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back-and-totheleft · 2 years

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The final, final cut

When asked about his favourite of his films, the late Robert Altman always used to choose his one big box-office failure, Popeye, saying "you tend to love your least successful children." Oliver Stone's relationship with Alexander is also like that of a fretful parent with a difficult son. When the film was released in 2004, it was reviled and mocked by many US and UK critics despite performing reasonably well at the international box-office. Stone then released a longer "Director's Cut" on DVD. Now, he has made yet another version: Alexander Revisited: The Final Cut. This new version clocks in at three and a half hours, 40 minutes or so longer than the "Director's Cut" and with a reshaped narrative arc.

No, detractors of the original don't need to worry that Alexander is a film that is going to continue growing indefinitely. Stone insists this is his final pass at the material. "I have reached as far as I could. It is put to bed now. There is no going on." Now, he hopes, the film has the rhythm of those epics he watched as a kid. There is an intermission. The film begins with the Battle Of Galgamela - Alexander's finest hour - and features more of Ptolemy (Anthony Hopkins); of Alexander's ruthless mother Olympias (Angelina Jolie) and his bloodthirsty, bellowing father Philip the one-eye (Val Kilmer). Stone calls it his "clearest interpretation of Alexander's incredible life." Still, he is realistic enough to accept that those who didn't appreciate the original probably won't be converted now. The reason for the new version is simply to put it back into the shape it originally should have been in.

Like it or deride it, you can't help but give credit to Stone for the scale of his ambition and for his dogged determination to present his movie in what he feels to be the best possible light, even if he has to wait two and a half years and rely on DVD to do it. This is truly a "big" film in the tradition of the Cinemascope and Vista Vision movies he used to watch as a kid while growing up in the 1950s: films like The Robe, Quo Vadis or The Ten Commandments.

"It would take three or four hours. You would go with your parents on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon. You would have a birthday party with other children. It was special and very meaningful to us," he reminisces of his early exposure to Hollywood sword and sandal sagas. Only in the 1960s, when the Italians started making cut-price epics ("Dino De Laurentis started making rocks out of cardboard and the sword fighting wasn't so good") did the genre begin to lose its allure in his eyes.

Stone isn't just protective of his film. He also feels a strong responsibility toward his collaborators, in particular Colin Farrell, whose performance as the blond-haired warrior emperor was ridiculed in certain quarters. "I feel hurt for Colin. I thought he was unfairly savaged and I tried to protect him. I loved what he did and I think he had the panache and glory - he had that sense of Irish outsiderness and brawniness that the Macedonians did bring to the Greek Empire. I think Colin took a beating and I think it hurt him," Stone ponders the effect Alexander had on the career of its star.

When he was looking for an actor to play Alexander, Stone immediately warmed to Farrell because the young Irish man was so unguarded and outspoken. "He said 'yes I do like to fuck girls and I do like to drink beer.' He was too honest. He wasn't hypocritical about it. It is a shame because he is a very talented young actor. It is a question of confidence now. Can he gain that confidence back? It is a blow for a young man."

The director admits to a certain hubris on his own part for thinking he could make so big and complex a picture so quickly. In 2004, Stone rushed post-production so that Alexander could follow in the swell of Wolfgang Petersen's Troy - something that it was assumed would make the marketing much, much easier. "In hindsight, I wish we had had a little more money and that I had had the guts to say 'look, I am not ready.'"

He can't hide his bitterness, though, over the way that Warner Bros (one of the partners on the project) treated him and his film. "I have not worked there since this film came out," he notes. "I made four or five films there and they completely disowned me. I can't even bring a project to their attention. They accused me of things that are just so outrageous…"

The Hollywood studio had wanted Stone to "cut out all the homosexuality and cut out everything that reeks of anything incestuous." The idea that Alexander was in love with Hephaistion or the Persian boy Bagoas was (Stone believes) more than Warner Bros could countenance. "I think he (Alexander) liked the boys frankly. I think that was his predilection. He had to father some kind of heir but he didn't work at it too hard, did he."

Stone tried to counterbalance the sequences between Alexander and Hephaistion with a graphic scene of the Emperor and his wife Roxanna (Rosario Dawson) making love, but this was never a strategy that was going to satisfy his US backers.

Yes, he was depressed at the homophobia that Alexander uncovered in US audiences. "But I think we had guts to go as far as we did. Gore Vidal loved this movie. What epic has gone that far? It is easy to do it as a Brokeback Mountain, when you need very little money."

No, Stone doesn't think that Iran's President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad has seen Alexander or that the movie played any part in Ahmadinejad's recent decision not to take part in a documentary Stone was planning about him. He was surprised by the media squall caused earlier this month when Ahmadinejad called him "part of the Great Satan." "My request had been placed several months prior. It had been assumed that the deal (to make the documentary) was off. I had walked away from it and all of a sudden, it (the story) was issued as a news release."

Stone responded to Ahmadinejad's gibes with a statement of his own, wishing the Iranian people well and telling them that he hoped "their experience with an inept, rigid ideologue president goes better than ours."

"Bush is the same way as Ahmadinejad," he elaborates to me. "That is why I compared them. To me they are both fronts for a deeper issue which is the control of the State. In both cases, in America and in Iran, there is almost a totalitarian control. They don't want the moderate people in either country to have much say in preventing war."

Having been so ferociously attacked in the US for Alexander, Stone then found himself praised by many of his former detractors for World Trade Center, his 2006 film about fire-fighters caught in the rubble after 9/11. He insists that the film wasn't motivated by patriotism or by any desire to appeal to red-blooded Republicans, who loved the scenes of an ex-marine marching off from the rubble of Manhattan to join the war in Iraq "It was not motivated that way at all. It was truly a story of intense drama, intensity and suffering." He still bristles at the accusations that he had "become a studio hack because I had given them a feelgood movie about 9/11".

War is Stone's chosen subject. He suggests that his last 15 films (including Alexander and World Trade Center) were "war films" in one way or another. He is now planning a new feature which is likely to be as contentious as anything else he has done. Pinkville will be about the My Lai massacre of 1968. "I feel it has strong resonance today. The script was developed in 2001 but that was not a good time to do this movie. I think now the climate is changing."

His plans to make a film called Jawbreaker about the CIA's activities in Afghanistan after 9/11 have now stalled. The project has been overtaken by events. "I wanted to make a movie celebrating the effectiveness of the Special Forces in Afghanistan but I backed away from it because the more I found out, the more difficult it was to reconcile the truth with what had happened," he says. With the Taliban resurgent, it was no longer so clear-cut that the invasion had been a success.

After his movies on JFK and Nixon would Stone ever countenance making a film about George W Bush? He chuckles at the question. "Sure, I would. But I would do it lighter than Nixon. We are working on something and I hope it works. You can't be too depressed about something like that or you can't make it. You have to keep some sense of humour about Bush…but the joke is on us."

Stone and Bush were both in the class of 68 at Yale. No-one back then thought that Bush would one day be president. "Are you joking? John Kerry was there at the same time. He was an older student. We all felt that he would be president. It is ironic that those two should come to meet each other in the destiny of this life and that Bush would beat Kerry by being stupider and playing to that gee whizz, common folk approach."

The future filmmaker didn't graduate from Yale. Nor did he ever consider a political career himself. "You have to start that early. I was much more interested in the deeper, darker psyches of Olympias and Alexander and Philip. I had other fish to fry."

-Geoffrey Macnab, "Alexander: The final, final cut," The Guardian, Aug 9 2007 [x]

#oliver stone #alexander #the guardian #alexander: the final cut #Ahmadinejad #iran

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charcubed · 4 years

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Celebrities’ sexualities/relationships, and what not to post where

I’m going to make an all-purpose, general post about this topic, because it seems like there’s value in making one. Anyone who’s been following me here or on Twitter long enough has seen me address this before but often in specific scenarios, but y’know what... let me just make a general all-purpose post too just to lay this out for the sake of my own sanity.

We all know this is a thing: people like to speculate on celebrities’ sexualities and/or participate in “real person fiction” (RPF), and that’s been happening since the dawn of fandom. On some level, I understand why; it's exciting to think a celebrity might be queer especially if YOU are. We all want role models & we all want that to be normalized, etc... and sometimes it’s a case of “like recognizes like”; queer people can spot other queer people. But whether or not one is “correct” doesn’t matter, and either way, celebrities' lives are not for our consumption. They do not exist for our entertainment or speculation. This kind of talk can get out of hand very quickly in a way that ruins the lives of real people.

So I am here to remind people to be mindful of what you say about celebrities, where you say it, and HOW you say it too.

For example: under no circumstances should you openly post things about celebrities’ sexuality or relationships on Twitter.

If you know this already, cool! Great! Good! Keep scrolling! But not everyone does know this, and either way, it’s always a good reminder–especially because people can get excited in the heat of a moment and these principles can easily accidentally fly out of the window.

Not all social media is “equal” or carries the same weight of potential real world consequence. Tumblr, for example, tends to influence little outside of here as long as the topic in question stays on Tumblr; AO3 fic stays on AO3, or at least it should. But Instagram comments or tweets do not exist in a vacuum or echo chamber the way people often seem to think, and often route back to the celebrities in question in harmful ways. Those platforms are open to the wider world in a way that can translate to very real consequence for the people being discussed.

What do I mean by that? A good example of how things can get unintended attention is what happened recently when memes about Misha Collins and Bill Clinton got out of hand, made their way to Twitter, and resulted in journalists writing articles that Misha felt he needed to address. On a more related note, recently Brie Larson made one offhand gay joke/reference in a personal Youtube video; it then trended worldwide and resulted in many articles too. There is now, unfortunately, high potential that she could be asked about and pressured about her sexuality in interviews in future. Did any of the people tweeting about those topics expect that to happen? Probably not, and yet it did. But these are good examples of how Twitter algorithms have vastly shifted, and keyword use is enough for things to easily and quickly trend outside of fandom’s intentions or control in ways that cause harm.

Putting any celebrities’ personal lives under a microscope, whether unintentionally or otherwise, is never a good idea. But it’s especially not a good idea when it comes to sexualities or personal relationships.

People will say “Shipping is just in the fandom! We know how to behave! What’s the problem? It’s never gone wrong before.” The problem is multilayered, but here are the main issues: the fact that nothing “bad” has happened before does not mean it never will. You can control your behavior, but you cannot control how other people–especially people who are new to your fandom–may or may not behave on the wider internet surrounding the topic of people's personal lives. Posting about it on main on somewhere like Twitter also inherently runs the risk of other outside parties seeing it, being like “what’s all this then?” and then picking it up and running with it further–whether that be ~haters~ or journalists.

People will also say “These celebrities know about this kind of fandom talk and they don’t care!” or “If the celebrities wanted us to stop this, they’d have said something by now!” To that I say: those are a lot of assumptions, when the only “assumption” one should realistically make is that we don’t know celebrities personally, we don’t know if they may or may not be actually closeted/unlabeled (which is their right!), and we don’t know what may make them uncomfortable while other things may not. The absence of "no" or "stop" isn't equivalent to "yes," nor is it citable as defense for questionable or potentially harmful behavior. Silence isn't blanket approval or consent, nor should it be assumed to be in any situation. Just because celebrities haven’t said in so many words “Please stop doing [this specific thing]” doesn’t mean they are automatically cool with whatever a fandom is doing, such as speculating about them or openly pointing out what they think they know about their sexualities or relationships. This includes posts on the wider timeline, or tweets and Instagram comments @ celebrities themselves filled with references or assumptions about their lives that are very not okay.

Even with something like Brie Larson’s situation... A celebrity making a joke or acting a certain way in one environment where they may feel comfortable or more relaxed–like a Youtube video, or a convention with fans, or anything else–does not mean that that celebrity expects or wants worldwide eyes on their behavior. And worldwide attention is what is always at risk on platforms like Twitter or Instagram.

Ultimately, overanalyzing and calling attention to people’s actions is how people who are allies can be made to feel awkward, or how people who are queer get outed or forced into labels. I literally live in fear of the day when some random journalist starts poking around specific fandoms/celebrities, connects the dots that are out there and are seemingly easy to connect, and then somehow makes their sexuality a topic of interviews. Once it becomes a Topic, it becomes nearly unavoidable for them. That’s what happened to Lee Pace; it’s how many people are forced to come out. At all times, queer celebrities are a stone’s throw away from having to deal with all of that in ways no one should, especially as they get more famous. If you care about any celebrity you like to talk about, or if you care about the privacy of real people at all in the ways you should (especially potentially queer people), this should be a point of concern for you.

So, in conclusion: be mindful. If you must talk about celebrities’ lives on something like Twitter, do it without using their actual names to avoid keywords, because they trend at the drop of a hat out of nowhere and that can ruin lives. Avoid deliberate repetition in your phrases because that’s how accidental trends are made. And, better yet, honestly? Consider just keeping that kind of talk to Tumblr/AO3, and preferably to personal private messages.

Your ability to fangirl/squee/celebrate a real person’s life is not more important than their right to privacy. Ever. This is not a petty topic and it is not “fandom policing” to say things like this out of concern. Acting from an abundance of caution is always the better way to go, because you lose nothing by being extra vigilant; the alternative of not being cautious enough comes with a high risk of negative consequence.

If we all just operate under the knowledge that talking about real people can translate to real consequences for real lives, and act with an abundance of respect/caution accordingly, then there will be nothing to worry about. And celebrities will get to live their private lives and (if this is applicable) be the authors of their own coming out journeys as they see fit, which is a right everyone should have.

From the bottom of my heart: just use both your empathy and your brain cells, please.

#celebrities #RPF #I logged on and I see people vagueposting about one specific actors' sexuality and my hairs stood on end #I know this post is long but I'd appreciate it if you'd reblog it #because this keeps coming up and it keeps BEING A PROBLEM and I am AFRAID FOR MANY CELEBRITIES #BUT ESPECIALLY A FEW WE SHALL NOT BE NAMING AT THIS TIME #please it costs $0 to be smart about this #I am once again begging people to be normal about this!!!!!!#char writes things

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thebeautysurrounds · 3 years

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THIS CONTAINS SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR NEVER HAVE I EVER S2 READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

This is quite long I had a lot to unpack.

Since watching the 2nd season of Never Have I Ever a few things have been bothering me about the way people are reacting to Devi, and the show overall but mostly Devi. First of all she’s what a sophomore in high school? and she’s doing this all while being the only brown girl (up until kinda the middle of S2) and still dealing with grief and having absolutely no idea who she is yet. To me outside of being an honor roll student she is not doing things FOR HER she is doing this to appease her mother. Who while she means well pushing Devi to succeed to certain extremes which if Devi shows the slightest behavior of fucking up her mother makes harsh comments instead of understanding Devi is a literal teenager and needs room for fucking up.

Is Devi hella unreasonable at times? YES does she often times act strictly on impulse without a second thought…YES. But as a girl who virtually has no one outside of her friends who also are staring to drift from her and get into their first relationships themselves and have their own activities she essentially is left to navigate the world and her teenage angst alone. While I will give Nalini credit for all the work and time she has put in to not only being a single mother and navigating her own grief but also being a working mother who is a doctor and quite possibly has her own struggles with being a brown women in that filed. My problem lies with her not being able to balance or even let go of a strong arm parenting style that mostly focuses on Devi’s fuck up more than her accomplishments and makes comments on how her fuck ups that haven’t even happened yet. I’m not sure Nalini even realizes Devi is at the very very top of her class because I truly believe (after S1) even though Nalini apologized to Devi Nalini has a ‘hoping for the best but expecting the worst’ attitude when it comes to Devi and that’s in the for front of her mind so much she doesn’t realize Devi goes above and beyond not only for herself but to make her mother proud of her all for her mother to just not acknowledge that.

Now with Devi’s characterization I get where some people are coming from on saying Devi shouldn’t have been “boy crazy” or that they “ruined her character development” but here’s my problem those critiques while valid and your allowed to have those opinions…It’s just not really realistic and let me tell you why like I stated Devi is what a sophomore in high school and she has made it a abundantly clear her parents forbid her to date cause it’s school and extra curriculars only. Which will lead to a good college which thus will turn into a good career. While that’s all well and good. I don’t think y’all realize the FOMO of being in high school and growing up with very strict parents, and wanting to have your first relationship. Wanting to be an actual teenager and not wanting to think about 3-4 years down the line which most teenagers don’t/can’t visualize cause it’s not the right now. Devi wants to have those experiences and there’s nothing wrong with that does she go about it the right way…not exactly but y’all act like YOU have never been a teenager and said and done awful things out of anger or just pure immature stupidity. For the boy crazy part Devi is literally having her first feelings and experiences with boys she has 0 clue what she is doing outside of probably books, tv, movies and what her friends assume they know (even though they mean well) the only person Devi would remotely trusts is gone, and she can’t ask her mother cause her mother would honestly probably shut her down and make her feel guilty for even wanting to start having her first experiences with boys. Y’all have such a warped view of not only real teenagers and high school aged kids but also fictional ones. Y’all are so use to shows having protagonist being awful or starting off kinda okay but then their character turns awful and remains that way. What some of you fail to realize is actual teenagers and “teenagers” in shows can/are VERY morally grey.

Should Devi have been honest and possibly communicated to both Ben and Paxton that she has some sort of feelings for them both..possibly but Devi is a teenager do you think she is having a in depth analysis and talk with herself (outside of a pros and cons list) about what infatuation versus lust versus genuine connection versus romantic attraction looks like probably not. Let’s also analyze how she literally goes from being in her eyes forgettable to being noticed and even though it’s not talked about in the show explicitly she honestly probably struggles with self esteem/self image issues. To go from being a girl who to her no one cares about/notices to one who is getting the attention of two boys who are in Devi’s eyes attractive in their own right. She is so consumed with two guys ACTUALLY being interested in her that she fails to realize she is/and will hurt them both, Do I think Paxton is genuinely attracted to Devi…maybe. But I’m still on the fence about their relationship to me in the beginning I felt Paxton felt Devi is just another meaningless high school fling that he will forget about once he gets to college but to Devi here’s this guy who is “popular” very attractive and he pays attention to her is she looking at the semantics of the situation and how Paxton is more than likely just using her and is only engaging with Devi to get a passing grade and to basically give her the superficial experience of a “high school boyfriend” no she’s not she’s looking at it like here’s this guy who is attractive and he wants to be with someone like me. But do I also believe Devi in S1 was using Paxton and then fell for him DEFINITELY but I will give credit to Paxton for trying at a real relationship with Devi and I hope he will try to be more open and honest.

