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alexiabae · 7 months

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SIDELINES; alexia putellas x fem!reader

Summary: spain won the world cup. but she didn't care about it, she cares about the happiness that it brings to someone else.

Warnings: fluff. insecurities, brief mention of what happened last year with the Spanish federation. I wrote it a few weeks ago and I'm not sure if I want to update it. So before I regret and delete it, I give it an opportunity. Hope you like it, x.

Note: English is not my first language.

It's over.

The referee whistles the final, indicating that Spain proclaimed the winner of the World Cup.

Y/N stopped running, her breathing accelerated by the intense 90+ minutes played. She put her hands on her waist, looking briefly at the stands where people started to celebrate their victory.

"¡HEMOS GANADO!" Jenni shouted happily while she wrapped her arms around Y/N's waist and lifted her, making the girl squeal a little.

"Put me down!" Y/N demand immediately, moving her legs on air.

Jenni laughed, putting her down again and kissing her head a few times. "We won kiddo." The brunette whispered, before she let her and went to another part.

Y/N rolled her eyes by her antics and soon her gaze found her England teammate devastated and walk towards the player, wrapping her arms around her waist from behind and leaning her head on her back.

"I'm really sorry..." Y/N muttered, hugging the woman more.

Lucy let out a watery laugh, looking briefly at the girl behind her. "I know... But it's football, you all deserve it." She said between tears, bringing her right hand to Y/N's head, caressing affectionately. "Why don't you go and celebrate with your team?" She asked, knowing internally why because the girl confessed to her a few months ago.

Y/N let out a tired sight. She looks to where most of her teammates are, and her eyes watered, shaking her head. "I regret it, Lucia." She admitted in a low voice, using Lucy's full name.

In another moment, Lucy would scold her for using her full name, but she knew that right now wasn't the moment. Then, she turned around and wrapped her arms around her neck, hiding both of them on the hug.

Lucy wants to say something comforting, but she can't. She said it in the past though. So the British separated a little from the hug and grabbed Y/N's face between her hands, she kissed her forehead.

"Go." Her teammate whispered, signaling with her head the side where Y/N's teammates are. When saw that she didn't move, Lucy pushed her softly. "Go, we will see soon. Celebrate and enjoy your holidays, I will text you and call you." She promised before walking to some of her teammates, knowing that Y/N doesn't walk to go over there.

Y/N looks again to where they are and she sees the beautiful sight that brings her in the first place. She started walking slowly towards there, consoling briefly some of the other team, she took a mental note to go to talk to Keira.

Irene was the first to notice her and run to hug her, lifting her from the floor. Why does everyone do that? Thought Y/N.

"Where were you? ¡SOMOS CAMPEONAS DEL MUNDO, Y/N!" Irene, like every teammate, shouts happily. She started spinning, making Y/N once again squeal.

"I was with Lucy. Please, put me down!" Y/N explained, begging her to hear her and put her down.

At the mention of their common friend, Irene put her down. For Y/N's relieved. She raised her gaze towards Lucy would be. Y/N saw how Irene has red eyes for crying. Happy tears.

"Shit, I'm going to search for her." Irene let her know, kissing the side of her head while putting a hand on her head, before she let go.

Y/N briefly sees Irene walk to the other side of the pitch, doing what Y/N did on the walk toward there, until her gaze moves again to the group next to her and sees the guilty, smiling, her cheeks stained from the tears. The Barça player bit her bottom lip, biting the involuntary smile that wanted to escape.

Then, the other noticed her. The woman made a gesture with her head, asking why she is standing on the spot while they are jumping and chanting. Or that was supposed Y/N she asked with a simple move of head.

"Come here, idiota." Alexia called, stretching her right arm towards her, moving her fingers in the air, still smiling.

Y/N couldn't resist anymore to be near her and accepting the hand that the other offered, intertwining it a few seconds. It saddened Y/N when the Catalan left her hand, but Alexia made her change the opinion when wrapped her right arm around her waist, a firm grip on her hip.

She was over the moon. She doesn't care what was the reason if Alexia could do that frequently. Y/N would do it if it was the award. She knew that it was another moment to remember the many times Alexia hugged her while Y/N lay on her bed while the sleepiness came to her. She would write it in a diary, but her mind was the replacement, she can vividly feel it.

Alexia turned her head towards Y/N, their head very close. "I'm proud of you." She said loudly, trying to be heard from the loud noise that their teammates are doing.

"I'm proud of you too." Y/N doesn't bother to raise her voice, if the brunette doesn't hear her, she reads her lips.

Alexia's dimples show up, showing more of her teeth for the reciprocal compliment. Y/N feels how the grip tightens briefly on her hip.

"That dribble was scandalous." Alexia inevitably said, leaning briefly on Y/N's ear to be heard.

Y/N shakes her head, smiling. "Can you please stop for a moment thinking football and enjoy?" She asked rhetorically, chuckling. She reposed her left arm on Alexia's shoulder, giving a soft pat.

"Sorry, you know how I am." The brunette apologized, shrugging.

It takes Y/N for surprise what Alexia made after. She knew that the Catalan is someone affectionate with people she cares about, but she always has the power to surprise her.

Alexia leaned again and kissed her cheek. It would be a few seconds, like one or two. But it remained for more seconds that it was obligatory for only two friends. Even she made a little pressure before she separated, starting to chant again.

But Y/N just looks at her distracted, not caring if someone sees her. She is enjoying Alexia, that's all that matters to her in that moment.

•••

After taking as many photos as possible with the trophy. They walked to the changing room, where the real party started.

Y/N doesn't mind it and goes to the showers. She felt strange, she remembered the last time she won a trophy, just two months ago and it didn't feel the same manner. Y/N celebrates it until the next day, not bothering to do the necessary personal things immediately, she just lives the moment. But right now... It's different and she knew it.

She knows that she didn't would accept it in the first place. But then, a person interfered with it. Explaining the reasons to why they all, need her on the team. And Y/N accepted. She was very conflicted, nights where she spent it crying with a lump on her throat.

"Stop thinking, I can hear you from here." Ona muttered on the other shower.

Y/N turned to look at her and saw how a reassuring smile played on her lips. "Why are you here and not celebrating?" She was confused, noticing Ona's wet hair.

The young Catalan leaned her arms on the wall and put her chin there. "I can ask you the same." She hummed, chuckling when Y/N threw her some drops of water with her fingers.

Ona watched her carefully while the other continued to shower. She knew that something happened to her, because from the start, Y/N was acting distant, light conversation and always on her mind.

"Something to say? Since you are looking too much." Y/N teased her, letting out a playful smirk.

"Why are you acting holding yourself?" Ona directly asked. She saw how Y/N froze on the spot, not waiting for that question.

Y/N's eyes watered, not caring anymore hold her tears in front of some teammates. Her demeanour changed, something that Ona noted immediately.

"Hey... Sorry. I shouldn't ask you..." Ona interrupted herself, grabbing her towel and after wrapping it on her body, she got out and went towards Y/N, grabbing the tower for the girl.

She wrapped it around Y/N's body and turned off the shower. "Let's go." Ona muttered, bringing the girl outside and sitting her on a bench. Soft sobs starting to escape from Y/N's mouth. The Catalan frowned, feeling a little guilty for probably being a hard topic for her. Even if she didn't really know what the problem was. She decided to put on the clean clothes that she brought before.

"Look at me." Ona whispered once she had her clothes on. She bent down and removed Y/N's hands from her own face, wiping with her thumbs the many tears rolling for her red cheeks. "I'm here, Y/N. If you don't want to talk about it right now, I understand. But please, you are holding it for many time that it is consuming you." The brunette whispered, passing an arm around her neck and leaning towards herself to hug her, while with her free hand caressing her back.

Y/N thought that Ona was right and for once, she decided to share her fears. After she relaxed a little and the hiccups remained from sobbing.

"I shouldn't come back to the national team." Y/N muttered, her head still on the crook of her neck, feeling a little brave since she can't see Ona's face.

Ona frowned and still caressing her back, she asked. "Why?"

"Because from the start, I wasn't coming... But-." Y/N stopped abruptly, fearing if she said too much, her secret would be out. But she trusted Ona.

"But?" Ona pressed softly, putting her chin on her head.

"Alexia talked to me." She finally let her breath out, the one she was holding.

"She talked to me too. I don't understand." Ona said confused.

Y/N let out a sigh. "I accepted even knowing that everything would be the same as before." She explained.

Ona's frown disappears slowly conforming she thought about it. "If I don't understand bad this time... The reason you are here is Alexia." She said it carefully, noticing how Y/N confirmed it with her head. A low sight escaped from Ona's mouth. "Since when?"

Y/N swallow. "I lost count." She whispered.

The Catalan felt shocked by this answer. She was waiting for a clear number. Not for her friend confessing to her that practically she is in love with Alexia from all the time they met.

The young defender separated herself a little and with both hands, she grabbed her face, looking directly to her eyes. "You will do everything for her, didn't you?" Ona guessed quickly, understanding now.

Y/N bit her bottom lip, nodding. "And for the first time I regret it. I failed my friends, Ona. It hurts." She started to cry again.

The other girl feels her pain. It's like if Y/N could pass her from her body and show her how she is feeling. And it is sad and scary.

"They understand, Y/N. They will not hate you." Ona tried to reason with her.

"Even though I don't deserve being here... There are a lot of better players than me. It's stupid." Y/N rants out, letting her walls down and showing how truly she feels.

"Don't say that!" Ona scolded her, looking at Y/N seriously. "You deserve it. You are one of the best players we have. Damn, you came from winning a Champions League. And you played every minute of this tournament, something I don't agree with because you aren't a robot." She made her point, a little mad with Y/N for saying that, better say, for believing that she isn't a good player. She knew that it was her insecurities talking for her, but she can't contain her madness. "You deserve it. Just like them." She says it this time in a sweet and caring voice, kissing her cheek repeatedly.

"Y/N! You are losi-," Alexia came to the shower room. The gold medal is still around her neck, a happy face adorned by a big smile that turned soon in a half open mouth and in her eyebrows installed a confused frown. She cleared her throat after recomposing a little. "Sorry to interrupt guys..." She awkwardly said, forcing a smile. Then, the woman tried to go but Ona called her.

When someone else entered the room, Ona separated from Y/N and put herself quickly in front of her to cover her. Clearly she knew that Alexia caught them in a compromised position, but a wrong one.

"Ale! Wait." She looked briefly at Y/N, who was wiping her cheeks fast and with her eyes begged at her friend to let it go. Ona sighed, a little conflicted but wanting the best for her friend. Maybe she didn't have to know everything, just the part she is struggling with right now. So, the Catalan raised her head to look at a serious and confused Alexia and spoke. "Y/N is bad. She needs you." She whispered, looking guilty at the floor.

After hearing these words came out from Ona's mouth, Alexia instantly worried. She decided to continue the way that she decided before to leave and closed the door, walking decisively towards the pair, stopping in front of Ona.

"I don't want to overstep because I know you. But I'm staying here until you're ready." Ale murmured, worry installed on her voice. She looks at Ona, their eyes meeting. With a simple gesture of her head asked her, but the answer was shrugging.

Y/N sniffled and stood up. She knew that Alexia would stay here until she knew everything. So she decided to put on the clothes, go to an empty shower and put it on quickly, matching Ona's wet hair down and after wiping some dry tears from her cheeks, she went outside, meeting the begging ones from the freckled girl. Y/N can't look at Alexia, it's like the brunette intimidated her right now. She can feel her eyes on her, watching every move she makes.

"I hate this..." Y/N muttered, letting aside her towel and sitting on a bench, putting both hands on her knees, a tired sigh escaping from her mouth. "I shouldn't pay you attention and stay with my decision. I spent two months with anxiety, sleepless nights, crying without anyone knowing and fighting the urge to call the girls to ask for their forgiveness." She explained in a low voice. I hate the act of whatever you say, I would do it..." She trailed off, more tears rolling for her cheeks, this time not caring.

Alexia was speechless, noticing how much in pain her friend is and she didn't notice. It hurt her. Her watery eyes wandered towards Y/N, seeing her small form on the bench. She was hugging her knees, hiding her head there. It broke Alexia's inside. Maybe her heart, or her soul. Or something else that she doesn't describe.

"I'm going outside." Ona whispered at her, biting her bottom lip and passing her arm for her eyes, grabbing her things and kissing Y/N's head before she went out.

The midfielder walked slowly towards the bench and sat down next to her, wrapping her left arm around her shoulders and pushing her softly toward herself, leaning her head on hers. Inevitably it was the first thing she did, because Y/N in pain or sad Alexia needed to fix it. It's a sentiment that she always did from their early friendship that remains until today. Alexia could fight the world only for Y/N giving her a tiny smile.

"You could say no. I would never be angry with you." Alexia whispered, looking at the white cold floor. "If I insist much it is because I wanted to play my last world cup with someone important to me." She confessed in a small voice.

Y/N sniffled, raising her head to look at her, making Alexia separated to meet her red eyes. "It's not your last world cup." She muttered in a hoarse voice.

The childish voice made Alexia paint a lipped smile. "Maybe." She opted to say. She leaned her head aside and brought her fingers to Y/N's face to put away a strand of hair. "Lo siento." She let down the first tears roll for her cheeks. It's weird that Alexia cried in public, it needed to be something really big to make her cry.

"Don't cry, please." Y/N begged, a pout on her face.

Muffled music was heard in the background, alongside many of them singing.

Alexia sniffled and shook her head smiling, looking at her. "I'm sorry for be blinded all this time..." She murmured, grabbing with both hands Y/N's ones, not intertwining, just holding it while she caress her palms. "But I'm here for you. I will always be for you." She whispers, passing her tongue for her bottom lip.

"Ale...?" Y/N calls her. Maybe this wasn't the right moment, but she has something to say right now. Even if the other rejects her. When Alexia looks at her expectantly, squeezing her hands to let her know that Y/N has all her attention, she takes a breath and speaks. "I feel things that I shouldn't have felt for you. When I look at you, whether you are paying me attention or not, I'm calm and nervous at the same time. I did things for you even if I don't wanted to do it, I'm not talking about this case, but from other occasions. I found myself remembering every little detail you have with me every night. I have been selfish to me and I shut up because you seem happy. I can't describe all I feel for you. But I'm in love with you, Alexia." Y/N finished to say.

For Alexia, there isn't a best description of it. Maybe it was a little messy, but it's real. She was taken by surprise, she can't deny that. Right now in her eyes, if Y/N pays the right attention, she could see the pure love on them.

"Sorry to be a distraction to this amazing moment. Maybe I needed to say it on another occasion..." Y/N whispered, standing up.

Alexia frowned, grabbing her wrist, standing up too. "Kiss me." She just simply said, firm.

Y/N opened her mouth, taken aback for what she said. The Catalan gave the few steps that separated from her, letting out her wrist to wrap both hands on her hips. "Don't make me repeat it."

It's when Y/N put both hands on her cheeks, looking at her mouth wishful but afraid if it is a joke or a product of her imagination. She leaned slowly, closing her eyes. Alexia leaned down, she was a little taller than Y/N, and met her lips.

A soft whimper escapes from Y/N's mouth, not believing that she is kissing Alexia. Her hands made pressure on Alexia's cheeks, bringing more towards her while she put herself on tiptoe. It's a chaste kiss, meeting the mould of their lips.

When they separated, Alexia opened her eyes and saw how Y/N was still with hers closed. A loving smile painted on her face, inevitably brushing her nose with hers and not letting time to the other to react, she captures her lips with hers, biting softly her lower lip.

Soon, their tongues met, deepening the kiss. Alexia tightened her grip on her waist, pressing her more into hers.

The foreheads are pressed against each other after they need to breathe again, silly smiles on their faces.

"Why do we stay here and keep kissing? I don't mind celebrating." Alexia whispered in Y/N's mouth.

Y/N intertwined her hands on her back of the neck. "I love that idea. But unfortunately, if they notice that we are missed, soon they will all start research for us."

"Right." The Catalan sarcastically said, rolling her eyes, already annoyed with her teammates. Y/N chuckled, adoring her reaction. She couldn't resist it and kissed her, making Alexia humming gladly.

They kissed a little more until they decided to come back with the team. Y/N watched with a loving smile how Alexia walked to the door, not believing anything what happened for a few minutes. Then, the midfielder turned around to look at her. "Are you coming?" A raised eyebrow accompanied the question with a knowing smirk.

Y/N grabbed her things and walked towards the door too, stopping to her side. "Thank you." She said sincerely and put herself on tiptoe, kissing her cheek for a few seconds.

"For?" Alexia whispered, seeing her separating from her. Y/N shrugged and gave her a lipped smile, walking out.

This time it was Alexia who watched how Y/N let her things on her bench and walked towards Ona and Tere.

"ALEXIA! Come here!" A happy Misa calls her with a beer on her right hand and another on her left, stretching it towards the brunette.

Alexia walked towards her, an involuntary smile on her face.

She won twice that day. And maybe she won every day that Y/N permitted her to pass by her side.

#woso x reader #woso #woso imagine #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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koostarcandy · 2 years

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stay

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: jungkook comes in and out of your life like a recurring side character in a 90s show. you wish that he would stay, just like the main character that he is.

genre: fluff, angst, slight smut, this is the "she fell but he fell harder" trope ;)

wc: around 2k

a/n: loosely inspired by the visitor by iu and cornelia street by ts. also, a scene from nevertheless made its way in here. thanks for helping me out, art (@onlyswan)! ♡♡

you know he's near when the ruckus and gushing of compliments from blushy 1st years becomes louder.

boisterous laughter and sounds of creaking shoes against the floor comes nearer, you go closer to the wall like its instinct. you will yourself to not look at him, knowing you'll lose the battle either way. his tattooed hand effortlessly holds his thick psychology text, stacked with a big book of cell and molecular biology.

that's weird, you think. what business would he have with a reference book like that when he's a psychology major?

he's coming closer, bunny smile growing bigger at the sight of you. "i found this in the library," he says. you're surprised, this isn't in your head, he's actually talking to you for once.

so nonchalant, the way he says he knows you were looking all over for this particular book.

so straightforward, the way he puts the book in your hands, his warm and large hand brushing with your cold and clammy one.

so coquettish, his wink and slight smirk, quietly telling you to look at the sticky note he pasted in the index of the book.

and he's gone. without a trace, without even a hint of a shadow. just like those nights.

you open your eyes, feeling slightly elated. you feel sore but unusually happy. your hand goes out to your side instinctively, for some unknown reason. you turn to half of a perfectly made bed, pillow and covers seemingly untouched. not like a certain someone practically fucked you into the bed, his hands all over you. your hands had to grab onto something, his words making you feel like you were in another dimension.

"what's the hurry, hmm?" he responds to your pleas to go faster already, kisses trailing from your chest to your neck, "we've got all the time in the world, sweetheart."

he seems to be enjoying this, you note. he holds you and handles you in ways which are beyond your imagination. his fast paced thrusts and smoldering gazes make your eyes roll to the back of your head, his wandering hands going down again. he touches you like you're the most precious and fragile gem he's ever seen, occasionally tucking your hair behind your ear, paired with kisses all over your face.

you shake your head, miffed that you're still thinking about last friday night. and the nights before. its tuesday now and today was the first time he had ever talked to you in a while, putting aside the fact he had whisked you away from the library, saying he had enough of studying and planned a night of netflixing and chilling, willingly providing all the snacks you needed. he had pinned you in classic style against your front door, hands against your head and needy lips on yours.

you walk to the library, the place where you can trust to find solace. you can vividly recall the time jungkook had randomly proposed a study date in the library after finding out you were in the same mandatory class for communicative english, practically revolving around you until you had accepted it and told him you'll help him. that was the first time you had seen a peek of the real jungkook, always munching on a snack or sipping on a sweet drink. he was remarkably clever, wondering why he had even asked you for help.

settling down in a corner where you're sure no one will bother and you're sure you can get some work, you finally open the big book of cell and molecular biology, fingers mindlessly flipping quickly until you reach the index. there lies a light green sticky note, with the words, "let's study again, fr. no netflix and chill this time ;)" neatly scrawled.

jungkook knows he's left you feeling utterly clueless, glancing at your lone figure at a corner in the library. the soft sunlight streaming from behind you make your whole existence seem unreal. you're bopping your head to the music blasting in your ears, taylor swift maybe? he thinks, recalling the vinyls you had propped up on your desk.

he knows he's not supposed to do this to you, he was specifically warned not to. his friends had said you were a sensitive being, never really interacting with anyone unless you were approached by someone. your silent hard work was never left unnoticed, becoming prey for people who have no intentions of passing their degree with effort. maybe that's what they suspect, jungkook muses, guessing his hyungs think he's approaching you for that sole reason.

but why did it have to be you?

you, with your quiet nature and alluring aura. you're always seen on campus, the library, cafeteria and classes your usual haunts. whenever your eyes meet his, it curves into polite half-moons, pretty lips turning into a graceful smile. you're almost like an angel, flitting in and out of his vision. he can't help but admire you, eyes trailing over your attractive stature.

maybe you felt his gaze or you just happened to look his way. whatever it is, he can't bear to look away from you, your eyes bearing an unreadable emotion. he reluctantly breaks away when a book is shoved in his hands, "developing emotional competence. is this the book you wanted, dear?" the old librarian asks jungkook kindly. he nods, following her to finish the process of borrowing it.

he can't leave without looking at you again, even it's the back of your head, hair tied into a pretty knot, a few strands falling out. your shirt falls off the shoulder, his plaid shirt, jungkook realizes. he leaves the library, feeling oddly exhilarated, feeling even more excited to see you in the evening.

"you can touch darling, you know that."

"jungkook stop it, that sounds wrong!"

he chuckles at your cheeks coloring, tattooed hand slowly caressing your bare calf. your eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, frown lines creasing your forehead and he smooths out your lines, eliciting a small smile from you. you're quickly sketching his muscles on paper, the sound of pencil gliding over paper a lilting lullaby for jungkook's ears.

jungkook's currently shirtless, tattooed arm around you for support. your soft request of, "can i draw you for my anatomy class?" and your pretty eyes had him melting, not really expecting himself to strip himself for study purposes. he had settled on your cloud of a couch, spreading his legs immediately. he patted the space he left in between, silently asking you to sit with him. you could never say no to him.

he peeks into the drawing pad, impressed at your skills. you're erasing and defining his left arm muscles, small arrows and handwriting indicating the parts. you drop the pencil and pad on your lap, breaking your knuckles and stretching your arms. "aigoo, my model student," jungkook praises, linking his fingers with yours, kissing your knuckles, "you've worked hard today as well," he says to your hands, massaging them. you wonder if he does this to every other person he hooks up with. does he hold their hands with his supple ones, kissing each of their knuckles? does he keep as their drawing materials aside, pulling them impossibly closer? does he effortlessly carry them to their bed, laying them oh-so-gently on their pillow?

you're on your bed now, you realize. jungkook's kissing you like you're the answer to all his questions, fingers gently gripping your neck. he kisses you like he wants to commit you to his memory, pulling you up so you're sitting on his strong thighs. your eyes almost roll back when you recall the last time you were in this position.

