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coco-loco-nut · 2 months

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die first

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max’s wife is an international superstar, who’s anxieties tend to show up in her songs

Inspired by: die first by Nessa Barret

requests open! masterlist prequel

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“What are you writing, Schatje?” Max asks, sliding onto the piano bench beside you.

“I wrote a song based on my vows,” you tell him, writing down the last couple chords, humming a rhythm to yourself.

Max, ever since I met you, I knew you were special. You’re my fire and my safety, you never try to break me, and you promise to always stay. I promise those same things to you. I don’t want to live without you, I never want to learn how to fall asleep without you, I want to be in love with you forever. You are my forever.

“Play it for me?” he asks when you finish, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You nod, gently pressing the keys, mentally noting the kinks to fix before recording tomorrow. “It’s beautiful, the fans are going to love it, I love it,” Max compliments and you grin at him.

“I’m excited to announce the album and tour, and I’m glad we follow F1 around Europe. I get to spend more of summer with you that way,” you lean on his shoulder. You dedicated the album to him, and your third record is set to be the best selling one yet.

You took the unconventional route and took his last name after marrying him this year, despite having two hit albums and international fame. You still publish under your maiden name, but the name change caused a lot of shock.

You became an international superstar with your first release and it’s only grown since. Despite your relationship with Max spanning most of your music career, the both of you are able to spend a relatively low profile life in Monaco. Everything you record in the studio down the street is sent to your Hollywood label and released from there.

The next few months see you doing press for the surprise drop that was your bestselling third album and hyping the tour. Tour rehearsals fell during training time for Max and the both of you were going nonstop.

“I have to go to bed, Schatje, love you,” Max yawns over Facetime, you wish him goodnight as you stretch for your last show in North America. Tomorrow you jet to Europe to pick up that leg of the tour.

By the time you reach London, your tour has officially lined up with F1, which means your personal box near the stage is full of drivers, who likely are being bombarded with autograph requests. You slip into your black, sparkly bodysuit and matching hells; hair, makeup, and nails perfectly done; and grab your matching microphone before heading to your mark under the stage. The roar of the crowd energized you as the intro video plays.

“Come on London, let’s have some fun,” you say into the mic before smoke fills the stage above you and the trap door opens, the platform beneath you rising you up. You launch into your opening act. Half an hour later, after prancing and dancing and singing around the stage you take a pause to introduce the next act. The crowd cheers loudly before you have a chance to speak. You look around, smiling at everyone even if you can’t see them.

“London, thank you, my name is Y/n Verstappen, that’s my show for tonight,” you tease, the crowd silences. “Nah, I’m kidding. I wouldn’t leave you hanging like that, not when you are one of the best crowds I’ve had on tour,” you tell them, giving them a second to cheer.

“Since you have been such a great host, I wanted to share something special about this next song, something not many people know, but not quite yet. Quick shoutout to the F1 drivers here tonight, including my handsome husband, y’all are cool. But not as cool as everyone else here,” you purposely leave them hanging a little, blowing a kiss in the direction of Max.

“Alright, so, this next song is not only the title of my new album, but I also took parts of my vows and wrote them into the song. I hope you like it,” you say and the crowd cheers as the first chords play behind you.

“Thank you, London! Goodnight!” After the concert, you rush backstage and into Max’s open arms.

“You were incredible, Liefje” Max kisses you. Charles jokingly gags behind you.

“Thank you, Maxie,” you whisper, hugging him tight. Your assistant hands you a towel to put around your neck and a bottle of water which you happily take.

“You had a great show,” the other drivers tell you, all complimenting the show and thanking you for the tickets. You thank them for attending and excuse yourself so you could change. Max reminds them of the post-show dinner and club plans and carries you to your dressing room. You collapse on the couch, as Max chuckles at your dramatics.

“I swear the best part of a show is laying down after,” you groan and Max gently takes off your heels causing you to moan in relief.

“Y/n! People are going to think we are doing things in here,” Max laughs, you wave him off, changing into comfy but club appropriate clothes. Max helps you take off your stage makeup, and redoes your hair as you put a little bit of normal makeup on.

“Ready, Maxie?” you ask, grabbing your purse. It is nice knowing that assistants will take everything back to the hotel for you.

“I promise I will always come back home to you, I know my driving style is agressive, but I won’t make you learn how to fall asleep without me,” Max says, his hands holding your face gently.

“I know, but I will always be scared when you are on the track. You can’t promise nothing will happen, but I know you will always try,” you tell him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. You stay in his embrace for a minute until rejoining half of the paddock. I can be in love forever, if I die first…

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen imagines #Spotify

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so-mordor-itis · 1 year

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Eye on You

“give peace a chance, let the fear you have fall away, i’ve got my eye on you. say yes to heaven, say yes to me.

if you go, I’ll stay.. you come back, I’ll be right here. like a barge at sea, in the storm I stay clear, cause I’ve got my mind on you”

I told you I'd write a drabble but uhhhhh this ain't no drabble- @unhealthy-leon-brainrot

1998.

Leon loved differently back then. He loved in a way a 21 year old man freshly graduated from college could. He was giddy whenever the person in his interest would smile at him, would give him any time of day. His hands would become clammy, and his heart would race as if he were still a teenager. Sometimes, he truly felt like one at heart. That his soul was trapped in that time period, and it wouldn't ever leave.

It's why when he met you for the first time, and when you smiled at him as if nothing could go wrong, his face burned, and his heart almost burst right then and there. You were a brilliant flame, and he felt like a small candle stick awaiting to be lit.

He asked you out in a sputter of words, hating himself immediately after listening to them tumble. Leon didn't want his nervousness to show. He had been practicing for weeks in front of bathroom mirrors and sometimes in the Officer's Academy shower, hoping nobody overheard him. He wanted it to be perfect because that's what you deserved.

You giggled, and somehow, his heart both fluttered and sank. Your eyes glittered with an emotion that made him slightly hopeful. "You want to take me out on a date?"

"Yeah," he replied, all too quickly. "If you'd like to that is--only if you'd like to." He wished he could stop himself from talking, but he couldn't.

You smiled at him, and dammit there went the last of his coherent thoughts. "You know what? Sure. I don't have anything interesting going on." You laughed again, looking away shyly. "I can't say no when you're looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Leon asked, though he fully knew what you were talking about.

"Like I'm the only thing on your mind," you responded. You were fidgeting with your shirt, and Leon wanted nothing more than to grab your hands and hold them.

You weren't incorrect, either. You were on his mind a frightening amount. This affection for you was a buzz in the back of his mind, a throb in his chest.

You still said yes.

"So it's a date?"

"Yes, it's a date."

He swore he grinned from ear to ear, and he saw you return it.

The day he was supposed to pick you up, he never did. You were more worried than disappointed. Leon didn't seem like the type of guy you ask you out, gazing at you as if you created the sky and the stars, and then drop you like a hat. Despite the bitter part of you wanting to think he ditched you, the rational part knew better.

He called you hours later, apologetic and broken. "I'm so sorry. Something... something came up."

"Forget the date," you quickly muttered, surprised at how swift the words left your mouth. "Are you okay?"

He was silent for a bit. "Not really."

"Where are you? I'm coming to you."

"No, wait," Leon called your name almost in a plea. "I don't want you to drag yourself into this."

You weren't backing down without a little bit of a fight. "Leon, please."

He paused before stating he was in a hospital outside of Raccoon City.

Leon knew he loved you after that. He never admitted to himself until he was sure, but he couldn't prevent that innocent crush from growing into something more powerful.

You became a firework, blazing in his lonely, starless sky. You had always been.

2004.

He liked to believe he still loved the same. Wanted to love the same as he did all those years ago. His heart pounding and his palms becoming clammy, blue eyes full of innocent love.

He knew he didn't.

Leon was reserved now, awkward with his affection, hesitant with his touches yet still craved it. He hated that you had to watch him develop--no, perhaps devolve was the better word here--this trauma response. This training, this work, it all collapsed on top of him, and sometimes he felt as if it would eventually crush him.

Yet, some part of you still saw his old self. That stupid, lovesick boy who craved your attention the way a puppy would a scrap of food. You still gave him love, still kissed his scars, still told him sweet nothings when he broke down crying because the pressure was too much.

He once asked you if you were okay with all of this still, okay with him. You gave him your usual smile, the one that made him weak and touched that lovesick boy deep down. "You're stuck with me, Leon. I gave myself to you the day you asked me out. I'm staying. No matter what happens, I'm here."

He kissed you hard that day. Harder than he ever had. Placing a promise against your lips that he would always come back to you. No matter what.

You often wondered what he would do without you. If he would crash and burn the moment you turned around, if the night terrors would claw at his throat and suffocate him.

It was hard, watching him suffer mentally when all you could do was give him words of affirmation. Reassure him that the nightmares weren't real and that you were truly there with him and not bloodied up and dead.

Those moments made the good ones feel like precious gifts. Not just for you, but also for him. You carried them in your heart and held on to those when the bad days would storm over his head.

You remembered one of those good days so clearly, so vividly it never failed to make you smile. One day, while looking over some files, Leon had fallen asleep. His glasses--the ones he usually only used whenever he was reading important work files--were scrunched against his face, pushing up against the bridge of his nose. You remembered walking into his office, snickering a little at the sight. You sighed, shaking your head. "What am I going to do with you?"

You approached him quietly, as if the smallest movement would ruin his peaceful slumber. You grabbed the rims of his glasses carefully, pulling them off his face so he'd be more comfortable. As you did, you caught a feel of his soft locks and couldn't help but lightly smooth between your fingers. You took note of his facial features; his cheekbones were more rigid, and the shadows of his eyes were sunken in. His hair was even a bit darker, looking dirtier blond than it had when you first met. Still handsome, that would never change.

The urge to kiss his forehead had you twitching, but you didn’t want to disturb him. Especially since he had probably been staring at documented words for who knows how long.

You moved to quietly nudge yourself away before his sleepy voice mumbled. "Gonna go so soon?"

You blinked, looking down to see his eyes were now open. Still hazy from his rest. You practically beamed at him. "Didn't wanna wake you."

Leon sat up, stretching a little before putting his glasses back on. "Guess I must've passed out. These reports practically put me to sleep. I can't believe this is part of what they pay me for."

You attempted to catch a glimpse of whatever was on the document, but he placed them flat on the table when he caught you.

Leon snickered. "Classified. Sorry, baby."

You pouted a little. "Can't I help my boyfriend out a little?"

He stood up and stretched more, popping his back. "Not if it means you getting in trouble by seeing the reports. I'd also get in trouble, and we definitely wouldn't want that."

"Man, and here I thought I'd be able to see the famous missions Leon Kennedy goes on," you teased.

Leon just rolled his eyes as if you two had had this discussion before. You have. You just like to see him smile. Distract him as much as you could.

"Become an agent, then we'll talk." He took off his glasses and put them back on his desk. He placed his gaze upon you, and you could feel the adoration in his eyes. He still looked at you as if you had created the sky, the moon, the stars. As if you were his sun and he orbited around you and only you. You would never get over it.

Leon mimicked the action you were doing earlier and parted your hair from your cheeks so he could kiss your forehead.

His work phone rang loud, interrupting the moment. Leon sighed and kissed you quickly against the lips before the obligation to his duty forced him to go answer it.

"Kennedy. Yes, sir."

You observed his body language as he discussed with his superior. His shoulders went rigid, his eyes focused as if he were already on the field. He was prepared for whatever they were about to tell him because he had to be.

He hung up after a minute of giving affirming hums and a variety of yeses. Leon plopped his phone on the documentations and gave you an apologetic look.

"Don't worry about it." You shook your head. You knew what he was about to say. He didn't even need to tell you anything out loud. His eyes told the whole story.

"I really don't deserve you," he mumbled. "Makes me wonder how you do it."

"Because I love you." You said simply. "I'm here to stay, remember?"

|Tags:|

@seraphiism , @uhlunaro , @izuniias , @honeyfict , @konigbabe , @leonskillshot , @airanke , @muffimtv , @justonemore-fic , @mandalhoerian , @tosuckmyweenis , @boundinparchment

#resident evil x reader #resident evil 2 remake #resident evil imagines #resident evil 4 #resident evil #leon kennedy imagines #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy resident evil #leon x you #leon x y/n #leon x reader #my writing

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ghostofskywalker · 7 months

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Gorgeous

Loki Laufeyson/Fem!Reader

Fictober Day 31 of 31

Words: 1,220

Summary: Loki moved into the Avengers Compound, but the first time you saw him was at Tony's fancy Halloween party. Your brain stops working for a little bit because he's so pretty.

Note: today is the last day of fictober, happy halloween everyone! this was originally going to be based on the taylor swift song of the same name (one of my favorite songs from her!), but i think the story took control and we lost some of that along the way.

Loki Laufeyson Masterlist

It should be illegal for someone to look that good was the first thing that ran through your head the moment you laid eyes on him from your seat at the bar. You knew who he was, it was hard to ignore the fact that Avengers Compound was now home to not one but two Norse gods, and that one of them had tried to take over New York a few years ago. You hadn’t been part of the team at that point, but you certainly weren’t in the dark about what he had done. However, that apparently didn’t mean you couldn’t appreciate how good he looked in a suit, and a lot of embarrassing thoughts were suddenly flooding your brain.

It certainly didn’t help that this was the first time you’d seen him out of his room since he had arrived. He wasn’t bound to a single room (though you were pretty sure he wasn’t allowed to leave the grounds of the compound), but he simply chose to stay away from everyone else.

A voice interrupted your thoughts. “Staring at someone?”

You blinked, slightly embarrassed that Natasha had caught you, but you could tell from the tone of her voice that it was all playful. “Maybe,” you admitted softly. “But in my defense, it’s not like I’ve ever seen him around the compound.”

She laughed. “You do have a point there. I think the only reason he’s here tonight is because Thor is making him.”

You looked back over at the god, catching the expression on his face. “Oh definitely. He’s absolutely miserable right now.”

“He’s just lucky that it’s not a costume party,” Natasha said. “He’d be frowning even more.”

You laughed, an image flashing through your head of Loki wearing a gaudy-looking Halloween costume, with Thor and Sam laughing by his side. “That’s very true,” you said. Although Tony took any excuse he could to throw a party, he hadn’t imposed a costume rule on you all this time, and for that you were grateful, because at least you wouldn’t have to meet an extraordinarily attractive god while wearing a silly outfit.

“Why don’t we go over and say hello?” Natasha said, grabbing from drink from the bar and heading over to the direction where Loki was sulking in the corner. You followed her, the whole time incredibly aware of the fact that you needed to figure out something to say to him, and your brain had apparently taken a vacation.

“What do you want?” Despite Loki’s words being standoffish, his tone was more tired, as if he wished he was anywhere else but here at this point.

“I just wondered whether or not you had met Y/N yet,” Natasha said, gesturing in your direction.

“Hi,” you said, really not sure what else to say. It certainly didn’t help that your brain had apparently not returned from its impromptu trip away. “It’s nice to meet you.”

A normal person might have waited for a response, but your fight or flight response kicked in at this very moment, and it chose the latter of the two options. If you weren’t embarrassed already, you certainly were now, because you just walked away. You could hear yourself mutter something about getting a drink, but you weren’t sure if anyone else had even heard it. And besides, the clearly full glass in your hands gave your lie away completely.

After at least heading back to the bar and lingering there for a few moments, you started to walk back around the party, saying hello to those you recognized. You knew a lot of the guests, so it was easy to flit from conversation to conversation, all the while thinking about how ridiculous Loki must find you. Maybe if saw each other on another day in the compound you could apologize for running off like an idiot and try to explain that you thought he looked nice and for some reason decided to act like you’re twelve about it.

As the hours passed and the party’s energy remained loud and joyful, you found yourself settled on a balcony. The compound boasted a different view than the one you were used to in the tower, and you found yourself missing the lights and sounds of the city, especially because it was almost completely pitch black (other than the lights from around the building itself).

The sound of the door opening behind you caught your attention, and you watched as Loki took one step onto the balcony, stopping as he noticed you. “I apologize,” he said, starting to pull back into the crowded ballroom.

“Wait!” you said quickly, hoping that he would at least be willing to hear you out for a few moments. You never wanted him to feel unwelcome, you just had terrible conversation skills around people you think are attractive, and in that moment your brain had fully sabotaged you.

By some miracle he stayed, and the door closed behind him as he stepped fully outside with you. It had gotten to the point in the year that the night air was bitingly chilly, but you didn’t mind the way it nipped at your face if it meant getting away from the chaos of the party for a few moments.

“I want to apologize for my awkwardness earlier,” you said, before he could question why you had called him out here. “I don’t want you to think that I’m afraid of you.”

“Then may I ask why you ran away before I could even say hello?” His voice didn’t sound like it held any malice, but there was still an emotion in there you couldn’t quite read.

“Sometimes it’s hard for me to talk to new people,” you said softly. “Especially ones that are dressed as nicely as you.”

It wasn’t an all-out confession, but it still seemed that he understood what you were implying. “I understand,” he said. “I also get nervous in this realm now.”

“I can help you if you need any kind of Earth Guidance in the future,” you said, immediately worrying that you sounded eager or overly-annoying to him before tempering the statement with an “if you want.”

He smiled, and you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered at the sight. “I will keep that in mind,” you said.

The sound of your phone’s ringtone going off popped the moment’s delicate bubble, and you looked down to see a text from Natasha asking for your help with something. Loki understood this time why you were leaving, and he said that you that he was going to stay on the balcony for a few more minutes.

As you took a step closer to the door, you heard him say your name. “I think you’re dressed nicely too,” he said before turning back to look out into the darkness outward, and two things happened the moment you stepped back into the party and closed the door to the balcony behind you.

One was that you had to physically push down a giant grin from spreading across your face.

And the other was that your brain took (yet another) impromptu vacation from its duties. If you were going to spend more time with him in the future, you would really have to get a handle on that.

- the end -

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#ghostofskywalker.fictober #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki x reader fluff #loki x you #loki x y/n #marvel x reader

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luvu2themoonand2saturn · 1 year

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one too many

joe burrow x fem!reader

warnings: absolutely sickening fluff. reader is drunk and clingy and sleepy (ie. me after 2 glasses of wine). endless pet names and soft, protective joe <3

word count: 1.6k

summary: joe takes care of you during a night out

all i want is to be babied like this oh. my. god. enjoy my loves!!

“I’m just going to run to the washroom, okay sweets?” Joe said to you quietly, beginning to remove his arm from your waist, shifting you from his thighs.

“I’ll come,” you mumbled, standing up with him and reaching for his hand.

Taking your face in his hands, prepared for your incoherent disappointment, he replied, “Sweetheart, we can’t go to the same bathroom. I promise I’ll be back before you know it, ok?”

Realization dawned on your face as you murmured, “Oh, yeah.” Despite this, the grip of your hands on his forearms hadn’t loosened.

“Hey, Ja’Marr,” Joe called out. “Keep an eye on her while I run to the washroom, will you?” He smiled, gently taking your hands from his arms and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Be right back, pretty baby.”

