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#this fuckin ledge and his sweet life
k-wame · 2 years
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derαɴ & ryαɴ ιɴ 'rιѕe' (𝟷𝟿.𝟶𝟼.𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟸) vια αɴιмαl ĸιɴɢdoм · S6·Ξ02
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twigg96 · 11 months
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Soulmate AU anyone?
Hello my sweet lovelies. This just popped into my head. I’ll write more like it soon!
Eyes Like Diamonds
Warnings: illness, soulmate au,
Rating: T
Ships: Dickface
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Murderface had seen it happen in real life more times than he’d like to admit. That gross moment when two people met eyes and saw the truths of the universe or some shit. Or that’s what they all made it sound like. He himself didn’t know… he was still fuckin’ colorblind. He had just assumed that he would just see in colors and move on with his life. Pickles told him he’d understand when it happened. Skwisgaar had insisted it didn’t happen to everyone and just enjoy life with the other grey seeing people… that was until Toki arrived.
Murderface sulked stabbing the side of the Dethsub. It was Nathan’s dumb idea to come so deep in the ocean just to make an album for fish. It was badass he had to admit. But that didn’t mean that it wasn’t dumb. And this new “producer” or whatever Charles called him? Dick… something or another… was going to suck ass he just knew it. No authority figure was ever "cool" or "nice". Hell even their robot was manipulative at best and knivng at worst. Like now... that bastard just drops on them that they needed a boss... No warning... even if he says that he did warn them several times he doesn't believe him. And so he refused to be at the “welcome wagon” to meet Dick’s high pressure sub. Simply choosing to stay behind eating an extra large can of baked beans he found in the mess hall.
He could hear Charles trying to charm the infamous producer through the thin metal walls. Fuck the man sounded annoying as hell. Murderface watched as his band mates entered the sound booth he was currently hiding in, all glaring at him for the death farts he’d be cracking off due to the beans he was eating. But he didn’t give a shit. There was nothing worth while in the sub anyway. The walls were a dull grey. The ocean remained the same color it always remained for him, despite every person who had found their soulmate’s input. Fuckin’ grey. It was boring as hell and there were times he was certain life had no meaning. But as Charles walked in motioning for him to stand alongside his band mates William complied, placing his can on the floor, glaring at the back of the man’s head. Toe headed. That’s how he’d describe the toothpick of a man standing in front of him. His hair was just as light or maybe even lighter than Skwisgaar’s. By the shade of grey, he’d say slightly darker but then again the light from the ocean truly played tricks with his color perception. The man had shoulder length pin straight hair. Which completely contradicted his body language and tone of voice. The man was a swindler at heart. As the rat faced man tuned to face the band giving them the thumbs up of approval to blow his ear drums out of his head, their met eyes for the briefest of seconds. As the man stared at Murderface, his beady eyes widened and a large toothy grin spread across his face. However Murderface stared back at his sludgy grey toned eyes with disgust. Feeling a something in his gut stir and growl. Murderface grunted, maybe it was the beans… Catching Charles’ disappointed glance Murderface crossed his arms over his chest, everyone was a fucking critic. Charles hit the glowing button starting the demo and Murderface couldn’t help the smile that came naturally as the producer flew across the room due to the volume. Using the ledge of the window, Dick crawled up the wall his eyes squirting blood as he listened.
“This is the best fuckin’ music I’ve ever heard!” Dick screamed laughing this strange laugh that was captivating and pleasing yet disturbing after the demo was over. “I’m going straight to the top with this! We gotta get this record out now!” He screamed shaking Charles’ hand so roughly and tightly that William was certain the CFO’s hand would fall off. The man, Murderface had nicknamed the scarecrow behind his back for his likeness to the wizard of oz character, beamed straight at him before stepping into his submarine. Dark liquid dripped from the man’s eyes and ears, blood most likely. Murderface scanned the man who seemed in a manic daze. “Uhh. You sure you should head up now?” Murderface asked. The question was more out of curiosity than concern. But Dick seemed flattered nonetheless. “Of course, baby! We gotta get this on the airwaves!” William blinked flushing as the strange man laughed closing the door to the submarine. “Baby?” Pickles teased. “Schut up…” Murderface growled. Watching the submarine take off Murderface’s rubbed his own eyes. Whatever fucked up Dick’s eyes must have been contagious because his own eyes burned and ached like nothing else. Choosing to simply go to bed the bassist sighed. Maybe his band mates were right? Maybe he had too many beans.
Hours passed after Murderface had chosen to lay down. The sweet lull of the ocean was of no help to him as he tossed and turned all night. Hot he was so fucking hot that he sweat through his clothing, sheets, and mattress. Murderface was certain he’d had a fever but no matter what he did could not find comfort in the way he moved or how many clothes he shed. His eyes burned and ached so badly that he could hardly open them. The harsh Florescent lights that illuminated the halls of the Dethsub were like holding hot irons to his pupils. Silently William wondered if he was going to die. Time seemed to drag on for eons. Muted voices drifted through Murderface’s consciousness. Some passing. Some concerned. Most he was certain were hallucinations. They all sounded so far away. A cold hand rested on his forehead, an icy rag swiping at his face. “It came on in the night.” William heard a voice echo in his mind. “William? Can you hear me?” Another, softer voice called out. A pitiful whine escaped Murderface’s throat as he turned his head in a vein attempt to see who was nursing him back to health. Everything was so fucking bright and blurry. William fought the urge to retch as his makeshift nurse swiped the sweat from his brow. “Get a doctor down here.” The soft voice ordered, the icy hand returning once again. “Get them here now.”
When William awoke next he was shivering. The blanket he once was covered with was missing. A cool cloth was covering forehead. Something soft was shoved up in his arm. Opening his eyes slowly, Murderface sighed. His sight wasn’t restored but the mere fact he could see the grey iron of the bunk above him was comforting to him. Reaching up around himself, William grasped the fussy thing digging into his side, yanking it up to hold it above his head. Glaring at its shapeless form William tried to make out what the object was. It was fuzzy… had several appendages… was brown… wait. Murderface blinked, sitting up slowly. Deaddy bear? Was this deaddy bear? Feeling the cool water of the rag drip down his face, the rag fell with a plop to his lap. Red. The rag was fucking red. Or so William thought. Rubbing his eyes gently William blinked down at the items. No way. No fucking way. Murderface screamed at the top of his lungs, standing up much too fast for his body to process while smacking his head off the metal above him. Three figures rushed in at the sound of his screams. Based off the appalling brightly colored splotch at the chest of one of them he was guessing he was Charles. The one to his right was tall, extremely and abnormally tall with bright yellow hair must have been Skwisgaar. The short one with the red blob for a head must have been Pickles… or so he hoped. “Will?!” Pickles yelled out rushing to his side. His best friend, red blob was kneeling in front of him in an instant, holding his cheeks as if he were the most precious person on the planet. “What’s happened William?” Charles asked worriedly. “I-I can really see.” The words tumbled out. “It’s like a blur.” Murderface could feel Skwisgaar’s long legs wrapping around his frame as he sat on the bed. The Swede’s large hand wrapped around the bassist’s forehead, holding the wet cloth firmly there. “He ams not as warm as he was.” Skwisgaar’s voice reassured as long practiced fingers combed through Murderface’s locks. William could hear the familiar beeping of Charles’ dethphone echoing around the metal room. “What exactly can you see William? I need to know, so I can inform the physician.” There was a tight anxiousness that swelled in Murderface’s chest. Juggling reality with truth as William weighed his options. He could just tell them smudges and get it over with… no one needed to know that… that producer might possibly maybe be his soulmate. Swallowing hard William opened his mouth then shut it. “Colors... Smudges of blurred colors.” The words just fell free. He couldn’t stop them once they started. But a part of him was relieved. At least now maybe he wouldn’t be alone.
When they surfaced and he was rushed to the hospital Charles had made it clear to all personnel who knew his truth to keep it clear of media, due to his wishes. He was grateful, honestly. He learned about his condition. Humilis Lux Visionis. “Because you were much older than most and were in low light conditions when you met your partner.” The doctor explained. “Your eyes struggled to adapt to the changes and your white blood cells attacked your system.” William had to learn a new way of living. His eyes were permanently damaged from the infection. He was forced to wear glasses. But as time went on, and his eyesight slowly returned to a reasonable level and he learned to adjust to his new permanent glasses Murderface became curious about the world around him. Soon the internet was his best friend. The first thing he looked up was a color guide. He was so fucking curious. Was he right to assume he knew what colors were? It turns out he had been correct about a lot of things. Red for example. Red was the color of Pickles’ hair and fire trucks. Blue was the color of the sky and the ocean apparently. It looked so beautiful in pictures. He kind of understood why Nathan wanted to go. However, he was not prepared for the eye melting colors that were out there. Neons for example. He thought they were a myth. Just lights that flashed in the shape of things. Not whatever abomination that was! Colors that did not match the name they were given… Cyan for example is blue not a yellow color like he had thought. Magenta well that one was pink with extra steps. Vermilion. Which by the was is not green as he so believed. Gamboge. What the fuck even was that?! Shaking his head Murderface closed the tabs filled with colors getting a slight headache just thinking about all the new things he’d have to learn that other people had done for him before. Such as match his clothing and compliment the color of someone’s dress. Man. Fuck that Dick guy this was going to blow. Morbid curiosity took hold of him as he quickly searched for a Dick Nubler. Swiftly Google corrected him Showing search results for: Dick Knubbler. Fucking… close enough. William scrolled through the numerous articles. Some good, such as the article about how he got a deal for a band for 10 million dollars. But most bad. How he harassed women, used and abused his power, and how he was just as Murderface thought. A Schemer… the more William read the more interested he became. Then suddenly everything stilled. It felt as if his heart had stopped beating in his chest for mere minutes as he read the brand new article. Infamous producer’s eyeballs explode. Of course. Of fucking course he would be the only human being alive with a soulmate whose fucking eyeballs exploded… He never even got to talk to him about any of this… William sighed leaning back in his chair. Well… Fuck.
“Are you sure that it was him?” Pickles asked pacing small circles around William in a coked out anxiousness. William sighed scrubbing his face from his place on his lounge chair in the living room. It had been a week since his release from the hospital when Charles announced that he had hired the producer full time after sales for the album skyrocketed following the news of his accident. The scientists were working on robotic eyes to help him see to work… but even the CFO was unable to promise the bassist that his full eyesight would be restored… nor could he promise that the producer would remember if he had seen colors that day even if he had since Dick never mentioned such an important event. “Ya know Will…” Pickles muttered, breaking the curly haired man’s thought process. The redhead sat in the small space between the arm of the chair and Murderface, his knee bounced at a thousand miles an hour as his best friend’s large arm wrapped around him almost on instinct. “I once heard that some people get two soulmates. One to help them see the potential in life. The other is their life partner.” William could hardly hold back his snort of disbelief and his eye roll as he met Pickles emerald green eyes. “Oh yeah? And what gossip magazine did you read that from?” He asked sarcastically. Pickles lightly smacked his chest huffing indignantly. “No. Will I’m fuckin’ serious.” He whined although his smirk told another story. “Ya know…” he started becoming all to serious for the bassist’s liking. “I thought you were my soulmate for the longest time. I just thought maybe… you were just genuinely colorblind and I was selectively colorblind… because I could see some colors after meeting you. I could see blues, browns, reds and some greens. It was all just so muted. Then I read a book on the phenomenon. Apparently it’s true. Some people do have more than one soulmate. Like a best best friend ya know. And then like their lover. But some people have thousands. They just never know because their color came in with the first one who wasn’t right for them. I guess what I’m trying to say is… don’t give up Will. Even if Dick isn’t it… because you’ll always have me… and the band and whoever else you match with.” William felt a warmth swell in his heart at Pickles words. Pulling the redhead into a tight hug Murderface hummed. “I won’t… I never will. Because I have you guys.”
William glared at the one way window he could hear Dick’s stupid voice over the speakers as he and Charles talked. It pissed him off for several reasons honestly. The first being that the little piss ant didn’t even say hello. The second was that this Dick seemed so much more like a dick than the man he met on the sub… not that he ever really talked to the man… but he always seemed so confident. On the sun he seemed so cocky. So sure of himself. Now he was just bending to Charles’ will so easily. It was unnerving. Almost sickening after the headlines Murderface read. But what’s to be expected? Charles had Dick by the balls. Quite literally the eye balls. He had the scientists build him a brand new pair that cost more than all the money Dethklok owned. “Alright… so we’re gonna get started here in a minute but I’m just gonna need to… get to know you each a bit better to understand what you want from your music career.” There was an collective groan from the band at Dick’s words. If they hated anything more in the world. It was sharing. “So… I’m going to call you back one by one to talk. Just hang out there until we’re done.”
Two whole pain staking hours passed by. Murderface laid flat on his back on the studio floor staring up at the ceiling. Dick had started by calling Nathan back. Twenty minutes later he called Pickles back, the sound of Nathan’s laughter echoing though the microphone sounded fun. Something William wished he was having. Another twenty minutes passed before Skwisgaar and Toki’s names were called. This time a the rounds of laughter was starting to piss William off. He was a member of this band too damn it… he’d just come up with a cooler better band than Dethklok ever could be! Yeah! Sommething like… Planet Piss? Yeah that was sick. And he’d make sick music to go with it. Something… something like he didn’t know yet but fuck was it going to be good. “Willy. You can come back now.” Dick’s soft voice shook Murderface from his stupor. Willy. Huh. Walking back to the sound studio Murderface was surprised to find it empty when before it was bustling with life and laughter. In the large red pleather chair sat Dick. His legs crossed over one another as he simply watched Murderface. “Please sit Willy. Or would you rather me call you something else?” Dick asked, his voice sounded so soft compared to what it sounded like over speakers. It truly sent shivers down William’s spine. “A-ah. W-William’sch fine in front of the othersch. But. You can call me… that.” William muttered sitting awkwardly on the leather couch across from Knubbler. The blonde nodded smiling the smallest taint of a blush painting his cheeks. “So tell me all about you… Willy.” Murderface swallowed hard. “I schee colors.” There it was out. Just like that. No more dancing around the bush. But Dick just sat stiff staring at his notepad. Grinding that stupid shit eating grin he had on the sun after hearing their demo. Slowly his green digital eyes drifted up to meet William’s. “Finally?” He asked cheekily. “Because I’ve been seeing nothing but green for you for the last month.”
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greyeyedmonster-18 · 2 years
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spaces pt. 1
who's gonna be the first one to say goodbye?
(wolfstar, navigating spaces with each and space...from each other; end of hogwarts->first war)
(what started out as a sweet-love dribble ((the last section of this which has been out for a bit)) morphed into a first war angst saga, whatever.)
--
December 1977
Sirius had forgotten what it was like to have things of his own, the way he had grown so accustomed to sharing. His notes with his classmates, his free time spread out between helping professors after class and sending a letter to the new tapestry of family he was weaving together; his leather jacket with anyone who was cold; his summers, his bedroom, his best ear with James; kisses with Remus whenever possible. Everything...everything with Remus whenever possible. Sirius would share his soul if Remus asked for it, he was certain, though he knew Remus never would and perhaps that was the only reason why he acquiesced to the unspoken request. Sirius's hands he shared with Remus, his bed (though James was there too on occasion, and Sirius didn't flinch at having to make space for four arms and four legs, all tangled together Sirius in the middle; no place he would rather be), his midnight concerns and his morning coffee. Sirius didn't have many things of his own anymore, but after being disowned, things weren't nearly as important, especially those left behind. Rather, Sirius only cared for the people who stayed.
Those he didn't have to share.
And what an incomparable trade-off. So Sirius thought, never thinking twice about the sharing of things or the paying for things, because money was a thing he could share too, but the things were precisely what caused their first fight.
A stupid coat.
"I didn't ask you to get me one!"
"It's a gift!" Sirius said back, unsure of how a romantic gesture--a early holiday present--had been taken the wrong way.
"I didn't ask you to throw your money at me either!"
"You're being fucking ridiculous, Remus, it's a coat, you needed one and I--"
"Bought me one! Exactly. Merlin, Sirius, you can't just keep doing this--"
"At this particular issue, yes, I can! I can just throw my piles of money at you because I'm your boyfriend and I wanted to, and you can throw your tantrum about it but I didn't do anything wrong!"
"I have a coat!"
"You always take mine!"
"Oh, I didnt know that was such a fucking problem--" Remus said, going to his bed where the new coat was as well as Sirius's other jacket, Remus throwing them in his direction.
"Thats not--"
"Don't worry, Sirius I won't use yours anymore, you can have it back--"
"You're being so fucking stupid, Remus. It's a g--"
"And now I'm stupid?"
"At this moment yeah, honestly," Sirius told him, "Fuckin chip on your shoulder. Is it so hard to say thank you?"
"You're an arse."
"Ah yes, how terrible I am for thinking of you and buying you a practical gift. Such an arse. Piss off, Remus." Sirius rolled his eyes and grabbed his leather jacket, tapping the pockets briefly before storming out of the dormitory, intent on going to smoke. He opened the door as rough as he could, for the first time in his life wanting to slam it despite how much he hated when other people did it, but stopped himself, settling for the sound the handle made when it hit the wall and stomping his boots down the stairs. He sounded like his father as he walked out of the dormitory and he hated himself for it.
It was a gift! You should be grateful!
Stomp, stomp, stomp.
It was practical and something you needed! Gifts are not meant to be frivolous.
Stomp, stomp, stomp.
You're given a gift and you say 'thank you'--that is manners.
Stomp, stomp, stomp, to the ledge outside the castle, cigarette already in his mouth. He slipped his thumb along the muggle lighter, and inhaled.
He didn't ask for a coat, you know.
He didn't ask for any gifts, in fact, he told you it made him nervous to exchange gifts in the first place and you didn't listen.
And then you called him stupid!
"He started it..." mumbled Sirius around his cigarette into the night, realizing as he said the words out loud how childish he was being. Maybe.
He still thought Remus needed a coat, and he wanted to buy him one.
"Apparently, that's a fucking crime..." Sirius said out loud and titled his head back exhaling smoke into the air, just as footsteps were heard behind him. "Piss. Off. Remus." Sirius heard himself saying without having to turn to look.
He would recognize the scuff of Remus's loafers anywhere, his boyfriend incapable of picking his feet up. At eleven, it had driven Sirius up a fucking wall. At seventeen, it made Sirius smile when he heard the sound shuffling into the common room at the end of the day. Now, at this moment, it was grating. Sirius wanted to rip the loafers off Remus's feet and chuck them into the night.
Fetch, you fucking arse.
"No." Remus's voice cracked, and Sirius raised an eyebrow to look at him. Standing with his hands in the pockets of his worn brown coat and staring back at Sirius.
"Fine, then I will. I'll go bugger off to the ledge, and you can stand here freezing all fucking night because your coat is no better than a pillow sham."
"Nice, Sirius," he rolled his eyes and Sirius flipped him the bird, stalking away, to the ledge as he promised, Remus following.
"Leave it alone, Remus!"
"It or you?"
"Both, hm?"
"No," Remus shook his head again. "If we're going to fight, we're going to fight. We're going to have it out, and you don't just get to leave and be alone and then come back hours later and tell me it's fine, when it's not, and then we both pretend, and then it blows up months from now."
"Fuck off."
"You can be mad at me, I'm angry with you, and then we'll be...angry at each other but I'm not spending the next five years of my life watching you leave when we have a fight," Remus said, folding his arms over his chest awkwardly. "So you can...give me mean looks on the ledge and I'll..." he looked around for a moment before sitting on the opposite end from Sirius, "sit here and scowl and...then...we''ll fight."
"Why?" Sirius found himself asking. A fight was something to avoid at all costs. In Sirius's experiences, fights ended in disaster. In burning tapestries and wine glasses shattered at the kitchen table, and running away to your best friend's house in the dead of night. They ended in detentions and lectures and violence. He didn't want that anywhere near Remus when he could just...leave.
"Because it's...because," Remus gestured aimlessly.
"Brilliant." Sirius scoffed and sat down on the ledge, drawing his knee up protectively to his chest. A barrier. Remus did the same after muttering something under his breath and letting out a vehement exhale way he did whenever Sirius frustrated him. Sirius knew that sound too.
Just stop and think for one damn second, Sirius.
And they smoked in silence. On opposite ends of the ledge, when they were usually on top of one another. Inhaling exhales and sharing a cigarette for two. Smiling into kisses, hands fisting into hair. No space to be found.
"We fight because even though we're mad, we love each other," Remus broke the silence finally. "Don't we?"