Do I think Ben likes Devi I honestly do, While the insensitive jokes (exchanged between both) should be discussed I think Ben over time started to see Devi as a girl who finally saw him not the rich, annoying, know it all. But in his view Devi and him are on equal playing fields because they are both overly driven smart individuals and when she said yes to going out with him it was probably the first time he felt like a girl saw the real him. While Ben too more than likely struggles with abandonment issues him dating Devi in a way made him feel like this was the first time he could actual be happy about something cause it was something he actually wanted and not something he just did to earn points in others books and impress people he genuinely got something on his own and that he was actually happy not a front he put on. To me Ben’s abandonment issues come out even more than in S1 when he tells Devi why he’s so hurt and it’s the night of the party when she runs after Paxton (who he sees has it all) and Devi doesn’t “choose him” Do I think Ben and Devi should date cause they share some form of the same trauma no. But again Devi is not use and doesn’t even know what to do with the attention of two people. Again is Devi looking at the semantics of her relationship with Ben…No. I don’t think Devi even realizes she’s quite literally hurting two people cause we could also discuss how Ben and Paxton probably have had other flings and relationships without a second thought while Devi having no relationship experiences and this is territory for her and she has no idea what she is doing or how to properly navigate this situation.

I’m almost done with this long ass rant I promise but it’s two more things I want to make light of/point out I don’t think anyone really gives Devi credit for still going to therapy, loosing a parent is unbearable especially loosing one as young as Devi did, especially when you feel the only parent that truly understood and supported you is gone. Devi doing things that are impulsive and unreasonable because she quite literally has no guidance her mother is only consumed with Devi not making the family “look bad” Devi’s grief is so heavy and she feels she’s going at it alone because her mother doesn’t take genuine time to talk to her. Now was Devi “stalking” her mother extremely inappropriate yes for sure but do Nalini and her need to communicate better for Devi to understand that her mother wasn’t dating sure even if Nalini was on a date their should have been communication there. Devi will probably never stop grieving her father hell he literally came to her in a dream to tell her she deserves better when it came to “dating” Paxton and Nalini will probably never stop grieving her husband but she deserves happiness too and I believe if Devi and Nalini were both honest with each other her slowly dating again wouldn’t have been a problem. Another point I wanna make connecting Devi, Paxton, and Ben is they all have this view that the grass is greener on the other side and that’s just not the case. Ben is jealous of Paxton cause he feels he has the “Perfect life” but in actuality Paxton is extremely flawed and honestly insecure his own family doesn’t believe in him and he knows people only like him because he is attractive, while Paxton looks at Ben like this, while annoying Ben is smart, rich, and no one ever questions Ben’s intelligence but in actuality Ben is very lonely and has spent most of his life alone or being raised by other people which has caused him to put on a huge front to people and often times overcompensate in his social life, and Devi looks at other girls like they have it all and have 0 struggles or problems (I.e her views on Anissa) but Devi fails to realize thy also struggle, are insecure, is struggling with mental illness, and don’t have themselves figured out, and Devi is looking at this man her mom is “dating” as if he’s taking something away but In actuality he is experiencing his own losses. All in all Never Have I Ever gets teenage angst and messy problematic morally grey teenagers right and the fact that y’all beg for more “flawed or problematic” characters and when you get them you don’t like that they are just that it’s odd to me it seems like y’all only want problematic characters if it’s how you see fit.

TL;DR: Y’all need to stop acting like y’all weren’t gross annoying and had fuck ups as teenagers y’all should really stop pretending like teenagers in real and some of us as teens didn’t have/engage in relationships that weren’t good but we learned from it while this show isn’t real it shows y’all will scream let people fuck up and let them grow but you don’t actually mean it. Devi is a teenager and requires room to grow she even admits she acts out and is impulsive but y’all act like she’s supposed to have the self awareness of a 60 year old.

#netflix never have i ever #never have i ever season 2 #tv show #never have i ever #devi vishwakumar #paxton hall yoshida #ben gross #nalini vishwakumar #maitreyi ramakrishnan #darren barnet #Poorna Jagannathan #jaren lewison #rant #analysis #spoilers #never have I ever spoilers #I wrote this at like 2am so if it doesn’t make much sense 🤷🏾‍♀️#I just had to get these thoughts out there cause it’s been on my mind

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farfromharry · 3 years

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The one with the much needed bandaid | Peter’s Girl

Summary: You and Peter finally talk about what you saw the night of Liz’s party, and you become sort of his go to nurse

Word count - 2375

Warnings - mentions of injury, language? i can’t remember

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

Peter had spent the entire weekend practically pulling his hair out over the whole thing with Y/N. He couldn’t believe he was so reckless that in the space of the same night he’d managed to one, accidentally reveal his identity to one of his best friends, two, scare away the bad guys by underestimating just how dangerous they were, and three, summon Mr Stark- well his suit and some kind of phone call, to save him from a lake after being dropped in by some weird bird man.

So you could say Peter’s last few days hadn’t been very enjoyable or realistic at all and it was driving him insane.

He was trying to fix things one by one, and he’d begun with apologising to Mr Stark for any inconvenience he caused. His mentor was quick to brush it off, telling him not to get too worked up about it, but warning him to leave the dangerous men to him and the people who were specially trained to deal with these kinds of things, not just some kid from Queens.

He didn’t know how much of that he would stick to, determined to catch these guys as quickly as possible if the avengers weren’t going to jump in, but he’d try and keep that quiet and unknown to Tony of course.

The next part of his plan was to find you on Monday morning, to at least try and explain what he was doing in Spiderman’s suit outside of Liz’s party, maybe tell a few white lies to get himself out of the web he’s caught himself in.

And his plan for the bad guys… well that was still in the works, but he was smart so he’d figure it out in his own time.

»»——⍟——««

You had received numerous texts and calls from Peter since the moment you woke up that morning, all of which had been ignored. You’d gathered he’d want to talk to you but you weren’t returning the sentiment, and you weren’t even sure why. Were you mad he didn’t tell you? Mad that he’d put himself in all that danger?

You didn’t know, but you did know that you were planning on avoiding him so you didn’t have to find out.

Peter had met up with Ned that morning like he did every morning. He was rambling on about some new star wars theory that the brunette would normally love to hear and give his opinion on, so the fact that Peter was ignoring him was strange.

“Are you okay? You seem a little on edge,” Ned pointed out. Peter turned to look at him with a small, unconvincing look.

“I just need to talk to Y/N.”

Ned rolled his eyes. He didn’t know what happened that night other than Peter had left him looking stupid at the party, prompting Flash to call the boy some names while he wasn’t there.

Seeing as Mj had stopped defending him and Ned wouldn’t get involved, the male was free to ridicule Peter for as long as he wished, making for a lot of weird stares in the school halls.

But back to the present, his best friend didn’t seem too happy that he was so obviously keeping things from him, because Peter Parker was a horrible liar.

When your eyes met Peter’s figure resting against your locker you quickly spun around and started heading in the opposite direction, even if you had no idea where you were planning on going. Your hair whipping around was what caught Peter’s attention from his peripheral vision.

“Gotta go,” he announced to Ned, heading off the way you left with a quick jog in his step. You could hear Peter calling your name louder the closer he got, prompting you to speed up.

You cursed quietly when you came to the end of the hallway, having to decide on the spot whether to go left to a crowd of rowdy students, or right to a dead end. People must have thought you both looked crazy, even though that was the only other conclusion you could come to about yourself after you saw Peter on the rooftop.

“Y/N!” Peter yelled, grabbing your wrist in a gentle but firm grip. You stared at him wide eyed, almost like you were afraid of him, and it was a look that Peter never wanted to see again.

He quickly looked around before tugging you through an open door that led you to an empty classroom.

He closed the door behind him, leaving you standing there watching him blankly. He took a few minutes to try and prepare what he was going to say, granted something he should’ve probably done before he pulled you into a room with him.

“I want to explain the other night,” he stated, meeting your eyes for the first time that day. Your expression stayed stoic, pursing your lips.

“You want to lie your way out of admitting you’re Spiderman?” you sassed. The male was slightly taken back at your bluntness.

“Yeah, I guess,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood slightly. You didn’t look impressed at all, and he sputtered out a few apologies.

“Okay yes, I am Spiderman-“ you interrupted him with a scoff, running your hands through your hair in frustration. “Please just hear me out, y/n/n.”

You huffed, folding your arms over your chest. Peter had to admit that without your usual happy mood, you were intimidating and he never knew you were even capable of that.

“Fine, go ahead.”

He took a deep breath. “You aren’t meant to know because- it-it’s dangerous Y/N.” Your heart fluttered slightly. “I didn’t tell anyone because I wanted you all to be safe, I don’t know what I’d do if I was the reason you got hurt.”

Your features noticeably softened. He stepped closer to you, taking your hands in his and running his thumb over the back of your skin.

“You can’t tell anyone, please.” His soft eyes met yours in a pleading look.

“Who else knows?” you asked.

“Ned,” he mumbled. “And Mr Stark, but that’s it.”

You perked up slightly, and Peter noticed.

“So, Mj doesn’t know?” He shook his head, murmuring something about how it probably wouldn’t take her long to figure out though. Sensing your happiness about his words, the boy assumed you were happy that you knew something that she didn’t, and he didn’t really understand why. But that wasn’t the case, you were just glad that it meant she was safe, what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, right?

“Will you keep my secret?” he asked, staring at you with eyes that resembled those of a scared puppy. You sighed, flashing him a smile and nodding your head.

“Of course I will.” The tone of your voice suggested to Peter that you weren’t done and there was going to be some kind of condition here.

“But?” he prompted.

“But please be careful, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He grinned, pulling you into a tight hug. You tucked your head under his chin, inhaling his scent and being calmed by his presence.

Peter couldn’t wipe the smirk off of his face thinking about how you weren’t aware of his abilities, something he’d have to explain to you sometime. “You have so much to learn about me.”

»»——⍟——««

A soft tapping on your window was the last thing you expected to hear at almost midnight on a weekday. You raised your head from your pillow, squinting your eyes to try and make out what was on the other side of the glass.

You eventually had to turn on your light, startling when you noticed the shape of a person, more specifically a superhero.

You swung your legs over the side of your bed, hissing when your feet made contact with the cold floor, but you pushed that aside to go and open your window to invite Peter in.

He hastily pulled off his mask, revealing his ruffled hair and bloody face to you.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, taking note of the streaks of red on the side of his face. He looked at you with tears in his eyes, stepping forward without a word to engulf you in a hug.

You were careful wrapping your arms around him, making sure you didn’t cause him anymore pain with your hand placement.

“What happened?”

He raised his head, pressing the spider symbol in the middle of his chest. His suit grew loose, making it easy for him to take off and leave on your bedroom floor.

Your eyes widened, staring at Peter’s body in shock. You knew when he explained the whole situation with the spider that he would have some muscle, but you were definitely not expecting that.

“Um,” you were more or less speechless, forgetting how to even form words while this gorgeous boy was standing in your room in nothing but underwear.

Peter obviously hadn’t thought it completely through, his eyes widening when he realised you were indeed staring at him half naked.

“Sorry, I-I-“ You shook your head, ignoring the definite blush on your cheeks as you guided him to your bathroom. You got the boy to sit down on the side of the tub, where he nervously played with his fingers.

“So, what happened?” you asked, setting your emergency first aid kit on the side. He blankly looked up to you, finally looking at you properly. Only now did he notice that you must have been trying to go to sleep.

You were in an old shirt and a pair of sleep shorts, your hair tied up in a messy ponytail without any makeup. Peter always thought you were pretty, and it seemed as though he was only now realising just how pretty you were.

“Pete?” you whispered, snapping him out of his daydream.

He apologised. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you could turn your head to the light.” He nodded, doing as you asked and bearing his wounded cheekbone to you. His fists clenched when he felt you touch the alcohol to his cheek, hearing a small apology after you heard his pained hiss.

He thought back to a couple minutes ago when you’d ask how this happened, mentally debating whether he should tell you or not. He came to the conclusion that if you were going to generously patch him up then the least he could do was tell you how he got himself in this state in the first place.

“There was some guys following this girl, trying to back her into an alley.” You paused your hand movements, looking into his soft honey eyes with a sympathetic smile. He took that as a sign to continue. “I couldn’t just let it happen, I thought about if that was you or Mj and ai just-“

Your heart almost burst with love for the boy, pressing a friendly kiss to the top of his head that had him blushing a deep scarlet in seconds.

“You did the right thing, even if you got a little hurt.”

He nodded, glad he was able to get your approval, especially after your one condition of not telling anyone was that he was as careful as he could be.

“Where else does it hurt?”

You helped clean Peter up as best as you could, the boy telling you that his quick healing should deal with the parts that you couldn’t, such as the bruised ribs.

“Let me just put a bandaid on and you’re good to go.” He rolled his eyes, trying to tell you that he didn’t need it. It was only a small cut on his bicep but you were insisting on covering it up. Peter watched as your eyes widened when you pulled the bandaids from the first aid kit.

“What is it?” he asked.

You nervously held them up, watching as his face twisted into one of amusement. He let out a loud laugh, quickly being scolded by you as you warned him that your parents were sleeping.

“Really, Y/N?” You blushed, looking down at the bandaid in your hand with a flood of embarrassment. The face of Iron Man stared back at you while Peter continued to giggle. You rolled your eyes, holding out his arm and sticking the bandaid over his cut anyway.

“I hope Mr Stark sees,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him like a child. “You’re all done.”

He thanked you quietly, heading back into your room while you tidied away the mess you’d made on the counter.

Only when you were done you headed back, planning on getting straight back into your bed as soon as Peter had left.

“Thank you for helping me.” You nodded your head, leaning against the door frame of the bathroom as you watched him slip his suit back on.

“Peter,” you whispered, catching his attention just before he left. He hummed quietly. “You know you can come here anytime you need help, right?”

You were being completely genuine, and Peter could see that in your eyes. He was incredibly grateful for you. He held out his hand to you so you’d come over, intertwining your fingers with his when you were close enough to reach.

On an instinct he dipped his head so he was able to kiss your cheek, refusing to meet your eyes as a cute blush spread across his face, the tips of his ears also tinting pink. If he’d have looked at you, you were sure he would’ve noticed he made you equally as hot and bothered, your heart racing so fast you were surprised he couldn’t hear it.

But he could, and it only made him more nervous that he’d just messed things up.

“I know.” He sent you a smile before shooting one of his webs towards a building in the close distance, slipping his mask on over his face and giving you a wave as a final farewell for the night. Thus began the routine of Spiderman showing up at your window every time he was injured and in need of a bandaid, or in some cases a little more than a bandaid.

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

peter’s girl taglist → @sunsetholland @captainamirica @tomsirishgirlx @givebuckyhisplumsnow @lou-la-lou @slutforsr @tayyx @gog0juice @minejungwoo @creatorofthegalaxy @annathesillyfriend @paninipress @bvttercupbby @peterswebshooters @whoeveniskendall @itsallyscorner @hoodpankow

#peter’s girl #peter parker series #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker #tom holland

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drabbles-mc · 4 years

Text

You Don’t Remember?

EZ Reyes x Reader

Warnings: language (mild)

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: This one was a lot of fun. 🥰 Drunk EZ with some light angst and some fluff to wrap it all up. Enjoy, and as always, feel free to shoot me any requests you have!

You groaned as the sound of your phone vibrating jolted you from your sleep. You blindly groped around your nightstand until your hand found it, forcing your eyes to open to see who the fuck was calling you at this hour. You saw EZ’s name flashing across the screen. Of course. But there was no way you could let the call go to voicemail.

“What, EZ?” you grumbled.

It was loud in the background and you knew that he was partying, “Y/N, I miss you.”

You laughed, forcing yourself to sit upright, “So much that you had to call me at 2AM?”

“Can you come get me?” Your brows furrowed when you heard his question. If he was partying at the clubhouse his trailer was a very short walk away. You wondered where he had ended up. As if he could hear your thoughts, he spoke up, “I’m at the clubhouse. Lights and water are out in my trailer and I really don’t wanna call Pop.”

You laughed, not being able to blame him. Felipe would do anything for his sons, but this wasn’t something that he would be necessarily happy about. You sighed, “Fine. I’ll be there in 20. Grab some clothes to change into…I don’t want your gross party clothes ruining my couch.”

“You’re an angel, Querida.”

You rolled your eyes—he was always such a flirt when he was drunk, “See you in a bit, EZ.”

The two of you were close, you knew that you didn’t need to change out of your pajamas to go and get him. You pulled on a beanie and slipped into your sneakers before heading out the door. The whole drive there you just had to chuckle and shake your head. Sometimes you worried that EZ was going to grow apart from you as he got in deeper with the MC, but if you were his first drunk call at 2 in the morning after a night of partying with the club, you had to have been doing something right.

You rolled into the compound, the music outside filtering into your car. You laughed, shaking your head as EZ came stumbling out of his trailer, clothes balled up in his hands. You left the car running as you opened the door and stepped out to greet him. His smile grew wide when he saw you, wrapping you in an extremely tight hug. You laughed, but couldn’t bring yourself to pull out of it.

“Hey, beautiful,” he smiled down at you, “Thank you so much.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, “Thank me in the morning when you’ve got a killer headache.”

You both climbed into your car and EZ melted back into the passenger seat. You put the radio on low to kill the silence as you pulled back out onto the street. As you drove, you felt EZ’s eyes on you. You glanced a quick look at him as you were driving and chuckled to yourself when you saw the starry-eyed way he was staring at you.