"eyes on me, pretty girl," he murmurs into this kiss, pulling apart to gaze at your siren eyes, always luring him in. "we don't have to do anything," he says firmly, "you could talk about cupcakes and sprinkles and rainbows, i swear i'll listen to you." you chuckle, tucking his hair and fixing it up, not a least bit sorry in making it messy.

"what brought that on?" you ask him, trying to figure out at what point of your impromptu make out session did he read your mind. he gently puts you on your bed and your heart almost drops, if it weren't for his hands still on you.

"i feel like we haven't talked about what this whole...thing is," jungkook admits, surprised at his hands fidgeting nervously on your lap.

you think you can hear your own heart break when you say, "it can be anything you want," knowing his anything could mean hooking up for atleast a week and then ghosting you, never to be seen again.

"but that's the thing, i don't want it to be just anything," he says earnestly, "i hate that this sounds cliché but i want this to be something nice," he grips your hands, inching closer to you.

a loud clap of thunder startles you, flinching and glancing at the rapidly intensifying rain. you look back at jungkook, whose doe eyes still bore into yours. "you should go now, you know before the rain becomes worser." you turn away from him, hands feeling peculiarly empty.

you don't hear shuffling behind you. you don't see him walking past you to pick up his shirt and wear it, taking his bag and leaving like he wants. "don't make me do things i don't want to do," a strong arm curls around you, head leaning on your shoulder. you look down at his hand fidgeting with the hem of your oversized t-shirt. he isn't making any moves to get you back to bed, slow breathing tickling the back of your neck.

you reluctantly push yourself back to bed, leaning against the headrest. jungkook doesn't make any advances to touch you, despite being so close to you. "i like what we're doing now," you say truthfully, "the study dates, long nights and your random cups of coffee while i'm in the library," he smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"but?"

"there isn't one. i'm just scared."

his wandering and awkward gaze is on you immediately, eyebrows scrunched in question. "i've heard what you do and i'm terrified of that happening to me," you say frankly.

"i like you too much to do that," jungkook says sincerely. you look up from your twiddling thumbs, wide eyes on his honest ones.

"you've been so nice to me and i've done horrible things and yet you're still not pushing me out the door," he says, lips turning downwards.

"i want to stay in your life," he continues, "if you'd let me, of course."

"am i dreaming or are you actually making me breakfast?"

you smile, flipping the pancake and look at jungkook waddling sleepily, arms immediately around you. "come back to bed, we have so much to catch up on," he mumbles into your shoulder.

you put the last pancake on the stack, wiping your hands, "what do we have to catch up on?"

"we stopped anatomy halfway through last night," he reminds you, turning you around and lifting you up so you're on the counter.

you roll your eyes at his cheekiness, looking down at his crinkled eyes and bunny smile. he nuzzles into your neck, hands wrapped around you tightly. you never thought you'd see him like this, beyond the wildest of your midnight dreams. he's real and you hope he never disappears, always wrapped around you like how he is right now.

coaxing you to come back to bed, sweet kisses from your shoulder to your neck and finally onto your lips. he holds you like you'll vanish from his sight, large hand splayed on the small of your back, tattooed hand cupping your face tenderly.

he kisses you like its the last time he'll see you, warm hands slipping under your t-shirt and staying there, nothing more and nothing less. you wrap your legs around his lithe waist and he whisks you away to your bedroom, your happy giggles filling your tiny abode.

pt time: @armys-dna ; @junsai-tree ; @soobhyun ; @shatzkrinslinzki ; @highly-functioning-mitochondria ; @cherishoshi ; @fragmentof-indifference

#jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshot #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts imagine

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sasayego · 5 months

Text

lazy sundays

prompt — your fiancé, dick grayson, is the love of your life. was. you think he’s dead, but in reality, he’s out there as a spyral agent. meanwhile, you start appreciating the little things more.

tags — reader got out of an ED, mental health issues. angst and comfort, dick grayson x fem!reader. sfw

jason todd was the one who was attracted to you first. he saw you at a wayne gala and thought you were the love of his life. he asked you out, and you immediately said yes, intimidated by the fact that a wayne was the one who noticed you.

dick didn’t even notice you, which you didn’t mind too much. jason was all that you needed. he was kind and funny but he had this really annoying behavior where he would scream at you in fights. like, scream. one night, things got heated and he left into the night, leaving you behind to go outside, no doubt to clear his mind.

you decided to take care of yourself and make it up to him, so, you had finished his laundry. when putting his clothes away, you noticed a very red helmet with another suit with keys in them. you would’ve thought that it was a cute cosplay prop if the keys didn’t open up a drawer with all sorts of guns in the bottom drawer.

you would’ve freaked out if the radio next to his guns didn’t just go static with —“fuck—nightwing here—wounded on fifth—.” and your blood went cold. jason todd? knew who nightwing was?

you didn’t even think about it, think if it was a trap. you took the radio and drove where nightwing said he was injured. nobody responded and you were praying that he was alive.

and that was when dick grayson, really, really saw you. saw your perseverance, your stubborn nature and how you always looked to the brighter sides of things even when he was stabbed in several places with a split rib and a gash to his head.

you were not a doctor, god no, you were in the beginning of your master’s degree, but with strength that rivaled a mother whose child was underneath a car, you managed to pick him up and put him in your car.

“so jason told you who I am? the little shit. he was supposed to talk to bruce before he revealed our identities. that’s what I get for having a love struck brother, huh?”

you stopped halfway and then looked at him in shock, your mouth open in a slight ‘o’. and he realized that you didn’t know, that your boyfriend of seven months was hiding things from you.

“just take me to bruce’s. say you know, and say I need help.” you let out a groan at it and press on the gas.

jason wasn’t to be found for the next few days. dick was though.

when he recovered and appeared at your doorstep with flowers and a sheepish smile, a cast and a boyish smile that felt like infidelity, your face flushed and you took them happily.

“thanks for saving me,” he said, and leaned against the doorway. unlike jason, his mannerisms and way of acting came easy, smoother, a better flow. and you fell so bad just thinking that. “may I come in?”

and against your better judgment, you stepped side. “mi casa es tu casa.”

his eyes twinkled at that. “tu casa es muy hermosa,” he said. “como el tuyo.”

“you know spanish?”

“I know mandarin, spanish, french, romansh, german, portuguese, hindi, japanese, and arabic. well, learning. dami’s teaching me that one.”

your jaw drops. “I just know english, my mother tongue, and high school spanish.”

“still better than 90% of america.”

that was how it started—he met you every so often, taking coffee out, mini golfing, kayaking, while jason grew ever so distant in the corner. you couldn’t blame jason for it, either. it wasn’t like you were making much of an effort to revive the relationship.

but everything changed that one night when jason asked you to go to a wayne gala with him. out of all his siblings, he had chosen the short straw this time. you said no—you didn’t want to go to another one of them and get hounded by paparazzi at this point.

and jason was fine with that. it wasn’t like he particularly liked going to galas anyways, so he understood your denial. until an hour later when on instagram in one of the more popular news sites, a viral photo of you and dick hugging in the rain together and staring at each other after getting a hole in one in a really hard mini golfing course started circling around.

“what the fuck is wrong with you? are you fucking him? don’t even answer that, I can tell. and even if you aren’t, I know you want to.”

“no, jason, what the fuck is wrong with you? I haven’t done anything with dick, nor do I want to. we’re friends.”

“you don’t underhand, y/n. I’m gonna be the guy that the papers make fun of once you leave me for him. so I’ll do what you don’t have the guts to. we’re done.”

your world didn’t shatter because of that, surprisingly. he moved out of your apartment. you watched gilmore girls reruns. you ate a lot of food. some cried tears, but nothing much. until one day, dick appeared at your door out of the blue.

"dick?" you raised an eyebrow, looking at him with an unsure look in your eye. "what are you doing here?" you were wearing your sweats with a dumbed down look in your eye that clearly stated you didn't know what the hell was happening.

"i'm in love with you. i'm sorry—but i can't stop thinking about you. your laugh is infectious and when you smile it's like a cloudy sky just turns back to sunshine—"

you stepped forward and kissed him. you thought the tabloids were full of shit, but you knew that they were right about this one thing.

after two years of dating, he had done a vigilante trip to india to track down some passages. while he was there, he went and bought a shiny ring. you'd marry him with paper rings. he planned a view of a skyline and it went perfectly, thank god.

but he died. he died and now you're sitting here in the apartment, staring at a photo of the two of you. you miss everything about him. the way he'd subtly add more food to your plate when you were having your ED. when he held you throughout the night after a panic attack even though he had patrol that day. when. he defended you from the paparazzi, when he screamed at jason right back when jason found out that you and dick were dating.

don't tell me you're staring at that damned photo. - tim

you look at your phone and sigh before closing down your phone. tim wouldn't understand. he wouldn't get it. how could he? it wasn't like he lost the love of his life. he was a robin. he knew loss. you didn't. he also lost his brother, you remind yourself, and that just makes it all worse.

you grab the photo and curl up in a ball in fetal position. you miss lazy sunday afternoons when you've eaten too much and that food is resting in your stomach. your head would be in your fiancé's lap and his hands would be in your hair and the minute he would move his hands from your hair or your back, you'd wake up, your body discomforted by the lack of touch. that's my superpower, you'd joke.

no, he'd respond. your superpower is being the most amazing and talented woman i have ever had the pleasure of meeting. i would do anything for you. your beauty rivals the stars in the night sky. i love you like how the moon loves the earth.

at the single thought of it, you curl up and sob, the tears racking down as you clench the photos to your heart. five months and thirteen days and you are not a single second away from properly healing. you'll never love again. you know that for a fact.

it's ten in the night when you wake up, and the couch is stained with tears. haley is right beside you, looking sad and sullen. she misses her best friend too, but she always hates it when her other best friend is crying.

"i haven't fed you? fuck," you swear before standing up. everything hurts. your heart feels too heavy. there's cuts on your wrists. you stare at them, the red from the blood dried up.

he also stares at them too. he vows that he's coming back no matter what.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson #nightwing #dick grayson x you #hurt/comfort #richard grayson #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x female!reader #dc comics

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makesims · 11 months

Photo

Vintage Pride Shirts - Pride 2023

This year for pride I’m taking inspiration from the pride protests and figures of history. This set includes 18 unisex t-shirts all made from real designs from the 70s-90s.

Download and more info under the cut.

Download (no ads, no paywalls): SFS | Patreon

CREDIT: These shirts were made using meshes from @its-adrienpastel, who graciously allows meshes to be included in recolors. The fem mesh uses their Talia T-Shirt, and the masc mesh uses their Repeat T-Shirt. You do not need to download these for my recolors to work, but you should definitely still check out their CC if you haven’t.

Note: To honor the real history here, I am choosing not to translate any of the text into Simlish. This is rare for me, and I know a lot of people hate English text in the game, so just know that I almost never do anything in exclusively English like this.

Feeling generous? Here are some good charities - Gendered Intelligence (UK), Act Up NY (USA), The Trevor Project (USA), and Mermaids (UK). I’d also recommend looking into any local charities in your area that could use volunteers if you have the time to spare! <3

And if anyone is interested in the background for some of these images, you can find that here. :)

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desert-fern · 7 months

Text

Ring Around My Rosie - Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Fem!Nurse Reader (WWII European Theatre AU)

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Fem!Reader

Summary: The year is 1944 and the Second World War rages on. You have been a nurse in Belgium for nearly three years, having seen the effects of the worst things human beings can do to one another. One day, like always, an injured man is brought in. An American sailor too far from the ocean he came out of on D-Day and you both are entranced.

Warnings: blood, bullet removal, mentions of Nazis (it is a WWII AU so…), probably inaccurate depictions of wartime nursing, most likely factually incorrect WWII history, fluff so fluffy I gave myself a cavity just writing this, 1940s Bradley Bradshaw (yes, he is a warning)

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: If you can’t guess, this oneshot is a WWII AU inspired by a cover of Ed Sheeran’s Nancy Mulligan that I have linked here! I’m 90% I fucked up my Spotify Wrapped for this fic so I hope you enjoy!

===

Well, I met him at Guy's in the second world war

And I was working on a soldier's ward

The scent of blood was thick in your nostrils as you dragged yourself out of the field hospital in Les Annais, Belgium. The Germans had been menacing your location for weeks, baiting your troops and sending fractions limping back into your capable hands.

You knew nothing of the tactics being used, very few did. You were here as a nurse, not as a tactician, not as anyone of note, save for being the longest serving nurse at the 51st Field Hospital. The others had bailed out as soon as they could, doing their duty but the gruesome fighting months earlier at the Battle of the Bulge had sent many fleeing.

It wasn’t like you could blame them.

You were still new, having joined up as soon as you could convince your father and while you were a month shy of 23, you had never experienced anything like this. Your grandmother had told your father off, reminding him that it was his own stubborn streak that raced through you.

But you were unprepared for everything you would have to do out here, hundreds of kilometers away from home, with the least amount of training that they could spare. At the beginning, you could only offer comfort to some of these men, being unable to save them from their wounds, as they cried for their mothers, wives, children, begging for the pain to end.

Sometimes - well, most times - these men were boys your age or younger. Lives that had only just begun were snuffed out in the most violent of ways and you were left to piece together your shattered heart day after day.

So you closed yourself off, choosing to help as many as you could. The conditions were brutal, the wounds you saw even more so. A year and a half ago, you didn’t know how it felt to hold down a screaming man so a doctor could try and save a septic leg. You were a shoulder to cry on, a smiling face despite the bleakness, and more often than not, an object of flirtation and admiration.

The sky was a miserable gray, like it always was. It seemed like the sky was trying to match the color of the tents scattered around the outside of the main camp, doing its best to hide you from the prying eyes of the German aerial patrols.

The Luftwaffe were always around. Luckily for you, they couldn’t aim for shit, but you couldn’t deny that the German movements had been far more frequent. Sometimes a young man crawled through the borders surrendering to the English and American forces and begging for help.

No one else would treat him, refusing to even get close to him.

You had chastised them all, reminding them of their promises to help those in need, and slowly you had gained some help in the care of these young men, though they were few and far between.

Shouts caught your attention, sending you racing through the muddy field back to the hospital. A group of soldiers, Americans by the sound of them, were calling for help and you would be a hypocrite if you didn’t help.

Hurrying through the door ahead of them, you saw a small group, maybe seven or so men approach. They were muddy, beaten and bruised, but your eyes fell upon the man being held up by his compatriots. “What happened?” You asked, quickly replacing a red headed man and half-carried the brunette towards the only open bed in the corner.

“A bunch of Krauts caught us by surprise, caught Rooster here with a few shots and some ass- pardon me ma’am, idiot jumped out of a tree and landed on top of him,” the man explained, helping you lay this Rooster on the bed.

You focused on the brunette’s bloody uniform, eyeballing the few bullet wounds in his arms, but you were the most concerned about the broken leg. It only took one infected wound and that limb would be gone. Not today, you thought. “Dot, I need the suture kit and a basin. You,” you stated, standing up to face the man standing next to you.

“Mulligan, ma’am,” he told you, standing up straighter. “Lewis Mulligan, US Navy.”

“Lewis, can you help me hold him down? I can’t stitch him up and hold him down at the same time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dot hurried over with the makeshift kit, placing it on the bed along with a basin of water. Unbuttoning his shirt, you found that two of the three bullet wounds still had the bullet in them and that the third had begun to clot against his shirt. Pulling the scissors from the pants pocket of your uniform and cutting the shirt away, you finally had a better view at what you were working with. “Fucking Krauts. Guess they must be really desperate to keep using shitty ammunition,” you remarked dryly, dipping a set of tweezers in a basin of cheap spirits.

Lewis didn’t say a word, clearly stunned by your foul language. “Ma’am?”

Sighing, you turned to face him. “Lewis, I need your help holding him down. The longer this takes, the bigger the risk of infection. I can’t do that if you are going to be shocked when I cuss and swear. Can you help me or not?”

He nodded, coming to stand on the other side of the unconscious man. Hands placed on his friend’s shoulder and hip, Lewis gave you a nod and you began.

The bullets were soft and slippery. They slid out of your tweezers more times than you could count, but you made it work, finally prying the two out of his shoulder and side. Lewis wasn’t looking at you, his face green by the time the last bullet clinked into the porcelain tray. “I can take it from here, Mulligan. Go back to your group, tell them…”

“His name is Bradley.”

You gave him a smile. “Tell them Bradley should be okay unless he does something stupid.”

He left you alone, perched on the side of Bradley’s bed, stitching him up. You saw his eyelashes flutter as you finished the last stitch and quickly stood up. If he lunged at you, you had to be standing. Enough men had grabbed at you when they woke up and you had quickly learned not to make that mistake again.

Too many bruises, too many sprains, too many punches thrown.

To your surprise, Bradley let out a groan and his eyes slowly blinked open. That groan turned into a hiss of pain as he tried to sit up. “Stay down,” you said gently, approaching slowly with your hands up. “You’re in a field hospital in Belgium.”

His eyes flicked to you, taking in your bloody uniform and trailing over your face. “The others?” He said in a panicked voice. “Where are the others?”

“Lewis and the redhead are outside, they carried you here. Seven of you came up to us, that’s all I know Bradley.”

A nod. “Thank you Ma’am.” Relief was written all over his face, in the way his eyes fell closed for a moment and his shoulders dropped.

“I just finished stitching up your chest, but I need to look at your leg. Can I do that?”

“Anything for you doll,” Bradley replied with a wink as he tried to lay down. But he winced and you were there, your bloodstained hands firmly holding his shoulders and neck while you guided him back down.

Never had I seen such beauty before

The moment that I saw ya

You moved quickly to treat his leg, finding that thankfully it was just a broken ankle and not somewhere further up. The number of men that had come in with a broken leg and left with one and a half was a number that you didn’t like to think about. It was far too high.

But Bradley wouldn’t be one of them and you couldn’t help but send up a prayer of thanks. The minute he’d opened his eyes, you’d been transfixed by the deep amber of them. A deep brown like the whiskey that was saved for special occasions and sparkled like a polished gun barrel or belt buckle. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen handsome men. Quite the opposite. You saw all kinds of men at their worst. Lots of them lookers, but you hadn’t felt a connection to one until him.

His gaze made it hard to focus as you fumbled with his boot lace, finally undoing it after what felt like hours. The smell still made you recoil a little, even after nearly a year in the nursing corps. Regardless, you still had to do your job. So you worked quickly, removing both boots and socks and compared both sides to assess where the break was.

A soft touch to his foot had him chuckle and you glanced up at him curiously. “Sorry, just ticklish, is all,” Bradley said sheepishly, hand coming up to rub at his mustache.

You gave him a smile before returning to work, splinting his ankle and cleaning the blood, sweat, and mud from his skin. “Better now?” You asked him, tucking a blanket over his body and helping him into a clean-ish shirt.

His eyes met yours and despite being in pain, Bradley shot you a small smile. “Better now that I can see my guardian angel.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that one, sailor? More times than you’ve used that line on anyone in stockings.”

Bradley just grinned at your retreating form and let his eyes slip shut. The pain in his body was getting to be too much, but as he dozed off, he found himself listening to your voice as you reprimanded a soldier barely older than yourself for getting out of bed. You intrigued him, that’s all.

He said I was his yellow rose

And we got married wearing borrowed clothes

Weeks had passed since that first interaction and both you and Bradley had been writing to one another as often as you could spare. While in the hospital, you learned that he and his friends had been separated from their landing crew as they made their way inland from the coast. He’d been on Omaha Beach during what had become known as the “D-Day” landing in Normandy.

Not that he’d been allowed to tell you that, but he had anyways, trusting you implicitly. He’d had to leave after nearly a month under your care, but made a promise to come back.

You hoped he would, but neither of you knew what would take place.

The fighting had drawn closer to your hospital as the Allies fought for Belgium, liberating it in 14 days and wrestling it from German hands. There had been some celebration amongst your ranks, but your heart ached for Bradley, praying every night that he came back to you.

For now though, you had to settle for letters. Bradley’s smooth voice seemed to read every letter aloud to you, each word wrapped in that gentle, flirtatious tone he had used every day you had looked after him.

Doll. My darling Rosie, the most recent letter began. They usually started out with some endearment, God knows he had used enough of them as he tried to win you over despite your colleagues warning him that you wouldn’t fall.

You remember Lew? Well he told me that writing to you was a waste because I wouldn’t get any letters back, but I know you. You wrote me back like you always do. Means I’m going to have a nice big stack of letters waiting for me the minute the post catches up with us.

We’re still marching. It’s been hell on my ankle, but you patched me up nice and neat so I’m not too worried. At least the view is nice. I think you would like it where we camped tonight, crickets are chirping now as I write this and it’s peaceful. Kinda like those nights you spent sitting with me when we’d talk about everything and I would always get worried that you would get sick of me jawing and talking your ear off, but you never did. Spoiled me for a good listener. The boys here don’t talk much. Battle fatigue is crawling all over them and it is always quiet around these times cause no one says a word.

It’s awful lonely though, sweetheart. I miss your laugh, especially how you would have to cover it when it was the middle of the night. Closest thing to home I had in a while. I hope you can hear my voice in this letter because I know I hear yours every time. And I mean every word, Doll, I hope you know that.

When I come back, I want to take you somewhere nice. Get you all dressed up in something pretty but you would still be the most beautiful dame I ever saw if you came out in your uniform that I know you are wearing now. Maybe I’ll take you dancing like you talked about, holding you close for song after song and if I’m lucky we would be going steady after that. That kiss on the cheek you gave me before I left is just haunting me because I had a taste of the future, if you feel the same of course.

Call me a flirt, doll, but I’m just sweet on you. I’m doing everything in my power not to go AWOL and come all the way back to find you, but I hope this letter finds you well instead.

Thinking about you, my English rose.

Yours always,

Bradley.

Wiping a tear from your cheek, you carefully folded the letter back up and placed it with the others. They were all like that, yearning to be back here instead of wherever he was, thoughts of the future and he always, always, signed it off with “Thinking of you,” or lately “Yours always.” Every letter gave you hope and while you knew some of yours had likely been delayed, you always jumped up like you’d sat on a tack whenever the post arrived.

Dot had started teasing you the second that Bradley left, but one reminder of Lewis and she too was blushing. The two of you sat in your quiet fear, praying that neither one of you would get a letter from one of their unit mates saying that one or both was gone.

Your next letter went out the same day.

Hopefully, it would all be alright. So for now, you let yourself dream of dancing in Bradley’s arms, Glen Miller playing softly in the background as he held you close, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Hundreds of miles away, huddled under a thin blanket, Bradley pulled a creased letter from his pocket, finally having the chance to read it. As the letter slid out of the envelope, a sweet smell burst free and filled his nostrils. He recognized your perfume, the scent having filled him with joy every moment he spent by your side as he recovered.

Shifting a little and adjusting the blanket, he opened it up, catching a second page that tried to escape in the sudden breeze. Bradley moved his lantern over and began reading your tight script that had his heart skipping a beat each time he saw it fill a page.

