#and on the last song he’d ask the audience to sing over and over again as if he didn’t want to stop the concert
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You And I
Summary: Alyssa always wanted Harry, so every time he called, she was there waiting for him at the bar. But one night, things shifted between them.
Warnings: Smut, oral (f receiving), maybe a little angst. 18+ ONLY!
Word Count: 4.5k+
A/N: Originally written and posted in 2019. Harry x OC, AU, written in first person. Loosely inspired by the Lady Gaga song (not the 1D song lol).
He’d told me to wait for him at the bar. I sat at the corner, nursing a gin and tonic while the band broke down their equipment. I laughed when Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” began playing through the speakers, the line about the old man making love to his tonic and gin poignantly accentuating the scene.
“Fitting, yeah?” chuckled Bruno, the bartender I’d come to know well over the last few months.
I sneered at him as I stirred the little straw in my glass. “I dunno. I was thinking more along the lines of Lady Gaga.”
“Gaga?” Bruno raised a brow.
“Y’know. At the corner of the bar with my high heels on.”
Bruno’s shoulders shook with laughter as he wiped down the bar in front of me. “I’ll put that one on next, darling.”
“Put what on next?” I heard a voice call behind me.
I twisted around on my stool to see Harry stepping off the stage, an easy grin on his handsome face. I returned the smile, happy to get a better look at him. For the first time, the band had opted to wear makeup, something I’d urged them to try before but had never happened.
“You and I,” I teased, swinging one leg over the other. “The Gaga song.”
“Hmm,” he sounded as he approached me. Reaching his hand out, he cupped my chin, lifting it slightly before placing a soft kiss on my painted lips.
“I reckon when it comes to you and I, there will be no putting on…” he paused, a smirk causing his dimple to appear in his left cheek. “Only taking off.”
“Oh Styles, but you do have a way with words,” I quipped in a playful, faux accent.
He let out a giggle then, apparently amused by his own joke. He gave me one more kiss before tapping his hand on the bar.
“Bruno,” he said. “One more shot for the road?”
“Long as you ain’t driving, love!”
Harry eyed me, no doubt silently questioning how many drinks I’d had. In the two hours I’d been at the bar, I’d only had two drinks including the current half-drunk one in front of me. I’d watched Harry and his bandmates drink at least twice as much during their set, in addition to shots that fans in the audience had sent up.
“I’m good,” I reassured him. I was his drive home anyway. It was kind of understood.
With a nod, Bruno poured Harry a shot of dark golden liquid. Taking it in his hand, Harry clinked the glass against mine and downed it in one gulp. Lowering the glass, he smirked again when he caught me staring at him.
“Wha’?” he asked.
“Just looking at you,” I replied. “You look good with eyeliner.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. Kinda sexy, actually.”
“You think?” Harry stepped closer to me, loving the attention.
“Indeed,” I continued. Then when Bruno came around and took Harry’s empty glass, I asked him. “Bruno, don’t you think Harry looks sexy with eyeliner?”
“Of course, doll!” he agreed. “Sexy AF!”
I threw my head back laughing and Harry gave Bruno a wink. “Thanks, love.”
“Sing us a song, you’re the piano man!”
At the sound of singing, I turned around again to see Jeremiah, Harry’s drummer walking towards us. The youngest member of the band, he looked so much like Pete Wentz, especially tonight with the black eyeliner.
“All packed up, H!” he told Harry. “Ready to go?”
“Um...no…” Harry tilted his head to gesture towards me. “Alyssa’s here.”
Jeremiah looked from his bandmate to me and then back, the lightbulb going off in his head.
“Oh! Yeah! Right! Sorry, mate! I’ll just…” he pointed behind him, “head out. Good to see you, Alyssa.”
“You too, hon,” I smiled. “You were smashing it tonight.”
“Thanks,” Jeremiah beamed. Then with one last wave, he stumbled over his own feet and left the way he’d come. I giggled at his adorable awkwardness, blaming it on his youth.
Swiveling back to face Harry and Bruno, I took the last few sips of my cocktail which was mostly water by then. The first chords of “You and I” started then, and I lifted my gaze to the bartender who danced with glee.
“It has been a long time since you came around,” Harry quoted the lyrics as he slid his arm around my waist.
“Two weeks, Harry,” I chuckled. “I was sat right here at this bar two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks is a long time t’me,” he murmured, his lips finding the tender spot behind my ear. I giggled softly at the touch which sent goose flesh across my skin.
“I doubt that’s the time frame Gaga was referring to,” I said wryly. “Besides, you want me around more often, perhaps you should ring or text me.”
I heard Bruno make a muffled sound of shock from behind the bar as Harry’s mouth stalled on my neck.
“I reckon I should do that,” admitted Harry.
He stood up straight then, his eyes on mine as I gave him an accusing glare. It wasn’t that I really doubted he wanted me around. But sometimes I needed that reassurance.
“You look beautiful by the way,” he said, though his words were interrupted a bit by the noise of two more lads approaching.
“Alyssa! You made it!” shouted Gavin, the band’s guitarist.
I rose from my stool and hugged both him and Max, the bassist. Two females soon followed, and I noticed the one whom I didn’t recognise wrapped her arms around Max.
“I’m so glad you went with the eyeliner tonight,” I commented. “I don’t suspect you’ll allow me to take the credit.”
Gavin grinned, “Of course, darling, it was your idea.”
“No it wasn’t,” Harry jabbed.
I turned and poked him in the ribs. “Yes it was. Let me have my moment.”
He threw his head back laughing before pulling me to him in a bear hug. I could tell he was drunk, and I could smell the whiskey on his breath, the sweat beneath his shirt, but I didn’t mind. Some of our most fun times were when we could tease each other like this. Still, sometimes I did wish he would just be honest and tell me how he felt about me, rather than always being light-hearted and funny.
Gavin, Max and the girls all got beers from Bruno before he closed up the bar. We all sat and chatted for a bit before saying our goodbyes. Then with a look - that unspoken understanding - Harry stepped off his stool, reached for my hand and followed me out to my car.
“You’re different tonight,” he finally said after a long stretch of silence except for the 90s playlist I had going.
I raised a brow as I stopped at a red light. “How do you mean?”
“I dunno. You just...are.”
I eyed him and then turned back to the road. “I got a new lipstick.”
Harry chuckled and shook his head. “‘s not that. You just...seem different.”
The light changed and I accelerated, my heartbeat doing the same.
“I’m sorry, Harry, I don’t understand. I’m still me.”
I heard Harry hum, perhaps in agreement. He was quiet again while the music changed from Alanis Morissette to Pearl Jam. I wondered what he meant exactly, though part of me had my own suspicions. Then when I was nearly a block from my flat, Harry reached over and turned down the radio, muting the voice of Eddie Vedder.
“Are we okay?” he asked me.
I stopped myself from giggling, something I sometimes tend to do when I’m anxious or nervous. Instead, I bit my lip and let his question roll around in my head. I pulled up to my building and parked before I finally let out a tiny laugh.
“We’re always okay, Harry,” I said with a grin.
Pulling the key out of the ignition, I opened my car door and stepped out. I half wondered if Harry would actually follow, but as I stepped onto the sidewalk, I heard the slam of the passenger door. Meeting me at the curb, he took my hand and walked with me up the stairs to my flat.
“I don’t have whiskey,” I called after I’d tossed my keys on the table and made my way to the kitchen. “But I have vodka and wine.”
“None for me, thanks,” I heard Harry reply.
“What?” I turned around, my eyes wide. Harry always wanted a nightcap.
“Yeah, ‘m fine.”
“Oh.” Now he was the one who seemed different.
“Did something happen, Alyssa?”
Taken aback, I paused a moment and shook my head. “Something...like what? When?”
“Since I saw you last,” replied Harry.
I turned from him, pretending to walk to the refrigerator. Then I changed my mind and took a glass down from the cupboard and poured myself water from the tap.
“Lots of things happen in two weeks, love,” I commented. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
Setting my untouched glass on the counter, I looked back at him. His face was expressionless, though his eyes seemed to reveal a bit more. Perhaps it was the makeup. No wonder they call the look “emo”.
“Tell me,” Harry said softly.
“Oh, so now you wanna talk?” I accused.
He stared at me blankly. “Yeah, baby.”
I snorted. “So, I’m baby now?”
“Alyssa…”
Ignoring the tone of his voice, I sighed and looked away.
“Let’s see…” I began. “I’ve been working a lot. Visited my mum last Saturday. Got my nails done. And bought the new lipstick like I mentioned...oh and I got a new succulent, see?” I reached for my newest addition to my cactus collection to show him. “I’ve named this one Prince because he has a bit of a purple hue to him-”
“I’m sorry,” he interrupted.
I stared at him, frozen. “Sorry? For what?”
Harry stepped closer to me, taking Prince from my hands and setting it on the counter. “I’m sorry I waited two weeks to ring you.”
“Oh.” I blinked.
Sliding his hands around my waist, he pulled me to him. Tilting his head, he pressed his lips to mine, softly at first. When I responded with my hands sliding up his shoulders, he kissed me harder, with purpose.
“I do like the new lipstick,” he murmured against my lips. I grinned when I noticed some of it had rubbed off onto him.
“You have such pretty lips,” he added, his eyes focused on my mouth. “First thing I wanna do when I see you is kiss them.”
I smiled at his comment, not just from flattery but because I’d always felt the same about his.
“I also meant it when I said you looked beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “So do you.”
Harry grinned then, a sexy smirk. “You like the eyeliner, yeah?”
“I really do,” I nodded. “I think you should wear it more often.”
“I will if you come ‘round more often.”
“You have to ring me, Styles,” I reminded him. “I have a life, you know. As much as you may like to think otherwise, I don’t keep up with your schedule.”
“Maybe I should give it to you,” Harry said, his voice deep with no trace of humour as his hands roamed down to my bum. I couldn’t help but giggle.
“My schedule, I mean,” he added with his own chuckle. “God, woman, what are you doing to me?”
“Me?” I raised a brow.
“Yes, you. You get me all flustered, I dunno what I’m saying.”
“I’m just stood here, Harry.”
“That’s enough.”
I studied his face, trying my best to read his eyes. The green seemed more defined with the black liner, and for a split second I felt my stomach flip. I lifted my hand to touch a curl that had fallen across his forehead and heard him release a breath.
The man was definitely a mystery. For months I’d shown up here or there to see his band play. In between we might’ve had a few dates, but I never felt like what we had was anything serious. We always ended up shagging, and it wasn’t like I regretted it. We definitely had that chemistry, and we were good in bed. But I didn’t think he considered me his girlfriend; I didn’t think he considered me at all. At least, not until he was ready to see me again. And like always, I would be there when he wanted, because I really liked him.
But then he’d turn around and say something like this and I’d get all kinds of confused.
As it was, I had a hard time concentrating myself with his hands on my rear end. His lined eyes kept shifting between my own eyes and my mouth, and I could tell he wanted to kiss me again. This time, however, I was the one to give in, reaching for his neck and pulling him to me.
“Mmm, baby…” he moaned against my lips. He’d called me baby a handful of times before, but it never really meant much to me like it did now. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was...perhaps I was wanting him to feel what I felt. Or just...something.
I let my fingers linger on his chest before I began to unbutton his shirt. I knew where this was headed, but I wasn’t about to stop it. Feelings or no feelings, I wanted him in my bed again.
When I reached the bottom button, our lips broke free and Harry stared at me once again, his eyes now full of desire. At least I had a knack for reading that. Just like in the pub, I took his hand with an unspoken understanding and we walked down the hall to my bedroom.
“You got new sheets,” Harry commented.
I cringed, not sure if I was more embarrassed that I’d left my bed unmade or that he’d been there enough times to notice the sheets were different. Nervously I straightened the pillows before reaching behind me to unzip my dress.
“Let me,” I heard Harry say.
He strode across the room to me, his fingers on the zipper before I could protest. When my dress fell off my shoulders, his hands took its place, pushing it down the rest of the way. I felt the chills down to my toes as I stepped out of my heels and turned to face him.
I reckon I expected him to gawk at me some more like he’d been doing all evening, so I was completely surprised when his mouth crashed into mine. I immediately wound my arms around his neck and he lifted me up and onto the bed. He continued his assault on my mouth while his fingers tangled in my hair at the sides of my head. I could feel his erection through his jeans, the friction a fabulous sensation between my legs. Bending my knees, I lifted my hips slightly as I let out a gasp, the feeling of denim on cotton nearly too much for me.
Harry paused the snogging long enough to sit up and loop his fingers through the sides of my knickers. He looked at my face as he bit his lip. I wondered for a second if he was changing his mind, as this was usually not a part of the scenario where he’d stop.
“Something wrong?” I dare asked.
“Do you want me, Alyssa?”
My immediate reaction was more confusion. He’d never asked me that before. Sure, he’d moaned in my ear or against my mouth on more than one occasion that he wanted me. But he’d never asked if I wanted him. My expression softened and I gave him a smile.
“I always want you, Harry.”
With the tiniest grin and a nod, he pulled my panties down and let them fall on the floor. Then stood at the edge of the bed, he began to remove his own pants. I reached over to the bedside table then where I kept the condoms and pulled one out of the drawer.
“I promise I’ll bring my own next time,” I heard him say.
Lying on my back, I watched him crawl up the bed again.
“Next time?” I couldn’t help but razz him. The first time he’d stayed over, he didn’t have protection, but I did. I reckon after that it was just assumed.
“Yeah…” he lowered his face to mine. “Next time, love. I promise.”
He kissed me softly then, the softest kiss ever. He continued with a second on my chin, a third on my neck, a fourth on my chest…
I lost count after that.
I gripped the sheets underneath me when I felt his breath on my inner thigh. A low moan-like sound escaped my throat as I felt his thumb graze over me where I was already wet and waiting.
“You want me here?” Harry asked.
I barely heard him, his voice was so low and deep. But somehow my insides reacted and I managed to make a sound similar to yes.
I shut my eyes when I felt his tongue on me. He licked me delicately at first, like he was testing the temperature of his tea. I squirmed underneath him until he looped his arms around my legs and pulled me closer to him, his tongue pressing just a bit.
“Harry…” I panted. “Oh god.”
My legs shook around his head while he began to devour me, his tongue working faster. Opening my eyes, I began to watch him, as much as I could at least. I reached down and pushed that one stubborn curl from his forehead and his eyes shifted up, locking with mine.
“‘s that good, baby?” he murmured, barely tearing his mouth away.
I merely nodded, the only thing I could manage at the moment besides coming undone. I bit my finger when he smiled and resumed his task, making me reach the edge.
I tugged on his hair as I came, calling out his name. He nipped at my thighs gently as they trembled before climbing up the bed to hover over me.
For a solid minute or two, he just stared at me. Perhaps he was waiting for me to say something. Perhaps he was waiting for the green light. Or perhaps he was just waiting for me to stop shaking, I dunno. But I swear his gaze was like a magnet. I couldn’t look away.
The eyeliner had begun to smudge a bit from his recent activity. I started to reach up to swipe my thumb underneath his eye when I remembered the condom in my hand. I smiled and raised my brows, offering it to him.
“You still want me, baby?” he asked, taking it from me.
“What did I say?”
“Just making sure.”
Harry uncertainty was definitely something I was not used to, but as I watched him roll the condom on, I wondered if it wasn’t a put-on. He was nothing if not confident.
Situating himself, he kissed me once more before looking into my eyes.
“I always want you too, Alyssa,” he murmured.
Then before I could respond, he entered me fully. I gasped a tiny breath when I realised how deep he was so quickly. Then exhaling through my nose, I wrapped my legs around him.
“Mmm, I love when you do that,” he said.
I couldn’t help but giggle, knowing that was definitely something he liked, and I liked pleasing him. We moved together, a slow, steady rhythm at first. I could already feel my core reacting, my most sensitive spots throbbing.
