look at those headlights

deadroses (m)

Word Count: 13,694

Warning: Hoseok smut, violence

A/N: This scenario took me about three months to write, which you can probably guess by looking at the word count. For that reason it has a very special place in my heart, no matter how much effort it cost me to finish it. It turned out a lot darker than my other scenarios, and I tried my best to make this scenario more intellectual for that reason. I really hope the two main characters (you and Hoseok) turned out the way I wanted them to: like real people, with a story and an imperfect personality. -But, without any further ado, enjoy.


“Commander?”

You look up from your shaking hands at the boy sitting next to you. “What now?”

He stares at the graphite floor that shimmers in the dimmed light like the ocean, vibrating with every rock the vehicle hits. “Do you think there’s any chance we’ll succeed? An actual chance?”

You grunt. “I thought you were always so confident about our victory, Jungkook.” With your elbow, you strike his side, to which he responds by moving away from you. His dark eyes are hostile, which is so different from how they have been in times gone by. With a soft chuckle you remember his soft stuttering the first time you made this same move on him, the nervous look in his eyes like that of a deer in the headlights. Those days seem like they are miles away from where you’re standing now, on the edge of the horizon that is your memory.

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Never Let You Go

Request:  Hi honey can I ask for Sidney Crosby imagine, please? where he gets jealous and end up making it up to you kissing you not to let you go and he cries and stuff, please?💛 ps. Don’t stop writing you’re doing awesome 🔥

A/N: First off, thank you!! You’re very nice to me. (And every time I say this..er, type this I think of Goon, anyways…) But seriously, I love you guys. 

Second (and please don’t hate me) but as I’ve mentioned before, I’m not really a Penguins fan so if I ever get anything wrong let me know. (Side note, I actually really enjoyed writing about Sid…IDK why because I’m really not a fan. Let’s not tell my main team or side team or other side team this).

Lastly, I hope this fits what you were asking for. 

Word Count: 1570


You had been dating Sidney for 2 years. You met, by accident, at a Pittsburg/Washington game. You were trying to find your way out of the PPG Paints Arena and got lost. Ok, well lost is an understatement. Whoever directed you down the hall and to the left needed to be fired.  Amid your confusion, you ran, literally, into Sidney.

“Lost?” He held a hand out to help you up?

“What gave it away?” You asked sarcastically. “The deer in the headlights look or the jersey?”

“Both of those are very good points, but neither.” He smiled. “You’re headed to the locker room and unless we added someone to our roster, you’re not on it.”

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Inktober Day 12. Instrument

I’m a butt whose writing gets shittier by the day

Here goes my latest pathetic attempt- featuring drunk Kingsmen, which I may or may not write spinoff fics for when this is over. And Harry Hart is a sap in love. 

@iffy-kanoknit @melisjevisje

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Kingsman pub crawl was going as swimmingly as some knights’ vision, by this stage. But by all accounts, everything was well. No fights with patrons had ended with gobsmacked drunkards hitting the floor, and no villains had sprung out of nowhere to take advantage of the fact Britain’s best spies were all in one place, and utterly sozzled.

Some utterly foolish genius (probably Lancelot) had elected to send an email to all individuals in Kingsman’s employ, and invite them all to ‘spontaneous workplace drinks’. Because saving the world was rather sobering, and alcohol was a long-favoured coping mechanism of the Kingsman organisation. And because after Kentucky, the destruction of the original HQ, Cambodia and the shock return of a Scottish tech whiz and aforementioned knight, Harry really had a quite a lot to be drinking about.

That, and one other reason. It’s half past midnight, Bors is out cold next to Harry, nose nodding dangerously close to his abandoned pint, and the bar is utterly empty apart from the rest of the Kingsman employ who had saved the date. Who it seems, if the shouts and hoots around Harry are anything to go by, are halfway between comatose and catastrophe. Percival is determinedly belting out a 90’s pop ballad with Lancelot to the jukebox, despite her crutches -'WE MATCH’, Roxy had pointed out to Merlin earlier in the night, gesturing to their common characteristic; leg injuries, albeit a landmine had ensured Merlin’s were a little worse off. The Scot is engaged in raucous conversation with Kay and Gawain about the latest rugby match at the sleek table next to Harry’s, whacking his fist on the table as he delcares that Scotland will surely triumph in the next match. Gareth is grabbing the next round at the bar, Geraint is determinedly skulling the last of his pint, cheered on by Lamorak, and Bedivere is taking a nap nearby. If anything, this little gathering looks to be nothing more than a bunch of rowdy businessmen, out for a night on town after a tough week in whatever boring desk job they endured.