Bradley,

I received another letter from you today and I thought I had best get writing so I don’t miss the post truck. I do remember Lewis. Hopefully he remembers Dot because she is patiently waiting for a response to her letter. I don’t think it matters, the sentiment is still the same and I would rather see you at the end of this harrowing ordeal than have you replay thoughts on paper.

I had been meaning to ask about your ankle. If it ever gives way, splint it like I showed you. I don’t want you to break it again, even if that would mean you have to come back to me. But for the moment, I am glad for your letters. They make me feel closer to you. Describe the view for me, please. I see nothing but muddy fields, canvas walls, and wounded men. Is it raining a lot on your march? I know your boots were ruined when you were brought here. Did you ever find new ones? He had, but the source of them sent his stomach twisting in knots. Pulling boots off a man killed in battle felt savage, like they didn’t matter as a person.

I miss our talks as well. I learned so much about you so quickly and I feel like I know everything about you. I miss the snort you make when you laugh, especially when I told you that the other nurses called me Rosie because I was the only English nurse here. I was worried you would stop breathing some nights the way you clutched your chest as you laughed like you had never heard anything so funny. But I would give anything to see your smile, the one where it reaches your eyes and it seems you swell up with joy. I know there isn’t much time for smiles now but if I could just give you one of mine, I would.

Send my love to the boys with you. War is hard enough without having to deal with loneliness at the same time and you all are in my thoughts and prayers. I miss you terribly and find myself daydreaming of you every spare moment I have, which is not often anymore, but I drift off to sleep with your past letters in my hands and your words in my mind.

Your confessions for after this war sound like heaven. I hadn’t let myself dream too long about what will become of us. We have both heard the stories of wartime romances often enough to know how precarious they can be, but if you have hope, dearest, then so do I. I’ll wear my best dress and you in your uniform, we will be the best dressed pair at the dance hall. Nothing sounds better than dancing close with you. I don’t care how presumptuous it is, the way my heart yearns for your nearness, I can give my answer to your most secret hopes without hesitation.

If you asked, dearest, I would be yours in a heartbeat. So long as you are mine as well. Bradley breathed out a laugh, trying not to wake his comrades. He had been kicking himself ever since he had sent that letter, hoping you felt the same and by the grace of God, you did. I may be English but we aren’t always prim and proper when angered. I could and would write a million pages with barely any thought, but the truck is waiting for me, so I must end this letter here. I hope my words keep you warm in this autumn weather and please, if you can, come back to me.

Stay safe, dearest.

Your Rose

The letter crinkled in his grip as Bradley bit back a wide grin. You were okay. You wanted to go steady. You cared for him. Fuck the war, he though. His doll was waiting for him back in Belgium and not for the first time, he hoped that the war would end for purely selfish reasons. You were waiting and his mama had raised a good boy who never left a woman waiting, he wasn’t going to start now.

The radio in the small hospital crackled as the BBC broadcast announced Germany’s surrender as Russian troops poured into Berlin. Cheers went up amongst the nurses and the men they were caring for, but you knew that the casualties were high on both sides. The United States still fought with Japan in the Pacific, chasing them back towards their island, and you knew that the fighting would go on for a long time.

The only thing? You hadn’t heard from Bradley in months, not since March of this year; 1945. It was now May.

The worry in you grew every day, trying and failing to hide it from Dot and the others around you. It hadn’t affected your work, but it affected nearly everything else. You were hardly sleeping, rereading his letters so often you had them memorized. “Thinking of you” was written in his neat handwriting against the back of your eyelids, and everytime you blinked, you thought of him.

A few days went by since that monumental announcement of the war’s end and some fighting was still happening but Germany’s surrender had a lot of Nazi sympathizers fleeing like rats. But world leaders were acting quickly and you knew that while it would be some time before you would return home to England, it would also not be enough time for Bradley to come back to you here in Les Annais.

So, like always, you went to work. The soldiers around you were still flirtatious, some even outright admitting that they were sweet on you, but you politely told them that you were waiting for your man to come back to you, and that while you were flattered, you just couldn’t.

Sweet smile after sweet smile. Bed bath after bed bath. Infected wound after infected wound. And still, no Bradley.

Then you heard your name shouted from outside. You had been packing your things, having received your letter to head back home, when Dot yelled so loudly you thought a hoard of Nazis were marching toward you. Racing outside dressed in your one non-uniform dress, you saw a Jeep full of men pull up. They too were yelling, and when you ran up, you saw a familiar face not half a meter away.

He was covered in dirt and grime, his hair longer than you had seen and his cheeks were covered in stubble like he hadn’t shaved in a few days, but it was still your Bradley in every way that mattered. “Bradley…” you breathed, coming to a stand-still with your hands over your mouth. You stood stock still, your heart nearly beating out of your chest as you took him in disbelief. “You’re safe…”

“Hey doll,” the rasp in his tone gave you shivers as you met his eyes. They were still the same color as the whiskey you all had drank the night the war was declared over, the same sparkle twinkling like the stars as he took you in. “Look at you. You look beautiful.” Bradley clambered over Simon, nearly elbowing him in the face in his haste to get out of the Jeep. “Prettiest picture I ever saw.

You blushed, ducking your head a little at his compliment. Bradley’s heart soared as he took you in, marveling at how his imagination had been unable to capture the picture perfect moment of you in that dress. You had lived in his thoughts for months, each letter sending pangs of loneliness through him as each moment without you passed. Now, standing in front of you, your hair curled and dressed like a million bucks, Bradley felt his love for you grow infinitely larger.

“You…” you began, looking up at him, your eyes wide in shock. “You came back, sailor.”

“‘Course I did. What kinda man would I be if I left my best girl waiting.”

Dot and the others were still watching intently, keen on seeing what happened when you both finally let your resolve snap. “Come on Rosie! Give your man a kiss!” Lewis hollered from where he stood with Dot in his arms. “He’s only been dreamin’ about this since forever!”

“Mulligan, I swear to God, shut your fucking yap for one minute,” Bradley yelled back, shifting his focus from you to his friend. “Sorry doll, Dot, shouldn’t have said those words with you around. Can you forgive me?”

Shooting Dot a wink, you caught his hand. “If you kiss me hard enough, sailor, I just might forget the whole thing.” You weren’t sure where the boldness came from, but it was worth it when Bradley’s face lit up.

“Is that right?” He said in a low voice. “Just one kiss?”

You shrugged as your gaze fell from his amber eyes to his lips and back again. “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?”

That was all it took because next you knew, Bradley had picked you up in his arms and let his lips fall against yours, kissing you so soundly your breath left you in a rush. His hands around your waist held you so securely you didn’t fear falling. Your own hands cradled his face, subconsciously brushing away the tears that fell from his eyes.

He set you back on your feet, but his hands didn’t leave your hips. “So, did you forget about it yet?”

Smiling cheekily back at him, you replied “Forget what?” He chuckled and you let your palms slide down his neck to rest on his chest over his heart. “All that being said, dearest, I leave today. And I know you aren’t down yet.”

“We got separated from the Navy landing crew, doll. Kramer sent a telegram to the high ups and they are sending us on leave for a little while. Especially since we weren’t supposed to be in Berlin,” Bradley told you, a big hand running up and down your back. “So as long as I get to port at a reasonable time, I’m still doing my duty.”

“And when is that, Bradley?” Toying with his jacket, you found yourself chewing on your lip in thought.

“Hey.” His gentle tone had you looking up at his face that was filled with compassion. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’ve got it in writing and up here,” Bradley told you, tapping his temple. “My mama always said I had a mind like a steel trap.”

You leaned up onto your tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I’m still going to worry, Bradley. I don’t know how not to. But I trust you. If you say you have it, then you do.”

Bradley leaned down to kiss you again, this time the fierceness of the gesture had you gasping against his mouth. “God I love you.”

The world stood still as you looked up at him. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course, Rosie. Unless you have some other beau running around London that I don’t know about.” He paused, looking down at you. “Wait, you don’t have a beau waiting on you, do you?”

Looking shocked, you shook your head. “No. No, I don’t. My sister was the looker of the two of us.”

By now, Lewis and Dot had run off somewhere and the other men traveling with Bradley had scattered throughout the camp offering help to the pretty young nurses still there.

The two of you were alone.

“Come on,” you said, tugging him towards your tent. “I have something to show you.”

“You could lead me off a cliff, Rosie and I’d follow you happily,” Bradley chirped, relishing in the pretty blush that dusted itself across your face. His body hurt from sleeping sitting up, he hadn’t had a shower and probably smelled terrible, yet even just being near him flustered you to no end.

And he loved it. Maybe not as much as he loved you, but how could he deny you? Your grip on his hand tightened as you pulled him to you, your other hand coming to rest on his jaw. “I didn’t want to do this in public, but I’ve been daydreaming about you kissing me like I’m all you have ever wanted, Bradley.”

The words raced through him, excitement building as he let you guide his face to yours. The first gentle touch of your lips to his had him smiling broadly, and he knew that you were smiling just as hard by the way you pulled back just a little. The next attempt went similarly; the two of you too giddy in the other’s nearness to kiss the other properly.

But he made it work, catching your chin and kissing you soundly. The gasp that fell past your lips gave him an opening and he took it, slipping his tongue past your lips.

Bradley had anticipated some kind of resistance, the feeling probably new to you, but he found none as he continued to kiss you like you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. If anything, you brought in your own fierceness to the gesture, your tongue tangling with his.

When you finally pulled back, cursing your need to breathe real air and not just Bradley’s closeness, you found that his eyes were still screwed shut. “Pinch me,” he breathed out. “This has to be a dream.”

“This is real, dearest,” you replied with a giggle. “Would I lie to you?”

“You promise?” The tone of his voice seemed so young to your ears, reminding you that for all your 25 years, and his 27, he was still too young to have seen everything he likely had seen.

“Of course.”

His eyes fluttered open, shining brightly with unshed tears. “Thank God. I don’t know what I would do if I had imagined you.”

“I’d say that you have a very vivid imagination then, dearest,” you replied softly, turning his face back to yours. When he’d looked away, you didn’t know, but you loved the sight of those warm eyes looking down on you and you would do anything to keep them in your life. “Besides, where would I go then? If I weren’t real, as you say.” Your fingers ran along the back of his neck, gently playing with the short curls. That was something else you hadn’t noticed until now; the natural curls that had emerged once his hair had a little length.

“Marry me.”

You froze, shock filling you from head to toe. “I beg your pardon?”

“Marry me, Rosie. I don’t have a ring, hell, I don’t even know if I’m going to have a home when I get back stateside.” The words poured out in a rush, but the emotion in his tone was palpable. This wasn’t just a wartime distraction to him. “All I know is that if I don’t tie you to me, if I don’t make every effort to keep you near, I’ll regret it forever doll.” Bradley’s eyes held nothing but sincerity, truth seeping from every pore as he held you, his big hands pressing you to him.

A deep sigh left your lips, the silence thundering in Bradley’s ears as he waited. You glanced up at him, your eyes misty with tears. “If I say yes,” you began, swallowing thickly. “If I say yes Bradley, you don’t get to leave because this is hard. I would be your wife, and you my husband. We do this together or not at all.” Tears had begun falling and you didn’t know if this was an accumulation of emotion from finally having him close or if it was fear. Fear of being wed and left in a heartbeat.

“Rosie, I would find the Chaplain now if it meant that I could spend the rest of my life with you. I would march to the Pacific now to end this war if it meant I could marry you faster. I fought for us just as much as I fought for my country and my mama would come down from Heaven like a shot if I even so much as thought about leaving you behind.” Bradley had ducked his head down, holding your teary eyes with his own. In the growing darkness, you could barely make out the ring of his honey-coloured iris, but you knew that he meant what he said.

How could he not?

“So, doll. What do ya say, hmm? Feel like being Mrs. Rosie Bradshaw?” The usual humor in his tone returned when he saw the meaning behind his words sink in. You understood him and trusted him deeply, after all he’d come back, hadn’t he? In what world would he do all of this and not mean it, not swear by it? Bradley had taken a step to close the distance between you both for the rest of time, pulled his heart out of his chest and held it out to you.

You met him halfway. “I’ve certainly been called worse, Mr. Bradshaw,” you teased gently, as you toyed with the collar of his jacket. “What makes you think I’ll come running when you call that name?”

“Because I’ll come running if you promise to call me that everyday, Rosie doll.” A giggle broke loose from your chest and the matching smile seemed to split your face in two as you watched Bradley’s face light up once he heard your reaction to yet another sweet name he could drop. “You never did answer my question, doll. Are you gonna leave me standing out in the cold like some sort o’ schmuck or are you gonna let me in to get all the good lovin’ my weary bones need?”

You slapped his chest, cheeks burning under his attention. “My mother raised me to never let a man starve nor grow cold, therefore I believe I ought to marry you, dearest. How else am I to go on living when I have a very handsome sailor practically begging for my hand?” You were still smiling broadly and as you watched your words get processed.

“Yeah?”

“Of course.”

Bradley let out a whoop of joy, grabbing you suddenly before picking you up and twirling you around the yard. “Well dammit all! Rosie said yes!”

Cheers broke out from around the hospital. Nurses and the G.I.s were clapping and whistling in celebration that only got louder when you brought your hands to his face and kissed him so hard you could feel your lips bruise from trying to pour every ounce of feeling into it. “God, I love you,” you mumbled against his lips.

Setting you back on your feet, Bradley dipped you over a strong arm, bringing you into another sweet kiss that had you wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing yourself as close as you could to his chest. “So,” Bradley mumbled. “When I find my mama’s ring, it’s yours. She would have loved you, Rosie. My pop too.”

You leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his nose. “I’m certain that they’re very proud of you, Bradley.” The softness of your tone combined with the sincerity filling every word was a shot straight to his heart. Tears sprouted in his eyes and Bradley brought you back up, hugging you tightly.

“I really lucked out, didn’t I? Meeting the most perfect girl this side of the Atlantic.”

A week later, you married Bradley William Edward Bradshaw in a simple ceremony at a small chapel outside London. His mother’s simple diamond and gold ring had slipped into your finger on the voyage across the English Channel while you had been staring out at the ocean around you.

You had scarcely noticed it at first, but when your eyes fell upon it for the first time, you swore that your heart had nearly fallen into your shoes at the sight. Bradley had laughed at your reaction, pulling you close and wrapping you in his arms for the remainder of the journey, all the while watching you trail your eyes over your hand time and time again.

It was all he could do not to press a kiss to your left hand every time he saw the ring catch the light, which was often, especially by lantern and lamp light.

Needless to say, the pair of you were very happy, and while Bradley had been tapped for deployment into the Pacific theater, his ship had only just made port somewhere in Spain before the US detonation of their super weapons in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The Japanese emperor had surrendered almost at once and from your position in London, you couldn’t blame them. You had always hated the unnecessary violence, the casualties just because and this was no different. The innocent civilians hadn’t needed to die in such a way as they had, though you couldn’t see a way of changing the course of the war.

But Bradley was safe and on his way home to you. In the end, you couldn’t help those affected by the tragedy any more than you had during the war in Europe. You would be trying to wrap a wound made by a cannonball with a tiny sliver of fabric, so you set about waiting for him to come back to you.

Now though, you needn’t worry as much. You were Mrs. Bradley Bradshaw and he had made many a promise yet never broken a single one. So the mere sight of his form on the dock eased it all.

Today started the rest of your life.

We got eight children now growing old

Five sons and three daughters

She and I went on the run

Don't care about religion

I'm gonna marry the woman I love

Down by the Wexford border

She was Nancy Mulligan

And I was William Sheeran

She took my name and then we were one

Down by the Wexford border

===

A/N: So, I hope your heart has a big ass cavity in it and that you enjoyed the cotton candy level of fluff that I just threw at you! Big thank you to @startrekfangirl2233 for being the best beta reader ever and @sarahsmi13s, I’m sorry for making you sob when I was sharing snippets

Read Roo and Rosie’s Christmas fic here!

Tagging: @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s @horseshoegirl @roosterforme @@eli2447 @nobody7102 @gigisimsonmars @dcyllom @bobgasm @multifandomlover4life @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls

#fern writes #Ring Around My Rosie #wwii au #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #American Sailor Bradley X English Nurse reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader

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llyfrenfys · 9 months

Text

On Cadi as the Welsh equivalent of Queer

(image: screenshot of the entry for Cadi in Geiriadur Prifysgol Cymru)

Some of you may already know this, but for those who don't, Cadi is a Welsh word which is analogous to the word Queer in English. I say analogous, since their meanings aren't quite a 1:1 match. But for shorthand, Welsh equivalent of Queer sums 90% of it up.

It has been suggested tentatively by some to use Cadi as the Welsh translation of Queer. I'm going to explore arguments for and against, but ultimately the choice to use/not use Cadi as a 1:1 with Queer is entirely up to you. Warning that this post is quite long, but I do hope you'll stick with it- please let me know what you think in the notes!

Without further ado, let's get into it:

Definition of Cadi:

Cadi is a term which has existed in Welsh since the 17th Century (roughly) and generally refers to effeminacy in men (real or perceived). Over time, the meaning of the term has expanded to refer to other (Queer) things as well. But the term itself largely has been applied to Queer men and queer masculinities through time.

The term itself derives from the girl's name Catrin and you will come across women who call themselves Cadi as a shortening of their name (like Liz from Elizabeth and so on). In this way, there is a strong point of comparison to be had with the English queer pejorative Nancy, which also derives from a girl's name.

Can Cadi be considered the Welsh equivalent of Queer?

So now to the real meat of the post. Can Cadi be considered the Welsh equivalent of Queer? The answer to that is, unsurprisingly, complicated.

As described above, Cadi is a term which has had strong associations with male effeminacy (real or perceived) and has close parallels to the English term Nancy, which is also nearly exclusively applied to Queer men and masculinities. What this presents is a quandary and I'll explain what I mean by that. But first, we need to outline the history of LGBTQIA+ terminology in general (in the West).

LGBTQIA+ Terminology and the inclination towards cis gay language:

This is a huge huge topic which I cannot possibly do justice to here alone, so I'd highly recommend reading up on these topics when you have time, but for the sake of brevity, here is a tldr on the history of LGBTQIA+ terminology (slightly UK-centric but similar events also happened in the US and Canada, as well as other parts of Europe).

Campaign for Homosexual Equality (CHE) is a British Lesbian and Gay rights organisation founded in the 1960s, during a time of great social and political change. The organisation's membership grew and grew well into the 70s before declining in the 80s. It was during this time that some lesbian members of the organisation left citing erasure of lesbian issues and misogyny in the movement. CHE and similar gay and lesbian rights movements in this period had been inclined to centre gay men's issues in their activism, which understandably led to many lesbians feeling alienated. Some lesbians left in the late 70s and early 80s and began to form their own advocacy groups. This indirectly fed into a wider feminist upheaval at the time and led to the rise of lesbian feminism, which aimed to centre lesbian issues within feminism, but unfortunately (for complex historical reasons) did then contribute to the proliferation of rad\ical femi\nism within the Queer community, which then unfortunately contributed to the rise of tra\ns exclu\sionary rad\ical fem\inism. Regardless of the unfortunate rise of transphobia within the lesbian feminist movement, the original catalyst for the formation of these groups was a sense of alienation from the rest of the Queer community because gay men's issues had been prioritised over lesbian issues, when both could have been tackled together, with each other. This alienation was echoed in the names of organisations and events- many early homosexual rights groups only had homosexual or gay in their group names. It took many years before advocacy groups started adding 'and lesbian' to their names and events.

(For further reading, I would suggest watching this video by Verilybitchie about the history of lesbian erasure in homosexual advocacy and how that led to (some) lesbian groups excluding bi and trans people in the same way they were excluded by gay men)

What does that history mean for Cadi?:

Because of a history of lesbian (and by extension, women's) exclusion from homosexual advocacy groups, is Cadi the best term to use as a catch-all given its strong associations with men's expressions of Queerness? (namely, that as a pejorative it is largely aimed at femininity in men and subsequent assumed homosexuality). It is important to consider if using Cadi as an equivalent of Queer would centre a (typically cis) gay experience/expression of Queerness and if that would alienate other members of the LGBTQIA+ community.

However, a counterpoint to this would be that there are variations of the term Cadi which do include other experiences of Queerness:

Cadi ffan (similar to just 'Cadi')- typically used to describe femininity in men and boys [N. Wales]

Cadi genod/ Cadi merched (similar to above) - effeminate man/boy [N. Wales]

Cadi bechgyn - Romping girl, tomboy [N. Wales]

Cati fachgen - (similar to above)- Romping girl, tomboy [S. Wales]

Cadi Haf - Male maypole dancer dressed as a girl

They are, however, somewhat limited for use in reclamation and have to be qualified by another noun to indicate diversion from the original term's meaning.

But when talking about the term Cadi, we often speak in the abstract- without the context in which the term is used. So here are a few extracts from texts which use the term Cadi (or variants). Since this is a mostly spoken slang term, it doesn't turn up in print often, but there are a few examples to draw on.

Examples of Cadi in texts:

Page 164- Cwm Eithin by Hugh Evans (1931):

"DAWNSIO HAF Ceir darnodiad o'r ddefod hynafol dawnsio haf yn Y Gwyl- fedydd, 1823, tudal. 306, gan un a'i geilw ei hun “ Callestrwr,” fel yr arferid hi yn Callestr (Fflint, mae'n debyg). Ym mis Ebrill arferai o ddwsin i ugain o bobl ieuainc ymuno i baratoi ar gyfer y ddawns. Gwisgai'r dawnswyr eu crysau yn uchaf wedi eu haddurno ag ysnodennau a blodau. Cariai'r arweinydd fforch bren ar lun y llythyren Y. Gwnïid lliain o'r naill fraich i'r llall, ac addurnid y fforch ag amryw lestri arian, tebotiau, llwyau, cigweiniau, efc. Byddai gyda hwy grythor yn ei ddillad ei hun, “cadi” mewn gwisg merch, ac ynfytyn mewn gwisg ryfedd â phlu yn ei ben"

[emphasis mine]

This extract is the author's account of Dawnsio Haf- a Summer dance held on May Day and his investigations into it. At his time of writing (1931) the practice has died out, but later in this chapter he interviews an old woman from the Conwy Valley who participated in the dances as a child. Evans draws upon a source from 1823 for his description of Dawnsio Haf. In it, he mentions that 20 young dancers meet up for the dance wearing shirts decorated with ribbons and flowers. A leader carries a fork in the shape of the letter "Y"- between each point on the "Y" a cloth was strung with silverware dangling from it to make noise. With the 20 dancers would be a crwth-player (crythor), a Cadi in women's clothes and a fool with a feather on his cap and odd clothes.

This usage is quite archaic and refers to a folk dance- much like mumming or morris-dancing. There is however, a picture in the People's Collection Wales titled 'Cadi'r Big' taken by the prolific photographer John Tomas c. 1875, near Y Ro-wen:

Which is very interesting as Cadi'r Big has dried flowers and ribbons attached to their clothes, much like in the description in Cwm Eithin. This is very likely a picture of a "Cadi" from a Dawnsio Haf.

Page 4- Y Ddraig Binc Issue 4 (1994):

Y Ddraig Binc was a Welsh-language Queer magazine published by CYLCH, a gay and lesbian rights organisation based in Aberystwyth. The term Cadi-ffan is included in an article about the commercialisation of Queer identity in the magazine's fourth edition.

