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our-time-is-now · 1 year

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August 29, 2019 (2): It is time… see you soon beloved bed!

(previous play)

You can find more information about the authors, translators, content warning and additional information about the plays in the pinned post on our blog.

Attention! This play includes transgender topics. For more details see our interjection.

Thursday, 6:57 pm:

David: *today they really mostly managed to laze around when he came back from therapy after Laura had to admit at some point, that there’s really not much left to do and that they will be able to pack and/or disassemble the rest of the things on Friday or Saturday simply because they still need them* *therefore they played video games and watched a show together and cuddled and then they packed his plants in banana boxes and went to the flatshare with Rudi and the boxes* *distributed some of the plants in the kitchen and the living room - much to Hans’ excitement and Linn’s worry, since she was afraid that Nepomuk might get to them* *they were able to reassure Linn by telling her that turtles would surely not be able to climb or jump to the windowsill and quickly ate with Linn and Hans in the kitchen before Michi arrived and everyone went to their rooms* *grins at Matteo* And now let’s continue lazing around… *goes to his room with him and puts the remaining two plants on the windowsill there* *then throws himself onto the bed belly-down and only then realizes that for the next three months, this will be the last time in Matteo’s bed* *turns around, sits up and looks at Matteo pensively* I somehow feel like we should do something nice for your bed… after all, we’ll banish it to Alex’ for the next three months… basically just deport it… *pats the sheet*

Matteo: *drops down on the bed next to David* *was just about to reach for David and pull him close when he sits up* *looks at him first in confusion and then amusement* Do something nice for my bed? *laughs slightly* Like what? Do you want to dance on it? Or tell it a story? Should I leave the two of you alone? *reaches one hand out for David and tugs on his shirt* You’re cute… alright okay… *turns onto his stomach and talks to the mattress* Thank you for the good service you rendered us, David will miss you very much, we’ll see you again in three months…

David: *nods seriously when Matteo asks and lifts his eyebrows when he laughs* Pffff… sure, why not!? *but then smiles happily and conciliatory when Matteo agrees and turns on his stomach* *immediately lies back down next to him and looks between him and the bed* *at first nods at his words but then frowns again and adds* Matteo will also miss you very much! *puts his head onto the mattress and looks at Matteo* Here we fell asleep for the first time next to each other… if your bed hadn’t been so comfortable I surely wouldn’t have stayed the night… *suppresses a grin, because that’s not true, of course*

Matteo: *laughs slightly when David says that he’d also miss the bed* *was just about to disagree a little when he hears David continue* *grins slightly* Wow, now I feel good… so my bed was the determining factor… not my dazzling company? *reaches his hand out and cards through David’s hair* We did spent quite a few nice hours lazing around here, that’s true…

David: *has to laugh quietly now, after all, and scoots a little closer to him* Well, okay… your dazzling company /and/ your bed… *briefly closes his eyes when Matteo cards through it and humms in agreement* ...and we also had the best conversations mostly in /your/ bed… *opens his eyes again and looks at him* ...and I also spent the first night without a binder /here/… and the first time completely without binder and shirt was also here… *grins slightly and shrugs one shoulder* *then scoots a little closer again and loosely wraps an arm over his hip* *says quietly* You always say that my bed is bigger… *grins slightly* ...but we actually don’t need much space, anyways…

Matteo: *grins slightly when he relents a little* *but then shakes his head slightly* Not only here… *but then has to nod because the next things are true, of course* *also wraps his other arm around him when he scoots closer* But the first time was at your place… and we also had good conversation at your place and… *but then hears his last argument and humphs slightly* True… we actually don’t… but… *sighs slightly and looks at him* Okay, if you really want to then we can also keep my bed…

David: *laughs quietly and shakes him slightly* Hey, I didn’t mean it like that… *lifts his head for a moment and kisses him tenderly before lying his head back onto the mattress* I just didn’t want you to always belittle your bed so much… I like it… it’s yours… and I like everything that belongs to you… *pushes one of his legs between Matteo’s and then gets a little more serious* We’ll do what /you/ want, okay? If you want my bed then you’ll get my bed… I want my desk and I’m getting space for my desk… and three plants on the windowsill… and space in your wardrobe… I don’t really care about the rest…

Matteo: *gets a kiss and smiles immediately* *shakes his head in amusement* I don’t /belittle/ it - I just like yours more, because I like everything that belongs to you… *grins at him because by now it’s really their game* *squeezes his leg a little when he pushes it between his legs and scoots a little closer to him* Okay… *hesitates and then says* I want your bed. *kisses him and keeps his face close to David’s this time* Okay… and how exactly do you want to say farewell to the bed now? *wiggles his eyebrows a little*

David: *grins slightly when Matteo’s arguments are similar to his* *wraps his arm around him tighter when he scoots closer and then nods happily when he decides on one of their beds* Okay… *turns his head slightly toward the mattress and says quietly to the bed* But we’ll see each other again in three months… *then gets a kiss when he turns back to Matteo and smiles when he stays so close to him with his face* *thinks briefly when he hears his question* Hmmm… well I’d say first we put on comfortable clothes… or I’ll definitely take off the binder… and maybe we already put on our sleeping clothes… hmmm… and then… we’ll both tell the bed our favorite memory of it… and then… *grins slightly* ...we definitely must have sex in it one more time… and tomorrow morning we’ll hug it again tightly before we disassemble it… *nods slightly happily and conclusively* *but then remembers something and adds* And once a month we’ll go visit it at Alex’... *laughs quietly at Matteo’s look and adds* Okay, the last thing was a joke!

Matteo: *laughs when David is talking to the bed again* *says with a fake voice* I’m already looking forward to our reunion, David. *then humms along when David humms* *smiles at his plan and nods* Sleep clothes, telling it a story, sex, sleeping… sounds good… *then looks at him a little shocked when he talks about visiting* /You/ can do that… *then laughs when he relents* With you one never knows… *kisses him again and runs his hand through his hair before he sits up* Okay, let’s get changed…

David: *grins when Matteo imitates the beds’ voice and then looks at him lovingly* *returns his kiss after he has agreed to the plan and then nudges his nose against Matteo’s* *also sits up and ruffles around the bed for his sleep shirt* *finds Matteo’s shirt first and throws it to him* *then finds his own and quickly peeks toward the door to see if it’s closed* *still hesitates because Hans has the habit of coming into the room even without knocking* *briefly frowns when he notices that Matteo’s key isn’t in the lock anymore and briefly wonders if it’s outside* *then sits up quietly and says to Matteo* I gotta pee anyways, I’ll just get changed in the bathroom… *gets up, but leans down to him again to quickly kiss him before leaving the room*

Matteo: *gets the shirt thrown at him and grins* Thanks… *looks up at him when he says that he’ll get changed in the bathroom* *nods immediately* Okay… *kisses him back and looks after him when he disappears* *then gets up to also get changed and then slips back under the covers again* *looks around the room and sees David’s boxes stacked in one corner of the room* *can feel a pleasant tugging in his stomach and that he’s really looking forward to David moving in with him* *smiles to himself and waits for David to come back again*

David: *pees in the bathroom, changes and splashes some water into his face before he goes back to Matteo’s room* *can see that he’s slipped under the cover, which is now only a bedsheet, and smiles at the sight of a smiling Matteo* *crawls into bed and under the covers, positions his arm so that he can put his head onto Matteo’s shoulder and lies down with a sigh of pleasure* *looks up at him and asks quietly and a little amused* Na, what makes you smile like that?

Matteo: *smiles even more when David returns and lies down with him* *wraps his arm around him and looks down at him* *grins even more at his question* You of course… *presses a kiss to his hair* Well, then go ahead and tell me your favorite story of my bed… *grins a little more because it’s somehow so wonderfully David that he wants them to do this*

David: *grins and frowns at his question and laughs out loud* No, of course… I wasn’t even in the room… you still smiled… *then hears him say that he wants to hear the story and has to think* *turns onto his back for a moment to do so and stares at the ceiling* Puh… there are so many stories about your bed… hmmm… *eventually says hesitantly* I think I have two favorite occurrences that have something to do with your bed… is that okay or do I have to choose? *turns back to Matteo and looks at him questioningly*

Matteo: *laughs slightly* Oh and if you’re not there then I’m not allowed to think of you or what? *then stretches his arm when David turns onto his back* Hmmmm *looks at him with a grin* Of course that’s okay… maybe one of them is also the same as mine, then I don’t have to tell it again…

David: *looks at him with a skeptical smirk when he hears his answer and eventually says hesitantly* Hmmm… alright… *stretches a little to press a kiss to his cheek* *then hears that Matteo thinks that he can weasel his way out of telling his favorite story and shakes his head* *laughs quietly* Nooo… if my story is the same as yours then you have to think of a new one… *turns back to him, but quickly pats Matteo’s bed between them and murmurs* Okay, I’ll start… are you ready?! *then scoots closer to Matteo again and puts his head back onto his shoulder* *wraps his arm around his stomach and says* So the time I appreciated your bed the most was… *grins slightly* ...when we came back from Heidesee… after two weeks in a tent on the sleeping pad, your bed was so incredibly comfortable and soft and cozy and snug… and also the silence… having the flatshare to ourselves for 5 hours… I think that was the best lazing-around-in-bed ever - the one I appreciated the most and for which I’m very grateful for! *grins up at Matteo and asks* Do you think your bed remembers what we did on it that day or do I have to go into more detail?

Matteo: *laughs quietly when David says that he can’t weasel his way out* Okay, okay, then I’ll think of something new… *wraps his arm around him once more when he lies down next to him again* *listens to him and nods immediately* Yep… that was nice… *then laughs out loud at his question* Hmmmm, I’d say it can’t hurt… my bed doesn’t have the best memory… *grins at him challengingly because he’s not sure how far David would go*

David: *smiles when Matteo confirms that the event with the bed was nice, but then grins when he hits at the beds’ memory* *sighs a little theatrically* Okay… well first we had sex… *stretches a little, playfully bites Matteo’s neck and slips a hand under his shirt* *murmurs* I’m in favor of showing it later how exactly that went… or would you rather do it right now!? *but then grins, takes his hand away again and kisses the spot on Matteo’s neck where he just bit him* I’m in favor of doing it later… hmmm… and then we ate sandwiches in bed and cuddled a lot and decided that we’ll buy a plant together when we move in together. And that your name will be the first one on the doorbell. Then we unfortunately had to leave your bed alone for a little while to shower, but then it could profit from us being clean and smelling good… and eventually we had to leave it much too hastily because we forgot the time again while making out and Hans and Michi were suddenly already in the hallway…

Matteo: *laughs when he sighs like that* *was just about to say something when he gets bitten* Ouch! *but then grins when he says that they’ll show it again later in more detail* Later is good… I have to recover from this attack first… *sighs theatrically* *but then smiles again when he keeps talking* Yes… that’s how it went… a pretty perfect afternoon… *presses a kiss to his hair* Okay, before you tell your second one I’ll quickly tell mine… one of my favourite bed-stories is the first one… when you stayed here for the first time and we basically lived on the bed for an entire day… talked and ate and smoked and made out… okay, if I had known back then that you’re trans then I’m sure I would have eventually asked you to take off the binder, I still find it unbelievable that you wore it for so long… but apart from that it was also really a pretty meaningful weekend…

David: *nods when Matteo says that it was a perfect afternoon and murmurs quietly* I think so too… *nods when he says that now it’s his turn and listens to him* *smiles when he chooses this moment and thinks back on it* *draws some patterns on Matteo’s shirt and says quietly* Sick how long ago that was… *sighs quietly, then sits up a little and presses a soft kiss to his mouth* *then looks at him for a moment, briefly presses his lips together and then says* I already should have told you back then… *smiles a little sadly because he realizes again how scared he was back then* *then puts his head back onto Matteo’s shoulder and says* Back then I never would have thought that I’d ever get this... this here, I mean… *shakes him a little* ...I didn’t think I’d get this, anyways… but I rather meant that I never thought that I’d get this entire night and this and this whole day in bed with you… that I… no idea… can be so close to someone… that I am allowed to be so close to someone… *laughs quietly and shakes his head* And it was actually way too good to be true and I thought that it’s a one-time-thing anyways, therefore I should enjoy it as long as it’s possible… and now… *grins happily* ...and now we’re still lying here…

Matteo: *sighs and nods* Yes… almost 5 months… *smiles into the kiss and runs a hand through his hair* *shakes his head when he says that he should have told him back then* No, nonsense, we barely knew each other… *but then also considers and shrugs one shoulder* Alright, yes, maybe… but I mean, like you said… it could all have been over after that, you never know… *then laughs slightly when he says that he never thought that he’d get this* Me neither… *then smiles at him* Now we’re still lying here… and starting tomorrow, just in another bed… *leans down and kisses him tenderly* Don’t worry, you won’t get rid of me that easily anymore…

David: *is grateful that Matteo still understands why he didn’t tell him sooner, but then frowns a little confused when Matteo says that he also never would have thought that he’d ever get this* *still can’t really understand it but then briefly has to think about his conversation with Alex and about earlier conversations with Matteo where he considered himself “smaller” than he actually is* *gets pulled from his thoughts by Matteo’s next words and grins slightly* *murmurs pleasantly* It actually doesn’t really matter in which bed… what matters is that it’s the two of us… *stretches his head a little to return the kiss and then smiles again at his words* *puts his hand on his cheek and moves his head a little so that they can look at each other before he says* You, neither… *then laughs quietly and adds* Although I still don’t understand that you thought you won’t get something like this… once again, Mister Florenzi doesn’t have the slightest clue of how perfect he is… if that thing between us hadn’t worked out, then you’d have some other great guy lying here in bed…

Matteo: *grumbles in agreement* Yes, what matters is the two of us… *finds it so nice that they see it the same way, no matter where and how, what matters is that they’re together* *finds that somehow comforting and safe* *then smiles when David says that he won’t get rid of him, either* That’s good then… *wraps his arm around him a little tighter* *but then frowns at his next words and doesn’t understand at all what’s funny about it* *only shakes his head in a serious manner* I wouldn’t… and I’m not perfect, either… and I don’t want another guy… so stop it…

David: *sighs quietly when Matteo shakes his head because somehow he knew he would* *also gets serious now and says* The fact that you don’t want another guy doesn’t mean that you couldn’t have one. I’m glad that you don’t want anyone else… and okay… no one’s 100 percent perfect I guess… *tenderly runs his thumb over his cheek* ...but you’re pretty close… apart from all the things you are doing for me… what you are for me… *smiles slightly and a little disbelievingly* ...and that alone is already so incredibly much… you’re quiet and attentive… and one of the most tolerant people I know. You’re helpful and always there when someone needs you - the person doesn’t even have to say anything - you simply see or feel it. Everyone likes you. You’re modest and kind. You’d never hurt anyone intentionally. You’re invested in things that are important to you… *smiles again and slightly shrugs one shoulder* So to me, that sounds pretty perfect… and those were only the things /everyone/ can see… *grins slightly* If one day, we have two hours time then I’ll tell you why you’re perfect to /me/…

Matteo: *only shakes his head a little when he answers* Same for you... *thinks that David could immediately have any guy if he wanted to* *looks at him when he strokes his cheek* *takes a deep breath when David starts and eventually has to look away* *thinks that he did hurt people before because he was only thinking of himself, like Hanna, for example* *finds it really incredible that David sees him like that and somehow can’t really deal with it* *slightly shakes his head when he says that one day he’ll tell him why he’s perfect* *says quietly* Better not… *looks at him and has to swallow* *doesn’t know what to say and therefore simply kisses him* *then swallows again and says quietly* I… well, it’s incredible that you see all of this this way… but I… *swallows because he thinks that he doesn’t live up to the image, but can’t really say and express it and therefore shrugs one shoulder* *wonders if one day there will be a day when David will realizes that he was wrong* I… love you… and the fact that you see me like that… but… *tenderly runs a hand through his hair with his free hand* *kisses him again and then just has to cut the tension* *therefore grins slightly and asks* Can we please have sex now before I start to cry?

David: *can see that it’s difficult for Matteo to accept all of this and grins slightly when he says “better not”* *nods in amusement* Oh yes, tesorino! One day you’ll get the full blast! *but can see that it’s still working inside him and therefore gets more serious again* *wraps his arm around him again and squeezes him slightly closer* *slightly shakes his head at his next words and wants to correct him and tell him that he’s not the only one who sees him like that but that those were all things that are obvious to anyone, but first gives him time to collect himself some more* *smiles very broadly when he says that he loves him and feels his heart do a little jump, but then feels it constrict a little when he follows it with a “but”, which shows him that Matteo can’t really believe that he is the way he just described him* *returns his kiss and tries to not let it show that it hurts him that Matteo can’t see himself like that* *then hears his question and grins slightly* *shakes his head* First… what would be so bad if you were to cry…!? And second: My second bed-story is still missing… otherwise your bed will be sulky if I promise two stories and then only tell one… *lies back down again like he did in the beginning, his head on Matteo’s shoulder, his arm tightly wrapped around his stomach, feels a brief spurt of excitement rising up and then says pretty contrite at first* Okay… well my second favourite moment… happened on this incredibly hot day in summer… the moment… when… when you saw me completely naked for the first time… well you… and your bed… both of you so to speak…

Matteo: *slightly shakes his head* If I cry then it’s about me and no longer about the bed and it was supposed to be a nice evening and not a crying evening, right? *then nods when he says that the second story is still missing* *wraps both arms around him and pulls him close* *then hears which story he’s talking about and buries his face in his hair a little* That was awesome… well not just you being naked, that too… but I think that’s the first time I really realized how much you trust me… and how nice that feels… and I was so proud… of you and how brave you were… after only such a short time… *presses a kiss to his hair* It was our pleasure… well mine. And I’m sure the bed was also pleased…

David: *tilts his head when he hears Matteo’s arguments and finally nods* Okay, sure… it’s about the bed! *quietly whispers into his ear* But you’re actually more important than the bed, but don’t tell the bed, otherwise it’ll surely be sad… *then smiles slightly at Matteo’s reaction to his second favorite moment* *can feels his heart beat a little faster and can’t really tell if it’s because he remembers how nervous he was back then or if it’s because of Matteo’s words… that he realized in that moment how much he trusts him* *nods slightly and is quiet for a moment* *then says quietly* That’s good… that you realized then… how much I trust you… it’s… no idea… like I said in the ocean… I love it that you still like me when I don’t like myself… and my body… *slightly shakes his head* *doesn’t really want to talk about it and therefore leaves the sentence unfinished* I somehow felt even back then that this really isn’t important to you… that you see /me/ and not the things that are wrong with me… and I wanted so much to know what it feels like if there’s no more fabric between us… *grins slightly* Yes, okay, and it was also just really damn hot on that day… *then gets more serious again and looks up at him* *smiles* If you’re not counting our beds… then it somehow feels really good to be able to say that you’re the only one - and will stay the only one, who saw me like this… in two weeks from now there will no longer be anything that can be seen…

Matteo: *hears his whispers and simply squeezes him a little closer* *then nods slightly when David says again that he likes him* I do… always… *listens to him further and automatically has to grin a little* *then has to laugh slightly* It was pretty hot… all of it… *looks at him when he says that he’ll be the only one who ever saw him like that* *gets serious again and nods slightly* Yes, wow, there won’t be anything to see anymore in two weeks… but no matter what… I love you the way you are, okay? No matter what’s there or what isn’t there… *leans down a little and kisses him*

David: *also laughs quietly when Matteo says that all of it was pretty hot and nods* Yes, okay, true… *can feel his heart do a little jump again when Matteo says that he loves him the way he is and returns his kiss* *quietly murmurs against his lips* I love you, too… pretty much and exactly the way you are… *kisses him again and then scoots up a little to deepen the kiss for a moment* *somehow finds it pretty surreal once again that the date for his surgery is only two weeks away and can’t really believe it* *but then feels that it’s really real for a moment and can feel unbridled happiness and fear at the same time* *interrupts his kiss with Matteo, moves his head away a little and looks at him seriously* You do realize that this will be the last night where your bed will see me /like this/!? When we put it back up again, they’ll… I’ll look completely different!

Matteo: *can feel this flutter and this feeling of happiness again when David says that he loves him* *kisses him back and runs his hand over his side when he scoots up* *grumbles when he pulls away from the kiss and looks at him* *but smiles slightly when he hears his words* My bed is just like me… it loves you no matter what you look like… *runs his hand through his hair and pulls him closer again* *doesn’t want to think about the surgery any more and wants to enjoy the here and now instead* *kisses David and slowly slips one hand under his shirt*

David: *they have spent the last night in Matteo’s bed, and the next morning they decided to immediately disassemble it after breakfast and to take it to Alex’* *is just leaving the bathroom when he sees Matteo rummage around in a tool box (god knows where he got it) and sees him hold a screwdriver out to him with a grin* *theatrically throws himself onto the bed with his arms spread wide and whimpers quietly* It is time… see you soon, beloved bed! *hears Matteo laugh and suggest again that they can also keep his bed if he’s so attached to it, but wants Matteo to decide and therefore pulls himself up again with a sigh and shakes his head* No, it’s okay… it’s only for three months… *then disassembles the bed with Matteo and they load it into Rudi to bring it to Alex* *briefly considers performing another farewell scene there, but then leaves it at only stroking over the mattress one last time before they leave the piano room again*

(next play)

#druck #druck og #matteo florenzi #david schreibner #davenzi #davenzi plays

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writesowhatnext · 4 years

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and I’ve been thinking about it lately // george weasley

Summary: friends // it was easy to be friends with george weasley

Request: nee

A/N: once again!!! I used Y/L/N which is last name :) this is part 2 of the fic I just posted!!!! obviously?? anyways I loved this

Reader: female, Slytherin

Warnings: swearing

enemies // friends // lovers // epilogue

“Looks like we’re partners,” George said, sliding into the seat next to yours and grinning. He felt a little nervous given your turbulent history, but it seemed that you were about to surprise him, as you always managed to.

“Just my luck,” you retorted, your voice lacking its usual amount of bite despite your scowl.

He smirked at your tone, surprised at much he enjoyed your new-found acquaintanceship.

“Can’t believe you got paired up with that loser, Weasley,” Malfoy said to you from behind, leaning over his desk so his annoyingly pompous voice carried. “Which one are you again?”

Before George could open his mouth and put the little git in his place, he was beaten to the punch.

“And why are you talking to me, Malfoy?” you said slowly, not even looking at him as you opened your textbook. You smiled slightly at his angry muttering and the scrape of his chair on the floor.

When you looked at George, only to see him making smug faces at Malfoy before turning to you and smirking, you rolled your eyes, still finding his ability to rile your feathers disturbingly uncanny.

“You can do the uses-“

“Why?” he said loudly, returning your scowl as you glared at him.

“Because I told you to.”

“And so, what? I should just do it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, in that case, your highness.”

You shot him a dark look and he opened his mouth to continue your bickering when a dark figure loomed behind you.

“Mr Weasley, Ms Y/L/N.” Snape’s voice cut through the silence of the room. “Do you find squabbling like children in my class to be a good use of your time?”

Following Snape’s little scolding, you tried desperately to avoid his wrath for the rest of the lesson. This was a goal that proved harder than initially anticipated given the nature of the boy sitting next to you. Halfway through the lesson, you found yourself biting your nails, trying to figure out the purpose of adding Eye of Newt when George caught your eye. He winked and you glowered in return, but he could see the upward curve of your lips and considered himself once again pleasantly surprised.

He could barely contain his laughter, though, when around ten minutes later you stuck your tongue out at him when you caught him looking around the room for a distraction. It was strange, you though, to be so light-hearted with him; not bad though, not at all.

He snickered until he felt Snape’s eyes on him and immediately ducked his head, not eager to receive another detention after the last Thursday night he spent polishing trophies. The idea of George getting in trouble made you smirk, though, and you looked over to tease him only to see Snape’s sour expression.

