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heartpascal · 1 year

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weight too heavy to hold alone

▹— joel miller x platonic!reader

▹— summary: joel’s life in jackson is much more complicated than he thought it would be

▹— a/n: HEY. im not back just yet but thought i’d drop in to give yall this idk!! just something ive been working on between revision yk. hope you enjoy!

▹— warnings: angst, references to death of a child, references to past trauma (very brief, very vague reference, barely there), comparisons to dead daughter (but IS written as gender neutral i think, just behaviour wise), feeling unwanted and unloved

▹— tags: @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915 @erensloveinterest @dazedshoon @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @sleepygraves @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @ilybbg @rvjaa @oliest19xx @pedropepsi @sunflowersdrop @truthfuleeyours

MASTERLIST

howl’s song recs

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It was meant to be a temporary thing, that was what Tommy had told Joel. It was the whole reason he had agreed, the whole reason he had relented to having you in his new home, sharing a room with Ellie just down the hall from his own.

Joel should’ve known, really. His and his brother’s versions of temporary were incredibly different, much like night and day, water and oil, hot and cold. Where Joel’s idea of temporary was a few days, at most, Tommy’s was, apparently, a couple of months. But what could he do? You were already here, already settled in on your side of Ellie’s room, with a mattress upon the floor and the bag filled with your things set beside it.

The first few days, Joel had been so on edge he couldn’t sleep, waiting for the moment Ellie made a peep, made the slightest inclination of being uncomfortable in your presence. He was half waiting for you to full-blown attack the two of them, after all, it wouldn’t have been the first time such things had happened to him and Ellie.

But you never did.

Your presence eventually became so… quiet that it was unnoticeable. You would leave the house before Joel and Ellie even thought about waking up, and would only return when they were either busy eating dinner, or already fast asleep in bed. It seemed like you did your absolute best to avoid the two of them.

It was only when he jumped up from his dozing, hearing the faint murmur of Ellie’s voice down the hall, that he clocked on to your presence again. Perhaps it was wrong, morally, for Joel to have crept down the hallway, shiv clutched in an untrusting hand, but who could’ve blamed him? He had done everything in his power to protect Ellie for a long time, by then. And he’d agree that you were young, that he was too harsh, but he’d already lost a daughter once. He wasn’t keen to go through that again.

The shared laughter was what stopped his hand from reaching towards the doorknob. It was quiet, and suddenly Joel was back in his thirties, listening to Sarah and her friends snicker and whisper in her bedroom, the door slightly ajar just to appease him. It had been nearing midnight, back then, Sarah’s birthday coming to a close, and it had also been the first time he had allowed her to have girls and boys over.

He blinked, and came back to the reality of where he was, of what he was holding, of who was on the other side of the door. Joel had only listened for a moment longer, another shared giggle making the tension slide from his shoulders, and it wasn’t long before he was back in his own room, door ajar, shoving the shiv underneath flannels in a shoddy chest of drawers.

Joel could remember that it wasn’t too long after that night that you had joined him and Ellie for dinner, for the very first time. It had been an awkward affair, and it reminded him of the first few times he and Ellie had shared a proper meal together in their new home. You were vaguely uncomfortable the entire time, shooting Ellie looks that you didn’t know he had noticed. Her only response was a snicker, though Joel would’ve guessed from the thunk underneath the table that you had placed a well-aimed kick against her shin.

Still, after dinner, you spoke to him for one of the first times. There had been the introduction when Tommy had brought you over, of course, but this was willing on your end. “Thank you,” You had told him, though didn’t make eye contact. “For dinner, and well, yeah.”

He had nodded at you, a tense smile on his lips, but it was a friendly gesture. Or, as friendly of a gesture as Joel could muster. He remembers the way you had scurried up the stairs almost immediately after, having stuck around only to help clean up and give your thanks.

You started joining them for dinner more after that, though Joel had the suspicion that the first half a dozen times were at Ellie’s command. But with time, and some patience, you warmed up to him just as you had to Ellie. You spoke more, asked more questions, even cracked a few jokes that he was sure you had gotten from one of Ellie’s books. It surprised him how… relieved he was to see the break in your awkwardness.

It had been the first time Joel had seen you with Tommy outside of when he had dropped you at his and Ellie’s that he realised you had a lot more warming up to do than he had thought. There you were, walking at Tommy’s side, chatting animatedly, hands flying around in gestures, face lit up like Joel had never seen before, and all the while Tommy only shook his head, fond smile on his face. There was a certain warmth on Tommy’s face that Joel had only seen when his little brother had been looking at his newborn child, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he had dropped you off at Joel’s if he felt that way? If he saw you as his own?

He tried to ask him those very questions more than once, but each time he found himself somewhat afraid of the answer he’d receive. Joel knew his little brother had always looked up to him, after all, that tends to happen when you practically raise the kid, but after everything… Joel found that he didn’t think he could live up to Tommy’s expectations of him any longer. Maybe, even if Joel would never admit it out loud, he didn’t want to see Tommy realise he couldn’t live up to the idealised version of himself his little brother saw him as.

It was already hard enough with having Ellie — the weight of everything he had lied to her about was tangible, an iron fence putting distance between the two of them. He tried to ignore it. Ellie did, too, but the truth was that she had lost some amount of trust in him. He saw it in the crease of her brows when they spoke, the slant of her lips when he left for patrol, hell — even in the way her gaze changed when she looked at him. It was like she saw somebody she didn’t quite recognise.

Joel felt like he was fighting a losing battle. He’d steel himself before dinners, he’d harden his features before coming home from patrols, he’d even lock himself in his little studio. And yet each time he saw you, there was an unmistakeable softness brought to his features, reminiscent of how it felt to look at Ellie. Each time you would come to him for help, he’d remind himself that he couldn’t be the person that everybody needed him to be. He’d remind himself that he would never — could never — be the person you so clearly wanted him to be.

Because it was more than obvious. Joel wasn’t blind, even if his sight wasn’t what it used to be. He could see it in the way you looked to him for help, in the way you’d heed his advice like you never doubted he could be wrong about something. It was clear in the way you looked at him, like he had the ability to carve the world into whatever he desired, like he possessed a strength you didn’t. You looked at him as if he could save you, and the truth was that Joel couldn’t even save himself.

He was an old man, a foolish man. Joel drowned in guilt he had brought upon himself, liquid a kind of heaviness that settled into his aged lungs. When he looked at you, he saw Sarah. He saw the resemblance in the way the both of you looked out for him — where Sarah had often cooked breakfast, you scraped together some form of dinner when he was on a late patrol, where Sarah had forced vitamin-rich drinks into his hand, you placed painkillers — that must’ve cost a fortune to trade for — on the kitchen counter when he hurt his knee on a patrol. He saw it in the way you looked up to him, the way you believed in him, and it’s like a mirror image of the night his life went to ruin. A reflection of his daughter dying in his arms each time you looked to him for safety.

What could he provide? What could Joel provide that Tommy couldn’t? Hell — that anybody couldn’t? Perhaps, he wondered, the guarantee of disappointment.

“So,” Tommy started one night, sat by his side at the small bar in town, eyebrows raised as he held a glass of twenty-two year old bourbon. “How’s life with the kid? Handlin’ two kids?”

Joel vividly remembers his response, despite his lowered tolerance for alcohol and the multitude of glasses he’d had that night. “You ever gonna get that kid a new place? Not my responsibility to look after your goddamn strays, y’know.” His voice had been gruff, harsh. He thinks, looking back on it, that it digs the pit of regret in his stomach deeper.

“They givin’ you trouble, or something?” Tommy had asked, all furrowed eyebrows then, an expression of something close to disbelief on his face. “Been a good kid, as long as I’ve known ‘em.”

“They’re a good kid, alright, just not my kid.” Joel had replied, scornfully. It was a low blow, he knew now, but he could remember the pounding in his chest, blood rushing through his ears, when he heard you yell out one night. It had been a bad dream, not that you’d admit to it, but Joel was familiar. He could’ve sworn his heart was going to stop that night, the way adrenaline rushed through him, the way he had leaped from his bed as if expecting to have to defend you and Ellie from an onslaught of attackers.

Tommy scoffed in response, and he had averted his eyes, looking away from his older brother as he took a sip of the alcohol that was warming his veins. “Y’know what? I’ll get ‘em a new place, and when it breaks their goddamn heart, I’ll let ‘em know the reason why you wanted them out. Not my kid.” Tommy had shaken his head, and had bid him goodnight soon after. Joel remembers drowning the sting the conversation left him with using decades-old booze.

Now, Joel can pretty confidently say that Tommy hadn’t been looking to get you a new place until that conversation. It wasn’t more than a few weeks after that that you came home with a frown marred across your face, returning much later from canteen-duty than usual. He had been walking to the hall to grab his boots when you had gotten in.

Your expression had only deepened further as you practically stomped into the house, kicking your unlaced boots off in the hallway. “You alright, kiddo?” Joel had asked, brows creased, and he remembers the way the movement reminded him of his younger brother.

“’M fine.” You had muttered out, all stormy expression and blunt words. Joel only tilted his head at you. “Tommy stopped by, said they’re gettin’ me a new place across town. Nearby the school.” You had told him, and your expression was almost hopeful as you waited for his response.

“Oh,” Joel had uttered, expression blank for a moment as he nodded his head, almost mindlessly. “Well, that’s good, right?” He responded, eyes studying you almost cautiously. If he hadn’t been looking, he probably would’ve missed the way your face dropped at his response, as if you had been hoping for him to say something else. Instead, you had let out a quiet scoff, before stomping away with a ‘sure’ said lamely back to him. Joel had looked after you, face plastered with confusion, but his mind had known, even back then, the reason for your disdain. Instead of going after you, of saying anything more on the matter, Joel had foolishly just wiped a hand across his face, and had murmured, “Teenagers.”

For the days after that, you seemed withdrawn but hopeful, as if Joel would finally voice what you had been waiting to hear. He didn’t see much of Ellie, who had made more friends her own age, including some girls named Dina and Cat. Apparently, you weren’t in on that friendship. Which had left you at the house with him, the crease between your brows getting deeper each time things remained silent.

Still, Joel was firm. This was what was meant to happen all along. You were never meant to be a permanent fixture of their lives.

So when the day was finally upon them, Joel accompanied you and his younger brother to your new place, carrying your backpack over one of his shoulders. He had tried to ignore the itchy, uncomfortable feeling in his chest.

“It’s a nice place.” Joel had commented, when the silence stretched for far too long, looking around the studio-like bungalow. It was a converted garage, much like what Ellie was going to have in his back yard, whenever the team could help Joel finish converting it. He was almost surprised when Tommy brought them here, however. For whatever reason, Joel hadn’t thought about the fact that you’d be living alone.

“Yeah, it’s great.” You responded flatly, picking at the cover on what was meant to be your new bed almost absently. Joel dropped your backpack beside the door, nodding his head as he took it all in. You tried not to scoff. “You know Joel, I think it’d be better for me to settle in. Alone.” You said, voice just a step away from miserable, expression blank as you looked at him, at the way he nodded his head, seemingly resigned to this conclusion.

“Sure thing, kid.” Joel sighed out, looking back in when he was stood in the doorway. He tapped his knuckles against the doorframe, opening his mouth to say something, but stopping before anything came out. Instead, he had just nodded, leaving with his hands in his pockets.

He returned to a quiet house, Ellie once again somewhere in town with Dina and Cat, having missed your moving day. Joel quickly found that the silence, the emptiness in the house, was uncomfortable. He hadn’t truly realised just how used to your presence he had gotten. Still, this was for the best. Joel didn’t need another kid on his hands. He’d failed more than once, and that was telling enough. He still couldn’t figure out why Tommy had brought you to him in the first place!

Joel didn’t see you for two days afterwards, though he had asked about you, cornering Tommy and demanding to know how you were settling in. It was unsettling when Tommy had only shrugged, expression harsh and unforgiving.

When he finally did see you again, it was at the Tipsy Bison, where he was sipping at amber liquid, waiting for his younger brother to finish talking to someone down the other end of the bar. “Joel!” You called out, immediately drawing his attention. He stood from the stool he had been sat on, brows creased in concern, drink abandoned on the wooden bar top.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asked, confused and concerned all at once.

“No!” You yelled immediately, seemingly outraged by his question, your features practically collapsing in on themselves. You pointed an accusatory finger at him, and he didn’t miss the way your hands trembled. “You asked them to move me!” You accused, and Joel quickly realised that this was the first time he had seen you outwardly upset. Every other time, your expression had been made of stone, voice cautiously flat. Now, here, your features were like clay, looking as if you had reshaped them over and over, trying to resist the slant of sadness that took over them. There was a distinctive gloss across your eyes, shining and trembling as you tried to force the tears away. “Admit it, Joel! You wanted me gone and you didn’t have the guts to tell me.”

Joel sighed, rubbing his fingers across his brows, pinching at the bridge of his nose. He glared across the bar at where Tommy was observing, false innocence on his face. He was quick to notice that Tommy wasn’t the only one watching, eyes on the two of you as you waited for his response expectantly. “Kid, it was always a temporary thing. You knew that.” He said, hands on his hips as he shifted his stance.

Clearly, that wasn’t the response you wanted to hear, your features falling further, crumpling downwards, and Joel frowned. “It’s not fair.” You said, voice breaking off halfway through, and you swiped your sleeve across your nose, rubbing tears away from your eyes with your fingertips.

“Life ain’t fair, kid, that’s the truth of it.” Joel responded, looking at your face as if your expression held answers to a question he hadn’t asked. “I’m sorry. But you got your own life now, your own place, you can live however you want. Doesn’t sound like a bad deal to me.”

“I don’t want any of it.” You told him, brows furrowed, the crease between them so deep that Joel was sure it was going to become a permanent fixture of your face. His own frown deepened when you blinked and tears marred your cheeks. “It’s not fair,” You repeated, hand outstretched as if you were reaching for him. “Why do I have to be alone?” You asked, and Joel’s face fell, clearly not expecting that question.

Tommy chose that moment to intervene, stepping in between you and Joel, glancing back at his older brother before focusing his full attention on you. He murmured words that Joel could only presume were reassurance. Joel noticed Tommy’s guiding hand on your shoulder as he led you out of the bar, neither of you glancing back. He ignored the stares on him as he turned back to the bar, finished his drink, and left, going home.

He encountered the two of you just down the street, sharing quiet words that seemed harsh even from a distance. Joel thought about turning back, but found himself approaching cautiously.

“Everythin’ alright?” Joel repeated his earlier question, hands outstretched when the two of you turned to him, the setting sun throwing a shade of orange across both of your faces. You openly glared at him, eyes squinted in a show of unrelenting anger, or maybe, more accurately, hurt.

“Go back inside, Joel.” Tommy told him, sounding nothing short of exasperated between dealing with you and dealing with Joel. He sounded tired, too. “Better yet, go home!”

“Listen,” Joel sighed, trying to reach some form of a truce. You cut him off when he opened his mouth to continue.

“No, Joel, Tommy’s right. Go home. I’ve heard enough.” You said, almost scoldingly, and Joel felt as if he was talking to Sarah again, as if it was her telling him off for something. He tried not to think of that last night, of the cake he’d forgotten, of the watch she’d gifted him, but a glance down it said watch reminded him of his failures. “I’m not your kid, remember?” You reminded him, throwing the words he’d said to his brother back in his face. At least this time, Tommy had the idea to look somewhat guilty for telling you that tidbit of information.

Joel frowned at you, cursing himself for his past words. He didn’t want to hurt you. Hell, that was the whole reason he wanted you gone! Joel was trying to protect you from him, from his inevitable failure. He had never really considered that perhaps this was his failure, that perhaps isolating you to a garage apartment on the other side of town was him failing you.

You stared at him, feeling that bricked up wall around your heart reforming, a promise in the back of your mind forming, a promise that said you wouldn’t let yourself be hurt again. “Go home.” You repeated, the words bitter on your tongue, a thought so sharp in your mind appearing that you physically flinched. Why couldn’t Joel understand? He was the only semblance of home you’d ever had, and he had taken that way from you. You thought that for once, you had found somewhere that you belonged, that you had found people who wanted you around, but you were wrong. Nobody wanted you around. At least that much was clear, at least you could be sure about that one thing.

When you had gone to Tommy all those months ago, your chest empty, tears staining your face, you hadn’t trusted his promise that Joel and Ellie would be good for you. You had been so determined to prove him wrong that you had avoided them, had fled the house more than once just to stay away from the two of them. It was horrible, at the start, it was suffocating. Living in a home that wasn’t yours, intruding on a father who wasn’t your own, a daughter who could never be your sister. To begin with, it had been the most isolated you had ever felt.

Up until that night that it all changed, where you and Ellie had laughed until you cried, sharing jokes and stories just to make one another laugh. It had taken a deeper turn from there, to sharing your experiences in the world that strived to end you. You told Ellie things that you had never told anyone, not even Tommy, certainly not Joel, and she had trusted you with things from her journey with Joel in return. Her voice was coloured with warmth when she spoke of him, though it got more despondent when she got to more recent events. Still, it was that very warmth that eventually caused you to relent to her dinner requests.

And then, finally, you had taken to joining them for dinner without being prompted.

You can remember speaking to Tommy about the two of them, about how things had started looking up, about how he may have been right about Joel and Ellie being good for you. Hell, you can remember seeing Joel from the corner of your eye as you told Tommy about becoming closer to Ellie, about a story she had told you.

Now, you wish Tommy would’ve just left you in the state you were pre-Joel and Ellie, because it would have been better than this. It was an all-encompassing ache that surpassed being purely physical. It bled poison deep into your soul, like acid crumbling the pieces of happiness that had begun to sew back together. It hurt. At least before, you knew that the pain wasn’t your fault, that it couldn’t have been. This pain, however, came from your very roots. You had been unequivocally you whilst with Joel and Ellie, and it had come back to bite you. You can’t help but wonder if, just maybe, you had kept to yourself, if you hadn’t immersed yourself in a life that didn’t belong to you, you would’ve avoided this pain. Because the reason Joel kicked you out was because it was you. That was the only explanation. After all, he kept Ellie around, and she wasn’t his kid in the same way you weren’t.

“Kid…”

“I’m not your kid, Joel. Go home and leave me alone. I don’t wanna say it again.” You responded, firm, voice bordering on trembling. Joel watched, with some amount of confusion, as you turned to Tommy, bearing your teeth at him like it would push him away. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you.”

Tommy flinched as if the words were a physical blow, and you missed the betrayed look he gave Joel as you stormed away, walking with purpose towards your garage apartment, where you lived alone. Always alone. From this experience, you could safely say you were ready for it to stay that way.

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sirpseudonymphoapish · 8 months

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Solar Opposites oneshot😧😧😧😲😲😯😯😲😮😲☹️😲😧😲😲

I STAYED UP RLLY LATE WRITIN DIZ i write everything off the top of my head as im writing so idk how good it is but HEREZ HOPING!!

