#one shot fic idea that was rattling in my brain last night so i had to write it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

place-called-space · 1 month

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it’s finals week and i’m genuinely dying trying to write all these final projects and essays for my classes but... there’s a smutty one shot idea for our favorite lawyer that’s been rattling around in my brain for ages and i’m not sure if i can ignore it for much longer🫣

it'll be my first relatively plotless one shot that i'd post on this hellsite but there's been such a drought of matty fics recently that i feel compelled to feed and water the masses

i probably won't get around to actually writing it until after this week, and we'll be lucky if i post it by the end of next week, but for now let me set the scene 🫶🏼

content warning: dom/sub dynamics (orgasm control/denial, ruined orgasm, edging), semi-public phone sex? (matt’s in his office with the door closed but it’s implied that karen and foggy are in the next room), masturbation (male and female, but neither of them actually cum), fingering, reader is ✨sexually frustrated✨ so she slips into subspace easily, body worship/fantisization? (reader has a very active imagination and she actively imagines several naughty situations with matt), reader’s wet dream (not super detailed, just mentioned in passing)

it feels like it's been weeks since the two of you have spent any real time together.

the firm has been busy with some high-paying client that they're not in a financial position to turn down, so it's been all hands on deck for the better part of the last month. matt has to leave before you get up, but he nudges you awake to say goodbye, pressing a kiss to your forehead and letting you know if he has a lunch meeting or not so you can call and hear his voice for a blessed 30 minutes.

and because the universe hates you, matt's duties as daredevil haven't eased up either. all you've been able to get out of him is that he's been staking out one of the smaller crime families in hell's kitchen that have been looking for an opportunity to gain more power. he hears whispers of smugglers and arms deals and he barely has time to scarf down some eggs and toast-

(carbs and protein to hold him over until he can turn in for the night and warm up the plate you always left for him)

-before he's sheathed in kevlar and leather, shouting over his shoulder to not wait up for him before fleeing out the roof access door.

and of course you miss him.

you used to make coffee for you both as he got ready for work, chatting idly about that crime docuseries karen had recommended and getting matt to translate the legal jargon. you'd loop his tie around his neck, tightening the knot before pulling him down for a kiss, passing him his briefcase before sending him off to work.

he'd come home after work, smiling as he came through the door because he'd been able to hear your voice from the lobby as you made dinner, singing along to one of his favorite vinyl records. soft jazz and pasta sauce and you would smother his senses as soon as he stepped into the apartment and as soon as he shucked off his shoes and set his briefcase down, he'd round the kitchen island and wrap his arms around your waist from behind, nuzzling at your neck and peppering your skin with kisses, reveling in the delighted giggles you let out.

but with his new schedule, the apartment seemed so empty.

you were eating alone and washing one set of dishes, sleeping in a bed too big and too cold for just you. you missed the way his arms would wind around you as you slept, the fearsome vigilante that struck fear into the hearts of criminals throughout the city suddenly becoming a cuddle octopus, greedy to feel your skin on his.

you missed all the small, sweet things about him, the romantic moments that would make your heart melt... but you also missed the steamy, intimate moments where your hands would wander each other's bodies, unwilling to be separated for even a moment.

it had been weeks since you'd had sex, and you missed the way his cock split you open, the low, hoarse growl his voice would become as he crooned poisoned honey into your ear, the delicious mix of praise and degradation turning your brain to mush.

you could feel your own impatience building with each night you went unsatisfied, a dull ache beginning to throb between your legs as your body struggled to adapt. you'd gone from cumming at least once a day to nothing at all in the blink of an eye, and you were having trouble adjusting.

waking up to an empty bed for the third week in a row had nearly sent you into a fit, your panties already soaked through from the remnants of a blissful dream where matt had tied you up, your legs bent and spread wide as he toyed with your puffy folds, his fingers slick with your arousal as he'd slowly slid them inside you...

fed up, your hand had already dipped below the waistband of your sleep shorts, your fingers barely brushing your clit, a soft moan leaving you as your body finally got some relief-

but then your phone rang, matt's handsome face beaming up at you. taunting you.

you answered the phone with a breathy call of "matty" because you knew he'd heard you and two could play at that game, and the low octave with which he says your name makes you moan again, pleasure sparking to life in your core as you sink two fingers into your drooling cunt.

matt calls your name sharply, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

"naughty girl," he admonishes, his voice somehow both sweet and condescending. "so impatient. i'd wondered how long it would take you to break, but i didn't expect it to be so soon."

you whine into the receiver, your anger melting away as you remembered you hadn't been the only one suffering these last few weeks. it must've been nothing short of torture for matt to wake up to the smell of your arousal, his rapidly swelling cock nestled against your ass, aching and eager to satisfy the primal urge to mark you in every way possible. and yet, every morning, he'd forced himself to ignore it, to take a cold shower and hurriedly get dressed, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead before shuffling out of the apartment, still half-hard.

the thought only made you more desperate for him. god, did you wish he was here with you, with his much thicker fingers stuffing your pussy, stretching you out and prepping you so you could take his thick cock. you wanted him under you, breathlessly kneading the flesh of your tits as you bounced on his cock, your eyes rolling back as his impressive length dragged against that special spongey spot inside you with each smack of your hips against his, your cunt squeezing him tight and drawing out the pleasure for both of you.

but the apartment was empty and his side of the bed was cold, his scent faint on the silk sheets you both adored. a pang of loneliness hit you then, wanting his skin on yours and his voice filling your head with mindless praise.

frustrated tears stung at your eyes, but you were determined to make the most of this. you had him on the phone, you had a shot at getting what you wanted. all you needed was a few more words from him, maybe a countdown if you were lucky. you were so worked up, you could probably cum just from him reading you the new york penal code.

so you beg.

"please, matty," you whine prettily, another breathy little moan leaving you as you begin to pump your fingers in and out of your dripping pussy, the friction delicious after so long with nothing. "i need-"

"what you need," matt cuts you off swiftly, his voice so dark and commanding even through the phone that your body freezes, "is some manners. i enjoy spoiling you, sweetheart, but that doesn't mean you can cum without permission."

the whine you let out this time is significantly more petulant than before, the sound high and needy, but matt quickly curbs your bad attitude with another click of his tongue, his disapproval clear.

"don't be a brat," he says, patronizing and confident in his control over you. "just because i've been busy doesn't mean i forgot about my sweet girl."

the pet name makes your breath catch in your throat. matt hardly ever called you that. he'd always preferred the softer, more affectionate nicknames. sweetheart. darling. the occasional honey and sweetie.

but sweet girl? that coveted term of endearment had always been wreathed in coarse shadow instead of suave charm, cooed in the low, dangerous tone of the Devil.

your cunt clenches around the fingers you still have buried within yourself, though they had long since stalled their movements, and matt, damn him, somehow knows that he has you hooked, a satisfied purr meeting your ears.

"there we go," you hear him murmur, pleased. "there's my sweet girl. so good for me, i didn't even have to tell you to stop. no punishment for you, then, but you'll still have to earn your reward."

the breath that leaves you is half desire, half relief, already squirming on the bed. surely he just wanted a show, something to hold him over until the work day was done and he could come home and have his way with you. your moans would replay in his head all day, your breathless cry of his name making his cock twitch beneath his desk every time it echoed through his mind, his thoughts muddled and disjointed as he struggled to focus on the case.

"tell me what to do," you plead, your own thoughts already growing fuzzy around the edges, dizzy with anticipation of the climax he was sure to grant you. "miss you so much, matty... i wanna be good…"

matt groans low on the other line, an excited shiver running through you as you hear the barely audible "fuck" accompany the distinct sound of his belt unbuckling.

"need to hear you, sweet girl," he hisses. a shaky exhale leaves him next, and you imagine he's just freed his cock, the vein running along the shaft throbbing. the tip is probably flushed a dark pink and probably already leaking salty precome, his balls heavy and full from almost a full month of not satisfying himself.

christ, was your mouth watering?

"go on, sweet girl," matt tells you, his voice hoarse. "keep touching yourself. make yourself feel good."

far be it from you to disobey a direct order.

your fingers began thrusting once more, your low, breathy moans becoming high and whiney within minutes, not making an effort to silence yourself. matt wanted a show, so you were going to give him one, noise complaints be damned.

it doesn't take long for the knot within your belly to tighten, your body teetering on the edge of a long-awaited orgasm. you were practically half-delirious, so grateful for the pleasure that you'd already begun expressing your gratitude, your thanks garbled and slurred but genuine nonetheless.

you don't hear the mean, condescending bark of laughter, too caught up in your own ecstasy. you were so close, your forearm burning and your cunt beginning to pulse as you neared the edge, your jaw falling slack as you prepared for the monumental release of pleasure-

"stop."

your body obeyed without consciously thinking about it, your fingers slipping out of you. your poor cunt clenches and flutters around nothing, feeling achingly empty as your pleasure stalls and curdles, spoiling like milk in the sun.

you lay there for a moment, your chest heaving as you try to figure out what happened. your pussy was sensitive and tingling, still pulsing weakly with a ruined orgasm that had given you no satisfaction. you wanted more, damn it, but most of all, you wanted him.

"matty," you cry brokenly, vision blurry with frustrated tears. "why did you... why..."

Your rambling was slurred but audible to your tormenter, his delighted chuckles making you shudder.

"sorry, sweet girl," matt said, not an ounce of remorse in his voice, "but i wanna be there with you when you cum. i need to feel that pretty pussy squeeze my cock, need to hear you moan my name as i fuck you."

he lets out a strained groan, and you imagine he has his fist wrapped tightly around the base of his cock, preventing himself from reaching the pinnacle he'd so cruelly snatched you away from.

you hadn't cum, but neither did he.

you whine at the thought, your pussy still fluttering weakly. you sniffle quietly, still mourning your ruined orgasm, and there's a burst of static, like he'd just sighed.

"you did so well for me, sweetie," matt murmurs, his tone no longer mean, but warm and loving. "i know it hurts, but i'll make it up to you tonight. i'll make you feel so good, you'll forget this ever happened."

though your eyes are still glassy with tears, matt's subtle switch in temperament did wonders for your mood, the promise of pleasure soothing your wounded pride. you sniffle again, working up the courage to meekly inquire, "promise?"

matt hums again, and you can imagine the pleased grin on his face as he purrs your name, the sound of his voice making you melt.

"i promise."

a/n: my brain literally couldn’t focus on anything else while i had this mf rattling around in there. this will be an actual oneshot at some point where we actually get some gratification, maybe even a two-parter! depending on how fried my brain is after cranking out multiple 2k word finals, it could be posted in either 5 days or 5 years or anywhere in between.

i do actually like writing guys i swear 😭 but i’m a humanities major so i do a lot of writing for my degree and my free time consists of thinking about the roman empire (for my major) and reading greek philosophy (also for my major).

glad i got this out as proof of life, didn’t mean to be horny on main but there is no other valid response when it comes to mr. murdock. i hope you guys enjoyed and let me know what you think!

- estrella ★

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drabbles-mc · 1 year

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Aftermath

EZ Reyes x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, implied/referenced smut

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This fic is the reason taht I got no sleep last night. It hit me at like 11:30pm and I had to stay up to finish it. That being said, I have not reread it and I have no idea if it makes sense. Anyway. Enjoy some messy EZ Reyes.

EZ Reyes Taglist: @rosieposie0624 @noz4a2 @queenbeered @choochoo284 @thesandbeneathmytoes @meadowofsinfulthoughts @mijagif @withmyteeth @kelpies-shed @louisianalady @gemini0410 @chibsytelford @yourwonkywriter @buckybarneshairpullingkink @amorestevens @garbinge @enjoy-the-destruction @bport76 @nessamc @winchestershiresauce @artemiseamoon @littlekittymeow @frattsparty @fanfic-n-tabulous @beardburnsupersoldiers @justazzi @solidly-indulgent @danzer8705 (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

You woke to the sound of construction, which automatically earned a groan from you. You hadn’t even opened your eyes yet and you were already over the day. The banging coming from outside certainly didn’t help the pulsating in your head. It wasn’t enough to be a real hangover, but it was enough to be a very real inconvenience. You buried your face into the pillow you were resting on, fighting the urge to pull the blanket up over your head as you reached out to attempt to try and blindly find your phone.

But then you couldn’t feel the edge of your mattress. Or your nightstand.

Then you realized it was because you weren’t at your own apartment. And the construction sounds weren’t that at all, but the sounds of the scrapyard.

You shot upright, much to your head's dismay as it sent a shock of pain from one end of your skull to the other. You winced, shutting your eyes tight for a moment as you pull the blanket up so it covered your completely bare torso. You groaned quietly, using one hand to keep the blanket wrapped around you, the other wiping the sleep from your eyes.

Sighing, you looked around the empty trailer. The night before was coming back in waves. There was way too much there to unpack since you weren’t even fully awake yet. You fought the urge to shake your head at yourself, not wanting to rattle your brain further. You blinked slowly a couple times as you tried to let your body adjust, tried to figure out what you were going to do next.

EZ was long gone. You saw that he had nicely folded up your clothes and left them on the counter for you to change back into. You’d call him a gentleman if the circumstances had been anything other than what they were. Still, you got up and pulled your clothes back on as quickly as you could in the cramped space you had. The trailer had felt so much larger last night, but then again , anything beyond the expanse of the mattress wasn’t really your concern.

One good turn deserved another. You had no intention of leaving his trailer a mess. It was bad enough you’d probably created an unpalatable situation of your friendship with him. You’d done irreparable damage to your relationship with both Reyes boys in a span of less than twenty-four hours. That had to be a record of some kind.

The bed was a sofa once more, and you’d folded up the sheets for him. Running your hands over your face and raking your fingers back along your scalp, you decided that there were no other ways to keep procrastinating. Pulling your boots on, you stepped over to the door of his trailer.

Pushing the door open, you squinted and made a sound somewhere between pain and disgust at the light hitting your eyes. Bringing one hand up, you tried to shield your vision from the late-morning light.

You blindly dug around in your purse as you went down the steps of EZ's trailer. Your fingers were searching for your car keys, but you came up dry. You knew that you drove over the night before. You’d only had two drinks and your apartment was apparently way too close to the scrapyard for your own good. You knew you drove. So either Angel had found out and driven off with your car out of spite, or, well, you weren’t quite sure what the other option was.

The last thing you wanted to do was see anyone else from the club, but it didn’t seem like you were going to have another choice. With a small shake of your head, you started to make your way towards the clubhouse. You didn’t even know what you were going to say if someone asked what you were doing there, or how you’d managed to misplace your entire vehicle.

“Hey, Y/N,” EZ called after you. He sounded the same as he always did. You didn’t know if that was reassuring or not.

You turned around to face him. The second that your eyes locked onto his everything from the night before came rushing back. You tried not to think about it, his lips on yours, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. You shook your head at yourself, physically willing the thoughts away in an attempt to have somewhat of a normal conversation with him.

“Hey.” You hooked your thumbs onto the beltloops of your jeans “You know what happened with—”

You stopped short as he pulled your car keys from his pocket and dangled them in front of you. The smirk on his face was nothing but sinful considering everything that had happened. “Parked it in the lot at the end of the block. Figured you didn’t want—”

“Thanks,” you cut him off, not really wanting to get into it. The sooner you could leave all of this mess behind, the better.

He chuckled. Fucking shameless. “No problem.”

He slapped the keys into your hand, his fingers wrapping around your hand for a fleeting moment. That was all it took, one second and one gesture and all that was running through your head was the thought of those same fingers when they were wrapped around your throat the night before.

“Bye, EZ.” It didn’t feel like there was anything else to be said. Or, at least, the smart thing would not be saying anything more than that.

You were a few strides away when he caught up to you, easily matching your pace. “We good?”

You barked out a laugh at that, shaking your head. “I don’t think that’s really a question we need to—”

“Y/N?” Angel's voice cut into your conversation.

You sighed, mumbling so that only EZ could hear you. “I’m changing my fucking name.”

EZ chuckled and shook his head, looking back and forth between you and his brother. Angel did the same, looking back and forth between you and EZ before asking, “The fuck are you doing here?”

“Leaving,” you said, not looking at either of them as you continued walking to the exit of the scrapyard. You didn’t want to linger long enough for Angel to realize that you were still in the same clothes from the night before.

Angel looked at his brother, not understanding what the smug look on his face was all about. “What’d she want?”

EZ shrugged. “Not sure.” He clapped Angel on the shoulder. “I’m gonna walk her to her car.”

Angel reached out and grabbed his brother’s arm, fingers keeping him in a vice grip. “You know what happened with me and her?”

“Not the details, but,” he chuckled, “the ‘the fuck are you doing here’ said enough.”

“And you’re still just gonna—”

“Yea,” EZ cut him off, not sounding confrontational in his tone but the look in his eyes was daring Angel to say something, “That a problem?”

Angel shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

EZ didn’t wait around to hear whatever else Angel had to say. He walked away, quickly making his way after you again. He caught up just as you were stepping out the gates of the scrapyard. You’d heard the footsteps, and you knew from the lack of yelling it must’ve been EZ and not his brother. You didn’t say anything, didn’t slow down or speed up your pace.

“You think he’s never gonna find out?” he asked.

You shook your head, still not looking at him. “There’s nothing to find out.”

He laughed. “Really? So if I go back there right now and tell him—”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face EZ. “There’s nothing to find out because it’s not going to happen again.”

The smile on his face made you want to smack it clean off of him. He was getting way too much enjoyment out of all of this. “Sure it’s not.” He paused. “Did it work, though?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you hit the unlock button on your keys. “Did what work?”

He stepped in closer to you, his chest nearly pressing against yours. “Did it make you stop thinking about him?”

You sucked in a deep breath, trying to figure out if closing your eyes so you weren’t looking directly into his anymore would be helpful or hurtful. He waited patiently for your response, the grin not fading from his features in the slightest.

You felt your heart rate spike as the thoughts broke containment once more. You remembered him opening the door to his trailer, just in his jeans. You saw the confusion on his face as he let you in, knowing what had happened between you and his brother just a few hours beforehand. He hadn’t expected to ever really see you again, certainly not one-on-one like this. Or at the yard or the clubhouse at all.

He'd hardly even gotten the question out to ask how you were doing when you told him, “I don’t want to think about him.”

He didn’t try to send you off or push you away. There was a slight moment of hesitation before he recovered, falling right into stride with ease that should’ve been questionable but it wasn’t. You remembered feeling the heat radiating off of his chest as he stood in front of you, about as close as he was standing to you now. You remembered the borderline baiting tone in his voice as he asked, “What do you want me to do about that?”

And you remembered your borderline pathetic response of, “Make me stop thinking about him.”

And he did.

Coming back to the present, you shook your head. “I shouldn’t have done it. It’s not gonna happen again.”

He stepped in closer, making you back up against the side of your car. “But it worked, right?”

You huffed, annoyed because he was putting you in this position, annoyed because he was absolutely correct. “Yes, it worked, but—”

He cut you off by pressing his lips to yours. You knew you should’ve fought against it but you couldn’t. You melted against him instantly, heat rolling over you in waves as his hand came to rest around your throat, applying just enough pressure to have a reason for being there. You should’ve been upset about it but you weren’t.

When he pulled his lips off of yours, his hand remained for a second. His eyes raked over your face, like he was putting extra effort into the memory of it that was going to sit in his mind for the rest of his life. There were far worse sights to have burned into his brain.

His hand fell back to his side and coherent thoughts slowly started to enter back into your brain. “Look, it can’t happen again. I’m sorry I even showed up.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “No you’re not.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fuck off.”

He took a step back. “Gotta get back to work anyway.” You wanted to have something witty and scathing to say but your mind was blank. He must’ve seen it on your face, because the smirk on his face grew as he said, “I’ll see you around.”

You shook your head at him, but you didn’t have it in you to argue. You didn’t want to make a liar out of yourself. Turning around, you yanked open the door of your car and got inside. When you looked back at him, EZ was already heading back towards the scrapyard again like nothing had even happened. You couldn’t see it, but you were certain he still had the same smug little grin on his face.

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. You shut your eyes for a moment as you tried to will yourself to calm down. How you managed to make so many problems for yourself and then make them worse was beyond you. But here you were, stuck in a mess of your own making. You had no idea if it was going to get worse before it got better, or if it was just going to get worse.

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #ez reyes fanfic #ez reyes #ez reyes imagine #ezekiel reyes fanfic #ez reyes x you #ez reyes x reader #ezekiel reyes x reader #ezekiel reyes imagine #ezekiel reyes #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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ickle-ronniekins · 3 years

Text

forever, i choose you

desc: he’s always been everyone’s second choice, in every aspect of his life. george weasley just wants to be someone’s first.

word count: 3.9k

pairing: george weasley x muggle!reader

warning(s): idk you might cry, i sure did but what else is new. loneliness/discussion of sexual content/idk

A/N: i still have no motivation to write and/or read. and it’s the absolute worst. but i wrote the bulk of this story back in december/the beginning of january, and i figured maybe i’d try and write the ending and publish it and see if it’ll spark any inspiration in me. i’m real, real, real sorry if i haven’t gotten to your fics to read (i’ve got them all saved!) i just don’t know what’s wrong with me atm and it’s THE WORST. also it might evoke more emotion if you listen to this while reading this lil fic. thank you, to all of you, for your support and patience, always.

disclaimer: i do not give consent for my work to be posted on ANY other platform.

Seven-year-old George Weasley watched with wide eyes and a goofy grin as his father twirled his mother in the family space of their normally bustling and loud home. But tonight, the Burrow was quiet. Everyone was already sound asleep, his five brothers and his younger sister. George should be too, but he just couldn’t fall asleep no matter how much he tried. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his sheets and kept groaning, and it wasn’t long before his twin brother Fred threw a few pillows at his face, and eventually, George decided to get up and go for a stroll.

He hid strategically on the staircase so his parents wouldn’t see that he was still wide awake at nearly midnight, and he watched as they swayed lightly to the music emitting from somewhere in the house. It was light as a feather, the music, a small piano tune that echoed through the lower level, its sounds traveling effortlessly up the stairs of the home. Mr. Weasley dipped his wife and Mrs. Weasley giggled like some of the young girls George had seen in the village, kind of a nervous giggle, and he watched her blush. He saw his mother placed her head gently on Mr. Weasley’s chest and they both closed their eyes, and George wondered if they were happy to have a moment of peace without their seven children running around causing mayhem.

He wondered if they danced like this every evening, after everyone had already gone to bed.

George noticed a weird sort of feeling in his chest; he wondered why his heart was hurting. Was it because there was something wrong? But then he realized that wasn’t the case, for the aching in his heart came from his pure desire to find exactly what his mum and dad had -- a love like none other, with seven children, a home with multiple stories, and more treacle tarts than one needs.

He vowed in that moment, as he watched his parents from the staircase and tapped his foot quietly in rhythm with the music, that he’d find love like that one day.

He wanted someone to choose him first, just like his parents chose one another.

He brought his hand to his chest, as if to calm his rapidly beating heart, for the sheer idea of finding a love like theirs filled him with such excitement that he was certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep now. Seven-year-old George Weasley laid in bed, ignoring the soft snores from his twin across the room, his eyes wide with wonder as he dreamt of the woman he’d dance with one day.

Twelve-year-old George Weasley wasn’t ready to date. He was only twelve years old! He much preferred to dream.

He knew when he looked at the girl across from him that she wasn’t the one, lovely as she was. He adjusted his Gryffindor tie and cleared his throat and focused on the Potions assignment in front of him. It wasn’t exactly a date, was it? He was in a Potions lesson with his classmates, and Snape. But when the cute blackhaired Hufflepuff approached him and asked if he’d like to work together on the next of Snape’s ridiculous concoctions, Fred poked his brother in the ribs and winked, as if to say, If you don’t partner up with her, you’re a right prat.

And so George did what he thought was gentlemanly and he said yes. He could tell by the rose pink colour that flooded her cheeks that she was smitten with him, and that she’d asked him to be her partner because she was smitten. And he had to admit, she really was quite cute and very, very kind.. and rather smart for her age as well. And he knew that she’d make some man very, very happy someday. It just wouldn’t be him.

He did what was asked of him. He measured out the correct amount of powdered Griffin claw. He made sure he and his partner had enough salamander blood for their strengthening solution. And he smiled back at his partner, though his heart and his mind were still with the girl he’d dance with one day.

The Hufflepuff tried her hardest to capture his heart, but it belonged to someone he had yet to meet.

She wasn’t the one that felt like home.

-- -

Sixteen-year-old George Weasley didn’t understand why all of his classmates wanted to snog people and move onto someone else without so much as a blink.

So many people were pairing off and lasting less than a week before moving onto someone new. George rattled his brain for answers, he searched the eyes of his classmates for explanations, but he couldn’t understand why people would want to hop from one person to another. Didn’t they want to find love, a love that’s long lasting and pushes boundaries and moves mountains and weathers the storms it meets?

But perhaps, he worried, maybe that’s where he was going wrong.

Maybe, in order to find what he truly yearned for, he needed to be reckless and love without really loving.

Maybe he needed to search less, in order to find her.

And so he decided, with much persuasion from Fred, that he’d ask that pretty brunette Ravenclaw to the Yule Ball, and he’d dance and drink firewhisky and maybe he’d even kiss her, if the courage he tried to summon stayed with him throughout the night.

And maybe if he did all those things, he’d forget about the one his heart desperately craved.

And for a little while, he really did forget. Perhaps he could get on board with this “love the one you’re with” mentality. Maybe he could just be in the moment without worrying about everyone else. Maybe he could kiss girls without feeling anything, maybe he could date casually, maybe he could be like everyone else his age and not think about weddings and marriage and having children.

“Georgieee,” the Ravenclaw slurred on the dance floor. She tugged on his tie and pulled him close. He could smell the firewhisky on her breath and his heart began to pound when she pressed her lips lightly to his cheek. “Dance with meeee.”

No, this wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted more than this. He’d always wanted more than this.

George begrudgingly agreed and caught Fred’s eye from across the dance floor. The elder twin threaded his brows together and pushed the air with his hands, as if encouraging his younger brother to go for it. The Ravenclaw dazedly draped her arms across George’s shoulders and he sheepishly looked down toward his feet, but didn’t wrap his arms around her.

“George Weasleeeeyyyy,” she slurred again, hiccoughing in between giggles, “I said dance with meeeeeee.”

He tried to fight it, tried not to think of what he always did, but he couldn’t help it.

This girl was not the one. He could tell, because there was no love in the way she said his name. There was no true feeling in the surplus of kisses she kept pressing to his jawline, and there was no warmth radiating from her -- not the kind that mattered, anyway.

He knew, as he placed his hands gently on her waist and swayed with her to the music, that this was not what love felt like. This is not what home felt like.

He danced anyway, even though it was not the kind of dancing he’d seen his parents do all those years ago, and he allowed himself to think about what the rest of his classmates weren’t -- the person he’d hold in his arms, who’d be the mother to his children, who’s kisses would send him spiraling, who’s embraces would become all too familiar in a way that would comfort him in the darkest of times.

He allowed himself again, to dream of true love.

-- -

Seventeen-year-old George Weasley was sick and tired of waiting for the one.

It sounded kind of dramatic in his own head, seeing as he was only seventeen, but he’d known now for ten years exactly what he was looking for, and ten years seemed like a lifetime.

It didn’t help that nearly all of his friends had gotten over their casual dating scene and were now all enthralled with their significant others. He felt so painfully lonely, though he’d never admit it to a soul. He could hardly admit it to himself.

One evening, he shot up from the couch and out of the common room in a fit of fury, for if he had to see Fred and Angelina snogging in the corner for one more minute, he was quite certain he was going to explode from disgust. He was happy for his brother, of course he was, but he didn’t need to see it. Not as often as that.

He found Ron sitting in the Great Hall with Ginny, Harry, and Hermione and plopped beside them all before engaging in exciting rounds of exploding snap. But as the night grew darker and he grew more tired, George noticed the undeniable chemistry between his sister and Harry and his brother and Hermione. Though they all hadn’t admitted to one another how they felt, George had found it obvious, and he politely excused himself before he tugged his jacket rather angrily around his shoulders before he walked out into the winter storm, just to feel the cold air numb his skin.

He walked out of the castle, over toward the owlery, through the treacherous amounts of snow. Anything to distract George from everyone who’d apparently been hit by Cupid’s bloody arrow.

Ever since he was born, it had always been Fred and George. What about George and Fred? Was it because Fred was older? And why were people always lumping them together? Just because they’re twins? George loathed that. They were individuals too. He was always second, in everything.

In getting hand-me-downs from his older brothers. In being referred to with his twin. In lessons when the professors would call out their names for attendance, because F came before G in the alphabet. And even when it came to love; all the girls always seemed to flock to Fred instead, because he was more exciting. More boisterous. Less shy.

The cold, winter air bit violently at his exposed skin, and he reckoned it hurt less than watching everyone around him find someone that chose them, all while he was still waiting for the right person to choose him.

George Weasley didn’t want to be someone’s second choice.

He wanted to be someone’s first.

-- -

Twenty-year-old George Weasley didn’t know how exactly he ended up here.

He didn’t know how he ended up in a relationship three years deep, without having said “I love you” once and actually meaning it.

George thought he might’ve found her, his person, during his seventh year. She was beautiful and kind and everything he thought he’d hoped and dreamt of. Her soft touch, her yearning eyes, the way she curled up next to him in the dormitories late at night and held onto him as she slept -- it was everything, and it seemed to be perfect.

