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ginnsbaker · 9 months

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In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (15/22)

Chapter summary: You make a decision about Vision, the video, and your lingering feelings for your ex-wife

Chapter word count: 6.6K | Warnings: None | Ship: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader

Author's note: If you decide to yell at me after this chapter, I guess this is a good time to tell you that I'm smol.

AO3 | Masterlist

Next chapter: Sixteen

Fifteen

Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer - David Kushner "Daylight"

"Will you let me know once you figure out what you'll do?" Wanda asks, her voice wavering as remnants of dried tears cling to her cheeks, leaving faint trails in their wake.

You respond with a subdued sound of agreement, but deep down, you harbor doubts about your ability to follow through on your promise. The thumb drive still burns in your palm, and your clenched fist refuses to release it.

Alone in your apartment, hours after Yelena has departed for work, you find yourself replaying this memory time and again. Having taken the week off, your days are largely spent fixated on a particular file on your computer screen. That’s the last time you’ve heard from Wanda. Neither of you has made any effort to reach out since then.

“He recorded us having… having the affair.”

Your face involuntarily twists into a grimace of raw pain. Each breath feels heavier than the last, like you're dragging them from a place deep within you that you've been desperately trying to avoid. Your gaze remains fixated on the screen, eyes glassy, as if staring longer could somehow give you the answers you so crave.

A small, dark corner of your heart wishes you had gone further than just cracking Vision's skull with that vase, now knowing that he did more than violate a marriage.

You hover your mouse over the file.

"I’d take it all back if I could.”

Blinking rapidly, the strain in your smile grows more palpable, etching lines of tension across your face, until you’re gritting your teeth in an effort to maintain some form of control over your emotions.

But in the end, the tears well up and they spill over.

In the end, you can’t bring yourself to watch how Wanda chose to break your heart.

You delete the file from your computer, erasing any trace of the painful reminder. As you empty the trash bin, it feels like a symbolic act of letting go, even though the ache in your heart remains.

***

“Wanda? Did you hear what I just said?”

Wanda blinks, appearing slightly disoriented, as if she had been drifting away, coming back and forth to the present like a restless ghost. Calliope regards Wanda with a gentle caution, noticing that she appears different from her usual self this morning. There is a noticeable absence of her usual active engagement in conversation, with Wanda providing only succinct and dismissive replies to her questions.

“Hm?” Wanda's gaze focuses on Calliope, a flicker of apology crossing her features as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry, could you repeat that? I... got distracted.”

“Wanda, I was asking about how you spent Y/N's birthday last week,” Calliope repeats with a soft smile.

Your birthday. It had been one of the best days in recent memory, a rarity considering the limited number of such occasions. And unfortunately, the joyous feeling it brought her was short-lived, lasting only two days before Yelena shattered the blissful bubble she was in.

"I, uh, baked her a cake, but it was more for my own enjoyment and for my customers,"

Wanda shares, and though her expression becomes slightly dreamy, it’s still tinged with despondency. “And then in the evening, we ran into each other by chance, and she treated me to dinner. All in all, it was better than I imagined."

“That sounds wonderful, Wanda,” Calliope says. "But how come you don't seem as happy about it now?"

“A lot has happened between then and now,” Wanda explains. “Her birthday isn’t the last time we saw each other. It’s actually just three days ago, and we, uh, didn’t exactly end that meeting on a good note.”

The only indication that Calliope looks slightly concerned is the eleven that appears in between her brows. Otherwise, her face remains soft and void of tension. “Can you tell me more, Wanda? But of course, only if you’re comfortable to share them.”

Wanda takes a moment to weigh her options. On one hand, there is legal information that she would need to disclose, but on the other hand, she can sense the possibility of her spiraling down if she keeps these things to herself. Ultimately, she decides to place her trust in her therapist and rely on the foundation they have built together, telling Calliope everything. She begins by recounting Yelena's visit and the subsequent confrontation with Vision. Then, with regret she describes the following morning when she visited you to give you an option to fight Vision back another way.

Calliope listens attentively, and though she usually maintains a professional demeanor throughout these sessions with her clients, she couldn’t help but inwardly sigh in relief that Wanda chose to talk to her about the crucial week she’s had.

There are at least a dozen emotional and mental implications for someone who had gone through what Wanda did in the recent days. As someone who lives and breathes science, Calliope doesn’t believe in good or bad luck, but this is one of those rare occurrences that she’s handling someone who’s gone and continues to go through a multitude of life-changing storms in just a year. Wanda's resilience is a force to be reckoned with, refusing to bow to the hardships she constantly faces.

“It must be beyond overwhelming to be confronted with such things at the same time,” Calliope says. She retrieves a pad and a pen from her desk and looks up at Wanda. “Do you mind if I write some of these things down? So we can go over them one step at a time?”

Wanda gives her a short nod, placing her complete trust on her therapist. Calliope proceeds to write on the pad and then suddenly, she stops and looks up at Wanda who’s chewing on her lip.

“When you learned that Vision filmed your trysts without your consent, how did that make you feel?”

Wanda feels the familiar coil of anger tighten in her stomach at the mere mention of his name.

Her response slips out slowly. “Violated. I–I know I’m half of that affair, and I have no right to feel like a victim–”

“Wanda,” Calliope quickly cuts her line of thought, dispelling right away the notion that just because she agreed to something, she agreed to everything. Even though the sex was consensual, the act of recording it without consent was a violation of trust and not to mention, a breach of the law.

“Your role in the affair does not negate the fact that you can still feel violated by this type of invasion to your privacy. You have the right to acknowledge your own feelings and experiences, separate from the affair itself." Calliope tells her.

Wanda presses her fingertips against her temple for a few seconds. “I feel like a victim to my own stupid decisions. I’m angry at Vision, but mostly I–I’m angry with myself.”

“Blaming yourself may be a natural response, but the responsibility for the violation lies with Vision. It's not a reflection of your worth or intelligence. You trusted him that time, and he betrayed that trust.” Calliope says.

Wanda is silent. It’s been a long time since she felt like none of Calliope’s words make sense. None could make her feel better at the moment.

Sensing that she’s not getting through to her, Calliope continues, “You don’t have to believe me right now. All of it is new, and you can take as much time as you need to face your feelings.”

"You know what else troubles me the most? I find it very difficult to reconcile myself with the married woman who slept with a kid all those times. Who is she, Calliope? And by asking this, I'm not trying to absolve myself of responsibility because she was me, but I simply can't comprehend how I allowed it to happen. If you were to ask me now why I entered into that affair, I honestly wouldn't have an answer for you.”

Calliope nods in understanding. It's not unusual for individuals to struggle with recognizing the person they used to be, even if it was just a year ago or even a week ago. Personal growth and experiences can drastically change people’s perspectives and actions, often leading them to question their past choices.

“We are always changing. You're a different person today than you were yesterday, even if the change isn’t that significant. There’s always something in us that’s changing, progressing, growing.”

“Why couldn’t I have grown back then,” Wanda mumbles in regret. I should’ve been able to prevent it. Things would have gone differently.

Calliope smiles, understanding Wanda's inclination to obsess over what could have been. “We only realize what's wrong within us when the signs become apparent, like having a fever. A doctor wouldn't say you're sick with a fever alone; it's just a symptom. There's an underlying cause. But the fever serves as an important indicator that your body needs treatment.”

Wanda sighs; she can’t think of any argument to that. “Maybe you’re right.”

And as she replays the memories of that day in her mind, a sudden realization strikes Wanda. There was a vivid detail from her conversation with Yelena that she had almost forgotten.

“Yelena said something,” Wanda begins, her fingers idly toying with the wedding band now adorning her necklace. “Something about Y/N not being completely hers.”

“Go on,” Calliope encourages.

“Do you think she was indirectly telling me that Y/N still has feelings for me?” Wanda's voice is tinged with uncertainty, yet her eyes shimmer with hope.

“Interpreting someone else's words can be subjective," Calliope says. “I want to be honest with you, Wanda–it’s always best not to read too much into it. Yelena's perception of the situation differs from your own, and her words might not necessarily reflect the true feelings or intentions of Y/N.”

Wanda's hopeful expression wavers slightly, a hint of disappointment flickering across her face. She nods, understanding the need to approach the situation with caution.

“I know it's easier said than done. Believe me, I struggle with it too, sometimes…” Calliope trails off as if reminiscing her own experiences, before continuing, “But whether or not Y/N still has feelings for you, your well-being should remain a priority. Overthinking and making assumptions can be detrimental to our happiness.”

Happiness. It’s elusive, and she wants nothing more than to hold onto it longer than a fleeting moment.

***

“Are you certain about this? Once we send this letter to his attorney, it cannot be retracted,” your lawyer states as she neatly organizes the pages of the counter demand letter into a folder.

“And if they agree to the terms, will it finally be over?” you inquire, seeking reassurance.

“Yes. I have drafted every clause to safeguard you from any future legal actions regarding the same matter,” she assures.

You take a moment to process the information before a new concern arises. “You mean, he won't be able to sue me in the future if he decides that $800,000 isn't enough?”

“No,” she says with a confident smirk. “If he does that you can sue him for double the amount.”

“That’s quite impressive.”

“It's what you hired me for,” she replies with a hint of pride.

After your lawyer leaves, you pick up your phone and dial Natasha's number. The ringing persists until a recorded voice message greets you.

“Hey, Nat? It’s me. Uh, when you get this call can you please call me back? I–” Your voice breaks, and you close your eyes, envisioning Natasha's stoic expression as she listens to your message. This silence between you is uncharacteristic, as you have never gone this long without talking to each other except when she's working. It pains you to realize the strain in one of the most important relationships in your life right now.

“I’m sorry, okay? I hope we can talk soon and I’ll explain everything. Please, Nat,” you say. “I don’t think I can handle losing you.”

***

“It’s a send off party for those who are racing the New York City Marathon this year.” you explain to Yelena as you stuff your socks into a duffel bag.

Since joining Valkyrie's running club, you have mainly trained alone, only joining the group for runs on two occasions. However, you've come to realize the benefits of running with others who are faster than you. It pushes you to increase your pace during tempo runs and has led to a faster rate of improvement in your performance. Wanda has chosen not to join the weekday runs with the club, and you secretly appreciate the opportunity to focus solely on running and enjoying the company of other people. Wanda never fails to catch at least some of your attention. It’s one of your more serious flaws.

“Yeah, I get that it's a party,” Yelena mutters, gathering toiletries from the bathroom to pack in her own bag. “What I don't understand is why the party is being held at a park.”

“You know athletes–we need some form of activity first before we drink the booze and eat the cake.” you say.

Yelena wrinkles her nose. That doesn’t sound like the parties she’s familiar with and knows how to enjoy.

“When’s the NYC Marathon anyway?” Yelena asks.

“It’s this Sunday,” you reply, organizing the items on your packing list. You realize that among all the things you need to bring, a pair of shoes and sunblock are the only essentials. The rest are optional.

“Are you running in it?”

“Nope. I wasn’t picked in the lottery.” you say.

Yelena's expression shifts to one of surprise. "There’s a lottery?" she exclaims, clearly unaware of the selection process. The idea of so many people willingly participating–and paying–to tire themselves out is baffling to her. Yelena tried jogging one time and only thought of it as a grueling experience. So this interesting trivia about marathons just leads her to the conclusion that people must truly have a fondness for pain and suffering.

That causes a laugh to bubble up your throat. "If you don't feel like coming, it's completely fine."

Initially, you hadn't planned for Yelena to join you, but since she expressed a desire to spend the day with you on her day off, you casually suggested she could come as your plus one. And since you knew how she felt about the sport that you do, you assumed she’d turn you down.

“How about we just stay in?” Yelena mumbles, wriggling her eyebrows in suggestion, making you laugh harder. “You know… Netflix, and the other thing.”

“As tempting as that sounds,” you reply, still chuckling, “I can't. I'm responsible for bringing a damn good apple pie for the potluck. People are expecting it.”

Yelena pouts playfully, feigning disappointment. “Well, I guess I'll have to settle for cheering you on then. Just make sure that apple pie is worth it.”

“I'll do my best. And hey, there's always Netflix and 'the other thing' waiting for us when we get back.” you say.

Yelena grins, satisfied with the compromise. “Deal.”

***

As you and Yelena arrive at The Great Lawn in Central Park, the sight of tables and chairs being set up in preparation for the event greets you. Shaun, the closest friend you made from the running group, approaches you, dressed in a similar fashion of running shorts over a base layer, dri-fit shirt and the latest Alphafly. Introductions are made, and Shaun takes the dessert from your hands, ushering you and Yelena to a table near the spread of food and drinks.

Yelena makes a quick remark about feeling a bit overdressed for the occasion, but you dismiss her concerns with a smile, complimenting her appearance, which prompts her to lean in and give you a long, tender kiss.

A kiss that your ex-wife witnessed as you catch her looking at you and Yelena from afar when you open your eyes at the end of it.

You’re unable to hide the look of surprise from your face because you weren’t expecting Wanda at this party. While everyone else confirmed their attendance, Wanda remained quiet, never participating in the conversations. Had you known Wanda would be here, you wouldn't have invited Yelena.

Yelena follows your line of sight, and then seeing Wanda, mirrors your surprised expression.

“Why is she here?” she asks, her voice holding a hint of accusation though she tried to hide it.

“I... don't know,” you mumble absentmindedly as your attention is drawn to the person Wanda arrived with.

Valkyrie.

“And why didn’t you tell me that Wanda also belongs in the same running group?”

You shift your focus back to Yelena as Wanda and Valkyrie engage with the other runners, their presence quickly absorbed into the conversations and exchanges happening around them.

“I honestly didn't think it was important to mention,” you admit. “Wanda hasn't been actively involved in the group–she never joins our runs.”

Yelena raises an eyebrow, and says, “Well, I think it's worth mentioning.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was coming today. We all confirmed in the group chat and she never said anything.” you say.

“I get it, just remember, be open with me, especially about her,” Yelena says, her face softening. “I don't want to be 'that' girlfriend, but trust takes time. You not telling me the whole story about her doesn't help.”

“I'm sorry. It won't happen again,” you promise.

Yelena nods, pulling you in for another kiss. This one feels more intense, more insistent. Just as Yelena's tongue finds its way into your mouth, Wanda happens to glance your way. The sight causes her to promptly look away.

As Yelena's lips leave yours and she steps back, Valkyrie saunters over, her hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of her vest, a cheeky grin playing on her lips.

“Glad to see you again, Y/N,” Valkyrie greets, her gaze shifting to Yelena. “Who's this?”

You offer Valkyrie a tight smile and proceed to introduce Yelena as your girlfriend. Valkyrie extends her hand to Yelena, their handshake lingering a moment longer than necessary, with Valkyrie's thumb softly brushing the back of Yelena's hand before letting go. And then she excuses herself, winking at you both as she returns to Wanda’s side.

It might just be your intense dislike of this woman, but you can't help but worry about Wanda trusting someone who evidently likes to flirt.

As you slide an arm around Yelena, you both find a quieter spot, away from the buzz.

“You don't seem too thrilled about her,” Yelena notes.

With a small scoff, you try to dismiss it. “Valkyrie?”

"Yeah. Right there, when you say her name... It's like you'd rather jump off a cliff," Yelena remarks, noticing your disdain.

“She's just... too full of herself for my liking.”

Yelena gives you a knowing look. “You sure it's not because she showed up with–”

“Of course not,” you retort, a bit too quickly. Feeling the conversation veer into uncomfortable territory, you quickly reroute. “There's beer in the cooler, want one?”

Yelena is momentarily taken aback by the sudden shift, but she nods and replies, “Sure.”

They decide on a casual game of Ultimate Frisbee, as suggested by Valkyrie.

You find yourself on one team, while Valkyrie stands on the opposing side. In the sidelines, are your ex-wife and your girlfriend, both seemingly enthralled by the competition that’s about to unfold. You've never played this game before, but Shaun takes the time to show you the ropes of throwing a frisbee with a backhand and a forehand. He explains the rules, which turn out to be fairly easy to understand, given their similarity to soccer. The objective is to get the disc to the other side of the field and avoid turnovers.

The frisbee soars through the air, hurled by none other than Valkyrie to signal the start of the game. Adrenaline courses through your veins, as a fierce determination fueled by the seemingly permanent smirk on Valkyrie’s face propels you forward.

With every throw and catch, you channel your frustrations into the game. It's no longer just about Valkyrie, but also about Vision and the money he managed to extort from you. It's about Wanda and how closely she's watching your every move with something akin to regret and longing in her wide, green eyes. It's about the video you chose not to watch, yet its very existence continues to haunt you.

Valkyrie, agile and naturally athletic, matches your intensity on the field. Each time she catches the frisbee, you feel a surge of anger ignite within you. It's as if every point she scores is a personal affront to your pride. You relentlessly pursue her with a goal in mind to outmatch her every move.

The crowd cheers and gasps with each spectacular play. Wanda's eyes lock with yours, her expression caught between concern and admiration, and you return her gaze with a look of spite as you try to block the movements of the person you’re guarding.

In a pivotal moment, Valkyrie sprints toward the end zone as the disc flies in the similar direction. Taking this window of opportunity, you charge after her, consumed by a desire to tackle her to the ground.

With a surge of strength, you lunge forward with an aim to bring her down.

But fate has a different plan.

In the chaotic collision that ensues, you crash into Valkyrie with all your might. But the strong and sturdy body she’s paraded around for weeks proves to be impenetrable. As the dust settles, you find yourself sprawled on the ground, nursing a deep gash on your elbow. Valkyrie, remarkably unscathed, stands tall, a defiant smirk on her face.

Both Yelena and Wanda rush to your aid, much to your chagrin.

“What the hell was that?” Yelena yells as she leans over you with worry.

Wanda, keeping a cautious distance, chimes in, “Y/N, are you okay?”

Valkyrie, offering you a hand to help you up, dismisses the incident casually. “Oh, she's fine. It happens often in these games.”

Reluctantly, you reach out and steady yourself on Valkyrie's arm, disliking the fact you need her help in that moment. You take a couple of steps back from Valkyrie as soon as you find your footing and grab Yelena’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m okay,” you tell Yelena.

"You're bleeding," Wanda points out, eyes fixed on the wound on your elbow.

“It’s just a small scratch,” you argue, even as the blood drips from your skin and onto the grass.

“Sorry, but it's a general rule to sub out a wounded soldier,” Valkyrie cuts in.

You sneer inwardly at Valkyrie’s flowery choice of words.

“Come on, babe. I'll help you clean that up,” Yelena says, placing a hand on your lower back as she leads you back to the sidelines.

“I’ll get the first aid kit.” Wanda says. Yelena looks at Wanda over her shoulder and you hold your breath, anticipating their exchange. But your girlfriend simply offers your ex-wife a small smile and thanks her.

The night approaches rather quickly after the game.

Everybody helps pack up the picnic spread before the sun sets, as the group collectively agrees to move the party to a pub that Valkyrie claims she managed to reserve at the last minute. The bar she picked is also unbelievably convenient, only being a few minutes away from the park by foot. So, now, everyone looks at Valkyrie with a sense of awe, seeing how effortlessly she can organize a good time. You remain skeptical, however, suspicious that she’s planned everything in advance.

“This Valkyrie–is she some kind of socialite?” Yelena wonders aloud as the two of you enter the bar. Taking in its classy interior, you can tell almost immediately that reserving the entire area must have come at a hefty price.

You shrug in reply, walking straight to the bar to order a double right away.

Valkyrie hasn’t left Wanda’s side all day after the game. Your only interaction with Wanda so far was when she returned to where you and Yelena sat as your girlfriend tended to your wound. Although she didn't utter a word, a small smile graced her face as she handed the first aid kit to Yelena.

“Are you okay?” Yelena asks, rubbing your shoulder, trying to ease the tension she finds there.

“Just tired,” you answer, knocking down your drink.

“May I have everyone's attention, please?” Valkyrie's voice cuts through the blaring music, drawing everyone’s attention towards her.

“I'd like to take a moment to express my gratitude to each and every one of you for joining us at this event. Your presence is invaluable, and it greatly contributes to the success of this gathering,” she states, and you stifle the urge to roll your eyes. Valkyrie lifts her beer can, prompting everyone else to raise their drinks in unison. “Here's to our courageous participants of this Sunday's NYC Marathon. May you conquer the finish line with strength and surpass your own expectations. Cheers!”

With the toast complete, the assembled crowd joins in, raising their glasses and cheerfully clinking them together. Just like that, the party that Yelena is more amenable to officially begins.

Yelena mingles with the group of people who have come to support their partners' interests, all sharing a similar confusion about the appeal of waking up early to cover long distances that, typically, should not be covered by foot. You relax at seeing her chat with them animatedly, looking like she’s enjoying herself so far.

With Yelena occupied, you allow yourself a moment to sulk in a corner of the bar. As you look around the room, you can't help but think about how your lawyer hasn't given you any updates about the counter demand letter. You think about Natasha, who still hasn’t called you back. It makes you feel uneasy, not knowing where things stand.

You try not to think about Wanda, who currently has her head thrown back, laughing at something Valkyrie said. It strikes you that you haven't seen her so carefree in quite some time.

“Hey,” Yelena taps you on the shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Me and some of the girls want to go check out this band playing a couple of blocks away. It won't take long, just a few songs. Is that alright with you?"

“Sure,” you respond. “I'll be ready to leave when you get back.”

“Great,” Yelena replies, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you later.”

You observe Yelena as she happily leaves the venue with her new friends, while you catch the bartender's attention and order another drink.

An hour passes by swiftly, and there is still no sign of Yelena or any message from her. You take a break from alcohol and sip on water, trying to sober up in case Yelena gets back. Shaun tries to engage you in a conversation about World Marathon Majors and his aspirations to qualify for Boston, but your lack of interest is evident, and he eventually excuses himself to join Valkyrie's group. You notice that they are now playing a drinking game, and Wanda receives a shot glass from Valkyrie.

“Truth or drink, Wanda?” Valkyrie teases, hovering a bit too near Wanda for your comfort.

“Truth,” Wanda responds.

“Got anyone you're into at the moment?”

A laugh escapes Wanda, followed by a nervous gulp. “Actually, I think I'll take that drink,” she deflects.

Valkyrie's expression drops, clearly let down by the missed chance to pry into Wanda's love life.

“Since you dodged the truth, you're up for two shots,” she announces, her lips curled into a roguish smile. Wanda obediently follows, and you observe her wince as she slams back the tequila shots. A delicate flush on her cheeks hints that this isn't their first round.

You remain an onlooker as a series of questions are effortlessly answered by various individuals until Wanda is in the hot seat once again.

“Can I pass? I think I've had enough.” Wanda says.

“Oh, don't quit on me now. We're just warming up.”

Wanda offers a weak smile, then capitulates, “Alright. Just one more round, okay? Uhm, truth.”

Someone from the group throws the question. “Have you ever cheated on someone?”

Wanda's smile evaporates almost immediately. She forces a feeble laugh as she once again backtracks from her initial selection. Her gaze flickers towards you before darting back to Valkyrie, finding you already watching her closely.

“I think I want to drink for this one,” Wanda declares, going ahead to down two more shots in line with the game rules. The group cheers her on while Valkyrie, laughing, refills the emptied shot glasses.

Valkyrie finds herself intrigued. Wanda could've simply said 'no' if she hasn’t. She only becomes more fascinating in Valkyrie’s eyes knowing that she’s not as saintly as she looks.

The game continues, everyone takes their turn and it lands on Wanda once more. This time, she dismisses the drink pushed towards her. “I really should pass this time.” Wanda says.

Yet Valkyrie keeps pushing the drink towards Wanda, seemingly blind to her discomfort. Seeing this, you feel the urge to step in.

“She said no. Didn't you catch that?” you squeeze yourself in between Shaun and another girl who looks stunned at your sudden interjection. “Because I could hear her just fine from way over there,” you add, thumbing back at your former spot, some distance away.

“Chill out, we're just having a good time.” Valkyrie shrugs.

“Fucking respect her boundaries, okay? She’s had enough. And she has good reasons to avoid it, trust me.” you assert, your eyes narrowing slightly as you emphasize your point.

Almost immediately, Wanda stands, her lips clenched and her face flushed with annoyance.

“I’m gonna go get some air,” Wanda says to no one in particular.

“Need me to come along?”

“Just stay here, Val, okay?” Wanda interjects, her voice softer as she deftly maneuvers past you.

Your heartbeat quickens as you trail after her.

“Wanda, wait!” you shout, pushing through the crowd.

She pays no heed, her steps resounding heavily as she marches on. Her shoulders are stiff, her movements terse. You can almost sense the anger radiating off her like a dark halo. Chasing after her, you weave through the throng of nosy people who are all looking at you openly, as they watch the commotion continue to unfold before their eyes.

A second later, the door shuts behind you, effectively muffling the music from inside.

Wanda has made it a good distance from the pub, her silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the moon.

“Wanda!” you call out again, your voice softer this time, carrying a note of desperate concern.

At your call, she finally stops.

She stands frozen for a moment before turning to face you. Her face, usually so tender and kind, is etched with an unusual hardness now.

“Why did you do that?” she asks, her tone unexpectedly steady.

“What are you talking about? It was clear she was pushing you into drinking more than you wanted. I simply backed you up there–for which, by the way, some gratitude wouldn't hurt,” you snap back, irritation seeping into your tone.

Wanda's empty laughter rings out in the quiet night. “You practically just implied to everyone that I have a drinking problem!”

“Don't you?” you hiss through a sneer. “I remember getting a call from the person you cheated on me with because you were almost passed out on the street after a night of excessive drinking.”

Wanda visibly flinches, her body recoiling as though she’s just been slapped. The instant your words escape your lips, remorse floods over you, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. Watching the shock on Wanda’s face slowly shift into a profound sadness only deepens your regret.

“Wanda–”

"Thank you... for standing up for me earlier. Good night, Y/N." she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. With those words, she turns her back on you and starts to walk away.

You think about stopping her, but you’re too ashamed of yourself to do anything.

For the next few minutes you just stare at the spot where Wanda stood, haunted by the look of hurt on her face. In the distance, Yelena’s unmistakable voice reaches your ears, signaling her return.

‘Hey, baby!” she slurs, elongating the final syllable, leaving no doubt in your mind that she's drunk.

You approach Yelena, keeping your steps hushed, while she bids farewell to her companions.

“Ready to head home?” you ask in a calm voice.

Yelena's face lights up with enthusiasm as she eagerly nods. Taking her hand into yours, you signal a passing cab.

Later, a little before midnight, your pretense of sleep is broken by the piercing ring of your phone. The truth is, you haven't slept a wink, instead lying still with eyes closed, the happenings of the day replaying ceaselessly in your mind. You pick up the call immediately, taking care not to disturb Yelena's peaceful slumber beside you.

“Y/N?” Wanda's voice comes through the phone, quaking with fear. “I came home and there's… there’s sick all over. Sparky... he's…” Her words fragment into inconsolable sobbing.

“Hey, hey. Just stay calm, okay? I'm on my way," you reassure her before ending the call. You turn to Yelena, sprawled unconscious on the bed. With delicate motions, you snugly wrap the comforter around her and carefully place a pillow under her arm that was previously draped over you. You plant a kiss on her temple before dressing up quickly to meet Wanda.

Around 1:30 in the morning, the veterinarian steps out of the examination room to announce that Sparky is now stable. Wanda's eyes are puffy and bloodshot from crying, but she pays careful attention to the doctor’s report on Sparky’s condition. The situation was critical, but thankfully, Sparky has rallied, his vital signs settling back into normal ranges. Despite this, the vet recommends keeping him under observation for an additional 48 hours to ensure his continued recovery.

You settle the bill out of your own credit card and escort a grief-stricken Wanda back to her apartment. You instruct her to get comfortable on the couch as you move around the kitchen and prepare yourselves a cup of tea. As you re-enter the living room, you notice Wanda remains in the same position, her gaze fixed on Sparky's dog bowl, a few kibbles still left untouched.

“Do you remember when Sparky first became a part of our lives?” Wanda asks suddenly.

You nod solemnly, settling down beside Wanda as you hand her her tea. She accepts it gratefully, cradling it in her hands to soak in its comforting warmth.

