy with the idea that she was indeed going insane , following in the footsteps of all the argenti’s that had come before her , giovanna was left with the haunting sensation that her life was already doomed , and so she might as well make the most of it . on the flip side of this she also came to the realization that she could pretty much .... do whatever she wanted and get away with it ? people already thought she was cursed and crazy ... might as well act the part ... a little self fulfilling prophecy ... as a treat <3

in a feeble attempt to save her from an untimely and rather stupid demise , she is shipped off to sacred heart academy , a place a distant cousin once attended . mind clouded by addiction and unresolved trauma alike , giovanna can’t be sure the strange happenings at sacred heart are real at all or just a product of a dark and overactive imagination .

━ ˙ ˖ ☆ PERSONALITY + TIDBITS !

first & foremost ... gio was inspired loosely by some sexy women including miss effy stonem from skins , choi sooji from tempted , ludo from baby , villanelle from killing eve & lady macbeth minus the murder ( ... unless ? 😏 ) , as well as more lana del rey songs than i care to admit so we won’t be talking about it aha x

yes what i’m trying to say is she’s a little unhinged ... but in that fun sexy way like when amy dunne gives the cool girl speech in gone girl .

speaking of cool girls ... gio is one 😌 you would think growing up with a last name that’s literally famous for being cursed would have put a bigger damper on her popularity among people but there’s a certain fascination gio holds and she knows it . this isn’t to say she’s got a lot of friends because she definitely doesn’t , she just knows how to get people’s attention .

at her core she is clever , charming , everything someone who grew up with money is bound to be . but unlike the selfishness of other trust fund babies , gio’s operates on a different scale . she’s self obsessed , not because she views herself as better than anyone else , but because she’s so haunted by the idea that something terrible and wicked exists inside of her and it’s only a matter of time before darkness takes over .

in an effort to counter that weight , she breezes through life without taking much seriously . toying with people , the mind games she plays , it’s all an effort to distract herself , to entertain her brain with thoughts that somehow seem lighter in comparison to her own inevitable self destruction although the people she plays with might say otherwise .

consequences should scare her more than they do , but honestly she’s got a penchant for doing the things deemed bad for her . on one hand she figures little matters if she’s truly cursed , on the other hand she figures if she is cursed than whatever consequence comes her way is deserved .

flirty , but most of the time it never means anything . she is prone to intense infatuations , however , all of which have ended tragically so far so proceed with caution .

she’s definitely someone most people would know of , as she’s got an almost bad habit of striking up conversations with whoever , but ask someone to name her favorite color or any profound fact about her and they probably wouldn’t be able to .

very nosy due to her childhood of people watching and intensely studying the adults who raised her , and so the habit has carried on into her adult life . she won’t outwardly pry , but if you catch her interest she’ll unabashedly observe you like she’s an actor trying to better understand their part .

tons of fun at parties , but also in class , considering she’s snorting enough coke on the daily to treat school like it’s one big social gathering . life’s a beach baby <3

studying classics because she likes how intense the stories and history are , but she’s surprised herself by being rather good at the language aspect of the major .

deep deep down ... there is the desire to be understood and loved despite whatever uninhibited thing she’s convinced lurks around inside her but that is constantly in conflict with the idea that she’s fundamentally undeserving of real affection ... just girly things you know 🥺

━ ˙ ˖ ☆ WANTED CONNECTIONS ! ( all open to all genders )

my brain is quite literally all rot rn im just gonna list stuff with minimal elaboration please vibe with me ...

people she gets high with <3

ex infatuations that ended tragically lets get that angst

spare parental figures ... any professors out there want a demon child who will idolize u but not know how to deal with that so they just act up all the while hoping for forgiveness and the attention they never got from their own parents </3

speaking of professors i will play into the problematic trope of a student being obsessed with a professor -___- solely because i would lov to have gio go full throttle crazy ... as a treat ... this has nothing to do with that one line in lorde’s writer in the dark u know the one truly this does not have to be reciprocated at ALL

a confidant / someone she probably considers her closest friend who she is constantly disgusted with herself for opening up to but also truly not able to live without so it’s a fun cycle of push and pull but truly she’d probably die for them just don’t ask her that she’ll say no

i think it would be fun to have someone who knows about the supposed argenti curse maybe their family had some associations to gio’s or maybe they spent some time in italy at some point growing up and met her there idk im cute not smart ...

