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jeonqkooks · 2 years

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supernova | jjk (01)

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards

Supernova, noun. [suːpəˈnəʊvə] the colossal explosion of a star when it has reached the end of its life and explodes in a brilliant burst of light.

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: idol au, established relationship, heavy(ish) angst

word count: approx. 2k

note: i know i said i would postpone this but i was feeling very angsty today and decided to finish editing this. most of it was written in one night a month ago (i guess i was feeling sorta d*pressed then and just started writing this?) anyway i don’t normally do idol aus but oh well. honestly this fic is just one angst dump and i genuinely cry every single time i read it

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

When you look at Jungkook, there’s a mixture of love, hurt, and defeat all at once swimming in his eyes. It makes you want to nestle into his side and calm his ache with soothing reassurances.

But you don’t. Instead, you take a breath, take his hand in your own, and prepare to break both of your hearts.

Him, the boy who’s made from sunshine and stardust and everything holy this universe has ever had to offer; who you’ve fallen madly, relentlessly in love with since that chance encounter two years ago at your favorite bakery.

(Tale as old as time. Boy meets girl, boy and girl both reach for the last pastry; it was endearment at first sight.

Jungkook froze when your face flashed with surprise for a few seconds and you retracted your hand.

“You can have it,” you smiled softly at him, a knowing glint in your eyes. “But for the record, apricot is usually much better.”

“Is that so? Then why were you reaching for this one?”

“Maybe I wanted to try something new,” you jested.

“Not because you’re trying to trick me so you can get the last cherry danish?” He asked playfully, mirroring the look on your face.

You narrowed your eyes at him before stretching a hand out to the other side for the aforementioned apricot treat. “It’s not nice to accuse people, you know.”

Jungkook didn’t drop his smile and instead, it grew into an amused grin. There was a spark ignited by the very first touch of your hands that neither of you expected could turn into a wildfire, flames that could never truly be extinguished.)

The boy who’s carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders just to protect you and keep you by his side, even if it’s killing him. You know he’d rather die trying than let go of you.

Your flame grew in the dark, slowly and steadily, till all you could feel was yourself engulfed in its warmth—his warmth. But it’s not warm anymore, it's burning and you’re on the edge of falling into an inferno. Maybe you would have happily taken the leap if it weren’t for the boy next to you who’s letting himself be torched to keep you from harm.

“Do you love me?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “You know I do.”

“Then why do you keep asking me to do this?”

“Because,” your heart was so heavy, like someone was holding your chest down, hoping for your ribcage to cave in. “If you don’t, I’m scared you’ll resent me one day.”

“You know I can never do that.”

“Fine,” you said. “Then I might resent you.”

That was a week ago, the last time either of you had mentioned the topic but the first time you’d ever brought up the possibility of hating him some day.

Because it hurts every time Jungkook drops your hand whenever someone even turns their head in your direction walking down the street.

It hurts that he has to take detours after photoshoots and recording sessions to get to your apartment no matter how far it is and how long it takes, and your heart clenches uncomfortably in your chest every time you see him because he looks exhausted but he still goes through all that trouble just to see you.

And it hurts that this love feels doomed, that this is reality and just because you love one another doesn’t mean it’s enough.

But, you didn’t say any of it because it’s not his fault. It would be so much easier if there was someone to blame.

For you, Jungkook is everywhere, quite literally. With his face plastered across billboards and magazines, his voice ringing through radios and his name headlining newspapers all across the world, you wonder how much time it will take to be able to hear those familiar syllables of his name and not feel as though getting oxygen into your lungs is an impossible task? How long will it take for the inevitable emptiness in your chest to not feel so hollow anymore?

How can you look at the stars and not think of his eyes? How can you feel the warmth of the sun and not remember his smile?

So many questions, yet there’s no one to answer them for you.

It’s not the same for him as it is for you. You’re not on TV and posters and every tacky little thing that demands attention. You’re merely a star that he holds in his collection of infinite constellations, a photo next to a name and a phone number in his contacts.

But Jungkook doesn’t think any of it matters, always berating you for thinking you can never hurt him the way he’s able to hurt you. You won’t see me anywhere, and soon you’ll forget all about me, you’d say with a sad smile on your face. It’s not possible, he’d retort playfully but with a despondent glint in his eyes. And it’s true, he won’t ever forget you. You don’t need to be on splashy advertisements or featured in gossip columns for him to remember—to miss—you. He hears your name in the lyrics of every song he’s ever loved, every favorite poem that he’ll ever memorize, in between every exhale and inhale of oxygen he needs to survive. The flickering light of your star is enough to outshine his entire sky.

Say what you will, but ‘dishonest’ isn’t a word that anyone would use to describe Jungkook. He recoils at the thought of lying about you to (anyone, really) the millions of unknown people that he thinks he owes everything to, hates the way his tongue has to roll out your name in a lie like you’re some dirty little secret that should never see the light of day when you’re quite possibly the furthest thing from it.

Sometimes, he wishes things were different, if he wasn’t living the life he is now, would it be the prerequisite that your happy ending needs? But then again, just like how it is with only the flap of a butterfly’s wings, he probably wouldn’t have met you to begin with.

When your friends asked a couple months ago if you regretted it—meeting him and falling in love with him despite these obstacles that you had been very well aware of from the start but had been too naive to think they would ever be this difficult to overcome—you hadn’t had a definitive answer. I don’t know, maybe? You hated yourself for nurturing this seed of doubt.

Are the songs true, that time heals everything, or are you running headfirst into a burning building with no way of escaping?

It will hurt, of course it will. This pain of losing him is going to shatter you into a billion pieces, and if you ever put yourself back together, you will always be reminded by the scars on your heart that you once had the privilege of loving him with every fiber of your being and having him love you back just as fiercely. But you will also be reminded that you lost him; that despite countless nights tangled in each other’s arms, whispers of Everything’s gonna be okay and confessions of I love you and how it’s always been you and him against the world, the world was not kind toward you in return. Love had not been enough after all.

You need to let me go.

The silence is unsettling, but you suppose it’s better than voices cracking that will undoubtedly lead to crying and seeking solace in embraces and the moment will be gone just like that because neither of you wants to let go, and courage suddenly seems to be the most scarce resource in this world. The string will tighten and you will have thrown yourselves back into this loop again.

You’re clutching Jungkook’s hand so tightly that it must hurt, but you can’t imagine that it hurts more than the feeling that’s cutting deep into your hearts, the ache that’s making itself home in your chests.

But then he nods, and though your world has indeed shattered with the slight downward tilt of his head, there’s a relief that you never quite expected because though you’re hurting him now, this is the worst it can ever be.

You like the idea of parallel universes, you always have. Since your days as a schoolgirl, solace has always bloomed at the mere thought that maybe, there are infinite versions of you out there in the great cosmos, one slightly different than another but all of these other you’s are happier in one way or another. It’s always been bittersweet, hoping there exists a world where you’re just a little more and living in one where you’re not.

It’s the same thing you (try to) find comfort in right now. You’re still hoping—praying, really—that there’s somewhere out there, maybe tucked in a corner of the universe, hidden from the weight of life and loss and far away from where you are now, where you’re sitting next to him like this. Jungkook’s hand is gripping yours just like he’s doing right this second, but the squeeze of his fingers around your own is for a different reason, a lighter one.

(But is it really like that? Is it the same moment in time, branched out into different directions and different outcomes, or is she—you—from an earlier point that you yourself had already experienced once, when you thought you could survive as long as you had one another in this star-crossed love?

What’s more unnerving and tragic, that you’re living in a world designed to hurt you while another version of you is basking in the warmth of love with no end in sight; or that you, however many you’s there are in this vast expanse of galaxy, no matter how different you are, are still destined to meet him and love him in every version of reality, only to be unable to stray from this cruel trajectory that fate has put you on?)

No, you decide that you don’t regret it. If time allows you to travel back to all those months ago, knowing what you know now, you would still go to the same bakery that afternoon, still choose to buy a mediocre apricot danish even though cherry ones are your favorite. You would still choose to love him, you see that now—that no matter what life you’re living, no matter what universe you’re in, loving him is a privilege you will never take for granted. That despite the consequences, even if it is your own heart on the line, you will always choose to love him.

As you squeeze his hand back, everything you want to say dampens your eyes but you don’t let it spill because you know he understands, and you think about a higher power, if there is a divine being watching you from above, and how they can be so cruel to let another version of you relish in the warmth of these embers while you’re being burnt by the same flames.

I love you. I’m sorry it has to be like this. I love you.

Your lips part, but Jungkook stops you. His hands cup your cheeks tenderly, because in the morning all of this will be gone. No one will know but the two of you, keepers of your memories. You hope his words of reassurance are true, that he won’t forget you because in this moment, you don’t know if you can handle being the only person guarding the mementos of your love.

“I know,” he whispers, tears pooling in his riveting eyes that you know will haunt you forever. He smiles then, tragically and beautifully. “Me too.”

Your star collides with his sun. Mortality rate: 2. Life goes on.

#jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #bts fic #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #bts x reader #bts scenarios #jeon jungkook #fic: supernova

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heyyyharry · 3 years

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Deep End - Chapter 2: Birthday Boy

…in which Harry gets the birthday surprise he didn’t ask for.

Word count: 4.7k

AU: famous!harry, siren!mc, adult modern retelling of the little mermaid? lol, fake dating, enemies to lovers.

WARNING: MATURE THEMES

All chapters / Synopsis / Moodboard / Playlist

Wattpad link

A/N: Thank you for all the love for Harry and Ezi after chapter 1. Please let me know what you think about each chapter so I can be motivated to write faster 😆

“Humans are so funny. You make up false stories about us and refuse to believe anything that isn’t the same as your imagination,” the siren said.

Harry tossed his head back and laughed. He held out a finger at her. “No, mermaids aren’t supposed to exist. You’re not supposed to exist.”

The siren narrowed her sharp gaze, and Harry quickly moved back a bit in fear of her grabbing his leg and pulling him into the water. To his surprise, she said, “And who are you to decide that? A useless human with a useless tail–”

“Okay, enough with the tail joke.”

“–can’t even survive the drowning deep. You don’t want to believe we exist, so you won’t have to carry the guilt of trashing our homes and murdering our kind.”

Baffled, Harry worked his jaw while silently cursing himself for never taking part in those debate classes back in school. Well, to be fair, he couldn’t have known that one day he would have to debate with a deadly siren in a cave on his goddamn birthday!

He shut his eyes and sucked in a breath. “Look, lady. I’m only one small human, with a bigger than average human tail, FYI.” The siren eyed at his crotch in disbelief, so he quickly crossed his legs. “But that’s beside the point! What I was trying to say was that, if you’re seeking revenge, I can’t satisfy you because I’m not responsible for trashing the ocean or shit like that. I’m a singer, alright? And I don’t even live here. I’m from London. A land far away. If you wanna murder a human, I suggest looking for Elon Musk.”

The siren stared at him like he was the mythical creature. “I’m not familiar with all the names you mentioned,” she said, folding her arms across her chest, which had been a big distraction for him. Good to know that he could still get horny while facing death.

“Don’t you guys have fish Wikipedia?” he asked, and she tilted her head, looking rather confused. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed that you should know all the facts about humans. That sounded like discrimination against sirens.”

For the first time since Harry met this siren, she actually smiled at him. “You have a lot of funny words, you strange creature,” she said, her eyebrows knitted in fascination.

“You know what?” Harry exhaled sharply. “Since you’re my kidnapper, I’m gonna stop arguing with you in case you still wanna kill me. But today is my birthday, so I can’t be kidnapped. I haven’t posted a thank you message on Twitter yet, and I might get cancelled for that. Celebrities get cancelled for literally anything nowadays. It’s annoying.” The siren blinked at him, her pink lips slightly parted. “Right,” he breathed. “You don’t have a Twitter account.”

“You said you were a singer.”

“That’s all you got from my long speech?”

“What is it? Singer.”

Harry bit his dry lip and frustratedly combed his fingers through his damp hair. “I sing. Use my voice to entertain other people.”

“Oh, like sirens.”

“I guess.”

“Except that we use our voice to kill people.”

“What?”

“Sing for me,” said the siren despite Harry’s horrified look. She seemed excited as she rested her folded arms on a boulder and gazed up at him with a twinkle in her crystal clear blue eyes. “Let’s hear it. I didn’t know humans could sing. Let’s see if it’s good.”

“Fine.” Harry blew out his cheeks and cleared his throat.

He began to sing.

“Walk in your rainbow paradise–”

“What’s a rainbow paradise?” the siren asked, but he didn’t stop singing to answer her.

“–brown skin and lemon over ice.”

“Why are you singing nonsense words?”

Once again, he ignored her, this time, closing his eyes. “I get so lost inside your eyes. Don’t you believe it? You don’t have to say you love me.”

“Love,” the siren repeated the word as if she had never heard of it in her whole life.

Harry opened his eyes and found that she was looking at him as if she could see right through him. He went on, “You don’t have to say you’re mine. Oh honey, I-i-i-i walk through fire for you. Just let me adore you.”

“Why would you walk through fire for someone?” the siren wondered out loud as she stared off into the distance, her strong brows knitted. “That's stupid. Fire is hot. I saw the humans on the boats use it one night. I almost burned my fingers trying to touch it.”

“Yeah, don’t play with fire.”

“Then why would you walk through it?”

The siren pouted, and Harry caught himself smiling at her naivety. “It’s supposed to mean that you’d do anything for the person you love. Even risking your life.”

“That’s stupid,” the siren repeated her earlier remark. For a second, Harry saw a curious little girl and not a dangerous sea creature from earlier.

“Well, it’s just a song,” Harry told her. “I personally wouldn’t do that for anyone, either, but some people do love with all they have, and would sacrifice everything for the one they love.”

An angry frown had replaced the siren’s previous perplexed expression. “Some humans murder the ones they claim to love,” she said in a cold voice. Harry felt a chill running down his spine, but then the siren went on with a softened expression. “Sirens are not supposed to love. Love is a weakness for my kind.”

Harry nodded. “Bet you don’t even have a heart.”

The siren cocked her head; a corner of her mouth raised subtly. “Every living and breathing thing has a heart. Sometimes it’s valuable. Sometimes it's not.”

“Only valuable if it’s the heart that you want,” replied Harry.

For a long moment, the siren looked into his eyes as if she was trying to read his thoughts. Could she do that? Read his thoughts?

Beads of sweat were trickling down his back as his heart began to race; he could hear it in his ears. Suddenly, the siren was pulled beneath the water. Harry stiffened at once. The ocean was still for a moment, then two sparkling tails burst through the surface. Harry’s jaw fell slack with a soundless scream when he saw another siren sinking her fangs into the first one's neck.

The other siren had bright red hair and a silver tail. There were visible scars all across her pale, lanky arms, and he couldn’t see her face. Legs too stiff to run and hide, he stood on the edge and watched in absolute terror. The scene in front of him was madness as the sirens screeched, their tails flapping, creating violent waves as they sank their claws and teeth into each other’s flesh. Harry could see blood. The first siren was not as strong as the one that was attacking her. He must save her. Maybe a part of him knew that she wasn’t entirely evil. Maybe because she was the only hope for him to get home. Either way, he couldn’t just stand by and watch her die.

Before Harry could even think of a way, a bony hand wrapped around his ankle and dragged him into the sea.

Harry’s dreams were thick with blood and haunted by the siren’s face. He’d been in the dark water, drowning, and the last thing he’d seen was her sapphire eyes glowing with the sunlight above as she’d stretched out her arm to grab him before he sank deeper. He woke up gasping, still feeling the saltiness of the ocean on his tongue and the pressure of water on his lungs.

He found himself lying on his bed, fully naked under the covers. Had he been dreaming?

Kneading his temple to chase away the headache, Harry scanned his sore eyes around the room and screamed when he saw her sitting in the corner. Naked. He looked away as soon as he caught her ocean blue eyes staring back.

The siren was in his room. And she had legs!

“You’re alive!” she exclaimed.

He heard her standing up but couldn’t bring himself to look. She sat down on the edge of his bed, smelling like the ocean. Not the fishy kind of smell; one that was unique, and Harry liked it even though he shouldn’t.

“This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream,” he mumbled to himself while clutching the duvet to his chest.

The siren, now a human girl, let out a sigh. “It’s not. This is real. I’m real.”

“You’re not.”

“Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“You’re...naked.”

Even though Harry wasn’t looking, he could feel her questioning gaze pinning on him. He grabbed the covers and shoved them at her. “Cover yourself.”

“Oh...okay.” The siren did as she was told as Harry quickly placed a pillow on his private part. He finally looked at her, and she smiled while covering her upper body and the area between her legs with the duvet.

Harry let out a sigh of relief. “Better. Okay, why are you here?”

The siren’s eyes widened. “You don’t remember?”

Harry shook his head.

“We were talking when my sister attacked me, then dragged you into the water. You were lucky I saved you twice and brought you back to where I’d found you. This is the only palace on this beach, so I assumed it was yours.”

Harry sat and stared her face, trying to detect a lie but failed.

The siren rolled her eyes. She seemed disappointed as she swept her long black hair over her shoulder, exposing the huge bite mark on her long pale neck. The skin had healed, and the blood had dried, but the area was still bruised. Harry fought the urge to touch it. There was no way this was really happening.

The siren shot a glance at his ankle. And that was when Harry noticed the red claw mark around it. He shivered at the flashbacks of a siren with red hair and a silver tail charging straight at him with her mouth wide open, her sharp teeth ready to tear off his flesh.

“Sorry about my sister. She could be very...deadly,” the siren in front of him said, looking remorseful.

Harry eyed her up and down once again. Finally, he broke his silence, “What happened to your tail?”

The siren refused to look him in the eye as she said, “My mother found out that I saved you, a human, so she cursed me.”

“Cursed you?”