“You’re still in your PJ’s, Y/N,” his voice was always a little softer and lighter when he was drunk.

You laughed, nodding, “Yea, because you woke me up at like 2 in the morning, EZ.”

His eyes grew wide, “Are you mad at me?”

You looked over at him for a moment flashed him a smile, “Of course not. I’d always rather have you call me than try to drive or something while you’re drunk. Please don’t think that I’d be mad at you for that. But, it will mean that I am picking you up in my pajamas.”

“We should do pajama parties more often.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes, “You sleep in your goddamn jeans, EZ. I don’t even think you own pajamas.”

He laughed, turning in the seat to face you, “They are my pajamas, Y/N.”

“Just because you wear them to bed doesn’t mean they’re pajamas,” you glanced at him and couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at the way he was staring at you.

A few more minutes passed and you were pulling into your driveway. Your house wasn’t much but it was a safe place for him to crash until whatever was wrong with his trailer got fixed. You hopped out the car and walked around the other side to open his door for him. He stumbled out, leaning slightly onto you for support as he tried to get his footing. The two of you walked up to your front steps, bodies somewhat entwined as you dug around your purse for your house keys.

You pushed the door open and led EZ down the hall to the bathroom, “You can get changed and stuff in here. I’ll grab some blankets and a pillow for you for the couch.”

His arm lingered around you for a little longer than necessary but you didn’t feed into it. You shut the door behind you and walked down to your bedroom to grab some blankets for him. A few minutes later light flooded into the hallway as EZ exited the bathroom. You waved him over, trying not to gawk at him in his tank top and basketball shorts.

He laughed, “I brought shorts because I know you hate when I sleep in jeans.”

You smiled, shaking your head, “Then maybe we can have more pajama parties in the future,” you stepped in and hugged him, “I put some water and advil on the coffee table for you. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

He squeezed you close to him, taking a deep breath as he rested his head on top of yours, “You’re beautiful.”

Your whole body warmed at the sentiment but the realistic side of you said not to put too much stock into drunk words. You had said you fair share of dumb things while intoxicated, too. You pulled back and smiled at him, “And you’re handsome even when you’re drunk. Goodnight, EZ, give a shout if you need anything.”

You went to walk away but he pulled you back by your arm, pressing his lips against yours and snaking his hand underneath your beanie into your hair. You let yourself melt into it for a few moments before realizing just what was really happening. You slowly pulled back and looked at him, and the smile on his face made your stomach flip.

“Goodnight, Querida,” his voice was tired and he was beginning to mumble, “Thank you for everything.”

You couldn’t force yourself to say anything else as you all but ran off down the hallway, shutting your bedroom door behind you. You leaned back against it, trying to catch your breath as you processed everything that had just happened. You listened against the door for a minute and you were met with complete silence and you assumed that EZ had already fallen asleep.

You crawled into bed, pulling the blanket up over you as you stared up at the ceiling. You had no idea what the next morning was going to be like. What were you supposed to say? Was he going to be the one to bring it up? The thoughts raced around your head until they tired you out enough to fall asleep.

You woke up the next morning to the sound of your shower running. You sat up and stretched, trying to gather your thoughts. You still had no idea how to approach the subject of what happened. You were hoping inspiration would hit you when you saw him. You changed into a pair of shorts and a hoodie before heading out towards your kitchen to get breakfast started. It wasn’t going to be anything fancy but you also assumed that in his hungover state he wasn’t going to be in the mood for food that was too complex anyway.

A few minutes later you heard footsteps behind you. You looked over your shoulder at EZ to see what state he was in and you weren’t disappointed. “You feelin’ alright?” you asked with a smile.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled out a chair at your table to sit down, “I’m not feelin’ alright, thanks for asking,” he pressed his fingertips against his temples, “Not gonna lie, I woke up and got very worried because I wasn’t in my trailer,” he laughed, “I do not remember getting here last night.”

Your heart sank but you tried to hide it. You forced a smile, “You don’t remember callin’ my ass up at 2AM to ask me to come and get you?”

He looked over at you and was trying not to laugh as he apologized, “I’m so obnoxious I am so sorry.”

You shook your head with a smile as you brought two plates over to the table, “Don’t be sorry. You weren’t that obnoxious.”

“Did I say anything stupid?”

You contemplated telling him what happened, but if he really forgot maybe it was better for the both of you if you kept it to yourself. You shrugged, “Nothing stupider than some of the shit you say when you’re sober.”

He laughed, rubbing his head again, “You gotta stop talking to my brother. You sound more and more like him all the time.”

“You mentioned last night that you have no water or lights? What’s up with that?”

He sighed, shaking his head, “I don’t know. I called Pop to ask him who I should call and he gave me a couple names. Called one guy and he said he’d be out sometime this weekend to look at what’s going on.”

“You need a place to stay until then?”

“You offering?”

You wanted to backpedal but you also didn’t want to seem like a dick. He didn’t remember what happened and you wished that you could wipe it from your memory but you couldn’t. You didn’t know how to tell him that you might need a couple days of space. You cleared your throat, nodding, “I mean, yea, if you need to crash you know my door is always open for you. Just figured that Angel would’ve offered up his spot.”

“Yea like I’d wanna be crashing with him,” he laughed, “But, um, it would really help me out. I shouldn’t be here more than a couple days.”

You nodded, regretting everything you were doing, “Yea, of course. I always got you,” you paused “I got a couple errands to run today though. So, if you want, I can drop you back at the clubhouse and you can pack some stuff and take your bike back here?”

He nodded, “Sounds good.”

After breakfast you dropped him off at the clubhouse and tossed him your house keys, knowing that he was going to be back before you were. You gave a quick goodbye and took off, needing to go and clear your head. You left EZ in the dust, slightly confused on why things felt just a little bit off.

The rest of the day you managed to find more things to do to keep yourself from having to go home. You wanted to see EZ but you hated living with the fact that he had kissed you, and you had loved it, and he doesn’t remember any of it. You contemplated reaching out to Angel, but you weren’t sure if you were up for that.

You pulled into the driveway and sighed. The lights were on, and EZ’s bike was parked in the driveway. You had a few bags of groceries, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to come home empty-handed without cluing EZ in to the fact that something was wrong.

You walked in, the smell of food instantly hitting you. You walked to the kitchen and saw EZ at the stove. He turned back to you with a smile, “Hey, hope you don’t mind, I kinda helped myself to your food,” he laughed, “But I did make enough for both of us.”

A smile spread across your face without you even thinking about it. The sight of EZ cooking in your kitchen after a long day made your heart swell inside your chest. You lifted up the grocery bags, “Well, good thing I went shopping today.”

You unpacked and put away everything that you had bought, trying not to let yourself get caught up in the domesticity of what was going on around you. You wanted to lock yourself up in your room so that your mind wouldn’t get carried away. This wouldn’t be messing with you so much if he hadn’t kissed you—it would just be two friends spending time together. But he had kissed you, and now it all felt different.

You ate dinner together, and you tried as hard as you could not to act different. But you could tell that EZ was picking up on the fact that something was off. He didn’t say anything about it specifically, but you could tell that he was choosing his words carefully.

At the end of the night you gave him a hug before disappearing into your room, shutting the door firmly behind you. You let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. If he was going to be here for a few more nights you didn’t know if you were going to be able to keep it together. You texted Angel, “I need your advice. Can we meet up tomorrow?”

His reply came quickly, “Yea come on down to the clubhouse.”

“Not there.”

“Pop’s shop?”

You sighed with relief, “Yea sounds good.”

The two of you firmed up a time and it helped you be able to fall asleep. Maybe he’d have some insight that would help you navigate the whole situation. After all, no one knew EZ better than his own brother.

EZ left early in the morning. He left a note saying that he had some club stuff to take care of and you would be lying if you said that you weren’t relieved. You called Angel up, “Hey, change of plans. Wanna come over to my house to talk?”

“Uh, yea,” he sounded confused, “Sure. I can be there in like half an hour.”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you soon,” you hung up and set about making yourself a cup of coffee while you waited.

You heard a motorcycle rolling into your driveway about thirty minutes later. Angel let himself in and found you sitting at the table in your kitchen, still in your lounge shorts and an old t-shirt. “Hey, Y/N,” he walked over to give you a hug and a kiss on the top of your head, “Everything alright?”

“I need your advice.”

“Shoot.”

“So, I picked your brother up from the clubhouse the other night, and he was…pretty drunk.”

“What’d that motherfucker do?” his whole body tensed up.

You laughed, waving him off, “Relax, nothing terrible. Anyway, he was pretty drunk. And he kissed me. But, Angel, it was a real kiss, a game-changing kiss. The only thing is…well…he woke up the next morning and didn’t remember it,” you buried your face in your hands, “And now I’m left with all these feelings and he’s currently living in my fucking house and he has no idea about any of it. And I know I’ve been off with him and he knows it and I just can’t fucking say anything about it.”

“Why not?”

“What?”

“Why can’t you say somethin’?” he looked genuinely confused.

“Because he was blackout drunk, Angel. I don’t wanna make things weird.”

“No offense, Y/N,” he chuckled, “But it sounds like you’re already making things weird. How much weirder can it get if you tell him what happened? Who knows, he’s probably actually into you.”

“You think?” you hadn’t let yourself entertain that thought for too long, not wanting to set yourself up to get disappointed.

He laughed, “He’s not me, you know. He’s got a much more…narrow scope when it comes to hookin’ up with people. I’d find it hard to believe that he would do that to someone he didn’t have some kind of feelings for, even if he was drunk.”

You sat there in silence for a few moments, soaking up everything Angel had just said to you. You sighed, “I gotta talk to him, huh?”

He chuckled, nodding, “Yea, you do,” he stood up, placing another kiss on top of your head, “You got this. And, if he’s a dumbass about it, call me and I’ll beat him up.”

You laughed, nodding, “Thank you, Angel. For everything.”

“I gotchu,” he shot you a wink before heading out.

You took a couple minutes to catch your breath before reaching for your phone to call EZ and ask him to come home. It rang a couple times before he finally answered. You forced the words out, “Hey, are you…are you gonna be back soon?”

“Umm, I mean, I can come back whenever. It just…it seemed like you needed some space.”

“Can you come back? I need to talk to you.”

You could hear the nerves in his voice, “Yea, I’ll be there in ten.”

He strode through the door, looking around eagerly for you. He saw you sitting on the couch cross-legged with your phone in your lap. You looked up at him and offered a small, nervous smile. He walked over and sat down close to you, fighting the urge to reach out and take your hand in his.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

You nodded, “Uh, yea. I, I think so,” you ran your fingers through your hair nervously, “I just…I know I’ve been acting weird the past couple days.”

“If me staying here is too much, you can say so. I’ll go crash with Pop or Angel.”

You shook your head, “No, no. It’s not that. I just, I’ve been really confused about a couple things,” you took a deep breath, “You know how I picked you up the other night?” you looked over to him and he nodded but didn’t say anything, not wanting to interrupt you, “When you were saying goodnight to me, you kissed me. And,” you chuckled despite the tears welling up in your eyes, “it was a hell of a kiss, EZ. But then, you…you didn’t fucking remember. And I’ve just been kinda fucked up about it.” You could see it on his face that his heart sank at the sight of you in tears over him. “I just,” you took an unsteady breath, “I need to know what your actual feelings are. Because I really care about you and I…I wouldn’t mind getting kissed by you like that all the time,” you smiled, “But I’m not looking to put you in a weird position either.”

“Jesus, Y/N,” he leaned back against the couch with a laugh, “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I thought I could just forget about it too, but, apparently not.”

He scooted closer to you and finally took your hands in his own, “I’m really sorry that you had to find all of that out while I was drunk,” he shook his head at himself, “I know it wasn’t me at my best. But I really do care about you so much. And I’m pissed that I can’t remember my own first kiss with you but—”

You cut him off by pressing your lips against his. The shock faded out of his body and you felt him relax and lean into you. Just like before, his hand naturally crept up into your hair and you smiled through your kiss. You placed your hand on his side and pulled him closer to you. The heat from his body seeped through your shirt and you never wanted to pull away.

Finally, the two of you had to come up for air. EZ leaned back slightly, his hand falling to rest on your leg. Both of you were smiling, and you could feel your cheeks getting hot and you knew that your whole face was turning red.

“Was it like that?” EZ finally asked with a chuckle.

“Something like that, yea,” you laughed.

“Yea,” EZ pulled you over to you were lying on top of him, “we should definitely be doing this all the time.”

#ez reyes #ezekiel reyes #ez reyes x you #ez reyes x reader #mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #ez reyes imagine #ez reyes fanfic #ez reyes fluff #fanfiction #my writing #angel reyes #drabblesmc

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deppsessed · 4 years

Text

Good luck charm #2

Part one here

Pairing: Johnny Depp x reader

It’s taken me a few weeks to write and be happy with this part to post. I hope that you all enjoy it and that it was worth the wait.

A few days later, I swear I can still smell the musky scent of Sauvage, and the taste of cigarettes on my lips. It’s hard to comprehend any of the last seventy-two hours being real, and going by Alex’s (who I’m sitting opposite having coffee with) reaction and raised eyebrows at me retelling the whole story, she’s having a hard time with it too. And in all honesty, I don’t blame her, it’s a lot to process.

“So, he invited you to the concert after party?”

I nod my head and take a sip of my coffee.

“Yep.”

“And he took you back to his hotel room? Where you-”

My lips curve into a smirk.

“He sure did.”

“And you’re aware of the fact this all sounds like a badly written fanfiction?”

I have to burst out laughing. There’s no denying it because it really, really does. I couldn’t have made it up if I tried.

“Did I tell you about the part where he had to get his security to smuggle me out of the building unnoticed the next morning?”

For me, that had been the most amusing part of the story. Having breakfast with him as if it was the most normal thing in the world. After a few more spent kisses and I’d decided that it was time for us to part ways, he’d sent in his security in to make sure I got out of the building safely.

“But the real question is… Has he called or texted you?”

He hadn’t yet. The band had played a show last night, and would be travelling again for their next tomorrow. I wasn’t hanging on and waiting for him to reach out to me either. It would be pretty easy for me to pick up the phone and call him too, but I refused to be that desperate.

I shake my head in reply to Alex’s question.

“No, but he gave me his number.”

“So, he’s waiting for you to call him then?”

Realistically, the chances were that it was a one night thing. I wouldn’t hear from him again and we’d go our separate ways. I’d rather be hit with the reality of the situation than holding out on hope for a phone call and being disappointed when it didn’t happen.

“I’m not going to. I don’t want him to think that I’m pining over him and completely desperate!”

“You’re insane… You know, if he wasn’t in the slightest bit interested then he wouldn’t have given you his number to begin with.”

That was a true enough point to make, but I’m still not deluded enough to give into the fantasy. I’m ready to give her a reply when my phone, that’s been sitting on the table in front of me, starts to frantically vibrate.

“Oh my god!”

Alex spots the name on the screen before I’m able to take a glance.

“He’s calling you! This really is a badly written fanfiction!”

I shrug my shoulders and continue to let the phone ring out. If it’s important, he’ll leave a voicemail.

“If you don’t answer that, I will!”

I scowl at her and shake my head, it’s hard to believe that I’m the one that’s being responsible about handling all of this. Before she’s able to reach for the phone, I’m swiping it off the table and standing up. “I’m at least taking it outside.” I grumble under my breath.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi-” The voice on the other end is raspy and familiar. I can just about see him fidgeting around like he does in interviews when he’s nervous. “It’s Johnny.”

Silence.

I’m confused. Does he want me to make the next move?

“Right… Your name rings a bell. There was this Johnny, that the other night I went to go and see his band and ended up spending the night in his hotel room-”

I don’t even mean for the words to sound as aggressive as they do .

“I feel like I owe you a little of an explanation -- I don’t usually do this. I, uh, I don’t usually invite girls - especially fans - back to my hotel room, and not call for three days.”

So it’s one of those phone calls, where he’s expecting to let me down gently and feels the need to explain everything that I already know to be the case.

“There’s no need to make a fool of yourself… I get it.”

“I don’t think that you do.”

What isn’t there to get?

“I get it. I mean this is probably the part where you offer me an obscene amount of money to not go to the press about it. You don’t need to worry--”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

I freeze dead in my tracks, the thoughts of my overactive imagination and the words that I’m about to hit him with come to a close. Am I hearing things? Did he really just say…

“What?”

“It’s probably a really bad line. I don’t know if you heard me, I said….”

God, he’s insufferable.

“No, I heard you… I just don’t get it.”

He has his choice of any girl in the world. Models, actresses, and here he is calling me.

“The other night was special for me-”

It’s a cliché, and just about the worst thing that he could come out with, but I’ll let him continue.

“Listen, this probably sounds insane… but I want you here for the show tomorrow-”

He can’t be serious or that disconnected with reality. But then I remember the industry that he’s been working with the past thirty years, where he doesn’t have a nine to five job to cling onto, with a snap of his fingers he can pack his bags and travel somewhere else.

“I can fly you out, get you into the concert.”

That’s it. I can’t hold in my laughter, and I can just about see him pondering on the other end what’s so funny about his offer.

“I have a job-”

“So, call in sick?”

“It doesn’t work like that or that I don’t want to. It’s just, if I let you pay for the tickets and fly me out then that’s cheap, and I don’t want to be that person.”

There’s a long, drawn out sigh on the other end of the phone.

“Let me call you back.” I tell him, “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

---

A family emergency had been the most inventive thing that I’d been able to come up with, but it at least stopped any questions and pestering from work and friends about skipping town all of a sudden. The process of getting there had been planned to perfection, he was going to have one of the band’s security head on out to the airport and take me back to the concert venue - even if I had told him ten times how ridiculous it was and that I could get a cab, he had been insistent.

The journey from the airport to the venue has me pondering the insanity of it all. Both in him actually wanting me here, and me going as far as to make it happen.