He thought that maybe, perhaps, she was it. But even so, he found himself waiting, still, for that feeling… the one on the staircase he’d felt so long ago.

But the pain of realizing that she wasn’t who he’d been searching for was more heartbreaking than the pain of him asking her to leave.

He’d been looking at her through rose coloured lenses and had been ignoring the truth that was right in front of him.

He should’ve left years ago, when that Gryffindor girl began to make backhanded jokes about the shop, and his dreams of becoming a business entrepreneur, claiming that she was only joking around.

He should’ve left when that girl showed up late to the grand opening of their shop, nearly a year into their relationship.

He should’ve left when he held her in his arms, and still didn’t feel comfortable beside her.

His heart ached for it, what he’d felt on the staircase at the mere age of seven. And perhaps he’d become so desperate for it, that he took something disguised as true love.

But the truth was that he knew, deep in his soul, that this Gryffindor girl wasn’t the one. He’d just chosen, outright, to ignore it. Perhaps if he could forget that idea that “the one” would smack him square in the face with an overwhelming sensation of knowing, he could have learned to love her, even when he hadn’t had that smack in the face moment when he’d met her all those years ago.

But it hadn’t happened, had it? He hadn’t grown to love her. Not truly, anyway. And she hadn’t grown to love him. Not in the way he wanted to be loved, at least.

Because it was more than just heated kisses and lazy days in bed and all things physical that he wanted.

It was about love. Pure, blinding, unadulterated love.

He stood frozen solid in the middle of his tiny flat and watched as that Gryffindor girl grabbed her coat off of the hanger and raised her hand slightly before slipping silently into the dimly lit hallway for the very last time. And George poured himself a glass of bourbon and sat near the window, looking up at the stars, expecting to feel sad at her departure, but in fact, he didn’t feel sad at all.

He felt hopeful.

He hadn’t found the one yet, but he knew she was out there, getting to him as fast as she possibly could.

Though his brothers had urged him to come to the pub and meet someone else, George didn’t fancy the idea of doing that. He was over that entire scene, just as he was in school when everyone was pairing off and moving on immediately. He didn’t want something fleeting, and he didn’t want something meaningless.

He wanted something true.

-- -

Twenty-three-year old George Weasley was certain that he was never going to find that feeling ever again, for as long as he lived.

While all of his friends were out at the pubs, meeting people and fooling around as if feelings weren’t involved, George was walking aimlessly through the streets to work. He was constantly dealing with the haze above his head, waiting for it to lift. He was turning down girls left and right and ignoring his brothers’ insistence on dating casually again.

He didn’t want to waste any more of his time on people who weren’t going to reach out and trace circles onto his chest in the middle of the night, or who weren’t going to dance around the kitchen in his clothes while cooking dinner, or who weren’t going to look at him with eyes so tender, it would render him useless for days to come.

He’d been waiting sixteen years to find his person, the one who would choose him everyday over everyone else, and in hindsight it didn’t quite seem like a long time. But as he cried silently to himself every few nights in bed, feeling the empty space next to him and yearning for the one who was meant to be there, sixteen years felt like a lifetime.

He thought for a long while, that maybe she was in another country, or maybe she was an auror or something, fighting her way through the monsters of the wizarding world.

He’d thought for a bit that perhaps he just hadn’t met her yet.

But as the days dragged on and he found himself lost in crowds, searching face after face, looking for hers, he truly felt as though all hope was lost.

And so George paced back and forth in the kitchen of his flat, biting at his nails and pouring himself hefty glasses of wine, keen on ignoring everyone’s attempts at getting him to come out.

Maybe this was what he deserved.

Maybe because he wasn’t out there, sleeping with people whose names he wouldn’t remember come morning like everyone else, he was just going to be alone.

Maybe there really wasn’t someone out there for him. Maybe not everyone finds true love. Maybe his parents had just gotten lucky.

The dull ache in George’s heart grew stronger, and for the upteenth night in a row, he laid in bed and gripped the covers and cried himself to sleep, his tears sliding down his cheeks the same way the evening rain slid down the window terrace.

-- -

Twenty-four-year old George Weasley stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he felt it.

That feeling. The one from the staircase as he watched his parents dance, all those years ago.

Heart pounding, chest rising, hands freezing.

It hit him square in the chest without warning, nearly knocking him over though his feet were rooted into the ground at the spot, smack dab in the middle of that cafe in the middle of London.

Someone was playing a slow, soft piano tune coming from the other end. People were filtering in and out, asking the man in front of them what exactly he was staring at and why he wasn’t moving. But George Weasley stood where he was, not taking his eyes off of you.

You were reading furiously, flipping through pages of a book gripped tightly in your hands, as though you couldn’t devour the plot fast enough. George watched with admiration as a gentle smile tugged at your lips, as your eyes scanned the words quickly, as you tapped your foot on the ground, in rhythm with that slow piano.

He watched with dazed eyes and parted lips as you finished the end of your book. You dabbed your eyes with a tissue and clutched the book tightly to your chest, overwhelmed, clearly, by the end of the plot. George’s heart soared so high at your passion that he found himself struggling to hold back the I love you that was pressing behind his lips.

You immediately took a long sip of your tea and placed your finished book back into your bag, only to pull out another and immediately immerse yourself in the next story. George laughed to himself, stunned that you were so intent on falling into someone else’s storyline, if only for a little while, that you hadn’t dared take a break from one book to the next. You merely jumped right in.

He wondered if his overwhelming feelings called out to you like a signal of sorts, because just as he was working up the courage to walk over to you, you looked up. You searched the room for a moment before meeting his gaze and suddenly, the world around you both stopped.

George found himself wanting to know everything about you. He itched to devour up any and all information you’d be so kind to provide to him -- your name, your favorite color, your birthday. He wanted to know what book you’d just been reading, and what about it had moved you so much to the point of tears. He wanted to know everything, but deep in his soul, he also knew that he’d have years to learn it all.

In fact, he’d have the rest of forever.

Your eyes went soft and George began to feel the steady pounding of his heart increase, and to his amazement, he noticed a gentle smile tug at the edges of your lips.

And he smiled back.

He’d been right all along. That feeling of finding the one would smack him square in the face. He wondered, as he peered at you now, biting down on your bottom lip and looking toward the ground, why he’d ever doubted himself in the first place. And he wondered when you looked back up at him once again and raised a hand to say hello, if you’d been smacked in the face with that feeling too, just like he had.

He resisted the urge to pour his heart out to you, right here and right now. He’d have time.

Perhaps today was just about having today, and recognizing that you were everything he’d been looking for since that evening on the staircase.

He’d tell you this one day.

-- -

“And what does… Lumox mean again?”

George laughed and squeezed your hands. “You mean, Lumos?”

You bit your lip in embarrassment and laughed, too. “Yes! Lumos. That’s the one that produces light, right?”

George brought your hands to his lips and kissed them gently. You two were seated inside a bustling restaurant in Diagon Alley, and he wondered if people passing by realized just how cozy you two looked together. “You’re more brilliant than most witches I know.”

You cocked your head to the side with an air of confidence and batted your eyelashes at him. “What can I say, Georgie? I may have been born a… Mugglie… but maybe I was meant to be a witch.”

George had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing. He couldn’t get over how painfully adorable you were as you attempted to pronounce these wizarding words and learn spells and charms and things as he taught you all things about the wizarding world. You took his wand and pointed it at your wine glass, pretending to transfigure it. You couldn’t, of course, since you weren’t a magical being. But George didn’t mind. He could watch you pretend all day long.

In all his years of studying magic, he’d never felt anything quite like this.

BONUS, just because i hate feeling sad asf:

Thirty-two-year old George Weasley rocked his redheaded daughter back and forth in his arms, until he was certain that she was sound asleep again -- her mouth open wide as she began to snore softly when he placed her back into her crib.

He peered up at the clock on the wall and blinked a few times before 4:32 a.m. came into focus. Exhausted, he made his way back into his room before sliding into bed.

And there it was again. That feeling.

You turned over in bed to face him, squinting in the darkness as your eyes adjusted to the scene unfolding before you. Groggily, you reached out and traced your fingers across his jawline. His heart nearly stopped. “Is she alright?” you asked sleepily.

George grinned softly and leant forward before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He whispered, “She’s alright. Go back to sleep.”

Though your eyes were already shut, you reached out again and took his hand in yours before bringing your lips gently to his fingers. “Okay.. I love you.. G’night..”

But you were asleep again before George could respond, so instead he pulled you closely to him and began to gently trace circles on your bare shoulders. He breathed in the smell of your shampoo, and listened intently for the beating of your heart that had fallen into sync with his.

Tears pushed at the edges of his eyes, but he slowed his breathing and reminded himself, again, that there was no longer an empty space beside him in bed.

Maybe he shouldn’t have ever given up hope, but perhaps giving up hope was what made finding you so much sweeter.

If only he could tell seven-year-old George what he’d find when the time was right.

And in the darkness, as the rain pattered on the rooftop of his house and he felt your embrace tighten around his body, he whispered into the silence, “I love you, too.”

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#george weasley #fred weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley x you #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins imagines #george weasley imagines #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction

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gretavansidecut · 3 years

Text

Room to Breathe

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 4,297

Summary: You're out at a crowded bar with the boys and start to have a panic attack from all the sensory overload and your crush Josh helps you through it

Warnings: swearing, alcohol use, general angst, detailed descriptions of sensory overload, anxiety, and spiraling negative thoughts. If you find any of these things to be triggering or otherwise upsetting, please proceed with extreme caution!

A/N: So I haven't written a fic in like... God, six years maybe? But this idea popped into my head the other night and just wouldn't leave so I figured what the heck, why not give this writing thing another try? I had an absolute blast writing this, and I hope you all enjoy it!

You held your head in your hands, trying your best to steady your breathing as you took refuge in the bathroom stall. The pounding, brain-rattling music of the honky-tonk was slightly more bearable in the relative quiet of the restroom, but you still found yourself grinding your teeth as the noise was beginning to get to you. Densely packed places were always a challenge; you weren't necessarily afraid of crowds, or claustrophobic, or anything like that, it was more that the combination of the overbearing noise and the feeling of being packed in like a sardine tended to make you a little... Panicky, to say the least. It didn't help that just getting into the bar in the first place nearly gave you sensory overload either. But you weren't about to bail early if you could help it, and you weren’t about to let a little creeping panic ruin a night on the town with the guys of Greta Van Fleet, especially not when Josh was the one who'd invited you to come along. Besides, you could handle a crowded, noisy bar for one night, right?

The sudden slamming of the bathroom door made you jump in your stall, the rowdy voices of drunk patrons shattering whatever peace you'd had up to that point. You let out a heavy sigh, figuring it was for the best as you'd already been in there for at least five minutes. Any longer and the guys might've started to get worried, or worse, come looking for you. You emerged from your stall, ignoring the drunk people and their slurred conversation to your left as you washed your hands, and then taking a moment to splash some water on your face. Just the thought of going back out into the noise and crowd was enough to make your chest tighten, and you couldn’t help but feel a little pissed off at the current situation. You’d been looking forward to this night out for over a week; a chance to properly spend time with the guys outside of work after doing odd jobs around their studio for the last few months, and you’d especially been looking forward to spending some time with Josh. As much as you hated to admit it, you’d developed a little bit of a crush on him over the course of working at the studio, but you figured there was no harm in dreaming as long as you kept things platonic and professional. He seemed to enjoy your company and laugh at your jokes, and you definitely enjoyed his in return.

You let out another shaky breath, taking a few more seconds to steel yourself before heading back out there. You knew this place would be packed, and you’d been ready for it, honestly you had. But today had just been one of those aggravating days, the kind where every little thing seemed to go wrong and rub you the wrong way. And when that happened, the panic would tend to creep in more easily, and with greater intensity. Still, you resolved to hold yourself together as best you could and not ruin the evening, glancing at yourself in the mirror to make sure you were presentable, before turning around and reentering the bar.

All at once, the blaring music and roar of the crowd hit you, and you couldn't even hear yourself think. There were flashing neon lights hung up on every wall, a few TVs scattered here and there playing some sports channels, and people zipping about all over the place. It felt like your whole head was ringing, your eyes and ears begging for mercy already as you made your way back to the far corner of the room where the boys’ table was. You could eventually pick out Josh's boisterous laughter through the mayhem, and the four of them came into view just in time for you to see Josh lob a pretzel about 4 feet into the air, only for Jake to expertly and effortlessly catching it in his mouth. Danny and Sam both cheered at once, each of them swiftly downing a shot of tequila as Josh shared a high five with his twin.

"Hell yeah Jakey, ten in a row, that's a new record!" He exclaimed in triumph, grabbing his glass and finishing what was left of his salty dog in one gulp. When he was done, he noticed you approaching the table and his eyes immediately lit up, though whether that was because of you or the sudden rush of alcohol you weren’t sure. Still, it was always nice to see him smile, even when you felt like you were on the verge of losing your mind.

"Heeey, Y/N's back! Now we can get this party going again!" He slung an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side as he grinned from ear to ear. In any other situation your hopeless crush on him would make you nervous if he got this close to you, but after your perilous trek to the bathroom and back a little contact from someone besides a total stranger was more than welcome.

"Yeah, what took you so long?" Jake teased, popping another pretzel into his mouth. "We were starting to think you'd fallen into the sewers or something!"

"No, that's what you thought Jake, me 'n Sam were betting they'd run off and joined the circus!" Danny added with a grin, his words slightly slurred from the tequila at this point.

You swallowed tightly, flashing them a half-forced grin as you shook your head. “Guys, c’mon, be reasonable here, it was nothing like that... What really happened was an alligator popped up out of the toilet and we had a riveting conversation about quantum physics and string theory.”

The guys erupted into laughter; Jake covering his mouth so he didn’t accidentally spit out his pretzel, Josh cackling to your left, Sam almost choking on his beer, and Danny holding his face in his palm as he snickered drunkenly. Even in your heightened state of anxiety, you couldn't help but genuinely laugh along with them in the moment. After all, even in a stressful situation the guys were still a hoot to be around. They each had their own oddball sense of humor that made you, a fellow oddball, feel right at home with them. And the fact that Josh's arm was still wrapped around your shoulder was pretty nice too. It was almost enough to make the blaring noise and packed-in-like-sardines feeling of the bar bearable... Almost.

You were able to keep it together enough to have another round of drinks with them, finding solace in a simple vodka cranberry as the guys got drunker and more boisterous. Danny and Sam decided to have an arm wrestling contest, which Danny won quite easily given his drummer's arms, though that didn’t stop Sam from challenging him to a rematch, and still losing, five more times. Then Jake ended up slipping into his Oliver Reed impression, made all the more credible in his intoxicated state, and he began to ramble on about how wild and wonderful the filming of Tommy had been. Josh of course piped in when he could, commentating on Danny and Sam’s contest like a sports announcer and slipping into his own goofy voice as he ”interviewed” Mr. Reed. If this were happening anywhere else, literally anywhere else besides an overcrowded bar in the most overcrowded part of Nashville, you would've been having the absolute time of your life. But instead you found yourself getting more and more tense with each moment that passed by, the pounding noise and mass of shifting bodies behind you making your pulse race and your head ache. Your drink had done absolutely nothing to calm your nerves, and not even the continued feeling of Josh's arm on your shoulder seemed to help, and you were starting to resent the fact that you couldn't even enjoy that.

You finally hit your limit when you felt the sharp point of someone's elbow jab into the middle of your back, and you flinched hard away from the source of the sudden contact. You could feel Josh’s arm tighten around your shoulder slightly, and everyone's heads whipped around to see a young woman, clearly drunk and looking very apologetic.

"O-oh shit, I'm so sorry sweetie!" She slurred out, steadying herself on her feet. "Didn't mean t'hitcha! Jus' tryin' to get s'more drinks for my table!"

The guys all nodded, assuring her it was and honest mistake and she gave them all a smile and a wave as she staggered off towards the bar. You, on the other hand, couldn’t even bring yourself to look at her, your eyes locked on an empty glass on the table as the ringing in your head became unbearable, every nerve and muscle in your body suddenly taut like a bowstring. The guys kept talking, though what about you had no clue, unable to make out what they were saying as your own pulse pounded in your ears. In the back of your mind you thought you could feel Josh's thumb rubbing gently against your shoulder, almost in a soothing kind of motion, but you honestly couldn't be sure right now. Every molecule in your body was struggling to keep it together as you quickly spiraled into a frenzied panic, and the only thing you were absolutely positive was true was that you had to get out of there fast.

"Hey... You alright?" Josh's voice was suddenly clear and crisp in your ears like a bell, and it was enough to snap you out of your spiral for just a second and address the table. Though the way Jake, Sam, and Danny were looking at you expectantly made you feel like you wanted to run and hide under a rock. If there was one thing you hated more than having a breakdown in public, it was people knowing you were having a breakdown in public.

"O-oh yeah, I'm good! Sh-she just startled me is all..." Your voice trailed off, and you swallowed dryly as you fought back tears. "I... I'm just gonna s-step outside for a second and get some air, yeah?" You said with a plastered-on smile, doing your best to not let them know anything was wrong as you reluctantly wormed your way out of Josh's grip and made your way towards the nearest door. You pushed your way through the crowd, ignoring the protests as you bumped into several people along the way, struggling to focus long enough to make it to your goal. You could feel your throat tightening, hot tears stinging your eyes as shame and embarrassment crept into your panic stricken mind. ‘Seriously? You couldn't even handle one night out in a crowded bar? You just had to let your sort-of-crappy day get to you and ruin everyone's night, didn't you?’

Finally reaching the door, you stumbled out of it, desperately trying to catch your breath as you welcomed the sudden rush of fresh air. Unfortunately, in your panic, the door you ended up choosing wasn’t the one that led to the bar's outdoor area like you thought, but the front door, and you suddenly found yourself adrift in the churning tide of rowdy, drunken humanity that was the Broadway strip on a Friday night. You didn't even bother trying to hold the tears back at this point, completely overwhelmed and hyperventilating as you found the quietest spot in sight, an empty doorway on the other side of the bar's front windows, and sank to the ground. You hugged your knees tightly as you brought them up to your chest, shaking as you buried your face in your arms, the blaring noise, blinding lights, and sheer presence of the crowd causing you to shut down on the spot.

The feeling of a hand on your shoulder jolted you out of your stupor, and you scrambled away from the touch as fast as you could with a startled scream. You were fully prepared to yell at whatever stranger had just touched you, because the last thing you needed right now was some rando putting their hands on you. To your mix of shock and relief, it was Josh's face that you saw, his eyes a little wide as he held up both of his hands in a defensive manner.

"Easy Y/N, it's just me, it’s Josh!" He said as softly as he could while still being audible over the throng of the crowd. You couldn't find it in you to respond, just staring at him like a deer caught in a car’s headlights as your body started to shake uncontrollably. You suddenly realized there was, in fact, something you hated more than people knowing you were having a breakdown in public, and that was your goddamn crush knowing that you were having a breakdown in public. In the back of your panic-stricken mind you wondered, if you just stayed still long enough, whether Josh would just turn around and leave you alone. You realized just how futile that thought was when he did quite the opposite and extended a hand out to you.

"It's pretty intense out here. Let's go find a quieter spot, alright?"

The rest of your body still shaking, you nodded your head eagerly, accepting his hand as he pulled you up off the ground. Once you were standing, he let go of your hand and wrapped that same arm around your waist, pulling you in close to his side as he cocked his head in one direction.

"You're ok, just stay close to me, I'll get you out of here."

You hastily nodded again, unable to make words or maintain eye contact as you turned your gaze to the concrete below you and let Josh guide you through the sea of bodies. It felt like you were in there forever, the crowd shifting all around you, and any time you felt someone get too close, your body began to lock up and freeze. The only thing that kept you upright and moving was Josh's arm curled around your side, keeping you grounded as he led you away from the worst of the crowd. Eventually it dawned on you that the number of people around you were thinning out, the noise getting less and less intense as Josh led you up a street and then some kind of steep ramp. A cool rush of air and the sudden smell of water hit your nostrils and you glanced upwards to get your bearings just in time to realize that Josh was leading you over the river on the pedestrian bridge, towards the eastern side of the city and away from the bedlam of Broadway. You were about three quarters of the way over the bridge before he pulled you off to the side, leading you right up to the railing where you could clearly feel the breeze. The cacophony you'd just escaped from was still very much audible from this distance, but you found its volume to be much more bearable now. There was also plenty of room out here, as well as far fewer people, and for the first time since you'd entered the bar earlier that night, you felt like you could finally breathe.

You leaned forward, bracing yourself against the railing as you took deep breaths in through your nose, before slowly exhaling through your mouth, and you could feel your body ever so slowly start to relax more and more with each one you took. Josh was quiet for the time being, his hand moving from your side to your back and rubbing up and down in a soothing motion while you caught your breath. Despite feeling calmer, the tears were more difficult to stop, anger and embarrassment at yourself nagging you in the back of your mind, unable to shake the feeling that you'd just ruined whatever fun he'd been having that night.

You felt something soft touch your arm and you looked up to see a packet of tissues in Josh's other hand as he offered them to you, still silently rubbing your back. You happily accepted them, tearing the plastic open and grabbing a couple before reaching up and wiping your face, your breath still hitching here and there as you tried to steady yourself mentally. After a few more moments of quiet you finally heard Josh speak up, his voice soft and concerned.

"How're you doing? Any better?"

You bit your lip out of nerves, nodding as you finally worked up the courage to look him in the eye for the first time since leaving the doorway by the bar. You were expecting to see anger, annoyance, judgement; honestly all the things you felt about yourself right now reflected back at you in his face, but instead you saw nothing but sympathy and concern painted across his features. In any other situation you'd be positively swooning over how he was looking at you so tenderly. It was another couple moments before the ability to speak finally came back to you, and you let out a heavy, shaking sigh.

“Y-yeah I… I’m alright now…. Thanks.” you trailed off, trying to swallow down the shame that had been slowly creeping into your mind. “I… I’m so sorry about this… I d-didn’t mean to ruin everyone’s night.”

“Ok, first of all-” Josh said in a calm but firm voice, his palm on your back pressing into you a bit more and pulling you closer to him. “We’re not gonna do that tonight, alright? You didn’t ruin damn thing, you had a panic attack and that’s not your fault.” It took everything in you to not star crying again when he said that, though at least this time it would've been because you were touched by his concern and not because you were upset.

“And second, I should be the one apologizing to you. That street can be really intense if you’re not ready for it, and I should’ve checked with you ahead of time that you were. I never would’ve picked such a crowded spot if I knew that was gonna be an issue for you.”

You sniffled a little bit, shaking your head as you slowly pulled yourself together. “I-it’s ok, really... Like, normally I can handle crowds and loud noise, but being packed in like that, with everyone bumping into you and all the noise and lights on top of it... that can just be too much for me to handle sometimes, you know?” You watched as Josh nodded along to what you spoke, indicating that he was listening, and knowing that he wasn't going to judge you for how you reacted was helping the residual panic and shame you still felt fade away.

“And then on top of that, today just like.... kind of sucked, in general. I mean, nothing terrible happened or anything, but it was a whole bunch of little things, one after the other. I totally fucked up making breakfast, my cat threw up on my favorite pair of shoes, I got a parking ticket for a really ridiculous reason, and I have some other work deadlines coming up that’re stressing me out, so I already wasn’t in the best headspace to deal with all of...That tonight.” you gestured your hand back towards the direction of Broadway.

"Then when that chick jabbed me in the back it just... snapped something inside me. I-I know it was an accident, and I don’t blame her for what she did, but it honestly startled me so bad, and I just lost it..."

"I don’t blame you,” he replied sympathetically “That’s entirely too much shit to deal with in a single day.”

"And like... I-I know I could’ve asked for a raincheck, but I didn't wanna like, be rude or have you guys think I was blowing you off. Because I didn’t want to blow you guys off! Especially not for something so stupid..."

"Hey, it's not stupid at all." He replied adamantly, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Those kind of crappy days have a way if wearing you down way harder than you’d think."

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as it felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You’d been so, so worried that Josh was going to be angry, or that he wouldn’t have understood what had happened, as had been the case for you so many times before. His hand began gently rubbing your back again in a soothing motion, and the two of you slipped into silence for a moment, letting the cool breeze coming off of the river wash over you. Even with the music still pounding in the distance, you could hear the sound of the river rushing under you if you listened closely enough, and so you did, finding the sound incredibly soothing. It was almost hypnotizing in a way, and you weren’t sure how much time had passed before Josh spoke again, but when he did, you were a little surprised by what he had to say.

“I know a couple smaller clubs on the outskirts of the city we could check out next time. They've still got all the good drinks and music, but they aren’t nearly as intense as that one was.” he suggested, flashing you a warm smile.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, those definitely sound like my kind of place. But you seriously want me to hang out with you guys again after that whole mess?”

“Of course! So you had a bad night, it happens to the best of us. We aren’t gonna hold it against you. Besides, why wouldn’t we wanna hang out with someone as awesome as you?”

You let out a small chuckle, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as nervous blush crept onto your cheeks. “Well, I’m not sure about awesome... but I’m glad to know you guys enjoy my company.”

“What, are you kidding me?” he retorted enthusiastically, his dark eyes sparkling in the dim lights of the bridge. “You’re absolutely awesome! You’re so nice and welcoming to everyone, you’ve got an incredible sense of humor, great taste in music, and you are delightfully weird!” You were glad the lighting on the bridge wasn’t the best where you were standing, because your face was rapidly turning red as he kept showering you with compliments.

“Well, thank you.” You replied somewhat shyly, a grin spreading across your face as you found Josh’s good mood infectious, feeling much more at ease now than you had earlier. In a sudden streak of boldness you struck a small pose, with one hand framing your face dramatically. “But what, no mention of my flawless good looks?”

You were just kidding around, of course, and Josh knew you were too. But even still, you couldn't help but notice the way Josh’s eyes widened and his smile twitched ever so slightly when you said that, or how he seemed to be blushing if the way his cheekbones suddenly appeared darker were anything to go by.

“I mean...” he began with a small shrug, his smile downright sheepish at this point “That’s so incredibly obvious that I kinda figured it went without saying. But they’re definitely a bonus!”

You let out a nervous laugh, feeling your face burn from the sudden rush of blood to it, and you turned to face back towards the river. You couldn’t keep looking at him when he said that, not when he said it while he had his hand on your back, not when he was blushing while he said it, not when he said it so... so earnestly. You pressed into his side a bit more firmly, and you swore you could feel his heart beating faster in his chest.

“Yeah, well... don’t sell yourself short, you’ve got a face that could give Errol Flynn a run for his money.” you half-teased, nudging him affectionately in the ribs with your elbow. He let out a small chuckle beside you, his arm still firmly wrapped around your shoulder and he gave your arm a soft, affectionate squeeze in return. The two of you said nothing for a moment, just enjoying each other’s company and touch as you both gazed out over the river, watching the lights of the city twinkle and glimmer on it’s dark surface.

“Is... is it cool if we just stay up here for a little while?” you asked, suddenly feeling very physically tired after this whole ordeal. “I hate to just ditch the others and leave them in that bar, but I honestly don’t think I could handle going back in there tonight.”

“Oh don’t worry, a bar is the best place we could possibly leave them.” Josh said with a chuckle. “But seriously, we can stay out here as long as you need.” he assured, giving you a firm hug from the side and flashing you a soft, reassuring smile. “We don’t have to go anywhere.”

A sudden surge of warmth and fatigue washed over you, and you found yourself leaning more heavily into Josh’s frame, which he seemed to welcome, finally letting your head come to rest on his shoulder. Your eyes slipped closed for a second, and you took a deep breath before letting out a soft, contented sigh.

“Thank you so much for everything you did for me tonight. I seriously can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” He hummed softly in reply as he leaned back against you, the weight of his cheek suddenly pressing into the top of your head.

“Anytime, Y/N. I’ll always have your back.”

#greta van fleet #greta van fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #josh kiszka x reader #sidecut fics #because I guess that's a tag I need now x'D #I still can't believe I actually wrote something again after all this time. I had so much goddang fun!

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wlntrsldler · 3 years

Text

treacherous (j.p one shot)

PROMPT: based on treacherous by taylor swift. slight enemies to lovers? James Potter and Y/N can’t stand each other until they get to know each other.

A/N: does not follow the timeline at all. the events are not accurate but let’s pretend for the sake of the fic lol.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, a bit of wolfstar, and some sexual tension (brief)

WC: 5.6K+ (this is my longest fic yet omg)

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST

treacherous (j.p one shot)

“You’re so goddamn reckless.” James hissed, slamming his fists down on the kitchen table. “You need to wait for my command. This wasn’t a solo mission, Y/N/N. We work as a fucking team around here.”

“If I waited for your command, Prongs,” you replied, rising from your seat. You acknowledged his nickname with a bitter taste in your mouth. You knew you had to listen to James because everyone listens to James but you knew your plan would work. “We wouldn’t have gotten the mission done.”

“You went rogue!”

“But we got it done, right?” you seethed, eye drilling holes in Prongs’ skull. You felt Sirius offer a comforting hand, placing his on top of yours. Your eyes flickered to look at your best friend, features visibly softening. You sighed, slowly feeling yourself come down from your anger. “That’s the important thing, Prongs. I’m done talking about this.”