He lifted his head again and I watched his face, his eyes burning into mine as he began to move faster. I had to unravel my legs from him, lifting my knees to give him more room for thrusts. Then with a groan, he sat back and held my hips as he fucked me hard. I bit my lip to keep my moans at bay, but I couldn’t help it. Dropping my arms beside my head, I cursed and called his name.
“Yeah, baby,” he growled. “So good, innit?”
“Fuck, yes.”
He slowed down then, a low chuckle releasing from his throat. “C’mere.”
I looked at him in wonder as he guided me up and onto his lap. I noticed then that he was perspiring, beads of sweat dripping on his forehead. This time I did reach to wipe them off, but instead Harry took my hands and kissed the backs of them.
“You’re amazing, Alyssa, you know that?”
I beamed at him as I slowly began to ride him.
“You want me, Harry?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his neck as his gorgeous green eyes looked up at me, the makeup starting to run down one cheek. I didn’t want to wipe it away this time. He looked so sexy.
“Always,” he replied.
I licked my lips and kissed him hard, my tongue wrestling with his. His hands covered my breasts while my hips moved gingerly. Then breaking the kiss, I rode him faster, bouncing on his lap.
“Oh, Jesus,” he moaned as he moved his hands to my hips for leverage.
“Is that good?” I asked him, just like he’d asked me earlier.
“Fuck yeah, baby, you drive me crazy.”
I watched his face, knowing he was close to unraveling. He let out a few expletives as his fingers dug into my flesh.
“Come for me, baby,” I urged. I couldn’t help it. I wanted to watch him, and just the thought of it made me drip with delight.
“You first,” he shook his head.
I wanted to argue that I already had, and that was enough. But I knew he’d just argue back. This goddamn boy. He was going to make me fall for him, wasn’t he?
I slowed down my pace, only slightly as I needed to rejuvenate. My breaths evening out and heartbeat slowing, I kissed him again. Our lips still locked, Harry grabbed my waist and laid me back on the bed again. Then he lifted my leg and pounded me hard.
“Fuck, Harry!” I screamed.
“Wrap your legs around me, love,” he requested.
I came immediately, the sensation of him deep inside and the sounds of his moans tipping me over the edge. My body trembled beneath his as his breaths quickened in my ear.
“Baby…” he groaned. “Oh, Alyssa.”
The sounds he made as he came were indescribable. This wasn’t our first shag. But it was definitely our first something else.
I lay spent on the dampened sheets, wishing I’d remembered to turn on the fan. Sticky with sweat, Harry rolled off of me, discarded the condom into the nearby bin and laid on his back breathing hard. We stayed like that for a while in silence until Harry surprised me again.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said for the...how many times? I turned my head to look at him, but his gaze was on the ceiling, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“I’m sorry I didn’t text just to let you know I was thinking of you. Because I was.”
My breath caught in my throat but I managed to clear it. “You were?”
“‘Course.” He turned onto his side to face me. His lips were so close to mine if either of us moved only slightly, they would touch.
“How was I supposed to know that, Harry?” I asked just above a whisper.
Shaking his head, he seemed to consider my question. “I reckon you weren’t. I’m sorry.”
I bit my lip as he leant his forehead against mine and swung his arm across my waist. He hummed softly as though he had a song in his head.
“I wish I’d rung you to talk about your day. To ask about work or your mum. To hear about your adorable succulents.”
His last comment made me smile. “To be fair, you did text me Wednesday. So not quite two weeks.”
“Fucking Wednesday. Jesus, Alyssa,” he sighed. “And a text. How the fuck am I to expect us to be okay when I bloody text you on a Wednesday?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are we okay? Because you kind of have me worried now.”
“Yeah, if I haven’t already fucked it up,” he groaned.
“Harry…I never said you fucked it up. I’m still here. I still came to your show. I showed up and waited at the bar like you asked me to.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Did I really seem different tonight?” I asked.
“Not...well, kinda. You just...didn’t seem like yourself, that’s all.”
“Well then, I apologise, because I thought I was the same as I’ve always been - the same as you want.”
“What I want?” Harry asked incredulously.
“Well, Harry…” I hesitated. “We’ve never really discussed what we want from each other. But I assumed you didn’t want anything serious. We’re like...friends with benefits I reckon.”
“No, we’re not,” he stated.
My jaw dropped as I glared at him.
“I don’t want you to be..." he added.
“What?”
“Baby, I don’t want you to be just a friend with benefits. I want...this.” Harry gestured between us.
“This?”
“Us. You and I. Or, um...you and me, whatever.”
I could feel my heart beating in my chest, and I was sure it was so loud he could hear it. “Seriously?”
Harry nodded, his hand sliding underneath my jaw. “I want you, baby.”
I sighed, tears starting to form in my eyes. Blinking fast, I swallowed hard. “What brought this on?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you. I don’t mean just sex. I want you, for real. I was gutted when I thought something had changed between us, but then I realised it was my own fucking fault.”
“I don’t...know what to say, Harry.”
“Say you want me too. You and I.”
I smiled as I reached for him, kissing him tenderly and eagerly. “Always.”
Harry’s dimples appeared in his cheeks as he beamed at me. I couldn’t help it. I started giggling.
“Oh love,” I sighed. “Please tell me you’ll continue to do the eyeliner thing. I’m with Bruno. You look sexy AF.”
Harry chuckled. “Yeah?”
“Mhmm. Truth? You look completely fucked. And I love that it was with me. Only makes me want you more.”
“Well, in that case,” he murmured low, pulling my leg across his, “I’ll wear it from now on.”
“Just so I know it’s for me, and not your groupies.”
Harry snorted. “Or Bruno?”
“Eh, I don’t mind so much about Bruno. He’s on my side.”
Harry laughed harder before kissing me across my cheek and down my neck.
“You really are amazing, Alyssa,” he whispered in my ear. “Now...tell me about your succulents.”
“Well Prince is the newest, like I said,” I began, Harry’s mouth continuing its trail down my neck and shoulder. “Mick and Freddie were my first two and they’re still going strong. But Bowie is a bit temperamental…”
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there is just some things so endearing seeing lewis capaldi perform on stage
#DIDN’T REALISE THIS GOT LONG SO BEWARE—#ever since his performance at the brits I’ve been watching his other shows#the way he laughed or giggled mid song when the audience sing the lyrics back to him in full power#—maybe he saw something funny in the crowd??#or the fans’ expressions while singing the lyrics??#or maybe he was just purely in awe of them idk I just love it when he suddenly laughed#the way he stopped the instruments all together just before the last part of the song#—perhaps that was his way of edging the crowd lmao#and on the last song he’d ask the audience to sing over and over again as if he didn’t want to stop the concert#the way he carried himself and singing perfectly even when he twitched alot#giving thumbs up to his band signing that he’s okay#he always managed to pulled himself flawlessly after distractions#writing this made me reminisce why I love and enjoy his record in the first place#it’s amazing how every song there are memories behind it#for me it was mid 2019 as I stumbled upon his masterpieces#instantly clicked with the songs and his personality#God bless you lewis :’)#rambles
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Hi!! I’m your friendly neighborhood Swiftie BEGGING you for Eddie - Sparks Fly
sparks fly (eddie's version)
warnings: tooth-rotting fluff. mutual pining. the works. <3
wc: 2.1k+
a/n: this one got mad cheesy. maybe a little too cheesy. idc. i had fun with it.
“You know, one of these days, you’re gonna have to talk to Ed,” the older bartender, Phil, muses as he wipes down the counter behind you.
You hardly hear him over the current symphony of electric guitars, riveting bass, and crashing drums filling the Hideout. You had one focus tonight, just as you did every Tuesday and Friday night, and that was the band on the stage currently commanding an even larger audience than last week.
You’d seen it coming. Building crowds, more buzzing conversations around town in hushed tones about the band that owned the stage of the hole in the wall. You’d stumbled upon them by accident, coming in and telling yourself you were just grabbing one drink after a particularly rough shift. But one drink immediately turned into four that night when the band had taken the stage, playing song after song, keeping you glued to that bar stool and completely enamored with one particular boy on stage.
Eddie Munson.
Every time you watch him command that stage, wild hair and vibrant eyes, it’s like the first time all over again. You can’t get over his wicked grin, the way he puts his entire self into each performance, the rasp of his voice – you’re down bad for a man you’ve never even properly spoken to.
By some miracle, you tear your eyes from the stage, swiveling to face Phil, “Excuse me?”
“Ed. You know, Eddie,” he repeats himself, leaning both palms on the bar, “He notices you, you know? Always asks me where you ran off to after their set’s done.”
Your heart is suddenly in your throat, embarrassment red hot in the pit of your stomach, “H-He notices me? Why would he notice me?”
“You’re at every show. Even before they started getting a proper crowd. The damn boy hasn’t shut up about you since that first night,” Phil pauses to hand off a beer to another patron wordlessly, “You’re lucky you pay with cash and not card, or I’m sure he would’ve tracked you down outside of here by now. Calls you his Cinderella.”
Like a clock chiming midnight, the final tinny note of the set rings through the bar, and you can hear that rasp of Eddie’s voice booming through the speakers.
“We have been Corroded Coffin! Thank you very fucking much!”
And just like clockwork, you’re rushing to dig into your purse, yanking a twenty from your wallet and smacking it onto the bar before grabbing your drink to down the last of it.
“I’m not Cinderella,” you choke out over the residual burn of the alcohol, face still scrunched up as you glance over your shoulder to see the boys have already left the stage, “I just like the music.”
“The music,” he hums, “Right. Well, your money’s no good here tonight, little miss Cindy,” he reaches out, and with a singular fingertip, pushes the cash back towards you over the sticky wood. When your mouth opens and closes in confusion, Phil’s eyes flicker up towards the side door beside the stage where a commotion has begun, signaling that the band is coming out, “It seems the music likes you, too. So much so that he demanded I add your drinks to his tab tonight.”
The coals of embarrassment burn even brighter, igniting you from the inside out. Your hand flies out, grabbing back the twenty and shoving it aimlessly in your purse. You keep looking back at the crowd, catching glimpses of dark curls over the small sea of people singing their praises, watching your seconds run out in real time. It’s not that you didn’t want to speak to the man who has had you captivated for several months now; you were just mortified that he’d noticed you in that crowd, noticed the way you attended each show.
One of these days you’d talk to him. But tonight, you had no bravery left for such boldness.
“You’re gonna have to leave behind a glass slipper for the boy eventually,” Phil only chuckles, watching you fumble to clasp your purse before you shoot up from the stool, “Hey, hold on-”
“Another night, Phil!” you call out, not even looking back as you make a beeline for the bar’s exit.
If you had, you would have seen your favorite ring that Phil was holding up, the one that you had taken off your finger to fiddle with endlessly before sitting it down at some point without thought, now left behind like some kind of glass slipper.
—
You were late. It was Friday night, the day had been a nightmare, and you were fucking late to Corroded Coffin’s show.
Your attendance had never faltered like this before. You were always right on time, sometimes five minutes early once the crowds doubled in size in order to secure one of your regular seats.
The deviation from your routine has you reeling, amongst other things. Your Friday had simply been shit. A nonstop rampant attack on your sanity, one thing after another testing what was left of your patience. You’d slept through your first two alarms this morning, you hadn’t realized you were out of coffee creamer until you’d grabbed the scarily light container of it this morning, you had to take a dreadfully cold shower rather than waste precious minutes letting the water warm, you’d worked through your lunch to clean up a mess made by your coworker – the list goes on and on.
You burst through the entrance of the Hideout, probably looking a bit crazed, stopping dead in your tracks when you realize two things.
One, It’s fairly empty. And two, Corroded Coffin is not on the stage.
“Look who decided to show!” Phil calls from his place behind the bar, waving dramatically to you, “Cinderella!”
“Phil, for the last time, I’m not-”
“Your favorite band canceled tonight, I’m afraid,” he bulldozes right over your retort as you approach one of your usual stools.
Your brows furrow, “Canceled? Is everything okay?”
Phil’s mouth opens. But it’s not his voice that answers you.
“Gareth’s sick.”
A voice you’d only heard on the stage, through crackling speakers and enthusiastic addresses to a crowd. A voice you had never heard one-on-one, and for good reason.
Your breath escapes you as you turn slowly, facing the man you’d managed to elude for months now.
“Pardon?” you squeak out, voice hardly audible.
Eddie still grins shyly, hearing you loud and clear due to how uncharacteristically quiet the bar is tonight, “Our drummer, Gareth – he’s, uh, sick. Sorry to disappoint.”
He’s just as captivating up close as he is on the stage. There’s still something wild in him, something electrifying that he seems completely unaware of.
“Don’t apologize,” you’re still whispering, internally cursing yourself for it. You probably look ridiculous right now; you can only picture your starry eyes and parted lips, looking at him with palpable shock, hardly able to utter a word, “I- I’m not disappointed. There’ll be other shows!” you stammer your way through your words, and when Eddie only continues to look at you with gentle amusement, the softest ripple of possible nerves from the way his hands shoved into his pockets, you continue to over explain yourself, rambling on, “I just- I, uh, hope he feels better.”
“Yeah, me too,” he nods in agreement before he buries his hands even deeper. Suddenly, as if he’s found something in those pockets, his face lights up in delight, “Oh! Hey, I-” his left hand pulls out of his pocket at lightning speed, still curled into a fist as he thrusts it into your direction, “I think this might be yours.”
Slowly, he unfurls his fingers, and in the center of his palm rests your ring. You had assumed it was lost to the fire, that it might have fallen off at work or outside your apartment, never to be found again. Just another thing to add to your checklist of things gone wrong.
And yet there it was, like a perfect glass slipper, right in the palm of Eddie’s hand.
Your nerves are all but forgotten as you get giddy, reaching out without thinking to take the ring from him. A gentle brush of your fingertips against this palm, and you swear you feel sparks flying from the minimal contact, “Oh! Oh my gosh! Thank you, I-” you slip it on easily, smiling widely before you look up at him gleefully, “I thought I’d lost it for good. Thank you.”
Eddie turns bashful, tilting down his chin and letting stray curls fall in his face that half hide his own contained grin. If the lighting in the bar had been better, you would have caught the pink spreading across his cheeks.
“And so the prince finally meets his Cinderella,” Phil mutters from behind the two of you before he suddenly smacks his palms on the countertop, “Alright! Well, if you two will excuse me, I have to…. Do some stock count in the back,” a blatant lie, “Don’t burn the place down, yeah?”
Eddie snaps out of his daze to look up to the older man, mock saluting him in a way that has an involuntary giggle leaving your lips. In an instant, he’s looking back down to you, almost surprised at the sound.
Cheap bar lighting can no longer hide his blush. Or your own adoration.
“The bar is yours! Make good decisions!” Phil continues to shout as he moves to the backroom, voice fading with each step.
Finally, you and Eddie are alone.
“And then there were two,” he murmurs, taking a step closer to you, finding something brave in him at the way you’re looking up at him in reverie.
The rockstar that had been enchanting you for months from a distance. The man who had been occupying all your thoughts far too much for having been a stranger.
This is your chance. No more hiding at the back of the bar, only admiring him with the safety of a crowd between you two. No more wondering, no more imagining, no more pining. Time stands still, not a single clock daring to strike midnight as the electric currents between you two come to a rise.
“Say,” you say right when he looks to be preparing himself to speak first. It’s time to be bold, take a risk, no matter the costs. “Do you… Do you want to grab a drink?”
His wicked grin is even better right in front of you, directed at you, “Well, he did say the bar is ours. What’s your poison?”
“Jack and coke?”
He shrugs, still a vibrant fool, like a schoolgirl with a crush, “I’ve been known to have a heavy hand with the jack, but… I think I can manage that.”