Your eyes widened as you quickly looked down again and pursed your lips tightly. You both watched him walk in front of your desk slowly, gliding past you, the weight of his gaze heavy on your shoulders. George snorted and you kicked him under the table, finding it almost impossible to contain your own laughter with Snape watching you so closely.

The man himself, like a dark shadow, loomed over your bench and reluctantly, you both looked up. Snape’s eyes flickered from yours to George’s slowly, suspiciously. As you both waited silently for the inevitable punishment, you couldn’t help your amusement brewing and you cursed George and his stupidity for always somehow making you laugh.

“Class…” Snape drawled, his dark gaze never leaving your faces. “Dismissed.”

You concealed your laughter until you got outside the room where you immediately burst into giggles. You shoved George lamely with your hand, shaking your head.

“You are the worst!” you insisted, huffing as he grinned. You scoffed, biting your lip.

Both you and George stared at each other for a moment, your combined breathing the only sound in the hallway as your laughter died down. The air turned thick rather quickly and wading through the awkward silence, you remembered that you really ought to get to your next class. You made to leave, not wanting to extend the odd tension for any longer when George stopped you, his hand on your arm. You stiffened under his touch and he lifted his palm quicker than you’d thought possible. Your insides churned.

“Defence Against the Dark Arts, right?” he said, his eyebrows raised, an oddly guarded look in his eye.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

“…Yes.”

“Oh, brilliant,” he said, throwing his arm over your shoulder and ushering you in the right direction. “We can walk there together.”

You grunted and pushed him off indelicately, shooting him a deadpan look when he grinned. You urged yourself to be normal - whatever that was.

“Joyous,” you said so dryly he barked a loud laugh, a laugh that made you forget how weird you’d felt only minutes before. You were glad to return to more familiar territory.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like me,” he said glibly, hoping that you couldn’t tell how unsure he was about the idea. Why did he even care if you liked him? He barely even liked you a week ago. You rolled your eyes again and he swallowed against the tightness of his throat.

“I assure you, there’s no pretence involved whatsoever.”

Either he didn’t have a witty response or just chose to ignore you, but he only hummed as you both wandered to the third floor.

Professor Lupin, you discovered quickly, was thankfully nothing like Professors Quirrell or Lockhart; that was in the sense that he actually seemed somewhat competent at his job. You were quite enjoying the lesson until he introduced the boggart, something that you definitely did not want to face, especially not in a room full of people that you didn’t know, didn’t like and George, who you were unsure about where he sat in that particular Venn diagram. With a poorly concealed rush, you joined the back of the queue that curled around the room as Fred and George, ever the showmen joined the front.

You expected George’s worst fear to be something stupid; something like clowns or people not laughing at his dumb jokes. What you did not expect was to see the boggart turn into George himself; how you could tell the difference between him and Fred was not something you dared to question. The boggart was holding a white rose and stood there in a suit, the type you’d never believe that George would ever wear, and as he faced it, he gulped. You frowned, something about the whole thing piquing your interest. Maybe George Weasley wasn’t everything you thought he was.

“Riddikulus!” he shouted, watching with wide eyes as the boggart’s white rose crumbled into dozens of pieces, each hitting the ground with a sharp thud. Its face morphed into Filch’s and suddenly the whole classroom was alive with laughter at the sight of Filch attempting to find footing on a floor of marbles. Finding you across the class, pleased to see a faint smirk on your lips, George winked. You scoffed, shaking your head. Maybe George Weasley was exactly what you thought he was.

“Pretty impressive, eh?” he said cockily as he walked over. The rest of the class shrieked in laughter as another fear turned into something hilarious, but you weren’t paying attention.

“You’re an imbecile.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Most definitely.”

“I dare you to do something better,” he said, his competitive streak showing. He watched, though, with intrigue, as your face turned pale and your expression uncomfortable.

“I don’t have to prove anything to you,” you snapped, perhaps too harshly. He glowered, dozens of cruel retorts collecting on his tongue before he stopped, noticing the way your fingers pulled nervously at your sleeve and your eyes darted around the room.

For the first time since knowing you, George realised that you were actually scared of something and despite how much he loved to irritate you, your fearful expression didn’t sit well with him at all.

“Did you hear that Neville turned his into Snape wearing his grandma’s clothes?” he said, his stare far too obvious for his tone to be so casual. He tried, though, and you almost appreciated his attempt to be subtle as he avoided mentioning your conversational hand grenade. He watched confusion, and then recognition, flash over your features.

“I can’t believe Longbottom’s boggart was Snape,” you scoffed, crossing your arms tightly. George frowned, opening his mouth to defend him. Whilst he and Neville weren’t the best of friends, George wasn’t a fan of people teasing him, especially Slytherins. From all he knew about you, he could only expect mockery to tumble lazily from your lips.

“Neville’s-“

“How psychotic do you have to be for a kid to fear you like that?”

George’s mouth dried up a little and for the first time in a long time, he was rendered speechless. His eyes trailed over your scowling face.

“I’ll say,” he said softly, watching you closely to gauge your reaction. “I figured you’d like Snape; being a Slytherin and all.”

You made a face. “He’s a bully. Fantastic wizard, mind, but an awful person.”

George mused on your words for a moment. He didn’t really know what to say, but he was saved by the point of Fred’s wand and the sight of a younger, screaming Ron Weasley legging it away from a gigantic spider. You exhaled out of your nose as Fred came over, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

“That was brilliant, mate,” George said to his brother, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“What did you think Y/N?” Fred asked, flicking his hair over his shoulder. “Am I a comedic genius or what?”

“I think I’ll have to go with ‘or what’ on that one,” you hummed, smiling at their stupidly dramatic reactions.

Much to your surprise, it wasn’t just the twins that you’d come to tolerate. As you walked over to the Gryffindor table, your fingers drumming against your leg, you thought about how, against all odds, you’d developed a very unexpected friendship with Hermione Granger. Hours of polite co-existing at the library managed to do that to a person.

“Oi, Granger,” you said, stopping behind Ron, ignoring the way his face soured when he saw you. “Do you have that book I leant you on muggle war history?”

“Oh,” she exclaimed, throwing her hand to her chest before she rifled through her bag and handed over a thick hardback. “Yes, here, thank you.”

You nodded at her before turning to walk away, catching Harry’s eye in the process. You circled back, an amused smirk working its way onto your lips.

“Saw you flying that hippogriff earlier, Potter. Must say, I’m quite impressed. Especially after what it did to Malfoy’s arm.”

“Uh,” he said, not quite sure where to look. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“Ooh,” George said, sitting down next to Harry as Fred sat opposite him.

“Has someone got a crush?” Fred asked, goading you with his teasing tone.

“Someone’s about to get crushed,” you replied happily, your overly cheerful voice sending the twins into hysterics.

You pursed your lips, but the amused smile on your face didn’t escape Hermione’s keen eye.

“Excited for quidditch tomorrow then, Y/N?” George said with a cocky grin. “We’re gonna absolutely decimate the Hufflepuffs.”

“Like that’s hard,” Fred added, nodding his head.

“As much as I would love to see you two do absolutely nothing for a few hours,” you smirked as their expressions wilted. “I have no interest in torturing myself watching a game I can’t play.”

“Why can’t you play?” Harry asked, a confused frown knitting his brows together.

“Flint banned me for three matches; says it’ll ‘help remind me where my loyalties should lie’. Smug bastard.”

You rolled your eyes, remembering the dumb look on his face and the haughtiness of his tone.

“What? He’s not letting you play because of that enchanted bludger last year? But you were only helping Harry!” Hermione said, her voice indignant.

“I think that’s the issue, Hermione,” Harry said almost guiltily.

“Well, that’s hardly fair, is it?” Ron said, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. He winced as he prepared himself for your reaction, quite surprised really when you only shrugged and kissed your teeth.

“Not to worry, he’ll put me back in after the Ravenclaw match,” you insisted, the clock on the wall catching your eye. “I’m irreplaceable.”

You winked at Ron as you walked backwards, finding it best not to be late for Snape’s study session given your recent antics with George. Your laughter followed you out the hall as you left Ron blushing bright pink in your wake.

There was a large possibility that you might have lied. Or perhaps you just hadn’t made up your mind yet. It really didn’t matter though because Potter sure was lucky that you’d dragged yourself to see the match in the end. You obviously hadn’t anticipated him falling so hard so fast, but given that you’d been lurking by the players’ entrance to the pitch to get the best view of the game, you were by far the first to reach him when he hit the ground with a resounding thud.

You perched on the bed opposite him, sitting on the railing and hoping that Madam Pomfrey was too occupied with the injured Hufflepuffs to scold you.

“He looks a bit peaky,” Ron said, leaning over Harry who, admittedly, did look rather pale. “Doesn’t he?”

You cursed yourself for being so worried about Harry Potter, of all people, but despite your best intentions, you had a soft spot for the kid and you reasoned that anybody falling out of the sky would’ve earnt exactly the same response.

“Peaky?” George scoffed, looking at his little brother.

“I’d expect,” Fred snorted.

“He fell over a hundred feet.”

“Yeah, Ron. Let’s walk you off the Astronomy Tower.”

“See what you look like.”

You rolled your eyes. They really were idiots.

“Probably a darn sight better than he usually does,” Harry said, his voice croaky. You snorted, leaning forward to get a better look at Hogwarts’ resident skydiver. George glanced at you, grinning at the noise you’d made as he moved to sit by Harry.

“You gave us a right good scare there, mate,” he said, shaking his head. Despite your oath to never do so, you had to agree with him. Harry’s eyes flicked from George to the twigs that were left of his broomstick nestled in Ron’s arms, and then finally to you.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, frowning.

You chuckled as you stood up and made towards the bed, walking past Longbottom, who edged away away from you nervously.

“Just checking you’re still alive, Potter,” you said lazily, catching George’s eye as you turned to leave.

“She helped bring you in,” he said, looking at you for a moment before bringing his attention back to Harry.

“Seems like she’s your guardian angel on that quidditch pitch,” Fred joked, his laughter echoing down the corridor as you took a leisurely stroll back to the dungeon.

You didn’t see Fred or George for a while after that which was worrying, to say the least; if not only because that meant that they were planning something. You managed to muster a smile for Harry in the hallway one time, figuring he needed it with all the rumours going around about Sirius Black being his godfather. It probably came out like more of a grimace, you mused.

It felt normal, though, to return to your life before your truce with George Weasley; back to your normal friends and normal problems that didn’t involve teenagers falling from the sky. Disappointingly, with your friends busy revising for the upcoming Transfiguration test, a test you knew that you’d ace, you almost convinced yourself to ditch Hogsmeade for the day. However, something about the fresh snow on the ground or the idea of Christmas just around the corner swayed you and you found yourself huddled in your coat, rushing through the halls of Hogwarts.

The last people you expected (or wanted) to see were Fred and George, walking through the quad with matching woolly hats and coats. You debated it for a moment. You could just ignore them, but no doubt they’d notice you shadowing them at some point. And you were friends now, right?

The thought struck you with less distaste than you imagined it would and it seemed, at that point, that your mind was made up.

“Aren’t you two supposed to be at Hogsmeade?” you shouted, quirking an eyebrow at them as they turned around, waiting for you to catch up.

“Couldn’t we ask you the same thing?” George said, grinning cheekily.

“I was just leaving, actually.”

“Oh, splendid,” Fred said, his tone mocking. “We absolutely have to go together, then.”

“If we must,” you said, the perfect picture of resignation.

“You know you love us, Y/N,” George said, elbowing you in the ribs.

“I’ll pretend that’s true for your own sake.”

“You see that, George?” Fred asked, pointing at his brother as you walked between them. “And they say Slytherin’s aren’t kind.”

You couldn’t help the smile that lifted your cheeks.

It was unfortunate, really, because you couldn’t shake that smile for the rest of the day. Against your better judgement, you joined the twins in the Three Broomsticks, laughing and joking over pints of butterbeer. If anybody asked, the whole experience was deplorable, but in reality, you were actually enjoying yourself. So much so that you didn’t even notice the stares you were getting from across the pub.

“Can you believe that?” Seamus asked, jerking a thumb at you. “Did you ever think the bloody Weasley twins would be friends with a Slytherin?”

Dean shook his head, snickering into his glass. “No chance, mate.”

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator

@decadentwastelandtrash

@loveisblindness

@xinyourdreamsx

@brainlesspasta

@hariosborn

@staringmoony

@rexorangecouny

@alittletoomanyobsessions

@peachesandpinks

@yuptha-tsme

@obsessedwithrandomthings

@dreamer821

@iprobablyshipit91

@in-slytherin-we-trust

@haphazardhufflepuff

@princesof-theuniverse

@whovianayesha

@ickle-ronniekins

@harrysweasleys

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@igotmindcontrol

@fandomscombine

@mytreec

@tallyovie

@strawberriesonsummer

@parkeroffline

#george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #harry potter #Harry Potter imagine #writing #imagine

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dothwrites · 4 years

Note

worried Dean @ Cas: “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

---

It’s a widely accepted tenet in the art department that Castiel Novak is a genius.

Dean first hears rumors of Novak’s skills when he’s a freshman. He doesn’t believe them at first. He suspects they’re overblown by groupies who are too interested in trying to get into Novak’s pants (not that Dean can blame them: with his shock of dark hair, ice-blue eyes, and delicate scrollwork of tattoos spiraling up his arms to disappear under the sleeves of his very tight t-shirts, Novak is a walking wet dream). Then, at the end of his freshman year, he’s busy setting up the annual art show when a piece catches his attention.

At first glance, the painting is deceptively simple. A shadowed figure stands in the center of the canvas, his arms raised up to the sky. Around him are swirls of red, black, and gold, somehow blending into one color in the background. The more Dean looks, the more ambiguity he finds in the painting. Are the swirls of gold lifting the figure up or restraining him? Is the figure fading into the black or breaking free? Is the red coming from him or is he drawing it in? Are his hands raised in supplication or defiance?

Dean loses track of how many minutes he spends staring at the painting, admiring the shading, the color, the symbolism. Transfixed, he reaches out to touch at the rough surface of the painting before he recalls himself and snaps his hand back to his side.

“You can touch it if you want.”

Dean whirls around at the deep voice, his eyes widening when he sees Castiel Novak standing behind him, hands tucked deep into his pockets. Castiel raises a pierced eyebrow at him.

“Seriously. Go ahead.”

Dean shakes his head, aware of Castiel’s reputation. “I can’t...we’re not allowed to disturb the artwork--”

Castiel’s mouth twists and Dean doesn’t know whether he’s angry or deprecatory. “Well, I’m the artist, and I say you can.”

Castiel’s eyes rest heavily on him. Dean swallows, his heart picking up a rhythm that seems attached to the flick of Castiel’s tongue over his lower lip. Hand shaking, he reaches out to brush his fingers over the textured canvas.

“It’s rough,” Castiel says from right behind him (when the hell did he get that close?), “because becoming is always rough.”

And that’s how Dean Winchester decided Castiel Novak was a genius.

---

As school and life continues, Dean admires Castiel Novak from afar.

From what he can tell, Castiel doesn’t have many friends. He has admirers, which he ignores, and he has a few people who hang onto his fame, which he disdains, but actual friends? The only thing keeping Dean from volunteering is the thought that Castiel will turn the same withering look on him.

Castiel haunts the art building and, as Dean continues delving into the Art program at Carver Edlund University, he does the same. Sometimes he’ll pass Castiel on his way to his studio. Castiel always nods at him, but it’s a companionable gesture, the same that you might give to someone at the grocery store. He never stops to chat, doesn’t even remove his earbuds.

And that’s fine. So Dean’s harboring a crush that’s as much intellectual as it is physical. Plenty of people have crushes. It’s fine. It’s not like he’s obsessed. Not like he lurks around just so he can leave at the same time Castiel does. Not like he skulks through the dark halls so he can get a look at Castiel’s new project. That would make him creepy and pathetic, and those are two adjectives which certainly don’t describe Dean Winchester.

After a while, denial doesn’t even taste bad, just a little bitter.

By the end of his sophomore year, Dean’s accustomed to the status quo. He notices the light in the private studio allotted to Castiel (all senior Art majors get their own studios, but Castiel got the nicest of them), but he doesn’t stop on his way to his own (shared) studio. When he arrives, however, he screeches to a halt.

His studio is filled to the brim with snotty freshmen. His personal workplace has been completely commandeered by a freshman with a (barf) man bun. “What the hell?” Dean sputters. He can feel his face turning red with rage. “This is my time.”

Man-Bun pops his gum as he looks at Dean. His eyes are so hazy Dean’s surprised that he’s not deep-throating a bong at that very moment. “Um, guess again? We totally booked the studio for tonight?”

Seething, Dean storms to the schedule and checks. Sure enough, there’s a long list of names on the door for the studio space. “I always have Thursday,” he protests, but it’s an empty sort of rage. “I’m always here for Thursdays.”

Man-Bun shrugs, turning back to his psychedelic smattering of colors. “Not this Thursday, dude.”

Dismissed, Dean gathers his remaining dignity, and leaves. Standing out in the hallway, he reviews his options. He’s kicked out of his regular studio, and he needs to work tonight, otherwise he’ll never get his final project for figure drawing done. Every studio he passes is booked to capacity; clearly the art program is full of procrastinators. In fact, the only studio that has any sort of room...

“No. No. Shit.” Dean weighs the consequences of failing his class versus metaphorically throwing himself into a volcano. Finally, his fear of failure takes over, and he knocks on the door of his last remaining option.

The door swings open, revealing a Castiel who looks significantly more disheveled than normal (though normal Castiel usually looks like he was rode hard and put away wet). A smear of blue paint decorates one cheek while his earbuds dangle from his neck. Dean tries to ignore the spirals of Castiel’s tattoos, especially where they disappear under his shirt (he especially tries to ignore the thoughts of what those tattoos look like underneath Castiel’s shirt). Castiel blinks in surprise.

“Dean. What are you doing here?”

(The fact that Castiel knows Dean’s name comes as a shock. Dean assumed that he was one of the thousands of nameless faces Castiel passes every day.)

“Um, first let me say, it’s totally awesome if you say no, I don’t expect you to say yes, it’s a huge imposition--”

“Dean, you’re rambling.”

“Can i use your studio? Or share it? I wouldn’t ask, but a bunch of douchebags took mine and there are no other spaces open, and I really need to finish this project--”

“Sure. Come on.”

And with that, Castiel steps back and beckons Dean into his studio.

Dean crosses the threshold with something resembling awe. He never imagined, in his wildest dreams, that he would be allowed into Castiel’s inner sanctum. He tries not to gape too obviously as his eyes dart from corner to corner of the room. It looks...like a studio for the most part. Several canvases are hung around the room; if they’re discarded attempts or inspiration, Dean doesn’t know. They could easily function as either. Castiel finally steps in front of him, directing Dean’s attention to one corner of the room.

“Would there be good?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, that’s good.” He pauses, eyes darting nervously around the studio. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

Castiel frowns, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “No, of course not. If you were, I wouldn’t have opened up the door.” With that, he seems to consider the topic of conversation closed, and retreats back a few steps.

He sets up his work and tries to ignore the fact that Castiel Novak is watching him. It’s almost impossible not to feel his eyes; the skin on the back of Dean’s neck prickles in awareness, but he perseveres.

He sets his sketch on the easel before casting a critical eye upon it. He frowns as he notices every imperfection. it’s based off a series of sketches he jotted down in class earlier that day. Dean remembers the careless grace of the model, the way that the fabric had draped artlessly over his waist and shoulders, but he can’t recapture the specific atmosphere of the room, which was what made that particular model striking. Every time he tries to put onto the paper how the room felt, his figures end up wooden and two-dimensional.

“You’re paying too much attention to the form.”

Dean jumps, his charcoal pencil scrawling an ungainly line across the page. Not a huge loss, he was already going to toss this one anyway. He turns around to find Castiel standing directly behind him.

Castiel nods towards his sketchpad. “In your drawings. You’re paying too much attention to the form. That’s why it’s coming out wrong.”

“The form is all there is,” Dean replies, a little peevishly. He knows the sketch sucks, but that doesn’t mean he wants Castiel freaking Novak pointing it out to him.

“The form is one part. But you have the lighting and shading and you have the intention. The intention is...the feel of the room. It’s what remains unsaid and unseen to those who weren’t there. It’s what you’re trying to capture by paying so much attention to the form. Of course, by concentrating too much on the technical, you lose the abstract.”

Castiel flicks over to a new page with a deft flick of his wrist. He plucks the pencil from Dean’s grasp with one hand. With the other, he poses Dean’s hand close to his face. Castiel stares at Dean for a few excruciating seconds before he turns his attention to the empty page.

Dean hardly dares to breathe as Castiel sketches. He’s not sure how he’s going to return to real life, knowing now the tiny crease that knits between Castiel’s brows or how the tip of Castiel’s tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth. How is he supposed to live, knowing Castiel hums tunelessly as his hand works?

“There.” Castiel flips the sketch to face Dean. In it, Dean finds his own face, rendered in a few lines. It’s rough, certainly, but it’s a close enough likeness. More than that, Castiel’s managed to capture...

“Do I look that scared?” Dean blurts out, before he can stop himself.

Castiel actually laughs, deep and rumbling, from the diaphragm. It’s a lovely sound, one that fills the studio, and one Dean would gladly hear again and again. “You don’t look scared.” He sets the pencil down on the easel and turns fully to face Dean. “Anxious maybe. Hovering on the edge of anticipation.” He steps closer. His chest almost brushes Dean’s, which could be misinterpreted as Castiel not understanding the concept of personal space.

What can’t be misinterpreted is the unsubtle drop of Castiel’s eyes to Dean’s lips.

“I guess now would be a good time to tell you that I’ve really wanted to kiss you for almost a year,” Castiel says, his voice scraped rough around the edges. His eyes drag up to Dean’s, and Dean’s taken aback at the wild glint in them. Castiel steps closer and his clever fingers slip into the spaces between Dean’s fingers. “Please Dean,” Castiel breathes, raw and needy, “please, can I kiss you?”

“Fuck yes,” Dean murmurs, which is all he gets to say before Castiel’s hand cups the back of his head and his lips descend upon Dean’s.

Not that Dean’s bragging, but he’s had quite a few good kisses in his life (and been told that he gives quite a few good kisses). Castiel blows them all out of the water. Dean’s never been kissed so thoroughly before, like Castiel wants to own him, like Castiel’s interested in finding exactly what makes Dean tick. His teeth nip at the swell of Dean’s lower lip while his tongue delicately traces the seam of Dean’s lips. Dean eagerly opens his mouth, moaning into Castiel’s mouth as Castiel’s tongue slips in along his.

Hours or days later, when they part, Dean realizes that while one of his hands is cupping the spur of Castiel’s hip (holy fuck, those hips feel like handles for his hands), his other hand is still holding Castiel’s. It’s certainly the sweetest kiss that’s ever given him a boner.

Castiel laughs, a little breathless. It’s only then Dean realizes he’s a little taller than Castiel. “You do live up to expectations,” he murmurs, and Dean’s not sure whether Castiel’s talking to himself or not.

The words spark a recent memory in Dean, and suddenly nothing is more important than finding out the truth. “You said you wanted to do that for a year?” Castiel nods, his eyes suddenly shifting to the side. “Why?”

“Everyone always goes on about my art. How groundbreaking it is, how I’m a ‘once in a generation talent’.” Castiel uses finger-quotes, which should not be as endearing as Dean finds it. “And it’s nice, but none of them even bother to see my art for what it is. They just see my name attached to it and they lose their shit. But last year...You saw that painting. It didn’t matter to you who made it. You saw it and appreciated it for what it was. And I...I saw you.”

Castiel swallows. For all his suave confidence earlier, he looks oddly vulnerable now. “So, anyway. Yeah. For a year now. Um...” He glances at Dean’s easel. “I guess I’ll leave you alone now. Or if you want privacy, I can go.”

“Or,” Dean says, the pink flush on Castiel’s cheeks giving him all the bravery he’ll ever need. “You could stay.” Castiel’s eyes slice to him, their blue intense and jaw-dropping. Dean grins, a little predatory, like they’re on even ground.