we’ve all been begging and begging i will jump on the bandwagon and ask for a sexy rival doesnt mean anything if u say i hate u after hooking up

someone she keeps bumping into when she’s sneaking out past curfew or cutting class and at first it was like dude seriously do ��we have to start alternating but now it turned into like wow i really hope we bump into each other again would u like a cigarette wanna listen to some music together

someone she sees a lot at stan’s place . perhaps on campus they have a very different relationship but off campus they feel free to have another

current hookups we love to see it there’s so many directions to go in maybe its purely a casual thing , maybe it’s casual for gio but not for them , or maybe gio’s the one like worm maybe i would like more than sex , maybe it’s like a we only hookup when we’re high at parties thing , perhaps it’s a secret hookup thing so it gets angsty

maybe a rival or someone she swears she hates and they swear the same but they accidentally bond along the way and it’s like well i thought i hated u but perhaps we are more similar than we thought but also we only know how to be enemies so how do we even move past this ...

perhaps someone gio goes to when she’s especially fucked up and they take care of her / start to resent her for seemingly caring so little abt her own well being and she resents them for caring too much bc it’s not liked she asked but she keeps showing up at their door and they keep letting her in

someone she can be in cahoots with ... go absolutely bonkers with knowing they won’t judge her and she won’t judge them

perhaps someone she can be a bad influence on

also someone who makes her want to be a better person bc we need balance

a group of girls gio can be like men r disgusting with but then they catch her hooking up with said stinky man and it’s just a cycle like please get some help luv

a dealer mayhaps ?

someone whose favorite pen she stole but blatantly lied and said she didn’t steal it but she uses it everyday in class so u know she did in fact steal ur pen

ok she’s out of juice i’m she

i wont lie to u ive been writing this all damn day … but we finally made it baby 😭😭😭 im sosososo sorry for the length & the wait … also i feel like my charas always change a lil once i actually start plotting & writing so sorry again if u see me finally writing as giovanna on the dash and ur like lit rally who is that … JSDBWJBDWBDJ also side note i promise u im almost done word vomiting all over the place but it must b said ... u know how there’s that trope that supposed insanity is like not always real like how female hysteria was a whole as thing or like how in haunting of hill house where the charas weren’t really haunted by ghosts at all more so by their trauma ... that was my whole inspo with the argenti’s like are they even cursed at all ? who is to say ... PLEASE come message me on discord to plot ! @ you are my soulmate ʕ´• ᴥ•̥`ʔ#8172 maybe … give this a like if u wanna … do that hehehe thank u for reading all this ur so brave for that stay sexy stan loona x

#heretics.intro #╰ ♡ . 𝒏𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒚 ── ooc !#pls lets not talk abt the length the quality OR the lateness ... compliments only x #JSBDJWBDJWBDJWD

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pidgeen · 6 years

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Voltron Hair Dye (part 2)

This is a continuation on my previous post for this fic! Go in the tags to find the previous part since I don’t know how to link things ...

Description: Pidge finds comfort in science and silence, but Keith finds comfort in making sure that his girlfriend gets the correct amount of hours of sleep she needs to be a functioning human being. When he finds her pulling another all-nighter, he's willing to do anything to get her to go to sleep, even if that means planning a date to the space mall with all of team Voltron.

Pidge wasn't the type of person to like shopping. At least, that's what she thought of about herself. She clearly wasn't in the right mind when she and Lance were knee deep in a fountain fishing around for coins to buy a video game. Thank god Lance was just as bad as she was, or he might never let her live that down. But no, Pidge did not enjoy shopping, as she stated everytime Allura asked her.