The car pulls into the loading bay of the venue, where the tour buses and trucks with the band’s gear are on it. It’s when I get out of the car, that I notice him, like he’s just stepped off a photoshoot, puffing on a cigarette. I make the conscious decision to take him by surprise and sneak up on him.

“You know, those things are going to kill you one day-”

He startles, just about jumping out of his skin and choking on his cigarette in the process.

“Too bad we’re all going to die anyway, so we might as well indulge in the bad things while we’re alive and kicking.”

“That’s a little of a morbid stance to have.”

He laughs and shrugs his shoulders, unphased, “Calling me out on my smoking and then calling me morbid might be the best ‘hello’ I’ve ever gotten.”

He flicks the cigarette to the floor before stubbing it out with his shoe. He stands there with outstretched arms, ready to welcome me, but in blind panic I go for a handshake rather than a hug.

“Hi.”

His eyes widen, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. I can almost see his thought process of just how he’s going to redeem himself and move on from the award pause.

“Hi,” There’s a long pause. “Was your flight okay? You got here safe?”

Thankfully, the flight had only been a couple of hours long - but that was more than enough time for me to spend on a plane. There was something about being in a constricted space, thousands of feet up in the air that made me nervous. Plus, without fail, I always felt disgusting afterwards.

“Guy beside me was snoring and drooling the whole time, I felt incriminated.”

“Should’ve taken my offer to fly you out first class.” I snort and roll my eyes at him. We’d already been over this, I’d made myself clear, I wasn’t going to be his groupie.

“Actually, without being rude, is there a place I can go and shower first? Being frisked at security and sitting on a plane kind of makes me feel gross.”

His eyebrow raises in amusement, I can almost see the cheeky comment that he’s threatening to make on the tip of his tongue, but something stops him. “Tour bus is free at the moment. I can give you the exclusive tour, too.”

Showering on a tour bus. Great. Exactly what I had in mind.

“Ladies first,” He gestures with his hand for me to move in front of him. It doesn’t take a scientist to work out that the giant black RV with the band logo across it is where we’re headed..

Much to my surprise, going inside, it’s more like a luxury hotel room on wheels. It feels a better standard than my apartment back home.

“This part is the kitchen…. We don’t use it much, aside from the mini bar.”

It doesn’t even qualify to be called a kitchen. It’s a tiny little counter space with a microwave, a coffee machine, and a mini fridge.

“And this is where we sit and relax, talk, play guitar...” He points towards the plush leather sofas adjacent to each other. “The cool part here is that the wall slides back if you need more space.”

“Impressive.”

“These are the bunks where we bring back the groupies.”

I’m unsure whether they look claustrophobic, like I’ve heard many complaints about, or if they look quite cozy.

“There’s a proper bedroom through there too, but Alice and Joe usually fight it out for it. I don’t mind sleeping it rougher.” He explains with a shrug of his shoulders. “Bathroom is through the back. Take as much time as you need. I’ll stand guard for you.”

“Thank you.” I look up at him with a smile before brushing past to open the door on the back wall that extends out into the bathroom. Much to my surprise, the room isn’t all that smaller than the bathroom in my apartment back home. The shower, that I assumed was going to be a small, cramped space, is quite spacious. The only strange thing is stripping down and knowing who is standing guard by the door.

He’s in every way true to his word, too. As I turn the water off and grab a towel to wrap myself in, I can hear a disagreement going on outside between Johnny and Tommy about the bathroom being otherwise engaged.

“I’m telling you, dude, you’re just going to need to find somewhere else to go and pee… Bathroom is off limits!”

“But I can’t hold it in, man! I’m dying! You think I can use the kitchen sink?”

Johnny starts to laugh at him, “You can’t be serious!”

There’s a little more toilet talk back and forth and laughing still going on by the time I’m dressed and nudging the door open carefully.

“Um, hi, Tommy.” I greet nervously and fold my arms over my chest.

“Oh! Now I get it… You have a girl here!”

I can feel a blush rise to my cheeks just thinking about what is no doubt going through his mind. Thankfully, Johnny comes to the rescue.

“It’s not -- it isn’t that, Tommy.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He gives a wink at the two of us. “I’ll leave you to it, J-man!” And just like that, Tommy is off the bus.

“I’m sorry about him.” Johnny sighs, “He says what he thinks, there’s no stopping him.”

“It’s fine,” I brush off, acting as if I’m unbothered. But in reality, that one comment has gotten to me. I can’t help but have the niggling thought in the back of my mind, if that’s the way that Tommy is going to react, then what is the rest of the band going to be like?

---

The concert was amazing, even better than what it had been a few nights ago. I’d watched the show from the side of the stage, and could safely say that this time, Johnny had been looking and smiling at me.

I hadn’t wanted to face the confrontations of the band after the show, so after the encore, I had decided to hide away in Johnny’s dressing room to look at my phone for a moment of peace and quiet. If I was to exclude the fact that it was Johnny Depp’s dressing room that I was sitting in, it would have felt like the first normal moment of an otherwise bizarre day.

The door flying open makes me look up from the screen, to see Johnny standing there, still hot and sweaty from being under the lights.

“Everything okay?” He asks with a concerned expression, “You weren’t there when I came off stage. I was a little worried that I’d scared you off.”

I’m hardly going to tell him that I’m scared of running into the band when he’s the one that’s brought me out here to be with him. “I just didn’t want to get in the way, I thought you guys would be in a race to hit the showers.” I lie coolly. It seems to be good enough, since he goes to change the subject.

“What did you think?” He asks, a grin firmly in place on his lips. “Could you see and hear alright? The speakers weren’t too loud?”

I grin and nod my head eagerly. “You sounded amazing! Heroes was phenomenal...” I probably sound like I’m trying to impress him, but it’s my favourite song that the band do.

“Ah, you see,” He pauses to take a drink from his water bottle. “I think I had a little bit of extra good luck, with being cheered on the side front.”

I can feel that warm feeling of heat going up to my cheeks, and certainly not for the first time today. It makes me feel so powerless and awkward to just stand and say nothing.

“Um,” He scratches the back of his head, “You must be hungry?”

Starving, actually. I hadn’t had anything to eat since getting here and been too shy to pluck up the courage to ask about food since getting here. I’d accepted my fate and growling stomach a good few hours ago. But regardless, I downplay it, “A little, I guess…”

“Do you want to go and grab something to eat? I need to get showered and changed first…

I’m not certain what prospect makes me more nervous. Dinner with him. Or dinner uncomfortably sitting around all of the Hollywood Vampires eating. Both make my stomach flip. Especially since he isn’t going to specify.

#johnny depp imagine #johnny depp x reader #johnny depp fanfic

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lennonknowsmysins · 4 years

Note

could you do the gangster au but the “turning point” in their relationship?? i love your work so much 🥰

pt. 3 to gangster!George

tw: mobster gets a little too handsy, mild violence, arguing

You and George had been married for a month and you’d had maybe five conversations with him. He was a reserved man but you weren’t sure what else you expected from a gangster. Truthfully, you weren’t sure you minded. Since your conversation with Cynthia, Linda and Maureen, he didn’t put you on edge every time he was in the room but he still intimated you. George was practically always working, spending all day in his study (which you still had yet to see) and coming to bed late. He never tried to wake you up but you still liked to wait for him, pretending to be asleep.

Realistically, you figured you shouldn’t be too upset with him for not making much of an effort to get to know you considering hadn’t attempted to reach out to him either. Still, when the only time you really saw him was dinner and he spent most of the time talking to his mates, you couldn’t deny that you felt ignored. It wasn’t like you were thrilled to be married either.

The real struggle was trying to find something to do with yourself. Normally, you’d be busy with school but part of your father cutting off your freedom including forcing you to drop out of university. Now nothing seemed to hold your interest.

Linda, who you learned was a journalist (making her and Paul’s relationship taboo in the mob world), had begun enlisting you to spell check her articles. You spent a good amount of time with Cynthia as she’d invited you to help her paint the baby nursery. She was a lovely woman and you enjoyed her company but even as you painting those little blue birds and bounced baby names off one another, you couldn’t help the looming feeling of loneliness. You were just disconnected from the rest of them. Cynthia, Linda and Maureen were involved with each others lives while you...well, you were just there.

You were manifesting that your first public outing with George - some sort of annual gathering for allied mobs - would do something to help the disconnect between the two of you.

Upon entering the mansion, you pressed yourself closer to George. You may have not felt entirely comfortable with him but since Cynthia and Linda hadn’t been able to come (Cynthia because she was pregnant, Linda because of her profession) and Maureen was very much looking forward to having a date night with Ringo, George was your lifeline for the night.

The hall was full of men in fancy suits with dark looks in their eyes, most of them appearing to be twice your age. One by one, they came up to George, asking him about business deals and his father before eventually landing on you, at which point, George thankfully steered you away.

“Sorry about all of them.” George apologized, finding a seat on a couch in the corner of the room, “They’re swingers, the whole lot. ‘s why my da stopped coming to these events.”

You snorted as you sat down, “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am. They’ve been dropping hints that they’re interested in an orgy ever since we got married. Quite frankly, I’m not sure how to tell them no.” George said, shooting you a look. You burst into laughter, making George smile.

“Wait here, I have to talk to someone but I’ll be right back.” George told you, squeezing your shoulder before standing and beckoning to Paul. Paul smiled at you apologetically, following George and leaving you all alone in the corner. You watched Maureen dance with Ringo. You wished Linda and Cyn were here, if George wouldn’t dance with you, you were sure they would. At least, you wouldn’t be lonely.

Your bottom lip trembled but before you could feel too sorry for yourself, you felt the couch dip. A handsome blond man with the most dazzling blue eyes you’d ever seen had sat next to you. He wore a suit of velvet purple and had a martini glass in one hand and a curious grin on his face. A feeling of dread immediately crept into your gut.

“Now, why would a lovely lady such as yourself be sitting here all by herself?” He hummed in a confident tone. Unsure of how to react to the situation, you turned your eyes to your drink, swishing the clear liquid around.

“Waiting for someone.” You murmured back. You could’ve sworn that as soon as you’d said that, he scooted closer to you.

“You can call me Yates.” He said, although you hadn’t asked, “I don’t believe I caught your’s?”

You cleared your throat awkwardly, “I’m not sure I feel comfortable telling you that.”

“Aw, why not? Is it because I’m a big, scary gangster?” Yates chuckled, definitely scooting closer this time. He continued when you didn’t respond, “That’s fine baby, I’ll come up with one for you. It’s just important you know mine so you know what to scream later.”

Your face twisted in disgust and you would’ve attempted to get up had it not been for his hand curling around your thigh. The sudden grip made you freeze, giving Yates a chance to press himself against you.

“Let go of me. I’m here with my...my h-husband.” You stammered, trying to sound tough.

“Come on now, you don’t sound so sure of that. I doubt that George is that much of a husband anyhow.” He leered, tapping your cheek. Just as you were about to retort, Yates was being dragged off of you.

An angry George stood before you, clutching Yates’ collar in his fist. Everyone around you had stopped what they were doing to watch you.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch my wife.”

With that simple warning, he dropped the creep and grabbed your wrist, pulling you from your seat. As he brought you to the exit, the crowd resumed the party as though nothing had happened. You assumed this sort of thing happened often at mob events.

Once you were outside, George let go of you to light a cigarette, not bothering to look at you as he took a drag. John and Paul burst through the door after you.

“What the fuck just happened mate?” John asked.

“Yates had his hands all over (y/n).” George spat bitterly. The two men turned to you, shivering in your dress.

The alarm on Paul’s face dropped to concerned, “Are you alright, love?”

“I’m fine. Just a bit freaked out.” You shrugged, still trying to process the event. You hadn’t seen George this angry before.

“Yer cryin’.” John pointed out bluntly. You blinked, touching your cheek. Huh. You hadn’t realized.

George tilted his head towards you with an unreadable expression. He placed the cigarette between his lips, shrugging off his suit jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders.

“‘m taking her home.” He decided, putting an arm around you, “Paul, can you take John, Rich and Mo in your car?”

“Course, but-”

George didn’t wait for Paul to finish, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards his Mercedes. You glanced behind you to see Ringo and Maureen had joined John and Paul, who were explaining the situation to them. You caught Maureen’s sympathetic look before the car door closed.

The entire ride was silent, an awkward, bitter silence sitting between you and George. He didn’t even look at you as you walked up to the house, leaving the door for you to close.

“Go to bed.” George ordered gruffly, his back turned to you as he headed toward his office.

You stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded. He hadn’t really just spoken to you like you were a misbehaving child and not his wife.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

George paused. Then he turned around, his eyebrows set in annoyance. He wasn’t used to people questioning him, “What did you say?”

“I asked if you were joking about telling me to go to bed.” You huffed, rolling your eyes, “You know, just because I’m your wife doesn’t mean you control me.”

He glared at you, his eye twitching as he tried to think of a response. You saved him the trouble,

“For the record, you didn’t have to make such a big scene back there.”

“He had his hands all OVER you!” He spluttered, spit flying from his mouth, “And it wasn’t like you were doing anything to stop him!”

“I was scared, a strange man was invading my space because my husband completely abandoned me at a party where I didn’t know anyone!” You shout, your voice shaking as it echoed through the ridiculously large foyer.

George’s sour expression softened and you notice he chewed on the inside of his cheek. He swallowed thickly, “I had to talk to someone.”

“You still left me all alone.” You whispered angrily, “I know that this isn’t what either of us wanted and if I could, I’d go back and stop my father from getting us in this situation but we don’t have that choice.

You took a shuttering breath, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment before continuing,

“George, I get that we’re from two completely different worlds but I just had mine completely uprooted for your’s. You’ve barely spoken to me since the first two days after the wedding. For god’s sake, we sleep in the same damn bed and I don’t know that we’ve ever had a conversation. Y’know, the only thing I actually know about you is that you’re a mobster? I...I was just really hoping that tonight could fix that.”

George’s face didn’t change throughout the course of your rant but there was something that looked like a mix of surprise and guilt in his brown eyes. Ever the man of few words, he didn’t respond - you didn’t know if he didn’t want to or if he didn’t know how. You shook your head.

“No, no, you know what? I am gonna go to bed. I need some sleep.” You muttered, turning away from him and storming up the stairs without another word.

Linda was waiting for you at the top of the stairs but you brushed by her in silence, too pissed for any intellectual conversation. You slammed the bedroom door shut, not bothering to turn the lights or take your clothes off. You curled up above the covers, looking out the window.

The wind blew softly, gently rustling the leaves of the tree peaking through the glass. A single tear trailed down your cheek as you thought about how you hadn’t even gotten to dance with George. The night had been spoiled from the start.

At some point, you finally managed to fall asleep, missing the lanky, mop toped figure that took your shoes off and tucked you in.

#not sure i like how i played this out but i was tired of working on it oop #gangster au #gangster!george #gangster!beatles #george harrison x reader #beatles x reader #george harrison

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

One Dance {Rowaelin}

31 Days of Halloween: Day 8.

All installments co-written with @snelbz

Based on a prompt sent in by anon: “whoops you’re wearing the same costume as my best friend, I did not mean to hug you and kiss your cheek, where is my friend?? but you’re cute so I mean, this is fine”

Autumn/Halloween 2020 {Collection}

Aelin entered the club, looking around for Dorian.

She’d gotten pissed when he texted saying that instead of waiting for her outside, he’d been dragged in by a grumpy Chaol who was upset over his breakup with Yrene and in desperate need of a drink.

Fine, she had texted back, but you better have a drink ready for me when I get there.

That’s what led her to the moment she stepped through the entryway and was looking for a tall pirate with two drinks in his hand. She wasn’t exactly sure what kind of pirate he had come as, but she assumed that Dorian would have gone all out.

He loved Halloween.

So, when she spotted a long, velvet pirate’s coat with a feathered pirate’s hat in the distance, she was running through the crowd toward him.

She yelled his name, but the Monster Mash was turned up to max volume and his back remained pointed in her direction.

“Dorian!” she yelled, again, as she approached him, throwing her arms around his neck and pecking a kiss against his cheek.

Except, when she leaned back and her eyes opened, her smile fell.

The man looking down at her was not, in fact, Dorian and bore no resemblance to her best friend in any way, save for their tastes in costumes apparently.

The stranger’s eyebrows rose and she watched as his eyes took in her own costume. “I didn’t anticipate catching a mermaid tonight, but I guess stranger things could happen.”

Aelin was blushing so hard that she knew the tips of her ears were pink, and she blurted out, “I’m so sorry, my friend was supposed to be getting me a drink and he’s also a pirate.”

Not that I mind, she added, in her mind. You’re hot as hell.

The stranger was looking around before the side of his lips twitched upward. “There are a lot of us, it seems, that found ourselves in a pirate costume.”

Aelin nodded, taking another short step back, considering she was still nearly pressed up against his body. “It is a classic.”

“That it is,” he added, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh, it’s okay, by the way.”

Aelin lifted a brow. “Sorry?”

“You apologized for bombarding me,” he clarified. “I was just saying, you know, it’s okay.”

“Good,” Aelin breathed, that awkwardness swirling in the pit of her stomach like an unplanned hurricane. “I’m Aelin, by the way. In case you wanted to retell this story to your friends.”

He chuckled. “I’m Rowan.”

“Aelin!”

She turned and found Dorian and Chaol in a booth just a few feet away.

Chaol was dressed up as a cowboy, complete with the hat and boots and she knew that was Dorian’s doing, too. Speaking of her best friend, he held up a second glass that looked like it held whiskey and she said, “I guess that’s my cue. It was nice to meet you.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

Aelin blinked and said, “What? Dorian? No, he’s just a friend.”

“And the depressed cowboy?” Rowan asked, his lips quirking up at the edges.

“Definitely not,” she laughed. “He’s just a friend.”

“Hmm,” Rowan went on, nodding slowly.

Aelin cleared her throat. “Yeah, so...do you want to join us?”