Harry shouldn’t be so sombre, with the comical events unfolding right before his eyes, like Tristan’s impression of Merlin and his clipboard, or Percival’s dire attempt at dancing. The past year had been a real uphill battle, even moreso for Harry himself, as the head of an organisation struggling to pick itself up off the floor and start again. Normal work as a Kingsman had been draining- what he had endured for the past year, if Harry was honest with himself, was nothing short of psychological and emotional torture.

But it was all done now. The empty seats at the Round Table had ben filled, the mansion rebuilt. Yet Harry doesn’t feel the contentment that usually accompanies copious amounts of alcohol, as he reclines in the slightly grubby seats of some oscure pub he didn’t notice the name of, staring into the depths of his half-downed pint.

“Whassup, Haz?”

A familiar broad frame slumps down in the booth seat with Harry, giving him a gentle elbow to budge up. This rouses the sleeping Bors, who jerks upright mid-snore, blinking wearily, a bubble of beer foam stuck to the tip of his nose.

“Hello, Eggsy,” Harry manages, meeting eyes with the resident Galahad, who gives a lazy, relaxed smile in return. He takes a decidely more liberal sip of his forgotten pint.

“Why’re ya so glum for, eh? S'ya night off, ya prick. Loosen up for us,” Eggsy jibes, the effect of who knew how many drinks loosening his hackney speech further. Viridian eyes, with no trace of the shadows that had lurked within for months, and just the right amount of colour blushing those sculpted cheeks. Eggsy’s top buttons of his standard white dress shirt are popped, bespoke jacket long since discarded. Toned, forearms emerge from messily rolled-up sleeves, with the lightest dusting of hair.

“Just tired, I’m afraid,” Harry returns modestly, tearing his eyes away from his former protege with some difficulty. Because Harry might be tired, and more than a little inebriated, but he sure as hell is not blind. And Gary 'Eggsy’ Unwin, who’s firm, capable hand claps harry’s shoulder reassuringly, has never been more inexplicably beautiful than he is right now.

And that unavoidable truth, as Eggsy wiggles his way out of the booth and goes to cheerily accost Roxy, is the root of Harry’s melancholy spirit.

Eggsy has never been more available. The boy had no sooner become a married man, to newly coronated Swedish Queen Tilde, darling of Scandanavia, than a scandalous divorce had been announced. The princess, as it turned out, had been seeking to allow her seriously ill father to abdicate with dignity. And Eggsy had been a cog in her well-oiled plan to allow such a thing to happen.

“T’ be honest, I wasn’t even that upset,” Eggsy had confessed to Harry one night in Kingsman’s rented office complex, as the news of the premature split broke on worldwide media. The boy had swilled his martini pensively, considering the olive spiked on a toothpick. “Wasn’t too keen on getting married anyway. Sorta did it cos’ I felt bad after the whole rash thing.”

And Harry had tried so very hard to not let his helium hopes grow any higher that night, as the stars sank, and Eggsy confessed tearfully he loved Tilde, but never in that way.

Oh the heart was a fickle, fickle instrument. It had taken a gunshot wound to the head for Harry to truly understand what the feelings he harboured for his Lancelot proposal truly meant.  But it was so very hard, when the one thing you love more than anything, more than butterflies, good whisky (without the e) and good manners, is sitting right across from you, utterly oblivious to the fact that he was the last thought in Harry’s brain when Valentine pulled that trigger. Because who in their right mind would confess their love for a young man, no matter how lovely, when said young man had just admitted he had a girlfriend?

Not that it mattered now. Eggsy is a 25 year-old divorcee, happy as larry, and their relationship was going from strength to strength. Harry could honestly say that despite only being acquainted for just over two years, he feels he knows Eggsy, and vice versa, similarly to the level of understanding he and Merlin had garnered in close to thirty-five years of companionship.

Yet despite this all-time high, Eggsy still feel so…unobtainable. Nevermind the enormous age gap -Harry was  almost old enough to be the boy’s grandfather-, nor the perils of romancing a colleague, should things go awry. Harry was certain he was more likely to be shot in the head by Richmond Valentine again than have Eggsy develop romantic inclinations towards him.

The chant of 'Eggsy, Eggsy, Eggsy!’ pulls Harry from his solemn stupor, and he directs his attention to the small linoleum dancefloor space just in time to see Eggsy being shoved towards the proferred microphone, depsite many protests, by his traitorous colleagues. Laughing, despite his embarrassment, the boy takes it.

“Alrigh’, alrigh’, ya wankers. But none o’ this shit. Ya got a guitar at all back there?” he directs to the barkeep, who disappears momentarily into the back room. But reappears nonetheless, clutching a battered Yamaha, much to the excitement of the knights, who whoop and whistle.