“Yeah we got it finished but at what cost?” James pushed, not backing down from his dominant exterior. “You could’ve died, Y/N. We don’t trade lives around here.”

“You don’t have to act like you care about my well-being, Potter,” you spat, starting to limp away from the briefing. You sustained some minor injuries because of your decision but you knew you’d do it again if it came down to it. “We all know you just don’t want another person’s blood on your hands.”

It was a low blow. Everyone in the house knew that James was feeling guiltier and guiltier everyday because of the events that happened over the past few months. The McKinnons, the Prewetts, his fight with some Order members— all of it was finally taking a toll on James. Maybe it always did take a toll on him and he just never showed that it did. Nobody really knew what the last straw was but now it was obvious— James Potter was tired, worn out, almost defeated in nature.

Yeah, what you said was a low blow.

James gulped, demeanor changing after your words rattled the room. Remus looked at James apologetically, not really knowing what to say. He didn’t expect that from you, nobody did. Lily cleared her throat, fixing the scattered parchment on her side of the table. Sirius stood up and patted James on the back, giving his shoulder a slight squeeze.

“Right, uhm..” he started, blinking back the effect of your words. “We can revisit this some other time. Great job today.”

James left the room without another word, your voice taunting him as he walked further and further away from the team. Is that what you really think of him? A leader, if that, who only cared about not being the person responsible for another death? Did you think that he didn’t care about you? That you were just a number to him?

Obviously you didn’t. You knew James Potter was a good man, deep down. You could see it in the way he put everyone’s needs before his. He wakes up every morning and gets everything done so the rest of you wouldn’t be burdened with such mundane things. James Potter cooked meals, cleaned the house you all shared, and bought groceries on the weekends because he thinks that you all fighting with him is something he can never repay you for. James Potter thinks that your trust as a team— as a family— is the most important thing in the universe and he’s so thankful that he has you all by his side, even if the whole world disagrees with your cause. James Potter is a good man.

You had a loud mouth. You found yourself, more times than you’d like to admit, scolding yourself after you let your mouth run amuck. This was one of those times. You let your anger get the best of you. The only reason why you even got angry with James in the first place was his lack of trust in you. Did he not think you could complete the task successfully?

“Y/N?” A voice from outside of your room called. You tried to get up from your bed, cursing as the pain shot through your right leg. “Hey, you in there?”

“Yeah,” you yelled out, realizing that it would be better for them to let themselves in rather than you try to open it for them. “Come in.”

Sirius entered, chuckling at your pained expression as you sat up in your bed. You glared at him, propping your injured leg on top of a pillow. “You good there, sweetheart?”

“Just dandy.”

He sat next to you, careful not to touch your leg. He smiled at you, sadly, and you knew what was coming next. A lecture as to why you should apologize to James or at the very least take his point of view under consideration. This was almost normal, and it was definitely expected. You and Sirius grew close, attached to the hip at times, and he was the one who would typically talk some sense into you. You knew that he and James were the blueprint of what an everlasting friendship should look like so you listened to him. Rarely were you ever the first one to apologize, though, but you knew this time was going to be one of those times.

“What you said to James..” he trailed off, eyebrows furrowing in worry. “I think he kinda took it to heart, Y/N.”

“I know,” you sighed, acknowledging your mistake. “I don’t know why I even said that.”

“You don’t like to use your brain when you’re angry.” Sirius responds, laughing slightly. You push his shoulder playfully. “Just apologize to him, Y/N. You know he means well.”

“I know he does.”

“So I’ll leave you to it then,” he announced, getting up to leave your room. “He’s in his room, locked himself in there since the meeting.”

Ouch. You felt the guilt start to eat you up. Sirius shot you a warm smile before shutting the door behind him. Groaning, you lifted yourself up, trying to ignore the swelling in your leg. Was it the smartest idea to walk on an injured leg? No, but you were never one to have smart ideas anyway and today’s events made that clear.

You started to make your way down to James’ room but stopped when you saw him exiting the bathroom. You began to walk towards him, gasping in pain when your foot landed the wrong way.

“Goddamnit, James!” you shuffled towards him, gaining some speed. He stopped to see who was calling him. His face paled when he realized it was you and continued to walk towards his room. “Will you wait for me?”

James stopped in his tracks, feeling bad that you were chasing him with a bad leg. He waited patiently as you limped towards him, an annoyed look on his face. “What do you want, Y/N?”

You blinked, not expecting the harsh tone he was using. No matter how many times you and James argued and were at each other’s throats, his harsh tone always surprised you. He raised his voice, yeah, sure, but this— this was different. You tried to ignore it, knowing that you probably deserved this. “I just wanted to say sorry for what I said earlier.”

He froze up, looking down at his feet. He glanced over at your leg, red with bruises littered over your skin. God you were lucky you didn’t die, he thought. James shrugged, “I don’t care, Y/N. Is that all?”

“Well, blimey,” you snorted, already putting up your harsh exterior, “I was trying to be nice. Get that stick out your ass.”

“Are you done?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

That was it.

James walked away and entered his room before you even moved. You were left to crawl your way back to your room, quite literally. Half way through, the pain in your leg traveled to your hip and you gave up on walking. Remus found you dragging your body across the carpet and took it upon himself to carry you back to your bedroom. You thanked him, half-heartedly, not being able to forget James’ hurt expression from your sorry-excuse of an apology.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were all supposed to win the fight. You were supposed to reconcile and have a drink at the house, continuing to dance the night away. You weren’t supposed to lose.

Half of the people you knew were gone. Poof. Like they never existed.

You, Lily, and James stayed in the Potters’ home, resting after a long day of fighting. Dumbledore left to check on the Order, or what was left of them. Molly and Arthur joined him. Peter was— Merlin knows where. Sirius left to check on Remus. The world seemed so quiet. Empty.

“It’s not the end,” Lily tried to say, looking between you and James. She paced the floor, unsure if she even believed her own words.

There hasn’t been much spoken between the ones who survived. You started to wonder if you were one of the lucky one who survived or if this fate was more unlucky given the circumstances. You lost people you called your family. You all did.

This was a battle none of you expected. It was a surprise attack on the Order during a time when you all had your guards down. One minute, you were all in the backyard, excited as the Weasley’s announced another addition to their already large family. People were dancing, cheering, drinking, and for a moment it seemed normal.

And then they came. They slaughtered everyone that they could. You were lucky enough to get out before it got too crazy. You ushered the young kids into the room, casting protective charms as you held onto Percy Weasley with your other hand. You watched people fall. You heard people scream in terror as they were being tortured. You shielded the kids from looking out the window, afraid that if they were to see something so traumatizing, they would never recover. You were sure it would take years before you would.

“I’m gonna help Euphemia out,” Lily announced, getting up from her seat. You knew there wasn’t much that Euphemia needed help with, Lily just felt restless and she wanted to do something that she could control.

James nodded silently, staring at his shaking hands. There have only been a handful of moments where you’ve seen James Potter— confident, self-assured, James Potter— doubt himself or be nervous.

The first time was when he put on the Sorting Hat in your first year and he pleaded the tattered hat to place him in Gryffindor, though the hat knew better than to place him anywhere else. Then, second year came around and you four found out that Remus was a werewolf. You accidentally overheard their conversation, and it confirmed the suspicions you’ve had for a year. The third time was in fifth year when Sirius made the stupidest mistake of his life and told Snape about the Whomping Willow. He was afraid he’d lose his second family because of it, and he knew that Remus’ anger was justified. And the last time, before today, that you’ve ever seen James Potter nervous was in seventh year. It was the day after his date with Lily— a date that took him years to convince her to go on— and he realized that they were not compatible at all. Poor bloke was afraid to hurt Lily’s feelings and when he finally told her, she laughed and said, “I know, Potter. I’m glad you see it now.”

Now, you were alone with a terrified James Potter and you didn’t know what to do. You stared at him from across the room, unsure of your next step. You cleared your throat, “Do you need me to do anything, Potter?”

“Huh?” he looked up, eyes weary and mind jumbled. He registered your question and he shook his head, “No, I’m alright. Um, are you going to be staying here tonight?”

You gulped, “Yeah, if that’s alright. I-I don’t really have a place to stay, but if you want me to leave I’m sure I can stay with Remus and Sirius.”

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine,” James replied, quickly, getting up from his seat, “I’m sure mum and dad won’t mind. Please, make yourself at home.”

“I appreciate that,” you sent him a tight-lipped smile and rocked back and forth from your heels to your toes, ignoring the pain that shot up your leg with every move.

“I’m gonna help mum.”

“Okay.”

He left you in the room, rushing to help his mother, but you had a feeling it was to save the both of you from the awkwardness of the situation. Sighing, you began to make your way to your room upstairs. You were half way out the room when suddenly, the room was filled with your friends. Some of the remaining members of the Order popped in, stopping you from completing your plans.

“Well, welcome back everyone,” you remarked, sitting on the couch. “Nice to see you.”

James, Lily, and Euphemia all entered once they heard the commotion. James stayed by the doorframe, arms crossed as he watched Dumbledore take center. Lily and Euphemia sat beside you, on opposite sides. Euphemia gave your leg a light squeeze and a kiss on your temple.

“As you all know, today’s attack caused mass casualty,” your old professor started, eyes flickering to empty spots in the room that the old members used to occupy. “To prevent such things, we will assign teams to designated areas. We can no longer put all our eggs in one basket. We need to prepare.”

Dumbledore continued, “Euphemia, you and Fleamont stay with Mad-Eye. He needs your expertise. Remus and Sirius, your flat is near the Black family home, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Sirius replied, “Wanted to be close, just in case.”

Regulus. Sirius wanted to be close to look after Regulus.

The old wizard nodded, “Very well. You two stay there and make note of any movement. We suspect they’re having meetings there. Lily, Dorcas, and Peter, you three will be taking care of Hogwarts students who live in the muggle world. They’re in Hogwarts for sanctuary, but since Minerva and myself are going to be preoccupied, we need you to make sure they’re safe.”

“What a reunion, aye gang?” Dorcas chuckled, though her laugh was empty. Lily snorted, shoving her lightly as a move of endearment.

“James and Y/N, we need you two here. This will be our headquarters.”

Sirius scoffed, “Professor, are you sure you’d want to pair Prongs and Y/N/N? We’ve already lost a lot of Order members and I’m afraid that if you pair them, we’ll lose one more. One of them will end up killing the other.”

“Shut it, Pads,” you glared, scrunching your nose, “I’m sure Potter and I can be civil.”

“I can be,” James added, side-eyeing you.

“What does that mean?” you questioned, squinting your eyes at the boy by the door. You began to get up but Euphemia stopped you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“James,” she said, warningly.

“Alright,” Dumbledore clapped his hands, calling the attention back to him, “I expect you all to be at your posts by tonight. Stay safe, everyone. Our numbers are dwindling by the hour.”

By 11PM, the house was empty. It was only you and James left. You locked yourself in the comfort of your room, staring wordlessly at the ceiling. The house was unusually quiet. There was no loud laughter coming from the living room— four boys who had to grow up too fast. You sighed, swinging your legs down the side of your bed, wincing as you forgot about your injuries.

“Fuck me,” you muttered, closing your eyes for a moment until the pain subsided. Once it became bearable, you slipped on your house shoes and made your way down the stairs. You tried to tiptoe down the stairs, not wanting to wake James and go through another awkward encounter. However, once you got to the entrance of the kitchen, you realized your efforts made no sense as James leaned against the cold counter, a cup of tea in hand, and his glasses fogged by the steam from his drink.

His eyes flickered over to where you stood, suddenly making you feel self-conscious. You were wearing nothing but pajama shorts and a large t-shirt that you were sure once belonged to Sirius. James raised his cup a bit as a sign of acknowledgement.

You smiled awkwardly and poured yourself a glass of water, “What are you doing up?”

“I reckon for the same reason you are,” he replied, taking a sip from his tea. James snickered, “Nice shirt.”

“It’s Padfoot’s,” you chuckled, “Don’t tell him I still have it.”

“Actually,” James started, placing his drink down. He faced you, “It’s mine. I let him borrow it and I asked for it a few times now. He keeps telling me he’ll give it to me later but I had a feeling he was stalling because he lost it. Mystery solved.”

You blushed, “Sorry, did you want it back?”

“No, it’s alright. Looks good on you,” he coughed, ducking his head to hide the slight blush on his cheeks, “Can’t sleep?”

“No.”

James nodded, “Yeah, me either. You can sit with me for a bit, if you want.”

You pondered it for a moment until you finally decided that a conversation with James Potter was better than staring at an empty ceiling for the rest of the night. You limped to the seat in front of him, clutching your glass of water like a lifeline.

“Are you still hurt?” James questioned, getting up to help you to your seat. He held your arm as you sat on the chair. Once you were situated, he knelt beside you, inspecting your leg, “You are still hurt. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“It’s not a big deal,” you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck in embarrassment. “We all had bigger things to worry about.”

“Why didn't you just cast a spell on it?”

“I’m not the best healer around,” you admitted, looking down at him.

If it was any other circumstance, you would not have admitted your shortcomings to anyone— especially not James Potter. But perhaps it was the toll that the war had put upon you or the tiredness in your system… Or perhaps it was the way he was staring at you from his position on the floor, eyes wide with worry with the candlelight reflecting off his glasses and the look of absolute beauty on his face, that made you become so brutally honest.

“And why didn’t you ask one of us to help you?”

You scoffed, “Well, none of you are licensed healers, either. I figured I’d just live with it until it healed the muggle way.”

“Always so prideful, you are,” he chuckled, pulling out his wand. He muttered a simple incantation and then studied your once injured limb. “There. Better?”

You looked down at it, pleasantly surprised that it was indeed better. You nodded, a skeptical look on your face. James dusted off his pajama pants and made his way over to the seat he occupied before. You tilted your head, “Where did you learn that?”

“I learned for Remus,” James said, “After his transformations, sometimes he would still be in pain from turning so I learned a few things to help him. Sometimes it helped, sometimes it didn’t but Remus always says that just the thought that I wanted to help him helped with his recovery. Load of rubbish, I say but who am I to decide that, right?”

“Wow.”

James laughed at your reaction, drinking from his tea once more. A playful smile appeared on his lips, “I do have a heart, you know. I’m sure everyone else can see that but you.”

You rolled your eyes, “I know you have a heart, Potter. That’s not why I can’t stand you.”

“Enlighten me then.”

“Well, Godric, where do I start?” you hummed, a laugh escaping your throat. Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, smirking at your answer. You bit your lip, “Let’s see… you’re arrogant, cocky, obnoxiously loud. You act like you know everything, all the time.”

His eyebrows shot up. James’ tongue poked out to dampen his cracked lips, “Don’t hold back, I guess.”

“Shut up,” you chuckled, “Your turn. Why do you hate me?”

“Because you hate me.”

“Come off it,” you stared at him, shaking your head. “Why do you really hate me?”

“Seriously, that’s it. I only act like I don’t like you because you don’t like me. I don’t actually hate you, you know.”

You were in shock. Your voice came out as a whisper, “Really?”

“Really yeah,” he shrugged, as if his confession was nothing, “You love Sirius, Remus, Peter, Lily, and all our friends like they’re family to you. I can tell you’re a genuinely good person with how you treat the most important people in my life. I can’t hate a good person.”

You pursed your lips, “Well, I only dislike you because you act like I’m not a good witch.”

“What?”

“Come on, James,” you gestured with your hands. “You act like I’m a bloody awful witch and an even worse person. Always have since we were in Hogwarts. I just always assumed you thought I wasn’t good enough.”

James was baffled, “Are you being serious right now?”

“I mean, yeah,” you began to explain, thinking back to the many moments in the past where he made you feel that way. “I remember when we first all found out about Remus. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone but you still followed me for two months to make sure I didn’t say anything because you didn’t trust me. Or whenever Sirius would tell you to ask me for help on a prank that required some advanced charms, you would refuse to let me participate like I couldn’t possibly be any help to you. Or more recently, when we had that task to do and you blew up on me for not following the intended plan. You don’t think I’m capable.”

“Y/N, I never thought I made you feel that way,” James frowned. “I was just really scared for Remus. Even as a second year, I knew that he was going to be my best friend for life and I just wanted to protect him. I didn’t let Sirius drag you into our pranks because I knew you were aiming for a spotless record at Hogwarts. I didn’t wanna get you in trouble because honestly, a prank that didn’t end with at least one of us in detention was a failed prank.”

“Oh,” you squeaked, “I didn’t know that was where your mind was.”

“Yeah,” James continued, “A-and as for the last task, I just didn’t want you hurt. We’ve lost enough people already. I’d hate to lose you, too.”

“Careful, Prongs,” you teased, swirling the water around in your glass, “You’re gonna make me think you actually like me.”

“I do, yeah,” he admitted, “I’m quite fond of you.”

The both of you stayed silent after those words left his lips. It wasn’t awkward, it was comfortable. It was the first time you two had a proper conversation and you learned things about each other that you never imagined. James continued to sip on his tea and you stared at each other from across the counter. You smiled at him, admiring the redness of his cheeks.

“Well,” you finally said, standing up. You placed the empty glass in the sink and made your way to the stairs, “I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

James smiled, showing off his perfect teeth, “Goodnight, Y/N/N.”

“Goodnight, Prongs,” you returned his smile, turning your back on him. Before you reached the first step, you turned back around, “James?”

“Mhm?”

“I think I can grow quite fond of you too.”

James’ eyes flickered from his tea to your face, his cheeks completely flushed pink by now. He bit the corner of his bottom lip, trying to suppress his smile. He chuckled, shaking his head, making his curls bounce around. You willed yourself to remember that image because it was the first time that you truly saw James Potter for who he was.

Over the next few weeks, you and James began to grow closer. Your late night conversations almost became mandatory. He began to leave a cup of tea for you across from him where you sat the first night. It took him precisely three nights to finally make your cup the way you liked it without being told. He started to light the fireplace in the living room after seeing goosebumps rise on your skin a week and a half after the first night. Then by the third week of your traditions, he began to walk you up to your bedroom door to wish you a goodnight there.

Sirius and Remus didn’t come to check in until a month later. Sirius, as always, made himself feel at home by raiding the kitchen and eating the food that you and James made earlier. Remus laughed from the living room, muttering about how Sirius acts like he doesn’t feed him.

Sirius sat beside James, peering over the pile of parchment on the side of his desk. He nudged his best friend’s shoulder, “Surprised you and Y/N haven’t killed each other yet.”

James blushed, “She’s not so bad, Pads.”

“Oh, I know that,” he hummed, taking a bite out of the biscuit in his hand, “Glad you know it now, too.”

“I never thought she was bad,” James frowned, placing his quill down to properly talk to Sirius, “Why does everyone think that I do?”

“Prongsie, darling, you would always shut up whenever she’d walk in. You’d avoid her like the plague.”

“I just knew she didn’t like me, that’s all. Figured that if I shut up, she’ll see that I’m not so bad.”

“Huh… Why did you want her to like you so bad anyway?” Sirius asked, sitting on the desk now, disregarding the work that James had done. He waited patiently for James to answer, but the answer never came. Instead, James’ cheeks flushed pink and the boy tried to hide his flustered expression by pretending to massage his temples. Sirius’ eyes widened and he jumped off the desk with excitement plastered over his face, “You fancy her! Merlin, how did I not see it before?! You fancy Y/N/N!”

“Will you—” James shushed Sirius, pulling him down by the fabric of his shirt. He was starting to draw attention to himself. James saw Remus stare at the two boys, puzzled as to why Sirius was running around like a dog. James wouldn’t be surprised if he turned into Padfoot just to swing his tail around. “Will you calm down?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, his lips still twisted in a large grin, “You fancy Y/N/N.”

“Yeah, I do,” James was embarrassed now. He didn’t expect to come clean to Sirius like this— not in the middle of a war. “I’ve always thought she was gorgeous, you know, even back in Hogwarts! I just never did anything about it because she hated me. I mean, really, genuinely, hated me. Then we got to know each other over this time and— I don’t know, Pads. She’s great.”

Sirius smiled so hard, James thought his lips would tear apart, “Yeah, she bloody is. Are you gonna tell her?”

His eyes widened at his best friend’s words as he frantically shook his head, “Merlin, no! Of course not! We’re in the middle of a war, Pads, and I’m sure she barely tolerates me. I doubt she’ll like me.”

Before Sirius could reply, you appeared behind the two boys, an eyebrow raised, “What are we talking about gentlemen?”

“Nothing!” James exclaimed, rubbing the back of his neck in fear, “Sirius was just saying how he needed to get home. Right now.”

“Is this how you talk to your best friend that you haven’t seen in a month, Prongs?”

Remus entered as well, laughing as he spoke, “Come on, Sirius. We do have to head home now. Nice to see you both.”

“Always a pleasure, Moony,” you smiled, hugging them both before they apparated out of the house. You poked James’ cheek, “So what were you really talking about?”

“Guy stuff,” he lied, returning his focus back to the parchment that Sirius messed up.

“Guy stuff?” you snorted, grabbing his jaw and turning his head to look at you. James visibly gulped, all the color draining from his face. You cocked your head, not letting go of his face, “We’re lying to each other now, Potter? Shame.”

“‘M not lying,” he said, voice shaky. You were so close to him. He could smell the strawberry chapstick you dabbed on your lips. Godric, your lips looked so kissable.

“Yes you are,” you tutted, your palm now cupping his jaw. You didn’t even realize how intimate this move was, too busy looking into his eyes to notice your movements, “I can tell.”

“How?”

“You can’t look me in the eye,” you stated, eyes flickering to the different features on his face. You never noticed the small freckle on the bridge of his nose or the small, fading scar on the left side of his lips. “Whenever a good man is lying, he can never look at someone in the eye. So tell me, James, what were you guys talking about?”

James still refused to look at you in the eye. He couldn’t bring himself to because he knew you were right. The minute his eyes met yours, he would crack like an egg. Instead, he focused it on your parted lips, feeling your breath tickle the tip of his nose as you spoke. He mumbled, “I can’t tell you that.”

You didn’t know what came over you but when you spoke again, your voice came out as a sultry tone— breathy and slowly dragging your words, “Please.”

James’ eyes immediately jumped to look at yours once he heard the tone of your voice. He’d never heard you use that tone before and he would be lying if he said it didn’t make him weak in the knees. And for the sixth time in your life, you saw the nervous James Potter again. In a moment of weakness, he spoke, “You. We were talking about you.”

“Me?” you asked, shocked by his revelation. Your hand that was once cupping his face was now hanging off his shoulder. You twirled a curl on the nape of his neck around your index finger, slightly tugging it. It took all of James’ willpower not to groan at the pressure. “What could you have possibly been saying about me?”

“How utterly insufferable you are,” James nudged his nose with yours, tilting his head the slightest bit. His tongue poked out of his lips, licking them in both nervousness and excitement.

“I’m only insufferable because you make me this way,” you tilted your head the opposite direction. Your lips were moving towards each other with every breath you took.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you whispered, closing your eyes. You let your lips ghost over his, before pulling away. You opened your eyes to taunt him, a mischievous smirk on your face. You pulled away from him, untangling his hair from your finger.

“See, you’re proving my point. You’re insufferable,” James said.

And with that, he pulled you by your waist, a surprised squeal left your mouth. He placed you on his lap before he kissed you. You instantly wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. His lips melted with yours, tongues shying away from each other until he finally had the courage to caress yours with his. James squeezed your hips, pushing you down his lap. A soft moan escaped your throat and that brought James back to reality.

Before things could escalate, he pulled away— lips bruised and completely out of breath. You smiled at him, biting your bottom lip. He returned the favor, running a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t want to continue without telling you,” James confessed, “I like you. A lot, actually. I don’t want you to think this means nothing to me because it does. I-I hope it means something to you, too. If it doesn’t, let me know because I don’t want to do this if I’m just setting myself up for failure here.”

Your features softened at his words. You cupped his face in your hands, once again, and kissed the tip of his nose, then each cheek, then his forehead, and finally, his lips. It was an innocent one, less steamy and passionate than the first, but lovely regardless. You intertwined your fingers with his, “This means something to me, too, Potter. You’re not the only one who feels that way.”

“Really?” he asked, now grinning widely. He connected his forehead with yours, chuckling, “Who would’ve thought we’d get here?”

“Not me,” you giggled, “However, don’t think I won’t bicker with you now that I know you’re an incredible kisser.”

“I didn’t expect you to go easy on me,” James laughed, wrapping his arms around you. “But now, I can just kiss you to shut you up.”

You pretended to think about it for a moment with a fond smile, “Hmm.. I suppose that’ll work.”

James pulled you closer to his body, looking up at you as you sat on his lap. He murmured into the skin of your neck, “See? Insufferable.”

#frances writes #frances song fics #frances x taylor swift x harry potter #James Potter #james potter fanfic #james potter one shot #james potter imagine #sirius black #remus lupin #lily evans #james potter x reader #james potter x yn #james potter x y/n #the marauders #the marauders imagine #the marauders oneshot #the marauders fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine

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morkofday · 3 years

Text

some heihua for the soul

so the update for Binding isn’t happening today bc my brain is complete mush after trying to aggressively finish my thesis yesterday and i decided to give my brain two days off bc of that. also, i promised @ashenwren some time to beta read the ending part (which they already did but! now i need some time with it myself) so i am leaving everybody to wait until saturday.

meanwhile, i am offering yall a sneak peek/first look at my heihua fic which is very loosely tied to my pingxie. basically, this is just me playing around with hei xiazi as a character and his and xiao hua’s dynamic’s more... tender side.

i know that @jockvillagersonly and ashen have already read this which has been amazing so thank you for your love ♥ but take this again ^^ also thanks to @cross-d-a for listening to me ramble about heihua and sharing this idea with me. and thank you to @i-am-just-a-kiddo who i’m doing all of this for ♥ you are the best parent-in-law for these two and this fandom!

It’s a bad week for him.

First, it’s the girl he finds while raiding a warehouse full of smuggled weapons and possibly, most likely, drugs. She’s maybe twelve, eyes wide and hair messy, bones poking her skin where Hei Xiazi can see her elbows flashing under her short sleeves. There are bruises around her wrists and burn marks on the inside of her arms. She doesn’t speak but she doesn’t have to, all of her screaming of experiences worthy of a hundred years instead of a dozen.

She presses her face into her hands when Hei Xiazi fires his gun, and he feels something come loose inside of him at the broken, aborted noise she makes that rings louder than the shot itself.

Hei Xiazi carries her kicking and screaming out of the warehouse, leaving behind the slowly ending gun fight and the smell of gasoline. She only goes silent once Hei Xiazi puts her down, flinching bodily away from him but not going far. She hovers, fingers slowly curling around the hem of his long jacket while they wait, shoulders hunching against the cold. Hei Xiazi offers her his jacket with a smile, buys her a sandwich which she then throws up, and helps her into a hospital once they’re safe to leave.

No one else stays behind with her. All the other people they found from that warehouse scattered as soon as the fight began and only she remained, lost in the thought of having to leave the premises that had become her world. She has no family, no house, no money. Hei Xiazi watches her leave with the social workers, bones of her wrists like twigs threatening to snap even after some proper meals and eyes so big they seem to swallow the light around her. She still hasn’t said a word. Hei Xiazi doubts she ever will.

Her pale face looks like a ghost as she turns to give Hei Xiazi one last glance over her shoulder, and that’s what she becomes to him once he goes home and puts that warehouse out of his mind. It’s hard and he feels himself haunted, and whatever it was that got loose in his chest rattles like the tail of a snake.

Then, he hears about Su Wan. Hears about the mission that went south with the three youngsters. Hears about Su Wan getting hurt.

It isn’t anything new in their line of business to get hurt, to even die. When he first met the boy in the desert, he predicted he would find him six feet under after only a day. There was too much softness in Su Wan, too much trust, too much naivete. He had a big brain and clever ideas but his core was gooey, leaking out in way too telling bursts, leaving nothing hidden.

Su Wan had reminded Hei Xiazi of young Wu Xie. Even his floundering with his knife had reminded him of Wu Xie. Even his adaptability had been annoyingly similar to Wu Xie’s, and Hei Xiazi had questioned his taste in students. At least the boy had paid better. At least the boy hadn’t been wishing to die.

He had not expected, after knowing all of that, to experience such fear when he first heard that Su Wan had gotten himself stabbed and had almost bled out in a cave, with only Li Cu and Yang Hao to look after himself and a saving bed of a hospital hours away. His hands had shook, making it impossible to hold anything while trying to breathe, and he had quickly been reminded of the little girl, torn open and going a bit feral just because she didn’t know what to do.

It was a surprisingly new thing to care. As surprising as the fact that he still knew of such things.

“I thought I had taught you better, kid,” he says as he goes to the hospital, in the middle of the night of all things, having to cover Su Wan’s mouth so that he doesn’t scream and wake up the better half of the city. The boy’s eyes are wide and heartbeat rapid under his fingers where he can feel it pulsing against Su Wan’s jaw. Then the boy is scrambling at his fingers to speak from between them. He pulls his hand away.

“Hei-ye!” the boy whispers fervently, like an anchor casted in water. “I thought you were out of the country!”

“I was until yesterday when I heard that you got stabbed,” he explains, voice leaning more towards mockery than any actual care. Su Wan knows what that means. The boy knows more than anyone else has ever known about a person like Hei Xiazi. It’s a strange thing but Hei Xiazi has come to almost like it.