Something about the whole thing, shopping, seemed so wrong. Shopping was something Katie had loved. Shopping meant walking around for hours, laughing, and taking pictures with whoever you were with. Shopping meant spending money that your parents lent you, and forgetting about the pressure of school. Pidge didn't have the luxury of that anymore. She might say that she simply outgrew it. Whatever the shift, Pidge felt out of place in a mall.

However, not only did Pidge feel out of place in a mall, she also happened to look quite out of place in one too. Holding Keith's hand, who was also holding Shiro's hand. With Lance trailing after Allura, who was trying to make conversation with Shiro. Hunk was already missing in action, presumably in the food court.

Okay, so maybe it was all of team voltron that looked out of place.

Keith had somehow convinced Shiro that he should buy some hair dye, claiming it would help him feel better. Allegedly, Shiro simply agreed and asked Coran to put it on the schedule before they reached earth. Pidge suspected there was some more bribery involved. Lance swore up and down to the rest of the team that he heard Keith promising the Black lion to Shiro for an entire week. Not that it really mattered. They were able to reach a space mall, and take Allura this time, much to Coran's disdain. While he was babysitting the lions, Keith and Shiro were supposed to grab their hair dye. It was easy, just a quick deal.

The plan seemed to be taking longer than planned. Much longer.

After they walked around for about 25 dobashes Pidge was just about ready to sit down and let her small poor legs rest, when Keith pointed at a store seemingly smaller than the rest. Given its size, how he spotted it is a mystery. Pidge theroised Galra vision. She also theorized that Keith would have a fit if he ever found out she has theories and hyposeithis for that stuff.

Keith lead both Shiro and Pidge into the small hair shop, almost ignoring Lance when he says he's going to take Allura to go find something 'sparkly'. Shiro rolled his eyes, but doesn't stop him. A smart move on his part, really, Lance can almost never be stopped.

Pidge was confused when Keith suggested they head to a space mall. Not only did both of them have an interesting enough time the first time they went, Pidge was sure that Keith had enough hair dye to last him for a while. How he hoarded that much black dye on the ship was beyond her. He seemed to constantly be carrying some around in a pocket, either jacket or pants. He really should have known she'd find it sometime or another, given the fact that she likes to steal his jacket all the time. It was just so cosy when she needed it to be, hair dye and all.

But no, he claimed to have used all his hair dye while he was off in space for years, apparently. Not that Pidge had time to fully comprehend any of that. He promised to talk to her about it when they had a free moment. So far, the only free moments they had was at three am. Just her luck. She should have known Keith would take her suggestion to the limit. It was so secret that he loved his hair dye. Pidge made a mental note to update her powerpoint presentation on why hiding your true hair color isn't always needed. Who else was going to stop Matt from dying his hair bright red in middle school? But honestly, she thought that Keith didn't need to hide his purple hair. It was a part of him, and Pidge was sure it was adorable as heck too.

Pidge was jerked out of her thoughts as she felt a sharp tug from her right hand. Her eyes widened and she almost slipped straight into a display of odd looking space brushes that she had been heading for. Keith almost grinned with amusement and Pidge gave an apologetic smile in return. Keith then let go of their hands and turned to face both of them.

"Okay, here's the plan everybody," Keith started, rubbing his hands together excitedly. "I'm going to grab the blackest of the black hair dyes they've got for me. Pidge help Shiro find something a little less extreme, cause he's already got white hair. Something that has an off-brand™ name like Midnight or whatever. I don't want to kill your hair." Shiro nodded and Pidge gave Keith the thumbs up.

Shiro turned around and walked with Pidge through the tiny store that had enough displays to keep the duo occupied for weeks. It took a while to come across the all hair dye section, but they found it. Before them, was an expansive rainbow that lead all the way from pink and red to purple and black, with everything in between. Shiro actually gasped, earning Pidge a glare when she was caught trying to hide her laugh.

