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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 3 years

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That’s the golf cart boy that helps your family when you go to the country club and play golf and you ask him to teach you how to swing properly so he can put his arms around you

“I missed.” Y/N huffs as she watches her golf ball sail through the air and disappear into the lake behind her target, her shoulders slouching and mouth dipping into a subdued frown. This is her third failed attempt yet. “You’re utter shit at teaching for someone who’s been working here so long.”

Harry simply gives the amateur a crooked grin from where he’s standing off on the sidelines, his lean arms crossed over his stomach nonchalantly as he waits for her to finish walking towards to him. He takes the bait for their usual banter, snorting in amusement at her fiery reaction. “I’m an amazing golf coach; it’s not my fault you have no talent. I can only build on people’s skills, not pull them out of my ass and hand them over on a silver platter. Maybe if you actually practiced like I told you—”

“Maybe if this sport wasn’t so fucking boring,” she bites back, using the end of her golf club to nudge him pointedly in his sturdy chest, “I would be stimulated enough to try.”

Harry purses his lips to hide a filthy smirk, taking the tool from her and tossing it into the bag across the backseat of his cart. He turns back to face his conditional student, one of his brows inching upwards snidely. “Are you saying you’re not stimulated enough?”

Y/N’s features crack into a scowl at his inappropriate joke. “Hilarious. I bet you’re a hit among pre-teens, aren’t you?”

“I am, yeah!” He quips brightly, exaggerating an innocent smile as he rounds the side of the vehicle and mounts into the driver’s spot. He parts his legs widely as he gets comfortable, and she has to restrain the urge to rake her gaze down the unbelievably short trousers riding up his thick thighs. He pats at the seat beside him symbolically, silently requesting that she join him. “But I’m also great with the ladies. Get a hole in one every time. Literally.”

The girl releases a sound of aggravated disgust at his stupid self-absorbed comment, trudging through the wet grass and rolling her eyes in exasperation as he giggles boyishly. She hauls herself up into the front seat, plopping onto the leather surface with a deadpan expression written all over her face. “You’re despicable.”

“Ooh, that’s a neat new word! Are you working on expanding your vocabulary? Proud of you, love.”

“Just shut up and drive, Tiger Woods.”

“To our usual spot?”

She maneuvers to position herself accordingly, propping her feet onto his lap as he finagles the buggy into the designated setting. She fixes her frilly pastel blue skirt over her thighs as she does so, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sly eyeful. Knowing him, he’d definitely take the chance.

Y/N taps the tip of her shoe against his lean tummy for significance, shrugging her brows impassively as she leans her head back against the nearest railing. “Where else would we go?”

“I dunno, maybe back to the club so your family isn’t left wondering where you are? S’kinda rude to make them wait,” he pauses for a moment to glance down at the watch decorating his wrist, humming to himself in realization, “especially because lunch is already being served. Food’s gonna get cold.”

“They can wait five minutes. It takes longer than that to starve to death.”

“Pretty brutal.”

“What is?”

Harry glimpses over at her with his tongue pressed along the inside of his cheek, condescension scribbled all over his demeanor. It’d been infuriating if he wasn’t so hot. Well, it’s infuriating regardless, but at least his attractiveness allows her to benefit from his antics.

The young man’s accent holds the same type of smugness slathered across his plush lips and defined cheekbones, and his words send a flush of heat down the knobs of her spine. “That you’d rather get fucked in an equipment shed than spend quality time with your relatives.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him pettily, muscling down the warmth rising up her neck. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing much.” He bobs his shoulders easily, tone dismissive and indifferent as he secures one bejeweled hand onto the steering wheel, the other finding perch above her knee. He gives it a playful squeeze, his dimples winking at her flirtatiously when she jolts at the iciness behind his chunky rings. “Just an observation, s’all.”

“I’m not sleeping with you so you can make observations.” She grumbles, but despite her attitude towards him, she doesn’t make any conscious effort to shed his touch. His skin is always so soft, and the sensation of his large palm resting anywhere on her body feels so fucking right.

“Aren’t you?” Harry inquires with snarky pretension, dropping the sole of his sneaker onto the acceleration pedal and causing the car’s ignition to roar to life. The tiny vehicle takes off across the slopes of the golfing meadow, jumping and creaking as it rides over all the dips and hills of the valley, trees and flags whizzing by as it speeds towards an all too familiar trail. “Because last time I checked, you seem to love it when I observe you on your knees. Beg for it, even.”

Y/N’s jaw clenches tightly at his taunting. “Piss off.”

“How’s that go again? Something along the lines of,” he sweetens his voice down into a dramatic pleading lilt, mimicking her moans from the past, “‘You taste so fucking good, Harry.’ and ‘I love it when you cum on my face, baby.’ and ‘I want you to fuck my mouth, daddy. Want it so bad.’”

The young woman’s teeth squeak from how hard she’s biting back her anger. “Asshole.”

“Is that not right? Is that not what happens?” Harry implores with a ridiculing pout and fluttering lashes, going out of his way to ride on her last nerve. His fingers begin to crawl higher up her leg, sneaking beneath the billowing edge of her skirt and tracing random shapes along the suppleness of her inner thighs, pinching and twisting at the flesh until he gets a physical response. He adores seeing her squirm against the waxy seat as she suddenly grasps onto his arm needily, especially because she does absolutely nothing to deter him from continuing. “Sorry, my memories get jumbled sometimes. There’s just so many of them, y’know? You whimper and whine for my cock so often, I can hardly keep track of every single time. Maybe I should start a transcript or summat, hm?”

Y/N’s voice pipes up low and venomous, but there’s a trembling undercurrent to it that she can’t deny. “If you keep being a dickhead, this’ll be the last one.”

Harry tuts conceitedly, cooing at her as his digits dive deeper into her bottoms, hooking into her panties and toying with her clit beneath the damp material. He doesn’t break his gaze away from the expanse of grass before them, but his arrogant simper is wide enough that she gets the perfect view of it from his ridiculously handsome side profile. “We both know that’s not true.”

“Get fucked.”

“I’m about to.”

#drabble

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stylistiquements · 3 years

Text

Day 1 : Soap Bubbles.

𐐪𐑂 Pairing : Sapnap x fem!reader {Playlist}

𐐪𐑂 Summary : You're being introduce to the internet in a peculiar way, it's up to you to decide what you're going to do with it.

𐐪𐑂 Word count : 1.4k | W: written part underneath

𐐪𐑂 Warning : very few swears

Masterlist | Previous | Next

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

The coffee that sinks inside your stomach brings out a grimace and a click of your tongue where the taste stains; too bitter, too acidic but you’ll drink it anyway and to the last drop; there is something about the idea of spending time with three best friends that is so made of spring and honey that you wish to miss none of it.

“Someone is lurking,” George contemplates out loud, and the call goes silent for a second as if to look for the intruder. And it would so easy to flinch, to hit the back pedal, because you almost feel like one being exposed front stage like that. But today- today is not that day.

It's not that you don't want to join the discussion, it's that it takes a second to warm up, to absorb the energy and become one with it.

And sometimes, all it takes is Sapnap to exclaim, “Panini head, my beloved!” for your smile synchronizes with his chuckles. Somehow, once noticed by the right person, life flows back naturally.

George and Dream greets you in trailing unison, like two kids forced to greet their unwelcomed aunt on a sunday afternoon.

“H-hey troublemakers,” you finally say. Your voice is still quiet, not reluctant, but rather uncertain. It doesn't bother anyone.

“I’m beating Dream’s ass at chess and he’s bitter,” Sap explains, and you silently nod, as if they were able to see you.

A long silence follows along, rythmed by clicks of mouses and keyboards and it falls in your ears like high droplets. It's comfortable. It's intimate, shared with friends only.

"We haven't heard from you in a while," Dream says. "I mean ... before the clout fiasco."

You wouldn't exactly call it a fiasco, even though you don't really like the idea of being perceived a little too closely from the eyes of twitter.com, but you do agree anyway, "I've been caught up on college essays lately."

"That sucks," George probably adds.

“Good thing you’re here, then,” Dream notes, simple as a breath. “This is a worry-free zone.”

It hovers for a second, carried by George’s approval hum.

You squint suspiciously, detective mode, at the profile pictures that light on and off before your eyes, “Thanks, dream.”

He scoffs a “sure” and you’re not sure why you sense a bit of irony stuck on the back of his teeth. You're so tempted to call him out, but you don't. Instead, you write a mental note of this odd moment.

“It’s because I told him about your three brothers and now he’s scared they’re gonna find him and kick his ass,” Sap explains as if he just read your mind.

Sometimes, there’s this thing in the air, though you’re miles away. Something like a connection. There’s this thing when you don’t need to talk for Sap to understand. Sharing one brain cell, you dismiss ironically. Probably coincidences and predictability, but it always sounds a little special, a little like something you’d wish to be out of this world, like morning dew and fairy circles. And it makes you feel safe, at home, just like snuggling up in the sheets during a stormy night. Your smile washes up the sleeve of your hoodie, covered palm carefully hiding your chuckles.

“Three older brothers,” George muses, and there’s no telling if it’s something meant for you to hear. “That’s kinda scary.”

“You better be scared, one of them is probably your FBI agent,” you tease mindlessly, though there's nothing scary about those three grown men.

“I’m British, Bunny,” he points out. Whether the exasperation in his tone is fake or genuine, that, you can’t tell, but you play it cool, grin carved so deep it almost hurts. Dream’s wheezes rise and fall in the background.

“Say that to his face then,” you outbid smirkingly after a second of silence, heels growing into the carpet to make your chair spin slowly left and right, so breezily.

“I’d praise you for the rest of my life if you-Oooooooh your ass is wacked. Your ass is so wacked, dude. You fucked up so bad,” Sapnap chokes out between strings of giggles.

“Oh no, my streamer is losing his game?” You theatrically pout. “My streamer Dreamwastaken, have you met him? Guess you don’t need any of my brothers to kick your ass.”

“Okay yeah- no- it’s not my fault if your- they’re distracting me, okay?” Dream defends.

Slowly, the energy lowers again and the call remembers peace as Dream admits defeat.

“I’m not playing against you anymore,” he mumbles through greeted teeth, your hoodie shelters a muffled giggle. “Let’s talk about y/n’s twitter fame instead.”

“Let’s just not-” you mutter, both because seeing Dream lose at something is a miracle that has to be witnessed once and because you’re somewhat reluctant. “Let’s just not talk about that.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I had no idea it would draw this much attention to you,” Sap admits.

“Well, you talk about her all the time it was only a matter of time before twitter finds out,” George taunts and you secretly smile, listening to the way your best friend tries to defend himself, mind flooded with the last memories you have of when you were able to see those chuckles for real.

“Yeah, Quackity already told me you guys talk behind my back,” you fakely muse. “That’s totally fine, I don’t wanna know what you guys are talking about at all.” It’s a lie, obviously, the idea creeps upon your mind with assumptions you can’t quite get a grip of nor let go.

“You and Quackity talk?’ Sapnap asks, hint of surprise, and you hum.

“Or rather, he talks to me. He keeps calling-.” Shit. The forsaken word traps itself into your mouth. It’s too silly anyway.

“Come on, just say it,” Dream pushes as if he knew too much, more than you even do, and your cheeks flush mindlessly. You don’t notice.

“Dream, quit it!” You demand.

“Quit what?”

“You talk as if you knew more than anyone did.”

“Maybe I just do,” he coos, so dream-like.

Oblivious or careless, Sapnap asks, “Is Quackity bothering you or something?”

“He-" you begin but stop to look for the right way to put it, "He triggers my flight or fight response.”

"I mean, duh," Sapnap probably rolls his eyes.

"But I like him. He's funny."

After a second of silence, George says, “Well that was unexpected.”

“Not so much, I think we’re both chaotic neutral people.”

“What is that neutral chaotic thing anyway?” Dream is confused.

Roll up your sleeve girl boss because now is your time to shine! You offer your best dream smp alignment chart to the classroom. They're speechless, but they listen carefully.

"Then you're more chaotic good than neutral. You're too sweet anyway," Sap says.

"I'd even say lawful good," George debates.

"That's because you haven't seen Bunny during her crazy cat hour."

"True," you note.

"She'll go absolutely batshit."

“What?" George burst between confusion and surprise. "We've never seen you like that."

"A lady never reveal her secrets," you retort. No one answer.

It leaves a second for your mind to enjoy peace. For your eyes to lay on c!tubbo on lawful good and think true, then on c!dream on chaotic evil and think also very true. You huff and it's like a wave; as sarcasm leaves your breath, an idea comes in.

"Sap, check your DMs," you request.

Surrounded by the evening lull, Sapnap’s laugh pops like soap bubbles, "God, you’re so stupid. Why can't you just marry me?"

“So, is it Sapnap approved?” You chuckle lightly to prevent Sapnap’s morning fresh laugh to fill your chest and leak everywhere.

“Just press ‘send tweet’ please,” he confirms with leftovers of a smile in his voice.

"George, get me out of here. They're doing it again," Dream whines.

"Doing what?" He asks, unbothered.

"Act like they're alone in the convo. Just get a room." And you don't get to stand up for yourself that you and your best friend are actually sent to another room.

"Well this one is chaotic evil confirmed," you mumble as you roll your eyes but the vibes are much peaceful, much more comfortable in here. "So ... hi."

"Hi," he chuckles in return.

Maybe that's for the best; a moment that needs to stay a little timeless, secretive and special. It hasn't happened in so long, you don't even remember the last time it did.

"I'm glad you're here. I miss you, you know?" He says, and it's hard to not feel so bittersweet about it. It's hard when longing involves a craved touch, a real smile and an eye contact. Your shoulder sinks in the chair a little harder.

"I miss you too. I'll be here soon," you promise. And soon couldn't come any sooner.

But the conversation, soft and free, will wash up any worries, as always, and you'll end up talking about everything and nothing, about streams and planned videos and college and god knows what. As long as it makes the two of you happy and smiling. Just like the old days, you'll both think and it's fair to say until the evening turns into night and night turns into fatigue.

"Are you sure you're okay about that clout?" He asks once again. "I know you don't like being exposed like that."

"Yeah, yeah don't worry too much about it. I'll try to make good use of it."

"I'm sure you will," he murmurs, but oh boy did he not know what was about to come until you two meet.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

Taglist : @open-minded-chip-101 ; @itsoakaa ; @gaysludge

A/N : so first of all it has come to my attention that 129 days from now on is actually my birthday so that's a weird coincidence lol. Hi how are you guys?? welcome to the first part I hope you liked it. I'm fairly new to the mcyt community and that's the first time I write for them, so bear with me. Feedbacks are always appreciated. Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

#sapnap smau #smau #mcyt smau #sapnap x you #sapnap x reader #sapnap x y/n #sapnap series #129 days #mcyt x you #mcyt x reader #sapnap fluff

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yourmcu · 3 years

Text

Mesmerized (ii)

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Request:

@lostaurorax said:

hii!! i love ur writing i was wondering if u could write a natasha x reader fic were reader is part of the guardians of the galaxy and they come to the compound and natasha is just starstruck but reader plays kinda hard to get and then just a bunch of fluff !

Word count: 2,551

A/n: basically a day out with Natasha. you like having her around. she likes having you around. Part 2/? (more notes at the end of the fic!)

Warnings: mostly fluff, but ending’s pretty angsty (help), some thor fluff in the beginning, jealous!nat if you squint

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

gif not mine!! credits to the owner^^

After Natasha left your room she immediately goes straight to hers. She barely falls asleep.

She stares at the ceiling, absorbed in her own thoughts. She tries to shake away the heat rushing to her face whenever the moment you kissed her on the cheek replays on her mind. All it took is someone like you to get one of the toughest people in the compound turn into mush.

She never believes in the ‘love at first sight’ bullshit because, well, it is bullshit. It’s impossible to love someone you just met. But who knows, right? You might just be an exception.

No, Natasha frowns. I just like her... a lot. It’s different.

The next morning, her run consists of her planning out the date day with you, where she’d take you first and stuff. She stops by the front gate of the compound, suddenly worrying. She wants to impress you. But what if you don’t like what she had in store? What if you think she's boring?

You're the type of person that almost likes everything and you’d express it kindly if you don’t. Boring you should be the last thing on Natasha’s mind.

Natasha walks into the kitchen to hydrate herself but halts once she saw the mess you and Thor had all over the counters.

“Wait, hold on- no, that’s - oh god, Thor, that’s too much batter!” You smack him on the arm and laugh, tilting your head a bit to figure out how you’d get the large pancake out of the pan.

“Oops,” Thor says sheepishly, turning around to put the bowl back on the counter, noticing Natasha’s confusion. “Oh don’t worry, Natasha, we’ll clean up after we’re done.”

The mention of the redhead makes you turn as well. “Good morning, Nat.” You beam. Normally, Natasha would sent a glare to anyone who calls her that, someone who isn’t a close friend, but with you... instead of a glare her eyes light up. Giving you a small smile, she greets you back.

“I thought you were going out?” She questions, passing by you to reach the fridge.

“We were, but IHOP’s closed, under maintenance they said,” Thor sighs and you hum in response. “It’s quite alright. I heard you guys are going out anyway-”

Natasha lowers the water bottle from her lips, staring at him. “You heard?”

You spin around to clean up after turning off the stove. ‘I didn’t tell him anything,’ you mouth to her, which makes her think Steve somehow knows of it already.

Thor lets out a laugh, grabbing the whole pan and twiddling his fork, “you two have fun.” He winks and walks out of the room.

-----

“They were so cute,” you look back at the newly engaged couple near the window of the restaurant. “And really, you didn’t have to pay. I can pay you back.”

Later that afternoon the both of you headed out. Natasha parked her car somewhere and since it was a nice day, not too hot or anything, you both strolled around the city to find a place to have brunch.

“Y/N, it’s fine. I’m the one who asked you out.” Natasha chuckles, remembering the way you pouted in there begging her to let you pay at least for your own food.

You huff, smiling. “Fine. But I’m getting you back.”

So far you were having a good time with her. You got to know each other more, she told you stories about some of the team’s missions from other countries which were relatively rare, her first encounters with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, and in return you told her some about your out-of-this-world missions with the guardians.

And no you didn’t tell her about the history of moon rocks or some shit, nor did you promise to bring her back some. Who even collects those nowadays? Natasha was more interested about your early life, on Earth, which you were thankful for. You were taken away from your father (the only parent you preferred and loved) who was pure human one day by your alien-freak of a mother which you inherited your fire powers from.

You don’t like talking about it. But with her you're surprisingly comfortable.

Natasha smirks. “So we’re going out again sometime?”