Its tervo durin their normal era at work (boo) some sort of hurt comfort thing

________

Every click of every letter on the stupid plastic keyboard delivered to the piles and piles of digital documents on the screen in front of him felt like one of his blood vessels popping. The screen was so bright, the office lights were so bright, and his eyes were so fucking tired. When are they going to create coffee powered eye drops already? He would've done it himself if they hadn't sworn to cut off all sci-fi for the sake of The Pupa.

He prayed and prayed to his abandoned Shlorpian gods that nobody fucking bothered him right now or else he'd probably murder them on the spot. Or at least make a bloody mess trying.

Shoulders tensed up, viens more clearly outlined on his hands with those aggressive dancing fingers, teeth grinding almost audible now. He was going to BURST any second now.

Any.

Second.

"Breathing check, Korv," said perhaps the only non-agitating sound that's penetrated his ears all day. Paying attention to his words, Korvo realized he infact, was forgetting to breathe again. He had a bad habit of doing that when focusing too hard. Especially when stressed,,,,

A dramatic sigh escaped him, more of a gasp really, as his breath went heavy to catch up on the oxygen he was missing. He clutched his chest where his main heart was. It was pumping fast. He sighed again, softer now.

"There you go," said Terry. He smiled and continued back to his work, click-clacking away. Korvo was so thankful that not only they had landed the same job together, but in the same area too. If Terry hadn't been sitting by him in this cubicle every day, he'd probably be hospitalized long ago. For as much as that green fuck could not pay attention, he sure did know how to pay attention to his loving husband and his health. Something as simple as noticing that he wasn't breathing, Terry always caught on and made sure to remind him. It was comforting, if only a little.

Korvo slouched, releasing the tension in his back from being so rigid for so long, and then straightened again, resuming his boring task on the computer. He typed away, quickly returning to the frusterating and depressing exhaustion of freedomless low-wage work. After a minute or so, his mind wandered off again to Terry. He was so greatful for Terry. Truly, he was. Sometimes it may not seem like it, but he couldn't thank him enough. He kept him going through all these rough times. For annoying as he is,,, he surely is such a loving, caring sweetheart.

"Thank you, Terry," Korvo spoke quietly.

"Anything, babe," was replied, followed by a quick smooching sound. Korvo chuckled to himself. "I packed that leftover salmon you made for our lunch. And some Caprisuns for a little boost."

"Terry, you know microwaving seafood makes the office stink, and then Susie will bitch and complain about it again."

"Yeah yeah she bitches and complains about everything. Better that you eat."

Korvo sighed for god knows how many times today. He guessed Terry was right. That salmon WAS pretty fucking good, though.

"Babe, what time is it?"

"You have a clock on your computer, Terry."

"Yeah I know. I just wanted to hear your voice."

That stupid cheesy idiot. God. He wished he'd stop being so stupid and corny and just come over here and kiss him already. But they would get scolded for that. "10:53. Almost time for lunch. Almost."

"Yessssssss."

After about another twenty seconds or so, Korvo had noticed through the sound of his own typing that Terry had not been typing at all. Or shuffling papers, or re-arranging things in his desk, or anything. No sound at all. Korvo turned and peered over his shoulder at Terry's desk, pausing his work, to observe why. His husband was leaning back in his wheeled office chair, one leg crossed over the other, arms comfortably relaxing behind his head, rocking back and fourth oh so gently.

"Why aren't you working?"

"Its almost time for lunch, man. No point. Besides, I read this article about strategies for working with ADHD, and it said to give yourself timed breaks."

"You give yourself enough of those already, but okay."

As if on cue, the office bell rang, and one by one people slowly stood up from their cubicles and left to start their lunch hour, stretching and groaning their way out of their previous uncomfortable positions. Korvo turned back to his desktop and continued working. Terry spun his chair around and waited for him, confused when he realized he wasn't getting up.

"Why are you working still?" He asked, louder now that there was no need to be hushed.

"I just need to get this typed up. I'm almost done. Don't wait for me."

Terry sighed, "Okay," and got up and left the cubicle. Korvo echoed yet another sad breath, sadder this time now that he was alone. He missed Terry already. He just wanted to lay in his arms forever and never work again.

What felt like both an hour and two minutes simultaneously went by, not being either of those and being a mere eight to ten or so, and Terry was back, with two plastic containers filled with food and plastic forks jammed ready to be used into them. Korvo didn't notice this, however, until the smell of the "freshly" microwaved salmon wafted towards his area, and his head perked up in the direction of it. A green hand gently placed the container of food down by Korvo's computer mouse, and when he looked up, to his delight, it was none other than Terry, who smiled down at him. "I wasn't ganna leave you for long."

Korvo smiled back warmly. Oh again how greatful he was for his dear husband. "Thank you, Terry. I love you."

"Love you too, honey boo!" Terry sang as he went to sit back down at his desk and eat his not-as-delicious-anymore-but-still-pretty-fucking-good leftovers.

He didn't realize just how hungry he was until the uncomfortable stretching of his full stomach pained him. That salmon didn't last very long, that's for damn sure. He tossed the plastic container in the trash can under his desk and rested his hands on his belly, leaning back into his chair and closing his eyes. He trusted Terry would wake him if he fell asleep. He fidgeted only slightly, fingering at a button on his shirt, and enjoyed the quiet.

"So, Korv," his momentary silence indeed was only momentarily, "I was thinkin we could just order, like, some KFC or something tonight. I can head to the grocery store tomorrow with The Pupa and pick up some more of that good salmon."

"Sounds good." His voice was mumbly and he wasn't entirely listening to what Terry was saying.

Another moment of silence. Soothing for Korvo. ,,,,Not so much for Terry.

"Sooooooooo,,,,,," Terry hesitated, wanting this conversation to be worthwhile in any way at all.

"Wanna binge some of The Rookie tonight on Hulu? I know you've been getting hooked on those cop shows."

"Maybe. I don't want to stay up too late."

"Trueeeeee." Terry elongated that word with a disappointed tone.

Another moment of silence. Terry frowned. God, when would it end? He cleared his throat awkwardly. "What about,,, the weekend?"

"What about the weekend?" Korvo lazily turned his chair to face Terry.

"Anything you wanna do?"

Korvo furrowed his brows in thought. He wanted to give a genuine answer, but as soon as he opened his mouth, all that came out was a stutter. He gave up instantly and turned back towards his computer screen. "I don't know, Terry. Nothing we have the time to do."

"But-" Terry tried, but ultimately was left with the same fate of just a stutter. Slouching, he stared down at his shoes and lightly gripped the hem of his pants. Korvo's typing continued in the background. It frusterated him but, it was oddly comforting. I guess because it was a sign Korvo hadn't dropped dead already and was showing some sign of life. He groaned sadly and turned towards his own computer, readying himself for more tedious work. "I miss you."

Upon saying that he slowly noticed the clicking ambience come to a hault. He waited momentarily for it to continue and,,, it did not. Swiveling in his chair again he turned to face the absence. Korvo was clenching his fists and staring down at no real object of focus. A funny little garbling noise broke the silence, and once Terry found where that was coming from, he saw a tiny little purple goobler jigging about on the office carpet. Looking back up now, his beloved partner had started shaking. He was worried for him.

"Korv,,?"

"I'm s-sorry, Terry." Korvo buried his face in his hands and let out a pathetic sob. Terry frowned, and got up out of his chair. He slowly made his way to his husband's desk and gently grabbed his shoulder, rubbing it in soothing circles. Korvo was cowering in on himself, in a distressed, tight little ball, stupid purple wriggly things popping out his spotted head and landing wherever.

"Oh, Korvo,,," he mumbled, the weeping blue alien only weeping harder. Terry guided him into a tight embrace, Korvo accepting by nearly falling into Terry's arms, who now securely wrapped around his shoulders as he rubbed away the forming goobler lumps in his previously smooth dome head.

Korvo cried, "I-Im so sorry Terry, I m-miss you s-so much, I hate doing this. I hate it."

Terry could already feel his shoulder getting damp with tears. "Baby, it's okay. You're okay. If we hate it so much, cuz I know I sure as hell do, why don't we just return back to our fun sci-fi lives?"

"Because we CAN'T, you idiot!! D-don't you remember the whole thing with The Pupa?? We can't have that happening again!" Korvo was raising his voice, mostly out of frusteration. He immediately feared he might've upset Terry and he pulled away, but Terry only brought him close again.

"I know, I know. But does it really matter?"

"YES!!!"

Korvo choked another long, loud sob, Terry instantly shushing him and trying to be as caring as possible. "Shh, shh. It's okay, baby. Shh,,,"

He looked around, surveying the office room. Everyone was still out for lunch. He knew Korvo would hate for his co-workers to see him like this, so he was trying his best to comfort him as much as he could as soon as possible.

"Hey, I know it sucks but,,, there's a bright side."

Korvo sniffled. "W-what is it?"

"I have you. And you have me."

Oh, that cheese filled motherfucker. God, he wanted to kiss him so bad. Terry was right. Through all of this, they've had each other. The one thing that's helped Korvo more than anything else was Terry's touch and gentle voice.

"Y-You're right,,," Korvo looked up, and Terry looked down. Terry lightly cupped his partner's cheek in his hand and smiled warmly.

"Of course I am. You'll always have me, my silly little biscuit boy."

"Oh, Terry." Korvo leaned in again, pressing his face into Terry's shoulder. Terry leaned away, only to guide Korvo's face upwards. He tilted forward, pressing a tender kiss onto Korvo's quivering lips, who reciprocated with passion.

They gently nuzzled into each other and shmushed in as many smooches as they could, Terry curling his arm around and massaging Korvo's lower back, and Korvo clutching onto Terry's shirt collar firmly. Soon enough, the tension escalated, and the soft touch of a tongue prodding the other's lips was enough to make them both melt like butter. Right as they were about to start full-on sucking each other's faces, an embarrassing reminder was received.

"Hey now, don't be getting too frisky in the office."

The two aliens jumped and swung around at the voice, still holding onto each other (and a little drool coating their chins.) It was their co-worker, back from the office kitchen with an almost empty bowl of spaghetti. Terry defended first.

"Oh gosh, we would never." they would. Not now, though. "Just givin' a lil lovin' to my husband. what's wrong with that?"

"Yeah! Mind your own business anyway," Korvo spoke after, trying to pat down his now sort of wrinkled shirt.

"A bit hard to do that when you're over there just slurpin' away in the middle of the room!" The man chuckled, meaning for it to be playful, but it came off as annoying and kind of passive aggressive. Terry rolled his eyes dramatically and Korvo giggled.

Slowly, their other co-workers were filing back in. Was lunch really over already? Shlorpian's gray gods.

Terry patted Korvo's shoulder, wanting to hold him by the waist and kiss him again so badly, but sadly not having the time to anymore. Korvo looked up at him and smiled.

Oh fuck it, just one more. He leaned in and pecked a long audible kissy on Korvo's lips, a nice surprise, and then pulled away. He grinned from,, not ear to ear but you get what i mean, and gave a hopeful thumbs up as he made his way back to his desk to continue working.

Korvo chuckled and turned to his computer again. He really, really, WAS greatful for Terry in his life. Really.

This time, the plastic click clacking of the keyboard was nowhere near as agitating.

Still annoying, but not as bad as before.

He'll take what he can get.

_______

take this as a treat

#solar opposites #tervo #solar opposites terry #terry solar opposites #korvo solar opposites #solar opposites korvo #terry x korvo #korvo x terry

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izzyspussy · 8 months

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You said asks so NO PRESSURE but since you said S1 RoyJamie I now can’t stop trying to imagine it with a more realistic Roy and/or whatever other departures from the zeitgeist you would enact 👀 👀 👀 if you wanted to say anything more about that that would be exciting

Okay so, re: my tags about it being different than everyone else's that you eyeballed like. Maybe I'm just too aromantic for All This, but the biggest reason I usually don't love the season 1 royjamies that are already out there is because I feel like they warm up to each other emotionally and catch feelings and all that way too fast and imho without much actual romancing? Like, they have sex a few times and then they're like okay I was totally wrong you've never done anything wrong in your life. Which like honestly....... boring.

And my second biggest issue is usually more with Jamie's characterization than Roy's! (I mean I do always wish people wouldn't slough off a lot of Roy's anger and other various Problems and all, but that's consistent lmao). But like season 1 fics make Jamie such a woob and a sadsack and take away his agency quite a bit, like all his bad behavior is someone else's fault - and like, okay, to a degree, I GUESS, but like...... idk man him having a reason to act that way doesn't make it less of a choice that he made.

I also think there's way too much emphasis on him being protected and rescued, which like, listen. I love a good romantic rescue as much as the next guy, but it was also something I really loved in the show that Jamie got to defend himself. He got to decide to be fed up, he got to fight back. And!! He always had a belligerent do-your-worst attitude, which he maintained all the way up through season 3 to the end!! I love that about him and I find it lacking in general, but especially in season 1 fics when it should be most present, when Jamie has the most people and reason to be defensive.

Anyway, back to the first thing. I do think that having sex with each other would change their perspectives of each other significantly, but not necessarily toward romance or even friendship. Like, their Feelings develop totally independently of their physical relationship! Besides which, I feel like there's this really interesting stage in any enemies-to-whatever type of relationship, especially when it starts with a (literal) Bang, where they stop seeing each other as The Enemy and start seeing each other as a living, breathing, vulnerable human being who they happen to be enemies with. And I feel like in a lot of enemies-to-whatever things that stage is sorely neglected, and I think it would be an ESPECIALLY interesting - and vital - stage for royjamie.

So if (IF) I ever wrote one myself, it would still start with a literal Bang. They'd impulsively have sex. Not exactly hate sex, because neither of them can really hate someone they're having sex with - but that's the perspective shift isn't it. They can't hate each other anymore, but that doesn't mean they start to like each other or even really care that much about each other.

So anyway, they would sleep together, and they'd both be way different in bed than they thought the other would be. And they're a little bit mean, not quite in a fun sexy way, but not quite enough to be hurtful either. And then they'd do it again a few times, and they'd be vastly humanized to each other. But they'd still be just coworkers with workplace tension who are fucking and also sometimes Jamie stays for dinner just because they both get lonely and it's only polite for whoever lives in the place they're at to offer. They're slightly more than tolerating each other. They're empathizing with each other and being incredibly intimate - off the clock - and it's a bit weird but a bit not weird and they're just going with it because. well. what else are you gonna do.

And then I'd have them stop sleeping together when Jamie gets transferred, without ever moving into that What Are We stage nevermind any further along than that. And then they become friends, semi-long distance. Texting and stuff. Kind of like the fic Waterfalls, which idr but might be gen. But also I'd probably have it even more of a slow burn than that, at least wrt Roy learning about James. Just because like... another thing I feel like happens a lot is that people have Character A find out about James and then suddenly they like Jamie after that and all. And I don't really like that either, I liked that they had all bonded at least a little before That Whole Thing in canon as well, and I'd want to keep that. OR maybe even bump it up a bit, but have them not suddenly be buddies after it. It would be interesting to explore mixed feelings on that front, where maybe Roy feels protective of Jamie and angry on his behalf, but without having a fully formed (if reluctant, at that point in canon) personal relationship with him.

But anyway so. It wouldn't really be enemies-to-lovers. It would be enemies-to-not-quite-strangers-who-fuck-and-are-intimate (I know allos cannot handle this concept, at least when I bring it up as something I want irl lmfao, they just don't get it! but listen. it happens, it can happen, and it can be pretty good too!), then half-hearted-enemies-again-to-friends, and then friends-to-lovers.

And WHO can say what I'd do or not do with Keeley. But I also hate when she gets just completely written out of the dynamic because I feel like that doesn't make a whole lot of sense and also is a bit boring. Even if it's not an OT3 endgame, I still feel like she should be all kinds of up in their business.

#jack chats #jack facts #ted lasso #royjamie #hc #writing process #<- probably not really but.

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synthetickitsune · 1 year

Note

hiii. i absolutely love ur optional bias drabbles <3 if ur requests are open, i’d like to request if u could write about the aftermath of an argument with optional bias. fluffy ending of course. thank u ♡

Hello, of course! I'm kind of surprised anyone even remembers that one lmao. But tbh idk about this one, it's kind of awkward for me to write optional bias things ^^'

Optional bias | Aftermath of an argument angst | 0.8k

Why did you have to fight now? It’s not like you want to fight ever, but it hurts worse because it’s happened now.

On the days you’re both free, you like to do some cleaning. It doesn’t take long at all when you both divide the tasks, and with the music turned on, you wouldn’t hesitate to say it’s actually fun. He dances with you, often interrupts you as you work to wrap his arms around you and steal a kiss. It’s almost heaven.

There’s no music today. No chatter, no laughter. Just heavy silence occasionally disturbed by something falling or doors being closed and opened. It feels heavy, just like your heart. You don’t like the tension that has settled over your home. The fight wasn’t even a big one, just a minor error in communication. And yet why does it feel like you can’t approach him?

Clearly he feels the same. It’s awkward when you need to pass by each other, both struggling to shrink as much as you can so you don’t touch. Your hands shake and awkwardly hover and flinch when you pass him something so you don’t accidentally brush your fingers against his. So many things get dropped just because he won’t risk that possibility.

You’re both adults, you tell yourself. You should sit down and communicate. It wasn’t even a big deal. Yet you’re both acting like children, sulking and avoiding each other. Stubborn.

Are you making it a big deal? What if he’s just acting awkward because you are? Is this your fault, somehow? You second-guess your ability to read the room. It really wasn’t that deep. Was he avoiding you just because his hands were dripping wet? Did the box of tissues only slip his hands? You couldn’t be sure. You’re of course aware that you tend to overthink things, but what if this time you were right?

Sighing, you lean against the wall and listen to the silent apartment. Somewhere in a different room, you can hear his footsteps. It feels like you’re a stranger in your own home. You don’t like it.

A sigh. Some rustling. A loud bang echoing through the now empty apartment.

So you’re both finished with your tasks. You look at the clock and see that you’ve finished much faster than you usually do - but at what price? Feeling a familiar burning sensation in your eyes as tears pool behind your eyelids, you take a couple deep breaths. He must’ve gone take the trash out, and you use this opportunity to venture out of the bedroom.

As you make your way to the kitchen, you wonder whether you should try and talk to him now. You can’t imagine how painfully awkward it would be to avoid him now that you have no work to pretend to be busy with.

What you don’t expect is the two cups of steaming hot tea sitting on the table. It’s almost enough to make your tears spill over. You take a seat and close your hands around your mug, matching his, and discover it’s your favorite tea. Perhaps you’re not the only one who feels bad about the situation.

Soon enough you hear the door being opened and closed again. Without a word, he joins you, even dragging his chair closer to yours. Your knees bump together, and you both get startled by the contact that you jump slightly and your eyes meet. Your boyfriend is wearing a sheepish smile, one that you return.

“I’m… sorry?” he guesses aloud, making you shake your head.