“Oh, I can’t,” he said, sighing. “My friends are about here, I was roped into a bros-Halloween. One of us got dumped.”

“Ah,” Aelin chuckled.

Rowan clarified, “It wasn’t me, by the way.”

Aelin chuckled, again, as Dorian called for her. “Aelin! Come on, your ice is melting!”

“I’ll see you around, then,” Aelin said. “Have fun.”

She liked to pretend that he was watching her hips sway as she walked toward the booth and plopped down next to Dorian.

“Who was that?” Dorian asked, sipping from his bottle.

Aelin shrugged. “Someone I thought was you.”

He scoffed. “How could you ever mistake that generic knock off for this premium pirate product?” He gestured to his long coat and floppy hat.

She rolled her eyes and shoved him, drinking from the short glass. She looked at Chaol, sitting with his arms crossed and glaring at anyone who walked by. “How ya holding up?”

His eyes slid to her and Aelin wondered if it was possible to set someone on fire with just a gaze, because if so, she was dangerously close to becoming ashes.

“Right, well.” Aelin tossed her drink back, swallowing it in one big gulp. “I’m going to get another drink and then Dor, we’re gonna dance.”

Dorian groaned. “I don’t want to dance with you, Ace. If I dance with you, no other woman will dance with me because they’ll think we’re here together.” He gestured to the both of them, specifically at their unintentionally similarly themed costumes.

She rolled her eyes and stood. “Fine, but I’m still going to get another drink.”

She stood, and headed for the crowded bar.

It didn’t take long for the bartender to take notice of her, Aelin in her sparkly sea-shell bra and long, turquoise tail. Her hair and makeup were also done to perfection, thanks to the fact that her cousin’s fiancée was a cosmetologist.

Lysandra Ennar could do it all, including creating the perfect mermaid look.

“Sex on the Beach!” she yelled, once the bartender asked what she wanted, deciding to keep the mermaid theme going, even with her beverages.

Besides, Sex on the Beach was one of her favorites. Definitely in the top ten.

A moment later, as she was waiting, a low voice rang in her ear. “Already onto drink number two?”

Aelin spun around and was met with the halfway open shirt of Pirate Rowan.

Captain Rowan?

She assumed he owned his own ship.

A large one, at that.

“Of course,” she crooned. “It’s a party, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is,” he agreed. “What are you drinking?”

Aelin cocked her head to the side. “Why do you ask?”

Rowan’s smile was small, devious. “I just want to know what to ask the bartender to make for you next time your drink runs out.”

Aelin shook her head, slowly. “Sex on the Beach.”

Rowan’s eyes wandered down her mermaid costume, then back up to her eyes. “Got a theme going on?”

“Of course.” Aelin shrugged. “The whiskey was delicious, but a mermaid drinking whiskey? Not so realistic.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “And a mermaid drinking Sex on the Beach?”

Aelin’s eyes lit up. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

He chuckled and she asked, “Where are your friends?”

He looked behind them, in the direction of more booths lining the walls. “One is sulking in the booth, two are playing pool, and…” He paused and looked around. “One is making out with someone on the dance floor.”

A laugh sputtered from Aelin. “Your poor heartbroken friend is miserable.”

“Oh, that’s not the heartbroken one,” Rowan chuckled, tossing a thumb over his shoulder, towards his friend with dark hair, not even wearing a costume, looking like he would rather be anywhere else. “He’s just a crabby, piece of shit.” He turned and pointed to the blonde guy with his tongue down a woman’s throat. “That’s the one who got dumped.”

“Oh,” Aelin chuckled. “He seems to be moving on.”

“Moving on or happily forgetting, one of the two,” Rowan chuckled.

Aelin’s drink was placed in front of her on the bar and she happily took a sip from the glass. “Did you come here for a drink?”

Rowan hesitated. “Something like that.”

Aelin took a long sip, her eyes remaining on his, before she asked, “Something like that?”

“Are you in a hurry to get back to your friends?” he asked, stepping closer to her.

Aelin looked over his shoulder, to where Chaol was still moping in their booth, and to Dorian, where he was now dancing with a girl dressed as a slutty vampire.

“Depends why you’re asking,” Aelin answered, at last.

Rowan looked at Aelin for a long moment before motioning to the bartender, who hurried off to fulfill Rowan’s needs.

Aelin was impressed. “On a first name basis with the bartender?”

Rowan reached behind her, to the glass of scotch that was sitting on the bar. ”Something like that.”

“Something like that?” Aelin chuckled.

Rowan took a long, slow drink from his glass. “Dance with me.”

Aelin took one more look at Dorian, who was holding the hips of the blonde vampire, his eyes closed, having the time of his life.

“One dance,” Aelin said, and Rowan took her hand.

They placed their glasses on the bar and took off, going into the middle of the Halloween-chaos. Aelin wasn’t sure what to think about Rowan. At first glance, she wouldn’t think he was the type to let himself loose on the dancefloor, and maybe it was just his alcohol consumption, but Rowan certainly knew how to move.

One dance quickly became two turned into three. At one point, Rowan pulled her to the bar again for drinks, but they ended up back on the dance floor a few minutes later. Aelin wanted to sit down, but didn’t want Rowan to stop touching her, didn’t want him to stop holding onto her hips like he was.

Her feet were killing her, but she quickly decided that she didn’t care.

Aelin continued to dance with Rowan, continued to drink with Rowan, continued flirting with him until her cheeks were hurting from smiling so much.

After a while, she looked over to make sure her friends didn’t mind that she was off with some strange guy.

Dorian was now dancing with a woman dressed as Princess Peach.

Chaol was laying on top of the table of their booth, sipping from a tall glass of whiskey.

“You know, I thought tonight was going to be shit!” Rowan said, into Aelin’s ear above the music.

“Yeah?” she asked, her arms around his neck.

“Yeah,” he said, his lips brushing her ear, making her toes curl. “I’m dressed as a pirate at a nightclub, for the gods’ sake.”

Aelin tilted her head back as she laughed. “And now, what? It’s not shit?”

Rowan smiled, softly, and Aelin had no idea that someone in a fake pirate hat could look so incredibly sexy.

She didn’t hesitate, leaning up on her toes, pressing her lips to his. One of his hands slid into her hair and the other was pressed into the small of her back. Aelin melted into him, clutching at his shoulders. After a minute, she pulled away.

“No,” he breathed. “Not shit at all.”

#rowaelin #tog #fanfic #fanfiction #31 days of halloween #shacmc

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 4 years

Text

Know Better | Sasuke Uchiha

✦ pairing — Sasuke Uchiha x Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 7.7k

✦ Fake Dating & Modern AU

✦ request — I saw you write for Sasuke. I wanted to know if you can write something where he isn’t happy dating Sakura so he breaks up with her and recruits ps reader to fake date so Sakura doesn’t bother him anymore and reader wants to get rid of Shikamaru so she says yes and they fall in love while faking? something smutty at the end maybe? You can make it modern if you want

✦ warnings — light jealousy, mentions of food and alcohol, drama, nsfw, smut, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (please don’t do this), fluff.

✦ a/n — is it too obvious that it was raining when I wrote this?

════════════════════════

A sudden thunder startled you, prompting you to look at the clock. It was almost time for you to leave the coffee shop. Hoping you could get home before the rainstorm hit, you hurried up.

You had to swallow a groan when you heard the front door open. You hated that damn bell. Lifting your head to take the order, you were greeted by a huff.

“I thought you would be on your way out already,” Sasuke stated blandly.

“My shift is over in ten minutes.” You made a pause, waiting for him to speak. When he only stared back, you asked, “Are you going to order?”

He shook his head. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

Not having a single clue as to why he would wait for you, and honestly not caring too much about it, you went on with the clean-up.

Sasuke and you were as close friends as two busy people could be. You didn’t share many classes, and he spent most of his free time with Sakura. Your free time was different than his, working and studying at the same left you with a small window of opportunities to enjoy yourself.

There was also the fact that busy or not, you avoided parties like the plague.

Sasuke was still outside when you were finally done, waiting for you with his arms crossed.

Upon seeing you, he made a gesture with his head for you to walk with him. Looking up at the sky, you shrugged, you wouldn’t make it home dry either way.

“So...” you trailed off, uncomfortable by his silence. You were used to it, yet there was something off-putting in his pace.

He halted his steps, taking his keys out. Unlocking the car, Sasuke opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

You wouldn’t say no to keeping yourself from getting soaked by the coming rain. Sliding your backpack off your shoulders, you got into the car, fitting the bag between your knees.

“Dinner?”

Putting the seatbelt on, you tilted your head to read his expression. You found a neutral one, which you should have expected. “Uh... sure.”

Humming, he ignited the engine.

Gripping the handle, you breathed in and out a couple of times, thinking he would be a reckless driver.

Sasuke wasn’t a careful driver by any means, he just wasn’t as extreme as one would imagine. Still, you were relieved when it was over.

He chose the table farther away from the other people at the diner, side-eyeing you to make sure. So unlike him.

“Is there a particular reason why we’re hanging out on a Friday night?”

He rested his back against the back of the chair. “Can’t I hang out with a friend because I’m nice?”

“... no?”

“I need your help,” he admitted through his teeth.

You took a sip of your beverage. “What’s up?”

“I need you to be my girlfriend.” Seeing your weirded out expression, Sasuke clarified, “Fake girlfriend.”

“People don’t need partners, and you have a girlfriend already.”

“Not since a couple of weeks ago.”

For someone who had just broken up with their high school sweetheart, he was way too calm.

He added, “I told her I liked you.”

“Why the hell would you say that?”

He shrugged. “It was the first thing that came to mind, but she keeps saying we can make it work.”

Now Sakura’s attitude towards you was starting to make sense. You had never been friends, but you considered her an acquaintance — she often visited Hinata, and the past weeks hadn’t been the exception.

However, she had stopped greeting you and when you passed the living room on your way to your bedroom she would glare at you. It was hard to blame her when her now ex-boyfriend had been such an asshole.

“Well, tell her I rejected you or something.”

“I’m sure Shikamaru would love to hear that.”

You tensed at Shikamaru’s mention.

Everyone said you should’ve been flattered, and you were at first. He was sweet and attentive, so interested in you that he had told you to take as much time as you needed. In your head, falling for him wouldn’t be too hard if you got to know him.

But he misread your intentions, and after the first date, he got overbearing.

Hinata found it extremely romantic, and Ino bluntly told you to be realistic because finding a guy as nice as him would be hard later on.

What bothered you the most was the tone in which your friends spoke as if this was your only chance to find someone who would like you. Their intentions might have been pure, but the implications behind their comments hurt.

Clearing your throat, you licked your bottom lip. “For how long?”

“Until they get the hint.”

Entering a relationship out of nowhere sounder more like a slap on the face than a hint. Sasuke had never been subtle, though.

The rain had intensified by the time you came out of the restaurant.

Sasuke drove more carefully this time, frustrated to no end due to the traffic but more carefully.

The moment he parked, he stopped you from getting out of the car, holding your forearm. “Invite me in.”

“Why?”

“It’s raining and you don’t want me to get in an accident.”

“Who said that?”

He glared at you. Glaring back, you waited for a good explanation which he didn’t seem to have. He was just being petty, nothing new.

Defeated, you let out a sigh. “Hurry up, then.”

He bolted out of the car, grimacing as the water fell onto him. You walked past him, greeting the security guard of the building as you brushed water off your eyes.

Sasuke was beside you in seconds to eventually follow you into the elevator.

“Give me that.” He took your backpack off your grasp before you could swing it over your shoulder.

Protesting would have been a waste of time. You were tired.

Struggling to take your keys out of your jean pocket, inwardly chastising yourself for still giving those tiny things use, you found yourself hoping he wouldn’t mock you.

He didn’t. He stood still, silently, only shifting when the doors opened and one of your neighbors entered the elevator.

Finally, after two more stops, you arrived at your floor. You didn’t mind how tall the building was, nor the fact that Hinata had chosen the second to highest floor — the only thing you found bothersome were the constant stops at the elevator; the stairs were a nightmare too, and your shoes were wet.

Sliding the key in, you felt his hand on your back, encouraging you to open the door. He must have known Sakura was there. It was kind of fucked up, honestly.

“You had me worr—“ Hinata cut herself off, blinking rapidly to hide her shock.

Trying your hardest to avoid looking at Sakura, you focused on Hinata’s worried face. “Sorry, I should’ve told you I would be late.”

He greeted Hinata and Sakura with a nod, sliding the hand on your back up to your shoulder only to place his free one on your other shoulder too, hoping you would get the hint.

You felt his touch get lighter as you made your way toward your bedroom until you let him get in first and he got his hands off you.

Sasuke put your backpack down, resting it against the foot of the bed. You closed the door, watching him curiously look around.

He had never been there. You hadn’t started living with Hinata until a couple of months ago when she told you she was looking for a roommate.

Sasuke had visited your family’s home dozens of times, mostly in middle school and the first year of high school, back when he was more abrasive. Your mom often said he found refugee in your room because you never forced him to speak.

But your mom had been wrong many times. Unconsciously, you shook your head. You were only upsetting your own self thinking about times that would never come back. She had left years ago.

The voices in the living room mingled with the sounds of the rain, you caught bits and pieces of the conversation. Your name was mentioned once, but you didn’t get the context. Not that you needed it.

Your opinions of Sakura weren’t strong, you didn’t dislike her at all but that wasn’t saying much when you didn’t really know her. From what you had heard, which varied depending on who was talking, she wasn’t so bad.

She probably hated you now so caring would be stressing yourself over things you couldn’t fix.

“Why didn’t you choose someone else? Many people would happily do it.”

“They would be annoying.”

Wow. That was almost a compliment.

To be fair, he seemed to attract overbearing people who didn’t get no for an answer.

And now you would also have to put up with those people. Or maybe not, he was way more popular around campus than you were and this wasn’t high school anymore.

He yawned, squeezing his eyes shut to then immediately open them and blink rapidly.

“You can lay down if you’re tired,” you assured him.

“I don’t like cuddling.”

“I didn’t ask you to cuddle me nor intended to cuddle you.”

“Ah.” He rubbed the back of his head, avoiding to look at your face. “The rain is slowing down either way.”

It sounded like it was. Urging him to go before the rain got worse would surely be rude, then again, he didn’t seem to take offense over most things.

You didn’t have to tell him. He pushed himself up, staring at you. You only stared back, assuming he would say something.

He dropped his hand onto the doorknob, twisting it and pulling the door open. You followed him toward the front door, somewhat confused.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said lowly, still audible to Hinata and Sakura.

You nodded. “Be safe, yeah?”

Humming, he got closer to you. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

Breathily, aware of his body heat as it felt like it was burning your skin, you told him, “Please.”

Sasuke placed his lips on yours, giving you a short kiss — so short you weren’t able to kiss his soft lips back.

He left without saying goodbye to Hinata and Sakura. The gesture, or lack thereof, made you more uncomfortable than it should have.

Sakura’s eyes, full of hurt and resentment, weren’t what made you feel bad — Hinata’s disappointed face did.

════════════════════════

Going out to the movies with friends was better as a mere concept than in practice. Hinata said it would be fun, that they had waited for you to be free to finally see that movie.

You weren’t close to most of the group, they were all nice in their own way, you supposed, but the truth was you had never clicked with anyone but Hinata and Ino.

Hinata came to a halt in front of Naruto and Shikamaru, arm linked with yours as she smiled at her boyfriend and friend. You greeted them too, trying to take your arm off Hinata’s grasp.

“We can have a double date now,” Naruto said teasingly.

“We wouldn’t want Shikamaru to feel like a third wheel.”

As usual, after one of your remarks, Naruto pouted at you while Shikamaru let out a loud sigh. You almost felt bad because this time the quip was true.

An arm wrapped around your upper back, tugging you to the other side. Hinata finally let your arm go.

“Sorry I’m late,” Sasuke apologized, lips brushing your temple as he explained to you that Itachi had made him lose time.

As he left a kiss on your temple, you angled your head to take a look at him. The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a millisecond.

Naruto, being Naruto, couldn’t stop himself from loudly asking, “Am I missing something?”

“It’s pretty obvious,” Sasuke deadpanned, “so no, you are not.”

You didn’t look at any of your companions. Hinata hadn’t said anything to you the night before after Sakura left, and while you were getting ready she avoided the topic purposefully.

Feeling smaller than you were, you leaned onto Sasuke before thinking what you were doing. His arm draped over your shoulder as he slid his forearm up to the back of your neck, bringing you slightly closer.

Silence lingered between the group.

“Should we buy the tickets and wait for the others there?” Hinata tried to ease the tension.

Her attempts were in vain. Naruto failed to hide his shock when Sasuke said the two of you would buy the snacks. And no one would ever think he was at fault when the last time Sasuke had been openly attentive had been when he took Kiba to the hospital after breaking his nose with a football.

With Sasuke at your left and Shikamaru at your right, you found yourself wishing the film was over already. It hadn’t even started yet.

“Oh.”

You didn’t have to turn to the side to know the one who had shrieked was Sakura who was accompanied by Ino. One of them stepped on your foot, prompting Sakura to feign an apologetic tone when you let a sound close to a whine escape as she sat down sandwiched between Shikamaru and Ino.

Sasuke placed his hand on your knee. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You held the straw between your fingers, leaning to take a sip, drinking slowly.

He didn’t take his eyes off you until the movie started, not even to eat. Part of you assumed he was looking at Shikamaru or Sakura and not at you.

You felt him inch his hand up to your thigh. With his free hand, he removed the popcorn from his lap and placed it on the floor.

He moved the drink you were sharing to the cup holder to his left. Taking the hint, you lifted the armrest separating you.

Withdrawing his hand to swing his arm over you as you barely rested your head on him, he gazed down at you. Taking your attention back to the screen, hoping you hadn’t missed anything important, you allowed him to push your head onto his chest.

He smelled good, fresh and clean with something new there. He must’ve had been wearing a different cologne.

