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lemoncherrypop · 29 days

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seventeen x harry potter au

deatheater!seungcheol x gryffindorprincess!reader summary: The war has finally come and your entire world falls into ruin. After a surprise attack from the Death Eaters, you barely escape with your life and find refuge in a faraway safe house. Everything would have been fine, all things considered, except for the fact that you had fallen right into the snake’s pit. notes: hello :'))) i am back from the dead. i can not apologize enough for the three year hiatus. i went through some family stuff, some mental breakdowns, and also just life in general made me not want to write anymore. but all the messages and comments I've gotten throughout the years have been so heart warming and touching. your words of support have genuinely made me want to get back into this again, so thank you thank you thank you. all your likes, comments and shares really kept me going, sometimes I felt like I was writing into the void, but knowing that others read and enjoyed my story was a very validating and heartwarming feeling. again, I am SOOO sorry for the extremely late update, but if you are still around, I hope you will enjoy this next chapter! i love you all <3 P.S if you prefer AO3 viewing, it will be linked in my Series Masterlist :) word count: 4.3k

Series Masterlist

One l Two l Three l Four l Five l coming soon...

Chapter Five

The bed is warm when you wake up, but you can not move.

“If you try to get up, I will incarcerous your ass.”

The air smells bitter and burnt, and it makes you want to gag at how strong it weighs in the air. Blinking past the candlelights, you find Jean sitting in a chair next to your bed.

Groaning, you try and curl your fingers, but you find yourself unable to. Not even needing to look down, you could feel the thick bandages wrapped around your whole chest and the entire length of your left arm.

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t,” you grumble, voice feeling raw and dry in your throat. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

“What did I do to you?”

“I can’t fucking move!”

“I bloody well put you back together in one piece!” Jean snapped and you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen so much anger in your friend’s eyes. “You nearly got yourself killed, and you’re complaining about a couple of bandages?!”

“A couple is enough to render me completely useless?!”

“You’re not useless.” Jean rolls her eyes. “You’re just forced into recuperation.”

“Well, it’d be fucking nice if I could at least scratch my nose.” You scrunch your nose unpleasantly.

“Your right arm still works, you know.”

“Oh.” You blink. “Right.”

Jean sighs deeply and goes back to focusing on something on your night table. Feeling awkward, you stretch out your right arm the best you can and reach up to scratch the itch on the bridge of your nose.

“What’s that?” You point at the stack of small withered leather pouches and tiny vials of potions.

She lets out a grunt of frustration. “It’s your medicine. You lost so much blood, I thought you turned into a bloody ghost.”

“Well, blame that on—”

“It’s both of your faults,” Jean cuts you off with a sharp glare. “Don’t go blaming Seungcheol when you put him in an equally bad position.”

You can’t help but smirk at the news. “He strapped down onto his bed just like me?”

Glass bottles click and clatter as Jean slams down your medicine. “Wake up! This was all meant for training, not to cut each other’s throats and bleed each other dry.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn away to avoid her glare. “Did you give him the same lecture?”

“I’m serious, can’t you just listen to me?”

“It’d be nice to not, but I don’t think I have a choice.”

She scoffs. “We’re not at school anymore. There’s no more petty house rivalry, no house points to fight over, or exams to stress over. We’re on the same side of the war, we can’t keep fighting with the boys.”

“Don’t be a fool.” You snap back at her with furrowed brows. “You want me to trust these boys? Thought you were supposed to be the smart one—”

A click— the door opens and Wonwoo walks in as if he were coming in like routine.

“Ah,” he says in quiet surprise. “You’re up?”

A brow quirks. “What are you doing in my room?”

Jean clicks her tongue and goes back to refilling your medication.

He holds up an amber glass bottle. “To heal you back into a functioning human.”

You place your good arm under the back of your head and prop yourself up a little to get a better view of your two housemates.

“Jean’s already got my medicine here.” You nod over to the glass vials on your night table.

“Yes, but this one—” Wonwoo holds it closer to your face, the clear glass has no label but contains a sticky, thick liquid. “—is for those cuts that Seungcheol gave you.”

“Of course,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “Even the cuts he gave me aren’t ordinary. I need a special potion just for that?”

Wonwoo takes a seat at the end of your bed. “You lost a lot of blood.”

“A lot.” Jean glowers.

“Stop worrying,” you chide. “I feel fine!” You cough, embarrassingly, your throat still raw and dry.

“Fine my fucking arse,” Jean curses, and you know she’s truly mad because when was the last time your friend has ever cursed? “Fine isn’t being completely incapacitated for days. I had no idea when you would even wake up.”

“Wait a sec—” Your forehead wrinkles as your face contorts into confusion. “How long have I been out?”

“Only three days,” Wonwoo sighs, and uncorks the bottle in his hand. “He’s just as immobile as you, thought you’d be interested to know.”

“That is good to know.” You can’t help the grin spreading on your face. Jean’s scowl only deepens.

A cup is conjured out of thin air, and Wonwoo pours some of the amber liquid into it. “This is going to be hard to swallow, but drink the whole thing, okay?” He hands you the cup.

It looks even darker in the cup and moves like molasses. “And what is this supposed to help with? All the blood that I lost?”

“It’s to make sure your wounds heal completely,” Jeans explains. “Unfortunately… you won’t be able to get rid of the scars, but at least they’ll be completely closed.”

“That spell he used on you…” Wonwoo says quietly, his face looking serious as he tries to word it properly in his head before saying it out loud. “It’s— it’s not a spell to take lightly. Obviously, it would have been best to use the counterspell right after you got hit, but you continued fighting—”

“Absolute blockheads, the both of you!”

“— and the lacerations only went deeper and deeper as they spread. It’ll take a few days of rest before you’re fully healed, but just hold your nose when you take the potion because it—”

“Tastes like fucking shit!” You gag.

“— tastes pretty awful…”

Mandatory bed rest for the rest of the week.

Those were the orders from apparently everyone else in the house. Sneaking out was not an option because there was a spell that made the entire house ring when you tried to sneak out. It was equally both embarrassing and frustrating, seeing as how you couldn’t even take a piss without having Jean come over to help you over to the bathroom.

The only good thing about being imprisoned inside your own room was Wonwoo’s cup of tea.

He brought you a cup of tea every morning. Earl grey. Always piping hot, and with just enough cream and sugar to make anyone else’s tongue curl from the sweetness.

It was the perfect cup of tea.

The damn snake was slowly creeping his way up your ladder that goes from enemies to acquaintances to just barely being friends. He was still low on the ladder though, just marginally above the other snakes.

But the cup of tea did nothing to make you feel any better. Any less useless.

The wounds have healed completely when you finished up the rest of the amber liquid, and the bandages were finally all released with permission from Wonwoo and Jean, but no one allowed you back into another round of dueling. Not yet at least. They all said it's because you needed more time to get better, but you knew it was because they all thought you weren’t mentally stable enough to go back.

“You almost died!” You remember wincing in pain when Jean readjusted your bandages.

No matter how many times you insisted that you were feeling better and thinking more clearly, she stayed firm in her decision.

“Not. Yet.”

You can only hope that the same was happening to Seungcheol.

Minghao sips on his glass and the candlelight illuminates the grimace on his face. “This is not what I meant when I said they wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off each other.”

“I was hoping they’d just fuck each other’s brains out,” Mingyu shrugs. “But I guess this is another way of them taking their anger out on each other.”

“How could you joke like that when they both nearly died?” Trinh scowls, smacking the back of his head for the comment.

“Hey!” Mingyu rubs his head with a groan. “You think I wanted that to happen? I nearly shit myself when I saw the amount of blood in here!” He shudders dramatically. “But they’re both healed now, yeah?”

“Doesn’t make the situation any better.” Trinh tiredly rubs her eyes. “We can never pair them up again for training. I refuse to clean up that much blood again.”

“The reality is,” Minghao sighs, reaching over to pet her hair. “They fucking hate each other. I’m sure they’ll find another excuse to get into another bloody fight.”

“As much as I hated the fight as well, I can’t say that I’m not surprised.” Mingyu sighs. “This was a fight years in the making. We put those two together without any supervision of the professors, and what did we expect? Sunshine and chocolate frogs?”

“Their fighting in Hogwarts was child’s play compared to this,” Trinh groans, looking more tired by the second.

She shifts in her chair just enough for her to lean her head on Minghao’s shoulder, and he suddenly laughs. “Remember that time he spiked her ale with some babbling beverage right before potions class?”

A light chuckle comes from Mingyu. “Or that time she used locomotor mortis right before he leaned in for his first kiss with that Gryffindor girl and he fell right into her breasts?”

Minghao throws his head back with a loud snort. “Then there was that brilliant prank where he charmed her quill to write everything backwards during our O.W.L.S!”

“See? I’m telling you, they just need to fuck.” Mingyu lays his finger on the table to make his point. “They’ve already beat each other bloody.”

Minghao’s laughter slowly fades until his smile is no more, and reaches for his glass again. “Yeah, but he’s not the same boy as before.” He takes a final swig and downs the whole drink. “He’s changed.”

“We’ve all changed.”

Their heads all snap up to see Wonwoo standing at the end of their table. Minghao grimaces, and all traces of laughter have disappeared from his face. Looking forlornly into his half-empty glass, Mingyu stays silent as well.

“Done drinking for tonight?” He asks the trio, looking just as solemn as his crew of snakes.

Trinh throws her head back to finish hers and slams it back on the table. “Now I am.”

Mingyu holds up an empty glass for Wonwoo in offerance. “How are they doing? Still, being stubborn?

Wonwoo declines with a shake of his head and sits down to join them. “I don’t know what I expected from either of them,” he sighs. “She’s still fighting tooth and nail to get out of the room, and Seungcheol’s… well, you know how he gets when he’s moody.”

“Got the temper of a five-year-old.” Trinh shakes her head.

“But thankfully the medications are working well,” Wonwoo continues. “Wounds are pretty much all healed. I still think they need more time to mentally recover from their fight.”

“I’ve got high hopes for the Princess, but Seungcheol? Like that stubborn dickhead has any space in his thick skull to even comprehend how to do that.”

“Mingyu.” Wonwoo places a firm grip on his shoulder. “We’ve got to do something. He can’t keep going on like this, he’s only going to get worse.”

“Well, what do you suggest then?” Mingyu snaps. “Like he’ll listen to any of us.

Minghao’s expression is grim. “I’m afraid the only way he’ll get any better is if he is dead, my friend.”

Days and weeks flew by in the cottage and the house was slowly coming into action once again. Mingyu and Jean were still flirting around in every room, Trinh could be found giggling away with Minghao whilst pretending to not care about anyone else.

And yet, you haven’t exchanged a single word with Seungcheol. It was harder than you expected, pretending like someone doesn’t exist under the same roof as you, but you were determined to see past him like a ghost. Unsurprisingly, he had shown you the same courtesy. Seungcheol even ate his meals alone in his room or in the room down in the basement.

Walking around the house post near-death-fight was an even bigger pain than before. There was an unspoken mutual agreement between the two of you, and that was to be completely oblivious to each other’s existence. Although the entire household was pushing for the both of you to make amends, it was clear that they have all underestimated both your stubbornness. You bet you could go months, maybe even years, pretending like Seungcheol didn’t exist within the same home as you.

While the lack of contact with the miserable imp was nice, the tension still weighed heavy in the air, and you knew it was beginning to suffocate the others as well. But as much as you felt bad for your housemates, they were the ones who forced you into this whole situation in the first place.

And so, he continued to act as if you were nothing but an echo in the hallways. He didn’t even sneer or frown, or show any physical signs of threats or discomfort. He simply acted as if you didn’t exist.

And you were fine with that.

Until, well, everyone else wasn’t.

The night hung heavy, and the moon cast a haunting glow on the house as you readied for sleep. You were seconds away from slipping under your covers when a timid knock echoed from your door. Wearily, you trudged over to answer, revealing a Wonwoo poised to knock again.

“Wonwoo?”

“Hi.”

“Can I help you?”

Wonwoo’s arms fall to his sides, his body rigid and expression wavering with hesitance. It was clear from his eyes that he was unsure of his presence at your door, especially at this late hour.

The past few weeks have admittedly been easier with the help of Wonwoo’s presence. He took care of you in little ways that you did not expect. He brought medicine with a cup of hot tea on the side for you every day. He would accompany you in silent book readings in the common room, discreetly sitting across from you in your favorite armchair to keep you company. And whenever you felt yourself about to be overcome with anxiety, somehow, almost miraculously, Wonwoo would appear to chase that sinking feeling of fear in your chest away.

Most times, he would ask if you’d like to accompany him in some tasks, like baking muffins for breakfast the next day, or flying on the broomsticks to help clean up the roof, or even picking flowers outside to make bouquets around the cottage.

Other times, he would make you a cup of tea and simply just sit by your side. He would make small talk if you felt like talking, but if you didn’t, he would just sit in silence with you. Sometimes, you would sit in silence for so long that your tea would grow cold, but by the time you noticed, Wonwoo had already gotten up to make you a fresh cup of tea to replace the cold one in your hands.

He had such a keen sense of your anxieties, you wondered if it was because he had the same fears as you.

A heavy sigh escapes you, heart feeling pity for the boy who has diligently stayed by your side everyday since the duel. “What is it?” Your voice is soft, speaking low to not be heard by others. “I was just about to go to sleep.”

“Oh— I’ll come back another night then—”

“Nonsense. Come inside.”

“I… I don’t want to take up too much of your time…”

“You spent the past three weeks putting me back together. You are allowed some of my time.”

He still seems hesitant. A jitteriness that was now making you nervous.

“What is it?” You ask in a tense whisper. “Did you get any news? Has someone else—”

“No! No, not at all,” He waves his hands quickly, immediately banishing the thought of losing yet another classmate. “I just— well, I’m not sure if this may come as a shock to you, but you must know that your fight with Seungcheol is making everyone else in the house deeply uncomfortable—”

You let out a deep sigh of relief. “Is this what you came in the middle of the night for?” Turning your back on him, you wave your hand back, motioning for him to leave your room. “Go to bed, Wonwoo.”

He grabs your left hand, making you halt in your tracks. Turning to face him, you saw the strain etched into his expression. His other hand pauses for a second before reaching over to pull up your sleeve. “Look at what's happened to you.”

Your hand whips out of his and you bring the sleeve down in a defensive rage. “What are you here for, Wonwoo?” You demand this time.

He gathers in a shaky breath as if he were afraid to speak another word out loud. “Have you ever heard of that spell?” His voice drops to a whisper, making sure that you are the only one that can hear him. “That was dark magic, nothing like what we were ever taught in school. Who do you think taught him that spell?”

“You think I care where you learned all your demented spells from?”

“Well you should! I know there’s been a difficult history between our houses, but we’re all here together now. We’re all classmates here, why can’t you just—”

“Just what? Want me to pretend like everythings okay? Like the outside world isn’t burning up all around us? Want me to forget what he’s done to me?”

“I’m not asking for you to forgive him or any of us, but I am asking you to just… accept the situation that we’re all in. Whether you like it or not, we are on the same side now.”

“Acceptance doesn’t come that easily, it’s something to be earned.”

His face falls. “Haven’t I?” Wonwoo’s eyes turn soft, yearning and desperate. “I was hoping that— that at least I am…”

Your heart clenches with guilt. “No… you’re right.” Shaking your head, you reach over to grab his hands in yours. “You’ve— you’ve been a great friend to me the past few weeks, and I can’t ever deny that, it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

His shoulders relax, and he gently returns your grasp. Giving him a faint smile, you guide him into your room as he quietly closes the door behind him. Taking a seat together on your bed, facing each other, a sense of solemnity settles between you.

“This situation in the house…” Wonwoo’s voice is still cautious. “I felt like I needed to come to you, and tell you… if you and Seungcheol continue on this way, it will break us all apart.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“People are starting to walk on eggshells around here, and it’s because of you two.”

“Did you give him the same talk, or are you just lecturing me?” You snap, unable to hold down your annoyance at how everyone’s been treating you since the duel. That loathsome fuck was the one who almost killed you, and yet everyone’s coming to you to try and make amends?

“Oh, trust me,” Wonwoo almost chuckles. “He’s getting lectured by both Mingyu and Hao. You got the lucky end of the stick.”

You bit back a smile at that.

“But you know it’s true. We have to split up with dueling practice, we don’t gather anymore to hear Jun’s nightly news, and we just eat our meals separately now. There needs to be some unity between us in order for us to work together.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “Since when did you become so pragmatic?”

“I’ve always been,” he responds in exasperation. “I might be friends with those idiots, but don’t lump me in with their antics.”

“You’ve revealed your true self to me six years too late,” You say wryly.

Wonwoo reaches over to grasp your hands again. “I know, and that’s exactly why I refuse to let this chance slip away.” His look is so serious, your smile drops. “Besides, haven’t you ever noticed? I was always the one to pull the boys out of the fights.”

You pause, genuinely considering his words. “I can’t say I have.”

Wonwoo scoffs lightly. “Course not. Your attention was always elsewhere.”

“Like where?” You raise a brow.

“You know where,” he raises a brow back at you. “But now your attention is needed here. I came here because I need you to understand.”

“Understand what, Wonwoo.” Frustration starts to build. “That we’re all in this together now? That we aren’t enemies anymore because we’re fighting on the same side? I get it,” Your voice is dripping with sarcasm. “I still hate the bloody ass, but we’re stuck in this damned house for the same reason.”

The corner of his lips quirk up. “Glad to see that you’re not in denial anymore, but it’s important you know why we ran away in the first place.”

“Because your malevolent Dark Lord is out there murdering people left and right?”

“You’re not wrong,” he says, his eyes darkening. “Believe me when I say that even his most devoted followers feared him. It might have seemed like we were just taking Dark Magic lessons from the Death Eaters, but we were prisoners there. We— we were taught all these different ways to torture, sometimes even forced—”

Your face contorts in confusion, a sick feeling starting to settle in your stomach. “Have you ever…”

“Never.” He shuts you down before you could finish your question. “But… we came close a few times.”

Your hands draw away from his as a chill runs down your spine. Wonwoo looks ashamed, his hands clenched into fists.

“They trained us to be like them. They wanted us to just be another soldier. They taught us how to fight, how to torture, how to kill. They tried to poison our minds.”

A familiar panic starts to fill in his eyes, and guilt washes over you. The fear you’ve developed since running away from the Death Eaters was nothing in comparison to what he went through. How could anyone come out of that normal?

“They made us watch every night. We watched every single muggle, muggle-born or “traitor” be tortured until death. The Death Eaters were creative for sure, I watched some of their bodies be twisted in ways they shouldn’t and others lose their sanity. And on nights where the Eaters had a bit too much to drink, they would make us test the curses out on each other.”

A silence falls on your face, horror-stricken.

“One night… I saw him, Seokmin’s father. I recognized him from the platform before boarding the train. Seokmin looked just like him, the same eyes and smile… I had no idea he was a Muggle. I tried to help him escape.”

Your hands finds his again, gripping his fingers, apologetic for pulling away in the first place. The panic slowly rising in Wonwoo’s eyes.

“I had no idea he was a muggle,” he repeats, the pained look in his eyes begging you to believe him. “I thought we were almost out, but I got caught. Cicero— he was the one who caught me.”

His fingers felt cold in your hands.

“That was the last time I saw his father,” he murmurs. “And Cicero took me away.”

He pulls one hand up to his buttons on his shirt, a slight tremble as he starts to undo them. “Right here,” he guides one of your hands up to the center of his chest. “Is where I have the same scars as you.”

Your heart shatters at the revelation.

