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retvenkos · 3 years

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“would it be terribly cheesy if i said ‘it was always you’?”

requested by @biqherosix STRAP IN, FOLKS, BECAUSE TODAY WE ARE TAKING A LOOK AT WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE FOR EJ CASWELL TO HAVE A CRUSH ON A NORTH HIGH STUDENT...

so first of all, you and ej knew each other long before you ran into each other in high school. because, you see, you went to junior high together, and in those days, both you and ej were on dance company

(you can pry dance company! ej from my cold, dead fingers)

you were arguably the better dancer, and seventh grade ej really wanted to prove himself. a baby competition sprouted between the two of you, but it was nothing big.

you both liked to show off in order to taunt the other, and you both got a kick out of trying to one up each other.

but at the same time, you were teammates. you did everything together.

so the bond between you and ej was strong. it was a competition, yes, but it was friendly competition and you both actually hyped each other a lot.

plus, dance company does a lot of things as a group, so it was unavoidable. you were going to end up liking each other at some point. luckily, it happened sooner rather than later, and the two of you built up a nice rapport with one another - a closeness forged in friendly competition and last minute studying parties.

but all that changed when you went to north high and ej went to east high

now, since north high is completely fictional, i get to create the dynamic between the schools, so listen up everyone!

north high clearly has the better arts department, and they also have the better tennis and softball team.

east high has the better stem department as well as a better swim team and any other swim related sports.

west high has the better sport teams overall - basketball, football, volleyball, etc.

(that's why we never see any uber jocks at east high—)

now, clearly you have your boundary school, but people get on special permit all the time, and when you say you’re going to north high ej is like ???? but why ???

“they have a better arts department, ej, you know that!”

“well, yeah, but east high is the best. we always said we were going to be wildcats!”

“ej.... they’re actually leopards.”

it wasn’t a super emotional goodbye. you promised to stay in touch, and it wasn’t like it was hard. you still saw each other around the mall, you still followed each other on instagram and what not but.... time just got between you.

you slowly stop texting, you see each other less, when you see each other in public you do that thing where you give a smile but then don’t go over to say hi, because you’re wrapped up in other people. it’s not pointed things, you just... stop talking.

and you still like each others photos on instagram but you’re just... there.

all of that changes, however, when carlos asks you to help him choreograph hsm.

at the time, the rivalry between schools wasn’t big, it was just a low simmer, and the reason carlos approached you was because once upon a time, you, ej, and him had all been in dance company together for one (1) year (it all comes full cIRCLE) and for one of your performances, you had done something hsm related.

carlos wanted to know if you remembered the routine and could help him come up with something slightly more advanced.

and while you and carlos hadn’t really kept up with one another, he jokingly brought up a time where he did something for you, and how you always said you’d pay him back one day and maybe now it was time to cash it in??

you decided why not? you’ve done a lot of stuff for north high’s dance company, but you’ve never helped out in a musical before (and as you can imagine, north high is very competitive in their arts)

so you joined the hsm cast as co-choreographer.

now, because you had your own north high dance company stuff to deal with, you end up missing a lot of rehearsals. you mostly brainstorm with carlos and add tweaks to the choreo. carlos is the one to really ~teach~ things.

which means that while you are present for ~the drama~ that was ej-nini-ricky, you actually miss a lot of it. you feel the tension, but exactly why it’s Like That is beyond you.

you tried to ask carlos once but he said he wasn’t going to get into that, thank you.

and honestly, you have competitions to keep up with, so you’re not fixated on it. you’re just hoping that they’re not still pissed at each other on opening night, when ej has to strap ricky in for “getcha head in the game”

and while you’ve chatted with ej a couple of times, you haven’t had much time to catch up.

you actually bond a lot with gina, who is on the same level as you in terms of dance. you end up talking and mention how ej was once on dance company, and that rocks her world because ej???

and that’s when you show her all of the old videos you archived on your instagram from your junior high days. carlos, ej, and you all in dance company. they’re precious.

and when ej’s friendships are strained and he doesn’t have anyone to turn to, he sees you and gina laughing and crowding over your phone, and he comes to say hi.

and thus, the friendship begins again.

it is, of course, slow going because so much time has come between you, and gina and carlos (the two you hang with the most) are not on great terms with ej, but you guys grow really close all over again. ej is glad to have another senior to talk to about college, and you’re glad you have an old friend to talk to because it’s easy to feel out of place in this school that isn’t yours.

and on opening night, you know ej gifts you something - maybe it’s a jacket or beanie with the wildcats emblem on it.

“it’s kinda stupid, but we always said we were going to be wildcats together, and we did it.”

“huh, i guess we did.”

and for some reason, you chest is really warm, and you can feel the heat sneak up to your cheeks.

“this is really sweet, ej.”

“well, you know me.”

“yeah, i guess i do.”

and then it’s his cue to get ready to go on stage.

“oh! and there should be another surprise coming, don’t hate me for not telling you!”

and you’re ??? but it turns out to be gina.

you all clearly go to denny's afterward to celebrate, and if ej feels his heart seize in his chest everytime you laugh or steal one of gina’s fries, it’s not an unfamiliar feeling. because really, it had always been like that, with you. you never cease to amaze him.

and once you’re on the east high theatre group chat, you never get taken off of it, so you know everything that’s going on with your theatre buddies, after hsm has finished.

and this is where a conflict of interest really comes in...

because, you see, once hsm is a hit, some of the theatre kids at north high think you’re a traitor. you gave east high their secrets, and now east high is an actual contender. uncool, (y/n).

so you kind of get iced out by a lot of north high kids. like i said. competition there is s t e e p and you’ve been accused of fraternizing with the enemy..

but when zach roy shows up and he hears about the drama surrounding one (y/n) (l/n), he gets an idea... so he approaches you one day after dance company practice...

“he asked you to do wHAT?”

you’re texting ej, carlos, and gina in a group chat

“he asked me to co-choreograph their show.”

“are you going to do it?” - carlos

“of course they are! do you think opportunities like this just fall out of the sky?” - gina

“i don’t know, though, i feel like he’s working some angle with me. there’s something about him that doesn’t feel genuine.”

“it’s those piercing blue eyes.” - carlos

“i have piercing blue eyes!”

“and you’ve never done anything underhanded?” - gina

“we did that together!”

“what should i do?”

“accept, clearly!” - gina

“i’d be careful, if i were you. miss jenn doesn’t trust him for a reason.” - carlos

“it’s up to you, (y/n). you’ll do great, and it’s a great opportunity.”

“but?”

and everyone can feel the pause - the conflict where ej doesn’t know what to say.

“but nothing! this is a HUGE opportunity! he’s dancer extraordinaire derek hough zach roy! i’d be the villain of your eventual documentary if i were to try to hold you back.”

“okay... i think i’ll do it. you know how competitive things are, here. this could really give me a boost.”

“hell yeah, (y/n)!” - gina

“spy on their production for us?” - carlos

“anything for you <3″

i imagine you clash a lot with lily, but you actually become really good friends with howie and antoine. but that’s beside the point.

and while things are on good terms at first, your bond with your wildcats stays strong, and you’re carving out a place in north high rehearsals, lily is quick to find out that you’re on the east high group chat.

and because this is hsmtmts, i get to have some fun with this premise.

lily gets some kind of tech nerd on her side, and she gets him to make it so that somehow, the text that you get from the theatre group also send to her phone, for maximum stalking of the competition. that’s how she always gets one step ahead of east high.

and as north high seemingly continues to have insider info on east high, someone suspects there’s a leak.... which leads to you. who else has access to north high? so they send a fake text and wait to see if north high takes the bait.

they do. so now east high thinks it’s you.

but at this same time, you keep noticing that suspiciously, whenever you get a text from east high theatre department, lily’s phone goes off to. literally at the same moment, you’re doing your own test to see if somehow she hacked your phone.

(you had your suspicions because lily is actually terribly bad at hiding her hand and constantly makes remarks that make you Think™.)

you confirm lily to have hacked your phone, and so you go old school and show up to east high, hoping to tell them what happened and find some fix (since east high is the mother of all tech schools in this universe.)

but when you walk into the auditorium, the cast is being really passive aggressive toward you? and you’re so confused? what happened?

of course, ricky is the only to confront you because these days, it seems like he’s always one (1) moment away from blowing up.

and you explain that you were played just as much as they were - it was never your intention to betray them. east high is your family.

“oh, yeah? i’ve never known an east high leopard to go to north high.”

and so now we’re in shambles! we’re divided!

you leave, upset, and ej catches you in the hall. he tries to explain that ricky’s been on one, recently, that none of his anger was really meant for you, and that he believes you - truly. he knows you’re the last person to ever betray them. you’re not like that. that’s more him than it is you.

and you just give him the world’s biggest h u g .

now you’re probably wondering why i insisted on this particular plot line, but let me tell you - ej never really understood completely what a complete breach of trust it was for him to steak nini’s phone and violate her privacy like that. now he can see how deeply it affects you - how it can really ruin people in ways you never intend. it’s about the learning curve.

anyway, it takes you a while to build up trust with east high again, but you say “hey, why don’t you guys continue to send false leads to this group chat? make another for yourselves, and continue to spread misinformation to me.

ej is like... do you really want to sabotage your own show? but you tell him something along the lines of “our show is still going to have superior choreography, lily is just going to waste her time doing pointless side missions. it has nothing to do with the quality of my work.”

and ej loves this competitive and devious side of you so much. but he’s also deathly terrified of telling you how much he cares about you, because he always manages to screw things up.

and gina finds hilariously endearing because of all people to be self conscious... ej caswell? the ej caswell? she would be his hype woman if she wasn’t so busy finding this all too Good to be true.

eventually, lily will find out, but when she confronts you and threatens to tell the cast that you’re the reason they’re so behind in their production, you tell her that to do that, she’d have to confess to stealing your phone, hacking into it, and using it to spy on you which breaks like 23 different school rules. but sure! tell everyone! you’d love to see how the principal reacts when you film it and show it to them on monday.

(this is getting really long, let me see if i can wrap it up, quick)

clearly, ej is an Idiot when he’s in love, and even though he’s deathly afraid of telling you his feelings, that doesn’t stop him from expressing them.

both of you are in your respective musicals, and your rehearsal schedules align really nicely, so a lot of the time, ej will drive up to north high afterward so he can give you a ride home. (you don’t have a car, okay?) you guys always stop to get fast food or a drink at starbucks or something, and you have little “dates” where ej parks the car and the two of you eat in his car, just chatting about your day.

or on weekends, you and ej go and drive up to the state college that ej was admitted to, and you walk around campus, trying to envision him there. and if you’re also going to a school nearby, you do the same for you. (bonus points if you’re going to the same college, so you walk around and pick out the places where you’ll chill together.)

and if these little excursions of yours are the highlight of your week, and all you want to do is hold ej’s hand forever, singing in the car with the windows down and driving into the sunset... well, you just hope that ej wants the same.

and since ej is in av club, and he’s really trying to dig in and figure out what his story is, he’s always got a camera of some kind out, and some of his best work, he swears, are pictures and videos of you.

anyway, at some point, you confess to ej that you have a crush on him (howie probably pushed you to do it because he was tired of seeing you pine).

it’s a weekend and the two of you are procrastinating on your respective school assignments (study sessions being interrupted with senioritis? sounds about right) so instead you’re just sitting on the floor, staring at the ceiling, talking about whatever. and i think it just slips out, and when you realize what you’ve said, you’re vvv embarrassed, and you don’t even want to look at see how ej reacts, but he calls your name and you turn to him, a deadly mixture of dread and hope rooted in your stomach and shaking you to your core, but ej is smiling and in his eyes is something brighter than the sun, and when he tells you he’s feels the same, it’s like that dread in your stomach blooms into pure joy and when he tells you he’s had a crush on you since you were eighth graders and you were a better dancer than him, you can’t help but laugh until all of that warmth in your stomach has escaped into the air and hangs around the two of you like low hanging stars - so close, you can reach out and touch them.

anyway, cue lots of sneaking around north high - not because it’s a secret but because it’s fun hiding in the back of the auditorium and sneaking into the empty dance room.

cue cheering for each other at the menkies and congratulating each other when east high gets best musical, and north high gets best choreography (amongst others).

cue going to denny’s to celebrate and laughing until your sides hurt, stealing each other’s fries, and holding hands under the table.

(also... ej 100% would kiss your fingers when your hands are intertwined and that’s truly a blessing)

cue going to pool parties together for no other reason than i want all of the east high kids to do an impromptu rendition of “all for one” and ej gets to hit ricky with one of those blow up beach balls “for revenge” on the basketball moment in season 1.

plus, a pool party would do wonders for destressing, don’t lie.

AND FLUFF ENSUES.

taglist: @maybanksslut, @theletterhart, @brokenandheadoverheels, @neelia-thedaughtherof-athena @kitsdeadwife, @amortensie // add yourself to the taglist here!

#hsmtmts #high school musical: the musical: the series #high school musical the musical the series #ej caswell #ej caswell x reader #ej caswell x you #ej caswell headcanons #reader insert #ej caswell imagine #imagine #headcanons #would include #fluff #long post #you know it's a long post if i added a read more to headcanons and it's still long without the read more #anyway my agenda includes loving ej caswell wbu?

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fangirlovestuff · 3 years

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Everytime - Chris Evans x reader

a/n - hey lovely people!! this is based on this request, thank you so much nonnie!! honestly i didn’t know this song before and it’s a bop. it kinda spiralled a little more than the song, but i hope you’ll like it!! also, tysm Ev @evansphnx12 for helping me with the ending, you’re a sweetheart!! okay, no more rambles, enjoy<3

Summary: you and chris didn’t want the same things, or at least you didn’t think so. it was pointless to pretend like you did, you’d only end up getting hurt; but the second your eyes meet you want nothing except for each other, and god knows that’s a pull you can’t resist.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: mentions of sex but nothing graphic, alcohol consumption (everyone’s the proper age), a little bit of angst

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hello?" you answer the phone curiously. The number isn't one you recognize, not saved on your phone, and you furrow your brows trying to understand who could it be, except maybe a spam call.

"Hey," answers a deep voice from the other side of the phone, "it's Chris, I don't know if you remember, you gave me your number a while ago and-"

"Oh yeah, I remember," you said, "hi!" you smiled even though you know he can't see you. "How are you?"

You both went through the normal pleasantries, but your mind wasn't really in it, running a mile a minute because god, did you remember Chris.

You two met a while back at a bar. You were out with your friends, and you noticed him from the corner of your eye, his friend group smaller than yours but large nonetheless. He was pretty far from where you were seated, but he looked so good you couldn't resist sneaking some more looks at him throughout the night.

Okay, maybe you were staring. Just a little.

And he must've noticed too, because the next time you lifted your eyes he wasn't in his previous seat, and you were about to sigh and assume he went home before you heard a voice greeting you to your right. You jumped a little in surprise before turning your head, only to look up and find his blue eyes staring back into yours, a slight smirk playing on his lips, and shit, he was so handsome it was unfair.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Even his voice was attractive. You contained your scoff of disbelief.

Long story short, one drink turned into a few more, that turned into going back to his house and having what was maybe the absolute best sex of your life, because you were both pretty drunk, but it was definitely up there.

You vaguely remember giving him your number, but you still left early the next morning, because that's what you thought he wanted, thinking the whole number thing was probably more of a courtesy than anything.

Apparently, it wasn't.

"So, I'm gonna be back in town next week," he mentioned casually, "and I was wondering if maybe… you'd wanna meet up? Grab a coffee or something?"

"Sure," you said, your brain catching up with your mouth a short moment afterward, and shit, why did you just say that? Doesn't that make you seem desperate? And besides, wasn't the whole thing supposed to be a one-night type of deal?

This was a bad idea. You knew that, but there was a small part of you that didn't care; small but definitely not insignificant.

"Great!" he chuckled on the other side of the phone. "So I'll text you sometime?"

"Yeah," you said, ending the call on an agreement to meet up Friday when he'd be in town.

So, in five days. That's enough time for your heart to stop pounding this loudly in your chest and the butterflies to stop fluttering around in your stomach, right?

Shit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You kept busy the entire week, not giving yourself enough to mull over the plans you had, until it was finally Friday morning, and you woke up to a text from Chris, asking if you were still on for tonight and if you wanted him to come pick him up.

You thanked him and took him up on his offer, before plopping back first onto your bed. You put it off far enough, but now you could feel yourself inevitably freaking out.

The thing was, you really didn't know what to expect, the uncertainty that had been gnawing at the back of your mind for a week now finally taking the spotlight. You thought you'd never see him again, but that clearly wasn't the case.

Well, you'd see soon enough, you gathered, as you distracted yourself for another few hours until it was time to get ready. Chris didn't exactly tell you where you were going, but you two had mentioned a coffee, and even if it wasn't that, you imagined he wouldn't take you anywhere too fancy, so you put on something casual elegant.

I'm sorry, that last bit was kind of misleading, wasn't it? Really, you thought about what to wear for a good 30 minutes, decided on casual elegant and then took another good hour to pull out an obscene amount of clothes from your closet, proceeding to try on different outfits until you finally settled on one.

The advantage of your indecision was that it was very time consuming, leaving you very little time to get everything else you needed in order, thus less time to spiral.

When Chris texted you to come outside, all you could do was take a deep breath and go. After you greeted each other, the music filled the silence between you, not uncomfortably. Without noticing, you started humming the song beneath your breath, and before long you were both singing along, and you could feel the tension seeping out of your shoulders. Once the song ended, you took a deep breath and looked over to see Chris already looking at you. You smiled at him, and he returned it.

"Chris, I gotta, um," you swallowed, "ask you something."

"Sure, what is it?"

"Well, I'm just… is this a date? Not that I'm trying to, I don’t know… look, I just want us to be on the same page, I guess, it doesn't have to be a date, I was just, like, wondering."

Real smooth.

"It's fine," Chris chuckled a little, and you kept your eyes trained on the dash before you so you wouldn't have to meet his. "I guess… I don't really know either? We could just… see how it goes?"

"Yeah, alright," you smiled a little, "sounds great. Speaking of going, where are you taking me? Cause, you know, if you're a serial killer that's taking me out in the woods to kill me, I'd rather know now than later."

"I'm not a serial killer, and it's a surprise," he grinned.

"That's exactly what a serial killer would say," you said, playfully narrowing your eyes at him.

He let out a laugh. "Okay, okay, it's a club not far from here. It's a new one, I haven't been there myself yet, so I’d figured we'd check it out?"

"Sure," you grinned at him. The rest of the short drive went by in a flash, and when you got there, Chris darted out of the car to open your door for you.

"Thank you," you giggled.

"After you," he gestured, and you led your way into the club.

Inside, you took in the atmosphere, which was pretty relaxed since it was still early. You and Chris ate a little, engaging in conversation, and before long your drinks arrived. You were about to bring yours to your lips when Chris reached out and stopped you. You looked at him quizzically.

"We have to toast first," he shrugged with a smirk.

"Okay. So, what are we toasting for?"

"To new beginnings," he raised his glass in suggestion.

"To new beginnings," you repeated softly, clinking your glass with his before taking a sip from your drink.

When things picked up a little, you both got to the dance floor. In no time you found your rhythm, dancing together as if it wasn't the first time. The songs were jumpy, upbeat, and you found yourself beaming when Chris spun you around before pulling you back in.

You danced like that for a while, before you both got thirsty, heading to the bar for another drink.

"You wanna get outta here soon?" he asked, raising his voice to make sure you heard him over the loud music.

"Let's go," you said, grabbing his hand and practically dragging him to the exit. You heard his laugh behind you, and you smiled.

"Sorry," you said once you were outside, "the music was getting a little too loud for me," you shrugged.

"Yeah, it kinda was," he agreed with a soft smile. "So, where to next?"

You checked the time on your phone. "I mean, we could go back to my place if you want a coffee, since I doubt anywhere else is open right now."

"Great!" he smiled, and then his eyebrows furrowed a little, "But I guess neither of us should drive, right? I mean, I probably could, I just…"

"Yeah, you're right," you nodded.

"My place is closer to here, actually," he said, "If you want, we could walk there?"

"Alright," you smiled.

You two started walking side by side, silently at first. "What about your car?" you asked.

"I'll come by and get it tomorrow," he shrugged. "I need to get gas anyway. I'm driving upstate again in a couple of days."

"Can't you fly?"

"Not since the last time I checked, when I was four and nearly broke my arm jumping from a tree," he smiled teasingly.

"Ha ha," you rolled your eyes, a smile spreading on your face despite your efforts to stop it. "I mean, wouldn't it be easier if you took a plane instead of driving?"

"Maybe, but I don't like flying that much. It's exhausting."

You simply hummed in reply.

Before long, you were at Chris' house. Again, your mind unhelpfully supplied, vividly reminding you of the last time you were here, which was-

"So, do you want that coffee?" Chris asked when he showed you in, thankfully breaking your train of thought before you could get too zoned out.

"Um yeah, that sounds wonderful," you smiled at him. As you waited on his couch while he went to get the coffee, your eyes wandered around the large room. You didn't really get much of a look at his house before since you were… occupied with other things, but it was really nice, modestly decorated.

As you were looking around, you heard a soft patter of footsteps come up behind you, and you turned around to see Chris concentrating on the two mugs in his hand, trying not to spill anything, his tongue darting out in concentration a little. It made you giggle a little, making him look up at the sudden sound.

"What?" he asked, putting the mugs down carefully.

"Nothing," you smiled.

He eyed you suspiciously before apparently deciding to drop it, since all he did was sit down and pat the space next to him for you to sit in.

You two decided to watch a movie, but honestly, to each of you the other one was way more interesting than the movie.

Your second night with Chris ended up pretty much the same as the first one, with amazing sex and a good night's sleep. And then, slipping away the next morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I just, ugh," you plopped back down on your bed, talking to your friend on the phone, "I don't know."

"Listen, it's only been a few days, and he told you he was going away, I'm sure he'll talk to you soon. Or not," your friend said from the other side of the phone.

"That's comforting," you snorted, flipping onto your stomach.

"Hey, you said it yourself, right? You don't know what you two are. If it was just a hookup, he probably won't call." You opened your mouth to reply, but as if she could sense it, your friend continued before you could. "I'm not being mean, I'm being honest. You don't deserve to get your heart broken."

"I know," you sighed. "Thank you," you said sincerely, "talk to you later."

In the months that followed you saw Chris a few more times, each of them ending in pretty much the same way. Some were at your house, and he was gone in the morning, which in a way confirmed you were… what, friends with benefits? In a casual relationship?

You knew you shouldn't obsess about putting a label to it, because it doesn't really matter, except it did matter to you and you'd really like to know.

But you never brought it up. You liked what you had. It was fun. Really fun.

And every time you would be with him, most of your logical thinking skills would fly out of the window, so there's that. You liked to rationalize you didn't bring it up because you were consciously deciding not to jeopardize what you have, but really, it just doesn't cross your mind when you're with him.

It's weird, because when you're with him, you're incredibly calm, happy really, but when you're not, he makes you so nervous you feel like running to get the fidgety energy out. And running sucks.

Now, you were sitting at your friend's kitchen table as she made herself a coffee.

"Hey," your friend said, her voice laced with strictness and affection, "are you listening to me?"

"Yeah," you nodded, shaking yourself from your reverie.

"Really? Or are you thinking about Chris again?"

"What? No, I was just thinking about-" you started denying it, before your friend simply arched her brow at you, making you sigh. "-Chris. God, am I really that obvious?"

"Yes," she said matter-of-factly before sipping her coffee.

"Sorry," you offered half-heartedly, "I know I'm being annoying, I just… I like him. And I don't know what we are and it's driving me up the wall."

"Hold on, did you just say you liked him?" she looked at you incredulously.

"Yes," you said, although it came out more as a question than a statement.

"Oh honey," she said, sitting down in the chair next to you.

"I know, I know," you sighed looking at the table instead of her, "I shouldn't. But I do," you looked up at her. "That's why I'm… scared," the admission fell past your lips, the last word merely a whisper.

Your friend wrapped her arm around you in comfort, knowing you still needed to talk about it.

"If I just knew what he wanted, this would all be easier, because then I could keep the same mindset. But I don't wanna be annoying and end up embarrassing myself."

"You know what I think about this. You don't deserve to get hurt," she replied, squeezing your shoulders.

"I know, I just really don't know what to do," you sighed.

"If I were you," she started, "I'd tell him I'm seeing someone else."

"What?" you frowned.

"Just my take on it. What's the worst thing that could happen? It's not like you can't break up if you're not together," she shrugged.

"Okay, I get it," you scoffed. "No need to rub it in."

Despite your cynicism, you couldn't help thinking maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all. Also, it was kind of the only idea you had, so either that or leave things as they were. Not that you were really complaining, I mean, things were wonderful as they are, but the uncertainty was becoming unbearable.

Maybe confronting him about it will be good, whispers a voice of hope in your head.

Yeah, you thought, or maybe it'll bite me in the ass. And not in a fun way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next time Chris was in town, he called you on a Friday morning.

"Hey!" he said, and even across the phone you could hear he was excited. It made your heart swell with fondness, a feeling you quickly shook off because, well, you weren't exactly boyfriend and girlfriend, so the only feeling you should have is like, attraction. Right?

"Hey," you said, your voice soft.

"So, I'm in town this weekend, and I was thinking, do you wanna do something?"

"I guess," you said, a smile sneaking onto your face, "What'd you have in mind?"

