#this is slightly older but it fits with the flow of the last few pieces so I was like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thisismeracing · 5 months

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King of my heart | MS47 | part. 22

― Pairing: Mick Schumacher x fem!hamilton!reader ― Word count: 2.2k ― Warnings: graphic description of unprotected sex (fingering, dirty talk, and p in v), mentions of alcohol, and jealousy. ― Summary: Mick Schumacher rode a lousy wave for quite some time, so when the sky gets cleaner and the sun brighter he just knows something terrible may be in store for him. Whereas y/n was just so magnetic, and the possibilities of life with her seemed better than anything his mind could ever create, that’s why, for the first time in forever, he threw caution carelessly through the window, hoping to get to the finish line before it catches up on him.

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part. 21 | series masterlist | part 23

The first beads of sun slipped through the open blinds waking Yn from her deep slumber. With her head pounding slightly, and her body sore, she snuggled closer to the body she knew belonged to her boyfriend. Mick mumbled something in German, which she chose to ignore in favor of catching a few more minutes of sleep.

They were tired. Last night was a blast for them, and though the couple had a bit too much to drink, both were well aware of exactly what happened when they were at the party and when they got home.

Between unmade bed sheets, and naked limbs laced together, Yn and Mick caught a few more minutes of sleep, and those minutes would probably turn into hours if it hadn’t been for her phone ringing somewhere in the room. The unstoppable sound wakes Mick up too. He looked around, threw a pillow where he thought the sound was coming from, and turned his body, fitting his head on Yn’s neck. She grumbled, and hugged her lover, trying to ignore whoever it was, but the sound kept going until she got up, cursing technology and the caller’s generation. And as it just so happens, she had cursed her older brother, Lewis.

“Yes?” She sighed, walking back to bed and into Mick’s open arma. His body was warm, and she took the opportunity to leave a peck on his chest.

“Did you just wake up?!”

“Well, yes? It’s early. I don’t know how you travel so much and still get confused with timezones…”

Lewis rolls his eyes, she can’t see it, but she can tell just by his sassy answer, “Early to who exactly, Yn Y/l/n Hamilton?”

“Me, of course.”

“Check the clock,” he orders and she does, groaning when she realizes it's almost noon.

“Who is it?” Mick asks, finally starting to wake up.

“It’s Lew,” she explains, clicking on the speaker button.

“Oh, Mick is there too?”

“Yeah, we were sleeping,” Yn keeps her answer short.

“Where’s Gina?”

“I don’t know, Lew, you have her number, you could just call her directly? Also, did you call me to ask a bunch of random questions?” she complains, the sleeplessness in her voice showing, and her brother rolling his eyes again. He knows how stressed Yn could get when someone woke her up before her alarm, and something about waking up to the phone ringing just made her more stressed.

“I was just wondering if she knew you guys were making it public, or if I was the only clueless one.” Yn cursed, hiding her face on Mick’s neck, “Do you even remember it?”

“Yes, I remember. I’m sorry, Lew,” she didn’t want to do things the way it happened, but sometimes you can’t get around planning everything. She didn’t plan on paparazzi to stress her out until she deactivated her social media accounts. Nor did she plan on falling in love with her brother’s friend and coworker. At this point, Yn was getting used to following the flow of life, sometimes it has its own wants, and you just gotta go with it. “We did drink, but we weren’t crazy drunk, we…uhm…how do I explain this?” she bites her lips and Mick chuckles.

“The simple way.”

“We got sick of pretending,” Mick finally speaks. His deep morning voice brought chills down Yn’s body.

“People were hitting on us, and we showed them why we reeeeally weren’t interested,” Yn adds, and Mick chuckles.

“She got jealous.”

“I did not get jealous, Mickolas.”

“Stop calling me that,” he grumbles, landing a slap on her ass and making her yelp, then giggle.

“Anyways, I didn’t get jealous, Lew. I’m not a jealous person and you know that, right? Tell him how I’m hardly the jealous type.”

Her brother laughs from the other side of the line, “She cried when a friend of mine started calling herself my sister during my high school years.”

Mick moves his face to the ceiling and his laughs boom around the room.

“Shut up, I was just a kid, and she had a brother, why would she want mine?” Yn tries to reason, and the two men can only get amused with the whole situation. “And Lew, those people were CRAZY! We told one of them we were dating, Mick kissed me just to make a point, and this girl just suggested a threesome!!! Of course, I was pissed.”

Lewis makes a disgusted noise and Yn looks pointedly at Mick as if to prove her point: she wasn’t jealous, someone just crossed the line at the party and she had to grab the reins.

“You’re so hot when you’re all bossy, and jealous,” Mick moves his lips to her ears, his whisper is warm against her exposed skin and so are his lips when he kisses and nips her neck.

“Are you hard launching right now? Or dropping a note, I don’t know,” Lewis asks, unaware of how distracted his sister is.

“We haven’t talked about it yet, we just woke up,” Yn didn’t know how her brain was able to form coherent sentences and let them leave her mouth because the way Mick’s kisses were trailing up her collarbone was enough to make her lose all senses.

“Yup, we’re exhausted,” Mick detaches his lips from her skin to speak, “We really need to get some sleep, can we call you later, man?”

“Yeah, take care you two, love you guys,” Lewis’ answer is followed by an “I love you” from Yn and a quick “bye” from Mick before the German threw the phone behind his back.

“Mickolas, my phone!” Yn screeched and moaned between a laugh when his hands found her ass.

“I already told you to stop calling me that.”

“It’s funny,” she bit her lips and chuckled remembering how some fans were calling him that as if it was his real name.

“I’ll show you funny,” his blue orbs pierced hers with such an intensity her smile faltered, and she had to bite back a moan. That was his power over her, one look, and Mick had Yn in dreamland, twisting in anticipation.

Still, she has it in her to be sassy. Anything but losing the joke, “Are you sure you’re about to show me funny? Because I have a feeling it’s a different thing.”

“Well, it can be funny, you know, but since you’re in a silly mood, I guess we can adopt a new approach,” his mouth trailed lower until they found one of her breasts. Yn curved her body, exposing more of her naked brown skin just for him. She looked so good. The previous night Yn had skipped the bonnet and the night ritual they usually had, both too tipsy to think about something but finish what they started at the bar and then go to sleep, so now her curls were everywhere framing her face like a crown. Mick had traveled everywhere, seen too much of the world, and known a lot of people, but Yn was his favorite sight. He loved the sunset, but he would give it up to see her going to sleep every night, the way her lashes would caress her smooth skin, her breath starting to even, and her body going soft on top of his. He had been in love with sunrises since he was a little boy, watching them with his family during vacation, climbing mountains to get a new version of it, but no questions asked, Mick would exchange it for waking up next to Yn, the way her eyes would slowly open like the sun climbing up to show all its light, how her body would stretch taking its needed space like one claim their land, and how her lips would stretch into his favorite smile shining over the whole room. She was his favorite person.

He put his mouth on her with the same intensity one crawls to their knee at an altar. The same devotion one would previously kneel in front of their queen, head bowed, ears perked, body ready to obey. She was the queen of his heart, she had all its land, she dominated his mind, and all it would take was one word for Mick to make it happen.

Yn threaded her fingers through his messy blond strands, moaning when he twisted one of her nipples inside his mouth, sucking and biting as if wanting to leave his mark there. It hurt so good.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, kissing down her belly, letting his teeth graze into her skin every second just to watch the way her body would jolt in pleasure under him, “So so pretty, Schatzi.”

His pink plush lips were home to more praises, while they kissed down her body separating her thighs and stopping between them. His thick accent gave space to German sentences and Yn reached for him again, this time intertwining their fingers while he kept going, softly giving her words she didn’t really recognize, but knew to be love ones.

Such a sweet talker.

“So sweet,” he mouthed against her pussy, making a jolt run through her body. “And mine, aren’t you all mine, Schatz?”

Yn closed her eyes, panting something that neither one of them could understand, too at the moment to care. All of her senses focused on the tight hold his fingers had around hers, and how he feasted between her legs, like a starved man, a thirsty one.

“I didn’t hear you, love,” he teases, stopping his ministrations to look at her.

Yn huffs, then whines taking her hand from her nipple to his hair, but the blonde down her body doesn’t move an inch, big shoulders keeping her legs apart, face right in front of her needing core, but attention now set on her face.

“I’m yours,” it's a whisper, but he catches it by the stretch on his lips. The kind of smirk only she can take. “I’m all yours, Mick,” and those three words accompanied by his name like a prayer were all it took for the German to flatten his tongue against her core, feeling her pussy dampen even more.

He used his fingers to spread her lips for him before inserting two. They slid in so easily that Mick couldn’t help but groan moving his lower half against the white sheets. He licked and frantically moved his fingers making Yn’s head lull from side to side, her lips conjuring what she could only say were prayers, his name clear as the sunlight that beamed their bodies through the windows.

Still sore from the previous night’s ministrations, Yn felt the pulsing between her legs start to grow, her body screaming to reach the top of the rollercoaster, only for Mick to stop his fingers and detach his mouth from her clit. She protested, but his lips were quick to crash against hers in a languid kiss. Yn moaned, pulling him into her, and Mick took the opportunity to swiftly align their bodies, sliding inside her smoothly. With one of her hands on his hair, the other on his back, and legs laced around his narrow waist, they felt the jolts of pleasure buzzing through their bodies.

He pounds lazily, building Yn’s orgasm all over again. His face hid against her neck while he kissed and nipped at her skin, putting his lips on her ears and dirty talking every once in a while. The last time he did so he let a moan there, and he wasn’t expecting her to be so affected, because the second Mick did Yn clenched around him, legs tightening around him, and teeth sinking into his shoulder, her orgasm washing like a high wave, before her body went limp under him.

He gives her a few more thrusts, enough to ride her climax, and to cause his. A choked groan leaves his lips, as he presses their foreheads together, body dissolving into pleasure. Mick sighed, lying on his back and bringing Yn’s body on top of his. He pecked her lips and stopped a drop of sweat that rolled down her forehead.

Yn only hummed in satisfaction enjoying the warm feeling of their sweaty bodies intertwined.

“What do you wanna do, babe?” Mick asks while his fingers lazily strum on her naked back.

“I think it’s time we make it public. I’m tired of all the speculation, and also it wasn’t the highlight of my night watching people flirt with you as if you were single,” she grumbled the last part and the blonde chuckled.

“You were jealous,” it’s a statement, but his tone gives away he’s making fun of her. A tease.

“You’re the one who grabbed me and sat me on your lap.”

“You’re the one who kissed me.”

“Well, sitting on someone’s lap proves a point, I figured you wanted to make it public,” she shrugs, dragging her nails softly from his hips to the middle of his abdomen. “Also, why would you put me in your lap out of the blue, huh?”

Mick rolls his eyes and bites back a chuckle. She had a point. He kind of started it, but “Was I supposed to watch that douche shoot his shot?”

“Ha! See?! You were jealous.”

He seals their lips in a kiss, “doesn’t matter anymore, now we get to shut the flirts down without too much work.” His statement makes Yn giggle between the kiss, and he can’t help but smile. His sunshine.

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, lovelies! I hope you liked this chapter. I know it took me forever again, but the waiting is about to be over hehe, I wanted to add a huge shout-out to C (my Coffee emoji anon here on Tumblr) for proofreading this and for keeping my komh thoughts alive, I was honestly a bit unmotivated, thanks C! <3. Let me know your thoughts with a reblog or an ask *mwah*.

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spielzeugkaiser · 3 years

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A few prompts combined that I got a few times now (even before the kink prompts, hehe): - viper!jaskier (or is it cat!jaskier? You decide!) - Jaskier being an assassin (comes with the witchering of these schools honestly) - courtesan!Jaskier (like, kinda femme fatale/black widow Jaskier. This version of him is not above getting very intimate with his victims before poisoning them. And honestly, who would suspect it's the pretty little bard, who keeps crying, 'cause he knew the lord was old, but that their activities would take such a strain on his heart, and he died right in the middle of it, how horrible- )

#viper!Jaskier #witcher!Jaskier #cat!Jaskier #this is honestly just:#femme fatale Jaskier #murder cw #death cw #sex mention cw #prostitution cw #I had them before but since I did onlyfans!jaskier the asks for canon!prostitue Jaskier have been there and I'm honestly like hnnnnngggnnng #yes sir #this is slightly older but it fits with the flow of the last few pieces so I was like #why not

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Prompt: Instead of shattering Dad Nie's saber to kill his pride, he shatters Baxia - and thus Nie Mingjue. What better way to punish a man who dared to think anything of his could rival Wen Ruohan? Only, Nie Mingjue survives... and Baxia does too. Of course, sharing Nie Mingjue's body, neither of them is quite the same...

Curse-breaker (Chapter 1/4)

- ao3 -

"I see," Wen Ruohan said, his teeth slightly gritted, his irritation plain and obvious for all to see. "Indeed, I must concede that Sect Leader Nie's saber is finer than the one I own; it is undeniable. Lao Nie, your saber."

He offered it back, plainclothes-wrapped hilt first.

"You do my sect honor," Sect Leader Nie said with a wide grin, accepting the saber. "Our sabers are indeed the finest – and more than that, they get better with each generation. To tell you the truth, my friend: this one isn't mine, but my son's!"

He revealed the hilt, not anything like his own, and laughed, delighted by the joke he had played.

Wen Ruohan’s face contorted, growing pale in what everyone assumed was rage.

It was only later that Lao Nie, at least, recognized that it had been horror.

Nie Mingjue was screaming, and had not stopped screaming.

His throat was rent all to pieces, his fingers bloody from clawing at his own flesh, his eyes rolling around in his head as if by some inescapable fit -

"It's a qi deviation," one of the elders said. "Induced by the breaking of his saber. We should take him to the tombs."

"Fuck off," Lao Nie told them, as if saying the words would deny the truth. "He's too young!"

He put himself between them and his son.

"You shouldn't have let him take up the saber so young," the elder persisted, as if it had been Nie Mingjue’s fault that his son’s saber had been shattered by a man a century older than him, and all because of a dispute that had nothing to do with him. "You shouldn't have shown it to others, left it unguarded -"

"Do you think I don't know that?!" Lao Nie roared, abruptly pushed beyond his limits. "Do you think that I don't already regret...!"

He regretted. Oh, how he regretted!

He had not regretted a single thing in his life since the day his father had told him that he would one day die, and how. Even back then, he had swallowed down the regret without choking on it: he had accepted it, understood it, and resolved to live the life he had left to him to the utmost. What good, he had reasoned, would regret do? Would it win him a single additional day of life? Would it wring out a single ounce of additional joy from the days he did have?

There was no point in regret.

Whether that was the right decision or not, he didn’t know, but it was the one he made, and he stuck with it.

His whole life, Lao Nie had been reckless and carefree even by the already low standards of his family. He was always indulging in familiar pleasures and searching for new experiences, doing whatever he could to excite a palate already starting to grow jaded. He broke hearts as easily as he won them, and had what even he admitted was the worst taste in partners imaginable, attracted as he was to danger and death as if to an old and much-beloved friend. He laughed at the idea of risk or consequences, taking care only for his sect, which he loved; everything else was negotiable, or so he'd thought. He'd scared the wits out of most of his family time and time again, and - perhaps as recompense - had grown his first grey hair dozens of years too early. To this day, he still didn't know whether the reason everyone called him Lao Nie so often that even he thought of himself that way was because they were genuinely fond of him, because of the premature black-and-white mix of his hair, or perhaps just as some unspoken prayer that he finally get over himself and grow up.

If it was the last, it hadn’t worked. Even as he’d gotten older, he hadn’t changed one bit.

The only thing that had changed was that he’d finally found something he loved more than his sect.

He loved his children.

He loved his children, whether the righteous and too-serious Mingjue with his secret penchant for tears or the flippant and carefree Huaisang who was lazier than a slug in the sun. He loved them and he, unlike his father before him, did not burden them over-early with knowledge that would only be an itch under their skin that slowly drove them mad.

He loved them.

And now one of them was dying – because of him.

"You should take him to the tombs," the elder said, and ignored the crash of the chair Lao Nie threw at their head. "You let him become a man of our sect, Lao Nie. Do him the honor of letting him die as one.”

“You…!”

“Or do you think you are being kind, leaving him like this?"

Lao Nie looked down at his son, his Mingjue, the baby he’d held in his arms and the toddler he’d taught to walk and the child he’d chased and the teenager he’d taught the saber. His boy, who was thrashing wildly on the bed, spitting up foam along with blood and weeping uncontrollably.

"A-die," Nie Mingjue whimpered, just as he had when he'd been younger and caught in the throes of fever or breaking a bone through his own misadventures. Tears streamed endlessly down his eyes, his brave little boy who was not-so-secretly a bit of a crybaby. "A-die, a-die, it hurts..."

Lao Nie closed his eyes in pain.

He regretted.

But it was too late now to regret.

"We'll take him to the tombs," he finally conceded, and for the first time in his life he truly felt old. "Just let me say goodbye."

If you go to the tombs, you will not come out.

Nie Mingjue might only be a child, thirteen or fourteen years old – he couldn’t remember clearly any longer which it was – but he had been a good student before that, reading faithfully through his sect’s histories and listening to his teachers. He knew enough to read between the lines, to reckon the subtle indications and the not-so-subtle hints: he knew, even before he’d been officially told, what it was that he faced down at the end of the road that his ancestors had built for him to walk.

The early death – the painful death – the silent tombs –

There had been so many whispers when he’d taken up his Baxia too early. How could he not know?

His father hadn’t wanted him to know, though. So he hadn’t said anything, and pretended he didn’t.

(Huaisang could be ignorant for real, he’d thought to himself. It’d be okay if he didn’t know.)

If you go to the tombs, you will not come out. You cannot go to the tombs!

Nie Mingjue opened his eyes.

He no longer screamed, even though the spiritual energy that had once felt rich and nourishing and strong now felt like corrosive acid scouring his veins, burning him from the inside out – it wasn’t that he didn’t want to, wasn’t still compelled too; it was only that he had screamed too much, wearing out his voice down to nothingness from overuse.

If I go to the tombs, I will not come out, he thought, dimly aware that something wasn’t right. Thinking was hard, and grew ever harder: the qi deviation, for that was what it was, was worsening, not getting better.

Would not ever get better.

His Baxia, his loyal saber filled to the brim with resentful energy, had shattered. Shattered, and now all that resentful energy that she had collected for herself had flooded back into him, drowning his brain in rage and madness.

Flooding him with – Baxia.

I cannot go to the tombs.

You cannot go to the tombs, Baxia agreed – at least, he thought it was Baxia. It might be himself: he could no longer tell the difference.

She’d shattered, and he’d shattered, too. His mind and his body and his meridians and his golden core: everything was in pieces. His spiritual energy was running the wrong way, twisting him up inside, hurting instead of helping – the rage and resentful energy wasn’t going into Baxia but coming back into him, and it was poison.

There was no fixing it. His ancestors had tried everything they could: brought in the finest physicians with their needles and their clever ideas, sought out mysterious techniques and strange geniuses that played games even with their golden cores, even tried out demonic cultivation to see if it would help – with their lives and their children’s lives at stake, was there anything they wouldn’t do?

As if it would be that easy.

As if the road to death taken time and time again over the generations could be so easily evaded.

Nie Mingjue was a Nie. He had had a qi deviation. He was going to die.

But he was young, too.

Too young.

They all said that’d he formed his core at an extraordinary young age, and he had, too, verifiable evidence of his unusual genius for cultivating – only a golden core formed too early wasn’t quite the same as one done in the usual way at the usual time. It’d formed all right, all the spiritual liquid flowing through his meridians condensing into a shining solid sphere in his dantian, but it was still a little gummy in comparison to the normal ones. It had to be. He’d formed the core before he’d reached adolescence, without any of the necessary hormones running through his body; if his golden core was as fully solid as most adults, he’d be stuck at the age and size he was at when the core was first formed.

Normally, all this meant was that his foundation would be a little unstable for the first few years, just until he got old enough, and only when he was finally at his proper age would it truly settle into place along with his body, growing firm and solid and far more powerful than all the rest.

But he’d never gotten the chance to grow that old.

Nie Mingjue’s core had cracked when his saber that had been fundamentally tied to it had shattered, but unlike the steel of the saber it was still more fluid than solid. Even as the corrosive resentful energy burned him, even as the spiritual energy rioted within him, his old instincts were still there, that subconscious genius for cultivating already at work, trying to force the spiritual energy to run through him, trying to put those broken pieces back together. For any normal Nie, the greater his talent, the faster he’d be driven mad, but for Nie Mingjue, those gummy pieces of his core, sticky and still fluid, were instead being soldered together using spiritual energy and resentful energy both, and unlike the stiff and brittle solidity of the golden core of adulthood, they were still flexible enough to stick together – to coalesce into a whole once more.

Only –

Nie Mingjue opened his eyes.

He’d already opened them once, and now he opened them again. The world as he had always recognized it, he saw through his left eye – but through his right, there was a whole new world.

It was a world of black and white, of good and evil, a world of kinetic movement, of steel and rage incarnate…the world through the perception of a saber spirit. A saber spirit who had shattered when her steel was shattered, shattered when her master’s core was shattered, and whose pieces were even now integrating interchangeably with her master’s pieces into a single indissoluble whole.

If we go to the tombs, they thought, and now that was it, that was right, we will not come out.

Well, that was simple enough to fix.

They just wouldn’t go to the tombs.

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Nie Huaisang’s father hissed. “He can’t be – he wasn’t in any state – he couldn’t have just gotten up and run away – no, stop, let’s go. I don’t want Huaisang hearing.”

Nie Huaisang hated it when his father remembered to be discreet around him.

His da-ge was never discreet, he thought, pouting. If anything, that was something his father often complained about, even if he would be chuckling all the while: that Nie Mingjue had all the tact of a lady boar in full charge, riled up in defense of her children, and with about as much care for anything that did not meet his stringent expectations of justice and fairness – which was rather a lot.

Where was his da-ge, anyway? Nie Huaisang hadn’t seen him in days, not since he went out on that night hunt with their father. He’d asked his nurse about it, because it was unusual for his brother not to come play with him once he’d returned, and she’d said that he’d gotten sick and couldn’t come to see him just yet. But surely it was long enough that he’d be better already!

Nothing could keep his big brother down for long.

Decided, Nie Huaisang hopped up and headed outside, planning to go find his brother. His brother would explain what was going on, simplifying things down until even a little kid like him could get it, and he wouldn’t make Nie Huaisang feel stupid for needing that simplification.

His brother thought Nie Huaisang was smart.

Nie Huaisang walked along the railing next to his window, teetering back and forth with his hands outstretched for balance – his brother had showed him this pathway long ago, telling him that he could use it when he wanted to sneak out go play or look at birds, or even just come to find him whenever he had nightmares.

His brother wasn’t in his rooms, though.

Nie Huaisang sighed. Maybe he was in the study, or the training field, or something like that, but if Nie Huaisang tried to go there, he’d be dragged into lessons or training as well, and he didn’t want that.

He decided to go look at birds instead.

His brother had come up with a secret path to the outside that only they knew, the two of them, one that led them all the way out into the forest where the really interesting birds were. It was close enough to home that it was still safe, still within the bounds of the Unclean Realm’s protective arrays, but far enough to feel unburdened by the presence of their elders.