“It was on your 25th birthday, and he was my surprise gift for you,” you recall with a hint of nostalgia.

“Your sneaky way of adopting him without telling me,” Wanda retorts, finally managing a small smile.

The fond memory brings a soft chuckle to your lips. Wanda had never been keen on having a pet, especially in your small Manhattan apartment. But Sparky quickly won her over within just a couple of days. She would serenade him with renditions of "You Are My Sunshine" every day for a week, until she eventually grew tired of the song and moved on to another tune to sing to him.

“I always knew that we would outlive him. But it's just too soon,” Wanda sniffles, new tears welling up in her eyes. “He deserves more years. I want him to stay with us for as long as a dog possibly can.”

“Me too,” you sigh.

Before you know it, you’re gathering Wanda into your arms. She instinctively nestles her face into the crook of your neck, tears dampening your skin. Your hand gently rubs soothing circles on her back, while your other hand softly strokes her hair. In a hushed voice, you whisper reassurances, telling her that everything will eventually be alright.

When Wanda’s trembling subsides, you feel her shift in your arms. And as you begin to lean your head back from where it’s resting on her shoulder, a magnetic force seems to hold you in place, and you find yourself unable to completely let go. Your forehead ends up resting against hers, watching her calm face in silence. Her eyes stay closed a bit longer, and when they eventually flutter open, you're captivated by the most perfect shade of green, and in that moment it becomes perfectly clear to you that you love her and you never stopped.

Not even then.

A hint of worry appears in Wanda’s deep, emerald eyes as she meets yours. “Y/N–” she starts.

But her words get lost as your nose delicately grazes against hers, and your lips find hers in a clandestine kiss.

She responds to your kiss instinctively, and you merge in a manner that's both wonderfully familiar and refreshingly new. Your fingers trace a soft path across her neck before firmly cradling it, eliciting shivers that ripple through Wanda, right to her core.

The need for breath brings an end to the kiss, and you part from Wanda's lip with a slight wet sound. You take in as much air as you can, ready to lean in once more. But before your lips can meet hers again, she gently places a hand on your chest, giving you a gentle push.

“This... this isn't right,” Wanda stammers, pulling herself back from you. The spot on her neck where your hand rested is warm, the embers of your touch still smoldering as she tries to extinguish the fire you had sparked within her. “We can’t do this to Yelena.”

“Wanda, I–”

“You’re better than me,” she reminds you. “I’m sorry.”

It feels as if you're being jolted awake from a surreal dream, and you instinctively distance yourself from Wanda. Her eyes, filled with worry, attempt to meet yours, but you evade her gaze, the gravity of your actions slowly sinking in.

In a heartbeat, you find yourself bolting from her apartment, your feet pounding the pavement beneath as if trying to outrun the harsh reality of what you’ve done. You just betrayed Yelena. You'd just kissed Wanda. And you don’t know what was more frightening: your actions, or the fact that part of you didn't regret it.

In the waning hours before dawn, sleep proves stubbornly out of reach. The lingering taste of Wanda's kiss and the guilt eating at your conscience keeps slumber at bay. You had done to Yelena the very thing that ruined your life. You spent these hours looking at Yelena’s sleeping face, knowing that this may very well be the last few hours you get to be this close to her.

And just as your eyelids begin to droop, Yelena stirs, slowly waking up.

Yelena hums as she stretches like a cat, and then blinks up at you, a smile already working its way to her lips. Your heart is ringing loudly in your ears by now, making it impossible for you to mirror the delight on your girlfriend's face.

“Hey, is something wrong?” Yelena asks, concern creasing her forehead as her hand lifts to cup your cheek.

“Yelena, I–” Your gaze drops, focusing on the unforgiving reality of the mattress beneath you, avoiding her piercing eyes as you muster the courage to confess. “I… I relapsed–”

“Don’t,” Yelena's voice cuts through your racing thoughts, her intuition already piecing together your next words. "Don't say it."

The silence that looms over your heads is oppressive and suffocating.

“This has gone on for long enough,” Yelena finally declares, her tone resolute. “I have to go.”

“Wait, Yelena–” you stutter, your mind scrambling to string together a sequence of words that might lessen the blow of your betrayal. “Where will you go?”

“Somewhere far away from you,” she replies, her words carrying a frosty undertone.

It stings. And you deserve it.

With that, she gets up and leaves the room, leaving you to the wreckage.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction

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etoileholland · 1 year

Text

a series of unfortunate events

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 2.4k

anonymous asked: Oh oh oh! What if you wrote about Tom and Y/N's first date and everything, absolutely EVERYTHING goes wrong. And while Tom doesn't think Y/N will say yes to a second date, which is super disappointing because he really likes her and he tried soooo hard, but of course, she wants to go on a second date with him because she likes him too!

A/N: thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoy and requests are open!

When Tom woke up today, he knew that luck was on his side. In fact, he was confident that your date with him would be the best date that he’s ever been on. He planned everything out, had picked an outfit the night before, and even purchased a bouquet of your favourite flowers a day before the date.

A week prior, when saw you at a museum in London, he knew it was love at first sight. Harry and Sam egged him on to ask you out, but the moment you locked eyes with Tom, he was weak in the knees. It took some courage, but when he approached you and asked for your number, he was surprised that you gave it to him. In his eyes, you were a walking masterpiece alongside the Monet’s and the Michelangelo’s.

After a week of texting and calling, he asked you on a proper date to a restaurant of your choosing. You chose an Italian restaurant that he hadn’t been to before, but he made a reservation to ensure that you two would be able to eat there.

The lead up to the actual date went well, even down to securing a reservation only a few days prior. It almost seemed that things were going too well.

“I knew luck was on my side.” He said to himself when he awoke the day of your date.

But boy, that would become further from the truth.

“Oi, what happened to my slacks?” Tom hollered across the shared house with his brothers and friend. He knew that someone must’ve heard him, so he exclaimed the same sentence again, a bit louder this time, but once again, silence. Tom examined the rips and holes in his slacks, and bounded out of his room and towards Harrison’s.

“Mate, do you know what happened here, hm?” He huffed. Harrison, who was sitting on his bed, slumped his shoulders forward. His gaze refused to meet Tom’s, who was leaning against the door frame. “When I took a shower, my bedroom door was closed, but when I got out, it was wide open. Care to explain what went on?”

“About that…” Harrison trailed off. “I may have left your door open after returning your charger, and Tessa may have…um…entered.”

Tom sighed loudly, and craned his neck upwards. Harrison noticed the visible vein throbbing on Tom’s forehead, and he lurched off the bed and walked over to Tom.

“I’m really sorry mate. I know you were wanting to wear that suit on your date tonight.” Harrison placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder, and gently patted it. “But don’t worry, it’s only small bite marks so it can easily be repaired to be good as new.”

Tom, who was silent, just huffed before turning on his heels and began to walk back to his room. When he was inside, he flopped onto his bed. “It’s fine,” he said out loud, “I’ll just have to wear something else.” He wanted to wear his maroon suit to the date with you, but now he would have to find a different one. There were other suits he could wear, but that one was his favourite, and he wanted to wear something that made him feel confident. “You know what?’ He questioned to himself. “Nothing could ruin my day, nothing at all.”

It took him about fifteen minutes to find a suit that he deemed worthy of wearing tonight, but he knew that it was time well spent. Even if that meant showing up just a teeny bit late to your house. He was set to pick you up at 6:30, but he was leaving at 6:15. Your place was only about 10 minutes away, that is, if the traffic is good.

Tom grabbed his car keys and rushed out of the house, not even bothering to lock the front door behind him. Getting inside his car and starting it up, he drove like a bat out of hell to your place.

The dashboard clock read 6:55pm when he arrived at your house, which was later than he would’ve liked. Anxiety was beginning to set in, but Tom tried to bury it. With shaky hands, he pressed your doorbell. “I can’t believe I’m late.” He remarked to himself, “She’s gonna think I’m a flake.”

Yet, all of his anxious thoughts dissipated when he saw you.

You looked ravishing in that long dress, so much so in fact that it took the words right out of Tom’s mouth.

“You, um, you look..” He trailed off as he tried to find the right word to describe your beauty.

Angelic, Gorgeous, Ethereal, Awfully Beautiful…he thought.

“Awful.” He uttered. Once he heard the word come out of his mouth, he slapped his hand over his mouth. “Shit!”

Tom watched as your smile turned into a grimace, your eyebrows furrowing downwards. Stuttering, he blurted out, “I-I meant to say you look ‘awfully beautiful, yes.”

You watched as he placed a hand on the nape of his neck, his gaze diverted downwards towards the pavement. His face was beet red, and he was using his hair in an attempt to cover his eyes.

Talk about making a good first impression, Tom thought to himself.

“I’m so sorry.” He hurriedly uttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s fine.” You replied. “I trip over my words a lot too.”

He shot his head up to see if he heard you correctly, and when you smiled softly at him, he knew that you were really fine. “Really?”

You laughed lightly, “yes, don’t worry about it.”

Tom, satisfied with your answer, nodded. “Good, now let’s head out.”

Being the gentleman he was, he held his hand out for you to grab as you walked towards his car. He opened the passenger side door, and carefully closed it behind you. As he got in to the driver’s side, he took a deep breath before driving to the Italian restaurant that you chose.

The drive went well, with the radio playing a mix of oldies. A serene Beatles song played in the background, to which Tom hummed along. A smile erupted on your face as you saw that he was enjoying himself. He. You noticed that he was a calm driver, and drove intently and safely.

You sat up a bit straighter in your seat, but you noticed there was some resistance when you moved.

Well that’s odd, you thought to yourself as you tried to get rid of the tension of your dress. As you leaned to the left to look down at your dress to see where it was caught at, you saw that it was shut in the door of the car, with a small rip in the hem. There was nothing that could be done about it, and you didn’t want to bring it up to Tom, so you sat in silence until you arrived at the restaurant.

The restaurant was only twenty minutes away, but with the London traffic, it took about 45 minutes to get there.

Tom, now antsy from having sat in traffic, began to tap the steering wheel. He glanced at the dashboard and noticed that it was nearly 8pm, which was about an hour later than he intended to eat dinner. “I hope it’s not too late to eat dinner.” He commented sheepishly.

“Oh not at all.” You waved your hand in front of you. To be honest, you were quite hungry, but you didn’t want to make Tom feel even worse than you knew he was probably already feeling. Tom turned off the car and did a jog to your side of the car. Before he could open it, you went to grab the hem of your dress that was caught in the door at the exact time that Tom was opening the door, which caused the bottom of your dress to rip.

The look on both of your faces were in complete shock, as both of your gazes moved to the ripped fabric in your hand.

“I am so sorry.” He gasped, “I had no idea that your dress was caught in the door, and I would’ve been more careful had I known.” His words strung together in one fast sentence, his face becoming beet red again.

You couldn’t hide the frown that came over your own face, but you dismissed the accident. “Just goes to show that the material is cheap quality.” You shrugged.

Tom couldn’t believe it. Here he had ripped your dress, and shown up late, which made you late for your reservation.

“Oh no, the reservation!” He exclaimed as he grabbed your hand and hurriedly rushed you inside the restaurant. As he made his way to the maître d'hôtel, he took a deep breath before speaking. “A reservation for two, under the name Tom Holland.”

The maître d'hôtel looked at the reservation book, and his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry Mr. Holland, but your name is not on here.”

Registering what the man said, Tom’s mouth contorted into a frown. “Are you sure? I made the reservation a few days ago, which I know is short notice, but I was told that the reservation was set.”

The maître d'hôtel looked Tom straight in the eye with a matter of fact tone. “I can assure you that you are not reserved for tonight. Would you like me to check to see if you’ve been scheduled for another night?”

Tom nodded and waited for the man to inform him of when the reservation was. He looked over his shoulder to see you standing near the doorway, and he gave you a small smile.

“Huh.” The maître d'hôtel remarked. “It seems that you made a reservation for the 2nd of February of next year.”

“So you mean to tell me I booked a reservation for today’s date next year?”

“That’s correct.”

“You’ve gotta be joking”

“Do I look like I’m joking, Mr. Holland?” The maître d'hôtel asked flatly. Tom looked around to see that others were watching him, and he shrugged his shoulders. He felt your presence right next to him, and he watched as you leaned against the podium.

“Is there a problem?” You asked Tom.

“Well, we don’t have a reservation for tonight, but we do have one for next year.”

“Oh.” You answered as you looked at the head waiter. “Even though we don’t have a reservation tonight, is there any chance we could still eat here?”

The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have an open table tonight.”

Dejected, Tom turned to give you a sad look. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine.” You said to Tom. “But we would like to keep that reservation.” You commented confidently. Both the maître d'hôtel and Tom gave you a shocked look, but you didn’t react to their reactions.

“Well then, have a nice night, and sorry for the confusion. See you both next year.”

—

Tom held open the door for you, and stood in the center of the sidewalk. He watched as people weaved around you two, and he brought his hands up to his face. “I’ve blown it.” He exasperatedly stated. “I cannot believe I’ve blown it.”

You stepped closer to Tom and placed your hand on his arm. “You’ve gotta admit, it is pretty funny that you managed to book a reservation for next year.” You chuckled in an attempt to soften the mood. Tom didn’t laugh at your remark, instead he glanced at the ground.

“I was late to pick you up, and I closed your dress in the car door and now it’s all ruined. And to make it worse, I somehow managed to make a reservation for next year. So now it’s past 8pm and we still haven’t eaten dinner, and now I’m just remembering that I had bought you flowers that are still sitting on my kitchen counter.” Tom rambled hurriedly. He was shifting his weight from the ball of his foot to his heel, his gaze still fixed to the ground. “And I can’t even look you in the eye to tell you that I’ve royally screwed up this date.” He threw his hands in the air, and allowed them to fall heavily.

You took a minute to ponder what Tom had brought up. Yes, he had ruined your dress and showed up late, and he did somehow manage to fumble the reservation. But to be completely honest, these events didn’t change the way you saw him. You still liked him, even if the night didn’t go well—nothing could change that. “Do you really think you ruined the date?”

Tom’s gaze shot up from the ground to meet yours. His eyes scanned your face to see if you were lying, but when you gave him a soft smile, his eyes softened. “I didn’t ruin the date?” He took a step closer to you, and put his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “B-But I ruined your dress and the reservation and—”

“Honestly, this is the most memorable date I’ve ever been on.” You clicked your tongue and laughed. “If it were anyone else, I would’ve been fuming that the night didn’t go as planned, but with you—” You took a step towards Tom, closing the gap between you two. As you reached up to fix a fallen curl off of his forehead, you felt him soften under your touch. He reached for your wrist and placed it to your side, only before grabbing your hand. “I’m just glad that you even asked me on a date. And to be completely honest, it doesn't matter what restaurant we go to, or what goes wrong. I’m just happy to spend time with you.”

Tom looked into your eyes, and cocked his head to the right. You two were standing only inches apart, and you placed a delicate kiss on his cheek. “At least we’ll get to try the Italian restaurant next year.”

Tom threw his head back and guffawed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with his laughter. When he stopped laughing, he placed his hand on your back. “Even though the date isn’t over yet, and while I’m feeling confident, will I get a second date with you?” He inquired, his hands still in his pockets.

“Only if you buy me dinner tonight.” You smirked.

“I’ll buy you dinner forever, if you’ll let me.” He smiled.

You smiled back at Tom, but placed a hand on your stomach. “I’m serious, I’m actually really hungry now.”

“Me too.” He answered back, “where would you like to go?”

As if on cue, you both looked around at the shops that lined the street. Since it was late, a lot of places weren’t open, but one restaurant was.

“I know where we can go.” You smirked.

You two were the fanciest dressed at Shake Shack, as you shared a milkshake with your meals. Tom would occasionally feed you a fry, and you would do the same. As you ate, you both cracked jokes and enjoyed each other’s company.

It didn’t matter where you went, or when a where you would end up eating dinner at—all that mattered was that you were spending time together, with him.

——

Additional a/n: thank you so much for reading, and if you’d like to be added to my tag list please let me know!

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x fem!reader #tom holland x you #tom holland imagines #tom holland one shots #tom holland oneshot #tom holland and reader #tom holland and y/n #tom holland fluff #tom holland and you #tom holland one shot #tom holland x female reader #tom holland blurbs #mine

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somethingusefulfromflorida · 10 months

Text

I spent months saving up 15 sandwich cards from a local diner so I could get a free one. Fifteen is a ridiculous number because they're too cheap to give you a freebie for ten, but whatever. I go in, I give them my cards, they give me the wrong order. I tell them this, and they refuse to do anything about it. Once they hand it over to me, they can't take it back for food safety reasons, I get that, but I tell them this isn't my order and I don't want it. They can throw it away, I'm not gonna eat it, it's not like I'm trying to scam them out of a second meal, I just want what I ordered. They refuse. They say they don't do exchanges for free meals. I demand my sandwich cards back then. I bought fifteen sandwiches in as many weeks, I earned a free one, and if they won't give it to me now I want it tomorrow. They refuse. I lost four months of progress because they fucked up and didn't want to honor their own promotion for a regular customer. This is fucking bullshit! I tip well, I've been nothing but nice to every single employee I've met, I didn't complain any of the times they forgot my fries ory drink (which I paid extra for), so where do they get off fucking me over lile this? Four months of progress down the drain, and I can't even eat what they gave me. I'm the last person to say "you've lost yourself a customer" because I've worked nothing but retail and customer service my whole adult life and I know for a fact they won't miss my business, but I'm with the boomers on this one. I didn't do shit to them, and they wasted my time and money and now I don't get to have lunch. I'm so mad I could cry. I'm so fucking sick of this tourist trap hellscape! They don't give a fuck about locals. I'm sick of the Keys, I'm sick of Florida, I'm sick of the deep south, I'M FUCKING SICK OF EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF BULLSHIT I HAVE TO PUT UP WITH! This isn't about the fucking sandwich, this goes deeper, this is a systemic problem. Nobody gets paid enough to care anymore. The quality of everything has dropped off a cliff because we're all too dirt poor to put in the effort. Office Space hit the nail on the head 24 years ago, "if I work my ass off and Initech ships a couple extra units, I don't see another dime, so what's my motivation?" This islsnd is going to be underwater in my lifetime, but the tourists haven't realized it yet, so it's only a matter of time before they get wise and it becomes a ghost town with worthless property. I need to get out of here before then. Out of the keys, out of Florida, out of America, I don't care anymore. I don't know where to go. I don't think there's anywhere safe from this scourge. I'm so fucking tired...

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the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 3 years

Text

#248

“C’mon in. Have a seat. David? Right? It’s weird calling you by a real man’s name, after spending a whole weekend calling you ‘Cunt’ and ‘Fag’ and ‘Shit Head’. Don’t be surprised if I slip up and start calling you that again. But you, you keep calling me ‘Boss.’ When I offered you this job last Sunday, it was after one hell of a wild weekend fucking your brains out. Is your cunt still gaping or did it snap back into place?...

“You look surprised. Well let me tell you something. I love using faggots like you. Fuck, I don’t hide that fact at all. I wouldn’t have offered you this job unless I knew you could take a pounding from my nine-and-a-half-inch baseball bat of a cock. And while it is not expected of you as part of your job responsibilities around here, I will be slamming into your cunt whenever I want. I saw that look in your eyes when I told you I had an opening here. You were already fantasizing about submitting to your boss. I know you were. I’ve seen it with dozens of fags before. Yeah, I offer jobs to freshly fucked tricks. I have always liked fucking with men, especially on the job site.

“After my wife died eight years ago, my 1,200-acre ranch seemed empty. The oil drill on the northside has me swimming in money. But I wanted fag cunt. I need to use it. I created this warehousing business with one thing in mind, satisfying my cock. I looked to have a dozen or so men that could walk up to any one of them and say I need a blowjob, and I would get one on the spot without worry of a sexual harassment charge. Or to walk through the warehouse and see a new employee getting spit roasted. And it all feels normal.

“From your test run this past weekend, I know you can swallow me, with difficulty, but still manage. You drank my piss, so I know you have done that before. You spent hours eating my ass. I can’t remember the last time my shithole was treated with so much love. Your cunt put up a fight, but by Sunday night, you had one hell of a gape. You even bled a little on that first fuck.

“Wanna see?... I took this photo when I told you to push out some of my load. Here, take it. Yeah, I like taking pics of freshly used cunts. I bet you haven’t ever seen your hole blown up on a twelve-inch glossy. Look at the detail. You can see specks of your cherry. I know you weren’t a virgin, but you were a virgin to me. That’s what matters. And this isn’t some sort of blackmail thing where we keep this a secret.

“Hell, every one of the workers there will know I bred your cunt. You wouldn’t have gotten this job without first having my load in your ass. Every one of the guys you will work with in the warehouse has had my load in his cunt. Every single one! All fourteen of them. You are number fifteen. In fact, Mark, the cute puppy you met when you came in has my morning’s load in his ass right now.

“I have known Mark the longest. He and I go back a long way. We designed this place, and he’s the one who helped me set things up so that I won’t get into trouble. He’s the only one who interacts with the public, if anybody should come by which they never do. I say that because the warehouse is around back. That’s where you will be working not up here. Let’s go take a tour of that. But first, Mark would kill me if I don’t ask you, you want the job knowing what you know?... Good. I would have been surprised had you said no. We have contingencies set up should an employee not want work in such an environment. But I know how to pick ‘em. He hee.

“Grab that pic of your leaking cunt and bring it with us. We’ll go out the back. The warehouse is purposely a few hundred feet from the office. Mark suggested that. He really keeps me honest when it comes to all this shit. In the warehouse, clothing is optional. For the most part, no one wears anything. I have asked the two managers to wear a wife beater to differentiate themselves from the others. The real reason is that they are built like brick shithouses, and they look great in a tank. Hector, the manager you will be reporting to wears a black one and Aaron, the other one wears white. Don’t know why they do that, but they do. If I’m going to be in here for a short time, I just haul out my cock and balls only, otherwise I’m naked from the waist down.

“You had indicated that you are in temp housing in town. I told you that I have housing on property. Those three buildings back there are it. Hector and Aaron each have one, and the large bunkhouse is for any of the other workers. During your probationary time, you will be living with Hector. If you loved my cock, you’ll love his. He’s more into cock worship. The final thing before we go in is compensation. The job you are hired for really only requires 15 to 20 hours per week, but you will be paid for 40.

“Hector and Aaron will make sure you do your share of the actual work. That leaves 20 hours or so to play with the others. It doesn’t have to be all sex, but have fun. The hourly rate is three times what the job normally goes for. You will be provided with a room if you want. You get half the work, three times the pay, a place to stay, and all the cock you can handle. The only thing you give up is your privacy. Now, you are not tied here; you can go into town on your own time. But when you are here on property, you will be expected to comply with the rules. Hector will go over all that.

“Inside and to the left are the locker room and showers. That locker at the end is yours. It’s the smallest, but you are the one with the lowest seniority. Go ahead and strip down. I’ll go get… never mind here he is. Hector this is Dan,… or David or whatever the fuck his name is. Fag, this is Hector, although he’s going to insist you call him ‘Sir’. Look at those muscles! They make his cock look average sized. But fuck that cock of his is just as fat as mine. It’s going to be in your ass in a few minutes. We always break in the new employees the same way, a gang bang. No, don’t put your boots away. Everyone wears theirs as they work. There’s no lock on your locker. Don’t worry about it….

“Hector, are the guys ready by the wall? Good. Good…. Fag, around this corner is the break room. Across from it, see where the guys are standing? That’s what we call the wall of cunts. See the pics there? They are the assholes of every man here. Everyone has my load leaking out, except for that one on top. That’s my shitter. Hector and Aaron’s are in their own row underneath me. You are going to be very up close with Hector’s every night. Everyone else’s is below. I like to think of it as an org chart of leaking cunts. That spot over there is for you to put your pic. Go on. We’ll go around and share names later. I would rather you learn all their cocks first. The pic looks good there.

“Men! The fag here is a piss drinker and an ass eater. Make sure we take advantage of his talents. When I come back, I expect him to be shaved from head to toe, covered in piss, his face reeking of ass sweat, and his cunt loaded up. Over the next week, I want him to taste each of your shitholes. Guys, this is probably the best rimmer I have encountered in a long time. Oh, Hector is ready! Fag, welcome to the company.”

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softtransbf · 3 years

Text

Fresh Blood, Old Scars Part 1

You'd disappeared 15 years ago without a trace- what's Yancy supposed to do when you walk into Happy Trails Penitentiary and don't recognize him, because he's transitioned? canon compliant trans!yancy/reader

Reader: he/him trans man, no physical description

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of violence, canonical and parental. deadnaming and misgendering before either of you came out (none by anyone who knows the correct name/pronouns)

Word Count: 2,690

“Hey Yancy, I heard there’s fresh blood comin’ in today for some sorta museum heist.”

“Oh? Know anything else about these guys, so we can give ‘em a proper welcome, Bambam?”

“I know some. The first guy, Mark Iplier, claimed to have been in charge of the whole thing, but from what my sources said, it’s the partner that ran the show- just real quiet-like. I’ve been told that he don’t say a word.”

“Got a name for this, uh, silent partner?” He chuckled at his joke.

“Y/N L/N.” Yancy’s stomach dropped the way it always did when he heard that last name, your last name. Get your shit together. Wrong first name, and Bambam said he and his. Bambam don’t use pronouns other than they/them unless they’re sure. It’s just some guy with the same last name.

“Yance, you okay?” Tiny waved his hand in front of Yancy’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, just, uh, thinkin about how best to greet dese guys. The usual, wit Don’t Wanna Be Free ready just in case?”

“Right off the bat? You really think they’re that high of a flight risk?” Sparkles finally spoke up.

“I, uh, I don’t trust dem silent-types. They’s always schemin’, got somethin goin ahn in their heads.” And if he's anything like- yeah. Gone before you know it.

“Okay, if you say so. I’ll go let the others know.” Yancy didn’t even register who was speaking; he was too lost in memories.

- 15 years earlier-

Yancy knew it wasn’t cool to be excited for the first day of school when you’re a senior in high school, but he didn’t care. He didn’t need or even want to be cool- all he needed was to be your friend. Well, maybe not just friend. You’d been gone for almost the entire summer, and he’d spent the whole time figuring out how to both ask you out and tell you that he’s a guy.

He practically skipped across the street to your house so you can walk to school together, like you had every day since middle school. He knocked- nothing. Rang the doorbell- still nothing. He checked the back door and the spots where you had hidden spare keys over the years- nothing. All the curtains were drawn, too, so he couldn’t see inside. He kept trying as long as he possibly could before he had to sprint to make it to class just barely in time. All day, he kept an eye on the door, waiting for you- the two of you made sure to sign up for the exact same schedule before you went on your vacation. At lunch, he went to the office to see what he could find out.

“Y/DN isn’t a student here anymore- Mr L/N just told us last week.”

“What? Do you know where they went?”

“I’m sorry, hon, I don’t. All I know is that Y/DN is no longer a student here.”

He’d never ditched a class in his life, but that was the last thing on his mind as he ran home, crying. He didn’t stop crying for weeks.

-Present -

He’d never wanted to be wrong more in his life, but there you were. Looking better than he’d ever dreamed, following Mark around silently as he blabbered on about wanting to rally the other inmates to try to break out. No. I lost you once, and it cost me everything. I’m not about to lose you again. He quickly spread the word to skip pleasantries with the new guys and prepare for the song. As he was, you made eye contact with him from across the room. His heart dropped; you didn’t recognize him. You looked right through him, with the same calculating expression you gave everyone else. Of course he wasn’t gonna recognize you, dumbass. You’ve been on hormones for years and have had top surgery. Usually Yancy loved that he couldn’t see anything of the person he used to be in the mirror, but today he hated it more than anything in the world. Stick to the plan, Yance. He doesn’t recognize me, but it might be better this way. This way, I can get him to stay and get to know me as I am now, and he won’t be disappointed that I haven’t become anything like what we dreamed of so long ago.

Yancy couldn’t have planned it better, Mark practically begging Jimmy to punch him through the wall right before the show started, leaving you alone.

The number went great, as always, but then you showed him a picture of your parents. He knew that picture; you took it when the four of you went on a vacation together before you started your freshman year of high school. He also knew that he had once been in the picture, but you’d cut him out. The tape and staples that had been holding his heart together since you left fell away.