A stool seems to materialise out of nowhere, along with a microphone stand, which Eggsy accepts gratefully, plonking himself down on the seat. Harry watches with focused interest as practiced hands fiddle with the tuning keys for several moments.

Eggsy could play the guitar? The boy truly was full of surprises, as Harry had proclaimed on the very first day of their meeting. But Galahad’s talents were seemingly not just limited to musical performance, as the small gathering of sophisticated yet drunken spies in a deserted bar in Kentish Town were about to find out.

“Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.” Eggsy giggles, and starts to play.

The first few strums of the familar chords send more cheers and cackles around the gathered Kingsmen, who cease all tipsy chatter to listen ardently to the Oasis hit.

“Today is gonna be the day that they’re gonna throw it back to you-”

Holy mother of Christ. Not only was Eggsy one of Kingsman’s finest recruits, with a spotless portfolio and a dedication that only came along once in a century. The boy could play like a professional, and he could sing. It truly was unfair. But when several knights begin to sing along, off key and out of tune, it takes everything Harry has in him to not scream at them to shut the actual fuck up. Because Eggsy’s voice was that of which Harry imagined would accompany the sweet, white embrace of death. The clear melody of raw talent that spilled from capable lips as Eggsy continues on the verse.

Until entrancing malachite eyes fit themselves with Harry’s.

I don’t believe that anybody, feels the way I do, about you now.”

Harry can’t help but break the gaze, eyes immediately finding his glass and draining it. It was a coincidence, you fool, his conscience shrieks internally, even as his heart begs him to consider otherwise. It wasn’t possible. No.

There are many things that I, would like to say to you, but I don’t know how.”

Harry dares to sneak a glance upwards, and almost shrinks down in his seat when Eggsy’s green eyes bore into his again. Was it the Guiness, or was there a sheen of regret, or even sadness in Eggsy’s eyes? For God’s sake, he was fifty four, and the sounds of a young man’s voice had Harry grasping at song lyrics like straws.

Cos maybe-”

He can’t bring himself to look away, he’s caught, like in deer in those bright green, mesmerising headlights-

You’re gonna be the one that saves me-”

Couldn’t Eggsy look at someone else, for Pete’s sake? All this intense staring was giving his inhibited heart far too uch fodder to make stupid decisions.

“And after all-”

Sing for me, Eggsy. Sing for me forever, sing to me only. Was it just Harry or it was awfully hot in the room?

You’re my wonderwall.”

Outside, now. Harry’s brain finally turns the cogs to make a rational decision, and in a heartbeat, he’s striding towards the back door of the pub. Fresh night air in a dark alleyway, and cool, slightly grimy bricks to calm his hot skin, and the heart that was beating far too rapidly for a man of his age.

Oh the heart was a fickle instrument, alright. Because it played in perfect harmony with a guitar, to the tune of 'Wonderwall’.

Norman Reedus - Secrets Are Revealed

Originally posted by reedusgif

You and Norman are in a relationship and you are both really happy, there is one thing, though, no one knows that you two are together. The other cast members and your fans have no idea, so when the two of you are caught having a PDA, you kind of have to explain yourselves to the fans at Comic-Con. You are overwhelmed by the amount of support you get from the fans, then at the end of the panel, once everything is out in the open, Norman does something you never expected.

Norman x Reader

Requested by Anon

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references, and fluff!

Chapter 1

It was a boiling hot day in Georgia and you were on set, you were an actor on The Walking Dead and you loved it, sure the weather was extreme but, if it wasn’t for this show you would’ve never met the man you would fall in love with. You would’ve never met Norman Reedus.

None of the fans knew that the two of you were together, hell, none of the cast knew, you just weren’t ready to tell them yet. It was hard, keeping your relationship a secret, but you both knew that it was for the best. You would tell everyone when the time was right.

The cast just thought that you were best friends because that’s how you acted on set, they didn’t suspect anything, not as far as you knew anyway.

You were currently sat in his trailer lounging on his couch with his arms wrapped around you as you watched a show on TV with the AC turned right up so you could both cool down, you both jumped when someone knocked on the door and you heard the familiar voice of Andrew Lincoln, “Norman? You’re needed on set,” you and Norman quickly pulled apart and sat normally so Andrew wouldn’t suspect anything, Andrew walked into the trailer and he smiled at you when he saw you, “Oh, hey Y/N, I didn’t know you were in here.”

“Hey Andy, I was just spending some time with this guy, and plus the AC in here is way better than it is in my trailer,” you said with a grin, you prayed that he didn’t suspect anything.

“Fair enough,” he said with a chuckle.

“Is that all I’m good for? The AC in my trailer?” Norman asked playfully.