"It's not a sunset, Shiro," Pidge said, in between her laughing fits she tried to disguise as coughing. Shiro huffed at the phrase, something Lance said often when others got excited, and simply turned back to the display. He reached out his one hand to point and distinguish between the variety of different dark colors.

"It's pretty darn close, Pidge," he almost chuckled, pointing at the ones he was interested in, and clearly talking through something in his head.

Pidge walked along to the brighter colors, eyeing up the green colors. She had never dyed her hair before, or even really considered it. Katie had really prized her hair, it was something that she truly loved about herself. In grade school, she never could have brought herself to change her hair in any way.

The range that the brand had of the green was just enough to keep you second guessing yourself, but small enough that it wasn't overwhelming. Pidge stared intensely at one green, feeling a sense of recognition within. She reached it and grabbed the bottle of pure beautiful green, just to see at the bottom in bold white letters: AS SEEN ON VOLTRON - PALADIN PIDGE™️!

She exhaled something between a laugh and bewilderment, turning to Shiro, to show him the bottle as she breathed funnily. Her mouth made a funny noise, as she saw him, nose almost pressed to bottle to read the label. Pidge guessed maybe his hair wasn't his only grandpa like feature now.

"Striking Shiro?" He questioned out loud, before turning to Pidge. He smiled and laughed a little as he saw her holding the same bottle, both of them just staring at each other in complete shock, mixed heavily with ridiculousness.

They met Keith at the cashier.

Keith, was not a light shopper... to put it lightly. When he considered buying for stocking, he didn't just buy a few bottles. No. Keith had always been taught go big or go home. Shiro now regretted the old saying he used. Pidge regretted doing this at all.

There he was in all his glory, eight or nine bottles of jumbo sized Pure Black Swirl (Extra Strength)™️ and a happy little smile on his face. Pidge kept her mouth shut and her eyes rolling as she put down her one bottle of Paladin Pidge™️ and Shiro's two bottles of Striking Shiro™️. (After looking at the other colors, Pidge found the Killer Keith™️...after being not sure if it meant he had killer outfits or he was keen on murdering people, she decided not to pick it out. Some gems are better left untouched.)

All three of them were relieved to leave the small store, bags weighing them down, after 30 dobashes of complete nonsense. Although getting yelled at by Coran when they returned... was almost enough motivation to stay a little longer.

#kidge #kidge fic #short fic #voltron #Voltron: Legendary Defender #voltron fic #vld keith #vld pidge #vld shiro #vld ships #vld fic #wattpad #pidgeen posts #wiickedcoffee fic

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freetobecasdean · 6 years

Text

The Question

This is my first Destiel fanfic! If you want to read it on ao3 by any chance, here’s a link :) x

The first time someone asks Dean The Question, he's only in Kindergarten.

The culprit is his pigtail-wearing best friend Charlie, who's never been afraid to ask him anything.

"Do you love Castiel?" she asks.

Dean takes a moment to think. He and Castiel are friends, of course. They've been sitting at the same table since the beginning of the school year. Dean used to have trouble pronouncing Castiel's full name, so he gave him the nickname Cas. Every time Dean uses the name, Cas smiles, and it makes Dean happy. All the same, Dean's not really sure whether he loves Cas or not. He knows he loves Charlie. He knows he loves his family, especially his baby brother Sammy. But Cas?

In the end, Dean asks a question of his own. "How do you know if you love someone?"

"When you're always happy to see them," Charlie replies back immediately.

Dean ponders it a little longer, eventually deciding, "Then, yeah. I love Cas."

Charlie grins. "Me too. Let's see if he wants to play now."

The second time someone asks Dean The Question, he's in third grade.

Charlie is again the culprit. She may have outgrown the pigtails, but she never outgrew that strong sense of curiosity.