Electrifying, pulsing, the beginning of something new. You can see it now – the way you’re going to cling to his arm when he makes you laugh so hard you nearly fall off your chair, the way he’ll be able to charm you better over a jack and coke than he ever had been able to from behind a guitar, the way those eyes scream trouble. And yet at the end of the night, you know he’ll still walk you to your car through the empty parking lot. He’ll probably use the excuse of the bad weather looming overhead. When the sky finally breaks open and the first drops of rain fall, neither of you will be brave enough to admit what you both already know. Tonight’s not the night for kisses in the rain or talk of what-ifs.
That’s fine. For tonight, the sparks of something new are enough.
Eddie moves to walk behind the bar, but you throw out a reckless hand to catch him. Your first curls around his forearm for the first time tonight, and even with the layer of leather that separates skin, you can feel it. “Hey, did you really call me your Cinderella?”
Flashes and arrays of what’s to come flood both of you. It’s only the first drink. It’s only the first night.
It won’t be the last.
“I mean,” he nods subtly down to the hand holding him, where your ring glitters on your middle finger, snug on your knuckle, “If the ring fits, right?”
He’s right. The ring fits.
And a different ring fits years later, after all those kisses in the rain and many more jack and cokes that Eddie never quite perfects. And you’re still right where you belong, front row at every Corroded Coffin show, Eddie’s own personal Cinderella. When the clock strikes midnight, he’s no longer afraid – he knows you’ll be coming home to him now.
Phil only laughs when he receives the invite, chuckling to himself at the chosen theme for the two idiots that once haunted his bar who now had moved onto bigger and better things.
A gothic fairytale wedding, on a Tuesday night. How fitting.
"you touch me once and it's really something. you find i'm even better than you imagined i would be."
#speak now (ghost's version)#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson imagine#stranger things#gotta go see a dentist now#heavily inspired by the og version where she talks about meeting in a bar ngl#speak now is just so fairytale love coded to me i'm sorry#this also would have fit so well for enchanted too but#i listened to sparks fly as i wrote it i swear
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elvis - “you know, if you wanted my attention you didn't have to go to such extremes”
Summary: You are a big Elvis fan, you end up front row at one of his concerts and when it all gets too much, you just so happen to faint…into the kings arms ;)
Pairing: elvis or austin!elvis x reader
Word count: 1087
Warnings: Fluff, fainting/passing out
__________________________________________
It was mid July, 1956, only two weeks passed your 18th birthday and Elvis Presley was doing a concert in your city! You’d begged and begged your mama to let you go, she decided, since 18 was a special birthday, she’d get you a ticket for your birthday, so long as you promised her you’d go with someone.
You managed to squeeze yourself through crowds and crowds of people, fighting your way as politely as possible. You hadn’t gone with a friend because none of your friends really loved him the way you did, and didn’t want to run the risk of being slowed down or held back by anyone. Tonight was your night, your night to dance and sing and scream to your favourite songs in front of your most favourite person, without a care in the world.
When Elvis came out on stage a roar erupted from the crowd behind you, everyone gravitated towards him and you got smushed even harder between the barrier in front of the stage and the people behind you. You couldn’t have cared less, though, absolutely nothing could kill your mood. Elvis got to doing his thing, talking, exciting the crowd, singing of course, talking some more. You were having the absolute time of your life, Elvis was midway through “all shook up” and everybody was going wild in the audience with him. He knelt down at the edge of the stage, scanning his face by the row of people at the front, locking eyes with you for more than a second. You felt like your soul was being released from your body, his gaze just burnt you alive. Your body temperature was steadily rising, nothing unmanageable though, until you noticed your hearing slowly fade, quieter and quieter, until silence. You felt yourself physically weaker, crying at him as he held your jaw softly in one hand. Your vision started to narrow. It kept on narrowing, black nothing taking over the picture in front of you, until you’d completely lost sight. You felt yourself collapse, sort of, there wasn’t exactly enough room to fall but, your body fell as far as it could, as your mind shut down.
Your eyes fluttered open, a cool, damp towel was placed around your neck, you were laid down on a couch, your knees bent up, you assumed to keep the blood flow directed to your brain. Alone, you were, you sat up, perhaps too quickly as your vision started to fade again. You rested your head back down, turning it slightly, peering around the room. A vanity, clothes rack, coffee table by your side, a jacket. You reached for it, laying it over your legs, exploring it.
An initial embroidered on the chest caught your eye, and made your heart drop.
E.P.
“Oh my gosh, no, no.” You mumbled, shooting up, pulling the towel off from around your neck. Of course, the vanity, the clothes, you were in Elvis’ dressing room.
“Everything okay, little girl?” A man you’d never seen before poked his head around the door, asking you.
“Yes, thank you.” You nodded, stuttering slightly.
“You hang tight, E’s finishing up his last song, he’ll be down in a moment.”
E. As in Elvis. Was going to find you in his dressing room. Before you could say anything, he’d left. You just sat there, contemplating running away, anxiously waiting, your heart dropping at the sound of any footsteps passing by the door.
After what felt like hours, you heard that voice you knew all too well. Elvis’, you couldn’t possibly have mistook it for someone else. “Alright, give me a second just gotta check up on something.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, you wanted to give yourself one last chance to wake up from this dream as you heard his voice speak and a pair of footsteps walk into the room you were sat in, only assuming they belonged to said voice. Before he could even begin to say a word, you stood up, insisting you were in his way.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I’m meant to be in here, I’ll just—“
“Hey, hey, cool it, sweetheart. Sit back down.” He used his body to block yours from leaving, he had a glass of water in one hand, a wet, dripping towel in the other.
“Uh, Mr. Presley, I appreciate you being so kind but I’m alright, really.” You argued, though obeying his instructions.
"You fainted…straight into my arms. Had me drop the mic and everything for ya. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn't have to go to such extremes." He smiled, sitting down next to you.
“I— I’m sorry.”
“Oh, give me none, only teasing you, sweetheart. Now tell me, what’s your name, honey?” He took the towel you’d had originally away from you, dropping it on the floor, gently draping the new, cold, wet one over your neck. Your hairs all stood on end at the feeling of such temperature, making you shiver. He placed a hand on your chest, slowly pushing you back to lay against his chest, he held the glass of water to your lips, tipping it slightly, encouraging you to take a sip. You did so, pushing his hand away when you’d had enough.
“Y/N.” You spoke.
“Well, Y/N, what happened? Was it the heat? Couldn’t breathe in the crowd? Was it me?”
“What?” You asked.
“Well I’m just curious, honey, what did it to ya?”
“All three, I guess.”
“I’ll take it.” He laughed. “Have you eaten, today, honey?”
You shook your head, with all the excitement about the concert, food wasn’t exactly top priority that day.
“Mm, that’ll do it, too. Make it all four. Would you like to come with us, have dinner? I wouldn’t feel right leavin’ ya in a state like this, not til I know you’re okay.”
“Mr Pres—”
“Elvis.” He corrected you.
“Elvis, I am okay, really.”
“Stand up, do a little spin for me.”
You stood up, quickly, wanting to prove to him you were fine, instead your hand quickly found his knee to prop yourself up as the world had gone black again after standing up too fast.
“Wanna give me a different answer?” He asked, reaching out to hold you as you caught balance.
“Yes, dinner would be wonderful, thank you.” You smiled, raising your eyebrows, regaining your vision.
“Good girl, come on, you stick with me tonight.” He stood up, encouraging you. You knew your parents were going to absolutely kill you when they found out about all of this, but Elvis Presley himself had seemed to take an interest in you, so that was the least of your concerns.
Part 2 (smut) coming soon!
MASTERLIST
#austin butler#austin!elvis x y/n#austin elvis imagine#elvis x reader#elvis#elvis x you#elvis x y/n#austin!elvis x reader#elvis imagine#elvis presley
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Short Story: Moonstrings
// I wonder who's OC x Canon ship this is... (OC mentioned is from @blogplutopools)
// This was something written back in November of last year, enjoy this worded repost of a short story.
From the window sill, he pulled and plucked the strings on his violin. Although not quite the Stradivarius extraordinaire that he consistently talked about, and not quite the consistency of a symphony, Rocky still played. He didn’t seem to mind that his quality was by par with what he had in mind, his dedication towards it still is worth remarking. So much so that he’s already garnered an audience down below: Lola Deluca, the singer of the band they are both in. She was below, just outside in a patch of grass, with her being there in a way to self-isolate herself after a repeat of what a dream she had, and what nightmare she endured through as she slowly became more and more overprotective of Rocky. Together, as above and so below, they seemed more than content to make the daytime their audience, with Lola ready for the sudden sing-song.
In the moment, the sky carried their song towards St. Louis. The sound may be distorted through and through, and the air completely dismantles what melody it once contained, but people couldn’t help but notice the air noticeably more… cool? Relaxing? It felt like a better breeze than usual, it may be placebo, but it was both felt by the only two that dared to stand in the winds. Lola, by now, had been singing to her heart’s content, as Rocky improvise over her lyrics, with little knowledge that she too was improvising the lyrics.
“Oh and how much I looooo-ve you!”
She let out a high note, demonstrating her capability of being a singer for Lackadaisy never proven rusty, and Rocky didn’t dare to let up either, as he swung himself around towards a high note that eventually ended with a sour plink. He glanced over his violin, and his E string had sprung and broke. Regardless, it didn’t stop Lola from singing more and more, as Rocky hurriedly ran back into the room to find his spare violin that he had put in the house. He’d only be found to have nothing left, after scrambling and scrambling through a mess of rooms and layouts and drawers of Nina’s house to find anything that he left behind just prior to him being kicked out.
The whole reason that they were here in the first place wasn’t to sing songs, however, as Nina and Freckle had both been out the house, and a paranoid Freckle only asked them to be at home after a slew of robberies that struck the residential area. Reluctantly, Nina agreed to let them come over to fend off any potential robbers, but so far it seems they act more as the robbers themselves than someone who should be housekeeping. Regardless, by the time he had gotten back onto the window sill Lola had stopped singing and stood in the shade, awaiting Rocky to be back.
“Rocky! Where did you go?” She asked, her voice spiking up and down in a touch of anger and worry.
“Miss Deluca, I apologize but… my violin string broke. Alas, the symphony stops again.” He spoke up, sounding more guilty than ever. He couldn’t do what she would have loved, and he felt that he let her down. But a laugh from Lola dismantled that entire theory, as she sat back down at the tree stump.
“Well, come down here! I got an instrument too, and we can both sing along!” She particularly picked out his vocabulary, and it worked, as he smiled more and more before heading downstairs and through the backyard towards her. They both sat, Lola leaning on Rocky’s shoulders under the shade, as they continued singing lover’s lullaby towards each other, reminding each other of the heartfelt romance that they both bond over.
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hiiiiihi!! if you want, can u write akito w/ a partner who preforms and sings with their band just like him- but one day the reader overworks themselves for this one performance their doing, and once they perform, they just- collapse on stage.. im sorry if this is hard to write:( take care!
So Open Your Eyes; You’re Someone Strong
Featuring Akito Shinonome
Hi anon, sorry this took a bit. I put reader in VBS for the sake of the idea I had, sorry if that’s not what you wanted. But I hope you enjoy :}
CW) reader overworks, collapsing/fainting
You met Akito not so long before he met Toya. He still had his terrible attitude problem around that time that typically drove people off, so he found it intriguing when you paid no mind to it. You two bonded over your passions for music and reaching the top, become close ‘acquaintances,’ as Akito said during this time.
Although he only considered you an acquaintance, Akito didn’t hesitate to invite you to join Vivid BAD SQUAD. You of course, took up his offer, feeling even more prepared to perform than before now that you’re apart of a team. But you remained closer to Akito, practically glued to his side at times.
It wasn’t too big of a surprise when you and Akito announced to the teammates that you were officially dating. They all saw the signs way before either of you did. It was slightly embarrassing being told you and him were the last to realize these feelings, but everyone was happy for you two, certainly making yours and Akito’s mood brighter.
Akito always noticed you had a slight habit of pushing yourself too far, but it became more apparent when he spent days and nights with you. He’d notice how you’d forget to drink water or eat dinner as you worked, not giving yourself many breaks. There’s been nights where Akito has had to pull you away from your desk and put you to bed simply because you refused to pause your work.
It took time- a lot of it- but Akito gradually helped you out of this habit and know your limits. He felt comfortable knowing you can stop pushing yourself without any assistance now, even telling you how proud he was.
But as they say- not everything can last forever.
You would never tell him of course, that you were pushing your limits again and overworking. After all, this next performance at the live house has to be perfect. You can’t afford to be behind, you just need to perfect your vocals just a bit more.
You stayed up almost all night before forcing yourself to go to sleep, despite knowing you’d only be able to get an hour or two of rest. But in the moment you didn’t believe it’d matter; that it would negatively affect your performance.
After preparation and last minute training with the group, the time of the performance finally arrived. Everyone wishing good luck to each other and final words of encouragement.
It didn’t feel the same in the live house- on the stage- for you at least. Noises were blending together and the lights felt brighter than usual. There was a loud ringing in your ear that definitely wasn’t helping you hear.
Akito, An, Kohane and Toya all noticed how messy your voice and movements were, how slurred and slow your voice was and how it looked like you were struggling to support your legs and body. They just hoped that you would be ok and able to finish this song and that the audience wouldn’t notice. Although, it was inevitable.
It shocked everyone when you collapsed on stage, it felt so sudden. The group wasn’t bothered with apologizing to the audience immediately, rather just helping you to a safe spot. Akito and Kohane helped carry you off stage and into the back, while An and Toya explained to the live house staff what was going on and that they won’t be finishing their performance.
Akito felt many emotions swirl in him; guilt, anger, annoyance, worry and more. He didn’t need to ask you what happened- he already knew. You were overworking again and he wasn’t there to help you. He felt terrible, but he couldn’t begin to imagine how you feel right now.
The group agreed on not calling an ambulance and just letting Akito take you home. The hospital would only take longer and who knows what would happen if you woke up just then. So Akito bid his farewell to the group before lifting you on his back and taking you home. He didn’t know what to say to you, and it’s not like you’d hear him anyway. He just hoped you’d wake up soon.
He stayed by your side until you woke up, refusing to sleep before he knew if you were alright. When Akito noticed your shuffling and low mumbles he was broken out of any thought he had. He waited and waited for your eyes to open and when they finally did he didn’t waste a moment to kiss you.
“I’m sorry- you only just woke up..”
“Akito I’m-“
“Don’t be sorry, don’t. I wish I was there to help you and stop you from pushing yourself too far but it’s not your fault (Name)- you didn’t ruin anything… the live house said we can perform again in a few days. It’s okay.” He didn’t want you to feel guilty for a second, Akito just wanted you to feel safe now that your awake.
You promised to Akito that you wouldn’t overwork for the next show or any show after, and that if you felt like you were doing too much- call him. He was just glad you were okay and stable, and you were just glad Akito is there with you.
#prsk#project sekai#pjsekai#akito shinonome#akito shinonome x reader#akito#akito x reader#akito shinonome fluff#akito fluff#project sekai fluff#project sekai x reader#prsk x reader#pjsekai x reader#kohane azusawa#toya aoyagi#an shiraishi#Toya#vivid bad squad#vbs#dor writes
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Whumptober Day 1
AO3
Akito hates that this song isn’t coming together. He’s been writing and rewriting it all day and still nothing. Not helped by a horrible headache that comes and goes.
And he’s got to pick out outfits for their shows. All their friends have distinct performance wear that helps them stand out while looking like a cohesive unit. If Vivid BAD SQUAD is going to leave a mark they should have something too.
And they just finished their event so they need to consider another one, and start thinking about what to change and perfect. They still haven’t gotten the right “atmosphere.”
And he needs to practice more, he’s been falling behind again since Toya and Kohane saw RAD WEEKEND for themselves and got a new boost of energy.
And-
Someone’s shaking him.
Akito looks up to see Kamishiro-senpai staring at him, looking concerned.
“…re …ing here?” Kamishiro-senpai’s being really quiet for some reason, and the headache’s back so Akito really doesn’t feel like dealing with whatever he’s talking about.
