(Sexual Implication)
Ghost, trying to be sexy by whispering: Gagginā for it, arenāt ya, love?
Soap: Nope.
Ghost: No?
Soap: I donāt gag on anything.
Ghost: *404 Error*
Soap: ā¦Ghost? Si? Simon, are you alright?
--
Y/N: Letās play a word association game!
Ghost: Why?
Y/N: Because I saved your ass last mission and Iām bored, so you owe me.
Ghost: *sigh* Fine.
Y/N: P e r f e c t .
Gaz: ??
Y/N: Cold.
Ghost: Winter.
Y/N: Spring.
Ghost: Mattress.
Y/N: Soft.
Ghost: Comfortable.
Y/N: Pleasant.
Ghost: Sunset.
Y/N, With a shit eating grin: Beautiful.
Ghost, unconsciously: Johnny-
Y/N: YES
Gaz: OHHHHHH
Ghost:
Soap: *gasp* Simon!~
Ghost: Iām going to go crash in a heli.
Y/N: I KNEW IT I KNEW IT-
--
Alex: Bitch do you want me to jump across this table? Because I donāt have all day for this.
Norris: You feeling froggy? Leap.
Alex: Okay, well here I come-
Farah: Alex no, no- hOLD OFF
--
(NSFW Joke)
Y/N: Oh sorry. I almost drank out of your cup.
Soap: Wh-Just go ahead, it wonāt matter!
Y/N: Well I- Yeah no, youāre right. Iāve drank out of your cups dozens of times.
Soap: Weāve sucked the same dick-
Y/N: Thatās a good point!
Ghost: ā¦.*sigh*
--
Gaz: What kind of girl do you like?
Soap: My wife.
Gaz: And you?
Ghost: Johnnyās wife.
Gaz: OH-
Price, knowing they recently started a poly situation: Pfft-
--
(Use of the word pussy because haha)
Gaz, filming: Pffft-
Soap: Shhshh-
Y/N in the hallway: FORTY THREE FUCKING CENTS! AHHHHH
Soap: *wheeze*
Y/N: I NEED A SUGAR DADDY!!
Gaz: PFFFT-
Soap: I canāt breathe-
Y/N: At this rate Iām ready to plaster my fuckinā pussy on the sidewalk for some sPARE CHANGE!
Gaz & Soap: *doing that silent cackle thing and smack each other in the arm*
Ghost, leaning into the room: What the f-
Y/N: SPAARE CHANGE, SPARE CHANGE! ANYONE GOT ANY SPARE CHAAANGE?!
Gaz: *coughing*
Soap: Steaminā Jesus Iām fucking crying-
Y/N, passing by the room: šµWalkinā in a winter wonderlaaaandš¶
--
Y/N: Would you love me?
Gaz:
Y/N:
Gaz:
Y/N:
Gaz: Would I love you ifā¦?
Y/N: nO ThAt wAs tHE QuesTiOn-
--
Y/N: Pretty boy! With me I said!
Rudy:
Rudy:
Rudy: Oh Iām pretty boy!
Y/N: Yes! Oo that came out a bit quick-
(Also works with Soap & Gaz, honestly)
--
(THIS IS A CONCEPT IM TOO WHIMPY TO WRITE, SO HAVE IT HERE! THIS COULD WORK WITH SO MANY CHARACTERS Also, NSFW warning)
Ghost: I donāt miss.
Y/N, on his ear piece: Never? Even with distractions?
Ghost: *turns his scope* Not ever. *just about to take a shot*
Y/N: Hmmā¦what if I wentā¦ Mm Simon~
Ghost: *misses*
Y/N: Ya missed.
Ghost: Cheeky bitchā¦
--
Gaz: Alright, so, since weāre now in America and we have some time to kill, I went and I got you something.
Y/N: Aww Gaz, you really didnāt have to-
Gaz: *puts down their Whataburger order*
Y/N: OH MY GOD
Price: Really?
Gaz: *shrug*
Soap: *snickering as Y/N Fucking demolishes some fries*
Y/N, having the time of their life: Garrick you ever need your dick sucked, a dead body buried, a beer or whatever, you call me. I gotāchu
Gaz: BAHA-
Soap: *wheeze*
Ghost: Are you fucking crying?
Y/N with their mouth full: I missed it so much.
--
(Team bonding exercises)
Soap: Youāre a football player, itās in ya blood!
Gaz: Thatās racist.
Soap: Your soul?
Gaz: Thatās racist!
Soap: ā¦your eyes?
Gaz: Thatās gay-
Soap: Thatās homophobic.
Gaz: Thatās black.
Soap: Thatās racist!!
Gaz: Damn-
(this one is extra funny since Gaz is now confirmed LGBT)
--
Gaz: You overrated little twink!
Soap: Hey I am a TWUNK, alright?! That is a combination, twink, and HUNK, get it?? Hunk-
--
Soap: Iām gonna have to meet men lying down.
Y/N: ā¦I thoughtācha did??
Soap: OI!
--
Soap: Everyone says what a giving person I am!
Y/N: Heās talking about when youāre in an upright position.
--
Graves: What if thereās a connection?
Y/N: I think thereās a connection between your brain and wallpaper paste.
--
Shepard: Now youāre always ornery, rude, unpleasant, and sometimes downright mean. Thatās part of your charm.
Y/N: Thank you, you colluding-county-hopping-idiotic-relic.
Price: *pride*
--
Alex: Oh my god, how are you such a good driver?
Soap: Because thereās illegal shit in here.
Alex:
Soap: Because if I donāt use my turn signal, weāre both gonna do fifteen. Because I am going to lie and say yours.
Alex: ā¦..
Soap: Put your seatbelt on, sweetheart.
Alex: *clicks it in places*
Soap: You are not safe!
--
(Sucking dick joke)
Kidnapper: Youāre gonna do as I say or I will make you regret ever being born.
Y/N: Oh please, Iāve sucked dicks more intimidating than you.
Soap: Oh this is why Simon was the way he was after we rescued you both last time.
--
Soap, shoving marshmallows in his mouth: This isnāt very ha-*chokes*
MILF!Y/N, across the fucking base: ā¦.*mom instinct*
Price: ???
Ghost: Uh-
Y/N: Something just happened.