“Yup, it’s all you’re good for,” you replied jokingly, “Anyway, I will let you two get to set to film your scene, I’ll see you boys later,” you said as you stood up walked out of Norman’s trailer to go to your own.

You sat in there for about an hour or two alone, you just sat on your phone and scrolled through your Tumblr to see what people had been up to, you smiled when you came across a piece of fan art of you and Norman, the artist had made it look like you were posing for a photo, it was amazing. You decided to click on the source of the image and sent the artist a lovely message saying that you really loved the picture and that you were going to show Norman next time you saw him, you even gave them a follow and started scrolling through their blog, they were very talented, you got so caught up looking the pictures that you didn’t even hear Norman enter your trailer.

You felt someone poking you in the side and looked up from your phone to see Norman looking at you with a cocked eyebrow.  “Watcha doin’?” he asked you in an amused tone.

“Just looking through this blog, she draws us, all of us, she’s very talented, take a look,” you said, he sat down next to you and gave an impressed nod when you showed him the first picture of the two of you that you had found and then a few more of the two of you and a couple of the other cast members.

“She is very talented, I really like the ones of us,” he said as he pulled you into a side hug.

“Me too,” you replied as you snuggled into his chest and continued scrolling through the blog. You giggled when the blog owner messaged you back a massive paragraph thanking you and telling you much she loved you and that you were her favorite. You sent her a message back saying thank you and that you loved her too, you loved interacting with fans, even if it was only over social media.

“You want to go for something to eat? I fancy some food from that diner a few blocks away,” Norman said as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Of course, you know how much I love their food,” you said as you got up from the couch and walked out of the trailer with Norman on your tail.

Since it was a nice day the two of you decided to walk there, it was only a fifteen-minute walk so why not? The streets were surprisingly empty for a hot summers day, but that gave Norman the excuse he needed to hold your hand as you walked down the desolate streets. Out of the corner of your eyes, you noticed that he was looking around, “Norman? Everything okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, I was just looking around to see if I could see anyone, there is no one so that’s good ‘cause that means I can do this,” he said, you furrowed your brows at him and opened your mouth to say something but he quickly silenced you with a quick, short and sweet peck to the lips.

“Getting a bit risqué doing that in public aren’t you?” you said with a smirk.

“There’s no one around, it’s fine, now come on, I’m starving,” he said as he led you round the corner and down the street to the diner. He opened the door and let you go in  first, such a gentleman.

Fifteen minutes later and you were sat in a booth across from Norman eating your food, your phones pinged and you both lifted them from the table and unlocked them.

The picture that came up stopped your heart and made your breath hitch in your throat, “Oh shit,” Norman said in an exasperated voice.

Your eyes connected with Norman’s, you both looked like deer’s caught in the headlights, “They know,” as those words left your mouth you felt like your entire world had shifted, everyone knew about you and Norman thanks to some ass-hole who took a picture of the two of you kissing and uploaded it to the internet. You had no idea what was going to happen now.

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jasjuliet  asked:

Hello! If you're still taking requests, Adamantine, with Lee and Majima!

Hello, yes I am, I love Lee and in particular I love how you draw him!

Adamantine—inflexible and unyielding; so hard as to be impenetrable

Majima covers a yawn, and Lee frowns at him. “When was the last time you slept more than an hour?”

“Why’s everyone always askin’ me that?” He scowls. “Also that depends on what you mean by sleepin’.”

“Sleeping. Probably on a bed. Without waking up constantly. Also, when’s the last time you ate something solid?”

“I uh.” Deer-in-the-headlights look. “Don’t really. Do either’a those things.”

Lee stares at him for the moment, and then grabs his shoulder and steers him firmly over to one of the other ancient couches in the warehouse. “If you don’t sleep you’ll die and it won’t do any of us any good. I needed to go get food anyway, I’ll get some for you too.”

“Hey, hey, I got work I gotta do–”

“Which can wait.” At Majima’s look, “I know some acupuncture techniques that’ll help you get to sleep.”

Majima’s eye goes wide. “Yeah, ok, sleepin’ now, sorry.”

He’s asleep in two seconds. Lee sighs. “Kid’s gonna run himself to death someday.”

Watch Your Mouth

“Dammit, would you just let me kiss you?”

The entire room froze, especially Tony, who had a deer-in-headlights look going on that with those big brown doe eyes Bucky adored and, god, no wonder he lost track of what he was saying. He was trying to scold Tony for being reckless out in the field but somehow he got derailed by the fire in his all-too expressive eyes.

“I mean,” Bucky grappled for something to say. Anything. At all. That didn’t have to do with how beautiful Tony looked when he was confused.

“What did you mean, Buck?” Steve’s voice with a weird mix and amusement and confusion.