Nie Huaisang went to look at birds, but it wasn’t birds he found.

“…who’s there?” he asked, seeing movement in the bushes – something too large to be a bird, too small to be a bear, too two-legged to be a boar or a dog. Whoever it was, they were breathing hard, as if they’d run too far, interspersed with little whines of pain, like they were hurt. “Who are…”

The figure in the bush moved forward.

“…da-ge?”

Nie Huaisang’s big brother didn’t look right. He was crouched down, carrying his body low as if he were trying to support himself and protect his middle at the same time, his fingers digging into the ground for balance – his lips were peeled back from his teeth in something caught between a grimace and a growl. His left eye was normal, but his right was horribly red, shot through with pulsing veins that seemed to bleed into the iris, the color of which had faded from warm golden brown to something more like a slate or steel grey.

He sounded like he was in pain.

His brother was in pain.

Nie Huaisang took a step towards him, deeply concerned, and Nie Mingjue backed away.

“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang whispered, terrified. “Da-ge, it’s me, it’s Huaisang – I won’t hurt you!”

Nie Mingjue whined, a sound deep in the back of his throat, but this time, when Nie Huaisang stepped forward, he didn’t run. He waited until Nie Huaisang was close before darting forward and nuzzling Nie Huaisang’s hand with his cheek, ducking his head down and letting him touch his hair as if he were a dog.

His brother wasn’t just sick, Nie Huaisang realized. He was reallysick.

“What happened?” he asked, and his brother just looked sad. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

His brother nodded. A short jerking motion, barely recognizable, and yet – a nod.

“…do you have to?”

Another nod.

Nie Huaisang’s lip quivered. “Will you be all right?”

His brother nuzzled his palm again. It wasn’t an answer.

Nie Huaisang took a deep breath. “I won’t tell anyone.”

His brother seemed almost to smile.

And then he was gone.

Walking all the way back inside before bursting into tears was the hardest thing Nie Huaisang had ever done in his life, but the worst part was knowing that this was only the beginning.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #sect leader nie #nie huaisang #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #curse-breaker

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macnevercries · 3 years

Text

Champagne and Cake

(Dilf! Bakugou x Chubby F! Reader)

Warnings- oral(receiving), penetrative sex, cream pie, breeding kink, slight daddy kink, age gap, plus sized reader, mentions of alcohol

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Men your age usually don’t go for your body type. 20 something’s have always gone for skinnier girls, at least in your experience. But men in there 30s and 40s? They absolutely adored you. All of your soft curves and plush body, perfect in their eyes. You were used to the attention from the older men, it was a confidence booster but you never considered dating any of them. You always pined for your male friends who didn’t return your feelings. Who knew someone out there would change your mind.

Going out to meet online dates scared you, you were afraid of being catfished or harassed but this one was different. You had been talking for almost a month and he seemed so.. genuine. His personality could be prickly but at least he was being real to himself. You cherished honesty and he gave it to you. He was a little older, but you decided to step out of your comfort zone. Despite his age he was insanely handsome, in fact his age added to his looks.

You slip on a little black dress and kitten heels, getting ready for your date. You don’t remember the last time you had been this excited. And on top of that he was taking you to a real restaurant, not just a coffee shop. This man was full of green flags.

You pass by the mirror and check yourself out one last time before going to grab your purse, even you had to admit you looked good. Your phone dings from the couch and you rush over to get it, tripping a little as you go. Picking up your phone you see a message from your date;

-Can I pick you up at your house? There’s a specific detour on the way back from the restaurant I’d like to show you, it’s a place I love-

You read over his message, a little suspicious but you decide it’s okay. You had been talking for such a long time and you have to admit you’re quite interested in what place he would take you to. You type your address with a smiley face sitting down on your couch. After scrolling through your phone for around 10 minutes you get another text from him and you run to the door, adjusting your hair and grabbing your purse.

You lock your door behind you and dash over to the blonde man, grinning wildly. He chuckles at your excitement, embracing you in a hug as a greeting. You don’t expect it but you hug him back, man does he smell good. You inhale into his shoulder, cedar, spice and caramel filling your nose. You can’t help but nuzzle your face into him a little, quickly pulling back when your realize what you’ve done. You apologize quietly, an embarrassed red flushing your cheeks.

His crimson eyes take you in. He couldn’t help but think how cute you were, a blushing mess, round cheeks and plush thighs showing out of the bottom of your dress. You looked good enough to eat.

-You look gorgeous- he smiles, eyes crinkling at the ends.

Somehow your face manages to get redder -Thank you, you look amazing too-

His pictures don’t do him justice. His spiked blonde hair reminds you of his youthful personality, but his smile lines and wisdom-filled eyes give him away. He’s taller than you, a little tan from years in the sun and broadly built. His shoulders extend far and muscles line his arms, perfectly covered by his well-fit suit that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. He’s more gorgeous than any man you’ve been with.

He takes your hand and opens the passenger side door for you, walking around to get in after you. Such a gentleman, no man your age had ever treated you with such respect.

-Where are we going?- you ask as he pulls out of your driveway.

-A restaurant down town, only the best for a darling like you-

-Katsuki don’t mess around, I meant the ‘detour’ you told me about-

-That’s a secret, it would be no fun if I told you-

You huff, slightly annoyed at his response but still giddy with excitement. He drives calmly, it’s obvious he’s been doing it for years. As you pass through the city he reaches his hand out and places it on top of your thigh.

-Is this okay?- he asks, glancing over at you. You nod a little too quickly, the feeling of his gruff hands on your soft skin a little overwhelming in the best way.

-Good, you’re mine- He squeezes your thigh a little rough and your can only nod, his words going straight to your core.

You pull up to the restaurant and once again he gets out, opening your door and helping you out. You link your arm around his as he leads you into the most elegant place you’ve ever seen. He speaks to the hostess with you at his side, words flow from his lips as smooth as silk and it’s obvious he charms not only you.

You get led to a private table in the back, food already waiting for you.

-I hope you don’t mind that I went ahead and ordered for us, I know the best things here and I wanted you to be able to try them all-

You sit down across from him, mouth open in awe at the presentation in front of you. It looked amazing, a variety of expensive looking dishes almost completely covered the table.

-You did all this for me?-

-Anything for you princess, I love to spoil-

You giggle at his nickname, satisfied with how the date was going. You both dig into the food, exchanging small chatter smoothly as you eat. The atmosphere is romantic and serene, you couldn’t ask for anything better.

Waiters come to collect your plates and bring Bakugou a box and a bottle.

-What’s that?- you smirk, wiggling your eyebrows at him

-Part of the surprise sweetheart-

You fake a pout, grabbing his strong arm again as you leave the restaurant. He sets the box and the bottle in the back, resting his hand on your leg once again as he drives. He drives out of the city and towards the hillside, a beautiful forest surrounding you. You gape at the landscape, you hadn’t explored far out past the city very much and it was so enchanting at sunset. He drives up a hill, parking towards the top near a few trees.

-Can you stay here for a few minutes?-

You whine but nod, not wanting him to leave. He grabs the items from the back and opens the trunk, walking out of your view through the forest. He returns soon, a piece of fabric in his hands. He grabs your arm and locks the car, tucking your hair behind your ears.

-Turn around for me-

You don’t question it when he wraps a blindfold around your eyes, careful with the pressure but making sure you can’t see anything.

-Trust me okay? You’ll love this-

-Mhm, I trust you Katsuki-

You don’t see his smirk, but you can almost tell that it’s there. He leads you through the trees, one of his hands on either of your shoulders, a firm grip that reassures you. He stops suddenly, wrapping his arms around you, hugging you from behind. He slips the fabric off of your eyes and you audibly gasp at the view.

A blanket is in front of you, cake and champagne set out on top of them. Beyond the blanket is the most beautiful sunset, the sky pink and red, clouds blending the colors. Hills beyond it lit up by the soft light. It looks like a painting, it’s perfect.

-This is my favorite place and I wanted to bring you here-

His arms don’t leave you, in fact he squeezes you tighter. You feel so good in his arms, so soft, so comfortable.

-Thank you Katsuki, this is amazing-

-You’re amazing, you deserve this princess-

You turn around and link your arms behind his neck, standing on your tip toes to kiss him. You pull away after a few seconds but he grabs the back of your head, pulling you in for another, hungrier kiss. He eases you down onto the blanket, taking his place above you.

His lips are soft, tongue rough as he swipes it against your mouth, pleading for entrance. Your lips part slightly and he shoves his way in, exploring the caverns of your mouth. You give into him, letting him take care of you. Eventually you part, foreheads pressing together as you pant into his mouth. You can feel him poking your thigh and you raise your eyebrows in question.

-What can I say? You make me feel young again-

You laugh and he grins, caressing your face. He could hold you like this forever. He kisses your cheek, lips, jaw, neck and exposed collarbone, making his way down. He never takes his eyes off you as he pulls on the bottom of your dress, waiting for your nod before continuing. He kisses up your thighs, blushing when he comes face to face with your lacey panties.

-For me?-

-Who else?-

He growls, biting your thigh. You gasp and shove your fingers into his blonde locks, tugging slightly. His calloused hands play with the hem of your panties, pulling them down excruciatingly slow. He finally pulls them off, shoving them into his pocket. He flattens his tongue, licking a long stripe up your dripping slit. You shiver, gushing more slick at the feel of his experienced mouth.

-So wet for me princess-

You can feel the grin in his face as he presses kisses against your slit, a large finger toying with your entrance. Before you can even comprehend the pleasure he has two fingers pumping inside of you and his lips wrapped around your clit, teeth grazing it lightly. Your hips grind up into his face and he uses his free hand to hold you down, a bruising grip holding you still.

His fingers scissor inside of you, exploring your velvet walls until he finds the spot that makes your thighs tremble. He curls his fingers against it and nips your clit, unraveling you below him. He eases you down from your orgasm, slowing his movements and pulling out his fingers. His chin glistens in the fading sunlight.

-Open up-

Fuzzy-minded, you obey without thought. His fingers enter your mouth and you wrap your lips around them, sucking diligently. You taste yourself on his skin, the flavor only making you wetter. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, a string of spit connecting them to your lips.

-More, Katsuki, I want more- He chuckles darkly at your plea, a smirk spreading over his face.

-More? I can work with that-

He sits you up, unzipping your dress and tossing it to the side. His practiced hands don’t struggle to unclasp your bra. He does it in seconds, his hands immediately finding purchase on them. You unbutton his dress shirt, fingers tracing his firm muscles. He unbuttons his pants sliding them down quickly and sitting down on the blanket, pulling you on top of him.

He leans into your ear, his voice lower than before

-Ride me-

You don’t have to be told twice, you grab his cock, lining it up with your entrance. He prepped you well so the only burn you feel is pleasurable. You still struggle a little to sink down onto his length, the girth stretching you for all you’re worth. He grabs your hips before you can even move, pounding up into you. You grab his shoulders for support, moans escaping your lips. Your noises make him go quicker, he wants to, needs to hear more. You look amazing above him, the sun down by now but the purple sky illuminates your figure perfectly.

Groans erupt from his chest when you clench around him, spasming and twitching, having come from his cock only.

-Fuck princess you’re doing so good for me, I know you can give me one more-

You shake your head no but that doesn’t stop his hips, he pistons into you, his thumb finding your clit and circling it roughly. You whine loudly, nails leaving crescent marks in his shoulders. The overstimulation is overcome by pleasure as he continues. You can feel yourself nearing the end again, Bakugou’s grunts helping you. He’s doing everything he can not to come, but the blissed out look on your face makes it so hard for him.

-Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up so good, breed that pretty pussy of yours, you’d like that wouldn’t you?-

You slut out a yes, followed by mewls as he gives you the third orgasm of the night. Your entire body is shaking now, and the vice grip you have on his cock brings Katsuki over the edge. He spills his load into you, painting your walls white. You collapse onto his chest, panting and pressing kisses to his jaw.

-Thank you, Daddy-

#bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bnha #mha #x reader #bakugou smut #bnha smut #bakugou katuski x reader #mha smut

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sluttyminghao · 3 years

Text

Part 1/?

✧ pairing: wen junhui x gender neutral!reader ✧ word count: 2k ✧ genre: smut ✧ warnings in this chapter: camboy!jun, masturbation, masturbating on camera, camboy!minghao makes an appearance ✧notes for this chapter: reader only makes an appearance at the end of the installment, i hope it makes sense as you read it! ✧ a/n: you asked, and i delivered! this is the first installment of going live! a series about camboy jun and his adventures! i hope you all enjoy, and if you would like to be added to a taglist pls inbox me! feedback is appreciated! ✧ synopsis: he’s a shy college boy who is stuck in financial difficulty, and his best friends gives him a suggestion that may or may not be a good idea.

A slight glance at the clock on his nightstand indicated that it was 10:49 pm, and he knew that within a matter of minutes he’d be doing the exact thing he said he would never do. His palms had grown sweaty and he felt his heart rate quicken at the thought, and all he could think to do was wipe his palms on his sweats. He remembers the conversation he had about his thoughts with Minghao vividly, even though it had happened months before his current situation.

“I just don’t see how you can do it, how do you not get embarrassed? Aren’t you being watched by...god knows how many people?” Junhui spoke between mouthfuls of ramen, immense heat rising in his cheeks at the nature of the conversation that had come up when talking about Junhui’s increasing level of financial difficulties. Minghao raised a brow at the older, before erupting into a fit of giggles and making Junhui cock one of his brows in confusion. Did he say something funny?

“Why would I be embarrassed about my livelihood?” Minghao began, wrapping some noodles around his chopsticks expertly and blowing them lightly to cool them down. “I make so much profit off of doing camming and making videos, that I’ve been able to pay my rent and amenities for the next six months, as well as keeping on top of all my art school debts,” he continued, an amused smirk finding its way onto his face at Junhui’s shocked facial features.

“Six months? That’s crazy... I’m basically living paycheck to paycheck at the minute,” he mumbled and let out a small sigh, picking at the small pieces of meat left within his ramen bowl with his chopsticks. “Well, that’s kinda what you get for working at a small and dingy diner run by a bunch of college students,” Minghao quipped while giving him a pointed look, letting his napkin fall to the table to signify he had finished his meal.

Junhui sighed. He knew Minghao was right, 99% of the time he generally was, but this was one thing he really didn’t want to admit to him. “But...would people recognise me? That’s one thing I really don’t want,” Junhui spoke shyly, and Minghao’s face softened towards his elder, before shaking his head slightly. “You can use blurring filters or wear items on your face so people won’t recognise you, that’s what I do, and no one knows who I am to this day.”

He thought a little more about it, and Minghao could practically see the cogs turning in his brain, deciding to offer a piece of advice to his struggling long-time friend. “Hey,” he spoke, gaining Junhui’s attention, “you should really think about it, especially if you need the money. With a face and a body like yours, I’m sure you’ll have thousands of subscribers in no time.”

Well, what did he have to lose? He sure didn’t have any shreds of dignity left, may as well give it a shot.

In all his years of living, he had been very well off financially, but in recent months his rent had become increasingly more expensive and the cost of living had jumped up exponentially. To his dismay, he found himself without a choice, needing the money as soon as possible so he would still have a roof over his head and the bare minimum of food.

He had been staring at the webpage for the camming website for the past 45 minutes, trying to hype himself up, but he had just become increasingly nervous as the time had passed. Minghao had explained to him countless times that this website was very reputable and a great starting point for beginners going into camming, and he knew that he could trust the words of his younger friend.

But even still, the nerves would not stop pouring over him, almost acting like a cascading effect, flowing down his back like a waterfall and seeping into every crevice of his body.

He sucked in a breath before exhaling shakily and picking up his phone to call Minghao. He knew that if anyone was able to calm his nerves, it would be his long-time friend. He tapped on Minghao’s contact before placing the phone to his ear, listening to the phone ring a few times before he was met with Minghao’s groggy voice.

“Were you sleeping?” Junhui’s voice is quiet as he speaks into the receiver, awaiting his companion’s response even though he was almost sure he knew the answer already. “No, I was out feeding the ducks, of course, I was sleeping,” Minghao sighed sarcastically, and Junhui suddenly felt a pang of guilt for the late-night call to his friend. “What did you need, ‘Hui?” Minghao continued, sleep laced in his voice.

“I’m sorry for waking you up...I’m so nervous...I don’t even know how to start the camming videos…do you have any...pointers, maybe...” Junhui trailed off, and he could hear Minghao hum from the other end of the phone. He remained silent for a few beats, only further amplifying Junhui’s nerves to the point where his leg had begun to bounce incessantly.

“I think you just need to relax a little, maybe have a drink or two to settle your nerves,” he replied smoothly, wanting to end the conversation so that he could get back to sleep. “If you’re really worried, why don’t you just show everything from the neck down when you’re recording?” He continued, waiting for his older friend’s reply.

Junhui was contemplating the options laid out to him and decided to combine both, deciding he didn’t have anything to lose. “Thanks, Hao, I owe you,” he rushed, hanging up and throwing his phone on his desk and standing up to get himself a bottle of alcohol. He assured himself that he was only going to have a few sips to loosen himself up, but he figured that he may need to down the whole bottle by the night’s end.

A few swigs of his precious alcohol later, and he had finally built up the courage to remove his shirt but left his sweats on as a safety measure. Minghao was right, the alcohol definitely loosened him up, and before he had even realised what he was doing, he had pressed the record button and had started his live stream.

He didn’t know what he was doing, not a single clue. His mind was fuzzy and his last shreds of dignity left him the moment his pants were pulled down and thrown haphazardly to the side. The only thought that was now running rampant through his mind was how much he wanted to cum. He wasn’t even focused on the live video anymore, only focused on his hardening cock and the way his hand wrapped around it.

Normally when he got himself off, he would take his time and relish in the sensations, not wanting to rush. In his nervous and alcohol-fueled state, however, he wasn’t going to beat around the bush like he would if he was sober. His hand moved up and down the length of his cock rapidly, small whimpers eliciting from the man’s lips as he pleasured himself.

Junhui could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge the faster he pumped his cock, but he knew he didn’t want to cum just yet. He slowed his hand significantly to a steady pace, almost feather-like touches, and moved his free hand up to flick at his nipple, sighing at the sensation.

Not that he would ever admit to anyone, but his nipples had always been extra sensitive and even just the slightest feather touch would have him reeling and wanting more.

The whines poured endlessly from his mouth, even as he built up his orgasm for a second time. He kept one hand on his cock, pumping up and down swiftly and gaining speed, while the other pinched at his nipples. It was getting harder for him to hold himself back, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer in the position he was in.

Before he could even think about stopping himself from cumming again, he felt the string snap in his abdomen and felt the hot streaks of white land on his stomach. He gasped at the feeling and let his hand continue to move steadily, letting the white streaks hit his chest. His head had grown fuzzy from the sheer intensity of his orgasm, and he could feel his hips lightly bucking up into his still closed fist.

When he was sure his orgasm had ebbed away, he removed his hand from his softening cock and sighed, leaning back in his computer chair. After a moment of stillness, his eyes widened upon seeing the small red recording dot on his computer, reminding him of the act he had just performed.

He clicked the stop button hurriedly and closed all his tabs before slamming the lid of his laptop shut. He couldn’t believe what he had just done; his mind was whirring with a thousand and one thoughts, his heart was about to leap right out of his chest, and he knew that there was no going back from the acts he had just performed.

He pushed himself out of the chair and headed towards his bathroom, showering in an attempt to get the cum off his body and somehow trying to scrub off the gross feeling he had from his lewd behaviour. It wouldn’t come off that easily, however, so all he could do was face the consequences of his actions and own them as Minghao told him to.

After a hot shower and a whole lot of contemplation later, Junhui knew that he would have to use his laptop again and see the damage that he had caused, so he decided to simply bite the bullet and take a look back at his video and see if anyone had commented or liked it. It didn’t seem likely in his opinion, since it was his first video and he had no subscribers, but there was a small glimmer of hope buried deep within him.

His eyes widened at the results in front of him. He truly could not believe the sight he saw when he clicked back on to his video to check for feedback.

200 new subscribers, 800 stars and 27 comments

He blinked rapidly, thinking it was all a hallucination. How could this be? He only sat in front of his computer for roughly 10 minutes jacking himself off and had garnered a huge response to it. He clicked the refresh button, thinking that it was simply a mistake on the website’s part. Surely he, a newbie to camming, did not just rack up over a thousand notifications from a ten-minute video.

When the page refreshed he saw the same notifications, except for one new comment that had caught his attention. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to look at just one comment and then head to bed, so he let his mouse hover over the little star-shaped notification icon and pressed on it. His eyes moved across the screen quickly, and he couldn’t help but feel the heat rise to his cheeks at the comment he had seen.

angelbaby96: you’ve got such a nice cock, and such pretty noises too. I would love to hear more of them sometime <3

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wandsandwheezes · 3 years

Text

NASCAR III | G.W

WARNINGS // 6.9k // SMUT 18+, George x Reader // Fred x unnamed OC, Angry Fred, Racer!George, light angst, fighting, rough sex, soft sex, breeding kink af, mentions of alcohol, cars, sex, possession, praise kink, a (tiny) amount of degradation, oral, unprotected sex, one ass slap.

A/N // the series that nobody expected to become a series has now officially done just that. @darthwheezely and I do be hoes for these racer boys xoxo 🏎🦋 ILYSM PHIA MWAH <333

“Fred, have you seen my jumper?”

“Yeah, it’s on the bed, baby” he called. Fred was not often a meticulous man, but (as Lee said) ‘if the fit called for a bit of work, it was always worth it.’

And to Fred, going to a press conference with his exceptionally hot fiancé warranted at least basic perfection, right?

Fred made a low whistle as she came out of the bathroom, a towel around her. “Well, aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes.” She came to stand in front of him, pressing one, two, three kisses to his mouth, the flavour of fresh toothpaste still on her mouth. He hummed in contentment and wrapped his hands around her waist.

“Love, it’ll be fine, this will be my tenth, glorious win-“

“-and you almost got in a crash last time because you were being a tosser, remember?”

“Mmmm, that’s in the details,” he said softly. He searched her eyes and sighed, pulling her flush into his body.

“I promise I’ll be okay this time, you know I’m a great driver and that this isn’t anything different...I still intend on marrying you in one piece, you know.” She chuckled at that and he tilted her chin up, pressing a kiss to her forehead and murmuring:

“I love you, you know that?”

“And I love you, Freddie...even though you are a tosser.”

He slung her over his shoulder, rolling his eyes dramatically, and threw her on the bed, her giggling at the action.

“There’s my saucy little minx, now how about a pre-press test drive, yeah?...”

—

“I can’t just not go, babe.” George sighed, pushing the hair from his face, a sudden clammy feeling of his clothes against his skin indicating just how nervous he was for the up and coming press conference.

“You’re running a fever, George, I’ll call Lee and tell him that you need the rest and that–” You rambled, pressing the cool back of your hand against his forehead, then neck and chest, feeling that thin veil of sweat forming against his hot skin.

“Don’t.” He mumbled all too abruptly, cutting your flow of words short. Furrowing your brows, you looked down at him before shaking your head. He recognised the tone at which he had spat his word, immediately pulling your hand into his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “I’m sorry I snapped, I know you’re only looking out for me.”