“Of course we are.” After two seconds of pure confidence you wish you didn’t say that out loud. “Well, you know, I won’t force you to something you don’t want it’s - it’s your call.”

You're in the middle of telling her about your favorite bar and diner, the one your father always takes you as a child and you even paid a visit there the last time you were on Earth.

“Huh. Isn’t that the one that just closed?” She recalls

“No, really?” You drag out the ‘no’, sighing. “They’re the best. They make their own iced tea and beer and stuff... and - oh!”

You feel something rub against your ankle: a fluffy dog who's looking up at you with its tongue out and its tail was wagging wildly. Natasha raises her eyebrows, her eyes trailing to the abandoned leash behind it.

“Hey there,” you kneel down to pet it with caution just incase its intention is to bite you. But it seems to be happy and tame. “Look, Nat, s’adorable.” Natasha chuckles briefly and starts looking around for a person who looks frantic and is finding, calling a dog.

“This fella belongs to the animal center.” You caress the dog behind its ear while you read the information on its collar.

It isn’t that far, it seems like the dog just escaped as well because the guy running the center was unaware of its absence.

“Thanks!” Said guy smiles in appreciation, reaching out to take the leash out of your hand. Natasha’s mind is focused on how the guy looks at you for the first time. It's the exact same look she gave you that night. Mesmerized, as if it was love at first sight. She doesn’t miss how his hand brushes yours, completely intentional. “I don’t know what I’d do if you hadn’t returned him. The pups here just grew out of their mom’s milk and are very hyper. It’s a lot of work.”

You're completely oblivious to this, you’re just glad the dog is back to where he belongs.

“No problem, he’s very sweet.” You smile politely. “Are they up for adoption? It would really help you out if they were, you know, and this one here is well behaved.”

At this point Natasha’s just eyeing the guy like he’d pounce on you any minute now. He’s definitely into you and she doesn’t like it.

“You’re welcome to stop by anytime,” he grins, ignoring your suggestion. “Can I have your number?”

“Oh, I don’t have a phone...” you trail off.

“That’s right, she doesn’t.” Natasha steps in and she catches the guy off guard and surprised that the Black Widow is actually with you the whole time. Natasha intertwines her hand with yours, pleased with his dumbfounded reaction. “We’ll be on our way now.”

You didn’t expect that but you weren’t complaining. Her hands were soft, and it brought this comforting feeling you couldn’t explain. But you clear your throat once the both of you are a few blocks away from the center.

“Sorry, he gave me an off vibe,” Natasha mutters and removes her hand from yours.

“Don’t be, I appreciate you looking out,” you smiles. Her car was getting into view now. “If it helps you sleep at night though, he wasn’t my type.” You joke.

Turns out you weren’t completely oblivious.

Natasha merely scoffs, getting in the driver’s seat and starting the engine.

After the dog incident you both drove around different parts of the city. You went to a different mall to stroll around, commenting on anything you both saw that would somehow lead to a stupid story that happened at some point in your lives.

A local artsy bookstore, not gonna lie Natasha liked reading a good book when she had the time. So did you. It was nice to know that she’s the type of person who liked reading. Quill always got annoyed with you whenever he saw you reading silently in the ship (but when was he not annoyed with you?). The only ones that was willing to try and read back in space were Mantis and Gamora, bless her soul.

“These are good,” you mutter to Natasha. “All my books are on the ship, I think, but if I get to them I’ll let you read my favorite one... if you want.”

Last stop of the day. Natasha claims it’s a surprise.

“I don’t do well with surprises,” you whine, holding back a smile. “Just tell me.”

“No. And besides, we’re already here.” Natasha chuckles.

Your eyes light up on how stunning the scenery was. An edge of the cliff and below is a beach that doesn’t look like it’s visited by people everyday. The beautiful sunset, the sky made up of purple, orange and almost pink magnifies the calmness of the waves crawling gently to the shore.

“I always come here whenever I need to,” she says silently and exhales, walking over to you. “It’s the perfect place to go whenever those idiots get on my nerves.” You laugh lightly at her reasoning.

Natasha pats a spot on the grass beside her. She holds her gaze on you as you sit down, sighing. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” she manages to stop staring at you and look up at the sky instead. It's getting darker by the minute, the orange and pinkness started to fade as the sun went down, all of it replaced by light purple, darker shade of blue.

You're used to different colored skies. It would always vary and depend on what planet you were on, plus you always see those stars shimmering up above, so your focus is on the water and the waves. The way they move calms you.

“Thank you for today,” you murmur. “I’m gonna be honest, I didn’t expect any of this happening.”

Natasha hums. “I hope I wasn’t too boring.”

“Of course not, I think you’re very interesting and you’re fun to be with.” You say genuinely.

Once the sun is fully down and the moon had taken over the sky, the both of you get up to head back to the compound. “Eating out here would’ve been nice but Steve’s in charge with dinner, he wouldn’t be too happy if he knew we already ate.” The car ride back is silent, but the good kind. A content, comfortable one.

Okay so, your stay took more than a few weeks.

You grew close with the amazing group of people, plus your good relationship with Natasha just kept growing and... just got better.

Thor stayed too because he didn’t have a choice, but he didn’t mind. Rocket left one pod for both of you to use that’ll send you to wherever Quill’s ship was up there.

You and Natasha went out when you had the chance, taking turns treating each other to stuff. You learned that Thor included your books when he packed you a bag, and now Natasha was borrowing one of them.

Sometimes you’d join them on missions. You did a great job every time, not wanting to be a burden to a team you weren’t officially in. Sometimes you’d join Steve into a sparring session at the compound’s gym.

Speaking of which, he’s treating both you and Natasha as if you’re dating.

“Would you look at that, your girl managed to give me a bruise. She’s a keeper.” Steve tells Natasha.

“You totally deserve that.”

You also started sparring with Natasha. And Tony caught on with the whole ‘dating’ thing from Steve.

“Oooh, am I interrupting something here?” Tony smirks. He's going back and forth visiting the compound and coming home to his wife and daughter at their cabin. It's working out though. “I think the mat’s unsanitary. Take this to the bedroom.”

“Oh shut up, Y/N was just working on her tackling.” Natasha grunts, leaving you sprawled on the mat, exhausted. “It’s getting sloppy. We’ll go again in a minute.”

-----

“Y/N,” The devastating tone of Natasha’s voice makes you look up. “Quill’s calling. He’s looking for you.”

“What?” She doesn’t answer but instead motions you to follow. In her office is a hologram of your fellow half-human and he looks distraught.

You step in front of the hologram so he can see you.

“What happened to a few weeks, L/N? It’s been almost three months!” Quill says. “Look, come back, bring Thor with you. Our distress signal goes off almost every day and we can’t keep doing this without both of you.”

“Alright, how much time do I have before you lose your cool?” You reply sarcastically, but you're also worried and didn’t want to leave. You know better than to argue with the guy.

Natasha doesn’t want you to leave so suddenly. There’s limited communication between you and her once you go back up there. She grew attached to you.

Quill gives you an obvious look. “As soon as possible! Just - just get back here, please?” Then he abruptly ends the call.

You roll your eyes and left the room to pack, barely noticing Natasha hunched over, visibly sad and anxious that you’re leaving.

She loves you, and now you’re leaving without that knowledge.

You told Thor about it when he passed by the open door of your room. He didn’t look thrilled to be leaving so suddenly. After packing everything up (on his part it wasn’t that much) he offered to carry your bag for you as you said your farewells.

“Sorry guys, duty calls,” you sigh, hugging everyone. “Seeing as Tony’s not here just tell him I’ll miss him or something.”

“Will you come visit soon?” Wanda asks as she pulls away from your hug.

“Definitely.” You turn your head when Steve nudges you, nodding his head to the direction where Natasha is shifting, pacing, avoiding any eye contact.

You walk over to her. She tries holding back tears as you did. She grew attached to you and now you’re leaving. “Hey Nat,” you cup her face, trying to get her to look at you. “I’m sorry. I don’t wanna leave either, not right now, but-”

Natasha kisses you, pulling you close to her as much as possible. Tears fully streaming down her face. She’s never felt this way before, about anybody, for a long time.

But let’s face it, you both know you loved each other. Maybe the both of you just knew that if you got together, it’ll be extremely hard for your relationship once you left. The long distance relationship thing. Even if you aren’t, it's already too painful for Natasha, like she's caught off guard or something. None of you knew that today's your last night on Earth.

“I’m gonna miss you.” Natasha whispers after pulling away.

You smile sympathetically, wiping her tears away with your thumb. “You know I’ll come back, right, pretty girl?” Natasha exhales shakily and pulls you into a hug.

“You better.”

----

I found a song for this fic-series whatever, please I’m so proud of myself the song reminds me of this story

I’M ANNOYED THAT I HAVEN’T PUT IN MUCH ABOUT THE READER’S FIRE ABILITIES IN THIS ONE BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY ANYWAY (they’re on a date she wouldn’t need it for anything)

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someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

Text

Come to Me

This is my submission for @levihan-drabbles Trope Tuesday - I jumped firmly on the bandwagon and went with prompt #4: Injured/hurt Levi & caring Hange. Juuuust eeked inside the max word count, but I’ll take it!

Warnings: This fic does contain some depictions of injury, nothing too graphic, but be aware if this is something that bothers you!

“Who was it this time?”

Hange expected no answer. As such, they were unsurprised at receiving nothing but a grunt and a hiss as they pressed an alcohol-soaked swab to the apple of Levi’s cheek, where the flesh, feverishly red and swollen now, had split like a burst seam.

Only rarely did Levi disclose the particulars of his adventures, and never when prompted. Hange knew better than to press. It wasn’t their role to ask questions, but the silence quickly grew oppressive when left unattended, and Hange would much rather listen to the sound of their own voice than the stifling quiet.

“Do they at least look worse off than you do?” They asked, tilting Levi’s bruised jaw to angle him better beneath the hanging bulb. Levi gave another noncommittal grunt, this one accompanied by a shrug of his shoulder and a grimace that tugged at his bust lip. The forming scab cracked open, and a thin trail of blood dripped towards his chin.

He was quiet, tonight. Moreso than usual. It wasn't in Levi’s nature to divulge too much of anything, but he could be vocal, in his own way. Hange’s poking and prodding was most often met with a grumbled ‘mind your damn business’ or ‘keep your nose out of my shit’ and occasionally, when Hange was in a particularly obnoxious mood, ‘quit jamming your finger into my ribcage’.

There was none of that now. Levi remained perplexingly silent while Hange disinfected the open wounds on his face and knuckles, cleaning smeared blood and palpating the joints, checking the swollen flesh for signs of damage they couldn't hope to fix in their parents' tool shed.

This had been their routine for a little while, a semi-regular occurrence since the first night Hange had found him crumpled over a bench in the park, sucking wet breaths through his teeth and trying in vain to stem the blood flow from a yawning gash on his arm. He had colourfully refused Hange’s offer of calling him an ambulance, and had vehemently denied that he needed to see a doctor, but he had eventually resigned himself to at least allowing Hange to help however they could with the first aid kit in their kitchen and what little medical knowledge they had absorbed from their mothers medical journals.

He had been a relative stranger to Hange, then. They’d seen him around sometimes, in school corridors between classes, or in the lunch hall, or around the back of the science block, where Hange had caught glimpses of him sparking up or stubbing out a cigarette, but besides these sporadic sightings, Hange's knowledge of Levi came only from whispered rumours.

The rumours, more than anything, made Hange worry that this was not a solitary incident.

“Just come to me,” Hange had said, as they'd finished wrapping the bandage around his wounds. “If you need help again. I kinda like my evening walks, and I think it’d ruin my night if I found you dead next time.”

In truth, Hange hadn’t expected him to take their offer seriously at all. Shocked as they were to see him turn up bloody and bruised at their window, they had stayed true to their word. Levi had tolerated their needling questions with surprising resilience, but eventually acquiesced to give some vague answers when Hange had suggested that he might be involved in something highly illegal.

“You’re in a gang,” they’d said.

“Like hell.”

“Selling drugs?”

“You think I’m stupid?”

“I got it—human trafficking."

“For fucks sake, four-eyes! I’m not—no, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Hange had accused him of every offense under the sun, but as it had turned out, there was nothing so terrible, nor so immoral or unlawful, about Levi’s affairs.

“I just get in fights, sometimes. I live in a rough neighbourhood. Tensions are high, people snap easy.”

“Do you? Snap easily, I mean.” Levi had given her a noncommittal shrug.

“Depends,” he had said. “Whether something’s worth snapping over.”

Hange had never asked what held that kind of wealth, for Levi. He had a deceptively calm aura about him whenever Hange saw him in passing; a little grumpy perhaps, with his thin eyes and drawn brows and pouted lips, but he never exuded the crackling energy of a bomb ready to explode.

Now, though, he seemed stormy. There was an intermittent twitch in his jaw where the muscle bunched and flexed. Despite Hange's close proximity, sitting with their knees tucked between his splayed legs, his gaze remained resolutely fixed somewhere over their shoulder. His freshly bandaged fists rested clenched atop his thighs. There was a pallor to his skin, the sickly hue of it exacerbated by the fluorescent glow from above them; the angle of the light deepened the shadows beneath his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks. He looked, if possible, more sullen than Hange had ever seen him.

Perhaps more tenderly than intended, Hange smoothed their thumb over the last steristrip on Levi's cheek. Something in the softness of the action must have caught his attention, for he drew his gaze towards Hange's face for the first time since turning up tonight. Hange tilted their head at him.

"Are you okay?"

Levi scoffed. "Do I look okay?"

No, Hange thought. You never do. "You've looked better."

"I'm fine."

Hange fought the urge to roll their eyes.

"Like pulling teeth," they mumbled. Levi shot them a look, something petulant and withering. Hange poked their tongue out at him, and winced when he aimed a kick at their ankle.

"Stop being difficult," Levi said. Hange looked at him incredulously, chest swelling and cheeks puffing with indignation. Levi was watching them calmly now, his brow quirked, and Hange felt the futility of arguing with him before they even began. Instead, they blew out a long, calming breath, and began packing the first aid supplies back into the kit.

Silence swelled between them, broken only by the crinkle of plastic as Hange, perhaps with more force than necessary, jammed spare wipes, swabs and bandages into place.

For once, Levi broke it.

"Oi, Hange."

Hange, not looking up from repacking their first aid kit, huffed loudly, and tried their best to ignore him. In the end, though, curiosity won out. "Mm?"

"If—" Levi began, then cut himself off with a harsh huff, and ticked his tongue against his teeth. "If anyone bothers you. Come to me, okay?"

Hange looked up at him, surprised. Levi wasn't looking at them, head turned away and eyes cast down towards the floor.

They weren't friends, exactly. Outside of their strange arrangement, they never really spoke to one another. Hange had, once or twice, caught Levi watching them with a curious expression on his face, but he never spoke to them in public. Hange was mostly at ease with the whole thing. There was an itch of intrigue they longed to scratch, but Levi's responsiveness to questioning had already made itself well known. Excluding their meeting in the park, they had never shared a single word with one another beyond the confines of the tool shed. Why, then, would Levi expect Hange to approach him anywhere else?

"Why would anyone bother me?" It was an earnest question, but Levi met their questioning gaze with a scowl. He opened his mouth with the kind of frustrated ferocity that preceded an argument, then closed it again, and huffed through his nose.

"I heard some things," he said. Hange said nothing, only blinked openly at him, and Levi was pressed to fill the silence. "Someone saying shit. About you."

Hange's brows lifted towards their hairline. "Oh?"

Levi scuffed the toe of his boot over the floor, face twisted in a sneer. Hange found it difficult to tell where his disgust was aimed; at whatever conversation he had overheard, or at himself for bringing it up.

Hange shuffled forward in their chair, one of their knees bumping against the inside of Levi's thigh. His eyes flickered down to the point of contact, then up to Hange's face. Hange nudged his leg harder.

"C'mon, you can't say that and not tell me."

When Levi showed no signs of budging, Hange sat up straighter and folded their arms over their chest. "At least tell me who."

Levi rolled his tongue between his cheeks, deliberating. His gaze flitted over Hange's face as though he was hoping he might find something reflected in it. Whether he found what he wanted Hange didn't know, but after a long moment, he slumped back in his chair and crossed his arms to match Hange, and said, with no absence of venom, "Zeke."

Ah. That at least explained some of Levi's seething. He and Zeke had a history. Hange was unclear on the details, and much of the story was based on rumours passed down in hushed whispers, morphing with each new retelling, but what was clear enough was that the two disliked one another. On Levi's part, it was all clenched fists and frosty glances, while Zeke carried himself with a mix of smug satisfaction and barely restrained resentment.

Still, Hange found it hard to believe that Zeke would have anything too terrible to say about them. Their communication had been inconsequential at best—he had an air of self importance that Hange found a little grating, and an overconfidence in his own opinions, but the handful of instances in which they'd spoken to one another hadn't been unpleasant. Hange told Levi so, and watched with interest as a hint of colour rose in his cheeks and his frown deepened.

"He's a creep," Levi said. Hange's brows arched even higher.

"What, did he threaten me?"

Levi said nothing.

"Is he gonna beat me up?" Still nothing. "Did he call me ugly? Say I smell bad?"

"You do smell bad."

"Did he perv on me?"

Levi's response was both fascinating and telling. He tensed visibly, spine snapping straight, fingers curling tight into his palms—even his thigh, still resting against Hange's knee, clenched hard. Hange's grin widened.

"Jackpot," they said. Levi curled his lip

"Well, I'm honoured by your chivalry, Levi. But you didn't have to pick a fight with him just because he thinks I'm hot. It's kinda flattering, you know?"

"He doesn't even mean it," Levi said harshly. "He's just saying it because I—" but Levi cut himself off again, sharply, and pressed his lips into a thin line. The forming scab tugged, threatening to tear anew.

"Because you what?"

But Levi had had enough. He stood quickly, barely avoiding the low hanging bulb, his chair scraping back with a clatter. The new angle of the light cast his nose and brow into deep shadow, and illuminated his cheeks with a bright glow—despite the washed out look the light gave his skin, Hange could see twin strips of pink on either cheek.

"Thanks," he said. Hange blinked owlishly up at him, their mouth open. They wanted to press him, demand he finish saying what he'd started—and perhaps they would have, perhaps this time, curiosity would win out, and Hange would succeed in wrestling an answer from him for once, but he didn't give them the chance.

He ducked around the bulb and moved to brush past Hange's chair and out the door. Beside them, he stuttered in step and paused; Hange thought—hoped—that perhaps he might be debating telling them the full story. He opened his mouth, and closed it again, opened, and snorted quietly to himself.

Then he raised a bandaged hand, and ruffled it into the messy hair atop Hange's head.

"Thanks," he said.