"...Nawr te, medd wrtho’i hun, be’ gymera’ i’r mis hwn, copi o GQ ynte Arena neu ydw i, efallai, yn teimlo’n ddigon ifanc a trendi am Sky? Ond aros funud, beth yw hyn? Dau gylchgrawn steil newydd a gwynt digamsyniol cadi-ffan arnyn nhw?

Ydy, mae’r hyn a oedd y tu hwnt i ddychymyg wedi digwydd. Mae grymoedd y farchnad rydd a chystadleuaeth wedi cyrraedd y byd cyhoeddi hoyw - rhaid bod Lêdi T wrth ei bodd. Nawr fe gaiff llanc hoyw ddewis o ddeunydd darllen sgleiniog, llawn erthyglau a hysbysebion yn arbennig ar ei gyfer ef a’i rywioldeb. Hwrê! Fedr hynny ddim bod yn beth drwg. Neu a fedr o?..."

[emphasis mine]

This humorous article (dealing with an important topic, mind) pokes fun at the arrival of Queer commercialisation. The article opens by explaining that there's a ruckus in the gay world (and not two old queens getting into fisticuffs)- but that this ruckus is taking place at WHSmith (UK stationery shop and newsagents)- apparent winner of this year's most vulgar uniform award. The author goes on to describe a hypothetical situation in which a gay man walks into a WHSmith to buy a magazine. He wonders whether to get a copy of GQ or Arena (men's style magazines- remember this was published in Section 28 Era so explicitly gay magazines were not common) or is he trendy enough to read Sky? (film and tv magazine). But wait- what's this? Two new style magazines with a whiff of Cadi-ffan about them? The author explains that yes, the unimaginable has happened. The forces of the free market and competition have reached the world of gay publishing.

Now a gay youth has the choice of glossy reading material, full of articles and advertisements especially for him and his sexuality. Hooray! That can't be a bad thing. Or can it? Writes the author. The article is very witty and I recommend a read (find a pdf copy here). But the usage of Cadi-ffan here is very much in a reclaimed sense. Though it must be noted that the story is told through a stereotypical cis gay lens.

Conclusions:

As I said at the start of this post, you are free to claim or not claim Cadi as you wish. However, as awareness of Welsh LGBTQIA+ terminology increases, I wanted to raise important questions and start a conversation about the words we have, what we want them to be and how they have been used against us. I hope in any case that this post has been interesting to you. If it has, please reblog this or add any comments/thoughts in the notes, tags or in my asks.

Beth yw eich barn chi? I'd love to hear other's thoughts on this and start a conversation about it! Diolch am ddarllen

#cymraeg #cwiar #cadi #cadi ffan #Welsh #Gymraeg #yr iaith gymraeg #term reclaiming #hoyw #lhdt #deurywiol #lesbiaidd #cymru #long post

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denwritesandcries · 5 months

Text

Like a Movie Scene – Van Palmer

Pairing: van palmer x fem!reader

Summary: Van Palmer should come with a warning sign, she invades your life with her crooked smiles and stupid jokes and draws you into her orbit without even asking for permission, as if it were something destined to happen. Which, you assume, it probably is.

Word count: 7,1k.

Content: No crash!AU, cursing, mentions of homophobia (it’s the 90’s), friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff, a little angst, shitty families, LOTS of movie references, the yjs being normal teenagers.

A/N: Van is a flirty little shit but also a complete loser and we love her for that.

English is not my first language.

Van Palmer should come with a warning sign or at least a 'no returns' marked on the tag of her football jerseys.

You don't think it would have done any good, though. Van draws you into her orbit from the first moment you met, like a bright and warm sun; allowing you to exist steadily in her life even though, technically, she has invaded yours.

You suppose then, that you wouldn't have it any other way.

It's likely you guys would never have really spoken to each other if it weren't for a mix-up between your practice schedules and a stupid argument between your coaches.

You see, the track team – which you were part of – always had practice right after the football team, because Wiskayok High School barely had the structure to keep both a girls' and boys' football team running properly, let alone a decent space for the few other sports the small-town school offered. Your practices took place on the same days of the week and one after the other, always at the same time. It was the implicit rule: from 4:30 pm the field is yours.

Coach Martínez didn't seem to care, however, because there he was arguing with your coach, since apparently football practice had run late and the girls needed to train for an hour and a half.

Your coach wasn't having any of it – your time was already too short without these changes –, and now both men were in the middle of the field screaming in each other's faces while poor coach Scott tried to calm them down.

“Dude,” you recognize Natalie Scatorccio’s tired, hoarse voice beside you, “They could just cancel and let us go.”

You and apparently most people there, if the expressions of annoyance and crossed arms were any indication, couldn't agree more.

"Right?" You said, “Look at them, you think they’re gonna fight?”

Nat let out an amused snort, “They’re going to eat Coach Ben alive, that’s what they’re gonna do.”

You would have said something else if it weren't for a third voice coming from right behind you:

“They're gonna kiss, look how close their faces are,” It was Van Palmer, the goalie, with red hair swinging in a ponytail and a smirk on her lips. She shook her head in mock disappointment and crossed her arms, pointing with her chin at the scene, “In front of us, kids? What a lack of professionalism.”

You choke on a laugh and her gaze snaps to you, her smile widening with something like satisfaction in her eyes. The attention made you nervous, you weren't used to interacting with Yellowjackets members other than Nat, who was easy to talk to and was your lab partner as well as sharing cigarettes at parties, meaning that talking to Van Palmer was a completely new territory.

You joke back insecurely, “At least you have real coaches, ours is the art teacher.”

That made her let out an incredulous laugh and you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel pleased about it. Like almost the entire school, you also had a crush on the Yellowjackets.

Your laughter died down just as Coach Scott ran across the field to the two mixed teams with the most genuine expression of exhaustion you've ever seen, “We decided to share the space,” he says, and that's all. Your first interaction with Van: a conversation that lasted less than three minutes mocking your teachers. You would never expect it to evolve into anything beyond that.

It's strange trying to do your usual routine of running through the poorly painted banners around the pitch – which looked like it had never seen better days – with a game taking place just a few meters away from you and your teammates. The fear of getting hit in the face by a ball was embarrassing.

Yet, as you wait for the relay, your gaze tracks the girls in action. You don't know the names of most of them, but recognize Taissa and Shauna fighting over the ball at one end of the field, the confrontation seems a little too intense, which makes you a bit nervous and your eyes go straight to the nearest goal, coincidentally, is the one Van is defending.

You notice how beautiful she looks with her expression completely concentrated and her hands resting on the knees, waiting to act. Shauna overtakes Taissa and kicks hard the ball towards the goal; Van grabs it as soon as she crosses the white line on the lawn.

A giggle escapes you as Shauna turns around in frustration and the ball bounces back into the field, Van and Tai share a wry smile. The goalie turns her attention away from the game for a moment to look around and you swear she's looking for something – or someone.

Your teacher calls signaling your turn and you leave your thoughts while you line up with some other teammates.

You can do your relay routine for exactly fifteen minutes before something goes wrong.

You run on autopilot, so used to it that it's practically a second nature, letting your gaze return to scanning the field with interest when one of the players tries to score again and Van throws herself against the ground to catch the ball with a stronger and clearly exaggerated movement compared to last time. You thought this would be a one-time thing, seeing as the way Jackie and Nat rolled their eyes at her from where they were off to the side blocking other girls, but it kept happening the entire time you spent running until it was time for your break.

You choke on the water you drink when you realize that Van is the one staring at you this time, hands resting on her thighs, face sweaty and red, as if she doesn't have a game to focus on.

Shit, you think, how are you going to keep your head in training now? You wonder what you would have done to get a Yellowjacket's attention so suddenly as you return to your line.

You resume your run at a pretty good pace despite the sudden nervousness, feeling a little more confident when you hear a loud “Come on guys, no one has beaten L/N’s time yet!” coming from your teacher.

And then you're approaching the curve flush with the football field, the curve that gives you the perfect view of the goal.

Van is there, of course, just throwing the ball downfield again. Van, who rests her hands on her hips and catches her breath when Coach Scott blows the whistle and tells that her team won the game. Van, who turns around just in time and sees you approaching. Van, who removes a strand of red hair from her face that has escaped the ponytail and gives you a malicious toothy smile. Van, who winks at you. Van, who makes you fall. Literally.

It's all so out of nowhere, so suddenly that your heart misses a beat and you miss a step, tripping over your own feet as if your legs forgot how to work properly, falling in the middle of the curve and getting in the way of your colleagues further back in the lanes next to your side

Shit, holyshit, fuck, you just fell in front of the entire football team.

One of your friends bends down next to you to help and asks what happened, you blame the laces of your sneakers that untied when you fell because any reason is less embarrassing than what actually happened.

Your knee is bleeding and one of your arms is scraped, so the coach decides to have pity and leave you on the bench until it's time to leave. You make your way there with your ears burning and your head down.

If Van had any kind of interest in you, it definitely disappeared after that.

You remain alone on the bench, avoiding looking anywhere for a long time until Misty Quigley appears at your side with things to bandage your wound and you happily let her fill the silence with whatever she wants to say for the next few minutes.

Your night is spent tossing and turning in bed over the shame you've experienced and the next day as you walk through the corridors, the possibility of the goalie talking to you again doesn't even cross your mind as the first classes go by like a blur.

And then you're at your lunch table waiting for Nat to show up to talk like she usually does when she doesn't disappear around school, but after a few minutes a head of red hair takes over your vision instead of the usual dyed blonde.

“What’s up?” Van is sitting next to you, with the same crooked smile and her cheek propped up in a fist.

“Uh, nothing much really.” You have no idea what is going on; she is sitting with you, smiling at you and talking to you. Why is she doing this? You can feel a few other people's eyes on you through the interaction.

She introduces herself, even though you already know who she is, holding out a hand for you to shake – they’re rough, you notice, with calluses adorning the fingers –, probably just so you can introduce yourself too. “I’m Van,” she says, and that’s it.

She’s been Van since the beginning. Not Vanessa Palmer or the Yellowjackets goalkeeper, just Van. She says it so matter-of-factly that it would simply sound wrong to call her anything else.

You engage in a conversation about anything and everything after you introduce yourself – just your nickname too, you assume Nat already told her your name at some point yesterday – speaking as if you already knew each other, and somehow it doesn't feel weird.

Your eyes end up focusing on a black-haired girl crying at a table on the other side of the cafeteria with another girl, you don't know either of them, but you know that they are both on the main team too.

“Hey,” you point with your chin, “What’s up with her?”

Van finds the source of your attention and raises her eyebrows, “Oh, you mean Mari?”

You answer with a simple nod of your head and that's enough for Van to invade your personal space with a devilish expression and a mischievous smile.

“She had a bad break up,” Van says and you tilt your head at her.

“But was it that bad?” You arch an eyebrow, “People don’t cry in such full places over nothing.”

Van moves a little closer to you and lowers her voice conspiratorially, as if she’s telling you a very important secret, “She were dumped” and then a dramatic pause, “For the guy’s half-sister.”

"What?" Your jaw drops completely and Van nods her head.

“Lottie told me, she knows about these things,” she rests her face in her hand again, “She said she caught them kissing at her last party, Mari must have known.”

“‘The fuck?” The shocked look you give her only seems to amuse her.

“Oh, she's crying right now but boy, she was mad as hell in our math class today,” Van blows an exaggerated raspberry, “I bet she'll end up coming up with an absurd plan to get revenge and burn down his house just like in She Devil if the story spread.”

It will definitely spread, you thought.

An unexpected giggle escaped your chest – you might have felt a little bad for talking shit about a girl you didn't even know later, but not now – and your gaze found Van's face again.

“Yeah,” you start, “Except she was replaced by the guy’s own sister, half-sister, whatever, instead of a famous writer.”

Her face lights up completely as she speaks, bright green eyes like those of an excited puppy.

“You like that movie?” She asks.

“I love that movie,” you correct, “It’s iconic and Meryl Streep looks good.”

"She does.”

This seems to completely cement Van's interest in you, because she continues to sit with you at lunch for the rest of the week. When Nat finally appears, she raises an eyebrow, but doesn't question it.

You and Van get closer in a surprisingly short period of time, but the way she seems to settle into your life is gradual and your silly little crush on the goalie seems to get stronger without even realizing it. Waiting for your lunches in the cafeteria, conversations in the hallways, glances exchanged during physics class – since you sat too far away to really talk – and the exchange of silly words about movies you like.

You have the habit of going out for a run every weekend in the morning – it's not easy to keep the best time in the routines, after all – and one day you decide to change your route by pure coincidence to a longer one that ends up near one of the trailer parks in the city; the fact that Nat mentioned one day that she’s neighbors with a certain teammate has nothing to do with it.

It surprises you that Van is awake at 8 am on a Saturday, but you find her – by pure coincidence, nothing more than that – outside a sad trailer watering an even sadder small garden. When she sees you, your hair is a mess and breathing is a little out of step, and you give her an awkward wave as you catch your breath. It's the first time you've seen each other outside of school.

“You’re stalking me now, weirdo?” Her crooked smile tells you that there's no real bite behind it.

"No," You place your hands on your hips, kicking some loose pebbles on the floor with your sneakers. Yes, you liar, “I always run around here, how come we’ve never seen each other before?”

Fuck it, you think. If Van can just show up for you because she wants to, then you can do the same.

She seems happy to abandon her garden chores when you ask her to go for a walk and she agrees to make you company once there’s no running involved; a walk, because no one deserves to be running around like Rocky Balboa at this time of the morning.

You walk together side by side through the neighborhood with your shoulders brushing against each other as if you've done this many times before, Van whistling a random tune carelessly.

Talking to her when the initial nervousness passes is one of the easiest things you've ever done and you find yourself enjoying and listening to everything Van tells you. This potential friendship – maybe more. Maybe, just maybe – it's the most fun thing that's happened in your year so far.

Your walks together also become a habit after that. You just come back the next day and Van is there with a smile on her face, so you keep coming back and she keeps smiling.

You also start walking home after school. Neither of you have a car, so why not?

You crave her company and she craves yours, you stay for Van's training and she stays for yours – no one else on the teams has the energy to complain about exaggerated movements or stumbles on tracks – and then when you're ready, you head off to your ways together and it makes your heart warm every time.

Everything about Van just makes you want to know her even more; the way she gestures with her arms and declares with the utmost disgust how she keeps distance from any musical that isn’t animated – “But you only watched Cats!” “And that was enough!” –, they way she tells you about how she and Taissa are watching Sabrina the Teenage Witch every Friday, or how she makes fun of any weird thing Misty said during practice that week.

You listen and absorb everything with an stupid drunk smile on your face, letting her entwine your arms and chatter to her heart's content.

Keep talking, you want to say, I love your voice, seeing you happy makes me happy. Keep talking, keep talking, keep talking.

You invite her to your house for the first time under the pretext of studying, after she throws herself on the chair next to you with a tearful expression during physics class.

“I’m gonna fail,” she whines, banging her head dramatically against the open notebook on the table, “The professor hates me.”

You start teasingly, “Maybe he would hate you a little less if you actually paid attention in his class.”

"I do!" Van protests, “It’s personal, he must think I’m strange or somethin’ and lower my grades for it.” She crosses her arms with a pout and a roll of eyes.

“Of course,” you agree with an exaggerated nod, “And you, yourself, are strange and unusual.”

“Yes!” She exclaims, ignoring the looks she attracts, “But that’s not the point, don’t quote Beetlejuice to me now, woman, this is serious.”

“Oh, wow, okay then.” You shrug.

Van looks at you before resting her head on the table again. She seems so hopeless that you give in.

“Hey, c’mon,” you say, letting your hand rest on her hair and stroke it gently, “You can come to my house today. I’ll help you study for the next test.”

Van's shoulders tense suddenly and her head snaps up so fast it makes you jump back.

"Really?" Her eyes are wide, face as red as her hair: “I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

That's strange. Van is usually the one who makes you nervous, not the other way around.

“You won’t bother me at all,” you reply without giving it much thought, “There won’t be anyone at home anyway.”

And then there's silence, Van's face turns impossibly redder and after a second of confusion, you understand.

You just invited Van to your house. Alone. There is an innuendo there. Several possibilities that neither of you will mention, but that you both know are there.

Your face starts to heat up, so you clear your throat and stutter a confused “Are you coming then?”, because you can't let her realize what you just thought about.

Van responds with a squeaky “Okay, sure,” and hurries back to her usual seat when class finally begins.

When you adjust yourself in the chair and think about finally releasing the breath you didn't realize you were holding, your gaze finds Lottie Matthews staring at you three seats away with her eyebrows raised. Shit.

Lottie says nothing, just wrinkles her nose contemplatively and faces forward, but she knows, she always knows. You feel your hands sweat and shake with nervousness at the prospect of becoming the new school gossip like Mari last month. The queer who fell too hard for a Yellowjacket only to get it wrong and ruin everything.

You shake your head. No, Lottie wouldn't do that. You weren't exactly friends, but she’s not mean, there was no reason for her to upset you, your thoughts were just talking too loud. Plus, it's not like she actually saw anything. You didn't do anything forbidden, friends go to each other's houses all the time. Your crush is not obvious.

That's stupid, you think, it doesn't matter, but you don't really believe it. Yes, it matters, at least in this little town at the end of the world.

You just hope you don't end up crying in the cafeteria too.

There is no training that day, so as soon as classes are over, you leave school together and make your way home. For the first time, the silence is awkward and makes you feel bad for making the invitation the wrong way. Maybe Van just doesn't swing that way and you made her uncomfortable somehow. It's a possibility; you're not exactly in the closet to the rest of the school.

Still, the way her hand brushes against yours gives you hope that this isn't the case.

When Van enters your house, the first thing she does is look around.

“Wow,” she begins, “Its really…”

“Small?” You complete, feeling somewhat conscious. Your house wasn't a trailer, but it wasn't anything compared to the houses of Van's cool friends. Definitely nothing like Lottie or Jackie.

“Empty.” She corrects.

Huh. It's true, your house was praticly always empty, not only because your parents spent as much time as they could out of it, pretending they didn't have a kid to still take care of, but also because of the lack of furniture and personality, it didn't seem like a cozy place to a family live. As a whole, it could be really lonely most of the time. Van seems to have noticed this with a single glance.

You choose to ignore the comment, suddenly thinking that this might end up becoming too intimate. In a vulnerable way.

When Van enters your bedroom for the first time, she gives the place the same curious look as the rest of the house, but her jaw quickly drops.

“You got a TV in your room?” She sounds completely shocked.

“Yeah,” you snort in amusement, “My uncle runs an appliance store, he fixed one that no one picked up last summer, so now it’s mine.”

Van still looks very impressed as her eyes roam the rest of the room. Your bedroom was, perhaps, the only place in the house where someone actually seemed to live. Posters and photos adorned the colorful walls and it seemed like every little thing in the room was directly a part of you, from an old stuffed animal on one of the shelves to the small pile of messy clothes on the chair next to the study table because you weren't planning on receiving no one to remember to put them away.

The tension from before seems to be dissipating and you can see from the expression on her face the exact moment Van notices your small VHS collection up ahead.

“Okay, that's it, we're only hanging out here from now.”

And that awkward moment passes completely.

In a matter of minutes you both are comfortable in your bed with books and notebooks spread around, after convincing Van to start studying with the promise that she could choose whatever movie she wanted for you to watch when you were finished.

Van seems to dedicate herself twice as much, eager to fulfill the agreement and the hours pass quickly as she understands the concepts you explain about the subject and then all you have to do is say that it's time for a break for her to jump out of bed with a smile from ear to ear and choose a movie.

She puffs out her chest holding the tape in her hands and proudly declares that you're watching Jurassic Park and you don't even think to question it when you return the smile and takes on the task of making popcorn.

Van ends up leaning against you throughout the movie, reciting all the lines from memory along with the characters close to your ear – she knows all of them – and your heart remains racing with blood rushing in your ears until she leaves.

The two of you keep hanging out at your house again and again, just like she said it would be. Sometimes you study or watch something together, but most of the time Van simply keeps you company while you do your chores around the house, following you around like a puppy while you cook or do the laundry. Your home has never been so fulled or welcoming.

You go home after classes and practice – occasionally with Nat in tow – and stay together until it's late and dark, every now and then you say that she could just sleep over as a joke, but she never accepts it. You gulps the pang of sadness and rejection each time it happens.

And you guys talk a lot, you've never been so delighted to hear someone blab about anything.

Van spends days talking about how excited she is for summer while helping you chop the things for dinner. She and Natalie always get jobs together and she’s dying to buy a car – “You’re the runner here, lady, not me.” –, an old dark green pickup truck. She shows you the leaflet with a smile so proud that you don't have the courage to admit that you thought the thing was horrible; She tells you about how she wears the clothes of her older brother who apparently left town as soon as he finished school while helping you fold the freshly washed clothes, some of her own included.

It's so domestic that you wonder why this didn't happen sooner, depriving either of you of a routine together like this for so long seemed mean.

One night you’re sleeping soundly when you are startled awake by a loud knock on your window and you turn to find a face pressed against the glass. You almost have a heart attack.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Van!”

She's standing there with a pout and big eyes, pointing at the lock and you consider leaving her outside for the fright she got you. One look at the alarm clock on the table next to the bed tells you that it's already past 2:00 am.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice hoarse and tired from sleep, letting her come in, but only because you don't want her to get a cold outside.

Van sneaks into the room, suddenly shy, playing with the hem of the oversized t-shirt she's wearing and avoiding your eyes. She gives you an awkward smile.

“I was just wondering if we could have that sleepover today?”

She looks upset. Something happend. Something that upset her enough that she decided to run to your home in the middle of the night.

“Van,” your expression softened, worry flooding your voice, “Are you okay?”

“Yep.” She clicked her tongue, still not looking at you in the eye.

Okay, you won't get anything out of it then. Van likes to talk, but not when it comes to problems like this. Problems at home.

The thing is that you and Van have a lot in common, like your dubious sense of humor and your love for movies, but are opposites in many others; the main one: where your house is always empty, hers is always full. Full of people who take away the smile that you always try hard to keep on her face.

“Okay,” you sigh, taking her hand and making your way to the messed bed, “Let’s get some sleep then.”

“Oh,” She looks even more embarrassed, her sweaty hand in yours, “I can take the couch or the floor. I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m sorry.”

You let out an outraged huff, “You run to my house, climb in through my window, ask me to have a sleepover and now you want to sleep on the floor?”

She drags her feet on the floor, “...Yeah?”

You choose to ignore her answer, practically dragging her over to the bed and making her lie down. When she does, Van moves to the other side of the mattress, clearly trying her best not to disturb you, but in a fit of courage and exhaustion, you wrap an arm around her and press her against your chest. She lets out a squeak of surprise at the action.

“Go to sleep, Van.” You mumble against the back of her neck, burying your face in her thick hair.

Her body is still tense against yours, but Van allows one hand to rest on the arm you keep around her waist.

You lose count of how long you spend lying awake in silence cohabiting in each other's space, but when you wake up in the morning, Van is still asleep, her hand never leaving your arm.