He stuck with his usual response to people citing family for wanting to leave, for the most part. No one at Happy Trails knew about you, and he’d killed his parents before they could leave him, so he’d kept his true abandonment issues to himself. Face to face with you after all these years, though, he couldn’t stop himself from adding “they’re always just gonna leave you behind” and a warning about trifling with the past. You flinched a little at both of those, and a spark of hope ignited in his chest- maybe you hadn’t forgotten about him, even if you didn’t recognize him now.

Then you still chose to leave. The rest of the rather single-sided conversation was a blur to him. Later, as he was tending to his injuries in solitary, he remembered calling you handsome and/or beautiful and your blush when he did. And, of course, you knocking him flat on his ass. He’d challenged you to a fight, because he’d always been able to beat you before. The part that truly left him confused, though, was why he offered to help you break out.

All he’d wanted for the last fifteen years was to go back to the day you left and beg you to stay. He’d told himself dozens, maybe hundreds, of times that if he ever saw you again, he’d do everything in his power to keep you with him. On his darker and angrier days, he truly meant everything. But here you are, and he offered to help you leave. This is what you get for even hoping someone might stick around. Let’s just do this. I gotta stop in with the warden first, though…

“Me? Out there? With you?” He chuckled. You had no idea that, with that simple gesture, you offered him everything he’d wanted for so long. Fuck, I don’t deserve him. I still love him, but he deserves someone better than the angry, selfish man I am. The fragments of his heart splintered even more. “I, um. I done a lotta bad things. And, uh.” He made himself brighten up. “This is home! For now, anyway. Maybe next time parole comes up, I’ll, uh” take it and go find you like I should have fifteen years ago. And I’ll spend every minute until then trying to become the kind of man you deserve. “Anyway, I gotta get back to it. You take care now, you hear? And, hey, visitation! Every third Sunday!” You looked down at the box you’d brought with you, and he ran. When he got back to his cell, he cried genuine tears for the first time since that August day when his world turned upside down.

- 2 weeks later, visitation day -

He knew hoping you’d come was a waste of time, and that he was just setting himself up for more pain. He’d learned the hard way that when you were gone, that was that. But still, there he was, looking up every time a guard walked into the room. As expected, they never called his name. The rest of the inmates gave him a wide berth as he went back to his cell for the night, and they were right to. He was itching for an excuse to fight. No one gave him one, though, so he told himself he’d find one tomorrow and got ready for bed.

When he got to his cell, it took him just one second to realize there was someone on his bed, pull them off, and shove them against the wall. It took him three more to process that it was you, and then another five to step back and let you go.

“Sorry for scaring you, Yancy. I didn’t mean to. It’s just… it’s visitation day, but I’m still wanted for the escape you helped me pull off, and I haven’t decided if I want to come back for good or not.” He stood there, frozen. You chuckled nervously. “I get it, your turn to be the quiet one. I’m sorry about that, by the way. There was a lot to process all at once, and I just kinda shut down when I get overwhelmed.”

I know. I remember that you didn’t say a single word our first day of high school, Yancy wanted to say. He wanted to say something, anything, but you being there and so close was just too much.

“Okay, so, honesty time; there’s a specific reason I came back.” You took a deep breath. “I haven’t been able to shake this feeling that I know you, somehow. But I know I’d remember meeting you- no way I’d forget someone like you. Anyway, I'm probably way off base and ridiculous. I guess I just wanted to tell you?” You ran your hand through your hair. “God, that sounds even flimsier than it felt in my head. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It, uh. It means a lot that you came back to say that.”

“Uh, Yancy? What happened to your accent?”

“Shit. Um. C’mere.” He muttered, as he sat down on his bed and pulled you down next to him. He prayed that you couldn’t hear how his heart started racing when he noticed your knees were touching. “No one here knows that the accent isn’t how I always speak. Not even the warden. I’ve been here five years and haven’t dropped it once. Anyone learns about this, and you’re dead, understand?” He knew that the threat was empty, but you seemed to believe it.

“Yeah, yeah, I do, don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. I gotta ask, though- why fake it? It seems like a lot of effort. You don’t owe me an explanation, of course, but since you��re heart-on-your-sleeve about your parents, it must be one hell of a reason. I bet it’d feel good to let it off your chest. I can promise to leave and never come back if you do- a burden shared is a burden halved, and if I’m gone, you can be 100% sure no one here will know.”

He took a deep breath. “Something flipped my world on its head, and I needed to distance myself from who I was before. That’s an odd phrase, though- ‘a burden shared is a burden halved’. Where’d you pick that up?”

“Oh, um. The mom of someone I loved a long time ago used to say it a lot. It just kinda stuck, I guess.”

“Loved, huh? You break their heart, or did they break yours?” Yancy was surprised he got the words out without his voice shaking or cracking. You were silent for a long time, and Yancy was sure he’d pushed too hard and you would completely shut down or, worse, leave altogether.

“Sorry, I haven’t talked about this… ever." Your voice shook. "I’ve never talked to anyone about this. I don’t know if I was loved back, but if so, I was the heartbreaker. I didn’t mean to be- I couldn’t control having to leave, and I didn’t know I wasn’t coming back until it was too late. I couldn’t say goodbye. I’ve hoped every day for the last fifteen years that my feelings were unrequited, though. I’m happy to have the pain of an unrequited first love if it means she wasn’t heartbroken.” The incorrect pronoun stung a bit, but you didn’t know, and you’d loved him back all those years ago. He was invincible.

“Have you tried reaching out? Even if your feelings were one-sided, I think you owe it to both of you to say them, at least once.” He reached out and took your hands without thinking. You didn't stop him, and he felt like he could fly.

“I tried, actually. About eight years ago, I'd, uh, escaped and was finally an actual person again after everything that was done to and taken from me, so I started looking for her. But it’s like she vanished off the face of the earth five years to the day after we were separated. It’s actually how I met Mark- I got into some deep and shady shit looking. I only gave up last year. Nothing turned up in seven years of searching, so I have to figure that she did something incredibly stupid a decade ago and got herself killed.”

“I didn’t die. Just the name did.” Yancy breathed. A half second later, he realized he’d said it out loud, and his heart stopped. You took your hands out of his and scooted away.

“Yancy. Are you trying to tell me that you’re- that we- oh my god. It is you. I knew I knew you. Everything else is different, but I should have recognized your eyes. I guess some part of me did. But you- I- I thought you were dead.”

“As you can see, I’m not dead, Brain. And for the record, your feelings were definitely not one-sided.” He reached out and cupped your cheek with one hand.

“Shit, Pinky, it really is you.”

Yancy had dreamed about how seeing you again would go in a million different ways. Not a single one of those included you practically jumping into his lap and kissing him with a lifetime's worth of love and want.

He let out an undignified whine when you broke the kiss. “Wait, wait. You knew from the second I walked in here who I was, didn’t you? You tried so hard to stop me from leaving… but then you helped me do just that. You chose to stay here when I asked you to come with me. Then I came back, and you got me to say all those things… And we’re both trans and wound up here? This is all just. So much. I can’t- I can’t do this.” You got off his lap and scooted to the far end of the bed.

“What are you saying, Y/N? That you’re leaving? Again?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

You stood up and faced him. “You do not get to play that card. You don’t know how much I went through trying to find a way to tell you I was sorry, that I didn’t know that the trip was a permanent one until we were on the other side of the country. Dad said that I'd never see mom again, and he’d kill me if I tried to get in touch with you or anyone else from back home. He broke my arm to prove he meant it. I can’t stay here to unpack all of this. I have to go. But you can come with me. I mean it even more now than I did last time. I’m not leaving you, I’m leaving here.”

You walked to the cell door and looked back at him with a sigh. “But I know you, and you have a family here. I’ll get you my address- it’s your turn to come to me, when you’re ready. I’ve waited 15 years to be with you again, what’s a little bit longer?” Without giving him a chance to respond, you kissed him again and were gone.

#yancy x yn #yancy x reader #yancy x male reader #yancy x trans male reader #yancy ahwm #ahwm fanfiction #otp: don't want to be free #self ship fanfic #self shipping fanfiction #self shipping fic

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gignikinszz · 3 years

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anakin is on the train and this dipshit infront of him has been humming christmas songs everyday on his morning work commute for the past week and it’s the middle of fucking august so he’s ready to confront this motherfucker for his crimes against humanity and his eardrums then boom obi wan meet cute

anon. im obsessed 💍💍💍💍 ficlet under the cut xx

i took a few liberties with this, but i hope u still like it :)) modern au, annoyances to lovers but only from anakin's pov, 1.3k. mentions of christmas music and horrible hours of the morning beware

It was 5:15. Five-fifteen in the goddamn morning. It was six in the goddamn morning, and it was the middle of August. The seventeenth of August, to be exact.

The third week, to the day, of Anakin’s personal hell.

Some context: Anakin was on the train, just trying to get to his job at a local bakery, still trying to wake up. He’d been late that morning and hadn’t had time for coffee, and was therefore grumpy. Grumpier than usual. So fucking grumpy.

And that same motherfucker from the past three weeks was singing. Again.

Now, Anakin wasn’t a cold-hearted monster, okay? He wasn’t against singing, not at all. Not even at 5:15 in the goddamn morning on a Thursday. Not even on the train. No, what he was against, morally and spiritually and on all levels (including physical), was the fact that the stranger was singing Christmas music. In August.

Today, it was Jingle Bells, though really, the song should’ve been named Jingle Hell. Overly jaunty, reminiscent of fifth-grade showcases, jarring and horrid, even when sung with a voice as nice as Christmas Music Man’s. A disgusting display of Christmas cheer, absolutely murdering Anakin’s poor eardrums, making him wish for the fiftieth time in the past twenty-one days that his stupid dog and stupider cat hadn’t totally destroyed his earbuds fighting over them, and that he wasn’t too busy (lazy) to go get new ones.

God, he was going to lose it. If he heard one more annoying-ass sing, he was going to—

… you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special…

Last Christmas. The stranger, who always, for some sick and twisted reason, sat directly behind Anakin, was singing Last Christmas.

“Yo, dipshit, can you, like shut the fu—ck.” Anakin choked as he finally got a glimpse of the stranger. “Not up. Um. You can keep singing. Bye.”

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit. He was hot. Oh, fuck. Oh, god. He was so fucking hot and Anakin had just called him a dipshit. And spazzed out. And, worse, told him he could keep singing his awful Christmas music. He’d told the most attractive asshole motherfucker he’d ever seen that he could keep singing Last Christmas. At 5:15 in the goddamn morning. In the middle of August.

Oh, fucking shit.

Anakin spent the rest of that (thankfully not-very-long, after his outburst) train ride in silence, rethinking his life, wondering how someone so hot could be committing such heinous crimes against humanity. It didn’t make sense, at first. The man had looked nice. Or just hot. Anakin didn’t know. He’d been wearing a sweater vest with nothing underneath, showing off his very muscular arms, and he’d had very soft-looking hair. How could someone who dressed like a slutty 80-year-old have such poor taste in music? Have such little respect for Anakin, and Anakin’s eardrums, and the world at large?

It didn’t make sense, but when Anakin talked to Ahsoka, who was opening with him that day, she told him it did.

“You know,” she said, “if he’s really that hot, there’s gotta be something wrong with him. So the universe is fair and shit.”

And Anakin had to agree. There truly was something wrong with the man. Deeply, deeply wrong. Disturbed, even. Not that it made it fair that Anakin still had to suffer every morning. Or that his eardrums felt like they might die.

The next morning, he resolved to put a stop to it, good looks aside. For the sake of both his sanity, and for the world. Well, the world of the train at 5:15 in the morning. It was important to him, okay?

So he steeled himself the next morning. Got up early so he could get coffee and fix his hair, because presentation was important in these sorts of confrontations. Not for any other reason. Anakin also wore his nice work shirt, the one without too many stains, for the impending argument, of course. He would’ve looked his best while telling any asshole to stop fucking singing Christmas songs on the train at ass-o’clock every morning, whether or not they were hot.

Okay, maybe it had something to do with the fact that the guy was hot. Whatever. Sue Anakin for wanting to make a better second impression.

When he got to the train, he felt all wound-up, just waiting for the inevitable. For Holly Jolly Christmas or All I Want for Christmas is You or Chestnuts Roasting on the Open Fire of Anakin’s Burning Hatred for Christmas Songs. Or whatever that last one was called. His knee was bouncing, fingers tapping, heart pounding in anticipation. For the inevitable confrontation, of course.

It began five minutes after Anakin sat down. 5:18 in the morning.

Fucking Spooky Scary Skeletons.

An insult to Anakin’s pride, to his honor, to his family, to the month of August, to Halloween, and to the world at large, that’s what the man behind him was singing. An insult of the highest order, and Anakin had only had one cup of coffee.

So he did something wild, something insane, something totally out of character for him.

He waited.

He waited until the train made its next stop, the one before his, and he moved quickly to sit across the aisle from the man.

“Hey,” he said before he could chicken out. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Hot Asshole turned to look at him slowly. “What do you mean?” He asked, all posh and British and refined, and wow, Anakin was beginning to understand the appeal of those love-hate, enemies-to-lovers, 100k slow burn type relationships. That was hot. Despite, or perhaps even more so because of, the man’s infuriating little eyebrow thing, it was really hot.

“Your stupid music,” Anakin heard himself saying, refusing to back down despite the sight in front of him. “Sir, are you aware that it’s August?”

The man smiled. Pretty, Anakin’s mind supplied. Shut up, he snapped back.

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked, folding his hands over one knee, crossing it over the other.

Anakin blinked, slowly, trying to let his brain catch up. “Well, you’re. It’s. That’s a Halloween song,” he said, feeling dumber by the second.

“And?” The man was still smiling, all innocent, and Anakin was suddenly unsure if it was nerves or annoyance making his face flush.

“And, um—well—whoever you are, you’re singing Halloween music. It’s August.”

“I’m Obi-Wan,” the man said unhelpfully. “And I don’t see what the issue is. Spooky Scary Skeletons is about bones. The human body. Personally, I think bodies are relevant year-round, don’t you?”

No, it was definitely annoyance.

“That’s about spooky, scary skeletons. It’s a fucking Halloween song. And even if it was applicable, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been singing fucking Christmas music every day for the past three weeks.” Anakin gave the man his best glare, but it didn’t seem to phase him. On the contrary, he just smiled a little brighter.

“It’s just what’s been stuck in my head,” he said, sounding innocent. “I don’t know what you want me to do about it.”

“I—just—I—I want you to go out with me!” Okay, so Anakin didn’t mean to say that. In the slightest. And Obi-Wan was looking at him weirdly, and also, that wasn’t even a good solution to what Obi-Wan was asking, so Anakin opened his mouth to backtrack, but before he could—

“Okay.” Obi-Wan shrugged, smiling slightly. Anakin’s heart did a funny little somersault. “Is this your stop?”

And shit—it was, and Anakin hadn’t even gotten past the initial asking. No time to ask for horrible, hot, annoyingly heart-pounding Christmas Asshole’s number.

But that was fine. After all, Anakin was probably going to have to tell him to sing an appropriate song the next day, as well.

#i am AMAZED by how fast i wrote this lmfao this prompt hit me like a train (pun intended ;))#fuck the word soumersalt all my homies hate the word soumerastualt #star wars #star wars fanfic #obikin #obikin fanfic #obikin fanfiction #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi x anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x obi wan kenobi

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joachimnapoleon · 3 years

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One of the many Murat-related side-projects I've been meaning to get to for a while now, has been to put together a decent estimate of how much time Joachim & Caroline Murat spent apart, for one reason or another, during their fifteen years of marriage. I finally made myself sit down and do the work, and it was honestly pretty eye-opening. Using four different biographies, I was able to find pretty exact dates from when one or the other left for a long period of time--whether one of the numerous military campaigns in which Murat participated, one of Caroline's extended stays in Paris during their reign in Naples, or any other reason they were apart for more than a week or so at a time.

I wouldn't go so far as to try to break this all the way down to the exact number of days or even weeks they spent apart; I was aiming for an idea of roughly how many years and months. I knew it would be years; but I have to admit I was shocked by the final number I came up with.

I calculate that Joachim & Caroline Murat spent approximately 83.5 months apart--or just shy of seven full years--out of a marriage totaling about 15 years and 10 months.

Here's a chart I made, to give their separations a visual representation: the purple blocks are the rough delineations of the times the couple were apart (click the image for higher resolution).

Here is the full list I came up with of their extended absences:

mid-April 1800 - 1 July 1800 (Murat goes to Dijon to take command of the cavalry of the Army of Reserve; Caroline remains in Paris) - ~2 1/2 months

early August - late October 1800 (Murat in charge of organizing/training division of grenadiers/light infantry at camp near Beauvais; Caroline remains in Paris) - ~3 months

23 November 1800 - 6 May 1801 (Murat to Dijon to command Army of Observation; Caroline remains in Paris) - ~5 months

early October 1801 - 4 January 1802 (Caroline returns to Paris while Murat remains in Milan) - ~3 months

early February 1802 - June 1802 (Murat back in Milan while Caroline remains in Paris) - ~4 months

July - August 1803 (Caroline returns to Paris from Milan; Murat joins her a month later)- ~1 month

25 August - late December 1805 (1805 campaign) - ~4 months

9 March - late April 1806 (Murat to Germany to oversee his new Grand Duchy of Berg; Caroline remains in Paris) - ~1 1/2 months

25 July 1806 - mid-July 1807 (Murat back to Dusseldorf and then participating in 1806/1807 campaigns) - ~12 months

late February - 3 July 1808 (Murat sent to take command of French forces in Spain) - ~4 months

mid July - 5 August 1808 (Murat takes the waters & stays for a bit w/ Lannes) - ~1/2 month

21 August - 25 September 1808 (Murat departs for Naples two weeks before Caroline; they reunite on the 25th) - ~1 month

20 November - 4 December 1809 (Murat goes to Paris; Caroline eventually joins him there) -~1/2 month

30 January - 27 March 1810 (Murat returns to Naples while Caroline remains in Paris) - ~2 months

18 April - 3 October 1810 (Caroline remains in Paris after Napoleon's wedding, returning to Naples while Murat is gone on his Sicilian campaign) -~5 1/2 months

26 March - 30 May 1811 (Murat goes to Paris when Napoleon's son is born; Caroline stays in Naples) -~2 months

17 September 1811 - 31 January 1813 (Caroline goes to Paris for an extended stay; Murat remains in Naples; they reunite for one week--5-12 May--before Murat departs for the 1812 campaign) -~17 months

12-29 April 1813 (Murat travels through his southern provinces) -~1/2 month

2 August - 4 November 1813 (1813 campaign) -~3 months

23 January - 2 May 1814 (Murat commands his troops in Bologna; Caroline serves as regent in Naples) -~3 1/2 months

17 March - 15 October 1815 (Murat's final campaign; he returns to Naples in defeat and takes his final departure from Caroline around 9:00 PM on 19 May 1815; he is killed on 15 October.) -~8 months

The biographies I used to pull all of the dates referenced above:

-A. Hilliard Atteridge, Joachim Murat: Marshal of France and King of Naples, 1912

-Florence de Baudus, Caroline Bonaparte: Soeur d'empereur, reine de Naples, 2014

-Joan Bear, Caroline Murat, 1972

-Hubert Cole, The Betrayers, 1972

#I was expecting it to be around four years-ish #I'm floored by these numbers #they spent so much time apart :\#and this isn't even touching on how much time he spent apart from his kids :\\#Joachim Murat #Caroline Murat #Caroline Bonaparte #Napoleonic #19th century #history #Napoleon #Napoleon Bonaparte #timelines #graph #reference

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huebris808 · 3 years

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Dr. Hofnarr’s Horrible, No-Good, Very Weird 15 Years Of Being Dead.

a tribute to fanon interpretations/character study(?) that was going to be a bonus chapter in a post-canon/au comedy fic im working on! might come back to expand on this when i do start posting it (or if mpn gives him more background story lore that i’ll have to work with aoAHGHOAUGH)

happy madness day! :o)

“Where should I begin… Perhaps at the very beginning? OH! Christoff and I first met years before our Nexus days! Back in our freshman years of college, to be precise! You know, I was actually a theater major before switching to- ... A-Aah, too far back. Much too far... Let’s start from the point where the notes I supplied to you ended then, shall we? After our dissension...”

.. “Good luck, old friend...” ..

The first years on the run from Nexus was stressful to say the least. Hofnarr and Christoff had split up to better their chances of survival. He knew the process would be grueling, having talked to Christoff almost every night about it to calm his nerves. While he played calm for the cameras, Hofnarr truly wished he could have held him close one last time. No communications. No physical contact. Day after day, month after month, nothing. He would be separated from his husband for a very long time…

It wasn’t all bad after a while. He had a comfortable new apartment, went under a new alias, and his questionable new job paid him enough to buy food. His apartment even had cable! He could watch marathons of Slaughter Time whenever he got home! In hindsight, he wondered if that had an effect on his mental state at the time...

Hofnarr had taken the last of his S3LF regulator with him, having shipped them out to an undisclosed location prior to dissension. Dissonance exposure did a number on him and his research team, leaving them to track their “normality” through daily blood tests and injections. While they met their fates early on, Hofnarr had gotten lucky. That is, until the doses began to run out.

Stressful as it was, he knew what he had to do. Hofnarr rushed back to what remained of the labs, knowing it had been abandoned by now. It was ironic, he and Christoff’s work, the work that was turned against them, was the one thing keeping him alive. For days, he worked to make more doses from the materials he brought with him. But there was only so much he could do with limited supplies… Hofnarr made many attempts to prolong the inevitable, lowering his dosage amount, injecting it weekly rather than daily, but he eventually ran dry.

Refusing to turn to darker alternatives, he felt the only thing he could do at this point is record his final findings through video logs.

“It was… interesting revisiting the footage, to put it nicely. Christoff had actually kept the video files on a drive after he originally found all my things in the lab! I barely remembered what happened back then, so I rewatched them out of curiosity.”

On the first night, Hofnarr recorded a message for Christoff. One filled with sorrow, but also with gratitude. For the time that they spent together. How special he made him feel. All the memories they made together...

On the next, he recorded a log detailing his findings during Project Nexus. The effects of dissonance, the Other Place, what it did to him and his colleagues, everything and anything he could.

The next, he reported on the progression of his symptoms. Fever, brain fog, insomnia, joint pain. He felt like his organs were melting, his skin bursting at the seams.

The next night he saw something and remembered. Scars. The scars on his head. That week he was in the staff hospital. He thought it was a dream but the scars were there. Phobos. Director Phobos brought him somewhere that week. He knew he felt off when he woke up in the office that night. He knew something was off when Christoff asked him where he was. He thought he passed out from over-working. That bastard Phobos. Nausea was replaced with rage as he began to scream, his throat becoming raw. What did he put in him? What the hell did he put inside him!?

On the last recorded log, he was face-down on the ground. Groaning as his body occasionally convulsed. Until the video feed eventually cut off.

His body would lay there dormant, dead, for fifteen years.

But to Hofnarr, he felt like he was dreaming.

.. “LET’S GIVE IT UP FOR OUR NEXT CONTESTANT!” ..

“Huh?” The doctor sat up and looked around, the area around him pitch black. Wasn’t he sleeping just a moment ago? He got up and took a step forward in the seemingly endless void. “H-Hello? Who’s out there?”

“AWW, DON’T BE SHY NOW! ESTEEMED AUDIENCE, A BIG ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR OUR GUEST; THE UNFORTUNATE DOCTOR HOFNARR!”

A light shined down on him from above. A crowd seemingly began to cheer all around him. He was in the center of what looked like a talk show set. Hofnarr awkwardly scratched the corner of his face. “‘Unfortunate’? W-What do you mean? W-Who are you?”

“FIGHT FIRST, ASK QUESTIONS LATER!” The voice above him called out again. “AFTER ALL, IT’S…!” Hofnarr drowned out the noise while trying to think. It sounded familiar. Like it came from…

Hofnarr’s thoughts were cut short. He looked down at his torso. Terror set in as he recognized an entire stop sign had been lodged through his chest.

“DON’T GET COLD FEET NOW! THE SHOW’S ONLY JUST BEGUN!”

The words echoed in Hofnarr’s mind as he frantically tried to pull it out, his vision growing muddled, his hands slipping with blood until…

He blinked.

No stage. No sound. No pain.

Nothing around except for a single white door in front of him.

He stood up again, cautiously reaching for the doorknob.

When he entered he seemed to be in a vintage styled home. It was a kitchen with checkerboard flooring, a table with two chairs, and cheerful music playing through a small radio. It smelled of pastry and medical equipment. Suddenly, there was a knock coming from the door. A familiar voice called from behind it.

“I’m home, dear.” “J-Jeb?!”

Hofnarr rushed towards the front door. Christoff wasn’t trapped here too, was he? “Jeb! W-where are we!? What is this place? What happened to-”

As he opened the door, the clapping returned.

His husband was there, briefcase in hand, his face replaced with a black hole dripping with an unknown inky substance.

He slowly began to back away as “Jeb” moved closer.

The applause, the laughter, was deafening.

Before he could question or run away, Hofnarr was hit by something. His vision blurred, but refocused to be face-to-face with something. It seemed to be a shadow of himself. He tried to run again, but was pinned down by his doppelganger. The clone raised a clawed hand above him and then...

Like waking from a nightmare, Hofnarr quickly sat up once again. He gasped for air, dripping with cold sweat.

Was this really happening? Was it finally over? Was he free?

And then the spotlight focused on him again.

“It… got very surreal. Despite fight after fight, death after painful death... I would suddenly be somewhere else! There was a gameshow, our old apartment, a cat cafe, a... strip club of sorts, a tea room filled with these small armless doodles I used to draw on my research notes trying to offer me snacks… One time there was a sort of singing contest, but I won’t bore you with the details of that one. But when I wasn’t in those places, I felt like I was fighting for my life. It felt like an eternity! And the strangest part of it all? It… it became addicting.”

At first, he felt as if Hofnarr used all of his energy, physical and emotional, to fight back. It reminded him too much of his escape from Nexus. But as time went on, he focused less on escaping and more on surviving. The more he fought, the more he began to lose himself. He was anticipating what sudden whiplash of combat would be thrown at him next. He chuckled at the thought of what excitement would be heading his way. He wanted more. The fights became too slow. Too predictable. Too boring. He began toying with whatever was thrown at him. Turning his shadowy hunters into the hunted. Why let his audience watch the same old fights all the time?

Suddenly, the fighting stopped.

Why?

He was having fun, wasn’t he? He grew impatient.

“WHAT’S THE HOLD UP!” He yelled into the void, seething with anger. “AREN’T WE SUPPOSED TO BE FIGHTING? ISN’T THAT WHAT I’M HERE FOR?!”

He stomped his foot down, lodging something out of the ground.

The stop sign.

He looked over it curiously. How familiar…

Grabbing hold of it, quick flashes of memories appeared to him.

Nexus, the Science Tower, Phobos, the Other Place…

A man with long hair standing next to...

Hofnarr…

Who was that? Was that him?

No…

Only Tricky remained.

Footsteps echoed throughout the halls of the abandoned lab. Heels quickly clicking, cautiously stopping every so often. A lone Nexus Core agent entered through one of the doors.

Perfect timing.

“HAY! YOU THERE!!” A voice stuttered and glitched out, reverberating through the emptiness of the lab. The quickly soldier whipped their head around. “YEAH! YOU, STUPID. PLAY WITH ME!!”

“Who’s there?” The agent pointed their magnum towards the noise. “Show yourself!”

Gladly. The cackling figure emerged from the shadows, posing with a peace-sign, causing the agent to recoil. He grinned, slowly moving towards the cowering goon on the ground. They wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Who are you!?”

They couldn’t kill him.

“FIGHT FIRST. ASK QUESTIONS LATER! AFTER ALL…”

CAN’T KILL CLOWN.

“IT’S MURDER TIME!”

“My body had been there, regenerating and repeating the enmeshment process for years. And by the time I woke up, I was a completely different person. I became a creature of unfiltered impulse… A personification of chaos itself.”