“After all, I’m going to need a model for this sketch.”

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #dean winchester #castiel #college au #art school au #artist!cas #artist!dean #nervous!dean #meet cute #dothwrites

946 notes · View notes

talkfastromance4 · 4 years

Text

Ghost of Me-- Luke&Lily oneshot

Yeah, um. Lie to me and Ghost of You came on while I was driving and this is....what happened. I’m sorry.

Word count: 2705

donate to my ko-fi here :)

Masterlist

Luke&Lily masterlist

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

• • • •

Luke enters his house solemnly, his shoulders are hunched over as he tosses his bags at the end of the couch. He examines the room and a year and a half ago, it would be like nothing’s changed. But a lot can change in three months.

Three months he’s been gone on a short leg of tour and while he’s left before, this one hit him harder. He greets Petunia half-heartedly as he walks down the hall, and he peeks inside her room and his heart stops.

Lily’s toys are gone. Her bed is stripped. The whole room is empty.

Like a wave, the fight you and him had crashed into him. He shut the door and went to fall onto his bed, subconsciously he fell on your side and he could still smell the faint scent of your lotion. Your words and his words swarm in his head.

He remembers thinking that he got this right, leaving you and Lily but then coming right back picking up where you left off. But the more frequent it was that he left, the harder it became. He began to distance himself from you right before this mini three month tour began.

You fought so hard for all three of you and all Luke did was give you and Lily a kiss as he left for the airport. No I love you, no promise of calling.

No calls. No texts. No photos or videos were exchanged within those three months. It was radio silence as Luke went through the motions of performing and doing interviews. He was a ghost of himself and the guys tried to help and talk with him but he isolated himself. He’s good at that.

So he shouldn’t really be all that surprised that you and Lily weren’t here waiting for him with open arms as if all is forgiven. It cuts through him like a branded serrated knife.

It’s three a.m and the moonlight’s testing him as he sits at his piano. The ivory’s shine from the glow of the moon and memories of him playing Lily’s Lullaby while you held her in her arms swim in his head. Sometimes Lily gets so tired she fights sleep, and even though you’re usually good at getting her to sleep, it still renders difficulty.

Combined with your calming rocking and Luke’s voice singing to her, she’d fall asleep within seconds, bunny clutched under her chin.

To drown out the memories, he takes a shot of tequila he has on the piano ledge and fills it up once more from the bottle. His phone buzzes and he’s reminded yet again of what he’s lost.

You and Lily’s smiling faces smile back at him and he scrolls through the album he’s created of his girls. Well, not his girls anymore.

Lily’s shouts for you wake you from an already restful slumber. You haven’t been sleeping all that well since Luke left for the tour. It pained your heart but his hesitancy before he went away was answer enough that the relationship couldn’t continue.

It took three days without contact for you to finally gather the courage to gather all of yours and Lily’s things and bring them back to your townhouse. It was still yours even though you’d moved in with Luke and you’re thankful the mortgage was already paid off on it because you had somewhere to run back to.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay honey,” you hush to Lily lifting her from her crib. She’s crying slightly as she squeezes your neck in a vice grip. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Lu,” she cries and your breath catches.

Even though she wakes like this every night, it still puts you in shock at just how much she misses him too. It breaks your heart but he made his choice. You hadn’t expected him to suddenly be a blue suit guy who works a 9-5 job and become a family man, but you also hadn’t expected him to get cold feet a year and a half in the relationship. You also hadn’t expected him to ghost you.

“I know baby, I miss Lu, too,” you sniff patting her back.

“Lu sing,” she sniffs.

Another pained twist to your heart. You gathered her snuffy and shuffled back to your bedroom. You connected your phone to the speaker and selected her song from the album Luke made for her.

While his voice crooned her to sleep and her breathing slowed, you cried silently into your pillow as you listened to his voice.

You ached for Luke, and each night having to play this for Lily made it even worse.

****

It’s day three of being home alone and Luke’s been avoiding the living room like the plague. It’s where Lily would always dance along to the Disney movie she’d be watching and more often than not, Luke would dance with her.

When she’d be tucked in bed he’d pull you against his chest and dance with you while he sang softly in your ear.

Dancing through our house with the ghost of you never rang more true.

Luke has taken a shower twice a day since he’s been home. The water is scalding as if he thinks it will rub away his sadness and this continued ache for you and Lily. He stands below the water, letting it trickle over him but he finds no relief.

Lily’s giggles and squeals echo in his mind wherever he goes in his house. Her sitting in her high chair feeding Petunia. How she’d climb onto his piano bench and press her tiny fingers to the keys thinking she was playing music. How she’d try to climb up into his bed to cuddle with you and him.

The memories were eating away at him, tormenting him more and more by the second.

All he had to do was call. Find your name (that still had the two pink hearts next to it) and press it.

But would you really pick up? He was an ass, he knows he was, so how can he fix this?

Ashton has tried calling, and so have Calum and Michael but Luke chooses to wallow in his own pity that he created. He dug this hole, now he’s got to be buried in it.

On Thursday evening he’s got some movie on just for background noise and he stares blankly at the screen. He recognizes Adam Sandler but he doesn’t know what the plot is when there’s a knock and a ring at his door.

Jumping to his feet thinking it’s you and Lily, he races to it and has to push piggy away. He’s shocked when he sees Cory standing there, hands in his pockets.

“Hey man, can I come in?”

Luke stares for another moment before he’s nodding and steps aside. What’s he doing here?

“Um, can I get you a drink?” Luke asks a bit awkwardly. It’s not that he and Cory don’t get along, they do pretty well. Cory’s come to some of the Friends of Friends shows and to some of the cookouts Ashton or Calum have.

“Nah, I’m good. Uh,” Cory turns around rubbing the back of his neck. “How are you doing since they left?”

“I haven’t left, if that answers your question,” Luke sighs.

“Look, I sort of know what happened. Y/N told me after she and Lily moved back to the townhouse but take it from me, don’t let them go. I let them go once and I’m so thankful Y/N let me in Lily’s life. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

“Has she . . . said anything else? About me?”

“They miss you like crazy. Lily asks for you all the time, she never goes anywhere without her bunny. I mean, she didn’t before, but if it’s out of her hands for half a second she throws a fit. Y/N says she wakes up every night crying for you,” Cory tells him quietly.

Luke’s eyes sting with tears and he covers his escaped sob by a cough. That little known fact cuts deep. He clears his throat before he looks back up at Cory expecting to see pity but he sees understanding in his eyes. Lily’s eyes. Luke’s never noticed that before.

“Why are you telling me this? I know how you still feel about Y/N--”

“Because I know how much she loves and misses you, too. I’ll always love Y/N, we have a history and a good friendship but she’s in love with you, Luke. And I’m okay with that because I still have her and Lily in my life. I like you too,” Cory laughs, “and how you look right now is what I looked like for over a year before I saw them again. Lily’s only been coming by me on Friday’s for the last couple months. Y/N will be home alone tomorrow.”

Luke’s nodding to everything he says.

“Do you think she’ll take me back?”

“I don’t think . . . I know she will.”

Cory walks to the front door and Luke follows behind.

“Hey Cory,” Luke says and Cory turns. He holds out his hand. “Thanks for coming by.”

“No problem,” Cory smiles, shaking his hand and opens the door. “I expect to see the both of you at my place picking up Lily.”

****

It’s a light drizzle as Luke drives to your house, he’s tapping the steering wheel nervously. He hopes Cory is right and that you’re home. He hopes you’ll let him in and accept his forgiveness. When he pulls to the curb he sits for a couple moments trying to gather his breathing and relax his heart. When neither works, he gets out and that’s when it starts pouring.

He hopes this isn’t a sign of what’s to come.

He runs up the walkway to your door, cold rain pelting him as he bangs on the door and presses the doorbell frantically. The light above the door flickers on and he sees you through the curtains of the small window on the door.

For a moment you just stare at each other, your eyes wide in shock before you wrench it open.

“Luke.”

When you say his name he doesn’t even think before he’s colliding his lips to yours, bodies crashing together. You react all too willingly, pulling him inside by the lapel of his leather jacket. He kicks the door shut behind him, locking it in his wake and you take that opportunity to peel his jacket off him.

It’s tossed to the floor in a wet heap and Luke’s hands are on your waist bunching up your shirt. Lips moving furiously together, he pushes you against the wall spreading your legs open with his thigh. You moan quietly and Luke breaks the kiss only to lift your shirt up and off.

His piercing blue eyes stare into yours as his thumb traces your lips prying them open so he can slip his tongue inside. You close your eyes and moan at the all too familiar feeling, your fingers working on the button of his jeans.

Luke pulls you away from the wall so he can make his way to your bedroom. You bang against the hallway walls like a pinball, clothes getting discarded along the way. Lips never leaving lips.

When you’re finally on your bed, Luke hovers over you, his necklaces dangling in front of your face. You comb his wet curls away from his face staring up at him and he stares back, your breathing is heavy. You’ve missed him so much and he’s finally here.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers bending his neck down to give you a soft kiss.

“I know,” you murmur curling his hair behind his ears. You stroke your finger down his nose, trace his cupid’s bow and caress his cheek. “I’m sorry I left.”

He collides his lips with yours again and you both scramble to get the blanket over his body, the rain was cold and he’s wet so you didn’t want him to catch a cold. Luke pushes himself into you, you both groan at the stretch of him attempting going in dry.

But you’re both so desperate for each other, you couldn’t wait for foreplay. Luke held his cock at the base, head down as he concentrated on sliding into you. He rubbed his tip against your folds, hitting your clit and it caused you to moan which aroused you.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon lovie,” he pants with each attempted thrust until he finally slides all the way in. Both of you moan at being joined together once again, your nails dig into his shoulders as he pulls out and enters you again.

“Oh yes, Luke,” you sigh, closing your eyes at each pull.

He finds a steady rhythm, gliding and pulling with ease. His left hand is near your head while his right holds onto your stomach as he fucks into you. You’re both moaning and sighing as he accelerates, you open your legs wider so you can cross your ankles on his lower back. You aid him to go faster by pushing on his back and thrusting your hips up into his.

Luke sucks on your neck and kisses the base of your throat until you’re gasping out your first orgasm. He hums along with you.

“Fuck, Y/N, always feels so good,” he breathes and attempts to kiss you.

Your bodies rock and jolt so it makes kissing difficult but you can feel the love there. Luke rotates his hips and somehow speeds up even more until he groans and pulsates inside you. You feel his warmth seep into you and you gasp at the feeling, tugging on his hair to bring his lips back up to yours.

After you both catch your breath and disentangle your sweaty, sticky bodies, he cleans up his mess and is quick to join you in bed. He peppers kisses along your forehead and your chest, anywhere he can mumbling ‘I love you.’

And because you both know each other so well, you don’t have to discuss what happened. It just did, it was a small bump in the road but you’re okay now. You will continue to be okay but when Luke told you “I want you and Lily in my life forever” you couldn’t deny the elation you felt from the finality of his statement.

****

You stayed up most of the night talking, kissing and touching. You were getting familiar with each other again and after you spent the first half of the day in bed making love, it was time to get Lily.

Luke is just as nervous as he was the first time he was going to meet Lily. His knee was bouncing in the seat as you drove to Cory’s house and you reached over to still it.

“She’s going to be ecstatic, baby, trust me,” you smile at him.

As you pull into the driveway, the door is already open and Cory smiles when he sees Luke in the car. Lily is in his arms and Cory points just as you and Luke get out of the car.

“LU!” Lily exclaims and wriggles from Cory’s grip.

She runs as fast as she can, giggling and squealing as she does and Luke runs to her as well. He scoops her up in his arms, cradling her head as she hugs him tightly and he does the same.

“Oh my sweet, I’ve missed you . . . hi my sweet girl,” he sighs, closing his eyes, finally feeling like his heart is whole again by having this little girl in his arms again.

“Dada, dada, dada!” she rambles and Luke opens his eyes in alarm.

Cory nods at Luke as if to say it’s okay and he moves to console you, you’re crying at the reunion.

“I love you so much, Lily,” Luke says and kisses her head multiple times. She pulls back and he wipes away the wetness on her chubby cheeks.

“Dada stay?”

“Yeah, dada’s staying,” he smiles and kisses her nose. She hugs him tightly again and you join in on the hug. You’re all put back together again.

• • • •

Copyright talkfastromance4 © All works is intellectual property of the author. All rights reserved. Any redistribution or reproduction or any part or all contents in any form is prohibited. You may not, without written expression and consent from the author, distribute works amongst other social media platforms

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peterbishop · 4 years

Note

I'd be interested in what you could do for 52 or 91??

52. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

Jake Peralta needs a new comforter.

He also needs a new toaster and a new towel and probably a new couch, but a comforter, that’s what he needs most. Because he has a girlfriend now, someone who is smart and charming and beautiful, who likes going on dates with him and kissing him and sometimes even coming back to his apartment to completely undo him.

He can’t have her lying on his shitty comforter while he tries to put on his sexiest moves for her (that doesn’t count dancing anymore—he tried to do a Magic Mike move and it resulted him with an ice pack on his hamstring). Amy Santiago is too perfect and out of his league for him to do that. He can’t give her a reason to up and leave on him because he’s not sure if he would ever recover. And it’s irrational for him to think that—they’ve only been dating for a month, and it’s not like he’s close to saying I love you anytime soon, but a small part of him thinks this could be it. It: that forever and ever romantic kind of way, like all the Disney movies and his mom’s favorite sappy novels say.

So, he buys a pale blue comforter, because Amy looks good in blue and against blue, and he thinks he’d be okay with her never leaving his sheets.

Backtrack: he’d be more than okay with that.

“I was thinking,” she tells him on Thursday, “maybe I can stay at your place this weekend.”

“Really?” he perks up. “Like stay over Friday night and Saturday night?”

“That is the weekend,” she says flatly.

“Sounds like a sexy sleepover, Santiago,” he smiles, all teeth and charm.

She rolls her eyes, but it’s fond. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“As if I ever would,” he says like it’s a joke, but it’s bright honesty. His eyes soften, and hers do too, and he kinda really wants to kiss her right here in the bullpen. He knows the rules, specifically Amy’s rules when it comes to PDA, but curse him for having the most beautiful girlfriend in the world.

And he thinks she might want to kiss him too, how her lips bow and slightly separate. He’s starting to learn this look: the one where she wants to lean in and press her mouth to his. Sometimes, it’s chaste; her eyebrows flit up and she gives him an inquisitive smile. Other times, it’s deep and passionate and just a bit rough; she leans into him, her hands wandering all over his body like she’s trying to smother a flame, but rather she ignites it, heat and wanting in every touch.

He knows her, and she knows him: it’s perhaps the most intimate thing of all, to know and predict.

But for now, they watch each other, inspect and consider, and in the moment, it’s enough; it’s enough.

Jake vacuums his apartment. He moves his shoes and clothes off the floor, does the dishes, scrubs the countertops. He washes and rewashes the comforter, making it smell like flowers and subsequently, a bit like Amy. She always smells a touch like roses, sweet and summery, sun on her skin. Light, airy, and he wants to breathe her in.

Not in a weird way, of course. Totally not weird at all.

When Amy knocks on his door, he opens it with a smile, and she moves towards him, slanting her lips over his. It’s quick but alludes to something more, especially with the cinching of her eyebrows and curve to her mouth. She tosses her weekend bag on his chair and kicks off her shoes before falling to his couch.

“Hope you didn’t miss me too much during your day off,” she says with a smirk.

He thinks back to the nonstop cleaning he’s done on this Friday. “Oh, Ames,” he croons. “Are you saying that because you’re actually the one who missed me?”

“You wish,” she says, but the way she reaches for his hand to pull him down next to her that lets him know he’s right.

They order cheap Chinese food and put on HGTV, yelling insults when the couple picks the wrong house on House Hunters and nearly dropping chow mein on Jake’s couch. His fingers skim over the revealed strip of Amy’s skin from where her shirt has hiked up, and she laughs, breathy and teary-eyed. She’s ticklish, he concludes with a grin, and suddenly his hands all over her, listening to her wheeze and giggle. “Jake,” she struggles to say, “Jake,” as he pins her into the couch, smirking dangerously.

Suddenly, her hand is on the back of his head, and she’s tugging his mouth to hers. His hands fall to her hips, forgetting anything that has to do with tickling, and thinking about how he has the girl of his dreams under him instead. It’s all so easy in a way that still surprises him. It’s never been this easy for Jake before: relationships used to be tinged with uncertainty. Here, he kisses her and he knows she’ll kiss him back just as eagerly. Her tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, and he reciprocates, awash with hunger and a feeling he’ll later realize is falling in love. How she renders him powerless every time, how he’ll never be immune to her. It’s messy and desperate, teeth clanking and lips wandering.

“Let’s go to my bedroom,” he barely gets out.

He brings her to his bedroom, hand in hand, not knowing how to be without each other’s touch. She looks at him with dark eyes and flushed cheeks, and he lowers her onto his bed. Her back meets the comforter, and for a split second, all he can do is watch: her brown hair against the pale blue fabric, her chest moving with heavy breaths, her gaze weighted and imbued with desire. For him. It’s all for him. He considers her in such a way, thinks of her as a center to his galaxy, that he forgets she must think of him in the same way.

It’s enough to make him weak in the knees, and he’s on top of her again, propped up on his forearms and straddling her hips. His lips move from her mouth to her neck to her collarbone, reveling in the warmth of her skin. At first it’s languid exploration: his tongue sweeping over the sensitive hollow of her throat, her fingers playing with the curls of his hair, their mouths finding one another once more.

Soon, it devolves into less adoration and more need and wanting; he’s pulling at her shirt, craving the plane of her stomach. He yanks off the fabric, tossing it to the side. She makes quick work of his plaid button-up, and suddenly the rest of their clothes are coming off, shucking off pants and throwing his belt and—

He jumps up at the sound of metal hitting glass. His eyes widen at the sight of a glass falling from his bedside table to his bed, orange soda cascading down his comforter.

“Fuck,” Jake grumbles.

Amy sits up, and he looks over at her, only wearing a bra and panties. He’s just in his boxers and they were so close, but now he’s ruined his new comforter and completely killed the mood.

He picks up the glass and desperately tries to mop up the puddle of orange soda with an old shirt he found caught between the bed-frame and his side table.

“I’m so sorry, Amy,” he says. “I tried to make this night perfect. I-I cleaned my apartment and picked up all my shoes and I even bought this new comforter, and now it’s ruined. Everything’s ruined.”

“Jake,” she says softly, her hand curling around his wrist. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he replies bluntly, squeezing his eyes shut with a sigh.

“It’s just a spilled drink,” she tries.

“Please,” Jake scoffs, throat tight with adolescent insecurities. “You’ll probably want to go home now. Our weekend is a complete bust.”

“I’m not going home—“

“I just want to be a good boyfriend.” He throws the soiled shirt into the trash with a sigh.

“You are,” she says, sure and warmly. Her hands smooth over his stomach, up to his ribcage. They’re cold against his skin, but he barely notices.

“Because I know I’m messy, and sometimes it seems like I don’t care, but really, I’m trying. I swear I’m trying. I can be better—”

“Jake,” she says, “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

God, he almost wants to cry. Cry out of being liked so deeply, so unconditionally by Amy, the person he carries a torch for like no other. “You mean that?”

“Well,” she laughs, and he frowns, “I would change your diet and make you drink more water if I could, but other than that, I think you’re pretty perfect.”

He’s so lucky. So, so lucky. He holds her face in his hands when he draws her into a kiss. She smiles against his mouth, and he can’t stop himself from beaming too. It’s the type of joy that he makes it near impossible to kiss her, his mouth stretching overly wide.

“I guess we can sleep on my couch,” he says eventually, looking at the giant orange circle on his bed.

“I’m not sleeping on that thing,” she says. His shoulders drop. Her thumb circles over the pulse of his wrist, and she smiles. “Let’s get dressed and head to Ikea. We’ll get you a new comforter.”

It’s such a domestic idea, his heart almost gives out. “Okay,” he says, dropping his head so she doesn’t see the light blush on his cheeks.

She pulls on her shirt. Her lips curl mischievously: “And maybe pick things off where we left them when we get back.”

“Oh, you’re killing me, Ames,” he says. She tries to give him a wink, but it’s awkwardly terrible, making him laugh.

He wouldn’t change a thing about her, either.

#i've never written early relationship peraltiago in my life #so uh #hope i strike the right tone for them #my writing #jake x amy #b99 #hope u like it anon! i tried!#anonymous #emma replies

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

Text

The Convenient Groom: 7/13

The slow burn continues to simmer in this chapter as Emma and Killian settle into a routine, and Anna’s wedding planning forces them to figure out “their song.”

This is first and foremost a gift for @spartanguard, and this chapter includes several little touches just for her!

As I wrote this, I tried to imagine what kind of music best suits Emma’s and Killian’s personalities. So, don’t take offense at some of their musical opinions - I made digs at music even I like! And fyi, if you go on YouTube to search for wedding songs, this is pretty much what will happen (minus the hot guy to dance with you, of course).

Summary: Killian Jones just happens to be there when Emma Swan gets the phone call that changes everything: her fiance is leaving her at the altar. The thing is, it could also mean the end of her career. Convenient that Killian has nothing better to do that day. Convenient that he’s secretly in love with her. Not that Emma has to know that. Written for @spartanguard .

Rating: M

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @distant-rose @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan

Emma and Killian both had thought that life would slow down once they were back from the honeymoon, and it most ways, it had. The past week they had fallen into a comfortable routine. Killian woke first, tidied up the sofa where he had slept, then went for a run with Smee at his heels. While he was gone, Emma woke, made the coffee, and filled Smee’s bowl with kibble. Emma had her run on the treadmill while Killian showered, then he made breakfast while she showered. This kept Emma from leaving dirty knives poised on the edge of the sink, and gave Killian an opportunity to put her half-finished coffee in a travel mug.

Emma then raced out the door after snatching her breakfast out of Killian’s waiting hands. She was always running late for her 9 am appointment. Killian had yet to figure out why she didn’t schedule her first one later in the day. As for himself, he lingered over his breakfast so he could read a bit before heading into work.

Her book - he was reading her book.

Emma had seen it in various places around the house - on the coffee table, beside Killian’s morning coffee, and on the patio table. She wanted to ask him what he thought, yet at the same time she feared what his opinion would be. Men didn’t normally read her book, after all. Except for that one pompous windbag who only read it so he could skewer it. She couldn’t see Killian eviscerating her like that jerk had, but she also knew he would be honest. That tiny voice of doubt always at the back of her mind kept whispering that he hated every word she’d written. So she remained silent. She did note, however, that his book mark kept moving deeper into its pages.

At work, things went on pretty much as they were before, with one exception. Even though the paparazzi hadn’t followed them to Storybrooke, they still couldn’t let down their guard. The town had to believe they were a couple too, and Emma still had to keep up pretenses on her social media. For that reason, Emma made her way into his workshop at twelve each day asking what he wanted to do for lunch. Some days they walked over to Granny’s to grab a bite together (hand in hand or arm in arm - for appearances sake), while other days Killian was busy on a project and Emma brought lunch back for him. Their “work lunches” had already appeared on Instagram.

They didn’t always leave for home at the same time. It depended on Emma’s schedule and how engrossed Killian was in his current project (he had a bad habit of losing track of time). Yet Killian always insisted on cooking dinner for them both, and no matter what work had been like, they were seated at the kitchen table with a home cooked meal at seven pm every night. After that, they’d plop down on the couch and find something to watch on Netflix. Right now they were doing a rewatch of Parks & Rec.

It had honestly been the most steady, domestic week of Emma’s life. She would never admit it to anyone, especially not to Killian, but she loved it.

Unfortunately, there was one thorn in both their sides, and her name was Anna. They really should have looked closer at the calendar when they had suggested July 4th for the family ceremony.

It was Thursday night, and their enjoyment of the shenanigans in Pawnee, Indiana, was interrupted by a light tapping on the back door. They both groaned as Emma pressed a throw pillow to her face.