“Bye, Joe.”

Ja’Marr pulled you back into the booth where the rest of your friends were gathered, nursing drinks and recovering from dancing. Several pairs of heels were loose under the table, having been discarded by their fed-up owners. Your eyes followed Joe as he moved across the room, weaving between people in varying states of stability, until he was out of your sight. Your gaze blurred as you rested your head on your fist, elbow on the table. You were colder without him. Your crop top and mini skirt were far from warm enough if you weren’t either dancing in a crowd or tucked against Joe’s side. You shivered involuntarily.

“You good, (y/n)?” Ja’Marr asked.

Turning your head to face him, you smiled softly, mumbling, “Just a little chilly.”

“Here he comes,” he said, gesturing towards Joe, who was already striding back towards your booth.

Slipping in beside you, he said, “Told you I’d be quick, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, leaning your head against his upper arm. The drunken fatigue, amplified by how energetically you’d danced throughout the evening, was starting to properly hit you.

In the dim light, Joe saw the outline of goosebumps on your bare arms. “You cold, honey?”

“A little,” you replied. “Better now you’re here, though.”

He reached to pull his jacket off of the hook at the end of the booth. “Sit forward a bit, baby,” he said, settling the jacket around your shoulders. “Arms through now, there you go. Better?”

“Mhm,” you hummed in sleepy satisfaction, snuggling back underneath his arm, your eyes drifting shut.

He finished the last sip of his drink as he let you slump against him. He had only had one this evening, wanting to be in the right shape to get you home and into bed in one piece. You, needless to say, had indulged in more than one drink.

The conversation between Joe and your friends began to fade into the back of your consciousness, the sounds in the bar lulling you into a state of relaxation. Joe’s arm securely wrapped around your waist, his steady heartbeat in your ear, and his oversized jacket wrapped around you like a blanket didn’t help. You began to drift off, your head drooping against his chest.

“Hey, baby - is she asleep?” Joe asked incredulously.

Sam nodded in the affirmative. “Sure looks like it, man. She’s the only person I’ve ever met who can be hollering on the dance floor one hour and asleep on the edge of it the next.”

“Yeah, she’s a special one,” Joe chuckled fondly. Gently rubbing your back to try and raise you from your slumber, Joe said quietly, “Babygirl. Hey, baby, wake up. You fell asleep.”

You blinked awake, dazed, trying to regain your bearings. “No I didn’t,” you insisted. “Just closed my eyes for a second.”

“Sure, honey. D’you want to head home? It’s getting late.”

“I don’t mind Joe, whatever you want.”

He shared a look with the rest of your friend group gathered around the table, none of whom envied him the task of getting you up and out of the booth. He didn’t mind though - you were especially cuddly and affectionate when inebriated and he would always do anything to take good care of you. “I think it’s time to go, baby. Do you need anything before we head off?”

“Have to say goodbye,” you mumbled, vaguely gesturing around the booth as your eyes threatened to close once again.

“Yes, sweetheart, say goodbye.”

“Bye guys, don’t have too much fun without me!” you said, the effects of the many cocktails you’d downed that evening heavy in your tone.

A chorus of “Bye, (y/n)!” rose from the group, along with one, “Good luck with her, bro.”

Joe laughed. “This isn’t my first rodeo. She just needs to get to bed.”

“Bed sounds nice, Joey. Will you come with me?”

“Of course, sweetheart. We’re gonna stand up now, ok?” Joe helped you out of the booth and onto your feet, one arm around your waist to keep you upright against him, the other holding your small purse and his car keys. He wished everyone a good night and safe trips home, thanking them for the evening.

Walking out of the bar, you yawned. “I’m sleepy,” you said, as if only realizing for the first time.

“That you are, pretty girl,” he chuckled. “I’ll have you home as soon as I can, okay?” Clicking the car unlocked, he helped you into the passenger seat, buckling your belt for you before getting into the driver’s side and starting the engine.

He reversed out of the parking space, hand on the back of your headrest as he looked out the rear window. You couldn’t help but admire the view. “You’re so pretty when you’re driving,” you mused.

“Yeah? Thanks, sweetheart. You’re pretty cute in my passenger seat.” You blushed, looking out the window, suddenly bashful. “You blushing over there, sweet girl? It’s true, y’know.” His hand reached over the gearshift to rest on your bare thigh, stroking your skin with his thumb. You clasped his hand with both of yours, bringing it to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles before holding your interlocked fingers against your cheek. You held his hand for the rest of the drive home, him giving you a gentle squeeze whenever you started to doze off.

“Stay awake for me just a little longer, honey.”

Finally, you were through the gate and down the winding driveway of your home. Joe switched off the ignition, hopping out of the car and coming around to your side to help you out. “Welcome home, sleepyhead.” Guiding you up the steps of the porch, at least one arm always around you, he fiddled with the lock, getting you both inside before bolting it again. “Hang on there, sweets, hold onto my shoulders,” he said, bending down to undo the little straps of your sandals before kicking off his own shoes.

When he stood back up to his full height, he was met with your adoring and almost sad gaze looking up at him. “What is it, babygirl?” he asked softly.

“You just take such good care of me. I didn’t know people like you existed, much less what I did to deserve one,” you said quietly, sobering for an instant.

He pulled you into his chest in a warm embrace. “You deserve the world, sweet girl. I promise you, I’m the lucky one here. I love looking after you. I love you.”

“I love you too, so much. Thank you.”

He held you for a moment longer, gently swaying you side to side, before pulling back, all business. “Okay, mission get (y/n) to bed, commencing now. Let’s get you some water.”

Having filled up your water bottle and gotten you to take two Advil, Joe led you upstairs to your bedroom. While you stripped out of your going out clothes, Joe tossed a pair of boyshorts and one of his long sleeve tees onto the bed for you to change into. You gratefully got into the comfy clothes, happy to discard your mini skirt. Joe, in a fresh pair of boxers, deposited your clothes into the laundry hamper before guiding you into the bathroom, hands on your waist.

“Skincare time, baby.” You started to groan, just wanting to crawl into bed, but he cut you off. “Ah ah ah, last time I put you to bed without getting your makeup off you were so mad at me in the morning. Never again, sweet pea. Just a little makeup remover and moisturizer, alright?”

He kissed your cheek before you started swiping a cotton pad across your face, discarding it once it was thoroughly streaked with black. He squeezed some moisturizer onto his fingertips, rubbing his hands together for a moment before gently applying it to your face. Another kiss, this one deposited on your nose, before he handed you your toothbrush, toothpaste already applied. While you brushed, trying to contain the foam with moderate success, he did his own face washing and teeth brushing.

After you’d gargled your mouthwash, Joe guided you to bed, hands on your hips, walking behind you. He pulled the covers back and you crawled in, curling up happily on the soft mattress and letting out an involuntary sigh of satisfaction. Joe climbed in on his side, switching off the lamp and gathering you into his arms.

“C’mere, baby, I’ve got you. You rest that pretty head and we’ll hope you’re in decent shape in the morning.”

“Mhm, I love you, Joey,” you mumbled into his chest, nuzzling against his skin, craving every ounce of his warmth and touch.

“I love you too, sweetheart. Sleep well.”

By the time he pressed a goodnight kiss to the crown of your head, your mind was already fading into a deep, dreamless sleep.

#joe burrow #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow x fem!reader #joe burrow imagine

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moriartyluver · 1 year

Note

Hello love! I was wondering if I can request angst with comfort/fluff where William’s wife who comes from a noble family and is really confident, (if you’ve watched Modern Family than basically the same personality as Gloria) but one day William and her meet a working class, down to earth, nerdy woman and William finds the woman interesting and doesn’t realize the woman is into him and his wife is just panicking on the inside because she’s worried he’s gonna find the woman more interesting than her and than for the next few weeks the woman visits the manor to talk to William and for those weeks William notices how his wife is really emotionally and physically distant and just seems really upset but she refuses to tell him why because of her high ego (comfort/fluff ending though please!<3)

A/N: I listened to “the other woman” by Lana Del Rey while listening to this 😭. Honestly the reader is so me because my ego is so big that I can’t communicate my feelings lol. Thank you for your request, anon! I’ve decided to name the other lady “Agatha” so I’m sorry if I’ve offended anyone by using that but it’s the only one I could really think of

Characters: William James Moriarty x fem! reader

Prompt: (too lazy to write it out) above^^

Format: oneshot

Genre: angst to fluff

Warnings: reader is female, reader is William’s wife, established relationships, mentions of cheating/adultery, mentions of divorce, reader is a bit of a bitch lol, reader has a big ego, kinda longer than usual, reader has William’s last name , mentions of being punished by God, the other woman is really annoying, some characters are a bit OOC. NOT PROOFREAD SO THERE MAY BE SOME GRAMMATICAL AND SPELLING MISTAKES

When William first met you, you were half expecting him to hate your guts. You knew that he had strong views of equality between classes, genders, races etc. so it was u likely that out of all the people he could love, it would be you.

Your parents raised you to be the best of the best. They would constantly be praising you for your intelligence, which they managed to even get you into university to enhance, your looks, which were praised by all the people you would meet, your personality, your humour, your kindness (despite feeling like you were the most unkind person in the world sometimes) and of course, your strong and independent personality.

Nobody would ever dare to talk down to you because you were a woman, and if they did, they wouldn’t even attempt to again because of how much they feared you.

Evidently, all the praise and achievements you received while you grew up did make you a bit…self centred and somewhat egotistical. It wasn’t like you would go out of your way to tell people “hey I think I’m better than you and you suck so you should just go die!” But instead you always tried your best to be a kind and loving person, despite your sometimes overly confident personality.

When you and William had gotten engaged, which was a surprise to some but others described you to be a power couple, you felt something in your heart soften. You were still equally confident, but there was just something about that beautiful man that calmed your souls so much.

You also were involved in the works of the “Lord of crime” and most of the team admired your strategic thinking and often thought of you as the second in command to William. You would sometimes get into petty arguments with Sebastian and Fred and Louis were a bit scared of you but they all loved you all the same.

So when another woman came into the picture, it didn’t take long for your friends to realise that something was terribly wrong.

You and William ended up meeting a woman who requested your services but strangely enough, she hadn’t asked you to kill anyone. She had only asked for an opportunity to study at Durham University, where William would teach mathematics and you would often visit, the rest of the staff knew you well, and accompany him.

Something about the woman, who you now knew as “Agatha” irritated you. Perhaps it was the way she spoke so much but in such an annoying voice where she prolonged the bed of her sentences.

You noticed that she barely said a word to you but she did think it was appropriate for her to keeping talking about mathematical nonsense, which you understood but you couldn’t help but find that she would keep using incorrect terms or mispronouncing them so frequently.

It was obvious that she was working class and that didn’t seem to annoy you that much but her subtle jabs at noble women, (which you understood, could be very annoying as you had to surround yourself with them almost your entire life) felt ever so slightly targeted at you.

Neither William or Agatha could tell you were rolling you eyes at the latter or muttering something under your breath, and eventually you just got so tired of it all that you lied that you were feeling incredibly ill so you and William could leave earlier.

It didn’t take a genius to realise that William was certainly interested in the woman and you feared it was the same way he was interested in you, or even worse, he was more interested in her than in you.

You were so used to people telling you how truly marvellous you were your entire life but for some reason, you now felt terribly insecure. It was as if that woman had something that you did not. She was fairly down to earth and that was something you struggled with. Sure you could be empathetic but with your confidence, it was difficult to act like she did.

The following weeks, Agatha had the nerve to come by the Moriarty manor and attempt to talk to William. You knew she only wanted to talk to your husband because whenever you would open the door with a glare and then a fake smile shortly after, she would begin stuttering, something that had always been unfamiliar to you as you were great when speaking to others even a large audience, and then turn away when she found out that william wasn’t home. It would often go like this:

Knock knock, The door went.

‘It’s her again, isn’t it? That’s the third time this week..’ you would sigh as you walked to the door. You knew if Louis or anyone else would come to the door, they would invite Agatha to sit down and just wait for william while they let her have some tea. The door swung open and indeed, there she was in all her messy glory.

Your eyes would narrow and turn into a cold glare. It would stay that way for a few seconds while a shiver ran down her spine. You really could be as terrifying as people described “Hello there, Adelaide!” Your cold gaze shifted to a soft smile.

Strangely enough, Adelaide was a name more common in noble women than in working class women. This wasn’t intentional, you just couldn’t remember her as anything but ‘the husband stealer’

“A-Ah, hello there Lady (last name)!” That would just annoy you more.

“Please do not use my maiden name. You may refer to me as Lady (name) Moriarty.” You would tell her with a terrifying smile. “Are you looking for my husband ;Lord Moriarty?”

“I- uh, yes! Is Wi- I mean Lord Moriarty, at home?” Was she seriously calling him by his first name?

“He’s out at the university. I was just going to drop his lunch off for him, he seemed to have forgotten it. If you would like to pass something on, I wouldn’t mind taking a note of anything.” You gestured to the lunchbox in your hand

“N-No-I’ll come by another time! Good bye Lady Moriarty..!!” And then she would run off.

This kept going on for weeks and you reloaded that you were starting to avoid going out, in fear she may meet up with your husband behind your back. You were equally as capable of getting her into Durham university as William was yet she never felt the need to tell you anything.

She was sooo into him and William couldn’t even notice. Or maybe he did? Maybe while you were gone, they would have secret meetings in your absence and she would be flirting with him the entire time and maybe even try to-

Even now, you knew you were being paranoid. William wasn’t one to commit adultery. You knew this, and yet you couldn’t help but stand outside the office door while she and William would converse, just to make sure nothing bad happened. You would never allow the door to be locked in case she would try something.

Sometimes Louis would witness you pressing your ear to the door as he would come to deliver tea to the two. He wasn’t one that was experienced in the world of love, but he could tell you were definitely feeling jealous. Everyone in the manor could feel it.

Albert would joke about you following Agatha to see if she was married to anyone, just so you could alert a potential husband that she was probably intending on divorcing him, (alas, that woman was obviously not even courting anyone.) and Moran would make a few jokes about your obvious jealously.

They would all tell you that you were being paranoid and there wasn’t anything to worry about, but you just couldn’t help but feel sick whenever you came home to see that woman was talking to William in the lounge, on the seat you would sit at.

Eventually you just gave up. You, (name) (last name) Moriarty, had given up.

You couldn’t handle the subtle dirty looks she would give you when you entered the room, or the jokes about you that you would overhear her tell her friends and she was starting to become more bold with her affection to William.

If you were really to lose your beloved husband to that woman, the least you could do for yourself was desensitise yourself to a divorce. You wouldn’t talk to William during this time and if you did, it would just be essential things, such as “a letter came for you today” or “Agatha passed on a message”

At night , you would either completely turn your back to William and shake off his hands from your waist while you lay in bed, or sometimes you would just choose to stay with a friend or your parents, who became terribly worried for your well-being, for the night.

At dinner, you would request that food would be brought to your room (you would tell Louis you were busy and just working on a plan but he wouldn’t buy it for a second. Still, he felt as though he couldn’t say anything because you had chosen to become distant with the others as well as your husband) or you wouldn’t eat at all.

Whenever William would try to talk to you, you gave him short responses and he noticed you didn’t even refer to him with nicknames or anything of the sort. Just his full name.

The manor had become increasingly quiet as you grew more distant. There were no longer arguments between you and Moran and the little giggles as you gossiped with James or you spitting fun facts about flowers with Fred. It felt as if you had died.

That’s when it finally clicked in William. You were upset and he had no idea why.

Communication had always been a slight issue in your marriage. Both you and Liam felt like you couldn’t convey your feelings with one another out of the fear you may be seen as week. You had an incredibly large ego when it came to other people’s perceptions of you and William didn’t like worrying others with his woes.

So when William tried to ask you what was wrong, over and over again, you wouldn’t say anything. You’d only give him a blank stare and internally start yelling at him. How could he not notice why you were upset?! It was obvious that that woman had taken him away from you!

William felt as though he was being punished for something terrible by God himself. He would wake up and feel the warmth of your body had disappeared from beside him. He would eat dinner without the sound of your voice talking to him about whatever seems to interest you that evening. He would go to balls and parties just to notice you didn’t even turn up.

His own mother and father in law couldn’t tell him what was wrong. They had gotten the impression that he had left their own wonderful daughter for some average working class lady and your father would refuse to talk to him while your mother would only look at him somewhat sympathetically but wouldn’t tell him a thing either.

Now noticing that you were starting to leave his life, Agatha had started to turn up at the manor more often and for longer periods of time too.

The others noticed this. She wouldn’t get warm greetings from Moran and James or be gifted a flower occasionally by Fred. Even Louis wouldn’t take the nicest tea up for the two of them anymore and it was quite obvious that the other were disappointed with William for not recognising the problem despite being a genius and had all grown to dislike Agatha more than you did. You told them all personally to not bother being unkind towards William because of this (not like they were planning on it) so they didn’t even tell William anything either out of fear they may start getting upset with him.

William was almost entirely clueless until one day came the time that Agatha would visit for the last time.

They had both been sat in William’s office, talking about various academic subjects while drinking tea. William didn’t feel as happy talking to the girl with the mental torture of not having you around anymore, so he felt a little less enthusiastic than usual. Agatha continued talking to William, getting more affectionate with him until eventually, she decided to tell him how she felt.

“Will,” She said “I think I have feelings for you, I have for a long time…it’s just I never had the opportunity to tell you with your wife being around all the time. Now that’s she’s gone-“

That’s when it finally hit him. You were upset with him because you thought that there was something going on between both him and Agatha, even though she was at least 5 years younger that him and not as nearly as perfect as you were.

“I apologise, Miss Jones, but I don’t feel the same way,” Agatha was stunned. How could he not have felt the same way when his wife was finally out of the picture? “And please do not talk about Lady Moriarty like that. I’m asking you to leave as soon as you can.”

She picked up her things and left for good. As she stormed out with a few tears welling up in her eyes and slamming the door, the Moriarty Manor was finally at rest. A couple of smiles threatened to form on both Moran’s and Bonde’s faces while Louis sighed a sigh of relief.

If it were possible to feel more guilty than he already did, then that is how William felt at that moment. How could he not have noticed? How could he have been so foolish? Of course you didn’t want to talk to him, he couldn’t blame you in the slightest.

You were barely ever around anymore, usually at a friends house or your parent’s. You had even been planning on leaving to stay with your parents for good that night but had to come back and pack your things. You had arrived to do so just as Agatha was leaving, and noticed the tears in her eyes while she glared at you in annoyance. What on earth had occurred here?

When you opened the door, everyone greeted you with a smile while you stood in confusion. Were they trying to humiliate you further?

You tried to brush it off and went to your bedroom to go and get all your remaining things before leaving for good. You eventually came across a photograph that had been taken at your wedding with William. He was looking at you so lovingly and you seemed so happy to be marrying a man like him. That’s when the tears just started flowing and they continued to flow until you were interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

“(Name)?”

You turned your head to face the entrance to your shared bedroom. There stood the tall blonde man from the photograph.

“William?”