“I, uh,” he glanced at the baffled faces staring at him. He turned and glared at Tony. “This is your fault.”

His mouth dropped open, “What?”

“You’re just so fucking,” Bucky meant to say ‘disorienting’ or something along those lines but what came out was, “gorgeous.”

Tony gapped at him, “oh, uh, am I?”

Bucky felt righteous indignation rise in him at the question. “Of course you fucking are. Have you seen yourself? Prancing around here in that fucking undersuit.”

Tony continued to gap gracelessly. “What the hell is happening?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky growled irritably. “Did anyone see me get hit with a fucking truth laser or something?”

Sam snorted, “Nope, I had my eye on you the entire time and didn’t see you get with a thing.”

“Loki,” Bucky gasped and swung around to look at Thor. “Your brother must have put some curse on me.”

Thor’s smirk was more condescending than Bucky thought he was capable of. “Of course he did. I will go avenge you, friend Bucky. Though I may smell of pizza when I return. Worry not, it will just be another curse of Loki.” Thor strolled out the room, barely suppressing his laughter.

“Yeah, I’m going to go help,” Sam trailed after Thor, followed by Clint and Natasha.

Steve clapped Bucky shoulder and said apologetically, “pizza is sounding really good right now. Tell me how this turns out,” then left out the room.

Now that the two was along together, Bucky felt the words that had been on the tip of his tongue earlier desert his completely. He watched Tony try to string words together as well but he wasn’t having much luck either. After a minute of complete silence, Bucky finally said, “Sorry.”

That startled Tony out of his thoughts, he waved nervously, “Oh, no, it’s fine. Great really. I’ve never heard such a terrifying string of compliments and I’m Tony Stark. It was really quite impressive.”

Bucky sighed, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh, no, I’ve always been scared of you.” At seeing how Bucky’s face fell, Tony hastened to add, “I mean, because I didn’t want to develop a crush on you because I didn’t want to get rejected by you. It’s funny how the scariest people are the ones you like most and I happen to like you a lot more than is logical.” He took a breath and concluded, “But if you meant what you said, and feel the same way, then perhaps we can go on a date?”

Bucky blinked at him, unable to comprehend how his verbal vomit landed him a date.

“Unless you were just playing a prank on me,” Bucky could see Tony retreat into himself although he continued to smile, “In that case, nice one. Got me.”

“No,” Bucky nearly shouted, alarmed. “No, I’d love to go on a date with you. This Friday, maybe? Seven on the dot? I’ll pick you up at your doorstep.”

The tension fled from Tony’s shoulders. He gave Bucky the sweetest smile he could ever hope to see. “It’s a date.”

"Her Face" Blurb Preference

Harry: I never wanted to see that look on her face again. She sat frozen on the couch, not even blinking. I, on the other hand, couldn’t move enough. I kept rearranging my position on the couch before finally I knelt on the floor in front of her immobile place on the couch. I reached for her hands but she moved them away in a small gesture that broke my heart. “Don’t touch me,” her words were soft but commanding and I immediately dropped my hands. “I’m-I’m so sorry [Y/N], I wasn’t thinking…” I ramble. Her silence cuts me like a knife. “It only happened once…” I say before remembering my promise to never speak those words. That phrase was her trigger and before I knew it, she burst off the couch, enraged. “HOW FUCKING DARE YOU?” She screamed at me, tears already pouring down her face. “Just…just how could you?” She begged, quietly this time. I fell to my knees in front of her, crying as well, before she walked into our bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Louis: I eagerly searched the crowd for her face, the one face I had been waiting to see for months. We reached the escalators and I still hadn’t seen her. As we started to descend, we heard the echoing of the girls’ screams coming from below. Panic started flooding my stomach, “She promised she’d be here,” I whispered to myself. I studied the giant mob of girls waiting at the bottom of the long escalator. Finally I saw her. She was standing in front of the horde, one lone figure of perfection standing in front of the fans. I shoved past Niall and Paul, jumping the last few steps and running towards her. I threw my bag on the ground and picked her up in a swinging embrace as soon as my feet reached her. I felt her shoulders squeeze a tight hug around me and I drank in the feeling, being without her touch for three months left me craving it. “I missed you,” she cried in my ear. “Shh, babe you don’t need to cry. I’m here now!” I try soothing her but fail utterly when a few tears of my own start to fall. “I missed you too,” I admit, breathing in her perfume.