Kyle: PFFT-
--
MILF!Y/N: *letting Soap & Gaz lean on her while Price and Ghost stand close behind* Untrue. Iām a mother now. Itās really changed my perspective.
Graves: And do you find it hard juggling life and a career?
Y/N: You can juggle these nuts.
--
Soap: *rambling*
Soap: Agh, sorry, Iām just goinā on and on-
Ghost: Oi, keep talking before I kick your ass.
Soap: ā¦..
Gaz: See? This is exactly what I m-where the fuck are these flower petals coming from?? ARE THOSE SPARKLES??
tell me who i run to (if not you) | anthony beauvillier
"The first sip is joy, the second is gladness, the third is serenity, the fourth is madness, the fifth is ecstasy." - Jack Kerouac
Summary
In July of 2023, Evie looked at a list of cities in North America and rolled a die. Just like that, she packed up her life and moved to Chicago, a fresh start.
The 2023-24 NHL season started well for Tito; he did not expect the call on November 28th telling him that he was being traded. To the worst team in the league. And just like that. 10 months after being ripped from his home, he had to pack up and move again. To an unfamiliar city, and to unfamiliar faces.
Which is why, when Tito and Evie ran into each other, quite literally, on Christmas morning, they both latched on to a familiar face. Over the next few months, they became close friends.
They didnāt talk about the nights shared in Chicago clubs.Ā
They didnāt need to. Because they're just friends.Ā
Right?
This is a completed fic split into episodes for easier reading. It was written for @bqstqnbruin as part of the Winter Fic Exchange 2k24 hosted by @wyattjohnston.
Episode 1. Blue Christmas (4.9k)
Episode 2. I. Winter (4.4k)
Episode 3. Pal-entine's Day (4.8k)
Episode 4. Four-leaf Clover (5.5k)
Episode 5. Evie's Birthday š¶ļø (5.6k)
Episode 6. II. Spring (4.8k)
Episode 7. Not Goodbye š¶ļøš¶ļø (5.4k)
Episode 8. III. Summer (4.8k)
Episode 9. Tito's Birthday (4.2k)
Read it in full (44.5k)
šµ Series Playlist š¶
Requests (open) | Masterlist & Who I Write For | Join My Taglist
Under the cut: author's notes, tropes, warnings & disclaimer, fun tidbits, chapter summaries
Author's Notes:
This fic was written for @bqstqnbruin as part of the Winter Fic Exchange 2k24 hosted by @wyattjohnston. It got so out of control long so quickly. I genuinely had so much fun writing this, it's basically my magnum opus; if you look closely, I think you can probably see my soul in there somewhere.
I would like to thank @devilssacrament, @wyattjohnston, and @forgottenflowers for being my editors, holding my hand and keeping me sane in this. Also, thanks to @swissboyhisch, and @imperatorrrrr for being a sounding board for ideas . All of your help and support has meant so much to me. You are all just the fucking best, I am sorry this has been my entire personality for the past month, I will probably return to normal soon. Probably...
Tropes: a gut-wrenching mix of angst and fluff with a happy ending, slow burn friends to lover (tbh, idiots to lovers let's be real), alternating POVs
Warnings: alcohol (one instance of alcohol poisoning by side character), mature content bordering on smut (mostly occurring in clubs/public), references to a toxic past relationship.
Disclaimer: This series is set in Chicago but does not mention the name of the team based there. Only other Chicago players mentioned by name are: Nick Foligno, Jason Dickinson and Connor Bedard.
Other notes:
NHL players featured Mat Barzal (a heavily featured supporting character/bestie) and brief mentions of Zach Hyman and Matt Martin.
Assume that Tito and Evie are always speaking in French with each other.
Face claim for Evie (if you want one, but you can imagine whoever you like): Adeline Rudolph
Cook, Cook, drink your tea,
But save some in the pot for me.
We'll watch the tea leaves in our cup
When our drink is all sipped up.
Happiness or fortune great,
What will our future be?
-- "Afternoon Tea at Pittock Mansion" by R.Z. Berry
Episode Synopses:
Blue Christmas
Evie and Tito are both starting life anew in Chicago. It's an unfamiliar city with unfamiliar faces. They're both alone on Christmas. Maybe it's fate that brings them together.
Jason and Alandra Dickinson are already smelling smoke from this fire.
I. Winter
Tito injures his wrist in the first game of 2024, heās out for 6-8 weeks and then his car breaks down. He thinks maybe heās cursed. Evie becomes a shoulder to lean on.
Barzy gets suspicious.
Pal-entineās Day
Tito returns her kindness by being a shoulder Evie can lean on when she is having a hard time after all-star break. She tells him itās anxiety about work. He brings her a box of pastries and they cuddle on the couch all day; he doesnāt realize itās Valentineās Day.
Later, a hook-up goes very wrong.
Four-leaf Clover
Titoās been playing again, and during his first stretch of away games begins to miss home. Well, Evieās home anyway. When he sees her in the bar, he canāt help but show it.
Barzy calls him out on his lies.
Evieās Birthday
Sometimes the music moves you. Sometimes the bass pounding in your chest makes you do things you wouldnāt do. Fuck it, itās your birthday. Thatās what Evie tells herself anyway.
There are gifts given, but there are also secrets kept.Ā
II. Spring
Tito tries to tell herā he doesā Itās just he needs to find the right time, and something keeps coming up.
Evieās honest with herself. But does that even matter?
Mat decides maybe it is his time to intervene.
Not Goodbye
Evie realizes that her time is running out. To do what? She doesnāt know. But she has one last night to find out. That is untilā Well. Itās too late now.
Tito flies home and wonders if that will be the worst mistake of his life.
III. Summer
They try to get on with their summers as if nothing is wrong, convincing no one. How long will it take them to realize they canāt keep pretending like everythingās fine? And who will finally take the leap of faith?
Titoās Birthday
Tito receives the best birthday present he has ever gotten: the girl he loves standing at his parentās front door. It was never destiny or fate; it can only be by choice. And theyāll choose each other every time. Eventually, anyway.