He couldn’t hold back anymore. He knelt down and cupped your cheeks in his hands then pressed his lips against yours in a heated kiss. Just when you thought things couldn’t get more confusing.

His tears mixed with yours as you kissed him back, unaware of what sparked his affection but melting into it anyways. After a few seconds or so, you pulled away, so much more confused than when you entered the place you once called home.

“I understand if you never forgive me, my love, but I’m terribly sorry for how I’ve been treating you as of late,” he told you as you opened your mouth to speak “I promise you, nothing had ever gone on between her and I. I’ve only ever had feelings for you-“

He was interrupted by you kissing him once more then pulling away with a melancholy smile.

“I believe you, darling,” you said “I think it was partially my fault for allowing my ego to stop me from informing you of my own worries.”

“So you won’t be leaving us then?” You chuckled at this. You certainly missed how needy and clingy he could be in the privacy of your own bedroom, and nobody would ever see just how affectionate he was. He held you in his arms, waiting for a response.

“I won’t be leaving you any time soon, pretty boy,” you kissed his pink cheeks “even if I were a ghost, I’d stay by you till the end of time.”

#moriarty the patriot #william james moriarty #william moriarty #william moriarty x reader #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #sherlock holmes #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori x reader #moriarty the patriot x reader #mtp william #william james moriarty x reader

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senseless-writing · 2 years

Text

A Life Through Few Words

Pairing: Austin Butler x reader

Summary: Austin doesn’t enjoy talking about his girlfriend with the media. And if he does, it’s through very little words. Only he gets to truly know those moments that he cherishes so much.

Warnings: Elvis 2022 spoliers??

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this one, so let me know what you guys think! Also, grammarly was being a real bitch today, so I’m sorry if there’s some errors

If you would like to be added to any of my taglists (I’ve got a general tag list, along with specific ones for each fandom I’ve written for thus far), plz leave a comment or ask and let me know which one!

Masterlist

----------

Austin couldn’t remember who it was that told him to always keep his personal life separate from his media persona.

He felt horrible for forgetting their name. But it was so long ago, and he’d been so star struck that a lead of the show they were filming was actually talking to him. The moment itself sort of blurred together. In fact, it wasn’t until years later that the words they exchanged held any meaning for him. At the time, he just didn’t understand why the public would ever care so much about the personal life of an extra.

It hadn’t occurred to him that this person was predicting Austin’s inevitable climb to stardom. Sometimes, that idea still kept him awake at night. With pride in himself, with gratitude in everyone who helped him get there, and with slight embarrassment at not being able to remember that poor guy’s name.

But now he was in a better position to appreciate the advice. It was finally time to promote the movie he’d poured his soul into for the past two years. Elvis was a dream come true, not only because it gave him the chance to express himself in ways he never could before, but because embodying such an icon was a blessing in itself.

It was thrilling and terrifying all at the same time. Nerve-racking, yet rewarding. Euphoric, while haunting.

It was a paradox of feelings.

And he’d expected that. He’s expected the feelings and questions and an overwhelming amount of scrutiny from the world around him. If anything, he was ready for it. Excited, even.

But what he hadn’t expected was the sudden obsession with his love life.

“A little birdie tells me, Austin, that you have a certain special someone in your life.”

“A birdie told you,” he laughed, though his cheeks flushed red. “Is that so?”

Austin looked away for a moment to properly ground himself. He hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t even discussed it with his girlfriend. They met a few months before Covid lock down, right around the time he booked Elvis. It was exciting and new, but then the world shut down, and things got serious real fast.

Despite it all, it was a blessing for them. With the whole world confined to their lonely corners, there were no paparazzi pushing themselves between the couple. They were completely alone; well, as alone as they could be, with Austin practically surrendering himself to the world of Elvis Presely. But Y/n took that in stride, and the two were given the privacy they needed to learn how to love each other.

It was perfect, and Austin knew perfect things don’t last forever. Still, he’d hoped it would for a little while longer.

“Yes,” his interviewer drawled, the desperation for a juicy confession practically oozing from her expression. “A very reliable birdie, in fact. They say you and this mystery woman have fallen quite hard for one another. Is there anything you want to share about her? How does she feel about all of the chaos that’s come with this new film of yours?”

Austin felt the flush begin to crawl itself up his neck, and he reached his arm back to rub at it with discomfort. He was sure to keep a bashful smile on his face when he responded. “No, I, uh, I don’t think there’s anything I want to share about that,” he said. His words were light, his eyes looking at the camera with a sort of Elvis charm that he’d nearly perfected. But his voice was firm enough to prevent any follow up questions. “But thank you for providing the space.”

----------

Y/n whirled around to look him in the eye. “You actually said that?” she exclaimed.

Austin threw his head back against his pillow and groaned in embarrassment. “Yes! But what was I supposed to say! Why would they even ask me that!”

Y/n, from her place in front of the bathroom mirror, laughed at his mortified expression. “Because your fans wanna know, baby. You know how people get about celebrities.”

“Celebrity,” he marveled at the word. “I’m an actor.”

“Same thing,” Y/n shrugged, sauntering over to her boyfriend in bed.

He laid there like a god, sprawled out on his back with hands interlocked beneath his head. Wearing only a pair of plaid sweatpants that were certainly worse for wear, Y/n wanted nothing more than to curl up next to him, run her hands up and down his torso and marvel at the warmth he radiated.

So that’s exactly what she did. Because he loved her and she loved him, and such an agreement permitted her to express her infatuation with him whenever she wished to do so. Sometimes, she still pinched herself when the thought became too surreal.

She laid herself completely on top of him, until they were chest to chest and nose to nose. And she was right; he was warm. So warm, in fact, that when he wrapped her up in a bear hug with chuckles rumbling deep within his chest, Y/n resisted the urge to tuck her face against his neck and submit to the blanket of comfort he provided. But she stood her ground, only because she preferred the view of this position better.

This way, she was the direct recipient of his beaming smile.

“Hi,” he whispered to her.

She laughed, and Austin moved one hand from her waist to cup the back of her head, scratching softly in a motion that could only be described as tender. With gentle pressure, he urged her head forward until she was just within reach, before leaning up the rest of the way to press a kiss to her smiling lips.

Humming in satisfaction, he pulled away, and almost immediately regretted it. After a long day, full of questions he wasn’t prepared to answer, this was Austin’s most perfect reward.

Between quiet kisses and broken smiles, Y/n whispered against his cheek where she'd pressed her lips a moment earlier. “You could have told them about me…if you wanted.”

“Is that what you want?” he sighed when her lips traveled to the sweet spot on his neck, right under his jaw.

She didn’t answer, opting to continue her assault on his neck and the front of his chest. Austin felt his whole body flush, but was much more welcoming to the feeling this time around. He was obsessed with the way Y/n made him feel, with the way loving her made him feel. His hands were needy against her skin, and his touch varied in degrees, from tenderly cupping her head to squeezing her ass with such a ferocity that it would’ve embarrassed him if he wasn’t enthralled in her wandering lips.

But he’d asked a question. And while nobody who knew Austin would say his stubbornness outweighed his passion, they would most definitely tell you that he always put the needs of those around him before his own wants.

“Y/n,” he rasped as he tapped her back to grab her attention.

“Hm?” she hummed, resting her chin against his chest to look up at him with a blooming smile and sparkling eyes.

Austin almost forgot what he was going to say.

“What do you want me to do, baby?” he asked her after a moment's pause. She gave him a cheeky smile, and he pinched her cheek and laughed. “About the questions, I mean!”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I don’t want you to feel like you’re lying to anybody, and I don’t want to feel like I’m being…hidden away, I guess.”

Austin ran his hand through her hair absentmindedly as he listened. He was always so good at valuing what she had to say.

“But I also just want to stay in our bubble of privacy, you know? At least for a little while longer. I like pretending that I have you all to myself.”

In a flash, Austin was grabbing her under the arms and dragging her up his chest. Y/n huffed as she slid up his body until they were face to face again. “You do have me all to yourself, silly girl.”

She tsked at him with a teasing expression. “Nuh uh, you’ve got fans now. You know, the roaring crowd and screaming girls and what not. You’ve got to spread your time between us.”

Y/n squealed as her world was suddenly flipped around. Now, Austin was on top in the same position they’d once been, except this time, her whole body felt the pressure of his weight pressed against her. She groaned, but wrapped her arms around him all the same.

“They’ll all have to get in line behind you, Y/n,” he hushed. This time, he was the one pressing kisses to her neck. Y/n was suddenly appreciative of the reversed roles. “My best girl. My only girl.”

“I know,” she reassured him. “I was just kidding.”

“So what’s the plan, sweetheart?”

“Well,” she started, running her hands through his hair. “You can admit to having a girlfriend. There’s no point denying it, and if you did, I don’t think either of us would be happy.”

He nodded to her with a soft look on her face. Y/n couldn't believe how lucky she was.

“But maybe just don’t give too much away, you know? Answer questions, but vaguely.”

“Ah, I see,” he mused. “You want me to be sneaky about it.”

“Exactly,” she affirmed.

“I’ll have to become real creative in my question-dodging skills.”

“You’re an actor, baby. You’ll figure it out.”

----------

“Did you feel the pressure at any point? You know, with playing such an important icon to so many people?”

Sometimes, Austin felt like a puppet. Everyday, people dressed him up in whatever way they chose, and threw him out in front of a million different cameras. He then spent the next six hours listening to questions he’d already answered, and somebody behind the scenes pulled his strings in just the right way to make him answer them again.

That’s not to say he wasn’t grateful for the opportunity to talk about the things which made his heart soar. It was insane to him that people out there cared at all about what he had to say. But he just wished certain questions were different.

“Yeah,” he agreed for the hundredth time that day. “There’s definitely that feeling of not wanting to disappoint anyone, you know? Not just his fans, but also his friends and family who knew him better than anyone else. This project is just as much for them as it is for the public, maybe even more so. It really had me, uh, waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, you know, unable to sleep ‘cuz my heart was just pounding so much.”

They both chuckled for half a second. “That sounds horrible,” the interviewer sympathized with him.

Austin ran his finger across his lips in a soothing gesture. The shy kid in him always got bashful whenever he made someone laugh. “It was worth it for sure. But at the time, it really felt like I was being haunted.”

“Did your girlfriend help you through that at all?”

Austin was proud of himself for not choking on his spit. How random was that question?

“Sure,” he stuttered for half a second. “Yeah, I had a lot of support around me for moments like that. I wouldn’t have gotten through this film if I didn't have my friends and family.”

----------

Y/n held her boyfriend close to her chest, tucking his head under her chin to press gentle kisses on his sweat-matted hair. She was also rubbing circles on his heaving chest to calm his raging heart. It felt like stamping bulls against her palm.

“You have to relax,” she whispered against the shell of his ear.

Austin shivered both from her touch and the nerves. “I just want this to be perfect. Too many people need this to be perfect.”

“You can’t think about that, baby,” her nails dragging slowly up and down his arms. He shivered again, and let himself breathe deep and melt into her arms. “That expectation isn’t fair to you or anyone else on set.”

He was laying between her legs, the sheets thrown from both their bodies as anxiety overtook his senses. Most nights weren’t this bad, but tonight was. So bad that sleep barely came, and when it did, ideas of booing crowds and disappointed loved ones filled Austin's brain and made his heart stop.

“Alright,” Y/n suddenly sighed beneath him. Her breath was warm against his cheek as she did. “Listen to me. Are you listening, Aus?”

He squeezed her calf and nodded to let her know that yes, he was listening. He always had a hard time not listening whenever his girlfriend was concerned.

“You can’t go into this wanting to become Elvis Presley, baby. It’s impossible, we both know that.”

The weight of that impossible feat was what pressed on Austin’s chest day in and day out. And despite the perfectly tailored costumes he wore, the suits and shoes were always a bit too big. Like he couldn’t fit the persona, and nothing he did would ever change that.

“But your goal should be to understand him. The good, the bad, and everything in between. The parts people know, and the parts they don’t know they’re missing. It’s only then that you can portray the true Elvis to the rest of the world.”

Austin’s eyes fluttered closed as he listened to her words. They were soft and airy and anchored him to reality in a way nothing else could.

“And Austin,” she laughed in disbelief. “You’ve done that. You’ve done that, and then some. Have you seen our condo? It’s an Elvis memorial in here!”

He huffed a laugh of his own at that. Neither of them had realized how much energy he would put into becoming this person until it was actually time for him to do it. For him, the realization of what he had to do was a relief. For her, his dedication was something to marvel at.

“Tomorrow, you’re going to do your scenes and pour your soul into them, like you always do. And all the preparation you’ve done will take care of the rest.”

Austin tilted his head back to look at her, albeit from an awkward angle. An overwhelming amount of gratitude came over him at that moment.

“I love you,” he smiled up at her.

Y/n met his confession with a willing kiss.

----------

“And those looks, man. They must have just been insane to see yourself in!”

A genuine laugh slipped from Austin’s lips. “For sure, for sure. And they’re so beautifully made! It really helps with the whole process, though. You know, once I was in them, it stopped feeling so much like I was playing pretend and more like I really was this person.”

“Did you ever just look in the mirror and think ‘Who the hell is that guy?’”

Now, Austin isn’t an impulsive man. He’s always held the impression that words are powerful things, and should be treated as such. So when the time came for him to answer this question, he really contemplated what to say. He picked something out, rolled it around in his head for a moment, and decided to peel back the curtains he’d pulled on his personal life thus far.

Only because he wanted to, and for no reason other than that.

“Sort of,” he nodded with a coy smile. “Though, to be honest, I loved getting to wear all the costumes. Especially the jumpsuits, you know, because those were just so incredibly detailed. It was a real pleasure. But my girlfriend definitely had a lot of opinions about it.”

An echo of laughs filled the room, coming from even those behind the camera.

“Oh?” the interviewer inquired. “She didn’t like Austin Butler Elvis?”

Austin wouldn’t notice, but everyone who watched the interview could easily tell how bright his eyes shined when talking about Y/n. “You know what, I think she did. She loved the outfits and all the get-up, but she just didn’t like it on me too much.”

“Well, I would say she’s the only girl in the world to hold that sentiment.”

A boyish grin broke out on his face, and he tucked his chin to his chest to hide the blush. “Thanks man, I appreciate that. No, I don’t know, I think she just didn’t like how different I looked. I spent a lot of time in that chair, and by the end of it, Elvis was there. Austin was sort of just in the background.”

----------

When Y/n heard the trailer door open, she was expecting to see her handsome boyfriend walk through it.

Not…whoever the hell that was.

Within seconds, she was laughing so hard that tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. She could barely look up at him, now, with her doubled-over position on their couch.

“Is it really that bad?” Austin jested, adjusting his belt with feigned insecurity.

His red satin shirt flared at the sleeves in true 70’s fashion and was unbuttoned half way down the chest. Though Y/n appreciated the view, it didn’t end there. Instead, the shirt tucked into the craziest striped pants she’d ever seen, held up by an iconic jewel-encrusted belt with chains hanging all around his waist. And to top it all off, square sunglasses that could only belong to the truest of stars were firmly poised on his smiling face.

They were filming parts of the Vegas rehearsal today. Y/n knew that. She wasn’t quite sure what she expected him to be wearing, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“It’s…” she struggled to get her laughing under control. “Definitely something.”

“Hm,” he huffed, moving closer to stand directly in front of her.

His steps caused the chains around him to jingle as he moved, which hit Y/n with another round of aggressive giggles.

“I can’t-” she wheezed, and Austin immediately began shaking his hips to mimic that of an Elvis dance move, giving her a true and honest show. The only sound that filled his trailer for nearly a minute was his jingling belt and Y/n’s infectious laughter. He only stopped when her face bloomed red enough that he feared she would pass out from lack of oxygen.

“Come ‘ere, lil mama,” he beckoned, leaning down to cup her flushed face and press a firm kiss on her lips.

Y/n always marveled at how quick Austin was to slip back into the persona he knew so well. Sure, when they were at home, he often switched between his own voice and the Elvis accent, just to make sure it always felt authentic when he used it. But when he was there, on set, it was different.

Austin didn’t exist anymore. Not really, at least. With the clothes and makeup and hair came the swagger. The confidence, the movement, the mannerisms. It was such a smooth transition for him to make, but for Y/n, it was sometimes hard to differentiate.

“Okay,” she patted his bare chest. “Go be Elvis, ‘cuz I want Austin back by the end of the night.”

“Not a fan of dating Elvis Presley, hm?”

She kissed both of his cheeks before urging him towards the door. “Don’t get me wrong, Elvis is hot. But I like my baby more.”

When she pulled on one of his chains on the way out, the laugh that boomed from his chest was 100% Austin Butler.

----------

“Was learning how to sing like Elvis more difficult than learning how to talk like him, or did all of that stem from learning the accent? ‘Cuz I have to say, you sound incredible in the film.”

“Thank you,” he spoke genuinely. Any praise for his work in this movie was more appreciated than he could possibly convey. “That’s incredibly kind of you. The singing was something I had to focus a bit more energy on, because it was something I’d never done before. I don’t really sing in public, let alone with a voice like Elvis’s.”

“It’s so insane to me that you’ve never sung for a crowd before,” she continued to applaud him. “I never would’ve guessed you weren’t a singer. Did you have a lot of help to get you ready for filming?”

He was nodding before she even finished her question. “Most definitely. I had a base to start with, of course, and Baz heard that in the recordings I sent him. But then I had plenty of voice coaches, both for speaking and singing, who really helped me develop the sound in a much healthier manner. For my vocal chords, that is.”

Austin paused and thought over his next words carefully before speaking them.

“And then during covid,” he continued. “I couldn't really get in touch with any of those people. But it was so important to me that I didn’t lose the momentum I had going, you know? So in those six months…it was actually my girlfriend who sort of pulled through. The two of us would spend hours just listening to clips of him perform and finding the best ways for me to replicate that sound. It really boiled down to the intricate details, and I couldn’t have been so meticulous without her help.”

“That sounds like some awesome teamwork.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. He loved turning the light to Y/n, even if she wasn’t there to receive it. “She’s really amazing.”

----------

Y/n would never admit it, but “Love Me Tender,” was one of her most favorite songs for Austin to sing. It meant so much to her, and memories of standing on her father’s toes and twirling around their kitchen always flooded her mind whenever she heard it. It reminded her of joy, of bliss, and of love.

All things that Austin made her feel.

So sitting on the couch, across from her beautiful boyfriend as he serenaded her for the hundredth time that night was just about a dream come true. It was sort of an added bonus that she got to help him in the process of perfecting it.

She held her hand out, motioning for him to stop. Austin was mid-note, but stopped at once to hear what she had to say. Her focus was slightly askew, eyes diverted to better hear the sound of the King’s voice flowing through one ear bud.

“Try that line again, baby, but with a little more vibrato on the last note.”

He nodded, took a breath, and tried again. He could see it in her eyes as he sang, see how she measured his own voice against the one playing on her phone. When he was done, she tilted her head back and forth for a moment, almost as if weighing the two sounds on a scale.