“I guess we can’t ignore her?” Killian asked half-jokingly as he paused the show.

Emma whacked him with the pillow. “You’re the one who started the habit of your family coming to your back door. Who does that?”

Or maybe lots of families did that - Emma really wouldn’t know.

Killian sighed again, his head dropping onto the back of the sofa. “Come in,” he called out.

“There’s really only one more thing I need to ask you two,” Anna said without preamble as she rushed through the door. “Sparklers - yes or no? Because I think they’re romantic, but Kristoff says they’re for kids, and Liam said they’re cliche, and Elsa worried we’d burn our fingers, which if you think about it, kind of contradicts what Kristoff said because if kids use them, I’m pretty sure we can handle them without burning ourselves.”

Anna finally ran out of words, and just stood there in front of them expectantly. Emma was rendered speechless, wondering how Anna hadn’t passed out from lack of oxygen, and Killian simply looked confused.

“Sparklers for what?” he finally asked.

“The wedding,” Anna clarified with a roll of her eyes.

“You know, babe,” Emma teased, poking him in the leg, “the reason she’s popped over here every single night?”

Killian rubbed his jaw, and Emma noted the bags under his eyes and frowned. For the first time, she wondered how well he was sleeping out here on the couch.

“Aye, our small, family ceremony.” He looked at Anna pointedly as he emphasized the words.

“It will be,” she insisted, punching Killian in the arm. “It’s just going to be the six of us. Now, what’s your song?”

She had a literal binder opened on her lap. It was so large, her pregnant belly was about to send it sliding to the floor. Her gaze was on them expectantly, a pen poised over the binder.

Emma glanced at Killian. “Ummm . . . we don’t really have one?” She shrugged.

Anna’s shoulders slumped and her lips turned down into a frown as if Emma had just insulted her personally. “How can you not have a song?”

“It’s not a requirement, A,” Killian pointed out.

“But . . . but . . . you had a first dance at your big fancy wedding. I saw pictures of it on the internet. What did you dance to?”

“Don’t use that,” Emma blurted out before she could stop herself. Anna frowned.

“It was just some generic song the DJ picked out,” Killian explained hurriedly. “We didn’t like it, actually.” He turned to Emma with a grin. “Remember how we laughed about that song?”

Emma’s chuckle was genuine. “We sure did.”

“Oh, well that’s disappointing . . .” Anna trailed off, slumping against the sofa. Emma was really expecting the binder to hit the floor now.

“I tell you what,” Killian encouraged her, “Emma and I will pick out a song, ok?”

“You can’t just pick out a song!” Anna argued, and Emma was startled as tears welled in the redhead’s eyes. “It has to be meaningful!” She dashed at her tears in frustration. “I’m sorry it’s these stupid pregnancy hormones.”

Killian moved to sit next to Anna and put his arm around her. “Don’t worry, A. It’ll be meaningful. I promise.”

“By tomorrow?”

“By tomorrow.”

Anna narrowed her eyes. “And it won’t be generic?”

Killian put his hand to his heart. “I promise we will find something meaningful to our relationship.”

“I know I’m being ridiculous,” she chuckled as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“No you’re not,” Emma assured her, “it’s really sweet of you to put all this together.”

Anna gave her a watery smile, then started trying to hoist herself to her feet. Killian rushed to help her, then she gathered her binder and headed for the back door.

“Oh, and Anna,” Emma called out after her.

“Yeah?” Anna asked as she turned back around.

“Yes to the sparklers.”

Anna’s answering grin was almost worth the nightly interruptions. Almost.

“Okay, Swan,” Killian exclaimed as soon as the door shut behind Anna. “We’ve got some work to do.”

“The song?” Emma was incredulous. “You’re not serious!”

“As a heart attack. You heard her. She wants something meaningful. Don’t you think it will arouse suspicions if we pick, like . . . ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ or something?”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “Why would that be suspicious?”

“Because that’s in practically every rom com ever made.”

Emma snorted through her nose. “I never took you for the rom com type.”

He smirked at her. “I have many facets, love.”

Emma shook her head and couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “Okay, romance expert, how in the world do we pick a song? There are literally millions of love songs.”

“Well,” Killian replied, plopping down on the couch next to her and taking the remote, “I bet there’s a wedding dance playlist on YouTube. We’ll start there.”

He scrolled through the menu on their smart tv as Emma lounged against the back of the couch and studied him. “I’m still trying to imagine you watching . . . say . . . You’ve Got Mail or something.”

“Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks are legends, darling,” he countered smoothly, still concentrating on the tv.

“Okay, I guess, but what about . . . While You Were Sleeping?”

“Sandra Bullock and Bill Pullman? What’s not to love?” He winked at her. “Okay, Emma, here we have top 100 wedding dance songs.”

“100!”

He waved his hand at her dismissively. “I’m sure half of them we can rule out rather quickly.”

“You mean the super cheesy ones?”

“Precisely.” He narrowed his eyes as he pulled up the playlist, and Emma couldn’t stop the fleeting thought that he was cute like this - his eyes all crinkled at the corners and his brow furrowed. “Okay, we’ve got Bruno Mars, Justin Timberlake -”

“No, and no.”

“Okay, The Chainsmokers -”

“You can not be serious.”

“Whip/Nae Nae?!?”

“You must have the wrong list,” Emma told him, snatching the remote out of his hands. “That must be stuff to play at a wedding to get people to dance.”

“Ah, you’re right. Try first dance.”

“Wedding . . . “ Emma murmured as she used the arrow keys to choose the letters, “dang it, Killian, you really need to get one of those voice activated tvs.” She glanced over at him to see him grinning at her. “What?”

“You stick your tongue out a bit when you’re concentrating,” he told her, gesturing towards her lips, “it’s cute.”

Emma glowered at him, but felt her cheeks heat all the same. She forced her gaze back on the tv. “Okay, let’s see . . . First Dance - Wedding Suggestions or Most Popular Wedding First Dance Songs. Both have 117 videos.”

Killian shrugged. “Just pull up the first one.”

“Ed Sheeran,” they both read at the same time, then glanced at each other. Simultaneously they both burst out laughing.

“I’m hoping that’s a no?” Killian asked her tentatively.

“Of course it’s a no! Ed Sheeran screams generic.”

“You know, darling, maybe we’ve put the cart before the horse.”

“Okay, old man, what the hell does that mean?”

“Well,” he replied, smoothly overlooking her jab, “what kind of music do you like?”

Emma scrunched up her nose and tapped on her chin. Killian thought once again that she looked adorable, but he didn’t say so. “Ummm . . . I guess more rock than pop. Definitely no country. And don’t laugh but . . . I like punk.”

A slow grin spread across Killian’s face. “Love, I feel we are a match made in heaven.” When Emma’s jaw dropped, he sputtered and scratched behind his ear. “Uh, I meant musically speaking.”

“Riiight,” Emma said, nodding slowly. “Oh, and no power ballads. She rolled her eyes. I don’t think I can listen to an 80s hair band again after Walsh.”

Killian chuckled. “Okay then, let’s just scroll through these with all of that in mind, shall we?”

It wasn’t easy. Most were either pop or country, and the classics like Etta James “At Last” felt too cliched. A few had them chuckling. Who the bloody hell would dance to Dave Matthews Band. Do they have any idea what Crash into Me is about? And Killian played REO Speedwagon’s “Can’t Fight this Feeling” just so he could dramatically sing it to Emma until she collapsed laughing on the couch.

“Wait!” Emma called out finally, clutching his wrist where he held the remote. “That one? Maybe?”

“This one?”

“Yeah - you think?”

He grinned at her as he rose from the couch and offered her his hand. Emma’s brow

furrowed.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m asking you to dance.”

She rolled her eyes. “We did that already, remember?”

Killian arched both brows at her. “But that was Walsh’s cheesy power ballad about sex, remember? Anna wants us to pick a meaningful song, and we can’t do that if we don’t get the full affect.”

Emma battled the smile that teased her lips and lost. “Okay,” she said, putting her hand in his. Her traitorous cheeks blushed as he pulled her up and close to him. He pushed the play button, and Paul McCartney’s voice filled the small house.

Maybe I’m amazed by the way you love me all the time. Maybe I’m afraid of the way I love you.

For some reason, dancing with Killian now felt even more nerve-wracking than it had at the wedding. She stared down at their shuffling feet, inexplicably terrified to look into his eyes. His very pretty, blue, expressive eyes that she swore sometimes could see right through her.

Maybe I’m amazed at the way you pulled me out of time. Hung me on a line. Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you.

“Well, the lyrics are definitely meaningful,” Killian chuckled awkwardly. “A won’t be able to argue that point.”

Baby I’m a man and maybe I’m a lonely man who’s in the middle of something that he doesn’t really understand.

Inwardly, Killian was cursing Paul McCartney as the lyrics hit like barbs. He realized he had tightened his grip on Emma’s waist, but she didn’t flinch away. He cleared his throat nervously, then almost choked when Emma’s green eyes met his. She’d had them glued to her feet until this very moment.

Baby I’m a man and baby you’re the only woman who could ever help me. Baby won’t you help me understand?

“Yeah,” she whispered, “I mean, it is Paul McCartney.”

“Uh huh,” Killian winced at how utterly idiotic he sounded. What was this conversation about, again?

Blessedly, the song went into an instrumental break. They continued to shuffle their feet across the living room carpet, but his grip relaxed, and so did Emma’s shoulders.

“So . . . “ she said tentatively, biting on her lower lip, “I saw you were reading my book.”

“I am.”

Emma tilted her head. “So . . . what do you think?”

Killian pressed his lips together and gazed over her shoulder, collecting his thoughts. “I think you give women very good advice on how to be smart while dating. I also like how you draw a line in the sand, telling women they should never have to change who they are to keep a man. I feel like so much dating advice is really telling people to put on an act, and that’s just garbage. I think your book empowers women to cut off bad relationships.”

Emma nodded, impressed. Those were usually the things in her book that got her hate mail from irate ex-boyfriends.

“Do I sense a but after that praise?”

Killian let out a long sigh, then looked her directly in the eye with such intensity that Emma couldn’t have looked away if she’d wanted to. “But, the chart that’s in there? The one that will show you if someone is compatible with you?” He shook his head, and Emma swore his arm snaked farther around her waist, pulling her just a hair closer. His head bent closer to hers, and his voice dropped an octave. “Love can’t be quantified and measured like that, Swan. It defies logic. It takes everything you thought you knew and obliterates it. When it’s real, you can’t tell where you end and the other person begins. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, and comforting all at once. When you love someone, you don’t need a chart. When you love someone - really love them - you just know.”

Baby, I’m amazed at the way you’re with me all the time. Maybe I’m afraid of the way I leave you.

There was no mistaking it now, Killian had pulled her closer, his hand splayed across her back. Emma pressed her face to his collarbone, relieved that she was no longer looking into his piercing eyes. Killian pressed his lips against her hair.

“I haven’t offended you, have I?”

“No,” Emma managed to choke out, “I appreciate your honest opinion . . . “

“But?” he prompted with a chuckle.

“But your romantic views are exactly what gets people into trouble. That’s why I suggest people analyze the person before feelings get involved.”

Paul McCartney’s voice trailed off, the final strains of the music died, and a YouTube ad for Facebook Messenger started to play. Killian lifted his head and pulled back a step. Emma looked into his eyes once again.

“What if it’s too late?”

“My book says to fill out the chart after the first date, Jones.”

“What if it doesn’t happen the traditional way?” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What if love sneaks up on you?”

Emma swallowed and took a step back. His arm fell away from her waist, and she shivered.

“I think Paul McCartney will work, don’t you?”

He chuckled. “Aye, Swan.”

Suddenly, Kelly Clarkson’s voice filled the room as the first strands of “A Moment Like This” played, and they both burst out laughing. It broke the tension, thankfully, and Emma plopped back down on the couch and snatched up the remote. She started flipping through the songs in the playlist again, just in case. Killian sat down next to her.

“So,” she said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, “you said we’re a match made in heaven music wise. You share my tastes?”

He shrugged. “Mostly. I’m rock more than pop too, though I don’t discount it entirely. I mean, The Beatles are technically pop.”

“True,” Emma conceded, “and then there’s Michael Jackson.”

“Exactly! And, I’d go less for punk and more for alternative.”

“Let me guess. Pearl Jam? Nirvana?”

“Naturally. And Goo Goo Dolls, Smashing Pumpkins, Barenaked Ladies -”

“Wait, wait, wait. Barenaked Ladies are not alternative. They are one hundred percent pop.”

Killian gasped. “Pop, no way! The lyrics are way too tongue in cheek.”

Emma stuck her lip out stubbornly. “They are pop, Jones! Maybe veering a little towards punk -”

“Absolutely not, they are not punk at all!” Emma rolled her eyes as Killian snatched his phone off the coffee table. “I’ll prove it! Hey Google, what genre of music are The Barenaked Ladies?”

“The Barenaked Ladies,” his phone replied in that emotionless robotic voice, “are a Canadian alternative rock band formed in Ontario in -”

“Ha!” Killian crowed in triumph as Emma scowled.

“Where did Google get that info, Wikipedia?”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Swan,” he teased, and then his eyes brightened. “You know, I may have an even better song for us.” He took the remote from Emma and tediously typed something into the search bar.

When Emma saw what it was, she cried out in protestation. “That can not be our song!”

“Why not? It’s the style of music we both like.” He gave her a faux-innocent pout.

“Alternative Girlfriend?”

Killian shrugged then winked at her cheekily. “Well, there’s no song called Alternative Wife.”

Emma smacked him in the chest. He hit play on the YouTube video and then began crooning the song to her.

“You’re in an all-girl band, your futon is second-hand -”

“Yeah, Jones, this screams wedding song.”

“I have a job in a shop - see, that’s me!”

“Sure it is.”

Killian kept singing as he yanked her to her feet and swung her around the room. “You’re my alternative girlfriend. I love you and now you cannot pretend. There’s nothing left that won’t cross over.”

Emma laughed as he spun her out and back in again and she collided with his chest. “I’m pretty sure by alternative girlfriend they mean the alternative rock lifestyle.”

“No way, they mean a girl you date - or marry - because she’s in a pickle. For pretend.”

“Did you just basically say that I’m in a pickle?”

“Aye, Swan, a dill pickle because those are the only kind.”

Emma was laughing so hard now, her sides ached. They ended up staying up until two in the morning sharing music on YouTube. Some that were their favorites, some that they loved to make fun of, and others they were ashamed to admit they liked in their younger days.

And even though they had decided on it hours earlier, they texted Anna a little after two am to tell her that “Maybe I’m Amazed” by Paul McCartney was officially their song. They figured it served her right.

#cs ff #cs modern au #cs marriage of convenience #slow burn #humor #and some angst #for spartanguard

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lauras-collection · 4 years

Text

More Than I Know [Part 10]

Tom Holland x female reader

Masterlist

Summary: After what happened with Tom you hide away in your flat until Kate takes matters into her hands.

Words: 3k

Warnings: angst, fluff, maybe swearing?, nothing else I think (let me know if there is anything in there that I should add)

A/N: The final part is here. How crazy is that? Thank you all so much for reading! I will also be writing an epilogue. That should be up sometime next week :)

I hope you enjoy!

The next day you woke up around 10am with dried tears on your face. You reached for your phone and saw that you had several missed calls from Tom, as well as a bunch of messages. You couldn’t bring yourself to read them. You unlocked the phone to make the notifications go away but you were greeted by your home screen. It was one of the pictures you had taken with Tom and Tessa the day you had dinner with your parents. His lips were on your cheek as you leaned into him with one arm around Tessa as she looked into the camera. You quickly locked your phone again, throwing it to the other end of the bed. This was so stupid. How could you grieve about something that was never really a thing?

The repetitive vibration of your phone made you pick it up again. Tom was calling. You couldn’t talk to him. You were sure he was only going to make excuses. You had been at this point before. You were not going to give a guy that power over you anymore. You had learned from your mistakes. So after you let the call go to voicemail you blocked Tom’s number, his instagram, everything you could.

***

You knew you had to get groceries at some point. You had spent the whole weekend in bed. On Monday you finally took a shower and got dressed. Life around you didn’t stop. You had obligations. After work, you dragged yourself to Tesco closest to your flat to quickly get the things you needed so you could get back home. You purposefully avoided the aisle with all the magazines. While you would’ve had a look at them a week ago, just to see what the yellow press was saying, you tried to keep anything that reminded you of Tom as far away from you as possible now. But that was easier said than done. There weren’t a lot of things that didn’t remind you of him. If something didn’t make Tom’s face appear in your mind immediately, it made you think of something else that would.

What made things even worse was that you couldn’t go anywhere without seeing his face. Well, it wasn’t always his face but the red and blue Spider-Man suit was equally as torturous. Every store seemed to be selling Spider-Man: Homecoming and you couldn’t even do your weekly groceries without coming across the DVD or any type of merchandise at least five times.

***

You kind of locked yourself away in your flat, only leaving it when it was absolutely necessary. After you had declined your sister’s invitation for dinner at her and Daniel’s place for the third time she knew that something was off. She knew that you were hiding away and she was worried. So one Thursday evening she showed up at your door unannounced.

“Kate, what are you doing here?” You questioned her as she squeezed past you into your flat.

“Something is obviously wrong, and I’m here to let you talk about it.” You walked into the living room to snuggle back up into your blanket. Kate followed you and eyed you with a worried look on her face. “Don’t bottle up all your feelings. It’s just going to hurt even more. So are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

You tried. You really tried to keep your tears at bay but they just spilt out of your eyes.

“Oh, babes. C’mere.” She sat down next to you and pulled you into her embrace rubbing your back comfortingly. She could only assume that your current state had something to do with Tom. She was sure that had it been anything else he would be here. But she didn’t want to bring him up herself in case that would make you shut down again. So she just sat there comforting you. Waiting for you to calm down and tell her what happened.

When your tears finally subsided, you lifted your head to look at her.

“Tom and I kinda...Well, we broke up.” You knew you’d have to tell her eventually. You’d known from the start. But when you made the deal with Tom you didn’t expect to be in tears when you did so. You had envisioned telling your family in a calm and collected manner that it just didn’t work out between the two of you. Joke’s on you.

“What? Why? What happened.” You could see that she was starting to get sullen, the protective sister coming to the surface. “What did he do.”

“More like, what didn’t he do.” You muttered and Kate just raised her eyebrows.

“You need to help me out here. From what I’ve seen the guy was absolutely crazy about you. So how did he mess up that made you guys break up?”

“He’s not crazy about me and he doesn’t love me, he never did.” You protested. Could she stop making you think that he was actually into you?

“Of course he does. It was so obvious!” She softly said as she moved a strand of your hair behind your ear looking at you, trying to figure out what you were talking about.

“No, it was all an act, he’s an actor, Kate. It’s what he does.“

“You know what I think? I think that’s what you’re telling yourself to have an excuse to hate him.”

“No Kate. You don’t understand!” You were pressing the words out between your teeth, another wave of tears coming. You were so frustrated. You balled your hands into fists trying to fight away the tears.

“Explain it to me then. Y/N, you’re scaring me.” You had to tell her, there was no way out now.

“It was all fake, okay?” It finally burst out of you. “The whole relationship. Just a huge setup. We were never together. It was all just pretend and I was stupid enough to catch feelings for him.”

Kate was rendered speechless. Her mouth opened and closed but no words came out.

“Wow.” She let out after a moment. “I did not expect that.” She wanted to know more but tried to focus on the problem at hand. “And why are you so sure that he didn’t catch feelings for you, too? He may be an actor but there was genuine chemistry between you guys.” You were always amazed at the endless amount of optimism your sister seemed to have. After taking a deep breath you told her what had happened that night you visited him. When you were finished you saw that the gears in Kate’s head were turning, analysing the situation.

“And you didn’t let him explain himself?” She questioned.

“What for? So he could coax me into some kind of mind game as Joe did?” You rolled your eyes.

“Y/N, Tom is not Joe. And if he wanted to use you for sex, wouldn’t he have jumped at the opportunity?” Ok, she had a point. “I don’t know what the reasoning behind Tom’s behaviour is but I don’t think he’s the type of person that you make him out to be right now.”

You shrugged your shoulders. Maybe she was right. But you knew that you wouldn’t reach out to him. There was still a chance that Kate wasn’t right. And the fear that he had already forgotten about you was at the forefront of your mind.

***

In an attempt to cheer you up, Kate had ordered you to meet her at the coffee shop the next day. You weren’t really feeling like it, but you also didn’t want to argue with your sister. She just wanted the best for you and maybe it would be good for you to see something else for a change.

You impatiently drummed your fingers on the table. Kate was already ten minutes late, which was very unlike her. If she didn’t show up in the next five minutes you were going back to your flat. You stared at the ground, not interested in anything that happened around you. That’s why you noticed Tessa first, a surge of happiness flowing through your body at seeing the pup. But then you realised that at the other end of her light blue leash was Tom. He was already looking at you when your eyes travelled up his body and found his. You were about to grab your bag and rush the hell out of there but Tessa lay down on your feet as if to say ’Don’t run away!’

“Stay. Please.” Tom told you softly. “Hear me out.” You had never heard Tom’s voice with such determination. As you took a closer look at him you realised how tired he looked. The bags under his eyes were even worse than they had been after he had to take care of you the whole night and his hair was all over the place. That, combined with the sincere look on his face made you give in.

“Okay.” You nod slowly. “But not here.” You shot your sister a quick text to tell her that you were going back home before making your way out of the coffee shop, Tom and Tessa following close behind you. When you reached your building you turned to Tom.

“I’m not allowed to have any pets inside so you’ll have to sneak her in.” Tom nodded and picked the staffy up, poorly covering her with his jacket. Had the tension between the two of you not been so thick you would’ve laughed.

Once inside your flat, Tom let Tessa down and removed the leash from her collar. You quickly tried to tidy the place up a bit. You had not been expecting visitors. Realising that it was a hopeless cause you plopped down on the couch, motioning for Tom to do the same. He sat down next to you, nervously playing with his fingers.

“Let me start off by saying I’m sorry.” He finally said, his eyes moving to look at you. “I’m sorry I handled things the way I did. It was never my intention to hurt you. To make you feel like you weren’t enough.” Tessa came trotting towards the two of you and lay down between your feet. Tom looked at her for a moment. “I was so happy when you showed up at my house at 2.30 in the morning. It had been such a hectic day and seeing you just...It made everything better.” He smiled wistfully.

“But why did you want me to leave?” You asked and Tom quickly looked at you.

“I didn’t. I never said I wanted you to leave. You just up and ran away.” He pinched his eyebrows and you tried to recall the moment. You had been so full of emotions you weren’t sure what he had actually said and what you had interpreted into his words.

“And why didn’t you want to...you know.” you shrugged your shoulders and looked at Tessa, too embarrassed to look at him when you remembered the sounds he had drawn from your lips with his touch, just for him to push you away the next moment.

“Hey,” Tom said softly. “Look at me.” He took your hand in his and you tried to ignore the feeling of his skin on yours as you raised your eyes to his. “You were drunk, Y/N. I didn’t know if you were like this because you have the same feelings for me that I have for you, or if it was because you were drunk. What if you had woken up the next morning, either not remembering what happened or regretting it completely?”

“What do you mean when you say you have feelings for me?” You mumbled. If you were honest you hadn’t really heard a lot of what he said after that. He looked at you with that wistful smile again and moved a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I always wanted what my parents have. Find true love. But with my job... it’s not always easy. You never know if someone genuinely likes you for you or because you’re an actor, or famous or got a lot of money. But you, you always see me as just Tom. And every time something funny happens you’re the first person I want to tell. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep at night. Sounds corny but it’s true.” He paused for a moment and then he’s looking at you with the softest expression. “Y/N, I-I’m in love with you.”

You swear your heart stopped beating for a moment. You knew your eyes were probably watery again, but you paid them no mind.