And before Hange could speak, could move, could do much of anything but stare ahead in shock, Levi had gone.

If, come the following morning, Hange was at all surprised to see the cuts and bruises colouring Zeke's face—a rather delightful collage of red and purple, black, and blue—they hid it very well.

Levi's self-satisfied smirk was far less subtle.

#levihan #screams in exhausted #my schedule the last two days has not been conducive to writing anything ghjhg #they're supposed to be in like high school but I do not have the brain power to make it more obvious #snk #my writing

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tinyjeanmarco · 3 years

Note

omg friends to lovers modern au with porco ?? soft porco just gets me in my Feels™

two idiots

note: woof woof. you know just the kind of softness i love 😩🤚 coming right up, darling! this turned out to be one of my favorite things i’ve written. i hope you all enjoy!! here’s some modern friends to lovers with porco x gn!reader!

wc: 2,154

modern!porco x gn!reader

warnings: language, porco being a dork.

porco had been your best friend ever since he adopted you in his social circle in high school. your “friends” at the time were pretty shitty and he convinced you to drop them and join his friend group instead. best decision ever because now you had actual friends who lasted beyond school as well as not feeling like shit 24/7 anymore.

you’ve been friends for what felt like forever, and you even got a job at the same little café. currently, you two had the closing shift. that just spells chaos with porco’s silly antics he always pulls. it was a surprise he hasn’t gotten you two fired yet.

so now, with the “open” sign flipped to “closed,” porco takes it upon himself to fuck around and give himself a whipped cream mustache. which is very irresponsible because you could get in so much trouble if the higher ups find out.

you did nothing to stop him, just laughing to the point you were afraid your lungs would give out from the force of your laughter.

“porco, you’ve got to stop doing that, that’s so unsanitary. plus we have twenty minutes to finish and lock up.” you giggled, making your way over to the sink where all the dishes were waiting to be cleaned.

“can’t be fired if we’re not caught,” he sent a playful wink to you “and it’s fun to make you laugh all the time.” you just rolled your eyes at him.

“you’re absolutely no help, you bafoon. go mop the floors or something.”

“fine, mom. whatever you say.” he groaned and licked the whipped cream off his face. however, on his way to grab the mop, he made sure to splash you with the water running from the faucet.

“you dick! you’ll pay for this!” you shout as you cup your hands under the water, gathering as much as you could, before flinging it in his direction.

“see? there you go. now you’re having fun!” he cackled.

“you’re cleaning that up, dipshit.” he nodded frantically, giving you a salute.

“of course, mom. planned on it.” you couldn’t hold back your laugh after seeing the serious look on his face. you smacked him on the arm.

“stop calling me mom, it’s weird.” with a roll of your eyes, you got back to cleaning the dishes, set on getting out of work on time. you knew messing around wouldn’t exactly get you guys in trouble, but if you didn’t clock out and close up in time, you would be reprimanded.

“i would never stop saying something that makes you so annoyed, so no, mom.” he had the biggest shit eating grin on his face as he went about cleaning the floors. you decided to refrain from giving him the satisfaction of your response, instead focusing on your work.

of course, the peaceful silence would only last so long as porco decided to fill it with his idiotic chatter.

“hey, (y/n), do you remember senior year when zeke made you laugh so hard that you pissed yourself? that’s what this is reminding me of.” his boisterous laugh bounced around all the walls of the small building as your face flushed.

“you said you would never bring that up again! we agreed on that. how would you like if i brought up you pissing the bed when you were a sophomore in high school? you were like fifteen or sixteen and you still peed the bed.” now it was your turn to laugh at him.

“uncool! that was a one time thing! and i chugged a whole bottle of water before bed, okay? not my fault.” now it was his turn to go completely red in the face, the tips of his ears also tinted red. you mocked him, repeating his last sentence under your breath in a dumb voice.

he scoffed at you and then everything was silent again, minus the running water and clanking of dishes. your thoughts kind of took over as you mindlessly worked. you two had been friends for what feels like half of your life, and for a majority of that time, you had a crush on him as well. you still do.

whenever you guys had free time, you would spend it together, as best friends do. there was no doubt that you would catch feelings eventually. sometimes you wish you could do something about it, but you’re content just being his best friend instead of ruining what you have to take a chance on a relationship that probably wouldn’t happen.

porco just had this dorky, boyish charm to him that drew you in immediately. it seemed to attract all kinds of others, too, because he had numerous partners growing up. his relationships never lasted too long though, earning him the title of “heartbreaker.” another reason you didn’t wanna try your luck. you didn’t know if he would break up with you after a month of being together.

being totally absorbed by your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed porco trying to get your attention.

“hellooo? earth to (y/n)?” he waved a hand in front of your face. you startled and ended up splashing water on both of you.

“huh? sorry, i spaced out.” you said sheepishly, turning off the running water. you had finished your task and noticed porco had as well.

“i’ve finished mopping and wiping tables down and shit. you wanna clock out if that’s all?”

“oh, uh, yeah. i think we’ve already gotten to everything. i already sorted out everything in the back so we should be okay. lemme finish up here.” you made sure the sink was cleaned up and porco got to putting the rest of the cleaning supplies away, and worked on shutting the lights off. you snagged your bag from the back and met up with him by the door.

“you need a ride home?” he inquired as you locked the doors and headed out. that got you to stop, remembering that the last bus was around an hour ago, so that left you with walking home as your only option. luckily for you though, porco was always paying attention to your habits, knowing that you wouldn’t have a way home.

“yeah, actually, that would be great. i’m too tired to walk home tonight.” you smiled at him appreciatively, earning a smile back. climbing into his car, you stole the aux cord immediately. you always got control of the tunes when he was driving you somewhere.

you both got to making idle prattle as you scrolled through your playlists to find something to play. you settled on one of your favorite songs, humming along here and there as he drove.

as you neared your apartment, he turned down the music to a low volume and spoke up.

“so, i’ve wanted to talk to you about something for a while and i feel like now is a good a time as any.” you gave an agreeing ‘hm,’ prompting him to continue.

“i uh, think you’re really cool and all, and i’ve kind of sort of had a crush on you since high school which i know is like a long time or whatever, but i got tired of just keeping it to myself for so long and i just wanted to tell you.” you were shocked to say the least. your heart rate picked up, filled with hope and anticipation.

he pulled into your apartment complex and put the car in park before turning to you and continuing to speak.

“i don’t expect it to go anywhere, you don’t even have to feel the same but, i just wanted to kinda lay out my feelings, maybe see if you feel the same?” he phrased it as more of a question. when he began speaking, he was pretty confident, but that slowly wore down the more he said until it was just his nerves left. insecurities rubbing together and creating a spark.

“of course, you don’t have to feel the same. that would be silly to expect that from you. we’re best friends and we always have been. actually, the more i think, that was really stupid to say because you like see me as a brother and stuff and like incest is gross so honestly you ca-” you had to cut him off, as cute as his rambling was, you didn’t want him to start overthinking. a sad porco is a not fun porco.

“shut up and kiss me, dumbass.” you shot out before your nerves got to you.

“-n ignore- what?” he looked at you incredulously, not expecting you to say anything like that. hey, same porco.

“i said kiss me, or i’ll kiss you first, then how would you feel? you’re the one confessing to me.” and the confidence you have just keeps building up. you honestly had no idea what was getting into you anymore, but knowing that your long time crush has liked you back for around the same amount of time you liked him? score.

“oh, yeah i’ll kiss you.” and with that, he leaned over the console and crashed your lips together. your heart was dancing in your chest, crashing into your ribs. you almost worried that he could hear it, but you got lost in the kiss, forgetting and not bothering to care.

his hands came up to cradle your jaw, pulling your face impossibly closer to him as he kissed you even deeper than before. you pulled away, deciding to give him more of a response than telling him to just kiss you.

“i’ve liked you just as long, pock. i never thought you would ever feel the same, i mean, you always dated so many people and stuff so i just assumed that you weren’t interested in me.” you confessed, flushing slightly.

“yeah, but, you know how long each of those lasted. it was because of you. they took up time i wanted to spend with you and i only really wanted you. i was just trying to get over my feelings. i never knew i could have this with you.” he began stroking your cheek with one of his thumbs, the other hand searching for yours to interlock your fingers together.

“i guess this car just has two idiots looking into each other’s eyes then, huh?” you laughed, leaning into his hand on your face. “i never thought i could have this with you, either.”

“yeah, i guess we are kind of dumb, then.” he went in for another kiss, giving it his all before pulling away again. “can i take you out? we work the same shifts usually so we’ll have a day off together soon.”

“yeah, i think i’d like that a lot.” you couldn’t help yourself, you had to kiss him again. now that you could do that, you don’t think you’ll stop anytime soon. you just felt so right when you kissed him, the entire world fell away leaving the two of you melded together, just sharing how much you felt for the other.

pulling away from the kiss, porco pulled you into a crushing hug. he didn’t want to let you go, but realized he probably should. you’d been sitting in his car for a few minutes and he knew you needed your rest. it had been a long day.

“okay, now get out of my car please.” he smiled at you lovingly.

“so sweet, so romantic, my little pock.” he groaned but let out a snort soon after.

“ugh, you ruined the moment.” he rolled his eyes and you stared at him, bewildered.

“me? you’re the one kicking me out of your car.” he laughed at this.

“only because i know you’ll complain if you don’t get enough sleep. i’ll see you at work tomorrow though, babe, don’t worry,” he paused for a second, “i can call you that, right?”

“yeah, and you better keep calling me that or i’ll tell everyone at work about your whipped cream escapades.” he gasped, mocking offense.

“you wouldn’t dare.” his eyes narrowed at you. you let out a loud laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“oh, i would. try me.” he rolled his eyes and gave you a kiss on your nose.

“yeah, yeah, i believe you. but you really should get going. i promise i’ll keep calling you babe, and that i’ll see you tomorrow. babe.” you smiled and reached out to give his hand a squeeze.

“yeah, i’ll see you tomorrow. bye, pock.” and with that you made your way out of his car, giving him a wave and blowing him a kiss before you turned to head inside. he pretended to grab your kiss and pressed it to his lips before waving back.

you giggled to yourself giddily as you walked into the building, not believing the events that unfolded today, or happy they made you. yeah, today was a good day.

#porco x reader #porco galliard x reader #porco #porco galliard #aot fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #aot x reader #snk #aot #attack on titan x reader

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herstarburststories · 3 years

Text

He didn’t make it to 42

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: it’s Dean’s birthday, you go to visit him with some news and things that need to be said.

A/N: Happy bday, De.

Warnings: so much angst, mentions of sex, hopeful/happy ending (?)

Dean’s dead. It’s Dean’s birthday and he’s dead. You can’t argue much.

Sam denied the demon blood inside him, and that didn’t stop its evil nature from growing and gasping for his fresh air to the point he was almost shocked alive. Dean denied his dad’s destructive methods’ results for the longest time, and that didn’t stop the cicatrixes in every emotion he had ever shown. You denied the absence of Dean and that didn’t stop the bricks cracking in your soul. There’s only so far you can go with your eyes closed.

So here you are. Standing in front of an empty grave. You are bigger than the dull tombstone, yet you can’t help but not to feel tall, at all. How can you even start to talk? Talking to Dean used to be easy even when it got hard and now you’re feeling like a lost kid in a supermarket. Your snide thinking spells out his name with venom, saying it isn’t easy for you to open your barmy mouth and spill out contrarian shit because this isn’t Dean, just another meaningless symbolism that Sam promises that will help. The real Dean died almost a year ago, he was burned in a hunter’s funeral, the flames dancing over his body as the smell of burnt meat invaded your nostrils. Whenever you try to remember his fragrance, that manly aroma which you loved to scent each morning, all your brain can come up with is the odor of his skin and guts burning. The smell lingers like bad perfume, it doesn’t matter how many times you wash yourself with his soap-- that only broke your heart worse.

But today is Dean’s birthday. He deserves a visit, even if it’s not him. Then you go and attempt to deal with the desolation, push it away just a little, and pick up something from the enormous pile of things you wish to tell Dean. You glance at the cold tombstone: Dean Winchester. 1979 - 2020. Beloved son, big brother, and husband. Hunter. A hero. Simple definitions that can never make it up for who he was and what he meant. You purse your lips and cough a little, a gentle wind touches your cheek so tenderly. If you were still a believer, you’d think this is some sort of sign, Dean’s presence or some other pious hoax. All you do now is to remain in quietude, a deep breath. Ultimately, your voice comes:

‘’You didn’t make it to forty two, huh?’’ You scoff humorless, reminiscing to the multiple days that Dean said he wouldn’t go past 35. He did live each year like it was the last--- you aren’t sure if it's such a good thing. If you carry on like your days are outnumbered, you are silently entertaining yourself until death's knock on your door. ‘’I always hated when you were right. Let’s be honest, you had the words of a pessimist and the wants of an optimist. Still, if you were to be right about something, it would be about a bad situation. A nest with too many vampires, how crappy the motel’s bedroom would be, or how that third glass of wine would make me tipsy. So yeah, I always hated when you were right. And look at you now! You aren’t right, you aren’t wrong. You are dead! And I’m the crazy girl screaming at an empty tombstone.’’

You let out a laugh empty of joy. That’s how a hunter’s life is: you die and people stop talking about you because it’s too sad or too long gone to hold any pity, meanwhile the ones who recall about you go loud with all the spirits in their heads. You put your hand in the pockets of the heavy leather jacket that once belonged to a green eyed man who would be turning 42 today, some strange force causing you to speak again.

‘’Wow.’’ You shake your head to the blue way you paint the scene until you notice that you never greeted him. ‘’Hey.’’ The simple word adds a comical insult to injury. ‘’Guess the dead don’t care about manners, huh?’’ You arch your eyebrows with a grin that demonstrates anything but happiness. ‘’Miracle died. Sam digged a hole next to the bunker and buried him there. He isn’t the same since you died, you know? Not the deceased dog-- Well, he wasn’t the same either. Always whining and scratching your door like a fucking cat, and sniffing your old boots. He made me company in your bed and I whined as much as he did when you didn’t come back home that day. He stood by the door most days, waiting for you to appear. I can’t judge him, I did the same.’’ You shrug, not caring about how risible that confession may look. It's true. You became as irrational as a loyal dog at some point in this sorrow. ‘’And Sam, your baby brother… I think he died with you right there, Dean. He didn’t try to bring you back as he promised, but I shouted and screamed so much. I said I would burn the bunker and throw Baby over a cliff if he didn’t-- if he didn’t let me try. I lived up to the mad woman title.’’

You are crestfallen, pacing on top of where the eldest Winchester - Sam’s brand new nomination - supposedly was buried. You know your boots barely touch an infected land, there's no deceased man under your steps. The dead thing is in you.

‘’I spent days dragging your body everywhere and nowhere, anywhere I could catch a crumb of relief in hope to bring you back. But I couldn’t. Jack could, but that ungrateful idiot doesn’t wanna follow his grandpa steps and get too attached to mere humans, the creation or whatever. As if we are just some skin and bone to him, as if you are just another human.’’

You sit down on the tombstone, some tender solace in being close to a thing that's supposed to represent him, like sleeping hugged to a pillow or waking up to a photograph of his. Your nails sink against the gelid concrete at the thought of screaming into the sky for the new God that seemed as deaf as the last one. His calm answer to your burning pain. How he dared to tell you he knew what he was doing— as if he was the original lord and not a three years old. You can't make him do it, so you hold on the fury of some overthrown nation.

‘’Anyway, I couldn’t bring you back. Your body, well, you know how human anatomy works. Your body started to smell like death. We tried to stop with human and magic ways, and it wouldn’t work because you were dead. You should’ve seen the doctor’s face when we got you in that fancy hospital tha night. I think we traumatized the doctor with so much violence and trauma. She didn’t even give us a false hope or anything, you know? She just asked about organ donation of what was left. She just wanted to take every little thing out of you, as if you were just another accident on a Tuesday night.’’ Your shake your head as the memories and your points start to mix, it's hard to discern things and keep a straight line when you have an open wound in your insides. ‘’Well, they couldn’t bring you back to life, and neither could Rowena or whatever I looked for. Don’t be mad because I tried, Winchester. You know I’m too stubborn for my own good. I had to try.’’ you refuse to apologize, yet adds the playful words in his eulogy. ‘’But then your body started to stink and God, how could I continue to be so violent to your corpse? That was when I decided to listen to you for the first time and to Sam, so I let you go. I hate you for asking that.’’ What an ambiguous, contradictory truth to bare. You are glimpses of a person for months because of Dean Winchester, still have the energy to argue his selfless logic, just to love him even more. He's got your devotion, but man you can hate him sometimes. ‘’I hate you for going on that stupid hunt. I hate you for being dead, you giant idiot that I love so much.’’ You can't bring your mouth to say loved. "I was always telling you to let the past go and now I’m in love with a dead thing. What a comic way to end our history. I told you that Miracle died, right? I don’t know if dogs go to heaven, but I hope he’s in there with you. I wonder what your heaven is like. I bet it has Whiskey.''

Your dry chuckle makes your notice the tears in your eyes, glistening your orbs as they go like a waterfall to be absorbed by the thirsty land after leaving your cheeks.

"Sam and I-- We tried to make some sense out of this cruelty, but we can’t. You are dead and I can’t seem to put it past me. I still sleep in your bed, and I can still taste your body burning on the roof of my mouth in the quiet nights. I cried this morning because someone asked for a burger, can you believe that? It was so stupid since I used to shake my head and argue with you about cholesterol. Suddenly I was crying at lunch in a restaurant because some stupid kid asked for a burger with extra bacon. They sang Happy birthday to this dumbass child, and I interrupted with my awful crying, and wished that you were celebrating your birthday and not that kid. I guess you could say I wish death upon an innocent child with a problematic eating routine.’’ That was a whole new level of low, as if you are the one wrapped with the sentiment of laying six feet under.