“It’s okay, Georgie, I still think you should stay here with me.” You sighed, climbing over his legs to be sat in his lap as you breathed out softly, watching as his eyes softened only for his eyebrow to raise, a smirk soon finding his lips while his hands rested on your waist.

“Any old excuse to keep me at the hotel then, eh?” George licked his lips, pulling you closer into his chest as he eyed your expression, the giggle that fell from his lips like pure music to his ears.

“I just want you better for the race, idiot.” You rolled your eyes, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, his lips finding your cheeks to pepper kisses there with a smug grin on his face.

“I think I could win this one you know, regardless of me being sick or not, I have a good feeling about it.” He hummed, forehead pressed against yours lovingly.

“What makes you say that?” You prodded, running your hands through the hair at the back of his head.

“I have one thing nobody else has; you.” He praised, only for you to bury your face in the crook of his neck, taking a deep breath as his hands ran up your back. “I love you so much, angel.”

“I love you too, George, more than you’ll ever know.”

—

The conference room was packed - that’s an understatement, really. Every journalist alive came to talk to the new dominators of modern NASCAR racing, George and Fred Weasley. Although, as George spitefully knew:

He was somewhere because of Fred. Again.

That familiar feeling of resentment threatened to bubble in the younger twin’s throat, and he immediately began to push it down. The fights, the mutual disgust and disdain - that was done now. Ten wins for Fred should mean legitimately less than nothing but excitement for his older brother.

So why was that feeling still there?

“Hello, everyone, I’m sorry I’m late!” Fred entered from the back of the stage, nothing but glimmer (and gloat) in the elder twin’s face. Good mood Fred could always either be an impending disaster, or one of the best things the world has ever seen.

Of course he’s late, he’s always late, George thought, before guilt immediately settled in.

Fred took a bottle of water, winking playfully at the young lady who got him one, before settling in his seat next to George.

“Right then, questions?” Fred boomed, that familiar sunshine of a smile very evident on his face. The man behind them, George’s manager was directing questions, and George swallowed at what questions would appear.

“This is for Fred, do you predict another victory in this race?” The journalist asked.

Fred leaned a bit forward in his seat and dipped his mouth into the microphone:

“Does the pope wear a big hat, love?”

George however sniggered to himself at the question, holding back a laugh at Fred’s answer. Of course he would answer in the cockiest way known to man, only lighting a fire under the younger twin’s arse to kick into gear and take the baby driver down a few pegs.

“Something funny, Georgie?” Fred turned his head slightly to the side, the smile still there, but dark eyes venturing into icier territory.

“Nothing, Brother, just think you should remember there is always tough competition, no matter how cocksure you are.” George murmured loud enough into the microphone for his words to reverberate around the room, some reporters eyeing each other before vigorously taking notes.

Fred had been taking a sip of his water and nearly choked, eliciting a “sorry everyone!” into the microphone. He gave George a brief side eye, but no - he wasn’t going to let him ruin his moment again. They’ve moved past this, George can have his own fun, why couldn’t he be a little confident for a change?

“Hi, this question is for George,” Fred only heard that much before a brief but very definite prickle of resentment tingled at his skin. He started to feel a bit warm but was determined to brush it off, turning towards George a bit.

“You’ve had a fantastic season these past couple years, and although you’ve lost the past ten races, you still stick to the top five - will we get our own Crimson Wonder back, or is that Fred’s title now?”

George held back on his instinct to bite at his brother’s ego, instead taking a sip of water to collect his thoughts before speaking, his mind trailing back to the words he had said this morning; ‘I have a good feeling about this one’.

“Fred and I both train hard, as does every other racer out on that track,” George swallowed thickly before continuing his sentence, “But I think my own winning streak is far from over, who knows, as you say, you may get your Crimson Wonder back yet.”

Fred attempted to register and probably stop the inherently blank expression on his face, but honestly? It was too much. Yes, George was great, and yes, he was proud of him but.

Why was there a deeply unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach? Twintuition as they called it was something not out of the ordinary at all - but why was it that somewhere in the back of his mind he just felt this...this negative foresight.

There was one thing Fred didn’t like more than avocados (Fred hated avocados) and that was losing.

“My baby brother, so inspirational isn’t he? Gets it from my mum, absolutely.” Fred curled his lips into his mouth, gnawing on his bottom lip, in complete understanding of what he just said. The reporters didn’t have to know that any time he brought up their age or said my mum instead of our mum, it kind of lit a match in George.

In short, Fred knew exactly what he was doing. And George didn’t really like that, but he wasn’t about to stoop to Fred’s level and ruin his public imagery, not with his wife-to-be and his sister-in-law-to-be watching and murmuring to each other with pained faces: they knew the tension was there too, of course they had.

“I think we should leave the rest of the heat for rubber burning on the track.” The moderator cut in, taking final questions from the press aimed at the others on the panel, letting the twins simmer in their own jealousy toward one another as the conference came to a close.

The boys’ demeanours had completely shifted, George staying behind to take pictures and leave autographs for fans, smile on his face and a sense of pride in his chest, while Fred had made a swift exit in just the way he arrived, looking absolutely miserable.

—

“Georgie,” Fred called out from the locker rooms, “just what the fuck was that?” His bare chest red while he angrily scrambled to get his uniform on.

“Please,” George scoffed, zipping his uniform up calmly, before pushing his bag into his locker with ease, “I could ask you the same question.”

“I was actually trying to give the press what they wanted, a good show, you, on the other hand, just wanted to be a proper arsehole in front of everyone.” He slammed his locker door shut, his knuckles on his hand against it surely white now from childish rage.

George closed his locker with force, not so much anger, running a hand through his hair before picking up his helmet, his tongue truly in his cheek, the angel on his shoulder begging him to stay quiet while the devil paralleled telling him that it was about time he spoke his feelings. “I’m the arsehole? Check your own actions first, mate.”

He breathed but he wasn’t done, the words flowing like vomit as he finally let go all of the bottled aggression, “You don’t know the first thing about being a racer, how fucking tiring it is and you use it against me like its something I’m not good at and I’m fucking tired of it.”

George went to continue, but the guilt of spitting every thought in his brain suddenly overcame him, instead he clutched at his helmet a little tighter, taking a deep breath before muttering as he walked away, “Good luck out there, you’ll need it.”

Fred stood there watching him walk away, something a bit more unfair that self-loathing and resentment lingering in his chest. It was dizzying, it was a feeling he altogether hated and actively tried to pretend he didn’t have.

Fred Weasley, in short, was guilty.

—

The Arizona sun was beating down on the track, everyone watching on with baited breath as each car lined up on the Phoenix Raceway, engines revving in anticipation of the start of the race. Fred was clutching at his steering wheel tightly, blinkered only on one thing; winning this one. George however, knew the racers he was up against; some of the best in the NASCAR cup and even some that had been driving as long as he had been alive, was lucky to find himself there, taking a deep breath. George wasn’t a religious man but in that moment he was praying to whatever god to grant him some good luck.

The green flag waved, signalling the start of the race, each car zooming by as the engines roared. The race was a tough one and everyone watching on knew that. The first ten or so laps went just as smoothly as planned, a backhaul crash in the 18th lap just missing the twins, but nevertheless cutting the number of racers pretty much immediately in half.

George grew more confident as he crept up the rankings, sitting comfortably in about 6th place for a grand majority of the race, while Fred trailed much behind him in about 8th place. The tension of the conference had truly stumped the older twin, pushing him to want to be up in the top dogs, but to no avail, every attempt was blocked for him.

The final three laps, George was in fourth and Fred was nowhere to be seen, well sat in his 11th place, seething at his inevitable loss. The younger twin was content with his placing, watching the third place drop down to 5th pushing him into the top 3. George swore he felt every single beat of his heart as he zoomed past the lap line. Two to go. Third place was enough for George, especially in a race like this. He zoomed past the lap line again. White Flag. Last chance.

In a flash, a car from behind George pushed forward, striking the first place car, sending three cars spiralling off the track leaving behind only dust sparks and fire in their tacks. It didn’t click for George that he had passed the finish line in 1st place until it blared through his headset.

“I fucking did what?” He shouted as he continued speeding around the track, the confirmation of his win ringing through his ears as he let out a loud but satisfied yell, the stress of weeks of losses finally leaving him in an exhale, welcoming the new feeling of pride.

Fred in the heat of the crash had fallen to 12th place, pushing him to be the last of all the cars on the track past the finish line - a loss he was not ready to accept no matter how much pride beamed from him hearing the news that the winner had been his own twin brother.

—

“George, how does it feel to have a trophy back?”

“Honestly, it feels so surreal - I’m so grateful for my team, crew, and absolutely amazing fiancée, Y/N - I love you so much, baby,” he shouted over the noise, cameras completely swamping the victory stage and hallway down to the bar. He had everything he could’ve wanted, you, a real win again, happy sponsors - but there was one thing missing.

Fred. Where was Fred? Did it really matter? He knew he hadn’t placed very far, but surely he wouldn’t be that angry would he? But then - no. No, George won, he deserved to win again after Fred had been hogging all the sunny days and he was still supportive. So where was his twin now? Even after everything.

He stopped you on his arm and said: “actually, there is one more person I really do have to thank.” He faced directly towards the camera, you utterly confused.

“Thank you, Freddie, for being the best supportive big brother a guy could ask for. You’ve always been a winner to me.” And with a shaky swallow, knowing he wasn’t here, knowing he probably could give a shit whether George thanked him or not, he went off with you on his arm to have a drink.

God knows he needed it.

—

The older twin sat in the lockers, his elbows resting on his knees, his bare arms and chest tensing periodically with pure and spiteful rage. What the absolute fuck had he done differently? He had been on his highest alert, his most pristine focus, what went wrong?

He didn’t crash, he didn’t bitch and moan to his pit crew, he didn’t fly off the handle - yet - so why did he get the curt, “I’m sorry, son, we all lose sometimes,” from Vinnie, his new manager like it was just normal.

Fred Weasley didn’t lose. Especially not after a ten time winning streak, no, he refused.

So there he sat, knowing his fiancé was probably making excuse after excuse as to why her husband had fled the cameras and the questions, why he wasn’t congratulating his brother on his fantastic win - but he didn’t have the energy to feel guilt. All he felt was loathing. He barely didn’t register the soft clicking of his soon to be wife’s heels clacking against the tile floor.

“Fred Weasley, what the fuck are you doing naked in the locker room, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said with great exasperation. She looked stunning, in that pretty little two piece skirt and black crop number, not at all like a woman frantically in search of her formula 1 MIA husband.

“You look great, sweetheart,” he mumbled, barely looking up at her before getting up and turning to his locker, getting out his change of clothes. She watched his back ripple with tension and at the sight alone felt her thighs break for a second.

“So were you planning on telling me where you were or just sulking in here?”

“I was taking a shower, actually...I don’t get why you’re so pissed at me.” He snapped, not even bothering to turn around.

“I’m ‘pissed’ at you because your brother loves you and you’re in here acting like a five year old who got his teddy taken away from him.” She retorted. Fred turned around then, slamming the locker door shut for the second time that day, the sound echoing in the bathroom.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say to me?” He seemed to punctuate every word in the sentence, but his voice very quiet - too quiet.

“You’re - just get your clothes on and knock it off, Weasley,” she scoffed, trying to walk off the very minor but very palpable fear she felt, and the evident arousal pooling in her thighs. Fred, unfortunately, knew this, and in Fred fashion, was feeling quite a good many ways about this.

“Get your ass back here, right now, sweetheart,” he snapped, his volume gaining to a low roar. When she kept on walking to the door, his long legs loped to a brisk walk in front of the doorway, right in front of her. She didn’t realize that she was holding her breath for a second until she exhaled, and his thumb came up to grace her bottom lip.

“Open,” he said quietly, and then she did listen, her lips opening up to his thumb immediately. He always did this mannerism, when he said open he’d open his mouth too, almost showing her how she needed to be before usually saying “theeere, it is” but right now, he was silent, his mouth pressed in a thin line.

But then she bit. And hard. Pushing him off her and making him gasp, her heels clicked down the tile as fast as she could walk. But Fred wasn’t going to let her get away that easy. In an instant he threw his elongated and toned arm out to grab her waist, pulling her back into the wall, caging her in his hold.

“You’re being an absolute twat, you know that?” She spat. He delicately slapped the side of her face and squeezed her cheeks to form an o.

“And you’re being a prissy little bitch, but I’m still here, aren’t I?” He said harshly, scanning her eyes before yanking her in for a kiss. She immediately released a desperate moan into his mouth and he slid his hand through her hair and all the knots and tangles possible to reach the back of her head. His other hand slid down up her skirt to grope her thigh, hoisting her legs around his waist.

“You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad, I swear,” she breathed out, before his lips messily met hers. He always kissed with his jaw, she noticed that, when he’d hit his strong jaw out to move with her and nuzzle her face and then she always moaned like she was doing now.

In an instant he was carrying her back towards the shower, the shuffle of so many movements causing the towel around his waist to fall off.

“You ready to take a winner, baby?”

—

After a couple of drinks it was safe to say that you and George had gotten a little closer than you usually would have sober. He wasn’t even tipsy, feeling no more than the pride of his win but even with that he wasn’t going to ignore the fact that his girl was practically purring for him while clinging to his arm. You were so desperate to pull him in for a kiss, hell you probably would have let him have you in the hall out of pure lust for your husband-to-be.

It had been so long since you’d seen him smile the way he was now, pride radiating off his skin alongside the heat of his lingering fever, making you remember that not only had he won the hardest race he’d ever driven, but he’d done so while sick. A smirk spread over your lips as you went to push up on your toes, lips pecking a gentle kiss to his jaw.

“What’s that for, angel?” He smiled down at you, his lips now ducking down to press a loving kiss to your forehead.

“Just a taste of how I’m gonna congratulate my winner later.” You mumbled playfully as his arm snuck around your waist to pull you in tighter, leaning to whisper in your ear as his lips grazed over your earlobe.

“Guess I should think about getting you to bed then, yeah? That what you want bub?” He pulled away from your ear with a grin stretching from ear to ear.

You nodded bashfully, letting him tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the rosy hue on his cheeks apparent just from being close to you, in this moment. George didn’t care about the press or his manager or really even the win anymore, not when he had you right in front of him, begging him short of being on your knees.

He made an excuse, whatever it had to be to get you alone, to get away from the champagne, cameras and chatting. His jacket was draped over your shoulders as you found your way out of the celebration lounge, giggling like teenagers as you walked hand in hand to his car, the echoes of laughter humming around the underground car park before he had you trapped between his body and the passenger side door.

“I can’t wait to get you back to our room.” He mumbled, lips just hovering inches away from yours. His hand slipped just under the hem of your top, his hot touch sending sparks flying through you.

“The things I want you to do to me, Weasley.” You breathed out, hand reaching behind his head to pull his lips down to yours, letting him leave no gaps between you, him and his car.

“Oh yeah?,” he murmured breathlessly, nose knocking against yours, “Like what, princess? Don’t be shy, we have a whole journey for you to run that pretty mouth of yours.”

“You’ll ruin me one day if you keep talking like that, George.”

“I think I’ll ruin you tonight instead, love.”

—

“Freddie, please-“

“No, I’m not stopping until you cum on me, princess, I deserve that much,” he snarled, his cock rippling through her over and over. He had intended on fucking all his anger out on her ever since he pushed her into the shower, everything only mouths and melded hands.

“Feels - feels so good, Freddie” she whined, her legs barely able to sustain being wrapped around him. His hips whipcracked into her at an entirely new angle, prompting her to mewl and claw at his back like a cat.

“Oh my poor baby, can she not take my cock? Would another racer do a better job at - “ he pushed deeper into that new spot, her mewls and whines turning to wanton cries. “ - stretching you out instead of me?”

“No one can do this, Fred, I promise, love,” she murmured, her eyes rolling vacantly to the back of her head. He sensed her climax was arriving soon, she was like butter under his hot embrace.

“Look at me,” he growled, squeezing her face and tilting it upwards. “I want to see my prize when she makes a mess everywhere, you hear me, princess?” Her widened eyes bore into his deep chocolate ones and when she finished, she truly could not look at anything else except him, it was always him and only him that made her feel like this.

“Thaaaat’s it, baby, look at you, being such a dirty little girl for me. You like making messes for me, princess?” He cooed, his soft and caring tone a total opposite to the way he pulled out and slammed back in, making her scream and be flush against him.

“M-mhm,” she murmured, Fred shaking his head as he chuckled, carrying her dripping out of the shower, still inside her. “Do you want me to take you off?” He whispered, the anger still in his throat, but...she would always be more important. Making her feel safe was always important, even in the worst of his rage. Fortunately, she nodded at him and kissed his jaw, a soothing gesture that always meant she loved him, everything was okay, he didn’t hurt her. He smoothed the top of her wet hair down and gave the top of her head a kiss, his ring finger stroking against the centre of her spine.

But then, a certain thought excited him blackly.

“Baby…who put that ring on you?” He asked pensively. No, he didn’t win that idiotic fucking race, and no, he didn’t beat his brother in this race but - he still won her. He suddenly felt his dick twitch deep inside her and he groaned, clenching his jaw at the sudden awareness of her engagement ring digging into his shoulder. He fully stopped looking at the ground and the towel on the locker hanger, reaching for it and dropping it flat on the ground.

“F-Freddie?” She asked weakly.

“Mhm?”

“What - what are you doing?” She released a high pitch whine at the feeling of Fred twitching again, and at that he flipped her over on the towel, backside up, his cunt and his ass being fully presented to him like that. And then he moaned, his eyes shutting after and his jaw rolling when he saw her buck her ass up to try and meet him wherever he was behind her.

“God, you are just a good for nothing little Formula 1 whore aren’t you?” He breathed out, his hands sliding to cup her ass and squeezing, relishing in the scarlet rash of skin that came and went with a blink of an eye.

“You’d like to think so,” she quietly quipped, his hands suddenly freezing on her ass.

“Oh...is that so? Well, then…” and at that he slowly began to squeeze again until she was squirming, then bringing his hand down to the centre of her ass, a loud smack echoing in the room. She cried into the towel and bucked her ass towards him once again.

“Yes, yes, I’m a Formula 1 whore,” she wept, Fred chuckling and positioning his cock at her entrance, just barely letting his tip brush her cunt.

“What if I just stayed here, hmm? Didn’t even let you have my cock, just gave you a taste of what it would be like to get fucked by me and go use another checkered flag slut instead, that sound good, baby?” He said crisply, trying not to let the tortured feeling of his cock get to him.

“Fred, I-“ and with a final growl, Fred pushed himself to the brim inside her once more. She cried out his name into the towel, his free hand not bracing himself from behind pushing her head into the towel. He was devouring every noise that came from her mouth, mostly strained cries and pants that registered with every crack of his hips inside her. He felt her near her release again, his as well, his hips losing tempo.

“Gonna marry you and stuff you with aaaall my babies, isn’t that right princess? Gonna make my trophy wife swell up, you won’t be able to even fathom seeing that pretty pussy of yours in the morning” He panted, groaning at the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing in her - in his - cunt.

“Please, wanna be so full, of your...of your babies, Fred,” she whimpered, his name falling from her lips like alphabet soup as she, with a final rock of her ass against him, came undone around him. He gripped her hips and with a sharp “I love you, fuck” followed her in the same way, his hips rolling ever so gently back into her to soothe their highs.

After a moment he pulled out of her, dismantling the baby hairs sticking to her forehead out the way, pressing kiss after kiss there.

“Weasley, you got any car plush toys on you by chance?” She quipped, prompting a grin from Fred and a chaste kiss to her lips and nose.

“No, but the Babies R Us near home might…”

—

The second you were parked up, George had his hand snaked around the back of your neck pulling you in to peck your lips over and over, warm and comforting giggles slipping from your lips between every kiss. The trip up to your room took twice the time it would usually take, stopping frequently to evade the hotel staff, as well as missing your floor entirely in the elevator; too distracted by the taste of his lips and the way his hands gripped desperately at your hips.

Once well inside your hotel room, you found yourself underneath him, hair sprawled out beneath you as he marvelled at your beauty. A toothy grin spread across his lips before his head ducked down to press a kiss just below your ear, sucking a deep purple mark against your warm skin as a giggle erupted through his throat, the vibrations causing you to do the same, hands pressed against his shoulders to push him away.

“Good lord, woman, I love you.” He breathed out, his lips moving to press a kiss to your forehead. You sighed out a moan as his fingers slipped underneath the hem of your shirt, bunching the fabric up as he pushed it up your torso and over your bra, exposing the plain but gorgeous lace.

His lips soon pressed against your exposed skin, sucking mark after mark down the valley of your breasts, humming in satisfaction at the way you writhed beneath him as your hands wove through his soft, ginger locks, tousling them perfectly as you giggled together.

“You may have won today, Georgie, but I’m winning now.” You whined, keeping him pulled close to you as his free hand snuck just underneath the hem of your skirt, fingers brushing against your sensitive clit as he swallowed each and every moan, taking pleasure in slipping the flimsy lace to the side to sink his fingers into you quickly and with no mercy, letting you chant his name as you begged for more.

It didn’t take much for him to oblige, hardly pulling away from you to slip his cock free, teasing your entrance for a moment before he was pushing slowly into you, letting you get used to the feeling of the first few inches, only for him to pull back out, chuckling darkly at the way you writhed against the sheets. “Baby please, don’t tease me like that.”

He pouted mockingly, dipping his head down to press a slow and intimate kiss to your lips, nose nudging against yours before he mumbled into the kiss, letting you lean into it. “As you wish, princess.”

Almost all at once, you felt him move your hips to the right position, continuing to tease you as he sank slowly into you, not daring to pull away again as he eyed the way your face contorted with pleasure, your hands slipping under the thin t-shirt, he wore, pulling it over his head and tossing it across the room, your nails dragging down the freshly exposed skin, pulling a groan from him.

“I’m gonna fuck you so deep, bub, gonna make you scream and give you a baby.” He groaned, hands pressing your head down to the mattress as he cradled it, hot breath fanning over your face as his slow thrusts pulled moan after moan from you.

His strong arm hooked underneath you, pulling you up and into his chest, as his hips continued in pushing in and out of you at the most antagonising pace. He smirked at the way your head immediately fell to rest on his shoulder, your eyes squeezing shut from the new angle.

“Bet you’re loving this aren’t you? Not so bold anymore, angel.” His gravelly voice rumbled through your ear, hand gripping that little bit tighter as he felt your small shallow breaths growing deeper at the intensely slow lovemaking you were far from expecting tonight.

“I’m still bold.” You whispered, nudging forward to pull his earlobe between your teeth before peppering sloppy, wet kisses along his neck.

“Funny one, love.” He smirked, beginning to pick the pace up a notch, enough to bring the hanging release down on you, pushing you to be clenching around him as you begged for it. “I knew you’d like that.”

He had a way of completely dumbfounding you, making you lost for words, finding yourself against the sheets fully again, this time he had hooked your legs over his shoulders only to lean down and press his lips to yours, all the time his skilled fingers toyed with your clit.