You guys don't talk about it and you never find out what really happened to make her feel so bad that day, but Van shows up more often to stay the night. She never tells you when she's coming and you get scared every time when you hear the knocking on the window – you swear she does it on purpose, that little smartass.

You realize that you really love her, not just as a silly high school crush, in the middle of a hot May, when Van makes you stand in the line at the cinema box office for two and a half hours and miss the day of school to get tickets to watch Jurassic Park - The Lost World. Because if you saw the first one together then you should see the second one too, obviously.

You're sure you wouldn't put yourself through this for anyone else – but don't let Natalie know that.

The whole situation feels a lot like a date and you try to ignore the anxiety that washes over you as you rummage through your closet for an outfit that you think is good enough for the night. The way Van's jaw drops when she looks at you when she meets you at the front door makes the effort completely worth it.

She spends the entire movie almost bouncing in her seat with excitement and swearing at the parts that don't make sense, because apparently the movie is also really bad, even though she's so happy watching it, and you manage to be bold enough to hide your face on her shoulder during the “scary” parts and leave your head resting there until the end.

You're not proud at all to say you spent seven bucks on a squeezy dinosaur for her on the way back, but it's your senior year, damn it, let the girl have fun with her silly toy before college.

You go back home – ‘home’ you think now, not ‘your house’. Your home. Your home with Van. – with her ranting about special effects and scenes you don't remember because you spent more time looking at her than the screen and you end up on the balcony before you know it.

“That was so good.” Van is just inches away from you, looking at you with bright eyes full of happiness; your hands are sweaty, so you put them in your pockets so she doesn't notice.

“Yeah, it really was,” you return with a playful smile, “Even though you convinced me to spend hours under the sun for it.”

“Hey!” She protests, moving impossibly closer, “What would the experience be worth without a little effort, huh?”

“Sure.” You giggle.

She's so pretty, you think; hair down and a black jacket draped over her shoulders, looking at you as if she actually saw you. Knows you. I want to kiss her.

“You had fun today?” Van asks, unable to avoid the small tone of doubt that escapes her voice.

I want you to kiss me, you think.

“Yes,” you answer instead, “Yes, I did.”

One night Van simply comes in through your window and you don't even react anymore, leaning into her body against you under the covers.

“You gotta stop coming in through my window,” you grumble.

“Then stop leaving it open,” she huffs, “Someone might break in, you know that?”

You can feel her smile against your neck and you're about to fall asleep again when you hear her voice whispering:

“You’re gonna go to my games, now that we actually have a chance to go to the nationals, right?”

“Of course,” you mumble with a comforting pat of her hand on your stomach, “I’ll be the first one in the stands cheering you on. You’ll be embarrassed of me.”

Van buries her face in your shoulder, “Good.”

You get sick the same exact week her last game until nationals takes place, lamenting the stupid flu that left you feverish and stuck at home for days.

You can't go to school and Van can't come to see you because Coach Martinez has increased the training routine as the team advances in the championship, you assume it must be really tiring because Van doesn't show up at night either. It's embarrassing the way you can't sleep properly without her.

The worst of all: you lose Van's game.

You resign yourself to spending the afternoon on the couch brooding in remorse until you hear a knock on the door.

Coming across Van's sad face with her clearly trying not to cry was not what you expected when you opened the door, knowing for sure that you would only be greeted later – probably after a victory party – with excited screams and bright little dog eyes asking for help to pack her bags.

"We lost." She says, eyes glued on the carpet.

“Oh,” you say stupidly, “Oh, dear.”

Your voice seems to turn a switch inside her, because Van lifts her head to you with her lips trembling and the next moment you two are on the couch with her practically sprawled on your lap and crying, crying hard. You've never seen her like this before.

You hear something about Jackie hitting the post at the last moment as she sobs, but what seems to make her really upset are the balls she couldn't save during the game. Like it would’ve make difference.

Comforting was never really your strong suit, you can't say you're really upset that the Yellowjackets lost, the idea of having Van so far away from you even for a few days didn't please you at all, a bad feeling in your chest told you that something could go wrong.

“Well,” you run your fingers up and down her back, “You know one good thing about this? We can go to Homecoming now.”

Her breathing hitches, but if Van notices how you say 'we' instead of 'you' she doesn't say anything.

She's on your lap, nose close to yours, eyes swollen with tears but with the same look from that night at the movies, the one that makes your hands sweat and leaves your heart weak.

Unlike the movies, however, she kisses you. Like, she actually moves forward and kisses you.

Her lips are wet and soft against yours and you tilt your head to pursue them only for her to pull away with a panicked expression.

"I'm sorry!" Van exclaims, scooting toward the door as if her skin had burned, “I’m sorry! I– I shouldn’t– I’ll see you at school.”

And then she leaves. You don't even have time to react, she runs out the door and gets into that horrible pickup truck – which she had parked in the driveway for the first time less than two weeks ago, wanting to take you for a ride to celebrate the purchase – and you're left standing in the doorway like an idiot after the car disappears from your vision, as if you were waiting for her to come back – you were.

You don't see her at school for the rest of the week, she doesn't show up in class or practice and she certainly doesn't show up at your house, Van is avoiding you and it's so obvious that you feel like crying the entire time you're there, trying to catch a glimpse of her through the halls.

Fuck, you knew this would happen, that you would screw up and make the person you care about the most hate you.

You huff in frustration, letting your head fall against the table feeling someone's gaze on you, someone who isn't Van.

Lottie Matthews isn't skipping physics class, she has no reason to be, so you shouldn't have freaked out as much as you did when you looked up and saw her towering over you next to your desk.

“Shit–” You gasp, jumping back in your seat and almost hitting her chin.

Lottie tilts her head, completely unfazed, with a look of false innocence and curiosity on her face. The look of someone in search of an information.

The vision of Mari crying at the beginning of the year comes back to your mind and a shiver with a line of sweat runs down your spine. Oh no.

“Did you guys break up?” She asks and it's the last thing you expected.

“What?”

Lottie sits next to you, smoothing her skirt over her legs, completely at ease.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she starts with an anxious air, “But please do because I really want to know.”

"Know what?" God, your head is already hurting from this conversation.

Lottie seems to realize that your confusion is genuine, because she stops and frowns at you.

“Didn’t you and Van break up? I thought you were together.”

What the fuck?

"...No? We’re not?”

“Are you asking me?” Lottie arches an eyebrow, also confused.

"No." You clear your throat and roll your tense shoulders, “We’re not.”

“Oh,” she doesn’t seem to know what to say after that, strangely disappointed – just like you.

The class passes with the two of you in an awkward, resigned silence and as you're leaving, Lottie follows you down the halls, attracting glances as you pass by, which was the last thing you wanted at the moment.

“What now?” You sigh.

“I think you should talk to her and sort things out,” Lottie says, “She seems so sad lately, without her usual sparkle.”

You could understand where Lottie was coming from, seeing Van upset was truly heartbreaking, but you couldn't help the bitter pang in your chest. She ran away after the kiss, not you. The kiss she gave you.

“She’s hiding from me,” you admit begrudgingly, “Where else could I talk to her, anyway?”

“In the Homecoming, of course!” Lottie nods at you sagely, as if couldn't be more obvious.

“Of course.” You agree, because, the hell, why not?

The Homecoming is on the weekend, the same weekend the team was supposed to be away for the nationals, which must be why the girls are there, to try and lift their spirits.

You recognize Jackie talking excited to Taissa about something near the tables at the back of the gym, next to a grumpy Shauna with a glass of punch in a hand and the other placed on her waist – in a definitely more then friendly way –, but no sign of of Van in sight.

You end up outside with Natalie, smoking against a wall, as always happen at every party you're at together. She's telling you about how she saw Jeff and Randy with a bottle of liquor before coming in and that they would probably baptize the punch, you both talked about ratting them out to one of the teachers in charge after sneaking a few cups and you probably would’ve done that if Lottie hadn't joined you – coming from who knows where – to ask for a cigarette too.

Nat joked about how it probably wasn't like the expensive brands she seemed to prefer at her parties, but she handed one over without a hitch and the three of you sat there, looking up at the dark, starry sky for a moment.

“You haven’t seen her yet?” Lottie breaks the silence, casually breathing in the smoke.

Nat looks at you sideways and all you do is shrug, not wanting to admit the defeat.

“You should try it near the stands.” She declares.

“What are you, a psychic or something?” You scoff, but go anyway because like Van said, Lottie knows about these things.

She is there. Of course she is. Sitting in the stands staring out at the empty field, wearing a light blue suit with a white shirt and a matching shiny tie that you have no idea where she could have gotten, because there's no way her mom would have let her buy it.

Van notices you approaching by the sound of your footsteps on the ground, her head turning to watch you and for a moment you're afraid she'll run away again.

She doesn't, so you approach, trying your best not to run towards her.

“I gotta quit smoking soon,” you say, stepping on the cigarette your hand was holding and making an overly dramatic effort to sit next to her with heavy breaths, “Or I’ll end up being kicked of track ‘till year is finished.”

Van snorts, “Right, Ponyboy Curtis.”

For a moment it's like anything hasn’t changed between you both, you bet that if you tried with conviction you could almost pretend that nothing had happened. Almost.

“You ran away from me,” you say.

“I did,” Van lowers her head, quietly. Embarrassed. You’re not sure of what exacly.

"Why?" You ask, because that's the question that's been running through your mind for days.

“I–” Van looks away from you, “I thought you wouldn't want that.”

“And I thought you knew how much I wanted it,” you say and Van lifts her head to stare at you with wide, hopefully eyes, “What do you want, Van?”

Her jaw drops and she looks like she was expecting everything but that, her hands twitch on her thighs, as if she wants to reach you.

“You look so beautiful right now,” she sighs softly before steadying her voice, “You look so beautiful that I want to kiss you again.”

"Do it."

And she does, hard and desperate, crushing her nose against yours, as if she's hungry and can't get enough; you wrap your arms around her, hands touching her with the same need.

The lack of air is too much, so Van pulls away from you to immediately start distributing quick kisses down your neck, as if it could all disappear in a second, becoming confident when you tilt your head to grant her more access and only stopping after the hiss that you let go because she bites.

“So…” she laughs nervously, “What now?”

"Now?" You’re out of breath, “Well, can we go back inside and help Nat steal liquour to screw with Jeff and Randy or…”

"Or?" Van arches an eyebrow in amusement.

“We can go home and I can show you how much I missed you.” You shrug, casually tightening your hands on her waist.

“Hm,” she pretends to think about it, “I guess I like the first option better.”

Van laughs at the sound of your offended squeal and avoids the slap you try to give her shoulder.

“Careful, baby,” she intertwines your hand with hers, “I’m gonna start to think that you love me.”

“Oh, you better know that.”

You pull her by her stupid shiny tie and kiss her when she laughs again and let Van guide you to that hideous truck staggering laughing through the crowd of students.

Yeah, you think, I wouldn't have it any other way.

#yellowjackets x reader #van palmer x reader #van yellowjackets #yellowjackets #vanessa palmer x reader #yellowjackets x you #denwrites

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vikinglanguage · 2 months

Text

9 number things you might not know as a foreign speaker of Danish

This is a mishmash of both cultural things and linguistic things. The idea for this post appeared in my head at 3 am so bear with me. As for the lack of links, I am adding them in a reblog to try to avoid tumblr nerfing my post.

1) Quarters – how to measure time In Denmark, we love measuring time in quarters of an hour. We love it so much we don't care about specifying the kind of quarter, it's just kvarter (itk.). Generally, we tend to use kvarter mostly just when speaking about 15 or 45 minutes, but it does go further than that. So here's a quick guide on how to tell time other than just doing as you would in English:

15 minutes – et kvarter 30 minutes – en halv time 45 minutes – tre kvarter 75 minutes/1h 15m – en time og et kvarter · fem kvarter 90 minutes/1h 30m – halvanden time (see 2) 105 minutes/1h 45m – en time og tre kvarter

and so forth, if you care to. Using fem kvarter is uncommon but acceptable, but never go further than that using just quarters of an hour. I would say that once you pass 2 hrs, I most commonly hear people starting to just count hours and minutes as you would in English.

2) Halvanden – half second An archaic way of saying 'one and a half' that just stuck for some reason. This is the preferred way to say 'one and a half ' for most people. No, this is not a joke.

Halvanden, 'half second' means halfway between one and two. Until quite recently (we're talking less than a century) halvtredje (2.5), halvfjerde (3.5), etc. were also in common use, but they have disappeared so rapidly that most current speakers will have absolutely no idea what the hell you're talking about. However, the ghosts of this way of counting live on in the numbers halvtreds (50), halvfjerds (70), and halvfems (90). You can read more about that in my old post about Danish numbers (see reblogs).

3) Week 42 We use week numbers! Week 1 is the first week in the new year to contain a Thursday, as we count weeks as Monday through Sunday. You don't necessarily need to know what week it is all the time, but a lot of adults use weeks in place of specific dates. I am forever thankful to ugenr.dk (you just type in a date and it tells you what week it is in or vice versa).

Important weeks are:

Week 7/8 – winter break for kids in primary and secondary school (not to be confused with Christmas break). It varies depending on municipality whether it's week 7 or 8. Lots of people go skiing these weeks.

Week 26 through 31 – summer break is usually during these weeks. All students in primary and secondary school, as well as university students and students doing professional bachelor's degrees and the like have these weeks off from school.

Week 42 – arguably the most important week. All students mentioned above have this week off from school. It's autumn break and it's ALWAYS week 42 and JUST week 42. Originally, it was to allow students in rural areas help their parents harvest potatoes (a nickname for autumn break is kartoffelferien 'the potato break'), and we just kept it.

4) DD-MM-(YY)YY If you write dates as MM-DD people will think you're a lunatic. Don't, unless you're specifically talking about 9/11, colloquially referred to as just 9/11 (nine-eleven, as you would say it in English).

5) 00:00 Denmark, like a lot of other European countries, uses 24hr clocks. Obviously, analogue clocks and watches are common, and it's perfectly ok to say stuff like klokken fire om eftermiddagen 'four o'clock in the afternoon' or klokken otte om aftenen 'eight o'clock in the evening', but you are expected to just know that 21:00 is the same as 9 PM. You can also say klokken toogtyve 'twenty-two o'clock', and it's quite normal to ask for clarification of whether people are talking AM or PM by saying stuff like klokken elleve eller klokken treogtyve? 'eleven o'clock or twenty-three o'clock?'. You cannot use AM and PM when speaking or writing Danish. The day begins at midnight; 00:00.

Don't worry yourself too much over this. Everyone occasionally forgets that 19:00 is in fact 7 o'clock and not 9 o'clock.

6) Halv to – half one When you're measuring half hours in Danish, you're always measuring towards the next whole number. It's never half past, it's always half to. As such, half (past) one is halv to 'half two' in Danish.

7) Grades (years) This is an ultra quick rundown of the Danish school system. School is mandatory for 10 years and homeschooling is allowed. This covers primary and lower secondary school.

Most people start school the year they turn 6. My birthday is in April, so I was 6 when I stated school, my sister's birthday is in September, so she was 5.

The mandatory grades are as follows. The ages are all possibly ages of a child attending that grade (not accounting for starting school early or late):

Indskolingen, grades 0-3 0. klasse/børnehaveklasse - 5-7 yo 1. klasse – 6-8 yo 2. klasse – 7-9 yo 3. klasse – 8-10 yo

Mellemtrinnet, grades 4-6 4. klasse – 9-11 yo 5. klasse – 10-12 yo 6. klasse – 11-13 yo

Overbygningen/udskolingen, grades 7-9 7. klasse – 12-14 yo 8. klasse - 13-15 yo 9. klasse - 14-16 yo

Some may choose to do 10. klasse, if they feel like they need more schooling or maybe if they're attending an efterskole.

Once they've finished their mandatory schooling, a lot of Danes choose to attend upper secondary school. You can do it in 3 years (stx, hhx, htx, and eux) or 2 years (hf, 2-årigt studenterkursus). Special circumstances like being an elite level athlete or attending MGK (preparation for attending a music conservatoire) may lead to people spending 4 years in upper secondary. Hf often sees a lot of adult students.

Gymnasium/HF, the grades are said as [ordinal number, letter(s)] 1.g (15-17 yo)/1.hf 2.g (16-18 yo)/2.hf 3.g (17-19 yo)

8) Grades (performance)

Danish schools have a 7-grade system. It's called 7-trinskalaen, and each grade corresponds to an ECTS grade (in fact, it's specifically designed for compatibility, and a lot of people above the age of 30 miss the old scale). Generally, students don't get grades until 7th grade. The grades are:

12 – A 10 – B 7 – C 4 – D 02 – E 00 – Fx -3 – F

If you are not familiar with the ECTS system, E, Danish 02, is the lowest passing grade. The intention behind the 0's in 02 and 00 is to make it impossible for the students to "change" their grade by just adding 1 in front of the grade, but the 0's are in fact also said out loud.

9) Ordinal numbers

Ordinal numbers are written as a number followed by a full stop. You do not capitalise the first letter of any word following the full stop (see 7) even though MS Word will try to convince you it's the right thing to do.

You can read a lot more about numbers on the Danish numbers post (again, in a reblog), but the basics that might not be covered by formal learning materials are:

nulte zeroth. This literally only exists for 0. klasse and for numbers to the zeroth power. fyrretyvende/fyrrende* – fortieth halvtredsindstyvende/halvtredsende* – fiftieth tresindstyvende/tressende* – sixtieth halvfjerdsindstyvende/halvfjerdsende* – seventieth firsindstyvende/firsende* – eightieth halvfemsindstyvende/halvfemsende* – ninetieth

The forms marked with an asterisk are largely informal spoken language to the degree that they are even considered wrong by some. Generally, they are accepted as the standard forms among the younger generations, but be careful when talking to people above the age of ~45.

#original #danish #danish language #danish langblr #langblr #tongueblr #danish numbers #school #time #dates #numbers #uhhh i think thats it

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beautifulfaaces · 2 years

Photo

Erin Doherty

Facts

July 16, 1992

English actress

She is of Irish descent

Filmography

Becky [Chloe: 2022]

Princess Anne [The Crown: 2019-2020]

Grace [Intelligent Design: 2020]

Jessie [Call the Midwife: 2017]

Appearance

brunette

blue eyes

1.66m

Roleplay

playable: young adult, adult

Icons: The Crown

#Erin Doherty #fem 90s #fem english #90s fem english #90s fem irish descent #chloe #the crown #intelligent design #call the midwife #brunette fem young #brunette fem adult #90s fem brunette #blue eyes fem young #blue eyes fem adult #90s fem blue eyes #young adult female #adult female

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selarina · 10 months

Text

→ Suna Rintaro x Fem!Reader

Summary: When a guy asks for your number, you sternly insist on a condition that leads to unexpected love.

Content Warning: Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Suggestive, Eventual Smut, Canon-Compliant, Swearing, Social Media AU, One mention of suicide in the form of a joke

Series Masterlist

Chapter 4: Thrice As Pretty

Aran already knows about what happened in London.

Suna hasn't touched a book in a while, but he listens to audiobooks.

Suna's favourite book as a child was Catcher in the Rye, he had to read it for English class.

@ejp_archives is right — ain't nobody looking at that dog.

A/N: I hope I got the essence of how guys communicate right

ALSO, check out my girl Dakota Warren if you like literature, I used her youtube thumbnails in this chapter.

TAGLIST: @wolffmaiden @tenaciouswritersheep @90s-belladonna @alienvarmint @kodzuchim@themoonreflectsthesun @baramii @haruskatana @rukia-uchiha-98 @aimno256 @userwithlotsoftime @the-moonandthehermit @alldaladiesloveleooo @iluv-ace @noideawhothatis @vivian-555 @buggy-cj @butterscotch-ripple-icecream @cloudsvna @zukowantshishonourback

#tw mention of suicide #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro fic #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyu x reader #suna rintaro smau #suna rintaro smut #haikyuu smau series #haikyuu smau #suna rintaro fluff #suna rintaro angst #suna x reader #suna x y/n #suna x you #suna x reader smau

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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 2 months

Text

the counterpart

chapter 2 — if you’ve a lesson to teach me — i’m listening, ready to learn

pairing: viktor x fem!reader (no use of y/n, as usual)

word count: 3,7k

rating: explicit

cw: chess games stuffed full of sexual tension are finally HERE, viktor humbles reader (elegantly), reader is a smoker (it’s a modern 90s au, of course her lungs are cooked), mentions of blood and some nail biting injuries (reader has an anxious nail-biting problem). people who are good at chess and english: please come smack me if i wrote something ridiculous, since both of these are mostly self-taught. thank you.

ao3 link

—

Pop-quiz: what’s the quickest, stupidest, pathetically embarrassing to the point of biting off the nail on your pinky finger way of responding to White’s 1.e4 if your opponent is terrifyingly experienced?

Your teeth closed around the poor claw, nervously reducing it to a thin, fragile little husk, then yanking angrily at the tip of it with a neurotic little squint; eyelids twitching instinctively as it ripped all the way off to the very base of your nail fold.

The consequences of your risky Sicilian were staring at you demeaningly right from the board, sharply invading the retinas of each devastated eye with the misery of your predicament. Made you lick the creased corner of each dry lip with an alarmed shudder, wondering silently if your tiny act of autocannibalism passed more as a cry for help, or as a lamentable, hopefully lethal way out of the stalemate.

But you didn’t have the time to eat yourself alive with that miniscule of a nibble. The clock was ticking ruthlessly — no, but actually, what were you even thinking? Pulling such a stunt; utterly hopeless in front of your unpredictable rival.

So you stared — intimidated and crushed — right at your now queenless, unsolvable quandary; not brave enough to raise your drawn to the board gaze, knowing damn well that if you do — the copper orbs will swallow you whole with the very chair your competitive ass is nailed to.

But that’s precisely what you deserved. Some good, merciless spanking — but not for that lovely, inquisitive rear of yours. Oh no, your ego was the infamous asset on the receiving end of it.

And it made you feel so fucking stupid. Had you muttering a heated curse against the clenched cage of teeth — an angry scold for ever considering the events of the night you met him fruitful.

‘I shall bring the clocks.’

It’s funny how something as crucially significant can slip one’s mind like it was never even in there. You spent the rest of the week by the board, lazily rewinding Tal’s 1976 matches, with an occasional attack of positive nervousness. Crawling out of bed only to fetch a can of deliciously cool sparkling something, or to jump imperiously onto the windowsill, stretching each bare leg out under the cruel sunshine — so hot you could just hold your cigarette up in the air to light it. Your mind would wander back to Viktor — but not frequently. Only when you’d lay sprawled out on the sheets, haphazardly dropping the ashes into the flexure of them, musing dreamily about what opening you should play. Or when you’d fidget mindlessly with a rook or a bishop, spinning it slowly between each finger as you pondered silently who gets to play White in the very first game. Or — but this one was more of a guilty pleasure, actually — when you’d imagine that handsome face of his in deep astonishment, one brow cocking upwards as he would witness his own omission.

‘I shall bring the clocks.’