She asks him while they're both sitting at their desks during free time. Dean's been coloring a birthday card for Castiel, who's already turning nine in the middle of September. He's in the middle of making a joke about how Cas is as old as the Tyrannosaurus rex he loves to read about when Charlie interrupts.

Dean looks up from his card, shooting a Duh look at Charlie. "Of course I do. Do you even have to ask?"

Charlie looks like she wants to say something more, but eventually she just shrugs. "Guess not."

The third time someone asks Dean The Question, he's in sixth grade.

Surprisingly, it's not Charlie who asks this time. It's their friend Dorothy.

"Uh, what?" Dean asks, eloquent as ever, tearing his eyes away from where they'd been glued to Cas's movements.

The three of them are at one of Cas's karate tournaments, and he's currently sparring against another green belt. Every time he's unable to block a punch or kick, Dean sucks in a sharp breath. He knows that there's not much chance of real harm—especially since Cas has been doing this since he was six years old—but he can't stop himself from worrying anyway.

"I asked if you love Castiel," she repeats bluntly. "You haven't taken your eyes off him once since he stepped on that mat."

So Dean wasn't being subtle at all, evidently. He feels his cheeks heat up. "Yeah, well, it's hard to watch that scrawny nerd go up against these guys." He refrains from mentioning that he's watched it several times, knowing that wouldn't help his case.

Even so, Dorothy looks at him skeptically. "He's pretty good, Dean. You sure that's it?"

That's the problem. Dean's positive that's not, in fact, it.

Dean knows he loves Cas. He loves it when Cas smiles at him, particularly the exasperated-but-fond smile Dean receives most of the time. He loves how Cas interacts with Sam, forever patient and willing to answer any questions the inquisitive eight-year old has. He loves any time that he spends with Cas, even if all they do is lay around playing video games.

To tell the truth, Dean's a little afraid of his feelings. He knows they're different than anything he feels for his other friends, or even his family. It's not that they're deeper, exactly, but they resonate in a different way. They're always there, just under the surface, steady and unwavering.

Dean realizes he still hasn't answered Dorothy's question, and she's still looking at him expectantly. Finally, he just shrugs and says, as casually as he can manage, "Cas is family."

It's both an answer and an evasive tactic, but it seems to appease Dorothy, who turns back to watch the two opponents battle.

When Cas wins the match, the three friends cheer so loudly that a lady in front of them actually turns around to give them a dirty look.

And if Dean's cheeks flame again when Cas directs that smile his way, well, that's nobody's business but his.

The fourth time someone asks Dean The Question, it's because of freaking Truth or Dare.

It's the first time Cas is with him and close enough to hear. Charlie, Dorothy, Dean, and Cas are all sleeping over at Cas's house. His parents, who are pityingly oblivious and somewhat old-fashioned, ordered that Dean and Cas sleep in one bedroom while Charlie and Dorothy sleep in a separate one.

(Dean had to fight hard to keep his laughter to himself. Oh, the sweet, naive Novaks. Dean could practically feel Charlie's glee. She's had a crush on Dorothy for two months now, and she's been waiting for a good opportunity to make her feelings known.)

It's almost midnight, and it's Dean's turn to pick Truth or Dare. He's already had to jump on Michael's back (who just sighed and promptly dumped Dean onto the couch while the rest of them laughed), draw a dick on a napping Luke's forehead (who they could faintly hear shouting "Fuck you, Cas!" behind his closed door twenty minutes later), and steal three bags of M&Ms from Gabe's "secret" stash in the empty Frosted Flakes box he keeps in the pantry (which legitimately terrified Dean a little, especially since Gabe is extremely protective over his sweets and might actually kill him if he finds out).

He feels like Cas's older brothers have been tortured enough, and to be honest, he's still casting wary glances towards Gabe's door, so he picks Truth.

Dorothy looks between him and Cas, then whispers, "Do you love Cas?"

Yeah, Dean's not equipped to handle this. Because he can tell Dorothy doesn't mean the platonic kind of love, but at the same time he's not going to confess his feelings in a cheap game like this. If he was ever going to confess his feelings.