“If you’re sorry, then I’m too,” you sigh, “But honestly I don’t think either of us should apologize.” He nods, and slowly, experimentally, takes your hand into his.

“This was the weirdest morning I’ve ever had,” he mumbles and visibly relaxes upon hearing you laugh.

“Tell me about it,” you agree easily, allowing for your fingers to intertwine with his. “Thank you for the tea.”

“I didn’t know what to do to make things right,” he chuckles, “I figured I can’t go wrong with tea.”

You hum before a comfortable if a bit nervous silence falls over you. Relief floods your body so quickly and strongly you feel like all strength has left you. You stand up from your seat and instead motion for him to move away from the table. It’s much more cozy in his lap. Immediately, his arms wrap reassuringly around you.

“Is everything okay between us?” he asks quietly, “It’s so strange, I don’t know what to do.”

“I mean, I guess? I’m honestly just really confused,” you groan. He nods in agreement and once your eyes meet again, you can’t help but laugh.

As if coming to a silent understanding, you don’t talk about it anymore. But a hint of anxiety lingers in your movements, your voices, both of you moving cautiously and speaking softly. It’s strange, it’s messy, but you suppose that’s just life.

#optional bias #optionas bias x reader #optional bias angst #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #drabble #angst #requested

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lizardinkart · 1 year

Text

Lizard Reads Ward

Arc 1: Daybreak

Lizard’s Cry Counter: 2

TL;DR: A Victoria-focused arc that dragged a bit in places but ultimately felt like everything we needed to know about her (and more). I wished it’d started closer to the fight but having the fight, the trauma, and the family drama laid out felt like the groundwork that was missing from the prologue, especially with the shifted role of Amy. Wish that we had a little more about the other characters introduced in the prologue tho. 8/10 Aight! Let’s get wormin’!

So in my brain I’ve split the arc in to 3 parts, pre-fight, fight, and post-fight, so I’ll talk about the arc in terms of those mini-arcs. Mini-Arc 1: Pre-Fight (Victoria, not Glory Girl)

Ok the fact that the city is Gold colored is hilarious to me. This is Children’s Hospital Red™ levels of awful design choices, somebody really just said color theory in context is fake. I also appreciate the later indications that most of The City is in fact shittily built but hey shitty shelter is better than no shelter I guess (also relatable as someone looking at apartments). Other worldbuilding things I was thinking about since Wildbow really wants us to see the cool world he built (but it’s not really about the world tbh)- the technology of post-GM is so weird. Like you have dial-up internet but it also works perfectly fine and technology works when you need it to. Like I’m sorry but Reddit-AOL would be so much buggier. But all that being said, it’s really funny to see the irl jump in technology from when WB was writing Worm to when he was writing Ward, because Taylor’s flip phone vs smartphone drama was so real and relatable, and now dial-up internet just works on smartphones...I’m baffled. anywho! Onto Victoria lol. So Victoria is working with the new kiddie PRT- awesome, very cool. I appreciate the focus on her wanting to still feel heroic even if she gets that massive body dysmorphic/dysphoric (yes, both) feeling from actually using her powers. Though I also appreciate the small touches we see when she’s on her way to work with a much better mirror scene than the opening of Worm, her interactions with the one hero during the obelisk incident show that she still gets heroes and feels bad for the shit being thrown their way (idk, it gave me big closeted queer energy, queer-to-queer communication in a queerphobic environment one might say). “Nice response time” really is the dorkiest shit to say tho and I appreciate it. Victoria is a dork. I also appreciate the setup with her parents, laying the groundwork for what’s to come later. Also that she enjoys working with the disillusioned and directionless kids/teens, cause that really is a thing that is the kind of selfless-selfish pull that I think Victoria is shown to be struggling with (finding the balance in the healing process is difficult!). While I felt like this part really did drag the most in the arc, I think there were some really good parts that make it worth it. And it leads into the first Wildbow fight of the story! Woohoo! Mini Arc 2: The Fight (The Trauma Hammer)

Oh boy I do love me some Wildbow fights. I felt my little storyboarder brain light up because there were some God-tier moments in here that I wanted to draw sooooo bad. But alas, too many, not enough time.

Crystalclear is cool as hell and I think he may be one of my faves of the new powers so far, he’s a very Wildbow-concept hero and I do really appreciate the man’s flare for the complex and flashy. Tempera is also cool, and Fume Hood is a snarky bitch and I love her. What a queen. She did not deserve to get shot (maybe a little tho).

But overall there was some great tension in the ticking clock leading up to the fight, and seeing how shit played out was super fun as always, I was not expecting the 18-wheeler to come out of nowhere but it was a very fun time. I gotta say tho, I know Lord of Loss and Snag are important, but I for the life of me could not keep them straight in my brain since Snag made Victoria feel Loss, but like, that’s LoL’s name lmao.

And on the topic of loss: oof. I did not call this the Trauma Hammer for nothing lol. This is where things went from meh to great for me in this arc, because since Victoria’s story was so ancillary to Worm, I had 1) forgotten how she triggered, and 2) didn’t really remember too much about the specifics of her story outside of the hospital interlude. But god, just sitting in her shoes through falling in love with Dean, losing him, losing her family, feeling inadequate to the rest of her family, and the ever-present looming threat of Her (that we will get to, don’t worry lol), it was just so helpful in really honing in on Victoria’s entire ish that is rattling around in the background. As someone who does characters like this, esp in TTRPGs, having that context of someone’s thought process really is helpful to have in understanding how you’re supposed to interpret the character, even if you’re already in their head (since characters and people lie to themselves, see: Taylor). But yeah, since Victoria avoids those thoughts anyway, it was clever to give them to us up front. And the fact that it happened while she was being a hero again? Kickass. Loved it.

Mini Arc 3: Post- Fight (Her)

Oh my god this family is messy. I have essays I could write on Carol Dallon and just the Dallons in general but I think I’ll get the chance to eventually cause this is already too long lol. But oh my GOD I truly was thinking “yeah this is gonna go poorly, maybe some passive-aggressive family stuff, getting overwhelmed, getting pie and then leaving”, but holy SHIT the fact that Carol really just ambushed Victoria with lawyer speak and finessed the entire narrative of what was going on- jesus. Manipulative ass snake, but in such a relatable way.

Once again, have been in that situation before and the way that Victoria goes from like a 2 to 1000 in 0.2 seconds when all the pieces come together- holy shit if that is not the exact feeling of trauma. I know the “#triggered” discourse is old hat at this point, but man I could feel myself get short of breath and panicky when Vicky got trauma triggered in this chapter (this is the spiritual Cry Point). It was so convincingly written that I wanna hold Wildbow in my hands to make sure he’s good.

But I’m proud of how Victoria handled herself, definitely snaps for that therapy working its magic, but man. The Amy Ambush (an Am(y)bush if you will, yes haha joke away), was so something I did not see coming this early, but I’m glad that it did because holy fuck. Victoria talking about moving on and then her family (mom) “moving on” but in a “forgive with an emphasis on forget” kinda way really does leave Victoria in a place that proves all that feeling of inadequacy right, and it’s crushing. But it provides that big stumbling block for her to overcome esp when she finds her new group.

And seeing how many times she was forced to confront her worst moments and she still actively avoided Amy... oh baby. As an Amy Enjoyer (less “condoning her actions” more “study her like a bug”) I am highly intrigued in how this is gonna go. This is 7 levels of Fucked Up.

I screamed with joy when Dr. Yamada showed up, I am in love with her and think she is wonderful, and also a great addition to the central cast of this story (esp in a story about healing from trauma? YES get the therapist in there). Also Crystal is wonderful and a good ally for Victoria, and I appreciate Victoria’s need to scrutinize both public and private Aesthetic (shoutout to me and Crystal vibing as 2 fun ADHD individuals).

Also a shoutout for Gilpatrick because he’s cool and funky and a good boss. Get u someone like Gilpatrick.

Bonus: The Interlude!

I would give my left kidney for Moose. I’m kicking Prancer’s ass, and I hope Velvet keeps her truck forever and ever. A better love story than her and Prancer tbfh. Also Nursery is so cool guys, she’s so neat. I love the weird shit being done with powers so far in Ward.

AND A MARQUIS CAMEO HELLO???? HUSBAND?????? Sorry I really like Marquis lol.

Final Thoughts

The only things I would criticize this arc for that lowered it a bit in my eyes is that the prologue really didn’t do a fantastic job of prepping us to only focus on Victoria. I wished we had sped things along a bit with getting to the others from PHO, even with little PHO interludes interspersed in to let us know what these guys were up to. Bc like, this really did feel like 3 arcs so I feel like we could have used another interlude or 2, just for spice and to break things up a little. Like a commercial break!

The other thing is Wildbow’s uh... underlying ish breaking through. I know Ward was written in the shadow of Worm for him, but there are some parts of these chapters that just feel very mean-spirited and pointed towards people who enjoyed certain parts of Worm. Mainly stuff that could be construed as “fandom” things, or things that fandom would like, that Wildbow seems to be very overt in saying “hey, fuck you for liking/engaging with this.” I dunno, it may just be me, but that kinda attitude cropping up often enough for me to notice the pissed-off hand of the author was off-putting and distracting from I think the greatest parts of this arc. Because it is a good story, it just feels like the occasional potshots WB takes are more coming from his own bitterness than Victoria’s, and are ultimately detrimental to the story as a whole. Idk, I will try not to bring it up so often, but it’s definitely something that’s running in the back of my head and I hope that it subsides soon-ish.

But all of that to say, I enjoyed the arc! It was a solid opening that’s got me really excited to read more (which by this point, I have, and I will be writing up my arc 2 thoughts shortly lol), and the Trauma Hammer really hit home in a way that felt earnest and really earned.

That’s all for now tho! As always, I’m happy to discuss stuff wherever, so let me know what you thought of the arc if you’ve read Ward!

Until next time: Ward out ✨

#lizard’s ward thoughts #ward #ward spoilers #ward web serial #victoria dallon #amy dallon #panacea #carol dallon #wildbow #live blogging #glory girl #antares #ward arc 1

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effervescentdragon · 1 year

Note

Omg I love tenet!!! Care to share your thoughts on it? One thing I hate is the theory that Neil was Kat’s son because just no??? It wouldn’t make any sense and besides, it would be weird given the weird (sexual/romantic) tension he had with the Protagonist (in my honest opinion)

So i managed like 20 mins of a nap that left me feeling even more tired and ive teied watching at least 3 shows and none of it holds my attention and then i rmbrd this ask so let me ramble a bit. Hope you're around anon!

Okay so im a slut for nolan. Literally ever since i watched insomnia (way too young btw) ive been absolutely obsessed with him and i'll always recognize his movies even when i dont know he's done them. That being said, i loved tenet. It was really funny watching it bcs me and sis had to pause it quite a couple of times where i had theories about what was happening and sis was like "idk what this is but i like it", and thats rly rare since she doesnt rly like the movies i like. She actually chose tenet for us to watch, and it took us two days bcs the first night we were juat too tired to make any sense of it sometime halfway through. I loved the way they filmed it especially, the reverse scenes were insanely good, especially the vault fight. The final battle scene, the way that building explodes? Mind blown. J'adore.

As for the story, if i dont think about the physics i avoid a headache tbh, but it was really cool, the way they tied in everything together. I refused to believe neill was dead bcs i am Just Like That, but sis clocked it immediately. I love the way it all ended uo being a circle, how it all had a beginning and an end but none of it was in the right order. I rly like the way they had to use masks bcs alveolae retain the air or what was it, that was a real nice touch. I also lowkey love the way kenneth brannagh keeps playing russian villains, and his shakespearean tendencies really come out in his monologues and his motivations. I especially love the way the whole movie feels muted, so it's not difficult to watch the action scenes because the colours are so dark, ans yet i did actually see everything, which is beef i have with modern stupid lighting in the movies. I kept teying to rmbr where i know the tall lady from, and then i rmbrd - the golden aliens in guardians of the galaxy. She feels and looks otherworldy, so it fits very nicely in the movie. Another thing i just remembered - the villains (i forgot his name, kenneth i guess) motivation being some men just want to watch the world burn, but more selfish, bcs if i dont have it nobody will is honestly very much how i think the world will end, as proven by megalomaniac billionaiers, may they all die extremely painfully.

anyways, i really liked it! i did think neil was max because it kind of fit on with the general theme of connecting all the dots full circle, thats a good theory in my opinion tho not necessarily true, and i do get that it may be uncomfortable for some people given the tension between him and protagonist (and how cool was the moment, im not a protagonist, im THE protagonist tho??) but i dont mind. time isnt linear :) and that somehow reminds me of doctor who and river and their storyline, so it just makes it endearing to me.

anyways, i have to rewatch it, deffs, if for nothing else then for personal staisfaction of catching onto little nuances i've deffs missed.

thank you for asking, ramble over!

#akira answers asks #lovely anons <3

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prelovednikaidou · 3 years

Note

Hey my fav Tumblr writer! Can i ask for more details of Toji and y/n's sex life? Something like a drabble or headcanons? It's ok if you don't want to <333

hi! i'm a bit hesitant to post this huhu idk if its good or not lmfaoo sorry if its dusty as fuck

warning: manhandling, dumbfication (if u squint)

He clicked his tongue, today was a drag. It took almost 5 hours for the meeting to be adjourned when all the stupid fucks in his office couldn’t properly do their jobs. He was so close to take his leave but he knew if he didn’t stay, they would push another high profile case to his way. Not that he lacked confidence, but he needed a rest too.

As he unlocked the front door, the living room was dark and the whole house was quiet. Am I too late? The short pointer of the clock paused at 10 and it was closing to 11. Another day of missing a meal at home, he thought.

I need a long bath and a good sleep.

Along the hallway to his bedroom, the sickly sweet smell of vanilla and body lotion touched the tip of his nose and he knew immediately that his wife wasn’t asleep. Perhaps she just couldn’t sleep after he walked out on her when she was trying to explain something.

What is it again? Oh, the pipe is leaking. First thing to do in the morning is to call Naoki. He made a mental note and pushed the door open.

His guess wasn’t too different from reality. His wife indeed wasn’t asleep, instead she looked so fucking delectable - bottom lip was so plump, her slight sudden mood change would make her lips pouty, so cute to nibble.

She sat still in front of the vanity, casting her eyes to the end of her hair, brushing through her curls softly with her fingers - looking all primped, soft and warm. He wanted to bully her more.

“Not gonna greet ya husband?” He said, leaning his back to the dresser with his arms crossed - he knew that she ogled him from her side eye, refusing to meet his stare as she only nodded, sheepishly mumbled a soft ‘Welcome home, husband.’

Ah, so she’s still mad. He stood there, watching her under his intense stare that she began to panic when she realized that her husband wasn’t going to let her be as he always did. Today, his stare was different. It was the kind of tension that he always carried in bed.

Bed... her ears felt hot when she remembered how terrible her husband’s bed manner was. He wasn’t physically hurting her but it was almost he tore the thin layer of shame belonged to her. He made her felt needy, and he certainly loved making her lose her mind too.

“You can continue acting like a brat,” He finally made a way to her, and when he stood behind her - he placed his big palm over her naked shoulder, rubbing his calloused skin over hers and stopped to cup under her jaw, “But is it enough? Is it enough for you?”

He lifted her chin, making her watched herself on the mirror as he stood behind her and when she held back a little, she felt a hard bulge on her back and Toji didn’t tear away his eyes from her. It was shameful but his greed for her tonight was so thick that she could imagine how deep he’d go inside her from his bulge.

“We can’t, I’ve already showered... You go take one.” She pushed away his hand from her shoulder, stood up and wanted to get away from her husband but he didn’t let things go on her ways.

He pushed her to the vanity, pressing her forward until she placed her hands on the mirror for balance. Some of her products were swept to the floor, and she wasn’t given proper chance to retreat as he placed his mouth straight to her nape.

How much he wanted to bully her, make her big eyes turned red and teary, sobbing to his name and asked for his mercy.

“As if you can’t take showers twice. It’s still not gonna change anything because I’m having mine later. So be obedient, wife.”

“My... my skincare...” She watched how the body of her night cream cracked, spilling the content that Toji wanted to laugh but he resisted by sinking his canines to her nape.

“You care about that cheap cream rather than your husband?” He ran his right hand to her nightgown, slipping under the fabric before he began to palm her supple flesh, groping her inner thigh into making her submit to his wicked intention.

“Ngghh.. no- ack, don’t pull too hard, it hurts,” She closed her eyes, her neck was tilting upwards when he used his left hand, grabbed a whole of her hair into his fist as he tugged her head a little. His lips began to nibble from her neck, to her jaw, before it finally landed on the corner of her lips.

“This isn’t like you, wife.” He whispered, his prying hand pushed her panty aside, running his index over the slit, he felt the twitching hole was releasing slick fluid before he smeared the wetness all over her puffy pussy lips. She jolted a little in his arms when he caught her clit between his thumb and his middle pinching, rubbing it until she creamed over his fingers.

He liked it when she looked like she was on the verge of tears when he played with her body this good. It felt like a taboo, where only with her, he could truly enjoy his rest.

“When I fucked this cunt, you were screaming like I was holding you at gunpoint but then when I stopped you crawled to me, giving me those puppy eyes like you couldn’t get enough of my dick. So is it a little painful or you just don’t want to do it here but on the bed? Answer me honestly and I might give you want you want.”

#nik; [asks] 📤#nik; [his new wife] 🌦#toji smut #i wrote this in my car 😭☝️#jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #toji x reader

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nightowlwriting · 3 years

Text

summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

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sweetberrysmooch · 3 years

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HC: And There Was Only One Bed (Affectionate) [pt. 1]

(Zzzzzzz.....)

(This is unfortunately gonna have to be in several parts, mainly so I can get something out to you guys while still being able to work on the rest ^^)

Basic sleeping hcs with ya boys, and sort of... smell hcs? Idk, I got into a mood and couldn’t stop writing about smells so here it goes lol.

Characters: Dream, Techno, Wilbur.

Warnings: There’s mentions of nightmares in Dream’s and a emotional breakdown in Wilbur’s, but that’s it.

Song Recommendation: Dream A Little Dream Of Me- The Mamas & Papas.

Up Next- Quackity, George, and Bad. [pt. 2]

Hope you have nice day today <3 Enjoy!

Dream:

Depending on where you’ve fallen asleep, Dream will kind of work with your position before he lets himself relax.

He prefers it when the two of you are in your bed, with him near the closest door and on his back and with you sleeping against his side, arm stretched over his middle. It’s a good way for him to be between any intruders that may come and to still have you close. But no matter where you are, he has to make sure that he can protect you before he lets his guard down.

Another position he likes is when you’re tucked against his chest under his chin, sitting on his lap or curled up together in bed. Being tall with a broad chest means he makes a pretty good pillow, so use those puppies when you can 👀👀

Smells like a forest, most times. Almost like wild honey, but it’s a very delicate smell. You don’t notice it until your first hug, when you were upset and crying and he pulled you to into his arms so you could hide your face. Now you smell it everywhere he is, in your house, on your bed, even your clothes smell like him. Neither of you say anything, but he slowly begins leaving his soap at your house. Just in case, y’know, if you ever run out.