You’ve played with them before — and quite occasionally, to be frank. Back in the day you were quite the familiar face at every youth chess tournament — until it all came crashing down with college applications, forcing you to put the fervent passion aside. You were still mourning those peaceful years: no responsibilities, just playing chess and consuming books, feeding the insatiable mind with whatever meals you could grab from the library’s shelves.

And now here you were — wrapped up in missed assignments and a million academic burdens, hating your major with a passion more burning than the one you felt towards the board and those pretty sixteen pieces.

The arrangement Viktor offered you felt like a warm embrace you jumped into with no hesitation, eager to escape your desperate, chess-starved state.

But that endlessly slow Friday morning you’d run out of cigarettes. Groaning exasperatedly into the racket of damp from the overnight sweat pillows, you crawled out of bed, preliminarily throwing the empty box of tobacco treats into the darkest corner of your apartment — where the infernal July sun doesn’t shine.

Putting on your second skin made of restraining fabric felt like pure torture — and as much as you’d love to walk under that shining ball bare to escape an overheated death, the people outside would most likely not appreciate the bold gesture. Especially your new opponent; though if Jayce didn’t lie about him only having eyes for one queen — an inanimate, tiny and wooden one — the possibilities of Viktor even noticing your nude form were practically non-existent.

You slipped thoughtlessly into whatever relatively decent pair of pants plastered across the obscene clutter on the floor, swearing copiously as a bare foot stepped into something liquid and sticky — the remnants of your late night coffee-break, a dark quagmire staining the carpet. Now petulant, you made it furiously to the bathroom — to turn the combed hair into something acceptable, or, rather, something less revolting. Looking like a mad genius — which suited you partially, since you only deemed the former word relatable — you left the dorm in redundant rush, a chess board tucked firmly under your armpit.

It was still somewhat early for your rivalry little date: surprisingly enough, you grabbed a humble breakfast, restocked the nicotine supplies and even fed on them urgently and so very greedily in the soothing silence of a nearby park — and that still didn’t bring noon any closer, leaving you twenty endless minutes ahead of the arranged hour and negatively impatient.

Fuck it. Punctuality is certainly not a vice — and since your expertise in the field was impeccable, you were headed to the library shortly after failing to find that trait among the endless list of your actually contentious ones. Besides, your college always remains unaffected by the heat — it’s better to endure the waiting inside its comfortingly cool walls, instead of letting the vile season fry your last brain cells outside.

The quiet book shrine greeted you a tad bit too dryly. You passed the ever depleted librarian, trading a rushed, yet polite nod for her pretentious sigh, marking it the worst deal of the morning in your mental little planner. Eager to escape her tortuously meticulous eyes, you vanished into the labyrinth of shelves, humming a silly tune as your fingers ran over the row of books, searching for a decent one to occupy yourself with until Viktor shows up.

“Hm, ‘Introduction to Quantum Mechanics’, is it?” someone — you knew exactly who — whispered a gentle reproach precisely above your ear, almost wheezing it into your freshly untangled hair. Technically, freshly untangled just to see him — but you didn’t entertain that thought any further. A synevy hand, armed with a set of impressively long fingers, was laid atop the book your touch lingered on, teasing you with a fleeting knuckle brush.

“Excuse me?” you maneuvered with a subtle chuckle, spotting a spike of chestnut curls invading the corners of your peripheral vision. The man was sneaky and utterly undefeatable in that capacity — a calm, charming serpent, the one who comes and goes whenever he pleases.

His cane tapped against the floor with a dull thump.

“A truly peculiar subject,” Viktor observed, stroking a sturdy little spine of the manuscript before you. It had, indeed, taken you long enough to notice the cover your fingertips chose to stop at.

“I suppose so,” you mumbled, secretly admiring the shy intercourse your hands shared on top of a dusty book, watching him extract the ‘Introduction’ out of its secure slot on the shelf, then turned around to face your all too familiar intervention. Voluntarily crawling under the handsome obstacle of his shoulders, letting them block the exit as you leaned against the stand filled with other ‘quantum’ shenanigans.

“A woman of many talents, are you?” he cocked a bushy brow up, half-lidded gaze inscribing into your memory. Made your breath hitch somewhat cowardly at the proximity, and the amber in each sharp eye twitched, landing on your stilled expression.

“Perhaps,” you shrugged — a pathetic attempt at regaining some composure, “quantum mechanics is not one of them though.”

Viktor hummed, putting the book away with an understanding sigh.

“A pity,” he chuckled, chapped lips protruding into a pensive pout, “I’m yet to find other common grounds between us, then.”

“Don’t you think that’s unnecessary?” you queried, fingers drumming a light rhythm against the still nestled in your arm chess board, eager to turn it into your personal battlefield. “You’re not here to befriend me, Viktor.” “I would much prefer to make your acquaintance before we take it to the board,” he objected, flawless in his logic, “getting to know your opponent is… well, profitable. You might find their weaknesses while performing this so-called interest-autopsy.”

“Oh, are you a mortician now?” it came out unexpectedly bold — almost unnecessary flirtatious considering the context, but the comment seemed to humor him just fine, and he smiled, returning the shrug you offered him earlier.

“Eh, in a way,” he budged, filling the air with raspy laughter as his hand squeezed the handle of his cane.

“I see,” you nodded, watching him squirm oh so courteously in your powerful, grabby hands. At least that’s how it felt like to finally move him around — a treatment suited for a little pawn: relentless and hasty.

So you decided to push it further. A cheeky creature — you smirked, preparing for the much riskier next remark, had him humming inquisitively in pent up anticipation.

“A man of many talents, are you?”

Well, would you look at that. Check, and an immediate, flawlessly smooth mate, Viktor.

Except he didn’t get it. Dropped the tactful smile and surrendered to the panic, glaring at you like a boy who’d just experienced being flirted with for the first time in his life. As if he was utterly oblivious to your random little advances, staying there all wide-eyed and confused to the bone.

Viktor retreated. Turned around with a sharp sigh, inviting you to follow his lead with an adorable little gesture — as if challenging ou to have your way with him on the board now. His choice of a sparring room was obvious: you both walked into the reading hall at a slothful pace, simultaneously spotting a distant desk by the window, then exchanging shy, confirming nods before sitting down at it.

‘I shall bring the clocks.’

Your triumph was ruthlessly murdered by those infamous timers, of whose existence you’d so inconsequentially forgotten this very morning. You stared at them — puzzled and deservedly bitter, failing to notice a chair Viktor had obligingly moved out for you beforehand. Not so certain in your flawless victory anymore, you mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’ and settled into the seat, softly placing the board on the table. Your opponent followed suit, crossing his lanky legs in a clumsy manner, haphazardly kissing the nose of your loafer with the evidently polished leather of his shoe, leaving a fresh smear behind.

“Sorry,” he blurted out, rushing to set up the pieces for you — an efficient gentleman, pretty hands not only a sight to behold, but also the nimblest of instruments. Had you laughing softly at his distinguished haste, head tilting to rest on the back of your palm.

“Don’t worry about it,” you protested, brushing him off with a careless shrug. “Are we doing the standard?”

“Ninety minutes for the first forty, yes,” Viktor confirmed, placing one last piece in its place. “Though by the looks of it: I’m certain I won’t need that many moves nor minutes to defeat you.”

“Are you bluffing to scare me away?” you teased, perfectly aware of just how wholeheartedly he meant that. Cocky or not — he really was talented. You’ve asked around. You had your ways. You knew you had a champion sitting before you. Setting up your board. Blushing awkwardly at your cruel flirtations.

“Of course not,” he objected, nonchalant. “I am merely making an observation. You look terrified of that clock. It was only natural for me to assume you’re not familiar with time limits.”

You huffed out a scoff, displeased with his sharp attentiveness. Merely making an observation. Does he always talk like a sophisticated professor?

He wasn’t exactly wrong though. You decided to allow him at least that mercy.

“It’s been a while since I played in a tournament,” you reluctantly admitted, lazily leaning back in your chair. “So yes, I haven’t dealt with clocks in a fat minute. But it’s nothing I can’t endure. Especially since you were kind enough to offer me the first move.”

Viktor didn’t get it either. His brow formed a perplexed arc, eyes abandoned their thorough examination of your face and flew instantly to the board, mouth dropped open to let out a gasp as he noticed that every single white piece was lined up on your side.

“Oh, how foolish of me,” he excused himself with a sheepish smile, scooping up a pair of pawns from their squares. You watched your potential advantage get swapped a few tortuous times, cursing the fuck out of whatever stupid call tearing that last cheeky remark off your tongue. You already knew it was far too long for your own good — but now the hatred was burning with a particularly lively enthusiasm.

You could have played White first if only you didn’t make him notice.

He could have let it slide.

Your pupils kept jumping between his fists, scared of leaning too much onto your rotten crutch of an intuition.

“Please, pick faster,” Viktor muttered, “sadly, I only have a few hours to indulge you with.”

With a grunt, you gave up the pitiful attempt of finding the white pawn through the gaps between his fingers. You didn’t even squint when the hand you nodded at unraveled before you, black glistening in it with glorious mockery.

Whatever, you hissed, coming to terms with your self-made quandary. Surely, you can beat him even without this little privilege.

You switched places with Viktor, the hostility on your physiognomy so ostentatious it had him dropping an apologetic chuckle. He was now facing you from the other side of the desk, hands tucked under the sharp chin in tacit anticipation.

Viktor started his timer. Grazed the button with the softest of taps, then rubbed a few fingers against the pad of his thumb — picking out your poison with a meditative hum. Reducing you to a tense, sweaty disaster in an instant, made you shake on the very edge of your seat.

His first move was so… predictable. White 1e4 is a classic. An axiom, if you will. A thing you were least expecting from this mystery of a man — wasn’t he supposed to destroy you with a more complex, niche opening? You froze, looking him persistently in the copper eyes. As if silently contemplating his decision, waiting for him to be absolutely certain.

But he pressed the button again, letting you shoot your reciprocal shot. Still wholeheartedly convinced it’s a trap, you timidly moved your pawn to c5. For better or for worse.

The first handful of moves felt quite… tasteless. You decided to be the pioneer: swallowed his d4 pawn and watched him mimic you shortly after — except he went for it with a preliminary prepared knight. Your boldness was nothing but an empty threat to him.

“Greedy much?” you needled with a vicious smile, moving to use your own knight in a frantic rush — turning it into a figurative shield from his sly tricks.

“You can’t win without sacrificing a piece or two,” he replied, taunting you with a crooked half-smirk. Moving his other knight to c3. Sneaky bastard.

“A piece or two?” you laughed, baring your teeth for him to witness your precious derision. No doubt imagining how he’d look with your fingers digging into his throat. “I plan to take much more than that.”

“Take whatever you want,” Viktor replied, too wrapped up in studying the board to pay any mind to your bragging. “Take all my pawns if you have to. I don’t need them to put you in a stalemate.”

You loved the quarrel while it lasted. Both on the board and whatever this sexy verbal bile-spitting was: you’d run away from him by hiding your king behind the bishop, he’d chase you with the peculiar positions of his pieces. It’s like he didn’t know what he was doing: forming a tiny row of pawns, covering the queen with both of his bishops, letting the knights remain still — evidently baiting you to attack, yet still keeping a respectable distance. The actual problem occurred much later though. After a heated session of running around you were done with him. It was pushing past your twentieth move — and Viktor still had almost all his pawns thrown around the place, with only a few substantial pieces missing. This eye for an eye situation — despite looking quite counterpart-ish — still didn’t entertain you as much as you predicted. He took your bishop — you got rid of his shortly after. He chewed your knight up — you were paying him right back.

But it wasn’t enough. You wanted it all, and that included his king lying lifeless on that damned board in an old-fashioned way of resigning.

You decided to go for the bishop’s pair. It seemed logical: the piece was asking for it, standing so dangerously close to your powerful d7 knight. You consumed it without hesitation: had Viktor whistling out an amused little sound, appeasing you with what you believed was a sign of regret.

And a sign of regret it was. However, not to mourn his bishop. But you were too drunk on your freshly annexed trophy to notice the complete lack of defense around your abandoned d5 queen.

Of course: knowing what you know now, you would’ve never let that happen. That game turned you into a changed woman: you’d analyze it countless times months down the line, memorizing each tiny detail. Smacking yourself with a mental whip for even allowing him such an opportunity in the first place.

But that day, he took your careless offer and slayed the royalty. At first, you thought your vision was betraying you from looking at the chequered space for too long. But oh well — he still had one rook, and carefully moved it precisely one square forward, prying your precious omnipotent piece with one subtle movement. And only when it was gone were you able to comprehend the damages. You watched him throw your queen into the pile by his elbow — a makeshift bed for all the fallen soldiers he took from you.

That’s how you lost your nail.

“Fuck,” you groaned, squeezing that poor finger between the hard press of your teeth.

Viktor simply snickered. As if he didn’t just disarm you, guaranteeing himself an easy checkmate.

“A bit too harsh of a word to describe your predicament, don’t you think?” he provoked, gently nudging you towards the already rushing you with its ticking clock. “Surely, you can get out of this.”

“No,” you disputed, feeling the thick metal taste invading the cavity of your mouth. “No, I can’t get out of this. Technically, I already lost.”

“There you are: jumping into conclusions again. I can think of a few ways we could turn this into a draw–“ but he didn’t finish. Something got in his way —just like a sharp fish bone stuck in one’s throat; he even sounded choked up and hoarse, eyes widening with a petrified little gasp.

The way your name rolled off his trembling tongue insisted that his fright was targeted towards you.

“You’re bleeding,” he uttered — a nervous constatation.

You blinked, utterly bewildered. Only then did you register the weird flavour, withdrawing that tremendous finger from the pinch of teeth. Watching the trail of crimson flow rapidly down your arm, a mere inch from snaking into the sleeve of your shirt.

“Oh,” a guilty thing, practically unintentional. “I’m aware.”

Viktor froze, now perplexed to the point of reaching over the desk and shaking some sense into you.

“I bite my nails when I’m anxious,” you quickly offered a breathless explanation, “I simply must have bitten too hard this time.”

He didn’t respond. Well, not with his words, to be precise — his hand stopped the timer, signaling the game’s inevitable delay. You almost stuffed your mouth full of still presentably looking digits, almost certain that your opponent was now grabbing his cane to walk away from you as fast as his thin body was capable of moving. Had you grabbing his wrist with a desperate plea, panicking eyes meeting his — strict and half-lidded.

“Where are you going?” you queried, childishly hoping to hear something that wouldn’t include an insult.

“To the pharmacy, of course,” Viktor said, allowing you to hold onto him. Peering down at your contorted with astonishment face: as if he was judging you for ever thinking of him that low.

Because he’s sweet. Sweet boys don’t run away from their dates. Nor from their unfortunate opponents.

“What for?” you dared to ask, releasing his wrist in order not to overstep.

“To fetch you something to disinfect that with,” he laughed, registering your gesture as a non-verbal permission for him to go.

You watched him walk away from you oh so slowly — as if he made each step that pretty of a torture on purpose, tempting you to yell something foolishly grateful while your eyes could still swirl his posture, brimming with glassy, sheer excitement.

Or perhaps the pain from your injury finally decided to kick in.

“Viktor!” you managed to find your voice — shaky, a little too resonant for the library. He didn’t comment on that though. Just turned to face you once again, nodding quizzically. “Will you show me the draw thing later?” you offered him the loveliest smile — not a smirk or a devious snicker. A smile, sincere and pretty. Had his lips arching into one of his own — so warm you wanted to slap yourself for ever considering toying with this polite, darling man. The thought didn’t linger, of course — but it swelled deliciously inside your mind, making you forget about the stinging finger for a few seconds. “Sure,” Viktor replied — no hesitation prominent in his tone, “just don’t chew on any more of your nails while I’m gone, please.”

tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @thehistoriangirl @queen-of-elves @vyshnevska

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor x reader smut #a very self indulgent reader #but oh well #viktor x f!reader #viktor smut #viktor fluff #the cunterpart

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seosracha · 1 year

Text

PLEASE REMEMBER ME WHEN OUR YOUTH IS GONE jake sim x reader

SYNOPSIS-> when sim jake, the highest scoring student and an easily identifiable perfectionist starts falling for a messy and careless girl, he cant find any words in the world to express his love for the only star in his eyes.

PAIRING-> sim jake x fem!reader

GENRE-> angst, fluff, unrequited love, highschool au, oneshot

WORDCOUNT-> 5k

AUTHORS NOTE!-> this is one of my old ateez oneshots that never got the appreciation (I THINK‼️‼️) it deserved:///

PERM TAGLIST-> @bubblytaetae @qghosty @viagumi @artstaeh @bigtoewinwin @strwberrydinosaur @enhacolor @rendezrei @shinsou-rii @notrosemary

Jake wanted to be considered a perfectionist, since he strived towards outstanding scores, a foolproof attendance and he longed to outdo himself in anything he sparked interest in. The watch his friends gave him never left his wrist, and you could catch him sneaking glances at it every minute or so. Jake was never late. Guards who watched over the school's property often spotted him at the crack of dawn, studying for exams or finishing yesterday's homework.

Beneath the orange haze of the early morning sky, Jake’s eyes flush wide open. His body is sticky and he can feel the hot sweat creep down his neck, as he forces his body to get up. Then it hits him, as his still blurry vision spots the light blue alarm clock amongst his school uniform. His body trembles, as the usually blue numbers don’t light up his face anymore. His chest heaves uneasily, as the palm of his hand rummages through the white bed sheets. Jake’s fingertips hit the cold black surface of his phone, and roughly pull it up to the side of his damp thigh. He reluctantly opens his phone and the white numbers on his screen read 6:48. Panic subsidies the liberating feeling he woke up with.

“So fucking stupid” he mutters, but the admission alone was enough to calm his heart.

It was early, yet the scary thought of a 90/100 points on his English exam found a place in his gut, and nagged him every time his eyes read over the four digits.

A cold shower refreshes his puddled mind, and washes away the thick layer of sweat. Jake tries to relax into the cool water, the panic fading away into a fabricated confidence.

“I’ll ace this” he exhales slowly, and the unnerving thoughts vanish with each scrub.

….

Your eyes flutter open, as you try to avoid the boisterous voice of your older brother. His footsteps echo through the small apartment, and you can’t figure if it's them getting closer or your head still in a state of pain. You abruptly rise as the wooden door creaks open, the fit figure of your brother emerging from behind it.

“Have you seen my spare arrows? I really need them” he says, throat tight.

His hair was messy, and you could make out spots of dry shampoo he probably applied earlier. He looked tired and sore from practicing late at night in the depths of his room. His figure is hunched over the door frame, the creases on his school uniform evident.

Words leap at the tip of your tongue, and you clench your jaw to keep yourself from screaming right into his pretty face.

“What time is it?” you ask, dodging his previous question. The feathery sweep of chilling air alleviates the tension in your muscles.

He shakes his head and rubs the tiredness off his face “It’s 6:48” he replied, the bright light illuminating his face.

You cursed and slipped out of the warm covers. The cold air from your room's air conditioner settled on your bare legs.

“They’re in the living room shelf” you finally tell him, and he exhales sharply, giving you a cheeky smile “You better give me a ride to school now, Jungwon”

He laughs at your seemingly normal request and straightens his posture. He averts his gaze from the shiny floorboards, and looks straight into your sleepy eyes.

“If you listened for once in your life, you’d know I have a competition today” he says giddly, and you have a strange wave of anger swarming through your body. You envied him perhaps, for being able to have a cheeky smile on the first thing in the morning.

“You can still drive me to school?’ you reply and he just chuckles, stepping out of your dusty door frame to gather his lost arrows “Hey! I was talking to you” you breathe out.

“It’s a ten minute walk. I’m not going in that direction anyways” he says loud enough for you to hear. He precisely opens the drawers and gently places his hand upon the arrows shaft, making little to no noise. His worst fear was the angry footsteps of his parents who were woken up by their child's antics.

“You’re so annoying Jungwon” you sigh into the sunshine, that leaves it’s intense sparkle on the length of your tense shoulders.

…

Jake finds the school's uniform to be extra itchy today, as its fabric clings onto the recurring sweat on his body. His eyes furiously scan the emptiness of his poor decorated room, stopping at every metal object.

He exhales yet another breath of disappointment, as the keys he’s been seeking for turn out to be his friends' sunglasses covered in the perfect way by stacks of crumpled paper.

“Fuck” he curses under his breath.

Jake can’t help but feel as if the world is against him on this day. Through the small window next to his bed, he can see the usually busy streets start to fill up with cars and people. His body aches as the stinging sun burns into his skin.

He hurriedly grabs the notebooks and textbooks off the messy shelf above his desk. The shelf was the only thing he let be messy in his life. He learned to live with its messy nature, and millions of unorganized worksheets. Jake isn’t even sure if these are the right books but the competitiveness in his veins leaves no time for a second checkup.

Did he even do the homework? He’s not sure.

…

He slams the apartment door shut and so do you.

He runs down the stairs with a thud but you choose to take the elevator.

He drops the bag that hangs loosely on his broad shoulder, but you don’t so instead you keep humming the melody of a SKZ song.

The hurry seems to stop as the both of you meet at the entrance.

His great memory can resurface your smiley face anytime. He also can recall you being the last person to arrive in class, so considering the walk wasn’t too long he was shocked to see you up this early.

You smile at him, and he doesn’t know if he should wave, smile back or maybe strike up a conversation. He doesn’t like the idea of an awkward walk to school adding onto the bad things that have already happened this morning.

“Sim Jake! You’re a morning person aren’t you?” you say, and he can feel the tension in his muscles turn into a heatwave only he can feel the effects of, as he scrambles up a response.

“I’m always up early” he replies and it sounds meaner than he intended it to be. Not like he wanted to be rude in the first place.

“You seem a little grumpy for an ‘I’m always up early’ guy“ you quote and he feels heat decorate his chiseled cheeks. The bitter taste of timeless greed ushered him into the depths of his own curiosity. What exactly was it that you wanted from him? Were you making fun of him? Or maybe you had a nice start to the hot summer day, unlike him?

“I wanted to study for the english exam, but my alarm clock broke” he answers.

You can see exhaustion lifelessly beam from him.

“Ah, the exam! I’m sure you’ll do well” a smile pops up on your face, and Jake spots the dimples he never seemed to notice.

Jake’s heart courses a steady blood through the canyons of his chest and uneasy stomach, as he wonders if replying with a simple thanks would be better than disagreeing. He didn’t want to seem eccentric.

“Thanks. I’m sure you’ll do well too” he replies, and it feels as if the tension in his lungs fills up with oxygen once again.

You make the incital move to leave the building, by stepping out of the moving doors. He is scared to do so, as the sun already looks ready to make him sweat his ass off.

Jake exhales. His sneakers stalk towards your direction, and you smile as he finally pops out of his petrified state.

“I didn’t exactly study for it, you know?” you reply to his non-compliment.

He shakes his head, and chuckles. The sound of your voice seems to alleviate any tension in his muscles.

“Why not? I mean this is a pretty big part of our grade” he murmurs. You roll your eyes playfully, and chuckle at the boy.

At this moment Jake wanted to fade away from the perfect class title. Maybe then you wouldn’t perceive him differently.