You felt as if every sense had been awoken, stimulated by his very touch like a fire had been lit around you, pulling you into the embrace of the flames as you found yourself screaming his name, the inevitable high falling over you.

“That’s it, baby, doing so good for me…” He breathed heavily, his lips pressing to your forehead as he continued to ride out your high, his own release painting your walls as he fucked it into you, pulling true on his promise of filling you up.

You felt so full, his love washing through you from head to toe as he lazily kissed you, slipping your legs off his shoulders to pull you back into his arms, keeping himself bottomed out inside of you.

“I’m dead serious about giving you a baby, princess.” He chuckled, hand trailing up and down your back as he traced languid shapes into your soft skin.

“Good, I’m dead serious about having your baby.”

—

Fred knocked on the door, his foot tapping on the carpet outside George’s hotel room. He was always a fidgety man, but today would be all too different for the eldest Weasley twin.

He knocked once more, altogether considering just going home and leaving a lengthy but probably nonsense voicemail, if not entirely fueled by alcohol then by sheer force of nature that was his fiancé alone.

He had decided on giving up, his legs stretching as he turned around. But then the door opened, the equally messy haired ginger behind it looking so much calmer and more serene than Fred ever could.

“Heya, Georgie,” Fred breathed out. George would never have said it out loud, but Fred looked like absolute death. He could tell his older brother had gotten little to no sleep, his eyes sunken in. He knew Fred was hurting, and George never was one to rub it in. If anything, George would always be the one who understood him the most, they rarely ever had to apologize to each other for things like this, their souls simply understanding when pain was evident.

“Morning, Freddie…” George spoke warmly, crossing his arms over his chest for a moment, smiling lazily at his twin as he pondered his next move. “D’you wanna come in?”

“Yeah...yeah, that’d be nice,” he swallowed, smiling softly at his slightly younger (but in many ways, much older) twin.

George stepped aside, letting his brother in as he shut the door behind him. He rubbed his hands together, a smile that rounded his cheeks on his face as he sensed the awkwardness in the room. This wasn’t like them at all. “Everyone missed you yesterday, Fred, parties aren’t the same without you.”

“As in, no one drank all the rum and Coke at the party without me is what I’m hearing?” He cracked a small smile, attempting to avoid as much eye contact with Georgie that wasn’t necessary.

“George, I’m so sorry.” He said softly, his jaw stilling.

“You don’t have to apologise, Fred.”

“No, but I do. I...I know how special being behind the wheel is to you, and you’re right. I don’t know what it means to win, at least not like you, and...George, you’re my best friend, stupid.” He aggressively wiped under his eyes. “I want to be happy for you and lately I haven’t even been thankful for you and that isn’t fair, mate, I...I love you. So much.”

“I feel like I was losing you there, Freddie, I’ve hardly seen you, we don’t talk unless it’s a press conference and just… Fuck I hate this, I miss being able to call you and talk about all the dumb things we can do together.” George sighed, looking up to the ceiling to stop the tears from falling.

Fred’s, however, were already hitting the ground. “I hate it too, Georgie...I hate it so much. It’s fun, being a racer like you - with you - but I just...I want to fix your tires again, man” he tearfully chuckled, watching George do the same. “I want to say stupid shit like ‘baby brother, your blinker fluid is out’ over the headset and listen to you cuss me out, and I want to be able to know I’m still on your team at the end of the day.” He curled his lip inward. “That’s all I’ve wanted. Is to be on your team.”

“You have no idea what it’s like to win without you, when you’re out there making sure that everything is okay I just know my big brother is there looking out for me and I miss it, I miss telling everyone that it was you who made it possible, Freddie, you’re my star man.” George smiled, scratching his arm nervously, wanting nothing more than for things to be like old times.

Fred let out a breathy laugh, his eyes still brimming with fresh tears. “I’m the last one to thank, you big wanker, I don’t drive the damn thing constantly, that’s all you and your foolishness.” He swallowed. “I just...if you’ll have me back, I already talked to the Wood Brothers and everything but um...there’s a deal where I would be able to also drive once a month or so, and be your Pit Crew Pit Bull the other races. If that was okay with you - I want to be there with you again.” His knee bounced in the silence, his guilt and fear bouldering in his throat.

“I’d want nothing more than to have you back, I think it’ll be good for you to still stay driving, you have to get that adrenaline fill somewhere… I don’t say it enough, but I’m proud of you, proud of what you’ve achieved.” George smiled, the toothy grin brightening up the room as the awkwardness seemed to fade. “Even though you do become a cocky bastard sometimes.”

Fred scoffed and rolled his eyes. “One does not become a cocky bastard, Georgie-kins, one is a cocky bastard...also, I have to be,” he said getting up and moving to where George was sitting. “if I’m going up against my snot-nosed little brother who’s getting married and is going to expect me to babysit for a thousand hateful children,” he waggled his eyebrows and threw a pillow at him. “But thank you...I mean that. You know you’re easily the best on that track every time. Every time. I’m...I'm proud to be your twin, Georgie.”

“I don’t know how I survived without your brilliant humour gracing us all, Freddie, I truly missed the inspiring wit,” George chuckled, gently nudging his twin with his fist, “After all, you’re not too bad of a brother to have, not everyone can be me but you’re as close as anyone’s gonna get.” He smirked, eyebrow raised as he looked over to his twin.

“I truly am so distraught I did not destroy you in the womb when I had the shot, but here’s to the wish anyway,” full on slamming George in the face with the pillow and howling at the action. “Top that, bitch,” he barked.

“It’s on now.” George laughed, throwing the pillow back at his brother, sending an eruption of laughter echoing around the hotel room, the two boys flinging cushions around like there was no tomorrow.

But the laughter didn’t end, only continuing as loud roars and giggles as time passed. You found yourself swinging your legs out of bed, trudging towards the source of the noise, only to find feathers everywhere and the twins laughing together in a childlike manner. “Could the two of you be any more loud?”

“Sorry, baby… didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Yeah, sorry, Y/N.” Fred chimed in.

“You’re damn lucky it isn’t early, Weasley.” You sighed, rolling your eyes as you shuffled off towards the warm embrace of the morning shower, thankful to see the twins as they should be, happy and together once again.

A/N // so phia and i have pretty much decided that we’re gonna keep this going so... part IV coming sooooon ;))))

taglist // @slytherinsunrise @gcdricreads @theweasleysredhair @vogueweasley @vivianweasley @feetoffthetablee @thisismynerdyself @witch-and-a-half @loony-loopy-lupinn @rip-us @hopemalfoyweasley @whizboingies @pansydaisy @darthwheezely @lumos-barnes @starlightweasley @valwritesx @weelittleweasley

#NASCAR Series #george weasley fic #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley fluff #george weasley smut #george weasley angst #fred weasley fic #fred and george #gred and forge #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x oc #harry potter #harry potter fic #harry potter writing #harry potter smut

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 3 years

Text

Unexpected Places (Pt. 04 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 3 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

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{Vikings Masterlist}

Fit For a Princess

You're listening to the chattering between Aslaug and Helga, looking at pieces of jewelry at the market place. You say something every now and then, but you can't shake away Ivar's stare. On the last days, two weeks or so, he's right there, sitting across from you on every meal, eyes burning through you. Hvitserk said he's studying you, still expecting you to snap, to decide you had enough of all this and want to go back home. To Wessex, where your older brother now rules. And Ragnar already said he'd take you back if you wanted, so there's that.

But leaving Kattegat hasn't even crossed your mind, not before and not now. How could you trade all you have here, and slide back into the invisible chains you had on? It wouldn't be just stupid, it would be the death of you. You're finally understanding who you are, the things you like, the kind of people you like. In England, you had to play a specific role, because everything was political. Here, you're just who you are. And you do what you want to do. This is true freedom.

“I really like this one,” Helga says, as your eyes wander through the many rings, earrings, and necklaces. “I'd like those two as well.” She continues as you pace around, further away from both women, turning the corner and then walking to another store. The pieces they have here are all made of metal, delicately bent into beautiful shapes. You caress a bracelet with the tip of your fingers, wondering if it'd look good on you.

“Don't waste your time with these cheap things.” The voice, that you now recognize immediately, makes you turn around. Ivar comes from among the people, only stopping when he's standing next to you.

But despite his attention being on the jewelry, your eyes are on him. “You're tall.” It comes out suddenly, because he never stood beside you like this, so you couldn't have noticed.

“Well, you're tiny.” Ivar glances at you, playing with one of the rings. “Anyway, you shouldn't be looking at these things. They won't suit you very well.”

Giving the old man an apologetic look, you randomly pick a bracelet. You don't get why Ivar is being rude, but, judging by what Hvitserk had told you, his brother isn't one to hold back. He says what he thinks, it doesn't matter how mean it may sound to others. You're still trying to figure out if this level of brutal honesty is good or bad. “I really like this one.” Searching on the small bag attached to your dress, you take four coins, way more than what the bracelet is worth, handing it over to the man and putting the bracelet on. The silver color is beautiful, and the drawings carved on it remind you of the pattern you saw on one of the boats that brought you here.

Ivar rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, sighing. “You are such a kind princess.” Dropping the ring, he starts walking side by side with you when you set in motion through the market. You weren't expecting that.

“King Ecbert was king of Wessex. This isn't Wessex.”

“(Y/N)! Wait for us.” Aslaug calls and you stop, giving her a look and a nod before turning to face Ivar, who towers over you.

“Therefore, I'm not a princess anymore.” Shrugging your shoulders, you give him a small smile.

“That's a shame, isn't it?” He lowers his voice, leaning closer.

“Not really.” Shrugging your shoulders, you give a little step back, putting a strand of hair behind your ears before giving him a little wave, walking back to where both women are.

After they're done shopping, as you walk back home, the clouds push themselves apart just enough for the sunlight to appear. That makes you stop, taking in the warmth on your skin, but it soon disappears.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Hvitserk calls, coming from the beach with his father, Ubbe and Bjorn, who's walking behind them. “We're going to meet some traders. Wanna come?”

“Why not?” You mumble, elbowing Hvitserk when he's close enough.

“Go put on some pants then. We're riding there.”

“Oh.” It's so absurd it's stupid, how you can't seem to do the simple things people know by heart here. “I'm not very good at riding.” Whispering, you tell him, not wanting anyone else to listen.

“I'll help you out.” He nods, tilting his head to where Bjorn is. “Without cracking your head open in the process.”

Smiling you nod before heading inside to change out of the dress. You're just about to head out when Aslaug tells you to grab a cloak in case it rains later, so you have to make another trip to your room. But soon enough you meet Hvitserk and the others again, reading the horses.

“Which one is mine?”

“Over here.” Hviserk guides to a beautiful white horse. “Give me your leg.” He says, and for a moment you furrow your eyebrows, but soon enough you understand what he means. Raising your leg, Hvitserk grabs your calf and you push yourself up, successfully mounting on the horse with his help. It feels funny to be this tall. You have ridden before, but most of the time you used a carriage. There was no need for a princess to ride on the back of a horse at Wessex. It's wild though, and you've grown to love wild things. “Keep your feet like this on the stirrups at all times. Don't put of your feet all the way in or it might get stuck if you fall. If you touch her with your ankles, she'll move forward. Pull the halters and she'll stop. The same thing goes to pull her left or right, but since we'll ride together she'll just follow the other horses.”

“Got it.”

“Your ass might hurt at the end of the day, so be prepared.” He warns before jumping to the back of his horse. “If it'll help you feel more steady, you can hold on the saddle, but trust me, you'll get the hang of it once you lose the fear of falling.”

“Have you ever fallen from a horse before?” As you speak, the small group starts moving, and your mare does the same, keeping their pace, slow at first until everyone starts galloping, and all air leaves your lungs. You hold tightly to the saddle, scared at first, but you remember what Hvitserk just told you. If you let the fear of falling win, you'll never learn to ride properly, and you'll never enjoy it. Slowly, you let go of the saddle, holding only on the halters, making sure it's loose so she'll feel free to run.

And the sensation is amazing. The wind makes your hair whip your face over and over, and you lightly shake your head to get rid of it. Glancing at Hvitserk, you mirror his position, a smile creeping over your lips. The landscape, green, blue, and gray, passes by in a blur, and you try to take it all in. It's beautiful, breathtaking. Almost literally, because when you finally stop, you're struggling to catch your breath.

“You ok?”

“Yeah.” You answer, and Hvitserk nods before moving to stand next to his father and brother. You see a small troop approaching, riding up the hill.

“You're quite good at this,” Bjorn says, guiding his horse away from his siblings and near you. “A few more lessons you'll be riding like a true Viking.”

“I really like it. Its... Thrilling.” You're finally calming down, and your thighs ache a little bit.

“Wanna see the traders coming?” Turning his horse around, he gestures at a cliff, not too many miles away. “We could go up there, it'll give us a nice view.”

“Isn't it a little high?”

“The horses are used to it. C'mon.” Without waiting for your answer, he starts galloping away.

Glancing at Hvitserk, you hold the halter tightly to keep the mare from moving. “You think I should?”

“Sure, it has a nice view. But if you feel like the trail there is too much you come back here, alright? The horses are used to it but you're not.”

“Alright.” Touching the mare with your ankles, you loose the halter and she immediately moves, following Bjorn's horse. It doesn't take much until you're deep inside the woods, the horses now trotting. Bjorn keeps silent, giving you a few glances since you're slightly behind him.

“That way.” He says, and you just let your ride follow his. The smooth ground soon starts changing, with more rocks, and becomes unravel. When you see a steep slope, with apparently nothing to hold on to, you pull the halters, making the mare stop.

“I think it's too craggy.” You speak up, getting Bjorn's attention. “I don't want to fall on my first try.”

“She's used to this kind of inclination. You'll be fine.”

Considering it and also what Hvitserk said, you decide to leave the cliff viewing for another day, when you feel more secure on the horse. “I think I'll pass, Bjorn. Maybe another cliff where I can go on foot.”

“Don't be a pussy. It's not that craggy.” Then, he kicks his horse hard and it sets in motion. It doesn't surprise you, but when the mare moves as well, following him, you're startled, and in the sudden change, you let the halter fall.

Holding on the sell, you can only watch as Bjorn's horse easily climbs the slope, at a fast pace, and yours do the same. But when it suddenly turns left, around a huge rock, you lose your balance, and since there's nothing to hold on to, both your feet escape the stirrups, and you're pulled to the ground hard. Losing your breath, a sting on your ankle makes you yelp as you roll down the slope, only stopping once the ground is flat again. Rolling on your back, you take deep breaths, trying not to move the left leg since the pain is spreading through your foot and calf. “Damn it!” You exclaim, removing the hair from your face.

“(Y/N)!” It takes only a few seconds until you see Bjorn kneeling by your side. “Are you alright?”

“I just fell from a horse and rolled down a hill!” You speak fast, the pain on your back making itself aware. “Of course I'm not fine!”

“Let me take you–” He says as he starts to pull you up.

“No.” You cut him off, slapping his hands away. Bjorn has done enough for today. If he wasn't trying to be a freaking show-off, this wouldn't have happened. “Go get–”

“(Y/N)?” You hear his voice and breathes out relief. “I heard a yell.”

“Over here. Lying on the ground.” Annoyed, you cover your eyes with both hands. “Can you please see if my ankle is broken?”

“What happened?” He asks in a low voice, and you uncover your eyes to see him jumping to the ground, kneeling next to your stretched out leg.

“Bjorn made his horse bolt up the slope and mine followed.” You explain, giving him a hard glance, groaning when Hvitserk lifts your leg to remove your boot. “Easy there!”

“Sorry.” He mumbles. “But calm down, it's not broken, just sprained.”

“Shit.” Taking a deep breath, you sit up taking off the other boot as well and throwing it at Bjorn. “You can't keep yourself from getting me hurt, can you?”

“Me? Everything you had to do was hold on. The horse–”

“I'm not a Viking!” Bursting out, you look up at him. “I'm not some shieldmaiden, I'm still trying to fit in here and learn things. You can't expect me to follow your pace.”

“I just–”

“Bjorn, you should get back. Help father with the traders, I'll take her back to Kattegat.” Hvitserk interrupts him, and Bjorn leaves after a grunt, saying something you couldn't understand.

“And he thinks he has the right to be pissed!” Lying back down, you groan. “I think this is a sign to stay away from him. Every time he's in the situation, I get hurt.”

“Alright, c'mon.” Hvitserk pulls your arm until you're seated again. “You need to put some ice on this ankle, let's go.” Hvitserk takes your mare first, tying her up with his horse before mounting and pulling you up to ride with him.

Despite the slow pace he keeps, your back still hurts. Resting your head on his back, you sigh. “Why are you so quiet?” You ask after a while.

“I'm thinking about the right words to tell this to mother. She won't be happy.” He answers, a hand resting on his thigh as the other holds the halter. “She's not very fond of Bjorn already.”

“It was partially my fault too, I think. I let the halter slip and had nothing to hold on to.”

“You're know Bjorn likes you, right?” Hvitserk suddenly says, and you pinch your eyebrows together. This thought hasn't crossed your mind. “That's probably why he did that. That's how he... Gets a woman's attention.”

“Would you do the kindness of telling him it's not working?” Muttering, you rest both your arms on his back folding them as if his shoulders were a table. “Actually, I've been meaning to tell you... I met Ivar at the market place today.”

“...And?” He asks after a few seconds of silence.

“Nothing, just... It was nothing, really.” It's hard to understand exactly what you want to tell Hvitserk. You just can't seem to put your feelings or thoughts together. “I was looking at these things and he said they wouldn't suit me.” Stretching out your arm, you show him the bracelet. “I bought this there.”

“That's nice. But cheap.” Rolling your eyes, you remember Ivar said pretty much the same thing.

“He also said I'm kind. But that was probably in a mocking tone, so...” You get into Kattegat, and Hvitserk greets some people. “I don't know.”

“I believe it's safe to assume Ivar doesn't hate you.” Hvitserk slows down the horse when a group of kids run by. “If he did, he wouldn't put himself on your way like that... Or look at you the way he does.”

“And how does he look at me?” The words come out slowly because you're not sure if you want to know.

“The only thing I can say for sure is that he never looked at a woman like that.” You finally get to Ragnar's house, and Hvitserk asks a man to help you down. Once you're safe on the ground, he jumps off, telling the man to take the horses. “And I mean it in a good way.”

He puts a hand around your waist, helping as you jump on the right foot until the table in the main hall. “Do you think he–”

“What happened this time?” Aslaug asks, her voice already giving out that she's not happy.

“Twisted ankle. She fell from the horse.”

“Take her to her room, Hvitserk.” The Queen mutters, saying something to the girls who were following her. “And carry her this time if that isn't too much to ask.”

“Alright.” He replies, picking you up with a hand on the small of your back and another under your legs, quickly finding the way to your chambers.

Giggling, you give him a look “I love when your mother–”

“Careful with the teasing this time. I might just drop you to the floor and I don't care if your a princess who fell off a horse.” The fake angry tone makes you laugh again.

“My bad, Prince Hvitserk.” You snap back, rolling your eyes.

Aslaug has her maids help you bathe first, cleaning the dirt that is attached to your face and hair before lying you on the bed again and applying a piece of fabric with cold water on your ankle, keeping it elevated with some pillows. She isn't happy to know the whole story, despite you assuring her it's alright now. You could've died, she said, breaking your neck. But it's useless to worry about what could've happened. The best thing to do now is to focus on the ankle, which she said will be better in a few days, and let the whole incident go.

Later that night, you give little jumps to the main hall to eat something. It's just Ubbe and Bjorn, seated on a table at the corner. Nodding at them, not wanting to chat with Bjorn at the moment, you sit at the edge of the table in the middle, your back turned at both men, taking the jar and pouring yourself something to drink.

“How's your ankle?” Ubbe asks, and you look over your shoulder.

“It's fine. I'll be able to walk normally in a few days. But my back still hurts.” Completely ignoring Bjorn's existence, you turn away from them again.

Drumming your fingers on the table, you wait for the Queen's maids to bring your meal. When you feel someone moving behind your back, you assume it's them, and place your cup further away to open some space. But instead of the bowl with rabbit stew, a necklace is put down before you. And it's absolutely beautiful, with three blue stones surrounded by a golden metal, delicately molded around it. It's different from anything you've ever seen in Wessex. Taking it in your hands, you see Ivar dropping to the seat next to you, and you turn to look at him.

“What is it?” You ask, unable to hide the smile that comes to your lips.

“A necklace.” He simply says, and you roll your eyes at his tone. What a way to ruin the mood.

“Yeah, I noticed.” The smile slowly drops as your eyes go back to the piece, fingertips caressing one of the stones.

“This was made for a princess. Not those cheap things.” He gestures at your bracelet, and you giggle.

“Well, this is absolutely beautiful.” Glancing at him, you find he was already staring. “Is it for me?” You inquire in a lower voice, not wanting to make any assumptions that might embarrass you.

Ivar nods, lightly pushing your shoulder. “Turn around. Let me put it on.”

Doing as he says, you turn your back at him. Ivar takes the necklace and places it around your neck, and you hold your hair up so he can close it on the back. Once he's done, you let the hair fall before turning to face him, folding your left leg and carefully laying the wounded ankle on the bench between you and Ivar. “How does it look?”

You wait for an answer, but it doesn't come. Ivar's eyes were fixed on the necklace, but slowly, they come to meet yours. Tilting your head to the side a little, you feel heat spreading through your cheeks.

Shaking your head lightly and looking down, you take a deep breath. “Have you heard that I fell from a horse this afternoon?” You're glad you got your brain to function, changing the subject. “Twisted my ankle.”

Ivar's stare falls to your bare feet on the bench, the skirt of your dress pulled up to your knee. “Mother told me it was someone else's doing.” As he speaks, Ivar gives an angry stare at where his two brothers are, and it's obvious who he's looking at. “But I think you'll survive.” You feel his fingers caressing your skin, from your knee and down through your calf, so softly you wonder if he's really touching you.

“I will.” You assure him, biting back a smile.

“Ivar,” Ragnar calls, and it does take a while until you both look at where he's standing, near the thrones. “Your mother wants to speak with you.”

“What now?” He asks, annoyed.

“I don't know. Go ask her.” And he disappears.

“Guess I'll have to go.” He glances at you, grabbing the clutch.

But before he can push himself up, you grab his arm. Perhaps you shouldn't do it. Perhaps this whole thing is just some kind of joke he's pulling on you, but still, the necklace is beautiful and he was... Kind. So you lean closer to him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for the gift. It's very beautiful.”

Ivar is frozen, even after you let go of his arm. He stands there, blue eyes locked on yours. Slowly, painfully slow, a smile comes to his lips. And it feels different. True, genuine. “You're welcome, princess.” He whispers before pushing himself up to his feet and walking away.

You're still a little dazed when the rabbit stew comes, and you can do nothing but play with the spoon. But heavy footsteps get your attention, and when you look at your side, you catch a glimpse of a very angry Bjorn disappearing inside.

He saw everything. And it takes you by surprise to notice that, the moment you laid eyes on Ivar, you immediately forgot Bjorn and Ubbe were here. Everything just... Faded away, and there was nothing else, just you and him. And this is not the first time it happens.