"You'll see," he said, and you could practically hear his smirk, "Just bring an overnight bag."

An overnight b-

"Yeah, sure," you said, your mouth speaking before your brain caught up, and shit, that seems to happen entirely too often when you were talking to him.

"Great! So I'll see you tonight?"

"See you," you agreed, ending the call, not before he told you he'd pick you up at seven.

Well, now all you had to do was pack an overnight bag for somewhere without knowing where, which was just… splendid.

Stifling your groan of frustration, you got up to do just that.

Just like always, when Chris came to pick you up and you got into his car, a smile came onto your face, your previous frustration now replaced with near-giddiness. Focus, you told yourself, you should be telling him you're seeing someone else.

But you didn't, not yet obviously, since you just got into his car. That'd be an extremely weird way to start a conversation.

"Hi," you greeted instead, smiling at him.

"Hey," he grinned, barely waiting for you to get your seatbelt on before he started driving.

"So, where are we going that's got you so excited, you're willing to risk getting into a car accident?" you chuckled.

"It's a surprise, and I'm not risking anything," he rolled his eyes.

"Sure you aren't, mad max," you quipped, making him laugh. "And last time I checked, there's nowhere called 'a surprise'."

He chuckled. "C'mon, you'll see for yourself, we're almost there."

And indeed, a few minutes later he was slowing down and turning to a road that led into a forest.

"Okay, seriously Chris, where are we going?"

"Relax, we're not lost. I know exactly where we are."

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'huh, maybe you are a serial killer after all', but yeah, that's reassuring," you raised your brows at him.

"If I were a serial killer I would've killed you already," he rolled his eyes at your antics.

"That's exactly-"

"What a serial killer would say," he completed your sentence, huffing out a laugh, "I figured."

You giggled at that, relaxing into your seat. You weren't actually worried, but it was nice to know you haven’t been fucking a serial killer for the last few months.

Sooner rather than later Chris parked the car, meaning you arrived, but you didn't really see where exactly you are until you got out. Then, you saw a small clearing in the woods, with what seemed like the remains of a fire in the middle of it.

"Okay, so we ruled out the serial killer option," you called out to Chris, who was busy opening the trunk of the car, "The way I see it you're either gonna sacrifice me in a weird satanic ritual or this is a camping site."

"Well, I considered the first one but it just seemed like a lot of effort," he teased, "Yeah, this is a camping site."

"Awesome," you chuckled, getting your bag. "Do you need help with anything or…"

"Oh, no, just wait a second and I'll get it all out," he said, already lifting his bag out and what seemed like the bag of a tent.

You did as he said and waited by the remains of the campfire. And you know, maybe also ogling him a bit as he carried the bags over.

"So," he started when he put the bags down, "I think we should put up the camp first, before the sun completely sets and then we won't be able to see what we're doing."

"Sounds like a good idea," you smiled.

You two started putting up the tent, a task that was harder than you realized, the flexible poles getting disconnected while you were moving them through the fabric and poking you in the stomach one unfortunate time.

By the time the sun was setting, you were getting pretty sulky, and it didn't escape Chris' attention. "C'mon, now's the most satisfying part," he smiled.

Starting to put up the poles, the tent turned from a pile of fabric and plastic to a tall tent in a matter of minutes.

"Okay, this is the most satisfying part," you laughed a little when you saw the results of your handiwork.

While Chris was setting up the fire, you were rummaging through the food he brought, because you were getting snacky. Just when you found the marshmallows, Chris asked, "So when's the last time you built a tent? Besides right now, I mean."

"Ummm… I don't know. Probably when I was really little," you shrugged.

"I come out here pretty often when I can," he said, "It's nice". You turned to look at him, but he was still messing around with the wood.

"What've you been up to lately then?" he smiled when he was finally done lighting the fire, turning his gaze up to look at you.

Well, it's now or never.

"There's this guy that offered me to hang out sometime," you said as casually as you could, "Mike."

Mike? Really? That's the name you came up with?

You thought you saw Chris' jaw clench, but maybe it was just the lack of light playing tricks on you. When he said nothing you continued. "He's nice."

It was like his whole demeanor had changed in the span of seconds, from smiling and relaxed his muscles tensed, and his jaw was definitely clenched.

"Okay," was the only thing he said after a few moments.

The only thing disturbing the silence were the sounds of nature and the crackling fire. You had a beer with him, and still, silence.

"Is everything okay?" you asked. He just hummed in response, his mind clearly somewhere else.

"Earth to Chris?" you snapped your fingers in front of his face.

"I'm here," he chuckled. "So anyways, did you?"

"What?"

"Did you hang out with Mike?"

"Oh, that," you said, "would it have mattered if I did?" you took a swig of your beer.

"Yes," he said lowly.

"Yes?" you turned to look at him so quickly your neck nearly snapped. He was still looking ahead into the fire.

"I mean," he turned his eyes to you, "What about us?"

"Oh, suddenly now we're an 'us'?" you rolled your eyes, "that's wonderful, Chris. Really, it is. You’re barely here, and when you are, we fuck and you leave, and now this? Maybe I should hang out with Mike," you mumbled the last part.

"If that's how you feel," he said.

You were both quiet for the rest of the night, going to sleep in separate sleeping bags. It was cold, and all you wanted to do was crawl into Chris' bag with him to steal some warmth, but your pride wouldn't let you.

In the morning, you woke up to find the tent empty. You rubbed your eyes and went outside, squinting against the morning sun.

"Good morning," Chris greeted quietly. He was sitting next to where the fire was last night, now obviously reduced to lumps of coal, and if that didn't perfectly represent your mood, you didn't know what did.

"Morning," you replied curtly.

"You know, about yesterday, I-"

"No, I don't know," you burst out. "Or at least I didn’t know, and it drove me crazy, thinking about what the hell I was to you, what we… are we even a 'we'?" you shrugged helplessly. "But I guess now I know, so thanks for that one."

"I'm sorry," he said, coming closer to you.

"Yeah, whate-"

"I'm sorry you felt that way. I shouldn’t have left things so up in the air. I should've told you how much I liked you from the start, instead of doing… whatever it is we've been doing. I'm sorry you felt like I didn't want you, because I do," his eyes pierced into yours. "I'm sorry I didn't say that sooner."

"I- you like me?" you asked, eyes going wide.

"I do," he smiled timidly, scratching the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry I was being a bitch earlier," you mumbled.

"It's okay, it’s re-"

"Do you accept my apology?" you cut him off with a smile.

"Yeah, of course."

"Great."

You walked the last few steps between you, closing the distance and planting your lips on his.

Every other time you kissed Chris, there was a rush to it, an aroused urgency, the knowledge of what it would lead to. But now there was the sweet promise of something more. You didn't know exactly what that was, but it made your heart hum in joy and your belly do somersaults.

Later, you found out the promise was happiness.

You felt it when you finally went on your first official "date date" with Chris. You felt it when he kissed you goodnight and good morning and everything in between. You even felt it when he found out Mike wasn't real and he laughed, and honestly you laughed too, because it was pretty funny.

Really, you felt it every time you were with Chris. Which was convenient, since, as he told you on several occasions, he wasn't planning on letting you go any time soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x you #chris evans fluff #chris evans angst #chris evans imagine

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cuddlepilefics · 3 years

Text

Aches and Pains

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Chan

Caregiver: Felix

Prompt: @sicktember

No one's POV.:

Chan had been in his studio all day. He hadn't been feeling well lately, slowly feeling the beginnings of a cold coming on. It wasn't too bad yet and afraid he'd be down with sickness unable to work for a few days, he wanted to get as much done as possible before it really hit. Having felt a bit chilled already, Chan had put on a thick sweater this morning and made sure the air conditioning in his studio was turned off. Convincing himself to get out of bed this morning had been a pain, quite literally. His muscles felt so sore, protesting the slightest movement. He had skipped breakfast, not really feeling like eating. Burying himself with work, he hadn't had lunch either, not that he had wanted to eat in the first place. His throat was so painfully dry, it felt like he had swallowed sand and no amount of water was able to sooth it. Dinnertime was approaching and he couldn't help but sigh when looking at the clock. He hadn't gotten as much done as he had wanted to. Spending most of the time squirming in his seat, as the ache made it impossible to find a comfortable position, he hadn't been able to focus on his work. Chan hadn't seen his members all day. Officially, they had the day off, so everyone else was still asleep when he left for the studio. Sure, he would've enjoyed a break too but he didn't know if he was really falling ill and in case he'd have to take some time off due to illness, he didn't want to miss too much time.

When Chan still wasn't back at the dorm for dinner, Felix texted him. It wasn't unusual for the leader to work late into the night but today wasn't a work day for Stray Kids and they hadn't seen their oldest all day. Though Felix' message had been delivered almost thirty minutes ago, the older had yet to read it. With his concern for his hyung growing, Felix tried calling Chan a few times but he never picked up. Knowing the leader hadn't felt his best lately, Felix threw on his coat and left the dorm. Worry was twisting his stomach as he made his way to the studio. Chan was always prone to overworking himself and though it wasn't unusual for him to turn his phone silent when he was working, the younger would have liked to at least talk to him to see how he was doing. Before he had left the dorm, he had checked their bathroom cabinet and found that they were running out of painkillers. Since Chan tended to get really bad headaches when he worked while sick, Felix stopped by a pharmacy on the way to pick up some more painkillers before continuing his walk. He couldn't stop his mind from running over all the worst-case scenarios of finding his hyung passed out in his studio. It wasn't like that had never happened before, which was why the dancer was unable to get that thought out of his head.

Chan on the other hand had given up on his work a few minutes ago. The screen in front of him had blurred before his eyes, making them water and his head pound. His headache wasn't the worst though. Chan felt so achy overall, that he didn't even find the strength to walk back to the dorm and take a warm shower to sooth them. After attempting to stretch his tense shoulders a bit, he had simply crossed his arms on his desk and rested his head on them, slowly drifting off to sleep. He didn't manage to fall asleep though, the pain all over his body keeping him awake. Groaning in pain, he sat up and rolled his shoulders before trying to get comfortable again. Just when he started to get drowsy, he heard the door click and forced himself to lift his head. Glancing at the door, he spotted Felix, who hesitantly made his way over to the desk. "Hey mate. We haven't seen you all day and you didn't answer your phone, so I thought I'd come over and check up on you", the younger greeted quietly. Chan only nodded, too out of it to really say anything. He just decided to lay his head on his arms and try to sleep again. Resting a hand on the leader's back, Felix whispered: "So, how are you doing?"

It was only now that Chan realized he was expected to answer. "Tired", he muttered, muffled by his arm in front of his face. "Yeah, I can imagine", the younger chuckled, "Let's go home, yeah?" The leader only groaned at that, seeming absolutely appalled by the idea. "No? What's wrong?", Felix frowned, pulling another chair close to sit down next to his hyung. Not lifting his head from his arms, Chan breathed: "Don't want to move, 'm too sore." At that, the younger frowned, getting back up to stand behind his friend's chair. He carefully ran his hands up and down the leader's back, feeling the tension in his hyung's shoulders. "Did you eat anything lately? I stocked up on painkillers, so if you already ate, you could take some", he mused, kneading Chan's shoulders only to receive a pained sound. Going back to just stroking his back for the fear of hurting him, Felix brushed his hand against the older's bare neck. His hyung was clearly running a fever now, which would totally explain why he felt so achy. "I didn't eat yet. My throat felt too dry", Chan admitted quietly, keeping his eyes closed. He knew his dongsaeng would be upset with him but he was too tired to care. Knowing that his scolding would fall on deaf ears, Felix only sighed: "Alright, I know that you don't want to move but we are going back to the dorm now. I'll make you some soup, which should be easy on your throat, and then you can take a nice warm shower to loosen up your muscles. You're running a fever, so I will not stop bothering you till you are home and resting."

Chan knew the younger wasn't messing around and he wouldn't give in unless Chan went back home. Gritting his teeth, the leader sat up and turned off his computer for good. Felix gave him a smile when he finally found the strength to get out of his chair, stretching in hopes it would make it easier for him to move. "Hyung, why did you work at all today? We had no schedule today, yet here you are, working while not feeling well", the dancer asked quietly, handing Chan his jacket. The older ran a hand through his hair, sighing: "I was worried about falling ill and not being able to keep up with our schedule." – "And you thought working yourself sick would make it better? It's okay to take a day off if you need a breather. If you're falling ill, overworking yourself will only end with you being ill for longer", Felix frowned, opening the door. Chan nodded in shame, keeping his gaze on the floor as they made their way out of the building. The younger wordlessly linked their arms. He felt bad for his hyung, yet he couldn't understand why the older never learned. Chan had been in the exact same position multiple times, yet he never allowed himself to rest.

"How about you take a warm shower and by the time you're done, I'll have some soup ready for you", Felix smiled when they made it back to the dorm, "Afterwards you can take your painkillers and I'll go find the heating pad, so we can try and see if we can soothe some of the aches, hm?" – "It's fine, Lix. As you said, it's our day off. You don't need to take care of me", Chan mumbled quietly, stumbling as he tried to kick off his shoes. "It's no biggie, I've taken care of you before and let's not talk about all the times you've take care of me or rather all of us", the younger laughed, helping the leader out of his jacket as his shoulders were too stiff to take it off. Feeling too tired to argue, Chan just nodded and shuffled to his room. After picking out some comfortable clothes, he made his way to the bathroom to shower. The warm water felt amazing on his sore muscles and it took him a while of just standing there till he found the energy to wash his hair, wincing as he had to lift his arms.

Just like he had promised, there was a steaming bowl of soup on the dinner table and Felix placed a glass of water and two pills next to it. The rest of the group had already eaten dinner, so Felix sat with his hyung to keep him company. They sat in comfortable silence, which Chan was grateful for as his head was still hurting. When he finished his meal, he washed down the pills Felix had prepared for him, clearing his throat afterwards. "Did you take your temperature while you were in the bathroom?", the dancer asked, brushing the back of his hand against Chan's forehead. The older shook his head, damp curl falling in his face. Felix gently brushed them back and whispered: "Let's go and do that first. If your fever's already high, I don't want to make it worse with the heating pad. That wouldn't do your headache any good." Chan nodded and got up with a wince. Why did every move have to hurt so bad? He slowly made his way to the bathroom again, hand braced against the wall as he was starting to feel unsteady on his feet. Felix knew better than to take his hyung's word, so he went with him to see the numbers on the thermometer for himself. It turned out, Chan's fever wasn't all that bad, he was simply run-down, which left him dizzy. "Alright, let's get you to bed and then you can have the heating pad for a while", Felix smiled, wrapping his arm around his hyung's shoulders to guide him to their shared room.

He made Chan lay down on his stomach and then placed the heating pad across his shoulders and neck, knowing those were the spots the older was always getting sore the fastest. While Felix waited for the warmth of the heating pad to do its work, he turned off the lights only leaving on the lamp on his desk, so he'd be able to see. As Chan was slowly relaxing, Felix searched through their drawers. He still remembered them having a lotion that they always used after intense dance practices, that would soothe the soreness in their muscles, so they'd be able to keep practicing the next day. When he found it, he sat down on the edge of Chan's bed and ran a hand through his hyung's hair, whispering: "Hyung, if you take of your shirt, I'll rub some lotion into your shoulders." The older sat up with a struggled, pulling his shirt over his head before flopping back down. Felix picked up the heating pad that had fallen off in the process and draped it over the lower half of Chan's back before dipping his hand into the lotion and rubbing it between his hands to warm it up. He gently spread it across the leader's shoulders, rubbing them in large circles while trying to keep his touch light. He didn't want to hurt the older like earlier.

When Chan seemed to relax, Felix started to apply a little more pressure, working on the tight knots he felt under his palms. His hyung didn't seem to be hurting too badly when Felix kneaded his shoulders, so the younger continued till he felt the tension melt away before working on the older's neck. Chan's neck was always a bit sore, which would give him tension headaches, so Felix hoped he'd be able to ease his hyung's headache by getting the muscles to loosen up a bit. The dancer giggled quietly when he heard quiet snores coming from the older. He got up from the bed and moved the heating pad back up to Chan's shoulders before covering him with a blanket. Deciding to let the older get as much sleep as possible, Felix left the room and reminded himself to remove the heating pad before he'd go to bed, so his hyung wouldn't wake up with a worse fever tomorrow.

#fanfic #fluff #stray kids #skz #sickfic #fanfiction #sicktember2021 #comfort #chanlix

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ravenvsfox · 3 years

Text

Things Fall Apart; the Centre Cannot Hold

Summary: He keeps remembering the chafe of Ronan’s shoulder against his ribs as they got oriented in his little bed, the glisten of tears and nightwash wringing his lovely eyes, the lonely twist in his unguarded late-night voice over the phone, the one that Adam had almost liked, because it meant that he was indisputably missed. It was worse, that Ronan had been trying so hard for Adam, because it was easier to tell when he stopped.

(Adam's perspective throughout Mister Impossible, as his worry reaches a fever pitch, and the two versions of himself begin to converge)

Word Count: 9.5k

Warnings: mi spoilers, death/suicide mention

A/N: batshit middle books my beloveds. adam pov or bust 😌

Read on AO3

In high school, Gansey would very occasionally call Adam in the middle of the night.

He would speak low and fast, his panic pinched between thumb and forefinger and held at a respectable distance. Adam would smother the receiver with his palm and step outside of his family trailer, listening hard for movement at his back.

The news was always the same: Ronan Lynch was on his latest rampage or bender, exercising his dark talent for bullying his way into people’s lives and then breaking down all of their windows and doors trying to get out again.

Gansey would fret and apologize, guilty for luring Adam out of his wolf-den, guiltier for neglecting his duties as Ronan’s warden. Adam would wait tiredly on the line for Gansey’s anxiety to exhaust itself, and then dutifully join the search party.

He would step into his beaten tennis shoes and pry his bike from the fence, silencing the silvery shock of metal on metal, and avoiding the reedy whir of the spokes by holding the whole thing aloft until he reached the gravel road.

From there, he would venture out into the abandoned Henrietta streets, the crunch of his tires cutting clean through the woolly midnight silence. He often circled the perimeter of the park nearest Monmouth, stepped through the great dark portal into St. Agnes, and nipped under the old bridge, squinting into the darkness for the challenging shoulders, the oil-slick BMW gleam, the slump of a body or clatter of bottles.

This is a part of Gansey that I admire, he would think. And with equal fervour, this is a part of Gansey that I resent. This blood attachment to Ronan, who was not even attached to himself. The insomnia that seized two heads of the lopsided Cerberus that Adam, Ronan, and Gansey were all part of, a restlessness on either side of him that shook him awake over and over again.

He chased Ronan’s shadow, hating him. Hating his thoughtlessness, his privilege, his chokehold on Gansey’s interests, his purposefully and continuously ruined potential, and yet bristling with anxiety at the idea of finding him bleeding.

They hadn’t known then that he was a dreamer, but they’d felt the ear-popping pressure of his grief, glimpsed the hulking animal of his self-loathing, urged onwards by the twin spurs of Declan and Gansey, the past and the future, digging into his sides.

Adam had seen Ronan, teeth bared, hurling himself at rock bottom, and he had rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pulled him back by the collar.

Things are completely different now, but he still finds himself sleep-raw and petrified, reaching after Ronan in the dark.

He examines himself in the mirror of the communal bathroom in Thayer hall. The overhead lights are an unflattering yellow, the sink has a long dark hair stuck to its basin, and Adam’s face is gaunt and bruised with lack of sleep.

He’s losing it, a little bit.

He takes his own pulse, focusing on the faraway burble of the ley line. Everything, lately, seems far away.

As if through a stranger’s eyes, he slips from the seafoam tiling and bleach tang in Thayer’s North bathroom to the accordion door of the trailer toilet, the creaky cubicle shower, his gawky, hurt reflection in the burnt-out light. This version of Adam had to watch his best friend’s best friend escape suicide watch and get screaming drunk in public, treading mud and malicious dreams all over Monmouth manufacturing.

He can still smell the salt tang from teenaged Adam’s ocean of disdain.

Now that he loves Ronan, his irritation has only gotten sharper, more deadly. Ronan performs each perilous swan dive into the unknown, each foolhardy act of self-sacrifice, as if the people who care about him aren’t gasping spectators. It makes Adam furious.

Perhaps neither of them have changed as much as they wanted to believe. As Gillian keeps advising the crying club—with the confidence of a seasoned psychiatrist—progress isn’t linear.

He keeps remembering the chafe of Ronan’s shoulder against his ribs as they got oriented in his little bed, the glisten of tears and nightwash wringing his lovely eyes, the lonely twist in his unguarded late-night voice over the phone, the one that Adam had almost liked, because it meant that he was indisputably missed. It was worse, that Ronan had been trying so hard for Adam, because it was easier to tell when he stopped.

He slides fingers over his temples, smooths a knuckle over each eyebrow to ease the tension he always carries there. Sleep is a little knot of gristle lodged at the back of his throat; he can’t swallow it and he can’t spit it up. It never used to be this hard to put his problems to bed. He would worry the weight on his chest into small pieces, and go to sleep knowing that even the worst things about his life were organized correctly.

This time though, he’s out of sorts, divided, always busy but always spinning his wheels. He has a white-hot secret pressed to the roof of his mouth.

Every time he folds himself into bed, his subconscious helpfully reminds him that Ronan might be dead. And then a highlight reel plays in his head like an In Memoriam: Adam’s hand cupping Ronan’s nape, a barn silhouetted against a melancholy sky, a fistful of dreamt light, a dozen hard-won smiles and a hundred easy ones, a white handprint on a flushed thigh, a colourful joke to placate a brother, a kiss pressed to a dream’s forehead. All of that—gone. And Adam, at Harvard.

He highlights long patches of text in his sociology textbook, drinks a sensible amount of jack and coke at Eliot’s birthday party, declines Gansey’s calls by sending cheerful and conciliatory texts, and drifts through the library with his hand knotted in the strap of his satchel, looking for something that he can’t really articulate. He reads the same line of theory over and over and over and over, feeling like he’s scrying, like his focus isn’t his own.

He did all of this before Ronan went missing too, but now it’s a whole different class of performance. It used to be, I’m convincingly attentive, I’m sipping overpriced coffee on the way to class like a good Ivy leaguer, I’m making an impression on my professors, I’m forging friendships. Someday I will cash in these relationship tokens, and it all will have been worth it. It felt impossible that his life could be so simple and rewarding.

Now he thinks, I’m studying for finals and my boyfriend is being hunted by people whose job it is to kill him. I’m drinking a latte and the only people I’ve ever loved have left me, and I'm alone again. I’m putting my hand up in class and somewhere, Ronan’s life is changing, rapidly, dangerously, without me.

He lies to everyone, all the time, and tells himself that this life he’s building is more important than anything.

Once, as they cleared placemats and mugs full of stagnant coffee from the kitchen table, Ronan—still cobwebbed in his most recent dream—had detailed the sensation of hovering over himself afterwards. He was unable to manipulate his physical body or even really recognize it as his own, and his consciousness, detached, had its own limbs, its own intentions. He was like a parasite trying to wriggle back into its host.

Whenever Adam consults his double in a bit of glass, he imagines himself as a nimble dreamer, peering down, working to bring a fantasy to life. He can see his own outline, a slick college student with a flat, pleasant affect and a gaggle of soft-shelled friends. He plays his role impeccably well, but he can’t fit himself into it. If he passed himself in the hallway he would not stop.

Looking in the mirror now, he feels a red pang of fear, then a supercut of the ways he used to let himself love and be loved, then resentfulness hot on the heels of his worry.

His reflection withers, and he looks deliberately down at his hands. It’s a Tuesday, and he needs to sleep, or his tightly-scheduled Wednesday will be a misery. It’s a Tuesday, which means he hasn’t spoken to Ronan in—he stalls. Call me, he thinks, miserably. Just call me.

He can deal with a multitude of challenging and improbable situations if only he can see them clearly. Ronan is, for whatever reason, keeping him in the dark.

The not knowing is bad. It’s not how he functions. It’s not how they function. But instead of dwelling, he puts his back into the narrative that is now his reality: Impeccable student. Devoted friend-group. Tough break-up. Bright future.

Ronan isn’t here. Can’t ever be, physically, so far from the ley line. Adam has to be.

“Croissant, as ordered.” His gaze snaps up, connecting—not with his own image, but with clever, horn-rimmed Gillian. “They tried to foist it upon me without butter, if you can imagine that.” She deposits a crinkly brown and tan paper bag in front of him, and then two little plastic pots of butter. Adam regards the squashed shape of the bag’s contents with confusion.

It’s— “Is it Tuesday?”

“Wednesday,” Eliot corrects airily, licking jam from their thumb.

“My god, Adam. Whatever happened to your infallible circadian rhythm?” Fletcher asks. “You are the Swiss timepiece by which we measure our days.”

A terrible wave of vertigo strikes him, and he’s grateful to find himself sitting, at one of two conjoined wrought-iron tables in the courtyard near Thayer. He can feel the ley line breathing for the first time in a long time.

He must have gone to bed after his late-night breakdown in the bathroom. He must have. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was. His hand strays to his hair. Wet. He’d woken, showered, and met his friends for breakfast, and he can barely remember it.

“Sorry,” he chokes. “Sleep deprivation is catching up to me, I think.”

“Aw, chicken,” Benjy says affectionately. “I’ve sung those end of term blues. The profs think we’re machines. Don’t even get me started on Dr. Fraundberg’s Lit Crit for assholes.”