“I’m fine!” the boy chirps, lighting up like a lightbulb. Hei Xiazi helps him sit in his bed, snatching a chair for himself from the corner, and then evaluates the damage. Su Wan is smiling while a thick roll of bandages circle his stomach. There are at least thirty stitches there, curving along his side. Some more adorn his bicep where he tried to evade another blade. A darkening bruise is making his cheek swell, casting an extra shadow under his chin.

Hei Xiazi sighs and closes his eyes when Su Wan starts to tell the story, his voice a soft whisper made even softer with lingering sleep. The beep of the machines tell Hei Xiazi the boy is alive. The painful thrum of his own heart tells him he’s alive too.

Su Wan falls asleep holding onto Hei Xiazi’s sleeve. He cannot remember how the boy got the leather between his fingers but prying his hold away is like bending steel. It feels impossible and burns equal amounts.

Finally, he slips back into the cold night.

He doesn’t go to his apartment, the one he’s currently occupying, his few belongings strewn across the floor and nothing making the place feel like his. Even after years and years and years, some part of him still feels sick at the thought of emptiness. He’s tried his hardest to carve his bones empty and chest clean but after each year spent alone or with someone or wanting, he realizes it’s a battle he cannot win. There’s something terribly strong under his ribs. It refuses to die even before his curse of immortality and the knowledge that goes beyond his comprehension. It refuses to die even when facing the cold, cruel world.

The walls surrounding the Xie Manor are high but not high enough to keep him at bay. If they were, he would’ve never come here. He would’ve never returned, not after he once left.

Climbing up the wall of the manor to the third floor makes his lungs burn, but then he’s pushing the window open already, stepping silently onto the polished floor.

“Xiazi,” a familiar voice says, not even pretending to sound sleepy. “It’s three in the morning. Is it really a suitable time to be visiting the head of Xie family?”

Hei Xiazi smiles, shrugging off his leather jacket and placing it onto the back of a chair beside him. The air in the room feels chilly with the window open but he likes to hear the noises from outside and he likes the line of silver painted onto the floor and across the luxurious double bed. He likes that he can pretend his vision is so clear just because of the moon.

“Hua’er-ye,” he says back, voice like honey because he loves to tease this man and loves how the tone makes his perfect eyebrows pinch. “Are you sure this isn’t a dream?”

“I would dream you naked at least, not dripping mud all over my floors.”

“As you wish,” he says and reaches for his own belt before moving closer to the bed, toeing his shoes off on the first two steps.

Xie Yuchen is warm but firm when Hei Xiazi meets his body, crashing into his lips and then slipping hands down his silk covered spine. He hums, hiding his laugh. He’s always loved the absolute brilliance and practicality and strength of this man but under all that, Xie Yuchen is a little spoiled. A rich family head. A powerful man with more money than Hei Xiazi could possibly imagine. He’s never tried, not really caring. For all his acting, he’s never gone for Xie Yuchen for his money.

He takes care of helping Xie Yuchen out of his expensive pajamas, kissing him wet and shivering after each uncovered piece of skin. There is something beautiful about Xie Yuchen in the stark light of the moon, eyes burning bright and the line of his throat like an invitation. Hei Xiazi wishes he could tell him that, sometimes, but he’s preferred to seal his lips. His poetry would not suit the ears of Xie Yuchen.

He’s never been one for pretty words, crude and almost barbaric instead, tongue made out of barbwire and mind of a strategic plan. Between them, all those edges exist in harmony, and so he’s never felt the need for anything more, enjoying the simplicity of just being.

Ironically, as the sun is already rising, coloring the horizon with its colorless light, he still descends into words. It’s like something is pulling them out of his chest, and when there’s a force outside of his control beneath his ribs, he cannot do anything but unravel upon Xie Yuchen’s white satin sheets.

“There was this girl,” he says, looking into the still remaining dark – or as dark as anything can be for his eyes, that comfort taken from him ages ago. “I saved her from a warehouse a couple of days ago. She didn’t speak, couldn’t eat because she’d been kept hungry for so long. There were burn marks on her arms, probably from cigarettes or a lighter. They told me she was thirteen. She didn’t look like she was thirteen.”

Xie Yuchen’s hands are on his back, brushing lightly against his shoulder blades, drawing something there. His heartbeat is steady under Hei Xiazi’s cheek and his skin burns, burns, burns. He remembers how he had looked at that girl in the eyes and seen himself there.

“I remember,” he says quietly, closing his eyes, “feeling the same burn on my skin. I have no memories of when or why but I know there were cigarettes. I know her pain. I know the scars.”

“Were you a child back then?” Xie Yuchen asks, his body a strong, sturdy thing against him. A rock. A mountain. He never thought he would feel lost in this world but there is something about himself in every child he’s ever saved, in all of their wide, fearful eyes, in all of their screams, their desperate fight, their bared teeth and messy heads of hair. There’s something about him in all of their thrumming, wild panic, like a bird under their skin; in their desperation to get away, to find a place to belong, to find safety and food and trust. To heal a body that has not been their own or has felt like an enemy or a liability or a curse.

He cannot remember the time he was a child, cannot remember the time before he went blind and began to see too much, cannot remember being anything but this eternal man on the outskirts of the world. He cannot remember ever having a family or feeling the absence of it.

But then, there’s this echo in his mind. It rings back from the eyes of every child he’s ever tried to help. He thinks, maybe, he still knows how he lost.

“I only remember being burned,” he says. “I only remember the pain and being afraid. And isn’t that a stupid thing to remember when it could be so many things?” He laughs, as much as it can be a laugh when something twists inside of his chest, bringing tightly together that something that was let loose. He chokes on it, feeling his voice die down. Xie Yuchen turns beside him so that they both lie on their sides, looking at each other. The line of the moon falls over Xie Yuchen’s hips and almost lands on Hei Xiazi’s waiting hand.

“Bad things linger,” Xie Yuchen says with a certainty of a man who knows this to be true. During the years, Hei Xiazi has learned a couple of the bad things that happened to this proud man. “But you are turning them into something good.”

“And how much does it change to save a couple of children?” he huffs, tired of the heart that cannot leave him at peace.

“For them, everything.”

#dmbj #the lost tomb #heihua #hei xiazi #xiao hua #all feedback is appreciated i suppose #just wanted to share this here #expect binding on saturday!#enjoy your weekend everybody!!#also yes i will die #for hxz adopting random kids #cross your brain was so lovely #for providing me with this #my fic

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refinedbuffoonery · 3 years

Text

Flawless (1)

A Heist/Ocean’s 8 AU // Masterlist

This story has been rattling around in my head for months now, and I’m so excited to finally share it with you! I’ve been describing this as an Ocean’s 8 AU, but it’s based more on the concept of the movie than the actual plot, although a few of the basic scenes are the same. Regardless, I have big plans for these girls. Content warnings for this fic are listed on the masterlist (link above).

*****

“Good morning,” the parole officer said. “Please state your name for the record.”

“Riley Davis.”

“Thank you. Miss Davis, the purpose of this hearing is to determine whether you are likely to break the law again if released. According to the record, this is your first conviction, and you have never been suspect in another criminal investigation. During your time in prison, you kept to yourself and were well behaved.” The man looked up from her file. “As you know, parole is not a right. Parole is an immense privilege, Miss Davis, one you should not take lightly.”

“I agree,” she said.

“Good. What would you do if released?”

Riley paused, thinking through her answer. “I would settle down, find a good job, fall in love, maybe have kids. I’ve learned my lesson, sir. It was a mistake. Now all I want is to lead a simple, happy life.” She placed one hand over the other, crossing her fingers on her covered hand.

He squinted at her for a long time, like he was trying to read her mind. Riley painted her face in remorse. After several minutes, the parole officer relented and, apparently satisfied with her answers, said, “Very well.”

Riley breathed a sigh of relief. By the end of the day, she’d be free.

The officer continued, “The following are the conditions of your parole. You will report to me, in person, every two weeks until your parole period has ended. You may not cross state lines without my express permission. You must find and maintain steady employment. You may not use drugs or alcohol, nor enter any drinking establishments. You may not possess firearms or other weapons, and you may not associate with other persons with criminal records. In addition, you must obey all federal, state, and local laws, and generally be an upstanding citizen. If you do not follow these rules, Miss Davis, you will find yourself back in custody. Do I make myself clear?”

Riley nodded. So close. “Yes, sir.”

Extending his hand, the parole officer said, “Congratulations, Miss Davis. You are now a conditionally free woman.”

“Thank you.” Riley shook his hand.

The rest was all a blur. One minute she was sitting in a cold, metal chair with her wrists cuffed to a table, and before she knew it, Riley found herself changing out of her atrocious orange jumpsuit and pulling on skinny jeans and her buttery soft black leather jacket. Wearing real clothes didn’t hide the fact that she looked like shit, but in that moment Riley didn’t care. She was getting out of prison.

After two years, one month, and four days, she was finally being released from prison.

Two officers walked her to the exit. Opening the door, Riley squinted in the bright afternoon sunlight. She found herself in one last cage of chain-link fences with coils of barbed wire arching over the tops, and Riley quickened her steps through the open gate in front of her.

A familiar face waited in the parking lot, perched on the back of a motorcycle. “Welcome back,” Nikki Carpenter said. The pair shared a conspiratorial grin.

Riley hadn’t known who the officers called to pick her up, but perhaps her best friend coming to take her home was the universe’s repayment for the last two years. Nikki handed Riley a helmet before putting on her own and swinging her leg over the sleek, white bike.

Riley started to put the helmet on and hesitated. She turned, looking back at the concrete cage she’d spent the last two years of her life in. Even though her sentence was only three years, the nagging voice in the back of her mind had reminded her every day that she might not make it out. Taking a shaky breath, Riley vowed to herself that she would die before finding herself on the wrong side of those fences and walls again.

Never again. No matter what.

Nikki must’ve noticed her hesitation, because she rested a hand on Riley’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Still facing the prison, Riley couldn’t form the words to respond.

“Hey. Thank you,” Nikki added softly.

Riley didn’t want to deal with the implications of that ‘thank you.’ Not yet. Finally tearing her eyes away, she said, “Let’s get out of here.”

*****

“God, I need a drink,” Riley said as soon as they entered Nikki’s cozy two-bedroom apartment. Located in the heart of downtown LA, it was on the top floor of her building, so Nikki wasn’t subject to loud overhead neighbors stomping and dropping things in the middle of the night, but the elevator moved at a glacial pace and descending twelve flights of stairs was a bitch. Riley preferred residences that were easier to vacate—in case of emergency or unfortunate run-in with the feds—but it was nice enough.

Nikki raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t avoiding alcohol a condition of your parole?”

Riley shot her a withering glare and strode into the kitchen. She opened the white-painted cabinet above the stove, revealing Nikki’s extensive stockpile of wine and hard liquor, and dug around until she found the mason jar full of moonshine hidden in the back. Taking a big swig, Riley held Nikki’s gaze, daring her best friend to try to stop her.

Nikki simply opened the fridge, pulled out some sort of leftovers, and put them in the microwave. While she waited, Nikki studied her. This is what it feels like to be an animal at the zoo, Riley thought as she squirmed under her friend’s scrutiny, crossing her arms over her chest. Riley took another big gulp of moonshine, letting the clear liquid burn her throat and make her stomach churn.

The microwave beeped. Nikki grabbed a fork and the food and held it out to Riley. Content to doom herself to the worst hangover of her life, Riley shook her head in dismissal.

“Eat,” Nikki commanded. She tugged on the waistband of Riley’s jeans. “You and I both know those weren’t mom jeans when you bought them.”

Riley blinked. She’d eaten less while in prison, but it never seemed like a big deal. But the way Nikki was looking at her...she might as well have turned into a skeleton. Suddenly self-conscious, Riley obediently traded her drink for the food—lasagna, she realized—and settled onto the couch.

After two years of cardboard-flavored prison food, the lasagna tasted like heaven.

Riley waited until Nikki was mid-gulp before announcing, “I’ve got a plan.” Her best friend nearly choked. “Want to help me get the gang back together?”

“What’s your plan?” Nikki ground out between coughs.

Riley grinned. “I figure it’s time we go on that little trip to Paris we’ve always talked about.”

Nikki shook her head. “Damn, you’re one crazy bitch, Riley Davis. You know that?” She paused, contemplating. “I’m in.” Handing back the moonshine, Nikki added, “But tonight, I say we get drunk and celebrate your freedom. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Thirty minutes in, they’d finished the whole jar of moonshine, and Riley’s head spun. She stumbled into the kitchen in search of water, suddenly grateful Nikki had made her eat a substantial meal before drinking.

“So,” Riley slurred. “How’s it going with that boyfriend of yours? The cute blonde one.”

Nikki groaned. “You mean the big fat liar? Fabulous.”

“So it all blew up in smoke.”

“You have no idea.” Nikki shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth. “Anyway, I’m back to being single, but Sam and Desi are still as insufferable as ever.”

“Think they’ll get married?”

“No way. That’s just one more thing they’d have to deal with if they ever have to fake their own deaths.”

“On the contrary,” Riley drawled, “they should take out disgustingly large life insurance policies and then take turns faking their deaths every time they run out of money.” The idea sounded flawless to her drunk brain. “I’ll help them with their new identities for a cut.”

“How big?”

“Twenty percent.”

Nikki snorted. “Like they’d ever agree to that.”

Riley snuggled up to Nikki as they settled in to watch a movie, ducking under Nikki’s arm and using her boobs as a pillow. As Riley’s eyes caught Nikki’s laptop charging on a nearby table, her friend’s babbling about what chick-flick to watch faded into white noise. Riley’s fingers twitched. It’d been too long since she had the comfort of a keyboard beneath the pads of her fingers—since she felt powerful, the way Riley always did when armed with a computer.

Too long, in fact, since she’d had any agency at all. Riley banished the thought before Nikki could notice where her attention had wandered.

The movie turned out to be one they’d seen a thousand times, but Riley didn’t mind. Honestly, she needed the familiarity, not that she would admit that to Nikki. Even drunk, Riley loathed to reveal any sort of weakness, no matter how small and insignificant.

Nikki pinched her side. “You’re brooding. Stop it.” Riley grumbled, but she let the movie distract her all the same.

When the credits rolled, Riley glanced up at Nikki and found her friend already staring down at her as she rubbed Riley’s head. That caged animal feeling resurfaced. It was moments like these when Riley hated how well Nikki knew her, making it that much harder to hide everything going on in her head.

In an attempt to escape, she said, “I’m thirsty. Let’s celebrate.” Riley forced a giggle as she walked back to the kitchen, grabbing two wine glasses from the cabinet. Everything in Nikki’s kitchen was exactly where it was two years ago, the layout as familiar to her as her own. Did she still have her own? Riley was too drunk to remember what happened to the spacious penthouse apartment of a convicted felon.

“Riles, nooooooooo,” Nikki whined. “We are so drunk already. We cannot drink any more.”

“Relax.” Riley rummaged through the fridge, pulling out the milk and a bottle of chocolate sauce. She filled the wine glasses with milk, then added an ungodly amount of chocolate, giggling again when the bottle made a fart noise. Riley didn’t mix it very well, but she was too drunk to care. “Your chocolate milk, milady.” She held out the better mixed of the two, keeping the worse one for herself. Nikki accepted.

Riley held up her glass in a toast. “To freedom,” she said. “And doing whatever the fuck we want.”

*****

“Phone,” Riley demanded the next morning. Nikki handed hers over without even looking up from the scrambled eggs she was making. Riley unlocked it on the first try. “You haven’t changed your password in the last two years? C’mon, you know better than that!”

“My password is twenty-nine characters long! I don’t think anyone is going to…Wait you still remember it?”

Riley scrolled through Nikki’s contacts with one hand, the other busy stuffing her face with toast. “Obviously,” she said through a mouthful of cinnamon swirl bread.

“Damn,” Nikki muttered, turning back to her eggs.

Riley found the name she was looking for. Desi Nguyen. The call nearly went to voicemail before the woman on the other end snarled, “What?”

Riley couldn’t help her grin. “I’m out, and I’ve got a job.”

“Good for you. Let me know how long you last living the clean life.”

“No, you jackass. A job. You in?”

Desi didn’t even hesitate. “Hell yeah I’m in.”

“Great,” Riley said, “and since I’m assuming Cage’s mouth is too occupied to answer, tell her I say hello.”

“Fuck off,” Desi growled, but it came out just a tad breathless. She hung up before Riley could make a snarky comment about being right.

“So,” Nikki asked. She dumped the scrambled eggs on two plates. “Are they in?”

“They’re in.” Riley smirked, gratefully accepting her plate. She sat down at the kitchen table and resumed scrolling through Nikki’s contacts. Riley reached the bottom of the list, but the name she was looking for wasn’t there. Riley checked again to make sure she hadn’t overlooked it.

“Why isn’t Leanna’s number in your phone?” Nikki kept eating. “Nik,” Riley pressed. “Why don’t you have her number? What happened while I was...gone?” If Nikki noticed how she’d stumbled over the last word, her friend didn’t let on.

“Leanna got out. Got clean. She’s CIA now.” Nikki’s cold stare was clear. Do not ask me about this again.

“Oh.” Riley hadn’t seen that coming. “How the hell did she pull that off?”

“She’s good at making people disappear,” Nikki said matter-of-factly. “Guess she finally used her skills on herself.” There was more Nikki wasn’t saying, but Riley didn’t push her.

They ate their scrambled eggs in silence.

As she cleared their plates, Nikki said, “So tell me about this plan of yours. Are we really doing it?”

“If by ‘it’ you mean the heist of a lifetime, then yes. We are absolutely doing it.” Riley swung her feet onto Nikki’s now-vacated chair. “I had two long years to figure out exactly how to pull it off. All I need now is my team.”

Nikki raised an eyebrow. “Your team? Last I checked, the Five Eyes were our team.”

Rolling her eyes, Riley snarked, “Semantics.”

“Whatever.” Nikki was clearly upset, but Riley couldn’t bring herself to care. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Don’t drown,” Riley replied automatically.

As soon as she heard the rush of water moving through the pipes, Riley snatched Nikki’s laptop. Once again, the password was still the same. Nikki took long showers, so Riley figured she had at least thirty minutes to find the information she needed.

Hacking into the CIA’s employee database was all too easy for someone like Riley Davis. She practically had the secrets of the universe at her fingertips, but Riley didn’t waste time snooping. All she cared about was one name: Leanna Martin.

#beth writes #flawless au #macgyver #riley davis #desi nguyen #nikki carpenter #samantha cage #leanna martin #macgyver fanfiction

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owl-with-a-pen · 3 years

Text

(SO, Last night’s Doctor Who episode gave me some major inspiration. I decided to turn that inspiration into a quick fic that may be expanded upon ever so slightly in the future.)

SUMMARY: The Doctor has always hated endings. She shouldn’t be sad about it. She isn’t sad about it. No, instead, it gives her an idea.

After all, she isn’t bound by Time Lord laws anymore. And there’s one person she had always been meaning to save...

It’d been a long two decades.

Maybe not the longest two decades she’d ever lived, maybe not even close, but in the grand scheme of things, it had certainly felt longer than most.

All that time to think, and… what conclusions had she made?

Well, for starters, intergalactic prison food was terrible. All the nutrients required for a dozen or so assorted species packed into one solid brick of barely ingestible material. Honestly, she would have preferred to go without. But then it would’ve been harder to think. And she’d really needed to think.

Okay, what else?

Angela? Terrible neighbour. Literally the worst. Couldn’t get a wink in with her buzzing about. Plus, having Silent Bob next door had made thinking very difficult. Couldn’t focus on a single thing without it washing away the second she glanced in the wrong direction.

At least she’d been able to hold a conversation with the Ood.

Love an Ood. Even an ill-tempered one.

Doing it again, Doctor. She was missing the point. The big ol’ elephant in the room that she was getting particularly good at avoiding.

Had she seen any elephants in that prison? Bit odd. Odd as the Ood. Did they have something against elephants?

Focus.

Two decades. No closer. She was no closer to figuring out who she was, the identities that were hers and hers alone. That had been taken from her. Erased by higher forces just to keep her in check.

And it burned. Deep inside her chest, igniting both her hearts, making it difficult to breathe.

Or, maybe that was just prisons for you. Not like they made it easy for you to do anything. Although, she supposed breathing was pretty necessary to live out your sentence.

Seven thousand offences. She would’ve needed to breathe for a very long time.

She’d lost Ryan.

Lost Graham.

Her fam. Gone in an instant. Quicker than a blink, really. Faster than a Weeping…

“They’re not gone,” the Doctor said.

It was the first thing she’d said in a while. Out loud, at least. No one to talk to at the moment.

The TARDIS rumbled affectionately beneath her hand, sending a calming pulse through her fingers as she continued to fiddle with various dials.

Well, maybe that wasn’t necessarily true.

The Doctor’s lips twitched. She ran her thumb along one of the TARDIS’s nodules, grinning when it flashed an encouraging blue. “Been a while since we talked, hasn’t it mate?”

Yaz was somewhere within the TARDIS. If the Doctor had wanted, she could have opened a psychic link with her ship, noted her exact coordinates. They could’ve talked, too.

Maybe the TARDIS was prodding her to do just that. Maybe she didn’t want to be prodded.

“Okay,” the Doctor relented. “They are gone. But, just from me. That’s not too shabby, now, is it? They’re safe. Ryan and Graham. Defenders of Planet Earth.” Her smile weakened. “Maybe Jack can push ‘em in the right direction. Didn’t wanna get too involved, thought it’d be best for them to find their footing on their own. Although, maybe a couple of calls wouldn’t hurt.”

The TARDIS made a soft whirr, a clanking groan following soon after from somewhere at her centre. The Doctor’s fingers clenched across the console. “Too soon? Maybe they need space.” She blinked. “Then again, we are already half a galaxy away.”

She felt the TARDIS’s thoughts probe gently against her mind. They weren’t thoughts in the predominately biological sense of the term. It was an impression of thought, really, like warm water tickling her brains. She knew what it meant, what it always meant.

And, distantly, the TARDIS procured something recent of hers. A fresh memory, still buzzing at the surface.

It’s okay to be sad.

The Doctor shuddered. “No, mate. Don’t play that game.”

The TARDIS groaned again.

“Why?” the Doctor asked, baring her teeth. “You know why. I’m not sad. How can I be? They’re off doing their own thing. They’re happy.” The last word travelled morosely around the room, punctuated by every metal wall it bounced across.

The Doctor reached restlessly for something to fiddle with, turning a gear that offered no further progression to their journey. They weren’t positioned for time travel right then, after all. Just space. Just… exploration. Idle movement. Something to do while Yaz caught her bearings.

She needed time. Plenty of that about on a time machine, after all. She’d be okay. Just needed some human comforts. Food and sleep – both of which the TARDIS was happy to provide to her in abundance. Maybe the Doctor should have gone to her.

It’s okay to be sad.

No. No, no, she wasn’t opening that one. It was silly, really, not something worth focusing on. Besides, there was so much more she needed to think about.

“Ten months,” she murmured. “Lots can change in ten months. Ten years. Ten decades. Ten…” She stopped, her mouth falling open. “Ten,” she repeated, a little surer of herself. Her lips twitched fondly. “Haven’t thought about you in a while, have I?”

She glanced up, narrowing her eyes. That was something to focus on. Something she quite liked, actually. No, even better. This was a plan.

And a plan meant she could think.

The Doctor skirted around the TARDIS, trailing her fingers along every bump and notch until she found what she was looking for. One of the data screens, reeling information about their current location. Nothing too fancy for the moment.

The Doctor grabbed at its handle, pulling it down towards her. Her mind was beginning to whir again, that familiar clank of gears not too dissimilar from her own ship’s. She caught the flash of her own eyes in the screen’s reflection, a ghostly image with a toothy grin, ready to enact a plan. The best plan.

“Y’know,” the Doctor said, engaging with her ship once again. “I used to play it safe, always so considerate that I had these set amount of lives. It was the Time Lord way.” She reached out blindly, wrapping her hand around a familiar lever. “But, it got me thinking. I’m not a Time Lord, am I? Actually, I don’t know what I am. But… time is still the same. Same rules apply. My rules, though?”

She caught something in her reflection. A darkness settling comfortably behind the shimmer of her eyes. She looked away, staring adamantly at her console. Her TARDIS.

“Ryan and Graham are safe. But I saved… I saved someone else. A long time ago. Too long ago.” She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. A sharp pulse shot through the Doctor’s chest, teasing her hearts with a new fire.

She could do this.

“I saved her. But, that wasn’t enough,” the Doctor continued. “I could’ve done more. Could’ve…” She sucked in a breath, shaking her head. “But I can now, can’t I, mate? ‘Cos I’m not who I thought I was. I’m more. More than any of ‘em.” She clenched her free hand, lifting it towards her chest, feeling both hearts thrill inside. “Maybe I still don’t know everything. Maybe I’ve got a lot to learn. But, one thing I do know is that I have exactly what it takes to bring her back.”

The Doctor’s hand tightened firmly around the lever, pushing it down with a rattling thud.

“I got more lives than I ever thought possible,” she murmured. When she looked up at the screen again, she no longer saw her own eyes staring back at her. Instead, a new face took up every inch of visible space. Or, should she say, an old face.

River’s eyes, both old and young at the same time, stared back at the Doctor. An abundance of densely packed curls framing her face, a crease in her eyes as she grinned out from the photograph she’d given her a good century ago, at least.

A face the Doctor hadn’t seen in so long. A face she ached to see again.

“Guess what?” the Doctor asked, bracing herself as the TARDIS shuddered into action. She grinned tightly, a power she hadn’t felt in quite some time resurfacing within her. “I’m gonna use one of them to save you.”

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spiderman-homecomeme · 4 years

Text

day five - the baby-sitters club

ROOMMATES AU

A/N: DAY FIVE WOO!!! get ready for some softness!! This fic was very strongly inspired by the fact that for quarantine, I’ve been watching my sister’s two kids for her while she works from home. But instead of giving MJ a two year old and a nine month old, I thought I’d give her a baby and Peter. So two babies.

Thanks @spideychelleweek again!!

Enjoy 5.1k of FLUFF, BABIES, and oh my GOD they were roommates

Read here or on AO3

come home

baby

The text messages stare back up at him, taunting; the three words laughing maniacally as he tries to figure out what it all means, what his roommate of nearly two-and-a-half years MJ means when she sends him something so straightforward, yet still so cryptic.

There’s no chance in the world that she means what he’s thinking she means… that the gutter his mind immediately swan-dives into is in any way the right place to be. MJ, blunt and honest as she is, isn’t someone who just puts herself out there so forwardly.

He’s seen her flirt, and frankly, she’s almost as bad at it as he is.

Granted, she’s been successful a few more times than he has, but still.

In the area of romance and relationships, MJ might as well have that same Parker-Luck.

He realizes mid-swing that he still hasn’t sent any reply. He responds with an appropriate amount of question marks—three to be exact—before his body seems to move on its own accord, cutting off his early Saturday-afternoon patrol short by about half-an-hour and swinging him home at an almost embarrassing speed.

When, his phone pings again.

please I need you

At that, he clumsily misses a shot, forgetting who and where he is, stomach flipping as he hits free-fall for a fraction of a second before catching himself.

His next thought is that this all has to be some accident. Perhaps it’s for someone else; perhaps she knows another Peter, another person she has under “Loser” in her phone. And, weirdly enough, the thought of someone else being so lovingly given that title brings with it a strange feeling in his chest.

Or maybe he’s just completely misunderstanding the statement, which wouldn’t be all that unusual for him. After all, it’s damn near impossible to get someone’s true meaning in a text message. Sarcasm can fall flat when read. The difference between a period and an exclamation point can be monumental. The list goes on.

Though, Peter likes to think in his years of being MJ’s friend, plus the two-and-a-half of being her roommate, that he’s come to know her pretty well, that he’s got all of her phrases and mannerisms tucked away in the “MJ” file in his brain.

Still, after years of friendship, he’d be dumb to think she’d have run out of ways to surprise him.

But what would he even do if a) MJ meant everything literally and b) it wasn’t some accident and she actually, honestly, truly meant it for him?

Really. What would he even do? He has no idea.

He starts to wonder if maybe it’s code for something else when he nearly splats face-first into his fifth-story window, almost losing himself completely in his thoughts. Sliding the window open as quickly as possible, he practically falls into his room, not caring about whether he’s being silent or not. (MJ found out his secret years ago, even before they were really even friends.) He nearly trips over his suit as it flies off, and he stumbles as he yanks on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from the night before.

Without another thought, he bursts out of his room, following the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen.

What he finds, however, isn’t something he’d ever considered in a million years.

MJ’s there alright, standing in front of the open fridge, searching through the various fruits and vegetables. A perfectly normal occurrence. Nothing to be concerned about.

Only there’s a slight difference.

There’s a baby resting comfortably on her hip, one of its tiny hands reaching out to grab at the stray locks of hair falling from MJ’s ponytail as she ducks her head.

“Uh…” Peter starts, the confusion just coming right out of him. “Hi?”

MJ barely even registers that Peter’s even there. “Oh hey, man.” She’s the very essence of nonchalance as she places some deli-sliced turkey and pepper jack cheese on the counter, her other hand instinctively coming up to stop the baby from grabbing any of it.