He laughs bitterly as you trail your fingers down his disfigured skin. “We all have them. Mingyu has them on his chest as well. Minghao is growing his hair longer to hide the ones on his back, and Seungcheol…” he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I never knew… I never imagined… the things you’ve been through,” your words fracture, not knowing what to say.

He’s back to smiling, a maddening reassurance you know he’s trying to give you despite the panic still in his eyes.

“Jean and I may have mended you back together, but Seungcheol cast the counterspell. He’s the one that saved you.”

“Seungcheol? But he’s the one who—”

“I know,” he nods. “He’s the one who used it on you in the first place, but when you were bleeding out in the common room, shirt torn apart and lifeless, it woke something back up in him.”

You shook your head, not saying anything. You didn’t want to believe him, but there was a quiet stirring in your head.

“He was the Dark Lord’s favorite. He trained the most out of all of us, the Dark Lord wanted to use him for his plans, and after months and months of enduring his training… he just couldn’t take it anymore.”

Tears start welling up in his eyes, his voice a mere whisper. “Something inside him… just snapped.” A tear falls from his face. “He didn’t want to kill the headmaster, but he had no choice. He had to. My closest friend is broken now because of it, and— and I don’t know how to fix him.”

Your chest crumples at the sight before you.

“He’s made the Unbreakable Vow.” Wonwoo reveals. “I needed you to understand. He just wanted to live.”

#scoups scenarios #seungcheol scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #scoups fic #seungcheol fic #harry potter au #seventeen x harry potter #seventeen harry potter au #seventeen x reader #seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fic #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo angst

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sepublic · 1 year

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Lumity and Conflict

We’ve all talked about Lumity being a really healthy relationship, a refreshingly healthy one at that, but we should also appreciate how the writers manage to have this AND portray conflict in a way that isn’t contrived, too.

Take for example, Follies at the Coven Day Parade. It’d be SO easy to have the conflict come from Amity going ahead with checking Luz’s videos, and then have her and Luz argue over the breach of privacy, like in a lot of media. But instead, Amity KNOWS it’s wrong, but at the same time she can tell Luz has a problem and a tendency to keep it secret, which forces loved ones to call her out until Luz finally confesses and asks for help!

So Amity’s conflict is whether or not she SHOULD go through Luz’s phone, and it resolves in a healthy manner because she goes to Willow for advice. That of course continues the plot thread of these two attempting to reconnect after their sorta reconciliation in Willow’s mindscape, and sets up the eventual confrontation between the two in Labyrinth Runners, regarding Amity still continuing to underestimate and condescend Willow, even if from a place of good intent.

And that’s so much more interesting than Luz and Amity drama for the sake of drama, because now we get to throw in Willow and Amity’s dynamic and check up on how it’s developed, set up how it WILL develop, all while having Amity manage to do the right thing, but with some meaningful struggle and discussion, sympathetic and nuanced given her legitimate concern for Luz (rather than insecure snooping for the sake of it) and her issues of bottling up, on her way to do that!

And we do see Amity struggle with insecurity over her and Luz’s relationship earlier, but she doesn’t take it out on Luz; Instead, we have her struggle with Hunter as the two are paralleled and contrasted in their relationships with people they care for and feel the need to impress, due to the abuse of their childhood! Again, more interesting and less stereotypical than Amity being the toxic, possessive lesbian trope.

And Luz and Amity still have conflict WITH each other, like in Reaching Out, but it manages to avoid feeling contrived because it isn’t drama and jealousy for its sake, it’s about uncovering an aspect of Luz’s past, a fundamental experience, while also following through on addressing a character flaw she’s displayed for a while! Thereby advancing Luz’s growth instead of creating a reset for both girls to work through all over again. I like that Luz and Amity are allowed to be a healthy couple and have conflict, while also still navigating that conflict in a pretty healthy way.

I think it’s a nice message to kids about how your relationships can be healthy and still not be perfect, if you put in the time to communicate and work through those problems, because every relationship will have issues. But what makes it healthy isn’t the absence of issues, it’s how both parties handle them together.

Plus, Lumity still struggles with conflict, albeit together, both of them facing another problem; There’s stuff more lighthearted like Any Sport in a Storm, in which we get to see Luz and Amity struggle with an issue, but they do it mutually. There’s no drama or problem between them, it’s the two tackling a separate thing together and we get to see them interact and have fun with no concerns about their relationship. There’s still conflict and there’s still Lumity, but we see how they actually function as a duo together in synergy, how they approach outside things as a unit, without the dynamic itself at stake, just a shared objective. The conflict isn’t between Lumity, it’s Lumity VS Something Else.

Then we have Clouds on the Horizon, which is Lumity coming together, to fight against Odalia and her control, her abuse and disapproval; It’s only Luz and Amity’s love for each other prevailing, no doubt about their standing with one another, against an outside force, Odalia. Dana said she and the writers intended Lumity to act as a sweet counterbalance to a lot of the angsty struggle, and indeed it provides some light-hearted relief seeing the two just get along and be happy together! But they still manage to balance and spice it up with some conflict sometimes, without jeopardizing the relationship because it’s not contrived conflict either.

It’s Lumity against an outside force, or it’s Luz and Amity navigating being in a relationship, while being both relatively mature and understanding about it, AND allowing room for insecurities for them to feel and work through. Their relationship doesn’t feel more precarious or toxic because of the problems, it ends up feeling MORE healthy because Luz and Amity take the time to acknowledge and work on them (unlike Raeda, who are messy in their own compelling way).

And we still do have Luz genuinely mess up (such as her and Amity’s separate conflict with Kikimora that episode), she gets to be a flawed individual who makes mistakes, but it’s not out of a macho disregard or apathy for her girlfriend; Likewise, instead of expecting Amity to settle as the unconditionally supporting, demure GF, the narrative does make a point to Luz that she has some responsibility to let Amity in, and that Amity can only take so much of it, and she’d be right to set those lines for Luz to cross!

There is conflict between Luz going off and being a hero, getting into trouble, and Amity having to back her up; But it’s a conflict that takes the side of Amity and others who played that role, which is refreshing to see. They both take care of each other, which I’ve already discussed how Amity does, but don’t forget Luz did it plenty in S1, then in Eclipse Lake, especially Clouds on the Horizon where she plays a role of support to Amity going out and getting into trouble, enables her GF to be the one up to mischief! It’s really neat, is all.

There’s conflict in getting Lumity together, but for all the buildup of coming together in a relationship, we also get to see them navigate being together as the second half of their storyline, rather than the ending. So it’s the reward of Will They or Won’t They culminating in They Do, coupled with the narrative of them AS a relationship, not just becoming one, both ends of the spectrum. Wonderful balance.

#the owl house #lumity #luz noceda #amity blight #meta #analysis

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justagalwhowrites · 3 months

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Halcyon - Ch. 7: It'll Be Nice to Feel Wanted for a Change

You and Joel decide your next steps. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through Ch. 6, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

^I keep using Pedro gifs instead of Joel gifs because Joel is such a baby in this fic I'm sorry 😭

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Diet culture type language. Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 7.3K

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Told you, I have connections.”

Joel rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee, watching as the kids on the soccer field changed directions.

“Still feel like business school is overkill,” he said, putting the travel mug in the cupholder of his folding chair. “Especially at this point… GET ‘EM BABY GIRL!”

Sarah stole the ball from a girl on the other team and dodged another girl before starting to charge up field, a serious look on her face.

“GO SARAH!” You jumped up and screamed, cupping your hands around your mouth. Sarah got pinned down and looked around before passing the ball, sending the it between two defenders to another player. Her teammate got the ball and sent it careening toward the goal before the other team could change direction. It sailed in and Joel leapt to his feet, the two of you jumping and clapping. “HECK YEAH!”

Sarah beamed at the two of you before she went to hug the girl who scored. You and Joel sat back down as play started back up. The coffee had spilled some in his excitement, the fabric arm of the chair wet.

“Now is the time to do the business school thing,” you said as you leaned forward on your thighs, watching the game intently, your hands clasped together and tucked between your knees. “And besides, it’s not actual business school. It’s… business school light. Enough to help you draw up a business plan and that kind of shi…stuff. The kind of stuff that you’ll need if you need to take out money from the bank to get started.”

Joel sighed. He knew you were right, he just wasn’t crazy about the idea.

After you’d had dinner - and nearly devolved into an argument that, in hindsight, Joel really was not ready to have no matter how hard he was pushing for it - the two of you had gone back and forth about what to do next.

Your call shouldn’t have surprised him. You’d always been an academic sort of person, the fact that you’d gotten into some fancy college had come as no surprise to Joel. Of course your first idea involved formal education.

You reached out to a friend of a friend at the business school and got some of his recorded lectures from the era of virtual classes during COVID. He was happy to share them once you explained it, compiling some lectures, notes and guides for Joel to use.

Joel felt bad about putting some stranger out like that but you said he was happy to do it in exchange for an autographed copy of your book.

“I know, it’s crazy,” you’d teased when he looked at you in disbelief. “Should have let me draw on your face that one time, think of how valuable it’d be now…”

Joel just snorted and shook his head.

“Get in there!”

You were on your feet again, watching as Sarah tackled the ball away from another girl. You screamed and jumped when she succeeded and Sarah smiled as she clambered back to her feet.

“Good job, kiddo!” Joel called, still seated but smiling. You got really into Sarah’s games, Joel had quickly learned. He wasn’t about to admit it to you, but he loved it. It reminded him of when you were both in high school, when you’d watch from the front row of the stands during football games, screaming so loud that he could hear you over everyone else at the game. You drew his number on your cheek and bleached it onto a t-shirt. You’d even made Tommy a matching one, something the 10-year-old had taken as a profession of undying love and devotion back then.

The next time you were at the house after giving him the shirt, Tommy sauntered through the kitchen where you and Joel were having a snack, topless, drenched in cologne and hair slicked back. Joel watched you try not to laugh as Tommy leaned on the table in front of you, giving you a cocky smile.

“Hey Goldie,” he said, his voice artificially deep. Joel choked on his Coke and covered it with a cough. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Really?” You asked, brows raised. “Even though I’m here every Saturday afternoon?”

His smile faltered.

“Well… uh…” his eyes darted to Joel, like he was looking for help. Joel just held up his hands. “Just… didn’t expect you to be here looking so good.”

“Oh,” Joel could see the edges of your lips pulling up. “So I don’t normally look good? Darn…”

“No, wait…” he stood up from the table, eyes darting to Joel again. “I don’t… you…”

“Don’t you have a matchbox car to crash or something?” Joel asked. “Stop tryin’ to pick up my girl, little man.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy muttered before stomping back off toward his room.

“I’ll tell mom you said that,” Joel leaned forward and watched his little brother go.

“So I’m your girl now?” You teased once he was out of ear shot. “News to me. And be nice to him, he’s just a kid and he’s a sweetheart.”

“He thinks he’s Don Juanito is what he is,” Joel muttered, sitting back in his seat and taking a sip of his Coke. “You being my girl might be the only way he leaves you alone.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled a little anyway.

“All this trouble because I wanted to support my best friend as he fucked up in the red zone…”

“I’ll tell my mom on your language, too,” he said. “Don’t think she won’t smack you upside your head just because she didn’t birth you. You’re her favorite kid, but don’t push it.”

Tommy had, thankfully, gotten over his crush on you. A fact that Joel was endlessly thankful for now that his part in helping you complete your list included finding you a fucking date.

There was a guy on his team at work he thought would at least be something besides a total waste of time. Blake was a decent man, one of the few on the site who didn’t say disgusting shit about women the second they believed they were among other assholes who thought the same way. Joel had caught him reading once on his lunch break, something that he was sure would be important to you. You’d want someone who read. Joel should read more.

Blake, Joel thought, would be a decent enough guy to set you up with. Not good enough for you - no one was good enough for you - but at least a damn improvement over fucking Brad.

He just hoped it wouldn’t stick.

Not that he wanted you to be alone. He didn’t. He wanted you to be happy. More than almost anything else he wanted you to be happy. He wanted you to have whatever it took to make that happen. But he wasn’t sure how he’d get past working with someone he knew got to kiss you, touch you, fuck you. He’d hear about dates with you and things you enjoyed with a boyfriend and not just your friend. He’d have to hear all about what someone else was doing for you because he couldn’t.

Which was fine. Should be fine. You were his friend, you’d always been his friend. He could love you as a friend, he did love you as a friend, he could get past the other shit. He could.

And if Blake ever decided to try to talk about you the way some of the other assholes they worked with talked about their girlfriends then, well, at least Joel could fucking deck him for it.

“She’s killing it out there,” you settled back into your folding chair and glanced over at Joel.

“She always does,” Joel nodded. “She’s got skills, that girl.”

“She seems to really like it, too,” you said, eyes back on Sarah. “Which is the important thing. If she’s good enough, she could get scholarships and shit. But that really only matters if she also likes it, there’s no use in her being miserable because of the demands of being a student athlete because she happens to be good a sport she doesn’t enjoy…”

“She loves it,” Joel said. “And, honestly, I’m hopin’ that sticks and that she can get a scholarship, lord knows I can’t afford to shell out for college…”

“You can’t now,” you corrected him good naturedly. “But once you become Joel Miller: Entrepreneur and man about town, that’s another story.”

Joel scoffed.

“What?” You asked.

“You’ve just got a lot more faith in me than I do.”

“Aren’t I supposed to?” You asked, looking at him again. “You’re my person so that’s part of my my job. Recognizing your potential.”

“See, just the fact that you think I have potential to recognize…”

“Oh shut up,” you swatted his arm and he laughed a little, watching you watch his daughter run back up the field.

No, Blake didn’t deserve you. No one did. Least of all Joel.

Sarah’s team won the game and she was beaming when she ran over to you and Joel after the post-game huddle.

“Did you see that one steal I did?” She asked, leaning between the front seats of the truck. “It was so cool, I almost missed it but then I got it to Sophie and she was able to score and it was so COOL!”

“Seatbelt,” Joel said. Sarah rolled her eyes but flopped back into her seat and buckled up, anyway. “Thank you. And yes, we saw, Baby Girl! You kicked ass out there.”

“Can ass kickers pick lunch?” She asked.

“Ass kickers can pick lunch,” Joel said. “But ass kickers can’t say ass until they’re at least 13, sorry kiddo.”

“Aw man,” she huffed but then smiled. “I’m gonna swear so much on my 13th birthday…”

“Yeah I bet you are,” he shook is head and caught you trying not to laugh out of the corner of his eye. “Alright, kiddo, where for lunch?”

Joel watched her in the rearview mirror, a serious look on her face as she considered her options.

“Dairy Queen,” she said eventually, nodding seriously. “Because then I can get a Blizzard.”

“Whatever the ass kicker demands,” Joel said.

Sarah ordered a burger with her blizzard before going to find a table. Joel got the steak fingers and a shake and you just stood there, staring up at the menu board with a slight frown on your face.

“What?” Joel asked. “C’mon, it’s a limited menu, can’t be that hard.”

“It’s just been forever since I’ve been to a DQ,” you said absently. “Not sure what to really get…”

“Goldie,” he said, voice serious. You looked at him, frowning. “We both know what you get at Dairy Queen.”

“Yeah, when I was a teenager,” you looked back up at the menu. “Little different now…”

“Not gonna find a salad up there,” he said.

“Yeah, but…”

“Remember how the number one thing on your list was finalize your divorce?” He asked. You looked at him again, brows raised. “Well, this is one part of that you can control. You can ditch all the stupid shit that asshole put in your head, starting with the idea that you can’t get chicken fingers every once in a while.”

He didn’t give you a chance to reply, instead looking to the cashier.

“She’ll do the chicken fingers basket,” Joel said. “With fries. And a medium Reese’s Blizzard.”

“Small,” you corrected him.

“Medium,” he said, looking over at you. “Because we both know I want to eat half of it.”

You laughed a little.

“Medium,” you said.

“Alright,” he said, going to pay.

When the food came out, he took one of your chicken fingers and your eyes went wide.

“Hey!”

“Oh sit tight,” he rolled his eyes and dropped one of his steak fingers in your basket.

“What makes you think I want one of your steak fingers?” You asked, incredulous.

“You always want one of my steak fingers,” he said. “Every time.”

You glared at him for a second.

“Shut up.”

Joel laughed before dropping an onion ring in your basket and swiping a few fries.

“So you guys really hung out all the time before, huh?” Sarah said, eating a fry and watching the two of you from across the table.

“We did,” you smiled at Joel before looking back at Sarah. “We basically lived together, probably drove our moms crazy…”

“Your mom, maybe,” Joel teased. “Mine loved havin’ you around all the time. Said you were a good influence.”

“Because I was,” you teased back.

“So,” Sarah watched you both closely. “Why didn’t I meet you until now? I mean, I met other friends of my dad’s. Did you guys have a fight or something?”

The two of you looked at each other for a second. How the fuck was Joel supposed to explain this to his kid? Yeah, we were friends, and then the two of us decided to have sex and then just stop talking for a decade and a half? Not quite age appropriate.

“Well,” you said, dipping one of your fries in your Blizzard before popping it in your mouth.

“You’re so gross,” Joel said and you rolled your eyes and elbowed him in the side.

“Shove it,” you smiled a little and looked back to Sarah. “We finished high school and I had to move for college and we just kind of stopped talking quite as much, we didn’t do a great job of keeping in touch. We were busy, it just kind of happens when you’re a grown up.”

Sarah crinkled her nose.

“That’s dumb,” she said.

“You’re right,” you smiled a little, looking at Joel. “But adults do dumb things sometimes.”

Sarah nodded slowly, taking a fry and dipping it in her Oreo Blizzard before taking a hesitant bite and chewing thoughtfully. She frowned for a moment before her eyes lit up and she dipped the fry again.

Joel groaned.

“Not you, too…”

“Just gotta get on the French fries in ice cream train, Miller,” you smiled smugly. “Sweet, savory? It’s the best.”

“She’s right, Dad,” Sarah said, dipping another fry. “This is better than ketchup.”

“I’m surrounded by weirdos,” Joel muttered but he couldn’t help smiling a little to himself, watching you and his daughter together, a strange pull at the base of his chest at the sight. This, he thought, was how it was supposed to be. You were meant to be with the two of them, it was obvious. It was almost strange, how clearly he fit with you. He hadn’t felt like there was something distinctly missing over the last decade. He’d gone about his life, raising his daughter, trying to get ahead at work. He bought a house, kept his brother’s nose clean, buried his mother. There had been no distinct sense of absence. He thought of you often - every day, really - and it hurt but it was a dulled pain, a longing for what he had before. He hadn’t known what he’d really been missing, the way things would be with you at the stage of life you were both in now.

But now that he had you here, he wondered how he hadn’t noticed this gaping hole at the center of his reality before. There would be no excising you from him now, it wouldn’t work, the ragged edges of your absence would be too clear in everything he did.

He’d just have to do whatever it took to keep you in his life. Even if that meant setting you up with some guy from work.

“So Sarah,” you said, ripping your chicken finger in half and reaching over to dip it in the gravy in Joel’s basket.

“Hey!”

You ignored him.

“Do you think you can do me a favor?” You continued, eating the chicken tender.

“Sure,” she shrugged. “What do you need?”

“Well,” you said, brushing your hands free of crumbs before taking a sip of your drink. “I was thinking about getting a cat but I have no idea how to pick a cat. Do you think you could come with me to the shelter and help me look? Just make sure I’m finding the right one?”

Her eyes lit up and she looked at Joel.

“Can I Dad?” She begged. “Please? I love cats, they’re so cute, and…”

Joel laughed, draping his arm over the bench behind you. You’d already talked with him about this, seeing if Sarah wanted to go to the animal shelter this afternoon. He knew she’d love it.