If you knew something about Sasuke was that he liked consistency. He wasn’t one for experimenting once he liked something — his haircut hadn’t changed since he was thirteen, his clothing style —which seemed to be inspired by his brother’s— had been the same since the beginning of high school, and he had only dated one person even though thousands swarmed around him.

“I’m bored,” he whispered.

Shifting to speak closer to his ear, you whispered back, “You picked this movie.”

He ignored your comment. “Kiss me.”

Holding his face with your right hand, you lifted your head off his warm coat. Sasuke allowed you to take your time, frowning under the flashing lights from the screen when you started to analyze his face.

Blinking rapidly, letting out a shaky breath, you closed the gap between your mouths. He reciprocated instantly, curling his arm around you so you wouldn’t move.

It was slow, calculated on his behalf which annoyed you. It was a kiss, for show or not, it was just a kiss and he still had to make sure it was perfect.

And it was. His lips shouldn’t have been that soft, and he had no business being such a good kisser. Sasuke’s hand, light on your plush waist, sent shivers down your spine due to its coldness.

You deepened the kiss, sliding your hand to the back of his head.

Fuck. Why were you so willing to make out with him?

════════════════════════

School was a nightmare on Monday, people stared at you without blinking and double-checked whether you had really arrived with Sasuke or not.

Overwhelmed by questions that followed you to every class and even to work, you also had to put up with Sakura’s glare and Shikamaru’s hurt semblance.

Your assumptions had naively been that things would simmer down yet you had never felt regret quite like this.

Nothing would have mattered if Ino hadn’t taken things so badly. She wasn’t speaking to you, that was how mad she was. Your best friend didn’t have the decency to explain why your ‘relationship’ with Sasuke bothered her so much that she felt the need to stop talking to you for three weeks straight.

Hinata had been about to tell you something a particular Saturday, but she seemed to think it was useless and after asking you to be careful, she left the apartment with Naruto.

Your cellphone dinged. Cringing at the sound, you silenced it and then unlocked the device to read the text.

Are you busy? I’m bored.

Sasuke was always bored, you would’ve guessed it without him stating the obvious.

I’m watching TV.

That’s a no, then. Get out of your pajama, I’ll be there in 20.

How the hell did he know you were wearing pajamas?

What should I wear, dad?

Kinky. Casual clothes. But wear comfortable shoes, I don’t want to hear you complain.

Heat crawled up your face, prompting you to exhale at a slow pace. Dropping the cellphone onto the couch, you walked toward your room.

To your surprise, he wasn’t wearing a shirt and a coat. Instead, he sported a plain t-shirt and a bomber jacket.

It wasn’t that the outfit didn’t suit him, it did, but you needed a few minutes to get used to the style. He glared at you when he caught you staring which made you deviate your eyes to the car.

Nodding, he opened the door for you. Relieved that he hadn’t snapped at you for checking him out, you entered the car in silence.

“Do you watch a lot of TV?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He reformulated, “Are you a television buff?”

“Eh. I don’t have enough time to watch much.”

His only answer was a hum.

Bowling. He took you bowling. The thing he knew you were so bad at that every time your friends suggested the activity you found an excuse to skip.

He looked so smug, draping his arm around your shoulders as a teasing boyfriend would to their partner.

You let out an annoyed sigh, not shying away from letting him know he had achieved the amusement he had been seeking.

“I’ll teach you,” he assured lowly.

You picked the shoes you were given, trying not to make a face. Thanking the clerk, who wasn’t at fault for the horrendous style of the shoes nor for how petty Sasuke got to be, you walked toward the bench.

He sat down beside you, undoing his sneakers.

“Why did you make me wear comfortable shoes when I would have to put on these ugly things anyway?”

“I forgot.”

Inserting both your names on the computer, he nodded upward so you would pick a ball.

You looked for his approval, fitting your fingers in a red ball and lifting it as you stared at him.

“Is that comfortable for you?”

“Yeah.”

He got closer to you, settling his hand on your upper arm. “You need to relax your muscles, otherwise you’ll hurt yourself.”

Nodding, you wetted your lips. Why did they feel so dry? “Now what?”

“Try to score more points than me.”

Asshole.

At least you had a good time.

════════════════════════

There you were, smiling at people as you gave them their orders and offering to take over when your coworker was struggling with the espresso machine.

Sasuke had pushed the thought of his assignment to the side, too busy watching you rearrange cups. It was soothing to see, an activity so mundane yet so important to your job.

“Stop staring at her,” Naruto chastised. “It’s creepy.”

“I can stare as much as I want.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the blond mumbled, motioning with his head at Shikamaru who had twisted his body to give you all his attention.

Sasuke glowered at his best friend, then at Shikamaru. He stared at you again, watching you disappear behind the door that led to the back. Annoyed, he threw his books into the backpack and closed his laptop.

Both men in front of him curiously stared. Ah, so now they wanted to pay attention, huh.

Standing up, he swung the backpack onto his left shoulder. As if on cue, you stepped out of the kitchen, apron-less and struggling to zip your jacket. When you finally achieved it, your eyes found his.

Approaching him, pursing your lips, you fixed the uneven string of his hoodie with both hands. A twinge of red appeared on his cheeks, yet he didn’t push you away.

“Where’s your bag?”

“Hinata took it with her.”

Sasuke hummed, staring past your shoulder. “We should get going.”

Nodding, you motioned for him to lead the way. He grabbed your hand, dragging you out of the shop before you could say goodbye to Naruto and Shikamaru.

He walked mindlessly, passing the spot where his car was parked. His fingers squeezed yours, trapping them in between.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know.”

You stayed silent. He was clearly in a bad mood, and you weren’t going to coddle him into talking about it. He would never do it either way.

The walk was nice, the silence he had forced you into added to the enjoyment. The city was busy, always, no matter the time, and you could hear bits and pieces of conversations and songs as you passed different businesses.

He huffed. “Why do you even work at a coffee shop?”

“It’s temporary. After the internship, I haven’t found the right fit in terms of schedule...”

He hummed, encouraging you to complete your comment.

You added the real reason why you had settled, “The coffee shop gave me the perfect excuse to move out of my dad’s house.”

“I didn’t like living at my parent’s house anymore either. My brother tried to convince me to move in with him, but it defeated the purpose.”

“Itachi is cool, though.”

He narrowed his eyes. “He is cool? My brother?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “Everybody thinks so. I’m pretty sure we all have had a crush on him at some point.”

“Hn.”

He didn’t say another word. Turning around, he dragged you all the way back.

He didn’t answer when he dropped you off at your building and you told him to be safe either. Not even with a nod or one of his grunts.

Wondering if you had done something wrong, if perhaps talking about his brother like that had been too much, you let out a chuckle.

You were reading too much into his attitude, why would he get upset over hearing a fact?

Now, Sasuke himself was handsome, you could admit that. But admitting that was like saying flowers were pretty, or that puppies were cute — it was so obvious, so agreed upon that the repetitiveness of the admission would have been pointless; a tad bit annoying.

Checking your phone, eager to see his “I’m home” text, you entered the kitchen.

“You know he doesn’t like you, right?”

Grabbing a couple of grapes, you asked, “What makes you say that?”

“Sasuke doesn’t like PDA, and he isn’t normally chatty. He’s using you to spite Sakura.”

You felt something heavy on your chest. Swallowing your spit, you popped a grape into your mouth and chewed it slowly.

She continued, taking your stance as a cue to speak, “When he was with Sakura—“

You snapped, almost choking on the fruit you had just swallowed, “I am not Sakura, so I don’t care.”

“Ino told me you would say that...”

“Oh, so she can talk about me but she can’t talk to me?” you rasped, immediately coughing up after.

“She needs time. This is weird, and we’re both...” she sighed, searching for the right word, “worried. You turned down a guy who sees you as a goddess for someone known to be emotionally unavailable.”

“I don’t want to be seen as a goddess. I am not one, I have no desire to be held to a standard I can’t possibly match.”

Hinata looked skeptical, as if you had ever shown any desire to be perceived as a mystical being.

You started gesturing with your hands, hoping she would understand what you were coming from, “I want to be seen like a person who can’t always react in the best way possible and is insecure at times... I want to know the other person won’t run away because I’m not the cookie-cutter woman they imagined.”

”Sasuke is not the one who can give you that either.”

You frowned.

“Sakura tried—“

You rolled your eyes, feeling an approaching headache. “Do you know how many times he has compared me to her? Zero!”

Hinata dropped her eyes to the floor, shaking her head. “You’re falling for him.”

“I am not!”

“Why are you getting so defensive? You are dating him.”

“Because you’re insinuating I’m being blinded by him!”

“Of course not. You’re just ignoring what you can clearly see.”

You weren’t ignoring anything.

No, really, you weren’t.

He was using you with your consent. You were more than fine with it.

Your stomach churned.

Shit.

════════════════════════

You found Hinata’s commitment endearing. She had asked you a few weeks ago if you would be okay with her throwing Naruto a birthday party at the apartment.

When you said yes, you didn’t imagine she would be so bossy. She had you all working on different things while she and Sakura baked and decorated the cake.

Your duty was making sure everything was as she had planned. Her drawings were amazingly detailed, and you were getting more nervous as you compared the real thing with the paper.

“I think we need more...” Shikamaru made a dramatic gesture with both hands.

“Color?” you offered.

“Exactly!”

It looked more than fine to you in terms of color. It was just a birthday party for a young adult, not a thematic party for a child. What the balloons needed was to stay on the wall.

Shikamaru leaned against said wall. A balloon fell in front of him.“Remember when you did the decoration for the Christmas party in eighth grade?”

“Oh, the paper trees?”

He nodded with a smile appearing on his face. “We could make some paper shapes and glue them to the wall.”

Sensing he was too close, you stepped backward. “I don’t know if we have enough—“ you stopped yourself when your back collided against someone behind you.

Recognizing the hands that were holding your waist, you turned around. Sasuke raised both eyebrows, as though he was expecting something.

“What are you doing here? Where is Naruto?”

“Itachi wanted to take him shopping and finally teach him how to dress.”

“His style isn’t that bad.”

He tugged you closer, humming. “If you say so.”

“Why don’t you help us to stick the balloons on the wall?”

Sasuke analyzed the wall behind you, frowning. God, it must’ve looked ugly. He dragged his hands up, fingers brushing your arm as he snatched the piece of paper off your hand.

“Bring those tapes you bought for bullet journaling in high school.”

You whined. He didn’t have to remind you of that phase. You never did bullet journaling, by the way, the tapes were too cute for you to waste them.

Sighing, you shook him off you. “Fine.”

Hinata shot you a surprised look when you passed the kitchen, carrying the box where you stored the stationary you never used.

Sat on the floor, you wasted your precious time crafting a balloon arch. Sasuke would hand you the balloons and hold them for you to tape while Shikamaru made sure the arch stayed against the wall.

The accumulated weight made it all easier, and it would surely stay there as decoration until the balloons naturally deflated. That made you feel a little less shitty for how much balloons ruined the environment.

Naruto’s reaction made it all worth it. The change of style wouldn’t last, you were sure, but he looked happy.

You caught Itachi staring at you. Sliding your arm off Sasuke’s, you approached the older Uchiha.

“Long time no see.” His smile didn’t fill his dark eyes as he greeted you.

You tried to chuckle. “Two years? Three?”

“Something like that.” He brought his cup to his lips. You waited for what he wanted to say. He let it out, “I’m worried about my brother.” It sounded like a confession.

Taking a sip of your own cup, you took the bait, “Can I ask why?”

“I would be alarmed if his girlfriend didn’t ask why.”

“I didn’t want to intrude.”

“How many times did you see him this week?”

“Every day at campus.”

“And after?” Your silence was the answer he had anticipated. “You don’t have to tell me if you’ve been fighting, but you need to fix things.”

“W—what? No! We are fine.”

He didn’t believe you. “He never got this upset when he fought with Sakura.”

“Why does everyone insist on comparing me to her?!”

“Because he dumped her for you.”

You hated hearing that. It wasn’t true, and if it had been it would’ve been fucked up so you would’ve stayed away. At least you wanted to believe that. “I didn’t force him.”

Itachi rested his hand on your shoulder, brotherly encouraging you, “Go talk to him. You’ll do everybody a favor.”

Instead of looking for Sasuke, you decided to entrench yourself in your bedroom. Everyone was having fun, you didn’t want to sour the mood with whatever it was you were feeling.

You bumped into Ino on your way to your room. She ignored you while you followed her with your eyes. She was handed a drink by Sakura.

Shaking your head, you continued your path. Were the hostilities worth it? Your best friend seemed to have forgotten you existed, Sakura hated you, Shikamaru hadn’t given up... and the worst part of it all, Hinata was right.

Closing the door behind you, letting out a long sigh, you failed to see you weren’t alone.

Sasuke took his earphones off, sitting up on your bed where he had been laying on his back.

You sat down on the edge of the bed. “Why are you here?”

“You left me alone to go with Itachi.”

“You should talk to him,” you told him, hoping it would convince him to leave the room. “He’s worried about you.”

“Your crush Itachi?”

“Your brother Itachi.”

Sasuke grunted.

You left the bed in order to snatch the zippered hoodie on your desk chair. To your luck, the autumn air would get too chilly while you were trying to unwind.

He grabbed you by the wrist, startling you.

“What the fuck is your problem, Sasuke?”

“What’s yours? Since when do you get so worked up by me not saying anything?”

“Since when do you ignore the person you are supposedly dating for an entire week?”

Dropping your wrist, he shrugged, only staring at you to see your reaction.

“This was a mistake.”

Picking your keys, you dropped them into your pocket. You took your cellphone so you could let know Hinata you were fine and walked to the door.

“So that’s it?” He asked harshly. “You’re going to leave me in your room, take a walk, come back, kiss Shikamaru and pretend this didn’t mean anything?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. He had picked up on it quicker than it took you to plan it. “He’s nice and hasn’t given up.”

You counted his steps. One, two — he messed with his hair. Three, four — he looked taller as he approached you. Five, six — his chest heaved up and down. Seven, eight — he fixed his eyes on yours. Nine, ten — why were you counting?

“Is he?”

You nodded, holding his gaze.

“Do you want to know what’s going to happen?” He didn’t wait for you to answer. “You will do all of that, regret it when he becomes unbearable again, and wish I was there so you could use me some more.”

“I am the one who used you?!” The fucking nerve of this guy. “It was your idea.”

“Well, I stopped doing it a week after!” He exploded.

No, no, no. You shook your head, trying to find a way to put more distance between you and him.

“You don’t know what you want. You just haven’t spent enough time with other people. AND we wouldn’t even work that well together! I like showing affection and you don’t, a—and I talk too much for my own good...”

“Haven’t I shown you enough affection already?”

“It’s different. That was fake.” You explained it to him, “I mean doing things because you want, because showing the other person that you care feels good. Sometimes it’s handholding but others is not doing it because you can tell that person is—“

He cupped your face to shut you up, bumping his nose with yours. Slanting his head, he gave you the chance to push him away, to tell him no. That didn’t happen, you couldn’t do it, you didn’t want to do it.

He kissed you, and you kissed him back. Your hands traveled up his arms, stopping at his shoulders. Sasuke hummed into the kiss, sliding his hand to the back of your head while the other stayed on your cheek.

You parted from him, barely allowing some space to exist between you two as you analyzed his expression.

“I was angry,” he confessed under his breath. “Itachi is nicer than me, more of your type.”

“You misunderstood what I said.”

He nodded. “I was mad already, but then you spoke about my brother like that and...” clenching his jaw, he turned his head to the side. Sasuke stared at the wall, willing it to show him the appropriate words to say. “Being with you feels right and I don’t want to lose that. I wish I had seen it sooner.”

You giggled out of nervousness — this was more nerve-wracking than being seen as a goddess. This was real, you hadn’t done much to achieve it. And he was correct, it felt right.

Breathing in and out at a slow rhythm, you found yourself toying with the seam of his t-shirt. “I shouldn’t like you this much.”

“I personally believe you should.”

You did it anyway. It couldn’t be that bad if there was no fiber of your being that didn’t scream in some level of awe every time you were around him. Or every time you thought of him. Or when you heard his name being uttered.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him into another kiss.

Sasuke moved his hands to your hips, gripping them tightly as he angled his face to deepen the kiss. His tongue slid past his lips and pried yours open, caressing your tongue once you gave him access.

Movement behind you interrupted the heated kiss. The door was pushed open. You craned your neck, arms still around Sasuke as your eyes fell on Hinata.

“We’re about to sing Happy Birthday to Naruto.”

Sasuke sighed shakily, withdrawing his hands from your body.

Hinata didn’t leave your room until you showed signs of intending to follow her to the dining room. Sasuke trailed behind you, hurrying to grab your hand.

Everyone was staring at you instead of focusing on Naruto. You avoided looking at anyone but the celebrated, wanting the song to be over already.

Ino stared blankly for a moment, eyes moving to your shoulder. And it dawned on you — it had never been about your happiness or comfort.

She liked Sasuke too.

════════════════════════

He watched you fidget in the middle of his kitchen as you used to in middle school, back when you weren’t able to string a sentence in front of a stranger without stuttering.

He grew worried as your fidgeting turned into pacing.

“Why are you so tense?”

You shrugged dismissively. “Things out of my control.”

Controlling the way other people felt wasn’t something you ever wanted. It sounded like the worst superpower in the world. You just wished Ino would’ve told you the truth.

Losing friends over a guy was not how you thought your love life would go when you accepted helping him. It didn’t cross your mind when you realized you had fallen for him — perhaps because his reciprocity hadn’t been something you foresaw either.

“You can stay with me tonight if you want,” he offered like he knew exactly what the problem was.

“Wouldn’t you like that?” you joked.

“Very much.”

You almost smiled. Your gut told you to hug him, kiss every millimeter of his gorgeous face, and just forget about everything else. Your brain found the idea stupid.

”Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you really hate affection?” God, what an annoying question to make. “ I— I don’t want to be repetitive with the topic, but I would feel awful if I was forcing you to display anything.”