At his bewildered silence, she finally meets his gaze, ignoring the infant in her grasp desperately trying to get its chubby hands on the jar of mayo. “What’s up?”

come home

baby

Peter opens his mouth to speak, but finds that nothing comes out at first. He blows out a puff of air through his lips. “I was—I was gonna ask about… your... text…?” He pauses again, his brow furrowed as he glances between her and the tiny human on her hip. “...But I think I understand now.” He huffs out a laugh.

“Oh,” MJ nods, adjusting her grip as she closes the refrigerator door with her foot. “Yeah. That.”

Peter eyes her expectantly. A beat passes.

“What?” She asks innocently, as if she wasn’t just holding a random baby in their kitchen.

“You wanna…” Peter gestures to her, his finger going back and forth between her and the infant. “Explain… The baby?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, my bad.” She goes to the pantry to grab the loaf of bread before turning to look at him again. “This is my son,” she deadpans. “I didn’t tell you?”

“MJ—”

“—you’re the father.”

Peter only returns with an unblinking, unimpressed stare.

“I adopted him this morning.”

Peter blinks.

MJ waits a moment before apparently giving up the joke. “Okay, fine.” She rolls her eyes. “This is my nephew, Oliver. He’s eight months old, and my sister asked me to watch him for the day. I thought the text I sent was pretty clear, though.” There’s a faint smirk on her lips as she says that last bit, an expression that never fails to make Peter’s face warm.

“I mean, it wasn’t,” Peter responds, returning her joking expression, his mind flashing back to the panic he was in not five minutes ago. “But it’s whatever.” He looks down at the baby in her arms, his smirk melting into a wide, easy smile. “Hi, Oliver!”

Little Oliver stares blankly for a moment before turning to bury his face in MJ’s shoulder.

And it’s the fact that Peter doesn’t immediately get a smile in return that makes him feel like literal human garbage.

MJ seems to notice his disappointment. “It’s okay,” She says, bouncing the little one slightly. “Oliver’s kinda iffy with strangers at first. He’ll warm up to you.”

Hmm, sounds familiar, Peter thinks.

A stretch of silence falls over the room, Oliver breaking it with a string of babbles consisting of only “guy” and the occasional “buh,” as he smacks at MJ’s shoulder, his other hand reaching for her hair once again.

“Need any help?” Peter asks, remembering her last text to him, and also seeing the pained expression on her face as Oliver successfully gets a fistful of her curls and tugs it toward his slobbery mouth.

“Um, yeah, actually,” MJ puts her sandwich makings down before walking over and holding her nephew out to him, simultaneously trying to free her hair from his tiny, vice grip. “Can you take him while I make my lunch?”

Peter pauses a moment, eyeing the two of them before carefully holding his hands out. “Uh, sure...”

MJ doesn’t miss the trepidation in his tone, but she also doesn’t seem to address it. Instead, she just hands him the baby, not waiting to see if he’s ready or anything.

Luckily, Peter’s reflexes are fast, and he’s able to hang on to little Oliver, even if it is slightly awkward. Both of his arms are wrapped around the small torso, the eight month old pushing back against his chest, letting out a frustrated whine. The pleading expression on Peter’s face as he turns to face MJ again causes her to huff out a sudden laugh.

Peter moves one of his hands to support the head, though he feels more and more that he’s losing control of the baby in his arms that desperately wants to look around the room.

Again, MJ puts her ingredients down, making her way back over. “Just… hold him under his butt.” Gently, she guides Peter’s hands with her own to a more comfortable position, a touch under any normal circumstances would make him question his sanity. “He’s old enough to hold himself up, so you don’t need to like, support the back of his head or anything.”

Having never had much experience with babies—no little siblings, cousins, or his own nieces and nephews—this is entirely uncharted territory for Peter. His only interactions with littles have been through his work as Spider-Man. While it’s true that he’s saved one or two from burning buildings, this is something entirely different.

And it becomes abundantly clear that Oliver can still sense the insecurity, even as Peter’s hold improves, when he starts letting out quiet, fussy whimpers. “Ahhh,” Peter panics for a moment, eyes wide as he looks to MJ for help, before adjusting his grip again, allowing the baby into a more natural position.

“See? Super easy,” MJ says as she cuts her sandwich in half.

Neither boy seems completely at ease with the other.

“I guess,” Peter replies, lightly bouncing on his feet. “Need any more help besides this?”

“Sure.” MJ looks up from her lunch before taking a bite. “But don’t think this means you’re getting any of my paycheck,” she jokes through a mouthful of turkey sandwich. “This isn’t some Baby-Sitters Club shit, alright?”

Peter gives a firm nod. "Understood."

“Okay, well. Here’s the rundown,” She says as she finishes her lunch and begins to make her way into the living room. “My sister will be back tonight at 6:30. Before then, he needs to eat and sleep about every three hours. Last bottle was… thirty minutes ago? So he’ll need another one at about… two-ish, and then a nap right after.”

While she’s talking, rattling off the to-do list, the softest smile forms on Peter’s face as he listens and follows her.

“And then, of course, we’ll have to change his diaper a lot, give him a new one before and after his nap and…” She notices her roommate staring, his eyes tinted with humor. “What?”

Peter coughs, clearing his throat, the tips of his ears turning an embarrassing shade of pink, though his smile never leaves. “Oh, uh, nothing. You just… you seem to have this down to a science. Like you care. A lot.”

She jerks her head back in mild surprise. “Well, yeah. He’s my nephew. And I told my sister he’d be back in one piece.”

“That’s fair,” Peter concedes.

“Plus, I’m not you,” she teases. “I don’t half-ass jobs.”

“Hey!” Peter’s eyes narrow at her, and he brings a hand to his chest, wounded, but he can’t seem to drop the dopey little grin her teasing brings.

“In the meantime—” MJ sits down on the ground, motioning for Peter to follow suit. “—we can just play with him.”

Peter nods, though he struggles to find a way down that’s comfortable for both him and Oliver. He wonders if he should put the baby down first? Or if it’s completely safe to just sit. And again, his hesitation is clear, both to Oliver and to MJ.

“Dude, just put him down.” She says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“Yeah—Yeah, I—” Peter shifts on his feet. “I got that part.”

Oliver lets out the beginning of an anxious cry.

With another awkward side-step, Peter seems to figure it out, either from actually piecing it together or from not wanting the tiny human in his arms to start screaming, he’s not sure. He gently—and perhaps with an overwhelming amount of caution—places the eight month old on the ground. Oliver, still crying, glances around frantically. His wails stop almost immediately, his face lighting up, positively beaming when his eyes meet MJ’s.

Michelle only gives him half-a-smirk and there’s a big, happy grin on his chubby face.

Oliver’s eyes move from hers after a beat, darting around the room curiously before landing on Peter.

Peter puts on a silly smile. “Hey, buddy!” He greets in his best impression of a baby-talk voice.

Though Oliver seems to be mildly fascinated by this new stranger, his expression shows that he’s less than impressed at the attempt.

And looking up, Peter sees the same look on MJ’s face.

Michelle, however, seems to take pity on her poor roommate, swooping in to rescue him from further embarrassment in front of a literal eight month old child. “He really likes when you blow raspberries at him,” MJ offers. “He’ll either laugh or do one back. It’s cute.”

Peter nods, though he doesn’t try.

MJ sits forward, getting her nephews attention, sticking her tongue out and letting out a harsh puff of air. As if on cue, Oliver lets out one of quite possibly the cutest sounds Peter’s ever heard. The baby’s eyes widen first, mouth forming a tiny little circle before he breaks into giggles, eyes barely open, his smile wide and gummy. When she does it a second time, his hands fly to his face, curled into tiny little fists.

Peter has to physically hold back the audible awwww that threatens to just come right out of him at the sight.

It takes a third time for Oliver to blow a raspberry back at MJ. It’s clumsy, and a bit of his drool flies out everywhere, but even then, Michelle’s unable to keep the small grin from tugging at the corner of her mouth.

It’s when Peter tries, tongue stuck out with some forced air, that little Oliver’s smile slowly fades, his tiny features now fixed into a calculating expression.

Almost instantly, Peter deflates.

MJ starts to stand, putting a toy in front of the baby before giving Peter a gentle pat on the shoulder. “It’s okay, tiger. You’ll get ‘em next time.” She stretches her hands high above her head, the action earning another squeal of delight from Oliver.

Oh, come on! Bare minimum, Peter thinks.

In fact, almost everything Michelle seems to do gets the same reaction. She’s not a particularly sunny, bubbly person—far from it—but even her blank, impassive stares seem to incite rounds and rounds of uncontrollable giggles from her nephew.

“Hey, can you watch him while I run to the bathroom?” MJ asks, already walking in that direction.

“Yeah—yeah,” Peter nods, pressing his lips together. “Totally.”

Oliver doesn’t immediately notice when she’s gone, and he sits there, happily chewing on the soft toy that Michelle had placed in front of him. Though, when he realizes that he’s been left alone with the stranger, he grows restless.

Peter sees his opportunity. “Hey! Hey Buddy! Hey Oliver!” He says with an overdramatic excitement. Again, he blows a quiet raspberry at the little one, feeling just slightest bit of success when one of the corners of Oliver’s mouth quirks upward for the briefest of moments.

But the feeling quickly dissipates when Oliver’s attention goes back to the clearly more interesting toy.

It does rattle, after all.

Peter sits back on his hands, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he tries to come up with another way to get this dang baby to smile. If he could get him to laugh, bonus points. But now, all he needs is the teeniest, tiniest smile, and maybe he’ll feel like he can actually succeed in life.

He doesn’t take a second to think about how he’s banking all of his future self-worth on whether or not a baby thinks he’s funny enough. Much less likes him.

But something catches Oliver’s curious eyes, and he turns to look at Peter—or rather, Peter’s hands. Turning his gaze downward, Peter sees that the simple bands of his webshooters—though the ‘shooty’ part of them is put away—are still on his wrists, and the dark silver metal is shining in the pocket of sunlight on the living room floor.

Oliver lets out an excited, intrigued coo. He leans forward, tiny little noises of exertion coming from his as he starts army crawling to Peter’s place on the floor.

And really, Peter can’t help himself. He picks Oliver up again, placing him back in a sitting position before taking one of the bands off his wrist. “You wanna see this, buddy?” Peter asks in a gentle tone, holding out the webshooter to the infant. “It looks cool, huh?”

Oliver takes the metal band into his tiny, chubby hands, his mouth set into a little circle, his eyes wide as he shakes the new toy furiously.

“You like ‘em, little dude?”

Oliver answers with a loud, excited “Ah!” In the same breath, he brings the webshooter to his mouth.

And although Peter’s reflexes are fast, he can’t stop the eight month old from chomping on the cold metal between his gums.

“Oliver!” Peter says, surprised that there’s a laugh underneath his tone. “You’re not supposed to chew on it!”

“What is he chewing on?” MJ’s voice is behind him again as she walks back into the room.

Peter barely turns around to look at her as he responds. “My webshooter.”

“Oh, my God! Peter, I leave for one second—” Michelle instantly moves to her nephew, taking the metal band from his tiny grasp, setting it on the coffee table before joining them on the floor. “You let him put that in his mouth?”

“He seemed interested in it!” Peter defends.

“He’s a baby, dude.” MJ stares at him. “He’s interesting in literally everything.”

“Not me…” Peter mutters under his breath before speaking at a normal volume again. “All I did was hand it to him!”

She blinks at him. Once. Twice. “You let him—a baby, who you saw earlier trying to eat my hair—hold your webshooter, not thinking he was going to want to chew on it?”

Peter tilts his head, bottom lip poking out as he shrugs. She has a fair point. He did not think that through. Upon this moment of realization, he flinches, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry.”

And at that, at his evident regret, she seems to soften. A sigh escapes her. “It’s fine, dude.” She laughs. “I’ve definitely let him chew on things that were just as bad before I learned. It was one time, but… I’ve been there.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, holding his head back as he looks at her from the corner of his eye.

Her gaze shifts around the room, avoiding his for some reason. “No prob.”

The moment, tiny and seemingly insignificant as it is, is ending with another excited, incoherent, attention-demanding yell from the baby in front of them.

They play with Oliver for the rest of the early-afternoon, Peter still never getting anything more than a half-smile, if even that. Michelle always getting them effortlessly, without even trying, her nephew clearly smitten with her.

And it’s not like Peter’s stopped trying. In fact, he might even say—or rather, he might be influenced by MJ saying—that he’s trying a little too hard maybe. He has tried everything though, it seems. Once he’s more comfortable holding the baby, he tries swinging him up into the air, but that only gets a few, ever so faint, single laughs. Nothing like the giggles that MJ gets out of him.

Oliver’s even grown to be more comfortable around Peter, no longer glancing around frantically, looking to be rescued when placed in his arms. The baby even holds onto him, something MJ says is one of his little signs that he does indeed “like you.”

So, in theory, Peter should be able to make this baby smile. Make him laugh.

But, it’s much easier said than done. At least for him.

When one-thirty rolls around, MJ gets a call from her boss. Nothing to worry about, she says, but one she needs to take outside.

Peter being much more confident, thinks nothing of it. In fact, he finds it to be the perfect opportunity to really master this whole baby thing. Even with no experience, he’s finding this easier than he’d ever thought. It just comes more naturally to him the more time he spends with Oliver.

It’s weird in the coolest way.

There are various, multi-colored blocks on the floor in front of Oliver, one of them between his drooly, chubby hands and in his mouth. He spares a few glances at Peter, once again, only a corner of his mouth quirking upward, though this one does seem to reach his eyes.

Peter will take that as one of the many steps of an actual win.

But nothing else seems to come out of it, Oliver just chewing on his block while Peter sits there in silent contemplation. Not wanting to try anything new, Peter goes back to the initial method. The classic, farty raspberries.

Peter blows one at him, Oliver taking the block out of his mouth to flail his arms the slightest bit.

Now, that’s something, Peter thinks.

Peter does it again, earning the same, cute reaction; arms waving a little harder this time. At the third time, he doesn’t get the giggle he’s looking for, but an energetic squeal before Oliver sticks his little tongue out and blows a raspberry right back at him.

In Oliver’s excitement at the fourth time, he flails a little too hard, losing his balance and tumbling over to the right and onto the soft carpet. His head just barely bumps the bright green block, and at first, his expression is blank and slightly confused.

And then, there’s a second; one where Peter hears the sharp, deep intake of breath.

Oliver lets out a scared, long wail. It trails off, hiccuping as he lets out another scream. Peter instantly moves to him, taking the baby into his arms and holding him to his chest. His hand rests at the back of his small head, and he softly shh’s him, murmuring gentle, if not a little bit panicked, words of reassurance.

“It’s okay, buddy! You’re okay!” Peter’s attempt at comforting the crying baby is valiant, but it doesn’t pay off. His voice comes out too shaky, no matter how quiet it is.

When the door opens, MJ shutting it behind her, Peter looks up as if to thank whatever higher being that graciously decided to take pity on him.

MJ’s brow is pinched together, her expression concerned. “What happened?”

Peter’s heart seems to have fallen into his stomach, and his stomach into his butt. “Uh…” He takes a breath. “He—he fell and... hit his head on—on one of the blocks.”

MJ holds her hands out to take the baby that’s too distracted by its own crying to even notice. “It’s okay,” she says to Oliver (and to Peter). “It happens sometimes. That’s how he learns to keep his balance.” She rocks back and forth, speaking softly to little Oliver as he clings desperately to her shirt, crying into her collarbone. “Auntie MJ, I fell over,” She speaks for him in a gentle tone, quiet enough that Peter probably wouldn’t be able to hear without his super senses. “It was so scary!”

The crying soon turns to quiet whimpers that line up perfectly with her rocks from side-to-side; it’s almost as if he’s telling her all about what happened.

Peter watches, a smile forming on his lips at the gentleness coming from his friend before him in spite of the near-crippling fear he’d just experienced moments before. He’s never really seen MJ this soft before, speaking with such tenderness. A few times, maybe, when she’s seen an animal; a dog, a cat, a bumblebee, a dragonfly, even the wayward spider, but nothing like this before.

The crying eventually stops, and little Oliver looks up at MJ. She smiles down at him, lightly squeezing his sides under his armpits, and a tiny grin breaks across his features as he reaches his chubby hands out to her cheeks.

MJ can feel Peter’s eyes and smile burning into her.

“What?” She asks, perhaps a little defensive.

“Nothing!” Peter says immediately, eyes wide, hands raised in surrender. “Just… Interesting—Nice, I mean, seeing you… with him.”

She raises a curious, almost judging brow, still rocking on her feet.

“I mean—” Peter huffs out a laugh. “You don’t really like people all that much.”

“I mean… I don’t know. When you think about it, babies aren’t really people yet?” MJ reasons, scrunching her face playfully at the baby in her arms. “Like, of course they’re physically people, but… They aren’t terrible, yet. And I think they should be rewarded for that.”

Peter laughs again, not able to stop the fond shake of his head as MJ blows another raspberry at her nephew.

Not long after, two o’clock comes. MJ once again leaves Peter to watch Oliver while she goes and heats up a bottle. Thankfully, nothing happens this time around. In fact, it’s pretty uneventful. Peter sits across from the baby, showing him how to stack a set of colorful rings on a wooden stick.

Of course, he still doesn’t get a smile, but… it’s fine.

MJ returns just minutes later, Oliver’s eyes going wide, cooing in excitement, when he sees what’s in her hand. He seems to dance in place, his limbs flailing about when she goes to pick him up. “Alright, my dude, let’s get you some milk and then a nap.”

“He doesn’t seem super tired, though?” Peter asks rather than states.

Again, as if on cue, even amidst his sheer excitement, Oliver lets out a yawn, bringing his tiny fists up to rub at his eyes.

MJ raises a brow that speaks volumes.

Peter shuts up.

Peter gets a much need break as MJ feeds her nephew, both of them scrolling on their phones as the little one practically inhales his meal. But soon, as he gets to where there’s about a fourth of the bottle left, his small eyelids seem to grow heavier and heavier, and he struggles to keep them both open. And even sooner after that, as he finishes the last drop, little snoozes can be heard as he falls fast asleep on his aunt.

Peter looks up then, just a few moments later, having not been paying attention, seeing that MJ’s shifting to laying down on the couch, her nephew cuddled up beside her. Her own eyes are closed, her arms above her head as she starts to drift off.

And at that, he takes a chance, moving as quietly as he can to go stand above the slumbering duo. He pulls his phone out, swiping to the camera, taking a single picture, when MJ cracks an eye open, feeling his presence.

“What are you doing?” She asks sleepily.

Peter barely looks up from his phone, lips pulled back into a mischievous grin. “Getting blackmail. In case I need it.”

“Oh?” MJ questions, unable to keep from closing her eyes again.

“Yeah.” Peter puts his phone away. “Imagine what everyone would think seeing big, tough, mean Michelle Jones cuddling with a baby.”

MJ rolls her eyes. “Come on. You’ve done way more embarrassing things. This is nothing.”

Peter nods. “Fair.”

“Plus,” MJ continues, though she can’t stop the playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I can just murder you if you ever show that to anyone. No biggie.”

Peter covers his mouth as he lets out a surprised snort.

“Thank you so much for watching him!”

Peter hears a new voice from the living room. He steps over the threshold, seeing Michelle’s sister standing in the front doorway, empty baby carrier next to her feet, Oliver happily on her hip.

MJ shrugs. “No problem.” Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Peter. “Oh, Lara, this is my roommate, Peter. He helped out.”

Lara’s smile widens as she reaches her free hand out to shake his. “Hi Peter. Thanks for helping my dear sister take care of this little monster.” She punctuates that statement with a tickle in her son’s side, earning a hiccuping giggle.

Peter can’t help but grin. “Anytime.”

“But just because he helped doesn’t mean you should pay him,” MJ cuts in before throwing a teasing wink to her friend.

Lara ignores her sister’s comment. “Peter, just find me on facebook, send me your venmo, we’ll figure it out. Simple.”

“No, no.” Peter waves her off. “That’s really—that’s okay,” he chuckles nervously, gaze flitting between the older sister and his roommate.

Lara shrugs. “We’ll figure it out,” she repeats. She takes one of Oliver’s hands in hers. “Alright, Oliver. Wave bye-bye to your Aunt MJ and… Peter.” She shrugs again, this time more apologetic.

MJ waves back at her nephew, moving forward to give him a little boop on his chubby cheeks. “See ya later, bud. Till the next time.”

The baby grins, wide and happy.

Peter waves, too, putting on his best, biggest, most genuine smile yet. “Bye bye, Oliver!”

And finally.

FINALLY.

The wonderful, adorable, gummy little grin of validation that Peter wanted so badly stretches across the little one’s features. Oliver turns his head, bashfully burying his face into his mother’s hair. She smiles, putting her son into the carrier.

“Thanks, guys,” Lara offers with a final wave, closing the door behind her.

The apartment is quiet, the click of the shutting door echoing between the two roommates as they stand there. Peter’s the first to look over; he doesn’t turn his head, sneaking little glances from the corner of his eye.

And he sees MJ do the same once.

“Well, that was fun,” he offers lamely, rocking back on his heels. “We made a good team!”

“Yup,” MJ agrees, pressing her lips together.

He turns to her. “For real, though. I had a blast,” he says earnestly.

She turns to him. “Me, too,” she replies, and he swears he can detect a hint of shyness to her tone.

And for a moment, they just stare at each other, neither one of them saying anything. The words unsaid hanging between them like a thick blanket.

Peter clears his throat. “MJ… Today… Kinda got me thinking—”

“—Oh my, God. Yes. We should have a baby together.”

Her words nearly knock him right out of his head and into the astral plane. If he were a cartoon, he’s sure he’d have those damn stars and cuckoo circling his head like a giant anvil had just landed on top of him.

“What?!”

She breaks, her laughter filling the apartment. “Dude, I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Geez.”

Peter breathes out a laugh, nodding slowly.

He really had been right, he thinks as she playfully ruffles his hair and walks past him into the kitchen, asking what he wants to do for dinner; he’s right that even after all the years he’s spent with MJ, she never fails to run out of ways to mess with him.

“Yeah…” His mouth twists as he tries to hide his smile, glancing briefly at the door, then at the toys that had been left at their apartment just in case there was another day of babysitting. He laughs, mostly to himself. “We’d be horrible parents anyway.”

#spideychelle #spideychelleweek2k20 #petermj #peter parker #michelle jones #mcu #spider-man #fic

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exdraghunt · 3 years

Text

Fic Writer Interview

- nobody tagged me, but I wanted to do this anyway so-

Name(s): Ed

Fandom(s): Current: Transformers, Brave Police J-Decker (coming soon). In the past, possibly again in the future: Starlight Express, LazyTown, Steam Powered Giraffe, Knight Rider, Ghost Rider, Thomas the Tank Engine

Where you post: Archive of our Own

Most popular one-shot (by kudos): That would be Sweaters , with 345 kudos. It was the second of my Lazytown Christmas-specials, which I wrote in one go on Christmas Eve.

Most popular multi-chap (also by kudos): Wings at 853 kudos. My "Robbie Rotten but if he had wings" Robbie/Sportacus fic. I might get around to actually finishing the sequel at some point. Was not expecting this one to beat my TF fics!.

Favorite story you've written so far: Hmm. In terms of "this is incredibly self-indulgent and I'm writing it to cater to every single one of my kinks" I'd have to say Drop To Drink. (AKA: the Titty!AU)

IN terms of fics I'm rather proud of sharing with other people, Last of the Wild Cabooses. . I put a lot of research into railroad history to write this fic, and then did a shit-ton of worldbuilding on top of that.

Fics you were nervous to post: High Tide . My first time ever posting an mpreg fic publicly. I was terrified of the reaction I'd get. Fortunately, it was nothing but positive!

On a similar note, I was nervous about getting flames on my Thomas the Tank Engine ship fics (especially when I wrote TTTE mpreg) but that never materialized. Now, I've stopped giving a shit and will post just about anything.

How do you choose your titles: Gonna be honest, I usually choose song lyrics (eg. Behind Blue Optics, Runner in the Night, Midnight Run, No Days for Knights, Marching Inland). Sometimes it's a reference to something (Drop to Drink, comes from the Knight Rider episode 'Not a Drop To Drink' which has nothing to do with the fic). Sometimes, it's just a phrase that works well. (When the Bomb Drops, A Winglord's Duty)

Do you outline?: Not really. I do tend to daydream/fantasize the entire fic before I actually sit down and write it, though, so I know where the fic is going. I just don't bother to write it down. I spend a lot of time on the bus, or lying in bed, just. Planning out the next scenes for my fics.

Complete: Quite a few, I'm proud to say. All my Thomas the Tank Engine fics (6), my TUGS fics (5), my Knight Rider fics (2) (except for one not posting to Ao3 yet), several Starlight Express fics (5), (3) Lazytown fics, (2) Steam Powered Giraffe fics, and (3) Transformers fics.

In-progress: Too many. . . The Lazytown fics are on hiatus until I feel like finishing them. Might not ever get back to the StEx stuff, we'll see.

In progress that I'm actually working on are my Transformers fics (Pearl of Polyhex, When the Bomb Drops, Drop to Drink, and Behind Blue Optics)

Coming soon: Next up on the list will be a Brave Police J-Decker fic (working title: To Weather the Storm), and another Transformers J/P fic (working title: the Carrying Class AU)

Not started: So many. A basic idea of what's rattling around in my brain

the aforementioned BPJD fic (introducing my OC and bringing back Kagerou), plus a sequel (a mechpreg fic, with Deckerd and Gunmax, because I am extremely predictable)

Brainwashing!AU (dark Tumbler/Prowl, misuse of mnemosurgery, serial killer investigation, and Jazz figuring out that something is very very wrong.)

Prompts? I don't normally write from prompts, since I have enough going on in my head, I don't need the extra stimulus. The only prompt challenge I've done was Thirst Trap April (Bruised Spark) which was, admittedly, a lot of fun. Pearl of Polyhex came out of a series of asks, so I guess that's close?

Upcoming work you're most excited about: I am excited about all my upcoming projects. But, if pressed, I'd say the Carrying Class!AU. There's a lot of scenes in there I'm really excited to write, and some fun worldbuilding too.

#ed rambles

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calpalirwin · 4 years

Text

High

Summary: Anon request- I wish you would write a fic where: the reader and cal would be good together but they for some reason (anxiety, money insecurity, commitment to the lifestyle, one's good for the other but the other isn't good for the one, etc.) can't date each other. So when Cal asks her out it's a really teary eyed no and then High gets written.

A/N: Gave it a slight tweak, but the premise is still more or less the same.

Content: Greaser!Cal and Soc!OC

Word Count: 2.1k

And away and away we go!

“For our poetry unit, you will be paired up and tasked with making your own poetry,” Mrs. Donovan told the class.

Elizabeth’s eyes flickered over to Sarah and they shared a smile. In the back, Calum and Michael were sharing a similar look.

“Now, before you get too excited, I will be picking your partners,” Mrs. Donovan continued as the class groaned in disappointment. She began to rattle off the names, alphabetically, and Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief. Her and Sarah’s names were close together on the call sheet. Surely they wo- “Harper and Hood.” Elizabeth’s heart sank. She had forgotten about Calum’s last name being smack dab in between her’s and Sarah’s. Elizabeth turned in her seat to look back at the boy, who was already rolling his brown eyes. Keep going, Elizabeth thought, maybe you’ll find a brain back there. She looked disdainfully over at her friend who was already whispering excitedly with her own partner. At least one of them would get out of this project with their dignity…

~~~

When the bell rang, signalling the end of the day, Elizabeth expected Calum to bolt for the door like he always did, making it near impossible for her to make contact with him to discuss their project. Which is why she was staying behind to ask if there was any way for her to do the project on her own. So when Calum approached the teacher’s desk before she could, she stilled by her desk, before willing her feet to move her to stand beside her apparent partner. “Mrs. Donovan,” Calum’s voice was a low hiss as he started to protest.

Mrs. Donovan looked at the pair over the rim of her glasses: the boy’s anger apparent in the way his entire body was rigid, like a coil ready to spring, the girl trying to match his coldness with her own lifeless stare. “Did you have a question regarding the project?”

“With all due respect, Mrs. Donovan, but I would like to do the project myself,” Elizabeth spoke up.

“Mr. Hood, do you share Miss Harper’s sentiments?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Well, much like the world of writing, the world of poetry is meant to challenge. It’s very design is to push the boundaries of what we think and what we feel. So, consider yourselves challenged.”

Elizabeth bit her tongue. “Yes ma’am.”

“How poetic…” Calum muttered sarcastically under his breath.

“Did you say something, Mr. Hood?” Mrs. Donovan asked, daring him to repeat himself.

“No, ma’am,” Calum was quick to reply, flashing a grin. “Can’t wait for you to see what we come up with. Miss Harper?” Elizabeth’s name was laced with sardonic respect as he held the door to the classroom for her.

Elizabeth busied herself with ripping a piece of paper out of her notebook while Calum debated ramming his fist into the row of lockers. He settled for giving it one good, angry kick. “How mature,” Elizabeth noted with an eye roll before stuffing the scrap of paper in his hand.

“What’s this?” he asked, smoothing out the creases to look at the address written in a calligraphic loop.

“My address, you dimwit. We can work on the weekends. Share that with anyone and I’ll…” she paused to think of a worthy enough threat that would make him think twice before he dared double-cross her. Instead she found herself trying not to drown in his hypnotizing gaze. Her tongue poked out to wet at her lips.

“You’ll what, princess? Call Daddy? Gimme a break…”

His tone snapped her out of her admiration. “I don’t like this anymore than you do, Hood. So just shut up, and do what I say.” She tapped on her address. “3 o’ clock. Saturday. Bring ideas. Don’t you dare be late.”

“You think I’m stupid enough to come to your side of town? Nuh-uh. Fat chance of that happening, sweetheart. I ain’t got a death wish.”

“And what’s your proposal on where we work? Your side of town?”

“Matter of fact, yes.”

“Pfft! Are you insane, or just stupid?”

“Look, it makes the most sense. Any mutual part of town, and we’ll both catch heat. I end up in your part of town, and I’m a dead man walking. I can handle myself in a fight, but I don’t much fancy the idea of getting jumped by the gang of pretty boys every day for the next month. Because, contrary to popular belief, it’s you Socs who instigate shit. Us greasers just fight to protect our own. So nobody on my side of town is gonna so much as breathe on ya. Ergo, the safest place for us both is my place.”

She hated that his logic made sense. The greaser girls would sneer at her in the streets of town and in the hallways at school for being spotted with Calum, but it would be no more than the way they had always sneered at her. Calum, on the other hand, had a target on his back every time he crossed the imaginary line running through town, a target only more apparent if he was spotted with her, school assignment be damned. And as much as she wanted to do this project on her own, she didn’t want the reason to be because her partner was constantly busted up. Because even though she had seen Calum fight, and the type of damage he could deal out, she knew the Socs wouldn’t fight fair. And as much disdain as she held for the boy, she didn’t wish him harm. “Fine. Write your address on the back of mine then.”

Instead of pulling out a pen, he turned and started walking down the hall. “You comin’?” he called over his shoulder.

She muttered a few unladylike words under her breath before stalking after him. The sooner she got this project done, the better.