The siren said nothing; the corners of her mouth lowered as she stared down sadly at her legs.

What kind of The Little Mermaid plot is this? Harry thought to himself, yet didn’t say it because it shouldn’t be a joke. She’d lost her tail, which meant she couldn’t go back to the ocean. Ariel from The Little Mermaid had wished to become a human. This girl had been cursed with the life she never wanted just to save him twice.

Harry buried his face into his palms. “Shit. Fuck. I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

“It is your fault.”

His head whipped up at her honest response. “You always say what you think, don’t you?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Harry sighed and ran his palm over his face. “Never mind. How...how do I get you back to your mermaid form?”

“Siren.”

“Sorry, siren. How do I help turn you back?”

“I don’t know,” she said sadly, clutching the duvet to her chest. “But I need a place to stay until I figure it out.”

Harry thought for a moment and nodded. “I’ll pay for your hotel room.”

“What’s a hotel?” the siren asked, her eyes round. “And why can’t I stay here in your palace? It’s big and you live alone.”

“This is a house, not a palace,” Harry said. “But I’m going back to London tomorrow, and I can’t take you with me.”

“Where is London? I want to see London.”

Seeing her so excited made Harry laugh. “No, you don’t; trust me. It’s not sunny there. Always dark and gloomy and raining.”

“It’s not sunny underwater, either.”

Harry held up a finger and kept his mouth open for a moment as he pondered over what she’d said. “Good point. But I’m still not taking you to London. That’s not a good idea.”

The siren’s eyebrows drew together. “It was your fault I’m in this situation.”

Harry gasped. “You’re so manipulative!”

“I don’t know what it means.”

“It means you say things like that to get me to feel sorry for you, and so I have to help you.”

“Oh, then, yeah, I’m manipulative,” the siren said. “Take me to London with you, or I’ll find you in London and make your life hell.”

Harry tossed his head back and groaned. As if he hadn’t been traumatised enough by all the events that had happened today, now he had to take responsibility for the life of a mythical creature. If he had been a bad guy, he would have just let the government have her and keep her in a lab like that Oscar-winning movie about the dead girl and her fish lover. But Harry wasn’t a villain. Sure, he could be an asshole, but he couldn’t betray someone who’d risked her life to save his. Twice.

Maybe if he’d just say yes and then leave quickly in the morning, he wouldn’t have to deal with her. He’d ask someone to take care of her, pay for a place for her to stay and her food. Her mother would have to take her back eventually. He didn’t know about sirens, but even in the animal kingdom, mothers never abandoned their children.

“Fine, I’ll take you to London,” he said. Seeing the smile on her face, he was lowkey thankful that he was so good at lying. “First, you have to put some clothes on. Wait here.”

Carefully, he slipped out of bed, holding a pillow in front of his crotch and one behind him to cover his butt, then padded awkwardly to his closet to change and get her something to wear. When he returned, she was still sitting on his bed, humming a familiar song and kicking her feet as if testing out her new body parts. He found it endearing, but of course, he wouldn’t tell her.

He handed her a bathrobe. “Put this on. I’ll find some real clothes for you later.”

The siren accepted the bathrobe and stared at it as if she’d been told to put it in her mouth and chew. She glanced up at him. “I don’t understand the purpose of this.”

“To cover up your private parts.”

Suddenly, she seemed sad. “I think I’m broken.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

She looked at him again, pouting. “I don’t have a tail.”

“I can see that.”

“No, I mean, a tail like yours.”

When Harry realised what she meant, his face burned, and he cleared his throat into his fist. “You’re not supposed to,” he said awkwardly. “You’re...a female. I bet male sirens don’t look the same as you, right?”

“There’s no male sirens,” she told him.

Harry cocked his head to the side, squinting his eyes. “Huh? Then how do you guys...you know?”

She blinked innocently at him. She didn’t know.

“Mate.” The word made Harry cringe. “How do you mate?”

“Sirens mate with mermen. We only need them for children.”

“Okay, that’s...new…”

Harry would be glad to find out more, but this was definitely not the right time. He waved his hand, urging her to hurry up. Clumsily, the siren got to her feet. Harry didn’t intend to stay here while she changed, but since she could barely keep her balance, she had to hold onto his arms. He stood there, staring at the ceiling as the duvet dropped. She was completely naked in front of him now and so dangerously close. The voice inside his head was telling him not to peek. Fuck. Why did she have to be sexy?

“Do you...um...do you need help?” he asked as she seemed to be struggling with the bathrobe.

“No, thanks. I got it!” she said between ragged breaths, then, “Hey your tail is growing!”

Harry’s eyes dropped to the front of his boxers, his face heating at the sight of his erection. He gently pushed her back onto the bed and rushed to the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” she shouted after him. “I need to see it in its full form!”

“This is its full form!”

“It’s still small.”

“Shut up! It’s not!”

Ezili felt bad for lying to this human.

Well, lying was the whole point of her mission, but he had been so nice to her when he found out she couldn’t return to the ocean. She blamed her new human heart for these emotions. Siren Ezili would never feel sorry for this ugly creature. No, wait, this one wasn’t ugly. The mermen were ugly. As much as she despised humans, she must admit that most of them were beautiful.

When this human wasn’t looking, Ezili would regard him with as much curiosity as he had regarded her in secret. The way his brown curls swept back messily. His defined jawlines. The deep dimples in his cheeks. The look of wonder in his eyes. He looked about her age, but his eyes were innocent, greener than seaweed.

She looked away as he caught her gawking. They were sitting at a small table on the floor. The room was darkly lit by the light in the corner. On the table was a mushy pile with little fire sticks on top.

“What is this?” Ezili asked, inspecting the object.

The human smiled at her, the firelight dancing in his leaf-green eyes as he said, “It’s a cake. We’re celebrating my birthday.”

“You told me not to play with fire.”

“We’re gonna put it out anyway.” He winked at her. “A little fire won’t hurt.” Ezili watched the human take out a little black thing and flick his thumb. Fire flared out, making Ezili flinch. “Relax,” he chuckled and the fire vanished. “This is called a lighter. It makes fire. This is a cake. These are candles.”

“What do we do with the cake?”

“We eat it.”

“You eat fire?”

The human laughed at Ezili’s distressed look. “No, silly. We blow out the candles, then eat the cake.”

“Oh,” she said, making him laugh harder. She found it disrespectful and annoying. Was this creature making fun of her? “What’s so funny?” she asked through gritted teeth.

The human stopped laughing, yet his dimples were still visible. “I can’t believe I’m celebrating my twenty-fourth with a siren,” he said.

“Who do you usually celebrate with?” Ezili asked.

“My friends or family,” the human said. “My friends were supposed to be here but their flight got cancelled due to bad weather.” The sadness in his eyes disappeared as he gave a dismissive wave and laughed. “Oh well, it’s not bad being alone. In fact, I’ve been alone my whole life.”

“That’s sad,” Ezili murmured, mesmerized by the candles.

“It’s not,” replied the human. “Some people live their whole life surrounded by others, and yet, they’re still lonely.”

As he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, smiled, and blew out the candles, Ezili sat there and pondered over his last words.

They didn’t eat the cake right away, because the humans said they ought to eat it after dinner. Apparently, humans ate three main meals a day—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sirens ate when they were hungry, so this was very new to Ezili. She picked up the small shiny thing that shaped like her mother’s trident and pushed around the foods on her plate. “What is this?”

“Fish,” the human said with a smile.

“Dead?”

“You expect me to eat alive fish?”

Ezili scowled at him. “That’s what we eat.”

“You’re human now. Try cooked fish.”

When she didn’t do anything but stare at the plate, the human nudged her hand with his knuckles. “Come on. If you don’t like it, I’ll get you the raw fish in the fridge.”

Ezili doubted that this imbecile creature would poison her with these colourful foods to get away with his responsibility, but at the same time, nothing was impossible.

However, she would probably faint if she didn’t eat. This dinner actually smelled good, and her stomach was rumbling because she hadn’t eaten since yesterday. And so she stabbed the fish’s burned flesh with her little trident, closed her eyes and put it into her mouth. It was soft, salty and a bit spicy, and...surprisingly delicious. She quickly took another bite, and another, and another.

“Wow, you’re really hungry, huh?” The human chuckled. “You like it?”

Ezili nodded fast, unable to answer because her mouth was full.

The human seemed satisfied. “Good. Means I’m a great cook.”

Ezili chewed fast and swallowed as the human began to eat. She tried to copy the way he held the little trident and the knife, and felt like she’d changed. Her mother would hate her so much for enjoying this. And Koa would make sure everyone in their kingdom knew and turn her into a laughing stock.

“Do you have any questions for me?” she said, breaking the silence, mostly to distract herself from thinking about the mission and her family.

The human thought for a second. “Hmmm, I have a bunch so I don’t know where to start.” Then, after a pause, “Why did your mum do this to you? Doesn’t she love you?”

Ezili wished she could stab him for bringing up the topic she’d been trying to avoid. Instead, she sucked in a breath. “She does. It’s just...the way sirens show love is different from humans. We teach our children to be strong from the moment they are born. Sirens live dependent on one another to survive, and so we always have to look out for one another. I guess that’s love for us. My mother is the Sea Queen. She’s very powerful, and so she has high hopes for my sister and I. My sister is better than me, though. I’ve always envied her.”

“Your sister is scary as hell,” the human remarked. “But if your mum is the Queen, you must be a princess.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, so does that make me Prince Eric?”

“Your name is Eric?”

“No,” the human chuckled. “It’s a reference from The Little Mermaid. You should watch that film. You’d probably hate it though. Anyway, it’s so weird that we don’t know each other’s name. I’m Harry.” The human, well, Harry, put his hand across the table. Ezili didn’t know what to do with it so she just stared.

“I’m Ezili.”

Harry smiled, picked up her right hand and shook it. His hand was bigger than her and warm. She liked it.

“Cool name. Can I call you Ezi?”

Ezili instantly pulled her hand back. “No, you filthy creature. That’s not my name!”

“Ezi is short for Ezili.”

“What?”

Harry ignored the look of confusion she was giving him. “Or I could call you Bubbles. That’s a cute nickname.”

“Why Bubbles?”

“Because…” He tossed his head back and groaned. “Damn, woman, you gotta read the story, too. I can’t make these jokes if you don’t get the references.”

Ezili had so many questions. Just as she was about to ask, the black thing on the table lit up and started playing a song that startled Ezili.

“Sorry. My mum’s calling,” Harry said as he picked up the thing and swiped his fingers across it. “Right on time.”

“Is your mother trapped in that thing?” Ezili asked, clutching the hem of the shirt Harry had told her to wear. It was too big on her but she loved that it was comfortable and kept her warm.

“No, this is a phone,” Harry said, shaking the magical device with light coming out of it. “So my mum’s in London, and when she calls me on the phone, her voice gets transferred through it, and I can hear what she says.” He pushed himself up and told Ezili, “I’ll be right back.”

Once Harry was gone, Ezili sat there and tried her best to process all the new information. It was only her first night on land and she was already going through it. This mission was harder than she thought. Still, she had no choice but to continue. She must have that heart, and her mother would be so proud.

When Harry woke up this time, he was on his private jet.

“Hey.”

He screamed, causing Ezi to fall back into her seat in front of him. He whipped his head around and saw that they were the only two people in this cabin. Before he could even come up with a question, Ezi got up, her hand resting on either side of his seat as she leaned forward, until her face was so close to his that he could smell the vanilla scent of the cake in her breath.

Her eyes sharpened at once. “I know you were trying to get rid of me.”

“No...I didn’t.”

“You did, Harry. You were going to leave me at your beach house. I heard you talking on the phone last night with someone else after talking to your mum. You mentioned a hotel room.”

Harry had booked a room for her on the phone last night. He should have done it on the website.

“But guess what?” A corner of her mouth lifted. “I might not have the ability to control tides anymore, but I still have my voice. And so I can control humans with it. I sang you to sleep last night. Then when your servants came to take you to this metal bird, I made him carry you to the magic black carriage and I came here with you. You think you’re one step ahead, you’re wrong. Try that again. I dare you.”

Harry swallowed hard. He could feel his palms sweating as he rubbed them against his thighs. “Okay, I’m sorry for that,” he said. “But you can’t control people like that. If someone found out what you’re capable of...what you are...you’d be in big trouble.”

Ezi arched an eyebrow as she slowly backed away and stood straight with her arms across her chest. Thank God, Harry’s mother called just in time. He immediately got up and excused himself to answer the phone. He left a pouty Ezili in the cabin and went to the exit to talk to his mother.

“My precious boy, are you on the plane right now?”

“Yes, Mum,” Harry sighed.

“Good. I just need the name of your date for the seat arrangement.”

Harry stiffened for a second then quickly glanced over his shoulder to check if Ezi was eavesdropping. Fortunately, she was distracted by a magazine.

“Like now?” he asked his mum.

“Yes. Last night you told me you found one.”

Yes, Harry remembered that part, but he’d only said that so his mum would stop pestering him.

He took a deep breath. “Yeah, I did.”

“Her name?”

He hesitated before saying, “Ezili Hans.”

Hans as in Hans Christian Andersen. The writer of The Little Mermaid. If he had the energy to be happy, he’d give himself a pat on the back for the creativity.

“Great,” his mother said, sounding as if he’d just told her he was getting married. “I’m so excited to meet this girl.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, dear?”

“I-I said ‘Well, of course’,” Harry said and covered it up with a nervous laugh.

When he got off the phone with his mum, he felt a light tap on the shoulder and turned around to see Ezi. Shit, had she listened to–

“I promise I won’t use my singing voice to control you again,” she said, to his surprise. "Please. I cannot survive on my own." She twisted the hem of his band-tee uneasily. Even though she looked super cute in his t-shirt and joggers, she was still too underdressed for someone that was travelling on a private jet.

“Fine. You can stay,” he heard himself say while trying to imagine her with actual clothes that fit her.

Ezi’s blue eyes lit up, and the smile that rarely showed up on her face caught Harry off guard. He almost forgot what was happening.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “But we need to set up some rules.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles wrting #harry styles writing #harry styles x oc #harry styles series #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots

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santigarcia · 3 years

Text

Dessert is on the Counter

an abel morales x f!reader fic~

word count: 2k

rating: m for smut

summary: you’re a college student and you go home with your friend Elias Morales for Thanksgiving, and you meet his recently divorced older brother Abel....

a/n: this idea was given to me by the lovely @sergeantkane. she was kind enough to let me write this AND make a moodboard for it! this is my first time writing abel so i hope yall like it!

Holidays are never what you expect them to be. This is by far your most eventful thanksgiving to date.

You agree to be a fake girlfriend to your friend Elias. Your good friends, and honestly it would be a fun weekend away. You know his brother has a nice house, and you’d rather stay in New York than go back home. Too many flights to plan.

The house is nicer than you expect when you pull into the driveway. The housekeeper answers the door and she’s a pleasant woman. You can’t seem to find your “boyfriend,” but you do see three young girls run by, playing with their dog. They greet you happily and so does the dog. You set your bag down to bend down to pet the animal when you hear a male voice.

“Did you find the house ok?”

You look up to see the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. He’s dressed sharp in a suit, a tan coat draped over his arm. His cologne smells expensive, and his hair is perfect.

“Oh, yes! You have a lovely home. You and your wife must have put a lot into it!”

“Oh, it’s just me.”

“I’m so sorry- “

“Don’t be,” he holds up his hand to ease your worries.

“Don’t be,” Morales repeats. “She’s a bitch. Abel here wised up and left.” He says hopping up on the kitchen counter. Abel only chuckles, but the look in his eyes tells you that Elias speaks the truth.

“How long are you with us…?” Abel pauses realizing he doesn’t know your name.

“Oh shit,” Elias laughs and hops off the counter. He says your name and then introduces you to Abel. He takes your hand in a strong but gentle handshake, and you flush when his fingers stroke your palm as he slides his hand away.

“And I’ll be here just for the weekend!”

Abel nods and returns your smile, “make yourself at home. We’re so glad you’ll be joining us.” He nods and puts his coat on walking towards the front door.

“He’s always working,” Elias says. “Especially after the divorce, threw himself into his work. Come on, let me take you on a tour.”

You walk through the halls and peek in rooms – noticing the life lived here. It’s full of memory, but it’s almost too quiet. Empty. It’s too clean and you can feel the hurt this family has endured.

“She left him and the girls without a word one morning. The papers were on the kitchen counter.”

All night those words run through your head. You lie on the floor, a makeshift pallet in Elias’s bedroom – staring up at the ceiling. How does someone just leave their whole family behind?

You keep thinking about it as you sit across from Abel at the thanksgiving meal. His daughters and a few other children you assume are cousins sit at the designated kid’s table. The adults table is full of the Morales family, they are cheerful and warm. What about this family made his wife want to leave? They’ve been nothing but welcoming to you.

“What are you studying in school?” Abel asks you as he holds out a plate of homemade bread to you. You take a slice, it’s warm. Just like everything else in this house. Your fingers brush his and you hate how it makes you flush. So much so you almost forget the question.

“I’m an anthropology major.”

“Oh?” Abel raises a brow. His interest is piqued. “What made you chose that?”

“People fascinate me and learning about other cultures in the process has opened up my world view. I think it’s important.”

He nods in agreement as he takes a sip of wine.

“Knowing people is a key part in my business. Works better that way.”

“Abel,” groans Elias, “you’re so boring!” He laughs. A couple family members chuckle but mean no harm. You hold Abel’s eyes, and something sparks behind them. Suddenly you get the feeling he’d like to eat you alive. And watching his jaw move while he eats his meal doesn’t help the desire growing between your legs.

As their guest, a couple of the women take your plate and bring you a slice of pie. Abel smiles fondly at you as you enjoy the first bite. Elias has left to go watch the game on TV, but you didn’t notice.