“‘M busy, can you leave me alone?”
“…vry…gone…lunch.”
“Huh? What? I’m not hungry.”
“Aki-kun… gers… up?” Kamishiro-senpai asks. It takes Akito a second to figure out he’s asking how many fingers he’s holding up and Akito finally looks up at him.
“I dunno, twelve?” Akito says, squinting. “I don’t care about your magic tricks right now man, I’m working on something.”
“Really?” Kamishiro-senpai says, louder now. “ Because it just looks like you’re scribbling on a blank sheet of paper.”
Akito blinks and looks down. Instead of notes, there’s just a scrawled mess, just like senpai said.
“Huh.”
“What are you working on?” Kamishiro-senpai asks.
“Uhh… something.” Damn it, what was he thinking about a second ago? It’s kinda foggy. “A show, I think?”
“All right, can you hold still for me, please?” Kamishiro-senpai holds something in front of Akito’s face.
“Yeah. That’d do it. You’re running a 40 degree fever. Where’s Aoyagi-kun?”
That cuts through the haze in Akito’s mind.
“He’s busy…” Akito mumbles before slumping over. He just wants this headache to go away.
“Hmm, ok. Well let’s get you to the nurse’s office at least.”
Kamishiro-senpai is practically dragging Akito down the hall, and he collapses onto the cot.
Now that he thinks about it, his entire body hurts. He thought he was just sore from practicing last night. He’d wanted to forget that nightmare…
God, Akito knows these notes. He knows these words.
He just can’t sing them.
Why? Did he not practice enough?
Everyone in the audience is staring at him, their eyes drilling into him.
When they get off stage, no one even needs to say anything.
He’s failed them.
“Hey, Akito,” An says cautiously. “We were, um, thinking that maybe you can sit out the next show?”
Akito’s heart gets stuck in his throat.
“I’ll do better next time, don’t worry.”
“You said that last time,” Kohane says.
“I…”
“Look, Akito, it’s not that we don’t appreciate you helping us get this far…” Toya says.
But you can’t get us any further.
Even without Toya saying them out loud, the words hang around Akito like a heavy blanket.
He can’t look any of them in the eye, so he just runs out.
He feels like he’s running forever, but when he looks up he’s still in the same place.
He’s always in the same place.
Akito digs the palms of his hands into his eyes. He’d woken up after that and ran through their entire setlist until the sun rose.
Thinking back on it, he never did get back to sleep.
The sound of Toya’s footsteps helps bring Akito back to the present.
“Akito!” Toya gasps, collapsing at his side. “What’s going on?”
“Nothin’. ‘M fine.”
“Akito, come on.”
“It’s really nothing.”
“You’ve been practicing too much again,” Toya sighs. “Why? Why do you keep doing this to yourself?!”
“‘S nothing to worry about.”
“Nothing to worry about?! You’re in the nurse’s office because your fever’s so high you can’t do anything. It’s a miracle you even made it to school today in your condition instead of collapsing on the sidewalk!”
Akito winces. “I just… gotta push through…”
“Push through what?! You can’t brute force yourself into surpassing RAD WEEKEND, Akito, we’ve been over this!”
“Not that… it’s just… when I feel insecure or get worried about you leaving… I can’t let my hang ups hold us back… so when I get worried I just focus on practice instead.”
“Partner… why can’t you just talk to us about this?” Toya looks close to tears.
“Nothing to talk about… I know it’s stupid, but I still worry about it… and I don’t want to accidentally sabotage us because I’m all insecure ‘n shit. It’s my problem. I know I shouldn’t be worried but I am. But I refuse to let that be the thing that ruins us.”
“You’re not going to ruin us, Akito,” Toya says. “And I’m not going to leave, ok? I love you.”
“Don’t promise me that. Don’t force yourself to stay with me.”
“Sorry partner, I can’t do that. I love you and I’m going to stick with you.”
“If you find something better…”
“Shhh…. Try to quiet the noises in your head, we can’t compete with all that.”
Akito closes his eyes. “Sing me to sleep, partner?”
“Of course.”
#alto writes#word count: 500-1000#whumptober 2023#day 1#project sekai#proseka#akito shinonome#toya aoyagi#akitoya
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One More Step Out of the Pit: Chapter 2/26
Summary: It had been Tommy and Tubbo for practically forever. They clawed their way out of hell together. They discovered their superpowers together. They started working for the Superhero Guild together before even coming of age. Tommy probably owed Tubbo his life ten times over. So, when the three supervillains he'd been assigned to bring in managed to take Tubbo hostage, well, there was really only one thing to do.
He knew, of course, he was signing himself up for torture and death by offering that trade, but that was okay.
It'd have to be okay.
AO3 Link (See AO3 for Warnings.)
(This story is finished and has been posted on AO3 for a while, but I'm posting it on Tumblr so it's somewhere else too (considering the day AO3 was down a bit ago). The author notes will all be kept as well. If you are following the blog and don't want to see these posts, block the tag #backlog.)
Author Note: Here's a bit more status quo before getting into the action.
This house was a nightmare, Phil thought for very much not the first time.
“Phil, please make him stop,” Techno pleaded through a mouthful of pancake. It was about 7am in his household and things were progressing in an unfortunately normal manner.
“Will, stop,” Phil ordered.
Wilbur did not stop. He continued to strum his guitar while spewing out sing-song words that inhumanly echoed against Phil’s skull. “Is it annoy-oy-oying?”
“Yes,” Techno groaned, and it was. It was the most annoying thing in the world the way his voice skittered and crawled up and down Phil’s back, like he was being poked with icy cold fingers repeatedly. It was painless, but Phil still wanted to slam his own head into the wall. Or, better yet, Will’s.
“Can we not have one breakfast without light torture?” he asked his son.
“No, Phil,” he continued to sing, and invoking Phil’s name made the annoying sensation of his voice dig deeper into his skin. “I need to practice, and you are a captive audience because you love me.” Unfortunately, this was fact.
“Shut up, shut up,” Phil begged. “Put the pancakes in your mouth and shut up.” He slammed down the last platter of pancakes he’d been making and put two on the boy’s plate. Wilbur ignored this, continuing to make the low-pitched warbling sound as he stummed on his guitar.
“I’m going to kill him,” Techno said. “I don’t even care anymore. I’m 98% sure it wouldn’t be permanent, but it would be so satisfying.”
Phil knew that was a lie, of course, (though he wondered when he’d gotten numb to those sort of jokes) and so did Wilbur. “Technoblade will not kill me because he is far too soft,” Wilbur sang even louder.
“Wilbur seriously,” Techno snapped, wincing at the increased volume. “I have a headache.”
Wilbur’s mouth snapped shut immediately and Phil let out a sigh of relief. The fingers on the guitar paused, letting the last strummed chord fade. Phil watched as those fingers shifted and rearranged themselves to strum a different chord. “This is Technoblade’s headache song,” he sang along with the new tune. “This is Technoblade’s headache song. Techno has a headache, so we’ll sing it all night long. Oh, we’ll sing it all night long.”
The tension that had been lining Techno’s shoulders all morning slowly leaked out of him. “How are you both the worst and best person in the universe?” Techno asked as Will repeated the chorus again. He let his head sink down onto the table and Phil had to act fast to keep his not yet braided hair from falling into the syrup. “You’re a lyricist. You’d think you could come up with something less stupid for it,” he grumbled. Phil patted his head with a soft laugh.
Wilbur just smiled through his song without pausing the “verse” of ‘ba da da da’s that came faster with a slightly different tune from the lyrics. It was a familiar song in their home, its origins from the first week they all lived together, though the tune had changed slightly as Will perfected it over the years.
The pattern repeated: two run throughs of the chorus and a string of ‘ba’s and ‘da’s’ three more times before Will paused. “Better?” he asked, just a touch smug.
“Yeah,” Techno grumbled reluctantly. He peeled his face off the table and grabbed his fork to stab another piece of his pancake.
“Good,” Phil said, rubbing his back. He turned to Wilbur. “Now shut up and eat your god dammed food before it gets colder than it already is.”
Wilbur grinned at him. “Don’t you want a song, Phil?”
“Shut it,” Phil said, pointing a warning finger at him. “Shut.”
“But…”
“Shut.”
Will rolled his eyes and finally, blessedly began to butter his pancakes in preparation for eating them.
“We should just lock him in his room for the first hour he’s awake,” Techno said. “Morning Wilbur is annoying.”
“I can give you back that headache, Techno.” Wilbur said, as he drenched his pancakes in syrup. There was no tune of a threat to his words though.
“I can give you a sword through your…”
“Boys,” Phil warned and even though they were rightfully far too old to have to listen to him, they both simmered down.
Phil was finally able to eat his breakfast in relative peace after that, though Will did absentmindedly hum as he ate. It was a light, calming sound though, so Phil didn’t mind.
“I want some tea,” Techno said as he picked up his and Phil’s plate. Will was still finishing off his bacon, using it to scoop up the last remains of his syrup puddle. “Anyone want tea?”
“With honey?” Will said, puppy dog eyes fully engaged.
Technoblade rolled his eyes and didn’t answer which Phil and Wilbur took to be a yes. “Phil?”
“Yeah, thanks Tech.”
Techno nodded and stole Wilbur’s plate out from under him. “I wasn’t done with that,” Will said with a frown.
“I’m not watching you lick syrup off your plate like a dog again.”
Wilbur huffed but didn’t argue any further.
“How was your night, Will?” Phil asked.
Wilbur turned to him, straightening a bit at the clear indication that they were switching over from breakfast time (where shop talk was disallowed) to business time. He shrugged in response to Phil’s question. “Was alright,” he answered. “Talked to Schlatt. Did some recon. Watched Techie sleep for a bit.”
“Yeah, would you quit that?” Technoblade said from over by the sink. “It’s creepy. Your eyes glow in the dark.”
“You snore,” Wiblur informed him cheerfully. “The Chicken was out and about at about 1am which is weird. Pretty sure he’s a second shift hero.”
Phil’s interest was immediately piqued at the mention of the superhero. The Red Glider (though Phil did think calling him ‘The Chicken’ was rather hilarious) was quickly moving from nuisance to legitimate opponent in Phil’s mind despite the fact that his power was a discount version of Phil’s own. He’d managed to get in their way constantly the past few months and somehow none of them had managed to land a hit on him. Just yesterday he’d managed to prevent them from stealing a rare suppression orb and then fucked off down a trash shoot of all things when Phil had thought he’d had him cornered. “Find out anything interesting?” he asked Will.
Wilbur closed his eyes in thought. “No,” he said after a moment. “I, uh,” a blush creeped up his neck. “Got distracted I think.”
“That’s alright, Will,” Phil said.
“No, it’s not,” Wilbur grumbled. “It would be a great way to get intel on the horrible little monster if he’d work with me. God, I so badly want to wring that little hero’s neck like the chicken he is.”
“He’s not that bad,” Techno said, setting down three mugs of tea.
“Your standards are low,” Wilbur replied. “He’s an annoying bastard, and he will die by my hand. Did you see what he did to my nose?!” He pointed at said nose and the blooming bruise there.
“To be fair, he was just doing his job,” Phil pointed out. Without even saying anything, he reached out to Techno who turned obediently to give access to his hair. He’d already brushed it out before breakfast and offered Phil one of the hairbands on his wrist.
“Would you have kicked my nose in during your hero days?” Wilbur questioned.
“Assuming you weren’t my kid?” Phil asked, making sure he’d gathered up all the loose pink strands of hair before starting to braid. “I would have beaten your ass Will.”
Wilbur pouted at him, though it clearly was mostly for show and Phil laughed.
“He did beat my ass,” Techno contributed. “He was fucking terrifying.” There was a softness to it like it was a good memory, but part of Phil still recoiled at the reminder of those times and he decided to change the subject.
“Speaking of the Red Glider,” he said. “We don’t have many more chances at a suppression orb. We need to come up with a plan to get around the hero agency if we’re actually going to get into the Netherrealm. The next easiest one to get that I know of is in The Vault. We’ll need fire resistance potions, though since it’s in the center of a pool of lava.”
“Any way this plan can avoid running into Mr. Cluck?” Wilbur asked.
“That’s a pretty good idea, actually,” Phil said. “You mentioned it was weird for him to be out at 1am. Do you know when he usually gets off?”
Wilbur contemplated the question, staring into his tea. “‘Bout 10,” he said after a moment.
Phil hummed. “He probably works, what? Noon to 10 then? If we strike in the mornings, we might avoid him. Maybe we’ll have better luck. We can go try to steal some fire res from the Blaze Lab today.” He finished off the braid and secured it before pulling away.
“If we can get Wilbur out of the bathroom before noon,” Techno said.
“Hey!”
“If we can make Wilbur get out of the bathroom before noon,” Phil agreed with a chuckle.
Author Note: Don't worry! I promise someone will be in pain the next chapter. :)
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GX month- Movie Night
The gang decides to sit down and watch a movie. But rather than choose a perfectly normal one, Jim suggests they watch a recording of South Academy’s annual musical.
(Hang on! This is for the wrong week! I decided to swap movie night and Happy Birthday so I could post happy birthday on my birthday. I forgot Jaden’s birthday was August 31st which was the point of happy birthday. Oh well!)
Warnings for this one is alcoholism played for laughs, and for general crack-fic style wackiness. And for lots and lots of disney songs.
“Is everyone comfy?” Jim asked, handing the last blanket over to Alexis. They’d all managed to sneak into the Obelisk Blue Dorm for the night for a sleepover and now they were all snuggled up in the borrowed, smuggled or outright stolen blankets on or around Jim’s sofa, sat in front of the large television screen that came as standard with all the Obelisk Blue rooms. The sofa was large, but there was way may than the safe number of students sat on it right now, with Alexis, Jesse, Jaden, Syrus and Hassleberry all crowded in under one blanket. Syrus and Hassleberry had nearly come to blows over who sat next to Jaden, with Jaden and Jesse too busy chatting with Alexis about her most recent duel to even realise the argument was ongoing.
Chazz had originally tried to sit on the sofa arm next to Alexis, but when the snacks came out, he’d been pushed off to make way for a bowl of popcorn, leaving him to sit petulantly on the floor instead. Shirley was also laid out on the floor, with Jim aiming to sit beside her once everything was set up. Syrus and Hassleberry had almost refused to come to the slumber party on account of it being in the room Jim shared with Shirley, so she’d been delegated to the en-suite to sleep in tonight, much to her chagrin. Adrian and Axel had also been invited, but Adrian had refused, and Axel hadn’t replied.
“Explain this thing to me again, Jim,” Jaden asked, already shovelling popcorn into his mouth. Jesse reached over and pulled the bowl out of his grasp, trying to keep some leftover for the movie. “Why does your school do a musical every year?”
“It’s just good fun, mate! We get to take the mick out of the teachers and some famous duellists, and each other, and raise money for charity. I’m kind of disappointed I didn’t get to see it properly this year,” Jim bemused, placing the disc into the DVD player. “It’s loosely based on Frozen this year, but loosely is the main word there. All I know is Pegasus is the villain.”
“Pegasus? Like Maximillion Pegasus, the creator of Duel Monsters?” Jesse asked.
“Yup. Students play other people playing roles in the musical, it’s easier to understand once it starts. Pegasus appears every year, sometimes he’s a villain, sometimes a hero, depends on what the playwright is feeling that year. My friends refused to tell me anything else.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Alexis asked. The DVD sprung to life, the lights lifting up on the stage. It was not a particularly professional recording, but the lack of audience cheer suggested it had been done in a dress rehearsal rather than live.
“We’ll have to see.”