Just thinking the words "confess his feelings" gives him a headache.

So, even though he knows it's a cop-out, he answers, "Well, yeah, of course I love Cas." Dean slings an arm around Cas's shoulder casually. "He's my best friend."

Cas grins at Dean, and Dean smiles back. Honestly, if Dorothy thought he was going to answer any differently, then she doesn't know him at all.

Dorothy seems disappointed, but not surprised, as if she knew Dean would intentionally misinterpret her question. "I meant do you—"

She's interrupted by Gabriel's voice booming, "Who took my M&Ms?"

Dorothy never finishes her thought, because the four of them exchange wide-eyed, terrified looks, quickly abandoning the living room and sprinting to the relative safety of Cas's bedroom upstairs.

(Dean spares a moment to mentally thank Gabe for disrupting what could've been a disaster. And then he hauls ass, because he's taking up the rear and if any of them are dying tonight, it's not gonna be him, thank you very much.)

The fifth time someone asks Dean The Question, he's genuinely conflicted on how he should answer.

What's the protocol for when your best friend is sobbing because her girlfriend had to move away earlier that day, but you feel like you might genuinely explode if you don't tell her you think you're in love with your other best friend?

"I mean, I know you're best friends," Charlie continues, sniffling, "but I've seen how you look at him, Dean. And Dorothy—she saw it too." Just saying her name is enough to send Charlie into a fresh round of tears. Dorothy and Charlie had been together since seventh grade, even managing to survive the first year of high school together. But then Dorothy's dad got promoted, and suddenly she had to move across the country. Unwilling to do long-distance because she claimed she didn't want their relationship to fizzle out over a few months, Dorothy broke it off with Charlie a couple weeks before she moved. Charlie agreed that was probably best, but of course it still hurt.

She'd held off on the tears until today, though. As soon as Dorothy left, that's when the waterworks started. There's even a pint of mint chocolate chip on the nightstand next to Charlie's bed right now, along with a box of tissues.

Dean realizes that he doesn't want to burden Charlie with his feelings, not while she's dealing with her own troubles. So he lies through his teeth and says, "Charlie, Cas is like my brother."

He's not sure Charlie believes him, but she seems too upset to say anything else. When he suggests they watch Star Wars together, she nods and quietly retrieves the disk to put in her laptop.

She falls asleep on Dean's shoulder thirty minutes in. He kisses her forehead and lets her sleep.

The sixth time someone asks Dean The Question is the first time he answers completely honestly since Kindergarten.

It's most likely due to the alcohol in his system. Dean's the type of drunk with no filter whatsoever, and normally he has Cas around to censor his thoughts and make sure he doesn't get punched in the face. But Cas went off with Meg Masters earlier, disappearing into some dark hallway, and Dean saw the vodka and figured that was better than actually dealing with the ugly emotions brewing in his gut.

He's currently in the middle of pouring himself a fourth cup when Charlie seems to appear out of nowhere. "Dude, I think you've had enough," she says, carefully plucking the cup from his grasp.

Considering he can still see the image of Cas's fingers tangled in Meg's hair, Dean has had nowhere near enough. "Where's Gilda?" he says back, eyeing the cup. Charlie notices this and swiftly pours it into a nearby plant. Dean shouts indignantly at the waste of perfectly good alcohol.

"She went back home because she had a headache," Charlie says, scrutinizing Dean with her eyes slightly narrowed. "But enough about my girlfriend. Are you okay? You seem weirdly tense."

"I'm fine," Dean says roughly.

Charlie, obviously and with good reason, doesn't believe him. Then she seems to notice someone's missing. "Hey, where's Cas?"

"With Meg Masters," Dean answers, the name leaving a horrible taste on his tongue.

Charlie raises an eyebrow at him. "I thought they hated each other."

"Then maybe they're hate fucking, who knows," Dean spits out, realizing too late he should've made it seem like he doesn't care.