~~~

Elizabeth wasn’t sure what she expected as she stepped over the imaginary boundary line that ran through town, maybe for the air to change and a gang of greasers to come creeping out of the nonexistent shadows. “Expecting the boogeyman to come out and get ya?” Calum scoffed, noting the way she drew her light jacket tighter around herself. “Relax. Remember what I said earlier? No one’s gonna so much as breathe on ya.”

She rolled her eyes, but let her sweater fall open. “Because I’m a girl?”

He blinked, uncertain what her being a girl had to do with any of this greaser/soc war. “No. Because I’m not gonna let anybody lay a hand on you.”

“And why would you do a stupid thing like that?”

“Because all this,” he gestured around them, “is in your head.” His fingers tapped against his temple in an all-knowing manner, like he was above the arbitrary societal norms that plagued their lives.

“If it’s all in my head, then why are you going through such lengths to protect us both? Why not do this at my home, or in the library?”

“I may not buy into this crap, but I ain’t got a death wish neither. I’ll stick to my side until I can blow this deadbeat town that looks at me sideways because my address says South before it ‘stead o’ North.”

“Then say that then. Admit you’re just doing this to look after yourself. Don’t hide behind the fake nobility that you’re doing this for me, because that doesn’t make you the hero.”

“Who said I wanted to be your hero anyway?”

“Who said I wanted to be protected?” she shot back.

He chuckled, a throaty rumble of approval of the chip on her shoulder.

~~~

For the next few weeks, when Elizabeth left her English class, she found Calum waiting for her. Together, they would make their trek across the school yard to his side of town, which she was quick to realize was no different than hers.

His home may have been a modest one, but it wasn’t run down by any means. And there was always a snack waiting on the kitchen counter, before his mother, a sweet lady who’s disposition matched her name perfectly, whisked into view with the promise of dinner in the fridge that Calum just needed to heat up before she was dashing out the door to her night shift as a nurse.

For the most part, they passed the time they worked together in silence, the only sounds being the scratch of a pen on paper, or the rustling of a notebook as they shared their ideas with the other.

On more than one occasion, Elizabeth would glance over at Calum, watching the way his eyebrows pulled together and his tongue poked out of his mouth as he scribbled in concentration. The pen would tap irritatingly at the rings on his notebook before the piece of paper got ripped and he crumpled it up in his fist, sighing in aggravation.

One such piece flew into her face, startling her. “You’re staring,” Calum chuckled.

“Was not,” she muttered, ducking her head down as her cheeks flushed.

He chuckled louder, crossing his hands behind his head. “S’okay. I know I’m hot.”

“Yeah, your temper maybe…”

“Right, cuz what could a girl like you ever see in a boy like me, huh? Your mama would faint, and dear ole daddy would have me arrested for corrupting his lil girl, right?” The words left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I thought you didn’t buy into this… crap, was it?”

“I don’t.”

“Could’ve fooled me…”

“Hey!” he snapped darkly, his hands slamming down on the table. “Let’s get one thing straight, me being smart enough to play by this town’s rules doesn’t mean for one second that I don’t see them for what they are: a load of shit. So go ahead, and think of me as a coward. Or that I’m just some lowlife who’s no good for you. Cuz I don’t give a damn what you, or what anyone else thinks of me, alright?! Cuz God knows when the tables are turned I don’t waste a single thought on any of you!”

A few weeks ago the angry storm in his eyes, the flare of his nostrils, and the way the muscles in his arms flexed dangerously would have her scared and shaking. But it was hard to be intimidated by the boy who smiled warmly at his mother before kissing the woman’s cheek hello, like it was his favorite part of his day. She knew she should be afraid of him, of everything he represented. She was supposed to. That’s what her world had taught her to think. But sitting in his kitchen, he was just another boy. A boy with the rotten luck of living on the wrong side of town, but a boy all the same. “I’m not afraid of you, Calum.”

“You should be.”

“Playing by their rules only reinforces to them that they won.”

“Then let me take you out to the movies.”

“What?!”

“Yeah… that’s what I thought.”

~~~

“Alright, Miss Harper, Mr. Hood, which one of you will be presenting your poem?”

“Elizabeth is,” Calum answered, thrusting a paper towards the girl. Calum had decided that for her on a scoffed reasoning of “Yeah, so I can look like a girl? No thanks, sweetheart. You do it.” The problem was, the poem in Elizabeth’s shaking hands wasn’t one she remembered them writing.