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#ivar imagine #imagine ivar #ivar x you #ivar x reader #ivar x y/n #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless fanfiction #ivar the boneless x reader #imagine ivar the boneless #viking imagine #imagine vikings #ivar vikings x reader #vikings x reader

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nationalharryleague · 4 years

Text

Work of Art

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: AU, Artist!Harry, fluff, angst if you squint

Word count: 4K

A/N: Hi everyone! This is my entry for @hsogolden ’s AU writing challenge! Check out their blog they are incredibly talented!!! ALSO, a MASSIVE thank you and shoutout to the lovely Miss Lu, @harrysgucciloafers!!! I could have never done it without her!! Thank you so much for reading and remember, feedback is so so so appreciated!!! You can also send requests to my ask anytime!! I hope you enjoy :) More of my writing can be found in my masterlist :)

***

Sleep was fleeting and you remained staring at your popcorn ceiling in your shitty apartment for longer than you would have liked. It was later than you would have liked when your phone buzzed and lit up the ceiling of your bedroom. Knowing sleep was still far off, you rolled over and examined the text from an unknown number, the bright screen blinding you in the process.

Hi, I was thinking of you today. I thought I would show you this piece that I made of you. Hope you’re doing well. Hx, attached was a slightly blurry photo of a beautiful painting of a woman.

The woman in the painting was made up of beautiful bright colors, her skin a mix of green, blue, and purple tones. Her eyes were a bright and captivating cerulean, standing out behind wide framed glasses, and she wore an intriguing and knowing smirk on her lips. Her hair fell down in blunt bangs over her forehead and framed her heart shaped face. She was young, looking to be only a little bit older than you.

The painting was captivating. It was crafted with such bright tones, using color blocking that blended the abstract with some elements of realism. It felt like someone poured all of their emotion and adoration or hurt (you couldn’t decide which) into it. You couldn’t decide if the artist loved or hated this figure staring back at you. One thing you knew was that whoever texted you was incredibly talented and had obviously dedicated so much time to this piece. You felt awful that it hadn’t reached its intended destination.

Um… Wrong number, you typed out, feeling a pang of sympathy for whoever ‘H’ was.

Oh… okay. Sorry to bother you., your phone screen lit up again.

Your art is beautiful, you quickly sent back, attempting to offer some sort of consolation to the mystery artist. Sorry I’m not who you wanted to talk to.

Don’t worry about it. Just looking for someone from a lifetime ago.

That last part kept you up for most of the night. You couldn’t stop thinking about what that could mean. Old friend? Estranged relative? Another artist? You let your mind dream up Oscar-worthy scenarios until you finally fell asleep.

***

“Please come to Scott’s art show with me,” Grace whined from across the table at your favorite coffee shop. Grace was your best friend from college and hadn’t figured out to get rid of you yet.

“You know how I feel about your shitty boyfriend and his shitty art,” you fired back. Scott was a pretentious “artist” who made “ironic” misogynistic sculptures and frequently “forgot” to pay Grace back for his share of rent. You hated his guts.

“I promise I’m going to break up with him soon. I just need to get to the end of the month so I get my money’s worth for rent,” she assured you. “By the way, I’m going to need some help moving out at the end of the month,” she mentioned nonchalantly. You let out a chuckle at her and playfully rolled your eyes.

“I will go to the show with you on one condition.”

“Anything.”

“You’ll hold my hand.”

A few hours later you walked into the modern and cold art show space, holding onto Grace’s hand for dear life, feeling unwelcome in this environment. Grace blended in easily, her bright blue hair and arms of tattoos suiting her well. The edgiest thing you had ever done was getting your nose pierced… until your grandma threw a fit and your mom made you take it out. You were not an artist and you did not feel welcome in the art community, or at least the type of artists that hang out with Scott. You worked in an office, you dressed plainly and simply, and you didn’t think there was anything special about yourself. You were strikingly ordinary, a sharp contrast from most other people in the gallery. You felt like an outsider because you were one.

Walking around the gallery, you hung onto Grace while examining and appreciating the artwork. You took careful steps, as if to not take attention away from the paintings on the walls and spent time examining each piece as you moved through the room. As you moved from wall to wall, your eyes fell on a strikingly familiar painting. The same girl with the bright blue eyes and the bangs stared back at you, the devilish smirk still playing upon her lips like she knew you had met before.

Releasing Grace’s hand, you all but ran up to the painting in question, trying to take in all the details that didn’t translate over the slightly grainy photo on your phone. The painting took on a life of its own up close. The paint itself was layered thick and thin across the canvas creating a rough texture that made the girl come alive. You were half waiting for her to make eye contact with her captivating baby blues and start staring back at you. You felt like you could reach inside the canvas and hold the beautiful woman’s face in your hands.

“Do you like it?” a deep British voice asked after clearing their throat behind you.

“Oh, it’s so beautiful,” you murmured, still staring at the green and purple woman. It took you a moment to rip yourself away from her piercing eyes and look towards the voice, only to turn around and find an even more captivating set.

They were bright green and belonged to a tall, dark haired man that was breathtaking. He had chocolate brown curls that seemed to be sticking in every direction, like a purposefully perfect bedhead, and stubble that moved up his jaw and down his neck. He had plushy pink lips framing his bright smile and his two front teeth came down the tiniest bit too far. He was wearing a white tshirt that was painted to his fit body as it was a size too small for him, showing off his arms of tattoos, and a pair of orange corduroy flares. His ensemble was topped off with a pearl necklace. He arched a brow when your mouth hung open slightly, trying to take all of him in.

“The painting is gorgeous,” you eventually were able to spit out. “I feel like I know her.”

“I’m glad that I was able to create something so captivating,” he smiled at you. So he was the one that painted it, meaning he was the one who had texted it to you. After getting over the initial shock, you gave yourself an internal high five for having this guy’s number. “Harry,” he introduced himself, reaching out a perfectly manicured hand to shake yours. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Y/N,” you smiled back, debating if you should tell him that you had kind of met before. It felt creepy to tell him, like you were some sort of voyer on an intimate part of his life. “I love her. Can you tell me a little bit more about it?” you asked. You had to figure out if it was worth being creepy about.

“So did I,” he said with a light chuckle. “She’s someone that I used to know,” he elaborated looking over your shoulder, surely making eye contact with the woman. Maybe you were reading into it too closely, but you thought a flash of hurt passed across his features.

“Do you always paint mysterious people from your past?” you teased, wanting to break the slightly awkward silence and also willing to do anything to talk to him further.

“Actually, I’m mainly a landscape painter,” he smiled at the ground, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Looking back at Harry’s wall of paintings you realized that the girl was the only person on the wall, flanked by beautiful landscape paintings depicting all different areas of the world. You quickly picked your favorite, a monochromatic green scene of the Eiffel tower.

After you asked if he traveled a lot to paint, the conversation began to flow. You strolled around the mainly empty studio space, footsteps falling in sync, him teaching you about his paintings and you asking questions, desperate to learn anything you could from him and just wanting to hear that beautiful accent. You learned he grew up in Cheshire and moved to New York for school and never left, but he travelled to Europe often to see his family and to paint. He told you about how his ultimate goals in life were to have one of his pieces in the Museum of Modern Art and to find his soulmate. He was a hopeless yet hopeful romantic. He also had two cats, Evie and Stevie (the latter was obviously named after Stevie Nicks).

He was so beautiful. He had this magical twinkle in his eye that you just couldn’t get over. He looked like he was one of the sculptors’ in the room’s life work. He was just as much of a piece of art as anything on display in the studio.

When the crowd started to thin, Grace came and found you, still rolling her eyes from something stupid Scott had said, him trailing not far behind. “Hi my love,” she greeted you, kissing your cheek casually as always. “We were getting ready to head out but I can see you’ve made a friend.”

“Harry is the artist behind all these amazing paintings,” gesturing to the long wall displaying his artwork. “This is my best friend Grace,” you said, turning back to him. “And that’s her soon to be ex-boyfriend, Scott,” you laughed and pointed to him staring at a blank white canvas in the corner that was obviously not part of the exhibition.

“Wait,” he began, shaking his head and laughing, pointing accusingly between the two of you. “You two aren’t together?”

“What? No!”

“It’s just that you were holding hands for a while when you came in and then she called you ‘love,’ and then kissed your cheek,” he continued laughing, his cheeks a bright red. It was adorable. You felt your cheeks heat up just as bright red as his.

“Oh my god, no.” You broke out into a fit of giggles of your own.

“Well, in that case, would you like to grab a drink or something sometime?”

***

You decided to order a martini when you got to the bar the next night. You thought it would make you look fancy and you hoped it would impress your worldly date. You had put on your favorite red dress (the one that hugged you in all the right spots and hid the wrong ones), praying he would dress up like you did, and slid carefully onto the barstool. Bouncing your knee nervously, you sipped your drink slowly until you saw his well dressed figure enter the bar, making your heart skip a beat.

He was dressed in high-waisted wide-legged tan pants and a bright red cardigan printed with small white hearts that was held together in the front by a single button, leaving his chest and signature pearl necklace on display. His chest tattoos were now slightly visible, the faces of two swallows looking back at you, as well as what you thought might be some sort of antennae peeking up from his stomach. He also wore an award winning smile and shot you a wink when he spotted you from the entrance of the bar. Once again, he took your breath away.

“Hello darling,” he greeted you as he made his way over. You began to panic when he started leaning into you, relieved when his lips found their way to your cheek and quickly moved to the other. When he kissed your cheeks, it sent sparks through your body. Oh my god, he is so British, you squealed inside your head, unable to suppress your American excitement. “I like your color choice,” he smirked looking between your outfits of almost the exact same red. You could only hope your cheeks didn’t match as well.

“Great minds dress alike,” you remarked, earning a laugh from the gorgeous man in front of you. Turns out, your joke was enough to break the ice. Soon the conversation began to flow freely, without anxiety or trepidation, like you were a pair of souls reunited after lifetimes apart. You were two martinis in when you decided to break the news that the art gallery was not the first time you had spoken.

“I think I have to break something to you,” you giggled, everything seeming a little funny after a few drinks, “the art show was not the first time we met.” His eyebrows knit together in slight confusion so you decided to elaborate. “The night before the show you sent a picture of that painting to a wrong number, and that wrong number was me. I promise it was all a coincidence and I am not stalking you.” You held your breath while you waited a moment with bated breath for a reaction from him, but released the stress that had found its way into your shoulders when his smile returned to his lips.

“I knew you had more interest in Amelia than most people,” he chuckled. Amelia, you repeated to yourself, now having a name for the face of your mystery woman.

“When Grace dragged me to that studio and I saw her again, I just had to know more. But then I met you and got a little distracted,” you flirted, “accidentally” nudging his leg with the point of your stiletto.

“I’m glad I’m just a distraction to you,” he feigned offense, clutching his pearl necklace with the hand that wasn’t hanging onto his neat tequila.

“Meeting you tonight was actually just an elaborate ruse to learn more about your Amelia,” you sarcastically confessed, sending him back one of the winks he had been shooting you all night. Your wink wasn’t met with his typical laugh, but a slightly pained smile that didn’t reach his eyes. You worried you had hit a nerve.

“She’s not my Amelia anymore. Actually, I don’t think she ever was,” he spoke gently, taking a sip of his drink and breaking eye contact for what felt like the first time tonight. Oh no oh no oh no, you began to panic in your head. What did this woman do to him?

“I once had an ex tell me they had cancer so I wouldn’t break up with them,” you offered, forcing a laugh and praying you could brighten up his mood again. Thankfully, it worked, bringing back the crinkles by his eyes that appeared whenever he smiled or laughed.

You breathed a sigh of relief when the rest of the night went smoothly. It was better than smooth actually, it felt easy and exciting. Harry made your heart sing and your stomach flutter. He was a perfect gentleman, walking you all the way home (even when he lived on the other side of the city) and even up to your apartment, insisting he needed to make sure you made it inside safe.

The pair of you were standing in front of your front door when he leaned in and pressed his blushed lips to yours. He tasted like the lime that sat on the rim of his drunk and smelled like shampoo and vanilla. Every hair on your body stood up on point and everywhere he touched you felt like your skin lit on fire; you never wanted this moment to end. He gently held your face and you could feel his lips turn into a smile as he pulled away, his beautiful green eyes meeting yours once again.

“I had a really good time tonight,” he breathed, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

“I think we should do this again,” you said, still catching the breath that he took away.

“I promise you’ll be hearing from me soon. I already have your number,” he chuckled, still beaming. You watched as he walked down the hallway away from you, winking and blowing you a kiss before turning the corner. As soon as you entered the apartment, you slid down your front door, dizzy from the haze he had created in your head. You couldn’t wait to see him again.

***

After that night, you couldn’t believe someone like him kept coming back to someone like you. You insisted you were too boring for someone who had such an incredible personality and background. Yet three months later, he was yours and you were his.

You spent almost all your nights together, crammed into one of your small New York City apartments, wrapped in each other’s arms and hypothetically solving the world’s problems. You had learned in this time that Harry was incredibly intelligent and well spoken, no matter how long it took him to get his words out due to his slow cadence. In your conversations, you had come to the agreement that most of the world’s problems could be solved with a little empathy and that green was definitely the best color.

Tonight you laid naked in his bed, your head resting just above your favorite butterfly, and played with his fingers as you listened to him speak about postmodernism and how it rocked the art world. You didn’t understand a thing he was going on about but you loved to hear him speak, his voice vibrating through his chest and how he pulled on his bottom lip when he was thinking. You scanned the studio apartment from his bed, trying to pay attention but losing that battle. The floor was littered with finished and unfinished paintings leaning up against the walls and you noticed one familiar face you had grown fond of was missing.

“Where did your painting of Amelia go?” you asked when he took a second to breathe during his diatribe.

“I sold it,” he said curtly. You hadn’t talked much more about Amelia after that first night, the woman obviously being a sore spot, but you couldn’t help but wonder what happened.

“Oh, okay. I liked that painting a lot,” you spoke cautiously, trying not to hit whatever nerve you had previously.

“It was nice, but I think she should haunt someone else now,” he said with a sigh. Haunt?, you thought to yourself.

“H,” you began, rolling yourself off him to look him in the eye, “can I ask what happened with her?” You held your breath, afraid you might lose him to the heartbreak again.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s long gone.”

“Harry,” you lightly scolded him by using his full name which you rarely did, thinking back to when you agreed not to keep anything for each other. With a sigh, he began to speak.

“I was with her for a couple months last year and when I look back at it, it was really messy. We fought all the time and kept a lot from each other. But I had my rose colored glasses on and I would go as far as saying I was probably in love with her. I was even looking for engagement rings.” You felt a pang of jealousy within you at the idea of Harry loving anyone else. “That was until I found out that she already had a husband.”

Your heart broke for him after your initial shock, resting your hand on his warm cheek in an attempt to soothe him. He didn’t seem sad recounting the story or at the mention of her like he was before; he was now dealing with the remaining hurt of rejection.

“I painted her while I was still really mad,” he continued. “My original plan was to send it to her husband and tell him what had happened. But I decided that three lives didn’t need to be ruined instead of one. And then I was just kinda stuck with the painting. I thought selling it was a good way to get her out of my life and it’s more productive than lighting it on fire,” he finally said with a light chuckle.

A lot made sense all of a sudden. You now understood why Harry always got a little jealous when he saw other guys looking at you. He would loop an arm around your waist and press a kiss to your cheek while he stared them down. He thought you didn’t notice but you always did. You also understood why he was so open with you about how much he cared about you. It was a good thing you were equally as obsessed with him.

“I’m sorry, H. You didn’t deserve to go through all of that,” you said softly after a moment, unsure of what else you could offer.

“It’s okay. We grow from our past,” he shrugged. “And if I hadn’t painted her, I wouldn’t have found you,” he smiled sweetly, pulling you back into him and pressing his lips onto yours.

***

“Oh my goodness, what are you doing?” you giggled when Harry asked you to close your eyes.

“I have something to show you. Please close your eyes,” he asked again.

“What if I don’t want to close my eyes?” you teased, poking the dimple in his cheek caused by his cheeky grin. He rolled his eyes and began his plea again.

“Close your eyes, please. Do it.”

You gave in this time, closing your eyes and letting your heart flutter in anticipation. Harry knew you loved surprises and often took advantage of that fact. You felt him gently rest his cupped hands over your eyes, obviously not trusting you to not peak (he probably shouldn’t). He pressed himself to your back, urging you to make your way further into his apartment.

“Styles, if you let me walk into something, I swear to god,” you continued your giggling, overcome with excitement. Harry mumbled an ‘Oh, hush,’ in your ear before he stopped you both and lifted his hands away.

Your breath caught in your throat as you took it in. The painting was in Harry’s signature style, layered bright colors and varied textures across the canvas. Staring back was your own face, painted in a bright red monochrome with the exception of the color of your eyes that remained the same. You were posed with a bright smile that crinkled the skin by your eyes and you were wearing the red dress that you had worn that first night at the bar.

“Harry, oh my god. It’s so beautiful,” you managed to get out, still in shock.

“I know you don’t think you are, but are the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met. I wouldn’t want anyone else in the world to be my muse.” You felt as if you could explode or melt with the amount of love you had for this man. You held him up on such a pedestal, and now you knew he did the same for you. “From the moment I saw you, I thought you were a work of art. So, I thought I’d actually make you into one.”

Your cheeks burned from the smile you couldn’t shake if you wanted to and you felt yourself get a little teary eyed. You felt as if you had spent the majority of your life thinking you were nothing special and just another person walking down the street. Harry made you feel like you were the center of the universe. You wanted to love yourself like Harry loved you; like you loved him.

“I love you,” you blurted, small tears rolling down your face, wiped away by Harry’s talented hands.

“I love you too,” he murmured softly, pulling your body to his. “I’ll always have your face hung up high in my gallery.”

There she is!! I hope you enjoyed it!! You can let me know what you think here!! :)

#harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles drabble #harry styles burb #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fic #harry fan fic #one direction #one direction fan fiction #harryandhockey

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

Introductory prologue. The main pairing will be established ironstrange x reader. This story will be rated explicit, have some canon-typical violence and language. The 'fuck' harvest is bountiful this time of the year. Updates - irregular so far, I'm posting it as I go.

No y/n, no "you", no name - nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns. Please leave a comment if you spot a stray 'blushing' or the likes, I write as it flows and sometimes miss those words when I proofread. I try to be inclusive of all my readers.

"Your total is twelve dollars, seventeen cents," I rattled off on autopilot, casting a glance at the cash register and plastering an automatic smile onto my face. The pleasant expression was frozen on it, stuck like glue, despite the news I had received earlier in the day. "Thank you, have a nice day," I doubted the customer actually heard my words.

One of those business-types, wearing a tailored two-piece, with a Bluetooth headset attached to their ear and brain always a mile away, our little coffee shop a mild interruption in their daily routine of making more and more money. "Hello, how can I help you?" I addressed the next customer, my eyes unseeing, gliding over their face and to the storefront where I noticed we were running low on eclairs and carrot cake.

"Hey, Starlight," the woman's voice was familiar, tone soothing, as I snapped my eyes to meet a pair of reddish-brown ones, staring at me with concern. "The usual," our city's very own superhero; Wanda Maximoff stood before me with her head curiously tilted to the side and her brother hovering behind her, examining the assortment of various cakes on display. "Long day?"

"You have no idea," I sighed, sending off the organic, single-use cups with scribbles off to Dave, our barista. Wanda's order was large, usually about ten or twelve coffees and quite a few treats, so I donned on some nitrile gloves to package the treats while Dave handled the drinks with practiced ease. I admired his stoicism. "Might be seeing a bit less of me," the woman's eyebrows rose in displeasure at my admission.

"Tony won't be happy," Wanda mumbled, side-eyeing the backdoor behind which my boss usually resided during the day. "You got fired?" The words attracted the attention of her brother. Pietro was immediately at her side, joining into the concerned staring.

"Nope," I popped the 'p', methodically shoving the food in its packaging. "The café is expanding hours and our shifts are being split now. Jeremy is dead set on me working the graveyard shift, so I'll be here six AM to two PM," I couldn't help the sigh that left my lips.

My boss, Jeremy, had opened his boulangerie little over two years ago, and as he had predicted, it set off almost immediately. The place was located almost in the heart of the dozen corporate sky-rises full of busy, wealthy people who liked their things to be both instant and luxurious. Jeremy had fit right in with the law sharks and business vultures, if you ask me, with his penchant for demanding the impossible.

I was expecting an increase in work hours, I wasn't going to lie - our little cafe was busy nearly all the time it was open - but the fact that he chose to split a day's shift came as a punch to the gut. Like most service staff, I made most of my money from the tips, and they and they only were the only reason I stayed in a place with a shrew for a boss and the worst health insurance in the area. Thankfully, the rich businessmen from local offices didn't count their money and left me more than generous tips.

The coffee machine beeped for the last time as Dave passed me the three cupholders before I carefully bagged them, arranging the treats on top. I saw Wanda lick her lips at the aromas coming from the paper bag before Pietro snatched them out of my grasp. I rattled off the total, catching Wanda's eye as she passed me several twenty dollar bills, waving off my attempt to return the change.

"Penny for your wandering thoughts?" She smiled warmly as I chuckled at the question I've grown to expect with a quiet sort of joy.

The first time she'd wandered in, soaking wet from the rain and looking as lost as a child in a mall, ten minutes before closing time, I was reading my book right at the counter as I waited for the coffee machine to clean itself. I hadn't even noticed the quiet woman until her words startled me out of the book-induced trance and I shamefully had to ask her to repeat herself, hastily shoving my book under the counter. She smiled at me, shyly, and asked me about my reading instead of rattling an order for one of the sickly sweet caffeine concoctions female customers seemed to love. And she returned in a few days, asking the same question after taking a careful look at my face.

"And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about." I took a careful moment to recall a paragraph from the book I was currently reading, Murakami's 'Kafka on the Shore'. It seemed fitting, with all that had been going on in my life recently. I was still caught in the middle of the storm, unsure if I'd make it out but hoping for it nonetheless.

"That's beautiful," Pietro smiled at me, the tips of his silver hair reflecting the lights of the cafe's baroque style chandeliers. I barely managed to smile at him as he was already speeding off, the entrance door banging shut behind a blur of white and blue. Each time he did that, I couldn't help but wonder how he managed to not spill any of the hot beverages.

"Because it's true," Wanda added with a comforting smile. I nodded in agreement, hoping some of her positive attitude would dissipate the sense of doom I'd been lugging around all day. She departed, taking the sense of comfort with her, as I caught the tail end of something shouted in Sokovian - something that sounded exactly in place, coming from one disgruntled sibling to another.

When the residents of the nearby Stark tower began frequenting my workplace, I barely had the composure to stifle my quiet fangirling to socially acceptable levels. Not long after the Scarlet Witch turned a semi-regular, she started bringing her colleagues with her - Hawkeye at first, who was a decent, normal dude; he looked like an exasperated dad and Pietro appeared every thing the rambunctious son, as the younger man peppered the older man with questions about the cakes on our display.

They all had fancy names, but at the bottom of it, a chocolate cake was a chocolate cake. That much I told them, with a snort, earning myself a lopsided grin and a generous tip as I patiently listed off the more commonly used, simplified designations for the twins as the knowledge of them being European immigrants crossed my mind.