Sirius stayed silent. Not wanting to admit it first. Not wanting to say that he loved Remus more than most things, most people in the world. Not wanting to just cave and apologize to make things right again because he was so desperate for Remus's love. Silence was the easier option.
"And uhm...I'll say something like, hey sirius, i may have over reacted a tiny bit about a coat and it was thoughtful of you, i am just pants at accepting gifts and it wasn't fair for me to get upset with you so quickly and act like a stubborn arsehole."
Sirius picked at the hem of his jeans, still not looking at Remus.
"And...you could say something like, hey remus, i'm sorry for calling you stupid and for talking over you. And...we'd keep talking. Because you're still my favorite person to talk to, even if I'm not yours."
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Pretend like I don't give a shit about you."
"Then say something. I didn't know me taking your coat was such a problem that you had to buy me my own."
"It's not."
"Sirius."
"I'm trying here, Remus," Sirius looked up finally, "I'm still here, I haven't left, I'm here. Alright?"
Remus got up from the opposite end, and moved closer.
"Can I hold your hand?" he asked, but Sirius was already reaching for his, tired of the space.
"I can't....talk about it right this moment...because I'm trying really hard to not just be angry with you and say mean things..."
"You're good at that."
"Black Family trait."
"Trade-off for the cheekbones..." Remus said, pulling Sirius's hand into his chest and putting his other on the back of Sirius's neck. "We....will talk about it?"
"In a bit."
"We can't do that if you get up and leave."
"I'm not."
--
September 1978
Remus really thought Sirius was playing some sort cruel joke on him the longer they looked at flats around London searching for a place to call theirs. They had set up temporary residence alongside James and Lily in Sirius’s Uncles old property–a cottage on the seaside– and to be honest, Remus didn’t know why they couldn’t stay there until the end of time.
The sun and salt air, enough space for the four of them, certainly enough for Remus and Sirius alone, with the added benefit of being free. And Remus was very much still unemployed without family galleons to fall back on like James and Sirius. But Sirius wanted something else for an unspoken reason Remus couldn’t put his finger on no matter how many times he asked wouldn’t it be nice if we stayed here? into the side of Sirius’s face between bedsheets. And so they went hunting in London, Remus looking at the paper for muggle flats in neighborhoods that were within a reasonable budget, every vacancy sign checked out.
Admittedly, it wasn’t a terrible afternoon. Not that any day was terrible when Sirius was around, even on the days where Remus’s temper was short and Sirius forgot all communication skills, but Remus had expected flat hunting to be an arduous experience. It wasn’t.
It was…just long, and got stranger by the second, Sirius dismissing flats for the oddest sort of reasons like the height of the windows or the color of the brick and saying things like i mean, it’s a good option, but we can think on it a bit longer.. it doesn’t feel right.
It was the last one on the list, the two of them letting themselves into the flat with a key from the building manager.
Remus crinkled his nose at the sight.
Tiny.
Narrow halls.
Remus was certain if someone went to the lav, the entire flat would be able to hear and smell everything that occurred in there.
The kitchen barely had counter space. The sitting room might’ve had room for a single couch. The bedroom? There was no chance of getting Sirius’s Uncles comfortable king-size bed in there. Unless of course, it was nothing but the bed.
No space.
White chipped walls. The flat certainly needed some tender love and care…and perhaps a fresh coat of paint, and…probably fumigation. But there in the bedroom, Sirius grabbed his hand, tightly, and Remus was temporarily stunned by the wide smile on Sirius’s face. The one that was the color yellow personified, brighter than the god-damn sun, the one meant just for Remus.
“It’s perfect.”
“This?”
“Yeah. Our bed can go right there,” Sirius pointed to the far wall, “And…we can hang up some of your records, you know the ones that you can’t listen to anymore? Just put them up on the walls and…” Sirius looked at Remus, grey eyes shining with possibility and opportunity that Remus certainly didn’t see in this box of a flat, “What do you think?”
“It’s…small.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah? Just…yeah? Nothing else?”
Sirius nodded again, pulling Remus closer to him, arms going around his waist. Remus caught his balance, a hand on Sirius’s chest, as he met Sirius’s eyes. “I don’t need anything more.”
“We can…get something bigger, baby, I promise–”
“I did the big house, Moons.” Sirius told him, “I did the big…fancy house with all the rooms and more space than should be allowed. I did that. We also had a castle together.”
Remus smiled softly. Walking through Sirius in the halls had made him feel like he owned it. They had the astronomy tower and under the stands at the Quidditch pitch; behind the greenhouses; a perfect stone ledge just outside the front of the castle doors where they smoked; the lake…they did have a castle together.
“I dId the big house without…the love. And I can tell you, it’s really not that great. But…I’ve never done the small thing with the love and I’m…thinking that could really be something. Have you?”
Remus laughed, “No.” He didn’t come from money like Sirius did. But Remus’s childhood home had been plenty big. The countryside of Wales his entire playground. “I…haven’t.”
“So I don’t need anything else. Do you?”
Fill the whole flat with love. Coming out of the cracks in the floorboards, leaking from the pipes, bursting through the windows like rays of sunshine and starlight depending on the time of day. Put it on the cool side of the pillow and tuck it into creaky closets so when they’re opened, love tumbles out alongside blankets. Love just…left on the floor. So much that guests will have to step around it, or else learn to embrace it. Just as they would a pretentious Persian rug or a tasteless vase.
Take off your shoes, walk softly, we lay our love at your feet.
“….Other than a big bed?”
“We’ll keep the bed.”
“Can’t think of a single thing then.”
to be continued
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thatwritingho · 2 years
Text
Metalocalypse OC Week
Day 2- Best Friends
A snippet of the Dethwedding chapter🥰 Enjoy some sweet, heartwrenching Olive/Pickles comfort as he finally opens up about his childhood!
Warnings: alcohol, cigarettes, and discussion of canon typical familial abuse.
With a slam, Pickles shut the door of his hotel room and beelined to the bottles of alcohol lining the dresser, jerking the cap off the first one he touched and tilting his head back for a long, long swig. He gasped and panted as he pulled the glass from his lips, aggressively wiping the residual liquid from his mouth, rubbing his hand over his face harshly.
After dipping his head back for another long gulp, Pickles slammed the bottle down, bracing himself on the edge to hang his head. Green eyes slipped closed as he felt the familiar, comforting crawl of alcohol burning through his esophagus. Raising his head, he caught sight of himself in the mirror — eyes and nose red from the booze, his sad, pathetic attempt to hide his bald spot revealed by his disheveled dreads, face pale and sallow, dark bags under his eyes. Glaring at his reflection, waves of self-hatred coursed through his veins.
When did he start to look so old?
When did he start to look so gross?
God, he was so fucking pathetic. Six hours back in this goddamn town, and he was already reduced to this.
Would he be the same, if he had never left? Would he still be a middle aged, divorced alcoholic, angry and alone while his more attractive, better-liked brother prepared to marry?
No. If he never left… he'd be dead, would have overdosed or drank himself to an early grave, or worse.
If he never left, people would still be calling him-
Screwing his eyes closed, Pickles took a deep, shaky breath, gripping the edge of the wood so hard his knuckles turned white, fists aching to go through the wall, to smash the mirror, to trash this hotel room and leave it in pieces, make it reflect the mess he was on the inside. And he would have, too, if not for the small, warm hand gently prying his fingers from the ledge, giving a soft tug.
"Hey. Let's get some air."
Oh.
Right.
Pickles wasn't alone. Olive was here, their rooms connected by the adjoining door still unlocked from earlier, as it would likely remain for the rest of their stay. Tired, bloodshot green eyes met black, and he nodded, allowing her to lead him out onto the balcony, the blast of cold January air on his flushed face and bare arms immediately soothing. Folding his arms and propping them on the guard rail, Pickles stared out over the sparse town lights, the night peaceful with the scarce traffic. Or, at least, it should be peaceful — but all Pickles could feel as he looked out over the low buildings was unease.
Nostalgia, but in it's most sickening, dismal form.
The click of a lighter drew his attention, the warm light of the orange flame flickering over Olive's face, glowing in her eyes as she lit a cigarette, holding another in front of his mouth. He grunted in thanks, taking the filter between his teeth and inhaling as she pressed the end of her own to his, breathing the smoke in deep and watching it curl and dance through the air as he released his breath. They were quiet for a while, Pickles lost in his thoughts, fighting off unwanted memories from a different life as they chipped away at the thick walls he had long since hidden them behind.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Shrugging, Pickles shook his head, "Naht really much t' say," smushing out the cherry on the railing and carelessly tossing the butt over the ledge, he sighed, "jest fuckin' hate it here."
A frosty breeze caught the alcove of the little balcony just right, and Olive shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. Pickles flung an arm over her shoulders, pulling her to his side, and rubbed his hand over the goosebumps on her arm.
"Go back inside, it's freezin' out here. I'll be okee."
"No, I'm fine. My modifications can regulate my body temperature much more efficiently than an unaided hypothalamus, just have to give it a minute to adjust."
Pickles blinked at her, then shook his head, her explanation much too fast and complicated for him to attempt to process in the moment.
"Dood, yer shiverin'."
Olive gave a light eye roll, leaning into his side.
"I'm ok, really. I'm already warming up."
With a shrug, he nodded, continuing to glare off into the distance, thoughts racing, memories spinning and swirling in his mind. Picking up speed, they fueled the fires of his deep-seated rage until he was trembling in anger and frustration, the burning, visceral need to hit something so intense he could barely resist.
He took a breath.
Then another.
Clenched his jaw.
Cracked his fingers.
And then-
"Fuck, dood!"
The exclamation was accompanied by an angry, frustrated exhale, and Pickles dropped his head into his hand, harshly scrubbing at his face. Unwittingly, the tips of his fingers began to dig into Olive's side harder and harder as he worked himself up, so, gently, she pried his grip from her middle. Coiling her arms around his waist, she rest her head against his chest, listening to his wild heartbeat speak his anxieties. Pointed nails gliding over his shoulder blades released some tension, so she kept at it.
"You sure you don't want to talk about it?"
Pickles let out a deep, deep sigh, chuckling humorlessly, "Don't know where ta start."
Squeezing in what she hoped was a comforting hug, she pressed a soft kiss to his chest.
"Wherever you want."
He was quiet for a moment, enjoying the comfort of her touch, debating if he wanted to get into it. If he started, he wouldn't stop until he was a wreck, and would that even be better than how he felt now? Probably not. But the words were bubbling up, burning at his throat, spurring his tongue into action, and if he didn't to let them out, he was gonna lose his fucking mind.
Sighing, he stepped back, plopping down into the single, uncomfortable plastic chair on the balcony, and slouched back. The concrete was freezing as Olive sank to the ground, her tights offering little protection, and propped herself against the wall, settling in as Pickles fidgeted, the dejection in his eyes gripping her heart in a vice.
"I jest… I don't know what I did, yanno? To make 'em hate me so much. I…"
Pickles swallowed, crossing his arms defensively, trying to organize his thoughts through the haze of alcohol.
"...like, even before," he gestured vaguely at his body, "even before I really knew why I felt so… off. When I was jest a kid, still, they… everything I did was wrong, yanno?"
Running a hand over his face, he sighed, propping his elbows on his knees, staring at his shoes.
"I couldn't do aneethin' right; I was too loud, too hyper, talked too much, cried too much, fidgeted too much, threw too many tantrums… and… and I tried, like, I really tried to be good. I didn't want to get yelled at all the time… but it didn't matter. It was never enough, even then… It's like dey didn't want me to have a reaction to aneethin', like every emotion I felt was wrong and that there was somethin' wrong with me fer havin' them. Like I- like they thought I was being difficult on purpose jest to make things harder fer 'em."
An old, all consuming rage began to churn in his chest, burning his throat.
"And den… and den Seth, the bastard… he burned down the garage. I was six, and he blamed it ahn me, and a'course my parents believed him over me, 'cause he was the favorite an' I was jest the fuck up."
Pickles' gaze shifted back to the dark town, leg bouncing, shame coursing through him at his next words.
"'N dat's… dat's when I started drinkin'. Saw my old man doin' it all the time when he was pissed, an' my mam, too, sneakin' schnapps when she thought we weren't lookin', and I thought, hey, dat's what people do when dey're mad, right? Yeh drink..."
Shame burned the backs of his eyes, leaving him grimacing as he ran a hand roughly over his face.
"So, I snuck out an' stole a six pack from the gas station an' drank 'em all at the dock. Passed the fuck out, yanno, since I was so small. I was gone all fuckin' night, a six year old kid missing the whole night, and they didn't even notice I wasn't there til I gaht dropped off by the cops the next mornin'."
Olive pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them, heart breaking at his words, rage towards Pickles' parents churning molten as she watched him fidget nervously, tears shining in his eyes.
Nausea tore at his stomach, restlessness creeping through his veins as he curled in on himself under the weight of that old, deep pain.
"An' even then, dey were more worried aboot rumors goin' around, yanno, like, what will the neighbors think? Yelled at me fer hours, but naht cuz I was puttin' myself in danger er nothin', jest, "do you know how dat makes us look, you being brought home by da cops? What if people find out you were drinking, what then?" an'..."
Pickles sniffled, eyes burning with the memory, the old hurt tearing through his chest, and dropped his head into his hands.
"n' I was so mad dat all I could do was just cry n' cry, but they wouldnt fuckin' stop, wouldn't stop yellin' at me and gettin' mad at me fer cryin', an'... an' I was so fuckin' mad but I couldn't do aneethin' aboot it. I felt so helpless, an' I didn't have 'neeone ta go to, because the people I shoulda been able t' turn to were the ones hurtin' me, an'..."
Stopping to gasp in a breath, trembling, Pickles bowed his head, hands on the back of his neck, tears beginning to leak out. Olive longed to go to him, to wrap him tight in her arms and hold him forever, to slay any person who had ever made him feel lesser. But, she just held her knees tighter and let him continue, fighting back the urge to go slit his parents' throats.
It would be impolite to murder his family without asking him first, afterall.
"And it's like, bein' around 'em again, seeing 'em look at me like dat… It's like I'm that same little kid gettin' yelled at again, helpless and sad and angry, and I jest can't stand up fer myself. And I hate it so fuckin' much, but it's like I jest can't form the words, like my mouth freezes up, and I can't walk away, all I can do is stand there and take it until I fuckin' snap."
Breathing in a shaky inhale, Pickles choked on a sob, covering his face with his hands, tears now flowing hotly down his cheeks.
"An' even now… dey still don't think I'm good enough! Yew heard 'em today, "Seth this" an' "Seth that" and "Look how professional his garage apartment is." Makes me fuckin' sick, dood, gahd!"
A fresh wave of hot rage drove him to his feet, and he paced back and forth along the small balcony, too filled with emotion to sit still.
"I been famous since I was eighteen an' they still think he's accomplished more den me! I'm the best drummer in the whole fuckin' world, in the biggest band in the world, an' they still act like I'm… like I'm trash."
He needed to punch something, needed to break something, but there was nothing out here to satisfy that urge, so he settled for kicking the guard rail, the metal creaking and groaning from the impact.
"I could buy their house and their stupid fuckin' garage a thousand times-" he was yelling now, gesticulating wildly in his anger, "-and still have enough money to tell them to go fuck themselves! But they've still never even said so much as a "good job, Pickles." It's like they convinced themselves I didn't earn it. Like they think I'm a fraud, like I just slept my way into the biggest band in da world and dat I don't deserve aneethin' I have. And they gaht Seth to believe it too! An' he… he knows, dood, yanno?"
Pickles gripped the railing hard, leaning his weight on it as he stared out over the horizon, shaking his head and laughing humorlessly in exasperation.
"He knows what they're like, and he still just eats it up, just lets 'em dote on him an' trash talk me like I'm naht right fuckin' dere. An'... and we weren't ever, like, close, yanno, but, like, I thought… I didn't think he'd hate me dis much. I never did aneethin' t' him, and he jest… all he wants is to jest leech off me like he does our parents, acts like I owe him everythin' I gaht, and fer what? He never did aneethin' to help me, naht when it counted. He's the older one, the big brother, he was supposed to protect me, but he didn't, he never fuckin' did, and he jest let his friends-"
Grinding to a halt, Pickles shook his head, refusing to go down that line of thought.
"...he jest never looked out fer me. No one did. Not one gahd damn person in dis whole fuckin' town. I didn't even have any friends. Like, dere were people I'd hang wit', get fucked up wit', but no one who gave a shit when I left. No one who missed me. No one…" Pickles gripped the railing harder, breath shaking, fresh tears spilling over, "no one who fuckin' cared. No one who... who loved me."
Pickles sunk to his knees, resting his forehead against the cool metal bars as he sobbed, choking out the words as he curled in on himself, "I jest want them t' love me. What did I do wrong?"
Blinking back her own tears, Olive crawled to him, wrapping her arms tight around his middle from behind as he trembled, sliding one hand up to rest on his shoulder, the other down at his waist.
"Oh, sweetie, you didn't do anything wrong."
Another sob wracked his body, "Den why don't they love me?"
Olive squeezed him tighter, wrapping her legs around him, too, and pressed a firm kiss between his shoulder blades.
"Look… from one problem child to another… it's not your fault. Trust me. You're wonderful, and if they can't see that, then they don't deserve to have you as a son."
Hesitating for a moment, as she didn't want to scare him off, or for her words to be taken the wrong way, for him to react as he had the last time these three little words snuck out between them, Olive ultimately decided to let herself voice her feelings.
"And… for what it's worth… I love you."
Pickles sobbed harder at that, warmth blooming through his chest at her words.
"Olive… fuck, dood…"
Twisting awkwardly in her tightly coiled grasp, Pickles dislodged himself enough to snatch her into her arms and bury his face in her neck, squeezing her tight as he cried. A soft, squishy feeling in his chest was slowly replacing the cold, bitter hollow there prior, overwhelming him in its intensity. They remained tangled up like that for a while, Pickles thoroughly soaking Olive's shirt with his tears as she held him cradled in her lap, crying some of her own tears as she pressed kisses to his head, his anguish breaking her heart.
Eventually, the waterworks slowed, his breathing leveling out, lulled by the sensation of her nails running up and down his back.
"Feeling any better?"
Pickles exhaled a deep, steady breath, nodding, expression relaxing into one of relieved exhaustion, "I- yeah. Yeah. Fuck…" sitting up and rolling his shoulders back, he took another deep breath, shocked with how much lighter he felt, "I feel… I dunno. Like I can breathe easier. Like…" his hand went to his chest subconsciously, and Olive nodded.
"Like you're not being eaten alive from the inside out by an all consuming anguish? Like you aren't going to implode from the hollow pit of loneliness left in absence of familial love?"
Pickles blinked at her, taken aback that she had put it into such poignant words.
"...yeah. Like, dat exactly."
With a nod, she squeezed his hand, "I understand, probably more than you realize," she bit her lip, clearing her throat, "Talking helps. Anytime you need to, I'm here, ok?"
"Yeah, I- thanks," Pickles squeezed her hand back, taking another steadying breath, reveling in the lightness of his chest, "...guess I'd been holding dat in longer than I thought."
"How long?"
"Uh…" Pickles wracked his brain for the last time he had really, like, genuinely opened up about his family like this, coming up blank, "couple decades, I guess…"
Dark eyes widened comically, and he looked away, sheepish, "Decades? Jesus, dude..."
"Yeah…" he rubbed the back of his neck, the realization of just how much he had shared hitting him, embarrassment creeping in, "Uh. Thanks. Fer, yanno. Listening ta all dat..."
"Of course," giving his hands a quick double squeeze, Olive smiled, blushing, "I don't know if you've realized this yet, but… you're kind of my best friend. So, really. Anytime. I mean it."
Pickles swallowed thickly, eyes watering again, breath picking up.
"Olive, dood…"
He didn't know what to say, couldn't find the words, so he just nodded, blinking back tears, and threw himself at her. Arms wrapped tight around her, cradling the back of her head in his hand to keep it from smacking the ground as they toppled back, her giggles inspiring ones of his own as he buried his face in her neck.
Wearing a smile so large his cheeks ached, Pickles could let himself forget, if only for this little moment, just exactly where they were.
.
As always, thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think!
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stereonightss · 1 year
Note
Hey it's Maneki from twt, could I see a dkbk/bkdk vignette maybe? :) ❤️
Hiiii okay, here we go! A lil bkdk fluff for you.