“Whyever would we?” Eliot says. “We want to make it to class before noon.”

“Har-har. You wound me. Adam you’d better get a tissue ready, I’m about to tear up.”

“Also,” Gillian says, pointing her be-honeyed knife in Eliot’s direction. “Speak for yourself. I want to make it to class never.”

“Your presentation is going to be exceptional,” Fletcher tells her. “Your rough draft already drove me into paroxysms of jealousy. I don’t know why you’re so concerned.”

“I don’t just want to pass,” Gillian says. “I want to win.”

“Admirable,” Benjy sniffs.

“You’re being awfully quiet, Adam,” Eliot says, at length. He’s aware that they’re all trying very hard to act like they don’t notice how poorly composed he is.

“Can’t a man savour his pastry, Eli?” Fletcher rumbles.

“No, that’s fair,” Adam sighs. The four of them peer at him expectantly, eyebrows arranged into an array of benign and non-threatening shapes. “It’s possible I’m having a slight breakdown,” he says, adopting the grim hyperbole of a student for whom finals are the beginning and end of their emotional upset.

Everyone at the twin tables indulges in a bit of mild laughter.

“What a coincidence, so am I!”

“Well if it’s only slight, I’ll stow my concern.”

“Harvard or personal?”

He smiles faintly, and says, “kind of both. The personal is political, or something.”

He thinks he’s laying it on thick, but Gillian grins at him. “'Atta boy.”

Fletcher goes to take a sip of his tea, but chokes when his phone lights up with an incoming text message. “Criminy, is it eight already? Starting the day with a bang, as usual. I’ll meet you at Weld this evening, yes?” he asks, shaking out his tweed jacket and thrusting an arm through it, securing the remains of his bagel between his teeth with his other hand.

“Of course,” Adam says. Fletcher gives him a thumbs up, mouth charmingly stuffed, and sweeps away across the now bustling courtyard.

“Hey magic man,” Eliot says. “Will you do a reading for my sister tonight? The break-up with Margot is hitting her kind of hard. I’m pretty sure she just wants to be told she’ll find love again.”

Adam watches the juddering impact of Benjy kicking Eliot under the table.

He shrugs. “First come first serve, but I’ll give her the friends and family discount.”

“You’re a prince,” Eliot says, blowing him a kiss. Adam tries to imagine any of his friends from Henrietta doing such a thing, and can’t. “Come along Benjy. Bookstore or bust. They’re giving out discount computing textbook codes at sixty dollars a pop.”

A slip of paper for sixty American dollars. Adam’s head aches profoundly.

Gillian waggles her fingers at their friends as they depart, then she turns and fixes Adam with that familiar amateur therapist look.

“What?”

“Are you sleeping?” she asks bluntly.

“I’m a very good sleeper,” Adam says wryly. “Ask anyone.”

“But are you actually doing it?”

“Yes, Gillian.” Liar, liar. “Do you want me to keep a dream journal as evidence?”

“Oh, yes please.” That shark’s grin. “I’d pay to know what the fuck is going on up there.” She taps her own temple to indicate Adam's guarded mind.

He spreads his hands between them. “I’m an open book.”

She hums, only half-smiling now. “I dunno. That Southern charm. I’m never quite sure if I should trust a politeness that perfect.”

“On that note,” Adam says, standing. He’s relieved to find that he’s wearing matching socks, and his pant legs are rolled just so. There’s a tiny streak of yellow on one of his shoes, and with a jolt he realizes that it’s dream-crab guts. He presses on. “Thanks for the croissant. And the psychoanalysis. Send me the bill.”

She salutes him with her coffee cup. “You couldn’t afford me.”

He laughs, and turns, and then spends the whole walk to his 9 AM class trying to straighten all of the haywire compasses in his brain so they point due north.

His assignment is in his bag, pressed neatly into a navy blue folder. He has three classes today, a meeting with his supervisor at three, a study block set aside from four to six, then dinner, then tarot readings all evening—his phone rings. His treacherous heart leaps. Ronan.

He stops mid-stride, scrambling for his cell in the front pocket of his bag.

“Hello?”

“I—oh—Adam! I didn’t expect you to pick up. How on Earth are you?”

“Gansey.” He exhales through his nose. “I’m just on my way to class.”

“Fantastic to hear your voice. How’s—not that one, Jane, the I-90—exactly. How’s Harvard? Are you batting away job offers yet?”

“Constantly. How are your nature hikes and hippie communes? Contracted any backwoods diseases yet?”

“Charming. I’m actually in remarkably fine form, health-wise.”

“Is that a brag?”

A guffaw. “More of a curiosity. It’s actually part of the reason I’ve been trying to get in touch. Have you noticed any surges of power from the ley line lately? I mean, of course you have, but do you have any idea what’s causing them?”

He frowns, pinning his cellphone between his good ear and shoulder as he heaves open the ancient door to the physics building. “I could give you my best guess.”

A beat, and then, “I’m listening, Parrish.” Something about the way he says it makes homesickness pulse painfully in Adam’s chest.

He finds a semi-secluded stone slab bench behind an empty stairwell, and slings his belongings across it before he replies, “Dreamers.”

“Dreamers,” Gansey repeats, but it sounds like he’s saying of course! “Plural?”

“At least three.”

“Doing what?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure yet.”

“Ronan hasn’t spoken to you,” Gansey guesses.

“Not—in a few days.”

“Is everything alright?”

He swallows, and is horrified to find tears burning at the back of his throat. There’s no pretending with Gansey. It’s why he never calls him.

“Adam,” he says quietly. “Is he in trouble?”

He struggles with his composure for several long seconds. “Possibly.”

A world-weary sigh. “I really wish you had called.”

“Yeah, well,” he says vaguely. He checks his watch. 8:23.

“So he’s playing with others. Why would Ronan want to do that?”

“I think—he’ll do anything not to feel powerless.” He understands as soon as he says it that it’s the pockmark in the windshield from which all of the damage is splintering outwards. “And people take advantage of that.”

Gansey makes a thoughtful noise, somewhere a thousand miles away, and it clicks in a lock and opens Adam’s shoulders up. Maybe he doesn’t have to be alone in this fight. How could he have forgotten careful, persistent Gansey?

“Well. He’s certainly not powerless. I almost feel back to my pre-Cabeswater self. Everything is pleasantly linear. And Blue is—lighting up.” In the background, he hears her say supercharged with relish. “I can only imagine what it’s like for full-blooded dream stuff, with all of that energy at their disposal.”

“I don’t know if I like it,” Adam says carefully. “It’s good for a while, helping all the Matthew’s of the world, and then what? Where does all of that diverted power end up? What makes dreamers qualified to harness it without their worst nightmares manifesting?”

“You’re worried about the Lace.”

The last time they spoke, Adam had told them briefly about his last scrying session, warning them to look out for the hateful, faceless thing that had pierced his cells and magnified all of his pain and fear until all he could possibly do was scream.

“I’m worried about Ronan. I know he’s in over his head, and I know he won’t believe it until it’s too late.”

“Sounds like someone I know. Don’t bite off more than you can chew with this, Adam. I know you’re enormously busy.”

It stings, a little. “I’m still going to—I’m obviously still going to make time for him. Especially when he’s—“

“Struggling. Yes. I understand perfectly.” It occurs to Adam that, unlike his well-meaning Harvard friends, he actually might. A needling murmur in the background, and then, “listen, Blue’s telling me that you should get in touch with the psychics, and Mr. Gray.”

He nods. The rhythm of problem-solving is soothing his frazzled nerves. “I’ve been considering it. I’m also pretty sure that Declan has been keeping his own tabs on things.”

“My money’s on yes,” Gansey says. Adam half-smiles. His money has been on a lot of things. “Poke around when you can. See what turns up. I’ll give Ronan a call, not that it’s ever done me much good before.”

“I’m pretty sure he ditched his phone.” He checks his watch. 8:24. It feels like it’s been much, much longer than a minute. There is so much day ahead of him.

Ordinarily, he would be compartmentalizing better than this. No feverish Gansey phone calls directly before class. No pleasure with his business. No finesse when logic will do the job just as well. But the subterranean, black-eyed Adam is still within him, tethered to the ley line and to his friends, and he wants very badly to fix this.

“Ah, Ronan,” Gansey sighs. “It’s always got to be him, doesn’t it?”

“I know,” Adam says narrowly. “If he’s not looking for trouble it’s looking for him.”

“You sound like Declan.”

Adam makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. Blue must be leaning across Gansey, because she says “that’s a new low,” almost directly into the receiver.

“I’m hanging up now,” he says flatly.

“Update me if anything changes? We’ll come home the moment things go south.”

He resists the urge to check his watch again. “Don’t cut things short on my account.”

“Well. Don’t disrupt your studies on Ronan’s. I’ve never known you to put your future on hold for anything.”

“I’m not—“ he stops. “Ronan is a part of my future.”

“Good,” Gansey says warmly. A test, then. And like most tests, there was never even a possibility that Adam wouldn’t pass.

______

It’s easy to tell when a dreamer is suffering.

As the energy from the ley line ebbs, dreamt creations judder and bolt like horses loosed suddenly from the service of a carriage, galloping towards safer pastures. If the dreamer is in more immediate peril, the dream simply folds its limbs into an agreeable shape and passes into sleep.

In the wee hours of Thursday morning, Adam lies awake in bed, dangling his hand between the wall and his bed frame, feeling along the subtle unfilled crack in the plaster. A flagpole casualty, from the day that everything stopped being enough for Ronan, and he slipped away on a dreamt current like a dark Ophelia.

He’s being dramatic.

He feels the drywall flaking, and digs his thumbnail into the split, wanting to rip the whole wall open with his fingers.

He keeps picturing Matthew’s half-lidded eyes, cloudless and blue as a wide prairie sky. The slouch of his posture, the tarnished golden head, the body briefly without a pilot.

Matthew had looked—Adam turns in bed, taking his chalky hand from the wall and fisting it in the sheets. He had looked like a faded old pillow, tucked unobtrusively into the chair by the window. He wouldn’t respond to Declan’s call, fluttering his drowsy lashes, and Adam had thought, ah. This is how I find out. His heart slumped over in his chest, dizzy with sudden grief. The tarot cards in his hands were dead leaves.

This is what happens when your life is tied to my brother’s, Declan had said, diverting his horror into scorn as he often did. The death of any one member of his family ensured the destruction of another. It had always been that way.

Matthew eventually roused, and Adam had closed his eyes and turned his face towards the ceiling until he could be normal again. He felt suddenly foolish for peddling lies to college students when magic was so obviously in the room with him.

Earlier, he had called Maura over lunch, and she vaulted right over small talk to ask him, with concern, about his loosening grip on his psychic inclinations. She’d said, “You do know that the ley line isn’t the source of your problems, right? Give yourself some credit. You can fuck things up in a completely non-mystical way.”

She pulled the Magician, reversed, and the eight of wands, and then, without further comment, passed the phone to Mr. Gray.

Unexplained weaponry, he’d reported. The Lynch brothers loosed on two separate worlds at the same time. Buttoned-up Declan for the first time unbuttoned, schmoozing with an array of dangerous and connected people, trading in secrets just as his father had. Purposeless Ronan for the first time with a purpose, wading out from the murky waters of his dreamspace and bringing the tides with him.

Bryde, the name in the corner of everyone’s mouth, joined all at once by Ronan’s and Hennessy’s.

Renegades, liberators of dreams, scorchers of earth. He could see, easily, why this would appeal to Ronan. A mission, finally. A father figure to guide his hand. A world that wanted his dreams, and wouldn’t crumple under the weight of his unusual ambition.

When they were teenagers, Aglionby was just another one of Adam’s jobs, but it was one of Ronan’s nightmares. He would go to school, a hooded bird of prey, seething with resentment and squandered ability. He longed for the Barns because of what they represented: the childlike belief that his family would never die; the possibility for creatures like him to roam free; a landscape powered by unconditional love.

Bryde, Adam knows, must be offering him the same relief. Exquisite flight, after the cage.

It’s not possible, is the thing. It’s a pipe dream. A Niall Lynch fairytale.

Foresight has never been Ronan’s strong suit. He gets it into his head that a solution is right up until the point that it falls apart in his hands. He throws himself entirely into belief. It makes him an extraordinarily loyal and trusting person. It also makes him stubborn, rash, and susceptible to manipulation.

He believes in one facet of something, and the rest follows. He can’t just take a sip—he downs the bottle.

Adam is a boy on a bicycle in November, needing to find Ronan alive so that he can hate him without feeling guilty about it. He never stops oscillating between resentment and love, reality and unreality, understanding and disappointment. He wants to be normal so that he can choose to be abnormal. Sometimes he wants the cards without the magic.

He closes his eyes and remembers a slumbering mouse against an angular cheek. He imagines Matthew like that, perpetually immobile, perpetually innocent, like a taxidermied puppy. The pieces of Ronan’s consciousness that will linger after his death, statues in a graveyard. Tamquam—tamquam—

What would Ronan be without his dreams? Here, Adam thinks. He’d be here.

He stays in bed for another wasted hour, and then stands up, disoriented, in the dimness of the room. Fletcher is snoring softly. Someone outside their cracked window is shuffling over the concrete stoop. His upstairs neighbour is playing tinkling soundtracks while he sleeps. Adam can’t be here anymore.

He plucks Fletcher’s laptop silently from its charging station, tucks his bare feet into stiff leather shoes, drags the cardigan from his desk chair, and lets himself out into the hallway. The glare from the overhead light pins him against the wall for a moment.

He shuffles half-blind down the hall and upstairs to the solarium, nearly losing one of his unlaced shoes in the stairwell in the process. The lights are blessedly shut off up in the attic, and he feels his way to the nearest of the tables hunched in the shadows. Aching with fatigue, he sits, unfolds his stolen laptop, and gets quietly to work.

He’s never had the time nor means to be truly proficient with technology, but he extracted a handful of leads from Mr. Gray, and he’s been in touch with a friend of Benjy’s—a computer science grad student and hacking hobbyist.

He chases key phrases down rabbit holes and assembles news articles, tracking Ronan’s movement by his “unexplainable” signature (code for mind-fuckery, joyful innovation, and dark humour). Adam is a practiced note-taker and serial obsesser, so it’s barely a strain to find Ronan—whom he knows better than anyone—cropping up all over the continental United States.

“What are you doing,” Adam murmurs. The sky lightens gradually to periwinkle. He has work today, but his shift doesn’t start until noon. His mouth is bone-dry, and his head feels cotton-stuffed the way it always does when he’s pushing his body to its limit.

When it’s late enough in the morning to be socially acceptable, he messages Benjy’s friend with the bare bones of what he’s looking for: a project under wraps, a lonely last name, a suppressed pattern. They correspond, remotely, until Adam is reading government files over watery coffee, wearing sweatpants, dress shoes, and a cardigan with cracked elbow patches.

He pores over it all, cross-referencing dates, and ignoring the widening sink-hole in his chest.

Industrial espionage isn’t at all Ronan’s usual brand of destruction. Highly controlled, not much up-front gratification. A little more political than Ronan usually leans. A lot more ambitious. Whatever their agenda, ley energy is flowing more easily now that it's unobstructed on such a large scale. Adam has been feeling its effects rippling all the way out to Boston, a persistent background pressure, unavoidable as a migraine.

It’s clear that the Moderators are desperate to eliminate Bryde’s party. Their reports are a comedy of close calls.

Slowly, Adam begins to understand the scope of things.

Billions of dollars in damages, manmade structures ripped from their foundations. Magical fugitives hunted by a team that specializes in murdering the targets they call Zeds. Visionary headlights pointed towards certain apocalypse. A world that is always awake, but always, always feels like it’s dreaming.

It’s pretty much exactly as he feared. Night terrors. The Lace. Beasts and legends. Adam holds his head in his hands. It’s more than what Ronan must be imagining. It’s more than Aurora waking happily in Cabeswater, powered by the swaying trees. It’s the indiscriminate waking of every incredible thing that’s ever been dreamed.

He’s struck by a wave of hopelessness that rushes all around him and tears at his hair. Ronan, dreamer of baubles that dispense music and light, cars that go very fast, and menageries of curious creatures, recruited to a cause that transmutes creation into chaos. Ronan, promising to wait, and then running full tilt at a future that can’t possibly keep Adam in it.

His dream half is going to destroy his human half, and he’ll take everybody else down with him.

If he could just see him, maybe—

His jaw creaks, teeth clenched tight against the emotional groundswell. The late morning sunshine strikes him, and he feel more like a vague, pale shape than a person. Like a dream, maybe.

Alter idem.

If Adam can’t reach Ronan, maybe the Moderators should.

He feels the weight of that awful thought burning a hole through his stomach lining. He can’t think about it. He needs to go to work.

_____

The next evening, he experiences a surge of power so acute that it nearly puts him in a coma.

It’s another Wednesday night, and another batch of his peers hitch polite smiles to his heels as he passes them by, winding his way up into the high, arched sunroom at Weld hall. They’re all wishing for magical solutions for their mundane problems, the opposite of Adam in nearly every way.

He bumps knuckles with Benjy and Eliot in turn, pulls up his chair, and knocks his last reading from Persephone’s deck, mostly out of habit. He consults his phone idly as his friends try to make pleasant conversation, holding up a finger when he finds a new batch of texts from Gansey.

John Amos power plant in WV shut down Monday

Intense. maura said she could’ve brought HER dreams to life afterwards

no word from Ronan yet? Leads from Declan? pls advise

I’ll assume no news is good news

He puts his phone in his satchel and fastens it closed. Every new scrap of information he gets feels like a stroll through Ronan’s security system at the Barns—hopelessness compounding and compounding until he staggers out the far end weeping.

He needs to focus on something productive. He nods at Benjy to start letting people inside, straightening the notebook where he usually scribbles his observations. Here, he is an adjudicator: powerful, organized, and reserved, tallying points and offering constructive critique.

His curious audience starts pouring in then, amateur wiccans and wannabe believers, aggrieved last-resorters and skeptics following friends’ recommendations. It’s a brighter collection of characters than Aglionby could ever have hoped to foster.

Gillian texts him to say that she just passed Weld and his line-up was out the door. He is a prim and unobtrusive con artist, a false prophet, and business is booming.

Eventually, a bespectacled girl who looks anywhere from five to ten years his senior sits across from him, tucking a bag armoured to the teeth with candy-coloured enamel pins between her feet.

“Hi,” she says nervously. “Anna.” She stretches her hands out in front of her, then thinks better of it and drops them into her lap. “I’m not sure how this usually goes, so you might have to hold my hand a little bit.”

“No problem,” he says smoothly, passing his deck across the tabletop. “Just go ahead and shuffle. Concentrate on what you want to ask the cards.”

She does as directed, struggling a little to keep the papery stack in check. Not a natural born card sharp, then. He studies her neat black shirt, tucked precisely into a plaid skirt. A Marilyn mole drawn on just above the corner of her mouth. A pride flag pin he doesn’t recognize next to a cat wearing a cowboy hat, and the word “rude” in cursive.

She holds the deck fleetingly to her chest, eyes squeezed shut like a child making a birthday wish, and then plops it in the centre of the table. A card slips near the top, slightly uneven, and Adam plucks it free.

He hums thoughtfully. “Eight of cups. Okay. So you’re having some trouble with letting go.” She frowns and nods once, quick.

He lays out the rest of a simple five card spread neatly between them. A couple of stray swords, the chariot, a wand.

“It seems like things are stagnating in your personal life. Maybe your friend group used to feel like your family, but you feel like they’ve lost interest in you. And you love them, but Anna, if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re pretty sure you were done with them before they even started pulling away. Right now you’re kind of just going through the motions. A couple of years overdue to convocate, right? Everyone else moved on to greener pastures.” He taps his thumb thoughtfully against the bones of his opposite wrist. “It’s not even the loneliness that gets you. It’s the not knowing. Are you supposed to chase after them? Is there another community out there for you? There is, you know.”

He notices another card spilling loose, and he grabs it without thinking. The Magician again. He thinks, huh, caught in the coils and dust of Persephone’s overturned cards.

And then the waking world disappears.

Adam is airborne, tumbling up into the atmosphere on a geyser of ley energy, whipped by branches and light. He throws his arms out to stop himself, but he’s only a projection, so his momentum doesn’t slow.

Something—Lindenmere? The cosmos?—shows him a series of images: an upturned nose made from oil and turpentine, a coiled old tree stump, a red-haired woman grinning toothily and then exploding, a rose the colour of warm dark skin, a pale scar-split hand cradling a silky head, the animal haunch of something black, a terrible voice booming turn back—

He skitters away, panicked, and bumps into his own body. Or not his own body. A double, blinking confusedly in the bathroom mirror.

His doppelgänger turns to leave, and Adam reaches after him, through the mirror, following himself into a version of Thayer which is not Thayer. Everything is alive, in this reality. Energy sings and saws its fingers together.

It’s a memory, but it’s also the present, and it’s also a nightmare. Wake up!

Obediently, the city wakes.

He gasps, although he doesn’t have a mouth. It’s the heaving first breath of a sleeping witch, like Gwenllian turning in her grave.

Adam struggles against the current of wild power, thick and pungent as gasoline. Everything feels more intense near magical artifacts, dream stuff, supernatural fault lines, and it is with great effort that he hunts for something familiar, something heavy enough to bind him. He was unprepared for this, and although everything around him is bitingly familiar, he's lost. He wheels around and around, reaching for his most trusted tethers—Gansey, Ronan, Blue, Persephone—

Persephone.

He follows the lingering perfume of her intuition, feeling blindly for those old handholds in her tarot deck, that familiar grip, like the hilt of a trusted weapon.

And then he finds himself looking again at the girl, Anna, her fate bunched around her narrow shoulders. And then at his own empty body, a glowing card clamped between his fingers. As soon as he’s aware of looking at himself, he’s looking out of himself, and he stands up quickly, overturning his chair.

“—Adam? Jesus Christ, are you okay?”

“What on God’s green Earth was that?”

A palm between his shoulder blades.

“Don’t touch me,” he chokes.

The hand retreats. A murmur: I’ve never seen him like this.

“Is it—is it bad? Am I going to be okay? Is it bad?” Anna keeps asking, horrified.

“You’re fine,” he manages to say. “I’m sorry.” The ‘o’ in sorry comes out a little wide and swerving.

“You went blank,” Benjy says, voice high with residual panic. “For like—ten minutes. Beyond hyper-focus.”

“I thought it was a gimmick,” Eliot says. “But a ten minute gimmick? What is this, Las Vegas?”

“I got carried away. I have to,” he swallows. “I need a minute. I promise everything’s fine.”

“Do whatever you need to do,” Eliot says quickly. “But, fair warning, I’m going to ask you a hundred questions when you get back.”

“And then I’m going to ask another hundred,” Benjy says. “Magic man.”

“A riddle, inside an enigma, wrapped in a sweater vest,” Eliot muses. He can tell they’re still shaken. He’ll have to deal with that, later.

“I'll be right back,” Adam says, touching them very lightly on the shoulder as he passes. The ley line is bursting, and he feels so flushed with its vitality that it almost makes him sick.

He stumbles past them, all the way out of the building and into the street. The winter air tears at his thin shirtsleeves, nips at his sock-less ankles. He shields his eyes against the sun, watching a bird swoop low overhead. A silvery, seagull-sized thing, but with knobby legs that taper into—he squints. Hooves?

He keeps moving, propelled by the mad urge to catch the bird, to pin the wild magic down so he can understand it.

Adam walks for what feels like a long time, trying to find the source of all of this haemorrhaging power. He spots a couple of fidgety-looking students, a few more curious creatures. Somewhere, faraway, there’s music crooning, and it sounds exactly the way a hot shower feels.

He stops in the middle of Oxford street, head cocked towards the natural history museum across the way, the orderly buildings, the sparse evening foot traffic. Business as usual. All of it screaming with energy.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a parade of scuttling creatures marching towards an invisible destination. Frowning, Adam crosses the street, chasing the peacock blue shimmer from an unfurled wing. He slows, stooping in the alley to pick one of the strange insects from the stream. He peers through a nail-sized hole in its head. Its spindly legs wave fearfully for a moment, and then it goes limp in his hand.

The ley energy punches out of him, and he sits back on his ankles, winded.

Adam gazes down at the jewelled beetle in his palm, its siblings scattered out like shell casings around his knees. Dreams, all of them. Briefly, impossibly roused in a dead city. He stands, letting the beetle drop from his hand and bounce across the concrete. He kicks them all hurriedly behind a nearby bench, mind racing. Bugs from an exhibit next door, no doubt. Dormant animals, transplanted from their habitats and pinned in place for decades.

What kind of ecoterror was wrought to bring about a flash flood of energy in a drought? How must Ronan be feeling, out there in the world, wracked with waking dreams? What unimaginable monsters were just stirring in the shadows because of him? Is Bryde one of them?

His lives are merging. The distant rumbling of thunder is overhead now, and the downpour is rolling in. There’s no way he’ll be able to keep dry.

Standing in that alleyway by himself, drained and ordinary again, he feels terribly alone.

He weighs his feelings against his logic for several agonizing minutes, standing still and watchful as a predator. He recalls the jarringly clinical accounts of Ronan's most intimate dreams, the sparsely encoded language in those government files outlining the world-ending dangers of something Adam had, for a long time, shared a bed with.

If something happens to Ronan now, it might kill Adam. If something happens because of Ronan, it might kill everybody.

Another minute, and he has his phone out and ringing.