After Hawkeye came the Black Widow, and then Captain America with a sunny smile and his moody boyfriend in tow. While Bucky Barnes' expression was generally sour, the man had a wicked sweet tooth, shoveling frosted, glazed treats at the rate of a competitive eater. Both men were extremely polite if not very chatty and tipped well.

Tony Stark himself - well, he was a special one. His sense of humour trailed on the fine line of obscene, oftentimes raising the eyebrows of nearby people standing in line. I wasn't born yesterday, either: years of customer service work left me with little-to-no surprise regarding overzealous men and I could quip back equally as sharply, just slightly south of Tony's own jokes. He never overstepped, however, and with time, I developed a quiet appreciation for our small talks.

Which did brighten up my day, if only a little. "A little birdy told me your boss is being a douchebag. Want me to clean up that muck?" Tony was, as usual, wearing a bespoke suit and sunglasses, which he'd pushed up to his forehead as he frivolously leaned on the counter after placing his order.

I sighed, remembering Wanda's words. I didn't know what to expect from the eccentric billionaire; last of all, I didn't want any handouts. I'd started a search for a second part-time job the very day I got told my pay would be essentially cut in half. "No need, Mr. Stark, I'm gonna be fine and dandy," I replied with a smile that I was sure didn't really reach my eyes. "We'll still be able to resume our nice chit-chat at brunch on Saturdays," I winked, hoping to keep up the usual light atmosphere of our banter.

"I told you to call me Tony!" He exclaimed, like always, shaking his head and glaring at the back door. "Yeah, no," the man had absolutely no chill. "I'll still sic the IRS on him," the last part was said quietly. Mr. Stark often spoke to himself.

I laughed at the rich-kid, spoilt way he was acting. A grown man with an attitude of a teenager and a sweet tooth to match one - except for his coffee. That was always the strongest, blackest one we had on hand. I hadn't even heard of a triple espresso until Mr. Stark had waltzed in, skipping the line and filling the air around him with the smells of cologne that smelled like money, motor oil, iron and soot.

The moment I opened my e-mail at home, I felt my gloomy mood worsen, Mr. Stark's words echoing in my head. I'd sent my resumes to two dozen places and only a handful even bothered to reply - all preemptive rejections, there weren't businesses needing a part-time employee with a useless degree, who could only work evenings. Except bars, but they required some sort of certificate for bartenders and lots and lots of bare skin for waitresses. I tried to steer away from that part of the industry as much as I could, saving it as a last resort option.

It had come down to browsing Craigslist as I ate my way through a carton of cheap take-out, too exhausted to cook and too anxious to go out to the nearby bodega after 9 PM. One more negative side of working late shift - making my way home in the dead of the night in NYC and hoping Spider-Man was hanging out nearby should a thug decide on me to be their next victim. The joys of big city life.

As the column of various ads stared at me with various suspicious offers to make quick money, ads for 'young, sociable women' and I stared back at them in muted disgust. The 'looking for a job' section was much more sensible with the few ads I'd clicked on out of curiosity depicting people seemingly in a similar situation as me - short on money but not desperate enough to surrender their dignity to corporate greed. The decision was momentary - I'd started typing and hit the post button before I was through with my food, slapping my old laptop shut as soon as the as posted.

Hopefully, the creeps will stay away. The next couple of days stretched out slowly as I got up at the crack of dawn to open the shop, served the early birds whilst sipping my own matcha latte and clocked out not a second later than 2PM, taking home half the usual amount of tips. My e-mail remained as silent as ever, only a few suspicious replies to my ad, texts that I didn't even bother replying to. Human trafficking and pyramid schemes, was that all that NYC had to offer?

Apparently, not. Around 6PM, my phone dinged as a notification popped up and I scrambled to read it - all too aware of the upcoming rent day, and was pleasantly surprised with the contents of the e-mail, re-reading it several times to make sure there weren't any hidden stones under the water. I replied with my phone number, not expecting it to ring within minutes of hitting the send button.

"Hello?"

"Hi, we just corresponded," the voice on the other side was feminine but slightly rough, as if it's owner spent days chain-smoking. "I would like to invite you for a small interview, if you wouldn't mind."

I chewed on my lip in contemplation. "Could I ask you some questions first?" The levels of anxiety, I thought, were reasonable in the situation. It mutely gnawed at my chest.

"Sure," the woman agreed amicably. "My name is Odette, by the way," she mentioned off-handedly, the name fitting her voice in a strange way.

"Uh, well," I stammered. "You mentioned it's a herbal medicine shop, you're not selling weed under the counter, are you?" I voiced my worries meekly, hoping for an honest answer.

The woman laughed, a sharp, terse sound. "No, dear, I do not sell or possess anything illegal. I merely offer supplies for the locals that prefer natural, alternative medicine." She sounded jovial.

"Like - um, healing crystals?" I vaguely remembered reading about them on the internet, or seeing them in a YouTube video, perhaps.

"Yes, we sell those, too," her tone grew more joyful at the mention of the shiny rocks. I didn't think that they actually cured anything, to be honest, however I was willing to give it some credit - the placebo effect was a scientific fact. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

"Okay then," I chuckled nervously. "I'm free tomorrow after 3 PM."

"Grand. The shop is open until 10 PM, just say your name at the counter and I'll be right with you."

As soon as I hung up, relief and curiosity and trepidation blossomed within me, imagination unhelpfully supplying images of human trafficking documentaries, basements with chains and other, less horrifying but still unusual things. The pep talk over a wine glass that I had was necessary: it was a herbal shop, for fuck's sake. Worst case, I'm going to work with Karens who think the Earth is flat and quartz cures cancer. I could even get a funny story or two out of those, something to share with Bucky or Wanda in lieu of the usual book quotes I entertain them with.

The day went by smoothly, the café no more and no less busy than usual so after a brief detour back home to put on something that didn't smell like coffee grounds and yeast: comfortable pants and a soft sweater, something that would keep me warm but would not unnecessarily restrict any movement. My good luck charm, a large oval necklace with a shiny gold star in the middle, hung heavily around my neck, providing quiet comfort.

Heart thudding in my chest, I approached the old-style, inconspicuous building, double-checking the address before opening the old, heavy wooden door right at the corner of the building. It was like a movie scene, in a way - the day was overcast, meager sun rays shining through the lead curtain of clouds, the streets were clear and few honks rung out in the far end of block, sending a flock of pigeons into a lazy scatter over the slanted roof. The door creaked softly, the handle cold under my touch, instantly filling my nose with a strong smell of herbs so plentiful, I could not distinguish one from another.

Inside didn't look any less intriguing: the décor was outdated but somehow fitting and homely, high wooden shelves stocked with glass jars and wooden boxes with neatly placed labels on them. The counter was empty - save for a large, golden bell, which I timidly pressed.

The woman who emerged from behind the worn cotton curtains behind the counter most certainly was impressive. Tall and broad, with dark eyebrows and even darker eyes, she critically surveyed me for a moment, making me shiver under her gaze - and then she smiled, revealing rows of pearly white teeth and instantaneously losing the imposing aura around her.

"Um, hi- I'm-" I didn't get to finish my nervous stammering.

She interrupted me with a careless wave of her hand. "Here for the interview. Yes. Welcome, Star," her eyes briefly fell on my necklace while I struggled to swallow the unease.

I hadn't told her my nickname - to be honest, these days, I heard it more often than my given name. People quickly took notice of my love of star-patterned items and teased me relentlessly over it, losing heat only when I calmly went along with it, too used to hearing the same jokes since my early childhood.

Odette motioned me over, parting the curtains to reveal a tiny, but tastefully decorated hall with two doors on each side and a staircase at the far end of it. I followed her into the room on the left, which turned out to be a peculiar sort of office. I thought I noticed an Ouija board in there but wisely kept my mouth shut.

"I live on the floor above the shop so don't go throwing any parties while you're on the job," she remarked playfully, gesturing to a pot of tea. "It's peppermint, does wonders for calming one's demeanor," the gesture was sweet - and very telling.

I wondered if I looked as spooked as I felt. After all, it didn't seem like Odette and her business were fishy in any way, and the décor and atmosphere were quite... Appealing, in a way. Something magical, something belonging in Europe or on a high schooler's Pinterest board. I sipped my tea in-between questions, thinking how maybe, I could actually grow accustomed to this place.

The shopkeeper acted as if I'd already accepted the job and I - well, it's not like I had any other options waiting for me. The pay was more than I expected it to be, for such a small bodega and a part-time shift, and it would help me cover my bills with enough to spare. The customers were said to be mostly regular and undemanding, with a few rare exceptions, and should I need assistance, the owner was always a call and a floor away.

With a considerably lighter heart, I left to pad the damp sidewalk back towards my house. Thankfully, my new workplace was only a short walk away.

The tag list is open until the story is finished. Please use the 'taglist' Google form to request (top of the fic, clickable link).

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

#bun writes #practical alchemy #ironstrange x reader #tony stark x reader x stephen strange #tony stark x reader #stephen strange x reader #tony stark fanfiction #stephen strange fanfiction

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holycatsandrabbits · 3 years

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Tollense, an original serial romance by Dannye Chase, Chapter 4

A history professor falls in love with his best friend, a 3000-year-old vampire.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

Chapter 4

1997 (One year later)

The convention center had been beautiful under the blue Minnesota sky when Liam had arrived, and it was still beautiful now with its windows backed by heavy showers of falling snow that threw diffuse, moving light onto the walls inside the conference room. Beautiful and alarming.

Liam’s university was located in Florida. Florida was quite nice in January, and besides, there were theme parks. Didn’t people always like theme parks? But instead, the conference was being held in Minnesota, and this was the final day. In an hour, Liam and his colleagues, other faculty of the history department, were supposed to start the twenty-some-hour drive home.

“Could have been at Disney World,” Kurt remarked, startling Liam. Liam had been too busy watching the storm to realize Kurt had come up beside him.

“What on earth?” Liam asked, quite rightfully surprised, not by Kurt’s sudden unexpected presence, as he was used to that by now, but because Kurt was not a history professor, and therefore didn’t have a reason to be at the conference.

“Thought I’d drop in,” Kurt said. “See how things were going. Anyone interested in your research on Tollense?”

“Everyone. It’s very exciting.” Liam kept his voice low. “Am I talking to myself, or can everyone else see you?”

Kurt smiled at him. “I wouldn’t give you that kind of reputation. I’m visible.” Liam could see it was true, as Kurt’s good looks were attracting a few appreciative glances. “Are you ready to come home?” Kurt asked.

“Yes, we’re due to head out soon. Not that we’re really looking forward to it.”

“Well, your co-workers can head out whenever they like. I’m taking you home.”

“What?”

Kurt looked surprised by Liam’s surprise. “You’re from Florida. You have no idea what to do with snow. They’re pulling locals off the roads, Liam. I'm not letting you drive in this weather.”

“But you don’t even know how to dr— wait.” Liam felt a bit of a shiver crawl up his spine. “Oh, no. I’m not teleporting home.”

“I’ve been doing it for thousands of years. With humans. You know that. It’s perfectly safe.”

“No.”

Now a bit of hurt flashed over Kurt’s features, and like all his dark expressions, it was vaguely unsettling. “You don’t trust me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I just don’t want to teleport.”

“Why on earth not?”

Liam hated to lie to Kurt. Partly, it was because Liam was not entirely sure that Kurt couldn’t somehow tell that he was lying. Kurt claimed that he couldn’t read minds, but he was a vampire who could teleport himself from Florida to Minnesota, and Liam would not have been at all surprised to find that Kurt was aware of the snowstorm confronting Liam without having checked the weather.

But it was also true that Kurt was Liam’s best friend and it seemed wrong to lie to him. Except Liam couldn’t tell him the truth about this, because that wasn’t going to help anyone. It was better if Kurt didn’t know that Liam was in love with him, that for over a year now, Liam had been obsessed with the memory of Kurt kissing him, slow and sweet, and that the last thing Liam needed now was for Kurt to pull him close and show off his impressive supernatural abilities in a rescue. Kurt had made it clear that he never allowed himself to fall in love with humans that he met, and Liam had to be protective of his heart, already cracked and in danger of breaking.

“Look, if you are so dead-set on it, you can use your mind-control powers to convince me,” Liam joked, and immediately realized that was worse than lying, because Kurt flinched.

“If I do that,” Kurt said, in what sounded like a carefully controlled voice, “I will lose you anyway.”

“Wh— you’re not going to lose me. I’ll get a hotel, then. Drive home later.”

“I don’t want you driving to a hotel!” Kurt looked exasperated. “Liam, you are the most adventurous person I know. Why not this?”

“Oh, I’m hardly—”

“Yes, you are. You’re like an explorer, always hungry for something new and unusual. You’re brave, and not terribly cautious, which is bad for your driving habits, but it’s perfectly safe when it comes to me, because I am never going to let anything happen to you.”

Kurt had stepped close, and Liam could tell how upset Kurt was because Kurt was losing his grip on the human appearance and mannerisms he tried to put on. Right now he looked sleek and strong and shadowy. He didn’t reach for Liam with his hands, but Liam could feel something surrounding him, like a faint cool mist. It felt oddly familiar, and Liam got the impression that the mist might actually always be there, a piece of Kurt holding onto him, and Liam had just never been consciously aware of it before.

And then everything suddenly snapped back into place: Kurt looked ordinary again, and Liam realized with a shock that a couple of his colleagues had approached them.

“What do you think?” asked one of them. “We’re talking about getting a hotel.”

“I have a ride home,” Liam said faintly. Everyone looked at him in surprise, including Kurt. Few of Liam’s fellow faculty had met Kurt, partly by Kurt’s design, because he wasn’t terribly social, and partly by Liam’s. Liam was aware that his very close friendship with a very handsome man was likely to give him a certain other reputation, one that was quite deserved (though sadly not much practiced), but not very wise in the current political climate.

Nothing for it now. “Chris Mullens, Doris Sullivan, this is my friend Kurt, ah, Smith. He was in town for something else and is heading back to Florida today. He offered me a ride.”

“Is it safe?” Doris asked, looking concerned.

“Kurt’s a very good driver. Got a— a car like a tank.”

Doris laid a hand on Liam’s shoulder, and to Liam’s surprise, Kurt seemed to bristle at that, almost literally, and the whole room seemed to go with him, the air around them feeling oddly sharp. Liam understood that Kurt was concerned that he’d change his mind and be convinced to travel with his colleagues, but it undoubtedly looked like something else from the outside— a sort of possessiveness.

“What a nice friend,” Chris said lightly, looking at Kurt in a way that Liam did not like at all, as if Kurt was not a person but a problem, not a good-looking man but a tempting trap. Liam’s personal belief was that men who were so vehemently opposed to homosexuality were probably terrified that they themselves might be vulnerable to such a “trap,” but it was better if that went unsaid.

Kurt rescued him, of course. “Yes, Liam and I have been friends for a while. I used to date one of his students, Martina.”

Chris’s face cleared a bit, losing some of its distaste. He had apparently not heard of bisexuality, or whatever word might describe Kurt. “Oh. Sure.”

“Ready to go?” Kurt asked Liam. He barely waited for an answer before steering Liam out of the room. They walked down an empty hallway where the storm winds were pushing hard enough to make the windows shift in their frames. Kurt spoke in a gentle voice. “Give it a few years. The world is becoming more tolerant again. Humans keep discovering their natures over and over.”

“This must all be very trite to you.”

“Not in the least.” Kurt’s eyes were sharp on him. “Do you think Chris is the one sending you those threatening letters?”

Liam scoffed. “He barely knows how to tie his shoes. Worse than even the typical history professor.”

Kurt looked unconvinced. “I’ll keep an eye on him all the same.” He held out a hand to Liam. “Let’s go home.”

Liam looked down at Kurt’s hand. A pale blue vein ran delicately along his wrist, and Liam wondered what flowed there, if anything. “What about my luggage?”

“I already picked it up from Dr. Sullivan’s car. It’s at your place.”

“You’re awfully confident that I’d say yes to this.”

Kurt sighed, exasperated. “I can’t believe you haven’t asked me sooner. I thought I’d be taking you to the Louvre every weekend. Or Rome. At least Antietam.”

Liam laughed. “I should have.”

Kurt smiled, looking at ease for the first time since he’d arrived. “You should.”

“Next weekend then.” Liam finally took Kurt’s hand, and their fingers fit together easily. As always, Kurt was slightly cool to the touch.

The convention center faded away into a sort of bland white light. Liam felt like he was floating, but still with his feet planted on the ground. He looked down and found his own office floor beneath his shoes.

“Stay still a moment,” Kurt warned. “People can get dizzy when they’re not used to it.” He dropped Liam’s grasp and put a steadying hand on his arm instead. And now was the moment Liam had dreaded: Kurt was so close, so strong, and so hauntingly strange.

“We must seem so very fragile to you,” Liam said.

“You are fragile.” There was a harsh coldness in Kurt’s voice.

“So how did you learn to do that? To teleport?”

Kurt shrugged. “Just always could.”

“Always?” Liam frowned. “I thought a vampire’s abilities were based on age.”

“They are.”

“But if you’ve been doing it as long as you can remember— since at least Tollense— doesn’t it follow then that your origins would have to be a great deal older than that?”

Kurt narrowed his eyes, considering.

“Or else,” Liam said, “maybe you’re not a vampire.”

“I drink blood.”

“A lot of creatures— uh, beings— are said to drink blood. I’m sorry, it must be so frustrating not to be able to remember.”

Kurt looked at him with a sort of gratitude, but then he turned away, toward the door. A second later, there was a knock, and Kurt finally let go of Liam’s arm.

It was one of Liam’s graduate students at the door, Jonah. “Hey,” he said. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything. Just have a couple of questions. I thought I heard you talking. Do you have company?”

Most of the students never met Kurt either, despite the fact that he was around quite a bit. Liam had learned by now that Kurt only appeared to those students he thought he might start a relationship with. Kurt had been alone since Martina had graduated, and Liam assumed it would only be a matter of time before he picked another student, someone to provide him with blood and share his bed. In between lovers, Kurt drank blood from animals, but he had told Liam that it was much better to have a human source. Kurt chose those people whom he thought would be open to the idea of a finite relationship with a vampire, those who wouldn’t be afraid of him but also wouldn’t want to stay with him indefinitely. Because Kurt never got attached.

“Let’s find out,” Liam said, and opened the door wider. His heart sank immediately when he saw that Jonah could see Kurt standing by the desk. Liam thought back for a moment to Kurt’s reaction when Doris put her hand on Liam’s arm. But Kurt wouldn’t get jealous, of course.

Liam definitely was.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

Updates Fridays on Ao3 and DannyeChase.com (rated E), and Tumblr (rated T)

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous serials are for Good Omens: Mr. Fell's Bookshop and Love's Endless Light

My Carrd

#Dannye writes #original fiction #serial fiction #tollense #vampires #romance

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gloomybabygirl · 3 years

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{in my head pt.1} Poe Dameron x smuggler!reader (soulmate au)

series masterlist

next part

a/n: hey y’all!! this is just a lil puff piece inspired by this cute trend on tik tok that i’ve been seeing :) I have no clue who started it but if you do please let me know!! It was originally going to be a blurb but I realized my words weren't flowing because I had so much more to say!!! so here we go with a four part mini series :) let me know if you want to be tagged for it!

warnings: swearing probably, soulmate trope, Poe in the shower if you squint

word count: 3.2k

songs used: quando, quando, quando - michael buble & nelly furtado and invisible string - taylor swift

summary: you’ve been able to hear your soulmate’s voice in your head since you were little. You haven't found him yet. But what happens when you start to develop feelings for a voice you don't recognize as your soulmate?

You had been able to hear his voice since you were little. You’d been able to hear it as far back as you can remember. An invisible friend that had always been there. An invisible string tying you to your soulmate, whoever he was.

You could remember the sound of his higher voice when he was in his childhood, sounding like a flute flitting through you head as you played dolls and went through primary school. You used to hold back giggles at inappropriate times when you could hear his voice cracking through his adolescence. Maker, his voice cracking did not stop him from singing at all hours of the day. You’d silently cursed him for singing so early in the morning when you were young. But as you grew older, it turned into your favorite alarm, your mystery lovers voice rousing you from sleep. And then his voice eventually matured and grew into the warmest, richest baritone you’d ever heard. You’d remarked several times how lucky you were that you got to hear his voice all the time. It was a voice you could swear you would recognize across the galaxy.

But you still hadn’t found him.

At this point, you were convinced you never would.

It wasn’t common for people to find their person. Often times, people settled with lovers that they knew weren’t their soulmate. But that never stopped them from hearing the others voice. You were determined you would find the man you were suppose to spend your life with. After all, you had a better chance than most.

But there was always that nagging voice in the back of your mind, never forgetting to alert you to a cold reality.

He probably already found someone else.

You were a smuggler. Being separated from family at a young age had you learning very quickly how to take care of yourself. With the... line of work you were in, you had traveled to every nook and cranny of the galaxy and met more people than you could count. Still no him. You knew the second you heard his voice you would recognize him as the man you were suppose to be with.

One small issue. He didn’t have that same confidence.

You didn’t enjoy singing as much as he obviously did. You would sometimes catch yourself humming in the refresher but would quickly stop yourself. His voice was just so... soothing. Flowing out of him like caramel. You didn’t want to bother him with your voice. Finn and Rey were tired of hearing about it, in fact. He had only heard you sing a handful of times and always very softly. If he didn’t hear your sweet voice for too long, he’d go into a fit convincing himself you were dead. But then he’d hear it. The quiet humming that sounded like someone singing gently in his ear. Just as he would realize it was you, it would stop. It drove him absolutely crazy. He wanted to be able to know you.

And you felt like he had given you a piece of himself by sharing his voice with you. The songs he chose always felt meaningful and each word told you the story of the man you knew was yours.

Most nights he happened to be singing very softly at the same time you were trying to fall asleep after a long day. Tonight however, you were crash landed on some desert planet in the outer rim trying to fix your old A-Wing from the Imperial days.

You could hear his voice in your head, still smooth and rich even with the late hour. Periodically, he would stop mid phrase, or trail off into a hum. You knew it was something or someone distracting him. You’d silently wished he could tell you about these interruptions when he came home to you.

Tonight he was singing a new melody. You liked his usual mix of songs, but this one made you feel like an exploding star. You knew it was about you and not some Twi’lek he’d accidentally fallen in love with.

“Tell me when will you be mine? Tell me quando, quando, quando...”

His voice flitted around in your head. It sounded like he was singing as you laid on his chest.

“We can share a love divine, please don’t make me wait again...”

You wish you knew when he could be yours too. It elated you that he wanted to find you just as bad as you needed to find him. You wondered aimlessly what it is that makes him so kriffing hard to find.

“Oh my darling tell me when.”

The way his voice landed softly on the last note made your heart flutter. You knew you needed to give him something in return. it had been too long since you’d given him a sign you were still there, waiting for him.

Knowing it would take him a moment to find another song that conveyed his blind love for you, you decided it was your turn.

You’d been flirting with the idea of singing back to him for a while, you’d just been waiting for the stars to align and for the man to stop singing for two kriffing seconds. Not that you really minded.