Other times, when he seems a little more... off, he smells like the beginning to a storm, like ozone and petrichor. Those days he doesn’t speak that much, and keeps you at arms length. He sits quietly and watches your doors and windows with obvious intent, and is gone before morning. You don’t think he even moved from his spot throughout the night, much less slept there. You don’t see him for a few days afterwards.

Usually he remains as still as a log, but sometimes he has fidgeting fits where he twitches and grumbles to himself. Sometimes you’ll even catch him speaking full-on sentences, though they don’t make much sense. Mostly normal out of place stuff, but once you heard him talking about someone called DreamXD, and figured you’d ask him about his oc the next morning.

He has nightmares often too. It’s hard to tell when he’s asleep but he’ll wake up sweating and trembling and lean over you to check you’re still breathing. He won’t ever tell you what they’re about, but it isn’t hard to guess when he buries his nose into your hair and holds you tightly like you might leave him.

If the two of you aren’t sleeping in your house or completely alone, he won’t sleep until you are. Sleep loss doesn’t quite affect him like it does others until after a pretty long time of not doing it, to which he’ll become surlier and more angry until he eventually just clocks out. He wakes up extremely well rested 2 days later and the process repeats. Sleeping at your house is the closest he gets to proper sleeping, and it’s the only time he can ever feel truly relaxed when doing so.

When he can’t fall asleep, he goes straight to watching you. He gently plays with your hair and fiddles with your fingers, relishing in how unmarred and soft they are in comparison to his much rougher, bigger ones. It’s a sure fire way to get him to mellow out and relax, and he finds that sleep ends up coming much quicker.

(Dream wakes up in warmth one night, with rain knocking on window panes instead of what ever shelter he could scrape together and a fire crackling far off. He deduces immediately that he’s in someones house, and it doesn’t take long before he notices the owner, asleep in his lap.

Your legs are slung over the arm of the padded chair he’s sitting in, a book (one of his own, he acknowledges, an older version of a well known storybook that he has memorized already) loosely held onto in your hands, and your head rests on his shoulder.

He expects to feel worried soon, the fear of you getting close to him reappearing to ruin another close moment. But it never comes. All he can feel is the safety and comfort you always emanate, driving away his tension and soothing his mind. He closes his eyes, and falls back asleep.)

Techno:

Techno is very very touch starved ^^; While he may not be the only one on this list that is, Techno is definitely the most…. shy about it. He won’t ever directly ask to sleep next to you, and will actively try to avoid that. He’s afraid of making you uncomfortable but also of being close to you in general? It’s an odd mix of emotions, like eating mints and a hot pepper at the same time and then feeling hell fire burn inside of your body. Anytime the two of you have to sleep in the same room as each other, he will immediately offer you the better spot and go find a chair to sleep in, and he won’t accept a no.

The most you can do is make the choice to go sleep next to him. It’ll weird him out a little before becoming overwhelmingly endearing when he processes the fact that you would rather sleep next to him than somewhere more pleasant. When you’re asleep however, he’ll pick you up and move you to the place where he wanted you to be. He’ll drape his massive cape over your body and (after assuring himself six different times that you are in fact asleep) softly press a kiss to the crown of your head. If he runs his thumb over your cheek once, then thats his business.

Later on in your relationship though, after he relaxes and settles a bit, it’s pretty unusual if you don’t fall asleep next to him. He still won’t outright ask for it, but he kinda just hopes that when he starts his nightly routine before bed that you’ll just join him without needing to be asked. Having you there helps him sleep better, you act as both a silencer for the voices and someone to hold close when he’s at his most vulnerable.

When sleeping in bed together, he prefers to pull you close and curl around you in a half pulled fetus position. He’s usually a heavy sleeper, and actively clings on to you when asleep. It's an impressive feat if you can break free from his strong arms while they’re wrapped around your middle, and you leaving inevitably wakes him up. He’ll go searching for you then, barely awake, just to pull you back to bed to be his teddy bear again.

And speaking of the voices, while generally they’re loud and insistent, occupying his mind more than he does at times, their reaction to you baffles him so much. In place of the usual screaming is gentle mumbling, quiet whispers about how nice you look today or how pink and soft your cheeks look. It’s a welcome relief, and no matter how he hard he ignores the fact that he’s wrapped around your finger, he’s glad to know they care for you as much as he does.

He also smells pretty nice, it’s this natural musk he has mixed with a muted minty scent. The mint smell comes from this fancy soap Phil had gotten him a while back that he hadn’t given much thought about until you said something. Techno’s already a clean kind of guy, but after hearing your praises of his smell he almost begs Phil to get him more.

Snores, but in a quiet reserved way. Sometimes he makes soft cute noises, like little happy sounds when you snuggle into him more, or bashful grumbles when you kiss him before bed.

(Sunlight flickers through the blinds of Techno’s room, streaking across your face and waking you from sleep. Sighing quietly, you lift your head a little and stretch as best you can while being held in place at his side, before snuggling back into your spot, fully content to stay there for the rest of the morning.

As you enjoy the moment, you savor the gentle snores that rumble in his chest, his strong heart thumping beneath your ear, and the way his hand kneads your hip as he wakes.

‘It’s a good morning to sleep in.’ Your mind says quietly, and with how he rolls over to face you and kiss your forehead, it seems Techno thinks so too.)

Wilbur:

The way Wilbur sleeps really depends on what Wilbur it is.

To start off though, a few general things. He’s a neat sleeper, doesn’t snore, doesn’t move a whole lot, and smells pretty nice too. His smell also came from a fancy soap he got from Phil, but it smelled like sugar and lemons and it was a lot heavier than Techno’s. He would always take showers before bed because he knew you liked how it smelled, and often he would offered to share it with you (so that you would smell like him). Once he was exiled, he didn’t have the liberty of bathing as frequently as he used to, and he stopped using the fancy soap because he thought it felt tainted. He’d end up smelling like stale air and gunpowder, though he’d never tell you what the smell was from.

With sleep, if it’s pre-Pogtopia Wilbur, you get a fairly standard sleeping arrangement of him crawling up into between your legs to flop down on your stomach with a sigh, waiting impatiently for you to get comfortable and curl around him like you usually do. Your hand comes to cradle his head closer to your chest and he nuzzles into your collarbone before falling asleep near immediately. The two of you wake up tangled completely together and immensely comfortable. Wilbur used to sleep in on days like that, quietly savoring the peace that came with you and your generous hands that would slowly brush through his sleep-messed hair. Even after the election, when he starts descending into madness, the memories serve as a final comfort to him.

Post-Pogtopia Wilbur (Vilbur, if you will) is a stark contrast to his old self. He’s more bitter, more reserved, and even more paranoid. He doesn’t sleep with you anymore, at least never consistently, and the only times he does is when he’s so emotionally fraught that he passes out from the stress and lack of sleep midway through you trying to calm him down. You usually end up just kind of holding him close, praying that when he wakes up you can settle him before he works himself up again. You fall asleep like that, tired and restless.

(He rouses from sleep a few hours later, curled up in your arms and still exhausted from the breakdown. Your chest rises and falls slowly behind him, face smushed into his hair and completely relaxed.

For a moment, all is calm again. He can pretend that it’s just how it used to be before the election had happened, that the two of you are back at home, happy and stable.

His hands tremble when they reach for yours, and he grants himself the freedom to cry while you’re still sleeping, ignoring the fact that the next day will be just like the last, and that nothing has changed.)

See you next time :D

#mcyt x reader #c: dream #c: technoblade #c: wilbur #hc: and there was only one bed (affectionate)#dream x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader

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cuziloveyou7 · 3 years

Text

Festering feelings

Pairing: Bokuto Kōtarō x gn!reader

Wordcount: 1.7k

Warnings: angst, mentions of depression, anxiety and panic attacks. Also kind of mentioning eating disorder?

A/n: I know I said I don't like angst and stuff, but since I'm a walking angst piece right now... here ya go! I did it! Someone help me out bc idk how to do tw! If I missed something please tell me! Also please bare in mind that this is my first real fic after not having written anything for 7 years.

This is not proof read, I made this around 1.30am bc I had an idea.......

It was slow, very slow, yet very fast. The first thing that happened was just build up tension. You were mad, frustrated. You needed to vent but didn't want to bother anyone. You would usually confide in Bokuto but he was so busy. The Olympics were coming up and he was training so hard. Each time he came home he was even more tired than the day before and the day before that. So you just did what you always do, suck it up and keep your mouth shut.

-----------

You were slipping. You felt it gradually happening. Not like the times before, when for the most part you didn't know what was happening. No this time you knew.

A week. That's all you could handle. Slipping up here and there, mentioning tiny details to your best friends. Until eventually you just wanted to scream on top of your lungs on the highest building you could find at that moment. Luckily one of your friends caught on and asked you out for a walk around the park.

The two of you talked for hours. Finally getting it off your chest. It felt like such a relief. You felt like the situation was under control again. Nothing wrong. A false alarm? Or maybe just in time before the damage was out of anyone control.

Another week passed. You absorbed yourself in work, house duties and watched some episodes of your favourite anime. You cherished the little time you could spend with Bokuto and loved the stories he would tell you about the team. Your best friend also checked in on you, because they were still worried about you even though you brushed them off saying all was well.

But that nasty tiny feeling inside you was still there. A little unconscious, but festering each day, oh so slowly.

It started with getting tired more often. You blamed it on work. But even on your days off, you would wake up feeling exhausted. You would be so drained even when you did nothing but watch TV or play games to pass the time.

The next thing that happened made you more aware of your situation. Your friend asked you to go out for a walk again. You guys talked, gave an update on what was bothering you but switched the topic to an update about your friend's life. While they were telling you about their life you noticed you weren't exactly paying attention. Your mind wandering off to nowhere, zoning out of the conversation. You felt bad. Your friend had been there for you, listening to all your problems and yet here you were not really paying attention to them.

The same goes for Bokuto. He would come home, ask you how your day was and continue with telling you about his. As much as you loved his stories about the antics of Hinata and Kageyama or the other players, you actually couldn't be bothered in the least. Responding with a 'really?', 'Oh yeah...', 'that's nice'.

Next came closing yourself off. You just wanted everything to get over with. Counting the minutes down for when you could finally go home from work and curl yourself in a blanket on the couch. When Bokuto came home you would usually be "too absorbed" in whatever was playing on the TV or you would already be in bed, blaming it on work or just being tired.

You started losing interest in all the things you liked. You couldn't occupy yourself anymore. The days became longer and longer. You started losing your appetite. Only eating when your body basically screamed for nutrition and even then you would sometimes ignore your own body's scream for food.

At some point, you were just so done. Not caring to force a smile on your face anymore. Plain up ignoring your friends when they texted you. And when Bokuto would come home. The lights would already be out and you would lay in bed with the covers over your head and your back facing him.

Usually, Bokuto picks up very fast on your moods and emotions. Having gone through his well famous emo modes when he was younger. The two of you were always open and honest with your feelings and emotion towards each other. It was something you guys as a couple prided yourselves on.

It was also something you especially needed. Having gone through horrible panic attacks, anxiety and depression. Talking yourself down was/is also something your very good at. And Bokuto picked up on that very quickly when you just started dating.

To some Bokuto seems very carefree and not aware of his surroundings. But in actuality, he's very emotionally intelligent. So he struck up a conversation you would've never guessed you'd have on one of your many dates. Bokuto eased you into it, told you about his emo modes and made you comfortable enough to let you open up about your experiences. This actually helped you go past the blockade that was stopping you from making this relationship official.

But with Bokuto training for the upcoming Olympics and him being away from home more often than not, it was easier to go unnoticed for him and easier for you to slip and fall into a deeper depression.

After weeks of walking around like a zombie, you finally broke down. You had a day off. When you woke up Bokuto was already gone. He texted you later that day saying he would sleep at the training centre because training would go on longer than normal.

It had been a beautiful day, the weather was nice, the sun had been shining, the warmth of summer started to peek through. It would have made you giddy had it not been for the nasty pest growing bigger and bigger inside you. When dusk came you felt it bubbling up. You tried really hard to ignore it. Tried to soothe it with some episodes of your comfort anime. Tried to pick yourself up and pamper yourself with some extra steps in your skincare routine but it was all in vain. Once you stepped inside your shared bedroom you felt the tears trickling down your face. Through your tears you searched for your earbuds, plugging them in and searching for the best sad songs playlist you could find. Shutting off the lights as you lay down in the middle of the bed.

At first, you just lay there, looking up at the ceiling, silent tears streaming down your temple, past your ears into your hair. You felt the tears slowly make their way past your scalp until they finally touched the soft pillow behind your head. You turned your head getting uncomfortable from the feeling of your tears. The pillow your head lay on smelled like him, it's smelled like everything you loved, comforted, his favourite shower gel, a hint of sweat, it smelled like warm sunbeams on an early summer morning, it smelled nice. This made you break down in sobs, which became louder the longer you went on. You stuffed your face in his pillow, threw the covers around you, trying to silence your sobs and screams. They were too loud for you, agonising pain shot through you. You felt alone. Spiralling deeper into a dark hole that was your mind.

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When Bokuto stepped inside your shared apartment he tried to be as silent as he could. The lights were out, a sign that you would probably be asleep already. While trying to get his shoes off Bokuto debated whether or not he should wake you up. He noticed you being unusually tired and sleeping earlier than you normally would. He looked at the clock hanging on the wall, 9.04 pm. A soft smile crossed his features. Maybe he was a bit selfish but he decided to wake you and tell you about his surprise day off coach gave the team. Shuffling around in the dark apartment trying not to bump into any furniture he neared the bedroom door.

The smile Bokuto had on his face disappeared in an instance. His heart dropped when he heard your muffled sobs. You sounded tired. As if you had been crying for a while now. Bokuto rested his head against the door, gripping the handle until his knuckles turned white. How could he not have noticed it before? Sure he was busy, but he always noticed when you started feeling down. Was he not paying attention to you? Had he been too absorbed in his own world? Why didn't you tell him anything? You guys told each other everything. What got you down like this so bad you wouldn't open up to anyone, not even him. But most of all, he was angry, angry at himself for letting it get this far.

But right now that wasn't important. What's most important is you. Without further hesitation Bokuto softly opened the door and stepped towards the bundled up form on the bed.

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You felt a cold rush of the air when your blankets lifted up from you. Goosebumps made their way onto your skin. But it wasn't long before you felt a comfortable warmth surround you. Nothing like the suffocating warmth from your blankets. Two strong arms held your body. You didn't have to look up to see who the arms belonged to.

No words were spoken between the two of you. You started sobbing a little louder again until you felt the soft vibrations of Bokuto humming. Taking your earbuds out you looked up at the man 'Kou..' you sniffle softly, but before you could continue Bokuto laid your head back on his chest and started petting your head 'It's okay now. I'm here. Let's just stay like this okay? We'll talk tomorrow' he gave your head a soft kiss before continuing humming again.

Tired from all the crying combined with the soft vibrations coming from Bokuto humming you closed your eyes. Your worries drifted away, tomorrow was another day. You would tell Bokuto everything. But for now, you felt content, safe in his arms. The bad feelings slowly subsiding for at this moment, he was your light, he was the warmth you were desperately searching for, he is your home.

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falsegoodnight · 3 years

Text

this is part two of my december fic rec! this list encompasses the fics i’ve read from the 18th to the 28th!! it’s also my birthday today which makes it even more special! i can think of no better way to spend today than spreading positivity! :)

you can find part one of this month here

✰ there’s happiness because of you by @hadestyles | NR | 1k - (so soft, tender, and beautiful!! rori’s writing amazes me always! and this was written for my birthday because they’re an angel <3)

Thursday mornings have always been their favourite.

✰ and it gets colder and colder by @hadestyles | E | 2K - (another rori fic!! once again, beautiful prose! made me feel emotional!)

Harry wants to take care of Louis. Things take a turn.

✰ make my wish come true by @soldouthaz | M | 3k - (drabble from this series) (so cute, lovely, soft, amazing!!! made my heart so happy! this is also dedicated to me which :’) sarah angel chant)

The taste of Christmas cookies fresh out of the oven and peppermint hot chocolate is still heavy on his tongue. Harry’s sweater provides some warmth and it still smells of him from before he left for his internship two weeks ago, but it’s nowhere near the feeling of his arms wrapped around him. Louis shivers despite the blankets.

✰ spirit meets the bones by @hadestyles | E | 3k - (i had to edit to add this because rori wrote another beautiful little fic for me :’) beautiful prose, beautiful emotions, so so so beautiful, gosh. pure poetry!)

The action shouldn’t fill his eyes with tears but it does. These small gestures mean the world to him. A steady reminder that Harry does notice all the tiny, seemingly insignificant details that make Louis him.

✰ 29 Blows by @quelquesetoiles | E | 4k - (super hot but also so cute!! love the concept of the birthday tradition in this one!!!)

For over a decade now, Harry has had his little tradition. It wouldn't be a Louis Tomlinson birthday without his best friend finding new, ingenious ways to make his life more difficult.

It's cute, it's funny, it's theirs, until Harry takes it a step too far on Louis' 29th birthday.

✰ calm me down (before i sleep) by @erodiansunflower | E | 7k - (a pwp and super hot, but also super cute??)

Prompt 24: Harry is a sex shop owner that has a crush on Louis, the shy customer who flirts with him while buying cute buttplugs, lace panties, and collars. One day, Louis asked Harry to help him put on a corset (they end up fucking in the dressing room). Things escalate quickly from there, so they start seeing each other seriously while trying other sex stuff.

✰ You’re Never Alone With a Moon This Bright by @helloamhere | T | 8k - (part one of this series) (WOW this was incredible and i am ENTRANCED! this author is an all-time favorite and idk why it took me so long to get to this series but i’m here now!! and loving it!!)

Louis was a monster. But sometimes, even monsters get a Christmas.

✰ Be a Good Girl For Me by @sincetheywere16and18 | E | 9k - (really hot and cute!!!)

Based on this prompt: “AU where Harry is Louis’ older brother’s best friend. He catches Louis dancing around his room in panties and blackmails him, saying that louis has to do anything he says or else he’ll tell Louis’ family that he wears girly underwear. Secretly soft for him, Harry gives him easy tasks and uses the whole thing to spend more time with Louis. Eventually, the orders begin to escalate and Harry teases Lou about his secret, making Louis shy and embarrassed. Louis loves the attention though, and forms a crush on his brother’s best friend. Lots of feminization, secret relationship, and enemies to lovers. Thank you!”

✰ it’s hard to fight naked by @loustarlight | E | 11k - (LOVED this so much!!! a big fan of enemies/flatmates to lovers especially when there’s a walk-in involved!!)