The musical started with “For the First Time In Forever”, starting off with the students singing about their excitement of getting new students who may be good to duel against. The student playing Jim helped sing some of the lines, instantly recognisable by his inflatable crocodile that he carried throughout the song. The second verse was sung by the school Chancellor (being played by a girl Jim pointed out as a good friend, while the character was decidedly very masculine) wishing for the next King Of Games, while Elsa’s bridge was sung by Pegasus, who walked on stage, took the starting deep breath, and downed a glass of wine before singing “Don’t let them in” in response to everyone else wanting the new students.
After the first song they introduced the new students, who were the generic main characters, and the plot of the musical being that, to welcome the new students, they were hosting a tag duel tournament. This was followed by a scene of the main character speed dating a lot of other characters until they found ‘the one’, singing the second song: “Duelling Is An Open Door.”
The next scene introduced the conflict, with Pegasus having a fancy dinner with Kaiba, complaining about all the second rate duellists being churned out by the duelling schools, much to Kaiba’s displeasure. Pegasus suggests giving the students a reason to duel better, by throwing losing duellist decks into the ocean for them to either rescue or drown. Kaiba shut down the idea, but Pegasus fought back with the song: “Do you want to be a villain?”, where Pegasus sung about being able to break the rules because they were billionaires, and no-one could stop them. Kaiba declares that he’s too busy with his own pet project, but Pegasus isn’t deterred.
“Why is Pegasus drinking so many glasses of wine?” Chazz asked, after Pegasus downed his third glass in the song, during the last verse.
“It’s a running joke, they do that every year. You never see Pegasus presenting something without a glass of wine so the joke is that’s he’s just always drinking. He’ll get progressively more drunk through it too, you’ll see,” Jim explained.
The next scene showed the start of the tag duel tournament, where the new students are duelling each other to varying degrees of success, until ‘Jim’ and another student (Jim stating that she was noteworthy for being both a great duellist and always wielding a genuine sword at competitions, while her real life equivalent was playing the chancellor) came out to talk about the competition, claiming that they could beat them all with ease. The boast is overheard by the new students, who ask who Jim even is, considering he ‘doesn’t even study here’, which gave the real Jim a good laugh.
But the real shocker came when the stage Jim burst into his own song, a cover of ‘You’re Welcome’ where Jim boasted about his competition successes to the amazement of the new students and the chagrin of the sword-wielder, and ended the song by jumping on the boat to go to Duel Academy while they were all distracted with singing and dancing along.
“And how accurate was that one, Jim?” Jesse asked.
“Not at all. There was a lot more dancing in the real thing,” Jim replied with a chortle. “Gosh, that was brilliant, I’ll have to learn that one for when I return.”
The next scene switched back to Pegasus, now full in his scheme, walking through the crowds of students who had lost and taking their cards under pretence of checking them over, before breaking into his own version of “Let It Go” where he threw cards across the stage each time he repeated the song title, doing so with such campy glee too that it was impossible to not laugh at. But the song ended with Pegasus holding a glass of wine up, laughing maniacally as the curtains drew to a close for the interval. It seemed as good a time as any to pause for a toilet break, with Syrus rushing to use it first.
“So, what do you think so far?” Jim asked, stretching out and scratching at Shirley’s scales. “It’s alright if you’re not enjoying it.”
“Are you kidding me? It’s great! Other than your chancellor and some of the named students, you could pretty much just set it at Duel Academy,” Jaden said. “Do you have the previous years as well?”
“Not with me, but I could see about getting my friends to send them,” Jim suggested, his phone buzzing. “Speaking of, they’re trying to keep updated with how we’re finding it.”
“The acting is really something else,” Alexis suggested.
“They’re aspiring duellists, not actors. They don’t have to be good,” Jim rebutted with a laugh.
“It’s a good thing too, no-one would spend money to watch them,” Chazz huffed, slapping away Jaden’s feet. “And can you stop using me as a foot rest!”
“Well, I’m with the sarge. It’s good fun,” Hassleberry assured him. Jesse voiced his own agreement.
Once Syrus had returned, the movie was played once more, showing a few seconds of a black screen before the curtains opened once more, showing Kaiba stood where Pegasus had before. He threw his head back and declared to the screen that he was starting a new tournament, that Yugi Moto had to attend, and that he would defeat him once and for all. Then, seemingly without warning, Kaiba tore off his jacket as dance music blasted, and he started an intense dance routine. Everyone looked to Jim for explanation, but he was too busy smiling at the sight.
“They always get the best dancer to play Kaiba, you know,” he stated,
“You mean, he does this every year?” Jesse asked.
“Yeah? Don’t you guys have the joke that Kaiba’s going to challenge Yugi to a dance battle one day since he can’t beat him in a duel?” Jim asked. Everyone else shook their heads. “You mean that’s just a South Academy thing?”
“Of course it is, who would come up with something like that?” Chazz asked.
“Someone with a great sense of humour, I’d say,” Jaden laughed.
Once Kaiba’s impromptu dance session ended, the play restarted once more, with defeated students bemoaning their lost cards, while the one successful student lazed in the middle of the stage, before singing a cover of ‘Reindeer are better than people’ creatively titled ‘Duelling is better than eating’, mimicking a duet with his ace card. The scene ended with Pegasus, now visibly staggering on the stage and still drinking his wine, coming and defeating the singer in a duel, before throwing his cards across the stage stage and stumbling off. The generic main character returned to the stage, insisting that they had to do something about it, and deciding to go to the school Chancellor.
The school chancellor, a man by the name of Willog, was reintroduced next, flouncing around the stage with an incredible Southern accent that made Jesse sound like a New Yorker, with no indoor voice and a striking optimism to help the students against Pegasus, which lead to the song ‘Gaston’ being sung about him instead, listing off many incredible and unbelievable feats the man had apparently done in his life time.
“I guess you guys really like your chancellor,” Alexis noted.
“Of course, he’s strange but he’s good at his job, we can’t complain,” Jim shrugged. “He’s just eccentric, you might think they’re exaggerating but he’s almost exactly like that.”
“Wish you could say the same about Chancellor Shepherd, I’m not sure if he even knows how to do his job without risking us students,” Syrus complained.
At the end of the song, Pegasus stuck his head on from off-screen, declaring that Chancellor Willog was fired, waving him off, to which Willog cheered, being thrown a hawaiin shirt and a suitcase from off-screen and wishing the students good luck before racing off. “That’s more like Chancellor Shepherd,” Hassleberry joked.
The next scene saw Pegasus being proud over how his plan was working, how they were quickly getting rid of all the subpar students, but the scene was dragged out by him apparently being completely hammered, trying to get his words out clearly to an unimpressed Kaiba, still in his dancing clothes. Towards the end of the scene Pegasus leant over to try and talk to Kaiba, who stepped out of the way to complain to the audience about still not defeating Yugi, leaving Pegasus to fall over and face plant the stage, before trying to drag himself off as Kaiba continued to monologue until the lights went out.
The students returned to the stage, trying to figure out how to defeat Pegasus. It was clear that they needed to defeat him in a duel, forcing him to either discard his own cards or drop the silly rule, but they needed to be the best duelists they could be to even dream of getting close. The older students promised to teach them all they knew now that Chancellor Willog had ran off, with a declaration of ‘You have my disk’ ‘And my sword’.
‘AND MY CROC!’ Came a yell from off stage, as the inflatable crocodile was flung on stage, hitting one of the students in the face as stage Jim came back on stage. A chorus of cheers rang out while stage Jim explained that he’d returned from Duel Academy just in time to help resolve the plot of the play. One of the students asked what it was like at Duel Academy, and stage Jim promised to tell as the lights cut out. Real Jim scrambled to pause the video, giving a nervous laugh.
“Uh, just as a heads up, the common joke about Duel Academy in these plays is how posh it is, I’m not sure you guys will enjoy the next scene,” Jim apologised.
“We won’t know if we don’t watch it,” Jaden insisted, “I’m too invested in finding out what your school thinks of us to stop now.”
A chorus of agreement saw Jim hesitantly unpausing the video, as the sounds of the stage and actors rearranging in the dark could be heard, until the lights once again came on, showing four people stood on stage, looking confused and lost. Stage Jim was there, and the other three were far too familiar.
“Is that supposed to be me?” Jesse asked, cocking his head, pointing at the actor at the far side of the stage from stage Jim, wearing a very ruffled top and waistcoat.
“And the other two look like Axel and Adrian,” Alexis agreed. A fifth person walked onto stage, with long blonde hair and a blue jacket that they all immediately recognised.
“Why is Crowler now in this play?” Chazz demanded.
Stage Crowler proceeded to greet the new students with “Ladies and Gentlemen,” before realising they were all gentlemen and pointing out how statistically unlikely that was and wondering about sexism in the selection process, before snapping back to his welcome speech, which quickly, very quickly, devolved into a cover of “Be Our Guest”, singing about how they were welcoming the new students to be their guest because they were the best.
The song continued with gratuitious Duel Monster references and jokes about Duel Academy’s status with students providing back up dancing, until the bridge was reached, where upon more, very poorly done, mimics of people they knew was performed once more.
“Is that meant to be me?” Alexis asked, “Did they have to get a guy to play me?”
“Well I like it!” Syrus added, “I wish I was taller than Chazz.”
There was no hiding that there was an attempt to recreate Hassleberry, Syrus, Alexis and Chazz visually, with little attempt made to make them very accurately, but there was still one noticeably missing student.
“Aww, why was I left out?” Jaden pouted as the bridge came to a close, and Mrs Potts verse started, as another character rushed excitedly on stage to sing it. “Oh, wait, there I am!”
Jaden burst out laughing as his stage self bounced across the stage, singing his desire to duel all the new students since he was Duel Academy’s best. The song ended with all the characters joining in the dance except the transfer students, who had spent most of the song looking utterly bewildered, and once the number finished to howls of laughter, stage Jim walked forward from the mess of characters to declare Duel Academy to be “pretty much the same as South Academy”.
Everyone demanded the movie be stopped again while they tried to recover from the shock and laughter of what had just occurred. Chazz was the first to speak.
“How much have you been telling your friends about us?” He asked, almost sounding insulted.
“Not that much, just that I’m making friends and your names. Those were pretty generic depictions, to be fair,” Jim assured him. “I’m guessing they wrote and choreographed all of that ages ago, and just dressed up different people to look like you.”
“But how did they know so much about Jaden?” Jesse asked.
“Uh, maybe I told them a little bit more about Jaden being the school’s top duellist. They are curious about you all, you know,” Jim scratched at his head awkwardly.
“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Jaden laughed. “They can keep me in their plays forever if they’re going to depict me that nicely every time.”
The next scene started with Pegasus, now thoroughly and utterly mortal on alcohol, laughing over how well his plan has gone, and even when the cast rushed on stage to stop him, he didn’t seem fazed, informing them that the school population had been thoroughly pruned of all the worst duelists, to which someone yelled out that there was only five students left with decks in the school. The generic main character challenged Pegasus to a tag duel, with the price of his losing being his own deck being thrown unceremoniously across the stage. Pegasus lamented over how he didn’t have a tag partner, which would force them into a triangle duel instead, which started with the main character drawing and summoning a monster, and when their partner from the second song joined in, they did likewise, only to turn and attack the main character’s monster instead, declaring “If only someone wanted to tag duel with you,” which earned many a gasp from the room.
“Traitor!” Jesse yelled.
Pegasus’ turn saw the duel nearly end there and then, with the generic main character suddenly feeling very disheartened, knowing they had barely any chance to win now, only for stage Jim to start singing the penultimate song of the show: “Fixer Upper”. To the background of the cast singing about how South Academy might not have the best duellists out of all the duelling schools, but with a bit of work any one of their students could become the next king of games, the main character thoroughly handed the traitor a swift defeat, and battled Pegasus down to his last life point.
Pegasus proceeded to pass out on stage after one last glass of wine, and the main character claimed his deck as the prize, throwing the deck up in the air, allowing the cards to scatter all over the stage as the lights went out.
The lights came up on the finale: a song sung about how the students were excited for the holidays, and a rest from the madness that was school, to the tune of “In Summer”. The curtains drew to a close as the song faded out, and the DVD ended, returning to the menu. Jesse and Jaden lead the applause at the end.
“Well?” Jim asked, “What do you reckon we should feed back to my friends?”
“Tell them to send us a script,” Jaden replied, “I want to learn those songs!”
#gxmonth2022#yu gi oh gx#jim crocodile cook#ngl this is the weirdest fanfic for this month but also one that has haunted me for many years#And now please let it haunt you.
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contained
Sam is an expressive kid. From the time he learns to speak (early, too early, what twelve-week-old looks his mother in the eye and says, “Hi?”), he’s theatrical. Everything is a performance, complete with a soliloquy and a musical number. He doesn’t just feel things. He becomes them. Sam runs hotter than anyone his parents have ever known, and by the time he’s five years old, it’s clear that’s not going to change. He’s always going to be the kid who grabs his father’s guitar and makes up songs about girls in European cafés (“And she ordered a croissant! / And her name was Madeline!”). And at home, Sam is great fun. Maggie and Mike always say they don’t need to turn on their television when they have a son like that. But they know.
Sam’s starting kindergarten soon.
And if he goes to kindergarten acting the way he does in his living room, the other children are going to eat him for breakfast.
So they tell him to keep it contained. Any time he wants to sing and dance, they say, he just has to wait. Not all the time. Just at school. As soon as he gets home, he can be as loud and as silly and as theatrical as he wants to be. But at school, he can’t do any of that. At school, Sam has to keep himself contained.
They say it’s because they don’t want him causing disruptions for the other students. Sam believes it until he’s a little older, and he realizes he’s different.
Over the years, he comes back to that talk he had with his parents before the first day of kindergarten. He thinks they were just trying to help. They’d never had children before he and Sadie were born, and they didn’t want any of them to ever be bullied. Sam gets it. He gets the intention. It’s just that he also still feels the aftershocks – the anxiety, the hurt.
Any time he shows a little bit of himself in a brand new place, he feels a little ashamed. Like no one likes someone with that much personality … like no one asked for him to be so bright, so loud, so much. He tries like hell to keep it contained, just like in kindergarten and first grade and high school and when he first walked into community college. He tries so hard to shut himself up for an audience that doesn’t know what to do with him, that didn’t ask to be put in the same room as him in the first place.
Sometimes, it occurs to him to leave these people in the dust. That he doesn’t exist for them. That they don’t really care what he does.
But it doesn’t last long.
It makes him really easy to fall in love with. He has these little overtures of greatness, followed by some truly moving crescendos. When he stands in the middle of his living room and sings all the words to “Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show” in his best Neil Diamond impression, the right people can’t help but love him. Sam knows. He watches it happen. He watches it time and again. And every time it starts to feel different, every time he’s pretty sure he’s lost the lid and doesn’t care, he hears his mother’s voice in the back of his mind.
Take it from me, Sammy. People don’t like people who run hot for very long.
And he pulls away. No one sticks around because Sam won’t let them. He knows he’s exhausting. He’s too bright, too loud, and too much. So he cools down for them. Wonders if that will make it better. It never works. In the end, they always move away. In the end, they always say they wish he’d fought for them.
After Valerie moves to Philadelphia, Sam thinks he should have learned by now. He’s twenty-nine, and he’s supposed to be better than this. More mature.
But he never learns.
Just keeps it contained.
(part of @nosebleedclub december challenge -- day xx!)
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Loving a Local Legend
(for Writer's Month day 20 prompt jealous)
The singer was really cute. She was tall with wavy blonde hair, and she got really into the music, no matter what they were singing. She’d been in the middle of a Taylor Swift song when Davey and his friends sat down, sounding all delicate and unsure, and then when she sang lead again it was “If I Can’t Have You” and she belted it, sounding almost like she was desperate for someone’s love. Almost because sometimes a smile snuck through. She clearly loved singing and couldn’t entirely hide it.
Davey daydreamed a little bit about asking for her number. He knew he shouldn’t, it was probably the same idea as not assuming a waitress or barista or whatever liked you because it was their job to be nice to you. But it was easy to imagine complimenting her, telling her he’d never heard anybody cover that song before, and getting into a little conversation, until it felt natural to ask.