‘’Everyone tells you about how grief is singular and particular with similar emotions that bring people who went through this together. They even have that crap stages thing and all that. You know what they don’t tell you?’’ Your mouth shuts for a moment, like you are waiting some response. You nod as if whatever you were expecting is handed to you. ‘’Grief can be fucking ridiculous. Who cries because of a burger full of oil and cardiac diseases? Who cries because they found a grocery store recipe under her dead boyfriend’s bed? Who falls on the ground screaming in the middle of the mall because they saw a flannel? Who? Those things are so stupid.’’ You smile like there's no tomorrow and the laugh leaving your lips is a treacherous tone. Perhaps you just aren't build up to express joy anymore. ‘’You see it in the movies and in the books and you think, you know, you think to yourself that grieving is being sad on special dates and randomly remembering the loved ones because of some screaming memory, like a flannel or their perfume. Thing is, it’s not just that. All your body seems so small, so tight for all the ache and agony inside it. Your senses go wild, you are not just one person in one place. You’re just the pain everywhere, like being pulled apart and you beg to jump in the fucking grave with them. At least you would be together, at least you would feel like one person and not suffering edges of a broken earthy thing. And--And you start remembering things you didn’t even know you had mesmerized. I look at the ceiling and remember you saying you’d paint it someday. I look at the kitchen and remember me screaming at you for giving Miracle the rest of the food. I smell Sam’s clothes and started crying because hey, they don’t smell like alcohol. You don’t iron them while drinking anymore, so of course they don’t smell like cheap beer.’’ You are chuckling through the tears and it only makes it more monstrous. ‘’Everything is you now that you are gone. Every man has something similar to you, every garden is green as your eyes, and each step sounds like you are coming home. They didn’t prepare me, not for this.’’ You said breathless. A soft single follows. The knife cuts both ways; the empty breeze and the words hurt. Where's the middle term? Where's the limbo? Where's the only safe place for you to rest your weary head?

Out of nowhere, you blurt out, ‘’I can’t masturbate,’’ I know it’s something stupid and even selfish to say, but I think you’d like to know. I can’t masturbate. That’s a part of the whole losing someone process that people are too ashamed to discuss, or maybe they don’t have the urge to be touched anymore because after someone you love dies, after someone-- the hands who touched are dead and cold, you become a haunted object. That’s how I feel most days, like I’m a haunted house because you touched me and now you’re dead and some days I believe I am too.’’ You look around the places. It's beautiful. It's lonely. It has trees and flowers and green. Not as green as Dean's eyes, but it doesn't matter anymore. He doesn't even have eyes at this point. ‘’Well, I can’t masturbate. I can’t touch myself. And I can’t ask someone else either. I tried and ended up punching the guy, Dean. I swear. I panicked when he was between my legs and just punched his nose. You’d have liked it, you were always the jealous kind. I won’t admit that, but I thought it was kinda hot. Especially when you got possessive in sex.’’ A dirty grin appeared on your lips, the echoes of luxury lasting in your eyes for a brief moment. ‘’I don’t think I can be cared for anymore, honestly. Sam tried to hug me when Miracle died and I… It was like I wasn't there. I got frozen in time, and I live in my sleep. In my nightmares you are alive. I dream about the day you died every week and I used to wake up screaming, but now those nightmares are the only proof you were alive now that you’re as dead as the police report says this time. It was the most painful, calamitous moment for you and I swear it was a nightmare for me, but then I realized that at least I had you there, egoistical or not, I made my nightmare into a dream.’’ You aren't sure which opinion Dean would have on that. Would he understand? Would he shake his head? You wish you can ask him just this one more thing, just beg him to write it down for you on how to be without him here.

You raise on your feet, glaring at the name craved in the concrete. The tears go by still, although they're as usual as the blood in glir veins at this point. ‘’Death is so silly. What it takes, anyway?" Each word conquers more inches of pure wrath. ''People die because they stumbled on their own feet and hit their head somewhere, or they drove their car too close and too fast to the cliff, or because they were giving birth, or because they dated the wrong person, or because they were hunting a fucking vampire and got impaled. What are the chances? How stupid, and idiotic is death? Always creeping and waiting to bite and chew a piece of you-- Taking every scrap of you from me like that’s its right.’’ You are screaming, starting to kick and punch the tombstone with any piece of straight you have. Your limbs hurt and the blood is visible, but you keep going. ‘’YOUR STUPID DOG DIED, DEAN! AND YOU DIED! AND I DIED! SAMMY DIED! YEAH, IS SAID SAMMY! GO AHEAD, TELL ME ONLY YOU CAN CALL HIM THAT.’’ Another punch, your knuckles are ripped. Another kick, your boot as a hole. ‘’DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.’’ Kick. ‘’SAMMY, SAMMY, SAMMY!’’ A punch to each name. Anything to get a reaction, to get comfort. Anything. ‘’YOU CAN’T BECAUSE YOU ARE DEAD.’’ Gasping for something you don't need anymore, sweet oxygen, your eyes are on the tombstone again. And the definitions. And the trees. Your body is sore and aching. It is the kind and coercion no person wants which you needed; the freedom of feeling outside the exact pain that was inside. ‘’You can’t because you are dead. I’ve been playing some sick games in my mind, you know? Sam stopped hunting and had his closure. He was always better at letting go than you and I, but he’s still hurting. I never saw him hurting so much. I think he knows you won’t come back this time, how could you make us promise something like that? Well, my twisted game is a bunch of misleading what ifs. What if you hadn’t gone after John? What if you hadn’t gone on that last hunt? What if you had stayed with Lisa? At first I didn’t like her much. Jealous, I admit that. But she grew on me. She gave you something I couldn’t back then and I’ll always be thankful for that. And even though it would rip me apart, I’d rather you to die at sixth after living your suburban dream with her. Have another kid besides Ben, maybe a girl this time, and just have that apple pie life. You and Sam would live close and your kids would always play. They’d be as close as brothers. Maybe I’d get a guy and bring my own kids and we could’ve a barbecue and everyone would be happy. But we don’t get soft epilogues here. It ends how it starts, right? Bloody and desperate. I thought maybe, maybe Lisa could understand what’s going through my head now. I drove to her new address and parked close to her house. I must have spent hours there, thinking if I should come in or not, If she somehow remembered after Castiel died or if I could make her brain work again if I told her the truth. But then I just drove back home and fell asleep wrapped in that stupid lumberjack flannel of yours. The one I always mocked, yeah? She may understand me, but I know you wouldn’t want that. You want her, you want me and Sam to be happy. I don’t know if I can do that, Dean. It’s like myt brittle soul shrewd and my body is just waiting to collapse.’’ You signed, overwhelmed by the battle without an anthem. The victory with no triumph. Is it still a win when you don't have someone to come home too? ‘’Your dog died, it’s the first birthday you didn’t live to see, and I bought all the things you told Mrs Butters you wanted for your birthday because it’s your birthday. I just don’t know how to celebrate it with you dead. People stop counting after they die, right? They just say he’d have been 42 or he died at 41. They give melancholy smiles when they wake up and check the day on their phones and a woe atmosphere swallows them for the rest of the day. Then they get better the next day. I think everyday is your birthday.’’ You attempt to wipe away your tears, which only causes your pulsating hand to stain your face red. ‘’Dean, for the first time, what died stayed dead! Congrats.’’ Once again, a hysterical laugh. ‘’I wish but no. What died didn’t stay dead, you are alive, so alive in my head. I swear you are there some days. I wake and watch the door, so sure you’ll come back. Sam says I’m living in delusion and I have to wake up and keep going since that's what you would want. That's enough to make him keep going, but it only makes me angry. Everyone we know and some strangers looks at me like I'm a house on fire and no longer a warm home, like I'm a car accident. They think I don't notice but I do.’’ You look at your boots, the whole is rolling out blood like your hands. You feel closer to Dean. How sick.

‘’Help, I’m still right where you left me." You plea, his love lingering like a bruise. ''I think gravity is overwhelming and it keeps me here. Sometimes it’s like I’m one of those dusted books Sam used to read. Or those Bukowski ones that you hid, so we wouldn’t see how smart you’re. You tried so hard to hide your intelligence because you didn’t think you were entitled to it. You saw yourself as the protector and never the valuable one for protection. You, the man who made an EMF out of an old radio, who rebuilt the Impala from the ground multiple times, and who knew patterns better than any detective. The man who showed me I could rely on someone other than myself. The dude with a lopsided grin, tough hands and a heart of gold. I miss you so much. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing all those classic rock songs and Taylor Swift pop hits, while I drove here. I would think you were home, smelling like guts because you wanted to eat before taking a shower after a hunt. I would think that you are in the Deancave, waiting for me to curl up on your lap to watch Scooby Doo or Doctor Sexy MD until we aren’t watching anymore. If I didn’t know better I would think no death could take you from me. There would be no tear us apart in our vows.’’ The only thing that keeps your organism working is that Dean died knowing how much you loved him. You never let this talk for later or never. No tomorrow is promised. That's a nice comfort, maybe that's what will help you to let go in the future. ‘’But yesterday your stupid, skink dog died and I lost the last living thing that I had from you. You know what’s more angerting? I cried and Sam cried and I noticed we were the living things you left behind and all we have is each other. All your closets of backlogged dreams were left for us-- so yeah. Sam is done hunting and he’s met a lovely girl, and they are moving in like in your domestic dreams. I’m taking care of the family business like your other contradictory dream and making sure Sam is safe enough to be normal. Because I have to, we have too. Stupidly enough, I still wait for the day you’ll burst out the door and tell us to hit the road again. I still watch every episode of your dumb tv shows to make sure I’ll know everything that happened when you ask. I still drive around in your car and close my eyes when the street is calm, only picturing you driving as Baby’s engineers go wild but those are my hands on the steering wheel. If I didn't know better, I’d think you are still around. But I know better. I still feel you all around. I love you.’’

Your monologuing ends as astutely as it stated. You get up, press a kiss to your ruined for the next weeks hands and place it on the rock with writings. You turn around and walk back to the car that you parked near, only in case of Dean wanting to see Baby. How knows? You and your clandestine faith. You lick your lip and get in the car.

You swear you the AC/DC cassette wasn't there before, but when you turn on the car and the radio it starts playing. It's the first true smile that comes to your mouth, it's bloodstained and you look like a shameless woman. With that you can deal.

It hurts a bearable hurt for now. You didn't think it was possible. Maybe someday.

The end.

(she takes a little longer to arive in heaven than sammy. his baby brother says that women are most likely to live around six years more than men. it doesn't ease him up, though. dean waited sam for too long, his platonic soulmate. and now he has to wait his romantic one too? the eldest Winchester considers it the best earthly present when the he sense you around, that smell of orange and apples. it's you, he knows before even turning around. he can't wait to love you again. your name rolls off your tongue so naturally, as if you had seen each other just yesterday: ‘’hey, y/n.’’)

But then again, nothing ever really ends, does it?

REBLOG AND COMMENT. Feedback is magic and helps me!

Starburst's footnote: It just didn't feel right to make an author's note on the top. I wanted it all only to be an arrow to the story. So, this is my side note: it's six am and I'm up writing this after inspiration kissed me with a bruise in the middle of the night. Or more like grabbed my throat. Anyway, I had to write and finish this one to post today, even pushing sleep aside. Hey, we are writers, that's what we do! I've been watching the show since I was eleven and I cried like a baby with the finale. This series was just so important and crucial to molde aspects of relationships for me. The song marjorie by Taylor Swift was used here, and so was the line "you got my devotion/ but man, I can hate you sometimes" by Harry Styles. I told you guys I would use it somewhere! A special thanks to @msmarvelouswinchester who helped me with her encouraging and opinon. You are the best! And with all of this I wanna say: Happy bday, Dean Winchester!

REBLOG AND COMMENT! Feedback is magic! Especially about this fic, I’d like to know your opinion. Tags in the reblog! Send an ask or dm to get in the taglist.

#dean winchester #dean's birthday #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean winchester's birthday #dean winchester x you #supernatural #spn #dean winchester imagine #supernatural imagines #spn reader insert #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester imagines

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bitch-butter · 3 years

Note

hello! can i request "You didn't do anything wrong, there's nothing to apologize for" for any ship of your choosing? or any AU you want? i just really love how your writing flows, it's so cohesive-- don't take this the wrong way but like. i adore sitting down and actually analyzing your stuff structurally? seeing how it works and weaves together to make a whole just makes the shriveled up eng lit major inside me really happy.

w o o f this one ran away from me a little bit, it incorporates some Things I was thinking of re: forgiveness/webgott last month, and it's bit different than pure H/C but I hope you find something to like in it! Thank you for your lovely compliment~

Yes, it's webgott bc i am chained to The Rhythm

4. "You didn't do anything wrong. There's nothing to apologize for."

He cleared the drawer once more, eyes scanning into its dark corners for any sign of a missed sock, undershirt, some hidden treasure that he had many years ago deemed worthy of being put in the back of the underwear drawer. Raising his brows, Joe shook his head at himself as he closed it resolutely, tossing his bounty into his pack and stuffing the top with the sack that contained his bathroom shit.

Even remembering the days he used to be able to leave the house with just his keys made him want to sigh like a goddamn cow in the summertime. Now he needs the bag, the car, and Web just to go across the bay.

Speak of the devil, Web padded into the bedroom with his usual September expression: weary, exhilarated, slightly frustrated. Wordlessly, he crossed past Joe to the bed and slumped face-first onto it with a groan.

“Done?” Joe questioned, zipping up the bag.

Making a soft grunt of a sound, Web curled his arms around his head. “Done,” he said, face mashed against the bed.

“Well, get to it,” Joe said, stepping over to land a light smack against Web’s ass and grinning at the outraged whine he got in response. “Don’t want to be late,” he tossed over his shoulder as he stepped back out to the hall, making for the kitchen.

Even out here he can hear the sound Web makes, somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “I’ve changed my mind!”

“No you didn’t!” Joe called back, grabbing the butter left on the counter and shoving it in the fridge, letting his eyes make one final sweep around the kitchen. “If you don’t show your reputation won’t ever recover.”

“Your mother loves me,” Web toned, and Joe couldn’t help a snicker as he moved through the hall back to the bedroom, where Web had at least moved to lay on his back, knees up. “She wouldn’t care, she’d probably let me move in with her if you ever kicked me out.”

Rolling his eyes, Joe stood at the food of the bed, arms folded. “Not with Yom Kippur, you’re not allowed to fuck around. She was happy you said you wanted to come, you don’t want to disappoint her.”

Heaving out a long breath, Web folded his hands behind his head, eyes lowered as he peered down at Joe. His knees tilted just so, his lips quirking, and Joe could see the fucking thought forming in his head before he had a chance to open his mouth.

“No.”

“We have time,” Web said, extending one leg to poke his toes into the left side of Joe’s stomach.

Clicking his tongue, he took hold of the other man’s ankle, giving it a soft pull and smiling in satisfaction as Web tried to pull it back to no avail. “If you think I’m going to miss my last fucking meal just to fuck you then you have another thing coming, alright?”

With a disgruntled twist of his lips Web pulled his leg in again, a little jerk that ushered Joe down onto the mattress as well. “You weren’t this dedicated last year,” he noted lightly, free of the reproach that might have accompanied the words if his family had said them.

Shaking his head, Joe decided to throw Web a bone and settled beside him, at least staying up on his elbows. “Different places,” he said simply.

Web looked up at him fondly, hand coming up to smooth over Joe’s hairline, sweeping it back and trailing behind his ear. “So, how will we spend tonight, then?” he asked quietly, eyes still following along where his hand moved. “If not in bed.”

Breath going slow with the contact, he tilted his head into the touch contentedly. “Well, tonight we’re going to eat like kings, Rach will probably be trying to get drunk in the pantry and hoping nobody notices, we’ll sleep in the attic, then tomorrow we spend a lot of fucking time at the synagogue.”

“And we don’t eat,” Web stated, assured.

“No eating, no drinking,” Joe nodded, brow furrowing at the sight of an eyelash on the other man’s cheek, reaching for it mindlessly.

Humming, Web closed his eyes to accommodate him. “Does this have a corresponding Catholic holiday I can retrofit in my mind?”

“I don’t know, you guys got a day where you feel really guilty about everything?” he asked, presenting the lash to Web balanced on the tip of his finger.

Blinking, Web frowned thoughtfully. “Birthdays.”

“Make your wish, you prick,” Joe grumbled, holding back his smile as Web grinned up at him, pausing momentarily before blowing the lash away into the room. Indulgently, he moved in closer, cupping the warmth of Web’s face in his palm and looking down on him with a feeling as close to serenity as he ever has here, in their bed, the sunlight coming in through their window.

Web returned his gaze, his own hand tracing along the back of Joe’s neck. “Do you confess?”

“Sure.”

“Alone?”

“All together,” he corrected, absently rubbing at the spot on Web’s cheek where he had plucked the lash. “You recite it, while you do this,” he said, shifting gently to bring his hand down to Web’s chest, knocking gently against him, just above his heart, with a loose fist.

Web watched his fist, a bemused smile growing over his lips. “Why?”

Settling his hand over the spot, Joe rubbed gently at him. “To punish your heart.”

Smile stilling over his face, Web absorbed his words with quiet interest, eyes floating down along Joe’s neck to the dark burrow of his chest where it pressed against the bed. “Isn’t the sinning hurt enough?”

Trust Web to try to loop him into a conversation about semantics of all fucking things. He must be more anxious to start his classes than Joe thought. “I don’t know,” he half-shrugged, eyes on his own hand over Web’s heart. “If you’re the sort who doesn’t like hurting people, maybe.”

Web nodded, accepting, smile turning more wistful, thoughtful “That’s nice, to be able to get it all out of the way at once.”

“What, you turned in a paper late?” Joe teased.

Flicking behind Joe's ear, Web looked up at him balefully, just a touch of that familiar humor at the edge of his mouth, like a dimple made of light. “I’d apologize to you, obviously.”

Huffing out a surprised laugh, Joe looked discerningly down at him. “You got something you want to tell me?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Web shook his head softly, hand curling around his neck once more and seeming to anchor him down even further, their faces close enough to see the earnest upset around the angles of the other man’s eyes. “You know.”

Web does this. Likes to see monsters where there are none, invent storm clouds heading for them, and it makes him behave like a child sometimes and a man others. He’s a contrarian, down even past his bones and into the dust of the universe that lived in his being, it is an unchangeable fact. Telling him that there’s nothing to worry about accomplished nothing at the best of times.

Not that it’s ever stopped him trying.

“You don’t have to apologize to me for a fucking thing,” Joe rebuked solidly, hand moving from Web’s heart to his head, fingers resting just north of the delicate point of his hairline. “Sincerely.”

“I do, I…” Web parried, eyes unyielding where they looked up into Joe’s, somehow free of the sort of conflict he contained when he started thinking he and Joe had different opinions. “I know that this isn’t easy, dealing with me. And you do,” he continued, and this close he can see the way his eyes are stuck on his lips, the thought filling him with affection. “And you’re amazing.”

Giving in, chest bowing in like the hull of a sinking ship, he caught Web’s lips with his own, a hot smack of a thing that stole his breath, gave it to Web, who in turn gave it back to him better, better. “You don’t have to apologize for living, doll,” he shook his head, their nose practically knocking. “That’s not the point.”

Web didn’t seem soothed by the kiss, still appearing occupied with some train of thought that sought to carry him off and away from Joe’s eyes. “I still think of it sometimes, you know.”