Requests (open) | Masterlist & Who I Write For | Join My Taglist
-Quickly skitters into the inbox, with a boom box and an increasingly bass boosted version-
š¶I PUT MY HANDS UP THEYāRE PLAYING MY SONG THE BUTTERFLIES FLY AWAY-š¶
- Party In The USA anon, on the recent glorious news
Look. LOOK. I know we've had technically bigger fish, but the Georgia case is a Big Fucking Deal. Because:
It is a MAJOR indictment both in terms of scope and seriousness of charges. Not just Trump, but *eighteen* of his allies and cronies got charged with RICO (anti-racketeering, often used against mob bosses) felonies, including Rudy Giuliani (I repeat, HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA), Jeff Clark, Mark Meadows, and other high-profile Trumpworld enablers
No Lindsey Graham (at least yet) but I guess we can't have everything
It encompasses both in Georgia and other states where Trump illegally tried to alter election results (Michigan, Arizona, and Pennsylvania), as those activities related to a conspiracy centered on Georgia/Fulton County
This is the big whopper: TRUMP CANNOT CANCEL THIS INVESTIGATION EVEN IF HE GETS RE-ELECTED. He can shut down the federal Special Counsel investigations run through the DoJ, but this? Bupkis. And Georgia governor Brian Kemp, another of the Republicans who dutifully continues to defend Trump even as Trump slanders him up and down, CAN'T PARDON HIM.
That drives the Republicans NUTS. So nuts that they were, you guessed it, already on Faux News whining about how they should make Georgia change that law.
Boo-fucking-hoo, you absolute fucking wankers.
Also: we need to remember that Trump rose to political prominence by being wildly racist and xenophobic about America's first Black president. He has coddled and exalted white supremacists and white supremacist rhetoric at every turn, it has been the central defining feature of his campaign, and his election subversion efforts were chiefly aimed at canceling the votes of heavily Black cities (Atlanta, Philly, Detroit, etc.)
Trump also won in 2016 thanks to the Electoral College, itself designed as an element of structural racism, by defeating probably the most qualified and beyond any doubt most historic candidate there has ever been, after it was revealed that he was a serial sexual assaulter and after he screamed for months about LOCK HER UP (every Republican accusation is a confession, etc)
All that said, with Trump's vile, derogatory bile spewed at everyone, but especially a) Black people, b) women, and c) powerful Black women, it is a Big Fucking Deal that a powerful Black woman, aka his worst nightmare, pulled this trigger on him.
Don't get me wrong. I deeply appreciate me some Jack Smith. But he is also a white male special counsel appointed by the Department of Justice, and who used to work for the Hague prosecuting war crimes (true story). It's in his brief to do this.
Fani Willis is a county district attorney AND a Black woman, as Trump's nonstop shitgibbering on Truth Social just can't help himself from pointing out. This kind of sprawling, country-wide investigation against a wildly corrupt ex-president and his cohort of equally corrupt cronies is not something she is, in the normal course of things, ever expected to do, but she did it.
NINETEEN DEFENDANTS, Y'ALL. Including Trump. On 41 different charges. That's a hell of an indictment, and she knows it puts a target on her back, while (as noted) she doesn't have the resources and protections of the federal government/DOJ to do it.
Let's hear it for Fani Willis (and Judge Chutkan, who informed Trump the other day the more he runs his mouth, the faster she will proceed to trial) y'all.
š¦ šŗš²šJuly 4th in modern Scrooge householdššŗšøš¦ :
Bright and early wake up call of š¶AMERICA--FUCK YEAH!!!š¶
Ebenezer surrounded by five Americans decked out in red, white, and blue, stars and stripes, eagles, other U.S. icon bearing articles of clothing and face paint. (Millie is definitely running around with a U.S.A. flag cape.)
Ebenezer surrounded by Americans making eagle calls all day. "You hear that? It's the wild call of FREEDOM!"
Ebenezer being surrounded by Americans who randomly scream iconic American lines all day: "Don't tread on me!", "No taxation with representation!", "The British are coming!", "FREEDOM!!!" (Eb: You know that's more associated with 'Braveheart'?), etc.
Thankfully the kids' surprise tea dumping ceremony to simulate the Boston Tea Party only ever happened once, otherwise the pool would be wrecked. But Eb has begun to refrain from drinking tea on this day to avoid teasing about the Party.
Really bad American freedom "jokes": "What did King George III say?" "I don't know, what-" "Who cares?! FREEDOM!!! *eagle screech*"
Pictures of the Queen/King have definitely been covered up with Google printouts of American presidents.
The house's sound-system continuously plays patriotic, American songs all day.
Picnic in the countryside with blue rock shooting. (SO MUCH "FREEDOM!" AND "'MURICA!" THROWN AROUND.)
ONLY ICONIC AMERICAN FOOD IS THE MENU FOR THE DAY. (Eb has actually come to enjoy the biscuits and gravy for breakfast.)
Only American vernacular in the house. "Biscuits" are "cookies" for example--you will be corrected, probably with an eagle cry.
Fireworks display on TV to close off the day.
Definitely a "revolutionary war" in the bedroom that night. (Only both sides win.š)
For anyone that needs to hear this, and I also just want to talk about this for a minute... or maybe several.
Back on the 29th April 2023, (I know, this year is going TOO fucking fast šµāš«) Pedro attended The Last Of Us For Your Consideration Event at The Director's Guild of America in Los Angeles, with his lovely co-star, Bella Ramsey.
The above video appeared by Deadline from the event, with Pedro explaining to Bella, after they queried, as to why he puts his hand over his stomach. "Do you know why? My anxiety's right there." He can be heard saying to them.
And the whole of Pedro's fandom fell in love with him all over again. I mean, you just would, wouldn't you? I know I did. š What a man.
Why? Because he demonstrated that he's human. Relatable. Pedro recognised and embraced his vulnerabilities publically, and by doing so - whether he knew it or not - made everyone who has ever felt the crippling weight of anxiety crush them, feel seen and heard.
Back in 2019 Pedro said in an interview with The Guardian, "anxiety is something that Iāve lived with since I was a child, so itās a part of my chemistry. I donāt know what kind of person Iād be without it. Itās something that I manage, but itās also part of what makes me, me."
"I know that I have to put myself in high-stress situations to be happy. I mean, within reason. But thereās a certain level of anxiety that helps me do good work. It helps me be aware of the things I need to be aware of,ā Pedro added.