Zayn: Her face was contorted in disarray, highlighting her perfect features. Fifty different emotions flashed across her face before her eyes slid up to meet mine. I wobbled in my perch on one knee and rose the velvet box a little higher. “Please [Y/N]? Make me the happiest man in the entire world and say yes.” I urged her, a sudden doubt that she would say yes creeping into my mind. However, this fear was immediately washed away when the biggest smile I’ve ever seen burst across her face. “Yes, Zayn. I’ll marry you.” She said simply, reaching out and gently caressing the side of my face. My own smile was partly relieved, part ecstasy at her response and I slid the ring onto her delicate finger. I stood up and slid the box back in my pocket as [Y/N] started to cry. I pulled her into a tight hug as a few tears of my own slipped down my face as well. She pressed her lips to my shoulder and I could feel her tapping out “I Love You” on my back, the light impressions of her fingers more memorable than any tattoo.

Niall: Her entire face was rosy and her cheeks had a light film of wax shining in the fluorescent lights. I never wanted to look away from her round face, a smile lighting up her features the same way it does on her mother’s face. “Hello little one,” her mother cooed. The newborn wriggled in her arms and my cheeks started throbbing from the goofy smile plastered on my face. “Welcome to the world little Kaye,” I whispered, tracing her small body with one of my fingers. Suddenly her entire, tiny hand wrapped around my index finger, her miniature fingers flexing and gently squeezing it. Tears pricked the inside of my eyelids. I couldn’t believe this was the beautiful girl we had waited 9 long months to meet. “We made this,” I said as Kaye gurgled happily in her mother’s embrace. “We made this…” [Y/N] repeated, studying our beautiful little creation.

Liam: I couldn’t take my eyes off her face, from her light eyes to the delicate curve of her cheekbones. She had her face buried in the book in front of her, eyes leaping from one page to the next, as if the outside world didn’t exist. I, on the other hand, had been lingering over my empty cup of coffee for twenty minutes because something was drawing me to the table that shook whenever she would re-cross her legs. Her lips were slightly parted and every so often her tongue would poke out a tiny bit. She looked up, her eyes just as beautiful as the frame they were set in. Her gaze met mine and she smiled tentatively. I flushed and smiled, looking away immediately. She went back to reading and I sat there 10 minutes longer before finally gathering the courage to move. I reached her table and she still didn’t look up so finally I had to clear my throat a bit. She looked up, those startled deer-in-the-headlights eyes turning my brain to mush. “Uh…nice book.” I stammer, cursing myself out in my head. “You’ve been sitting there for 30 minutes staring at me and that's the best you got?” No response came to me, but to my relief she smiled and nodded towards the chair opposite her. I willingly took the seat and conversation flowed easily then, her eyes never failing to cause my heart to skip a beat. 

anonymous asked:

Piper lost everything. She's desperate. She had a fight with Polly (a reason not to include that bitch), lost her job, car, house, practically everything. Alex finds her on the street and wants to turn her into one of her drug mules but then she starts catching feelings for her and things become different than originally planned.

Alex is really, really hard to write about. So this probably sucks, but I gave it a shot. 

For a drug importer, you spend a hell of a long time going for walks. Irrelevant, stupid walks that don’t achieve a damn thing. It’s not like you’re walking down alleys in search of a fight- nothing like that- but seriously…walks?

Pointless as hell, you think.

You think about all the shitty things that happened to you, and from time to time you consider what it would be like to keep walking, to walk and walk until your feet give out from underneath you.

You don’t think anyone would come looking for you. And if they did, they’d just be on their way to kill you anyway.

So practically every night you go for a stroll through this quaint little neighbourhood, and it’s almost never a happy walk. No whistling or humming or any of that crap. Your hands never leave your pockets save to smoke your cigarette and you always make sure it’s terrifically dark before you go out, because you like it better that way. When Fahri asks you why you always walk, you tell him it’s a good area to find mules. You try to tell yourself that, you really do. But it’s been months since your little habit kicked in, and you’ve only come across one or two that fit the bill. It’s more of a chance to get away from it all, from the parties and the drugs and the women and the aching memories of your mother. 

You wish you could call her up and talk as your boots thud against the pavement, but you sure as hell can’t do that without looking like some sort of lunatic. 

The walks are always so very somber and devoid of colour, like everything these days. Everything seems to be losing its allure, the aesthetic of the world around you draining to a greyscale, day by day. It’s been like this for years, and it shows no signs of getting better. Heroin had nearly killed you, so that was off the table. 

So you decide to go for fucking walks instead. Not exactly the glorifying redemption you’d hoped for, is it?

Anyway, it’s the middle of winter, freezing cold and tremendously dark, the way you like it, and you stroll down the familiar streets with your goddamn cigarette and stupidly expensive coat with the collar upturned, shielding the curve of your throat against the biting wind. 

That’s the thing about having no one. You get to spend all your illegal cash on yourself. Fucking brilliant, you think.