Joe frowned. “What?”

“That day,” Web said, as though it should be evident.

He has to pause and think. They’ve lived a lot of days together, not just these ones that they’ve spent in this apartment, but the ones they spent as voices over the phone, words on a page, men in uniforms hiding from each other like chameleons. How is he meant to know which day Web means from the thousands they’ve had?

Looking down, the blue of Web’s eyes reminds him absently of Austrian skies. Mountains.

Yes. He knows.

“I think sometimes I should apologize to you and never stop,” Web said gently, managing to keep hold of Joe’s eyes as they blinked back and forth and back and forth into the memory.

He hadn’t thought about that day in a long time. Which isn’t to say he never does, but it’s been a time. If he concentrates he can still feel the sun on his neck, the unnatural sweatiness of his palms, how his face had somehow felt cold, waxy. Picturing the house, the dark guts of it with the man inside squirming like half-digested meat, still fills him with the primal sort of rage that only visits him in his dreams. All around the periphery of the memory is Web, that day he had decided that whoever David Webster was he wanted no part of it.

“It’s in the past,” he excused weakly.

Web pulled in a short breath, face carefully open. “I know it is.”

“So let it be.”

Frown deepening, Web’s brought his eyes back down, and even this small departure felt like shrapnel. Joe combed through his hair, rubbing at his scalp, jostling him enough to win his eyes back. Web opened his mouth, struggling, before settling into the intention. “Do you still think about it?”

“Of course,” he said dully, voice still caught somewhere in his memory.

“Do you ever think I owe you an apology?” Web asked, voice quiet and eyes steady.

The question drops through him like rain. He’s thought of that day hundreds of times, thousands. When he lets his mind walk back up that hill, shining in the sun like the cover of the storybooks his mother would read to him, it isn’t Web he’s thinking of. He thinks of a forest of trees, of the way that one can become millions, and those millions become legion. That day had been about a lot of things, he hadn’t ever intended for Web to be one of them.

Web has apologized to him in too many ways to count. But this memory is deeper than they are, the kind of wound that might close over but will still carry a piece of metal, even smaller than a sliver, nestled inside of them both.

Web gives him grief, for better and for worse. But he gives him peace, too. That’s all the apology he wants.

His silence has drifted over the room like fog, but Web looks at him with the sort of clarity that only a few years ago made him feel like a bug on a pin, but now simply makes him feel known.

“I’ll punish my heart for forgiveness tomorrow,” Web said softly, smile turning up his lips, hand against Joe’s neck.

Huffing, Joe shook his head, taking up Web’s mouth once more, briefly. “You have it,” he rasped, kissing just the corner of his lips, and then the soft heat of his cheek. “You’ve had it.”

Web smiled into the kiss, leaning up to press a matching one to Joe’s own cheek. “Good.”

Swallowing, he followed Web back down, their faces close. “Will you accept mine?”

A disbelieving laugh rumbled up Web’s throat, his head giving a dismissive shake as he gave Joe’s neck a hard rub. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he criticized, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

But they haven’t always been that lucky. This sort of luck isn’t a permanent state of being.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, before pausing momentarily. “Let’s say you forgive me for the first sin I haven’t committed yet.”

Laughing, Web took his hand from Joe’s skin, holding it up beside them in some offering. “Deal.”

“Deal,” Joe confirmed, taking his hand, giving it one firm shake, enough to gather up Web’s laugh, before bringing it to his lips and laying a kiss across its back. “Now come on, let’s go.”

#technically ~rivers~#prompt #ask #webgott

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m3kuroshirt · 3 years

Text

GrimmIchi Weekend Challenge

Words: 1087

Challenged by: @kuroosden

Genre/Trope: miscommunication

Required words: trustworthy, excuse

Warnings: mature language, nsft discussion

Grimmjow sighed again. Ichigo’s shoulders tensed. He ground his teeth together and flexed his foot under the desk, doing his best to keep his frustration in check. He’s not human. Of course he doesn’t get the whole ‘study thing’, Ichigo reminded himself. He took a slow breath in through his nose and then let it out through his mouth just as slowly.

“Grimmjow,” he stated when he was certain he felt calm enough. The arrancar shifted on the bed, and Ichigo could see him perk up from the corner of his eye. “This might take a while, so if you wanna go do something else and come back in, like, an hour? I can fight you then.” Grimmjow swung his feet around and sat up on the edge of the bed.

“…nah. ‘M good here.”

Ichigo stretched his neck from side to side. “Alright. Don’t complain later then.”

A few more moments passed in silence. Ichigo was almost thoroughly absorbed in his studies; university level anatomy and physiology was wordy but once you got into it, it was easy to lose yourself in the names of the muscles, the vessels, bones, traversing the body mentally as if exploring a forest. Then the bed creaked again, and his concentration dwindled. Grimmjow had shifted closer, slightly.

“…is that really more fun than fighting me?” he asked, and Ichigo could hear his pout. Ichigo closed his eyes.

Give me patience, he begged the universe. When he opened them, he spoke. “It’s not so much that it’s fun. But it’s necessary. There’s more to my life than fighting, you know,” he answered shortly.

Silence was the answer he got. Relief washed over Ichigo and he turned his focus back to his books.

Then: “What kind of heads do you like?”

Ichigo blinked. Then he whipped his head around to face Grimmjow head on. “What the actual fuck are you on about?” The arrancar looked slightly taken aback. He scratched the side of his head, matching Ichigo’s gaze.

“Heads. I think I’d like big ones. Like, the bigger the better. Ferocious beasts, not some whimpy little thing, you know?”

Ichigo shook his head, squinting his eyes at the arrancar a bit. “No, I don’t know. What are you even talking about?” Grimmjow looked down now and his cheeks were pink.

“Kisuke said it’s a thing you humans do. You give each other stuff like that,” he muttered. “Said it was something people do to feel happy…’n I thought maybe you would wanna do that ‘stead of fight me all the time. Thought maybe you were gettin’ bored.”

Ichigo closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, rubbing his temple. He exhaled and opened his eyes. “Ok. You know, I think there was some sort of misunderstanding or something. Urahara probably didn’t explain properly…why don’t you tell me exactly what he said, word for word?” Grimmjow nodded. He ran his tongue over his lips absentmindedly as he thought back to whatever it was Urahara told him.

“I was complaining how sometimes we don’t get to fight so much anymore. And he said ‘sometimes people want to do things other than fight. There are other things that make a person feel good.’ So I asked him ‘like what’…Then he said ‘well, why don’t you and Ichigo try giving each other head.’”

Ichigo choked on air. He coughed, cheeks reddening. Grimmjow stopped and stared at him with a wary expression. “What’s wrong?” the arrancar asked.

Ichigo shook his head, regaining his breath. “N-no- it’s…it’s nothing. Jus...Just, uh, dust. In the air,” he stammered quickly. Grimmjow’s sharp blue eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed.

“Don’t give me that bullshit excuse. Don’t fucking make shit up, Kurosaki. I’m not stupid,” he snapped. “Something about what I said made you react like that.” Grimmjow folded his arms. “Explain it. The fuck did Kisuke mean when he told me that?”

Ichigo felt his mouth go dry and his face turn redder. “I…uh.” Grimmjow raised one blue eyebrow at him, with a look that said ‘whatever excuse you come up with, I’ll know if you’re lying’. He grimaced. “Why me,” he muttered and ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it a slight bit. “Ok. Fine. Just…don’t be angry at me when you understand.” Grimmjow’s expression turned a bit apprehensive, but he gave a short nod.

***

Twenty minutes later, Grimmjow was pacing angrily on Ichigo’s floor. “It…he…that…That fucker!” he snarled. “The fuck was he trying to do?! Make a fool of me? Fuck him. I’ll fucking kill him.”

Ichigo, who was now past the point of embarrassment, replied dully, “I mean, to be honest I wouldn’t stop you. But did you really think Kisuke was a trustworthy source of information?” Grimmjow stopped and tensed, and Ichigo readied himself in response, certain he was about to have an angry Arrancar launch an attack at him. But then Grimmjow exhaled slowly and turned around, expression serious but not angry.

“Sorry.” The apology was gruff and short, almost spat out, as if it left a bad taste in Grimmjow’s mouth. Ichigo blinked. Grimmjow shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking every bit embarrassed now. Ichigo swallowed, trying to ignore how pretty the darkening blush looked on his gigai.

“Uh. No, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know,” he answered finally. Grimmjow shrugged.

“You’re right though. I shouldn’t have believed him.” He ran a hand through his blue hair and sighed. “Next time he says shit like that, I’ll ask you before I do anything.”

Ichigo nodded. “Yeah that’s probably…wait. What do you mean ‘before I do anything’?” Grimmjow stiffened.

“Uh. Yeah, I uh, gotta go now. You need to study some more, right? We can fight tomorrow,” he stated hastily, heading for the door. Ichigo was next to him in a second. He grabbed Grimmjow’s arm.

“Grimmjow.”

“…yeah?”

“Did you kill something and cut it’s head off for me.”

“…no.”

“Really? Because it sounds like you’re lying.”

Grimmjow purposefully avoided Ichigo’s gaze.

“Grimmjow.”

“…it was a hollow. Not too big, but really strong. Thought we could make it a competition or something,” he muttered. Ichigo let go of his arm and sighed.

“…if it was a hollow, then…I guess I can’t be too angry. But, please, don’t do that again,” Ichigo mumbled. Grimmjow nodded, eyes on the floor. Ichigo shook his head. “You know what. I can’t study now. Let’s go kick Kisuke’s ass, yeah?”

Grimmjow perked up. He looked into Ichigo’s eyes with a hopeful expression. “Yeah, I’d like that.” Ichigo gave him a small grin.

#grimmichi #jaegerjaquez grimmjow #kurosaki ichigo #writing challenge #grimmichi prompt #m34gswrites #miscommunication #grimmichi challenge

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bytheangell · 3 years

Text

Take Me With You

(For my @shadowhunterbingo square: Traveling | Jimon, Rated Teen, referenced alcohol but no archive warnings/other warnings) (Read on AO3) “I don’t need a bodyguard,” Simon insists. “It was one stupid letter.”

“The letter wasn’t stupid,” Jace says, already regretting his appointment to this job. “It was a death threat, by someone who’s sent multiple things to your unlisted apartment.”

“Well, no one knows where I live on the road, which is where I’ll be for the next three months,” Simon points out.

“Oh, yes, the total inability to track you from a list of cities you’re going to and the dates and times you’ll be there. You’re right, no one will ever find you that way,” Jace says, his tone dripping with sarcasm and more than a little condescending. Simon isn’t a no-name, but he isn’t famous-famous either, and Jace hoped that’d make him a little less awful to put up with than Jace’s usual high-profile assignments. So far it’s the opposite - Simon isn’t taking this seriously at all, which is somehow more frustrating than too much importance being put on minor perceived threats.

Simon sighs. “Fine.” It certainly doesn’t sound like he’s fine with it, but Jace isn’t here to argue. He’s here to do a job.

“Great,” Jace says. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

---

That ends up being a complete lie. Of course, when Jace first imagined blending into the background of Simon’s tour life he hadn’t taken into consideration the fact that Simon drove his own van, which would just be the two of them for extended periods of time.

Jace can tell that he’s putting a damper in the way Simon normally functions during his tours, mostly because he’s quiet while they drive. Then he’ll say something, start to ramble, catch himself rambling, and fall abruptly silent again in a repeating pattern.

“Sorry if I’m cramping your style,” Jace says after one of these repetitions, speaking loud enough to be heard over the music playing in the background.

“You’re not,” Simon insists.

Jace is dubious. “What would you be doing if you were alone?” Jace asks.

Simon doesn’t even hesitate before answering, “Scream-singing at the top of my lungs with the windows down. It’s like, my tried-and-true road trip routine.”

“...so do it. Don’t let me stop you,” Jace says.

“My manager hates it because he’s convinced one of these days I’ll end up losing my voice before a show. It’s probably for the best I’m not,” Simon says before falling silent again.

Jace doesn’t push it, nor does he comment when Simon starts to sing to a song that comes on about half an hour later, his voice growing louder and louder until all the windows are down and he’s shouting lyrics into the cool night air.

Jace has to fight the urge to join him. Normally he doesn’t have an issue staying focused on a job but Simon has this disarming way of making Jace want to relax around him. Somehow what he thought would be his easiest job to date continues to throw surprising complications his way.

Still, he keeps his mouth shut and enjoys Simon’s singing as they continue driving into the night.

---

Watching Simon with his fans is nerve-wracking. There’s no telling who might be a threat, not when everyone seems so down-to-earth, much like Simon himself. There aren’t any obviously obsessive fangirls and normal tells like knowing too many personal details is just the norm, with multiple people casually asking Simon about how his Bubbie Helen is doing or about the cat he left at home with Clary during his tour, or the most recent book he’s been reading and chatting about online. It’s difficult to pick out a potential stalker when everyone knows what Jace would typically consider more personal details than usual about Simon.

Jace watches these pre- and post-show encounters with a feeling more like he’s observing conversations between old friends rather than a musician and his fans, signatures and photo ops aside. Simon knows some of them by name, remembers birthdays mentioned over social media or live chats, and even recalls previous conversations. It’s impressive.

Dressed in plain clothes so he blends in with the crowd, Jace grows increasingly impressed with Simon the more time he spends with him. Plenty of people claim to be humble, but few often are in practice. Not Simon. Simon is everything he told Jace when they first met. He’s the same way with his fans that he is in private with Jace, which is the same way he is with his family and friends - Simon’s just, well, Simon, honestly and earnestly and unapologetically.

It’s refreshing. It’s also just another thing for Jace to push to the back of his mind, because he doesn’t need to like the guy - he just needs to protect him. Simon looks up from the table he’s signing CDs at and shoots Jace a beaming smile, and Jace has to actively force himself not to smile back and simply nod his head in acknowledgment instead.

“It’s an assignment, Herondale. Get your shit together,” Jace mutters to himself from the corner of the room. It’s a reminder he repeats more often over the upcoming weeks than he’s comfortable admitting.

---

“Please,” Jace begs after the first two weeks of shows. “I will pay for a better hotel. Let me pay for a better hotel.”

Simon is shaking his head in response before Jace finishes the request.

“Why?!” Jace glances critically around the room. “Do you want to get murdered in a shady motel? Just because I can keep you alive doesn’t mean we have to actively test it every night when we could have a door that doesn’t look like my 11-year-old brother could kick it in.”

“You have a brother?” Simon asks, ignoring everything else Jace said as he tosses his duffel bag (because Simon doesn’t even have a proper suitcase) onto a bed Jace feels the instinctive need to run a blacklight over.

Jace hesitates to answer because this is a job and he isn’t meant to share personal information about himself with his assignment. It’s strange because normally the people he’s tasked to protect are such self-absorbed assholes they barely spare Jace a second glance, let alone casual conversation.

He’s aware that the pause he takes after what should be a simple question is way too long when Simon frowns, brows pinching together.

“Two brothers, actually. One older, one younger, and a sister,” Jace finally decides to share. It’s all he intends on saying, not wanting to be rude and not answer at all, but when Simon brings up his own sister and keeps talking, keeps asking curious, harmless questions, Jace finds himself answering without thinking.

Simon is easy to talk to - maybe a little too easy to talk to, because the next thing they know it’s 1am and they need to be up and back on the road at 6.

“Get some sleep, Lewis,” Jace says finally, taking a few extra minutes to secure the door before doing one last perimeter sweep. When he gets back he pretends he doesn’t notice Simon, still awake, hastily close his eyes and pretend to sleep the second Jace gets back in the room.

---

After the third week, Jace insists that staying at nicer hotels is a matter of security and finally convinces Simon to pull into the parking lot of a proper hotel. One with room service instead of vending machines, plus a gym and a pool. Jace tells himself it’s a matter of security as well, and not a reaction to Simon complaining about having several nights of terrible sleep and some back and neck pain from the old, cheap mattresses.

Jace certainly doesn’t correct Simon’s assumption that this is covered in the contract when in reality Jace is fronting the extra cost himself. After all, this is as much for his own benefit as it is for Simon’s, right?

That’s what he tells himself as he opens up more around Simon as well, sharing a drink or two when Simon insists (never anything enough to impair his judgment, and only ever when they’re back in a room for the remainder of the night), telling a few more personal stories, and… flirting?

Jace isn’t sure, but occasionally when Simon impulsively runs into an ice cream shop in a new city and gets a cone for each of them, or points out a storefront display with a leather jacket he thinks Jace might like, or leans his shoulder into Jace while laughing at something sarcastic Jace says… yeah, sometimes Jace gets the feeling that Simon might actually like him.

Then Jace just as quickly tells himself that it’s just Simon being nice, because Simon is nice, and because of course Simon’s going to be on good terms with the guy he’s stuck with 24/7 for two months. Jace is working for Simon, and their relationship is strictly professional, however pleasant it may also be.

It’s that hard line Jace knows they won’t cross that allows him to continue to open up more, because Simon’s safe. He’ll never see the guy again when all of this is over.

“You’re a good person, Jace,” Simon says one night after a lengthy conversation.

“...what?” Jace isn’t expecting that.

“You know that, right?” Simon’s tone is just shy of insistent, and certainly not rhetorical.

“Why do you say that?” Jace asks instead of agreeing, because… well, because he doesn’t know that. He tries, but he’s made some shitty decisions in his past, and hurt a lot of people, intentionally or not. And Simon doesn’t even know him, so Jace really doesn’t know where this is coming from.

“Just… the way you talk about yourself sometimes. Like you always have something to prove, or make up for... or like you have to justify everything you say. Sometimes I get the feeling you don’t think very highly of yourself even when you’re acting like God’s gift to mankind,” Simon adds with more accurate insight than Jace is comfortable with.

And now Jace really doesn’t know what to do with that.

“What are you, a philosopher now?” Jace mutters, still avoiding any sort of direct commentary on Simon’s way-too-close-to-home observation. “Go to sleep, Simon. I don’t need you too tired to focus on the road tomorrow.”

Simon looks like he’s going to argue but doesn’t in the end, leaving Jace alone with his thoughts in the newly settling silence of the hotel room.

It feels surprisingly pleasant to hear those affirmations from Simon, and Jace considers for the briefest moment what it’d be like to just be friends with Simon outside of their circumstances, to have these discussions and delve deeper into both of their pasts, humoring more of Simon’s personal questions and--

--and everything he can’t let this turn into over the next few weeks. Fuck.

Maybe there’s some harm in opening up after all.