The two singers were trading off the lead, so the guy sang next, a love song one of Davey’s friends sang along with to his girlfriend. When it was the woman’s turn again– Kyla: the drummer had called her by name once– the song was “Applause”. A song about loving to perform, which seemed perfect for her, and she nailed it. When she sang the lines basically telling the audience to applaud, she gave them a “come on” gesture with the hand that wasn’t holding the microphone. When she sang the line about liking to read, she blew a kiss at a guy in black-framed glasses, sitting by himself at the table next to Davey’s. After the bridge she stopped, and so did the music, and she stood looking at the audience and said, with performative attitude, “Hello?” She got some whoops and claps in response, and laughed a full, genuine laugh, and the band started back up with the chorus and she leaped right in.
When the song was over, Kyla walked to the edge of the stage and pointed at the guy in the glasses. He gave a small wave back.
“Hey, cutie,” she said, right into the microphone. “What do you want to hear tonight?”
The guy cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled back, “One of yours!”
“One of mine?” Kyla looked over her shoulder, still talking into the microphone. “That all right with you guys? If I do two in a row?”
“You’re the songwriter,” said the guy singer, who also played guitar. “It’s not like I can say I should sing one of mine instead.”
“Yeah, Joe, let’s hear one of yours!” said the drummer.
Joe strummed his guitar and started singing obviously ad-libbed lyrics, his expression getting more dire with each rhyme. “She’s my lady, she’s my lover… She’s the greatest, she’s like no other… There’s so much… we can discover…”
The base guitarist played a descending riff of failure. The audience laughed and applauded.
When it ended, Kyla said into the microphone, “Oh boy.” That got another round of laughter. As it faded she said, “All right, one of mine, then. This is called ‘Do You Know’.”
It was about falling in love, and thinking maybe you were falling a little faster than the person you were falling in love with. Kyla kept looking at the guy in the glasses as she sang.
He started the applause, before she even finished the last note. She grinned, and then she backed up and the band launched into the next song, Joe showing off with a little acoustic guitar solo.
Davey knew when to be the graceful loser. He leaned over to the guy in the glasses and said, “You going to talk to her after the show?”
The guy laughed. “I don’t really have a choice in the matter.” When he saw the look on Davey’s face, he laughed again, gently, then glanced at his left hand, laid it flat on the table, and tapped his ring.
“Oh!” said Davey, the surprise heavy in his voice. “You two are married?”
The guy grinned. “About five months now.”
“Congratulations. You’re a lucky guy.” That was maybe a little too obvious, but it was what he was thinking.
The guy didn’t seem to mind. “Yeah, she’s awesome,” he said, throwing Kyla a glance as she sang backup.
Davey thought he figured something else out. “Do you always request one of her songs?”
“Not always. I always request something she likes. Sometimes “Applause”, if they haven’t done that one yet.”
“Yeah, it seems like her kind of song.”
“Oh, yeah.”
So casual. Davey wasn’t sure he would be this casual if he had a wife and some random guy was being maybe too obvious about finding her attractive. And this couldn't be the first time it had happened. He probably would have rethought the question if he hadn’t been a little tipsy: “Do you ever get jealous?”
The guy hesitated. “I’d like to be able to say no,” he said. “But yes, sometimes.”
“She’s lucky too,” Davey said without thinking, and then realized how that sounded. Great, avoid hitting on the married woman and accidentally hit on her husband.
But he was pretty sure the guy took it the way he’d meant it, because he just raised his shoulders in a bit of a shrug and glanced at Kyla again and said, “Thanks.”
--
2020 day 20: Five Hours (loss)
2021 day 20: Home for a Dog (dog)
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Fine and Mellow - Tommy Shelby (smut)
Written for my lovely @retromafia congrats on 5k again!! I chose the song "Fine and Mellow" by Billie Holiday for this. Enjoy my loves. xxx
Summary: Every now and then the reader performs in a bar in a part of the town no sane woman would walk to, but she loves danger, adventures and the man she doesn't know the name of but knows exactly what he tastes like.
Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, blowjob, cheating, alcohol consumption, degrading
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (1.7k words)
The lights were blinding her, hand reached out to shield her eyes. Soft music echoed through the bar, smoke filled every corner of the room, hanging in the air like the sins of those that commit crimes on a daily basis. She took a deep breath before she started singing, eyes finding the piercing bright ones of the man that would always find his way to this very place.
She didn’t know his name, not once had she asked for it as he buried his head between her thighs, eating her out with a tongue that moved in wicked ways. He was handsome, more handsome than the other souls wandering this godforsaken town, telling her everything she needed to know. He was trouble, nothing she should get involved with.
But there was something thrilling about sneaking around with a stranger – if you can still call the man that fucks you after every performance a stranger. A dirty secret she keeps from her drunkard of a husband that spends their money on games and cigarettes, on prostitutes and guns.
“Love will make you drink and gamble, make you stay out all night long. Love will make you do things that you know is wrong.” The words rumbled through her, holding a special meaning to the woman.
(Y/n)’s eyes tried to move away from the man, but he held her mind hostage, bound to him and the thought of the things he’d do to her. The moans he will coax out of her, the high pitched begging that will flood from her painted lips like honey being spread on her skin. With a few simple words he will lure her out of the bar, towards the empty house he owned, a house so dark even death would avoid stepping inside.
The music came to an end, the piano quieted down and with one last note rumbling through her, (y/n) threw her hands in the air, bowing for the cheering audience. He watched her every move, not daring to lose her in the crowd of men that tried to catch her attention, wanting to spend a few hours with the woman whose voice was so soft even the ones across the pond would hire her.
(Y/n) nipped on a glass of champagne as he came to rest next to her, hand grasping her side as if she was his wife. The man that had tried to chat her up grew silent, eyes wide with his gaze set on the man who was wearing a peaked cap. The devil himself was part of this etablissement, he came to call the sinners home. And with a racing heart and stuttering words flooding from his lips, the drunken man left the two alone.
“Should I be worried about being seen with you?” (Y/n)’s eyes found his bright ones, studying every expression that flickered over his features like a movie being projected onto a piece of linen.
“And if you should be worried? What will you do? Stay away from me?” He took a heavy drag off his cigarette, smoke engulfing the two as if they were sharing business secrets no living soul should know of. (Y/n) didn’t reply, she drowned her drink, ripped the half smoked cigarette from his lips and took a drag herself. No further words were spoken as he helped her into her coat, arm wrapped around her waist to keep her close.
“I want to know your name.” It was just above a whisper, but it managed to momentarily drown out the sounds the car made, forcing his attention off the road. She didn’t look scared, not even worried, but an unhealthy amount of curiosity swam in her pupils. Curiosity that would get her killed one day.
“Why don’t you ask around for it?” With his eyes set back on the road, he patiently waited for her reply. He didn’t expect her to laugh, didn’t expect her to smile at him with excitement thumping through her system. A woman just as fearless as he was.
“Where’s the fun in that? I guess you’re a criminal, but I don’t follow the news nor any gossip, your name wouldn’t tell me much.” (Y/n) reached her hand out, she cupped his cheek, stroking his skin with her thumb. “All I want to know is the name I will moan tonight.”
The car came to a halt in front of his house, he helped her step onto the steady ground, fingers interlaced as he pulled her inside. Before (y/n) could even try to shrug out of her coat, he had her pinned to the door, “The name’s Tommy Shelby, let’s see how much talking you’ll be able to do.”
He gave her a moment to hang up her coat before he forced her to her knees. The burn left on her skin would remind her of this moment for days to come, days where she’d need to hide from her husband and the anger that would rumble through him like the alcohol dampening his senses. A man she had lost her love for years ago, a man she would forget, at least for the hours to come.
She got to work with trembling hands, pumping Tommy’s twitching cock with her tongue running up the underside of his length. His moans spurred her on, hoping that she’d never stop, a sound so sweet she couldn’t help but wondering what else his voice could do.
The delicious burn of the corners of her mouth was something she was all too used to by now, he filled her cheeks with every bob of her head, trying to swallow as much of him as possible. His cock rested heavily on her tongue, not giving her a chance to keep on breathing as she followed his wordless commands.
Tommy combed his hand through her hair, holding her close, not allowing her to move away from him and his twitching cock. It wasn’t something she could talk about with her friends, not even the ignobly woman she shared her dressing room with, a secret she’d take to grave. A grave Tommy Shelby had seen from inside numerous times before, carrying the mark of death. A silent call he’d soon follow home.
“I bet all those men would pay good money to watch you choke on my cock, maybe I should invest in your talent.” (Y/n) barely listened to him, barely spared his words any attention as she picked up the pace of her bobbing movements. He was close, would fill her cheeks with his hot cum any moment now, drops she’d swallow with her greediness spurring her on.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I bet you’re dripping at the thought of whoring yourself out for me.” A moan rumbled through her, glassy eyes finding his as she pushed him over the edge. Tommy tightened his grip on her hair, forcing her to stay on her knees. Only as he came down from his high, waiting till she showed off her clean tongue to him, did he pull her off the carpet and to her feet.
“Mhm, where should I fuck you? Right here against the wall? On the sofa?” Silent tears dripped down her cheek as she murmured his name, hoping that he’d cut his teasing short. But nothing about her nights with Tommy Shelby was short, the man would drag out any moment with her, set on burning the sight of her into his mind. Something he could use to distract himself as his nights grew darker. “How about, right here?”
(Y/n) barely got any time to react as she felt him pushing her against the wall, hands working on the zipper of her dress. The fabric fell to the floor, exposing the thin satin dress she was wearing. Tommy’s fingers stroked along her shoulders, lips finding hers as he pushed the dress down her frame, naked body exposed to his hungry eyes.
“You’re soaked, darling.” A proud grin found his lips as he cupped her core, making sure that she was ready before he wrapped one of her legs around his waist. He thrust into her without another warning, cock engulfed by her warm walls, wrapping him in some sense of false comfort. Her cunt was throbbing at the thought of pleasing the man she found herself dreaming of, day in and night out, he was always on her mind.
(Y/n) had to hold onto his suit-clad shoulder, trying to ground herself as Tommy fucked her, cock spearing her with every ferocious thrust. His bright pupils were carrying every emotion flooding through him like the river of blood he’d leave behind on enemy grounds, forever sticking to the soil to remind wandering souls of his power.
“At my mercy, right where I need you. You’re mine, I won’t let you go.” She moaned at his words, excited at the thought of belonging to the man she wanted to call her own. Her walls had a vice grip on his cock, hoping to hold him close as he fucked her closer and closer, about to throw her into the soaring waves of her arising orgasm. Her raft would sink, swallowed whole, and nobody would rescue her - not that she wanted to be rescued.
Tommy’s thrusts grew deeper, nudging her sweet spot with his tip, wanting to watch her fall apart with her naked body pressed against his still dressed one. She was everything his dark and twisted soul needed, the air to keep on breathing, the blood to keep on living. The end and the beginning of the story of Tommy Shelby.
“‘M so close, don’t think I can wait any longer.” (Y/n)’s whimpers vibrated on his lips, chasing her kisses like a mad man. The small “let go” he spoke, pushed her over the edge, hands tightening their grip on his shoulders to stabilize her quivering frame. Tommmy kept fucking her through her high, cock glistening with her arousal sticking to his skin.
He pulled out of her moments before his orgasm consumed every part of his body, cum painting her stomach in heavy spurts. They were heavily breathing, not letting go of one another as they tried to calm down, wanting to catch their breaths before they’d go for another round and another.
And even though she’d return to her husband when morning would break, hoping to find love buzzing through his veins, she knew that love is like a faucet, it turns off and on. Sometimes when you think it's on, baby, it has turned off and gone.
Please like and reblog if you’ve enjoyed reading this, come talk to me about my writing, let’s spill some tea or thirst over our favorite people. xxx
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A Deafened Bard (Stephen Strange x Female!Reader)
I can explain.
Please don't come at me for starting a new project before finishing Cult Girl Doctorate. I hit a wall and needed to take a break. I am trying not to let this one take up too much time.
Y/n is a sorceress-in-training who’s known for being hard to teach. Sensing her potential, Doctor Strange takes her on as an apprentice.
You firmly believed that shattering the urn of Fei-Amie was the best thing that ever happened to you.
It happened a year ago, but it still replayed in your head over and over again. You made a conscious effort to remember it vividly.
Sure, it was terrifying, Stephen Strange's initial look of anger when he heard the ceramic shatter. It softened when he saw that the culprit was just a clumsy sorceress-in-training who looked on the verge of tears with remorse. Still, it was a face you never wanted to see again: his teeth bared, his already sharp features accentuated under the constraints of anger.
It diluted into silent, simmering frustration that revealed itself to you in short sarcastic jabs and body language.
"Just, stop." He cut you off after a string of profuse sorries. With no disarming smile in sight, you could tell he was tense. "Artifacts get broken all the time. Don't cry. It was an accident."
His tone indicated that he was trying to convince himself more than he was you. You were a closed-off person and could hardly stand the idea that anyone out there didn't like you. The idea of the Sorcerer Supreme being mad at you, personally, made you briefly consider ritual suicide. You lowered your head. "Yes, Master Strange."
"Hey, butterfingers." He called out after you as you tried to make a painless exit. You looked back at him and he gestured to the pile of broken ceramic pieces. "You gonna fix what you broke?"
It hadn't dawned on you that an ancient relic could be fixed. Especially one that once contained the ashes of the ancient necromancer Fei-Amie. You were embarrassed to say that your knowledge of manipulating time was surface-level at best, and couldn't think of any other solution.
You wordlessly gathered the pieces up in your skirt and carried them off, striking out any plans to go into town that evening. Instead, you poured through book after book for any instruction whatsoever on repairing broken artifacts. You ran out of desk space, so books were just floating in the air, suspended on pages that briefly mentioned relic breakage.
You started to believe you were given an impossible task. Or perhaps all the resources you needed, he was withholding. Even so, you didn't want to go back to him empty-handed. You changed into your street clothes and opened a portal to the local craft store.
You returned with two types of extra-strong superglue and got to work. First, you made all the pieces come together and had them hover over the desk. Unconsciously, you began to sing as you pieced the urn back together.
Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things
"Haven't heard that song in years."
You dropped the tube of glue and the few remaining pieces fell back to the desk. "Master Strange!"
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." He said, though his apology was undercut by his smug tone. "Carry on."
You picked up a piece and began to line the edges with glue.
"Aren't you going to finish the song?"
You looked up to see that he hadn't been just passing by. He was leaning against the threshold, watching you.
"I don't usually sing for an audience." You laughed, uncomfortably. "Just me."
"A man and his sentient cape should not count as an audience," he scoffed. "But, if you insist, I guess I'll have to just listen to Julie Andrews instead."
"What's wrong with her?" You raised your eyebrows in surprise.
"Oh, nothing. She's a treasure." He put his hands up. "But everyone gets to hear her sing. And I take it that only a very select few get to hear your rendition of my favorite things. I just have to be one of them."
You blushed, suddenly forgetting all the words to my favorite things.
"Girls in white dresses..." he offered, an impatient edge to it.
You swallowed. "Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes. Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes-"
"Hey, butterfingers." He interrupted again. Before you could object, he pointed to the way that the pieces floated gracefully overhead at the sound of your voice.
"I'd like to see Julie Andrews do that." He said with a wink.
"Looks alright," Master Strange said, running his finger along the tight seams that showed where cracks once were.
"Will it still work?" You asked. That was really all you were worried about.
"Beats the hell out of me." He shrugged. "I didn't know how to use it to begin with."
"What?!" You spat back. "Are you kidding?"
"I'm afraid not." He said, taking the urn and placing it back on its pedestal. "Don't worry, you did a good job. I'm not mad at you anymore."
That was really all you needed to hear. "Thank you, sir."
"You're an apprentice, right?" He asked.
"I'm..." Your voice trailed off in embarrassment. "Between masters right now."