“Well,” he sighed, pretending to consider it. “If you promise to behave this week…”

“I will!”

“And do all your homework the first time I ask,” he said.

“Deal!”

“Then alright,” he conceded. “We can go with Aunt Goldie to pick a cat.”

“Yes!” She punched the air in victory and Joel smiled and shook his head, settling back in the booth with his shake in his hand.

The three of you went back to Joel’s and gave Sarah a chance to get cleaned up before heading to the shelter to look at cats. Sarah took over the radio in the car and insisted on playing Taylor Swift and you learned the chorus to one of the songs she was belting in the back seat, singing along the last time through, windows rolled down, your hand tapping out the rhythm of the song on the outside of the door.

“So what kind of cat do you want?” Sarah asked, turning to face you and Joel as she walked backwards down the row of cages.

“I don’t really know,” you shrugged. “Never really had a pet. One that wants to sit on my lap and purr?”

“See what not having a pet as a kid does to you, Dad?” Sarah said, looking at Joel with wide eyes. “Leaves you totally unprepared for picking a pet later in life. I should get a cat, too, while we’re here.”

“No,” he said. “Watch where you’re walkin’.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically but obeyed, leading the way through the cages.

“Oh, look at this one!” She stopped in front of a cage and laced her fingers through the bars, a black and white cat on the other side of it watching her from the back corner. “She’s so pretty!”

Joel stood at your back as you paused, looking at the cat for a moment.

“She is pretty,” you said. “But I want to see all of them first before I see if there are any we want to really meet.”

Sarah stopped outside of a gray and white tabby’s cage, the cat rubbing its face over the bars.

“Aw!” She reached a finger out and brushed along its cheek. “She’s so cute! And she seems so sweet!”

“She does,” you agreed, reaching around Sarah to give the cat a haphazard pet.

“Dad!” Sarah looked back over her shoulder at him. “Her name is Swiftie! She’s perfect!”

“We’re not here for us, Baby Girl,” Joel said. “C’mon, more cats to see, don’t get attached.”

“Well we have to meet that one now,” you said, looking at Joel and very clearly trying not to smile. “It’s required.”

“It’s really not,” he replied. “God, you’re such a bad influence…”

“Nah,” you replied. “I’m just always right, you should get used to it.”

You found another cat you really wanted to meet, an orange striped one who stood on his hind legs in his cage and reached a paw through the bars while meowing loudly for attention.

“Alright, Baby Girl,” Joel sighed, hands in his pockets. “Why don’t you go find someone who works here, see if we can meet some of these guys…”

She squealed before running out to find someone, Joel watching her go before turning his attention back to you.

“You’re never gonna have another moment’s peace with that thing in your house,” he said, watching as you reached your fingers through the bars and scratched its head as it purred loudly, arching into your touch.

“That’s alright,” you smiled, watching the cat. “It’ll be nice to feel wanted for a change. Totally worth it.”

Joel just looked at you for a moment, an odd twinge in him. Maybe you were lonelier than he realized. Maybe things had been worse with your fucking ex than he’d known. Maybe you didn’t understand that he wanted you. In so many fucking ways, he wanted you.

He just had no idea how to say that to you, not without fucking up everything else.

“Hi there,” a woman with a name tag walked up, Sarah at her side, before Joel had a chance to say anything at all. “I hear you want to see some cats?”

You told her the ones you wanted to see and the woman led you to a small room with a bench and some cat toys before going to get the first cat.

Joel should really have known what was going to happen after that. The three of you settled on the floor, you and Joel sitting beside each other, backs against the cinderblock wall, letting cats climb over your legs and throwing little bell-filled balls for them to chase as Sarah pulled a feather on a string across the floor. You were already attached to the orange cat but Sarah was obviously in love with the gray one. Joel sighed, leaning his head back against the wall, watching as his daughter held the little cat on her lap, talking to it all soft and gentle.

“I really should’ve known better than to do this,” he muttered and you laughed a little, leaning your head on his shoulder and watching Sarah, too. “Jesus…”

“At least it’s a cat and not a dog,” you patted his thigh twice before letting your hand rest there near his knee. His heart beat faster. “Could be worse.”

“So,” the woman came back in, carefully closing the door before the cat on Sarah’s lap could escape. But it didn’t look like there was any risk of it, the little thing seemingly content to stay there for the rest of time. “What are we thinking?”

“Please, Dad?” Sarah looked at him, her eyes so wide. “I’ll do all the work, I promise. I’ll clean the litter box every day and I’ll feed her and play with her and…”

Joel sighed.

“You’d gotta actually do it, Baby Girl,” he said. “I mean it.”

“I will!” She said, holding the cat close. “I promise!”

He sighed again.

“Alright, we’ll take that one…”

“Fantastic,” the woman smiled. “I’ll start the paperwork…”

“Oh, and I’m going to get Garfield, the orange one,” you said as she turned to leave. “But I’ll be changing his name…”

“That’s great,” she said. “But we will have to check and make sure the cats are compatible before we send you home with two…”

“No,” you laughed. “No, sorry, no, we don’t live together. He’ll be coming with me and this one will be going with them.”

“Oh!” She laughed back. “I’m so sorry, I just thought you two were married. I’ll get started on the paperwork for both, I’ll be right back.”

Joel watched the woman go and glanced at Sarah to make sure she was still totally absorbed with the cat on her lap before lowering his voice.

“Could have denied that a little harder, I think…”

He practically heard you roll your eyes.

“What, did you want to see if we could save on adoption fees by filling out one set of paperwork?” You asked.

“Always said we’d make good roommates,” he replied. “Seems a good a reason as any.”

You scoffed.

“Yeah, sure,” you said.

“What?” He said, turning his head just enough to see you, still leaning against him. “I’m serious. You really tellin’ me that the idea of living with me is that terrifying?”

“The inevitable fallout is terrifying, yeah,” you said.

“Here we go,” the woman came back in with two clipboards and you lifted your head from Joel’s shoulder. “Once you fill this out and pay your deposit, we can run a few checks and you can come back in a few days for your new best friends!”

“Ah, the truth comes out,” Joel smirked a little as he started completing the paperwork. “You were looking to replace me the whole time…”

“Well clearly yes,” you said absently, working on your own documents. “Furry, loud, opinionated… You’re basically twins, why do I need you to keep coming over when I’ll have Puck?”

“Puck?” Joel frowned. “Like hockey puck?”

“Puck like the fairy from Midsummer,” you replied. Joel must have still looked confused because when you looked over at him, you rolled your eyes. “The mischievous one from Midsummer Night’s Dream? The Shakespeare play? I know you read it, we had to read it sophomore year…”

“C’mon Dad,” Sarah looked up from the cat in her lap. “Even I know that one.”

“Alright, well,” Joel said. “You two are the smartest people I know, not fair to judge me by that standard…”

Joel caught a glimpse of you smiling out of the corner of his eye as he finished the paperwork.

***

“I have a question for you.”

You opened your eyes to see Joel looking down to you, your head in his lap, his thumb brushing your temple in a soothing rhythm. It was late. Sarah had gone to bed hours before, worn out after her game and suckering her dad into adopting a cat and going to Target to pick out every toy under the sun for her new pet and yours. You were pretty sure you weren’t going home that night, too comfortable in your position against Joel.

“No,” you said, closing your eyes and settling into him and the couch again. “I can’t convince Sarah to give up the cat. My position as the cool aunt is too tenuous, I’m going to side exclusively with Sarah in all conflicts for the foreseeable future…”

“I could just refuse to pick it up in a few days,” Joel mused. “Tell her the shelter denied our application because of my history as a cold hearted killer with no mercy.”

“Ah yes,” you smiled a little. “I forgot, Joel Miller, heartless killing machine.”

“Cold hearted,” he corrected. “Get it right.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry…”

“But no,” he continued. “Not what I was going to ask.”

You opened one eye, looking up at him, trying not to think about how soft his eyes were.

“Shoot,” you said, closing your eye again.

“Was thinking about the lists…” he trailed off.

“That wasn’t a question, Miller,” you said after a moment.

“I’m gettin’ there, don’t rush me, woman.”

You opened your eyes just enough to see him over you. His hand slipped around to cup the crown of your head. He was so handsome. There should be rules about that, there should be rules about men who are that beautiful. They should need licensing or something, they shouldn’t just be allowed to freely exist, endangering women everywhere.

You closed your eyes again.

“Take your time, Miller,” you said. “Not going anywhere.”

“Anyway,” he said and you could hear his eye roll. His thumb stroked your hair. “Both our lists have relationship shit on ‘em…”

His voice trailed off and your heart beat a little faster.

“Yes?” You said when he didn’t continue.

“Well, you were sayin’ you didn’t know how to do the whole… app thing.”

“Right…”

“What if…” he took a deep breath. “We tried going out together. You bring someone for me, I bring someone for you…”

Your breath hitched. You couldn’t help it. You knew the kind of relationship you had with Joel, the kind of relationship you’d always had with Joel. He’d made it perfectly clear that anything beyond that was totally out of the question for him and you’d accepted that. It had taken a long time - and a failed marriage - but you accepted it.

That didn’t make the concept of picking out a girlfriend for him sting any less.

“Just… then you don’t have to fuck around on apps,” he said quickly when you didn’t reply. “And I don’t have to waste my time on someone who wouldn’t work in a million years because you’re doing my thinking for me…”

“Instead of your dick?” You asked, opening your eyes. He smiled a little. Goddammit, him and his fucking dimple.

“Exactly,” he said, cocking his head so it was more in line with yours. He looked a little uncertain, his eyes searching yours. “So… what do you think?”

“Well,” you sighed. “Makes as much sense as anything else, I suppose…. When were you thinking?”

“I did say we should move ‘get laid’ to the top of your list,” he smirked a little. “So maybe next weekend?”

“Next weekend?” You sat up so fast that you almost smacked into his nose, your head spinning for a moment. Joel grabbed you to steady you as you twisted haphazardly to face him again, legs crossed in front of you. “Doesn’t that seem fast?”

He looked at you, puzzled, as he turned to face you, too.

“Goldie, you and fuckin’ Brad…”

“Gale.”

“…Split up a year ago. You gotta get back out there, it’s not fast.”

“No, I mean,” you closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before looking at him again. “Isn’t that a little fast to find someone for each other? I wouldn’t even know where to start…”

There was something about the sheepish look on his face that made your eyes narrow.

“What.”

“I… might have someone in mind for you already,” he flinched as he said it.

“Seriously?”

“Look, I just don’t want you dating some random asshole, alright?” He said. “He’s a good guy, think you’d have at least some shit in common, feels like I could trust him with you…”

“Gee, thanks,” you rolled your eyes.

“I’m being serious!” He looked down at his lap for a moment, absently picking at a seam on his couch. “I worry about you. I know shit’s dangerous for women, alright? Much rather you be out with someone who I know isn’t gonna hurt you than some guy I don’t know that I can trust…”

“Careful Miller,” you said wryly. “Someone might think you care about me or something.”

“Well, can’t have that now can we,” he looked up to meet your eyes again, small smile on his face. “I’m already worrying about this shit with Sarah and she’s years off from dating. Outside of her, you’re the most important person in the world to me. Want to know you’re OK out there when I’m not with you. And I’m assuming that you wouldn’t want me to tag along on every damn date you have…”

“Bold assumption.”

He glared at you.

“And this way I can know,” he said. “So yeah, alright, it’s crossed my mind.”

“Have you talked to this guy?” You asked. “He might want nothing to do with me.”

“I ain’t worried about that part,” he waved you off. “You’re you and he’s a smart guy, he’ll see what’s on the table. Much more worried about you conning someone into goin’ out with me…”

“Oh ha ha,” you rolled your eyes. “Because you’ve ever had a problem landing women…”

“The kind that stick?” He raised his brows. “Yeah, I have.”

“Fair enough,” you sighed, thinking about the few people you knew in Austin. There was an adjunct professor in your department who you thought might be Joel’s type that you wouldn’t vomit at the thought of seeing him with. “I think I have someone who will go for it. Next weekend?”

“Next weekend,” he confirmed and then laughed a little. “C’mon, don’t look so miserable about it. Whoever you end up with it’ll be better than fuckin’ Brad.”

“Gale,” you corrected again and then slumped forward until your forehead was pressed into Joel’s shoulder. He hesitated for a moment before wrapping his arms gently around you. “This sucks. I got married so I wouldn’t have to date anymore. This is bullshit, I want a refund.”

He laughed once.

“Don’t think that’s how it works, Goldie,” he said, giving you a little squeeze. “Refund part, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I’d just like the best years of my life back.”

Joel was quiet for a moment, one hand finding a gentle, easy path over your back.

“Come on,” he said eventually. “You feel tired. Let’s get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “Assuming you mean here at this point?”

He scoffed.

“Ship sailed on you goin’ home hours ago,” he said. “I know who I’m dealing with.”

“Yeah yeah.”

You pulled away from him slowly and followed him up to his room. He loaned you a t-shirt and you got changed in his bathroom, taking your makeup off as best you could with the world’s most basic facial scrub and water before going to find him in bed. He was sitting up, his back against the headboard, scrolling through his phone. He glanced up at you for a moment when you came in and looked back at his phone for a fraction of a second before looking back at you again, his mouth open slightly.

You frowned.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he said quickly, plugging his phone in and putting it face down on his nightstand. “Just forgot what shirt I gave you.”

You looked down at it, a faded shirt from the Houston Space Center. You frowned for a moment.

“Was this from when we went when we were kids?” You laughed. “On a field trip?”

“It is,” he said. “I wanted something that would fit as I was bulking up. Might have been a bit ambitious on the size…”

“You’ll have to model it for me sometime,” you said, climbing into bed next to him. He turned out the lamp and you heard him lay down. You gave him a second to adjust before you slipped against his side, his arm gong around you. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your forehead as your cheek found its place on his chest.

“You’re sure about this dating thing?” You asked quietly into the dark. He was so warm next to you. Warm and big and firm and safe. You tried not to think about how desperately you wanted him to say no, in fact, he wasn’t sure. That all he was sure of was that he wanted you.

He sighed instead.

“Think so,” he said.”You really that worried about it?”

You shrugged against him.

“Goldie.”

“Just…” you sighed. “I fucked up one marriage already. Why should I think I’ll get it right next time?”

“You realize that shit isn’t all on you, right?” He asked. “I don’t even know what happened but… I can just about promise that it’s not all on you. Be surprised if any of it is. You gotta stop letting that asshole determine your whole life, Goldie. He’s not worth it.”

“Yeah,” you said, moving closer to him. “You’re probably right.”

Joel made sure both of you were up before Sarah in the morning, sparing you both from any of her prying questions, and you spent the morning with them before going home again and trying to write but getting nowhere. You wasted hours on an outline this time before hating the story so much that it made your stomach clench to even look at it. It was so pathetic, a lost woman clinging to a past lover so hard that she couldn’t chart a path forward, and you couldn’t seem to chart a way toward a satisfying end. You started a fire in your fireplace for the first time just so you could burn the paper you’d wasted on this one. You had a glass of wine as you watched the flames devour it, ash floating to the hearth like snow, white and dead.

Part of it, you were sure, was the fact that you were dreading the idea of talking with Natalie, the adjunct you were going to try to set up with Joel. She’d like him. Of course she’d like him. It was Joel, everyone liked Joel, that was the problem. She’d like him and you’d have to sit there and watch him like her. Love her, eventually. If not her then someone else. You hadn’t been able to handle that when you were 18 and the fact that you were in your 30s now didn’t seem to have changed much. That’s part of why you’d done what you’d done after prom. A small part, perhaps, but a part.

But you were a grown up now, no longer a girl trying to find her way through the maze of the adult reality you found yourself thrust into. Things were going to be different this time.

They had to be.

May 2008, the Tuesday after prom

“Honey?”

You could hear the frown in your mom’s voice as you stumbled to your bedroom.

“That you?”

You caught yourself on the door frame. Your head was still spinning, why was it still spinning? It felt like you were going to throw up.

“Yeah,” you managed. “Just me.”

“You’re home early,” she said, her voice closer. “No Joel today?”

“No,” you said, hoping you sounded normal. “No Joel today.”

“Oh,” she sounded surprised. “Hungry? I can make you something…”

“I’m fine,” you said. “Just… tired. Going to lie down, I think.”

You didn’t wait for a response, just going in your room and closing the door behind you. Your walls were covered in movie posters, the faces of strangers you felt like you knew through their films an odd comfort as you sat on the edge of your bed.

It’s Goldie. I wish it were anyone else. It’d be better if it were anyone else.

That’s what he’d said. Anyone else. Anyone but you.

You weren’t sure how long you stared into space. How were you supposed to face him now? How were you supposed to go back to your life now?

You’d never been a particularly social person - writing all the time didn’t lend itself to vibrant friendships - but Joel had been your person for almost three years. He was who you had, who you told everything to, who you wanted to do everything with. Leaving him behind was going to be the hardest part of going away to school - so hard that part of you was still in denial that it would work that way at all. Part of you thought that he’d find some way to come with you over the summer and it’d be the two of you against the world the way it seemed like it always had been.

But he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want you.

I wish it were anyone else.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself, your voice wet.

Graduation was soon but it was still three weeks out. Three torturous weeks of being next to the person you loved most in the world when they didn’t love you, not really, not at all.

You weren’t sure how long you stared at the wall when it occurred to you.

You forced your body to move, joints stiff, and went to your computer, scrolling back through your email history to one from Dr. Gale Newton. An invitation to a summer creative writing workshop, one you’d decided to pass on because it meant leaving Joel months earlier. You hadn’t been ready for that before. You’d gone about checking with your counselor at school to see if it was even possible before deciding you weren’t ready for it.

You were ready now.

You called the number in his email signature and the phone rang twice before a woman answered.

“Dr. Newton’s office,” she said. “This is Florence.”

“Hi Florence,” you said, sniffing a bit, hoping it didn’t sound like you’d been crying. “Is… um… Is Dr. Newton available?”

“I can check,” she said. “It’s a bit late in the day… Can I ask who’s calling and what this is about?”

You gave her your name and told her that you were a candidate for the summer program.

“Ah, right,” she said. “You were the one denial. Can’t say I remember that happening before! Let me see… yes, one moment, I’ll transfer you back.”

It didn’t take long. Dr. Newton answered on the first ring, saying your name before you had a chance to say anything at all.

“I was wondering if I’d get to speak with you directly,” he said. “I’ve never had a student turn down the intensive before.”

“Yes, I’m sorry about that,” you said, voice trembling a little. “I thought I had some things I needed to finish up here before I moved but, as it turns out, I can come up sooner. I was wondering if my spot would still be available?”

“Well,” he sighed. You could hear the rustle of pages on his end. “The program did already start and you are the only incoming freshman I invited - your online portfolio was quite impressive - I wouldn’t want you to fall behind. How soon could you be here?”

“I could be there for the start of next week’s sessions,” you said. “And I can try to keep up with some work in the mean time if you want to email me some prompts or assignments…”

“No, no need for that,” he said. You heard the click of a mouse. “I’m going back over some of your work now, I think this will work fine for what we’re doing next week. There’s a short story here, Golden Boy, that we can workshop alongside the fresh pieces for the coming sessions.”

You quickly clicked over to the simple blog you’d made to showcase your writing for college applications. You scrolled past one of your senior portraits and bio at the top down to the work and found the story. You couldn’t remember if you’d put the whole piece up or just parts but it was the whole piece, one you’d written about Joel.

It’d be better if it were anyone else.

Your chest got tight.

“Perfect,” you said. “That’s great, thank you so, so much…”

“I hope to see some more dedication out of you when you arrive here,” he said, voice a little more stern now. “I reviewed your portfolio personally and you show a lot of promise but so does every student who comes through this program. If you’re not willing to make sacrifices and work for it, I can’t help you hone that raw skill into what it has the potential to become.”