---

They’re a little over halfway through the three-month tour when Jace realizes that perhaps his harmless crush on Simon is stronger than he realized. Jace watches from his usual spot in the corner as Simon signs CDs and sells band t-shirts and poses for photos, which is what he always does. But with every flirtatious laugh and every arm Simon drapes over someone’s shoulder or wraps around someone’s waist, Jace feels the desire to pull Simon away... and it isn’t because he’s in danger. It’s because Jace is jealous.

Jace grows sullen at the realization, arms crossed in front of him as he forces himself to watch Simon with his fans, because this is his job. The more he watches the more he doesn’t even think Simon realizes he’s doing it. Jace knows what active, intentional flirting looks like, but this is just Simon being his natural charming self, and Jace isn’t sure if that makes the whole thing better or worse.

Because it starts to dawn on him with a bit more meaning now that the way Simon’s been with him is the way Simon is with everyone. Jace just gets to experience it more often than everyone else right now. That doesn’t make their conversations special. It doesn’t make Jace anything special to Simon. And hell, maybe it’s just been a while since Jace spent this much time with someone else, too. Maybe he should work on writing off his own motivations as easily as he’s writing off Simon’s because his feelings are far from professional right now.

When the crowd disperses and Jace goes to help Simon wrap up his gear and load it back into the van (something that’s become routine for them, though not strictly in Jace’s list of expected duties) Jace is quieter than usual.

“Everything alright?” Simon asks, catching the shift in mood.

“Yeah. Fine,” Jace says curtly.

Simon doesn’t look like he believes him but doesn’t press the topic as they toss the last of the equipment into the van and head out.

---

The nicer Simon is toward him, the more closed-off Jace gets. He’s quiet during dinners Simon insists on paying for, stops sharing so much about himself when they do talk, and when Simon gives Jace a guitar pick he fashioned into a necklace for him Jace pockets it with a muttered ‘thanks’ without putting it on. He doesn’t have the heart to totally push Simon away, but he can’t keep growing closer to him knowing it’s all going to end in three weeks.

Jace wears the necklace every day but he keeps it tucked underneath his shirts where Simon can’t see.

Simon eventually stops trying to talk to him entirely, and they spend more and more time in uncomfortable silences. Sometimes Simon insists he needs privacy to work on his music and Jace sits at the end of the hallway of their hotel room listening to the faded sounds of Simon’s strumming.

There are three weeks left in Jace’s assignment when he gets the call that the police managed to track the letters to a girl back in New York: she’s in custody and getting a restraining order put against her, and Jace can come back as soon as he arranges transportation.

Jace hangs up the phone feeling surprisingly upset. This is great news for Simon, and he should be happy for him if nothing else, but that means this is the last night he’ll have to spend with Simon.

The last night he’ll get to spend with Simon.

“Hey Simon, good news. I just got a call from Luke and they tracked down your mystery stalker. You’ll get all the details once you’re back home but they’re already putting the restraining order into place, so you’re good to go.”

“What? That’s amazing!” Simon grins automatically, but it falls back into a frown just as quickly. “Does that mean you…?” his words trail off in question.

“I’ll be able to leave in the morning,” Jace confirms.

“Guess you’ll be happy to get out of here,” Simon says, his smile entirely gone.

“I do miss New York,” Jace carefully avoids the answer he knows Simon’s fishing for. The lie he should give, but can’t bring himself to.

Simon looks Jace up and down, his gaze finally resting on Jace’s face for a long couple of seconds, searching for something there before turning away without another word.

---

Jace knows he shouldn’t go to the show, but he does. He hangs in the back, a real drink in hand now that he’s no longer on duty, and listens to Simon sing the songs Jace knows by heart now. Jace knows from experience standing by the side of the stage that there’s no way Simon can make out any faces where Jace currently sits back by the bar. He plans on leaving before the end, before the lights come on and Simon knows he was there.

He’s a few drinks in when he hears Simon break his usual format.

“How does everyone feel about me trying out a new song I’ve been working on?” Simon asks. The crowd claps and cheers, and Jace shifts in his seat to fully face the stage. “This is a song about feeling a connection with someone, and not knowing when things went wrong, only that they did. And wondering if maybe it was all in your head the whole time...”

Jace feels his throat tighten at those words. He doesn’t have to be a genius to piece together the lyrics Simon starts to sing, fitting them to their lives the past few months, the hope of getting to know someone you’re starting to like, the confusion of being shut out, the uncertainty of wondering if they ever felt the same way you did or if they were just humoring you.

Jace knows Simon well enough to know that this isn’t a coincidence. It can’t be.

Against his better judgment, Jace stays. He stays until the set is over and the lights come on and Simon looks out around the crowd and makes direct eye contact with him.

Because fuck it. He’s leaving in the morning, and if this is all for nothing then he’ll never see Simon again and it won’t matter. But if he’s right…

Jace hangs back, watching Simon smile and laugh and sign CDs and take photos, acutely aware of every time the musician’s eyes wander over to where Jace lingers by the bar. Outside of the fading buzz from the alcohol it almost feels normal: hanging back after the show, watching Simon and waiting for him to make his way over once the crowd disperses. Hell, even the butterflies in Jace’s stomach aren’t new.

“You’re here,” Simon says when he finally makes his way over. “I didn’t think you’d come, since… I mean…”

“I heard your new song,” Jace forces the words out before he can change his mind. “I’d say I liked it, but that seems like the wrong response from the guy who made you think you did something wrong.”

“Not everything is about you,” Simon argues, but the intent falls flat beneath the nervous tremor the words are spoken with.

“No,” Jace agrees easily. “But that song is.”

Simon hesitates, then sighs. “It is.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for not liking me, Jace. You were doing your job, that’s-”

“No. I’m sorry I was going to leave without telling you that I like you. I thought I’d leave and you’d never see me again, that it’d be pointless to get attached. I thought you were just… being nice. Because you’re a good person.” The words spill out of Jace before he can overthink them.

“You like me,” Simon repeats incredulously. “That totally makes sense with, you know, the way you completely stopped talking to me.”

Jace can hear the anger in Simon’s voice and winces slightly. Just because it’s entirely deserved doesn’t make it easier to hear.

“I figured it’d be easier to walk away once this was all over if we weren’t as friendly.” It’s still a shitty thing to have done, and Jace wouldn’t blame Simon for holding it against him. But after hearing that song he couldn’t walk away with Simon thinking it was over anything he did wrong. No matter the cost to Jace’s pride, Simon deserves that much. “And… maybe I was a little afraid that if I got much closer I’d want to cross a line I knew I couldn’t.”

“So you felt it too?” Simon’s words and expression are full of so much hope that Jace almost panics again. What if he isn’t half the person Simon thinks he is after getting to know him in this little bubble of theirs from the past few months? What if he messes this up?

...what if he doesn’t?

“I did,” Jace finally admits. “I still do. And I know I probably ruined any chance I had before, but if I haven’t fucked things up too badly, maybe once you’re back in New York we could meet up for coffee?”

Simon smiles, brighter than the house lights that fill the small venue now.

“Or… or you could stay with me for the last few shows? I wasn’t just being nice for the sake of being nice - I like you, Jace. I changed my hotel routine for you! I wouldn’t do that for just anyone. I don’t know if you have to go back right away for work, or something, but if you don’t I definitely wouldn’t mind the company. Your company.”

Jace considers it for a few long moments, then nods. It’s fitting, he thinks, to drop the formalities and the professional distance in the same setting he started to fall for Simon in. The same setting in which Simon started to fall for him, despite Jace’s best efforts to dissuade him, only this time with no excuses to hold him back. And if Simon’s willing to give him an actual shot after everything, he’d be a fool not to take it.

“Well, I can’t very well leave you to lug all your equipment around by yourself, can I?” Jace says, smiling. “Let me check back in with the office tomorrow morning but I don’t have anything scheduled. It shouldn’t be an issue.”

There’s a pause then, the air between them filled with an almost electric buzz of anticipation. Simon takes the first step closer, bridging the gap between them. There’s no questioning what Simon’s thinking when his eyes dart down to Jace’s lips and back up to meet his gaze again before speaking.

“Can I-”

Before Simon can finish, Jace’s lips are already on his in response. It’s slow and tentative, with each of them feeling the other out, but it’s nice. It’s really nice. When they pull away after a few moments Simon can’t keep the smile off his face. “That was even better than I imagined.”

Jace quirks an eyebrow, smirking fully now. “You imagined us kissing?”

“Shut up and help me load the van.”

The familiar banter and Simon’s easy smile are such an immediate comfort for Jace that he can’t help the light laugh he gives in response. As Simon looks back at Jace it’s with an expression so soft and full of kindness that Jace knows now isn’t the same look he reserves for everyone else.

Jace knows it’s a look reserved only for him this time - and with any luck, for many more times to come.

#jimon #jace herondale #simon lewis #shadowhunters #tsc #hmdiscord #ShadowhunterBingo #a birthday gift for cor! because no one loves Jimon quite like her <3 #I hope you like it!#long post #elle writes a few deadbeat lines

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alittlebitgoofy · 3 years

Text

if i had my way i would be yours chapter five (taywhora)

fuck ME this chapter kicked my ass but i’m gonna go insane if i go over it any longer so here it is, the long awaited chapter with some smut. it’s the last scene if you want to skip it, the rest is clean

ao3 link

Tayce felt like she was floating on air when A’whora got close to her. Her heart couldn’t handle the cuteness of her roommate in their affectionate moments. She had no idea what she did, innocently cuddling into her as friends did.

Because they were just friends. Only friends and nothing more. And it totally wasn’t eating Tayce up inside with every moment she realised that. Not at all.

A’whora herself was just glad to have her friend back, living without Tayce in close proximity was so strange, she loved the way the brunette always kept things interesting in their flat. There was always something going on with her and even when there wasn’t she made something happen. Somehow trying to relax and watch a movie turned into a gossip session, rife with giggles and stories of stupid things no one else would find as funny. But it made them laugh until their faces hurt. Because they were together.

A’whora took Tayce’s coming out as a chance to bond over something different. She introduced Tayce to small bits of queer culture at a time, though she’d absorbed a lot through being best friends with a lesbian for years and having their whole circle of friends being part of the LGBT.

“How do I know this will scream I like women?” she’d questioned while A’whora helped her with outfits for a night out. The pair were determined to make sure Tayce had a good first experience at a gay bar while out. She was wearing a pair of black skinny jeans, a similarly dark flannel shirt, and a leather jacket. She could not have looked more gay if she tried, though the way the jeans clung to her ass made A’whora rethink agreeing to help her with everything. How was she so hot? She would look so good under her clothes, what A’whora could give to rip that flannel off her and-

She needed to sort herself out before they left. Her feelings, how hot Tayce was and alcohol was a dangerous combination. She could hold herself together if only Tayce would stop looking so good.

---

They were late to get there, they always were with Tayce’s lack of time management and A’whora having to spend hours getting ready for anything. It was a bad combination but that didn’t motivate them to fix it, plus people were used to Tayce being late, including A’whora because they were attached at the hip.

They joined Bimini and Asttina once they got inside, Lawrence and Ellie joining soon after.

“So what actually happened? She was fuming, you were having communication issues and now it’s all fine? You two never cease to amaze me.” Asttina got right to the point, an eyebrow raised as A’whora gave a nervous smile

Tayce felt relaxed by the alcohol in her system, though neither her nor A’whora were particularly drunk; they were a fun level of tipsy, giggling amongst themselves much to their friends' chagrin. A’whora was joking about something, Tayce found it hard to focus on her speech with how cute she was. Her dimples showed as she smiled, laughing at her own joke.

“Tayce? Are you even listening! That was really funny!” She whined, poking Tayce in the shoulder to get her attention, pouting as she got an eye roll in response.

“Maybe if it was that funny I would have listened.” Tayce quipped back, holding back a laugh as A’whora whined even more.

“You’re such a bitch, why are we even friends?”

“Because, someone has to put up with you. Figured I'd give the world a favour.” Tayce smirked, delighting in the huff that the blonde let out before taking another sip of her drink.

“Tayce!”

“I’m kidding, you’re sweet if not a bit annoying sometimes, it’s what I love about you, you know that, dumbass”

“Yeah, I am pretty loveable.” A’whora bounced back quickly from her annoyance, her chest warming at the compliment. She tried to play it off, flicking her hair in an overdramatic show of confidence.

“Your ego isn’t” Tayce deadpanned, erupting into laughter as A’whora gasped, hand on her chest in exaggerated shock.

“You’re cute, don’t let it get to your head though.” Tayce wondered if it was the alcohol giving her the confidence to say what she thought. A’whora could react in any kind of way but she didn’t care.

“You’re not so bad looking yourself, still a bit of an ass though.”

“You say that like you’re not the biggest cunt I've ever met.”

“Well, you are what you eat.” The blonde grinned as Tayce shook her head at the comment. She delighted in shocking her and causing reactions,

“You’re disgusting oh my god.”

“What? You’ll discover how good it is soon enough. I know it’s been a minute but you’ll find a girl to show you soon.”

“Aurora please stop talking about my lack of a sex life.” Tayce shook her head, for all that she loved about her A’whora did not have a way with words. She was open to a fault and found it hilarious how squeamish Tayce would get when she got explicit. She could handle most of it after a while but the way she would switch mid-conversation was something too unpredictable to deal with.

Despite all that, she was still adorable in the way she burst into giggles at Tayce’s plea, agreeing while trying to compose herself.

“What are you two laughing about, it must be something hilarious to have her laughing like a diseased seal.” Lawrence interrupted them, though Tayce was thankful that A’hwora couldn’t go further with her comments. She wasn’t drunk enough to deal with it yet.

“Wouldn’t you lovebirds like to know? You two been shagging in the toilets or something? Haven’t seen you since you came in here.” Tayce looked them up and down, noticing the lipstick slightly smudged. They’d been getting up to something, it was obvious by the way Lawrence stammered trying to respond with a quip and failing. Ellie stood silent, shaken by how perceptive Tayce could be.

A’whora had no such reaction, laughing harder as they stood slack-jawed and hanging onto Tayce in a feeble attempt to calm herself.

“At least they’re finally doing something about it, watching them fumble around their feelings while ignoring any possibility of mutual feelings was just painful.'' A'whora shook her head, delighting in the way Tayce snickered, nodding emphatically in agreement. She internally sighed in relief that Lawrence was still in shock and didn’t notice the way she looked at Tayce when she laughed.

She didn’t need them pulling attention to her feelings.

Not when she could barely hold them in.

“What is it with everyone tonight? Bim and Asttina are all over each other, have a bit of class you hounds!” Tayce exclaimed, shaking her head in mock judgement at the couples. Part of her still didn’t love seeing people in a situation she found almost impossible but it was easier now, as if the weight had finally been lifted when she came out to A’whora. It felt good to be understood, to have someone so attuned to you they knew what was happening and exactly what she needed. Tayce shifted, perhaps it was the alcohol but she couldn’t help but think she didn’t deserve how lovely A’whora was. Though no one did, she was perfect, too good for the world she lived in.

She ached to verbalise it, pull the blonde close, and whisper how much she adored her, though Lawrence and Ellie were still there and they were in public. She just wanted to give affection but it didn’t come easy. Maybe with some time?

The scots seemed more interested in each other than whatever light conversation had happened between the four of them, something must have been in the air to explain the way their companions split off into pairs, interested in no one else than their partners.

Tayce wished she could be one of them, hold A’whora close and press soft kisses to her as the alcohol broke down her barriers, leaving her a melted putty in A’whora’s hands.

“What’s got you thinking so hard? Is everyone pairing off making you have an existential crisis or something?” A’whora jabbed lightly, Tayce letting out a laugh at the comment. She didn’t know how to respond, it wasn’t easy to communicate your feelings to your roommate, the fear it would make things unfixable between them heavy on her heart after their previous spat. It wasn’t worth the risk, not to lose her.

“I just think it’s funny how they paired up. Lawrence and Ellie used to mope with us about being single while Bims was the only one with any balls to say something to someone they liked. Now it’s just us two.” Tayce mused, feeling a hand take her own and give it a slight squeeze. A’whora stared at her, smiling softly. IT was an innocent gesture that sent her reeling further. She really had no idea the power she had in making Tayce feel like she was floating at any sign of affection.

“It’ll happen to us eventually, you’ve only just come out there’s no need to rush things, no matter who you date.”

“Thanks, Rory. You’ve been really helpful with all of this.” Tayce’s softer tone told the blonde everything she needed to know. Her words were tender, heartfelt. It was a rarity for Tayce to be so open, it felt good.

No words had to be exchanged. Maybe something was different, they stayed close, Tayce’s hand stayed held by A’whora’s own. Tayce felt a warmth envelop her body that couldn’t have been the alcohol. The way A’whora looked at her just added to it, something playful in her eyes as she smiled at Tayce as if she’d done anything more than sitting there and melt over her pretty roommate.

“Shit, I think everyone is going to do their own thing, Tayce, maybe we should go?”

“Yeah, I was getting kind of bored of watching them almost fuck in a bar. Takeaway?” Tayce asked, smirking as A’whora’s eyes lit up at the suggestion.

“You read my mind.”

---

“You good there, Rory?” Tayce watched her roommate distractedly attempting to put some chips in her mouth and failing, blinking in surprise at Tayce calling her attention. She shrugged, the alcohol had mostly faded and she was too busy trying to distract herself with anything that wasn’t Tayce’s current state of dress. She’d complained of being too hot, stripping into a bra, and still in her jeans. It drove a’whora insane to look at. She couldn’t hold herself in if she looked for too long. Though she turned to Tayce as she spoke, soon coming to regret her decision.

“You like what you’re seeing?” Tayce felt A’whora’s eyes on her, mouth agape. She wanted to mess with her, winking. Internally she was delighting in the way she blushed at the comment. Was she always this easy to rile up? It was probably the alcohol but they both felt pretty sober now. Something about having the blonde unable to take her eyes off her was enchanting. It made her heart speed up, something fluttering in her chest but something else she wasn’t so used to. Something churning below, a desire for a certain someone she was finding harder to contain by the minute.

“You should put a shirt on,” A’whora muttered out meekly, unable to verbalise much of anything above a pitiful whine. She couldn’t do this, not with Tayce being so hot and her being so pent up. It had been too long, she just wanted to hold someone and make them scream in pleasure. She wanted to know what Tayce would sound like mid climax, would she squeal? Breathe heavily? A’whora pegged her as a quieter person, letting out low moans and grunts as she was pleasured. She wanted to test it, see what would make her squirm and-

Fuck.

She was too horny to be dealing with this.

“What if I didn’t? Would it drive you insane if I took this shirt off? You wanna see my tits, don’t you, you absolute hound.” Tayce eyed her up like a predator staring at its prey. The way she licked her lips while maintaining eye contact sent A’whora. She couldn’t handle it anymore. She crawled over, placing Tayce’s box of chips on the side before unhooking her bra. Tayce let out a hum of curiosity, nodding to signal A’whora to keep going.