Number One Hero Izuku “Deku” Midoriya is everybody’s darling. His smile is a national treasure. He consistently tops online popularity polls with his earnestness and that boy-next-door charm. He’s...well, he’s cute, his face is inviting, unconventionally attractive, eyes too big, button nose, chin a little weaker than a top-ten hero’s ought to be. But maybe that’s why the people like him. He’s short for a hero too, just a touch under 5’6”, but the nation’s golden boy spins that to his advantage too. There was the infamous underwear ad—compact pro hero Deku easily lifting Creati (5’10”) up with one arm and Battle Fist (6’) with the other, both ladies in sleek athletic wear in their respective colors, and him in low-slung boxer-briefs. Tight boxer briefs, almost tight enough to be a scandal. “Big things come in small packages” was the campaign slogan, and it shot him to the top of the popularity polls, especially in the under-30s set.
Katsuki’s had to suffer through six months of it plastered on every other billboard—the longest six months of his life so far, and that’s for someone who’s been to war and back.
“Some nice weather today, huh,” Izuku says, smiling, the picture of innocence. He’s got a steamed bun in his hand, convenience store bag hanging from his wrist. His legs dangle over the ledge of their usual mid-shift skyscraper. Behind him, fifty feet high, is one of those fucking underwear ads. The contrast of the giant, near-naked, smouldering Deku on the billboard with the grimy, roughed-up, costume-bundled Deku swinging his feet like a child is too much for Katsuki to handle.
“Hungry?” Izuku says, holding his steamed bun up to Katsuki’s face. The wind lifts Izuku’s hair, whips his freckled cheeks rosy red. He looks like a strawberry, like a sweet matcha latte dusted with cinnamon. He looks like a dream.
“I’m fuckin starving,” Katsuki says, gripping Izuku’s wrist. He bypasses the bun to kiss Izuku’s knuckles.
“Yeah?” Izuku sighs, eyelids drooping.
“Not for lunch, though.” Katsuki pries the bun from his hand, gently wraps it, and stuffs it in the bag.
“Oh,” Izuku murmurs, leaning in when Katsuki tugs at the front of his costume. “Oh.”
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squashfics · 2 years
Note
‘scolding your lover for almost getting themselves killed, and your lover asks you why you care so much’ with leon please!!
tried to keep this one vague on which Leon because I know some people are into that but re2 has definitely already happened
“And then it chased me down to this… construction site!” Leon exclaimed. “There was this big shipping container on a crane and all I could do was press the buttons on the control panel to move the crane back, then move it forward to knock that bastard off the ledge we were on!”
You hadn’t moved from your spot on the bed for at least half an hour as Leon told you this story. He had your full attention with the way he told the story, but at the same time, you worried more and more. He’d gotten so banged up already. Since he was here, you knew he made it out alive (with debilitating pain that lasted for months), but if the next thing he told you was that he fell off…
“You should be fuckin’ dead,” you pointed out.
“I was fine!” Leon assured you. “I never got hit, I was back by the control panel every time it came around.”
“Every time? You had to do this more than once?”
“Yeah! Once he finally went down, he pulled the shipping container down with him, so it would have crushed him. Some debris fell across the platforms, so I could walk across…”
“And you could have fallen at that point, too!”
“(Y/N)…”
You put your hand on his shoulder.
“I’m serious. You could have been killed. You know you still do reckless things like that, right?” you asked.
“Not every mission is gonna have railings,” he said. “I don’t know what else I could have done… maybe jump the gap, but he’d have just jumped after me!”
“Next thing I know, you’re gonna tell me the lickers came back,” you said.
“They did, but that’s a later thing,” he said dismissively. “Left some cool scars on my back, wanna see?”
He started unbuttoning his shirt.
“No, Leon, I don’t want to see,” you sighed. “Do you understand how lucky you are to be alive right now?”
Leon paused.
“Why are you so focused on that part?” he huffed. “When Umbrella’s still kicking?”
“What do you mean ‘that part?’” you asked.
“Me? What’s so special about me? Lieutenant Branagh was right. Hell, even Ada was right at first. I should’ve stayed away. But nope, I said I’d do whatever it takes to save the city. And I’m still gonna do whatever it takes to make sure what happened there never happens again!”
“Even if it costs you your life?”
He didn’t answer.
“Maybe I care about that,” you said. “Maybe I want you to come home in one piece. Maybe you’re special to me.”
“I understand,” he said, leaning in close. “I’ve been away from home longer than I thought. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be someone’s special person.”
You gave him a sweet kiss.
“I’ll help you remember,” you said, touching his chest and slipping your hand under his half-buttoned shirt. “You said your back was sore when you got off the plane. I’ll give you a massage and you can finish your story. And show me your cool scars.”
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kshira · 2 years
Text
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— BLACK LICORICE
SUMMARY: flashing back to where sanzu had gave you an orgasm, love and a broken heart
TW. fem!reader, cursing, fingering, angsty
WC. 897
AN. this is the first installment of my writing series, i’ve never wrote one before so hey, enjoy <3
SERIES MASTERLIST
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CHAPTER ONE — SALTY TAFFY 
[5 YEARS EARLIER]
“you didn’t show up to graduation haru” you mention sitting down beside your boyfriend and knocking the candy he has from his hands.
sanzu disregards your attempts to annoy him by grabbing another piece of taffy and popping it in his mouth, he ignores you again, looking out into the distance of the bustling city echoing noises of a forever life—the sweetness dissolves around his tongue.
the rooftop was where you’d met sanzu, nothing more than a sheltered child you were and discovering a tattered boy standing atop the edge, he looked invincible—sanzu could fall down the three story building and god himself would throw him back to earth.
sanzu turns to you, pulling you from a distant memory, long lashes fluttering close with a sly grin “what’re you going to do now that you’re legally smart?” he snorts when you softly hit his shoulder, sanzu erupts into another laugh but he’s nervous, he knows what he wants to do and what you’re about to tell him don’t line up.
“i’m going to college” you avoid his searing gaze, staring off to watch the sun dipping down into the clouds, orange slices radiate the sky as sanzu inches closer—the silence is like a ticking time bomb, you want to ignore the way he’s trailing his fingers up your skirt, lips attaching to your neck, you want to forget what will happen in the upcoming weeks and you pray to a god it doesn’t ruin what you have with sanzu.
“you don’t need to do that” sanzu pulls your shirt down to expose more of you, his lips sucking on the skin and fingers growing agonizingly close between your legs.
“w-what do you mean?” you question, shakily ripping your voice from your throat, lungs being flooded by pleasure as sanzu slips past the sheen fabric and slowly teasing your folds “you could be my housewife” he presses his finger through your slit, curling through till he’s met with your spongy walls “i do the gang shit, get money and come home to a pretty wife.”
“easier said than done” your voice is quiet now, sanzu attempts to block off this conversation and focus on something—anything besides the cold hard truth.
“it took me barely five minutes to be inside you, i think i can manage” sanzu motions his other hand to look at him, his orbs flickering waves of violets “if i have you, i can do anything.”
a dark swell tugs at your heart, looking up at sanzu—tears rimming your eyes and he thinks it’s the pleasure overflowing but really, it just hurts so fucking bad; to know reality is tasted sour on your tongue.
your hand cards through his hair, pushing him into your mouth while sanzu pumps his fingers inside you, he groans into the kiss feeling your walls clamp down on him and like another day spent on this ledge your voice carrying on with the wind, moans catching with the air into the abyss.
“every day i could do this, come home to you—take you to those expensive restaurants you always wanna go to, fuck you anywhere, especially on every single fuckin’ room of our house” sanzu moans, curling his fingers to find that deep spot that drives you over the edge.
“h-haru— i’m gonna, fuck” you gasp feeling your orgasm near its head, washing through your legs and creaming around his fingers, small whimpers leaving your lips when sanzu teases your senstive clit, he chuckles at your teary eyed expression.
silence draws to an end as he finally stops playing with your fidgeting cunt, releasing an uneasy breath at the short time of tranquility.
sanzu pulls away from you, slinking the hand to his side he lays his head down on your shoulder, kicking his feet to the pace of his heart “what’re you going to do?” you question, sanzu exhales a shaky breath—it hurts, he doesn’t understand why it hurts so fucking bad, “same ole shit i’ve been doing, you know that.”
“right” your voice croaks in your throat, tears rolling down your cheeks, sanzu rises to his feet bouncing from the ledge and towards the exit or more importantly just out of this pain.
“we can—we can still be together, i’ll see you as much as i can haru, i’ll come every wee—”
“stop” sanzu interrupts, turning to watch you crawl from the ledge and walk closer to him, a weak hand tugging at his sleeves, he looks down at you darkness replacing his eyes “if i can’t have you here, i don’t want you.”
a sob chokes from your throat at his words, it burns—a fire clawing at your throat, vision so blurred from the tears tainting your sight of someone you’ve loved, had given everything to is just shutting it all away in a five minute gap.
sanzu cups your face, pulling you into a kiss, his lips move slow, fingers rubbing the wetness away as he depends the kiss and it feels like time has froze and if anything you’d wish it was always like this but fuck, nothing works this way.
“this is goodbye princess, be good for me” he whispers, pulling away and without another word sanzu walks out of your life.
and all you can stomach is agony and the salty taste of his taffy lingering on your lips.
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tagging— @wakasagurl @sanzudopeamine
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jangofctts · 3 years
Note
Could you maybe do something about your OCs eating out habits? 👀 Please?
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yES INDEED YOU MAY DEAR ANON KWEHJKH itS UNDER THE CUT
blanche: blanche is a sLUT for early morning oral or just before/after a nap. I wrote a drabble abt this bUT blanche loves to cuddle by resting his head over your stomach while he lays between your legs so, it’s not a difficult move to drop his mouth to in between your thighs. he’s very steady when he eats you out, slow licks with the flat of his tongue, just taking his time to taste you and make your squirm. he likes to suck your clit and slowly finger you, or just suck your clit until your cumming and then he’ll slide his tongue to your entrance to lick it all up. after that you’ll just go back to cuddling kwejrkhr. he’s also a masSIve fan of you sitting on his face, he’ll grab your ass and just pull you forward--gives zero shits if he ends up drowning in the pussy ekjhekjhe 
blue: he’s very soft and gentle, will kiss down your body and kneel for you and ask to eat you out like that. there’s no fancy tricks or wild maneuvers, he keeps it simple buT DONT WORRY, it’s aLL FULL OF LOVE AND WARMTH and he’ll make sure to give you at lEAst two orgasms while eating you out. he gets off and making you feel good so he’s more of a giver than reciver and is more than happy to spend the whole day between your legs rhdjd
sweets: he’s new to this, so be patient!! sweets is very curious however and he adores when you let him explore. this does feel like he’s teasing you since he’ll rub his fingers through your folds a couple times then immediately retract just before he reaches your clit. though with some direction dhkddh he’ll give you want and learn how to do it right. lots of kitten licks and gentle sucking/fingering. pLeAsE make sure to give him some praise and tell him what a good boy is bc he liVES for that shit
jaws: before jaws even reaches your cunt he’s making sURE everywhere else is thoroughly loved and appreciated and thEN he’ll move onto your cunt. he’ll kneel for you as well, or have you any way you want just so long as he gets to put his mouth on you. he’s the type of guy that when he’s eating you out to grind on the mattress or floor and come in his pants. he get’s sorta smug abt it like “oh yeah babe, you make me cum just by letting me taste you” rhdkdj he’s a weirdo but he’s willing to also drown in that WAP
kamikaze (kami): fuckin gOOD LUCK WITH THIS DUDE. he wants to tie you up and tease you for hours with his lips, tongue, fingers, and whatever sort of sex toy you own. he loves to edge you until you either start to cry juSt a wEE bit, beg for him, or a combo of both. sometimes he intentionally ruins your orgasm—he’ll pull his mouth off too slow and just run his index finger from your clit down to your entrance and it’s enough to bring you over the edge without any of that friction or buildup that you nEED. he’ll tease you about it and say smthn like “aw, kitten couldnt wait” or “what a naughty little creature”. he’s RUDE, and theN as if he hasnt bullied yOu ENOUGH, he’ll just jump right into overstimulation. he might hold a vibe over your clit while he tongue fucks you/fingers you and bring you to orgasm MULTIPLE times. he only lets you rest after your thighs start shaking and youre whining his name
fuse: ngl he’s bad at it at first. he’s used to quick fucks and flings and never took the time to properly eat someone out. he doesnt get the big idea and is kinda like adverse to the idea of going down on his partner unTIL of cOURSE he meets you. grab his hair and just yank him around a bit and he’s all yours. tbh it’s gonna be sloppy with no real skill and if you cum it’s definitely a miracle dhdjdj. you sorta have to push him in the right direction and tell him what you want. he’ll be cheeky and ask for a show, like, letting him watch how you finger and touch yourself, yknow? after all he is a visiual learner dhdkdnd. he improves quickly and gets veRy smug abt it—tries to time himself and see how fast he can make you cum the next time rhdkdj 
bruiser: he wants you to sit on his face or eat you out from behind. simple as that dhdkdj for him it’s easy to just manhandle you onto his face. he doEs nOt CARE if you break his neck or nose djdkdn he just wants to feel your cunt over his tongue while you have the time of your life. like blanche, the pace he sets is really sensual and warm, not hurried at aLL. he makes you feel like you both have all the time in the world even if you’re fucking in the closet or some shit wkerkjeh. I've said this before but bruiser is an ass man through and through--he likes when you bend over for him and let him eat you out like that. after he makes you come a couple times he doesn't mind moving up to your other hole if you’re interested in that. he may be a bit thicC in the head and the bod but kjerkejh he’s an absolute god in the sheets 
void: void is a bit like kami in the sense that he does like to tease and edge you. you dont know how he does it out where he’s learned it but void can do this crazy tongue thing that brings you to the edge VERY fast. it’s like a superpower tbh kjrkewjh. anyway, void has a nice blend between his mouth and fingers, never letting you become used to or bored with the sensation and mixes it with plENtY of dirty talk and soft praises. he likes when it gets messy because then he has an excuse to pull you into the fresher with him. if the fresher has a ledge to sit on, you beT YOUR asS he’s gonna eat you out there too. though, sometimes when he’s in the middle of eating you out and rests his head on your thigh he might...fall asleep if he’s exhausted. it’s pretty funny but he always feels bad about it and makes sure to spend pLENTY of time the next day making up for it when he has time   
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writingbakery · 4 years
Text
“tapewebs”; a series 🕸
hanta sero is just your regular everyday japanese-american immigrant college student, living in the heart of brooklyn. when miles morales collapses on the windowsill of his shitty one bedroom apartment, life gets.... a hell of a lot more interesting 🕷
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[a spiderman! sero au one shot series, featuring class 1-A, hanta sero, miles morales, an assortment of marvel villains, & you, dear reader - the object of one tapespider’s affections ✨]
[pairing; sero x gender neutral reader 🕸]
[warnings; fluff, violence, action, angst, romance, & a lot of tape/spider puns 🕸]
“Sticky Note Origins”
───── ⋆🕸⋆ ─────
the city is prettier up high, sero realizes. granted, he wishes he’d come to that conclusion on solid ground, without his feet nervously planted on a skyscraper ledge, but still.
every whip of wind threatens to topple him over, send him careening down into a frenzied spiral of buildings and colors until he meets concrete at the bottom - and he’s supposed to willingly jump.
he wonders if he’ll pass out before his bones meet solid mass, cracking in so many different ways the coroner’ll have to play connect the fragments until he’s a person again.
behind him, an impatient cough sounds, bringing him back to the task at hand. fuck.
you’re probably wondering how he got here. let’s rewind a week.
one week earlier
at ten pm on a friday, the city is in its prime, bustling crowds of people laughing and stumbling through the brightly colorful streets. hanta’s just trying to protect his pad thai & dumplings, hugging the greasy paper bag to his chest as he weaves in and out of the chaos.
a day full of long classes & a quiet shift at the cafe-slash-bookstore halfway between campus and his crap one bedroom apartment leaves him exhausted, shoulders hunched as he makes his way home. nobody ever sees him regardless - the city’s too big for one lanky, always tired beanpole to be much notice.
despite living in brooklyn since he was four, he’s never felt a hundred percent comfortable here - he had an accent right up until he was thirteen, still trips over certain words and customs that don’t exist back home in japan. he’s awkwardly tall, not enough to be a phenomenon but towering over all his family. he just doesn’t quite fit anywhere - too smart and plain to be popular, too boring to be with the jokesters, too awkward for the nerds. he’s been a loner all his life, and while he doesn’t mind too much, he just wishes it was a little easier to belong.
a text rolls across his phone screen as he’s shuffling songs, skipping some j-pop rock song to settle on kendrick lamar as he smiles. you. he couldn’t lie and say he was completely alone, not when he had you in his life.
you were a year younger than him but twice as smart, skipping a year ahead and landing yourself in hanta’s high school freshman english class. the pair of you had just... clicked, from the very first moment he pointed to shakespeare’s likeness on the cover and mocked “what, you egg?!”
your laughter had left him on cloud nine the entire day, and he made it his personal mission to hear that beautiful little giggle at least once a day for the rest of his life.
a lovely friendship had bloomed from there, the two of you joined at the hip - if you were somewhere, hanta was bound to follow & vice versa.
you’d even gotten into the same college, albeit for drastically different majors - he was a biochem/engineering double major, while you were an english/history double major. you were opposite but similar in so many ways, and the way you both completed each other didnt go unnoticed by sero.
you were his puzzle piece, the bits of him he’d never been able to fill easily made whole by your presence.
he could never tell you, however; your friendship was too precious to risk, especially over his dumb, emotional heart.
sending a string of laughing emojis towards the meme you sent, he jogs up the seven flights of dimly lit stairs to his tiny, one bedroom apartment - living in the city wasn’t cheap, & while the elevator was always busted at least he had a doorman, and heat that worked on occasion.
stepping into his apartment, however, he can immediately sense something is wrong; the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, a heavy silence coating the darkness. the air feels wrong, tipsy turvy like the whole place is holding its breath - like something’s on the verge of exploding, catapulting him into chaos and danger.
quietly stepping through the living room, he peeks into the kitchen and bathroom, holding his backpack out like a makeshift weapon - his $200 biology textbook finally going to good use. finding nothing in either dark room, he slowly advances towards his bedroom, carefully measuring every step. at first, the room seems perfectly normal - nothing’s been moved, and it’s just as empty as the rest of his apartment.
and then he sees the blood.
dotting his windowsill in bright, red streaks, the window itself pushed halfway open - but that’s not what stops him in his tracks, eyes so wide it hurts.
spiderman is leaning against his windowsill, covered in blood and panting heavily, one hand held up in an effort to stop hanta in his tracks.
“i need...... help,” he whispers, voice rough and low; hanta’s amazed he can still speak.
he opens his mouth to react, somehow, even steps forward to catch him before screaming like a ten year old girl at a morgue, panic setting in like cold water.
never a dull night in brooklyn.
───── ⋆🕸⋆ ─────
once he’s made sure that spiderman - miles, as the young man bleeding all over his $12 walmart carpet supplies - isn’t going to die anytime soon, hanta’s quick to recover from his shock. bustling around his tiny kitchen to make cheap ramen and digging around in his closet to find his mini first aid kit, he’s in full fanboy mode - he’s got posters plastered wall to wall of miles morales on his bedroom walls, for gods sakes. not that he knew it was miles morales, but still.
miles morales is curled up in the fleece blanket hanta’s mom had sent him his second week at college, and he’s totally not freaking out.
he’d had to cancel his nightly facetime call with you, lying about a stomach bug - he hates keeping things from you, but this is just too big and messy and dangerous. he’ll tell you in due time, he promises himself, trying to ease the coil of guilt in his stomach.
“how did you end up on my windowsill, again?” hanta asks, gently pushing the bowl of noodles towards the injured man. he’s got his own pad thai long forgotten in the microwave, more focused on the superhero who’d gotten his ass whooped on his doorstep, so to speak.
“i told you. i’d been watching you for a while - you’re the most promising candidate i have.” miles’ voice is slick with humor, a sort of teasing confidence that’s clear even through the pain.
“which i’m still not understanding - candidate for what? blood services? biology questions? how to make $20 last two weeks??” he knows he’s being childish, too joking for the severity of the situation, but he can’t help it. the neighborhood’s - and his own - hero is sitting in front of him, eating shitty 33¢ ramen from the bodega around the corner, telling him he’s a prime candidate.