“You really mean that?” You question him and Tom wants to punch Joe in the face for making you so sceptical.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.” The corner of his lips turns up into a lopsided smile. “I’m yours if you’ll have me.” The tears that had been building up finally escaped your eyes and you straddled his lap to wrap your arms around Tom, burying your face in his neck. You never thought you’d ever hear him say this. His arms moved around your waist and gently pulled you as close as possible. A few moments later you leaned back a bit so you could look at him. You wiped your tears away with the sleeves of your sweater before resting your hands on the sides of Tom’s face, just taking him in. You hadn’t seen him in so long and you hadn’t allowed yourself to really look at him so far.

“What’re you thinking about?” Tom questioned after a few moments of you just looking at him, trying to memorise every detail of his face.

“You.” You smile a little. “I didn’t know what I’d get myself into sitting down at a stranger’s table in my favourite coffee shop.” Your thumbs gently caressed Tom’s cheekbones and he closed his eyes for a moment enjoying being this close to you. “I’ve never met someone as amazing as you. You’re just... Honestly, you’re more than I know. I’ve always felt like I’ve been second choice. I mean, for the longest time I was wasting my time on somebody who didn’t really care about me. Even though we weren’t actually together, you showed me what it could be like. What it should be like. And I guess at some point the lines got blurred. And I fell in love with you.” Tom’s eyes snapped open at that. You were looking at him with a gentle smile and even though he had confessed his love earlier you were nervous about his reaction. But you didn’t need to be. Tom moved one hand to the back of your neck and pulled you closer, your forehead now touching his.

“I love you.” He whispered and you felt that fluttery feeling in your chest, that you experienced a lot when Tom was around.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you saying that.” Your nose lightly brushed against his.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” Tom said and you both broke out into a grin, you closed the distance between you, finally pressing a kiss to his lips. Tom was quick to reciprocate, his open lips finding yours, finally tasting you again. Your hands slid into his soft hair as you pulled him even closer.

“I missed this.” Tom mumbled against your lips when you broke apart to catch your breath.

“Yeah?” You placed another kiss to his lips running your hand through his hair. It was now even more dishevelled than it had already been.

“Mhm. Missed you. So much.”

“I missed you, too.” You buried your face in his neck placing a peck on his skin. “I’m sorry I shut you out.”

“Don’t be. I understand. You were only protecting yourself.” He ran his hand over your hair before cradling the back of your head. You just sat there for a while, enjoying each other’s company, until your phone rang. You reluctantly moved away from Tom but stayed in his lap as you picked the device up from the coffee table. It was Kate. You swiped your thumb over the screen and held your phone up to your ear. leaning your head back on Tom’s shoulder. Before you could say anything Kate’s voice carried through the speaker.

“And? How did it go?” You scrunched your eyebrows together in confusion before you realised what she meant.

“You set this up?” You questioned and looked up at Tom with a raised eyebrow. He just shrugged with a sheepish smile.

“Yeah, I talked to him to see what his side of the story was and decided you guys need to hash things out. So?” You could practically see Kate bouncing in her seat, buzzing with curiosity.

“Yeah, we’re good.” You said and smiled at Tom. He placed a kiss on your forehead and ran his hand over your thigh, resting it on your hip.

“You’re good as in..?”

“As in I’m gonna hang up now to spend more time with my boyfriend.” You replied and heard Kate squeal on the other end.

“Okay, bye. Have fun!” She rushed out and the call disconnected.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Tom smirked and you widened your eyes.

“Yeah, I just assumed ...I’m sorry if-“ he interrupted you with a kiss.

“I’d love to be your boyfriend. For real this time.” He smiled and so did you.

“Good.” You kissed him again, a little more urging than before. “D’you want to stay the night?”

“Mhm. Yeah.” Tom nodded, his nose bumping into yours before his lips found yours again.

“Let me show you what you’ve been missing out on.” You mumbled against his lips.

Something that almost sounded like a growl left Tom’s lips as he stood up from the couch. You squealed and wrapped your legs around his hips, his hands supporting your butt. He carried you to the bedroom with quick steps, his lips never leaving yours.

Epilogue

Taglist

@jackiehollanderr // @alicethestral // @snowxbarryxendgame // @van-horn-dashner // @sltwins // @yeahimcrying // @ohhhotstan // @heathera101x // @xxnomercy // @bbyxk // @infamousmany // @zabdisamor // @starsholland // @kthemarsian // @jillanaholland // @lamesister // @madon566 // @prettylittlevampire1864 // @llamazarecoolaf // @ultrunning // @rachaeldonnaspiteri1 // @ilmondodiennie // @poorlittlesuperstar // @averyfosterthoughts // @crazyfreaker // @tbh--idk29 // @oh-mymendes // @stxfxniexreads // @fwess // @parkeroffline // @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven // @iwastornsincethestart // @claredolphinbear24 // @simnons

#tom holland x reader #tom holland au #tom holland fake dating #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland scenario #tom holland series #tom holland fluff #more than i know

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jooheonspinky · 4 years

Text

Little too Late

Characters: Sehun x Gender Neutral Reader Genre: Hanahaki Disease, angst Word Count: 3K Warnings: Mentions of blood ────── 〔✿〕──────

You plop into a bench at your favorite café, exhausted from your days’ work. You loved coming here. The atmosphere was always quiet and peaceful; the only sound the clinking of metal spoons against ceramic cups and the hushed murmurings of the patrons as they placed their orders. The background noise and your favorite latte was what helped you unwind after a long day.

Most people would say a cup of coffee at this time of the night would only assist in keeping them awake, but for you it was different. The warmth and flavors only soothed your soul, making you forget the stresses you’d endured that day. It settled your mind, which helped you sleep better.

“Good evening,” you hear a soft voice you don’t recognize interrupt your thoughts.

Glancing up sharply, you have to remind yourself to respond as the handsomeness of the young man standing at your table momentarily renders you speechless.

“Oh, uhm…Hello,” you finally stammer out.

His gaze was so intense. The dark irises, the color akin to espresso, bore into yours through the fringe of his off center parted bangs. The tiniest of smiles quirked one side of his perfectly shaped lips. Even as you lost yourself in the warmth of his eyes, you felt a vague nudge at the back of your mind signally to you that you had seen them before, once upon a time.

“Misty told me you were a regular and you get special treatment,” he winks at you and you swear you feel your heart stop in your chest.

Blushing, you laugh, waving off his comment, “Oh, no no. She just likes to spoil me because we went to school together.”

“You went to school with Misty?” he asks a bit surprised. “I did, too, but a long time ago.”

This time you look over him, but not with the eyes of someone who was admiring his chiseled beauty. Now you take time to picture him much younger, your brows furrowing as you concentrate.

“What’s your name?” you ask as you tilt your head slightly.

“Oh Sehun,” he replies with a smile. “Yours?”

Even as you reply with your name, your brain unlocks the image of the young boy you’d adored as a preteen. He’d only been two years older than you, but to your twelve year old self he seemed ages older and so cool. You’d lived on the same street and had walked to school together. He was popular and always surrounded by both girls and boys. Even still, he had a gentle and kind heart, making sure to say hi to you, trying to always include you whenever you were around. He treated you like a sibling, though, nothing more than friendship ever having bloomed between you two.

Your heart was broken when he moved almost three years later. His father had accepted a job in his native country of South Korea and just like that he was out of your life. Of course, time has a tendency of dampening the sadness and ache in ones heart until it is not but a distant memory. A mere school crush is how you’d classified it when you would randomly remember that time.

You’re brought forth from your thoughts as he murmurs your name a few times until a spark of recognition alights in his eyes.

“Ah, yes!” his smile brightens as he snaps his fingers. “I remember you, Smidge,” he chuckles merrily.

“Huh?” you stare up at him perplexed.

“Smidge. Remember? I used to call you that because you were so small.”

“Oh, that’s right,” you mumble feeling your cheeks flush a rosy hue as you recall his pet name for you.

This brought on another chuckle from Sehun.

“My shift is over in a few minutes, do you mind if I sit with you and catch up?” he asks, his eyes filled with the hopes that you’d say yes.

“Sure, why not,” you shrug as casually as you can.

“Great, so you’re usual right?” he quips.

“Right.”

“Ok, I’ll be back in a bit.”

You give him a nod and watch him walk back behind the counter. He catches you studying him as he makes your coffee, pausing to smile widely and wiggle his fingers at you. The tint on your cheeks brightens as you awkwardly smile back and then force your gaze towards the window next to you instead.

Wah, you would never have thought seeing him again would stir up those childhood feelings you thought you had long ago forgotten. But as you stare out at the crescent moon smiling down at you from the velvety black sky, you can’t deny the rapid thrum of your heart beating giddily in your chest.

────── 〔✿〕──────

From that night forward, Sehun joins you every Tuesday and Thursday after his shift. And while in the past you had so looked forward to your nightly visits to the café for the peace it left you in, now you had an extra reason to get excited about going. You dressed nicer and made sure not a hair was out of place on those days. All the while lying to yourself that it was not all to impress him.

You both chatted quietly over your coffees for about an hour on those nights before you would say your farewells and head to your own homes. You quickly learned his personality hadn’t changed much. He was still sweet, considerate and gentle. When you spoke, his eyes didn’t leave your face, making sure you knew he was listening to every word you said. His laugh brought on tingles in your belly, his smile made your heart swell and you wished nothing would ever cause him to lose that gorgeous smile.

It’s not until a month passes… maybe just a little over a month, that Sehun slips into the bench across from you, that sparkling smile slipping into an expression you hadn’t seen on him before. The change in his demeanor is so foreign to you that it takes you a few moments to decipher it.

Sliding your hand across the table you wrap your fingers around his, looking into his eyes with concern as you ask, “What’s the matter, Sehun?”

He looks down at your joined hands, sighing despondently as he gives your hand an appreciative squeeze.

“It’s Destiny,” he says softly, sadness lacing his words.

Your heart stutters, fluttering roughly in your chest.

“What’s destiny?” you ask, concentrating on keeping the tremor from your voice.

Releasing your hand, he encircles his mug as if trying to draw strength from it. You straighten, taking a sip of your own coffee as you wait for his response.

“Not what…who,” he clears his throat, now leaning back in the bench. Flicking his gaze up to yours, he adds. “Destiny is my girlfriend.”

You instantaneously feel your heart lurch, your blood running cold at his response. A tickle in your lungs startles you, causing you to let out a few coughs. Your eyes water as you suck in a shaky breath.

“Ow!” you groan your face scrunching in pain.

“Jesus,” Sehun stands coming over to your side to pat your back. “Are you ok?”

Shoulders hunched, you hope he can’t see your fisted hand rubbing circles over your chest as you try and soothe whatever that had been.

“Yeah, yeah,” you manage with a grimace. “I think the coffee just went down the wrong pipe.”

He had a girlfriend? What was he doing chatting it up with you until ten? God, how did you always end up in situations like this? Were you truly that bad at reading people? You had felt so comfortable in your talks with Sehun and he had appeared interested… But maybe he was just being him. Always wanting people to feel welcome and at ease around him. Ugh! How could you have been so foolish? He really did only see you as a friend now just like he had all those years ago.

“You sure you’re ok?” he asks again as he brushes the hair out of your eyes and pats your wet cheeks with a napkin.

Taking the napkin from him none too nicely, you brush him off, “Yes. Yes. I’m fine.” He hesitates as he stares at you pensively, but then he finally accepts your words. Wanting his focus to shift from you, you say, “I’m sorry. You were saying?”

You try to bring the conversation back to what you had been talking about, but the coughing just won’t subside.

“I’m so sorry, Sehun,” you finally say between fits of coughing. “I’m gonna go.”

You swiftly stand, gathering the few items you had.

“Wait, are you sure you’re ok?”

He follows you as you head towards the exit with brows furrowed, but you don’t reply as you dash out into the buzz of the night. Not looking back, you hop into your car, speeding off as you continue to attempt to catch your breath. Once at home, you rush to your bathroom, your cheeks flushed as you glance in the mirror.

Splashing water on your face, you try to sooth the heat in hopes it would calm the coughing, but another fit ensues. Your eyes widen as tiny red and pink spots speckle across the white porcelain of the sink. You cough again and it’s as if whatever had been caught in your throat is dislodged. You spit into your hand and feel fear grip your body.

A bloodied torn blue petal lies in the center of your palm.

“No!” you whisper roughly.

It couldn’t be! You take a few deep breaths and force yourself to relax as you focus on the fact that you finally feel relief, the tightness in your chest gone. Even the tickle in your throat is no longer there. You throw the petal away and wash your hands, rinse your mouth and clean the sink.

All the while your heart still races, terrified of what this all means. You are quick to shower and slip into bed, hoping the next day will reveal that what you believed this to be was not actually it.

────── 〔✿〕──────

Despite knowing Sehun had a girlfriend, you found yourself returning to the cafe. It was painful sitting across from him knowing there would never be anything more between you, but not seeing him or hearing his voice seemed to hurt even more. So you still showed up twice a week as usual and he still sat with you after his shift.

At first he filled you in on the fact that things were getting a bit rocky with his girlfriend. But then he stopped bringing it up and you assumed they had worked things out. After all, he had said he’d had no intentions of leaving her.

And so the coughing persisted, the petals still coming up. You did your best to hide any evidence from him, but he only grew more and more concerned.

“It’s just a cold,” you would try and reassure him, but you could see the doubt in his eyes.

He finally convinced you to get checked out.

You sit in the chilly room of the doctor’s office. He had not liked the sounds in your lungs and had sent you to have X-rays done in the building next door. Now you waited for the images to be sent over and for him to give you the prognosis.

You look up as the door opens and see the doctor step in. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Instantly, your palms begin to sweat.

“Well,” he says on an exhale as he sits on his stool and rolls over to you. From the examination table you look down at him nervously. “I’ve taken a look at your images and, it’s as I thought. You have the Hanahaki Disease. Do you know what that is?”

You glance away, sadness squeezes at your heart. The now familiar tickle in your esophagus threatening to bring on a coughing fit. You clear your throat as you return your gaze to the doctor.

“Yes,” you whisper tightly.

“Then you know your options,” he straightens in his chair. “Find a way for your love to return your feelings or I can perform a procedure to remove the roots. But,” he shakes his head forlornly. “You will never have the capacity to feel romantic love again.”

What kind of options were these? you think desperately to yourself. If there was any chance that he could love you back, you did not want to take that choice away from yourself.

“I don’t want to have the surgery,” you tell him firmly.

He rolls over to the counter and scribbles onto a paper. Tearing it off he stands and hands it to you.

“Take this if you need help sleeping. The other will help mildly with the coughing during the day.”

I nod, accepting the paper.

“Thank you.”

“If you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” you give him a tight-lipped smile.

“Very well. Have a good day.”

────── 〔✿〕──────

As time passes, it only gets worse. Sometimes you retch up full blooms of blue anemone, the flowers beauty tainted with saliva and blood. The feeling of suffocating was the worst. There were so many times you wanted to give in and have the surgery, but knowing you could never love again frightened you more than anything. You told Sehun that you had been right. It was just a cold. You did not dare to tell him the truth for fear of losing his friendship.

Glancing into your mirror you see how much weight you’ve lost. Your eyes are sunken into your face, dark circles making them look even deeper and lost. Your cheeks are hollow, your hair thinning.

With glistening tears you apply makeup, bringing your face back to life. Sehun had invited you to have a picnic at the park. He said he had a surprise and you were excited. Perhaps he had finally decided to leave Destiny. Just maybe he had fallen in love with you instead.

You quickly dressed, then reached the park before him. There you laid out a blanket beneath the shade of a large tree. Opening the picnic basket, you begin to lay out some of the snacks when you happen to glance up and catch sight of Sehun.

You smile, but he hasn’t seen you yet. In a pair of dark blue jeans and a butter yellow t-shirt his skin seems to glow and your heart swells in your chest at how handsome he looks out of his barista uniform.

But then your eyes fall on the person beside him. You watch as he puts his arm across her shoulders and she puts one of her own across his lower back, hand resting on his hip. The sunlight glints off of an object on her finger and you know.

Instantly you know that his ‘surprise’ was that they had worked things out and he had proposed. They were engaged. Any chance you may have had...was lost forever.

You begin to cough, the sound harsh. A searing pain in your chest becomes unbearable and you look down to see something poking at your shirt. Through watery eyes you pull the collar of your shirt away from you and peer down. Eyes wide with terror, you see a stem growing out of the middle of your chest, a trickle of blood sliding down your skin.

Seeing him with her must have exacerbated the disease. Before you can grab your phone to call for help more stems break through your chest. You are screaming in agony, the sounds muted by the blooms forcing themselves up from your throat.

Writhing in pain, you fall back onto the blanket. Never had you ever felt anything as excruciating as what was happening to you now. Through the haze of pain you feel someone rush down beside you.

“Oh my God!”

It was Sehun. You turn tear filled eyes towards him and offer a crooked pain filled smile. He looks horrified and you wish you could reach out and smooth away the worried creases on his brow. His hands hover over you most likely unsure if he should touch you or not. Finally, he grasps the hand closest to him, his other hand brushing back your hair from your forehead.

The pain that wracks your body doesn’t seem so bad when he holds your hand so tenderly like that. You try to speak, but only gurgling sounds come forth.

“Call 911!” Sehun shouts to the woman. Within moments you can hear her responding to the operator and you tune her out, trying to focus on Sehun’s lips as he speaks to you. “What is happening to you?”

You are unable to answer as you begin to cough forcefully, sputtering as you try to catch your breath.

“An ambulance is on the way,” the woman comes to stand next to Sehun.

You both turn to look up at her. Her eyes are wide as she fixates on you, a hand coming up to cover her mouth.

“Thank you,” he tells her, before returning his attention to you.

“Please hang on. Stay with me,” he pleads. Some of the pressure alleviates and you inhale deeply. “God, this is not how I imagined this day to go.”

“I’m...sorry,” you croak, trying to breath through the torturous ache afflicting your body.

“No,” he chuckles humorlessly. “You don’t need to be sorry.” You tighten your grip on his hand as another stem pierces through your skin. “Jesus. Who did this to you?”

You shake your head desolately, squeezing your eyes shut in hopes he wouldn’t see. Tears flood down the sides of your face and when you open your eyes back up and your gaze locks on his countenance, you know he knows.

“No,” his lips turn down desperately. “No!”

Sirens wail in the distance. The woman squeezes his shoulder before rushing off to meet the ambulance.

“It’s not…your fault,” you try to assure him even as another burst of coughs plagues you.

“I didn’t know,” he whispers desperately. “I didn’t know.” He lifts your head up onto his lap in hopes of making you more comfortable. “I would have said something sooner. That’s why I invited you here. God, I’m too late. I’m sorry. I’m so so sor-.”

His words are cut off as you let out a muffled scream. His wide horrified eyes are the last thing you see before a bush of blue anemones bursts forth from your torso.

────── 〔✿〕──────

Thank you for reading. Please feel free to comment and reblog.

#EXO #EXO Fanfic #exo oneshot #EXO Oh Sehun #exo writing #EXO x Gender Neutral Reader #exo Sehun #EXO Hanahaki Disease au

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julienschuester · 3 years

Text

AIN’T TOO PROUD TO BEG

WHO: @ivystjamess & julien schuester (ft. @davisgools ) WHERE: the lima community theater WHEN: thursday, 12/17 — moments before opening night WHAT: Julien has had enough of this ‘broken up’ business. In a moment of uncharacteristic bravery, he storms into Ivy’s dressing room and demands that she hear him out. His big speech leads to a kiss, but their reunion is cut short by one Davis Goolsby walking in on the action.

JULIEN: It was safe to say that Into The Woods had snuck up on Julien Schuester. Between the musical, sectionals, hockey, the holidays and all of his recent relationship drama, he felt like he was in a never-ending state of unrest. Things were off. Plain and simple. Under “normal circumstances,” meaning if his heart hadn’t been absolutely stomped on by Ivy St. James, maybe he would’ve been able to juggle everything. But that wasn’t the case. So, come opening night, Julien was panicking in his dressing room, pacing back and forth while his understudy watched him curiously. He knew ‘giants in the sky’ like the back of his hand, he knew he had it in him to nail the performance, but if he caught even one weird energy exchange between Ivy and Davis while he was on stage? He wasn’t sure he’d be able to recover. “Fuck this,” Julien muttered to himself, the uncharacteristic curse earning him a wide eyed stare. With a huff, Julien exited his room and beelined it to the one across the hall and pushed the door open without knocking.

“Ivy, I need to talk to y—“ he announced, but the person he was looking for wasn’t alone. While Ivy stood by her vanity, Julien’s eyes narrowed in on the girl he recognized as Amber from Vocal Adrenaline. The one he’d seen at the Carnival talking to her and likely scheming with Davis to get her to transfer. “Amber,” Julien greeted curtly, feeling his face redden, “I need to talk to Ivy alone.” Despite Ivy glancing at him, her new teammate seemed to take no notice. Was he really that invisible? No. Not today. “Hey, I’m talking to you,” he said again, this time loudly, “get out.” A pause. “Please.” He clenched his jaws and glared at her, stepping into the room and holding open the door. That did the trick and she got the hint, hesitantly making her way out. Thank God. Julien closed the door behind him once she was out and turned to face Ivy. Of course, she immediately launched into some rant, but Julien didn’t care. He’d come to her dressing room with a purpose and he knew he was going against all of the advice he’d gotten, but again, he didn’t care. It took all of five seconds for him to cross the room, put his hands on either side of Ivy’s face, and crash his lips into hers in the middle of whatever sentence she was uttering. He knew he’d have to explain himself and say something eventually, but first he needed to kiss her. As he slowly pulled away and opened his eyes, for the first time in weeks, things felt right. “Hi,” he said quietly, scanning her face to try and get a read on where she was at before he launched into his speech.

IVY: If Ivy was asked to do one thing under all the pressures in the world, she would hope it was to perform. Usually she was blessed with a calm disposition before opening nights and worked magic on the stage, but with all the turmoil that had shrouded her personal life as of late, she'd be lying if she said those St.James nerves of steel had softened. It left her stuck in her head, miserable as she sat in front of her dressing room mirror, touching up her make up every few minutes or standing up and doing vocal warm ups. Amber, one of her new friends on Vocal Adrenaline and a member of the chorus for this production, had been like a savior to get her out of her head. The girl had brought her a tea with some honey and a pep talk she had hardly been expecting. Having someone around who was removed from both her old life and her newfound Davis drama did wonder for all the nerves building their way up from the pit of her stomach up to the top of her head. She was feeling ready to tackle the night. When she glanced in the mirror, she was no longer critical of the way her hair was falling incorrectly or how the dirt smudges on her face didn't look real enough. She radiated confidence, and not the deep rooted sadness that lurked beneath the surface. The heartache that could consistently be traced back to her break up in McKinley's hallways a little over a week ago. Feeling more comfortable in her own skin, Amber and Ivy chatted, laughed, and enjoyed each other's company. That was until the door swung open.

Amber didn't seem to pay much mind to Julien, but a million looks crossed her expression as he came in with his demands. Confusion, fear, anger, longing. It was emotional whiplash to say the least, but the more stern he grew in the way he spoke with Amber had Ivy's chest racing up and down as she breathed heavily and the tips of her ears turned red. Her Vocal Adrenaline buddy said an awkward goodbye and Ivy wasted no time to give Julien a peace of her mind. Was he trying to ruin the show by throwing her off? What didn't he get about respect my choices? Couldn't he see she was trying to keep his pain to a minimal? Before she could choose her words carefully, Ivy was pointing a finger at Julien and huffing, "Okay so for starters that was like so rude, we were talking you can't just storm in here and talk to my friends like that, Jules, that's totally not cool!" her tone reached it's typical shrill heights while she ranted at the speed of light, and while she was very visibly bothered, it didn't keep her from speaking her mind. "I told you to like respect what I was saying and you're doing like the total opposite! I am a smart girl who can make her own choices and--" Before she could comprehend all that had happened, Julien had crossed the room, cupped her cheeks, and latched his lips to hers. It made Ivy weak in the knees. The movement of his lips against her own had her wanting to cry, yell, and kiss him more all at the same time. Still stunned in the position she had been when Julien had made his way over to her, Ivy's hands were raised midair when he pulled away as she silently stared at him as if she were a dog waiting for it's bone. For once, no words passed Ivy's lips as she stared at him expectantly. He'd successfully rendered her speechless as Ivy tried to decide how she wanted to present herself to him. Though her prominent sorrow fought it's way to the surface as she mustered up a pathetic, "hi."