This was far too interesting not to watch. The way A’whora’s eyes stayed trained on her chest, flickering up to gauge Tayce’s reaction every time she did something. With another nod she went further, hands cupping Tayce’s breasts, thumb running over her nipples, and delighting in the way Tayce’s breath hitched. She kept at it, Tayce letting out small noises at the action. Something was about to happen, they both knew it. It was the last chance to bail out before they ended up doing it and Tayce just nodded once more, eyes serious as she smiled at the blonde.

A’whora took the go-ahead, pulling her into a searing kiss. Tayce could feel her lust in the way she grabbed at her hair, lightly pulling it to steer her into where she wanted. Tayce followed her instincts, letting her lips trail down A’whora’s cheek and feeling herself wetten at the noises she let out.

A’whora was loud, she knew that already but to be causing those noises and seeing her squirm was doing something to Tayce. She couldn’t hold herself back. She had to close the distance between their lips as A’whora let out a soft moan.

“We should take this to the bedroom,” A’whora spoke quietly, not sure how much she could get out without Tayce getting more noise out of her.

Tayce nodded, following A’whora as she pulled her into her room and lightly pushed her down onto the bed. She couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow as she got on top of her, hovering about her body as she pulled her into another lustful kiss.

Tayce tried to get the same rise out of A’whora, running her hands all over her body. Grasping at her tits as A’whora had before. Something had shifted in her the second they hit that mattress. Her eyes sparkled with something that sent a shiver down Tayce’s spine. She knew exactly what she wanted and wouldn’t focus on anything else.

She wanted Tayce, and she was going to get her.

A’whora took the lead, her hands exploring the body beneath her as Tayce groaned in pleasure. The sound encouraged her more, snaking her hands down to where her jeans were still on, unzipping them, and helping Tayce out of them. A few fingers fell to her underwear, rubbing through it to see where she was and delighting in the soft whine Tayce let out.

A thought crossed her mind about making her beg for it, drawing something out of Tayce that she’d never seen but it wasn’t the right time for that. She just wanted to make her feel good, they could play around next time.

Tayce didn’t know how to deal with the pleasure erupting through her body. She muffled a moan into her hand at how well A’whora seemed to know what she was doing. Every flex of her fingers sent ripples through Tayce. She was helpless against her touch and could only let out low moans begging for more.

A’whora blessed her, speeding up her fingers. Tayce threw her head back, shamelessly letting out a loud groan at how good it felt. She couldn’t help but melt against her roommate's touch. Something about her was so good, it was better than anything Tayce had ever felt.

If this was what sex was like, she’d never want to go to anyone else.

She wanted to pull A’whora into another kiss but her body had made another decision, her mind clouded only able to focus on the building feeling of irrepressible pleasure.

A’whora felt her building up, speeding herself up and pressing kisses to Tayce’s thighs, suppressing a smirk at how she gasped at the feeling. She removed her fingers slowly, pressing her mouth to her slick cunt. Tayce let out an uncharacteristically high whine as her tongue hit all the right spots. She squirmed against

Tayce let out the sound again, lasting longer as she climaxed, A’whora moved back to her fingers to lull her out of it before crawling up to cuddle Tayce as she laid back, recovering from it all.

“What about you?” Tayce hummed, her tone thick with tiredness. A’whora wanted to laugh at how easily she was wiped out but thought better of it. She was too cute like this, a dopey grin playing on her features as she was still running off the high from her orgasm.

“I’m alright, I just wanted to make you feel good. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.” A’whora shrugged, her chest warming as Tayce scooted closer to curl into her arms.

“Me too.” The dopey smile returned, Tayce’s words warm with affection in a way that made the blonde’s heart soar.

Tayce didn’t say much more, passing out with her head on A’whora’s chest, held close by her arms. This was it, all she wanted. A’whora savoured the moment before succumbing to her fatigue, smiling as she heard a muffled “gnight Rory” on the brink of consciousness.

#taywhora #rpdr fanfiction #if i had my way i would be yours

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codename-adler · 3 years

Text

Kevin Day and his Oblivious Literature Lover, pt.IV

In times of college finals, aftg is my coping mechanism of predilection. hope it helps some :)

>> Table of Contents,TW and other parts here!

i’ll let you guess what Kevin and Juliet chose for their project

oh, yes

the letters of Hamilton, Eliza and John + Hamilton: The Musical

i will fight you on this

at first, when Juliet suggests it, Kevin stares at her so hard bc really?? a musical??

but then she lends him the 50$ leatherbound official book of the musical (you know the navy blue and beige one? you know what i’m talking about, right?) and reads it all in one evening and wow

lin-manuel miranda? genius. ron chernow? Genius. alexander hamilton? Dumb Genius.

oh yeah and Juliet? Absolutely mind-blowing genius.

as Andrew & Neil grow closer and the match agaisnt the Ravens rounds the corner, Kevin finds himself looking more and more forward to the time spent at the library with Juliet

she is just so focused on their project and so oblivious as who he really is and doesn’t really care if sometimes he is more anxious, if freaks over everything to be perfect, if he babbles on&on&on&on about any bit of history he discovered

she’s just there, smirking, stiffling her laughs and asking for more

they’ve exhanged phone numbers and she installed snapchat on his, and although he never sends her anything, she always has a short video and a funny caption that pop up from time to time; they’re that little reminder that the world goes on outside of exy and that he exists outside of exy

she introduces him to funny videos and he didn’t know absolute dumb shit could make him snort??

his favorite is the peanut butter baby

at first the Foxes give him this judgemental look when he ugly-snorts in the locker room or at Eden’s, but eventually they just get that glint in their eyes as if they were in on the jokes

sometimes, Juliet’s so focused on writing down bullet points in her notebook, peeling the skin off her lips, so unaware of Kevin’s personal hell of a life, that he just wants to spill out everything

although he’s not sure if it’s because he wants her to know him and stay, or because he wants her to reject him and therefore spare himself the trouble of getting attached...

she takes the decision for him

on a Thursday afternoon, on their planned study session, she doesn’t show up

she doesn’t answer her phone either

he even tries out a completely blacked out snap with “r u alive?” in caption

no answer

he gives her space, sending her occasional cat videos he thoroughly researches

if she watches them, she doesn’t say anything

on Monday afternoon, she doesn’t come to class

that’s when the panic Kevin’s been reigning in just... bursts

what if it’s Riko?

what if it’s the Master?

what if it’s Ichirou?

what if, somehow, it’s the Butcher’s people?

that afternoon’s practice is hell for the Foxes, Kevin is ruthless and an asshole and very agressive

Dan waits for him outside the boys’ locker room as all the other Foxes leave (not even Andrew and Neil want to wait for him)

“Spit out your goddamn problem before I tell Coach to bench you next game”

oh, how Kevin wants to cuss her out

and then he looks at her face, ready to vomit words, when he sees her worrying her lips

just like Juliet

it shouldn’t be enough to make him tear up, but it does

he still manages to keep as much of the truth to himself as he possibly can

“My EAL partner isn’t responding to my messages or my calls and she didn’t even come to class today and it stresses me the fuck out and what if it’s like with Neil, Dan?” he says in one breath, trying to tear out the net of his racket

Dan recomposes her face and gets that very serious look, the one she usually gets when someone touches her family

“It’s not, Kevin. That’s over. We got Neil back, we got you back, you got Jean back. The team didn’t even know who that person was. The most info we’ve gathered is what you just told me now. Yeah there are some bets but it’s mostly for funsies, nothing even remotely serious. You wanna look for her?” she soothes him.

“I don’t even know...”

“She lives on campus?” she asks.

“I don’t- I don’t know, Dan. I spent months with her and I can’t even vaguely say where she lives! How fucked up is that?” Kevin yells.

“It’s not even remotely fucked up, Kevin. You should know that. Does she have instagram? twitter? Or like, facebook?” she questions some more.

“God, I don’t know. She only sends me stupid fucking videos and I never even respond like the goddamn asshole I am...”

“Shut up. We’re all assholes at the end of the road, ‘kay? You ain’t better or worse than others. Now she sends them to you in text or somewhere else?”

“Sometimes texts... Sometimes the yellow app, the chat one. Why.”

“Oh great, that’s great. We can locate her, with snapchat, if she forgot to turn off the sharing. And if you’re comfortable with that, too. I know you’re not a creep like that. You’re creepy sometimes, don’t get me wrong. But, not a creep.”

“Gee, thanks, Dan.”

“Hey, shush. You down or what?” she says, arching an eyebrow.

“Okay,” he answers, unable to make the fear go away without knowing for sure.

And so it turns out Juliet’s location is, in fact, knowable. Dan grabs one of Kevin’s shoulders as he leaves the court, squeezing her affection into her grip; he nods emotionally in her direction, as far as emotions can translate unto his face.

he doesn’t even know what he’ll do once he finds her, his brain is solely focused on the animated map that brings him closer and closer to Juliet

the more he progresses, the more he realizes he is far from Fox Tower, on a campus area he has never even seen

he stops before a decrepit building, old and moldy-looking

Jackie Kennedy Hall

student dorms? this shabby? she can’t possibly live-

except that she can, because there isn’t another building close and the map has brought him here, and he doesn’t really know her...

so Kevin straightens his shoulders, inhales deeply, and goes inside

he could go on and on and on about everything that is just wrong with the place, from the smell to the decoration, but he makes a beeline for the front desk (he’s lucky there’s even one)

he asks for a way to contact someone, flashes his press smile at the women behind the desk, gives up his ID in exchange for the room number

Juliet Grier, 418

stairs, stairs, stairs, stairs

heavy door, right, 412, 414, 416...

418

what, now?

Kevin hesitantly knocks once, twice

no answer

he knocks again and decides to speak up, in case she didn’t hear

“Juliet? It’s Kevin. Day. From EAL? Can I speak with you?”

still nothing

maybe she isn’t home... no, the map says she’s here. maybe she’s sleeping...

he decides to try one last time

“We really should finish that project, you know? I think we could both use the free time...” he says without his heart into it.

without surprise, no response still

he decides to take a loose paper from his sachel and writes down some words

Greetings Hi,

My friend Dan helped me look for you, but you don’t have to worry about your privacy; it’s because of the yellow app. You should turn that off if you don’t want other people to be nosy.

You weren’t in class today. I’ll share my notes if you want them. But, you should come to class, it’s better. For learning.

I’ll wait a few in case you’re asleep.

Text me or call me or whatever when you’re ready.

- Kevin D. (your partner from EAL)

quick, efficient, to the point

Kevin slips the paper under the door, and waits

he refreshes the map too many times, to see if her location changed or if somehow there was a glitch

it stays put

he ends up sitting on the hallway floor, his back sliding down the wall

he catches up on a book for another class, checks exy stats and watches many, many videos of Jeremy Knox on the court and in interview

some students pass him with a nasty look, eyeing the lack of earphones on his phone

some other students walk by him and will themselves to keep going, because holy shit it’s Kevin Day in Jackie Hall

it’s at least an hour and a half before the doorknob slowly and quietly starts to click

Kevin was absorbed deep into whatever move Knox was making before scoring

the 418 door opens

Kevin gets up in one move, all things Jeremy Knox and exy forgotten

she’s loosely holding Kevin’s paper in one hand, the other clutching a large scarf that covers up the majority of her body

from what he can see, though, she’s wearing sweats from head to toe; her hair’s tied on the top of her head, but most of the curls escaped and it looks unwashed and her curls, dry

her skin’s turned pale, dark circles under her eyes, a haggard look in them, her cheeks stained with dry tears

Juliet looks terrible

“Hi...” Kevin attempts

she finally looks up from the paper and gives him a bored look that could rival Andrew’s

with a rough voice strained from cries and many days without speaking, she asks, “My EAL partner?”

“Well, yes. In case.”

“In case of what.”

“I-”

“I know who you are, Kevin.”

and isn’t that both his most ardent wish and his worse fear?

with that, she turns around and goes back to her dark room, leaving the door open behind her

is that... an invitation?

Kevin’s never been to another person’s place, apart from the Columbia house, Abby’s and Wymack’s

he reminds himself why he came in the first place and decides it would be a waste to leave now, right?

the small studio is a mess, much like its occupant

there are clothes everywhere, on the floor, on a chair, on the bed, on the desk

all the curtains are drawn, no light is on, the only source coming from Juliet’s laptop somewhere amongst her bedsheets

it’s like she made herself a nest and hasn’t moved from there for a long time

maybe even since last Monday, the last time he saw her

Kevin doesn’t understand the scene he has before his eyes

he’s never seen such apathy in someone that is not Andrew

and at this point, apathy is pretty much Andrew’s default state of being

not Juliet’s

Juliet is a soft glow, toothy grins, wild curls, countless jumpers, dumb jokes and references, color-coded notes, an organized mind, unwavering focus and determination, flowing words and warm, kind eyes...

so what is this?

then Kevin realizes he spoke aloud

and Juliet can only chuckle sadly, almost mockingly

“This? This is why I don’t have friends. This is why I don’t mix with people. This is why I’ll never amount to anything in life. This is my dirty laundry, both metaphorically and literally. This is it. That’s... That’s it. This is what I get,” she answers flatly

Kevin’s mind is spinning

he doesn’t understand

he needs to understand, though

“Explain it to me,” he says

Juliet looks at him like a brick just hit him on the head and made him speak Swedish

“Why.”

“Because, surely there’s a way to work with it.”

she laughs

it doesn’t reach her eyes, nor her lips or her cheeks

it’s just a desperate sound

it makes him think of Andrew again

and that gives him an idea, a gut feeling, if you will

“Can I try something out?” he asks

“Kevin... I can’t- I’m tired... It’s not a good idea... I’m tired, Kevin,” Juliet responds, pain noticeable in her voice and her movements slow

“I know, I- I know. Someone I know... He plays this game. It’s really not a game, it’s more like a communication thing. He calls it “A Truth for a Truth”. In exchange for something I tell you, you tell me something. And in exchange for something you tell me, I’ll tell you something else. It’s made me... work through some things... before,” Kevin explains calmly

Juliet keeps on observing him from her bed, silent

“Look, can I just stay here to do homework? I have nowhere to go right now,” Kevin asks, almost blurting out “Please” before Andrew’s ghost caught it in his throat

she lies back down, burries herself in her covers, a silent “yes”

Kevin ends up falling asleep sitting on the floor, books open, head resting at the end of Juliet’s bed

he wakes up around 2 AM

he’s got multiple texts from Aaron and Nicky, one from Andrew, and one from Dan

“told everybody you spent the night at Coach’s. take care.”

he silently vows to thank her later

now he either really goes to Wymack’s to finish his night there, or... he stays exactly where he is

Juliet is still sleeping soundly

in a haze, he palms for a pillow or cushion, pulls his hoodie on and lies back down on the carpeted floor

he’s only awaken in the late morning when he brutally gets stepped on

“What the shit?? Kevin! How...???” Juliet yells

“Um, ow? No, no, don’t apologize so quickly. You just, you know, crushed my lungs and a couple of ribs, no worries, Jules!” Kevin groans

“Ju- you know what? I’m not sorry. Right now I gotta pee, so you better have a damn good explanation when I get back,” she replies and leaves her room to go to the bathroom at the end of the hall

instead of dread, Kevin feels calm about the upcoming conversation

he doesn’t prepare lies, doesn’t run away, doesn’t resort to assholery

he just stays put where he is on the floor, snuggles deeper into his hoodie, and waits for relief, for the truth

he waits for Juliet

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exalok · 3 years

Text

Some Thoughts, as previously mentioned

specifically about daud, his aceness or non-aceness, how it relates to mine, and the limits of my writing -- partly in response to your letter, anonymous

under readmore because this might get long and so you can skip it if you’d rather

okay so. i would like to clarify that i’m going to say stuff that contradicts the things you said, and um, i don’t want you to feel bad about it? maybe you won’t and this is a silly disclaimer to lay down. or maybe you will but for other reasons than what i’m trying to avoid by saying this. what i mean to say is i did have an intention going in to most of my daud-fic, which isn’t the one you seem to believe, but also the author is dead and that intention doesn’t matter if it can’t be seen from the reader’s point of view

specifically, what i’m contradicting is “changing a character’s sexuality” -- i am going to explain my intention, and what i think the problems are with that intention, and if i remember to i will finish by reconnecting it all to what i think of the ace discourse (hopefully i won’t do this entirely backwards in an effort to contextualize)

to be honest the intentions were probably multiple and this is why i confuse myself and leave it unclear.