Louis leaves dirty socks on the couch, Zayn does assignments while he's high, and Harry is hopelessly crushing on his roommate.

✰ Sweet Scary Creatures by @specklelouis | M | 13k - (jurassic park au!! so cute and fun!!! loved louis’ character growth in this in particular!)

They stare into each other's eyes for a while until Louis remembers this is too intimate and looks at Harry’s hands on his thigh. It spans a big portion of his thigh and Louis has always been insecure about how thick he is, so he loves that Harry has huge, dustbin hands that hold him and makes him feel smaller, safer.

✰ hereafter (ad infinitum) by @larryent | M | 13k - (this was absolutely beautiful!! the writing was incredible, the contrast between the old timeline and new one impeccable, and the letters!!! love them!! and vampire harry is always a win!)

"A legacy is every life you’ve touched. And you’ve touched mine twice."

On the coast of San Francisco in 2024 is when Harry falls in love all over again.

✰ Believe Me When I Say You Have It All by @helloamhere | T | 20k - (part two of this series) (loved this even more than it’s predecessor. not to be dramatic, but i’d die for the louis and harry in this series. this whole world has my heart)

Harry had never faced anything in this forest that had actually succeeded in scaring him. Louis was no exception.

✰ Yours to Lose by @loulicate-recs | M | 26k - (so cute and soft and sweet!!! louis and harry were both angels and IAN <3 little cutie!!! so proud of you hanis!)

Louis always gets distracted with his mummy duty and he eventually catches Harry's attention.

✰ But It’s Useless by @thinlinez | E | 26k - (this put such a big smile on my face!! so cute and lovely!! louis was a relatable and adorable menace and harry was a smitten idiot but they both got there in the end!!)

Omega Louis would never guess that he would be trying to hack into Alpha Harry's Wifi. That is until everything changes when he tries to get to know his enemy.

✰ Stuck On You by Writewhatiwant | E | 34k - (so so sweet! loved the aspect of stickers in this fic and how louis found joy in them!! really loved how both louis and harry (especially harry) grew throughout this story and how they found peace at the end!)

Louis’ life revolves around his stickers. Harry’s life revolves around his job. The universe has decided their worlds should revolve around each other.

✰ smoke between your teeth by @soldouthaz | E | 37k - (i think everyone knows how much i adore sarah and her fics but this one just might be a new favorite! loved all the psych stuff, the pining, the rom-com worthy confession <3 brilliant!)

Louis tries to stop his addiction to cigarettes and discovers he's been addicted to Harry for much, much longer.

✰ Your Life Worth Walking on a Bright Morning by @helloamhere | T | 38k - (part three of this series) (it just keeps getting better and better <3 so comforting and consistent and beautiful!)

For all its complexity, Louis sometimes reminded himself, life could always be simplified into a series of forks in the road. Even overwhelmingly big things were survivable when you broke them down to their choice. One path or the other, left or right.

✰ On The Edge by @zanniscaramouche | E | 47k - (so crazy good!! zanni is always amazing me!! loved the ice skating, the hockey, the misunderstandings, the multi-faced and beautiful characters and relationships - all so perfect!)

Figure skating is as vital to Louis’ identity as his DNA, so when his skates go missing right before the last Olympics of his career there may be a meltdown only vanilla bath salts can fix. Well, that and the stupidly charming hockey player he met on the plane.

Harry’s too old to be the wonder kid and too young to be taken seriously in the NHL. As an alternate thrown in at the last second, he fights to prove himself on the national team at the largest sporting event known to man. Or he will, once he gets off this flight and can focus on something other than the fussy figure skater and his stunningly blue eyes.

A baggage mix-up skews both of their perfectly laid plans for gold, forcing the two to work together as the clock clicks towards the minute they’re expected to shine on centre ice.

✰ made for lovin’ you by @cuddlerlouis | E | 53k - (loved this so much!! touch depri/accidental bonds are my favorite and this was no exception!!! the characterizations, the tension, the misunderstandings, the tenderness, the fluff!!! so good!)

A quick, horny decision ruins Louis’ summer plans, but may also lead to unexpected discoveries. Featuring the road trip of dreams, misunderstandings, and a bit of fate.

✰ social cues by @outropeace | E | 56k - (so fucking good!! the slow burn in this was impeccable!!! pair it with friends with benefits, mutual pining, angst, misunderstandings... amazing <3)

To Harry, Louis was becoming as tangible and essential as music in his life. He still was a mystery but at the same time, he was one of the most real things Harry had. He just hoped he could live up to the image Louis probably had in his mind of him.

He could play the part, after all, what was published of him wasn’t as detached from reality. He didn’t think of himself as a rockstar cliche, although he couldn't deny he did sleep around, partied a lot, and did some drugs. But then again, wasn’t that what the majority of his friends back in his hometown were doing at college?

Harry wanted to impress Louis, he didn’t want to disappoint or leave his expectations unfulfilled, so he’d give him the full rockstar experience.

It was a very simple plan, what could possibly go wrong?

✰ dripping like spider milk by @raspberryoatss | E | 64k - (pip amazing me with her talent? a common occurrence. this was so wonderfully written and so well done!! loved the characterizations, the dynamic, the angst, the miscommunication, the pining, the HUMOR!!! it was all so amazing!!)

When he sees the alpha, his brown hair curling around the top of his neck and his broad back that’s filled out over the past couple of years, Louis freezes for a moment. The alpha turns around, Louis’ surprised expression mirrored on his own for a fraction of a second before he schools it into a big, yet shy grin and a wave of his huge hand. With his nostrils flared, Louis knows that he can smell him, too.

They never hired alphas, except for—

“Harry.”

✰ a taste of freedom and sweetened passion by @tomlinvelvetfics | M | 74k - (okay technically haven’t finished reading this one yet but i want to get this up early and i already know this is amazing because it’s LATE and she’s incredible!!! and, i mean, anne of green gables?? abo?? best birthday gift ever!! will be spending the day reading this in bliss <3)

“Are you mad?” he explodes, throwing his hands up, groaning. “I was so, so close to reaching my goal, and your stupid, stalking ass had to creep up on me, hm?”

Harry is trying to keep his laughter in, walking closer to him, eyes soft. He doesn’t like the way those eyes make him feel, an odd, dangerous mix of nervous and flustered, so he bends down to pick up the books, raising an eyebrow when Harry growls in protest.

“I wanted to pick them up for you,” the alpha pouts, and Louis glares at him, getting into position and lowering the pile of yellowed pages over the top of his head.

“I’m a functional human being, thank you very much,” he grits out as he begins to walk and mentally count the amount of steps he takes. One, two, three, for heaven’s sake Harry fuck off!, four, five. He doesn’t let himself be distracted as the alpha walks along with him despite the slow pace, green eyes focused on him in a way that would, in any other cases, compelled him to throw a book in the alpha’s face.

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t do it and certainly doesn’t want to think about the reason, whatever it might be.

If you read any of these lovely fics, remember to leave kudos and comment to show your appreciation!

*if i made any errors, please let me know :)

enjoy!

#fic recs #my fic recs #28th appreciation #2020 recs #december recs #december 2020 recs

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kurohoely · 3 years

Text

always (daichi x y/n)

part 2

genre: exes to lovers, slow burn(?) idk how genre works, sfw, daichi!timeskip

wc: 1.2k

a/n: thank you everyone for liking always part 1 TwT i almost cried seeing so many daichi stans reading and liking it. one more part to go! enjoy :D likes and reblogs are highly appreciated :))

part one , part two , part three

Small tears formed in the corner of your eyes. Such a sweet sentiment from someone that you only saw twice a week. There are still good things in this world. It’s always the small things that make people going. You flipped open your computer but then noticed her packing her stuff.

“Ah, Kaori-san. Are you going back home?”

“Yes, y/n-san. I got my work finished early today so I’m heading out. Do you still have a lot of work to do?”

“I’m just gonna finish everything today so I can leave early on Friday. Have a safe trip back home”

And you did stay here, rigorously typing the report and finishing the final touches of your presentation tomorrow. You glanced at the clock, it’s already 9 huh. Just one last push before you get that sweet, sweet week off. You pressed save and backed up everything, turning off your computer. You gather your stuff and start heading down, home. It looks like you were the only one left in the building, with only a few guards and janitors roaming around the halls. As you were about to pass through the auto gates, you noticed the same figure you saw when you took a break. Your breath hitched, pulse drumming inside your veins. It was almost like you forgot how to breathe. You stood at the gate for a while since he hasn’t noticed your presence just yet, gathering your scattered courage. You want to get out, away from him before your body follows what your heart wants. But before your body could even follow your mind, Daichi moved first, picking up the pace as he walked to you, as if he heard what your heart wanted.

“Hey y/n”

“Hey Sawamura, are you looking for someone?”

It pains Daichi that you used his last name. You made it very clear to him that whatever you both had was over, just how he wanted but somehow, it didn't feel right. After these months being away and not having you by his side felt so foreign, it was as if he was a void, an empty shell. His emotions went numb. He relies on his brain to function, keeping him alive but beyond that, he shuts off. Everything went stagnant, stale. Now, you’re in front of him again but he couldn’t reach you. He wants you. He needs you. He wants to fix whatever it is between you and he knows he has to do it now. He fumbled his fingers before speaking up again, shifting his gaze straight into your eyes. You felt a loud thump in your heart.

“Umm no, actually... I was waiting for you”

“Why? Did I leave anything at your place?”

“No! You didn’t unfortunately… I just wanted to come by and see… you know, how you're doing and… stuff…”

“That's nice Sawamura but I think you should focus on your girl now. Don't want her to think we’re up to something. I gotta go now, it's been a long night.”

“Yeah, it's pretty late already. Are you okay with me accompanying you back home?”

“It's okay Sawamura. Drive safely okay?”

You walked past him, towards the parking lot. Why? Why are you still the sweet person you are, just as how he remembers it? Your warmth was like the morning sun, embracing him at his most vulnerable state. Home. He wants to pull your figure into his embrace, flushing into his built. He wants that warmth to dissipate into him. Make him feel alive again. What did go wrong in your relationship? Before he could even try to pull back the memory, he was struck again by your words. Her. Who is her? Daichi swore he is not drunk and pretty sure that there's not yet a her now. He whipped his head in your direction but your shadow was long gone.

The long-awaited week off finally arrived. You started the day by cleaning up your house, airing up everything. Pillows, mattress, your plushies. Doing chores always make you feel productive, jamming through the blasting speakers of your “heads boppin walkin alone” playlist. You tried a new breakfast recipe that you saw on Tik Tok and turned out really good. The weather is so good today, it felt like a waste if you spend time indoors. You washed up quickly, you stared at your wardrobe, thinking what outfit of the day you should try now. Pushing one hanger at a time, you saw the sundress that Daichi bought for you. A knee-length dusty sage sundress, with pleated around the skirt area, v-lined, and half-arm length sleeves. Slipping into your white sandals, you grabbed your bag and headed out to your favorite bookstore. One whole week of doing nothing might as well pick up a new book.

You passed through the antique, small indie coffee shop that Daichi found while he was doing his morning runs. You stare through the display window, laughing to yourself. Wouldn't it be funny if Daichi was here? You let yourself into the shop. At this moment, you truly believe you hold the power to jinx yourself when it comes to Daichi. It’s the second time the universe loves seeing you suffer. He was there with his training jacket and shorts. Sweats were still visible on his sideburns. His coffee almost slipped from his grasp when he saw you, but what surprised him more - he saw you in the dress he bought. His heart felt a live pulse, a too-familiar feeling growing inside him.

“Hey y/n”

“Hey Sawamura”

“Fancy meeting you here”

“Yeah, I came here to pick up a new book from the old bookstore”

“Oh, nice. You’ve always been a reader”

An awkward chuckle escaped your lips. Oh, how you wished you had the power to fast-forward time. The tension between you could cut slice anything that comes into your space. Daichi chose to break the silence.

“Hey y/n, I know it’s a bit too early but are you free ton-. Sorry”

His ringtone caught his attention. He still used the old ringtone that you set for him. It made you soft and blushed a little. Daichi swayed his hands towards his back pocket, swiping through to pick up whoever’s calling. You swore you heard a small devil whisper inside you, wishing whoever called Daichi, their pinky gonna meet every corner they can get. Your heart almost stopped beating when you heard a woman's voice through the grills. Your gut feeling was proven more after you saw Daichi’s smile. You snapped back yourself back into the harsh and cruel reality. Enough is enough. You need to move on. Daichi already did it. What's stopping you?

While Daichi was busy answering his call, you took your coffee and went straight back home. Just as he hung up, he was greeted by your trailing dust. He missed his chance twice to have a proper conversation with you. Is fate trying to test him or is there something else that it wants to tell? Either way, he knows he shouldn’t give up, just as his feelings never did. Especially after the two unexpected meetings with you, he knows at least this - you haven’t yet rejected his existence near you. He cupped his face, gathering all ideas to have a longer, more open conversation with you, hoping you would still feel the same. He wished hard for a slight amber within your heart that he could reignite it and start anew, fresh new pages with you. He texted you as soon as he exited the shop, guessing by now you have his number unblocked.

next >

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smediumsmeatbae · 4 years

Text

And They’re Always Glad You Came

TITLE: And They're Always Glad You Came PAIRING: Bartender!Chris Evans X Reader SUMMARY: After being stood up on a blind date, a certain blue eyed bartender wants to cheer you up WORDS: 2.5K WARNINGS: Smut, swearing, fluff, brief mentions of cheating, reader feeling sorry for herself, bad smut writing (probably, idk) A/N: I think this was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being a one shot as I got carried away with this fic. This fic was made for the prompt: "Bartender!character and you having sex on the bar after it closes" by @the-ce-horniest-book-club. Hope you guys enjoy! I had a lot of fun writing this. Likes/comments/reblogs are always appreciated! As always, don't be a dick and post my stuff elsewhere without my permission.

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You were still on your first drink that you had been nursing pretty heavily for the past hour. You had been stood up, and by a blind date, no less. You were pretty sure the night couldn't get any more humiliating. Who gets stood up by a blind date?

About a year ago, you had caught the supposed “love of your life” happily in bed with another. Your friends had understood, at first, your apprehension about dating someone else. As the months progressed though, they became less and less understanding and you had less and less excuses to use. Sara, your friend, had talked you into dating a friend of hers that was “so perfect” for you. He was smart, funny, charming. He was a lawyer at a reputable firm and was looking to make partner within a year. You had exchanged text messages with him and made a plan to meet at a local restaurant for drinks after work. You had even decided to sit at the bar to make it easier for your date to find you but apparently that wasn't an issue anyway. Had he seen you and backed out? You decided not to dwell on it too much. Not being good enough for yet another man in the span of a year was almost too much.

Even the bartender was seeming to take pity on you as he came to check on you every so often. You had started out the evening giving out such a good, positive vibe. Now? Not so much. His voice got softer and sweeter every time he came over, as if he was tending to an injured doe and didn't want to spook you off. At least he was very easy to look at with his neatly trimmed chestnut colored beard and crystal blue eyes. His hair was a little longer in the front and shaped nice and short in the back; it had a little bit of product in it but not enough to be obnoxious. He was tall with slender hips and a built upper torso. Christ almighty, was he built. He probably had no issues lifting the kegs in back for the beers with his broad barrelled shoulders and thick as hell arms. You hoped he didn't notice you staring at him. You didn't know how much more hits your ego could take in one night. Or maybe… you did want him to see you stare. You imagined him lifting you up in those strong arms and taking you over the bar top… Jesus, get a grip! You didn't even know him and already you were left wanting.

“How you doin’ sweetheart.” He came over to check again. You noticed a slightly New England accent that made you melt a little. "Well… I think I'm going to give up the ghost on this and call it. He’s not coming." "Date stood you up?" The man asked, genuine curiosity on his face. "Worse." You admitted, your cheeks flushing slightly. "A blind date." "Ouch… that sucks. If you don't mind me askin', what are you doin' on a blind date anyway? You're too pretty of a girl for all that." "Thanks." You chuckled out an awkward laugh. "Just too busy for actual dates I guess. My friend took pity on me and set it up. It's the first date I've been on in a bit."

You don't know what was making you admit to all this. Maybe it was because he was a bartender and they're used to hearing life stories. Maybe it was because he looked so trustworthy, like you could tell him anything. You were spilling top secrets and you couldn't put your finger on why. He didn't seem to mind though, his kind eyes and sweet smile were trained on you, genuinely interested.

"Hey, you want a coffee or somethin'? My treat." He offered. "I'm Chris, by the way."

He stuck out his hand to you with a smile and you shook it, the feeling of his hand in yours electric.

"Thank you. That's very kind of you, Chris. I'll take tea if you have it." "Comin' right up." Chris nodded as he started to prep your tea.

As he turned back around to set up for your tea, you got a look at the back of Chris. His broad shoulders were even more impressive from the back than the front and it gave way to your imagination of his toned back muscles. He also had an impeccable ass. You bet you could bounce quarters off that bad boy. You shook your head, trying to get your thoughts off of practically a strangers rear out of your mind. You never ogled someone this much before but there was something about him that just drawed you to him.

The next couple of hours seemed to go fast. The two of you talked about everything from your families to hobbies, favorite music, and what movies you thought were terrible and great. The bar was dead so it allowed Chris to put his focus on you and you not feeling like you were getting in the way. You found so many other things in those two hours that attracted you to him even more than physically, if that was possible. Chris was well spoken, kind, and funny. God, was he funny! He had you laughing for a solid 5 minutes, tears streaming down your face, telling stories about the stunts he used to pull with his younger brother Scott. It had begun to feel like more of a connection with him than you had felt for anyone in quite some time. The butterflies that you thought had long ago died, were fluttering furiously in your stomach.

A comfortable silence came between you, where you were both just looking at each other. After a beat, Chris cleared his throat and began wiping down the bar top for the night. He had done most of his closing duties while talking to you and was basically just running out the clock.

"Hey, I only have about 30 minutes left on my shift. Do you wanna maybe go get a drink after this with me?" His blue eyes looking straight into you, making you blush. "Yeah, I'd like that."

His body seemed to ease in tension after that, as if he was waiting for you to say no. For a man who looked like Chris and was so charming and sweet, you doubted how he got told no often. You liked that about him, though. He didn't know that he looked as hot as he did, or at least didn't put on airs about it.

The next 30 minutes seemed to go by at a fairly clipped pace. Servers came up and cashed out their tips, making small talk with Chris as they left for the night. Soon, it was just you and him in the entire restaurant. You got off your chair and went over to the opening of the bartop. Chris met you there, a shy smile on his lips.

"So, what d'you want to drink?" He asked. "You." You murmured.

You took charge, grabbing onto his shirt and pulling him to you, not being able to stand the electricity between the two of you any longer. You had never been so bold, never been so forward with a man before but Chris… God you couldn't help it with him. You kissed his lips hungrily, as you snaked your arms around his neck. He, in turn, put his big hands on your hips and massaged them with his fingertips. He broke away from the kiss with a breath.