“to take the mantle.” all traces of laughter are gone now, miles leaning forward on the table to emphasize his words. “i’ve been doing this long enough to know when to quit. my body’s giving out on me - i got slammed into a wall last week and couldn’t shake the pain till yesterday. before, i’d be fine within an hour. the city needs someone new, young, willing to take the risks.”
hanta’s ears stopped listening the moment he heard quit. “me? are you fuckin’ joking?” he wheezes, coughing his way past the shock. “i get winded walking up to my apartment! an old lady beat me to the c train yesterday! a strong wind could kick my ass!”
miles is either willfully ignoring him or just can’t hear, plowing ahead with his explanation. “you’ve got the perfect build for webswinging, and you’ve got a good heart - you know when to do the right thing and when to step away. leave the rest up to me, and trust me - i know what i’m doing.”
hanta can’t believe his ears, pushing away from the table to pace around his kitchen in panic. “i don’t till you understand, you’ve got the wrong guy - there’s no way i could be spiderman!” his words are falling on deaf ears - miles is standing too, and he doesn’t seem to care about hanta’s impending panic.
“you’ve got to trust me on this, alright? meet me tomorrow, at this address - 12 pm sharp. the city needs you, hanta - hell, i need you. just have a little faith.”
hanta scoffs at that, throwing his hands in the air. “faith?! i met you an hour ago, bleeding all over my windowsill! that’s not exactly the most- hey! where the hell...” there’s nothing but a blanket, a hastily scrawled address, and an empty bowl where miles had sat, leaving hanta alone with his thoughts.
damnit.
───── ⋆🕸⋆ ─────
hanta pushes through the crowds of people at eleven am the next morning, half asleep but wired enough to power the whole city - hell, the whole goddamned country. he’s running on no sleep, adrenaline, two redbulls & the guilt of lying to you again, his “stomach bug” keeping him from class. he’d told you he was going to visit his parents for the weekend to recover; your sweet messages in response only made him feel worse.
he’s tossed and turned over this decision a million times & yet, he’s still not sure where he stands - it’s so little information, so much responsibility in so little time. he’s still half convinced he’s being punked, if he’s honest.
and yet, somethings drawing him to the address miles had left him, something deep in his gut that tells him he needs to be there. clearly, miles had seen something he himself is woefully oblivious to, and it couldn’t hurt to find out more.
apple maps leads him to a tiny shed somewhere behind a deli & a nail salon, not too far from his apartment, and he’s completely confused. “stupid gps, probably got me lost,” he whines, leaning against the door of the shed to zoom in on his location.
the pigeons in the alley are the only ones to hear his panicked yelling as he phases right through it, tumbling all the way down a metal chute into the dark unknown.
at least, for ten seconds. he lands on a remarkably soft pad of foam, a glass panel separating him from a brightly lit, fancy looking room lined wall to wall with computers, parts and half made suits, spiderman suits. he doesn’t know where to look first.
a robotic, feminine voice brings him out of his shock, the glass panel lighting up with code and writing.
“please enter your name.” hanta is floored.
“uh.. hanta sero?” the voice trills lightly, before a red grid-like laser scans him head to toe. he’s proud to admit he only squealed in terror once.
“identity confirmed. welcome, hanta.” the panel slides away to allow him access, his careful steps alerting the rest of the room’s computers to light up at his arrival.
“you came. i knew i chose wisely.” miles comes into view slowly, limping heavily as he smiles. it’s almost familiar, like he & hanta have been friends for years; he finds it comforting.
“well, not everyday you get to be spiderman,” hanta jokes, fidgeting a little where he stands. “you gonna fit me for a suit or something?” miles just laughs, shaking his head.
“that comes later. first, we’ve got to get you bitten.”
bitten?
───── ⋆🕸⋆ ─────
for the third time in 24 hours, hanta’s screaming like a man who’s just been told he has two days to live.
“you want me to let that thing bite me?! have you lost your mind?!”
miles sighs patiently, holding up the little glass vial to the light; inside, the spider races up and down the glass, an odd orange color to its patterning.
“it’s the only way. no offense, but i saw that lady beat you to the c train. she was like, 85.” hanta’s pouting now, crossing his arms.
“she had a cane and she was agile- hey hey! you keep that thing away from me, so help me god-“
“you’re being dramatic, it’s the size of a pea-“
“that’s a fat ass fuckin’ pea-“
“stay still-“
“i will not- ow! jesus fuck, that thing has tarantula jaws!”
miles carefully shepherds the spider back into the glass, chuckling a little. “it’ll take a moment to cause effect. the original spider was cross-bred with a more agile, lanky species - perfect for your body type. i’m hoping it’ll be most effective in your transition.”
“hoping?” hanta squeaks, staring at the red welt forming on his hand - his visions already starting to blur out, a throbbing pain traveling up his arm.
“well, it’s the first time i’m experimenting with this-“
“you used me as a guinea pig?!”
“it’s perfectly safe! my mentor-“ but hanta’s not listening anymore, the world swimming in front of his eyes before the ground rushes up rapidly to kiss his face.
god. damnit.
when he comes to, he’s wrapped in about half the blankets in brooklyn, a cold compress against his sweaty forehead. he’s burning up, and his elbows hurt for some reason - his skins gone all itchy, and he’d probably kick a pigeon for a glass of water.
sitting up alerts miles to his newly conscious state, the man quickly scanning his vitals with a smaller version of the glass panel hanta’d been fascinated with earlier. “thought you were gonna croak on me. how do you feel?”
“itchy. and my arms hurt.” hanta’s pushing off the blankets as he speaks, attempting to get comfortable - his body feels weird, like he’ll burst out of his skin at any second.
“alright, don’t panic. i need to see how it’s mutated your body. stay still.” miles’ fingers delicately press against his neck, shoulders, before jabbing at his ribs without warning. hanta’s arms shoot up on impulse, a trail of sticky, precise webbing escaping him from his...... elbows?!
“what the fuck, dude what the fuck look at my elbows, they’re all puffy and red i’m gonna die, and the coroner is gonna leak my story to the press and my moms gonna see me in the paper with fucked up elbows-“ hanta may or may not be panicking, poking at the tender, slightly swollen skin around the bends of his arms. miles just rolls his eyes, clearly amused by his antics.
“you’re not going to die. japanese tape spiders shoot webbing from the bends of their eight arms; its a thicker & stronger strain of web. clearly, your elbows are how your body has adjusted.”
“that doesn’t make it better.” hanta’s too busy staring at himself to notice the other changes at first, but slowly, they’re trickling in. heightened eyesight and hearing, an odd balance to his feet he hadn’t had a day ago, even itchier fingertips - making it easier for him to grip flat surfaces, or at least as miles says.
“come on. let’s get you a suit.”
───── ⋆🕸⋆ ─────
a week’s worth of planning & adjusting has led him right here to this rooftop, suited feet firmly balanced on the ledge. he likes his suit, thinks it’s unique - he’d modeled it after the spider who’d blessed him with these powers, orange and black and white [miles sort of thinks it’s ugly, but who cares.] he’d been in & out of the fondly nicknamed “spider-lounge”, getting fitted for his suit & honing his new abilities; he’d also been avoiding you whenever possible.
he couldn’t suck you into this world, not when he was barely comfortable in it himself; he kept promising himself he’d come clean, but the guilt’s eating him alive with every sad look & evening alone you spend.
another impatient cough brings him back to the present, miles sitting in the middle of the roof & watching hanta’s nervous stalling. “you’re going to have to jump eventually, you know,” he calls, and it takes everything in him not to turn tail and run.
he has a duty, a responsibility now, and he doesn’t take that lightly. he thinks of you, sitting in your ratty little apartment off campus and remembers that your safety is all but in his hands now; he’s got to protect the city, for your sake at least.
“i absolutely will not hesitate to kick you off this rooftop,” miles threatens, but its empty - they both know hanta needs to do this himself.
one step back, then two, the nerves racing up his spine as he prepares himself to meet cold concrete [a dramatic thought, miles would catch him far before he reaches ground. a bad knee wouldn’t stop him from that.] he says a silent prayer to every god he’s ever heard of and closes his eyes, taking a step forward into the air-
and trips over the ledge, falling ass over heels into the air. nice.
the rushing wind only heightens his panic for a moment, before one arm snaps up to blindly shoot into the air; his spider sense kicks in from there, aiming without even realizing and latching onto a nearby ledge. he swings aimlessly for a moment before finding a new ledge, then a railing; slowly, he finds a rhythm.
he’s soaring through the city before he realizes, laughing at the sharp roar of the wind in his ears - he feels like he’s flying, weightless as a bird. the only thing he can think of is you, how much you’d love this.
one day, he’ll take you webswinging. one day.
for now, he relishes in the fact that he’s one step closer to being brooklyn’s - & new york’s - new spiderman, fresh faced & determined to bring peace to the city.
he’s going to do it for you, even if it kills him.
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calpalirwin · 4 years
Text
Dog Days of Summer
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Summary: The family spends a day at the lake
A/N: Lake days are better than beach days and that’s that.
Word Count: 2.2k
And away, and away we go!
__
“We should go to the lake,” Vanessa said one afternoon as her and Ashton watched Mason and Bailey splash around in the pool.
“You mean the beach?” Ashton asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No, I mean the lake. Think it’d be fun.”
“Yeah, alright. Next Saturday we have these two?”
“Or when Finn has them. Want to invite him and Mia too. Make a day of it. Unless you planned studio time, then it can wait until we have the kids again.”
“Nah, I’ll let the guys know we’re taking a day.”
“Aw, look at you becoming a nine-to-fiver,” she teased, kissing his cheek.
“Hey!” he scoffed in mock offense. “Let’s get one thing straight: I will never be some white collar stiff.”
“I’m a white collar stiff,” she reminded him, her eyes narrowing.
“And I wasn’t finished. I can have the job I have, and still create time for my family. I might not always be great at it because I never really had a reason to stay at home a whole lot. But I’m always gonna try.”
“Alright, sap. All I said was that we should go to the lake.”
“Sounds great, baby,” he grinned.
“Papa!” Mason screeched from where he was standing on the pool’s ledge. The four year old jumped in place.
“Alright, I’m coming,” Ashton told him before hopping off the ledge he was sitting on and wading into the cool water that hit him waist deep. “Ready?” he asked, holding out his arms.
Mason took a big breath, plugging his nose before taking a wild leap towards Ashton. His body splashed into the water, but before his chin met water, Ashton already had the boy safe in his arms. “Me! Me!” Bailey cried, pointing at her big brother and making grabby hands for Ashton.
“Okay, Bai’s turn,” Ashton told them both, letting Mason go to swim back to the steps.
“Bailey,” Mason said, helping her get out of the pool and to the ledge to jump. “Bailey,” he said again before demonstrating how to hold her breath.
“C’mon, sweet girl,” Ashton coaxed, arms ready to catch her. “I gotcha.”
The one year old screamed in delight as she flew through the air towards Ashton, who like he had done with Mason, caught her before her head went under water.
~~~
“Daddy! Mimi!” both Mason and Bailey exclaimed as they ran up to Finn and Mia.
“Hey! Good week?” Finn asked, crouching to meet the onslaught of hugs.
“Yeah, good week,” Vanessa answered, giving both Finn and Mia a hug hello. “Hey, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“I wanna take the kids to the lake.”
“Okay… so take them to the lake.”
“With you and Mia, you dolt. As a family.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, so how’s Saturday?”
“Uh…” Finn looked over at Mia, shrugging his shoulders.
“Yeah, Saturday works,” Mia answered with a smile. “Sounds like a lot of fun.”
“Oooo! I’ll make t-shirts!” Finn teased with a laugh, earning him a shove from both women. “Oh, it was a joke, relax.”
“Yeah, but Finn, you have to remember. You’re not funny,” Vanessa told him, patting his shoulder sympathetically.
~~~
“Oh, my God…” Vanessa groaned as she caught sight of Finn, in a white t-shirt trimmed dark blue with “Daddy” written across the shoulders in a bold, black print. “I’m gonna drown him…”
“No, you’re not,” Ashton laughed. “Look, the kids and Mia are wearing them too.”
Vanessa groaned louder, noticing the matching shirts, each trimmed with a different color. “Drowning. Finn. Such a pity. Strong swimmer, and he died so young. None of us saw it coming. A tragedy, really.”
“What’s a tragedy?” Finn asked as Ashton and Vanessa came within earshot.
“Your death,” she grinned at him. “I thought you said the shirts were a joke.”
“I thought you said I wasn’t funny.”
“You’re not.”
“Oh, c’mon! I made you and Ashton shirts, too. We can be one big matching family!”
“I hate you…”
“No, you don’t. And you secretly love the shirts.”
“Momma!” Mason told her, pointing proudly at his shirt.
“Yeah, sweet boy! Did Daddy make you guys shirts?”
“Momma!” he nodded, handing her and Ashton theirs.
Vanessa sighed and quickly changed her shirt. “Fucker…” she growled at Finn, giving him a shove. “Using the kids against me like that.”
Finn just laughed, “Aw, c’mon Ness. It’s not that bad. I even got it made in your favorite color. Be a good sport, Momma.”
“I’m wearing it, and you’re still alive. Take the victories where you can, Finn.”
“Fuck, it’s so soft!” Ashton marveled, slipping into the fabric. “What company did you do this through? Need to tell the guys about this. Holy shit.”
“Finally! Some fuckin’ gratitude! Thank you, Ash. That’s the spirit I was looking for,” Finn said with a playful glance thrown Vanessa’s way.
~~~
“C’mon, Ness,” Finn teased. “The point of the paddleboard is to stand up on the thing.”
“No, the point is to paddle,” she corrected from where she sat cross-legged on the board, the oar resting across her lap. “And I paddled.”
Finn snorted. “C’mon, it’s easy.”
“For you, maybe, Mr. I Surf.”
“I don’t surf in still water.”
“Yeah, so this is probably easier for you.”
“I have a kid with me,” he gestured at Mason sitting further up on his own board like that made all the difference. “C’mon, Ness. Worst case is you fall in. So what? It’s just water.”
“It’s not just water. It’s you teasing me relentlessly after I faceplant.”
“Aw, I was gonna tease you relentlessly anyway.”
She splashed him with her oar.
“Oi!”
“I’ll do it if you do it,” Ashton offered.
“You know how to surf too!”
“No. Having gone surfing before, and knowing how are two totally different things.”
“You have Bailey on your board. If you go in, she’s going in with you.”
“Pass her over,” Finn said, maneuvering his board closer to Ashton’s.
“Got ‘em both?” Ashton checked as he plucked up Bailey and handed her over.
“Yeah, I got it. No excuses, Ness.”
She narrowed her eyes at the men. “Fine. But if I fall, no laughing about it. And you owe me a flip.”
“You won’t fall,” Ashton told Vanessa while Finn agreed to her demands and Mia grabbed her phone to film the whole thing.
“Just nice and easy,” Finn coached while Vanessa shifted to sit up on her knees. “Helps if you set your dominant foot first. There ya go. Steady… Now your back foot. No, further back. Right there. Alright when you’re ready, push yourself up.”
Vanessa felt her legs wobble as she hovered half-crouched over the board, her hand clutching the hand hold for dear life. With a deep breath, she let go and pushed herself upright, her arms shooting out to her sides. “Hey! You did it!” Ashton whooped. “See? I said you wouldn’t fall.”
“Oh, I hate this! This sucks so much!” She shakily moved to sit back down on the board. “That sucked.”
“Why did it suck?” Finn asked.
“Because my balance is god awful.”
“But you did it anyway, even though you’re not good at it. Good job, Ness. Proud of ya. Did you see Momma, guys?”
“Yeah, yeah, do it anyway. Great teaching lesson for the kids. Leading by example. You’re still an ass for encouraging their mother to eat shit.”
“How is our believing in your ability to stand upright encouraging you to eat shit?”
“No, Ashton believed in me. What you did was peer pressure.”
“And that’s why he’s my fiance, and you’re my ex,” Finn mocked in a high-pitched tone. “Yeah, yeah. Ash, you’re up.”
Ashton took less time to get his footing before standing up, his arms held out to help him balance. “Aw, this ain’t so ba- whoa!” The man wobbled wildly before steadying himself. “Shit…”
“See? It’s a lot harder than it looks!”
“Yeah, and this calm water shit actually doesn’t help at all. Actually makes falling off feel a whole lot more embarrassing.”
Vanessa cupped her hands around her mouth, hollering at Finn, “Do a flip!”
“Alright, alright. Ness, take Bailey. Ash, you get Mase. Front flip or back flip?”
“Whichever one is easier,” Vanessa said, pointing over at Finn. “Watch Daddy, guys.”
Finn took a deep breath before flipping himself into the water, landing with a big splash that made the kids erupt in giggles. When Finn’s head popped back to the surface with a “Ta-da!” Vanessa scoffed, “You call that a flip?”
Finn splashed water up at her. “Yeah, like you could do better.”
“Five bucks says I can.”
“Ten says you’re wrong,” he retorted as he pulled himself back up on his board.
“Easiest money I’ll ever make. Here.” She passed him Bailey. “Now,” she continued, standing up with a lot more ease and stability than her first attempt. “Mia, make sure you get this on film. Finn, you watching? This is how you do a flip.” With a grace even Finn didn’t know she possessed, Vanessa launched herself into a seamless backflip, hitting the water feet first.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Finn sputtered, when Vanessa came up for air with a shit-eating grin. He pointed frantically at Ashton. “Did you know she could do that?!”
Ashton’s wide-eyed and slacked jaw was enough of an answer. “N-no. I- Baby, that was awesome!”
“HOW?! When the FUCK did you learn to do that?!” Finn continued to stammer.
“I never told ya I was a cheerleader?” she asked with a grin.
“Cheerleading?!” both men screeched in disbelief. “No,” Finn shook his head. “I know you. You weren’t a cheerleader. No way. You’re lying.”
“You know college and adult me, Finn. Contrary to popular belief, I had a life before I met ya.”
“You were a cheerleader?” Ashton asked, finally closing his mouth.
“Mhm, and I can prove it,” she nodded. “What’s up, sweet boy?” she asked Mason who was stimming like crazy from where he was still sitting on Ashton’s board.
“Momma!” he shrieked, pointing at the water and flapping his arms. I jump too?
“C’mon.” She waved her hand for him to jump in the water.
“Papa,” Mason stilled, looking over at Ashton, and pointing at the water again.
“You wanna jump to me?”
Mason nodded.
“Okay. But you gotta get on Daddy’s board.”
“C’mere, Mase,” Finn beckoned. “I’ll help you stand.”
While Ashton got into the water, Finn helped Mason stand up, hands hovering close in case Mason started to lose his balance. “Alright, bud, whenever you’re ready.”
Mason flung himself towards Ashton, who despite treading water, managed to snag Mason before the little boy’s head went under.
“Me! Me!” Bailey chanted, her little fists banging on the board.
“Alright, Bailey-boo,” Finn said, helping her stand up. “Jump to Papa. Ready? One, two, three!”
“Bailey!” Mason cheered as his sister joined him in the water. “Daddy! Mimi! Momma!” He waved his hands crazily. Get in with us!
“‘Ump! ‘Ump!” Bailey encouraged, patting the surface of the water gently.
Mason mimicked Bailey’s movements, nodding his head in excitement. Safe, see? Only water. Jump!
“Three,” Finn started counting down as him, Mia, and Vanessa climbed slowly to their feet.
“Two…” Mia said shakily, having been hiding happily behind the camera up until now.
“Three!” Vanessa decided and all three adults joined Ashton and the kids in the water.
~~~
“Oh, they’re gonna sleep good tonight,” Mia mentioned in a low whisper, jerking her chin towards Mason and Bailey who were curled up together on the blanket in the shade.
“That, or just a really good nap that keeps them up all night,” Vanessa chuckled.
Finn flashed a smile, “I don't see how this is a problem.”
“Oh, I’m not above coming around your place if they can’t sleep tonight,” Vanessa told him, before turning her attention to Mia. “Can you send me all the pictures and videos you took?”
“Already did.”
“Lifesaver!” Vanessa clutched affectionately at her chest before shooting a glare at Finn, “Don’t fuck this up.”
“Hey!” Finn glowered back in full offense. “I’m a great boyfriend, thank you!”
“You were alright I guess. I mean, I still talk to you and stuff.”
“You say the sweetest things,” he deadpanned with a look over at Ashton. “A real keeper, this one.”
“Can’t wait to marry her,” Ashton said sincerely.
“Yeah, how is all of that going by the way?” Mia asked, leaning forward in her chair.
“Way smoother than I imagined. I mean, we’re not doing much. Just a small ceremony and party with friends and whatnot.”
“Your dad walking you down the aisle?” Finn asked.
Vanessa scoffed at the very idea. “God no. I haven’t talked to them since Mason’s third birthday. Toxic is toxic right? Even if they are blood.”
Finn smiled proudly, glad that Vanessa was finally sticking to her guns and not giving in to her family’s shit anymore. “So, who’s giving you away? The kids?”