“Today I called to tell you that I’m changing, but I don’t think you have enough respect to see me try,” she started to speak the foreign words aloud. “I need to stop letting me down.” The more she read, the more she was certain that this was an open-letter from Calum to herself. When she forced herself to say “I know I’ll never meet your expectations, but the picture you paint of me looks better in your mind,” she could almost hate him for making her present something so personal. “I hope you think of me highly, when you’re with someone else.”

~~~

“Calum!” she yelled out after him as he swiftly crossed the schoolyard, his poem clutched in her fist as she waved it in his direction.

“Hmm?” he asked, thumbs going under his backpack straps as he turned to face her.

“What the hell is this?!” she demanded, pushing the paper into his chest.

“Our assignment,” he told her.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Hood. This wasn’t any of the ideas we worked on.”

“I know.”

“Well?!”

“Poetry is meant to challenge, remember?” His breath was hot on her skin as he leaned down to whisper the words in her ear.

“Oh, what a load of crap! So you challenged yourself to write about how the world’s never gonna give you a fair shot? Please, you could do that in your sleep!”

“I wasn’t challenging myself, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I get it now. You’re insane and stupid!”

“3 o’ clock. Saturday. Movies. Don’t you dare be late.”

Tag List

@frontmanash @goeatsomelife @flameraine @here-for-the-uproars @cxddlyash @1-irwin-94 @sparkling-calm @tea4sykes @youngblood199456 @5-seconds-of-obsession @gosh-im-short @aquarius-hood1996 @talkfastromance4 @itjustkindahappenedreally @philthepegacorn @boomerash

#high #calum hood #calum hood fic #5sos #galcal irwin

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yanjuniverse · 4 years

Text

How Should It Be - Xiao Gui/Wang Linkai One Shot

[a/n: ah yes back at it again with another cringey one shot. i meant to post this on 5/20 but i couldn’t get my brain juices to work and finish it until tonight. i hope you guys like it. big reminder that i love wang linkai ❤️. sorry if the fic is a mess btw lol.] / master list

He sags down in his seat, visibly defeated by whatever was on his mind. A pout is prominent on his lips as his best friend cracks a smile, clapping him on the back before wrapping his arm around him, their bodies crashing together.

“Why the long face, Gui? Don’t you know that frowning gives you wrinkles?” he asks. If Linkai wasn’t so down in the dumps, he would’ve smacked the exaggerated frown right off of Chengcheng’s face right then.

Fan Chengcheng has never been the kind to just let Linkai live in his misery. Oh, no. Fan Chengcheng has to twist the knife after he stabs you. Sure, the guy’s quiet when you first meet him. But once you get to know him the way Linkai knows him, it’s a done deal. Your soul is his and there’s no getting rid of him.

“You saw my butthole once, Kai. We’re practically blood brothers now.”

Don’t ask. Linkai is begging.

“Nothing,” he shifts back into the ratty couch. He thinks for a second about how Xingjie is always babbling on and on about how he should replace it (as if Linkai has the money to replace this old hand-me-down couch. He’s a soundcloud rapper. How much does Xingjie even thinks he makes off of his beats?). Something about how just because it’s old, doesn’t mean it’s vintage. Linkai thinks that maybe the spring that pops out of the second cushion of the faded blue sofa may have caught Xingjie by surprise one too many times. That’s why Linkai always sits on the arm rest or lays like a starfish on the floor during movie nights. You’ll never catch him squished in the middle of Yanchen and Xingjie on their Thursday night Grey’s Anatomy marathons (per Yanchen’s request because how could one look at the actual sun and say no?).

He’s picking at the frayed edge of the sofa when Chengcheng says, “It doesn’t look like nothing.” He suddenly snaps, reaching into his pocket before pulling out a pair of his (nonprescription) glasses. He pushes them up on his nose then opens his phone to his notes. Linkai sees him type “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH GUI TODAY” and watches him not only put it in bold print but italics as well. “I think we should start a diary of some sort. My sister has one of those and she says it’s all a part of a healthy life style. Wait, should we buy a Password Journal for you? Okay, wait Chengcheng. Too far off track. Let’s focus on the now.” He recomposes himself before saying, “First of all, do you know your rising sign? It could help explain a lot of things.”

Linkai thinks that there’s a reason for everything. He thinks that you never meet a person by mistake. But sometimes...he has to question his life mottos as Chengcheng waves his hand and tells him he’ll make his birth chart from scratch, all he needs is the time he was born (because Chengcheng’s already memorized that he was born on May 20, 1999 in the Fujian Province).

“Chengcheng, I promise on my mother that I won’t judge you. Just tell me if you were dropped on your head as a baby or not.“ He’s desperate at this point. There’s no way somebody just wakes up and makes the conscious decision to be Fan Chengcheng. Not any sane person, that is.

“Astrology is a very serious science, Gui and I will not stand for your bashing!” Chengcheng whines.

Likai gives him side eyes. “Didn’t you only get into astrology because Justin said you were a Gemini and he liked that?”

“No!” But the blush rising on his cheeks says otherwise. “Look. This isn’t about me! This is about you! What’s your deal?”

The older one shakes his head, throwing himself back against the couch and hoping that the weird stain to his left would manifest into a blackhole and swallow him hole. He crosses his arms and taps his shoe against the ground, eyes glued to the ceiling popcorn and wondering who the hell even thought that shit was cute. He starts to wonder how much he could pay Chengcheng to eat it when the doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it,” Chengcheng says. “I’m expecting a package!” As he gets up, he throws a cushion at his roommate before hopping away.

Linkai shuts his eyes, too exhausted to even fight back. Maybe it is his package. Maybe it’s Justin. Maybe they have another “date” in Chengcheng’s room (it’s not a real date if Justin doesn’t know it’s a date).

He’s about to drift to sleep when another cushion hits his chin, causing him to bite his tongue.

He’s on his feet and ready to throw hands when his eyes land on (a very pissed looking) you.

Honestly. He’s not surprised. You have this sour face all day and all night and it’s to the point where he’s starting to consider having Chengcheng put together your birth chart so that he can understand just that much more about you.

He crosses his arms. “And what is the problem today, princess?” he raises his eyebrows. He leans down, teasingly close, and wrinkles his nose. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Don’t look so stressed,” you scoff. He pokes your forehead, causing you to stumble back a couple of steps. “Hey!” you whine, rubbing the spot. He can just hear you screaming in your head about how he has dirty finger nails or how his hands are always so cold and boney. You huff. “You’re gonna give me a headache.”

“You give me a headache every time you walk into the room,” he shrugs, pulling back. He throws himself onto the couch again and hears the floor rattle beneath him. Another complaint that you’ll throw at him is how he and Chengcheng should just move out of this ratty old place. (“And go where exactly?” “I don’t know! Go live with Zhengting! I heard he needs a roommate!” “You want us to live with Zhu Zhengting? He’ll be on China’s Most Wanted after he kills me and Chengcheng.”) You roll your eyes instead. “But go on. What did your best friend Wang Linkai do to piss you off today?”

“We had a lunch date!” you stomp your foot.

“A lunch date?!” Chengcheng repeats as he exists the kitchen, choking on the piece of bread he had shoved into his mouth. “You two go on dates?!”

Linkai snorts. Ever since Chengcheng found out the story of how you and Linkai met, he’s been begging for you two to fall in love. (“You met in college when she dropped her books and you helped her pick them up? Fingers lingering, eyes glazing over. Love blooming like spring cherry blossom-“ “Chengcheng, shut the actual hell up. I only helped her out because I’m not an asshole.” “Not an asshole? Have you met you?”). Chengcheng says that he’s read a lot of fan fictions. He knows how this will turn out. Apparently, he’s taking bets alongside Chen Linong and Lin Yanjun as to when you two will finally get together. But jokes on them because you are denser than a book.

According to Chengcheng, it’s not your fault because apparently Linkai has terrible game. His idea of flirting with you is to flake on you half the time, watch you get riled up then pat your head and walk away after you get done ranting to him. Linkai doesn’t call that game. He calls that tolerance because some of this shit you put him through makes his head spin in circles. Plus, he’s got an image to uphold. Xiao Gui AKA.IMP cannot go around braiding flower crowns and singing to the birds like this is some kind of Disney film. He’s still trying to live down that time Xukun posted a picture of him coloring in a coloring book on his instagram story (Ziyi still sends him children’s coloring books every holiday since. Whether Linkai fills them out or not is his business and his business only).

He thinks today is going to be a bad day. He thinks it’ll be one of those days where the two of you will fight to no ends and there’s literally nothing he can do to make you feel better. He hates to admit it but he likes those kind of days because they always end with the two of you laying in his bed. Those are the nights he’ll hold you and wipes your tears, whispering a mantra of “Yes, I’m an idiot” and “I’m sorry, it’s my fault for not cherishing you.” He likes those nights because even though you get on his last nerves, he’ll be willing to admit defeat if that means he’ll get to wake up with you beside him.

“Honestly, Linkai. I don’t even know why I try with you sometimes,” you groan, setting down the bag of food in your hands onto the coffee table with one too many water stains. “Chengcheng, come join us for lunch.”

“Oh, I don’t wanna intrude on your date,” he says.

You smile at him. “It’s not an actual date.“

There’s a weird look on your face as you say that. It’s a look you get that Xiao Gui has never been able to read. Your smile is big but your eyes never seem to match. Your shoulders visibly sag and your movements slow for a second before you seem to realize what you’re doing and get back to being normal. “Come!”

“No,” Linkai plops down on the floor next to you. “He has a lab with Justin due at midnight tonight. He needs to leave.”

“Hm? You keep tabs on me?” Chengcheng has a shit eating grin on his face which quickly disappears as Linkai scoffs.

“No. You’re wearing cologne for once and don’t look oily. From just that, I know you’re going to meet Justin,” he says. “You usually smell like terrible B.O. and your hair looks dry. As for your project, you have it written on your calendar inside of a big red heart. I saw it when I went to steal the five bucks from your dresser earlier.” Chengcheng sputters, face red with embarrassment.

You swat Linkai’s shoulder. “Leave him alone,” you frown. “Don’t worry about him, Cheng. You always look and smell great to me!” you grin encouragingly before turning back to Linkai again to whisper yell. “He has a crush. Don’t tell me you’ve never gotten dressed up for somebody you liked.”

“Hey!” he says louder than you expected considering this was supposed to be a hushed conversation. “I’m wearing the jeans you said make my ass look fat,” he retorts. You simply roll your eyes before returning to Chengcheng. Once again, you’ve reminded not only Linkai but the world that you are denser than a book. He makes a face. “You expect me to read your mind and yet you never seem to be able to read mine,” he mutters under his breath, forcefully stabbing into his rice.

“What was that?” you turn back to him. He shakes his head, shoveling a load of food into his mouth to keep you from pressing. You thankfully don’t and once again, turn to Chengcheng. “I think you look amazing. Really. Go get him! He’ll be in your arms in no time!”

“Thanks, jiejie!” the dopey boy grins. “I’ll be on my way then. Be back tomorrow morning. Don’t have too much fun while I’m gone!” he winks. He’s out the door before Linkai can kill him (as if Linkai even had the energy to do so).

He’s too busy dissecting his meat to notice your cold stare. You have to clear your throat for him to look up and see your face. He groans, “What the hell did I do now?”

“You should be more supportive of Chengcheng.”

“More supportive? Any more supportive and I might as well just text Justin and say ‘Hey dinghead! Chengcheng is in love with you!’” he scoffs. “Honestly, it doesn’t get any more supportive than me.” He’s actually offended that you don’t think he’s all for Chengstin. Linkai is the vice president of the Chengstin fanclub, only coming second to You Zhangjing. “Who do you think always makes sure there’s ice cream in the fridge when Justin comes over? Who do you think hops off our shitty ass wifi when Justin comes to watches movies? Who the fuck ran across town just to fight with sneaker heads to get Justin the newest pair of shoes because Chengcheng was stuck in class? Have you ever had to fight a sneak head, YN? Have you?” His eyes are wild as if he’s seen some things he’d rather not talk about.

You sigh. “I just think you need to be nicer to him,” you shrug.

“Last week you told me not to let Chengcheng step all over me,” Linkai points his chopstick accusingly at you.

“Because you were deadass tired and up doing his laundry while he slept!” you exclaim.

Linkai snorts. You’re honestly a walking contradiction when it comes to him. “Just eat and be quiet. I’ve already got a headache. Don’t make my stomach upset too with all of your nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense, Linkai!”

“If it’s coming from you, it is.” He shuts his foam to-go plate and stands to his feet before you could give him another earful. “I’m gonna go get a drink. Want anything? Water? A soda? A shot of vodka?”

“Ten more minutes with you makes the last option sound more appeasing than it should,” you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Nobody is forcing you to be here,” he reminds you, patting your head as he walks away. When he returns, he’s made two pretty drinks and winks at you. Bottoms up, his eyes say.

“Really? Drinking on a Tuesday?” you scoff.

“Whether it’s a Tuesday afternoon or a Saturday night, you will always find a reason to complain,” he replies. You roll your eyes, taking a sip and feeling the alcohol burn down your throat. You grimace before setting it back down on the table. “So what do you wanna do now, hm? Watch a movie? Make me watch you online shop?”

“Maybe I could put make up on you and do your hair,” you suggest.

It’s his turn to roll his eyes. “You say that everyone elses’ boy friends do this for them and yet, I feel as though I’m the only one.”

“Boyfriend?” you repeat, completely disregarding anything else he had said.

“Boy. Space. Friends,” he says before leaning back onto his hands. “Why? Do you wanna remove the space in between us?” he wiggles his eyebrows before swooping in close to you, noses bumping. You freeze at this. “What?” he smirks when you don’t push him away like usual. “You actually thinking about kissing me this time?”

You scoff, shaking your head and moving away from him. “Wang Linkai,” you scoff again. “You really are something else. You know that? Kiss you? My best friend? I’d rather eat sand or-“ You stop, looking at him and seeing the way his eyes cast down for a second. “What?”

He looks back up. “Nothing,” he says before pulling himself to his feet again. He stretches his arms over his head and yawns. “Come. Let’s go shop. Or something. I don’t know.” He shakes his head and reaches for his drink. Maybe he shouldn’t have poured so much alcohol into his drink. One sip and he’s already a mess. “What?” He notices you still haven’t moved from your spot on the floor. “Hurry up and put on your jacket. Or do I have to so it for you?” He makes a swipe to grab your arm but you pull back, holding it against your chest. “YN, what?” he sighs, a bit annoyed. “Are you mad at what I just did? Look, I’m sorry. Let’s just-“

“Linkai,” you frown. “Why do you look so sad?”

“It’s nothing,” he replies, walking around and looking for his keys.

“It’s doesn’t seem like nothing to you.” Your words are careful, almost as if you’re trying to find the right wire to cut in order for the bomb not to explode. It’s always like that when the two of you argue this deeply. And sadly, it always ends with somebody crying.

“Because it’s never anything to you!” he throws a hand down dramatically. “So like. Let’s go because I’m not going to do this today!”

“Do what today?” you ask, standing to your feet. He shakes his head and makes it towards the door when you grab his arm. He instantly spins around and pins you against the wall, arms encasing you. You narrow your eyes at him. “What’s your deal?” you huff.

“It’s not even a bit obvious to you?” He’s smiling like a deviant. Like you’re just playing into one of his cold jokes. “Are you really that stupid?”

“What did I do to you?” you cross your arms.

“Everything,” he says, eyes casting downwards. You feel your heart starting to hammer as you realize he’s staring right at your lips. “You waltz into my life and make it absolute hell. You expect me to just know what’s on your mind. You expect me to just know what makes you happy and what makes you sad. You expect me to just know these things and I don’t and it makes me so tired and yet...” he laughs coldly. “And yet when I look at you, I want to be defeated. I want to fall at my knees at your mercy. It’s been like this since the day we met.” His hand slowly makes its way up to your cheek, cupping the glowy red flesh between his fingers. “C’mon, YN. How should it be? What do I have to do to make you like me as much as I like you?”

“Linkai, you idiot! If you liked me, you should’ve just told me!” you pout.

“And then you would’ve found something to complain about then as well,” he rolls his eyes. “Honestly, YN. Just lighten up with me sometimes. I’m trying.”

“You’re always trying,” you smile. “That’s what I like about you.”

“You wanna know a secret?” he asks, leaning in closely. “I only try his hard for you.”

And as his lips finally land on yours, you realize that this is exactly how it should have been all along.

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belphieslilcow · 4 years

Text

Unnamed Smopkins Fic Part 2

Jimmy’s brain tries to justify what he saw last night and now has to deal with the idea of being the Gary Guardian(tm)

(CW: one instance of ableist language at the beginning)

Jimmy immediately slamming the door after seeing Gary would almost be funny if it wasn’t him in this situation. He wasn’t sure what was happening, there was no way in hell Crabblesnitch would actually let that psycho back to school, would he? Jimmy shook his head and fast walked out the front door, not bothering to muffle the slam this time.

He was sure he had to be dreaming, he must’ve passed out during the movie and is having a bad dream, yeah that must be it. Though there was a small part of his mind telling him he was as awake as ever and he didn’t want to chance it. He went out the way he came in, climbing over the front fence and riding his bike back to Blue Skies, not bothering to call anyone to tell them he was coming, he just needed to leave.

Jimmy groaned as a ray of light hit his eyes through a window, he didn’t feel like he slept at all. He felt something that felt like an armrest on his head and shot up, he looked around and recognized it as Edgar’s place, he thought that he was right, he must’ve not left and just crashed here. He breathed a sigh of relief, it was all a dream after all…

“Hey, Jim, you’re finally awake.”

He looked over and saw Edgar, sitting at the nearby table. “Finally? How long’ve I been out?”

Edgar looked to the digital clock on his stove, “Umm, I found you at around six this morning I think, I don’t know how long you were outside, but at least since then.”

“Wait, what do you mean found me?”

“We all thought you left after the movie so we went to bed after a bit, then when I woke up I looked outside and saw you face down in the grass next to your bike, so I brought you in.”

That made Jimmy’s heart sink, Gary really was there in his dorm, huh? He put his head in his hands and swore to himself.

“You staying for lunch or are you gonna head back out?”

Jimmy got up and stretched, “No, I’ll leave, I got something waiting for me back at school.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath and saw a small smile come from Edgar, “Well you better not keep her waiting, see ya later, Jim.”

Jimmy sighed, he wished it was a girl waiting for him he waved bye and stepped out of the trailer door, after almost getting blinded by the afternoon sun, he jumped on his bike and made his way back to Bullworth.

Before getting back, he made a pit stop in town for some quick breakfast, or lunch, considering it was almost noon. He chose to eat outside, it was nice weather and more importantly, he saw some of the Nerds at a table and didn’t want to get sucked into another Grottos and Gremlins game. It was one of the slowest lunches he’s ever had, the food itself was kinda garbage, but he wanted to waste the most time he could.

He was both mad at Crabblesnitch for letting Gary back into school and rooming them up, but also at himself for not realizing it’d be Gary sooner, he could be such an idiot sometimes. Eventually he figured he better just go and get it over with, he threw away his trash in the nearby can, he debated getting his bike from the nearby garage, but figured he wasn’t in that mucha of a hurry and started his way back.

As soon as he stepped foot on campus, he heard Miss Danvers on the intercom, “JIMMY HOPKINS, PLEASE COME TO THE FRONT OFFICE, IMMEDIATELY.”

He groaned to himself, and sulked his way towards the office, giving the occasional wave to the various students walking around. He felt a pang of nostalgia as he walked up the stairs, it reminded him of when he first got here, the feeling sucked.

He eventually reached the second floor and saw Miss Danvers, she had her usual scowl painted on her face, occasionally looking to the side.

“Well, James, glad you could finally join us, Dr. Crabblesnitch is waiting in his office.” She suddenly jolted her gaze to the left again, “Not you, you’re staying here until he wants you back there again.”

Jimmy looked over to where Miss Danvers was looking and just as he thought, there was Gary. He slowly walked in and occasionally glanced over where he was sitting, Gary’s hand was covering his mouth and he had a giant bruise on his right eye, he almost seemed like he was shaking, but he didn’t have enough time to really look and made his way into Crabblesnitch’s office.

Jimmy sat down in one of the empty chairs in front of the desk, all too used to getting speeches from him.

“James, was something we discussed yesterday unclear? Did I or did I not tell you to make sure Mr. Smith behaved?”

Now it was Jimmy’s turn to scowl, “Well you didn’t tell me it’d be Gary. Why the hell is he here, anyway?”

“Mr. Smith is back in Bullworth because his parents were outraged at finding out their son was put in an asylum and demanded he be put back in.” He cleared his throat before continuing, “I for one thought that because of his… misdemeanor last year, he wouldn’t be welcomed by the other students.”

Crabblesnitch stood up and started pacing around the room, “I figured that since you’re the, ahem, ‘king of the school’, if you’re protecting him, then we won’t have to worry about any potential lawsuits with him getting killed.

“I’m not going to be his bodyguard, get someone else.” Jimmy started to get up before a hand on his shoulder pushed him back down.

“James, I’ll be straight with you, the Smith’s have paid our school a good sum of money to make sure their son stays here, I wouldn’t do it if I hadn’t already gotten the check.”

Jimmy looked up and into Crabblesnitch’s eyes as he continued, “This is not a choice, Hopkins, there is not refusing, you will protect Mr. Smith, are we understood?”

The grip on his shoulder had gotten tighter and tighter as he spoke, Jimmy shook his hand off and spoke, “If I really don’t have a choice then fine.”

“That’s the spirit, boy! Now as I’m sure you saw when you walked in, he’s in the reception area, you’ll need to walk him back to your dorm, when classes start you’ll be getting the same schedule, you may not let him leave your sight, Hopkins.”

He then pulled out a small sheet of paper, and handed it over to Jimmy. “Mr. Smith is on medication now, so he should be much calmer, these are the times he must take it,he has his own notes, but he is not allowed to miss a dose.”

Crabblesnitch took a deep breath, “Now, if there are no more questions, you may go.”

Jimmy’s head was rattling with all the information he’d been given, he felt like he was going to be taking care of a dog, not protecting some rich snobs bratty kid, but he got up and went out the door. He looked back over at Gary, he was now tapping his fingers against his knees, though his face looked strangely calmed, it gave Jimmy a weird feeling in his chest. He walked over, opening his mouth to say something to his old rival, but without a word, Gary stood up, waiting for Jimmy to walk out.

“Uh, okay, I guess we’re going back to my- our room now.” He waited for Gary to take the lead as he used to, but he just looked him in the eyes.

After a couple seconds he finally spoke, “Then, let’s go?” He tilted his head in confusion and gestured his hand out, not so subtly telling Jimmy to go first.

Jimmy nodded and started walking out the door, glancing back every so often to make sure Gary was following, and they eventually were walking side by side, on their way back to their doom, and to their new lives.

#smopkins #bully scholarship edition #canis canem edit #surprised i was able to continue writing this #but hell yeah

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moonb-eam · 4 years

Note

from tarot list: DEVIL?!?!?!?!? PLEASE?!?!?!?¿

the devil: failure, lust, temptation

“you want it too”

possible AUs/settings/ideas: desire, nsfw, unrequited love, demon au

tarot card prompts

alright listen anon i’m so sorry this was supposed to be SHORT and SEXY but instead it’s almost 8k of shmoop, which….are we even that surprised anymore

still, i hope you like it, darling 🧡

this was a pretty perfect prompt for a halloween-theme fic so here we goooo 👻

no sweeter innocence (than our gentle sin)

read on ao3

It begins with Eliott coming out of his room at seven p.m. to tell Idriss and Sofiane that he’s no longer coming to the Halloween party they’re hosting that night.

He’s groggy from a nap, still suffering from a headache that’s plagued him all day, and he’s desperate to dive back under the covers, to lock himself in his room and watch black and white monster movies until it’s safe to come out.

He’s not prepared for the looks of utter betrayal that meet him in the living room, Sofiane and Idriss freezing in the middle of stretching swaths of fake cobwebs across the ceiling, a techno mix of the Monster Mash playing in the background.

“But Eliott,” Sofiane says, eyes wide, “you promised.”

Eliott tries a weak argument, saying he doesn’t have a costume, definitely doesn’t have time to make one now, but that is quickly shut down by Idriss, who calls in a last-minute favour from Imane.

Do you or any of your friends have something Eliott can wear? He didn’t plan anything because he’s lame.

Just after nine p.m. Eliott opens their apartment door and a cascade of loud, giggling girls spills into the entryway, one of them wearing a skeleton onesie holding up a bottle of white wine like a ceremonial offering and another, dressed as Wonder Woman, thrusting a cloth bag into Eliott’s face.

“Eliott, yeah? Here’s your costume, gorgeous.”

So, it ends with Eliott standing in his kitchen, holding a cup of the “mystery punch,” and wearing a full angel costume, wings and halo and all.

(Or maybe, this is where it really begins.)

He’s alone, nursing his cup of disgustingly sweet punch slowly, closing his eyes so the neon colours from Idriss’s blacklight projectors are nothing more than muted flashes behind his lids. His headache is pretty well gone, but he’s tired, a bit grumpy, and the last thing he wants to do is throw himself into the pulsing mob of people taking over his apartment.

He drums his fingers restlessly across his leg, tapping out the beat of an imagined song. He thinks about sneaking onto the balcony for a cigarette, thinks about letting himself be carried away by the windy night, thinks about laying down in his dark room and throwing layers of blankets over himself until the throbbing bass of Idriss’s music is soft enough to be indiscernible from his own pulse.

He glances at the stove, at the digital clock displaying 23:00 in tiny blue numbers.

One hour, he tells himself. I’ll stay for one hour, then I’m going to bed.

“Yo.” It’s Idriss, appearing at Eliott’s side out of thin air, holding onto a plastic chalice filled with pale liquid that glows neon under the black lights. A gold crown is sitting crooked on the top of his head and he’s wearing an expression Eliott is immediately suspicious of.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing. I just think you should come into the living room. You know, to socialize.”

Eliott frowns. “I’m socializing.” He says it a bit defensively, a bit embarrassed, waving his free hand between them. “I’m literally socializing with you right now.”

“Not with me.” Idriss hisses, eyes darting to the kitchen doorway. “You should be socializing with other people. With the people in the living room.”

“What?”

“Socializing, Eliott. In the living room.”

“Why do you keep saying those words like that? Is it supposed to be a euphemism for something?”

Idriss sighs, long and loud, tilting his head back to the ceiling, his crown sliding further back on his head.

“Just know,” Idriss tells the ceiling, “I tried to be subtle. I really did.” He returns his gaze to Eliott. “That guy in Imane’s class you like is here.”

For a moment, Eliott genuinely has no idea what he’s talking about. “Who?”

Idriss stares at him. “Seriously? The guy you’ve been talking about for months? You know, the one with…” Idriss rests his elbows on the counter, blinking up at Eliott dreamily, “…eyes so blue I could drown in them.”

“My voice doesn’t sound like that.” Eliott argues automatically, which is good. It’s good he’s able to get an entire sentence out despite how his brain is whiting out in panic.

“It does when you’re in love.” Idriss coos, bopping Eliott on the nose.

“I’m not in love,” Eliott says, horrified. He darts his eyes over to the kitchen doorway, still thankfully empty. “I’m not…I just…”

Idriss laughs, gently patting Eliott on the arm. “I know. I’m just messing with you.” He dunks his cup into the punch, taking a loud slurp off the top when it resurfaces. “But he actually is here.”

“Oh god.”

“Which is why,” Idriss says, “you should come into the living room. Imane can introduce you.”

“Oh god.” As if the idea of leaving the safety of the empty kitchen wasn’t already terrifying. Eliott has been crushing on this boy for weeks from afar, ever since he saw Imane walking with him across campus one golden afternoon in September. Oh, he thought, taking in a small frame, bouncing brown hair, and a sweet face. He’s cute. Then Imane had said something that made the boy laugh, and Eliott felt his entire chest cave in.

Oh, he thought, clutching onto his takeaway cup of tea like a life preserver—helpless, unmoored, devastated. He’s beautiful.

Ever since then, Eliott’s life has been a swinging pendulum of desperately wanting to see him again, and then running in the opposite direction when he does see him again, overtaken by infatuated panic. One time he actually leapt behind a trash bin. He’s not proud of it.

“Eliott, come on.” Idriss ducks to meet his eyes. “You’re on home turf, you’ve got your boys to back you up, and you look hot as fuck.” He flicks at the halo on Eliott’s head. “There are literally no better circumstances in which to shoot your shot with your dream man.”

“Idriss, I’m wearing wings.”

“And? Maybe he’s got a thing for that.”

Despite himself, Eliott bursts into laughter. “Jesus Christ.”

“Calling in favours from your friends. Okay, I see how it is.” One of his hands falls to Eliott’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Seriously, Eliott, listen. If you’re really uncomfortable you don’t have to talk to him. You don’t have to do anything. But I’ve had to hear you waxing poetic about this guy for weeks, and I want this to happen for you. I really do.” He sighs. “It’s the romantic in me.”

“What if he doesn’t like me?” Eliott mumbles, and suddenly it’s like he’s in primary school all over again, staring down at his shoes while he asks Thomas Chartrand if he wants to share Eliott’s pencil crayons with him.

Only now there’s Idriss, staring at Eliott like he’s just asked him the easiest question in the world. “Then he’s an idiot, Eliott, because you’re amazing.”

The words could sound like trite placation from someone else, but there’s an easy surety in Idriss’s voice that makes something rattle free in Eliott’s chest, something ugly and heavy that he hadn’t realized had been weighing him down.

He takes a steadying breath. “Fine, fine, okay. I’ll come. I’m just gonna…” He wiggles his cup in the air. “…fortify.”

Idriss cackles as he strolls out of the kitchen. “Atta boy, Demaury!”

As soon as he’s out of sight, Eliott collapses back into the counter, knocking back the contents of his cup.

He’s psyching himself up too much, and he’s painfully aware of it, of the way his heart is stuttering in his chest, the way his fingers are restlessly dancing over his now empty cup. He’s so nervous just from the the thought of seeing him, and it’s ridiculous, it’s completely ridiculous because Eliott doesn’t even know if anything is going to happen, just because—

“Oh wow. An angel.”

Eliott’s head snaps up, and of course, of fucking course.

Just like that, he’s there, standing in the entryway of Eliott’s kitchen, plucked from the deep caverns of his thoughts and made real. He’s dressed in black jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt, he’s holding a beer bottle loosely by the neck and he’s wearing a smile that could only be described as wicked.

There’s a chance Eliott might pass out.

Then his eyes land on the two small, red horns nestled in the boy’s hair, and he lets out a hysterical bark of a laugh.

The boy’s grin deepens. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” He says, stepping into the kitchen, to where Eliott is stuck still at the counter, fingers gripping tightly onto the edge. “An angel and the devil walk into a party. The set up to a joke we’ve all heard.”

“Yeah,” Eliott says, scrambling for something to say. “Except I live here.”

“I know you do.”

Eliott blinks.

“Sorry.” The boy laughs, holding his hands up. “That sounded weird. I mean, you’re Eliott.” There’s another pause, and the boy rushes to fill it. “I know Sofiane and Idriss through Imane and they, uh, they talk about you all the time. I’m Lucas,” he tacks onto the end, tapping the centre of his chest with his beer bottle. “I’m in Imane’s year.”

It’s a lot of information to take in at once: that the boy’s name is Lucas, that Lucas already knew who Eliott was when he arrived tonight, the apparently Idriss and Sofiane have talked to Lucas about Eliott before. Apparently they do it all the time.

Eliott is going to have words with them about that later.

But right now—

“It’s nice to meet you, Lucas.” Eliott says, extending a hand out. The gesture feels a little formal in the setting they’re inhabiting: the empty plastic cups and neon lighting and distant drunken shouting, but it also feels like it might be the right one.

Lucas smiles, and grasps onto Eliott’s hand and that, holy shit that feels right.

“It’s nice to meet you, Eliott the angel.” Lucas parrots, and he winks.

It really shouldn’t work. It’s not even a good wink: it’s lopsided and awkward but Eliott still flushes from it, and then when Lucas huffs a laugh, lowering his eyes like he’s embarrassed, something feather-light and dangerously fond stirs under Eliott’s sternum. He follows Lucas’s gaze to where their hands are still locked together.

“Do you, ah…” Eliott licks his lips, shifting awkwardly on the spot. “Do you want to dance?”

Lucas’s gaze snaps up to his. “Yeah.” He say excitedly, his face lighting up in another smile. There’s a pink flush on his cheeks that Eliott wants to memorize, to try and recreate on his sketchpad later. “Yeah, come on.”

Eliott nods, and leaves his empty cup behind, letting Lucas tug him out of the kitchen by his hand, letting himself, finally, be pulled into the chaotic throng of people.

Somewhere, faraway, Eliott thinks he can hear a faint sound—maybe it’s a choir singing, maybe it’s the voice of god, if they exist, or the voice of the universe, but what ever it is, it’s telling Eliott to pay attention, not to forget what happens next.

Get ready, the voice, song, sound says to him. Get ready, Eliott.

Eliott can feel the wind racing past his ears. Like he’s at the top of a slide.

Let’s go.

🕸

It all feels like a dream.

There’s Eliott, dancing to Electric Feel with a boy, but not just any boy. It’s Lucas, the boy Eliott has been infatuated with from the first moment he saw him, and it’s not just dancing, it’s moving freely, rapturously, forgetting that he’s in a corner of the living room, forgetting that he’s inside his own apartment.

He’s aware only of Lucas: of Lucas’s hands ghosting touches along his waist, down to his hips; of Lucas’s toothy smile and his loud laugh; of the smell of Lucas’s hair when he gets bumped into Eliott’s chest, the feel of him pressed close.

Lucas giggles at Eliott’s flailing dance moves, then tries to copy him, and Eliott forgets to feel self-conscious. He expected he would be nervous around Lucas, and he is, nervous in a way that feels familiar and new at the same time, but it also feels so easy with Lucas: to dance with him under Idriss’s shitty black lights, to laugh with him when one of them trips and they collapse into one another, to sing in broken English along to the songs they both know.

It feels so easy. Like breathing. Like falling into the best dream Eliott has ever had.

He catches Idriss’s gaze across the room, and when Idriss points at Lucas and gives Eliott a conspicuous thumbs-up, Eliott only grins.

They give up dancing to join a semi-circle of truth or dare spilling onto the floor form the sofa, something that seems like a bad idea to Eliott when they first sit down, but turns out is a fantastic one when Lucas picks dare and Alexia, the girl who brought Eliott his costume, dares him to kiss the most attractive person in the game.

A series of oooooh’s rise up from the other players, but Eliott is barely able to register them before he feels warm, soft lips pressing to his cheek.

Everything stops.

Or more like, everything moves slowly. Like Eliott is underwater.

He can feel the weight of the collective gaze of the circle, expressions ranging from surprise to delight to smugness. Someone next to Eliott makes a swooning sound.

Lucas’s hand is on Eliott’s knee, giving him leverage to reach his cheek, and when he pulls away, Eliott can hear him make a small gasp, an exhale that shakes and shivers and tickles Eliott’s skin with warmth.

The entire moment lasts, in reality, a handful of seconds.

Then Lucas’s lips are gone, his hand is gone, and Eliott is physically holding himself back from following him, from kissing Lucas’s cheek, or maybe kissing him on the mouth, pressing him down into the carpet and making him gasp again, or maybe just leaning close enough to ask, Did you mean that? Did you kiss me on the cheek because you want to kiss me on the mouth? Do you like me? Do you feel as hopeless as I do right now? Do you also feel like you’re drowning?

Eliott doesn’t know if he’s ever wanted anything so badly as he wants to know the answers to those questions.

The game moves on, and it’s Lucas’s turn. He sends it right back to Alexia, asking her to reveal her most embarrassing sex fantasy when she picks truth.

Instead of shying away, she scoffs at Lucas. “That’s so fucking easy, Lallemant. It’s to do it in the dance studio on campus. You know,” she wiggles her eyebrows, “where all the mirrors are.”

That gets a riotous cheer from the group, and Eliott joins in, letting it distract him from the lingering sensation of Lucas’s lips on his cheek, from the obvious way Lucas is avoiding Eliott’s gaze.

Then, it comes to him.

“Eliott. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” Eliott answers immediately.

Alexia smiles, resting her chin in her folded hands. “If you had to kiss someone in the circle, who would it be and why?”

Eliott thinks he’s beginning to understand Alexia, the more time he spends with her. Underneath that sweet, bubbly exterior there lurks an evil mastermind.

Someone else in the circle, a girl who Eliott thinks is dressed as Britney Spears, complains that the question is too similar to Lucas’s, but Alexia shushes her.

“Well, I mean,” Eliott shrugs, painfully aware of how intently Lucas is staring at the floor now, like he’s about to find the meaning of life there. “I would choose Lucas.”

Another chorus of oooooh’s rise up, but Eliott is only aware of Lucas’s head snapping up, the tops of his cheeks coloured that same pretty pink Eliott saw in the kitchen.

He wants to feel that colour it under his fingertips.

“The second part of the question is why,” Alexia sing-songs from her spot on the sofa.

Eliott nods. He doesn’t think there’s an answer he can give to this question that won’t sound completely wanky. Saying because he’s beautiful would be trite, and a bit cheesy, and saying because I’ve had a crush on him since the moment I first saw him would probably make him sound like a creep. So, Eliot tries to go for something simple. Something true.

“Because I can’t imagine kissing anyone else.”

He’s not expecting the reaction that gets.

Two girls across from him in matching doll costumes let out loud, drawn-out awwww’s. The boy sitting next to him in a football jersey cheers, slapping Eliott on the back. Another girl in the circle, wearing a cowgirl outfit, practically melts, “And they’re wearing matching costumes! Fuck me, that’s so cute!”

Then, there’s Lucas.

Lucas, who’s finally looking at Eliott again, his mouth dropped open into a shocked o, his eyes wide and bright.

Eliott now wonders if that was the wrong thing to say. Maybe it was too much for Lucas. They’ve been flirting, yeah, but Eliott is working off of a month-long crush that’s growing helplessly worse with every minute he spends in Lucas’s presence. To Lucas, Eliott is sure he’s just a guy he met at a party.

Someone is telling Eliott to go, that it’s his turn, and he pulls himself out of his thoughts, locking on Sofiane’s warm, familiar face on the edge of the circle. He chooses Dare, and Eliott orders him to give an a capella rendition of Don’t Stop Me Now.

Sofiane does it happily, and as he’s bouncing around the edge of the circle, spouting Queen at the top of his lungs, Lucas is leaning into Eliott’s side, close enough to whisper in his ear,

“Is there somewhere quiet we can go?”

Eliott doesn’t even think about it before he nods, and this time he’s grabbing onto Lucas’s hand, helping him up from his spot on the floor, ignoring the conspiratorial looks being shot to them from everyone still in the game. The cowgirl winks at him.

He doesn’t know if Lucas is asking them go to somewhere where they can be alone, alone, but Eliott feels a little overwhelmed from the noise, a little sweaty under his robe, and he wants exactly what Lucas is asking for—somewhere quiet. Somewhere they can talk.

He leads Lucas back towards the kitchen, and on the way there they pass a group of boys huddled close together near the entrance. As they get close, Eliott can see one of them, tall, handsome and wearing a grey robe with a green pyramid taped to the front, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, hi Lucas.” He says cheerily, a smirk teasing a the corners of his mouth. “Where are you off to?”

“Nowhere.” Lucas replies, just as cheerily.

One of the other boys, blonde and dressed as a vampire, laughs. “Nowhere, huh? And who,” his eyes snap over to Eliott, “are you going nowhere with?”

Everyone turns to Eliott, and he feels his cheeks warm under their speculative gazes.

Lucas, though, rolls his eyes. “You guys know Eliott.” He says easily, tugging Eliott closer by their linked hands. “He lives here. With Sofiane and Idriss.” He points at each of the boys with his beer bottle as he lists their names. “This is Yann, Arthur and Basile.”

The third boy, Basile, sporting a head of curls and navy boiler suit, sticks a hand out to Eliott. “I mean, we’ve never met, but we’ve heard a lot about you, man.”

“Um.” Eliott reluctantly releases Lucas’s hand to shake the offered one. “Good things, I hope?”

“The best things,” Basile says sincerely. “In fact, the first time I heard about you was when Lucas—”

“Right, okay!” Arthur interrupts, yanking Basile away from Eliott by the back of his boiler suit. “Time for another drink, boys, or what?”

“Nice to meet you, man.” Yann claps Eliott on the shoulder, grinning. “I’m sure we’ll see you around.”

But instead of taking off to the kitchen, where the bowl of mystery punch and fridge stocked full with cheap beer and wine wait, they return to the living room, quickly swallowed up by the crowd that’s moving back to their tiny dance floor, Disturbia blasting from Idriss’s speakers.

Eliott spares a mournful thought for the inevitable neighbour complaints they’re going to get.

Then he feels a hand slide against his, fingers linking back together.

“You were taking me somewhere?”

And well, yeah. Eliott feels like he may have missed something with Lucas’s friends, some dramatic irony he’s not privy too, but he also has Lucas holding his hand, the memory of Lucas’s lips on his cheek, and Eliott wants to be alone with him. He wants it so badly.