Her gaze briefly flicked to his lips as she wished she could rewind a couple of seconds to where things weren't so complicated and they were just a boy and a girl sharing a special moment that didn't need to exist outside of the walls of this dressing room, or within the context of the real world. Ivy reluctantly moved on and took one look into those sad eyes of his. Stupid Idea Ivy a pang radiated throughout her chest, causing her to turn away from him and plant her hands firmly on the counter that sat below the mirror in the dressing room. Sucking in a breath and therefore the sobfest she could feel coming on, with her back turned to him, she forced out an oddly meek, "What do you want?"

JULIEN: What do you want? Julien stood behind Ivy, breathless from their kiss, as he stared at the back of her head and let his arms drop to his sides again. That was a loaded question, but no matter how he broke it down, it always boiled down to one very simple simple answer. “You,” he said quietly, shedding all the toughness he had walked into her dressing room with. “Look at me,” he told her, finding some of that stern energy again as he made eye contact with Ivy in the vanity mirror and placed a hand on her arm, urging her to turn around. He could tell she didn’t want to and he could see very clearly that this wasn’t as easy for her as he previously thought, but that made him even more certain that he’d done the right thing by storming in. Once she was facing him again, their eyes connected and he held her gaze bravely. He wasn’t going to look away, even if it hurt, even if it was hard.

“I know you’re smart,” he started, feeling the tips of his ears and the back of his neck getting hot as his his stomach began to twist into nervous knots, “and I know you’re right about a lot of stuff…” Julien gulped, swallowing his fear as he squared his shoulders and straightened out his posture, “but you’re wrong about this.” He said that with his whole chest. He knew it to be true. “We go together,” he said, taking a step towards her and causing her to bump up against the edge of her vanity, “and I do know you, legs.” It was so obvious to him. He knew her, just like she knew him. “I know you’re kind of a really bad driver, that you watch Saved By The Bell whenever you’re sad, and that you rub your lips together whenever you’re nervous...or when you’re flirting.” Anyone who spent enough time with Ivy would eventually be able to pick up on those things though. Knowing those things just meant he paid attention, but they didn’t mean he knew her heart. “You talk a big game but you’re actually like…a really tender person,” he said quietly, closing some of the distance between them as his hands gripped the edge of the vanity on either side of her, fencing her in. “You might be tough like Buttercup on the outside, but deep down you’re a Bubbles. You care what people think and you’re sensitive. I know that tonight when you go out there and totally kill it and stuff, it’s going to mean everything to you when your parents tell you what an amazing job you did. You care so much about making the people you love proud.”

What did Davis know about Ivy that Julien didn’t? What did he capitalize on that had Ivy so convinced he knew her better? As Julien stared into the big, sad blue eyes of the girl he loved, he finally dropped his head and averted his eyes. “I know that you’re a force to be reckoned with, Ivy,” he admitted, slumping his shoulders, “you like to win and you probably do fit in better with those Vocal Adrenaline kids. They can probably keep up with you a lot better than any of us ever could.” It sucked to admit, but it was true. Ivy was built differently than a lot of the people in the New Directions or the Trouble Tones. She was so talented it made Julien’s brain hurt sometimes. “You are a powerhouse.” A pause. “But you know what?” he started, feeling his cheeks redden again as he brought a hand up to gently pinch her chin and angle her face upwards so she was looking at him, “that’s not all you are. You’re hilarious and blunt and so sweet and fun.” Julien felt himself starting to smile as he spoke, reflecting on the years and years of experience he had with Ivy. “I’ve loved you since I was like…fourteen or something…” he admitted, shrugging as he dropped his hand from her chin, “and I want to be with you. I don’t care if you’re on Vocal Adrenaline. You mean so much more to me than show choir and musicals and stuff. So…” he let out a deep breath as he neared the end of his rambled speech, “ball’s in your court, legs. I just…I needed to tell you. But if you want me to go away forever and stuff, I’ll respect that.”

IVY: Julien didn't need to give this large grand speech to make Ivy want to be with him. She wanted to be with him many times in her life, but she never wanted to be with him more than she did as she left him stranded by a locker in the hallways of William McKinley High School. There was no denying Julien. Not long term at least. And not for Ivy. They'd both seen how that worked out after a summer of Ivy ignoring him, cutting him out, protecting her heart. And even now it was painfully obvious how difficult placing a wall between them was. As Julien gently turned her around, with a quivering bottom lip, Ivy refused to look at him. She was walking an emotional tightrope, on the other side was getting away from this incident tear free. Below sat Julien, waiting for her to run into her arms and pretend everything was okay again. Her balance was obviously wavering as he struck chord after chord, each one hitting her deeper than the last. Ivy had been foolish to say Davis knew her better than Julien, but Ivy often said stupid things in an emotional haze. That wasn't a new development. While his hands gripped the vanity counter behind her, Ivy could feel his breath on her neck as she looked away from him and at the floor. Each time she thought he was going to let up, free her from this breathlessness, and inner anguish, he continued speaking, reminding her how he loved her so.

There were plenty of reasons for Ivy to be conflicted, again, her sister was sounding in her ear telling her to protect her heart. The issue of Julien essentially being a human doormat wasn't lost on her, though this firm display had her wondering if there was hope. She didn't know. All of this came back to Ivy not knowing. Not knowing if she was doing the right thing, not knowing how to cut Julien out pain free. But then again, was there a painless way to cut off someone who was just as much apart of her as her blue eyes or pinky finger? Probably not. With her hands trembling, Ivy sucked in another ragged breath and forced herself to stare back into those favorite brown eyes of hers. It killed her. The look on his face and the words he was saying were too much for Ivy. All this came back to Ivy not knowing.Not knowing how they wound up here so quickly, not knowing why doing what she deemed the right thing could feel so wrong. Conflict played out across her face as clearly as a movie on a screen. 'ball’s in your court, legs. I just…I needed to tell you.' through this entire exchange though, the one thing Ivy did know was that she loved Julien Schuester. Even though they weren't together, Ivy loved Julien in the breathless, head spinning, want to be near you always, kind of way. A sad adoration clouded over her gaze while fear was painted on her eyebrows. It wasn't apparent to Ivy just how to share her vast range of feelings, so instead she stared at him in the silence for an insufferable five seconds before closing the minimal distance between them and urgently pressing a kiss to his lips. Was this the smart thing to do? Probably not, but her heart told her this was the correct course of action. Ivy was strong, but not strong enough to hurt Julien for the benefit of the feelings of hers she wasn't entirely sold on.

So Ivy did the only thing she could think, kiss him. Kiss him suddenly and desperately and in a way that said I love you. Because while there were a lot things about this situation she didn't know, there were two things she did; that she loved Julien and kissing him was the best feeling in the world. Her hands rested on his chest and just to be sure he got the message, Ivy briefly pulled away to weakly whisper, "I love you." before bringing their lips together again. This wasn't the smartest of Ivy's plans, but it also wasn't one of the stupidest. She'd deal with the real world consequences later when she couldn't feel Julien's heartbeat beneath her hand and they weren't sheltered by the walls of the dressing room. For now it was just them, and for now Ivy didn't think she needed to know. While Julien didn't relent with his verbal message, Ivy didn't relent with her physical one as she held herself close and kissed him like opening night wasn't awaiting.

JULIEN: In this moment, Julien and Ivy were just two kids who loved each other, who were in way over their heads and searching for answers in each other’s eyes. He held his breath as he waited for her to say something—anything. If only this could be easy. Couldn’t it be easy? With each agonizing second of silence that passed, Julien grew more anxious. “Ivy…” he started, determined to fill the quiet with more words or more begging or reasoning, but her name was all he managed to get out before she closed the distance between them. Julien’s lips melted against hers as his hands found a place to rest on her hips. Little by little and piece by piece, things started clicking back into place. His heart was bouncing in his chest under the weight of her hands as she took the lead and deepened the kiss. This was good right? This meant that she still…

I love you. He knew it. “I know,” Julien responded breathlessly, and just like that, their lips were connected once more. Julien had come into this situation wearing his heart on his sleeve and getting the verbal and physical confirmation from Ivy that he wanted only confirmed that it was the right call. In one swift motion, he snaked his arms around her and without breaking their kiss, hoisted her up on to the surface of her vanity so that he was standing in between her legs. The last time he’d kissed her had been before sectionals, so they were no doubt making up for lost time. He let his hands wander until one of them eventually a home in her hair while the other settled on and squeezed her thigh. Kissing Ivy was the only thing that mattered. He was so lost in the moment that he forgot where he was and that there was an audience surely settling into their seats in the auditorium and a cast doing vocal warm-ups and playing theater games in the green room. None of it was important. All he cared about was this.

That was, until he heard the sound of a knob turning and a door swinging open. Julien’s eyes widened as he pulled his lips away from Ivy’s and caught a glimpse of their intruder in the mirror. When his eyes landed on none other than Davis Goolsby, he saw red. “Ever heard of knocking?” Julien shot at him, not moving from his place in front of Ivy but instead just turning his head to look over his shoulder. If he was being honest with himself, as annoyed as he was that Davis had interrupted them, he was also glad he was seeing this. Contracts be damned. Everyone had been quick to tell Julien that Ivy was into Davis and that there was something going on between them, but he knew it in his bones that they were wrong. Ivy loved him, she’d just said it herself. So this moment, as messy as it would surely be later, felt like a victory.

DAVIS: Davis was thanking every single god in existence that opening night was upon him. It was hard enough trying to participate in something so closely tied with the student body of William McKinley High School, but having to practically court one of the members of the cast to ensure a solid performance? He was fucking exhausted. But alas, the show was promising enough. He was sure his father wasn’t going to be in attendance for the night (or any night, really) but he was going to perform like the entire audience was filled with important people, not stupid ‘townspeople’. The perfect way to get into his star mindset? Linking his mind and energy with someone that had started feeling more like his platonic soulmate than anything else - Ivy St. James.   If he were honest, Davis’ interest in Ivy had come as easily as him realizing who her father was. Once he knew that, he was sold that she in the wrong place. It was fate that that was corrected and she was finally on the side of Ohio that she belonged - with him and with Carmel. She would flourish with him at her side, definitely far more than being tied down at the freakin’ Titans torture school. He won and in turn, he was pretty sure that Ivy would too. It was why he opened the door to the dressing room with such a confidence.   But something was off.

As soon as he peered inside and saw the unmistakable disaster tragedy of a mop head human being in front of Ivy? Davis questioned just how much he had won. Ivy was still seeing Julien freakin’ Schuester. If Davis had been more focused on maintaining their friendship from the start, he might have realized the signs of her toying around with the Schuester, but he had been blinded by his own selfish deeds - typical. Fair game, Julien Schuester.    “Apologies, I didn’t realize I was walking into the filming location of a porno,” Davis said with a light smile as he locked eyes with Ivy. He wasn’t upset with her by any means, but it did make him question a lot. Perhaps she had a little bit more of her mother in her than he had pegged her for. “There’s fifteen minutes until curtain, so I was wanting to talk with Ivy. I see she’s busy. Julien,” Davis greeted before he was staring down the cocky looking boy before him. God, he was a level of pathetic that Davis hoped he would never stoop to. “My apologies.” His words were softer now, knowing that if he was going to spin this in the proper way? Julien would have to stand before him, baffled as ever, and questioning as ever. “I’ll catch you guys later then,” he said with his tone sounding sadder before he was closing the door and turning to be on his way. It was evil, he knew that much. The look he conveyed was one he had seen a thousand times on his step mothers face trying to act as if they’re not hurt by seeing his father screwing another woman. He was acting before the curtains even rose - he was playing the part of a secret lover scorned. God, he was good.

THE END.

#para #discord para #ain't too proud to beg #p: ivy #p: davis #davis #ivy

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saibh29 · 4 years

Text

Lucky Charms and Coffee (Part 2/2)

Pairing: Kelly Severide x Reader

Warning: 1 Night stands, Swearing

AN: A request from a lovely anon. Hoping they don’t mind that I’ve changed it a little. I couldn’t write a ‘reader’ who would let Kelly kiss them knowing he’d brought another woman home...

One with Severide please where he has one of his friends with benefits over but realises it’s you he wants and comes down the stairs and kisses you up against the wall🤤 thanks!! You’re the best I look forward to reading your uploads every night🥺

****

“For gods sake Y/N stop twitching at everything. You look amazing” Gabby pulled your hands away from where you’d been pulling at the band of the bra.

“Maybe this was a bad idea?” you said.

“Look, you know I don’t approve of this whole make Severide realise your gorgeous plan. If the guy doesn’t recognise it for himself that more fool him” she took hold of your hands. “But, I think you also need to do this for yourself. You don’t believe me when I tell you your hot, you don’t believe anyone, ever since that fuck wit broke your heart years ago you’ve tried to hide yourself away”

She may have a point.

Your Ex had been a dick. A dick who you’d loved and he’d stamped all over that love by bringing a barbie back to your apartment and screwing her in your bed.

You’d kicked him out and that was how Severide had moved in.

Ever since then though you’d been wearing clothes that hid you away, terrified of giving anyone that much power over you again.

“You’re sure this dress looks alright?”

“You’re stunning” Gabby insisted, and she was telling the truth as well. The dress wasn’t complicated, just a blood red stretchy mini dress with spaghetti straps and low-cut neckline. The material clung to every curve you had though and with the bra on underneath you had quite a few.

“Let’s do this”

Molly’s was unusually busy for a Thursday evening, normally you’d be sat at the back tables with some sort of fruity mix that Herrmann always put a little umbrella in for you. Tonight though you were doing things a little bit differently.

You’d ordered a fruit mix, unable to tolerate straight alcohol, but you’d told a startled Herrmann to hold the umbrella. It wasn’t exactly helping the image you were portraying to have little toy umbrellas in your drink.

Then you sat at the bar with Gabby sipping the drink and laughing at her trying to explain one of her jobs today until a man you’d noticed staring earlier came over, smiling and introducing himself as Richard.

He was cute and funny; he was completely absorbed with listening to you and it was making you think that maybe Gabby had been right about this dress and about you needing to do this for yourself.

It was that idea that gave you the confidence to put your hand in his and say yes when he asked if you wanted to get out of Molly’s and go somewhere quieter.

That of course was where everything had to go balls up again.

“Y/N!” your shoulder was grabbed preventing you from going any further and you were spun around to face Kelly. His jaw practically hanging open at the sight of you. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Back off Kelly” you warned, pulling free from him and edging towards where Richard was stood eyeing the two of you carefully.

“Y/N?”

“No Kelly. My life, my choices”

Richard stepped forwards a little. “Y/N I don’t want to get in the middle of something”

“You aren’t”

“Good Fuck off”

You and Kelly had spoken at the same time, apparently though he was more inclined to listen to Kelly because he did back off leaving you with Kelly.

“What the hell gives you the right Kelly Severide?!”

Kelly realising that you were attracting quite a crowd of interested stares grabbed your hand and towed you out of Molly’s and into the alley down the side of it.

“Let go of me Severide. Right the fuck now”

“What are you doing Y/N? This isn’t you?” he was staring at the dress and the heels you had on. “Picking up guys in bars, you’re worth more than that”

“Hypocritical much” you snapped.

“Your better than me”

“Oh cut the crap Kelly” you snorted crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re just pissed that I proved your little ‘don’t look like a woman’ theory complete balls”

“What? That’s why you’re doing this?”

“Actually, no” that may have been what prompted you to ring Gabby but in reality, you were doing this for yourself. “I'm showing myself that I could be the girl guys want to fuck”

Kelly was frowning “the guys you get that way. They aren’t the kind you want to have around”

“You mean guys like you?”

“Yeah. I mean guys like me” he grabbed hold of your upper arms again bending down to put his face on a level with your own. “Anyway you were gorgeous the way you were before”

Ok. That rendered you silent for a minute. “But you said I didn’t even register as female”

“I say lots of things. I rarely mean any of them. This I do mean though, you are beautiful and you don’t need to change anything about who you were. Baggy jumpers and cute socks included”

“Fuck Kelly. I hate you sometimes”

He laughed softly “want me to give you one more reason to hate me?”

“What…?”

Before you could finish that thought Kelly had pressed you up against the wall fastening his mouth to your own. It stunned you, Kelly was kissing you. He’d called you gorgeous. Your brain was struggling to catch up. The rest of your body though was more than happy to keep up. Letting Kelly’s hands roam over you as he pulled you into him.

“Let’s go home Y/N”

Your brain was catching up again, unfortunately it was also throwing up some awkward questions. “I'm not being another barbie on your bed post Kelly”

“That’s not what I want from you, not even close” he was still holding you close to him and the heat coming off his body and the shivers from his hands were threatening to derail your determination.

“then prove it”

“What? How?”

You had to get his hands off of you. Instead you linked your fingers with his drawing them away from your body. “I want a proper relationship. One where we go on dates and do things that aren’t just sex”

“We do that already” Kelly pointed out “we went to the zoo last week and to that new steakhouse”

“Fine. I want to do it again”

Kelly sighed “alright”

“Huh?” you hadn’t really expected that he’d agree with you. Certainly not that quickly anyhow “you will?”

“Yeah I will. I have 1 condition though”

“What?”

He leant down to whisper in your ear the rumbled in his voice making your stomach somersault. “You let me tear that dress off of you. Soon”

“It’s Gabby’s dress” was that your voice? It had gone all high and squeaky.

“I’ll buy her a new one. Deal?”

“deal”

The shark smile he gave you made you think that maybe this was a bad idea. Then he was kissing you again and you no longer cared.

*****

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howrry · 5 years

Text

forbidden fruit

a/n: i made something new! self indulgent high school enemies with benefits ok! i was high writing a lot of this so.. hope it doesn't show. tiny bit of 5sos sue me. this will probably have a pt 2 eventually

warnings: smut, and harry’s a jerk

w/c: 4.3k

You pushed the front door to your school open and the A/C of the building blew your hair back a little. You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and let the door slam behind you. The halls were loud with student chatting and lockers slamming and feet scuffling before first period began.

"I love your skirt, Y/N," one of the school aristocrats complimented, beaming a bright white smile.

"Thanks babe! From the boutique off 2nd street," you said with a wink.

"Hey Y/N!" some girls with wet hair called from the lockers. The volleyball team practiced before school and had to shower before going to class, and most girls couldn't be bothered to dry their hair.

"Hey guys! See you in history," you waved, tucking your textbook closer to your body.

You finally reached your locker and popped the door open. You switched out your books for your first class and checked your face in the mirror you'd taped to your locker door.

"You look great, no need to even look," a voice said from behind the door. You shut the door to reveal Luke, the school's star baseball player and one of your academic rivals.

He stood a bit taller than you, with his hands shoved into his bomber jacket pockets. The corners of your mouths curled up bashfully. "Aren't you sweet? What's going on, L?"

His head lulled over and rested on the locker. "Just wanted to say hi. And thanks for the help in trig-- you could've left me in the dust with that one to be valedictorian, and for that I'm very grateful."

You giggled. "It's no big, Luke. Let me know if you need help on other stuff, like your times tables," you teased, readjusting your bag again.

It was Luke's turn to laugh, but his was more hearty. "Ah, your banter is the highlight of my day." The bell rang, indicating it was time to go to class. "Saved by the bell. I was out of stuff to talk about. I'll catch you later?" It was a statement, but him walking away gave it a bit of in inflection. You were still smiling by the time you got to your first class.

Life was so good. You never understood where the stereotype about hating your high school years came from, because you were having quite a good time. You never found the curriculum too difficult and thus were near the top of your class, you were overall liked by your teachers, and you got along with everyone at your school.

"Good morning, babe," you heard a new voice call, making your insides shrivel and your face pinch.

Well, almost everyone.

"What do you want, Harry?" you groaned, intentionally pushing past him to get to your desk.

He feigned being hurt, clutching a ringed hand to his broad chest. "And I thought Bradley Cooper over there would have put you in a good mood this morning. Why so sour?"

"Being within even a hundred feet of you can kill flowers, no wonder it kills my mood."

Simply put, you couldn't stand Harry. He was arrogant, selfish, condescending, and for the past couple of years the two of you had been at each other's throats. Neither of you were quiet sure who started this feud (though, knowing Harry's behavior, it was probably his fault) but neither of you could even look at each other without making a biting remark or glaring at the other.

"Styles, get your feet off the desk," your teacher reprimanded. You looked at the desk next to you and saw Harry had kicked his boots up onto his table and laced his fingers behind his head.

He sighed heavily and slid his legs over lazily until they drop off the edge of the desk, choosing instead to lean his chin on the heel of his hand, one lone dark curl dropping into the center of his forehead.

As much as you couldn't stand his personality, you hated how attractive he was. He had such an aura of power that on some rare occasions rendered you speechless. Not only was he was gorgeous, but sometimes the two of you would make eye contact during an argument in class that would make your knees go a little weak. You were pretty good at keeping your composure, but it still bothered you from time to time. He was like forbidden fruit; so beautiful, yet so hate-able.

Today he was in a black jacket and dark jeans with a white t-shirt. Across his chest laid a simple cross necklace and his fingers were adorned with rings. His hair always looked like he just pushed it back with his hands and left it as is, but there's always one curl on his forehead giving him a Clark Kent kind of look. His head was cocked to the side, showing off his jaw. Son of a bitch probably didn't even realize how hot he was being-- that's just Harry in his natural state.

Then you were suddenly reminded that you were totally staring down Harry, and your eyes tore from him to the board in the front of the class. You made a note to yourself to get your thoughts and your life in general together.

Fortunately, you only had one class with Harry. For the rest of your day you could go about being yourself, without having to deal with his attitude and desire to annoy you in addition to your weird thoughts about how hot he is.

The next day, your car wouldn't start in the morning because of the cold front that swept over your area. Your parents had already left for work, and you were left with the only option of walking to school. You didn't live too far away, but the freezing weather made the walk miserable.

Perhaps Harry had sensed your already bad mood and decided not to make it worse, but he was actually quite tolerable during the school day. The rest of your school day went without incident, and you thanked the universe for being so kind to you after your rough morning.The walk home was slightly better, as the temp had warmed up a little bit, but the small remedy quickly ended when Harry rode up next to you walking down the sidewalk on a blue bicycle.

"Hey, Y/N," he chirped, immediately irking you. He pedaled slowly to match your walking pace.

"Should I call Harvard and let them know there's a strange kind of ape who learned to use a human tool?" you bit, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets.

"Mm. Seems like you've put on a little weight in these winter months," Harry noted.

You whipped your head and glared viciously at him. He was smirking a little but kept his eyes on the sidewalk. "So how am I supposed to respond to that other than punching you in the face?" you growled. Frankly, it wasn't even true-- your heavy coat just added a lot of volume to you. And even if it was true, how dare he?

He pretended to think. "You could start by taking off some of those clothes and proving me wrong."

"Ugh!" You grabbed a stick next to the sidewalk and jammed it into the spokes of Harry's slow moving bicycle, effectively snapping the branch and making him tumble off the bike.

He lied on the ground in a daze, blinking a couple of times before jumping up and catching up to you. "Alright. I deserved tha' one."

"Glad we agree about something," you muttered, then turn back to look at the abandoned bike. "What about your bike?"

He shrugged. "Wasn' mine anyways."

At this point you should expect this of him, or at least not be surprised when you hear about it, but you can't help but sigh. "Ah, right. Always forget you're a criminal."

He threw an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. It was awkward to walk like that, but you were just sure-footed enough to make it work. "'M a fun person to be around, though, aren' I?"