1) sex is fascinating in what it can show about two characters, and it’s meaty and physical without necessarily getting gory (though i enjoy toeing the line, dunno what that says about me), and it’s considered this Huge Thing by so many of my peers/family/etc or this average entirely normal thing by others of my peers/family/etc all at once and the problem with that heaping pile of contradiction is there is a lot for me to process but i absolutely cannot while anyone else is in the room for various reasons (embarrassment, fear, anxiety, incomprehension) and so the solution is facing it on my own, hence writing -- but also my entire brain latched on to dishonored and specifically corvo & daud, and they have become a comfortable little nook for me to explore otherwise daunting subjects with. the more i think on it the more i love using them both as a vehicle to explore various facets of identity (sexuality, gender, and i’m making forays into politics maybe)

2) i still like ace!daud. i want ace!daud. i want to figure him out. this is mostly difficult because to figure him out, to make him feel real while also being ace, i need to make him familiar to me -- because if i base myself on outside experience, on hearsay or stereotype, he will feel fake -- and i barely feel familiar to myself. i often don’t understand my own experience. i will simultaneously stare at the smallest little detail of my behavior and have the hardest time focusing on what the hell it means, like the most myopic brain analyst.

the result is i try to have both at once: daud as asexual, and not even necessarily demisexual -- daud not caring much for sex, not always even liking it -- but asking for it anyway for his own reasons, often twisty ones that he’s not necessarily aware of

part of this is because i still have a hard time understanding being sexual as, like, a full-time thing, and the only way i have of translating it is through awkward replays of stuff i’ve seen elsewhere (largely present in how i write corvo these days). there are so many parts that perplex me, and so many things that seem to be assumed in some narratives but not at all in others, and i don’t know what is because of focus and what is because of culture and what is because of reality and what the difference between all of those is anyway

part of it is because i can’t pick and choose to save my life and am forever cursed with making Weird Soup out of all the things i want to think about

conclusion: the intention that comes through is probably primarily the sex one, because that’s the most obvious when i refuse to use modern identity labels for a bunch of dudes who haven’t ever properly thought through that shit -- but also! sometimes! i write things that feel like they contradict how i see ace!daud! and those parts always end up feeling a little wrong, but they’re still there to be read and accepted as part of the narrative and they muddle my attempts even more

so. ace!daud discourse. that definitely existed in my vicinity, and as i automatically absorb most of the stuff that passes me by, yes, it did get to me a little. after all, my intentions are contradictory: i want to write the boning, and i want them to enjoy it, but i also want to explore what it might mean for daud not to like it after all. is that not, on some level, disrespectful? what about his taste for control, the giving and the imposition of it, and its relation to where and how he grew up, and the decisions he made later on? is it wrong for me to want it to make sense? am i thinking about it too hard?? that happens, but also i don’t know. i don’t have enough experience with any of it to have feelings or opinions about how i’m treating the subject beyond “yeah i like where this is going”

i am of the strong opinion that writers should write what they like, even if it’s shitty. i am also of the strong opinion that i’m responsible for trying to think through what i’m writing, and not completely trample people in the process. those two opinions don’t always coexist comfortably.

it doesn’t mean i’ll stop writing -- fuck no, i love words so goddamn much, and i love dishonored beyond reason, and i think that with time i’ll get somewhere where what i’m trying to do will make enough sense to me that i’ll be able to have it show up on the page -- but my early efforts will continue to exist as well, however self-contradictory they are in their underpinnings, and i guess sometimes i just need downtime to reevaluate the whole of my progress

i probably forgot where i was going with this partway through??? but i hope it mostly makes sense. have a glimpse of the gears, whoever managed to get to the end

(oh also i only recently decided to start compiling a little something where the intention actually is having daud not be ace so i can see what i’ll do with that now that i have a bit more understanding under my belt -- they’re very stupid about it, as they usually are)

here’s to hashing out one’s feelings about shit they wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole in real life!!! /sets off fireworks, throws confetti, jumps onto a sled and disappears

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varusai · 3 years

Note

who do you think is the most dateable dark matter thief?? i know you have an opinion and i need to hear it

sorry for the late response anon i honestly had to think abt this one for a few days lmao, but yeah i have opinions. below the cut bc fr i have opinions, all of them have major pros and cons (based on my characterization at least) and really i just have to break it down for u

Boros, everyones obvious first choice, but certainly not mine.

Pros: rich, tall, pretty, fun af, passionate, will kill for you np, give you anything you want, literally anything.

cons: has a god complex, doesnt respect you, not his number one priority at all, will forget about you once its not interesting for him anymore, probably argumentative/combative af, is very very smart and has no problem manipulating you in all the worst ways, is very entitled so he will never feel bad about anything, cant win arguments either bc he’ll want to settle it with combat, will get offended over little things just to argue bc he thinks thats fun

this is a relationship you’d get into if you literally have nothing to lose and dont care about your mental health. like hes hot but this shit would be toxic af and he will ruin your life and leave you to go fuck around and fight someone on the other side of the universe. this will be the best of times and the worst of times for you and you will never be the same afterward mentally or emotionally. the only way i would even consider it is if i lost my damn mind. The only way a relationship with him would ever work long term is if you were physically stronger than him and were capable of putting him in his place OR you were smart enough, suicidal enough, and interesting enough to him to engage in some psychological warfare and reject him if he asked you. Make him chase you for years, say yes, then decide that /he’s/ boring /you/ and leave him for another member of the squad to just destroy their established hierarchy and humble him to the point that he’s obsessed with you.

i dont have the energy for all that, so i’ll just smash and pass.

0/10 completely undateable

Geryuganshoop, also a probable second choice for many:

pros: cute, nice, tentacle alien (obviously), will respect you np, will also give you anything you want, not antagonistic at all, telepathic communication so no risk of miscommunication, emotionally intelligent and available, loyal to a fault,

cons: horrible boss/best friend that you will have to listen to him vent about for at least 3 hours a day, complete yes man as well so he will not tell boros no or cut him off and you will be stuck dealing with this no matter what, severely mentally ill and wont go to therapy bc he thinks hes handling it well, workaholic, needs a lot, and i mean A LOT of attention

this relationship would be great if not for boros lol. boros sabotages his social and romantic life but geryu has been friends with him too long to either cut him off or establish boundaries. he has no backbone (figuratively and literally) and wouldnt even consider it. he’ll ignore you in favor of his job too, to a massive degree. also i think that while the telepathic communication would be a major plus in most cases, here i feel like i’d have no less than 16 different, never before seen on earth, mental illnesses projected right into my brain just from being within a certain radius of him.

im already fucked up enough in that sense so pass unfortunately.

it would be a yes without boros in the picture tho lmao

so prob like 4/10 iffy datablillity, 1 level increase with each decade of therapy he gets tho so a lot of potential :D

Groribas, my fav girl:

pros: straightforward, realistic, very clear expectations, will not fuck around with you whatsoever like there is no mind games or anything here, will kill for you, rich and non materialistic so she’ll basically just let you do whatever with her money since she doesn t care about it, cares about her job but like...a normal amount. she absolutely has a good work/life balance, highly organized so she will not forget important dates, loyal af and will defend your honor under any circumstances, mean but in a funny way, a ton of fun to hang out with if you’re into that, no eyes so i dont have to worry abt eye contact ever

cons: extremely high expectations, like exhaustingly high, and not even a bit of flexibility there, if you dont meet the cut its a no, she’ll let you know and leave same day, she will also bully you, you need a thick skin and great sense of humor to survive, bad at feelings if you need emotional support???? go elsewhere, shes mega emotionally unavailable, will probably want to share bodies as a form of intimacy

overall its a solid 6.5/10 dateability for me i love the directness and no bs approach, we would def get along well. however, while im not sensitive, shes def gonna hit on some insecurities at some point and it will cause an argument lol. but i mean whatever. it happens. the body sharing would be an issue though, same reason i wouldnt be chill with having a symbiote despite being a major venom fucker. i need my space i cant deal with that. so thats a possible deal breaker if she couldnt get over that lol. and she wont, so we wouldnt work out. i wish it fuckin would tho😭😭😭 i would take whatever crumbs of attention she would be willing to give me

Melzalgald, my fav they/them bastard:

pros: amorphous and shapeshifting aka extremely attractive according to my taste in monsters, tall af but could chose to be a more reasonable survivable size lol, self contained and self-entertaining so they dont need a ton of attention to be happy, funny af, rich, will give you whatever you want and probably a bunch of shit you didnt know you wanted, very fun, built in friend group if you didnt already have friends, extremely emotionally intelligent and great people skills due to living in a collective, stupid af by choice, like some of em are very smart, but they dont claim that, will say fuck work and tell boros to eat shit to spend time with you, will kill for you as well, but only if you ask them to bc their first inclination is to just bother someone to death, very loyal, once they like you they like you really forever, it would take some pretty extreme circumstances to make them dislike you

cons: annoying af and its unavoidable, will talk over you, all of them at once will talk over you and do so loudly, no respect for personal space, they dont even know what that is, will probably accidentally manhandle you, they act stupid but arent so they can be manipulative, even if it isnt bad and they dont really mean to be, impulsive, forgetful of the needs of organic creatures so they will bother you at all hours of the day and night if you arent firm with boundaries, disgustingly extroverted and will bring randoms to your place without asking, or just...make new cluster members and you have to roll with it, will eat or absorb literally anything you have, will antagonize and bother you for fun, major jump scare risk since sometimes the forms are....fleshy

this ones hard for me like theyre hot af and i feel like they’d be super fun and good partners, but god....the noise. idk how long i could deal with that lol i dont like people in my house. it would drive me up the wall, but then again...i can simply kick them out when ive had enough. they arent projecting mental illness directly into my brain or requiring me to share a body sintelligento major plus. creepy thing/symbiote style hot monster without any of the invasiveness so tbh 8/10 dateability

some people date loud annoying extroverts who dont understand personal space that /arent/ rich, loyal, or emotionally intellegent so i’d be winning on a few different fronts lmao

#lord boros #geryuganshoop #groribas #melzalgald #dark matter thieves #opm #i put way too much thought into this after not thinking abt them in a long while #it was fun tho #Anonymous

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moscow-jackboot · 4 years

Text

Someone Old

Plot: Y/n sees her ex-boyfriend, Andrew Hozier-Byrne almost 3 years after their breakup. Y/N and Andrew started dating around the Fall of 2011 and broke up in December of 2016 because Andrew couldn’t balance his career/touring and their relationship. Y/N initiated the breakup due to Andrew’s neglect. They are seeing each other for the first time since their breakup in this story, which is set around October of 2019. I plan on doing some more writing with this storyline, some of it before the breakup and some it of afterwards.

Word Count: ~2.3k

“Do your friends know you’re here?” Andrew asked you timidly.

You smiled. He knew your friends weren’t fond of him after the breakup. “No. I didn’t want to give them a chance to talk me out of it.”

He nodded and finished his whiskey, motioning to the bartender for another.

“What about yours?” You asked hesitantly, wanting you to fill the silence.

“Yeah. I wasn’t sure if I should go through with it.”

Ouch.

He noticed the pained look on your face caused by his words and tried to fix it. “Not because I didn’t want to see you. I really wanted to see you tonight. Maybe too much. I just wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to disrupt your life like this.”

“You’re not disrupting my life at all, Andrew,” you reassured him. You never imagined that you’d be spending a Monday night after work seeing your ex-boyfriend perform at a theater half an hour from your apartment, and then going out for drinks afterward. When Andrew texted you asking if you wanted to see him when he was in town for a show later that month, you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. You considered pretending to be sick when you woke up this morning. You were too nervous about seeing him again after almost three years of no contact between you two.

“I didn’t think it would be so slow here tonight,” you commented.

“Well, it is Monday,” he said with a shy smile. You noticed that not only had his face thinned out a little since 2016, but apparently, he’d done something to his teeth. They were perfectly straight now. How could you miss something so big?

“So why did you reach out to me? I mean, I’m glad you did, but what made you decide to call me after almost three years without talking?” you asked, shifting your body towards him.

“I couldn’t handle being in your city on another tour and not even trying to see you again. It would drive me fucking crazy.”

You knitted your eyebrows a little, pleasantly surprised by how candid his answer was.

“Did you want to talk about…?,” you trailed off, not wanting to say the words “the breakup.”

“Uh, yeah. There’s some stuff I never got to say. Is it… is it okay if I say it now?,” he asked you gently, not wanting to upset you.

“Better late than never,” you responded with a chuckle, which you were sure looked more like a grimace. He licked his lips and started talking.

“I ehm, I never wanted to hurt you. That...that truly wasn’t my intention. And I know that that sounds fucking ridiculous now, since how else could my behavior have affected you, you know? Ehm, of course, I hurt you. We were together for so many years, and we were so... intimate with each other.” He looked to you, cautious of his words. “And I don’t just mean sexually. You knew me inside and out. And I don’t think anyone can ever figure you out, but I think I was pretty close.” He smiled at you sheepishly. You chuckled and looked down shyly, your body filling up with the same feeling of warmth you’d felt the very first time you’d met Andrew all those years ago in university. You looked back up when you heard him speak again.

“I remember when we broke up, you asked me how I could throw you away after we’d shared so much of ourselves with each other….after we’d experienced so much life and-and... love together. And I just didn’t have an answer for you. And I hated that. I hated that so much. I hated that for you and I hated that for us. Because there’s never a good reason to not put somebody first when they’ve always been good to you. And you’re the one who got hurt because I was so focused on my career that I always let you —us— become my second priority. And losing you hurt for me too, but I earned that, you know?” The words rushed out of his mouth as if he’d been dying to say them for a long time.

You nodded, your eyes wide open, still absorbing every detail of his appearance after three years.

He continued. “Those were the consequences of my own actions. I always hated seeing you sad, or frustrated, or angry. And you felt all those things those last few months that we were together, and probably for months after. And I couldn’t fix it because I was the one who was making you feel that way.” He pursed his lips in thought.

“You never called.”

“Hm?,” He asked, raising his thick eyebrows. His green eyes looked so sweet and earnest. You’d always loved his eyes. They were the first eyes that made you understand the saying “the eyes are the window to the soul.”

“After we broke up. You just let me go. At first, I just thought you were giving me time to cool off, but then you didn’t try anymore. You never tried to get me back. You just let me walk out of your life and that really fucking hurt.”

“I didn’t think you’d take me back. And even if you did, I knew I didn’t deserve you again. You’re the most amazing person I have ever met and I absolutely destroyed everything we ever had. You deserved — deserve — someone who loves you too much to do what I did to you. And after all the shit I put you through, I just wanted you to be happy, and I knew I couldn’t do that for you anymore. I changed too much. I’d already been selfish and it tore us apart. I wasn’t going to be selfish again by asking to be in your life again when I didn’t have a place there.”

“That’s such a fucking cop-out. You could have made me happy if you just cared enough to try!,” you exclaimed, tears welling up. “Andrew, you said it yourself. We broke up because you stopped fucking caring. You stopped making me a priority. You treated me like shit. You would go on the road and you promised to call me every night and instead you left me by the phone crying myself to sleep wishing you would keep your promises. You would cancel trips to see me for gig offers or to record. The last year we were together, you forgot my birthday and our anniversary. You stopped caring, Andrew.” You waited a beat to verbalize how he’d made you feel all that time ago, amazed that you were able to keep yourself from raising your voice even if you were getting emotional. “I wasn’t important to you anymore.”

“Sweetheart, you were always important to me. I know I was kind of a shit boyfriend at the end, but you still meant the world to me.” Andrew said. You could see the heartache in his eyes. They were filled with tears too.

“Then why did you make me feel like I wasn’t?”

He sighed and looked down for a few moments, toying with the sleeves of his flannel shirt, something he’d always done when he was anxious. When he looked back up at you, a tear had fallen down his angular face. He closed his eyes and began to speak.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. And…honestly, I didn’t realize that I was making you feel that way until almost the end of our relationship. I was too caught up in my own stuff. I wanted to make you proud, and I thought that doing more shows and bigger tours would accomplish that. And that was fucking stupid,” he said, shaking his head. He sighed and opened his green eyes, looking into yours. “Because after we broke up, I had a lot of time to think, and I realized that I didn’t need to perform in front of thousands of people to make you proud. You loved me before I had all this shit.”

“I did.”

“And I swore to myself that once the tour ended I would make it all up to you. That I would come home to you and I would spend time with you and just love you the way I used to...the way that you needed me to.”

“How was I supposed to know that though, Andrew?”

“I don’t know. I should’ve told you. I realize that now. I stopped opening up to you like I used to. Ehm... we stopped opening up to each other.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared at him. You didn’t know what to say. For the longest time, you’d wished he would admit his wrongdoings and take responsibility for everything. Now he was finally doing it and you didn’t know what to say. He seemed to close off a little in response to your hesitation. He cleared his throat and straightened up a little.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to come here. I just knew that if I didn’t I’d regret it forever. And I don’t want to live with any more regrets when it comes to you.” He paused, and held your gaze for a moment, as if to ask for permission to say more. You nodded slightly, urging him to continue. “I didn’t think you’d come. I-I didn’t think you’d answer my text. I thought you hated me,” he said gently, looking down.

��Oh, Andy,” you put your hand on his bare wrist, which was exposed by his sleeve that had ridden up. He looked up when you said his nickname. “I could never hate you. Never. Even when we’d just broken up, I didn’t hate you. In fact, I still loved you so so much. I wanted to hate you sometimes. It would’ve made getting over you a whole lot easier. But you don’t stop loving someone just because they hurt you.” You paused for a little bit, unsure about whether or not you wanted to say what you were thinking. You decided you would, because you didn’t want to regret anything about this night either. “I still love you,” you said moving your hand down to his.

“I still love you too, baby. So much. So fucking much,” he confessed, wrapping his large, pale hands around yours.

Your heart fluttered when he said those words. You hadn’t heard them in almost three years. You weren’t sure you’d ever hear them from him again, but hearing them sparked something in you.

“You do? I thought you moved on.”

“I never stopped loving you though. Moving on from you didn’t mean that I stopped loving you. It just meant that I learned to live without you. I still think about you all the time. I always wonder how you’re doing...how life is treating you. I miss everything about you, y/n. The big things, like how you always supported me and stood by me; and the little things, like the smell of your hair when you’d put your head on my chest before bed or watching you play with Elwood. Or the way you’d make me porridge, and how you’d always insist on calling it oatmeal. I even miss you hogging the bathroom getting ready even though I always thought you looked beautiful no matter what.”

“Well you don’t have to miss me anymore, Andy,” you said earnestly.

“What do you mean? You wanna do this again?”

You nodded, your hands still intertwined.

His entire demeanor changed. His emerald green eyes went from looking anxious to hopeful. He licked his lips and started searching for his next words. “I ,ehm, I won’t be in town again for a little while because we still have about another month of touring. But once it’s over, maybe I can spend some time here and we can just, ehm, catch up-“

You cut him off. “No I mean, I want to try this again. Us.”

He raised his eyebrows, his mouth slightly open in surprise.

His silence instantly made you regret the risk you took with your words. “I mean, only if you want to. If you don’t want to, or if you’re already seeing someone, then you can just forget I said anythi-“

“Of course I do, y/n.”

“Okay, then...good,” you said with a grin. “But Andy,” you paused, gathering your thoughts. He looked at you intently, leaning in slightly. “Things have to be different this time around. I mean it. If you don’t treat me right, I’m out the door for good this time.”

He nodded his head, his wild, post-show hair moving with him. “I know, darling. I learned my lesson. Trust me. I don’t want to mess things up this time around. I feel really lucky to be able to do what I do, but I was even luckier to have you.”

“You’re such a fucking cornball,” you said, laughing loudly, but melting inside. You smoothed your hair and looked around, trying to hide the fact that you couldn’t stop smiling. That’s when you noticed that there was hardly anyone left in the bar. Andrew seemed to notice as well.

“Should we...?” you both asked at the same time with a chuckle.

“Yeah we should probably get going,” you answered your own question, getting off the barstool.

“Is it okay if I do something first?,” he asked softly, his tone cautious.

“Yeah, of course,” you responded, wondering what he had in mind. Your curiosity was satisfied a few seconds later when he tenderly pulled you closer with one hand on your waist on and the other on your face. He leaned down, his eyes closing. You stood up on your toes, grateful that you’d chosen to wear your heels that not only made your legs look long, but made his lips that much easier to reach without straining. Everything fell into place for the first time since that December night three years ago as he put his perfect pink lips on yours.

“I missed you too, you know,” you whispered before kissing him again.

This is my first time writing any kind of fanfic. Constructive, respectful criticism and feedback is welcome and appreciated!

#hozier fanfic #hozier imagine #my writing #I've been sitting on this for about a month now

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