“I was doing my nails! Do you like them? `` You beamed, and showed the baby blue gel nails into Jake’s face “You can take my hand in yours, that’s okay” you reassured him.

He felt relief wash over his body, as he grabbed your smaller hand in his wrought one. He looks at them closely, trying to figure out what exactly changed. He sensed that asking wouldn’t be an appropriate response to your hard work, so he just mustered up a kind response “They look great” he finally said, and for the first time you saw his sweet smile.

The trees moved along with the light breeze of wind, birds sang a luscious melody and the sky was clear. Jake sinks into the beams of the midday sun, accepting it’s warm nature. It’s humid and noiseless.

“Really? Seojun and Jungwon said they looked bad” you laughed and he let go of your hand. “But I think you’re right,” you add quietly.

“Yang Jungwon? The archery guy?” He was curious, since he knew Seojun well. She was Heeseung's girlfriend.

Seojun and Heeseung we’re deeply and irrevocably in love with each other. They became one with one another, and shared the beautiful bond everyone envied. They sunk in the commitment, intimacy, passion and admired the individuality they kept. Now, in 11th grade the fire they started was only growing, and even after countless hook ups, it still felt like their first time.

“Yeah, archery Jungwon! He’s a senior and my brother” you explained and Jake nodded in understanding.

“That explains why seniors never mess with you or Seojun” he chuckles and you hit his forearm. You never realized how built he really was.

“Hey, you’d take that chance if you could too” you said and he hummed in agreement.

He blows out a steady breath. Jake has never felt so comfortable with a girl. She gave him a mold and he fit perfectly. He’s grown weary of chasing after that which destroys him until he’s in deadly silence, burned to the core. He wanted to finally open up his arms and detach from the raw perspectives tight grip.

“I’m really surprised we haven’t been talking earlier” you say after a brief moment of comforting silence, and Jake feels like the birds chirping tune has become more joyful, the sun joists a little brighter and the wind perfectly sweeps across his face. “I mean, Seojun and Heeseung have been dating since forever. Heeseung is your best friend right?” you ask, knowing the answer.

Jake had many friends, or at least he thought so. His deskmate and platonic soulmate Heeseung, the mother of the group, Jay, the swim team captain and somehow his friend, Sunghoon. Then there was Sunoo who’d barely show up to class. Yet when he did, the whole class would cheer for their entertainment source, and wait for the chaos to begin.

He descends in the golden hope he’s been given. He breathes in the contentment and liberation the conversation has brought him to “I’ve known him pretty long. Although he never listens to me” Jake laughs and looks at you.

“Seojun is so stubborn too! She never listens and ends up getting in trouble” you smile and he chuckles.

Living the life of the remarkable couple that was Heeseung and Seojun, must’ve been so carefree and fun.

“I guess they’re meant to be,” Jake said and the giggle that leaves your lips is carefree and sunny, and grounds Jake in his growing contentment. It’s astonishing how easily you encit this light from him.

“No joke, they are. I always end up third wheeling when i'm sleeping over at Seojun’s” you said, and he gives you a questioning look “She ends up calling him on facetime” you voice an answer to his inner question.

Jake felt as if he could talk to you for hours, but when the picture of the newly renovated school started becoming clearer, his heart sank. He started picking up various screams and he could see the 10 graders playing on the school's court. He also didn’t expect you to ever talk to him again.

“Did you do the math homework?” you ask as the school grounds enfulge the both of you in a seemingly playful atmosphere.

Jake shakes his head and you make a shocked face, which leaves him fearful.

“It’s okay Jake, Jieun probably did it” you answer with a gentleness you never knew your voice could possess, and reassure his inner dilemma. The usage of his name makes his uneasy stomach warm.

As he expected you to leave his side, you never did. You walked close to him, and he could swear he felt the positivity radiate off of you. Although you kept quiet, as you two walked up the never ending staircase.

“Y/n! Why are you so early?” Seojun said, already all over Heeseung. He was pouting at her, and Seojun was applying her favorite cherry lip gloss onto his soft lips. She spotted Jake but that didn’t exactly answer her question, just enfudgled her in deeper confusion. “What are you doing with Jake?”

…

Jake tried to focus. He read over the sentence multiple times but it all felt like a blur to him. He found himself forgetting basic things, as his gaze couldn’t help but avert in your direction.

After you two walked through the large wooden doors, Seojun kept on teasing you, and Heeseung almost instantly repeated her action but directed it towards Jake.

‘Is she your girlfriend?’ ‘Is her your boyfriend’

‘Did you two already kiss?’

It was the consequence of having an annoying and childish friend.

His warm hands tremble slightly, as he gropes the plastic pen.

“What’s the answer to number five?” Heeseung whispers, but Jake ignores him. “Jaeyunnie?” he breathes out, and Jake kicks his foot with no answer. If only he had number five himself.

He’d been skipping questions, now on number eight still not grasping anything printed on the paper.

‘The period between childhood and adulthood is called?’

“Easy, youth” he whispers, and Heeseung turns into his direction with a pleadfull look on his face.

A smile perks up on his lips as he writes down his answer with confidence. Yet he sinks back into his chair, when the next question doesn’t sound so painfully obvious.

‘Hugging someone who is hurt is a signal of?’

He sighs and writes down bravery but is sure the answer isn’t correct. He ducks his head low, dropping the pen. He glances down with a small smile, studying his dress pants. He gathers small pieces of lint, and throws them into the large pocket of his backpack.

Jake sneaks another secretive glance at you, and you seem just as confused as he is. Although you keep writing so he assumes you're just shooting your shot. You try biting at your fingernails to relieve the stress, but soon remember they aren’t bare anymore.

He stares at the blank, gray TV mounted on the wall. It seems like a dust collector, since the teachers never turned it on, but with the right remote it could show anything he wanted. Maybe even the answers to this impossible test.

“I think it’s okay to not have answers,” Heeseung whispers.

He tried to copy Jake’s answers but instead he spotted the page empty with nothing even scribbled over. Jake’s pen layed lifelessly just like the look on his face.

“This is gonna hurt” Jake responds, but doesn’t remove his eyes from the TV.

Softly, and quietly, Heeseung says “I know”

He likes teasing Jake for his perfectionism, and longing passion for achieving great scores. Yet deep inside he has the need to comfort and reassure his friend at times like this.

Jake squeezes his eyes shut, until he can feel the pain. He tries hard to muster up any answer that would at least give him half a point, but the bell relieves the pain as his eyes flush open.

Panic rises as the calm aura subsides. He has to be hallucinating, but the students rising from their seats and handing in the test say otherwise. Time doesn’t even feel real anymore.

“You want me to hand that in for you?” Heeseung asks, pointing to the empty paper. Jake shakes his head, and Heeseung just shrugs while walking off.

“Babe I did so well! I didn’t finish one exercise, can you believe that?” Seojun squeaks, and wraps her long arms around Heeseung’s neck. He pulls her closer to his exhausted body and spins her around. She laughs and he just keeps on repeating how proud he is.

“I knew you’d do well!” Heeseung says and she kisses his cheek, leaving a wet spot.

Jake doesn’t understand how Heeseung isn’t envious of his girlfriend at this very moment. He bites his lip, and feels guilty.

Maybe if he was in his friend's position it’d be different. Maybe if he could actually experience real love.

His eyes catch your figure stalking towards the teachers desk, where the stacks of tests lay. With a sigh you let go of the paper, and smile at the teacher. Jake repeats your action. He doesn’t know if he did it because of you or perhaps he has come to a realization he won’t write anything.

“I’m counting on you Jake” Mrs. Kang says and he flips the paper over to hide the fact he answered barely two questions. He gives her a polite smile in return.

Some students are still glued to their chairs. Most of them are scribbling over their paper at an inhumane pace, and some look like they’re praying for a miracle.

“So, how was it?” you ask, bringing Jake back to reality.

He looks at you and smiles. All his worries fade away as you return one back, with the sweetest look on your face.

Jake regrets not noticing you earlier. Then he wouldn’t feel like the side character to Seojun and Heeseung's story.

What?

“I knew this would happen. It went horrible” he answered.

“Don’t worry! I didn’t answer a single question correctly” you say, and rub his shoulder.

Jake feels the coldness of the classroom turn into a warm summer field. He bites back a cheeky response “I’m sure you’ll do better next time”

“I don’t think so. I probably can’t even introduce myself in English” you giggle and he does too.

“I think I just panicked” Jake says, and you pout.

“Why? You know you don’t always have to be perfect. It’s fine to not be the best always” you voice with a dismal tone.

His heart climbs, climbs, and climbs until it finally explodes into a flowered array of colorful sparkles. He feels as if his chest is on fire.

“I’ve always put so much pressure on myself-” Jake starts but the couple interrupts him.

“Let’s go outside! The archery team came back from their competition!” Seojun says, and you roll your eyes.

“I really don’t want to hear Jungwon bragging right now,” you say.

“Jungwon’s so cool” Jieun joins in and you make a disgusted face.

“Not really. He’s off limits by the way, Jieun” you respond and she just pouts at you.

Jake listens to the interaction unveil, still standing close to you. His hand brushes against yours.

“I can’t believe you’d think I like your brother,” Jieun asserts sadly.

“You do like him,” Seojun says calmly. Jieun gives her the scariest stare, and Seojun clings onto Heeseung's arm for protection.

Jake fights the urge to laugh at their ridiculous approach to a seemingly serious topic. He’s reminded, fondly, of their immaturity- their youth.

“Y/n don’t listen to this snake. Everything she says is a lie” Jieun looks straight into your eyes.

“Whatever Ji. As long as your not making out with him in my house im fine with it” you say and Jieun bites her lip at the thought of having any intimate moment with Jungwon. You spot it. “You’re disgusting” you laugh and slap her arm.

You then turn to Jake and pull out the pen you were previously scribbling over your exam with. You write nine digits on his hand, and he doesn’t understand what for at first.

“Let's talk about this later. I want to help you” you say with a cute smile as Seojun starts pulling you towards the school's exit. You mouth a fast sorry, and leave him alone with Heeseung.

“I can feel it coming” Heeseung sings and Jake just rolls his eyes leaving the classroom “Oh” he makes a frustrated noise, and looks for his next target.

Sunghoon. Perfect.

…

Jake’s finger hovered over the call button, his mind puzzled. He bites back his tongue.

What if you don’t pick up?

But when he accidentally touched the screen a bit too hard, and the dialing sound erupted through his phone's speaker, he had no choice but to accept the reality.

Things happen for a reason.

“Hello? Who is this?” he hears your voice. It sounds so full of life and delicate.

“Uh, Jake. Sim Jake. I’m sorry if you're busy I just-” he rambles but you cut him off with a laugh. He pauses and feels embarrassment creep onto his cheeks as he lets one of his aggravating habits unleash in front of you.

“No no, I’m not busy. I never am in a matter of fact” you say and he exhales a sharp breath he’s been holding in ever since the call started.

Why was he so nervous?

“Did you eat already?” you ask and he sits up straight on his bed. His nerves are now comforted by the mask of darkness, and his confidence grows with every inhale.

“I did. Mom made jjigae. She usually never puts this much effort into dinner, and makes me eat out with Heeseung” Jake explains and you smile.

Jake didn’t catch the moment where you two became friends. His far fetched knowledge wasn’t aware two people could bond so easily. The last time he hit it off with someone so easily was when Sunghoon joined their class last year. Some things as simple as this made him question himself.

“Lucky” you expressed “My parents left for Busan this morning, and since me and Jungwon don’t cook, like at all, we had to eat leftover rice with some kimchi we found in the fridge” you explained and Jake thought about bringing you for dinner next time.

He shook his head.

“I tried catching up on some English, but I seriously can’t understand anything, Although I did make some sense of the last topic” you voice, not letting Jake speak on your last statement.

A tingling sensation rushes down Jake’s neck and chest with a dangerous thrill.

“Good” he lets out a shaky breath “I like that”

“That sounded like you're trying to seduce me” you laugh, and Jake’s heart leeps unexpectedly.

He wasn’t trying to. Or maybe he was.

“Sorry” he mumbles “I’m just really tired, and I still haven’t finished the assignment” Jake explains and you feel bad for him.

“Jake you need to stop overworking yourself. I know, we aren’t that close yet, but we all know you barely get any sleep” you scold, and his breath deepens.

“I don’t want to disappoint anyone, '' his voice trembles.

“You won’t. Jake this is highschool! You should be more careless, have some fun” you say “Maybe fall in love. Ah, I wish someone wanted me like Heeseung wants Seojun” you giggle.

Everyone wants you. I want you. Don’t you know that?

“Maybe you’re right,” he speaks with a low voice.

“I know I’m right. I’m always right” you assure and hear a quiet, breathy laugh on the other side of the call.

Jake thought you’d be the one to cut their conversation short, tired of his shyness, and drained from constantly coming up with an entraining topic, but you didn't. You didn’t hang up on him. Jake tossed and turned in his bed, regularly kicking off the bedsheets and bringing them back up when his body reaches an uncomfortable temperature. He listened to the soft sound of your voice until his mind seemed to shut it out, and his eyes eloped him in a universe of constant nothingness.

“..she ditched me for him on my birthday! Can you believe? I was so pissed at her for the whole week after that” you said and the other side of the line was quiet. “Jakey? Did you mute?”

Silence.

You waited hoping to hear a response soon.

“Oh, well you must’ve fallen asleep. Goodnight” you whispered softly, and smiled.

don’t fall asleep next time!!!!!!!

let’s get a meal tomorrow

i’ll tell you the story again hehe

goodnight~~

…

He had overcome his initial shyness. He spoke to you with a newfound confidence.

It’s been a month. Or two. Jake can’t recall cause time spent with you never felt real to you.

When Heeseung initiated your newborn friend group visits the beach in honor of graduation, Jake made sure to workout everyday, and follow his strict diet. He wanted to look good.

For you.

“You should tell us about how you found out you’re in love with Heeseung, Seojun!” Jieun beamed.

Jake sits up rapidly glancing once again at the landscape in front of him. Soft wind blows and the hot sun seetles on his skin.

“Not this again” you roll your eyes, and Jieun gives you a death glare.

“I want to at least know what it feels like” she protests.

“All of us have heard this story millions of times, Ji” you say and she acts offended.

“I haven’t” Sunghoon declares, and takes a long sip of his ice cold water.

Jake and Jay agree with him. You sigh and lay back down on the soft towel. The sizzling sand settles on your back through the material.

“You’re just jealous no one loves you like Heeseung loves me” Seojun fights, and snuggles into the warm embrace of Heeseung's toned arms.

I do.

“Yeah right” you huff.

“It’s hard for me to put into words what it feels like to be with Hee'' she starts and Jieun smiles “I don’t know the exact moment I knew, I just did. If you ever fall in love you’ll know it”

“Even when he made me sad countless times, I still knew my anger wouldn’t last long. I started to love him for who he is on the inside. I started to love his flaws. The kisses and sweet words, they're still a first time feeling. He taught me answers that couldn't be obtained by counting. I have someone like him in my life and I know what I feel is real and will never compare to anything I’ve ever experienced. And if you love someone enough, they’ll always know where home is” she finished and Jieun was quietly fangirling, with a tear streaming down her rosy cheek.

It felt familiar to Jake. He couldn’t quite grasp it yet.

“Are you seriously crying, Jieun?” Jay interjected, and Jieun whipped the salty tear away with the palm of her hand.

“Am not. The sun is just really bright, and I don’t have sunglasses” she protested and Jay just laughed.

Jake felt awkward seeing how he changed after meeting you.

He doubted his feelings for you. He could push them away. But he knew they were real. He learned to love every part of you.

“I seriously need to get a girlfriend,” Sunghoon said, and Jay eagerly agreed with him.

A sinking feeling begins to rot in his stomach as the realization dawns on him.

“It’s a lot of searching but sometimes the right person is next to you the whole time” Heeseung explains.

Jake looks at your sunkissed figure at his words, but quickly averts it to Jay who was pouring water into his cup. He didn’t want to be so obvious with his feelings.

“Don’t even think about it” Jake turns his head to Sunghoon, who is pushing Jieun’s figure away.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Jieun pouts and crosses her arms.

The blazing sun makes your skin glow a soft porcelain, pink lips pressed together. Jake likes it. He likes it almost too much.

…

Jake spends lonely nights in the darkness of his own room, thinking about you. The image of you laying next to him, makes his heartbeat faster, and an unfamiliar feeling becomes one with his bloodline. You consumed at least 50% of his brain.

He gets deja vu. His finger hovers over the call button, hesitation and panic replacing the air in his lungs.

Why does he feel like this?

“Fuck it” he murmurs.

‘You should be more careless, have some fun, maybe fall in love’

“Hello? Is everything okay” the voice he adores so much speaks through his speaker, and he almost forgets that he dialed your number already.

“Hey, Y/n” he speaks with a low voice, afraid of the destiny spreading before him with every word.

“Jake you seem off” you say, and he straightens up his posture.

Stop being weird.

Jake remembers sitting here, on his bed, after the trip to the beach came to an end, the sun setting, forcing himself to accept the first pieces of the truth that changed his heart for good. The time span between that and now feels like he’s discovered so much.

“You’re the best thing that has happened to me” Jake confesses. “And I know you changed me”

You hesitate, flustered by his sudden confession “For the better, right?”

“I don’t know that either” Jake says, and his voice trembles.

He looks out the window, and it reminds him of the day that changed the way he perceived things. But this time instead of a bustling atmosphere, it was almost unoccupied. The street was lifeless, because without a purpose it feels the same way Jake did before he met you. Empty.

“It’s okay to not know” you say, and Jake is brought back to the day he sat in the uncomfortable classroom chair, nothing in his head accept you. It took him long enough to realize his mistake.

Jake feels a pinching feeling overcome his body. His hands, his head, his body and his soul. He wanted to cry again but he didn’t want tears to disrupt the heartfelt moment unveiling in front of him. He learnt to be grateful for what he has, but he never experienced what it's like to get that taken away from you.

“I wish I could feel you” Jake’s voice falls into a low rumble.

You inhale sharply.

“In my arms” he holds his breath “Warm, and real”

“Don’t do this, Jake” you whisper “Please”

Heartbreak was never so loud.

A silence falls within the call. He’s stunned into silence.

“I think I love you”

Nothing.

His eyes squeeze shut. His heart seems to stop pumping blood, as he doesn’t hear your voice.

As you can sense Jake’s wiliting stature, you speak softly “I’m sorry for doing this to you”

“No it’s fine. I’m sorry for ruining our friendship” he replies, tears forming on his waterline.

You don’t disagree with him. His heart begins to shatter. He knows he’s lost you.

Jake loved to absorb new knowledge, and study complex problems. He liked the feeling that coursed through him as he successfully solved a math problem or answered a complicated chemistry equation. The one thing he learned so quickly was how to love you. How to appreciate you for your individuality, and cherish the moments spent with you.

But the one thing he couldn’t learn was how to stop loving you.

I’m going to miss this

“It hurts” he whispers, not capable of holding the stream of tears anymore “But it’s okay”

“Jake I really hope you find someone that can love you the way I can’t” you wince.

Everything brings him back to the day he first met you.

Because now that he won’t have you by his side anymore, the unlucky days won't magically turn better.

He hates the fact he will never be able to hate you.

He hates the fact that you are so imperfectly perfect.

Jake’s quiet cries are the only thing consoling the immediate silence.

“Please remember me when our youth is gone, Y/n” he says hanging up the call.

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spencereid-reads · 1 month

Text

the language of you | s. reid

wc: 2.1k // warnings: english isn't my first language! an extreme amount of italics, meet-cute, love at first poem sight kinda thing. poems that i found on either google or pinterest. a few swear words, maybe? // a/n: my first time writing for reid and cm in general. i'm in the middle of season 9 and idk where this idea came from. also i don't know anything about poetry, the last quote is as far as my knowledge goes. if you think you know me from my other writing blog no you don't<3but ily also idk if i'll keep writing, i just wanted to post it bc of world poetry day, i think it's a nice coincidence.

i use she/her pronouns//fem!reader in almost all of my fics!

the cold hallways of the university building aren't as big and intimidating as he remembered. and this time, they welcomed him with open arms. he was just a kid when he first set foot here, and now here he was, being invited by a member of his team to teach the young minds of college kids.

spencer reid had never been a great public speaker, sure, he had the qualities of one, but he was also known to ramble on and on about a specific subject if he was interested enough in it, most likely overwhelming and quite often scaring the class attendees.

he followed dr. blake through the crowded halls, she'd invited him along to one of her lectures, she needed someone with vast knowledge about, -well, everything-, and a quick mind, and he was the perfect addition to her classes.

it was weird, being on the other side of the lecture hall, with dozens of eyes set on him as he spoke, he wasn't nervous per se, more... aware of the situation. but luckily the students were focused, paid attention and asked good questions. he considered that a win in his book. without noticing, the 90 minute class was over, and he approached blake after gathering his things and crossing his signature leather bag over his shoulder.

"ready to head back?" he asked.

"not quite, there's a friend of mine giving a lecture next door, it's her first class, actually. thought we'd stop by for a bit, wish her good luck." she said, sliding her black blazer back on.

"sure, what's it about?"

"you'll see. i think you'll enjoy it." she gave him a sly smile, making her way up the steps, he stood there for a second, wondering what the subject might be. there were a lot of things that he enjoyed, physics, math, science.

spencer caught up to her just as she opened the door to the other lecture hall, sliding in behind alex as his eyes adjusted to the change of lighting. compared to the room they'd just left, this felt nothing like a classroom. it felt more like a theater.

the lights were off, the room being lit up by fake candles lining both sets of steps on each side of the room, and he noticed real candles on the front stage, the flames dancing with the subtle change of pressure as a girl, maybe as young as he was, walked on stage. a book in her hand, but she didn't need it, whatever she was saying was from memory, the worlds flowing effortlessly out her mouth.

he stood frozen in his spot, it took him two seconds to recognize and figure out what was going on.

"lines fall on the soul like dew on the grass. what does it matter that i couldn’t keep her. the night is fractured and she is not with me." she recited, eyes closed as she stopped walking, even from his spot at the top of the steps he could see her facial expression, a frown on her face as her eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed as if she was the one feeling the pain the author was describing.

neruda. poetry.

spencer had never been the biggest fan of poetry, but maybe he just hadn't found the right person to teach him about it.

what an incredulous thought, someone teaching a subject to genius spencer reid? but he couldn't help but be drawn to the soft voice that spoke with love, sorrow and rhythm.

"my voice tried to find the breeze to reach her. another’s kisses on her, like my kisses. her voice, her bright body, infinite eyes."

she was savoring each word in her tongue, and spencer's ears perked up at every sound that left her mouth.

"wonder boy, come on," alex's whisper brought him out of his thoughts, as he followed her down the candlelit steps to one of the first rows.

how he wished he could've stayed up there, hidden within the shadows, since he couldn't take two steps without his eyes having to find the young lecturer again, slowing down his legs.

but from down there he noticed the way the candles lit her face, casting a soft golden glow, and now he found himself thanking the small flames scattered around the stage.

she threw the two fbi agents a look, a knowing gleam in her eye as she recognized the female doctor. it was fleeting, she didn’t let the interaction distract her from the verses and the words slipping from her lips.