“So close, one more time. This time, let your voice drawl. It’s like a breathless sound, you know? Like he’s so blown away by love and what not.”

Austin laughed at her then, but she waved away his distraction. “Go go go, do it or you’re gonna lose it!”

When he thought of a breathless love, he thought of her. It was easier to sing that way. At the end of the note, he was shocked when Y/n jumped from her criss-crossed position on the couch to dance around their living room floor.

“Yes!” she jumped, sliding around in nothing but his over sized t-shirt and fuzzy socks. It was the most radiating sight he’d ever seen. “That’s it, that’s it! You gotta do it just like that every time, baby.”

“I don’t even know if we’ll be singing this song yet,” he tried to explain to her over excited expression.

“Doesn’t matter! It’s the style, not the song that matters. That sounded perfect!”

The look on Austin’s face suddenly shifted. His smile softened, his eyes glazed over. Y/n wasn’t sure what happened, but the air in the room turned static. Like a magnet placed between them, her heart was pulled to his.

“What?” she asked breathlessly.

“You’re just…” his words died on the tip of his tongue.

“What?” she pushed again.

“Cute.”

A laugh bubbled from her lips before she could help it. “Cute? That’s what’s got you looking like that?”

He reached out and made grabby hands towards her, like a child reaching for his favorite toy. She listened to both his gesture and her will. Within seconds, she settled herself on his lap, and the cool touch of his rings where he cupped her neck was enough to drive her wild.

“I mean, I could use other words,” he hummed. “Like beautiful. Or radiant. Heavenly in every way, from looks to ways to words.”

The urge to press kisses anywhere his lips could reach was almost too much to ignore. But he preferred looking in her eyes when professing his love.

“But,” he snaked his hands up her neck to her cheeks, where he squeezed until her lips were smushed together. “Cute is the best way to put it.”

Y/n threw herself against his chest with arms firmly around his neck, if only to hide from his praising words. He laughed and rubbed his arms up and down her back.

“Thank you for always being there to help me,” he mumbled against her head.

As if she would do anything else. “I always will be.”

----------

“Not to point out the elephant in the room, Austin, but it looks like you’ve brought a special someone with you tonight!”

Austin knew what he meant with that question. Of course he did. But he was too high on excitement to care. When in Cannes with the people he loves, ready to see the movie (and share the movie) that he was incredibly proud of, nothing would knock him down from cloud nine.

“I’ve got a lot of special people with me tonight,” he agreed with a bit of mischief in his eyes. “My dads around here somewhere. First time out of the country for him, in fact, so that’s really exciting.”

The interviewer didn’t bother asking the question again. They both knew what he wanted.

Austin would budge. But only a little. “And of course, my beautiful girlfriend is here.”

“A first time outing for the most secretive couple in Hollywood! At least now we understand why you’ve been keeping her all to yourself for so long! Isn’t she stunning, ladies and gentlemen?”

It was funny how quickly pride and jealousy could swarm in someone's chest. An extremely odd paradox, the feeling was.

“You wanna help us put a name to the face, Mr. Presley?” the man joked, though Austin knew he was seriously asking.

But luckily for him, he’d recently learned a thing or two about drawing a line when it was needed.

“No, uh,” he shut the idea down with an easy going smile. “I think I want to keep her to myself for a little while longer.”

The two men laughed, which allowed the conversation to move back towards what they were all really there for.

Austin and Y/n had talked about this before the big event. Her being there didn’t change what they’d already agreed upon. She wasn’t in the limelight by nature of her job, and Austin would do anything to keep her that way for as long as possible. Despite this, the media wouldn’t stop her from being there for the person she loved.

He still couldn’t believe that was him.

Of course, they knew everyone would know her full name before the night was over whether he told them or not. But they couldn’t help that, and wouldn’t waste any time worrying about it.

He flew through the interviews with a newfound ease. This was the moment he’d been waiting for his whole life. With the hard work done, and praise for the film from all the people who mattered, all he could feel was joy. Joy and gratitude for his love who was waiting just around the corner.

Y/n was always behind him. Following him to every camera, every photo op. There was never anything but a smile on her face whenever he turned back to check on her. With thumbs up, encouraging him forward, he thought he’d never have the strength to do another press junction without her now that he knew what it was like to have her there.

It was the final line of carpet before they walked inside that Austin finally got to invite her forward. He held his hand out, motioning for her to fill the empty space on his arm, and she gave him a look suddenly full of fear. His face immediately softened to an expression only she could read. It told her it’s okay, you don’t have to, and she knew he meant it. But after a moment's hesitation, she was hiking her dress up to skip forward and meet him halfway.

“Hey pretty girl,” he cooed, pulling her close by the hip. Those watching screamed at the interaction, and Y/n turned her head to duck from the flashing cameras.

“I think I’m going blind,” she giggled when he bent down to hear her better. He placed a kiss on the shell of her ear.

“A few more minutes and we’ll be inside. Then, the real magic begins.”

“I seriously can’t wait! It’s gonna be so good, I just know it.”

So they stood there and let random strangers take their picture. It was peculiar to Y/n, and she felt the constant bubbling of laughter in her chest throughout the whole ordeal. She was also acutely aware of how stupid she must look standing next to this man. Here he was, smoldering the camera with the poise of an expert. Meanwhile, she was smiling so hard the whole time, teeth and all, with squinted eyes and rosy cheeks.

When Austin turned to look at her, and noticed her unfiltered joy, he couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss those cheeks with admiration.

God, she was beautiful.

And he didn’t mind sharing that beauty with the world. They could take her picture, wonder about her name, and pull at the threads of words he spoke about her on occasion. He’d let them do it.

Because at the end of the day, nobody but him got to see the life they lived behind closed doors. That was the beauty of it, and he’d never been more appreciative of the advice someone gave him all those years ago.

General Tag List: @gluepoo

#austin butler #austin butler fic #austin butler x reader #elvis movie #elvis 2022 #elvis presley #elvis biopic #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fluff

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goldustwomun · 2 years

Text

right where you left me (m.m.)

pairing: matt murdock x reader

summary: snippets of how you once met matt murdock accidentally, and then purposefully on the same day every year.

warnings: smut; oral (m receiving); fingering (f receiving); p in v sex; angst; time jumps; giving november 9th by colleen hover xoxo; unedited <3

wc: 4.6k+

note: she’s baaaack! i’ve been barely motivated to get this done for the past month (????) but here it is! finally! it’s based on a request but i cannot for the life of me find it now xoxo and i’m not sure how much i will be writing given the fact that i’ve started uni (first year shit and all that), but i will do my best :) hope you all enjoy!!

It was a fluke that you had even shown up to the bar on the corner of 34th street, the border of Hell’s Kitchen and about as far as Matt would ever venture. You didn’t think he’d show up, knowing he had his own firm to take care of now, a life, a job, a potential partner or whatever it was he called them.

You knew all of this, not because he had told you, but because a month earlier, when you’d been drunk out of your mind on a Monday night, weeping into an empty bottle of wine you’d opened and finished yourself, you’d opened your laptop and typed his name into the search bar, stomach clenching at every bit of information you found.

And you knew – the pesky feeling had scratched at your mind until past midnight – that it had been almost a year and he had most definitely moved on from the almost one-night-stand the two of your shared, while you still felt him lurking in your bones, stuck like molasses on the edge of a spoon.

But it’s Matt Murdock, for crying out loud.

Of course he would be the one you would never get over. How could you let go of the man who sensed your every worry despite only having met an hour prior, sent you swoon worthy upturns of mouths that had you wanting to kiss those cheeky grins right off of his face? The man who stared like he could really, truly, see you?

You’d asked yourself all of that and more in the past thirty minutes, casually swirling the teaspoon in your stale cup of coffee, needing a clear state of mind as the jetlag had your eyes begging to shut. Coffee at a bar was never the right idea but you were desperate, in more ways than one.

There’s no way he remembered, you reasoned internally, doing your best to not stare too intensely out of the glass window you sat by. Everyone, out there on the street, moved with a precision and purpose you’d lacked in the last year. You could feel yourself flailing in the dark, grasping at the ends of things and people and emotions you could never get a firm grip on.

So this, the coffee and the possibility of him, of more, was a last ditch attempt of soothing that phantom ache.

If he showed up, even though you knew he wouldn’t, maybe you’d be able to get back that piece of your heart he took with him when he left the last time. You hadn’t realised it was gone until you were already in the cab, the airport your final destination, where you clutched your chest and felt a newfound emptiness, a lightness you never asked for, that hadn’t been there a day earlier.

One year ago, you met Matt Murdock by accident. You drank and laughed and blushed at everything he threw your way, and said thank you even when you could sense he was about to leave you wounded and alone all over again. You were beyond desperate, for reasons unknown to even you, for another drink, another joke, another hidden caress under the table, so you did what any sane person would in such close proximity to someone so God-like, so Devilish.

“How about this, I’ll meet you back here in a year, and we can pick up where we left off?”

He chuckled into his drink, setting it down then shifting in his seat to face you, and the moment his knee knocked into yours, you knew you were a goner. “And where is it that we’re leaving off, hm?” He had a way of making even the most simplest of situations and sentences charged with an unfathomable tension.

“Well I think, and please, correct me if I’m wrong– but I think you’re about to ask me to your place and maybe, possibly… fuck my brains out?” You said it like a question, leaving enough room to label it as some unnecessarily complex joke if he seemed at all deterred.

Instead, he leaned closer, breath curling against the sensitive shell of your ear while his hand, large and calloused, gripped the bare expanse of your inner thigh. You snapped your legs shut instinctively, trapping his hand in between them, and he only smirked like that was exactly what he wanted: to be between your legs forever.

“I’m not that kind of guy, sweetheart,” he teased breathlessly. Liar.

You shook your head, then remembering yourself, skimmed your nose up the line of his jaw until you were mimicking his position. “I think you’re exactly that kind of guy. And guess what?” you prompted, and he responded with a nick of his teeth against your skin– “I’m that kind of girl, as well.”

Looking back, none of it made sense to you and it probably hadn’t to him either, but in that moment of alcohol-induced lust, it was the sexiest thing you could think of given how dumb and foolish he had left you in such little amount of time.

You left the bar soon after to catch a red-eye back home, to your normal, brutally mundane, everyday life of sleep, work, eat, repeat– no time for handsome strangers with wandering hands and inappropriate promises.

A chair scraped against the wood-panelled floors next to you, the sound irritating enough to paint a scowl across your face that you planned to aim at whatever idiot–

Oh.

Oh. “Huh, funny bumping into you. Mind if I sit?”

It took all of five minutes for the two of you to drag the other into the bathroom, thanking whatever God there was up there, looking down at the two of you pawing at each other, for the single stall.

“That’s it sweetheart, open up for me,” Matt cooed, tugging your chin down as he painted his cock across your lips, hissing abruptly when your tongue skimmed out to lick at his weeping slit. He couldn’t stop his hips from bucking up, forcing the entire head into your awaiting mouth, all hot and wet and exactly as he’d imagined it. Fucking heaven.

Matt gathered your hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail as he thrust shallowly into you, mouth hung open in awe or shock, you weren’t entirely sure. But it was perfect, he was perfect, panting and gasping and entirely ruffled from your hands with his pants shucked down and his shirt half buttoned.

You looked up through bleary eyes, the tears stinging them shut but you persisted, not wanting to miss a moment of him in all his annoying beauty, looking entirely like some sort of fallen angel with the halo of yellowed light around him from the flickering bulbs in the bathroom.

“You’re doing so well, sweethe–fuck!” You swallowed around him, your nails dug into his bare thighs, whining around his length and pulling at the short hairs in admonishment but he retaliated with a sharp tug on your hair, halting your movements as he guided you to stand up, the hard length of him jabbing into your hips as he pressed his mouth roughly to yours.

“Be good for me now, I’ve waited an entire year for this and don’t need you acting like a brat.”It was deliciously mean and exactly how you wanted it, so all you could do was nod with pleading eyes, whining your acceptance and submission.

His tongue flicked out across your puffed lips, swollen and pink, and he moaned at the taste of him on your tongue. You almost lost it right then and there, unable to cope with the pretty sounds he was making as they scraped at your insides, as heat filled your belly.

He was how you remembered, as attentive and giving as he had been a year earlier.

When he slid in next to you, face already pulled up in a sardonic smirk and hand sliding up your thigh– surprising enough that you admittedly choked a little on your coffee, you’d eventually found yourself whispering, begging, for something hard, Matt, something hard and fast and a little mean.

You don’t know where it came from, and from the conflicted look on his face, neither did he. He wasn’t a naturally cruel person, had that kind of warm, gooey smile that lit up the whole damn universe, but something flickered in his expression and he was, soon enough, gripping your wrist tight enough to bruise, urging you quietly in your ear to find the bathroom because he needed you now.

Maybe later, when you tried to rationalise your actions, your thoughts, your feelings, you’d deduce it was because you needed to taint his perfection, even a little bit. If there was even a slight chance he could fuck himself out of your system and you’d no longer depend on him as whatever emotional crutch or midday fantasy he’d become, maybe you’d make it the rest of your life without needing.

“Please, please, Matt. Want you inside of me,” you whimpered into his probing mouth, fingers tugging at his short strands of hair, hot breath gasping like the air was running out of the room and he was your only source of oxygen.

“I dunno, baby, think you deserve it?” he taunted, that same look, the one that screamed desire and power and I fucking own you aimed at you had you nodding dumbly at him, eyes wide and desperate, and he forced himself to look away, spinning your around and pushing you into the marble counter of the sink.

“I want you to watch yourself fall apart,” he whispered, voice deadly, grip strong and unmoving. And you wondered if it was the Devil himself currently pushing down your trousers, hooking your panties to the side, sliding a finger through your slick folds once, twice, before ramming in with little to no warning.

“Oh–” you all but shouted, agape and knuckles turning white as you were forcibly shoved forward. His hand, calloused and scraped but somehow soft and delicate at the same time, held onto your shoulder, while the other travelled up your front, groping and searching and taking, until it rested against your throat.

You were pulled back against him, could feel his muscles shifting through the thin material of his shirt as he pistoned his hips up into you, pulling you down with his hold on you as he dealt you promises in your ear.

It was hard to hear, words getting lost between pants and groans and the ringing that had begun since he showed up, but you savoured every piece, every sound, anyway.

“Fuck– fucking, fuck. You’re tight.” Matt shoved a hand down your front, plucking at your clit with an easy expertise that had your thighs quivering. You wondered if this was what he wanted to do a year ago when you’d trapped his hand in the same position, and with the way he seemed to throb inside you, somehow going faster and harder and deeper, you think it’s an appropriate assumption for your rather inappropriate position.

“Just for you,” you promised, nodding and words tumbling out, tripping over each other until you weren't sure what was real and what wasn’t. “I haven’t– I haven’t been with anyone, not since we almost– we–”

The moment crashed down on you moments later as you realised what you’d admitted. It was pathetic, you were pathetic, and you felt him still almost instantaneously. The change in pace had you clawing back at him, urging him to continue and forget because your mind was scrambled and you were so close.

“Matt, please. You stopped– Why’d you–” you begged around a sob, your voice hoarse and unrecognisable to even your own ears.

But he was pulling out, tightening his pants around his waist and then helping to pull yours up as well. Next thing you knew, you were being turned around, still flushed and pliant and throbbing with a need only he could fulfil.

He brushed your hair back, damp with sweat, as his hands cupped your face, the air shifting from borderline animalistic to something softer, sweeter, a side of him you hadn’t encountered yet between the first time and now when he’d been all cocky grins and charming words.

His thumb traced the ridges of your face, like he was trying to remember the impression of you through his touch, slowly putting together a portrait in his mind with every glide of rough skin. Then, he leaned down, kissed you all sweet that you wondered if you’d imagined the man from earlier.

It was silent for a beat, then another, and when he finally spoke your stomach dropped. “You waited for me? The whole year you never–”

“It wasn’t– I didn’t–” you stammered, seizing up as every defensive thought and argument you could think of fought to be heard. “I didn’t wait,” you said eventually, exasperated and embarrassed. You turned to look away, ears burning. “Not for you, it wasn’t a choice. I was just– I’ve been busy and well, I’m busy right now. In fact, I’m here for work and– stop! Stop that!”

He was laughing. Whether it was because of your lame arguments or the way you never really finished a sentence– you weren’t sure but likely both.

“What– why are you laughing?” you asked pointedly, shoving him back until he fell against the opposite wall, the space between you like a no man’s land you didn’t dare enter, not until you knew what was up.

“You’re just cute, that’s all,” he reasoned, that same stupid smile on his face that had you wanting to get on your knees all over again, even if the floor was grimy and the lighting in the restroom so terribly unflattering you were sure you couldn’t look anything that resembled attractive in it.

Matt, on the other hand, looked stunning. It annoyed you that you noticed that, still believed it even after his sudden change in mood.

“That’s not– I’m not–” you retaliated.

“You're not– what? Cute?” he stalked forward, palm on either side of your hips as his lips puckered up in front of you and you instinctively leaned forward to kiss him.

It took you admittedly long to process what you’d done because a second later, you pulled back, brows knitted together as you stared up at him, convinced it was a curse or a drug or something because why?

There was something about him, magnetic, an innate yearning you couldn’t let go of.

“I think you’re fucking adorable, sweetheart,” he continued, smirking like he’d seen the emotions flicker across your face. “And you know, even if you didn’t wait for me, I waited for you.”

The two of you made another promise: next year, same time, same place.

You smiled to yourself as you left for the airport again, no longer worried you were a psychotic fool a little too addicted to a man she didn’t really know. Because he felt safe and comforting and like a home you never knew you wanted nor needed until you’d stumbled inside, and you think, maybe, possibly, he felt the same way.

He kissed you goodbye, said he’d take you somewhere nicer next year and maybe you’d get to finish what you started– again.

And surprisingly enough, you were fine with it, with waiting and double-taking every time you crossed a brunette in sunglasses on the street.

You’d make it work as long as you ended up in his arms a year later.

He showed up, but you wished he hadn’t.

You never thought you’d see the Matt Murdock stumbling and incoherent, hair sticking up in opposite directions, and reeking of alcohol so strong you’re surprised he hasn’t blacked out yet.

Not to mention the indistinguishable stench of someone’s perfume, the bruises climbing down the column of his neck and disappearing into his partially unbuttoned shirt.

Yeah, you really wished he’d stayed home.

“Sweetheart, baby, love– where are you going!” he called behind you, tripping over invisible cracks in the pavement and suddenly, you wondered if he was even blind because you followed you with a confidence, albeit, a drunken, slurring confidence, that you hadn’t expected.

So you stopped, worried he’d walk right into traffic, and he slammed into you, large palms circling your waist as you steadied him by his shoulders. It was cold, unbelievably so, and his breaths puffed like cigarette smoke in your face.

Strangers walked around you, avoiding whatever was going on between you and your– whatever he was, like a plague.

“I’m going home Matt, I have a flight to catch,” you answered calmly, words a little short, a little terse, and even in his state, Matt noticed as he nuzzled into your neck. You couldn’t help but shiver, missing his touch and mouth and presence over the past year.