“Hello?” Declan answers. Oddly, it’s not his usual prickly greeting. He sounds almost jovial.

Adam looks out into the darkening street, feeling like a death omen, a shadow across someone’s doorstep. “We really need to talk about Bryde.”

______

It’s the worst possible time for Declan to be withholding information from him.

Adam had graciously tipped his hand and Declan was, infuriatingly, holding back, as if this was a low grade in Ronan’s high school algebra class, and not the cataclysmic fuck-up of a powerful dreamer.

Declan, so uncannily like his brother in vulnerable moments like this, had thought of Matthew first. A world where dreams could stay awake, he’d marvelled. As if they could afford to think so small.

Once, Adam had awoken to find his arm glued to the bedspread. Ronan had dreamt a bee-less hive in the night, and it was oozing a steady stream of honey into the sheets between them.

“Score,” Ronan had said, when he’d rolled back into his body. “Sting-free. Fucking vegan.”

“What happens when we don’t want any more honey?” Adam had asked, critically. Ingesting dreams always felt like a slippery subject. “Does it shut off like a faucet?”

It didn’t. Ronan filled a dozen amber jars full, and then abandoned the hive in a dusty kiddy pool in one of the barns near the back of his family property.

A month later, Opal had crept in through a window looking for trouble, and emerged, shrieking, in a viscous flood of syrup.

Combing the mess out of Opal’s fur, her little legs slung across his lap, Ronan had complained about the magnitude of the clean-up job he would have to do, the special honey hoover he would have to create, what a waste of a dream it would be. Adam reminded him of his faucet idea.

“Too late for that, Parrish,” he’d griped.

It was their pattern. A marvel, too good to be true. Adam, the skeptic. Ronan, too in love with creation to care about consequences.

Eventually, it will all be too late.

Ronan will pursue this liberation fantasy, this golden daydream, even if it never stops oozing. Even if it makes the whole world uninhabitable.

______

That night, Adam tries to scry for the first time in months.

He gently pushes the crying club—only tenuously placated after the tarot incident—to have drinks without him, claiming stress-induced fatigue. He leaves his study notes open and blinking on the bed, lights a sad little tea light, and casts himself out into the ether.

Straining hard, he searches for the familiar contours of Ronan’s dreamspace, plucking the distant strings of the ley line and listening for the particular timbre of Ronan’s consciousness.

He doesn’t like walking this tightrope without a net, but Harvard isn’t exactly flush with psychic spotters. He keeps a delicate balance, far from his body, inching closer and closer to Ronan’s mind, the safe plateau at the end of this rope.

Eventually, he finds himself in a grey bedroom. It's full to the gills with water, there's a toy sailboat bobbing past at chest height, and storm clouds huddling nervously on the ceiling. Adam’s hair plasters instantly to his scalp.

“Ronan?” he calls, sloshing through the curiously luminous water. It starts raining harder. A familiar, curly-headed child stares at him through the darkness, eyes sharpened into silver points in the moonlight. “Ronan?” he asks again, gently this time.

A muffled sentence, a sad, crumpled expression, and then Adam is staring at a closed door.

“What—let me in! Ronan!” He pounds at the door. “Come on!” He can still feel rainwater, unnaturally warm on his neck.

A voice in his head, not Ronan, whispers, turn back.

“No,” he snaps, knocking harder. “Just let me—“ A sudden gust of wind in his sails, and he’s ejected from the dream altogether.

He pinwheels for a horrifying, weightless moment, struggling to tune back in to the feeble light from his stubby candle, and then dragging himself, hand over fist, back to his dorm room.

“Fuck, Lynch,” he says, when he has a voice. “Don’t be stupid.” He recrosses his legs, shaking off the pointless, clinging feeling of rejection.

When he tries to reach out again, searching, searching, Ronan’s expecting him. He never makes it past the threshold.

Back in his body, he knocks his candle over, relishing the controlled destruction, the spill of wax, the sizzle of the squashed wick. A fire he can actually put out.

______

The next time Adam scrys, Ronan looks like himself. Maybe a little scruffier, with what looks like a tunnel piercing on his right ear, and a rare openness to his posture. He’s lounging in a pasture up against a sleeping cow, boots up.

As Adam watches, he tips his shaved head back into its mottled hide, and the sun makes his eyelashes into lit matchsticks. He loves him very much. He’d almost forgotten.

“Don’t lock me out,” he says quickly. Ronan opens his eyes, and when he sees him he smiles instinctively.

“Adam,” he says, vaguely. And then he locks him out.

“No,” he cries. “Would you listen to me.” He feels for the fissure in space and time, the pocket where Ronan is dreaming, sweetly and inaccessibly, about the only home Adam has ever known.

Nothing gives. Nobody replies. He crawls back to Harvard, weak with misery.

In the next dream, Ronan is older, driving a boxy jeep over a foreign landscape. Rolling Irish hills, skies humming with artificial energy. A woman who can only be Jordan Hennessy, chattering in the passenger seat.

Then it’s Ronan with his head in his dead mother’s lap, stroking the downy wing of a black swan.

Then Ronan and Hennessy again, opposite one another in a sunny gallery. One of them examining an impressionist portrait no bigger than a postcard, the other examining the exit.

Then Ronan, discovering Matthew’s corpse in a dim hallway, blinking furiously at the stranger crouched over his prone body. “What did you do?” He sounds like a kid reprimanding his sibling for getting them both in trouble.

Every time Adam gets close, some defence mechanism stops him, like a firm hand against his chest, pushing him away again and again.

He doesn't know what to do except keep trying.

______

Blankly, he looks down at a sink full of tinfoil and uneasy water. In pieces, he becomes aware of his surroundings—green stalls and laminate countertops, a row of hundred-watt lightbulbs, and somebody rattling the locked doorknob.

“Adam, are you in there?” Fletcher. “We’re going to be late. It’s nearly ten. Adam?”

“Just a minute, sorry,” Adam slurs. He stares closely at his face in the mirror until he recognizes his own features. He has an exam at 10:30. He glances down at his watch. 9:52. He had been so sure that he could just drift for a few minutes, maybe catch Ronan before he woke up. That was almost an hour ago.

He drains the sink, hands shaking, cuffs getting damp. The lightbulb filaments float behind his eyelids when he blinks. He throws his satchel over his shoulder, smooths his hair up and out of his eyes, and rubs the bags under his eyes until they hurt.

When he lets himself out of the bathroom, Fletcher is directly outside, tapping a nervous rhythm on his hips. His hands fly from his body and into the air at the sight of him.

“Adam! Thank god. I’ll cancel the search party.”

“I got lost in my notes,” Adam says, as they both make for the stairs.

“Of course you did,” Fletcher says warmly. “A supremely Adam move. I just hope you’re taking care of yourself. Gillian thinks you might be—well—not spiralling, but—“

“I’m handling it.” He takes several mental paces backwards. “Uh—poorly, clearly. I’m sorry Fletcher, I didn’t mean to snap.”

Fletcher, to his credit, recovers quickly. “I can’t imagine going through my first semester of college and a break-up at the same time. You’re a stronger man than I.”

Adam rather doubts that Fletcher can imagine going through a break-up at all, but he nods conspiratorially. They hop down the last few steps and out into the chilly sunshine together.

“You’d be amazed what one can do out of necessity.”

“Too true. We all have our hidden depths, don’t we,” Fletcher says thoughtfully. For a moment, Adam considers telling him—something, looping him into this tangled web with him, but then he says, “now, chapter twenty-three wasn’t on the outline, was it? I beg you to say no. Lie, if you must.”

And Adam is a student again. He doesn’t have out of body episodes. He doesn’t carry wads of tinfoil in his trouser pockets. He doesn’t keep deadly secrets from people whom he is mostly pretending to like and understand.

They walk onwards, towards a test which Adam will rouse himself for long enough to ace. Then he will think of the next thing, and the next. Appease these school acquaintances of his. Tinker with finicky car engines. Make flash cards. Drift into the beyond using one of Fletcher’s three-wick candles from pottery barn. Text Declan, who activates Ronan’s accountability in a way that Adam does not. Call Gansey, if he can bring himself to face his disappointment.

And clear away his feelings, which keep pouring out of him like so much honey.

______

Ronan hangs up on him, and Adam holds himself in the biting wind outside the library for a very long time.

He’d thought, if he could only speak to him, that he could begin to undo Bryde’s poisonous influence. They know each other. They’ve known each other. Ronan would listen to Adam’s fears as he always does. Adam would appeal to Ronan’s heart, which tends to ache for helpless things. They would see how lost they had become without each other. Adam would be allowed back into Ronan’s dreams, and Ronan would be allowed back into Adam’s future.

Why didn’t you text back?

As if they’ve been suspended in time since Ronan’s last tamquam, and none of it—the running away, warding his dreams against Adam, abandoning his phone, trusting a complete stranger over his friends and family—had ever happened.

It’s absurd. He should have expected it. Ronan was searching for a reason to stay, and when he looked for his reflection, his second self, Adam wasn’t there. For a single moment, he wasn’t there, and now he’s paying for it.

Impatient, wrathful Ronan. Leaping from the moving vehicle because Adam was going the speed limit. Going rogue, and then calling Adam with all of these stinging accusations, like he was the one who’d been abandoned.

He thinks again of Bryde manipulating Ronan, preying on his loneliness, his love for his brothers, his fear of himself. This big bad rumour, older and crueler than the Lace itself.

And Ronan letting himself be manipulated, putting on blinders, using Adam’s brief silence as an endorsement for a glorified joyride with unthinkable global ramifications. Self-destructing because things got a little too quiet.

Adam feels hot rage taking ahold of him with its sticky fingers.

Then he thinks of Ronan saying I need to see you, his thin, frightened voice finding Adam from somewhere out there in the city, and his anger goes clammy.

There’s no way Ronan will call again. Negotiations were off as soon as Adam refused to house them both from the Moderators.

And now, without Hennessy, Ronan is the last arrow in Bryde’s quiver. He’s going to be the explosive that brings everything down. He’s going to be buried at ground zero.

If I'd replied an hour sooner, would he really have waited? If I’d gone to school closer, would I have noticed him disintegrating? If I explained that my dream isn’t what I thought it would be either, that he’s the only thing that feels real, would he have said it back to me?

After everything that’s happened, am I going to be the one who gives up on Ronan Lynch?

Everything is so fucked.

He calls Declan.

He picks up on the first ring. “Parrish—”

“He hung up on me,” they both say at the same time.

“Mother of God,” Declan moans. “Then there’s no hope. He thinks I sold him out to the Mods.”

“Did you?”

“No. I did exactly as we discussed. I negotiated for his safety. I thought—I mean, you said it yourself, Adam. Being anti-apocalypse is a pretty solid platform.”

He shakes his head. “Ronan won’t see it that way. He’s not like us. He doesn’t want to be moderated even a little bit.”

“Believe me, I know that. The way he was talking—about the world screwing them over, all of them, dreamers. That’s not the way my brother thinks. That’s all Bryde. And now he’s taken him—Christ—Christ knows where.”

“He wanted to see me,” Adam feels compelled to say. “He was trying to come here.”

“He said that? That's good,” Declan says, relieved. “Where—“

“I let him get away,” Adam says, through numb lips. “I let him go.”

______

He texts Gansey, things have gone south, and then he turns his phone on silent.

His puts his fingertips to the floorboards, a knobbly hand on either side of a scrying tableau: the leaping flame of a candle, a well-organized pile of cards, his overturned phone and discarded tie. He’s just finished crying, and he feels volatile and ill-prepared even as he ties himself to the flickering light.

His mind races through the night like a skipped stone. Vaguely, he pictures a vast body of water and a glittering mountain range, with no horizon line in-between. Darkness reflected in darkness.

“Ronan,” he calls. The dreamspace whirs and grinds its gears and won’t reply. “You know this is wrong. You know, or you wouldn't be hiding from me.”

It’s all water out here in this sublime mirror-space, but it’s also warm, like the steam rising from a hot spring. Something is moving, changing things on a chemical level.

For a moment he thinks he sees himself, a wan doppelgänger with its hands raised. But it’s not Adam. It’s Bryde. Cool, sturdy, a pale Atlas holding the dream together on his back. He recognizes him instinctively.

Adam deliberately throws his mind closer, into the terrible heart of this fire Ronan is creating. Smoke whispers and catches all around him, and it’s even harder to tell the difference between things now. No horizon, no seam, no reality, no death.

What have you done? What are you doing?

The heat is quickly becoming unbearable. Adam is stretched too thin, and the fire is fraying him, eating through each fibre of his connection to reality.

Ronan, please, I need you to stop. I’m losing my grip. Listen to me.

And then, without any warning at all, he collapses on his dorm room floor.

He hacks and retches, lungs full of phantom smoke. Everything feels very wrong. He thinks for a second that he’s blind, but it’s not his vision, it’s another, less tangible sense, it’s—

He scrambles backwards on his hands, heaving. He tries to pull himself up onto his bed, head first, then chest, but he has to stop with his face buried in the comforter.

Ronan is—he must be—he’s—

“God, no, oh my god, no, no.”

He needs to throw up. He needs to call somebody. There’s complete silence in his head.

He was slingshotted back to Cambridge, swatted back along the zipline to his body, because there was nowhere else for him to go.

He’s sure, in a very non-magical, intuitive way, that every dream in the world has just collectively collapsed. Adam staggers to his feet. There’s a smoke alarm going off, somewhere. A background hum of electricity groaning as it shuts off. A high, scared voice.

As if in a trance, he goes to the window.

There are five dead lightbulbs in the nearest row of street lamps, what looks like a sleeping child out in the middle of the square, and a woman clutching her chest and sitting slowly on a bench.

Panic is deadening his senses, crawling blackly into his mouth and nose and eyes. He thinks of Matthew sitting weakly by the window. Opal slumped over a stump in the woods. Chainsaw falling from the sky like a stone. Gansey’s Cabeswater heart decaying in his chest. Ronan, either dissolving into nightwash or felled by a Moderator’s bullet, dead, lost, or powerless.

Every morsel of magic, every innovation, every cherished friend, every sacred place, turned off like a faucet.

The world outside, drooping and disconnected, is now exactly as ordinary as Adam has been pretending it is.

The ley line is gone.

#mister impossible #the dreamer trilogy #mi spoilers #tdt #adam parrish #trc #trc fanfic #pynch #mine #my tfc besties...... soon #in the meantime. here's some adam pov please clap

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blu-joons · 3 years

Text

DATING STRAY KIDS HEADCANON A⇴Z ⇴ Han Jisung

A ⇴ AFFECTION

Han can be very affectionate; he loves to give you cuddles and be close to you when he hears your laughter. His arm can often be found around your waist to keep you close into your side, allowing his head to rest against your shoulder.

B ⇴ BEFORE DATING

The two of you met at an awards show where you worked, and his eyes had been on you all night long. Of course, the boys were quick to notice and tease him about it, giving him the encouragement, he needed to go over and talk to you. There was no way he was going to leave that night without at least getting your number and name.

C ⇴ CONFESSION

Once he’d endured a lengthy pep talk from Chan, Han found himself walking over to you whilst you took a quick break from work, grabbing yourself a drink. He was super nervous as soon as he got close to you, introducing himself quickly without a little joke, before asking you If you’d like to go on a date with him. He was very confident, a quality that you liked in him, so of course, you told him your name, and put your number into his phone.

D ⇴ DATES

There was never a boring date in a relationship with Han, he loved to try new things and go to new places to keep you happy. He’s not really the kind of guy into sitting around to a meal, he much prefers to do something fun and let go of some of his energy. When he’s on tour, he’ll save one evening a week for date night as well, usually you’ll end up playing a game over the phone, anything that will turn into a competition. As long as the two of you are laughing, it never really matters to Han what the two of you are doing.

E ⇴ EXPERIENCE

He’d never experienced a proper relationship before he met you, he got plenty of attention from fans, which he loved, but he’d never been in a position to reciprocate the feeling. To begin with, he was incredibly nervous about how he was going to manage his time, with the group and you, but he soon found a way to make it work. He knew as an idol, being in a relationship was a huge deal, so he made sure not to let the fans, and you, down by making sure everything balanced out well, and prove that he could make a relationship work.

F ⇴ FIGHTING

You usually spend too much time laughing to fight with Han, but when you do, it’s horrible. He’s not one for silence and tension, he much prefers humour and jokes. Whenever he shouts, he feels so guilty afterwards, he knows you always mean well. If the two of you start arguing, he’s usually the one to walk away as he can’t deal with it, and then once he feels calmer again, he’ll come back home and talk. Your arguments would never last long as neither of you could deal with the awkwardness or the silence for too long before you’d go back to joking around and laughing with each other, forgetting all about it.

G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY

You very quickly bonded with his family, mainly because they were pleased Han had found someone who could deal with his constant jokes. He’d always told you about how close he was to his family, so you were determined to make a good first impression, and thankfully you were welcomed much better than you ever expected to be.

H ⇴ HOME

Even though he was young, it didn’t take Han long to want to find somewhere with you. He always felt guilty that he had to bring you back to the dorm where the boys were, at times it didn’t really feel like either of you got any privacy. You’d tell him you didn’t mind, but that would never stop him feeling bad for not being able to give you a space just for the two of you without someone interrupting.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

Han was the first to say, ‘I love you,’ one day as you erupted at one of his jokes. Earlier in the day he’d tried it on Changbin, who didn’t react, and even though he wasn’t sure if you were humouring him or not, he loved how you always made him feel special. It was only once you stopped laughing did you realise what he said, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

He tries to hide it well, but Han can often get jealous when other people are around you, especially when they make you laugh, because that’s his job. You could tell when he was feeling jealous as he’d always hover around you and try and move you away from the situation. He could also make you jealous from time to time, he was well known as a bit of a flirt, and despite knowing it was all innocent, you couldn’t help but stand back and pout sometimes, trying to bring his attention back over to you .

K ⇴ KIDS

The two of you both knew that kids were a long way into the future, but that didn’t stop you imagining Han as a dad in the future some nights. You’d both agreed that it was something you wanted in the long run, but with so much to do before you started to think about a family, you were both grown up enough not to let yourselves run too far ahead and worry about something that was still so far away in your lives.

L ⇴ LAUGHTER

Not a single soul in the world could make you laugh the way that Han could. Just the sound of his laugh was usually enough to bring a smile to your face, especially at the end of a long day. His quips, and sarcasm would have you in stitches for the most part of your days. Whenever he could tell you were down, one joke would be all that was needed in order to make you happy again. Hearing the sound of your laughter too, was always enough to make him laugh too, knowing he made you happy, made him his happiest too.

M ⇴ MISSING

Going away on tour was never easy for either of you, Han especially struggled with the distance and not being with you. He’d always be texting you whenever he had a minute just to make sure you were taking the best care of yourself. You’d do the same with him too, understanding that sometimes it did take a little while longer for him to reply. Whenever he went silent in the room, the boys all knew it was because he was missing you, so they’d try hard to pick his mood up and remind him that it wouldn’t be long before he saw you again. If you both had enough time, he’d always make sure to ring you and see your face too.

N ⇴ NICKNAMES

He’s not the most romantic when it comes to nicknames, he’ll tend to call you something like ‘squish,’ because he loves how you always curl up into him, or how cute and squishable your cheeks look whenever you’re laughing.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

Han is absolutely obsessed with your smile, it’s the brightest part of your day seeing you happy, if he could see nothing else but your happy face forever, it would make him a very happy man indeed.

P ⇴ PDA

Being affectionate with you in public isn’t always something Han does, he’s respectable of where the two of you are and where the limits are. He tends to keep his hand in yours quite a lot in public, and if he feels he can, he’ll exchange a kiss or two, but he’ll never go too crazy, unless he wants to wind up his other members.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

The majority of Han’s questions are along the lines of, “Y/N, do you want to hear a joke?” He’ll always be following you around or calling you up to tell you what he’s just come up with, and make sure that it makes you laugh.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

Han loved to often swap out items of clothing in your wardrobe for items of his own. He’d always encourage you to wear his shirts and jumpers as he loved seeing you in them. You’d often go into your wardrobe to grab a jumper to find it no longer there and see one of Han’s hung up instead. When he goes on tour, he makes sure to wear a few of them first so you still have a part of him with you when he’s travelling around the world.

S ⇴ SEX

You can count on Han to still make you laugh, even at the most intimate moments, you’d begin being romantic, but it wouldn’t be long before he’d tickle you or tell you a joke. He is however, very handsy, he loves to explore your body, and with so much energy, he can spend a lot of time doing so. He very much follows your lead when it comes to intimacy, if you’re feeling it, so is he, but if you just want to cuddle, he’s down for that too.

T ⇴ TEXTS

Whenever he had a spare couple of minutes, he’d be texting you, or checking his phone to see if you had replied. He’s not too pushy, but if you don’t reply within a couple of hours, he’ll be ringing you to make sure you’re fine.

U ⇴ UNIVERSE

You were the person that gave Han the most attention, and the most love. He always liked to bring smiles to people’s faces, but no one’s opinion mattered more to him than yours, and making sure he made you happy was by far what was most important to him.

V ⇴ VACATION

It was rare for the two of you to find time in your schedules to go on holiday together, but when you did, Han loved adventuring. He could never just sit down and relax, he liked to find theme parks, water parks, zoos, anything that could get him up on his feet. It didn’t matter where the two of you were, so as long as you were making memories.

W ⇴ WHINING

If you don’t react to a joke quick enough, Han will get very pouty and wonder what he did so wrong to fail in sending you into a fit of giggles.

X ⇴ XXXXX

He’ll always kiss you when he wants your attention as he knows it’s such a weakness of yours. He’s very playful with his kisses, and certainly likes to tease you. He’ll usually kiss your cheeks or along your jaw as they’re the most accessible places for him to get to. His hands will often keep position so he can be in control and make sure he gives you enough attention, to leave you wanting just a little bit more.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were his biggest fan, and for that, he knew he had someone special in you

Z ⇴ ZZZ

He’ll always like to be nice and close to you when the two of you sleep, his hand will often be in yours or resting around your waist to keep you close to his side, as long as you’re there, he’ll definitely have a peaceful night sleep.

---

Masterlist

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rjhpandapaws · 3 years

Text

Music and Magic among Knights and Thieves

Chapter 1: The House of Lies Shall Fall

House Arkait was one of the oldest noble houses in the country. They were a family of strong magic, it was what had given them their prowess. Except that in recent years they hadn’t been much more than a symbol of intimidation. Up until Connor and Silas had been born no one in the past one hundred years or so had been able to actually use magic. House Arkait as it was now known was built upon appearances and lies. Connor could use creature magic; he could change his shape as well as understand animals. Silas had been born with pyrokinetic magic which had been interesting to say the least. Richard had been born with script magic, he could see runes and use them as he wished. After generations of nothing House Arkait had three gifted mages within its ranks. It would come across like their place in the council of nobles had been saved. Except Connor had changed shape and made off in the night as soon as he was of age. He sent letters occasionally, but took care not to say where he was in the case that someone other than Silas or Richard had gotten a hold of it. Silas was the next to leave. A mercenary has been travelling through town and caught his eye. They had left together when the mercenary couldn’t find anymore work to do. Which had left Richard on his own, at the mercy of their advisors.

He would the first to admit that he had caught a bit of wanderlust from the letters he received from his brothers. He was left to learn and take on the role of the figure head for the house. Keep their secrets, and continuing to tell lies on the behalf of the house, anything to save face. Personally he would rather the house finally fell, he just didn’t want to be around when it did. Nobility and its ruled were relics from a bygone era. Richard started slowly. He collected all of the spell books that were in the main house; the rest were too much of a risk. The more out dated ones he sold which left him with enough money to safely travel and about six books he could use in the event that he ran into trouble. He packed as lightly as he could, he planned to spend most of his time on the road and he didn’t want to be overly weighed down. He packed the bare minimum of medical supplies, he was fairly decent with healing magic. Travel clothes that wouldn’t immediately mark him as a noble. Lastly he packed his lute and violin. He was great with magic, but that much better with music, The full moon was high in the star littered sky when the last heir of House Arkait vanished into the night. The last standing pillar began to crumble. Without loyalty in a house of lies, what was left? With the last of them gone all that remained in those once hallowed halls were the secrets and lies. It would only be a matter of time before the house fell to the hands of those it had wronged. Richard slipped trough the iron gates. He looked over his shoulder at the manor house one last time overcome with a sense of freedom. This was the start of something amazing.

Richard’s first few weeks on the road was a crash course in how the real world worked. He might not have looked like a noble, but his lack of knowledge on even the most basic things definitely seemed to mark him as one. The people who went out of their way to rip him off aside, he had not been prepared for how expensive living on the road could actually. Performing in taverns as well as on street corners was making him considerable money, but not quite enough so he had to sell a few more of his spell books. Authentic written magic caught a high price and since they were rare he could always track them down again if he needed to. He sold three of them and went on his way. It was a couple months after he had left when he started to hear the first few whispers of change. He found himself smiling at the ‘rumors’ that the last heir to House Arkait had vanished into the night without a trace. He was having something to drink and a light meal before he performed. As he ate he listened to a rowdy green eyed stranger go on about it. He was in the armor of this city’s knights and given the size Richard had the suspicion that it was stolen, but it was none of his business.