He raised an eyebrow. "If I were to ask around, would I receive glowing reviews from your last masters?"
You admitted it point-blank. "No."
"Let me guess," he folded his arms. "Something didn't make sense to you and instead of giving you the space to question it, they insisted you follow blindly."
You wanted to throw your head back and shout in relief; finally, someone understood!
"Bingo, bullseye." You put your hands up in surrender after being read so easily. "Right on the money."
"I see." He said, tucking that thought away for later. "Could I trouble you for one more odd job before you go?"
"That depends." You folded your arms. "What is it?"
He looked over his shoulder at his cape. "How are you with sewing?"
‘Sewing' was not the verb you would use to describe repairing the tears in the Cloak of Levitation. It was taller and stronger than you and it did not want to be repaired. It was closer to performing surgery on a fully grown mountain lion that could rip your head off at any minute.
"Like putting eyeshadow on a cat," Master Strange said. It flicked its edge contemptuously, while still clinging to his shoulders for dear life. "I'm a licensed surgeon and it won't let me within 20 feet of it with a needle."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence." You said, thoroughly discouraged. All he'd given you to work with was a spool of thread and a pack of needles.
He tried with sincere force to remove the cloak, but it wouldn't budge. "Of course, now it knows you're coming at it with the sewing kit and it won't leave my shoulders."
"Maybe I can work with that?" You shrugged. You threaded the needle and hid it in your hand.
You approached the cloak, only for it to shove Master Strange in your way like a human shield.
"Listen, you naughty little blanket." He scolded, turning around to face it as if it were a puppy that had just wrecked the living room. "If you don't let her fix you, you're going in the washing machine. Extra spin."
It shuddered, and, for a moment, you thought it was going to comply. You slowly took a step forward, only for it to dart as soon as your foot hit the ground. It made its escape with a large crash through the heavy wooden doors of the library.
"Hey!" You shouted, chasing after it. "Get back here!"
You caught a glimpse of it headed towards the relic room, so, without thinking, you opened a portal to make it there first. You reached it only seconds before the cloak breached the threshold, with only enough time to grab it by the edge.
"Come here!" You exclaimed, giving it a full force tug. It tugged back, overpowering you to the tenth degree. It dragged you across the room and into the foyer. You yanked on it, only for it to escape from your grip and send you flying back into the wall. You wondered for a second how such a sturdy piece of fabric could possibly be in need of maintenance.
"Bastard." You mumbled, rubbing the spot where your head collided with the wall. The pain didn't stop you, though. You were on your feet within seconds, pursuing the naughty blanket all over again.
You heard the words of one of your many, many masters ringing in your ears; "never outrun what you can outsmart". Or maybe that was from a Garfield comic. Either way, whether or not you could outsmart the cloak was still unknown, but you had to at least try.
You took a second to catch your breath and tried to remember where you saw it heading next. Downstairs, you thought. To the laundry room. The one place you would never look.
You slowly but deliberately descended the stairs to the basement where the laundry was. You turned the light on and saw overturned baskets of towels, clothes, and sheets everywhere. And then a washing machine door slammed shut. You turned your head and saw a twinge of dark red hiding in the washing machine.
You removed your shoes and socks to minimize noise, then picked up a fitted sheet that had been thrown on the ground. You mounted the washing machine and affixed the sheet to the front. The cloak would have to come shooting out the door, and you would ambush it.
You forced the door open with your heel, holding the sheet like a giant net. As predicted, the cloak shot out like a bullet from a gun, getting caught in the sheet. It thrashed around aimlessly, trying to escape, but you had a tight grip and it wasn't going anywhere.
"It's curtains for you!" You said, then laughed at your own joke. "Stop struggling!"
It flailed and fought, but eventually ran out of energy and sunk to the ground. Not trusting it quite yet, you pinned it down with your whole body weight before releasing it from the sheet. As expected, it tried to fly away, but couldn't get anywhere.
"The less you fight, the faster this will go." You said, examining the fabric for any visible tears. The rip presented itself right away. About as long as your hand, right in the center.
"What did Strange do to you?" You asked, pulling the threaded needle from your pocket. "Hold still, I'm going to fix it."
Once the needle hit fabric, the cloak stopped trying to fly away and instead writhed about on the floor like it was about to die. You fixed the tear with as many stitches as you could make, then pulled it shut. Once you knew the thread was secure, you rolled off the cloak and let it fly free.
It shot up, but froze, noticing something was different. It swished itself around, unaccustomed to the feeling of air not blowing right through its center.
"You're welcome." You said with a shrug. "It's not like I had to chase you all around the sanctum to make it happen."
Without any warning, the cloak scooped you up and squeezed you. Your initial reaction was that this was its revenge and you were taking your final breaths, but you could tell it was gratitude by the way it gently set you down on the ground.
"Happy to help." You gasped for air. "Just remember this feeling if I ever have to do this again."
"Not bad, butterfingers." Master Strange told you, though the tone of his voice conveyed he was impressed beyond a simple 'not bad'.
"Not bad?" You protested. "I absolutely crushed it."
He ran his finger down the uneven but sturdy stitching. When his face met yours again, he was smiling with genuine enthusiasm that managed to eek through his dry, sarcastic exterior. It came out as an admittedly very handsome sideways smirk as his eyes scanned you up and down.
“If you don’t need anything else, I’ll get out of your hair now.” You said, heading towards the open doors.
“Wait.” The doors slammed shut before you could reach them. You turned around to see Master Strange still examining the stitching. "You wouldn't leave without tea, would you?"
A pot of chai tea sat between you, filling the air with an aroma of spicy vanilla. You held the teacup in both hands, determined to never give him a reason to reinforce the "butterfingers" nickname he'd become so fond of.
"Chai is my favorite." You said, letting the scent waft into your nose. "Yerba mate used to be my favorite, but if I drink more than two pots of it I get sick."
"Yeah, definitely don't do that." He chuckled, bobbing his teabag up and down in the cup. "Out of curiosity, are you wondering at all why I invited you to tea?"
"Oh, definitely." You nodded. "I was just wondering about that."
"Would you believe it's just because I find you interesting?" He raised an eyebrow. "Good company, perhaps?"
"Interesting? Absolutely." You agreed. "Good company is debatable."
"I can't believe I never thought to trap the cloak in the washing machine." He rested his chin in his hand. "It seems so obvious now."
"If it makes you feel any better," you shrugged. "It was mostly dumb luck and reckless disregard for my own life, considering it almost threw me off the balcony.”
He glared at the cloak. “What did I tell you about trying to kill our guests?”
It lowered its collar shamefully in his direction.
“Don’t apologize to me!” He scolded. “Apologize to her.”
It turned to face you and repeated the somber motion.
“It’s okay.” You shrugged. “My family adopted a retired army German Shepherd growing up. I’m used to high-strung creatures that could end my life at any second.”
“Well, rest assured, butterfingers,” He said, leaning back in his chair. “This will never happen again.”
“I, uh-” You opened your mouth before you could even really pick up on the implication he was putting down. “Wasn’t aware that there would be a chance for it to happen again?”
“I suppose we should get down to brass tax, then.” He folded his hands in his lap. “How would you like to stay here?”
“Well-” You said, not wanting to come off as too enthusiastic, which you certainly were. “Not if it’s going to kill me-”
“If I could promise you that your life won’t be in constant danger, I would.” He cut you off. “But if you wanted safety, you wouldn’t have started studying the Mystic Arts.”
“Got me there.” You conceded, your made-up objection withering away. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch.” He shook his head. “I’ll help you train and in return, you help me preserve the integrity of the sanctum.”
“So an apprenticeship?” Your eyes widened. "Are you saying you want to take me on as an apprentice?"
“I know you’ve got bad associations with that title, but yes.” He answered. “If it brings back memories of your previous masters treating you like garbage, we can call it a ‘partnership’, if you’d like.”
Partners with the Sorcerer Supreme? You thought, butterflies materializing in your stomach.
"That sounds great, but-" You broke eye contact and fidgeted with your fingers. "I feel like I should disclose that it wasn't really all that one-sided. I am… notoriously hard to teach."
"And who told you that?" He tilted his head. "The ones who refused to teach you?"
You hadn't thought about it that way. "I guess."
"The way I see it, you've repaid your debt and are free to leave," he began. "But seeing how dutifully you reassembled that urn, wrangled my favorite piece of defiant outerwear, and how desperately this place is in need of some life, it might be a good idea to keep you around."
You put your hand over your chest to still your heart. "It would be an honor."
"Excellent." He nodded. "That saves me the trouble of having to convince you."
He brought you to a small but comfortable room with a bed and connected bathroom.
"There's plenty of closet space for all your clothes." He said, gesturing to an antique looking bureau set.
You dumped your duffel bag out on the bed, revealing the extent of your possessions. "Thanks, but this is all I've got."
"Travel light, huh?" He asked.
"Yeah, I moved around a lot growing up." You admitted. "Got no real roots and all that jazz."
"That changes now." He told you. "This is your home now so I want it to feel like it. Make the space your own."
“I don’t know how I can thank you for this.” You lowered your head, still feeling undeserving.
“Don’t thank me yet, butterfingers.” He chuckled. “I’ve been told I tend to be a little on the egotistical side. That I don’t work well with others.”
"It's actually [F/N], if you were curious." You said, sitting on the bed and folding your hands in your lap.
"Okay, [F/N]." he smiled. "You've been in and out of enough apprenticeships to know the drill. Early mornings, late nights. And I've got a laundry list of odd jobs for you that I'm too important to do."
"Naturally." You nodded. His dry self-awareness inspired a little confidence that he wouldn't be a complete tyrant.
"You did a good job today." He said, bluntly. "Thank you for your help. Keep it up and you'll make an invaluable addition to the sanctum."
You smiled downwards. "Thank you."
"Do you often sing when you're trying to focus?" He posited. "Just, as an aside."
You could tell the gears in his neurosurgeon's head were turning, undoubtedly trying to pin some kind of diagnosis on you as doctors were known to do.
“I guess it’s just a force of habit.” You admitted. “I used to play piano, so when I’m working with my hands, it just kind of happens. My last master was not happy about that.”
"Oh, screw him." He waved his hand dismissively. "He pissed away an opportunity to nurture a sorceress with a special gift for the sake of tradition. That's a mistake I won't make."
Special gift? You thought. Nobody who practiced the Mystic Arts had ever referred to anything you'd ever done as a 'gift'. Annoyance? sure. A symptom of ADHD? All the time. But 'gift'? That made it sound useful.
#stephen strange x reader#doctor strange#doctor strange x reader#stephen strange#doctor stephen strange#what if#what if marvel#doctor strange supreme
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Can you do one where Harry take his children and YN to one of his concert and their just dancing around singing along on stage with Harry.
i love this concept so much!! i kinda of wanna make it sad though soooo it’s gonna be harry’s final show :/ hope you enjoy;
oli - 29, felix - 27, belle - 24
The concert had been amazing, but unfortunately it was coming to its’ end now.
The final show.
That’s what Harry had decided to call it; a clever play on words with reference to his first ever solo single. The last 50 years had been a rollercoaster for Harry, from growing up just a kid in Cheshire, to going on the X Factor and winning the hearts of millions and from being in the most successful band of the decade to going solo and still being absolutely beloved. Times had changed, though. Harry had changed. He had a beautiful family of 3 now, excluding his wonderful wife. His children were his universe, no question about it, but they were getting older now - Harry was getting older. He was 50 this year and with that in mind he’d decided to retire. Retiring had involved a long conversation with you, along with a bottle of red wine, about whether it was the right decision or not. But it was - is.
You had suggested he put on one final, massive show, to celebrate his life and his achievements along with all that the fans have too. Tickets were open internationally and it was being streamed on various TV outlets for those who couldn’t attend. The tickets sold within 47 seconds. 47 seconds. It was being held in the Olympic Stadium in London, because it was Harry’s home and it held the most number of people he could genuinely allow.
The concert had started with ‘Fine Line’ songs, which merged into HS1 songs with a few One Direction songs as well. The entire set list had been composed by the fans with various polls on social media, with the concert supposedly lasting 2 hours (although with support artists and a few extra surprises it was more likely going to be 3!)
It had been beautiful so far. Magical. Unforgettable.
Every chance he got, without making it grossly obvious, he looked at you. He'd told you to stick your thumbs up at him every time he caught your eye, so he knew that you were okay - and every time, you did.
The concert was coming to an end now, which everyone was dreading. How could +30 years feel like it'd only been thirty minutes? You were devastated, so you could only imagine what his fans were thinking.
"Hey!"
The end Kiwi, for the second time, strummed throughout the arena and you knew it was time for the final song. His final song.
"Mum, is this the end?" Belle asked you, from where she was standing next to you. You had been dancing together all night and gotten progressively more tired. Your feet hurt. Your throats burned. Yet, as always, it was so worth it.
"Yes, Belles, it is." You tell her, and she pouted sadly. "Dad won't want to see you sad love, okay? He can still sing to you before bed?" You teased her, reminding her of a time when Harry would do such a thing, not wanting her to be all sad. It was supposed to be a celebration, but even you could admit that is was pretty hard-hitting.
"Really mum?" She asked.
You booped her nose annoyingly, before answering. "Every night if you want him to."
The lights changed from their green tone, thanks to Kiwi, back to a bright, white light. It beamed on Harry, making him look even more like the angel that he is. He dragged his microphone back to the centre stage and took a deep breath for beginning a speech he'd told you he'd prepared.
"So this is it, my friends." He laughed sadly into the microphone. He brushed his hair back and took out his in-ears to hear the audience. They were all awwing and crying, but what else did you expect? Their favourite artist was retiring - who wouldn't be crying a river?
"I, um. I'd like to take a bit of time to thank certain people." He coughed, something he always did after performing Kiwi due to his asthma. You thought it was lovely that he'd planned a speech to thank his management and crew. They did so much work backstage and you definitely didn't think they got enough credit for their hard work.
"Okay. I've made a little list..." Harry pulled out a tiny bit of crumpled paper from his pocket. "Just in case I forget anyone." He joked to himself, but made everyone laugh anyways. "So I guess first off, I should start with you lovely people." He pointed around the whole stadium, showing he was talking about the fans. "What you have done for me is indescribable. I think to myself, everyday, am I worthy of even being here—"
"Yes!" An army of agreement echoed around the arena, making Harry stop, blush and smile to himself.
"Well thank you! Um. You have been the best fans ever, and I know you will continue to be. I know you don't owe me anything, but all I ask you to keep loving yourselves and treating people with kindness, because I know I can count on you lot to do that, for me." He sniffled at the end, making you bite your lip to prevent the tears from falling for you. He looked so vulnerable right now, but you knew he'd be feeling on top of the world.
"Jheez." He sniffles again. "That's one thank you down and i'm already crying." He looked to his band to share the joke with.
“Dad’s such a wuss.” Oli laughed, holding his arm around Beas waist, making the people around you chuckle in agreement.
“Shut up you - Mr-tears-in-your-eyes!” You pointed out, laughing as he flipped you the bird - which then got him a hit off his grandma Anne.
All of Harrys family and friends were here, in a special cornered off section. It was such a thoughtful thing for Harry to do. All his family, and a fair few of yours, were sat down along with Harrys closest friends. Everyone was sharing laughs and drinks, whilst using every inch of space to dance along to your husbands boastful music.
"Secondly, my touring family. From Jeff and Ben, to Sarah's Kitchen, Adam, Mitch, Sarah, Charlotte and Nyoh, not forgetting everyone backstage and behind the lights, music and cameras. You've all been the greatest. Everything you do is second to none. You're all talented, warm-hearted, people whom I will carry in my heart forever. Thank you." You noticed members of the crew and band starting to tear up now.