Her face flushed as she looked anywhere that wasn’t Finn, locking eyes with Ashton who nodded encouragingly. “Was hoping you would actually. Given everything and whatnot.”
Finn swallowed thickly. “Be honored to.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah, ‘course. I’m really happy for you, you know that?”
“I’m really happy for you, too. We did pretty alright for ourselves, huh?”
“We sure did.”
__
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lilwenney · 4 years
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london boy (pt. ii)
pairing: will x female!reader warning(s): mention of alcohol, swearing word count: 4.1k a/n: part i can be found here / creative roadblocks aside, i loved writing for this tiny baby of a series way too much. i got to live vicariously through the reader in both her travels and endeavors if i’m honest. i hope you all enjoy x 
Their feet moved briskly along the pavement in sync, matching the beat of the traffic, mixing in with the sounds of the rushing water from the boats along the river. Will took her right to the spot - a bridge with a blue iron railing between posts that overlooked the canal of Little Venice. Boats rested along the sides or moved at a slow pace, people in kayaks sloshing the water around, and the sun bounced off the ripples. 
(Y/N) smiled, her hands gripping the edge of the railing before taking a step back and moving with Will. They walked down a tree-lined street, along the river, enjoying the slight breeze and any conversation that came to a head.
“You’re from California, yeah?” Will asked, hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket. 
Her eyes left the river and landed on him, and she nodded. “Yeah,” she said, “I moved to Huntington Beach when I was young and really don’t know anywhere else besides there.”
“Typical of a lad from London, but I went to L.A. with a few friends a couple of years ago.” 
“Yeah, like most people,” she sighed playfully, “I noticed that here, if you say you are from California they immediately think of Los Angeles. I don’t mind it because the place is so fucking big you can’t really be bothered to learn all the places.”
Will scrunched his nose. “Yeah, can’t be asked really.” 
She laughed. “It’s fine. I love L.A. though. I was there every other weekend visiting friends at UCLA and stuff. I walked into a dorm room to see David Dobrik once so that was one of the better experiences.” 
“Aw, no way man, that’s fuckin’ sick.” 
“Yeah, yeah, he was a usual around there.” She brushed it off. “We used to sneak into clubs a couple of years back to see people perform.” 
They dodged someone riding a bike along the path and then stepped back in closer together, shoulders almost brushing as they walked. (Y/N) heard the rustle of the tree leaves above her when the wind picked up just for a moment, carrying under her jacket, giving her a slight chill. 
“We went to uh, I think it was Avalon? In Hollywood?” Will said, his mind swirling with memories from the brief trip. He drank so much he could barely remember anything other than the view from their Airb&b and the inside of a toilet bowl. 
“Avalon is a good place.” She nodded quickly, remembering the nightclub name well. “I went about three years ago, and someone jumped to the DJ booth-” 
Will paused in his tracks, eyes softening as he looked at her. (Y/N) paused a couple of steps later, turning around to look at Will, and he tilted his head to the side. “And the DJ kept him up there when security came for him, and the bloke played-” 
“Dancing Queen,” she finished.
The two shared a second of realization before laughing. Who would have thought that years ago, they would have been in the same tiny club in West Hollywood. Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe it was a test of fate.
When they began to walk again, they didn’t make it far before (Y/N) paused, pulling out her camera. She stepped up to the ledge near the railing and brought her camera to her eye, taking a few photos of the way the light hit the boat on the water, of the petals that slowly fell from the trees, marking the near end of summer. When the clouds covered the sunlight, she paused and her eyes searched for something else to photograph.
After moving another few feet and taking some photos, she spun around to look at Will to make sure she wasn’t annoying him by stopping every few feet. He was standing just behind her, his hands in his pockets while staring up at the trees. 
She quickly turned her body to him, bringing the camera back to her eye, and taking a photo. Over the sound of scooters flying by, Will heard the shutter of her camera and he glanced at her to see the lens pointed directly at him. He laughed and his head turned to the side, an arm stuck out, shying away from the photos she had snapped.
“The guy who makes videos of himself for a living is camera shy?” She asked teasingly, dropping her camera and joining him on the cobblestone pavement once again.
Will licked his lips, still smiling. “Of course Marg ran her big mouth about that. How much did she tell you?”
“Just enough,” They began to stroll together, reaching the end of the street, but they turned to walk across a bridge. “She didn’t say much, only that you moved here for YouTube stuff, but I never went snooping.” 
“That definitely saves me some embarrassment. Don’t think I can really explain some of the questionable things I have done.” He paused. “So you know why I’m here, but why did you decide to move here? Why London out of every other place in the world?” 
(Y/N) hummed, watching the pavement move between her feet. “Well, besides it being the only option to study abroad in, I always wanted to visit.” She said briefly. “It’s so drastically different from the palm trees, beaches, warm weather I’m used to. So it’s refreshing in a way.” 
“So it wasn’t the footy obsession and the Tesco meal deals that did it?” 
She was versed enough in the culture to understand his jokes, so she laughed. “No, afraid not.” She said and watched him smile - the small dimple forming in his cheek, and she smiled too. “I love it though. I love the diversity, the architecture, everything about it. I still might be in the honeymoon phase with the city, but I don’t think that will change.” 
They crossed the street of cars and immersed themselves between the trees of Regent’s Park. She held tight onto the side of her camera, feeling the urge to snap a photo, but instead she loosened the grip and let it catch around her neck. She was slowly learning to admire the moments she was living rather than photograph them and feel bittersweet about truly enjoying it later on.
Above them, the heavy overcast broke and the sun peeked through, covering the green grass, the trees, and fountains with light. While she lived in the constant summer of Southern California, she was appreciating the weather in different ways now. It was like how she once appreciated the rain, the snow on her previous holidays. She appreciated the London sunshine and her new life the same - like a breath of fresh air.
“Would you come back? You know, after you’ve left?” Will asked after a second as they began to walk along the manicured path of trees near the water of the small lake. 
“Oh, of course,” she said quickly. “I can definitely see myself living here in the future too.” 
“Well then, I have all the time in the world to show you everything.” 
It was a sweet sentiment she was going to reply to before a loud shriek filled the air around them. Their heads snapped, following the sound to the boating lake where a goose had attacked a woman on a small pedal boat, the man next to her on the boat laughing as she fended off the goose from her head.
“Oh my God,” she said between quiet chuckles. “I would be so embarrassed. I feel so bad.” 
Will ran his fingers through his hair. “Bloody ‘ell, imagine what a day you would have if a goose attacked you.”
“Think I would just pack up and go home after that.” 
“All the way back home?”
“All the way back home,” she laughed. 
“Well, before you do that, I think I have a couple more surprises up my sleeve for you.” She looked at him with a raised brow, and he didn’t even give her a chance to ask or to question him. “Just got to trust me.” 
“I feel like I’ve been trusting you a lot today.” 
“And it’s worked out well for ya, hasn’t it?” 
She licked the inside of her lip knowing that he was right. Someone on a skateboard rolled by them and they picked up speed with their steps, and Will led her back onto the pavement off the park. Dodging traffic and across the street, they walked just a bit further before stopping at a small shop with a row of Vespa’s parked in a row in front of it.
(Y/N) looked at the scooters, then back to Will, and then back to the scooters, and then back to Will.
“We are not-” 
“Oh, we absolutely are.” He said pulling out his wallet to prepare his ID and other information to rent a scooter for the remainder of the day. His eyes met hers and he pressed his lips into a smile. “Be back in a second,” and he stepped up and walked into the small shop.
No less than five minutes later, Will emerged back from the shop with two helmets and a smile that made (Y/N) shake her head again as she kicked herself off the wall to stand next to him. “Alright, pick your color, we got it for the rest of the day.” 
“You are incredible. And I don’t know how to deal with it.” He chuckled. 
As cars and bikes whizzed by, she stepped down off the pavement and to the Vespa’s, scanning over the range of colors, and she settled on the white one. She walked over and placed her hand on the black leather seat and turned to look at him. If she was going to ride on the back of a scooter with a random British boy in a foreign city, it was going to be on that one. 
“This one okay?” 
“Perfect,” he held the black helmet under his arm, handing out the shiny, cherry red one in her direction. “So where to now?” He asked, placing the helmet over his head, adjusting his hair under the front. 
She hummed, plucking at the straps to secure under her chin. “Lunch? I could go for food after you made me walk bloody forever.” 
He smiled at her words. “Bloody forever,” he teased and she rolled her eyes. “Already becoming one of us, yeah?” 
“Guess you have a bit of influence on me.” 
Will fumbled with the small key in his hand before throwing a leg over the bike and settling down on the seat. He started the scooter and a second later, (Y/N) stepped over, placing a hand on his shoulder for balance while she threw her own leg over and settled down on the back seat. She could feel the warmth of his legs against hers and she cleared her throat.
“So, where are you going to be whisking me off too?” She propped up her feet from the ground, finding footing on the side of the scooter, positioned right behind his. 
He gripped the handles, but looked over his shoulder to her. “Have you ever been to a beer garden?” 
“Nope, not yet.” 
“Well, I know a place…” he said turning on the small scooter, allowing the engine to rumble beneath them. He adjusted his helmet and leaned back against her gently. “Might want to hold on.” 
(Y/N) complied and tucked her camera into her bag, and she leaned forward, pressing her chest against his back, and she slid her arms around his torso, hands resting just below his chest. Her nose grazed his back and she smiled, raising her chin to meet his shoulder. 
“Was this your plan all along?” Her eyes scanned over his side profile - from the gentle stubble on his jaw to his long eyelashes, and the way that his eyes crinkled when he laughed. 
Will chuckled and walked the small scooter backwards and onto the street. “You know me better than I thought.”
(Y/N) laughed and felt a rush of adrenaline shoot through her body, from her head to her toes, as Will clutched the handle and sent them riding through the streets. She felt the wind slap at her cheeks, the air running through her hair. 
When he took a corner a little sharply, she gripped the material of his shirt in her hand, and they both laughed. 
Through the windy and packed streets, she admired the throngs of people, of tourists in their brightly colored clothing, she admired the way the sun bounced off the skyscrapers. It was experiences like these that she longed for, that she dreamed of when imagining her time in London.
And that adrenaline raced right to her heart and bloomed, making her feel alive. 
***
The place that Will had in mind was a rooftop beer garden in the middle of the city. 
Walking through the restaurant and taking the stairs up to the third floor, Will opened the door and allowed (Y/N) to step out first. Instead of stepping into a small greenhouse filled with wooden benches and iron chairs, greenery hanging down from the ceiling in baskets around a bar, and through the fogged glass, she saw the skyline of Central London at its closest. 
The Culpeper was in Central London, and Will knew that she would love it. And she did. They sat under the sun at a wooden table on the roof, sipping draft beers in frozen glasses and sharing a plate, but (Y/N) couldn’t keep her eyes off the view around her - she admired Heron Tower, 100 Bishopsgate, and St. Axe Mary which Will told her was called “the gherkin” and she laughed, shaking her head. 
“So,” she took a sip of the beer, her lipstick staining the rim, “where’s your place? Top of the Shard with that 360 view from that YouTube money?” 
“Never been more clear that you haven’t watched my videos,”
Will craned his head around, looking in the direction of his place before turning back to her. He could see himself in the reflection of her red-rimmed sunglasses, he could see her eyes smiling back at him and he smiled too.  
“It’s in Canary Wharf - back that way,” he motioned to where he was looking before, “but you can’t see the building for literally every other building in the way.” 
“I’ve been to Canary Wharf once, but only in an Uber pick up Margot. She didn’t tell me she was at yours though or that’s where you lived.” 
“Yeah, yeah,” Will took a sip of his beer, “I just moved to a bigger flat.” 
She perked a brow, holding up a chip, “so the YouTube money is pretty good?” She popped the chip into her mouth.
“Ah, guess so,” he chuckled, “good enough to split rent with a flatmate.” 
(Y/N) smiled at the group of friends that walked onto the rooftop and they shuffled by to another row of tables across from them and then she looked back at Will. “So who is your flatmate? Another YouTuber?”
“Gee is, fucks sake, don’t even know anymore. She hasn’t uploaded in about five months, but guess you can call her that.” 
“Gee?” She questioned, her mind flickering back to a girl who went by Gee that was in her commercial editing course. During class introductions, she said she made YouTube videos but wanted to get better at editing in her free time. “Does she have blue hair?”
Will cocked his head. “You know Gee?”
“I think she is in one of my classes. She goes to King’s College?”
“God, how small is London?” He whispered under his breath and she laughed.
“Apparently a lot smaller than we both thought.” 
They both paused for a moment - (Y/N) reaching out and grabbing another chip, Will, leaning back in his chair and running his fingers through his hair. With the lunch rush, their hidden solace on the rooftop became hectic with larger groups coming in every few minutes, the traffic on the streets picking up, but they remained. 
“So you’re doing that culture, media, and creative stuff too?” She nodded. “What do you want to do with it?”
“Always wanted to be a journalist, but now I don’t know, I’m finding a lot of open doors when it comes to commercial editing.” She swirled her beer in the glass before taking a sip, and then tsking with a smile. “If you ever need an editor though, I’m have some services to offer,” 
“Really?” 
“Oh-” 
“Rah, I have been thinking about getting an editor, you know.” He leaned up to the table again, his elbows meeting the edge. Her eyes widened, fully expecting him to take it as a joke because well, that’s what it was intended to be. “Would that seriously be something you’re up for?”
She thought about her schedule, how she had a few free hours during the day and at the end, and if she really wanted to, she could make it work. Her school load would get lesser as the semester went on, when she had to start working on bigger projects, so she could make time.
“You really want me to see all your uncut footage?”
“As long as you don’t blackmail me.” 
“Could never,” she giggled. “But yeah, I would have to watch a few of your videos to get a feel of how you edit, but I would be up for it.” 
“How much you want a video? A tenner?” He saw her eyes narrow at him through her sunglasses and he laughed.
“Be careful,” she teased, “you’re the one giving me the blackmail material.”
“Ah, fair,” 
He looked at her and he smiled, and then she smiled back, a laugh following from her lips. It was a sweet sound, to him, one that mingled with the birds in the sky, that felt as golden as the sun. He looked away bashfully with the same smile. 
“Okay,” she leaned forward on the table with a smile, “can I tell you a secret?”
Will leaned in closer, smirking. “I’m honored for you to even consider.” 
(Y/N) took another sip of her beer. “When I drink or get drunk, I adopt the accent of whoever I am talking to.” 
He laughed, leaning back in his chair again. He wasn’t expecting that to be her secret, but he also couldn’t be surprised. “Alright, give it to me. Give me your best mockery.” 
She cleared her throat and threw out what she knew was the most basic, stereotypical British phrase she could think of. “Oi, mate, we can go ridin’ around on my scooter...” 
“Fuckin’ mate,” Will cursed with a loud laugh. “Is that really it?” 
She laughed too, her shoulders moving as she found herself more than amused by his reaction. “Yeah, and what about it, mate?” 
“I would have to say it was the cutest mockery of the British accent I ever heard.” He admitted, and when their eyes met, they both smiled. 
A handful of minutes later, they were jogging down the stars of the restaurant’s inner lining, and they stepped out onto the busy street. With helmets strapped on and her arms around him, Will drove them out to the outskirts of London, to Walthamstow. The last stop on their bucketlist for the day was a hidden gem on the corner of a street - Gods Own Junkyard. They zoomed past cherry red double-decker buses and through the narrow streets between townhouses, landing at the base of a building disguised as a regular shop. 
With a small thank you as Will held the door for her, she stepped into the room filled with neon, glowing lights. Pinks, blues, reds, yellows, everywhere she looked, in every corner. She beamed, feeling as if she had just stepped into outer space. 
Will watched as she walked ahead of him, finding herself lost in the array of colors and the vibrating atmosphere, and he smiled, lingering behind with his hands tucked in his pockets. He liked watching her get excited about the things he found so minuscule. When she turned around and looked at him, pointing to one of the signs with a smile, he found a new way to look at it. What was a place he had once been before, he was now seeing through new eyes alongside her, and with a new appreciation.
(Y/N) held the camera up to her eye and she snapped a photo of the wall plastered with signs that read - LOVE & LUST and SEX DRUGS & BACON ROLLS along with red glowing hearts and the Union Jack flag around them. 
Moving past the groups of people around certain signs, she found Will sitting on a small decorative chaise lounge against a back wall. It had a wicker table in front of it, a yellow fire hydrant to the right, and it was littered with Union Jack throw pillows, and another of the Queen’s crown. He smiled when their eyes met, and she noticed the glow of the blue sign just above his head - Love at Dusk, written in cursive blue lettering. He watched her slowly bend down at the knee, and she held her camera pointing directly at him, snapping the perfect photo as he laughed. For someone to make a living in front of a camera, he was shy when others were the ones snapping the photos. 
“Oh, come on, don’t be shy now.” (Y/N) giggled, stepping around the table and falling onto the chaise lounge with him. He allowed her to sit close, his arm stretched along the back. “Look at these,” 
She pulled the strap from around her neck, clicking the small buttons on the camera with the pad of her thumb and showing him the screen. Over the course of the day, she had taken at least a couple hundred photos of the river, the view from the rooftop beer garden, the streets, and of all the lights. 
“And look at this one,” she sunk in closer, her hip resting against his as she showed him the photos and they laughed together at the blurry ones or mistaken ones. 
Will looked at the screen to see a photo of him standing on the street in Little Venice, the bloomed trees above him as he turned his head with a laugh, a hand stretched out in her direction to stop her. A couple photos later, he saw himself again, this time at the beer garden. He was sitting across from her at the table, bringing his beer to his lips, and he could see her in the reflection of his sunglasses. 
The last photos were of him - a zoomed-out shot of him taken just moments ago that captured his whole body as he sat on the lounge, but the last photo was zoomed in, capturing the way the blue light bounced off his dark hair and jacket, how it brought out the features in his face. 
(Y/N) handed the camera to Will and he took it in his large hands, allowing him to look at himself and the other photos.
“Might have to tag you along as a camera operator as well as editing,” he said looking at the photos she had taken over the course of the day, “you’re proper good at it, you know.” 
He handed the camera back to her and she looked at him with a small smile. “Well, it’s pretty easy when you have a great muse.” 
He turned to her, perking an eyebrow, and they looked at each other for a beat. They both felt a surge of forwardness, of bravery given after spending the day together with flirtatious smiles and teasing in between. They were able to bounce off each other, to talk without stopping, which was something that made them think maybe, just for a second, that their new-found friendship could be more than that. 
“Are you flirting with me, Miss California?”
Have been all day, she thought. (Y/N) laughed, her head tilting to the side, “and what would you do about it, London Boy?”
Will turned his body to her, their knees grazing, but his eyes never left hers. He cracked a smile, unable to hold it in as he leaned in closer, “guess yous just have to trust me.” 
Under the bright blue lights hovering above their heads, Will tilted his head down as he leaned into her, her eyes flickered back and forth from his eyes to his lips and then back, her own head tilting to the side and meeting him in the middle where their lips locked. 
It was sweet, a kind kiss that filled your heart with joy, and (Y/N)’s was overflowing. She thought of it like she thought of London, the sunshine - a breath of fresh air. 
Will reached up and placed a hand on her cheek, holding her face, and she pecked his lips again before pulling back just slightly, the tip of her nose grazing against his and she laughed. 
“Trusting you really has done me well.” 
“I told you this tour would be worth it.” Will chuckled, his thumb resting at her cheek, fingers sliding behind her ear. “And if you’re willing to pay, it will be another five dollars added on for that kiss. It’s originally a tenner but you get that special discount.” 
“So all it takes is a kiss to get the special discount?” She teased. “What do I have to do to get the whole tour for free?” 
Will hummed, eyes squinting. “The accent was pretty cute, so if you do it again I might consider.” 
She playfully rolled her eyes. “Alright, mate,” she heard his laugh and she leaned forward, kissing Will again with a smile. 
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The Traitor and The Bear Jew (Inglourious Basterds Imagine: Donny Donowitz x Fem!Reader)
 Requested by @svonschroeder! (Thanks for being the first to submit one, it means a lot!)
"TEDDY FUCKING WILLIAMS KNOCKS IT OUT OF THE PARK! FENWAY PARK ON ITS FEET FOR TEDDY FUCKIN' BALLGAME! HE WENT YARD ON THAT ONE, OUT TO FUCKIN' LANSDOWNE STREET..." Donny barely glanced at the remaining enemies. He wasn't wasting time, after all, a basterd’s work was never done. He looked at one of the nazis. He was a man, crying and shaking in the face of the Bear Jew’s justice. "YOU." The Nazi's futile attempt to escape was shot down by Hirschberg's gun.