“You see,” The man said gruffly, he sounded just this side of waisted, “I think the little noble was kidnapped. Coming from a family like that would fetch a pretty bit of gold. Not to mention, Imagine being even just a part of the group that caused the fall of House Arkait.” It took everything Richard had in him not to laugh or throw in his two cents. The acting head of house had put out a reward for his return so he would be wise to keep his head down. The last letter he had gotten from his brothers said they were doing the same thing. Both Connor and Silas were presumed dead because how long they had been ‘missing’, but one small slip up could change all of that. Richard wasn’t so lucky, he had to keep a close eye on himself so he wouldn’t slip up. Richard finished his meal and paid for it. He grabbed his things, checked the time, and then made his way to the stage to get set up. He put an amplification spell on his lute and another one on his throat to make his voice louder. Performing like this easier on him, but he was only planning on doing it until he was used to performing regularly because it felt too much like cheating.

He sang two sets and felt like he had eaten sandpaper afterward. Normally he only would do one set and maybe an encore if he was up to it. The crowd tonight had been very receptive so he found himself going longer than he should have. He packed up and made his way back to the bar to order something to soothe his throat. Richard hadn’t even put his hand up to flag the bartender when a drink was set in front of him. He looked to his left where the drink had come from to find the ‘knight’ from earlier. He looked a little more sober now. “Thank you?” Richard questioned, “Might I ask what this is for?” “You performance mostly.” The man responded as he settled into the seat beside Richard, “We don’t normally get musicians like you around these parts.” Richard swallowed thickly, it hurt his throat but he needed a moment. Had he screwed up? Did this man know? He took a breath and schooled his expression, “Care to explain what you mean?” “Magic users.” The man clarified, “You lot normally stick to the nobles, they pay better than taverns. So I suppose I’m just curious as to what would bring you to a place like this.”

Richard felt all of the tension melt from his body and he smiled, “I wanted to see more of the world.” He said honestly, “Playing for the same crowds every few weeks paid well, but by doing this I can write my own songs.” “There’s no one you have to worry about pissing off.” The stranger supplied, “That has to be nice.” “It is.” Richard agreed. He used magic to check his drink for poison before he tried it, “Could I ask your name?” “Most people just call me Reed.” He replied, “Got something I can call you?” “Nines.” He replied, and then turned his head away to cough, “Forgive me, I sang more than normal this evening and my throat isn’t too pleased with me.” Reed seemed to understand. He continued to keep him company and told tales of his travels. Richard was relatively certain he was exaggerating quite a few details. Reed seemed delighted when he asked if it would be alright to use some of his misadventures in his songs. They parted ways reluctantly when Richard found himself struggling to keep his eyes open. When he reached his room and settled in for the night he hoped he would cross paths with Reed again soon. To maybe have an adventure like his someday.

Winter was creeping its way along the coast and Richard had gained a bit of a reputation as a travelling musician. He had been gone for nearly a year when he heard more whispers. It seemed as though House Arkait was finally starting to crumble. Secrets had found their way into the open and people were beginning to demand answers. He would hate to be the acting head of house right about now. She was little more than an advisor, but she had been pulling the strings for as long as Richard had been alive, if not longer. He felt no guilt in leaving her head on the chopping block since she had all but been orchestrating things. Just like before, he took steps to keep his head down. He would watch as the House of Lies fell, not too unlike one made of cards. When this was over he would at last be free to become whatever he wished. To carve out his place in a world he had only gotten to watch through a window.

#Music and Magic among Knights and Thieves #MMKTAU #fantasy au #reed900 #dbh gavin #dbh nines #dbh fic #dbh

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freddie-weaselbee · 3 years

Text

E1: The One Where It All Begins//F.W.

Series Summary: FRIENDS but with Harry Potter characters after Hogwarts graduation, trying to figure out their lives and relationships. Non Voldy AU. Begins around the end of FRIENDS season 4 with The Wedding (except this first one) and semi follows plots in season 5. Partially inspired by @lunalovecroft but follows different episodes and plots.

Pairing(s): Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader, Romione, Hinny, Georgelina

Warnings: Mentions of food/drink, suicide joke (very brief and light, nothing graphic), slight language, mentions of sex/strip clubs

Summary: It’s been 3 years since Y/N graduated from Hogwarts and moved into an apartment in Diagon Alley. Her life with her friends is simple and predictable, until a girl she hasn’t seen in years walks through the coffee shop door.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: My first fic posted to tumblr! Probably going to be a 5-10 part series I haven’t decided yet

Based on FRIENDS S1 E1

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

“There’s nothing to tell! It’s just some guy I work with”

You waved your hands frantically at the people questioning you, trying not to spill your coffee on your new sweater and plaid skirt, apparently to no avail. You huffed as the latte sloshed over the edge and landed in a heap on your lap. The redhead sitting next to you, your roommate and closest friend Ginny, grabbed some napkins to help clean you up.

“C’mon,” spoke a voice, coming from the chair to the left to the couch upon which you were sitting. “You’re going out with a guy, there’s gotta be something wrong with him!”

“So does he have a hump, a hump and a hairpiece?” came another voice, this time from off to your right.

Rolling your eyes you replied to the almost identical voices coming from identical people. “Oh sod off you two, like you haven’t gone out with some whack jobs.”

Ginny laughed as her twin brothers, George and Fred respectively, mumbled and settled back in their seats. She helped clean up any coffee that spilled on the couch before realization dawned on her. “Wait, does he have a small penis?”

Three groans came out simultaneously from the group, ⅔ of which were from Ginny’s siblings.

“What? I just don’t want her to go through what I did with Dean, aww.” She looked off into the distance as if in a trance, remembering her time with the boy she dated back when you were all attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

“You know you have a boyfriend, right?” Ginny smiled sheepishly at the words coming from her boyfriend, the infamous Harry Potter, known also as the boy who lived. If it wasn't for his mom sacrificing herself for him, Voldemort wouldn’t have died for good that Halloween night. Imagine if he was somehow brought back, what a series that would be.

“Ok, everybody relax,” you said, returning the conversation to your dating life. “I have no idea how big or small his dick is, Ginny.” You scoffed and her brothers gagged at their sister’s discussion of her and her ex’s sex life. “Besides, this isn’t even a date. It’s just two people going out to dinner and not having sex.”

Harry, the quietest one of your group, spoke up. “Sounds like a date to me.” You threw your dirty napkins at him and he ducked the toss, hiding his chuckle behind his coffee cup.

Ginny got up to order a cappuccino, her usual at the Diagon Alley coffee shop. After the twins started their joke shop, Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and the rest of you graduated, you and Ginny decided to get a place together down the street from the popular business. Being the same year as Harry and one of Ginny’s other brothers, Ron, you stayed in touch with the boys after graduation and they eventually found an apartment right across the hall from yours. With the 6 of you--Ginny, Ron, Harry, Fred, George, and yourself--living so close to each other, you began to spend all of your free time together, usually ending up lounging around the coffee shop until the owner kicked you all out.

“Do you guys want to hear about a dream I had last night?” It was Fred who had spoken, the slightly older and slightly more attractive twin, in your humble opinion.

“If it’s another sex dream about Snape, Freddie…” The group howled with laughter and you threw a hand to your mouth, silently cursing yourself for giving up the secret your friend had told you months ago.

“You arsehole!” he yelled, not actually meaning it. He buried his face in his hands, trying to cover the deep red spreading through his cheeks.

You tried to hold back your laughter but it bubbled out as you apologized. “I’m so sorry Freddie, it just came out! Kind of like in your dream when--”

“Y/N!” He jumped out of his chair and launched himself onto you, covering your mouth with his hand. You were bent over, holding your stomach with laughter. Ginny returned looking extremely confused.

“What’s so funny?” Fred gave you a look, telling you that you were dead meat if you mentioned this to his sister. You shrugged at him and nodded. You would just tell her once you two got home anyways.

“Your darling brother here was just about to tell us about a dream he had.”

Ginny groaned loudly, plopping down in her usual spot on the couch. “Is this like the one about Snape--”

“WHAT THE FUCK Y/N?”

Oh. Maybe you had already told Ginny. Whoops.

After a few more rounds of laughter and jesting at the oldest of the friend group, Fred finally told his dream, consisting of nudity, a wand for a penis, and a very interesting Howler from his mother.

You were all in hysterics, Harry wiping tears from his eyes and Ginny switching spots with you to throw her legs over her boyfriend's lap. It was at that moment that the final member of your 6 person friend group, Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor’s King, moped into the café.

He trudged over to the couch and chairs that your group had practically claimed as your own. “Hi.”

“Wow,” said Ginny, “my brother says hi I wanna kill myself!” Harry slapped Ginny playfully on the shoulder as she moved and nuzzled into his chest.

You stood up to meet your oldest friend. During Hogwarts you and Ron were inseparable. You did everything together, usually along with Harry and another girl, who you hadn’t spoken to in years. You laid a hand on the sulking man’s shoulder. “You ok sweetie?” you asked.

Ron huffed and sat down on the couch. “I just feel like someone reached down my throat, grabbed my small intestine, pulled it out of my mouth and tied it around my neck.”

“Cookie?” The younger twin spoke up, trying to defuse the tension but only making it worse.

You sighed and realized you would have to explain the situation, even though almost everyone there was his family and should have known what was going on already.

“Padma moved away today.” Your words were met with a chorus of ‘ohs’ from the group. George leaned over to pat his brother’s shoulder and Fred stood up to buy him a coffee.

“I’ll be fine, alright really everybody,” Ron said. “I hope she’ll be very happy.”

“No you don’t,” said Harry.

“No I don’t, to hell with her she left me!”

Ginny almost let out a chuckle but figured right now was not the best time to tease her hurting brother. Unfortunately, her other siblings didn’t have the same idea.

Fred returned with the coffee and he and George spoke at the same time. “And you never knew she was a lesbian?”

Ron facepalmed and groaned into his hand. He was growing increasingly tired of you all making fun of him for his relationship with Padma. After their date to the Yule Ball they dated on and off for the rest of their time at Hogwarts. They stayed together after graduation, going out consistently for the last 3 years. Ron was even considering a proposal soon, but that was when Padma came out to the world and let Ron know she was moving to the country with her old “roommate.” Needless to say he didn’t take it well and your friend group never let him hear the end of it.

The youngest Weasley brother kicked George’s shin as he continued to laugh. “No, ok? Why does everyone keep fixating on that? She didn’t know, how should I know?

“Sometimes I wish I was a lesbian.”

You all turned to the end of the couch, where two voices spoke in unison. However, these weren’t the constantly in sync voices of the twins. Harry and Ginny had both spoken those words out loud and were now staring incredulously at each other.

“Harry--”

“Ginny--”

“Well mates, it looks like you two have got some things to work out, and I would appreciate it if that didn’t happen in front of your family.” Fred winked at the couple before turning back to Ron. “Alright Ron, look. You’re feeling a lot of pain right now.”

“You’re angry,” interrupted George.

“You’re hurting.”

The twins leaned in toward their little brother. “Can I tell you what the answer is?” George asked.

Ron nodded reluctantly and the twins sat back and nearly screamed their solution. “Strip joint!”

“You two are disgusting” you said, suddenly losing your appetite.

Fred wiggled his eyebrows at you. “You’re just saying that because you don’t get anything out of it! How about afterwards we go back to your place and I put on a little show for you?”

At that comment everyone took turns slapping Fred upside the head, you going back for seconds.

Ron was still sulking, not having even touched his coffee.

“C’mon, ickle Ronniekins!” George began. “You’re single, have some hormones!”

You met Ginny’s eyes and shared a similar annoyed look. It was difficult only having one other girl in a friend group of 4 boys. Sometimes you wished you had someone else to help balance the group out.

“See George I don’t want to be single, ok? I just, I just wanted to propose to her! To be married!”

The ringing of the bell above the coffee shop door grabbed your attention, and you almost spilled your coffee again. Walking into the building, wearing a full wedding dress, makeup and hair done and all, was your old friend. The one you hadn’t seen since you graduated 3 years ago. The one you hadn’t heard more than a peep from in forever.

“Hermione?”

Fred looked between his youngest brother and the mystery bride, complete confusion on his face. “And I just want a million galleons!” He stuck his hand out as if expecting the coins to fall from the sky. You pushed past him and made your way to your old friend.

The brunette turned at the sound of your voice and her face lit up. “Oh Godric, Y/N hi! I was just at your apartment and you weren’t there and then this guy with a big hammer, who probably should have a background check done on him I’ll write to your landlord about that, but he said that you might be here and you are, you are!”

You grabbed the hysterical girl and walked her over to your group. Hermione Granger, the girl who was usually so logical and under control, was going absolutely crazy.

“Ok umm,” you started. “Hermione, this is the gang. You remember everyone right? I mean there’s Harry and Ginny, she and I share an apartment right next door. Then Fred and George, we’ve been spending a lot of time together over the past few years. Oh, and obviously Ron, he’s sulking in the corner.”

Ron shot daggers at you as he stood up to give Hermione a hug, which ended up a disaster of a mess as he dropped a jelly donut on her white dress. The boy sat down as Hermione said hi to everyone, greeting Harry and Ginny with massive hugs.

“I didn’t know you hung out with the twins, I thought they always saw us as their little brother’s annoying friends. I guess I’ve missed a lot, huh?”

“Yeah, why do we hang out with them George?”

“Because it’s either that or have mum at our throats for not spending time with our siblings.”

“Ah, that’s right.”

Hermione scooted in between Ron and Ginny, sighing and staring at the coffee table in front of her, oblivious to the 6 pairs of eyes boring into the crazy woman before you. Having no spots left to sit you walked toward Fred who gestured to his lap with a sly look. You rolled your eyes at the boy and muttered a “you wish Weasley” before sitting on the arm of the chair, letting your ginger friend grab your hand and fidget with the rings on your fingers.

“So you wanna tell us now, or are we waiting for 4 wet bridesmaids?” Hermione looked at you apologetically before she spoke.

“Oh Godric, well. It started about a half hour before the wedding. I was in Bulgaria with Viktor’s cousins, all wonderful ladies by the way, and I was looking at his staff, y’know the big one he carries around that makes him so attractive?”

You and Ginny nodded, along with Ron who seemed to be daydreaming about the Quidditch star.

“Well, I’m looking at this staff, this rough rugged staff, and I realized...I realized that this staff has more intellect and substance than Viktor! And then I got really freaked out, and then it hit me. How much Viktor looks like Mr. Potato Head.”

You and George made eye contact across the room trying to communicate with your eyes whether or not you should all bolt and leave the crazy girl behind.

But she continued. “I mean, I always knew he looked familiar but, anyway, I just had to get out of there and I started wondering, why am I doing this and who am I doing this for? I thought I loved Viktor, and moving to Bulgaria helped me with foreign ministry practices, but I just, I wasn’t thinking. Or maybe I was thinking too much? I don’t know.”

Ginny rubbed her friend’s back and Hermione leaned into the touch. “So anyway,” she said, looking at you, “I just didn’t know where to go and I know that you and I have kinda drifted apart since Hogwarts but you were the only friend I knew who was living in Diagon Alley--albeit I didn’t know you were living with Ginny but it’s a great surprise to see you.”

You took a second to process everything that was happening, not even realizing your other friend had begun to soothingly rub your back. “Your only friend in Diagon Alley, who you haven’t written to in years and who wasn’t invited to the wedding?”

Hermione rubbed her temples in desperation and you knew you could never actually be mad at the brightest witch of her age. “I was, I was really hoping that wouldn’t come up. I’m so sorry about that, Y/N, and Harry, and Ron, and even you Ginny.”

“Wow, alright then,” the twins spoke in unison again.

Hermione scowled at them, her already bad mood being worsened by their jokes. “In my defense you two never really liked me in the first place.”

Fred was about to say something but you shushed him, fearing that more likely that not it would be something offensive to the scared girl.

You stood from your uncomfortable seat and lifted your friend up by her hands. “I was just thinking about how great it would be to have another girl around. And Ginny and I do have an extra room that we were going to rent out, but seeing as an opportunity has presented itself…”

The young witch’s face beamed with happiness as she threw her arms around you. “Thank you Y/N, thank you so much! I’m still working for the Ministry so I can pay rent, and I’m sure there are things I can do to fix up the apartment, the building looked a little, umm, under the weather when I went to find you, and I can get closer with you and Ginny, and obviously catch up with you boys, and--”

Hermione continued to ramble on, but you drowned her out as you felt a warm breath next to your ear. Fred had snuck up behind you and was bent over your shoulder, whispering softly.

“She’s going to be a real handful, isn’t she?”

You elbowed the boy and turned to look up at him, giving a knowing smile. “As if you aren’t. Besides, I have a feeling that having Hermione here is about to make our lives a lot more interesting.”

#fredweasey #fred #fredweasleyimagine #fredweasleyseries #fredweaseyfluff #hermionegranger #ronweasley #georgeweasley #harrypotter #ginnyweasley #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x reader #friends #fred x y/n #fred x reader #diagon alley #weasleys wizard wheezes #weasley

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fanficimagery · 4 years

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Flares

Summary: Imagine keeping a secret from your friends, but when you’re in need of a favor.. that secret you’ve guarded is now out.

Words: 2.9K Warnings: Cancer. The holidays have got me thinking about my mom and I just want to give someone the happy ending my mom never got.

Curled up on the sofa, no amount of TV has been able to distract you. It's been about a month since you've started chemotherapy and as warned your hair has slowly started to fall out. You had bawled earlier that morning when you noticed it, and then tried to distract yourself by binge eating and watching rom-coms. Unfortunately it didn't work.

Sighing, you pick up your iPhone to check the time. It's just after four in the afternoon and without second guessing yourself, you scroll through your contacts until you land on one name in particular. You're not as close to him as you are to others in your friend group, but you do trust him. So after quickly composing a text, you hit send on it and hope for the best.

[Hey, Jeff. When you have a free moment, can we talk?]

Surprisingly it doesn't take long for him to reply.

[I'm actually in neighborhood. Wanna grab a bite to eat?]

[Yeah. That's fine.]

[I'll text you when I'm outside.]

With your stomach in knots, you get up and quickly make yourself decently presentable for the public. You take two edibles that had been prescribed by your doctor when the nausea and anxiety became too much, and pray that you can keep your food down when out with your friend. Jeff soon texts and you quickly pocket some money, your phone, and your keys before leaving out the front door.

Then settling into the front passenger seat of Jeff's vehicle, you flash him a tired grin. "Hey, how's your day been?"

"Boring." As Jeff pulls away from the curb, you buckle yourself in and then try to sit as still as possible. "Had to film an ad for Old Spice, but that was over and done with surprisingly fast. How was your day?"

"Honestly? It's been a shit day," you say, chuckling softly. "It's kind of why I wanted to talk to you."

"Uh oh." He glances between the road and you. "This can't be good."

"You have no idea how right you are." Sighing, you then say, "I'm not sure I want to tell you right now. It's kind of an appetite killer and I already took two edibles."

Jeff frowns. "Edibles? I didn't know you were into that."

"I'm not, but they were prescribed by my doctor."

"Doctor? What the hell is going on, Y/N?"

"I'm sorry." Wringing your hands together nervously, you then meet Jeff's stare after he's pulled off into a gas station parking lot. "I'm sick. I didn't want to tell anyone until I absolutely had to and this morning I realized I was going to have to start because I need to ask you for a favor."

"Y/N," he starts, "the only time someone is prescribed edibles is when-"

"-when someone has cancer. When the chemo becomes too much and the patient can't keep food down."

Jeff's eyes close as he deeply exhales. "Jesus." A moment of silence passes and then, "what's this favor?"

"I need you to shave my head."

"What?"

"During chemo, hair starts falling out anywhere between two to four weeks. It's been a little over five for me and I noticed it falling out this morning."

He gulps. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Your voice wobbles and tears fill your eyes, but you're quick to wipe them away before they fall. "I don't want to go to a stranger for this. This is really personal and I would rather the person shaving my head be someone I trust."

"Then yes. I'll do it." You smile, but you can't help the tears. "Christ, Y/N, come here." Jeff opens his arms for a hug and you unbuckle your seatbelt so you're able to hug him over the center console. "You know you're gonna have to tell everyone. And soon."

"I will. I kind of have an idea of how I want to tell them, but you'd have to agree to it."

Pulling out of the hug, Jeff grins. "Okay then. We'll talk details over dinner because I'm sure you're starting to feel really hungry."

"I am." Jeff chuckles and then starts to drive. On the road to the chosen restaurant , you finally say, "Thanks, Jeff."

"Don't even mention it. I will always be there for my friends." He flashes you that dimpled smile of his and for a moment you feel like you can breathe again.

Letting someone in on this secret of yours feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest.

"So are you gonna tell me why we're doing a special edition of Jeff's Barbershop in my living room?" David wonders.

Zane and Heath are helping Jeff setup, pushing back the furniture and laying down some plastic so hair doesn't get caught in the carpet.

"You'll know soon enough."

"Can you at least let us know whose hair you're cutting?" He then asks.

Jeff sighs. "You'll know soon enough, man." David frowns, and Heath and Zane suddenly look interested in Jeff's vague answers. "Just- no jokes. Alright? This is going to be pretty serious."

"Jesus. What the hell is going on?" Zane nervously chuckles, attempting to cut the tension. It doesn't work.

"Okay. Well who's all coming?" David asks.

"Mariah, Erin, Carly, Y/N, Natalie, Jason, Todd, and Matt. Everyone else couldn't make it, so we'll call them afterward."

"Man," Heath sighs. "I've got a bad feeling about today. If Jeff isn't cracking jokes, something must really be up."

Jeff only shrugs, refusing to say anymore on the matter.

- X - X - X - X - X -

By the time everyone is gathered at David's and has calmed down from greeting one another, Jeff stands next to the chair in the middle of the room. He picks up the black cape from the seat and holds it in one hand, staring out at everyone. "Ready?"

Everyone then glances around the room, anxious to see who's going to stand, and you almost laugh at their surprised exclamations when you push yourself up to your feet.

"What?!" Erin shouts, smiling. "No way!" She then looks to Jeff. "I thought you didn't cut women's hair? You nearly panicked when I asked you buzz my baby hairs."

"This is a special occasion of sorts. You'll understand soon enough," he says.

Now standing next to Jeff, you stuff your hands into the pocket of your hoodie. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and you lean into him for some much needed comfort. "I know you're all probably confused," you start, "but I have something to tell you and I figured I'd tell as many of you as I can in one go because this is kind of hard to say out loud."

Mariah frowns and leans forward. "What's going on, girl?"

You take a deep breath, but it doesn't help. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, even as you try to screw your mouth and nose up to keep them at bay. The tears suddenly have everyone on edge. "I.. I have cancer." The entire group goes silent and those who'd been staring at their phones immediately drop them. "I found out a little over a month ago and have been having chemo sessions for about just as long."

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" David wonders.

You shrug. "It was hard to process at first, but then I just got scared that you'd all treat me differently once you found out. And now that my hair is falling out and Jeff kindly accepted to do me a favor, I figured I'd tell you instead of surprising you with my bald noggin'."

Heath and David are the first out of their seats, the two young men sandwiching you in a hug. You laugh, but then your laughter turns into sobs as you cling to them. One by one, the rest of your friends stand to embrace you and whisper words of encouragement.

When they're done, you step back and wipe your eyes. "None of you guys actually have to stay for the cut, but you're more than welcome to. Jeff's gonna film as if he were back at his own place and I'm just going to talk about how I found out about the cancer."

"We're staying," Jason says. "We're gonna be here for you every step of the way."

You finally take a seat in the chair and Jeff wraps the cape around your neck. You gulp down the lump in your throat, inhaling and exhaling loudly to prepare yourself for what's about to come. The sound of the clippers turn on and you close your eyes when you feel the teeth of the clippers at the front of your hairline.

Then almost as if he's unsure, Jeff slowly drags the clippers atop your head. The moment you feel your hair being cut, you can't stop the tears that start to flow once more. This time, however, they're silent.

"So, uh, how did you find out about the cancer?" Jeff asks.

He continues to cut and it takes you a moment to find your voice. "It was stupid, really," you huff. "I was just feeling kind of worn down, but I wasn't sick. So after being utterly exhausted for no apparent reason, I went to the doctor where they drew some blood and found abnormalities in my blood."

"Didn't you lose your mom to cancer?" Natalie asks.

"I did." Shakily smiling, you take a moment to control your warring emotions. "Since my mom had it, the doctors urged me to get checked out early. I refused. And then I refused again when my dad's sister was diagnosed and my chances of having it as well were even higher."

"God," Erin sighs. "I don't think I could not know. I'd have gotten checked out as soon as possible."

"It's easy to say that if you haven't seen anyone go through it," you tell her. "But I watched my mom go through chemo several times and watched her health slowly deteriorate. I didn't want to get as sick as she did. It was horrible. So I came to the conclusion that if I didn't know, then it was okay. It'd take forever to actually show symptoms and I was fine with that."

"But the symptoms showed up early," Zane guesses.

You nod. "They did."

"What- what kind of cancer is it?" Matt asks.

"Breast. Exactly like my mom had, but nowhere as advanced as hers was."

"So that's a good thing. Right?" Todd wonders.

"I mean.." you trail off, shrugging. "My chances are better than hers were, but I'd rather not have cancer to begin with."

Everyone falls silent and the only sound for a few minutes are the buzzing clippers.

You let Jeff move your head this way as he cuts, almost missing his question. "Now that you know, do you wish you'd have gotten checked sooner?"

"Honestly? Yeah. Because if they had caught it sooner, then I wouldn't need chemo," you admit. "So my advice to everyone is, is that even though you hate doctor visits, schedule them for at least every six months. And if your family has a history of cancer, get checked as soon as possible and schedule appointments every three months to make sure nothing pops up suddenly."