"Don't take this the wrong way but I was kind of hoping that your date wouldn't show up so I could be alone with you." Chris chuckled in your ear. "Oh is that a fact?" You giggled. "Well I've been checking you out all night so I'm glad he chickened out too."

You continued kissing him, your hands running down his shoulders, squeezing them gently. Your hands went down the solid wall of muscle on his pecs and abs and you got to the hem of his shirt and began to tug. You both broke the kiss for a second as he helped you take off his shirt. You slid your hands back over his chest, loving the feeling of his chest hairs against your hands, and curled your fingers around the nape of his neck before you went to kiss him again. He stopped you and you looked at him questioningly for a second.

“D’you want this?” He asked, his dark blue eyes bore into you.

Nodding your head, you scraped your fingernails along the nape of his neck. God, he was working you up so much.

“I need you to use your words, sweetheart.” He whispered gravelly in your ear as he nibbled on your lobe, sending a shockwave straight to your core. “Yes Chris, I want you.”

That was all Chris needed to hear. He grabbed your waist and turned you around to face the bar top. He swept your hair from your back to leave wet kisses on your neck, his hot breath leaving goose bumps on you. His hands, wandering achingly slow down your sides, grabbed on the hem of your shirt, and pulled it up, kissing and licking where new flesh was found until the shirt was off of you. You were grinding your heated core into his hips, feeling his erection against you, growing by the second.

“Goddamn, you're so beautiful...” He whispered against your shoulder, giving little kisses and nips.

He wrapped one of his arms around your waist, his hand grabbing your hip and squeezing. You would probably be sore there tomorrow but what a way to get a bruise. His other hand came up and cupped the opposing breast, thumb moving down the fabric of your bra. He drew light circles on your nipple until they were hard as pebbles. You mewled at the feeling, throwing your head back so that it was leaning on his chest, eyes closed and breathing hitched. He had enveloped all of your body in his arms.

The hand that was grabbing onto your waist left and started travelling south towards your aching sex. He cupped your mound in his hands moving fingers over the fabric. You bucked slightly against his hand, craving for movement from him.

“Gonna make you feel so good.” He cooed in your ear as he moved his hands up your skirt, past your panties, and into your folds, feeling how wet you were. You were suddenly glad you wore a skirt. He hummed in approval as he gently stroked your clit. Moaning out, you wrapped an arm around his neck to steady yourself as he kissed and sucked on your neck. He pulled one finger inside you, then another, alternately pumping into you and working on your clit. You could feel the coil in your stomach rapidly tightening as Chris worked on you.

“Oh… god Chris… I-I’m gonna... “ “I got you baby. Let go for me.” The coil snapped as an intense orgasm shook through your body. Screaming out Chris’s name, you rode his fingers coming down from your high until you were back on earth again. “Jesus Christ....”

You breathed out as you turned around and grabbed his face, kissing him deeply, your tongues darting in and out of each other's mouths, passion building again. Your hands dropped from his face and moved down his hard chest and abs, feeling him flex against your fingers. You found his belt buckle and undid that, then unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down, his fly coming undone in the process. Tugging on his boxers, it didn't take long for his manhood to spring free of their confines, standing proud and ready to play, precum leaking out of the tip. He placed his hands against the bartop, giving himself a place to steady himself as you placed a hand around him and started running your hand up and down his shaft. Chris groaned and bucked his hips forward into your hands, his head pressing onto your shoulder.

You stopped stroking him and he whimpered from the loss of contact. You took your hand that was wrapped around his neck and pulled his head close to you, getting his ear right next to your lips. “Need you, Chris. Please.” HIs breath was ragged as he nodded his head. He grabbed your butt and motioned you to jump. You did, wrapping your legs around him. You felt like you were weightless in his arms as he held you. He positioned himself near your entrance and pushed in, you both moaning as you took him in. He felt so big around you; pleasure and pain mixed as you stayed still for a second to get used to his delicious size.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He groaned out, taking a couple of deep breaths so that he wouldn’t climax too early.

Slowly, he started to pump into you, moaning and hot rasping breath on your neck as you weaved your fingers through his hair and tugged on it. You let out little moans as well, your body feeling electric and super sensitive as you felt him going deeper into you until he was at the hilt. You wanted him, needed him to fuck you harder, a storm in your eyes as the full feeling finally washed over you and you craved motion. You scratched a long line up his back with your fingernails, eliciting a growl from him and he picked up the pace, eyes lust blown and needing to reach his peak.

“Yes, fuck yes… right there!” You cried out, throwing your head back in ecstasy. “You like that? You like it, huh?” “God yes, more!”

Still holding onto you, he swiveled around and sat you down on the bar back. He grabbed your right leg and lifted it to rest on his shoulder, allowing him to get a new angle with you. You cried out in pleasure as his dick hit your g-spot over and over and over. You could hear the bottles of alcohol clink beside you as Chris rutted into you.

“I’m so close.” You moaned out, grabbing the bar back with your hands so you could match his thrusts. “Me… too…”

He reached down in between your bodies and rubbed tight circles on your clit with the pad of his thumb. Your back arched, eyes slammed shut, and all you could see was white as another mind blowing orgasm rocked you. You shouted out incoherently with shaky breath, walls clenching around his cock, milking it. Shortly after, he followed, a string of curses and your name leaving his lips as his thrusts became sloppy and his head fell forward onto your chest.

“Wow…” He breathed. “I know... Me too.”

He looked up at you, a small smile forming on his lips.

"So… how's about that drink?"

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TAGS: @angrythingstarlight @cheeseburgersstuff

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fandom #chris evans x reader #chris evans x fem!reader #chris evans x female!reader #chris evans x female reader #real person fiction #rpf #american actor rpf #chris evans smut #bartender!chris evans

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luca-moreno · 3 years

Text

void

Luca word vomit idk

“You’re so fucking weird, Moreno,” one of the squad laughs as they haul on their packs.

Earth isn’t at all what he expected.

Bootcamp isn’t either.

The hills in the distance look far away and the day is already hot. Luca feels sweat beading on the back of his neck, runs a hand over his freshly buzzed hair. He used to be so pale, now his skin turns darker shades he never realized could belong to him. He hates this harsh sun, the way its rays bite into his skin like tiny needles. It’s burning him, he thinks. He’ll wake up tomorrow red and sore. How did humans survive this long, on a planet trying to kill them daily?

He flashes the others a tight grin and a shrug and tries not to show on his face how the words bother him. “Yeah, I know.”

The wards weren’t friendly but neither was Earth or the Alliance.

But Luca puts his head down and he works. He runs the tracks, he climbs the walls, he shoots and swears and rolls and he keeps his head down and he’s just another inductee that his barely sixteen sol years flies under the radar to their eighteen. He’s baby faced and green and alone.

Nobody notices.

Wide hands gripped his shoulders and a smile flashed. “It’s not that long, Luca. You just gotta survive two more years. You can do it, I know you can.”

It was hard to hear over the din of the departure lounge. Luca’s throat grew tight as something akin to panic crawled its way up his throat. “I don’t... I know if I can. Not without you.”

Kiosho grins, mismatched eyes under a messy mop of blue trimmed hair. “Sure you can. Just don’t let them give you any shit. And Luca… even if you don’t feel it, bluff. They can’t tell the fucking difference anyway.”

He didn’t make the two years. He barely made it to one.

Code skittered across the screen of the terminal. His heart thumped so hard he could feel it in his ears. He cracked the firewalls like they’re nothing, swooped in and manifested a whole new reality and hoped it wasn’t a mistake.

It was… and it wasn’t and it still didn’t get him what he wanted.

The other boy notices Luca long before Luca notices him.

And why would he? He was just another tenderfoot, another one of the crowd, another pair of boots falling into line and pounding the pavement, another body in the mess hall trying to dig their way through the slop that’s considered to be their meals. Luca listens with half an ear as the gaggle of recruits around him bitch and moan about the food, picking at it unhappily but Luca remembers what it’s like to be hungry. He never protests.

The boy slides into the seat opposite him but Luca doesn’t look up.

“It’s your accent, you know,” the other boy tells him conversationally.

It takes a long moment before Luca realizes he’s talking to him. He looks up. “What?”

“Your accent. You probably don’t even realize it, but you do this weird little burr thing with all your words. Like drell and turians do.”

Luca lowers his fork slowly. He’s lost count of how many times he’s had to say it now. “I didn’t grow up here.”

“I know,” the other boy smiles. He has blonde hair, and eyes the colour of earth’s skies when they’re running drills in the daylight. “Neither did I.”

It’s hardly unusual, lots of the recruits where from all over the terminus systems, most shuttled back to Earth for training. Luca holds himself short of leaning into a kindred spirit, if that’s what he even was. He takes a closer look at the boy in front of him - pale skin, long fingers, lean limbed.

His mouth clocks it before his mind does. “Spacer.”

“Yep. I’m Saxon, by the way.”

“Um. I’m… I’m Luca.”

Saxon picks something off his tray and eyes it critically. He glances around before he shrugs and pops it into his mouth. “Sure beats keleven nutripaste, huh?”

Some of the tension around his shoulders seems to ease. “Yeah, it does.”

There’s a lot Luca finds he likes about Saxon, and some he doesn’t.

But mostly it’s how he doesn’t feel so… alien… when he’s with him.

Music croons in the background, some old earth song Saxon had dug up from the archives and Luca strums along on the battered guitar he’d scraped all his meagre credits together to buy. Smoke curls around them, a dusty tobacco that makes Luca’s nose itch and his limbs feel weak. Don't you want to be free? Do you like girls or boys?

“So, do you?” Saxon asks one night, slowly taking the guitar out of his hands. The clouds are rolling in, Luca can taste something in the air that leaves him shivering. The rooftop is his sanctuary.

“Uh, do I what?”

Saxon looms closer. “Do you like boys or girls, Luca?”

Luca’s skin prickles in awareness. In heat. “Boys,” he whispers.

Saxon’s teeth flash in the darkness, and he pulls Luca in.

Luca wakes up alone, head throbbing and thick with something that was once sweet now turned bitter. His body aches, sore in places that he didn’t want to acknowledge and marked with splotches that make him double take when he sees his refection in the mirror.

He runs a hand over the marks and smiles to himself.

The smile doesn’t last.

“Saxon, wait up!”

The gaggle of recruits don’t stop but Luca only focuses on one blonde head. He jogs to catch up, still calling out. “Saxon!”

Finally they stop and Luca can feel their eyes on him. “Uh. Wait, so. I just wanted to-“

“Hey, it’s the duct rat,” one of the men laugh. Barely a man, but solid enough to pass. “That’s what they call ‘em, isn’t it?”

Luca’s gaze swings to Saxon, willing him to look at him. He doesn’t.

“Sax-“

“Give it a rest, Luca,” Saxon shifts on his feet. A glance over his shoulder, a shared laugh and almost an apology but not directed at him. Luca isn’t always great with signals but he can feel the sudden unfriendly prickle in the air, the hostility.

You’re so fucking weird, Moreno.

He opens his mouth.

Saxon walk off.

It happens more than once.

It’s confusing, like trying to hold onto sand slipping through his fingers, up until it isn’t. He finds his space, amongst the twisted wires and loose threads, in the circuitry and flow of an electrical current. He always had an affinity for machines, for tech and code. There were no nuances to wade through.

On or off, I or O. Luca always knew where he stood with his tech.

He chose a path and followed it to the end.

“Hey, Luca.”

Luca’s head snaps up. Saxon is a black shape blocking out the stars in his quiet place. He tenses as Saxon steps into the paltry ring of light thrown off his datapad and sits beside him on the threadbare rug.

“What do you want?” Luca asks flatly. His face still burns from being rebuffed. His ears still ring with the sound of their laughter.

Maybe the first time he might have been able to convince himself it didn’t mean much. A misunderstanding. A misstep. He’s had so many of those here. But by the second and the third it wasn’t possible to kid himself anymore. And Luca didn’t know what else to do, kept going back, pinging like a moth against the light.

On or off. On. On. On.

“Come on, don’t be like that, Luc.” Saxon leans close. He smells like dried sweat and beer, smoky and apologetic as he nuzzles against Luca’s neck.

Luca tries to lean away. “What, so you suddenly remembered I exist?”

“Aw, like I could forget.”

“You tried pretty hard.” Luca tries to climb to his feet but Saxon’s hand snaps out to curl around his wrist. He grips tight.

“Luca, wait.”

“Let go, Saxon.”

“No, Luca. Come on, I’m… sorry, ok? Jesus, just… wait.”

The inside of Luca’s chest is desolate enough not to shove him away. Not yet. He hesitates, allows Saxon to draw him back down onto the rug. Stars slide overhead, a sparkle in the sky that leaves Luca homesick. He wants to curl into himself but he draws his knees up instead.

“You know, you’re kind of a dick, Saxon.”

“And you’re too much, Luca,” Saxon sighs. He slides closer, hands on Luca’s face. Heavy hands that Luca can’t twist away from. “You’re like a puppy trying to hump my leg whenever I turn around. You’re… loud.”

“I am not loud.”

“No, I mean,” Saxon rocks back and waves his hands over Luca, his face twisted into something pained. “This. You. Loud. You can be… suffocating.”

That stings. Luca scrambles back and Saxon lets him go. “You gotta give people a chance to breathe, Luca.”

On or off.

Flick, flick, flick.

Off.

His messages scattered to the four corners go unanswered for months. He doesn’t understand. He came all this way, sold his soul to get here and Kiosho was nowhere to be found.

Luca hunches over the terminal. Frustration squeezes his throat. He’s starting to unravel when he’s never been together in the first place.

“Hey, are you okay over there?”

The sob gets stuck as he sucks in a breath. Blue eyes skim him, kind and warm and more than he probably deserves.

“Sure,” he forces out brightly. Happy face, he tells himself. Squeezes away the dampness. Don’t let them see. “Guess I’ll try again tomorrow.”

Tommorow.

[No new messages]

And so on, and so forth.

Sand shifts under his feet. It doesn’t do that on the Citadel. The walls might shift, but the ground was never knocked out from beneath him.

He wheezes painfully as the screams echo. Dust, that every present choking dust billows up around him and there’s pressure and pain and something wet at the back of his throat. He tries to sit up but his body won’t listen to the signals his brain sends. There’s another boom, another shower of debris and screams and Luca’s world goes dark.

When he wakes up, it’s to silence.

The nurses lean over him, lights shine into his eyes, their mouths move but there’s no sound. No hum of the recycled air, no rustle of leaves as the wind brushes them, no stomp of feet on the sealed paths.

Just horrifying, terrible silence and Luca’s own thoughts and the desperate, sudden urge to claw his way out of his own skin.

He doesn’t realize he might be screaming until the prick of the needle slides through his skin.

Then he doesn’t feel much at all.

It takes him three months to heal his leg and adjust to his new ears. Some days are better than others and the headaches are somehow the worst part. He gets fast at signing to the OT’s and the doctor’s although they’re unimpressed at his mastery of signed curse words and not much else. For a while he’s angry but that takes too much energy and he can’t maintain it for long.

And stupidly, he waits.

The day they tell him they’re going to release him, he finally plucks up the courage to ask. “Did… did anyone visit?”

Where there any messages?

The nurse is sweet, green eyed, red hair and freckled all over her nose like stars in the black. She shakes her head, a smile that smacks too much of pity on her mouth. “No, I’m sorry, honey.”

“Oh.” Luca sinks back against the pillows. “Okay.”

The Alliance took his hearing and replaced it with something half baked, but it’s better than the silence so he doesn’t fuss. They haul him in front of the brass where the truth comes out in incriminating shades of glowing orange and textured lines. A deep dive that wasn’t deep enough, or too deep, depending on how you looked at it.

“Your ID is fake,” they tell him and Luca wants to protest because no, not really. He’s still him. He’s still Luca, some kid from the wards, too loud, too much to hold everything that vibrates inside his bones. It had taken the ride to Earth to be noticed and then the spat in the medical wing to be diagnosed. The meds helped. For the first time Luca’s world evened out.

“Altered,” he’s brave enough to say. “Sir.”

There’s a snap of brows over the datapad. Another officer with a chest full of medals coughs nearby.

“He’s two years in on his training. He’s the legally the right age now.”

“There has to be a consequence. What he did-“

“We’re short on bodies as it is. And with what’s coming... Well, this kid was determined enough to get here all on his own. We should use that.”

All eyes turn on him. “Is that true?”

Luca swallows. “Uh. Yes, sir.”

“Why? Why not just wait until you were of age?”

“I was trying to find my brother, sir.” I was trying to find home.

“And did you? Find him?

“No, sir.” Not yet.

There’s a rolling beat of silence that has Luca’s throat feeling thick. His stomach churns.

“Verdict?”

If they send him away, he has nowhere to go. The Alliance wasn’t home, but it was a purpose.

“Let him stay, but hold back that promotion.”

They send him to the edges of Council space. Too human for the wards, too alien for earth. The things that made him stand out under Sol’s light become useful out here. Batarian, Turian, Drell, even Krogan, familiar to his tongue, to his hands.

He’d almost laugh about it, if it didn’t fucking hurt.

It’s not the glory the recruitment posters promise them. Its blood and guts and screaming and the desperate search for the quiet space in his mind to give himself a moment to just think-

But bullets spray, shields go down, the turret jams.

They die.

They save the colony, but they die.

“Did you see that?” Checo wheezes from beside him. In the distance there’s the booms of biotic explosions and the flash of figures in armor he doesn’t recognize. They’re not alliance, he knows that much. He presses down on the hole in his side and wonders why it doesn’t hurt. It should hurt, right? The bullet tore right through him and blood leaks through his fingers.

He doesn’t know if he’s cut out for this.

Funny how the fates shift. How time and circumstance and one insignificant little moment can set him onto a path he has no comprehension of where it will lead. One second of hesitation, one shred through his flimsy armor that knocks him down but doesn’t kill him and leads him to this.

He’s shuffled into a new squad. Sometimes he’s loud, but they’re louder and Luca doesn’t need to squeeze into the places left behind because they make room for him. Fold around him like he matters. His commander even kisses his forehead like the mother he never had never did.

On or off.

Flick, flick, flick.

On.

The reapers wipe out so much of the fleet. Names of those lost scroll endlessly over terminal screens. A memorial wall crops up in the docking bay and in the ship. Thousands and millions gone.

Two names typed into a search, one the name that had started it all, the other he wonders why.

Too much, too loud.

He was never very good at letting go.

The terminal blinks.

[Personnel unknown]

But unknown was better than dead, right?

#luca moreno #ii guess we just needed to get that out #excuse me while i go cry now

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steppedoffaflight · 3 years

Text

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 16

Catch up on Chapter 15 here

“So,” Danica is the first one to speak, “When are you supposed to see him again?”

Your shoulders slump at this. “He’s in town this weekend, but I don’t think we’re gonna see each other.”