Charlie looks taken aback by Dean's outburst. But then she gets this look in her eyes that only ever means bad things for Dean. Like when she managed to drag him into LARPing, and as if that weren't enough, made him her handmaiden. Sam fell off the couch laughing when Dean stepped out of his room in the costume. To this day there's a picture of Dean decked out in his LARPing gear, frown on his face, on Sam's bedroom wall.

Charlie leads them towards the backyard, to an abandoned fire pit where they don't have to raise their voices to be heard. "Dean," she begins carefully. "Why are you so upset?"

Dean hates her tone of voice. Charlie's not timid; she's the type of girl to push him and push him and push him until he gives her the answer she was looking for. If she's using such a gentle tone with him, she knows that this is something big.

He knows that if he opens his mouth, he's not gonna be able to lie about it, so he stays quiet. It doesn't stop Charlie from continuing. "It's because of Cas, isn't it."

It's not a question.

"Do you love him?"

And there it is. Dean spares a glance at her, searching and earnest and no judgment in her eyes whatsoever, and the fight goes out of him. He slumps back against the back of the chair he's sitting in.

"I'm in love with him," Dean finally admits. "Have been for a while now, actually."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Charlie asks. Dean knows the question is made only out of genuine curiosity, not because Charlie is hurt that he kept something from her.

He shrugs. "I didn't tell anyone. It's not that important."

"Not important?" Charlie's looking at him like he just said that Hermione should've been killed off in the last book. "Dean, I'm pretty sure Cas has been in love with you since he knew you."

Dean looks at her flatly. "Charlie, you don't have to make shit up to console me about the fact that he's probably screwing Meg right now. I'm a big boy. I can handle it."

"I'm not making anything up, Dean! Literally anyone that knows who you two are can see it. When Sam was younger, he even asked me if I thought Cas would ever ask you out."

Dean's oddly offended. If anyone's doing the asking, it's him.

Wait, fuck, that's not the point. "I'm going inside," Dean says with a tone of finality, rising from his chair. Charlie recognizes this as the clear dismissal it is and huffs, but doesn't say anything else.

Good. Dean's had enough sharing and caring for tonight.

The seventh time someone asks Dean The Question, it's Castiel himself.

"You love me?" he asks, his blue eyes wide in shock.

Well, that's not how Dean planned for tonight to go. He'd finally decided to get his shit together and ask Cas out, and he'd even enlisted Sam's help for ideas on how to do it. Together, they'd decided on burgers at The Roadhouse, then a movie afterwards, then back to Dean's house, where he'd finally come clean to Cas. Honestly, besides the part about him admitting his feelings, it's not any different than when he normally hangs out with his best friend.

Except the burgers and movie didn't happen. Because Cas came over to Dean's house to grab a sweater that he'd left behind, and then he stayed to find a new book to borrow from Dean's bookshelf, and something about the way he looked with his head tilted as he examined the books with reverence, tracing the spines idly with the tips of his fingers—something about that made it impossible for Dean not to say "I love you."

Which is why Cas is now looking at him, not moving, his mouth slightly ajar.

He looks so stupid that Dean can't help walking towards him and kissing him.

He faintly registers the book dropping as Cas immediately kisses him back.

When they pull apart, Cas looks stunned at first. But slowly, a wide smile takes over his face, the gummy one where his eyes crinkle at the corners. He's looking at Dean with so much love in his eyes that Dean almost doesn't know how to process it.

Suddenly, however, the smile drops, and he looks horrified. Dean's about to freak the fuck out when Cas looks at the floor, where the forgotten book lays.

"Do you think I dented it?" Cas asks, looking back up at Dean with genuine worry in his eyes.

Cas, lover of books. Cas, who in the immediate aftermath of kissing his best friend (and, if Charlie and Sam are to be believed, long-time crush), turns to an inanimate object because he's worried he dented it.

Cas, who Dean loves so deeply that sometimes he doesn't even know what to do with it.