"Damn it, Hirschberg."
Aldo sighed... He was hoping to get something useful out of their captive audience...and they were running out of them.
He chewed on his sandwich and looked at you, half annoyed, mostly disinterested. "Bring the girl."
Donny glanced to the remaining nazis. You were among them. But you were anything but a nazi.
In fact, you were a traitor.
At least...to the nazi high command.
In the brief instant that Donny looked to the survivors, he saw something he'd never seen before.  He'd heard of laughing in the face of death. In fact, it was one of the Basterds' favorite past times, but no one, not a single soul, living or dead, had ever smiled in the face of the Bear Jew's wrath.
Not like you.
At best, you were a traitor to the nazis,  and you expected that at some point you would be killed for your pursuit of justice and revenge.
At worst, your charade and double life would be too convincing to the basterds, and you'd be seen as just another enemy.
Your truth, your story was nothing but a rumor trickling down the OSS lines.
You were a German, but you were no nazi. You were young, but you remembered a time where the world was a big place. There were no tanks, no raids. Friends, families, cities weren't divided by rallies and hatred... People didn't disappear in the middle of the night. Entire communities weren’t slaughtered... Neighbors didn’t betray each other. They invited each other over for dinner. They went to clubs together. Swing wasn’t outlawed then. Humanity wasn’t seen as a weakness. Schools were full. Shop windows weren’t broken or vandalized. Entire neighborhoods didn’t just disappear... 
You remembered a world where there was justice.
And when that world collapsed, when your best friend was murdered for her faith, when your neighbors vanished, when everything changed, you did too. You became a traitor in a heartbeat. If you had to die a traitor trying to restore that world, you would.
And by the looks of it, you were going to.
And you were going out watching the infamous basterds.
You joined the nazis, but you used their information against them. You tended to have an easier time gaining officers’ trust, and it doomed them. You usually rummaged through their documents as your gun was still smoking, or you rknife still dripping, searching for leads that could save a life. You used them to warn, and save Jews. You'd done it for years. You always anticipated dying before the war’s end, but you pictured it a different way: against a wall, facing a firing squad back in Germany.
This was not it.
No one would ever know your story... just a distant memory of those you saved, and you accepted that.
You could plead. You could tell the basterds the whole story... the truth...but it was far too good to be true.
Who would believe a word from a person a step away death? You wouldn’t lie, that wasn't the problem, it was that they wouldn't believe.
You tested that theory. You made it short and sweet. You told Wicki you were infiltrating Werner’s team, and you were a traitor to the nazis. You’d helped save dozens of Jews in the past year alone.
Unfortunately, your theory was right, as you observed Aldo the Apache sighing in disbelief, and Wicki's amusement in translating what he believed was utter bullshit. 
You glanced at the other basterds, now that a gun wasn't directly trained on you.
You glanced up to a higher ledge...and spotted an old friend. It had been quite some time...
Hugo Stiglitz.
You were friends, once. Long ago, long before the war. You were just teenagers then. You walked to school every day of your lives,  your mothers were best friends. You were there the day he became an orphan. You were always there for each other back then. But, once the nazis took over, you were both older, you'd been distanced for some time because you’d chosen a different university, your jobs never matched up... And then he joined the Gestapo.  You avoided him. You hated him. You could never stand to see him.
 You didn't know he waited in the market every Saturday, just for a chance to tell you the truth. Just for a chance to see his last true friend. He was certain you'd understand...But you never showed up.
Six years had passed. He didn't recognize you. You weren't surprised. He was always a clueless boy...
And...you weren't quite the same either. You had short brown hair when you last saw each other. You  were once a ballerina, you played the violin and dreamed of a quiet life in a small town. You traded your ballet slippers and bow for a sniper and a pack.
You were a little taller, your build was more of a warrior than a ballerina after carrying a pack and a burden for years. You couldn’t simply claim to know him. After all, Werner was right. Everyone in the German army had heard of Hugo Stiglitz. You’d changed your name to cover your tracks after one botched kill, and your dogtag couldn’t prove your true identity.
Still, you were you at heart. No one could deny that. “Ask her about them Germans in the orchard. I needa know ‘bout them snipers. How many there are, what they got on ‘em.” Wicki translated, though you didn’t need it, you thought it might be rude to point it out after all that time. The truth was, you didn’t know about the troops up the road, and you told them so.  Again, it was too good to be true.  Aldo sighed, “God damn it. Donny!” You lowered your head, ready to accept your death as you were thrown to your knees, at the mercy of the one they called Donny.
You bit your bottom lip with a sigh as you looked at the man about to murder you, with nothing but respect and admiration in your eyes as you glanced at the bat with the names.
Donny looked at you. He shifted for a moment. He hesitated. He blinked forcefully, and shook his head once. "Come on, Donny."
Still, he looked back at Aldo.  Donny never thought he'd hesitate  in killing a nazi. He'd never killed a woman before, but...a nazi was a nazi.
He looked you in the eyes. He saw something he didn’t see in Werner’s eyes, or in the eyes of any nazi he'd encountered before: a soul.
He saw humanity. In the depths of your eyes, he saw the mischievous threads of a cunning mind. He saw an honorable acceptance of fate.  It wasn’t a psychotically blood-driven acceptance of death for your country like Werner’s. In his eyes, Donny didn't see "bravery," he saw blankness.
Yours were human.
You didn't glare into Donny's eyes like Werner did. You didn’t look down at the ground and stain it with your tears like Private Butz did.
You looked toward the horizon, west, toward the freedom you have to others, and the freedom you were willing to die for as a traitor.
All you could hear was your own heartbeat, and the slight breeze tussling the leaves.
Then, you heard the lieutenant's voice, "Last chance soldier," followed by Wicki's translation. "Er sagt eine letzte Chance, Soldat."
You were silent for a moment. Your eyes sauntered from the horizon, back to Donny's.
He couldn't help but shift again, changing up his grip on the bat as he awaited Aldo’s instructions.
Donny gulped... something was different about you.
There was not a trace of cruelty in your eyes.
For a moment...he believed you. He believed every word of your story.
It was the truth after all, but...Aldo was older, and wise, and had a habit of reminding his men that if they hear a story too good to be true, ‘it ain’t.’
Donny clenched his teeth... bracing himself as a wave sympathy took him by surprise, something he'd never felt before.
But orders were orders...
He took a breath, and raised his bat as Aldo nodded to him. Your voice was soft, but wasn’t trembling. It was a small, simple request. You wanted to sound polite. You wanted to take that chance. "May I speak to Hugo?"
Your voice wasn't shaking in fear, it didn't reveal a tell in your state of mind, it didn't give way to a hateful rant. Donny froze, bat still in the air, eyes still trained on you. 
The Basterd's stood still, unaware you were able to understand them the entire time.
Wicki was a little annoyed, admittedly.
Donny's arms had been hanging high, ready to swing... He lowered the bat, and stood in confusion.
Aldo raised an eyebrow, and lowered his sandwich for a moment.
Hugo took a step back. He turned to face you, he hadn’t quite been paying attention, being entertained by Donny beating nazis with a baseball bat, after all.
He knew the voice was familiar.
After he squinted, so was your face. Your hair was longer, and... blonde.... He'd never admit he thought it looked better before.
A few steps closer, and he saw a scar on your forearm. It had been there since you were kids, running around Frankfurt. You fell, skinned your knee and your arm that day.
He knew you.
He knew you too well. He knew you were telling the truth.
"Wait."
He slid down the ledge, and set his gun down as the basterds turned to him, "Donny, put the bat down."
"What?" Donny wasn't sure if he was more confused over what he was feeling, or because Hugo was speaking more...
Hugo wasn't playing. "The girl goes free."
The basterds by then knew better than to ever question Hugo Stiglitz.
He stood over you. It was you...it was definitely you, and he smiled. Hugo actually smiled, ashamed he hadn't known before, as he held his hand out, and pulled you to your feet, "Y/n..."
You smiled, "Hugo."
When you heard he was a traitor and what he really did in the gestapo, you cried. You should’ve known better, and you wished you'd spoken to him. You should’ve known he was better than that.
You should've known he was no more of a nazi than you were.
He smiled as you stood face to face, and he hugged you... You were taken aback, for a moment. You slowly reached your arms around him. It just wasn't a very Hugo thing to do. He wasn't much of a hugger, even before the war.
It was nice...
"What are you doing here?!" He gestured to your uniform. You smirked a little, and gestured to his basterd friends. "What are you doing here?" When you looked at the basterds, your gaze wandered over Donny for a moment longer....
Omar shook his head in confusion, "What's going on?!"
Hugo turned to the basterds. "Y/n is telling the truth. She's a friend...an old friend. I know her.” He glanced at you with a sly grin, “I know a traitor anywhere."
Utivich was still suspicious. "A traitor...what exactly did you do?"
Donny turned to look at you, a wave of relief cooling him down as he registered everything. It really was almost too good to be true.
But he was grateful it was true.
He listened to you. He listened to every word.
He loved it.
The way you moved, the way you spoke: the elegance in the words you  chose, the almost shy smirk in the four letter words you knowingly dropped.
He hung on to every word that fell from your lips.
"I had to. I stole the lists, made copies of them. I'd figure out which Jewish families they were looking for next. I would sneak away, warn them, sometimes I'd lead them to German friends who would keep them safe. There were a few I was able to smuggle onto ships that would eventually take them to England. Had to kill a nazi or two along the way. For all intents and purposes, I am a traitor. I'm a fucking traitor, but I wouldn't have it any other way."
The basterds were amazed...
They liked you. You had guts, they had to admit.
Donny liked you... He liked every single thing about you. You had heart, you had guts, you definitely had brains. He liked the way you spoke. He liked the way you stood, brazen, and unmovable, like a rocky cliff facing the endless and brash ocean. He liked the way your eyes revealed your heart, and who you were.  
He hated to admit it....but he might have fallen for you.
He was almost in a daze as you explained yourself.
He snapped back when Aldo rose to his feet, walked over and stood face to face with you. You weren't sure what to expect from the man from Maynardville.
You were surprised, "Well, y/n... seein’ that your old team’s nearly defunct..." Aldo glanced over at the last nazi that was being guarded by Hirschberg, then back at you, "How would you like to be a basterd?"
You raised a mischievous eyebrow, and couldn't help but smile a little as you looked back at Hugo, one of your oldest friends. You looked back at Donny, your almost-killer, and...the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on. You gazed at the disfigured body of your former sergeant, Werner. You glanced at the blood of your former team. You watched as the only  other survivor of Rachtman's post: Private Butz, who was shaking in fear as tears streamed down his face. You had no pity on him, or anyone else on that post. "Now, before you say anything, soldier, I got a warnin' for you. You join my team...my team, my men, my command, you take on a debit. A debit you owe me, personally." You smiled, not just because you had admired them, and had desparately wished the rumors about the basterds to be true...but because you would get a chance to patch things up with your old friend... and, as you looked to Donny Donowitz, you blushed. Aside from that, you always thought the accents in American movies were exaggerated...yet there stood Aldo Raine. "You join 'em boys there, and you owe me one hundred nazi scalps, just like 'em. You understand?" You were unbothered, mostly because as of January of that year, your body count could have paid off the debt. But you had no problem with doing it all over again. You gladly would, and you’d double it if it meant justice and freedom for the innocent, for Jews, the roma, any and everyone that was unjustly stripped of everything. "Yes, sir." Your new lieutenant smiled, set down his sandwich, and picked up a rifle that had the term 'inglourious basterds,' carved into it. He tossed it to you, and handed you your  knife. "You’ll be needin’ these, soldier." You nodded, beaming with pride. You  looked down at your knife, realizing it needed sharpening, you intended to look back to Hugo, having heard of his skills with a knife as passing rumors when you heard he was arrested. But instead of Hugo, you nearly ran into your new sergeant. Donny's left hand rested on the back of his neck, his right arm relaxed so the tip of the bat was dragging on the ground. He was embarrassed, and relieved. He didn't know what he'd do if he'd killed someone on their side...and he was embarrased he didn't speak up, especially when he believed you. "I...uh.. How about we start over, kid?" You smiled, of course. It would be nice. It was always nice to start over. "My name's Donny." Your soft chuckle, and smiling eyes captivated him as you responded, "I know." Through the blood, grime, and shadow of war that coated you like any soldier, there was some light behind your eyes, a sheer need for retribution, for freedom, for justice. He could tell. And he loved you for it.  He'd never forgive himself if he'd killed an innocent person, though in the eyes of the nazis you were far from innocent, in his eyes, you were simply trying to make the world a better place.  He respected that. In fact, he respected the hell out of you, and admired the way you faced your fate. But, he was still ashamed... he'd never forgive himself if he had done it. It was at that moment that he swore to himself he'd never hurt you. He'd never let anyone hurt you. He promised himself that if anyone so much as laid a finger on you, he'd kill them. You reached your hand out to shake his, but you both stopped for a moment. The second your fingertips even grazed each other, you took his breath away, and he made your eyes shy away. Soldier to soldier, heart to heart, traitor to basterd, you both understood. You both knew it. Everything was going to change. Everything was going to be alright. You looked into each other's eyes for a moment longer than you should have, and you turned away, your cheeks were burning as he looked up, biting back a nervous laugh. "Donny, bring that other one over here. Alive." Donny didn't hesitate. Not anymore. He took up his bat, and looked at you. Both of you were smirking. It was the beginning of more than just a wartime love story. It was the beginning of something that the nazis would come to fear: You were the one and only person that could handle the Bear Jew. You were the one and only person he would drop everything to protect, (though you didn't need much protecting, after all, Aldo had a habit of calling you 'a regular Annie Oakley.') Still, word did spread that if any nazi so much as aimed in your general direction, they'd have a short, and unnegotiable encounter with the Bear Jew. 
The last thing they'd ever see was his wrath, his wild eyes, and a bloodstained baseball bat. But the first thing you saw each morning after that was a brief, flash of his loving, warm eyes, and a secretive, knowing smile, just before he called the basterds to stand at attention.
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iamkatehardy · 5 years
Text
Only One (Alfie Solomons x Reader) - Pt 1
Request:  Anon: “Hello would you mind writing an Alfie who really likes this shy girl who works in some shop near him. She already has s boyfriend but Alfie doesn't care and goes to her work a lot just to get to talk & flirt with her but she always gets embarrassed and shyer when he flirts and he loves that. She catches her boyfriend cheating on her and now Alfie can make his move😉 could u use smut prompt list #64 #37 please you can change any of this however you need to whatever works for you.”
Warnings: Cursing ; Cute Alfie
A/N: I’m splitting this in 2 parts, because I don’t want you to wait any longer! There is no smut yet, I need to polish Alfie x Reader relation! 😏 
Leave your feedback, me and your favourite Jew will be very thankful!❤
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  Only One (Alfie Solomons x Reader)
The role of the ideal housewife was never enough for you; you always wanted much more, to feel entirely fulfilled, and you thrived.
You had the work bug, plus your dexterity with the needles and creativity put most of the other dressmakers to shame. In no time, you had one of the busiest stores in town, so you expanded the business to serve your growing clientele, moving to a roomier shop in Camden Town and hiring an Italian tailor to be able to work with men’s clothing too.
Although it was a huge success, perhaps not everyone had noticed it yet. As one of the rulers of most part of Camden, Alfie Solomons used to pay local businesses a visit, not only as a reminder of who was in charge , but also most likely to demand a share, “for operating in his town”. Your turn hadn’t come yet; he was busy with his own expansion plans, involving a strategic partnership with some old friends, to make it through the crisis after the Italians’ attacks.
“I’m not sure I trust Elazar, but I have no choice, a’ight? Aside from him having a shitload of money, all the others are eating in his fuckin’ hand, for whatever reason. He’s not an honorable man, that’s one thing I’m sure about! Can you believe that cunt is even living in concubinage with some Shiksa?! (derogatory word for non-Jewish women) – In a sudden fit of anger and frustration, Alfie swept the paper off his desk with his left hand, throwing all the work of the past few days to the floor. His fingers ran through his messy hair in desperation, he couldn’t stand not have control.
“Alfie…” – Ollie bent down to pick the papers up and placed them on the desk again.
“Not now. Not today.” – The burning wrath in his eyes could reach a person’s soul in second, but he soon acknowledged the fact that the situation wasn’t Ollie’s fault. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, his fingertips rubbing his throbbing temples. – “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, mate? I can’t look at these anymore. We think about it tomorrow, with a clear head.”
Ollie merely nodded in assent, but when he was about to leave he turned to his boss again.
“Will you be ok?” – The hardships in Alfie’s life always made Ollie worry, almost like a son; despite the filthy temper and all the outbursts, Alfie was his mentor and they cared for each other.
“Stop worrying, little boy.”- Alfie chuckled lowly. - “Fuckin’ Solomons always find a way, even when it seems there isn’t any, innit?” – Narrowing his eyes, his hand came to his chin and he stroked his beard thoughtfully. -  “Now go, live a little. You’re at the right age for it.” – With a wave of his hands, Alfie shooed his assistant away.
“You should live a little too. Anyway, have a good evening.”
“You cheeky little…” – Alfie shook his head, watching him disappear in the distance, but deep down he knew maybe Ollie was right.
Maybe he should really live a little too, before it was too late.
After gathering his things, he grabbed his coat and left the office, heading outside. The street was busier than usual, more than he expected, as it was cold and getting later I the day.
“Hey! Come here, little boy.” – Alfie called a little kid over; children were honest most of the time and too young to be afraid of him, unlike most people in Camden.
The boy approached slowly. Eventually, he stood near Alfie’s feet. The gangster looked down at the kid, who was looking up at him with big innocent eyes. After searching in his pockets for a long time, Alfie held a wad of cash in his hand. With the other hand on his lower back to hold the pain, he crouched down until he was at the kid’s height and handed him a note.
“What is all this fuss about, little man?” – He knitted his eyebrows together, almost imperceptibly, pointing at the crowd.
“The store that opened down the street, I think.” – The kid shyly took the money out of Alfie’s hand, bowing thankfully.
“What kind of store?” – Alfie’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m not sure, Sir. But they give you chocolates; maybe that’s why people go there.” – The kid shrugged and Alfie couldn’t help quirking his lips up in response.
“A’ight, thank you for your help.” – Alfie rubbed the kid’s head and stood up slowly, with a groan of pain.
After stuffing the money on his pocket, the kid ran happily down the street.
“These bastards will learn the hard way to think twice before they do anything without my fuckin’ say-so!” – Annoyed, he cussed under his breath and moved faster, scanning the street for the new store.
The sky had turned black and the rain was starting to pour down heavily, but it didn’t stop him. Slightly limping down the street, his expression was menacing, it seemed as if he was determined to start a fight with whoever challenged his power; maybe he just wanted to take his problems out on somebody else, either way, it was the perfect excuse.
Finally he saw an unfamiliar elegant store and just stormed inside, looking really pissed. The furniture looked new and luxuriously comfortable and the collection of antique artwork that adorned the place seemed to be priceless. There was a soothing record playing and a pleasant floral smell on the air, that somehow made him go back to his childhood days.
The store was already closed by then; you were working on the sewing room in the back, to get a head start on next day’s work. When you heard the door open, you popped through the velvet curtains the two parts of the store.
Beholding the man before you, you smiled and approached the counter. It was after hours already, but you weren’t willing to lose a costumer.  His attire made you immediately think he was probably Jew by birth and upbringing.
“Shalom.” – You greeted him softly, and then cast your eyes down shyly, dropping your gaze to the ledge under your hands.
“Shalom.” - Alfie raised a brow as his eyes moved to you. – “I would like to speak to the owner, personally.”
“That’s me.” – When your eyes met, a smile formed on your lips and Alfie’s blood seemed to warm. – “How can I help you, Sir?”
All his courage to scold and fight the owner of the shop immediately disappeared. Rubbing his lids with the back of his hands, he stammered indecipherable words that sounded to you like Yiddish.
As you tilted your head, studying him, your eyes widened a bit and shone brighter than he had ever seen in his life. Noticing his soaked clothes and speechlessness, you wondered if maybe he just wanted shelter from the heavy rain and entered a random store. You picked up a towel and handed it to him, for him to wipe out his wetness.
“Thank you. Thank you, dove.” – He put his hat aside and took the towel, drying his head and face.
“Would you like a cup of tea, while you decide?” – You watched him drying himself and took the towel when he finished. - “Here, have a bonbon! These are kosher.” – Smiling encouragingly, you offered him a plate of assorted bonbons to choose from.
He put the candy in his mouth, letting it melt slowly.