The room grew silent before Hofnarr spoke up again.

“I-Is it horrible to say it was… kind of cool?” He said with a nervous chuckle, twiddling his fingers.

2BDamned was quiet for a moment. They recalled the many times they had to stitch their comrades back together due to Clown Moments. They placed their head in their palms and let out a sigh.

“... You have the right to your own opinion.”

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

BONUS: songs i was listening to on loop while working on this instead of doing my damned writing assignment. Enjoy

lady gaga ft. dorian electra - replay

vestik - tricky's vengeance ft. monocronic

#madness combat #Madness Project Nexus #Dr. Hofnarr #Tricky the Clown #MY WORKS #MY FIC #happy madness day these old dudes are gay. [Vine Boom] gay as hell. [Vine B

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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

Text

The Games We Play

1. Good News, Ruined.

Word Count: 7.8K+

Author’s Note: I had a flood of inbox requests surrounding Luke Patterson x Reader, enemies to lovers/fake dating/all the good stuff, and decided it was too good not to make something bigger. this chapter was sooo fun to write, and obviously with the whole thing being in an AU universe, I get to change a bunch of shit without consequence... So thank you for reading, I hope you love it, this is my nonsense.

Warning: none.

masterlist | taglist

Parents tend to assume things of their children, the practise usually implemented by those who believe ignorance is bliss, especially when it’s easier to assume your kid is studying, or asleep in bed, or catching up on their reading list. Why worry about what your kids are up to after hours when you could share a bottle of wine and fall asleep on the living room sofa watching some shitty Hallmark movie? Enjoying the perfect ideal, even if it isn’t, in fact, real.

It was this sort of behaviour from the likes of Luke Patterson’s parents that led to him sneaking out pretty much every night of summer.

This was, of course, on top of lies about study groups and volunteering work and classical guitar lessons with his school teacher during the day, and it had been going on a lot longer than just the summer. But could anyone really blame the boy when he once again climbed out his bedroom window that last night of the summer, armed with his guitar on his back as he grabbed his bike and started off in the warm August air?

The soft breeze rushed through Luke’s hair and sent his flannel overshirt billowing behind him as he rode down his street, destined for the other side of town, to the other reality he had created without his parents’ knowledge, the world glowing under the last traces of another beautiful sunset. The reds and oranges gave way to tinges of green and the endless expanse of midnight blue the later hours welcomed, street lamps slowly flickering to life as shadows grew and Luke took a hard turn left onto an underpass, pedalling as fast as he could.

He was already late, he was usually late, but that night his mom and dad had demanded a family meal before he began his senior year, something about tradition or memory-making he had been too preoccupied to listen to. His year wasn’t going to be great because of family albums over his dad’s famous chili, though it was very good chili: no, his year was going to be great because of the people waiting for him at the end of his bike ride, and the news that waited with them.

Luke’s summer hadn’t been spent studying like he told his parents, and it hadn’t been spent the way many of his classmates enjoyed their time off school. Luke’s summer, and the majority of his Junior year before, had been spent in a garage in the LA suburbs, one that belonged to the Molinas. He had spent every spare moment there writing, practising, rehearsing, because Luke’s end goal in life was nothing like his parents had planned for him:

Luke was going to be a Rockstar, and the way to that wasn’t school. It was Julie and the Phantoms.

As he pulled up to the familiar residence about fifteen minutes later, legs aching from the high-speed ride over, Luke couldn’t help but smile. Ray and Carlos were out on the porch playing a game of cards under string lights, and it looked like Mr Molina was losing quite spectacularly to his ten-year old son.

“Hi Mr Molina!” Luke called with a wave, distracting Ray for long enough that Carlos managed to sneak a peak at his dad’s hand and plan accordingly.

“Luke, it’s Ray. Please.” Ray corrected, for the one hundredth time, but Luke was a polite kid, and while he wasn’t one for following his own parents’ rules, he was too respectful to ever start his friend’s dad by his first name. “Everyone’s in the garage, they’re waiting for you before they check the website.” Ray called over, and Luke nodded with a bright smile, waving a hurried hello and goodbye to Carlos before rushing towards the garage at the far side of the house, pulling off the straps of his guitar case and bringing it to his front.

The front pocket was stuffed full of scraps of paper, possible lyrics for new band music, which was required since they had managed to get on the YouTube trending page a few months before, and had begun playing the LA music circuit with high levels of success. The band had only been formed, properly at least, for the last year, and their sudden success was calling for them to be scooped up by a record label any day now.

That’s what the team were congregating for that night, Luke entering the converted garage, their studio, to find his bandmates huddled on the couch with their closest friends. In the couch’s centre was Reggie, Julie and Alex: to the blonde’s right was his boyfriend Willie, to Reggie’s right was his girlfriend Kayla, and Flynn paced on the other side of the coffee table, only coming to a halt as six pairs of eyes came up to find Luke fixing his hair from its windswept state after biking across the city.

“Where the Hell have you been?!” Flynn exclaimed, wide eyed and all gestures. She was a Junior like Julie, and perhaps the band’s number one fan: it made sense, she was kind of their manager. “The site is going live any minute now, and we’ve been waiting almost an hour for you to show up!” She hollered, Luke coming forward and placing a hand on her shoulder, the younger girl scowling at him as he did, but she stopped talking, allowing the boy a word in.

“My parents wanted a family meal, I got here as soon as I could.” He explained to the anxious faces, his eyes travelling down to the laptop sat on the coffee table that they all seemed rather focused on. “Is this it?” He asked, and Julie quickly nodded, turning the laptop, displaying a countdown on a website, to face Luke.

48 seconds… He had arrived in the nick of time.

“Will you read it first?” Julie asked in a quiet voice, Flynn taking the girl’s space on the couch behind her, squishing herself between Reggie and Alex. “You take bad news best…” It wasn’t actually true, but it seemed like Luke had been nominated for the task of finding out whether they had hit the jackpot, and looking at his friends’ all tucked onto the three-seater couch, Luke couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

“Alright.” He said with a curt nod, taking a seat at the opposite side of the coffee table as Julie sat herself back down, now on Flynn’s lap as the two girls hugged onto one another in fear.

23 seconds…

“This could be it…” Reggie muttered; his hand interlocked with Kayla’s. She and Willie had come along as emotional support for their boyfriends, and it was a good call: Alex was as pale as a sheet, and Reggie looked like he might vomit. “Imagine… If we’re in this competition, if we qualify… Guys, we could be signing with Fall Down.” He continued, the seconds ticking away as a silence filled the air after the bassist’s words. He was right, sure, but it was too hopeful.

The competition was country-wide, and thousands of bands had sent in their entries. It was quite literally a one in a 100,000 chance they would make it, that they would be one of the twenty bands picked for the competition.

After all, the tagline was quick to remind that ‘only the best’ would get into the Fall Down Records’ Battle of the Bands.

“3… 2…” Luke counted down, and as countdown finally hit zero, Luke refreshed the page.

Instead of the list Luke and his friends had expected to appear, instead he was greeted by a video, and the boy quickly pressed play, turning up the volume to let it play around the room.

“A very big hello from Fall Down HQ in Los Angeles!” The laptop spoke, and Luke looked up at six confused faces, quickly adjusting the laptop and sitting himself on the table so he could watch along with his friends. “I’m Trevor Wilson, and I’ve been given the honour of sharing the Fall Down Records’ Battle of the Bands line-up with all of you, across the world. But first, a quick reminder of the rules.

“This competition looks for the very best young artists in the US, the twenty top finalists getting a chance to join in our televised six-week competition. Each week our contestants are given a new theme to perform for, and each week three bands are eliminated by judges’ and audience vote, until the Final Four Battle it out for glory.” The video explained, but this wasn’t new information to the seen friends watching with desperate hope. “And the grand prize? The victorious band will be leaving with not only a multi-album record deal with Fall Down Records, but their very own World Tour and $1 million for each band member! I cannot make this up, and I can’t stress more when I say that the band winning this competition are going to be changing the history of music, with Fall Down Records and me, Trevor Wilson, by their side.

“Now, enough of me talking. Let’s get to what you’re all here for, the big announcement. Thanks to everyone who submitted their auditions, don’t give up hope on just yet… But viewers, I give you your top 20.” The video disappeared, the website suddenly coming to life with the full list of finalists, and Luke jumped into action to begin scrolling down as everyone leaned forward, instinctively, Luke’s finger moving as fast as it could past other acts.

Finalists came from all across the country, from all music genres: they scrolled past Idols, a country trio from Nashville; Rallico, an R&B group from New York; Everest, the folk-pop band from Montana. Luke’s finger continued to scroll, through videos and bios on each of the bands, and he counted as he went through to himself. 11, 12, 13…

“STOP!” Kayla shrieked suddenly, Luke moving his hand from the mousepad in surprise, his eyes finally focusing on the screen, the haze of scrolling quickly subsiding. He had to blink once, then twice, just to be sure, glancing back at the shocked faces of his friends beside him, making sure they were all seeing the same thing.

NUMBER 15: JULIE AND THE PHANTOMS. FROM LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.

“Oh my God…” Alex breathed out, the first to speak as he clutched onto Willie’s hand, and one by one, the faces on the couch went from looks of worry to ones of ecstatic joy.

“Oh my God!” Julie yelped, jumping off of Flynn’s lap and flapping her hands, unsure what to do for a moment, but Reggie quickly stood up as well, and the pair embraced in a tight hug. It took a few moments for the rest of the room to process, but the moment everyone had…

Carlos and Ray heard the screaming from their cosy spot at the front of the house, whooping and yells of triumph echoing across the cul-de-sac as the kids celebrated their achievement.

The hugs and bouncing and complete inability to stay still probably lasted a solid seven minutes, and by the time Luke was coming down from the high of the news, Julie was disappearing round the corner to tell her dad and brother, Reggie was spinning Kayla in his arms, and Alex had found himself in a rather heated kiss with Willie. His eyes went back to the laptop, and he removed himself from a hug with Flynn to sit back on the couch, scrolling back up to the top of the finalist website page.

“What are you doing man?” Reggie asked, Kayla jumping off his back and taking the bassist’s hand as they walked over to Luke, the boy pressing play on the first of 19 videos, the audition tapes of the other competitors.

“We’re up against all these other groups, the competition starts in a few days… I want to see what we’re up against.” Luke explained, the words pulling Alex and Willie over to the laptop too. The five pressed play on the first video, Luke leaning over and turning the volume up as high as it would go as the first band’s music began to play. “Willie, can you go get Julie?” The raven-haired boy nodded, squeezing Alex’s hand one last time in celebration before rushing towards the Molina residence to collect Julie and Flynn.

“I can’t believe we actually managed this…” Alex scoffed in disbelief, running a hand through his hair and glancing over at his friends with the brightest of smiles. To think, the three had met at the age of 10, that all those days of mindless rehearsal led them to Julie, which led them to this?

“You guys deserve it.” Kayla commented with a smile, glancing down at her watch with a frown. “Shit, I forgot about curfew…” She muttered, pressing a kiss to Reggie’s cheek. “I need to get home; I’ll give Willie a lift too. See you tomorrow babe?” She asked Reggie, who nodded fast as Willie came back with Julie and Flynn. “Curfew, Skater Boy.” She reminded Willie; whose eyes widened before muttering a soft curse to himself.

“Right.” He sighed, waving a quick goodbye to his boyfriend and friends before slipping out the door with Kayla. Flynn watched them go, giving Julie and quick hug.

“This seems to be a band member meeting now, and I need a ride. See you tomorrow, alright?” Flynn asked, and Julie nodded, the pair sharing another hug before Flynn too disappeared through the garage doors, leaving the band to themselves.

There was a comfortable silence, as they all looked at one another, as they all came to terms with the sheer insanity of what was happening. Out of thousands upon thousands… Out of millions of applicants, Julie and her Phantoms had managed to snag a spot in the country’s biggest competition, managed to get themselves a chance at a record deal, at a world tour, at millions of dollars…

“So,” Julie said with a grin at her three best friends on the couch, the boys looking to her for their next move. “These other contestants…” She made her way over to the couch, sitting herself between Luke and Alex quite comfortably and taking charge of the laptop from Luke, who was happy to hand over control. “Why don’t we break this down?”

“Well,” Alex spoke up as he peered over Julie’s shoulder, the girl clicking on the second contestants’ audition tape, the sound of soft banjo filling the air. “If we want to win… We need to be looking for the biggest threat across the board, not just in one category.” He said, his friends looking over in slight surprise. It was undoubtable that of the guys, Alex was the smart one, but his smarts weren’t something he used very often to begin with. He coughed and ran a hand through his hair, sitting up a little straighter. “I just mean, the competition is a new theme every week, right? Well, we’re a band with a pretty wide range. I mean, Reggie with his banjo is just a start.” The blonde gestured across the couch, the compliment causing his friend to grin and wave. “If we’re optimistic here, planning the hypothetical that we make it past week one-”

“The band that’s going to be the hardest to beat is the one with range, like us.” Luke finished for his friend, clicking onto contestant number 3, the audition tapes only 90 seconds long, and gesturing to Reggie. “Get a pen and paper, we need to start writing notes.” He decided, and Reggie pouted.

“Why do I have to do it?” He asked, and Julie let out a laugh.

“Luke taking notes would be a waste of time, his handwriting is worse than a doctor’s, and Alex and I have thinking to do.” She explained simply, but it was enough for Reggie to grumble his way over to a dresser on the far side of the room they kept stocked with stationery in case inspiration struck, coming back over and sitting on the ground, getting into position to write.

“Back to contestant 1.” Julie instructed, the four beginning their first bout of research.

It was well after midnight when the band were only just reaching the end of their list. Alex was pacing as he listened to the audition tapes of their competitors over and over again, Luke and Julie both huddled over the laptop as Reggie jotted down notes.

They all should have gone to bed over an hour ago, what with their first day of school that morning, the last first day of school for the guys, but there was too much excitement, too much energy buzzing through them, and this research was the best way to channel it.

Where other subjects were not their strongest suit, everyone of the kids in that room excelled at music: not just playing it, but understanding it. This was a competition, and from what extensive knowledge they shared on Fall Down Records, this was not about looking for one-hit wonders or kids with untapped potential. It was about finding stars already in the making and pushing them forward.

This was good news for the four kids, and bad news for some of their opposition. It became clear in the first half of the tapes who was and who was not going to last long in the competition, a clear divide that didn’t seem like it would change any time soon. Alex was walking around the room that night trying to figure out just who would be going home in the weeks to come, and where Julie and the Phantoms would fall into the grand scheme of things.

“Final video.” Julie announced, the blonde looking over and deciding it would be best to sit himself down, at least for the watch through. Reggie too seemed intrigued as to who their last challenger would be. As Julie clicked her way onto the video, she was confused for a moment when presented with a black screen, wondering if she had accidentally turned her computer off.

Suddenly, a noise, unlike any Luke or Julie or the guys had heard in the last few hours of investigation. Accompanied by bongo drums and maracas, they were all expecting some sort of island breeze music, quite honestly, and Luke was about to pause and check the band’s name once more when the odd noise was suddenly replaced by a much more familiar one: an electric guitar coming in with the drums. An image finally flickered to screen, unlike the other videos of live performances across the country or awkward homemade recording sessions, this band had opted for an old, grainy video quality, a sepia coloured moving picture of hands beginning to play along on the guitar.

“All that I want is to wake up fine. Tell me that I’m alright, that I ain’t gonna die. And all that I want is a hole in the ground, you can tell me when it’s alright for me to come out.” The first few seconds were enough to leave jaws hanging, and though he would later deny it, Luke’s was on the floor.

The sound was so different, such a bizarre mix of percussion and pop and rock, with such a happy sound despite the bleak lyrics. It was impressive, to say the least, and suddenly the picture before them flashed away to reveal the band on a white stage, all dressed in block colours, and Luke scanned over the set up: they had a guy on drums who was dressed from head to toe in blue; a girl in all green on a beatmaker surrounded by the odd percussion they had heard at the song’s beginning, the funny noise revealed to be a marimba; the second guy was on guitar, though it wasn’t quite clear if he was lead or rhythm, and adorned in orange; and then finally…

“Hard Times.” The three other bands members sang, introducing the chorus for their front woman.

“Gonna make you wonder why you even try. Hard times, gonna take you down and laugh when you cry. These lives, and I still don’t know how I even survive. Hard Times, hard times.” She sang in a vision of block colour red, in a short tennis skirt and crop top beneath an oversized blazer, a pair of opaque red cat-eye sunglasses perched on the edge of her nose. The hands from the opening shots of the guitar playing had been her, the instrument a bright red that matched the outfit she wore, and Luke quickly realised that everybody’s instruments matched their clothing colour.

“Marimba…” Luke heard Reggie mutter under the music, only for them to be silenced by the chorus’ final line.

“And I gotta get to rock bottom!” The distortion on her voice as she half sang, half yelled the line was jarring and enchanting and Luke had to let out a bated breath as she continued, lifting the mic off its stand and walking to the boy in orange, passing the guitar duties over to him as she began to sing again, the camera focusing in on the girl in green’s ability on the beatmaker, her fingers dancing over the buttons as they brought in the bridge.

“Tell my friends I’m coming down. We’ll kick it when I hit the ground.” Another drastic change to this soft head voice, paired with the instrumental making it feel like, for a moment, they had all been sucked into a dream. “Tell my friends I’m coming down. We’ll kick it when I hit the ground… When I hit the ground. When I hit the ground. When I hit the ground.” The final note hung for a moment in the air, everything else going silent to let it resonate as the singer hung onto the boy in orange by the shoulder, her hand rising up to pinch his cheek before the final chorus hit.

“Hard Times.”

“Gonna make you wonder why you even try. Hard times, gonna take you down and laugh when you cry. These lives, and I still don’t know how I even survive hard times. Hard times.” The whole band sang the final chorus, their front woman spinning across the stage and singing in harmony with the girl in green, red’s voice riffing on the last notes as the beatmaker brought the snippet of music brought to a close, the screen going black as the music continued to came to a halt. “And I gotta get to rock bottom!”

And there it was… Their main competition.

Luke couldn’t drag his eyes away from the black screen, still trying to get over what he had just heard: while he was more partial to the music he made with his own band, there was undeniable star power in just that song, and four talented musicians to accompany it… Not to mention their lead singer.

He didn’t think he’d go into the contest attracted to a rival band member.

“They used… A marimba?! A marimba…” Reggie exclaimed finally, the first to talk, or rather yell, the leather jacket-clad boy jumping from his seat with his arms stretched in front of him in exasperation. The majority of their night had provided information on bands that gave them a challenge for first place, but confidence they might just grab it. And now? Now they had more than competition, but a threat to the biggest break of their lives.

“Electra Heart…” Alex read the band name out loud, frowning a little as he said it, something about the words seeming familiar. “I feel like I’ve heard of these guys before.”

“Maybe because they’re from California as well?” Julie suggested, pointing to the end of their title card as Contestant 20, stating the band were from San Diego, just two hours away from where they all sat.

“Watch out.” Reggie muttered, turning to face his friends once more and waving a hand at Luke. “Patterson’s smitten.” He muttered, the words knocking a frown on Luke’s face as he straightened up and closed over the laptop, putting the voice of the mystery girl to the back of his mind.

“First off, I’m not. And second? This is a good thing!” Luke exclaimed, though it was clear to everyone he was changing the subject. “The contest starts in two weeks, and we have the upper hand. We submitted Bright as our audition song, and it’s great, but that wasn’t even our best performance of it! We literally ran out of time to submit something better!” He reminded them all, drawing their minds back to the start of the summer. They had done their very best to piece together the audition tape, but Julie had suddenly gotten sick and they lost a week or so of their schedule. They ended up submitting a draft version, and still got in. “That is probably their top tier, and we know we can match and beat that! Right now, they’ll think they have this in the bag, when they don’t.” He got to his feet, walking over and hooking an arm around Reggie’s neck. “We’re going into this prepared, and ready to blow the show’s socks off, yeah?”

“Yeah!” His bandmates chorused, Julie standing up and prompting Alex to do the same, the four congregating in the centre of the studio. She was the first to hold out her hand.

“Legends on three.” She called; smiles shared amongst the band.

“One.” Reggie went first.

“Two.” Alex next.

“Three.” Luke finished, four hands stacked atop each other, four teammates ready to try and take on the impossible.

Sleep didn’t come to Luke that night.

He opted to cycle home despite the late hour, and clambered into bed at around 3 am while Reggie opted to stay overnight in the studio, too lazy to take himself home, not that it was an uncommon occurrence. Since Alex has started living with the Molinas, Luke and Reggie found themselves crashing more and more often.

But Luke cycled home anyway, mainly because he wanted the chance to think in private, to be alone as he planned their success now the competition slot was confirmed. It was the opportunity of their lifetime: he wasn’t going to give it up without a fight. No matter how beautiful the lead singer of Electra Heart was.

She weighed on his mind from the moment he saw her well past sunrise, and as the light flooded in through Luke’s curtains with the boy getting no sleep, he opted for a shower before his parents got up for work, and hopefully getting to avoid talking with them as much as possible until Kayla came by to pick him up, always with Julie, Alex and Reggie in tow.

That was another thing: how would he be suddenly breaking the news of his rock band on global television to his parents, who have yet to find out how he really spends his free time?

As he stood under the hot water that morning, washing away the adrenaline and sweat from the night before, he couldn’t help but hum the girl’s song: why was it so catchy? He tried to rinse it away with his fatigue and the aches in his legs from the biking to and from Julie’s, but it wasn’t budging, and neither was her face. In an act of defeat, Luke clambered out the showered, and shoved his earbuds in as he dried himself off and got dressed for the day, drowning out her voice in his head with the loudest music his phone had available.

As Luke continued about his morning, shuffling around the house as he sorted his laundry for the week and got his bag ready for classes, it was only once his dad yanked on of the earphones out of his ear that Luke figured he might have had the music too loud.

“Lucas, you play that music any louder you’ll be deaf by year’s end.” His father muttered, gesturing for his son to take a seat at the table. Luke glanced at the clock: it would be another twenty minutes before Kayla showed up in the car, and he decided it wasn’t the morning to start an argument.

“What’s up?” He asked, reaching over and grabbing an apple as his father sighed across the table, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands. Luke took a bite, the flavour and scent filling his senses, only for that damned ear-worm to return.

“Luke, your mother and I are worried…” His dad began, and Luke frowned. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, it wouldn’t be the last. His parents had been set on sending him to college, or some sort of naval academy by Christmas, and Luke had continued to adamantly refuse. His grades were still doing well, perhaps thanks to the amount he copied off of Alex, and with his plan being the band anyway, it’s not like he needed school that badly anyway. “We want you to explore your options, to at least give some thought to your future.” His dad continued, and Luke took another bite of his apple, the song rattling in his head.

“I’m just fine.” Luke assured with an insincere smile, getting up from the table and heading back towards his room to grab his school bag. Perhaps he would just walk further down the road, get picked up on the Main Street.

“Son, come on now.” His father was a quiet, stern man, so while the words alone would have been a plea, the tone twisted them to an order, and Luke stopped just before his bedroom. “There’s an open day in a few weeks, all we ask is you go to it. No commitment, just attendance.” He continued, and Luke glanced back, shrugging.

“If you’ll get off my back about it then yeah.” He conceded with a roll of his eyes, quickly opening his room door and slamming it shut behind him, ending the conversation before his father ventured into small talk.

He waited in there, picking at his apple as he hummed the song from the night before, until a horn sounded outside, Luke then scooping up his school bag and rushing out the house as fast as he could, shouting a quick ‘goodbye’ as he slipped round the front door and closed it firmly, letting out a heavy breath.

He took a moment to compose himself before starting a light jog down his front lawn’s pathway to the car waiting at the bottom of the drive, chock full of his friends. Reggie was driving, Kayla and Julie sat tucked together on the front bench of the old vintage, while the back seat of the convertible was occupied by Alex, Flynn and Nick, who waved Luke over to the space free beside him.

“You know Kayla, the more people we pack in this car, the more likely it is your dad takes his car back.” Luke commented as he jumped into his tight spot in the back, sharing a fist bump with Nick as Reggie sped off in the direction of school.

“My dad gave up rights to this car the moment I started filling the tank, Patterson.” Kayla called back, Luke smiling and letting his head loll back as they raced along the back streets towards school. He could say he never felt more at home than with his friends, in moments like this.

“Like, shit, I forgot to congratulate you.” Nick called over the chatter in the car, garnering his friend’s attention with a dimples smile and tousled hair from the wind. Despite only the year separating them, Luke thought of Nick as a little brother, and the comment made him grin and pat Nick’s shoulder.

“Congratulate me when we win Battle of the Bands.” Luke corrected, leaning closer to make sure the front seat didn’t hear his next words. “And I’ll congratulate you once you finally ask out Julie, alright?” He posed the offer, Nick’s cheeks turning bright red. Luke chuckled it away, sharing a glance with Apex from across the backseat.

When they all got thrown into the same music class three years ago, it was pretty clear to Alex and Luke that Nick likes Julie, and vice versa. They had been trying to set the pair up ever since, with minimal levels of success. But with the impossible seeming to occur everyday now, who knew what might happen?

Reggie sped through a stop sign and near drifted round the corner into the parking lot, sending everyone in the car but Kayla grabbing for stability, whether it were the dashboard of the door or the back of seats, but they didn’t hit anything, and Reggie pulled into the assigned parking space the car had kept for the last year or so, right in front of the school quad.

“I can’t believe it’s the first day of our last year…” Alex remarked as everyone gathered their things and clambered out the car. They had become a collective over the past few years, a friendship group not easily frayed or broken, and as they walked in almost a clump across the school lawn, with Julie in the lead, it was quite difficult to not notice the rest of the school’s eyes resting on them.

Word must have gotten out about their good luck.

“What are you guys going to do without us when we’re gone?” Reggie asked with a grin, his arm sling over his girlfriend’s shoulder as the pair sauntered in the group’s centre, and Flynn turned back from her place beside Julie.

“Maybe get some school work done for once.” She clapped back, earning a chorus of chuckles and tones of agreement from amongst the group.

Luke was hanging back in the rear, taking a moment just to observe his friends, a habit he had gotten into over the summer: this was the last year they would, theoretically, all be together, and Luke had no intention of wasting any of his time with them.

“Hey, uh, Luke!” A voice interrupted his thoughts, the brown-haired boy spinning on the spot to come face to face with one of his classmates. She wasn’t someone he knew very well, granted, but he still smiled and took a step towards her, laying down the infamous charm.

“What can I do you for?” He asked with a dopey grin, which later turned to a smirk when she blushed profusely at his words.

“I was just… uh… Congratulations! On the contest, everyone’s talking about it.” She paused, rummaging in her bag and pulling out a slip of paper, Luke pulling a hand out of his pocket to accept the offering. “If you ever, I don’t know, if you’re ever free and wanna go out for a coffee or something…” She trailed off, and Luke examines the name and phone number.

“Well, Sara,” He read her name out, looking up at her as he spoke. “I’ll send you a text, maybe?” He suggested, taking a few steps back when he heard the sound of Julie shouting his name.

“Uh, yeah! Cool! See you around!” Sara beamed, waving him off as Luke turned to catch up with his friends, the interaction boosting his ego a little more as he went into day.

In fact, by the time lunch had come around, Luke’s day had been rather jammed packed with words of praise and offers of phone numbers, and it seems like his band mates had been experiencing the same thing. When Luke arrived at lunch after a gruelling lesson with Mr Norbert, glad that the rest of his day would consist solely of music, he found his friends at their preferred lunch table, each with a collection of notes falling from their pockets.

“Am… Do I need to act more gay? I thought people knew I was gay.” As Luke sat down, Alex asked the question to the table, Willie’s hand rubbing his boyfriend’s shoulders.

“What do you mean?” Luke asked as he set down his tray and took a bite of his sandwich.

“Four girls… Four girls have tried to ask me out today! And I mean, how am I supposed to respond to that? Did they not know I was gay in the first place?” He questioned again, head frantically searching for an answer as the boy’s anxiety began to build, only to be wheeled by Willie’s lip pressing to Alex’s cheek.