"On the contrary," you groaned, jerking your way out of his grip on you. "Actually, for someone who claims to hate me, you sure do bother me a lot. What's up with that?" you hissed.

He stopped in front of you and towered above you, staring down. This... was one of those times where your stomach flipped when his green eyes locked onto yours. "Well, am I annoying you?"

Your eyes rolled back almost involuntarily. "Yes!"

"That's why."

All you could do was glare. "Go find someone else to annoy, I have to go study for a midterm tomorrow. Ya know, that thing you've never heard of because you don't care about school or anything, for that matter." At this point you were just unleashing random things you didn't like about him, but it still felt good to vent.

"I care about some things," he said bluntly, raising and dropping his shoulders.

You scoffed a bit, but then sighed in defeat. "Glad you took something important from that. Now please, fuck off for the rest of the week." Before Harry could counter that, you'd already slipped past him and went back home.

That Thursday, after school had ended and you were getting things out of your locker as the halls quickly emptied of the eager-to-leave students. You'd nailed the exam you'd taken that day and were ready to go home and enjoy the rest of your day. A friendly voice said your name, and you glanced up to see Luke.

You smiled at his presence. "Hey L!"

"So, Y/N," Luke began. "Some of my friends and I were wondering if you like to party." He flattened his hands against each other and pointed them at you.

A little laugh escaped from your lips. "Uh, yeah, I do. Why, are you offering one?" One of your eyebrows shot up in curiosity.

The corners of his mouth lifted a bit and he leaned his shoulder against the locker next to yours. "Actually, yeah. We throw this cool rager every year after midterms. Josh's parents always go skiing in the Poconos and leave us the house, and his older brother buys us so much alcohol. It's a good way to kick off winter break, and you should totally co--" Luke was cut off by none other than fucking Harry marching up.

"Luke. Coach Bass needs you," he spat, eyeing the athlete up and down.

"What for?" Luke asked, irritated.

"Fuck do I look like? Your secretary? He didn't tell me, just saw me and asked to find you. Which, mind you, was generous enough on my part." Harry punctuated his sentence with his big arms crossing over his chest.

"Can it wait like 5 minutes? I'm trying to have a conversation here," Luke gritted, gesturing at you.

Harry's eyes drifted over, as if he hadn't even realized you were standing there until then. Without looking back to Luke, he muttered, "Nope. Think yeh should leave now."

The blonde boy groaned and stood up off the wall. "Fine. See you around, Y/N, I'll text you about the party!" he called, waving goodbye and headed off to the coach's office.

"The hell are you doing talking to 'im?" Harry questioned the second Luke was out of ear range. He replaced his spot leaning on the lockers.

"Not really any of your business, is it?" you snapped back. You couldn't even look at him, so you grabbed all your books out of your locker.

Harry caught on quickly. "Oh... I see. Yeh don't wanna be messin' with him, love," he advised with a small smirk on his lips.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, exasperated.

"Heard he's been seeing Sierra lately." Harry rolled from leaning against his shoulder to leaning on his back, staring across the hallway.

You stopped your movements. "What does that have to do with me? That's her business."

His head lulled back to look at you. "Jeez, Y/N. Didn't think you'd be fine dating a two-timer."

"Who said anything about dating?" It was your turn to smirk, giving Harry a little glint in your eyes before slamming your locker shut and walking away from him.

Harry's eyes widened as he chased after you. "Yeh little minx. Perfect little Y/N doesn't mind being the other woman. Or any woman at all. Who woulda thought?"

You rolled your eyes. "See. You don't know shit about me. And you definitely don't know shit about Luke. What were you even doing near Coach Bass's office in the first place for him to have asked you?"

He snickered. "Oh, I lied. I think Bass already went home."

Your jaw dropped a little as the two of you reached the door at the end of the hallway. "You little scoundrel. Why did you do that?"

He shrugged, following you outside. "I lie to get things I want. I wanted him gone. This isn't uncommon for my behavior, Y/N," he explained without emotion. "Anyways, 've got to meet up with someone soon. Great talking to you," he concluded sarcastically, before simply turning and walking away.

"Hey Harry!" you called after him, making him stop and do a 180. "Is Luke even really seeing Sierra?"

He smiled. "Nope." Harry turned again leaving you with a swirl of emotions.

The party had been on Friday, the night after Luke invited you. Your parents were glad you were finally getting to relax after your obsessive studying for the past week or so. You excitedly got ready to go while listening to Break Up With Your Girlfriend, I'm Bored, and made plans for a DD to drop you off and pick you up at the end of the night.

You were just tugging on your short boots and fluffing your hair when you got the text that it was time to go. One jacket, a quick wave to your parents drinking wine on the couch, and you were off.

By the time you finally arrived to the party it was late in the evening and the house was bumping. The lights inside had been replaced like blacklights, turning everyone's white clothes into ultra bright purple and some girls' bad bleach jobs appeared green.

You showed up just in time; and by just in time, you mean when Mo Bamba started playing and all the people dancing and screaming the lyrics provided a good cover for you to sneak around the house to find someone you knew. You fought your way through the hot living room, back to the kitchen where freshman sorority girls from the local university were trying to steal alcohol from kids, to the backyard.

You opened the door to the back porch to find a group of seniors passing around a bent joint. Your nose instinctively wrinkled at the smell and you bounce back inside, slamming the door behind you.

"Y/N!" you heard Luke call. You whirled around to see him holding a cup in one hand and a Juul in the other, arms extended to hug you. He engulfed you and you breathed in the cologne clinging to his jersey. You couldn't lie... he smelled good. "Glad you made it. Can I make you something to drink?"

"Vodka soda, please," you requested, and Luke poured out a drink for you. Meanwhile, you scanned the room to see who else had come to the party.

Hmm. There was Andrea from trig, the host, Josh, Hannah from chemistry, Lucy, Sam, Harry, Claudia from English. You cocked your head a little, surprised that Claudia partied, and Luke handed you your drink.

Wait. Your head whipped back to see Harry talking to one of his friends, and his attention drifted towards you with a devious smile. When he realized who you were with his smile was replaced with a grimace.

You immediately start drinking from your cup, trying to forget who you just saw. Nearly half the drink was gone before Luke stopped you. "Slow down, there, cowgirl," he laughed, taking the red cup from you. "You drinking away your problems or what?" he teased.

You rolled your eyes flirtatiously, and intentionally avoided his question. "Give me my drink back! Or we will have a problem."

"Feisty," Luke noted, handing you your cup back. "Redirect that energy to dancing," he suggested, gesturing over to where everyone was bouncing to the music. He grabbed your free hand and pulled you into the middle of the crowd where the two of you started dancing... pretty close. The music was well selected so that there were no awkward pauses in between songs, and you and Luke danced until your drinks were empty and you were too sweaty to keep dancing.

He led you to a corner of the living room, where not as many people were. "Damn, it's dead," he declared after pulling his Juul out of his pocket and tapping it twice. "My charger's upstairs, I'm gonna go plug this in."

"I'll go with you," you offered, trying to get out of the party area and away from Harry. God knows how he'd try to bug you if you were alone.

Something in Luke's eyes glinted, but he nodded and the two of you trudged up the stairs and the noise quickly died down. He casually walked into a room and you guessed it was the host's room. Luke plugged in his Juul and plopped down on the bed.

"So, do you wanna go back downstairs?" you guessed, though Luke appeared too comfortable to be getting up any time soon.

"Nope," he responded casually, affirming your suspicions. "Can you do me a favor? Hand me that guitar." He pointed to the corner of the room, where a shiny guitar was nestled in a stand.

You passed the instrument to him and he began plucking out the song Twin Sized Mattress. He hummed some of the lyrics and dropped off just after the first guitar solo. You were amazed while watching him.

"Luke! You're so talented, I had no idea!" you fawned, making the blonde boy blush a little.

"Thanks, that means a lot. I've always loved playing but never told anyone so I wouldn't look like a hipster or anything. But honestly, I wanna be a musician." His eyes gazed over the strings, then up to yours.

"Sounds like a glamorous lifestyle. Think you could handle it?" you cooed, leaning in slightly.

He matched your movements. "I think I could," he practically purred. You and Luke were inches from kissing, and all you wanted to do was close the gap, but you were unfortunately interrupted by the door swinging open, making you jump back from Luke, frightened.

None other than fucking Harry, stood in the doorway. You groaned and Luke blurted annoyedly, "You again?!"

"Yep, s'me. I'd love to verbally have it out with you some other time, but I'd like to talk to Y/N right now, so find somewhere else to be, Wonderwall," Harry announced, filling your veins with anger.

"Seriously, Harry? You can't leave me alone for five fucking minutes?" you jumped up to face him, but any attempt at being menacing was futile as his sheer height dwarfed you.

Luke placed the guitar on the ground leaning on the wall and awkwardly creeped out of the room. "I'll, uh, I'll just go," he noted before slipping out.

But you weren't distracted by Luke ambling around, and still had a bone to pick with Harry. "You follow me around, you go to parties you know I'll be at, you interrupt my attempts to get laid. Why won't you just go away!"

The corners of his mouth curled up. "Because you're so cute when you're angry." He reached up to pinch your cheek but you smacked his hand away.

"You make me so mad I wanna slap you sometimes," you huffed, shrugging your shoulders.

Harry's green eyes rolled dramatically. "Yeh won't." Several heavily silent seconds passed, and the palm of your hand collided with his cheek.

His hand drifted up and cupped his red face. "Did yeh just fuckin' slap me?" he asked, in awe.

"Yeah," you deadpanned. "You stupid or something?"

Harry stared at you, his eyes not showing much emotion other than shock. Without even saying anything, he lunged forward, grabbed your face with both of his large hands, and pressed your lips together. Your knees immediately buckled, Harry's scent infinitely better than Luke's. His mouth was so soft and he easily kissed into your mouth, licking and biting at you.

You came to your senses, trying to pull away, but Harry had his arms wrapped around you. You made a move to escape his grasp, only making him tighten around you. "Stop being so scared of what yeh really want, Y/N," Harry huffed, eyes scanning all over your confused face.

"What?" was all you could say.

"Tell me yeh don' want this, n'I'll stop." His eyebrows lifted slightly, in almost an amused manner. You really, really, really hated yourself to say it, but you didn't want this to stop. So you closed the gap between you two yourself.

When Harry kissed, there was no option of being gentle. He wanted to devour you, kissing so deeply your back was starting to tilt backwards a little and you could feel the electricity on your lips.

"Yeh're a real minx, yeh know tha'?" he huffed over your lips in between kisses. "Actin' so cute and innocent when yeh're really a good time and a half. Trailin' around school and parties with that other guy. Then, when I kiss the life out of yeh and make y'weak in the knees, you've got the audacity to act like you 'aven't wanted this all along. Hmm," he tsked, staring down at you, making you feel tiny. "I truly believe the only way I can get yeh to behave is to fuck yeh into bein' good," Harry hypothesized, staring up and down your body until settling for staring at your heaving chest (and you were glad you picked a good bra to wear to this party).

His words sent sparks to your core and a whimper left your lips when he pressed his against your neck, licking and sucking at the soft flesh. One hand gripped your waist, bunching up your shirt with his fingers.

"S'that what you want? To be silenced with m'cock?" he mused, breath fanning across your skin. All you could do was nod and you felt his mouth curl into a smile. "Fine. But keep quiet, pet, we don' wanna disturb the other party goers. Do we, now?" he purred, making you shake your head no.

Harry's hips bucked into your thigh involuntarily, and you dropped down to your knees to be eye level with his crotch. Your nimble fingers ghosted over the zipper of his pants, making him exhale shakily, but when you lifted your gaze to his, his face was extremely focused on your actions.

You decided not to beat around the bush and popped open the button on his trousers, and the zipper practically undid itself. You licked him through his black boxers, making him groan a little and thread his ringed fingers through the hair on the back of your head. It was easy to read what he needed, so you pulled down the elastic of his underwear to free his cock.

It was big. You weren't a stranger to seeing big dicks, so you knew one when you saw one. The last thing you wanted to do was feed into his ego, so you dove into sucking it before he could read any surprise in your face.

You went about as far down as his head resting on the middle of your tongue. You sucked around his cock and fluttered your tongue, stimulating the super sensitive spot on the bottom just below the head. Harry was nothing if not responsive, and groaned while trying to push you down further using his big hand. Normally you would refuse and take it at your own pace, but something about him fucking your mouth sent even more sparks to your center.

You relaxed your throat and let him slide down your throat. It burned, you had to admit, and breathing through your nose with a huge cock in your mouth is no picnic. Just before you were about to gag, he pulled you off his member and let you breathe for a second. A thin strand of spit connected your now red and puffy bottom lip to the tip of his cock.

"Fuck, pet, tha' feels way better than I'd like to admit," he huffed as you took him back in your mouth again. You swirled your tongue around him with your cheeks hollowed out, your comparatively small hand gripped the base while you paced yourself. When your jaw got tired from accommodating to his size, you stroked him from base to tip.

Harry was starting to lose his composure; you could see it in his eyes. You decided to play all your cards and made the most innocent look you could muster with his cock buried between your lips. "'f yeh keep lookin' at me like tha', no chance I'll last."

So you went wild, licking, sucking, stroking his cock with your hand, pushing it all the way down your throat until your nose was buried in the coarse dark curls at the base. This sent him fully over the edge, and his grip in your hair was tighter than ever as he came.

He emptied himself down your throat, pulled his cock out, and wiped the head on your lips before pushing himself back into his boxers.

"Wait, wha--" you stammered, shocked at his sudden motions to leave as you were still on your knees with glassy eyes.

Harry rebuttoned his pants and straightened himself out. "'m going to go home. Thank you for helping me out, love, I'd love to reciprocate another time. Let me know." He nodded at you scrambling to stand back up and left you in Josh's room with pink cheeks, puffy lips, and a racing mind.

#Harry Styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harryforvogue #jawllines #haroldloverboy #yeet

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jungflowers · 6 years

Text

ocean waves // f o u r (taekook au)

masterlist << || >>

genre: College! AU/ light angst

pairing: taekook/vkook

word count: 2,268

read it on AO3 here!

summary: Taekook AU in which Taehyung, an aspiring writer and professional cynic, learns from the mysterious stranger outside his cafe window that life is more than letters on a page

A/N: trying to run a fan account off of a side blog is officially the hardest thing I’ve done oof. Thanks for reading and don’t be afraid to leave any advice or comments! My message box is always open

“So I woke up soaking wet and in shock all because of that petty little demon,” Jimin ranted to Taehyung as he swiftly worked around the counter during his morning shift. “Do you know how terrifying it is to feel ice down your back first thing in the morning?”

“No, not really. Hopefully I never will,” Tae responded, amused at the whiny tone the barista’s voice had taken on. Jimin had been the victim of a revenge prank from his roomate, which had put a bit of a damper

Taehyung sat at the table closest to the store counter on a cloudy Thursday morning, enjoying the company of his new friend as he frantically attempted to finish the homework he had procrastinated. Ever since meeting the week before, the two had comfortably slipped into the habit of hanging out every morning at the coffee shop before walking to their Econ class. Taehyung liked Jimin despite the fact that he still barely knew him. He talked a lot, sure, but he never had a dull thing to say and never minded that Taehyung didn't speak as much as he did. In the few short days that they had known each other, Taehyung had learned a lot about the giggly mocha haired barista. He was from Busan, had a younger brother that looked like a carbon copy of him, left home and moved to Seoul when he was 16 to go to a performing arts school, and was now majoring in dance. Despite being a dancer for almost 10 years, he was one of the most clumsy people Taehyung had ever met. He tripped over his own feet on an hourly basis, like he still wasn't used to having legs. "It's because you made me laugh," he would whine, giggling infectiously. "I can't see when I laugh." He told him about his roomate, who he had met his sophomore year through a sketchy app for college students too broke to afford their own house. He played pranks on him regularly just to make sure that he wasn't a serial killer. He may have been the complete opposite of him- an extroverted, energetic manifestation of caffeine itself- but Taehyung had to admit that spending mornings with Jimin felt way better than spending them alone.

“I mean, sure, I hid his towel. And sure, we had guests over. But in my defense, it was in the laundry. I was doing him a favor. It just happened to be at a particularly inconvenient time. But tell me, what do I gain from a bucket of ice water put on my pillow and tied to my arm when he knows damn well I move around in my sleep?”

“The man doesn’t play games,” Tae sipped his tea, putting in a weak effort at editing his latest creative writing assignment.

“Hi, what can I get you?” Jimin’s demeanor took a 180° turn as he attended to the latest customer.

“Hey, can I have a caramel machiatto?” An eerily familiar voice ordered. Taehyung turned his attention toward the counter and immediately, his breath caught. As he turned around, the doe eyed stranger’s face lit up with recognition.

“Hey,” he smiled, walking a few steps closer.

“Camera boy,” Taehyung nodded, an awkward attempt to play it cool.

“How’s it going?”

“It’s going,” he sighed. “You?”

“Same here,” Taehyung smiled nervously in response.

The boy nodded, the short conversation seeming to end on that note until he piped up once more. “I never did get your name, did I?”

“N-no, you didn’t,” he choked out, caught off guard. “It’s Taehyung.”

“Jungkook,” he held out his hand. Taehyung shook it cautiously, trying to ignore the sparks that flew through him the instant his fingers made contact with the no-longer-stranger’s surprisingly soft skin.

“I’ll see you around, I hope?”

All Taehyung could do was smile enthusiastically in agreement, his voice rendered useless.

“Oh, and check the city magazine this week.” He grinned. “You might find something you’ll like.” He watched as the boy left, following the same white shirt and ripped jeans until he was no more than a mere blur in the distance.

“Oh my god,” Jimin’s eyes were wide in unexplained surprise, his mouth pulled into a larger, more blinding grin than usual.

“What? Did something happen?”

“It’s you,” he laughed heartily. “You have a crush, don’t you?”

“On who?” He played dumb, putting on his best, most confused face.

“On who?” Jimin mocked. “Camera boy? You act all standoffish and tough all the time, but you like him enough to give him a nickname.”

“Oh, him?” Taehyung scoffed, continuing the act. “I barely even know him.”

“But you want to, don’t you?” Jimin giggled, thoroughly entertained.”

“I don’t have a crush on him,” He concluded seriously, pushing up his glasses to the bridge of his nose and continuing to work, seemingly unbothered by his friend’s antics. Jimin emitted a final burst of laughter, but dropped the topic, seeming to believe his words.

They spent the next few minutes in silence, both focused on their work. Jimin took orders at lightning speed, and Taehyung managed to finish editing his assignment fairly quickly, mostly motivated by nervous energy.

“What type of camera does he have?” Jimin asked casually.

“Canon Rebel,” Taehyung replied, too quickly for his own good. Jimin’s suspicious stare tormented him until he finally cracked.

“Fine!" he sighed, throwing up his hands in surrender. "I might have the tiniest, microscopic interest in him. Not a crush. Just an interest.”

"An interest, sure." he scoffed as he emerged from behind the counter and wrapped his arms around the boy, smothering him. “My little Taetae is growing up! Look at you, showing your feelings and shit.”

“I'm still taller than you,” he mumbled through Jimin's sweater. "And I don't have feelings. They're gross."

Jimin bit his lip to hold back a huge smile with a hint of something mischievous in it. That couldn’t mean anything good.

“Stop it. Stop thinking right now.”

“I know how you can pay me back for saving your life last week.”

“Didn’t you say-”

“Let’s pretend I didn’t,” he replied quickly. “Let me help you get together with him.”

“What makes you think I want to initiate a conversation with a virtual stranger?”

“If you keep watching him that hard every time he comes in here, you’re gonna need new glasses,” he playfully nudged his golden frames.

“No. Never. A thousand times no.”

Jimin smiled even bigger, staring deep into Taehyung’s soul.

“No.” He said stronger, refusing to be swindeled into a dangerous arrangement.

Defeated, Jimin pouted all the way back to the counter. Taehyung turned his attention back to his homework, pulling out his calculus binder. As he tapped rapidly at the buttons on his calculator, he heard a loud sigh from a few feet away. Ignoring it, he returned back to his work, scribbling the answers down on his worksheet. Then another loud sigh. Taehyung rolled his eyes, shooting a pointed stare in the barista’s direction. Not even a minute later came another sigh, so loud and mournful that it caught the attention of some of the customers nearby.

“I’ll think about it, okay?” Taehyung had reached the peak of stress, throwing his pencil down and pleading with the boy. “I’ll think about it.”

Jimin’s face brightened into a satisfied smirk, relieving the other boy. He yelled something to the workers in the back room before untying his apron and hanging it up by one of the shelves and grabbing his backpack.

“Let’s go to class, lover boy.” He teased, pinching Taehyung’s cheeks as he scrambled to keep up with him. He didn’t tell anyone—he barely even admit it to himself, but he spent the rest of that day trying to beat back the sparks that shot through him whenever he remembered that morning.

“What’s your favorite flower?”

“My what?”

“Favorite flower,” Taehyung repeated. “What is it?”

“Why?” Namjoon laughed at the strange question. “Are you going to buy me flowers?”

“Not if you don’t tell me what your favorite flower is.” Taehyung joked. “Come on, hyung. It’s for my stupid writing class. Help a brother out.”

Taehyung had done remarkably better on his last two chemistry tests thanks to Namjoon’s amazing brain. The change was so drastic that he had actually begun to understand the material on his own, meaning that their tutoring sessions had shifted into study dates with an occasional question here or there. Taehyung had insisted on paying the boy for his help, but Namjoon strongly declined the offer, suggesting instead that Taehyung continue to help him in the studio, which he was more than happy to do. Of course, Namjoon’s idea of help was really just watching him bob his head self consciously to the music and listening to his mediocre feedback. “You’re like a lucky charm,” he claimed. “The last time I finished a song while you were there, my teacher complimented me on it in class. It was a fucking miracle.”

Now it was Taehyung’s turn yet again to ask for advice.

“What’s the topic today, Shakespeare?” He leaned forward to peak at Taehyung’s blank screen.

“‘Write a story from the perspective of a flower.’" he read the prompt. "How am I supposed to write a 200 word piece on something that doesn’t even move?”

“Hm,” Namjoon bit lightly on the end of his pencil as he contemplated the idea. “What kind of flower? Like, a garden flower or a vase flower?”

“The flower kind.” Taehyung replied dryly.

Namjoon ignored his sarcasm and finally answered his question.

“I like wildflowers, I guess. Anything you just find growing by it’s own outside, without a garden. Write about those.”

Taehyung nodded, thinking for a minute before acting on the first inkling of an idea that popped into his head, exhausted with trying to overthink every essay he wrote. He typed carelessly and furiously, causing Namjoon to look up from his book every couple minutes in concern. The words flowed quickly and dangerously, now that he refused to censor himself. In 15 minutes he was finished, handing it apprehensively to Namjoon to read.

“Somewhere in the forest, a wildflower turns its petals to the sun for the first time. For the first time, it dares to uncurl it’s young limbs and bloom. For the first time, it is able to relax. Wildflowers do not have to be told that they are beautiful, like the roses of the garden or the morning glories that peek out from bushes every so often. Wildflowers are born knowing so, without any human to tell them. Wildflowers do not wait to be watered. They do not stand to be coaxed from their buds for the sake of profit. They provide for themselves and they bloom on their own time. But like any good flower, they are plucked from the ground, torn from their roots and thrown in a vase of water. Their once strong, confident petals will learn to wither away, and they will learn to bleed silently, so as not to corrupt their beauty. Like any good flower, they will not last, and the beauty that held their chins up with pride will be their demise.”

“You came up with this,” he cocked his head from side to side, completely examining the words on the screen in front of him. “In 7 minutes?”

“It’s a rough draft,” he explained.

“I’ve never heard you write like this.”

Namjoon scrolled through the file, skimming it a second time. “It’s usually so... happy.”

“Yeah? Well, it was a lie.” The words that he had sighed came out before he realized what he had said, regaining consciousness only when he felt Namjoon’s concerned glare analyzing him. He didn’t bother asking the question that should have come next, because he already knew the answer that he would receive. Instead, he said,

“You’re coming to Hoseok’s party. End of discussion.”