So why does Pedro put his hand over his stomach/sternum area specifically? What is it about that pose? We often see him doing it, even dating as far back as 2005, so for almost 20 something years it's been a part of his red carpet and public appearances.
But what does it mean?
Well, putting your hand on your stomach/sternum area can symbolise many things if you scrutinise body langauge. I'm no expert, but I've worked in fields where I've had to study it and teach it, and it's really interesting at how much you give away about yourself to others in your body language, without even realising it...
Ever heard of WORDS, MUSIC, DANCE? šµš¶ In a nutshell (because I could totally talk your damn ear off about all this! š¤Ŗ) WORDS is what we verbally say, which is made up of only 7% of our communication. I know, small right? MUSIC is how we say it at 38%, i.e. the tone of our voice. Finally DANCE is our body language, which is 55%. Think about that for a sec. 55% of how you communicate with someone is without even opening up your mouth. š³
Your stomach - or gut - is a very vulnerable part of your body; a lot of vital organs are smooshed up in there, so by placing a hand over it, you're protecting yourself from harm or attack. It's also a similar thing we do when we feel unwell or sick; we rub our tummy to feel better, right? It's an unconscious protecting motion that stems from our primal selves Think of the foetal position; you curl inwards towards your stomach. The abdomen walls contain significant muscles (some vital for our health āš») and we can carry tension in here too, so by 'holding' them or protecting them, we feel at ease within our core and can relax better. (#nerdalert š¤ I love science!)
Some people do it as a means of comfort. Others do it purposefully. Pedro's stance is him possibly trying to rebalance himself. Focus on his breathing and stay grounded in the moments of utter chaos spilling out around him. He also breathes steadily in through his nose, deeply. You can see him do this in various clips, as well as in the one above. His shoulders drop back and you see him relax almost instantly when he does it. Deep breathing is another tactic that is known to keep anyone suffering from anxiety or panic, calm in the moment.
It's incredibly admirable for a man to expose such a personal vulnerability like that, especially in such a public forum. Sadly, mental health is still not a subject that is spoken about or advocated for enough, despite being in the 21st century. We're doing better as a society, but there is still much work to be done. As a man, it can still be seen as very 'unmasculine' or 'weak' to talk about it. So, I really admire Pedro's honesty and the fact that he feels confident enough in himself to recognise that he is just a human being, who sometimes goes through some shit.
Speaking out can only help those, who suffer too, feel validated and that they are not alone. And you're not alone. Anxiety is often stigmatised or not taken seriously, yet it can be terribly debilitating and can cause further issues such as panic attacks and lead to chronic depression if not addressed with help and support.
Pedro has always been open and forthcoming about his own anxiety, and has been quoted in several interviews talking about it, and on his - now deleted - Twitter/X account about how he deals with it.
As someone who has had their fair share of anxiety, I've personally found that meditation has helped me tremendously. š§āāļø Breathing exercises are really helpful and really do work. I use an app called Balance (not sponsored/affiliated with) and for 10 minutes a day (or whenever I need it) I can breathe, focus and come back to myself. I also find that doing something I really love, like reading (smut), or going for a long hike, really helps. Creative hobbies are brilliant for channelling that negative emotion into something positive. Singing off-key in the shower, dancing crazy like a loon - even though my neighbours can probably see me through the window headbanging in my pants š¤š» - painting, drawing, writing, photography, cooking... These are all things I do myself and love, and would encourage you to try, if you're not already.
Hell, even whacking on your fav Pedro movie makes you feel good too, right? Name your favourite Pedro movie in the comments, GO! š¬ Mine's Prospect, d'uh. š
It's said a lot, but hydrating really helps. Drink that water, bishes! š¦ And eat some greens. š„¦š„¬š«š What you put into your body also helps into what you'll get out of it long term. Food is fuel. šŖš»š§ If you eat crap, chances are you're going to feel like crap, capiche?
And I cannot tell you how much a good night's sleep can really turn things around. As a chronic insomniac, sleep can often be the enemy, but it really is vital for your mental wellbeing to rest and switch off for a bit. So put down your phone and get some shut eye. (Ideal time for some hot, mustached Latino man dreams too... š„²)
And failing that, talking to someone about how you feel can also help. šØ A family member, a trusted friend, your cat (personally I'm a dog person š¶ Woof); a Tumblr mutual... My inbox is always open for a chat FYI. You'll never be judged in Jett's place. š¤ I'll make you a figurative cup of green tea. Not literal, I mean, I'm not a fucking miracle worker... āØļøš§āāļø
What was the point of this long-ass ramble, Jett? I know, I hear ya, I hear ya...
So, to anyone out there who feels a tad (or a helluva lot) anxious from time to time, please know that you're not alone. And also remember to stop and take a moment; breathe deeply in through your nose and slowly out through your mouth three times. Do it with me now. One... two... three. There. You good?
And remember, more than anything, that you are more than enough. You're stronger than you think you are. Your anxiety doesn't define you, nor does it control you. It's just a little shit that likes to come out now and again and try to tell you that you suck. You really don't. (Unless your name is Max Phillips š§āāļø) You've got this. Trust me. You've really got this.
And just like the rather fucking awesome Mr Pedro Pascal, you're fucking awesome too, babe. š¤
š¶ for Roman Roy? āØšāØš Love your writing!! š„°
Thank you so much sweetie!! I'm loving all the requests for Roman at the moment :P
Kiss Me / Roman Roy Imagine
Line: 'Silver moon's sparkling / So kiss me'
Writers block is kicking my ass today but I wanted to get this out anyway! Please let me know if you liked it :)
(I do not own Succession or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @ushershiv. Song credit goes to Sixpence None The Richer!)
Warning: strong language and mentions of child abuse!
ā.ć.:ć»Ā°ā.ć.:ć»Ā°
Roman Roy nearly scared the shit out of you as you wandered up the moonlit side streets of the Tuscan town.
Shiv, of course, had left you to fend for yourself in unknown territory by storming out from the hen party before it had even reached ten o'clock, scowling as she impassively kissed her mother's cheeks and went straight back to scrolling through her phone as she became a blot in the distance. You had spent the last half an hour wandering around, peering around the edges of sun-kissed cafes and staring quizzically at dust stained cobbled streets that wound round balconies and down staircases you were sure you'd already been down.