“You’re not really dating him, are you?” Abel chuckles.

“How did you guess?”

“He’s in there, watching the game.” Abel nods his head in the direction of the living room. You can hear voices cheering and a clamor of excitement. “When he could be here with you. And hey, maybe you don’t have to be around each other all the time. But he didn’t even ask if you wanted to join.”

You can’t look at him, he’s too handsome. So, you look past him into the kitchen where more family members wash dishes and start cleaning things up. Someone laughs loudly and Abel turns to see with a smile. It’s so comfortable.

“I bet you’re wondering now why I’m here then.”

“Yes, I am,” he nods with a polite smile and folds his hands together, his dessert finished.

“I wanted to get away. Spend time somewhere else. And Elias is a good friend. I have an anthro project due at the end of the semester, and I wanted to see how different families are at over the holidays.” You pause, “but nothing looks all that different from Thanksgiving at my home.”

Abel asks you more questions and you end up talking for some time. You don’t even notice the relatives leaving. The only thing that stirs you from the conversation is your want for leftovers now that you’re hungry again.

“Thank you for the lovely conversation Mr. Morales,” you smile when you stand finally.

“Abel, please. And it’s been a pleasure. I’m glad you’re here.” He nods.

That night it’s even worse. Laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling thinking about him. You couldn’t sleep if you tried, this floor isn’t comfortable now. You shouldn’t be thinking about Abel, but you can’t help but think about him in his room, alone. His touch was so warm, you can’t imagine what his touch would be like sexually.

Why did his wife leave him? It bothers you.

Elias is snoring, and you can’t sleep – so you get up to go downstairs for a drink. You quietly tiptoe down the hall. You see the girls’ bedrooms, each of their doors has a pink sign with their name on it. A stair creaks when you step on it and you freeze, it’s as if your thoughts of Abel will expose you.

You carry on down the stairs and into the kitchen. There are only a few small lamps on to illuminate the space. But the fridge light pours onto the floor when you open the freezer for some ice in your glass.

“Can’t sleep?”

Abel.

Shit.

You gasp and spin around to see him in comfortable pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt. He looks so handsome in the soft light.

“Sorry,” he laughs. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright! I hope this is ok…”

“Oh, of course” he points to the sink and you fill your glass. You feel your face warm, knowing he’s watching you. Seeing him while you’re in your pajamas wasn’t what you had in mind.

“And no, I can’t sleep.”

“Something on your mind?” he asks casually, reaching in the cabinet for a mug.

Does he know? No. He can’t know. Can he?

You realize you haven’t answered and instead you’re just standing frozen overfilling you glass of ice water.

“The floor isn’t comfortable,” you say instead, which is also the truth.

“The floor?” he pauses, setting the mug down. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Well, we aren’t- “

“No, I know you’re not dating, but why did he give you the floor? I outta kick his ass for treating a guest that way. Especially one so pretty,” he smiles, there’s a glint in his eye of flirtation- harmless, but you want more of it.

“You know, Abel, it’s not my place to say this but I think your wife made a mistake.”

He takes a step closer to you and you feel your heart pounding in your throat.

“Things happen the way they are supposed to,” he says, taking a step closer. You take a drink from your water, but he pulls the glass from your lips.

“I shouldn’t-“ you whisper.

“Why not?” Abel sets your glass down. There’s a chill on his fingertips when he touches your cheek. “I’ve seen the look in your eyes all day. If you don’t want this, then please say so. But if you do, then please- kiss me.”

Throwing all caution to the wind, you wrap your arms around him and kiss him deeply. He grunts into your mouth and helps you hop up on the counter. Your legs wrap around him tightly, pulling him towards you. His mouth hasn’t left yours and the moans leaving your mouth already are full of need.

“Please,” you whine and buck your hips against him. His hands slide into your waistband and he’s quick to find your clit. The gasp you let out is obscene, and he claps his hand over your mouth. He gives you a little grin of satisfaction and he rubs your clit perfectly.

No one you’ve been with have touched you like this. You’re a 23-year-old college student, all your past relationships have been too inexperienced for good pleasure. This is a man who knows how to touch a woman.

He keeps up his pace and he doesn’t stop until your panties are soaking wet.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks, looking in your eyes. You know he’ll stop if you ask. But you’d rather die than him stop right now.

You shake your head yes, and he moves his hand. He pulls down his pajama pants enough to pull himself free. He’s already hard and ready for you. You moan again and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he’s testing the waters and you’re ready to drown. You nod quickly as he slips off your pants and pushes your panties aside. He then lines himself up with you. He thumbs your clit with one hand as he guides himself in with the other. You stifle a moan, and he can’t help but chuckle quietly at your attempts to be quiet.

He thrusts into you, hard. You see stars and clench around him. Everything about him is too much, but just in the right way. His voice is smooth, his skin is warm. His hair is perfect and you’re messing it up with your fingers while he pounds into you on the kitchen counter next to the leftover desserts from today.

His thumb stays there on you while he thrusts, his other hand gripping the counter for support. When you near your end, his big hand finds the small of your back and pulls you as close to him as possible.

He makes sure you come again before he does. His moans are soft, his eyes asking you permission. You nibble on his ear and whine a yes when he spills himself into your heat.

“You wanna come sleep in my bed?” he whispers into your neck as he places a kiss there.

You nod and he pulls out, helping you slide off the counter.

He takes you again in the bedroom. Twice. He strips you naked and enjoys the touch of your skin. He worships you in his big bed. Once it crosses your mind he slept with his wife in this big bed. But you soon forget when he’s balls deep and making you come a fourth time that night.

You don’t want to explain this one to Elias tomorrow, but it’s better than sleeping on the floor.

@punkpascal, @writefightandflightclub, @velvetmel0n, @huliabitch, @himbodjarin, @pascalz, @bisexual-space-slut, @shadow-assassin-blix

#abel morales #abel morales x reader #a most violent year #oscar isaac #my writing #this has been in my drafts for EVER

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honeysidesarchived · 3 years

Note

“it was open and i read it.” + two and a half vampires xx

well, stella, we did it. the girls are on main fr (i mean there's like a moodboard but still). trying to get back in the swing of writing things after digging myself into and out of the trenches with a lil blurb on the girls (also world building???? in a skyrim oneshot??? more likely than you'd think). every time i have to put the skyrim kids on main i get a gray hair.

ily thank u for this prompt, i hope it does them justice. <3 ofc, lavinia belongs to stella!

i. omen ✤ astraia volos/lavinia/serana

"it was open and i read it" + two and a half vampires, or: lavinia sticking her nose in her wife's business

words: 1.1k

warnings: none, aside from the fact that daddy volos sucks (i.e. threats of murder and whatnot) not to be forgotten are astraia's inability to access her emotions at any time, ever, and serana and lavinia teaming up. par for the course with them i think. no proofreading we die like men

“who’s aseri?”

the name sends an unpleasant jolt down astraia’s spine. an instinctual sour flavor floods her mouth; a pavlovian response, something close to what she thinks hysteria would taste washing over her senses.

abruptly, the dark elf straightens from the table she'd been bent over to rifle through her bag. lavinia is standing just there, at the writing desk, holding the offending letter in her hand like nothing is wrong.

"why are you going through my things?" she demands, reaching for the letter. lavinia's hand darts out of reach, ducking the letter behind her back.

"it's not going through your things if you've laid it out just bloody like that," lavinia defends. "it was open and i read it."

"it wasn't for you," astraia snips, reaching around lavinia again, only for the letter to once more evade her grasp. she's got, perhaps, a solid foot and a hundred pounds on lavinia; there's no reason she shouldn't be able to just wrench it out of her grasp, but more often than not, astraia herself feels like a bull around lavinia, trying desperately not to crash blindly into her and crush her. the result is that she can't just brute force her way into getting the letter back (unfortunately).

lavinia skirts the edge of the bed--a skimpy, straw-ridden thing draped in limp furs, what astraia absently thinks is a poor comparison to the price they've paid for this room--around to the other side, keeping it firmly between them.

"so, who are they?" she prompts again, waving the letter. "a sibling? an old lover, perhaps? they like to call you my astraia--"

"lavinia," astraia growls, planting one foot on the edge of the bed. "reconsider yourself."

"i've done it a great many times already, i think i'm quite darling the way i am." lavinia eyes her for a moment, coy smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "i just want to know you, straia, you're like a little lock box. a big, muscular--well, what are you climbing on the bed for?"

lavinia shrieks, perhaps in delight or perhaps in panic when astraia closes the distance between them by stepping up onto the bed, hooking one arm around the brunette's waist to keep her in place and lift her. she's still managing to keep the letter just out of reach. not for long, astraia thinks, the lenght of her arm quickly overtaking lavinia's.

"stop squirming," she hisses, "and give me the fucking letter."

"only if you tell me--"

"what's going on?"

it's serana's voice that stills them. she's standing in the doorway, luminous, tawny eyes regarding them with a look of what she thinks might be confusion or amusement (or both).

"i just paid the innkeep," she says by way of explanation, "and you two are...horsing around?"

lavinia blinks at their wife, opening her mouth to say something, and astraia takes the opportunity to snatch the letter out of her hand and then drop her unceremoniously on the bed. she hops down onto the floor with a solid thump.

"took my letter," astraia says briskly. "being a brat about it."

"astraia has a secret pen pal and won't tell me who it is," liv interjects. "i told her i just want to know more about her, is all."

serana looks at astraia. "you have a pen pal?" she sounds dubious.

"they're not a pen pal." astraia crumples the letter in her fist and drops it onto the floor.

lavinia hms from the bed, smoothing hair from her face. "not with that attitude, they won't be." she reaches over the edge of the bed, fingertips brushing the letter.

"they're my father."

silence sits for a second between the three of them. astraia resumes her bag-digging, and she knows without looking that serana and liv are exchanging looks. the look, specifically: the one they share when they have concern for her, but they don't know how to say it. she would prefer they say nothing at all.

"straia," lavinia begins, her voice saccharine--the way she sounds before she's about to ask for something she knows astraia will say no to.

"no," astraia says flatly.

"you don't have to talk about it," serana tacks on. "we just think that maybe--"

"--if you wanted to," liv adds, "--you could, and we would just listen--"

"you are incapable of shutting up," astraia replies, deadpan, as she points at lavinia, and then serana. "and you listen far too well. i want someone who will listen and then forget about it entirely."

they exchange the look again. astraia feels her lip curl.

"stop that," she grinds out. "stop--doing that thing where you telepathically communicate to each other."

"we love you," serana points out gently. "and we want you to be happy."

laboriously, astraia replies, "i am happy."

"very convincing," lavinia intones.

she shoots the brunette a look before she turns back to the bag. everything is in its place, of course, just as it should be, but the ritual of double and triple-checking is one of the few things that brings her comfort nowadays. lavinia has given up her efforts to fetch the letter from the floor without moving from the bed, and serana closes the door behind her, setting her own bag on the nearby dresser.

"this bed is way too small," is what serana says after a moment, and the words give astraia a breath of relief; for now, she will think nothing else of the letter.

i will find you, my astraia.

she will think nothing else of the letter.

lavinia says, "it's not too small--astraia always sleeps on her side, all hunched up, you know? it'll be fine."

i will find you, and those monstrous pets you call your companions.

she will think nothing else of the letter.

"you say that," serana teases, her voice glimmering with amusement, "until you're whining that she's not cuddling you, keeping you warm."

and i will kill the whole lot of you.

"throw that letter away," astraia says over her shoulder. "in the fireplace, lavinia. and be quick about it. i want to get to the market before it gets dark."

lavinia crinkles her nose, having just snapped it up from the floor in her elegant fingers. "it's always dark in windhelm."

"i mean it."

"fine," she sighs dramatically, forlorn as she tosses it into the fire. "are you going to buy me something nice?"

"no."

serana clicks her tongue.

"maybe," astraia amends. "if you're good."

"i can be very well-behaved," lavinia replies delightedly. "especially when it means not spending money on myself."

the woman chatters happily, serana trailing her out of the room as astraia slings her bag over her shoulder and watches the edges of the letter flaking into charcoal. she's not surprised that her father's decided to hunt her down, she supposes; only that it's taken this long.

"my love?" serana's voice drifts from the doorway; she's backtracked, watching her inquisitively. "you are alright, aren't you?"

astraia turns away from the fireplace and to the black-haired woman, shrugging.

"never better."

#my writing #skyrim oc #x: two and a half vampires #c: astraia volos #oc: lavinia #c: serana #sorry i just wrote this in an absolute haze #they are so cute im--#sdfjhdbfj #I KNOW THIS AIN'T THE CONTENT YALL FOLLOWED ME FOR BUT IT GIVES ME DOPAMINE

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kirishimas-manly-eyeliner · 3 years

Text

➹ PROMPT LIST [ 200 ] ➷

200 prompts-ish for 200 followers ( event closes on 3/27/21! )

fandoms: boku no hero academia + haikyuu!! rules are here

rules: pick one trope, up to two dialogue prompts, genre is optional, and for formatting, if you don’t write it, i’ll do whatever i think fits best! anything works, bby, go for whatever you’d like!

to clarify for song prompts: i usually just base my ideas off of the song instead of writing in the actual lyrics in the fic, but i can write this in songfic format if you’d like!

* = mandatory

➳ “ tropes/AUs „

1. enemies to lovers

2. and then they were roommates (i expect someone to say the next part)

3. coffee shop au <3

4. body swap

5. arranged marriage

6. blind date

7. sharing a bed

8. royalty au

9. high school au

10. college au

11. they hurt you

12. zombie apocalypse

13. major character death

14. love triangle

15. hurt/comfort

16. hanahaki

17. rivals to lovers

18. amnesia

19. sick reader/character

20. other!

➳ “ dialogue prompts* „

21. “can you just... hold me? please?”

22. “you’re gonna catch a cold.”

23. “shut up and kiss me.”

24. “i trusted you!”

25. “no no no, please don’t cry,”

26. “a hotdog is not a sandwich!”

27. “i know you meant every last word.”

28. “...can we, uh, do that hug thing again?”

29. “nononono, stay with me, come on, wake up!”

30. “i forbid you to die, you hear me? i forbid you to die!”

31. “shhhh.. just breathe with me, okay?”

32. “aw, you’re adorable. now shut up, idiot.”

33. “are you- wait, shut up- shut UP, are you blushing right now? that’s so cute!”

34. “don’t even try to double-back, i already despiiiise you.”

35. “babe, i’m in a meeting! just- shh, go back into your room.”

36. “why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”

37. “no, how about you shut up for once?”

38. “it’s not even that hard! you carry the x variable to the other side. then you divide it to isolate the variable.” “mhm. yeah. okay, i get it.” “i- are you even paying attention??” “...probably not.”

39. “it’s raining again?”

40. “don’t- don’t touch me, get away from me, get away from me!”

41. “you have the most beautiful eyes i’ve ever seen.”

42. “but that’s the best part?? i don’t- i don’t understand???”

43. “are you... crying?”

44. “babe, you’re having a nightmare, it’s okay,”

45. “i hate you.”

46. “i-i i didn’t mean it! i didn’t think you’d actually leave!”

47. “hey, it’s just me, shhh... it’s just me. you’re okay. you’re okay.”

48. “would you even care if i died? no, be honest, would you?”

49. “we go down together.”

50. “I HATE YOU! I trusted you, I sacrifced everything for you, and what do I get in return?”

51. “hold on for me, okay?”

52. “c’mere. i’ve been told that i give the best cuddles, hope i live up to your expectations!”

53. “i love you.”

54. “i’m just... tired of being tired.”

55. “i loved you, you know that?”

56. “say it, say something, say you hate me!”

57. “you have the most beautiful voice.”

58. “aaaah, you’re going to look fabulous!”

59. “hey, i’m (name) but you can call me anytime ;)”

60. “...why are you wearing my makeup?”

61. “I’M BUYING YOU A CROP-TOP, END OF DISCUSSION.”

62. “hi, i don’t care. shut up before i gouge your eyes out and shove them down your throat so you can see me rip out your heart.

63. “we shouldn’t be doing this. oh boy. we shouldn’t be doing this.”

64. “help me! i’m sorry, okay? just get me out of here!”

65. “i hope that golden metal on your neck was worth the price of losing me.”

66. “you sing?? I DIDN’T KNOW THAT-”

67. “nonono, these are battle scars! you must have fought a lot of battles, but you are my hero. okay?”

68. “...that’s my idiot. one sec.”

69. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) "i’m not allowed to sneak out, moron.”

70. “will you marry me?”

➳ “ genres/themes „

71. angst

72. comfort

73. reverse comfort

74. breakup

75. fluff

76. hurt/comfort

77. first time meeting

78. established relationship

79. reuniting

80. argument

➳ “ formatting* „

81. headcanon to fic

82. headcanon to blurb

83. full-fledged fanfic

84. headcanons

85. blurbs

86. one-shot

87. imagine + moodboard + playlist

88. if you’re okay with anything, just be sure to put that in your ask! <3

➳ “ songfics/prompt ideas „

89. say you won’t let go -> james arthur

90. heaven knows -> five for fighting

91. this is home -> cavetown

92. perfect -> ed sheeran

93. this side of paradise -> coyote theory

94. heather -> conan gray

95. line without a hook -> ricky montgomery

96. arcade -> duncan laurence

97. ballerina -> jeremy shada

98. riptide -> vance joy

99. someone you loved -> lewis capaldi

100. idk you yet -> alexander 23

101. a thousand years -> christina perri

102. love story -> taylor swift

103. i love you -> billie eilish

104. jar of hearts -> christina perri

105. castle -> halsey

106. lucky -> jason mraz, colbie caillat

107. thinking out loud -> ed sheeran

108. mr loverman -> ricky montgomery

109. the one that got away (cries in bokuaka) -> katy perry

110. she -> dodie

111. sunkissed -> khai dreams

112. train wreck -> james arthur

113. stranger -> jeremy shada

114. king -> lauren

115. wish you were sober -> conan gray

116. falling for u -> peachy!, mxmtoon

117. unlove -> lyle kam

118. coffee -> beabadoobee

119. lovesick girls -> blacpink

120. spring day -> btw

121. dancing with your ghost -> sasha sloan

122. you broke me first -> tate mcrae

123. drivers license -> olivia rodrigo

124. if the world was ending -> JP saxe, julie michaels

125. hold on -> extreme music or chord overstreet

126. ocean eyes -> billie eilish

127. when we were young -> adele

128. ghost of you -> five seconds of summer

129. i like me better -> lauv

130. pierre -> ryn weaver

lmao i know a lot of songs (as you can see), so if you have any suggestions, lmk bby!