Sometimes, you wondered what would happen if you got on a flight and knocked on his door. You didn’t know where he lived, had never made it that far into his realm or world, but Google was worryingly useful these days and you didn’t think he’d turn you away.

But then someone drops a stack of papers on your desk– “Need these edited and sent back tonight, thanks!”, and you're reminded why you never bothered getting his number or address or an actual date.

Sometimes your life barely has space for you let alone a whole other person.

“But I just got here. Please. Wanted to take you out, then take you home…” he trailed off, now sponging kisses into the little bit of exposed skin above the turtleneck you had on. And your eyes fluttered shut because, well, why wouldn’t they, and you let yourself enjoy it, him, for a moment longer before the wind picked up and carried with it that same fucking perfume you’d smelled earlier.

You pushed him back and he pouted like a kicked puppy. “Matt, please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” you insisted, holding his hands in yours, between the two of you, so they couldn’t get closer to your skin, to where you really wanted them, because then you’d forget about where he’d been and why he’d been late and let him have his way with you.

You might have been touch starved for the past year but that didn’t mean you didn’t have any self-respect. Or at least, you hoped it didn’t.

“Hard? I can show you exactly what’s hard,” he mused and you scoffed at the line that probably would have had you giggling into his side had the night gone different.

“Fuck– grow up, Matt!” Your voice was getting louder, angrier, the exhaustion seeping in as your gloved finger pressed into a particularly prominent bruise on his neck. “You were with someone else, you prick!” It was like the drink drained right out of him as he stood straighter, sobering up almost instantly as if realising what he’d done. “I waited for two hours and you were messing around with some other girl or guy and–”

“I’m sorry, I–”

“No. You don’t get to be sorry,” you jabbed the bruise harder and he hissed, finally stepping back. “And– well– I don’t even get to be mad because we’re not dating either. We meet once a year and we apparently don’t even fuck but you’ll sure as hell go do it with someone else it seems–” He frowned but you kept going, needing to get it off your chest before you imploded.

You sighed, hiding your shaking hands inside your coat pocket, hoping anyone passing by blamed the chilled wind for your tears and not the man in front of you. “I’m an idiot, Matt. I’m fucking stupid.”

“You’re not– I swear, Christ– you’re not,” he surged forward, wiping your tears and your brows jumped. “It’s me– I’m– this past year– it hasn’t been good, none of it has been good, and I thought you’d see it in me. I’m not a good person, sweetheart, not for someone like you.”

Your chest ached. You felt something splinter, crack, break apart until you were melting into his arms, anything to get away from the pain of it all. You’d blame the blistering cold for it later, how you curled into his warmth and comforted his broken words in any way you could.

This time, when you left, you didn’t say anything about next year.

He could smell it on you. Someone new, different– male.

He didn’t say anything, knew he couldn’t because you’d definitely look at him like he was insane and really, he was starting to feel it because all he’d thought about was you, you, you, and here you were, new hair, new look, fucking beautiful, and someone else’s.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said over the rim of his glass. Water, just water.

“I didn’t think I would either,” you answered, and your mouth quirked like you were proud of your answer and the detachment in your voice.

Matt was proud of you too, despite it all. Something about the way in which you seemed to move about with ease, your heartbeat unwavering, no sign of the mess he’d left last time.

“So how’ve you been?” he asked finally, unsure of what to say. Because what could he even say? Sorry for fucking us up? Sorry for being an absolute prick of a human being and breaking your heart, but hey, I’m still reeling from it and it’s been a year but maybe my suffering will make it all alright?

Probably not.

You hesitated. He heard the hitch in your throat, how you tried to clear it and chugged down half your mug of coffee. It was burnt and bitter but you downed it like it was something exotic and worth the five bucks you paid.

Then, you lifted your hand, placed it on the table– the rustle of your shirtsleeve hinted at your movement– and you reached over with your other hand, held onto his wrist loosely, almost disinterested, and laid it on top of your hand.

He froze. He froze and he almost begged you to take it off, the words dying on his tongue but the ghost of them desperate to haunt the air around the two of you.

“Engaged,” you cleared your throat again, like you were uncomfortable and he hated it. “I’m engaged.”

It took him a moment to realise you weren’t saying more, and it took another moment for him to realise that you didn’t owe him anything else.

I’m not a good person.

“That’s– that’s incredible, congrats!” The slight inflection of his voice, something that probably should’ve conveyed genuine excitement and an eagerness to know more– he cringed at how it sounded– like complete bullshit.

“Thanks Matt,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper. “We work together and, honestly, he’s a real sweetheart so it was just– I dunno, easy? I guess that’s the right word, yeah. It’s easy being with him.”

Matt smiled wryly, stole his hand away and tucked it neatly on his lap. “Sounds like a charmer,” and he prayed you didn’t hear the sarcasm in his voice.

“Yeah, he is,” you agreed, entirely too loved-up to notice what was happening right before your eyes.

“So, does he know where you are right now?” he asked, suddenly curious. Like you’d said a year earlier, you weren’t dating, and any possibility of that becoming a reality had drained away the moment he’d shown up to the bar, drunk off of his mind and dishevelled from someone else’s hands.

But you’d done things, said things– things that might have been meaningful enough that when it all ended, like it had a block away from where you both were sitting, it still hurt.

So he needed to know if you’d told your fiance anything, if you still cared enough to hide it, hide him. Because if you did, maybe he’d hold out hope for once in his life.

The heat rushed to your face and you craned your neck away, twirling the lone ring around your finger. “Not exactly,” you relented. “I told him it’s a business trip, this yearly conference– and that’s not a lie because the conference was yesterday, I just– I guess I didn’t want to tell him about this.”

“Why?” he asked, whispering like a secret.

“You know why Matt,” was all you gave him.

You didn’t show up the year after, or the year after that. Matt sat in your booth alone, all night, until he had to show up at the office and explain to Foggy why he looked like he hadn’t slept.

“No, Foggy, it’s not that, I’m fine,” he’d insist when Foggy refused to accept any of his excuses. Like you hadn’t said anything to your fiance two years ago, he hadn’t told Foggy anything either.

Not because he was embarrassed or ashamed, but because he knew for a fact that Foggy would kick him in the ass for letting you get away.

But that was a month ago and Matt had been walking around like more of a zombie than ever. Mugs strewn across his desk, possibly growing mould but he was afraid to find out. Papers scattered, transcripts of interviews he doesn’t remember conducting on papers he doesn’t recall signing.

Matt Murdock was a mess and the only cure was probably off making babies with some other guy.

The twang of the bell hooked onto the front door alerted him to someone knew.

“Karen, we don’t have time for walk-ins right now!” he called, head in his hand as he was slumped over his desk.

He was met with silence and he rolled his eyes at no one. With a huffed grumble, he stood from behind his desk and swung the office door open.

His walking stick clattered to the floor when he realised it wasn’t Karen.

“Any exceptions to that rule?” you asked, timid and shy but entirely real. You were there, in front of him, mere feet away, and you were definitely not Karen.

“I don’t know if my answer to that question is entirely appropriate for a married woman,” he replied slowly, even though he knew there was no ring on your finger.

“I’m not–

“--married, I know,” and now it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“Then why’d you say that?” you countered, taking a step closer, and he parroted your movements, heart hammering in a way it hadn’t in too long.

“Instinct. I wanted to make sure. Maybe you lost the ring, or someone stole it, that’d explain why you’re here, at least,” he reasoned. Another step.

“So you can’t think of any other reason for why I’m here?” You were a breath away, his strides admittedly, desperately, longer so he’d reach you sooner.

“I can think of a few but I’d like you to tell me yourself.” His voice was low, afraid if he spoke any louder he’d scare you away, feel you evaporate out of his touch as he raised his hands to your face and yours came up easily to cover them, like you wanted to hold him to you and never let go.

“This guy he– well, he said he wasn’t a good person and, honestly, I’m a sucker for a lost cause–” Matt huffed out a laugh. “So I thought I'd give him another chance.”

His head dipped, lips brushing against yours effortlessly. When he spoke, his breath licked across your mouth, a promise of what's to come, and you nudged your nose against his, hurrying him along.

“Where’ve you been, sweetheart?” he wondered aloud with the kind of reverence he reserved for confessions and church and a nameless priest.

“Right where you left me.” And you pressed forward, cementing yourself to him.

reblogs are much appreciated <3

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #daredevil #nmcu #charlie cox #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock smut #matthew murdock #my writing #right where you left me

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bradshawsbaby · 1 year

Text

Letters to My Love // Part V

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 3.7k

Author’s Note: As always, if you’re interested in learning more about the historical context of any of the letters, or if you have any questions about anything that gets discussed, feel free to reach out! I will say that Bob’s mother’s remedy for influenza that gets mentioned in this chapter was a real “home cure” that people used to use back in the day!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story!

The title for this chapter comes from The Andrews Sisters song of the same name.

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to @luminousnotmatter. I could thank you endlessly for all the love and support!

Warnings: Alternating POV, references to war and its impact, mentions of rationing, discussion of war casualties and death, references to church and prayer, a ton of fluff as always.

October 12, 1942

Dear Peach,

First of all, I want to start by saying that I’m so sorry for the troubles your family went through at the end of the summer. Little Frankie sounds like quite the trooper, but I’m sure it must have been hard on all of you to see him so sick like that. I’m real, real glad to hear that he’s on the mend. Dottie, too.

It’s funny—even though I’ve never met her, it’s not hard at all for me to believe that your sister was one of the few babies who survived the Spanish Flu back in 1918. From everything you’ve shared with me, it sounds like it would take a lot to break Dottie Sheridan. I’d bet my last dollar that she gives Paddy a run for his money on a regular basis. Maybe don’t tell her I said that though. I do want her to like me, should we ever get to meet in person one day.

You know, a couple summers back, my little brothers ended up coming down with a case of influenza. It seemed as though they picked it up from some of the kids they’d been playing with. It might sound crazy, but my mother would take a handkerchief, sprinkle it with whiskey, and make my brothers inhale the fumes every night before they went to bed. I don’t know where she learned that remedy, but would you believe that the two of them were right as rain after just four days? I’m confident that everyone in your household is the picture of health now, but you might want to give it a try should anyone else come down with the flu. I can’t explain it, but it did seem to do the trick!

I’ll selfishly admit that the weeks that went by without receiving a letter from you were desolate ones indeed. I received a couple letters from home, which were wonderful, but I found that my mind kept wandering back to sunny Charleston instead of the farmlands of Iowa. When I finally saw your handwriting on the envelope they handed me during Mail Call, it took everything in me not to jump up and down like a fool and make a scene. Just like you, I’ve been rereading your letters each night before lights out. I know we haven’t been exchanging messages for long, but each one lifts my spirits more than you could know. And around these parts, that’s a real special thing.

Despite being so far away from home and from everything that’s familiar and comfortable, when I close my eyes and imagine sharing a slice of your mama’s peach tart or getting to dance with you again and hear your pretty voice, I feel as though everything’s going to be alright. Even if the feeling only lasts for a minute or two, it gives me something to hold onto in the moments when it feels like maybe the world really is going to pieces. So thank you for that. Your kindness and your sweet words of encouragement are helping me get through this war, minute by minute and day by day.

I think, if you’re agreeable to it, that I’d really like to take you up on your offer to show you the world one day. Maybe even from up in the air. I may be Paul’s backseat gunner, but I know a thing or two about piloting an aircraft. You can trust me. Any places in particular you’d like to see, Peach? I’m all ears.

I promise you that I am most certainly NOT remembering you through rose-colored glasses. If you remember, my glasses are very much of the non-rose-tinted variety. But they do aid my vision, which helped me to see that night back in May just how absolutely swell you are. I hope it doesn’t embarrass you if I say that I still remember the way your smile put the stars to shame that night on King Street. And though I know no rehearsal is necessary, it does make me quite happy to think that you’ll be practicing a song with me in mind. I know any song you pick will be beautiful, but how about “Someone to Watch Over Me?” It was the first song we danced to, after all. And I’m sure you’ll knock it out of the park. If Gershwin was still alive, I know he’d be thrilled to hear someone doing such justice to his music.

I’ll have you know that it took me quite some time to get the peace and quiet I needed to write this letter because Tommy Boy and Benny simply would not stop chattering in my ear. At first, it was just more of their usual advice—most of which, for your sake, I don’t actually take—but then I realized they were trying to pass along messages of their own to you! I very clearly, and perhaps a bit selfishly, told them that you were my pen pal and that they’d just have to go find some of their own. Benny pouted a bit, but Tommy Boy just grinned, slapped me on the shoulder, and told me he’d never been prouder.

They both say hello, by the way. I did agree to pass that much along.

Paul’s sitting near me right now, writing his own letter home to Natasha and the kids. He wanted me to thank you for your prayers and for your kind words. He’s not one to get all mushy most of the time, but I can tell that your thoughts for him and his family really do mean a lot to him. And he said he’s definitely going to take you up on that jewelry offer when we get home. He may have made some comment about buttering Natasha up when we finally return home, after leaving her alone with two babies for so long. Although, now that I think about it, my little goddaughter, Clara always insists that she’s a big girl. So I’m sure she would take great offense at me referring to her as a baby. Promise you won’t tell on me?

Peach, I hope you know how truly extraordinary you are. I find it just about impossible to believe that people don’t take notice of you. To me, that feels like people taking a stroll outside and not taking notice of the sun. But it means more to me than words can say that you can relate to me in that way. Feeling like you see me, like you really understand me—that doesn’t happen to me often. Especially not with girls as lovely as you. I’m very much looking forward to us getting to know each other better and better.

As far as childhood stories go, I want to make it very clear that Paul and Natasha were solely responsible for any and all mischief that was had in our youth. I was very much just along for the ride. I promise you that it wasn’t my idea to put frogs in our mean teacher’s purse during the school picnic when we were in the third grade. And I certainly wasn’t the one who kidnapped our class hamster so that he could “live a life of freedom in the great outdoors.” Though I will admit I may have been present when the crime was committed. I was a very nerdy and awkward kid, which I’m sure isn’t hard at all for you to imagine, so I do have to credit Paul and Natasha with providing me with some of the most exciting and interesting moments of my life. There’s hardly a memory I have that doesn’t involve the two of them. I think you and Natasha would get on wonderfully. Maybe one day, the two of you will get to meet.

What about you, Miss Peach? Were you a rebel growing up in Georgia, or a goody two shoes like me?

I’m glad to hear that President Roosevelt is keeping you all informed back home, but I’m sorry to hear that the prices are still going up. I know you already mentioned that they started rationing sugar. I hope more rations aren’t coming your way, but, truth be told, I have a sinking feeling that they will be. We’ve been burning through supplies like crazy over here, and it always feels like a scramble to get more of what we need. But I’d still hate to think of you or anyone else having to go without. It just doesn’t seem right. But then, I suppose a lot in this world doesn’t feel right at the moment.

Thank you for sharing the president’s words with me, Peach. I passed them on to the rest of the fellas, and we’re all mighty appreciative of it. I have to say, even if it was Roosevelt’s words, they sounded a lot sweeter coming from you. My safety and comfort feel like a small price to pay if it means that you and my family and the rest of the good folks back home get to rest well each night.

I hate to end my letter to you on a sad note, but thinking of men who aren’t concerned about themselves makes me think of some of the boys that we just lost recently. Just last week, in fact. They weren’t part of my squadron, but I did know several of them. They were a couple years ahead of me at Annapolis, and they were bunking on the carrier with my squadron. Good men, every single one of them. They were shot down during what was supposed to be a fairly routine fly-over. They leave behind mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, fiancées, sweethearts, and friends. But I think a part of them will still be here, so long as those of us who remember them are still around. They were men, like President Roosevelt said, who put duty and country before themselves. And they deserve to be remembered.

We also recently lost some enlisted men—some sailors on a nearby carrier. We’d gotten to know them pretty well these past few months, and it was a tough blow. I was saddest to learn about the death of a boy named Timmy [REDACTED]. I say boy because that’s what he was. We got to talking one night, him and I, and he admitted to me that he was only sixteen. He’d lied about his age and somehow managed to squeak on by—my guess is that with the draft on, they’re willing to look the other way when boys jump up to volunteer. Sixteen years old. I tell you, I don’t think I could have stomached this at sixteen. I can barely stomach it now at twenty-two. I promised him I wouldn’t tell, and I feel a little guilty to be breaking that promise now that he’s gone, but I think someone else besides me should know how brave he was. He gave everything he had for the family and the country that he loved. I know I’ll never forget him. I know I keep piling more and more names on your list, but maybe you can remember him, too? That way, his legacy will live on. I think he’d be happy to know that.

If any of my letters ever feel like too much to you, Peach, please let me know. I don’t want to unburden my own heart at the cost of your peace of mind. I’m thankful for all the ways you listen and make me feel heard, even with the entire Atlantic in between us. Just getting these words down on paper, knowing that you’ll be reading them soon, fills me with a great sense of calm. Has anyone ever told you what a great pen pal you are?

My mother wouldn’t be happy if she heard me admitting this, but sometimes I’m so dead tired at the end of the night that I fall asleep without saying my prayers. On the nights that I do manage to stay awake, however, I pray for you right after my family, you and Paddy and Dottie and Frankie. I pray that you’re safe and happy and well. I’m always glad to hear that it’s so.

Goodbye for now, Peach. I look forward to your next letter, as I always do.

Very Sincerely Yours,

Bobby

November 3, 1942

Dear Bobby,

I was so thrilled to receive your last letter in the mail, but I admit that I was crying like a baby by the end of it. I’m so sorry for the friends that you lost, especially young Timmy. Sorry always seems like such a trite thing to say in the face of such a tragedy, doesn’t it? It doesn’t feel like it encompasses even half of the pain and the grief and the sorrow that follow in the wake of such horror. But for lack of any other words that would suffice, I’m afraid that “I’m sorry” is all that I can say. Please know that I mean it from the very bottom of my heart.

I hope you don’t mind, but I showed the last part of your letter to Dottie. She walked into the kitchen and was very concerned about why I was such a bawling mess, so I thought it would be better if she heard it directly from you. My big sister is much less prone to tears than I am, but even she cried when she read your beautiful tribute to that young man. We went to church the next day and lit candles in honor of Timmy and all the young men who were lost. I’m so incredibly touched that you would want to share their memories with me, Bobby. I will most certainly treasure them in my heart and pass them along to anyone I can. I don’t want them to be forgotten either. I don’t think anyone deserves to be forgotten. Everyone leaves their mark on this world, no matter how tiny it might seem to others. Even at just sixteen, Timmy clearly left his mark.

I can only begin to imagine what it must be like for you over there, flying dangerous missions yourself and watching those around you, men who you’ve shared laughs and good times with, make that final sacrifice. Please don’t ever feel like you can’t share it with me, Bobby. If you have to live it every day, and face that reality, then the very least I can do is lend a listening ear. I’m always here for you, whatever you need to get off your chest.