“You’re not forcing me.”

Sasuke beckoned you closer, resting his forehead on yours when you complied. You forgot the words you were meaning to say, willing to get lost in his eyes and never come back.

You cradled his face, leaning forward. Brushing your lips against his, you decided that worrying and feeling bad would only keep you from experiencing this. And so you kissed him more firmly, stomach flipping when he chuckled on your mouth.

He broke the kiss for a fleeting moment, just to mumble, “I’ll show you real affection.”

His lips returned to yours, kissing you aggressively. He left you breathless, gasping for more of his mouth instead of air. His hands roamed your body as he kissed you.

Your heart hammered in your chest, feeling him push you backward. Your back hit the counter and he used the fact as leverage to grind against you.

Dragging his mouth down your throat, he put the soft kisses he had been meaning to litter all over your neck for weeks to the side and instead sucked on your tender skin.

The actions granted him a whimper on your behalf. His hips bucked up, prompting you to trail your hands down his torso. He refused to disconnect your fronts, grinding on you some more.

Sasuke toyed with the edge of your t-shirt, barely inching it up as he did so. His fingers brushed your soft stomach. “Take it off.”

Gripping the hem of your t-shirt, you slid off as quickly as you could, awkwardly holding it in your hand. Sasuke pried it off your hand, throwing the fabric to the side.

He took his shirt off too, letting it fall on top of yours. His hands were back on you instantly, running up your torso as he fit his knee between your legs.

You unabashedly groped his shoulders and back, attaching your mouth to his collarbone. Sasuke grunted, bringing his hands down to undo your jeans.

He cupped your pussy, fingers pushing your panties flush against your labia. He felt the material dampen just as you ground on his hand.

“Be patient.”

You whined. “Don’t tease me then.”

Pushing your jeans and panties down to your knees, he collected your wetness, spreading it up and down. “You think that’s teasing?”

“I don’t care. Do something.”

His thumb brushed your clit. He drew light circles on it, eyes fixed on your needy ones. He smiled, satisfied with the effect he was having on you.

Slowly, he slid a finger in your pussy, pressing his thumb on your clit. He caressed your walls, taking his time to make sure he wouldn’t hurt you.

The addition of a second digit came with harsher movements. The curling of his fingers inside you consequentially led him to rub your clit.

“Do you like that?”

You hung your head forward, gripping his shoulders as you hummed. Not able to help it, you arched your back, lifting your hips. His name erupted from your lips, tone needy as you asked him not to stop the scissoring movement.

“Use your words, baby, tell me how good I’m making you feel.”

Your walls momentarily squeezed his fingers. “So good.”

He kissed your jaw, then dragged his mouth against your skin, peppering kisses down your neck.

“Turn around.”

“Bu—“

“It’s been a while, I’m not going to last long.”

You bent over the counter with your ass up, waiting for him. A thrill ran down your spine when you heard him zip down his pants.

He rubbed the tip of his cock over your slit, making you whimper. You lightly shook your ass, encouraging him to get inside you already.

Giving you a playfully spank, Sasuke dipped into your pussy. His breath hitched, the warmth enveloping him was better than he had imagined. You could feel every inch filling you, his veins throbbing against your walls.

As impatient as you were, you craned your neck. “Give me a moment,” you said shakily, “it’s been a while for me too.”

His fingers trailed up and down your sides, silently assuring you that you could take as much time as you needed.

You didn’t need much time, your lust for him, combined with his soft touch, and how good he felt seated inside you, were more than enough for you to relax.

“You can move.”

He started slow, resting his hands on your waist as he pulled out only to enter you again. He did it a couple of times until he was sure you weren’t experiencing discomfort.

The pace was too slow in your opinion, a waste of time. You didn’t care how long he would last, at that point you just wanted him to make you come.

“I’ll do whatever you want,“ you promised urgently, “just go fast.”

His hands moved up. While his right one groped your chest, trying to free your tits from the bra, his left arm wrapped tightly around your middle.

Thrusting up into you, he managed to sneak his hand into your bra. Pinching your nipple, he relished in the sounds you were making, in how tightly you were squeezing him.

It made him quicken up his pace. The arm around you loosened for a moment so he could trail his hand down. Finding your clit again, he started rubbing it, this time with quick circular movements.

You gripped the counter, crying out. You wanted to thrash and scream all at once, in part because you were sure he would’ve liked it but mostly because your legs were already tingling.

He didn’t miss a single time. Not only was he hitting your g-spot repeatedly, but Sasuke had also put the inhibitions aside and with his breath on your cheek, he was moaning in your ear, moving his palm to your other breast, kneading it. You shifted on your feet, wishing you could do anything else than hold onto the counter.

His thrusts were getting sloppy, fingers rubbing your clit fervently.

You let out a string of courses through whines, brain getting fuzzy as he nuzzled against your neck.

Pulsing around him, your curses became incoherent sounds that mingled with his groans and hums.

Sasuke rasped in your ear, “Come all over me.”

You didn’t trust your words, not when his own went straight to your lower stomach. There was nothing you longed for more than pleasing him. He had demanded it, and you complied quicker than your pride would ever allow you to admit.

He blurted your name, spilling inside you after a few finishing snaps from his hips.

Guiding you to a standing position, pushing your belly against the edge of the counter as his sweaty chest heaved against your back, Sasuke attempted to catch his breath.

Fascinated by the fact that you were using a blow dryer to dry your panties, Sasuke leaned against the bathroom’s doorway.

“Do you need help?”

“No.”

“Are you mad at me?”

You turned the panties inside out, just making sure you were drying them properly. “Why would I be mad? It wasn’t on purpose.”

The bathroom became silent as you turned the dryer off. Sliding the panties on, you stared at him with eyebrows raised.

Sasuke scoffed, looking away. Clearing his throat, he announced, “The kitchen is clean already.”

Turning the light off, you walked past him into his bedroom. He placed his hands on your waist, sitting down on his bed as you stood between his legs.

“Are you staying?”

“Yeah. Hinata texted me, she wants the apartment all for her and Naruto.”

His brow furrowed. “But... would you stay if she hadn’t said anything?”

Moving a strand of hair off his face, you assured him, “Yes.”

Sasuke hummed, sliding his hands to your back in order to wrap his arms around you. Holding onto his shoulders, you blew air on his face to keep that stupid hair from covering his eyes.

Amused, he shook his head vigorously to mess his hair. You pouted. He snorted, tugging on your hips to bring you onto the bed on top of him.

Resting your weight on your arm, laying on your side, you reached out to fix his hair. Sasuke pushed your hand away, shifting to face you.

“You need to trim that hair.”

He grunted. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Nothing really, but it doesn’t let me admire your eyes.”

A red tint appeared on his face. You kissed his flushed cheek, smiling against his skin.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he whispered.

“I’ve already admitted I like you, the least I can do is enjoy making you blush.”

Sasuke repositioned himself on the mattress, closer to you as his new position on his side naturally allowed him to. He gave you a kiss out of nowhere.

You laid on your back to give your arm a break, draping your other arm over his frame to trail your fingers down his spine.

He dropped his head onto your chest, sighing softly, while his arm circled your waist.

“I thought you didn’t like cuddling,” you commented, worried that he would get uncomfortable.

“I might’ve lied,” he mumbled, nuzzling on your t-shirt.

#sasuke uchiha x reader #sasuke uchiha x plus size reader #sasuke uchiha #naruto shippuden #naruto

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dramaticviolincrescendo · 4 years

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The thing is, Ian was right. Mickey doesn't know any better, the writers on the show made sure of that, because for them the only important thing about Mickey is his devotion to Ian. But we're a bit more realistic about it and can analyze Ian's actions without being limited by someone's poor imagination.

There’s a lot to address here, so please forgive me for the lengthy response, anon! 🙂 I’ll preface all of it by saying this: my general opinion is that if Mickey has what makes him happy, we should support that regardless of how we feel about the other party (with obvious exceptions like physical abuse, etc.). If Byron was what made him happy, I would support him even if I couldn’t stand the guy. The same goes for any other character in any other franchise, at least for me. Now, onto your points:

I’m not sure which scene you mean when you mention Ian saying he doesn’t know any better, but I’m definitely with you on our ability to analyze Ian’s actions. The problem here is that analyzing will always be colored by perspective and implicit bias. If your fave is Mickey, anything that hurts him will look a whole lot worse than what he does that hurts Ian and perhaps lead to conducting a less than thorough analysis or rejecting sensible arguments about Ian’s character. Based on the number of posts I see about how Mickey is the only good thing on the show, I’d argue that that is a very real danger in many of the takes on Ian as well as everyone else. I’ve seen some pretty heavy demonizing of characters who hurt Mickey’s feelings or aren’t actively sweet to him, which is a bit unrealistic since that’s life and Mickey certainly never seems to mind or let it keep him down for long.

As far as him not knowing better, on the whole, I don’t think that gives Mickey much credit at all. Actually, it doesn’t really give him any credit, which is sort of surprising given how vehemently people defend his IQ, academically and emotionally, against what amounted to a joke. Mickey knows that Ian messes up and does things that are questionable at best and hurtful at worst. He’s not an innocent, pure character who endures heartache after heartache to throw himself at the brick wall of earning Ian’s attention. He gives as good as he gets and has hurt Ian too. They’re human and written very realistically in that regard. Their love for one another allows them to forgive transgressions and move on, not hold grudges or “not know any better” with regards to what they deserve. Love isn’t about what we deserve, and I think it’s important to remember that a relationship won’t last if it’s based on an arbitrary numerical score of who has done more harm than the other. Things happen. Poor decisions are made. They can allow that to break them or work through it. Mickey has actively chosen to work through it because at the end of the day, he loves Ian more than he is interested in finding something else. In earlier seasons, Ian similarly chose to work through it with someone who might never be in a position to come out and begin the full relationship that he so desperately wanted. That’s beautiful to me, not contemptible.

As far as the only important thing about Mickey being his devotion to Ian, we’ll also have to agree to disagree. 🙂 In the early seasons, while Ian was certainly the catalyst for it, Mickey’s story was about coming out more than his devotion to Ian. That’s why we have the scenes where he taunted Kash (focus: keeping his secret), purposely got sent back to juvie (focus: hiding from Terry if he found out), and got married (focus: self-preservation). We do absolutely see a rising devotion for Ian during this period, of course, and there’s no argument that his character was written expressly to be Ian’s love interest. The writers still made him a well-developed one with his own motives, fears, and desires outside of Ian in a way that later love interests didn’t get. (My own belief is that they didn’t intend for the later relationships to last like they did Mickey, but regardless of the validity there, Mickey was written as a character with more depth from the very beginning and existed before anything with Ian ever happened.)

The first half of s4 shows Mickey on his own merits. He’s handling his new position as a patriarch of the family, running the business while Terry is fairly hands-off and watches. He decides to help the Russian girls and ends up going into business with Kev. We learn a lot about Mickey’s character outside of Ian during that time. In fact, there are only a couple of scenes that really focus on him missing Ian until finding him becomes Mickey’s task: asking Kev if anyone has heard from him, the bathroom scene, and the later Alibi scene. Otherwise, the early s4 writers showed us a Mickey who was compassionate, ambitious, utilitarian, entrepreneurial, and collaborative—all without tying it back to Ian. Kev and V are renowned friends of the Gallaghers, but Mickey doesn’t grow closer to Kev in an attempt to learn more about what happened to Ian. He doesn’t help the girls because he thinks Ian would want him to. In fact, with the exception of those scenes I mentioned, we have no reason to believe that Ian is on Mickey’s mind at all while he’s doing these other things. He has a life outside of Ian just like the opposite is true, and s4 went to great lengths to show us that.

The second half of s4 is, once again, about keeping his secret until he decides to come out. (Read: decides to, is not forced to. More on that in a moment.) Yes, his devotion to Ian is once again the catalyst for some of his decisions, but there’s much more to it than that. Once again, we still see scenes with Mickey operating on his own for his own purposes. He doesn’t leave home entirely because he wants to be with Ian—he also wants to escape from his wife and pretend that things are the way they used to be. He doesn’t scam money from the rich guy or take more than his cut from the register at the Alibi to protect Ian—he does it for self-preservation so that Svetlana won’t get him killed. He doesn’t go to the baptism to keep up appearances and protect Ian—he does it to keep up appearances for himself and because...well, like it or not, that’s his son. The lattermost is something Ian specifically does not want him to do, and if he does, he wants to be there. Mickey goes against his wishes because it’s about protecting himself (and perhaps, by extension, their relationship), and rightfully so. Coming out at the Alibi does once again tie to Ian as a catalyst for change in Mickey’s life, but it didn’t have to happen. Mickey could have grabbed his coat, told everyone goodnight, and left with Ian. At no time did Ian tell him that he would leave if Mickey didn’t come out to everyone or admit they’re a couple, even if he did make reference to the fact that Mickey was hiding and not free. All Ian wanted was for Mickey not to treat him like a mistress or expect him to stick around if he did. Instead, it was a logical culmination of Mickey’s written development to come out. He’s stronger and more independent than he used to be. He’s capable of taking care of himself and surviving in the world without relying on Terry. He’s in a position where yes, he’s still justifiably terrified of coming out and what it’ll mean where Terry is concerned, but he’s able to do it. Ian is a catalyst for it, but being devoted to him isn’t Mickey’s only reason.

In s5, a lot of Mickey’s story does revolve around his devotion to Ian, but not any more than Ian’s revolves around devotion to him in the second half of s3. We still see Mickey doing business and running the family, but having Ian be his more central concern makes sense because Ian is sick and the writers have already told us that his health is a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. In denial or not, Mickey knows this. And so we see his story center around Ian because, to an extent, it has to. Ian is mentally and physically sick. He’s adjusting not only to meds, but to a label that makes him feel ashamed and afraid. Mickey is devoted to him, and so Mickey does everything he can to take care of him. But here’s the thing: that scares Ian too. He’s seen what happens to the people who try to take care of Monica. He knows how it felt to try only to be ignored or betrayed or abandoned. The breakup isn’t about anger at being coddled or, by my interpretation and Ian’s own words, him being selfish. It’s about him seeing that Mickey’s devotion is going to keep him from living his life and ultimately (in his opinion) hurt him beyond repair, and so he sets Mickey free. It hurts him, yes, but it does work.

Because even though we don’t see it happen on-screen, s6 through s9 can’t possibly be Mickey sitting in a prison cell pining over Ian. If that was going to happen, we’d have seen it in s4. By this point, we know who Mickey is outside of Ian and can assume that he’s operating in much the same way on the inside until he figures out what he wants to do. We know he and Svetlana had a business arrangement where they took out contracts for work he could do in prison. We know that he makes a business acquaintanceship with Damon, which means he was probably involved in dealing or smuggling while there. Neither of these things can possibly revolve around devotion to Ian because they could conceivably keep him from Ian longer. His sentence is fifteen years, and if he’s counting on being out in eight to be with Ian, he needs to be on his best behavior. He’s not. He’s unapologetically not when he sees Ian again and talks about what Damon is. Ian looks less than comfortable with it, but that’s not why they ditch him—it’s because he might get Mickey caught with his behavior. Even breaking out happened once he was able to solidify an opportunity working for a cartel, so while Ian may have been another catalyst (besides the obvious desire to get out of prison), the decision wasn’t about devotion to him. The only decision that was about that was the one he made at the border to let Ian go without making him feel worse about it. He’s devoted to Ian, so he knows that dragging him along on the run into the unknown won’t be good for him. He needs stability and a support system and medication, none of which Mickey can provide if they cross that border together. So, out of his devotion, he lets Ian go. They have a heartfelt goodbye and separate for what they think is the last time.

Does Mickey’s devotion lead him to turning himself in? Absolutely. But not before spending another long stint living his own life. The writers make sure we know that he had a life without Ian playing a role in it, once again conducting business and operating successfully on his own merits. They’re limited in what they can show because Noel wasn��t available, which made logistics important, but they didn’t leave him high and dry or insinuate that he was waiting around in Mexico for an excuse to return to Ian. He was once again a successful businessman in the illicit economy. When he returns in s10, his storyline does then appear to revolve around devotion to Ian more—but it doesn’t. Mickey has people he hangs out with in prison separate from Ian and with no ties to him. With the Byron situation, it wasn’t about proving devotion for Ian when he thought Ian questioned it—it was about hurting Ian because of what happened at the courthouse, even after he found out what Ian was really afraid of. If the writers were only interested in showing his devotion to Ian, he would have ditched Byron the second Ian told him that he was scared of his disorder and ruining them. He doesn’t. He sticks it out because Mickey is so much more than his relationship with Ian: he’s independent, vengeful, hot-headed, impulsive, and stubborn. These are traits that have been set up by the writers throughout the series both with and without ties to their relationship, and he very adamantly adheres to his revenge-plot-turned-catalyst-for-Ian-pulling-his-head-out-of-his-ass because he isn’t all about devotion to Ian.

I completely respect your opinion on the matter and appreciate the opportunity to discuss it at length! Ultimately, it boils down to this for me: the writers get a lot off flack for some of the narrative decisions and, of course, they won’t always be to our liking. Opinions and preferences assure us of that. I don’t think it’s about us being more realistic or more capable of analyzing a character, though. Everything above was written. It wasn’t spelled out and handed to us, no, but the writers put it there so that we could then analyze it. There’s no analyzing a blank slate or someone whose only narrative is devotion to Ian. The writers have given us a wealth of things to consider when it comes to all the characters, Mickey included, and we wouldn’t be able to have this conversation if they didn’t. Mickey is intelligent, thoughtful, insightful, and more than capable of standing on his own two feet as both a fictional person and a character. If he chose Ian, then it’s because he has weighed all these things and found them to be nothing in the grand scheme of their love for one another. Again, though, we can agree to disagree. Thank you for this ask—I find myself writing more about Ian, so I had a lot of fun thinking back over the series to answer it! 😃🧡

#shameless #meta #Mickey milkovich #Ian gallagher #gallavich #I probably shouldn’t tag this because it’s inviting vitriol #but it’ll get shared anyway #so please be kind folks #this is just my opinion #and ultimately defends Mickey

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destiniesfic · 4 years

Photo

132 Hours, Chapter 3:

“Let me step on your back,” I say abruptly.