➳ “ characters i prefer to write for „

(but don’t be afraid to request others!! i still love writing for any, these are just the ones that make it easiest for me to write for :D please keep in mind that i’m not completely caught up with haikyuu!!)

131. literally all of karasuno istg

132. kiyoko, yachi, keishin yukai

133. tetsuro kuroo, taketora yamamoto, kenma kozume, lev haiba, so inuoka

134. toru oikawa, hajime iwaizumi

135. kotaro bokuto, keiji akaashi

136. katsuki bakugo, eijiro kirishima, denki kaminari, hanta sero, mina ashido

137. izuku midoriya, shoto todoroki, ochako uraraka, tenya iida

138. aizawa, hawks

139. hitoshi shinsou

140. dabi, shigaraki

lol sorry couldn’t get to 200-

BUT JOIN MY TAG LIST IF YOU’RE SWAG <3

request here!

#till next time <333 #200 followers event: open!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha hcs #mha hcs #bnha headcanons #my hero academia headcanons #boku no hero academia #bnha imagines

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demetriandelibinaryboyfriends · 1 year

Photo

DM me on my birthday but I don’t feel guilty If you were at the party, I'm pretty sure you’d kiss me I’ve got a pink tracksuit and a diamond tiara Dreaming of us dancing, save me from the drama DM me on my birthday but I don’t feel guilty I don’t see you all summer, yeah we could’ve been together Pretend it doesn’t matter but I’m really like whatever

Dancing in my trainers, pissing off the neighbors Getting high in fancy places, running wild in Vegas Watching old movies, kissing in taxis You’re so much more than a schoolgirl crush and

I always knew it was worth the rough stuff It isn’t easy to be young in love To be young in love Passed out on the sofa, the party’s not over One hand on the camera, seventies glamour I don’t see you all summer, yeah we could’ve been together Pretend it doesn’t matter but I’m really like whatever

Dancing in my trainers, pissing off the neighbors Getting high in fancy places, running wild in Vegas Watching old movies, Kissing in taxis You’re so much more than a schoolgirl crush and I always knew it was worth the rough stuff It isn’t easy to be young in love To be young in love Tonight they’re screening True Romance We’re die-hard Tarantino fans Dancing in my trainers, pissing off the neighbors Getting high in fancy places, running wild in Vegas Watching old movies, kissing in taxis You’re so much more than a schoolgirl crush and

I always knew it was worth the rough stuff It isn’t easy to be young in love To be young in love Dancing in my trainers, pissing off the neighbors Getting high in fancy places, running wild in Vegas Watching old movies, Kissing in taxis You’re so much more than a schoolgirl crush and I always knew it was worth the rough stuff It isn’t easy to be young in love To be young in love

***

@karatecaulfield the girls are back for Love Day!!

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY AND IMMA MAKE A THING OF POSTING YASMOON ON V-DAY BECAUSE PINK IS THEIR COLOR DAMMIT

The second year in a row that I’ve made a YasMoon valentine’s post, and it certainly won’t be the last, if I have anything to say about it!!!

Very happy with how this moodboard came out :D I will never ever get tired of doing edits with these girls in hot pinks and soft pinks. Every day I thank my lucky stars that I grew out of the tryhard tomboy phase where I pretended to hate any and all shades of pink XD Like pink is the color of sunsets!!! Bubblegum!!! Tourmaline gemstones!!! Yasmine’s S5 tracksuit!!! So many good things in the world are pink!!!

ANYWAYS Young in Love by Maddi Jean is THEE YasMoon song, and I had it on their playlist long before S5 dropped because it’s THAT much of a Vibe. So imagine how absolutely ecstatic I was when Yasmine turned out to canonically own a pink tracksuit??? Like I’ve always thought she seemed like the type to, but this song is just literally about her??? Wild. Anyways, I had to include an image of said tracksuit to prove my point. Even though “DM me on my birthday but I don’t feel guilty” and “I don’t see you all summer, yeah we could’ve been together” is giving more S1 and S2 post-beach-party-fallout vibes than S5 vibes, but oh well.

These do all sound like very Yasmine and Moon-esque activities, though. We do know they canonically like to get high together XD I can also totally see them telling their parents they’re gonna have a slumber party at [insert minion friend they frequently use for a cover]’s house and then just. Driving all the way to Vegas with their little fake IDs and fucking around for a weekend. Like I just KNOW these two would go out of their way to party as hard as physics allowed, especially during S1 XD

All those songs about going to the club and getting drunk and dancing until dawn are about Yasmine and Moon actually akjhdspifguy like I KNOW they party hard I know it in my SOUL

Headcanon that Yasmine is actually super into “vintage” movies and the glamor and general shamelessness of Old Hollywood. She constantly bitches about how everything is too sanitized and censored these days, and “damn it, old movies just did whatever and no one bitched about it!” Moon just patiently listens, while secretly amused that Yas has such strong opinions about this XD

Also Yas very definitely had a crush on Audrey Hepburn and Rita Hayworth. I just fricken know it lol. Concidentally she tends to be into actresses who look a bit like or have the same Vibes as Moon aajdpbisdgousv

Anyways this all has the Energy of a sad, piney Yasmine at the end of Season 2. She hasn’t seen her ex-girlfriend/fuck buddy best friend in months. She hasn’t spoken to Moon since they fell out. And even during her beautiful, relaxing summer in France, she can’t help but reminisce about all the good times she and Moon had together. Memories that, she fears, will be just that when she returns to the Valley.

Moon surely won’t want anything to do with her when school starts up again, right?

Which hurts. It hurts a hell of a lot more than Yasmine is willing to admit.

Because, as much as she’s loathe to say it...

Moon was always more than a schoolgirl crush.

Moodboard pic credits available upon request, as always!

#yasmoon #yasmine x moon #moon x yasmine #moodboard #aesthetic #yasmine cobra kai #moon cobra kai #cobra kai #cobra kai season 1 #cobra kai season 2 #cobra kai season 3 #cobra kai season 4 #cobra kai season 5 #sapphic #wlw #lesbian #femslash

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ineloqueent · 3 years

Text

a dying art

John Deacon x Reader

synopsis: it’s 1983, and the era of disco is long past. John insists otherwise.

warnings: swearing, mention of drinking

word count: 877

a/n: special thanks to cal, who helped my indecisive self choose this picture <3

see the moodboard here!

⭒

1983

When you’d first met John, you hadn’t thought him a dancer.

He was quieter than the other three in the band, and despite being the youngest, he was oftentimes the most serious, the most reserved.

To you, John had seemed the pensive and cautious type.

Then one day, your first impressions had been proved so wrong that it was almost laughable, when John had told Brian to “Fuck off and die,” before knocking back a shot and pulling you with him onto the dancefloor.

You had laughed aloud on that dancefloor, and the quiet-and-reserved John Deacon had grinned back at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and drawing you close.

He’d kissed you for the first time that night as well, when he had walked you home and complained loudly about the lack of disco music at the club you’d just left. You had then made some joke at his expense which had the two of you had in stitches, and when you’d finally caught your breath again, John’s eyes had caught on yours, and he’d stolen the very air from your lungs once more, pushing you against a wall wrought in flowering jasmine as he kissed you. The scent of the flowers had lingered in your hair for hours afterward, and you would now always associate their aroma with John.

The two of you had now been together for a good year, but John still had yet to take you to a proper disco, which he was adamant about doing. You couldn’t see what the big deal was, what the differences between a regular club and a disco were, but John loved to dance, and he loved disco, so you figured you’d leave him to it.

But now, finally, on the anniversary of your getting together, John had prepared for a night at the disco.

You were dressed in a top with flowing sleeves, paired with velour trousers and platform shoes, and when you opened the front door to greet your boyfriend, you found him dressed in a bright print shirt, well-fitting trousers, and white trainers. His hair was particularly gorgeous this evening, and as you leaned forward to kiss him, you couldn’t stop yourself from ruffling his curls as well.

He chuckled, “Hello gorgeous girl.”

“Hi baby,” you murmured back, and pressed another kiss to his cheek. “Your hair looks nice.”

“Mmyes,” John hummed. “I rather thought so myself.”

You rolled your eyes, and he drew you into his arms.

“I thought of you too,” he said, and your heart fluttered.

“Ready to go?” you asked, and John nodded, taking your hand.

“Let’s go.”

⭒

It was a short walk from your flat to the disco, which was lucky, because it was the middle of winter, and rather too chilly to be outdoors so late in the evening.

The venue seemed almost to glitter before you, a façade in the middle of a desert where you’d wandered for too long, and begun to hallucinate from the heat. But the night was cold, and the disco was real, however bright it was.

John was just about beaming at the sight of the disco, and he led you inside, radiating excitement.

The music was loud and the lights were low, reflecting about the room via a large disco ball, strung from the ceiling in the middle of the dancefloor. The dancefloor itself was impressive too, because aside from the people who looked to be having a ball, all worries of their everyday lives forgotten, the actual floor was made of glowing tiles.

John pulled you toward him, just as he had done a year ago, after he’d surprised you by being entirely opposite to that which you had perceived him to be.

You laughed, just as you had done a year ago, and John kissed you chastely in delight.

“Do you like it?” he asked over the music, glancing about at the flashing colours and couples and friends, his fingers intertwined with your own.

“Are you kidding?” you said. “I love it, John!”

And it was true. You’d never been to a place where there was so little distinction between class, race, gender— disco, like so many other forms of music, seemed to bring people together, to make them forget the world around them, for but the purpose of dancing and having fun. In that, there was something quite magical; it sent a shiver down your spine.

John spun you through a turn, and you laughed again, in something like pure elation.

He shook his head fondly, drawing you close. “It’s a dying art, this disco thing,” he murmured, “because not everyone sees the beauty of it. But you… you see it, like I do.”

You whispered, “If disco is a dying art, that makes you an artist.”

“Well then I’m a damn good artist,” John responded, “because an artist is only as good as his muse, and for me, that’d be you.”

It was all you could do to keep from melting to the floor beneath your feet.

But you settled for telling him you loved him, and in return, he told you the same, until there was no thought in your head but that you had never felt so truly loved in your life.

#s&t celebrate #tina's writing #john deacon x reader #fic

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freddiesaysalright · 4 years

Text

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes - Chapter 1

Gwilym!Prince Charming x Reader

Summary: After losing your parents, your step-family makes your life impossible. That is, until Prince Gwilym holds a ball. It’s your one chance for everything to change.

Word Count: 3.4k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish, @queen-paladin, @rogerina-owns-me, @mirkwoodshewolf, @namelesslosers, @headl0ng, @captvianswaan, @xviiarez, @baltimoresweethearts If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: The first part, I hope y’all enjoy!

Warning(s): Descriptions of abuse and general creepiness

Moodboard

Prologue

Chapter 1 here we go!!!

“Father, please,” Gwilym groaned, setting his book down. “Not this again.”

He had been reading - rather peacefully - when his father burst into the library and started asking him when he could meet another young lady suitable for him to court.

“I’m not getting any younger, Gwilym!” the king returned. “I’d like to see you settled before I go!”

“You’re in great health,” the prince argued. “And besides, why is it so important that I’m married before you die?”

The king hesitated before replying, which made Gwilym’s brow furrow.

“I need to know there’s someone looking after you,” the king said. “That you’ll be taken care of.”

“Father, I’m your son, not your widow,” Gwilym said, rolling his eyes. “And it isn’t a wife’s job to look after her husband.”

“What do you consider her duties to be, then?” the king challenged.

“To love me, that’s all,” Gwilym answered. “To be my partner.”

“Love, puh,” the king scoffed. “I tell you, the world is too different now. First, Prince Rami marries a village girl, and then Prince Benjamin finds himself a mermaid. If you’ve got some crazy idea because of them, then I’m telling you, boy, I won’t stand for it!”

“In fairness, the mermaid is a princess,” Gwilym said with a cheeky smirk.

“Don’t play with me,” the king replied. “I’m serious, Gwilym.”

“I’m serious too,” Gwilym said. “If I meet the right girl - someone I love - then I’ll be happy to get married. But you must accept that she may very well be a village girl or a mermaid or a servant.”

The king huffed. “She may also be high born. Or at least a gentleman’s daughter.”

“She could be anyone, I won’t discriminate,” Gwilym said. “But I must love her, Father. If I’m going to get married, that is my condition.”

“But who knows how long that might take!” the king cried, exasperated.

“What’s the rush?” Gwilym returned with a shrug.

He kept his eyes fixed on his father, whose face was reddening with heat. The king looked very hard at the floor, as if fascinated by the dust on the wood.

“Father?” Gwilym pressed. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m not in great health, son,” the king admitted. “I’m afraid I don’t have much time left.”

Gwilym got to his feet and approached. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m ill,” the king said, finally meeting his son’s gaze. “It’s still early on and there is treatment, but I don’t know how much life is left for me. I’d like to see my grandchildren, and know the woman that will be my son’s companion. Then maybe, when I join your mother, I can tell her about them.”

Gwilym offered a faltering smile. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t want to worry you,” the king said. “Especially with me not even having all the information yet. But that’s what it is, and why I’m so concerned with it.”

The prince sighed. “Well, I can’t make you any promises. Love happens organically. It’s not something you can force.”

“It is something you can build,” the king rebutted. “Like your mother and I did.”

“It might embarrass you to hear this, Father, but I’d also like some passion in my marriage,” Gwilym said.

The king’s face went beet red, and Gwilym bit back a laugh.

“Well!” the king cried. “Times truly have changed when young men can so carelessly talk about matters of the bedchamber in broad daylight!”

Gwilym chuckled. “Look, I just said passion. If your first thought was the bedroom, then whose mind is truly in the gutter?”

The king’s frown deepened.

“Don’t play with me, boy!” he warned again.

“I’m sorry, Father, I won’t tease you anymore,” Gwilym promised. “But even so. Only a deep, true love will sell me on matrimony. Until then, we just have to enjoy our lives. The way they are.”

The king released a low breath, the redness slowly draining from his cheeks.

“I want to,” he said. “But when I think about the future, I…”

“I know,” Gwilym said. “Let’s not focus too much on that. How about we go for a ride? Just you and me? For old time’s sake.”

When Gwilym was growing up, his father used to take him riding for time away from the palace, especially if Gwilym was feeling upset or stressed. They’d saddle up their horses and just take off into the countryside. Fresh air did wonders. It seemed to clear the air inside themselves and they always had the best conversations.

“Yes,” the king said with a smile. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

Gwilym called in a footman to get their horses ready.

***

“There,” you said finally as you tied the last ribbon on your stepsister’s dress. “All done. Is there anything else you need, Miranda?”

“No,” she replied dismissively. “You can go now. Is breakfast ready?”

“Yes,” you said. “Your father and Eleanor are already downstairs.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” she snapped. “Now it looks like I overslept!”

“But, Miranda,” you said. “You did oversleep.”

“Well - Father doesn’t need to know that!” she argued. “Never mind. I’m going downstairs.”

She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. You followed shortly after, closing the door softly after you. Miranda and Eleanor could slam doors all they liked, but if Frank ever heard you do it, you were certain you’d be out on the streets.

You headed downstairs, below the main floor, into the kitchen. The tea would need to be freshened up soon, and you had a kettle warming on the stove. Elsie and Robert sat at the servant’s table, nibbling at their own breakfast.

“Y/N, take a seat,” Robert offered. “Bacon’s still hot.”

You shook your head. “I can’t. I’ve got to get their tea up quickly so I have time to visit Papa today.”

“Oh, it is the anniversary, isn’t it?” Elsie recalled. “It’s been so long, it slips my mind.”

“Yes, it has been a long time,” you sighed sadly. “But I miss him every day.”

“Of course you do,” Elsie said. “Well, hurry on then, I’ll make you something fresh to eat.”

You thanked her and ran the tea upstairs. You entered the dining room and instantly felt a frigid air about the family. You began to pour the tea, knowing better than to question things.

“So, Y/N,” said Frank, the usual stiffness to his voice. “I understand you have time for meddlesome pranks.”

“I - what?” you questioned. “I don’t understand.”

“I think you understand perfectly well, don’t play dumb,” he warned. “Toying with my dear Miranda’s clock to make her almost miss her breakfast is childish at best and vindictive at worst.”

“But, I didn’t -”

“Don’t interrupt me, Y/N,” he said, cutting across you. “If you have time for stupid games, then I don’t see why you need time off this morning.”

“Frank, it’s the anniversary of my father’s death,” you reminded him. “I go and visit his grave every year, you know this.”

“Well, perhaps you should have thought of that before acting like a mischievous child,” he said.

Tears welled up in your eyes. “But I didn’t, I swear!”

He ignored this.

“Today, before you head to the tavern for your shift, you will wash all the windows, re-do the laundry, mop the floors of the entrance hall, and polish my boots,” he said. “On top of all your regular duties, this should prevent you from temptations like practical jokes.”

“You can’t,” you said softly.

“I can,” he returned. “This is my house, and I won’t tolerate any tomfoolery. You want to behave that way, then you will face the consequences.”