So when you nearly tripped over Roman sitting, looking forlorn, at the bottom of one, you were more than delighted to jump out of your skin.
'Romy, oh thank fuck! My sense of direction was dogshit in America, and it sure as hell seems to be worse in Italy.' You laugh and place a hand to your heart, trying to calm its throbbing as you perch on the bottom of the stone railing. Roman sets down his beer by his feet and stands up, turning his head behind him languidly and trying his best to smile at you. You could tell immediately that something had gone wrong while you were out with Shiv: you knew your childhood best friend too long not to be hyperaware of his idiosyncrasies. His smile didn't reach his eyes, but to Roman, it was a relief: he had found you.
It had only taken his own half an hour of quizzing his sister on the phone and wandering around the Tuscan side-passages - but he had found you. Just as he had throughout his whole childhood; no matter if Roman was climbing up the pipe outside your bedroom window and peering his little goblin head eagerly over the edge of your windowpane when you were teenagers, or him screaming and crying, searching the house for you when he was just a toddler confused about why his daddy wanted to hurt him so much, he always sought you out.
It had infuriated him at first, just because he didn't understand why his heart felt such pangs of weakness. But as Remy grew, he started to relax into it, until he couldnāt remember a time when he was just him, instead of you as well.
And by god, if he wasn't going to ever let you out of his sight again.
His own heart begins to pound like an unbroken slap against the side of his ear as he gives you a once over, his eyes lazily tracing your figure, but plainly lovelorn. 'Well, yeah, thanks for fucking - trying and testing that dumbass doesn't change depending on the continent.' His eye sparkles against the graceful hue of dreaming grey as he smirks, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth to try and choke back the words he's spent his life so desperately trying to claw out.
'Fuck off', you reply, but you're beaming as you say it. Reaching out, you run a hand over his collar and do your best to try and straighten it out. Roman swallows harshly as he feels your knuckles brush as light as a lover's kiss against the pulse point on his neck. The touch is one of familiarity, of intimacy, of an intimate knowledge, of a ritual done over and over and over since you were children. One always reaches out, an olive's branch, a desperate cry, and the other stays stoic in a fear that over the years has been beaten into them.
He wasn't allowed this. He didn't deserve this. Roman Roy wasn't allowed love. Not unless it was callous, and course, and being shoved like poison down his throat by the fisted hand of his father, or being struck across his cheek with a chide for being a naughty puppy.
'So', you start with a furrowed brow and a tremble to your fingers, noticing the way Roman's eyes have begun to cloud a little under the thin sheen of starlight. He only blinks again, guiding his gaze back up to look at you expectantly as you continue. 'What's been going on with you tonight?' You pat his shirt, right between the top button and the start of his chest, not expecting him to sigh languidly at the touch. 'Nothing good, from the looks of it. You finally realising mommy's being taken off the marriage market for good?'
'Oh fuck you' he half-scoffs, but he doesn't move away, too desperate in his attempt to keep your palm as flatly and near to his heart as he can. He chews his bottom lip, trying to figure out in the dank recesses of his mind about how to tell you that you're the only person whose ever held it - the only person he's ever felt comfortable with, the only person he's ever fantasised about kissing, loving, spending every moment of his disgusting life with.
His voice cracks as he continues. 'It's fine. I'm fine, fuck, I just- uh, fuckity fuck me, it's just everything, you know? Like, this deal is looking pretty fucked, and it's like my love child so daddy dearest expects me to be on top of it, and-'. Roman's words die away on the tip of his tongue as he notices how eagerly you're watching him, anticipating every word and looking genuinely heartbroken as they tumble out.
He doesn't know how to process it: someone caring about what he has to say.
'And you know what', he whispers. 'It doesn't actually matter.' He reaches up and takes your hand - grasps it tightly and holds it between his lungs as he breathes you in. 'I don't fucking care, about any of it. That doesn't fucking matter to me.'
The ethereal shine of moon rays blink down sleepily from the clouds, and seem to bathe Roman in a light so innocent, and so dreamlike, that you can't help but latch onto his every syllable as being pure truth. His smile falters, and he shakes his head as he looks down at his feet, playing with the sides of your fingers between his own stout ones.
He never could bear to look at rejection head on. Usually he got by, solely because he could turn and look at one of his siblings instead, and pretend, for a moment, that they actually cared. But on his own? He didn't know how to handle it. So he shirks into himself, flaring his nostrils and trying to hide the tide of overwhelming dread that suffuses over his body and turns his neck a sheepish, splotchy crimson.
'Remy, where's this coming from? You've always wanted to be under daddy's heel-'
You're broken off by the sound of Roman's dress shoe stepping forward and the feel of something... strange? Against your lips? You try to take a step back, but an arm winds its way around your waist, as light as a feather but with a bark harsh enough to keep the bottom of your feet on the ground. It takes you a further moment to understand that the pressure that left, and then seemed to return with twice fold the intensity to your mouth, was Roman's itching, scared lips doing their best to caress your own. He's bleary eyed when he finally dares to open them, and it breaks your heart to see how vulnerable, how child like he looks in his fear. As you kiss him again, you didn't mind the tears that slide down his cheeks, a mixture of sadness and new joy mingling. He shakes his head slightly at the way he moans wishfully, latching onto you like a tired puppy as he follows your lips with his shivering body.
To the poor Tuscan locals, the two of you must have looked quite the state: two people, so obviously head over heels in love, kissing each other as if they'd never be granted another chance. As if this final pocket of happiness might tumble away once they wake up back into the real world. As if being so in love might be the destruction of them both.
SOMETHING INFINITE ā¢Ā PART ONE
M A Y B E T H E W O R L D W O N ' T E N D
2.8K ā part one of something infiniteĀ ā steve steals a car and somehow you wind up in hawkins, indiana, a meet cute without the cuteĀ *18+ onlyĀ | (Ā 2.8k, angst, verbal abuse, enemies to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader āĀ find the rest of the series and more here and find the series playlist on spotify here )
J U N E 1 9 8 7
š¶ the rat, the walkmenĀ
āCāmon Harrington, donāt be a pussy, get in.ā
āShit, hurry up Tommy!ā
āShut up, Iām going!ā
With two wires held tightly between his fingers, Tommy Hagan quickly brushed them together until the old Chevy Blazer rumbled to life, Lynyrd Skynardās Call Me the Breeze screaming through the speakers.