Read chapter 3 on AO3, or read below:

“Sherlock Holmes.”

I barely have to think about it. “Sherlock Holmes was an omega.”

“No.” Cardan sounds totally affronted. “No way. How can you even say that?”

For lack of anything better to do, we have been playing this game for nearly an hour. Mostly fictional characters, but some historical figures, too, who are up for debate. As much as alphas would love to lay claim to every known conqueror, it just isn’t realistic. Cardan and I have already gone back and forth on Alexander the Great and Ivan the Terrible and Ghengis Khan. Designations live in a kind of middle space between gender and sexual orientation, so people make assumptions based on the way you present in society, but also whether you’re an alpha, an omega, or a mythical beta is, technically, no one’s business but yours. So, especially in older stories, these things go unsaid or are discreetly left for the reader to surmise.

“Why would he be an alpha?” I challenge.

Cardan is sitting in his corner, one leg propped up, elbow on knee, same as before. He shrugs. “I mean, he feels empowered to take charge in crime scene investigations, he’s assertive—”

“You’re thinking of the BBC reboot,” I scoff. “The way Conan Doyle wrote his Holmes wasn’t like that. He was an expert, yes, and knew it, but he admitted it when someone bested him, and he went out of his way to help vulnerable people. People who had been scammed, or… single women.”

As bad as it seems for omegas and women—especially omega women—now, it would have been even worse in the stratified Victorian era. We still have our strata, but they were more codified then:

Alpha men

Alpha women/omega men (depending on the situation)

Omega women

And, of course, it was all way worse when race and class got thrown in. The point is that someone like Violet Smith of “The Solitary Cyclist”—a woman, assumed omega, and poor—would have been in real trouble without Holmes’ help.

“So he’s an omega because he’s nice to widows?” Cardan asks, with a glare.

“No, he’s an omega because he pays attention,” I reply. “Alphas don’t need to pay attention the way Sherlock Holmes does. You just waltz in and traipse all over whatever or whoever and always get your way. Who cares about the details when you’re an alpha? But Sherlock Holmes looks hard at the little things. You don’t do that if you don’t have to, if you’re not used to walking into a room and assessing threats, figuring out the balance of power. All the time. Because it’s exhausting, but you have to do it.”

Cardan is quiet for a beat too long, and I realize I may have actually said more about myself than about Sherlock Holmes. But he spares me by saying, “Surely we’re not all that bad.”

I make a noncommittal sound.

“Your dad’s an alpha, right?” he continues. “He took you and Taryn in after your parents died. He didn’t have to do that.”

I have to keep myself from snorting. No one who’s met Madoc would ever describe him as particularly nice or even giving. “Did you know Vivi has a pet conspiracy theory that he killed our parents in the first place?”

“What?”

“Not himself, obviously. That he hired someone to sabotage the car we were in.” I don’t know why I tell him. The second it leaves my mouth it feels like a family secret, or an in-joke I’m not supposed to share. But I can’t stop talking. “I mean, it was just luck we weren’t killed, Taryn and Vivi and I. But my parents’ car was new. The brakes shouldn’t have given out like they did. Anyway, Vivi thinks he took us in because he felt guilty.”

“I mean, that’s… crazy to think your dad was involved.” But Cardan says it too slowly, and hastens to add, “He isn’t a supervillain.”

“Yeah, I know. Just with everything that happened after, the way he swooped in, she was always suspicious.” I feel my mouth twitch, but I don’t know whether I want to smile or scowl. “I think she wanted us to be like The Boxcar Children and run away to live in the woods.”

“Well, you’re getting the one-room, no-running-water experience now.”

I catch myself smiling—he’s funny—and force my mouth into a frown, scouring our little room again for anything useful. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Even the socket that would hold a bare lightbulb is empty. Finally, my eyes settle on the one tiny window, set close to the ceiling, letting in a meager amount of natural light that does seem to have grown brighter as we talked.

“Let me step on your back,” I say abruptly.

“You want to what?”

“Step on your back,” I repeat, exasperated. “Are you tall enough to reach that window without a stool?”

“No?”

“Well, neither am I.” I fold my arms. “So I’m going to need you to give me a boost.”

He arches a critical eyebrow. “Why don’t you just sit on my shoulders?”

I blink at him. “Because… I thought you wouldn’t want to put your head anywhere near my crotch? Given how I reek and all.”

“But you thought I’d want to be stepped on? Jesus.” Cardan rubs a hand over his face. “What do you think I’m into? Look, I’ll crouch down, you get on my shoulders and look out the window. It’s not like I’m putting my face in your vag.” I shudder, and he adds, “We’ll never have to talk about it again. Okay?”

“Sounds great to me,” I say.

He nods and crouches down. I am not prepared for the way my heart thumps in my chest at the sight of the guy who made my life miserable since I was in seventh grade, who pushed me during gym, who whispered vile things in my ear whenever he could, who empowered other kids to do the same or worse waiting for me to climb onto his shoulders with his head bowed. It’s not real power, it’s just temporary, but it is intoxicating.

Then Cardan says, “Taking your time, huh?” and I snap out of it.

“Why the rush?” I ask. “Got somewhere to be?”

“I was thinking anywhere but here would be great.” He looks up at me. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I swing my legs over him and let him hoist me up on his shoulders. I haven’t exactly been invited to participate in a ton of games of chicken fight in the pool, so it’s been some time since anyone carried me like this. Maybe not since Taryn and I were very small, just after our parents died, when Madoc would help us get things from high kitchen shelves. I gasp when I’m lifted. Cardan is strong enough that it seems effortless, but I also hear him let out a small grunt.

“Not a word,” I say, dreading the jab he might make about my weight. “Move me closer to the window.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Cardan mutters, but he obliges.

I am extremely conscious of his hands on my bare thighs, the way his muscles shift under my shoulders. Some alphas, like the guy who tried to grab me at the party, are kind of muscle-bound in an unattractive way. Not Cardan. Cardan has just the right amount to be fit and lean, with the bare minimum amount of body fat, but not so much muscle that he tips over into ungraceful. He’s a sports car of a person, lithe and elegant. It’s no mystery why his shirtless TikToks get so many views.

I get my hands on the windowsill so he’s not bearing my full weight, and then I groan. “Bad news.”

“What?”

“Well, I definitely can’t fit through here. I can kind of see the sky, so I would guess it’s maybe ten a.m. Otherwise there’s just a window well. Plastic and dirt. I can’t make out our surroundings at all.” I sigh. “We’re in a basement.”

There’s an awkward pause, and then Cardan says, “At least we know for sure.”

“Yeah. Put me down?”

He does, and we go back to our respective seats, mentally reviewing what we know. The only door is, of course, locked from outside. The floor is bare concrete, the ceiling exposed insulation and tubing, so we might be in a storeroom of some kind, or an unfinished basement in an older house. Our kidnappers left us with absolutely nothing, so no phones. Even my keychain, with the Swiss army knife Madoc gave me before my first summer at sleep-away camp, is gone.

We are growing hungrier and more sullen with each passing minute when there is a knock at the door.

Cardan and I glance at each other from our opposite sides of the room. “Um,” I say. Are kidnappers supposed to be polite?

Cardan shrugs one shoulder, then straightens up, lifting his chin in a decidedly imperious way. Trying to summon some air of command, some macho alpha-ness that will help us out of this. It could work—it is half working on me, I begrudgingly admit to myself, because my stupid brain is wired that way—if we weren’t both grimy from sitting on the floor and still a little woozy from the drugs.

“Come in,” he calls.

The door is opened slightly, and the first thing to poke through it is the barrel of a pistol. A 9mm, by the looks of it. Cardan’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“You kids willing to behave?” comes a voice. It’s a man’s voice, strangely melodious. I was expecting the sandpapery roughness of an old-school gangster. I know it’s stereotypical, but I’ve never been kidnapped before, and it’s not like they make a manual.

Cardan and I glance at each other again. I’m not sure what we’re looking to find in each other’s faces.

“Yeah,” I say. “We’re good.”

“Oh, good. I’d hate to shoot you.” The man pushes the door open the rest of the way, and I have to press my lips shut to keep from gasping. There are disfiguring scars that cut across his cheeks, down his jaw, even one across the bridge of his nose. I’m not even sure what makes scars like that, jagged and rough-edged. If it was a knife, it wasn’t clean work. Someone was making a point.

I am immediately relieved, though, because his resonant voice had made me think we could be dealing with a real alpha, someone whose words hold command. This man is of average height, average build. If not for the scars, for the obviously broken nose, he would be totally unremarkable.

“Who are you?” Cardan asks. I am reluctantly impressed that he manages to sound haughty in this situation. He’s sitting up straight with his back against the wall, one leg outstretched, the other bent, his foot planted on the floor. He’s resting his elbow on that knee, like it’s all effortless.

“Breakfast service,” replies the man, still pointing the pistol at us. He tosses a McDonald’s bag into the room, then he and the gun retreat, and the door shuts behind him. We hear the click of a lock and then, to my horror, the sound of a deadbolt sliding into place.

Cardan exhales and reaches for the bag.

“Don’t!” I exclaim. “Seriously, it might be drugged.”

“It—what?” he asks. “Now you decide to care about whether the food is drugged? This isn’t Flowers in the Attic, Jude. We’re hostages. They want to ransom us. They’re not going to poison us.”

I blink at him. “Flowers in the Attic? You’ve read a book?”

He rolls his eyes and reaches for the bag. “Well, if you’re not going to eat it, I will.”

When he opens the bag, the smell of sausage grease and egg hit me like a truck. My stomach growls. I am suddenly very aware that the last time I ate was before the party, and my nerves had kept me from eating much then. “What… is it?”

“Two McMuffins.” He looks up at me. “See? They don’t want to starve us. They’re keeping us alive.”

“They could still tamper with them. Sedatives or something. Keep us complacent, keep us from doing what we’re going to do, which is try to escape.”

Cardan arches an eyebrow. “Has anyone ever told you you’re unbelievably paranoid?”

I think of Taryn and purse my lips. “Did you know it wouldn’t kill you to take something seriously?”

He holds up one hand, fingers spread wide. “Okay. How about this. I eat a McMuffin because I am fucking starving, and if they put anything in it it’ll get me and work through my system faster. You can stay up scheming or whatever. If nothing happens after like fifteen minutes, you get to eat yours. Or if you decide to be stubborn, I’ll eat it. Deal?”

“It’ll be cold and gross.” I cross my arms. “But fine.”

“Good.” Cardan takes a McMuffin out of the bag—his hands are so big that it barely looks like enough food for him—and devours it in what must be record time. I turn my head away.

“Where’s the nearest McDonald’s, do you think?” I ask

“Huh?”

“We were in East Hampton. They don’t have one there.”

“Uh-huh. That’s a good point.” I look back to see Cardan sucking grease off his thumb. “Dunno. Closer to the middle of the island, maybe?”

“Maybe,” I echo quietly. Without knowing how long we were out, it seems impossible to figure out where they could have taken us. “You’re right. We couldn’t be in the city.”

Cardan shakes his head. “Nah, don’t think so. Too quiet, and like you said, that’s definitely daylight, so people’d be out and about.”

“Yeah,” I say, looking up at the window.

He looks at the window, too, but doesn’t say anything, and we lapse into silence. It’s strange, to be sharing space with him, to be quiet. I could never have imagined anything like it, not with our fraught history. There’s no world in which Cardan Greenbriar and I could be friends, but, at least temporarily, we are not enemies.

“Did you like it?” I asked at last, when the silence stops being neutral and begins to make me feel anew how tired and tense I am.

“Like what?”

“Flowers in the Attic.”

“Oh.” He blinks twice, his dark eyelashes fluttering. “I read it a few years ago, but, yeah. I did. You know, it was nice to read about a family that was more fucked up than mine.” He raises his eyebrows. “Spicy, too.”

I scoff. “How can your family be so fucked up you’d read a gothic novel for catharsis?”

Cardan drums his fingers on his knee. “How much do you know about my family?”

“You’re old money. One of those alpha families that claims they’re pure alpha for generations.” Which is pretty much impossible, but everyone in that tier of society tells the same lie. Half the kids in my school claim to be pure alpha, and on paper both of their parents are alphas. But while alpha men and women can reproduce—they have the right gametes—it’s not easy. More likely omega egg donors, and, before that, omega surrogates who were well-paid. It’s no wonder they see us as breeders.

I start ticking off additional facts on my fingers. “Your great-grandfather was one of the great American magnates, but it was his alpha daughter, Mab Greenbriar, who really made something of his millions. Your dad was her only son, so he inherited the whole corporation. You have five older siblings: Balekin, Elowyn, Dain, Caelia, Rhyia—”

Cardan holds up both his hands. “Yeah, yeah. I get the point.”

“It’s all on Wikipedia.” I shrug, and to sound less like a weird stalker, I add, “And Vivi and Rhyia are like best friends.”

“You know, and I know you said it before, but I do forget Vivienne’s your sister. She’s so cool.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”

I get it, though. He probably thinks Vivi’s cool because she’s an alpha, but she also gets points for being the family rebel. Her biological dad, Madoc, adopted us all after the car crash that killed our parents, but she never wanted to be the natural successor he hoped for. Now she plays rugby at an all-girls’ college, has three cartilage studs and a septum piercing, shaves half her head, and is defiantly, unapologetically queer. It’s a different path than I would take, but marching to the beat of your own drum is definitely something that appeals to people.

“By the way,” Cardan says, “it’s been a few minutes and I feel fine. Well, as fine as one can feel having eaten only one McMuffin. I don’t feel any worse.”

“Okay.” I hold out my hand. “Toss me the bag.”

The bag crinkles when he picks it up, then he looks inside. “I think I’m owed a poison taster’s fee.”

“Huh?”

Cardan takes my McMuffin out of the bag, takes a bite out of it, then drops it back in the bag, which he proceeds to lob at my head. I catch it, face wrinkling in disgust. “Ew!”

“What? I need the calories more.”

I shake the bag at him. “I am not eating this,” I huff.

“We split the water bottle. That didn’t kill you.” Cardan sits back against the wall and closes his eyes. “Besides, who knows when they’re going to decide to feed us again?”

“You’re all so gross,” I mutter as I open the bag and pull out my breakfast. He’s right, and I hate that he’s right. I also hate that my hunger is enough to overcome my revulsion, at both the stolen bite and the undeniable fact that my McMuffin is now cold. I stuff it in my mouth, devouring the rest of it in only a few bites.

“Who’s gross?” he asks. “Alphas? Boys?”

“Alpha boys,” I inform him, with my mouth full.

“Big words from somebody whose designation’s known for leaking fluids everywhere.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “We’re not the only designation that leaks,” I point out. “We’re just the only one that gets shit for it. We’re the ones who’re thought of as gross while you and your type get to go around ruling the world.”

“Oh, sure. That has nothing to do with the way you guys are totally incapacitated for three straight days if you don’t take your drugs.”

“If we don’t get out of here, you’ll be just as screwed as I am,” I snap. “Stuck in a room with me? You won’t have a chance. We’re both going to become brainless fuck machines if that happens, so… shut the hell up.”

He does, to my surprise. I do too. I wipe my greasy hands on the McDonald’s bag, then crumple it into a little ball and toss it into the corner of the room. My anger is a living thing, running through my veins like electricity, vibrating under my skin. It’s been there for so long, but I would never have dared to say that to his face before. The rest of our situation is so absurd, so dire, it feels like there are no consequences for mouthing off at him.

That’s dumb, of course. There are always consequences. But at least they won’t be coming anytime soon.

“‘Brainless fuck machines,’” Cardan whispers quietly, and then he snickers.

“You—shut up,” I say, feeling unlikely mirth bubbling at the corners of my mouth. Cardan lets out another huff of laughter, and then I am giggling, and he’s laughing outright, clutching at his stomach. It’s ridiculous, all of my nerves coming out like that, but he’s laughing and it feels like there’s nothing for me to do but laugh too.

“Oh, man,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “I didn’t know you were a poet.”

“I’m serious!” I squeal, my abs cramping from laughing and trying not to laugh harder all at once. “That’s what happens!”

“God.” Cardan lets his head fall softly into the corner. “We are so screwed.” He points one finger up in the air. “Metaphorically. So far.”

“Jesus.” I cover my face with both of my hands. “Jesus.”

“Jesus was an alpha.”

I peek at him through my fingers. “He was not. He literally said ‘I am the Alpha and the Omega.’”

“I’m just fucking with you.” Cardan grins, his hair flopping in his face, but then his cheer vanishes abruptly. “Wait, you’re not actually religious, are you?”

I shake my head. “Not really.” But I still know that common theology holds that Jesus—and angels, and any other holy beings I don’t know about—are not alphas or omegas, but they aren’t betas, either. They are all things and nothing. Must be a good life. I pull my hands down and squint at him. “Were you worried about offending me?”

“Me?” Cardan shakes his head to toss his hair out of his face. “Nah.”

“Well, good.” I cross my arms again. “Because you’ve never cared before, and it’d really freak me out if you started now. Then I’d know we were both losing it for real.”

“I just thought…” He shrugs. “I mean, it’d be nice if one of us believed in something. That praying could help. I’d like to believe that. Seems tidy.”

“Yeah.” I let my cheek fall against the cold wall, too, and blink away the memories of screaming at the night sky, demanding someone give me my parents back. I can’t fall into that pit. I will not.

I just say, “I stopped believing that anyone was listening a long time ago.”

Cardan scratches at the wall with his finger. “Me too, Duarte,” he said. “Me too.”

#jurdan #judecardan #jude x cardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #the folk of the air #tfota #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #jurdan fanfic #mine: fic #fic: 132 hours

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