“Yeah, just let me get some water.”

He fills an empty plastic cup from the sink and guides Lucas through the kitchen, to the hallway leading to their bedrooms, where Idriss set up a white sheet over a lamp with a sign hanging off of it that says, All trespassers will be haunted.

��Ah. So this is the part where you take me to your bedroom?” Lucas teases when they step around the makeshift ghost, bumping his shoulder against Eliott’s.

He wasn’t planning on it, but the suggestion, the curve of Lucas’s lips when he says it, sends Eliott into a tailspin of images: flashes of Lucas spread across his bed, sitting on his desk, standing in front of his window, his silhouette outlined by moonlight.

“No.” He blurts out, clearing his throat to mask the roughness of his voice. “I mean, I wasn’t planning, like I wasn’t asking you too…” His voice trails off, and he points behind Lucas, to where the door to the balcony is. “We can go outside.” He says helplessly, still recovering from the onslaught of decadent fantasy.

Lucas hums, turning to follow the direction of Eliott’s finger. “Actually, that sounds nice. It’s kinda hot in here, isn’t it?”

Eliott takes a deep breath. “Sure is.”

It’s blissfully cold out on the balcony, the ground littered with brown leaves that flutter and dance with every gust of biting wind. Lucas shivers, crossing his arms over his chest. He leans back against the door, gaze roaming to the apartment buildings across from them, to the streetlight on the corner, pale orange and flickering at odd intervals.

Eliott can hear faint music coming from another apartment, something dramatic, filled with bold, heavy organ. Below, there are groups of teenagers marching in a line down the street, capes, cloaks and long dresses billowing behind them, drunken laughter wrapping around their bodies like a well-worn blanket against the crisp autumn night.

The comparative quiet of the street, away from the chaos of the party, feels like something from a film: the flickering glow of the streetlight soft and knowing, the wind whispering with mystery when it curls around Eliott’s neck. It reminds him so much of what he used to love about Halloween when he was younger: the uncanny strangeness that always came with it, like the night itself was separate from linear time and space.

“I used to hate Halloween when I was kid,” Lucas says, his low voice breaking the spell of quiet.

Eliott turns to face him. In the blackened, star-touched night and the slanted glow from the streetlight, Lucas really could be an otherworldly creature, devil horns or no; something ageless and ancient, ethereal and terrifying.

“Why?”

Lucas rolls his beer bottle between his hands. “I used to hate being scared.” He says softly. “But I never wanted to tell anyone. I didn’t want to be seen as…weak, I guess. And then,” he shrugs, “it wasn’t easy, before my parents split. Holidays in general could be pretty hard.”

“I’m sorry,” Eliott says, and he knows the words themselves aren’t meaningful but he really means them. He can hear the exhaustion in Lucas’s words, a heaviness that speaks of burdens still being carried.

There’s a crease between his eyebrows. Eliott wants to kiss it away.

“No,” Lucas sighs, his head thudding back against the glass. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload that on you.”

“It’s okay.” Eliott tells him softly, tapping his fingers along the rim of his cup. “And I—I mean, I’m happy to listen to anything you want to tell me.”

“You’re easy to talk to.” Lucas says, and Eliott smiles. “I feel like I’ve known you for years.”

“Me too.”

They stare at each other across Eliott’s tiny balcony, both of them smiling, cheeks pink from the cold. Both of them imagining what would happen if they were to kiss. If it would make the world itself fall away from beneath their feet.

Eliott leans back against the railing, tilting his head up to the night sky, to the half moon cast in cloud, “I used to love Halloween.”

Lucas smiles, taking a shallow pull from his beer. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.” Eliott’s angel wings are squished against the railing, pressing into his shoulder blades. “I started planning my costumes in the summer, and I’d make most of them from scratch with my mom. I was…pretty intense about it.” He can see it so clearly in his mind, the endless hours of sewing and glueing, and he laughs, closing his eyes. “I always loved how strange it is. How there’s an entire day devoted to everything that’s otherworldly. To everything that we’re scared exists, but love to believe in. I dunno, to me it always felt like the night where anything was possible.”

He lets his voice trail off, lost in memories.

“What changed?” Lucas asks after a moment. “You said you used to love it.”

Eliott shrugs, but he knows the answer. He got older, he got diagnosed and he began distancing himself from anything that was weird, any interests that would make him seem too different. It aches to think about, like prodding at an old scar. “I got older. I changed.”

“Do you feel any different about it now?”

Eliott slowly opens his eyes, smiling when his gaze lands on Lucas. “I think I’m starting to.”

Lucas nods, a matching smile curling at the corners of his mouth, dimpling his cheeks. “You know what? Me too.”

God he’s so beautiful.

It’s the sight of him: the wide, pretty eyes, the pouting, pink lips, the smooth curve of his neck, but it’s also the knowledge of him, of Eliott seeing firsthand how funny and sincere, sweet and sarcastic he is. He thought having Lucas as a crush that existed inside his daydreams was damning enough, but he was in no way prepared for the reality of Lucas: the endlessly endearing imperfections of him.

With every second that passes, he’s sinking deeper into an ocean of hopeless infatuation.

Eliott registers another silence growing between them and he realizes he’s staring, making moon eyes at Lucas like he’s a devout art student who’s just stepped into the Louvre for the first time.

He drops his gaze, face warm, and takes a swig of water to play it cool, but somehow manages to miss his mouth entirely, cold water trickling down his neck to his white robe.

“Fuck.” Eliott sighs, wiping a hand down his chest. Reason number three-thousand and five why he should never try to play it cool.

There’s a clink of glass being set down on the ground.

“Oh no, Eliott,” Lucas says on a laugh, and Eliott’s vision is suddenly filled with glittering red horns poking out of fluffy brown hair, Lucas stepping close enough to him that, if Eliott wanted, he could tilt his head down to rest his chin on the top of Lucas’s head.

“That wasn’t very smooth,” Lucas teases him, plucking the plastic cup from Eliott’s grasp. Eliott watches, rapt, his hand hovering uselessly in the air, as Lucas takes a sip from it.

“I have to tell you,” Eliott says, eyes fixed on a single drop lingering on Lucas’s bottom lip. “I’m not very smooth. At all.”

Lucas grins, leaning over to set the cup down on one of the metal chairs pushed into the corner of the balcony.

“I have to tell you,” Lucas says, matching Eliott’s solemn tone, “I really, really like that you’re not.”

“You make me nervous.” Eliott blurts out, and he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, not when Lucas makes this shocked, delighted face, like Eliott just gave him the best gift in the world.

“Oh my god,” Lucas giggles, and he’s gripping onto the front of Eliott’s robe. “Are you kidding me? You make me nervous. You actual, literal angel.”

Eliott blinks. “I do?” He asks, but the end of the question is caught by Lucas’s lips pressing against his.

It’s not rushed, not a desperate crush of their mouths like Eliott had initially pictured, based on Lucas’s frenetic energy, his bursts of confidence that exploded like fireworks. It’s gentle, a barely-there touch of lips that makes Eliott’s head swim.

They part with a quiet smack, but Eliott catches him before he can get too far away, cupping Lucas’s cheeks in his hands and lowering his head to kiss Lucas like he’s been wanting to all night, deep and lingering, stroking his thumbs across the smooth skin of his cheeks.

Lucas lets out a low whine against Eliott’s lips. His hands find his waist, skirting around to his lower back, pressing into the base of his spine. His lips part Eliott’s on a gasp, and there’s Lucas’s tongue, warm and sweet, and Eliott presses forwards, tilting his head to try and get closer, closer, until his halo bonks into one of Lucas’s horns, and both of them snap their eyes open at the impact.

They burst into laughter, and that, if possible, might be more blissful than the kiss itself—Lucas collapsing into Eliott’s chest, snorting in a way that’ shouldn’t be cute but really is, his eyes scrunching up at the corners.

“Fucking hell,” Eliott sighs, still shaking with laughter. “Why am I even still wearing this?”

“It looks good.” Lucas says emphatically. He brings his hands to Eliott’s front, fiddling with the collar of the robe. “It suits you.” One of his fingers follows a trail of water that dribbled down Eliott’s chin to his neck, stopping just above his collarbone. Eliott shivers from the touch.

“Yeah, well,” one of his hands moves to the back of Lucas’s head, brushing through the soft strands of his hair. “The devil horns suit you.”

Lucas giggles, and then his tongue is retracing the trail of water back up, all the way to Eliott’s bottom lip, gently kissing it.

“I think,” Lucas murmurs, lips brushing against Eliott’s with every word, “now would be a good time to show me your room.”

Somehow, Eliott manages not collapse to the ground in a pile of aroused, lovesick boy.

Small miracles.

🕸

They re-enter the apartment much in the same way they left it: holding hands, stepping softly, suddenly shy once away from the secure anonymity of the wide open night.

The party is still going strong by the sounds of it, a roar of cheers filtering into the hallway from what sounds like a nail-bitingly close game of flip cup, but Lucas and Eliott don’t bother to take a look. As soon as Eliott opens the door to his room they’re tumbling inside, Lucas pressing him up against the wall and kissing him, hot and open-mouthed, gripping tightly onto his shoulders.

“Oh god.” Eliott groans, flailing a hand out to lock the door. “God.”

Lucas breaks away from the kiss on a giggle, clasping his hands behind Eliott’s neck. “It’s so weird to have you calling out for god when you’re dressed like that. I keep expecting him, her, or whoever they are to appear out of thing air, punishing me for corrupting their little angel.”

Eliott nearly chokes on his own tongue. “What is wrong with you? That sounds like something from an old porn magazine.”

“Eliott, come on. What are the chances that we dressed in these specific costumes? When will we ever get the chance to make these kinds of jokes again?”

Eliott laughs, tugging Lucas closer to him by his hips, flushing only a little bit from his use of we.

“I mean it.” Lucas says. “We’re in some prime role-play territory right now.”

“You think so? Then let me try.” One of Eliott’s hands slides down to Lucas’s ass, his head lowering to whisper in his ear. “Oh, Lucas. You’re making me so hot, so…horny.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Lucas yells, tearing himself from Eliott’s grasp and spinning into the centre of his room. The look of sheer disgust on his face sends Eliott over the edge, bursting into a fit of cackles that has him bending over at the waist.

“You’re the worst.” Lucas flings his horns at Eliott, the plastic headband bouncing off of Eliott’s arm. “I can’t believe I ever wanted to kiss you.”

I can’t believe it either, Eliott thinks, straightening up. He’s still laughing, the occasional giggle erupting like a bottle of champagne in his chest. Across the room, Lucas is biting down his bottom lip, like he’s trying not to smile, but Eliott’s making it really difficult.

Eliott thinks he might be a little bit in love with that expression.

“Do you still want to kiss me?”

Lucas sighs, makes a show of being annoyed. “Yeah. Unfortunately I still do, so. Get over here.”

Eliott takes a deep breath. He removes his halo, dropping it onto the floor next to Lucas’s horns. “You know,” he says, sliding the wings down his arms, “I didn’t even plan a costume for tonight. Someone lent me this one to wear last minute.” The wings land with a soft thud on the wood. “It’s funny, you could say that it was—”

“Fate.”

Eliott’s head snaps up. At once, the mood in the room shifts, the shadows on Eliott’s floor lengthening with the weight of their gazes. In the darkness, Lucas’s eyes are pools of endless blue-black.

“Yeah.” Eliott whispers. “Fate.”

“You could say,” Lucas swallows audibly when Eliott takes a step towards him, “that it’s the universe trying to tell us something.”

Eliott takes another step forwards. “And what do you think the universe is trying to tell us?”

He takes another step, and one that brings Lucas close enough to touch. Eliott’s hands clench and unclench at his sides.

“I don’t know.” Lucas murmurs. “Maybe it’s saying that we should kiss.”

Eliott doesn’t need to be told twice. His hands find Lucas’s cheeks, tilting his head back gently while he leans down.

“Or maybe,” Lucas breathes shakily against his mouth, “it’s trying to tell us that we should—”

This time, Eliott cuts him off with a kiss. It’s a bit rushed, a bit clumsy, but Eliott doesn’t think he can be blamed, not with how his entire body is aching to touch, to hold Lucas in his hands, to feel his soft lips parting under his.

Kissing Lucas is unlike anything Eliott has ever felt. He could drown in him. Easy as anything.

So he does.

He angles his head to the left and coaxes Lucas’s mouth open, both of them whimpering as the kiss deepens, pressing even more tightly together. Lucas hands are at his lower back again, but they travel upwards, smoothing across Eliott’s back, fingertips digging in on certain swipes of Eliott’s tongue.

It’s dynamic, kissing Lucas, an intoxicating, euphoric push and pull. Their kisses will smooth out, become cleaner, more chaste presses of lips as they catch their breath, and then one of them dives in again and they’re gone, panting into each other’s mouths, kissing hot and wet, then teasing and biting.

Lucas’s hands come up to Eliott’s shoulders and he’s gripping him, turning Eliott on the spot, and shoving him down to the mattress unceremoniously, Eliott’s breath leaving him in a surprised gasp. He props himself up on his elbows, then nearly collapses back down when he sees Lucas, staring down at him like he wants to devour him.

“God,” Lucas sighs, lowering himself to the mattress, crawling up the length Eliott’s body. “You’re so fucking hot,” he says, and his hands are sliding into Eliott’s hair, tugging at the strands as he kisses him.

Eliott’s hands immediately go for Lucas’s hips, palming the curve of his ass, sliding under his shirt to touch the soft skin at the dip of his spine. His robe was pulled up with Lucas, and the hem is at Eliott’s knees now, making it easy for him to raise one leg up, pressing the inside of his thigh to Lucas’s side.

Lucas breaks away from the kiss to glance down. “Are you…what are you wearing under this?”

“Just boxers.” Lucas’s head snaps back up, but Eliott refuses to be embarrassed by it. “What? It’s really hot in the apartment,” he says defensively, digging his knee into Lucas’s side.

“Oh my god.” Lucas whispers. He untangles one hand from Eliott’s hair to smooth over his knee, eyes on the place where the hem of the robe is falling away from Eliott’s legs. “Oh my fucking god, I’m going to come in my pants,” he says, voice pained, and Eliott laughs, tugging Lucas back down into another kiss.

There’s an urgency to their movements that wasn’t there before—their kisses are desperate, the movements of their hands frenzied, roaming across each other’s bodies like they’re trying to touch as much of the other person as they possibly can.

Eliott doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this before—burning from the inside out with a thick, aching rush of want. He feels wild with it, terrifyingly out of control but he doesn’t want to stop. He can’t imagine stopping.

He gasps when he feels one of Lucas’s hands move under the hem of his robe, gripping behind his knee and sliding up to his thigh. There are small fires left in the wake of his hands, as scorching hot as the bruise his teeth left on Eliott’s neck, as the gentle scrape of Lucas’s tongue as it trails across his collarbone.

“Fuck,” He whimpers when Lucas kisses him, wet and warm and sloppy and mind-numbingly good.

“I know.” Lucas breathes. His hand slides a little further up Eliott’s thigh, scratches gently against his skin. “I know, angel.” He shifts his hips, letting out a choked-off moan when their erections line up. “Oh, fuck, you’re so hard.” He grinds his hips down, tugging Eliott’s leg higher up on his side. He kisses up the side of Eliott’s neck, bites down on his ear lobe. “You’re so hard for me, baby.”

“Lucas.” Eliott pants, and he’s asking for something but he’s not even sure what, some desperate release from the rubber band being pulled taut along the line of his body. “Please.” He grips onto Lucas’s ass with both hands, guiding him down to meet his own jerking movements up, searching for more friction.

Except, Lucas lets go of Eliott’s thigh, gripping onto his hands instead, pulling them away from his ass and planting them on either side of Eliott’s head.

“Lucas.” Eliott whines, so overwhelmed, so close to the edge that he doesn’t even care how desperate he must look right now, trying to buck up into the empty air where Lucas is hovering over him. “Lucas, what the hell, let me touch you.”

Lucas grins. “Hmm, no. I think I like you like this.” He squeezes Eliott’s fingers, lowering his hips back down so he’s sitting in Eliott’s lap.

Eliott lets out a strangled noise at the sudden weight.

“I could ride you like this,” Lucas says causally, as though he’s telling Eliott what he had for breakfast that day. “Until you can’t take it anymore. Until you’re begging me to come.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Eliott is so turned on by the thought of that he can barely see straight, but at the back of his mind, there’s something else, something he’s aching for.

“Okay, yeah, we could do that. Or, you could fuck me.” Eliott says. He tries for the same, casual tone Lucas has adopted, but it doesn’t work. He sounds too strung out, the rubber band inside of him a second away from snapping.

That makes Lucas pause, the slow, teasing movements of his hips stuttering to a halt.

“Yeah? You…” He blinks at Eliott, slow and hazy. “You want that?”

“Yeah.” He does. The more he thinks about it, the more Eliott is sure that’s exactly what he wants to happen tonight. He’s light-headed just from the idea. “I do. Please.”

Lucas releases one of his hands to brush his hair back from his forehead, his eyebrows furrowed together. “Are you sure, angel?”

It’s so sweet, the way Lucas is looking at him. He’s so sweet, stroking his thumb across Eliott’s temple, gazing softly at him. It makes Eliott feel warm, looked after. He smiles, plucking Lucas’s hand from his hair and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the underside of his wrist.

He makes sure not to break Lucas’s gaze. “I’m sure.”

There’s no sudden frenzy, once he says it, no montage of stripping down and getting to business. There’s Lucas, leaning down to kiss him, unhurried, still holding onto Eliott’s hands. There’s Eliott, breaking the kiss to tell Lucas that yes, he really wants to be kissed, but he’d also really like to have sex now, please, and there’s stuff in his bedside table.

Lucas laughs and says stuff in a mock-sexy voice, but he goes, rifling through Eliott’s drawer, holding up the Anne Rice paperback Eliott forgot he stuffed in there with a smirk, and returning with a condom and a bottle of lube.

Eliott gets distracted by Lucas’s abs when he pulls shirt off, feeling the desperate need to apply his tongue to every ridge and divot of them, and then Lucas gets distracted when they wrestle Eliott’s robe off, kissing all the way from Eliott’s shoulder down to his thighs, mouthing up and down the lengths of them, biting into the sensitive, tender skin on the inside, high up near his hips.

By the time Lucas gets the condom on, they’re both delirious with want, overwhelmed and shaking when they come together, Eliott gasping into Lucas’s mouth and Lucas slamming a hand into the mattress, desperately trying to hold himself still.

Even when Eliott whispers move, please, Lucas goes slowly, gentle movements that are long, dragging and deep, that make Eliott feel taken apart, piece by piece until he’s nothing but one centre of ecstasy. He digs his fingernails into Lucas’s back, moans so loudly that he’s briefly worried everyone else in the apartment will have heard him, and he realizes he has no idea how long he and Lucas have been fucking for. It could still be around midnight, it could be three in the morning, but the thing is, it really doesn’t matter. It’s just him and Lucas, the time between one kiss and another stretching infinitely into the heavy night.

Lucas is sweating above him, biting down on his lip as he pistons his hips forward, stroking one hand down Eliott’s chest to his stomach. He’s thrown into broken shadow by the moonlight pouring in through Eliott’s window, and Eliott remembers when they were standing out on the balcony, how otherworldly Lucas seemed to him then. And now, Lucas is panting, tense and swearing under his breath and inside of Eliott, his skin scorching hot where they’re pressed together. He’s so unmistakably human in this moment, raw and real, and Eliott thinks it’s the most beautiful he’s looked all night.

Maybe Lucas can hear his thoughts, or maybe they were written on Eliott’s face, the proverbial open book, because Lucas brings hand back up and smoothes Eliott’s hair back, tender and adoring.

Beautiful, Lucas says, and Eliott has to kiss him. He has to.

He pulls Lucas back down to him and the kiss is clumsy, with how they’re moving, but it’s good, so good that Eliott can see the edge of the cliff coming, the inevitable plunge to oblivion right under his toes.

I’m close, he tells Lucas and Lucas nods, starts picking up the pace of his hips, reaching between them to grasp Eliott in hand.

Lucas says, Come for me, angel, and Eliott does, arching his back off the mattress and pulling Lucas close to him, biting down on his shoulder to muffle a broken cry.

Lucas follows only seconds after, and they collapse onto the mattress, sticking together in awkward places and gasping for breath, giggling and kissing each other on the forehead, cheeks, lips, occasionally gasping variations of holy shit and that was fucking amazing.

Lucas throws away the condom and Eliott uses Lucas’s discarded shirt to clean himself up, laughing when Lucas notices and snatches it out of his hands.

You can borrow one of mine, Eliott says, and he pauses before he adds, when you leave tomorrow. Or the day after.

Lucas grins, and searches for his phone so he can text his friends.

🕸

It’s four in the morning and they’re still awake, curled together under Eliott’s duvet sharing stories and secrets in low voices.

Eliott’s head is pillowed on Lucas’s chest, Lucas is playing with his hair, and his eyes are drooping shut. Exhausted and happy. So unbelievably happy.

“I’m really starting to like Halloween again.” Eliott says, and Lucas laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

He feels himself drifting off, on the edge of sleep, when Lucas shifts under him, gently tugging on his hair.

“Eliott?”

“Mhm.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Mhm.”

“I didn’t have a costume planned for tonight either. Mine was a last-minute borrow.”

Eliott frowns, his near-sleep brain slow at processing the words.

“I…I know Alexia gave you the angel costume, and, well, I think it was the girls’ idea of matchmaking? Because Emma gave me the devil horns, although it took me a while to put it together.” He pauses. “I mean, what I’m trying to say is I should have known my friends would try something because, well, I’ve had a crush on your for weeks and uh, they all know about it.”

“Oh.” Eliott murmurs. He snuggles into Lucas’s chest, yawning around a smile. “That’s funny.”

But then—

Eliott’s eyes fly open.

“Wait, what?”

#prompt fill #tarot prompts #for anon 🧡🧡🧡#i know it may be different than what you were looking for #but when i got the idea 'halloween party' in my head it refused to leave #fic tag #elu fic #skam fr fanfic #skam france #happy halloween mecs!! 👻

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greenglasslov3 · 5 years

Text

Rewrite The Stars

A/N: This is my contribution to One Quote/One Shot Book 2! Many thanks to @balfeheughlywed and @notevenjokingfic for organizing this event yet again - you two are rock stars. My quote is included in the story below in bold.

As for the story, it’s been in my head for quite some time to write a very specific high school au - a One Tree Hill/Outlander crossover. While the idea of writing another full-fledge story with a complex plot seemed very daunting, writing a series of one shots felt a little less so. This fic is the first one shot in this crossover series, which I’ve titled Always & Forever. Shout out to my awesome betas/cheerleaders @anoutlandishidea, @notameeksassenach, and @walkinginland for pushing me to get back in the saddle and write this story. If you want some background music while reading, soundtracks for this fic include Style by Taylor Swift and Rewrite The Stars from The Greatest Showman. I hope you all enjoy it!

Rewrite The Stars

Midnight

Pebbles skip across the panes of my bedroom window, cracking like a whip, loud and sharp. Once… then two more times… then once more. The steady staccato of their barrage beats against glass, matching his persistence, his stubbornness. He knows he could just text me - which would be far more discreet than pegging my house with tiny rocks - but he prefers the old-fashioned gesture, says it reminds him of simpler times and grand declarations made with boomboxes raised above one’s head. He doesn’t worry about waking anyone with his racket because he knows I’m alone. Uncle Lamb is gone once again on some fantastical adventure in search of ancient artifacts, and the rest of the street slumbers, blissfully unaware of any impending mischief.

He lobs another pebble, which ricochets off of a shutter and skitters across the roof line below my window. Beneath the waves of bed linen, I roll onto my hip and flip on my bedside lamp, a shining beacon calling out to my lover below…

He’s not actually yours.

I chide myself, hissing at the pain that not only blossoms in my chest from my own cruel reality check but also from my big toe, which finds the corner of a forgotten textbook. I’m a tangle of limbs, all sharp edges and knobby knees. I shimmy into a pair of jeans and slip on my Keds in a completely uncoordinated ballet. A blush creeps up my neck when I realize that he can see the shadows of my not-at-all graceful extremities behind my closed window curtains. With no time for make-up, I bite my lip in hopes it stains the flesh just red enough to give the illusion of lipstick.

My heart hammers against my ribs, and I inhale deeply in a feeble attempt to calm my rattled nerves. I’m shaken to my core before I even step outside. My eyelids slide close as I swallow against the hard lump of self-doubt at the back of my throat.

Buck up, Beauchamp.

With my chin held high, I dramatically toss back the drapes and flick open the locks. The heels of my hands press into the wooden ledge. Whispered curses pepper my tongue when a stray splinter catches the fleshy bit of my palm, but I carry on in spite of the pain. I duck through the narrow opening and push the window sash back into place, all while balancing precariously on my tiptoes. Half sitting, half crouching, I crab-walk down the angled porch roof. When I reach the end, I slide onto my belly and catch the column below with my legs before scampering down the taper with the agile reflexes of a cat. Swaying slightly as I steady myself against the porch railing, I find my footing in the grass below until a low chuckle catches me off guard.

“I didna ken ye were part wee cheetie, Sassenach.”

I swivel quickly on one heel, and the world continues to spin around me even though I’ve stopped moving.

Jamie.

He’s waiting for me, leaning against his black Ford Mustang with his arms folded across his chest and his cock-sure confidence tucked behind his stupid (yet horribly attractive) smirk. His windswept curls are nearly black at night, but the streetlights tinge the tips rose gold, framing his in an angelic halo like some deity (though he’s definitely more devil than god at times). Not one for high fashion, he’s dressed simply in his signature trainers, jeans, and a white T-shirt… the sleeves of which capped the bugle of his bicep just perfectly.

Damn him.

A breeze filters in and lifts the stray curls from my neck, but I still feel warm.

“Hi,” I say weakly. My chin is tucked downward as I watch my own toes scuff the earth, but I peek through my eyelashes, hoping to catch Jamie’s eye. My pulse thunders to life when I realize he hasn’t taken his eyes off of me. Not once.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and I think I might faint.

“I didn’t see Lamb’s car…” he asks as he pushes himself off of his car.

“You wouldn’t,” I interrupt, taking three steps forward before I stop myself from seeming to eager. “He’s not here. Arizona.”

He glances up at my bedroom window and then back at me, his brow furrowing while his question takes form. “But you...”

Pride floods my body, warming me to the tips of my fingers. A small giggle bubbles from my lips as I trot towards him, shaking my head in slight disbelief that I’d actually pulled one over on him. When we meet in the middle of the brick path in front of my house, we pause - a little awkward and mostly unsure of ourselves and the newness of whatever this is exactly. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the fingers of his left hand twitch, fluttering against his thigh. I press my hands to his chest and silence his nerves with a small peck on his cheek before I whisper in his ear.

“Gotta keep you on your toes somehow, Fraser.”

~*~

We speed off into the night with only the moon and the stars to light our way. Hurtling down back roads in Jamie’s convertible reminds me of a rollercoaster as we peel around hairpin curves and crest mountainous hills before flying down the incline. The radio plays music softly in the background, low enough for us to easily converse over the dulcet melodies but neither one of us speaks. We ride along in silence, with Jamie’s hand resting on the seat mere inches from mine. When he taps his fingers along to the beat, his pinky occasionally brushes mine, and each time, my belly clenches before melting into molten silver.

“Where to?” He asks, breaking through the quietness but keeping his eyes trained on the road in front of him.

His words reach my ears and my brain stutters to start and then suddenly launches ahead like a speeding train. I hadn’t thought about where’d we go. Jamie always randomly picked a place for us to meet - the River Court, Moira’s Cafe after my shift, or one of our houses depending on who’s legal guardian was around (a phrase in which we found both humor and sympathy). Tonight, I blindly dressed and tossed myself out the window without a single question, let alone as where’d we go.

“Anywhere…” I sigh as I shrug my shoulders. The leather beneath me squeaks loudly, emitting a sound that could dissolve only us into a fit of immature laughter.

“Laoghaire is throwing a party,” Jamie suggests casually.

Laoghaire MacKenzie.

The very mention of her name turns my stomach sour. We whip around another turn, and I’m caught off guard. My knuckles turn white from gripping the door handle as I try to swallow back the bile that’s flooded my mouth. Memories flood my vision of the last party I attended with Laoghaire MacKenzie in attendance: special trinkets and secret letters revealed for all to see… Jamie and I further divided by the cruel hierarchy of the high school caste system… my tears masked by a steaming shower later that night while I sobbed from the embarrassment of it all.

I wouldn’t dare be caught in her presence unguarded again.

“Anywhere but there,” I request, my voice as sharp as the turn Jamie takes down a hidden, one lane road before I can even finish speaking.

~*~

“What is this place?” I ask as we roll to a stop, half afraid Jamie’s brought me up here to fulfill some psychopathic, horror movie fantasy, half in awe of the beautiful sight before me.

The thick forest gave way to a clearing, jagged branches breaking off to reveal a small, wooden structure and a sky of winking stars overhead. As I slam the heavy metal car door behind me, a breeze rustles the leaves, making me shiver in its cool wake. I know we are somewhere in the Blue Ridge Mountains from the way the once flat roads rose to startlingly steep hills, but I didn’t have the foresight to grab a jacket. Completely unphased, Jamie jogs ahead of me and takes the steps at the front porch two at a time.

“My grandfather’s,” he explains as he jimmies open the first lock. The screeching of ancient metal tumblers echoes throughout the clearing, disturbing the peaceful night and doing little to sway my mind from more macabre paranoia.

Rubbing warmth into my arms with my palms, I say through chattering teeth, “I didn’t realize you were so close with him that you’d have a key.”

Every shred of confidence I had before is gone, leaving me a shaking and stuttering nervous wreck.

“I doubt he’ll mind…” he grumbles as he negotiates the second lock to open and the heavy, timber door swings open on creaking hinges. “He’s dead.”

Well, that’s comforting.

“You know, this is how most scary movies start…” I rock back on my heels as I nervously ramble. “Guy takes girl up to his cabin far from civilization… lulls her into a false sense of security… and BAM! He turns out to be a serial killer or a werewolf or...something!”

In the moonlight, Jamie’s blue eyes twinkle with mirth as the corners of his mouth tug upwards into a slight smirk.

“No werewolves here, Sassenach,” he promises as he wraps an arm around my shoulders and ushers me inside. “But I might just have to take a bite out of you.”

He tucks his head into the crook of neck and nips at the sensitive flesh there. My half-delighted, half-terrified squeals peal through the night air, and suddenly, I’m not so cold anymore.

~*~

We’re not inside long. Jamie quickly gathers supplies and deposits them into a basket for easy carrying: a thick, plaid blanket, a bottle of whisky, and a flashlight.

While he’s preoccupied, I acquaint myself with my surroundings. I take note of the wide, hand-scraped floor boards and the large boulders stacked tall to form the fireplace. The entire space smells faintly of wood smoke from long forgotten fires and greasy lanolin from well loved sweaters. Above the raw timber mantel rests a hand-carved sign, the words Fraser’s Ridge etched into the marker.

As my hand lifts to trace the letters with my fingertips, Jamie materializes beside me and beckons me to join him outside. We walk out into the night with his fingers intertwined with mine.

Fifty yards behind the cabin, the earth suddenly drops into oblivion. I’m sure the views are spectacular in daylight, but tonight the night sky steals the breath from my lungs. The inky shadows of the geography below layer the scenery in varying shades of purple. Wine-stained hills roll down the ravine and eggplant colored silhouettes of tree tops dot the horizon. Above us, the heavens explode with starlight, thousands sparkling crystals spattered across a velvety indigo canvas.

Lost in the beauty of this place, I hardly notice Jamie, who has brought a roaring fire to life with little else but his bare hands and some kindling. The warmth of the flames draws me back from the cliff’s edge as I wander closer to the hearth. Halved-logs surround the fire pit in a circle, the make-shift benches just wide enough for two to share. I sink into the empty space besides Jamie, and he wraps us both in the thick, woolen tartan before offering me a tin cup. In comfortable silence, we casually sip our whisky as we lose ourselves in the glistening nightscape above our heads.

“See that grouping of stars just to the west?” Jamie whispers. His lips graze the outer shell of my ear, and my skin erupts into goosebumps at the sensation. I nestle closer into the crook of his arm as he continues.

The low hum of his voice lulls me into sleepy complacency. His Scottish burr rumbles deep in his chest and vibrates against my ribs like a purring kitten. Despite the chill of the autumn air, warmth tingles throughout my entire body to the very tips of my toes. My head is thick and fuzzy partially from the late hour, but mostly from the nearly empty cup in my lap (my third helping of whisky).

Jamie’s voice carries on steadily, never once wavering as he teaches me about the constellations - a twist on our normal tutor/student relationship. With each formation, he explains the mythology behind them. Canis Major and Canis Minor. Hercules and Hydra. Orion and Scorpius. Like most Scots, he’s a born storyteller with a gift to color any tale with vivid language and dramatic pauses, and I’m completely captivated. As he speaks of the lovers Perseus and Andromeda, his hand cups my cheek and tilts my face towards his. I blink, my eyelids fluttering open and close as I lean towards him. His lips hover inches from mine, when my brain decides to intervene.

What exactly are you doing, Beauchamp?!

I press my hands against Jamie’s chest, pushing him away and pressing myself backwards as I mumble “Not so fast, soldier.”

“What’s wrong?” Jamie asks, but I’m untangle my limbs from the blanket and stand up before I can stop to answer him.

Propelled by doubt, my legs stumble over the bench and march back towards the cabin. Fear settles into a lead pit in my stomach. Its icy fingers trace frost-laden trails down my spine, and before long I’m shaking… from the cold… from the bone-weary uneasiness that has never left the back of my mind.

What on earth does Jamie Fraser - the most popular guy in school - want with me?

“Claire!” He shouts over the crunching of leaves beneath his feet as he chases after me. “Will ye even tell me what I did to offend ye?”

I spin on my heel and charge towards him, ignoring the loose curls that sharply smack against my face.

“What you did?” I scream back. “The rumor mill is churning with all sorts of stories about you, Fraser.”

I’m bluffing for the most part. Sure, everyone talks about Jamie Fraser - star point guard and hottest boy in the junior class. Who wouldn’t? But no one is exactly sharing these stories with me. I am now a part of these stories, a starring role at times even. The clumsy nerd Jamie’s taken to his bed. To most, I’m a charity case or the unfortunate consequence of a lost bet. To all, I could never be worthy of the title girlfriend.

Jamie stops and sighs, his head dropping to his chest. He clutches the blanket wrapped around his shoulders a little tighter as he asks, “What have ye heard?”

What had I heard?

Very little, truth be told. I caught the tale end of a story when I was waiting for Jamie after practice one afternoon. The cheerleaders never thought much of me anyway to consider stopping their mindless chatter as the exited the gym, though I’m certain they meant for me to hear this particular story.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words catch in my throat.

Do you really want to do this?

When our tutoring arrangement turned into something more, we allowed our relationship to develop naturally, albeit secretly. We never once agreed on titles or labels; we never even stopped to have the conversation. It crossed my mind plenty of times - when we’d search for a new secret spot to meet or when we passed each other in the halls without nothing more than a quick glance. And yet, each time I stopped myself, my inner cheerleader chastising me for being less than cool. It was easier this way… or so I thought.

“That you’ve been out with some other girl…” I admit quietly, my voice cracking along with my heart as I finally allow myself to feel the bitter sting of betrayal.

Jamie reaches for me, his own voice shaking as he speaks. “It’s no’ what ye think…”

“Oh it isn’t, is it?” I scoff as I shuffle backwards. My heels collide with something solid and rough behind me as my palms find the lip of a concrete ledge.

“Damn it, Claire, d’ye have to do this all the time?” he demands.

“In a word - yes,” I say, sinking exhaustedly onto the rim of an ornamental fountain.

From my perch, I watch Jamie seethe before me. Tempered rage boils beneath his flushed cheeks, and I imagine steam billowing from his ears. The fingers of his left hand drum a steady tattoo against his thigh as he chews his bottom lip. The tempo matches the beat of my racing heart.

Squeeze. Release. Squeeze. Release.

“Who?” He asks after an eternity passes.

“Laoghaire.”

Her name blooms on my tongue like poison, sickeningly sweet before turning to bitter ash. The languid L coats my tongue with a thick, syrupy medicine for my own grand delusions; the long E whistles through my gritted teeth, the melody for my own funeral (cause of death - social suicide). My eyelids narrow and I cross my arms over my chest as I wait - for the lie that will grant me sweet relief even if it’s just for one night… for the truth that will certainly destroy me…

Tracing some invisible path on the ground, Jamie’s gaze darts back and forth, but it doesn’t once meet mine.

“Oh…” I choke back a sob that bubbles at the back of my throat. Pushing myself off to the ledge, I rise to leave - the back door to the cabin in my sites.

“It’s no like that!” He roars. His hand wraps around my wrist and he pulls me back, drawing me close to him. His strong arms clasp me tight to his chest, iron bands holding me firmly in place as I struggle to break free.

“Explain it to me then!” I loudly screech into his face, continuing to fight his embrace. “What’s it like, hmm?”

Slowly, Jamie softens. The muscles in his arms relax and his gripping fingers release until his hands are gently palming my hips. The tension in his furrowed brow melts. His shoulders sag, rounding gently inward until his curving around me like the delicate shell of a caterpillar’s cocoon, the tartan blanket protecting us both from the chilly night air.

“What you’ve heard is true,” he whispers, releasing his secret to the universe. “I’ve been out wi’ the lass once or twice but it’s not… I can’t…”

His words stutter and stammer until his finally silent, rendered speechless by a myriad of emotions I watch flash across his eyes. In his own face, I see my own fear and doubt mirrored back at me. I hear a small cracking sound from deep within my chest - my own heart breaking for him… for us...

I brush a stray curl from his temple as I ask him, prompting him where he left off. “Can’t what?”

Suddenly, he looks up at me - eyes wild and bright.

“I can’t stop thinking about this.”

Jamie’s lips are on mine before my subconscious can put up a fight, allowing my heart to fully give in. We are no longer shy or awkward. We are hungry. Dizzy with lust, I steady myself, gripping his shoulders as his tongue laps at my lower lip, begging entrance. Arching into him, I moan against his mouth while my hands palm the muscular planes of his chest. He hooks his thumbs into my belt loops and jerks me forward, our hips colliding in delicious friction. As I press into him once more, our uncoordinated efforts to climb inside the other’s skin knock the tartan loose from our bodies. Jamie shouts at the sudden shock to his system, and I whimper in the cold.

While he gathers the discarded blanket from the ground, I shyly whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about it either… us… I mean.”

Once he’s fully upright, Jamie pauses. He stands before me. He holds the blanket bunched in his palms, and the flesh of his low belly is bare, the hem of his shirt rucked up over his hip. Perfectly disheveled, I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so beautiful in my whole life… and I think I could maybe love this boy.

Gently, he wraps the tartan around my shoulders. When he steps towards me, I return the favor and nestle us both beneath the thick wool.

He presses a kiss to my forehead as he mumbles into my hair.

“We best get ye inside, Sassenach. Yer shiverin.”

~*~

Daylight catches us by surprise, even though we sleep well past noon. Well, at least I do. When I finally untangle myself from the mountains of bed sheets and stumble my way out into the land of the living, I find Jamie outside once more.

“That looks like a nutritious breakfast,” I comment as I walk towards him, noting the red and blue box of Cracker Jack clutched in his fist.

“S’all I could find,” he mutters between bites.

I sit down next to him, and he tilts the box towards me, sharing his meager meal. We sit quietly munching on the crispy snacks. In the daylight, I can now see the brilliant shades of autumn across the valley below. Deep burgundy, brilliant copper, and shining gold all merge together as one against the forget-me-not blue sky. There’s not a cloud in sight, and the warm sun replaces the bitter chill from the night before.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Jamie as we eat. He’s comfortable up here in the mountains, relaxed and naturally himself - for someone I thought of as a true city boy. He’s at peace as the ruler of his own domain with no one for miles.

This is my Jamie - the real Jamie.

It doesn’t take long to finish our breakfast. A small box of Cracker Jack is no match for two hungry and hung-over teens. Jamie’s fingers dive in once more, reaching for the bottom in search of crumbs. Instead, he unearths a bracelet. It’s clearly meant for a child with its mismatched, brightly colored beads strung along an elastic band. He doesn’t hesitate. He takes my hand and gently threads the bracelet onto my wrist before pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

“Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

Fin.

#outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #one book one shot book 2 #rewrite the stars #witchie words #jamie x claire #outlander/one tree hill cross over #always & forever au

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