Tonight’s different, though. You’re pissed off- really pissed off, because what is the point in any of this anymore? You’re nearly thirty and you’re devastatingly unloved, without the capability to treat anyone with a semblance of respect, and you’re kind of a complete asshole. You have no family; no one to love, and no one who loves you. You have too much money to count, and all it makes you want to do is cry. You turn down this empty street with a narrow road, and all of a sudden you just lash out, kicking stones off the pavement and scattering them ahead of you in a temper, hating the world and the unfairness of it all.

You worked your ass off to give your mother everything she’d ever wanted, only to have her ripped away from you before she even got a chance to enjoy it all.

Your temper’s a dangerous thing, and you should know better than to let it get the better of you. But sometimes you get this overwhelming urge to smash things, just for the hell of it. 

“Are you alright?” Your head whips around at the voice, and you can’t tell where it’s coming from initially. Eventually, you look across the street and see this figure, a girl, sitting off the edge of the pavement underneath a streetlight with her legs stretched out into the road, as if she didn’t give a damn if a car came flying round the corner and snapped them right off. You regard her from the opposite pavement, hands in your pockets and cigarette between your teeth. She’s only got a slightly oversized white t shirt on and ripped denim jeans, with red-rimmed eyes and these sunken in cheekbones.

Yet she has the courage to ask you, in your goddamn expensive coat, if you’re alright.

“Me?” You reply, looking up and down the street, though you know there’s not another soul but the two of you within sight. She nods, and you walk over to her without thinking much about it. “I think I should be the one asking you that.” 

“Why?” The girl says, and she is just a girl, looks like one of those deer-caught-in-headlights type. The perfect type for a drug mule, you can’t help but notice. But she’s tragically beautiful, and although she’s skinny and looks like she’s drowning in her shirt, her eyes still sparke at you with a challenge, and you can’t help but look straight back at her. 

“Well…” You stumble, searching for an answer to what was a ridiculous kind of question in the first place. “You look…cold.” You say, and immediately cringe as she sits there and laughs, despite the state of her situation. 

“I am cold.” She says it with not an ounce of bitterness, and you have to admire her for it. Weirdly, she makes you feel totally ridiculous for being upset when you could be in her position. 

“Take my jacket.” You say, unbuttoning it. She peers up at you from the pavement as you stub your cigarette out with the toe of your boot. 

“Who are you?” She asks, but she’s in no position to be refusing the warmth of your coat and body heat as you take a seat beside her, shivering at the cool ground beneath you. 

“Someone who’s more okay than you.” You mutter, draping it around her shoulders. There’s a pause, a lull in the conversation, and you wonder how you went from a temperamental badass to giving your coat to a complete stranger and sitting beside her underneath a gloomy streetlight. You look at the girl, and she looks back. Neither of you understand a damn thing. “What’s your name, kid?” 

“It’s Piper. Piper Chapman.” She answers, and she doesn’t exactly sound proud of it. Instead of asking what wrongs she’s done to find herself in the middle of the street freezing to death, you just ask her if she’s alright.

“Are you gonna kill me?” She asks bluntly instead, and you’re honestly speechless for a moment.

“Christ. No, I’m not gonna fucking kill you.” You exclaim, and she just smiles a little and looks down at her lap.

“The fact that disappoints me should tell you if I’m alright or not.” She says quietly, and you don’t know how to come back from that. But you keep sitting there, and you’ve no intention of leaving the girl. She scares the hell out of you.

“Alex.” You say eventually, and you feel her looking at you. “My name’s Alex.” 

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m not being nice.” You snap, and hate yourself for the way she recoils in fear. “What sort of a fucking world is it when a girl like you is sitting here wanting to die?” Your temper flares, and you stand to your feet and loom over her as she almost cowers under your gaze. “You’re young! You’re so young, Piper!” You pace, and light another cigarette before sitting back down again, having achieved absolutely nothing. 

“You’re no more okay than I am.” Piper whispers softly, and you begin to concede that she’s right. 

“How do you know things about me before I even know them myself?” You’re in a sad state, talking to this girl about things like this, but she seems to understand you. 

“Well isn’t tonight just full of surprises.” She mutters dryly. She looks so sad, and so goddamn pretty and you don’t know where the hell you are because you care about Piper. You care about her more than you’ve cared about anyone in a long time. 

“You want a smoke?” 

“Sure.” She takes the cigarette easily from between your fingers, but someone as pure and innocent as Piper doesn’t look right with it. She barely has it between her lips before you snatch it back, your brows furrowed as you look hard at her. “What the hell did you do that for?” Piper cries, and tries to get it back to no avail as you lean away from her.

“Smoking’s bad for you.”

“You smoke.” 