“I understand,” you said quickly. “I’ll do whatever you want, whatever you think I need…”

“I’m willing to work with you one on one,” he said. “Get you caught up over the next few weeks, both because you missed some of the intensive but because you haven’t had any classes here yet. It’s going to be a lot of time and a lot of effort but I’m happy to put in the work if you’re willing to do the same. I expect you to be devoted to this program, do you think you can do that?”

“Yes sir,” you said. “Absolutely.”

“Good girl,” he said. “I’ll email you my personal cell phone number, call me there when you get to town. I’ll make sure you get set up in your dorm and we can get to work. Sound good?”

“Yes,” you said, your eyes falling on a picture of you and Joel laughing on his couch that glared at you from its place next to your computer monitor. You turned it to face the wall. “Yes it does.”

Next Chapter

A/N: So we now know at least SOME of Bambi's side of the story. Not the whole of it yet but some!

What do you think? Teenaged overreaction? Totally makes sense? Neither? Both?

Also... I hope you caught that Gale had a picture of her before he met her and picked up on how much he'd selected her to be a pupil of particular interest from the get go. He's so slimy. Or, I hope he comes off that way, anyway. He's slimy in my head, at least!

Thank you, as always, for reading. I hope you're enjoying the ride as Joel and Goldie navigate their tangled friendship!

Love you!!!

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #slow burn #friends to lovers #halcyon

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dilatorywriting · 9 months

Note

Congratulations on 4K!!!! Here's to many more who discover and fall in love with your incredible prose 🍻

I'd like to request:

86. “We could be an epic novel of forbidden lovers, like Romeo and Juliet without the ending.”

With Prince Stefan (surprise, surprise) if the mood strikes you lmao

Thank you so much for sharing your work with us, and for doing this little event!! Can't wait to see what you've cooked up next weekend 👀

Gender Neutral Reader x Prince Stefan (Twst OC) Word Count: 1.1k

Prompt 86: "We could be an epic novel of forbidden lovers, like Romeo and Juliet without the ending."

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

You’d always joked that Stefan was basically like some fairytale prince come to life. The sweetness that never seemed forced, the genuine kindness and care with which he treated all things. His regal bearing, the fact that he rode a grand, impressive stallion with ease, and—who could forget?—the literal crimson cape hanging over his shoulders like a king of old. The face thing helped too. All sculpted planes of rugged handsome that made you feel like you’d wandered out of a garbage can in a back alleyway in comparison.

But somehow, even then, you hadn’t expected him to be an actual, factual prince. Which was honestly really fucking stupid, all things considered. Seeing as half of your friends at Night Raven had royalty in their blood in some way or other. ‘Prince’ and ‘Lord’ were nearly as common as ‘Mister’ over there. And certainly Royal Sword Academy was meant to be doomed by the same logic as its rival.

“So you’ll be ruling a kingdom someday?” you asked. “Like, crown, and scepter, and ‘my word is law, peasants’ ruling?”

“I guess,” Stefan shrugged, brown bangs flopping shaggily over his eyes. “Though I like to think I won’t be that bad,” he added on a huff that was nearly a pout.

You waved him off. “Sure, sure. You’ll be the one person in history completely untouched by the temptations and corruption of power. But like, an actual prince?”

Another huff, though this one sounded far more amused. The brunette leaned forward to try and snare an arm around your waist and pull you back against his chest. You’d been sitting cuddled up beneath a lovely willow tree, reading in the afternoon sun, when the revelation had hit. And the poor guy looked like he’d sacrifice life and limb to slip back into that cozy silence. But no way were you letting this drop. You wriggled away like a particularly determined worm and settled opposite him criss-cross-applesauce. Hands on your knees and stars in your eyes.

“Do you get access to the dungeons? And cool stuff like that?”

He snorted a laugh into his palm.

“Why do you want to know about the dungeons?”

You shrugged. But honestly, most of your friends at NRC were probably headed for the gulags or worse. It’d be nice to know you had someone on the inside, whenever you inevitably needed to break one of them out. (Floyd was looking like a strong bet. Though he could probably manage to slither out of any jailcell he found himself in all on his own)

“It’d be fun, s’all.”

“Fun,” he chuckled, shaking his head in bemusement. “Alright. But yes. I do have access to all the records of imprisonment and things like that. Not that I go down to those places if I can help it.”

“Of course, of course,” you nodded, filing that information away into the back of your brain for a later date. “Can you declare war? Like, whenever you want?”

Another laugh.

“Wars and dungeons?” he asked, and narrowed his hazel eyes in faux suspicion. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure,” he hummed, and ducked forward to try and snatch you up again. You rolled onto your back outright and through the grass—coming to a stop at the roots of the grand tree.

“And what about the rest of the royal stuff?” you continued. “Surely you must be engaged then, right? To another prince or princess out there?”

The pleasant gleam in his eyes dimmed, and you watched his gaze dart away. Heavy and uncomfortable. Which—

Oh.

He… he totally was, wasn’t he?

Something twisted in your gut—sour and sharp. And you regretted ever asking in the first place. Because of course someone as wonderful as Stefan was meant for someone else. And always had been. The dalliance with a little mortal from another world was just that—something fun, and easy, and destined to end by the summer. You swallowed past the building lump in your throat and decided that maybe this hadn’t been a great topic to push after all. You looked back up, ready to crawl back into his lap and ever so tactfully immediately change the subject, when Stefan met your low gaze with fire in his eyes. He reached out and clasped your hands tightly in his.

“I’m going to marry who I want,” he declared, firm, and loud enough it had your ears ringing. He gentled the volume a bit before continuing. “That stuff’s all ancient protocol, anyways. Time to move on, y’know? Modernize.”

“Modernize,” you parroted, feeling a bit thrown by his sudden ferocity.

“And if my father gets upset…” he mumbled, brow pinching in the middle. “Well, we can just run away then. Live in a cottage in the forest. Or, well, something like that.”

“We?” you gaped. Because holy hell. It was one thing for there maybe to be some subtle implications thrown around. But that wasn’t—that was pretty—ah—

“We,” he smiled, warm as mulled wine. And at your wide-eyed, overwhelmed expression, he eased that grin back into something lighter. More teasing. “What do you think? We could be like the forbidden lovers in all those stories!” he crooned, waving his arm through the air like he was at the start of telling some grand tale in a tavern. “An epic novel of our own creation! Like Romeo and Juliet!”

That jolted you out of whatever ‘ohmygod, ohmygod’ spiral had taken over your brain. “Really? Romeo and Juliet?”

“Well,” he grinned, sheepish. “Without the ending, I hope.”

“There are so many better love stories without the suicide pact!” you complained. “Pride and Prejudice. Midsummer’s Night Dream. The Princess Bride. Fucking, Scott Pilgrim even—”

“Okay, okay!” he laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “I get it! No more literary metaphors from me.”

Stefan leaned back against the tree, looking loose limbed and comfortable. And this time, when he opened his arms to you with a little eyebrow waggle, you sighed and curled up tight into the little, personal nook he was offering.

“But it does have it’s appeal, doesn’t it?” he mumbled into your hair. Sounding a bit far away. “Just running away together. No more responsibilities, no expectations…” he trailed off, eyelids drooping. “It’d be nice.”

You sat in silence for a moment, letting the sun play across your laps and his fingers twine through yours. And then—

“Anastasia.”

“Hmm?” he mused, lifting his head from your shoulder.

“We can be like Anastasia,” you said, fighting the heat rising along your cheeks and towards the tips of your ears. But you were pretty sure he could feel it, with how close he was tucked up against your side. “Not a perfect ending, but a perfect beginning,” you quoted, feeling a bit silly.

But Stefan just smiled against your shoulder with a contented little sigh.

“A perfect beginning, huh?” he repeated, sounding far, far too warm. “That sounds about right.”

#4k Event #twisted wonderland imagines #twst x reader #Prince Stefan x Reader #Stefan x Reader #Prince Stefan #Twst OC #My Writing #Writing Prompts

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piratefishmama · 1 year

Text

Crossing The Line | Part 4

“What the fuck is that?” Was Robins immediate question as Steve donned a pair of sunglasses and a cap just before disembarking the plane.

“My disguise.”

“Your disguise?”

“Yeah, y’know. Fans an stuff.”

“...Steve. Steven. I’m always here to keep you humble, you know this, so I say this with an immense amount of—”

“Robin do you remember the JFK incident? Not the president don’t be a shit, I mean the airport and you know it.” The JFK incident being a single fan who got ONE photo of him walking through the terminal and boom, paparazzi everywhere, it was as though they’d just emerged from the walls.

‘What are you doing in New York?’

‘Are you visiting anyone special this Christmas?’

‘When are you releasing new music?’

‘Will you be attending any events here in the city?’

‘Who are you wearing right now?’

‘STEVE SIGN MY TI—’

It was always chaos. “Yeah yeah you got to sign an impressive set of double D’s, woe is you. I can see your moles Steve, that isn’t going to fool anyone with eyes.” Sure his signature head of hair was covered but the moles were as good a sign as any when it came to eagle eyed Airport celeb spotters.

“Sign an impressive— my ass was grabbed more times than I could count! I had hand sized bruises Robin!” He bruised like a peach and people in crowds were grabby. “I lost my favourite sunglasses.” The cheap pair he’d grabbed from the gas station after his first real paycheque cleared. “These cover my hair and my eyes, I can’t cover anything else.” He didn’t have the resources to pull a full face of SFX to hide himself.

“Aww poor baby, okay. At least put this on.” She pulled the scarf from her neck and wrapped it around his, it wouldn’t do much, but it’d cover the vampire bite moles he’d shown off on one of his early album covers.

“Great I look like a twenty-ten hipster.” It wasn’t even scarf weather. “All I need is a bullshit moustache.”

“Better than the local weirdo at a kids playground.”

“Oh my god, is that Steve Harrington?!”

“Shit.”

“Rest in pieces, sis”

“Robin get back here!”

There was a subtle art in getting away from paparazzi and fans alike, an art cultivated from being chased by them since he was nine. It involved fake plants, bathrooms, and Robins impressive gallery of ‘fake fan photos’. All it took was a photo whizzed over the internet through Robins ‘fan’ account, an account which used one of their regular makeup girls photos as a cover (agreed to, of course) to act as a ‘fan’ of Steve Harrington.

“How come nobody TOLD ME Steve Harrington was going to be flying out of Indy today?!” Captioned above a photo from two years prior that Robin took from a distance at that very airport for that very reason.

It took all of five minutes for the hoard to dispel, hurrying as fast as they could to as far as the airport staff would allow them to go, but Robin and Steve were once again free to get their asses out of that airport and into an Uber before anyone else could spot them.

“Okay, battle plan. I got us a twin room at the—"

“Don’t say Conrad.”

“What’s wrong with the Conrad?”

“It’s… bougee. It’s like the only five star in Indy, he already probably thinks I’m the worst, a nice four star would be fine, and a twin room? Robin how the hell am I supposed to woo a guy and bring him back to the hotel if we’re sharing a room?”

“First of all, I think you’re super overestimating your level of game right now to think that you’d just be able to go from wooing to the hotel room in one sweep this guy seems like highkey mom’s basement dwelling virgin, dude probably scampers, second, we don’t even know if he enjoys the male form, and third... honestly I’m expecting you to strike out so we can have a sleepover with facemasks and chocolates. But fine, fine, what hotel would you like?” Robin passed him her phone with the booking app already loaded.

“Your faith in me is truly what gets me through my days, Robin.” He was choosing to ignore the panic inducing idea of what if he isn’t even into guys?!

“I aim to please.”

“What about an apartment? See there’s one here, two double bedrooms, four star rating, we can book now and grab the keys at reception.”

“Fine, fine, you’re making all the food though, since you’ve robbed me of my five star room service.”

“I’m cool with that.” A few buttons pressed, details auto filled, booking complete. Indianapolis, here they come!

Part 6

#Crossing the Line #Ficlet #PirateWrites #Steddie

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picturesofthegoneworlds · 4 months

Text

When Imogen wakes it is with an ache in her neck

a drop into reality unusually cushioned

a hand combing through her hair

and she can’t help the smile that breaks when she meets Laudna’s watchful eyes peering down at her, flushes shortly after.

“Sorry, did I fall asleep?”

Laudna smiles back at her, halts the hand playing with her hair.

“You did.”

An unspoken mutual agreement allows the moment to stretch in silence –

that or time is still fucky from Imogen only just waking up. It gives her enough of it to contemplate.

The sun must be high, the atmosphere muggy and the fauna all bustling as if it were a market day and the critters had stalls to set up and produce to bring home for their litters in the burrows. She feels the layer of sweat on her skin wherever the sun directly touches it, smells in waves where it heats the floor and diffuses the groundcover as if it were potpourri-

Above her, backlit - Laudna’s wearing a halo. The giant leaves of the giant trees are so high above them that the scale almost looks normal, the light breaking between the canopy in beams, sparkling in places where it catches insect wings and pollen, silhouetting edges of wiry strands of hair that act as though curtains on a canopy bed, all giving cover from the storm (should it come). It all feels so hazy, could be the vision starting to turn to grains of sand in her eyes like before a migraine but it’s also unusually clear, her head weightless despite the aching neck – funny what a handful of hours of good sleep can do.

The unspoken mutual agreement is ended.

“Did you rest well?” what did you dream about?

“I did, yeah...”

Unintentional, excusable really - waking with her defences down.

Wouldn’t be outta the ordinary to share.

“…dreamt we were back at Oddrún’s, was nice-” she withholds the details, just to save a little face. Exposes it anyhow, when she finds herself inadvertently taking the hand that had stilled in her hair, holding her palm up above her head with Laudna's lying flat on top of it “-then the roof caved in again and the place got swarmed with birds.”

“Birds?”

Imogen's thumb traces the knife-edge of the long nail on Laudna’s.

“Birds.” Imogen confirms, distracted, half-awake, giddy. The word already sounds funny; thrown back and forth between them. She chuckles at how her lips form around the repetition of it, says it again in Marquesian to see if it feels as abstract- that causes Laudna to quirk her brow from behind the fan of their fingers. “All different kinds, real cute and stuff, mostly. Place got furnished in feathers, was pretty chaotic - parakeets nestin’ in the cups and saucers and kingfishers in the rafters…” Laudna exhales a single syllable of a choral chuckle and Imogen has never felt so relaxed. “There was a kinda shady lookin’ big one standin’ on one leg in the corner by the hearth though, kept squawkin’.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, think it was a shoebill. You ever seen one of those?”

“You know, I’m not sure. I wonder if there was any significance…”

Their fingers interlace, under Laudna's initiative. Imogen stares at the long nails now reaching to her wrist like plates of fine ebony gauntlets.

“I could try draw it for y’all, but I don’t think it’d help…” comes out audibly distracted, the points of Laudna's talons gently making contact with Imogen's scarred skin-

“Allow me to get my notebook~” Laudna enthusiastically sings – nearly cutting Imogen, their hands separating - and Imogen is left staring at the empty space that was occupied by the shape that the two of them made, wonders if there is a word for that, like ‘bird’ - each hand a wing of some amalgamation, dream chimera, released between palms.

Probably a word she doesn’t have the language for.

Laudna unthreaded their hands and after that, she doesn’t move.

Imogen remembers her position in her lap

sits up abruptly on her bedroll, turning back towards Laudna’s skirts with the same instinct as for making a bed

“No, really, I can’t draw. It’ll just be embarrassin’. It won’t help any.”

“It’s good to draw regardless-”

Imogen would call what falls on Laudna’s face a pout. Hates that she is, unsurprisingly, intrigued to see what lines the pages of Laudna’s notebook. Apparently hearing inside her head is not enough.

Greedy. (maybe she’s hungry?). Gods, Laudna’s been sat cross-legged with Imogen's thick heavy skull in her lap for hours. How does Imogen show her gratitude?

“-have you even eaten? I should make us breakfast.”

She clumsily scatters away before Laudna has the chance to really answer.

(thanks as always to @distant--shadow for the illustrations <3)

#Imodna #Imogen Temult #Laudna #Critical Role #Bells Hells #Fanfic #Emma writes

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featherandferns · 10 months

Text

hurricanes (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | angst central

content warning: mentions of drinking and drug use; mentions of sex; arguments and fights; unhealthy relationship

word count: 7k.

blurb: for so many of your memories, bad and good, it feels as if hurricanes are at the forefront. One night, during the midst of a storm, JJ comes to your house, seemingly to bring you one last memory of him.

You hate hurricanes.

They’re unruly and unpredictable; thrashing and destroying anything in their path. Chaos incarnated.

From inside your house, the windows rattle from a vicious blow of wind. Sighing, you leave the comfort of your bedroom to go to the kitchen. There’s no chance you’re getting to sleep anyway. Better brew a pot of coffee and maybe get some homework done throughout the night. As you stand over the machine, waiting for it to brew, you look out the window. It’s dark. Rain is splattered across the glass, droplets chasing after one another in an undisclosed race. You manage to make out your reflection. Bags under your eyes. Clothes hanging sadly on your body. Only recently had you managed to start eating well again, putting on weight and getting through more than one meal a day. So, knowing the effort that you’ve been making, you manage a smile.

The t-shirt you’re wearing is one of your favourites. It holds memories: the fit of laugher that had you in tears one night at a bonfire; the day you got your first A on an exam; a date with JJ. Your finger comes to tease at the collar, fingering the fabric, your smile growing from the memories. It felt nice to finally reminisce about your ex-boyfriend without wanting to crumble. Without the thought feeling like someone was twisting the knife that had yet to be eased out of your chest.

The coffee machine stops buzzing. You look down, coming back to yourself, and pour yourself a cup of coffee from the glass mug. Moving to sit on the sitting room sofa, reaching for the remote, you decide to try and distract yourself with a show. Your parents aren’t home and brother’s at college, granting an empty, quiet house. As you flick through the options on Netflix, you hesitate on one. Narcos. JJ loved that series. Had you watch some of the episodes with him – explaining the characters’ motives and filling in the plot-points from whatever you’d missed. A part of you deliberates watching it and letting yourself slip into some fantasy that JJ is sat by your side on the sofa, his hand comfortably on your knee, eyes glued to the screen. But you don’t. There’re new shows to watch, so why go back on the old? Settling on some Netflix-own drama, you sigh and have a sip of your coffee.

“No way, John B actually thinks he’s found the Royal Merchant,” you snort.

JJ shrugs. “That’s what he says.”

“Where?”

“At the bottom of the ocean,” JJ replies.

“No doy, idiot. I mean where abouts at the bottom of the ocean?” You chuckle, rolling your eyes.

“Oh! Somewhere off the continental drift,” JJ tells you.

He’s opened a bottle of beer for you and is passing it over. The two of you are lounging on your dad’s fishing boat, taking advantage of the nice weather.

“Bullshit,” you say, taking a swig.

“I’m telling you; he’s found it. The stuff in that motel room safe was fucking insane. The cops just pocketing the cash, too?”

“Cops are dirty: shock horror,” you sarcastically return.

JJ laughs with a nod. Then, smiling at you, he says, "well, all I know is when we find the Merchant-”

“-If-”

“When!” he corrects loudly, making you laugh. Then he’s shuffling up so he’s sat right next to you, hooking an arm comfortably around your waist. “When we find it, I’m using my share of gold to spoil my girl rotten.”

“Oh?” You prompt, raising a brow at him with a grin. He nods down at you.

“Mhm. I’m talking fancy dinners and expensive jewellery and that perfume you always check out whenever we’re at the mall but never buy.”