Poe almost knocked himself out cold on the frame of his X-Wing when he heard a quiet, sweet voice fill his head. The way the voice felt like it was coming from his own memory told him he was hearing his soulmate. He stilled, tools in hand and held his breath, almost worried he would scare you off if he budged.

BB-8 gave him an aggravated round of beeps when Poe ignored the tool he was trying to give him.

“Shh buddy, they’re singing.”

Happy beeps.

He was thrilled when he realized this wasn’t just you humming to yourself on accident. This was you singing to him. On purpose. He listened as you sang your way through the whole song, your voice flowing melodically through his head, making him dizzy with the love he already had for you.

“Isn’t it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me...”

You finished the sweet song and Poe held his breath, hoping you would sing to him again. When you didn’t, he felt his heart sink, but he hoped it was because you were waiting for the lullabies he sang every night while working on his ship. His way of telling you goodnight. At least, he hoped they helped you sleep rather than keeping you up. He was sure one day he’d be able to lull you to sleep while you were in his arms.

It had been a few weeks since Poe had heard your voice so clearly. He had been insanely busy in the weeks following that night that he didn’t have time to think. He had been on mission after mission, each more grueling than the last.

The Resistance was loosing people left and right. Too many good people. Poe didn’t feel like singing when his hope was dwindling down to nothing.

A bright spot in his week was the day a new recruit came to base. Anytime someone new walked onto the base, Poe made a point to introduce himself, always secretly hopeful the recruit would recognize his voice.

Today was no different. And boy was he hoping you were the one he’d been waiting for. His breath caught in his throat when he saw you at the hangar. Rey showing you around and introducing you to everyone who dared cross her line of sight.

“Poe, buddy? You good?” Finn asked. Poe had stopped talking mid sentence when he saw you.

He followed Poe’s gaze and saw you with Rey, arms hugged around your middle, obviously overwhelmed by all the people she was introducing you to.

“You wish, Dameron,” Finn laughed. “I guarantee you don’t deserve a soulmate that good looking.”

“Shut it Finn, it could be them.”

“Guess we’ll find out...” Finn clapped Poe on the back when he saw Rey leading you over to the two men.

Rey had introduced you to practically the entire base, most names going in one ear and out the other. But now she was leading you to the last two people you had to meet. ‘Best for last’ as she had told you.

A damn. She was right.

Both men were handsome, for sure. But the slightly shorter one in the orange flight suit? Maker this was going to be hard.

You’d made a habit out of turning off any sort of feelings you’ve had towards anyone in the past. You didn’t want to bother with someone that wasn’t your soulmate. Even if that meant you’d be lonely your whole life. Why would you have a half assed love when there was someone else out there that was made for you?

But Maker, this pilot was giving you butterflies. And you hadn’t even spoken to him yet. Now you had to find a way to kill the damn butterflies...

“And finally, this is Commander Poe Dameron and our friend Finn!” Rey introduced you to the two cheerfully, giving them your name.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” You said quietly, offering them a small smile before looking down at your feet. You silently tired to make the ground open up and swallow you, but once again the universe insisted you weren’t force sensitive.

“Always nice to have a new person join the cause. Where are you from?” Finn asked, trying to politely make conversation. You noted to yourself that his voice was too low to be the one in your head.

“Nowhere. And everywhere I guess? I was a smuggler for years,” You explained, heat bitting at your cheeks at the admission of your unsavory past.

“Well, we don’t judge people for that here. Do we Poe?” He hit his buddy on the back again, encouraging him to speak.

Poe seemed to be coming out of a daze when he spoke. He cleared his throat and finally spoke.

“Uh, no, nope, not at all. Very nice to meet you.” Your heart deflated when his voice came out. It sounded similar to your soulmate at first, but the more you listed the more you came to the conclusion that Poe’s voice was too raspy and rough to be his.

You and Rey said your goodbyes and she finally showed you to your quarters. How the hell are you ever going to learn your way around this base?

“Hear anything familiar?” She asked as you got to your door.

You sighed deeply, exhausted and dejected, “Nope. It’s okay Rey. I’m convinced I’ll never find him at this point.”

“That’s a shame. I thought you and Poe would probably get along well,” she gave you a knowing look. Maybe you made it obvious how attractive you found the pilot.

“It’s really okay. Thank you for showing me around base today.” You gave her a soft smile and turned to punch in the code to open your blast doors.

Your soulmate’s voice had been absent in your mind since your first day on base. You dearly missed him lulling you to sleep at night, or pleasantly interrupting you throughout the day.

Panic shot through you at the thought that maybe he had died. But every so often you would hear him softly humming to himself, keeping the spark of hope alive in your chest.

Besides that slight nagging making its way back to your head, you were having a great time getting to know Finn and Rey. You got caf with them most mornings, and would often spend nights in Rey’s quarters playing Sabacc. You hadn’t, however, seen the dashing pilot again. Finn complained a lot about missing his best friend.

“He's been so depressed lately. He wants to find his soulmate so badly, but he doesn't want to leave the cause to try to find them.” Finn explained one morning.

“He used to sing to them all the time, but I think he’s given up hope... I haven't heard him sing in ages.” Rey commented, sipping her caf.

Just as you were about to comment on your similar lack of luck in finding your soulmate, the handsome flyboy himself walked up to your table in the mess hall.

“Hey guys, mind if I sit?” He asked in that damned raspy voice.

Poe wasn’t necessarily happy to be spending so much time apart from his best friends. They were the only things keeping him sane sometimes. But now they chose to spend every waking hour with that aggravatingly cute new recruit.

Poe was a friendly guy. Some may argue too friendly. But he didn't want to be around you. Actually, this issue is that he did want to be around you. Very much so.

You were a dream walking into Poe's line of vision. He suddenly felt like everything was in slow motion when he caught a glimpse of you in the hangar. You looked so nervous, arms crossed over your chest, shifting your weight as Rey made it her life’s mission to introduce you to the entire base. His mouth popped open like he was the star in a damn holomovie.

When Rey pointed your attention to his general direction, Poe's mouth felt like cotton. Which muscle did he use to breathe again? Oh Maker, you could probably see his heart beating through his chest.

He hated that he got his hopes up like that. And Finn was right, he didn't deserve a soulmate as ethereal as you.

Then of course there was the devastating (albeit familiar) ache when you didn't give him any inclination that you recognized his voice. Poe didn't want to waste his time with anyone that wasn't his soulmate. He didn't want to put either party through unnecessary heartbreak when they both knew it wasn't written in the stars for you to be together. He had to distance himself from you.

But it had been about a week since you first flew onto his radar. And you took the liberty of crossing his mind everyday since then. He knew he was risking falling for someone that he wasn't meant to be with, but he missed his friends. Sure, Poe was sad about his failed mission of finding his soulmate, but nothing could keep him down for too long.

When Finn nodded for Poe to join, he scrapped his chair across the permacrete. He was purposefully sat next to you and across from Rey and Finn so he didn't end up looking in your direction for an inappropriate amount of time. But now he could feel the warmth emminating from you and smell the same waft of lavender her recognized when he first met you. Kriff.

“Where have you been man?” Finn questioned him. “Avoiding us?”

“Nah, nothing like that,” Poe lied. “I’ve just been working on my ship.”

“She must be in pretty good shape if you’re spending that much time on her,” You quipped. Shit, you hoped Poe enjoyed a good tease like his friends did.

He gave you a lopsided smile, “You’ll have to come see her.”

Unfortunately, the conversation continued on like this. Gentle, teasing, light conversation. It was easy. And Poe knew he was going to get hurt.

Your quick, light footsteps could be heard echoing through the halls towards your quarters. Alongside them was the heavy slow footsteps of the pilot you’d spent the whole day with. A chuckle rumbled through his chest as you reached the door to your quarters.

You turned to face him and leaned up against the cold durasteel of your blast doors. There was a moment with no words shared between the two of you, just comfortable silence.

Poe was so busy just looking at you that he didn't think twice before tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. He immediately pulled back and hastily shoved both hands in his pocket. He could’t help but notice the flustered smile creeping up on your lips. Damn, he’d like to make you smile like that more.

No, no. He had a soulmate to look forward to. He hoped. This wouldn’t end well.

“Hey I wanted to apologize for the lack of usual ‘welcome wagon’ Poe this week. I just... I’m having a hard time finding my soulmate and I wasn't exactly in the right head space. I didn’t want your first impression of me to be depressed Poe.” He rubbed the back of his neck, obviously uncomfortable with the oversharing he couldn’t seem to help.

“Don't worry about it. Finn and Rey may have mentioned something about you being upset about that this week. I completely understand.”

“I take it you haven't found them?”

“Not yet, but I still hear him all the time so I have hope at least.”

Poe’s heart sank a bit. He hadn't been singing lately.

“I’m sure you’ll find him then. Goodnight, thank you for today.”

“’Night Poe,” you smiled, turning to punch in the code to open your doors.

Poe was sat cross legged across from BB-8 in his charging station.

“I don’t know buddy. I feel.... Guilty?” He nervously picked at the skin around his thumb nail.

A series of confused beeps came from the droid.

“I guess I feel guilty that I spent the day with that new recruit and that I’m starting to have feelings for them when I have someone out there waiting for me. I wish this war would end so I could go find them.” He lamented to his little buddy.

BB-8 let out a sweet melody, sounding like an automated songbird.

“Yeah you’re right. I’ll sing to them tonight, that should help me feel closer to them. Plus it's been a while, I’ll bet they miss this gorgeous voice.”

He stood up and made his way to the refresher to wash off the day. He made it a cold shower to wash off his feelings for you. He wracked his brain for a song that would describe how he was feeling that day. When he came up empty, he resorted to the song he had fist sung a few weeks prior. Maybe since it prompted you to sing last time, he could have the chance to hear your voice again.

“Tell me when will you be mine? Tell me quando, quando, quando...”

When you heard the voice in the back of your head, you heart faltered. He was okay. Relief washed over you in a great, calming wave.

“We can share a love divine, please don’t make me wait again...”

Your soulmate’s sweet voice cleaned away all the feelings you had developed for Poe. His soft voice felt like home to you and was soon causing your eyes to grow heavy.

“Oh my darling tell me when.”

He finished his lullaby with the usual soft tones that you already loved so dearly. Being friends with Poe was going to be difficult, but it would be worth it when you found your soulmate. His voice would always pull you back home to him.

everything taglist: @softly-sad @clumsy-writing-rdb

#poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x reader #star wars imagine #poe x reader #poe dameron fic #in my head

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malfoysmaybank · 3 years

Text

drivers license - stanley barber

a/n: i was having some writers block on my requests and i’ve been sobbing to this song on repeat, so here’s a fic for my bebs stanley barber. i also changed one lyric from “blonde girl” to “one girl” because it fit the plot more!

warnings: angst, you might cry (i did while writing this lols), parent absence, fluff at the end because i couldn’t break my heart with this one, but some straight angst is coming soon!!!!

word count: 1.7k+

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

You had been best friends with Stanley Barber since you were young, maybe 10. You had stood up for him when some kids were pushing him around because of his outfit.

“Hey! Get off of him!” You said, yelling at the trio of 5th grade boys pushing another boy to the ground. “Or what, Y/N? You’ll tattle? We aren’t scared of a girl.” The leader of the pack said. You clenched your jaw and punched him straight in the nose. You weren’t going to let a man talk to you like that. The leader started crying and ran off, his sidekicks following after him. You walked over to the boy on the ground and helped him up. “T-Thanks for that.” He said as he got back up. “No problem. I’m Y/N, by the way. Y/N Y/L/N.” You extended your hand for a handshake. He took it. “Stanley. Stanley Barber.”

You’ve been close ever since. You ate lunch with him that day and bonded over silly things like tv shows and favorite colors. In middle school, he helped you develop your style and you bonded over new things like favorite bands and books. You had his back and he had yours. He truly was your best friend.

However, you started seeing Stanley in a new light in eighth grade. He had gotten taller, his face a little more structured. He also learned how to play guitar that year. He wrote a song about you, of all things. Nobody had ever done something like that for you before. You started noticing the little things he did for you. He would randomly bring a bag of your favorite candy to lunch if he saw you were having a bad day. He taught you how to play piano because he thought it sounded nice with your voice. You fell in love with Stanley Barber. Fuck. Of course you’d NEVER tell him. You couldn’t fuck up the only good thing in your life right now. So that meant silently suffering whenever he had a crush on someone.

That’s the issue, you couldn’t be happy for him when he was with someone else. You spent countless days crying alone in your room after he’d go on for hours about his newest crush. This continued for a straight 3 years. His newest crush was Sydney Novak. You thought this one would blow over, just like his past few, but it didn’t. In fact, this one was the strongest crush he’s ever had. He’d been ditching you to hang out with her. He wasn’t even there to see you get your drivers license, something he’d been so encouraging about. He basically taught you how to drive because he knew how much it meant to you. He didn’t even know you had passed your test, never once asking. But in the sparse moments when he didn’t blow off plans, he’d constantly be talking about her. One of those sparse moments being tonight.

You were currently in his room/basement and he was going on one of his Sydney rants. “She’s so cool, Y/N. I mean, I’ve never met someone who I’ve clicked with more.” Um ouch, but whatever. “I don’t know, she’s just different. Like, in a good way though.” Three deep breaths, Y/N. 3… “We even hooked up the other night.” 2… “I think I’m in love with her.” 1. “Look Stanley, not to be rude, but do you EVER shut up about her?!” You spat. He looked over at you in shock. “I can’t do this tonight… I’m leaving.” You grab your ‘save the earth’ backpack and start jogging up the stairs to leave.

He follows as you open the door to his garage. “Woah, woah, woah, Y/N. What’s up?” Stan calls from behind you. You grab your skateboard and lift up the garage door. It’s pouring outside, but you don’t care. You go to leave but feel a hand on your wrist stop you. “You’re not going out in weather like that, just come inside and we can talk.” He says gently, still slightly confused. “About what, Sydney again? Don’t you get it Stanley?!” You snap in his face. His eyebrows furrow and you let out a sarcastic laugh, tears building in your eyes. “Of course you don’t. You’ve been so wrapped up in Sydney that you forgot who I was! I’m so done, Stan. I can’t sit here and pretend that I don’t care anymore. Don’t bother hanging out with me anymore.” You snap and rip your wrist away from Stanley’s grip.

You drop your board and get on, pushing as fast as you can. He calls after you but you block him out. When you’re a far distance away from him and his house, you just sit down on the side of the road and cry. Hurt that he’ll never be yours. Angry that he doesn’t care about you anymore. Frustrated because you tried to be the glue that held your friendship together, but even glue can’t fix the titanic.

You didn’t go to school for the next week. Your parents wouldn’t care, they weren’t even here. Still on some ‘business trip’ just like every week. Instead, you did something that calms you. Wrote music about how you were feeling. You played piano basically all week. Singing anything and everything you were feeling. It made you feel worse sometimes, but in the end it felt worth it.

Stan pulled into your driveway in his dad’s piece of shit car. He needed to work this out with you, he hadn’t seen you all week and he was worried. He missed his best friend. As he quietly closed the car door, he heard the piano playing. He didn’t recognize the song, he was curious. He didn’t even bother knocking, knowing you would slam the door in his face if you knew it was him. He quietly shut the front door and he heard your voice. It got louder as he walked closer to your bedroom door. He’d always loved your voice, it put him to sleep some nights. He could see you slightly, the door left ajar. He listened in.

“I got my drivers license last week,

Just like we always talked about.

'Cause you were so excited for me

To finally drive up to your house.

But today I drove through the suburbs,

Crying 'cause you weren't around”

You sang flawlessly, not a single note out of tune. There was so much emotion behind your voice. So much hurt, anger, frustration. He continued listening, trying to find out who caused you so much hurt. He’d bash their face in, that’s for sure.

“And you're probably with that one girl

Who always made me doubt.

She's so much older than me,

She's everything I'm insecure about”

With that first line, it hit him. He’d caused this hurt. The anger, the frustration, that was him. He was so angry with himself that he almost missed the next line… almost.

“Yeah, today I drove through the suburbs,

'Cause how could I ever love someone else?”

You… you loved him? He’d spent so much time on Sydney that he hadn’t even realized what was in front of him all these years. Except he had.

“And I know we weren't perfect, but I've never felt this way for no one.

And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone.”

God damn it! He could’ve confessed sooner, instead of ignoring his feelings. And for what? A mindless hookup with Sydney?! He could’ve had you this whole time, but he fucked up.

“....Guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me.”

You said that line softly. No anger, or frustration, or even confusion behind that line. Just hurt. He saw a single tear fall down your cheek as you stopped singing. There was more to that song, you just couldn’t continue. He’d be sure to ask you to sing the rest of it later, but right now he needed to fix this. You stood up from the piano bench and he burst through the door. “Stanley, what are you doi-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before he wrapped his arms around you and brought your head to his chest. “I meant every word of that damn song. Every word. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.” Tears flowed down your face as you tightly hugged him back and buried your face in the crook of his neck. “I love you. And I’ll be better for you. I should’ve treated you with the respect and love you deserve. I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. Please give me a second chance, please.” He cried. “I love you too, Stan.” You started. “But I don’t know.” He squeezed you tighter (but still as gentle as possible, he didn’t want to hurt you), with more tears flowing out of his eyes. “Please, Y/N. I’ll be better. If I give you anything less than the love and attention you deserve, you have my full permission to punch me square in the face and kick me to the curb.” You both giggled, still crying.

He let go of you to hold your face in his hands. “Please?” He begged. “...Okay, fine. But we need to go over how you’re going to do better in the future and what we can do to help each other communicate better and stuff.” You said. He picked you up and spun you around, making you squeal. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Y/N!! I promise I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” You laughed as he set you down and leant down to whisper in your ear. “Want to hear a secret?” He said, sending shivers down your spine. “I never liked Sydney.” He laughed as you hit his chest. “You dick!” You exclaimed, shocked. He swiftly pulled you in by the waist, your faces inches apart as your hands rested on his chest. “You love me, though.” He whispered. “That I do.” You said and finally closed the gap. Damn, you could kiss this boy forever. Alas, the moment is cut short because unfortunately, humans need oxygen to survive. “I love you too.” He says and smiles, giving you a peck on the forehead. “Could you sing the rest of that song for me? I love your voice but that songwriting was INCREDIBLE.” He says and you nod.

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

permanent taglist:

@loonylunaandthenargles

#stanley barber x reader #stanley barber #ianowt #i am not okay with this #stanley barber x you #stanley barber x y/n

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curiosity-killed · 3 years

Text

evidence of a lost past part 5

chronologically after 1 & 2 and a bit before 4

fun fact of the day: Hua Cheng’s dancing to Lover’s Tears as performed by the Shanghai Conservatory Symphony bc it’s one of my favorite lazy improv songs

story tag

By the time seven comes around, Xie Lian’s legs are trembling with fatigue and his hair’s plastered to his forehead and nape. Winding lazily out of a renversé, he drops his arms and exhales. He feels...worn, gently pummeled like a sock in a washer or a stone along the riverbank. It’s been a while since he used his body like this—even these last few weeks of borrowing Hua Cheng’s studio have been more about relearning how to move at all, retracing the lines of the technique he’s let fall by the wayside.

Now, for the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s properly danced. The feeling buoys up in his chest, bright and a little heady. It still feels funny to break the rules he grew up with, to blend classical lines and break up languid adagio flows to hit the ground, but the way it leaves his body feeling exhausted and satisfied makes it hard to resist.

He takes a few minutes to stretch properly, working down from his neck to his feet and closing off with a short round of abs before he shrugs his sweatshirt back on, picks up his shoes by their heels, and goes to find Hua Cheng.

He’s lured up the stairs by the arching strains of strings and the low rumble of piano underneath. Wandering to the upper studio, he finds himself swaying absently to the three-four time as if the music itself is drawing him into a waltz. He hums softly along and turns the corner off the stairs to find the studio door propped open. Here, the music swells so loudly he can nearly feel it buffeting his body like ocean waves. He comes to a halt at the door.

Hua Cheng is alone inside, a single lean figure in the half-light of the studios. Only two of the four rows of fluorescent lights are on, and they form dim lines like walls of silk strings through which Hua Cheng weaves as precisely and deftly as if he were the shuttle, the hand shaping the cloth.

The choreography is some Xie Lian has seen before—today, even. On Hua Cheng, though, it is a wholly different creature than when He Xuan performed the same steps. He Xuan is a capable dancer, with strong technique, but it’s abruptly clear that he’s a younger dancer with less experience than Hua Cheng. Where He Xuan maintained the extended balances with a tight jaw and stiff shoulders and dropped from them gratefully, Hua Cheng suspends on the ball of his foot, drawing it out and slowing his extension till it seems he’s pushing the music, curving the song’s fermatas and languid sweeps.

In time with the trills and high ornamentation, he flicks through hand gestures in rapid succession while his legs sweep rond de jambs into a light leap off his left hand. The motion rolls him back up to the start, into the sequence that begins the entire pas de deux: a heavy step to the side, the sway of loose arms carrying him into a spin.

At this point in the piece, the dancer never looks to the downstage left corner, like it’s bad luck or a persistent blind spot. When He Xuan danced it this afternoon, the choreography had seemed awkward, the missing corner too self-conscious. Watching Hua Cheng now, though, Xie Lian’s heart aches. Hua Cheng pours himself into the movement, every reach a desperate plea, every sharp twist furious rejection. Standing in this absent corner, where Shi Qingxuan is to enter, Xie Lian suddenly understands why Hua Cheng has been so insistent about the facing. He bites the inside of his lip at the familiar welling of grief that laps at the insides of his ribcage.

Hua Cheng presses into a suspension with his leg nearly to his ear before dropping into a double turn as rushed and frantic as a hurricane. He stops sharply, finally facing the corner as his leg stretches back in an exquisite arabesque, his arms reaching forward as if begging an indifferent god. His gaze sweeps up and then catches on Xie Lian. Freezing, his eye goes wide, and he stumbles forward half a step, falling out of the final pose.

“Ah, I’m sorry, San Lang,” Xie Lian says, suddenly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Hua Cheng shakes his head even as he rubs the back of his neck. Wiping his hand on his thigh, he gives a small shrug.

“Gege is always welcome,” he says, a little breathless. “I was just surprised.”

His hair’s coming loose from the ponytail, hanging in hanks around his face. With his t-shirt and bright eye, he looks softer than usual, and Xie Lian is briefly possessed by the inexplicable urge to hug him.

“Ah, it looks very beautiful, San Lang,” he says instead before pausing. He drags his bottom lip between his teeth before adding, “I think I see why you were dissatisfied in rehearsal.”

“Oh?”

Raising an eyebrow, Hua Cheng tilts his head to the side in open curiosity, and Xie Lian flusters. He’s still not used to such sincere consideration, to having his words listened to with such care. He scratches his cheek.

“Mn,” he says. “It’s just—you choreographed it with a more experienced dancer in mind, didn’t you?”

Hua Cheng blinks at him once, and Xie Lian mentally goes over his words before flushing. His hands fly up, trying to wave off the offense, and he nearly clocks himself in the face with his shoe.