To be honest, you’re the first real pen pal I’ve ever had. I’m glad to hear that I’m doing a good job, because I happen to think you’re a terrific pen pal, and I wouldn’t want to let you down in return. It’s kind of funny—when I’m sitting down to read your letters or write one of my own, I sometimes forget that there’s an entire ocean between us. Sometimes, when I read your words, it feels like you’re right here next to me. I can hear your voice, even if it was so long ago now that we were last together. And it just makes it all feel so real to me. You’re a rather wonderful writer, you know.

Hm, now let’s see. Which part of your wonderful letter should I respond to next? I have it laid out in front of me right now, so that I don’t miss or forget anything. Should we discuss your mother’s rather unorthodox cure for the flu? I’d never heard of whiskey in a handkerchief before! I thought Paddy was going to split his sides from laughing so hard when I told him and Dottie. He said that he’s not so sure he should be sticking booze in his baby’s face, but that he’d be more than happy to try that remedy himself! We’d only ever been aware of good, old-fashioned chicken noodle soup and lots of rest. I’m hoping we don’t have another influenza scare any time soon, but we’ll be sure to try the whiskey trick if we do.

Now as for seeing the world—I’ve never been flying before. On the one hand, it seems very exciting and exhilarating, but on the other hand, it seems like the most terrifying prospect in the world. Bless those Wright brothers for being the first ones to give it a go. I suppose if I ever wanted to expand my horizons, however, I’d have to get on an airplane. Ocean liners aren’t exactly the most efficient means of travel. And if I’d trust anyone to take me up in the air for the first time, it would be you, Bobby. Like I mentioned once before, my parents went to Paris for their honeymoon, so I’ve always wanted to see it. Did you know that they call it the city of love? I suppose it must be very romantic with a nickname like that. I’ve also always wanted to see Italy—the Colosseum, the Pantheon, all that amazing art. I imagine it must be so magical. Maybe not right this moment, but Rome has certainly survived its fair share of catastrophes, if I remember my history correctly. I’m sure it will survive this, too.

How about you, Bobby? What parts of the world would you like to see when all of this is over?

“Someone to Watch Over Me” is one of my favorite songs. And now every time I hear it, I think of you and that dance we shared at the USO. If that’s the song that you’d like to hear, then I’ll happily start practicing it right away. Mr. Gershwin certainly knew what he was doing when it came to composing, didn’t he?

Don’t tell them this—we wouldn’t want them getting big heads now—but I always find it to be a delight when you share stories of Tommy Boy and Benny. It makes me so happy to know that you have such good friends over there with you. And I always get a good laugh, imagining their antics. You must have the patience of a saint, Bobby, to put up with all of it. As I’ve said before, I know all too well what it’s like to have to hide away to carve out a little peace for letter writing—Dottie is constantly trying to throw her two cents in whenever she can. I actually have Frankie to thank for my solitude at the moment. He’s been a bit fussy, so Dottie hurried off to check on him. I adore my sister more than life itself, but even I can admit that it’s a bit easier to concentrate when she’s distracted.

I absolutely cross my heart that I will never let it slip past my lips that you called our young Clara a baby. It will be our little secret. I’m sure she and Natasha and Paul, Jr. will be thrilled to receive the letter Paul’s writing to them. Paul sounds like such a wonderful husband and father. He reminds me of Paddy in that way. The two of them seem to have a lot in common. Tell Paul that I’m more than happy to lend any assistance I can to helping him pick out the perfect gift for buttering up his wife. Trust me, I’ve helped my dear brother-in-law do it on more than one occasion.

Speaking of Paul and Natasha, I’m shocked to learn they were such little hooligans when the three of you were growing up. Frogs in your teacher’s purse? Kidnapping the classroom hamster? What kind of trouble did you not get into, I should ask? I think that perhaps you were more of a little rebel than you’re willing to admit, Ensign Floyd. I myself was quite the prim and proper little lady growing up back home in Georgia. Believe me, I was much too shy to be getting into any sort of trouble with anyone. Truth be told, I really sort of kept to myself, even when I was a child. But I always had Dottie, thank goodness. She’s four years older, and she’s always looked out for me. She’s my best friend and my biggest champion. It would be lovely to get to meet Natasha one day, too. Any friend of yours must be a delightful person who I’m sure I would like very much.

Your words are sweet as honey, Bobby, and make me feel just as warm and cozy inside. Whenever I’m having a difficult day, or the weight of the world’s troubles feel like they’re pressing down on me, I read your letters and they never fail to make me smile. I always knew that there were good men out there in the world—my father and Paddy have always been prime examples of that to me—but I think I was starting to doubt that there were many men left who were truly kind and good-hearted. You put those fears in my heart to rest. You are such a good man. I know we haven’t known each other long, and that most of our conversations have been through letters, but your warmth and your kindness always shine through.

I may not be able to speak to how unhappy your mother would be to learn about you falling asleep before your prayers—I like to think she’d understand, given the circumstances—but I can say with total confidence, despite never having met her, that she would be very happy and proud to know just what kind of man her oldest son is. I’m sure she already knows and is already so proud.

I keep you in my prayers every night, too, Bobby. You and Paul and his family and Tommy Boy and Benny, and all the rest of your squadron. All I ask for is that you all come home safely. And soon.

You’re in my thoughts. I look forward, as always, to your next letter, whenever it may arrive.

Affectionately Yours,

Peach

P.S. I almost forgot to mention that it was Frankie’s first Halloween! Unfortunately, the annual parade in town was canceled, but everyone still decorated and the children in the neighborhood got to go trick-or-treating. Dottie made Frankie a little pumpkin costume—he was the cutest little pumpkin you ever did see! We still have some candy lying around the house, which I wish I could send to you. Did Clara, Paul, Jr., and your brothers dress up this year? I hope they had lots of fun!

#robert bob floyd #robert floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #lewis pullman #WWII AU #1940s AU

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enchantedchocolatebars · 4 months

Text

🎂 A Special Surprise! 🎁

Original story

Ao3 version

"Clara" is my wittewife.

The front door begins to open.

"Oh, Clara, I’m home!" A cheerful Caleb announces his arrival as he enters inside his shared cottage home.

He wanted to see his wonderful witch wife and greet her with an elated embrace!

A hug was needed from the woman he loved so dearly after a long day of not seeing her.

But where was she?

He received no answer when he called out her name; only dead silence was met.

Perhaps she was still snoozing away in their bed.

Caleb knew how much Clara cherished her beauty sleep.

It would be best for him to keep his voice low just in case.

He did not wish for her to awaken.

As the blonde began to make his way up the stairs, a very important question suddenly crossed his mind.

Where was Flapjack, or Syrup, for that matter?

He saw neither birdie outside nor inside.

Was he the only person present at home?

Once Caleb was in front of his room door, he reached for the knob and turned it.

Stepping inside, he saw a sight that truly blew his mind.

Something that he hadn't anticipated on seeing.

"SURPRISE!!!" A feminine voice exclaimed with great excitement.

It belonged to none other than Clara, who along with Flapjack and Syrup popped up from below the lukewarm floorboards as a ‘Happy Birthday, Caleb!’ banner unfurled from the ceiling amid a shower of confetti and balloons.

Flapjack flies over to his owner and promptly places a party hat on his head.

Syrup swoops in with a small present box in her beak, gently letting it fall into Caleb’s palm when he opened it.

"Happy birthday, my love!" The bubbly Clawthrone beamed, heading over to her husband and placing a sweet peck on his cheek.

Caleb was still surprised by the unexpected birthday bash, but he smiled nonetheless at the hat, present, and affection given to him.

"How’d you know today was my birthday?" he questioned playfully to his wife.

"Because," Clara began with a light giggle before continuing. "I asked you earlier when you were born, and you told me today! I’ve been planning and preparing ever since!" she gleefully explained.

The brunette then pulls from behind her back an eight-layer cake on a dish that looks to have three different kinds of frosting and is topped with candles.

"We have cake!" she proudly proclaims before gesturing at her and Caleb’s bed, which was packed with presents. "Presents! Aaaannnnd…" Lastly, she gestures at the eyeball pinata that was hanging from a rope on the ceiling. "ENTERTAINMENT!" Clara grins wildly.

Her gracious grin and exciteable pose still remained despite the pinata awkwardly falling down from the rope.

Caleb couldn’t resist chuckling softly at this.

His eclair was truly adorable, the cutest cutie to ever cute, not to mention very sweet.

"Soooo, what do you think? Ready to get this party started, birthday boy?" Clara asked, eagerly anticipating her husband’s response.

Truth be told, Caleb didn’t celebrate birthdays at all.

Such celebrations were not part of Puritan culture, yet at the same time...

'Look at that smile,' Caleb told himself.

He had no desire to see it disappear.

It was evident that Clara had put her whole heart and soul into this party.

The more he looked at her, the more he saw her passion radiating from her eyes.

It reminded him a lot of his own.

Caleb smiles softly and nods to her. "Ready," he said.

This event would be a lasting memory for him.

...

Clara: (To Caleb) My love, I feel like this party is missing someone, but I don’t know who. Hmm… (Her eyes light up as she emits a small gasp.) Oh, I know who! Your brother! Let’s go get him!

Caleb: (He sees Clara about to bolt out of the door and is quick to stand in front of it, blocking the entrance while holding out his hands horizontally. He is well-versed in how his brother would react if he saw this.) Wait! As the birthday boy, I would like to request that I have my party with only you, Flapjack, and Syrup, my love. It's probable that Philip is very busy, and I would hate to bother him.

Clara: … Okay then! (She proceeds to hug him.) Your wish is my command, birthday boy.

Caleb: (He returns the hug to his beloved, breathing a small sigh of relief).

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rxttingsblog · 2 years

Text

𓆩❤︎𓆪 Pacify him 𓆩❤︎𓆪

—Yandere!Peter ballard/Henry creel, dark!002 x hurt!Reader

(no threesome shit btw)

!! READER IS 18 !!

Summary: Reader is in a abusive/toxic relationship with 002. But little does she know that Peter is actually in love with her and he does everything in his power to win her heart. Even if it comes down to killing everyone else she loves. One night, 002 hurts the reader pretty badly. Peter takes notice and confronts her. But 002 catches them and now the Reader must suffer greatly.

(( In this AU, 002 is over 20 and a patient at Hawkins lab. I know 20+ isn’t his canon age but in this story he is ))

WARNING: Forced relationship, age-gap, emotional & physical abuse, love triangle, jealousy issues, grooming, attachment issues, reader is kinda dumb, 002 is a dick, reader is innocent, mature themes, mentions of murder, explicit content, dark themes inside Hawkins lab!!

—MIND YOU! i do not support any of these actions. This was made for the hell of it. I find all these actions absolutely disgusting but i’m the type of person to write about dark themes like these! If you’re easily triggered then please don’t read! i would hate to accidentally trigger someone.

It was just the same old saying: “At first, he was the nicest guy i’ve ever met..”

That’s basically the right quote to use to summarize your ongoing secret relationship with no other than 002. Papa forbidden any sort of relationships, your rules were very strict and if someone were to ever break them they’d suffer greatly. Papa had the audacity to make his punishments extra cruel. But you and 002 were “thriving” after being boyfriend and girlfriend for almost 7 months now you still haven’t gotten caught. Which you were surprised by but also greatly disappointed.

You met 002 when you were sent to the lab at 12. Unlike then others, you were born with abilities. At first you thought all the other test subjects were born with powers too but according to Papa’s words they were not. To be frank, it really confused you. But being dumb at the time you didn’t investigate any further into it. At the beginning, 002 wasn’t actually the first one to pry into your life. It was actually a friendly orderly who went by the name of “Peter”

As time flew by and the older you got, Peter would try and stir up conversation with you at any chance that was given to him. But because of your shyness you barely opened up. In a way you appreciated him for not being rude about it though. He actually understood your personality. The orderly was always very kind to you despite your differences. You always knew you were different from the others and because of that you were bullied relentlessly.

Peter was always there for you though, but little did you know that was only the beginning of a brand new obsession of his. After all this time, you only looked upon him as a care taker or a friend. He looked at you as if you were his one and only. However, you never could comprehend his looks. Love was the last thing on your mind.

Since you only saw Peter as a friend, so you had no problem dating 002. But deep down you knew Peter was aware of this relationship. But he put no stop to it. You’d see him glaring hatefully at the both of you. His angered gaze wasn’t directed towards you, mostly towards 002. It became a concern of yours but you never brought it up. This relationship concept was brand new to you. 002 was intimidating but he was never mean to you like how he was towards his fellow test subjects. Before he asked you out he’s constantly steal the spotlight from Peter. He would force himself upon you but you never saw it as harmful at first.

When the relationship was official, 002 made you drop Peter, drop all your very few friends, and made you obsessed with him and him only.

“Remember, if i catch you talking to that creepy orderly again, you’ll suffer greatly. You’re weak and pathetic..” He would whisper into your ear during the night as you tensed up in his embrace.

It wasn’t long until you found yourself drifting away from Peter. Which Peter was deeply hurt by. He saw the way you looked at 002. If only you looked at him that way. You did not belong to any other man. In his mind, you were his. He was going to fulfill his dream and make it come true. Peter was very intelligent. Always spectating you and 002.

002, a liar, a disgusting useless human who was only a copy of him. He’d cast the man murderous glances every time he touched you. Peter knew the whole thing as the relationship unfolded. He noticed how at first 002 would protect you, made you feel loved. Now he was distant and harsh towards you. The only thing Peter didn’t notice was the beatings 002 gave you every time you disobeyed or did something he wasn’t fond of.

002 knew damn well what he was doing and what he had in store for you. When you hit 16 was when he started his twisted game of cat and mouse with you. He took advantage of your kindness, found out every aspect of you, he was beyond determined to break down your morals. Your weakness and pureness would only feed his ego. The only thing he liked about you was your power, your power he was actually envy of.

You vividly remember him pressuring you to be with him when you were 16 and he was 19. You never knew it was wrong so you accepted. Besides, he promised that this would help you. Then 002 told you to ‘keep it a secret’ in which you understood due to Papa’s uptight rules. it’s not like you could make this public.

After the perfect stage passed over, 002 began to get more and more cruel over time. That was when the alarm bells started to go off in your head. He wasn’t afraid to get physical with you. When you tried to stick up for yourself against his constant tormenting the situation would always end up with you and tears and bawling on the floor in utter pain. You’d ask yourself questions like: Is this love? Does he love me? Why am i not telling anyone about this? Why am i not screaming? Is this wrong? Is this okay? Why does he hurt me like this?

A trait 002 was infamous for was showing off. There was never a day where he wasn’t talking about how powerful he truly was. If only someone could just pacify him to get him to shut his trap for once.

You knew this relationship was toxic now, after the multiple times he hurt you and mocked you with his older friends. You’d bring up problems in y’all’s relationship, such as the age problem, and how he manipulated you when you were only a kid. But he’d brush it off and say: “That’s all in your head, Y/N.” or “Age is only a number.. babe”

Most of the time, you believed it. You wanted to leave but at the same time you couldn’t. Your heart was too attached. You felt the need to cling to him as if he was a life line. It’s not like you could talk to anyone else, he forbid it. Another reason why you and Peter never talked. But boy, it wasn’t rare for Peter to still glare with those dangerous cold eyes of his. Sometimes you wish that Peter would save you. Your heart called out for him, you took great comfort in him.

But maybe.. Peter didn’t care either. Because despite his glances, at this point, you were fully convinced that no one would save you. You felt trapped in your head, you were broken, a person that could never be fixed again.

Skipping to present time, you now lie on the ground. Slipping in and out of unconsciousness after 002 severely injured you. Cuts, scabs, and bruises were viable and engraved into your soft skin.

“Why can’t you just make me happy? Is that so hard for you?” 002 sneered quietly, while looming over your body. Fury illuminated in his dark blue orbs.

“I’m s..sorry-” You managed to croak out after a few agonizing seconds. Your body shivering as your lip trembled with rapid fear that only increased in 002’s presence.

“No. You’re. Not.” 002 firmly stated, “If you were, you wouldn’t be such a stupid bitch and keep disobeying me!” He now crouched down to your level and cupped your face with his bigger hand. He spat in your face before slamming you down into the cold tiled floor. You let out a muffled whine when your face made contact with the floor.

002 was upset because you refused to sleep with him. He secretly broke into your room that night and proceeded to initiate that the two of you have sex. First off, you declined it. You were a virgin and barley understood the actual meaning of sex. Second of all, the chances of getting caught would be at it’s peak. You didn’t want him or you to get into trouble by the sadistic guards that roamed the hallways during the night shift.

When you still refused to do it after a shit ton of convincing was when he made the first strike. One strike followed after another until your body felt paralyzed.

You couldn’t hold back your tears, they hastily cascaded down your warm cheeks, 002 only snicked in response and with that he was out of your room in the blink of an eye. You hated yourself for letting this happen, why couldn’t you just be stronger? But even after all the torture he’s put you through.. you just couldn’t bring yourself to fully hate him.

It was infuriating, because you knew no matter what he did, you’d still love him.

*THE FOLLOWING MORNING*

You slowly walked down the dark corridor of the Lab. Usually in the morning, your “siblings” would go inside the rainbow room for 30 minutes of playtime. You braced yourself before you opened the doors, unfortunately your wounds were still noticeable. Thankfully, most of them engraved into your torso or shoulder blades since it was easy to cover that up. But you had some dark bruises on your neck and cuts on your arms. A foul marking any being could notice from afar.

As soon as you pried open the two heavy metal doors. You made direct eye contact with Peter. to your dismay, no one else was in sight. Just you and him. In a way, that’s even worst. Right when he caught a glimpse of your injured figure was when his face contoured into a saddened scowl in that exact moment. That was your fight or flight mode response and unsurprisingly you chose flight. Within an instant the doors were shut and your walking pace quickened as you withdrew yourself from the empty rainbow room.

Before your walking pace was even able to increase, you came to an abrupt halt as Peter took a tight hold of your wrist. Stopping you dead in your tracks. Now you’re definitely screwed.

Your back was facing him for a couple of hot seconds before he made the choice of spinning you around so that you’d face him. His hands subconsciously were brought up to your cheeks. Flashbacks of 002 abusing you ran throughout your mind and with that you winced, shoving yourself away from his touch. Peter looked horrified for you.

“Don’t touch me.” Your voice comes out barely as a whisper but it was audible for Peter. Your eyes remained glued to the floor before Peter cupped his slender fingers under your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

When you made eye contact with him and rested under his touch. His ocean blue gaze held so much concern. It almost made you feel.. safe.

“Sweetness, who did this to you?” He asked firmly, the answer was already evident but Peter needed you to admit it. He did his best to remain calm, his familiar friendly voice activated still. It took all his strength to not let his inner beast come out.

If he could, he would kill everyone here in a heartbeat. He wanted to hurt them all. Peter had no problem causing great harm towards the filthy humans who wronged you, who put you through immense pain. To be blunt, he didn’t understand this undying desire to protect you from all the monsters who were out to conquer you.

As Peter held you, you couldn’t help but let a tear fall down your cheek. Which in response Peter was quickly to dry off before more fell. His gaze saddened even more as his dark heart shriveled up into tiny pieces for you.