"Okay. And we're.. done."

Jeff cleans you off and unlatches the cape from around your neck, but you're frozen in your seat. Your head feels a whole lot lighter and though you asked Jeff for this haircut, you don't want to see it.

"Y/N?" Carly's soft voice pulls you out of your mind.

"I'm okay." You shakily smile. "I just- it's just a lot to take in. Now I know how my mom felt when my brother cut her hair those three times."

Jeff comes around to stop before you, he grabbing your hands and gently pulling you to your feet. "Whatever you need, we're here for you." He wraps his arms around you, tucking you under his chin. "If you want to go to a wig shop, we'll go to a wig shop."

You sniffle, chuckling. "No offense to your fantastic cut, but we're definitely going to a wig shop."

"Hell yes we are, baby," Zane agrees.

The others slowly start to unwind from the serious situation you dropped into their laps, and though there are still tears in their eyes and pity in their expressions, they try to make the best of it.

Plans are made to keep you decently active, your friends wheedle more information out of you about your family's health history, and then before Jeff can leave you follow him outside.

"Hey," you call out, stalling him, the hood of your jacket pulled up and over your head. "I know how annoying some of your viewers are, so if you want I can make an intro or outro for your video to let everyone know the video was my idea and that you didn't make it for the views."

Jeff sheepishly smiles. "You watch my videos?"

"We're friends, aren't we?" You grin. "Of course I watch them. So what do you say?"

"I'd appreciate it. Thanks, Y/N."

"Mhm. And thank you. For everything."

Jeff's dimples make an appearance as he smiles, he nodding before getting in his vehicle to take his leave.

The news of your cancer took every one of the fans by surprise.

Jeff had edited his video as quickly as he could and posted it with your permission. Then as soon as his video was up, you took a couple of selfies and posted them to Instagram with a link to the video that explained everything. The love and support that had quickly followed left you in tears, and feeling quite content with yourself for your decision to no longer keep your illness a secret.

The chemotherapy eventually got the best of you and there were times when you couldn't even get out of bed. It went from your friends constantly checking on you to moving you into David's spare bedroom when they found you struggling to breathe one day from an anxiety attack. You hadn't wanted to become a burden, but everyone was in agreement that they'd feel better if you lived with one of them until treatment was over. And seeing as you lived closest to Natalie and David, it was their home you moved into.

You filmed bits for everyone's vlogs to talk about your journey with cancer and about the progress you'd made while getting treatment. But soon the treatments stopped and you had to endure yet more testing to see if the chemo was doing it's job.

Then a week later, you're getting ready to go visit the doctor for your results.

As you're sliding your feet into a pair of sneakers, David's just getting home.

"Hey, Y/N. Going out?"

"Yeah." Pulling a beanie atop your head, you fix it just right before meeting David's gaze. "Today's the big day. I find out whether or not I can stop chemo for good or have to have another round."

His eyes subtly widen. "Yeah? Can I go?"

"Sure. You mind driving? I'm a bit anxious."

"Not at all. Lets go."

The drive is mostly a relaxed one, David asking about your plans should you get good news. You told him that you'd be moving back into your own apartment and that you were going back to work as soon as possible because your job was still waiting for you.

David then proceeded to assure you that no matter what he and all your friends would be there for you to fall back on should you need it. Of course you knew that, but it was nice to hear it again.

The following wait in the waiting room is quite excruciating and David grips onto your hand as your knee bounces anxiously. Smiling sheepishly, you try to quit the knee bouncing, but it starts back up moments later.

When your name is finally called, you drag David with you into the back room. Hand in hand, you enter the doctor's main office and only have to wait another hand full of minutes. Your doctor's expression is quite unreadable and even David's knee starts to bounce anxiously, but when she beams at you, you break down.

Remission. You are in complete remission.

Your face is in your hands as you sob, David's rubbing your back, and it takes you a moment to calm down. Then when you're finally able to control yourself and glance up, even the doctor is teary-eyed. She tells you that all tests and scans came back clean, but she'd still like to see you every three months to make sure nothing suddenly pops back up. You're more than okay with that and after gathering some paperwork, and standing up to hug your doctor, you and David are soon on your way.

Outside the office building, you and David stare at one another before he opens his arms and you throw yourself at him. He's laughing, you're crying and laughing, and the two of you just hug it out far longer than a hug should last.

"So who are we telling first?" He wonders, grinning.

"Jeff. Definitely Jeff," you say. "He was the first to know I had cancer, so he should the first- well, second now- to know I'm in remission."

"Well alright then. But just so you know, I'm recording their reactions."

You laugh. "Of course you are."

#fanficimagery #imagine #vlog squad imagine #vlog squad x reader #vlog squad #jeff wittek imagine #david dobrik imagine #jeff wittek #david dobrik #heath hussar #zane hijazi #erin gilfoy #mariah amato #jason nash #natalie mariduena #matt king #toddy smith #todd smith #carly incontro

1K notes · View notes

crimsonfluidessence · 3 years

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Prompt 11: Preaching To The Choir

Esredes was always somewhat tense on these nights. It was recruitment night, and one he was at the head of. Ysayle did the bulk of these, seeing who showed up to the invisible ink on the innocuous flyers and seeing who would step forward and join their ranks. She was incredibly good at it, even from the start. But the woman could not be everywhere at once, and Esredes was one of the many others who volunteered to do the task. Security was always tight at the meetings. A lot of his own stood by as guard to both the invited guests and the speaker, and incidents were rare. The meeting was always held somewhere they did not return to again, and with plenty of room to get away by flight, and plenty of distance between the speaker and the audience, surrounded by his people as guard as they were. Yet it never helped that tension of the fact any one could be the incident, and there was still always so much put on the line. Not to even mention, being the speaker himself was always worse than simply guarding it. When he was standing by and managing these events, he was in his usual combat uniform inspecting people one by one to check for weapons, and then standing near Ysayle as guard afterwards. But when he was the speaker, the uniform didn't cut it. The speaker had to have presence, they had to try and captivate the vulnerable and questioning audience. So the weavers at the camp had settled on constructing him a long, black cloak that draped down to his feet, with equally long and draping sleeves. The sleeves add a lot of character, they said. The whole of the cloak was adorned with silver stitched accents, in a way they claimed evaded feeling too fancy, yet evoked a sense of mysticism necessary to captivate the audience. Every other speaker had a similar cloak attire made to them. It seemed they were the uniform look to go with. Esredes somewhat understood the power of the cloak. When he wore it before the ceremony began, it felt a bit awkward, like he was pretending to be a mage when he was an imitator of it at most, and he found himself fumbling idly with the sleeves often. It was only once he took his place and got into the thick of it that he truly felt the concept of presence it evoked. For now, though, Esredes had to stand awkwardly among the rest of the guard on a cliff above the gathering, as below his people continued their process of vetting everyone who came, and watch quietly, reciting his speech in his head repeatedly. It didn't matter how many times he had given this exact speech before, or the fact he often went scriptless for motivational speeches to his people, he still felt the need to be sure he did not mess it up. Behind the cloak's hood, his orange eyes peered out at every new person who arrived carefully, contemplating to himself if they would join or leave, if he would get to know them or they would be just another lost speck on the wind, and what brought them here. There was always an element of fascination to each individual story, no matter how many similar ones came. Finally, a hush fell over the gathered crowd. The guard moved into position, a circle upon the cliff, and he took his place in the middle. How odd it did feel, to be the guarded item in the middle, as if he wasn't just as often on the outer circle, as if there was really anything to guard and he wouldn't just immediately attack anyone who thought they could shoot the messenger. But spectacle was spectacle. Esredes slowly made his way into the center and peered down at the crowd once more from beneath his hood. The air hung silent for a moment as all eyes peered on him, and then he raised his hands up and let his gloved hands point out at the crowd as the long sleeves trailed down gracefully. "Good evening, people of Coerthas and beyond," he began. "Whether you have truly come from within the city's walls or lands beyond, I give you the warmest welcome to our humble little gathering. Though I am sure all of you come from vastly different backgrounds, one thing has brought you here tonight- doubt." He made his first strategic pause, watching the crowd a moment as his words fell down below to them. "We live in a world where there is much and more to doubt- how can the people of Coerthas be truly certain of sleep's next embrace with all that rages above and below?" He paused for a small moment, and began to pace to the left, one arm across his abdomen. "Nor will the walls of Ishgard itself protect anyone, for within them the Church listens to your every thought and ravages its people for heresy. Thus, you are brought here." He turned the other way and dropped both arms, returning slowly to the center. "In all of the doubt that swirls within you, you have come to listen to a truth that hides out here on the northern wind. A tale of the lies of the Church and the origins of our very nation." He faced the crowd full on once more, and held his arms out directly out from their place on the side of his body, forearm and palms raised a little and facing the sky. "The Dragonsong War that has plagued the lands of Coerthas for a thousand years did not begin how we are asked to believe it is. It began even earlier." Murmurs and whispers came from the crowd, and Esredes allowed them to ripple through before he continued. "Long ago, when these lands were fresh and new to the Elezen, they came to settle and encroached directly on the existing territory of the dragons. When war broke out, only one thing could bring it to a ceasefire- that of a maiden named Shiva. You might know her as a witch who lied down with dragons, the original heretic- but she is anything but. She is the one who had the courage to seek out the voice of the other side and found the great wyrm by the name of Hraesvelgr. The two fell in love, and it was the witnessing of their bond by all that lead to a ceasefire. For two hundred years, man and dragon worked together, they built structures that still stand today in Dravania. But it was not Nidhogg who ruined this fleeting peace, but the very founders of Ishgard." Esredes paused. "Do you ever stop to wonder why the wyrm is as lost to vengeance as he is? Why his rage upon the city is so unending? It's because he was betrayed. The founders lured him to the city and stole his eye, devouring it for the taste of a dragon's power without the need to rely on one. And so the wyrm rages on, forever unable to regain that which is lost." Esredes paused once more and trailed slowly across his makeshift stage. "Nidhogg rages on, trying to destroy Ishgard. And Ishgard crumbles piece by piece to his attacks, accelerating its own destruction by tearing each other apart from the inside with accusations of heresy and the lines between high and lowborn. Tonight, all of you have come to the middle." To emphasize his point, he stood in the middle again and raised both hands up. "We are the people who fight not for the self destructive Ishgard, nor the raging horde, but for the one thing neither of them are capable of, peace. For just as Shiva brought man and dragon together once in the midst of conflict, so must something rise again to be the missing link, or else the lands of Coerthas and possibly all of Eorzea, will be eventually be consumed in dragonfire." Another strategic pause came and went. The crowd had much louder murmuring this time. "Until the people of Ishgard can see the light of the truth, there will be nothing but continuous warfare, and the continued destruction of its own people. Ishgard is eating itself alive day by day in its desperation to survive. It fights and resists us at every turn, but it is up to us alone to bring it to parley by any means possible. We will bring salvation to Ishgard and punishment to the wicked, through the collaboration of people of all kinds and dragons who will rise to the task. The very future of this land rests on everything we try to accomplish." Esredes stepped forward and scanned the faces of the crowd. "I expect for many of you beyond the simply curious, you have come here because something in your heart cries out for justice unseen. And for all of you, I say now- justice is possible, and justice will come. Your wounds are not without their sources of healing. For Ishgard is never to flourish again without the weeds exterminated from the garden. Imagine it, for a moment. A land where once again man and dragon work together, benefitting from their mutual talents, the populations of each flourishing and allowing the land to thrive. Children never again wake up afraid of being burned by dragon's fire. That is our greatest future. And that is a future worth fighting for." Esredes moved his hands up to his hood and threw it off, exposing his face and hair to the crowd. With it, he rose his hands all the way up past his head and into the air. "People of Eorzea! I ask you now, to search through the depths of your hearts, and find it in you to take a stand for something greater than yourself. To channel the grievances of your heart into making a world in which others will not suffer the pain you go through each day, and this land will shine with beauty it hasn't glimpsed in a very long time. It is a path of hardship and sacrifice, but it is nothing compared to what will befall everyone if the war is allowed to continue to stain the soil with blood. Through our collective will, we shall bridge the gap, we shall sweep upon the hearts of man and dragon to make them one again- and nothing Ishgard may do will stop us until the Archbishop has atoned for his crimes and every dragon in the land is beyond blind rage." He paused there, to let his words fall over the crowd for a moment, and slowly lowered his arms back to his side. "If you would like to stand with Shiva's people, please step forward and gather by the group of people in front of you. If not, you are free to leave, and never speak of this night again. But make your choice with all due consideration, as there will be no reversing it." The crowd looked to one another. Slowly, one person stepped forward, then another, until every single one had stepped over. The guards began to instruct and lead them up the cliff to rejoin his group up here. And with that, Esredes stepped aside and rejoined the group himself. "Well done," one of them said to him with a soft elbow nudge. "Have you ever considered becoming an actor after you're done saving Coerthas?" "Not in the slightest." Esredes said. "This is just practical acting for a purpose. I don't think I could do artistic acting. People train a long time for that." "Maybe we'll put on our first ever Disciples play and cast you in it someday," he said with a wink. "I would kick you out of this movement." He chuckled. "That's the spirit, Esredes. Never change." Esredes smiled faintly back, and then began walking. "Now," he said. "Let's hope the room counts are accurate tonight..."

#screenshots #in action #ffxivwrite2021 #ysayle #writing

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kekeslider · 4 years

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Jealous Mermista would be so incredibly entertaining because she like thrives off of pretending she doesn't care but if someone else approaches him,,, oh Imagine her reaction if she found out he sang shanties for an ex

I feel like there’s a lot of good possibilities for what Mermista is like when she’s jealous. Like you could go the funnier route and which I think the underwater soire sorta touched on and have her ready to Throw Down with his exes and it’s at least partially fueled by them being His Exes. Other people he liked? That weren’t her?? Unacceptable.

I personally would imagine that if Mermista met one of his exes (that don’t want him dead) they would commiserate over his ridiculousness for a while but the SECOND they bring up Sea Hawk singing them shanties Mermista’s mood drops because WHAT. And then she’s extra grumpy with Sea Hawk for a while afterwards and eventually when he’s up in her space like usual but she just Can’t with it right then, she tells him to get lost, go see *exes name that doesn’t matter, Bill? Bill.*

And Sea Hawk is confused. What does Bill have to do with her grumpiness? Did he say something to upset her? And he just annoys her until she accidentally slips up about him singing Bill shanties too, personal romantic shanties like he sings her, the kind that are especially awful. Sea Hawk is instantly gleeful because

SH: You like my shanties???

M: NO absolutely not

SH: then why do you care if I sang Bill shanties?

M: look ok. They’re BAD. but they’re for ME. I thought like.... I dunno

Mermista is outrageously embarrassed over the whole thing and clams up, but Sea Hawk puts it together, that as much as the shantying annoys her, she also likes feeling like it’s something just For Her, so finding out it’s just a thing Sea Hawk does when he likes someone? Anyone? People that aren’t her? It makes her feel less special suddenly, it just hurts her feelings. So of course Sea Hawk promises that for the rest of forever he wants her to be the only one he sings shanties for. Which leaves Mermista groaning and regretting ever speaking.

But you could also.... go the angst route. Like one day Sea Hawk is just being extra aggravating and won’t back off for half a second when she has a billion other things to deal with and she loses her temper and tells him to just get lost, and he leaves the palace with a sad droopy face and his tail between his legs.

Mermista doesn’t think much of it at the time, putting the whole thing aside while she deals with everything else. But then once it’s all taken care of she’s sitting there in her throne room and it’s disturbingly quiet, no one is chatting her ear off or singing obnoxiously, and she places the emptiness as a lack of Sea Hawk. And you know, she had a long day. She wouldn’t might heading to bed early and getting some cuddles in before the next day because it’s likely to be just as draining. Some quiet alone time with her idiot would be excellent right now. So she goes searching for him, but he’s nowhere in the palace, and when she checks the docks his ship is gone too.

She figures he just went out to one of his usual haunts and maybe had a few too many Age Appropriate Drinks and now he’s just lollygagging around there. But whatever, she’ll go fetch him real quick and get back on track to those cuddles. It’s just a quick swim over to Seaworthy anyway.

But when she gets there, expecting to see Sea Hawk dozing off on a table in the corner by himself, what she actually finds is Sea Hawk regaling a group of onlookers with impressive tales of Bravery And Daring he took part in while assisting the Rebellion. And for once he’s not being ignored or mocked, the listeners are clearly impressed, and Mermista notices a couple people leaning in far too close, draping hands on his biceps or on his knees. If that weren’t bad enough, Sea Hawk does nothing to put distance between them.

That really does it for Mermista, stomping up to his table and slamming her hands down, interrupting the story where he was just building up to the good part to remind him that actually, he got backed into a corner and she had to come in and wash a ton of Horde bots away just so he wouldn’t get shot by lasers, immediately bringing his tall tale to an end and thoroughly embarrassing him.

Sea Hawk’s grin drops seeing Mermista so clearly angry with him and not knowing why, but when she turns and bites out “Let’s go” he follows without a question. The ride back to the Palace is tense and quiet, and Mermista stomps back to her room as well, Sea Hawk following behind all the way

She slips into her bad and glares at him over her shoulder, expectantly.

“Are you coming to bed or not?”

For the first time ever, Sea Hawk doesn’t jump at the chance to snuggle his beloved Misty. He just stands there, taking in her tired, grumpy expression, still not knowing what he did to deserve it.

“Why did you do that?” He asks, his voice so meek in comparison to when he recounts stories of his adventures, “You embarrassed me in front of all my friends”

Mermista gives up on getting the cuddling she deserves and sits up, snapping at him, “Those aren’t your friends. Half of them have tried to kill you”

Sea Hawk waves that off, saying that’s just the pirate life. And that couldn’t be why she’s so mad at him, she’s been mad at him all day, that’s why he went to the bar to begin with.

That makes Mermista pause for a moment, suddenly remembering snapping earlier, telling him to get lost and then not seeing him for the rest of the day.

“I didn’t... actually want you to get lost,” she admits. “I just wanted space to deal with everything. you were just... bugging me”

And wow, that came out so much meaner than she meant it. She’s not used to having to explain herself to Sea Hawk. After so long, she’s used to him just getting what she means. But he’s still standing there with watery eyes and heartbreak written all over his face.

“Right,” he whispers, “I won’t bug you anymore then”

Then the worst thing ever happens, worse than every battle Mermista ever fought, worse than the day she had, worse even then the memories of being under Horde Prime’s control. A tear slips out of Sea Hawk’s dark eyes, and then he’s turning away from her, making to leave and she doesn’t know if he’ll want to come back this time, maybe today was the breaking point for him.

Because she knows how she is, okay? She knows she’s grumpy more often than not, and she rags on him a lot, and doesn’t ever really tell him how she really feels about him. But she’s just so used to him knowing anyway! She’s used to being able to deny liking him, or his stupid singing, or his stupid beautiful face, but then one gesture big or small and he just KNOWS, always always knows that she cares.

That’s not how it is this time. She went too far today and actually hurt him. She hurt him, not one of his shitty pirate “friends,” her. It feels worse than when she attacked him while under Prime’s control because this time it was her, things she actually did herself, it doesn’t matter if she didn’t mean to, because it’s still her fault.

So she hops out of bed and stands in front of him, blocking the exit. She grabs his forearms, trying to meet his eyes even as he keeps his face turned down and away from her.

“Don’t go,” she slides her hands up his arms, over his shoulders, coming to rest under his jaw and tilt his face to look at her, “I’m sorry.”

He blinks. Once, then twice, and then stares at her in confusion and disbelief. “You’re sorry?”

Mermista nods. Reaches deep into herself to summon all the bravery and honesty she can muster. “I am. I’m really sorry. For today, everything. Please just stay”

A second of silence, and then Sea Hawk turns his face into one of her palms and presses a kiss there.

“Of course, Misty”

She returns to her bed quietly while he changes into sleep clothes and then slips under the covers behind her. But he’s still keeping a distance between them, like he isn’t sure where the lines are right now. Mermista can’t handle the tension, isnt sure what to say to break it, so what she does is just act. Make a gesture and hope he Gets It.

She rolls over, quickly breaching the distance between them and rolling face first into his chest, nuzzling in and getting herself comfortable. After a moment his arms come up to hold her, like they’re always supposed to.

The moment settles in silence, but neither of them are sleeping. It’s so warm and cozy, it’s exactly what she wanted and needed earlier before she almost ruined everything. The memory of Sea Hawk’s watery eyes and that tear sliding down his cheek has her heart clenching in regret and fear.

She holds him tighter.

“Tomorrow. I’ll.... explain everything tomorrow,” she promises. “For now, can we just sleep?”

Sea Hawk sighs, long and exhausted. He’s hands stroke soothingly up and down her back, and he drops a kiss to the top of her head.

“Yes, dearest.”

#seamista #spop #keke answers #hey i..... i accidentally......#long post #i cant add a read more on mobile i am SO sorry everybody

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crosbymalkin871 · 4 years

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The Price of Love (1/?)

CHAPTER TITLE: All It Takes is One Huge Paycheck…

RATING: M PAIRINGS/CHARACTERS: E. Malkin/S. Crosby

CHAPTER WARNINGS/KINK: Alcohol, Foul Language, mentions of Prostitution, Mario Lemieux, vague allusions to Smut

AUTHOR’S NOTE: FINALLY! AFTER FOUR-FIVE MONTHS OF NO HOCKEY, THE LACK OF MOTIVATION, AND ME ACTUALLY NOT HAVING TO DEAL WITH A LOT OF STRESS, I’M FINALLY BACK!!!! Originally I wanted to post this the night of game 1, but shit happened and then I tried to post it before game 2, but y’all are getting it today! XD As a piece of compensation on my end, chapter 2 will be posted on Sunday evening. I promise, and if I don’t keep my word, bash me in the head with a hockey stick until I get a concussion.

Before you all begin reading, I just have to say thank you to everyone who has messaged me their excitement and their support throughout these difficult moments, it really means a lot. I also wish to extend my appreciation to 3 specific individuals: my friends @justinschultzy & @eafay70, and my dear Zhenya aka @cakemakethme (who will also be my Beta from chapter 2 or 3 onward). You three were the ones I continuously messaged updates on and your cheerleading was what ended up leading me to finishing this. So thank you very, very much! xxx

I have been wanting to write this fic for…gosh, maybe 2-3 years now and it’s finally being presented to all of you. I’m so excited for everyone to read it and to join me on this insane rollercoaster that is The Price of Love. With that all said and done I hope you all enjoy it, like and reblog, and I will (hopefully) post more sometime in the near future.

DISCLAIMER: I am not the owner of the Pittsburgh Penguins, or are associated with anyone in the NHL. I just have a very strong imagination.

A variety of noises ring out in Geno’s ears.

“Beer, over here!”

“Four sangrias for table three.”

“Vodka. Straight.”

“Whisky on the rocks.”

“Daiquiri. Make it a double.”

“Two champagne cocktails for table seven.”

Orders just keep coming and coming. He had been tossing and filling up a number of glasses and flutes for hours, sending them out left and right at the bar with almost no chance of having a small break in between. It was alright though, he grew used to it throughout his years of being one of the many favored bartenders at the Emperor Nightclub.

That, and he gets some real good money out of it, collecting all the large tips he gets whenever he cleans up the dirtied tables afterward.

With he and Tanger, his best friend and the other tender manning the bar, it feels like a marathon— albeit an easy one— to serve the feisty ladies and semi-agro men currently trying to take over the club.

The Emperor Nightclub is still up and running as the night starts to grow late. With a birthday bunch, a small group of ladies having a girl’s night, a married couple looking for a partner or two to join their bed (whether they were open or poly, Geno wasn’t sure), and college graduates dominating the patrons tonight along with the regulars— the nightclub roars as if it is New Year’s Eve in NYC instead of any other weekend in Pittsburgh.

No empty space could be seen on sight from where he was standing, with new patrons coming in the later part of the night, while the earlier patrons have made the decision to stay even after hours of partying and hollering.

Geno was given a small break as the crowd in front of the bar disperses, having been satisfied with the drinks they were given, taking whatever leftover bills he was given as a form of tip.

So far, it was a relatively good night for him.

Well…until a small, very familiar group came in, with the leader catching his eye like he usually does.

Being a bartender at a pretty famous nightclub in Pittsburgh, he sees a whole spectrum of people walking in and out of the nightclub’s doors: with some of them wanting to down tons and tons of alcohol that’ll make them black out until tomorrow afternoon, and others being on the prowl for someone to either take to their car, a nearby hotel, or even the nightclub’s bathroom.

One of them was about three or four, sometimes even more, prostitutes that are part of the latter category, but that doesn’t mean that they won’t take the time to chat with the bartenders, something that always brightened Geno’s night, especially when he was continuously swamped with drink orders…

…which is how Geno’s break ends: more people clamoring to the bar.

As of on cue, the moment that he continues to engage in dealing with patron’s drinks, the orders come rolling in even faster that he almost skipped a beat. From the corner of his eye, he could see the expression on Tanger’s face becoming more focused as his orders keep coming in with some extra flirting and touching from the patrons on his part.

He snorts at that. While Geno didn’t necessarily mind a customer or two coming up to flirt with him, he was never really interested in them, only responding back just to make their night a little bit better.