“These are really sweet.” – He furrowed his eyebrows. – “But not as sweet as you seem to be.”
Although you opened your mouth, no word came out; you felt a furious blush flaming on your skin.
Trying to come up with an excuse for the situation he found himself in, he looked around him, letting out a loud breath and straightening his posture. Before saying anything else, he took another moment to watch your embarrassment, how your face was still burning in shame after the compliment; it was pretty adorable and it somehow amused him.
“I was wondering, do you sell hats here?” – He didn’t actually need the thousandth hat, but it was the first thing he came up with, so he’d stick with that excuse until he’d come up with something better.
“Yes, do you have anything in mind?” – Looking down to cover up the blush, you bit your thumb shyly.
“Lots of things, love.” – He came closer with a smile on the corner of his lips. - “As about the hat, something inconspicuous, but with a little style. Black, wide brim, preferably resistant.” –Shrugging, like the hat was actually no big deal, he constantly kept his eyes glued on you.
The first of his answer might have been innocent, but you blushed even more. No matter what words he spoke, his voice was enough to make a woman weak at the knees.
“I… I’ll see what I can get, just give me a minute. In the meanwhile, please, make yourself at home.” – You nodded to the sofas before you disappeared behind the curtains again.
He sat on the sofa and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head and chuckling in a low tone.
“Composure, (Y/N), composure…” - In the backroom, you sat on the edge of a table and cleared your throat, putting your lightly shaky hand on your chest. After taking a sip of water, you searched in the boxes, trying to find those that met his requirements.
A few minutes later you returned with a half dozen boxes pilled in your hands and put them on the sofa, next to him.
“At the moment I have these. If you’d like something else, I can order it for you, it’ll take only a couple days.” – You gracefully sat on the arm of the couch, crossing your legs and arranging your skirt, before you opened the boxes one by one and started handing him the hats for him to try them on.
“How do I look?!” – Giving you a cocky smile, he turned his head to give you a profile view.
“Great!” – Leaning closer, you adjusted the hat into a slightly crooked position. – “Well, that’s more like it. Perfect.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” – Watching you with great interest, he blinked slowly. – “I’m taking them all.” – He took the hat off, putting it back in the box and got up, extending his hand to help you up.
Why the hell would someone buy so many hats that look almost exactly the same?
You looked at him in surprise and took his hand, getting up. Your hand lingered on his for a few seconds and the pad of his thumb rubbed your knuckles soothingly, sending a shiver through you, before you finally pulled it away, with a sheepish smile on your face.
“What name should I put on the receipt?” – You went behind the counter again.
“Alfred Solomons.” – Leaning against the counter, he paid for the hats and watched you write his answer down. He had gotten so close he could feel your warmth and your delicate fragrance with every intake of breath. – “But you may call me just Alfie, a’ight?”
“Deal.” – You gave him the receipt.
“It’s raining cats and dogs. I don’t think it’s a good idea to take all those boxes home in these circumstances, innit darling? Can I swing by tomorrow to get them?”
“Of course, Mr. Solomons.” – You intertwined your hands together and nodded cordially.
“Alfie.”
“I think you’re going to need this.” – You giggled and handed him an umbrella. – “So long, Alfie.”
“See you around…” – He tilted his head lightly to one side and lifted his brows. – “ Sorry, I don’t think I got your name.”
“(Y/N).”
“(Y/N).” – He nodded. – “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman, right?” – With a warm half-smile, he turned on his heel and left.
The next day, you waited for him to show up, constantly checking when a new client made it through the front door. It was half-hour to closing time and he still hadn’t shown up.
Alfie was at the bakery, in a meeting with Elazar, scrambling with last minute details on their settlement.
“Let’s make this quick, Elazar. I have an appointment, mate.” – He looked at his pocket watch to check if he still had time to go to your store; he did, but not much.
“Relax Alfie, I have an appointment too, maybe  two, or three.” – Elazar grinned maliciously.
“With your missus? Doesn’t count as an appointment.”
“Alfie, Alfie, Alfie… I wouldn’t expect you to understand, you’re not a ladies’ man after all, but your missus is your choice of pleasure if, and only if you have no other option available.”
“What… Excuse me?” – Alfie put his glasses down, giving him a nasty look.
“Think of a relationship as if it was just any other business; if you have the chance to have some side action and make a profit, you go for it, without blinking an eye.”
“How can you fuckin’ do that, mate?!” – Slightly irritated, Alfie swung his arms on the air.
“It’s really quite simple; women are very naïve when it comes to love.” – Elazar proudly started explaining. – “Tell her you love her and she’s the only one; make her believe that and she will be at your feet, which will basically make her buy any excuse you come up with. But keep her busy, so she won’t have much time to think about them, some women are smart enough to figure out the truth … Give her a small business, or let her teach little orphans, something like that. Use your imagination! Propose to her, if necessary, it will keep her in your hands until you are done with the little brat and find a better one.”
“I wasn’t asking how do you do it! I was asking how you can be such a cunt, actually. You give a woman goods and she will give you a heart cooked meal… You give her your house and she will make it your fuckin’ home… You give her your fuckin’ cum and she will return you your offspring! If you give her some affection, she will give you her fuckin’ heart! What is wrong with you?!”
“What is wrong with you, Alfie? That’s why you don’t get any action. Have you gone soft or what?”
“No, I simply respect women!” – Alfie’s unblinking eyes were fixed on the man ahead and his jaw was tight. – “You know what? If it’s alright with you, we can finish this another day.”
“As you wish. Call me later and let me know when.” – Elazar promptly picked his things up and left.
“What has this world come to? Thank you for everything  eema. (Mom, but I’m not sure of this) “ – Alfie pressed a hand to the medallion in his chest, before he checked his pocket watch again and hurriedly left the bakery, heading to the flower shop.
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cowboynuts · 5 years
Text
Rotten Mood
Arthur Morgan x Male Reader
AO3: Rotten Mood
Word Count: 2.2K
It had only been a couple of weeks since Dutch had allowed Kieran to walk freely with the rest of the gang. He was still shy and skittish— and it didn’t help that a lot of the other men pushed him around and snarled at him. Arthur was kinder by comparison, but you knew he still came off as short and angry. After seeing the way he treated Kieran, you were extremely thankful that Arthur was sweet on you. If that was what decently nice looked like for Arthur, you didn’t want to imagine what it would be like if he didn’t get on well with you. Still, he was courteous enough towards the newest gang member. You felt pity for him. You knew what it was like being the new man around and how hard it could be— especially with someone they didn’t trust all too well. That, paired with your kind nature, and you found yourself wandering over and chatting with him more often than anyone else. He knew quite a fair share about horses and even taught you a few things you hadn’t picked up on. Although shy, he was a real sweetheart and you grew to enjoy his presence. Chatting with him in the shade one particularly sweltering afternoon, you learned why Arthur was being so nice towards him.
“You did what? ”
He smiled coyly, “He ain’t told you? Figured he would. You two seem close.”
“We are,” you frowned, “But no, he ain’t told me.”
Kieran shrugged, “Weren’t a big thing. He was taken off guard so I shot the feller. Reckon it saved me from bein’ thrown out on my ass, though.”
“That’s why Dutch been trustin’ you more.”
He nodded silently. You felt your jaw lock with irritation. Arthur had almost been killed. Not that he wasn’t in danger all the time, but this seemed like a much closer call than usual. Your stomach churned with equal parts anger and dread at the thought of coming so close to losing him.
“Thanks, Kieran,” you mumbled as you stood up, eyes scanning camp for Arthur.
“H-Hey. You ain’t gon go tell him I told you that, are ya?”
“Don’t worry,” you called as you started walking away, “I won’t let him pester you about it.”
You found him sitting near the canyon ledge, back against a tree and staring off into the distance. He glanced over at you as you approached and gave a huff before looking back in front of him, sulking. You nudged his thigh with your boot playfully, “Hey, cowboy.”
He set his jaw, “Ya need something.”
You frowned, a little taken aback, “I gotta need somethin’? Maybe I just missed you.”
He didn’t acknowledge you, just moving to clench his jaw silently. You let out a sigh and sat down next to him. He had picked a spot that was decently far away from camp and secluded in a cluster of trees, which you were thankful for as you sat almost pressed flush against him. He tensed, but didn’t move to scoot away from you. You looked out in front of you and took in the view of the valley. It was gorgeous— you could stare at it all day, but you had other things on your mind.
“Alright, what’s got you in such a rotten mood?”
He chewed his lip stubbornly and looked down at the ground. You let out a soft sigh and let your head fall back against the tree, “You don’t gotta talk to me. But you know you always can, right?”
He shot a glance sideways at you, curiosity and stubbornness in his bright blue eyes. You leaned against him slightly, shoulders bumping one another.
“Kieran told me he kept that O'Driscoll from putting a bullet in you.”
He snorted, his voice bitter, “ Kieran. ”
You narrowed your eyes, “What you got against him all of a sudden? He’s kind, Arthur. I was new here once, too. I know it ain’t the same, but—“
“Why don’t you go talk to Kieran if he’s so kind,” he snapped as he crossed his arms and leaned away from your touch.
Your eyebrows knitted together with confusion and then relaxed as you put the pieces together. You tried your best to hide your smirk, “Arthur, are you jealous ?”
He clenched his jaw again and refused to meet your gaze, “No.”
You smiled smugly, “You are.”
He finally looked at you with irritation, “I ain’t. ”
“Arthur, I know you like to be shut off with everyone else,” you touched his bicep lightly and softened your voice, “but I see right through it.”
He glared at you but didn’t move away. You let out another soft sigh, “I mean it when I say you can talk to me— you know that, right?”
You watched your words turn over in his mind as he looked away again. He kept his arms crossed over his chest, but his grip loosened and he relaxed a bit from his tense frustration. You reached over to rest your hand on his thigh comfortingly and he sighed heavily in response. He looked at you again, his eyes softer with exhaustion painting his features. You leaned forward to kiss his forehead gently.
“Talk to me,” you whispered.
“I just— I seen you with him and…” he sighed and looked down, “I don’t deserve you.”
“Why would you say a thing like that?”
He shrugged, chewing his lip, “I’m an old, ugly bastard, (Y/N). You should be with someone better than me.”
“Arthur,” you tilted his chin to meet his gaze, “From the moment I saw you I was sweet on you. There’s so many things I adore about you. We’d be here all day if I said every one of ‘em. I don’t want Kieran. I don’t want nobody else but you.”
He looked away, shaking his head. You took one of his hands in yours, thumbs brushing across his rough knuckles lovingly.
“Arthur, I don’t know what I woulda done if you got shot. I-if I lost you.”
You swallowed thickly as he looked at you again. You felt his fingers brush your cheek gently and you drew in a shaky breath.  
“You ain’t gonna lose me, darlin’.”
“Promise me you’ll be more careful,” your voice was barely audible.
He nodded, “I promise.”
You relaxed a bit and smiled, “And promise me you’ll come talk to me when you get caught up in that head of yours again.”
He chuckled lightly, “Alright, alright.”
You leaned against his shoulder and grinned as he rested his head down on top of yours in response. You two sat in silence together for a bit before you spoke again.
“Arthur?”
“Hmm?”
“You- you know I love you, right?”
You went still against his chest, waiting anxiously for his response. What you said was true, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You did love Arthur. Loved him more than you’ve ever loved another person in your life. Especially after what he had just confessed to you, you needed him to know that. Needed him to understand that you were his and his alone.
His heart thudded loudly in his chest and when he was silent, you leaned back hesitantly to look at him. He wiped his eyes quickly and cleared his throat and you felt your stomach churn with worry.
“I’m sorry if that was too much,” You stammered, trying to fix what you said, “I-I just--”
Arthur cut you off with a kiss, one of his hands moving to cradle your face gently. He pulled away with surprise lighting up his face, “Don’t apologize, darlin’. I…. Well, I had pretty much given up on the thought of someone lovin’ me, ‘f I’m bein’ honest.”
You blinked a few times, processing what he said. Did he really think he was so unlovable? That the people around him didn’t care for him endlessly?
“Why wouldn’t I love you?”
He shrugged with a sad smile, looking away from you to gaze out over the canyon. The brim of his hat covered his eyes as he tilted his head down. His voice was tight when he spoke, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Arthur, people do love you. I see it every day. Folks care about you and want you to be happy.”
“That,” he sighed frustratedly, “That ain’t what I meant.”
“Well then, what is it?”
He shook his head and let out a long sigh. Looking away from you, he grumbled, “‘S nothin’. Forget it.”
“It ain’t nothin’ if it’s got you worked up like this.”
“I ain’t worked up.”
“You’re a real stubborn bastard, you know that?”
He huffed in frustration and stood up, walking towards the edge of the canyon. His hands rested on his hips and you heard him let out a long sigh as he stopped a few yards away and let his head hang down tiredly.
“(Y/N),” His voice sounded pained, “Anyone who’s ever loved me, left in one way ‘r another.”
“Arthur—“
He turned back to face you, his eyes shining with sadness as he finally met your gaze. You felt your chest ache in response.
“I lost Eliza and Isaac. I asked Mary Linton to marry me— an’ she told me I weren’t good enough.”
He shrugged and let his arms fall at his side, “I’m a hopeless fool, (Y/N). Seems I can’t change it.”
You just looked at him desperately, trying to find the right words to say. He watched the sorrow rest heavily in your expression and his face twisted into a sudden scowl. His boots thudded hard against the ground as he walked back towards camp, sneering, “Don’t need yer fuckin’ pity, boy.”
“Arthur! Hey!”
You scrambled to your feet and ran over to stand in front of him. He looked at you angrily as you blocked his path and crossed his arms defensively. His jaw clenched and unclenched with irritation and you frowned at him. Arthur had your whole heart, but you wanted to punch him right now.
“Ya can’t just keep shuttin’ me out, Arthur.”
He huffed, looking away, “Watch me.”
You moved a hand to rest lightly against his chest. Your palm landed over his heart, and you felt the strong beat speed up slightly at your touch. You smiled to yourself and watched his eyes soften despite the angry expression on his face.
“Listen to me,” you spoke softly, “I got no plans on leavin’ you, cowboy. I love spendin’ my days with you. I love your laugh. And your smile. Love your charm and your sarcasm. Love all the things you hate ‘bout yourself.”
His face had faded from irritation to endearment as you spoke and you felt his chest rise and fall rapidly under your fingertips. He looked down at the ground between you two as a light flush came across his face. You swallowed thickly and continued, words falling from your lips before you could even think about what you were saying.
“I-I wanna help you. Wanna care for you and love you when you don’t quite know how. Wanna patch you up when you do stupid shit and praise you when you don’t. I wanna sleep with you at my side and ride with you and-and— Christ, Arthur. I just want you to let me love you.”
You paused to catch your breath. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly and you felt your pulse pounding in your ears but you didn’t care because you were here with Arthur telling him the things you had wanted to tell him since the moment you looked at him. Your voice felt tight in your throat when you spoke again.
“I love you, Arthur. I-I just… I just love you.”
You realized your hand was white from gripping the loose fabric of his shirt. Like if you let go, you’d lose him. Hesitantly, you unclenched your fist and moved it to rest firmly where his neck met his shoulder. You gave a reassuring squeeze, and when Arthur didn’t look up, you whispered quietly, “You don’t gotta believe it or think ya deserve it. Just… Let me love you, Arthur. Trust me now and believe it later.”
There was a long silence before Arthur’s voice cracked, “Okay.”
He immediately cleared his throat and sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand before looking up to meet your eyes. The corners of his eyes were wet and red with irritation but he smiled at you nonetheless. You moved your other hand to cradle his face, thumb stroking across the stubble on his cheek affectionately.
“We good?”
He chuckled softly, “Yeah, (Y/N). We’re good.”
You smiled and reached down for his left hand.  Pressing your lips to his ring finger, you mumbled, “Love you, cowboy.”
He let out blissful sigh before pulling you into an embrace. He enveloped you in his strong arms and you sighed against him happily. You felt his lips press against your temple and his voice was so faint you almost didn’t hear him.
“I know.”
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alitheamateur · 5 years
Text
The Grind-Chapter 12
Warnings: Extreme grief. Angst. Language.
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The remainder of my day at the office was ultimately a waste. Excitement mixed with uneasy curiosity, apprehension combined with pride. This wasn’t the first time Colt & I had a spat, but this was the first time the morbid “we need to talk” line was brought into play. Romantic comedies since the beginning of time taught us to never expect any good to come from those four vague, potentially life-changing words. Not to mention if anyone needed to do the talking, it was indeed me after the little stunt he pulled. I’m sure his plan of attack consisted of batting those eyelashes of his too long to belong to any man, the lip biting, the sad, sappy innocent eyes, and the way he always traced a rough thumb over my taut lower lip for his big finish.
 I used the drive time to Mac’s to coach myself on resisting his efforts, and decisively standing my ground. I couldn’t just sweep it under the rug and allow the kiss and make-up tactic to clear the air. He had to learn we weren’t children, and how he handled himself the last few days was 100% unacceptable, and not to be tolerated in any adult relationship.
I paralleled my car across the 4 lanes in front of the gym at the closest empty meter.
“Be bold, liv. Resist the charm. RESIST THE CHARM.” I said audibly to myself, gazing into the rearview mirror to check for makeup smudges.
Crossing the street it dawned me on the advantage I in fact had over this situation when I straightened the hem of my navy blazer. Realizing the lusty-eyed stupor he wound up in with just the simple weapon of a well-made business suit. Mac was ruffling through a mess of scattered papers behind the front desk when I pulled open the door, rubbing worriedly over the crinkled lines around his eyes.
“Hey Mac, you okay?” I thudded a light fist on the counter, leaning in to him.
“I sure hope so, Miss Liv. How you doin’?”
“Looking for you know who. He still sulkin’?” Mac looked over his shoulder, and I turned my eyes to follow his to see Colt winding fresh tape over his knuckles. His hair still neatly laying across his forehead, and that adrenal glow of redness around his ears was missing, so it was clear he hadn’t yet begun his nightly workout.
 “He gets like this sometimes, darlin’. Just gotta learn to roll with it, or roll out of it. You know what I mean?”
 Wise words, my friend.
“The life of a fighters girl, I guess, huh?” I blew a breath upward and widened my eyes in pursuit of him. Without raising his head, Colton lifted a glance towards my approach, then reverted his undistracted focus right back to the hand wrapping without missing a beat.
“First or second session of the day?” He so generously left me to break the conversational ice.
“Third. Been in & outta here since 4 a.m.”
I leaned a shoulder into the wall, stuffing my hands all but my thumbs, into the tight pockets of my slacks, hovering over his criss-cross applesauce position on the red mat below me.
“You wanted to talk. You first, or me?”
Fingers now fully taped, he cracked his knuckles. “Ladies first.”
“I’ll start with the good news, the rest of what I have to say won’t be such a short conversation.” I warned. My eyes closed then, and I aimed my nose towards the ceiling in textbook braggart fashion. “You sir, are lookin’ at the newly crowned resident MMA/Boxing columnist for the Pitt Pilot. Ryan was so impressed, he rallied with the big wigs to create the position for me, AND a raise is included with the package.” I’m sure I was glowing, saying it out loud felt good. Really good. I wasn’t one to make a home upon a pedestal, but I was going to let myself have this one. I deserved a pat on the back. “Not to mention, my article is going front page! If you’re lucky, I’ll give you my autograph later.”  Expecting him to shower me with sweet praises, and congratulatory kisses, I let the bone I had to pick with him lay in waiting for the time being.
“That’s great. So not only is there gonna be a whole spread about my endless trainin’ still ending in a loss in the newspaper all over Pittsburgh, but now it’s gonna to be plastered on the front fucking page.” Colt pointed a thumb in sarcastic amusement.
I nipped the inside of my cheek between my teeth, my hands had now slowly drawn into fists at my side.
 “Excuse me? I hope for your own personal safety you’re kidding me right now.” An angry crease dipped between my groomed brows, and my head slightly cocking to one side.
“How would you like one of your failures to be the Thursday headline the entire city reads over their mornin’ coffee, Liv? It’s a smack in the damn face.” The volume of his voice had now projected far enough to reach Mac’s, and the other lone gym member counting through his chin ups undoubtably listening ears.
“Look, Colton. You lost, and I get that it absolutely sucks. You’re forgetting I used to be an athlete, too. A damn good one, if I may add. I can’t tell you the countless missed free throw attempts, or one-point losses I had to read about in the county paper. So, I’ve been there, alright?” Tough love may not have been what he was seeking from me, but it was sure all he was getting. I likely resembled one of those animated fictional characters with steam bellowing from their enlarged ears.