“It’s overpriced,” you brush off, rolling your eyes.

“It’d smell perfect on you,” JJ affirms. Makes your cheeks go warm.

Nudging him with your elbow, the bone digging softly into the flesh of his abs, you say, “well, I guess I could get on board with that then.”

“Just you wait until we find it,” JJ promises, raising his bottle in a silent toast.

Rolling your eyes lovingly at his ways, you lift yours to clink the neck of your bottle against his. JJ leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, sweet and summer-filled, with the lingering taste of beer. You gladly kiss him back, sinking into the familiar feel of your boyfriend. This is going to be the best summer yet.

About ten minutes into the second episode, you think you hear a knock at the door. No; it’ll be a branch having blown away in the breeze. Sighing, you go back to the show, coffee nearly finished and luke-warm. Then, it comes again. Two short raps. Pausing the show, you turn and frown at the door. You can see it from the sofa. There’s a pause, maybe a minute, and then three knocks. You get up and make your way to the door, deliberating who in the hell could be coming to your house in the middle of a hurricane at (you glance to the clock on the hallway as you go) ten to midnight?

As you undo the latch on the door and twist the key to unlock it, you feel your gut twist. It’s as if it knows something you don’t. Then, pulling the door open, wincing against the cold and the wind and the rain from outside as it fights its way in, you come face to face with JJ. The sight of him makes you colder than the weather ever could.

“JJ?”

“Can I come in?”

“Wh—”

Your voice trials off, throat running dry, and you glance back into the house for some reason, as if the coat-stand might have the answers. Looking back to him, brain muddled, you see how he’s leaning against the wall of the entryway. How he’s holding his flask in his hand, the lid unscrewed, and you close your eyes with a sigh.

The rational part of you screams to close the door on him. Do the right thing, the hard thing, and turn him away as if you have barely acknowledged him being there. But it’s not that simple. Nothing is, the moment any sort of feeling has been involved, and you find yourself looking into his red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if he’s high or he’s been crying.

“Please,” he says, voice quiet as if defeated. “I just wanna talk.”

He’s dripping from head to toe, drenched from the rain. Hair sticking to his forehead, leaking water down the back of his neck. Hands shaking from the cold and the booze. Wordlessly, you open the door fully and step to the side, making space for him to walk in. After he catches on and enters, you catch a whiff of his cologne. Musky yet fresh; so wonderfully him. It makes one of the scabbed cuts on your heart crack open. Closing the door, fighting to keep in the warmth, you sigh and face JJ. He’s standing there awkwardly, unsure of where you want him to go. He’s barely able to keep his balance right, fumbling from leaning his weight on one leg to the other.

You gesture to the kitchen. “Go sit down. I’m gonna grab you a towel.”

JJ nods and does as you say, heading into the kitchen. You try not to spiral in your thoughts as you go to the boiler closet, fishing out a fresh bath towel. There’s only one thought that you can’t seem to silence. What is he doing here?

A part of you still feels as though you can hear the wind of the storm beating against the thin walls of the police tent. The sirens and the chatter and the panic. The chaos of trying to help John B and Sarah escape, and the never-ending torture of waiting for any news. That they escaped. That they were caught. That they were even alive.

That was a week ago now.

JJ’s not answering his phone. You haven’t been sleeping well. Your nights are nothing but restless, nightmares plaguing you about all the ‘what ifs’ and the guilt of waving them off in the boat, practically sending them off to their grave. It’s a lot for a seventeen-year-old to burden. Your parents tried their best to help you. They brought you breakfast the first morning that you stayed back at your house (they’d let you crash at the Chateau with the others for a couple of days at first, understanding that all your friends needed one another at that time), and never forced you to come down for dinner. Wallowing felt about the best you could do. You just wished it wasn’t so lonely.

Sighing, ending the call that never stopped ringing, you glance over to your trainers. Since coming back from the Chateau, you haven’t left your house once. Hell, you’d barely left your bed. Then you’re staring at your phone again. At the string of missed calls and ignored texts from JJ. You knew him well and knew how easily he could slip when things changed for the worse. John B was like a brother to JJ. Their bond was so close that it sometimes challenged your own and JJ’s, though never in a malicious way.

Getting up, you put on your trainers and lace them up. You had to check that JJ’s okay.

The air feels fresh on your skin, like a plant gulping down water after days in a drought. You bask in the rays of sun that push through the cloudy overhead. Walking to JJ’s was familiar and quick. Soon enough, you’re trudging up his front lawn and walking around to his window. He’d always told you to come in via there. You never knew where his dad was and what state he might be in, but the odds were low on his being passed out in JJ’s room. The windows always unlocked and you force it up and open with a grunt. Then, you’re climbing on JJ’s desk and glancing around his room. He’s not in there.

What is in there is countless empty beer cans and bottles. The useless ends of joints and cigarettes. It smells musty and sad, like nobody had cracked a window in days. You sigh and kick some stuff out of the way (used clothing and trash) so you can reach his bedroom door. Gently easing it open, you glance into the hallway and through to the sitting room. On the coffee table, you can make out the toes of JJ’s boots. Taking your chances that his dad isn’t home, you walk down the hall to the sitting room.

JJ’s passed out on the sofa. His head is leant back, mouth parted in silent snores, and in his hand is an empty beer bottle. The sitting room is just as bad as his bedroom, maybe even worse. It stinks of weed and alcohol and mould. Everything about all of it terrifies you. You didn’t think he’d sunk this low, so fast. Why hadn’t he reached out to you?

He gets an email and his phone pings, making you glance to it. It’s on the coffee table. There on the home screen are the several missed call notifications and ignored texts from you. If it were any other situation, you’d label yourself as psycho. But you knew something was wrong. Could feel it in your gut.

“JJ,” you say. Clearing your throat, louder, you repeat, “JJ.”

He doesn’t stir.

You reach out a hand to shake his boot.

“JJ, wake up.”

Nothing.

Sighing, you walk around so you’re stood at his side and lean down to shake his shoulders gently, hoping to ease him awake.

“Wake up, JJ.”

He jolts awake with a gasp, eyes flying open. His hands come to your forearms in a tight grip, reflexively, and you try to pull away. The moment he registers it’s you, he let’s go. He mumbles your name, voice still thick with sleep.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to check on you.”

JJ frowns. He rubs at his face and pushes some of his uncombed hair back. His breath smells like stale liquor; it half makes you want to cringe.

“Why?”

“Because I’m worried about you. And, I guess I was right,” you say, looking to the pandemonium of the room.

JJ gets to his feet and shakes his head. He’s walking towards the kitchen and you follow.

“You didn’t need to, alright? I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, JJ,” you tell him.

He pulls open the fridge. His back is to you. The shirt he wears looks creased and well-worn, as if he hadn’t taken it off for days. It reminds you of everything that happened and just how raw the wounds must be for JJ. How much deeper they are, too.

“Look, I know this is hard for you,” you tell him gently.

JJ grabs a beer and closes the fridge. Cracking open the can, he turns and rests his back against it, taking a swig. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not ‘fine’, JJ,” you say.

JJ shrugs and has another gulp.

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” you ask. Gesturing to him, you add, “you look like you haven’t slept in days, JJ.”

“What’re you gonna do? Sing me to sleep?” he snorts. He’s drunk.

“That’s not the point, JayJ. My parents would’ve let you stay over. I don’t like the thought of you here by yourself.”

“I’m not something that needs fixing, alright? I can take care of myself,” JJ tells you, his voice becoming tighter.

“I’m not saying you need fixing—”

“Are you sure? Cause it sounds like you’re pitying me pretty bad right now,” JJ cuts in. His eyes are narrowed at you as if accusing you of some conspiracy.

Trying to remind yourself of the abundance of emotions he must be feeling right now, alongside the fact that he’s drunk and possibly high, you do your best to keep your calm.

“Of course I’m pitying you, JJ. In the way that a girlfriend would pity her boyfriend who’s dealing with some fucking awful loss,” you tell him.

“He’s not dead, alright? Don’t talk about him like he is,” JJ bitterly mumbles, looking down at his boots.

“We don’t know that, JJ—”

“Well, you don’t know that he is dead, alright? So stop talking about it like you want it to be true!” he explodes. He stalks towards you, angry. “Do you want him to be dead, huh? So you have a little project to work on? So you can come visit your scum of a boyfriend and do your charity work, to make yourself feel better. To distract you from your own shitty insecurities?”

“Why are you saying this, JJ?” you whisper, taken aback. He’s never spoken to you like this. Ever. Not even when the two of you argue. In truth, you don’t argue. Merely bicker, with it all resolved within the day. Nothing malicious and intentional, with words sharpened to cut. The way he’s looking at you right now – as he stands over you, shoulders rigid as if preparing for a scrap – is terrifyingly unfamiliar.

“I don’t want you here, okay? I didn’t ask for you to come here.”

“You want me to leave then?”

“Yeah, I do, actually.”

“You do?”

“Yes. That’s what I fucking said,” JJ seethes. You find yourself pushing back, getting in his face just as much.

“Fine. Drink yourself fucking blind for all I care,” you spit back.

It’s only been a week, and already a chip has been chiselled into the sculpture that was your relationship. The first crack in the mausoleum.

JJ’s sat at the round kitchen table, shivering like an orphan, and you have to keep yourself from instinctively wrapping the towel around his shoulders. Instead, you place it in front of him. He’s put the flask away, it seems.

“Thanks,” JJ mumbles, taking it.

As he rubs his hair dry, you head to the coffee machine. He needs to sober up and you’d found that coffee always worked for him. Hell, you could do with another cup too, perhaps just to keep your hands busy.

“It’s crazy out there,” JJ eventually says, hesitant to start a conversation. You close your eyes at the sound of his voice. “Brian’s throwing a tantrum.”

You’re half-tuned in, mostly lost in the droning of the coffee machine as it brews. You look down at your hands to find that you’ve been messing with the skin around your nails. It was a nervous habit you had, and one that hadn’t shone through in a couple of months. Not since you and JJ had ended things.

The coffee is done all too soon. Pouring two mugs worth, you brace yourself as if preparing for a slap as you turn to face JJ at the table. His hair is now damp, no longer dripping down his face. Wet clothes are still stuck to his skin, outlining the perfection of his body, and you have to force your eyes away. It’s hard to think that only two months ago you would be blessed enough to be able to run your hands under his shirt, along the smooth, salt-scrubbed skin of his stomach. What once brought you pleasure in thought now only brought pain.

Taking the seat opposite him, you slide his mug over and take a shaking sip of your own. Your eyes are down, focused on the table-top, tracing the scratch marks in the wood, but you somehow know JJ’s watching you. Can feel his eyes following you.

“Thanks for letting me in.”

“You said you wanted to talk,” you reply.

JJ nods: you catch it in your peripheral. “I do.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Us,” JJ says. You close your eyes. You were worried he’d say that.

“There’s nothing for us to talk about, JJ. There isn’t an ‘us’, anymore, okay?” you sigh. JJ’s already shaking his head.

“There is. You know there is,” he returns in a pleading tone. “Things can go back to how they were again.”

“What?” you almost whisper, brows furrowing in confusion.

“John B and Sarah are back now and…And everything can go back to how it was,” JJ tells you, almost hopeful.

You shake your head, lips pressed in a deep frown. Your fingers press against the hot porcelain of the mug.

“JJ. That’s not how this works.”

“I know things got messed up. That it’s my fault that they did, alright? That everything got messed up after John B…”

Died.

Your eyes dart up to meet his. There’re fresh tears gathering in the waterline. It’s weird seeing JJ cry so openly. He only did it once or twice in your relationship, in front of you. He never seemed willing to let you see that side of him, as if it might make him weak. You notice how his hand twitches away from the mug, as if he might reach out for yours, but something in him decides not to. Instead, the two of you keep your distance; a formal width of space, sat on either side of the table, not daring to cross into the others’.

“We can go back to how we were,” JJ privately says.

Your purse your lips, eyes slipping shut a moment to gather your thoughts. Perhaps this is how Eve felt, when the serpent tried to tempt her with the fruit. Here sits the only guy you’ve ever loved, extending an invitation back into the past, of a time when you were happy, and breathing didn’t hurt, and the thought of romance wasn’t something you shunned. But you can’t go back to the past. Time is forever moving forward, continuous and unchanging, and the sooner you make peace with that, the sooner it can start to heal your wounds.

You never spoke about that first fight. Never acknowledged it, really. JJ just showed up at your house, a couple days later, seemingly sober, and you both decided to move forward. You brushed it under the rug as a slip-up. That he needed to reel out of control a little in order to let himself recover, like the way the earth needs a good thunderstorm during summer to replenish the plants. I mean, how were you to know that it was the beginning of the end?

It was the day after you'd made the memorial at the chateau. Yourself and JJ had slept over at the house, after making love on the pull-out. The moment his hands were on your body, it felt like a silent apology for the fight, and you'd let yourself forget all about it. Waking up tangled in his hold, legs a knotted mess and arm tingling with pins-and-needles from his weight, you can't help but smile. It was the nearest thing to normalcy you'd felt in a long time, since Sarah and John B went missing at sea.

"Morning," you mumble sleepily the moment you feel JJ stir. He presses a kiss to your forehead. His skin smells of dry sweat.

"Hey," JJ rasps.

"You want breakfast?"

"What's on the menu?"

You can hear the smirk in his voice, the teasing grin to his words, and it makes you chuckle tiredly. This was the JJ you missed. As one of his hands moves to grope at your ass, you're laughing, gently pushing him off you.

"Perv," you mutter as you get up. Steal his t-shirt from the floor and pull it on.

You trudge to the kitchen, shoving your messed up hair out of your face, and open the cupboards to search for something good. There's no point looking in the fridge; majority of the things in there will be spoiled. This is the first time any of you have been back at the chateau since a couple of days after the incident.

Grabbing a can of soup, you decide it's better than nothing (though far from a classic breakfast). The drawers and counters are a mess. You sigh as you search for a can opener, coming up empty.

"You got your pocket knife with you?" you ask JJ.

He's lounging on the pull-out, scrolling through his phone. The only thing keeping him decent is the blanket that's half-arsedly flung over his waist. You missed seeing him like this, and the sight has you smiling.

"Should be in the left pocket of my shorts," he mumbles in reply, absentmindedly.

You wander over and drop to a squat, digging through his cargo shorts. Nothing, nothing...Your fingers feel something plastic and tactile. Frowning, you pull it out. It's a small plastic baggy containing a white powder. You're not stupid. It's either coke or ketamine. Your frown seems to deepen. Standing up, you hold it up.

"What's this?"

JJ looks up. Spots the bag. Takes in your expression. "Nothing."

"JJ," you say, tone nothing short of serious.

He sighs and rubs at his face, as if finding an excuse to avoid eye contact. "Look, it's fine, alright? I just need a little pick me up, now and then."

"This isn't a pick-me-up, JJ," you say. You know you sound angry, but why shouldn't you be? JJ having an addictive personality was no secret to anyone. His drinking was bad enough. Adding drugs like cocaine to the mix, and your worry trebled.

“What? Are you telling me what I can and can’t do now?” JJ asks. His voice borders on a scoff.

“This is dangerous, JJ.”

“I’m scared straight, hun. Thanks,” he mutters. Leaning forward, he snatches the baggy from you.

“I don’t like the thought of you taking that stuff, JayJ. It’s a slippery slope,” you slowly reply, trying to level your temper.

JJ sighs impatiently, rolling his eyes. It doesn’t help calm the storm brewing inside of you.

“Why’d you always have to ruin everything, huh?”

“Excuse me?”

“Things were finally starting to go back to normal and you have to fucking fixate on another thing. I swear to God, I never do anything right by you. I mean, I’d just gotten over you losing your shit at me the other day—”

“Gotten over it? I’m sorry, let me just check I’m hearing this right?” you interrupt, shifting your weight. “You got over the fact that your girlfriend had to track you down in person to check you were okay, to find you drunk and passed out? Then you yell at me for coming and tell me to leave, several times. And you remember me being the villain in all of that?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t do some fucking FBI work to find me; I was in my own Goddamn house.”

“Not the point, JJ,” you loudly counter.

JJ rolls his eyes at you and moves to stand, pulling on a pair of boxers. “You’re such a bitch sometimes, you know that?”

You stare at him. Did you just hear him right? Before you can ask or even respond, JJ’s walking out onto the porch as if you’re not in the midst of an argument.

You watch as he grabs a leftover vape that’s laying on the window ledge. There still seems to be some power left in it. He takes a couple of hits. You simply stare after him. It seems useless to follow. Useless to keep chipping away at this fight that you’re bound to lose. So, instead, you turn back to the kitchen and let the distance between the two of you gape. Another argument unresolved.

Opening your eyes again, meeting his that shimmer blue in the low light of your kitchen, you can’t bring yourself to do anything but frown, your expression the image of sympathy. 'We can go back to how we were.'

“We can’t, JJ,” you whisper.

“Who says we can’t?”

“I say we can’t,” you reply.

“You don’t understand,” JJ tells you, as if ignoring your words entirely. You’re shaking your head, staring down into your coffee, but it doesn’t seem to deter him from continuing. “I can’t picture my life without you in it. These past couple months have felt like there’s a lack there or something. Like something’s missing. And something is missing. You are. You’ve always been there for me, even before we were together. I don��t…I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on with my life without you in it.”

You’re crying now. Silent tears fall down your face. Muffled pain.

The touch of his hand on yours feels electric, but not in a good way. Not in the way it used to. It’s like the shock that it thrills inside of you, which once was excitement, is now merely pain. You half want to jolt your hand back, but that would be too dramatic. Too much.

“Please. Please,” JJ’s begging, crying too. “I just need you in my life.”

“I don’t understand how,” you tell him, voice wet. You meet his gaze again. It feels almost too painful to maintain it for too long. “I can’t be your friend again, JJ. And I definitely can’t be your girlfriend again. So how am I meant to be in your life?”

“You just can! You just have to be there! You have to be there for me!”

Your lip quivers.

He gathers himself, exhaling slowly. “You just…Have to.”

Have to. Like there wasn’t any other way. Like his planet doesn’t spin without you and his universe is empty of planets and stars. Like his world is void of life and you’re the water that can make his plants bloom again. But it doesn’t bring you joy like it would’ve months ago, to hear him say that. It’s too much, too late. Antique coins lose their value.

“I mean…Don’t you miss me?”

Your vision focuses on his tear-streaked face again. Hair still damp. Cheeks pink and nose red.

“Of course I miss you,” you whisper, half-insulted that he’d even ask that. Can’t he see how much this is tearing you apart? “I miss all of it.”

“You don’t have to though,” JJ says. “We can go back to how it was.”

You finally look back down to see his hand still atop of yours. Touch gentle and kind. He used to be kind to you, all the time. Never would raise his voice at you and would never make you cry. But after John B and Sarah vanished, their deaths presumed, it was like something in him snapped. It’s easier to destroy a sandcastle than to build it, and JJ seemed hellbent on destroying whatever bond the two of you had - the love the both of you shared - rather than trying to protect it.

Your relationship with JJ was delipidating. Like a temple built on an eroding cliff, what was once beautiful and serene is now crumbling away, brick by brick. Pope and Kiara and even a stranger in the Goddamn street can see how dysfunctional it is. What was once affection and care is now venom and pain. And yet, underneath all the animosity, there’s still a love that keeps the two of you in place, fighting for things to stay together. After every blowout, one of you ends up in tears and the other is ironically the only person who can comfort them. Then comes the kisses and the apologies and the make-up sex, and the promises to not fight again, and to do better, and to fix what you have. But it’s all a fiction. The next fight comes and it’s uglier still.