“It’s not fair, Miranda just overslept, I didn’t touch her clock or anything in her room!” you insisted.

Your stepfather’s head snapped toward you, eyes wide. You had never spoken back to him, but nothing was more important to you than honoring your parents. Visiting your father’s grave was something you used to do with your mother, and it made you feel close to her as well. Frank shoved his chair out from under him and got to his feet. You stepped back, frightened.

“Don’t you dare take a tone with me, Y/N!” he barked.

He moved toward you, his form looming. You felt like you were actually shrinking under him.

“I - I’m sorry, I just -”

“Enough!” he cried, and he shoved you.

You fell to the ground on your side, catching yourself on your hands. You could already feel a bruise forming where his hands had gripped your arm. A shiver ran through you. He stood there, tall and proud, straightening his vest.

“That was undignified,” he said shortly. “But I also won’t tolerate disrespect. You will complete all your tasks today, Y/N. And if I find it isn’t done when I return from town, you will face far worse than a shout.”

“Y-yes, sir,” you replied, shaking.

“That’s a good girl,” he said.

He returned to his seat, and resumed his breakfast. You watched the tension slowly release from Miranda and Eleanor’s shoulders. A warm tear slid down your cheek. On trembling legs, you got up, and made your way back to the kitchen.

Elsie saw your pale, terrified face, and she jumped up, taking you in her arms.

“What happened, dear?” she gasped.

You let out a sob and told her everything that just transpired, almost disbelieving yourself. Elsie and Robert held you in their embrace. Since you’d lost your mother and father, they were the closest thing to a real family you had.

“There, there, darling,” Elsie soothed. “It’ll be alright. Robert and I will handle those chores for you. You go on out to the cemetery.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. “If Frank finds out, we could all be in trouble.”

“How will he know?” she replied. “He’s always out of the house, and as long as it gets done, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“W-what about Miranda and Eleanor?” you sniffled.

“They’re going to town with their father today, they’ve got some lessons to attend to,” Robert said. “No one will know except us.”

You gave them a watery smile. “Thank you so much.”

Frank and the girls left straight from breakfast. Elsie urged you to go ahead and get to the gravesite and get back as soon as you could, just in case. You agreed, and quickly fetched your cloak and basket. Packing a few things, you headed out.

It was a short trek from the main house, but you didn’t mind the walk. In fact, you loved walking. It gave you an opportunity to sort out anything on your mind. As a young girl, you used the time to imagine yourself as anything other than what you were - a sad child with no parents and a difficult future. On your little walks, you could be a princess or a warrior or mermaid or whatever you wanted.

Now, as an adult, your imagination had dwindled. Harsh reality took its place. The only way to escape Frank was to have something to fall back on, and since he didn’t pay you, and worked you all day, you had nothing. But after this morning, you knew something had to be done. Frank was always distant and demanding, but that kind of aggression was new. And that was something you could not tolerate. Your arm throbbed in agreement.

You reached your father’s grave, and placed a ring of flowers against it. You lit a candle and set it beside the headstone. There was actually a towering statue there of an angel. In a way, you’d always seen your father as an angel, but he wasn’t cold and rough like stone. He was warm and gentle. You said the usual prayer for his spirit.

“Oh, Papa,” you sighed when you were finished. “I miss you so much, especially today.”

You opened your mouth to speak again, but shut it quickly at the sound of horse hooves. Fearing Frank had returned unexpectedly, you blew out the candle and stood up, pressing yourself into the angel statue. You heard voices and held your breath, straining to make out what they were saying. To your great relief, it didn’t sound like Frank.

“Gwilym!” one man called out through a laugh. “Slow down, my boy!”

Another laugh rang through the yard - soft, friendly, and sweet. You listened as the horses slowed to a stop and the men caught their breath.

“Don’t tell me you’ve lost your edge, Father,” the one called Gwilym panted. “We haven’t been gone very long.”

“I’m old,” the father replied.

“You’re young at heart, though,” Gwilym returned. “Where are we?”

“Sir Frank Tarleton’s property, I believe,” the father answered.

“He owns an estate?” Gwilym asked. “I thought he ran the tavern.”

“He does,” the father said. “He inherited the estate from his late wife. It was in the Y/L/N family for centuries before Tarleton got it.”

“What happened to the Y/L/N family?” Gwilym wondered.

“The man died, his wife remarried Tarleton,” the father said. “There was a daughter, I believe, but Tarleton cares for her now.”

You almost snorted. “Cares for” - that was rich.

“How sad,” Gwilym said.

Taking a chance, you peered around the statue, careful not to expose yourself too much. You saw the two men, clearly nobles from the way they were dressed, but you didn’t know who they were. The younger one - Gwilym, stood out to you. He was dashingly handsome; tall, blue eyes, soft dark hair, a strong jaw, and a gracious smile. The older one looked similar, with more gray in his hair and a longer nose. Otherwise, they might have been brothers instead of father and son.

Gwilym’s horse turned, so you leaned further out to keep looking at him. Unfortunately for you, it was a stretch too far. You lost your footing on the statue and tumbled into the grass landing on your already bruised arm with a sharp yelp.

Gwilym and his father whirled around and saw you. The former dismounted swiftly handing his father the reins, and he jogged over to you.

“Are you alright, madam?” he asked, offering you his hand.

You looked up at him in awe. He was handsome from a distance, but up close he looked unreal. Like a painting or a sculpture. He belonged in a gallery or a palace, not in a field, helping your clumsy self up.

“I - yes - sorry,” you sputtered, heat rising in your cheeks.

“Let me help you,” he said gently.

You took his hand and he lifted you carefully to your feet. He was surprisingly strong for his slimmer frame. You knew you shouldn’t stare, but you couldn’t help yourself. He was so...tall.

“What’s a girl like you doing out here all alone?” he asked kindly.

He took in your face and thought you fair, even with the dirt and soot that dotted your skin. The hood of your cloak covered your hair, but he found the color flattering on you.

“Paying my respects,” you said, nodding toward the grave. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

Now, you looked everywhere but at his face, embarrassed.

“Not at all,” he assured you. “We’re just passing through. It’s us who likely disturbed you.”

You shook your head. “No, sir. I was just leaving.”

His brows came together as he observed you. You were a striking girl, but the timidity concerned him. It was not a typical feminine play at being coy. You were genuinely fearful.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked. “We could escort you home.”

“Oh, no!” you cried, looking at him at last. Your gaze shot quickly back to his feet. “I couldn’t impose. And besides, I dearly love to walk.”

“It’s no imposition -”

“No, sir,” you said firmly. “Thank you, but no. I must be going now, I’ve got so much to do at home.”

You bent down and snatched up a basket, drawing your cloak closer around you.

“Good day, sir.”

You offered a short curtsy and then turned and walked off. He watched you go until you disappeared over the hill.

“How very odd,” he said to the king. “Do you think she recognized us?”

“I should say not, or you’d have gotten a lot more respect than a ‘sir,’” the king said. “Ignorant child.”

Gwilym mounted his horse.

“Don’t be so harsh, Father,” he said, settling into the saddle. “She’s only a servant, there’s no reason she should know us right away.”

“Let’s ride on,” the king replied. “I’ve got my energy back.”

“Well then, you’d better keep up!” Gwilym joked.

They took off. You heard them thunder away in the distance, and you wondered if you had just missed an opportunity to escape. You shook your head. That couldn’t be the case. Those men had no reason to help you. They knew Frank, and you had no way of knowing whether or not they were friendly. And yet...that Gwilym had the kindest eyes you had ever seen.

You went home and got started on the rest of your chores. By some miracle - mostly because you had Elsie and Robert’s help - you got everything done. Evening was drawing near, so you went up to change and prepare for a shift at the tavern.

You were in your chemise when your door burst open. You gasped and covered yourself with your blanket, whirling around to see Frank standing in the doorway. You stepped back.

“Well, I see everything is in order,” he said. “Well done, Y/N.”

“Thank you, sir,” you replied coolly.

He cleared his throat. “Regarding my conduct this morning….it was not gentlemanly.”

Your brow furrowed. Was he actually going to apologize?

“But I’m not sorry,” he said.

Of course he wasn’t.

“You need to understand, Y/N, that I am the authority in this house, and I won’t stand for disrespect,” he went on. “But I will say, I admire that you bore it with such dignity.”

“I - thank you, sir,” you said again.

He walked in and stood in front of you, coming within inches of your face. His hand came to cup your cheek, and he brushed some ashes off it. You looked up at him with wide eyes. This was also new, and his touch made your stomach churn.

“Yes,” he said. “You are growing up to be a fine woman.”

Your mind went completely blank. You had no idea what he meant by that.

“I’ve just paid you a compliment, Y/N,” he said. “The polite thing to do is say thank you.”

You didn’t want to thank him. He had invaded your privacy and your personal space. It felt more like intimidation - to further squash any more thoughts of rebellion against him. He was asserting himself.

“Thank you, sir,” you repeated, but it didn’t even sound like it came from you.

“Good girl,” he said, stepping back at last. “Now, finish dressing and get to the tavern.”

He turned on his heel and swept out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind him. You sank onto your bed and drew in a deep breath.

The tavern was already filling up by the time you arrived. You offered Zelda - the manager - an apology as you tied your apron on.

“It’s been a very long day,” you told her.

Your feet were already aching, but that was something you were used to. Your limbs and muscles always had a dull pain about them from working all day at the house, and all night at the tavern.

“Understandable,” Zelda replied. “But jump on it, girl, we’ve been open half an hour already.”

“Yes, Zelda.”

You went up to the first table and jotted down drink orders.

When you first began work at the tavern, the customers intimidated you. They were mostly men, who drank heavily, and were therefore loud. But you quickly realized the regulars were some of the sweetest people you knew. They came in to relax after working all day, and they sometimes even brought their wives and children. Those were your favorite days.

“Y/N!” called one of the men, called Peter.

“Good evening, gentlemen!” you greeted. “How are you?”

They all talked at once, so you smiled and nodded, feeling some relief. Work was a nice distraction from all of Frank’s new and strange behavior.

You went to fetch them a pitcher of ale, but as you walked, you saw the front door open. In walked the last person you ever expected to see at the tavern. This wasn’t a place where people with his kind of money spent time. It was the man from earlier - Gwilym.

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee x you #Brian May #brian may imagine #brian may x reader #brian may x you #BoRhap #BoRhap cast #borhap boys #borhap cast x reader #borhap cast imagine #borhap cast x you #borhap boys x reader #borhap boys imagine #borhap boys x you #a dream is a wish your heart makes series

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foreveralwaysanauthor · 3 years

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Scream - The Ears Are Listening

October 12, 2021

Prompt - Cornfields

Characters - Mick, Miles, Royce, Bentley, Lela, Mack, and Brady

Notes - I’ve been to the maze I mentioned (it’s not the same name, but the location is the same) and it’s so huge that you can and will get lost in it and can’t hear if someone calls for you unless they’re super close. It’s terrifying but also insanely cool. Also, I’ve made a moodboard for this one that includes the map I mention in this post!

October 12th,

Woke up earlier than usual. I don’t remember going to bed at all. Last I remember, we were watching Hocus Pocus downstairs, but I woke up in bed. The last time something like this happened, I was maybe twelve. I have to wonder if I just don’t remember coming up to bed or if someone carried me. I’m not sure I want to know. It’d be embarrassing if someone carried me to bed; I’m not little anymore. I’m not a heavy sleeper though, so I also have to think about the idea that I might have let someone carry me to bed at some point. If I did, I should find out who did it and apologize. I’m not a child and I’m not exactly light either. It couldn’t have been easy to bring me up here. Overthinking aside, the movie was good from what I remember and I’d love to have my own talking cat. Thackery Binx was easily my favorite character. Now, I’m going to attempt to get off my bunk without waking Bentley so I can go read in the living room before anyone else wakes up.

Royce slowly leaned over the edge of his bed and peered down at Bentley, finding him snoring softly with his blankets only covering one of his legs. That was it; the rest of him was uncovered and he didn’t seem to mind. Royce shook his head and held in a laugh as he moved to the ladder and slowly crept down it. Once he was on the floor, he quickly scribbled ‘Mission Accomplished’ in his notebook before stashing it away again and making his way out of the room. Once he had left the bedroom, he crept down the stairs, avoiding the creaky spot in the center of the sixth step as he went. It wasn’t until he reached the tenth step that he realized he wasn’t the only one awake at this hour.

Mack was in the kitchen, writing in a journal and sipping at some coffee. The older woman glanced up as she heard Royce step onto the hardwood floor and smiled at him. “Hey, sweetie, what’re you doing up this early? It's only six-thirty.”

Royce quietly made his way to the island, pulling himself onto the barstool next to Mack. “It's not too early for me, I’m always up early. I just felt like reading.”

“Ah,” Mack voiced, “gotcha. Did you find a book yet?”

Royce yawned deeply as he shook his head. “Not yet. I was thinking of reading one of the books Uncle Brady told me he liked.”

Mack hummed in understanding, sipping at her coffee and sighing as she placed it back down. “Let me guess, The Haunting of Hill House and Cemetery Boys made the list?”

“How did you-?” Royce began before stopping himself. “He gave you the same list, didn’t he?”

Mack nodded slowly. “He may not have like to do reading for school, but that man loves his spooky stories.” She sighed, “Sadly, I’m not much for those books, but I did get into the Bad Girls Don’t Die series when I was around your age.”

“Bad Girls Don’t Die?” Royce echoed curiously.

“You’d probably like it,” Mack guessed. “Two sisters around the same age as you and Benny. The younger one starts acting strange and the older sister thinks she’s possessed. There’s a lot of paranormal stuff in there, but it’s a really good, edge-of-your-seat style book. Well, at least, that’s how I remember it.”

Royce perked up a bit, glancing toward the bookshelf in the living room. “Do you still have it?”

Mack shrugged tilting her head side to side a bit. “If I do, it would be in the A’s. The author was something Alexader, I think.”

Royce quickly stood and made his way to the shelf, scanning the top shelf until he pulled out a dusty paperback. While the book obviously hadn’t been read in years, it was still in good condition. He brushed off some of the dust before making his way back to the kitchen. “Alender,” he began as he opened the book. “The author’s name is Katie Alender.”

“Alender,” Mack sampled before nodding, “that sounds right. Well, I’m not saying you have to read it or anything, kiddo. It was just another suggestion you could add to your list.”

“It sounds good,” Royce answered simply, flipping through the pages until a laminated paper fell out and hit the floor with a soft tap. Royce paused and Mack set down her coffee, both of them glancing down at the paper until Royce leaned down and picked it up. “It’s a postcard from Maya’s Maze in Sunderland, Massachusetts. Woah, look at what they did to their field, Aunt Mack!”

The picture on the opposite side of the postcard was of a field that had a drawing of Blackbeard the pirate drawn into it. It was quite impressive and the image brought back a memory in Mack that she’d long since forgotten. The woman smiled as she took the postcard from Royce. “I remember that place,” she claimed. “We used to go every year. This was their corn maze from, goodness, back in 2018 or 2019. This must’ve been what I used as my bookmark from around that time.”

Royce looked over the picture with a small smile, pointing at the map in the corner of the cornfield. “Do you think they still do this kind of stuff?”

“Probably,” Mack breathed with a smile. Mack set the picture back in Royce’s hand and took out her phone, searching for the place and showing Royce the results as they popped up. “Open today from nine to five.”

“That’s incredible!” Royce exclaimed as he glanced at the drawing in the cornfield. This year, they had the words “Greetings from Earth, the pale blue dot” with drawings inside each letter of the word Earth.

“It sure is,” Mack chuckled with a nod. “We have nothing to do today, do you want to take a trip down there?”

Royce’s excitement seemed to dip as he scanned the page. ��It’s expensive, Aunt Mick. Sixteen dollars per person is a lot for our family.” He paused for a moment, calculating the amount in his head. “That would be one hundred and twenty-eight dollars without buying anything else or the cost of gas to get there and back.”

Mack smiled at Royce, taking his hand and allowing the teenager to lace his fingers with hers. “Royce, honey, we’ve got it all covered.”

“How?” Royce questioned in a hushed tone. “That’s more than our father’s rent back home!”

Mack gave Royce’s hand a squeeze of reassurance. “Trust me, baby, it’s okay. We’ve got it. We’re all set on finances and can have a little adventure like this without stressing.”

“Really? Are you sure?” Royce asked.

“Yes,” Mack stated firmly. “When Uncle Brady get up, we’ll ask him what he thinks of taking a day trip down there and, when he says yes because I have a feeling he will, we’ll get everyone in the van and head out. What do you think?”

“Sounds like fun,” Royce admitted with a smile.

Four hours later, they arrived at Maya’s Maze. The ride itself was a little over two hours which gave everyone time to wake up a bit before their arrival. Brady stopped for coffee fairly early on since Butchy was still half-asleep and Miles looked barely awake, slumped against the window and staring blankly into space. Mack, Lela, and Bentley ended up getting hot chocolate while Mick and Royce got apple cider with cinnamon sticks. By the time they arrived, the drinks were gone and everyone was fairly awake, luckily.

They piled out of the van and made their way to a booth with a giant welcome sign above it. As they approached, a golden retriever with an orange bow on top of its head popped up from behind the stand, smiling and panting happily at them. Bentley made his way to the front of the group, holding his hand out to the dog to sniff.

“Well, hello there,” he snickered as the dog leaned over the counter and began to lick his face clean. “You’re so pretty.”

A girl with dark auburn hair ran up to them, attempting to lift the dog off the counter. “Kiwi, no licking the customers without their consent!” The dog simply stared at her for a moment before licking the girl’s cheek. “Ugh, you little shrimp.” As if just noticing the customers in front of her, the girl wiped her face and sent them a smile. “Welcome to Maya’s Maze. I’m Zoey, the owner’s granddaughter, and this is Kiwi, our mascot and resident food inspector.”