“C’mon, Liv. Let’s not compare irrelevant high school basketball to my career here. Gimme a fuckin’ break.” The man had now stood to his feet, just barely a few inches taller, courteous of my nude sling backs. That splintered notorious toothpick sliding back & forth between the corner of his pink lips.
“Irrelevant? Nice Colt, I’m super impressed with your maturity level right now. What a way to speak to the woman you love, hm?” The word ‘love’ accentuated with air quotes. In his empty eyes, I could see it was a fight he wanted, and damn it I was stepping fearlessly right into the ring.
“Yeah, well, lovin’ you is what got me into this shit loss to that prick in the first place, ain’t it.” But it wasn’t a question. No. He was stating matter-of-factly.
“Come again, Ritter?”
I had nearly chased him through the hall towards the men’s locker room of the gym, his already raised shoulders seemed to inflate furthermore from the back. The ink across his arms bleeding broader with the expanse of his angry muscles. “You fuckin’ heard me,“ he darted to face me. “I let you get into my head. I let love get into my head.” A single thick finger tapped to his left temple. “And I knew damn well better than t’ let that happen.”
The immediate urge to cry was troubling greedily at my eyes. “And what exactly are we getting at here?” I hoped I’d see the harsh line of his cut jaw relax in regret at the words his was hissing at me.
“It means this was a fucking mistake, Liv.” He didn’t blink when he said it. His tone didn’t faulter or quiver, and there were no regretful downward frowns. “It means when I saw you at The Grind that mornin’, I made the mistake of letting my dick do the decision makin’. I shoulda just walked right past ya’ like I intended, but instead I got sucked into those dopey fuckin’ green eyes.”
Round one: Colton Ritter. Salty tears crept over the ledge of my lower lids.
“I got distracted. Weak. Mendez had me beat the second I took this thing between you and me farther than that ring out there the night I took you out. It ain’t your fault though, it’s on me. Like I said, I knew betta. I made a big fuckin’ mistake.” The blue-collar charm of his undeniable Burgh accent now tilted more on the edge of demeaning, and rather irritating as it rolled over his spiteful tongue.
The ivory of my silk camisole contrasted boldly against the blotching red rash blooming across my heaving chest. “You are so right, Colton. You did make a huge mistake. But it wasn’t the day you came up to me at the coffee shop. It was right this moment. Your big mistake is letting me turn around and walk to hell outta of your sad, pitiful life without trying to stop me. Are you willing to live with that?” I connected an opened palm smack to his dense chest, slightly wavering his balance. “And if blaming me for your stupid loss against Danny helps heal your bruised little reputation, then I’ll be that for you, okay? I’m strong enough to carry that guilt. But what I refuse to do, is let you deny that you loved me. I won’t let live the illusion that this whole thing wasn’t real. For both of us. Have the balls to accept that the big, bad fighter is susceptible to love after all.”
My crying had become heavier, equally in anger as well as torment, and Colton wasn’t blinking. Whether it be from the fear of me catching a glimpse of sorrow in his expression, or simply that he truly felt no regret in pounding the air out of my lungs with his cruel admission.
“Lust, Liv. I had the two confused, okay? If that makes me an ass, then so be it. But I ain’t gonna lie to ya’. And what I have to do now, is pull my head outta the sand, and focus on me. My career. It’s do or die for me at this point in my life. The last thing I need is somethin’ clouding my judgment or distractin’ me from the only thing that matters. Fighting.” His nails scratched at the light stubble of his chin nonchalantly as he spoke.
“Fighting, huh? I hope that’s filling the cold spot in the bed next to you ten years from now, Colt. And if God forbid it’s not, don’t you dare come looking for me.”
Before the sentence was punctuated, I turned on my heels toward the door freeing the crystal tears to trail down my face, rolling off the curve of my chin. My constant sniffles caught the attention of the gym’s owner and namesake who was planted in the same spot behind his desk.
 “Miss Livvy? Hey Liv, you alright?”
I couldn’t muster a sentence, much less a lie to enlighten him all was well when it most definitely was not. So, I swept by him in silence, rustling the forms he was sorting through. When I cleared the exit, assuring the door was sealed behind me, a heaving cry of desperation scratched from the deepest cavity of my lungs. I clasped my hands over my quivering lips, trying dreadfully to stifle the release, but it was impossible. The bubble of heartbreak and disbelief had stolen my sight, causing me to step directly into the path of an oncoming car as I tried to cross the road. Thankfully, the driver was living in the realm of reality and swerved to miss me. Blasting repetitive honks of frustration. Reaching the silent space of my car, my howls trapped safely for only me to experience, I felt the physical pain of my heart indeed disintegrating. But, with a heap of rage as an accompaniment to my distress, I crashed my bony fist into the steering wheel. Instantly regretting the rash decision when the adrenaline wore off, leaving me the suffer the painful consequences of a probable cracked knuckle.
I concentrated on stilling the subconscious trembling waving over my entire body just long enough to get myself back to the apartment in one piece. Physically, at least. Every emotion of this day had hit me head on like a speeding semi-truck, and it seemed my brain couldn’t process the outrageously hasty shift from cloud nine, to teeth first on the concrete. A day that had the potential of making my top 10 list of the best, swiftly instead kicked me in the crotch. I could feel a swell of vomit jostling down deep, possibly from the perilous sea of crushing sadness I was drowning in, but likely from the torrent stream of sobs I couldn’t restrain. I made a very quick left into the first open parking spot in front of my building, leaving my purse and other random belongings from the day scattered in the passenger seat for now. It was bad enough that Ms. Oliver from 54C was smoking out front in her wobbly plastic lawn chair, giving her a clear view of the smeared mess of mascara covering my face. I didn’t want to add to the shit show by projectile vomiting on the wilting rose bushes of the Park Pointe Apartments lawn.
 I fumbled with the stiff handle of my door, my puffy, blemished eyes hazing my vision to pick the correct key. Once I broke through, stumbling clumsily to the bathroom, I fell brutally on all fours to the cool grey tile of the floor, hanging my head deep over the rim of the toilet. The dry heaves attempting to eject the rot of grief from my insides spasmed over me. I tore open the collar of my shirt, sending the dainty pearl buttons carelessly bouncing across the small room. I needed to rid my body of the tightening restrains of fabric covering me, so I slid each leg, one by one, from my cotton pants then moved to my jacket, leaving me spanned lifelessly now on the floor covered only by a thin silk bra and panty set. My heated, flushed cheek meeting the chilly ground. Let’s add a stack of shame to the mix, shall we? Was I really going to let myself wallow like this? This was NOT the Liv Elliott I knew. Then again, since Colt had come into my life, that Liv was already a fading memory. But, if this was the new me, if this was how the so I thought, “improved” version of myself behaved, I wanted her long gone. Fast.
Any sadness I may have thought I’d felt up to this point, was a brisk walk in a Pittsburgh park matched to the likes of what I was feeling now. Maybe the crude asshole had a twisted point after all. Never let anything distract you, or sway you from your own goals. Work had never stomped on me like this, despite the day-to-day redundant tasks that perturbed me now and again, it seemed to be the most sure-fire thing in my newly lonely life.
I drew myself a scalding bath in efforts to soothe my tensed muscles and wash away the residue of anguish sticking to my skin. Adding to my demise, for reasons still foreign, I tucked myself into bed wearing the unwashed sweatshirt he’d left hung over the back of my kitchen chair the last time he’d been to my place. I drew it to my nose, burying my face to breath in the scent of him. It was still there, strong. An almost minty aftershave blended with the masculine musk of his natural aroma. I laid face down into my pillow, the bed now too cold without the contrast of his scorching body heat to nestle against. An onslaught of burning tears coursed down my face again at the lacking presence of him entangled amongst me in the sheets.   What I couldn’t swallow without a bitter aftertaste, was the knowing feeing that Colton wasn’t suffering a fraction of what I was enduring. When I trudged out of Mac’s gym, and his life just a few short hours ago, I’m certain he went about his precious workout without the slightest hiccup. As a matter of fact, it probably amplified his flow of focus.
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 Don’t be dramatic, Liv.
 Okay, maybe I wouldn’t come to that conclusion necessarily. He did have a heart somewhere buried inside that chest of stone. I decided sleeping in the middle of my bed would be best for me that night. Skootching on my usual left side would make it all too painstakingly obvious that there was a sleeping body missing from the opposite side when I awoke the next morning. That was assuming sleep would actually come ever again to settle the near agonizing heartbreak I endured at the hands of the vicious fists belonging to one Colton Ritter.
TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935
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wakandanblogger · 5 years
Text
I’ll Make You a Star
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[Requested by @itshippiesworld ] “Could you maybe write something for Eric based on adaption by The Weeknd”
Producer/songwriter!Erik Stevens X Singer!Reader
Summary: You’ve always dreamed of becoming a superstar. Crowds cheering, cameras flashing, men and women alike swooning and crying out your name. It was all something you dreamed of, and one man promises to help make that happen. He also promises to take you on waves of pleasure that you also wanted to experience.
Rated: Explicit
Warning(s): flashback Smut, mature language.
A/N: ...Short and sweet. Also, it’s 1:30AM and I did not proof-read. Sorryyy
Written by @wakandanblogger 
[Song(s) to listen to Honey Honey by Feist]
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“Yeah, yeah, that beat right there,” Erik bobs his head to the beat of the music until his phone dings. He opens his eyes and puts the blunt that was passed to him to his lips as he looks down at his phone for a second then his eye rested upon smooth ebony skin crossed next to him. You sat close by on the table and feeling the rhythm, feeling out what you liked and disliked about it. The sample was way different from the calm and indie R&B you were accustomed to, but your producer did say that he wanted to switch things up and explore the realms without straying too far from your own, whatever sense that made. It was slower, soulful and something that could tell the story that you wanted your audience to hear and hopefully connect with.
“What you think ’bout this?” He groans trying to fix his posture in his chair so that he could pass the blunt to you. As you put it up to your lips and take another hit, your world began to float and you could see the color in each note and chord change. You began to hum a little melody and sway as a couple lyrics before hopping up and passing the blunt as you walked into the recording room. 
“I got something!” You cough before blowing out another cloud and shutting the door. 
As the beat began again, you added a few soulful hums and swayed.
[link here]
“Baby let me feel you.
Baby let me want you.
But I’m stuck here contemplatin’
What I want to to do with my time.
Do I wanna knock a shot back?
DJ bring that fuckin’ beat back.
Think I forgot to text back.
 Baby take me back to your spot.”
As the music continued, your heart continued to pour out and you replay that night you had with him. That man that sat on the other side of that glass stole you away from this complicated world and took you to a place that not even your partner from home could.
The way he looked at you that night made your entire body hot. Those eyes were hungry and full of sinful desires, you wanted to know just exactly what he wanted to do to you. 
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“Erik,” Was all that left your lips. The way you whined when you said it made him taste your skin once more. Erik’s tongue left a trail of fire from your exposed navel and his large hands supported him until his plush lips met yours. Your hips buck up into his and it earns an audible grunt from your capture. He had you in his trance, you tried to resist him and take control but somehow, here you were, losing yourself to someone who was just playing with his food.
He enjoyed this game, he enjoyed the way your breath hitched when he touched your sensitive flesh and the way you whimpered when he didn’t give you what you wanted, but the way your eyes begged him to do all he wanted with you is what drove his fingertips to explore.
“So fuckin’ sexy,” His chest rumbles and your ears were beginning to ring with excitement.
“Please-ah! Take all you want” You gasp then moan, you sit up and push yourself on your knees until he was looking up at you with those beautiful eyes. You unhook your bra and your breasts fall free from their binds, the cut of the air and heavy mood causing your nipples to pebble, but his eyes stay locked on the lust and ecstasy that screamed from your eyes. He found some sort of entertainment in this, his fingertips skated across your sensitive skin, up your thigh until it was at the wet fabric that hid your longing and dripping cunt.
He pushes your panties to the side and two digits entered into you. You drop your head back and Erik’s other hand cups your cheek. His thumb rests on your tongue and your lips wrap around it, suckling, color/lipstick smudging on his chocolate skin. Erik pumped the digits in and out of you, stirring and admiring your buckling thighs and the rise and fall of your breasts. Ooo’s and Aaah’s is all that left your lips, starts began to decorate the room around you the longer he pleasured you.
Was this like some sick game to him!?
“Fuck me,” You moan looking him in his blown eyes.
He smirks and bites his lip, the tip of his canine poking itself out to you. You couldn’t bear it any longer! Your hands hold his cheeks and you rub your thumb along his jaw guiding him to your breasts. His eyes flutter shut and his teeth sink into your sensitive flesh before suckling over the bite, you couldn’t contain the gasp and whimpers that flowed. It was almost like all of the voices of reason were telling you to sin for him.
“You sure?” He asks and it makes you pause for a second but your mind was made up. You wanted this, you needed this, or at least you thought that you did. You nod your head and moan a weak ‘yes’.
“Not such a good girl anymore, are you?” He smirks against your skin and his tooth grazes your sensitive nipple when he goes to look up at you again. You were falling apart faster then you could process. He grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes, earning a smile from you. He made you feel beautiful, you didn’t care about your flaws when he touched you. He made you feel perfect in every way.
He took your hand and guided it to the erection that was forming. You bite your lip and give him a slight squeeze, smiling when his hips buck at the sudden choice of action.
“I said fuck me already,” You groan in frustration all while grinding on his fingers. You needed more, you had to have more, ”I want it,” You moan into his ear and he hums. Erik removes his wet fingers from your slick.
“So shut up and take it then,” He growls and smirks, pulling himself free and pulling his shirt over his head.
“Aye, Y/n ” Erik’s voice pulls you from your perfect reality and you open your eyes to see that everyone had a look of concern. You scan the room and bring your hand to your face when you feel a tickle going down your cheek. Why were you crying? When did you start crying? 
You look back up to everyone and wipe the tears from your face with the ball of your hand. 
“Um, yeah... Sorry,” You start, “excuse me,” You say and make your way to the door and push through it without making eye contact with anyone you walked by, including Erik. 
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The images of that night flooded your mind once more and you felt like you needed more of that. But why was it from him!? Of all people, your fucking producer. You leaned against the ledge and watched the city life as each image came back, your breath hitched and you felt like you were melting. You stood out to clear your head but is this really what you wanted. All this seemed to do was cause you more frustration. Your phone later began to vibrate again, you haven't looked at it since you up and ditched the recording session, afraid to see Mr. Stevens on the screen.
When you finally pulled the phone out of your back pocket, it was their name. Your stomach dropped and you felt like you couldn’t face them. You didn’t want to face them, but you had to. You had to break the bad news to your biggest fan and supporter. 
You needed to. You felt like the ultimate asshole for not doing this, but you couldn’t stand the idea of breaking their heart.
“Hello?” You say trying to sound like nothing was wrong. 
“Hey! What’s up, baby?” Their voice was full of cheer and it only broke your heart. You are silent for a moment and it only makes them question if you were still there.
“Why haven’t you been answering my texts and calls? You that busy! Haha.”
You try to chuckle with them but it was beginning to become obvious that something was wrong.
“Yeeeah, just stressing about lyrics and lack of sleep, promoting, shit like that ya know?” You weren’t lying, it was really hard work and you felt like shit from a lack of sleep. But there was one little detail that you failed to mention, him. 
“... What happened?”
“I’m sorry,” Your voice cracks and a little and you clear your throat, “I don’t.... think that this is going to work,” you sniff and wipe your nose. They didn't say anything on the other end of the phone and you were sure that they weren't happy or just proceeding what the fuck just happened.
"Please, do not think that for one seco-"
"Y/n, what did you do?" They interrupt you and it catches you off guard, “Is there somebody else?”
Why did they automatically assume that there was someone else? They weren't exactly wrong but you had zero feeling. You just wanted to focus all of your energy on your craft and yeah it was good to know you had someone on your team but you couldn't do this is and when you messed up.
You knew yourself and that in the heat of the moment, you'd make another mistake like the one a couple nights ago. Erik's groans and curses replayed in your mind and it made you bite your lip.
"I'm sorry," You sigh and pull your head away from the phone in time for the biggest blowup. You could hear their voice on the other end, they were getting angry and you could hear them sniff and the cracks in their voice. But for some reason, you didn’t get that ‘I feel bad’ feeling.
"I've been by your side! Every step of the way! Helped you mail out your record, get your foot in this door and this is what I get!? This is the kind of thank you I get from you?! What the absolute fuck Y/n!?"
You could only say that you were sorry, over and over. But you couldn't just go behind their back and fuck around, they deserved so much more than that but you knew yourself more than anything. When you moved away to Atlanta, you hated the ideas of long distance but made it work because you loved them. But you missed the connection, the contact, kisses, love, and sex. You were vulnerable at this point and you have needs and you knew that long distance would be the end of you.
"I'm sorry... I... I have to go," You try to get a word in against the verbal ass whooping you were receiving.
"No! FUCK THAT! How could you do this to me?! I've done absolutely everyth-"
"Well, then you should have come here WITH me," You groan losing interest in the conversation. 
“Who are you?” They ask before going silent for a second. 
You sigh before finally hanging up without another word. You look out into the city, the lights, and the nightlife. groups of friends stumbling along the sidewalks, hooting and hollering.
Who am I?
****
“Sorry everyone, I ha-” The room was empty except for the bobing head in a chair but it tilts and the music gets turned low.
“Is everything alright?” Erik said turning in his chair away from the sound table to look back at you.
“Where is everyone else, Mr. Stevens?” You ask walking up closer to him.  
He stands up and walks over to you and those eyes were concerned and you couldn’t take yours off of that amber hue. His fingertips grazed your and his chest was against yours, “I sent them out, so I could take care of you. What’s hurting you?”
You sigh and look down at your feet, “I told them, about... what happened.” 
“Fuck them, you don’t need them to distract you and make you feel guilty about shit,” He scoffs, “how else you goin’ to let me fuck that pussy when you got them on ya brain?”
You damn near choked, you couldn’t breathe as his fingers leaving a burning trail up your arm and to your cheek, pulling your sweet lips into his. The kiss was soft and both of you sat there, feeling one another. His lips were softer then you could remember. You had a look on his face that concerned him and he tilts his head before going back to your soft lips.
 “What’s wrong?” He says between kisses but those lips stole every word your lips threatened to form. Sparks flew and your thoughts were beginning to cloud.
“I want you,” You moan into those plump lips of his and he smirks, his teeth grazing yours. Those devil lips relocate to your jaw then up to your ear, “And what’s wrong with that?” He growls into your sensitive ear. His voice sends a huge chill down your spine and shoulders. It almost tickled but your breath hitched and yo bite your bottom lip.
“Fuck me, please,” You whimper and his chuckle was something you would never forget.
“I’ll do more than that,” He grunts, “I’ll make you my star.”
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[Song to listen to Honey Honey by Feist]
Within seconds you were being led into the booth and your shirt was over your head. Mr. Stevens pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side and without any delay, he was unzipping his pants. He picks you up with those strong arms and pushed you against the glass. The way he acted and looked hungry was enough to get you dripping. 
Your heart was racing and your mind was clouded. You were about to do this again, but it felt so right and so good. 
“Mr. Steven-”
“Erik, baby girl,” He growls in your ear as he slides his full length inside and your hands go up as if to grab anything and his name flows from your lips. 
“Aaah!! Erik,” You moan.
The way your voice whined and whimpered made his heart pound and he lets out a husky ‘yeah’ groan, his lip sucked into his teeth. He had a slow and steady pace. He kissed your neck, nipped your collar, and even sank his teeth into you. Your head dropped back against the glass as the back of your head rubbed it and your sweating back added to the room.
Skin hitting against one another and the combination of grunts and whimpers were something that you never wanted to give up. The pleasure was delicious and unlike anything. Erik let go of you to look you in your lust filled eyes as he fucked into you. You wanted to shy away when he smirked at you, his tongue jutting out to lick his lips. Sparks flew and your mind was clouding words began to spill from your lips.
“Please!” Your eyes fluttered shut when you felt your orgasm welling and cooking in your stomach. The sound of your sweet honey turned Erik on even more and he picked up the speed. 
“Let me hear that voice,” He chuckles and pants, “perform for me [Y/stage/N].” His grip on your ass tightens and he pounds harder into you. Your eyes roll back and your cry out, “Yeeeeah! That’s what I wanna hear.” 
“Aaah! Yes! Fuck my pussy just like that! Ah-YES!” Your hips rolled against his for more pleasure, more friction, more of anything and everything. You just wanted more, you wanted to be his shining star, to perform just like he wanted.
You wanted him to make you a star
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