Well now, they call me the breeze, I keep blowin' down the road! I ain't got me nobody, I don't carry me no load!
āFuck yeah, get it in drive!ā
Steve didnāt know how he ended up there in the passenger seat of an about-to-be-stolen car āĀ sheriffās car to be exact āĀ and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest as Tommy struggled to shift it into gear. His hands gripped the dash in front of him as he watched a light come on inside the house, āJesus, Tommy, fucking move!ā
āIām trying, god damn gear shift is stuck!ā
It was the hundredth weekend in a row, Steve was certain, that his parents were out of town on business and the fight heād had with his dad that night had been a real crowning achievement. The worst of all time and something in him snapped. All he wanted now was to feel something. Anything. And it was barreling toward him like a train off the rails.
āHEY, YOU LITTLE ASSHOLES! GET THE HELL OUT OF MY TRUCK!ā
āOh shit, we gotta go, we gotta go!ā
āFucking bail!ā
The screen door on the front of Hopperās house flung open so hard the whole frame shook as it slammed shut behind him.
āGet outta here, meet back at my place!ā Kyle and Tommy jumped out of the car so fast Steve didnāt have any time to think.
āShit, shit shit shit,ā scrambling, Steveās hand fumbled on the door handle as he shoved it open, scraping his leg against the runner board on his way down. Hair messed and wild in his eyes, he looked up to see his friends were already over the fence and sprinting toward the tree line behind Hopperās place, āWait!ā
Not bothering to close the door behind him, Steve tried to pick up a sprint, but a large hand half-shoved, half-grabbed the back of his neck and within seconds he was face down in the lawn with a mouth full of grass and dirt, Hopās weight pressing him into the ground.
āYou little shits think youāre so clever. Well, sāthe last time you fuck with Hopper, hm?ā
It was dark, the summer night thick and warm when you arrived at your auntās place in Hawkins. Nothing like Indianapolis. The moon hung high in the inky black sky, stars blinking above you like holes poked through canvas, and the sound of crickets and frogs off over the fence was almost deafening. No ambulance sirens, no yelling, no loud music in the apartment above you. Your stomach sank. What was this place?
āThe real armpit of America, hm?ā the cab driver said tossing your bag and skateboard at your feet as if he could hear your apprehension, wiping sweat from his forehead. You gave him a look, almost pleading to let you come back to the city with him, but he was already climbing back into the car. Rolling down the passenger window he leaned over and tipped his ball cap at you with a laugh, āEnjoy!ā And with a rumble he was off down the road you came, dust kicking up around the wheels as he went.
Fuck, you muttered squeezing your eyes shut, hoping maybe if you clicked your heels together youād magically appear back in your room like Dorothy. The whole summer. Thatās how long youād be stuck in this place. Until your mom was back, and in that moment you wished youād asked to stay with your grandmother. Anywhere was better than this.
āYouāre here! Oh, youāre here!ā
Your eyes flew open at the sound of a voice you hadnāt heard in years and you were suddenly wrapped up into a big hug. It was all cinnamon and fresh laundry and cut grass and so soft. So warm. Your aunt Joyce.
āHoney, youāre so tall! My gosh, I donāt think Iāve seen you sinceā¦canāt be since ā77 can it? Here, Hop will get those, come on inside,ā with a gentle hand on your back she guided you to the door, leaving your things where they were for whoever this Hop was. āI just made dinner,ā Joyce gave you a big smile, her shoulders squeezing up toward her ears with excitement, and you wondered for a second if maybe it wouldnāt be that bad.
She was so different from your mom, her sister, so much softer around the edges, fuzzy and sparkling and bright. The look she gave you made your heart ache a little, like she really loved you, and a small lump rose in your throat as you tried to smile back.
āOh, Hop, grab those will you?ā
As the screen door creaked open you came face to face with what could only described as the human version of a grizzly bear. Tall, frame like a fridge and gruff, but oddly soft under all the grit like your aunt. He grunted a reply and held the door for you both, muttering a Hey, kid, to you on the way by before going to grab your things.
Your auntās place was modest, but so homey and comforting somehow. The living room was smaller, with a little television in the corner, and it bled right into the dining room and kitchen. Open, just like your aunt.
Family photos hung along the walls, you recognized your cousins Will and Jonathan, but there was a girl now too. And Hop. And tons of other kids you didnāt recognize. All grinning and laughing and piled on each other or hanging out the bed of a pickup or floating lazy in a lake.
āWill and Jonathan are out with their friends, not sure when theyāll be backā¦ā your auntās voice brought you back, āAre you hungry?ā
āActually, Iām sorry, Iām just pretty tired andāā
āOh, of course you are! Thatās okay, sweetie. Your roomās the third door on the right, Hopās got your things in there, and the bathroom is the first door on the left. Iāll be out here if you need anything, okay?ā she gave your arm a gentle squeeze and for the first time in a long time you felt your lips curve up into a small, genuine smile, murmuring your thanks.
Turning to walk down the hall you looked back to see Hop settle into the big, brown arm chair with a beer in hand as your aunt climbed up onto his lap. She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, fitting perfectly there with him. Hop rumbled a contented sound as he wrapped an arm around her and pressed his own kiss to her forehead.
Happy. Loving. A proper display of affection. Nothing like home.
Closing the door to your room you didnāt bother unpacking and flicked the light off before falling onto the neatly made bed. Hawkins, Indiana. Crickets and frogs and wheat fields and dirt roads and hot and thick all summer long. Your eyes slipped shut and the lump came back to your throat as you rolled onto your side.
Itās only three months. Itās only three months.
The words looped in your head on repeat as you curled into yourself, exhaustion slowly wrapping around you until you fell away into sleep.
āGot some real shitty friends there, huh?ā
Steveās arms were folded tight over his chest as he glared at Hopper from across the big desk. Tommy and Kyle had made it over the fence and home, because of course they fucking did, and he was here getting an ear full of shit he already knew.