“Because I don’t care about good and bad, or wrong and right, Piper.” You smirk, and she smiles her first genuine smile back at you. It damn near makes you want to kiss her right then and there on the sidewalk. 

“I guess that makes two of us.” She laughs, and you kind of chuckle too because it’s ever so ridiculous. The funny part is, you don’t want to leave. You must be freezing to death out here, but it would be a pleasure to die with Piper’s laugh ringing in your ears. If someone were to make you get up and carry drugs right now, you wouldn’t do it, not for a million bucks because Piper keeps laughing and puts a hand on your thigh, and it’s absolutely priceless. 

“Listen, do you wanna go for a walk?” You ask her seriously after a moment, her hand still sitting comfortably on your thigh, so relaxed you’re not sure she realises. Piper’s face positively lights up, as if you’ve just offered her your hand in marriage or something wild like that. Then again, you doubt someone as lovely as she would ever be happy about marrying an asshole like you.

“Only if it’s someplace warm.” 

“It’s real warm. I promise.” You say. Piper blushes, and she believes you. You slip your fingers between hers and don’t let go as you walk back the way you came. She’s so happy all of a sudden, like no harm could ever come to her again as you both talk about whatever takes your fancy, nothing hard or heavy. 

It’s nice to just talk to someone about nothing, for once. Everyone needs that every so often.

It’s easy, being with Piper. She makes you feel good about yourself, and she makes you forget about the shitty things in your life and remember that it could get a hell of a lot worse than scuffing the toes of your shiny new boots off a stone or two. 

You take her home and you don’t kiss her or seduce her or any of that usual crap. You treat her nicely and you make her tea, give her one of your big sweaters to sleep in. She protests about the sleeping in your bed, because it’s so big and wide and she could probably get lost in it. 

“You don’t even know me.” She murmurs quietly as she sinks into the pillows and you sit by the foot of the bed in your own sweater, intending to sleep in the guest room.

“I know you well enough to know you deserve better than spending a night on the streets.” The look on her face tells you that you’re completely right. Piper is broken, ruined, and you don’t ask why any of it happened because it’s not any of your business. She’ll tell you in good time, if that’s what she wants. Or she’ll wake up in the morning and leave, and you’ll let her go.

Which doesn’t mean you won’t be sad as hell about it, but you’ll still wave her goodbye and wonder why you never seem to be good enough for anyone.

“Goodnight, Piper.” You whisper, and you’re about to turn off the light before she calls you back.

“Alex.” it’s the first time she’s said your name, and it sounds better than you’ve ever heard it. “Stay. Please.” The look on her face almost kills you, with her bright blue eyes that shouldn’t ever look so sad. 

“Okay.” You smile softer than you ever have in your life, and climb in beside her, hands awkwardly by your sides because you’ve never been like this with a girl. You’ve never comforted one, for God’s sake. Piper makes the decision for you though, sleepily turning over so her head’s on your chest and her arm’s slung over your midriff and you don’t have a choice but to wrap your arms protectively around her.

“Alex?”

“Yeah?” You whisper, pulling the comforter over both of you as she presses her body impossibly closer to yours. There’s nothing sexual about it, and you don’t mind a bit.

“Thanks.” She says with a smile. You kiss her forehead softly, and smile back at her. 

It would be such a splendid thing to fall in love with Piper Chapman.

“No worries, kid. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight.” 

You don’t get a wink of sleep. Not one. You lie there on your back, slightly propped up on the pillows, and stroke your fingers through Piper’s hair as her slow, even breaths beat against your neck. You just watch her, glance at the ceiling, answer the phone immediately so as not to wake her.

“You find any mules on one of your little walks tonight, Vause? We’re short.” Fahri says gruffly down the line. Your stomach churns sickeningly as you stop stroking the blonde’s hair. You stare right at her and you remember how she’d been equal parts terrified and intrigued by you, how she didn’t give a damn whether she lived or died. 

Piper would be willing to give everything for another shot at life.

The perfect criteria for a drug mule.

But then you trace the curve of her jaw with your finger, stroke her cheek. Remember how her laugh sounds, think about the way she looks at you as if you could never do wrong by her.

Piper trusts you. You’re all she has. 

“No.” You tell Fahri firmly. “Maybe tomorrow.” You hang up before he replies, and you just keep on thinking about Piper.

And in the morning, Piper doesn’t leave. In the days and weeks to come, you can’t get enough of her and she’s absolutely smitten with you, too. Weeks turn into months, and you tell her you love her. She says it back, and you don’t make her carry any drugs. She puts her faith in you, every goddamn piece of her, and you guard her with your life.

Walks are still pretty pointless. But then again, so is everything else when you compare it to Piper Chapman.

She loves you, and you love her. There doesn’t need to be a point to anything else.