Dean can't resist pulling Cas in for another kiss.

The eighth time someone asks Dean The Question, he's immediately suspicious.

"Dean, you love me, right?" Cas calls from elsewhere in their apartment, probably the living room.

Dean, from where he's lying down on their bed listening to music, narrows his eyes. "What did you do?" he calls back.

"Nothing!" Cas replies quickly, which obviously means the exact opposite. Dean sighs heavily and reluctantly gets off the bed, walking to the living room, talking as he goes.

"I swear, if you brought another stray cat into our apartment, which you know doesn't allow pets—"

Dean stops in his tracks. Cas shrugs casually. "Well. It's not a cat."

Yeah, thanks, Cas. Dean kind of got that when he saw the giant golden retriever sitting obediently at Cas's feet, tongue hanging out, tail wagging excitedly. And now that Dean's taking a closer look, he realizes he recognizes this dog. "Wait, is this Bones?"

"Sam asked us to take care of Bones for the weekend while he takes a vacation with Jess," Cas says. Except Dean knows Cas, and he knows all his tells. Like the way he's shifting on the balls of his feet right now. Cas may have one hell of a poker face, but he can be an amazingly shitty liar sometimes.

"Sam knows they don't allow pets in our apartment." Dean sends a challenging look at Cas.

Cas holds his stare. Eventually, he squares his shoulders and says, "Sam may have been telling me that they were trying to find a dogsitter for Bones, and I may have volunteered our apartment. At which point Sam may have tried to decline, knowing about the no-pets rule, and at which point I may have forcibly insisted to the degree that he decided it was in his best interest to leave Bones with us."

Dean takes one look at Cas standing there, an embarrassed look on his face but a defiant stance in his body, and he knows that nothing he says will change Cas's mind. He also knows that he doesn't even care if their landlord finds out, because there's no way in hell Dean is robbing Cas of anything that makes him as happy as Bones does (even if he might bitch about it just because).

"You're lucky I love you," Dean says, rolling his eyes.

Cas, the shithead, just grins back. "I know."

The ninth time someone asks Dean The Question, he almost doesn't even hear it. He's too busy pacing the room in his tuxedo, trying not to puke.

Sam's there as well, trying to calm him down. Dean guesses that Charlie's in Cas's room right now, doing the same thing, otherwise she'd be in here as well. It's oddly reassuring, thinking that Castiel is just as nervous as he is. Still doesn't stop him from circling the room with a nervous energy. "Dean, you love him, don't you?" Sam asks in a placating tone.

"No, Sam, I'm just in it for the money," Dean says, deadpan. Sam gives him the patented Bitch Face.

"Just saying. You know you love him, and really, that's all that matters." Dean makes a face at Sam, who doesn't say anything else. But he does stay in Dean's room until the ceremony's about to begin, which helps soothe Dean's nerves greatly. Honestly, Dean really lucked out with Sam as his little brother. He ruffles Sam's hair as they exit the room.

The final time someone asks Dean The Question, it feels like it couldn't have arrived any sooner.

Actually, it's not exactly The Question. It's a longer, more rambling version. But when you strip it down to its very core, it means the same thing.

"I do," Dean says, smiling as he slips the ring on Cas's finger, unbelievably elated.

The officiant turns to Cas and asks the same thing. Cas full-on beams, putting the ring on Dean's finger as he answers, "I do."

They kiss to a room full of their friends and family cheering, but neither of them even registers it.

All they register when they pull apart is each other, and how lucky they are to be able to spend the rest of their life with their best friend.

(There's only one time that Cas remembers being asked his own Question, because his answer has always remained the same.

"Do you love Dean?" Kindergarten-Charlie asked, sweet and innocent with her pigtails and pink dress.

"Of course I do," Cas said back, without hesitation. "I always will.")

#destiel #destiel au #high school au #destiel fanfic #dean winchester #castiel #charlie bradbury #sam winchester #dorothy baum

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