“Join the club, guys.” Carrie spoke up from the end of the table, a vision in pink as she and Julie shared notes from a previous class. “I’ve literally been receiving Instagram DMs for years, all the Dirty Candi girls have. The amount of guys that think they can ‘make you straight’.” The girl involuntarily shivered and let out a sigh. “This is just the beginning for you four. The amount of fan mail thanks to the competition will be huge.”

The Dirty Candi girls had been a group as long as Julie and the Phantoms has, but their music was so different there was no need for competition. They all just sort of became friends instead, and when it became clear the girls wouldn’t be allowed to audition for the Battle of the Bands because of Carrie’s dad’s position at Fall Down Records, there was a mixture of sadness and relief. No hard feelings were had, and no hard feelings would happen, because the last thing the friends wanted was to be compared with one another. They were all talented.

Plus, Dirty Candi performed on Ellen, so if anything they were currently the more well-known.

“In other news.” Flynn spoke up, pulling her eyes away from her phone to address the group. “There’s a new transfer student.” She announced, and glanced over at the clock on the far side of the cafeteria. “We should all be meeting them in about half an hour.” She said decidedly.

“How do you know?” Reggie asked with a mouth full of pasta. He had a semi-circle of clutter around him as he tried to eat and copy homework all at the same time, the boy quite aware of how lucky he was to have better-prepared friends than him.

“Mrs Harrison was our free period supervisor this morning. She got a call, disappeared from class and didn’t come back for twenty minutes.” Nick spoke up on Flynn’s behalf, the girl turned back to her phone to feverishly type away at the screen. “Mrs H has to welcome all the new music students.” He added quickly, glancing across the table as Julie nodded in agreement.

“They’re a senior, or we would have seen them in classes this morning.” The band’s lead singer stacked on top of the Juniors’ theory, and Carrie quickly got her attention back to point out a mistake she had made on the maths coursework.

“New students come in every year.” Luke remarked, brushing off the fascination with a wave of his hand. “Maybe we should talk a bit more about, oh you know, the fact that we’re going to be playing to millions of people on a televised game show in a fortnight!” Luke exclaimed, earning grins from around the table as they all got that hit of realisation again. It had felt like a dream the night before.

“Well, I don’t wanna spill secrets…” Carrie started, all eyes quickly on her. “But with dad hosting the show, there are some responsibilities the Wilson family are taking on… Like an acoustic jam session for the competing bands to meet each other.” She revealed with a squeak, taking a hold of Julie’s arm with excitement. “And don’t even get me started on the Halloween bash the Record Label will be holding…” She added, and Kayla hit Carrie’s arm playfully.

“You keep this up and you’ll rig the competition, C.” Kayla reminded with a meaningful smile, and the pink-themed girl rolled her eyes, but fell quiet nonetheless.

The conversation steered away from the competition for the rest of the lunch period, the friends slowly beginning the walk to music as eyes watched them pass. It wasn’t something any of them acknowledged, well, apart from Carrie on occasion, but they were the popular kids.

It was a mixture of charm, friendliness and musical success, but they had become the ‘it’ kids of Los Feliz High. None of them particularly disliked the role they had been prescribed either: the more people they knew, the more people would hear their music, the more people they could share their passion with. And it was nice, too, sitting at the top of the food chain. They had all been at the bottom at some point in time, and knowing their influence on their peers was a positive gave them all a little bit of pride.

“Quickly, quickly!” Mrs H called from the doorway down the hall, ushering the group to hurry toward the classroom, Julie and Luke in the lead as the nine kids shuffled through the door of the band room, Mrs H closing the door behind them. Their teacher quickly checked through the window to make sure no-one was on approach.

“Mrs H, is everything ok?” Julie asked, taking a step forward, and their teacher nodded quickly.

“I have a favour to ask. We’ve got a new student joining. I didn’t want to ask with other kids listening in but.” Mrs H paused, and relief flossed the faces of her students. There wasn’t any danger, just a request they usually got. “Could you make her feel at home? I. She’s been admitted to the program without an audition, I have no clue of her ability. I just don’t want her being overwhelmed, turned away again.”

“Anything for you, Mrs Harrison.” Luke chipped in, their teacher smiling and letting out a breath.

“Thank you… Right, get yourselves seated, we can have a chat more about this competition during second period, I’ll go fetch her from the office.” Mrs H explained, rushing out the door as their classmates filed in, the room becoming a hub of activity rather quickly as kids picked up their instruments and began tuning.

“How does someone get into the music program without auditioning?” Reggie asked, though there was no malice, just naïve curiosity. Unfortunately, his friends didn’t know how to answer him. It was a question they all had on their minds as they got themselves comfy in the room’s far corner, Luke collecting his guitar and Reggie’s bass from one of the storage cupboards, the pair nodding Julie over to the piano to help them tune the guitars.

It was Julie sat herself down at the grand piano that the door suddenly swung open, Principal Brown coming into the room in a dazzling magenta pantsuit.

“Good afternoon students.” She greeted, receiving a chorus of ‘good afternoon Principal’ back. “As some of you already know, we have a new transfer student joining us for her senior year, and she will be studying alongside you all part-time at the school’s music program.” The principal prefaced, quickly gesturing outside the door for Mrs Harrison to enter along side their new classmate.

“Is that…” Julie whispered, receiving a nod from Reggie and Luke.

The girl from the video last night, the front woman for Electra Heart, stood in their music classroom’s doorway, dressed like a model off a runway, a cigarette perched behind one ear. She was wearing a pair of red plaid trousers, paired with black heels and a corset style crop top, an oversized jean jacket thrown on top, all matched to a pair of sunglasses perched on the end of her nose. Her hair was in a bun, showing off the cigarette behind her ear and a collection of piercing along the earlobe. Her nails were all painted the same colour of red as her trousers, which matched the colour on her lips, which matched the outer corners of her eyeshadow.

“Perhaps you can introduce yourself?” Principal Brown asked, she too noticing the cigarette and plucking it from the girl’s ear, throwing it in the nearby trash can. The girl seemed unfazed by her actions, eyes scanning over the room until they landed on the piano, and the band members stood around it.

Luke couldn’t help but stare back, trying his best to keep his jaw from going slack. How was she here? How did she look better in person? And why in the name of God was Luke overcome with a sense of nostalgia as they looked each other over. There was something other worldly about her, something that made Luke feel like he was younger again. It was the eyes, that raked over his body as she smirked, eyes Luke had known to be timid and frantic when they were kids…

It suddenly click in his head.

“Class.” Mrs Harrison decided to speak for the student. “The is Y/N Y/L/N.”

“No fucking way…” Alex muttered standing up from the back of the class, causing confusion amongst his and Luke’s friends. The rest of them seemed to be missing something important, but were yet to figure out what.

“Y/N, why don’t you find yourself a seat?” Mrs H suggested, Principal Brown taking her leave as Y/N sauntered towards the far corner of the classroom, not pausing for even a second as she sat herself on Luke’s chair, arms folding over her chest as Luke’s gaze on her turned from one of surprise to one of raw, unfiltered annoyance, something Julie would later describe as ‘the angriest she’s ever seen’ her friend.

The pair stared each other down for a moment, Y/N the first to move and reach out an arm, taking Alex’s nearby hand in hers as he stayed standing, shocked by the revelation.

“Seven years is a long time, isn’t it?” Her voice was smooth, trained, like molasses dripping down. It stuck in Luke’s head, the words taking hold over his brain just like her song had earlier that day. Alex pulled the girl to her feet suddenly, the pair embracing in a tight hug, staying like that for a moment as the class watched on, as their friends watched on.

When they finally pulled apart, the girl turned her attention to the frowning Luke, whose knuckles were clenched so firmly that the skin was as white as bone.

It couldn’t be. How was she here? It had to be some kind of joke.

But her eyes were the same, her smirk so familiar, and the deal was sealed when she sat herself back down and crossed one leg over another, in his chair, sending a wink his way that was anything but playful.

“Well, hello there, Skywalker.”

He had always hated that nickname...

TAGS: @siennanoelle01 @epikskool @eries45 @thesweetestsinner @fangirlangioma @moviesbooksandfandoms @ohyoureaqueenbutuncrowned @saroo-hawks @charliessunset @lana-moe-fandoms @bigdesi @avngrsinitiative @emotionalbruv @lolychu @lazydaisy19 @korydickson @futuremrsb-r-main @uglypeachh @reggieandthereggies @rogersangel @izzyhogue @writerinlearning @independentgirl @delicatelukepatterson @mybrainiswhack @uhmitstori @mon-charmante @writingforphantoms @musicconversedance @mjflower @heimdoodle @kcd15 @-episkey- @billiesburritoess @walkingonshunshine @obxmermaid @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve @kristencoontz @n0wornever @simp4madi @aliciameix @kinda-just-chillin-here @jatpfan @blueyed-one @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @ghostlyb1tch @leahstypewriter

#luke patterson #jatp au #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson x y/n #luke patterson jatp #jatp luke x reader #jatp luke #jatp #julie and the phantoms #willex #luke patterson imagine #fluffy smut #fluffy angsty smut #smut #fluff #angst #julie and the phantoms alternate universe #enemies to lovers

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blouisparadise · 3 years

Photo

Upon request, here is a rec list of bottom Louis fics where Louis is pining for Harry. We hope you’ll enjoy this list. We also have a mutual pining rec list here and we will have a pining Harry rec list eventually. Happy reading!

1) Down On Your Knees, You Don’t Look So Tall | Explicit | 3445 words

Louis and Harry are friends, and best ones at that. Louis loves Harry more fiercely more than he's ever loved anyone, so he doesn't really have a problem with it when they start doing this thing. this wonderful, wonderful thing.

2) You Had Me At Hello | Explicit | 4529 words

Louis works in the shop next to Harry's cupcake shop. Louis pines after Harry until he goes into a heat and Harry finally catches up.

3) Just Like Live Wires | Explicit | 5427 words

Harry climbs into Louis’ bed when he’s cold. Louis pines.

4) Something To Live For | Mature | 5535 words

After over a century of waiting for Harry to realize they're mates, Louis gets his heart broken when his friend announces he's found his 'one' in a human girl named Teresa. Wanting only happiness for Harry, Louis accepts that it just wasn't meant to be and decides it's time to let go of the immortal life.

5) Five Times Harry Styles Was Jealous | Mature | 6184 words

Harry's jealous all the time but there were five times that definitely stand out. Five times that changed Louis and Harry's relationship.

6) On My Mind All The Time, Say You're Mine | Explicit | 9261 words

“Dude, we’re inside, and it’s night time. Those don’t look as cool as you think they do.” Louis could kick himself, he sounded so stupid, but it certainly got the guy’s attention.

It was at that unfortunate moment that he noticed several other things about this hot asshole, that he hadn’t noticed just staring from afar. First, when Louis spoke to him, his gaze was kind of unfocused behind his sunglasses, and secondly, that he had a red and white cane folded up under his arm.

“I’m… Blind,” the man chuckled, awkwardly.

Louis wanted to melt into a puddle out of pure embarrassment.

“I— am so sorry. I have to go.”

“Hey, wait, wait,” the man soothed, grabbing at Louis’ shoulders before he could get away.

“I’m sorry,” Louis repeated, looking down at his shoes.

“It’s alright,” He cackled. “I get it a lot. More than you know.”

7) Let The Beating Waves Come Drag Me Down | Explicit | 9447 words

“Just try it, the worst thing that could ever happen it’s that you won’t like it” Niall had told him. And there he was, on the way to one of these pubs created for perverts, willing to break up the routine to try something new, something that terrified as much as excited him.

One night to get swept up in passion, one night to let the devil get in.

"Tonight, I’m going to make you scream of ecstasy Louis,” he said with a raspy voice full of control, making him tremble with anticipation.

8) Got It Right Such A Long Time Ago | Explicit | 9699

There are a lot of people Harry might expect to find on his doorstep at three o’clock in the afternoon these days.

It could be the delivery man, come to drop off the pair of boots Harry impulsively ordered online last week. It could be one of his neighbors, dropping by to complain about how a party he’d thrown weeks ago had clogged up the street. It could also be any number of his friends in L.A., who stop by unannounced most days to mooch off Harry’s food or whisk him away to try some new yogurt shop.

As a rule, it definitely cannot be Louis Tomlinson, although Harry’s blinked at least three times now, and it’s still Louis standing there, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a duffel bag at his feet.

9) You Know What They Say | Explicit | 10232 words

Nice guys always finish last.

10) Call If You Need Me | Explicit | 10770 words

If anyone asks later on, Louis plans to tell them that it’s all Niall’s fault.

11) Love Is Like This; Not A Heartbeat, But A Moan | Explicit | 13150 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

In which Harry loves Louis, but Louis has been cold to him ever since he presented as an omega at age fifteen.

Eight years later, Louis approaches Harry with a request, and who is Harry to deny him?

12) Just Let Me | Mature | 14714 words

The party was going well. So well, Niall had already sworn undying love to one multi-tiered chocolate cake, two friendly corgi-poodle mixes, Zayn’s hair, and the entire population of Los Angeles. So well, Zayn had only laughed and ruffled Niall’s hair and not even twitched towards a cigarette. So well, nearly everyone had spilled far past the boundaries of the night’s original plans, extracting bottles of vodka from the cabinets and losing a lot of clothes. Harry had proclaimed that he was finally going to throw a small and very grownup dinner party and of course here they were three hours later, fifty people half-naked in the pool. Soon to be full-naked, if Louis had to guess. Everybody in LA loved a heated pool. Everybody loved Harry.

13) We’re the New Romantics | Explicit | 16054 words

Alternatively, a high school au where Louis pines and Harry is not who he seems to be. Featuring peanut butter banana milkshakes, motorcycles, and first times.

14) Wait For Me (To Come Home) | Explicit | 16066 words

A future fic of time stamps where Louis finally comes to grips with a love he'd denied for too long.

15) Deflower Me | Explicit | 20154 words

Louis is a proud virgin, and no matter how much society tries to make him feel like a freak for not acting on his natural urges, he doesn't suffer from his lack of experience. He has never felt drawn to someone in a way that made him want to get involved sexually with them, and he isn't planning on rushing himself so he can get some because people think it's what he should do.

In walks Fratboy, the Serial Haunter of His (wet) Dreams, who thankfully has a little business going on that might be just what Louis needs.

16) I Wanna Be More Than Friends | Not Rated | 20721 words

The one where Harry’s an alpha with no sense of smell, Louis’ an omega who isn’t allowed to scent his best friend, and that’s all they’ll ever be. Obviously.

17) The Way The Storm Blows | Explicit | 21649 words

Louis doesn’t have a habit of thinking about Harry’s dick.

That would be weird, seeing as they’re best mates, and they share a flat, and they’ve spent holidays at each other’s family homes. Their friendship hasn’t ever risen to a point where Louis should want to see his mate’s dick, and he’s happy to keep it that way.

Except, all that Louis can think about is exactly that. The size of it. The shape. The amount of people it’s been in.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, or the fact that Louis’ just recently walked in to an eyeful of Harry taking turns on some slags that he’s never seen before, but. Louis’ mind can’t stop obsessing over the idea.

18) Ours Are The Moments I Play In The Dark | Mature | 30830 words

Jane Austen's Persuasion AU. Nine years ago Louis Tomlinson was persuaded to break off his engagement to Harry Styles, a poor sailor. Since then Louis has come to regret being so easily convinced to give up his one chance of happiness. Now Louis' family is in debt and his childhood home is being sold. In a complete reversal of fortune, Harry has returned to England a wealthy bachelor looking to settle down. Events conspire to bring them together once more though Louis is- must surely be- the last man on earth that Captain Styles would think of now.

19) If Ignorance Be Bliss | Mature | 30429 words

Uni AU: Harry is too experienced, and Louis just wants to get to experience him.

20) Where The Lights Are Beautiful | Mature | 31170 words

The accidental bonding a/b/o fic.

21) Mark My Word (We Gon’ Be Alright) | Explicit | 35524 words

"He’s always known that there would come a time when Harry would bond with some beautiful, quiet omega, and they would have lots of curly-haired pups and live happily ever after.

Knowing it and living it are two very different things, though. Watching the object of your affection desperately search for a mate and completely disregard you as an option is all sorts of painful, but it is what it is, and Louis is just going to have to learn to live with that."

22) Before We Knew | Explicit | 39831 words

Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed into his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

23) Eyes Off You I Explicit | 39396 words

A Charlie’s Angels inspired fic where Louis is the brains, Harry is the charm, Liam is the muscle, and Niall drives the getaway car - and Zayn is there, too. sometimes.

24) Kiss Me On The Mouth And Set Me Free (Nut Please Don't Bite) | Mature | 42074 words

Harry is the CEO of Flora Corp, Louis is his new secretary.

"...Louis wanted him so badly. Wanted Harry to pick him up, bite him, and break him. Make Louis his, make Louis cry, make Louis a beautiful, plump, pregnant omega..."

25) Let Me Touch You Where Your Heart Aches | Explicit | 46625 words

A Friends with Benefits AU, in which Louis falls in love and Harry is jealous. There is some Karaoke singing somewhere in there, because how do you write a romantic comedy without a Karaoke scene?

26) Underneath The Moon | Mature | 46927 words

In five years’ time, Louis would be the one saying to his students about how he knew the great Harry Styles, in a time before he had ever put out an album or performed on a real stage. Harry fucking Styles had been his best friend and he still loved him, he always would. But they couldn’t stay that way.

27) The Sidelines | Explicit | 47078 words

Note: There are mentions of Top Louis.

Or Harry and Louis play hockey for Penn state and can’t stand one another, since they can’t keep their hatred off the ice their coach and team do what they can to keep their hard earned spot in the playoffs and their two star players from killing each other.

28) Waiting For The Tides To Meet | Explicit | 59873 words

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

29) Pinkies Never Lie | Explicit | 83615 words | Sequel

AU in which Louis hates his job and loves Harry, Harry just wants a distraction, everyone else wants them to get their shit together, and Louis learns the hard way that new beginnings are only possible when something ends.

30) Inevitable | Explicit | 185917 words

AU where Louis and Harry used to be more than friends, but everything had to change the day Harry introduces Louis to his new girlfriend.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#fic recs #bottom louis #top harry #larry #pining louis #blp fic recs #blp

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callmezero0 · 2 years

Text

He Has Beautiful Bones…

Jake Kiszka x Echo Winter

Summery: Echo was somewhat invisible, doesn’t have any close friends, and lives in a beautiful mythical house people assumed to be haunted. He didn’t want to waste his high school years by worrying about love and romance, until he was assigned partners with Jake Kiszka in Literature class.

Warnings: light cursing, nothing else maybe, I’ll let you know later.

Inspiration: Georgia + Punisher (Phoebe Bridgers)

For people that know me irl: I am loving the support bestie omg tysm for being here 🥺

A/N: Forever and always this collage will live in my mind.

Let the STORY CONTINUE:

September twentieth was a cloudy day. It was rainy and warm, but that didn’t stop school from continuing.

The leaves rustled on the ground as Echo’s black Doc Martin’s swiftly moved past each leaf, careful not to crush them. He held a black umbrella over his body to cover him from the rain and wind. He spent a great while in the bathroom that morning braiding bits of his soft blonde hair.

Echo stood at his bus stop alone, waiting for 7:30 to come around. As he stood there, he grew impatient, checking his golden watch that rested perfectly on his left wrist, only to realise that he got to the bus stop 15 minutes early.

The young man groaned aloud and placed his left hand in his jeans pocket as he continued to impatiently wait for the big yellow school bus.

You see, he can drive, he had his license, but he got into a three car collision two weeks ago, and it was getting repaired in his uncle Skip’s shop.

As Echo waited, he heard the raid hit the concrete around him, the trees that stood tall were swaying ever so slightly, the cars filled with angry and stressed adults would zoom past him to their destination.

He focused on the sounds around him so deeply that the fifteen minutes had passed faster than a hummingbird. The bus door opened, causing Echo to come back to reality from his earthly trance.

“You getting on, kid? I don’t have all morning.” The bus driver said to Echo, she had on the ugly yellow vest that all bus drivers had to wear, her curly brown hair up in a messy bun, and her dark brown skin was illuminated by the grey clouds.

Echo nodded, putting his umbrella down and closing it before he entered the bus.

Echo moved his feet forward and up the steps of the bus, thanking her with a quiet and soft nod. He walked down the isle, seeing that the bus was nearly empty.

‘Looks like parents drove their kids this morning’ Echo thought to himself and placed his backpack and umbrella beside him, and looked out the dirty bus windows at the countryside that he lived in.

Echo saw three red trucks, two black SUV’s, four dark green Honda’s, and one red Subaru on his quiet ride to school. He counted twelve mailboxes, seven dogs, and four American Flags outside of the houses he passed.

The bus stopped in front of the school, and the students that were among Echo got up and ran off the bus.

Not Echo. Echo stood up, putting his backpack on, taking his umbrella in hand, and he walked down the isle. As he was about to get off, he spoke to the bus driver.

“Thank you for the ride. Have a good day.” Echo was softly spoken, the bus driver nodded to him with a proud smile and replied.

“No problem sugar, have a good day at school.” She told him before he got off so she could shut the door. Echo walked towards the school with his umbrella open over him. He’s been going to since kindergarten, behind him he heard the bus driving away.

Echo sucked in a deep breath before reaching the doors, he closed his umbrella while pushing the door open with his shoulder, and he saw the students he usually saw standing in the hallway. He made his way down the hallway of ugly blue lockers until he reached his very own.

‘Locker number 23’ Echo thought to himself. He picked up his lock and he started twisting the little knob with a tick line at the top. He slowly but surely put in his lock code.

‘05-23-7’ … Echo pulled the lock off his locker and opened it, revealing his school books, notebooks, and extra clothes if needed. Echo placed his umbrella on the hook that wasn’t holding a jacket, and he stood there for a moment, just listening to his surroundings.

“Did you hear that Emily is with Tyler?”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

And other conversations like;

“Dude you have to come to the underground, it’s supposed to be sick as fuck, cops won’t be there, and besides, Nathan is gunna perform there.”

“So?”

“So?- so bring the weed man!”

Echo shut his locker and placed the lock into its rightful place, and made his way towards his first period, Biology.

In Biology class, he was learning about reproduction and how fascinating it was- according to the teacher, Mrs. White.

Echo found the room and walked in, seeing a new yet familiar face sitting in his seat. His seat was the far left corner in the farthest row from the teachers desk.

Mrs. White looked up at him from sifting through her graded assignments, and she smiled softly.

“Good morning, Echo. Sam took your spot today because he and Danny have been getting rowdy and I needed to control them. Find a seat.” Mrs. White said and Echo glanced up at Sam, who was smiling over at Danny while other kids in the class were talking and gossiping.

Echo sat in the seat beside Sam, envious and annoyed at the sudden change. And Sam noticed how upset it made Echo.

“If you want, we could switch.” Sam offered the quiet young man, and as stubborn as Echo was, he shook his head no, and took his backpack off to retrieve his Biology book.

In the middle of class, Sam decided to spark a conversation with Echo, who would only give short answers and quiet stares.

“You like music?” Sam asked as he nervously played with his yellow pencil. Echo’s ears practically perked up at the mention of music.

“Yeah. I do.” Echo replied in a soft whisper.

“I do too. What’s your favourite genre? I love rock music, alternative sometimes…” Sam’s voice trailed off and Echo replied as Sam mumbled on about genres just to shut him up.

“Rock, alternative, R&B, Soul, and country.” Echo replied as he wrote an answer down from the book on a sheet of work paper, one that Sam was supposed to be working on, but he was too busy annoying Echo with his questions.

“You and my brother Jake would get along. You’re both quiet, reserved, like the same music, and you seem annoyed with me.” Sam stated and copied Echo’s answer from his paper in his own words.

“Jake? There’s more of you?” Echo asked in a ‘you’re kidding.’ Tone. Sam smiled as he wrote and glanced up at Echo’s pain.

“Yes sir, there’s Josh, he’s the theatre freak, Jake, the guy you would get along with, Veronica, she plays volleyball, and me.” Sam replied.

“I feel bad for your mother. Having to take care of two energised toddlers, a kid she doesn’t worry about, and an athlete. Fun.” Echo said in a bitchy tone that made Sam feel some type of way. He felt upset that Echo would say that, confused at his change in mood.

“Are you okay? You seem a little moody.” Sam asked.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry, I just don’t really wanna be here.” Echo replied in a softer and kinder tone to ease Sam. Which it did.

“Right. Well, there’s a dance coming up, are you going?” Sam asked.

“No.”

“Why not?” The younger man asked with a soft voice crack.

Echo shrugged and replied in a bored tone.

“Because I’m not gunna go to a place where half the school’s students will lose their V-card in, plus, I don’t have a partner, double plus, dances are overrated and the lights are too flashy.” Echo explained his reason.

Sam hummed and leaned back in his chair.

“It seems like maybe you’re just whining about not having a date.” Sam shrugged.

Of course Sam would think that. He’s like, what? Fifteen?

“Sure, Samuel.” Echo replied in a sarcastic tone.

“Whoa, using full first names huh? Echo-Location?” Sam teased and Echo rolled his eyes, continuing to multitask his way through the period.

“Class is ending in less than five minutes, pack up and please clean up any trash that you see on the ground.” Mrs. White told the class.

The students groaned and picked up at least three pieces of trash.

Echo saw a crumpled up sticky note and he tossed it into the trash three feet away, making Sam amused.

‘Teenagers. Easily amused.’ Echo thought when he figured out the look Sam held on his baby face.

Three classes later…

Echo sat in his original assigned seat, the far left of the last row, just like in every class.

The young adult was now in Literature class, his favourite class. It was the only one he had a one hundred percent in, while the others were in the seventy percents to eighty.

The teacher was so kind to him. Her name was Ms. Pennington. She seemed to see him as mature and responsible, unlike some others in the class.

“Echo, I read your paper on emotions, and I was wondering if you could do something like that with the assignment today? I’m assigning partners to everybody, so unfortunately you have to be social. But don’t worry, I’ll partner you up with someone you would get along with.” Ms. Pennington explained to the student, who nodded and rested at his desk.

He looked out the window and saw crows flying all around the buildings and houses, trees still swayed and rain still poured. He loved days like this. If only he was at home watching Tim Burton movies.

“Alrighty classmates, I know that in yester-class you were assigned a subject to write about, I only got eight of them, so it’s now homework that will be due tomorrow. Right now, I’m going to be partnering you guys up for this next assignment; it’s very fun. You’ll love it.” Ms. Pennington explained to her pupils.

But all Echo heard was a muffled voice as he spaced out, looking at the weather outside. It always seemed to call out to him at the most inappropriate times.

Suddenly, ms. Pennington was naming names, and students were getting up to sit with their partner. And before Echo knew it, a familiar face sat next to him quietly, not a word was said. No introductions, no silly or stupid remarks, nothing.

“Okay, I’m gunna go around and give you all a word, and you both are going to be making your own poems about that word, then you will make a poem together about the word. You have until next Friday to finish it, so please use your time wisely. And please use as much thought and detail as you can when writing these poems.” Me. Pennington spoke in her teacher voice as she passed out notecards with single words written in colourful sharpie ink.

When she placed a notecard facedown on Echo’s desk, she smiled softly, excited to see what the two students could accomplish together.

The student beside Echo picked it up and read the word out loud to Echo in a soft voice, one that sounded like a parent speaking to a sleepy child, or two people in a library.

“Our word is ‘love’.” The male beside Echo stated, and Echo nodded to him, pulling out his notebook for the class. Labelled only as ‘Literature’ in his neat handwriting in the centre of the notebook.

“So… uh… what are you gunna write about?” The student asked Echo, the latter already flipped to a page and written his name in the margin.

“Love… like it says?” Echo responded in a confused tone, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he pointed to the card with his pencil.

“I get that, but like… anyways, I’m Jake.”

Echo’s jaw nearly dropped when Jake introduced himself finally.

‘Jake? Like… SAM’S BROTHER? Jake?!’ Echo thought as he silently became anxious. He didn’t know that Jake was Sam’s brother.

“Echo… um, I’m writing love in a way that looks kind of like a love letter, almost Edgar Allen Poe type of way, maybe modern Shakespeare… what about you?” Echo asked the older male, whom he almost couldn’t stop staring at.