“Darling? Tell me what’s going on.. can you do that for me?” Peter inquired once more his raspy voice more comforting than ever. Shifting closer to you in a protective manner. You needed to get away from him because you knew the cameras were watching.

You still didn’t respond. You only felt your body froze up when you felt the presence of danger nearby. Your eyes that were once focused on Peter now drift off towards the end of the hallway. Peter’s eyes follow your gaze and with that he twists around only to be face to face with your boyfriend. 002.

He caught you. He caught you interacting with Peter. And you knew the consequences yet you disobeyed. Guilt lied in the pit of your stomach. A feeling you hated because you did not want to feel bad about this.

But he made you feel this way.

Does anyone want a part 2? if so then lmk please!

—Willard

_____________________________________________

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mlwritersguild · 3 months

Note

Love Square — “Band-Aids Don’t Fix Bullet Holes”

The response for this prompt comes to us from @chai-ki!

---

So this idea actually came about when I was working on my Eras fic but I scrapped it because it promised to be way too long for the 10,000 word limit. 😅

When I saw the title “Band-Aids Don’t Fix Bullet Holes” it immediately brought me back to this story. It’s one I definitely want to write and I think I may keep the title because I love it. I just have other pieces I’ve committed to that I need to finish first. 🫣 (Looking at you December event fic…)

The story takes place post “Destruction”, post Monarch defeat and follows my typical ‘I use what I want from cannon and scrap the rest’ type of writing. It’s an AU where Adrien and Marinette have never met -potentially. I haven’t figured out the plot holes there yet. Adrien is traumatized by the fact that he not only killed a person but that that person was his father who was also an evil psycho. Maribug of course only knows part if the story and tries to be supportive but he falls off the face of the earth, refusing to transform ever again. Two years later is where the majority of the story would take place. So yeah.

If you’ve gotten this far, enjoy the snippet below and thank you! 🥰

🦋

Adrien awoke to his head pounding. Rays of all too cheerful sunlight streamed in through his curtains that gently swayed in the breeze flowing through his wide-open balcony doors. He tried to remember what exactly happened last night that would lead him to leave them open. Trying and failing to focus on any sliver of a detail, he decided to try and get up.

Bad idea.

His stomach lurched and he barely made it to the bathroom before emptying what little remained inside. The action only spurred his headache on, and his vison went blurry. Leaning back against the wall he tried again to recall any sliver of a detail from the night before. Despite the obvious hangover, his heart felt incredibly heavy, like something large was suddenly missing, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what it was. Rapidly he came to the conclusion that he needed more sleep if he were going to figure anything out.

Adrien crawled his way back to his bed and hoisted himself up, facing away from the open window this time. A black blob filled his line of sight and for a moment he thought something was truly wrong with his eyes before realization hit.

“Plagg?”

“Hey kid. You look like…”

“What- what happened?”

Plagg hoisted the large comforter up and over Adrien’s shoulders. “Get some sleep, you need the rest.”

Rather than reply, Adrien quickly fell into a deep slumber, already forgetting what it was he had wanted to know in the first place. Plagg hovered above him with a sad look in his eyes.

“It would break your heart if you remembered, kid.”

‹«‹ ›»›

1 New Voicemail

“Hey kitty, just checking in. You had me really worried last night. Plagg assured me that you were okay… I don’t really believe him, but I suppose I don’t really have the choice. Heh. Um. So, anyways, I’m at our spot. Please come see me soon.”

➿

1 New Voicemail of 427

“Kitty… It’s been a year. I hope you’re alright. I miss you.”

“Nothing new has happened lately. Same old minor crimes and what not… My friend (the one I told you found out who I was about a few months ago) and I have been talking and… well I think I want you to know who I am outside of the mask.”

“No, I know that I want you to know.”

“My balcony hatch was always open for you, even if it was raining because I wanted you to know you were welcome any time... You used to come by for cookies and tea… Sometimes we’d stay up late and watch a movie, sometimes you’d fall asleep on my chaise. We were closer than you knew… silly kitty.”

“Marinette. My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. And I miss you, Chaton.”

---

Want to participate in this month’s event? Check out the rules, and send us a prompt!

#writer spotlight #chai ki #ml writers guild #mlb #miraculous ladybug #lovesquare #ml fic #march event 2024 #the fic i might write #ask game

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hahafixon · 10 months

Text

We Write Letters ~ *Kang Yeosang*

Summary: You and a stranger named Yeosang have been writing love letters back and forth for over a year. Though you’ve never seen him, he’s seen you once a long time ago. Now he wants to meet you for real…

Pairing: Kang Yeosang X G/N!Reader

Genre: Fluffy Oneshot

Word Count: 2409

Warning: N/A

Masterlist

Taglist: @foxwinter @rai-scutum @imagine-a-life-like-this @mxnsxngie @maeleelee

Another day, another letter. You found it in your mailbox and your heart beat faster at the thought of reading another letter. It felt like it had been ages since you’ve received another note, even though it had only been two weeks. Nevertheless, you waited every day for another letter from him. And now it was here in your hands.

Quickly, you entered your apartment and ripped open the letter. It was full of the words you longed to hear. You sat on your couch and started to read as fast as your brain would allow.

Dear Y/n,

It feels as if it’s been ages since I’ve last written to you. I miss reading your letters and the old ones I have aren’t cutting it anymore. I need another note, another sign that you are still alive and well. I’m sure you are, but just hearing from you always puts my mind at ease. I need another letter of yours in my hands. So I was hoping this letter could invite you to write again.

Things have been good on my end. All of the boys are alright, though sometimes it feels like they’re not. Wooyoung and San are still getting into trouble against Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s wishes. Yunho is still looking out for Mingi and Jongho is always just there to watch the chaos unfold. Even though they drive me crazy and I often want to tear my hair out being with them, I wouldn’t trade their friendship for the world. They’re just as special to me as you are.

Ah, there I go again, constantly fantasizing about being with you again. Wooyoung likes to tease me that I should just ask for your number and call or text you. But I’ve told him a thousand times that it doesn’t feel personal enough. I like these letters because I feel I can read your true self better in it. I can see your beautiful soul and I am touched by your tender heart. Your words make my heart beat much faster than normal and I find myself falling deeper in love with you. Yes, I prefer letters. I hope you do too.

I wish I had more to say to you. That one glance in passing from a year ago is starting to fade from memory. I wish I saw you more. But I suppose fate is cruel like that. Perhaps someday, though it doesn’t feel like it’ll be anytime soon. I guess I’ll just keep wishing and hoping one day I will see you again.

Until then…

Sincerely,

Kang Yeosang

You clutched the piece of paper to your chest, as if you could absorb his sweet words into your bloodstream. However, you knew it was too good to be true. Your mind drifted back to when you received your first letter from him a little over a year ago.

Upon opening your mailbox, you noticed that besides your usual bills and ads, there was a letter with just your name. After reading it, you met Yeosang for the first time. He had seen you enter your apartment once and since then, he couldn’t get you out of his head. He had given you his address, saying that if you wanted to get to know him, all you had to do was write back and if you didn’t, your lack of response would let him know. So despite some initial hesitation, you answered him.

And the letters kept coming ever since. You learned that his friend San had an apartment in your same building, but for the life of you, you couldn’t find it. Not that you were looking. You learned that he was an artist and waiter, who lived across town and never had enough time or money to get away to come see you again. While you wanted to finally see him for the first time, you were okay with waiting. Though with each new letter, your patience was waning. You needed to see him.

As you laid there, his letter on your chest, you started to craft a response in your head. You needed to match his eloquence and pour out your undying fondness for him onto the page. So you carefully selected each word as best as you could. It had to be perfect because all of his letters were perfect to you. When you finally came to what you believed was the best response you could craft, you sat up and got what you needed. Then it was time to put pen to paper.

Dear Yeosang,

It’s so good to hear from you again. I know with your busy schedule, it’s hard to get away and find time to write. Every letter you send me reminds me just how much you care about me and how much you long to talk to me. Each word on the paper consumes my thoughts and envelopes my heart in joy and longing. What I wouldn’t give to see you just once in my life. I would forever be content.

I agree with you in the fact that letters feel more intimate. Anyone can send a text or spend two minutes on a phone call. But letters take much more effort to convey the correct emotions. Words must be perfectly selected to get a point across. And the words you choose make the world stop even for a moment. My heart never stops beating too fast when I read and reread them. I love how you write and I love how I can feel every single emotion you pour into each and every letter. It still makes my heart soar knowing that they’re only for me.

I’m doing well as well. Work has kept me busy, but not too busy to enjoy your letters when they come. I try to keep busy to keep from missing you too much. It’s much harder than you think. It seems every aspect of my life inadvertently leads back to you in some way, shape, or form. I suppose you could call it love, though I find longing the more correct term.

Forgive me, I’m not as eloquent as you are when I write. I try but I’m not sure it’s half as good as the letters you write to me. Regardless, I want to share a little secret with you, though I’m sure you can guess what I’m going to say. I have a box of your letters on my nightstand and anytime I need your words of love and adoration, I read each one in order. They never cease to make me smile. I have to thank you wholeheartedly for writing to me. Without your words, I fear what might happen. Your letters are everything to me and more. So thank you for everything.

Until you write again,

Y/n L/n

Folding up the paper, you slid it into an envelope and sealed it. Carefully addressing it and putting a stamp on it, you went back to your mailroom and had it delivered. Now you just had to wait to hear from him again. It could be days, weeks, maybe even months. But you would wait as long as it took to hear from him again for Yeosang was worth it.

And so you waited.

The waiting was the hard part for you. What you wouldn’t give for him to send back his response instantaneously. You could then read more of his sweet, perfect words until you fell asleep, dreaming of everything he told you. But you knew that writing such a perfect letter took time, considering it definitely took you time to craft something worth of Yeosang. Though it seemed like his words came so effortlessly to him, you knew that he still had to have time to write, address, send, and deliver it. If only the mail carrier knew how badly you desired the letters of the man you loved.

But for now, you had to wait.

It was almost three weeks later when you finally received a response back. You were beginning to get worried when you saw the envelope with your name printed in such beautiful writing. In a flash, you were back in your apartment, eagerly tearing into the letter you’ve waited over half a month for.

Dear Y/n,

Your words continue to make me smile and I’ve reread your last letter at least twenty times. No matter what you write, it’s always perfect to me! I will never ever get tired of reading your letters for as long as I live.

Unfortunately, this letter will be short, but I have a good reason! My friends have convinced me I should meet with you face to face finally after only writing to you for so long. I know they’ve been teasing me to meet with you ever since I received your first letter in response. But now they’ve really twisted my arm by saying they’ll all bombard you with letters asking you to meet me. I wanted to save you from an overflowing mailbox so I’m asking you through this letter if you would like to finally meet me.

As I write this, I am anxious for your response. I don’t want to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to. If you don’t want to meet, I completely understand. As long as I still have your letters, I’ll forever be content. But, if you would like to meet in person, would you please meet me at the coffee shop next to your apartment building at one in the afternoon tomorrow?

Please think about it,

Kang Yeosang

The letter slipped from your fingers.

He wanted to meet you? After over a year, he wanted to see you again? And you would be seeing him for the very first time! It was as terrifying as it was exhilarating.

Sure, you’ve always wanted to meet Yeosang in person, but now? Were you ready? Were you worthy of meeting him? You weren’t anything special. But you must be if he had been sending you letters after all this time. But would he be disappointed in what he saw? Would he wish he had kept the anonymity between the two of you? Would you wish that once you saw him?

All of these questions were making you sick to your stomach. You really did want to meet him, but you weren’t sure if you were ready to. You grabbed the fallen letter and reread it a few more times. It seemed he really wanted to meet you. So why not? After everything you’ve read from him, he never gave you a reason to not trust him. And it was just coffee. There weren’t any strings attached.

So despite your better judgment, you made up your mind and planned to see him tomorrow afternoon at the coffee shop.

All day you worried about what to wear, what to say, what to do. You second-guess yourself a half dozen times, constantly debating on whether to go see him or not. You were sure you were putting holes in your carpet with how you were nervously pacing back and forth. But you couldn’t help it.

This was big! You were finally going to meet Yeosang after over a year of writing letters to each other. You never thought you’d ever get to see him. You thought you would just have a secret admirer for the rest of your life. Of course thinking that now, you realized how foolish you were being. But now all of your fantasies and dreams are about to become real. The only thing you could do now was hope everything would turn out okay.

Oh, sure, you had the usual thoughts of what would happen if he was a crazed weirdo wanting to kill you. And you had contingency plans in place if he was a horrible person in general. But you wanted to have faith that he was a good person. With the sweet words he sent you, you had to have some belief that he was good. So while you were sure you had safety plans in place, you planned to go into the meeting with an open, honest, and positive mindset.

An hour before the meeting time, with your nervous energy to blame, you started to head to the coffee shop. You could stop fiddling with your clothes and checking your phone for the time. Everytime you checked, only a minute had gone by. But you couldn’t help it! This had to be the slowest hour of your life! You were seated at the coffee shop about forty-five minutes before you were supposed to meet him. In an attempt to try and satiate your nerves, you ordered a coffee and something to eat. However the food made your stomach sour. At least the coffee went down with ease.

You kept your eyes trained on the door, hoping that whoever came in you would see him and just know that he was Yeosang. But no one seemed to light up or even acknowledge you. Which just made your heart sink until you reminded yourself that you were very early. There was one man who came in, saw you, and immediately turned around, racing down the street towards your apartment building. Though you thought it was odd, you had to seriously tell yourself that it couldn’t have been Yeosang. There is no way he saw you and turned tail like that.

Checking your phone once more, you saw that he had five minutes until one. Was he going to even show? Were you just being too hopeful? Was this a joke? Were you part of some cruel prank? If that was the case, you weren’t sure you could ever recover from the blow to your heart. But you tried to hold onto the last bit of faith you had that he would show up.

At one o’clock on the dot, a man walked into the coffee shop. Your eyes widened. He had to be the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

And he was looking right at you.

Your heart beat faster as he made his way over to your table and touched the back of the chair across from you. “Is this seat taken?”

Even his voice was attractive.

“I’m sorry.” You managed to squeak out. “I’m actually waiting for someone.”

He smiled and your heart melted. “I know. I’m Yeosang.”

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morganas-pendragons · 1 year

Text

What We’ve Become | O.K.

Listen. LISTEN. This song just came out yesterday and after I heard the whole thing + the idea I’ve had in my head for the last week (which came to me in a dream, I’m not even joking) I absolutely had to get this out there because IT WILL NOT LEAVE ME ALONE.

So. Have the hurt/comfort!

Tag: @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories - NAME TWIN :D

***

What have we become.... now you’re done...

You can’t stop dreaming of them. Of all of them. Of the men you served beside, the men who died for you, the men who lived because of you. You can’t stop dreaming of them even as you’re falling into the depths of Utapau’s colonies when they shot you down.

The dreams then were good dreams. Dream of what you and Obi-Wan both wanted for them when the war ended.

All is lost...

Now they’re just another of the many who haunt you.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was not a selfish man. He never had been. Everything he ever did in his life put his own wants and desires secondary to put the well-being of others first. He was always careful to consider all he knew of them and what the consequence would be if he were not to follow through on what they needed.

Anakin needed a father. That, he could not be.

You needed your husband. That, he could not be. Not to the extent he so desperately craved to give you. You deserved that. You had made that promise to him in the lake country of Naboo so long ago that you would be the one who remained when all else was gone.

Until death do you part.

And part you, it very nearly did.

Moonlight Through the trees

Obi-Wan Kenobi had been one of your very constants in life since you’d been brought into the crèche as a child. He’d been the one to be your voice when you had none, your shoulder to lean on when your birth parents died, your comfort when were rejected again and again and again.

You with me All I need

He had been all you needed, once upon a time. You had spent your earliest years believing that there would be nobody else in your world but him and you. Little to Obi-Wan’s knowledge, he was your world. He made living bearable. He made your transition to Padawan worth while because he was doing it alongside you.

Then he left for Melida-Daan. He never came back the same. Every time he left, even well into his adulthood, the person you’d come to know as Obi-Wan Kenobi died with him.

It didn’t matter. You’d love every version of him, both the wicked and the pure, in any universe. Despite all the pain you’d later learn he’d put you through - Jabiim, Zygerria, Rako Hardeen, all instances in which you were so tempted to walk away because when would enough be enough - you still loved him.

At the end of it all, when everything and everyone you’ve ever loved comes to its conclusion, he remains. Obi-Wan is all you need.

You crave him like you crave the intimacy you no longer know. He used to bleed intimacy behind closed doors. When the facade of the great Negotiator and Jedi General was finally given permission to fall, Obi-Wan Kenobi fell into your bled and bled.

With his head thrown back and thrumming pulse exposed to your eyes, you took careful care to stitch back together what remains of the strawberry blonde boy with the beautiful heart you’d met as a child.

He used to bleed intimacy.

Not anymore.

We see the same sky I know Watching the moon it’s the only thing Left here to hold

Your first nights on Tatooine are troublesome. Plagued by nightmares and images of the clones you’d lost, and the clones who’d shot you down, you’re left to fall victim to sleeplessness as you toss fitfully in the bed of the room you’d temporarily taken as your own since following Obi-Wan here.

He’s barely said twelve words to you. Too wracked by grief and guilt, you’re left helpless to watch as your husband begins to fade from your sight, no longer the man you once knew during the war.

No longer the beautiful boy from your childhood.

You ache to touch him, to hold him and assure him that none of what occurred was his own fault. You knew better. You’d seen Anakin’s Fall first hand. The boy you loved like your own child was always enveloped by the cold of the Dark Side. Quick to succumb to it and eager to envelop himself in its power, Anakin had fallen to the lie and dug himself into an early grave.

The last time you’d seen him, he’d been burning alive on the rocky shores of Mustafar.

Obi-Wan’s own haunts dealt with the failure he believed himself to be to Anakin. Your haunts dealt with the clones. All of them. The ones of the 501st, the clones of the 212th, your own squad who had perished on the shores of Jabiim.

Your clone commander that you’d sent with Ahsoka Tano to reclaim Mandalore for Bo-Katan. That was the last time you’d seen him. You didn't even know if he was alive.

You hadn’t known he was alive the first time either. Not until you’d had to rescue him from Dooku. Cain had survived the fire and kept Obi-Wan alive to bring him back home to you.

If he could survive Jabiim, he could survive the Empire.

You just had to cling to the shreds of hope you had left. That was one of the constant lessons you were learning from the clones. They always had hope.

Even when they shouldn’t have.

Talking to you in the dark Fading away Oh I just wanna be where you are...

“If you’re going to disappear on me, Obi-Wan,” You call out late into the night, following his Force Signature to the dunes where he seems to be attempting to meditate. “Please, just take me with you.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi’s eyes slowly flutter open. There you stand, so soft and beautiful and broken - another thing he could not fix, no matter how much he tried - and so desperately waiting for him to make the choice to reach out and hold you.