Taehyung opened his mouth to attempt a response, managing to squeak out a surprised, “Why?”

“Because,” Namjoon began, closing his book and beginning to pack his things into his backpack. “I’m not letting you grow old and bitter alone in your apartment all year. You’re stressed. I can see it. I can hear it in your writing and your voice. Just look-” He pulled out his phone and stuck the camera lens in his face, a click sounding as Taehyung frowned in confusion. He turned the screen toward him, revealing a rather grumpy looking photo of the boy, enhanced with gray eye circles and tossled hair that further proved Namjoon’s point.

“You look like you need a hug. Now get up, we’re going to your house.”

“What- now?”

“The party is at 8. In 3 hours.” He stood up from the table, forcing Taehyung to follow his lead.

“How am I supposed to mentally prepare myself for a party that’s 3 hours away?” He grumbled.

“You’re not.” He replied. “That’s why I’m helping you.”

As Taehyung reluctantly threw his things into his messenger bag, he swallowed bitterly, his throat dry from something akin to dread. “Does this mean I should throw away the story? W-was it that bad?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s the best thing you’ve ever written, which is saying a lot. I’m not worried about your writing. I’m worried about you.” He gave him a softer smile, dimples accenting the corners of his mouth, that put him at ease. “Now come on, we've got work to do.” he said as he dragged Taehyung toward the exit, draping an arm around him all the way.

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zendozebra · 6 years

Text

All the Time in the World Chapter 8

Can’t one day go by without something going wrong in Majima’s life? Apparently, just yesterday there was a villain attack on the students when they were supposed to be doing some sort of rescue training. Majima was supposed to be there helping out the other teachers, but he had promised Izuku that he’d go back to Bandō and look through some of his old stuff. The kid wanted to see some pictures of some of the original quirk users, and it had taken some time to find his old albums. Even then, he had to separate the ones that had himself, Akira, Jin and Aimi in them, seeing as that would probably raise a few questions that he didn’t want to answer. So, since he wasn’t around to help out, Aizawa got his ass handed to him, as did 13 apparently. What does this mean exactly?

It means that Izuku is a fucking idiot and broke his fucking bones again.

“Seriously, kid, if you keep doing this, your ma is gonna take you out of the school. I won’t be able to help you if she does, you know that, right?” The kid wilts under his gaze as Ashido starts to snicker at the boy’s plight. Majima pulls out a cigarette, hoping to catch a fucking break today, and lo and behold, his fucking, lighter is empty. Great, super, fantastic! He snatched the other lighter from Ashido’s hand, angrily lighting his ciga- What? He looked at the pink zebra-striped lighter in his hand, then back up at Ashido. He held up the lighter, “You wanna explain this to me, kid?”

At the very least, she had the good graces to look embarrassed. Izuku looked a bit confused too. “Please don’t tell the other teachers, Majima-sensei.” She said to him, growing a bit nervous, “I know that you can’t smoke on campus, but I don’t know if it’s against the rules to smoke at all.”

“Pretty sure it’s not? I really don’t care either way, your life not mine and all that, but just be careful. Don’t smoke too much.” He then looked over at the problem child. “You knew about this, boy?”

“She asked me not to tell anyone, sir.”

“Good, keep your promises. Trust is important.” He stood up from his desk, stretching his back. “I’m heading to the corner store across the way, gonna grab a snack. Want anything?”

“Ooh, gummy worms!” Ashido called out, while Izuku just shook his head.

Majima walked out into the hall, thankful that the rest of the students have left so he wouldn’t have to stop smoking. He made his way through the security door and out to the crosswalk. Is that Uraraka? He walked up next to his other student, greeting her while they waited for the signal to cross the street. “What’s up, kid? I’d figure you’d be halfway home at this point, what’s got ya stickin’ around school?”

“Oh, Majima-sensei. It’s nothing too important, I just had some questions for Yamada-sensei about the test on friday. Actually, can I ask you a few questions about monday’s lecture? I was hoping you could explain something to me before your test on thursday.” Man, he just can’t catch a break today, can he? Wait, he told them they’d have a test on thursday? Damnit, now he has to write up one of those! Oh, she wanted him to explain something, right? He can’t say no, Nezu has been on his case ever since he almost broke all those classified-information laws. He has to be on his best behavior, so fine.

“Alright, walk with me. I’m headin’ to the store for some stuff, you can keep me company.” She nodded, walking across the street with him and following him into the store.

“So, you told us that villains who act for pleasure or desire are easier to be swayed towards an act of career villainy, but only in situations where the paid actions would fit within their own goals.” Pretty sure that’s not how he worded, but whatever. They walked into the store, where Majima waved at the clerk, and then made his way towards the drinks section.

“Well, in a way. A good example would be the Hero Killer: Stain.” Uraraka shuddered a bit at the mention of that name, but the teacher pushed forward, “If he was contacted by a third party group who desired his assistance with, let’s say, capturing heroes, he might be persuaded to accept the offer, seeing as he himself has a similar goal. However, that union would be unstable due to their varying different end goal. The third party might want to keep the heroes alive for many reasons. Information, extortion, experimentation. Stain, however, only wishes to kill or maim them, and would likely act upon his desire despite the wishes of his employers.” Oh sweet, they had vanilla-flavored milk here? He hasn’t seen any of that in years. Grabbing a few of those sonsabitches. He moved away from the drinks and moved over to the snacks. “Anything else you wanna know?”

“What about trauma villains? Those who do not have a clear goal, but-”

“Trauma villains don’t act with a goal, but more with a lack of one, if that makes any sense.” Judging by the look on her face, he guessed it didn’t. He threw a bag of chips at her. “Hold these for me. Alright, think of it this way. You are training to be a hero. You wake up, you train, you go to sleep. Simple. All of your actions are pushing you towards an ultimate goal. Someone who has been traumatized to the extent of the Echoed Mind is no longer being motivated by a goal, but of some basic desire that has consumed them. He didn’t have any reason to cause the violence that he did, but he didn't know what else to do. He was empty, hollowed, and without purpose in life.”

There we go, there’s a look of something on her face. Majima grabbed the bag of gummy worms that Ashido wanted, as well as a small can of walnuts for Izuku. Might as well get the kid some protein for his strength training.

“So, if someone had found the Echoed Mind, and gave him some kid of a goal to work towards, like using his quirk to help amnesia patients, he might not have gone down the path of villainy?” Damnit, she’s going backwards. Hopeful thinking, but backwards.

“Not… Quite? It’s rather difficult to explain, especially when I’m not paying too much attention to the conversation. Plus, I’m not a doctor and I’m totally not certified to say anything for certain. However, it’s less of that, and more like damage control. The Echoed Mind had been traumatized since birth, and he might have been beyond emotional help, but there could have been a possibility that he could have at least been rendered non-violent. But I knew the Echoed Mind personally, and I can tell you that he was too far gone to be helped, especially in a world that hated quirks.”

Uraraka helped him carry his food over to the counter, where he paid for everything and left the store. She thanked him for his help and made her way to the station, while Majima headed back to the school. He opened the door to his office and- The hell was their problem? Izuku and Ashido were bright red in the face, well Ashido was a darker pink but same thing, and they both seemed super nervous about something. He was missing something, wasn’t he? Alright, time for a little test. He put his bags on his desk and threw Ashido her candy. Just before he sat down, he made a show of checking his pockets and saying, “Aw, damnit, I think I left my wallet at the store. Alright, hold on guys, I’ll be right back.” Alright, plan set. He’ll just wait outside in the hall for a few minutes and use time stop. He’ll be able to walk back into the room and catch an eye of whatever they were-

“Majima-sensei!”

-Aaaand, he lost his train of thought. He gave an annoyed huff, looking to his left and seeing Kendo walking up to him. Oh great, another student wanting to talk to him. Man, this is bullshit, he just wants to drink his fuckin’ milk. Waste of his time, dealing with stupid ass kids and their dumb questions.

Kendo gave him a strange look, “Are you okay, sensei? I just wanted to ask you a question about your-”

“Look, I probably shouldn’t have even given that lecture on monday, so any questions you have should probably go to the principal. Don’t want to get myself into any more trouble than I already have.”

“I… Just wanted to ask about your old friends.” Oh, shit, well. That changes things. He really shouldn’t talk about that. Not without writing down like, a script or something. The whole thing tends to make him uncomfortable, except if he mentions one of them in like, an anecdote or something. She was staring at him, waiting for him to answer. This is gonna be tough to say.

“Why do you want to hear about that, kid? They’re not important, just an old man talking about things that don’t matter anymore.” Man, he had to be how old now? Almost 300, yeah?

“It’s just that Ibara-san noticed that you always seem to be sad when you mention your old friends. Maybe we could help you out a little bit, sir?” Kendo’s a good kid, probably his favorite in 1-B. That class always seems to be lagging behind 1-A, and quite a few of them are pretty bummed out by it. Plus, the Sports Festival is next week, right? He should give these guys a little gift, something that he doesn’t give to 1-A.

“I, uh… I’ll tell you what. Remind me next week, I’ll tell your class some stories about some of my friends. Nothing about Jin, Akira, or Aimi, though. I’m not really… Ready, to talk to so many people about them. But there’s still quite a few stories that I have with guys like Ueno, or Arai. Play your cards right, and keep that Monoma guy at a safe distance from me, and I just might tell Class 1-B about some of the other original villains.” She nodded and made her way down the hall, leaving Majima alone in the hall.

Why was he out here again? It had something to do with time stop, right? He snapped his fingers, looking around for whatever. He sighed and walked back into his office, where- Oh, yeah, forgot about that. Well, Ashido is tracing the scars on Izuku’s hands, so he guesses there’s something going on there. He should mess with them. He sat down at his desk and opened a bag of chips, throwing a handful in his mouth as he propped his feet up on his desk. He snapped again and watched the two of them for a minute. Yeah, they’re definitely together. With an extra loud crunch his two students jumped out of their skin in surprise, both a complete stuttering mess while Majima laughed his ass off.

#Ashido Mina/Izuku Midoriya #Midoriya Izuku #Midoriya Inko #all might #all for one #one for all #oc #time stop #outsider pov #slow burn #izumina #mina ashido

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 7 years

Text

Sonny Carisi / Fallen

Prompt: Sonny Carisi/Reader story about him falling for a single parent?

For the anon who requested this! I loved writing this story. Sonny is precious, especially with kids. I hope you all enjoy!

Sorry not sorry, reusing this gif because its literally the most adorable thing ever.

To say Dominick Carisi Jr. loved kids was a clear understatement. Whether it was babysitting the younger kids at a family party, or assisting a young mother struggling with her bags and a crying baby, or even when he was on the job, and there was a kid involved, Sonny was the first out the door. However, he had a secret. He was always afraid of when the time would come to actually have one of his own. He honestly didn’t know if he would make a good father, he’s been called abrasive, brash, and once he was even told he was incapable of being empathetic. And most of those times weren’t to his face. He wasn’t sure if his kid would even like him. And then there was his job…

He saw the dredges of humanity that walked in and out of his station each day, capable of the most heinous and unspeakable acts. And the sheer amount of children that walked with them were too many to bear. Hell, even one was one too many for Sonny. How would he protect his child from that world? Not bring it home with him? Not let it get to him? With the long hours and unpredictability…Sonny was never sure if he would make it as a father, which was why he was content dating. That was a far off decision he didn’t have to make at the moment. He only needed to worry about work.

“Carisi!” Rollins snapped her fingers in front of his face, and he snapped to attention as she grabbed her coat, giving him a weird look, “We gotta go,”

A case, as expected. There was never a slow day at SVU. “Where?” Sonny scrambled to keep up, grabbing his jacket, and following after her. She grimly looked to him as he walked into the elevator beside her.

“An elementary school,”

Amanda filled Sonny in on the way: an elementary school student had accused their principal of sexual assault during a school assembly, in front of parents, teachers, and other students. It was less accused than more of a refusal to come anywhere near the principal during the assembly when it was time for her to receive an award. When they arrived it was about as organized as anyone would expect it to be: half-baked chaos. While officers tried to get anxious parents to move back as they counted kids, others tried to calm the raging public behind the yellow tape. Not to mention the media circus that was happening a foot away. “Vultures,” One officer at the scene remarked to Sonny, and he only shook his head. As he glanced at them clamoring to get a good shot of the children and suspect, he couldn’t say he disagreed.

They were escorted inside the school, lead to the teacher of the student in question. She was in the bathroom, trying to speak to the girl, Samantha, who had locked herself inside the stall. Sonny could hear her audible sobs even outside the bathroom. After the interview, even after he left for the day, he could still hear her sobs, gasping, painful, and heart wrenching. She was broken, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to fix it. He could only lock up the bastard who had done, but it didn’t erase the deeds he had done before. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and he jolted up, head snapping up to spot your concerned face. “Class is over,” You explained, gesturing to the empty seats and empty podium where the professor had once stood. He scrambled to pack up his books, as you waited by the door for him. “After you,” You followed behind his lanky figure, falling in step beside him, and he noticed as you did, you stared at him.

He forced a playful grin, “Is somethin’ on my face?” You narrowed your eyes.

“What’s wrong, Sonny?” He opened his mouth, but you talked right over him. “Don’t deny it, I know Dominick Carisi Jr.’s smile, and that’s not it,” You bumped his shoulder playfully. As you used his full name, he felt the urge to grab your hand, engulfing it in his own, but he resisted the urge, glossing over it.

He sighed, turning to your question, pushing open the door. “It was a difficult case today,” Your face scrunched up in worry, as it often did whenever he spoke about his job. Carisi noticed that you often bit your lip when he shared some details, he imagined if you ever took a job at SVU, you would eventually tear a hole through your lip. “I just want to get my mind off of it,” He shook his head, almost wishing he could shake his thoughts out of his head, but no such luck. “What are your plans for tonight? Do you wanna go get a drink?”

You hesitated in answering, “I can’t, not tonight, but I can tomorrow,” You counter-offered, smiling. He couldn’t help but beam back.

“Are you buying?” He raised an eyebrow, and you crossed your arms.

“Maybe, if I can get a nightcap,” You winked, as he followed you down the subway, but a nagging thought remained: why couldn’t you do tonight?

“Sonny, the answer is not A, it’s B,” You held up the Bar practice book to his face, only millimeters away. You both were curled up on his couch, side by side, your legs brushing against his, as the two of you worked from the same book.

“Do I need to hold it closer?” He squinted at the book for a half-second, before pushing it away with a sigh.

“I need a break,” He turned to you, gaze intense as the two you locked eyes for a moment. He felt himself move closer, and you mirrored this movement, the two of you an inch apart. He felt your breath hitch, but when your gaze went elsewhere, his eyes followed yours. It was 11 PM.

“You’re going to get a long one, I have to get home,” You shut the book, packing up your stuff. He frowned, eyes carefully watching you as you packed up your things.

“Can I ask you something, Y/N?” You looked up, shrugging.

“Of course, is something wrong?” You pursed your lips, and Sonny thought about how many times he wanted to just tell you how he felt, hold you in his arms and lean in… but he needed to know something first.

“Are you seeing someone?” He blurted out the words in his usual blunt and abrasive fashion, and half-expected you to brush his question off entirely with an annoyed “Carisi” as his squad did at times.

You froze, looking up at him, “No, but why do you ask?” He approached you at that moment, throwing away any hint of doubt to the wind, instead, standing close to you, his hands cautiously reaching for your own. As your fingers intertwined, he gently pulled you close, and he felt you move into his touch, and that was the confirmation he needed. He moved closer, his lips only a fraction of an inch from yours, when:

“I have a son,” You blurted out. Sonny stopped, brow burrowed in confusion, as he stepped back once, as if to take in what you said. You didn’t let him speak as you continued, taking advantage of the silence. “His name is Sebastian, he’s five years old, I had him with my ex-boyfriend five years ago after we broke up. He’s still in contact, and has Sebastian on Tuesday and Thursday, and every other weekend. He also helps out more now that I’m taking classes and studying for the Bar, but we’re just friends,” Sonny processed this information, somehow rendered speechless. A million thoughts ran through his head, connecting the dots. It explained why you were busy on certain days and not on others, and why you had to be home by 11 PM so often. A son… “If you don’t want to be with me, I completely understand. A kid is a huge responsibility, and I don’t want to bring someone into my life who isn’t okay with him, because he is my life.” You looked so afraid, wringing your hands and biting your lip with twice as much force.

“Hey, hey,” He put his hands on your shoulders, and you shivered from his touch. “I don’t care if you have a son, I’m just glad you finally told me. I was thinking that I was falling for a married woman,” He chuckled, shaking his head, relief flooding him.

“You’re falling for me?” You repeated, and he didn’t hesitate this time, when he moved in, wrapping his arms around your waist, and pressing a kiss to your lips. Your arms reached up, wrapping carefully around his neck, pulling him closer.

He broke the kiss for a moment, whispering a word against your lips: “Fallen,”

“Be careful!” You called after your two boys (well one small boy and one extremely tall man) as they skated around the ice rink. Sonny held tightly to Sebastian’s tiny hands, showing him how to skate. It was Sonny’s idea to take him skating, after seeing a flyer for a toddler’s ice skating class. Knowing completely about skating while knowing 100% that you would fall about a million times made you hesitant to go, but Sonny insisted, and you were glad. Sebastian was laughing, and playing, and having a grand old time with Sonny.

And that’s when Sebastian fell flat on his face.

You gasped, your heart flew out of your chest, as you jumped to your feet. You scanned the ice for any sign of blood, but he was already laughing again…because of Sonny. He had checked for any injury, but then placed the tyke on his shoulders and began skating around with him. You sat back down, unable to hide the smile on your face.

After you tucked in one completely exhausted Sebastian, you left the room quietly, shutting the door behind you to find Sonny sitting on the couch waiting for you. He put his arm on the top of the couch, beckoning you over. You slid into place, his arm falling into place on your shoulders, as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Asleep?”

“Out like a light,” You smiled, staring at him. “After all the fun he had with you, he won’t want you to leave,” After Sonny and you dated for about two months, you finally introduced him to your son. You were scared to put it simply. Things were going well with Sonny, you didn’t want to lose him. He loved kids, but the question was would he love yours? But your worries were quieted within a minute, as Sonny immediately clicked with Sebastian. In five minutes’ flat, the pair were running around the apartment, wreaking pure havoc. The two have been inseparable, especially today. He hadn’t let go of Sonny’s hand once.

“Maybe I won’t,” He pressed a kiss to your lips, and you tilted your head, curious. “What if I moved in?” He saw your face change, and he brushed the idea off. “It was just an idea, if it’s too soon-”

“I want you to,” You told him, and a grin grew to the very corners of his eyes, “But, I still have to talk to Drew about it. Sebastian’s his son too, but it shouldn’t be a problem since the two of you are friendly,” Though the two were standoffish at first, they had grown to like each other over time. “But are you sure you want to move into this five year old house of horrors where it’s Go Diego Go! and Power Rangers all the time? Not to mention dealing with me all the time,” Sebastian was easy, he was a little angel, but there was a small part of you that worried Sonny would get sick of you.

Sonny captured your lips in a kiss, pulling you on top of him, his hands running through your hair. He pulled away for a moment to take you in. “That’s a bonus,” He grinned mischievously, as you beamed back, rolling your eyes, before the same doubt crept back in. “Doll, remember I fell for you first, and I love you more now than I did then, you and Seb. I can’t imagine my life without you two,”

Your eyes pricked at your eyes, as you leaned back down, “You may have fallen first, but I’ve never stopped.”

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kelcdanmarie · 6 years

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Last Thursday, I time traveled backwards a decade. As I stood in a room full of high school students, I couldn't help but feel memories clawing to the front of my mind. A group of five students stood with their arms around each other's shoulders, singing along and swaying in unison. I know the feeling that provides, the safety of that chosen family, all the while knowing you didn't really chose them, they were given to you, a blessing. I remembered when I had that, when I was fifteen. I watched one girl squeeze the shoulder of the girl to her left, a subtle offering of comfort, community, encouragement, and then I dolefully remembered you. It was like my whole mind blurred reality out of focus and pulled me into that rented building on Dellinger Road where we grew together. The place where we compared scars, experiences and that senseless burden in our minds insisting that we cease altogether. The night I hid in the bathroom to cry privately, but you followed me. The pact that we made, the promise that I've kept, the strength that you poured into me at your weakest moment. How you walked me arm and arm back to everyone else while we prayed and sang together. How you squeezed my shoulder as we fell in line with our friends. The comfort, the community, the encouragement. My mind's eye shifted back into the present room. Everything felt so fragile but so urgent. A room full of people who could be missing the next week. A room full of people who could spend the the next ten years carrying around a heart with pieces of tragedy attached. A head filled with demons that look like what they lost. A decade like mine. A room full of my motives. Something more than a memory pushing me forward, people that are still alive. It forced me to deeply assess some of my personal struggles and insecurities that I've been raking over lately. Why is it that I am so anxious to make new friends? Why do I hide away alone most of my days? Why can't I overcome the fear of letting people close? I think I'm afraid of losing people, letting people down. It's easier to be by myself than to risk that wreckage. When I finally muster enough courage to reach out, to be vulnerable, it's the lack of response that renders me idle and the cycle repeats. I think what gets to me, and what most people can't see, is that I only reach out in times of extreme isolation. Speaking this out loud (so to speak) is the most honest I've been about myself in ages. When I actually extend an invitation, a hand to someone, it can be as simple as a text or proposition for food, it's not coming from a spontaneous place. It's my hand, reaching out of the waves drowning me in a sea of dark, lonely thoughts, desperate for someone to pull me out. How did it get so bad? The spiritual warfare in my head runs rampant. It tells me that the potential loss isn't worth the gain. I used to be open with people, and they kept dying. That's blunt, but it's honest. That was the worst part of 2008-2012 for me. One after the next, gone in a sequence. I thought I was cursed. He was like a brother to me, he died in a car accident. She helped me through it, understood things about me I had never said out loud, she committed suicide. Another one helped me accept that I wasn't at fault, that I couldn't do anything preventative. She followed me into the hallways when I cried, checked on me everyday, and then died four months later from a rare, undetectable birth complication. There was another car accident, a murder, another suicide, an aneurysm and an innocent. Somehow, through all of that, you're the one I've held onto. You were the first one that I didn't just reach out to- you grabbed back, you held on until you couldn't anymore. I promised you I'd stay, no matter what. I promised you that I would lead a life that looks like the one I try to lead now, but even bigger. This leads me back to the aforementioned evaluation of myself. It's been almost ten years. Ten. Years. A decade, and I've hardly moved forward. I've tried to chock it up to a source of motivation, but it's become more than that. What I claimed gave me strength, over time wore itself into a weakness. So today, I made a decision. I've decided to let you go this year. I will always be thankful for the light you put in my life. You helped shape me into who I am, but I can't spend the next ten years holding onto you. I need to free my hands to reach out to the living. As long as I resist moving forward, I will be living with the same insecurities and fears that have created my isolation and alienating thought processes. There are people in my life, ready to wrap their fingers into the spaces between mine, but to really hold them, I have to let part of you go. So today, I said goodbye to your ghost. I'll always carry a part of you with me, I'll reserve that space for your light, the one that God illuminated you with so fervently. I promise to keep my promise. Thank you for everything. Ps. You could consider this as me finally taking your favorite one line pep talk to heart, "Suck it up, and take it like a man!", but there's this whole gender revolution thing that has happened in the last decade since you left, so I don't think either of us would say that anymore. Let's end it on a positive note, like we always agreed to do. //// Hebrews 12:1-2 (NIRV) 12 A huge cloud of witnesses is all around us. So let us throw off everything that stands in our way. Let us throw off any sin that holds on to us so tightly. And let us keep on running the race marked out for us. 2 Let us keep looking to Jesus. He is the one who started this journey of faith. And he is the one who completes the journey of faith. He paid no attention to the shame of the cross. He suffered there because of the joy he was looking forward to. Then he sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

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