“No, no, I don’t mean it like that! He Xuan is definitely experienced, too, and plenty capable,” he says in a rush. “Of course he’s a very skilled dancer—all of them—”

A laugh escapes Hua Cheng, and he crosses the space between them with two easy strides. Catching Xie Lian’s hand, he smiles at him. Although there’s amusement in his look, it doesn’t feel like he’s laughing at Xie Lian. It just feels—fond. Warm.

“Gege, it’s alright,” he says. “If you say it’s so, then He Xuan must really just be a useless upstart.”

The teasing edge to his tone is enough to cut through Xie Lian’s fluster, but he groans and buries his face in his free hand at the shameless teasing.

“San Lang,” he mumbles.

Hua Cheng laughs, bright and irresistible, and gives Xie Lian’s hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“Anyway, gege’s right,” he says, stepping back slightly and tugging the elastic out of his hair. “I didn’t choreograph it with He Xuan in mind.”

His hair falls to his shoulders, a little rumpled and wavy from being up, and briefly hides his face. As he drags his fingers back through the crown to retie it, Xie Lian cants his head and considers him. He Xuan is the most experienced of Hua Cheng’s dancers, along with Shi Qingxuan. Lan Chang is older, of course, but from what she’s said, she only dances for fun and to teach now. It would take months for her to build back the strength and stamina needed to perform.

“Why don’t you do it?” he asks.

Hua Cheng startles, looking up in surprise. Tightening the elastic, he dips his head a moment before shoving his ponytail over his shoulder to hang in a long line down his back.

“Ah, it’s silly. You’ll laugh,” he says.

“Noo,” Xie Lian insists, grinning. “I promise I won’t laugh at you.”

Looking at him a moment, Hua Cheng narrows his eye, but his lips press together like he’s suppressing a smile. He looks briefly skyward and takes a breath, losing his fight with the smile. Parting his lips, he draws breath to speak before pausing and letting it out in a quiet exhale as he settles his hands on his hips.

“Well. It’s a pas de deux,” he says, like that’s the end of it.

Xie Lian pauses, pressing his lips together and tilting his head. When no more is forthcoming, he can’t help the snigger that escapes him, and Hua Cheng shoots him a betrayed look.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” he chides, but there’s no heat behind it.

“I’m not, I’m not!” Xie Lian says, holding up his hands. “It’s just—you really dislike dancing with someone else so much?”

It’s not that Xie Lian would blame him, exactly: as skilled as his company dancers are, Hua Cheng is exceptional. Even with Lan Chang in the peak of her career or He Xuan at his finest moments, the pairing would still be unequal.

“Not exactly,” Hua Cheng hedges. He presses the toes of his left foot into the floor, arching the foot into an absentminded stretch. “It’s just—the one I thought of when I was choreographing isn’t an option. So to dance it with anyone else—they really can’t compare at all.”

Oh. Xie Lian swallows, startled by the sincerity of the explanation. That really isn’t anything to laugh about. He hesitates, chewing at his bottom lip and sneaking a glance up at Hua Cheng. This person Hua Cheng thought of—if Xie Lian ever knew them, they’ve been lost to time. The knowledge weighs like a stone anchor deep in the pit of his chest, but he tries to swallow it down. He’s being presumptuous, really. He shouldn’t make so many assumptions.

“Ah, then maybe we could figure out how to make it work for He Xuan and Qingxuan together,” he offers, tentative.

Hua Cheng’s expression softens, the hesitance fading into a gentle and welcoming warmth. Nodding his head decisively, he smiles.

“Gege has the best ideas,” he praises. “Where should we start?”

Setting his shoes and bag down by the wall, Xie Lian draws in a breath and steps more fully into the room. It’s not for him, to be lit up on the stage with hundreds of eyes glued to every articulation of his hands and feet—but maybe he can still help Hua Cheng, if only by being a second set of eyes.

“Ah, the a la seconde turn that turns into a tilt?” he suggests. “The floor sequence after that seemed to give He Xuan some trouble.”

Hua Cheng nods and rolls his shoulders once before moving back into the center of the space. Starting a few steps ahead, he glides through the movements as naturally and confidently as if they were the only way his body knows to move, as if fit to his long limbs by the finest of tailors. Xie Lian offers advice and suggestions where he thinks they might better shape the choreography to He Xuan’s own movement, but it seems a quiet kind of betrayal.

Watching Hua Cheng dance, Xie Lian doesn’t want to see the piece altered or made for another. He wants to see it like this, like it was meant to be, with Hua Cheng alone in the thin light and the corner empty, open, waiting.

#tgcf #hualian #tgcf fic #tgcf au #dance au #my writing #story: evidence of a lost past #me: this fic will just be a fun lighthearted way to express how much i love dance and hualian #this fic: also possibly a weird way of processing a lot of grief about dance #WHOOPS #who's surprised

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butgilinsky · 4 years

Text

incase you don’t live forever // rc

warning; ig it alludes to death, it’s fluffy until it’s angsty

summary; rafe loves y/n more than she’ll ever wrap her head around

word count; 2k+

based on incase you don’t live forever by ben platt

You put all your faith in my dreams You gave me the world that I wanted What did I do to deserve you?

“baby!” y/n looked over her shoulder, smiling widely and completely forgetting about the conversation she was previously immersed in when her eyes landed on a smiling rafe.

he jogged the short distance over to her and wrapped his long arms around her waist, lifting her off of the ground and twirling her in the air. the girl squealed, but it only made rafe laugh and smile even brighter before he set her back down.

“what’s got you so happy?” it wasn’t the rafe didn’t act like this around her, but it was something he often saved for less public occasions, and given their spot in the middle of a crowded beach, it shocked her slightly.

“my dad agreed to let me sit it on his meetings this week. he also told me this morning that i get to go to the bahamas with him next week for that trip he has planned.” y/n’s smile almost reached her ears by the time rafe stopped talking. she had never seen rafe so excited about something so mundane, and it made her heart soar.

“i’m so happy for you.” her voice was soft, but rafe heard every word spill from her lips. “i told you you could do it.”

he hugged her again, both of them smiling and laughing into each other. rafe was finally dipping his feet into the right pool, and was finding something worth his time. y/n always supported rafe’s dreams to implement himself in his father’s business, and now it seemed that it was all paying off.

“we can go celebrate by stealing wine out of my mom’s cellar and taking the boat out.” y/n’s lips were pressed close to rafe’s ear, her voice sending a chill down his spine.

“what did i do to deserve you?” he pressed his lips to her temple, careful not to make too much noise when he pulled away so she wouldn’t flinch at the sound.

“you’re perfectly yourself, rafe cameron.”

I follow your steps with my feet I walk on the road that you started I need you to know that I heard you, every word

rafe trailed her, digging his feet into the footprints she left in the sand behind her. he stayed close behind, but gave her a bit of space as she wandered the shore’s edge.

he held both of their shoes, one pair hanging from each of his hand while he watched the girl in front of him make irregular patterns in the sand with her feet.

rafe had lost track of how many topics she’d run through while she ranted about anything and everything. it started off with her mom dragging her to brunch again that morning, something she dreaded every sunday morning. now it was something about how her older sister was coming back to the island from college, and y/n would have to share the vodka stored away in the liquor cabinet.

she spun around on the balls of her feet, stopping in place and crossing her arms over her chest as she pouted at the boy behind her. he laughed gently, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around her waist.

“why are you pouting?” he kissed her lips, successfully getting her to suck in the lip that she had puffed out in a small pout.

“did you even hear anything i just said?” he smiled widely at the girl, a warmth spreading through his chest as he pressed his lips against her forehead.

“every word, princess.”

In case you don't live forever, let me tell you now I love you more than you'll ever wrap your head around In case you don't live forever, let me tell you the truth I'm everything that I am because of you

he doesn’t remember a time where he wasn’t filled to the brim with love for the girl. the girl that would sneak him through her window when either of them were having a bad night. the girl that would stay on the phone with him all night long when insomnia kicked his ass, even if she had a final the next morning.

the girl that would dance around her room in nothing but one of his shirts that was too big for her, holding the neck of a wine bottle and letting every melody flow through her body like she had made it herself. the girl that somehow fit in every bit of his life as if they were perfectly sculpted for one another.

but above all else, the sight of her laying on top of him, even if it was just her head in his lap while he mindlessly played with her hair, was his favorite sight. she looked up at him, eyes locking with the blue pair that had been trained on her for an unknown amount of time.

“you’re staring.” she whispered softly, but he just nodded. he did it often, and it came as a shock to nobody, but it still caught her off guard every single time. “what’s on your mind, cameron?”

she sat up, moving into the boy’s lap like a dance she’d committed to muscle memory. his hands found her hips quickly, and her arms snaked over his shoulders while her hand threaded itself into the hair on the back of his head.

“i love you more than you’ll ever wrap your head around.” she smiled widely at the confession, having heard the words drip from his tongue a few times before. the simple thread of words were something she never missed hearing rafe say before.

“i’ll never love another person or thing as much as i love you, rafe cameron.” he let the smallest laugh pass his lips as he stared at the girl in his lap, not an ounce of worry or dread found within him in that moment.

“I'm everything that I am because of you.” and it was true.

she’d shown him that life is not all about being on top, or having people reassure you that you’re doing great. she showed him that he’d never get any reassurance in life from others until he found it within himself. she showed him how to be happy on his own, and in turn allowed himself to be happy alongside the girl of his dreams.

I, I've carried this song in my mind Listen, it's echoing in me But I haven't helped you to hear it

“rafe, tell me what’s wrong.” she was confused, having watched the boy cry for the past hour without any indication of what had happened before he snuck through her window.

“everything’s just piling up, y/n.” she sighed then. she knew rafe buried his problems and his feelings. he buried them so deep he convinced himself that he was truly okay.

which only led these things to bubble over at some inevitable point, but y/n was always there to pick up the pieces. she held him, hand running up and down his back and thumb wiping away the tears on his cheeks.

“you can’t keep burying these things, rafe. you have to talk to me.” he nodded into her chest, knowing that he simply had to get better at opening up about things.

and he would do better. better for her and better for himself.

I've waited way too long to say Everything you mean to me

he couldn’t believe what life had handed him. he couldn’t thank the universe enough for the girl they had perfectly built for him. he couldn’t believe that she had slummed it with him for the past three years, but he wouldn’t have taken a second of it back.

he couldn’t believe that life could take a complete 180 in mere hours. he couldn’t believe that one single moment of time, one bad decision, could bring him to this uncomfortable plastic chair, waiting for her name to ring through the waiting room.

his leg was bouncing so quickly it had stressed out topper enough to ask him to calm down, more than once. but how was he supposed to calm down when he had no idea what was going to happen?

had he waited too long? he knows he’d said ‘i love you’ enough times to last a lifetime, but he thought he’d be able to say it for a lifetime. he though that he’d have more time.

more time to tell her everything he loved about her. more time to watch her dance to songs even when her hips were affected by alcohol. time to hear her sing his favorite songs at an hour where they weren’t sure it was morning or nighttime anymore.

time to hear her laugh, even if it was at how bad his joke was. time to watch her eyes light up when he brought her coffee after a long night. time to listen to her read poems to him that she found on the internet. he thought he had time. I have a hero whenever I need one I just look up to you and I see one I'm a man 'cause you taught me to be one

he remembered the time his hands were shaking so bad that she had to tie his tie for him. he’d taught her how to do it one day after she begged him.

“it’ll be cute! i can tie your ties before you go off to work in the morning. or, i can tie our son’s ties before graduations and parties that he doesn’t want to go to.” rafe was smiling at her, wondering if she realized the rant she had fallen into.

“our son? you want to have kids, baby?” her cheeks tinted red as she realized what she had said.

“yeah, i mean, uh- is that what you want?” he kissed her forehead and then her lips, smiling widely when their foreheads pressed together.

“i want everything with you.”

she tied the tie quickly now, her fingers working with the fabric as though she’d done this for years. her hands smoothed the lapels of his jacket before she grabbed his shoulders softly.

“you’re going to be great, okay? just laugh at their awful jokes, and smile when you greet people. shake their hands firm enough to get a compliment on your grip, but not so much that they joke about you ripping their arm off.” rafe was nodding, taking in every bit of information that she offered him.

“okay, i think i got it.” she smiled widely and kissed his lips.

“you got this, baby. knock ‘em dead.” In case you don't live forever, let me tell you now I love you more than you'll ever wrap your head around In case you don't live forever, let me tell you the truth I'm everything that I am

he cried when he saw her, needles in her arm and bandages wrapped around various parts of her body. her eyes were open, which only let him see how much pain she was in. to anybody else, it was nothing more than a tired or scared expression, but to rafe it was devastating.

he didn’t know how he was ever meant to get in a car again. how he could sit behind the wheel and look out of the shield of glass in front of him without remembering what the love of his life had to go through. he didn’t know if he’d make it out of this.

her parents left the room when rafe walked in, leaving him with a hug from her mother and a clap on the back from her father. he pulled a chair up next to her bed and held her hand in his tightly.

“i’ll be okay.” she whispered softly, trying to assure rafe that whatever was happening to her would end however it was meant to be.

“what if i’m not?” he looked up at her, all confidence that he had previously washed away within seconds.

“you’re going to be better than okay. whatever happens will happen, and you’ll live your life however you’re supposed to, okay?” she reached out to wipe away his tears, letting rafe see and feel how much her hand was shaking.

“baby.” he spoke softly, leaning into her touch and filling her hand with fresh tears.

“it’s going to be okay, rafe. i love you more than life itself, baby.” he choked out a sob at the words she picked out, the situation at hand playing into it all too well. “I love you more than you'll ever wrap your head around.”

he smiled at the familiar words, though it didn’t make him cry any less.

“I'm everything that I am because of you, y/n.”

In case you don't live forever, let me tell you the truth As long as I'm here as I am, so are you

you interpret the ending, bbies

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jamieatthebarricade · 4 years

Text

Maids to Wives // Chapter 3

An Outlander AU based loosely on the TV Show and real life in the historic Jamestown

In 1619, one hundred and forty-four English women from good families crossed the Atlantic in response to the Virginia Company of London’s call for maids “young and corrupt” to make wives for the planters of it’s new colony in Virginia. One in six of the maids could even claim gentry status. Although promised a free choice of husband, they were in effect being traded into marriage for a bride price of 150 pounds of best leaf tobacco, the profits to flow to individual investors

In 1619, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp made the voyage to do one thing: marry a man she's never met. But when she arrives, she comes to the startling realization that her heart belongs to someone else, a certain James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.

Find Maids to Wives on Archive of Our Own!

Chapter 3 : Maids to Wives

“Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.”

- William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

May 16th, 1619, Claire’s POV

The air was crisper in the new world, that was the first thing I noticed. The smell of soft pinewood, salt water, and fresh bodies filled my nose. Around me was open air, no tall buildings or hundreds of people in sight. I don’t remember the air being this clean since I traveled with my uncle.

While the air was clearer, there was also a thick fog of tension within the ship. Since seeing land, many of us women had realized how drastic our lives would change in less than a few hours. Either a woman would meet the love of her life, or she would enter a life of hell. I silently hoped for the first option. It was a new day, and we were nearly to the mainland. ‘You should tidy up’ my brain told me, as I looked around trying to find any reflective surface Managing to borrow a small piece of glass from another woman, my reflection stared back at me. Small bits of hair were falling out of my neat bun I had tried to make earlier in the day. The sailors wouldn’t let us use the water for washing up and such, so I wasn’t doubtful I didn’t smell all that good. I decided to use my remaining water ration to quickly wet my underarms as a sort of rugged wash. I smelt myself quick and didn’t find any odar too terrible.

Looking into my reflection, I smiled. The curls around my face sprang out like a lion's mane, and thankfully to the sun, my face had a bit of color to it. I was no longer the ghostly pale my uncle lamb used to describe me as. He would call me a ghost, depending on where we were and how much sunlight I got. Around me, other ladies were trying to freshen themselves up as much as they could. Geillis had managed to braid a few strands in her long auburn hair. Mary also used some drinking water to give her hair a quick rinse. We all checked each other and were happy with what we were seeing.

“Are ye ready, Claire?” Geillis smiled at me. In truth I didn’t know if I was ready, but there was no turning back from it now. Weeks of waiting and daydreaming were finally coming true today. I was just happy to be on land, a different land, and start this adventure. “I hope my husband is tall. And fit. And has a nice arse” I threw my rag at Geillis in a joking matter. She rarely held back when it came to matters such as female sexuality. Geillis was truly an open book.

At the mention of arse, Mary flushed a nice shade of ruby. “You shouldn’t be mentioning such things!” She whispered softly under her breath, just loud enough for me and Geillis to hear. Geillis in turn laughed and placed a loving arm around Mary’s shoulders.

“If ye think arse is bad, what do ye think happens on the wedding night?” Mary’s face managed to blush an even deeper shade of red, and she quickly hurried into the line for disembarking the ship. Geillis laughed as she ran away, smiling contentedly to herself.

“That lass is gonna have an interesting time with her new husband” Geillis and me walked over to where the rest of the women were waiting, including Mary. As Geillis looked on I stared out to the land. Grass was much greener than I remembered, and the sky seemed to shine a brighter shade of blue. It was like stepping through a portal into a strange new world, which is strangely what this is. I’m a stranger in a new world who wasn’t awaiting my arrival. Fear tug at my heart at the possibility of something happening. What if there wasn’t enough food? What if we were attacked by a new settlement? I suddenly felt exposed to danger, and subconsciously wrapped my cloak around my body, like a shield.

‘Whatever happens’ I thought. ‘At least I have Geillis and Mary here’. I was fortunate and grateful to have made such great friends on the voyage. Sure, I was expected to be a new wife, but who knew if a man could fill a hole of loneliness and want for a friendship. If something were to happen and I couldn’t tell my spouse, I knew that Geillis and Mary would be there for me.

“Claire, are ye alright? Ye starin’ at nothing,” Geillis gave me a gentle tap on my shoulder, breaking me from my thought haze. They already started carting women off the ship, and Me and Geillis were next in line. The shouts of multiple crewmen filled my ear, and I heard a man shouting the names of both women and the men who would marry them.

Me and Geillis made our way onto the long boardwalk, and as we were half way, we heard Mary’s name being called.

“Mary Hawkins, Alex Randall,” A short but handsome young man emerged from the crowd. He looked no older than Mary, and his eyes lit up when he saw her. Anxiously, he walked over to her and held out a hand. I could see the blush from her cheeks as they walked away. ‘They’re going to make a wonderful marriage’.

I smiled internally at the sight of them. It was like seeing a sister finding the love of her life, I had nothing but joy for the 2 of them. I scanned the audience. There were men of all different ages and backgrounds. Tall men, short men. Young men, and old men. Most of the young men were reasonably handsome, handsome enough to tolerate. Many of them looked unwashed, which I figured would be the case as most men typically didn’t care that much about hygiene, which was an unfortunate trait.

When we got down to the land, the minute I put my foot down I felt a sense of calm wash over me. Whatever would happen, I’m here now. The feeling of knowing I couldn’t leave, even if I tried, gave me a sense of home oddly enough.

Geillis stood in front of men, waiting behind 2 more women. Slowly their names were called and met with their respective husbands.

“Suzette Augustin, Murtagh Fraser,” Suzette was french, that was one of the only things I knew about her. She was pretty, with very long black hair and a sweet smile, which lit up brightly as Murtagh stepped from the crowd. He was among the tallest of the group, wearing a tartan wrapped around his middle. His face was dark and aged, but he was still very handsome. Suzette definitely thought so, taking his hand politely, but I could see the excitement bouncing off of her.

They were down to the last person before Geillis. All of a sudden, the nerves came rushing back. I would be meeting my future husband in less than 5 minutes. What if he doesn’t like me? What if I don’t like him? I felt the sudden urge to run and hide from all of this, and I looked around quickly for a route (as if I actually had the nerve to run), when suddenly my eyes met with a man.

He was probably the tallest, leaving me to wonder why I didn’t notice him before as he stood at least a few inches above the other men. His hair was bright ginger and slightly tostled. When I looked at him, all worries and troubles melted away. ‘Did he see the fear in my eyes?’ I wondered. I thought he would look away or turn his attention to one of the other women but his gaze stared at me. Suddenly the urge to run was gone, as if he was holding me by the shoulders. I felt peaceful, like this whole situation wasn’t that bad.

Our connection was only broken when I felt a nudge behind me, indicating that I had to move forward. I did, but tried to keep my eyes on him a little longer. I didn’t even know his name, yet he was a familiar face in a sea of strangers. I tried to chase that feeling of serenity in his face just a minute longer.

He seemed like he was following me too, his head turning with my step. ‘Did he feel this same serenity?’ Maybe he was getting a bride today, and was just if not more nervous than I was. Deep down a part of me hoped I was to be the bride, but I tried to shake that thought quickly. I didn’t even know this man, I didn’t need to want him this bad.

I turned my head quickly forward, hoping that he didn’t find the action malicious. Even standing forward I still felt his eyes on me, and tried my best to keep my gaze ahead. Geillis and then me, and Geillis was already telling her name to the man.

“Geillis Edgars, Arthur Duncan” A short, stout man emerged from the crowd. He was at least 20 years her senior, and about 5 inches below her. As I saw Geillis’ face drop, I concealed my hand and tried to reach out for Geillis, but Arthur was already by her side, taking her hand lovingly. She took it hesitantly, and as they walked away, Geillis turned back and gave me a sad look. ‘I needed to see her later’.

“What’s your name?” a thick british accent said in front of me. My attention turned and I saw a man, maybe in his late 40s, and a big book in front of him.

“Claire Beuachamp,” I stammered, trying to keep my voice stable as best I could. I wanted to look into the crowd and find that man again. So far, his gaze was the only thing that brought me peace.

“Claire Beauchamp, Frank Randall” the man shouted. I looked out into the crowd, and the ginger man’s face dropped. It wasn’t the same calming look as before. Was he Frank Randall? Perhaps I mistook our connection before.

Thankfully, another man emerged behind him. He was around my height and a deep, dark face. His hair was a nice brown, and he seemed to be balding but it didn’t age him any bit. He stood in front of me, and took my right hand, giving it a soft kiss on top. His hands were warm, and gave me a sense of hope. ‘I could build a life with this man’ I thought happily, smiling to him, which caused his face to light up as well.

We walked away from the ship, right towards the ginger man. As we walked towards him, his gaze fell on me again, but this time it wasn’t a calm feeling that came over me. It was more of a flutter, like I was tongue tied without even talking to him. When we passed him, my shoulder brushed him softly. I quickly turned, causing Frank to stop in his path.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. He opened his mouth to answer but I felt a tug on my hand and before I knew it, our interaction was over. I looked over to Frank, and his kind face from before was changed to slight frustration.

Turning back once more, I caught his eye for only a second, yet I found so much solace in his face. It wasn’t love like you read about in stories, but it was understanding, and for some that’s a start.

This time he was the one to look away, but quite hesitantly. My gaze shifted as well and and all of a sudden I wondered if I was making the right choice. I hadn’t even met both men yet, but the ginger man looked at me as if he was wrapping himself around me like a blanket, shielding me from any worries to come. I looked back at frank and didn’t find that same warmness.

Instead, the feeling of fear and the want to run came back, but this time, I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to go back home or back to my friends. I wanted to find out what that man’s name was.

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