“loving is so short, forgetting is so long,” she breathed the words, barely audible as she felt every syllable in every bone of her body.

as she finished the poem, deafening silence fell upon the room, and spencer realized how quiet the room had been since he arrived, yet her soft voice seemed to fill it effortlessly.

“has anyone here ever felt emotions as strong as the ones depicted in the poem? joy, sadness, anger?” she asked, somehow leaving aside the ‘character’ she’d slipped into as she recited the words written by neruda. “love? has anyone ever experienced this… deep, unshakeable need to absolutely possess someone? to keep them all for your own, locked in a room to look, touch, admire as much as you wish?” she continued, eyes scanning the room, and spencer’s breathing hitched when she placed her eyes on him. “i know how it sounds like, but- poetry and language, is quite possibly the best way to express those intense feelings.”

“what about sex?” a voice from the crowd asked.

“that’s a great way too,” she nodded, laughing along with the class, “but have you ever stood in front of a girl, a boy, a person you truly feel like you’d die for, and told them exactly that? how just the touch of their hand holding someone else’s would rip your soul out of your body, or how you’d swim oceans just to get to hear their laugh one last time? i don’t know about you, but i feel like that’s a hundred times better than sex.” she continued, walking from one side of the stage to the other, using her hands and changing the tone in her voice to emphasize what she wanted to say. “i promise you that by the end of this semester you’ll be able to put all of that into your own words. read, everyone. please, read and do your research, and i promise you that you’ll get your chance to be neruda, dickinson. anybody can be a poet. poetry is about feelings, thoughts, the things that keep you up at night, and being able to put all of that into words. read, even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, but think about what they want to say. i know it’s our first class but i’ll leave you some work for friday. just pick a poem, learn it and present it here, i want to see what we’re working with. that’s it for today, thank you.” she vowed her head like an actor who’d just finished a play, walking around the stage as she blew the candles off.

“come on, let’s go say hi,” alex stood up, prompting spencer to do the same, and he had to swallow the feelings inside of him. his mind repeating every word the girl onstage had just said. he knew the importance of poetry, he had a few favorite poets, and he knew about all the hard technical work that was behind writing a good poem, but he’d never taken the time to think about the personal aspect of the work.

“dr. blake, great to see you here,” she greeted the older woman, who embraced her in a hug.

“you too. you were great there, no one would’ve thought it was your first time teaching,”

“well, what can i say, i learned everything from you.”

“please, our fields are as far apart as they could be. it’s all thanks to that big brain of yours. which, speaking of, meet dr. spencer reid, we work together.” alex stepped aside, revealing a tall man, hands fidgeting with his leather bag and long strands of hair covering his forehead. alex always had a soft spot for spencer, the young genius reminded her of herself, once upon a time.

“pleasure to meet you, dr. reid,” the young girl smiled at him, offering her hand.

“likewise,” he said, taking her hand in his. alex’s eyebrows raised, she’d been expecting a speech about germs and pathogens but got none.

“so, what’d you think? was it too much? think i scared the kids?”

“today’s youth doesn’t take things too seriously, they prefer one night stands and lack of commitment.” spencer explained.

“think i’m reaching for the stars for trying to get them to channel their emotions and actually feel them?” the young professor asked him, a smile on her face told him that she’d already thought about that.

“not necessarily, studies have proven that people who can feel and acknowledge their emotions are happier, live longer and have better relationships with themselves and others. also, they have more confidence in themselves and can make lasting relationships, but physical and emotional.” he continued, and this time dr. blake spoke.

“so if you do your job right you’ll get lots of people laid,”

“ah, if only i could make that work for me,” she replied, heat creeping onto her cheeks as she looked down. her words made spencer stop breathing.

“i’m sure someone with your wits and… well, you could get anyone you want,” the words slipped out before he could control them.

“sounds easier said than done, but i’ve decided to devote my life to my work and books, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone coming anytime soon to change that. i’m alright with that, life is more than that.” she shrugged her shoulder.

“not enjoyment, and not sorrow, is our destined end or way; but to act, that each tomorrow find us farther than today.” spencer recalled from memory.

“you speak my language, doctor,” the young professor breathed. and the older woman took the opportunity to interfere.

“like i said, genius. you two should talk, he’s got a very interesting brain that i’m sure you’d love to pick,” she reached toward her friend, wrapping her in a quick hug, “i’ll meet you out there, reid, i have a few things to do.” with that she walked out of the lecture hall, leaving the two young brilliant minds together.

“sorry about her, she’s been trying to set me up with someone since we met. i was her t.a back when i was a grad student.”

“you worked with her?” spencer asked, internally rolling his eyes at himself, she’d obviously just stated that.

“yup. i know, how could someone go from linguistics applied in criminology to poetry? it’s a big leap, but… she’s helped me more than anyone in my entire career.” she spoke with fondness in her voice. “anyway, she was right. i would love to pick that brain of yours.” she said, “sorry, that sounded weird, but-”

“no, no, it’s- fine. i- i’d like to talk to you, more, as well.”

“it’s a date, then.” she smiled, even wider when she noticed the slight blush creeping on his cheeks,

“if only i could recollect it, such a day of days. i let it come and go as traceless as a thaw of bygone snow; it seemed to mean so little, meant so much-” spencer started, the words taking over his mind and mouth before he could even think about it.

“if only now i could recall that touch, first touch of a hand in hand- did one but know,” she finished for him.

“i-i,” he started, surprising himself by the way he stuttered. “i don't speak your language, not like you do, not yet. i'm not a poet. but… i want to learn… i want to.”

she breathed out, all the air leaving her lungs, his wild eyes scanned all over her face, not profiling. but learning, taking in her cues, and a pressure left his shoulders when she saw her lips twitching, breaking for a smile.

“i may be the writer, but you'll always be the words.” she took a step toward him, his eyes settling for her own, it helped him calm down. “it's like i said, anybody can be a poet.”

“i-i’ll see you friday?” he said.

“friday?” she raised her eyebrows.

“yeah, you-you said you had to see what you're working with?”

“i do.” she nodded, a playful gleam in her eyes, “i guess i’ll see you friday. we can get coffee, before coming here.” she suggested.

“is that special treatment, professor?” one more time, he surprised himself by the way he spoke to her, like it was the most natural thing to do. we wished it never stopped, he wanted to hear her amused laugh again.

“maybe.” she bit her lip as she laughed.

****

“this could be the start of something new, and it feels so right to be here with you.”

-high school musical

#i finished this a few days ago #i didn't know if i wanted to post it #but #i just read that today is world poetry day #and wow #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds oneshot #criminal minds imagine

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lanaxoxoxoxoxox · 9 months

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SO. ANOTHER. steal my girl by 1D.

this could probably be fem!reader

ranboo and reader have known eachother since they were about 15/16, and he's ALWAYS loved her. ALWAYS. once they finally start dating, maybe once they're both 17/18, ranboo starts steaming, chat says stuff along the lines of "y/n could do better" or "she deserves better than ranboo fr" or "i could get y/n EASY" so ranboo goes out of his way to say "no one can steal my girl, nor does she even WANT any of you." SOMETHIN ALONG THOSE LINES!!

literally SCREAMED at this bro , you have no idea

, my girl !!

☆ ranboo x fem!reader

warnings: she/her pronouns, fem reader, chat being a dick, protective ran (drives me crazy /pos), ran + y/n are both 19 in this fic, ran's pov entire fic ☽

☆ a/n: utterly obsessed with this ask !! lovely @heiijoy actually sent me a whole bunch of other amazing fic ideas in our messagesand i was screaming and giggling and kicking my feet the entire time !! yall dont know how excited am i abt being able to write this and have such amazing moots oml

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

ranboo pov

I've always admired Y/n. I did then, and I still do.

Since I first saw her at the locker next to me in sophomore year, something just, clicked inside of me. At first, I originally saw her as a locker-hallway crush only, until classes got changed due to a teacher leaving. Suddenly, the hallway-locker crush turned into same-classes crush. For some odd reason, the teachers would also often pair us in the same partners and groups, and we would sit near or next to each other sometimes. I kind of just played it off as pure luck on my part.

I would see y/n in about 90% of my classes, but we were assigned permanent partners one day in English for the rest of the year. I got to talk way more to her in class, and we even hung out a few times. I eventually did get her number and we started to hang out more, but not just for study sessions. We eventually had a really strong friendship, but I still admired her.

Time skip, but one of my friends who was dating y/n's best friend told me that y/n actually liked me back, and she had for a while. At first I didn't believe him, until y/n texted me to meet up at the stargazing hill we always went to and told me she liked me.

After that, we started dating. I started my Twitch and YouTube around then, and started blowing up very quickly. Y/n was always there to support me and what I wanted to do, and I was eventually invited to the Dream SMP, which also quickly raised my following and reputation even more. When I got an invitation from Toby and Tommy to meet them in the UK, Y/n also came with me. She's always been at my side, streamer or not.

present day

"'Just Talking streams never end well'? Damn, you guys are mean!" I said, laughing and flipping off the camera.

I spinned my chair slightly to the left, focusing my eyes on the other monitor that showed StreamLabs and the chat. I scanned my eyes over the chat, and a few messages caught my eye.

user4531: hi everyone!

user78787877: y/n could do better tbh

ranboofan69: @user78787877 frrr she deserves more than ranboo

rainbow4eva: i love your shirt!

socoolfan: @ranboofan69 yeah i could get y/n SO EASY bro

I sighed loudly enough for the microphone to pick up. I looked back over to chat and saw moderators turn off chat to send a warning message and put it chat onto "emotes only" mode.

I laughed. "The fact some of you guys are so confident in stealing y/n from me is actually very funny." I stared into the webcam. "Y/n is my girl, nor does she even want any of you all."

Let's just say y/nboo and that clip was trending on Twitter for a little while.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

kinda a short but fic but i hope u guys liked !! thanks @heiijoy for the lovely req <3

please support me by liking, following, replying or reblogging! my inbox is currently CLOSED, so no requests for the time being or they will be deleted. thank you!

love u all mwah xoxoxox

#mcyt fanfic writer #fanfiction #mcyt #dream smp #mcytblr #requests closed #ranboo #ranboo x reader #ranboo x you #ranboolive #ranboo fanfic

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rehfan · 1 month

Text

La Belle Dame avec Merci - Chapter 2: Keeping Up Appearances

Eddie Munson x Unpopular!AFAB!fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ readers only please - minor children DNI! – No Upsidedown; SLOW BURN; Eddie & Reader are both over 18; fake dating/relationship; reader is technically a virgin; mutual pining; Eddie has trust issues; emotional hurt/comfort; masturbation; emotional manipulation; reader is kinda shitty to Eddie; reader gets better; angst; more angst; Eddie’s mom is dead; small act of accidental physical violence; Uncle Wayne is the best

Tagged: @bluestuesday / @ali-r3n / @winchester-angel / @iletmytittiestitty-russ / <— let me know if you want to be added!!

DO NOT POST TO ANY OTHER SITE. My words are mine and mine alone.

Inspired by @/hard-candy-writing ‘s ORIGINAL POST — I sincerely hope I do this justice.

Chapter 1 Tumblr Link -- AO3 LINK — Masterlist link

Eddie was still in a state of shock until the second bell rang and he was officially late for English class. He crept in and sat near the back, your kiss still tingling on his lips, your thighs still in his hands, the weight of you in his lap causing other things to wake up. His knee thrummed under the desk and he could barely pay attention to the creative writing assignment that Mr. Hutchinson was talking about. It was all he could do to try and think of serious things to calm his dick down: accidentally slamming his fingers in the van door, Wayne chewing him out about cigarette burns in the carpet, things like that. The last thing he wanted was to pop a boner during class.

Please, dear God, not here.

The next campaign, buying more guitar strings for Sweetheart, slamming his fingers in the van’s door - again. Any thought he could manage that had nothing to do with the taste of your watermelon Chapstick would be a good thing right now. Because he should definitely not be focusing on how you smelled and whether that was your shampoo or your soap or a perfume you used. Yep. For sure should not be dwelling on what underwear you had on underneath that prim skirt with the slit all the way up it.

Fuck.

He was going to see you again in biology. That was in forty-five minutes. Would you want to sit in his lap again? How could you? You were whole lab tables apart from one another. There was no way to move seats without it being a big deal. Jeff would feel abandoned and who was it? Gail? Gail who shared the lab table with you would probably be put out. But then, he may not even have to worry. It was highly likely that you’d freeze him out. After all, that little display was just improv for the party/jock crowd in the library. He wasn’t stupid. He knew the score.

Sighing deeply, he decided to write a story about an errant knight who had been seduced and charmed and then completely dumped by some woodland fairy.

Was he really going to allow you to run the show, though? To push him this way and that just to satisfy your own strategies? He didn’t want to be used. Not like his uncle’s last girlfriend had used Wayne. Not like his father had used his mother.

He changed the ending of his story. The knight was under a spell. It was broken when he saw her true reflection in the water of the lake. That wasn’t a woodland fairy. That was a witch who wanted him as a blood sacrifice. He threw her in the water and she fizzled, melted, and drowned, screaming in agony. He’d be damned if some deceitful witch was going to get the best of him, no matter how attractive.

~080~

Meanwhile, you sat in your French class, your head swimming with thoughts of brown eyes and curly hair. The scent of him clung to the edges of your brain, a blend of smoke and spice, mixed with the smell of his shampoo.

Well this was inconvenient. You really needed to pass Madame’s pop quiz or you’d ruin your perfect A grade for the semester so far. 90 percent or better or you were a loser. No compromise. You tried your damnedest to focus on the correct past tense conjugation of rêver without focusing on its ironic meaning; all your brain wanted to do was dream.

Those brown eyes… you had never in your life gone for a guy with dark eyes. You had always been a sucker for crystalline blue eyes and maybe some dark lashes, like Brian Bloom has or blond with blue-eyes like John Schneider. Eddie Munson was unlike either man. Not that you were holding your breath about meeting either Brian or John in your lifetime. But Eddie was just SO NOT your type and his sudden presence in your awareness was jarring.

What the hell had you done?

You finished your quiz, but re-read it just in case. Walking it to the front to drop it on the teacher’s desk only to sit back down and sigh, you felt every inch the tragic figure just waiting for class to end. You had probably fucked yourself over. There were only ten questions. You knew you probably screwed up more than one. Boys were clearly nothing but a distraction and here was your proof.

The bell rang again and you gathered your things only to stop in mid-motion at the realization that it was biology next. Would he expect more of the same? You sure as hell left him with a good indication that you were expecting to see him again. See you in biology, lover. Ugh. You cringed at the words.

Maria walked down the corridor with you speaking French like she always did when class was over. It was as if she thought the extra three minutes between classes was supposed to increase her knowledge of the language or something. Internally, you rolled your eyes, but kept smiling at your friend, replying in short answers. Jesus. You weren’t even kind to your actual friends. Who were you?

As you made your way down the hall, some of the kids were staring at you strangely. There was giggling as you passed a gaggle of preppie girls. Word was spreading. It hadn’t reached everyone yet, however. Maria would have pulled you into an empty classroom along the way just to interrogate you. No, it wasn’t everywhere. But it was building. You could feel it, thick in the air, like forest fire smoke. Like the cigarettes you had smelled on Eddie.

Fuck.

Get your head on straight!

Locker first, then class. You were almost late. That wasn’t like you, which showed how reticent you were to actually get to class. If you had the guts, you probably would have skipped. But you were as faithful as a bird dog; you couldn’t be devious. Not to a teacher, anyhow.

The class was almost full with kids coming in around you as you made your way to your normal lab bench. Gail wasn’t there. Was she sick today? You looked to the door in a blind panic for her. If that seat was empty, Eddie could sit there. Or worse: one of the jocks or party kids.

The teacher walked in. The door was going to close. Still no Gail.

“Uh, let’s break it up back there and get to work,” called Mr. Harris. You looked behind you to see Eddie and Jeff standing on either side of Gail who looked like she just lost an argument. You saw her nod at Eddie and take something from his hand. Eddie just grinned and snatched up his book and notebook.

You didn’t know if you were happy or sad, sick or well, dead or alive when Eddie Munson - with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face - plopped his things and himself right down beside you. He folded his arms on the lab table top and put his head down, face angled toward you.

“Hey, lover,’ he said, his voice a low rumble.

Why was there suddenly no air in the room?

Fucking hell. Get a grip!

Somewhere you found the fortitude to banter back. “Hey, cuddle-puppy,” you cooed sardonically, miraculously sounding like a human person with actual confidence. But you had to remind him that this wasn’t really real. Or were you just reminding yourself as his brown eyes melted you from the inside? “How’s my favorite co-conspirator?”

Eddie snickered a laugh. It was born of a nervousness he felt just sitting next to you. Jesus, he just called you ‘lover’! It was a bold move, even for him, but he had to show you he wasn’t scared of you. And when you called him a co-conspirator, that built a knot in his stomach he couldn’t explain. You wanted to continue this? Really? The knot turned sour. He didn’t need you or your lame-ass attempt at calling the cool kids’ bluff. Didn’t matter how pretty you were.

Mr. Harris cleared his throat and started the lesson. Today, you were dissecting frogs. But before you could begin, he had to make sure all of you turned in your permission slips. Eddie reached into his jacket inner pocket and drew his out, opening it up and waiting for Mr. Harris to come around. You noticed the signature.

“Your dad’s name is Wayne?” You were just making conversation. No harm meant by it. Still, you saw Eddie pause and side-eye you, clearly judging you and how best to answer.

Finally he said: “Uncle, actually.”

“Why didn’t your mom sign it?” Again, it was a natural enough question. Your mother had signed your slip and you had turned it in last week. Maybe his parents didn’t want him dissecting frogs and he had to go to another relative for assistance. You didn’t know. How were you supposed to? Eddie Munson was a stranger, really.

“She couldn’t,” he said as Harris took his slip from his fingers. “She’s too busy.”

“Busy? What does she do?”

“She’s the opposite of a helicopter parent.”

“Huh?”

“She took off when I was nine,” he said, watching for your reaction. Watching for the reaction that everyone gave him when they found out about his mom leaving him high and dry. And then dying. Of course, he could have just told you that she was dead, but plenty of people knew that: the school, the cops, Wayne. But no one knew that she died while running away from a man who used to beat the shit out of her. Died because of him chasing her in his car in the middle of winter. Died because she was brave enough to break away and just fucking run. But she couldn’t outrun a Buick. Wayne said she had had plans of coming back for Eddie, but that was a more complicated situation and too big a subject to cover just before the beginning of class.

“Oh.”

And there it was: the look Eddie was so familiar with. The wide eyes, raised eyebrows of a person who couldn’t fathom that a mother could abandon their child. A certain satisfied cruelty settled inside him. His history with his mother was none of your business. This would keep you away from her, and therefore away from him.

“I’m so sorry about that, Eddie.”

And there was the predictable follow up: pity. Sad mournfulness for the poor orphaned boy whose mommy left him all alone. He nodded and continued to quietly regard you. He was watching you, observing like a scientist, distant and evaluating.

To break the awkwardness, you began: “But what about-“ You didn’t finish. You didn’t want to ask any more. His face was placid, but his eyes were still boring into you. You didn’t have the will to continue. Besides, class was starting and you had to pay attention. Prep trays and equipment were being passed around the class by Mr. Harris as well as some hand-picked students and you wanted to make sure you got what you were supposed to for the lesson.

“But what about what?” Eddie prompted you. He was curious but cautious. Was this the witch plotting to spot weakness? He put up his mental defenses and waited.

“No, it’s none of my business. Sorry,” you said.

He leveled his gaze at you for another millisecond. Okay. Maybe you were still the fairy princess. He reached into his mental bag of holding and wielded the shield of humorous deflection and the cudgel of bravery. “Hey now, if we’re going to be co-conspirators, we’ve got to do a little soul-bearing, cupcake.” He tilted his head toward you briefly. “Go on, fire away.”

“What about your dad?” you asked, meekly. The next words poured from you and you felt yourself falling over yourself to navigate the situation and not make him angry. “Or am I getting too personal? I don’t mean to. Sorry if I am. I’m just curious. You can totally tell me to shut up now.” You could feel the blush creep up your ears.

Eddie smiled and ducked his head, cupping a hand to the back of his neck to hide it from you. God, you really were adorable. What in the everloving fuck was Eddie going to do with that?

“My dad couldn’t sign the permission slip because he’s busy being a guest of our fair state,” he said. He took in your puzzled look and whispered, smiling, “He’s in jail, babe. For a long long time.”

“So you live with your Uncle Wayne,” you concluded.

“Boy, you really are as smart as they say,” he said, his tone almost truly proud. Almost. That grin was back and you gave one back at him. Eddie liked that grin. He liked it a lot.

The dead frog was the last thing to be deposited on your wax tray. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, removing his jacket and draping it on his stool before being seated once more. He pulled up his three-quarter sleeves to the elbow.

Tattoos. He has tattoos. You were NOT ready for tattoos. Jesus fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck. You wanted to lick them. And then you remembered where you were.

“See something you like, sugar?”

“What? No! No. Just- I’ve never seen a kid our age with tattoos. That’s all.” The blush you felt pinking your skin could be seen from space. You were sure of it. Jesus.

He leaned in again to talk to you. It seemed he always leaned in when he thought he had something clever to say; it was annoying and alluring at the same time. “Well I do have a few more years on all of the children here,” he said, “or don’t you remember that about me?”

You did. You just… forgot. Something about that niggled in your brain. “Wait. If you’re well over the age of consent, why did you even have to get a permission slip signed?”

He tilted his head. He had to admit, that was a really good question. But he shrugged and countered: “Why did you? Aren’t you eighteen already?”

“Huh, true,” you said. “Maybe it’s a school thing.” you shrugged back at him.

“Heh. Looks like the Establishment has managed to brainwash us already.” He shook his shaggy head. “Well, I feel foolish.”

You had to smile at that. “You are very anti-establishment, aren’t you?”

“You really are getting to know me, huh darlin’?”

“Well,” you replied, whispering conspiratorially again, “what kind of a fake lover would I be if I didn’t get to know my pookie-kins?”

He looked at you with a comically critical face. “I don’t know about you. You may be too smart for me. I usually go for the empty-headed bimbo types.”

“Ah yes… like a jock, only a girl? Body by Jake, brain by Mattel?” you asked. His eyebrows raised and he let out a laugh, short and sharp.

Mr. Harris cleared his throat. “If I may begin?” he asked. The lesson started. Eddie handed you the scalpel with a wink.

You twirled a finger in your hair and looked comically puzzled. “The pointy end goes in the frog, right?” you asked him, giving him your best bimbo impression. Eddie couldn’t help himself; he giggled. He actually fucking giggled. He knew there was more to your game. There had to be. He couldn’t ignore his instincts. But he also knew that you were funny. And smart. And beautiful. And funny, smart, and beautiful totally worked for him.

Fuck.

#fanfic #writing #joe quinn #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #joseph quinn #la belle dame avec merci #lbdam #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #slow burn

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