JJ seems almost unrecognisable to you most days. The drinking and the drugs and the recklessness is hideous. Brings a pain to your heart that can only be rivalled by the one that comes when you fight. Pope and Kiara don’t see it as much as you do. It’s like he tapers it down for them, only giving them a glimpse. But you’ve always had the honour of seeing every part of JJ, including this. When you beg for him to stop drinking, to try and get himself under control, he goes on the defence. JJ’s words shoot to kill when he’s mad. And it’s like the venom in his words brings out an ugly side of you, too. Infects you with his anger until you're lashing out. When you’re in blind fury, you don’t care what you say, so long as it’s painful. Words that you’d never think come flying out of your mouth. Things you’d never mean are said with nothing short of conviction. About him. About his dad. About him being like his dad. About John B too, sometimes. About it being JJ’s fault. But he doesn’t hold back either. About you. About you and your parents. About you and your exes. About you and John B too, sometimes. It’s ugly and painful and evil.

But it was always words. Sticks and stones, right? You can sooth any cut from a slander with an apology said through soft kisses and softer caresses. Overlay the memory of an insult with sweet-nothings and moans of affirmation. Only words. So, when the next inevitable fight comes with the two of you at his house, after JJ does something particularly stupid at a kegger after flirting with a girl right in front of you to make you jealous, all because you’d said something the other night, you prepare for the hurl of abuse.

“I was just fucking talking to her!” JJ shouts.

You scoff and roll your eyes. “You were practically drooling all over her.”

“Drooling!?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re fucking delusional, you know that?” he chuckles darkly.

“I’m delusional?”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Are you seriously calling your own girlfriend crazy, right now? Do you know how Goddamn sexist that is?” you snap.

JJ shakes his head and does that all-too-familiar walk to his kitchen. You follow as per. It’s like the two of you follow a script when you fight. Insult, jab, insult, jab, drink, jab, insult, cry, silence, drink, comfort, kiss, sex, apologies, promises, sleep. It’s tiresome and it’s pathetic but you don’t want to leave it, because if you do, then you have to face the alternative. You have to face having nothing. No arguments and no JJ. Somehow, arguing with JJ is better than not having him to talk to at all.

But with every fight comes the fading hope that this rough patch will pass, and you’ll be out of the woods, stronger than before.

“Don’t walk away from me, JJ!”

“Stop screaming at me like a psycho bitch!” he shouts back, slamming the fridge door shut. Beer bottle now in hand.

“Don’t call me a bitch, you asshole!” you scream. "Don't you dare drink that!"

JJ laughs at you. "God, it is adorable how you think I give a shit about anything you say to me."

"Oh, I'm so sorry that I actually give a shit about your health! Clearly you don't, snorting any fucking thing you can get your hands-on like some deadbeat junkie."

JJ isn't replying. Won't fight back. Drinking from his bottle like he can't even hear you. Makes you angrier. Say something, do something.

"Guess you're just living up to the family-traits though, huh? Like father like Goddamn son. No wonder your mom left you."

It takes you a moment to realise what made you stop shouting. What made your breath get caught halfway in your throat, heart thumping loudly in your ears. Then, your eyes are slowly drifting down to the floor, to the side of your feet.

Shards of the broken bottle are scattered on the floor. Beer drips down the wall, spills onto the floorboards, pools around the pieces of glass. The sound of shattering was so loud when it hit the wall. No wonder; it happened right by your ear. It was practically inches from your face.

The shock subsides enough to let tears come. You let out a shuddering breath as the reality hits that it could’ve hit you in the face. That could’ve been your face.

When your eyes come to focus again, moving to glance up into JJ’s, he looks just as shocked as you. Just as horrified.

“Baby…”

He starts towards you.

You hold up a hand, prompting him to stop, and take a wobbly step backwards.

“Don’t,” you rasp. You sound terrified. Half don't recognise your own voice.

That could’ve been your face.

“Baby, I didn’t mean to,” JJ whispers, his voice breaking. “I didn’t…I don’t know why I did that. I…”

Your eyes lower to the ground as your hand gradually falls limp by your side. You look to the glass and beer on the floor. How ironically poetic.

“What are we doing, JJ?”

“I don’t…I don’t know,” he hopelessly replies.

You shake your head. Eyes still fixated on the broken bottle. “I don’t…I don’t think this is love anymore, JJ.”

“Don’t say that,” JJ says.

“It can’t be,” you continue, ignorant to his pleas. JJ comes towards you once more and you shake your head, turning away from him before he can make a grab for your hands. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” he says.

His arms wrap around your waist. He hugs you against him, nestles his face in your hair, presses some kisses against your scalp. There’s the inconsistent drip of his tears.

“I’m sorry,” he’s mumbling into your hair. “I’m sorry. I won’t do that again. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to, okay? I’m so sorry, baby.”

But it’s too late, isn’t it?

Before it was words and that was torturous enough. It was painful when he’d say things to you that he knew would hurt, sure, but you’ve never been afraid of him before. But this, now…You can’t go back. You can’t ever go back from that. It’s with a terrifying thought and a fresh wave of tears that you come to the realisation that you’re scared of JJ. You’re scared of the only person who you’re supposed to find comfort and love in. How does that even happen to someone?

“I know you are,” you eventually say in reply to all his apologies.

JJ pauses, settling on pressing more kisses to your head, squeezing his arms around you tighter, closer, as if trying to stop you from slipping away. But a vase covered in cracks can’t hold water in. You push his arms off you and break yourself free from his hold.

“But I can’t do this anymore.”

He mumbles your name. When you don’t turn, heading to grab your jacket from the sofa, he says it again, loud and desperate. You know he’s crying. He’s sobbing. So are you.

“Please, please don't leave me.”

It hurts. It all just fucking hurts. You head for the door. Shake off his hand as it clasps around your wrist.

“Please, baby. We can make this right, okay? We can fix it. I can fix this. Just don't leave me.”

It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, walking out his door. In fact, you think a part of your soul dies a little as you do. Left haunting his house is the ghost of your past self that you’ll spend forever trying to find again.

You carefully inch your hand out of his touch and get up, walking to the sink, mug in hand. JJ’s sighing. You catch in the reflection of the window as he hangs his head, palms covering his face. Pouring the leftover coffee down the drain, you try and gather your thoughts and feelings. They all conclude into one.

“I think you should leave now, JJ,” you weakly announce.

Your eyes glance at the window's reflection in time to catch his head lift. Then, you’re looking back down into the sink. Remnants of coffee sit stagnant in the basin. More tears fall.

“What?”

“I really think you need to leave,” you repeat.

“Baby,” JJ says, getting up. He’s walking over to you and your heart sinks.

“Don’t call me that, JJ,” you tell him. But there’s no conviction in your tone. How can there be, when all you are is a crying, fragile mess.

“Baby, please,” he repeats, ignoring you once more. His arms are wrapping around your waist, hugging you against him. It's painful deja vu. You shake your hand and put down the coffee mug, moving to try and push his arms off you. It feels claustrophobic.

“Stop calling me that,” you whimper.

This all hurts so much. The knife is twisting and turning and driving deeper and deeper.

“I don’t want you to call me that anymore.”

“I don’t understand,” JJ says. “If we both miss each other then why can’t we just go back to how it was? I can make it up to you. I can be better, this time. I can get clean. I'll be sober for you. I'll do anything.”

Finally, you managed to break free from his hold. You turn around, placing an arm on his chest to maintain some distance. His hands are still open, as if waiting to catch you.

“That’s not that point, JJ,” you tell him.

“Then what is the point? Why is this so easy for you? I mean, did you ever love me at all? Why aren’t you as torn up about all of this like I am? Did you ever care?”

His tone is turning sour, just the way it used to during your fights. It all comes screaming back to you. The desperation and the battles and the pure exhaustion of trying to hold onto a handful of sand, that only will inevitably slip through your fingers. But it makes the emotions catch fire. Searing hot pain.

“Of course I did!” you burst, eyes wet and voice fire. JJ takes a small step back, startled. “Of course I loved you and of course I miss you! I miss all of it, okay? I miss the way we were and the way you used to look at me. I miss you when I go to sleep and I miss you when I wake up. But I can’t have you in my life anymore, JJ. All the shit that happened between us leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and I can’t erase the past like it didn’t happen. Even if we did move forward, the past is always going to be there. There’s no way to get rid of that!”

JJ’s sobbing, looking away from you. You realise that you’re crying too. Hard and heavy and can barely catch your breath.

“I mean, God, JJ. Do you know how selfish it is for you to be here right now?”

His head darts back to face you. Emotions a mess, you feel your forlorn expression morph into a demented smile. Through a tearful, self-deprecating laugh, you manage out:

“I was barely just holding it together. Barely just surviving, and then you come here and say all these things to me and have this assumption that what you want is what’s right. But it isn’t, for either of us.”

“But we could just—"

“No! We can’t be together again, JJ!”

Letting out a shuddering breath, you hear your words almost echo around the room. JJ’s staring at you. Both of you are heartbroken. What a pitiful, pathetic mess it has all become.

“We can’t, okay?” you repeat, voice softer. Anger gone.

JJ purses his lips and looks down at the floor. You watch as he nods, closing his eyes as he does, as if he’s admitted something to himself.

“Okay,” he whispers. Sniffs harshly. Wipes at his face. You do the same. “Okay.”

This isn’t how you want it to end. You don’t want him to walk out the door with this as his last memory of you. You can’t keep letting the season end on a bad episode. So, slowly, you reach out a hand to grab for one of his. His arms are hanging by his side, defeated. At the touch of your fingers, his instinctively wrap around yours, and he raises his head to look at you.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. The tears have now subsided, for the most part.

He gives a quivering smile. Bitter-sweet and painful. “Me too.”

He squeezes your hand in his. Now, there’s almost nothing. No zip of excitement or sooth of comfort, and no jolt of pain. Just…JJ.

“I don’t want you to hate me for—”

“I could never hate you,” you say, cutting him off. Smiling yourself, the expression a mirror-reflection of his, you nod. “There’s gonna be a part of me that’s always gonna love you, JayJ. You were my first everything, and that doesn’t go away. Ever. I’ll always be rooting for you and I’m always gonna care for you. But…I have to do it from a distance now, okay? It’s the only way either of us can move on with our lives.”

JJ swallows your words like one might swallow medicine. Unpleasant at the time but affirms a healthy future.

"I know," he nods. "I'm always gonna love you too."

You find yourself wrapping your arms around his neck. Holding him in a hug, tight and secure. His arms coil around your waist and he squeezes you back. The two of you know this will probably be the last time you ever embrace. Ever get to hold him, and him hold you. Neither of you wants to waste it, but neither of you wants to drag it out, in fear that they may never let go. As you pull away, JJ presses a brief, fleeting kiss to your cheek.

Standing in front of one another, once more, you remember the hurricane. The windows are rattling in their frames, rain battering down on them. It’s intense out there.

“You want me to stay?” JJ wonders softly.

You frown.

“I mean-” He gesture to the hurricane-induced storm outside. “I know how you hate them.”

You smile, eyes flitting down. Shaking your head, you sigh. “I need to face them on my own now, I think.”

JJ chuckles soberly. Nodding in understanding, he takes a step or two back. His hands slip into his pockets.

“Then…I guess I should leave.”

“Are you gonna be okay walking home?” you ask. You meant what you said: you’ll always care for him.

JJ nods, smiling brighter still. There’s still the shadow of pain that haunts the expression though.

“Yeah. You know me, I live on the edge.”

With his wink to accompany his sardonic words, you give a soggy laugh. JJ grants you a small wave and another smile. Your favourite smile. Your favourite person. Then, he’s turning around and walking himself to the front door. You hear the gust of wind battle into the house as he opens it, and the hearty slam as he forces it closed.

Standing stoic in the kitchen as if stupefied, you stare after him.

It’s done.

No more new memories. Only the old, to have and to hold, to care for and to cherish. Right now, they’re painful and visceral, but give it time, and they’ll be digestible. You can comb through them and smile and reminisce. Beneath almost every emotion is a tinge of happiness, be it grief or anger. Heartbreak will simply be the same.

Walking back to the living room, you cuddle up under a blanket on the sofa and snuggle against the cushions. Flicking the television back on, you sigh, sit, and continue watching your new show.

From inside the chateau, the windows rattle from a vicious blow of wind.

“What are you doing?” JJ snorts. His voice sounds like it’s come from the doorway.

You look up from the spot you’ve claimed on the floor, cocooned in a blanket. Your cheeks are wet from tears and JJ’s face becomes void of humour, instead morphing into concern.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he worries, quickly coming over to you.

“It’s dumb,” you sniffle.

JJ shakes his head as he lowers to his knees, wrapping you into his arms. “It's not dumb.”

“You don’t know what it is yet.”

“Well, even if it is dumb, I won’t love you any less. Just might judge you a little, is all.”

You gently batt at his stomach at his stupid joke, making him chuckle.

“What is it?” he asks again, shifting so he can look you in the eyes.

Your rolling your eyes at your ways when you answer. “I hate hurricanes. I guess I have a fear of them or whatever you wanna call it.”

“A fear?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, wiping your wet face.

JJ nods, humming in understanding. He glances around the room a moment and you find yourself inching closer to him for shelter. A flash of lightning shoots a dart of light in the room and you can’t withhold your pathetic, childlike whimper, closing your eyes. Then comes the doomsday thunder. It’s a short pause between the two; means it’s getting closer.

“Here,” JJ says, getting to his feet. He holds out a hand for you and helps you up. “I got an idea.”

“You do?” You say.

You tug the blanket around your shoulders like a shawl. JJ starts moving the sofas and furniture into a weird arrangement. You simply stand back and watch.

“My mamma used to do this for me,” JJ says through a grunt. “Whenever I was scared.”

“JJ Maybank? Scared?” You jest.

He rolls his eyes as he perfects the formation of the armchair, smiling. “Yeah, yeah. Hard to believe, I know.”

“What were you scared of?”

“The dark. And the monsters in my dad’s closet,” JJ replies. He’s now grabbing any blanket he can find.

“The monsters?” you repeat, humour clear in your voice.

“Hey, I didn’t make fun of your current fear of hurricanes, did I?” JJ warns, pointing at you.

You nod and hold your hands up in surrender. That’s fair. “So, what did your mamma used to do then?”

“She’d make me blanket forts,” he says. “To hide from the monsters and the dark.”

“A blanket fort?” you check, smiling.

He’s dragging a blanket over the sofas to make a shelter. You catch on and start to gather some of the throw pillows and couch cushions to make it cosy on the floor, whilst JJ finishes on the structure.

“Yeah. It’s like one of my favourite memories I have of her. She’d make them real cosy and then we’d watch a movie, and I’d be safe.”

When it’s all finished, JJ turns to you and grins. Gesturing proudly to his creation – bumpy as it is – you grin, giggling a little. “Ta da!”

“A Maybank tradition,” you say.

He climbs into the fort and settles on the cushions. The light from the lamp casts through the blanket to give the faintest glow. Holding out his hand, you take it with a laugh and move to sit beside him. He shifts you so you can lay with your head resting on his chest. His arm loops around your waist and you place a hand on his side. It’s quiet in here. The rainfall is barely audible and the thunder is muffled. It feels like its own world, safe from anything else. Safe with JJ.

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“So, what’d ya think?”

“I think this might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever done, Maybank,” you reply, looking up at him.

JJ grins. “Just wait ‘til we get that gold. The blanket forts are gonna be insane.”

You laugh and shake your head. JJ falls into an extravagant daydream of the forts he’ll build for you: with drawbridges and dragons and all sorts of ridiculous crap, that you know he’s only spewing because it’ll get a laugh out of you. Settling against his chest, feeling the rumble of his voice and shaking of his laughs through his t-shirt, you smile. What a sweetly clandestine memory to share.

#jj #jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #obx #obx fic #outer banks #outerbanks #outer banks fic #outerbanks fic #jj angst #jj maybank angst #jj maybank x reader angst #jj x reader angst #obx angst #obx preferences

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pensat-i-fet · 7 months

Text

A special spooky visit (Dominik Szoboszlai x Reader) / Halloween '23

Masterlist

Wattpad

Several Liverpool players were gathered near the entrance of the training centre, waiting to be told why they were even there.

“Hey guys! Sorry this is very last minute but we’ll need you to do a little event for the club after training”.

“What is it?”, asked Trent.

“A hospital visit. For Halloween”.

“Halloween?”, asked Dominik, confused. He was used to visiting children for Christmas but not Halloween. “What gifts are we supposed to bring them? There are no gifts exchanged on Halloween, right?”

Some of his teammates were amused by his confusion, even if they shared it. But they were all told it wasn’t about gifts, just about being there for the children on a special day.

So, after training, those ten players made their way to a few hospitals, ready to make some kids very happy. Unless they were actually Everton fans or, even worse, United fans. They wouldn’t enjoy the visit much then.

“Hello everyone”, said a doctor when they got to the floor where the kids were. And then she looked at Robertson. “Hello Andrew”.

Dominik saw the interaction and was confused again. There was a lot of familiarity in that greeting. And wasn’t his teammate married to someone else?

“If you follow me, I’ll take you where the children are. We have some activities prepared for the day. Just games for children, nothing too fancy really. And so it’d be great if you could just play with them. It’ll make their day”.

They followed her and were introduced to the children. Dominik saw a game he recognized and thought it could be fun to start with that one. But when he did, he walked past the doctor and Robertson chatting.

“I brought the one you like”, he told her.

“I don’t like anyone, stop it”.

“You sure?”

“Yes, you know my rules too”.

“Nonsense. It’s all just nonsense”, he said and laughed.

And then the doctor turned and her eyes fell on Dominik, who didn’t realise was staring at her. She cleared her throat and introduced herself to the Hungarian player.

“Nice meeting you too”, he said. “What do you know Andy from?”

“Hell”, she said, rolling her eyes. “Sorry, inside jokes. He’s married to one of my best friends. So I must put up with him a lot”.

Well, that made sense. “Cool. Um…I’ll go play with the kids”.

“Of course. Let me know if you need anything. They can get a bit restless and will be a bit overexcited because of the visit too”.

Dominik nodded and moved to join a group of kids to start playing the game they had on the table. It was really nice, actually. One of the things he loved the most about being a footballer was how easy it was for him to make children happy. It felt like a superpower.

The doctor, however, felt her superpowers were at their lowest levels that day. One of the kids started to cry and there seemed to be nothing she could do, so she took him out of the room to try and calm him down. Dominik followed them with his eyes the whole time. He was so intrigued by her.

“She’s pretty, right?”

“What?”

“The doctor”, said Andy. “She’s a friend of mine”.

“She said she was a friend of your wife’s”.

“Of course she did”, laughed the Scotsman. “She likes me too, sometimes. Do you like her?”

“What? I just met her. I spoke two words to her”.

“She likes you”.

“What are you talking about?”, laughed Dominik. He knew his teammate’s sense of humour was odd sometimes but this was another level of strange.

“We were chatting one day, right? And we had a couple of drinks. The poor doctor is a bit of a lightweight and so we asked her some questions while she was tipsy. Silly stuff. But one of the things she said was that the new Liverpool player was cute. And when we tried to get her to say which one, she said you. So I asked for you to come to this visit so she could meet you”.

Dominik didn’t know whether to laugh or clap at the story. But it was Halloween, not April Fools so…

“Do you really mean it? That she likes me and you organised this?”

“Yeah. Clever, right?”

“But what if I didn’t like her?”

“Then you and your stupidity could deal with that problem yourselves”, said Andy, getting up from the chair so he could go hang out with more kids. “Don’t miss this chance. And you’ll thank me later”.

A couple of minutes later, the doctor entered the room again with the little child who had been crying before. He seemed to be fine then but Dominik approached them anyway.