Hop took a long drag from his cigarette and tapped it on the ashtray. Leaning back in his chair he blew smoke up toward the ceiling, not bothering to look at the kid across from him, āSuppose you think youāre gonna get off easy, right? Mommy and daddy come in here and cut me some check, let little Stevie go home, lesson learned.ā
āThey donāt even know Iām hereāā
āShut up, my turn to talk,ā Hop snapped, cutting Steve off as he spun in his chair to lean on the desk. He fixed the boy with a look that shut his mouth right quick. Sucking on his teeth the sheriff shook his head. āYouāre all the same. Entitled little assholes,ā he hummed in thought, āSame goes for your buddies, Hagan and Peterson, right? Yeah. Well. They ran faster than you, unfortunately.ā
Steve let out a heavy sigh and jammed his tongue into his cheek, fighting the urge to snap back at the older man, knowing damn well he was already in for it as it was, āJesus, can we just get this over with?ā
āOh, Iām sorry. Got somewhere to be, Harrington?ā Hopper sniped, taking another drag, this time blowing the smoke into Steveās face. āYouāre lucky, I donāt feel like looking at your face anymore,ā putting out his cigarette, Hop stood from the desk and snatched up the pile of paperwork in front of him. āCommunity service oughta do it. Fifteen hours a week all summer at the library, weekends off.ā
āFifteen?? Thatās crazy, how am I supposed toāā
āKeep runninā your mouth and Iāll make it thirty!ā Hop rounded on Steve, leaning down to get in the boyās face and meet his eye line.
Steveās chest was heaving as he sucked in air, struggling to keep himself in check as his heart pounded against his ribcage. Hopper shot him a grin.
āPerfect. See you Monday, champ,ā he clapped Steve on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward, Asshole, muttered under the younger boyās breath.
Hop didnāt bother to wait as he walked out of his office and down the steps of the police station. Steve watched through the blinds with balled up fists as the sheriff climbed into his rig and rolled out onto the street.
āDo you need something, hon? Jim wonāt be coming back todayā¦ā the receptionist called in after him and Steve turned to kick the leg of the chair heād been sitting in.
āNo, justā no,ā Steve grumbled and followed the same path Hopper had out into the hot, sticky summer heat, chucks smacking against the pavement as he started the walk home.
His parents didnāt know heād tried to steal a car, didnāt know he went out drinking, didnāt know how much he longed for their approval, their affection, and didnāt know he was saddled with three months of community service for the rest of the summer.
The last time heād talked to his dad was the night heād gone to Tommyās, begging to do something āĀ something reckless. It had hardly been a conversation, Steve and his father at each otherās throats, yelling until they were both red in the face and saying things that couldnāt be taken back.
āYou couldnāt even get into a trade program, Steven! What in the hell am I supposed to do with you??ā
"I tried, dad! Do you know how many applications I sentāā
āI donāt give a shit, weāre done. Youāll start at the firm in September.ā
āDad, I donāt wantāā
āIt doesnāt matter what you want anymore, son. If youāre gonna amount to anything in life itās obvious I need to step in.ā
Steveās breath caught in his throat as his fatherās words ran on a loop in his head.
If youāre going to amount to anything in life. If youāre going to amount to anything in life. If youāre going to amount to anything in life.
The corners of Steveās eyes prickled with tears, but he threw his gaze up to the ceiling and hastily blinked them away. Finally it was out. What his dad really thought of him. And it hurt more than he wanted to admit. āI donāt need your help,ā the boy snapped, turning back around to look his dad in the eyes. Heat rose in his chest, flames crackling and roaring to life, a fire heād tried to contain all these years, but his fatherās words were like gasoline and it was hot and angry now.
āYeah? And whoās gonna hire a kid out of high school with shit for grades, huh? The only thing on your resume is a damn ice cream shop and video rentals and the real world doesnāt care about basketball or popularity contests, Steven.ā
āStop calling me that!ā
āGary, just drop itāā
āQuiet, Carol! He needs to hear this. No one else seems to be able get it to sink in. You wanna be a real man, Steven? Take care of a family, huh? A wife? Get your shit together.ā
āTake care of a family?? Are you kidding?ā Steve was laughing, but there were tears streaming down his cheeks now as he slammed the chair heād been gripping onto into the dining room table, āYouāre never home, you donāt give a shit about me.ā
āWatch your mouth! Ungrateful. I told you Carol. Doesnāt appreciate anything I do for himāā
āI canāt,ā Steve threw his hands up as if to shield himself from the words his father was hurling at him, voice thick as he hissed through his tears. Snatching his keys from the hook next to his mom he knew he couldnāt be there anymore.
āSteve, your father doesnāt mean itāā
āI do mean it! Donāt you walk away from me, boy, weāre not done here! Iāve got a flight in the morning andāā
āYeah? Well gee, dad, have a great trip!ā Steve snapped, slamming the door behind him as he left. The tears came more freely then as the hot, sticky summer air hit him, thick and suffocating and too warm. He cranked his BMW to life, speakers screaming as he turned up the volume, and backed out of the drive before ripping down the street toward Tommyās to steal Jim Hopperās rig.
Paying no attention to where he was walking, Steve let muscle memory guide him down main street. A light sheen of sweat was clinging to his forehead and brows as the sun beat down on him and his anger faded with each step in the heat. Tommy and Kyle were going to give him so much shit for his community service stint, Steve could already hear them laughing, and he toed a rock into the road. A muttered dammit came forth, eyes still on the ground, but then someone was shouting at him.
āHey! Watch out!ā
Eyes wide, the boy standing in the middle of the sidewalk clearly wasnāt going to move, so you angled your board into the grass and jumped off, hands flying up to grab fistfuls of his shirt as your feet hit the concrete.
āShit!ā he yelped, his own hands grabbing onto to your arms. You stood like that for a moment as if to make sure you were both okay, but then the boy was letting go and pushing himself away from you, threading his fingers through his hair to try and regain his composure. āWatch where youāre going,ā he sniped, tone packing more heat than heād intended.