Mary snaps to attention, her eyes locking with yours. “Why not?”

Everyone seems to be on the edge of their seat, waiting for more details with bated breath.

You shrug, but Mary only narrows her eyes. “I think I’m gonna end things,” You keep your voice light, stirring the ice in your now-empty glass.

Summer’s coming to an end.

Word count: ~8.2k

Chapter Sixteen October 2019

Those few rushed nights with Van are all you get in September.

The band’s schedule is less jam-packed this month, and Van promises over text that he’ll be around soon. He responds to you more often, and is able to fit in some phone calls more often when he’s on smoke breaks, even if sometimes he accidentally calls you at three A.M. and has to go to voicemail.

You know you should be excited to see him again, but you can’t stop remembering how awful you feel each time he leaves. With September under your belt you’re more adapted to his absence, feeling a little more steady on your feet. Wouldn’t seeing him again just fuck it all up?

Maybe you could still be friends with Van, as long as you kept a little distance between you two. Maybe if you gave yourself some space this month you could accept that Van was just a best friend with a spotty visitation schedule, and not cling to him so tightly. You make a pact with yourself to take October off of seeing Van, with the exception of phone calls and texts. That way you could keep him at arm’s length while you get your head together.

Even making that promise to yourself gives you a rush of relief. Your September funk had been much more serious than you’d realized, and now that you were starting to shake it off you knew you couldn’t jeopardize it. You’d started having regular weekend brunch with Mary at the diner again, and had gone out with the girls at work for drinks after one of them secured a huge client for the company. Everything was starting to fall back into place in your world, returning to the way it had been before your birthday weekend in San Diego had tipped everything over.

On a Monday morning midway through the month, you’re dashing to your desk after running hopelessly late. You’d forgotten to plug your phone in last night, so it’d died in the middle of the night, and your body’s natural clock had woken you up on way too short notice. Thankfully nobody seems to notice as you slide into your cubicle, eagerly tapping the enter key on your keyboard to wake your computer up.

Your phone is still dead in your bag, and you dig it out before rustling through a drawer for your work charger. As your phone starts to boot up you focus on your computer, using your credentials to log in. You take a moment to collect yourself as everything loads, smoothing your hair down and taking a sip of your coffee you’d poured into a travel mug before rushing out the door.

You’ve caught your breath by the time you get your browser open and your email loaded. The subject line of the third email in your inbox immediately catches your eye: Y/N OPEN THIS NOW IT’S IMPORTANT

It’s from Danica, one of the girls in your coworker friend group.

The new martini bar on Melrose finally opened and we want to get drinks Friday after work!! Let me know if you’re in!

Getting drinks on Friday sounded fun, but you had no idea what she was talking about. Yeah I’m in, you send back, but what martini bar on Melrose?

You take a quick trip to the bathroom, and when you come back there’s a response at the top of your inbox. She’s linked the website for the bar, and it does look pretty cool. The decor is crisp and modern, and from their ‘about’ section it looks like they’re bordering the fine line of being a club without trying to attract the student crowd.

Oh, cool! Do you care if I invite my friend Mary? From the photos it looks like the sort of place Mary would be right at home charming everyone at, so you can’t resist asking.

Once Danica has given her approval to invite Mary, you finally unlock your phone, ready to send a text to her about Friday night. That’s when you see Van’s message.

Guess who’s gonna be flying in on Friday?

Your blood instantly runs cold. Oh shit.

It only takes that simple text to throw you off kilter. How can some words on a screen do that?

You swipe Van’s message away, hoping to forget about it. You couldn’t, of course, but you’d made a promise to yourself not to see him and now he was trying to mess that up! You’d have to say no. You knew you’d have to say no. Technically, you had plans. And, more importantly, you were not going to spend the weekend crying your eyes out over some stupid guy! It was a no. For sure. The only thing is that you’d have to figure out how to say it.

You proceed with texting Mary about the martini bar, and then decide to focus on work for the day. You were already behind from running late and time wasted emailing Danica, so you needed to get going. It would be good for Van not to have an immediate response. You needed some time to word things in a way that wouldn’t hurt his feelings. After all, it’s not him- it’s you.

But after an hour of some market research you pick your phone up again. Omg I just made plans for Friday, You respond with an emoji of a facepalm. You get back to work, ridiculously proud of how you’d brushed him off. Take that, Van McCann. You would not be dropping everything to see him.

Van doesn’t respond until the next afternoon. That’s alright! Saturday?

You bury your head in your hands where you’re sitting at your favorite cafe booth on your lunch. Lord, he was making this so fucking hard.

It isn’t until you’re home, fresh glass of wine in hand, that you reply. Idk. So swamped with work lately.

To keep your guilt at bay, you actually do swamp yourself with work. Van has dropped the subject of meeting up for the moment being, but you know he’ll bring it back up with a vengeance. You don’t know if there’s been one time he’s been in L.A. this entire summer that you two haven’t hung out, and knowing he’s not the type to let subjects drop peacefully leaves a pit of dread in your stomach.

You smother said dread with the market research you’re currently doing for some sort of waterless shampoo for dogs. It was a successful enough product, given that there were already a few brands on pet store shelves. The only issue is that you were at a loss when it came to what was supposed to make this particular brand special. The client couldn’t answer that question herself, either, so this was essentially a THC-water-rerun where you use up the research budget, don’t get anywhere, and the client eventually gives up.

As you remember the THC water, your fingers reach across your desk for a pen, so you can jot down a reminder to send them a thank you note for the products they’d sent you. Van had informed you during one of your phone calls last month that he’d brought the bottles on tour, where one night the boys chugged the entire pack. According to him, they’d all actually gotten high. Plus, you’d like an update on how they were doing with their new marketing team. You’d managed to call in a favor from a different firm with more THC experience, who was genuinely interested in taking them on. Hopefully now their product was getting the attention it needed.

On Friday morning, you wake up sick to your stomach. You’d barely slept, your mind tossing Van’s impending visit back and forth the entire night. He hasn’t texted you about it since you’d brushed him off on Tuesday, and now you were filled with the sinking feeling that he was upset with you. Which, first of all, was a ridiculous thought. You hadn’t done anything wrong by not clearing your schedule for him! Certainly he understood that you had your own life and your own job, and not everything revolved around him. As much as you wanted it to.

And that was the real problem, wasn’t it? The more that Van was sweet and understanding, the harder it was to force yourself to reject him. You literally wanted nothing more than to come home from having drinks tonight and find him curled up in your bed. You were putting yourself through this torture, and it wasn’t even necessary!

But it is necessary, you remind yourself. Look at you! Losing sleep, stumbling around while your stomach does somersaults just because you were so hopelessly in love with Van your body couldn’t bear the concept of having to opt out of seeing him for one weekend. How were you ever supposed to create some distance between you two?

You’re a zombie at work, jumping at your phone each time it buzzed. It was never Van, only the group chat of everyone going out tonight. You let them discuss their outfits and designated driver situation amongst themselves, trying to force yourself to focus on the paperwork you needed to get done to help a client apply for a patent today.

You startle when your phone vibrates on the bathroom counter, almost falling into the damp sink. You lurch for it with the hand not currently running the flat iron through your hair, sighing in irritation. The group chat has continued to go off incessantly all day, keeping a steady stream of anxiety and adrenaline running through you. What could everyone possibly need to fucking talk about when you guys were about to be face-to-face in less than an hour?

It’s a text from Van. Just got in.

Although it solidifies the nerves in your stomach, there’s some sort of relief that what you’ve been anticipating has finally happened. Easy flight? You can’t resist responding.

Eh, He says, lots of turbulence.

With no mention of meeting up, your shoulders release the tension they’ve been carrying all day. Your phone buzzes again, but it’s the girls, and you hurry to order your Uber while you finish up your hair and put the final touches on your makeup.

Martinis on Melrose is hard to see from the main road, and it takes your driver a minute to find his way into the parking lot. The name is glowing in a dark blue neon script across the smooth cement of the exterior, casting a glow on all of the sleek cars crammed into the lot. You’re glad you don’t have to worry about finding a spot as you shimmy out of the backseat, hoisting your bag over your shoulder and trying to find your footing on your heels.

Two of the girls are already here and have reserved a table for tonight, but Theo is still en route dropping Mary off. You pause just outside of the front door, eager to stall, and dig around in your purse for your pack of cigarettes.

It’s the quiet before the storm, that moment before you walk into a gathering where you like to mentally brace yourself for the night to come. No offense to the girls, as you enjoy their company a ton, but you’ll always be an introvert at heart. Having a quick cigarette is the perfect way to calm yourself down, get yourself ready to be social for an extended period of time. Your first puff sends relief rushing through your brain, a craving satisfied.

As you watch your exhaled smoke glow blue from the fluorescent lighting, you feel a pang of disappointment in yourself. You can’t believe Van’s managed to get you hooked on nicotine. Oh, Van. The disappointment in your belly blooms larger, deeper. Disappointment that you won’t be ending your day wrapped in his arms, comforted by his company, his charisma that had weaseled around your introverted tendencies until you felt right at home with him in your space. Disappointed that you don’t have him by your side tonight, your hand in his, anchoring you to the moment. Disappointed that after the fiasco over this weekend, you had the feeling that you’d never be able to remain just friends with him.

“Since when do you smoke alone?” Mary’s voice has you crawling out of your skin, dropping your cigarette from the scare.

“Shit,” You hiss, further disappointed that you have to stomp your cigarette out when it was only halfway done. The cement is so fresh and clean you decide to lean over and pick the butt up, depositing it in the trash directly to your right by the door. “Just getting my head in the game,” You respond to Mary.

Ever the extrovert, she clearly doesn’t understand, blinking at you as she tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I fucking love that outfit,” She changes the topic.

You glance down at yourself. It’s actually the same one you’d worn to Lou’s birthday party, complete with the uncomfortable heels and the denim jacket to help dress it down. Looking down at your toes you remember trading shoes with Sam, arguing with Van in hushed tones on the deck stairs. You hadn’t known how deep your feelings were for him then, but you remember how his jealousy both pissed you off and pleased you at the same time, an indication that he might want your arrangement to go deeper than friends. That memory falls into the disappointment abyss when you realize in hindsight how that never happened.

“Thanks, but look at you!” You beam at her, gesturing to her own dress. It’s a silk slip that looks like you might see a Kardashian posing in it on instagram. It makes her legs look a mile long, and she’s gone braless, always on trend. She’s got her right hand wrapped around a sleek clutch bag, and as you two head into the bar she holds it up.

“Don’t let me get drunk and forget this in the bathroom or at the table,” She warns in a low tone.

“I’ll try,” You mutter, as the hustle and bustle of the club surrounds you two. “But I’m in need of a few martinis myself.”

“Long week?” Mary eyes you after she scans the room. You’re doing the same, looking for the table Danica had texted you they were at.

You spot the table, starting to head to it, Mary following along. “Oh yeah,” You nod enthusiastically, realizing how emotionally drained you’ve been since Van’s text on Monday.

You introduce everyone to Mary before sliding into the curved booth, exchanging greetings. One of the girls pass you a menu that you look over with curiosity. You need something strong enough to forget these last two months.

Your focus on the menu fades when your phone buzzes against the glossy tabletop. Just as you reach to check what notification has appeared the server comes around to get you and Mary’s drink order. While she opts for a cosmopolitan your eyes quickly flit over the page, your brain scrambling to read the different ingredients in your hurry.

“I’ll have an endless summer,” You recite to the waitress, smiling at her as she hurries away to relay the order. She leaves the menu so that the girls that haven’t arrived yet can look over it.

As soon as she’s gone you grab for your phone again, unlocking it to see a text from Van: Wanna do lunch at that diner tomorrow? It’ll help with that hangover

You’d told him about your plans to go out for drinks, and his thoughtfulness makes your heart ache. Why does he have to be so fucking nice all of the time?

“Is that Van?” Mary interrupts the wave of sadness welling up in your chest. Everyone has stopped talking, Mary commanding the attention of everyone per usual.

“Um, yeah,” You respond politely, despite the urge to reach over and strangle her. Everyone’s eyes are on you, and your cheeks burn at the way Mary’s just exposed your Van situation to everyone.

“Who?” Danica asks, tilting her head as she takes a sip of her drink. “I thought you were single!”

Realizing your coworkers had no idea about him, Mary’s face lights up in joy. You hate her for it, internally groaning. There’s no way she’s going to let you get away without telling everyone what was going on.

“Y/N hasn’t told you about Van?” Mary asks, leaning in excitedly. Danica and your other coworker that had arrived early, Nicole, are suddenly at attention, waiting for you to explain.

“Hey, hey!” Olivia- forever the loudest coworker in the office- calls from behind your shoulder. She’s sauntering effortlessly on stilettos, Mia trailing behind.

Olivia makes a big scene of plopping down in the booth, Mia shuffling in next to you. Whereas you’re the quiet counterpart to Mary, Mia’s the same to Olivia. You’d always liked Mia, the way she never seemed stressed or worked up over office demands or drama; she tended to let them roll off of her with a quiet shrug. You tended to stay away from Olivia, however. While Mary radiated an outgoing, enjoyable charisma, Olivia radiated an air of lead-cheerleader bitchiness.

The commotion of Olivia and Mia’s arrival has successfully diverted the conversation to how hard the restaurant had been for Olivia to find, and everyone forgets about the Van topic. You sigh in relief when the waitress comes back around to collect the new drink orders, gingerly setting a glass full of sunset-colored alcohol in front of you. It starts deep red at the bottom with the cranberry juice, and somehow fades to a soft orange by the middle of the glass, a pale pink at the top. You suck at your straw eagerly, ready to have some alcohol in your system. It’s overly sweet and burns as it goes down, but Danica and Nicole are already one drink ahead of you, so you’re trying to catch up.

“He’s an annoying motherfucker,” Olivia is complaining about her husband, tossing her phone back into her bag with a scoff. Mia murmurs agreement next to you, and Danica is asking her some question about wedding venues. Danica’s not engaged just yet, but it’s clear she’s desperate for a proposal from her boyfriend.

Oh, to be surrounded by friends in couples. Mary has chimed in about some pet peeve she has about Theo, and you let their conversation fade to the background of your mind as you pick your phone up again.

This weekend doesn’t really work for me at all, you text Van. It physically pains you to press send, but you know it’s what you’ve got to do. He’s not getting the hint!

“Oh! Y/N!” Danica suddenly exclaims, and when you look up from your screen she is gesturing excitedly, like the words are on the tip of her tongue.

“You were gonna tell us about that Victor guy!” She finally spits it out, and the spotlight is on you again.

“Van,” You correct absentmindedly, before realizing you’d missed the point. You clear your throat, tucking your phone in the pocket of your jacket, deciding not to check it again. You couldn’t handle Van possibly becoming angry or hurt. “Um, there’s not much to say!” You laugh nervously, glancing at Mary as a call for help. “He’s my best friend.”

“Besides, you, of course,” You hurry to assure Mary. She rolls her eyes in amusement, unbothered.

“He’s her best friend with benefits,” Mary stirs the pot. Everyone’s interest in you had started to fade with your lackluster explanation, but at the mention of the benefits they all perk up again.

“And get this,” Mary gestures excitedly, and you’re relieved she’s taking over the storytelling. “He’s the lead singer of this band that’s fucking huge in the U.K.”

“No way,” Danica’s eyes widen.

“Yeah,” Mary nods. “We met him after they played a show at the House of Blues in San Diego.”

“When?” Nicole pipes up, scooting in closer.

“In January, when I was there for my birthday,” You tell her.

“You’ve been with him since January?” Danica asks, clearly shocked. “You haven’t said a word!”

You open your mouth to respond, but are interrupted by the waitress passing out another round of drinks. You take the last few sips of your first martini, then stick your straws into the next glass.

“Girl, explain,” Nicole demands, earning a laugh from everyone at the table.

“Hold on,” You laugh, feeling a bit more comfortable with their interest. This whole thing has been weighing on you, after all, and now you’ve got the chance to get some fresh opinions on what you should do. Without further ado you hold the straw of your drink between your thumb and forefinger, swallowing it down in a matter of a minute.

“I need to catch up!” Olivia shouts as you pull away, and starts to gulp down her own drink. She’s finished quicker than you, ever the show-off, and waves the waitress over again to request another round for you and her.

The waitress is back pronto, another endless summer dripping condensation on the table in front of you, a bloody mary perched in front of Olivia.

You take a sip to wet your throat before you sit back.

You’ve never told the story of you two out loud like this before. Mary’s been present every step of the way, and you’d managed to stay away from your family’s prying by telling them only the basics of your friendship. This is the first time you have to listen to yourself explain all of the time you’ve spent together, and it shocks you as you hear yourself. Like when you explain the story of Van catching strep throat, and Mia is confused as to why he decided to spend over a week crashing at your place. You recite Van’s excuse at the time about the lack of food at his house, but nobody at the booth seems convinced.

You trail off when you’re finished, deciding not to share anymore details with anyone. Mary had snorted more than once during your chronicles due to your decision to keep everything very surface and PG- although you’re sure none of these girls cared about Catfish, Van’s trust is sacred to you. You’re fiercely protective over the private moments you two have had together; even Mary doesn’t know about the way you’d tied him up during his birthday sex.

There’s a silence that falls over everyone when you’re finished, punctuating the story of your summer with a long, burning sip of your drink. You’re expecting Olivia to launch into her own story- no doubt somehow more interesting than yours- but you’re surprised to see her stirring her bloody mary, looking lost in thought. Was this Van thing really that crazy?

“So,” Danica is the first one to speak, “When are you supposed to see him again?”

Your shoulders slump at this. “He’s in town this weekend, but I don’t think we’re gonna see each other.”

Mary snaps to attention, her eyes locking with yours. “Why not?”

Everyone seems to be on the edge of their seat, waiting for more details with bated breath.

You shrug, but Mary only narrows her eyes. “I think I’m gonna end things,” You keep your voice light, stirring the ice in your now-empty glass.

“What? Why?” Nicole shrieks. “He sounds great!”

“He is great,” You affirm. You’d sworn to yourself a long time ago that no matter how this thing plays out, you’d always maintain that Van had been the best man you’d ever been with. “But he’s just really busy now. He was gone for almost all of September.”

“So you’re gonna give him up?” Nicole scoffs in disbelief. “You’re insane, Y/N.”

“I mean, there’s nothing to give up!” You defend yourself weakly, your voice going higher in pitch. “We’re not together!”

Mary opens her mouth to speak, no doubt to derail you from your plan. You understand why she’s eager to dissuade you from something so drastic, but she also had no idea about the agony you’ve been in, how cutting ties with Van is the only way you know how to save your sanity.

“Do you have a picture?” Olivia asks, successfully interrupting Mary. Despite your dislike for Olivia, you’re glad for her intervention.

“Um, lemme see,” You murmur, grabbing your phone back out of your pocket. But you forgot you’d been keeping your phone in there on purpose, and as you go to scroll through your photo gallery you’re accosted with Van’s reply to your previous message:

Everything alright?