Out of all of his friends, it was Tanger that got the most attention from the patrons, with he following at a close second. It made sense because the French-Canadian looked like a supermodel. And himself? Well he wasn’t really sure if American people have a thing for foreigners like him, but he continuously gets complimented on his ability to wear a suit. So he considers that a plus.

His other friend, Dumo, tended to get third; primarily because he got a lot of attention from the college kids, either doing an insane number of shots or just randomly asking about his athletic abilities. Needless to say, it was very amusing to watch him wrack attention from the younger crowd. Though if anybody were to catch his eye, they should be aware of how damn good a cook he was.

The other two bartenders, Big Rig and Schultzy, also managed to garner themselves some attention from the patrons. Big Rig, for his height as he stood almost 7 feet tall (much taller than Geno), and Schultzy, for his happy-go-lucky personality. It was always something that made event the downiest of drinkers smile a little.

Even if he feels just a tad overwhelmed by the all of the drinks he has to quickly make, getting a glimpse of dark, curly black hair and a thick, white fur coat was enough to quell his nerves.

“You all need some additional help?”

A voice comes from Geno’s left side and it makes him jump a little (but not enough to make him mess up an order, which he has done before and has given the person who scared him a very stern talking to). He looks over to see who it was and finds Dumo standing there with his usual laid-back smile. Geno may or may not have breathed out a small sigh of relief at his arrival.

“Possibly, considering that G has been trying to catch a glimpse of Sid rather than seeing how much booze he’s pouring in.” Tanger smirks, placing at Geno teasingly.

Geno rolled his eyes and answered with a scoff. “Yeah. Like you not staring at Flower too, Tanger.” He feels a little vindication when seeing the French-Canadian man scowl in return. “But help always needed, Dumo. Things getting a bit out of hand and no one planning on going home soon.” Even though he knows he’ll get teased about it even more, his eyes couldn’t help wander off around the club, looking at all the excitement that is still going strong.

And again, seeing black curls and a white fur coat— Sid was his name— releases some of the tension in his shoulders.

“Alright then.” Dumo clapped his hands before he started to roll his sleeves of his button-up. “No one is really wanting drinks on my end of the bar, might as well waste time by giving you guys a hand.”

Neither Tanger or Geno responded to him as he already accepted his first round of orders from the loud frat boys and flighty sorority girls welcoming him, leaving the other two to tend the ones lining up at their respective corners.

Within the next minute or so, all three of them found themselves falling into a rhythm as they worked side-by-side, the drinks continuing to flow out and tips continuing to flow in. And with more patrons visiting the bar, come more even more orders and even more tips.

The extra pair of hands certainly help a lot in making the work feel a whole lot easier.

Dumo serves every patron that tries to start a conversation with him, listen to their problems in one ear while paying attention to orders in the other. He also subtly brushes off any flirty advances, but he does throw a smile here and a wink there to please all who are openly staring at him. He even does a little dance to the beat of the music as a little extra entertainment.

“Should’ve been a stripper, Dumo.” Tanger tells him as he stuffs some more bills into his pockets. “Missed the chance to be Magic Mike in Hollywood, but there’s still a chance here.”

Geno snorts as he slides a mint julep down the bar.

“Ha ha. Very funny, Tanger,” Dumo states unamused. “Can say the same about you too.”

Tanger just flips him off while Geno snorts again.

Eventually, the orders died down and the patrons scattered about. Dumo returned to the other bar on the opposite side of the room with Schultzy and Big Rig, while Tanger cleaned up any spilled alcohol left on the bar top.

Geno, meanwhile, began pouring more cocktails, glasses of wine, and laying more beer bottles onto a tray; but these were for any of the people hugging their half-full drinks, or for the tables that were littered with empty glasses and lime wedges.

No. This tray of drinks are for a certain group that he had noticed earlier.

Carefully, yet a little giddily, he manages to carry the tray single-handedly, and without spilling a single drop of liquor, all the way to a very specific table within the Emperor Nightclub.

As he walks closer and closer, the wild pacing of his heartbeat grows more and more. When he finally reaches the table, standing behind the object of his secret affections, he quietly gulps and places a gentle hand on his fur-covered shoulder.

The man stops whatever he was doing and turns around to look at him. And Geno swears he could feel his breath escaping his lungs and his rapidly-beating heart stopping.

Aside from their beautiful curly hair, the man also had the prettiest brown eyes and the biggest, most kissable lips imaginable (not that the bartender would ever admit that to him). He also had on an outfit that was not afraid to show off his…well, assets; outside of the white fur coat, he wore a white crop top with a red maple leaf on it, black leather shorts that magically fits his ass, and past those long, thick legs were a pair of black stripped high-heels that decorated his feet.

Sid smiles kindly at him, his teeth showing behind those glossed lips. “Hi, Geno.” he calls in his deep yet sweet-sounding voice. It didn’t sound flirtatious or seductive, which is normally how he talked to his clients, with the bartender, he always sounded genuine and pleasantly happy to see him serving drinks to him and his friends.

Geno nervously smiled back. “H-Hey, Sid,” he replies, silently curing himself for stammering in front of a prostitute who he may or may not have a big crush on. “Flower, Segway, Mitch,” he also greeted, who were all looking at him before he grabbed Sid’s attention. He began setting down the cocktails, wine, and beer. “Here are usual orders.”

The three other men accepted their drinks: a margarita, a beer, and a glass of white wine, respectively.

Still smiling, Sid happily accepted his cosmopolitan, plucking a strawberry off the skewer that was resting atop the martini glass. “Thanks, G,” he says before popping the mini strawberry into his mouth. “I know everyone has their favorite bartenders, but I still say you make the best cocktails.”

Hearing that from Sid (and watching him eat a simple piece of fruit) was enough to bring a blush and a dumbstruck smile to Geno’s face. “H-Heh…Thanks, Sid.”

Sid nods, eyes shining with a glint of something as he takes a sip of his cocktail.

It was a small moment or two of awkward (on the bartender’s part at least) silence before he coughed. “I, uhm, I’m best get back to work, so…bye.” With that, he quickly flees back to the bar.

(As he did so, he heard the soft giggles coming from Sid, but he failed to see him lightly admonish his friends as they smirked at the obvious crush the bartender had.)

After that little incident, Geno spent the rest of the night catering to any other patron that walked up and asked for— or sloppily demanded— drinks. Whenever he had a spare moment or two, he would glance up at table eight, watching the small group of friends chatting, laughing, and attempting to flirt with some of the other patrons that would stop by their table.

Part of Geno’s heart crumbled whenever he saw Sid respond to some of the men’s flirtatious mannerisms, whether it be throwing out seductive words, or a teasing touch, or even a tickle of breath or the faint press of lips.

He knows Sid isn’t tied down to someone. Why would he, the man was a prostitute after all. But that didn’t mean watching him act like that with others didn’t hurt.

From the moment he first met Sid, back when they were teenagers to young adults and Geno had just started working at the Emperor Nightclub, he always harbored secretly feelings for the young Canadian. He remembered the first time he ever plucked up the courage to speak to him and slide him a cocktail: one of his first attempts at a watermelon cooler, too easy of a drink to mess up on.

It was a bit strong on the booze and not fruity enough, but Sid didn’t tell him that. He just smiled and thanked him in a voice that oozed sensuality and charm, throwing in a wink for good measure. When he saw how awkwardly the bartender responded to it— by stammering and not completely picking up the subtle cue— he dropped the act, apologizing for making him feel awkward. To which Geno has to apologize as well, because he didn’t meant to make the moment awkward, he just wasn’t good at responding to someone who was cute like him.

That made Sid pause and blush, looking away from the bartender for a split second before gazing back up at him, a gentle smile on his face. This caused Geno to smile back, the both of them feeling a bit more relaxed than before. When the awkwardness of it all faded away, the two of them began to chat during the bartender’s break, or whenever he would get a breather from serving. In those small conversations, he realized that the flirty prostitute was actually…very dorky.

A dorky man who had a passion for history, craved mozzarella sticks and cheesecake, and had a strong affinity for sports just like he once did. And he had the goofiest laugh Geno had ever heard and thought it adorable. Seeing this, Sid’s true colors was what made him slowly start to fall in love.

But deep down, he knew that Sid would never feel the same about him. To him, it was fairly certain that he would get rejected upon confessing his feelings. So, in every encounter the two had after that, Geno would simply swallow his feelings and allowed Sid to flirt and be affectionate with other men that weren’t him.

They were just friends, nothing more.

(Although he can’t help but secretly wish for that to change one day).

Geno sighed sadly and began to untie his apron, ready to go into the staff room and change back into his regular clothes when Tanger tapped him on the shoulder. He looked over at him, ready to tie his apron back on, when he sees him pointing to the stairs near the back of the nightclub.

Coming down the stairs was owner Mario Lemieux.

He turned back to Tanger, brow raised. ��So? He does that a lot.”

“Yeah he makes his rounds like he usually does, but does he ever personally come to us for anything? Usually it’s Jen that does it for him.” Tanger points out as they see Mario making his way over to the bar areas.

Geno hummed. He had a fair point, usually it was Jen, Mario’s personal assistant, that went and searched for them whenever he needed to have a conversation with them. In any other instance, the bartender would not hesitate to flee whenever he could, but she would usually find him in the end.

But Mario himself coming out to talk to one— or maybe all of them— was highly unusual.

It was even more unusual when he realizes that Mario coming towards him. He didn’t know whether he should run, or accept whatever was going to be handed to him.

Still tying his apron back on just in case, he meets Mario halfway: near the dance floor but not that far from the tables.

“Ah, Geno,” he says as the bartender comes up to him. “I was just coming to talk to you.”

“Need me to stay extra hours?” he asked, seconds away from letting out a tired sigh. He doesn’t like the idea of staying later than 1 or 2 AM on most days, but if the boss says so, he’ll make an exception.

“No, actually,” Mario shakes head making Geno confused. “I wanted to give you something.” He hands the bartender an envelope.

Taking it, Geno still looked confused as to what it was until he opened it, then his eyes widened in shock.

“Boss, are you— Are you serious?!” he exclaimed as he looked between the envelope in his hand, then back at Mario.

“It’s just little bonus, if you will, for being one of my best workers.”

“This more than bonus and you know it!”

Mario placated him by resting a hand on his shoulder. “As I said, you deserve it,” he reassured. “I know it’s more than what you normally make, and more than the other bonuses I give, but there’s nothing wrong with giving a little bit more to hard workers like you.”

Geno gazed back down at the envelope. Inside was a bonus check of over $10,000.

“But—”

“No buts.” Mario tells him seriously. “I mean it. You’ve been very dedicated to your work from the beginning, even if you were completely new to it. But you quickly improved over time and became a favorite amongst The Emperor’s patrons. It’s not hard to see why, Geno. So, go on, take the extra bonus. Do whatever you want with it, a gift from me to you.”

With that, he gave the bartender a pat on the back before heading back upstairs to his office.

The whole time, Geno’s eyes never left the check.

It was a large amount of money. In fact, it was double than what he normally makes for a bonus: $5000 at most, but if his boss said that he deserved it…well, who was he to deny himself a paycheck like this.

Finally, his eyes left the large sum of money, trailing back to the beautiful prostitute that was still sitting at table eight.

Maybe…maybe his chance had finally come. He may not be able to have a proper relationship with Sid, but he could at least spend one magical night with him, for however long he could make it.

He didn’t know what Sid charged for his services, but he hoped ten thousand dollars was enough to satisfy him (he was sure that it was, he was just being really nervous about confronting him).

Gulping, the bartender slowly— and anxiously— makes his way back to table eight. Along the way, he tries to remember all of the fancy restaurants that are in Pittsburgh, and there are quiet a number of them within the city and the surrounding area.

There was the Altius that has an amazing view of the city… the Monterey Bay Fish Grotto is one of the most famous restaurants… LeMont has been around for decades and is still highly regarded… most of the locals would know about the Grand Concourse… since he liked boats, one of the Gateway Clipper’s Dining Cruises would be nice…

Maybe the Hyeholde since it almost be like dining at a castle… the Carlton has a lot of national recognition… Bravo! Italian Kitchen has a good menu and they do have creme brûlée...

Or…he may just happen to like the Cheesecake Factory instead.

Before he could even make a final decision on what he was going to say, he was standing right in front of Sid (or behind, since his back was turned to him). Luckily for him, his other friends were either out on the dance floor or chatting up the other bartenders; maybe they were in the back lounges, but Geno doesn’t really care, he needed to focus on his main objective right now: gaining Sid’s attention, even if it was for one night.

Reaching a hand out, he hesitates for a split second before he decides to gently tap Sid on the shoulders.

The prostitute turned around to see who was standing behind him again, smiling when he realized who it was. “Hey, G. What’s up?” he asks curiously while he licks something sticky off his fingers.

Geno stared for a hot minute before quickly snapping out of it. “U-Uhm—!” He blushed and scratched the back of his head. “I-I want you to know that Mario gave me big bonus just now…”

Sid smiled wider at that. “That’s great, G! How much of a bonus was it? The usual 5k?”

He shook his head, looking away shyly. “No…gave me double that.”

Brown eyes widened as he exclaimed, “Wait. He gave you $10,000?!”

Geno nodded, showing him the envelop with the check in it. “Yeah, and uhm…was wondering if…” He blushed darker, still keeping his eyes away from Sid.

The prostitute was looking at him with concern now. “If uhm…You want to spend a night with me…?”

Sid stayed silent for the longest time, staring blankly at the bartender as he processed what he just asked him. “Geno, are you— Are you asking me to…service you?”

“Yes. I mean, no! Argh!” The bartender shook his head, feeling more embarrassed and stupid now. “What I’m mean is…I take you to fancy restaurant, maybe do shopping, and…” The blush on his face grew darker. “I-If you wanted, we can go to hotel and… you serve me.”

A blush now came to the prostitute’s face. “O-Oh…”

Geno makes a flustered noise, still not looking Sid.

“I don’t— I-I don’t charge that much for a night's service, Geno,’ he tells the bartender with a shy voice. “Y-You can’t spend 10 grand on me in one night…”

“I-I’m know,” he nods. “But I’m try.”

Sid’s blush grew darker as he now looked away from the bartender. Neither one of them really knew what to say after that, the moment growing tenser and more awkward by the second.

Eventually, the prostitute was the one to speak first. “E-Even if you can’t spend all that money on me…it’d be nice to spend a night with you.”

Geno’s head snaps back to Sid, his own dark brown eyes widened at what he said. “R-Really?”

A small smile came to the prostitute’s face as he nodded. “Yeah,” he admits shyly, now looking back at the bartender. “I really do.”

He’s never admitted this to him, but he’s had a crush on Geno for a very long time now, ever since they met as teenagers in this very nightclub. He always thought the bartender would never want to be in a relationship with him because of what he does, but after hearing what he just said to him, he might actually have a chance to see if they would really work out.

“Uhm, great!” Geno exclaims with a grin.

Sid smiles a little more. “Did you have a particular restaurant in mind?”

The bartender pondered on the choices he thought about earlier before finally making a decision. “Altius?” he asks. “Is on Grandview Avenue and have good view of skyline.”

“Sounds great,” Sid nods in approval. “Maybe we could stop by the Cheesecake Factory afterwards. I haven’t had any in a long time and I’m overdue for a craving.”

“I figure you say that,” Geno chuckled. “Had that in back of mind in case you say no.”

An embarrassed giggle managed to escape the prostitute’s lips. “I guess I make my love of cheesecake very obvious, eh?”

“You do, but is okay,” Geno reassures. “I like that about you.”

Another giggle, this time, one that was more airy and a little bit giddy-sounding. “So, when did you want to do this? Tomorrow night?”

“We can do that,” he nods. “I take night off.”

“Are you Mario would allow that?” Sid raises a teasing brow at him. “I mean, he did just give you a big bonus. He may change his mind when he hears you taking a day off.”

Geno waved at him nonchalantly. “Eh. He not mind.” he tells him. “Besides, be nice to get away from club for one night. And I spending night with you, so is good reason.” He lightly smirked at him.

Sid’s blush couldn’t get any redder, but it manages to with the bartender’s words. Just then a waiter came by and served him another drink, this time, a vibrant sunrise cocktail.

He takes the drink with a nod and a slight smirk before the waiter walks away. He takes a sip before turning back to Geno, his smirk growing in seductiveness. “So,” he starts before licking his lips, a little cayenne salt sticking to them. “Will I be seeing you tomorrow night?”

The bartender gulped and managed to nod, trying to keep his dirty thoughts at bay. “Yeah…see you tomorrow night.”

#SidGeno #Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin #otp: we grew up together here #hockey rpf #my hockey fanfiction #mpreg tw #The Price of Love

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regrettablewritings · 4 years

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I, u, y for bodhi rook please!

As the words process in my mind, a tear rolls upon my cheek . . .

Could it be? I dare wonder. An lo: It is.

He has returned, after so far away in time . . .

I = Impression (What was their first impression?):

Well, he certainly wasn’t what you had expected, that was for sure. Defecting from the Empire was no easy feat, even for somebody as unassuming as a delivery pilot. To the enemy, every literal body counted — even if only to assure complete dominance over the individual. So when you had learned that one of their own had not only detected, but potentially played key in helping to locate Galen Erso?

You couldn’t help it: Your imagination went wild. You imagined someone big and strong, teeth gritting from years of pent up anger towards the unjust causes of the tyranny spreading across the galaxy.

What you got was a scrawny, sheepish, possibly traumatized (thanks, Saw, you absolute nerf-herder) slip of a man who seemed to be afraid of taking up any space he happened to exist in. It was...disappointing to say the least. But you had to commend him regardless for defecting and even surviving Saw, and there was no gain in looking down on him.

And then came the Scarif mission.

Nobody had expected him to go -- well, nobody was excpected to go, given that the Alliance Council turned down Erso’s idea, but least of all you expected him to be willing to go and do it. You expected the blind guy to go sailing off to a certified death mission before you did this guy! And honestly, that had you worried for him. Unfulfilled expectations or not, he wasn’t someone who had incurred your ire or even your indifference; you may not have gotten the chance to actually know him beyond a few words exchanged during the very brief time he’d been on base (“Welcome to the right side.” “Uh, y-yes . . . Thank you . . .”), but he certainly didn’t strike you as someone who needed to go on this type of outing. Enough people died unnecessarily in this damned war . . .

To learn, eventually, that he wasn’t one of them was therefore all the more shocking to you.

While the mission to steal the Death Star blueprints had been successful, it clearly didn’t come easy. Everyone who had survived had been wounded to some degree, with Captain Andor appearing to receive the worst of it as he was carted off to the infirmary. Bodhi, to your relief, wasn’t especially harmed. Roughed up, certainly, and clearly shaken from the experience, but that didn’t change what you now knew for certain: Bodhi Rook, this timid bean pole of a defector, was one of the bravest men you had the pleasure of knowing existed.

Even though he apparently was intimidated by you when you two first met. Granted, everyone intimidated him: He had just went AWOL with the government he’d been employed by, he was “taken in” by people whom he’d been taught by propaganda to fear and be distrustful in, he was still trying to regain his frazzled sanity after being interrogated by that . . . that thing, and he’d just witnessed his home get bombed. Needless to say, the anxious-by-nature man was simply not in an especially welcoming mood.

Still, he tried to be civilized (maybe because he feared getting beat up if he didn’t). He wasn’t sure what to say in response to your, er, “greeting” when you hustled up war-battered clothes besides an awkward thank you. He really wasn’t sure what to make of you that would separate you from his overall feelings towards nearly everyone in this whole operation: You were strong, you had been through enough and were surely hardened by it, and you could probably snap his spine over your knew if you particularly cared to.

Of course, he’d spent next to no time with you when he thought these things of everyone involved in the Rebellion. He had no time to: He had to fly around the Maker’s galaxy and back! It actually wasn’t until after the Scarif mission that he was given ample time to readily wipe his impressions and assumptions clean. He felt he needed to, given what dedication he’d seen on those beaches.

Besides, you approaching him afterward certainly helped. You picked up that he wasn’t fond of crowds during evening mess when he quietly slinked away from the group gathering to hear retellings of the infiltration on Scarif. You figured perhaps a one-on-one situation might’ve sufficed. Better yet, inquiring about his current state might’ve been preferable to reliving the experience.

He appreciated the gesture on your part. Maybe . . . you weren’t nearly as ice-cold as he’d thought you were. At the very least, definitely not as bad as Cassian.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?):

Bodhi is a naturally anxious person, and the hardships and experiences he’s encountered haven’t exactly made that any better. Sure, he’s a lot braver now and more willing to act, but he’s still nowhere near as gung-ho or fiery as his companions.

He’s had some methods in the past that clearly didn’t work out in his favor (fun fact: he’s got a record for gambling), but one of the best tried and trues is simply going somewhere quiet. His thoughts are in a constant buzz, he benefits from a lack of outside stimuli when he feels overwhelmed. The problem is . . . quiet is so very hard to find when you’re in the middle of a war. As an Imperial cargo pilot, you could just plain forget about the idea of having time to yourself: You belong to the Empire, your time is the Empire’s time and you are in no position to use it up.

Being a part of the Rebellion is better by legions, but the base on Yavin IV leaves much to be desired in terms of privacy and quiet. Luckily, the planet is lush and forested: If Bodhi is on base and feels the need to sit in the quiet and gather his thoughts and calm down, he need only walk in any given direction, find a tree to sit under, and just stay there for a while. The places he chooses are far enough to where he can relax and not have his thoughts and heartbeat disturbed by the banging of machinery or the hollers of drill sergeants, but never so far as to be unable to get help should he need it.

It wasn’t long before he began to incorporate you into these relaxation methods, however. As it turns out, as much as he may enjoy being able to sit by himself in the brush, he very much likes being able to sit with you anywhere. You’re almost like a walking calming center for him, especially when you touch him: Hold his hand, rub his back, let him lay his head on your lap so you can play with his hair . . . It’s like a missing link he never knew he’d been missing to begin with! They’re seemingly small things, but they make a big difference. You can always feel him losing his tension beneath your touch, often announced by quiet sighs or tiny shudders. It’s truly the cutest thing and you’re so glad to be the cause of it and help him calm down. Just not nearly as glad as he is to have you there to calm him.

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?):

The thought of marriage has switched on and off throughout Bodhi’s life; really, it depends on the exact moment. As a child, he certainly thought about it more, if only because children are want to do such things. But as an adult, it begins to falter. By the time the events of the story show up, he can go long stretches without even once thinking about his stance on whether or not he should get married. Because really, it’s more based on the exact moment: If he’s in a surprisingly good way or even in a moment where he must think about how short life can be, the certainly he gives it some thought.

But in his usual misery and anxiety while serving the Empire, such silly concerns are the furthest thing from his mind; they’re so far on the back burner that they may as well have fallen behind the stove, forgotten, dusty, and moldy!

Even when he meets you, the thought surprisingly doesn’t come up for a while. It’s not that you don’t make him happy or inspire any intention of long-term romance -- far from it, actually! You make him feel the happiest and most comfortable than he’s felt in literal years! In fact, that’s honestly probably why the subject of marriage doesn’t pop up to him so immediately: His life as of late has become a bit of a balancing act, what with him now being a part of a rebellion he hadn’t planned on joining and, consequentially, trying not to get him or his new comrades killed. Normally, this sort of thing would’ve sent him into a panic-induced coma. But with you present in his life, giving him a sense of calm and someone to fight hard enough to come back to, you actually make him start to enjoy the present. (Well, the calmer ones, at least.)

He’s not as caught up about the past or afraid of the future as he used to be; he’s actually enjoying the moment with you as is. Sure, every now and again, if he does (or doesn’t) mean to think about it, his mind does slip and he finds himself thinking, “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind being with them after all this . . .” He even dares to dream about the two of you sharing a life together on a nice, simple planet with lots of trees and greenery. Maybe somewhere quiet. A farm might be nice: He can so some gardening there and you two can build a house together, all big and roomy like you’d always wanted instead of cramped and stuffy like the living quarters you always complained about . . .

But then his attention would be dragged elsewhere (to a meeting, to training, to you calling him to join you for dinner). He doesn’t mind. He’s not brushing aside the possibilities of proposing to you and marrying you, but the dreams can wait: All in all, you’re here right now and he’s perfectly content being there with you. For now.

Thank you for asking and for being patient!

#bodhi rook x reader #bodhi rook #bodhi x reader #rogue one x reader #rogue one imagines #rogue one imagine #fluff alphabet #fluff headcanons #regrettablewritings

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jorahssquire · 3 years

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Whether or not Trump successfully steals this election, he’s already stolen Biden’s victory -What it feels like to watch the challenge to Joe Biden becoming President Elect.

BY JOE BERKOWITZ

8 MINUTE READ

In my mind, the calendar always ended on November 3. Beyond some potential events and projects, that’s as far ahead as I dared imagine.

Whatever happened afterward would either be too horrible to contemplate in any depth, or would bring such tremendous healing relief that to consider the possibilities for even one second when they could still be taken away would be torture.

Only after the election would I allow myself to open the mental Pandora’s Box of what it would feel like to suddenly wake up each day in a world where Donald Trump is out of power and we could all take a breath and undo some of the harm he’d inflicted and maybe try to do some good.

I didn’t kid myself that a Biden administration would instantly solve the pandemic puzzle or bring the country together. At the very least, though, it would deliver consecutive days without a constitutional crisis.

It took until Friday, November 6, to understand that it was actually happening; that Biden was ahead by so much in Pennsylvania, his victory was all but assured. Some publications like Vox even called the election, though legacy outlets remained cautious. At that moment, I finally let myself comprehend the enormity of the moment and its attendant implications, but only a little.