“I think I’ll make mine kind of like Shakespeare, too. Unless you want me to do something else?” Jake asked, unsure of how Echo would feel about copying styles.

But Echo didn’t really care at this point.

“I don’t mind, really. It’s your part of the assignment, make it how you want.” Echo replied with a shrug.

Jake nodded and looked at Echo’s small pale hands that barely stuck out of his brown sweater that he decided to wear that day. Under the sweater was a white button up with the collars sticking out from the neck. Jake’s gaze was now fixated on the features of the younger man, and unable to leave him.

‘His side profile is almost mythical. He looks like a fairy… his skin is so pale… his eyes are so grey with the clouds being the only source of light. Does he have freckles? That’s cute. Cute? What are you thinking, Jake? Look at his hands, he looks cold. Maybe I should give him a ride home-“ Jake’s thinking was cut off by Echo adjusting in his seat from feeling Jake stare at him.

“I like your hair.” Jake blurted out. Echo glanced over from his paper to meet Jake’s dark brown eyes and he blushed a light shade of red from the compliment.

“I-uh-you like- I don’t- I-you- thank you.” Echo stuttered out, making Jake smile at how flustered he got from a simple compliment.

“So,” Jake decided to steer the conversation in the right direction.

“For the poem we have to work on together… how is that gunna look?” Jake asked the quiet young man to his left.

“I say we write our own poems first, and when we’re done with those, we could maybe combine them? Or maybe write about love from experience?” Echo offered his suggestions.

“Love from experience sounds like a challenge I could get by, what about you?” Jake asked.

“Sure.” Echo replied. He tucked a strand of loose hair behind his ear and he kept his head down, looking at his blank paper as he thought of all the good prompts about love to go off of.

“I don’t know how to start this.” Jake admitted.

“I’m thinking about all the prompts about love that I’ve read, see if I can go off of one.” Echo replied quietly. The students around them seemed to get louder, but Jake made everything sound muffled.

“How about you text me the prompts and help me out?” Jake asked, handing Echo his phone.

“Oh? Oh! Yeah, okay. Sounds good.” Echo mumbled as he went to the phone dial to type in and save his number.

After he finished, he saved his name in Jakes phone as ‘Echo🍂’.

He handed Jakes phone back and the bell to end the day had rung.

Echo closed his notebook, stood up, and quickly packed up.

“Do you need a ride home?” Jake asked with a small bit of confidence, standing up as well.

“I take the bus, I don’t wanna bother you-“ Jake cut off Echo before he could finish his sentence.

“You’re not a bother. I’ll drive you home. I gotta warn you though, I have two brothers that are truly annoying so please just ignore them, don’t let them scare you.” Jake said sincerely with a little joke to lighten the mood.

Echo nodded and he followed Jake downstairs to the main floor.

“Do you need your umbrella?” Jake asked, glancing at the shorter man.

‘And I thought I was short’ Jake thought, standing at five foot seven, while Echo stood at four foot ten.

“How did you know I brought one?” Echo asked him, glancing up at him.

“I saw you get off the bus with one.” Jake shrugged.

“I don’t need it. Tomorrow shouldn’t rain.” Echo replied confidently.

“Alright. My car is just out here.” Jake said and opened the exit door for Echo to walk out first. Echo hesitantly made his way outside, but he still waited for Jake.

The two made their way to the parking lot, and that’s when Echo heard Sam’s voice.

“Echo-location? You finally met Jake.” Sam teased.

“His name is Echo, shut up and get in the car.” Jake defended quickly and opened the red passenger door for Echo to enter. And he did.

Echo buckled in and Jake gently shut the door for him.

Sam and the other brother got in, along with Danny from Biology. The guy Sam was separated from.

Jake got in his drivers seat and buckled up.

“You okay, O?” Jake asked, making Echo look up to him, wondering about the nickname and why he was so concerned about his well being.

“I’m okay, Jake.” Echo smiled weakly and Jake nodded.

“Why does Echo-location get to sit in the front and not Josh?” Sam asked, his voice nearly cracking with every other word.

“His name is Echo, and because I want him to. Be quiet, Samuel.” Jake replied in a bored tone and started playing some classic rock music that Echo grew up listening to.

As they started to drive out of the parking lot, Echo told Jake his address, who seemed excited to know it.

“That’s that one really pretty house on Groovy lane with the vines all over it, right?” Jake asked him.

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Echo nodded.

“Dude that house is gorgeous.” Jake smiled proudly as he drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh.

“Is it true that the house is haunted?” Sam asked from the backseat.

Echo hummed and decided to tease him.

“Unfortunately not, but from the history of the house, the people that live there end up being haunted themselves.” Echo replied, seeing Sam’s shocked reaction from the backseat in the rearview mirror.

A few moments later…

Jake dropped Echo off in front of his house and the guys all saw how gorgeous it was close up. The males all admired the beautiful light brown house covered in dark green vines with wind chimes along the porch.

“Thanks for dropping me off, Jake. I appreciate it.” Echo said sincerely to the driver of the old fashioned vehicle.

“Not a problem. Just let me know if you ever need anything. Remember the prompts.” Jake reminded.

“I remember.” Echo replied, nearly jumping from the sudden touch of a stray black cat cuddling into his calf.

“Ruby! Hello precious girl.” Echo coo’d, bending down and picking the black cat up. Ruby was a stray cat, lived outdoors, but she acted like an indoor cat. She was very lovey and sweet.

“That your Kitty? Can I see her?” Danny asked from the backseat, and obviously, Echo had to show her off. He walked over to Jake’s car and let the boys pet her.

“She’s a stray, but I treat her like my own. I feed her and bring her inside when it’s nasty out. She must’ve found a way out.” Echo shrugged as he gently held onto the slightly dry cat, feeling her warm belly as he held her close to his chest.

“Lemme see her.” Jake whined softly, Echo obeying his whiny command.

Jake gently took the cat from Echo and held her to his chest.

Ruby cuddled and purred into Jake, liking his smell and warmth.

“She definitely likes you.” Echo replied.

“Look’s like she’s mine, now.” Jake joked.

“No way, she’d never leave me.” Echo smiled with a soft giggle.

Jake pressed a gentle kiss to Ruby’s head, and she purred at the action. Jake handed Ruby back to Echo, who only gently placed her on the concrete sidewalk afterwards.

“So… I’ll see you around, O.” Jake said, using that new nickname for Echo.

Echo smiled weakly and nodded awkwardly as he stood there quietly, his backpack straps barely handing on his shoulders.

“And I will see you around, Jake.” Echo replied simply. Jake just gave him a small giggle at how awkward he suddenly was and he rolled up his window, put his car out of park, and drove off to his home.

Echo looked down at Ruby and she meowed as if on cue.

“I know. That was stupid of me.” Echo replied, and opened the metal gate behind him, opening it to go inside his own house.

“How does tomato soup and saltine crackers sound for dinner?” Echo asked.

“Meow.” Ruby replied, walking between his legs and making her way to the dining room. Echo saw her leap onto the table and lay her fluffy, black, fur-covered body on the wooden table.