“Hi, Kiwi,” Bentley greeted as the dog dropped from the counter and rounded the booth, coming back to clean Bentley’s face yet again.

Zoey sighed and shook her head, “She loves kids. Anyway, are you all here for the maze?”

“Yes,” Mack claimed, reaching into her purse for her wallet. “There’s eight of us.”

“Cool,” Zoey stated, typing it into her calculator and telling the group the price. Mack handed her the money and watched her put it into the register before standing a bit straighter. “So, do you know how this works?”

Mick, Mack, and Brady nodded while the rest shook their heads. “They’ve never been, but the three of us have,” Brady claimed.

Zoey rounded the booth and handed the group a map and a clipboard with a few pieces of paper on it. “So,” she began, “on the clipboard is a riddle and ten blank spaces. Once you go into the maze, there will be ten globes hidden in different areas. Each globe has a letter inside that you have to read and solve. It’s multiple-choice, but the letter you choose as your answer will be the letter you write down. Your job is to find all ten letters to fill in the blanks and unscramble them to solve the riddle. Once you get that solved, come back out and we’ll let you guys pick a free pumpkin from the patch.”

“Can we carve it?” Royce asked from between Miles and Butchy.

Zoey laughed, “Once you pick it out, I can’t tell you what to do with it other than no smashing it on our property.”

Royce smiled up at Butchy and Miles, giving them both high-fives. Butchy ruffled the teenager’s hair before pulling him close. “Anything else we should know?” Butchy asked as Royce wrapped an arm around his waist.

“There’s an inflatable jump pad, two tube slides, a potato blasting station if you want to launch potatoes at some targets, and some go-karts if you feel like racing around the field,” Zoey listed with a grin before going back to her place behind the counter. “The only catch is, you have to have the right answer to get access to the fun stuff.”

Bentley quickly rose and said goodbye to Kiwi the golden retriever before turning and following his family as they led the way into the maze. Just a few feet into the maze, the path split into four branches. “How about we break off into groups of two?” Lela suggested as everyone argued about which way to go first. “There’s eight of us and four paths.”

The group seemed to pause in their arguments before they began to murmur their agreement. Brady spoke up first, “Team up, everyone.”

In the end, Bentley was with Butchy, Royce and Miles were a team, Lela and Mick had become a pair, and Mack and Brady had been paired fairly quickly. Mack split up the papers and scribbled the riddle on them, handing each team a paper to write the letters they’d find and a pen from her purse. They made sure at least one person from each group had a picture of the aerial map on their phone before the group wished each other luck before splitting up and heading down their respective paths.

Butchy had found an advantage fairly early on, hoisting Bentley up onto his shoulders so the fourteen-year-old could see further and find the globes quicker. Miles had chosen to allow Royce to lead the hunt, enjoying his brother’s childlike excitement as they walked through endless rows of corn. Lela and Mick were enjoying themselves, singing show tunes and pop songs as they walked - and occasionally skipped or ran - with their arms linked. Brady and Mack conversed as they walked, talking about anything and everything they could think of, occasionally stopping to sneak a kiss now and then.

After an hour or so of walking, Royce sighed and stopped, “I think we’re going in a circle.”

“What makes you think that?” Miles asked sarcastically.

“The sign over there,” Royce answered honestly. “That’s the fourth time I’ve seen it now and I’m getting ready to follow its advice.”

The sign in question was a laminated piece of paper tied to some stalks of corn that read “Go ahead and scream! There are thousands of ears listening.”

Miles shook his head, pulling out the phone Mack and Brady had bought him and opening the picture of the map that Mick had sent him. “I think we’re in the middle of the spaceship.”

“Spaceship?” Royce questioned, peering over Miles’s shoulder so he could see it too. “No, I think we’re in the UFO at the top of the T.”

“I think we would’ve seen the giant gap under us if that were the case, kiddo,” Miles said with a soft laugh. “Let’s just go down until we find another globe or a different path.”

“But that’s the way Aunt Mack and Uncle Brady went,” Royce argued gently as he followed Miles down the path until they came to a clearing. “Won’t we get in trouble if we bump into them?”

Miles scoffed, “RJ, they can’t kick you out for talking with your family.”

Royce gave him a look of concern but said nothing more. After a while of walking and finding themselves a new path, they found a new globe at the top of what they assumed was the moon inside of the letter R. Royce ran up to it, dragging Miles by the hand, popping open the globe, and pulling the letter out. “Can you read that?” Royce asked. “My eyes are starting to hurt from squinting so much.”

Miles agreed saying, “Told you that you needed to bring your glasses,” before taking the letter and opening it. Miles squinted in turn as the letters were a lot smaller than he thought.

Royce shoved him lightly with a coy smile. “Told you that you needed glasses,” he teased in turn as Miles began reading.

“‘Tommy Tucker took two strings and tied two turtles to two tall trees. How many T’s in that?’” He read before sighing, “Too fricking many.”

Royce laughed. He recited the saying slowly, counting off his fingers as he went. “Thirteen,” he claimed as he finished. “Way too many for the riddle. Wait, can I see it?”

Miles handed the paper over with a huffed, “Be my guest.”

Royce looked over the paper before focusing on just the question and the answers available to choose from. “Two,” he whispered. “The answer is two.”

“Huh?” Miles asked as he rubbed his eyes.

“The answer is two,” Royce restated, pointing at the question and the answers. “Look at the choices; it’s obvious. It’s not sixteen or five and it’s definitely not twenty. The only other choice is two. When it asks ‘how many T’s in that,’ it’s asking about the word that!”

Miles quickly pressed the button next to the answer they chose, hearing a faint ding in response that let them know they were right. The answer bar slid aside, revealing two tokens with a letter on each. The first one had an E and the other, an R. “How many letters did we need again?” Miles asked.

Royce checked the paper, counting off how many they had already collected. “Three, why?”

“Make that one,” Miles claimed with a smirk. “We got an R and an E.”

Royce wrote down the letters and glanced over the jumble with a shake of his head. “This is nonsense.”

“What-”

Miles was cut off as Bentley’s laughter was heard nearby. “I can see them!” their youngest brother called loudly. Not long after, with directions given by Bentley to Butchy, the two groups were reunited. “Hi, guys!” Bentley greeted from on top of Butchy’s shoulders.

“Hey,” the older Murphy brothers greeted in unison.

“Did you guys finish yet?” Butchy asked as he crouched so Bentley could get down.

Miles shook his head. “Almost,” he claimed. “One more letter.”

Butchy let out an “Ah,” of understanding as he pulled out his paper. “We finished early since this one,” he ruffled Bentley’s hair as he spoke, “could see pretty far from up there. We found the others already.”

“Yeah,” Bentley agreed, “Mickie and Lela were in the H when we found them and Auntie Mack and Uncle Brady were in the A. Do you want the answer for the puzzle so we can go shoot potatoes?”

“Yes!” Royce exclaimed as Miles said, “No.”

The brothers looked to each other in confusion before turning back to Bentley and Butchy. Butchy opened his paper and cleared his throat. “Well, since you only have one more letter, why don’t you tell me what you’ve got and we can tell you where to find the last one.”

Miles and Royce shared a look before shrugging and agreeing. They listed off what letters they had and waited as Butchy matched them with his paper. Bentley perked up as he looked over both pages.

“Isn’t that the one we found down at the end of the swirl?” he asked Butchy.

“I think so,” Butchy agreed. “Have you been in the swirl yet?”

“Swirl?” Miles asked, pulling out his phone and checking the picture. “This one?” he suggested as he pointed toward the bottom right of the picture.

Butchy nodded. “Yep, that’s the one.”

Miles looked to Royce who nodded. Miles smirked, tapping Royce on the chest before taking off in a run, yelling “Tag,” as he went. Royce threw himself into a run, thanking Butchy as he followed his older - and longer-legged - brother as he ran out of the moon shape they were in, down the length of the R, and into one of the smaller letters that were connected to it. Royce stopped in the L to catch his breath, scanning around the area for Miles as he had long since lost sight of him.

“Miles?” he called, panting slightly. Royce took a deep breath before pushing onward, making his way through the rest of the word “pale” and into the main stretch that formed a border around the rest of the maze. He stopped and looked in both directions, not finding Miles in either path. “Miles?” Royce called again.

Then it hit him, he didn’t have the map. He knew if he went to one side and followed it long enough, he’d find his way out, but he didn’t want them to announce over the speakers that he couldn’t find his brother. After a minute, he turned to his left and followed it until it branched toward the left again. There were no other pathways, so Royce followed the line until it split into three paths. One continued upward and the others split from his left with one going up and the other down. With a huff, Royce turned to his left and went up, getting lost in what he assumed was another letter. After a while, he got tired of walking and sat down in a clearing to relax.

“Royce?” he heard his brother call. “Royce, can you hear me?”

“Miles?” Royce yelled back.

Footsteps thumped through the corn, but Royce couldn’t tell where it was coming from. “Royce?! Royce, baby, where are you?”

Royce looked around but could find nothing to describe the area. “I-I don’t know. It’s half a moon, I think. Where are you?” Royce stood as he heard some loud crunching from behind him. “Miles?”

“Stay there!” his brother called back. A few crunching sounds and the thumping footsteps began again and, soon enough, Miles emerged from the corn across from where Royce had been sitting.

“What did you-?” Royce was quickly cut off and pulled forward into a hug.

“Are you alright?” Miles asked quickly, pulling back enough to see Royce’s face but not enough to let him go. “How’s your breathing, baby?”

“I-I’m fine,” Royce spoke as his brother brushed his curls back and checked his face over. “I couldn’t see you so I tried to find my way, but I got lost so I stayed here. Where did you go?”

“I realized when I got to the globe that you weren’t behind me anymore,” Miles sighed. “I went back to where we were before and you were gone so I just ran around calling for you. I thought maybe you had a problem with your asthma or something.”

Royce shook his head, allowing Miles to take his hand and lead him out of the area. “When I lost sight of you, I just started walking, so I’m alright, just a bit out of breath. Where’s everyone else?”

“Picking out pumpkins or shooting potatoes, I’m sure,” Miles chuckled, swinging their interlocked hands as they walked.

They exited the maze and handed in their paper after finishing the riddle. With only one letter missing, it wasn’t hard to figure. Royce and Miles picked out their pumpkins and met up with the rest of the crew who had taken turns on the huge tube slides. A few hours went by in the farm’s play area and, before long, it was time to return to their cabin back in New Hampshire.

On the car ride home, Royce found himself in the seat Miles had been in on the way down, on the end of the middle row. Butchy was currently in the back row, being used as a pillow by both Lela and Bentley. Mick was on the other side of Miles in the same seat she’d been in before as she needed the window to avoid being carsick. Royce glanced to the front seats, smiling as he saw Mack and Brady holding hands over the middle console; it was nice to see the two of them showing affection so openly.

With a sigh, Royce turned to the side, resting his head on Miles’s shoulder and relaxing into his brother’s hold. “G’night, Miles,” he mumbled.

“Night, baby,” Miles whispered back. “I’ll wake you when we get home.”

“‘Kay,” Royce yawned, allowing himself to fall asleep.

A couple of hours later, Royce grumbled as he felt himself being lifted into someone’s arms. The person stilled almost instantly and a hand was pressed to Royce’s curls, nearly lulling him back to sleep. “It’s alright, baby, go back to sleep,” Miles whispered to him. After a moment, Miles stood up and adjusted his grasp again before he began walking.

Royce remembered bits and pieces of the walk into the cabin - seeing Bentley being carried in by Brady as Lela refused to let go of her older brother’s sweater, Mick and Butchy wishing him a good night as they disappeared into their bedroom, Mack and Brady following Miles into his and Bentley’s room to put Bentley to bed, but only leaving after wishing them both a good night and telling both boys that they loved them, Miles leaving only after pressing a kiss to his forehead and teasingly telling him that he had better sleep in late.

The next morning, Royce woke up later than usual and checked the clock on the dresser across from his and Bentley's bunk bed before groaning and rolling over. '6:30 is far too early for anybody to be awake,' he decided.

#foreveralwaysprompts #writing #writing prompt

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flyinghome-againstthewind · 4 years

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the best by far is you: chapter 10

Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

For all the things my hands have held The best by far is you - Cecilia and the satellite

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Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

A very special thank you to Michaela for providing a perfect moodboard!

Chapter 10

“Mama?”

Her eyes drifted open from sleep by the sound of Faith’s voice, soft and baby-like. Claire grunted tiredly, but nevertheless drank in the sight of the baby girl sitting up in bed by her pillow. “What are you doing here?” She asked. A smile bloomed on Claire’s face as she took in the sleep-tousled curls and Faith’s flushed cheeks, one marked with a deep red line from where she’d slept on it.

Faith didn’t answer her question ‒ Claire didn’t expect her to ‒ but she did respond with a soft smile of her own, slow and languid. Claire rolled from her side to her back as Faith leaned forward and gathered the girl up on top of her chest. Her head rested just above Claire’s nightgown, her cheek pillowed against her mother’s skin. She yawned then and seemed to melt into her on the exhale, her eyes drifting shut.

“This is your spot, isn’t it?” Claire turned to kiss the girl’s forehead. “Since the day you were born.” How many times had they laid like this, and felt all was right with the world in that moment? Too numerous to count.

Faith’s fingers curled around the edge of Claire’s nightgown and she looked up to catch Claire’s gaze. “Hello, lovey,” she murmured. Her fingers gently teased Faith’s wild curls away from her face.

“‘llo, Mama,” Faith echoed and then hummed as Claire continued to play with her hair, never breaking eye contact, though her eyes crinkled with joy.

My whole heart.

“Faith, I lov‒”

Her breath came in a stuttering gasp, eyes flying open in the dark. She reached over and found only the edge of her hospital bed.

She was alone.

Her body curled in on itself while she clutched a pillow to her chest and smothered her sobs there.

The weight of her grief settled in around her as the last vestiges of her dream fell away, and her new reality became starkly clear.

She was alone in 1948 ‒ a time in which everyone she loved was undoubtedly dead. And without Jamie, Faith, and Fergus… without Murtagh and the Murrays… with only dreams and memories to haunt her, she wished she could curl up and die right there in that bed.

She wanted it ‒ wanted death to come swift and easy, to bring her at once to whatever came next, where Jamie promised he would be waiting for her. Where he would find her.

But there was no impulse to act on this wish and in some rational corner of her mind still functioning, she knew there was only one thing standing in her way, keeping her tethered to this world.

The baby.

Part of all that would be left of Jamie. Of their life together.

But even while she would live for the baby, she couldn’t think of it growing inside her without the sharp twist of a knife in her gut.

Her arm muscles ached from the hour she had carried Faith. Had that only just happened that morning? Her mind felt foggy from the drug-induced sleep but her body wouldn’t let her forget. One hour after eight months apart and then…

She clutched the pillow tighter, and the howl that tore from her throat didn’t even sound human.

One hour after eight months apart and then never again would she hold Faith in her arms.

Only in her dreams…

On her second day in the hospital, Frank arrived. Seeing his face again was jarring, both in how it grounded her in this time, and made her blood run cold at its uncanny resemblance to another face that still haunted her.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Frank said in a tight whisper. He reached for her hand and eased himself carefully into the seat at her bedside. She was dumbstruck at seeing him and could hardly manage to look him in the eye, but when she did, there was no anger or hurt staring back at her. Only his love, his broken heart over the missing years, and his widespread relief to find her once more ‒ though these feelings were likely to change when she told him the truth.

“I’m pregnant.” The words slipped out into the space between them and Claire studied his face, watching for any hint of the quiet anger she knew he could possess. Better to rip the bandaid off than try to hide her condition.

“I know,” he said softly. “I spoke with your doctors.” His gaze dropped to where he still held her hand and he squeezed it gently, collecting himself. He was rattled by the news, she could see, even as he tried to present a calm front. “Darling, I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but I’m here now. We’ll get through this.”

His meaning snapped into place with stunning clarity and Claire’s breath left her in a rush. “I‒ I wasn’t attacked or… or held captive.” Her hand withdrew from his grasp and settled protectively over her still-flat stomach. “This baby isn’t‒”

“It’s alright. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything,” he cut in quickly to quiet her and gave her a stiff smile. But she saw the flash of doubt in his eyes all the same. He didn’t believe her. “We don’t have to talk about the particulars just now. None of that matters, anyhow. I won’t leave you.”

She recognized the old habit in him of skirting around the uncomfortable ‒ and this was certainly uncomfortable ‒ but his assumption sat like molten hot lead in her stomach and her face suddenly felt flushed.

“Really, I’m sorry to have upset you, Claire,” he said quickly before she could broach any sort of explanation. “God, I’m just so relieved to see you.” He cleared his throat, glassy-eyed. “I’ve been in contact with Reverend Wakefield. He was thrilled to hear about you and he’s prepared some rooms for us to stay there while you convalesce.”

She let the matter of her pregnancy go for now. It would take hours to tell him the truth of it, and even then he might find her to be insane by the end. And the mention of Reverend Wakefield lit a spark in her ‒ he had a library’s worth of resources and also‒

“Is Mrs. Graham still in his employ?”

“Mrs. Graham?” Frank looked mildly perplexed. “I didn’t ask, but I would assume so...”

He could see the change in her right away ‒ like a light had gone out from within. She kept to herself that first week, spoke only in an exchange of pleasantries. Even though she was there ‒ she was actually physically there with him after three years ‒ she seemed a different person entirely.

At first, Frank thought it must be the shock of returning, but as the days passed at the Wakefield residence and Claire remained distant, it seemed whatever she experienced while she was gone had altered her forever.