“All good?”

“Yes”, she said, surprised to see him chatting with her. “It’s been a long day for some of them. But we’re good, right Alfie?”

The little boy, Alfie, nodded. And Dominik looked up from him to look at the doctor again. Robertson was right. He would be stupid if he wasted that opportunity. She was really pretty, obviously really smart and seemed incredibly kind to the children.

“I can play with you, Alfie. If you want to”.

“I was going to be alone with him for a bit…”, she started to say.

“Can I join your party of two?”

“Yes!”, said Alfie, smiling at last.

And so the three of them picked up some pieces of paper to do Halloween drawings. The doctor was the best at it and, well, Dominik was the worst. He was never an artistic kid.

Alfie was highly amused too by trying to pronounce Dominik’s last name and the doctor tried too. Dominik found his name sounded especially nice when she said it. How interesting.

“I’m going to play with Mindy”, said Alfie all of a sudden, leaving them alone.

“Bye then!”, laughed the doctor, smiling widely at the little boy.

“You’re really good at this”, said Dominik.

“Thank you. I try my best but some days are harder than others. Today is easier. You should come visit more often”, she joked.

“Do you mean you as in the players or you as in me?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, but then she realised. “You talked to Andy, right? It was just a silly comment”.

“I’m wounded. I liked thinking you liked me”.

She blushed slightly and laughed. “I mean, I don’t dislike you despite the obvious flaw”.

“You lost me”.

Now she really laughed. “Andy didn’t tell you one of my main rules then”.

“No. What is it?”

“I don’t date Liverpool players”.

“Why?”

“Because I’m an Everton fan”.

“Can I do something to change your mind?”, he asked.

“Maybe come visit again”.

It turned out after all that an Everton fan did enjoy the Liverpool players visiting. Must have been a spooky season miracle.

#dominik szoboszlai #dominik szoboszlai imagine #dominik szoboszlai one shot #dominik szoboszlai fluff #football one shot #footballer fanfic #footballer imagine #footballer one shot #footballer fluff #footballer x reader #halloween 2023

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scaredshadowsswap · 8 months

Text

Hey y’all, I’m cancer-free now, so I’m gonna try to get back into writing random headcanons again. Today, it’s SCP Personnel and the hobbies I think they’d have.

Clef

Clef seems like he’d be an annoyingly fast learner, which means his hobbies switch fast. One week he might be cooking, but as soon as he gets good at it, he’s gonna learn blindfolded axe throwing or something else until he gets good at that. He has a very wide skill set, especially in combat, but he can’t really stick with anything for very long. The only hobby he consistently has is movies. He watches movies and references them all the time, and hopefully you’ve seen the movie because the references convey important information. He’s also really well-read, and will make references to well known classics as well, but he usually saves those references for people he thinks are stupid and won’t understand them.

Kondraki

Kondraki is determined. Once he gets good at something, he wants to stick with it more and get better. Besides photography, he composes music. He played cello in high school, but doesn’t really play anything anymore and instead just writes music that he thinks would sound good. He also, on occasion, goes birdwatching. If anyone gives him shit about it, he will bash their skull in, but he finds birdwatching to be a nice thing to do, especially on a cold morning as the sun is just coming up and almost everyone is still asleep. He’ll take a cup of coffee with him and just watch the sky for a little bit before he has to go to work.

Shaw

What hobbies can an immortal have? All of them! Shaw speaks almost 50 languages, plays 11 instruments, and studied astronomy for a good 20 years. However, most of their hobbies are from earlier, when being immortal still seemed cool. Nowadays, Shaw is just majorly depressed and doesn’t have the mental energy to keep doing new stuff. Thinking all the time like that gets exhausting. One thing they still like doing, though, is hosting parties. They invite whoever they damn well please on the given day, and it never gets old. Shaw knows that these people are good friends, and someday they’ll be dead, so Shaw wants as many memories with them as he can get.

Glass

Glass sometimes feels like the Foundation Staff’s punching bag, and it sucks. His way of managing his feelings is through golf. He golfs, and he is really damn good at it too. Probably could’ve won some local competitions, if he was allowed to participate. He finds it relaxing to be outside in the fresh air, and therapeutic to swing a golf club. Unfortunately, it’s hard to get permission to leave the Site and go golfing during his weekends and off-days, so he jogs when he can. He’s said he’d like to pick up tennis, but you need an opponent, and it’d be weird to play your therapist in a game of tennis.

Iceberg

Iceberg’s hobby is explosives, but I think he likes baking. The warm oven offsets how cold he feels, so he used to just have the oven running whenever he was home. He likes sweets and desserts, so he decided that he might as well learn how to make cookies, and it took off from there. He’s good at it, but he’s also insecure about being perceived as “doing girly stuff”, so he doesn’t usually share the things he makes with people. He’ll usually drop off a birthday cake for people on their birthdays, but he’ll say he bought it at a local bakery or something.

Gears

Gears was always fascinated by calligraphy, but it took him a really long time to get good at it. He doesn’t have time to practice hobbies like that when he’s busy running the largest Site the Foundation has. He also likes cooking, and unlike his assistant, he’s very open to sharing food. He doesn’t really express contentment through words or expressions, but he will occasionally give food he made to the people he trusts. He’d be really good at baking if he tried due to his excellent precision, but he doesn’t like things that are too sweet, so he sticks to cooking.

Strelnikov

Strelnikov likes climbing trees and seeing if anyone notices him. To him, it’s a measure of stealth, and he likes to play a game and see how much he can learn about a person from at the top of a tree. People find this very creepy. He also can play the acoustic guitar, but he doesn’t know anything about music theory, he just kinda knows how the song is supposed to sound.

#scp foundation #dr alto clef #dr clef #scp fandom #scp headcanons #scp #dr iceberg #agent strelnikov #benjamin kondraki #dr glass #dr shaw #dr gears

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mccn-bcys · 7 months

Text

First Date - Javier Peña

pairing: javier peña x fem!reader summary: connie has a new friend in Columbia and she sets her and javi up on blind date. javi gets nervous, but over dinner he finds that he really likes her and wants to see her again. warning: nervous javi, this is my first fic since my break so please go easy on me. author's note: I know this fic was supposed to go out in february but I've been in a bit of a rut for a while but I've missed writing so I wanted to start trying to get these feb stories out. I really hope you all enjoy it!

To say that Javier Pena was nervous was an understatement. He was many things right now.

“A fuckin’ mess is what I am,” he bitterly says as he looks over his outfit in the mirror. It’s the fifth outfit he has tried on and he still doesn’t think it looks good. Why did his clothes suddenly not look good on him? He practically rips his clothes off himself as he heads back to the closet to find something else.

How did he even get here in the first place?

Oh, that’s right. Steve fucking Murphy. Well, his wife, really, but still. Connie had decided to try and play matchmaker with Javier and her friend that was new in town. And before Javier could say “no”, Connie had already set up the blind date.

He didn’t really want to do this. It’d been a long time since he’d been on a date. But he couldn’t help but feel nervous, a bit excited. For some reason, he wanted to make a good first impression, even if it never went past this first date.

Connie had said that the girl was nice, sweet. Why the hell Connie thought that a girl like that would be good for Javier, he had no idea. His life was too dark, dangerous, unexpecting. A girl as sweet, as kind, as good as you didn’t really seem to fit into his life. But a strange, demented part of him wanted to give it a shot. To see if there really was a chance for him to love again.

After what happened with Lorraine, he didn’t think he deserved love, not real love. The last time he had a chance for love, for happiness and sharing it with another person, he had fucked it up. He had left a woman at the altar. What kind of man does that? He doesn’t deserve another chance at love.

But here he was, trying anyways. He shrugs on this new shirt he’s pulled from the closet, deciding that it will just have to do as he finishes getting ready quickly. He grabs stuff and hops in his car and drives to the restaurant that Steve told him to meet at. Javi sits in his car for a moment, just calming himself. This is fine, he tells himself. It’s just a first date, nothing serious has to come from it. He’s gone on plenty of dates before. He can do this. Taking a final deep breath, he climbs out of his car and makes his way inside.

When he gets inside, he expects to learn that he is the first to arrive, but as he’s escorted to the table, he learns that you had beaten him there. He stops a few feet away, taking a second to look at you as you sit, fiddling with your napkin.

You’re beautiful, he thinks. You dressed up a lot nicer than he had, not that that mattered; he was sure you looked just as beautiful in a T-shirt and sweats. Fuck, now he just has to not make a fool of himself. Should be easy, right?

“Javier?” Nope, this would not be easy. Not if you kept saying his name like that.

“Yeah, hey,” he says, approaching the table cautiously. You smile, standing up and reaching out your hand to him. He looks at it for a moment before realizing you mean to shake his. Jesus Christ, Pena, at least try to act like you’ve interacted with people before. He meets your hand with his and gives it a small shake. God, your hand was so small in his.

“Hey,” you say softly, introducing yourself, keeping your hand in his for a moment, perhaps a moment longer than necessary. He repeats your name quietly, testing how it sounds rolling off his tongue. Obviously, you like how it sounds because your smile grows. “I went ahead and ordered some wine, I hope you don’t mind,” you say shyly as you take your hand back and sit down.

“Not at all. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” He’d kick himself if you’d been here awhile by yourself.

“Oh, I only got here a few minutes ago. They just asked if I wanted anything and I was scared if I said I was waiting for someone, they’d assume I was going to get stood up or something,” you chuckle nervously, brushing your hair behind your ear. For a brief moment, he wonders if your hair feels as soft as it looks.

“If I’m honest, I almost did. Stand you up, I mean,” he admits almost shamefully.

“If I’m honest, I almost did, too,” you say in return shyly. His eyebrows furrow a little. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I was so close to turning my car around on my way here a couple of times.”

“Why?” he asks, as if he hadn’t almost done the same.

“I don’t really do blind dates. They freak me out,” you say, laughing a little. Javi can’t help but laugh too as the sound of yours is melodic and contagious.

“They freak you out?”

“Mhm. I could be set up with a murder or something. The person could be a psycho and I’d have no idea because I wouldn’t know who it is before I got here,” you explain. “Also, if you don’t know who you’re meeting, how’re you supposed to know if the other person got there or not. If Connie hadn’t put the reservation under Steve’s name, I probably wouldn’t have known if you’d gotten here or not,” you add on, before flushing as you realize you’re rambling a bit.

“Sorry, I tend to ramble when I get nervous,” you say softly, fiddling with your napkin again.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s cute,” Javi smiles at you, making your cheeks hot. “But you’re right. I don’t think I would’ve known I was supposed to meet you if they hadn’t made the reservation.”

“Well, I suppose we have at least that to thank them for,” you shrug with a soft chuckle. “Perhaps if this goes well, we’ll have more to thank them for.”

After that, the date flies by. You two laugh, talk, laugh some more and just get to know one another. Javi realizes he opened up to you more than he usually does with dates. You’re just so easy to talk to. And before he wants to, he finds himself walking you back to your car.

His hands are stuffed in his pockets as you stand in front of him, softly biting you lip – which drives him crazy – trying to find anything else to talk about to extend this date as much as you can. And when you do run out of ways to stall, you both just stare at each other before Javier finds himself asking: “Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you smile, a gesture that returns, relieved to hear your answer in the positive.

Stepping in, he softly cups your cheek, looking down at you for a moment before he finally leans in, his lips meeting yours. You both swear the world stops spinning as your lips seem to fit together so perfectly. He can taste the wine on your lips, getting intoxicated by the taste of you mixed with the drink. He could kiss you all night. But you both need air and eventually have to pull away to breathe, foreheads pressing together as you catch your breath.

“Can I see you again?” Javi asks quietly, surprising himself.

“Absolutely,” you answer, making him smile wide, leaning in to kiss you again. When you pull away, the two of you exchange phone numbers, promising to call when you’ve made it home to talk about setting up another date, hopefully soon.

He sees you into your car, making sure you drive off safely before going back to his car, a goofy little grin on his lips as he sits behind the wheel. He hasn’t felt these butterflies in his belly since … ever. Maybe Connie knew what she was doing after all.

The whole drive home, Javi can only find himself thinking about you and your date and your future dates. And when he gets inside, he heads straight to the phone, catching the voicemail that you’d made it home. He’ll call you back in just a moment, knowing there’s another phone call he needs to make first. He dials the number, waiting as it rings until he hears the “Peña?”

“Tell your wife I said thanks.”

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#javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal #javi pena #javi p x reader

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adreamareads · 5 months

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WIP Wednesday

I'm supposed to be in bed already but I thought I'd share a little bit of my current WIP anyway, because why not get people excited?

Thank you for multiple tags on multiple days, @inexplicablymine @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @onthewaytosomewhere @xthelastknownsurvivorx @littlemisskittentoes

Paying it forward with tags for... whatever you want to share, on whatever day @cricketnationrise @gayrootvegetable @cha-melodius and ANYONE ELSE WHO WOULD LIKE TO SHARE because it's almost 11pm and I spent 3 hours making a photo collage and my brain doesn't want to work anymore.

Adventure Saturday, coming to an Ao3 near you... eventually. At some point in time.

This is going to be a long one, 13 chapters.

Teaser:

Alex gently sets the mug of steaming Earl Grey on Henry’s nightstand, then crawls back into bed from the other side, still wearing Henry’s hoodie. He starts pressing kisses to Henry’s cheek and his neck, any skin he can reach that’s visible. “Sweetheart,” he whispers with a kiss to Henry’s jaw. “Hey, baby, wake up,” he says, pushing his nose into the crook of Henry’s neck under his ear. “Mmmh,” Henry says, eyes still closed but one hand groping for Alex. Alex takes his hand, lacing Henry’s fingers with his own. He glances back at the sound of paws on the floor, seeing David lose interest in them and abandon the room. “Alex,” Henry finally manages after more kisses, his voice still hoarse. “Were you expecting your other boyfriend?” Alex teases, taking a moment to marvel at Henry’s bedhead, which is exceptionally mussed today. Henry flips over and pulls Alex close to him with one arm. “Cretin,” he mutters. “Love you.” And if that doesn’t sum up their relationship, Alex doesn’t know what does. “There’s tea next to you. Drink it while it’s hot.” “You’re hot,” Henry mumbles back. “Did I say that out loud?” he realizes. “You did,” Alex confirms, holding back a laugh, “but I already knew that, and knew that you think that. I’ll still be hot after you drink your tea, baby.” Henry reluctantly pushes himself into a sitting position and reaches for the mug at his bedside table, a small smile forming on his face as Alex follows suit and tucks himself into Henry’s side. “Thank you, love.” “Do you know what today is?” Alex asks, dropping a kiss on Henry’s shoulder before reaching over to his own nightstand to grab his glasses. Henry squints at the ceiling, cupping the mug in two hands. “Um. Saturday?” he tries. “Adventure Saturday,” Alex adds. “Our plans aren’t until tonight but I thought we would head in early and get a nice dinner.” “Sure,” Henry agrees easily. “Wait, head in where? What’s our adventure?” Alex laughs. “You’re not getting it out of me that easily, but I will say that it is in midtown Manhattan. And dress nicely, but you don’t need a suit or tux or anything. Then again,” he adds, “you pretty much always dress nicely.” “So do you,” Henry says, sipping his tea. “You live in chinos.” “Not anymore,” Alex shrugs. “Not as much since I don’t do as many official appearances and stuff for the presidency. Much happier in jeans. You too; you wear jeans a lot more than you used to. You’re not in suits every day anymore.” “The shelter is hardly the place to wear a suit,” Henry remarks. “They’d laugh me out of the place.” “I’d like to see you in ripped jeans sometime,” Alex says, picturing it. “It’d be hot. And not carefully pressed, like you normally wear.”

#adreama writes #wip wednesday #adventure saturday #rwrb fanfic #first prince #red white and royal blue #rwrb

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heyidkyay · 10 months

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I guess I’ll take this pain, instead of your name |

Part Twenty-Seven

A/n: Hey! 27's here, sorry for the long wait, took a break whilst on holiday and then I lost all motivation. But here it is and so full of fluff and stuff too! I'm not sure where this'll lead in truth, if it even will, but I'm grateful to everyone who's shown the series some love! Hope you like the update:) No warnings on this one I think, only mention is that there may be some more terrible Spanish written in here, so I apologise beforehand to all fluent speakers, I'm sorry! Also we're starting with a Matty pov, which will then switch and stay in the first person, enjoy! X

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Masterlist

—MATTY’S POV—

He was stood in the doorway, see. Just watching, observing the way she carefully moved about the bedroom, lost in her own head as she typically was most days. He could visibly see the cogs ticking about in there, the endless train of thought she’d plopped herself down on. But she puttered about still, getting ready for, well, God only know’s what. But he had an inkling.

She glanced up at him through the mirror she had sat on the dresser and he flashed her a squinted smile, arms folded across his chest, body propped up against the door's frame.

“Gonna stand there all afternoon, creep?” She teased.

Matty rolled his eyes and moved across the floor to join her, eyes flitting briefly over the makeup she had laying about. “Might do, got a problem with that?”

She chuckled and shook her head faintly in return, fiddling with a necklace she couldn’t quite clasp with her cast still on.

“Here, lemme.” Matty motioned towards her and grasped the thin silver chain from her hands before pivoting her back around, the two of them facing the mirror now. He spoke quietly as he looped it over her head and around her neck, tinkering with the clasp, “So where you off to then?”

Those lovely eyes of hers fluttered downwards and he caught the slight quirk of a smile in the glass. He had to hide his own.

“Just out with George.” She admitted softly and looked up at him again then, as though she wanted to read his reaction to it.

He really had to dim his grin now, instead opting to fiddle with the finicky clasp of the necklace she’d had since forever, because it seemed he’d been correct in his hidden assumption.

Not that it’d been much of a secret though, fucking surprised that half of Tenerife hadn’t heard the pair of them roaring at each other late last night. But he figured that they'd somehow needed that, to air out forgotten wounds and make anew. Probably still had a long way to go though- and he’d very much be watching George’s every move along the way- but he was glad for the change in direction. It’d been a long time coming.

He hummed and let the necklace fall around her collar once he'd caught the latch, before pushing her hair forward and dropping his chin to rest atop her shoulder. Their eyes met in the mirror, “You nervous?”

She released a shaky sort of breath around a sweet smile, fingers coming up to play with the tiny hummingbird the necklace held. “Why’d you ask that?”

He shrugged a single shoulder and smirked at her in the reflection, throwing an arm around her too for good measure. “Good thing, nerves. Make you feel like you’re living, innit? Like you’re doing something right.”

Her eyes narrowed but she was still smiling at him, even as she released the chain to childishly flick the side of his head, “Maybe, but you’re making them worse right now.”

Matty only laughed and pulled away when she walked over to where she had a couple shoes lying about. “How? I’m just bein’ nice!” He retorted in defence, “And besides, we both know you could probably dye his pubes bright orange and he’d say thank you. Sad how in love the kid is with you.”

She rolled her eyes at him with a slight scoff, deciding to ignore him and instead ask, “What do you reckon then, trainers or sandals?”

Flopping down onto the already made bed, Matty hummed as he looked between the pair, “Where’re you headed?”

“Not a hundred percent, out to eat maybe?”

Matty kissed his teeth in thought, “G will probably plan something a bit more than that. Go with the trainers, just in case.” There was a wrinkle between her brows even as she went along with his choice and he withheld a heavy sigh, “Or just go with whatever you think’s best, ey?” Women!

“Nah, ’s not that. Just...” She fiddled with her shoelace, but Matty knew better than to offer to help her with them these days, easier to just let her do it at her own pace. And he knew that now, same way he knew he’d have to go about awaiting on a prolonged answer. She sighed quietly to herself after a minute, having finally collected the right words, he assumed. “I don’t know, made it sound like it’s a date or summat.”