“I thought so.”

~~~~~~~

A/N: Woweeee that was something else. I feel like I might have a few spelling errors and maybe should elaborate or put extra detail in as I wrote, but how is it so far? Also, should I add more characters? Should I add drama? Lemme know 😘

I’m planning on making this story at least three parts long, I’m not exactly sure, it depends on the motivation and the mindset I’m in I guess.

If you have any requests or anything, I’m totally cool with writing, I just need the following:

-Name (of person you want to be shipped with)

-your name (or an Oc of yours/mine)

-theme (aesthetic/era)

-prompt of some sort

-PRONOUN/IDENTITY (I need to know so I don’t offend anybody)

What I won’t do:

-anything smut related because I can’t write about sex homie I apologise.

-Rape, SA, SH, etc.

|> although I could mention it, I will not write these things in specific details.

-Etc on warnings among these ones.

Drink water, stay healthy, take your meds, and sleep well. Know that you are loved my pretties <3

Ps: in case y’all were wondering; YES THIS IS BOY X BOY BECAUSE I MYSELF AM A BOY AND CAN NEVER FIND ANY FANFICS WITH MY FAVE CELEB THAT HAS MALE PRONOUNS/CHARACTERISTICS/SCENES

-Biggs:)

#80’s rockstar aesthetic #hiraeth #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka #greta van fleet #jake kiszka imagines #rockstar #sam kiszka #danny wagner #josh kiszka #danny gvf #jake gvf #sam gvf #josh gvf #soft aesthetic #gay

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thelittleboyfromloveactually · 3 years

Text

Record Store (pt. 1)

Thomas Brodie sangster x reader

Prompt: Royal records is one of the best in the country, it’s also your favorite. On your weekly trip there you meet a friendly face. And later on you find you have a lot more in common than just your taste in music.

Warnings: some cussing (honestly it’s gonna be in every fic) fluff

Word count: 1640

Requests are still open yall!

You woke up early, the sun shinning through your sheer curtains. Your white bed sheets tangled in your legs. You reached over to your bed side table to grab your phone. 7:24. You dragged yourself out of your warm bed and into the shower. Today was Sunday, your day off. You were currently studying at Cambridge college med school. You had classes everyday except Saturday and Sunday. Saturday you normally spent at work and studying. Every Sunday you would wake up early, and then walk over to one of your favorite places in London, Royal Records. You had a great passion for music, you had an angel like voice and had learned to play piano from a young age. As you grew your taste in music got better and bigger. Royal records was your favorite record store around, it was small but you knew how to find hidden gems.

After you got out of your shower your blow dryed your hair, showing off your gorgeous layers. You did your make up and threw on a pair of black leather pants, a black shirt, your leather jacket, your black boots and some gold jewelry. You grabbed your bag and left your dorm room, quietly so as not to wake up your room mate. You walked down the hall and to the elevator. You pressed the main floor and felt it beggin going down. The doors opened and you stepped out, checking the time on the wall. 8:15. It was about a fifteen minute walk to the coffee shop and only five minutes from there to the store, you would be there just in time for opening. After grabbing your coffee you started on your short journey to your favorite record store. Getting there at exactly 9:00. Once you arrived you saw Felix, he was a good friend of yours who also happened to work here. You had met him in your first year of college, he was in your French class and was struggling, you offered to help. You were fluent and French, Italian and Spanish. Your mom was part French so you grew up being exposed to it.

“Bonjour Felix!” You said as you skipped up to him just as he was unlocking the door

“Hey Y/N! How are you ?” He said smiling at you

“Fine thanks, and yourself?” You asked, smiling once he finally opened the door escorting you inside

“Pretty good” he went behind the counter and opened a new box of records that they had ordered

“Ooo are those the new ones?” Personally you were a fan of older ish music, but you always kept an opened mind.

“That they are” he said looking up at you, you joined him on the other side of the counter and began to look through them. “Tell you what, you get a fee record if you help me organize these” he said

Your face lit up “deal!” You said already grabbing some carefully and going to put them into their sections.

After about 25 minutes you had finished, you were pretty fast. The bell rang as someone walked into the store, Felix greeted them and so did you. A few more people came in and you began your search, looking in every box there was. Then you found it. AC/DCs back in black album, for some reason this was hard to find, you reached for it. But when your hand was on it, so was someone else’s. You looked up, your face blushing a little for your fingers had touched each other’s.

“Oh I’m sorry” said the boy, he looks so familiar, he was tall and thin, blonde hair, your couldn’t put your finger on it.

“It’s fine, really.” You said smiling at him “you can have it”

“No no! You were here first” he said

“No really, my friend works here, I will know the second another one comes in” you said handing him the album

“A-are you sure?” He asked

“Yup” you said smiling, you had to admit, this boy was cute

You walked with him over to the desk

“So you like AC/DC?” He asked looking at you

“I would hope everyone does” you said

He laughed “there are quiet bloody amazing, what’s your favorite album?” He asked

You blushed “that one” you said pointing at the vinyl in his hand

“Oh no, well, take it!” He said, he tried to put it in your hands but you put them behind your back.

“No, like I said I can find another one” you said smiling politely at him

“They are hard to find though” he said hesitantly

“I’m good at finding things”

He smiled and nodded his head, “I’m Thomas” he said reaching his hand out for you to shake it

You put your hand in his “Y/N”

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/N” he said smiling an adorable smile at you

“The pleasure is all mine” you said blushing

He bought the album and you said goodbye

“It was nice meeting you Y/N” he said smiling

“You too thomas” you smiled back

He walked away, looking back at you and smiling to himself.

The next day you woke up at 9:00, got ready and headed to your first class. You only had one class on Monday but it was a long one. 2 hours and 15 mins of psychology. You wanted to be an OB/GYN but you had an interest in the mind too. It’s also nice to be able to understand people. Throughout the entire class though all you could think about was that boy you had met. Thomas. The familiarness was bothering you, why did he seem so familiar? He was also cute and had a good taste in music.

After class you went to your dorm and got ready for work, you grabbed some lunch on your way and arrived 5 mins before your 12:00 shift started. You had worked at this coffee shop for 4 years now. It was also one of your favorite places. You lived the smell of pastries and coffee. You loved the locals that you had become friends with, you loved the people you worked with, you loved seeing which new book Harriet was reading this week. Harriet was the old lady who came here every morning from 11:00 to 12:15, she would sit and drink her coffee, eat her brunch and read her book. They were always some sweet romance novel, mystery or classic. She owned your other favorite place, the book store. You stepped into the kitchen greeting everyone and grabbing your apron and your notepad.

“Y/N go help table 4 outside!” Your manager called

“Will do lizzy!” You called back

You made your way outside to table four, dodging the other waiters.

“Hi, uh what can I get for you today?” You asked nicely whilst taking out your pen from your pocket

“A black coffee please, love” you recognized the voice immediately, you looked up from your notepad and saw Thomas smiling up at you. He was wearing a coat and sunglasses. He looked as if he was a spy or something.

“Oh my god! Hey!” Your said

“Hi” he said smiling at you

“W-what are you doing here?” You asked

“Just getting my coffee”

“Ah I see, so I don’t need to file a restraining order?” You said jokingly

He laughed “I would hope not” he said “why don’t you sit with me for a second, my coffee can wait” he said gesturing to the seat across from him.

“I would love to but I’m working” you said with an apologetic smile

“Right well, I don’t think they will mind you being gone for one minute” he said

You sighed taking the seat across from him

“You know you look like your in disguise?” You mentioned to him

“Do I now?” He asked leaning toward you

“Yes you do”

“Well I’ll be honest, I need your help, I am investigating a murder and the killer is here in this cafe” he said, he seemed like he really ment it

You laughed, hoping it was a joke

He smiled “I’m joking with you, uh um I am actually an actor”

Of course he was! That’s where you had recognized him from!

“That makes so much sense! I knew you looked familiar, newt right?” You asked

“Yup” he said smiling

“So what is a hot shot actor like you doing here at this cafe?”

“Well if I’m being completely honest, I didn’t come just for the coffee, but rather the company. Yesterday I went back to the record store to see if you were there, you weren’t so I asked your friend, who is very nice by the way, for your number. He said he didn’t know me and he wasn’t going to give your number to a stranger. I convinced him to tell me where you worked, and then I ended up here.” He said smiling

“Well that’s quite a story” you said blushing

“Well I think fait just wants me to get your number so” he dragged off, nudging his phone over to you

You giggled “sure”

You typed your number into his phone and texted yourself

“There you go” you said handing it back to him

“Thanks love, you know sense I have you here, would you like to go to dinner sometime? Or to the movies? Or just ya know, hang out? Maybe?” He asked sweetly

“I think I would” you said, you could talk your face was red

“Uh well great then, shall I text you the details?” He asked

“Yes” you smiled, standing up

“Wait where are you going?” He asked grabbing your hand in his

“To get your coffee” you said winking and walking away

Part two :)

#thomas sangster #Thomas sangster x reader #Thomas Brodie sangster #TBS #royal records #part 1

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tiffdawg · 4 years

Text

Full Sabacc | A Din Djarin x Reader Fic

Gif: @bestintheparsec

Pairing: Din Djarin/ The Mandalorian x Reader (no y/n)

Word Count: 4.0k

Rating: E | Warnings: NSFW - explicit smut, dirty talk, mild cursing. 18+ only.

A/N: A game of sabacc turns into soft, steamy, sexy fun with Din Djarin. This is basically one long self-indulgent strip tease. Forgive me, but it’s my birthday and I wanted to treat y’all to something fun 🖤Enjoy!

Read on AO3

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Full Sabacc

Din’s gaze was momentarily transfixed on the blur of starlight curving around the transparisteel window as the Razor Crest tore through hyperspace. It’d been a long day and he was tired, but he couldn’t rest. Not yet. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins from the day’s action, making him restless. He’d finally tracked down the last bounty of the three pucks Karga had given him a few weeks prior. He had to put fuel in the Crest somehow, and this was the best way he knew how, despite other matters that needed his attention. Thankfully, the Trandoshan was in carbonite, though not for lack of a fight, and the autopilot was set for Nevarro.

He’d been cycling through starmaps, looking for the smallest hint of a lead as to where he might continue searching for his foundling’s people, but had allowed the blue streaks of hyperspace to distract him from his seemingly futile task. Instead he was thinking of the little foundling, sleeping soundly in his carrier down in the hull, and, in spite of his best efforts, you.

He’d brought you on as crew to help with bounties and keep the ship flying almost a year ago. He needed to focus more on finding the mysterious Jedi and after watching you fight off a couple of thugs who’d mistakenly thought you’d be an easy target, he figured you’d do, at least temporarily. You were strong and capable, and he’d needed the help, but you’d surprised him when you fell in love with the kid and took on Din’s burdens as your own, steadfastly determined to help him in any way you could. A temporary agreement quickly became permanent, and the past few months of crisscrossing the Outer Rim with you and the baby had brought Din a strange but not unwelcome sense of contentment. Something he’d never had as far as he could remember in his adult life.

You quietly reentered the cockpit, having previously left to check on the sleeping toddler and search for food, and reclaimed your seat next to him.

“How much longer?” you asked with a sigh.

“About fifteen minutes less than the last time you asked,” he retorted.

The three of you had spent the majority of the past week within the confines of the Crest, with only brief respites outside the ship when you made planetfall to track a bounty or hurriedly pick up supplies. His most recent jobs had taken you to planets that were less than hospitable, not that you seemed to mind that fact. You were feisty, a bit rough around the edges, and could handle yourself in dangerous situations. Still, he was sympathetic to your frustration. Even the kid was growing restless.

For a moment, he let his mind wander again as he contemplated the starlight before him. He let himself entertain the idea of taking you and his foundling somewhere nice for a few days. He imagined the two of you happy and free somewhere warm with a bright sun shining down on rolling green fields and a sparkling lake far from the chaos that plagued the rest of the galaxy, that seemed intent to follow him everywhere.

With a few swift movements, he double-checked the autopilot and turned to face you, wanting to voice his newfound desire, but the words died on his tongue. He had no idea how to suggest something like that to you. You were just supposed to be his working partner, his friend at best. It didn’t matter if he was starting to consider you so much more than that.

Instead, he said nothing, his head dropping to the stack of cards you shuffled idly in your hands.

“I know how we can pass the time,” you suggested, following his gaze. “It’ll be more fun than staring into hyperspace all night.”

“I don’t do that.”

“You do, but it’s okay. It’s endearing, Mando,” you said with a light laugh. Before he had time to process what your words, you leaned towards him in your seat, a mischievous smirk playing at the corners of your lips. “Do you know how to play sabacc?”

“I’ve been in enough cantinas to know how to play sabacc,” he answered dryly. “I just choose not to.”

You slump back in your seat. “You don’t like playing?” you asked, looking down at the cards, toying with an already bent corner on one, and sounding rather defeated. He was surprised – usually you’d put up more of a fight.

“Never interested me.”

“I know how we can make it interesting.” Your eyes met his again with a newfound blaze. That was the spark he’d been looking for, but he knew instantly that he was going to regret it.

“You’re not suggesting what I think you are,” he deadpanned, his voice even and modulated. Underneath, he felt differently. You gave him a short, playful nod as if hoping to encourage him, beaming at him from across the cockpit, and he felt his resolve crumble. Even if you didn’t realize it, that smile could get him to do anything.

You took his silence as an opening to convince him, and to your credit, it was a fair argument.

“C’mon, what’ve you got to lose? I’m in a tunic, trousers, and a jacket. You’re wearing full body armor and 5,000 layers, Mandalorian.”

You pronounced his title as if daring him to agree.

Din was never one to resist a challenge.

… . …

As it turned out, you were pretty good at sabacc.

Damn good.

That was fast becoming a problem for Din Djarin.

He had yet another shitty hand of cards. At best, he had 18 points. If he played what he currently held in his now ungloved hands, you’d probably beat him. If he drew another card, he’d almost certainly bomb out and you’d still beat him. Again.

At that point, he was down to his helmet and base layers. He’d lost every other piece of Beskar along with his gloves, boots, belt and holsters, cape and outer coverings. You’d seen him in various stages of undress before – not only do you share rather close living quarters but you’d patched up his more serious injuries on a number of occasions – however, this was easily the least amount of clothing he’d ever worn in front of you, even if he was still essentially covered from head to toe.

Of course, you were still wearing almost everything you’d had on at the start of the game. Only your boots and jacket were missing. Hell, you still had your socks. You grinned wickedly at him from your perch on the co-pilot’s seat and he knew you had another good hand. He’d suspect you of cheating somehow, but he’d been watching you closely, and, to be quite honest, he knew you better than that.

You showed him your cards and he groaned.

Pretty soon he’d be in nothing but his gods-forsaken helmet. Not that he hadn’t imagined that exact scenario before – although this definitely was not the time nor place to entertain those kinds of thoughts. Not when he felt so exposed.

Din wasn’t sure how he let this game get away from him. He’d completely lost control of the situation, and he wasn’t getting much in return.

Except that he was, in a way. He supposed he’d let this happen. Din could’ve tapped out of the game at any point and you would’ve obliged him. But it was sort of…exciting. He got to choose what to reveal to you, what part of him to bare next, all under the guise of a game. There was no pressure, no expectations, and he reveled in the way you carefully appraised him every time another layer was removed.

You quirked a brow at him, still waiting for him to indulge you for your latest victory. He shucked off his last protective layer, leaving him in nothing but his trousers and undershirt, and it was easily the least dressed he’d ever been around anyone. Even when he had participated in brief sexual encounters in the past, he’d never removed so much as a piece of Beskar. Yet there he was sitting in front of you wearing next to nothing and he wasn’t entirely uncomfortable.

No, he liked the look in your eyes as you took in his form, finally seeing the outline of a human body beneath the armor. He probably liked it too much.

Until you met his eyes behind the visor again and he saw a glimmer of uncertainty cloud your lusty gaze that looked entirely foreign on you.

“We should stop,” you said, breaking the silence.

“Why stop now? You’ve been kicking my ass so far.”

You considered his words, chewing on your bottom lip in a way he found much too enticing.

“Deal,” he commanded and for some reason you listened. You hardly ever listened to him without at least some snarky comment. He examined his cards and stifled a sigh. He made his best play, anticipating another loss.

You revealed your cards and – he won.

You bombed out on the next round and lost the one after that, playing a meager 15 points worth of cards. Consequently, you’ve lost both of your socks and your thigh holster and the two of you are suddenly on much more even footing.

You dealt another round without so much as looking at him and he couldn’t help but notice the tension in your movement, in your whole body.

He won that round too, but he was studying you closely now. You were lying to him; that wasn’t your best play.

“Bout time you won a few rounds” you said, having noticed him watching you. He heard the hesitation in your voice where no one else would’ve noticed it.

You shifted in your seat and your hands moved to the hem of your tunic. For a brief moment your eyes flick up to meet his just as you're about to lift the garment up and off your body. Acting on reflex, he grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“I want to see the rest of your cards first,” he demanded.

“Okay, you’re definitely the only man in the galaxy to ever say that after winning a round of strip sabacc,” you said rolling your eyes.

He released you from his grip and reached for your unused cards. This time you tried to stop him, but he was stronger than you and broke free easily, still always careful not to hurt you. A quick glance at your cards told him you had a better hand.

A much better hand.

Full sabacc.

You weren’t so stupid that you couldn’t count to 23. You’d lost on purpose.

“Why did you do that?” he asked accusingly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you deflected weakly and started to gather up the strewn about cards, no longer meeting his stare.

But he wasn’t going to let this go. “You’re the most competitive person I know. Why’d you lose on purpose? I don’t understand,” he prompted, seeking some sort of explanation.

“Because I-” You stumbled over your words uncharacteristically, “I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

His head tilted to one side, a silent plea for clarification that he knew you’d understand.

“Look, I honestly didn’t expect you to be that terrible at sabacc. No offense,” you said with an apologetic look. “I didn’t think I’d get you down to next to nothing that fast. Not with how much you wear – which is a little ridiculous by the way. Also, no offense.” He rolled his eyes at you behind the helmet and somehow you sensed that too, offering him a small huff of a laugh and the ghost of a smile. “I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable” you repeated after a moment, and your care for him made him bold.

“I hate sabacc. I’m fucking horrible at it,” he started, “But I liked losing to you.”

Your eyes locked onto his behind the visor, your lips parting slightly at his words. “Really?” you asked with more than a hint of disbelief.

He hummed noncommittally and then let his helmet tilt downwards a bit more obviously than normal as his gaze trailed over your body. You seemed to come alive under his stare, body arching toward him and the unsteady rise and fall of your chest quickening.

“I liked winning,” you said, grinning at him.

“I know you did. But you still owe me something.”

You rose from your seat and closed the distance between the two of you, standing in between Din’s parted legs with a steading hand on his shoulder. He looked up at you from behind the visor, waiting for you to make your next move.

“You did win the last round,” you said, pretending to consider his suggestion as you took one of his hands in your own and brought it to the hem of your tunic. “Maybe you could help me.”

He didn’t win the last round, not even close. You’d had a full sabacc and yet here you were offering yourself to him as a reward.

Din stood to his full height, practically chest to chest with you, and tentatively lifted your tunic, slowly revealing the smooth skin of your stomach, the soft curves of your hips, the gentle slopes of your shoulders. Only a thin breast band remained to protect your modesty, though it did little to hide the swell of your breasts or your peaked nipples from him. He dropped your shirt onto the pile of long forgotten clothing items that seemed to be growing by the minute. He let his fingers skirt over your sides as he brought his hands back down to settle on your hips, suddenly overcome with the need to hold you in place. He was just barely touching you, but the feel of your skin burned through him, emanating from his fingertips and settling deep in his belly.

But what was he supposed to do now?

You’d always flirted with him much more boldly than he did with you, and he’d assumed that was just part of your personality. You were naturally confident and more than a little coquettish. When he did dare to flirt back, he always took his cues from you. He also stuck to easy truths: your effortless fighting technique, the practiced way you cleaned a blaster, your sharp wit and cunning mind. And even though you couldn’t see past his dark visor, you always caught him staring at you. Always offered a shy, knowing smile in response while never expecting much of anything from him in return.

But now you were staring up at him eagerly.

This was already the most intimate situation he’d ever been in – sexual or otherwise. Never before in his somewhat limited experience, had it ever felt like this before. The air between you was charged, practically volatile, and it felt like it would implode at any minute.

“Your move, Mando,” you prompted, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He let out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding. Even now you were letting him dictate the terms, still making sure he felt comfortable, and your encouragement was all he needed. “Turn around. Close your eyes.”

As soon as you did what he told you, he disengaged the locking mechanism on his helmet. Quickly slipping off his undershirt, he replaced his helmet before reaching out to you again. You let him turn you around with a light touch ghosting over your shoulder.

“You can look.”

Your eyes fluttered open and darted across his body. Instinctively, your hand stretched out towards his bare torso, retracting hesitantly halfway before he took the initiative. Taking your hand in his, he planted your palm to his chest, his own resting firmly over yours. The tightness in his chest dissipated under your touch, aided by the soft smile gracing your lips. Until you glanced up at him and thought he saw a hint of sadness cross your face. There was one layer that couldn’t come off.

Not yet.

He filed that thought away for later. He could only process so much in one night.

“I can’t-”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. This is more than enough. I promise.” You smiled again and he tried to believe you. He tried not to dwell on it as you leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his chest. His heart threatened to beat out of his ribs, and he was sure you could feel it. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” he choked out and you kissed him again, lower this time as your focus shifted to the button of his trousers.

“And this?” You asked looking up at him with dark, shining eyes. He nodded and you pushed his pants down his legs, bending to help him step out of them. As you stood to your full height again, your fingertips brushed lightly against his calves and thighs, scorching his skin and sending a shock of arousal to his already throbbing erection. You noticed his hardness, hardly concealed by his briefs, as you moved up his body.

“Aren’t you glad I suggested sabacc?” you asked coyly.

He wished you could see the smile behind his helmet. “Yeah, but I think you’re a little overdressed.”

“Care to help me?” You wrapped your hands around his and brought them to your chest, encouraging him to palm your still covered breasts. He enthusiastically helped you remove the offending article, tossing it carelessly aside, and his hands wandered lower, taking your trousers off as well as your panties in one quick movement.

“Hey!” you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck to balance yourself. “That’s cheating.”

“You cheated first,” he answered with a laugh of his own. He held you to him, delighting in the sensation of your skin, the feeling of your body pressed flush against his. Determined to touch every inch of your body, his hands moved on their own accord, dropping to knead the pliant muscle of your backside.

“I knew you were staring at my ass all this time,” you teased, trailing your hands down to the waistband of his briefs.

“I was hoping you hadn’t noticed.” He supposed there were some things the helmet couldn’t hide. His fingers slid past the swell of your ass cheeks, dipping into the wetness he found at the apex of your thighs.

“Oh,” you moaned breathily, “I’m not complaining.” Your hand slipped into his briefs and freed his cock, pumping it experimentally.

“Fuck,” he cursed. You’d hardly done anything, and he was already faltering on the edge. Except that wasn’t quite true. You’d seen, touched, and explored more of his body than anyone ever before. It was all so much and yet he wanted so much more. He wanted you, only you, and he wanted to give himself over to you completely. But for now, your lips kissing and sucking on his pulse point on his exposed neck brought him back to the present moment. Back to the fact that if you kept stroking him the way you were, with just enough pressure on the base of his cock and a teasing swirl across the head, this would be over before it really started. “Fuck, I’m not gonna-”

“Me either. Take these off, please” you begged, tugging at his briefs. “Need you now, Mando.”

He discarded the last layer of clothing separating the two of you and you walked him backwards, pushing him down when the backs of his knees hit the captain’s chair so that you could climb onto his lap, straddling his hips. With a gentle hand on your lower back, he pulled you closer, guiding you as you sank down on his cock. Your pussy wrapped around him perfectly, enveloping him with your velvety walls.

“You feel so good. I didn’t know this could feel so good,” he said, the vocoder unable to mask the arousal in his voice. Something in the warm smile you gave him told him that you knew he was mumbling on about more than the exquisite clench of your cunt around him, that he actually meant that being with you, having you in his life, felt so good.

“I know. You make me feel good too. So fucking good.” You sighed as you slowly started to move up and down his length, taking him a bit further every time you lowered yourself, “Just- just tell me what you need. Wanna make you feel so- so good, Mando.”

“More,” he responded without clarifying. It didn’t matter – you already knew what he needed. You quickened your pace and all he could do was sit there and watch; he needed to commit this – the blissed-out look on your face, the bounce of your pert tits, the slick coating your thighs and dripping down his cock – to memory. Just in case.

A particularly heady mewl fell from your lips and he snapped back into the moment, realizing he was getting lost in his own thoughts when all he really wanted to do was make you feel just as good. Wrapping an arm around you tightly, he pulled you against his chest. He wanted your flushed body against his; he didn’t want any space between the two of you. With his other hand, he swiped his thumb against your clit, eliciting a wanton moan from you that went straight to his cock.

“You like that?” he asked through gritted teeth, teasing you.

“Fuck! Gods, yes, Mando,” you panted, nails digging into the skin on his shoulders, “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t worry, cyar’ika. I’ve got you. Always gonna take care of you.” He tightened the circles he was drawing around your sensitive bud and held you steady as he thrusted upwards when you stilled above him.

“I’m gonna- Fuck, Mando, I’m gonna-” You gasped for breath, unable to even finish your sentence.

“I know. Can feel it. So fucking tight around me. You feel so good.”

He started pounding into you, pulling you down hard on his cock, and you shattered around him, practically convulsing in his arms as he fucked you through your orgasm. When you finally slumped against him, you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and buried your face in his neck, holding on as if your life depended on it. You kissed his sweat-slicked skin, murmuring meaningless obscenities as you came down from your high.

“Mando,” you uttered breathlessly, “Cum for me.”

Your gentle demand pushed him over the edge and into the abyss. With a few more errant thrusts, he found the release he so desperately needed, filling you with his seed. A warm, sated feeling washed over him and he let his eyes fall shut behind the visor as he struggled to catch his breath. He didn’t dare move, and neither did you. The two of you clung to each other in the afterglow, letting the stolen moment stretch on for as long as possible.

“Why didn’t we do that sooner?” you asked, finally breaking the silence.

“I don’t know,” he replied, half truthfully. You both knew what had kept you from seeking each other out for so long. He absentmindedly started rubbing a soothing hand along your back, tracing every vertebra and sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

“Well, I definitely should’ve broken out the sabacc cards a long time ago.” He felt you smile against his neck and a breathy laugh escaped him. “But more importantly, when can we do it again?”

“Give me a minute, cyar’ika,” he chastised playfully, feeling the quiet laughter that shook your body more than he heard it. “But that reminds me,” Din started slowly, “Have you ever been to Dantooine?”

... . ...

Thanks for reading!

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #my writing #my fic #fic: full sabacc

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batarella · 4 years

Text

The Commander - Part 11 (Arkham Knight x Reader)

This part has the most character development for our Commander here. the good stuff is about to begin. BUCKLE UP.

WORDS: 3356 WARNINGS: DEATH. AND JASON FLUFF BECAUSE WE ALL NEED THAT

Masterlist

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

-----

The sun never shined this brightly into her room before.

Beauty. Perfection. Bewitching, captivating beauty.

Y/N couldn’t help but run a finger across his stubble. Jason was still asleep, facing her. He never looked so peaceful with his mouth slightly parted and the muscles on his face relaxed. It was the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes.

It was like waking up in a lone bed by a lake. A clear, turquoise lake with a silent waterfall at the far back. With so much green around her, she couldn’t breathe any speck of corrupted air. There would be no one else but her, and she’d jumped into the cool waters. Nothing else in her mind, but the feel of it calming her skin.

She didn’t want to get up. Not even if she needed to.

And today, she really needed to.

Today, the wretched, horrible day.

October 31st.

Their last day at the barracks in Venezuela. By noon, they’d have cleared the building. By sundown, all units should have boarded the jets.

By 19:00 tonight, they arrive at Gotham.

But Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. He was still asleep. She didn’t want to just wake him up. The last time he spent the night, she woke up alone in a wrecked bed.

Jason’s eyes slowly parted open, and immediately, he smiled at the sight of her like she was the sun.

God, he had her heart in such a twist.

Y/N inched nearer to him and placed the softest kiss on his lips. He groaned, with the same sexy voice he always had after waking up.

And it was like the waterfall fell harder into the lake, the sounds becoming more eminent and the water so much colder, sinking into her flesh.

He reached for her hair, letting her locks tangle into his fingers. Y/N closed her eyes with her nose touching his lips. Jason kissed her again, and very slightly pulled away.

“I’d love stay in, but we have to go,” she reluctantly said.

It was over too soon. The five minutes she had, an escape from who she was, what she had to do to live. This was all it was. He nodded and sat up. Jason swung his legs over the bed and grabbed his pants on the floor.

Y/N did the same, walking over to her closet and picking out a fresh set of clothes. “I’ll go out first. Wait a few minutes until everyone else had cleared the quarters then you walk out.”

Jason laughed, like what she said was just adorable. After placing both arms through the holes on her jacket, she walked up to Jason, still sitting on the bed, and he craned his head to look up at her. Y/N held his face.

“Tonight, I’m just the commander.”

He slowly stood up, “You’re never just the commander.” His lips met her forehead and he walked over to pick up his shirt and hoodie, putting them on. Y/N walked to the door, barely opening it just to squeeze herself up.

She took one last look at Jason.

“Ten minutes.”

He gave her the best smile she’s seen in her life, with his teeth showing and his eyes all crinkled up at the corners.

Jason was the best thing that ever happened to her.

Y/N smiled back and closed the door.

Xxxxxx

Five hundred, seventy-two soldiers.

Five hundred, seventy-two rifles strapped to their upper bodies.

The Knight’s insignia, painted over their arms, and their uniforms the same red as the sirens. And on their faces, a gas mask covering the whole of their faces.

Five hundred, seventy-two units, in ten straight columns, all facing the platform where the woman in command, the Militia Commander, was standing.

She waited for the siren to come to a halt. This was their last assembly, a little past noon. A short while after this, they board the jets.

“PORT ARMS.”

The rifles were brought to the front of their bodies. The Commander’s arms were behind her back. She watched for any movement out of place. So far, there weren’t any.

“RIGHT SHOULDER ARMS.”

All arms parallel to the floor, the rifles were brought to rest on their shoulders.

“PORT ARMS.”

“ORDER. ARMS.”

The rifles were brought to the floor, with their one hand holding it up.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

This was her biggest task to date.

Fifteen thousand dollars a day. For twelve weeks. That was what Jason promised her, to be given at the end of the night.

The Militia Commander’s face never faltered when her voice echoed throughout the halls.

“SIXTEEN COUNT. MANUAL ARMS.”

Five hundred seventy-two men. And not a hair out of sync.

At the front lines were the soldiers, including the checkpoint commanders. More than three hundred of them. Behind them, the brutes. Then the combat experts armed with swords. Finally, the medics stood at the far back.

Everything they’ve done, the build-up from the weeks of training. It all boils down to this night.

It started with Scarecrow releasing his first dose of the toxin in Pauli’s Diner, where a police officer shot five people and the rest dead from being mauled by their own friends and family. Then Crane sent out his warning. ‘Tomorrow, this will seem like child’s play.’

By now, the whole of Gotham will have been evacuated, save for the criminals, the thugs, the people with no other places to be.

They had the whole night. And with the five hundred soldiers in front of her, Gotham City will be theirs.

Jason stepped beside her. By the time the rifles came at a halt, the commander smiled. He turned his head to her, nodding.

“SQUAD ALPHA, AT EASE. ALL UNITS REPORT TO THE JETS AT 15:00 HOURS.”

“SIR, YES SIR!”

Like a final battle cry, her soldiers moved in orderly lines to the gates. They only had two hours and they leave the barracks for good. This morning they boarded all the drones and weapons caches left until the building looked nothing short of abandoned.

She stepped out the platform and grabbed her duffel bag sitting on the floor. There was a slight buzzing, coming from inside the biggest pocket. Placing it back on the floor, she opened it and dug out her clothes.

A sudden tightness came from her chest when she pulled out her phone. It was vibrating.

No.

Fucking no.

Before she flew to South America, she’d blocked her location, any tracking that could possibly affect her or the militia. She blocked every number possible. No one would be able to reach her no matter how much hacking had to take place.

All except one contact.

And she told that person never to call unless she absolutely had to.

Her fingers were shaking when she pressed the button to answer it.

“Susan?”

Jason went up to her, and she kept her eyes on him as she spoke. He pushed his visor open. He could tell something was wrong.

Susan, her uncle’s ex-wife. Y/N could hear her breathing on the other end, and she heard sobs. She knew her aunt could hear her.

“Susan, what’s going on?”

She heard her cry her name, in the softest voice. Like it would break if it were any louder. She heard Susan take a deep breath, and for a while, she was silent.

“Floyd is dead….”

She couldn’t see her own face.

And every word her aunt said after that, she couldn’t hear.

The marching of five hundred men, she couldn’t hear.

Her own breath, she couldn’t feel.

Like the clouds had stopped moving, and the air sucked into a vacuum. It was a messy blur, and the noise that just kept blowing into her ear. An empty, horrible noise. Like an inaudible screaming that sounded much like her own voice.

Susan was bawling at the other end of the phone. Eventually, Y/N heard a dead ringing. She dropped her phone to the ground.

Jason must’ve heard, because he looked just as distraught as she did.

“Y/N-“

“I have to go…”

To the empty rooms. To the abandoned training grounds. Anywhere. She just needed to move. Anything else and the ground would shake beneath her feet and pull her to the mantles. The floor wouldn’t stop spinning, and she had to keep herself up with her hand against the wall. Move. Move. Move. Where the noises wouldn’t reach her and the colors weren’t so loud.

She should have known. Floyd’s thinning hair, his boney physic, the slightest limp when he was escorted into the visiting area in Belle Reeves. And even before that, how he narrowly missed a shot, he wouldn’t stop beating himself over it. How he talked to her like it was the last time, how she never visited him again.

It was all there. How did she not see it.

‘A tumor. Right in the temple. There was no way he could have been saved. Not even if he wasn’t in prison.’

Her feet wouldn’t stop moving, not even when the walls looked crooked, moving closer together like it was to trap herself within them.

Y/N found herself in the combat grounds.

And by the doorway, her body sank. She took the rifle from her back and slammed it against the steel grounds.

And she released the same wordless cry that was inside her head, but much louder. Her cracked voice bounced off to the walls, louder and louder in search for any release of the painful tightness in the pit of her chest.

There was so much noise, yet so much silence. It was all at the same time. Like the wind was blowing right into her but she couldn’t find any air to breathe.

Her hands gripped on the rifle, her tears landing on the muzzle as her screams faded into echoes. She screamed again, and again, so much the twisting reached her throat. Her voice gave out and no longer could she cry. She fell to the floor, silent.

‘Breathe in. Breathe out.’

Her uncle’s voice, the same one she hears every time she fired a shot.

‘Breathe in. Breathe out, Y/N’ Floyd said. ‘Fire.’

She did as he would have told her. She slowed her heartbeat. She counted her breaths. She focused on the wall opposite of her. Farther. Focus. Focus.

Breathe.

Two arms wrapped around her, pulling her head onto his shoulder. Jason buried his head into her neck. She laid there, close to lifelessness, and stared at the ground. Jason pulled her even tighter.

“I’m here…”

Y/N let the tears fall, even on his armor. But she didn’t move. Even for a long while, none of them moved.

“You two kids done?”

Deathstroke. He was behind her.

“Slade-.”

“Squads Alpha through Foxtrot have boarded the jets. We need to go. Commander-“

Jason unwillingly pulled away. “Lawton. He’s dead.”

Her eyes stayed on the floor. She couldn’t see Deathstroke’s reaction.

“Deadshot?”

Jason nodded. He took both Y/N’s hands and slowly pulled her to stand up. “Come on, Y/N, we have to go.”

“Get over it, kid,” Slade said. “Your mentor had it coming.”

And her next move, no one even predicted. Jason didn’t move fast enough when the Commander charged for Deathstroke – fucking Deathstroke- holding his neck with her arm against the cement wall.

“Y/N!”

“He was my uncle, you son of a bitch.”

“I thought you hated him,” Slade said, pushing her away. Jason stood between her and Deathstroke, but even he wasn’t so sure if he was protecting her from Slade, or the other way around.

“Enough-“

“He raised me.”

Slade didn’t have an ounce of empathy. “Did he raise you? Or train you? There’s a difference. You barely have a life outside your firearms.”

“I kill only when I have to-“

“How many lives have you taken, huh?” Deathstroke was provoking her. “The same as I have.”

“That’s because a third of the people you’ve killed are innocent!”

“Commander! Slade!” Jason pushed her from stepping too close to the old man.

“Get your head back into the field, Commander,” Slade said. “We’re not about to drop everything because of you.”

She threw Jason’s hand away, then stormed out of the combat grounds.

“Where are you going?”

The Commander walked to the dark meeting room. The floor stopped spinning, and the walls stopped moving. Everything was silent now. Even Jason’s footsteps trailing just behind her. She walked into the room and Jason caught the door before she’d slammed it behind her. She sat on the chair, her head in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I’m so sorry…”

Jason kneeled in front of her and took her hands away from gripping her own hair too much. She was shaking, and her flesh felt dead cold. He took her face in his hands. “I’m here. Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry.”

“He was dying. The last time I saw him- God, I can't get his voice out of my head.”

“I know. I know,” he pulled her close and she had it in her to hug him back. “Don’t worry about the militia. Don’t worry about Slade. Just look at me. Look at me.”

She did, and she felt his lips against her forehead, so soft she could break from it.

“You can stay behind if you want. You don’t have to force yourself. We can handle this. You’ve done more than enough, Commander Y/N.”

She pulled him closer and sobbed into his shoulder. “I’m sorry-“

He shushed her, then let her cry in his arms.

He was dead. Floyd Lawton was dead. Her phone blocked any of his calls. He could have called her days ago. Yesterday. Calling to say goodbye. And she didn’t let him.

Her mentor. Her Father. The one she wasn’t born with. The man who took her in after his sister, her mother, didn’t want her. The man who raised her and loved her in his own way.