Beyond the mention of her pregnancy, he had no notion of where she’d been or what had happened to her, but a picture was beginning to build in his mind’s eye. She hadn’t been physically harmed, according to her doctors, but she had been malnourished, perhaps from neglect. And someone had gotten his wife with child. Frank breathed in sharply. He thought that bit of news would sink in, but a knot was still in his stomach. With signs pointing towards her mistreatment, he couldn’t imagine that Claire had run off with someone, that she would’ve chosen to leave him, but…

But there had been that moment when he told her he knew about the baby. Something in her eyes had flashed before him and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had encountered the very edges of a mother’s protective fury for her child. It had stunned him and truthfully unnerved him a little. Not that she would already care for the little thing ‒ they had both longed for a child for years ‒ but that he should be the one on the outside. If she’d been attacked… what would cause her to want to shield the baby from him? He’d already assured her that he would stand by her, but somehow that statement felt like it had done more damage with Claire.

Frank turned toward the windows in Reverend Wakefield’s study and watched for a moment as Claire sat out in the garden, her head bent over a book.

The Battle of Culloden. Somehow that had become an obsession of hers since her return and he couldn’t make sense of it if he tried.

…What the hell had happened to her?

Claire registered Mrs. Graham’s presence as the afternoon tea was brought out to her, but she didn’t look up from the pages of her book to greet her. As the kindly housekeeper set a cup of tea on the table, Mrs. Graham suddenly broke the silence.

“Och, lass, you’ll only create nightmares for yourself poring over those accounts.”

Claire finally met her gaze and swallowed thickly. “There might be clues in here, or even an account of the two of them if I’m lucky. I’d rather know what happened to them. It’s not knowing that keeps me up at night.”

Mrs. Graham smiled pityingly at her. “Aye…”

“There were wanted posters for him put up all over England and Scotland during the rising, you know. Not just for him ‒ all famous traitors to the crown who were involved in the rising ‒ but… he’s the only one I can’t seem to find any mention of after Culloden. If the British cared enough to make him a traitor, to… to vilify him as they did, you’d think they would’ve looked for him. You’d think someone would’ve bothered to write that down. It’s not like ‘Butcher Cumberland’ to let grievances go.”

Mrs. Graham took a seat next to Claire. “Ye told me that ye didn’t think Faith traveled at all‒”

“I mean, I don’t know for sure and I’ve never traveled with someone before, but… I can’t describe it, but there was a moment in the in-between and I was alone. I don’t think she traveled at all, but I can’t even know that for sure.”

“Still,” Mrs. Graham patted her hand. “Ye would ken better than I. And if she didn’t travel, then she was with Jamie. Maybe the two of them got away safely.”

“I want that to be what happened,” she rasped, her eyes burning with tears. “God, I want them to have survived it. But I begged him to run with us and he wouldn’t. He said he was doomed to die one way or another and he wouldn’t risk us. I know he would give his life to protect her. I know he would do everything to keep her safe. But these men?” She waved the book in her hands ‒ an account of Cumberland and his troops in The Rising and immediately afterwards. “Pages and pages of how they slaughtered the Jacobites and destroyed the Highland way of life. I don’t need to read every account to know what little disregard they would have for my daughter’s life if she and Jamie encountered them.”

Hot tears were spilling down her face, and when Mrs. Graham sniffled softly beside her, she found the older woman softly crying as well. “I canna imagine what it’s like for ye. But I worry that this is consuming ye, my dear. And what’ll that do to the bairn ye’re carrying?”

Claire swallowed roughly and her tear-clouded vision dropped to the book in her lap. How could she not be consumed by this?

“You have children, don’t you, Mrs. Graham?” Her voice wobbled as she asked the question.

“Och, aye,” Mrs. Graham replied awkwardly. “My husband and I had three bairns together.”

“And if you lost one… if you were separated from one and you had no idea what became of them, could you just put that to bed? Would it be enough for you to love the next child as though you’d never known the first?”

Her words were spoken softly but they had a scalding effect and Mrs. Graham drew in a deep breath. “No,” she said at last. “No, I dinna think I could let it go.”

“I know they’re both long dead by now. I know. But I need to know if they were killed that day or shortly after or if… if Faith was able to grow up… if Jamie lived and was able to raise her.” Claire’s arm folded tightly across her chest, holding herself together. “I didn’t… didn’t tell her goodbye,” she admitted in a hoarse whisper and Mrs. Graham made a soft sound at that. Her hand suddenly brushed back Claire’s curls in the first display of motherly tenderness Claire could recall receiving from someone in a long time. “I… I only told her it would be alright. Those were my last words to her. Even when we left her at Lallybroch, I… Jamie said his goodbye to her but I never thought I’d lose her forever. I heard him promise her that he would make sure we were reunited someday and…” She shrugged one shoulder helplessly. “It was Jamie so I believed him. I told her…” Her chin quivered before her face disappeared behind her hands. “I told her it was only goodbye for now, not forever. I lied to her. I left her.”

Since she’d arrived here, she’d kept her crying confined to her room at night, but here with Mrs. Graham, her resolve crumbled and a sob broke free.

“Oh, my dear.” Claire was pulled rather gently by the shoulders and gathered against Mrs. Graham, who stroked her hair and murmured softly.

“I’m her mother and I never said goodbye or told her again how much I loved her,” she cried. “The least I can do is find out what happened to her and‒ and make sure she isn’t forgotten. Maybe in some way, she’ll know. That I looked for her and that I loved her.”

“My poor dear,” Mrs. Graham murmured above her, seemingly at a loss for what else to say. Claire held her arms tight about her, the only physical comfort she’d known in days.

“I know it’s hard now and I don’t pretend to know what ye’ve been through.” She gave Claire a small, fortifying squeeze. “But in time… I’m glad ye’ll have this bairn. It doesn’t mean ye won’t miss them, but ye won’t be alone. And ye’ll have a piece of them with ye. This new bairn won’t be exactly like yer Faith, nor will he or she replace her in yer heart, but ye’ll notice things about yer second born ‒ how she’s different from Faith, how she’s alike �� and that will keep Faith alive, too. Hold onto that, aye? When the days are hard, hold onto that.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted in a choked whisper, and felt Mrs. Graham stiffen.

“What do ye mean, dear?”

She pulled away slightly, still sniffling, and Mrs. Graham held her hand, as if knowing she still needed a soothing touch. “I can’t‒” Claire shook her head slightly. “I can’t move on from them. I can’t stop looking until I know. But…” she breathed in deep and exhaled shakily. “I‒ I haven’t figured out what comes after that. I can’t think about the baby just yet. I wish…God, I wish everything else would just hold until I knew. That time would just hold for me.”

Mrs. Graham smiled sadly and patted her hand, seeming to digest her words. “Ye don’t have to figure anything out just yet,” she said at last.

“Thank you,” Claire murmured. “For everything.”

“Reverend?”

Reggie Wakefield looked up from his letter to find Claire Randall before him with a small stack of his own books clutched to her chest. He made a sound of startled joy at the sight of her and motioned for her to join him at the table. “I haven’t seen anyone so interested in my collection in such a long time, Mrs. Randall. Does my heart good to see ye enjoying them.”

In truth, he had spoken with Frank at length about her curious obsession, but as odd as it was, he wouldn’t dream of voicing any of those concerns to such a kindly and elusive woman as Claire Randall.

“Have ye found everything ye needed, then?”

“Actually, I…” She stopped herself suddenly and smiled politely at him, hesitant. “Well, first, thank you for being so kind to allow me to go through your collection. I did wonder if you had any other books that perhaps I hadn’t looked at yet.”

“Well…” He scratched at his jaw absentmindedly as he thought about it. “I believe I gave ye every book on the subject of the Battle of Culloden and its aftermath. The rest would focus on the earlier risings and what preceded the ‘45, ye ken.”

“I see,” she said softly, sounding very sad to him.

“But I’ll have another look, just to be sure. Perhaps I missed one or two books that could be of use to ye.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, full of relief, and a stunning smile followed shortly. She was an odd sort since she’d returned, but it was plain to see that she was hurting and even if he didn’t understand it, Reggie felt inclined to help the poor young woman however he could. There were rumors ‒ nasty rumors ‒ flying about town since she turned up last week, including scandalous speculation around her condition. He’d done what he could to put those to bed, to address his opinion on the matter by opening his home to the Randalls. And while he hadn’t a single clue as to her whereabouts for three years, the more time he spent with Mrs. Randall, the more indignant he grew over the gossip that swirled around her. It was all so uncalled for.

He was so caught up in this reflection that he didn’t register what Mrs. Randall had said to him. “Sorry, my dear. What did you say?”

Oddly, her face flushed and she looked as though she might not repeat it. But she surprised him by blurting out, “Did the British kill any children after Culloden?”

His brows reached his hairline and he struggled to answer.

“I know they showed little mercy to those who fought on the Jacobite side,” she added quickly. “But I’m wondering if there’s anything about how they would’ve treated family members of known Jacobites… like perhaps their children?”

He drew in a slow breath and prepared his answer, but his gaze caught hers at the last moment, and he saw something there that stopped him in his tracks: a deep pain and desperate hope mingled together. “Why don’t I help you look into this, hmm? We can work on this together.”

She seemed taken aback by this offer at first, but smiled again. “Thank you, Reverend. That’s very kind of you.” She looked down, her fingers tracing the corner of one of the books. “Can I… can I actually ask for your help in trying to find someone who lived during that time?”

“Oh, of course, of course,” he chuckled. That was something he could do for her.

“I’ve been trying to find some record of her. Her name is‒ was…” She hesitated for a moment, needing to collect herself. Something about her reaction had his hairs standing on end. “Her name was Faith Fraser. She may have been called Faith Murray, if... well, I don’t know for sure if they would’ve raised her. Or…” She straightened suddenly. “Or if she married… I wouldn’t know her name at all.” She seemed to sink under the weight of this realization and Reggie took pity on her.

“We’ll start with what you know,” he added kindly, patting her hand. “Even a marriage record should have her maiden name.”

“Yes,” Claire said rather distantly. “Yes, good.”

“Do you know whenabouts she would’ve been born?” He prodded gently, trying to engage her as a distant look had crossed her face since the mention of marriage. She drew in a deep breath and began to answer him.

“May 12, 1744. She was born in Paris but her family moved back to Scotland before the end of the year. She lived on the family’s estate called Broch Turach for a time, though it was sometimes referred to as Lallybroch.”

“Yes, I know the one‒”

“Ownership of Lallybroch was changed over to her cousin, James Murray, dated in 1745, but his parents would’ve managed it until he came of age. That’s Ian and Janet Murray,” she rattled off easily. “The Murrays also‒” She swallowed roughly, struggling to get the rest of it out. “If her father died or was taken away, I believe the Murrays would’ve raised Faith. Her father was James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser and he was a known Jacobite...” She glanced out the window suddenly, focusing on the trio of birds flitting about a nearby tree. “He didn’t fight in Culloden, but he would’ve been near there at the time of the battle and I’d… well, I’d like to find out about both of them, you see, but James Fraser is quite a common name then and I’ve been struggling in my research to find him. I’m hoping if we can find Faith… we can find Jamie, too.” Mrs. Randall looked back suddenly to catch his curious gaze. “Is that enough to start?”

“Oh. Oh, yes, my dear. That should do,” he said swiftly. “Tell me,” he began cautiously, measuring his next words. “Why are we looking into Faith Fraser? Who is she to you?”

A strange expression crossed her face, making the well-intentioned Reverend regret his mere curiosity.

“Who is she to me?” She echoed his question in a hoarse whisper. “She’s everything.” Her eyes were glistening with tears and he couldn’t begin to explain how odd this whole conversation was. “So I need everything that you can find about her and Jamie. Please.”

“Aye, Mrs. Randall. I’ll do my best.” He smiled weakly to ease the tension but she never caught his eye.

Frank thought that with time, the Claire he once knew would return to him, even in just small glimmers. But days passed and she remained committed to the routine she’d developed here early on; she kept to herself, taking breakfast in her own room, and when she did appear in the sitting room or garden or the study, it was always still with those damn books.

She pored over them constantly and prowled the bookshelves for titles she may have missed. She avoided conversations at meals, her eyes downcast at her plate, though the Reverend carried on cheerfully with him at every supper as if none of this was strange.

Claire had taken Mrs. Graham into her confidence early on, sequestering the housekeeper into Claire’s room for hours that first day they arrived. Since then, she was the only person Claire really talked to.

Until recently, at least.

Somehow, Frank was on the outside from his own wife while Reverend Wakefield and Mrs. Graham ‒ two people who had been strangers to Claire a few years ago ‒ were brought into her circle of trust.

Worst of all, the Reverend wouldn’t discuss with him what it was that he was working on with Claire, skirting his questions and assuring him it was only a little history project, not unlike their own when Frank had first visited him.

She wouldn’t even talk to him outside of pleasantries when they saw each other, and he was torn between wanting to wait for her to initiate, and wanting to look beyond this time at the Wakefield house and live their lives again.

Because whatever the hell was happening here, it wasn’t really living.

“Claire?” He rapped lightly on her door and waited for a response. “It’s Frank.”

After supper, he’d had a dram with Reggie, which had turned into two drams and then three, and now his head swirled a little even as he rested his forehead against the door jam.

This was the antithesis of Reggie’s advice ‒ give her time, man, it hasn’t even been two weeks ‒ but his feet seemed to lead him to her door of their own volition.

When he heard Claire’s soft “come in?”, his heart leapt to his throat and he hesitated. He wasn’t even sure what he meant to say to her; he only knew he wanted her to tell him something.

He pushed in and found her in one of the two chairs by the fireplace in her room, and she was tucking loose sheets of paper into a book and setting it aside. For some reason, the fact that she was still studying up on Culloden into the night made him inexplicably annoyed.

She looked up at him curiously, no doubt wondering why he was here.

Why was he here?

He had composed this conversation so many times in his head over the last several days, wanting to initiate it more with each passing day… needing to know but also wanting to be delicate with this new Claire, as everyone had been telling him. And then there was some small part of him that didn’t want to know at all.

But the whisky had loosened his tongue and he found himself blurting out the words without much tact to them at all. “Where the hell have you been, Claire?”

She felt her stomach drop at his question ‒ though really, she shouldn’t have been surprised. At some point, she would need to tell him, but the very thought of telling him the truth sent her heart rate skyrocketing. Mrs. Graham had been someone Claire could trust, but to almost anyone else, she knew her story sounded insane. If she hadn’t lived it herself, she might not have believed it to be true.

“I’m sorry,” Frank said quickly when she froze, waving his arm a little too wildly. So he was tipsy, then… “I‒ I don’t want to pressure you to talk if you’re not ready. I‒”

“Have a seat, Frank.”

He shuffled over to the chair opposite her and sat with folded hands in front of his face, elbows propped on his knees. “I really didn’t mean to… the truth is, Claire, I don’t care where you were or what happened. I’m just so relieved to have you back. But… I feel like there’s this wall between us now and I just want you back. I want our life back.”

She breathed in slowly and dropped her gaze, a little ashamed that her own desire didn’t echo his. Maybe it would be better if he knew, even if he judged her. Even if he didn’t believe her. At least then there would be nothing to hide and she could accept whatever his feelings were once the truth was out in the open

“I’ll tell you,” she said softly. “I’ll tell you everything but please let me tell it all at once and have it over with before you ask any questions.”

She slid her gaze back to his and found his expression to be unreadable, but he swallowed roughly and agreed.

She talked for hours, pausing every now and then to drink so her throat wouldn’t dry out, and when she finished, the sky outside her room was streaked with the first soft pink lines of daybreak.

She had stuttered over the last moments of her time in 1746… of her goodbye with Jamie and waking up alone without Faith.

While she talked, Frank kept his promise and only listened, sometimes in the chair with his gaze on the fire, which he tended to all through the night, and other times he paced the short length of her bedroom. He was pacing at the time that she finished her story and a heavy silence fell between them like the drop of a curtain.

Having said the words out loud again for the second time, Claire suddenly wished she could be alone, feeling the grief tsunami on the periphery, about to sweep through her again. God, she ached for them in a way she didn’t know was possible.

But Frank was still in the room with her, quiet in a way that meant he was still sifting through his thoughts. At last, he scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed.

“So that’s what you’ve been doing with your history books and Reverend Wakefield… You’ve been looking for him.”

“And for Faith. For both of them, yes.”

“What happens if you find a record of them?”

“Then I’ll… I’ll know what happened to them.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes,” she said hotly. “I just want to know what happened to them.”

“You won’t try to go back?”

Oh.

She breathed in sharply. “I hadn’t thought about it,” she lied, feeling the color rise to her cheeks. The whole point of this had been to tell him the truth. “I don’t know if I can travel again,” she added, which was the honest truth. “It’s… it’s hard to describe. But it feels like it takes something from you each time and the screaming‒”

“Screaming?” Frank looked curious now, his interest in this unknown finally piqued.

But the remembrance of it had a shiver running through Claire. “I can hear the voices of those who haven’t made it through and were lost to the stones.” Even with all that they’d talked about overnight, that statement might have been the strangest thing she’d uttered yet.

His expression turned equal parts horrified and fascinated and then faded all together with a short nod of his head. “Hmm,” was all he had to say to that. He strode over to his chair and seated himself across from her. She got the distinct impression that he was entertained by the idea but wouldn’t put any stock in what she had just described.

“And what if… you don’t find any record of them?” He asked carefully.

“Are you asking that because you don’t believe any of this or because‒”

“Claire, I’m asking…” He cut her off and then took a deep breath, choosing his next words. “I’m asking because someone needs to. You spend every waking moment with your head bent over one of these books or writing your notes or discussing with the Reverend where to look next. How long will you keep going if nothing turns up? How long will you make me wait before we can actually start our life together again?” He had started off cool and collected, but had turned frantic with his pleading by the end. “I just got you back,” he added. “Have you any idea what it’s been like for me, Claire? Having you ripped away without a trace and never knowing what happened to you? And all the while, everyone was telling me that you’d up and run off with another man!”