"Moving on to my boys. We've been through it all, lads, and I couldn't have asked for four better brothers than you all. Louis. Liam. Niall. Zayn. Thank you." Everyone cheered ten times louder, maybe because this was as close to a One Direction reunion as the fans were ever going to get, but definitely because Harry had mentioned Zayn. You saw a girl faint at the mere mention of all the boys in the same sentence. The boys lifted up their beers to Harry, stood close by to where you were standing.
"I guess I should say thank you to the women who made all this possible. Mum. Gem. Thank you for signing me up all those years ago. Thank you for believing in me. You've made me the - crap, sorry! - the man I am now and I love you both." Harry prayed to them both, whilst bowing, and swiftly wiped away the tears afterwards. Anne and Gemma, on the other hand, were proudly crying.
"Ol, Fix and Belles. You rascals make me get out of bed every morning and give me more of a purpose in life. You four give me so much joy and happiness. I love you all, even if you do drive me up the wall on an early Saturday morning! Thank you, my loves." You stood close to all your children, giving them the support they needed in this moment. Belle was crying against your chest, the ever-so-emotional woman she was. Felix was stood up, with Heather, with his drink raised to his dad. Oli was to your side, trying to remain cool and stoic, but you still caught the tears that ran down his face.
"Now." The audience calmed down again after awing over your babies. Harry cleared his throat before beginning again. "This evening keeps on reminding me of a very special person in my life. Someone who is my everything and that's my beautiful wife, Y/N." His words make your breath hitch in your throat. You never expected him to say anything about you. I mean, what had you done?
"Mum." Belle called out to you, in affirmation that this was real.
"She's more than just a wife. She's a lover. She's my muse. She's my best-fucking-friend, apologises for swearing but sue me. I was hesitant to let go of all this, at first. What would I do with myself now? You know? People tell me i'm 'happiest on stage', and for a time that was true. Until I met Y/N. She's made me realise that family makes me the happiest. She makes me the happiest." He jumped down off stage, taking the microphone with him. He ran his hands along the fans in the front row, but had no intention of stopping until he met you.
You felt Belle leaving your side, but you were too captivated by Harry to fully understand what was happening.
"So what am I going to do now, you ask? Well..." Harry cheekily smiled at you. "I'm going to make her the happiest woman alive, just as she makes me the happiest man." You began to cry again and the chorus of thousands of fans clapping and screaming surrounds you, only to all stop when his lips meet yours. He tasted like a combination of salty sweat and mint, but he was home. After a minute of crying, kissing and 'i love yous' , Harry ran back to the stage before Jeff could shoot him.
"Thank you all. All my love." He said whilst adjusting his microphone. "Please sing along if you know the words." He asked, full well knowing every single person will be screaming out the lyrics to him.
"Just stop you're crying it's the sign of the times. Welcome to the final show. Hope you're wearing your best clothes."
#harry styles#harry styles x reader#harry styles fanfic#harry styles x y/n#harry styles fanfiction#finelinevogue#finelinevogue harry styles#harry blurb#harry oneshot#harry styles concept#ask finelinevogue#ask harry styles#anon response#anon#harry styles sott#harry styles final show#harry styles sad#sign of the times#harry styles fluff#little moments masterlist#little moments finelinevogue#little moments
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@themountainarchives day 13!
Title: hiraeth
Prompt: homesickness for a place you can never return to
Pairing: geralt/jaskier
Rating & Wordcount: Teen and Up Audiences - 600 words
Warnings: none.
read on ao3!
Destiny offers Jaskier a second chance.
He’s in Posada again, his hair a little grayer around the edges, this time. His clothes are not as vibrant as they once were, though he still holds himself with elegance and poise. The rings on his fingers are heavy against the cheap wood of the table that, cheap as it may be, still stands.
After all those years.
The bard that’s prancing across the room is young, feet light as a feather. His eyes hold that brand-new innocence that spring brings to young souls, the radiant flush of his cheeks spreading the cheer in his song. He can barely contain his excitement, his hands moving fast on his lutestrings as he dances in tune, stealing glances and blowing kisses and laughing and laughing some more.
Jaskier knows it all too well.
He hears him before he sees him, a rare thing these days.
“His voice is flat,” says a flat, even voice beside him.
Jaskier’s gaze remains on the bard. It’s a mirage, he thinks.
He hopes.
“He’s new,” Jaskier replies quietly. “Fresh out of Oxenfurt.”
“Like you were.”
Jaskier nods.
“Jask—”
“I brought him here,” Jaskier says, distant. “He’s too used to the anonymity of singing with a crew, at the back of a room. I know potential when I see it, and he— he’s full of it.”
They watch as the bard belts out a high note, almost to perfection.
“Is it cruel of me, wishing he’d get pelted with food too?” Jaskier smiles. “Don’t know where he’d store the bread, though. His breeches have some of those hideous, impractical fake-pockets, sewn right at the seam.” He takes a swig of his ale. “Ridiculous, what people dare to call fashion these days.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt says, and it almost sounds like a plea.
Almost.
Jaskier looks at him.
He hasn’t changed much. Then again, he never did — seasons would change, empires would fall, and Geralt would still be there, face impassive and clad in leather as if charging into battle. His swords are still strapped to his back.
The weary expression is new.
“I want him to succeed.” Jaskier turns to look at the bard, filling the silence Geralt hasn’t broken. “He’s one of my best students. The first in his family to complete his studies. I’m proud of him.”
The bard finishes his song with a flourish. People ask for one more.
Jaskier smiles.
“They love him already,” he says, almost wistfully. “He’ll be booked at every court for the summer.”
“Will you?”
“Ah, I’m afraid not.” Jaskier sniffs. “I hung up my lute years ago. I’m too old for it, anyway.”
Geralt takes a seat beside him.
In his mind’s eye, Jaskier can see it all again. The dust on Roach’s saddle as they rode into Dol Blathanna, the shimmer of Geralt’s hair under the burning sun. The open sky before them as they left, free and rewarded, the road stretching on forever.
But that was lifetimes ago.
“Jaskier.”
“You’ve called my name three times over.” Jaskier sips the last of his ale. “You’re the only one who calls me that anymore.”
“By your name?”
Jaskier nods. “It’s Julian, now.”
“I have— there’s so much I want to say to you.”
Jaskier looks at him, into false-colored eyes. Something in his chest gives.
“Three words or less.”
In his mind’s eye, Jaskier can see it all again. The unsteady planks and the infernal winds and the setting sun. A magic-borne tent that held more promise than his bleeding heart.
“I’m sorry,” Geralt tells him.
Jaskier’s student comes over to their table. Jaskier stands.
“What a performance!” He tells him, and the bard laughs, exhilarated. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, Professor,” says the bard, a sheepish smile on his face. “Shall I meet you outside?”
“Yes, go on. I’ll be there in a minute.”
And his student leaves.
“Jask, I—”
“I loved you, you know.”
Geralt looks at him.
Jaskier sighs.
“I was wrong.”
#mywriting#geraskier ficlet#angst#no happy ending#the mountain archives#two sad ones in a row whoops
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in your rainbow paradise || h. styles
warnings: famous!reader, no covid/pre-covid, mentions of kissing
word count: 1.9k
summary: harry’s your date to the premiere of your new film...
The premiere of a new film was always nerve-wracking for any actor. Sitting through the first viewing of the finalised product, waiting for the opinions of the critics to start rolling in was a feeling you’d only become aware of six years ago when your first film came out. And now, here you were, preparing for the premiere of your eighth film. As well as nearing the six year anniversary of your so far successful acting career, you’d just celebrated five years with Harry.
For about four and a half of those wonderful years, you’d been the ‘it’ couple. Constant eyes tracing every move you made as a partnership and interviewers never failing to ask about marriage and kids. Truth be told, you and Harry were both young. You were at the height of your careers, or at least on the way to the climax of it. There was time for settling down later.
The night before a premiere was always the worst. You’d find yourself awake, sleep not even seeming an option for you. Harry would be asleep most likely, being one of the most carefree people you know. Most of the time on nights like these, you’d light a candle and venture out onto the balcony with a blanket and simply admire the empty streets below and the skyscraper-filled horizon. And, while these tranquil nights were heavenly to you, they almost always resulted in Harry scolding you for sitting outside in the bitter cold of the night. On top of Harry’s scolding, you’d receive the same from Danny, your stylist, for the bags under your eyes.
Yours and Harry’s stylists had worked together on your premiere look. They’d opted for a cohesive look, bringing small elements of Harry’s suit into your dress to make for a matching set. ‘Just one big look’ was how Danny had put it as you were at your first fitting.
The sound of a cheering audience approaching got increasingly louder. Your knee was bouncing slightly, Harry’s hand on your thigh. “They’ll love it,” he whispered, kissing your forehead.
“You don’t know that,” you replied.
He smiled, “They love anything you’re in.”
That brought a smile to your face. He was so supportive and it never failed to make your heart melt. Now Harry had had a taste of what it felt like to attend the premiere of your own film, he could understand the nerves you felt before every one. “Right, come on,” Harry smiled softly, leaning down to kiss you.
You got out of the car after Harry, being met with screams of fans. Putting on your best smile for the cameras as Harry leaned over to squeeze your hand. He guided you along the red carpet, his hand placed on your lower back. He couldn’t help but find himself admiring how gorgeous you looked.
Taking pictures with fans was always one of your favourite things at premieres. Getting to be so close with the people who admired you was a joy of yours. You always tried to chat with them, though that wasn’t always possible. You were just as excited to meet fans as they were to meet you, apart from the three times you’d accidentally dropped fans’ phones. The best part about bringing Harry along was that the fans usually wanted pictures with Harry too. “You look stunning, by the way,” Harry whispered in your ear.
“So do you,” You replied, turning to grin up at him. He squeezed your waist, pressing his lips to your temple. Your names were being cried out by photographers and various news outlet journalists. All you could do was smile, leaning into Harry’s side slightly. Posing for pictures was perhaps the worst aspect of a premiere. For two or three minutes you had to stay perfectly gorgeous, turning your head slightly and twisting your body to face whichever photographer demanded you do so. And then you’d have to do the same all over again on your own, Harry stood to the side sending you supportive grins.
A security guard ushered you along towards the hoard of journalists, their microphones outstretched. You could see your costar, Tom, take your spot in front of the photographers. “Y/N! Y/N!” a woman called, catching your attention. “Hello.”
“Hi,” you grinned, pulling Harry over with you. “How are you?”
“I’m great, thank you! And you? How are you two?” she asked.
“We’re good, aren’t we?” you smiled, looking up at Harry to see him nod.
“You both look wonderful, by the way. The matching outfits are beginning to become a bit of a trend between the two of you,” she said, admiring the outfits.
“I guess so. Our stylists are friends, so they like to collaborate on looks,” you replied. “I think this is my favourite, though.”
“I’m not surprised! They’re beautiful. And Harry, which of yours and Y/N’s matching looks is your favourite?”
He hummed in thought for a moment. His eyes trailed up and down your body, getting a proper look at the dress you were wearing. “Probably the Met Gala look. I loved that one,” he finally answered.
“That was a good one. Now, Y/N, how excited are you for your fans to see the film?” she questioned, her face lit up in an incredibly bright smile.
“Very excited. It’s a project I’m really proud of and I hope they enjoy it,” you said.
“I’m sure they will. Now, I have to say, people are predicting a few Oscar nominations from the trailer alone,” she grinned.
“Oh, are they?” you laughed.
“They are. What do you have to say about that?”
“It would be incredible to even be nominated but there are a lot of much more talented actors in the industry, so I doubt it’ll happen. We can always hope, though,” you said.
“Don’t say that,” Harry said, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “You’re incredibly talented.”
You grinned up at him, laying your head on his shoulder as a means to thank him. This man never failed to make you feel worthy. Your little moment was interrupted by the journalist grinning, “Get yourself a man who hypes you up like Harry hypes up Y/N. Well, it’s been lovely talking to you both.”
“And you,” you said quickly.
“Thank you very much. I hope you both enjoy the film,” she smiled, before turning her attention to Greta, the director. You quickly exchanged a hug with her, telling her how beautiful she looked. It had been almost a year since you’d last seen her on your final day of production.
You did a few more interviews with Harry, laughing and joking with him throughout. Besides, the fans loved it when you were both yourselves around one another at big events. Finally, you were doing one final interview before heading in to actually watch the film for the first time. “Hi, guys! It’s great to see you here today,” the interviewer smiled - though you were sure he was probably sick of the cheering fans and asking the same questions to the cast, only to receive almost identical answers every time.
“It would be pretty rude for Y/N not to show up today,” Harry joked, a cheeky grin etched into his features.
“This is true,” he laughed. “Now, Y/N, I just want to ask, this is your eighth film, do you have any plans for anything slightly different in the future?”
“What, like music? Yeah, I’ll just do what Harry did, randomly enter a whole new area of show business unannounced. Look out for my album, dropping next year!” you joked, earning a slight nudge in the ribs from Harry.
“Hey,” he frowned. “That isn’t very nice, Y/N.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said. “Is your ego too fragile?”
The journalist laughed at the banter the two of you shared, feeling as if he was invading a moment of privacy slightly. You looked back to him, smiling sweetly, apologetically, “But to answer your question seriously, I am working on a project. Something is in the works. It’s a little bit different to acting.”
“Can we have any hints as to what it may be?”
“Something directorial maybe?” you teased, grinning.
“That sounds exciting. Now, I’m curious about the two of you. You’re both very talented in what you do. So, Harry which of Y/N’s films is your favourite. And, for Y/N, which of Harry’s songs is your favourite?”
You both took a moment to think about that question. It was a nice change from ‘Harry, when are you proposing?’ or ‘are kids a plan for your future?’. The two of you exchanged a glance, waiting to see who would answer first. In the end, it was Harry, “Probably Clementines of the Ripest Variety. I really loved that film and I loved Y/N in it.”
You felt your cheeks heating up; hearing Harry sing your praises, particularly in front of lots of people always made you feel warm inside. He rubbed circles on your bare back, where the dress didn’t cover it, sending nerves rippling through your system. Clementines of the Ripest Variety was a courtroom film you’d shot back in 2017 that had been received particularly well by the critics. It ended up winning the most awards out of any movie you’d worked on and it was some of your proudest work. That was why Harry loved it so much - he knew how hard you’d worked for it. “And Y/N?”
“My favourite song of Harry’s? There are so many incredible ones. I’ll go with Fine Line. Such an amazing song,” you smiled.
“Amazing,” the journalist grinned. He asked a few more questions about the film before finally saying, “Thank you so much for your time. Have a great evening.”
“You too,” you smiled as you and Harry left the red carpet.
Your feet were aching and your cheeks were sore from all the forced smiles you’d had to endure throughout the course of the evening. Once you were settled in your seats, you could finally relax out of the ever piercing gaze of the public. After a quick introduction from Greta, the film began. And you could feel the nerves that had been exploring your stomach beforehand slowly dissipating as you got lost in the flow of the film. You’d occasionally sneak a glance at Harry in an attempt to gauge his opinions before the credits rolled and you could finally ask him how he felt about your latest work.
He’d always smile whenever you were on screen. It was a habit he’d adopted for as long as the two of you had been together. No matter what you were doing on screen, he was just proud to see his darling succeed. Although, you were the same really. Whenever one of Harry’s songs came on the radio or he was mentioned in passing on the television, you became beyond proud of him.
As the credits finally did roll and your name came up in big against the blackness of the screen, which was a feeling you were sure you’d never become used to, Harry leaned over to kiss you. You smiled into it, feeling him do the same. “You were perfect, love,” he said.
“You’re too kind to me,” you laughed quietly.
“It was just an observation from a fan,” he shrugged, smirking.
You shook your head, laughing at him, “Was it? But, from a boyfriend’s perspective, what did you think?”
“I still thought you were perfect, my love.”
#harry styles#harry fanfic#harry fanfiction#harry imagine#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles imagine#harry styles x reader#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x you#harry x y/n#harry x reader#harry x you#harry styles imagines#harry imagines
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