You scoffed. āWhere Iām going?ā crossing your arms over your chest you fixed him with a look, āIām not the one with my eyes glued to the pavement.ā Bending down to grab your board, you tucked it under your arm and glared. He was taller than you by at least a few inches, moles chasing along his jaw and cheeks, hazel colored hair messy across his forehead and eyes all warm honey and burnt caramel. He might have been pretty if not for the scowl on his face.
āPedestrians get the right of way,ā he sniped, throwing an arm out toward your skateboard.
āOkay,ā huffing a laugh you shouldered past him, but he caught your hand.
āHey! Where are you going? Shouldnāt you apologize?ā
āIām so sorry,ā your voice was sugar and saccharine sweet, but it didnāt match the look on your face as you tossed your board to the ground, āDonāt get run over!ā
āOh nice, really nice!ā he yelled after you, and when you glanced over your shoulder to give a wave you laughed at the sight of him. All worked up, hand on his hip, lips twisted into a frown and hair caught up in the heat.
āThe nicest!ā you called and with a few kicks off the pavement you were gone around the corner toward the gas station for a blue-raspberry Icee, leaving Steve there cursing on the sidewalk with an infuriating curiosity as to who had almost run him over.
SOMETHING INFINITE SYNOPSIS: hawkins, indiana, 1987 āĀ your mom is out of town for the summer on business and she sends you to live with your aunt joyce and her husband jim in hawkins while sheās gone. joyce works at the library and jim is the town sheriff ā the kids, will, jonathan and el slowly warm up to you and itās after you get in with them that you really start to feel at home, but thereās one person who just annoys you to no end. one person youād love to just boot off a cliff āĀ steve fucking harrington.
ā„ļø find the rest of the series and more here and find the series playlist on spotify here.
i know everyone has an opinion but to me Buck n Steve are both gay canonically.
it's deeper than memes to me, but to use memes: every version Steve ends up being that "maybe a man hurts every woman in his life because his real soulmate is a man šš¾ " meme, and Bucky.. admitedly all Buckys are believable as bi, but to me he only dates women to prove he can pull them and would only go the Lavender Marriage route as gal pal #ally Bucky Barnes š
now if marvel truly had the vision, they'd let Steve come out of his centuries' worth of repression and š¤be who you areš¶šµ and let himself be a little fruity when the occasion calls for it. occasions including, hanging out with the other gays, or when the public is scandalized by papparazzi pics of Steve Rogers being a homo so he, being uncompromising and even contrarian at times, starts purposefully acting zestier and zestier whenever he spots the paps trying to get pictures of him.
I can see it.
(I have a looong long meta here on why I, especially, cannot Steve as any kind of w-attracted, in fact! To the surprise of no one, lol.)
Bucky to me seems like he has more of an aesthetic appreciation of women. (Like, if one of them was ever going to have a drag persona? Bucky) He seems more motivated to be gallant and polite to them than Steve, whether or not he is attracted to them. He will dutifully perform comphet for women, in situations where it would be expected (and thus to not do it, in his day, would be tantamount to an insult??). Whereas Steve won't even bother lol. He'll just assiduously avoid those circumstances altogether, and only relax around women when the context is strictly familial/platonic/work-related.
(Plus, y'know, Bucky had sisters, and ofc his hobby of dancing literally requires a woman, back then, so he'd need a gal in his life in order to access that particular channel of joy, safely.)
Steve however is the type to be pretty masc when he's just chillin, but the second he gets the merest whiff of homophobia that Lil Shit Mode activates and he becomes Captain America: āØCamp IconāØ.
Would attend drag brunches, Pride parades (shirtless but with his shield harness), derail a pundit interview trying to imply the 'good old days' were better to talk about the time he was gay-bashed by the troops literally the same day as rescuing the 107, would own a set of pastel 'QUEER AS IN FUCK YOU' t shirts and wear them out to places he knows the paps will try to snatch a picture of him, would re-enact his 'lifting up chorus girls on a motorcycle' stunt with trans women, do a physique calendar w/ trans men for queer charities, etc etc etc.
And if anyone tried to micro-aggressively sneer at beefy Bucky for, eg. having prettily-braided hair or wearing pastels? Oof, they better hope Steve isn't within fuckin earshot.
āFairy tales do not tell children that dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children that dragons can be killed.ā -G.K. Chesterton
ā”ļøHey! I'm Sparky or Blaze or any number of nicknames you wanna give me, I'm not really particular
š³ļøāā§ļøMy pronouns are he/they/it, but idrc as long as you don't call me she/her
ā18+
šš¼Writing, math, escape rooms, logic puzzles, movies, youtube, Dr. Pepper (I have an addiction to the stuff)
šš¼Rootbeer, bugs, slimy things, loud noises, crowds, going out in public, getting wet
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š«DNI: TERFs, -phobes, racists, anti-, yk this list could go on forever just don't be an asshole
šŖFandoms: Newsies (1992, Live, and UKsies), Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, My Hero Academia, Haikyu!!, Sk8 the Infinity, Hamilton, In the Heights, Heathers, Be More Chill, Six, 21 Chump Street, Legally Blonde the Musical, Mean Girls the Musical, 9-1-1, West Side Story, Cats the Musical
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š¶Favorite music: Age of Madness, Newsies, In the Heights, Alec Benjamin, DCOM soundtracks
š£ļøCharacters I can and will talk about for hours: Any newsie (but especially Albert, Elmer, Jack, Davey, Les, Mush, the Delanceys), Peter Pettigrew, Severus Snape, Sturgis Podmore, Pandora Lovegood, Leo Valdez, Luke Castellan, Frank Zhang, Dabi, Shoto Todoroki, Iwaizumi Hajime, Nishinoya Yuu, Kojiro Nanjo (Joe), John Laurens, Pip Hamilton, Usnavi, Benny, JD, Heather Chandler, Michael Mell, Katherine Howard, Anne of Cleves, Justin Laboy, Emmett Forrest, Janis, Christopher Diaz, Athena Grant, Mouthpiece, Balkan, Baby John, Pouncival, Tumblebrutus, Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer
šļøRelationships you couldn't get me to stop talking about if you tried: Spralbert, Javey, Blush, Pink Flowerpatch, Xenora, Percabeth, Frazel, Hot Wings, MatchaBlossom, Lams, Boyf Riends, Buddie