Stunned by his outburst, it took her a moment to speak. “I’m sorry, Frank. Truly. I didn’t intend for it to happen and I wish there was some way I could’ve told you I was alright while I was gone. That I was safe.”

“But you didn’t wish to come back to me,” he said bitterly. It was petty, even for Frank, but neither of them had slept yet, she reminded herself.

“I had a child.” She was patient but unapologetic in pointing that out. Frank wouldn’t meet her eye. “I had a whole family with Jamie. And Jamie was‒”

The love of my life.

She swallowed back those words. There were other ways to phrase it, especially considering her audience. “I loved him very much. I didn’t plan for it and I’m sorry for the ways this has hurt you, Frank, but I can’t change what happened.”

“But you are here now, Claire, and you’re with me.” He finally met her gaze again. “And I’m grateful for that. For a second chance. I only worry for you with how… how consumed you are with this.”

“Well, at what point did you stop looking for me, Frank? What’s the magical number of days before it’s acceptable to move on?”

He recoiled as if she’d slapped him in the face, and she felt a small pang of regret for those words. Somehow, he still possessed the ability to provoke something juvenile in the way she responded to him, and she hated that. “I never‒ Claire, that was different, and I never stopped hoping you would return! But I did have to go back to work at some point, and in your case… Christ, you never talk about the baby but it will be here in a matter of months so perhaps we should start.”

The mention of the baby struck a nerve that lately everyone had been poking and prodding ‒ as if this baby existed on its own. As if it wasn’t made by her and Jamie on a cold February night, seeking warmth and solace in each other. And for Claire, any thought of the baby came with thoughts of her first baby. They couldn’t exist separately in her mind. “Until you know what it’s like to bring a child into this world and have her quite literally ripped from your arms, you don’t get to tell me when to stop looking. Faith is this baby’s sister and that doesn’t go away when the baby is born.”

To his credit, Frank looked properly chastised by her words. “Claire,” he began softly and then took her hand gently between his own. “I only mean to say that you might never find them, and I worry what that will do to you if you keep at this pace of searching. And what will you do when the baby is here? Drag him along to the library with you?”

“I’m not sure that’s any of your concern,” she snapped.

His hold on her hand tightened. “Not any of my concern,” he scoffed quietly. “No, why would that concern me? You’re only my wife.”

She leaned back from him, pulling her hand free with her, but was startled to see tears in his eyes accompanying the bite of his voice.

“Do you even believe me about any of this?”

“Does it matter if I do?” He countered. “You’re back with me now and‒”

“Yes, and pregnant with Jamie’s child.”

“I know. But he isn’t here with you, is he?” If he was intending to hurt her, his words hit their mark. “And besides, I… Look, I know this child isn’t mine, but I want to raise it with you.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” He was more adamant than she expected. “I’ve had a lot of time to think since you’ve come back and that’s all I want for us now ‒ to raise a family together.”

She tried to picture it, this life he was so insistent that he wanted with her. How would Frank handle a baby? How would he handle teething and sleepless nights and‒

Instead, what flooded her mind were the images and memories of her life before: Jamie taking turns with her on the rough nights with Faith. Carrying her in the crook of one elbow as he strolled about the grounds of Lallybroch with Ian. Telling her stories at night, during the long winter months and well before she could even comprehend what he was saying. She was enraptured with his voice, though. Claire remembered that so clearly, how Faith would stare up at him while he talked, studying his face with keen interest and cooing softly every now and then. Jamie would pause at every sound she made and smile, making up some interpretation of her noises to add Faith’s opinion of the story. Och, aye, ye’re right. Wasna verra nice, was it?

She fell more in love with Jamie, seeing him as a father ‒ a role he was born for and something so integral to who he was at his core.

Could she… have that with Frank? Could she just raise a child with him, all the while being haunted by the memories of Jamie and Faith at every turn? Would Frank even love a child that wasn’t his, after years of insisting he couldn’t?

To her horror, tears spilled down her cheeks and she wiped at them furiously. “I think it’s too soon to have this conversation. I’m‒ I’m sorry.”

He let out a resigned sigh, as if he expected this, and stood. “Get some rest. We’ll talk more about this another time.” He made for the door and paused, giving her one more look back. “And Claire?” She met his gaze, hoping the fresh wave of grief wasn’t too plainly obvious on her face. “At some point ‒ and soon ‒ you have to start living again.”

The sound of the door shutting behind him echoed hollowly through the room, and his last words to her hung in the stale air.

Her hand found its way to her belly, which felt slightly curved now under her palm. For weeks, she’d been living with the knowledge of this baby’s existence but hadn’t allowed herself to think beyond what would happen when it was born ‒ not in the way that she had when she carried Faith and couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to hold her child.

She hadn’t had a thought like that once yet with this baby and the guilt wormed its way in amongst the myriad of emotions she was drowning in.

“I do love you,” she found herself whispering. “And I promise I will take care of you.” She felt a little silly, talking to the baby… but who else could she share her thoughts with? “It feels like my heart is missing, and I just need a little more time to get used to that. And we have that, don’t we? Despite what everyone wants to tell me, I understand time better than most. When you arrive, I’ll be ready for you. And I’ll love you enough for me and Jamie both.”

#outlander #jamie x claire #faith fraser #outlander fic #OL fic #my fic #tbbfiy #the best by far is you

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heyyyharry · 3 years

Text

Deep End - Chapter 11: Date Night

…in which Ezi’s first date gets interfered.

Word count: 2.5k

AU: famous!harry, siren!mc, adult modern retelling of the little mermaid? lol, fake dating, enemies to lovers.

WARNING: MATURE THEMES

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A/N: sorry this chapter is so short. I was emotionally unstable when I wrote this last week :D I'll try to write more for the next one.

Also, please follow my writing account on Instagram: @allie.writes :) Don't forget to leave comments on this chapter!

“Hey, do you remember Dolores?” Dawson asked.

“How could I forget?” Ezili murmured, eyeing her sister up and down.

Of course Ezi remembered Dolores. She couldn’t if she tried. Whenever she looked at Koa, all she saw was what she could never be, what her mother wished that she was, and it only made her despise herself. When she’d first arrived here, she had felt so out of place, but at the same time, free. She still revisited her old life in her sleep, which made her wake up screaming during the night. And despite all the struggles she’d gone through, she felt appreciated. Harry wasn’t anywhere near great, but he wasn’t bad. He looked out for her even though she wasn’t his kind. And she knew if her mother knew she felt this way about a human, she would not be standing here.

But why was she thinking about Harry? He wasn’t here. She snapped out of her thoughts and looked around as the vibrant atmosphere of the night market drowned out her thoughts. Her sister came forward and pulled her into a hug. She could feel Koa’s claws leaving marks on her shoulders, but she knew it was just her imagination.

Koa withdrew with a smile and lifted those perfect human hands with short blunt nails and twisted her hair into a bun. She looked so human, so natural. Ezili wondered how Koa it, but then she caught a glimpse of the trident hanging on a chain around her neck. She’d been using magic.

Immediately, Ezili grabbed Dawson’s hand and pulled him to her side. Koa tilted her head, looking quite confused, which Ezili knew was all an act. Meanwhile, Dawson was blushing. He cleared his throat. “So...Dolores is also here for the book fair. Mind if she joins us?”

“Not at all,” Ezili said with a tight smile.

“Great!” Koa said, hands clasped against her chest.

Ezili tried to figure out what her sister’s intentions were. Was she here to kill Ezili? Was she here to kill Harry? What if she thought Dawson was Ezili’s new target and was here to kill him? Also, how many humans had she killed for her to be here, dressed, act, and talk like a real human girl?

Ezili walked beside Koa as the girl went on and on about how she’d just moved to London, and all the places she’d visited and enjoyed. She must have got all this information from the magic of the trident. She couldn’t be more human than Ezili, who’d had to learn everything by herself.

“Harry?”

Ezili’s heart gave a lurch when she spotted his face in the crowd. It started with a feeling of comfort, like finding a warm bed in the middle of the raging ocean. But then a tidal wave of anxiety crashed down upon her, and she momentarily forgot about Dawson and her sister. She rushed toward him, pushing past a group of tourists and teenagers who cursed at her.

“There you are!” Harry said, spreading his arms. “My favourite fish.”

“What are you doing here?” she hissed and tugged hard at his sleeve. “Why did you follow me here?”

“I didn’t follow you here.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not,” Harry sighed and poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he looked around. “Where’s Dawson anyway? Why are you standing here all by yourself?”

Ezili had no time for his questions. “Harry, go home.”

“I’m here to buy books!”

“Oh, yeah? What books?”

“This one,” he said, grabbing a random book from a display shelf they were in front of.

“The Sex Life of Pets?”

“Oh.” His smile dropped as he read the title. “I mean, it does look kinda interesting.”

“Harry, go home. I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you are. Dawson left you here all by yourself.”

“He’s taking care of something,” Ezili said anxiously as she put her arms around herself and rubbed. The air was getting cold. She hadn’t had to feel the cold when she’d been a siren. She hated how weak humans were. A slight change of the weather could get them all messed up.

She was about to tell Harry to go home right now because her sister was here, and Dawson might be in danger. Ezili’s job here was to kill one of these men, not save them every single time. But to her surprise, Harry took off his coat and put it around her shoulders. “Come home with me,” he said, gently. “If you stay here, you might get lost among all these tourists.”

“No, you go home,” she said, pushing his shoulder, but he didn’t budge. “It’s not safe here for you.”

“How?” he chuckled. “I know London like the back of my hand.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Ezili, you’re acting stran—” Harry was about to finish his sentence when his smile vanished. He pointed over Ezili’s shoulder. “Is that Dawson talking to your sister?”

Ezili whirled around, relieved to find Dawson still alive, but the grin her sister gave her while Dawson was talking to a seller made her uneasy.

“Harry, go home,” she snapped at Harry, shoved him hard so he stumbled back. If something happened, she could only save one of them, and she knew for a fact it would be Harry.

“I’m not going home and leaving you here—”

“And I won’t save you if my sister does something again. I’ll save Dawson, and you don’t want to die, do you?”

At first, she thought those words were all harmless, until she saw the way Harry’s smile dropped, and his shoulders slumped. He said nothing, only nodded. Koa and Dawson were heading towards them now. It was too risky to have Harry here.

“Go!” she shouted and pushed him hard. He didn’t joke about it or react, just held her gaze for a moment and walked away.

“Is that Harry? Harry!”

“He’s leaving, Dawson,” Ezili said and turned to her sister. “Could you come with me to the restroom?”

“Yeah, sure!” Koa happily said, then waved at a puzzled Dawson as she got dragged away.

“What are you trying to do?” Ezili asked in Séren when they were far enough from Dawson, but not too far; she still needed to keep an eye on him just in case.

“Nothing,” Koa answered in their mother tongue. “Although Pretty Boy over there looks quite delicious.”

“Stop it!” Ezili snapped. “You’ve been breaking so many rules around here. You’re not allowed to use the magic of the trident for personal gains.”

“Mother entrusted me with it,” Koa mused.

“I’m sure she’d be happy to know what you’d used it for,” Ezili said, disgusted.

Koa’s dark pink lips curled to the side. “You’re jealous,” she said, leaning back, arms crossed.

Ezili had no time for this. “Please go home,” she told her sister. “I have things under control here. I’ll return in a year with the heart.”

“But you don’t have a whole year,” Koa said. “One year could be a lifetime for these creatures. Humans are fickle. They can stay married for twenty years and still can’t love each other.”

Ezili scoffed, eyebrows raised. “Does the trident tell you that?”

“No, Dolores did,” Koa said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger innocently as if she weren’t talking about someone she’d murdered for no reason. “She hated her husband,” she went on. “I heard her talking on the phone with someone about how she had never loved him, and they had two grown children together. Can you believe it? These creatures made up the thing called ‘marriage’ - a lifetime commitment, which they could not keep up with themselves. And as much as your pretty head wants to see the good in these filthy creatures. They are far from good. Not only do they harm other living things, they also harm their own kind. Physically and emotionally.” Koa put her hand on Ezili’s shoulder and squeezed. “That boy you’re so attached to is no different, Ezili. He will never love you.”

Ezili bit her lip and brushed her sister’s hand off of her. “Don’t tell me about humans when I’ve been here for longer than you do.”

“And yet,” Koa said, “you’re still here.”

Ezili wanted to tell Koa she was wrong for doubting Ezili, but Koa wasn’t wrong. Recently, Ezili had been doubting herself, too. She had even considered switching her target from Harry to Dawson, but she could not feel the same connection she’d had with Harry.

“I have an offer for you, Ezili,” Koa’s voice dragged her out of her own thoughts. She blinked at her sister. “Before your birthday, which was supposed to be your coronation day, you may come back to the Queendom. You’ll tell Mother that you cannot accomplish the mission and ask her to make me Queen of the Seven Seas. Then we’ll have a new Queen as planned. Our evil aunt can’t plot against the throne. And when I’m Queen, I’ll make sure you won’t be banished. You’ll get to keep your title as a princess and stay in the castle.”

Ezili hated that she wasted a second to actually consider the offer. “No. I won’t do it,” she spat, stepping back. “If I accepted this offer, no one and nothing in the ocean world would take me seriously. I would become an outcast anyway.”

Koa rolled her eyes and laughed heartily. “At least you’ll still be protected by the army and you’ll have a family. Or would you rather join the mermaids collecting gold all day for your sad little collection? Also, I’m sure the white sharks would love an abandoned siren.”

“I’m going to be Queen,” Ezili said through clenched teeth. “I’m bringing Mother the heart no matter what. Now you go home and tell her just that. And be careful with my trident that you wore around your little breakable neck.”

Koa opened her mouth to speak, but Ezili didn’t give her a chance. She put up a hand and shouted, “Dawson, let’s go! Dolores is just about to leave.”

Ezili didn’t know what time she arrived home. She tried not to think about her sister’s words, which had clearly been for the purpose of making her doubt herself. She still hoped Dawson had had a great time tonight. They’d bought some books after she’d got rid of Koa, then stopped at a restaurant on the way back to Harry’s mansion. She’d apologised when he’d dropped her off for not being quite herself tonight, and she hated how he’d cheerfully said, “It was nothing. No worries.” Why did humans lie about how they felt all the time? If something bothered you or made you uncomfortable, why not just say it? Why did they feel the need to complicate things? It was hard enough for her to understand human emotions, and they expected her to be able to guess?

“Hey,” Harry said when their eyes met and she froze in the doorway. She’d expected him to be sleeping right now. “You look clean. Guess your sister didn’t kill Dawson?”

Ezili narrowed her eyes at him and kicked off her shoes. “No. Nothing bad happened.”

“Oh, man. I was hoping he was dead.”

“Shut up,” she said. “Also, I don’t think my sister will ever bother us again.” That, she wasn’t sure. She just wanted to be reassured even if it was by her own words.

Harry got up, hands slipped into his pockets. “Sooo...how was your date?”

Ezili pretended she hadn’t heard that question. “Why are you still up?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Had too much coffee earlier.” Then repeated, “How was your date?”

“It was fine,” Ezili said. "Why did you show up?"

"I was just making sure you wouldn't cause any trouble? Your name is tied to mine now, in case you've forgotten."

"How can I? You literally remind me of our fake relationship every two seconds."

“Why are you so pissed off?”

“I’m not.”

“You clearly are,” he persisted.

She let out a sigh, about to just go upstairs and ignore him for the rest of the night, but this one question kept tugging at her. So she had to ask.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Harry looked confused for a second. “No. Never. I think I’ve told you about what happened with my exes.”

“But did you love them at one point?”

“Well, I thought I loved them,” he said. “But looking back now, I don’t think I know what love is. It’s just...a lot of times, I want to be alone. Just me and Chilli. If someone enters my life and stays around for too long, it makes me uncomfortable.”

“But I’m also living here. We see each other all the time.”

“It’s not like I have a choice to kick you out,” he said, then instantly looked regretful.

Ezili padded across the room and stopped in front of him. “Why would anybody want to be alone?” She knew she didn’t. She was doing all this just to be accepted by her kind, but he, who had everything from fame and wealth to a supportive family, wanted to be left alone?

“You’re not the first girl to ask me that,” he said with a grin. “I think it has a lot to do with how I was brought up. I feel like everyone has these certain expectations for me, and when I don’t meet those expectations, I disappoint them. I just want to be by myself so I can just be me. I don’t want to adjust myself to the presence of others.”

Ezili nodded then moved a bit closer.

“What are you--”

She surprised him by placing her palm on the left side of his chest. Her skin tingled with the sensation of his little unsteady heartbeats when she came near. “But there’s nothing here,” she mumbled as if it would make sense to him. “You were telling the truth.”

“What do you mean?” Harry let out a nervous laugh and reached for her hand, which she withdrew before he could touch.

“Nothing.”

Harry’s smile faded. “Did Dawson say anything about me?”

“No. We hardly talked about you.”

“What about your sister? Why is she here?” he kept asking when she brushed past him and headed for the stairs. “Does your mother want you back? Ezi, what happened tonight?”

“Nothing,” she lied. “I’m just tired. Goodnight, Harry.”

“Ezi,” he said, his voice soft and pleading as if he could love her for a moment. But how could he? How could a man, who had lived his whole life without falling in love and prided himself on his loneliness, ever fall in love with a siren? He’d said he’d wanted to kiss her again, but there he’d stood in front of her and claimed her presence in this house made him uncomfortable. Then when her hand had been on his heart, she had felt nothing.

So had he lied about it? Humans lied about how they felt all the time. If they could lie about wanting to spend the rest of their life with one person, they could lie about wanting to kiss a siren.

Maybe, just maybe, Ezili should consider her sister’s offer.

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #harry styles x mc #harry styles smut #harry styles series

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