Jason didn’t let her go. Her tears had soaked his shoulder. Never, not even by herself, has she cried so much. She’s never experienced death, not when she never had many people close to her to begin with.

Is this how people feel? The friends and families of the hundreds of people she’s killed. Is this how they cope? After she’d fired the shot?

Has she caused hundreds, maybe thousands, so much pain? The same she felt right now?

His hand stroked her back. “Here,” Jason slightly pulled away. He handed her phone with a slightly cracked screen. “Call her.”

Her.

Of course.

Her. She grabbed her phone, and Jason nodded. He sat beside her while she found the contact and called.

The light of her life. The only good, most precious thing in the world before she met Jason. The one thing she always fought for. The one person she will never let darkness touch. Her.

She’d have heard the news by now. Every ring on her phone made her heart beat a little faster. Then she heard her sweet voice.

“Y/N?”

“Zoe…” Y/N cried, and she felt Jason’s hand wrap tighter around hers. He kept his eyes on her, and whenever he did, she calmed. “Zoe, I’m here…”

Her little cousin, who should be twelve years old by now. Who wasn’t much of a cousin as she was her sister. Zoe looked up to her like she was the best, most perfect woman in the world.

It was the other way around. Zoe was her happiness.

“Zoe…”

“Dad is gone,” she heard her say. Her voice was deeper, no longer the child she’d endlessly play with.

Y/N closed her eyes, the tears never-endingly dropping down her cheeks.

“Zoe, I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“You never visit anymore…”

“I know, monkey.” That was what she called her. Monkey. “But I’ll be there. And I’ll visit every week from now on.”

“You said that last time.”

She felt Jason’s thumb rub against the back of her hand, and she held it even tighter. His lips found her temple.

“I know. But I mean it this time. I promise.”

Floyd would want that. He loved his daughter more than anything. He’d want Y/N to take care of her.

“Promise…”

“Yes,” she said. “I promise. And I’ll buy you any toy you want. Every single week. You name it.”

“I’m twelve, Y/N. I don’t want toys anymore.”

“Of course,” she coughed a laugh. “Of course. Anything you want then. Books. Clothes. I’m rich now,” she glanced at Jason, who also managed a smile.

“You are?”

“Yes,” she wiped the tears away. Just the sound of her voice, everything felt better. “I have to go now, monkey. Can you give your phone to your mom, please?”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Zoe.”

“I love you, too, Y/N.”

There was ruffling, then she heard her aunt’s voice.

“Susan. Where are you?”

“We’ve evacuated the city. We’re in Bludhaven.”

Jason just watched her, and she went on telling her aunt what was about to happen. It was difficult to ask that from them. Especially right now.

But they had to go.

Y/N hang up on the phone. And instantly, she went back into Jason’s arms.

“Wait for me at the jet. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Jason cupped her cheek. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be okay.”

He kissed her forehead, then her lips. Just one sweet kiss. He held both her hands and squeezed them tight.

“Don’t take long.”

She nodded, then Jason left the room, closing the door behind him.

And there was silence, save for a voice whispering into her ear.

It was what he’d want. What he always wanted for her.

Y/N breathed in, then her eyes darted over to the duffel bag.

He was preparing for this moment. That’s why he gave it to her. He knew he was dying.

With the slightest hesitation, she pried the pockets open until she reached the deepest compartment, one she hadn’t touched unless she absolutely needed to.

Floyd never gave her an alter ego. He taught her everything he knew, and made her do it exactly as he would.

He always called her his heir.

She opened the pocket, and a deep red peered out.

Y/N emptied the contents, took everything with her and went for the locker rooms. He gave these to her before he was arrested. She told him she didn’t want it, but her uncle was persistent.

It was the least she could do.

Dull red leather, a suit specially made for her, and silver plates for her shoulders, chest, arms, and lower body. Tight black boots, strapped up to her leg. A gun wrapped around her wrist, this time big enough to fire the same bullets as an M99 sniper. Another gun on her other hand, her rifle.

She faced the mirror.

Then she pulled the white mask over her head.

And staring at her reflection was the bright red light, glowing from the gun optics attached to her right eye.

Floyd Lawton never wanted her to be a sidekick. He wanted Y/N to be HIM after he was gone.

She stormed out the building, out into the hangar where the final jet was about to take off. The aircraft’s exit gate was wide open, leading up to the back where thirty of her men were strapped to the seats.

The Arkham Knight and Deathstroke awaited her at the entrance. The moment she stepped in, the gate folded back up and the jet prepared for take off.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Three hours, and she could feel the jet descending. The Arkham Knight, Deathstroke, and the Commander stood at the front lines where the gate at the back of the jet slowly descended.

She was the woman who led an army of five hundred seventy-two units, mercenaries recruited from all places around the world.

She was the woman about to take control over the City of Gotham, to take Batman head on.

She was the Commander to the Arkham Knight’s Militia.

The red on her optics burned bright at the first taste of Gotham’s darkness.

She was Deadshot.

-----

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

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Taglist: everyartistwas-firstanamateur @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki@everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208@offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal@mythicbitchx @supremehaunter @ burning-alive @lucy-roo

186 notes · View notes

sprnklersplashes · 3 years

Text

stars around my scars

or, the tatto artist!robin au that no-one asked for but everyone gets (ao3)

Ever since he was 11, Theo has wanted a tattoo. He still remembers the day he first asked, if only because of his dad’s expression. He had hurried across the schoolyard, with a cardigan that was slightly too big for him and his backpack hanging off one shoulder, thrown himself into the car, and proudly rolled up his sleeve to show his dad the ‘tattoo’ Sabrina had given him during homeroom. It was simple really, a sword and shield adorned with his initials. His dad had chuckled at it fondly, the way any parent would chuckle at their child’s antics, and started to pull out of the parking space when Theo asked, “so when can I get a real tattoo?”.

He very nearly crashed the truck.

His answer was simply “when you’re older”, and being 11, that felt an age away to Theo, and he felt his chest sink at the idea of waiting for so long.

In the run up to his fourteenth birthday, he tried again, responding with “a tattoo” when his dad asked what he wanted. He sits cross legged on his bed and pretends he cares less than he does, all the while watching his dad out of the corner of his eye. Either he must look sadder than he thinks he does, or he should look out the window and check for flying pigs, because his dad sighs, but then his face softens and he does the impossible; he relents, just a little.

“Maybe when you’re 18,” he says.

His sophomore year of high school is when things start to get really rough. Nearly every day he comes home with bruises and cuts and his dad is less convinced by his excuses each time. He wakes up every morning and wonders what it’ll be; stuffed in a locker, shirt pulled up, pushed down the stairs. Words are used like weapons and hurt just as much, whether they’re spat in his face or written across a locker. Getting up is a constant battle and some days it just feels impossible. The school parking lot feels like No-Man’s Land at the best of times. His dad brings up the idea of transferring to him at dinner one night, but he just raised his chin and reminded him that he’s a Putnam. And Putnam’s don’t run away.

His dad had smiled at that.

There was some good mixed in with the bad though. He found answers to questions that had plagued him for years. He chose a new name, after the greatest woman he never knew, and found the courage to tell his dad who he really is. It hadn’t been easy, he hadn’t expected it to be, but when his dad drove him down to the Greendale barber that day, it had meant more to him than his dad might have understood.

His friends were amazing, which should go without saying. Of course they would be. And he feels good, in some ways he feels better than he’s ever felt about himself. Like he’s stepping into a new part of his life and while he doesn’t know what’s in front of him, he’s excited to see where it goes.

But as happy as he was, not everyone felt the same. Teachers and students alike struggled with his transition, some at least attempting to feign politeness, others not so much. The cruel words don’t stop just because he uses different pronouns now and he still comes home with the occasional bruised knuckles or bloodied nose.

Add on a few stressful long-distance calls with his mother and his high school experience thus far can only be described the same way his English essays are-“Could Be Better”.

Maybe that’s why, a week before his sixteenth birthday, his dad pops his head around his bedroom door and asks him “Do you still want that tattoo?”.

He looks up from his book, almost sure he’d imagined it. His dad may have changed his stance slightly, but if there’s one trait they share more than anything it’s that intense stubbornness. He was prepared to just ride it out and wait until he’s 18, or maybe even until he moves away to college altogether. But no, here he is, age 15, his dad looking at him expectantly.

“Really?” is all he can reply with.

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, it’s clearly something you want a lot. And I know you’re sensible enough not to get one of those crazy ones that go all the way across your face.” He giggles at that. “And you’ve waited long enough so I figure… why not just let you?”

His mouth falls open and he blinks, waiting for the catch, only for his father to simply shrug at him, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“Well if you don’t want to-”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, because Theo jumps and hugs him before he can.

He enlists Harvey’s help with the design. His drawing skills aren’t bad, but they’re not the best either and if this is going on his body, permanently, he needs to get it right. So he slides up to Harvey on Monday with wide eyes and a smile that’s just the right amount of cute. And if that doesn’t work, he has money in one pocket and a comic book that Harvey really wants in the other.

The other boy looks up with a raised eyebrow and Theo’s glad he brought the back-ups.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Why do you think there is something?” he asks. “Can’t I just be happy to see you? My best friend? My trusted companion I have known since-”

“Oh my God, what did you break?” Sabrina asks. She’s sitting on the desk behind them and her eyes have doubled in size. “Harvey, whatever you do, do not take the fall for him!”

“That was one time, Brina!” he replies. Sabrina bites back a giggle, a twinkle in her eye as she exchanges a look with Roz, and Theo exhales slowly. His cheeks warm, just a little, but he ignores it. Or at least he tries. Same with the nervous prickle of sweat running down his back “Harvey, what I was going to ask was… well, my dad finally said I can get a tattoo, and I was just wondering if maybe you could draw it for me?” His voice gets smaller and smaller as the sentence goes on, and the last word practically limps past his lips. He holds his breath, fingers twitching to grab his two back up plans. But as it turns out, he doesn’t need to, because Harvey bursts into a grin that warms his heart and undoes the knot in his chest.

“Of course I will,” he tells him. “That’s what you were so worried about?”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. Whatever words he had die on his tongue, and they laugh it off as Sabrina pats the space next to her. He jumps up next to her, their feet bumping against each other, and they take advantage of the few precious moments they have before class begins.

Harvey hunches over his desk, his hands moving as swiftly and carefully as only an artist’s can. It’s kind of amazing watching him, watching him lose himself in his work the same way Theo loses himself on the basketball court. No, it’s not the same and Theo knows it. He’s nevertheless fascinated by Harvey’s process and that’s why he’s hovering the way he is.

No other reason.

The nail chewing is also completely irrelevant. He does this all the time and it’s perfectly normal.

As is the pacing.

Eventually, Harvey just sights and pulls a chair up beside him and lets him sit. He only moves slightly, but Theo takes the hint and sits back, willing his heart to slow down. He does everything he can to pass time; jumps through social media apps on his phone, flips through Harvey’s stack of comics, even doodles something on a spare page. All the time waiting with baited breath and one eye on Harvey’s hand.

“Okay.” Harvey leans back in his chair, his fingers slightly greyed with lead. “I’m done.”

Theo leans forward and immediately a smile forms on his face. It’s exactly what he had in mind, the outline of a small bird sitting on a branch, poised to take flight, but Harvey’s drawing is more carefully and painstakingly structured than he could have hoped to make it. All his attempts somehow look flat, boring, but Harvey’s looks alive and it reminds him why he wants this particular picture on his body.

“Thank you.” He leans against him, cheek smushed against Harvey’s shoulder, and wraps his arms around him. He sings his words a little, bringing a smile to both their faces. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Harvey plays it down, but he hugs him back just as tightly.

Unfortunately, there are no tattoo places in Greenedale. Theo wonders how, in all his fifteen going on sixteen years of living in this town, he never once picked up on this. Especially since he spent most of that time wanting a tattoo. But no, here he is, the White Pages open on his lap and him staring intensely at the page as if the words tattoo parlour are going to magically appear on the page.

He sighs deeply and scratches his cat behind the ears.

“Well, Lila,” he tells her. “Time to go look beyond Greenedale.” Lila lets out a groan, her little ears flopping down as she rests her head against him, and he takes that as her saying she’s with him. He kisses her head, her fur tickling his nose. “Love you too, baby.”

He finds one close enough, in Woodvale, the next town over. It’s pretty decent money-wise, and while it looks pretty small on the Facebook page, it’s close, and more importantly, his dad goes there for business at least twice a month. He tells him that night he has some errands to run there next week, in fact.

“You can go in, get your tattoo done, then maybe we can go for lunch after,” he says. He shrugs awkwardly, wiping his hand on a tea towel. “You know, if you want. Unless you have plans or something.”

“I don’t have any plans, Dad,” he tells him. “I’d love that.”

He doesn’t miss his dad’s bright smile at his answer.

That night, Lila is sitting around his shoulders as he copies the phone number off the Facebook page. Her tail flicks him in the face and he sighs and adjusts her on his shoulders so she’s more comfortable. His dad sometimes calls her The Queen, and for good reason. That damn cat is more pampered than anything he’s ever known. Even if he does love her and thinks she deserves it.

“Don’t suppose you want to take this phone call for me, do you?” he asks her. She meows back at him, which he takes to mean no you weirdo, make your own appointments, you’re an adult now. She’s right, he doesn’t like it, but she’s right, so he kisses her nose and hits the call button.

“Um, hi, Midsummer Night’s, how can I help?”

Theo clears his throat, glad he had the foresight to chug water right before making the call. Social skills aren’t his best in general and they somehow get worse on the phone. Especially with this kind of appointment-booking stuff. He’s made progress, at least. By that he means he doesn’t feel the need to ask his dad any more. Baby steps.

“Hi,” he replies. “I’d like to book a tattoo. For next Saturday?”

“Next Saturday…” Their voice trails off, the sound of stuff being shoved and moved around filling the silence instead. “Sorry, just bear with me for one second.”

“It’s fine.” He turns on his heel and walks the length of his room again, Lila flicking her tail. It takes him a while to recognise the song playing in the background; Kansas. Carry On My Wayward Son. He’s a little embarrassed; he didn’t spend all that time watching Supernatural to not recognise this song instantly.

He catches himself humming just as the second verse hits.

“Okay, here we go,” the other voice says. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” he replies, as though a pink blush isn't colouring his cheeks.

“So that’s next Saturday… what time were you thinking?”

“Is around ten am okay?” he asks. “Sorry, I know it’s like right when you open, but my dad has some business around town that he can’t move and-”

“No, ten’s fine,” they tell him. “And what’s the name?”

“Putnam,” he says, perhaps a little too quickly. “Theo Putnam.”

“Okay, Putnam, Theo Putnam.” It’s a terrible joke, a dad-level terrible joke, but he laughs all the same. “That’s you booked in. I’ll see you Saturday.”

“See you on Saturday,” he replies, and the flutter of excitement in his chest leaves him breathless.

*****

Midsummer Nights' turns out to be a relatively small shop nestled on a street corner, looking only slightly out of place with its dark blue paint job, contrasting with the more pastel colour palette for the rest of the street, and indeed, the rest of the town. He likes it, and he especially likes the shooting stars painted around the door and windows. Twinkling in the mid-morning sun and outlined in thin black lines, trails of gold and silver shooting out from behind them. They’re tiny and probably there as an afterthought, a way to fill space, but Theo is far more enchanted by them than he is the larger pictures of fairies and mermaids that adorn the walls. The care taken alone leaves him breathless. The bigger pictures are impressive, sure, but the care with which the stars have been painted almost takes his breath away. Whoever did them must have the patience of a saint. He’s never really been one for patience, nor for taking his time, instead always running from one thing to the next. Maybe he could learn a thing or two from this person, whoever they are.

“Woah, calm down there,” he tells himself as he turns the handle. “It’s a painting, not a therapy session.”

Inside isn’t entirely what he expected. Well, he’s not completely sure what he expected. Maybe a bunch of hairy biker types, the faint stench of alcohol in the air and a deer head mounted in the wall for good measure. But no, instead he finds white walls decorated with painted trees and vines and as he looks closer, tiny fairies and gnomes poking their heads around them. A smile tugs on his lips as he looks at it. It’s almost magical; a new creature appearing before his eyes the longer he looks. The space is bright, mostly thanks to the large windows, and someone plays folk music softly in the background.

He approaches the front desk, which in actuality looks more like a glorified coffee table and is manned by a girl with blue strands of her hair. She looks up from her book as he approaches and slips a bookmark in without looking. He takes an instant liking to her, or rather she seems like the kind of person he could like.

“Hey,” she greets nonchalantly. “You have an appointment or are you a walk-in?”

“Uh, an appointment,” he replies, scratching behind his ear. “It’s uh-Theo Putnam.”

“Okay, one second.” She flips open a spiral notebook, twiddling a pen between her fingers. Theo takes the opportunity to have another look around, his eyes once again drawn to the walls. He looks up at them, more than happy to wait. There’s something almost tangible yet so surreal about it; like he believes he could find himself here, just not in this reality. And as he cranes his neck, he spies right where the wall meets the ceiling; the stars from the outside.

“Sorry about that,” the girl says, snapping him back to reality. “So yeah, you’re all booked in, if you just want to go down to the back, Robin will take care of you.” Theo nods, a ‘thank you’ on his lips, but before he can say it, the girl turns her head and screams “ROBIN YOUR PERSON’S HERE!”. Theo stumbles backwards, blown away by and also amazed that all the windows are still intact. She simply turns back, her smile sweet, and opens her book again. “He’ll be down in just a second.”

He can’t decide if he likes her more or less after that.

“Jesus Christ Moth, I’m coming,” someone, he presumes Robin, calls from above them, the voice faint. Theo grins as he realises that he probably wasn’t meant to hear that. He wanders past the front desk, but not before catching the small shit-eating grin on Moth’s face.

He likes her.

Robin (he assumes it’s him anyway) emerges on the bottom step, shooting an annoyed look at Moth that disappears immediately once he sees Theo, instead morphing into an apologetic half-smile.

“I’m sorry about her,” he says. “She’s under the impression that she’s cute. And she’s also a middle child.”

“Ah that explains a lot,” Theo chuckles. “Well, it’s fine. I mean, it seemed to be effective anyway.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. Theo’s breath catches in his throat and he can’t work out why. Robin is pretty, but he’s never been the type to lose his words over pretty boys. He’s tall, way taller than Theo, and his short-sleeved black shirt doesn’t leave much to the imagination. His dark hair is streaked with green and falls forwards into dark eyes, causing him to toss his head to push it back. Normally he’d find that kind of look douchey, but it’s not, not on him, it’s actually kind of cute in a punk-rock slash edgy poet kind of way and suddenly he’s aware how neither one of them have said anything yet.

“I’m Theo. We uh, we spoke on the phone.” It comes out as more of a question than a statement, at least in his mind.

“Yeah, I remember,” he says. “Putnam, Theo Putnam.”

“Yep, that’s me,” he replies, caught between laughing and cringing at himself. If he had known it was going to be like this, he’d have tried to make that phone call way less awkward. Robin doesn’t seem to mind though, instead tapping his arm lightly and gesturing with his head.

“Why don’t you come through with me and we can get started?”

“That’s definitely what I came here to do,” he says, and when Robin smiles, his heart melts and he curses silently.

Dimples. Of course he has dimples. The asshole.

He sits up on a leather chair, his backpack and jacket discarded on the floor and his sleeve rolled up. His feet dangle just above the floor and he’s deliberately not looking at the very pointy needles. It’s not like he’s got a phobia or anything, and he definitely knew this would be part of the process. It’s just a little unnerving.

“You got a design?” Robin asks.

“Uh, yeah here.” He holds the paper out to him. “My friend Harvey drew it. He’s really great at the art stuff. But-but the idea was mine and I… dictated it to him.”

“Cool,” he replies. “And where do you want it?” Theo pulls his sleeve up, his fingers gesturing to just below his shoulder. Robin nods, and his eyes darken slightly, as if his focus is shifting entirely to the tattoo and nothing else. He positions himself as close to him as possible, and they sit in silence as he carefully transfers the design onto tattoo paper.

Then Robin’s hand is against his skin, and the needle is barely an inch from it, and goosebumps prickle along there.

He must look as nervous as he feels, because Robin’s grip on his shoulder softens slightly, as does his face, and his voice comes in a careful whisper.

“Hey,” he tells him. “It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt that much. And I promise I’m careful.” Theo nods, even if his nails are digging into the leather beneath him. “Besides, it’s only the first one that really hurts. After that everything’s fine.”

“That’s what she said.” His voice is far weaker than he’d like it, the joke even more so, but Robin busts out laughing and so does he, and he barely realises that he started.

He was right though; while the pain doesn’t necessarily lessen, he gets used to it. If one could ever get used to the feeling of a needle jabbing one’s skin over and over. It kind of helps that he’s got plenty to distract him with the art on the walls and even if he didn’t; Robin is surprisingly easy to talk to.

“So you’re not from around here, are you?” he asks casually. “Sorry, it’s just… here you get to know people pretty quickly. And I’ve never seen you around here.”

“It’s fine,” he replies. He relates of course; small towns are small towns. “I’m from Greenedale. Ever been there?” Robin frowns slightly, his mouth falling half-open as he thinks.

“I think I drove through it once or twice,” he says. “Isn’t that the place that’s obsessed with witches and stuff?”

“That’s the one,” he says. “They’ve got all the spooky sights but unfortunately no tattoo parlours.” He goes to shrug but then remembers one arm is currently being used. “So I had to take a little trip out here.”

“You know when I was driving through I distinctly remember the lack of tattoo parlours,” Robin jokes. “Still. It’s a nice place.”

“I guess,” Theo mumbles. “I was always so focussed on the leaving.” He kicks the ground. “I’ve never looked around properly.” Greenedale hasn’t exactly been kind to him either. He may love his friends dearly, and it’s not like his memories are all bad, but there are days when the familiar streets are less comforting and more maddening, and the town line feels more like a prison wall. It’s not every day he feels like this, but enough for him to have taken notice.

Robin chuckles beside him, and it’s then he suddenly remembers where he is, and that there is in fact a person beside him. A person he barely knows. And while a blush does creep over his cheeks, he doesn’t feel nearly as embarrassed as he should.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Kind of dumping my tragic backstory on you there.”

“Trust me, you’re not the first,” Robin tells him. “Guess there’s something about a person having a needle shoved into their skin repeatedly that puts them in a sharing mood.” He flips his head, tossing his bangs out of his face. “So what’s the deal with the witch thing?”

“Basically a lot of witches came over from Europe and settled over there,” he explains. “And when it came to picking a town personality trait, it was between either witches or thinly-veiled bigotry.” He goes to shrug, but then remembers the needle against his arm. “I guess ‘we’ll put a spell on you’ is a more catchy slogan than ‘we’re all raging assholes’.”

“Well, that may be true,” Robin says. “Though I’d admire any town with the balls to admit that they’re all assholes.” Theo chuckles again, swinging his feet slightly. Robin must be right; there must be something about getting a tattoo that makes you pretty chatty. That or Robin’s just… easy to talk to. He hasn’t met someone like in a while, not since Sabrina and Roz and Harvey. Something flutters in his chest and he doesn’t quite recognise it. He likes it, though. Even if in the back of his mind he wonders if he should be scared by it.

“Yo.” Moth appears in the doorway, hanging off the wall by her fingertips. She looks over at Theo’s arm, where Robin’s needle is, and a faint smile forms on her lips. “Not bad, Robin.”

“Thanks,” he replies, his eyebrow raised, and he looks up at Theo. “For her ‘not bad’ is possibly the highest praise you can get.”

“Not true. There’s at least two more levels, you just haven’t unlocked them yet,” she adds. “Anywho, I’m going on the coffee run, what do you want?”

“You know my order,” he replies, focussing more on his work than on her.

“So that’s an iced salted caramel latte, then,” she says. Robin’s cheeks turn pink suddenly, his hand slowing but not faltering. Judging by the look on Moth’s face-which can only be described as a shit-eating grin-that was the goal. “Do you want me to ask for whipped cream like last time?”

“No, thank you, Moth,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes. The gesture is equal parts exasperated and fondness, like Moth has been a pain in his ass for so long, and he likes it that way. Theo relates.

“He always pulls that ‘you know my order’ crap when a customer’s here,” she explains. “He’s embarrassed ‘cause his actual order isn’t very macho. Plus he thinks the cool and mysterious vibe impresses clients. Especially around the ones he thinks are cute. Anyway, you want anything?”

Theo freezes, his response-whatever it would be-caught in his throat. Moth seems unaffected, checking her nails like nothing is wrong. Maybe nothing is wrong, and he’s just overthinking. Or misheard her and she didn’t actually imply that Robin might find him cute. Either way, there’s probably no reason his cheeks should be as pink as they are now.

“N-no I’m okay thanks,” he says.

“You sure?” she asks. “No extra charge, just give us a good review.”

“It’s fine,” he says. He clears his throat and hopes his voice doesn’t actually sound that high. “I’m going out with my dad after this anyway.”

“Mm. Suit yourself.” She turns on her heel and flounces off, the sound of jangling keys and her boots on the floor growing fainter. Theo doesn’t dare breathe until she’s gone though-the closing door releasing the tie around his chest. When he turns to Robin, the other boy seems far calmer than he is, already back to work with a bemused grin on his face. His eyes meet Theo’s and he shakes his head lightly, his hair falling in front of his eyes.

“Don’t worry about Moth,” he tells him. “She’s taken it upon herself to try to set me up with every guy that comes in.” He shifts himself slightly. “Trust me, it was nothing.”

“Oh… okay.” The small tug of disappointment comes at a surprise to him, and he searches for a way out. “But was she right about your coffee order though?” Robin chuckles.

“Maybe.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry,” he tells him. “I personally think iced lattes are very macho. Of course we should ask ourselves ‘what is macho’ and then that takes us on a whole lovely journey that you probably don’t want to go through right now.”

“Eh, I might do,” he says. Theo turns to him, and his eyes are the exact mixture of teasing and serious, and the grin on his face widens. “But we can agree that salted caramel lattes rock, right?”

“Absolutely,” he says, and he realises in that moment he really likes this guy.

Which way he likes him though is a question he leaves unanswered.

In what feels like no time at all, Robin is slowly finishing up, an empty coffee cup at his side. At some point, Moth came in and started work on another client, casually talking to Robin above the hum of the tattoo needles. Robin doesn’t stop chatting to him though and they move through things like school (where he learns Robin’s favourite subject is English), music (where Robin actually has to stop and write down Theo’s music recommendations) and pets, where Theo goes on a ten minute rant about Lila and how she’s simultaneously the love of his life and the bane of his existence.

“Your cat sounds amazing,” he says. “Next time you’re in town you should bring her in so I can meet her.”

“You could always come over to Greendale,” he says. It’s so casual he didn’t even think about it before he said it, and he might have freaked himself out. If Robin feels the same, he doesn’t show it, only nodding and saying he might take him up on that.

They turn to talking about Midsummer Nights’ itself; how Robin started working there one summer as a teenager, how only last year he graduated from sweeping floors to taking clients, and how just a few months ago he and Moth (“mostly me,” he added, just loud enough so she could hear) redecorated the entire place, including the outside.

“I did those little stars on the wall outside,” he remarks. “Don’t know if anyone notices them, but they’re my crown jewel as far as I’m concerned.”

“I noticed,” Theo tells him. “I like them.” He doesn’t tell him how entranced he was by his work, but he does notice the softness in Robin’s smile, the pink hue in his cheeks. It makes sense, somehow, that Robin painted those stars. He barely knows him, but he feels like it makes sense.

For the last few minutes, the conversation drops away, and silence falls as all Robin’s focus shifts to his work. It’s a look he recognises from Harvey, an artist’s expression, but it feels deeper with Robin. His movements are so precise, so deliberate, that Theo feels he should hold his breath lest he break his concentration. He imagines him months ago, the same expression on his face as he paints the stars outside, and he’s almost sad he wasn’t there to see it.

Robin groans as he leans back, pushing his hair away from his face, and his eyes light up.

“We’re done,” he says. “You want to see it before we put the bandages on it?”

“Hell yeah I do.” He jumps off the seat and follows Robin, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he goes. Robin leads him to a mirror, his face shining with anxious pride, and Theo gives him a small smile before he turns and his breath is taken away.

“It’s perfect,” he breathes. Perfect as anything could be, really. Clean cut, careful, delicate. There’s so much life in it, even though it’s only ink. The little bird sits perched on its branch, determination strong on its small face. He couldn’t have asked for a better job. It’s everything he dreamed when he was younger, now a physical reality. He takes a deep breath, trying not to be the kind of person that cries after their first tattoo. “Thank you, Robin.”

“No problem,” he says softly and when Theo looks up, he finds Robin’s eyes lingering on him. “Putnam, Theo Putnam.”

*****

He and his dad find a little cafe in the middle of town and sit outside, taking advantage of the good weather.

“So was it worth waiting for?” his dad asks. “The tattoo?”

“Yes, it was,” he replies. “Thank you, Dad.” His dad waves his hand dismissively, as though the back-and-forth between them never happened.

“No problem kid,” he says. “It was what you wanted. And the place was good?”

“Yeah.” He pops another French fry in his mouth. “It was really, really good. They were uh… good at their jobs.” His hand moves to where the bandage sits on his arm, the tattoo perfectly preserved beneath it, and yet that’s not what he’s thinking about. Instead his mind drifts back to Robin, with his hair falling into his eyes and his laugh and those damn dimples. He takes a drink just as he feels the heat rush to his cheeks, and his dad eyes him curiously. He sets the glass down, even though his mouth is still dry. “It was great.”

A knowing smile spreads across his dad’s face and he curses under his breath. This is what he gets for having a close relationship with his father. Stupid strong father-son bond.

Theo puts his hand in his pocket and his fingers close around empty fabric, rather than plastic. He hurriedly checks the other pocket, then his jeans, his panic rising each time. His dad turns when he realises Theo is no longer beside him, his feet rooted to the sidewalk instead, and his eyes widen, reflecting Theo’s own alarm back at him.

“Theo?” he asks. “What happened?”

“I-I can’t find my phone!” he sighs. He pulls items out of his pockets one by one, his wallet, his keys, loose change… no phone. He taps every pocket again to make sure, as if it was going to magically appear if he willed it hard enough. No such luck. He mumbles under his breath, a stream of ‘oh shit’ and ‘oh no’ as he tries to fight off the rising panic. He tries to retrace his steps, to remember the last place he had it out, to think of wherever the hell his phone could be in this town-

“Theo!”

Or maybe he doesn’t need to.

“Theo!”

He turns around to see Robin running down the street, skidding to a half just in front of him. His face is bright red, not from teasing his time, his chest heaves and his hair sticks to his face. They look at each other, breathless, and just as Theo opens his mouth to ask what he’s doing, he holds his hand out.

“My phone!” he squeaks.

“Yeah you… you left it in… with me,” he says between gasps. “I was really hoping I’d be able to catch you before you left.”

“Oh God I’m sorry,” he says, taking another look over Robin. The tattoo parlour is far enough from here, and the streets here twist and turn around as they please. And Robin ran through them. For him. In jeans. “Thank you so much, Robin. I-how did you know it was mine?”

“The picture on the lockscreen,” he explains, pointing vaguely. “It was you.” He pushes his hair away from his face. “And… your boyfriend?”

“My boyfriend?” he asks. For a second his mind goes blank, then he realises and it nearly knocks the wind out of him. “Oh God no, Harvey’s…. he’s just my friend. No, no I…” He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes meeting Robin’s and he can’t work out if the hopeful look on his face is real or his imagination. Either way, he ends up saying “I’m completely single.”

“Oh,” he says, about ten times higher than usual. He clears his throat, his hand sliding into his back pocket. “Uh… me too.”

“Seriously? What the whole jacked as hell, dyed hair tattoo artist thing doesn’t attract anyone?”

“Not around here it doesn’t, apparently,” he says, implying that the reason he’s single is beyond no-one wanting to date a tattoo artist. There’s a pause, a brief moment of silence, and Theo goes to say goodbye, to run before it gets awkward, but Robin holds out a small piece of paper.

“What’s this?” he asks as he takes it. Robin ducks his head, his bangs falling in front of his face.

“I hope it’s not too forward,” he begins. “But it-it’s my number.” He shrugs and pushes his hair back. "Just in case you ever want to call me sometime."

“Oh,” he replies. It’s a short, quick word. It hardly means anything. Certainly doesn’t reflect how his stomach as dropped out from under him, or how his brain is vibrating at an insane frequency, or how the unending cry of ‘HE GAVE ME HIS NUMBER’ blasts around his head like a fire alarm. And all the while he just stands there, the paper in his hand, blinking up at Robin like he hasn’t a care in the world. “Um… thanks.”

“Sorry,” he says immediately, his face scrunched up. “I-it was too forward, I didn’t mean like that.”

“No,” Theo says, just as Robin’s hand twitches. He slides the paper into his back pocket with a shaky hand and gives him a small smile. “It’s not… like that at all.” It’s really not. It’s not… He’s not sure what it is. All he knows is that Robin’s not at fault. “It’s okay, really.”

He turns slightly and sees his dad standing at the truck, pretending to be interested in a receipt he pulled out of his pocket. His dad hasn’t pressed and knowing him, he’s probably fully intending on giving the two of them as long as they need to work out… whatever it is they’re working out. Anxiety clutches his chest and he backs up suddenly, his hand still slid into his pocket. He needs time all right, but not here.

“I should go,” he says. “But I’ll...” His voice trails off, his fingers fidgeting in mid-air. The piece of paper burns like a small star in his pocket. “Thank you. For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Robin says. He tosses his hair again and damn, he should not find that as cute as it is. “Look us up if you’re ever back in town.”

“I will.” He gives a wave to Robin, who responds with a wave, and Theo responds to that with a small finger gun and screams at himself the minute he turns around. He climbs into the truck beside his dad, who already rolled the windows down. Thank God, Theo thinks, because he feels fit to explode. He leans out as his dad pulls away from the curb, closing his eyes as the air tickles his skin.

“So you made a friend?” his dad asks. He doesn’t need to turn around to see the bemused smile on his face.

“He was the guy who did my tattoo,” is his reply. His dad nods, a soft chuckle escaping him, and goosebumps prickle on his skin.

“He gave you his number,” he points out. “Are you gonna call him?”

Theo sighs, his fingers tracing over the paper in his back pocket.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Maybe.”

He doesn’t call him. At least, not right away. Who he does call is Harvey, Roz and Sabrina, who all stand around his bed with him, the offending phone number sitting in the centre. He filled them in as best he could, although with all his energy being focussed on the decision, he’s only really been able to give them ‘I met a guy, he gave me his number’. And now they’ve been standing there, minutes passing in silence, while Theo stares at it with enough intensity to light it on fire.

“I think you should call him,” Roz says eventually.

“Why?”

“Because he gave you his number for that very purpose,” she tells him slowly. Theo pulls a face at her, but it only lasts for a second because… she’s right. She has an infuriating habit of being right. If she wasn’t so cute and supportive and lovely he’d have stopped hanging out with her long ago for that very reason.

“So why haven’t you?” Sabrina asks. “Called him. I mean his number’s right there. What’s stopping you?”

“What isn’t stopping me?” he mumbles, just loud enough for them to hear, and the three friends share an understanding nod. His experience with romance is extremely limited-his first and only “relationship” was the Valentine’s card that appeared in his backpack in third grade. He never chased them up, and that was the end of it. All other knowledge either comes from his friends or movies. At this moment, he feels like he’s on the edge of the deep end, nothing to help him, and he’s not sure he won’t drown when he jumps.

“Hey.” Sabrina appears at his side, her shoulder bumping against his. “I still think you should do it.” He raises his eyebrow at her. She simply shrugs in response, her eyes flitting over to Harvey as she speaks. “I mean… I know it’s a cliche, but you’ll never know until you try.”

“Yeah,” Harvey adds. “I mean what’s the worst that could happen?”

“So many things,” Theo sighs, raking a hand through his hair. He’s not blessed with what Harvey and Sabrina have-a sweet little romance that’s been blossoming since childhood-nor does he have his pick of suitors like Roz does. As far as he knows, this Robin’s his one chance. He shakes his head, his fingers drumming on his arm. “Maybe I just shouldn’t.”

“I disagree,” Roz pipes up. “I think very hot boys giving you their numbers doesn’t just happen every day and since the universe has presented you with this opportunity, I for one think you’d be an idiot to pass it up.” She delivers everything so quickly that it takes a few seconds for him to register it, and then she comes round to his side and slings her arm around his shoulders, all warm smiles and warm eyes, and he rests her head on her shoulder. “Besides, I know you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

She’s not wrong. Again. If there’s one idea that scares him more than it not going well, it’s never even happening at all.

“And in the event it goes horribly wrong, we’ll all buy ice cream and we can have a good cry session,” she promises, and the other two nod in agreement. Theo closes his eyes and buries his face in Roz’s shoulder so they won’t see his blush.

God damn it, he loves his friends.

It takes a week for him to call him, even with those assurances. One day he feels braver than usual; he chalks it up to a good day at school and an even better one at practice, and so he sits on his bed and punches Robin’s number into his phone, the note sitting on his pillow. Because yes, he kept the note instead of writing it down. Nothing wrong with that.

“Hello?” Robin picks up too suddenly, and Theo bites back a squeak. He jumps off the bed and pulls on his shirt for some reason.

One chance he reminds himself. One chance.

“Hi, Robin?” he asks. “It’s uh, it’s Theo. Theo from Greenedale? You did my tattoo last week.”

“Oh, Theo, hey,” he replies. “Um, hi. H-how’s it turned out? The tattoo I mean?”

“Perfect,” he confesses. “It’s a hit with the guys on my basketball team. You should be expecting an influx of jocks coming round soon.”

“I’ll let Moth know, we’ll stock up on Gatorade.” Theo chuckles and sits on the edge of his bed, the beating of his heart slowing slightly. Maybe this could work. Maybe, if the stars are right, this won’t fall apart.

“Robin,” he begins quietly. “The reason I called was… em… I wanted to ask you-” The words stick in his throat like grains of sand against rocks. So many questions overlap in his head, each drowning the other out and turning into static. He closes his eyes, takes deep breath in, and back out. No need to overthink it, he tells himself. Just jump.

“Do you have plans on Saturday?” he asks.

“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” he replies. “Why do you ask?”

Theo throws himself on the bed, his legs in the air, and is amazed at just how easy this actually is.

*****

They have their first date in Greenedale, seeing a movie at the Paramount, followed by a personalised tour. Robin gives Theo his jacket at some point, the sleeves falling past his hands, and Theo’s heart flutters.

They have their first kiss by the Welcome To Greenedale sign, Robin’s hand caressing his arm, right above where his tattoo is.

A year later, he’s laying in Robin’s bed, his boyfriend’s fingers gently caressing his newest tattoo-free of charge this time around. Theo kisses his bare shoulder before Robin goes to sit up, reminding him that he has to be at work in half an hour. Theo just pouts, grabs his arm, and tries to see if he can get five more minutes out of him.

Yeah, life is good.

#caos #caos fic #goodnam #theo x robin #theo putnam #robin goodfellow #throbin #caos ff #goodnam ff #me: hoe don't do it #me: writes a long-ass for a tiny ass fandom #me: oh my god

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