His fingers itch to find purchase in the body he knows so well. Still, Obi-Wan denies himself that basic need.

He doesn’t deserve anything anymore. Not even you.

Realizing he won’t grant you the satisfaction of even a response, you tuck your legs beneath you and sit beside him in silence. Silence has always been a welcomed thing between you two. There had never been a need to fill it. Anakin’s persistent rambling and Ahsoka’s laughter had always done that for you.

Now, there is no one. At the end of all things, all that remains is the both of you and a canvas of stars to watch over you from above.

***

He’s surprised to follow your cries to your bedside when you wake up screaming the name of your clone commander. Your scream is so loud, so anguished, that Obi-Wan is convinced that it could carry across the Junland Wastes.

His nightmares are dealt with in his own solitude. It is his penance. His sin. Everything he’s done is to be dealt with in silence.

Yours is to be dealt with in agonizing screams that could pierce the very Force itself with the depths of your grief.

“My love,” Obi-Wan’s voice is soft as his hands move of their own accord, careful to not shock you further as they find purchase against your face. The warmth of his touch bleeding into the cold that envelops you is enough to shake you from your reverie. “Look at me.”

Arms In your arms I’m wrapped in the safest keeping

The bright, youthful onyx eyes of Commander Cain shift into the solemn, adoring blues of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The moment you realize you can feel him and see him and touch him is when you consequently choose the same time to bleed all over him the same way he used to allow himself to bleed all over you.

“Obi-Wan,” You cry as you press his hands deeper into your skin in hopes it will brand and leave a reminder of his touch there. “Please don’t let go, I can’t let another go, not again-”

And he realizes then what you’re saying. Some of the people you’ve lost were taken by things out of your control. Padme. Anakin. Plo.

Your clones - both of you - could’ve been saved. Cain. Cody. Rex. Kix. Jesse. Funsize. All those faces that while so similar were so astonishingly different in the Force. They may have been meant to be the same, but they all bled in different shades of that in which they came from.

Cody bled loyalty. Rex bled devotion. Cain bled heart, while Kix bled compassion.

So similar.. but yet still so different.

You bury your face in his chest so suddenly that the force of it nearly knocks him off of his feet and right into the sand at the base of the stone thing he’s taken to calling a bed. Yours is closer now. It’s nearly joined with his own.

“Don’t let go, don’t let go-”

So similar... but still so different. How ironic that applies to the both of us as well.

Threading his fingers through your hair, Obi-Wan exhales softly through his nose and maneuvers his arms to hold you as tightly to him as possible.

“I will never let you go, darling.” He whispers into the tresses of your hair. It takes quite a long time for the trembling to cease until you have fallen asleep in his arms for the first time in weeks, and Obi-Wan knows sleep will elude him this night because of his reemerging desire to protect you from those haunts. “I made a vow.”

Till death do you part.

If my heart Isn’t yours Then that’s when I’ll give up breathing

He really had led himself to believe he didn’t need you anymore. Solitude, the loneliness, taking everything on alone... That was his penance for all the mistakes he committed during The Clone War.

But now as he sits here with you cradled against his chest on the dunes of the endless sea of sand that surrounds him, Obi-Wan Kenobi thinks that getting past this might be doable if you are there to carry it with him.

He wasn’t meant to carry this cross alone. Not this one, not the ones that he so often fell from the weight of their burden previous to this.

You’d always picked his up for him then. Maybe now it’s his turn to do the same for you. To bear the weight of your haunts. To tend to your heart the way you’ve tended to his.

Doing it together would be better than giving up breathing. There was never a world in which Obi-Wan would be okay with leaving you alone.

He is not selfish, after all.

***

All I know Only you can stop the bleeding

“What do you dream about, Obi-Wan?”

You’re in the middle of cooking dinner together six months into your tenure on Tatooine when you finally ask this. He knows what you dream of. Most nights are relentless nightmares of being shot down on Utapau, the fires of Jabiim, the night the Temple fell.

You just can’t let them go. No matter how hard you try to lay your clones to rest, they just dig their claws further into what’s left of your soul and make their home there.

Letting go...

Isn't something I believe in

When they eventually bury you, they may as well bury the memory of the clones with you. They will soon be a distant memory. The Empire has all but shoved their service record and bravery in war as far underground as possible so no one will ever be able to thank them for it.

Why would they? There's stormtroopers now, and so few clones remain.

That was the intention after all.

"I dreamed of Qui-Gon for quite a long time... until you came back around," His admission is quiet, spoken over the cups of tea he's only just finished brewing. "The dreams since then have been joyful. Peaceful. More memories of you and me and our-" He pauses and grips the handles of each mug with whitened knuckles. "But since Knightfall, the nightmares have resurfaced."

"So you dream of what was."

"I dream of what was," He confirms. You're careful in your movements as you cross your tiny kitchen to wrap your arms around his waist and press your chest against his back. It's not difficult to miss all that he hides underneath those robes and tunics. "And what I wish could be. But most nights.. my love..."

Obi-Wan turns around to tip your face upward toward the suns rays that are only just beginning to shine through the window. Your lips part of their own accord, taken aback by the sudden touch - as it has been so long since he's initiated it - but unable to help yourself from seeking more as you lean into his palm.

Your don't dare tear your eyes away from his own.

"I dream of you."

"If it pleases you, husband," Your voice falters as you swallow the knot in your throat, tongue heavy and mouth dry as his grip on your hips gradually tightens. "I'd like to hold you now."

It's clear he's contemplating formulating an argument. From the moment he recognizes that silent desperation in your eyes to just give in for once, Obi-Wan nods his assent and allows you to lead him into your bedroom.

Neither of you have to work today. You're free to do exactly as you wish. There’s no rush. No reason to hurry.

It’s just you and him.

You both used to bleed intimacy behind closed doors. Now, though.. There's no one to scorn you. No one to chastise you for loving each other as ardently as you do, no one to accidentally look in as you lead Obi-Wan through the bedroom door and back until his knees collide with the side of your bed.

What Have we become?

Even as you strip him down to his undergarments, Obi-Wan's grip on your hips never falters. He is deliberate in his decision to not meet your gaze as he kisses whatever skin is visible to his wandering eye.

"I love you." You whisper. Grinning against the curve of his cheek, you move his hand to rest against the small of your back and finally are able to properly feel the warmth his broad body radiates. You know how insecure he is about the scars. Kriff, you'd been there to witness how he got them. You'd been there and you'd tended to him and yet you loved him still. He didn't understand why.

All Obi-Wan was truly certain about was his willingness to allow you to do one thing you'd prevent be very good at.

Stitch back together what has been bleeding.

"I love you too." He replies weakly, and all it takes to give him back the voice he was so convinced he lost - at least for this moment - is the surge to your tiptoes that has your mouth connecting to his own.

It's like that type of rain that cleanses. The feeling of serenity washes over you like that cold, cold rain until you are left to both breathe in nothing but one another.

You feel it then. The whispers of who you both were slowly clawing to the surface to give way to being the people you once were. To being Jedi again.

Maybe someday.

It's only when he's somehow switched your positions and moved to cage your body under his own that you realize it. Obi-Wan's hands are currently linked with yours on either side of your head.

And they're holding tight. It’s the tightest he’s held you since the night on the dunes, since the night you’d fallen upon the Temple steps in the aftermath of Anakin’s massacre because you just could not take the sight of so many clone bodies.

You learned a long time ago that when he holds tight, you don’t contemplate letting go.

You are quick to smile when you realize that two inches from your face sits his wedding ring, dangling on a silver chain that he often keeps around his neck. "Jee," You muse. "Don't you think you should put that on?"

And his response sings of the old Obi-Wan as he leans down to whisper hot in your ear, "I don't know, my love. I think people need to know who I belong to."

Now you’re done All is lost

It may have felt as if it was lost, once. This is the first time that you've felt as if there may be hope on the horizon. That there is something to be found. Something good.

You cling to that.

***

after.

"When you think back on Old Ben and his wife, what do you think of?"

The Kenobi's had always been quietly fearful of Luke's perception of them. They didn't want him to see what had been broken, what was unable to be repaired. They wanted him to see strength. Resilience. Peace.

So that's what Luke saw. He saw two people who had made mistakes, who had suffered and lost and fought.

"I think they lost too much," Luke replied quietly as he settled beside Leia to peer up at Endor's stars. "I think they were fearful and relied on one another to find some way to keep going despite all they lost. I can't imagine the kind of pain they endured." He paused. "But you know.. they only had each other. At least they found peace in the end in the midst of all that pain."

Luke Skywalker eventually returns to Old Ben's hut. When he does, three gravestones have been erected. One says Obi-Wan Kenobi, The Negotiator. Dear husband and best of men.

Yours is expected. Dear wife and best of women. General of Reaper Squadron.

The last one, however, he isn't expecting. It's an assortment of names and numbers of what look like military battalions. Luke assumes it's meant to be a memorial. A memorial to something he will never quite know or understand.

104th - The Wolf Pack

212th - Ghost Company

501st - Torrent Company

114th - Reaper Squadron

There's names that correspond with each company. People he doesn't know, faces he will never see. That's not what draws Luke's attention though. Not really.

It's the words underneath that drive it home.

The Clones - We will remember.

And right underneath those are two crossed lightsabers. Not Ben's, as that one had been left on the Death Stars, but there's one thing the kyber sings as Luke bends to bury it with the remains of who the Kenobi's had once been.

Peace.

#Obi-Wan Kenobi #Obi-Wan x Reader #Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader #Star Wars imagines #Star Wars oneshots

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madsworld15 · 4 months

Text

I'm trying out a new fic idea for Brian and Justin. What if their first meeting was entirely different? What if Justin was actually on the asexual spectrum and did not want to jump Brian's bones immediately?

Let me know what you guys THINK!

Justin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As nervous as he was to be here, he needed this job. Justin was eight weeks into his college career only to find that his father hadn’t paid his tuition like he said he would. He’d, of course, gone to Mr. Taylor’s place of work only to be told, to his face, that as long as he chose to live his disgusting lifestyle, his father wouldn’t be supporting his education.

Which brought Justin here, standing on the sidewalk corner across the street from the diner. In a few minutes, he had a job interview with a woman named Debbie, and his nerves were shot.

Despite being gay, Justin hadn’t ever entered any queer exclusive spaces or ventured down to Liberty Avenue.

Was he really ready to work here every day? He barely felt comfortable in his own gay identity, let alone know anyone else who was the same. He was 18, a virgin, and only out to his parents and best friend. This was like leaping the high dive at the Olympics.

Justin took another deep breath and walked a few feet to the front door. The minute he stepped inside, his senses became overloaded with an onslaught of colors, sounds, and smells. At 4 o’clock in the afternoon, the place was bustling and almost filled to the rafters. He bit his lip and searched for a person who might be Debbie. Justin was about to turn back around and leave when a woman with a red wig, a loud graphic tee with sexual innuendo, and a rainbow vest bestowed with a million buttons walked up with a smile. Her name tag said Debbie.

“Hello there, sunshine.” She was chewing gum and wilder than Justin had ever experienced, yet he somehow felt safe.

“H-hi.” He stumbled over his words at first, but then, with a deep swallow, he continued, “I’m Justin. I'm here for the job interview?”

“Oh! Well, why don’t you go over to the counter, honey. I’ll get you settled as soon as I give those raging queens behind you their order.” She motioned behind her to the last open seat at the countertop by the register.

Justin glanced nervously around him. He allowed himself a moment of insecurity and then put his walls up. He couldn’t let anyone know he felt out of place, or they would pounce. With his chest out and head held high, the young man walked over to the counter and plopped down.

In the seat next to him was another man wearing the kind of clothes Justin wished he had the balls to wear. As an artist, he would love to wear loud colors and clothes that hugged his tiny frame. But as a WASP, he’d had subtlety and propriety drilled into him from a young age.

“My, my baby! I’ve never seen you here before. Aren’t you just adorable!” The colorful man addressed him with a distinctly Southern accent, laughing eyes, and a matching grin. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met. And I know everybody!”

“I’m new to the area. Here for a job interview.” Justin replied politely and gave the man a tight smile.

“Well, let Aunty Em help you out! I’ll be your tour guide for everything Liberty Avenue.” The man extended his hand for a shake in greeting.

“Jesus, Emmett.” Debbie appeared suddenly on the other side of the counter. “Give the poor kid room to breathe. I’m sorry, sunshine. Can I get you anything?”

“Just welcoming him to the neighborhood. Besides, if he’s here for a job, he’s gotta get used to us queens.” Emmett smiled between Debbie and Justin, “Especially being the cute young thing he is.”

Justin blushed when Emmett threw a wink his way.

“Alright, I know this isn’t ideal for an interview, but as you can see, we are up to our ears in customers. Why don’t we step into the kitchen, and I can ask you some questions.”

Debbie gave Justin a warm smile and directed him to the kitchen door. Something about this woman just put his mind at ease. Justin didn’t know how to explain it, but he knew she would look after him in this new world.

“Alright, so,” Debbie started as they sat in two chairs near the grill, “do you have any restaurant experience?”

“Can I be honest? I don’t have any work experience. I grew up in a privileged family. My dad always gave me anything I wanted. But,” Justin started strong, but reaching the part where his dad kicked him out because he was gay was something even he couldn’t say out loud.

“Let me guess. Your parents don’t like that you are gay.” Debbie put her hand over Justin’s in understanding.

“You can tell?”

“Honey, aside from me, everyone who works here has some kind of story about their parents not accepting them for who they are.” Debbie tilted her head and fixed her sympathetic eyes on the young blonde.

“Yeah. I’m a freshman over at PIFA. My dad wanted me to go to Dartmouth, but I’m not interested in business. When I came out to him and my mom, they seemed okay, but then I graduated, and he refused to support me anymore. So, now I need a job to help pay for college.” Justin gave her his best pleading look, hoping she would feel bad and give him the job.

“Well, not to worry, sunshine.” Debbie jumped up and pulled Justin along with her. “We are in desperate need of a waiter willing to work a flexible schedule. Our waitress Kiki can only work mornings which doesn’t help much.”

“I can work anytime after 11 am on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. I’m not available except at night on Mondays and Fridays since those are the days I have studio time. And on the weekends, do your worst to me.” Justin had a good feeling his life was going to turn around.

“You got yourself a job.” Debbie shook his hand before wrapping him up in a giant hug.

*****

Three Weeks Later

Justin rubbed his tired eyes. It was 8:30 am on a Friday, and he was supposed to be off due to his agreement with Debbie. But she had begged him to cover Kiki today. So, he gave up his usual studio time and promised to cover until his class at 1.

“Excuse me, waiter.” An irritated voice sounded from behind Justin, and he turned to find the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.

He was tall, thin, and handsome. With brunette hair impeccably styled and piercing hazel eyes, he looked like he’d stepped off the pages of a GQ magazine.

“Could I get a coffee before I die?” His voice might sound irritated, but something about it caught Justin’s attention in a good way.

“Is that in the next two minutes?” Justin deposited a hand on his hip and cocked his eyebrow. He’d toughened up considerably in the weeks since he started, and this bitchy business queen didn’t scare him.

“No.” The man looked Justin in the eye, confused.

Suddenly, Debbie was there with her hand smacking the man upside his head. “Be nice, Brian. You’re not gonna die without a coffee.”

“Oh, come on, Deb. I was just…” The man named Brian started to argue, but Justin pouring him a cup of coffee, stopped him.

“Thanks!” He whipped around and smiled in a way that told Justin he was used to charming people into submission.

“Next time, a please would be nice. And a little patience.” Justin stated that before he turned to replace the coffee pot on the warmer, he headed over to one of the booths to take their order.

For some reason, Justin half expected Brian to be gone by the time he returned to the register after dropping off table 5’s order to the kitchen. But the man was still sitting at the counter, reading the newspaper and slowly nursing his coffee. Instead of engaging him to ask if he wanted a refill, Justin chose to ignore him completely. As he rang up one of the groups leaving, he noticed another man joined Brian. The shorter, geekier man wore a button-down and tie but didn’t have a suit jacket. Justin slowly approached the pair, wanting to snoop a bit beforehand. He grabbed the coffee pot and was prepared to ask the newcomer if he wanted a cup and Brian if he wanted a refill.

“Mikey, don’t you have somewhere to be? Somewhere not bothering me?” Brian groused at his companion. It gave Justin some satisfaction to know that Brian seemed short with everyone, not just the wait staff.

Justin stepped forward, afraid that he’d been standing off to the side a hair too long. “Would you like a refill?”

Brian looked up with a smirk. He closed the newspaper and folded it up. He stood up and fished out a wad of bills from his pocket without a response. He threw down a 10 and told Justin to keep the change. Justin stood in shock and watched as the two dark-haired men left the diner completely.

What did I just experience? WHO was THAT?!

He was so far in his head he didn’t realize Debbie was there until she snapped her fingers in front of his face.

“Sunshine! I need you to take these plates to table 5.” Debbie gave him a pointed look and handed him three hot plates piled with food.

Justin nodded and did as he was asked. His mind was still on Brian, trying to make sense of him — especially the $9 tip he gave Justin for basically doing nothing.

“Hey, Debbie,” Justin stated as he returned to the counter and his mentor. “Can I ask you something about Brian?”

“Oh, Jesus. You too?” Debbie snorted and continued her current task of making more coffee.

“What do you mean, me too?” Justin was perplexed. He’d wanted to ask if getting such a large tip from the guy was normal, but Debbie seemed to think Justin was looking for something else.

“Just that everyone is always looking for Brian. Everybody wants to ask about Brian.” Debbie turned to Justin; for once, he understood why everyone at the diner always said she could be scary sometimes.

“I get the idea you don’t like him.” Justin chuckled nervously.

“My son, Michael, has been best friends with Brian since they were kids. Let’s just say Brian can be a bit selfish sometimes. I love him like a son, but I also want to slap him most of the time.” Debbie paused before she threw a warning at Justin, “Don’t even think about it. He chews up guys like you and spits them out. He’s not the commitment type.”

Justin nodded slowly, pulled the tip out of his pocket, and then asked what he’d really wanted to ask, “I just wanted to ask if Brian normally tipped ridiculous amounts. He got a cup of coffee and told me to keep the change from a 10.”

Debbie looked from Justin’s face to the money in his hand and then back up again. “Oh. Yes, Brian is always generous with his money. Like I said, sunshine, I love the guy. But be warned, he’s selfish with his heart.” She moved past him with a pat on his shoulder.

Justin still wasn’t sure why Debbie warned him so strongly about the businessman. But, as far as Justin was concerned, if he kept tipping like that, Justin would put up with just about anything from him. What he didn’t say to Debbie, and she didn’t explicitly ask, Justin wasn’t even thinking of a physical relationship with anyone. Let alone this guy named Brian.

Sure, he was attractive. Justin did have eyes, after all. But, overall, he was just another interesting patron, and Justin was just a waiter. In no version of Justin’s life could he see him ever interacting with Brian outside of diner-related exchanges.

#queer as folk #fanfiction #justin taylor #brian kinney #brian and justin #alternate universe #asexual spectrum representation

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