I dipped a toe into a creek to test the water and ended up falling in entirely. All of what this victory meant finally started to truly dawn on me at once, and an ecstatic energy animated my very being. I let out an involuntary holler, and ran around my apartment, ending up on the balcony, where my joyous screams ripped through the calm of the day.

On Saturday, when the news finally broke that the win was official, my wife and I jumped and danced and made calls to family. We watched videos of New Yorkers and Philadelphians celebrating in the streets, and we went outside in Minneapolis to experience it ourselves, greeted by a cacophonous call-and-response of honking cars and applauding passersby. People were walking around in groups of five, brandishing glib and glittery homemade posters, drinking champagne straight from the bottle. There were the spontaneous revelers, mini-parades, and block parties of a rare religiously festive occasion. World leaders started congratulating Biden, who made a very normal if not particularly inspiring victory speech. It was a moment for the ages, complete with Rudy Giuliani’s Four Seasons Total Landscaping fiasco unfolding in the background, a reminder of just how ridiculous Trumpworld could be, and how it might feel to laugh at them now that they would no longer be in charge.

It was an ending and a beginning and it felt so amazing, I was glad I hadn’t allowed myself to imagine it when there was still a chance I might lose it. Then, by Tuesday, November 10—a week after the election—it was gone.

The victory hadn’t vanished entirely, but it was now tainted by the all too familiar crisis mode, another existential threat suddenly looming. I had expected Trump to be surly and uncooperative, and that he might not concede, so when those things happened, it was almost a relief to see how low and small it made him look. But my mistake was in thinking that the GOP didn’t really need him any more and would just let him twist in the wind.

Instead, by Monday it became clear that the bulk of the Republican party, including its leadership, were fully unified behind Trump. Everyone from Mitch McConnell to Ivanka Trump to Ted Cruz on down, all claimed a peculiar form of voter fraud that only affects the top of the ticket, and not the down ballot section, where Democrats lost as many as 10 House seats and failed to win the Senate. They’re all using the line that “every legal vote must be counted,” implying a surplus of illegal votes, only from Democrat voters. Bill Barr authorized an investigation into alleged electoral irregularities, causing a top lawyer at the Department of Justice to resign in protest. And finally, on November 10, Secretary of State Mike Pompeo assured the country that, in the end, Donald Trump would prevail and remain president.

It was as if America had survived the climax of a horror move only to find out it was actually the beginning of a two-season Netflix series. That release of tension was instantly reversed, replaced with a deep spiritual exhaustion, and the feeling of being turned inside out and wrung dry.

No matter what happens now, whether Trump and the GOP succeed at stealing this election, under the paradoxical guise of preventing it from being stolen, they’ve already stolen our victory, and so much more.

One of the most excruciating aspects of witnessing this attempted theft is that it’s unfolding in exactly the way that experts predicted. Trump alleged in advance that any outcome in which he didn’t win would be the result of voter fraud, something he also suggested back in 2016. He also discouraged his own supporters from using mail-in ballots, despite the pandemic, because in his framing, they were so easy to manipulate. Democrats called out Trump’s maneuvering, and the fact that his appointed Postmaster General Louis DeJoy happened to be slowing down deliveries just before the pandemic election. Pundits speculated that Trump would claim victory based on the early, in-person votes, and that mail-in ballots would later erode his victory and that he would refuse to concede.

It was all so predictable that Bernie Sanders called every shot in advance exactly.

Considering all the Trump-inflamed scrutiny on would-be voter fraud, the election was heavily and thoroughly observed, including by an international panel Trump invited (which is now calling his accusations baseless.)

This broadly embraced charade relies upon tremendous bad faith. No legitimate evidence of voter fraud has been found—aside from the one Trump supporter in Pennsylvania who got busted requesting a ballot for his dead mom—let alone enough fraud to account for anything near the margins by which Trump lost. All claims to the contrary tend to be based on hearsay and shadowy evidence to support a preordained hypothesis.

The GOP is acting only on unearned suspicions and hostility. They clearly started with the conclusion that Democrats stole the election, and are now working backwards, throwing everything against the wall to see what sticks. They make broad statements that their observers weren’t allowed in, when they were, and that droves of dead people voted, when they didn’t. Disgraced scam artist James O’Keefe, who got busted in 2018 for trying to run a #MeToo sting operation on the Washington Post, is offering $25,000 rewards for testimony. All any takers have to do is lie and their voice will be worth more than the people’s voice, as long as enough soulless GOP jackals believe them.

So far, though, all of Team Trump’s cases are being laughed out of court. Either the judges outright toss them, or the hearings end with Trump’s defense admitting that they have nothing and are wasting everyone’s time.

Even the one “whistleblower” O’Keefe unearthed, and who set up a GoFundMe that raised over $120,000, has now recanted his testimony. (The personal fundraising appeal has since been removed.)

How on earth are we expected to accept, after four years of a presidency known for its dishonesty, that high-level officials can contest a legitimate election win on the basis of such amateur hour, fake fraud b.s.? Or that the GOP is owed the opportunity to kick the tires because of how unfairly they’ve been treated? Or that Democrats are just inherently suspicious and, according to Senator Lindsey Graham, can only win by cheating?

The nihilistic cynicism on display here is breathtaking. Trump decided the only way he could save face is to shroud his decisive loss in indecision, and delegitimize it in the eyes of his 70 million supporters. It’s the Birther conspiracy all over again, minus the racism.

The goal at this point might not even be to overturn the results, so much as just inject enough doubt into the proceedings that Trump voters refuse to believe the election wasn’t stolen. (Also, to raise money for Trump’s new leadership PAC and chip away at his debt.) Why would those voters accept the truth, when their leadership angrily swears otherwise? The best-case scenario now is that Trump supporters ultimately forego an actual street-level revolution for just angrily assuming the next administration is utterly fraudulent.

Some of their response depends on how this tumultuous post-game phase of the election ends. At the moment, Rupert Murdoch is dangling rumors of a historic book deal payday in front of Trump, which could cushion the blow enough to get him to go quietly. Or maybe he—in collaboration with McConnell, Graham, O’Keefe, and the rest—will find a way to invalidate the results. Or maybe the fraud allegations will only persist until a lawyer gives a damn compelling speech in a courtroom, and we get the full Aaron Sorkin ending.

Either way, Trump has stolen something from us that he can’t give back.

In addition to the fleeting feeling of victory, which already feels so long ago, and the sheen of legitimacy, he has stolen any naïve hope of Biden or anyone else uniting the country any time soon.

For a brief instant, I thought maybe if Trump was revealed as a bitter, sulking wannabe tyrant for all to see, we might start to agree on some things again. I had a modicum of optimism, which was bound to get crushed by the reality of a Biden presidency, but which felt incredibly refreshing.

It’s all gone now.

For the indefinite future, all those days in the calendar beyond November 3 now look identical to the days that preceded them: Constant chaos, frustration, lies, and irresolvable polarization.

Trump and his cohort have stolen this victory, stolen our optimism, and stolen Biden’s legitimacy.

Some of it can be restored, some of it cannot.

None of it can be forgiven.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joe Berkowitz is an opinion columnist at Fast Company. His latest book, American Cheese: An Indulgent Odyssey Through the Artisan Cheese World, is available from Harper Perennial.

#GREAT Article #I'm not quite this cynical #YET #Trump completely sucks though #and the GOP absolutely disturb and disgust me #criminals and liars

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jmeddows2 · 5 years

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Guaranteed to blow your mind (Roger Taylor smut)

Notes: Bear with me, this is my first ever smut. I’m sorry for mistakes and bad writing. English is not my first languages. Inaccuracies can occur concerning the band. (including Deaky joining Queen). I’m also planning on making more parts of this including sub!Roger. Let’s see how this goes :) Feedback is always appreciated, so I know how to improve my writing.. ALRIGHT let’s do it Summary: Felicity is a well known and experienced groupie. Roger a rock star on the rise. Words: 3.7k+

Warnings: cursing, sub!Roger smut: a tiny bit of edging, blowjob, unprotected sex

Felicity, also known as 'fizz Fliss' in the Rock N‘Roll scene always knew what she wanted. She knew it since the day she moved out from her parent’s home at the tender age of only 16 years old. School had never been one of her interests, instead she loved getting in trouble and the feeling of adrenaline rushing through her veins.

Fliss had a big dream, as well as many fantasies. Being a groupie.

Chasing rockstars from city to city, spending the whole night in clubs, drinking, doing hard drugs and having the time of her life with the musician of the night afterwards. She followed bands and artists such as Led Zeppelin, The Who, David Bowie, Aerosmith and The Rolling Stones, just to name a few.

At only 20 years old, she had already made a name for herself. Everyone knew her. Women/ girls wanted to be like her, and men longed to spend a night with her. The 'groupie chasing rockstar scenario soon changed to the opposite. It was the most famous men in rock that all wanted a piece of her and they somehow always gave her a piece of themselves in the form of presents. There would not pass a day without a few parcels delivered to her doorstep, containing the latest fashion, lingerie, makeup, booze, sometimes just money. Most of the parcels had a long journey behind them, many hadmade its way all the way from America and Australia to her flat in London. Besides the adoration and money that was spent on her, Felicity was the muse of many songs that later went on to become classics. When you asked her about how she attracted the attention of all the musicians, she simply claimed that it was all about the glam rock inspired clothes she wore. Beside her well known reputation as groupie, she wasn’t just a typical groupie you’d fuck and chuck. Felicity was often photographed alongside other rock musicians for magazines and ads.

Summer of 1971

It was very hot day when Fliss stepped into the De Lane Lea Studios in London, to meet up with a band she’d been following since the beginning, which happened to be ‘The Who’. They’d been there to record their fifth studio album titled ‘Who’s Next’.

The room where the mixing board was situated was already filled with clouds of smoke, as she emerged and was quickly greeted with a hug.

“Ahh finally. Glad you could come. Missed you, love, how have you been?” Roger Daltrey, the lead singer greeted her with a quick peck on the cheek, while bassist John Entwistle beside them was just about to snort a line of cocaine from the tabletop, that was else covered in bottles of heavy alcohol. Glyn Johns, the producer had already been fiddling with some of the buttons on the mixing board, adding finishing touches to a record from a different band. It surprised her, knowing that Roger (D), John (E), Keith and Pete never liked sharing their studio time. They always used it to full extend, no matter what.

“you really thought I would miss the opportunity to watch you guys record, huh? I wouldn’t even think about it. besides, I wanted to personally thank Keith here” she was pointed her finger into the drummer’s direction “ for the beautiful necklace. It must have cost you a fortune.” she laughed, clasping the little diamond that graced her decollete and she approached the drummer to place herself in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“yeah it actually did, honey.. but you‘re totally fucking worth it” he replied with a smug smile on his face, caressing her cheek with one hand.

“now come on, baby” Keith fiddled with the pocket of his jacket, only to pull out a pack filled to the brim with white powder. Fliss was quick to realize his intentions, so she pulled her top over her head and tossed it to the floor, leaving her in a red lace bra, another precious present.

“fuck, see that‘s what I‘m talking about, baby” bringing his hand to lightly grope her breast

“I‘ll buy you 10 of those necklaces. No, I‘ll buy you anything you want, honey” he mumbled and managed to pour a line of the white gold onto the space between her breasts and rolled a 5-pound note to snort it from there. Keith didn‘t manage to catch all of the white powder at once, so he leant his head forward to lick the rest off and rub it on his gums. Their little get together was soon cut off by a loud thump as the door opened and 4 men stood there, totally caught off guard. 4 rather shocked faces. Newbies.

“seriously guys? Have you switched to male groupies now? “Fliss laughed sitting herself up in Keith’s lap, to get a better look of them.

The men at the door seemed really embarrassed, with their heads turning as red as a tomato, except for one guy with long, dark brown hair and high cheekbones. He managed to step forward: “sorry are we interrupting something here? We can come back later?!”

“no, no, come in it‘s alright. Suit yourself” Roger (D) invited the men in with a gesture towards the little table with booze, cigarettes, pills and cocaine.

“Fliss, baby, may I present to you, her majesty: Queen, they‘re new, have some potential AND they are here to record some stuff today” Pete chuckled and winked at her.

“oh really? And why haven‘t I heard of them yet?” she laughed while studying the men who were still stood by the door having not moved in the slightest. They seemed intimidated. It felt like a game for Felicity and hell, she loved to play. It was true, the band had only started to rehears songs for their first album a few months prior and received a little bit of recognition by playing rather small gigs. They were young, on the rise, seeking attention and where else could you get that from if not from one of London’s most iconic and definitely loudest rock bands of all time?

“hey hey, I know you. Fuck dear, no I adore you... you are Felicity? Living the dream, right? damn... I bet this was also a present” he winked pointing at her bra. “I‘m Freddie by the way” he took a few steps forward to shake her hand, then heading back to his band mates who still haven’t moved in the slightest..

“this is her Rog, the girl I told you about the other day” Freddie whispered to the blond-haired boy, gently nudging his side, he just nodded with flushed cheeks. His wavy, dirty blonde hair barely touched his shoulder and his bright blue eyes didn‘t quite know what to focus on, trying to play off the embarrassment. An awkward silence filled the room, until Freddie decided to plunge himself down next to Pete on one of the leather couches trying to lighten the mood.

“and the others? Do you also have any names? “Felicity stood up from Keith’s lap and made her way towards the men as they introduced themselves to her as Brian, Roger and Mike. Mike was Queen’s bass player at the time and was very soon after replaced by our precious Deaky.

As the tension and embarrassment settled, the "new boys" managed to get comfortable with a little booze. A magic recipe that always seemed to help loosen everyone up. Roger Daltrey was like the dad of the group, he didn’t take any hard drugs, just sleeping pills, but who didn’t? He also occasionally did a little pot. Roger Daltrey always felt the need to be the tough one, to look out for everyone. He had to, dealing with his bandmates which basically consisted of three addicts. Pete was an alcoholic, John (E) was an alcoholic. All three of them were doing speed and every other kind of drug you could imagine. Roger (D) never touched any cocaine, never had a try of it. He always felt responsible, as singing was his ‘instrument’ in the band and he felt like he would have never been able to master his skills while intoxicated. He tried to lead Fliss into another direction many times, away from her lifestyle, stating points that she would not have a future continuing like this, if she ever got out alive. He just wanted the best for all them, treating them like children of his own somehow.

“what’s it like, darling?” Freddie asked curiously, he took a sip from his vodka-soda. “I want to know the details, any weird sex habits out there in the world of Rock ‘N’Roll? Any new kinks to know about “he asked flashing his unique, bright teeth at her with a smile.

“Fred” Brian warned by shooting him a glare.

“Oh, come on Bri, stop acting as if you’re not interested in what this hot little thing here might have to spill” Freddie turned his attention back to Fliss. “besides I think my good friend Rog here also might be interested” Freddie pointed in his direction, but his blond friend was too occupied having a chat with Keith. It was obvious that one of his ears was always curiously listening to what she might have had to say. Roger’s eyes also betrayed him by stealing little glances, when he thought that she wasn’t looking.

“ok well... so sorry to disappoint you, but a lady never tells, but” she winked at Freddie and his eyes widened for more gossip as she continued.

“there’s loads of traveling, fine booze, the best cigarettes, expensive clothes and meals, you know the drill” she made a gesture at her body signaling great sex. “a real killer queen” Freddie smiled at her while pouring yet another glass for both of them and they clinked them together, getting lost in another conversation about antiques and all things expensive and glamorous. All of which Freddie admired. “Splendid! I already know we are going to get along perfectly, darling.”

Freddie moved on to talk to his own band mate Brian again, but the spot beside her on the couch was soon filled by Roger. He clutched his whiskey on the rocks in his hand and was quickly caught off guard.

-Aren’t you a little too young to drink, Roger? I mean how old are you? 16? 17??? - Fliss asked loud enough for the others to hear as she placed her feet onto his lap, resting them there, while the others started to laugh once they overheard her assumption.

“no...no I.. I‘m actually 22” he nervously stuttered.

“Hah I never thought to see the day that Rog can‘t get a word out to impress a girl” Freddie laughed, taking another sip from his alcoholic beverage.

“no wonder. He‘s probably starstruck, keeps all your pics from the newspapers in his bedside drawer, ever since Fred told him about you” Mike laughed loudly while Roger was getting slightly embarrassed and his cheeks turned pink. No, not embarrassed, he felt humiliated.

“oh, is that so Roger?” Fliss said as she got up with a G&T in her hand.

“don‘t mind, do ya Rog?” batting her eyelashes at him, he shook his head and she placed herself onto his lap. Once she was situated comfortably, she smiled at him.

“hi” threw her arms around his neck and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “hi” he smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist. Her touch burned into his skin and within seconds his semi could be slightly felt on her thigh. The effect she had on him made her want to play this game even more.

“oioioi, someone‘s gonna get lucky, huh?” Pete teased, making her playfully shake her head and roll her eyes. “And he might be the only one tonight” she replied, making all of them go quiet. Felicity felt kind of bad for all the teasing Roger had to bear. It was meant to be her job. Hers only.

“I’m not making you feel uncomfortable, am I?” she asked the blond boy with a hint of concern in her voice, brushing his soft hair over his shoulder.

“nnn no, not at all. I’m fine, perfectly fine” Perfect.

Roger was quiet and frozen as Felicity constantly shifted in his lap. It made him even harder, painfully hard. Of course, she knew exactly what she was doing, as teasing was her specialty. But this boy was different, quiet, nervous, a perfect prey.

Roger’s eyes nervously scanned the room, silently praying that no one would notice his now throbbing bulge in his pants. Felicity saw it all and felt him violently throb against his pants as her core was pressed up against him. So, she decided to fuel the fire even more. Another specialty of hers.

She scanned Roger‘s face with her eyes, then slightly started nibbling his ear, which earned a light moan from him. She continued kissing along his jawline, making his eyes tightly shut. He was trying his best, not to buck into her. “you’re almost too pretty to be rockstar” Roger opened his eyes as she caressed his right cheek, while her other hand was playing with his hair.

Roger swallowed hard, trying not to moan any louder. He was frustrated that he couldn’t do anything about his miserable situation, the fear of getting caught any second creeping up on him. His only goal at this point was trying not to come in his pants right then there.

- Oh I.. I.. thank you.. you‘re p..pretty- he stuttered.

She continued lightly bouncing in his lap, purposely grinding her ass against Roger‘s clothed length, while the most innocent look on her face. A smirk was plastered on her face as she earned another groan from him.

"What‘s wrong, Roger?" she asked innocently.

"You alright, mate?" John (E) asked from the sofa on the opposite side, he answered with a little nod, trying to keep it together.

Leaning closer to Roger she whispered in his ear: "you‘re so hard down there, huh? Do I really have such an effect on you? I didn‘t even do anything."

Felicity kept tracing patterns into the skin of his neck and chest, which was exposed due to his unbuttoned shirt. It was cute how every little touch and pattern traced along his sensitive skin made him shiver.

- let‘s go out to eat something, guys, we‘ve got the studio all day long, you can record later- Roger (D) clapped his hands together and jumped up from his seat.

“Roger are you coming or you glued to that couch? “Freddie joked as Roger glared back at him. Roger knew that he couldn‘t get up, not like that, not with a massive hardon. That would be too embarrassing, and the boys would forever pick on him.

“actually, we‘ll join you later, King‘s pub it is?“ Felicity asked, shooting them a wink.

Keith nodded, leaning down to her: “alright, honey, take care” the brunette drummer said as he stole a kiss from her.

A wave of relief rushed over Roger as there was only him and Fliss left in the room. Well, as much relief as he could possibly get, despite the problem in his pants.

“so, are you a bassist? singer? “Felicity teased as she brought her face close to his, caressing his right cheek, lightly rubbing circles with her thumb.

“no I‘m m.. 'm the drummer” he stuttered nervously. “you know it‘s not very nice to not look at me when you’re talking to me” she shifted even more back and forth in his lap, feeling his hard cock through his pants. “you’re lucky, I have a thing for drummers” speeding up her movement, adding even more friction.

“uhh please” Roger groaned looking deep into her eyes. “what Roger, what do you need?” leaning forward, breathing into his ear. “Is this what you need?” she placed a kiss on his left cheek, he violently shook his head in response.

“what have been doing with those pictures your band member mentioned earlier, huh? Have you been a naughty boy?” she teased, continuing to torture him further, pressing even harder into him.

“y.. yes, been naughty, touching myself to your pictures...want you.... wanted you since the first time I saw you” he whined, eyebrows knitted in frustration.

“oh really?” Felicity definitely had her fun with this. She often adopted the role of the submissive, in fact, a willing sub. But dominating a guy, making him practically melt in her hands, was just another level. Nothing could ever compare to that.

Roger didn‘t manage to get a word out so she grabbed his cock through his pants, palming him that it nearly made him jump out of his skin. He never felt like this before, never this intimidated by any girl, he usually was the one to charm them, tease them, make them squirm.

“yeah, yeah” he finally admitted “was so bad, wankin’ my cock every time to you mmmm, please, please, want you so bad” Roger cried out, but she brought her face close to his, kissing soon turned into a quick but heated make out session. Her hand made its way between their bodies into his pants, slowly starting to pump his bare length with her hand, brushing her thumb over his tip, making his eyes roll back.

“alright pretty princess, let‘s see”

Felicity got off his lap, kneeled down in front of him, he lifted his hips for her to remove his pants and underwear all at once.

Roger’s cock sprung free, hitting his tummy, the red, swollen tip leaking pre cum already. He was slightly bigger than average with a perfect girth, which surprised her, due to his overall tiny frame.

“fucking pretty cock, princess” his cheeks turned pink once more. It was the most vulnerable state, being all exposed in front of her. She ghosted her hand over his length, making him squirm even more and buck his hips. He was frustrated. But she kept on admiring his cock, taking her time. “Please, please I’m begging you! DO something. I- I can’t take it anymore” Roger whined.

He hissed loudly when her hand was suddenly wrapped around his length, his eyes falling shut.

“ fuck.. fuck feels so good mmm” he moaned in ecstasy.

Roger’s moans were music to her ears “look at me, princess” his eyes fluttered open and she leaned forward to kiss the tip of his cock gently, staring deeply into his eyes. “mmm more please”

She licked the salty pre cum off that was already dribbling off the tip due to his horniness and it spread on her lips. Licking it off, tasting him. Salty and sweet at the same time. Felicity used her tongue to gently lick his frenulum, making Roger cry out her name. She lowered her head once again, taking all of him into her mouth, rubbing his tummy with her right hand.

“oh yess, fuuuuck feels so good, your mouth... you do it so good I’m not gonna last.. mmm” Roger groaned.

Having him beg for her, motivated Fliss to go not even faster, but also deeper, bobbing her head up and down, having him down her throat. Thanks to much practice, her gag reflex was gone, giving him the full experience.

“fuck m’ gonna c..cum m’ gonna cum” she pulled away, earning a disappointing groan. “You didn’t think I was going to let you come that fast, did you?” his eyebrows knotted into a frown. “Please, I was so close” “aww look at you, all red and desperate to finally get off, princess” Rogers hair was sticking to his sweaty forehead as she was undressing herself. “Roger” he flinched,letting his cock fall from his hand as she caught him pumping himself in a fast motion while watching her naked frame. “I’m so sorry, please, do something. It’s really starting to hurt now. It’s way too much” salty tears started dribbling down his cheeks. He was so desperate for her. “ok baby” she climbed into his lap, taking his thick cock into her hand rubbing his tip through her folds and the tears kept streaming down his face. She sank all the way down on him, staying there a few seconds to adjust. Roger rested his head on her shoulder as she managed to swipe a few of his tears away with her thumb. Fliss started bouncing up and down his cock, Roger’s breathing slowly got louder when he was nearing his orgasm for the 2nd time that night. He felt weak, too weak to be able to thrust up into her. “Fuck Roger, I’m close. You’re filling me up so good” she groaned, speeding up the tempo and circling her hips with one of his hands resting on her hips for support, the other on her breast, toying with her nipple. “mmm coming, you need to get off” “Come for me, princess” tangling her fingers in his blond locks. He started to whimper at the feeling of her still on his cock, one final bounce and she sank all the way down on him, sending both of them over the edge. Roger came with a cry of her name as he released warm, thick ribbons of cum inside of her. His eyes were fluttering, head on her shoulder, as he slowly came down from his high, relishing every wave of pleasure, not wanting the moment to fade away.

Roger was snapped out of his little trance when she released his cock, making his him squirm at the sudden loss of contact. Being the little tease Felicity was, she reached down between her thighs, capturing some of Roger’s thick, sticky cum and brought the finger to her mouth to taste it. “so good” she hummed against her hand. “Fuck, you look so hot right now” he watched her in awe, mouth slightly open, not believing his eyes, making his cock twitch one final time.

(kind of inspired by this min 3:00) “Marry me” Roger blurted out. She looked at him, expecting him to be joking but his face remained serious. “You’re fucking nuts, Roger” she laughed as they both dressed themselves again, trying to hide every evidence of their previous studio ‘adventure’. He took a seat on the couch and pulled her into his lap again, giving her a passionate kiss. “Will you at least stay with me tonight then?” “Sure, Roger." he held her close, making the throbbing problem in his pants reappear.

#roger taylor #roger taylor smut #roger taylor fanfic #the who #Queen #freddie mercury #Brian May #queen + Adam Lambert #roger taylor fanfiction

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