Now it was his turn to fucking frown. “What, is it not then?” He prodded as he propped himself up onto his hands to look over at her.

She shrugged, all timid-like and just not her. “Dunno.”

Matty dragged his tongue across the inside of cheek and under his bottom lip before he huffed loudly and jumped up off the bed, her head snapped up towards him as he did.

“Where’re you goin’?” She questioned him, but he reckoned she already had a feeling- they’d both known each other far too long to not.

“To fucking ask the twat.”

“Matty, don’t you dare!” He heard her call out just as passed over the threshold, heard her continue to repeat herself too before she stumbled out onto the landing to chase after him. But he didn’t care, muttering about how he’d have to ‘smash fuckin’ heads together to make people see sense these days’ and 'forced into doing bloody everything around here’.

“Matty!” She repeated in a hissing sort of tone from somewhere behind him, but he was already barreling into George’s room without knocking or a care to level his bandmate with a put-upon glare.

“Right!” He proclaimed outright, catching the attention of said idiot messing about with his hair nervously in the mirror, “G, mate, is this a date you’re taking our Birdie out on today or not? ‘Cause if we could just settle this whole thing now then I reckon we’d all be able to go about things a bit easier, no?”

His blunt tone and question had George faltering in utter surprise and then glancing between himself and the girl, wearing only one shoe, stood in his doorway looking just as sheepish as him. Matty rose both brows at the pair and let out a heaving sigh when neither spoke a word.

“Fucks sake. George!” He demanded and was finally gifted the attention he so deserved- these two, a right pair of muppets.

George fish-mouthed for a split second, alarmed eyes darting between them both, but he nodded as he swallowed thickly. “Yeah, um yes. At least, I'm hoping.”

Matty flew his hands up praisingly, “Thank fuck!” He exclaimed and then turned towards the other nuisance in his life, “Right, now B, you down for this date or are you gonna crush the poor knob’s heart?”

The girl snorted and Matty noted that a faint flush stained her cheeks as she dipped her head, but she was still smirking over at the giant idiot stood in the corner, a shoe dangling from her hand.

Matty grinned at the both of them and then moved to leave the room, “Good! Right! Glad we got that debacle all cleared up. What would you lot do without me, hey?” He shot her a sly wink as he passed by, feeling very smug if he did say so himself, and just hoped that the two of them could cope for another couple of hours without him.

—

It was strange, this void we were sitting in. Quiet. Nervous really, but not the bad sort. Just this buzzing energy that surrounded the both of us in the backseat of this cab together.

George kept shooting me quick glances, almost afraid to linger but unable to hold his stare ahead. It was making me all jittery, the kind of feeling most tended to get when you were with someone new and you were excited to see where it would head. But G and I, we’d never had that the first go around. He'd been a stranger, a part of the band, a friend next, and then we were together.

It sounded simple, wording it like that, though it'd been anything but.

Still, this buzz was sweet and palpable. It had a hold on my breath, as well as my mind. It was fucking thrilling.

“¿Lleva usted mucho tiempo en España?” The cab driver questioned, breaking the silence that had only been ebbed by the low hum of the radio and the outside traffic. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror and I smiled.

“A mí más que a él, pero sólo durante unas semanas.” I replied, gaze drifting towards George for a moment when I felt his eyes on me, I was glad when he didn’t glance away again. “¿Desde cuándo es taxista?”

The cabby hadn’t known much English when he’d pulled up outside of the villa, so there had been evident relief written into the quirk of his smile when I'd realised and answered him in Spanish. He’d been trying though throughout the drive, for George’s sake I realised, who had gifted the man his phone once we'd entered so that I’d be none the wiser of our destination.

“Uh, few years.” The driver answered me as he pulled out of another side street. “Siete y medio?”

I hummed around another smile, “Seven years is a long time! You enjoy it?”

He nodded, flashing me an understanding grin. “Sí, sí! Mucha gente maravillosa.”

“¿Muchas historias que contar?”

He laughed in retort, flicking the indicator downwards. “Many secrets, too.” He indulged.

George was wearing this bemused smile beside me, eyes squinted as they travelled between the driver and myself, but he seemed content enough to just sit and listen in on our conversation.

“Like what?” I questioned the man, leaning in a little closer in my seat in hopes that he’d divulge a bit more.

I was pleased when he did, went on to tell me a few myriads about the travellers he’d picked up on drives, as well as a few of the familiar locals. One man had brought along his pet parrot, though it hadn’t been caged, just stationed on his arm, and the guy had said nothing more about it. Only spoke a few words about where he was headed and then spent the rest of the journey whispering to the bird, his eyes almost crazy. Our driver had said that it’d put him on edge but he hadn’t been able to help his hysteric laughter once he’d finally dropped the passenger off at some banana boat rental place.

Another, was with this older woman. He’d thought nothing much of this blonde who'd climbed into his cab outside of a bar one night, figured she was just headed home from meeting with friends or family, but it'd been nothing of the sort. Instead she’d asked to be dropped off outside of this crappy, rundown hotel on the edge of town and said she was meeting up with a ‘client’. In the shortened version of his story, she’d actually been a prostitute and had many a story of her own to tell him on the way over, having been in the game nearly twenty years. One involved the time she’d had to hide an eight ball of coke where the sun didn’t shine. She’d then gone on to offer to show him exactly she she’d done it in the back of his cab, but he’d been too shocked to speak. Even so, the woman had still flashed him her arsehole before getting out and paying her tab.

I was chuckling away to myself as the driver finished up with his latest tale. I'd been a translator of sorts for both him and George, who was now unable to help his laughter too it seemed, all of us pleasantly pleased by the joyful atmosphere that'd been created. So lost in our conversation that I was honestly surprised when the car rolled to a stop on the side of the road, so slowly I’d barely even noticed until the man had turned back to face us.

"Sin embargo, a pesar de lo divertidas que fueron esas personas, creo que este viaje fue uno de mis favoritos." The cabbie smiled, his eyes kind.

I murmured a repeat of what he’d said to George and the drummer mimicked the warm words back to the man, claiming to feel a similar way. I believed him, too, G had been all over the world, probably met more cab drivers than anyone else I’d ever met, but the expression he wore then was too genuine to be anything other.

“Ustedes dos han sido encantadores de conducir,” The man acknowledged, glancing between us. “Thank you for listening, yes?”

I gifted him a large grin as George and I steadily made for the door, “Thank you for telling us. Ha sido un placer conocerle.”

“Sí, y tú, querida.”

George handed him some euros through the driver’s side window and the man patted the back of his hand in thanks as he accepted the cash. “Muchas gracias. Mantenerse seguro y cuida de ella, ¿vale?” I heard the man say and George chuckled whilst nodding his assent.

“I’ll try. Thank you, man.”

And then the cab begun to pull away and George and I were left- hang on, where the hell had we been left?

“Where are we?” I asked the same man, squinting as I raised a hand over my face to shield my eyes from the hot sun, wanting to glance about. There wasn’t much surrounding us, just a single row of brightly coloured houses on a quiet little street littered with palms.

My gaze found him again when he failed to answer. He was stood across from me, still stuck in the same place he’d taken since having stepped out of the cab, now though he wore a cheeky smile. “Truth?”

I lingered on the term and then bit my lip, before nodding once.

George tucked his hands into the shorts he was wearing, blue they were, and had sunglasses atop his head that didn’t move even as he turned it to the left. “I have not a fucking clue.”

He started laughing when he saw the way my face instantly dropped.

“George. Be serious right now, ‘cause I swear to God.”

The idiot only continued to laugh, though it was practically a snicker now, as he glanced back at me. “I’m not gonna lie and say I know exactly where we are, that I could probably get us back to the villa if I really tried, but that’s not me, is it? So, what I will tell you, is that I paid Ross a stupid amount of money to find us a secluded enough beach so that we wouldn’t be bothered, and then drag some shit down here so that it’d be set up for when we arrived.”

I blinked at him. There must’ve been about a foot or two of distance separating us- seemingly planned- and so I found myself stepping off the curb to close it. George looked a little apprehensive the nearer I grew and I saw the way his shoulders hunched a tad as though he was expecting a slap or something of the sorts.

Instead, I simply stopped just shy of his nose, now toe to toe, and glanced up at him.

“How much we talking here?”

George exhaled an amused chuckle through his nose, “That’s what you choose to focus on?” I raised a brow and he relented. “A lot, because he’s a twat and I’m gone enough on you to do just about anything to make this day perfect. Yeah?”

I found myself withholding a very apparent smile upon hearing that, which only made him that more nervous, which entail then had him rambling to save himself.

“I know it’s stupid, yeah, but Ross, he’s smart, ain’t he? And I figured that he’d want this to be nice for us- for you, I mean. And Matty and Hann they’d’ve botched this right up if I'd've asked them. Like could you imagine? Ad would’ve had us on some fucking boat sailing off somewhere romantic, forgetting that you get motion sickness and I hate being stuck with fuck all to do- I mean, after all that water, what else is there, innit? Then Matt, he’d’ve either gone over the top with it all, or gotten a right laugh out of it. So, yeah, Ross had been my only option, really. And I knew I could trust him to tell me if I was playing a tit, if all this wouldn’t be something you’d want, but he didn’t and so, here we are.”

He forced a grin he obviously didn't feel and scratched at the jut of his jaw.

Giving in, I finally cracked that smile I’d been hiding and released an airy titter when his whole being relaxed.

“Where’s this beach then?” I questioned him, hands linked behind my back as I pushed myself up onto my tiptoes, glinting eyes finding his. He knocked his head one way and then rolled his lip together whilst watching me.

“Somewhere over there, I think.”

“Think?” I challenged with a small smirk, he hummed. “Reckon you can lead the way then?”

I inhaled at the way his eyes roamed the entirety of my face, like he was taking in every inch of it that he could. My head shot downwards when I felt his fingers graze the skin of my forearm, I let it drop from behind my back and swallowed when our hands slipped together.

“If you’ll let me.” Was all he said, and I nodded quietly before I let him lead us out and away from the road.

We travelled down a lengthy little alleyway slotted between a pair of tall houses, one terracotta, the other a pale yellow, and came across a slanted cliffside. It was there that we discovered a painted gate that led to a set of stone steps leading down, down, down onto a grassy verge that soon trailed into thick golden sand.

I’d kicked my shoes off the second I could and breathed in when my feet finally touched the warm sand. George’s hand never left mine all the while and together we waltzed down the length of the beach, murmuring to one another in the breeze whilst the sea washed away our footprints.

It was just after George had almost tried to trip me up and spin me further into the ocean that something up ahead caught my eye. A smoky trail that danced high in the sky and was coming from a small fire-pit that had been lit on the sand. I must’ve stopped pretty abruptly because George frowned at me before a smile graced his features.

“Cool, ain’t it? My idea that, just so you know, in case Ross tries to rob any of the credit.”

I blinked a couple times, taking in the scene set out before us, and then looked up at him. “You planned this?” I asked as he continued to lead me closer.

There’d been an oversized blanket spread out, held down by a couple rocks at either corner, it homed this wicker basket that sat in its centre. An old radio with an antenna as long as a Wolfhound’s tail perched by the flickering firelight too, practically as old as the song it sang.

“Sacrifice, really?” I pondered aloud, a happy smile limning my lips as I turned to glance over at George, who merely shrugged in turn.

“Figured everyone loves a bit of Elton.”

I chuckled, “And what’s in there?” I asked, gesturing over towards the basket.

“Food and some other shit.” George answered me. I shook my head and mimicked his stupid reply under my breath, earning myself a playful shove. “You know what I mean.”

“A picnic then? George Daniel who ever claimed you weren’t a cliche!”

“Piss off.” George laughed, “I can just chuck this all out you know, then all this effort gone will have gone to waste.”

I feigned a pout, “Poor Ross’ll be so disheartened.”

He narrowed his eyes at me then, done with all my needless teasing now it appeared, and I wailed in sudden surprise when he lifted me up off my feet and tossed me over his shoulder.

“George!”

“Nah, reckon I’ll keep the cliche picnic and nice little blanket I set out, let the radio play, and just sod you off instead. Sea’s big enough for you to get lost in and, if I remember rightly, you quite like to swim.”

“George, I swear!” I shouted through my laughter, thumping his arse with my one good hand. “Put me down, now!”

George paused just short of the shore for a second and hummed theatrically. “You willing to apologise then?”

I scowled and he must’ve sensed it, even with my head hanging just short of his hip, because his body moved with a chuckle.

“What was that, lovely? Can’t quite hear anything yet.”

I huffed, figuring a half-arsed apology was better than getting my cast wet. Because we both knew he'd do it. “Sorry for making fun of your picnic.”

“Come again, can’t hear you over the wonderful sound of the sea. These waves are something else, I tell you, you seeing ‘em too?”

George yelped when I pinched the back of his leg in retaliation and I laughed even as he treaded further into the water.

“I said sorry! I'm sorry! Now take me back, you giant prat!”

Thankfully he did and I was breathless when he placed me back down on the blanket.

“Alright there, Birdie?” He smirked at me and planted his hands on his hips whilst I flipped him off and staggered over to have a nose in the basket. He laughed as he followed behind me, “Come on, B. I was only messin’.”

I hummed and peered over at him when he settled down on the blanket too, “So was I. This is really nice, G. You didn’t have to, you know.”

He grew a little sheepish then I reckon, because he looked off into the horizon to hide his face from view. “Wish I could’ve done more in truth.”

I rolled my eyes but gasped when I caught sight of the batch of tiny chocolates tucked away in the very bottom of the basket. “How the fuck did you manage to find these this time of year?”

George chuckled at my childlike excitement upon finding the Mini Eggs and shuffled in closer to unwrap the packet I’d been struggling with. “Man of many talents me.”

I shook my head in disbelief and thanked him when he handed the chocolate eggs back to me. “No, really. I need to know ‘cause I want to take a stash of these back to England with me.”

I offered him up one but he just shook his head before leaning back on his elbows. “Can’t. Didn’t buy them here.” He told me, and I tilted my head in confusion. He shot me a brief smile before he wrinkled his nose. “Brought ‘em with me, didn’t I?”

My forehead pinched and I shuffled in place to bring my knee up to rest my arm on. “What do you mean, you find them at the terminal or something?”

George just shook his head, eyes grazing the shoreline. “Got drunk a couple of weeks before last Christmas. I mean, like off my head, couldn’t remember fuck all when I woke up, drunk. Right?” I hummed, waiting for him to continue on. “And well, a couple of days before Christmas finally rolled around, I got a knock at the door, didn’t I? Confused as to what the fuck it could possibly be, hadn’t ordered anything to the house, everything I had had gone straight to the studio, but I opened it up anyway, figuring it might’ve been from my dad or something, and was met with the sight of like, a 5kg bag of Mini Eggs”

I snorted, unable to help myself, and raised my hand to cover my mouth. “Why?” I couldn’t help but ask, and this was when he sort of shuttered.

I watched as George purse his lips before blowing out a large breath, still looking anywhere but me.

I forced out a small chuckle, “G? What, is it really that bad? Were the Mini Eggs just a cover for some sort of drug smuggle or something?”

George’s mouth twitched into something that almost resembled a smile. “Imagine... The Sun would have a right field day with that, wouldn’t they.”

I popped another egg into my mouth and allowed it to melt a tad before knuckling his shoulder, “Tell me.”

He sighed and then groaned as he shifted over onto his side. “Before we broke up, a bit before your birthday, I kept on thinking over and over about what to get you for it, yeah? And you’d complained about not having these things all year round, or something of the like. It wasn’t long after things had all gone to shit between us that I’d managed to drink myself stupid trying to escape my own head, just to stop thinking about how much I’d fucked up with you. But even the drink couldn’t help.”

He snorted quietly to himself, as though he was telling an inside joke only he knew about, fingertip grazing the pattern in the blanket beneath us. “Ended up ordering you the chocolates a year later anyway, didn’t I? Even pissed out of my head I can’t seem to ever escape you.”

I chewed away quietly to myself, not sure how to take his story in truth. It was difficult to swallow past the idea of him wasting away like that, drinking and doing whatever else just to get through, just to avoid me. I toyed with the sweet packet I held as I did. But ultimately decided to take it on the chin, make light of it. Because there was bound to be more tidbits like this shared from the both of us in the future, so why hold onto them and feel ashamed?

“So, all I’m hearing is that, somewhere back home, you’ve got a massive stash of Mini Eggs just waiting for me?”

George laughed, a breath of relief rippled out of him, “Sure. Well, not quite. Good portion of it's gone now-”

I cut him off with a hurt shout, “What do you mean, gone?”

“If you’d let me finish,” He went on to say, shaking his head at me playfully, but there was something behind his eyes that told me he was grateful for the out he’d been given. I waved a hand and gestured for him to hurry along. He rolled his eyes, not unkindly. “Christ. As I was saying, it’d been a couple days before Christmas, I was lonely and fucking depressed, wallowing away in Ross’s smelly flat most of the time, and they’d just been sat there, hadn't they? So I’d stuck on the Godfather-”

“One or two?”

He groaned, helpless to my ongoing interruptions. “Two, obviously.” And I hummed my quiet approval. “Any-fucking-way, I ended up just eating them as I watched the film.”

“Isn’t it like three and half hours long?”

“Are you gonna keep interrupting me every time I speak?”

“Might do.” I shrugged, fighting back a smile.

He released a breathy laugh, “Figured. But yeah, almost that long. So by the time it’d ended I could hardly bare to look at another fucking egg again. Had to have Ross come and take them from me and ended yucking up in his downstairs loo, which he wasn’t too happy about.”

I giggled then plucked another chocolate from the bag to hold out towards him, “Even now?” He grimaced and shoved my hand away. I laughed harder, “Come on, G. They’re so good!”

“No, go away.” He said, chuckling as he rolled onto his back to escape me.

I paused and had a thought hit me. Hastily I moved onto my knees to crawl over to where he was spread out, and he watched me with a furrowed brow, one hand tucked up behind him to cushion his head.

“So I suppose that means you won’t be up for a kiss then, yeah?” I provoked as I popped another chocolate into my mouth, practically towering over him now. I saw the way his throat bobbed around a swallow.

“I mean, that’s different, ain’t it?” He tried, squinting into the sun above me whilst I smirked, baring down on one of his angled knees.

“No, I don’t think it is.” I shook my head, and I was being very brave here with my next move, because I hardly even thought about it as I swung my left leg over his torso to settle over him, leaning in close, one hand fisted in the sand above his head. “‘Cause it must be the taste, yeah? That sets you off. I’d probably have to brush my teeth or something before you even thought about wanting to kiss me, right?”

I was playing him like a fiddle and we both knew it.

Almost cautiously his fingers came to brush against the skin of my outer thigh, I tried not to outwardly react but his touch alone set me alight.

“Could always see though, couldn’t we?” He defended and I glanced down to his lips, parted ever so lightly, a breath away from my own.

It was then that I sat back up and rolled off onto the blanket next to him like nothing had happened. “Best not risk it.” I quipped and the laugh I’d kept at bay upon seeing the face he'd made was forced out of me when he all but threw himself on top of me, grinning as he shook his head in utter disbelief.

“Why’re you so nasty to me, B?” He murmured into the tiny space that separated us once more. “Huh?” He pressured as he brushed his nose against mine, “When I’ve done all this too.”

I smiled, this small fond thing that sent him grinning, and wrapped my legs around his waist to keep him close. “I already said thank you for the picnic.”

“Did you?”

I hummed sweetly, and for the third time since George had flown out to see me, I kissed him.

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