You swipe it away, reaching your drink before realizing it’s empty. “Ugh, I need another one of these.” How many drinks have you had now? Three? You wish you remembered.

You deliberate over what photo to show them; you hardly take any when you two are together, and most of the ones you’ve taken seem too intimate to share with others. You laugh when you scroll past a photo of Van you’d taken in August, standing by the front door with his ribboned ficus in his arms. He’s got an exaggerated grin, no attempt to look poised for the camera. There’s tons of photos with his blurry hands or feet in them, attempts to obscure snapchats you were trying to take for Mary, and you hurry past the few nudes he’d sent you when you two had decided to exchange a few over text. You settle on one you feel comfortable sharing; it’s a photo of him at some bar, his eyes bloodshot from the alcohol. He’s flushed and beaming, leaning against Bob, who was the one taking the picture of the two of them. He’d forwarded it to you the next morning, complaining about his hangover. You present this photo to the others.

Immediately Olivia takes your phone from your hands, sending a shot of anxiety through you. You’ll never understand why some people insist on taking the phone out of your hands rather than just looking at the image on the screen.

“He’s good looking!” She exclaims, almost like she didn’t expect it. Danica and Nicole nod their agreement. When Olivia hands the phone back you flash the photo at Mia, who seems more interested in Bob’s half of the picture.

“Isn’t he?” Mary agrees, playfully elbowing you. “If you’re finished with him then send him my way,” She jokes, but you can hear her ill-concealed frustration with you underneath. You know she’s dying to know what the fuck you’re doing, messing up the best not-relationship you’ve ever had. Maybe she’ll get lunch with you tomorrow, so you can properly explain. Of course you hadn’t shared your true feelings for Van with everyone, but it was probably time for Mary to know.

“He sounds like a keeper,” Olivia agrees, and you’re surprised to hear she thinks so. You’re even more surprised at everyone’s enthusiastic nods.

“You’d be an idiot to let him go,” Danica tells you seriously, and Nicole murmurs her assent. “Like, seriously. Have you lost interest in him?”

Lost interest in him? You wish it could be true, but that wasn’t even a possibility you could fathom at the moment.

“Uh, no,” You answer her, trying to seem nonchalant. “It’s just the logistics.”

“Well, make it work,” Nicole urges you.

There’s some murmurs about ‘the one that got away’ from the other girls, and the conversation about Van finally dies out. You’re relieved when Mia brings up a project she’s working on in the office, looking for some advice from everyone about how to respond to a client who tends to have an aggressive tone in his emails. From there things fade into hilarious client stories and email blunders, and you try to seem as engaged as possible, relieved to have the focus off of you.

You lose track of your drinks, absentmindedly sipping them while everyone’s voices flow and mingle around you. You’ve definitely hit your introvert limit, ready to head home and curl up in bed. Nobody seems to notice how quiet you’ve grown, or how you perk up in relief when Mia finally suggests you guys call it a night. Everyone takes her cue, the table lighting up with phone screens as everyone reaches out to their ride.

“Theo can take you home,” Mary offers when you pull up the Uber app.

“Oh, it’s fine,” You politely decline. There’s a lot of Ubers doing rounds on a busy street like Melrose during this time, and you know a car will be here soon. More than anything you were craving the quiet, some time away from this loud club music and conversation.

“If you’re sure…” Mary trails off. You remember your idea about lunch suddenly, ready to blurt it out to her, but the sober fraction of your brain shushes you. It would be incredibly rude to make lunch plans with someone right in front of everyone else.

Lunch tomorrow? You text her instead, and watch the notification ping on her phone screen.

YES. she sends back. YOU HAVE EXPLAINING TO DO.

That would cause sober-you to dread these plans, but thankfully drunk-you is only preoccupied with going home.

You’re drunker than you’d thought by the end of the night. You’d managed to down all of your drinks without the need to use the restroom (miraculously), but when you had stood up to let Mary shuffle out of the booth it suddenly felt like your bladder was nothing but a bouncing water balloon, and all of the alcohol had rushed to your head. You had struggled to keep yourself walking in a straight line to the bathroom, not to mention staying balanced on your heels while you washed your hands. You get the notification your ride is here as soon as you’re pushing through the heavy swinging door, so you grab your bag back at the booth and exchange goodbyes and promises to do this again with Nicole, who is the last one waiting for a ride, and head out front.

There’s no silence quite as satisfying as the one that follows a night out after you’ve hopped into the car and closed the door. Besides the polite hello the driver offers he doesn’t seem interested in conversation, so you stare out the window at the night sky and try to make sense of the mess in your head.

Only as the car is pulling out onto Melrose do you remember you’d left a text from Van on read. You grab your phone off of the seat next to you, clicking your texts with Van open.

Everything alright? You read to yourself over and over. How the fuck were you supposed to answer that? Was he really that clueless? Were you that amazing at hiding how much this had been hurting you, or had he just not bothered to pay attention?

I’m fine, you decide to reply. Was it the truth? Not exactly. But you knew you would be, eventually. Ending things would hurt like hell at first, but you’d recover. You had from every other heartbreak you’ve experienced in your life, after all.

You’re surprised when your phone vibrates in your palm, an instant reply from Van: Don’t seem fine.

Shit. Maybe he’s been paying a bit more attention than you thought. You double down on your lie: It’s fine Van.

The three dots pop up before you can even lock your phone: ??

You click your screen off, tossing your phone beside you on the bench. It bounces with a soft thud, and you rest your head in your hands, trying to take a deep breath.

Everyone’s advice starts to echo in your mind: He sounds like a keeper! You’d be an idiot to let him go! Make it work! Offered up so happily as if those were actually options, as if there was any fucking possibility Van felt the same way about you.

It completely overwhelms you then, how in over your head you are. There had been moments where you’d felt a speck of hope, signs that maybe he wanted more than this casual thing, but now it’s been six months of spending time together, and exactly zero attempts by him to broach the subject. It all hits you then, all the emotions you’ve been keeping controlled while you tried to enjoy your night out, and before you know it you’re in tears.

It’s only a few tears at first, but letting go feels so good you give in to it, the car silent except for your loud sniffles and the occasional shaky breath. The Uber driver, to his credit, doesn’t react as you silently bawl your eyes out in the backseat.

Your phone goes off again from where it’s facedown, light seeping out of the sides. You leave it there, for once not pathetically controlled by Van’s moment-to-moment whim. A little laugh bubbles out of you at that thought, and you think absentmindedly that you must sound absolutely crazy, but you’re too drunk to care, the alcohol carrying that thought away as you continue your catharsis.

Time slips by in jumps and starts, your tears slowing eventually, and by the time the car turns onto your block you’re excited to get inside, make yourself a hot mug of tea, and continue your cry in private. Your house is the only one on your side of the street with the light on, and so you watch it slide into view as the car makes its way down the road.

“It’s that one,” You snuffle, “With the light on.”

As the car approaches, your blood goes cold.

Your first instinct is to assume it’s some sort of alcohol-induced hallucination. You wipe the tears from your eyes furiously, but when you look again there’s no mistaking it. The porch light is cascading down your front lawn, and Van’s silhouette is perched on your front steps, smoking a cigarette.

“Here you go, ma’am,” The driver stops the car and unlocks the door for you. As soon as the car pulls up Van tosses his cigarette onto the front path and stomps it out, standing up. You watch him through the car window in disbelief before you grab your things, give a numb thank you, and get out of the car.

There’s a stretch of silence as the Uber pulls away where you stand right outside of the front gate, unable to do anything except gape at Van.

A car suddenly whizzes down your road, and you realize how close you are to being in the street. “What the fuck are you doing here?” You exclaim, the clatter of the gate clicking closed behind you echoing with your voice off of the silent houses around you.

“I came here to get some answers!” Van says, exasperated. “You won’t tell me nothin’!”

“There’s nothing to say!” You gesture with your arms as you reach the steps, face to face with him. “There’s no answers to get!”

“You’ve been cryin’!” Van gestures towards you, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” You wipe at your undereye self consciously and look down at your finger. There’s a smear of mascara. You sigh before moving past Van up the stairs, headed for the front door. He follows.

“Did I do something?” He asks, coming into your peripheral vision. “If I did, just tell me! Let me make this right.”

You look through your purse for your keys, ignoring him.

“Christ, I’m sorry. I didn’t do anything on purpose!”

You continue your search for your keys, keeping your head down.

“Fuck,” You say quietly to yourself as you sweep your bag for the third time and fail. You click your phone on, switching on the flashlight and lighting up your bag.

Van groans in frustration, wiping a hand through his hair. “Y/N!”

“What?” You snap at him, looking up. You’ve finally found your key and you jam it into the door, clicking it unlocked.

“Why are you ignorin’ me?” He pleads.

“Van,” You start, trying to keep your voice steady. You look up at him then, and you feel like your breath’s been punched out of you. The light is illuminating him from behind, a halo of golden light that catches each strand of frizz and accentuates the sharp line of his chin. His hair’s grown out since the spring, the light snagging the curls that are upturned at the nape of his neck. You swallow thickly. His eyes are wide in confusion.

“I think we need to end things,” You say quietly, struggling to see through a fresh batch of tears.

His jaw hangs slightly ajar. “What?” He asks in disbelief.

Your eyes are welling up again, and you wipe at them, a mess of mascara on your hands. “We’re done,” You tell him, voice wobbling, as you swing the door open and head inside.

He doesn’t give you a chance to shut the door in his face, heading in right behind you. “You’re fucking joking! What have I done?”

You head straight for the bathroom, examining yourself in the mirror. You cringe inwardly at yourself and grab for your makeup wipes, trying to make yourself look a little less pathetic.

Van is standing in the front room. “I’m not leaving until we talk about this,” He says loudly so you can hear him from behind the bathroom door.

You don’t respond, wiping away your eyeliner vigorously.

“I said I’m sorry!”

You sigh to yourself.

“Look, I-”

“Listen, Van!” You cut him off from the other room. You swing the door open, marching out. “It’s like you said in the hotel that one time, remember? We’re supposed to be simple, easy. And that was working great. You stop by at your convenience, and I throw everything else out of the fucking window to spend time with you. And then you just fucking… disappear! For two months! And it- I-” You struggle to find any words, your voice fading out as you feel yourself start to cry again. And I love you. I miss you.

Van throws his arms up. “I didn’t mean it like that at all, c’mon! It’s not at my convenience! I was working! I wasn’t trying to ignore ya! I try my hardest to come around!”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair again. When he speaks again, he’s quieter. “It wasn’t like that, honest.”

“I just can’t do this anymore,” You try desperately to explain. “This whole ‘simple’ thing is killing me. The long trips out to see you, and I’m lucky if I get to see you for two whole days…” Your words are interrupted by an embarrassingly pathetic sob, Van’s eyes widening at your outpouring of emotion.

“Please don’t tell me you think this whole thing was about having you around just for a fuck,” Van pleads. “You’re my best mate! I can’t help that I travel a lot!”

You bury your face in your hands.

Van sighs, moving towards you. “I didn’t mean to make you cry,” He says earnestly. “C’mon. I’m sorry. Get out of that dress and we can turn a film on, yeah? Or we can go grab some food. Whatever you wanna do.”

You groan into your palms, the sound echoing in your ears. He just wasn’t getting it.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Van offers, his voice soft. “I didn’t… I’m sorry if it seemed like I was using you, or something.”

“But then we’ll go out to eat, and everything’ll be fine tonight, but it’s still gonna be the same! And you’re gonna be so busy with tour, and it’s not fair to me when you’re not around, and I can’t spend my whole life roadtripping with you!”

“The bulk of this leg is over!” Van argues, “And I don’t mind if you’re busy. It’ll be your turn to text me like I’ve been texting you, yeah?” The corner of his lips quirk up in a tired smile.

“Oh my God, Van,” You groan again. You take a long, frustrated inhale. It was now or never, you realize, because he might be the best man you’ve ever been with, but he’s still completely clueless.

“I’m trying to tell you I fucking love you!” You yell, throwing your arms up. “I fucking love you! I don’t want simple and easy! I want you!”

You feel like you’re about to faint from the admission. For a terrifying moment all of the blood rushes to your head, and the only sound you can hear is your own heartbeat in your ears. You’ve put all your cards on the table, and there was no going back. Van might’ve been eager to fix things moments ago, but he could very well change his entire attitude now that the truth is out.

While you stand there, terrified, you notice his tired smile start to stretch into a grin.

“What?” He asks, grinning ear to ear.

“I love you,” You repeat, no longer yelling. Your throat hurts. It feels like the dust settling after an explosion, but your heart is skipping because Van isn’t running, not yet.

“Are you saying that I’m not simple? Or easy?” Van jokes, still beaming.

“No.” You feel a small laugh of relief bubble up. “I know it’s hard. With the traveling, and the label deadlines and stuff. But I’ve had the trial period. I wanna be able to text you and ask what you’re doing without seeming all clingy. And I don’t wanna go days without hearing from you!” Van groans at that. “And I want you to be able to tell everyone that I’m your girlfriend. Not your mate!” You say that part with a glare, remembering the conversation between him and Bondy you’d overhead by the ice machine in Detroit.

“You heard that?” Van groans again, laughing. “I didn’t know what to say! He caught me by surprise!”

“And I want my family to be able to meet you!” You add on, “Not have to lie and pretend you’re busy with band stuff because you wouldn’t come in!”

Van’s jaw drops slightly at that. “I wanted to come in!” He confesses, “I thought you were asking as an afterthought! To be polite!” He runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. “You don’t know how bad I wanted to say yes.”

He wraps his arms around you now, pulling you in close.

“I love you, too,” He admits. “And I have for a long fucking time! I’m sorry it didn’t seem like it. I thought you liked this whole ‘simple’ thing. I was playing it up for your sake!” He sways you back and forth while you bury your head in his chest, wrapping your arms around him.

“I can’t believe you,” You shake your head against him in exasperation. You lift your head suddenly, your face inches from his. “When did you know?”

Van puffs his cheeks up with air, releasing it with a whoosh as you watch his eyes flit through the air while he considers. “On the couch on the tour bus,” He tells you. “I mean, I already did, but that was my moment of… yeah.” One side of his lips quirk up in a lopsided smile.

“Well, I win,” You tease. “Because I realized it backstage in Phoenix.”

Van’s eyes widen in shock. “You’re fucking joking!” He laughs, “And you’ve been keeping it a secret since?”

“Yeah!” You exclaim, lifting your hands from where they’re resting on his sides to gesture at him. “You were making it pretty fucking clear you weren’t interested in dating!”

“Oh, yeah?” Van challenges, his playful grin reappearing. “More clear than you attempting to break things off with me?”

“Oh, stop,” You huff, pointing to your puffy eyes and splotchy face. “Clearly you can see it wasn’t an easy decision!”

“Fuck, I thought you had it out for me,” Van laughs, letting one of his hands fall from your back so that he can run it through his hair. “Whatever I did, I was ready to accept your wrath.”

“You don’t even know,” You start, burying your face in his shirt again. Your tears are back, overwhelmed with relief that the truth was finally out, that Van loved you the same way you loved him. “This has been tearing me apart for months now.”

“Me too,” Van sighs, his palm rubbing up and down your spine. “I even told you on accident that one time.”

You freeze, trying to understand what he meant.

“Wait,” You lift your head, stepping back from him. “Are you talking about that phone call?”

“Yeah.”

At this your jaw drops. You’ve stepped out of Van’s arms, and he’s keeping his hands busy by rolling the sleeves of his button-up over his forearms. “You said you didn’t remember it!”

“I told you I loved you!” Van’s clearly embarrassed, his cheeks burning pink. “And I got all soppy about being apart on my birthday!”

“I said I loved you back!” You shout in complete disbelief. “We both admitted we loved each other and you didn’t think anything of it?”

“I was drunk! I thought you were taking pity on me! Give me a break!”

Oh God, he was impossible. You open your mouth to ridicule him further, but instead you step toward him again, cupping his jaw and bringing your lips together. There’s no sense in arguing about it anymore. Clearly you’d both been oblivious, but what did it matter now that everything had worked out?

Well, technically, you had no idea what the road ahead would bring for you two. But you’ve made it this far, right? Seven months of navigating these unspoken rules between you two, it feels like things can only get easier now that they’re dissolving right before your eyes. You kiss Van harder, and when your lips open for him it feels like all of the possibilities opening up before you: Van was your fucking boyfriend now.

In the thrill of your realization you reach for his belt buckle, struggling to undo it while you’re distracted by the kiss.

After fussing with it for longer than normal you feel the warm press of Van’s lips being pulled away, his hands coming to wrap around yours.

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” He remarks in amusement, brushing your hands aside and undoing his own belt.

“Because I love you,” You confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you too,” Van chuckles, giving you another quick kiss. “Whew, how much did you have? I feel like I took a shot just fucking kissing ya.”

“It doesn’t matter,” You tell him bluntly. “Help me out of this dress.”

Van knows you’re right because he obliges, tossing your jean jacket in the vicinity of the couch before helping you undo the zipper that runs down your back. Soon your dress has fallen around your ankles, tripping you up as you step out of the puddle of fabric on your heels.

Van’s hands reach out, steadying you. “Christ,” He laughs, guiding you to the couch. “Need help getting those heels off?”

“Please,” You sigh, flopping down on the couch in your bra and underwear, extending your legs out towards Van, who gets down on his knees to be of assistance. His fingers easily undo the straps around your ankles, releasing your feet from the hazard of your heels in no time.

His fingers tuck into the waistband of your underwear next, tugging them down your thighs and depositing them on the ground before his head’s between your legs.

You sigh happily, slumping against the cushions as you pet his hair. You can’t remember the last time you were as content as you were right now; having drunk sex with your boyfriend, the person you loved and trusted most in the world.

Your entire body feels like a warm puddle of endless summers and pleasure, but suddenly a thought pierces through the fog in your brain, and you shoot upright in your seat so fast that Van pulls away in concern.

“I have to text Mary!” You remember. Your eyes search around wildly for your bag, and you can feel the air passing between your legs without Van’s mouth keeping you warm.

Van wipes his chin, making to stand up. “Well, text her,” He says, gesturing towards the bedroom door. “Then come meet me in bed.”

You stumble up from the couch, crossing the living room naked and heading into the bathroom, where you’d left your purse.

Hello???? Mary’s sent. Did you get home safe????? Are you okay?!?

Home safe, You send back. Sorry, Van showed up unexpectedly and we talked. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow!

As soon as you’ve sent it you see the typing indicator pop up. You decide to respond to one last message before catching up to Van so you two can resume your first official romp as a couple.

If you tell me you two are done I’m gonna kill you.

At her words, you grin.

Haha nope. We both realized we’re in love with each other and we’re official now. It’s a long story.

#summer's a knife #catfish and the bottlemen #catfish and the bottlemen fanfiction #catb #catb fic #van mccann #van mccann fanfiction #van mccann fic #van fic

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